The duke, who was thus driven from his dominions, retired with a few faithful followers to the forest of Arden; and here the good duke lived with his loving friends, who had put themselves into a voluntary exile for his sake, while their land and revenues enriched the false usurper; and custom soon made the life of careless ease they led here more sweet to them than the pomp and uneasy splendour of a courtier's life. Here they lived like the old Robin Hood of England; and to this forest many noble youths daily resorted from the court, and did fleet the time carelessly, as they did who lived in the golden age. In the summer they lay along under the fine shade of the large forest trees, marking the playful sports of the wild deer; and so fond were they of these poor dappled fools, who seemed to be the native inhabitants of the forest, that it grieved them to be forced to kill them to supply themselves with venison for their food. When the cold winds of winter made the duke feel the change of his adverse fortune, he would endure it patiently, and say

"These chilling winds which blow upon my body are true counsellors: they do not flatter, but represent truly to me my condition: and, though they bite sharply, their tooth is nothing like so keen as that of unkindness and ingratitude. I find that, howsoever men speak against adversity, yet some sweet uses are to be extracted from it; like the jewel, precious for medicine, which is taken from the head of the venomous and despised toad."

In this manner did the patient duke draw a useful moral from everything that he saw; and by the help of this moralizing turn, in that life of his, remote from public haunts, he could find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.

The banished duke had an only daughter named Rosalind, whom the usurper, Duke Frederick, when he banished her father, still retained in his court as a companion for his own daughter Celia. A strict friendship subsisted between these ladies, which the disagreement between their fathers did not in the least interrupt, Celia striving by every means in her power to make amends to Rosalind for the injustice of her own father in deposing the father of Rosalind; aud whenever the thoughts of her father's banishment, and her own dependence on the false usurper, made Rosalind melancholy, Celia's whole care was to comfort and console her.

One day, when Celia was talking in her usual kind manner to Rosalind, saying, "I pray you, Rosalind, my sweet cousin, be merry," a messenger entered from the duke, to tell them that if they wished to see a wrestling match, which was just going to begin, they

PRICE ONE PENNY.

must come instantly to the court before the palace, and Celia, thinking it would amuse Rosalind, agreed to go and see it.

In those times wrestling, which is only practised now by country clowns, was a favourite sport even in the courts of princes, and before fair ladies and princesses. To this wrestling match, therefore, Celia and Rosalind went. They found that it was likely to prove a very tragical sight; for a large and powerful man, who had long been practised in the art of wrestling, and had slain many men in contests of this kind, was just going to wrestle with a very young man, who, from his extreme youth and inexperience in the art, the beholders all thought would certainly be killed.

When the duke saw Celia and Rosalind he said

66

How now, daughter and niece, are you crept hither to see the wrestling? You will take little delight in it, there is such odds in the men: in pity to this young man, I would wish to persuade him from wrestling. Speak to him, ladies, and see if you can move him."

The ladies were well pleased to perform this humane office, and first Celia entreated the young stranger that he would desist from the attempt; and then Rosalind spoke so kindly to him, and with such feeling consideration for the danger he was about to undergo, that instead of being persuaded by her gentle words to forego his purpose, all his thoughts were bent to distinguish himself by his courage in this lovely lady's eyes. He refused the request of Celia and Rosalind in such graceful and modest words, that they felt still more concern for him; he concluded his refusal with saying

"I am sorry to deny such fair and excellent ladies anything. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial, wherein, if I be conquered, there is one shamed that was never gracious; if I am killed, there is one dead that is willing to die; I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; for I only fill up a place in the world which may be better supplied when I have made it empty."

And now the wrestling-match began. Celia wished the young stranger might not be hurt; but Rosalind felt most for him. The friendless state which he said he was in, and that he wished to die, made Rosalind think that he was like herself, unfortunate; and she pitied him so much, and so deep an interest she took in his danger while he was wrestling, that she might almost be said at that moment to have fallen in love with him.

