A storm was gathering in the mountains as we made our way back to Pallons through the deepening shadows of the autumn afternoon. Before we emerged from the desolate valley its gloom had grown almost intolerable; and yet this was but a suggestion of the winter horrors which the white-haired pastor at our side had faced for years in his regular ministrations at the different hamlets we had visited. Speaking of the five pastors now distributed over the field of which Neff assumed the whole charge, he said with a modesty that was quite unaffected, "All five together, we are not worth him alone" (_nous ne le valons pas_). What we had seen that day convinced us that so far at least as concerned himself his deprecation was unfounded, but in expressing it he echoed the tone that seemed universal in the High Alps in reference to the illustrious young pastor. Neff could not, of course, in his short career accomplish the permanent revolution which he dreamed of and longed for. At the same time, it cannot be said that his work has perished while not only pastors but people feel so strongly the inspiration of that heroic life. JAMES M. BRUCE. BLOOMING. A little seed lay underneath the ground, While from the south a mild wind-current blew, And from the tropics to the northward flew Long, angular lines of wild-fowl with a sound Of silken wings. About that time the sun Put forth a shining finger, and did stir The sleeping soil to effort; whereupon The seed made roots like webs of gossamer, Shot up a stem, and flourished leaf and flower. Now look, O sweet! see what your eyes have done With just one ray of their mysterious power Upon the germ of my heart's passion thrown! Through all my frame steal roots of pure desire: My dreams are blooms that shake and shine like fire. MAURICE THOMPSON FELIPA. Christine and I found her there. She was a small, dark-skinned, yellow-eyed child, the offspring of the ocean and the heats, tawny, lithe and wild, shy yet fearless--not unlike one of the little brown deer that bounded through the open reaches of the pine barren behind the house. She did not come to us--we came to her: we loomed into her life like genii from another world, and she was partly afraid and partly proud of us. For were we not her guests?--proud thought!--and, better still, were we not women? "I have only seen three women in all my life," said Felipa, inspecting us gravely, "and I like women. I am a woman too, although these clothes of the son of Pedro make me appear as a boy: I wear them on account of the boat and the hauling in of the fish. The son of Pedro being dead at a convenient age, and his clothes fitting me, what would you have? It was manifestly a chance not to be despised. But when I am grown I shall wear robes long and beautiful like the señora's." The little creature was dressed in a boy's suit of dark-blue linen, much the worse for wear, and torn.