could make any impression on his heart of stone! he only regretted that he had spent even the trifling sum he had sent to her, on other than himself. { One day, Lisbeth sat at her cottage door, looking out on the green sward that surrounded it, whilst her busy fingers plied the distaff; the forest trees spread far and wide in every direc Peter at length determined to marry, but as hetion, but there were openings here and there, and intended to make a very prudent choice, he took the evening sun was gilding the dark green foliage, his time, and went hither and thither throughout and casting lengthened shadows athwart the the wood, and he might have had no difficulty in { woody paths; the air was sweet with the breath selecting a wife from the many fair forest-maidens. of flowers, and tuneful with the voice of birds: But beautiful as they were, not one was beautiful the lovely weather and the quiet woodland scene enough for him. He had almost given up his had a soothing effect on Lisbeth; her husband, search, when he heard that the loveliest and too, was absent from home, and, altogether, she gentlest maiden in the neighborhood was the was more cheerful than she had been for many daughter of a poor wood-cutter. Timid as she weeks past. was fair, she lived quietly with her father, and never showed herself upon the green, nor sought to join in the dances and sports which were the delight of the forest youth. When Peter heard of her, he made up his mind that she should be his wife, and accordingly he took an early opportunity of riding over to the distant hut, which had been pointed out to him as her abode. The woodman received the wealthy Mr. Munk with no small astonishment; how much more was he surprised when he learnt his errand! The answer to Peter's gracious proposal was not long delayed; the woodman promised his daughter away, without consulting her, and shortly after, the lovely Lisbeth became Peter Munk's bride. Lisbeth was young, and youth is ever hopeful; certainly she had anticipated more happiness than she was fated to experience. Her light-hearted song was soon interrupted by the appearance of a way-worn traveler; he was an aged man, but heavily laden with a great sack, which he with difficulty deposited before Lisbeth's door, and implored her to take pity on him, and give him a draught of water;" for really," said he, "I am so exhausted, that unless I have some refreshment I shall faint on the spot." Lisbeth hastened to the cottage, and soon returned with a mug of water; but when she reached the door, and saw the poor old man sitting on his sack, pale, faint, and weary, tears filled her eyes; perhaps she remembered, too, that Peter was not at home, for she put down the water, filled a goblet with sparkling wine, and carried it, with a large slice of rye-bread, to the poor traveler. The old man looked at her till large tears rolled down his withered cheeks; he then said in a trembling voice, "I am an old, a very old man; but I have never seen in all my life one who gave so freely, so kindly. You will not want your reward, however: such a heart cannot remain unrewarded!" "It shall not! the reward is ready," cried a thundering voice, and Lisbeth and the traveler beheld, with equal astonishment and dismay, the flushed and angry countenance of Peter Munk. Peter was not unkind to her, and she might have learnt to love him, but his heartless conduct to the poor around him, especially to his old mother, grieved her more than she could say. When she first entered on her duties as his wife, and as the mistress of his house, she gave away trifling sums to those who stood in need, and never let an aged person pass her door without a refreshing drink. But when Peter found out that this was her practice, and in truth Lisbeth took no pains to conceal it, his anger knew no bounds.my absence, by giving away my choicest wine to "What," said he, "dare you waste my fortune on beggars? did you bring so very much into my house, that you presume to give away what you find there? Let me hear of no more such doings, or you shall feel the weight of my hand." Poor Lisbeth's tears flowed fast, as she listened to her husband's cruel words; but had she known that his heart was hard, even as stone, Lisbeth would have wept and wondered still more! And now when she saw a beggar approaching the house, she would shut her eyes not to see his want and wo, and clasp her hands tightly to prevent them from unconsciously finding their way to her purse. "And this is the way you amuse yourself in beggars, and offering my own goblet for the use of vagabonds? There, take your promised re{ward!" Lisbeth had thrown herself at her husband's feet; she clasped her hands, and implored for. giveness; but what does a heart of stone know of compassion? Peter seized his riding whip, and, with all his