The kindness shown this unknown youth by these fair and noble ladies gave him courage and strength, so that he performed wonders, and in the end completely conquered his antagonist, who was so much hurt that for awhile he was unable to speak or move.

The duke Frederick was much pleased with the courage and skill shown by this young stranger, and desired to know his name and parentage, meaning to take him under his protection.

The stranger said his name was Orlando, and that he was the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.

Sir Rowland de Boys, the father of Orlando, had been dead some

years; but when he was living, he had been a true subject and dear friend of the banished duke; therefore, when Frederick heard Orlando was the son of his banished brother's friend, all his liking for this brave young man was changed into displeasure, and he left the place in very ill humour. Hating to hear the very name of any of his brother's friends, and yet still admiring the valour of the youth, he said, as he went out, that he wished Orlando had been the son of any other man.

Rosalind was delighted to hear that her new favourite was the son of her father's old friend; and she said to Celia

"My father loved Sir Rowland de Boys, and if I had known this young man was his son, I would have added tears to my entreaties before he should have ventured."

The ladies then went up to him; and seeing him abashed by the sudden displeasure shown by the duke, they spoke kind and encourag. ing words to him; and Rosalind, when they were going away, turned back to speak some more civil things to the brave young son of her father's old friend; and taking a chain from off her neck, she said"Gentleman, wear this for me. I am out of suits with fortune, or I would give you a more valuable present."

When the ladies were alone, Rosalind's talk being still of Orlando, Celia began to perceive her cousin had fallen in love with the handsome young wrestler, and she said to Rosalind—

"Is it possible you should fall in love so suddenly?" Rosalind replied

"The duke, my father, loved his father dearly."

But," said Celia, "does it therefore follow that you should love his son dearly? for then I ought to hate him, for my father hated his father; yet I do not hate Orlando."

Frederick being enraged at the sight of Sir Rowland de Boy's son, which reminded him of the many friends the banished duke had among the nobility, and having been for some time displeased with his niece, because the people praised her for her virtues, and pitied her for her good father's sake, his malice suddenly broke out against her; and while Celia and Rosalind were talking of Orlando, Frederick entered the room, and with looks full of anger ordered Rosalind instantly to leave the palace, and follow her father into banishment; telling Celia, who in vain pleaded for her, that he had only suffered Rosalind to stay upon her account.

"I did not then," said Celia, "entreat you to let her stay, for I was too young at that time to value her; but now that I know her worth, and that we so long have slept together, rose at the same instant, learned, played, and eat together, I cannot live out of her company."

Frederick replied

66

She is too subtle for you; her smoothness, her very silence, and her patience speak to the people, and they pity her. You are a fool to plead for her, for you will seem more bright and virtuous when she is gone; therefore open not your lips in her favour, for the doom which I have passed upon her is irrevocable."

When Celia found she could not prevail upon her father to let Rosalind remain with her, she generously resolved to accompany her; and, leaving her father's palace that night, she went along with her friend to seek Rosalind's father, the banished duke, in the forest of Arden.

Before they set out, Celia considered that it would be unsafe for two young ladies to travel in the rich clothes they then wore; she therefore proposed that they should disguise their rank by dressing themselves like country maids. Rosalind said it would be a still greater protection if one of them was to be dressed like a man; and so it was agreed on quickly between them that as Rosalind was the tallest, she should wear the dress of a young countryman, and Celia should be habited like a country lass, and that they should say they were brother and sister, and Rosalind said she would be called Ganimed, and Celia chose the name of Aliena.

In this disguise, and taking their money and jewels to defray their expenses, these fair princesses set out on their long travel; for the forest of Arden was a long way off, beyond the boundaries of the duke's dominions.

The Lady Rosalind (or Ganimed, as she must now be called) with her manly garb seemed to have put on a manly courage. The faithful friendship Celia had shown in accompanying Rosalind so many weary miles, made the new brother, in recompense for this true love, exert a cheerful spirit, as if he were indeed Ganimed, the rustic and stout-hearted brother of the gentle village maiden, Aliena.

