were everywhere apparent among the rebel soldiers; for were they not on their way, at last, to the 'promised land'? Out of bare, starved, desolate Virginia into Maryland, flowing with milk and honey. They looked at their tattered uniforms, their thin, worn blankets, and shoeless, bleeding feet, and their faces, haggard with privation and fatigue, grew exultant at the thought that they too, now, should have some of the comforts of their well-fed, warmlyclad enemy. Their leaders pointed with their swords across the Potomac. We wished only to defend our homes, but the enemy have slain our sons, and ravaged our lands,' they said; 'there lies our revenge and reward; let us go and take it.' A defiant shout went up as each man clutched his weapon in answer to this appeal: 'Ay! let us go and take it!'

Delmonté's regiment was sent to join Hill's brigade, thinned by its arduous campaigns, and their full ranks offered a sad contrast to the shattered regiments decimated by bullets and disease. Victor, his French blood all on fire with military ardor, envied the officers their scars and bronzed appearance. Many as young as he were veterans in war; for had they not drawn their sword at the first battle of Bull Run? And they could count their battles, while he had yet to go through one; but his turn had come, and Coralie, whose precious picture he wore against his heart, should not blush for him, and his eyes flashed, and the young blood mantled in his cheek.

The invading army commenced its march into fruitful Maryland. News reached them that McClellan, undaunted by his disastrous Peninsula campaign, was advancing to drive them back, and they made their preparations to meet him. The encampment stretched far and wide among the encircling hills, and the stars shone peacefully down on the quietly sleeping soldiers, many of whom were to slumber in bloody graves before the moon would rise again. A

few officers were assembled in Delmonté's tent, to assist at an impromptu supper given by him, and a merrier party was never seen. They gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the hour with true French abandon; perhaps the uncertainty of battle, the feeling that they would probably never meet again, gave a sort of reckless piquancy to the entertainment; like their forefathers of the French Revolution, who, when in the Temple, had always given a supper to the condamnés of the morrow. They drank 'confusion to the Yankees' with many a laugh and jest.

Delmonté was in the highest spirits; his eyes sparkled, and his cheek burned with excitement; but to Carteret, who was watching him closely, there was a certain air about him which was unusual-his exaggerated mirth seemed assumed to cover his real feelings. Something had happened, the surgeon felt sure, and he remembered that Torrens had ridden up to the tent early in the morning to give him a letter from Dr. Randolph, surgeon in the Eighth Mississippi, and just as he was going off, Delmonté coming up behind him, had stooped and picked up a piece of crumpled note-paper, and he, the Doctor, being occupied with his letter, only recollected Victor saying something about a note Torrens must have dropped,' and then walking away. Could this have any thing to do with it? It flashed across him that Torrens had the name of being in love with Mademoiselle Latour perhaps there was trouble there. He could not ask Victor, but must wait and see.

The party broke up, and the guests departed to their respective tents, and Delmonté and Carteret were left alone. As soon as their footsteps died away, Victor unbuckled his sword, and, throwing it impatiently from him, sat down on a camp-stool and rested his head on his hand, seemingly unconscious of Carteret's presence. A quarter of an hour passed, and still he sat there motionless. Finally the surgeon said:

He raised his head slowly, and gazed abstractedly at Carteret, who could not restrain a movement of surprise, for his face was pale, and the lines set and rigid with mental suffering.

'Did you speak?' he asked absently. 'I said we would have a hard fight tomorrow. I think we had better get to bed. It is late, and we will need some rest before the day's work begins.' 'Yes,' answered Victor mechanically. Still Carteret lingered in the doorway, unwilling to leave. Delmonté's manner made him uneasy.

and were almost half-way up. He could discern the different field-officers, as they spurred on their horses and waved their swords. The solid line moved on with glittering bayonets. Now from summit and slope, from harvest-field and shady woods, leaps forth the rebel fire. Volley after volley is poured upon the long line of blue, steadily pressing upward. Through rifts in the smoke-cloud the surgeon could see the 'Stars and Stripes' borne aloft in the hands of its brave defenders. He felt his heart swell and his eyes grow dim at the sight, which awakened a thousand conflicting emotions.

