not choose to pursue your advantage and make him sick, at least leave him open to our advances. "Third. We command you never to invite Cheercheerfulness to the chamber of sickness. fulness-an attribute so unbecoming your profession unless indulged sub-rosa in the dissectingroom-for is it not an established rule that your fraternity should wear long faces, shake your heads solemnly, look profound and talk dictionary? whereas your countenance, if not gay, has at least a pleasant and quiet expression very repugnant to our feelings.

"Fourth. We command you never to laugh. Unshrinkingly can we face the cannon's mouth, and play our gambols over the unburied dead on the battle-field, to the shrieks of the wounded and dying; but from your joyous 'ha! ha! ba!' so enviably hearty, so expressive of a mind at ease, we instinctively shudder and flee. Then beware! let your laughter cease for evermore !

"We have thus laid down our blue laws to you simply and briefly. Obey them and possibly we

may yet be friends; otherwise take our maledictions, multifarious and manifold!"

As I finished reading, the noise and hubbub around me greatly increased, and I found all the little imps were struggling to get near me, to watch apparently what effect their communication might produce, while the Prince of Blue Devils himself once more placed himself before me, and with a self satisfied air, taking a pinch of ipecacuhana from a small skull, was on the point of addressing me, when tossing the paper contemptuously in his face, I signed to him to begone.

Oh what a rage he was in! He danced, he pranced, he tore, he stamped-twice he essayed to speak, but as he opened his mouth only a blue flame darted forth, which, catching the important document, bore it curling and crackling aloft. Immediately forked flames were darting from the mouth of every blue sprite, and with yells, hisses and terrible grimaces, they one by one vanished from my presence, leaving me in quiet possession of my room, as bright and cheerful as ever.

"Tis even so, my father. He who marked

My path in desert places formed my heart

Of love, and joy, and worship. He who knew
How few and scantily along my way

The fresh sweet springs were gushing, and what dearth
Of flowers and singing birds my life would know,
He made my soul a world within itself
Of all the bright, the beautiful, the pure,
The loving and the sweet. Thus I have had
A blessed little Eden of my own,

Where living springs and never-fading flowers,
And seraphs, with their breath of melody,
Live ever, in the cloudless light of Heaven.
So when my way is dark and desolate,
When no eye smiles upon me, and no heart
Replies to mine; when droops my aching bead
And falters on the rock my weary foot;

And when mine eye looks through its tears in vain
For one sweet glance of holy sympathy,
Then I turn inward to the paradise
That God has planted for me, and enjoy
Pure and exalted pleasures, such as earth
Gives not, to her most favored votaries;
For in my little world there is no death-
No fear, no fading, no decline of joy,
No wasting of affection; friendship there
Is always young, and love forever pure;
And beauty in immortal radiance reigns
In every form, and tone, and ray of light
In that enchanted world. And then my
Is full of gratitude and joyful love,
To the All-merciful who in his grace
Hath given me such a refuge from the cold
And changing things of earth. And thus it is
That my soul, dwelling in an atmosphere
Of perfect beauty, sees all earthly things
In a celestial light-and like the sun

soul

Which paints a rainbow of his own glad beams
Upou the darkest cloud, so doth my heart
Impart to every cold and sombre scene
A radiance and a glory, that exist

In its own inner world of loveliness.

The heart that feedeth on the things of earth,
That hath its treasury full of gold, and health,
And fame, and friends, and loves; beside whose path
All buds of joy are blooming, that doth feed
On creature pleasures, such a heart may smile
And call my world the region of romance,
The magic land of fancy, the cold world
Of unsubstantial shadows, the abode
Of such illusions as the dreamers weave
Into the useless and fantastic wiles
That men call poetry, and they may scorn
The things they neither see nor understand;
Yet not for all their substance would I change
My spirit refuge, where amid bright forms

The pure and loving Spirit of the Lord
Is ever to be felt, and where the air

Is so etherial that on every breeze
Float echoes of the melodies of Heaven,
And sometimes even the burden of the hymn

Is for a blessed moment audible.

It matters little that my lot is cast

In life's low valley; that my dwelling place
Is in the wilderness, amid rough hills
And narrow valleys, where the rapid streams
Are overarched by heavy hemlock trees,
And bordered by green laurel, where the wolves
Have made their lair for ages, and the owl
Hath reared her young within the hollow beech
These many generations. Where in tufts
The ghost flower blooms alone. It matters not
If gnarled trunks, bare peaks and rugged rocks
Compose the landscape; while my soul looks through
The atmosphere of Heaven, it sees on all

The radiant impress of the hand of God,
The seal of perfect beauty. Everywhere,

In every thing, I see the beautiful.

