LITTLE CLASSICSEDITED BYROSSITER JOHNSON

STORIES OF CHILDHOOD

BOSTON AND NEW YORKHOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANYThe Riverside Press Cambridge

1914

COPYRIGHT, 1875, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & Co. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CONTENTS. 

A DOG OF FLANDERS . . . . . . . . . . _Louisa de la Rame (Ouida)_

THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER . . . . . _John Ruskin_

THE LADY OF SHALOTT . . . . . . . . . _Elizabeth Stuart Phelps_

MARJORIE FLEMING . . . . . . . . . . . _John Brown, M. D. _

LITTLE JAKEY . . . . . . . . . . . . . _Mrs. S. H. DeKroyft_

THE LOST CHILD . . . . . . . . . . . . _Henry Kingsley_

GOODY GRACIOUS! AND THE FORGET-ME-NOT _John Neal_

A FADED LEAF OF HISTORY . . . . . . . _Rebecca Harding Davis_

A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR . . . . . . _Charles Dickens_

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A DOG OF FLANDERS. 

BY OUIDA

Nello and Patrasche were left all alone in the world. 

They were friends in a friendship closer than brotherhood. Nello was alittle Ardennois, --Patrasche was a big Fleming. They were both of thesame age by length of years, yet one was still young, and the other wasalready old. They had dwelt together almost all their days; both wereorphaned and destitute, and owed their lives to the same hand. It hadbeen the beginning of the tie between them, their first bond ofsympathy; and it had strengthened day by day, and had grown with theirgrowth, firm and indissoluble, until they loved one another very greatly. 

Their home was a little hut on the edge of a little village, --a Flemishvillage a league from Antwerp, set amidst flat breadths of pasture andcorn-lands, with long lines of poplars and of alders bending in thebreeze on the edge of the great canal which ran through it. It had abouta score of houses and homesteads, with shutters of bright green orsky-blue, and roofs rose-red or black and white, and walls whitewasheduntil they shone in the sun like snow. In the centre of the villagestood a windmill, placed on a little moss-grown slope; it was a landmarkto all the level country round. It had once been painted scarlet, sailsand all, but that had been in its infancy, half a century or moreearlier, when it had ground wheat for the soldiers of Napoleon; and itwas now a ruddy brown, tanned by wind and weather. It went queerly byfits and starts, as though rheumatic and stiff in the joints from age, but it served the whole neighborhood, which would have thought it almostas impious to carry grain elsewhere, as to attend any other religiousservice than the mass that was performed at the altar of the little oldgray church, with its conical steeple, which stood opposite to it, andwhose single bell rang morning, noon, and night with that strange, subdued, hollow sadness which every bell that hangs in the Low Countriesseems to gain as an integral part of its melody. 

Within sound of the little melancholy clock almost from their birthupward, they had dwelt together, Nello and Patrasche, in the little huton the edge of the village, with the cathedral spire of Antwerp risingin the northeast, beyond the great green plain of seeding grass andspreading corn that stretched away from them like a tideless, changelesssea. It was the hut of a very old man, of a very poor man, --of old JehanDaas, who in his time had been a soldier, and who remembered the warsthat had trampled the country as oxen tread down the furrows, and whohad brought from his service nothing except a wound, which had made hima cripple. 

When old Jehan Daas had reached his full eighty, his daughter had diedin the Ardennes, hard by Stavelot, and had left him in legacy hertwo-year-old son. The old man could ill contrive to support himself, buthe took up the additional burden uncomplainingly, and it soon becamewelcome and precious to him. Little Nello--which was but a petdiminutive for Nicolas--throve with him, and the old man and the littlechild lived in the poor little hut contentedly. 

It was a very humble little mud-hut indeed, but it was clean and whiteas a sea-shell, and stood in a small plot of garden-ground that yieldedbeans and herbs and pumpkins. They were very poor, terribly poor, --manya day they had nothing at all to eat. They never by any chance hadenough; to have had enough to eat would have been to have reachedparadise at once. But the old man was very gentle and good to the boy, and the boy was a beautiful, innocent, truthful, tender-naturedcreature; and they were happy on a crust and a few leaves of cabbage, and asked no more of earth or Heaven; save indeed that Patrasche shouldbe always with them, since without Patrasche where would they have been?

For Patrasche was their alpha and omega; their treasury and granary;their store of gold and wand of wealth; their bread-winner and minister;their only friend and comforter. Patrasche dead or gone from them, theymust have laid themselves down and died likewise. Patrasche was body, brains, hands, head, and feet to both of them: Patrasche was their verylife, their very soul. For Jehan Daas was old and a cripple, and Nellowas but a child; and Patrasche was their dog. 

A dog of Flanders, --yellow of hide, large of head and limb, withwolf-like ears that stood erect, and legs bowed and feet widened in themuscular development wrought in his breed by many generations of hardservice. Patrasche came of a race which had toiled hard and cruelly fromsire to son in Flanders many a century, --slaves of slaves, dogs of thepeople, beasts of the shafts and the harness, creatures that livedstraining their sinews in the gall of the cart, and died breaking theirhearts on the flints of the streets. 

Patrasche had been born of parents who had labored hard all their daysover the sharp-set stones of the various cities and the long, shadowless, weary roads of the two Flanders and of Brabant. He had been born to noother heritage than those of pain and of toil. He had been fed on cursesand baptized with blows. Why not? It was a Christian country, andPatrasche was but a dog. Before he was fully grown he had known thebitter gall of the cart and the collar. Before he had entered histhirteenth month he had become the property of a hardware-dealer, whowas accustomed to wander over the land north and south, from the bluesea to the green mountains. They sold him for a small price, because hewas so young. 

This man was a drunkard and a brute. The life of Patrasche was a life ofhell. To deal the tortures of hell on the animal creation is a way whichthe Christians have of showing their belief in it. His purchaser was asullen, ill-living, brutal Brabantois, who heaped his cart full withpots and pans and flagons and buckets, and other wares of crockery andbrass and tin, and left Patrasche to draw the load as best he might, whilst he himself lounged idly by the side in fat and sluggish ease, smoking his black pipe and stopping at every wineshop or cafe on theroad. 

Happily for Patrasche--or unhappily--he was very strong: he came of aniron race, long born and bred to such cruel travail; so that he did notdie, but managed to drag on a wretched existence under the brutalburdens, the scarifying lashes, the hunger, the thirst, the blows, thecurses, and the exhaustion which are the only wages with which theFlemings repay the most patient and laborious of all their four-footedvictims. One day, after two years of this long and deadly agony, Patrasche was going on as usual along one of the straight, dusty, unlovely roads that lead to the city of Rubens. It was full midsummer, and very warm. His cart was very heavy, piled high with goods in metaland in earthenware. His owner sauntered on without noticing himotherwise than by the crack of the whip as it curled round his quiveringloins. The Brabantois had paused to drink beer himself at every waysidehouse, but he had forbidden Patrasche to stop a moment for a draughtfrom the canal. Going along thus, in the full sun, on a scorching highway, having eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, and, which was far worse tohim, not having tasted water for nearly twelve, being blind with dust, sore with blows, and stupefied with the merciless weight which draggedupon his loins, Patrasche, for once, staggered and foamed a little atthe mouth, and fell. 

He fell in the middle of the white, dusty road, in the full glare of thesun: he was sick unto death, and motionless. His master gave him theonly medicine in his pharmacy, --kicks and oaths and blows with a cudgelof oak, which had been often the only food and drink, the only wage andreward, ever offered to him. But Patrasche was beyond the reach of anytorture or of any curses. Patrasche lay, dead to all appearances, downin the white powder of the summer dust. After a while, finding ituseless to assail his ribs with punishment and his ears withmaledictions, the Brabantois--deeming life gone in him, or going sonearly that his carcass was forever useless, unless indeed some oneshould strip it of the skin for gloves--cursed him fiercely in farewell, struck off the leathern bands of the harness, kicked his body heavilyaside into the grass, and, groaning and muttering in savage wrath, pushed the cart lazily along the road up hill, and left the dying dogthere for the ants to sting and for the crows to pick. 

It was the last day before Kermesse away at Louvain, and the Brabantoiswas in haste to reach the fair and get a good place for his truck ofbrass wares. He was in fierce wrath, because Patrasche had been a strongand much-enduring animal, and because he himself had now the hard taskof pushing his charette all the way to Louvain. But to stay to lookafter Patrasche never entered his thoughts: the beast was dying anduseless, and he would steal, to replace him, the first large dog that hefound wandering alone out of sight of its master. Patrasche had cost himnothing, or next to nothing, and for two long, cruel years he had madehim toil ceaselessly in his service from sunrise to sunset, throughsummer and winter, in fair weather and foul. 

He had got a fair use and a good profit out of Patrasche: being human, he was wise, and left the dog to draw his last breath alone in the ditch, and have his bloodshot eyes plucked out as they might be by the birds, whilst he himself went on his way to beg and to steal, to eat and todrink, to dance and to sing, in the mirth at Louvain. A dying dog, a dogof the cart, --why should he waste hours over its agonies at peril oflosing a handful of copper coins, at peril of a shout of laughter?

Patrasche lay there, flung in the grass-green ditch. It was a busy roadthat day, and hundreds of people, on foot and on mules, in wagons or incarts, went by, tramping quickly and joyously on to Louvain. Some sawhim, most did not even look: all passed on. A dead dog more or less, --itwas nothing in Brabant: it would be nothing anywhere in the world. 

After a time, amongst the holiday-makers, there came a little old manwho was bent and lame, and very feeble. He was in no guise for feasting:he was very poorly and miserably clad, and he dragged his silent wayslowly through the dust amongst the pleasure-seekers. He looked atPatrasche, paused, wondered, turned aside, then kneeled down in the rankgrass and weeds of the ditch, and surveyed the dog with kindly eyes ofpity. There was with him a little rosy, fair-haired, dark-eyed child ofa few years old, who pattered in amidst the bushes, that were for himbreast-high, and stood gazing with a pretty seriousness upon the poorgreat, quiet beast. 

Thus it was that these two first met, --the little Nello and the bigPatrasche. 

The upshot of that day was, that old Jehan Daas, with much laboriouseffort, drew the sufferer homeward to his own little hut, which was astone's-throw off amidst the fields, and there tended him with so muchcare that the sickness, which had been a brain-seizure, brought on byheat and thirst and exhaustion, with time and shade and rest passed away, and health and strength returned, and Patrasche staggered up again uponhis four stout, tawny legs. 

Now for many weeks he had been useless, powerless, sore, near to death;but all this time he had heard no rough word, had felt no harsh touch, but only the pitying murmurs of the little child's voice and thesoothing caress of the old man's hand. 

In his sickness they two had grown to care for him, this lonely old manand the little happy child. He had a corner of the hut, with a heap ofdry grass for his bed; and they had learned to listen eagerly for hisbreathing in the dark night, to tell them that he lived; and when hefirst was well enough to essay a loud, hollow, broken bay, they laughedaloud, and almost wept together for joy at such a sign of his surerestoration; and little Nello, in delighted glee, hung round his ruggedneck with chains of marguerites, and kissed him with fresh and ruddylips. 

So then, when Patrasche arose, himself again, strong, big, gaunt, powerful, his great wistful eyes had a gentle astonishment in them thatthere were no curses to rouse him and no blows to drive him; and hisheart awakened to a mighty love, which never wavered once in itsfidelity whilst life abode with him. 

But Patrasche, being a dog, was grateful. Patrasche lay pondering longwith grave, tender, musing brown eyes, watching the movements of hisfriends. 

Now, the old soldier, Jehan Daas, could do nothing for his living butlimp about a little with a small cart, with which he carried daily themilk-cans of those happier neighbors who owned cattle away into the townof Antwerp. The villagers gave him the employment a little out ofcharity, --more because it suited them well to send their milk into thetown by so honest a carrier, and bide at home themselves to look aftertheir gardens, their cows, their poultry, or their little fields. But itwas becoming hard work for the old man. He was eighty-three, and Antwerpwas a good league off, or more. 

Patrasche watched the milk-cans come and go that one day when he had gotwell and was lying in the sun with the wreath of marguerites round histawny neck. 

The next morning, Patrasche, before the old man had touched the cart, arose and walked to it and placed himself betwixt its handles, andtestified as plainly as dumb show could do his desire and his ability towork in return for the bread of charity that he had eaten. Jehan Daasresisted long, for the old man was one of those who thought it a foulshame to bind dogs to labor for which Nature never formed them. ButPatrasche would not be gainsayed: finding they did not harness him, hetried to draw the cart onward with his teeth. 

At length Jehan Daas gave way, vanquished by the persistence and thegratitude of this creature whom he had succored. He fashioned his cartso that Patrasche could run in it, and this he did every morning of hislife thenceforward. 

When the winter came, Jehan Daas thanked the blessed fortune that hadbrought him to the dying dog in the ditch that fair-day of Louvain; forhe was very old, and he grew feebler with each year, and he would illhave known how to pull his load of milk-cans over the snows and throughthe deep ruts in the mud if it had not been for the strength and theindustry of the animal he had befriended. As for Patrasche, it seemedheaven to him. After the frightful burdens that his old master hadcompelled him to strain under, at the call of the whip at every step, itseemed nothing to him but amusement to step out with this little lightgreen cart, with its bright brass cans, by the side of the gentle oldman who always paid him with a tender caress and with a kindly word. Besides, his work was over by three or four in the day, and after thattime he was free to do as he would, --to stretch himself, to sleep in thesun, to wander in the fields, to romp with the young child, or to playwith his fellow-dogs. Patrasche was very happy. 

Fortunately for his peace, his former owner was killed in a drunkenbrawl at the Kermesse of Mechlin, and so sought not after him nordisturbed him in his new and well-loved home. 

A few years later, old Jehan Daas, who had always been a cripple, becameso paralyzed with rheumatism that it was impossible for him to go outwith the cart any more. Then little Nello, being now grown to his sixthyear of age, and knowing the town well from having accompanied hisgrandfather so many times, took his place beside the cart, and sold themilk and received the coins in exchange, and brought them back to theirrespective owners with a pretty grace and seriousness which charmed allwho beheld him. 

The little Ardennois was a beautiful child, with dark, grave, tendereyes, and a lovely bloom upon his face, and fair locks that clustered tohis throat; and many an artist sketched the group as it went byhim, --the green cart with the brass flagons of Teniers and Mieris andVan Tal, and the great tawny-colored, massive dog, with his belledharness that chimed cheerily as he went, and the small figure that ranbeside him which had little white feet in great wooden shoes, and a soft, grave, innocent, happy face like the little fair children of Rubens. 

Nello and Patrasche did the work so well and so joyfully together thatJehan Daas himself, when the summer came and he was better again, had noneed to stir out, but could sit in the doorway in the sun and see themgo forth through the garden wicket, and then doze and dream and pray alittle, and then awake again as the clock tolled three and watch fortheir return. And on their return Patrasche would shake himself free ofhis harness with a bay of glee, and Nello would recount with pride thedoings of the day; and they would all go in together to their meal ofrye bread and milk or soup, and would see the shadows lengthen over thegreat plain, and see the twilight veil the fair cathedral spire; andthen lie down together to sleep peacefully while the old man said aprayer. 

So the days and the years went on, and the lives of Nello and Patraschewere happy, innocent, and healthful. 

In the spring and summer especially were they glad. Flanders is not alovely land, and around the burgh of Rubens it is perhaps least lovelyof all. Corn and colza, pasture and plough, succeed each other on thecharacterless plain in wearying repetition, and save by some gaunt graytower, with its peal of pathetic bells, or some figure coming athwartthe fields, made picturesque by a gleaner's bundle or a woodman's fagot, there is no change, no variety, no beauty anywhere; and he who has dweltupon the mountains or amidst the forests feels oppressed as byimprisonment with the tedium and the endlessness of that vast and drearylevel. But it is green and very fertile, and it has wide horizons thathave a certain charm of their own even in their dulness and monotony;and amongst the rushes by the waterside the flowers grow, and the treesrise tall and fresh where the barges glide with their great hulks blackagainst the sun, and their little green barrels and varicolored flagsgay against the leaves. Anyway, there is greenery and breadth of spaceenough to be as good as beauty to a child and a dog; and these two askedno better, when their work was done, than to lie buried in the lushgrasses on the side of the canal, and watch the cumbrous vesselsdrifting by and bringing the crisp salt smell of the sea amongst theblossoming scents of the country summer. 

True, in the winter it was harder, and they had to rise in the darknessand the bitter cold, and they had seldom as much as they could haveeaten any day, and the hut was scarce better than a shed when the nightswere cold, although it looked so pretty in warm weather, buried in agreat kindly-clambering vine, that never bore fruit, indeed, but whichcovered it with luxuriant green tracery all through the months ofblossom and harvest. In winter the winds found many holes in the wallsof the poor little hut, and the vine was black and leafless, and thebare lands looked very bleak and drear without, and sometimes within thefloor was flooded and then frozen. In winter it was hard, and the snownumbed the little white limbs of Nello, and the icicles cut the brave, untiring feet of Patrasche. 

But even then they were never heard to lament, either of them. Thechild's wooden shoes and the dog's four legs would trot manfullytogether over the frozen fields to the chime of the bells on theharness; and then sometimes, in the streets of Antwerp, some housewifewould bring them a bowl of soup and a handful of bread, or some kindlytrader would throw some billets of fuel into the little cart as it wenthomeward, or some woman in their own village would bid them keep someshare of the milk they carried for their own food; and then they wouldrun over the white lands, through the early darkness, bright and happy, and burst with a shout of joy into their home. 

So, on the whole, it was well with them, very well; and Patrasche, meeting on the highway or in the public streets the many dogs who toiledfrom daybreak into nightfall, paid only with blows and curses, andloosened from the shafts with a kick to starve and freeze as best theymight, --Patrasche in his heart was very grateful to his fate, andthought it the fairest and the kindliest the world could hold. Though hewas often very hungry indeed when he lay down at night; though he had towork in the heats of summer noons and the rasping chills of winterdawns; though his feet were often tender with wounds from the sharpedges of the jagged pavement; though he had to perform tasks beyond hisstrength and against his nature, --yet he was grateful and content: hedid his duty with each day, and the eyes that he loved smiled down onhim. It was sufficient for Patrasche. 

There was only one thing which caused Patrasche any uneasiness in hislife, and it was this. Antwerp, as all the world knows, is full at everyturn of old piles of stones, dark and ancient and majestic, standing incrooked courts, jammed against gateways and taverns, rising by thewater's edge, with bells ringing above them in the air, and ever andagain out of their arched doors a swell of music pealing. There theyremain, the grand old sanctuaries of the past, shut in amidst thesqualor, the hurry, the crowds, the unloveliness and the commerce of themodern world, and all day long the clouds drift and the birds circle andthe winds sigh around them, and beneath the earth at their feet theresleeps--RUBENS. 

And the greatness of the mighty Master still rests upon Antwerp, andwherever we turn in its narrow streets his glory lies therein, so thatall mean things are thereby transfigured; and as we pace slowly throughthe winding ways, and by the edge of the stagnant water, and through thenoisome courts, his spirit abides with us, and the heroic beauty of hisvisions is about us, and the stones that once felt his footsteps andbore his shadow seem to arise and speak of him with living voices. Forthe city which is the tomb of Rubens still lives to us through him, andhim alone. 

It is so quiet there by that great white sepulchre, --so quiet, save onlywhen the organ peals and the choir cries aloud the Salve Regina or theKyrie Eleison. Sure no artist ever had a greater gravestone than thatpure marble sanctuary gives to him in the heart of his birthplace in thechancel of St. Jacques. 

Without Rubens, what were Antwerp? A dirty, dusky, bustling mart, whichno man would ever care to look upon save the traders who do business onits wharves. With Rubens, to the whole world of men it is a sacred name, a sacred soil, a Bethlehem where a god of Art saw light, a Golgothawhere a god of Art lies dead. 

O nations! closely should you treasure your great men, for by them alonewill the future know of you. Flanders in her generations has been wise. In his life she glorified this greatest of her sons, and in his deathshe magnifies his name. But her wisdom is very rare. 

Now, the trouble of Patrasche was this. Into these great, sad piles ofstones, that reared their melancholy majesty above the crowded roofs, the child Nello would many and many a time enter, and disappear throughtheir dark, arched portals, whilst Patrasche, left without upon thepavement, would wearily and vainly ponder on what could be the charmwhich thus allured from him his inseparable and beloved companion. Onceor twice he did essay to see for himself, clattering up the steps withhis milk-cart behind him; but thereon he had been always sent back againsummarily by a tall custodian in black clothes and silver chains ofoffice; and fearful of bringing his little master into trouble, hedesisted, and remained couched patiently before the churches until suchtime as the boy reappeared. It was not the fact of his going into themwhich disturbed Patrasche: he knew that people went to church: all thevillage went to the small, tumble-down, gray pile opposite the redwindmill. What troubled him was that little Nello always lookedstrangely when he came out, always very flushed or very pale; andwhenever he returned home after such visitations would sit silent anddreaming, not caring to play, but gazing out at the evening skies beyondthe line of the canal, very subdued and almost sad. 

What was it? wondered Patrasche. He thought it could not be good ornatural for the little lad to be so grave, and in his dumb fashion hetried all he could to keep Nello by him in the sunny fields or in thebusy market-place. But to the churches Nello would go: most often of allwould he go to the great cathedral; and Patrasche, left without on thestones by the iron fragments of Quentin Matsys's gate, would stretchhimself and yawn and sigh, and even howl now and then, all in vain, until the doors closed and the child perforce came forth again, andwinding his arms about the dog's neck would kiss him on his broad, tawny-colored forehead, and murmur always the same words: "If I couldonly see them. Patrasche!--if I could only see them!"

What were they? pondered Patrasche, looking up with large, wistful, sympathetic eyes. 

One day, when the custodian was out of the way and the doors left ajar, he got in for a moment after his little friend and saw. "They" were twogreat covered pictures on either side of the choir. 

Nello was kneeling, rapt as in an ecstasy, before the altar-picture ofthe Assumption, and when he noticed Patrasche, and rose and drew the doggently out into the air, his face was wet with tears, and he looked upat the veiled places as he passed them, and murmured to his companion, "It is so terrible not to see them, Patrasche, just because one is poorand cannot pay! He never meant that the poor should not see them when hepainted them, I am sure. He would have had us see them any day, everyday: that I am sure. And they keep them shrouded there, --shrouded in thedark, the beautiful things!--and they never feel the light, and no eyeslook on them, unless rich people come and pay. If I could only see them, I would be content to die. "

But he could not see them, and Patrasche could not help him, for to gainthe silver piece that the church exacts as the price for looking on theglories of the Elevation of the Cross and the Descent of the Cross was athing as utterly beyond the powers of either of them as it would havebeen to scale the heights of the cathedral spire. They had never so muchas a sou to spare: if they cleared enough to get a little wood for thestove, a little broth for the pot, it was the utmost they could do. Andyet the heart of the child was set in sore and endless longing uponbeholding the greatness of the two veiled Rubens. 

The whole soul of the little Ardennois thrilled and stirred with anabsorbing passion for Art. Going on his ways through the old city in theearly days before the sun or the people had risen, Nello, who lookedonly a little peasant-boy, with a great dog drawing milk to sell fromdoor to door, was in a heaven of dreams whereof Rubens was the god. Nello, cold and hungry, with stockingless feet in wooden shoes, and thewinter winds blowing amongst his curls and lifting his poor thingarments, was in a rapture of meditation, wherein all that he saw wasthe beautiful fair face of the Mary of the Assumption, with the waves ofher golden hair lying upon her shoulders, and the light of an eternalsun shining down upon her brow. Nello, reared in poverty, and buffetedby fortune, and untaught in letters, and unheeded by men, had thecompensation or the curse which is called Genius. 

No one knew it. He as little as any. No one knew it. Only indeedPatrasche, who, being with him always, saw him draw with chalk upon thestones any and every thing that grew or breathed, heard him on hislittle bed of hay murmur all manner of timid, pathetic prayers to thespirit of the great Master; watched his gaze darken and his face radiateat the evening glow of sunset or the rosy rising of the dawn; and feltmany and many a time the tears of a strange nameless pain and joy, mingled together, fall hotly from the bright young eyes upon his ownwrinkled, yellow forehead. 

"I should go to my grave quite content if I thought, Nello, that whenthou growest a man thou couldst own this hut and the little plot ofground, and labor for thyself, and be called Baas by thy neighbors, "said the old man Jehan many an hour from his bed. For to own a bit ofsoil, and to be called Baas--master--by the hamlet round, is to haveachieved the highest ideal of a Flemish peasant; and the old soldier, who had wandered over all the earth in his youth, and had broughtnothing back, deemed in his old age that to live and die on one spot incontented humility was the fairest fate he could desire for his darling. But Nello said nothing. 

The same leaven was working in him that in other times begat Rubens andJordaens and the Van Eycks, and all their wondrous tribe, and in timesmore recent begat in the green country of the Ardennes, where the Meusewashes the old walls of Dijon, the great artist of the Patroclus, whosegenius is too near us for us aright to measure its divinity. 

Nello dreamed of other things in the future than of tilling the littlerood of earth, and living under the wattle roof, and being called Baasby neighbors a little poorer or a little less poor than himself. Thecathedral spire, where it rose beyond the fields in the ruddy eveningskies or in the dim, gray, misty mornings, said other things to him thanthis. But these he told only to Patrasche, whispering, childlike, hisfancies in the dog's ear when they went together at their work throughthe fogs of the daybreak, or lay together at their rest amongst therustling rushes by the water's side. 

For such dreams are not easily shaped into speech to awake the slowsympathies of human auditors; and they would only have sorely perplexedand troubled the poor old man bedridden in his corner, who, for his part, whenever he had trodden the streets of Antwerp, had thought the daub ofblue and red that they called a Madonna, on the walls of the wine-shopwhere he drank his sou's worth of black beer, quite as good as any ofthe famous altar-pieces for which the stranger folk travelled far andwide into Flanders from every land on which the good sun shone. 

There was only one other beside Patrasche to whom Nello could talk atall of his daring fantasies. This other was little Alois, who lived atthe old red mill on the grassy mound, and whose father, the miller, wasthe best-to-do husbandman in all the village. Little Alois was only apretty baby with soft round, rosy features, made lovely by those sweet, dark eyes that the Spanish rule has left in so many a Flemish face, intestimony of the Alvan dominion, as Spanish art has left broadsownthroughout the country majestic palaces and stately courts, gildedhouse-fronts and sculptured lintels, --histories in blazonry and poems instone. 

Little Alois was often with Nello and Patrasche. They played in thefields, they ran in the snow, they gathered the daisies and bilberries, they went up to the old gray church together, and they often sattogether by the broad wood-fire in the mill-house. Little Alois, indeed, was the richest child in the hamlet. She had neither brother nor sister;her blue serge dress had never a hole in it; at Kermesse she had as manygilded nuts and Agni Dei in sugar as her hands could hold; and when shewent up for her first communion her flaxen curls were covered with a capof richest Mechlin lace, which had been her mother's and hergrandmother's before it came to her. Men spoke already, though she hadbut twelve years, of the good wife she would be for their sons to wooand win; but she herself was a little gay, simple child, in no wiseconscious of her heritage, and she loved no playfellows so well as JehanDaas's grandson and his dog. 

One day her father, Baas Cogez, a good man, but somewhat stern, came ona pretty group in the long meadow behind the mill, where the aftermathhad that day been cut. It was his little daughter sitting amidst the hay, with the great tawny head of Patrasche on her lap, and many wreaths ofpoppies and blue cornflowers round them both: on a clean smooth slab ofpine wood the boy Nello drew their likeness with a stick of charcoal. 

The miller stood and looked at the portrait with tears in his eyes, itwas so strangely like, and he loved his only child closely and well. Then he roughly chid the little girl for idling there whilst her motherneeded her within, and sent her indoors crying and afraid; then, turning, he snatched the wood from Nello's hands. "Dost do much of suchfolly?" he asked, but there was a tremble in his voice. 

Nello colored and hung his head. "I draw everything I see, " he murmured. 

The miller was silent; then he stretched his hand out with a franc in it. "It is folly, as I say, and evil waste of time; nevertheless, it is likeAlois, and will please the house-mother. Take this silver bit for it andleave it for me. "

The color died out of the face of the young Ardennois: he lifted hishead and put his hands behind his back. "Keep your money and theportrait both, Baas Cogez, " he said simply. "You have been often good tome. " Then he called Patrasche to him, and walked away across the fields. 

"I could have seen them with that franc, " he murmured to Patrasche, "butI could not sell her picture, --not even for them. "

Baas Cogez went into his mill-house sore troubled in his mind. "That ladmust not be so much with Alois, " he said to his wife that night. "Trouble may come of it hereafter: he is fifteen now, and she is twelve;and the boy is comely of face and form. "

"And he is a good lad and a loyal, " said the house-wife, feasting hereyes on the piece of pine wood where it was throned above the chimneywith a cuckoo clock in oak and a Calvary in wax. 

"Yea, I do not gainsay that, " said the miller, draining his pewterflagon. 

"Then if what you think of were ever to come to pass, " said the wife, hesitatingly, "would it matter so much? She will have enough for bothand one cannot be better than happy. "

"You are a woman, and therefore a fool, " said the miller, harshly, striking his pipe on the table. "The lad is naught but a beggar, and, with these painter's fancies, worse than a beggar. Have a care that theyare not together in the future, or I will send the child to the surerkeeping of the nuns of the Sacred Heart. "

The poor mother was terrified, and promised humbly to do his will. Notthat she could bring herself altogether to separate the child from herfavorite playmate, nor did the miller even desire that extreme ofcruelty to a young lad who was guilty of nothing except poverty. Butthere were many ways in which little Alois was kept away from her chosencompanion: and Nello, being a boy proud and quiet and sensitive, wasquickly wounded, and ceased to turn his own steps and those of Patrasche, as he had been used to do with every moment of leisure, to the old redmill upon the slope. What his offence was he did not know: he supposedhe had in some manner angered Baas Cogez by taking the portrait of Aloisin the meadow; and when the child who loved him would run to him andnestle her hand in his, he would smile at her very sadly and say with atender concern for her before himself, "Nay, Alois, do not anger yourfather. He thinks that I make you idle, dear, and he is not pleased thatyou should be with me. He is a good man and loves you well: we will notanger him, Alois. "

But it was with a sad heart that he said it, and the earth did not lookso bright to him as it had used to do when he went out at sunrise underthe poplars down the straight roads with Patrasche. The old red mill hadbeen a landmark to him, and he had been used to pause by it, going andcoming, for a cheery greeting with its people as her little flaxen headrose above the low mill-wicket, and her little rosy hands had held out abone or a crust to Patrasche. Now the dog looked wistfully at a closeddoor, and the boy went on without pausing, with a pang at his heart, andthe child sat within with tears dropping slowly on the knitting to whichshe was set on her little stool by the stove; and Baas Cogez, workingamong his sacks and his mill-gear, would harden his will and say tohimself, "It is best so. The lad is all but a beggar, and full of idle, dreaming fooleries. Who knows what mischief might not come of it in thefuture?" So he was wise in his generation, and would not have the doorunbarred, except upon rare and formal occasions, which seemed to haveneither warmth nor mirth in them to the two children, who had beenaccustomed so long to a daily gleeful, careless, happy interchange ofgreeting, speech, and pastime, with no other watcher of their sports orauditor of their fancies than Patrasche, sagely shaking the brazen bellsof his collar and responding with all a dog's swift sympathies to theirevery change of mood. 

All this while the little panel of pine wood remained over the chimneyin the mill-kitchen with the cuckoo clock and the waxen Calvary; andsometimes it seemed to Nello a little hard that whilst his gift wasaccepted he himself should be denied. 

But he did not complain: it was his habit to be quiet: old Jehan Daashad said ever to him, "We are poor: we must take what God sends, --theill with the good: the poor cannot choose. "

To which the boy had always listened in silence, being reverent of hisold grandfather; but nevertheless a certain vague, sweet hope, such asbeguiles the children of genius, had whispered in his heart, "Yet thepoor do choose sometimes, --choose to be great, so that men cannot saythem nay. " And he thought so still in his innocence; and one day, whenthe little Alois, finding him by chance alone amongst the cornfields bythe canal, ran to him and held him close, and sobbed piteously becausethe morrow would be her saint's day, and for the first time in all herlife her parents had failed to bid him to the little supper and romp inthe great barns with which her feast-day was always celebrated, Nellohad kissed her and murmured to her in firm faith, "It shall be differentone day, Alois. One day that little bit of pine wood that your fatherhas of mine shall be worth its weight in silver; and he will not shutthe door against me then. Only love me always, dear little Alois, onlylove me always, and I will be great. "

"And if I do not love you?" the pretty child asked, pouting a littlethrough her tears, and moved by the instinctive coquetries of her sex. 

Nello's eyes left her face and wandered to the distance, where in thered and gold of the Flemish night the cathedral spire rose. There was asmile on his face so sweet and yet so sad that little Alois was awed byit. "I will be great still, " he said under his breath, --"great still, ordie, Alois. "

"You do not love me, " said the little spoilt child, pushing him away;but the boy shook his head and smiled, and went on his way through thetall yellow corn, seeing as in a vision some day in a fair future whenhe should come into that old familiar land and ask Alois of her people, and be not refused or denied, but received in honor, whilst the villagefolk should throng to look upon him and say in one another's ears, "Dostsee him? He is a king among men, for he is a great artist and the worldspeaks his name; and yet he was only our poor little Nello, who was abeggar, as one may say, and only got his bread by the help of his dog. "And he thought how he would fold his grandsire in furs and purples, andportray him as the old man is portrayed in the Family in the chapel ofSt. Jacques; and of how he would hang the throat of Patrasche with acollar of gold, and place him on his right hand, and say to the people, "This was once my only friend"; and of how he would build himself agreat white marble palace, and make to himself luxuriant gardens ofpleasure, on the slope looking outward to where the cathedral spire rose, and not dwell in it himself, but summon to it, as to a home, all menyoung and poor and friendless, but of the will to do mighty things; andof how he would say to them always, if they sought to bless his name, "Nay, do not thank me, --thank Rubens. Without him, what should I havebeen?" And these dreams, beautiful, impossible, innocent, free of allselfishness, full of heroical worship, were so closely about him as hewent that he was happy, --happy even on this sad anniversary of Alois'ssaint's day, when he and Patrasche went home by themselves to the littledark hut and the meal of black bread, whilst in the mill-house all thechildren of the village sang and laughed, and ate the big round cakes ofDijon and the almond gingerbread of Brabant, and danced in the greatbarn to the light of the stars and the music of flute and fiddle. 

"Never mind, Patrasche, " he said, with his arms round the dog's neck asthey both sat in the door of the hut, where the sounds of the mirth atthe mill came down to them on the night-air, --"never mind. It shall allbe changed by and by. "

He believed in the future: Patrasche, of more experience and of morephilosophy, thought that the loss of the mill-supper in the present wasill compensated by dreams of milk and honey in some vague hereafter. AndPatrasche growled whenever he passed by Baas Cogez. 

"This is Alois's name-day, is it not?" said the old man Daas that nightfrom the corner where he was stretched upon his bed of sacking. 

The boy gave a gesture of assent: he wished that the old man's memoryhad erred a little, instead of keeping such sure account. 

"And why not there?" his grandfather pursued. "Thou hast never missed ayear before, Nello. "

"Thou art too sick to leave, " murmured the lad, bending his handsomeyoung head over the bed. 

