and the master, waking up, rubbed his nose in a passion, and exclaimed, "The cats are good for nothing; they let the mice in, who bite the very hair off my head." And, so saying, he drove all the cats away, and the mouse gained her point. The next night, as soon as the master was sound asleep, the mouse crept in again, and nibbled and gnawed at the ribbon until it broke in halves, and down fell the stone, which she then tried to push out under the door. But this latter matter was very difficult for the poor mouse to manage, and she called to the monkey, who drew it quite out with his long paws. It was an easy matter for him, and he carried the stone down to the water side, accompanied by the others. When they got there the monkey asked how they were to get at the chest. "Oh!" replied the bear, that is soon done; I will swim into the water, and you, monkey, shall sit upon my back, holding fast with your paws, while you carry the stone in your mouth you, mouse, can sit in my right ear."

They all did as the bear suggested, and he swam off down the river, but very soon he felt uneasy at the silence, and so began to chatter, saying, “Do you hear, Mr. Monkey, we are brave fellows, don't you think?"

But the monkey did not answer a word.

"Is that manners ?" said the bear, again, "will you not give your comrade an answer? Crabbed fellow is he who makes no reply." Then the monkey could no longer restrain himself, and, opening his mouth to speak, he let the stone fall into the water. Then he cried out, "You stupid fellow, how could I answer you with the stone in my mouth? Now it is lost, and all through your fault." "Do not be angry," said the bear, "we will soon recover it." Thereupon they consulted together, and summoned all the frogs and other creatures living in the water, and said to them, "There is a powerful enemy coming against you; but make haste and procure us the stones as quickly as possible, and we will then build a wall to protect you."

These words frightened the water animals, and they brought up stones on all sides; and at last came a fat old frog waddling along, who had the wonderful stone in his mouth, hanging by a piece of red ribbon. Then the bear was glad, and relieving the frog of his burden, he politely said it was "all right, they might go home again now," and so took a short leave.

After this the three beasts swam to the man in the chest, and, breaking in the lid by the aid of stones, they found they had come just in the nick of time, for he had long ago finished his jug of water and loaf of bread, and was almost starved. However, as soon as the man had taken the wonderful stone in his hand, he wished himself quite well, and back in the castle with the garden and stables. His wish was immediately gratified, and there he and his three faithful beasts dwelt together, happy and contented, all the rest of their lives.

THE SAGACIOUS COUNTRYMAN.

A CERTAIN king, walking one day in the country, in a disguised habit in order that he might not be known, met a peasant tilling the ground. His hair was as white as snow, and he worked bare-headed. The king said to him:

"God preserve thee, thou man of the earth."

"And thou also," replied the countryman, "thou master of the earth." "Why do you so call me?" said the king; "Do you know me ?"

"No." said the peasant, "but I so call you, because God having created the earth for the use of man, he ought to be the master of it."

The king seeing his white locks, said to him, "It has snowed much on the mountain."

"Time will so have it," replied the countryman.

The king perceiving that he was a man of some wit, he added, "I see

you still labour, though you are advanced in years."

"I am obliged," replied the countryman," not only to work for myself

but also for those who are older than I am."

The king asked him how much he earned each day?

He answered, "Eight pence,"

"And is that sufficient," said the king, "to support you?"

"It must do more than that," replied the countryman, "for my own support is the least of my expenses."

66

But what are your other expenses?" asked the king.

"I spend daily two pence for my own and my wife's nourishment," said he, "I pay my debts with two others, I daily lend two, and the other two I throw away."

"How can all this be ?" said the king.

“Thus,” answered the peasant, "I spend two for the nourishment of my wife and myself, and upon so little a sum you may well suppose we do not live very luxuriously. With two others I pay my debts, that is, I have a father and a mother, who are both too old to work; and by supporting them now I pay the debt I contracted when I was young, and when they kept me. Two others, which I lend, are for the nourishment of my children, who are as yet too young to be able to work; for I was not a young man when I married. This being the case, I lend them, hoping they will pay me when they shall be able to work, and I shall be borne down with years, and no

longer in a condition to labour. The two which I throw away, are for the support of the two daughters my wife had by a former marriage; for I cannot hope that they will ever pay me, as they are in fact nothing to me. Even though they should have a will to do it, when they shall be grown up, and get husbands, they will no longer have a will of their own; and as I have married their mother, I am at present obliged to maintain them." The king listened with pleasure to this discourse of the peasant, but forbade him, under the severest penalties, to repeat what he had said to any person whatever, unless in his presence. "Look me in the face," said the king, "and notice my features well."

