Tales and Sketches.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 51, 13 January 1872, Page 16

Tales and Sketches.

BLIND ROSA. A IXEMISH TAIiE. By Hendeick Conscience. (Concluded from our last.) Without waiting for further directions, the traveller hastened in the direction pointed out, and passing through the village, soon reached the solitary dwelling. It was an humble hut, built of dry twigs and mud, but clean outside and carefully whitewashed. Not far from the door lay four little children Bprawling on the ground in the warm sun, or making wreaths of the blue cornflowers and red poppies. They were barefoot and half naked ; the eldest, a little boy of six, wore nothing hut a linen shirt. While the three little sisters looked at the unknown visitor with shyness and timidity, this little fellow, on the contrary, gazed at him with a certain surprise and interest, mingled with an open-hearted ingenuousness. The traveller laughed kindly to the children, but, without stopping, entered the hut, where he found the father busy with his brooms in a corner, and the mother with her wheel by the hearth. These people seemed to be about thirty years of age, and appeared quite contented with their lot. For the rest, everything about them was as clean as circumstances would admit in a dwelling so<confined. His entrance surprised them very little, and they at once greeted him very politely and put themselves at his service, thinking that he wished to inquire the way ,- and the husband, indeed, and already sprung from his seat to accompany him to the door, and point it out. When he, however, said with manifest agitation and impatience, ' Does Eosa Meulinez dwell here?' the husband and wife exchanged strange looks, and were so taken by surprise, that they scarcely kn?w what to reply. ' Yes, sir,' replied the man at last, 'Eosa dwells here, but she has gone on her begging rounds. Do you wish to speak with her ?' ' O God ! where is she ? Can she not be got at once ?' ' It would be difficult, sir j she has gone on her weekly rounds with our Trieny ; but she will be home in an hour for certain.' ' May I wait here then ?' asked the traveller. Scarcely had he uttered these words, when the man hastened into a side room and brought out a chair, which, though roughly and coarsely made, was yet considerably cleaner than the lame old chairs which stood in the room. Not content with that, the woman drew a white cloth out of a chest, and spreading it over the chair, requested the stranger to be seated. He was delighted with this simple and honest kindness, and returning the cloth with many thanks, he sat down. He then looked attentively about the room, hoping to find some tokens of Eosa's having been there. When looking to one side in search of some objects of this kind, he suddenly felt a little hand laid gently on his, aud softly stroking his fingers. Surprised by this proof of affection, he turned round, and saw the Hue eyes of the little boy gazing earnestly up at him with a beautiful smile of confidence and love, as if he had been his father or elder brother; ' Come here, little Peter!' exclaimed the mother, 'You must not bo so forward, child !' Little Peter, meanwhile, seemed not to have heard this admonition, for he still continued to gaze at the unknown visitor, and to stroke his hand as before, so that the latter did not know what to make of it, so inexplicable was the interest which the child seemed to have in him. 'My dear little child,' he sighed, ' how beautiful your eyes are ; you touch my heart deeply! Come I will give you something, you are such a dear little fellow 1' He drew from his pocket a little gold purse, ornamented with silver and jewels of various colors —shook out some small coins, and gave them to the child, who stared with astonishment, but did not, for all that, quit his hold of the traveller's hand. The mother now rose, and coining up to tho child, said reprovingly « Peerken, Peerken, you must notbe impolite ; thank the gentleman, and kiss his hand.' The little boy kissed his hand, nodded his little head and with a clear voice said —' Thank you, sir, Long John ?' A thunderstroke could not have shook the traveller more powerfully than the simple utterance of his name by the innocent child. Tears rolled involuntarily over he took the child upon his knee, and looked deep into his eyes while he exclaimed—' 0 you little angel'? Do you then know me, who you have never seen ? Who taught you my name ?' * Blind Rosa,' was the reply. ' But how is it possible that you should have known me ? or was it God himself who inspired your child's soul?' 'Oh! I knew you at once,' said Peerken. * When I lead Eosa about, as she goes her begging rounds she always talks of you ; and she says that you are, oh, so big, and that you have black eyes that sparkle; and she said that you would come home one day, and bring us all such beautiful things. And I was not afraid of you, sir, for Eosa told me that I was to be sure to love you, and that you would bring me a great bow and arrow.' The traveller listened earnestly to the sweet and simple revelations of the boy. Suddenly he took him in his arms and kissed him warmly; and then said in a cheerful tone— c Father, mother, this child is from this time wealthy. I will train him, educate him, and endow him richly. His recognising me shall be the making of his fortune on earth.' The parents were quite overwhelmed with wonder and joy, the man was scarcely able to stammer a reply—' Ah! it is far too good of you. We knew you at once, but we could not be quite sure. Eosa has told us that you are a lich gentleman.' * And you, too, good people! you know me V cried the traveller. 'I am among friends here; I find a family and a relationship, where hitherto I have been met by nothing but death and forgetfulness. The woman pointed to an image of the Virgin