"Tut! tut! Mother Nulette would have come and sat with me, as she doesscores of times. What is the cause, Nello?" the old man persisted. "Thousurely hast not had ill words with the little one?"

"Nay, grandfather, --never, " said the boy, quickly, with a hot color inhis bent face. "Simply and truly, Baas Cogez did not have me asked thisyear. He has taken some whim against me. "

"But thou hast done nothing wrong?"

"That I know--nothing. I took the portrait of Alois on a piece of pine:that is all. "

"Ah!" The old man was silent: the truth suggested itself to him with theboy's innocent answer. He was tied to a bed of dried leaves in thecorner of a wattle hut, but he had not wholly forgotten what the ways ofthe world were like. 

He drew Nello's fair head fondly to his breast with a tenderer gesture. "Thou art very poor, my child, " he said with a quiver the more in hisaged, trembling voice, --"so poor! It is very hard for thee. "

"Nay, I am rich, " murmured Nello; and in his innocence he thoughtso, --rich with the imperishable powers that are mightier than the mightof kings. And he went and stood by the door of the hut in the quietautumn night, and watched the stars troop by and the tall poplars bendand shiver in the wind. All the casements of the mill-house were lighted, and every now and then the notes of the flute came to him. The tearsfell down his cheeks, for he was but a child, yet he smiled, for he saidto himself, "In the future!" He stayed there until all was quite stilland dark, then he and Patrasche went within and slept together, long anddeeply, side by side. 

Now he had a secret which only Patrasche knew. There was a littleouthouse to the hut, which no one entered but himself, --a dreary place, but with abundant clear light from the north. Here he had fashionedhimself rudely an easel in rough lumber, and here on a great gray sea ofstretched paper he had given shape to one of the innumerable fancieswhich possessed his brain. No one had ever taught him anything; colorshe had no means to buy; he had gone without bread many a time to procureeven the few rude vehicles that he had here; and it was only in black orwhite that he could fashion the things he saw. This great figure whichhe had drawn here in chalk was only an old man sitting on a fallentree, --only that. He had seen old Michel the woodman sitting so atevening many a time. He had never had a soul to tell him of outline orperspective, of anatomy or of shadow, and yet he had given all the weary, worn-out age, all the sad, quiet patience, all the rugged, carewornpathos of his original, and given them so that the old lonely figure wasa poem, sitting there, meditative and alone, on the dead tree, with thedarkness of the descending night behind him. 

It was rude, of course, in a way, and had many faults, no doubt; and yetit was real, true in Nature, true in Art, and very mournful, and in amanner beautiful. 

Patrasche had lain quiet countless hours watching its gradual creationafter the labor of each day was done, and he knew that Nello had ahope--vain and wild perhaps, but strongly cherished--of sending thisgreat drawing to compete for a prize of two hundred francs a year whichit was announced in Antwerp would be open to every lad of talent, scholar or peasant, under eighteen, who would attempt to win it withsome unaided work of chalk or pencil. Three of the foremost artists inthe town of Rubens were to be the judges and elect the victor accordingto his merits. 

All the spring and summer and autumn Nello had been at work upon thistreasure, which, if triumphant, would build him his first step towardindependence and the mysteries of the art which he blindly, ignorantly, and yet passionately adored. 

He said nothing to any one: his grandfather would not have understood, and little Alois was lost to him. Only to Patrasche he told all, andwhispered, "Rubens would give it me, I think, if he knew. "

Patrasche thought so too, for he knew that Rubens had loved dogs or hehad never painted them with such exquisite fidelity; and men who loveddogs were, as Patrasche knew, always pitiful. 

The drawings were to go in on the first day of December, and thedecision be given on the twenty-fourth, so that he who should win mightrejoice with all his people at the Christmas season. 

In the twilight of a bitter wintry day, and with a beating heart, nowquick with hope, now faint with fear, Nello placed the great picture onhis little green milk-cart, and took it, with the help of Patrasche, into the town, and there left it, as enjoined, at the doors of a publicbuilding. 

"Perhaps it is worth nothing at all. How can I tell?" he thought, withthe heart-sickness of a great timidity. Now that he had left it there, it seemed to him so hazardous, so vain, so foolish, to dream that he, alittle lad with bare feet, who barely knew his letters, could doanything at which great painters, real artists, could ever deign to look. Yet he took heart as he went by the cathedral: the lordly form of Rubensseemed to rise from the fog and the darkness, and to loom in itsmagnificence before him, whilst the lips with their kindly smile seemedto him to murmur, "Nay, have courage! It was not by a weak heart and byfaint fears that I wrote my name for all time upon Antwerp. "

Nello ran home through the cold night, comforted. He had done his best:the rest must be as God willed, he thought, in that innocent, unquestioning faith which had been taught him in the little gray chapelamongst the willows and the poplar-trees. 

The winter was very sharp already. That night, after they had reachedthe hut, snow fell; and fell for very many days after that, so that thepaths and the divisions in the fields were all obliterated, and all thesmaller streams were frozen over, and the cold was intense upon theplains. Then, indeed, it became hard work to go round for the milk whilethe world was all dark, and carry it through the darkness to the silenttown. Hard work, especially for Patrasche, for the passage of the years, that were only bringing Nello a stronger youth, were bringing him oldage, and his joints were stiff and his bones ached often. But he wouldnever give up his share of the labor. Nello would fain have spared himand drawn the cart himself, but Patrasche would not allow it. All hewould ever permit or accept was the help of a thrust from behind to thetruck as it lumbered along through the ice-ruts. Patrasche had lived inharness, and he was proud of it. He suffered a great deal sometimes fromfrost, and the terrible roads, and the rheumatic pains of his limbs, buthe only drew his breath hard and bent his stout neck, and trod onwardwith steady patience. 

"Rest thee at home, Patrasche, --it is time thou didst rest, --and I canquite well push in the cart by myself, " urged Nello many a morning; butPatrasche, who understood him aright, would no more have consented tostay at home than a veteran soldier to shirk when the charge wassounding; and every day he would rise and place himself in his shafts, and plod along over the snow through the fields that his four round feethad left their print upon so many, many years. 

"One must never rest till one dies, " thought Patrasche; and sometimes itseemed to him that that time of rest for him was not very far off. Hissight was less clear than it had been, and it gave him pain to riseafter the night's sleep, though he would never lie a moment in his strawwhen once the bell of the chapel tolling five let him know that thedaybreak of labor had begun. 

"My poor Patrasche, we shall soon lie quiet together, you and I, " saidold Jehan Daas, stretching out to stroke the head of Patrasche with theold withered hand which had always shared with him its one poor crust ofbread; and the hearts of the old man and the old dog ached together withone thought: When they were gone who would care for their darling?

One afternoon, as they came back from Antwerp over the snow, which hadbecome hard and smooth as marble over all the Flemish plains, they founddropped in the road a pretty little puppet, a tambourine-player, allscarlet and gold, about six inches high, and, unlike greater personageswhen Fortune lets them drop, quite unspoiled and unhurt by its fall. Itwas a pretty toy. Nello tried to find its owner, and, failing, thoughtthat it was just the thing to please Alois. 

It was quite night when he passed the mill-house: he knew the littlewindow of her room. It could be no harm, he thought, if he gave her hislittle piece of treasure-trove, they had been playfellows so long. Therewas a shed with a sloping roof beneath her casement: he climbed it andtapped softly at the lattice: there was a little light within. The childopened it and looked out, half frightened. 

Nello put the tambourine-player into her hands. "Here is a doll I foundin the snow, Alois. Take it, " he whispered, --"take it, and God blessthee, dear!"

He slid down from the shed-roof before she had time to thank him, andran off through the darkness. 

That night there was a fire at the mill. Out-buildings and much cornwere destroyed, although the mill itself and the dwelling-house wereunharmed. All the village was out in terror, and engines came tearingthrough the snow from Antwerp. The miller was insured, and would losenothing: nevertheless, he was in furious wrath, and declared aloud thatthe fire was due to no accident, but to some foul intent. 

Nello, awakened from his sleep, ran to help with the rest: Baas Cogezthrust him angrily aside. "Thou wert loitering here after dark, " he saidroughly. "I believe, on my soul, that thou dost know more of the firethan any one. "

Nello heard him in silence, stupefied, not supposing that any one couldsay such things except in jest, and not comprehending how any one couldpass a jest at such a time. 

Nevertheless, the miller said the brutal thing openly to many of hisneighbors in the day that followed; and though no serious charge wasever preferred against the lad, it got bruited about that Nello had beenseen in the mill-yard after dark on some unspoken errand, and that hebore Baas Cogez a grudge for forbidding his intercourse with littleAlois; and so the hamlet, which followed the sayings of its richestlandowner servilely, and whose families all hoped to secure the richesof Alois in some future time for their sons, took the hint to give gravelooks and cold words to old Jehan Daas's grandson. No one said anythingto him openly, but all the village agreed together to humor the miller'sprejudice, and at the cottages and farms where Nello and Patraschecalled every morning for the milk for Antwerp, downcast glances andbrief phrases replaced to them the broad smiles and cheerful greetingsto which they had been always used. No one really credited the miller'sabsurd suspicions, nor the outrageous accusations born of them, but thepeople were all very poor and very ignorant, and the one rich man of theplace had pronounced against him. Nello, in his innocence and hisfriendlessness, had no strength to stem the popular tide. 

"Thou art very cruel to the lad, " the miller's wife dared to say, weeping, to her lord. "Sure he is an innocent lad and a faithful, andwould never dream of any such wickedness, however sore his heart mightbe. "

But Baas Cogez being an obstinate man, having once said a thing, held toit doggedly, though in his innermost soul he knew well the injusticethat he was committing. 

Meanwhile, Nello endured the injury done against him with a certainproud patience that disdained to complain; he only gave way a littlewhen he was quite alone with old Patrasche. Besides, he thought, "If itshould win! They will be sorry then, perhaps. "

Still, to a boy not quite sixteen, and who had dwelt in one little worldall his short life, and in his childhood had been caressed and applaudedon all sides, it was a hard trial to have the whole of that little worldturn against him for naught. Especially hard in that bleak, snow-bound, famine-stricken winter-time, when the only light and warmth there couldbe found abode beside the village hearths and in the kindly greetings ofneighbors. In the winter-time all drew nearer to each other, all to all, except to Nello and Patrasche, with whom none now would have anything todo, and who were left to fare as they might with the old paralyzed, bedridden man in the little cabin, whose fire was often low, and whoseboard was often without bread, for there was a buyer from Antwerp whohad taken to drive his mule in of a day for the milk of the variousdairies, and there were only three or four of the people who had refusedhis terms of purchase and remained faithful to the little green cart. Sothat the burden which Patrasche drew had become very light, and thecentime-pieces in Nello's pouch had become, alas! very small likewise. 

The dog would stop, as usual, at all the familiar gates which were nowclosed to him, and look up at them with wistful, mute appeal; and itcost the neighbors a pang to shut their doors and their hearts, and letPatrasche draw his cart on again, empty. Nevertheless, they did it, forthey desired to please Baas Cogez. 

Noel was close at hand. 

The weather was very wild and cold. The snow was six feet deep, and theice was firm enough to bear oxen and men upon it everywhere. At thisseason the little village was always gay and cheerful. At the poorestdwelling there were possets and cakes, joking and dancing, sugaredsaints and gilded Jesus. The merry Flemish bells jingled everywhere onthe horses; everywhere within doors some well-filled soup-pot sang andsmoked over the stove; and everywhere over the snow without laughingmaidens pattered in bright kerchiefs and stout kirtles, going to andfrom the mass. Only in the little hut it was very dark and very cold. 

Nello and Patrasche were left utterly alone, for one night in the weekbefore the Christmas Day, death entered there, and took away from lifeforever old Jehan Daas, who had never known of life aught save itspoverty and its pains. He had long been half dead, incapable of anymovement except a feeble gesture, and powerless for anything beyond agentle word; and yet his loss fell on them both with a great horror init; they mourned him passionately. He had passed away from them in hissleep, and when in the gray dawn they learned their bereavement, unutterable solitude and desolation seemed to close around them. He hadlong been only a poor, feeble, paralyzed old man, who could not raise ahand in their defence, but he had loved them well; his smile had alwayswelcomed their return. They mourned for him unceasingly, refusing to becomforted, as in the white winter day they followed the deal shell thatheld his body to the nameless grave by the little gray church. They werehis only mourners, these two whom he had left friendless uponearth, --the young boy and the old dog. 

"Surely, he will relent now and let the poor lad come hither?" thoughtthe miller's wife, glancing at her husband where he smoked by the hearth. 

Baas Cogez knew her thought, but he hardened his heart, and would notunbar his door as the little, humble funeral went by. "The boy is abeggar, " he said to himself: "he shall not be about Alois. "

The woman dared not say anything aloud, but when the grave was closedand the mourners had gone, she put a wreath of immortelles into Alois'shands and bade her go and lay it reverently on the dark, unmarked moundwhere the snow was displaced. 

Nello and Patrasche went home with broken hearts. But even of that poor, melancholy, cheerless home they were denied the consolation. There was amonth's rent over-due for their little home, and when Nello had paid thelast sad service to the dead he had not a coin left. He went and beggedgrace of the owner of the hut, a cobbler who went every Sunday night todrink his pint of wine and smoke with Baas Cogez. The cobbler wouldgrant no mercy. He was a harsh, miserly man, and loved money. He claimedin default of his rent every stick and stone, every pot and pan, in thehut, and bade Nello and Patrasche be out of it on the morrow. 

Now, the cabin was lowly enough, and in some sense miserable enough, andyet their hearts clove to it with a great affection. They had been sohappy there, and in the summer, with its clambering vine and itsflowering beans, it was so pretty and bright in the midst of thesun-lighted fields! Their life in it had been full of labor andprivation, and yet they had been so well content, so gay of heart, running together to meet the old man's never-failing smile of welcome!

All night long the boy and the dog sat by the fireless hearth in thedarkness, drawn close together for warmth and sorrow. Their bodies wereinsensible to the cold, but their hearts seemed frozen in them. 

When the morning broke over the white, chill earth it was the morning ofChristmas Eve. With a shudder, Nello clasped close to him his onlyfriend, while his tears fell hot and fast on the dog's frank forehead. "Let us go, Patrasche, --dear, dear Patrasche, " he murmured. "We will notwait to be kicked out: let us go. "

Patrasche had no will but his, and they went sadly, side by side, outfrom the little place which was so dear to them both, and in which everyhumble, homely thing was to them precious and beloved. Patrasche droopedhis head wearily as he passed by his own green cart; it was no longerhis, --it had to go with the rest to pay the rent, and his brass harnesslay idle and glittering on the snow. The dog could have lain down besideit and died for very heart-sickness as he went, but whilst the lad livedand needed him Patrasche would not yield and give way. 

They took the old accustomed road into Antwerp. The day had yet scarcemore than dawned, most of the shutters were still closed, but some ofthe villagers were about. They took no notice whilst the dog and the boypassed by them. At one door Nello paused and looked wistfully within:his grandfather had done many a kindly turn in neighbor's service to thepeople who dwelt there. 

"Would you give Patrasche a crust?" he said timidly. "He is old, and hehas had nothing since last forenoon. "

The woman shut the door hastily, murmuring some vague saying about wheatand rye being very dear that season. The boy and the dog went on againwearily: they asked no more. 

By slow and painful ways they reached Antwerp as the chimes tolled ten. 

"If I had anything about me I could sell to get him bread!" thoughtNello, but he had nothing except the wisp of linen and serge thatcovered him, and his pair of wooden shoes. 

Patrasche understood, and nestled his nose into the lad's hand, asthough to pray him not to be disquieted for any woe or want of his. 

The winner of the drawing-prize was to be proclaimed at noon, and to thepublic building where he had left his treasure Nello made his way. Onthe steps and in the entrance-hall was a crowd of youths, --some of hisage, some older, all with parents or relatives or friends. His heart wassick with fear as he went amongst them, holding Patrasche close to him. The great bells of the city clashed out the hour of noon with brazenclamor. The doors of the inner hall were opened; the eager, pantingthrong rushed in; it was known that the selected picture would be raisedabove the rest upon a wooden dais. 

A mist obscured Nello's sight, his head swam, his limbs almost failedhim. When his vision cleared he saw the drawing raised on high: it wasnot his own! A slow, sonorous voice was proclaiming aloud that victoryhad been adjudged to Stephan Kiesslinger, born in the burgh of Antwerp, son of a wharfinger in that town. 

When Nello recovered his consciousness he was lying on the stoneswithout, and Patrasche was trying with every art he knew to call himback to life. In the distance a throng of the youths of Antwerp wereshouting around their successful comrade, and escorting him withacclamations to his home upon the quay. 

The boy staggered to his feet and drew the dog into his embrace. "It isall over, dear Patrasche, " he murmured, --"all over!"

He rallied himself as best he could, for he was weak from fasting, andretraced his steps to the village. Patrasche paced by his side with hishead drooping and his old limbs feeble from hunger and sorrow. 

The snow was falling fast: a keen hurricane blew from the north: it wasbitter as death on the plains. It took them long to traverse thefamiliar path, and the bells were sounding four of the clock as theyapproached the hamlet. Suddenly Patrasche paused, arrested by a scent inthe snow, scratched, whined, and drew out with his teeth a small case ofbrown leather. He held it up to Nello in the darkness. Where they werethere stood a little Calvary, and a lamp burned dully under the cross:the boy mechanically turned the case to the light: on it was the name ofBaas Cogez, and within it were notes for two thousand francs. 

The sight roused the lad a little from his stupor. He thrust it in hisshirt, and stroked Patrasche and drew him onward. The dog looked upwistfully in his face. 

Nello made straight for the mill-house, and went to the house-door andstruck on its panels. The miller's wife opened it weeping, with littleAlois clinging close to her skirts. "Is it thee, thou poor lad?" shesaid kindly through her tears. "Get thee gone ere the Baas see thee. Weare in sore trouble to-night. He is out seeking for a power of moneythat he has let fall riding homeward, and in this snow he never willfind it; and God knows it will go nigh to ruin us. It is Heaven's ownjudgment for the things we have done to thee. "

Nello put the note-case in her hand and called Patrasche within thehouse. "Patrasche found the money to-night, " he said quickly. "Tell BaasCogez so; I think he will not deny the dog shelter and food in his oldage. Keep him from pursuing me, and I pray of you to be good to him. "

Ere either woman or dog knew what he meant he had stooped and kissedPatrasche, then closed the door hurriedly, and disappeared in the gloomof the fast-falling night. 

The woman and the child stood speechless with joy and fear: Patraschevainly spent the fury of his anguish against the iron-bound oak of thebarred house-door. They did not dare unbar the door and let him forth:they tried all they could to solace him. They brought him sweet cakesand juicy meats; they tempted him with the best they had; they tried tolure him to abide by the warmth of the hearth; but it was of no avail. Patrasche refused to be comforted or to stir from the barred portal. 

It was six o'clock when from an opposite entrance the miller at lastcame, jaded and broken, into his wife's presence. "It is lost forever, "he said with an ashen cheek and a quiver in his stern voice. "We havelooked with lanterns everywhere: it is gone, --the little maiden'sportion and all!"

His wife put the money into his hand, and told him how it had come toher. The strong man sank trembling into a seat and covered his face, ashamed and almost afraid. "I have been cruel to the lad, " he mutteredat length: "I deserved not to have good at his hands. "

Little Alois, taking courage, crept close to her father and nestledagainst him her fair curly head. "Nello may come here again, father?"she whispered. "He may come to-morrow as he used to do?"

The miller pressed her in his arms: his hard, sunburned face was verypale, and his mouth trembled. "Surely, surely, " he answered his child. "He shall bide here on Christmas Day, and any other day he will. Godhelping me, I will make amends to the boy, --I will make amends. "

Little Alois kissed him in gratitude and joy, then slid from his kneesand ran to where the dog kept watch by the door. "And to-night I mayfeast Patrasche?" she cried in a child's thoughtless glee. 

Her father bent his head gravely: "Ay, ay! let the dog have the best";for the stern old man was moved and shaken to his heart's depths. 

It was Christmas Eve, and the mill-house was filled with oak logs andsquares of turf, with cream and honey, with meat and bread, and therafters were hung with wreaths of evergreen, and the Calvary and thecuckoo clock looked out from a mass of holly. There were little paperlanterns too for Alois, and toys of various fashions and sweetmeats inbright-pictured papers. There were light and warmth and abundanceeverywhere, and the child would fain have made the dog a guest honoredand feasted. 

But Patrasche would neither lie in the warmth nor share in the cheer. Famished he was and very cold, but without Nello he would partakeneither of comfort nor food. Against all temptation he was proof, andclose against the door he leaned always, watching only for a means ofescape. 

"He wants the lad, " said Baas Cogez. "Good dog! good dog! I will go overto the lad the first thing at day-dawn. " For no one but Patrasche knewthat Nello had left the hut, and no one but Patrasche divined that Nellohad gone to face starvation and misery alone. 

The mill-kitchen was very warm; great logs crackled and flamed on thehearth; neighbors came in for a glass of wine and a slice of the fatgoose baking for supper. Alois, gleeful and sure of her playmate back onthe morrow, bounded and sang and tossed back her yellow hair. Baas Cogez, in the fulness of his heart, smiled on her through moistened eyes, andspoke of the way in which he would befriend her favorite companion; thehouse-mother sat with calm, contented face at the spinning-wheel; thecuckoo in the clock chirped mirthful hours. Amidst it all Patrasche wasbidden with a thousand words of welcome to tarry there a cherished guest. But neither peace nor plenty could allure him where Nello was not. 

When the supper smoked on the board, and the voices were loudest andgladdest, and the Christ-child brought choicest gifts to Alois, Patrasche, watching always an occasion, glided out when the door wasunlatched by a careless new-comer, and as swiftly as his weak and tiredlimbs would bear him sped over the snow in the bitter, black night. Hehad only one thought, --to follow Nello. A human friend might have pausedfor the pleasant meal, the cheery warmth, the cosey slumber; but thatwas not the friendship of Patrasche. He remembered a bygone time, whenan old man and a little child had found him sick unto death in thewayside ditch. 

Snow had fallen freshly all the evening long; it was now nearly ten; thetrail of the boy's footsteps was almost obliterated. It took Patraschelong to discover any scent. When at last he found it, it was lost againquickly, and lost and recovered, and again lost and again recovered, ahundred times or more. 

The night was very wild. The lamps under the wayside crosses were blownout; the roads were sheets of ice; the impenetrable darkness hid everytrace of habitations; there was no living thing abroad. All the cattlewere housed, and in all the huts and homesteads men and women rejoicedand feasted. There was only Patrasche out in the cruel cold, --old andfamished and full of pain, but with the strength and the patience of agreat love to sustain him in his search. 

The trail of Nello's steps, faint and obscure as it was under the newsnow, went straightly along the accustomed tracks into Antwerp. It waspast midnight when Patrasche traced it over the boundaries of the townand into the narrow, tortuous, gloomy streets. It was all quite dark inthe town, save where some light gleamed ruddily through the crevices ofhouse-shutters, or some group went homeward with lanterns chantingdrinking-songs. The streets were all white with ice: the high walls androofs loomed black against them. There was scarce a sound save the riotof the winds down the passages as they tossed the creaking signs andshook the tall lamp-irons. 

So many passers-by had trodden through and through the snow, so manydiverse paths had crossed and re-crossed each other, that the dog had ahard task to retain any hold on the track he followed. But he kept onhis way, though the cold pierced him to the bone, and the jagged ice cuthis feet, and the hunger in his body gnawed like a rat's teeth. He kepton his way, a poor gaunt, shivering thing, and by long patience tracedthe steps he loved into the very heart of the burgh and up to the stepsof the great cathedral. 

"He is gone to the things that he loved, " thought Patrasche: he couldnot understand, but he was full of sorrow and of pity for theart-passion that to him was so incomprehensible and yet so sacred. 

The portals of the cathedral were unclosed after the midnight mass. Someheedlessness in the custodians, too eager to go home and feast or sleep, or too drowsy to know whether they turned the keys aright, had left oneof the doors unlocked. By that accident the foot-falls Patrasche soughthad passed through into the building, leaving the white marks of snowupon the dark stone floor. By that slender white thread, frozen as itfell, he was guided through the intense silence, through the immensityof the vaulted space, --guided straight to the gates of the chancel, and, stretched there upon the stones, he found Nello. He crept up and touchedthe face of the boy. "Didst thou dream that I should be faithless andforsake thee? I--a dog?" said that mute caress. 

The lad raised himself with a low cry and clasped him close. "Let us liedown and die together, " he murmured. "Men have no need of us, and we areall alone. "

In answer, Patrasche crept closer yet, and laid his head upon the youngboy's breast. The great tears stood in his brown, sad eyes: not forhimself, --for himself he was happy. 

They lay close together in the piercing cold. The blasts that blew overthe Flemish dikes from the northern seas were like waves of ice, whichfroze every living thing they touched. The interior of the immense vaultof stone in which they were was even more bitterly chill than thesnow-covered plains without. Now and then a bat moved in theshadows, --now and then a gleam of light came on the ranks of carvenfigures. Under the Rubens they lay together quite still, and soothedalmost into a dreaming slumber by the numbing narcotic of the cold. Together they dreamed of the old glad days when they had chased eachother through the flowering grasses of the summer meadows, or sat hiddenin the tall bulrushes by the water's side, watching the boats go seawardin the sun. 

Suddenly through the darkness a great white radiance streamed throughthe vastness of the aisles; the moon, that was at her height, had brokenthrough the clouds, the snow had ceased to fall, the light reflectedfrom the snow without was clear as the light of dawn. It fell throughthe arches full upon the two pictures above, from which the boy on hisentrance had flung back the veil: the Elevation and the Descent of theCross were for one instant visible. 

Nello rose to his feet and stretched his arms to them: the tears of apassionate ecstasy glistened on the paleness of his face. "I have seenthem at last!" he cried aloud. "O God, it is enough!"

His limbs failed under him, and he sank upon his knees, still gazingupward at the majesty that he adored. For a few brief moments the lightillumined the divine visions that had been denied to him so long, --lightclear and sweet and strong as though it streamed from the throne ofHeaven. Then suddenly it passed away: once more a great darkness coveredthe face of Christ. 

The arms of the boy drew close again the body of the dog. "We shall seeHis face--_there_, " he murmured; "and He will not part us, I think. "

On the morrow, by the chancel of the cathedral, the people of Antwerpfound them both. They were both dead: the cold of the night had frozeninto stillness alike the young life and the old. When the Christmasmorning broke and the priests came to the temple, they saw them lyingthus on the stones together. Above, the veils were drawn back from thegreat visions of Rubens, and the fresh rays of the sunrise touched thethorn-crowned head of the Christ. 

As the day grew on there came an old, hard-featured man who wept aswomen weep. "I was cruel to the lad, " he muttered, "and now I would havemade amends--yea, to the half of my substance--and he should have beento me as a son. "

There came also, as the day grew apace, a painter who had fame in theworld, and who was liberal of hand and of spirit. "I seek one who shouldhave had the prize yesterday had worth won, " he said to the people, --"aboy of rare promise and genius. An old wood-cutter on a fallen tree ateventide, --that was all his theme. But there was greatness for thefuture in it. I would fain find him, and take him with me and teach himArt. "

And a little child with curling fair hair, sobbing bitterly as she clungto her father's arm, cried aloud, "O Nello, come! We have all ready forthee. The Christ-child's hands are full of gifts, and the old piper willplay for us; and the mother says thou shalt stay by the hearth and burnnuts with us all the Noel week long, --yes, even to the Feast of theKings! And Patrasche will be so happy! O Nello, wake and come!"

But the young pale face, turned upward to the light of the great Rubenswith a smile upon its mouth, answered them all, "It is too late. "

For the sweet, sonorous bells went ringing through the frost, and thesunlight shone upon the plains of snow, and the populace trooped gay andglad through the streets, but Nello and Patrasche no more asked charityat their hands. All they needed now Antwerp gave unbidden. 

Death had been more pitiful to them than longer life would have been. Ithad taken the one in the loyalty of love, and the other in the innocenceof faith, from a world which for love has no recompense and for faith nofulfilment. 

All their lives they had been together, and in their deaths they werenot divided; for when they were found the arms of the boy were foldedtoo closely around the dog to be severed without violence, and thepeople of their little village, contrite and ashamed, implored a specialgrace for them, and, making them one grave, laid them to rest there sideby side--forever!

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER. 

BY JOHN RUSKIN. 

I. 

In a secluded and mountainous part of Styria, there was, in old time, avalley of the most surprising and luxuriant fertility. It was surrounded, on all sides, by steep and rocky mountains, rising into peaks, whichwere always covered with snow, and from which a number of torrentsdescended in constant cataracts. One of these fell westward, over theface of a crag so high that, when the sun had set to everything else, and all below was darkness, his beams still shone full upon thiswaterfall, so that it looked like a shower of gold. It was, therefore, called by the people of the neighborhood the Golden River. It wasstrange that none of these streams fell into the valley itself. They alldescended on the other side of the mountains, and wound away throughbroad plains and by populous cities. But the clouds were drawn soconstantly to the snowy hills, and rested so softly in the circularhollow, that, in time of drought and heat, when all the country roundwas burnt up, there was still rain in the little valley; and its cropswere so heavy, and its hay so high, and its apples so red, and itsgrapes so blue, and its wine so rich, and its honey so sweet, that itwas a marvel to every one who beheld it, and was commonly called theTreasure Valley. 

The whole of this little valley belonged to three brothers, calledSchwartz, Hans, and Gluck. Schwartz and Hans, the two elder brothers, were very ugly men, with overhanging eyebrows and small, dull eyes, which were always half shut, so that you couldn't see into _them_, andalways fancied they saw very far into _you_. They lived by farming theTreasure Valley, and very good farmers they were. They killed everythingthat did not pay for its eating. They shot the blackbirds, because theypecked the fruit; and killed the hedgehogs, lest they should suck thecows; they poisoned the crickets for eating the crumbs in the kitchen;and smothered the cicadas, which used to sing all summer in thelime-trees. They worked their servants without any wages, till theywould not work any more, and then quarrelled with them, and turned themout of doors without paying them. It would have been very odd, if, withsuch a farm, and such a system of farming, they hadn't got very rich;and very rich they _did_ get. They generally contrived to keep theircorn by them till it was very dear, and then sell it for twice itsvalue; they had heaps of gold lying about on their floors, yet it wasnever known that they had given so much as a penny or a crust incharity; they never went to mass; grumbled perpetually at paying tithes;and were, in a word, of so cruel and grinding a temper, as to receivefrom all those with whom they had any dealings, the nickname of the"Black Brothers. "

The youngest brother, Gluck, was as completely opposed, in bothappearance and character, to his seniors as could possibly be imaginedor desired. He was not above twelve years old, fair, blue-eyed, and kindin temper to every living thing. He did not, of course, agreeparticularly well with his brothers, or, rather, they did not agree with_him_. He was usually appointed to the honorable office of turnspit, when there was anything to roast, which was not often; for, to do thebrothers justice, they were hardly less sparing upon themselves thanupon other people. At other times he used to clean the shoes, the floors, and sometimes the plates, occasionally getting what was left on them, byway of encouragement, and a wholesome quantity of dry blows, by way ofeducation. 

Things went on in this manner for a long time. At last came a very wetsummer, and everything went wrong in the country round. The hay hadhardly been got in, when the haystacks were floated bodily down to thesea by an inundation; the vines were cut to pieces with the hail; thecorn was all killed by a black blight; only in the Treasure Valley, asusual, all was safe. As it had rain when there was rain nowhere else, soit had sun when there was sun nowhere else. Everybody came to buy cornat the farm, and went away pouring maledictions on the Black Brothers. They asked what they liked, and got it, except from the poor people, whocould only beg, and several of whom were starved at their very door, without the slightest regard or notice. 

It was drawing toward winter, and very cold weather, when one day thetwo elder brothers had gone out, with their usual warning to littleGluck, who was left to mind the roast, that he was to let nobody in, andgive nothing out. Gluck sat down quite close to the fire, for it wasraining very hard, and the kitchen walls were by no means dry orcomfortable looking. He turned and turned, and the roast got nice andbrown. "What a pity, " thought Gluck, "my brothers never ask anybody todinner. I'm sure, when they've got such a nice piece of mutton as this, and nobody else has got so much as a piece of dry bread, it would dotheir hearts good to have somebody to eat it with them. "

Just as he spoke, there came a double knock at the house-door, yet heavyand dull, as though the knocker had been tied up, --more like a puff thana knock. 

"It must be the wind, " said Gluck; "nobody else would venture to knockdouble knocks at our door. "

No; it wasn't the wind; there it came again very hard, and, what wasparticularly astounding, the knocker seemed to be in a hurry, and not tobe in the least afraid of the consequences. Gluck went to the window, opened it, and put his head out to see who it was. 

It was the most extraordinary-looking little gentleman he had ever seenin his life. He had a very large nose, slightly brass-colored; hischeeks were very round and very red, and might have warranted asupposition that he had been blowing a refractory fire for the lasteight-and-forty hours; his eyes twinkled merrily through long silkyeyelashes, his mustaches curled twice round like a corkscrew on eachside of his mouth, and his hair, of a curious mixed pepper-and-saltcolor, descended far over his shoulders. He was about four feet six inheight, and wore a conical pointed cap of nearly the same altitude, decorated with a black feather some three feet long. His doublet wasprolonged behind into something resembling a violent exaggeration ofwhat is now termed a "swallow-tail, " but was much obscured by theswelling folds of an enormous black, glossy-looking cloak, which musthave been very much too long in calm weather, as the wind, whistlinground the old house, carried it clear out from the wearer's shoulders toabout four times his own length. 

Gluck was so perfectly paralyzed by the singular appearance of hisvisitor, that he remained fixed without uttering a word, until the oldgentleman, having performed another and a more energetic concerto on theknocker, turned round to look after his fly-away cloak. In so doing hecaught sight of Gluck's little yellow head jammed in the window, withits mouth and eyes very wide open indeed. 

"Hollo!" said the little gentleman, "that's not the way to answer thedoor; I'm wet, let me in. "

To do the little gentleman justice, he _was_ wet. His feather hung downbetween his legs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an umbrella;and from the ends of his mustaches the water was running into hiswaistcoat-pockets, and out again like a mill-stream. 

"I beg pardon, sir, " said Gluck, "I'm very sorry, but I really can't. "

"Can't what?" said the old gentleman. 

"I can't let you in, sir, --I can't, indeed; my brothers would beat me todeath, sir, if I thought of such a thing. What do you want, sir?"

"Want?" said the old gentleman, petulantly, "I want fire and shelter;and there's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and dancing on thewalls, with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say; I only want to warmmyself. "

Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window, that hebegan to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he turned, andsaw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring, and throwing long brighttongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at the savorysmell of the leg of mutton, his heart melted within him that it shouldhe burning away for nothing. "He does look _very_ wet, " said littleGluck; "I'll just let him in for a quarter of an hour. " Round he went tothe door, and opened it; and as the little gentleman walked in, throughthe house came a gust of wind that made the old chimneys totter. 

"That's a good boy:" said the little gentleman. "Never mind yourbrothers. I'll talk to them. "

"Pray, sir, don't do any such thing, " said Gluck. "I can't let you staytill they come; they'd be the death of me. "

"Dear me, " said the old gentleman, "I'm very sorry to hear that. Howlong may I stay?"

"Only till the mutton's done, sir, " replied Gluck, "and it's verybrown. "

Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen, and sat himself down onthe hob, with the top of his cap accommodated up the chimney, for it wasa great deal too high for the roof. 

