"Did he live about a thousand years before the Christian era?" said Amy.

"He did."

"It was the sweet Psalmist of Israel, David, son of Jesse, the Bethlehemite. Now, who is the man that long ago published a book of jests, said to be greatly studied now-a-days by diners-out and professed wits, and endlessly copied into other works of a similar character. His reputation is so high, that many anecdotes are called by his name. Who can he be?"

"Is it Punch?" said Lewis.

"How silly!" cried Harry, with the knowing look of a boy two years older: "Punch is a newspaper. Was it Hood?"

"No: do you all give it up?"

"Yes: we can't imagine who he can be."

"Joe Miller, of jesting memory."

"Now let us try another game," said Gertrude. "Of course, Cousin Mary has an endless store at her disposal."

"Let us try 'Elements,'" Mary answered. "I will throw my handkerchief at some one, calling out water, air, or earth; and the person who catches it must immediately name an animal living in or upon the element. But if I say fire, you must be silent. The answer should be given before I count ten; and then the one in possession of the handkerchief must throw it to another, carrying on the game. Any one who repeats an animal that has been already mentioned, pays a forfeit—except that I think forfeits are stupid things."

"Instead of that," said Charlie, "let the unlucky wight who makes the greatest number of blunders, have the privilege of proposing the first game to-morrow."

"Very well," said Mary, throwing her handkerchief at Tom. "Water."

"Codfish," answered he, tossing it to Cornelia. "Earth."

"Elephant," replied Cornelia, sending the missive to Charlie. "Fire."

"Water," rejoined Charlie, flinging it to Amy.

"Eel," responded Amy, casting it into Anna's lap. "Air."

"Eagle," cried the latter, hurling the embroidered cambric at George's face. "Earth."

"Have pity upon my poor little handkerchief!" said Mary. And so the game proceeded; and simple though it was, it caused diversion.

"Who shall be appointed to tell the story to-night?" asked Ellen. "It seems to me that Tom or Charlie, George or John should be selected; as it generally happens, 'the softer sex' has done the chief talking. Isn't it right and proper for the boys to take their equal share?"

"Oh, by no means!" answered Charlie. "It is the ladies' privilege—it would be very ungallant to deprive them of it. Besides, my trade is that of a critic, not an author: you must be aware that it is a higher branch, giving larger scope to my superior judgment and exquisite powers of fault-finding. Yes, criticism is my forte: do you tell stories, Ellen, and I'm the chap to slash them up."

"You are only too kind," replied his cousin, laughing. "After such a generous offer, who wouldn't be tempted?"

"I know you are right, sister Ellen," said Tom, "and that it is our duty to help in the entertainment of the company; but, for my part, I throw myself upon your mercy. I wouldn't, for the world, hint that we are more solid than the girls, but 'tis very certain that we are more lumbering. If I were to begin a tale, I'd flounder through it, like a whale with a harpoon in its body; while any of the girls, even down to little Anna, would glide along, like a graceful, snow-white swan upon a silver lake—happy in her element, and giving pleasure to all who witnessed her undulating motions."

"Very pretty that, Tom!" cried Cornelia. "After such a well-turned compliment, our hearts would be flinty indeed, if we didn't excuse you. But what do George and John say?"

"As for me," responded George, "it appears to be my vocation, at present, to eat hearty dinners, grumble over my lessons, skate, and now-and-then, by way of a frolic, fall into a pond. You may be thankful if I don't get into all sorts of mischief. You need not expect me to make myself agreeable till I arrive at the 'digging-up' age, that Cornelia spoke of."

"For my part," added John, "you know that I couldn't invent a story, to save my life. I've no fancy at all; and have made up my mind, as I can't be agreeable, that I'll at least be useful. Everybody ought to be one or the other."

"We should aim to be both," said Mr. Wyndham.

"But, indeed, uncle, 'tis hard work for a fellow, when he's plain-spoken and rather dull, like me. I'd prefer sawing wood, any day, to entertaining a parcel of girls!"

"That being the case," answered Mrs. Wyndham, smiling, "we couldn't be hard-hearted enough to impose such an arduous duty upon you. I appoint Cornelia to the honorable office of story-teller this evening."

"Then I bargain that I make my tale as short as I like, and that I am not compelled to lug in a moral by the hair of its head, as the Germans express it," said Cornelia. "I approve of every one following the bent of his genius, and mine is not of the didactic order."

"We certainly should not expect a moral essay or an instructive treatise from our wild little girl," replied Mr. Wyndham. "I suppose there is no danger of its being immoral."

"I don't know, indeed," answered she, tossing her black curls, and looking archly at her uncle, whom she dearly loved to tease. "I'll leave you to judge of that: I don't answer for the injurious effect it may have upon these unformed minds around me. I call my story

The Astrologers.

William Forsythe and Edward Barrington were lively young fellows of twenty, who had left their homes in the South to complete their education at one of our northern colleges. I don't think my strict uncle would call them "immoral" young men, but they certainly did not carry gray heads upon their green shoulders: they loved fun and mischief about as well as I do. They did not neglect study, and were up to the mark in their recitations; and they never perpetrated any thing really bad. They would not have intentionally hurt any one's feelings for the world; but yet, were any frolic to be carried into execution, these two were "the head and front of the offending." The grave professors, while they entertained their families at home with some of their exploits, were obliged to put on a very sober face in public, and even to hint at expulsion from the "Alma Mater," if the merry and thoughtless youngsters persevered in their course.

I must relate one or two instances which caused considerable laughter at the time, and have added to the stock of traditionary stories that may be found in every boarding college throughout our land. Contraband turkeys or geese, roasted in their room for supper, and intended for a jolly party of friends who would collect together, were, of course, quite common affairs. On one occasion, just as the odor had become very exciting to their gastric organs, and the skin had assumed that tempting brown hue betokening a near approach to perfection in their culinary operations, the watchful tutor scented out either the supper or some mischief, and rap-rap-rap was heard at the door. Every sound was instantly hushed, and the offending bird was quickly transferred to a hiding-place in the room. After some little delay, the door was opened, with many apologies; and the tutor, looking suspiciously through his spectacles, entered the apartment. "Very studious, gentlemen! very studious, I see!" he said, glancing at the array of learned volumes open before them. "Let me beg you not to injure your health by too close application to books. But what a very curious smell! one would think you had been carrying out the classical lessons contained in Apicius. Allow me to examine: ah, Mr. Forsythe, I see that you grease your boots to keep out the wet—a good precaution." So saying, he pulled out the nice little goose from a new boot in the corner, to the mingled mortification and amusement of the young men. "Suppers are doubtless agreeable things at night," added the tutor; "but the worst is, that they often leave unpleasant consequences the next morning: of course, you are aware that you meet the faculty, to-morrow, gentlemen."

On another occasion, our two heroes were out all night, exerting themselves strenuously for the public good. I suppose they thought that if some of the impediments to familiar intercourse in the neighborhood were removed, the state of society would be greatly benefited. Some such grave purpose they must have had in view; for, in the morning, when the inhabitants of the town awoke, they found to their surprise that all the gates, small and great, had been removed from their hinges, and collected in one large pile, in the middle of the Campus! To complain to the faculty would do no good: it would only raise the laugh against them. So, when any of the townspeople, or the farmers in the neighborhood, came to select their gates from the pile, the cry was given, "Heads out!" and from all the windows surrounding the Campus, roguish eyes peeped forth, to watch the proceedings; and frequently the property-owner returned, feeling very much as if he had been the culprit.

One day, a countryman drove up with a load of wood. As he disappeared around an angle of the building in search of the purveyor, our heroes approached, with a select party of classmates, weary of recitations, and longing for a change. Forsythe, whose genius for military tactics was so striking that he was dubbed, by universal consent, "the general," instantly formed his plan of attack; and, being nobly seconded by his quick-witted aids, he carried it into execution with the rapidity and decision characteristic of a great commander. In five minutes, the farmer returned, having concluded his bargain; but where was his cart, and horse, and load of wood? Nothing of the kind was to be seen; and it was very evident that patient Dobbin had, for once in his life, resolved to take a frolic, and see a little of life; or else that some rogue had gotten possession of him and his appurtenances without the formality of a purchase. The town was searched, and all the adjacent roads. The neighbors, ever ready, from a principle of pure benevolence, to take a lively interest in all that was going on, gave advice in rich profusion, and sent the poor man flying hither and thither, in vain. But, at last, the contradictory reports appeared to settle down into the following facts: that many persons had seen the cart enter the town, but that none had witnessed its departure—wherein might be traced a strange likeness to the old fable of the sick lion and his visitors. The suspicion at last became general, that the students were somehow at the bottom of it; so just an appreciation did the townspeople possess of their capabilities for mischief, that no tricks of diablerie seemed too much to ascribe to them. As the weary countryman and his sympathizing companions approached those academic shades, where earnest study and severe meditation filled up all the hours, a stir was apparent within the building; and the tramping of feet upon the stone staircase, and the laughter of many voices, told that something unusual had occurred.

With ill-disguised merriment, the worthy rustic was escorted up three flights of stairs, until, uneasily stamping upon the brick pavement of the hall, his wondering eyes fell upon his horse, looking decidedly out of his element. How came he there? Behind him was the cart, loaded with wood—not a buckle of his tackling was amiss—it looked as if old Dobbin had marched up the stairway, load and all. No one knew any thing of the prodigy—no one ever does, in such cases. The horse looked indignant, as if he had a tale to tell; but the words wouldn't come. No other witness could be produced in court; and the end of it was, that all, except the unfortunate animal himself, indulged in a hearty horse-laugh.