When at last they came to the forest of Arden, they no longer found the convenient inns and good accommodations they had met with on the road; and being in want of food and rest, Ganimed, who had so merrily cheered his sister with pleasant speeches and happy remarks all the way, now owned to Aliena that he was so weary, he could find in his heart to disgrace his man's apparel, and cry like a woman; and Aliena declared she could go no further; and

then again Ganimed tried to recollect that it was a man's duty to comfort and console a woman, as the weaker vessel. And to seem courageous to his new sister, he said"Come, have a good heart, my sister Aliena; we are now at the end of our travel, in the forest of Arden.”

But feigned manliness and forced courage would no longer support them; for though they were in the forest of Arden, they knew not where to find the duke. And here the travel of these weary ladies might have come to a sad conclusion, for they might have lost themselves, and perished for want of food; but providentially, as they were sitting on the grass, almost dying with fatigue and hopeless of any relief, a countryman chanced to pass that way, and Ganimed once more tried to speak with a manly boldness, saying

Shepherd, if love or gold can in this desert place procure us entertainment, I pray you bring us where we may rest ourselves; for this young maid, my sister, is much fatigued with travelling, and faints for want of food."

The man replied, that he was only a servant to a shepherd, and that his master's house was just going to be sold, and, therefore, they would find but poor entertainment; but that if they would go with him, they should be welcome to what there was. They followed the man, the near prospect of relief giving them fresh strength; and bought the house and sheep of the shepherd, and took the man who conducted them to the shepherd's house to wait on them; and being by this means so fortunately provided with a neat cottage, and well supplied with provisions, they agreed to stay here till they could learn in what part of the forest the duke dwelt.

When they were rested after the fatigue of their journey, they began to like their new way of life, and almost fancied themselves the shepherd and shepherdess they feigned to be; yet sometimes Ganimed remembered he had once been the same Lady Rosalind who had so dearly loved the brave Orlando, because he was the son of old Sir Rowland, her father's friend; and though Ganimed thought that Orlando was many miles distant, even so many weary miles as they had travelled, yet it soon appeared that Orlando was also in the forest of Arden: and in this manner this strange event came to pass.

Orlando was the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys, who, when he died, left him (Orlando being then very young) to the care of his eldest brother Oliver, charging Oliver on his blessing to give his brother a good education, and provide for him as became the dignity of their ancient house. Oliver proved an unworthy brother; and, disregarding the commands of his dying father, he never put his brother to school, but kept him at home untaught and entirely neglected. But in his nature, and in the noble qualities of his mind, Orlando so much resembled his excellent father that, without any advantages of education, he seemed like a youth who had been bred with the utmost care; and Oliver so envied the fine person and dignified manners of his untutored brother that at last he wished to destroy him; and to effect this he set on people to persuade him to wrestle with the famous wrestler, who, as has been before related, had killed so many men. Now, it was this cruel brother's neglect of him which made Orlando say he wished to die, being so friendless.

When, contrary to the wicked hopes he had formed, his brother proved victorious, Oliver's envy and malice knew no bounds, and he swore he would burn the chamber where Orlando slept. He was overheard making this vow by one that had been an old and faithful servant to their father, and that loved Orlando because he resembled Sir Rowland. This old man went out to meet him when he returned from the duke's palace, and when he saw Orlando, the peril his dear young master was in made him break out into these passionate exclamations-

'Oh! my gentle master, my sweet master, oh! you memory of old Sir Rowland! why are you virtuous? why are you gentle, strong, and valiant? and why would you be so fond to overcome the famous wrestler? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you."

Orlando, wondering what all this meant, asked him what was the matter. And then the old man told him how his wicked brother, envying the love all people bore him, and now hearing the fame he had gained by his victory in the duke's palace, intended to destroy him by setting fire to his chamber that night; and in conclusion advised him to escape the danger he was in by instant flight; and, knowing Orlando had no money, Adam (for that was the good old man's name) had brought out with him his own little hoard, and he

said

"NO ONE WILL SEE ME."

