could not cure it by any skill which they possessed. The day and the hour was now arrived, when he was to set out on his way to old Baptista's; and as he passed under the lattice of my chamber, with a brave retinue of horsmen, chiefly his friends and kinsmen, with some few followers of his house, I could not, though my eyes were dim with tears at the sight, refrain from witnessing his departure-although I felt that with him went all that was dear to me in love, and pleasant in life. As his horse curvetted restlessly under my window, Guido looked up, and reining in the impatient steed, he lifted his cap from his head, and let loose to the winds his curled redundance of raven-shining hair: then gracefully bending in his saddle, and kissing his hand to me, he passed on, followed by the blessings of the poor, to whom he was ever charitable, and by the admiration of the wealthy, who saw in him the hope and example of his country. I watched his retiring as a Persian follows the sun's, till I could no longer descry any thing in the distance but the circling horizon; and throwing myself on a couch, vainly endeavoured to turn the tempest of passion to patient prayers for his happiness.

Thus, by nourishing resignation to the will of Heaven, my soul gradually softened into composure, though sadness would often force her due of tears; and the blesssd Mother heard my prayers, and comforted me: and rest for awhile came back to my bed; but it was not long that it abode there. Religion could not render me patient under suffering, nor administer comfort where there was no hope, Again I summoned the votaries of pleasure to my halls; but their hollow vanities were now hateful, and the happiness they pretended to bestow made me the more conscious of that which I had lost. Weary of all that was once pleasant to me, I resolved in an evil hour to follow de Medicis-preferring rather to see the happiness of one who had rendered me most wretched, than not again to behold him. Summoning my chamberlain. I informed him that sudden business demanded my presence in Florence; but that my departure must be secret and my absence equally so.

Ere the early lark had rustled wakefully in his nest I was in the saddle; and, followed by a trusty servant, hurried my way to the bright city, where I soon discovered the house of old Baptista, and going up to it, I was seen by the gentle Guido, who, coming out to meet me, hospitably welcomed me. I feigned that the business of my foundation for the arts had brought me thither, so that my intent was unsuspected, and I was once more in sight of him who had robbed me of happiness never more to be restored.

Bianca Buonaventi was indeed a woman worthy of a sculptor's love; for all those beauties which Art has imitated from Nature were mingled in her. In her form were blended all that I had till then thought the idealities of Grecian grace and Roman majesty: in motion, she was stately as the swan; and swam the air, rather than walked the earth. Her step was an inaudible music; her voice sweeter than the recollected music of a dream. Her mind was a book of pure and wise thoughts, written surely by some hand divine. Her countenance such as angels wear-and they were made fair that man might love Heaven, where all is beautiful. Love shone in her eyes, but with so holy and placid a fire,-two sister stars burning in the winter heaven beam not a

chaster light wherever they turned, all eyes were illuminated, and whatever she looked upon reflected back the beauty she turned upon it. Indeed, in all those fair and admirable qualities which make woman worthy of that paragon of earthly creatures-man,—she was perfection. That Guido should love the gentle girl was no longer wonderful; for I even loved him the more that he did love her, so endearing a power hath beauty in its purity.

As every hour developed her exceeding worth, and disclosed to me some new loveliness which I had not before discerned, the selfishness which would have made me the serpent to destroy the happiness of this second Eden, became poisonless and innocent-pride melted to pity, and pity to love; and I then religiously resolved to turn the bitterness of my passion into a sister's love for her. This resolution gave a happiness to my heart which was new to it, and for a while I kept true to this holy purpose.

On the morrow following, they were to be married,— womanliness to manliness-beauty to love-grace to genius. That morrow came-I attended the solemn rite-saw two hearts made earthly one and indivisible, and heavenly happy; and though my human heart shed some natural tears, I wrestled with the dying strugglings of passion with more than woman's fortitude. Never was Florence, that gay city, happier than on that day; for never did so many hearts breathe their benedictions on two happy beings, or more fervently invoke heaven for the welfare of the pride of Italy and the flower of Florence.

