"Some one has played you a trick," they said, "as you do to others daily when you get the chance."

The three robbers took up their daggers in a great passion, and swore that they would have the sacristan's life. But Vincent Lefèvre was prepared for them, and had warned Claude. He knew that he must act solely on the defensive with the ex-crusaders, for they were protected by the Count of Hainault, Baldwin V. the Courageous, who always sided with his old soldiers. When he saw them coming in so great a passion, he said to them:

Friends, listen to me. If a misfortune has happened to your goat, have patience, it will come back again; and what it has done must be the fault of my relative, Claude, who has permitted it to partake of some intoxicating herbs. So I shall punish him, as you shall witness."

And so saying, he drew a long knife from his girdle, and stabbing Claude with it, there came forth a torrent of blood (from a bladder secreted in his clothes), and the faithful attendant fell at the same time as if dead.

"Oh! miserable wretch that I am!" exclaimed the sacristan. "What have I done? I have killed my relative, and now I must resuscitate him, if I have only strength sufficient."

Whilst the three rogues of Pomerœul stood there aghast, the old man went away and brought in a flute, upon which he began to play a lively air. Claude moved, stretched out his hands, opened his eyes, and soon after got upon his feet. The anger of the three thieves had by this time passed away; they began, indeed, to hold the sacristan rather in awe, and finished by giving him forty more florins for his flute.

A few days afterwards, one of the robbers got into a great passion with his wife and killed her with his dagger. But recovering himself afterwards, he regretted the deed, and had recourse to the flute. But it was in vain that he played upon it for more than an hour; his wife did not come to life again. When he related what had happened to the two others, one of them said:

"I suppose it is because you don't know the air that the sacristan played. Give it to me, and I will try it."

So, in order to make the experiment, he forthwith stabbed his comrade, making sure of reviving him and his wife afterwards. But he played upon the flute in vain; death would not give up either of its victims.

The two remaining thieves became upon this furious with passion. "Vincent Lefèvre," they said, "is most assuredly a magician, and he shall pay for these tricks dearly. There is only one way of destroying one who is in league with the devil, and that is to tie him in a sack and cast him into the Haine."

They accordingly went away, seized upon the old man, tied him in a sack, and carried him towards the river.

As they were going along, an incident happened to disarrange their plans for a moment. The Count of Hainault happened to be passing by, on his way from Flanders, where he then reigned in virtue of his marriage with Margaret of Alsatia. The two comrades being obliged, according to the custom of the day, to salute the count, and to join

his escort as far as the next village, they deposited the sack and its contents in a ditch by the wayside, and joined the procession; Baldwin being accompanied by his wife and son, the brilliant young prince who was one day to be Emperor of Constantinople.

In the mean time, a shepherd, who had come to the roadside with his flock to see the count go by, was taken aback by hearing a voice coming from the sack, which said, "They wish me to wed her, and I won't, for she is lame."

The shepherd hastened to untie the sack, and, surprised at what he saw, asked the sacristan how he came there.

"I was put here," replied the sacristan, "because Monseigneur the Count of Hainault wishes me to marry his daughter, the beautiful Yolande; but I won't do it, for she is lame."

The shepherd said, musingly, "Do you think, messire, they would give her to me? I should be willing to marry her."

"Most assuredly they would give her to you," replied the sacristan, "for she is lame. But you must allow yourself to be tied in this sack, and carried away without saying a word."

The shepherd did as he was bade, and Vincent Lefèvre, having tied him, went away with his flock of sheep. A quarter of an hour afterwards the ex-crusaders came back, lifted up the sack, carried it to the river-side, and then threw it into the water, to the great discomfiture of the poor shepherd. Thinking then of the glorious revenge they had had, they took their way home to their village. As they were journeying along, they saw a flock of sheep close by, and resolved to try and secure a lamb for their supper. But on approaching the flock, what was their astonishment at finding that they were under the care of the very sacristan whom they thought they had just drowned. Rubbing their eyes, they asked him how he had managed to get out of the river.