In what way they drove the cart down stairs, history does not mention. That was the concern of the owner and of the college authorities, and not mine nor my heroes—it may be in the hall to this day, for aught I know. But how they got up so high in the world is another matter, and I will let you into my secret, merely to convince my incredulous hearers that the thing was possible. Each of the fellows shouldered as many logs as he could carry, conveyed them to the appointed place, and returned swiftly to the charge. The wheels were now off, and ready for four of them, and the body of the cart for eight more. Forsythe and Barrington reserved for themselves the honor and glory of managing the live-stock. Slipping woollen socks over his feet, they somehow got him up-stairs with marvellous celerity; and whilst his owner was gazing up and down for his vanished property, the astonished horse was again tackled to the loaded cart, his hose were taken off, and he was left to his meditations, in solitary possession of the hall. So quietly was all this done, that, although students and tutors were in the rooms adjoining, nothing was suspected, until the horse, who felt himself to be placed, without any fault of his own, in a false position, made known his sentiments by his impatient movements.

The worst trick our heroes ever played, and one of a somewhat kindred character, consisted in ornamenting Professor X's horse. At midnight, when the authorities were sound asleep, they took the poor animal out of his comfortable stable, and shoeing him with an extra quantity of felt, to prevent any noise, they conveyed him, with great difficulty, up the staircase, to the hall in the third floor. That might have satisfied them; but no, they were not pleased with his color. He was of pure white, and the scapegraces wished a variegated hue. So, after a preliminary shaving, they painted him in green stripes, and when they had arranged it to their satisfaction, they went to their own rooms. The unfortunate victim was not well contented, either with his quarters or his condition, and stamped about at a great rate, being quite unable to get down stairs. In the morning, when the Professor was ready for his usual ride, where was his horse? It had vanished, and the stable-door was open: thieves must have been prowling about in the night. At last, the trick was discovered; and then, as Will Forsythe said, "I could paint that horse, which was rather restive, but I would not undertake to paint the wrath of the Professor." Of course, no one did it—it was impossible to discover the guilty individuals. But the poor animal did not enjoy the frolic as much as the wild youngsters, for he died in consequence; and this unfortunate termination of the exploit put a stop to any practical jokes for the enormous period of several months. To make up the unexpected loss to the Professor, the two friends sent him, anonymously, a sum of money equal to the value of the horse.

But the moral discipline inflicted by the luckless death of the green and white horse, did not endure forever. They say, that when a subterranean fire exists, and old craters are abandoned, new ones are thrown up: the inward, irresistible power must have a vent. Perhaps it's somewhat so with us, lovers of fun. I see uncle shake his head at me, and know that he thinks I'm inculcating bad morality: but indeed, nature will out, as well as murder. You must know that the excellent President, who had a great deal of dry humor in his composition, had procured a nice new vehicle. Every one liked the old gentleman, and yet, so great is the love of frolic inherent in some reprobate minds, that when the idea of carrying off his carriage was first broached at one of their little private suppers, by that wicked imp Will Forsythe, it was met with shouts of applause. It was resolved to convey it away, in the dead of the night, to a little piece of woods belonging to the Doctor, at a distance of about three miles from the college, and there to leave it. The plan was to be carried into execution that very night.

Accordingly, at midnight, eight forms might have been seen carefully descending from eight windows, and skulking along in the shade, for the moon was shining brilliantly, until they got beyond the college limits. They drew out the carriage, and proceeded slowly along the road: no one was astir except themselves. When they had passed all the houses, they no longer felt the need of keeping the strict silence they had at first thought necessary, and the merry laugh and the gay repartee went round. "Hallo, Forsythe!" exclaimed Barrington, "how do you stand it? I think this concern is as ponderous as if the old fat Doctor were inside it himself!" "I conceive this joke to be rather a heavy one," replied his friend, laughing. "I begin to wonder if we are not fools for our pains: Dr. Franklin would say that we paid too dear for our whistle." "Never give up the ship, my boy!" cried the other. "Only think how the old Doctor will stare about him to-morrow, when he misses it! It will be a second edition of the Professor's horse." "Now, 'an thou lovest me, Hal,' don't say a word about the Professor's horse, or I'll turn back with the carriage. That cost me to the tune of a hundred dollars, and more, not to speak of the remorse I felt when the poor creature died. But didn't he look comical when I had put on the green!" Thus, with jocund peals of laughter, they shortened the way, until they reached the little piece of woods in which they intended to deposit the coach. Had they been obliged to toil as much to gain their daily bread, they would probably have thought it hard work.

They took down the bars, drew in the carriage, and placed it in a snug position, out of sight. "And now for home!" said Forsythe. "Won't we get there a little sooner than we came?" At that moment the carriage window was thrown up, a large white head was put forth into the moonlight, and, to the horror of all concerned, they beheld the Doctor! Whether to run, or what to do, they did not know. The old President enjoyed their confusion for a few moments, and then said, "Much obliged to you for a pleasant ride, young gentlemen: now, suppose we go home again." Putting in his head, and shutting the window and blind, he left them to their dismay. Completely taken in! they had been betrayed, somehow. They might look for an expulsion, after that; and, what was worse, would be heartily laughed at besides.

Between their mortification and the unwonted hard work, the perspiration rolled off their faces in large drops by the time they got home—that is to say, to the coach-house. Forsythe humbly opened the coach-door and let down the steps. "Many thanks," said the Doctor, with a grave face: "I have seldom enjoyed a more agreeable ride. I don't know when I have had horses I liked so well." Every day for a fortnight "the horses" were trembling, in expectation of a notice to canter off from the college, in disgrace; but no such intimation came. The worthy old Doctor was contented with the punishment he had already inflicted, but reminded them occasionally of their midnight frolic, and brought blushes up to their cheeks, by some sly allusion.

College days are now over: our heroes have graduated with some distinction, notwithstanding their many peccadilloes, and have bid farewell forever to the "academic shades," figuratively speaking, of their Alma Mater. They have amazed, delighted, and edified the ladies present at the Commencement by the eloquence of their Greek and Latin orations: the pretty creatures listened with rapt attention, and most intelligent countenances, to the whole. Had it been Cherokee, it would have proved the same thing. They did not enlighten the audience, as a learned old Scotchman, who, some fifty years ago, was President of one of our northern colleges, actually did at a commencement speech. He had a board of trustees, whom he looked upon with great contempt, as illiterate men; and not being on the best terms with them, he determined upon a characteristic revenge. Turning round to one side of the stage, where some of them were seated, whenever he quoted Latin, he gave the explanation, "That's Latin, gentlemen;" and again, when he introduced any Greek, bowing to the other side, "That's Greek, gentlemen." But one incident occurred, showing equal respect to the classical acquirements of those around him: Will Forsythe, whose memory was none of the best, feeling a sudden lapse of it in the very middle of his speech, with imperturbable impudence, recommenced from his starting-point, and made an admirable impression. Thunders of applause rewarded him when he made his parting bow.

The two friends still kept together. They visited the Falls of Niagara, Canada, Saratoga, and Newport; and yet, strange to say, their purses were not exhausted. What shall they do next? they are ready for any frolic that presents itself. They have money in their pockets, young blood in their veins, unlimited time at their disposal, and, of course, they must be in some mischief, as neither of them has lost his heart, and become sentimental. While in New York, Forsythe accidentally took up a newspaper, and that determined the especial kind of wickedness in which they should engage. He noticed a number of pompous advertisements of fortune-tellers under the head of astrology, which gave him an idea. He showed them to Barrington, who observed that "it was astonishing how many fools and ignoramuses there were still in the nineteenth century, when the schoolmaster was abroad." "A very sage remark," answered his friend. "If the schoolmaster would stay at home, and mind his own business, instead of being abroad so much, perhaps the world would be better taught. I notice that he is always going to an education convention. But I didn't show you that for the purpose of eliciting wisdom: quite the contrary—folly is what I'm after, just now. What do you think of our turning astrologers?" "Grand! you're a genius, Will! that's the very thing to wake us up! Here are you and I, dashing blades, who have been doing penance by trying to be fine gentlemen at watering-places, when it wasn't at all in our line. I began to think we looked as much like fops as the rest of the scented and bearded dress-coats, who strut about, and imagine the world is looking at them. This would throw us into quite another rank of life, and give us new ideas. How shall we manage it though, my fine fellow?" "Nothing easier in the world. Let us rent a small house, somewhere near the Bowery—that's the right neighborhood; and when we have fitted it up suitably to our trade, I'll engage to put an advertisement in the papers that shall draw us customers. How do you think I could pass for a Jew?" "Pretty well, with your coal-black eyes and hooked nose: but what is that notion?" "I think it would cause a great sensation if the Wandering Jew were to appear again in real life. What between Croly and Eugene Sue, he has been kept very extensively before the public in books: but I believe no one has had the audacity as yet to represent him in an every-day, money-getting capacity, at least in America. How do you like my plan?" "Superb! the only objection is that you are rather youthful in appearance for one who has wandered over the earth for more than eighteen hundred years. Could you alter that, Will?" "Somewhat, with the aid of a snow-white wig and yellow dye; and you know I always possessed the accomplishment of furrowing up my face with wrinkles when I chose. I don't doubt I could look the character pretty well, in a rich, flowing Oriental dress. And the little Hebrew we picked up at college from our good friend the learned young Rabbi, will also stand us in hand. Have you any objection to being my servant, Ned?" "None at all; I shall feel quite honored by the position. I don't consider myself competent to play the first fiddle in this amusing duet, but can follow your lead very well." "Remember, then, that our English is rather broken, and that we communicate our meaning to one another in French, Spanish, scraps of Hebrew, or Latin and Greek. I have not quite yet forgotten all I learned at college, though I suppose I shall do so in another month." "You remember your speech, at least—eh, Will?" "The first half; if it is necessary to make a great sensation, I can come out with that."

