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Long hair scatter'd in the wind,
Curls that flew a yard behind,
Flags that struggled like a bird
Chain'd and restive-not a word
But half buried in a laugh;
And the lance's gilded staff
Shaking when the bearer shook
At the jester's merry look,
As he grins upon his mule,
Like an urchin leaving school,
Shaking bauble, tossing bells,
At the merry jest he tells-
So in happy mood we went,
Laughing to the Tournament.

What a bustle at the inn,
What a stir, without-within;
Filling flagons, brimming bowls
For a hundred thirsty souls;
Froth in snow-flakes flowing down,
From the pitcher big and brown,
While the tankards brim and bubble
With the balm for human trouble;
How the maiden coyly sips,
How the yeoman wipes his lips,
How the old knight drains the cup
Slowly and with calmness up,
And the abbot, with a prayer,
Fills the silver goblet rare,
Praying to the saints for strength
As he holds it at arm's length;
How the jester spins the bowl

On his thumb, then quaffs the whole;
How the pompous steward bends
And bows to half-a-dozen friends,
As in thirsty mood we went
Dusty to the Tournament.

Then again the country over
Through the stubble and the clover,
By the crystal-dropping springs,
Where the road-dust clogs and clings
To the pearl-leaf of the rose,
Where the tawdry nightshade blows,
And the bramble twines its chains
Through the sunny village lanes,
Where the thistle sheds its seed,
And the goldfinch loves to feed,
By the milestone green with moss,
By the broken wayside cross,
In a merry band we went
Shouting to the Tournament.
Pilgrims with their hood and cowl,
Pursy burghers cheek by jowl,
Archers with the peacock's wing
Fitting to the waxen string,
Pedlars with their pack and bags,
Beggars with their coloured rags,
Silent monks, whose stony eyes,
Rest in trance upon the skies,

Children sleeping at the breast.
Merchants from the distant West,
All in gay confusion went
To the royal Tournament.
Players with the painted face
And a drunken man's grimace,

Grooms who praise their raw-boned steeds,
Old wives telling maple beads,
Blackbirds from the hedges broke,
Black crows from the beeches croak,
Glossy swallows in dismay
From the mill-stream fled away,

The angry swan, with ruffled breast,
Frown'd upon her osier nest,
The wren hopp'd restless on the brake,
The otter made the sedges shake,
The butterfly before our rout
Flew like a blossom blown about,
The colour'd leaves, a globe of life,
Spun round and scatter'd as in strife,
Sweeping down the narrow lane
Like the slant shower of the rain;
The lark in terror, from the sod,
Flew up and straight appeal'd to God,
As a noisy band we went
Trotting to the Tournament.
But when we saw the holy town,
With its river and its down,
Then the drums began to beat
And the flutes piped mellow sweet;
Then the deep and full bassoon
Murmur'd like a wood in June,
And the fifes, so sharp and bleak,
All at once began to speak.
Hear the trumpets clear and loud,
Full-tongued, eloquent, and proud,
And the dulcimer that

ranges
Through such wild and plaintive changes;
Merry sound the jester's shawm,
To our gladness giving form;
And the shepherd's chalumeau,
Rich and soft, and sad and low;
Hark! the bagpipes squeak and groan-
Every herdsman has his own;
So in measured step we went
Pacing to the Tournament.

All at once the chimes break out,
Then we hear the townsmen shout,
And the morris-dancers' bells
Tinkling in the grassy dells;
The bell-thunder from the tower
Adds its sound of doom and power
As the cannon's loud salute
For a moment makes us mute,
Then again the laugh and joke
On the startled silence broke;-
Thus in merry mood we went
Laughing to the Tournament.

THE HARDY TIN SOLDIER.

THE

HARDY

TIN SOLDIER. *

87

speak too, and even in verse. The only two who did not stir from their places were the Tin Soldier and the dancing lady: she stood straight up on the point of one of her toes, and stretched out both her arms; and he was just as enduring on his one leg; and he never turned his eyes away

from her.

[HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. Born April 2, 1805, at Odense, in Denmark. Though of humble extraction, he succeeded, after long and arduous struggles, in achieving fame and position. Died 1875] THERE were once five-and-twenty tin soldiers; they were all brothers, for they had all been born of one old tin spoon. They shouldered their muskets, and looked straight before them : their uniform was red and blue, and very splendid. The first thing they had heard in the world, when the lid was taken off their box, had been the words "Tin soldiers!" These words were uttered by a little boy, clapping his hands: the soldiers had been given to him, for it was his birthday; and now he put them upon the table. Each soldier was exactly like the rest; but one of them had been cast last of all, and there had not been enough tin to finish him; but he stood as firmly upon his one leg as the others on their two; and it was just this soldier who became remarkable.