Guido, in this happy hour seemed as if rapt in a poet's extasy, and trod the earth as lightly as an alighting angel, still up-buoyed by his open though motionless wing. He seemed indeed too ethereal for an earthly being whilst she, shrinking with a maidenly diffidence from the admiring glances of the crowd, gave only now and then a look of fondness and pride at the lord of her choice; and so trod her gentle way from the church, followed by the silent blessings of her friends, and the loud benedictions of old and young-of Florentine and foreigner. The gay procession then took horse, and, passing out of the city, journeyed on through the countray, till it came to Campanelle, on the silvery shore of the Mediterranean, where lay anchored a goodly vessel, which was to waft the lovers, with some few friends, over sea to Syracuse. There, at a villa, pleasant for a fair prospect, and rich for its productiveness, lying as it did among purple vineyards on a hill, at whose foot ran the clear blue sea, they were to wile away the summer hours of love.

---

Going safely on board the goodly ship, we bent sail before an easy breeze from the shore, and stood out for the strait of Messina, through which we had to pass ere the lovers could reach the happy nuptial haven.

It was evening ere we had cleared the pleasant shore of Tuscany, and the sun as it set seemed flushed with a troubled red which threatened a storm; but as a storm in that sea is seldom fatal, the helmsman was commanded to stand still farther out, and so get room to run before it, if it came on as severely as was dreaded. Being put about, the gay bark danced over the waves trimly and gallantly. And so for some time she sped; but suddenly the wind, from breathing regularly and gently as a sleeping child, held its breath like a heart in terror, as if nature had suffered some sudden panse

into its continual activity: and the ship, who was cutting her rapid way through the surfy waves, with all her sails full to straining, dropped, as it were, out of the hands of the wind, and fell heavily, and almost without motion, into the lap of the sea, the white sails flapping feebly and emptily in the recoiling air. A faint cry of surprise from the crew told too plainly that all was not well. Old Baptista and the master-mariner looked troublously at each other, and, blessing the vessel from harm, gave their orders secretly to the men. The clouds which had followed the sun in his descent looked fiery-red; whilst others, that seemed fixed by their own density, poured a darkness blacker than night upon our path. For an hour the breathless ship lay becalmed; but at last the wind stirred again, but weakly and howled among the cordage its shrill notes,—a preluding strain, prophesying too fatally the terrors of the tempest which was fast coming on; the sails flapped a moment, and then dropped loosely down, and babbled idly with the dying breeze.

deck and mingled with the washing waves, so that it was not easy to say whether the water was not lightning, or the lightning water, for they appeared one. The crazy vessel now dipped down, and now heaved to this side, and now to the other, like a toy in the hands of the mighty tempest. The master gave command, seeing that the sea broke with every rush over the ship, that those who feared the peril should go below; but not one of all the trembling throng stirred from where they held by the ship,-for all saw the worst, and none thought it possible to escape from it. Bianca clung in silent horror to her husband, who strove to comfort her, and bid her take heart. The old man covered his grey head with the foldings of his cloak; and, as he sat motionless and wordless, seemed the very resignation of despair. The crew were alternately on their knees, or starting up fresh-couraged to do the best they could for the groaning ship; but all availed not. The hand of man could not guide her through such a sea; and the master would have quitted the helm, had it not been something to hold by, as the waves swept fiercely over the deck, carrying away whatever thing, animate or inanimate, was "loose or infirm. The rudder having been some time powerless, it was not easy to know Iwhither the vessel had driven. She had drifted before the wind; but the master knew not whether we were off the shore of Sicily or of Calabria: it was certain that we were not far from land; for, in the pauses of the bellowing wind, we might sometimes hear the sound of a convent-bell rung by the good religious of that pious sanctuary, to warn the darkling mariner of his nearness to the rocks off the land. But when the wind got up again, it blew the guiding sound back upon the shore, and left us without hope or help. Whilst we were despairing of the worst, it came; for, on the sudden, the reeling ship struck violently on a reef of rocks, and a loud cry from the crew, succeeded by a louder shriek from the women, proclaimed, with horrid voice, that all was lost.