"You'll soon dry there, sir, " said Gluck, and sat down again to turn themutton. But the old gentleman did _not_ dry there, but went on drip, drip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire fizzed and sputtered, andbegan to look very black and uncomfortable; never was such a cloak;every fold in it ran like a gutter. 

"I beg pardon, sir, " said Gluck at length, after watching the waterspreading in long quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a quarterof an hour; "mayn't I take your cloak?"

"No, thank you, " said the old gentleman. 

"Your cap, sir?"

"I'm all right, thank you, " said the old gentleman, rather gruffly. 

"But--sir--I'm very sorry, " said Gluck, hesitatingly; "but--really, sir--you're putting the fire out. "

"It'll take longer to do the mutton then, " replied his visitor dryly. 

Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior of his guest; it was such astrange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned away at the stringmeditatively for another five minutes. 

"That mutton looks very nice, " said the old gentleman, at length. "Can'tyou give me a little bit?"

"Impossible, sir, " said Gluck. 

"I'm very hungry, " continued the old gentleman; "I've had nothing to eatyesterday, nor to-day. They surely couldn't miss a bit from theknuckle!"

He spoke in so very melancholy a tone, that it quite melted Gluck'sheart. "They promised me one slice to-day, sir, " said he; "I can giveyou that, but not a bit more. "

"That's a good boy, " said the old gentleman again. 

Then Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife. "I don't care if I doget beaten for it, " thought he. Just as he had cut a large slice out ofthe mutton, there came a tremendous rap at the door. The old gentlemanjumped off the hob, as if it had suddenly become inconveniently warm. Gluck fitted the slice into the mutton again, with desperate efforts atexactitude, and ran to open the door. 

"What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" said Schwartz, as hewalked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's face. "Ay! what for, indeed, you little vagabond?" said Hans, administering an educational box on theear, as he followed his brother into the kitchen. 

"Bless my soul!" said Schwartz, when he opened the door. 

"Amen, " said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off, and wasstanding in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with the utmost possiblevelocity. 

"Who's that?" said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin, and turning toGluck with a fierce frown. 

"I don't know, indeed, brother, " said Gluck, in great terror. 

"How did he get in?" roared Schwartz. 

"My dear brother, " said Gluck, deprecatingly, "he was so _very_ wet!"

The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head; but, at the instant, theold gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which it crashed with ashock that shook the water out of it all over the room. What was veryodd, the rolling-pin no sooner touched the cap, than it flew out ofSchwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and fell into thecorner at the further end of the room. 

"Who are you, sir?" demanded Schwartz, turning upon him. 

"What's your business?" snarled Hans. 

"I'm a poor old man, sir, " the little gentleman began very modestly, "and I saw your fire through the window, and begged shelter for aquarter of an hour. "

"Have the goodness to walk out again, then, " said Schwartz. "We've quiteenough water in our kitchen, without making it a drying-house. "

"It is a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my grayhairs. " They hung down to his shoulders, as I told you before. 

"Ay!" said Hans, "there are enough of them to keep you warm. Walk!"

"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of bread beforeI go?"

"Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you suppose we've nothing to do withour bread but to give it to such red-nosed fellows as you?"

"Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans, sneeringly. "Out withyou. "

"A little bit, " said the old gentleman. 

"Be off!" said Schwartz. 

"Pray, gentlemen. "

"Off, and be hanged!" cried Hans, seizing him by the collar. But he hadno sooner touched the old gentleman's collar, than away he went afterthe rolling-pin, spinning round and round, till he fell into the corneron the top of it. Then Schwartz was very angry, and ran at the oldgentleman to turn him out; but he also had hardly touched him, when awayhe went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against thewall as he tumbled into the corner. And so there they lay, all three. 

Then the old gentleman spun himself round with velocity in the oppositedirection; continued to spin until his long cloak was all wound neatlyabout him; clapped his cap on his head, very much on one side (for itcould not stand upright without going through the ceiling), gave anadditional twist to his corkscrew mustaches, and replied with perfectcoolness: "Gentlemen, I wish you a very good morning. At twelve o'clockto-night, I'll call again; after such a refusal of hospitality as I havejust experienced, you will not be surprised if that visit is the last Iever pay you. "

"If ever I catch you here again, " muttered Schwartz, coming, halffrightened, out of the corner, --but, before he could finish his sentence, the old gentleman had shut the house-door behind him with a great bang;and past the window, at the same instant, drove a wreath of ragged cloud, that whirled and rolled away down the valley in all manner of shapes;turning over and over in the air; and melting away at last in a gush ofrain. 

"A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck!" said Schwartz. "Dish themutton, sir. If ever I catch you at such a trick again-- Bless me, whythe mutton's been cut!"

"You promised me one slice, brother, you know, " said Gluck. 

"Oh! and you were cutting it hot, I suppose, and going to catch all thegravy. It'll be long before I promise you such a thing again. Leave theroom, sir; and have the kindness to wait in the coal-cellar till I callyou. "

Gluck left the room melancholy enough. The brothers ate as much muttonas they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and proceeded to getvery drunk after dinner. 

Such a night as it was! Howling wind, and rushing rain, withoutintermission. The brothers had just sense enough left to put up all theshutters, and double bar the door, before they went to bed. They usuallyslept in the same room. As the clock struck twelve, they were bothawakened by a tremendous crash. Their door burst open with a violencethat shook the house from top to bottom. 

"What's that?" cried Schwartz, starting up in his bed. 

"Only I, " said the little gentleman. 

The two brothers sat up on their bolster, and stared into the darkness. The room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam, which found its waythrough a hole in the shutter, they could see, in the midst of it, anenormous foam globe, spinning round, and bobbing up and down like a cork, on which, as on a most luxurious cushion, reclined the little oldgentleman, cap and all. There was plenty of room for it now, for theroof was off. 

"Sorry to incommode you, " said their visitor, ironically. "I'm afraidyour beds are dampish; perhaps you had better go to your brother's room;I've left the ceiling on there. "

They required no second admonition, but rushed into Gluck's room, wetthrough, and in an agony of terror. 

"You'll find my card on the kitchen table, " the old gentleman calledafter them. "Remember the _last_ visit. "

"Pray Heaven it may be!" said Schwartz, shuddering. And the foam globedisappeared. 

Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of Gluck's littlewindow in the morning. The Treasure Valley was one mass of ruin anddesolation. The inundation had swept away trees, crops, and cattle, andleft, in their stead, a waste of red sand and gray mud. The two brotherscrept, shivering and horror-struck, into the kitchen. The water hadgutted the whole first floor: corn, money, almost every movable thinghad been swept away, and there was left only a small white card on thekitchen table. On it, in large, breezy, long-legged letters, wereengraved the words:--

SOUTHWEST WIND, ESQUIRE. 

II. 

SOUTHWEST WIND, ESQUIRE, was as good as his word. After the momentousvisit above related, he entered the Treasure Valley no more; and, whatwas worse, he had so much influence with his relations, the West Windsin general, and used it so effectually, that they all adopted a similarline of conduct. So no rain fell in the valley from one year's end toanother. Though everything remained green and flourishing in the plainsbelow, the inheritance of the Three Brothers was a desert. What had oncebeen the richest soil in the kingdom became a shifting heap of red sand;and the brothers, unable longer to contend with the adverse skies, abandoned their valueless patrimony in despair, to seek some means ofgaining a livelihood among the cities and people of the plains. Alltheir money was gone, and they had nothing left but some curious, old-fashioned pieces of gold plate, the last remnants of theirill-gotten wealth. 

"Suppose we turn goldsmiths?" said Schwartz to Hans, as they entered thelarge city. "It is a good knave's trade; we can put a great deal ofcopper into the gold, without any one's finding it out. "

The thought was agreed to be a very good one; they hired a furnace, andturned goldsmiths. But two slight circumstances affected their trade:the first, that people did not approve of the coppered gold; the second, that the two elder brothers, whenever they had sold anything, used toleave little Gluck to mind the furnace, and go and drink out the moneyin the ale-house next door. So they melted all their gold, withoutmaking money enough to buy more, and were at last reduced to one largedrinking-mug, which an uncle of his had given to little Gluck, and whichhe was very fond of, and would not have parted with for the world;though he never drank anything out of it but milk and water. The mug wasa very odd mug to look at. The handle was formed of two wreaths offlowing golden hair, so finely spun that it looked more like silk thanlike metal, and these wreaths descended into, and mixed with, a beardand whiskers, of the same exquisite workmanship, which surrounded anddecorated a very fierce little face, of the reddest gold imaginable, right in the front of the mug, with a pair of eyes in it which seemed tocommand its whole circumference. It was impossible to drink out of themug without being subjected to an intense gaze out of the side of theseeyes; and Schwartz positively averred that once, after emptying it fullof Rhenish seventeen times, he had seen them wink! When it came to themug's turn to be made into spoons, it half broke poor little Gluck'sheart; but the brothers only laughed at him, tossed the mug into themelting-pot, and staggered out to the ale-house; leaving him, as usual, to pour the gold into bars, when it was all ready. 

When they were gone, Gluck took a farewell look at his old friend in themelting-pot. The flowing hair was all gone; nothing remained but the rednose, and the sparkling eyes, which looked more malicious than ever. "And no wonder, " thought Gluck, "after being treated in that way. " Hesauntered disconsolately to the window, and sat himself down to catchthe fresh evening air, and escape the hot breath of the furnace. Nowthis window commanded a direct view of the range of mountains, which, asI told you before, overhung the Treasure Valley, and more especially ofthe peak from which fell the Golden River. It was just at the close ofthe day, and, when Gluck sat down at the window, he saw the rocks of themountain-tops, all crimson and purple with the sunset; and there werebright tongues of fiery cloud burning and quivering about them; and theriver, brighter than all, fell, in a waving column of pure gold, fromprecipice to precipice, with the double arch of a broad purple rainbowstretched across it, flushing and fading alternately in the wreaths ofspray. 

"Ah!" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked at it for a little while, "if that river were really all gold, what a nice thing it would be!"

"No, it wouldn't, Gluck, " said a clear, metallic voice, close at his ear. 

"Bless me, what's that?" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up. There was nobodythere. He looked round the room, and under the table, and a great manytimes behind him, but there was certainly nobody there, and he sat downagain at the window. This time he didn't speak, but he couldn't helpthinking again that it would be very convenient if the river were reallyall gold. 

"Not at all, my boy, " said the same voice, louder than before. 

"Bless me!" said Gluck again, "what _is_ that?" He looked again into allthe corners and cupboards, and then began turning round and round, asfast as he could, in the middle of the room, thinking there was somebodybehind him, when the same voice struck again on his ear. It was singingnow very merrily "Lala-lira-la"; no words, only a soft runningeffervescent melody, something like that of a kettle on the boil. Glucklooked out of the window. No, it was certainly in the house. Up stairs, and down stairs. No, it was certainly in that very room, coming inquicker time and clearer notes every moment. "Lala-lira-la. " All at onceit struck Gluck that it sounded louder near the furnace. He ran to theopening and looked in; yes, he saw right, it seemed to be coming, notonly out of the furnace, but out of the pot. He uncovered it, and ranback in a great fright, for the pot was certainly singing! He stood inthe farthest corner of the room, with his hands up, and his mouth open, for a minute or two, when the singing stopped, and the voice becameclear and pronunciative. 

"Hollo!" said the voice. 

Gluck made no answer. 

"Hollo! Gluck, my boy, " said the pot again. 

Gluck summoned all his energies, walked straight up to the crucible, drew it out of the furnace and looked in. The gold was all melted, andits surface as smooth and polished as a river; but instead of itsreflecting little Gluck's head, as he looked in, he saw meeting hisglance, from beneath the gold, the red nose and the sharp eyes of hisold friend of the mug, a thousand times redder and sharper than ever hehad seen them in his life. 

"Come, Gluck, my boy, " said the voice out of the pot again, "I'm allright; pour me out. "

But Gluck was too much astonished to do anything of the kind. 

"Pour me out, I say, " said the voice, rather gruffly. 

Still Gluck couldn't move. 

"_Will_ you pour me out?" said the voice, passionately. "I'm too hot. "

By a violent effort, Gluck recovered the use of his limbs, took hold ofthe crucible, and sloped it so as to pour out the gold. But instead of aliquid stream, there came out, first, a pair of pretty little yellowlegs, then some coat-tails, then a pair of arms stuck akimbo, and, finally, the well-known head of his friend the mug; all which articles, uniting as they rolled out, stood up energetically on the floor, in theshape of a little golden dwarf, about a foot and a half high. 

"That's right!" said the dwarf, stretching out first his legs, and thenhis arms, and then shaking his head up and down, and as far round as itwould go, for five minutes, without stopping; apparently with the viewof ascertaining if he were quite correctly put together, while Gluckstood contemplating him in speechless amazement. He was dressed in aslashed doublet of spun gold, so fine in its texture that the prismaticcolors gleamed over it, as if on a surface of mother-of-pearl; and overthis brilliant doublet his hair and beard fell full half-way to theground, in waving curls, so exquisitely delicate, that Gluck couldhardly tell where they ended; they seemed to melt into air. The featuresof the face, however, were by no means finished with the same delicacy;they were rather coarse, slightly inclining to coppery in complexion, and indicative, in expression, of a very pertinacious and intractabledisposition in their small proprietor. When the dwarf had finished hisself-examination, he turned his small, sharp eyes full on Gluck, andstared at him deliberately for a minute or two. "No, it wouldn't, Gluck, my boy, " said the little man. 

This was certainly rather an abrupt and unconnected mode of commencingconversation. It might indeed be supposed to refer to the course ofGluck's thoughts, which had first produced the dwarf's observations outof the pot; but whatever it referred to, Gluck had no inclination todispute the dictum. 

"Wouldn't it, sir?" said Gluck, very mildly and submissively indeed. 

"No, " said the dwarf, conclusively. "No, it wouldn't. " And with that, the dwarf pulled his cap hard over his brows, and took two turns ofthree feet long, up and down the room, lifting his legs very high, andsetting them down very hard. This pause gave time for Gluck to collecthis thoughts a little, and, seeing no great reason to view hisdiminutive visitor with dread, and feeling his curiosity overcome hisamazement, he ventured on a question of peculiar delicacy. 

"Pray, sir, " said Gluck rather hesitatingly, "were you my mug?"

On which the little man turned sharp round, walked straight up to Gluck, and drew himself up to his full height. "I, " said the little man, "amthe King of the Golden River. " Whereupon he turned about again, and tooktwo more turns, some six feet long, in order to allow time for theconsternation which this announcement produced in his auditor toevaporate. After which he again walked up to Gluck and stood still, asif expecting some comment on his communication. 

Gluck determined to say something, at all events. "I hope your Majestyis very well, " said Gluck. 

"Listen!" said the little man, deigning no reply to this polite inquiry. "I am the King of what you mortals call the Golden River. The shape yousaw me in was owing to the malice of a stronger king, from whoseenchantments you have this instant freed me. What I have seen of you, and your conduct to your wicked brothers, renders me willing to serveyou; therefore attend to what I tell you. Whoever shall climb to the topof that mountain from which you see the Golden River issue, and shallcast into the stream at its source three drops of holy water, for him, and for him only, the river shall turn to gold. But no one failing inhis first, can succeed in a second attempt; and if anyone shall castunholy water into the river, it will overwhelm him, and he will become ablack stone. " So saying, the King of the Golden River turned away, anddeliberately walked into the centre of the hottest flame of the furnace. His figure became red, white, transparent, dazzling, --a blaze of intenselight, --rose, trembled, and disappeared. The King of the Golden Riverhad evaporated. 

"Oh!" cried poor Gluck, running to look up the chimney after him; "Odear, dear, dear me! My mug! my mug! my mug!"

III. 

The King of the Golden River had hardly made his extraordinary exitbefore Hans and Schwartz came roaring into the house, very savagelydrunk. The discovery of the total loss of their last piece of plate hadthe effect of sobering them just enough to enable them to stand overGluck, beating him very steadily for a quarter of an hour; at theexpiration of which period they dropped into a couple of chairs, andrequested to know what he had got to say for himself. Gluck told themhis story, of which of course they did not believe a word. They beat himagain, till their arms were tired, and staggered to bed. In the morning, however, the steadiness with which he adhered to his story obtained himsome degree of credence; the immediate consequence of which was, thatthe two brothers, after wrangling a long time on the knotty questionwhich of them should try his fortune first, drew their swords, and beganfighting. The noise of the fray alarmed the neighbors, who, finding theycould not pacify the combatants, sent for the constable. 

Hans, on hearing this, contrived to escape, and hid himself; butSchwartz was taken before the magistrate, fined for breaking the peace, and, having drunk out his last penny the evening before, was thrown intoprison till he should pay. 

When Hans heard this, he was much delighted, and determined to set outimmediately for the Golden River. How to get the holy water, was thequestion. He went to the priest, but the priest could not give any holywater to so abandoned a character. So Hans went to vespers in theevening for the first time in his life, and, under pretence of crossinghimself, stole a cupful, and returned home in triumph. 

Next morning he got up before the sun rose, put the holy water into astrong flask, and two bottles of wine and some meat in a basket, slungthem over his back, took his alpine staff in his hand, and set off forthe mountains. 

On his way out of the town he had to pass the prison, and as he lookedin at the windows, whom should he see but Schwartz himself peeping outof the bars, and looking very disconsolate?

"Good morning, brother, " said Hans; "have you any message for the Kingof the Golden River?"

Schwartz gnashed his teeth with rage, and shook the bars with all hisstrength; but Hans only laughed at him, and advising him to make himselfcomfortable till he came back again, shouldered his basket, shook thebottle of holy water in Schwartz's face till it frothed again, andmarched off in the highest spirits in the world. 

It was, indeed, a morning that might have made any one happy, even withno Golden River to seek for. Level lines of dewy mist lay stretchedalong the valley, out of which rose the massy mountains, --their lowercliffs in pale gray shadow, hardly distinguishable from the floatingvapor, but gradually ascending till they caught the sunlight, which ranin sharp touches of ruddy color along the angular crags, and pierced, inlong level rays, through their fringes of spear-like pine. Far above, shot up red splintered masses of castellated rock, jagged and shiveredinto myriads of fantastic forms, with here and there a streak of sunlitsnow, traced down their chasms like a line of forked lightning; and, farbeyond, and far above all these, fainter than the morning cloud, butpurer and changeless, slept, in the blue sky, the utmost peaks of theeternal snow. 

The Golden River, which sprang from one of the lower and snowlesselevations, was now nearly in shadow; all but the uppermost jets ofspray, which rose like slow smoke above the undulating line of thecataract, and floated away in feeble wreaths upon the morning wind. 

On this object, and on this alone, Hans's eyes and thoughts were fixed;forgetting the distance he had to traverse, he set off at an imprudentrate of walking, which greatly exhausted him before he had scaled thefirst range of the green and low hills. He was, moreover, surprised, onsurmounting them, to find that a large glacier, of whose existence, notwithstanding his previous knowledge of the mountains, he had beenabsolutely ignorant, lay between him and the source of the Golden River. He entered on it with the boldness of a practised mountaineer; yet hethought he had never traversed so strange or so dangerous a glacier inhis life. The ice was excessively slippery, and out of all its chasmscame wild sounds of gushing water; not monotonous or low, but changefuland loud, rising occasionally into drifting passages of wild melody, then breaking off into short, melancholy tones, or sudden shrieks, resembling those of human voices in distress or pain. The ice was brokeninto thousands of confused shapes, but none, Hans thought, like theordinary forms of splintered ice. There seemed a curious _expression_about all their outlines, --a perpetual resemblance to living features, distorted and scornful. Myriads of deceitful shadows and lurid lightsplayed and floated about and through the pale blue pinnacles, dazzlingand confusing the sight of the traveller; while his ears grew dull andhis head giddy with the constant gush and roar of the concealed waters. These painful circumstances increased upon him as he advanced; the icecrashed and yawned into fresh chasms at his feet, tottering spiresnodded around him, and fell thundering across his path; and though hehad repeatedly faced these dangers on the most terrific glaciers, and inthe wildest weather, it was with a new and oppressive feeling of panicterror that he leaped the last chasm, and flung himself, exhausted andshuddering, on the firm turf of the mountain. 

He had been compelled to abandon his basket of food, which became aperilous incumbrance on the glacier, and had now no means of refreshinghimself but by breaking off and eating some of the pieces of ice. This, however, relieved his thirst; an hour's repose recruited his hardy frame, and, with the indomitable spirit of avarice, he resumed his laboriousjourney. 

His way now lay straight up a ridge of bare, red rocks, without a bladeof grass to ease the foot or a projecting angle to afford an inch ofshade from the south sun. It was past noon, and the rays beat intenselyupon the steep path, while the whole atmosphere was motionless, andpenetrated with heat. Intense thirst was soon added to the bodilyfatigue with which Hans was now afflicted; glance after glance he caston the flask of water which hung at his belt. "Three drops are enough, "at last thought he; "I may, at least, cool my lips with it. "

He opened the flask, and was raising it to his lips, when his eye fellon an object lying on the rock beside him; he thought it moved. It was asmall dog, apparently in the last agony of death from thirst. Its tonguewas out, its jaws dry, its limbs extended lifelessly, and a swarm ofblack ants were crawling about its lips and throat. Its eye moved to thebottle which Hans held in his hand. He raised it, drank, spurned theanimal with his foot, and passed on. And he did not know how it was, buthe thought that a strange shadow had suddenly come across the blue sky. 

The path became steeper and more rugged every moment; and the high hillair, instead of refreshing him, seemed to throw his blood into a fever. The noise of the hill cataracts sounded like mockery in his ears; theywere all distant, and his thirst increased every moment. Another hourpassed, and he again looked down to the flask at his side; it was halfempty, but there was much more than three drops in it. He stopped toopen it, and again, as he did so, something moved in the path above him. It was a fair child, stretched nearly lifeless on the rock, its breastheaving with thirst, its eyes closed, and its lips parched and burning. Hans eyed it deliberately, drank, and passed on. And a dark gray cloudcame over the sun, and long snake-like shadows crept up along themountain-sides. Hans struggled on. The sun was sinking, but its descentseemed to bring no coolness; the leaden weight of the dead air pressedupon his brow and heart, but the goal was near. He saw the cataract ofthe Golden River springing from the hillside, scarcely five hundred feetabove him. He paused for a moment to breathe, and sprang on to completehis task. 

At this instant a faint cry fell on his ear. He turned, and saw agray-haired old man extended on the rocks. His eyes were sunk, hisfeatures deadly pale, and gathered into an expression of despair. "Water!" he stretched his arms to Hans, and cried feebly, --"Water! I amdying. "

"I have none, " replied Hans; "thou hast had thy share of life. " Hestrode over the prostrate body, and darted on. And a flash of bluelightning rose out of the east, shaped like a sword; it shook thriceover the whole heaven, and left it dark with one heavy, impenetrableshade. The sun was setting; it plunged toward the horizon like a red-hotball. 

The roar of the Golden River rose on Hans's ear. He stood at the brinkof the chasm through which it ran. Its waves were filled with the redglory of the sunset: they shook their crests like tongues of fire, andflashes of bloody light gleamed along their foam. Their sound camemightier and mightier on his senses; his brain grew giddy with theprolonged thunder. Shuddering, he drew the flask from his girdle, andhurled it into the centre of the torrent. As he did so, an icy chillshot through his limbs; he staggered, shrieked, and fell. The watersclosed over his cry. And the moaning of the river rose wildly into thenight, as it gushed over

THE BLACK STONE. 

IV. 

Poor little Gluck waited very anxiously alone in the house for Hans'sreturn. Finding he did not come back, he was terribly frightened, andwent and told Schwartz in the prison all that had happened. ThenSchwartz was very much pleased, and said that Hans must certainly havebeen turned into a black stone, and he should have all the gold tohimself. But Gluck was very sorry, and cried all night. When he got upin the morning, there was no bread in the house, nor any money; so Gluckwent and hired himself to another goldsmith, and he worked so hard, andso neatly, and so long every day, that he soon got money enough togetherto pay his brother's fine, and he went and gave it all to Schwartz, andSchwartz got out of prison. Then Schwartz was quite pleased, and said heshould have some of the gold of the river. But Gluck only begged hewould go and see what had become of Hans. 

Now when Schwartz had heard that Hans had stolen the holy water, hethought to himself that such a proceeding might not be consideredaltogether correct by the King of the Golden River, and determined tomanage matters better. So he took some more of Gluck's money, and wentto a bad priest, who gave him some holy water very readily for it. ThenSchwartz was sure it was all quite right. So Schwartz got up early inthe morning before the sun rose, and took some bread and wine in abasket, and put his holy water in a flask, and set off for the mountains. Like his brother, he was much surprised at the sight of the glacier, andhad great difficulty in crossing it, even after leaving his basketbehind him. The day was cloudless, but not bright: a heavy purple hazewas hanging over the sky, and the hills looked lowering and gloomy. Andas Schwartz climbed the steep rock path, the thirst came upon him, as ithad upon his brother, until he lifted his flask to his lips to drink. Then he saw the fair child lying near him on the rocks, and it cried tohim, and moaned for water. 

"Water, indeed, " said Schwartz; "I haven't half enough for myself, " andpassed on. And as he went he thought the sunbeams grew more dim, and hesaw a low bank of black cloud rising out of the west; and, when he hadclimbed for another hour, the thirst overcame him again, and he wouldhave drunk. Then he saw the old man lying before him on the path, andheard him cry out for water. "Water, indeed, " said Schwartz; "I haven'thalf enough for myself, " and on he went. 

Then again the light seemed to fade from before his eyes, and he lookedup, and, behold, a mist, of the color of blood, had come over the sun;and the bank of black cloud had risen very high, and its edges weretossing and tumbling like the waves of the angry sea. And they cast longshadows, which flickered over Schwartz's path. 

Then Schwartz climbed for another hour, and again his thirst returned;and as he lifted his flask to his lips, he thought he saw his brotherHans lying exhausted on the path before him, and, as he gazed, thefigure stretched its arms to him, and cried for water. "Ha, ha, " laughedSchwartz, "are you there? Remember the prison bars, my boy. Water, indeed! do you suppose I carried it all the way up here for _you_?" Andhe strode over the figure; yet, as he passed, he thought he saw astrange expression of mockery about its lips. And, when he had gone afew yards farther, he looked back; but the figure was not there. 

And a sudden horror came over Schwartz, he knew not why; but the thirstfor gold prevailed over his fear, and he rushed on. And the bank ofblack cloud rose to the zenith, and out of it came bursts of spirylightning, and waves of darkness seemed to heave and float between theirflashes, over the whole heavens. And the sky where the sun was settingwas all level, and like a lake of blood, and a strong wind came out ofthat sky, tearing its crimson clouds into fragments, and scattering themfar into the darkness. And when Schwartz stood by the brink of theGolden River, its waves were black like thunderclouds, but their foamwas like fire; and the roar of the waters below and the thunder abovemet, as he cast the flask into the stream. And, as he did so, thelightning glared in his eyes, and the earth gave way beneath him, andthe waters closed over his cry. And the moaning of the river rose wildlyinto the night, as it gushed over the

TWO BLACK STONES. 

V. 

When Gluck found that Schwartz did not come back, he was very sorry, anddid not know what to do. He had no money, and was obliged to go and hirehimself again to the goldsmith, who worked him very hard, and gave himvery little money. So, after a month or two, Gluck grew tired, and madeup his mind to go and try his fortune with the Golden River. "The littleking looked very kind, " thought he. "I don't think he will turn me intoa black stone. " So he went to the priest, and the priest gave him someholy water as soon as he asked for it. Then Gluck took some bread in hisbasket, and the bottle of water, and set off very early for themountains. 

If the glacier had occasioned a great deal of fatigue to his brothers, it was twenty times worse for him, who was neither so strong nor sopractised on the mountains. He had several very bad falls, lost hisbasket and bread, and was very much frightened at the strange noisesunder the ice. He lay a long time to rest on the grass, after he had gotover, and began to climb the hill just in the hottest part of the day. When he had climbed for an hour, he got dreadfully thirsty, and wasgoing to drink like his brothers, when he saw an old man coming down thepath above him, looking very feeble, and leaning on a staff. "My son, "said the old man, "I am faint with thirst; give me some of that water. "Then Gluck looked at him, and when he saw that he was pale and weary, hegave him the water; "Only pray don't drink it all, " said Gluck. But theold man drank a great deal, and gave him back the bottle two thirdsempty. Then he bade him good speed, and Gluck went on again merrily. Andthe path became easier to his feet, and two or three blades of grassappeared upon it, and some grasshoppers began singing on the bank besideit; and Gluck thought he had never heard such merry singing. 

Then he went on for another hour, and the thirst increased on him sothat he thought he should be forced to drink. But, as he raised theflask, he saw a little child lying panting by the roadside, and it criedout piteously for water. Then Gluck struggled with himself anddetermined to bear the thirst a little longer; and he put the bottle tothe child's lips, and it drank it all but a few drops. Then it smiled onhim, and got up, and ran down the hill; and Gluck looked after it, tillit became as small as a little star, and then turned, and began climbingagain. And then there were all kinds of sweet flowers growing on therocks, bright green moss, with pale pink starry flowers, and soft-belledgentians, more blue than the sky at its deepest, and pure whitetransparent lilies. And crimson and purple butterflies darted hither andthither, and the sky sent down such pure light that Gluck had never feltso happy in his life. 

Yet, when he had climbed for another hour, his thirst became intolerableagain; and, when he looked at his bottle, he saw that there were onlyfive or six drops left in it, and he could not venture to drink. And ashe was hanging the flask to his belt again, he saw a little dog lying onthe rocks, gasping for breath, --just as Hans had seen it on the day ofhis ascent. And Gluck stopped and looked at it, and then at the GoldenRiver, not five hundred yards above him; and he thought of the dwarf'swords, "that no one could succeed, except in his first attempt"; and hetried to pass the dog, but it whined piteously, and Gluck stopped again. "Poor beastie, " said Gluck, "it'll be dead when I come down again, if Idon't help it. " Then he looked closer and closer at it, and its eyeturned on him so mournfully that he could not stand it. "Confound theKing and his gold too, " said Gluck; and he opened the flask, and pouredall the water into the dog's mouth. 

The dog sprang up and stood on its hind legs. Its tail disappeared, itsears became long, longer, silky, golden; its nose became very red, itseyes became very twinkling; in three seconds the dog was gone, andbefore Gluck stood his old acquaintance, the King of the Golden River. 

"Thank you, " said the monarch; "but don't be frightened, it's allright"; for Gluck showed manifest symptoms of consternation at thisunlooked-for reply to his last observation. "Why didn't you comebefore, " continued the dwarf, "instead of sending me those rascallybrothers of yours, for me to have the trouble of turning into stones?Very hard stones they make, too. "

"O dear me!" said Gluck, "have you really been so cruel?"

"Cruel, " said the dwarf, "they poured unholy water into my stream; doyou suppose I'm going to allow that?"

"Why, " said Gluck, "I am sure, sir, --your Majesty, I mean, --they got thewater out of the church font. "

"Very probably, " replied the dwarf; "but, " and his countenance grewstern as he spoke, "the water which has been refused to the cry of theweary and dying is unholy, though it had been blessed by every saint inheaven; and the water which is found in the vessel of mercy is holy, though it had been defiled with corpses. "

So saying, the dwarf stooped and plucked a lily that grew at his feet. On its white leaves hung three drops of clear dew. And the dwarf shookthem into the flask which Gluck held in his hand. "Cast these into theriver, " he said, "and descend on the other side of the mountains intothe Treasure Valley. And so good speed. "

As he spoke, the figure of the dwarf became indistinct. The playingcolors of his robe formed themselves into a prismatic mist of dewylight; he stood for an instant veiled with them as with the belt of abroad rainbow. The colors grew faint, the mist rose into the air; themonarch had evaporated. 

And Gluck climbed to the brink of the Golden River, and its waves wereas clear as crystal and as brilliant as the sun. And when he cast thethree drops of dew into the stream, there opened where they fell, asmall circular whirlpool, into which the waters descended with a musicalnoise. 

Gluck stood watching it for some time, very much disappointed, becausenot only the river was not turned into gold, but its waters seemed muchdiminished in quantity. Yet he obeyed his friend the dwarf, anddescended the other side of the mountains, toward the Treasure Valley;and, as he went, he thought he heard the noise of water working its wayunder the ground. And when he came in sight of the Treasure Valley, behold, a river, like the Golden River, was springing from a new cleftof the rocks above it, and was flowing in innumerable streams among thedry heaps of red sand. 

And as Gluck gazed, fresh grass sprang beside the new streams, andcreeping plants grew, and climbed among the moistening soil. Youngflowers opened suddenly along the river sides, as stars leap out whentwilight is deepening, and thickets of myrtle, and tendrils of vine, cast lengthening shadows over the valley as they grew. And thus theTreasure Valley became a garden again, and the inheritance, which hadbeen lost by cruelty, was regained by love. 

And Gluck went and dwelt in the valley, and the poor were never drivenfrom his door; so that his barns became full of corn, and his house oftreasure. And, for him, the river had, according to the dwarf's promise, become a River of Gold. 

And to this day the inhabitants of the valley point out the place wherethe three drops of holy dew were cast into the stream, and trace thecourse of the Golden River under the ground, until it emerges in theTreasure Valley. And, at the top of the cataract of the Golden River, are still to be seen two BLACK STONES, round which the waters howlmournfully every day at sunset; and these stones are still called, bythe people of the valley, THE BLACK BROTHERS. 

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 

BY ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS. 

It is not generally known that the Lady of Shalott lived last summer inan attic, at the east end of South Street. 

The wee-est, thinnest, whitest little lady! And yet the brightest, stillest, and withal such a smiling little lady!

If you had held her up by the window, --for she could not hold upherself, --she would have hung like a porcelain transparency in yourhands. And if you had said, laying her gently down, and giving the tearsa smart dash, that they should not fall on her lifted face, "Poorchild!" the Lady of Shalott would have said, "O, don't!" and smiled. Andyou would have smiled yourself, for very surprise that she should outdoyou; and between the two there would have been so much smiling done thatone would have fairly thought it was a delightful thing to live lastsummer in an attic at the east end of South Street. 

This perhaps was the more natural in the Lady of Shalott because she hadnever lived anywhere else. 

When the Lady of Shalott was five years old, her mother threw her downstairs one day, by mistake, instead of the whiskey-jug. 

This is a fact which I think Mr. Tennyson has omitted to mention in hispoem. 

They picked up the Lady of Shalott and put her on the bed; and there shelay from that day until last summer, unless, as I said, somebody hadoccasion to use her for a transparency. 

The mother and the jug both went down the stairs together a few yearsafter, and never came up at all, --and that was a great convenience, forthe Lady of Shalott's palace in the attic was not large, and they tookup much unnecessary room. 

Since that the Lady of Shalott had lived with her sister, Sary Jane. 

Sary Jane made nankeen vests, at sixteen and three quarters cents adozen. 

Sary Jane had red hair, and crooked shoulders, and a voice so much likea rat-trap which she sometimes set on the stairs that the Lady ofShalott could seldom tell which was which until she had thought about ita little while. When there was a rat caught, she was apt to ask "What?"and when Sary Jane spoke, she more often than not said, "There'sanother!"

Her crooked shoulders Sary Jane had acquired from sitting under theeaves of the palace to sew. That physiological problem was simple. Therewas not room enough under the eaves to sit straight. 