Victor roused himself. 'Perfectly, Doctor,' he replied, rising. 'I have a letter or two to write, and then I shall go to bed. To-morrow will see my first battle, and,' he added, under his breath, 'I hope my last. Good-night. Je vous reverrai sur le champ d'honneur.'

No cloud dimmed the beauty of that September morn that dawned on the battle of South-Mountain. The birds sang, the tasseled corn and bending wheat waved in the warm sunshine; no whir of bullet or roar of cannon disturbed the atmosphere of peace and serenity that pervaded the smiling landscape; no warning note foretold upon what a scene of blood and anguish the evening sun should set. On the plain beneath the mountain moving bodies were visible. On the summit and in the wooded slopes the rebels lay hidden, watching their foe.

Delmonté's regiment held the first line of defence. He and Carteret met for a few moments just as they marched to the front, and Victor had thrown himself into the surgeon's arms, and kissed him in true French fashion. Adieu!' he whispered; 'I shall never return.'

From a commanding position, with a powerful field-glass, Dr. Carteret watched the enemy's movements. Onward they came unfaltering, unwavering

claimed in every land, 'Freedom to the down-trodden and oppressed;' under whose folds his fathers had bled and died. What was that alien flag which flaunted its flaming bars against the sky? It was the symbol of discord and strife- the signal which led brother against brother in this fratricidal war. As he saw the 'old flag,' blackened by smoke, faded by the heat, and torn and rent by contending bullets, but still waving steadily in the storm, he cursed in his heart the false light which had led him to raise his hand against it, while his soul, true to its heaven-born instincts, worshipped the emblem of liberty and hope.

All day the battle raged, and when evening came, the Federal troops obstinately held the height they had so nobly gained. Victor seemed ubiquitousnow here, now there, waving his sword and encouraging his men by voice and word, he led the charge, through a storm of bullets-in vain, wave after wave of Southern impetuosity and fury dashed and broke against the rock of Northern patriotism and valor. The last streak of day was departing, when Carteret saw him fall from his horse, and his regiment break in disorder.

Night set in, and hostilities were suspended. In the darkness the surgeon, among the dead and dying, sought for his friend, and found him lying on his

WHAT are Glaciers?

Horace Benedict de Saussure, who traversed the entire chain of the Alps no less than fourteen times and by eight different routes, shall give the answer.

Glaciers are those eternal masses of ice formed in the open air on the slopes of lofty mountains and in valleys.

These grand meteoric productions have arrested the attention of a host of travellers, geological, statistical, philosophical, and poetical, but by none of the departed worthies have they been more accurately or successfully described than by Gruner, De Saussure, and, poetically, by Byron.

To give a general and comprehensive idea of the Alpine glaciers, De Saussure supposes a spectator to be placed at a sufficient height above the Alps to see at one view those of Switzerland, Savoy, and Dauphiné. From this imaginary elevation his vision would comprehend a mass of mountains intersected by multitudinous valleys, and composed of several parallel chains. The highest of these would be seen in the middle; the others would be observed decreasing gradually as they recede.

The central and most lofty chain would appear to this observer to be bristled with craggy rocks, covered, in all those places that are not absolutely vertical, with snow and ice, which withstand even the sun of summer.

On both sides of the chain his eye would penetrate into deep, verdant, wellwatered valleys covered with picturesque villages.

Such would be the general prospect; but when this elevated spectator came to a more detailed examination, he would remark that the central range is composed of lofty peaks and smaller chains, crowned with snow, but having all their slopes that are not very much inclined covered with ice; while the in

tervals between them form elevated valleys filled with immense ice-masses, extending downwards into the inhabited valleys bordering on the great chain.