"No one will see me," said little John Day,
For his father and mother were out of the way,
And he was at home all alone;

"No one will see;" so he climbed on a chair,
And peep'd in the cupboard to spy what was there,
Which, of course, he ought not to have done.

There stood in the cupboard, so sweet and so nice,
A plate of plum-cake in full many a slice,

And apples so ripe and so fine.

"Now, no one will see me," said John, to himself, As he stretched out his arm to reach up to the shelf, "This apple, at least, shall be mine."

John pansed, and put back the nice apple so red,
For he thought of the words his kind mother had said,
When she left all these things in his care.
"And no one will see me," thought he, "is not true,
For I've read that God sees us in all that we do,
And is with us everywhere."

Well done, John, your father and mother obey,
Try ever to please them, and mind what they say,
Even when they are absent from you.
And never forget that, though no one is nigh,
You cannot be hid from the glance of God's eye,
Who notices all that you do.

THE HYACINTH.

EMILY was sorry that the winter lasted so long; for she loved flowers, and had a little garden, where she tended the most beautiful ones with her own hands. Therefore, she longed for spring, and wished that winter might quickly pass.

One day her father said, "Look here, Emily; I have brought you a bulb, which you must plant and rear carefully."

“How can I, dear father?" answered the girl. "The ground is as hard as a stone, and covered with snow."

She spoke thus because she did not know that bulbs will grow in flower-pots and glasses, as she had never seen it before.

Her father gave her a flower-pot filled with mould, and Emily put the bulb into it. But she looked at her father and smiled, doubting whether her father had spoken in earnest or not. For she fancied the blue sky must smile on the flower, and spring-breezes fan it; that so much beauty could not come forth from under her hands.

Sometimes she would ask her father of what colour the flower would appear, and after rehearsing all colours, she said with cheerful voice, "It will make no difference to me, if it will only bloom."

"Sweet fancy," said the father; "how playfully and busily dost thou employ innocent love and infantile hope!"

At length the flower blossomed. Twelve buds opened early in the morning, hanging gracefully between five emerald green leaves in fresh youthful beauty. Their colour was rosy, like the dawn of the morning or the delicate flush on Emily's cheeks; and a balmy fragrance hung around each flower.

Emily could not comprehend so much beauty; her joy was silent and speechless. On her knees before the plant, she gazed intently on the newly-opened flowers.

Her father came into the room, and seeing his beloved child and the blooming hyacinth, he said, with emotion, "See, Emily; you are to us what the hyacinth is to you."

The little girl rose from her knees, and threw herself into her father's arms. After a fervent embrace, she said, in a gentle voice, "O, my father, could I but give you as much joy as the flower has given me!"

THE SECRET.

IN a young lady's heart once a Secret was lurking,
It tossed and it tumbled, it longed to get out;
The lips half betrayed it by smiling and smirking,
And the tongue was impatient to blab it, no doubt.
But honour looked gruff on the subject, and gave it
In charge to the teeth, so enchantingly white-
Should the captive attempt an elopement, to save it,
By giving the lips an admonishing bite.

'Twas said, and 'twas settled, and honour departed;
Tongue quivered and trembled, but did not rebel;
When right to its tip, secret suddenly started,

And, half in a whisper, escaped from its cell.

Quoth the teeth, in a pet, we'll be even for this;
And they bit very sharply above and beneath;
But the lips at that instant were bribed with a kiss,
And they popped out the secret, in spite of the teeth..

ST. OSWALD.

A TRADITION FROM THE GERMAN OF FRANCIS HOFFMAN.

Emily carefully watered the plant, and smiled joyfully on perceiving its growth,

Her father looked at her, and said, "Well done, my child; sunshine must follow after rain and dew. The kind glance of the eye gives value to the good action which the hand performs. Your little plant will prosper, Emily."

Presently the leaves came quite out of the earth, and glowed in their freshness, Then Emily's joy increased. "Oh!" said she, from the fulness of her heart, "I shall be content, even if no flower

comes."