on the table, all blackened by smoke, and said < Every Sunday evening a candle is lighted there for the return, or . . . . the soul of John Slaets!* The stranger raised his eyes devoutly to heaven, and fervently exclaimed —' O God! blessed be thy name, that Thou hast made love mightier than hate! My enemy has cherished my name in his heart, recalling it daily only to curse it; but while my friend has lived in my memory, and breathed the love I felt for her on everything around me, she, too, has preserved the memory of me, and made other hearts love me —while I was eight thousand miles away. I thank Thee, O God ! Thou art kind indeed!' A long silence reigned till John Slaets had regained his calmness $ the people of the house observed his emotion, and the husband had considerately resumed his work, only looking up from time to time that he might be ready to run to serve the stranger, if any occasion arose. The latter had now taken Peerken on his knee again, and said—* Mother, has Eosa lived long with you ?' The mother prepared herself to give him the beginning and the end, and the short and the long of the whole matter, and moving her spinning wheel to his side, she sat down and began —' I will tell you, sir, how it has come about. You must know that when old Meulinez died, the children divided what was left among themselves ; and Eosa who would not have married for all the money in the world—l need not tell you why—made over her share to her brother on the condition that he should maintain her during her life. In addition to this she was a dressmaker, and earned a consider-' able sum in this way, but did not give it to her brother. She devoted all her earnings to good works, visited the sick, and when the people were very poor, paid the doctor to attend them. She had always a word of comfort for everybody, and some reviving cordial in her pocket for those who were very weak. It so happened that my husband—we had only been half a year married then—came home one day with a dreadful cold ; listen—he has had the cough ever since. Next to God, we have to thank the good Eosa that my dear Nelis does not lie in his grave. Ah, sir, if you had but seen what she did for us out of pure love and kindness ! She brought warm coverings—for it was cold and wo were very poor; She fetched two doctors from other parishes to consult together about our Nelis ; she watched by my husband's bedside, she lightened his sufferings and my grief with her kind, loving words, and gave us all the money we required to pay for medicine and food—for Eosa was beloved everywhere ; and when she went to Mevrouw Hall, or to the wealthy farmers about, a small gift for the poor was never refused her. And, sir, our Nelis lay sick in bed for six long weeks, and all that time Eosa took care of us, and helped us through, till my husband, by degrees, picked up his strength again, and was able to work.' 'How you must have lovod the poor blind Eosa,' sighed the traveller. The man raised his head for a moment from his work, and with tears in his eyes, exclaimed, with ardor — ' Could my blood restore her sight. I would let it be drained to the last drop.' This fervent utterance of gratitude made a deep impression on John Slaets. The woman perceived this, and, giving her husband an admonitory nod to be silent, she continued—' Three months after, God sent us a child—it sits on your kree. Eosa, who knew long before of its. coming, wished to be its godmother, and Peer, my husband's brother, was to be godfather. On the chiistening day, there was some conversation about the name which should be given to the child. Eosa begged us to call the child John, but the godfather—a good man, but rather obstinate —wished, and there was nothing to object to it, that it should be called Peter, after him. And so after a long discussion, it was baptised John Peter; and we call him Peerken, because his godfather —to whom he belongs more than to Eosi —being a boy—will have it so, and would be offended if we did not do it. But Eosa will not hear of Peerken—she will call the child nothing but Johnny; and the little fellow is accustomed to it already, and knows that he is called Johnny because it is your name, sir.' The traveller pressed the child passionately to his breast, and kissed him warmly. _ Silently musing, he gazed at the boy's laughing countenance, while his heart melted with a sweet sadness. The woman continued —' Eosa's brother had made an arrangement with some people in Antwerp to buy up victuals of every kind, in all the places about, to send to England. He would soon grow rich with his trade, people said, for every week he took ten carts full of provisions to Antwerp. At first, all went well; but suddenly someone failed in Antwerp, and the unfortunate Tist Meulinez, who had been security, was ruined, and was made so very