John's, and St. Francis, the first settlement to be met, is twelve miles again beyond that point. An examination of the larder revealed a most impoverished condition, and we fully realized that any loss of time would render our supply inadequate to the distance. With this rather powerful stimulant to exertion every paddle had plied morning and afternoon, with hardly any intermission, and the sun was now sinking behind some heavy clouds that were fast gathering in the west. The shores on either side were steep, and very thick with underbrush, and while looking anxiously for some spot where it would be possible to pitch our tent, one of our guides, the only one who had been through before, said that he remembered a clearing with a cabin on it which he thought could not be far beyond. The forbidding aspect of the shores and the surely coming storm boded us no good, and it was at once determined to make a desperate effort to reach the spot with our two canoes, containing the two children, Mr. O'C., H. and myself, the others being half a mile behind. The Indian guides were well tipped, and their paddles responded vigorously as we sped on in the fading light. Mile followed mile and still no semblance could be traced of the spot described; moreover, darkness was not destined to be the only obstacle to our progress, as the ominous sound of rapids fell upon our ears. Still we kept our course, and thanks to the keen Indian eye and steady hand, were guided safely through. Then came shallow water where both canoes and hopes were well-nigh stranded. All four men were in the water, and we were finally pushed and pulled through it, reaching again the deeper channel; but in a darkness so profound as to render the banks almost invisible. Had there only been still water now, we might yet have reached our goal; but the fates were dead against us, for the current was growing swifter and another stretch of rapids lay beyond. To attempt their passage in the darkness would have been sheer madness; so we faced the inevitable and groped about for a landing-place. The storm was now upon us, and as we stepped out on a bank of soft oozing mud,-the only place they could find to land,-the heavy rain began to fall, and my heart sank within me as the full force of our extremely disagreeable situation rose before us. The other boats contained the tent, provisions, and in short the whole camp equipage, and we had left them miles behind in the vain selfflattery that the "farm" was to afford us shelter and entertainment for the night. If the darkness had overtaken them before they came to the last rapids we had passed, it would be almost impossible to reach us. We had simply nothing but the clothes we wore and two little pieces of maple sugar which we gave the children,-they were delighted with everything and in the most excellent spirits. I do not know what we should have done without the handy Indian woodcraft of the guides, which now came greatly to the rescue. A bright fire blazed up, as if by magic, from the wet sticks and muddy bed, and with the paddles and a bit of string a frame was made over one of the canoes, which they pulled up on shore and covered with great sheets of birch-bark peeled from the trees near by, and in it Jack and Jill were put supperless to bed. But they now had at least warmth and shelter. They were very good, poor little things, and I put them to sleep, kneeling in the wet mud to rock the birch canoe, and singing "Little Jack Horner" and "Jack and Jill," while the rain fell steadily and the solemn night settled down over the wilderness. The possibility of our being obliged to pass the night in this forlorn condition and entirely at the mercy of the storm, was merging rapidly into certainty, and for the first time since the start I felt my courage quite give way. It was not destined to be tested to the full, however, for a little later on we heard the shouts of the rest of the party, who had providentially determined to reach us at all hazards; and a very hearty welcome we gave them, especially those who brought the tent and blankets. With these we managed to get through the night somehow, dwelling with pleasure upon the prospect of reaching the settlements the following day. And this we succeeded in doing, completing the remaining twenty miles upon the Alleguash, and entering triumphantly upon the St. John's River. It was nearly sunset, and St. Francis lay twelve miles beyond; but the river is very swift, and the current alone would carry us that distance in an hour. The rapids here were on a far grander scale than any we had passed, very swift, and much greater in the volume of the water. The frail craft shot through them like an arrow from the bow, and when I reflect now that a single miscalculation or a moment's want of presence of mind in our guides would have ended our journey in this world, I wonder how I ever dared to take those blessed babies through. Of course, having gone so far, it was necessary to go farther. But I felt we had good cause that night, once more among our fellow-men, to thank the ever-watchful Providence who had safely guided us through our journey. In the following three days we paddled over a hundred miles down the St. John's River, passing all too quickly through its noble scenery, ever changing in its grandeur or its beauty, and stopping for the night at the settlements that are scattered here and there along its banks. At Tobique we reached the railroad, and our trunks, which had been forwarded to us from Mount Kineo. It was with mingled delight and regret that I laid aside my wood-toggery and donned a French costume, and when Jack and Jill came into my room with their bonne she with smart cap and ribbons and stiffly starched gown, and the children in embroidered frocks and broad sashes-I could hardly believe them to be the little gnomes that played