drew the small scantling of light she had been ' could drive him, till his career was unexpectdoling out to us, and sank beneath a vast cloud, edly ended by his tumbling-souse-head over "black as Erebus," but not before we had heels, into a newly-opened grave in his path, caught a glimpse of two more figures moving with more than a foot of water in it. There towards us in an opposite direction. "Sur- the poor fellow remained, after recovering rounded!" two of us muttered in the same from the first shock of his fall, not daring to breath. We all rose to our feet, and stood | utter a word for some time, lest he should be together, not knowing what to do-unable discovered—straddling over the water with his in the darkness to see one another dis- toes and elbows stuck into the loose soil on tinetly. Presently we heard a voice say, in a each side, to support him. This was his insubdued tone, "Where are they? where? teresting position, as he subsequently informed Sure I saw them! Oh, there they are. Halloa me, at the time of uttering the sounds which -halloa!" first attracted my attention. Though not aware of his situation at the time, I was almost choked with laughter as he went on with his soliloquy, somewhat in this strain: That was enough-the signal of our flight. Without an instant's pause, or uttering another syllable, off we sprung, like small-shot from a gun's mouth, all of us in different directions, we knew not whither. I heard the report of a gun-mercy on me! and pelted away, scarcely knowing what I was about, dodging among the graves-now coming full-butt against a plaguy tombstone, then tumbling on the slippery grass-while some one followed close at my heels, panting and puffing, but whether friend or foe I knew not. At length I stumbled against a large tombstone; and, finding it open at the two ends, crept under it, resolved there to abide the issue. At the moment of my ensconcing myself, the sound of the person's footsteps who had followed me suddenly ceased. I heard a splashing sound, then a kicking and scrambling, a faint stifled cry of "Ugh-oh ugh!" and all was still. Doubtless it must be one of my companions, who had been wounded. What could I do, however? I did not know in what direction he lay-the night was pitch-dark-and if I crept from my hidingplace, for all I knew, I might be shot myself. I shall never forget that hour-no, never! There was I, squatting like a tod on the wet grass and weeds, not daring to do more than breathe! Here was a predicament! I could not conjecture how the affair would terminate. Was I to lie where I was till daylight, that then I might step into the arms of my captors? What was become of my companions?--While turning these thoughts in my mind, and wondering that all was so quiet, my ear caught the sound of the splashing of water, apparently at but a yard or two's distance, mingled with the sounds of a half-smothered human voice"Ugh! ugh! Och, murther! murther! murther!"-another splash-"and isn't it dead, and drowned, and kilt I am" Whew! Tip in trouble, thought I, not daring to speak. Yes-it was poor Tip, I afterwards found-who had followed at my heels, scampering after me as fast as fright "Och, Tip, ye ould divel! Don't it sarve ye right, ye fool? Ye villanous ould coffinrobber! Won't ye burn for this hereafter, ye sinner? Ulaloo! When ye are dead yourself, may ye be trated like that poor cratur-and yourself alive to see it! Och, hubbaboo! hubbaboo! Isn't it sure that I'll be drowned, an' then it's kilt I'll be!" A loud splash, and a pause for a few moments, as if he were readjusting his footing-"Och! an' I'm catching my dith of cowld! Fait, an' it's a divel a drop o' the two bottles o' whisky I'll ever see Och, och, och!"-another splash-“och, an' isn't this uncomfortable! Murther and oons! if ever I come out of this-sha'n't I be dead before I do?" "Tip-Tip-Tip!" I whispered in a low tone. There was a dead silence. "Tip, Tip, where are you? What's the matter, eh?" No answer; but he muttered in a low tone to himself" Where am I! by my soul! Isn't it dead, and kilt, and drowned, and murthered I am that's all!" "Tip-Tip-Tip!" I repeated, a little louder. Tip, indeed! Fait, ye may call, bad-luck to ye-whoever ye are-but it's divel a word I'll be after spaking to ye." "Tip, you simpleton! It's I-Mr. -." In an instant there was a sound of jumping and splashing, as if surprise had made him slip from his standing again, and he called out, "Whoo! whoo! an' is't you, sweet Mr. -! What is the matter wid ye? Are ye kilt? Where are they all? Have they taken ye away, every mother's son of you?" he asked eagerly, in a breath. off, silenced us both in an instant. Presently I distinguished the voice of E, calling out -"Help, M-!" (my name)-"Where are you?" The noise increased, and seemed nearer than before. I crept from my lurking place, and aided at Tip's resurrection, when both of us hurried towards the spot whence the sound came. By the faint moonlight I could just see the outlines of two figures violently struggling and grappling together. Before I could come up to them both fell down, locked in each other's arms, rolling over each other, grasping one another's collars, gasping and panting as if in mortal struggle. The moon suddenly emerged, and who do you think, reader, was E's antagonist? Why, the