Sary Jane's red hair was the result of sitting in the sun on July noonsunder those eaves, to see to thread her needle. There was no questionabout that. The Lady of Shalott had settled it in her own mind, pastdispute. Sary Jane's hair had been--what was it? brown? once. Sary Janewas slowly taking fire. Who would not, to sit in the sun in that palace?The only matter of surprise to the Lady of Shalott was that the palaceitself did not smoke. Sometimes, when Sary Jane hit the rafters, she wassure that she saw sparks. 

As for Sary Jane's voice, when one knew that she made nankeen vests atsixteen and three quarters cents a dozen, that was a matter of nosurprise. It never surprised the Lady of Shalott. 

But Sary Jane was very cross; there was no denying that; very cross. 

And the palace. Let me tell you about the palace. It measured justtwelve by nine feet. It would have been seven feet post, --if there hadbeen a post in the middle of it. From the centre it sloped away to thewindows, where Sary Jane had just room enough to sit crooked under theeaves at work. There were two windows and a loose scuttle to let in thesnow in winter and the sun in summer, and the rain and wind at all times. It was quite a diversion to the Lady of Shalott to see how manydifferent ways of doing a disagreeable thing seemed to be practicable tothat scuttle. Besides the bed on which the Lady of Shalott lay, therewas a stove in the palace, two chairs, a very ragged rag-mat, a shelfwith two notched cups and plates upon it, one pewter teaspoon, and alooking-glass. On washing-days Sary Jane climbed upon the chair and hungher clothes out through the scuttle on the roof; or else she ran alittle rope from one of the windows to the other for a drying-rope. Itwould have been more exact to have said on washing-nights; for Sary Janealways did her washing after dark. The reason was evident. If the restof us were in the habit of wearing all the clothes we had, like SaryJane, I have little doubt that we should do the same. 

I should mention that there was no sink in the Lady of Shalott's palace;no water. There was a dirty hydrant in the yard, four flights below, which supplied the Lady of Shalott and all her neighbors. The Lady ofShalott kept her coal under the bed; her flour, a pound at a time, in apaper parcel, on the shelf, with the teacups and the pewter spoon. Ifshe had anything else to keep, it went out through the palace scuttleand lay on the roof. The Lady of Shalott's palace opened directly upon aprecipice. The lessor of the house called it a flight of stairs. WhenSary Jane went up and down she went sidewise to preserve her balance. There were no bannisters to the precipice, and about once a week a babypatronized the rat-trap, instead. Once, when there was a fire-alarm, theprecipice was very serviceable. Four women and an old man went over. With one exception (she was eighteen, and could bear a brokencollar-bone), they will not, I am informed, go over again. 

The Lady of Shalott paid one dollar a week for the rent of her palace. 

But then there was a looking-glass in the palace. I think I noticed it. It hung on the slope of the rafters, just opposite the Lady of Shalott'swindow, --for she considered that her window at which Sary Jane did notmake nankeen vests at sixteen and three quarters cents a dozen. 

Now, because the looking-glass was opposite the window at which SaryJane did _not_ make vests, and because the rafters sloped, and becausethe bed lay almost between the looking-glass and the window, the Lady ofShalott was happy. And because, to the patient heart that is a seekerafter happiness, "the little more, and how much it is!" (and the littleless, what worlds away!) the Lady of Shalott was proud as well as happy. The looking-glass measured in inches 10 X 6. I think that the Lady ofShalott would have experienced rather a touch of mortification than ofenvy if she had known that there was a mirror in a house just round thecorner measuring almost as many feet. But that was one of the advantagesof being the Lady of Shalott. She never parsed life in the comparativedegree. 

I suppose that one must be the Lady of Shalott to understand whatcomfort there may be in a 10 X 6 inch looking-glass. All the world camefor the Lady of Shalott into her looking-glass, --the joy of it, theanguish of it, the hope and fear of it, the health and hurt, --10 X 6inches of it exactly. 

"It is next best to not having been thrown down stairs yourself!" saidthe Lady of Shalott. 

To tell the truth, it sometimes occurred to her that there was amonotony about the world. A garret window like her own, for instance, would fill her sight if she did not tip the glass a little. Children satin it, and did not play. They made lean faces at her. They were lockedin for the day and were hungry. She could not help knowing how hungrythey were, and so tipped the glass. Then there was the trap-door in thesidewalk. She became occasionally tired of that trap-door. Seven peoplelived under the sidewalk; and when they lifted and slammed the trap, coming in and out, they reminded her of something which Sary Jane boughther once, when she was a very little child, at Christmas time, --long ago, when rents were cheaper and flour low. It was a monkey, with whiskersand a calico jacket, who jumped out of a box when the cover was lifted;and then you crushed him down and hasped him in. Sometimes she wishedthat she had never had that monkey, he was so much like the peoplecoming in and out of the sidewalk. 

In fact, there was a monotony about all the people in the Lady ofShalott's looking-glass. If their faces were not dirty, their hands were. If they had hats, they went without shoes. If they did not sit in thesun with their heads on their knees, they lay in the mud with theirheads on a jug. 

"Their faces look blue!" she said to Sary Jane. 

"No wonder!" snapped Sary Jane. 

"Why?" asked the Lady of Shalott. 

"Wonder is we ain't all dead!" barked Sary Jane. 

The people in the Lady of Shalott's glass died, however, sometimes, --often in the summer; more often last summer, when the atticsmoked continually, and she mistook Sary Jane's voice for the rat-trapevery day. 

The people were jostled into pine boxes (in the glass), and carried away(in the glass) by twilight, in a cart. Three of the monkeys from thespring-box in the sidewalk went, in one week, out into the foul, purpletwilight, away from the looking-glass, in carts. 

"I'm glad of that, poor things!" said the Lady of Shalott, for she hadalways felt a kind of sorrow for the monkeys. Principally, I think, because they had no glass. 

When the monkeys had gone, the sickly twilight folded itself up, overthe spring-box, into great feathers, like the feathers of a wing. Thatwas pleasant. The Lady of Shalott could almost put out her fingers andstroke it, it hung so near, and was so clear, and gathered such apeacefulness into the looking-glass. 

"Sary Jane, dear, it's very pleasant, " said the Lady of Shalott. SaryJane said it was very dangerous, the Lord knew, and bit her threads off. 

"And, Sary Jane, dear!" added the Lady of Shalott, "I see so many otherpleasant things. "

"The more fool you!" said Sary Jane. 

But she wondered about it that day over her tenth nankeen vest. What, for example, _could_ the Lady of Shalott see?

"Waves!" said the Lady of Shalott, suddenly, as if she had been askedthe question. Sary Jane jumped. She said, "Nonsense!" For the Lady ofShalott had only seen the little wash-tub full of dingy water on Sundaynights, and the dirty little hydrant (in the glass) spouting dingy jets. She would not have known a wave if she had seen it. 

"But I see waves, " said the Lady of Shalott. She felt sure of it. Theyran up and down across the glass. They had green faces and gray hair. They threw back their hands, like cool people resting, and it seemedunaccountable, at the east end of South Street last summer, thatanything, anywhere, if only a wave in a looking-glass, could be cool orat rest. Besides this, they kept their faces clean. Therefore the Ladyof Shalott took pleasure in watching them run up and down across theglass. That a thing could be clean, and green, and white, was only lessa wonder than cool and rest last summer in South Street. 

"Sary Jane, dear, " said the Lady of Shalott, one day, "how hot _is_ itup here?"

"Hot as Hell!" said Sary Jane. 

"I thought it was a little warm, " said the Lady of Shalott. "Sary Jane, dear, isn't the yard down there a little--dirty?"

Sary Jane put down her needle, and looked out of the blazing, blindlesswindow. It had always been a subject of satisfaction to Sary Jane, somewhere down below her lean shoulders and in the very teeth of therat-trap, that the Lady of Shalott could not see out of that window. Soshe winked at the window, as if she would caution it to hold its burningtongue, and said never a word. 

"Sary Jane, dear, " said the Lady of Shalott, once more, "had you everthought that perhaps I was a little--weaker--than I was--once?"

"I guess you can stand it if I can!" said the rat-trap. 

"O, yes, dear, " said the Lady of Shalott. "I can stand it if you can. "

"Well, then!" said Sary Jane. But she sat and winked at the bald window, and the window held its burning tongue. 

It grew hot in South Street. It grew very hot in South Street. The leanchildren in the attic opposite fell sick, and sat no longer in thewindow making faces, in the Lady of Shalott's glass. 

Two more monkeys from the spring-box were carried away one ugly twilightin a cart. The purple wing that hung over the spring-box lifted to letthem pass; and then fell, as if it had brushed them away. 

"It has such a soft color!" said the Lady of Shalott, smiling. 

"So has nightshade!" said Sary Jane. 

One day a beautiful thing happened. One can scarcely understand how abeautiful thing _could_ happen at the east end of South Street. The Ladyof Shalott herself did not entirely understand. 

"It is all the glass, " she said. 

She was lying very still when she said it. She had folded her hands, which were hot, to keep them quiet too. She had closed her eyes, whichached, to close away the glare of the noon. At once she opened them, andsaid:--

"It is the glass. "

Sary Jane stood in the glass. Now Sary Jane, she well knew, was not inthe room that noon. She had gone out to see what she could find fordinner. She had five cents to spend on dinner. Yet Sary Jane stood inthe glass. And in the glass, ah! what a beautiful thing!

"Flowers!" cried the Lady of Shalott aloud. But she had never seenflowers. But neither had she seen waves. So she said, "They come as thewaves come. " And knew them, and lay smiling. Ah! what a beautiful, beautiful thing!

Sary Jane's hair was fiery and tumbled (in the glass), as if she hadwalked fast and far. Sary Jane (in the glass) was winking, as she hadwinked at the blazing window; as if she said to what she held in herarms, Don't tell! And in her arms (in the glass), where the waveswere--oh! beautiful, beautiful! The Lady of Shalott lay whispering:"Beautiful, beautiful!" She did not know what else to do. She dared notstir. Sary Jane's lean arms (in the glass) were full of silver bells;they hung out of a soft green shadow, like a church tower; they noddedto and fro; when they shook, they shook out sweetness. 

"Will they ring?" asked the Lady of Shalott of the little glass. 

I doubt, in my own mind, if you or I, being in South Street, and seeinga lily of the valley (in a 10 X 6 inch looking-glass) for the very firsttime, would have asked so sensible a question. 

"Try 'em and see, " said the looking-glass. Was it the looking-glass? Orthe rat-trap? Or was it--

O, the beautiful thing! That the glass should have nothing to do with it, after all! That Sary Jane, in flesh and blood, and tumbled hair, andtrembling, lean arms, should stand and shake an armful of church towersand silver bells down into the Lady of Shalott's little puzzled face andburning hands!

And that the Lady of Shalott should think that she must have got intothe glass herself, by a blunder, --as the only explanation possible ofsuch a beautiful thing!

"No, it isn't glass-dreams, " said Sary Jane, winking at the churchtowers, where they made a solemn, green shadow against the Lady ofShalott's bent cheek. "Smell 'em and see. You can 'most stand the yardwith them round. Smell 'em and see! It ain't the glass; it's the FlowerCharity. "

"The what?" asked the Lady of Shalott slowly. 

"The Flower Charity. "

"Heaven bless it!" said the Lady of Shalott. But she said nothing more. 

She laid her cheek over into the shadow of the green church towers. "Andthere'll be more, " said Sary Jane, hunting for her wax. "There'll bemore, whenever I can call for 'em, --bless it!"

"Heaven bless it!" said the Lady of Shalott again. 

"But I only got a lemon for dinner, " said Sary Jane. 

"Heaven bless it!" said the Lady of Shalott, with her face hidden underthe church towers. But I don't think that she meant the lemon, thoughSary Jane did. 

"They _do_ ring, " said the Lady of Shalott by and by. She drew the tipof her thin fingers across the tip of the tiny bells. "I thought theywould. "

"Humph!" said Sary Jane, squeezing her lemon under her work-box. "Inever see your beat for glass-dreams. What do they say? Come, now!"

Now the Lady of Shalott knew very well what they said. Very well! Butshe only drew the tips of her poor fingers over the tips of the silverbells. Clever mind! It was not necessary to tell Sary Jane. 

But it grew hot in South Street. It grew very hot in South Street. Eventhe Flower Charity (bless it!) could not sweeten the dreadfulness ofthat yard. Even the purple wing above the spring-box fell heavily uponthe Lady of Shalott's strained eyes, across the glass. Even thegray-haired waves ceased running up and down and throwing back theirhands before her; they sat still, in heaps upon a blistering beach, andgasped for breath. The Lady of Shalott herself gasped sometimes, inwatching them. 

One day she said: "There's a man in them. "

"A _what_ in _which_?" buzzed Sary Jane. "Oh! There's a man across theyard, I suppose you mean. Among them young ones, yonder. I wish he'dstop 'em throwing stones, plague on 'em! See him, don't you?"

"I don't see the children, " said the Lady of Shalott, a little troubled. Her glass had shown her so many things strangely since the days grew hot. "But I see a man, and he walks upon the waves. See, see!"

The Lady of Shalott tried to pull herself up upon the elbow of hercalico night-dress, to see. 

"That's one of them Hospital doctors, " said Sary Jane, looking out ofthe blazing window. "I've seen him round before. Don't know whatbusiness he's got down here; but I've seen him. He's talkin' to themboys now, about the stones. There! He'd better! If they don't look out, they'll hit--"

"_O, the glass! the glass!_"

The Hospital doctor stood still; so did Sary Jane, half risen from herchair; so did the very South Street boys, gaping in the gutter, withtheir hands full of stones, such a cry rang out from the palace window. 

"_O, the glass! the glass! the glass!_"

In a twinkling the South Street boys were at the mercy of the SouthStreet police; and the Hospital doctor, bounding over a beachful ofshattered, scattered waves, stood, out of breath, beside the Lady ofShalott's bed. 

"O the little less, and what worlds away!"

The Lady of Shalott lay quite still in her little brown caliconight-gown [I cannot learn, by the way, that Bulfinch's studious and ingeneral trustworthy researches have put him in possession of this point. Indeed, I feel justified in asserting that Mr. Bulfinch never so much as_intimated_ that the Lady of Shalott wore a brown caliconight-dress]--the Lady of Shalott lay quite still, and her lips turnedblue. 

"Are you very much hurt? Where were you struck? I heard the cry, andcame. Can you tell me where the blow was?"

But then the doctor saw the glass, broken and blown in a thousandglittering sparks across the palace floor; and then the Lady of Shalottgave him a little blue smile. 

"It's not me. Never mind. I wish it was. I'd rather it was me than theglass. O, my glass! my glass! But never mind. I suppose there'll be someother--pleasant thing. "

"Were you so fond of the glass?" asked the doctor, taking one of the twochairs that Sary Jane brought him, and looking sorrowfully about theroom. What other "pleasant thing" could even the Lady of Shalottdiscover in that room last summer, at the east end of South Street?

"How long have you lain here?" asked the sorrowful doctor, suddenly. 

"Since I can remember, sir, " said the Lady of Shalott, with that bluesmile. "But then I have always had my glass. "

"Ah!" said the doctor, "the Lady of Shalott!"

"Sir?" said the Lady of Shalott. 

"Where is the pain?" asked the doctor, gently, with his finger on theLady of Shalott's pulse. 

The Lady of Shalott touched the shoulder of her brown calico night-dress, smiling. 

"And what did you see in your glass?" asked the doctor, once morestooping to examine "the pain. "

The Lady of Shalott tried to tell him, but felt confused; so manystrange things had been in the glass since it grew hot. So she only saidthat there were waves and a purple wing, and that they were broken now, and lay upon the floor. 

"Purple wings?" asked the doctor. 

"Over the sidewalk, " nodded the Lady of Shalott. "It comes up at night. "

"Oh!" said the doctor, "the malaria. No wonder!"

"And what about the waves?" asked the doctor, talking while he touchedand tried the little brown calico shoulders. "I have a little girl of myown down by the waves this summer. She--I suppose she is no older thanyou!"

"I am seventeen, sir, " said the Lady of Shalott. "Do they have greenfaces and white hair? Does she see them run up and down? I never saw anywaves, sir, but those in my glass. I am very glad to know that yourlittle girl is by the waves. "

"Where you ought to be, " said the doctor, half under his breath. "It iscruel, cruel!"

"What is cruel?" asked the Lady of Shalott, looking up into the doctor'sface. 

The little brown calico night-dress swam suddenly before the doctor'seyes. He got up and walked across the floor. As he walked he steppedupon the pieces of the broken glass. 

"O, don't!" cried the Lady of Shalott. But then she thought that perhapsshe had hurt the doctor's feelings; so she smiled, and said, "Nevermind. "

"Her case could be cured, " said the doctor, still under his breath, toSary Jane. "The case could be cured yet. It is cruel!"

"Sir, " said Sary Jane, --she lifted her sharp face sharply out of billowsof nankeen vests, --"it may be because I make vests at sixteen and threequarters cents a dozen, sir; but I say before God there's somethingcruel somewheres. Look at her. Look at me. Look at them stairs. Just seethat scuttle, will you? Just feel the sun in't these windows. Look atthe rent we pay for this 'ere oven. What do you s'pose the meriky is uphere? Look at them pisen fogs arisen' out over the sidewalk. Look at thedead as have died in the Devil in this street this week. Then look outhere!"

Sary Jane drew the doctor to the blazing, blindless window, out of whichthe Lady of Shalott had never looked. 

"Now talk of curin' her!" said Sary Jane. 

The doctor turned away from the window, with a sudden white face. 

"The Board of Health--"

"Don't talk to me about the Board of Health!" said Sary Jane. 

"I'll talk to them, " said the doctor. "I did not know matters were sobad. They shall be attended to directly. To-morrow I leave town--" Hestopped, looking down at the Lady of Shalott, thinking of the littlelady by the waves, whom he would see to-morrow, hardly knowing what tosay. "But something shall be done at once. Meantime, there's theHospital. "

"She tried Horspital long ago, " said Sary Jane. "They said they couldn'tdo nothing. What's the use? Don't bother her. Let her be. "

"Yes, let me be, " said the Lady of Shalott, faintly. "The glass isbroken. "

"But something must be done!" urged the doctor, hurrying away. "I willattend to the matter directly. "

He spoke in a busy doctor's busy way. Undoubtedly he thought that heshould attend to the matter directly. 

"You have flowers here, I see. " He lifted, in hurrying away, a spray oflilies that lay upon the bed, freshly sent to the Lady of Shalott thatmorning. 

"They ring, " said the Lady of Shalott, softly. "Can you hear?'Bless--it! Bless--it!' Ah, yes, they ring!"

"Bless what?" asked the doctor, half out of the door. 

"The Flower Charity, " said the Lady of Shalott. 

"Amen!" said the doctor. "But I'll attend to it directly. " And he wasquite out of the door, and the door was shut. 

"Sary Jane, dear?" said, the Lady of Shalott, a few minutes after thedoor was shut. 

"Well!" said Sary Jane. 

"The glass is broken, " said the Lady of Shalott. 

"Should think I might know that!" said Sary Jane, who was down upon herknees, sweeping shining pieces away into a pasteboard dust-pan. 

"Sary Jane, dear?" said the Lady of Shalott again. 

"Dear, dear!" echoed Sary Jane, tossing purple feathers out of thewindow and seeming, to the eyes of the Lady of Shalott, to have thespray of green waves upon her hands. "There they go!"

"Yes, there they go, " said the Lady of Shalott. But she said no moretill night. 

It was a hot night for South Street. It was a very hot night for evenSouth Street. The lean children in the attic opposite cried savagely, like lean cubs. The monkeys from the spring-box came out and sat uponthe lid for air. Dirty people lay around the dirty hydrant; and thepurple wing stretched itself a little in a quiet way, to cover them. 

"Sary Jane, dear?" said the Lady of Shalott, at night. "The glass isbroken. And, Sary Jane, dear, I am afraid I _can't_ stand it as well asyou can. "

Sary Jane gave the Lady of Shalott a sharp look, and put away hernankeen vests. She came to the bed. 

"It isn't time to stop sewing, is it?" asked the Lady of Shalott, infaint surprise. Sary Jane only gave her sharp looks, and said, --

"Nonsense! That man will be back again yet. He'll look after ye, maybe. Nonsense!"

"Yes, " said the Lady of Shalott, "he will come back again. But my glassis broken. "

"Nonsense!" said Sary Jane. But she did not go back to her sewing. Shesat down on the edge of the bed, by the Lady of Shalott; and it grewdark. 

"Perhaps they'll do something about the yards; who knows?" said SaryJane through the growing dark. 

"But my glass is broken, " said the Lady of Shalott. 

"Sary Jane, dear!" said the Lady of Shalott, when it had grown quite, quite dark. "He is walking on the waves. "

"Nonsense!" said Sary Jane. For it was quite, quite dark. 

"Sary Jane, dear!" said the Lady of Shalott. "Not that man. But there_is_ a man, and he is walking on the waves. "

The Lady of Shalott raised herself upon her little calico night-dresssleeve. She looked at the wall where the 10 X 6 inch looking-glass hadhung. 

"Sary Jane, dear!" said the Lady of Shalott. "I am glad that girl isdown by the waves. I am very glad. But the glass is broken. "

Two days after, the Board of Health at the foot of the precipice, whichthe lessor called a flight of stairs, which led into the Lady ofShalott's palace, were met and stopped by another board. 

"_This_ one's got the right of way, gentlemen!" said something at thebrink of the precipice, which sounded so much like a rat-trap that theBoard of Health looked down by instinct at its individual and collectivefeet to see if they were in danger, and dared not by instinct stir astep. 

The board which had the right of way was a pine board, and the Lady ofShalott lay on it, in her little brown calico night-dress, with SaryJane's old shawl across her feet. The Flower Charity (Heaven bless it!)had half covered the old shawl with silver bells, and solemn greenshadows, like the shadows of church towers. And it was a comfort to knowthat these were the only bells which tolled for the Lady of Shalott, andthat no other church shadow fell upon her burial. 

"Gentlemen, " said the Hospital doctor, "we're too late, I see. But you'dbetter go on. "

The gentlemen of the Board of Health went on; and the Lady of Shalottwent on. 

The Lady of Shalott went out into the cart that had carried away themonkeys from the spring-box, and the purple wing lifted to let her pass;and fell again, as if it had brushed her away. 

The Board of Health went up the precipice, and stood by the window outof which the Lady of Shalott had never looked. 

They sent orders to the scavenger, and orders to the Water Board, andhow many other orders nobody knows; and they sprinkled themselves withcamphor, and they went their ways. 

And the board that had the right of way went its way, too. And Sary Janefolded up the shawl, which she could not afford to lose, and came home, and made nankeen vests at sixteen and three quarters cents a dozen inthe window out of which the Lady of Shalott had never looked. 

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

MARJORIE FLEMING. 

BY JOHN BROWN, M. D. 

One November afternoon in 1810, --the year in which "Waverley" wasresumed and laid aside again, to be finished off, its last two volumesin three weeks, and made immortal in 1814, and when its author, by thedeath of Lord Melville, narrowly escaped getting a civil appointment inIndia, --three men, evidently lawyers, might have been seen escaping likeschool-boys from the Parliament House, and speeding arm in arm down BankStreet and the Mound, in the teeth of a surly blast of sleet. 

The three friends sought the _bield_ of the low wall old Edinburgh boysremember well, and sometimes miss now, as they struggle with the stoutwest-wind. 

The three were curiously unlike each other. One, "a little man of feeblemake, who would be unhappy if his pony got beyond a foot pace, " slight, with "small, elegant features, hectic cheek, and soft hazel eyes, theindex of the quick, sensitive spirit within, as if he had the warm heartof a woman, her genuine enthusiasm, and some of her weaknesses. " Another, as unlike a woman as a man can be; homely, almost common, in look andfigure; his hat and his coat, and indeed his entire covering, worn tothe quick, but all of the best material; what redeemed him fromvulgarity and meanness were his eyes, deep set, heavily thatched, keen, hungry, shrewd, with a slumbering glow far in, as if they could bedangerous; a man to care nothing for at first glance, but, somehow, togive a second and not-forgetting look at. The third was the biggest ofthe three, and though lame, nimble, and all rough and alive with power;had you met him anywhere else, you would say he was a Liddesdalestore-farmer, come of gentle blood; "a stout, blunt carle, " as he saysof himself, with the swing and stride and the eye of a man of thehills, --a large, sunny, out-of-door air all about him. On his broad andsomewhat stooping shoulders was set that head which, with Shakespeare'sand Bonaparte's, is the best known in all the world. 

He was in high spirits, keeping his companions and himself in roars oflaughter, and every now and then seizing them, and stopping, that theymight take their fill of the fun; there they stood shaking with laughter, "not an inch of their body free" from its grip. At George Street theyparted, one to Rose Court, behind St. Andrew's Church, one to AlbanyStreet, the other, our big and limping friend, to Castle Street. 

We need hardly give their names. The first was William Erskine, afterwards Lord Kinnedder, chased out of the world by a calumny, killedby its foul breath, --

 "And at the touch of wrong, without a strife, Slipped in a moment out of life. "

There is nothing in literature more beautiful or more pathetic thanScott's love and sorrow for this friend of his youth. 

The second was William Clerk, --the _Darsie Latimer_ of "Redgauntlet"; "aman, " as Scott says, "of the most acute intellects and powerfulapprehension, " but of more powerful indolence, so as to leave the worldwith little more than the report of what he might have been, --a humoristas genuine, though not quite so savagely Swiftian as his brother LordEldon, neither of whom had much of that commonest and best of all thehumors, called good. 

The third we all know. What has he not done for every one of us? Who elseever, except Shakespeare, so diverted mankind, entertained andentertains a world so liberally, so wholesomely? We are fain to say, noteven Shakespeare, for his is something deeper than diversion, somethinghigher than pleasure, and yet who would care to split this hair?

Had any one watched him closely before and after the parting, what achange he would see! The bright, broad laugh, the shrewd, jovial word, the man of the Parliament House and of the world, and, next step, moody, the light of his eye withdrawn, as if seeing things that were invisible;his shut mouth, like a child's, so impressionable, so innocent, so sad:he was now all within, as before he was all without; hence his broodinglook. As the snow blattered in his face, he muttered, "How it raves anddrifts! On-ding o' snaw, --ay, that's the word, --on-ding--" He was now athis own door, "Castle Street, No. 39. " He opened the door, and wentstraight to his den; that wondrous workshop, where, in one year, 1823, when he was fifty-two, he wrote "Peveril of the Peak, " "QuentinDurward, " and "St. Ronan's Well, " besides much else. We once took theforemost of our novelists, the greatest, we would say, since Scott, intothis room, and could not but mark the solemnizing effect of sittingwhere the great magician sat so often and so long, and looking out uponthat little shabby bit of sky, and that back green where faithful Camplies. [1]

[Footnote 1: This favorite dog "died about January, 1809, and was buried, in a fine moonlight night, in the little garden behind the house inCastle Street. My wife tells me she remembers the whole family in tearsabout the grave, as her father himself smoothed the turf above Camp withthe saddest face she had ever seen. He had been engaged to dine abroadthat day, but apologized on account of the death of 'a dear oldfriend. '"--_Lockhart's Life of Scott. _]

He sat down in his large, green morocco elbow-chair, drew himself closeto his table, and glowered and gloomed at his writing apparatus, "a veryhandsome old box, richly carved, lined with crimson velvet, andcontaining ink-bottles, taper-stand, etc. , in silver, the whole in suchorder that it might have come from the silversmith's window half an hourbefore. " He took out his paper, then, starting up angrily, said, "'Gospin, you jade, go spin. ' No, d--- it, it won't do:--

 'My spinnin'-wheel is auld and stiff; The rock o't wunna stand, sir; To keep the temper-pin in tiff Employs ower aft my hand, sir. '

I am off the fang. [2] I can make nothing of 'Waverley' to-day; I'll awa'to Marjorie. Come wi' me, Maida, you thief. " The great creature roseslowly, and the pair were off, Scott taking a _maud_ (a plaid) with him. "White as a frosted plum-cake, by jingo!" said he, when he got to thestreet. Maida gambolled and whisked among the snow; and her masterstrode across to Young Street, and through it to 1 North CharlotteStreet, to the house of his dear friend, Mrs. William Keith ofCorstorphine Hill, niece of Mrs. Keith of Ravelston, of whom he said ather death, eight years after, "Much tradition, and that of the best, hasdied with this excellent old lady, one of the few persons whose spiritsand _cleanliness_ and freshness of mind and body made old age lovely anddesirable. "

[Footnote 2: Applied to a pump when it is dry and its valve has lost its"fang. "]

Sir Walter was in that house almost every day, and had a key, so in heand the hound went, shaking themselves in the lobby. "Marjorie!Marjorie!" shouted her friend, "where are ye, my bonnie wee croodlindoo?" In a moment a bright, eager child of seven was in his arms, and hewas kissing her all over. Out came Mrs. Keith. "Come yer ways in, Wattie. " "No, not now. I am going to take Marjorie wi' me, and you maycome to your tea in Duncan Roy's sedan, and bring the bairn home in yourlap. " "Tak' Marjorie, and it _on-ding o' snaw!_" said Mrs. Keith. Hesaid to himself, "On-ding--that's odd--that is the very word. " "Hoot, awa! look here, " and he displayed the corner of his plaid, made to holdlambs, --the true shepherd's plaid, consisting of two breadths sewedtogether, and uncut at one end, making a poke or _cul de sac_. "Tak' yerlamb, " said she, laughing at the contrivance; and so the Pet was firstwell happit up, and then put, laughing silently, into the plaid neuk, and the shepherd strode off with his lamb, --Maida gambolling through thesnow, and running races in her mirth. 

Didn't he face "the angry airt, " and make her bield his bosom, and intohis own room with her, and lock the door, and out with the warm, rosylittle wifie, who took it all with great composure! There the tworemained for three or more hours, making the house ring with theirlaughter; you can fancy the big man's and Maidie's laugh. Having madethe fire cheery, he set her down in his ample chair, and, standingsheepishly before her, began to say his lesson, which happened to be, "Ziccotty, diccotty, dock, the mouse ran up the clock, the clock struckwan, down the mouse ran, ziccotty, diccotty, dock. " This done repeatedlytill she was pleased, she gave him his new lesson, gravely and slowly, timing it upon her small fingers, --he saying it after her, --

 "Wonery, twoery, tickery, seven; Alibi, crackaby, ten, and eleven; Pin, pan, musky, dan; Tweedle-um, twoddle-um, Twenty-wan; eerie, orie, ourie, You, are, out. "

He pretended to great difficulty, and she rebuked him with most comicalgravity, treating him as a child. He used to say that when he came toAlibi Crackaby he broke down, and pin-Pan, Musky-dan, Tweedle-um, Twoddle-um made him roar with laughter. He said _Musky-Dan_ especiallywas beyond endurance, bringing up an Irishman and his hat fresh from theSpice Islands and odoriferous Ind; she getting quite bitter in herdispleasure at his ill behavior and stupidness. 

Then he would read ballads to her in his own glorious way, the twogetting wild with excitement over "Gil Morrice" or the "Baron ofSmailholm"; and he would take her on his knee, and make her repeatConstance's speeches in "King John, " till he swayed to and fro, sobbinghis fill. Fancy the gifted little creature, like one possessed, repeating, --

 "For I am sick, and capable of fears, -- Oppressed with wrong, and, therefore, full of fears; A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; A woman, naturally born to fears. "

 "If thou, that bidst me be content, wert grim, Ugly, and slanderous to thy mother's womb, -- Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious--"

Or, drawing herself up "to the height of her great argument, "--

 "I will instruct my sorrows to be proud, For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. Here I and sorrow sit. "

Scott used to say that he was amazed at her power over him, saying toMrs. Keith, "She's the most extraordinary creature I ever met with, andher repeating of Shakespeare overpowers me as nothing else does. "

Thanks to the little book whose title heads this paper, and thanks stillmore to the unforgetting sister of this dear child, who has much of thesensibility and fun of her who has been in her small grave these fiftyand more years, we have now before us the letters and journals of PetMarjorie: before us lies and gleams her rich brown hair, bright andsunny as if yesterday's, with the words on the paper, "Cut out in herlast illness, " and two pictures of her by her beloved Isabella, whom sheworshipped; there are the faded old scraps of paper, hoarded still, overwhich her warm breath and her warm little heart had poured themselves;there is the old watermark, "Lingard, 1808. " The two portraits are verylike each other, but plainly done at different times; it is a chubby, healthy face, deep-set, brooding eyes, as eager to tell what is going onwithin as to gather in all the glories from without; quick with thewonder and the pride of life: they are eyes that would not be soonsatisfied with seeing; eyes that would devour their object, and yetchildlike and fearless; and that is a mouth that will not be soonsatisfied with love; it has a curious likeness to Scott's own, which hasalways appeared to us his sweetest, most mobile, and speaking feature. 

There she is, looking straight at us as she did at him, --fearless, andfull of love, passionate, wild, wilful, fancy's child. One cannot lookat it without thinking of Wordsworth's lines on poor HartleyColeridge:--

 "O blessed vision, happy child! Thou art so exquisitely wild, I thought of thee with many fears, -- Of what might be thy lot in future years. I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest, Lord of thy house and hospitality; And Grief, uneasy lover! ne'er at rest But when she sat within the touch of thee. O too industrious folly! O vain and causeless melancholy! Nature will either end thee quite, Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, Preserve for thee, by individual right, A young lamb's heart among the full-grown flock. "

And we can imagine Scott, when holding his warm, plump little playfellowin his arms, repeating that stately friend's lines:--

 "Loving she is, and tractable, though wild; And Innocence hath privilege in her, To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes And feats of cunning, and the pretty round Of trespasses, affected to provoke Mock chastisement and partnership in play. And, as a fagot sparkles on the hearth Not less if unattended and alone Than when both young and old sit gathered round And take delight in its activity, Even so this happy creature of herself Is all-sufficient; solitude to her Is blithe society: she fills the air With gladness and involuntary songs. "

But we will let her disclose herself. We need hardly say that all thisis true, and that these letters are as really Marjorie's as was thislight brown hair; indeed, you could as easily fabricate the one as theother. 

There was an old servant--Jeanie Robertson--who was forty years in hergrandfather's family. Marjorie Fleming, or, as she is called in theletters and by Sir Walter, Maidie, was the last child she kept. Jeanie'swages never exceeded 3 pounds a year, and when she left service she hadsaved 40 pounds. She was devotedly attached to Maidie, rather despisingand ill-using her sister Isabella, --a beautiful and gentle child. Thispartiality made Maidie apt at times to domineer over Isabella. "Imention this, " writes her surviving sister, "for the purpose of tellingyou an instance of Maidie's generous justice. When only five years old, when walking in Raith grounds, the two children had run on before, andold Jeanie remembered they might come too near a dangerous mill-lade. She called to them to turn back. Maidie heeded her not, rushed all thefaster on, and fell, and would have been lost, had her sister not pulledher back, saving her life, but tearing her clothes. Jeanie flew onIsabella to 'give it her' for spoiling her favorite's dress; Maidierushed in between, crying out, 'Pay (whip) Maidjie as much as you like, and I'll not say one word; but touch Isy, and I'll roar like a bull!'Years after Maidie was resting in her grave, my mother used to take meto the place, and told the story always in the exact same words. " ThisJeanie must have been a character. She took great pride in exhibitingMaidie's brother William's Calvinistic acquirements when nineteen monthsold, to the officers of a militia regiment then quartered in Kirkcaldy. This performance was so amusing that it was often repeated, and thelittle theologian was presented by them with a cap and feathers. Jeanie's glory was "putting him through the carritch" (catechism) inbroad Scotch, beginning at the beginning with "Wha made ye, ma bonnieman?" For the correctness of this and the three next replies, Jeanie hadno anxiety, but the tone changed to menace, and the closed _nieve_(fist) was shaken in the child's face as she demanded, "Of what are youmade?" "DIRT, " was the answer uniformly given. "Wull ye never learn tosay _dust_, ye thrawn deevil?" with a cuff from the opened hand, was theas inevitable rejoinder. 