under the giant trees of the "Urwald" such a short time before. And I think that all our party felt more sorry than glad when we met at dinner in the garb of civilization, and bade good-bye to the pleasures and hardships of our forest roamings. "Clearly," I thought, "his wits have gone astray." And then to him I said, "Your kings-what kings? There are none here to-day-" "Because the kings are dead." I thought it best to humor this old man, Went wandering down the hill-side, weak and wan, "Tell me about them, Sire, for I perceive That you are kingly, too. I will go downward with you, by your leave.” I scanned him closer, and, to my surprise, There was a wild light in his laughing eyes, "O Prince! O King!" he cried; but not to me His greeting was addressed, Nor any person there whom I could see. "My master, and my guest! "Most beautiful art thou of all thy race, The right to rule is in thy royal face, "No robe is rich enough for thee to wear— What earthly robe could be? The bright abundance of thy golden hair Is crown enough for thee! "All things that thou dost look on are made fair. The eagle's eye sees far; But thy soft eye sees farther-everywhere It lights upon a star! "The feet of the mountain does are swift in flight- Thou art before them on the mountain height, "This to the eye thou art; but to the heart Who can declare what happiness thou art ? "Dear is the pressure of a woman's hand, Weak men by her caresses are unmanned, "But she is not the best of all good things; I love thee better, O my King of Kings! "His presence honors my poor house again; Who would not give his all to entertain "I do not see the King you speak of, Sire." "Nor I, for I have lost my heart's desire,My dear, young King is dead!" "But where, pray, tell me, have they buried him?" "I know not; but I guess That somewhere in a chamber, hushed and dim, "Wrapped in a purple pall, as if asleep, And fair, sad women watch, but do not weep, "Right royally his brother filled his place, Was his tall form, broad chest, and bearded face, "No yellow locks for him, he wears the crown, And can the helmet wear; He bears a sword that smites his foemen down,— Who angers him, beware! "For this great king is swift as he is stern, He can see thousands fall, and cities burn, "But war delights him not, for he is wise, "What his dead brother only had begun (What rare beginnings those !), Taken up by his strong will, was straightway done,— Cities and ramparts rose. "This masterful great man, who was my King, And who was full of cares, Had time to hear his merry minstrels sing, And hear his people's prayers. "But he is gone, the strong, the good, the just, And gone his golden crown; His scepter and his sword are in the dust; His kingdom has gone down. "Low lies that mighty form that filled the throne,— Low lies that royal head; The race is ended: I am here alone Because the King is dead!" "Thou strange old man," I said "if man thou art. That growest so thin and pale,— I feel a chillness creeping round my heart At thy accursèd tale! "Who art thou? Speak!" He spoke not-was not there,— If ever there, had flown, And left me talking to the empty air, On the dark hill alone! "I am the man whom I have seen," I said, I have a wrinkled face and a grey head, "I have outlived my YOUTH, that was so dear, And now have reached the autumn of my year, "For lo! in the far West, so lately red, Darkness below, and darkness overhead— SOME JAPANESE MELODIES. SEVERAL years ago when the troupe of Japanese jugglers were in New York, I happened to remain in town late in the season, and attended a number of the remarkable entertainments given by them at the Academy of Music. The only drawback to my enjoyment of their wonderful feats with ladder, pole, tubs, butterflies, etc., -and especially those of little All-Right and his father, was the exceedingly harsh and disagreeable noise made by the Japanese orchestra, consisting of five performers seated on the floor at the rear of the stage. But one night,-after having attended these entertainments ten or twelve times, I made what was to me a most curious and interesting discovery. At the moment when little All-Right was performing on the pole, which was supported in a socket attached to a belt around his father's waist,-in the midst of the strange sounds made both by the orchestra and by the man himself, who was coolly playing on a "samiseng" while balancing the boy in mid-air,-I suddenly noticed a melody, at first indistinct, but afterward assuming definite shape as I was able to shut out the discordant accompaniment. After listening intently during several performances I at last succeeded in following the air and in getting it by heart. Once after this, when little All-Right came to see me, with the interpreter of the troupe, I took his forefinger in my hand and made him play the melody on the piano. He recognized it at once,-although separated from the dreadful sounds he was accustomed to hear with it, and cried out delightedly, in Japanese: "Oh, that is what my father plays when I am up on the pole!" I met little All-Right after this again in London, and became quite well acquainted with the boy. He had great pride in his profession, and he and his father were grieved at the accident which happened to the youth during the season in New York, not so much on account of the personal injury, but because a fall during a performance brought such mortification to them as artists. I had desired while the troupe was in London, to gather more of their melodies, and expressed my regret at the absence of the native orchestra. All-Right replied that their music was so widely objected to that it had been withdrawn. I was not surprised at this for the same feeling prevailed in this country, and was shared at first by myself. What shall I say of this melody? It is perfect in construction, original, beautifully |