over the border-land into the country that rightfully belongs to it. Do you know what witches are?"

"Yes," said Harry, confidently, for this was a subject on which he felt quite at home; "witches are bad fairies."

"Quite right, my little man, and they live in the land. of Fancy, where they play all manner of wicked pranks, much to the annoyance of its peaceable and well-behaved inhabitants. But as long as they keep there they are in their right place, and all the good people who come down on them with tracts and sermons will not be able to put an end to them. It is when they pretend to come into the land of Reality that people are frightened, and mischief is done."

"But you don't mean that anybody could be so stupid as to expect to see a real bad fairy, spoiling the fruit in the orchard, or putting bad presents into a baby's cradle," the little boy interrupted.

"That is exactly what I do mean. People's eyes were so blinded by those long shadows that remained upon the world when the glorious Sun of truth was, in a way, newly-risen, that they thought they could see real witches going about, and doing harm to real persons and things."

"They never read about the White Cat," said Harry, thoughtfully, "nor about the little girl that talked frogs and snakes, nor the story of Beauty and the Beast. Those tales would have made them understand things better."

"Probably their education was sadly neglected in that respect," answered U, "and a most dreadful persecution

Q

arose out of their ignorance, worse than any of the wars that you hear people talking of in these days."

"Now I wish I could understand that," Harry remarked; "for suppose I fancied I could see a bad fairy sitting there, under the sign of the Unicorn, and I threw a stone at her, nobody would be hurt, because there is nothing there at all, so no harm would be done.”

"Not the least; but unfortunately in those days people did not adopt the simple and praiseworthy plan of throwstones at nothing, and making believe that it was something; they took good aim at something and made believe that it was something else, as you would do if some harmless old woman were to rest on the bench beneath the Unicorn, and you were to pelt her with stones, as a bad fairy."

"Only I wouldn't," said Harry.

"Of course not, because you live in clearer light, and you know better. But in former times a most frightful struggle went on between Truth and Fable; the Lion. and the Unicorn fought desperately for the crown, and it seemed as if the unreal terrors would prevail against the courage and intelligence that the Lion stands for. But the victories of Fable over Truth are shams, like the Unicorn himself, and it is the Lion who conquers at last. Truth has won the day, and nobody now thinks of mistaking a harmless man or woman for a magician or a witch, to be treated a good deal worse than the bad fairies are at the end of a fairy tale. I must keep to the rules, and not tell you anything that would shock or distress you, so I will not describe the sufferings that

were inflicted on those who were suspected of being wizards and witches, only because people had taken fright at something as unreal as the Unicorn on the signpost, and Fable was fighting hard for a victory over them, winning it indeed, but only for a little while, for Truth conquers in the end, and the Lion beats the Unicorn, according to the ancient rhyme."

"But what good does that do to the people who were killed and ill-treated?" asked Harry.

"No one can answer that question; victories cost something, and somebody must pay for them. It makes one feel sorrowful to think how very much this victory cost a number of innocent people, but there are so many sad things in the world, that it is not easy to keep them out of a day of wonders even; and perhaps no story-book and no day of our lives would be the better if everything sad were kept strictly away. But this talk puzzles you, and the business of the letters is to make things plain, not to perplex. What do you think of the picture-land that Unicorns live in?"

"I like pictures," Harry replied," and I want to know something about those strange times when such creatures as unicorns were believed in."

"Ah! that takes us back nobody knows how far, through those armies of fables that frightened men once, when they knew no better than to believe them; through the times of astrologers, alchemists, and sorcerers, past dragons, enchanters, and giants, to the shining realms of Heraldry, where golden stars blaze out from silver shields, and horses with gorgeous trappings bear mailed knights

to battle. There the pomp and pride of a buried age marches past us, plumes nod and banners wave, and the Unicorn, if he breathed at all, would breathe his native air, with griffins, winged horses, and vampires. From that dim land where they once walked in light, clad in the belief of the people, they look out at us now, still splendid in blue and silver, though it is only the splendour of a dream. Seen from this distance of time, the knights look grand in their armour, every spear seems levelled against a wrong, and the man who invented a shirt of mail shines out as a public benefactor."

"I would rather have invented a pump," said Harry. "I believe you, my boy," answered U.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A VIPER'S SORROWS.

Vwas a VIPER, as silent as death.”

HE Viper was basking in the sun, on a little hillock

THE

of sand, not more than two hundred yards from the roadside inn. He was rather large, unpleasant in colour, with eyes that feared, and hated, and watched all at once, and his whole appearance was viperish.

"I don't think I want to talk to him, thank you," said Harry to V; "he isn't nice."

V smiled by widening himself at the top, till Harry thought that he must break somewhere, like a merry thought that two children are tugging at.

"He is quite harmless to-day," said he, " and indeed the venom of an English viper is not very deadly at any time. He is a poor hunted creature."

"I don't like snakes," said Harry.

"Very few human beings do; it seems as if creatures with two legs dislike creatures that have a great many legs, and also those that have none at all. You don't like spiders and centipedes, I suppose?"