My father! Thou did'st understand the heart
That trembled like a caged and timid bird
In my young bosom, yearning evermore
Toward the bowers of perfect loveliness.
Thy gentle eyes of love's own liquid blue
Dwelt tearfully upon me many a time,
As if they read my destiny, and saw

The shadow on my path-yet thou would'st say
Press on, my child, I see a brilliant Star
Shining in Heaven for thee. Thou yet shalt win
A garland of the bright and deathless flowers
That grew among the brambles and keen thorns
In Genius' rugged way.

So I toiled on

With eager hope, to win at least one flower
That thou could'st look upon with joy and pride.
And I have won a few sweet simple buds;
(I will not say with how much agony
And weariness of spirit ;) they are mine.
But thy dear eye is closed, and thy fond heart
Forever cold and silent. Now I weep
Above my garland, sought so ardently,

And gathered leaf by leaf, with such delight
Because I thought that thou wouldst look with pride
And heart-felt pleasure on them. They are mine,
And thou canst not behold them.

Thou art now

Among the glorious things of Paradise,

And my poor flowers-oh how would they appear Amid immortal garlands? Valueless

They are to thee-and me-save as a pledge,

A tribute of affection, which I lay,

Wet with the dew of tears, upon thy grave.

NORTHUMBERLAND flung up one hand the moment it was unshackled, and shouted to his wife not to yield--not to unlink a chain of the impregnable gate-but his voice was choked back by a rude buffet from the king, and she could not tell whether that arm had been uplifted in entreaty or command. The red tyrant was honorable! He would wait ten minutes-full ten minutes-no longer. The herald proclaimed that five were already

gone.

She turned to the lieutenant. "In five minutes they will begin! See! see! they are already tearing him from the horse! Down-down! all of you! When did five minutes suffice for the lowering of yon bridge?" she cried, choking with agony.

The lieutenant hesitated. He was of the old Saxon blood and hesitated even while his lord was in the hands of those Norman torturers. But she passed him by, pointing with her hand toward the portcullis. "Follow me--they shall not tear out his eyes! Follow me!"

She ran wildly toward the portal, crying to the men as she passed through them, "On, on! Let down the draw-bridge, they are murdering your lord." But she reached the portcullis first. She seized the massive and rusted chains with her delicate hands. Fifty stout soldiers came to her aid, headed by the lieutenant, but she never let go her hold upon those chains till the portcullis rose, groaning as it might seem with horror at the act, and the draw-bridge fell. The moment its massive timbers touched the opposite supports, King Rufus spurred his horse till it plunged fiercely upon the bridge. His officers followed, lords and captains, pell mell into the devoted fortress. In their midst was Flambard with the captive earl.

The countess stood motionless and white, leaning against an arch of the massive portal. The couvre chef, twisted with the guard chains and torn from her head, clung in fragments to the portcullis far up in the air. Drops of blood were on her arm and bosom, for the rough iron had grazed them in several places, and the drapery of her robe was soiled with dust.

"Conduct your lady into the citadel, the scene is too rude for her," cried King Rufus, as his eyes fell upon the noble young ereature, and he checked

his horse to gaze more fully upon her exquisite loveliness.

Matilda arose from the supporting arch, she gathered her super-tunic over her bosom and moving toward Ralph Flambard, passed between his chafing horse and stationed herself beside the wounded charger of her husband. Her trembling hand sought his. She lifted those large, deprecating eyes, full of humble tenderness, to his face and made a mournful effort to smile.

His look met hers; but oh, how sadly. "My poor Matilda," he said, "your tenderness has ruined us all."

"Will no one conduct this lady in?" thundered King Rufus, chafed by the scene.

"I will pass into my husband's castle thus, if it so please you," said the countess, clinging to the soiled gauntlet upon her husband's right hand. "The fittest escort for an English matron is her husband; I will have no other."

"We shall see," muttered Rufus, glancing at Ralph Flambard and pointing with his sword toward the donjon-keep. "The traitor earl rests yonder," he said; "see that the lady is cared for;" and the tyrant rode on.

More troops were constantly filling the drawbridge, but Ralph Flambard commanded a halt, while some of his nearest followers came up at his signal and seized upon Northumberland.

Pale and breathless, but resolved in her determination to stay with the earl, Matilda clung to him.

"They shall not separate us; I gave up the castle of his ancestors that we might suffer together," she cried, pleading passionately, first with the cold and sneering Flambard, then with the soldiers that strove to tear her from the earl. "Let me go with him! Let me go with him; I will not be plucked from his hold!"

