pentance for her disobedience. She would have melted a rock, so beautiful and sorrowful was she; but Blue Beard had a heart harder than any stone.

"You must die, madam," said he, "and that at once."

"Since I must die," answered she, looking upon him with her eyes all bathed in tears, "give me some little time to say my prayers."

"I give you," replied Blue Beard, "half a quarter of an hour, but not one moment more."

When she was alone she called out to her sister, and said to her:

"Sister Anne"-for that was her name "go up, I beg you, to the top of the tower, and look if my brothers are not coming; they promised me they would come to-day, and if you see them, give them a sign to make haste."

Her sister Anne went up to the top of the tower, and the poor afflicted wife cried out from time to time:

"Anne, Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?" And Sister Anne said:

"I see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust, and the grass, which looks green."

In the meanwhile Blue Beard, holding a great saber in his hand, cried to his wife as loud as he could: "Come down instantly, or I shall come up to you." "One moment longer, if you please," said his wife; and then she cried out very softly, "Anne, Sister Anne, dost thou see anybody coming?"

And Sister Anne answered:

"I see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust, and the grass, which is green."

"Come down quickly," cried Blue Beard, "or I will come up to you."

"I am coming," answered his wife; and then she cried, "Anne, Sister Anne, dost thou not see any one coming?"

"I see," replied Sister Anne, "a great dust, which comes from this side."

"Are they my brothers?"

"Alas! no, my sister, I see a flock of sheep." "Will you not come down?" cried Blue Beard. "One moment longer," said his wife, and then she cried out, "Anne, Sister Anne, dost thou see nobody coming?"

"I see," said she, "two horsemen, but they are yet a great way off."

"God be praised," replied the poor wife, joyfully; "they are my brothers; I will make them a sign, as well as I can, for them to make haste."

Then Blue Beard bawled out so loud that he made the whole house tremble. The distressed wife came down, and threw herself at his feet, all in tears, with her hair about her shoulders.

"All this is of no help to you," says Blue Beard; "you must die"; then, taking hold of her hair with one hand, and lifting up his sword in the air with the other, he was about to take off her head. The poor lady, turning about to him, and looking at him with dying eyes, desired him to afford her one little moment to her thoughts.

"No, no," said he, "commend thyself to God," and again lifting his arm

At this moment there was such a loud knocking at the gate that Blue Beard stopped suddenly. The

gate was opened, and presently entered two horsemen, who, with sword in hand, ran directly to Blue Beard. He knew them to be his wife's brothers, one a dragoon, the other a musketeer. He ran away immediately, but the two brothers pursued him so closely that they overtook him before he could get to the steps of the porch. There they ran their swords through his body, and left him dead. The poor wife was almost as dead as her husband, and had not strength enough to arise and welcome her brothers.

Blue Beard had no heirs, and so his wife became mistress of all his estate. She made use of one portion of it to marry her Sister Anne to a young gentleman who had loved her a long while; another portion to buy captains' commissions for her brothers; and the rest to marry herself to a very worthy gentleman, who made her forget the sorry time she had passed with Blue Beard.

THE RENOWNED HISTORY OF LITTLE GOODY TWO SHOES

A

BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH

LL the world must allow that Two Shoes was

not her real name. No; her father's name was Meanwell; and he was for many years a wellto-do farmer in the parish where Margery was born; but by the misfortunes which he met with in business, and the wickedness of Sir Timothy Gripe, and a selfish farmer called Graspall, he was ruined.

Care and discontent shortened the days of little Margery's father. He was forced from his family, and seized with a violent fever . . . of which he died. Margery's poor mother survived the loss of her husband but a few days, and died of a broken heart, leaving Margery and her little brother to the wide world.

It would have excited your pity, and have done your heart good, to have seen how fond these two little ones were of each other, and how, hand in hand, they trotted about.

They were both very ragged, and though Tommy had two shoes, Margery had but one. They had nothing, poor things, to support them but what they picked from the hedges or got from the poor people, and they lay every night in a barn.

Their relations took no notice of them; no, they were rich, and ashamed to own such a poor little ragged girl as Margery, and such a dirty little curlpated boy as Tommy. But such wicked folks, who

love nothing but money, and are proud and despise the poor, never come to any good in the end, as we shall see by and by.

Mr. Smith was a very worthy clergyman, who lived in the parish where little Margery and Tommy were born; and having a relation come to see him, who was a charitable man, he sent for these children. The gentleman ordered little Margery a new pair of shoes, gave Mr. Smith some money to buy her clothes, and said he would take Tommy and make him a little sailor. He soon had a jacket and trousers made for Tommy, in which he now appears.

After some days the gentleman intended to go to London, and take little Tommy with him. . . The parting between these two little children was very affecting; Tommy cried, and Margery cried, and they kissed each other a hundred times. At last Tommy wiped off her tears with the end of his jacket, and bid her cry no more, for that he would come to her again, when he returned from sea. However, as they were so very fond, the gentleman would not allow them to take leave of each other; but told Tommy he should go to ride with him. Margery thought he would come back at night. When night came, she grew very uneasy about her brother, and after sitting up as late as Mr. Smith would let her, she went crying to bed.

As soon as little Margery got up in the morning, which was very early, she ran all round the village, crying for her brother; and after some time returned, greatly distressed. However, at this instant, the shoemaker came in with the new shoes, for which she had been measured by the gentleman's order.

Nothing could have helped little Margery bear the