On the table on which they had been placed stood many other playthings, but the toy that attracted most attention was a neat castle of cardboard. Through the little windows one could see straight into the hall. Before the castle some little trees were placed round a little lookingglass, which was to represent a clear lake. Waxen swans swam on this lake, and were mirrored in it. This was all very pretty; but the prettiest of all was a little lady, who stood at the open door of the castle she was also cut out in paper, but she had a dress of the clearest gauze, and a little narrow blue ribbon over her shoulders, that looked like a scarf; and in the middle of this ribbon was a shining tinsel rose as big as her whole facc. The little lady stretched out both her arms, for she was a dancer; and then she lifted one leg so high that the Tin Soldier could not see it at all, and thought that, like himself, she had but one leg.

That would be the wife for me," thought he; "but she is very grand. She lives in a castle, and I have only a box, and there are five-andtwenty of us in that. It is no place for her. But I must try to make acquaintance with her."

And then he lay down at full length behind a snuff-box which was on the table; there he could easily watch the little dainty lady, who continued to stand on one leg without losing her balance.

When the evening came, all the other tin soldiers were put into their box, and the people in the house went to bed. Now the toys began to play at "visiting," and at "war," and "giving balls." The tin soldiers rattled in their box, for they wanted to join, but could not lift the lid. The nutcrackers threw somersaults, and the pencil amused itself on the table: there was so much noise that the canary woke up, and began to

Now the clock struck twelve-and, bounce!the lid flew off the snuff-box; but there was not snuff in it, but a little black goblin: you see, it was a trick.

"Tin Soldier!" said the goblin, “don't stare at things that don't concern you."

But the Tin Soldier pretended not to hear him. "Just you wait till to-morrow!" said the goblin. But when the morning came, and the children got up, the Tin Soldier was placed in the window; and whether it was the goblin or the draught that did it, all at once the window flew open, and the soldier fell head over heels out of the third storey. That was a terrible passage! He put his leg straight up, and stuck with his helmet down. wards and his bayonet between the paving-stones.

The servant-maid and the little boy came down directly to look for him, but though they almost trod upon him they could not see him. If the soldier had cried out Here I am!" they would have found him; but he did not think it fitting te call out loudly, because he was in uniform.

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Now it began to rain; the drops soon fell thicker, and at last it came down in a complete stream. When the rain was past, two street boys came by.

“Just look!” said one of them, “there lies a tin soldier. He must come out and ride in the boat." And they made a boat out of a newspaper, and put the Tin Soldier in the middle of it; and so he sailed down the gutter, and the two boys ran beside him and clapped their hands. Goodness preserve us! how the waves rose in that gutter, and how fast the stream ran! But then it had been a heavy rain. The paper boat rocked up and down, and sometimes turned round so rapidly that the Tin Soldier trembled; but he remained firm, and never changed countenance, and looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket.

All at once the boat went into a long drain, and it became as dark as if he had been in his box.

"Where am I going now?" he thought. "Yes, yes, that's the goblin's fault. Ah! if the little lady only sat here with me in the boat, it might be twice as dark for what I should care."

Suddenly there came a great water rat which lived under the drain.

* This translation is taken, by permission of Messrs. Routledge and Sons, from "Out of the Heart."

"Have you a passport ?" said the rat. "Give like lightning. The daylight shone quite clear, and a voice said aloud, "The Tin Soldier!" The

me your passport."

But the Tin Soldier kept silence, and only held fish had been caught, carried to market, bought, his musket tighter than ever.

The boat went on, but the rat came after it. Hu! how he gnashed his teeth, and called out to the bits of straw and wood—

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and taken into the kitchen, where the cook cut him open with a large knife. She seized the soldier round the body with both her hands, and carried him into the room, where all were anxious

Hold him! hold him! he hasn't paid toll-he to see the remarkable man who had travelled hasn't shown his passport!"

But the stream became stronger and stronger. The Tin Soldier could see the bright daylight where the arch ended; but he heard a roaring noise, which might well frighten a bolder man. Only think-just where the tunnel ended, the drain ran into a great canal; and for him that would have been as dangerous as for us to be carried down a great waterfall.

Now he was already so near it that he could not stop. The boat was carried out, the poor Tin Soldier stiffening himself as much as he could, and no one could say that he moved an eyelid. The boat whirled round three or four times, and was full of water to the very edge-it must sink. The Tin Soldier stood up to his neck in water, and the boat sank deeper and deeper, and the paper was loosened more and more; and now the water closed over the soldier's head. Then he thought of the pretty little dancer, and how he should never see her again; and it sounded in the soldier's ears

"Farewell, farewell, thou warrior brave,

For this day thou must die!"

And now the paper parted, and the Tin Soldier fell out; but at that moment he was snapped up by a great fish.

Oh, how dark it was in that fish's body! It was darker yet than in the drain tunnel; and then it was very narrow too. But the Tin Soldier remained unmoved, and lay at full length shouldering his musket.

