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warm.
    Besides the wood, Jacques came across a heap of fir cones, which he had collected the previous summer, and fortunately neglected to carry down to the valley: these would serve as an excellent substitute for fuel; and should it be necessary, they could burn the hay-racks and the mangers in the stable; the old man saying: “If the ship is in danger, the cargo must be cast into the sea.” On account of the far advanced season, the chalet was partially unfurnished, the greater part of the effects having been taken down to the village. The great caldron had been left, a few cooking utensils, and some tools: the edge of the axe, to be sure, was notched and jagged, and the saw dull; but these were, in their situation, invaluable treasures: they had each, also, their pocketknives. But it was much worse with the provisions: they found only three loaves of Westphalia rye bread, of the kind that can be kept for a year or longer, and which becomes so hard that it must be chopped up with an axe or hatchet. These were stowed away in an old oaken closet, where they discovered, besides, some salt, ground coffee, oil, and quite a quantity of lard—treasures which they, in their present situation, would not have exchanged for their weight in gold.
    “The lard will prove very acceptable to us,” said Jacques, as he placed it carefully in one of the drawers.
    “It certainly will,” replied his grandfather, “but we dare not use it in our cooking: we must preserve it for the winter, for fear our small stock of oil runs out.”
    “That would be better, grandfather,” said the boy; “it is too dreary to live in perpetual night.” And now the groping hand of the boy pulled out from behind the oaken closet an old, dusty book, quite covered with cobwebs, which must have lain there, forgotten, for many long years. The old man’s heart throbbed with joy as Jacques opened it, and read the title: “Thomas á Kempis.”
    “Oh! my son,” he cried, as he heard the name, “that is the best friend, except God’s Holy Book, that could visit us in our solitude; a blessed treasure to all unhappy sufferers; it teaches us that there is only one evil in this world of ours: ‘to forget God;’ and only one source of happiness: ‘to love God.’ You see, my child, though solitary, we are not forsaken; we have found many things to nourish the body; and now we possess, also, most precious nourishment for our souls: it will impart to us much comfort, strength, and encouragement. God be thanked for this proof of his love.”
    The rest of the day was passed in a further investigation, resulting, however, in no new discovery of importance; but well satisfied with their day’s work, they laid themselves down to rest, their hearts filled with thankfulness toward God, who had so manifestly exhibited his loving-kindness and watchful care for them.
    Upon awakening the next morning, they found the snow was still falling; it was the 27th day of November: even on the mountains, and during this season of the year it was exceedingly rare to see so great a quantity of snow fall. The deeper the snow, the lower the hopes for release of the poor prisoners. Jacques, who had always entertained a firm hope that his father could overcome all obstacles to affect their rescue, now sank into despondency. His grandfather saw the necessity of changing the current of his thoughts: employment, physical or mental, he knew would prove the most effectual method of effecting the desired result. Exerting himself to the utmost, he talked with him, giving him, sometimes, riddles and examples which would require all his mind and memory to solve; and when he became weary of this employment, he would relate to him many pleasing incidents from the varied experiences of his long life, or from interesting books he had read: his manner was pleasing and instructive, and in this way many a good lesson was learned, as well as many an otherwise sorrowful hour passed pleasantly away.
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