Here is Maidie's first letter, before she was six. The spelling isunaltered, and there are no "commoes. "

"MY DEAR ISA, --I now sit down to answer all your kind and belovedletters which you was so good as to write to me. This is the first timeI ever wrote a letter in my Life. There are a great many Girls in theSquare, and they cry just like a pig when we are under the painfullnecessity of putting it to Death. Miss Potune, a Lady of my acquaintance, praises me dreadfully. I repeated something out of Dean Swift, and shesaid I was fit for the stage, and you may think I was primmed up withmajestick Pride, but upon my word I felt myselfe turn a littlebirsay, --birsay is a word which is a word that William composed which isas you may suppose a little enraged. This horrid fat simpliton says thatmy Aunt is beautifull, which is intirely impossible, for that is not hernature. "

What a peppery little pen we wield! What could that have been out of theSardonic Dean? What other child of that age would have used "beloved" asshe does? This power of affection, this faculty of _be_loving, and wildhunger to be beloved comes out more and more. She perilled her all uponit, and it may have been as well--we know, indeed, that it was farbetter--for her that this wealth of love was so soon withdrawn to itsone only infinite Giver and Receiver. This must have been the law of herearthly life. Love was indeed "her Lord and King"; and it was perhapswell for her that she found so soon that her and our only Lord and KingHimself is Love. 

Here are bits from her Diary at Braehead: "The day of my existence herehas been delightful and enchanting. On Saturday I expected no less thanthree well-made Bucks, the names of whom is here advertised. Mr. Geo. Crakey (Craigie), and Wm. Keith, and Jn. Keith, --the first is thefunniest of every one of them. Mr. Crakey and walked to Craky-hall(Craigiehall), hand in hand in Innocence and matitation (meditation)sweet thinking on the kind love which flows in our tender-hearted mindwhich is overflowing with majestic pleasure no one was ever so polite tome in the hole state of my existence. Mr. Craky you must know is a greatBuck, and pretty good-looking. 

"I am at Ravelston enjoying nature's fresh air. The birds are singingsweetly, the calf doth frisk, and nature shows her glorious face. "

Here is a confession: "I confess I have been very more like a littleyoung divil than a creature for when Isabella went up stairs to teach mereligion and my multiplication and to be good and all my other lessons Istamped with my foot and threw my new hat which she had made on theground and was sulky and was dreadfully passionate, but she never whipedme but said Marjory go into another room and think what a great crimeyou are committing letting your temper git the better of you. But I wentso sulkily that the Devil got the better of me but she never never neverwhips me so that I think I would be the better of it and the next timethat I behave ill I think she should do it for she never never doesit. . . . Isabella has given me praise for checking my temper for I wassulky even when she was kneeling an hole hour teaching me to write. "

Our poor little wifie, --_she_ has no doubts of the personality of theDevil! "Yesterday I behave extremely ill in God's most holy church for Iwould never attend myself nor let Isabella attend which was a greatcrime for she often, often tells me that when to or three are geatheredtogether God is in the midst of them, and it was the very same Divilthat tempted Job that tempted me I am sure; but he resisted Satan thoughhe had boils and many many other misfortunes which I have escaped. . . . Iam now going to tell you the horible and wretched plaege (plague) thatmy multiplication gives me you can't conceive it the most Devilish thingis 8 times 8 and 7 times 7 it is what nature itself cant endure. "

This is delicious; and what harm is there in her "Devilish"? It isstrong language merely; even old Rowland Hill used to say "he grudgedthe Devil those rough and ready words. " "I walked to that delightfulplace Craky-hall with a delightful young man beloved by all his friendsespacially by me his loveress, but I must not talk any more about himfor Isa said it is not proper for to speak of gentalmen but I will neverforget him!. . . I am very very glad that satan has not given me boils andmany other misfortunes--In the holy bible these words are written thatthe Devil goes like a roaring lyon in search of his pray but the lordlets us escape from him but we" (_pauvre petite!_) "do not strive withthis awfull Spirit. . . . To-day I pronunced a word which should never comeout of a lady's lips it was that I called John a Impudent Bitch. I willtell you what I think made me in so bad a humor is I got one or two ofthat bad bad sina (senna) tea to-day, "--a better excuse for bad humorand bad language than most. 

She has been reading the Book of Esther: "It was a dreadful thing thatHaman was hanged on the very gallows which he had prepared for Mordecato hang him and his ten sons thereon and it was very wrong and cruel tohang his sons for they did not commit the crime; _but then Jesus was notthen come to teach us to be merciful. _" This is wise and beautiful, --hasupon it the very dew of youth and of holiness. Out of the mouths ofbabes and sucklings He perfects His praise. 

"This is Saturday and I am very glad of it because I have play half theDay and I get money too but alas I owe Isabella 4 pence for I am finned2 pence whenever I bite my nails. Isabella is teaching me to make simmecolings nots of interrigations peorids commoes, etc. . . . As this isSunday I will meditate upon Senciable and Religious subjects. First Ishould be very thankful I am not a begger. "

This amount of meditation and thankfulness seems to have been all shewas able for. 

"I am going to-morrow to a delightfull place, Braehead by name, belonging to Mrs. Crraford, where there is ducks cocks hens bubblyjocks2 dogs 2 cats and swine which is delightful. I think it is shocking tothink that the dog and cat should bear them" (this is a meditationphysiological), "and they are drowned after all. I would rather have aman-dog than a woman-dog, because they do not bear like women-dogs; itis a hard case--it is shocking. I cam here to enjoy natures delightfulbreath it is sweeter than a fial (phial) of rose oil. "

Braehead is the farm the historical Jock Howison asked and got from ourgay James the Fifth, "the gudeman o' Ballengiech, " as a reward for theservices of his flail, when the King had the worst of it at Cramond Brigwith the gypsies. The farm is unchanged in size from that time, andstill in the unbroken line of the ready and victorious thrasher. Braehead is held on the condition of the possessor being ready topresent the King with a ewer and basin to wash his hands, Jock havingdone this for his unknown king after the _splore_, and when George theFourth came to Edinburgh this ceremony was performed in silver atHolyrood. It is a lovely neuk this Braehead, preserved almost as it was200 years ago. "Lot and his wife, " mentioned by Maidie, --two quaintlycropped yew-trees, --still thrive, the burn runs as it did in her time, and sings the same quiet tune, --as much the same and as different as_Now_ and _Then_. The house full of old family relics and pictures, thesun shining on them through the small deep windows with their plateglass; and there, blinking at the sun, and chattering contentedly, is aparrot, that might, for its looks of eld, have been in the ark, anddomineered over and _deaved_ the dove. Everything about the place is oldand fresh. 

This is beautiful: "I am very sorry to say that I forgot God--that is tosay I forgot to pray to-day and Isabella told me that I should bethankful that God did not forget me--if he did, O what would become ofme if I was in danger and God not friends with me--I must go tounquenchable fire and if I was tempted to sin--how could I resist it Ono I will never do it again--no no--if I can help it!" (Canny weewifie!) "My religion is greatly falling off because I dont pray with somuch attention when I am saying my prayers, and my charecter is lostamong the Braehead people. I hope I will be religious again--but as forregaining my charecter I despare for it. " (Poor little "habit andrepute"!)

Her temper, her passion, and her "badness" are almost daily confessedand deplored: "I will never again trust to my own power, for I see thatI cannot be good without God's assistance, --I will not trust in my ownselfe, and Isa's health will be quite ruined by me, --it will indeed. ""Isa has giving me advice, which is, that when I feal Satan beginning totempt me, that I flea him and he would flea me. " "Remorse is the worstthing to bear, and I am afraid that I will fall a marter to it. "

Poor dear little sinner! Here comes the world again: "In my travels Imet with a handsome lad named Charles Balfour Esq. , and from him I gotofers of marage--offers of marage, did I say? Nay plenty heard me. " Afine scent for "breach of promise"!

This is abrupt and strong: "The Divil is curced and all his works. 'Tisa fine work _Newton on the profecies_. I wonder if there is another bookof poems comes near the Bible. The Divil always girns at the sight ofthe Bible. " "Miss Potune" (her "simpliton" friend) "is very fat; shepretends to be very learned. She says she saw a stone that dropt fromthe skies; but she is a good Christian. " Here comes her views on churchgovernment: "An Annibabtist is a thing I am not a member of--I am aPisplekan (Episcopalian) just now, and" (O you little Laodicean andLatitudinarian!) "a Prisbeteran at Kirkcaldy!"--(_Blandula! Vagula!coelum et animum mutas quae trans mare_ (i. E. _transBodotriam_)--_curris_!)--"my native town. " "Sentiment is not what I amacquainted with as yet, though I wish it, and should like to practiseit. " (!) "I wish I had a great, great deal of gratitude in my heart, inall my body. " "There is a new novel published, named _Self-Control_"(Mrs. Brunton's)--"a very good maxim forsooth!" This is shocking:"Yesterday a marrade man, named Mr. John Balfour, Esq. , offered to kissme, and offered to marry me, though the man" (a fine directness this!)"was espused, and his wife was present and said he must ask herpermission; but he did not. I think he was ashamed and confounded before3 gentelman--Mr. Jobson and 2 Mr. Kings. " "Mr. Banester's" (Bannister's)"Budjet is to-night; I hope it will be a good one. A great many authorshave expressed themselves too sentimentally. " You are right, Marjorie. "A Mr. Burns writes a beautiful song on Mr. Cunhaming, whose wifedesarted him--truly it is a most beautiful one. " "I like to read theFabulous historys, about the histerys of Robin, Dickey, flapsay, andPeccay, and it is very amusing, for some were good birds and others bad, but Peccay was the most dutiful and obedient to her parients. " "Thomsonis a beautiful author, and Pope, but nothing to Shakespear, of which Ihave a little knolege. 'Macbeth' is a pretty composition, but awfulone. " "The _Newgate Calender_ is very instructive. " (!) "A sailor calledhere to say farewell; it must be dreadful to leave his native countrywhen he might get a wife; or perhaps me, for I love him very much. But OI forgot, Isabella forbid me to speak about love. " This antiphlogisticregimen and lesson is ill to learn by our Maidie, for here she sinsagain: "Love is a very papithatick thing" (it is almost a pity tocorrect this into pathetic), "as well as troublesome and tiresome--but OIsabella forbid me to speak of it. " Here are her reflections on apineapple: "I think the price of a pine-apple is very dear: it is awhole bright goulden guinea, that might have sustained a poor family. "Here is a new vernal simile: "The hedges are sprouting like chicks fromthe eggs when they are newly hatched or, as the vulgar say, _clacked_. ""Doctor Swift's works are very funny; I got some of them by heart. ""Moreheads sermons are I hear much praised, but I never read sermons ofany kind; but I read novelettes and my Bible, and I never forget it, ormy prayers. " Bravo, Marjorie!

She seems now, when still about six, to have broken out into song:--

"EPHIBOL (EPIGRAM OR EPITAPH, --WHO KNOWS WHICH?) ON MY DEAR LOVE, ISABELLA. 

 "Here lies sweet Isabel in bed, With a night-cap on her head; Her skin is soft, her face is fair, And she has very pretty hair: She and I in bed lies nice, And undisturbed by rats or mice. She is disgusted with Mr. Worgan, Though he plays upon the organ. Her nails are neat, her teeth are white; Her eyes are very, very bright. In a conspicuous town she lives, And to the poor her money gives. Here ends sweet Isabella's story, And may it be much to her glory!"

Here are some bits at random:--

 "Of summer I am very fond, And love to bathe into a pond: The look of sunshine dies away, And will not let me out to play. I love the morning's sun to spy Glittering through the casement's eye; The rays of light are very sweet, And puts away the taste of meat. The balmy breeze comes down from heaven, And makes us like for to be living. "

"The casawary is an curious bird, and so is the gigantic crane, and thepelican of the wilderness, whose mouth holds a bucket of fish and water. Fighting is what ladies is not qualyfied for, they would not make a goodfigure in battle or in a duel. Alas! we females are of little use to ourcountry. The history of all the malcontents as ever was hanged isamusing. " Still harping on the Newgate Calendar!

"Braehead is extremely pleasant to me by the companie of swine, geese, cocks, etc. , and they are the delight of my soul. "

"I am going to tell you of a melancholy story. A young turkie of 2 or 3months old, would you believe it, the father broke its leg, and hekilled another! I think he ought to be transported or hanged. "

"Queen Street is a very gay one, and so is Princes Street, for all thelads and lasses, besides bucks and beggars parade there. "

"I should like to see a play very much, for I never saw one in all mylife, and don't believe I ever shall; but I hope I can be contentwithout going to one. I can be quite happy without my desire beinggranted. "

"Some days ago Isabella had a terrible fit of the toothake, and shewalked with a long night-shift at dead of night like a ghost, and Ithought she was one. She prayed for nature's sweet restorer--balmysleep--but did not get it--a ghostly figure indeed she was, enough tomake a saint tremble. It made me quiver and shake from top to toe. Superstition is a very mean thing and should be despised and shunned. "

Here is her weakness and her strength again: "In the love-novels all theheroines are very desperate. Isabella will not allow me to speak aboutlovers and heroins, and 'tis too refined for my taste. " "Miss Egward's(Edgeworth's) tails are very good, particularly some that are very muchadapted for youth (!) as Laz Laurance and Tarelton, False Keys, etc. Etc. "

"Tom Jones and Grey's Elegey in a country churchyard are both excellent, and much spoke of by both sex, particularly by the men. " Are ourMarjories nowadays better or worse because they cannot read Tom Jonesunharmed? More better than worse; but who among them can repeat Gray'sLines on a distant prospect of Eton College as could our Maidie?

Here is some more of her prattle: "I went into Isabella's bed to makeher smile like the Genius Demedicus" (the Venus de Medicis) "or thestatute in an ancient Greece, but she fell asleep in my very face, atwhich my anger broke forth, so that I awoke her from a comfortable nap. All was now hushed up again, but again my anger burst forth at herbiding me get up. "

She begins thus loftily, --

 "Death the righteous love to see, But from it doth the wicked flee. "

Then suddenly breaks off as if with laughter, --

"I am sure they fly as fast as their legs can carry them!"

 "There is a thing I love to see, -- That is, our monkey catch a flee!"

 "I love in Isa's bed to lie, -- Oh, such a joy and luxury! The bottom of the bed I sleep, And with great care within I creep; Oft I embrace her feet of lillys, But she has goton all the pillys. Her neck I never can embrace, But I do hug her feet in place. "

How childish and yet how strong and free is her use of words!--"I lay atthe foot of the bed because Isabella said I disturbed her by continialfighting and kicking, but I was very dull, and continially at workreading the Arabian Nights, which I could not have done if I had sleptat the top. I am reading the Mysteries of Udolpho. I am much interestedin the fate of poor, poor Emily. "

Here is one of her swains:--

 "Very soft and white his cheeks; His hair is red, and grey his breeks; His tooth is like the daisy fair: His only fault is in his hair. "

This is a higher flight:--

"DEDICATED TO MRS. H. CRAWFORD BY THE AUTHOR, M. F. 

 "Three turkeys fair their last have breathed, And now this world forever leaved; Their father, and their mother too, They sigh and weep as well as you: Indeed, the rats their bones have crunched; Into eternity theire laanched. A direful death indeed they had, As wad put any parent mad; But she was more than usual calm: She did not give a single dam. "

This last word is saved from all sin by its tender age, not to speak ofthe want of the _n_. We fear "she" is the abandoned mother, in spite ofher previous sighs and tears. 

"Isabella says when we pray we should pray fervently, and not rattelover a prayer, --for that we are kneeling at the footstool of our Lordand Creator, who saves us from eternal damnation, and fromunquestionable fire and brimston. "

She has a long poem on Mary Queen of Scots:--

 "Queen Mary was much loved by all, Both by the great and by the small; But hark! her soul to heaven doth rise, And I suppose she has gained a prize; For I do think she would not go Into the _awful_ place below. There is a thing that I must tell, -- Elizabeth went to fire and hell! He who would teach her to be civil, It must be her great friend, the divil!"

She hits off Darnley well:--

 "A noble's son, --a handsome lad, -- By some queer way or other, had Got quite the better of her heart; With him she always talked apart: Silly he was, but very fair; A greater buck was not found there. "

"By some queer way or other"; is not this the general case and themystery, young ladies and gentlemen? Goethe's doctrine of "electiveaffinities" discovered by our Pet Maidie. 

SONNET TO A MONKEY. 

 "O lively, O most charming pug! Thy graceful air and heavenly mug! The beauties of his mind do shine, And every bit is shaped and fine. Your teeth are whiter than the snow; Your a great buck, your a great beau; Your eyes are of so nice a shape, More like a Christian's than an ape; Your cheek is like the rose's blume; Your hair is like the raven's plume; His nose's cast is of the Roman: He is a very pretty woman. I could not get a rhyme for Roman, So was obliged to call him woman. "

This last joke is good. She repeats it when writing of James the Secondbeing killed at Roxburgh:--

 "He was killed by a cannon splinter, Quite in the middle of the winter; Perhaps it was not at that time, But I can get no other rhyme!"

Here is one of her last letters, dated Kirkcaldy, 12th October, 1811. You can see how her nature is deepening and enriching:--

"MY DEAR MOTHER, --You will think that I entirely forget you but I assureyou that you are greatly mistaken. I think of you always and often sighto think of the distance between us two loving creatures of nature. Wehave regular hours for all our occupations first at 7 o'clock we go tothe dancing and come home at 8 we then read our Bible and get ourrepeating, and then play till ten, then we get our music till 11 when weget our writing and accounts we sew from 12 till 1 after which I get mygramer, and then work till five. At 7 we come and knit till 8 when wedont go to the dancing. This is an exact description. I must take ahasty farewell to her whom I love, reverence and doat on and who I hopethinks the same of

"MARJORY FLEMING. 

"P. S. --An old pack of cards (!) would be very exeptible. "

This other is a month earlier:--

"MY DEAR LITTLE MAMA, --I was truly happy to hear that you were all well. We are surrounded with measles at present on every side, for the Heronsgot it, and Isabella Heron was near Death's Door, and one night herfather lifted her out of bed, and she fell down as they thought lifeless. Mr. Heron said, 'That lassie's deed noo, '--'I'm no deed yet. ' She thenthrew up a big worm nine inches and a half long. I have begun dancing, but am not very fond of it, for the boys strikes and mocks me. --I havebeen another night at the dancing; I like it better. I will write to youas often as I can; but I am afraid not every week. _I long for you withthe longings of a child to embrace you, --to fold you in my arms. Irespect you with all the respect due to a mother. You dont know how Ilove you. So I shall remain, your loving child, _--M. FLEMING. "

What rich involution of love in the words marked!Here are some lines to her beloved Isabella, in July, 1811:--

 "There is a thing that I do want, -- With you these beauteous walks to haunt; We would be happy if you would Try to come over if you could. Then I would all quite happy be _Now and for all eternity_. My mother is so very sweet, _And checks my appetite to eat_; My father shows us what to do; But O I'm sure that I want you. I have no more of poetry; O Isa do remember me, And try to love your Marjory. "

In a letter from "Isa" to

 "Miss Muff Maidie Marjory Fleming, favored by Rare Rear-Admiral Fleming, "

she says: "I long much to see you, and talk over all our old storiestogether, and to hear you read and repeat. I am pining for my old friendCesario, and poor Lear, and wicked Richard. How is the dearMultiplication table going on? Are you still as much attached to 9 times9 as you used to be?"

But this dainty, bright thing is about to flee, --to come "quick toconfusion. " The measles she writes of seized her, and she died on the19th of December, 1811. The day before her death, Sunday, she sat up inbed, worn and thin, her eye gleaming as with the light of a coming world, and with a tremulous, old voice repeated the following lines byBurns, --heavy with the shadow of death, and lit with the fantasy of thejudgment-seat, --the publican's prayer in paraphrase:--

 "Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene? Have I so found it full of pleasing charms?-- Some drops of joy, with draughts of ill between, Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms? Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? Or Death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? For guilt, for GUILT, my terrors are in arms; I tremble to approach an angry God, And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 

 "Fain would I say, Forgive my foul offence, Fain promise never more to disobey; But should my Author health again dispense, Again I might forsake fair virtue's way, Again in folly's path might go astray, Again exalt the brute and sink the man. Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan, Who sin so oft have mourned, yet to temptation ran?

 "O thou great Governor of all below, If I might dare a lifted eye to thee, Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, And still the tumult of the raging sea; With that controlling power assist even me Those headstrong furious passions to confine, For all unfit I feel my powers to be To rule their torrent in the allowed line; O, aid me with thy help, OMNIPOTENCE DIVINE. "

It is more affecting than we care to say to read her mother's andIsabella Keith's letters written immediately after her death. Old andwithered, tattered and pale, they are now: but when you read them, howquick, how throbbing with life and love! how rich in that language ofaffection which only women and Shakespeare and Luther can use, --thatpower of detaining the soul over the beloved object and its loss!

 "K. PHILIP (_to_ CONSTANCE). 

 You are as fond of grief as of your child. 

 CONSTANCE. 

 Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form. Then I have reason to be fond of grief. "

What variations cannot love play on this one string!

In her first letter to Miss Keith, Mrs. Fleming says of her dead Maidie:"Never did I behold so beautiful an object. It resembled the finestwaxwork. There was in the countenance an expression of sweetness andserenity which seemed to indicate that the pure spirit had anticipatedthe joys of heaven ere it quitted the mortal frame. To tell you whatyour Maidie said of you would fill volumes; for you was the constanttheme of her discourse, the subject of her thoughts, and ruler of heractions. The last time she mentioned you was a few hours before allsense save that of suffering was suspended, when she said to Dr. Johnstone, 'If you let me out at the New Year, I will be quitecontented. ' I asked her what made her so anxious to get out then. 'Iwant to purchase a New Year's gift for Isa Keith with the sixpence yougave me for being patient in the measles; and I would like to choose itmyself. ' I do not remember her speaking afterwards, except to complainof her head, till just before she expired, when she articulated, 'Omother! mother!'"

 * * * * *

Do we make too much of this little child, who has been in her grave inAbbotshall Kirkyard these fifty and more years? We may of hercleverness, --not of her affectionateness, her nature. What a picture the_animosa infans_ gives us of herself, --her vivacity, her passionateness, her precocious love-making, her passion for nature, for swine, for allliving things, her reading, her turn for expression, her satire, herfrankness, her little sins and rages, her great repentances! We don'twonder Walter Scott carried her off in the neuk of his plaid, and playedhimself with her for hours. 

The year before she died, when in Edinburgh, she was at a Twelfth NightSupper at Scott's, in Castle Street. The company had all come, --all butMarjorie. Scott's familiars, whom we all know, were there, --all werecome but Marjorie; and all were dull because Scott was dull. "Where'sthat bairn? what can have come over her? I'll go myself and see. " And hewas getting up, and would have gone; when the bell rang, and in cameDuncan Roy and his henchman Tougald, with the sedan chair, which wasbrought right into the lobby, and its top raised. And there, in itsdarkness and dingy old cloth, sat Maidie in white, her eyes gleaming, and Scott bending over her in ecstasy, --"hung over her enamored. " "Sitye there, my dautie, till they all see you"; and forthwith he broughtthem all. You can fancy the scene. And he lifted her up and marched tohis seat with her on his stout shoulder, and set her down beside him;and then began the night, and such a night! Those who knew Scott bestsaid, that night was never equalled; Maidie and he were the stars; andshe gave them _Constance's_ speeches and "Helvellyn, " the ballad thenmuch in vogue, and all her _repertoire_, --Scott showing her off, andbeing ofttimes rebuked by her for his intentional blunders. 

We are indebted for the following to her sister: "Her birth was 15thJanuary, 1803; her death, 19th December, 1811. I take this from herBibles. [3] I believe she was a child of robust health, of much vigor ofbody, and beautifully formed arms, and, until her last illness, neverwas an hour in bed. 

[Footnote 3: "Her Bible is before me; _a pair_, as then called; thefaded marks are just as she placed them. There is one at David's lamentover Jonathan. "]

"I have to ask you to forgive my anxiety in gathering up the fragmentsof Marjorie's last days, but I have an almost sacred feeling to all thatpertains to her. You are quite correct in stating that measles were thecause of her death. My mother was struck by the patient quietnessmanifested by Marjorie during this illness, unlike her ardent, impulsivenature; but love and poetic feeling were unquenched. When Dr. Johnstonerewarded her submissiveness with a sixpence, the request speedilyfollowed that she might get out ere New Year's day came. When asked whyshe was so desirous of getting out, she immediately rejoined, 'O, I amso anxious to buy something with my sixpence for my dear Isa Keith. 'Again, when lying very still, her mother asked her if there was anythingshe wished: 'O yes! if you would just leave the room-door open a wee bit, and play "The Land o' the Leal, " and I will lie and _think_, and enjoymyself' (this is just as stated to me by her mother and mine). Well, thehappy day came, alike to parents and child, when Marjorie was allowed tocome forth from the nursery to the parlor. It was Sabbath evening, andafter tea. My father, who idolized this child, and never afterwards inmy hearing mentioned her name, took her in his arms; and, while walkingher up and down the room, she said, 'Father, I will repeat something toyou; what would you like?' He said, 'Just choose yourself, Maidie. ' Shehesitated for a moment between the paraphrase, 'Few are thy days, andfull of woe, ' and the lines of Burns already quoted, but decided on thelatter, a remarkable choice for a child. The repeating these linesseemed to stir up the depths of feeling in her soul. She asked to beallowed to write a poem; there was a doubt whether it would be right toallow her, in case of hurting her eyes. She pleaded earnestly, 'Justthis once'; the point was yielded, her slate was given her, and withgreat rapidity she wrote an address of fourteen lines, 'to her lovedcousin on the author's recovery, ' her last work on earth;--

 'Oh! Isa, pain did visit me; I was at the last extremity: How often did I think of you, I wished your graceful form to view, To clasp you in my weak embrace, Indeed I thought I'd run my race: Good care, I'm sure, was of me taken, But still indeed I was much shaken, At last I daily strength did gain, And oh! at last, away went pain; At length the doctor thought I might Stay in the parlor all the night; I now continue so to do, Farewell to Nancy and to you. '

"She went to bed apparently well, awoke in the middle of the night withthe old cry of woe to a mother's heart, 'My head, my head!' Three daysof the dire malady, 'water in the head, ' followed, and the end came. "

 "Soft, silken primrose, fading timelessly. "

It is needless, it is impossible, to add anything to this: the fervor, the sweetness, the flush of poetic ecstasy, the lovely and glowing eye, the perfect nature of that bright and warm intelligence, that darlingchild, --Lady Nairne's words, and the old tune, stealing up from thedepths of the human heart, deep calling unto deep, gentle and stronglike the waves of the great sea hushing themselves to sleep in the dark;the words of Burns touching the kindred chord, her last numbers "wildlysweet" traced with thin and eager fingers, already touched by the lastenemy and friend, --_moriens canit_, --and that love which is so soon tobe her everlasting light, is her song's burden to the end. 

 "She set as sets the morning star, which goes Not down behind the darkened west, nor hides Obscured among the tempests of the sky, But melts away into the light of heaven. "

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

LITTLE JAKEY. 

BY MRS. S. H. DEKROYFT. 

I. 

At the time of the opening of this story, there were in the rear of theNew York Institution for the Blind, two small but pleasant parks, fullof trees and winding walks, where the birds sang, and blind boys andgirls ran and played. The little gate between the two parks was usuallyleft open during school hours, and one bright June morning, while thesun was drinking up the dews from the leaves and the flowers, I chancedto be walking there, and I heard the little gate opening and shutting, opening and shutting; rattle went the chain, then bang went the gate, until suddenly, as I was passing it, a little voice saluted me, so sweetand musical and up so high, that for the moment I almost fancied one ofthe birds had stopped his song to speak with me. 

"I know you. I knows ven you come. Sometimes you tell stories to zegirls, and I hear you ven I bees dis side. "

Going up and putting my hand on the little speaker's head, I said, --

"Pray, what little girl is this here, with these long pretty curls, swinging on the gate?"

"I bees not a girl, --I bees a boy, I be. "

Then passing my hand down over a little coat covered with buttons, Isaid, --

"Surely, so you are a little boy; but what is your name?"

"My name bees Little Jakey; dot is my name. "

"Little Jakey! Indeed! and pray, when did you come here?"

Quick as thought his little foot struck out against the post again, andthe gate went flying to and fro, as before; then coming to a sudden halt, he said, --

"Vell, I tink I tell you. I bees here von Sunday and von Sunday and_von_ Sunday; so long I bees here. "

"How old are you, Jakey?"

"I bees seving; dot is my old, --dot is how old I bees. "

"And can you not see?"

"No, I not see. Ven Gott make my eyes, my moder say he not put ze lightin zem. "

"And are you going to school here, Jakey?"

"Yes, some ze time I go in ze school, and I read ze letters mit myfing-er. Von letter vot live on ze top ze line, I know him, ven I put myfing-er on him; hees name bees A; and von oder letter, I know him, ven Iput my fing-er on him, --round like ze hoop; hees name bees O. "

"Who teaches you the letters, Little Jakey?"

"Cassie, ce teach me, but all ze time ce laugh, ven I say ze vords; soMiss Setland sen her avay, and now Libbie, ce teach me. But not much Igo in ze school. I come down here mit ze birds in ze trees. Up to zehouse ze birds not go. Eddy and Villy, and all ze boys, ven zey play, make big noise, and zey scare ze birds. But down here zey not scare, andall ze time zey sing. "

"You love the birds, Jakey?"

"Yes, I love ze birds. I love von bird up in dot tree. You not see himvay high dare? Ven I have eat my dinner in ze morning, I come down here, and ven I have eat my dinner in ze noon, I come down here; and all zetime, ven I come, he sing. Sometimes some oder birds come in ze tree, and zey sing mit him; but all ze time he sing. I vish I sing like zebirds. I vish I have vings, and I go vay high in ze sky, vare ze starsbe. Gott make ze stars, and Georgy say dot zey shine vay down in zevater, he see zem dare; and von time I tell him dot he vill get me vonmit hees hook vot he catch ze fishes mit; but he laugh and say dot hecannot. But I tink I see ze stars ven I come im Himmel mit"--

"Im Himmel! Where is that, Jakey? Where is Himmel?"

"Vy! you not know dot? Himmel bees vare Gott live. "

I caught him down from the gate in my arms, and nearly smothered himwith kisses. 

Then he put his bands up and felt my face over, so softly and tenderly, that I fancied his little creeping fingers reading there every thoughtin my heart; and finally, clasping his loving arms around my neck, hesaid, in a voice hardly above a whisper, --

"I love you, --you love me?"

"I do indeed love you, you dear lamb, " I said; but I could hardly speak, my voice was so choked with tears. Perceiving this, he rested his littlehand softly on my cheek again, and whispered timidly, --

"Vy for you cry?"

But hearing some one approaching, and fearing to be disturbed, I tookhis little hand in mine and led him away, across the park, to a seatunder the big mulberry, where I held him long and lovingly on my lap, asI did often afterwards, while coaxing from his sweet lips the followingchapters of his strange little life. 

II. 

Little Jakey was indeed _little_ Jakey. I have often seen boys threeyears old both taller and heavier; but never one more perfect in formand feature. His little feet and hands might have belonged to a fairy. His black eyes were bright and full, with long lashes and arched brows. His long curls were blacker than the raven, and while holding him therein my arms, I could think of nothing but a beautiful cherub with foldedwings, astray from heaven. After smoothing down his curls awhile, andkissing him many times, I said to him, --

"Dear Jakey, pray where did you come from, and who brought you here?"

Then dropping both his little hands in mine, he said, --

"I come fon Germany. My moder, ce bring me. I come mit her, and mit zebaby. Ven I come in ze America, ze flowers bees in ze garden, and zebirds bees in ze trees, and ze opples bees on ze trees, and zepot-a-toes bees in ze ground. Zen ze vinds blow and ze birds go avay, and ze opples bees in ze cellar, and ze pot-a-toes bees in ze cellar. Zen ze vinds blow too hard and ze snow bees on ze ground, and it beescold vinter. Zen long time ze snow go avay, and ze leaves come on zetrees, and ze birds come back again, and it bees varm; so long I bees inze America. "

"And so you have been here one year? But pray, dear, where is yourfather? Is he dead?"

"No, he bees not dead. He bees in Germany, mit Jeem and mit Fred and mitmy granfader. "

"But, Jakey, why did your mother come away here to America, and leaveyour father away there in Germany?"

I felt his little hands stir in mine; but after a moment he drew alittle sigh and said, --

"Vell, I tink I tell you. My granfader have some lands, some big landshe have, and he sell zem; and may be he not buy it, but he get von bighouse in ze city, mit vindows vay down to ze ground, and in ze vindowshe put--I not know vot you call zem, but zey have vine in zem, and beerin zem. "

"Bottles, Jakey?"

"Yes, dot bees it, bottles mit vine and mit beer in zem; and my fader godare, and he give my granfader ze pennies, and he drink ze vine and hedrink ze beer. Much times and all ze time he go dare, and he do dot. Andvon day he come home, and he have drunk too much ze beer, and hees headgo von vay and von vay; and he say vicked vords, and my moder ce cry. Jeem and Fred bees afraid, and zey hide; but I bees not afraid, I beesmit my moder. And ven my fader tink he sit down on ze chair, he go vayfall on ze floor; and ven Jeem and Fred hear him, zey run out, and venzey see him dare on ze floor, zey laugh; and my fader say dot he villkill zem, and he vill trow ze chair at zem, but too quick zey run avay;and all ze time my moder ce cry and ce cry, and ce not eat ze dinner, and ce make my fader go lay on ze bed. 

"Von time my fader come home and he have drunk too much ze beer, and hehave sold ze piano. And von time he come home and he have drunk too muchze beer, and he have sold ze harp; and ze man come mit him vot have buyit; and ven ze harp go avay, my moder ce cry, and my fader strike hermit hees hand, and he strike Jeem and Fred; and me he vill strike, butmy moder ce not let him. 

"Von oder time ze men come dare, and zey take avay all ze tings vot mymoder have, --ze chair, and ze sofa, and all ze tings. Zen my moder ce golive in von leetle house, and some ze time ce not have ze fire dare, andsome ze time ce not have ze bread. And von time in ze night my fadercome home, and he bring too much men mit him vot have drunk ze beer; andhe tell my moder dot ce give ze men ze supper. And my moder say dotce have not ze supper, ce have not ze fire, and ce have not ze bread;and ven ce tell ze men go avay, zey say bad vords to my moder, and myfader he strike her dot ce go on ze floor. Zen mit her hair he drag herto ze door, and mit hees feets he strike her vay out on ze stone, andher head bleed. And Jeem he see her dare, and he cry, and Fred cry, andI cry; and my moder ce groan like ce die. And von ze men vot come mithim strike my fader, and von oder man strike _him_, and zey say vickedvords, and zey all strike, and zey break ze tings. And vile zey do dot, my moder ce get up, and ce come avay in ze dark, and Jeem and Fred comemit her, and I come mit her, and long vay ce sit down on ze stone by zebig house; and Jeem bees cold dare, and he cry; and Fred bees cold, andhe cry. I bees not cold, I not cry, my moder ce hold me tight; but allze time ce cry. 