Full of the new plan of diversion, the boys, for they were boys at heart, although men in stature, set out to hunt a house; and were successful in finding one that suited their notions. Very soon it was furnished in Oriental style, and an inner room was fitted up with various occult instruments, calculated to inspire the minds of the vulgar with a wholesome dread. It was agreed that Barrington should make very little change in his wardrobe, and merely dye his hair and whiskers, and add a richer brown to his complexion, to give a more travelled look, and, as he said, to hinder any of the Saratoga belles from finding him out, if they came to have their fortunes told. But Forsythe took infinite pains to alter his appearance, and was so successful, that his friend assured him his own mother could not detect his identity, and that Garrick himself, who could look any character and any age he pleased, would have been jealous had he seen how successfully he had hidden his youth and beauty. When all preparations were made, the advertisement was written. It stated that "The Wandering Jew, having reached New York in his peregrinations, would stay for the space of one fortnight only, it being then indispensably necessary that his travels should recommence, and highly probable that he might not revisit the city for a century. Being now the sole depository of the mysterious knowledge acquired in Egypt in ancient times, some scraps of which had been picked up by the astrologers of the middle ages, and especially by Merlin, Michael Scott, Cornelius Agrippa, and Friar Bacon, he was ready, during the short period of his stay, to lift the veil which separates the present from the future. Not being actuated in the slightest degree by a lust for gain, the illustrious exile would not consent to gratify mere idle curiosity, and to afford amusement to the gay and frivolous; but where an earnest, inquiring mind was intent upon discovering the hidden things of life, upon investigating the secrets of the past, or searching into futurity, the Wanderer would give his mighty assistance. By books and science, by spells and conjurations, the POWERS were compelled to reveal their arcana, and FATE itself whispered its dark mysteries into his ear. The SPIRITS being subjects of the Great Magician, their aid would be called in when desired. Where this mode was preferred to the ordinary methods of consulting the stars, the Cabala, and black-letter volumes, these intelligences answered all questions by significant RAPS, or in writing, guiding the hand of the Wanderer, who acted as their medium."

The first day that the advertisement appeared, no visitors of any distinction came to see the Wanderer, who yawned, and smoked cigars, and read through the last novel, declaring that it was intolerable to be dressed up for a show, and to have nobody come to see them. But in the evening, they were rewarded for their trouble. There was a quick, nervous ring, and Barrington opened the door: a timid little man walked in, looking back over his shoulder to see if he were observed. When he found himself alone with Barrington, he asked, with some surprise, if he were the Great Magician. "I! oh, no, my lord: far be it from me. I am the humblest of his slaves. I will see if my venerable master can now receive you." Opening the door leading into a back apartment, he made a low salam to the Wanderer, who was seated in state upon a divan, immersed in his studies. Addressing him in Hebrew, with a few words of Greek to make out the sense, he received a response which he interpreted to the newcomer as a permission to approach the august presence. The little man went in, feeling at every step an increase of reverential awe. The Oriental, costumed with all magnificence, his hoary head bent with age, his brow, from beneath which black eyes flashed brightly, furrowed with years and care, filled him with admiration. Every thing around heightened the impression. A curious-carved cabinet, whose doors looked as if they concealed a mystery, was surmounted by folio volumes filled, of course, with potent spells: and above these again, a skull and cross-bones made him shudder. In one corner was a globe, covered with strange figures, dragons, scorpions, distressed damsels fastened to a rock, etc. Scattered about the room were singular instruments of various kinds, jars with hideous snakes preserved in spirits, books in unknown tongues, and parchments upon which cabalistic diagrams were portrayed, which no doubt had power to command the spirits and to reveal futurity.

The Wanderer waved his hand, to invite his visitor to a seat: the humble slave stood, with head meekly bowed down, near the door. With some difficulty the little man, who was frightened nearly out of his small stock of wits, explained his errand. It seems that he had fallen heir to a property, the deed of which had been lost. He had tried every method he could think of to discover it: he had rummaged over all the drawers and chests in his relative's house; he had said his prayers backwards, so that a dream might be sent him in the night; and he had been to three fortune-tellers, but strange to say, had returned no wiser than he was when he went. And now, this was his last hope: if the Wandering Jew, of whom he had heard so much, could not help him, he knew that no one could. He was asked in which way he wished to receive the desired information: should the answer appear in flames before him, should it be discovered by the magic books, or should the spirit of his deceased friend signify his presence to him by a rap, and then respond to the question? The stranger evidently preferred the last mode of operating, and let out the fact, in the course of conversation, that his relative had been lost at sea. The Wanderer then performed various evolutions, burning incense, bowing to unseen visitors, who were admitted into the room by the slave upon a rap being heard at the door, and muttering, meanwhile, mysterious words in an unknown tongue, to which his attendant occasionally responded. The poor little man began to quake all over: he felt as if surrounded by charms, and spells, and wicked spirits. He wished himself heartily out of the house: but there was no retreat now—some ghosts it is easier to raise than to lay. When the room was filled with fragrant smoke, and the subject of the conjuration was completely mystified and frightened, Selim, for so the Wanderer called his assistant, brought in a circular table, around which the three seated themselves in profound silence; but the venerable Oriental, who acted as the medium of communication, alone placed his hand upon it. A rap, which caused the little man nearly to jump off his chair, announced that the spirit was ready to be consulted. The medium asked, "Whether the inquirer should recover his rights, and obtain a copy of the deed?" Three impressive, decided raps gave an affirmative reply. "Will he be satisfied upon this point to-morrow?" Again three raps. "Will the spirit condescend to signify, in writing, in what way he shall act to obtain this end?" Three raps again testified that the amiable spirit was willing to oblige. Accordingly, Selim having produced an antique ink-stand and an eagle's quill—a goose quill and steel pens would have been quite too common—the hand of the medium was guided in tracing strange characters, which looked like a jumble of the Greek, Arabic, and cuneiform alphabets. This "spirit dialect" was translated to the inquirer: it contained a direction to call early the next morning, between the hours of eight and nine—for during that hour the fates were propitious to him—at the office of a lawyer named Warren, No. 354 Broadway. Upon seeing him, he was to lay down a $20 gold piece, and to say that he wanted him to procure a copy of the missing will. He must answer all questions Mr. Warren might ask, and, above all, must feel implicit faith in him, as the agent appointed by the spirits to restore to him his property.

Full of awe as he was, the little man still wished to gratify his curiosity as to the manner of his kinsman's death: could that be done? "Oh, yes," answered the mysterious one, "nothing is easier." As he was speaking, the table began to creak, as a ship would do in a storm. It was excessively agitated; the noise of the rudder was heard, and at last, after a series of agonizing movements, the whole concern fell over, with a sudden crash. And yet no one appeared to touch it—the passive hand of the venerable exile could scarcely have affected it so strangely. "You see the fate of the ship," said the Wanderer; "it has gone to the bottom in a storm." "How very odd!" replied the simple-hearted little man; "when it came home, the Captain said he had fallen overboard." "He did," answered the magician, in a solemn manner, avoiding, however, to look in the direction of Selim. "Did you not hear the plunge into the sea? this describes the ultimate fate of the vessel." The good, easy man was perfectly satisfied.

He was directed to come on the morrow, when the deed had been found, and the correctness of the spirit's directions was fully proved: and payment was indignantly' refused. The next day, various sentimental chambermaids visited them, desiring to be shown the likeness of their future husbands. This was done, greatly to their satisfaction, by exhibiting to them one and the same hyalotype, magnified by the magic lantern, so that the life-like countenance appeared to approach them from the opposite wall in the darkened room. It was observed, that the more ignorant they were, the more were they affected with horror by the sight of the cross-bones, skull, and chemical apparatus. Still, this was rather tame work; and both the Aged One and Selim were relieved when they saw their dupe of the preceding night reappear, with happiness beaming in every feature of his countenance. "The lawyer," he said, "had not appeared at all surprised at being told to get him a copy of the will: he said something about the Recorder's office. He was a young-looking man to be chosen by the spirits: and he wanted to know who had sent him to himself. Of course I told him, and then he laughed, and said it was a great humbug. I was very much afraid that the spirits would be offended, and refuse to discover to him the will: but he told me to return towards evening, and lo! here it is."

The poor little man was full of the warmest gratitude, and wanted to force a purse upon the unwilling astrologers: but they finally overcame his importunities by representing that the spirits would not obey their summons, if made a subject of bargain and sale, and that he should best please them by distributing it among the sick and poor.

This circumstance, which found its way into one of the daily papers, with many embellishments, brought crowds of believers in "the night side of nature" to our mischievous youngsters, who were ready to humor the credulous public to the top of its bent. Very many people looked sage, and quoted the passage—

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

Select circles of intelligent people insisted upon it, that although they could not give in their adhesion to such mysteries, yet they greatly disapproved of the spirit of skepticism which had been so prevalent for the last fifty years. The new discoveries in science plainly showed that nature had many secrets yet unrevealed to man: and no one should audaciously set a limit to his powers. Did not animal magnetism, containing so many things which could not be explained away, plainly prove it? Could they have seen our merry graduates, when the door was locked for the night, and the venerable wig was thrown aside, jollifying over their supper! could they have heard the peals of laughter caused by the unlooked-for success of the frolic, how would their cheeks have been covered with blushes!

The astrologers became decidedly the rage: had it been their object to gain wealth, they could have charged any price they pleased for their conjurations, and would have obtained it. But their popularity was of course increased by the fact that the mysterious Wanderer uniformly refused to accept any compensation, and majestically commanded those who sought his aid, to apply the sum of money offered him to the relief of the first poor widow, orphan, or aged person they met. This peculiarity induced many young persons, of a rank in life and a style of education who do not commonly patronize fortune-telling, to visit the great unknown, partly in fun, partly in earnest; for there is a vast deal of superstition hidden in the recesses of most characters, and ready to start forth at the first call. Bright eyes, obscured by thick veils, excited the curiosity even of the venerable Wanderer; and white, jewelled hands were extended, that his searching glance might decipher the lines of life. Several interesting love-tales were poured into the sympathizing ear of benign old age, and the recollections of centuries were called up, to furnish suitable counsel and to encourage the despairing heart to hope. Forsythe assured his friend that he would not exchange the knowledge of human nature, and especially of woman nature, which he had acquired in this fortnight, for the experience of ten years of ordinary life.