The countryman did so, and promised to obey his commands. The king returned to the city, and the next day told the learned men of his court, that on the preceding day he had met with a peasant who was capable of confounding them all. He then told them what the countryman had said to him, without giving them the explanation: only telling them his wife and himself, two he employed to pay his debts, two he lent, and that the man earned eight pence a day; with two of which he maintained two he gave away. He asked them how this could be; but they could not guess at the explanation. The king said he would give them three days to think of it.

The doctors were very much astonished and embarrassed. At last they resolved to endeavour to discover the countryman, and get the explanation from his own mouth. They easily found what route the king had that day taken, and then pursuing the same road themselves, at last they met with the countryman who had so much entertained the king. They asked him. if he had not said such and such things to the king, to which he replied in the affirmative. They then begged of him to give them the explanation, which he positively refused. They made him a thousand promises, but he would not trust them. They went a second time and presented him with several pieces of gold, on which the likeness of the king was stamped. The he had said to the king; and as soon as they had extorted from the countrycountryman seeing these, made no difficulty of telling them every thing man the true sense of his enigmas, they returned, and explained them to the monarch.

The king was astonished at this, and doubted not but that they had found out the countryman, against whom he was exceedingly enraged; and again disguising himself, went to seek him. As soon as he saw him, he said: "Well my friend, why have you not kept your word with me?" "I, sir! I have kept my word, and have punctually obeyed your orders." "How can that be," said the king, "did I not forbid you to give any explanation to any one of the words you had spoken to me? and yet I am fully convinced that you have explained the whole to people who have made it their business to extort it from you."

"It is true, sir," replied he, "but I have done nothing more than what you ordered me. The first time they came without you, and of course I would tell them nothing: for you had forbidden me to say a word, unless I saw your visage. On their coming to me a second time, they produced me your visage, not a single one, but many of them, all striking likenesses of you, as you here see."

He then showed the king all the pieces of coin they had given him. "At the sight of these," continued the countryman, "I found no difficulty in telling them everything they wished to know."

The king's astonishment was increased at the subtlety of the peasant's wit; and judging that it was unworthy of royalty to suffer so much good sense to be buried in the obscurity of a village, he took him to court with him, and made his fortune.

SONG TO THE LADY-BIRD. LADY-BIRD! Lady-bird! pretty one, stay! Come sit on my finger, so happy and gay; With me shall no mischief betide thee; No harm would I do thee, no foeman is near: I only would gaze on thy beauties so dear, Those beautiful winglets beside thee. Lady-bird! Lady-bird! fly away home; Thy house is a-fire, thy children will roam; List! list to their cry and bewailing; The pitiless spider is weaving their doom, Then, Lady-bird! Lady-bird! fly away home Hark! hark! to thy children's bewailing. Fly back again, back again, Lady-bird, dear! Thy neighbours will merrily welcome thee here; With them shall no peril betide thee; They'll love thee and guard thee from danger or care, They'll gaze on thy beautiful winglets so fair, Those beautiful winglets beside thee!

SUMMER comes, the sportive swallow
Skims delighted o'er the scene;
Harebells blue and cowslips yellow
Deck the fields and meadows green;
O'er the busy field around us,
See the mowers ply the scythe;
Joyous hearts and looks surround us
Jocund lads and maidens blithe.

THE LEGEND OF LITTLE PEARL.

"Poor little Pearl, good little Pearl!"
Sighed every kindly neighbour;
It was so sad to see a girl

So tender doomed to labour.
A wee bird fluttered from its nest,
Too soon was that meek creature:
Just fit to rest in mother's breast,
The darling of fond Nature.
God shield poor little ones, where all
Must help to be bread-bringers!
For, once afoot, there's none too small
To ply their tiny fingers.

Poor Pearl, she had no time to play
The merry game of childhood;
From dawn to dark she worked all day,
A-wooding in the wild wood.
When others played, she stole apart
In pale and shadowy quiet:

Too full of care was her child heart
For laughter running riot.
Hard lot for such a tender life,
And miserable guerdon;
But like a womanly wee wife,
She bravely bore her burden.

