quarter to look. Mother Molly comforted and cossetted us like herself-and indeed we stood in need of it-nor would she so much as look at Mrs. Harty's letter until we were safe in bed, and she sitting by me.

It told her that things were very much as we had left them. "We are getting used, my dear, to having the French overlooking us," wrote my Godmother, "and I verily believe shall miss them when they go. The fashion is to watch them from the Hoe, where I have even got myself in a sedan-chair, and to speculate whether they be nearer than the day before. Seriously, 'tis a wonderful favour of Providence which has kept us so far. There is none other that fighteth for us,' is true to the letter." The Coplestones had gone to Exeter. Dick was back and well, and had had the key and looked into our house.

This was Mrs. Harty's letter, and it lifted off some grave doubts. Only I could not get Molly to say she was glad to have it, because of the fog and our danger.

And one thing I noticed, Harry never again laughed at Nan's brook.

(To be continued.)

M

THE PRINCE OF TORFA.

Adapted from an Icelandic Legend.

ANY, many, many years ago there lived at Skalkolt, in Iceland, a simple-minded old peasant who was not overburdened with money or wits. One Sunday this old. peasant happened to hear a very beautiful sermon upon the duty of almsgiving. "Give, my brethren," said the old priest; "give freely, and GOD will restore to you a hundred fold."

These words, which were often repeated in the course of the sermon, made an extraordinary impression upon the old peasant. Upon his return home he began at once cutting down trees and making preparations for building.

I am

"What are you about, poor old fellow ?" exclaimed his wife. "Poor, indeed!" retorted the peasant. "Rich, you mean. very rich, or, at least, I intend to be so. In a fortnight's time I mean to give away the cow."

"Give away the cow!" shrieked the poor woman. only means of livelihood! We shall die."

"Part with our

"Hold your tongue, ignoramus," replied her husband. "If you knew Latin you would understand all the fine things we hear in church. The good pastor says that if we give to GoD, he will restore to us one hundred fold; so I mean to give my cow, and then I shall get a hundred cows in her stead. I shall sell fifty, and with the money they fetch I shall buy hay for the remaining fifty, for whom I am now going to build a stable." And totally disregarding the entreaties of his wife and the ridicule of his neighbours, the foolish old man began to build his stable. As soon as it was finished, he set off towards the priest's house, leading the cow by a long rope.

The priest, who was busily engaged in conversation with two strangers when the peasant approached, looked somewhat astonished at the interruption. He was still more astonished when he learned the cause of it.

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My good man," he exclaimed; "GOD never meant a material reward. Give alms of what you possess, and your heart will grow more tender, generous and liberal. That will be your reward."

But it was in vain that he spoke.

The obstinate old man would not be convinced. "A hundred fold, you said, sir. You said a hundredfold."

At length, weary of the argument, the priest turned the old peasant and his cow out into the road, and shut the door behind them.

The thought of returning home to bear his wife's reproaches and his neighbours' ridicule, was by no means pleasant. The poor peasant trudged along, bemoaning his ill luck at every step he took.

The way was long, the roads were bad, it was bitterly cold, the ruts in the path were full of ice, and the wind kept raising great clouds of snow that nearly blinded old Fritz and his cow. Presently he lost his way; and to lose your way in such weather in Iceland means to lose your life. Fritz began to weep bitterly. Suddenly he heard some one calling him. He looked round and saw a man with a huge sack on his back.

"My good fellow," cried the latter, "what are you doing out here with a cow in this weather?"

Fritz related what had happened to him.

"Humph!" said the stranger. "I'll tell you what you had better

do. Make an exchange with me. Give me the cow-you'll never take her home alive, and I live close by-and I'll give you this sack. It contains a rare treasure: meat to last you for many a long day to come-solid flesh and bone."

Fritz hesitated, but finally agreed to the stranger's suggestion. He did not like parting with his cow; but on the other hand he expected her to die of cold every minute. And then wouldn't he get a scolding from his wife!

"What have you got there?" cried that lady, as soon as he entered the hut. "And where is the cow?"

He told her.

"Goose! Idiot!" she exclaimed, in a perfect fury. "Do you wish to ruin us with your folly? I'm starving, and there is nothing in the house for supper."

"Isn't there?" said Fritz triumphantly. "Just you wait and see. This sack contains real good meat-solid flesh and bone."

saying he untied the sack.