The night was now dark to blindness, and there was no friendly light either of moon or star. The red clouds, that till then had caught the day's last lingering ray, gradually grew black as the pall of death; and the wide horizon dark as the dome where Death holds his court. But soon the rapid lightning began to cut through the clouds, and made the darkness more dark, when it had flickered past, from its momentary excess of light. And now, in the distance, might be heard the surly threatening of the thunder. The wind began to blow gustily; the lightning flashed wider and more vividly; and once the ship seemed to tremble through its very frame under a thunder-burst, that sounded, to our startled ears, as if it had exploded against the cap of her creaking mast of pine. The lovers, who till then had heeded only each other, for a moment looked aghast, and muttered their prayers to St. Lucy, the virgin martyr of Syracuse, to waft them safely thither. The master was pale, as if he saw what must happen, before it had approached; the mariners crossed themselves, and committed their souls to the care of the holy saints. Again the lightning washed over the deck, as it were a whiter and more silvery water than earth contains, flowing down in a flood from heaven; and no eye could bear to look on it longer than a moment. The helmsman dropped the wheel from his hands, that he might cover his face with them; the mariners turned away their faces from the blinding flashes, and the lovers hid their's in each other's bosom. The thunder now seemed

to shake even the very heavens under which it rolled;
the riotous sea, as though awed by its tremendous power,
hushed its appalling roar, and for a moment lay still
and level as a lake between two wind-outshutting hills.
In the next, it rolled with terrible rushes along its way,
apparently without the compulsive power of the winds.
But soon they came-feebly at first, but gathering a
savage strength
as they advanced.

The frail vessel, which had lain on the waters like a log, strained under their strong stirring, and creaked as severing. High wave followed high

if its ribs

were

wave, as if they were indeed not waves, but mountains sliding off the face of the earth into the sea of spacewhen, rolling some way over the common level of the waters, they fell with a crushing noise into the bed of the sea. At length all the fury of the tempest seemed gathered; and again the ligh'ning glanced along the

The shock of her striking was so powerful, that the fearful, who were clinging together to help one another, were torn from each other's grasp as by a stronger grasp, and thrown separately to different parts of the deck; and the storm at that moment gave a hideous howl, as if it triumphed in its strength The gallant Guido, though flung from his seat upon his face, fell with the fainting Bianca in his arms; but getting instantly on his feet again, shouted with a resolute voice, that put courage even into the hearts of the despairing mariners, Fear nothing! God is the guide of the good; He will save us yet! And the master at that moment shouted too, but fearfully and shrilly, as if he shrieked, 'She is off again, unharmed! Fear not, fear not! our heavenly mother Mary, and the good saints, are about us!' Then all on board crossed themselves on brow and breast, and muttered inwardly their prayers to Heaven. it was true that she had endured but little hurt, and, with the recoiling rush of the waves, was thrown afloat again; but ere the master could leap to helm, to put her farther out, a strong sea came driving before the wind, which now blew as it would part the poles, and again flung her, as if she were no mightier than a sea-shell, upon the sharp rocks. She broke at the blow like parted bread, the stern-half of her huge bulk tumbling over into the sea, while the head of the vessel lay reeling on the rock. Then the shriek of dismay and death went

up from men that were never more to call on Heaven; for many of the crew were crowded about the helm, and, when it parted, went down with her, never again to rise with life. The venerable Baptista, Guido, his fair wife, and my wretched self, still clung to the chains at the bow; but not long held we there, for a strong wave came mounting at our backs, and in a moment we were hurled with the halved vessel down from the reef into the gaping abyssmal depth it had left in the sea. Again the fragment mounted to the surface-sea, and we had all held to each other and to the ropes which were coiled round our bodies, save the feeble Bianca, who had sunk out of the grasp of her husband, but, being entangled in the coil of the ropes, was not swept into the sea. We might hear another wave coming with a rushing roar towards us, as it had determined we should be its prey; when Guido, seeing, with the calmness of courage, that, if we awaited it, our escape was hopeless, cried out, Father, take thou the care of the Lady Erminia, as I will of thy daughter, and let us at once leap beyond the reef into the sea, and struggle for the land.'