One wintry day they wanted wood
When need was at the sorest;
Poor Pearl, without a bit of food,
Must up and to the forest.

But there she sank down in the snow,

All over numbed and aching;
Poor little Pearl, she cried as though
Her very heart was breaking.
The blinding snow shut out the house
From little Pearl so weary:
The lonesome wind among the boughs
Moaned with its warning eerie.
To little Pearl a Child-Christ came,
With footfall light as fairy;
He took her hand, he called her name,
His voice was sweet and airy.
His gentle eyes filled tenderly
With mystical wet brightness:
"And would you like to come with me,
And wear this robe of whiteness ?"
He bore her bundle to the door,

Gave her a flower when going:
"My darling, I shall come once more,
When the little bud is blowing."
Home very wan came little Pearl,

But on her face strange glory:
They only thought, "What ails the girl?"
And laughed to hear her story.
Next morning mother sought her child,
And clasped it to her bosom ;
Poor little Pearl, in death she smiled,
And the rose was full in blossom.

THE HERMIT IN THE WOOD. FATHER JOHN was a holy man,

And he lived beside a wood;
The bramble fruit and the scarlet hip
Were all his simple food.
'Twas when the rose began to bloom,
And flush in crimson dyes,

He said, "This blossom Adam saved
As a relic of Paradise."

And when the thrush came to the lime
To prune his darksome wing,

He said, "It is my little child's soul
An angel has taught to sing."

CRADLE SONG.

HUSH-A-BY baby,
On the tree top,
When the wind blows,
The cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks,
The cradle will fall,
Down will come baby,
Bough, cradle, and all.

THE OLD CAT AND THE MICE.

A FABLE.

A CAT, having grown old and feeble, and no longer able to catoh mice, as in her young days, when her claws were sharp, considered how she should entice the mice to jump down her throat At last she hit upon a very clever idea. She would pretend to be dead, or put herself into a bag, and hang herself up on a nail, in the hope that the mice would no longer fear to come within her reach. An old mouse passing by, in company with a friend, spied pussy's trick, and so kept at a respectful distance, whispering to his friend, "Many a bag have I seen before to-day, but never a one with a cat's head in it. Ah, Madame Pussy," said he, aloud, "hang there if you like it. I would not come nearer to you, even if you were stuffed with hay. As my neighbour the owl says, 'Old birds are not easily caught with chaff.'

"

A STORY ABOUT THREE BLIND MICE. THERE were three blind mice Sitting on a shelf eating rice; "I say," said one, "oh, isn't it nice ?" "I think," said another, "it wants a little spice."

"My dear sir," said the third, "you are rather
too precise;

Eat more, and talk a little less,
Was our poor pa's advice,

A truth he oft tried to impress
On his little brown, blind mice."

The old gray cat

Sat on the thick rope mat,

Washing her face and head,

And listening to what they said.

Stop," said she, "till I've wiped me dry, And I'll be with you by and by;

And if I'm not mistaken,

Unless you save your bacon, My boys, I'll make you fly." She pricks up her ears,

And to the cupboard goes, Saying, "Wait a bit, my dears, Till I hook you with my toes, For, as I haven't dined to day, I'll just take lunch, then go away;" And as she walked quite perpendicular, Said, "I'm not at all particular."

Without any further talk,
She made a sudden spring,
And like many clever folk
Who aim at every thing,
She overleaped her mark,
And to their hole so dark
The mice got safe away.

Said the cat, "This is notorious!"
And she mewed out quite uproarious.

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.

Or all the girls that are so smart,
There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There's ne'er a lady in the land

That's half so sweet as Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage-nets,

And through the streets does cry 'em: Her mother she sells laces long,

To such as choose to buy 'em.

But sure such folks could ne'er endure
So sweet a girl as Sally;

She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

When she is by I leave my work,
I love her so sincerely;
My master comes like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely.
But let him bang his bellyfull,
I'll bear it all for Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

Of all the days that's in the week,
I dearly love but one day;

And that's the day that comes betwixt
A Saturday and Monday;

For then I'm dress'd, all in my best,
To walk abroad with Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
When Christmas comes about again,
Oh, then I shall have money;
I'll hoard it up, and, box and all,
I'll give it to my honey.

