was in my companion's valise to occasion this amount of solicitude was a bundle of his sweetheart's letters! 5. Supper being ended, our hosts left us. They slept below, we in the room above that where we had supped. A loft, to which we had to mount seven or eight feet by a ladder, was our destined place of repose. It was a sort of nest, into which one had to insinuate himself by creeping under cross-beams, hung with provisions for the whole year. My comrade made his way up alone, and threw himself down, already half-asleep, with his head on the precious valise. As for myself, I determined to watch; and, making a good fire, I sat down near it. 6. The night wore away tranquilly enough, and was at length near its end. I was beginning to be reassured, when, just before the break of day, I heard our host and his wife talking and disputing down stairs. Listening intently at the chimney, which communicated with that below, I distinctly heard the husband utter these words: " Well, come, now, must we kill them both?" To which the woman replied, "Yes; " and I heard nothing more. How shall I describe my emotions? I remained almost breathless, my whole body frigid as marble. To have seen me, you would not have known whether I was dead or alive. Ah! when I but think of it, even now! 7. Two of us, almost without weapons, against twelve or fifteen, so remarkably well provided! And my comrade halfdead with sleep and fatigue! To call him-to make a noise I did not dare; escape by myself I could not; the window was not very high from the ground, but beneath it were two savage bull-dogs, howling like wolves. Imagine, if you can, in what a dilemma I found myself. At the end of a long quarter of an hour I heard some one on the stairs, and, through the cracks of the door, I saw the father, with a lamp in one hand, and one of his big knives in the other. Up he came, his wife after him, I behind the door: he opened it; but, before entering, he put down the lamp, which his wife took; then he entered barefoot, and she, outside, said, in a low tone, shading the light with her hand, "Softly, go softly!" 8. When he got to the ladder he mounted, holding the knife between his teeth. Approaching the head of the bed, where my poor young companion, with throat uncovered, was lying, with one hand the monster grasped his knife, and with the other Ah! cousin with the other he seized a ham, which hung from the ceiling, cut a slice, and retired as he had entered. The door closed, the lamp disappeared, and I was left alone to my reflections. 9. As soon as the day dawned, all the family came bustling to waken us, as we had requested. They brought us something to cat, and spread, I assure you, a very clean and nice breakfast. Two chickens formed part of it, of which, our hostess told us, wo were to eat one and take away the other. Seeing these, I at length comprehended the meaning of those terrible words, "Must we kill them both?" And I think you, too, cousin, will have penetration enough to guess now what they signified. 10. Cousin, I have a favor to ask: do not tell this story. In the first place, as you cannot fail to perceive, I do not play a very enviable part in it. In the next place, you will spoil it. Indeed, I do not flatter: it is that face of yours which will ruin the effect of the recital. As for myself, without vanity I may say, I have just the countenance one ought to have in telling a tale of terror. ORIGINAL TRANSLATION FROM P. L. COURIER J. I AM in Rome! Oft as the morning ray Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me' Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts 2. Thou art in Rome! the city that so long Where now she dwells, withdrawn into the wild, Her empire undiminished. 3. There, as though to age, Grandeur attracted grandeur, are beheld All things that strike, ennoble-from the depths Within those silent chambers where they dwell 4 And I am there! Ah! little thought I, when in school I sat, 5. But what a narrow space Just underneath! In many a heap the ground A wall of some great temple. It was once 6. Here the first BrutusEI stood, Of her so chaste all mourned, when o'er the corse and from his cloud Burst like a god. Here, holding up the knife Here CincinnatusEI passed, his plough the while Whose laurels fade not, who still walk the earth, pomp Sit and decide, and, as of old in Rome, Name but their names, set every heart on fire! 7. Now all is changed; and here, as in the wild, ROGERS. Ar summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow ? And robes the mountain in its āzure hue. 2. FAME.-Pope. Nor Fame I slight, nor for her favors call; But the fallen ruins of another's fame, Then teach me, Heaven! to scorn the guilty bays, O, grant an honest fame, or grant me none! Why start at death? Where is he? Death arrived The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave, The terrors of the living, not the dead. 4. KOSCIUSKO.EI — Campbell. O! bloodiest picture in the book of time, 5. THE CAPTIVE'S DREAMS. Mrs. Hemans. I dream of all things free! of a gallant, gallant bark, |