The joke was very consistently carried out. Our youngsters were both possessed of ready mother wit, and the world was charmingly mystified. The answers furnished to inquirers partook much of the dimness and ambiguity of the ancient oracular responses, when Delphi was yet in its glory, and the oaks of Dodona reflected some of their own rich green tint upon those who consulted its priestesses. On one occasion, "Selim" found it very difficult to retain the gravity of his sad, Oriental countenance. A sharp, quick-witted young fellow, Frank Warren, their former college chum, to whom they had sent his first fee, had accompanied the grateful little man who had made their reputation, ostensibly for the purpose of consulting the spirit of Milton, but really, as they plainly perceived, to detect their tricks. They were on their guard: they had not seen Warren for some time, but their former habits of intimacy made the danger of discovery imminent. It was Warren's wish that the spirit should guide the pen of his medium, and accordingly our Ancient sat down, and tried to indite Miltonic lines. "Very blank verse, indeed, it was," as he subsequently confessed to his familiar, at their midnight conference. The face of the visitor twitched convulsively as he read the so-called poetry, and the young fellows, ever ready to enjoy a joke, would have dearly loved to join him in a loud and merry peal of laughter. By a great effort, all three restrained themselves; but the inquirer remarked, with a grave countenance, that "it appeared as if the genius of Milton had not expanded in the upper world—he certainly never wrote such trash when he was upon the earth. It reminded him of the saying of the wits of Athens: that although Apollo was the god and patron of poetry, any common rhymster would be ashamed of the lines which emanated from the deity at Delphos." When Selim escorted the gentleman into the outer apartment, the skeptic slipped some gold into his palm, which the former at first pretended to receive; and by cunning cross-examination, strove to make him confess that his master was not so old as he assumed to be. "How long have you been in his service?" "Not very long, myself." "But do you think him as ancient as he pretends to be?" "That is a delicate question: I hardly like to answer it. To be frank, I have sometimes had doubts about the great length of his life, although I cannot feel any hesitation on the subject of his wonderful powers." "But how long have you known him?" "Let me see. It was Friar Bacon who first introduced me to His Eminence, and advised me to enlist in his service. He did not look so very old at that time, and it was only six centuries ago. This occurred at Oxford, on the magic eve of St. John's day, in 1250 A.D.—I remember the date distinctly. No, between ourselves, I have some suspicions that he is not quite so old as he says he is." Very soon after that, the investigator left. One thing was certain, that he had not recognized them.

On the last day of their intended stay, an incident occurred which furnished a proper termination to their frolic. A rough, boorish fellow came to visit them, who evidently "hailed" from remote country districts, into which the civilizing influences of education had not penetrated. All his utterances, for his words should scarcely be dignified with the name of conversation, showed him to be ignorant in the extreme, and to be credulous in proportion. He had come to New York, hoping, in that centre of light and science, medical and theological, to find relief from a certain demon which possessed him. This wicked spirit made him often do things he didn't wish to do—caused him to foam at the mouth, tear his clothes, etc., and he wanted to know whether the Wanderer was not possessed of a spell to quiet the tormentor. "Certainly; follow our directions, and you never shall be troubled with him again."

Accordingly, the patient was brought into the back room, which had been darkened up purposely. A circle was described, within which incense was burnt, and in the centre stood the Awful One in his flowing robe, with his magical wand in his hand, uttering terrible conjurations. "Do you feel any thing?" he would occasionally ask the countryman, who was gaping with wonder and admiration. "N—no, I dunna that I do," the man would reply. "Then it has not left you yet: you'll be sure to know when it does. You'll feel a sort of shock go all through you, and will see sparks: then open your mouth wide, and the spirit will jump out." As it was some time before the sufferer obtained relief, Selim was called to his aid; and the way in which their Latin and Greek orations were tossed about at one another, would have astonished the Professors. At last the Wanderer placed the patient upon a stool, and proceeded with his incantations. Suddenly the countryman uttered a shriek, and jumping into the air, cut a pigeon-wing. "He's gone! I felt him go!" He had touched the electrical machine, which had been fully charged, and was put there, as it were, in ambush. "Do you feel much better?" "Yes; I'm another man."

The poor fellow went away, declaring himself a perfect cure. And Forsythe and Barrington agreed, that after such a brilliant finale it was as well to beat a retreat: just as some gentlemen, at the close of an evening visit, relate a witty anecdote, or sparkle out a brilliant repartee, snatch up their hats, make their bows, and leave you in the middle of a laugh. But another adventure was in store for them, which had not entered into their calculations at all. The play-bills show us that after a tragedy there generally comes a farce: the case was reversed with them, for they had enjoyed their farce, and had laughed over it heartily—and now there was danger of its ending in a tragedy. When their preparations were nearly complete for a sudden and inexplicable disappearance, our astrologers were horrified by the apparition, in the day time, of stars they had never consulted—stars of this gross, lower world—stars which, in case of resistance, become shooting stars, and which revolve, in very eccentric orbits, around the central police station. What these portended, it needed no wisdom of Chaldean sage to decipher—exposure, ridicule, disgrace, and the prison. They had enjoyed their laugh at the world—now the tables would be turned, and the world's dread laugh be raised against them.

Resistance was utterly in vain. Attired as they were, in flowing Oriental garb, the distressed Wanderer and his faithful Selim were hurried into a cab, which no conjuration, not even that of "the golden eagle," could prevent from driving to the Mayor's office. Here they beheld their former friend, Warren, evidently the "very head and front of the offending:" he was talking to the little man of the famous will case, who appeared to be on the verge of a violent nervous fever. The latter wished to escape, but the lawyer was too resolute and pertinacious to be conquered by his weak irritability, and he was obliged to resign himself into his hands.

The exile had time allowed him to reflect upon his course of action. A multitude of petty cases were up for examination, and the patience of his Honor, the Mayor, was heavily taxed, especially as he knew that a very capital dinner and excellent company were waiting for him at home. At last this case of deception, imposture, and swindling came up in turn; but not before the aged, wrinkled, care-worn man had whispered a few words into the ears of the young lawyer, which made him start, and give the other an admiring glance of surprise, as if he recognized in him a genius of the highest order.

His Honor was angry and tired, and gave rather a savage look at the culprits. "A case like this needs very little proof—they are arrant swindlers, evidently—with all that foolery of dress about them! Remove that wig and beard." The red blood rushed up to the cheeks and forehead of poor Will Forsythe, and showed itself through the yellow dye of his skin, as he was obliged to submit to this indignity; and he mentally exclaimed: "If ever I pretend again to be any thing I am not, may my head come off too!" "You appear in this case, Mr. Warren," said the Mayor. "Let me hear what can be urged against these men, and produce your witnesses." "I find that I have very little to say on the subject, your Honor. It is true, I can prove that this gentleman went to consult the prisoner as to a missing will, and that he is under the impression that spirits were consulted on the occasion. But I can also prove that very sensible advice was given to my client—to consult a lawyer of great respectability and high promise; and accordingly he came to me. And further, I can prove that the astrologers did not receive one farthing in payment for their counsel, and, indeed, positively refused the offer of a handsome gratuity from my grateful client. And I can challenge any one in the city of New York to prove that, in any one case, the prisoners received money in return for advice or assistance given to any visitor. This fact takes from the case the appearance of a swindling transaction, according to the well-known law of George III., which doubtless your Honor thoroughly remembers." "There appears, then, to be no prosecution in this case? I find that, like a true lawyer, you can argue on one side as well as the other." "There is none, your Honor: my client withdraws the prosecution. May I be allowed a word in private?" After a whispered consultation of some minutes, during which our unmasked jesters observed his Honor cast very highly-amused glances in their direction, and heard occasional snatches of the conversation,—"Ha, indeed? sons of *** and ****, do you say? the first families in the South! I knew their fathers well! tell them to come to dinner just as they are—the ladies will make allowances."

But that degree of impudence was too much for the brass of even Forsythe and Barrington. They respectfully declined, and hastened homeward, accompanied by Frank Warren. One more merry supper did they eat in that house which had been the theatre for the display of so many strange adventures, and then they vanished. When morning came, no trace of the astrologers was to be found. The furniture had gone, the house was shut up, the birds had flown. Had there been a storm in the night, the believers in Gotham would have thought they had been claimed by their Dread Master, and had been snatched away in a blaze of lightning. As it was, there was nothing to reveal the mystery. The good little man, who never quite understood the scene in the Mayor's office, is gratefully enjoying his property, and thinks that the Wandering Jew may now be in the centre of Africa, or climbing the heights of the Himalaya Mountains. But as I happen to be better informed, I know that both he and his faithful Selim slipped out of New York as quietly as possible, and returned to their homes in the sunny South. They have since then married, have settled down into quiet orderly citizens, and have given up all practical jokes; but they frequently amuse their wives with some of their varied experience, obtained when playing the role of astrologers in New York.

"But you do not really think people could be so cheated now-a-days, uncle!" cried George.

"I certainly do not consider the world too wise to be fooled in almost any way," answered his uncle. "Look at the various isms which have sprung up, even in our own day. Think of the imposture of Mormonism,—it has fairly peopled a territory. Think of the pretensions of clairvoyance, claiming almost omniscience and omnipresence for the human spirit. Think of Matthias and his followers. But remarkable as that delusion was, it is almost forgotten now, so many extravagancies tread upon one another's heels, and hustle each its predecessor off the stage. Spirit-rapping is the last, and is spreading like wildfire throughout the land: some characters have so much tinder in their composition, that they catch in a moment. But it will soon go out—'tis like the crackling of thorns under the pot—a quick blaze for a moment, and then it expires."