"Contented spirit!" said the father. "You will receive more than you dare to hope for. This is the reward of modesty." He then showed the bud of the flower, which was concealed beneath the leaves.

Emily's care and love increased day by day with the gradual growth of the flower. With tender hands she sprinkled water on it, asking whether it was enough or too much, or whether it might be too cold. When a sunbeam peeped through the windows, she would gently carry the plant into the sunshine, and breathe on the leaves to remove the dust, as the morning breeze passes over the rose. "Oh! sweet union of tenderest love and innocence!" said the mother. "The purer the soul, the more heavenly the love will be." The flower was Emily's last thought in the evening, and her first in the morning. Several times she beheld in dreams her hyacinth in full bloom, and when she found herself disappointed in the morning, she was not troubled, but said, smiling, "It may still blossom!"

wald had called them, likewise the nine bishops.

Thereupon they asked-

Where art thou going, my lord? The king answered

"We will cross the sea and go to the pagans, to convert them to Christianity, and I will bring a queen from thence for myself. I bearing in mind the good which my father did unto you. I will trust to find you faithful, and expect you to help me in this matter, any one lose his mortal life in the fight for the Cross, he shall win in greatly reward all who prove themselves faithful to me, and should return life eternal. For he who is faithful unto death, to him will the Lord give the crown of everlasting life."

Thus spoke the king, and all cried aloud

"We will be faithful and obedient to thee, and go with thee across the sea for the glory of God and of His holy name."

Now the king had commanded the goldsmith to make seventy-two crosses, wrought in pure gold, which he ordered to be brought out of his castle into an open field, and said

"Whoever goes with me, let him adorn himself with the Holy Cross, that we may be known as Christians."

Then there was a great rush towards the crosses, and the knights took them and fastened them on to their armour. Soon after they all embarked, and the king thought that everything which he had ordered had been attended to. After a year and three months they came to the land of King Harun; here they saw a strong and magnificent castle, belonging to the heathen king, which glittered like gold afar off, over sea and land. It had twelve towers, built of red marble, and a watchman stood upon each of them.

"This is the palace where my beloved bride liveth," said the king, and consulted with all the princes how to attack and besiege it suecessfully, and where the best and safest place for landing could possibly be. One of them said-

"Yonder, between those two high mountains, there is a very large meadow, which I think would be a good place for the soldier's to encamp."

The king was pleased with it, and made all the soldiers disembark and pitch their tents, and they all encamped there merrily on the fresh green sward unseen. When the night drew near Oswald sent for his chamberlain, and ordered him to bring the raven quickly. The chamberlain said

"My lord, we have forgotten to bring the raven!" "Woe is me!" cried the king, "that this thing should have happened. All our trouble and the voyage are now in vain, for we shall not be able to accomplish anything without it."

Then he turned to the princes, and said

Now, everything depends upon being able to defend ourselves well, for the best thing is left behind, and we may hardly hope to see our country again.'

A great fear came over them all when they heard these words. They remembered their wives and children at home, and the tears rushed into the eyes of some of them.

At length the King said

Let us all kneel down and pray, for help and comfort comes from the Lord; He will not forsake those who fight for Him, the almighty and true God!"

And they took off their armour, and fell down on their knees to pray, and the whole army followed their example. This pleased the Lord, and He had mercy upon them, and sent an angel to the raven, bidding it to fly speedily to the king, who was in great distress. The raven was very angry, and said—

"How could the king forget me-I, who have served him so faithfully, as he knew he could not fulfil the wish of his heart without me, nor do as the Lord had commanded him?”

The angel entreated it to cease from its anger, and to do what it was bid, as it was not the king's fault that it had been left behind.

"If it were only possible," said the raven. "I am wearied, ill and stiff in my wings, for I have been shamefully neglected during fifteen months. I am almost starved, and have been obliged to seek for food out of the dog's dish, and when I took a little morsel he pulled me about. Poor bird that I am, and how much have I suffered and now I must venture upon such a long flight, far away over the sea."

if

"Try it," said the angel; " soar upwards three spears high, and you then lack strength, come down again, for you have then done all you could, and ought to be treated fairly."