And now now shrink not as from the serpent-fiend, to hear me tell the story of that crime which has cursed me here, and may hereafter. After these words, he again cried out, Bianca, my beloved, where art thou?' The fatal love which had fed upon me like a flame upon a living sacrifice, even in this awful hour burnt sensibly in my hateful heart; and, prompted by that miserable passion, and the love of him and of life, some fiend answerd surely with my tongue, Here!'—and he caught at me as a desperate drowner doth a floating weed, and leaping into the sea, cried to the old man, Follow me, father, follow!' But he heard him not; for I saw that he was dead, and had fallen on his swooned child, who, as we leaped into the sea, shrieked out, and audibly informed me that she still lived, though my struggling soul would fain have quieted its conscience with the thought that she was dead, and so have palliated to itself, if it failed afterwards to Guido and to Heaven, its damnable deceit. Guido heard not her cry, or if he did, took it, in the stunning turbulence of the tempest's roar, for mine. For a long time he buffeted the waves with a giant's strength, and a courage that could not be weakened; and still as he beat the wawes aside, or breasted them like a living rock, he cried, 'Be of good cheer, my Bianca, I shall save thee yet! And when I heard him call on her name, my heart smote so fearfully within me, that, though I was sure of death if I had disclosed that I was Erminia, I thrice had nearly confessed the dreadful truth; but my love of life, and cruel love of him, stifled my voice. Twice I saw, in the glaring flash of the lightning, that he gazed upon me, to see if I had life; for the fear of disclosure, and the peril of the waters, made me voiceless and strengthless, and I lay almost lifeless in his clasping arm, as he struck through the waves with the other. He looked on me again, but the waters had washed my long hair over my face, so that he knew me not; and still he clasped me to him tenderly, and beat his burdened way through the sea. Long time thus he contended resolutely with death, when, just as his strength was spent, and he had bade me commit my soul to Heaven, he descried lights not far before us, and faintly told me still to hope, for we were near land. This nerved him anew, and he plied his way lustily, till at length we touched the rocky

shore, where, summoning a desperate man's might, he clambered up the low craggy cliffs, and feeling the firm earth under him, dropped to the ground, from utter exhaustion. For some time I knew not what occurred, for safety then seemed more dreadful to me than the dangers I had passed through, and I swooned. When I recovered, I found Guido endeavouring to bring life back, by cherishing me in his bosom. And ever and anon he would call for help, as strongly as he might, to the distant fishermen's cottages, where he had first discerned the light which led him to the shore.

At length we descried a light approaching the spot where we lay, still on the ground, and could hear the loud halloo of the comers; and after some time, guided by his continual cry, a fisherman came up with a torch. As it neared us, I shrank from it like a foul and guilty thing that loves darkness rather than day, but in vain; for Guido's anxious eye looked at last on my face as the light fell on it, when, uttering a dreadful shriek of dismay and despair, he dropped me from his arms, and, starting from the ground like one made instantly mad by some sudden stroke upon the brain, he rushed, staggering and strengthless, but wildly, to the cliff. I clung to him heavily, to prevent him from again leaping into the sea but I dared not speak to him, save by feeble, inarticulate cries. He glanced at me a look which withered me, and shaking me like a serpent to the earth, with a terrible cry, flung himself from the cliff into the I beheld him beating his way back to the wreck, as the lightning momentarily flashed from the firmament; and, at length, I saw him grasp at some white burden on the waters, and again turn for the shore, but suddenly his right arm ceased to strike out; and though

sea.