"The alarm about witchcraft, both in England and America, was, I think, one of the most noticeable delusions of modern times," said Mrs. Wyndham. "How many eminent and excellent men were deceived by it! The learned, judicious, and pious Sir Matthew Hale condemned at least one witch to be burnt alive—although, I believe, it cost him some remorse afterwards. And in New England, Cotton Mather was prominent in hunting out those who were supposed by their neighbors to be on too familiar terms with a certain nameless individual. I am glad I did not live in those days! If a poor old woman was ugly, and cross, and mumbled to herself, as we old women will do sometimes, and above all, if she kept a large black cat, woe betide her! her fate was well-nigh sealed."

"I don't think you would have been in any danger, Aunt Lucy," said Amy, laughing.

"I don't know, indeed—probably not, while I had such an array of young people around me. But if I were left desolate and alone in the world, and became peevish and odd from the mere fact of having no one to love me, I would not have answered for the consequences at all."

"I had to laugh," added Ellen, "at the marvellous cure effected by the electrical machine. It reminded me of a well-attested anecdote I have read of the beneficial effects wrought by a thermometer, through the medium of the imagination. The physician intended to try whether the galvanic battery could not be usefully employed in a case of paralysis, but before commencing operations, he applied a small thermometer to the tongue of the patient. Upon removing it, he was told by the latter that it gave him very curious feelings, and that he thought himself a little better. Seeing the mistake he had made, the doctor resolved not to undeceive him, but to persevere in the application of the thermometer. He did so, and the man was soon a complete cure."

"I have heard of instances of sudden joy or fright restoring the vital energies to poor bed-ridden mortals," said Cornelia, "but to be cured by a thermometer is too comical!"

"It was that powerful principle, faith," answered Mrs. Wyndham. "I remember very well the time when certain metallic tractors were all the fashion, to draw away pain from the parts affected, by magnetic influence. Well-authenticated cures were wrought; but at last a physician applied a test, which proved the beneficial results to be entirely the work of the imagination. He had wooden tractors made, painted so as to resemble the metal ones, and they exerted equal powers. When this fact was published, of course the cures ceased, and metallic tractors became things that were."

"Another fact is told to show how the imagination can kill or cure," said Mr. Wyndham. "A criminal was condemned to death for some atrocious deed, and it was resolved to try an experiment upon him, as he would have to die at any rate. He was informed that he would be bled to death; and when the appointed time had arrived, his eyes were effectually bandaged, his arm bared, and the surgeon pretended to cut the artery. Luke-warm water was poured, in a steady current, upon his arm, and trickled down into a basin below: and the physician held his hand, feeling the pulse. The wretched criminal became paler and paler, his pulse beat more faintly, and at last he died, a victim to his own imagination."

"Poor creature!" added Mary. "And I have repeatedly heard of cases, uncle, in which persons fancied themselves about to die at a certain hour, from having had a dream to that effect, or some other supernatural indication of the will of Heaven. And sometimes they actually expired, from sheer fright. But when the clock was put back an hour or two, the time passed without any fatal result ensuing."

"Those chaps were wilder than we are, Charlie!" cried George, with an air of triumph.

"Yes," answered his cousin. "But I very much fear that does not prove our innocence, but only their depravity. It reminds me of that line in Milton—

'And in the lowest deep, a lower deep.'"



CHAPTER VIII.

CONFIDANTE.—LEAD-MERCHANT.—TRADES.—THE ROSE OF HESPERUS; A FAIRY TALE.

As the time drew nigh when our young party would be called upon to separate, and to return to the every-day duties of the boarding or day school, and the home, the centralizing influences of affection appeared to be felt in an increasing degree. Aunt Lucy remarked that they greatly resembled a flock of birds or of sheep: where one came, the rest were sure very soon to follow. Cousin Mary asked George, with a look of great concern, if he felt very unwell indeed. "I? oh no, I never was better in my life. What could have put the notion into your head that I was ill?" "My dear Coz, you are so uncommonly good. You have not teased Anna or Gertrude at all to-day, and I begin to feel seriously alarmed for your health. I have so often noticed a sudden attack of meekness to precede a sudden attack of fever, that I really think it would be wiser to send for the doctor in time." "Don't concern yourself," replied he. "If that be all, I can soon prove that my pulse is in good order." So saying, he gave Mary's work-basket a sudden twitch, which sent her spools of cotton, winders, thimble, and emery-bag flying in every direction; when, of course, with the malice peculiar to things of such small natures, they carefully hid themselves in the darkest corners, and ran behind the legs of tables and sofas for protection, "Preserve me from boys!" said Mary with a laugh, as George ran out of the room. "If it were not unladylike, I really should box those ears of yours!"

"They are quite large enough to bear it—no danger of their being crushed," he replied, giving a pinch to the protruding members.

In the evening, as Gertrude claimed the honor of having been the most stupid person in playing "Elements" the night before, it was agreed that it appertained to her to introduce to the company another game. She said she had seen one played that resembled "Consequences," in so far that you wrote what you were ordered, and read it aloud when it was finished: but you were not obliged to turn down the papers after writing, as you did not change them with the rest of the company. She would call this game "Confidante," as she had never heard a name for it. Accordingly, every one got a pencil and sheet of paper, and wrote agreeably to her directions.

"Let each boy write a lady's name, and each girl a gentleman's name."

"Now, any past time—some date, if you please; yesterday, or a thousand years ago—it makes no difference."

"The name of a place."

"Either yes or no."

"Yes or no, again."

"Every boy write a lady's name, every girl a gentleman's."

"Some time to come."

"Write yes or no."

"Yes or no, again."

"Mention a place."

"Tell us your favorite color."

"Set down any number not exceeding 10."

"Another color."

"Yes or no."

"Let all write a lady's name."

"Let all write a gentleman's name."

"All, another lady's name."

"Every boy write a gentleman's name, every girl a lady's."

"Set down the name of a clergyman."

"Now, any sum of money."

"The name of a place."

"And lastly, any number."

"Now that we have finished, every one must read aloud his or her paper, without cheating, whatever it contains—each portion as an answer to a question. Charlie, to whom did you make your first offer?"

"Happily, to no one present: it was to Queen Victoria."

"When was it?"

"In the year 1492: the day Columbus discovered America."

"Where did this interesting event take place?"

"In the Tower of Babel."

"Does she love you?"

"Yes: how could she help it?"

"Do you love her?"

"Yes: to distraction."

"Whom will you marry?"

"Queen Jezebel."

"How soon does this auspicious match come off? for I want to have my wedding-dress ready."

"To-morrow—New-Year's day."

"Do you love her?"

"No, not at all."

"Does she love you?"

"No, alas!"

"Where does she live?"

"In Calcutta."

"What is the color of her hair?"

"Brilliant scarlet."

"What is her height?"

"Nine and a half feet."

"Please to mention the color of her eyes."

"A charming green."

"Is she pretty?"

"Yes, very."

"Who is to be bridesmaid at this happy wedding?"

"Miss Alice Bolton."

"Who will wait upon her?"

"King Nebuchadnezzar."

"Who is your sympathizing confidante?"

"Cousin Cornelia."

"Pray, tell us the name of your rival?"

"His Majesty, William the Conqueror of Normandy and England. I should not be sorry if he carried off my gentle dame."

"What clergyman will marry you?"

"The Archbishop of Canterbury."

"How much is the lady worth?"

"Three cents."

"Where will you live?"

"In the black-hole of Calcutta."

"How many servants will you keep?"

"Two millions, five hundred thousand."

"I must say, you are moderate, considering the lady's fortune. In asking the girls, I merely reverse the questions: 'From whom did you receive your first offer?' etc. As the game wants a name, I think it should be called 'Confidante:' the reader not only has a confidante in the play, but is called upon to intrust his secrets to the whole assembled company."

"But isn't this rather silly—all this about love and marriage?" asked Mr. Wyndham, with the hesitating manner of one who knows that he shall instantly be put down.

"Certainly it is, my dear uncle," answered Cornelia. "If it were not, we should not like it half so well, I can tell you. You know we must be foolish some time in our life—so, for my share, I'm taking it out now."

"Well, well—there's no harm in it, any how. Though you wouldn't believe it, I was young once myself, and don't like to be too hard upon the rising generation. There's a game I remember playing when I was a youngster, that is not too wise for you, but ought to have more solidity in it than the last, as it is all about lead. It is called the 'Lead-Merchant.' One tries in every mode to dispose of his lead to the company, asking question after question, to which you must answer without introducing the words lead, I, yes, or no. He tries to trip you in every way, and as soon as you say one of the forbidden words, you are out of the game. Would you like to try it?"

"Very much, uncle. Will you be the lead-merchant?"

"If you wish it. Amy, will you buy any lead?"

"Not any at present."

"But pray, why not?"

"Because none is desired at my house."

"Shall I call next week?"

"It is scarcely worth while: we do not wish any."

"I will stop to-morrow: your little boys want lead to make some bullets."

"They would only burn their sweet little fingers in melting it: they must not have any."

"Then you will not buy my lead?"

"Positively not."

"I noticed that the lead upon your roof wanted repairing: the rain will beat in, and you'll all be taken ill, unless you buy my lead. 'Tis only one cent a pound."

"If you gave it to me as a present, I wouldn't take your lead."

"Amy, you're caught! You said both I and lead."

Notwithstanding all their care, the persevering lead-merchant entrapped every one in some moment of weakness; and the company agreed that he would make his fortune as a Yankee pedlar, or as an agent for some book that nobody wanted,—many would buy to get rid of him, on the same principle that the lady married her tiresome lover.