And would it were ten thousand pound,
I'd give it all to Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

ENIGMAS, ETC.

I.

I AM the weakest thing alive,
Yet dauntless with the strong I strive;
Defenceless and exposed I lie,

Yet old and young to serve me fly.

I prize not honours, wealth, or birth,
Nor greatest glories of the earth;
And I, of all on mortal ground,
Alone an independent found.
Exempt from envy and from pride,
All that I want is soon supplied;
Unmoved by others' weal or woe,
Without a rival or a foe.

And by the wisest and the best,
My state has been accounted blest;
For Christians most advanced must be
In many things most like to me.

II.

FEW feet in breadth, few more in height,
I help you to pass to and fro,
And am as common as a stair,
But if you change my left and right.
Sixteen and a half feet long I grow,
And quarter of an acre square.

III.

READ from the left, I shall be found,

A portion of all things that are. But change your hand, and turn me round. I then am nothing but a snare.

Co., Paternoster-row.

FRIDOLIN'S FOUR FRIENDS.

T was during the time when the Saxons, who had invaded the island of Britain, and were daily gaining new conquests with the aid of their swords, axes, and bows, that the Britons were opposed by Fridolin, a young warrior, the bravest of the brave, and as generous as brave. He put himself at the head of the most dangerous expeditions; and, when his enemies recognised his crest from afar, his name echoed from troop to troop, and many a face became pale.

Fridolin often rode out alone, utterly regardless of danger, looking neither to the right nor to the left; courage had banished prudence. He passed through perils and dangers of every kind, as the swimmer stems the waves, sustained and fortified by them, till he found in them his greatest pleasure and happiness.

One day he descended into the plain alone without giving himself any concern about the chief MacDall, or any of his warriors, who opposed the progress of the Saxons. He took his way towards a castle his uncle had built, at the foot of the mountain, beside a lake, whose waters were as blue as the flax-blossom. He was mounted on his favourite war-horse, and carried a good yew-tree bow on his shoulder, while from his belt hung a battle-axe and a sword inlaid with silver. A buckler hung from the saddle-bow of his steed, which proceeded at a gentle pace, iron jingling against iron. Fridolin proceeded carelessly on his way, chanting an ancestral song, and striking with the point of his lance the light oak branches that hung from the trees by the roadside.

But suddenly he became silent, and checked his horse's bridle, upon perceiving before him, seated by the roadside, an old man, whom he recognised as the "hermit of the lone rock."

He was one of those solitary, devout men, who sought refuge, from the sinful ways of the world, in retirement to lonely mountain peaks, dwelling there with no other shelter than a hut, composed of branches covered with reeds, and occupied in healing the sick, comforting the afflicted, and preaching the Gospel

Stephen had travelled a long distance on his holy errand, and his strength had failed him. He sank down on a mossy bank by the roadside, his bleeding feet soiled with dust, and, with his hands joined upon the wooden crucifix which hung from his waist, he sought repose in sleep.

The noise made by the knight, as he drew near, awoke the old man, who raised his head, and saluted Fridolin by invoking a blessing on his head. Although the young Saxon had not yet heard the glad tidings," he had learned to respect old age, and he stopped his horse.

"What is the hermit of the lone rock doing here?" asked Fridolin, respectfully.

My son sees," replied Stephen, "that I am reposing under God's sky."

Has my father no other shelter ?"

None, hereby; and my feet refuse to bear me further." "Where do you wish to go?"

4.

"To the Castle of Sigor."

PRICE ONE PENNY.

That was the very place to which Fridolin was going. He could, therefore, take the old man there without going out of his road. Still he hesitated; but pity overcame his pride, and he said to Stephen

"If my father will stand up I will lift him on to my horse." The hermit rose up, saying

"Does my son speak seriously? Does he really mean to seat a poor hermit beside him ?"

"If my father will but make haste," replied the Saxon, stretching out his hand. 66 'My mother's brother is expecting me." Stephen did not require any more persuasion. He took Fridolin's hand, and with some difficulty seated himself behind him on the horse, sustaining himself by pressing one hand on the breast of the young chief.

"God will recompense the young man for his kindness to me," exclaimed the old man, in a confident tone.