"Leave me alone," he said to them; " you are no better than asses. If you had thrown me in ten paces farther, I should have come back with ten times as many sheep."

The ex-crusaders, feeling more and more assured that they had to do with a proficient in the black art, became quite respectful.

"Messire Vincent Lefèvre," they said, "let bygones be bygones. It is in your power to make honest men of us. Only consent to place us each in a sack, and throw us into the Haine as far as you can."

"I will do it," replied the sacristan, "but only on your promise that you will mend your ways, and become good members of society." The rogues promised, and the old sacristan, tying each in a bag, cast them into the river, where they reckoned upon finding rich flocks, but only found the shepherd.

V.-THE FRAUENSAND.

A Dutch Legend.

I could see tall "That is a corn

I WAS crossing the western end of the Zuyder-Zee; we were at a short distance from the little town of Stavoren. grasses with long stalks rising above the waves. field," said the pilot to me, following my eyes. "At sea ?" "Oh! the sea is not very deep at that place; the corn grows on a sand

bank." "And who is venturesome enough to sow it there ?" "No one." "Then who reaps it?" "No one. It is cursed, like the town of Stavoren, and produces nothing." "Jacobus, you have a story to tell me. "At your orders, sir.' "Begin then, my good fellow." And, stretching myself on my cloak in a comfortable position, I listened.

It is now two or three hundred years ago; Stavoren was a handsome town, stretching far and wide in the rear of that bank out of which the long straws still rise. The richest person of Stavoren was a lady whose name is no longer known. Proud of her wealth, harsh towards the poor, she had only one passion, which was that of continually increasing her treasures. She had ships that carried her produce to all parts of the globe, and which came back laden with spices, ivory, and gold. One day this lady summoned one of her captains, and

said to him:

"Set sail, and bring me back that which is most precious in the world."

The ship-master, who was accustomed to receive detailed and precise orders, respectfully inquired of the lady what she meant by the most precious thing in the world. But the lady bade him hold his tongue, go forth, and carry out her orders.

The mariner felt himself in a state of great embarrassment. He did not dare to question any further, for he was full well aware of his mistress's obstinate and perverse disposition, so he set sail, not knowing where he should go or what he should bring back. After having reflected, however, some time when at sea, he said to himself:

"I will bring her home a load of the best wheat that grows in the world. What can there be that is more precious than that noble grain without which mankind cannot prosper ?"

Thus saying, he sailed towards Dantzig, where he shipped a load of the best corn, and then took his way back to Stavoren. As he got near he felt nervous at times as to the reception he should meet with from the lady, but there was no alternative. When he presented himself before her, hat in hand and not a little anxious, she seemed much surprised.

"What, back again already, captain? I thought you were on the coast of Africa, purchasing gold and ivory. Have you by chance plundered one of those rascally merchants of Hamburg? Come, let us to the harbour; I wish to see your cargo at once."

The captain felt by what had fallen from her that she would not be overpleased at what she would see, so he ventured to observe :

Mistress, I have brought you the best corn that it is possible to find in the whole extent of the earth."

"Corn!" she exclaimed. "Did you dare to bring me such stuff ?" “I did not think that that which gives us our daily bread could be called stuff."

"Idiot!" exclaimed the lady, in a passion, "I will teach you what importance I attach to your freight. What side did your ship come in ?"

"Port, madame."

"Well, then, I order you at once and forthwith to cast the whole of your freight over the other side of the ship. I shall follow immediately, to see with my own eyes that my orders shall have been punctually carried out."

The mariner went forth much troubled in his mind. He hesitated to carry out an order which appeared to him little better than a crime. So he went and bade all the poor people of the town, men, women, and children, come down to the harbour, and await by the ship's side. The lady was not long in making her appearance.

"Have my orders been carried out ?" she demanded.

No sooner had she made this inquiry, than all the poor of the town went down on their knees and begged of her to let them have the corn, and not to throw it into the sea. But the lady's heart was stubborn as a rock; she would not listen to their prayers, but persevered in her orders that it should be thrown into the sea.