The chain nearest to the centre would present the same phenomena, but on a smaller scale; and beyond this he would see no more ice, no more snow, except on some of the more elevated summits, here and there.

This general view is most satisfactory; and if De Saussure had stopped here he would have escaped some criticism; but he goes on to recognize from this view two kinds of glaciers quite distinct from each other, and to which all their varieties may be referred.

First, glaciers contained in valleys more or less deep, which, though at great elevations, are commanded on all sides by mountains higher still.

Secondly, glaciers not contained in the valleys, but spread out on the slopes of the higher peaks.

The distinguishing feature of the first is made by De Saussure to consist in their greater extent and depth, and the greater compactness of the mass; but it has been shrewdly observed that as those circumstances seem to depend on the situation of the glaciers, as is manifested by the insensible passage of the one kind into the other, and this in many localities, the distinction seems to have no very sure foundation.

But whatever the position and appearance of glaciers may be, their formation is clearly due to the great quantity of snow that falls in the high and cold mountain regions a deposit which the heat of summer can only partially thaw. When the slopes of the peaks are very sudden, the snow cannot rest upon them, but slips down in avalanches into the valleys This being added to what falls directly into them, an immense quantity, which becomes compressed by

The following process: the occasionally falling rains, and the water proceeding from the partial melting of the snow in the warmer months, pervades the mass, steeping it as it were, by percolation, throughout. In this state the frosts of the succeeding winter seize it, and it is consolidated into a glacier.

But let no one imagine that the ice so formed is like that found in ponds or lakes that of Wenham Lake, for example. No; it wants the hardness, the compactness, the solidity, the transparency, of that frozen crystal. It is porous and opaque; in the glaciers of Switzerland and other southern countries at least.

But why?

The water, as it filters through the mass, being unable to expel all the air lodged in its interstices, this remaining air, together with that partially liberated during the subsequent congelation, collects into bubbles of various forms and sizes. The transparency and cohesive ness of the mass is thus in a great measure destroyed.

As to the snow which rests on the slopes, it is clear that it must be subject to the same influence of rain and warmth as that which affects the snow in the valleys; but, from the very position of the slope-snow, the water mostly runs off, or is only retained towards the bottom of the slope. The consequence is, that glaciers so situated are much looser in texture than those of the valleys. It is only towards the bottom, where the water accumulates, that the ice of the slopes acquires a consistence similar to that of the valleys. As one ascends, he observes the solidity decrease, till, towards the top, he finds nothing but

snow.

The superficial appearance and structure of the glaciers depend upon the ground on which they rest. When the bottom is even or but slightly inclined, the surface of the glacier is even also,

with

The glassy ocean of the mountain ice,

Its rugged breakers, which put on The aspect of a tumbling tempest's foam, Frozen in a moment-a dead whirlpool's image,

six miles in length, and two in its greatest breadth, slopes down through an opening between the Dru and the Montanvert towards the valley of Chamouni. Wherever the slope exceeds thirty or forty degrees, the ice-beds become broken into fragments, heaved, dislocated, and fantastically piled up, occasionally gaping wide and exposing immense chasms many feet broad, and not unfrequently more than a hundred feet deep.

Atmospheric changes, or unequal uneven bottom, will pressure on an often split the ice-masses with a commotion that shakes the mountains, among which the sound produced by the enormous ice-cracks rolls and reverberates like the thunder of heaven: The ice is here, the ice is there, The ice is all around:

It cracks and growls, and roars and howls,
Like noises in a swound!

The icy landscape has its caverns and torrents. These last flow not only abundantly in summer, but also, less plenteously, in winter, from the lower parts of the glacier, the water proceeding from the thawing of the under surface by subterraneous heat; to that cause, at least, the thaw is generally attributed. In winter, small streamlets ooze out from beneath the ice; in spring and summer it bursts away the frozen bar