in return they were possessed of almost incalculable treasures, a portion of which the Count was not slow in turning into money. From morning till evening the castle was frequented by merchants belonging for the most part to the tribe of Levi, who came to admire and buy the precious gems. With what they gave for them the Count repurchased all the towns and lands and castles which had of old belonged to him, and then quitted his present dilapidated abode, in order to establish himself anew in a princely mansion in the centre of his estate. He did not, however, this time launch out into quite so much extravagance as he had formerly done, for he did not blind himself to the fact that he had now no more daughters remaining, and that consequently if he should this time dissipate his fortune he would have no means of re-establishing it. The Count was happy in being thus again able to indulge himself with every luxury, but as for the Countess, for a long time she preserved the hope of one day seeing again her youngest daughter and her rich husband, and every time that a strange arrival was announced, trusted to find in the new comer her lost son-in-law. Her hopes, however, were of course always deceived; but she persisted in entertaining them still to such an extent as to occasion the Count one day to put an end to them for ever by informing her that her so-much-expected son-in-law was in reality an abominable monster of a fish.

"Alas!" then sighed the Countess, "what an unfortunate mother I am! was I only given those three beautiful daughters, fairer than any others in all the Fatherland, that I might be condemned to see them become the wives of ferocious monsters? Oh! to the heart of a mother who has lost her children, what are all the treasures in the world?"

"Dear Countess," replied her husband, "pray take courage; no power could have prevented the past being as it has been, cruel as it indeed has been for us. Therefore, since nothing could have changed, or can change, our destiny, why should we not be resigned to it?"

But the Countess, who was not one of those who can be consoled by words merely, continued grieving, and frequently called upon Death to end her sorrows. But in her case it was with Death as with the Irish servant, the more he was called, the more he wouldn't come.

CHAPTER II.

ALL the ladies of honour and other great personages who surrounded the Countess deeply sympathised with her in her distress, sometimes weeping with her, and sometimes endeavouring to distract her by means of songs and music. They all were, moreover, prodigal of

the sagest counsels, but nothing could console the poor mother, or cause her to dry her tears and be calm. At last, however, one of them said to her, "Noble lady, if you will deign to listen to me, I think I can point out to you, if not the means of entirely curing you, at any rate those of to a considerable extent healing the wounds of your heart."

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Speak, then, I entreat you," said the Countess.

"Well," pursued the other, " not far from here there dwells in a little cave a pious hermit, to whom numbers of pilgrims address themselves whenever they are afflicted either in mind or body, and he never yet was unable to afford help and consolation. May not his prayers, perhaps, be able to restore your peace also?"

The Countess did not think ill of this advice, and clothing herself in a pilgrim's weeds, repaired immediately to the cave of the hermit, to whom she made a handsome present, and of whom she craved the prayers and benediction. She received them; and so marvellous was the effect which they produced, that a year had scarcely passed ere all her griefs were ended,-were swallowed up in her joy at the birth of a son.

Greatly did the hearts of the two parents rejoice at this unhopedfor birth, and many were the fêtes which were given to the country people in its honour. The Count gave to his heir the name of Reynold, the "Child of Miracle."

The child was as handsome as a little Cupid, and as it grew up the greatest care was bestowed upon its education. It became robust in constitution, strong of limb, and bold of heart, and grew up its father's joy and the consolation of its mother, who loved it as the apple of her eye. Nevertheless, the thoughts of the mother often reverted to the three lost daughters, and many a time, as she smiled upon the little infant she held in her arms, a tear for their fate would trickle down her cheek. Nor had she ceased to sometimes weep for them by the time Reynold had become capable of wondering at her silent grief; and at last, on beholding her eyes dimmed with weeping, he inquired of her tenderly, " Mother, why do you grieve so?" but though he often afterwards repeated the question, the Countess was for a long time careful never to answer it, except evasively; for so far, though all the world knew that she had lost her daughters, no one besides herself and husband was acquainted with the true nature of their fate. Some people said that they had been carried off by knights errant, a thing of no unfrequent occurrence in those days; and others that they had been seen making part of the suite of the Queen of Burgundy. In the end, however, Reynold managed to obtain the secret from her, and to learn every known particular concerning the fate of his three sisters; and every word of the marvellous history was henceforth engraven on his heart, whilst solemn vows were registered in heaven, from the first moment of his becoming acquainted with it, to the effect that the moment he became

old enough to bear arms he would explore the enchanted forest in search of his sisters, and deliver all three from the prisons or the charm which held them captive.

Accordingly, immediately on his becoming an armed knight, Reynold demanded permission of his father to go and join the Flemish army, at least for a month; and the Count, glad to see so chivalrous a spirit so early developed in his son, freely granted it; and, after having provided him numerously with horses, arms, and servants, gave him his benediction, and suffered him to depart; his departure, however, costing his anxious mother-who feared to lose her son as she had lost her daughters-many a pang.

But the young knight had not fairly proceeded out of sight of his father's mansion ere he stopped short, and entirely changed the direction of his route, and instead of continuing his journey towards the quarters of the Flemish army, set out at full gallop, with a courage truly romantic, towards the castle which stood near the enchanted wood; arrived at which, he claimed the hospitality of the steward, who occupied it for his father, and who received him with the utmost respect, as in duty bound.