"Zen long time ze man vot live in ze big house open ze door, and he saysome vords to my moder, and my moder ce tell him dot my fader have gotze bad men mit him in ze house; and he tell my moder dot ce come in; andJeem and Fred zey go up ze step, and ze man he lif me, and my moder cecome up ze step; and ven ce come in, ze man see ze blood, vare my faderhave strike her, and he go tell ze lady dot ce come, and ze lady vash mymoder's head, and ce give her ze medicine vot ce drink. Zen ce lay heron ze bed, and I lay on ze bed mit her; and Jeem and Fred zey go in vonleetle bed to ze fire. 

"In ze morning my moder come home, and my fader sleep dare on ze floor, and vile he sleep, he make big noise mit hees nose; and Jeem and Fredlaugh, cause my fader make big noise mit hees nose, but my moder ce cry. 

"Long time Jeem bees hungry and he cry, Fred bees hungry and he cry, butmy moder say ce have not ze meat and ce have not ze bread. Zen long timemy fader vake, and ven he see my moder dare, he say dot he vill be good, dot he vill not drink ze vine and ze beer any more; and he kiss my moder, and he say dot he love her, and dot he vill get ze fire, and he villget ze bread, but he have not ze money. Zen my moder say dot ce villgive him ze vatch vot ce have, ven ce vas mit her moder in Italy, to getze money mit, but ce tink ven he get ze money he vill drink ze beer. Myfader say No! vile he live and vile he die, he not drink any more zebeer; and he kiss Jeem and he kiss Fred and he kiss me, and he tell mymoder dot ven he sell ze vatch, he vill bring ze money, and he vill getze fire, and he vill get ze meat and ze bread. Zen my moder ce get himze vatch, and he go avay. 

"Long time he not come. Zen long time in ze night he come, and he bringze bread mit him, but he have drunk ze beer. My moder tell him dot hehave, and he say dot he have not; but all ze time hees head go von vayand von vay, and some ze vords he speak, and some ze vords he not speak. My moder ce tell him, Vare ze money vot he get mit ze vatch? and he saydot he have not ze money, dot he not sell ze vatch. Zen my moder say, Vare ze vatch den? and he say dot he have loss it, dot vile he sell it, von man get it! But my moder say No, he have got ze money and he havedrunk ze beer mit ze bad men, ce know he have. Zen my fader strike hervon time and von time; and ven ce go on ze floor, he strike her dare mithees feets, and ce not move, like ce be dead, and he say he vill killher, he vill, he vill! And Jeem scream and Fred scream, and my fader getze big knife vot he cut ze bread mit, and he lif it vay high, and sayloud much times dot he vill kill zem all! But ze men vot vatch in zenight come in, and ven zey see my fader dare mit ze knife, zey put zechain on hees feets and on hees hands, and zey go avay mit him. Andquick von man come back mit ze doctor, and ven, mit hees leetle knife, he have make my moder's arm bleed, ce speak, and ce say, Vare my faderbe? and ze man tell her dot zey have lock him up, and he vill be hangmit ze rope; and my moder ce cry, and long time ce bees sick in ze bed. "

III. 

"Did your mother come from Italy, Jakey?"

"Yes; ven my fader have not drunk ze beer, he make ze peoples mit zebrush; and he go in Italy, and ven he have make my moder dare mit zebrush, ce love him, and ce run away mit him ven her moder not know it. And ven ce come in Germany, von oder time he make her mit ze brush, andce hang on ze vall; and Jeem he make, and Fred he make mit ze brush, andzey hang on ze vall. Much ze peoples he make mit ze brush, and zey givehim ze money. Me he not make, but my moder ce make me mit ze leetlebrush; but ven I bees made, I not hang on ze vall, I bees sut like zebook. And ce make Jeem dot vay, and Fred dot vay, and ce keep zem. Vontime my fader go to ze drawer, and he get zem all, and he go avay and hesell zem, and he get ze money; and ven my moder know it, ce come vare zeman be vot have buy zem, and I come mit her, and ce give him ze ring fonher fing-er, and ce get me back and ce hide me. 

"Von time my fader have sell my moder vot hang on ze vall, and ze mancome dare, and my fader have take her down, and Jeem cry and Fred cry;and Fred say let hees go, and Jeem say let hees go, but my moder say no, and ze man go avay mit her. "

"But, dear Jakey, how long did they keep your father locked up therewith the chains on him?"

"Oh! big long time; and von time my granfader come dare, and my moderbees sick in ze bed; ce not get vell vare my fader have strike her; andmy granfader tell her dot ze man vot sit vay high in ze seat have said_ze vord_, dot my fader go vay off, and be lock up mit ze dark and mitze chains on him, vile he live and vile he die. Zen my moder say ce villgo vare he be. My granfader lif her, and ce get up, and I come mit zem. And ven my moder come dare, ce go to ze man vot have said _ze vord_, andce tell him dot he vill let my fader go, he vill, _he vill_! And ce saydot ce vill die, if he not let my fader go, and ce cry; and ce tell zeman vot sit vay high in ze chair, dot he vill let him go? but ze man sayNo, he have said _ze vord_. Zen my moder go down vare my fader be mit zechains on him, and ven ce come dare, ce scream, and ce fall on ze ground, like ce be dead. Zen my granfader say dot I go tell ze man dot he villlet my fader go, and ven my granfader bring me, and I come dare, I tinkI say dot; but I tell him dot he vill not kill my moder, and I cry, _tooloud_ I cry. Zen ze man go _vay high_ on hees feets mil his hand on myhead, and he say some vords to ze men vot bees dare, and he say somevords to my granfader. Zen he go roun on his feets and he say some vordsto my fader. He tell him, dot he vill be good? dot he vill not drink zebeer? dot he vill vork? dot he vill make ze peoples mit ze brush? dot hevill love my moder, and get ze bread and ze fire and ze meat? and myfader say he vill, he vill! Zen ze man vot have said _ze vord_ tell myfader dot he may go; and quick von oder man take ze chains fon heesfeets and fon hees hands, and he bees too glad; and he lif up my moder, and he sake her dot ce speak, and he love her, and he come avay mit her. And my granfader bring me; I come mit him in hees arms, and vile mygranfader valk, he cry. 

"Ven it bees night, ze big man vot sit vay high in ze chair and vot havesaid _ze vord_, come to ze house, and he see my moder dare in ze bed;and he talk mit her, and he talk mit my fader, and he say some vords mitJeem and mit Fred, and he hold me on hees lap. 

"Long time he stay dare, and ven he go vay, he tell my fader, if he villmake him mit ze brush? and my fader say dot he vill. Zen much times hecome dare, and ven my fader have make him big all aroun, fon hees feetsto hees head, mit ze chair vot he sit in vay high, ven he say _ze vord_, he give my fader much ze money, much money he give; and my fader get zefire mit it, and ze bread and ze meat; and he love my moder, and he loveJeem, and he love Fred, and me he love. 

"Zen my moder sing, but ce have not ze harp, and ce have not ze piano;and my fader sing mit her; and much ze peoples he make mit ze brush; andmy moder ce help him, all ze time ce help him, and Jeem and Fred zeyhelp; zey grind ze tings vot he make ze peoples mit. Von time I help;ven Fred bees gone, I vash ze brushes, and my moder say dot I have makezem clean so better as Fred. And all ze time I rock ze baby in ze leetlebed, and I sing ze song vot my moder make ze baby sleep mit. "

"Did your father stay always good, Jakey, and did he never drink thebeer any more?"

"Oh! no, " he answered, with an earnestness that chilled my very heart, and made me feel that he had not yet told me half the sorrow shut up inhis little bosom; and while, with tears in my eyes, I tried to encouragehim to go on, I felt almost guilty, and was about deciding to probe hislittle heart no more, when of his own accord he resumed. 

"Von time my fader say dot he vill go to ze man mit ze pic-sure vot hehave make, and he vill get ze money; and my moder say dot ce vill go mithim; but my fader say No, he vill go mit hees-self, and ven he have gotze money, he vill come home to ze supper. But long time he not come. Jeem he go in ze bed, and Fred he go in ze bed, and I go in ze leetlebed, and my moder ce have ze baby mit her to ze fire. 

"Zen long time my fader come to ze door, and vile he come, he say loudze vicked vords, and my moder know dot he have drunk ze beer. Quick cego to ze vindow, and ven ce see him, ce cry and ce bees afraid, and cenot open ze door. Zen my fader tink he have not fine ze door, and he govay roun ze house, and tink he have fine ze door dare; and he strike, and he pound, and all ze time he say loud ze vicked vords. Zen he comeback to ze door, and he strike it mit hees feets much times, and ven zedoor come open and he see my moder dare, he strike her dot ce fall on zefloor mit ze baby. Ze baby cry, but my moder ce not speak, and ce notcry. Zen my fader strike her much times mit hees feets, dot ce not openze door, and he go vay to get ze big knife, and he say dot he vill killher. Long time he not fine it; zen vile he come back he not see, and hefall on ze floor, and some ze vay he get up and some ze vay he not getup, and all ze time he say dot he vill kill, he vill, he vill! But allze time he not kill, he have not ze knife; and he have drunk too much zebeer, dot he not get up. Zen long time hees head go down on ze floor, and he sleep, and he make big noise mit hees nose. 

"Zen I come out ze leetle bed, and I go on ze floor, and ven I come varemy moder be, I sake her and I sake her, but ce not speak. Zen I come toze bed vare Jeem be, and I sake him, and I tell him dot my fader havekill my moder. Quick Jeem come dare, and he lif her up; and Fred comeout ze bed, and he get ze baby; and Jeem put ze vater on my moder, andhe sake her much times, and ce vake, and ce sit up in ze chair mit zebaby. And ce tell Jeem dot he get ze blanket fon ze bed and he put it onmy fader, and he lif hees head, and he put under ze pillow. 

"Jeem and Fred zey go in ze bed, and I go in ze leetle bed, but all zetime my moder ce sit up dare in ze chair, mit ze baby, to ze fire, andce cry and ce cry. "

IV. 

"In ze morning my moder tell my fader dot ce vill go back to Italy, mither moder; and my fader say dot ce may, but ce not go. 

"Ze peoples come, but my fader bees not dare, and he not make zem anymore mit ze brush, but some my moder make. 

"All ze time my fader go vay, and he drink ze beer mit ze bad men; andze fire he not get, and he not get ze bread, and too much he strike. 

"Von time my moder tell my fader dot ce vill come in ze America, and cevill make ze peoples dare mit ze brush, and ce vill get ze money, and cevill live; and my fader say dot ce may. Zen my moder say dot ce villtake ze boys mit her; and my fader say No, he keep ze boys mit him. Mymoder say No, ce take ze boys mit her; and my fader say No, he keep zeboys mit him. Zen my moder say ce vill take ze baby and her little blindboy mit her, and ce vill come in ze America; and my fader say dot ce may. 

"Zen my moder sell ze ring fon her fing-er, and some ze money ce get, and some ze money my granfader give her. Zen ce make me mit ze brush. Isit up in ze chair, and ce look at me, and ce make me all roun mit zeflowers. Ce make my curls go roun her fing-er, and zen ce make zem mitze brush in ze pic-sure, and ce make me mit vings; and ce make in myhand vot ze boys shoot mit, --not ze gun vot make ze big noise and votkill, but ze bow mit ze tring, I not know vot you call it. "

"The bow and arrow, Jakey. "

"Yes, dot bees it, ze bow and ze arrow; and von time Jeem have shootFred mit it in hees back, and he cry, and he come and he tell my moderdot Jeem have kill him. 

"Ven I bees done, ven my moder have make me, von lady ce come dare andce tell my moder, Vot ce make? and my moder tell her dot ce make me mitze brush, and ce vill sell me, and ce vill get ze money, and ce villcome in ze America. Zen von oder day ze lady come dare, and ce give mymoder much ze money, and ce take ze pic-sure avay mit her; and ven cehave go mit it, my moder ce cry and ce cry. 

"Von day my granfader come dare mit ze carriage, and Jeem he go in zecarriage, and Fred he go in, and my moder ce come in mit ze baby. Mygranfader bring me, and he come in, and ze carriage come vay down toze--I not know vot you call it, but it bees von big house on ze vater. "

"A ship, Jakey. "

"Yes, ze ship, mit ze trees vay high, and on ze trees, Fred say, longtings go vay out like ze sheet; and ze vinds blow in zem, and ze ship cego and ce go. My moder ce come in ze ship mit ze baby in von arm, and mygranfader bring me, and Jeem and Fred bees dare; and my granfader sayzey vill go, dot ze ship not come avay mit zem. Zen my moder ce kissJeem and ce kiss Fred, von time and von time, and ce cry and ce cry; andce tell zem dot zey vill be good, and ven ce get ze money, ce vill sendit, and zey vill come in ze America mit her. Jeem say dot ven he bees aman, he vill come in ze America; and Fred say dot he vill come in zeAmerica ven he bees not a man, --ven he get ze money he come, and he villget it. 

"My moder ce kiss zem much times, and ce cry too hard dot ce leave zem. And ce tell my granfader dot he vill not give my fader ze beer? and mygranfader say, No, he not give him, but he vill get it; and my granfadercry ven be say dot. And my moder tell him dot ven my fader have not zemoney, he vill keep him in ze house mit him? and my granfader say dot hevill, and he vill keep Jeem and he vill keep Fred mit him, and he villmake zem go in ze school. Zen my moder tank my granfader much times, andce kiss him, and ce kiss Jeem, and ce kiss Fred; and zey kiss me, andzey kiss ze baby, and zey kiss my moder; and zey cry and zey go avay, and my moder ce scream and ce cry. Zen my granfader leave Jeem and Fred, and he come back, and he tell my moder dot ce not cry; much vords hetell her. Zen he go avay, and ze vinds blow, and ze ship ce go and ce go. 

"Long time ze ship go, much days and much nights. And von time ze vindsblow too hard, and ze ship go von vay and von vay, and ze vaters comevay high, and ze vinds make big noise, and it tunder, like ze sky break;and von ze trees have come crash down on ze ship, and all ze peoples cry, Gott im Himmel! Gott im Himmel! and all ze time zey cry, and zey tinkdot zey go vay down in ze deep. My moder ce be kneeled down, mit ze babyin von arm and mit me in von arm, and ce not cry, but all ze time cepray and ce pray; and vile ce pray, ze ship come crash on ze rock, andmuch ze peoples go vay down in ze vater, and too much zey cry, too loud. Zen my moder have tie ze baby mit her shawl, and me ce hold mit von arm, and mit von arm ce hold on ze ship. Von time ze vater, ven it come vayhigh, take me avay, and my moder have loss me, and too loud ce scream, and von man dare he get me fon ze vater mit my hair, and long time hehold me mit his arm. 

"Ven it bees morning, and ze vater not come vay high, and ze vinds notblow, von oder ship come dare vot have not ze sail, but ce have von bigfire, and all ze time ce go, _burrh! burrh!_ and all ze peoples vot havenot go vay down mit ze fishes come in dot ship, and zey get ze breaddare, and zey get ze meat dare, and much tings zey get dare. 

"Long time zey go in dot ship, and ven zey see ze America, zey come invon oder leetle ship vot have no tree, vot have no sail, and vot have nofire, but ze men have ze long sticks, and zey go _so_, and zey go _so_"(imitating men rowing, with his little hands). 

"How did you know that, Jakey; you could not see them?"

"No, I not see zem, but my moder ce tell me; and ven ze leetle boat havecome close up in ze America, mit ze baby in von arm and mit me in vonarm, my moder come out ze leetle boat, and ven ce have valk some ze vay, ce go down on ze ground and ce pray and ce cry. Not ce feel bad dot cecome in ze America, but ce bees too glad dot ce have not go vay down inze deep mit ze fishes, and ze baby and me mit her dare, vare von bigfish be, vot eat ze peoples. "

"Were you not afraid. Jakey?"

"No, I not cry. My moder ce be dare, and ce hold me tight, and I tinkGott hear my moder vot ce pray. "

V. 

"Where did your mother go, Jakey, when she first came into this country?where did she stop?"

"I not know ze place vare, " he said, "but ce go mit ze peoples in vonbig house, up ze steps vay high and ce stay dare. And ven ze bells ring, and von Sunday have come, ze baby, ce be dead. I not know zen vot deadmean. I not know ce bees cold; and too quick I take my hand avay, and Itell my moder dot ce bring ze baby to ze fire. My moder say, No, ze firenot varm her, ce bees dead, and ze man vill come and put her avay in zeground; and my moder ce cry and ce cry. And vile ce cry, ze man come mitze box, and he pull ze baby fon my moder, and quick he put her in zebox; and ven he make ze nail drive, my moder cry like ce die. 

"My moder ce stay dare in ze big house, and von day ce go to fine zepeoples vot ce vill make mit ze brush, and von oder day ce go to fine zepeoples, and von oder day ce go. Zen von day ce go to fine ze place varece vill live; and ven ce come back, ce say dot ce have fine it, and inze morning ce vill go dare mit me. But in ze night, all ze time ce talk, and ce not know vare ce be. Some ze time ce tink ce bees in Germany mitmy fader, and ce tink he have drunk ze beer, and he vill kill her. Someze time ce tink ce bees in Italy mit her moder, and ce have not run avaymit my fader. And some ze time ce tink ce bees in ze ship, and ze vindsblow too hard, and ze tree come crash down. Zen all ze time ce say Vater, vater, vater! but ce have not ze vater, and ce bees hot, too hot. Ven cetouch me, I tink ce burn me, and ce go up in ze bed, and ce pull zeblanket and ze tings, and all ze time ce say Vater, vater, vater! And Icry dot I not fine ze vater. I scream, I fine ze door, but it not open. I call ze voman, but ce not come; all ze day ce not come, all ze nightce not come; and all ze time my moder ce burn, burn, and all ze time cesay Vater, vater, vater! I call her, but ce not know vot I say; ce notsee me; ce not know vare ce be; and ven I cry ce not hear me. All zetime ce talk and ce talk. 

"Zen dot morning ze man come dare, and ven he see my moder, he go quickavay; and von man come mit someting vot he give my moder, and vot cedrink, and ven ce have drink it, ce sleep. Long time ce sleep, and vence vake, ce know vare ce be, and ce know vot ce say. Zen ce put her handon my head, and ce kiss me, --much times ce kiss me; and ce say dot cedie, and ce go im Himmel mit ze baby. Zen I cry; and ce tell me dot Inot cry, dot Gott vill come von time, and he vill bring me im Himmel mither and mit ze baby. He vill, ce know he vill. 

"Zen ce not talk, and I tink ce be sleep; and I sake her and I sake her, but ce not move. I put my fing-er on her eyes, but zey not open; and Icall her and I call her, but ce not hear; and I kiss her and I kiss her, but ce not know it. I sake her, but ce not vake; and ven I feel dot cebees cold, I know dot ce bees dead, like ze baby, and I scream and Iscream. I call ze voman, I call ze man, but zey not come, zey not hear. Zen long time ze voman ce come, and ven ce open ze door ce pull me avayquick fon my moder, and ce pull me up ze stair, von stair and von stair. Zen ce push me in ze room, and ce lock ze door, and ce take ze key avaymit her. Zen I push ze door and I scream, all ze time I scream. I saydot I vill go mit my moder, I vill, I vill!"

VI. 

"Long time, vile I cry dare, Meme come, and ce say von vord in zekeyhole. I not know vot ce say, but I say dot I will go mit my moder, but ce not hear me. And ce say von oder time in ze keyhole, Little boy, cause vy you cry? Zen I come dare, and I say in ze keyhole dot I shallgo mit my moder, dot ze voman have lock me up, and ce have take ze keyavay mit her. Zen Meme tell me dot I not cry, ce know vare ze key be, and ce vill get it. Zen quick ce run avay, and ce come back mit ze key, and ce put ze key in ze keyhole, and ce go vay high on her feets, and cepush and ce push, but ze door not open. Zen ce take ze key out, and Memesay von vord in ze keyhole, and I say von vord in ze keyhole. Zen ce putze key in ze keyhole von oder time, and ce go vay high on her feets, andce push and ce push, and ze door come open; and ven Meme see me dare, cesay, Vy! little boy, you not see! No, I say, I not see. Zen ce say dotce vill come mit me vare my moder be, and ce take hold my hand, and vence have come down von stair, and von step and von step, ze voman ce bedare; and ce tell Meme dot ce go back, dot ce vill vip her. Zen Meme cecome up ze stair, and ce pull von vay and I pull von vay, and I say dotI go mit my moder, I vill, I vill! and I cry. Zen Meme ce tell me dot Inot cry, and ce say low, dot ven ze voman have go avay, ce vill comeback mit me. Zen I not cry, and I go up ze steps mit Meme; and ven I nothear ze voman, and Meme not see her, ce come back mit me; von step andvon step ce pull me, all ze steps quick down ce pull me, and ven ce comeon ze floor, quick ce come to ze door vare my moder be, and ce make itgo open; and ven ce see my moder dare, ce cry. But I not cry; I go to zebed, vare ce be, and ven I feel her mit my hands, I tell Meme dot ce benot my moder, ce have not ze curls; and Meme say dot ze voman have cutzem; dot ce have cut ze curls fon her moder, ven ce vas dead, and cehave sell zem, and ce get ze money. 

"Zen ze man come mit ze box, and he push Meme, dot ce go avay; and Memece pull me, but I say dot I not come, dot I stay mit my moder. Zen zeman push me, and he sut ze door, and I scream, I scream! Zen Meme tellme dot I not cry, dot ze voman vill hear, and ce vill come and ce villvip her. Zen I not cry too loud, and I come mit Meme up ze stair; andven ce come to ze room, ce go avay, and ce bring me von cake in von hand, and von opple in von hand; and ce kiss me, and ce tell me dot ce loveme; and ce say dot her moder have die, and ze voman have got ze gold fonher moder, and ze vatch, and ze locket, mit ze chain, vot have her faderand her moder in it, and all ze tings. And Meme say dot her moder cometo ze America dot ce fine her fader, but ce have die ven ce not finehim; and ven ce say dot, ce cry, and vile ce cry, ze voman come dare;and ce pull Meme, and ce tell her go avay. And ce lock ze door von odertime, and ce take ze key avay mit her; and ven I bees alone, I cry, Icry. 

"Zen long time ze voman come back, and ce lit me on her lap; and ven cemake my curls come roun her fing-er, like my moder, I tink ce bees good;but zen I hear ze shear cut, and quick I put my hand, and vile ce cut zecurls, ce cut my fing-er dot it bleed, and von curl and von curl ce havecut. Zen much I scream, loud I scream. I call my moder, I call Meme. Isay dot I not have my curls cut, my moder say I not. Zen ze voman cesake me too hard, and ce push me dot I fall, and ce go avay; and ce lockze door, and ce take ze key avay mit her. All ze time I cry, and I holdmy curls mit von hand and mit von hand; and ven I have cry too much, Isleep on ze floor, and I not know it; and long time, ven I vake, zevoman have come dare, and vile I sleep, ce have cut all ze curls. Some Icry, zen some I not cry; I tink vot my moder have say, dot Gott villcome, and he vill bring me im Himmel mit her and mit ze baby, and all zetime I tink, Vill he come? Vile I tink, Meme ce come, and ce take holdmy hand, and ce tell me dot ce have see ze voman cut ze curls, and cesay dot I come avay mit her; and ven I come in ze room mit Meme, zevoman ce be dare, and ce say some vords. Meme know vot ce say, I notknow; but I stay dare mit Meme, and I sleep in ze leetle bed mit Meme, and I say ze prayer vot Meme say. 

"All ze time in ze day Meme go up to ze vindow, and votch dot her fadercome; and ven ze bell ring to ze door, ce tink dot he have come, andquick ce run, but he have not come. 

"Von time von man come dare, and vile he mend ze vindow, he talk mitMeme, and ven ce tell him vot her name be, he say dot he know her fader, dot he have see him, and dot he vill tell him vare ce be. Zen Meme cehop and ce jump and ce laugh, and ce be too glad. All ze days ce go upto ze vindow, and ce look and ce look; and ze voman put on Meme von oderfrock. Ce give Meme ze locket, and ce give her much tings, ven ce tinkdot Meme's fader come. But much days he not come; and von time ze vomanvill take avay ze locket fon Meme, and ven Meme say dot ce not give it, dot ce have got ze gold fon her moder, and ze vatch, and all ze tings, ce strike Meme. 

"Zen ven it bees dark, ze voman come avay mit Meme and mit me in vonoder big house, vare much ze girls and much ze boys be vot have no faderand vot have no moder; and ven ze voman have talk mit ze lady dare, cego avay, but ce leave Meme dare, and ce leave me dare. Long time Memestay dare, and I stay dare. Meme go in ze school, and I go in ze school, mit ze boys and mit ze girls. And Meme read mit zem ze English, and vence learn ze vords, ce tell me ze vords, and ven I know ze vords, I talkmit zem, and Meme talk mit zem. 

"Ze lady dare be good, but all ze time, ven Meme go in ze bed, ce crydot her fader not come, and dot ce not fine him. 

"Von time ven it bees cold, too cold, and ze vinds blow, Meme say dot cego, dot ce fine her fader, dot ce know vare he be; and ven ze lady notknow it, ce get her bonnet and ce get her shawl, and ce kiss me muchtimes; and ce say dot ven ce come back, ce vill bring her fader mit her, and ce vill take me avay; and zen ven nobody see, ce go out. Long timece go, and ven it bees night, ce have not come back. 

"Ze lady come and ce tell me, Vare is Meme? and I tell ze lady ce go dotce fine her fader. Zen ze lady tell ze man dot he go and he fine Meme;and ven long time ze man not come back, ze lady ce go; but zey not fineher. 

"In ze morning von man come dare, and he bring Meme mit him in heesarms; and von her hand be freezed, and von her feet be freezed, and Memecry; and ce tell ze lady dot vile ce fine her fader, ce have loss ze vay, and ce bees cold and ce go up ze step to von door, but zey not let hercome in; and ce go up ze step to von oder door, but zey not let her comein. All ze time ce do dot: ce go up and ce go up, but zey not let hercome in, and some ze time zey sut ze door, ven zey not know vot ce say. Zen ce bees too cold, and vile ce vait by von door, ce sleep on zestone; and ze man vot vatch in ze street, he fine her dare all vite mitze snow. He bring her avay to hees place, and he varm her, and ce cryand ce cry; and in ze morning von man bring her home to ze lady; andlong time Meme bees in ze bed, and ce bees sick, and ce cough, --muchce cough. 

"Much times ze doctor come dare, and he give Meme ze medicine, but cenot get vell; and von time, ven I go to ze bed vare ce be, ce tell medot ce die. Zen I cry, and Meme cry; and ce tell me dot ven her fadercome, I vill tell him dot ze voman have got ze gold fon her moder, andce have got ze locket, and ze vatch, and all ze tings. Zen Meme kiss me, and ce tell me dot I vill tell her fader dot ce love me, and dot he villtake me avay mit him; and vile Meme say dot, ce cry and ce cough. Zenquick ce not cough, and too quick ze lady come dare; and ven ce callMeme, Meme ce not hear, --ce have go im Himmel, ce have die, ce be dead. Ze lady cry; and all ze girls and ze boys come in, and ven zey see Memedare, zey cry. Zen ze lady ce make nice tings, and ce put zem on Meme, all vite like ze snow; and von man bring dare ze box vot zey put Meme in, and it bees smooth like ze glass, and it open vare her face be; and allze girls and ze boys see Meme, ven ce bees in ze box all vite. And vonoder lady dare vot love Meme and vot teach her ze English, put zeflowers in ze box mit Meme; and ce kiss her, and I kiss her, and ze ladykiss her; and ze man make ze box tight, and he go avay off mit Meme, andhe put her in ze ground. 

"Long time I stay dare, and Meme's fader not come; but von day von goodman come dare, and he lif me vay high in hees arms, and ven I feel himmit my hands, he have von big hat, mit no hair on hees head, and mit nobut-tens on hees coat. Some English he speak, and some English he notspeak. All ze time he say zee and zou, zee and zou; and ven he say dothe love me, and dot he vill take me avay mit him, I tink he beesGott, --dot he have come, and he vill take me im Himmel mit my moder, andmit ze baby, and mit Meme, and I hold him tight aroun mit my arms; andzen ze lady say dot I go, and ce tell me Good-by, too quick I take myhand avay, --I tink dot ce keep me. 

"Zen ze good man come mit me in hees carriage, and he make hees coatcome roun me; and ven he come to hees house, he go up ze steps mit me inhees arms; and ven he have ring ze bell, ze lady come to ze door, and zegood man tell her dot he have got me. Zen he stand my feets down on zefloor, and he come mit ze tring, and he make it go roun me, and he makeit how long I bees; and he make hees fing-er go on my feets, and he makeze tring go roun my head. 

"Zen ze lady take me down ze stair, and ze voman dare put me in ze vater, and ce vash me and ce vash and ce vash; zen ce vipe and ce vipe; zen cecomb and ce comb, and ce make my curls come roun her fing-er. Zen zegood man have come back, and he bring mit him von leetle coat, and zesirt and ze trouser vot I have, and ze stockings and ze shoes and zehat; and ze lady ce put zem on me, and ce put von leetle hankchief in mypocket; and ce bring someting vot smell like ze rose, and ce spill it onmy head, and ce spill it on my hands and on my hankchief, and ce vet myface mit it. Zen ze lady ce kiss me much times, much times ce kiss; andze good man kiss me, and he lif me in hees arms, and he come avay mit meup ze stair to ze parlor, and ze lady bring me ze cake. 

"Georgy come fon ze school, and Mary come fon ze school, and Franky, andven zey talk, zey say zee and zou. 

"I love ze good man, and I love ze lady; but I know dot ze good man beesnot Gott, dot he not take me im Himmel mit my moder, and mit ze baby, and mit Meme. But he love me dare; and Georgy love me, he give me zepennies in my pocket; and Mary love me, ce kiss me much times; andFranky say dot he vill give me hees horse vot go vay up and vay down, but he not valk, he have not ze life. He bees von vood horse, mit zebridle and mit ze saddle on him, and Franky's fader have buy him to zestore; and much times Franky ride on him, and I ride on him. "

VII. 

Usually, when Little Jakey stopped his sweet talk, it was like therunning down of a music-box, but not always as easy to set him goingagain. Besides, at the close of the last chapter he seemed to think hisstory ended, and put up his face for a kiss, as much as to say, Nowplease love me a little, and not tease me any more. So I yielded to hismood, and petted him awhile; wound his curls around my finger, andtalked with him about everything likely to amuse him, until coming to alittle pause in the conversation, I said, --

"How long did you stay with those _thee_ and _thou_ friends, Jakey? Howlong did the good man keep you with him in his house?"

"O, big long time I stay dare, " he said, "and von time I come mit Maryin ze school vare ce go, and all ze Sundays ze lady and ze good man saydot I come mit zem all to ze Meeting. I love Mary; ce give me ze flowers, and I sleept mit her in ze bed; and all ze time I go mit her in zegarden, and ce tell me ze vords and ze flowers vot I not know. 

"Much times ven ze peoples come dare vot say zee and zou, ze good manlif me in hees arms, and he tell me dot I talk mit zem, and much zeykiss me. Von time von man give me in my pocket ze big moneys, and zenMary ce come mit me to ze store, and ce sell zem, and ce buy me ze coatmit ze but-tens, vot I vear in ze Meeting. And ven I go to ze Meeting, Mary ce tie ze ribbon roun my hat, and ce bruss me, and ce vash me, andce make my curls come roun her fing-er, like my moder; and ce valk mitme to ze Meeting, and all ze time I sit mit her dare. 

"Von day, ven ze good man say dot he bring me here in ze Institution, vare I read ze letters mit my fing-er, Mary say dot ce vill come mit me, and Georgy say dot he come; and Franky say dot he come; and Franky'sfader say dot he may, and zey all come in ze carriage, and ze lady come. Ven zey go avay I not go mit zem, I stay here. Von time Mary have comehere, and ce kiss me much times, and ce bring me ze flowers, and cebring me ze cakes; and ven ce go avay ce cry, and ce say dot ce villcome von oder time, and ce vill bring Franky mit her. But ce have notcome; von day ce vill come. 

"Vill Gott know vare I bees, and vill he fine me here, ven he come? Mymoder say dot he vill come, and I know he vill. "

VIII. 

Two days after these sweet words, to my surprise, I found Little Jakeypillowed in an arm-chair. 

"Bless me!" I exclaimed, "what has happened to this dear treasure? Areyou sick, Little Jakey?"

"No, " he replied, hardly able to speak, "I not sick, but I have got zepain in my life, " placing his little hand on his chest, "dot bees all. Vile I hear ze birds sing in ze park, I not know it, and I sleep on zeground; and vile I sleep I tink my moder and ze baby, and Meme mit her, come vare I be. I tink zey all come fon Himmel, and I see zem, and Italk mit zem, and zey talk mit me, and zey say dot I vill go mit zem;but ven I vake I bees sleep on ze ground, and ze big rains have comedown, and zey have vet me too vet, and I bees too cold; and ven I tink Icome to ze house, I not fine ze vay; and I have got ze pain in my head, and ze pain in my neck. Long time I not fine ze vay; zen long timeBridget ce come, and ce bring me to ze house, and ce put me in ze bed;and in ze night I have got ze pain in my life. "

I knelt down before the dear, stricken lamb, and blaming my neglect ofhim, I kissed him many times, and tried to smooth the pain from hislittle brow; but what I felt, words can never speak. 

The next morning Little Jakey was regularly installed in the sick-room. 

Days passed, but the doctors would not say that they thought him anybetter. Some days, however, he was able to be pillowed up in anarm-chair, and amuse himself a little with the toys the children wereconstantly bringing him; for by this time the desire to do something forLittle Jakey had come to pervade the whole house. 

Once, sitting by his little bed, I discovered that he was trying veryhard to keep awake, and I said to him softly, --

"Dear Jakey, why do you not shut those sweet eyes of yours, and go tosleep? Surely you must be sleepy. "

"Yes, but I tink I not sleep. Vile I sleep, ze pain make me groan, andMattie ce hear me, and ce not sleep. "

Mattie was then very sick also, and lying on a little bed not far fromhis. 

One day Mr. Artman, a German, called on Jakey, who asked for his littlebox of moneys, which had been presented to him mostly by visitors, andplacing it in Mr. Artman's hand, he said to him, in his own sweet way, --

"You vill keep ze leetle box mit you. Von time Jeem and Fred vill comein ze America, and ven zey come, you vill give ze big money to Jeem, andze leetle moneys to Fred; and you vill tell zem dot I have go im Himmelmit my moder, and mit ze baby, and mit Meme. "

IX. 

One warm day when I visited Little Jakey his bed had been drawn aroundfacing the window, and I found him sitting bolstered up there, with hislong black curls lying out on the pillows. 

"My dear, " said I, "I have brought you a bouquet, and let us pull itinto pieces and see what we can make of it. "

Soon Little Jakey's bed was strewn over with the flowers. I do notremember ever having seen him so cheerful as he was that evening. Makinga little hoop from a piece of wire, I twined him a wreath, while heamused himself handing me the flowers for it, and feeling over theirsoft leaves, and asking their names. Whether large or small, he neverasked the name of the same kind of flower but once. When we placed it onhis little head, --

"Vy!" he exclaimed, "von time my moder have vear ze flowers like dis. Cego vare von lady sing vot have come fon Italy; my fader go mit her dare. And von time ze lady come to my moder's house, and ce sing to ze harp, and ce sing to ze piano, and my moder and my fader sing mit her; and cestay dare to ze supper, and much peoples come to ze supper. "

I remained with Little Jakey that night, and when all were still, andthe night taper was glimmering faintly through the room, I felt hislittle hand pull mine, as if he would draw me closer to him. 

