He had pre

come, whatever storms might be raging without. pared no phrases in which to set before her the calamity that had befallen him. He could hardly, in his own thoughts, grasp its fearful meaning, much less clothe it with words. What filled him with alarm and terror was the apprehension of the effect the evil tidings might have on her. He thought she would be crushed to the earth; she might be struck senseless and speechless; she might die, and then what should he do? But he could not keep away from her, and when he came into her sight with a tottering step-for he was almost prostrated by the strain to which he had been subjected during those long morning hours and with a haggard face, which told the whole sad story before he had uttered the broken words of which “ruined"— was all she caught, he was in her embrace, and she was ready with all the aid and comfort a loving heart could give.

"I feared it would come to this," she said, softly, as she made him sit beside her, with his hand in hers, "and now, dearest, I hope it may not be as bad as you have dreaded." The Princess had not been crushed to the earth, nor struck speechless, nor was she going to die. The Prince's fears, for her relieved, turned upon himself again.

"It is as bad as can be; I have lost everything."

"Not your good name, I am sure; not your wife, for she is beside you; not your children, for they are all safe at home." They will be beggars," said the Prince.

66

"Not while we have strength to do a day's work for them, or they for us."

"You must give up your chariots and horses," said the Prince.

"It will do us all good to walk.”

"We must quit the palace."

"We can be just as happy in a smaller house, and with far less care."

"You will have to do your own housework."

"It will be a real pleasure. We shall have a final riddance of Domesticus."

"You will have a broken-down husband on your hands." "It will be the sweetest duty of my life to care for him.” "You will be expelled from the circle of Societas." "We shall have the inner and more sacred circle of home." "I shall no longer be a Prince."

"Then you will be an ex-Prince."

And the Little Lady burst into laughter, for it had always seemed to her, when the Prince introduced ex-Consuls, exPrætors and ex-Ediles, a most ridiculous thing that the more a man was out of office the more he held on to any title that had ever belonged to it, as to a kind of perpetual perquisite. Her laughter was always contagious, and the Prince could hardly help responding with a smile, but he clung to the dismal shadow which he brought with him into the palace, and he was beginning to feel a little disappointed that the Princess was not enveloped in its black folds as completely as he was himself.

"You really do not seem to care very much for my misfortunes," said he.

"It is because I care for you so very much more than for all else good fortune, bad fortune, or anything in the whole world," she said, drawing him still nearer to her, "that I will not be made sad while you and the children are left to me. Wherever we are all together, there will be home and happiness, whether we have much or little."

"You are sure you are not putting all this on, just to keep me up," said the poor Prince, still clinging to the shadow.

"Perfectly sure," said the Princess, rising and standing before him, her whole presence taking on an air of dignity he had never seen so marked before. "I am as honest in this as I have always been in everything. Did I not take you for richer or poorer, and of what use am I if, when poverty comes, I cannot help you to bear it? I do not care how bad things may be. Your home shall always be happy, if my heart and hands can make it so. All I ask is your love to make my labor light." "That shall never fail you," said the Prince, rising, in his turn, and clasping her in his arms.

2078

EDWIN LASSETTER BYNNER.

EDWIN LASSETTER BYNNER, an American novelist, born in Brooklyn, N.Y., in 1842; died in 1893, in Boston, Mass., where he was librarian of the Boston Law Library. He was the author of short stories, and of several novels, including, "Tritons" (Boston, 1878); "Agnes Surriage" (1886); "Penelope's Suitors" (London, 1887); "The Begum's Daughter" (1890); and "Zachary Phips" (1892). Mr. Bynner was endowed with a rare conversational faculty, abounding in witticisms, and clever repartee. He was a conscientious student of the historic subjects, vividly and truthfully pictured in his historic novels.

FIGHT OF THE CONSTITUTION AND GUERRIÈRE.1

(From "Zachary Phips.")

ALTHOUGH When the Constitution sailed out of Annapolis the whole country was buzzing with rumors of British cruisers hovering along the coast, a week passed without their meeting a sail, a week in which a mob of recruits was quickly changed into a disciplined crew, in which the ignorance and trepidation of the novice gave place to something akin to the self-reliance and precision of the veteran.

The interval was all too short. Every precious moment of that preparatory time was needed and improved, for the ordeal was close at hand.

Sailing northward, one afternoon, along the coast, the lookout suddenly announced "four sail on the northern board, heading to westward." The sensation caused by this report had hardly abated when a fifth sail hove in sight in the northeast. In the blinding light of the setting sun shining on a dead level with their eyes, the character of the strangers could not be made out. Neither was Zach at all clear whether it was due to design or a shifting of the wind that the Constitution, with stay-sails and studding-sails set, wore slowly around to the eastward, so as to approach the last comer.

1 By permission of Houghton, Mifflin, & Co.

The situation was in the highest degree dramatic, while, as it to complete and prolong the suspense, night fell like a curtain upon the scene. Presently through the gathering darkness there resounded the fierce roll of the drum calling the men to quarters for action. Heard for the first time, it had a bloodcurdling sound, and Zach felt his pulses beat and his muscles grow limp. It proved, however, only a precautionary measure. Nothing definite was yet known of the stranger. She might prove a friend. To clear up the uncertainty, signals were repeatedly shown by the Constitution, but without result.

The night was long-drawn and anxious. Sleep was unthought of. At daylight the solitary vessel was only half a mile distant on the port tack, the others had disappeared.

So said the lookout, but the report proved illusory. Hardly had the anxious watchers drawn a breath of relief, when there came the startling announcement that the squadron had reappeared in the offing, and were exchanging signals with the solitary stranger!

All doubt was now at an end; their character was revealed: they were all members of the same fleet. Clear, too, was the situation. Like a pack of hounds hot upon the scent, five of the best cruisers of the British navy were trimming sail to run down and destroy one poor Yankee frigate. It was to be a race for life.

For life! Let history tell, and tell again to each succeeding age, how vastly greater was the issue; how it was a race for a nation's honor, a people's welfare, a race run over a boundless course, with no chance of refuge nor hope of succor from heaven or earth, save in the resources of one stout-hearted man!

With bated breath Zach looked at that man. Absorbed, he stood apart upon the quarter-deck, noting every detail of the situation, and silently measuring himself against its uttermost perils, yet with no telltale mark of its strain upon him save the feverish brightness of his eye and the grim resolution of his mouth.

His plan laid, the orders came quick and sharp: a twentyfour pounder was brought up from the main deck and run out aft, reënforced by two long guns thrust through the cabin windows; the whole forming a bristling row of teeth against the bold enemy who should press too near.

Then there fell a calm. All life and motion died out of sea and sky. Pursuers and pursued alike stood paralyzed and