"No, sir; it is perfectly true."

The old nurse now turned to go in, but Oscar hung back, listening to the nightingale, whose voice gave a mysterious life to the deep stillness around. He waited there looking at the weird light of the moon glistening coldly on the silvery stems of the birches, but at last reluctantly dragged himself away, remembering how late it was, and went into his own bed-room. When he got there he sat on the edge of his bed and opened his heart to his old nurse and friend. He told her that he was now in the second class, and that therefore his schooldays would be over in two years and a half. "And then! then!" cried he, his eyes bright with excitement, "I will go into the cavalry. What a glorious life it must be when one can ride every day! And, who knows? perhaps a great war may break out, and if so, I feel an inward certainty that I shall distinguish myself in it; or I may be sent out to the Caucasus, or to Tashkent, to fight under General von Kaufmann. But be sure of this, until I have accomplished something that my father and everyone shall be proud of, until I have become a hero, a celebrated man, never will I sit down in ease and idleness under my ancestral rooftree!"

"For heaven's sake, my dear young master, do not talk of war. Your good mother, and all of us, would be ready to die of anxiety if we knew that you were in danger and far away. We have only to see how well you sit a horse, and to know how kindly you deal with the servants and labourers, in order to be assured of your courage. You need not kill a lot of people to convince us of that.”

"Indeed, Petruschka, you are wrong! Unproven courage is no courage at all," cried Oscar, stretching himself on his bed. "You have often said that I am kind-hearted, but I can tell you that if anyone ever dared to insult me, I should never rest until I had taken full vengeance."

"Dear! dear! young master, how can you have such wicked and terrible ideas in your head, and on the first evening of your return home, too! You should rather be thinking of returning thanks to GOD for having escaped the dangers of travelling by day and by night, and being safely housed here with us. Now, good-night, God bless you, and send you quiet rest."

With this Petruschka shut the door, and five minutes later Oscar was in bed, and asleep as sound as a top, only disturbed now and then

by dreams of flying Tcherkesses, whom he pursued on a coal-black steed, and struck down without mercy or pity.

Suddenly he was awakened by a strange noise. He rubbed his eyes. Was he still asleep and dreaming? No, he was quite sure he was awake. Again that very odd noise. Someone seemed to be pressing heavily on the latch of the door, and grumbling and grunting at it in a very odd way. Then the thing seemed to press harder and heavier on the fastening, till at last the door burst open.

Oscar knew that he was alone on this floor-all the servants slept below. He felt his blood run cold, in spite of the dreams of heroic courage which his imagination had painted in such lively colours a short time since.

But what on earth was it that he saw coming in?

An enormous bear, clearly visible in the bright Livonian summernight, strode very solemnly into the room; it stood erect on its hind legs, growling gently to itself and swaying its body from side to side. It looked and sniffed about as if searching for something, and then softly and cautiously took its way towards Oscar's bed.

Oscar's hair stood on end with terror, and beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead as the monster came nearer and nearer.

Had Petruschka forgotten to close the French windows in the music-room, from which a flight of steps led down to the garden, and had the wild beasts in the forest, close by, now become so bold that they dared to come inside the house without fear?

Nearer and ever nearer came the bear, swaying its head from side to side-just then the cuckoo-clock struck twelve. A half-formed train of thoughts crossed Oscar's brain. Did ghosts ever take the form of animals? But no. How could a ghost growl in such a natural manner? No. It was reality-naked, horrible reality. Then Petruschka's last words came back to his memory. "Rather thank GOD that you have arrived among us safe and sound." But he had forgotten to do so. Would the all-merciful GOD now punish him so severely for that one fault, that in a few moments his young life, with all its heroic aspirations for the future, would come to an end? Ever smaller grew the space between him and the monster. Thoughts raced with lightning speed through the boy's fevered brain. In a few seconds all the stories he had ever heard about bears came into his head; how men had escaped from their deadly embrace by

shutting their eyes, and holding their breath as if they were dead. But now there was only a pace between him and the growling beast, and he, shuddering and trembling, watched the bear raise itself up and stretch out its huge paws towards the bed-then-all his plans about shutting his eyes and pretending that he was dead were scattered to the winds, and the poor boy hid his head like lightning under the bed-clothes.

But what did it mean? He felt nothing, no deadly clutch of those savage-looking fore-paws; though Oscar still heard the enemy growling away close to his head.