"What, dear?" I said, stooping over him. 

"I tink I die, " he whispered; "I tink I go im Himmel mit my moder, andmit ze baby, and mit Meme. "

"Why, Jakey, " I asked, coaxingly, "what makes you think so?"

"Vy, ven ze baby die, ce be sick; and ven my moder die, ce be sick; andven Meme die, ce be sick; and I be sick, and I tink I die. "

"So you are, very sick indeed, dear Jakey, " I said; "but you will not besorry to die, will you, dear?"

"No, I not sorry; but all ze time I tink, How vill it be? Ven Gott takeme im Himmel, vill he come mit me in ze leetle boat? zen vill he comemit me in ze big boat, mit ze big fire? and zen vill he come in ze bigship, mit ze tree vay high, and mit ze sail? and ven ze vinds blow toohard, and ze ship come crash on ze rock, and all ze peoples cry, villGott hold me tight in hees arms, like my moder?"

"Yes, you dear, dear child, " I said, "God will surely keep you close inhis arms always, and when you come where he is, dear Jakey, your sweeteyes will have the light in them. You will see the stars then, and theangels, and all the good people who have gone to heaven from this world, and God, and his dear Son, Jesus. You know about him, do you not? Heloves little children. "

"Yes, I know him, " he said; "my moder have tell me dot von time he havecome fon Himmel in ze vorld, and ze wicked men have kill him; zey havenail him to ze tree; and my moder say dot Jazu be ze Lord, and dot helove ze little children, and von time he have lif zem in hees arms; andhe say dot he love zem all, and dot he vill bring zem im Himmel mit him, ven zey bees good. Meme ce know him too, and much times ce talk mit himin ze prayer vot ce say; and ce say dot he hear her, ce know he do. Zegood man know him, and much he talk mit him in ze Meeting; but to zetable he not talk, he tink mit him, mit hees hands so (crossing his ownlittle ones, as if in the act of devotion). Georgy do dot vay, andFranky, and zey all; and Mary tell me, and I do dot vay. "

After a little, he asked again with great earnestness, --

"How vill it be? If Gott not know ven I die, and if he bees not here, vill zey keep me von day and von day, vile he come?"

"O yes, dear Jakey. " I said; "but God will be here. He is here now. Letme explain it to you. God is a great Spirit, and he is everywhere. Youhave a little spirit in you, too, Jakey, that makes you talk and thinkand feel; now, while your spirit is shut up in your little body here, itcannot see God, but when this little body dies, your spirit will comeout, and then it will see God, and see everything, and have wings andrise up, like the angels, and fly away to heaven, or Himmel, as you callit. "

I was wondering what Little Jakey was thinking of this, when, after amoment, he exclaimed, --

"Vy! ven my moder have make me in ze pic-sure, ce make me mit vings, butce not say dot I have ze vings, ven I come im Himmel. Heaven bees inAmerica, but Himmel bees in Germany. My moder go dare, and ce say dotGott vill come, and he vill bring me mit him dare, vare ce be. I vish Icome dare now!"

"Darling, you must shut your sweet eyes now and go to sleep. "

"No, " he said, "ven I sut my eyes, zey not sut, and ven I tink I sleep, I not sleep. I bees cold; too cold I bees. I tink I die; I tink I go imHimmel now mit my moder, and mit ze baby, and mit Meme. Vill Gott come, and vill he fine me here? How vill it be? How--vill--it--be?"

We sprang to him, and, leaning over his little form, felt that his pulsewas really still, and his sweet breath hushed forever. 

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE LOST CHILD. 

BY HENRY KINGSLEY. 

Remember? Yes, I remember well that time when the disagreement arosebetween Sam Buckley and Cecil, and how it was mended. You are wrongabout one thing, General; no words ever passed between those two youngmen; death was between them before they had time to speak. 

I will tell you the real story, old as I am, as well as either of themcould tell it for themselves; and as I tell it I hear the familiar roarof the old snowy river in my ears, and if I shut my eyes I can see thegreat mountain, Lanyngerin, bending down his head like a thoroughbredhorse with a curb in his mouth; I can see the long gray plains, brokenwith the outlines of the solitary volcanoes Widderin and Monmot. Ah, General Halbert! I will go back there next year, for I am tired ofEngland, and I will leave my bones there; I am getting old, and I wantpeace, as I had it in Australia. As for the story you speak of, it issimply this:--

Four or five miles up the river from Garoopna stood a solitary hut, sheltered by a lofty, bare knoll, round which the great river chafedamong the bowlders. Across the stream was the forest sloping down inpleasant glades from the mountain; and behind the hut rose the plainfour or five hundred feet overhead, seeming to be held aloft by theblue-stone columns which rose from the river-side. 

In this cottage resided a shepherd, his wife, and one little boy, theirson, about eight years old, --a strange, wild, little bush child, able tospeak articulately, but utterly without knowledge or experience of humancreatures, save of his father and mother; unable to read a line; withoutreligion of any sort or kind; as entire a little savage, in fact, as youcould find in the worst den in your city, morally speaking, and yetbeautiful to look on; as active as a roe, and, with regard to naturalobjects, as fearless as a lion. 

As yet unfit to begin labor, all the long summer he would wander aboutthe river-bank, up and down the beautiful rock-walled paradise where hewas confined, sometimes looking eagerly across the water at the wavingforest boughs, and fancying he could see other children far up thevistas beckoning to him to cross and play in that merry land of shiftinglights and shadows. 

It grew quite into a passion with the little man to get across and playthere; and one day when his mother was shifting the hurdles, and he washanding her the strips of green hide which bound them together, he saidto her, "Mother, what country is that across the river?"

"The forest, child. "

"There's plenty of quantongs over there, eh, mother, and raspberries?Why mayn't I get across and play there?"

"The river is too deep, child, and the Bunyip lives in the water underthe stones. "

"Who are the children that play across there?"

"Black children, likely. "

"No white children?"

"Pixies; don't go near 'em, child; they'll lure you on, Lord knows where. Don't get trying to cross the river, now, or you'll be drowned. "

But next day the passion was stronger on him than ever. Quite early onthe glorious, cloudless, midsummer day he was down by the river-side, sitting on a rock, with his shoes and stockings off, paddling his feetin the clear tepid water, and watching the million fish in theshallows--black fish and grayling--leaping and flashing in the sun. 

There is no pleasure that I have ever experienced like a child'smidsummer holiday, --the time, I mean, when two or three of us used to goaway up the brook, and take our dinners with us, and come home at nighttired, dirty, happy, scratched beyond recognition, with a great nosegay, three little trout, and one shoe, the other having been used for a boattill it had gone down with all hands out of soundings. How poor ourDerby days, our Greenwich dinners, our evening parties, where there areplenty of nice girls, are, after that! Depend on it, a man neverexperiences such pleasure or grief after fourteen as he doesbefore, --unless in some cases in his first love-making, when thesensation is new to him. 

But meanwhile there sat our child, bare-legged, watching the forbiddenground beyond the river. A fresh breeze was moving the trees and makingthe whole a dazzling mass of shifting light and shadow. He sat so stillthat a glorious violet and red kingfisher perched quite close, and, dashing into the water, came forth with a fish, and fled like a ray oflight along the winding of the river. A colony of little shell parrots, too, crowded on a bough, and twittered and ran to and fro quite busily, as though they said to him, "We don't mind you, my dear; you are quiteone of us. "

Never was the river so low. He stepped in; it scarcely reached his ankle. Now surely he might get across. He stripped himself, and, carrying hisclothes, waded through, the water never reaching his middle, all acrossthe long, yellow, gravelly shallow. And there he stood, naked and free, on the forbidden ground. 

He quickly dressed himself, and began examining his new kingdom, richbeyond his utmost hopes. Such quantongs, such raspberries, surpassingimagination; and when tired of them, such fern boughs, six or eight feetlong! He would penetrate this region, and see how far it extended. 

What tales he would have for his father to-night! He would bring himhere, and show him all the wonders, and perhaps he would build a new hutover here, and come and live in it? Perhaps the pretty young lady, withthe feathers in her hat, lived somewhere here, too?

There! There is one of those children he has seen before across theriver. Ah! ah! it is not a child at all, but a pretty gray beast withbig ears. A kangaroo, my lad; he won't play with you, but skips awayslowly, and leaves you alone. 

There is something like the gleam of water on that rock. A snake! Now asounding rush through the wood, and a passing shadow. An eagle! Hebrushes so close to the child, that he strikes at the bird with a stick, and then watches him as he shoots up like a rocket and, measuring thefields of air in ever-widening circles, hangs like a motionless speckupon the sky; though, measure his wings across, and you will find he isnearer fifteen feet than fourteen. 

Here is a prize, though! A wee little native bear, barely a footlong, --a little gray beast, comical beyond expression, with broadflapped ears, --sits on a tree within reach. He makes no resistance, butcuddles into the child's bosom, and eats a leaf as they go along; whilehis mother sits aloft and grunts indignant at the abstraction of heroffspring, but on the whole takes it pretty comfortably, and goes onwith her dinner of peppermint leaves. 

What a short day it has been! Here is the sun getting low, and themagpies and jackasses beginning to tune up before roosting. 

He would turn and go back to the river. Alas! which way?

He was lost in the bush. He turned back and went, as he thought, the wayhe had come, but soon arrived at a tall, precipitous cliff, which bysome infernal magic seemed to have got between him and the river. Thenhe broke down, and that strange madness came on him, which comes even onstrong men, when lost in the forest--a despair, a confusion of intellect, which has cost many a man his life. Think what it must be with a child!

He was fully persuaded that the cliff was between him and home, and thathe must climb it. Alas! every step he took aloft carried him furtherfrom the river, and the hope of safety; and when he came to the top, just at dark, he saw nothing but cliff after cliff, range after range, all around him. He had been wandering through steep gullies all dayunconsciously, and had penetrated far into the mountains. Night wascoming down, still and crystal clear, and the poor little lad was faraway from help or hope, going his last long journey alone. 

Partly perhaps walking, and partly sitting down and weeping, he gotthrough the night; and when the solemn morning came up, again he wasstill tottering along the leading range, bewildered, crying from time totime, "Mother, mother!" still nursing his little bear, his onlycompanion, to his bosom, and holding still in his hand a few poorflowers he had gathered up the day before. Up and on all day, and atevening, passing out of the great zone of timber, he came on the bald, thunder-smitten summit ridge, where one ruined tree held up its skeletonarms against the sunset, and the wind came keen and frosty. So, withfailing, feeble legs, upward still, toward the region of the granite andthe snow; toward the eyry of the kite and the eagle. 

 * * * * *

Brisk as they all were at Garoopna, none were so brisk as Cecil and Sam. Charles Hawker wanted to come with them, but Sam asked him to go withJim, and, long before the others were ready, our two had strapped theirblankets to their saddles, and followed by Sam's dog Rover, now gettinga little gray about the nose, cantered off up the river. 

Neither spoke at first. They knew what a solemn task they had beforethem; and, while acting as though everything depended on speed, guessedwell that their search was only for a little corpse, which, if they hadluck, they would find stiff and cold under some tree or crag. 

Cecil began: "Sam, depend on it, that child has crossed the river tothis side. If he had been on the plains, he would have been seen from adistance in a few hours. "

"I quite agree, " said Sam. "Let us go down on this side till we areopposite the hut, and search for marks by the river-side. "

So they agreed, and in half an hour were opposite the hut, and, ridingacross to it to ask a few questions, found the poor mother sitting onthe doorstep, with her apron over her head, rocking herself to and fro. 

"We have come to help you, mistress, " said Sam. "How do you think he isgone?"

She said, with frequent bursts of grief, that "some days before he hadmentioned having seen white children across the water, who beckoned himto cross and play; that she, knowing well that they were fairies, orperhaps worse, had warned him solemnly not to mind them; but that shehad very little doubt that they had helped him over and carried him awayto the forest; and that her husband would not believe in his havingcrossed the river. "

"Why, it is not knee-deep across the shallow, " said Cecil. 

"Let us cross again, " said Sam; "he _may_ be drowned, but I don't thinkit. "

In a quarter of an hour from starting, they found, slightly up thestream, one of the child's socks, which in his hurry to dress he hadforgotten. Here brave Rover took up the trail like a bloodhound, andbefore evening stopped at the foot of a lofty cliff. 

"Can he have gone up here?" said Sam, as they were brought up by therock. 

"Most likely, " said Cecil. "Lost children always climb from height toheight. I have heard it often remarked by old bush hands. Why they do so, God, who leads them, only knows; but the fact is beyond denial. AskRover what he thinks. "

The brave old dog was half-way up, looking back for them. It took themnearly till dark to get their horses up; and, as there was no moon, andthe way was getting perilous, they determined to camp, and start againin the morning. 

They spread their blankets, and lay down side by side. Sam had thought, from Cecil's proposing to come with him in preference to the others, that he would speak of a subject nearly concerning them both; out Cecilwent off to sleep and made no sign; and Sam, ere he dozed, said tohimself, "If he doesn't speak this journey, I will. It is unbearablethat we should not come to some understanding. Poor Cecil!"

At early dawn they caught up their horses, which had been hobbled withthe stirrup leathers, and started afresh. Both were more silent thanever, and the dog, with his nose to the ground, led them slowly alongthe rocky rib of the mountain, ever going higher and higher. 

"It is inconceivable, " said Sam, "that the poor child can have come uphere. There is Tuckerimbid close to our right, five thousand feet abovethe river. Don't you think we must be mistaken?"

"The dog disagrees with you, " said Cecil. "He has something before him, not very far off. Watch him. "

The trees had become dwarfed and scattered; they were getting out of theregion of trees; the real forest zone was now below them, and they sawthey were emerging toward a bald elevated down, and that a few hundredyards before them was a dead tree, on the highest branch of which sat aneagle. 

"The dog has stopped, " said Cecil; "the end is near. "

"See, " said Sam, "there is a handkerchief under the tree. "

"That is the boy himself, " said Cecil. 

They were up to him and off in a moment. There he lay dead and stiff, one hand still grasping the flowers he had gathered on his last happyplay-day, and the other laid as a pillow between the soft cold cheek andthe rough cold stone. His midsummer holiday was over, his long journeywas ended. He had found out at last what lay beyond the shining river hehad watched so long. 

That is the whole story, General Halbert; and who should know it betterthan I, Geoffry Hamlyn?

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

GOODY GRACIOUS!AND THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 

BY JOHN NEAL. 

Once there was a little bit of a thing, --not more than so high, --and hername was Ruth Page; but they called her Teenty-Tawnty, for she was thedaintiest little creature you ever saw, with the smoothest hair and thebrightest face; and then she was always playing about, and always happy;and so the people that lived in that part of the country, when theyheard her laughing and singing all by herself at peep of day, likelittle birds alter a shower, and saw her running about in the edge ofthe wood after tulips and butterflies, or tumbling head-over-heels inthe long rich grass by the river-side, with her little pet lamb or hertwo white pigeons always under her feet, or listening to the wild beesin the apple-blossoms, with her sweet mouth "all in a tremble, " and herhappy eyes brimful of sunshine, --they used to say that she was no childat all, or no child of earth, but a fairy-gift, and that she must havebeen dropped into her mother's lap, like a handful of flowers, when shewas half asleep; and so they wouldn't call her Ruth Page, --no indeed, that they wouldn't!--but they called her little Teenty-Tawnty, or theLittle Fairy; and they used to bring her fairy tales to read, till shecouldn't bear to read anything else, and wanted to be a fairy herself. 

Well, and so one day, when she was out in the sweet-smelling woods, allalone by herself, singing, "Where are you going, my pretty maid, mypretty maid?" and watching the gold-jackets, and the blue dragon-flies, and the sweet pond-lilies, and the bright-eyed glossy eels, and thelittle crimson-spotted fish, as they "coiled and swam, " and dartedhither and thither, like "flashes of golden fire, " and then huddledtogether, all of a sudden, just underneath the green turf where she sat, as if they saw something, and were half frightened to death, and weretrying to hide in the shadow; well and so--as she sat there, with herlittle naked feet hanging over and almost touching the water, singing toherself, "My face is my fortune, sir, she said! sir, she said!" andlooking down into a deep sunshiny spot, and holding the soft smooth hairaway from her face with both hands, and trying to count the dear littlefish before they got over their fright, all at once she began to thinkof the water-fairies, and how cool and pleasant it must be to live inthese deep sunshiny hollows, with green turf all about you, theblossoming trees and the blue skies overhead, the bright gravelunderneath your feet, like powdered stars, and thousands of beautifulfish for playfellows! all spotted with gold and crimson, or winged withrose-leaves, and striped with faint purple and burnished silver, likethe shells and flowers of the deep sea, where the moonlight buds andblossoms forever and ever; and then she thought if she could only justreach over, and dip one of her little fat rosy feet into the smoothshining water, --just once--only once, ---it would be _so_ pleasant! andshe should be _so_ happy! and then, if she could but manage to scare thefishes a little, --a very little, --that would be such glorious fun, too, --wouldn't it, you?

Well and so--she kept stooping and stooping, and stretching andstretching, and singing to herself all the while, "Sir, she said! sir, she said! I'm going a milking, sir, she said!" till just as she wasready to tumble in, head first, something jumped out of the bushesbehind her, almost touching her as it passed, and went plump into thedeepest part of the pool! saying, "_Once! once!_" with a heavy boomingsound, like the tolling of a great bell under water, and afar off. 

"Goody gracious! what's that?" screamed little Ruth Page, and then, thevery next moment, she began to laugh and jump and clap her hands, to seewhat a scampering there was among the poor silly fish, and all fornothing! said she; for out came a great good-natured bull-frog, with aneye like a bird, and a big bell-mouth, and a back all frosted over withprecious stones, and dripping with sunshine; and there he sat looking ather awhile, as if he wanted to frighten her away; and then he opened hisgreat lubberly mouth at her, and bellowed out, "_Once! once!_" andvanished. 

"Luddy tuddy! who cares for you?" said little Ruth; and so, having gotover her fright, she began to creep to the edge of the bank once more, and look down into the deep water, to see what had become of the littlefish that were so plentiful there, and so happy but a few minutes before. But they were all gone, and the water was as still as death; and whileshe sat looking into it, and waiting for them to come back, andwondering why they should he so frightened at nothing but a bull-frog, which they must have seen a thousand times, the poor little simpletons!and thinking she should like to catch one of the smallest and carry ithome to her little baby-brother, all at once a soft shadow fell upon thewater, and the scented wind blew her smooth hair all into her eyes, andas she put up both hands in a hurry to pull it away, she heard somethinglike a whisper close to her ear, saying, "_Twice! twice!_" and just thenthe trailing branch of a tree swept over the turf, and filled the wholeair with a storm of blossoms, and she heard the same low whisperrepeated close at her ear, saying, "_Twice! twice!_" and then shehappened to look down into the water, --and what do you think she sawthere?

"Goody gracious, mamma! is that you?" said poor little Ruth; and up shejumped, screaming louder than ever, and looking all about her, andcalling, "Mamma, mamma! I see you, mamma! you needn't hide, mamma!" Butno mamma was to be found. 

"Well, if that isn't the strangest thing!" said little Ruth, at last, after listening a few minutes, on looking all round everywhere, and upinto the trees, and away off down the river-path, and then toward thehouse. "If I didn't think I saw my dear good mamma's face in the water, as plain as day, and if I didn't hear something whisper in my ear andsay, "_Twice! twice!_"--and then she stopped, and held her breath, andlistened again, --"if I didn't hear it as plain as I ever heard anythingin my life, then my name isn't Ruth Page, that's all, nor Teenty-Tawntyneither!" And then she stopped, and began to feel very unhappy andsorrowful; for she remembered how her mother had cautioned her never togo near the river, nor into the woods alone, and how she had promisedher mother many and many a time never to do so, never, never! And thenthe tears came into her eyes, and she began to wish herself away fromthe haunted spot, where she could kneel down and say her prayers; andthen she looked up to the sky, and then down into the still water, andthen she thought she would just go and take one more peep, --onlyone, --just to see if the dear little fishes had got over their fright, and then she would run home to her mother, and tell her how forgetfulshe had been, and how naughty, and ask her to give her something thatwould make her remember her promises. Poor thing! little did she knowhow deep the water was, nor how wonderfully she had escaped! once, once!twice, twice! and still she ventured a third time. 

Well and so--don't you think, she crept along, crept along to the veryedge of the green, slippery turf, on her hands and knees, half tremblingwith fear, and half laughing to think of that droll-looking fat fellow, with the big bell-mouth, and the yellow breeches, and the grass-greenmilitary jacket, turned up with buff and embroidered with gems, and thebright golden eye that had so frightened her before, and wondering inher little heart if he would show himself again; and singing all thewhile, as she crept nearer and nearer, "Nobody asked you, sir, she said!sir, she said! nobody asked you, sir, she said!" till at last she hadgot near enough to look over, and see the little fishes there tumblingabout by dozens, and playing bo-peep among the flowers that grewunderneath the bank, and were multiplied by thousands in the clear water, when, all at once, she felt the turf giving way, and she put out herarms and screamed for her mother. Goody gracious! how she did scream!and then something answered from the flowing waters underneath, and fromthe flowering trees overhead, with a mournful sweet sound, like wailingafar off, "_Thrice! thrice!_" and the flashing waters swelled up, saying, "_Thrice! thrice!_" and the flowering branch of the tree swept over theturf, and the sound was the same, "_Thrice! thrice!_" and in she went, headlong, into the deepest part of the pool, screaming with terror, andcalling on her mother to the last: poor mother!

Well and so--when she came to herself, where do you think she was? Why, she was lying out in the warm summer air, on a green bank, all tuftedwith cowslips and violets and clover-blossoms, with a plenty ofstrawberries underneath her feet, and the bluest water you ever saw allround her, murmuring like the rose-lipped sea-shells; and the air wasfull of singing-birds, and there was a little old woman looking at her, with the funniest cap, and a withered face not bigger than you may seewhen you look at the baby through the big end of a spyglass: the cap wasa morning-glory, and it was tied underneath the chin with bleachedcobweb, and the streamers and bows were just like the colors you see ina soap-bubble. 

"Goody gracious! where am I now?" said little Ruth. 

"Yes, my dear, that's my name, " said the little old woman, dropping alow courtesy, and then spinning round two or three times, and squattingdown suddenly, so as to make what you call a cheese. 

"Why, you don't mean to say that's your real name, " whispered littleRuth. 

"To be sure it is! just as much as-- And pray, my little creature, what's your name?"

"Mine! O, my name is Ruth Page, _only_ Ruth Page. " And up she jumped, and spun round among the strawberries and flowers, and tried to make acourtesy like the little old woman, and then they both burst outa-laughing together. 

"Well, " said Goody Gracious, "you're a nice, good-natured, funny littlething, I'll say that for you, as ever I happened to meet with; buthaven't you another and a prettier name, hey?"

"Why, sometimes they call me little Teenty-Tawnty, " said Ruth. 

"Fiddle-de-dee, I don't like that name any better than the other: wemust give you a new name, " said the little old woman; "but first tellme, "--and she grew very serious, and her little sharp eyes changedcolor, --"first tell me how you happened to be here, in the very heart ofFairy-land, with nobody to take care of you, and not so much as a waspor a bumble-bee to watch over you when you are asleep. "

"Indeed, and indeed, ma'am, I don't know, " said little Ruth; "all I doknow is, that I have been very naughty, and that I am drowned, and thatI shall never see my poor dear mamma any more!" And then she up and toldthe whole story to the little old woman, crying bitterly all the while. 

"Don't take on so, my little dear, don't, don't!" said Goody Gracious;and out she whipped what appeared to Ruth nothing but a rumpled leaf ofthe tiger-lily, and wiped her eyes with it. "Be a good child, and, aftera trial of three days in Fairy-land, if you want to go back to yourmother you shall go, and you may carry with you a token to her that youhave told the truth. "

"O, bless your little dear old-fashioned face, " cried Ruth; "O, blessyou, bless you! only give me a token that will make me always rememberwhat I have promised my poor dear mother, and I shall be so happy! and Iwon't ask for anything else. "

"What, neither for humming-birds, nor gold-fish, nor butterflies, nordiamonds, nor pearls, nor anything you have been wishing for so long, ever since you were able to read about Fairy-land?"

"No, ma'am; just give me a ring of wheat-straw, or a brooch from theruby-beetle, if you like, and I shall be satisfied. "

"Be it so; but, before I change you to a fairy, you must make choice ofwhat you want to see in Fairy-land for three days running; for, at theend of that time, I shall change you back again, so that if you are ofthe same mind then, you may go back to your mother, and, if not, youwill stay with us for ever and ever. "

"For ever and ever?" said Ruth, and she trembled; "please, ma'am, Ishould like to go now, if it's all the same to you?"

"No! but take this flower, " and, as she spoke, she stooped down, andpulled up a forget-me-not by the roots, and breathed upon it, and itblossomed all over; "take this root, " said she, "and plant it somewhere, and tend it well, and at any time after three days, if you get tired ofbeing here, all you have to do will be just to pull it up out of theearth, and wish yourself at home, and you will find yourself there in amoment, in your own little bed. "

"Goody gracious! you don't say so!"

"But I do say so. "

"I declare, I've a good mind to try!"

"What, pull it up before you have planted it? No, no, my dear. It mustbe left out threescore and twelve hours, and be watered with the dewsand the starlight of the South Sea, where you are now, thousands andthousands of miles from your own dear country; but there is one thing Iwould have you know before you plant the flower. "

"If you please, ma'am, " said little Ruth. 

"It is given to you, my dear, to help you correct your faults; you meanto do right, and you try pretty hard, but you are _so_ forgetful, yousay. "

"Yes, ma'am, "

"Well, now, but just so long as you tend this plant with care, and waterit every day at the same hour, --every day, mind you, and at the samehour, --you will be growing better. "

Ruth was overjoyed. 

"But, " continued the fairy, "if you neglect it for a single day, it willbegin to droop and wither, the leaves will change, and some of theblossoms will drop off, and your mother will begin to feel unhappy andlow-spirited. "

"O yes; but I never shall, ma'am, --never, _never_!"

"Don't be too sure; and if you neglect it for two whole days running, all the flowers will drop off but one, and your mother will take to herbed, and nobody but you will know what ails her. "

Poor Ruth began to tremble, and the tears came in her eyes. 

"But, " continued the fairy, --"_but_ if you should neglect it for threedays running, my poor child, --but for three days running, --the lastflower will drop off, and your mother will die of a broken heart. "

"O mercy, mercy!" cried poor little Ruth. "O, take it! take it! Iwouldn't have it for the world!" And she flung it down upon the looseearth, and shook her little fingers, just as if something had stung her. 

"It is too late now. See, my dear, it has already taken root, and nowthere is no help for it. Remember! your mother's health, happiness, andlife depend upon that flower. Watch it well! And now, daughter ofearth, " and, as she spoke, she stooped, and pulled up a whole handful ofviolets, dripping with summer rain, --and repeating the words, "Daughterof earth, away! Rosebud, appear!" shook the moisture all over her; andinstantly the dear child found herself afloat in the air, with pinionsof purple gauze, bedropped with gold, with millions of little fairiesall about her, swarming like butterflies and blossoms after a pleasantrain, and welcoming their sister Rosebud to Fairy-land. 

"Well, " thought Rosebud, --we must call her Rosebud now, --"well, if thisbeing a little fairy isn't one of the pleasantest things. " And then sherecollected that she had only three days to stay there and see thesights, and she looked round her to ask if there was anybody near tohelp her, and take charge of her, and tell her what to do and where togo. 

"Daughter, " said a sweet voice that she knew, though it appeared to comeout and steal up from the leaves of another morning-glory, --"Daughter!"

"Mother, " said Rosebud. 

"You may have your choice to-day of these three things, --abutterfly-hunt, a wedding, or a play. "

"O, a wedding, a wedding, " said Rosebud. "O, I have always wanted to seea wedding. "

"Be it so, " said the voice; and instantly a sweet wind arose, and liftedher up, and swept her, and thousands more like her, over the blue deepso swiftly that nothing could be seen but a mist of sparkles here andthere, till they all found themselves on the sea-shore, at the mouth ofa deep sparry cave, all hung about with the richest moss, and lightedwith pearls in clusters, and with little patches of glow-worms, andcarpeted with the wings of butterflies. In the midst were a multitude oflittle fairies, hovering and floating over a throne of spider-net ivory, on which lay the bride, with a veil of starlight, interwoven with thebreath of roses, covering her from head to foot, and falling over thecouch like sunshine playing on clear water. 

By and by a faint, strange murmuring was heard afar off, like theringing of lily-bells to the touch of the honey-bees, growing louder andlouder, and coming nearer and nearer every moment. Rosebud turned towardthe sea with all the other fairies, and held her breath; and after a fewmoments a fleet of little ships, with the most delicate purple and azuresails, so thin that you could see the sky through them, came tiltingalong over the sea as if they were alive, --and so they were, --and drewup, as if in order of battle, just before the mouth of the cave; andthen a silver trumpet sounded on the shore, and a swarm of hornetsappeared, whizzing and whirring all about the cave; and then there wasanother trumpet, and another, about as loud as you may hear from a cagedblue-bottle, and compliments were interchanged, and a salute fired, which frightened the little lady-fairies into all sorts of shapes, andmade the little fairy-bride jump up and ask if her time had come, though, to tell you the truth, the noise did not appear much more terrible toRosebud than her little brother's pop-gun; and then a sort of barge, notunlike the blossom of a sweet pea in shape, was manned from the largestof the fleet, and, when it touched the bright sparkling sand, out leapeda little prince of a fellow, with a bunch of white feathers in his hat, plucked from the moth-miller, a sword like the finest cambric-needlebelted about his waist, and the most unimpeachable small-clothes. 

This turned out to be the bridegroom; and after a few more flourishes, and not a little pulling and hauling among the bridesmaids, the brideand the bridegroom stood up together, and looked silly and sheepish, asif butter wouldn't melt in their mouths; and after listening awhile toan old droning-beetle, without hearing a word he said, they bowed andcourtesied, and made some sort of a reply, nobody could guess what; andthen forth stepped the master of ceremonies, a priggish-lookinggrasshopper, with straw-colored tights, and a fashionable coat, single-breasted, and so quakerish it set poor little Rosebud a-laughing, in spite of all she could do, every time she looked at his legs; and_then!_ out ran the ten thousand trumpeting bumble-bees, and the katydidgrew noisier than ever, and the cricket chirruped for joy, and thebridegroom touched the bride's cheek, and pointed slyly toward a littleheap of newly gathered roses and violets, piled up afar off, in ashadowy part of the cave, just underneath a trailing canopy ofchangeable moss; the bride blushed, and the fairies tittered, and littleRosebud turned away, and wished herself at home, and instantly the brideand the bridegroom vanished! and the ships and the fairies! and thelights and the music! and Rosebud found herself standing face to facewith the little withered old woman, who was looking mournfully at thedrooping forget-me-not. The tears came into her eyes, and for the firsttime since the flower took root, --for the very first time, --she began tothink of her mother, and of her promise to the fairy; and she stoopeddown, in an agony of terror and shame and self-reproach, to see how itfared with her forget-me-not. Alas! it had already begun to droop andwither; and the leaves were changing color, and the blossoms weredropping off, and she knew that her mother was beginning to suffer. 

"O that I had never seen the hateful flower!" cried Rosebud; and theninstantly recollecting herself, she dropped upon her knees, and kissedit, and wept upon it, and the flower seemed refreshed by her tears; andwhen she stood up and looked into the face of the good little fairy, andsaw her lips tremble, and the color change in her sweet mournful eyes, she felt as if she never should be happy again. 

"Daughter of earth! child of the air!" said the fairy, "two more daysremain to thee. What wouldst thou have?"

"O nothing! nothing! Let me but go back to my dear, dear mother, and Ishall be so happy!"

"That cannot be. These trials are to prepare thee for thy return to her. Be patient, and take thy choice of these three things, --a tournament, acoronation, or a ball!"

"Goody gracious! how I _should_ like to see a coronation!" criedRosebud; and then she recollected herself, and blushed and courtesied, and said, "if you please, ma'am. "

"Call me mother, my dear; in Fairy-land I am your mother. "

"Well, mother, " said Rosebud, the tears starting into her eyes, and herheart swelling, as she determined never to call her mamma, no, never!--"well, mother, if you please, I would rather stay here and watchthe flower: I don't want to see anything more in Fairy-land; I've hadenough of such things to last me as long as I live. But O, if I shouldhappen to fall asleep!"

"If you should, my dear, you will wake in season; but take your choice. "

"Thank you, mother, but I choose to stay here. "

At these words the fairy vanished, and Rosebud was left alone, lookingat the dear little flower, which seemed to grow fresher and fresher, andmore and more beautiful every minute, and wondering whether it would beso with her dear mamma; and then she fell to thinking about her home, and how much trouble she had given her mother, and how much better shewould always be after she had got back to her once more; and then shefell asleep, and slept so soundly that she did not wake till the sun wasup, and it was time to water the flower. 

At first she was terribly frightened; but when she remembered what thefairy told her, she began to feel comfortable, and, lest something mighthappen, she took a little sea-shell that lay there, and running down tothe water, dipped it up full, and was on her way back, thinking howhappy her poor dear mamma would feel if she could only know _what_ itwas and _who_ it was that made her so much better, when she heard thestrangest and sweetest noises all about her in the air, as if the wholesky was full of the happiest and merriest creatures! and when she lookedup, lo! there was a broad glitter to be seen, as if the whole populationof Fairy-land were passing right over her head, making a sort of pathlike that you see at sunrise along the blue deep, when the waters aremotionless and smooth and clear. 

"Well, " said she, looking up, "I _do_ wonder where they are going sofast, "--and then she stopped, --"and I do think they might he civilenough just to let a body know; I dare say 'tis the coronation, or thebutterfly-hunt, or the tournament, or the-- O, how I should like to bethere!"

No sooner was the wish uttered, than she found herself seated in a highgallery, as delicately carved as the ivory fans of the east; withdiamonds and ostrich-feathers all about and below her, and a prodigiouscrowd assembled in the open air, --with the lists open, --a trumpetsounding, --and scores of knights armed cap-a-pie, and mounted ondragon-flies, waiting for the charge. All eyes were upon her, andeverybody about was whispering her name, and she never felt half sohappy in her life; and she was just beginning to compare the delicateembroidery of her wings with that of her next neighbor, a sweet littlefairy who sat looking through her fingers at a youthful champion below, and pouting and pouting as if she wanted everybody to know that he hadjilted her, when she happened to see a little forget-me-not embroideredon his beaver; and she instantly recollected her promise, and cried out, "O mamma! mamma!" and wished herself back again, where she might sit bythe flower and watch over it, and never leave it, never! till her threedays of trial were ended. 