"If He can recompense me for the service I do you," objected Fridolin, smiling, "He can also enrich thee. How is it He leaves you without succour ?"

"My son deceives himself," replied the hermit, mildly. "My God gives me as a resource the benevolence of the generous, and the pity of kind hearts. It is to Him that I am indebted for meeting with thee "

"But why does He not supply you with the horse you require? Why must you receive from another what you ought to possess yourself."

"The God of Christians has wished men to live together in brotherly love," replied Stephen, "and he has ordained want to excite compassion. If I had possessed the horse which you now lend me the use of, thy heart had not possessed the good motive which led you to offer it to me; you would not have been my benefactor, I thy protégé. It is my destitution that has excited thy virtue, and my gratitude. Worldly ties are thus formed; the weakness of each one impels all to make an exchange of services and of sentiments, which we can do without difficulty. Strong and powerful, you have this day succoured me; who knows but some day you may find protection in my weakness."

Fridolin made no reply, but a smile played about his lips. He asked himself how he, a powerful chief, could find a support in this helpless old man ?

However, he allowed the hermit to discourse for a long time of the great laws which God had given to mankind, and to explain how this human life was only the preparation for another and a better existence. Although faith had not yet visited this noble young heart, the discourse of Stephen sensibly penetrated it, and appeared to soften it. It was like a little limpid stream, which, by gliding silently through a fissure, succeeds in penetrating to the centre of the hardest rock.

While the one was speaking and the other listening, they arrived at the outskirts of a forest, where they encountered an archer, who

was attempting to repair the broken cord of his bow, but the old cord broke every time it was tried, and the archer bitterly reproached himself for his folly. "If I do not deceive myself," said Stephen, "here is a man who, for want of foresight, finds himself greatly embarrassed." "Who would wish to be in my predicament ?" cried the archer. "I set out at daybreak to hunt in the forest, and my master is waiting for the game I kill to entertain his friends with; and from neglecting to examine my bow before I set out, all my hopes are frustrated, with no means of remedying my folly. By the bones of my ancestors, I would at this moment give eight days of life for a good hempen or leather string to my bow."

my

"I hope," said Stephen, "you will be able to obtain one at a lesser sacrifice." Then he whispered in Fridolin's ear, "I see there's an extra cord wound round your bow, give it to this man, that he may remember he has met with Fridolin the Generous."

The young chief nodded assent, and unwound from his bow a fine buckskin cord, and offered it to the hunter, who overwhelmed Fridolin with thanks.

"My young lord will find me not ungrateful," he added, when he saw Fridolin about to depart; "wherever he may be, and whatever the dangers that surround him, let him call upon Nadok, and if he be within sound of his voice, he will hasten, like a faithful servant, to his assistance."

The Saxon chief thanked him with a waive of his hand, and continued on his way. The hunter's offer of service did not appear to him of more value than that of the poor hermit of the lone rock. The road now became very bad; where the horse could with great difficulty maintain its footing, for the soil was sandy and stony. It required all Fridolin's skill and care to avoid falling into the numerous holes that beset his path; he was finally obliged to seek another among the rocks.

The travellers soon recognised that this precaution was not useless, for, upon arriving at a place where the road divided into several branches, they encountered a wagon laden with corn, which the careless driver had allowed to fall into a ravine, from which all the strength of his horses could not extricate it. Losing courage, the wagoner seated himself by the road-side, and tore his hair in rage and despair.

On hearing Fridolin's horse approach, he rose up terrified. The hermit hastened to quiet his fears.

"We are not robbers, brother," said he; "you have nothing to fear from this Saxon nobleman."

Blessings on his head, then," said the wagoner, saluting him timidly, "for poor folks like me have as many enemies as a field of ripe corn. If the birds do not devour the cars the wild boars trample them down, and, to crown all, when we have managed to save a few sheaves, we try in vain to convey them home, for the quagmires swallow up what the brigands or the wild beasts have spared."

"Can you not get that wheel out of the hole?" asked Fridolin, examining in what manner the wagon was stuck fast.

"Alas! my good sir, I have tried with all my strength and skill," replied the wagoner, disconsolately, "as you may see. My horses are covered with sweat, and my hand is crushed by the shaft. I can see no way out of my difficulty except by unloading my wagon, and that cannot be done before it becomes dark, and then the robbers will come and seize both my corn and the wagon, and I shall consider myself lucky if they do not hang me up on a branch of a tree. Unless Providence interposes in my behalf, my corn and wagon is lost; and the only way to save myself is to take my horses away and leave the corn to its fate."