Within these peaceful and holy walls years have since passed over me. But the thought of that dreadful hour, and of the still more dreadful guilt which it brought upon my soul, is ever present to my mind. The images of Guido and his murdered bride rise between me and devotion. My wealth has been given to the pious uses of this convent, and my penance and prayers are proportioned to my great guilt. But the calming and restoring influence even of religion cannot wholly lull the troubled agony of a memory like mine. Still, in the trust of God and the holy saints, I look with joyful hope to the term of all human suffering :-Oh! if the intensity of earthly agony can extenuate and atone for earthly guilt then even I may dare to look with confidence towards Heaven!

The all she was, when first in life's young spring,
Like the gay bee-bird on delighted wing,
She stooped to cull the honey from each flower
That bares its breast in joy's luxuriant bower!
O es her pure forehead, pale as moonlit snow,
Her ebon locks are parted,—and her brow

Stands forth like morning from the shades of night,
Serene, though clouds hang over it. The bright
And searching glance of her Ithariel eye,
Might even the sternest hypocrite defy
To meet it unappalled ;-'twould almost seem,
As though, epitomized in one deep beam,
Her full collected soul upon the heart,
Whate'er its mask, she strove at once to dart;
And few may brave the talisman that's hid
'Neath the dark fiinges of her drooping lid.

Patient in suffering, she has learned the art
To bleed in silence and conceal the smart,

And thence, though quick of feeling, bath been deemed
Almost as cold and loveless as she seemed;
Because to fools she never would reveal

Wounds they would-probe-without the power to heal.
No, whatso'er the visions that disturb

The fountain of her thoughts, she knows to curb
Each outward sign of sorrow, and suppress-
Even to a sigh-all tokens of distress.
Yet some, perhaps, with keener vision than
The crowd, that pass her by unnoted, can,
Through well dissembled smiles, at times, discern
A settled anguish that would seem to burn
The very brain it feeds upon; and when
This mood of pain is on her, then, oh! then,
A more than wonted paleness of the cheek,-
And, it may be, a flitting hectic streak,-
A tremulous motion of the lip or eye,-
Are all that anxious friendship may descry,

Reserve and womanly pride are in her look, Though tempered into meekness: she can brook Unkinduess and neglect from those she loves, Because she feels it undeserved; which proves, That firm and conscious rectitude hath power To blunt Fate's darts in sorrow's darkest hour. Ay, unprovoked, injustice she can bear Without a sigh-almost without a tear, Save such as hearts internally will weep, And they ne'er rise the burning lids to steep; But to those petty wrongs which half defy Human forbearance, she can make reply With a prond lip, and a contemptuons eye.

There is a speaking sadness in her air, A bue of languor o'er her features fair, Born of no common grief; as though Despair Had wrestled with her spirit-been o'erthrown,— And these the trophies of the strife alone. A resignation of the will, a calm Deriv'd from pure religion (that sweet balm For wounded breasts) is seated on her brow, And ever to the tempest bends she now, Even as a drooping lily, which the wind Sways as it lists. The sweet affections bind Her sympathies to earth; her peaceful soul Has long aspired to that immortal goal. Where pain and anguish cease to be our lot, And the world's cares and frailities are forgot!

OF ONE THAT WENT FORTH TO LEARN TO BE AFRAID.

There was an old man who had two sons, the elder of whom was a sharp, clever lad, able to help himself, but the younger one was a silly youth, who could not learn or understand any thing; and the people, when they spoke of him, would shake their heads and say, he would give his poor father a great deal of trouble. So that when there was any thing to do, the elder one was al

ways called upon-but if his father sent him to fetch any thing late at night, and the road lay by the churchyard, or any other dismal place, he would say, "Oh, father, I'm afraid!" But the young one had no feelings of this sort, so that when they used to sit round the fire of an evening, telling stories that made their blood run cold, and one said, "Oh! I'm frightened," and another, "Oh, it frightens me so," he used to say, "I'm frightened,-what does that mean? It must be something clever. I should like to learn to be frightened."