"And now," said Charlie, "let us play 'Trades.' We apprentice our son or daughter to some business, and mention that the first thing sold begins with a specified letter: but we must never repeat an article. The person who guesses, apprentices his son the next. I apprenticed my son to a carpenter, and the first thing he sold was a T."

"A table?" asked Mary. "I apprenticed my daughter to a milliner, and the first thing she sold was a yard of R. R."

"Red ribbon?" added Gertrude. "I apprenticed my son to a grocer, and the first thing he sold was a B. of R."

"Box of raisins?" inquired Cornelia. "I apprenticed my son to a cabinet-maker, and the first thing he sold was a S."

"Sofa?" said Tom. "I apprenticed my daughter to a dry-goods store, and the first thing she sold was ten yards of L."

"Lace?" asked Ellen.

"No—guess again."

"Linen? I see that's right. I apprenticed my son to a tinman, and the first thing he sold was a N. G."

"Nutmeg-grater?" inquired George. "Now, I apprenticed my son to a hardware man, and the first thing he sold was a P. of S."

"Pair of skates?" said Amy. "I apprenticed my son to a book-store, and the first thing he sold was a P. B."

"Prayer-book? I apprenticed my daughter to a dressmaker, and the first thing she made was a V. M."

"Velvet mantilla?" And so the game proceeded, the questions and answers being tossed from one to another, like ball or shuttlecock, so that the general interest was kept up.

"I think it high time we had our daily story," said Amy.

"So do I," replied her uncle; "and I commission you to tell it."

"I? oh no, uncle, I'm too young. I think the older ones should have the monopoly of that trade—I wasn't apprenticed to it."

"Not at all—you are of suitable age to be apprenticed now, so you may consider the bargain struck. Begin, my little Amy, and if you break down in the middle of your tale, I'll promise to finish it myself."

"Very well, uncle; I feel quite tempted to fail, to inveigle you into a sensible termination to a foolish story. We often invent tales in the interval at school, and I'll give you one that my schoolmates like. It is called

The Rose of Hesperus;

A FAIRY TALE.

Every one has heard of the Garden of Hesperus, famous in all ancient times for its exquisite beauty. Its golden fruit, more precious by far than the fleece of Jason, in search of which heroes perilled their lives on board the good ship Argo, was watched by a terrible dragon, whose eyes were never sealed by slumber. A hundred heads belonged to the monster, a hundred flames of fire issued from his numerous throats, and a hundred voices resounded threats against the audacious being who should invade his province. Hercules alone, of all the children of men, was able to overcome him: but although he then expired, the next rising sun again beheld him full of life and vigor. The dragons of earth are never annihilated. Each generation has the same work to perform, has its monsters to conquer; and this it is that makes the noble heroes whom we all delight to praise.

So small was the number of mortals ever favored with a sight of this earthly paradise, that it is not surprising its site is now unknown. Even among the ancients, it was a matter of speculation and mystery. The majority placed it in the north of Africa; and it is not improbable that travellers who for the first time beheld them, mistook for the Gardens of Hesperus the oases of the desert, those gems of nature which are all the more brilliant for being set in sand and clay. Others again asserted that this region of delight was to be sought beyond the western main, in a lone isle if the ocean. But all agreed that it was at the west, towards the sunset, that this treasure of earth was to be found: and thence it was that the name of Hesperus was bestowed upon it. Strange it is, that mankind has ever followed the sun in its path; and that while human life, religious truth, and science all point to the East as their source, they hasten westward for the fulfillment of their destiny. The East belongs to the Past—it is the land of memory: the West to the Future—it is the land of hope: and there it is that man seeks his happiness. It is in the yet unrevealed—in the mysterious West that the golden fruits and the perennial flowers bloom for him: not in Oriental climes, where, in his infancy, the Garden of Eden sheltered him.

So great is the lust for gold, and so small the love of moral beauty among the fallen race of man, that of all the varied productions of Hesperus, the golden apples alone have been mentioned in tradition and poetry. But in truth, these were far inferior to the precious roses which grew in the very centre of this paradise, and which were endowed, not only with exquisite form, hue, and fragrance, but with certain magic properties, invaluable to their possessors. If the bosom on which the flower rested were candid, pure, and kind, the rose bloomed with still richer loveliness, and emitted a delicious sweetness: and a grace was shed over the person of its owner, which grief and sickness could not dim, and old age itself was powerless to destroy. This indescribable something shone out in the eye, spoke in the voice, made the plainest features pleasing, and imparted an irresistible charm to the manner. It was as far superior to mere external beauty as the latter is to revolting ugliness. Nothing could destroy it: once gained, it was a lasting heritage. But on the other hand, if this rose were possessed by the false-hearted, the sensual, and the selfish, it sickened and paled day by day, giving forth a fainter fragrance continually, until it was completely withered. And in proportion as it lost its bloom, did the hideous heart of the wearer imprint itself upon the countenance, until the eye would turn away in disgust from the most brilliant complexion and chiselled regularity of features. It acted as a moral test, making evident to the dull eye of man, ever prone to think only of outside show, the beauty or the deformity within. Until the time of our story no roses had been dipt from the magic tree; and men, always ready to look to the bright side of the wonderful unknown, thought merely of the charm it could impart, and not of the danger incurred by the unlovely in heart and life.

I will not attempt to fix the date of my tale with historic accuracy. It is sufficient to say that the events occurred in that period of unreasoning faith, when the myths of Greece and Rome were mingled in the popular mind with the fairy legends of the north; and both were baptized in the waters of Christianity. It was a charming period for all lovers of romance: it was the childhood of modern Europe. But I must warn you that it is in vain to search for the names of my emperors in chronological tables. They lived at a time when the historian was somewhat at a discount, and the minstrel wrote the only records, with his harp and voice, upon the memory of his hearers; save that here and there a solitary monk wore out his days in copying the treasures of antiquity, and used his imagination in embellishing the lives of saints and martyrs. When the manuscript is found which settles the exact date of King Lear's reign, I cannot doubt that it will give all particulars about my kings also.

In those happy, misty days, there lived an Emperor of Germany, Hildebrand by name, a potent monarch. His court was splendid, and his retinue large and magnificent. But the chief glory of his palace, and the pride of his heart, was his daughter Clotilda, whose amazing beauty formed the theme of poets' praise, and whose fame was spread far beyond the limits of the Empire. Her form was of queenly majesty, her movements swan-like. Her glossy raven tresses set off a complexion of the greatest brilliancy: her faultless features would have served as a model to the sculptor. Large, sparkling eyes gave animation to her countenance, and took all hearts by storm. Add to these rare endowments a lively though malicious wit, great skill in all showy accomplishments, and especially in the arts of coquetry, and is it wonderful that she was almost worshipped in her father's court as a divinity?

To win her hand, embassies were sent from distant lands, and kings even came in person to plead their cause; but, hitherto, none had been successful. The fair Clotilda knew that she could choose among very many suitors, and her heart was none of the softest. Besides, she was well aware that she should be no portionless bride, as she and her younger sister Edith were her father's only heirs. She loved to keep many admirers in her train, but possessed too high a spirit to throw herself away upon any one inferior to herself in rank, power, or wealth. In addition to this, she had too keen a wit not to perceive and to enjoy the ridiculous, even in a suitor anxiously striving to gain her love. Truth to say, the adorable Clotilda had one small fault, unperceived by her worshippers, and hidden by the splendor of her beauty. She was heartless. If born with that important organ, she had early offered it up upon the altar of her own pride and vanity. Deprived of her mother at a very early age, and deferred to by all around, including her imperious father, she had soon learned to issue her commands with authority, and to rule the household and the court as a mistress. Love of power had now become her ruling passion, and fierce and headstrong was the will hidden under that brilliant and winning exterior. It was like a wild beast, slumbering behind a bank of roses.

Far different, both in person and character, was the neglected Edith, who grew up in the imperial court like a sweet wild-flower, overlooked when the gorgeous exotic is nigh. Her slender girlish figure, with its undeveloped grace; her airy step; her color, coming and going with the varying feelings of her quick sensibility, like the delicate pink clouds at sunset; her soft brown hair, waving around a face of child-like purity and womanly tenderness: and her large gray eye, from whose transparent depths an earnest and loving spirit looked out upon the world—these were not the traits to win admiration in a sensual, splendor-loving court, where all acknowledged the sway of Clotilda. Her father lavished the whole of his affection upon his elder daughter: the latter seldom noticed her, and thought her more fit for a nunnery or for a peasant's cottage, than for the station of a princess. And so Edith grew to womanhood, unspoiled by flattery—that incense was reserved for Clotilda's shrine. Not in that crowd of selfish courtiers and of worldly women, wholly given up to dress and gayety, could the refinement and simplicity of the gentle Edith be appreciated. She was with them, but not of them: hers was the loneliness most felt when in a crowd, the want of congenial companionship. Her unassuming modesty and poor opinion of her own worth, saved her heart from the sharp pangs of envy at the thought of her sister's superiority: and thus, even in the impure atmosphere of the palace, did this artless maiden live on, humbly looking up to one infinitely her inferior, and dwelling in love and peace. Her greatest enjoyments were of a kind despised by Clotilda. It was her delight to steal away from the gay assembly, where she was never missed, and to pore over the romantic lays of troubadours and monkish legends, and to make to herself a world, different from the one in which her lot was cast. Then she would be the lowly peasant-girl, singing while she worked, beloved by those for whom she toiled, and rising before the sun to deck the shrine of the Virgin with flowers. Or, if she were a princess, she lived but to bless and to relieve her people, and possessed the power of scattering happiness, as the beneficent night sprinkles dew-drops from her lap. From these day-dreams, the play of an active mind which had not yet found its true place in the universe, she would rouse herself to some deed of kindness, which others were too much immersed in pleasure to fulfil. If one of her maidens was ill, it was she who watched untiringly by her pillow, administering the medicines and the cooling draught. And it was she who rose by daybreak, while most of the menials of the palace were yet sleeping, and gave the daily portion of alms to the poor who waited at the gate—making the brown bread sweet by the gentle tones and kind words of sympathy. It is not strange, therefore, that Edith was beloved by all the children of affliction, and that she became universally known to the common people as "the good princess."