force, struck with its massive handle, the fair forehead of his kneeling wife; she uttered no cry, but sank lifeless into the arms of the dismayed traveler. As he bent over the lovely form to see if life yet remained, the old man spake in a well-known voice, "It is all over, Peter Munk; you have crushed the loveliest and sweetest flower of the forest, and for you it shall never pine and saluted it as heretofore, no cheering sunbloom again." The color forsook Peter's cheek as he answered, "So it is you, Mr. Treasure-keeper? However, what is done, is done, and cannot be helped now. Jonly hope that you will not accuse me of the murder." "Wretch!" answered the Glass-man, "what would it boot me to bring your body to the gallows? It is not earthly judges you have to fear, but fear him to whom you have sold your soul." "And if I have sold my soul, I have to thank you for it! it was you who drove me to it, and on you be its blood for ever." Peter trembled at his rashness, as he beheld the changed form of the glass-man, who, in fearful rage, flung himself upon the cowardly wretch, and struck him to the ground. "Worm!" burst in thundering accents from his lips, I could destroy you in a moment, and send you to the doom you so justly merit; but for the sake of your dead wife, who gave me food and drink, I spare you for the present. Your punishment will not, however, be long delayed; } you cannot live for ever; and you shall then repent to all eternity your dealings with Dutch Michael." It was late at night when Peter Munk was found by some passers-by, lying on the ground at his own door. It was long ere he could convince himself that all that had passed was dire reality, and no frightful dream, as he had at first supposed. The deep solitude of his home was oppressive to him. True, he had a heart of stone, and could not feel; but whenever the thought of his gentle wife, murdered by his hand, came across him, he trembled like an aspen leaf; every thing seemed to accuse him and make his heart of stone heavier than lead. The tears of the poor that had failed to soften him, the curses of those on whom he had set his dogs, the silent despair of his mother, the blood of the lovely Lisbeth, all cried out for vengeance upon him! His dreams, too, were very fearful; but when his terror was greatest, a sweet, low voice whispered in his ear, "Dear Peter, seek a warmer heart." This happened for several nights in succession. Peter's remorse and dread of detection and punishment increased hourly; he felt the voice to be that of his injured wife; he thought much of the punishment threatened by the Glass-man, and at length he determined to follow the gentle spirit's advice and seek a warm heart. He put on his Sunday suit, as he had done in happier days on similar occasions, and went to the pineknoll. He soon reached the spot; the day was a gloomy one, and, as he stood before the gigantic beam broke through the thick branches over head to light up the scene. In a sad, faltering tone, he said "O! Treasure-keeper, in pine-wood green Then the little Glass-man came forth from the underwood, but he gave no friendly greeting to the unhappy Peter; he was dressed in deep mourning, his jerkin and hat of black-spun glass, and a long weeper attached to the pointed crown of the latter. Peter knew but too well for whom he sorrowed. "What is your business with me, Peter Munk?" asked he in a sad tone. "I have still a wish, Mr. Treasure-keeper," answered Peter with downcast eyes. "Can hearts of stone wish?" replied the Glassman; "you have every thing your wicked thoughts can desire, and I am unwilling to gratify them further." "But you promised me three wishes, Mr. Glass-man, and I have still one remaining; will you consent to gratify it?" "I will, if it be a reasonable one," answered the spirit; at any rate let me hear it." "Oh! Mr. Treasure-keeper," cried the wretched man, “I implore you to take this stone out of my breast; give me back my living heart! this is my sole desire on earth!" "Give you back your heart! did I take it from you? Ask it of Dutch Michael!" Ah! he will never, never give it me." "You make me pity you, wicked as you are," said the Glass-man, with a sorrowful look; " and as your wish is the best you could form, I will help you to its fulfilment. Listen and do just as I tell you." He then gave Peter directions how to act, and handed him a little cross of pure white glass. "Michael can neither touch your life nor your liberty whilst you fight him with this weapon; and when you have found what you seek, return again to me." Peter Munk took the little cross, and set out for Michael's dwelling. He called him three times by his name, and the giant stood before him. "So you have killed your wife, Peter!" said he with fearful laughter; "if you had not put an end to her, she would have ruined you