Now it happened that his father said to him one day, "You, Sir, sitting there in the corner, you are getting a great strong fellow, and ought to get your own living. Your brother works hard enough; but you don't earn salt to your porridge." "Well, father," said he, “I should like to learn to be afraid, for I don't at all understand it." His brother laughed when he heard this, althoug he was shocked to think that his brother was an idiot: but his father sighed: "Well, you shall soon learn to be afraid, but I don't think you will earn much by knowing it."

Soon after this, the sexton of the village called upon the old man, who told him all his troubles, and what anxiety he felt about his son, who was so clumsy and ignorant, that he could not learn any thing to get his own living. "Only think!" said he, "when I asked what he wished to learn to earn his bread by, he said, he should like very much to learn to be afraid." "Well," said the sexton, "send him to me for awhile, and I'll soon teach him that." The father was pleased enough when he heard this, and soon dispatched him to the sexton, who employed him to toll the bell.

After he had been with him a couple of days, the old sexton woke him at midnight, and bade him go to the belfry and toll the bell-" You will soon learn, my fine fellow, what it is to be afraid!" and, as soon as he saw the young lad preparing to do as he was told, he slipped out by another door, and placed himself in the belfry, in hopes the youth would think it a ghost.

Accordingly, when the young man came to the church tower, he saw a figure standing in the corner. "Who's there? cried he; but the figure never moved. Then he continued—“Who are you? what do you want here at this time of night?—if you don't answer me, I'll pitch you down headlong." But the sexton thought he would certainly not have sufficient courage to attempt such a thing; so he kept perfectly quiet. Then the young man called out for the third time, but as he still got no answer, he laid hold of the ghost, pitched him out, and broke his neck: and when he had done so, tolled the bell, as he had been ordered, and then went home and went to bed, without saying a word to anybody.

The sexton's wife watched for her husband for a long time, and at last began to feel anxious that he did not return. She awoke the lad and said, "Do you know where my good man is staying all this time? He went out to the belfry, and has not yet returned." "No," said the boy-"but there was somebody standing there in a corner who would not answer me when I called out, so I pitched him into the churchyard-you can go and see whether it is he or not." The woman ran in a great fright to the churchyard, and there she found her husband lying dead upon the ground.

Then she ran screaming to the boy's father, and cried-"Your good-for-nothing son has thrown my poor husband from the church tower into the churchyard, and

broke his neck." The father was shocked to hear it, and scolded the boy for his folly; but his talking was all thrown away upon him. "Why," said the boy,"it's no fault of mine; he stood there in a corner as if he was no good, and I did not know who it was. I called out to him three times. Why didn't he go his way?" "Ah cried his father, "you were born to disgrace me, get away about your business; I'll have nothing more to do with you." "Well, father, just as you please; only wait till it is daylight, and then I'll start, and learn to be afraid, so that I may know a trade that will support me." Learn what you like," said his father, "it is all one to me; here are fifty dollars-go your ways, and tell no man who you are, or who your father is for I am ashamed of you."-"Well, father, just a you please."

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At day-break, accordingly, up he got, put his fifty dollars into his pocket, and set off on his journey, crying, as he went along-"Oh, that I could learn to be afraid!" And as he journeyed on, a man who was passing heard his cry, and when they had got on a little farther, seeing a gibbet by the road side, said to the lad, Do you see yonder tree, where those seven fellows have been marrying the ropemaker's daughter-sit down under it till midnight, and you'll soon know what it is to be afraid." "Indeed," said he: "well, I can easily do that-and if I really learn to be afraid, I'll e'en give you my fifty dollars, if you only meet me here again, early to-morrow morning."