Then the raven could not but do as the angel bid it, so it spread its wings and flew upwards, about the height of twelve spears. Higher still," cried the angel, "higher and higher."

The raven obeyed: and, when it once found itself so high, it flew on and on till after three days it was hovering above the king's ships, where it uttered a loud and piercing cry.

A poor sailor heard it first, and jumped for joy out of the boat to the shore, about three fathoms' distance, and ran to his lord, saying

My lord and king, the raven has arrived, now we need fear nothing, but to me you might give a good reward!"

The king laughed; he was very glad, and said to the sailor'Is the raven here, then? Heaven be praised! Thou shalt have thirty marks of gold, be made a knight, and remain no longer a sailor."

The sailor hastened back to the raven and coaxed it kindly to come, that he might carry it into the town of tents. The faithful bird came to him, and he took it upon his hand and brought it to the king, who came to meet him and said

Welcome, dear raven, oh! how glad I am that thou art back again."

Thank you," said the raven.

"How are things going on in England?" asked Oswald. "There is peace, and all things thrive well," answered the bird, "and there is no complaint in the whole land. But I must complain sorely, both of butler and cook, my lord, because since thy departure they have given me neither meat nor drink, for they thought thou wouldst not return. Alas! what I have suffered! How the dogs have pulled me about and torn my shining plumage, and how the pigs grunted at me when I attempted to take a bit of food! When thou goest back, my lord, cook and butler ought to be hung!"

Hush! my dear bird," said the king; "from this time forth thou shalt eat out of my own dish. I would like very much now to send thee to the king's daughter: art thou not too tired from thy long flight?"

I must have come by magic," said the raven, "for I do not know how I have come so quickly, and I have still strength enough and would rather die than not fulfil thy pleasure. Say, what can I tell her?"

The King said

66

that she now may advise me graciously how to get to her and release her."

The raven flew from the green meadow over the hill towards the castle, and with its sharp eyes perceived the damsel standing at a window close to a buttress. It hastened to her, and she took it quickly into her chamber. Her face glowed like Aurora, when she heard the king's message.

"Now fly speedily back again," she said, "and tell the king to leave his army in the mountains, and come in the night time with a hundred brave men in a vessel, and pitch a tent before the castle, and answer to the watchmen who may challenge them, that they are goldsmiths who travel through foreign countries. My father will most likely receive him well, and opportunity may arrive sooner or later that the king may bring me to his God and to his castle." When the king heard this he was very unhappy.

"Neither hammer nor file have we," he exclaimed, "nor have I brought any goldsmiths."

we

"Gracious king," said some of the soldiers who heard him, have twelve men here in the camp quite expert in working gold and silver, and making jewels out of it; do not grieve for not having brought thy jewellers. They have all their tools with them."

The king was very glad to hear this; and when night had come, and the shining stars were reflected in the sea, he took the twelve goldsmiths, and a hundred bold men besides, and went in a strong rowing boat, and steered for the fortress, where they put up a tent and went into it; the goldsmiths also put up their workshops.

The next morning they worked merrily with hammer, tongs, and bellows. The watchman who heard it informed King Harun, saying

"These are people who have evil designs upon my lord's life and castle."

66

Up! and arm yourselves, the enemy is before the gates." The pagans all jumped up from their couches, put on their helmets and fastened them, took shield, spear, and sword, and hastened before the castle.

The king's daughter, who heard this, left her chamber, and went to the king, saying—

"Dear father, these are not enemies, who live in the tent near the wall, but goldsmiths; for we saw the smoke rising, and heard the hammering and knocking on the anvils. Now, my damsels and I require some little golden rings and clasps, and a new crown would become King Harun exceedingly! But if these people are threatened and attacked, they surely will immediately go away again."