poor by it, that all his goods were not enough by one half to pay his debts. He was not able to bear up under it all, and died, poor fellow! may our Lord receive his soul! Eosa then went to live in a little room at Nand Flinck's, in the corner yonder, hut in the same year, Karel, Nand's son, who had been taken for a soldier, came home with inflamed eyes. He had not been a fortnight at home, when he lost his sight altogether. Eosa, who had felt great pity for him, and always did what her kind heart bade her, had nu rsed him during his illness, and now used to lead him about to keep up his spirits, and refresh him a little. But Eosa soon caught the same disease, and has never since beheld the light of day ! Nand Flinck is dead, and the children are scattered ; the blind Karel is provided for by a farmer not far from Lier. We then begged Eosa to come and live here, and told her that we should be very much pleased to see her beside us, and would willingly work for her all our lives; and she came with pleasure. And before God can declare that she has now been nearly six years here, and has never heard from us anything but words

of kindness ; but, then, she is all goodness and love ; and if anything were to happen which was to be pleasant to Eosa, I do believe our ohildren would fight and tear each other's hair to be first to' «And she begs ?' sighed the traveller. ' Yes, sir, but that is not our fault,' replied the woman, with offended pride. ' Do not think that we have forgotten what Eosa once did for us. Had it been necessary to yoke ourselves to the plough, and endure hunger for her sake, she would not have required to beg. What do you think of us, sir? No! we prevented it for more than six months ; and that is the only wrong we have done to Eosa. Ab our family increased rapidly, Eosa feared in her angel heart that she would be a burden to us, and wished to assist a little. It was all in vain to oppose; she became quite ill with vexation ; we saw this, and after half a year's entreaties, we were at last compelled to allow her to take her own way. But it is no disgrace to a blind woman. Though we are very poor, we are, thank God, nob so needy as to require it; but she compels us to take now and then a share of her gain 3, for we cannot be at variance with poor blind Eosa ; but we give it back again in another way. For although she does not know it, she is better clothed than we, and the food which we prepare for her is much better than our own. A little pot is always devoted to her. See, there it is, two eggs with butter sauce, in addition to potatoes! The remaining money she lays aside, if I understand her rightly, as a little portion to our children when they are grown t up. We thank her from our hearts for her love; but, sir, we can do little else.' i The traveller listened with the deepest silence to this explanation; a quiet smile which beamed upon his countenance, and a slight occasional movement of the eyes, were the only indications of the feelings of intense joy which filled his heart. The woman ceased speaking, and had set her wheel in motion agaio ; while the traveller remained for a moment occupied with his own reflections. Suddenly he put the child on the floor, and turning to the man, who was busy with his brooms, said in a tone very like a command—' Cease working!' The broom maker did not understand at first what he was after, and rose from his seat, astonished at the tone of the stranger's voice. ' Cease, I say —and give'me your hand, Farmer Nelis.' ' Farmer!' muttered the broom maker with surprise. ' Come, come,' cried the traveller, to the door with your brooms! I will give you a hide of land, four milch cows, a heifer, two horses, and everything else which goes to make up a comfortable farmsteading. You do not believe me?' he continued, showing tho broom maker a handful of gold pieces. ' What I say is true. I might give you this gold, but I love and respect you too much to put money in your hand. I will make you the possessor of a good hide of land, and even after my death I will benefit you and your children.' • The good people gazed at him with moist eyes and appeared not yet to comprehend all he said. When the traveller was about to renew his promise, Peerken eagerly seized him by the hand, as if he would say something to him. ' What is it, my dear child ?' he asked. ' Mr John replied the boy, 'see! —the workers.are coming from the fields. I know were Eosa is. Shall I run to meet her, and tell her that you have come?' The traveller took Peerken's hand, and drew him towards the door—' Come along; we shall go together!' he said ; and taking leave of the family with a slight and hasty gesture, he accompanied the child, who led him towards the middle of the village. As soon as they had reached the first house, the rustics came out of their barns and stables, and looked gaping after the traveller, as if they had seen a miracle. In truth, it was a wonderful spectacle to see the child in his shirt, and with his bare feet, laughing and talking merrily . as he skipped along by this unknown stranger. The astonished villagers could not understand what the rich gentleman, who seemed to be a baron at least meant to do with the broom maker's little Peter. Still greater was their astonishment when they saw him stoop and kiss the child. The only explanation of the