The fish swam to and fro; he made the most wonderful movements, and then became quite still. At last something flashed through him

about in the inside of a fish; but the Tin Soldier was not at all proud. They placed him on the table, and there-no! What curious things may happen in the world! The Tin Soldier was in the very room in which he had been before! he saw the same children, and the same toys stood upon the table; and there was the pretty castle with the graceful little dancer. She was still balancing herself on one leg, and held the other extended in the air. She was hardy too. That moved the Tin Soldier: he was very nearly weeping tin tears, but that would not have been proper. He looked at her, but they said nothing to each other.

Then one of the little boys took the Tin Soldier and flung him into the stove. He gave no reason for doing this. It must have been the fault of the goblin in the snuff-box.

The Tin Soldier stood there quite illuminated, and felt a heat that was terrible; but whether this heat proceeded from the real fire or from love he did not know. The colour had quite gone off from him; but whether that had happened on the journey, or had been caused by grief, no one could say. He looked at the little lady, she looked at him, and he felt that he was melting; but he stood firm, shouldering his musket. Then suddenly the door flew open, and the draught of air caught the dancer, and she flew like a sylph just into the stove to the Tin Soldier, and flashed up in a flame, and then was gone! Then the Tin Soldier melted down into a lump, and when the servant-maid took the ashes out next day, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the dancer nething remained but the tinsel rose, and that was burned as black as a coal.

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THE GREAT CARBUNCLE.

89

TWO LOVES AND A LIFE.*

(FOUNDED ON THE DRAMA OF THAT NAME BY MESSRS. TOM TAYLOR AND CHARLES READE.)

[Mr. WILLIAM SAWYER is a well-known contributor to the chief magazines, and author of several volumes of verse.]

To the scaffold's foot she came :
Leaped her black eyes into flame,
Rose and fell her panting breast,
There a pardon closely pressed.

She had heard her lover's doom,
Traitor death and shameful tomb;
Heard the price upon his head,
"I will save him," she had said.
"Blue-eyed Annic loves him too,
She will weep, but Ruth will do;
Who should save him, sore distressed,
Who but she who loves him best?"

To the scaffold now she came,
On her lips there rose his name,
Rose, and yet in silence died-
Annie nestled by his side.

Over Annic's face he bent,

Round her waist his fingers went ;

"Wife," he called her-called her "wife;" Simple word to cost a life!

In Ruth's breast the pardon lay;

But she coldly turned away:-
:-
"He has sealed his traitor fate,
I can love, and I can hate!"

"Annie is his wife," they said.
"Be it wife, then, to the dead;
Since the dying she will mate:
I can love, and I can hate!"

"What their sin? They do but love;
Let this thought thy bosom move."
Came the jealous answer straight-
"I can love, and I can hate!"

"Mercy!" still they cried. But she:
"Who has mercy upon me?
Who? My life is desolate-

I can love, and I can hate!"
From the scaffold stairs she went,
Shouts the noonday silence rent,
All the air was quick with cries,-
"See the traitor! see, he dies!"
Back she looked, with stifled scream,
Saw the axe upswinging gleam:
All her woman's anger died-

"From the king!" she faintly cried

"From the king. His name-behold!"
Quick the parchment she unrelled:
Paused the axe in upward swing-
"He is pardoned!" "Live the king!"

Glad the cry, and loud and long:
All about the scaffold throng,
There entwining, fold in fold,
Raven tresses, locks of gold.

There against Ruth's tortured breast
Annie's tearful face is pressed,
While the white lips murmuring move-
"I can hate-but I can love!"

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[NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. Born at Salem, Mass., 18). Educated at Bowdoin College. Held appointments under Government at various times. Died May 19, 1861.

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T nightfall once, in the olden time, on the rugged side of one of the Crystal Hills, a party of adventurers were refreshing themselves after a toilsome and fruitless quest for the Great Carbuncle. They had come thither, not as friends nor partners in the enterprise, but each, save one youthful pair, impelled by his own selfish and solitary longing for this wondrous gem. Their feeling of brotherhood, however, was strong enough to induce them to contribute a mutual aid in building a rude hut of branches, and kindling a great fire of shattered pines that had drifted down the headlong current

of the Amonoosuck, on the lower bank of which they were to pass the night. There was but one of the number, perhaps, who had become so estranged from natural sympathies by the absorbing spell of the pursuit, as to acknowledge no satisfaction at the sight of human faces in the remote and solitary region whither they had ascended. A vast extent of wilderness lay between them and the nearest settlement, while scant a mile above their heads was the black verge, where the hills throw off their shaggy mantle of forest trees, and either robe themselves in clouds, or tower naked into the sky.

The adventurers, therefore, exchanged hospitable greetings, and welcomed one another to the hut, where each man was the host, and all were By kind permission of the Author.

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