Thus she spoke, and begged her father, with sweet and coaxing words, to call back the men again into the castle, and order them to take off their armour and weapons. Five hundred men had then to put on costly garments, and accompany the king into the tents of the goldsmiths.

Oswald saw the procession, and went out to meet the King. Then Harun said—

"I see you are Christians, for you all wear golden crosses. Welcome here. I likewise see that you are knights. Tell me now the truth: did anybody send you here? "Nobody has sent us," answered Oswald, "that I can honestly assure you."

"You may remain here, then," said Harun, "and I will protect You shall have letters of safety for a year, and I will give you food from out of my fortress."

vou.

And he did the thing he had promised. The goldsmiths worked; King Oswald went to and from the wall; Harun and others sometimes came down from the fortress; but the king's daughter dared not venture out of the gates; on the contrary, the king caused her to be still more carefully guarded, so that Oswald began to be impatient and troubled in his mind; for day after day passed away without his coming any nearer to the accomplishment of his purpose.

Now it happened that the king had a strange dream. He awoke soon after, and called all his men together, even the goldsmiths, and said

"Make quickly golden claws, golden antlers, and a golden cover for my stag. When all is ready we will lead the bedecked animal to the moat; King Harun is sure to come with his men to hunt it, and, perhaps, in that bustle, it is possible we may win the royal damsel."

After seven days all was ready. On the morning of the eighth, Oswald led the gold-adorned stag with a silken cord into the moat, left it there, and returned to the goldsmiths in the tent. The watchman saw the stag, and reported this wonderful thing to King Harun.

"It is hollow, and the wind drives it along; surely the goldsmiths have made this artificial animal. Up for a chase, my men! we will soon catch it."

THE STORY OF A GOVERNESS. Continued from page 244.

MAY 16TH.

"I do not feel well; come, put on my mantle and crown, and take my place here while I go to my chamber. When the sickness is over I shall return."

The damsel did as Pamiga desired her, and took the place her royal mistress had occupied. Pamiga, in the meantime, went down with three of her maidens to her chamber, where they all took off their robes, and dressed themselves like young men. Girding on their swords, they went to the gate, but finding it strongly bolted, Pamiga ordered it to be opened immediately, which being done, the women passed through, and bent their way towards Oswald's tent. The raven, seeing them approach, told the king the good news. The king hastened to meet them, and clasped rhe princess to his heart (for he knew her from her wearing a gold frontlet), spoke affectionate words to her, and conveyed her and her maidens quickly into his vessel. The anchor was weighed, the oars put in motion, and, swift as an arrow, the boats cut through the waters, and arrived soon at the meadow where the king's army was encamped.

Here it was made known in a short time that the king had won his royal bride, and when the joyful command, "Up! up! For England and home!" resounded through the camp, all hurried to the boats. In a few hours they had embarked, and the vessels glided towards their native shores, while rowers, knights, and squires sang merrily as they went.

(To be continued.)

MORNING.

BY BISHOP HEBER.

THE God of mercy walks his round
From day to day, from year to year,
And warns us each, with awful sound,-
"No longer stand ye idle here."

Ye, whose young cheeks are rosy bright,

Whose hands are strong, whose hearts are clear, Waste not of youth the morning light, Oh, fools! why stand ye idle here? And ye whose scanty locks of grey Foretell your latest travail near, How fast declines your useless day,And stand ye yet so idle here?" One hour remains, there is but one, But many a grief and many a tear Through endless ages must atone

For moments lost and wasted here.

THREE FRIENDS.

TRUST no friend in what thou hast not tried him; at the festive board there are more of them than at the prison door.

A man had three friends; two of them he loved much, he was indifferent to the third, although he was most sincerely disposed towards him. He was once summoned before the judge, where he was, though innocent, severely accused.

"Who among you," said he, "will go with me and give evidence in my behalf? For I have been hardly accused, and the king is angry."

The first of his friends excused himself immediately, that, on account of other business, he could not go with him. The second accompanied him to the door of the hall of justice; there he turned round, and went back through fear of the angry judge. The third, on whom he had least depended, went in, spoke for him, and testified so cheerfully to his innocence, that the judge dismissed and recompensed him.