66

Alight from your horse, my son," said Stephen to the Saxon, "and let him see that you are Fridolin the Strong." The young chief made no hesitation, and though it was but an inglorious task for a warrior, he seized hold of a mattock, and employing it as a lever, he raised the wheels out of the holes in which they had sunk into the road, and pointed out to the wagoner in what direction he should lead his horses; and then, pushing at the wagon behind, he made it go into a part of the road where it was easy to proceed.

When he had accomplished this, and given some good advice to the wagoner, he re-mounted his horse; but not before the man had kissed his knees, and called down blessings on his

head.

66

May every prosperity attend the noble lord!" cried he; may his oxen grow fat, and the ears of his corn grow a span long; but, mowing or reaping, let him never forget that the arms of Stomar and his kindred are always at his service."

Fridolin attached no more value to the words of the wagoner than he had done to those of the hunter and the hermit.

These meetings had, however, retarded his progress, and the sun was now getting near the horizon; the road wound first among dark thickets and brakes, and then through narrow gorges in the mountains, enveloped in mist. The Saxon spurred his horse, and

soon emerged upon a barren heath. All human traces had disappeared. As far as the eye could reach no sign of ploughed field or smoke ascending from the peasant's cottage-chimney could be discerned. Only the bleating of some sheep from the narrow ravines, where grass thinly grew, was heard, and as he approached, Fridolin perceived the sheep dispersed among the bushes.

Suddenly their bleating became louder and more frequent; he saw them collect together towards the centre of the ravine, and then run towards him with every sign of terror.

"What frightens these creatures thus ?" inquired Fridolin of the the hermit, quite surprised.

"All

They

"By the honour of my mother, that is true!" cried he. the wolves in the mountain seem to have met together here. are as numerous as the sheep, and each will soon devour his own. See, already the least diligent have been devoured."

"Save the others, my son," said the hermit, eagerly, "and show the shepherd that you are Fridolin the Bold." The Saxon drew his sword, and spurring his horse, he rushed to attack the wolves, which, at first, stopped dismayed. But this was only a first surprise. Upon recognising the enemy they had to deal with they returned, and all of them attacked him at once. Fridolin turned his horse, so as to make him present his heels to his assailants, and struck with his sword right and left so vigorously that every blow cost a wolf his life. He was soon surrounded with wounded and dead wolves, whose plaintive dying howls dismayed the rest of the troop, which quickly fled to the mountains.

Fridolin himself bled from several wounds which he could not avoid. The hermit quickly exerted himself to stop the bleeding, and wash his wounds. Meanwhile the shepherd arrived; attracted by the noise, he had reached the spot only just in time to see the last of the fray. He fell at the knees of the Saxon chief to thank him.

"I am only," said he, " a poor serf, given in charge of this flock of sheep, of which my master makes me give an account with a whip in his hand. For every sheep devoured by the wolves my body will receive many blows, and I should have to pay the loss of the flock with my life. God bless you, then, you who have saved my life: if ever you require it, come and demand it of me."

Saying these words he kissed the feet of Fridolin, who ordered him to rise. Then, pressed by time and the pain of his wounds, the young Saxon passed into a defile which would lead him by the shortest road to the Castle of Sigor. Already the roof of the friendly dwelling appeared in the distance, and the lights sparkled through the gloom, when a score of horsemen, concealed in a bend of the road, surrounded the Saxon chief, and overthrew him before he had time to draw his sword. As they were binding his hands a man approached, holding a torch in his hand. Fridolin recognised MacDall! The two foes exchanged glances; the eyes of one flashed with triumph, the other with rage, but neither uttered a word. Upon a sign from MacDall, the Saxon was bound to a horse, and the troop galloped away by the road that led into the forest.

Two hours afterwards Fridolin, still bound, was sleeping on the grass in a meadow; around him glowed the light of half-extinguished fires, near which some soldiers were watching. Their chief had retired to the hut which served him for a tent, whither Stephen followed him.

While exposed to the insulting gaze of his foes, Fridolin had regarded them with cold disdain, but when left alone, his face concealed in the darkness of night, he abandoned himself without

restraint to the bitterness of his emotions.