No sooner had he said this, than he took his station under the gibbet, and there watched till nightfall; and, as the evening was very cold, he lighted himself a fire: but at midnight the wind blew so heavily, that, in spite of the fire, he could not keep himself warm. The wind, too, drove the dead men one against another, and as they swung backwards and forwards over his head, he said to himself, "here am I shivering, who am close to the fire-those poor fellows up there may well tremble and shake;" and, being a very good-natured fellow, he must needs take the ladder, go up, and cut down, one after another, the whole seven of them. Then he stirred up the fire, blew it, and placed them in a circle round it, that they might get themselves warm. And there they sat, and never moved, although the fire scorched their clothes. At last he said to them, "If you don't behave yourselves properly, I shall take and hang you up again." But the gallows-birds never heard him, so they never stirred an inch, but let their old rags burn away. This made him angry, so he said, “If you will not take care of you selves, I cant't help you, but I don't intend to burn myself with you;" and then he strung them up again upon the gibbet.

And as soon as he had done this, he sat himself down by the fire, and slept till morning, when the man came for the fifty dollars that he had promised him. "Now," said he, "you know what is to be afraid, don't you?" "No," said the boy, "how should I?—those fellows up there have never opened their mouths, and are such a pack of blockheads, that they let the fire scorch the very rags that they have got on. Then the man saw directly that he should not get the fifty dollars, and as he turned away, he said to himself, "Well, I never met with such a fellow before in my life."

Then the lad continued his journey, and, as before, kept crying, "Oh, that I could be frightened—Oh, that I could learn to be afraid!" Presently a wagonner over

was.

took him, and hearing what he said, asked him who he "I don't know," said the boy. "Where do you come from?" said the waggoner, "I don't know," continued the boy. "Who is your father." "I mustn't say," was the reply. "What is this that you are harping upon?" Why, I want to be frightened, and can't get any body to show me how." "Don't talk such a pack of nonsense," said the waggoner, "only come with me, I'll soon manage that for you-" So the lad went with him, and when it was evening, they entered a hostelry, where they were to pass the night; and as they went into the house, the boy set up his usual cry, "Oh, that I could learn to be afraid!" When the landlord heard this, he laughed, and said, if that was all he wanted he should soon be accommodated. But his wife interfered and said, so many had already perished in trying to do what the landlord was talking of, that it would be a shame and a sin to let such a good-looking lad never see daylight again. But the lad said "Let it be ever so hard, I shall be glad to learn it-I left home on purpose to do so," and he would not let mine host rest, until such time as he told him of an enchanted castle in the neighbourhood, wherein any one who watched for three nights, would very soon learn to be frightened. He told him, besides, that the king had promised that whosoever should spend three nights in that castle, should marry his daughter, who was the most beautiful princess on whom the sun ever shone: for that the castle was filled with treasures guarded by ghosts, and which could only be obtained by him who staid there for three whole nights. Many had entered the castle, but none had yet come out of it again. All this did not intimidate the lad, who went next morning to the king, and said that, if his majesty would permit him, he should like to keep watch in the enchanted castle for three nights. The king was pleased with the offer, and granted his request; and said, besides, that he would let him take with him into the castle any three things he pleased, that had not life. So the boy asked for a fire, a turning-lathe, and a wood-carver's table and knife.

The king accordingly gave orders, that the things that he required should be sent into the castle, and when night came, the lad went into the castle, lighted a blazing fire in one of the apartments, placed the carver's table by his side, and seated himself on the lathe. “Ah,” cried he, "I wish I could be frightened; but there seems `but little chance of that here." At midnight, however, just as he was making up his fire afresh, he heard some cats in one corner of the room, mewing and crying, How cold it is, how cold it is!" "Well, you fools," said he, "why do you stand crying there; if you are cold, why don't you come to the fire and warm yourselves?" Scarcely had he said the word, before two tremendously large black cats sprang from their hidingplace, seated themselves by his side, and glowered upon him with their fiery eyes. After some little time, when they had thorougly warmed themselves, they asked him if he would have a game at cards. "With all my heart,” said the boy, "but I must first look at your paws:" so they stretched out their claws that he might see them. Ah, your nails are a great deal too long; I must first trim them a bit." So saying, he seized the cats by the neck, took them to the carver's table, and screwed them fast by their feet. "Since I saw your ugly paws,' said he, "I have no longer felt inclined to play cards with you I can dispense with your company;" accord

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