What an age those few seconds seemed to him! At length he plucked up courage and moved the clothes very gently to get a breath of air, and then cautiously peeped out; when, to his amazement, he saw the bear turn to the spare bed which stood at the foot of his own, and begin to roll up the bed-clothes and pillow into a bundle. It then squeezed them together with its powerful fore-paws, and dragged them quietly towards the door.

With every step that took the bear further and further from him, Oscar's presence, and peace of mind returned more and more, and when at last he heard the growling well outside in the music-room, he drew a deep breath, and felt that a spark of his old heroic courage still smouldered within him.

He got up very gently and crept towards the door, wondering all the time what on earth the bear could want with bed-clothes and pillows. He locked his door hurriedly, and then peeped through the keyhole, and, behold! the bear had placed its stolen goods on one of the divans that stood against the wall of the music-room, just as if the regular cushions were not soft enough, and was turning round and round on the divan, like a dog making a bed, and evidently meant to make itself quite comfortable and curl itself up for a good night's rest.

The boy watched all these proceedings quite rigid with astonishment, and then, after having again made sure that his enemy was securely locked out, he rushed to the bell and rang it violently for help.

It was a long time before anyone came to answer the bell, but at last Petruschka appeared, sleepily rubbing her eyes.

"Oh, Petruschka, I have passed such a terrible night!" cried the

excited boy. "It is a miracle that you did not find me dead!" and he poured forth in glowing language a vivid account of all the horrors he had gone through.

Petruschka listened attentively at first, but gradually an amused expression stole over her face, and at last she could contain herself no longer, and just as Oscar came to the climax, she burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

If Oscar had been astonished at the behaviour of the bear, he was hardly less so at that of Petruschka; but as soon as she could find words she said, "The fact is, young sir, that nobody expected you to return so soon, and in the middle of the night, like this. Your father, the Baron, has been looking forward to your coming home, and he had arranged a little surprise for you. The bear was caught in the woods about this time last year, just after you left for school. It has grown very large, but at the same time so tame that it is allowed to go about anywhere, and it constantly plays with the men outside and the dogs. It has even learned to open doors very cleverly. The Baron has often pictured to himself your face, the first time the bear came gravely in to breakfast, according to its custom. And although I could not help laughing just now, yet I am really very sorry you have been so badly frightened by our tame bear."

Oscar's face during this recital would have been a curious study as it went through the various changes from excitement to astonishment, and from them to shame and self-reproach.

When the old nurse had finished her story he cried, with a burning face and broken voice, "Petruschka, I will confess something to you that I would not have admitted to any other living soul. Never till now did I feel what fear meant; but to-night, during five minutes, which seemed as long as eternity, I learned to know it only too well, and I shall never forget the sensation as long as I live. I felt so utterly helpless with the wild beast, as I thought it, that, had I been able, I would have run away out of the room and hidden myself like a coward."

"Don't be ashamed of yourself on that account," answered Petruschka; "many another man would have done the same in your place." And she wished him good-night and left him.

Oscar turned and tossed on his bed for many a weary hour that night before he went to sleep. In his heart of hearts he saw clearly

that his courage had not stood proof, and from his lips rose the neglected thanksgiving for his protection from all evil.

He never forgot the lesson, and when in after years he became a brave soldier and celebrated man, his favourite saying was, "Unproven courage is no courage at all, but all true courage comes from trust in Gon."

H

HOW NICE IT WOULD BE!

OW am I ever to get this room tidy?" sa Ada to her brother, with a disconsolate sigh, as she looked first at the table covered with lesson-books, and then at the floor which was strewed with toys.

"How nice it would be if our books and things would put them. selves away when we have done with them, instead of our having to do everything. I wish you would help me, Freddy," she added impatiently," instead of lying on the floor."

"How nice it would be," echoed Freddy, without offering to stir, "if the bell would ring itself at meals, and the letters go to the post alone."

As these little errands generally fell to Freddy's lot, he spoke feelingly.

"It would save us a great deal of trouble, if things were not so helpless," continued Ada, who was of an indolent disposition, and disliked exerting herself in any way. Just then she heard the rattle of tea-cups, and was obliged to quicken her movements and clear the table, but she could not help thinking to herself, "How nice it would be for Jane if the cups and plates would arrange themselves on the table, and if the knife would cut some bread and butter."

So full was her mind of this idea, that, as she was preparing for bed, her nurse exclaimed:

"How slow you are, Miss Ada; do you expect your brush and comb to come to you?"

Ada thought that nurse must have read her thoughts; she bestirred herself accordingly, and soon got into bed and fell asleep. She was aroused by a violent jerk which precipitated her on to the floor, and