"Let her go with me; see you not that she will die if you persist in this?" pleaded the earl, forcing his proud nature to entreat a boon of the low-born favorite, as his wife was guarded close to his heart by an arm that nothing but torture could have conquered. " Leave this noble woman

to me, I am content; let your king take the rest. Ten strong castles and nearly three hundred rich manors, freely rendered up, should win me this sweet companionship."

"Nay, if I mistake not, the king would sooner leave them all in your rebel keeping than this fair dame," said Flambard, with a cold sneer; "besides, the dungeons of your tower must be far too dark and dreary for so much beauty to be couched in. King Rufus is seldom so cruel to his captives as that. The lady will have most gentle care, I warrant thee, Sir Earl.

The earl turned and looked his tormentor sternly in the face. There was something in the man's voice that made his proud blood curdle.

Caitiff, I understand you!" he said, while his lips grew white and trembled, in defiance of a stern effort to subdue the sickening sensations that crept through every nerve in his body.

Flambard answered with a cold and meaning smile that stung Northumberland to the very heart's core. A moment the two stood face to face gazing upon each other; Flambard still maintaining his fiendish smile, and the captive earl searching the caitiff's black heart through his features with eyes that seemed to burn where their glance fell.

At length he bent down and whispered a word to the countess. She started and lifted her eyes to his with a look of new and bewildering fear. She did not quite seem to understand him. Again Northumberland bent his head and murmured in her ea It must have been something very painful, for her face, neck and hands, before so deathly white, were suffused with sudden crimson, and, drawing back her head, she looked with an expression of terrible doubt into his eyes. They were bent upon her, surcharged with unutterable meaning. A shudder ran through her frame, sharp and visible.

"No, no! it cannot be. The fiend! the fiend! But no! no! They will let me stay with you. They will-they will!"

She turned her eyes upon Ralph Flambard; those eyes so large, so black, so splendid in their expression of tenderness and terror. She slid from the arms of her husband and fell upon her knees that noble patrician wife--before Ralph Flambard.

"Rise, sweet lady," he said, in a silky voice, and with the same doubtful smile. "Rise, I beseech you."

"Not till you promise that I may share his dungeon;" she said, "I will not rise till then!"

"Who could deny so much beauty its slightest wish?" said the parasite; and his voice grew still more gentle. He stooped down to raise the lady from her kneeling posture. Joy that she had prevailed gave her animation and she stood up, lightly supported by his arm. Quick as thought he girded her around the waist and, with a sudden turn, cast her into the arms of two soldiers who stood near.

"Take her to the citadel!"

Before the words left his lips a blow from North

umberland's gauntleted hand sent the villain to the earth, and springing toward the men he seized the nearest fiercely by the shoulder.

"One word I will speak; one single word with her, though an army stood behind us," he said. The man seemed to have some touch of human sympathy. He cast a timid glance at the favorite, who lay within the gateway, quite immovable, and said, hurriedly, "Be quick, then-a word can do no harm."

Northumberland bent over his half senseless wife. Her arms were prisoned and she could only struggle faintly to cast them about his neck, but in vain.

"Matilda, do you understand-are your faculties all awake?" She turned her eyes full upon him and answered in a feeble whisper, "Yes!"

He looked at her fixedly-almost fiercely, and yet with tenderness.

"In our chamber, beneath the golden crucifix, is a poniard," he said with a slow, distinct enunciation.

Her eyes brightened, she met his glance with one resolute and full of holy purpose. "I will seek for it there."

He bent down and kissed her lips. The men made no opposition; but that instant Ralph Flambard, recovering from the stunning effects of his fall, and struggling up to one elbow, called fiercely for them to move on. They obeyed, and Northumberland was alone in the midst of his enemies. They guarded him to the donjon-keep, and when Ralph Flambard had seen the last bolt drawn upon his captive he turned away, faint with the blow he had received, and pale with fiendish rage.

The Norman king and his followers caroused in Bamborough castle that night. There was a vaulted hall in the citadel, and beneath its frowning arches, rendered savage and glaring by a hundred torches, they held wassail till mirth became fierce riot. The noise of their revel, the shout, the coarse jest and the coarser song reached the unhappy countess where she was kneeling, more dead than alive, before the crucifix in her chamber. She closed her eyes and shuddering pressed her trembling hands upon each side of her head in a vain effort to shut out those horrid sounds. They died away at last, but not till the wine had done its work and silenced them in brutal slumber. Then the Red King arose and passed through the slumbering herd; jesting coarsely at their weakness in withstanding the wine no better. He was never thus overcome; wine only served to fire his base nature and rendered all that was evil in him still more evil. He spoke to Ralph Flambard, who was cool and perfectly self-possessed; for Ralph drank nothing but water. This was half the

secret of his great influence. With his faculties ever about him it was not singular that he attained ascendancy in a court where excess of all kinds impaired the intellect and slowly corroded the most powerful minds.