He knew MacDall well enough not to hope for mercy, and he would have resigned himself to the cruel death reserved for him it this death had been previously avenged by an heroic struggle, but to perish miserably in an ambush, without having so much as drawn his sword!-to submit to an obscure death inflicted by chance conquerors-to fall at last uselessly to his friends and for his fame for an imprudence which they would misunderstand or blame! At this thought his heart was nigh bursting with despair. He looked desperately into the darkness to find some path of safety. He listened to the voice of the evening breeze, hoping it would bring him a sign of deliverance, but the breeze continued to stir the leaves of the oak trees with the same monotonous murmur, and on every side the night presented its impenetrable darkness and gloom. Fridolin felt that every chance was gone, he buried his face in the grass completely discouraged, and awaited his doom.

The

The moon had now accomplished one-half of her course. fires of the encampment cast a vague and lurid light around; the sentinels were drowsy: when suddenly a voice that appeared to rise out of the earth called "Fridolin." He raised himself up on his

elbow, and at a few paces distant perceived the hermit, seated, like himself, on the mossy ground.

"My son, be cautious," said the hermit, "and make no noise that may betray me while I whisper to you,-your life depends on it." "Do you, then, bring me the means of saving it ?" asked the Saxon, in a whisper.

"Stretch out your hand and feel about you," replied the hermit. Fridolin obeyed, and soon found a dagger. It was with difficulty that he could repress a cry of joy.

"Beware!" interrupted the hermit, eagerly. "Free yourself quietly from your bonds, and make your escape to the thicket on your right. I will take your place, and the soldiers, half asleep, will not perceive the change."

The Saxon executed all his instructions with so much skill and promptitude that he awoke no suspicion among his guards, and in a few moments he had glided into the midst of the thicket. He continued to crawl upon his hands and knees until he reached the forest, beneath whose thick shade he became effectually concealed. Slowly raising himself to his feet, and passing cautiously from tree to tree, he arrived at the outskirts of the forest, and soon gained a gorge in the mountain.

The transition from captivity to liberty had been so sudden and rapid that Fridolin walked on for some time without fully realising his situation. He hurried along with no other thought than that of removing himself as far as possible from the camp of MacDall. The rocks, heaths, and torrents passed before his eyes like visions, without his making any effort to recognise them. At length his breath failed him, and he was forced to stop. Turning his eyes behind him, he saw that the forest of oaks had disappeared in the darkness of night, and he began to feel joy in his deliverance, but too many dangers still menaced him to allow of his stopping to rest long. His escape must soon be detected, and the whole of MacDall's troop would follow in pursuit. And supposing even that he escaped from his foe. How, with no other weapon beside a dagger, could he defend himself against the attacks of wild beasts which swarmed on the mountain? What means had he of finding his road? Where obtain the nourishment which he already began to feel the want of? How was he to replace the clothing of which his enemy's soldiers had deprived him? These thoughts very quickly calmed his first transports of joy; he looked around him in deep anxiety, and proceeded on his way more slowly. Every moment the howling of the wolves made him tremble; the noise of the springs flowing from the fissures in the rocks sounded in his ears like the murmur of voices; the trunks of the birch trees assumed in his eyes the forms of soldiers in ambush, and he stopped till he had satisfied himself of his error.

He soon reached the edge of a torrent, which poured its stream into a deep fissure it had made in the rocks. Fridolin endeavoured to discover a ford by sounding the black waters that flowed at his feet, when suddenly he heard the noise of footsteps behind where he stood.

It was no illusion this time; he could hear the stones rattle beneath regular footsteps, and a shadow appeared at the end of the path.

The Saxon had in front of him the torrent, to the right and to the left inaccessible rocks; any attempt at flight was useless. Seizing his dagger, and plunging into the shade, he waited.

He who approached carried a bow on his shoulder, and appeared charged with a burden that impeded his progress. Fridolin, struck with a sudden recollection, leaned his head forward to recognise who it was that approached. The hunter, perceiving him, stopped. "Who goes there ?" he asked, sharply.

"One whom Nadok promised to serve," replied the fugitive, boldly advancing.