Man has three friends in this world. How do they behave in the hour of death, when God calls him to judgment? The gold, his best friend, leaves him first, and does not go with him. His relations and friends attend him to the gate of the grave, and return to their houses. The third, whom in life he mostly forgot, are his good works. They alone attend him to the throne of the Judge; they precede him, plead for him, and find mercy and grace.

has arrived.

and he appeared particularly well satisfied to find his daughter He knew nothing of what had happened beside what we told him, restored to health without having had to endure the fearful anxiety attendant upon her long struggle for life.

Dr. Leverett was right. What his lordship most dreads is agitathe long expectation of one. tion and uncertainty. To him a present misfortune is preferable to He is evidently pleased with me for having spared him useless anxiety. He gave me to understand so, as plainly as he could. of her former reserve; still, she has not forgotten the care I have As for Lady Clara, with restored health she has resumed a portion taken of her. She allows me to divine her gratitude by certain attentions which are not natural to her. I find her more submissive

and anxious to please.

are established between us that nothing can sever. Moreover, whatever she may be hereafter, I feel that certain ties The knot was formed only on my part, and I shall keep it always tight. Lady Clara is for me no longer a trial, she is an affection; her gratitude renders me happy, but it is not indispensable to me. I love her without hope of recompense, because she has need of me, because I feel the power of doing her good. I love her in order to be beloved. It has become easy to me. nothing can separate or wean me, one to whom I can devote myself She is to me like a daughter from which without thinking about it.

The doctor and I, since we devoted ourselves together to Lady Clara, have lived upon a more cordial footing. I have become accustomed to his medical freedoms, he accepts my defects, and now there is nothing to disturb our relations.

Dr. Leverett was particularly well pleased with me during Lady Clara's illness. He also led me to confide all my former troubles to him, as to an old friend. He appears to understand them, and in spite of all my assertions that everything appeared changed in my eyes, and that I now accept my position patiently, he still shakes his head when he sees me acting as governess, and I hear his hems! hems! which disturbed me so at one time. He arrived yesterday just as we quitted the dinner-table. He brought to his lordship a volume of natural history, and while father and daughter were looking at the coloured plates, he took me into the garden, and led the way to the old summer-house, where we seated ourselves. The doctor coughed, as he always does when he is embarrassed or dissatisfied. At length he said

"My dear young lady, since you have made me your confidant, I have thought of you at least once a day. The burden you bear here is too heavy for your shoulders, so I have sought an easier task for you, and I believe I have found one."

I could not repress a cry of surprise. I wished to interrupt him. "Wait," he said, placing his hand on my arm, "until you have heard all I have to say. Here you have not a moment you can call your own. The situation I have in view for you will give you several hours leisure a day; here his lordship throws all the responsibility on you; at the Countess of Dulverton's you will have no responsibility at all."

Then he gave me a long account of the situation offered to me. The countess is a widow, who wishes to obtain for her daughter a companion some years her senior, to assist and encourage her in her studies. She requires fewer hours of work than of leisure. What is required of me is an obliging and equable temper. Besides, the doctor says I need have no fears for my dignity. The countess is a lady with a kind heart and charming manners, who receives a service as though it were a favour bestowed upon her. He said many other things which flattered my most cherished projects, such as a long tour in perspective, the society of many men of renown, and all the pleasures of high society. For a moment I was quite dazzled; I asked for a few moments to reflect; the doctor took out his watch two or three times, and coughed.

I must have your answer at once," he said; "I shall come back in a quarter of an hour."

Making me a bow, he went away.

Compelled to make a choice, I folded my arms across my breast, to stifle its beatings. I drove away the fascinating pictures that surrounded me, and beckoned me away; then, collecting my thoughts, I took the matter into careful deliberation.

First, Prudence lifted up her voice, saying, "Take care." When appearances are so seductive, what is seen should make us dread