In honor of Clotilda's birthday, a tournament was proclaimed, to which princes and knights from all the neighboring countries were invited. The anxiously-expected day at length arrived: the sky was cloudless, and all nature appeared to smile upon the festival. Every thing was there united that could please and dazzle the eye. There were satins and damasks, cloth of gold and velvet; flowers, and cheeks more rosy; gems, and eyes more brilliant. At one end of the lists, upon his throne of gold and ivory, sat the Emperor, blazing with jewels. Near him stood his ministers of state, in their official robes, bearing aloft the insignia of royalty; and around him were his faithful guards, in complete armor, with drawn swords. Opposite sat his queenly daughter, the beautiful Clotilda, the cynosure of all admiring eyes. She was magnificently arrayed, and surrounded by a bevy of fair damsels, who shone like stars, eclipsed by the superior brightness of the moon. Seated a little apart, attired in simple white with a sash of blue, and wearing no ornament save her favorite flowers, the wood-violet and the lily of the valley, was Edith, gazing with unusual interest on that lively, gorgeous scene. And truly, the amphitheatre crowded with spectators, themselves a show, and the lists filled with gallant knights, whose pawing steeds seemed impatient for the combat to begin, might excite the imagination of the dullest, and was well calculated to fire her ardent spirit.

Unusual splendor marked this tournament, in honor of certain distinguished guests who had arrived, candidates for the hand of the Princess Clotilda. The most eminent among them for knightly bearing was the young Duke of Milan. He was handsome, proud, and imperious, but withal brave and courteous as became his gentle birth; and he was a magnificent patron of minstrels and men of letters, aiming to make his court the centre of literature and the fine arts. His personal qualities and accomplishments were such as to win for him the admiration of the fair Princess, who had never before been wooed by a suitor so much to her taste. His rank and possessions were so great that all would have acknowledged the match a suitable one even for Clotilda's pretensions. But a wider career of ambition was now opening before the vision of the aspiring lady. Who would stoop to be a duchess, when the diadem of an empress was placed at her disposal? Certainly not the Princess Clotilda, be her preferences what they might: she would have considered it childish folly to hesitate in her choice. And three emperors now graced the court, each provided with a numerous and splendid retinue. These daily vied with each other in gorgeous fetes and costly presents to the proud beauty whom they hoped to win. In flowing robe of richest fabric, stiff with sparkling gems, behold the Emperor of China, the Sacred Son of Heaven, the Supreme Ruler of the earth! His shaven head is surmounted by a conical cap, at the crown of which one pearl of uncommon size points out his rank: beneath it hangs down a jet-black queue below his waist. His small, oblique eyes, his yellow complexion, and thin beard show him unmistakably to belong to the Central Flowery Land. He is a heathen: but perhaps for her sake he might be baptized. At any rate, there would be little difficulty in procuring a dispensation from Holy Mother Church, which is ever hopeful that such alliances may bring converts into her bosom. Will she, can she accept him? She will at least accept his gifts and his attentions, and will decide hereafter. Millions, unnumbered millions of slaves call him their lord; vast is his power and wealth; provinces would be her dowry. But would she not, herself, merely add another to his list of slaves? Secluded within his palace, with many rivals to counteract her, would she not gather thorns, as well as blossoms, in the Flowery Land? It is a matter to be considered.

But who are these two other Asiatics, as they appear by their dress, fashioned in Oriental magnificence? One is from the frozen North, the other from the sunny South, and they divide the east of Europe between them. That pompous, formal old man, whose small heart and head are stuffed full of etiquette, and who lives and breathes only in a sense of his own importance, is the ruler of the Byzantine Empire. He was born in the purple chamber, and wears the purple; he eats purple, drinks purple, sleeps purple—only as the Emperor does he exist—he could live as well without his head, as without his crown. He is so imbued with notions of his own dignity that he would prove a tough subject to manage. But his rival from the North is still undescribed. Tremble at the sight of this ugly Cossack, with small dull eye, flat nose, and bushy red beard; for in him behold the Autocrat of all the Russias! Not yet had the genius and perseverance of Peter the Great introduced the arts and sciences into that vast region of snow and mental darkness. Ivan, the Squinter, ruled over his serfs with Oriental despotism: he was ignorant, coarse, and profligate. At his feasts, the dishes were of gold from the Ural Mountains, and the attendants who waited upon the monarch were arrayed in all the grandeur of Eastern princes; but the slightest blunder on their part subjected them to death, to the more dreaded knout, or to banishment in Siberia. Nominally a Christian, the Emperor of China is quite a saint when compared with him, and infinitely more respectable. But the Czar is a fool, chiefly immersed in the pleasures of the table; and Clotilda, if Empress of Russia, could easily seize all real power, and sway the sceptre over millions of obsequious subjects.

These potentates are seated on thrones near Hildebrand, to witness the spectacle. But Udolpho, Duke of Milan, is among the combatants, mounted on a powerful charger, in armor blazing with gold: he looks like the flower of chivalry. He wears the colors of the Princess Clotilda, scarlet and green; and having ridden to the end of the lists, and made a lowly obeisance to his fair lady, he has returned to his place among the competitors for honor. Others there are who wear the same colors, but none to compare with him in rank and knightly bearing; and as the Princess gazed upon him, she wished him success. But what cavalier is this, with closed vizor, whose head towers above the rest like the cedar of Lebanon above all the trees of the forest? A kingly majesty marks every motion, and notwithstanding the unusual plainness of his accoutrements, all eyes are turned upon him with interest and curiosity. He is clad in brightly-shining steel, and no heraldic emblems show his rank. His Moorish page bears before him his shield, upon the black ground of which one blooming rose, and the motto Quero, "I seek," form the only device. He is an utter stranger to all: yet both Emperor and Princess command the herald to discover who he is. That he is illustrious, none can doubt. A blue ribbon, worn upon his arm, shows that he has not enlisted himself among the admirers of the Lady Clotilda: in whose honor can he wear it?

When the heralds have taken the oath of the combatants that they will in all respects obey the laws of chivalry in the approaching conflict, the names and titles of those who were about to engage in it were called aloud, with the sound of the trumpet. When the unknown knight was courteously requested to announce his name, he gave that of "The Knight of the Blooming Rose." The mystery as to who he could be increased the interest felt in him; and as one after another of the cavaliers was unhorsed by his firm and skilful arm and rolled in the dust, the excitement became intense. The Grand Duke Udolpho had also greatly distinguished himself, and it was soon very evident that the victory would lie between these two. Clotilda's sympathies were enlisted on the side of Udolpho: Edith's, for the Knight of the Blooming Rose, whose success she watched with breathless interest. The contest was not long undetermined: the shouts of the populace, and the waving of scarfs and handkerchiefs by fair hands, soon proclaimed the unknown cavalier to be the victor.

Escorted by the heralds he approached the Emperor, who, after pronouncing a eulogy upon his bravery and skill, threw round his neck a costly chain, and placed in his hand the wreath to be worn by the Queen of Love and Beauty, whose duty it should be to preside over the games during the remainder of the week, and to distribute prizes to the winners. It was his envied privilege to confer this dignity upon the lady who was fairest in his eyes. As he rode round the barriers, gazing at the numberless lovely faces assembled there, many a heart thrilled with emotion; and as he passed the Princess Clotilda, surprise, mortification, and resentment could only too plainly be traced upon her countenance. Never before had she been so slighted. But when the knight stopped before the Lady Edith, and kneeling down, besought her to confer dignity upon the office of Queen of Love and Beauty by filling it, the young girl's astonishment was great, as she had not for a moment thought of herself as a candidate for the honor. Quickly recovering herself, however, with the native courtesy of the high-born lady, agreeably to the manners of the day, she raised the cavalier, and taking off her blue sash, fastened it round his waist with her own hands, begging him to wear it as her knight, and ever to prove himself faithful and brave.

Thus ended the first day's tournament. Meanwhile, the burghers and yeomanry joined in the general festivity, having wrestling-matches, quoits and bowls, and various other rural games. A purse of gold was conferred upon the victors, and barrels of beer were continually running for the benefit of the public. The noble guests were invited to a banquet at the palace, which was to be repeated daily during the continuance of the games. The Knight of the Blooming Rose was, of course, a prominent person in these gay assemblies, and his noble person and courtly bearing greatly excited the admiration of the ladies of Clotilda's circle. But while courteous to all, his marked deference to the gentle Edith plainly showed that he was faithful to his allegiance. It was a new experience to the timid girl to be thus singled out in preference to the more brilliant beauties around her; and while it raised her in the estimation of others, it gave a decision and self-possession to her character in which it was previously deficient. And the intimate intercourse which she thus enjoyed with a kindred mind of high cultivation, earnest thought, and large acquaintance with mankind, gave a stimulus to her mental powers which only human sympathy can impart. The Emperor himself was greatly pleased with the gallant knight, and frequently honored him with confidential conversation. And yet no one could discover who he was. Free and unreserved in his communications with those around him, when this subject was approached, his lips were sealed in silence, and a certain dignity of manner warned off all intrusion. Efforts were made to arrive at the truth through the medium of his page; but the noble-looking Moor was a mute, and would only hold intercourse with those around him by gestures and expressive looks.

In the succeeding days of the tournament, various games of knightly skill and prowess engaged the attention of the competitors for honors, and in all of them did our cavalier come off victorious. In the use of the bow he was unrivalled, ever piercing the centre of the target, and bringing down the bird upon the wing. Udolpho of Milan was the second in distinction, and the two were united by a generous friendship. The last day was a trial of minstrelsy. In this, also, the Knight of the Blooming Rose bore the palm away from all his rivals, both professional and amateur. Accompanying himself upon the harp, he sang spirit-stirring lays which awakened the enthusiasm of all his auditors.