matter, was, that the rich gentleman had bought the boy from his parents, and meant to adopt him as a son. This had often been done by city people who had no children of their own ; and little Feter, with his great blue eyes and fair curly head, was certainly the prettiest boy in the village. But for all that, it was both strange and pretty to see the rich gentleman carry off the child in nothing but his shirt. Meanwhile the stranger stept on. The whole village seemed to him irradiated with a heavenly light; the foliage colored with a fresher green; the humble little cottages smiled to him, and it was for him the birds were singing their enchanting song j the air seemed filled with glowing life and balmy odors. Bevelling in this new feeling of happiness, he had turned his attention from the child. His eyes were fixed upon the distance, and his glance tried to penetrate the trees which limited the prospect at the other end of the village. Suddenly the child pulled his hand, and cried with a loud voice—' There! down there, comes blind Eosa with our Trieny 1' An old blind woman might be seen, led by a little girl of five, entering the broad street of the village from behind a little house. Instead of responding to the child's eagerness and haste, the traveller stood still, and looked earnestly and sadly at the poor blind woman as she slowly approached. And was this then his Eosa ?—the beautiful, the lovely maiden, whose image, so fresh and young, was yet deeply engraven on his heart ? In a moment these thoughts vanished, and he hastened on to meet his friend. When he had approached to within fifty paces of her, he could restrain his emotion on longer, but ' Eosa, Eosa!' burst involuntarily from his heart. When the voice fell upon the blind woman's ear, she withdrew her hand from her guide, and trembled as if she had been struck by paralysis. She stretched out her arms

gropingly before her, and exclaiming, • John, John!' hastened towards her long-lost lover. At the same moment she put one hand in her bosom, and tearing a string which hung round her neck, she held out a golden cross with an unsteady and trembling hand ; and so she fell into her friends arm. Then gently drawing from his embrace, she took his hand, and exclaimed —• O John, I die of joy—but I have vowed a vow to God. Come, come, lead me to the churchyard.' John Slaets did not understand what Rosa's purpose was : but feeiing, from the tone of her voice, that an earnest, perhaps a sacred, work was about to be done, he at once complied with her wish ; and, without paying any attention to the villagers, who by this time surrounded them in great numbers, he led his blind friend to the churchyard. Here she turned towards the kneeling bench, and with the words — ' Pray, pray; I vowed it to God,' she forced him to kneel by her side. She raised her hands, and for a long time prayed in a low murmuring voice. She then threw her arms round her friend's neck, and kissed him ; but her strength had now failed her, and speechless, but smiling she laid her head upon his throbbing breast. Peerken, meanwhile, danced among the villagers, and a 9 he clapped his hands, kept shouting as loud as he could —' It is Long John ! It is Long John !'

On a beautiful day in the autumn of 1846, the Dilligence rolled* a 9 usual over the highway between Antwerp and Turnhout. Suddenly the driver pulled up not far from a lonely tavern, and descending from his box, opened the carriage door. Two young travellers sprang out upon the road, laughing, rejoicing, and swinging about their arms like two birds just escaped from a long "imprisonment. They looked at the trejs and the beautiful blue autumnal air with the cheerful, bright-expres-sion of people who had left the crowded ciby, and would now faininhale with their breath the whole uf broad, laughing nature. Suddenly the younger of the two turned his face towards the fields, while his face shone with poetic enthusiasm. ' Listen, listen !' he said. From behind the fir clumps there came the sound of the distant music. The measure was so light and, gay that one was compelled to associate it with the quick beating of dancer's feet. The younger companion pointed with silent delight towards the pine copse, and then exclaimed in a jocular way— Oh ! hark to the sound of the fiddle and horn, The dance and the song —'tis a festal morn. Oh ! little they reek of dull care or of sorrow ; They will laugh for the day—tho' they weep on the morrow. * Come, come, friend John, your inspiration is premature. It is probably only the new burgomaster whom they are inaugurating.' ' No, no, that is no official merriment. Let us go and see the peasant girls dancing —it is so wonderfully 'We shall first drink a glass of beer with mine host Joostens, and ask him what is going on in the village.' ' And . defraud ourselves of the pleasure of surprise ? Prose!' The travellers entered the tavern, and both burst into a loud laugh the moment they had put their heads into the room. Mine host Joostens stood in front of the fireplace, as straight as an arrow, and stiff as a log. His long brown, copious Sunday coat hung round him, reaching to hjs feet. He greeted the guests with a constrained smile, in which appeared a certain perplexity, for he dared not move his head in the least, as his high stiff shirt collar took every opportunity