66

Ah, Ralph," said the king, "now that there is none left to pledge their sovereign we will see how this wilful lady bears her captivity. Methinks her face should have found its bloom again before this; lead the way to her chamber. By our father's soul we knew not that this rebel lord had so fair a wife."

Ralph Flambard took a torch from the wall and walking before his master to light the way, conducted him to the very apartment in which Northumberland had parted with his bride only that morning.

Matilda heard their footsteps and, strange as it may seem, her strength returned and she grew calm. Arising to her feet she stood up, resting one hand upon the pedestal of clouded porphyry which supported the crucifix. The door opened and King Rufus presented himself in the entrance, while Ralph Flambard stood farther down in the passage with his sharp features kindled up by the torch.

Rufus was flushed with wine; his heavy lids, his dark grey eyes and something, even in his gait, proclaimed the deep carouse from which he had just arisen. His royal vestments-for he had cast off his armor-were in disarray and his hair hung loosely over his shoulders, the longest locks damp with the overflow of a wine tankard. Still there was something in the calm, lofty bearing of the countess that awed him. It was not merely pride but her features bore an expression of holy selfconfidence. Prayer had made her strong. She fixed her large eyes upon the king, as he entered her chamber, and never turned them for an instant from his. Had she cast them down for a moment, had she trembled in the slightest degree, King Rufus might have gained courage; but now, like the lion, his brutal nature was awed by the calm glance of a human eye.

"Wherefore this intrusion, Sir King?" she said, calmly and at once, as he paused near the entrance, awed by her gentle composure. "If you have aught to say which befits Northumberland's countess to hear, to-morrow will be a more seeming time; I would be alone with this "

She bent her head reverently before the crucifix and then turned her eyes upon him again.

"And is the sight of your king so hateful, proud dame, that his presence is greeted after this chilling fashion?" said Rufus, in a deprecating tone.

"It is hateful, and will be, while my husband remains a prisoner in his own castle, rendered such by treachery and fraud, fraud so base, treachery so deep, that even a Norman king should blush for

it. The sight of a monarch so recreant to all knightly faith and kingly honor is hateful to meI would be relieved of it."

"Not yet, fair lady; such cutting words beseem not that winsome face. We must have those lips accustomed to softer speech. What though thy traitor husband is a prisoner in his own dungeon, those sweet eyes have avenged his captivity already. Is not the king more the slave of thy beauty than Northumberland can be made of his power?"

The countess did not speak; her face scarcely changed from its former resolute tranquility, a faint curl of the beautiful lip, fraught with cutting scorn, became visible, like a shadow, and that was all.

The king gazed upon her and his discomfiture became more evident. He even drew a step toward the door, over which a fold of tapestry had swept. A faint sneering laugh reached his ear. Ha! his Norman blood avails little here; the woman jeers at him."

It was the voice of that mocking fiend, Ralph Flambard; and it had the desired effect. Rufus started, the evil spirit broke once more into his face and he advanced rudely toward the countess.

"Start not back, fair dame; thou hast nothing to fear. The king loves thee too well for cause of terror."

"I do not fear," said the lady, and her hand rose a little upon the porphyry column. "This is my protection."

"The crucifix! Ha, ha! It has protected so many Saxon dames!" cried the king, with a coarse laugh. "Trust to it-trust to it! Nay thou shalt carry it with thee to Malwood-Keepothers of thy race have done so before, even from the sanctuary. Doubt not it will avail thee much." And now the rude Norman was close by her side-his wine-laden breath reached her cheek.

She recoiled a step-more with disgust than fear her hand was still upon the porphyry column. She pressed it just where a golden rivet protruded below the sacred image and the column split apart, revealing a small dagger, sheathed in its cavity. She snatched it, and in the twinkling of an eye, its sharp point was against her throat, just over that large artery which leads directly from the heart.

"Another step, Sir King, and you tread upon my corpse."

With an exclamation of horror and surprise Rufus drew back. He was brave as a lion, and the heroism of this act was of a kind to arouse his full sympathy. A sensation of sublime respect, never felt for woman before, took possession of him. His eyes lighted up. His ruddy face lost a portion of its color and, with a burst of intense admiration, he cried,

"Brave dame, beautiful woman! take the pon