guide books and read of remarkable sights which are to be seen. They
visit Chillon, they stand upon the little island, with its three
acacias--out on the lake--and they read in the book about the
betrothed ones, who sailed over one evening in the year 1856;--of the
death of the bridegroom, and: "it was not till the next morning, that
the despairing shrieks of the bride were heard on the coast!"

The book does not tell, however, of Babette's quiet life with her
father; not in the mill, where strangers now dwell, but in the
beautiful house, near the railway station. There she looks from the
window many an evening and gazes over the chestnut trees, upon the
snow mountains, where Rudy once climbed. She sees in the evening hours
the alpine glow--the children of the Sun encamp themselves above, and
repeat the song of the wanderer, whose mantle the whirlwind tore off,
and carried away: "it took the covering but not the man."

There is a rosy hue on the snow of the mountains; there is a rosy hue
in every heart, where the thought dwells, that: "God always gives us
that which is best for us!" but it is not always revealed to us, as it
once happened to Babette in her dream.




The Butterfly.


The butterfly wished to procure a bride for himself--of course, one of
the flowers--a pretty little one. He looked about him. Each one sat
quietly and thoughtfully on her stalk, as a young maiden should sit,