And so

Judge of his surprise when out of it jumped a little man, clad in mouse-coloured garments.

"Good morning, good people," cried the stranger in a condescending, patronising tone. "I must beg of you not to think of cooking me, although I hope you mean to cook something or other pretty soon, for I am as hungry as a hunter."

"Fritz fell back on the bench overwhelmed with horror, whilst his wife, fairly beside herself with rage, hurled upon him every abusive epithet she knew

"You wretch! you stupid, good-for-nothing imbecile! you

"My good woman," interrupted the stranger, loftily, "allow me to repeat that I am very hungry."

"Goose!" continued the woman, never heeding the interruption. "Idiot! As if we had too much for ourselves, you bring home another mouth to feed."

"Well, if there is no food in the house, and if nobody has any intention of providing any, the best thing I can do is to go out and see what I can procure." And without saying another word the little man marched out, leaving Fritz to defend himself as well as he could against his wife's wrath.

At the end of an hour the stranger returned, bringing with him a

magnificent sheep, the head and neck of which Mrs. Fritz cooked for

supper.

The evening meal had a very mollifying effect upon that good woman. She became quite affable with the stranger, who, in his turn, was extremely polite, "but gave himself the airs of a prince," his hostess declared. Perhaps he had heard something about "familiarity breeding contempt;" and, having been witness to Mrs. Fritz's treatment of her husband, thought he would keep her at a respectful distance.

After supper, the old peasant and his wife began to wonder how and where the sheep had been procured, and to look askance at the stranger. But they did not like to ask so fine a gentleman any questions, and as he did not deign to vouchsafe them any information on the subject, they remained in blissful ignorance.

From that hour neither Fritz nor his wife had ever cause to complain of their larder being empty. Every morning the stranger went forth to the chase, he said. Every evening he returned with his bag full.

It was certainly very pleasant to sit down to a good supper night after night, but there are two sides to every picture; and the better the peasant's table was supplied, the faster did the live stock disappear from the royal farm.

The king's herdsmen complained that in spite of all their care and vigilance, the finest animals had disappeared, and were continuing to disappear from the grazing-ground.

"There must be a thief in the neighbourhood," they all declared.

Presently it was rumoured that a stranger, of whose arrival and antecedents nothing was known, had lately taken up his abode in Fritz's cottage.

"Bring the stranger here," said the king, at whose frown all Iceland trembled.

Accordingly the stranger was summoned to the palace. It was with fear and anguish that his host and hostess saw him depart; for they knew that the receivers of stolen goods were punished as severely as the thief.

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You may have heard," said the king to the stranger, "that there have been robberies committed here lately. Some of my finest cattle have been stolen."

"I am perfectly well aware of it," was the calm reply. "I took them."

The king nearly fainted from astonishment.

had never met with before!

Such boldness he

"And what right had you to take them?" he asked, when he had recovered his power of speech.

"I took them because the poor people in whose house I am staying were simply dying of hunger, whilst you cannot consume a tenth part of the viands placed before you. I do not consider it just that one man should starve, whilst another living close by is revelling in abundance."

The king, who had never heard such language, remained for some minutes too astonished to reply. Then with a frown that boded no good to the poor little man, he said coldly, "It strikes me-from your own showing that your principal talent is for thieving."

The stranger bowed with an air of profound humility, but made no reply.

"Well!" said the king; "you know, I suppose, that you deserve to be hanged. But I will pardon you on one condition-that you succeed before to-morrow evening in stealing from my herdsmen the black bull that I prize so highly."

The little man was in despair.

"Sire," he said, "you know that what you ask is impossible. How can I carry off an animal that is always so vigilantly guarded, that roams about the fields and the forest between two keepers?"

'I don't know how you are to do it," replied the king, "but I know that if you don't do it, you'll be hanged."

And then he made a sign to his attendants to remove the stranger, who went out muttering to himself: "Hanged, hanged;" and all the attendants echoed the words, and muttered," Hanged, hanged."

Fritz and his wife received their guest back again with open arms, but he told them nothing that had taken place, merely asked them to lend him a long rope, and remarked that he would have to go out rather early the following morning. Then he went to bed and slept. soundly until dawn, when he arose, put on his mouse-coloured suit, and sallied forth into the forest with a long rope in his hand.

He walked for some time until he came to an old oak-tree, beneath which the two herdsmen passed every morning with the prize bull.

VOL. XVII.-NO. CLVIII.

2 H