extremely refreshed with his meal. "So," said the little boy, "I see that if I have given you a breakfast you have given me a supper; and a good turn is never lost, done even to a dog." He then once more attempted to escape from the wood; but it was to no purpose; he only scratched his legs with the briars, and slipped down into the dirt, without being able to find his way out. He was just going to give up all further attempts in despair, when he happened to see a horse feeding before him, and, going up to him, saw by the light of the moon, which just then began to shine a little, that it was the very same he had fed in the morning. "Perhaps," said the little boy, "this creature, as I have been so good to him, will let me get upon his back, and he may bring me out of the wood, as he is accustomed to feed in the neighbourhood." The little boy then went up to the horse, speaking to him and stroking him, and the horse let him mount on his back without opposition, and then proceeded slowly through the wood, grazing as he went, till he brought him to an opening which led to the high road. The little boy was much rejoiced at this, and said, “If I had not saved this creature's life in the morning, I should have been obliged to stay here all night. I see by this that a good turn is never lost."

But the poor little boy had yet a greater danger to undergo. For as he was going down a solitary lane two men rushed upon him, laid hold of him, and were going to strip him of his clothes. But just as they were beginning to do it, the little dog bit the leg of one of the men with so much violence that he left the little boy, and pursued the dog, that ran howling and barking away. In this instant, a voice was heard that called out, "There the rascals are; let us knock them down," which frightened the remaining man so much that he ran away, and his companion followed him. The little boy then looked up, and saw that it was the sailor whom he had relieved in the morning, carried on the shoulders of the blind man whom he had helped out of the pond. "There, my little dear," said the sailor; "God be thanked! we have come in time to do you a service in return for what you did us in the morning. As I lay under the hedge I heard these villains talk about robbing a little boy, who, from the description, I concluded must be you. But I was so lame that I should not have been able to come in time enough to help you, if I had not

met this honest blind man, who took me upon his back, while I showed him the way."

The little boy thanked him very sincerely for thus defending him, and they went all together to his father's house, which was not far off, where they were all kindly entertained with a supper and a bed. The little boy took care of his faithful dog as long as he lived, and never forgot the importance and necessity of doing good to others, if we wish them to do the same to us.

King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid.

READ that once in Africa
A princely wight did reign,
Who had a name Cophetua,
As poets they did feign;
From nature's laws he did decline
(For sure he was not of my mind),
He caréd not for womankind,
But did them all disdain.
But mark what happened one day!
As he out of the window lay,
He saw a beggar all in gray,

The which did cause him pain.

The blinded boy that shoots so trim,]
From heaven down did hie,

He drew a dart and shot at him

In place where he did lie;

Which soon did pierce him to the quick,
And when he felt the arrow prick,
Which in his tender heart did stick,

He looked as he would die.

"What sudden change is this," quoth he,
"That I to love must subject be,
Which never thereto would agree,
But still did it defy?"

Then from the window he did come,
And laid him on his bed;

A thousand heaps of care did run
Within his troubled head:

For now he means to crave her love,
And now he seeks which way to prove
How he his fancy might remove,

And not this beggar wed.

But Cupid had him so in snare,
That this poor beggar must prepare
A salve to cure him of his care,
Or else he would be dead.

And, as he musing thus did lie,
He thought for to devise
How he might have her company,
That so did 'maze his eyes.
Then from his bed he soon arose,
And to his palace gate he goes;—
Full little then this beggar knows
When she the king espies.

"The gods preserve your majesty,"
The beggars all 'gan cry;
"Vouchsafe to give your charity
Our children food to buy."

The king to them his purse did cast,
And they to part it made great haste;
The silly woman was the last

That after them did hie.

The king he called her back again,
And unto her he gave his chain,
And said, "With us you shall remain
Till such time as we die;

"For thou," quoth he, "shall be my wife, And honoured for my queen; With thee I mean to lead my life,

As shortly shall be seen:

Our wedding shall appointed be,

And everything in its degree.

Come on," quoth he, "and follow me;

Thou shalt go shift thee clean.

What is thy name, fair maid?" quoth he. "Penelophon, O king," quoth she: With that she made a low curtsey, A trim one as I ween.

Thus hand in hand along they walk
Unto the king's paláce;

The king with courteous, comely talk,
This beggar doth embrace:
The beggar blusheth scarlet red,
And straight again as pale as lead,
But not a word at all she said,

She was in such amaze.

At last she spoke, with trembling voice,
And said, "O king, I do rejoice
That you will take me for your choice,
And my degree's so base."

And when the wedding day was come,
The king commanded strait
The noblemen, both all and some,
Upon the queen to wait.

And she behaved herself that day
As if she never walked the way;
She had forgot her gown of gray
Which she did wear of late.
The proverb old has come to pass-
The priest, when he begins his mass,
Forgets that ever clerk he was,
He knoweth not his estate.

And thus they led a quiet life,
During their princely reign;
And in a tomb were buried both,
As writers showeth plain.
The lords they took it grievously,
The ladies took it heavily,
The commons criéd piteously-
Their death to them was pain.
Their fame did sound so passingly
That it did pierce the starry sky,
And throughout all the world did fly
To every prince's realm.

ANCIENT BALLAD.

REMARKS ON THE ABOVE BALLAD.

Shakespere twice refers to this ballad, which appears to have been well known in his time. Tennyson has some beautiful verses on the subject, the first of which runs

"Her arms across her breast she laid

She was more fair than words can say ;
Bare-footed came the beggar-maid

Before the King Cophetua.

In robe and crown the king stept down
To meet and greet her on her way;

'It is no wonder,' said the lords,

'She is more beautiful than day.''

Charles Lamb, in his remarks on beggars, says: "How would it sound in song that a great monarch had bestowed his affections upon the daughter of a baker! Yet, do we feel the imagination at all violated when we read the 'true ballad,' where King Cophetua woos the beggar-maid?"

300 GRIEF OF PETER THE GREAT AT THE DEATH OF HIS SON.

Grief of Peter the Great at the Death of his Son.

HE joy which Peter the Great felt at the birth of his first son by the Empress Catherine was only equalled by his affliction on the death of the child at the age of two years. On the birth of the infant-whom the czar, in a letter to his field-marshal, called a recruit sent from God-he ordered the whole army to rejoice. When the child died, the czar burst into tears, and gave himself up to a state of despair from which the saddest results were feared.

The czar had shut himself up for three days and three nights in his closet without seeing any person, not even his beloved wife, Catherine. He lay on his camp bed, took neither victuals nor drink, nor could he be diverted from his grief to attend to the most important affairs. The course of justice was suspended, the despatches of ambassadors and generals were unanswered, the most important operations of war were at a stand, and a solemn stillness, accompanied with terror and suspense, reigned at the court.

In these circumstances, no person was so much to be pitied as the Empress Catherine, who, besides the loss of her son, seemed now threatened with that of her husband, who gave her no answer, let her knock at his door or call as loud as she could. She sent in the night to the senator, Dolgorucki-of whose fidelity and favour with the czar she was well aware-entreating him to think of some means of drawing his majesty from his retreat, and relieving the empire from its dangerous condition. Dolgorucki assured her that next day there should be a change, and that the czar should be restored to his people.

The next morning Dolgorucki sent letters to every senator, commanding his attendance at court, by order of the czarina, to assist in recovering the czar from his grief. The senate accordingly assembled in the palace, and marched to the door of the room in which the czar was lying. Dolgorucki knocked loudly at the door of the apartment without receiving any answer. length he called to the czar that he must open the door, for that

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