of pinching him behind the ears. When tho travellers entered, he called out with impatience} but without the slightest movement of his head — • Zanna, Zanna, I hear the music. Did I not tell you that you would be too late ?' Zanna came running into the room with a great basketful of flowers. Oh! she was so beautiful with her folded lace cap, her gown ofpilotcloth.andthogreatgpldenheartuponher brea9t, and the dear little earrings ! Her face was red with joy and delighted anticipation ; it looked like a gigantic flower which is just on the point of unfolding its petals. • A majestic peor.y opening its cup on a beautiful May day!' whispered the younger. Meanwhile she had fetched two glasses of beer, and then hastened out of the house with her flowers, singing and laughing as she went. With the greatest impatience mine host now shouted —'Beth, Beth, if you do not come down at once, I shall go alone, as true as I stand here!' Just at this moment the old clock, which hung on the wall, pointed tonine, and a bird's voice called in a plaintive tone, ' Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! cuckoo !' ' What is the meaning of that ?' asked one of the travellers. ' You have sold the clock, I suppose, which used to hang here, to be tormented all the year round with that detestable song?' ' Yes, yes,' said mine host, with a cunning smile, «laugh at the bird as you please ; it brings me fifty Dutch florins a year, and a bunder* of good land into the bargain.' . In the distance, four gunshots resounded at equal intervals. ' O heavens !' cried mine host, the fest has begur. The wife wears my very life away with her off-putting and dawdling!' ' But mine host Joostens,' asked the other traveller, 'what is afoot here? Is it the church fest to-day ? That would be singular on a Thursday. Or is the King coming ?' * Things of far greater importance, sir, are going on here to-day—the like was never heard before ! If you only knew it, you would not recfuire —this time at least —to draw long bows and invent lies in order to fill your books. And this old cuckoo, too, has something to do with the tale of Blind Rosa.' 'Blind Rosa!" cried the younger companion, with joyful surprise. ' What a beautiful title! It would be * Two hundred and forty feet long by one hundred and twenty broad.

a good pendant to the ' Zieke Jongeling.'f 'Hallo! that won't do,' replied the other. 'We have come out together to hunt after tab's, and the spoil must be nonorably shared.' 'Well, well, we shall draw lots for it at once,' muttered the younger, half sorrowfully- ' But,' said the other, 'it. is all a mystery to us yet. Come, mine host Joris, off with 'hat detestable collar, and let us have the story in a friendly way. You will get the book lor nothing when iftis printed.' 'Yes, but. I cannot tell you all the outs and ins of it at present,' replied mine host. 'There, I hear my wife on the stair; but come along .with us to the village, and by the way I will let you know how it comes about that guns are firing and music playing so merrily to-day.' The wife entered with a dress which immediately fixed the attention of tho younger traveller, by its flaming red, blue, yellow, and white colors. She ran up to her husband and affectionately tugged his s shirt collar up a little higher, and then, taking his arm, led him hastily out of the house. Both travellers followed. Mine host Joostens now told the whole history of Blind R>sa and Long John to his attentive companions as they walked towards the village ; and although he had spoken himself quite out of breath, the travellers did not cease to ply him with all sorts of questions. I He told, likewise, how Herr Slaets had purchased the old cuckoo clock, and promised him fifty florins a year if he would let it hang in his tavern room as of old ; how Long John had lived four and thirty years in Russia in ' Asia, and had amassed considerable wealth by ' the fur trade ; how he had purchased the estate of old Mevrouw, and meant to live on it with Rosa and Nelis's family, all of whom he had adopted ; how he had given the gravedigger a large sum ; and finally, how this very evening a grand peasants' banquet was to be given at the hall, aud for which a whole heifer was to be roasted, and two huge pots of rice soup were to be boiled, Mine host was still in the full flow of his description, when they reached the broad central street of the village. The travellers listened no longer to his talk, for they were now staring their eyes out of their heads, gazing at all the striking and beautiful things which presented themselves on every side. The whole village was adorned with pine branches along the front of the houses in an uninterrupted line, bound together by snow white kerchiefs or flower wreaths. Interposed, and above the spectators' heads, swung inscriptions in great red letters. Here and there a fine May-tree was planted, with its hundred tiny flags of gold leaf flittering against one another, with chains of birds' eggs, and ringing little glass rods. On the ground the boys and girls had scattered heath flowers profusely, and formed out of them as usual tho initials of Jesus and Mary. Alongside might be seen J. R , prettily woven with flowers. This was meant to stand for John—Rosa, and was the invention of the schoolmaster. Amid all these beauties moved a living mass