person whose appearance had so discomfited and affrighted us all-OUR COACHMAN. That worthy individual, alarmed at our protracted stay, had, contrary to our injunctions, left his coach to come and search after us. He it was whom we had seen stealing towards us; his steps-his voice had alarmed us, for he could not see us distinctly enough to discover whether we were his fare or not. He was on the point of whispering my name, it seems when we must all have understood one another --when lo! we all started off in the manner which has been described; and he himself, not knowing that he was the reason of it, had taken to his heels, and fled for his life! He supposed we had fallen into a sort of ambuscade. He happened to hide himself behind the tombstone next but one to that which sheltered E. Finding all quiet, he and E, as if by mutual consent, were groping from their hiding-places, when they unexpectedly fell foul of one another-each too affrighted to speak and hence the scuffle. After this satisfactory denouement we all repaired to the grave's mouth, and found the corpse and coffin precisely as we had left them. We were not many moments in taking out the body, stripping it, and thrusting it into the sack we had brought. We then tied the top of the sack, carefully deposited the shroud, &c., in the coffin, re-screwed down the lid— fearful, impious mockery!-and consigned it once more to its resting-place, Tip scattering a handful of earth on the lid, and exclaiming reverently-"An' may the Lord forgive us for what we have done to ye!" The coachman and I then took the body between us to the coach, leaving M- and E- and Tip to throwing every obstacle in our way. Nothing went right. On reaching the spot where we had left the coach, behold it lay several yards farther in the lane, tilted into the ditch-for the horses, being hungry, and left to themselves, in their anxiety to graze on the verdant bank of the hedge, had contrived to overturn the vehicle in the ditch-and one of the horses was kicking vigorously when we came up-the whole body off the ground-and resting on that of his companion. We had considerable difficulty in righting the coach, as the horses were inclined to be obstreperous. We suc ceeded, however-deposited our unholy spol within, turned the horses' heads towards the high-road, and then, after enjoining Jehu to keep his place on the box, I went to see how my companions were getting on. They had nearly completed their task, and told me that "shovelling in was surprisingly easier than shovelling out!" We took great pains to leave everything as neat, and as nearly resembling what we found it as possible, in order that our visit might not be suspected. We then carried away each our own tools, and hurried as fast as possible to our coach, for the dim twilight had already stolen a march upon us, devoutly thankful that, after so many interruptions, we had succeeded in effecting our object. It was broad daylight before we reached town, and a wretched coach company we looked, all wearied and dirty-Tip especially. who nevertheless snored in the corner as com fortably as if he had been warm in his bed. I heartily resolved with him, on leaving the coach, that it should be "the devil's own dear self only that should timpt me out again lodysnatching!"1 ALL'S WELL. The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake The blow most dreaded falls to break J. G. WHITTIER. 1 On examining the body, we found that Sirsuspicions were fully verified. It was disease of the heart, but of too complicated a nature to be made in telligible to general readers. "COME, DINE WITH ME." Joseph Hall, born at Bristow Park, Ashby de la Zouch, Leicestershire, 1st July, 1574; died at Higham, near Norwich, 8th September, 1656. Bishop of Exeter and Norwich, successively, and the first English writer of satire. In the prologue to his satires he says: "I first adventure, follow me who list, And be the second English satirist." He also wrote numerous sermons, meditations, and epistles.] The courteous citizen bade me to his feast, Come, will ye dine with me this holyday?" I yielded, though he hop'd I would say nay: For had I mayden'd it, as many use: him, becoming, as it were, a transparent fluid We cannot part with our friends. not let our angels go. We do not see that they only go out, that archangels may come in. I should but trouble you;-pardon me, if you may." We are idolaters of the old. We do not believe No pardon should I need; for, to depart He gives me leave, and thanks too, in his heart. Two words for monie, Darbishirian wise; (That's one too manie) is a naughtie guise. Who looks for double biddings to a feast, I went, then saw, and found the greate expence; For curious cost, and wondrous choice of cheere? Th' Athenian's goate; quaile, Iolan's cheere; Hadst thou such cheere? wert thou evere there before? COMPENSATIONS OF CALAMITY. BY R. W. EMERSON. The changes which break up at short intervals the prosperity of men, are advertisements of a nature whose law is growth. Evermore it is the order of nature to grow, and every soul is by this intrinsic necessity quitting its whole ystem of things, its friends, and home, and laws, and faith, as the shell-fish crawls out of its beautiful but stony case, because it no longer admits of its growth, and slowly