Although he was on foot, and nearly naked, yet Nadok recognised him by the light of the moon. Fridolin briefly narrated what had happened to him, upon which the hunter suddenly threw the buck he carried on his shoulders to the ground.

"By my life!" he exclaimed, "I have come in good time, for you are just in advance of those who seek you. I met them below yonder, just beyond the great oaks. They crossed the torrent at its source. Quick, and follow me, and gain the great pines; perhaps you may yet escape them."

At these words, and without concerning himself further with the rich prey which he abandoned, he took the road, followed by the Saxon, that led to the mountain gorges, crossing the gaps, and climbing the easiest slopes.

Soon they heard, above the noise made by the falling waters, the cries of the soldiers, with torches in their hands, searching every nook, and could see the light reflected on their weapons. Nadok, with his bow in his left hand, and an arrow resting on the cord, continued to advance through the ravines, ready to shoot the first one who opposed his progress. On several occasions they believed

themselves discovered, and retraced their steps in order to mislead the enemy, and made wide circuits to avoid him.

The rain, which began to fall about midnight, slackened the pursuit, and finally enabled them to breathe more freely.

But Fridolin escaped one danger only to fall into another. Heated with walking, and, almost devoid of clothing, he soon felt the icy rain which fell, and, shivering from head to foot, he with difficulty followed the hunter, who vainly attempted to encourage him; his pace slackened, his teeth chattered, a film covered his eyes, and the hills appeared to him to be whirling around.

Nadok cast anxious glances around him on every side, and at length pointed to the roof of a cottage which stood at the bottom of a little dark alley.

"My master may find a shelter yonder," said he, "but perhaps he will also find treachery Mac Dall would refuse nothing to him who would surrender such a prisoner as you. Who, then, would venture to trust such a peasant as Stomar ?"

"No," replied Fridolin, vehemently; "go, knock at his door, and say that he who rescued his wagon from the ravine into which it had fallen demands his aid and protection."

Nadok obeyed, and soon returned, accompanied by the peasant and another companion, in whom Fridolin recognised the shepherd Loriel.

Both men ran to him with great demonstrations of joy: they raised the fugitive from the heath upon which he had fallen, and lifting him up in their arms they carried him to the cottage in a fainting state. Then they made up a good fire; Stomar brought out a barley cake, and Loriel a cheese made of ewes' milk. The Saxon, revived by the warmth of the fire, ate what was presented to him. His strength, departed for a time, now revived again, and learning that he was but a short distrnce from the castle of Sigor, he rose up and requested Nadok to conduct him there.

The farmer immediately ran to fetch his best horse, upon which he assisted the chief to mount. Loriel covered his bare shoulders with a large sheepskin, and, both joining the hunter, walked before to show him the way.

By the time they arrived at the Castle of Sigor the sun had gilded the hill tops with his early beams.

Arrived at the gate they met the old lord, who, informed by Stephen of the peril his nephew incurred, was about to hasten to his assistance with some armed vassals. The young warrior threw himself into his arms, and in few words related how he had escaped. Sigor wished to reward those to whom his nephew owed his safety, but all refused any kind of recompense, declaring that they had only paid a debt, and again at their departure bestowed upon Fridolin

their thanks.

"My son need not be surprised at what they have done," said the hermit; " he who sows benefits will reap blessings. Man is not more wicked than the wild beast, and that recognises the hand that feeds it. If these three unfortunate creatures have left prey, house, and flock to secure thy safety, it is not because thou art Fridolin the brave and strong, but because all three recognised that thou art FRIDOLIN THE GENEROUS.

HOME.

HOME! how that blessed word thrills the ear!
In it recollections blend:

It tells of childhood's scenes so dear,
And speaks of many a cherished friend.

O! through the world, where'er we roam,
Though souls be pure and lips be kind,
The heart with fondness turns to home-
Still turns to those it left behind.

The bird that soars to yonder skies

Though nigh to heaven seems yet unblessed; It leaves them and with rapture flies Downward to its own much-loved nest.

Though beauteous scenes may meet its view,
And breezes blow from balmy groves,
With wing untired and bosom true
It turns to that dear spot it loves.

When heaven shall bid this soul depart,
This form return to kindred earth,
May the last throb which swells my heart
Heave where it started into birth.

And should affection shed one tear

Should friendship linger round my tombThe tribute will be doubly dear When given by those of "home, sweet home."