His awe-struck knaves would raise him up,
And seek with wine him to restore,

But he would dash away the cup
And swear the blood-red wine was gore.

At night his was a fitful sleep,
Although so weary and so old;
With ev'ry breath his flesh did creep,
His IRON HEART made him a-cold.

At length he died-unshriven died,
Though three great abbots proffer'd aid.
His corse they holy rites denied,
And in unhallowed ground 'twas laid:
The delvers sung that dug the hole;
And as they bore him from the cart
None pray'd for mercy on his soul,
But curs'd aloud the IRON HEART.

M. L.

THE WINTER ROBIN.

I MEAN to say that the man or woman who can deny that the robin which conducted Jane Foster over the moor, and saved her from perishing in the snow last winter, was commissioned by Heaven, is not a whit better than a Pagan. I hold fast to that; if I didn't, I should be a Pagan myself. I don't-and I would wish this to be distinctly understood-I don't believe all that is told about it. For instance, when the neighbours assert that the robin changed its shape after leading her to the cottage door, and that she saw an angel spread his wings and rise from the ground, and that she watched him in dumb awe till he disappeared in the thick, vapoury atmosphere, or was hidden by the blinding snow that came feathering down-I don't believe that. Neither do I much credit the tale which her old grandmother repeats with an air, it is true, of great veracity, how that sitting by her fireside at the time when Jane must have been crossing the moor, and fretting herself lest the child should lose her way in the snowstorm, she heard songs floating in the air which no earthly voice could have sung-sweet holy songs about the love which the Divine Friend bore towards little children while he was on earth,

and how he loves and cherishes them now, looking down upon them from his far, high home.

It was a very cold morning, and they had eaten little on the previous day; and for many days past the cloth had been spread upon the cottage table for potatoes alone. Fuel they possessed, the windfalls of the woods, gleaned before the severe weather set in; but only one crust of bread on that cold morning, and no money to purchase any, while, alack, alack! the baker refused further credithaving three shillings and fourpence already scored against them. So Jane pretending that the crust was larger than it really was, and that she had satisfied her appetite, soaked it in some warm milk for her grandmother, and carried it to the old woman's bedside. Grandmam," said the child, "I want to go to Rookfield

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to-day.

"To Rookfield!" exclaimed the old woman. "Is the girl mad, to think of going to Rookfield this weather?"

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But grandmam, what are we to do? We have no bread, and no potatoes."

"Is it to get bread and potatoes you would trudge sixteen miles afoot on a lone common with snow-drifts higher than the hedges? No, no, Jane, stay at home, and—”

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Why should we starve-isn't there a God above us all?" "Yes, grandmam."

"And does he not feed the young ravens that call upon Him?" "Yes, grandmam."

"And do not we say our prayers morn and night ?-Why then should you go to Rookfield?"

"Because, dear grandmam, God only helps those who help themselves. If we wait both at home, bread won't fall into our laps. I must go out and seek it."

"Beg?"

"Yes; I will tell the gentlefolks, as they pass by, that I have a grandmother at home who is very old and ailing, and that we have no food to eat. Oh, they are very generous-are the rich people, for they are Christians, you know, grandmam; and does not Scripture say, 'He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord ?'

"My poor, poor child! my poor Jane!"

The girl was very simple-so simple indeed as to imagine that she had but to utter, in sincere and appealing tones, a true and moving tale to gain compassion, and, what was of more consequence to her, relief. The old woman, though simple enough in her way, was wiser on that point than her grandaughter. She had seen a little of the world, and knew that the Christianity of the rich is too often, like the working-man's best garment, worn only on Sundays.

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My poor Jane, do you suppose that the gentlefolks will listen to you?"

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Yes, grandmam; why not? I shall tell them that you are old and hungry.'

"Does it snow now, Jenny bird?"

"No, grandmam: it is quite fine, and I shan't feel the cold, I walk so fast, you know."

"You shall go to Rookfield.

God will protect my darling.

Fetch me that box, and give me the key from my pocket." "Yes, grandmam. Oh, how good you are to let me go." "Not to beg, my child; you shan't beg yet. I've something left in this box that will keep the wolf from the door a little longer, and who knows but what- -but there," added the old woman, checking herself, and speaking below her breath, "best to say nothing of him. Poor Richard, we shall see you no more till we

meet in heaven.”

She drew forth a chain from the box-a gold wedding ring, which, if we may judge from the interest with which she surveyed it, she prized highly. The girl had hastily attired herself in shawl and bonnet, both greatly the worse for wear, as the saying is, and offering but slight protection from the severity of the season.