In the evening, the Emperor requested him to give the meaning of his motto, and of the emblem on his shield. Taking the harp, and striking up a bold and brilliant prelude which gradually arranged itself into a simple air of great beauty, he sang as follows:

"Not wealth nor trappings proud, Nor shouts of envying crowd, That swell both long and loud, 'I seek.'

"No jewels from the mine, Nor gold, so pure and fine, Nor generous, sparkling wine, 'I seek.'

"Soft pleasure's bonds are vain— I feel for them disdain; And still, through toil and pain, 'I seek.'

"It is not kingly crown— That subjects may kneel down, And tremble at my frown— 'I seek.'

"To keep my knightly oath, Be faithful to my troth, To God and Jesu both, 'I seek.'

"To help the poor that cry— To wipe the widow's eye— To humble tyrants high, 'I seek.'

"The maiden weak to save, To free the Christian slave, And punish impious knave, 'I seek.'

"At noblest deeds I aim. To win a lofty name Upon the roll of fame, 'I seek.'

"To pluck the magic Rose In Hesperus which grows, And fadeless beauty knows, 'I seek.'

"To wear it on my breast— There may it ever rest!— Honor and truth to test, 'I seek.'

"To lay it at the feet Of noble lady sweet: For her an off'ring meet! 'I seek.'

"To win fair Edith's praise— Merit the poet's lays— Grow nobler all my days— 'I seek.'"

"And is it really the wonderful Rose of Hesperus which you seek?" asked the monarch: "that magic flower hitherto unplucked by mortals? Bring one to each of my daughters, and I here pledge you my word that you shall wed one of them, if you can gain her consent!" The knight, full of gratitude, knelt down to express his thanks. He then told the Emperor and the listening Edith in what manner he had been led to take the vow to acquire these precious roses, and to place this emblem upon his shield. He had been engaged in defence of his native land against the invader and the oppressor, but his efforts, and those of a small, brave band of friends, had been wholly in vain: his country was crushed by the ruthless heel of despotism. On that night when it had been agreed in assembled council that all resistance was fruitless, and that nothing now remained for patriots but to seek freedom in exile, after tossing in troubled slumbers, he had been visited with a calming and inspiring dream. He saw bending over him a lovely female form, which he knew instinctively to be that of his Guardian Angel. She was clothed in white, and a soft light streamed out from her soul. The morning before the tournament, as he rode along at break of day, he had seen the Princess Edith bending down to speak encouragement to a poor cripple, and he had at once recognized the earthly form of which he had then seen the glorified image. The Angel spoke, and commanded him not to yield to despair: she had work for him still to do. She said that, with her help, he should pluck roses from the Gardens of Hesperus, which mortal man had never yet done. She gave him exact directions how to reach the spot where the invisible gate was placed, through which alone he could enter the charmed Paradise. Only at sunrise, upon the repetition of a form of words, which she gave him, could a brave knight, of unsullied honor and purity, obtain admittance. And only at sunset could he leave, upon reciting the same formula. And then telling him that the accomplishment of this feat would lead to the fulfilment of his destiny, and that a crown yet awaited him, she had suddenly vanished, leaving a smile upon the air.

The next day, having bid adieu to his friends at court, the cavalier departed with his Moorish page. They travelled in a southwesterly direction, towards the Mediterranean Sea. It is worthy of remark, that when they had passed away from towns and populous districts, the page rode alongside of his master, instead of following at his former humble distance. And, miraculous as it may appear, it is very certain that they no longer conversed together by signs, but with audible sounds.

At length they reached the borders of the sea. Following it for a few days, they came to a lofty rock: here they alighted, and searching carefully along the water's edge, the knight perceived a small entrance, so covered up by overhanging grass and ferns that one unacquainted with its existence could never have detected it. Entering, they found themselves in a lofty and spacious cave, where nature had amused herself by uniting in strange confusion the odd and the beautiful. The roof was hung with sparkling stalactites, and wonderful forms were ranged around. There was an organ, with its numerous pipes—but the wind was the only musician. There was a lofty throne—but the king was not yet born who would fill it with dignity. There was a pulpit—but solitude was the only preacher. Strange shapes, like those in a Hindoo rock-temple, were ranged along into the darkness. Stars and flowers of crystal were strewed around, and the grotto looked like a fit abode for sylphids or fairies. The deep blue water formed a lake in the centre, upon the bosom of which a small boat lay sleeping like a swan. When the knight and his page had sufficiently admired the beauties of the place, the cavalier advanced to the edge of the lagoon and called the boat. It instantly waked up, and came like a living thing to crouch at his feet. The two friends stepped into it, and it shot out of the cave into the broad open sea, darting across the water with the speed of the wind. No visible means of motion could be detected; no sail or oars were there in the fairy boat—there was nothing mechanical about it; but it sped on its way like a water-bird or a graceful nautilus. Once, indeed, gazing into deep blue water, the knight fancied that he saw a soft white hand, with rings of pearl and bracelet of coral, guiding it in its course; but if this were not the effect of his heated fancy, the hand was at least speedily withdrawn, and he saw it no more.

When the moon had risen upon the expanse of waters, which reflected her image, breaking it into a thousand fragments—while the waves danced up to greet her bright face, like children clamoring for a mother's kiss—the little boat ran into a quiet inlet, and stopped to let its passengers alight. They rested that night in an orange-grove, and awoke refreshed, to begin their search while the bright morning-star was still shining. At the break of day they arrived at lofty perpendicular rocks, which, after pursuing a straight line, suddenly formed a right-angle. Here the knight and his companion stopped, and turning to the east, awaited the sunrise. At the moment when the glorious orb of day started up from his couch, impatient to commence his course, the cavalier spoke: "Open, thou gate of stone, for the hour has come, and the man." At these words, with a noise like that of thunder, the rock was rent asunder, and a wide passage was opened, through which the friends proceeded. It had appeared to be a lofty chain of mountains, but they were soon at the end of it, and came out into the open air. But an obstacle opposed itself. A huge dragon, Ladon the terrible, reared up his hundred heads, his eyes flashing fire and fury, his mouths emitting baleful flames and pestilential breath, his tail, covered with metallic scales of green, scarlet, and blue, coiling away to a great distance. The page drew his sword; but the knight took a little black book and aimed it at the volcanic heads. It was a Holy Book, and the names therein quenched the threatening fire and quelled the rage of the monster, who sank back exhausted upon the green sod, and slept the sleep of death. "That little book can do more than the sword," remarked the cavalier.

They proceeded onward: the earthly Paradise was unfolded to their view; the air was balmy, and laden with rich fragrance from the numberless flowers around; but instead of filling the spirit with soft languor, and indisposing the body to exertion, the gentle breezes imparted new vigor to the frame, and the buoyant, hilarious feelings of early youth shot through the veins, making the thoughtful eye sparkle, and giving to the grave foot of saddened maturity the elasticity of childhood. A new, unsuspected power of enjoyment was awakened in the bosom of the friends, combining somewhat of the gladness of the child, and the ardor of the youth—qualities, alas, how transitory!—with the appreciating taste and refined feelings of riper years. Many faculties lie dormant in our nature: the capacity for much higher happiness is one of them; and it will be awakened in the breast of all the good in the Resurrection Morn. They may have lain down to die, weary and heart sore, but they shall find that "light is sown for the righteous, and gladness for the upright in heart."

With joyful spirits, their eyes drinking in beauty, and their ears harmony, the knight and his comrade moved along, guided by wayward fancy. Here a sparkling, dancing rivulet would entice them to follow its course, amid mossy rocks, flowery banks, and drooping trees, which whispered their secrets to its babbling waves; and then suddenly it would vanish into the earth, like a child playing at hide-and-seek, gurgling a merry laugh at its bewildered followers. At every step a new beauty was unfolded. Now the brilliancy of hue and splendor of coloring in the sky, the flowers, the birds, filled their minds with admiration: but when they wandered into the deep, cool woods, with their sober tints, and their mysterious whispers, they gave the latter the preference. And when they left these green recesses, and viewed the extensive landscape opened before them—gently swelling hills, distant mountains, and the boundless ocean—then they wondered that more limited scenery could have given such entire satisfaction. Climbing among the rocks, wild and sublime views, of a rugged grandeur, prepared their souls for nature's masterpiece, the foaming waterfall. Down the stupendous precipice rolled the torrent, masses upon masses of water, almost lost to the eye in the dark distance below; while, above, the gorgeous rainbow closed it in, as if a crown of glory were bestowed upon it in recompense for its agony. And day and night a voice might be heard from its mighty heart, "I can endure forever and forever." Then the friends felt how deep is that bliss which takes away all words—they felt how great a joy there is in awe.

Descending from these heights, soft scenes of beauty attracted their gaze. The setting sun threw its mellow light over a landscape of Italian character; it seemed as if nature and art were here combined to make perfection. Statues of rare loveliness took them by surprise when strolling over the grassy walks, or sauntering under the deep umbrage of the trees; mossy grottoes, adorned with shells, invited them to repose; unexpected openings in the woods revealed vistas beyond, exciting to the imagination. Lakes of crystal clearness reflected the fleecy clouds, and the snowy forms of the swans upon their azure surface; and gold and silver fishes chased each other through their pellucid waves. Birds of brilliant plumage came there to lave in the pure water, and then shaking off the diamonds from their wings, rose into the air with a gush of melody, pouring out their souls to their Maker. And all gentle and exquisite creatures were met together in that spot, to glad the eye with life—the soft-eyed gazelle, the swift antelope, the graceful stag, the Java deer, smallest of its kind: nothing was absent which could add beauty and variety to the scene.