of people, who had flocked from the neighboring villages- to be present at this singular marriage festival. The young travellers amused themselves by moving from one group to another, and listening to the people's remarks. But when the procession was seen approaching the village through the fields, they hastened to the church yard gate, and took up their position on an eminence whence they could see all that was going on. lhey looked upon the procession with a kind of reverence ; and, indeed, it was so beautiful and impressive, that the hearts of the travellers throbbed with emotion—for their hearts were young, and full of poetic enthusiasm. More than sixty little girls between the ages of five and ten, all clothed in white, with a bright, child-like smile on their faces, advanced through the blue air like a little flock of lamb 3. Above their fresh little faces, and on their loose* and flowing hair, lay wreaths of monthly roses, which seemed as if they would fain contest the prize of beauty with the laughing lips of the little maidens. 'lt is one of Andersen's fairy tales,' said the younger, in a low voice. ' The eylphs have left their flower cups—lnnocence, Purity, Youth, Joy! How beautiful it is!' 'Ha!' said the other, ' there come tlie peonies all in a row, and Zanna Joostens at the head of them!' The younger was, however, too much enchanted to condescend to notice this unpoetical remark. With a kind of rapture he was gazing at the great number of marriageable young maidens who followed the little children, all in their best ornaments, and beaming with life and health. How finely the features of those blooming girls came out under their snow-white lace caps! how charmingly their quiet virgin bashfulness was painted on their blushing cheeks ! how bewitching was the shy smile which hovered round their lips!—like the gentle ripple which the summer breeze stirs upon the lake, when it plays with the water and makes it laugh. Ha! there comes Blind Rosa, leaning on her bridegroom's arm. How happy must the poor woman feel! —she has endured so much ; she was reduced to bear the beggar's wallet. For four-and-thirty years she mourned her absent lover, and cradled her soul in a hope which she herself half suspected to be a delusion. And there he is now, the friend of her childhood and youth! Leaning on his arm, she walks to the altar of the G-od who has heard I her prayers. The vows which they interi changed under the cross near the churchyard are about to be fulfilled. She is his bride ! On her breast glitters the plain golden cross j which Long John gave her so many years ago. She hears now the joy, the welcomings, the song, and the music which celebrate his return. She trembles in her agitation and nervously f These two travellers were Heudrick Conscience, the author of this tale, and Jan Yan Beers, unquestionably the greatest Flemish lyric poet of the day, and the author of the poem' De Zieke Joogeliag.'

presses her bridegroom's arm as she almost doubted the reality of her happiness.

Behind comes Nelis, with his wife and children ; they are clothed now like country people well to do. The parents hang their heads as they walk, and dry a tear of adnniration and gratitude from their eyes every time they look at their blind benefactress. Peerken holds his head erect with a simple and natural independence, and shakes his waving blond hair, which fulls in curls upon his neck. He leads his little sister by the hand. But what group is that? Tiie ruins of an army which has been devastated by the sword of time! Behind Nelis's children totter twenty aged men—a singular spectacle indeed ! All are grey or bald ; the backs of many are much bent; the greater number support themselves on staves; two walk with crutches; one is blind and deaf—all suffer fron age in one form or another, broken down by the weight of labor and of years, so that one might have supposed that Death, with his scourge, was driving them before him, like a herd of cattle, to the grave. Lauw Stevens, with his hands almost touching the ground, goeg foremost; and the blind and deaf landlord of ' The Plough,' is led by the miller's grandfather. These old people had lived when Long John was the cock of the parish, when every one had to yield to the courage and haughtiness of his lusty youth. Behind these followed the villagers men and women, who had been invited in a body to partake of the marriage feast in the hall. The procession entered the church. Outside, the solemn pealing of the organ was heard. The younger traveller took his comrade aside into the churchyard, and stooping and turning round, held out two blades of grass, whose points were just visible beyond his closed hand. 'Already?' said the other; ' you are in very great haste.' ' Choose, choose at once? I am eager for this subject, and I am impatient to know whether I may write upon it tomorrow or not.' The elder drew one of the blades of grass out of his companion's hand ; the younger let the remaining one fall to the ground, and sighed sorrowfully—' I have lost!' And so it happens, dear reader, that the elder of those two friends now narrates to you the tale of Blind Rosa. It is vexing, certainly; for as it is, you have the story in prose, whereas you might have been reading it in inspired rhythmical verses. Another time may fate be more propitious to you.