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Hark, O! hark, O!"

Holds Martha's tender hand once more,

His glowing face bends fondly o'er
The crib wherein his darling lies,

And in a coaxing tone he cries,

"Charco'! charco'!"

And baby with a laugh replies, "Ah, go! ah, go!"

"Charco'!"-" Ah, go!" While at the sounds The mother's heart with gladness bounds.

Attend him on his daily rounds.

Though dusky as an African,

'Tis not for you, that chance to be

A little better clad than he,

His honest manhood to despise, Although from morn till eve he cries,

"Charco'! charco' !"

While mocking echo still replies,

Over the river, over the river,

My brother stands waiting to welcome me.

Over the river the boatman pale

Carried another-the household pet; Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale; Darling Minnie! I see her yet.

She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; We felt it glide from the silver sands,

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. We know she is safe on the farther side, Where all the ransomed and angels be: Over the river, the mystic river,

My childhood's idol is waiting for me.

For none return from those quiet shores Who cross with the boatman cold and pale;

We hear the dip of the golden oars

And catch a gleam of the snowy sail, And, lo! they have passed from our yearning hearts,

They cross the stream and are gone for

aye.

We may not sunder the veil apart

Let us rise up and part: she will not know; Let us go seaward as the great winds go,

Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?

There is no help, for all these things are so, And all the world is bitter as a tear;

day;

We only know that their barks no more
May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea;
Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore,
They watch and beckon and wait for me.

And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold Is flushing river and hill and shore,

i shall one day stand by the water cold. And list for the sound of the boatman's

oar;

I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail, I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand,

T two o'clock the guide entered the shelter of a thick forest, which he had to traverse for a space of several miles. He preferred to travel thus under cover of the woods. At all events, up to this moment there had been no unpleasant meeting, and it seemed as if the journey would be accomplished without accident, when the elephant, showing some signs of uneasiness, suddenly stopped. It was then four o'clock. What is the matter?" asked Sir Francis Cromarty, raising his head above his howdah. "I do not know, officer," replied the Parsee, listening to a confused murmur which came through the thick branches.

A few moments after, this murmur became more defined. It might have been called a concert, still very distant, of human voices and brass instruments. Passepartout was all eyes, all ears. Mr. Fogg waited patiently without uttering a word.

The Parsee jumped down, fastened the elephant to a tree and plunged into the thickest of the undergrowth. A few minutes later he returned saying,

"A Brahmin procession coming this way. If it is possible, let us avoid being seen.'

* The principal characters in this narrative are Phileas Fogg, an English gentleman on a tour round the world: Sir Francis Cromarty, a travelling companion; Passepartout, Fogg's servant; a Parsee guide; and Aouda, an Indian lady of Bombay.

The guide unfastened the elephant and led him into a thicket, recommending the travellers not to descend. He held himself ready to mount the elephant quickly should flight become necessary; but he thought that the troop of the Faithful would pass without noticing him, for the thickness of the foliage entirely concealed him.

The discordant noise of voices and instruments approached. Monotonous chants were mingled with the sound of the drums and cymbals. Soon the head of the procession. appeared from under the trees, at fifty paces from the spot occupied by Mr. Fogg and his companions. Through the branches they readily distinguished the curious personnel of this religious ceremony.

In the first line were the priests, with mitres upon their heads and attired in long robes adorned with gold and silver lace. They were surrounded by men, women and children, who were singing a sort of funereal psalmody, interrupted at regular intervals by the beating of tam-tams and cymbals. Behind them, on a car with large wheels, whose spokes and felloes represented serpents intertwined, appeared a hideous statue, drawn by two pairs of richly-caparisoned zebus. This statue had four arms, its body colored with dark red, its eyes haggard, its hair tangled, its tongue hanging out, its lips colored with henna and betel. Its neck was encircled by a collar of skulls; around its waist, a girdle of human hands. It was erect upon a prostrate giant, whose head was missing.

statue.

"The goddess Kali," he murmured-" the goddess of love and death.'

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Of death, I grant; but of love, never!" said Passepartout. "The ugly old woman !" The Parsee made him a sign to keep quiet.

Around the statue there was a group of old fakirs jumping and tossing themselves about convulsively, smeared with bands of ochre, covered with cross-like cuts, whence their blood escaped drop by drop-stupid fanatics who in the great Hindoo ceremonies precipitated themselves under the wheels of the car of Juggernaut.

Behind them some Brahmins, in all the magnificence of their Oriental costume, were dragging a woman who could hardly hold herself erect. This woman was young and as fair as a European. Her head, her neck, her shoulders, her ears, her arms, her hands and her toes were loaded down with jewels, necklaces, bracelets, ear-rings and fingerrings. A tunic embroidered with gold, covered with a light muslin, displayed the outlines of her form.

Behind this young woman-a violent contrast for the eyes were guards armed with naked sabres fastened to their girdles and long damaskeened pistols, carrying a corpse upon a palanquin. It was the body of an old man dressed in the rich garments of a rajah, having, as in life, his turban embroidered with pearls, his robe woven of silk and gold, his sash of cashmere ornamented with diamonds, and his magnificent arms as an Indian prince.

Then musicians and a rear-guard of fanatics, whose cries sometimes drowned the

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And this corpse ?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"It is that of the prince her husband,” replied the guide-" an independent rajah of Bundelcund."

"How?" replied Phileas Fogg, without his voice betraying the least emotion. "Do these barbarous customs still exist in India? and have not the English been able to extirpate them?"

"In the largest part of India," replied Sir Francis Cromarty, "these sacrifices do not come to pass; but we have no influence over these wild countries, and particularly over this territory of Bundelcund. All the north