On the morrow, very early in the morning, whilst all the inhabitants of the castle were still plunged in sleep, Reynold rose, saddled his horse himself, and hastened, with all the excitement and enthusiasm of youth, in the direction of the enchanted wood. Having reached it, the further he penetrated into its gloomy precincts, the thicker and the darker it became. All around him was as silent as the tomb, and wore a solitary and out-of-the-world air, which, bold as he was, could not but in some degree fill him with awe. The gloomy silence which reigned throughout the wood was only broken by the footsteps of his horse, and the crackling of the branches that he brushed against in passing, but these footsteps were re-echoed now and then by the rocks which on one side bounded the forest, with a hollow dismalness which was truly startling.

After a time, the wood became so thick that further progress on horseback was impossible, and the young adventurer had therefore to dismount, and, leaving his steed at full liberty to do what it chose with itself, to cut his way with his sword. By these means he managed to proceed to a considerable distance further, now climbing over rocks immensely high, and now leaping boldly over the most horrible chasms, and now gliding down the most frightful precipices. In this way, after running many hazards and undergoing much fatigue, he in the end arrived at a tortuous valley, through which was meandering a beautiful little streamlet, following the course of which, he came at last to the entrance of a cavern scooped out of a rock, at some little distance from which opening he fancied he could distinguish a human figure. Upon this the audacious Reynold drew still nearer, and cutting away some branches which prevented his examining the scene with sufficient closeness, succeeded in discovering, seated upon the grass, a lady nursing a little villain of a

bear, and watching the gambols, which she seemed to take much pleasure in, of one or two others which were playing near. After all that his mother had told him concerning his eldest sister Walfild, he had no difficulty in recognising her in the personage thus employed, and, breaking down the branches which impeded his path, he hurried towards her with all the impetuosity in the world, intending to make himself known to her as her brother. But the moment the lady in question perceived the young knight's approach, suddenly throwing the little bear she held in her arms on to the grass, she hurried towards him, and exclaimed, "Oh, unfortunate young man! what evil destiny has conducted you into this forest? In this cave dwells a ferocious bear who devours every human being who enters it; so as you love your life, and would wish to save it, fly !"

"Fear not, gentle lady," replied Reynold, modestly; "I know this forest, and all you tell me of the bear, and am come to break the charm which holds you prisoner here!"

"Ah! insensate being that you are!" responded the lady; "who are you who talk of breaking the all-powerful charm, and what bring you with you with which to accomplish your object?"

"I bring this strong right arm, which will never fail me," answered the adventurous young knight, " and I am Reynold, surnamed the Child of Miracle, and son of the Count who was deprived of his three daughters by the monsters of this forest. Are you not Walfild, the eldest of my sisters ?"

These words greatly surprised the lady, who was really Walfild, to such an extent as to render her tongue for some time powerless, and she stood speechlessly gazing upon the handsome young knight before her. Reynold profited by this moment of stupor to prove his identity to his sister by the relation of some family details, which could not but convince Walfild that it was really a brother who was before her. She threw herself, when he had done so, upon his neck, and embraced him tenderly, her whole frame trembling, however, the while with fears for his safety.

Her next thought was how she could provide for his concealment, and she conducted her dear guest into the cavern, and sought some corner in which to hide him with security. In the large and gloomy chamber which the interior of the cavern constituted, there was placed at one end a large heap of moss, forming the bed of the bear and his cubs, and at the other a magnificent bed of Walfild's,-a bed which had golden posts and damask curtains, and drapery of the utmost possible richness. It was under this bed that Walfild hid her brother, recommending him to preserve the most absolute silence, and warning him of the danger he would run if the bear her husband even heard him breathe.

(To be continued.)

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BERTHA'S HARP.

BY WALTER WELDON.

ONE evening, the young musician Rodolph Arnheim, and Bertha, the fairest of the daughters of Mayence, found themselves alone with one another. They were betrothed, and yet were in expectation of being separated on the morrow; it being intended that Rodolph should then depart for a distant province to receive instructions from one of the ablest masters of the art he was devoted to. On his return, at the end of two years, Bertha's father was to resign to him his office of Chapel Master, and give him the hand of his daughter at the altar.

"Bertha," said Rodolph, "play once more that air you love so much. When we are separated we will each play our part in it at eventide, and though far from each other, we shall then be together in spirit-engaged at the same moment in the performance of the same act."

Bertha took her harp, and Rodolph accompanied her upon his flute, and thus they played several times the favourite air. This done, they embraced each other tearfully, and parted.

Rodolph and Bertha were both faithful to their promise. Every evening, just at the hour at which their parting interview had taken place, Rodolph took his flute, and Bertha her harp, and they each played the favourite air at the same moment. Thus playing, they each seemed to hear the tones of the other's instrument-they each felt as though listening to sweet whisperings of love.

In this way two years passed, and one evening at the end of them, Bertha found herself sitting with her father under the harbour in their little garden. This harbour was shaded by a cluster of acacias in full blossom, mingled with lilac and laburnum shrubs; and Bertha, as she nestled in its bosom, reminded you of a fairy enthroned within a palace built of flowers.

She watched the sun slowly descend towards the horizon, and just as its last limb was disappearing from her sight, arrived the moment consecrated to the sweet souvenirs of love. She took her harp and played the favourite air, and having finished, played it again and again.-Suddenly she stopped, as though to listen.

But all was still. Even the winds had ceased to stir the leaves. So she commenced the air again, but again stopped to listen. Was not that a flute which seemed to accompany her? It was, and it was Rodolph's-he had returned.

Two years afterwards there was born to Rodolph and Bertha a charming daughter, the cherished fruit of a union which the father of Bertha had blessed before dying. Rodolph had become Chapel Master in his place, and the salary attached to his office was more

N. S. VOL. XXXVIII.

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