with her charity; but you must leave the country for a little while; and I guess you are even now come for some money for your journey." "I am come to deprive you of some of your treasure, certainly," said Peter. Michael led Peter into his cottage, and handed forgot not his inhuman cruelty to his poor debtors; him several rouleaux of dollars. but chiefly did he think—and the thought was agony of the lovely and gentle wife he had sacrificed to his avarice. Large tears rolled down his cheeks, and deep sobs impeded his utterance, as he again found himself in the presence of the Treasure-keeper. Peter counted them over, and said, "Now, Michael, I wish to be convinced that you have my living heart in your possession, and that I { have a stone in its place.” "What! is it not so?" cried Michael, astonished; "do you not feel your heart as cold as ice in your breast? can you repent, or feel sorrow and fear? And I assure you, moreover, Peter Munk, that I have your living heart quite safe in the other room in a glass box." Upon this, the demon smiling grimly, threw open the door into the inner room, and cried, Here, Peter, come and see your own heart; does it not beat high? could wax do that?" "I do not know," said Peter; but this I know, that that heart is made of some material or other." 46 Of course it is made of your own flesh and blood, you simpleton," said Michael angrily; here, take it in your hand, feel how it throbs, and then doubt if it be yours." Peter took the heart, pressed it to his side, felt indeed its anxious throbbings, and could now rejoice that it was once more in his power. Well, how do you feel?" asked Michael anxiously. "Better than I have felt for a long time, Mr. Michael; and, moreover, I do not intend to part with my heart again, now that I have it." I see, you do not know me yet, Peter; come, give me back the heart again, if you please." Not so, Mr. Michael," cried Peter, stepping back and holding up the little cross; "I have been cheated by you, and now it is fairly my turn to deprive you of what is not yours." The effect produced by these words was fearful; Michael fell back ashamed before the cross; Peter fled hastily from the spot, followed by the ravings and threatenings of the conquered demon. A fearful storm burst over the forest; the peals of thunder were echoed by the hollow rocks around; the vivid lightning flashed across the narrow path, illuminating the dark recesses and long shadowy avenues of the pine-wood; and the tall trees swayed and creaked in the wind, whilst their outspread branches proved a slight protection to the bewildered Peter from the heavy rain that poured in torrents down. He held on his course, however, and paused not till he reached the base of the hill on which the Glass-man's pine-tree stood. { His heart beat joyfully, but his only cause for joy was, that it beat at all; for memory was busy { with him, setting before his affrighted conscience the dark catalogue of his crimes. The little man was smoking peacefully, and seemed in better spirits than before. Why do you weep, Peter ?" asked he; have you not succeeded? have you still your stony heart?" Ah, Mr. Glass-man," answered poor Peter, "when I had my cold heart I could not weep, my eyes were as dry as the thirsty flowers in July. No; I have my living heart again, but it is ready to break at the remembrance of all my crimes." "Peter, you have been very wicked," said the Glass-man solemnly; "wealth and idleness have been your ruin; but, great as your misdeeds have been, there is still hope for you. Remember, Peter, that the cold heart is gone, I trust for ever, and therefore hope for a better mind!" I can hope for nothing," said Peter despairingly. I am alone on the earth; my conscience my only companion, and an accusing conscience gives the guilty soul no rest. My mother can never forgive my conduct to her; perhaps she may be dead too, killed by her son's unkindness. And my wife! my Lisbeth! Oh! Mr. Treasurekeeper, all you can do for me is to put an end to my remorse by slaying me on the spot. I pray you, do so, and end my woes." "What?" exclaimed the little man, turning on Peter a look which seemed to chill the blood in his veins, and in a voice of terrible anger- What sayest thou? Dost THOU seek death? Thou, the miser, the drunkard, the murderer? But, be it so; I will grant your request. My axe is hard at hand." "O mercy! mercy!" shrieked Peter in agony of terror, "I thought not what I said; O spare me, spare me! I am unfit to live, but more unfit to die!" "No, no," cried the Glass-man, "it is too late now; you have asked for death, and you shall die. I will be trifled with no longer." He thought mournfully of his aged mother; he neck for the axe!" the Treasure-keeper. "But if I spare you at their prayer, it is because I have hopes that you will henceforth