In a moment, before she could speak a word, or even make a bow to thenice little boy-fairy, who had just handed her up her glove on the pointof a lance like a sunbeam, she found herself seated by the flower. Poorlittle thing! It was too late! Every blossom had fallen off but one, andthat looked unhealthy, and trembled when she breathed upon it. Shethought of her mamma, and fancied she could see them carrying her up tobed, and all the doctors there, and nobody able to tell what ailed her;and she threw herself all along upon the grass, and wished all thefairies at the bottom of the Red Sea, and herself with them! And whenshe looked up, what do you think she saw? and where do you think shewas? why, she was at the bottom of the Red Sea, and all the wonders ofthe Red Sea were about her, --chariots and chariot-wheels and theskeletons of war-horses, and mounted warriors, with heaps of glitteringarmor, and jewels of silver and jewels of gold, and banner and shieldand spear, with millions and millions of little sea-fairies, and RobinGoodfellows, and giants and dwarfs, and the funniest-looking monstersyou ever heard of; and the waters were all bright with fairy-lamps thatwere alive, and with ribbons that were alive, and with changeableflowers that swam about and whispered to each other in a language oftheir own; and there were great heaps of pearl washed up into drifts andridges, and a pile of the strangest-looking old-fashioned furniture, ofgold and ivory, and little mermaids with their dolls not longer thanyour finger, with live fishes for tails, jumping about and playinghide-and-seek with the sun-spots and star-fishes, and the stripedwater-snakes of the Indian seas, --the most brilliant and beautiful ofall the creatures that live there. 

And while she was looking about her, and wondering at all she saw, shehappened to think once more of the _forget-me-not_, and to wish herselfback again! At that instant she heard a great heavy bell booming andtolling, --she knew it was tolling--and she knew she was too late--andshe knew that her mother was dead of a broken heart, --and she fell uponher face, and stretched forth her hands with a shriek, and prayed God toforgive her! and allow her to see her mother once more, --only once more!

"Why, what ails the child?" whispered somebody that seemed to bestooping over her. 

It was her mother's voice! and poor Ruth was afraid to look up lest itshould all vanish forever. 

"Upon my word, Sarah, " said another voice, --it was her father's, --"uponmy word, Sarah, I do not know; but the poor little creature's thoughtsappear to have undergone another change. I have heard nothing to-day ofthe forget-me-not which troubled her so the first week, have you?"

"She has mentioned it but once to-day, and then she shuddered; butperhaps we had better keep it in the glass till we see whether it willbear to be transplanted, for she seems to have set her little heart uponhaving that flower live; I wish I knew why!"

"Do you, indeed, mamma?" whispered poor Ruth, still without looking up;"well, then, I will tell you. That flower was given me by a fairy tomake me remember my promises to you, my poor, dear, dead mamma; and solong as I water that every day at the same hour, so long I shall begrowing better and better, and my poor dear mamma, --boo-hoo! boo-hoo!"and the little thing began to cry as if she would break her heart. 

"Why, this is stranger than all, " said the father. "I can't helpthinking the poor child would be rational enough now, if she hadn't readso many fairy-books; but what a mercy it was, my dear Sarah, and howshall we ever be thankful enough, that you happened to be down therewhen she fell into the water. "

"Ah!" Ruth Page began to hold her breath, and listen with the strangestfeeling. 

"Yes, Robert; but I declare to you, I am frightened whenever I think ofthe risk I ran by letting her fall in, head first, as I did. "

Poor Ruth began to lift her head, and to feel about, and pinch herselfto see if she was really awake. 

"And then, too, just think of this terrible fever, and the strange, wildpoetry she has been talking, day after day, about Fairy-land. "

"Poetry! Fudge, Robert, fudge!"

Ruth looked up, full of amazement and joy, and whispered, "Fudge, father, fudge!" and the very next words that fell from her trembling lips as shesat looking at her mother, and pointing at a little bunch offorget-me-nots in full flower, that her mother had kept for her in aglass by the window, were these, "O mother! dearest mother! what aterrible dream I have had!"

"Hush, my love, hush! and go to sleep, and we will talk this matter overwhen you are able to bear it. "

"Goody gracious, mamma!"

"There she goes again!" cried the father; "now we shall have anotherfit!"

"Hush, hush, my love! you must go to sleep now, and not talk any more. "

"Well, kiss me, mamma, and let me have your hand to go to sleep with, and I'll try. "

Her mother kissed the dear little thing, and took her hand in hers, andlaid her cheek upon the pillow, and in less than five minutes she wassound asleep, and breathing as she hadn't breathed before since she hadbeen fished out of the water, nearly three weeks back, on her way toFairy-land. 

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A FADED LEAF OF HISTORY. 

BY REBECCA HARDING DAVIS. 

One quiet, snowy afternoon this winter, I found in a dark corner of oneof the oldest libraries in the country a curious pamphlet. It fell intomy hands like a bit of old age and darkness itself. The pages werecoffee-colored, and worn thin and ragged at the edges, like rottingleaves in fall; they had grown clammy to the touch, too, from the graspof so many dead years. There was a peculiar smell about the book whichit had carried down from the days when young William Penn went up anddown the clay-paths of his village of Philadelphia, stopping to watchthe settlers fishing in the clear ponds or to speak to the gangs ofyellow-painted Indians coming in with peltry from the adjacent forest. 

The leaves were scribbled over with the name of John, --"John, " in acramped, childish hand. His father's book, no doubt, and the writing abit of boyish mischief. Outside now, in the street, the boys werepelting each other with snowballs, just as this John had done in theclay-paths. But for nearly two hundred years his bones had been crumbledinto lime and his flesh gone back into grass and roots. Yet here he was, a boy still; here was the old pamphlet and the scrawl in yellowing ink, with the smell about it still. 

_Printed by Rainier Janssen_, 1698. I turned over the leaves, expectingto find a sermon preached before Andros, "for the conversion ofSadducees, " or some "Report of the Condition of the Principalities ofNew Netherland, or New Sweden, for the Use of the Lord's HighProprietors thereof" (for of such precious dead dust this library isfull); but I found, instead, wrapped in weighty sentences and backed bythe gravest and most ponderous testimony, the story of a baby, "aSucking Child six Months old. " It was like a live seed in the hand of amummy. The story of a baby and a boy and an aged man, in "the devouringWaves of the Sea; and also among the cruel devouring Jaws of inhumanCanibals. " There were, it is true, other divers persons in the company, by one of whom the book is written. But the divers persons seemed to meto be only part of that endless caravan of ghosts that has been crossingthe world since the beginning; they never can be anything but ghosts tous. If only to find a human interest in them, one would rather they hadbeen devoured by inhuman cannibals than not. But a baby and a boy and anaged man!

All that afternoon, through the dingy windows of the old building, Icould see the snow falling soft and steadily, covering the countlessroofs of the city, and fancying the multitude of comfortable happy homeswhich these white roofs hid, and the sweet-tempered, gracious womenthere, with their children close about their knees. I thought I wouldlike to bring this little live baby back to the others, with its strange, pathetic story, out of the buried years where it has been hidden withdead people so long, and give it a place and home among us all again. 

I only premise that I have left the facts of the history unaltered, evenin the names; and that I believe them to be, in every particular, true. 

On the 22d of August, 1696, this baby, a puny, fretful boy, was carrieddown the street of Port Royal, Jamaica, and on board the "barkentine"Reformation, bound for Pennsylvania; a Province which, as you remember, Du Chastellux, a hundred years later, described as a most savage countrywhich he was compelled to cross on his way to the burgh of Philadelphia, on its border. To this savage country our baby was bound. He had by wayof body-guard his mother, a gentle Quaker lady; his father, JonathanDickenson, a wealthy planter, on his way to increase his wealth inPenn's new settlement; three negro men, four negro women, and an Indiannamed Venus, all slaves of the said Dickenson; the captain, his boy, seven seamen, and two passengers. Besides this defence, the baby's shipwas escorted by thirteen sail of merchantmen under convoy of an armedfrigate. For these were the days when, to the righteous man, terrorwalked abroad, in the light and the darkness. The green, quiet coastswere but the lurking-places of savages, and the green, restless seasmore treacherous with pirates. Kidd had not yet buried his treasure, butwas prowling up and down the eastern seas, gathering it from everyluckless vessel that fell in his way. The captain, Kirle, debarred fromfighting by cowardice, and the Quaker Dickenson, forbidden by principle, appear to have set out upon their perilous journey, resolved to defendthemselves by suspicion, pure and simple. They looked for treacherybehind every bush and billow; the only chance of safety lay, theymaintained, in holding every white man to be an assassin and every redman a cannibal until they were proved otherwise. 

The boy was hired by Captain Kirle to wait upon him. His name was JohnHilliard, and he was precisely what any of these good-humored, mischievous fellows outside would have been, hired on a brigantine twocenturies ago; disposed to shirk his work in order to stand gaping atBlack Ben fishing, or to rub up secretly his old cutlass for the behoofof Kidd, or the French when they should come, while the Indian Venusstood by looking on, with the baby in her arms. 

The aged man is invariably set down as chief of the company, though thecaptain held all the power and the Quaker all the money. But white hairand a devout life gave an actual social rank in those days, obsolete now, and Robert Barrow was known as a man of God all along thecoast-settlements from Massachusetts to Ashley River, among whites andIndians. Years before, in Yorkshire, his inward testimony (he being aFriend) had bidden him go preach in this wilderness. He asked of God, itis said, rather to die; but was not disobedient to the heavenly call, and came and labored faithfully. He was now returning from the WestIndies, where he had carried his message a year ago. 

The wind set fair for the first day or two; the sun was warm. Even thegrim Quaker Dickenson might have thought the white-sailed fleet a prettysight scudding over the rolling green plain, if he could have sparedtime to his jealous eyes from scanning the horizon for pirates. Our baby, too, saw little of sun or sea; for, being but a sickly baby, with hardlyvitality enough to live from day to day, it was kept below, smothered inthe finest of linens and the softest of paduasoy. 

One morning when the fog lifted, Dickenson's watch for danger wasrewarded. They had lost their way in the night; the fleet was gone, thedead blue slopes of water rolled up to the horizon on every side andwere met by the dead blue sky, without the break of a single sail or theflicker of a flying bird. For fifteen days they beat about without anyapparent aim other than to escape the enemies whom they hourly expectedto leap out from behind the sky-line. On the sixteenth day friendlysigns were made to them from shore. "A fire made a great Smoak, andPeople beckoned to us to putt on Shoar, " but Kirle and Dickenson, seizedwith fresh fright, put about and made off as for their lives, until nineo'clock that night, when, seeing two signal-lights, doubtless from someof their own convoy, they cried out, "The French! the French!" andtacked back again as fast as might be. The next day, Kirle beingdisabled by a jibbing boom, Dickenson brought his own terrors intocommand, and for two or three days whisked the unfortunate barkentine upand down the coast, afraid of both sea and shore, until finally, onenight, he run her aground on a sand-bar on the Florida reefs. Wonderingmuch at this "judgment of God, " Dickenson went to work. Indeed, to dohim justice, he seems to have been always ready enough to use his burlystrength and small wit, trusting to them to carry him through the worldwherein his soul was beleaguered by many inscrutable judgments of Godand the universal treachery of his brother-man. 

The crew abandoned the ship in a heavy storm. A fire was kindled in thebight of a sand-hill and protected as well as might be with sails andpalmetto branches; and to this, Dickenson, with "Great trembling andPain of Hartt, " carried his baby in his own arms and laid it in itsmother's breast. Its little body was pitiful to see from leanness, and agreat fever was upon it. Robert Barrow, the crippled captain, and a sickpassenger shared the child's shelter. "Whereupon two Canibals appeared, naked, but for a breech-cloth of plaited straw, with Countenances bloodyand furious, and foaming at the Mouth"; but on being given tobacco, retreated inland to alarm the tribe. The ship's company gatheredtogether and sat down to wait their return, expecting cruelty, saysDickenson, and dreadful death. Christianity was now to be brought faceto face with heathenness, which fact our author seems to have recognizedunder all his terror. "We began by putting our trust in the Lord, hopingfor no Mercy from these bloody-minded Creatures; having too few guns touse except to enrage them, a Motion arose among us to deceive them bycalling ourselves Spaniards, that Nation having some influence overthem"; to which lie all consented, except Robert Barrow. It is curiousto observe how these early Christians met the Indians with the sameweapons of distrust and fraud which have proved so effective with us incivilizing them since. 

In two or three hours the savages appeared in great numbers, bloody andfurious, and in their chronic state of foaming at the mouth. "Theyrushed in upon us, shouting 'Nickalees? Nickalees?' (Un Ingles. ) Towhich we replied 'Espania. ' But they cried the more fiercely 'No Espania, Nickalees!' and being greatly enraged thereat, seized upon all Trunksand Chests and our cloathes upon our Backs, leaving us each only a pairof old Breeches, except Robert Barrow, my wife, and child, from whomthey took nothing. " The king, or Cassekey, as Dickenson calls him, distinguished by a horse-tail fastened to his belt behind, tookpossession of their money and buried it, at which the good Quaker sparesnot his prayers for punishment on all pagan robbers, quite blind to thepoetic justice of the burial, as the money had been made on land stolenfrom the savages. The said Cassekey also set up his abode in their tent;kept all his tribe away from the woman and child and aged man; kindledfires; caused, as a delicate attention, the only hog remaining on thewreck to be killed and brought to them for a midnight meal; and, inshort, comported himself so hospitably, and with such kindlyconsideration toward the broad-brimmed Quaker, that we are inclined toaccount him the better-bred fellow of the two, in spite of his scantcostume of horse-tail and belt of straw. As for the robbery of theship's cargo, no doubt the Cassekey had progressed far enough incivilization to know that to the victors belong the spoils. Florida, fortwo years, had been stricken down from coast to coast by a deadly famine, and in all probability these cannibals returned thanks to whatever Godthey had for this windfall of food and clothes devoutly as ourforefathers were doing at the other end of the country for the homeswhich they had taken by force. There is a good deal of kinship among usin circumstances, after all, as well as in blood. The chief undoubtedlyrecognized a brother in Dickenson, every whit as tricky as himself, andwould fain, savage as he was, have proved him to be something better;for, after having protected them for several days, he came into theirtent and gravely and with authority set himself to asking the oldquestion, "Nickalees?"

"To which, when we denied, he directed his Speech to the Aged Man, whowould not conceal the Truth, but answered in Simplicity, 'Yes. ' Then hecried in Wrath 'Totus Nickalees!' and went out from us. But returned ingreat fury with his men, and stripped all Cloathes from us. "

However, the clothes were returned, and the chief persuaded them tohasten on to his own village. Dickenson, suspecting foul play as usual, insisted on going to Santa Lucia. There, the Indian told him, they wouldmeet fierce savages and undoubtedly have their throats cut, which kindlywarning was quite enough to drive the Quaker to Santa Lucia headlong. Hewas sure of the worst designs on the part of the cannibal, from astrange glance which he fixed upon the baby as he drove them before himto his village, saying with a treacherous laugh, that after they hadgone there for a purpose he had, they might go to Santa Lucia as theywould. 

It was a bleak, chilly afternoon as they toiled mile after mile alongthe beach, the Quaker woman far behind the others with her baby in herarms, carrying it, as she thought, to its death. Overhead, flocks ofdark-winged grakles swooped across the lowering sky, uttering from timeto time their harsh, foreboding cry; shoreward, as far as the eye couldsee, the sand stretched in interminable yellow ridges, blackened hereand there by tufts of dead palmetto-trees; while on the other side thesea had wrapped itself in a threatening silence and darkness. A line ofwhite foam crept out of it from horizon to horizon, dumb and treacherous, and licked the mother's feet as she dragged herself heavily after theothers. 

From time to time the Indian stealthily peered over her shoulder, looking at the child's thin face as it slept upon her breast. As eveningclosed in, they came to a broad arm of the sea thrust inland through thebeach, and halted at the edge. Beyond it, in the darkness, they coulddistinguish the yet darker shapes of the wigwams, and savages gatheredabout two or three enormous fires that threw long red lines of glareinto the sea-fog. "As we stood there for many Hour's Time, " saysJonathan Dickenson, "we were assured these Dreadful Fires were preparedfor us. "

Of all the sad little company that stand out against the far-off dimnessof the past, in that long watch upon the beach, the low-voiced, sweet-tempered Quaker lady comes nearest and is the most real to us. Thesailors had chosen a life of peril years ago; her husband, with all hissuspicious bigotry, had, when pushed to extremes, an admirable toughcourage with which to face the dangers of sea and night and death; andthe white-headed old man, who stood apart and calm, had received, asmuch as Elijah of old, a Divine word to speak in the wilderness, and thelife in it would sustain him through death. But Mary Dickenson was onlya gentle, commonplace woman, whose life had been spent on a quiet farm, whose highest ambition was to take care of her snug little house, andall of whose brighter thoughts or romance or passion began and ended inthis staid Quaker and the baby that was a part of them both. It was onlysix months ago that this first-born child had been laid in her arms; andas she lay on the white bed looking out on the spring dawning day afterday, her husband sat beside her telling her again and again of the househe had made ready for her in Penn's new settlement. She never tired ofhearing of it. Some picture of this far-off home must have come to thepoor girl as she stood now in the night, the sea-water creeping up toher naked feet, looking at the fires built, as she believed, for herchild. 

Toward midnight a canoe came from the opposite side, into which thechief put Barrow, Dickenson, the child, and its mother. Their worstfears being thus confirmed, they crossed in silence, holding each otherby the hand, the poor baby moaning now and then. It had indeed been borntired into the world, and had gone moaning its weak life out ever since. 

Landing on the farther beach, the crowd of waiting Indians fled fromthem as if frightened, and halted in the darkness beyond the fires. Butthe Cassekey dragged them on toward a wigwam, taking Mary and the childbefore the others. "Herein, " says her husband, "was the Wife of theCanibal and some old Women sitting in a Cabbin made of Sticks about aFoot high, and covered with a Matt. He made signs for us to sitt down onthe Ground, which we did. The Cassekey's Wife looking at my Child andhaving her own Child in her lapp, putt it away to another Woman, androse upp and would not bee denied, but would have my Child. She took itand suckled it at her Breast, feeling it from Top to Toe, and viewing itwith a sad Countenance. "

The starving baby, being thus warmed and fed, stretched its little armsand legs out on the savage breast comfortably and fell into a happysleep, while its mother sat apart and looked on. 

"An Indian did kindly bring to her a Fish upon a Palmetto Leaf and setit down before her; but the Pain and Thoughts within her were so greatthat she could not eat. "

The rest of the crew having been brought over, the chief set himself towork and speedily had a wigwam built in which mats were spread, and theshipwrecked people, instead of being killed and eaten, went to sleepjust as the moon rose, and the Indians began "a Consert of hideousNoises, " whether of welcome or worship they could not tell. 

Dickenson and his band remained in this Indian village for several days, endeavoring all the time to escape, in spite of the kind treatment ofthe chief, who appears to have shared all that he had with them. TheQuaker kept a constant, fearful watch, lest there might be death in thepot. When the Cassekey found they were resolved to go, he set out forthe wreck, bringing back a boat which was given to them, with butter, sugar, a rundlet of wine, and chocolate; to Mary and the child he alsogave everything which he thought would be useful to them. This friend inthe wilderness appeared sorry to part with them, but Dickenson was blindboth to friendship and sorrow, and obstinately took the directionagainst which the chief warned him, suspecting treachery, "though wefound afterward that his counsell was good. "

Robert Barrow, Mary, and the child, with two sick men, went in a canoealong the coast, keeping the crew in sight, who, with the boy, travelledon foot, sometimes singing as they marched. So they began the long andterrible journey, the later horrors of which I dare not give in thewords here set down. The first weeks were painful and disheartening, although they still had food. Their chief discomfort arose from theextreme cold at night and the tortures from the sand-flies andmosquitoes on their exposed bodies, which they tried to remedy bycovering themselves with sand, but found sleep impossible. 

At last, however, they met the fiercer savages of whom the chief hadwarned them, and practised upon them the same device of callingthemselves Spaniards. By this time, one would suppose, even Dickenson'sdull eyes would have seen the fatal idiocy of the lie. "Crying out'Nickalees, No Espanier, ' they rushed upon us, rending the few Cloathesfrom us that we had; they took all from my Wife, even tearing her Hairout, to get at the Lace, wherewith it was knotted. " They were thendragged furiously into canoes and rowed to the village, being stoned andshot at as they went. The child was stripped, while one savage filledits mouth with sand. 

But at that the chief's wife came quickly to Mary and protected her fromthe sight of all, and took the sand out of the child's mouth, entreatingit very tenderly, whereon the mass of savages fell back, muttering andangry. 

The same woman brought the poor naked lady to her wigwam, quieted her, found some raw deerskins, and showed her how to cover herself and thebaby with them. 

The tribe among which they now were had borne the famine for two years;their emaciated and hunger-bitten faces gave fiercer light to theirgloomy, treacherous eyes. Their sole food was fish and palmetto-berries, both of which were scant. Nothing could have been more unwelcome thanthe advent of this crowd of whites, bringing more hungry mouths to fill;and, indeed, there is little reason to doubt that the first intentionwas to put them all to death. But, after the second day, Dickensonrelates that the chief "looked pleasantly upon my Wife and Child";instead of the fish entrails and filthy water in which the fish had beencooked which had been given to the prisoners, he brought clams to Mary, and kneeling in the sand showed her how to roast them. The Indian women, too, carried off the baby, knowing that its mother had no milk for it, and handed it about from one to the other, putting away their ownchildren that they might give it their food. At which the child, that, when it had been wrapped in fine flannel and embroidery had been alwaysnigh to death, began to grow fat and rosy, to crow and laugh as it hadnever done before, and kick its little legs sturdily about under theirbit of raw skin covering. Mother Nature had taken the child home, thatwas all, and was breathing new lusty life into it, out of the bareground and open sky, the sun and wind, and the breasts of these herchildren; but its father saw in the change only another inexplicablemiracle of God. Nor does he seem to have seen that it was the child andits mother who had been a protection and shield to the whole crew andsaved them through this their most perilous strait. 

I feel as if I must stop here with the story half told. Dickenson'snarrative, when I finished it, left behind it a fresh, sweetcheerfulness, as if one had been actually touching the living baby withits fair little body and milky breath; but if I were to try to reproducethe history of the famished men and women of the crew during the monthsthat followed, I should but convey to you a dull and dreary horror. 

You yourselves can imagine what the journey on foot along the bleakcoast in winter, through tribe after tribe of hostile savages, must havebeen to delicately nurtured men and women, naked but for a piece of rawdeerskin and utterly without food save for the few nauseous berries oroffal rejected by the Indians. In their ignorance of the coast theywandered farther and farther out of their way into those morasses whichan old writer calls "the refuge of all unclean birds and thebreeding-fields of all reptiles. " Once a tidal wave swept down into avast marsh where they had built their fire, and air and ground slowlydarkened with the swarming living creatures, whirring, creeping aboutthem through the night, and uttering gloomy, dissonant cries. Many ofthese strange companions and some savages found their way to the hill ofoyster-shells where the crew fled, and remained there for the two daysand nights in which the flood lasted. 

Our baby accepted all fellow-travellers cheerfully; made them welcome, indeed. Savage, slave, and beast were his friends alike, his laugh andoutstretched hands were ready for them all. The aged man, too, Dickensontells us, remained hopeful and calm, even when the slow-coming touch ofdeath had begun to chill and stiffen him, and in the presence of thecannibals assuring his companions cheerfully of his faith that theywould yet reach home in safety. Even in that strange, forced halt, whenMary Dickenson could do nothing but stand still and watch the seaclosing about them, creeping up and up like a visible death, the oldman's prayers and the baby's laugh must have kept the thought of her farhome very near and warm to her. 

They escaped the sea to fall into worse dangers. Disease was added tostarvation. One by one strong men dropped exhausted by the way, and wereleft unburied, while the others crept feebly on; stout JonathanDickenson taking as his charge the old man, now almost a helpless burden. Mary, who, underneath her gentle, timid ways, seems to have had agallant heart in her little body, carried her baby to the last, untilthe milk in her breast was quite dried and her eyes grew blind, and shetoo fell one day beside a poor negress who, with her unborn child, layfrozen and dead, saying that she was tired, and that the time had comefor her too to go. Dickenson lifted her and struggled on. 

The child was taken by the negroes and sailors. It makes a mother'sheart ache even now to read how these coarse, famished men, oftenfighting like wild animals with each other, staggering under weaknessand bodily pain, carried the heavy baby, never complaining of its weight, thinking, it may be, of some child of their own whom they would neversee or touch again. 

I can understand better the mystery of that Divine Childhood that wasonce in the world, when I hear how these poor slaves, unasked, gave oftheir dying strength to this child; how, in tribes through which nowhite man had ever travelled alive, it was passed from one savage motherto the other, tenderly handled, nursed at their breasts; how a gentler, kindlier spirit seemed to come from the presence of the baby and itsmother to the crew; so that, while at first they had cursed and foughttheir way along, they grew at the last helpful and tender with eachother, often going back, when to go back was death, for the comrade whodropped by the way, and bringing him on until they too lay down, andwere at rest together. 

It was through the baby that deliverance came to them at last. The storythat a white woman and a beautiful child had been wandering all winterthrough the deadly swamps was carried from one tribe to another until itreached the Spanish fort at St. Augustine. One day therefore, when neartheir last extremity, they "saw a Perre-augoe approaching by sea filledwith soldiers, bearing a letter signifying the governor of St. Augustine's great Care for our Preservation, of what Nation soever wewere. " The journey, however, had to be made on foot; and it was morethan two weeks before Dickenson, the old man, Mary and the child, andthe last of the crew, reached St. Augustine. 

"We came thereto, " he says, "about two hours before Night, and weredirected to the governor's house, where we were led up a pair of stairs, at the Head whereof stood the governor, who ordered my Wife to beconducted to his Wife's Apartment. "

There is something in the picture of poor Mary, after her months ofstarvation and nakedness, coming into a lady's chamber again, "where wasa Fire and Bath and Cloathes, " which has a curious pathos in it to awoman. 

Robert Barrow and Dickenson were given clothes, and a plentiful supperset before them. 

St. Augustine was then a collection of a few old houses grouped aboutthe fort; only a garrison, in fact, half supported by the king of Spainand half by the Church of Rome. Its three hundred male inhabitants wereeither soldiers or priests, dependent for supplies of money, clothing, or bread upon Havana; and as the famine had lasted for two years, and itwas then three since a vessel had reached them from any place whatever, their poverty was extreme. They were all, too, the "false Catholicks andhireling Priests" whom, beyond all others, Dickenson distrusted andhated. Yet the grim Quaker's hand seems to tremble as he writes down therecord of their exceeding kindness; of how they welcomed them, looking, as they did, like naked furious beasts, and cared for them as if theywere their brothers. The governor of the fort clothed the crew warmly, and out of his own great penury fed them abundantly. He was a reservedand silent man, with a grave courtesy and an odd gentle care for thewoman and child that make him quite real to us. Dickenson does not evengive his name. Yet it is worth much to us to know that a brother of usall lived on that solitary Florida coast two centuries ago, whether hewas pagan, Protestant, or priest. 

When they had rested for some time, the governor furnished canoes and anescort to take them to Carolina, --a costly outfit in thosedays, --whereupon Dickenson, stating that he was a man of substance, insisted upon returning some of the charges to which the governor andpeople had been put as soon as he reached Carolina. But the Spaniardsmiled and refused the offer, saying whatever he did was done for God'ssake. When the day came that they must go, "he walked down to see usembark, and taking our Farewel, he embraced some of us, and wished uswell saying that _We should forget him when we got amongst our ownnation_; and I also added that _If we forgot him, God would not forgethim_, and thus we parted. "

The mischievous boy, John Hilliard, was found to have hidden in thewoods until the crew were gone, and remained ever after in the garrisonwith the grave Spaniards, with whom he was a favorite. 

The voyage to Carolina occupied the month of December, being made inopen canoes, which kept close to the shore, the crew disembarking andencamping each night. Dickenson tells with open-eyed wonder how theSpaniards kept their holiday of Christmas in the open boat and through adriving northeast storm; praying, and then tinkling a piece of iron formusic and singing, and also begging gifts from the Indians, who beggedfrom them in their turn; and what one gave to the other that they gaveback again. Our baby at least, let us hope, had Christmas feeling enoughto understand the laughing and hymn-singing in the face of the storm. 

At the lonely little hamlet of Charleston (a few farms cut out of theedge of the wilderness) the adventurers were received with eagerness;even the Spanish escort were exalted into heroes, and entertained andrewarded by the gentlemen of the town. Here too Dickenson and Kirle sentback generous gifts to the soldiers of St. Augustine, and a token ofremembrance to their friend, the governor. After two months' halt, "onthe eighteenth of the first month, called March, " they embarked forPennsylvania, and on a bright cold morning in April came in sight oftheir new home of Philadelphia. The river was gay with a dozen sail, andas many brightly painted Indian pirogues darting here and there; a ledgeof green banks rose from the water's edge dark with gigantic hemlocks, and pierced with the caves in which many of the settlers yet lived;while between the bank and the forest were one or two streets ofmud-huts and of curious low stone houses sparkling with mica, amongwhich broad-brimmed Friends went up and down. 

The stern Quaker had come to his own life and to his own people again;the very sun had a familiar home look for the first time in his journey. We can believe that he rejoiced in his own solid, enduring way; gavethanks that he had escaped the judgments of God, and closed hisrighteous gates thereafter on aught that was alien or savage. 

The aged man rejoiced in a different way; for, being carried carefullyto the shore by many friends, they knowing that he was soon to leavethem, he put out his hand, ready to embrace them in much love, and in atender frame of spirit, saying gladly that the Lord had answered hisdesire, and brought him home to lay his bones among them. From thewindows of the dusky library I can see the spot now, where, after hislong journey, he rested for a happy day or two, looking upon the dearfamiliar faces and waving trees and the sunny April sky, and then gladlyand cheerfully bade them farewell and went onward. 

Mary had come at last to the pleasant home that had been waiting so longfor her, and there, no doubt, she nursed her baby, and clothed him insoft fooleries again; and, let us hope, out of the fulness of her soul, not only prayed, but, Quaker as she was, sang idle joyous songs, whenher husband was out of hearing. 

But the baby, who knew nothing of the judgments or mercy of God, and whocould neither pray nor sing, only had learned in these desperate straitsto grow strong and happy in the touch of sun and wind, and to hold outits arms to friend or foe, slave or savage, sure of a welcome, and socame closer to God than any of them all. 

Jonathan Dickenson became a power in the new principality; there arevague traditions of his strict rule as mayor, his stately equipages andvast estates. No doubt, if I chose to search among the old musty records, I could find the history of his son. But I do not choose; I will notbelieve that he ever grew to be a man, or died. 

He will always be to us simply a baby; a live, laughing baby, sent byhis Master to the desolate places of the earth with the old message ofDivine love and universal brotherhood to his children; and I like tobelieve, too, that as he lay in the arms of his savage foster-mothers, taking life from their life, Christ so took him into his own arms andblessed him. 

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A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR. 

BY CHARLES DICKENS. 

There was once a child, and he strolled about a good deal, and thoughtof a number of things. He had a sister, who was a child too, and hisconstant companion. These two used to wonder all day long. They wonderedat the beauty of the flowers; they wondered at the height and bluenessof the sky; they wondered at the depth of the bright water; theywondered at the goodness and the power of God who made the lovely world. 

They used to say to one another, sometimes, Supposing all the childrenupon earth were to die, would the flowers, and the water, and the sky besorry? They believed they would be sorry. For, said they, the buds arethe children of the flowers, and the little playful streams that gamboldown the hillsides are the children of the water; and the smallestbright specks playing at hide-and-seek in the sky all night, must surelybe the children of the stars; and they would all be grieved to see theirplaymates, the children of men, no more. 

There was one clear shining star that used to come out in the sky beforethe rest, near the church-spire, above the graves. It was larger andmore beautiful, they thought, than all the others, and every night theywatched for it, standing hand in hand at the window. Whoever saw itfirst, cried out, "I see the star!" And often they cried out bothtogether, knowing so well when it would rise, and where. So they grew tobe such friends with it, that before lying down in their beds, theyalways looked out once again, to bid it good night; and when they wereturning round to sleep, they used to say, "God bless the star!"

But while she was still very young, O, very, very young, the sisterdrooped, and came to be so weak that she could no longer stand in thewindow at night; and then the child looked sadly out by himself, andwhen he saw the star, turned round and said to the patient pale face onthe bed, "I see the star!" and then a smile would come upon the face, and a little weak voice used to say, "God bless my brother and thestar!"

And so the time came, all too soon! when the child looked out alone, andwhen there was no face on the bed; and when there was a little graveamong the graves, not there before; and when the star made long raysdown towards him, as he saw it through his tears. 

Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make such a shiningway from earth to heaven, that when the child went to his solitary bed, he dreamed about the star; and dreamed that, lying where he was, he sawa train of people taken up that sparkling road by angels. And the star, opening, showed him a great world of light, where many more such angelswaited to receive them. 

All these angels who were waiting turned their beaming eyes upon thepeople who were carried up into the star; and some came out from thelong rows in which they stood, and fell upon the people's necks, andkissed them tenderly, and went away with them down avenues of light, andwere so happy in their company, that lying in his bed he wept for joy. 

But there were many angels who did not go with them, and among them onehe knew. The patient face that once had lain upon the bed was glorifiedand radiant, but his heart found out his sister among all the host. 

His sister's angel lingered near the entrance of the star, and said tothe leader among those who had brought the people thither, --

"Is my brother come?"

And he said, "No. "

She was turning hopefully away, when the child stretched out his arms, and cried, "O sister, I am here! Take me!" And then she turned herbeaming eyes upon him and it was night; and the star was shining intothe room, making long rays down towards him as he saw it through histears. 

From that hour forth the child looked out upon the star as on the homehe was to go to, when his time should come; and he thought that he didnot belong to the earth alone, but to the star too, because of hissister's angel gone before. 

There was a baby born to be a brother to the child; and while he was solittle that he never yet had spoken word, he stretched his tiny form outon his bed and died. 

Again the child dreamed of the opened star, and of the company of angels, and the train of people, and the rows of angels with their beaming eyesall turned upon those people's faces. 

Said his sister's angel to the leader, --

"Is my brother come?"

And he said, "Not that one, but another. "

As the child beheld his brother's angel in her arms, he cried, "O sister, I am here! Take me!" And she turned and smiled upon him, and the starwas shining. 

He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his books when an old servantcame to him and said, --

"Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on her darling son!"

Again at night he saw the star, and all that former company. Said hissister's angel to the leader, --

"Is my brother come?"

And he said, "Thy mother!"

A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star, because the motherwas reunited to her two children. And he stretched out his arms andcried, "O mother, sister, and brother, I am here! Take me!" And theyanswered him, "Not yet. " And the star was shining. 

He grew to be a man whose hair was turning gray, and he was sitting inhis chair by the fireside, heavy with grief, and with his face bedewedwith tears, when the star opened once again. 

Said his sister's angel to the leader, "Is my brother come?"

And he said, "Nay, but his maiden daughter. "

And the man who had been the child saw his daughter, newly lost to him, a celestial creature among those three, and he said, "My daughter's headis on my sister's bosom, and her arm is round my mother's neck, and ather feet there is the baby of old time, and I can bear the parting fromher, God be praised!"

And the star was shining. 

Thus the child came to be an old man, and his once smooth face waswrinkled, and his steps were slow and feeble, and his back was bent. Andone night as he lay upon his bed, his children standing round, he cried, as he had cried so long ago, --

"I see the star!"

They whispered one another, "He is dying. "

And he said, "I am. My age is falling from me like a garment, and I movetowards the star as a child. And O, my Father, now I thank thee that ithas so often opened, to receive those dear ones who await me!"

And the star was shining; and it shines upon his grave. 

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