The captain became so indignant at this that he could no longer restrain himself, and he said aloud:

"No! God, who rewards the good and punishes the wicked, will never let such cruelty be enacted without vengeance. The day will come, madame, when you will weep at not being able to gather up one by one the precious grains which you this day cast into the sea.'

"I!" exclaimed the lady, with a satanic smile-"I shall fall into poverty, and shall want bread! It is about as true as that my eyes shall once more see this ring which I cast into the sea."

And at the same moment she took a very valuable ring from her finger and threw it into the water.

Nothing remained but to obey, and the valuable cargo was all committed to the deep.

Some days after the lady sent one of her servants to market to buy her some fish. She particularly bade her bring cod, but the servant came back with a mackerel.

"What is this?" said the lady. "Do you take me for a goose? You bring mackerel, and I told you to bring me cod."

"Madame," replied the servant, "there was only one cod in the market, and it was so large that I did not like to buy it for madame's dinner alone."

"Go back at once," said the imperious dame, "and do as I bade you."

So the servant went back for the great cod-fish, and having brought it home, committed it to the charge of the cook. The latter, on opening it, found within the ring which the lady had thrown into the sea, and hastened to return it to her.

"Ah! unfortunate that I am!" said the lady, turning pale as she saw it. And she felt the first pang of that remorse, which is the sure forerunner of punishment, creeping into her conscience.

Nearly at the same moment people came to announce to her that one of her flotillas coming from the East had been dispersed by a storm, and the ships wrecked.

A few days afterwards news came that several of her ships, richly laden, had been captured by the Moors. The great houses with which she did business also failed; and, one loss with another, in less than a Jan.-VOL. CXXXIX. NO. DLIII.

I

year she was a ruined woman, and the mariner's prophecy had been fulfilled.

Poor, shunned, and abandoned by every one, the lady of Stavoren fell into the deepest misery. Without a home, and hungry, she went begging from door to door; but the poor remembered her hardheartedness in prosperity, and refused to relieve her. Grief and vexation, added to her privations, soon brought her to the grave.

Unfortunately the punishment of the lady did not profit the inhabitants of Stavoren, the majority of whom were, like her, harsh, egotistical, and avaricious. One day, in drawing water from a well, it was found to contain herrings. The next night the waters of the sea rose out of it, and swallowed up three-fourths of the town. To the present day not a year passes by without some of the huts being swept away, and there is not a prosperous inhabitant to be found in the whole place.

At the spot where the wheat was thrown out, there comes up every year a species of corn out of the water, which bears no flower; the stem is very high, and the head resembles that of wheat, but it bears no seed. The sand-bank on which this sterile harvest grows stretches the whole length of the town of Stavoren, and it is known as the Frauensand, or the "Lady's Sand-bank."

TO WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT,*

ROSLYN, LONG ISLAND, UNITED STATES.
CHIEF of thy country's bards, sadly to me
The tale of thy bereavement--hard the blow
That sever'd half thy being, leaving thee
No balm in Gilead-for thy heavy woe
No solace-with a heart by sorrow riven:
Still art thou one, among a chosen few,
Predestined by the sovereign will of Heaven,
Through lofty inspiration, and the dew
Of Castaly shed o'er thee, to renew

On glory's summit, bathed in quenchless light,
A holy bond rent in a world of night,
And sorrow, and mortality's despite-

Where hope shall cheat no more, and thou wilt see
Fulfill'd thy brightest dream of love and poesy!†

CYRUS REDDING.

* "Only a few weeks ago the poet's wife, with whom he had enjoyed unclouded happiness for nearly half a century, departed this life, and the venerable poet, now greatly advanced in years, cannot long survive the deprivation."-American Paper, October 7, 1866.

Washington Irving printed in England, many years ago, a volume of Bryant's poems, and presented the writer of the above lines with a copy. He inscribed the volume to Mr. Rogers, author of the "Pleasures of Memory." It yet remains for one of his country's poets to surpass Bryant, for none have yet approached him in elegance, elevated thought, and classical correctness.