forms a new house. In proportion to the vigour of the individual, these revolutions are frequent, until in some happier mind they are incessant, and all worldly relations hang very loosely about in the riches of the soul, in its proper eternity The And yet the compensations of calamity are made apparent to the understanding also, after long intervals of time. A fever, a mutilation, a cruel disappointment, a loss of wealth, a loss of friends, seems at the moment unpaid loss, and unpayable. But the sure years reveal the deep remedial force that underlies all facts. The death of a dear friend, wife, brother, lover, which seemed nothing but privation, somewhat later assumes the aspect of a guide or genius; for it commonly operates revolutions in our way of life, terminates an epoch of infancy or of youth which was waiting to be closed, breaks up a wonted occupation, or a household, or style of living, and allows the formation of new ones more friendly to the growth of character. It permits or constrains the formation of new acquaintances, and the reception of new influences that prove of the first importance to the next years; and the man or woman who would have remained a sunny garden flower, with no room for its roots and too much sun shine for its head, by the falling of the walls and the neglect of the gardener, is made the banian of the forest, yielding shade and fruit to wide neighbourhoods of men. and personal inspection by my father of half CHORUS OF THANKFUL CHILDREN. a hundred establishments, I found myself one Now thank we all our God, Oh may this bounteous God All praise and thanks to God morning settled at Mr. Price's, Belvoir House, Flatborough-on-the-Sea, an establishment where boys under fourteen years of age were educated, boarded, and generally attended to, for the sum of eight-and-twenty pounds per annum. This was not a fashionable price, and it was not, in consequence, a fashionable school. It was, indeed, rather an unfashionable school; the pupils were not highly trained, and were never "civilly examined," and the master had not thought of deposing "quarters" and taking to "terms." There were no extras. there was not a resident mathematical master, and the principal himself taught us all the French he knew, and left the pronunciation a great deal to our tastes. Still, looking back, I am disposed to think that this was a good school-an old-fashioned school, perhaps, but where the master worked hard in the midst of his boys, crammed no particular clique to the detriment of the rest, and at least did his best-and he was a clever man in his way-to give us a sound English education. As a start in a boy's life, possibly not as a finishing school, Belvoir House was particularly suitable; and as the situation was From the German of MARTIN RINCKART (1636).-healthy, the terms low, and the master well TITO'S TROUBLES. [Frederick William Robinson, born in London, 1830. Novelist. His principal works are: Grandmother's Money: No Church: Church and Chapel: 4 Woman's Ransom; Milly's Hero; Under the Spell: Woodleigh; Anne Judge, Spinster; For Her Sake; Wrayford's Ward, and other Tales (from which we quote); Slaves of the Ring; &c. &c. A review in Blackwood, referring to Church and Chapel, said: "Such novels have a higher use than the sensations of the moment. If due pains and care were bestowed upon them, we see no reason why they should not rank next to biography-works of more than amusement-contributions towards the history of the inexhaustible yet unchanging race."] You are all aware that my first school was not a fashionable academy for young gentlemen. Family reverses, not to mention an exceedingly large family, prevented my father from placing me in a high-class, high-priced, high-pressure seminary, when I arrived at that objectionable age which necessitated my becoming a nuisance at home to my parents, and to all my little brothers and sisters. It was absolutely necessary that I should go somewhere, everybody said; and after much hard study of advertisements in the daily papers, known as a man kind to his pupils and interested in his profession, Mr. Price had always some sixty or seventy boys beneath his care. Mr. Price was not a rich man; indeed report said that, owing to indiscreet investments in public companies, he had lost the little that he had managed to save, before his own large family-twelve "grown ups" sat down to dinner every day of their lives, and there were four boys under fourteen in the school itself prevented him putting anything more by for a rainy day. It was at this school that I met Tito Zalez and it is Tito's school-life and strange schooltroubles in which I am about to attempt to interest you. I suppose that I took readily to Tito because he arrived at Belvoir House on the same day as myself, and we both sat in a waiting-room, on chairs much too high to allow of our feet touching the ground, staring sheepishly at one another, whilst our parents were in solemn conclave with the master in the drawing-room. I was eleven years of age, and Tito, I learned afterwards, was ten. I was a thin, gawky, bullet-headed youth, for my age; Tito was big and plump, with a dark skin, black curly hair, a nose that young ladies, I believe, call "dubby," and two little beadlike eyes which rolled a great deal in his head, |