The beautiful tree which our engraving represents, is one of the most curious ornaments of a charming estate called Matibo, situated in the neighborhood of Savigliano, in Piedmont. It was planted more than sixty years ago, but it is not more than twenty-five or thirty years since the idea was started of making it grow in the form of a temple, which, after much time and perseverance, was completely realized.
This elegant little edifice consists of two stories, each of which has eight windows, and is capable of containing twenty persons. The floors are formed of branches twined together with great skill, and by nature are covered with leafy carpets; all round the verdure has formed thick walls, where a great number of birds have taken up their sojourn.
The proprietor of the island of Matibo has never disturbed those joyous little songsters, but has rather encouraged them; and at all hours of the day they may be heard fearlessly sporting and warbling, by the delighted visiters, who, looking from the windows, admire the prospect that opens before them.
The Lost Found.
In the south-eastern part of France is a range of mountains called the Cevennes. The highest points are about as elevated as Mount Washington, in New Hampshire. These mountains are remarkable for their wild, rugged, and broken character, and for the furious storms and tempests to which they are subject. In winter the snow falls to a great depth, and sometimes the inhabitants, being buried in the drifts, cut arch-ways beneath, and thus pass from one house to another.
These wild regions are not only celebrated in history as being the places of refuge to which the Huguenots retreated during their fearful and bloody persecution—about two hundred and fifty years ago—but as producing a race of people of peculiarly adventurous habits. Surrounded by natural objects of a savage aspect—grisly rocks, dark cavernous ravines—and trees hoary with age; their memories tinged with the traditionary romances attached to their ancestors; battling day by day with a sterile soil and a rugged climate for subsistence; often disputing with the bear and the wolf their very habitations; and, above all, touched with the lights and shadows of religion, mingled with various superstitions; these people present an interesting subject of regard to the student of human nature. Leaving them to the philosophers, however, it is our present design merely to tell a story which may shed some little light on the modes of life which prevail among these people.
In a little hamlet embosomed in the mountains, lived Pierre Bec, a poor laborer, with his only daughter, Aimee. Their house was of rough stone, laid in mud, and covered with pieces of bark as a roof. Here they dwelt with no other companions than a dog, named Tonnerre, which, in English, means thunder.
Aimee’s mother died when she was an infant; and after she could run alone, the little girl was left pretty much to her own guidance. The hamlet where she dwelt, consisted of only a dozen hovels, much like her own home. These were situated on an elevated ridge, in the very bosom of the mountain, and surrounded with wooded cliffs and dizzy precipices. A scene more wild, remote and lonely could scarcely be imagined.
Here Aimee grew to the age of nine years, and at that period she had not only become familiar with the scenes around, but, like the wild goats, she could climb the cliffs and thread the dells as fearlessly as if she had wings to support her, in case her foot should slide. Nor was this all. She could even go to the market town of Laperdu, a distance of seven miles, and return in the course of the day, having carried and sold a pair of stockings which had been made with her own hands.