be a different man. I grant you life; take heed you do not abuse the gift. I grant you life, but it is upon the condition that you set So saying, the Glass-man went behind the pinetree, and was lost from sight. Peter continued kneeling on the grass, offering up such prayers as rose to his lips, and thus awaited his death stroke. Oh! the agony of those few minutes-for they were minutes, though they seemed like years-yourself in earnest to the great task of reformation. while the Glass-man was absent! When those minutes were past, Peter heard light footsteps behind him. He groaned bitterly Oh that I had been wise! oh that I had listened to advice! Oh that it were not too late now to show my contrition!" "I am come to slay you, as you desired," said the Treasure-keeper. "Will you not give me a farewell look, Peter?" Peter had closed his eyes to escape the cold, shimmering brightness of the descending axe. He now opened them, and lo, it was not the form of the old Glass-man on which his eyes first rested. A sweet, youthful countenance smiled on him, and a well-known aged face looked tearfully at him. My mother! my wife!" cried he. «Lisbeth, do you yet live? Mother, can you forgive me? Oh! this is too much, far too much." You have been greedy and sensual: now you must mortify your appetites. You are by nature covetous: now you must labor hard, and give a portion of all you earn to the poor and needy. You have neglected to pray: take heed that one night in every week-the night of the same day in which you attempted (and, but for my intervention, would have taken) your wife's life-that one night in every week, from year's end to year's end, you spend in prayer at the top of yonder mountain. And now farewell; but take heed that you trifle not with the Treasure-keeper!” Then he disappeared, and Peter, whose penitence was sincere, became the master of himself and the conqueror of his evil passions; and often, during the remaining course of his humble but pious and peaceful life, did Peter say, "It is better to be poor and contented with poverty, than to be rolling in riches and possess a COLD HEART "All is forgiven and forgotten by them," said withal!" PAUL I. IN THE PRISON OF KOSCIUSKO. BY MARY C. DENVER. One of the first acts of Paul, immediately on the death of the Empress, was to visit Koscuisko in his prison, and assure him of his kindness and consideration. By him he was soon after set at liberty; and Paul, either impressed with the greatness of his character, or, the idea of receiving his future services, offered him a pension, which the noble Pole indignantly refused. HE slept the Polish warrior slept! and o'er his Reliance in his little band-and trust within the sky! haunted mind Swept visions of departed days, the glorious, the unkind: When from his hearth the peasant rose-and from his halls the chief, And buckled on the sword, and vow'd to die or give relief: For the foeman's foot was on the soil-the soil they called their own His arm suspended o'er their heads-his eye upon the throne! How should he dread a world of foes-who never yet knew dread, With Poland's soil beneath his feet-and heaven above his head? He dreaded not,-his heart was firm-his blade was tried and true; High on the chainless winds of heaven, his country's standard flew, And brave men stood beneath its folds-the fearless and the free, Once more upon the battle-field-once more upon the Who to field, a foreign conqueror had never bent the knee! He stood, the chosen one of all, the last one who would In hope and strength renewed they came-as roused yield: With love of country strong at heart,-with courage in his eye! from long repose, And gathering to their chieftain's note- looked down ward on their foes. PAUL I. IN THE PRISON OF Far from his frozen hills of snow the fur-clad Russian came! IIe saw before him pleasant fields, and left behind a flame! A flame from every cottage roof-a flame in every heart, Where love of freedom had a home-or vengeance had a part! Unconscious of opposing foes-like wild sea-waves they poured To seize a fair defenceless realm, and met instead-a sword! And Prussia sent her battle-blast aloud upon the air, Was there no shout of anger heard?-was there no thunder there? The land that Siboeski loved,-her children, where were they? When like a vulture from the skies she darted on her prey! Did they not meet her face to face ?-upstarting in her track: Well Szczekociny's fatal field could give the answer back! The morning broke! the sun arose and looked upon the earth, And saw the sight of bannered men, all armed and hurying forth, The noblest of the band were there, the prince and peasant, all Went forth to win the battle-field,—to win the field or fall! And faithless Austria too was there!-nor felt a blush They saw the foe on every side, they grasped the cup of life, |