it with the letter into the page’s pocket.  Returning to his chamber, he rang the bell so violently that he awakened the page, who instantly made his appearance.  “You have had a sound sleep,” said the King.  The page was at a loss how to excuse himself and, putting his hand into his pocket by chance, to his utter astonishment he there found a purse of ducats.  He took it out, turned pale, and looking at the bag, burst into tears without being able to utter a single word.  “What is that?” said the King; “what is the matter?” “Ah, sire!” said the young man, throwing himself on his knees, “somebody seeks my ruin!  I know nothing of this money which I have just found in my pocket!” “My young friend,” replied Frederick, “God often does great things for us even in our sleep.  Send that to your mother, salute her on my part, and assure her that I will take care of both her and you.”

Beauties of History.

* * * * *

THE SPANIELS OF THE MONKS OF ST. BERNARD.

The convent of the Great St. Bernard is situated near the top of the mountain known by that name, near one of the most dangerous passes of the Alps, between Switzerland and Savoy.  In these regions the traveller is often overtaken by the most severe weather, even after days of cloudless beauty, when the glaciers glitter in the sunshine, and the pink flowers of the rhododendron appear as if they were never to be sullied by the tempest.  But a storm suddenly comes on; the roads are rendered impassable by drifts of snow; the avalanches, which are huge loosened masses of snow or ice, are swept into the valleys, carrying trees and crags of rock before them.

[Illustration:  Convent of Mont st. Bernard.]

The hospitable monks, though their revenue is scanty, open their doors to every stranger that presents himself.  To be cold, to be weary, to be benighted, constitutes the title to their comfortable shelter, their cheering meal, and their agreeable converse.  But their attention to the distressed does not end here.  They devote themselves to the dangerous task of searching for those unhappy persons who may have been overtaken by the sudden storm, and would perish but for their charitable succour.  Most remarkably are they assisted in these truly Christian offices.  They have a breed of noble dogs in their establishment, whose extraordinary sagacity often enables them to rescue the traveller from destruction.  Benumbed with cold, weary in the search of a lost track, his senses yielding to the stupefying influence of frost, the unhappy man sinks upon the ground, and the snow-drift covers him from human sight.  It is then that the keen scent and the exquisite docility of these admirable dogs are called into action.  Though the perishing man lie ten or even twenty feet beneath the snow, the delicacy of smell with which they can trace him offers a chance of escape.  They scratch away the snow with their feet; they set up a continued hoarse and solemn bark, which brings the monks and labourers of the convent to their assistance.