(hla rea Alay cere advocates of social purity. It is very subtle, very seductive. I refer to efforts made—I will not say with conscious irreverence, or any sense of religious incongruity—but with a desire to catch the populace ; the hook of worship being baited with an excess of captivating sensationalism. This is a great devotional risk run in our days. We must be careful how, as it is phrased, we “fight the devil with his own weapons.” Each of us knows, or might know, enough of his or her weak side to perceive the danger; but an honest unconventional, unprofessional desire or determination to look at life in the light of Christ can alone keep Christians safe. It is easy to con- demn, it is hard to obey. Still, cordial purpose of obedience, and a conscientious individual effort to perceive that which is reverent in the Christian sense, in the great Catholic sense of the word, may keep us from being sucked into this eddy of per- missive sensuousness, which exhibits one of the greatest spiritual dangers of our day. Some na- turally shrink from it. More have to watch and repress themselves. Let us ask God that we may do so, ever taking, not the indulgent standard of a society which, with all its occasional severity, and utterances of horror when this or that crime floats to the top and shocks our sentiment of progress, takes care not to condemn itself, or pass heavy sentence upon its own lapses, but the grand old law which comes down to us out of the past—Righteousness exalteth a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people—a law which, though it may seem to rise in ages past, yet has its root in Him who said, “ Before Abraham was, I am,” and who is not only our Saviour, but our J udge. —_—__» THE QUEEN OF THE BEES. By MM. Ercemann-CuHarrtan. 6s om |OING from Motiers-Travers to Bou- Sei dry, in the direction of Neufchitel,” 4| said the young professor of botany, : * you follow a road shut in between two walls of rock of extraordinary height ; their summits attain the altitude of five or six hundred feet, and are charmingly clothed with wild plants, with mountain basil (thymus alpinus), ferns (poly- podium), with whortle berry (vitis idea), with creeping ivy, and other climbing plants. “The road winds through this pass: it rises, descends, turns, slopes gently or rises suddenly, following the thousand undulations of the ground, Grey rocks overhang it, or stand apart and dis- close the blue distance, the deep and melancholy shades, and the clumps of pines as far as eye can reach, “Behind all this, flows the Reuss, which leaps | completely set my mind at rest with regard to such} 88 THE QUEEN OF THE BEES. in cascades, creeps under the thickets, foams, fumes, and thunders in the chasms; the echoes bring to the ear the tumult and the roaring of its waves, in a deep, continuous murmuring. “ Since my departure from Tubingen, the weather had always been fine ; but as I reached the summit of this gigantic staircase, about two leagues from the little village of Noir Saigue, all at once I saw huge, heavy clouds passing overhead, which rapidly filled the whole pass. Although it was only two o’clock in the afternoon, the sky grew as dark as at nightfall, and I foresaw a terrible storm. “ Looking carefully about me in all directions in search of a shelter, I perceived, through one of those large openings which disclose the view of the Alps, on a slope inclining towards the lake, an old weather-beaten chalet, overgrown with moss, with little round window-panes, overhanging roof covered with large stones, outside staircase with a carved banister, and arched baleony where the Swiss | girls hang out their clothes to dry, and air their short scarlet petticoats. “ At the left of this building, an immense bee- house, resting on boards, projected over the valley. “You may easily imagine that without losing a minute, I set to work to cut my way through the brushwood to gain this shelter ; and it was well I did so, for I had hardly opened the door, when the storm broke with terrible fury; each gust of wind seemed as if it would carry away the wooden house, but its foundations were firm, and the sense of security of the good people who welcomed me, a catastrophe. “There dwelt Walter Young, his wife Catherine, and their only daughter, little Resel. “J stayed with them three days; for the wind which had fallen towards midnight, had collected | so much mist in the valley of Neufchatel, that our) mountain was literally immersed in it ; it was im- possible to go twenty paces outside the chalet with-| out losing one’s self. Every morning, seeing me! take up my stick and buckling on my knapsack, the good folks would exclaim,— “