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Not a cloud hung over the hill-tops, and the tower itself was flooded with sunshine. Jerome gave a long, lingering look all round, and then called to his children to come away, and mounted a mule that was waiting for him, for he could not yet walk down the steep. Ursula came out and lifted Bernard on a second mule, which was led by their old friend the mule-driver. Miriam sat behind her brother, for the little girls had now outgrown their panniers; and Cora was to go down in Ursula's arms. Hacco stood leaning against the door-post, with large tears rolling down his cheeks. Little Cora took his hand to try to comfort him, and put up her face for a kiss. The poor dwarf sank down on the door-step, hiding his face, and Ursula took Cora in her arms and carried her away, the child crying bitterly at thought of Hacco's grief.

"I shall go back to him to-morrow morning, my lamb," said Ursula, soothing her; "I told poor Hacco I was coming back in the morning, and I'll tell him to come down to the valley and see my little Cora." The priest received his guests kindly, and even Cora soon grew cheerful and amused with the strangeness of everything round her.

Early the next morning Ursula returned to the mountain, to prepare the furniture to be brought away. All was quiet about the tower as she drew near, and the door was still closed.

"Hacco sleeps late in his sorrow, poor fellow," she said to herself, taking from her pocket a little loaf that the children had sent for his breakfast, and rejoicing in the thought of the pleasure which their kind attention would give him. She knocked at the door, and was answered only by a low growl from the mastiff.

"How foolish I am," she said, laughing; "Hacco can't hear a knock;" so she tried the door, and found it was not locked or barred, but opened to her touch. Yet she could not enter, for Hacco had drawn his bed across the doorway, so as to defend the entrance; and there he lay, with Lion on the floor on the other side of him. The dog looked up into Ursula's face and whined; there was grief in his eyes. She began to tremble, she knew not why; but seeing the dwarf still slept, she laid her hand on his arm to waken him, and leaned forward so that she could see his face. Then she trembled more and more, for she saw poor dwarf slept the sleep from which in

that the

this world there could be no more awakening. Poor faithful Hacco was dead.

Ursula closed the door, leaving Lion to keep watch, and went sorrowfully down the mountain to tell her master what had happened, and to break the news to the children as gently as she could. Jerome was touched to the heart, and the little ones were loud in their grief. Ursula had expected such an event, but not so soon, or she would not have left the poor dwarf to meet death with only his faithful dog beside him. Good old Lion was a greater pet than ever now, and he was to go away to the city with the children. Before many days, the poor dwarf was buried beside his old master; and Jerome ordered that on the white cross at the head of his grave should be inscribed the words, "Hacco, a good and faithful servant." And now it was time to say farewell to the old priest, with whom the white goat was left in remembrance of Hacco, while the others of the flock were distributed among the poor. All Ursula's work was done at the tower, and the old place was left to solitude and decay. When they lost sight of the good priest, who stood bareheaded at his door to watch them go, the children fixed their

eyes on their old home till the road, turning away into another valley, hid it from their view; and soon their thoughts were busy with the new scenes to which they were hastening.

This is the real story of Jerome Fauster, and how he left the tower on the mountain. He lived long in the city, and his children had children of their own before he was taken from among them. He was honoured in his lifetime, and his bronze statue was set up in the market-place when he died.

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BOUT a hundred years ago, a youth named Phil Murphy determined to leave Ireland, and emigrate to America. Several reasons induced him to decide on this step. He was one of a large family, and his father's cabin was very small;

he liked good fare, and the supply even of potatoes was often scanty; he had no love for digging, and was too young and strong to beg. Moreover, he had heard wonderful tales of the wealth and comfort of the lands beyond sea, and he longed for a share of both; so, with golden visions of the future luring him on, he took leave of his ragged parents and barefooted brothers and sisters, and turned his back on the hovel that had sheltered his infancy, with a small bundle in one hand, and a stout thorn-stick in the other.

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