"Take that to the pawn-shop at Rookfield, and ask them to lend you ten shillings upon it. Mind you don't lose it, and see that you bring the ticket and money safe home," said the old woman, placing the chain, carefully wrapped in paper, into the girl's hand.

Cheerily, cheerily, Jane departed on her mission. Blithe as the summer lark-light and agile as the skipping fawn-shaking her glossy curls as she ran her cheeks glowing with the exercise. She sang like a delighted bird pouring forth rich notes, all the richer for that they were wild and lacked the culture that would have fitted them for the ear of refinement. Onward and onward. Eight miles were accomplished. She was at Rookfield.

She entered the pawnbroker's shop boldly, for she was not ashamed of honest poverty, and felt, perhaps, like many others who have sought, under temporary need, the same accommodation, that it is better to borrow money of a tradesman (not an usurer) in the way of business, than to ask a loan from a friend. The shopman, after many questions, and much impertinence, for he saw the girl was poor, and, in his own opinion, he was an individual of great importance himself, consented to take the ring, but would only lend half the sum demanded.

"Five shillings, and if you don't redeem it I shall lose by it," said the man, with as much apparent sincerity as if he spoke the truth.

"Well then, five shillings," sighed Jane.

The ticket was made out. The money was paid, and Jane left the shop. It was a great disappointment to have got only five shillings for the ring. It would not last long, husband it as best they might. She was strongly tempted to beg. Would her grandmother be angry? It was market-day at Rookfield, and there were many well-dressed people walking in the streets-ladies with smiling, happy faces-some of them leading by the hand little girls, younger than herself, who were snugly wrapped up in furs and pelisses. Then these ladies were buying at the shopsnot mere necessaries, but luxuries and dainties-toys for their children, ornaments for their houses, fruits and preserves for family enjoyment.

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Ah," thought Jane, "those ladies who have so much money to spend will not refuse to help me. I won't show them the five shillings -but no-no, and she hastily corrected herself, "I have five shillings, and that, as grandmam says, will keep the wolf from the door. There are poor folks here who, perhaps, have not a penny, let them get alms from those who are disposed to give. If I were to beg, I should only wrong such as have neither money nor food."

Thoughts akin to these passed rapidly through the girl's mind, and she determined to return home without delay, lest her grandmother should grow uneasy at her long absence. And, in the act of increasing her pace, she felt for her money, which, folded in paper, she had thrust into her bosom, to assure herself that it was safe. Alas, alas! it was gone! The ticket was also gone. and palpitating heart, she Overpowered by her mis

They were gone. With ashy face felt and felt again. They were gone.

fortune, she sat down upon a doorstep and wept in agony. The house to which the doorstep belonged was evidently the habitation of a wealthy individual. It was situated in the aristocratic quarter of Rookfield. Moreover it was exactly fronting the Church, whose taper spire pointed, like the clergyman's Sabbath finger, upward; and which, being thus set, even on week days, before the eyes of those who dwelt in this and the adjoining houses, could not but revive in their minds each morning, and every hour of the days of labour, those lessons which had sunk so deep into their hearts therein, on the preceding day of rest and worship. Not that the owner of the house in question could be supposed to need such admonition, for he-the proprietor of the doorstep upon which poor Jenny sat and wept-was the clergyman. Opportunely, or otherwise, it happened that at this critical time the reverend gentleman, who had been summoned half an hour before to attend the bedside of a dying man, returned home, accompanied by a friend who had joined him on the way.

"What-what-what is this?" exclaimed the clergyman, pointing with his gold-headed cane to the weeping girl. "A child crying on my doorstep. Really, how inattentive the servants are! The old cry, I dare say. Eh, Fisher? Want, hungerthat's it, eh?"

"I shouldn't wonder," replied the reverend gentleman's companion, with a shrug.

"Come-come-speak out, child," cried the pastor. "Didn't you hear me ask you what was the matter? Do you know who I am-eh? I am a clergyman and a magistrate! Do you hear that? I allow no beggar in Rookfield. I send them all to prison. What, you an't frightened-an't you ?"

Certainly Jane Foster, although she had risen hastily and was wiping her eyes, was not in the least alarmed. She curtseyed to the gentlemen, and was in the act of moving away.

"Stop-stop-not so fast. I asked you what was the matter? She does look faint,-does she not, Fisher?" said the clergyman. "Y-e-s, I think she does, a little," replied Fisher.

And if she did, there was nothing extraordinary in the circumstance, for she had walked a long distance, and had not broken her fast since the previous day, and then she had dined off potatoes.

"I feel confident that this is a case of imposition," whispered the clergyman to his companion, with a singular inattention to his