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afford to marry.
I had grown, not worldly
hearted, but worldly wise among the inhabitants
of Stillington Manor. I had heard so much of
"good matches," and "the necessity of people
waiting till they were rich before they married,"
the impossibility of being comfortably settled
under three or four thousand a year, that I had
begun to conceive how young men stifle the
virtuous throbs of a pure first love, and addict
themselves to clubs and "safe" flirtations.
When Effingham heard of my call at Mrs.
Marchmont's his face clouded heavily. The
next moment, with a forced laugh, he said-
"We must be civil to Ernest; his father was
a great friend of ours."

crueller shadow than even that of Death was falling over us-the shadow of helpless poverty. Strange rumours began to float around of my brother's conduct of the banking house. In a few months the storm broke, and we were all ruined. I was in London when it was suddenly announced that the bank had stopped, that the liabilities were enormous, and that Mr. Effingham Studlegh had hurried off to America!

It appeared that the affairs were embarrassed even before my father's death, and that Effingham, afraid and ashamed then to display the secrets of his management, had obtained a breathing time for arrangements, in hopes by vigorous speculation to set all to rights without exposure. His speculations, daring, rash, and far beyond his legitimate province as a banker, had unexpectedly failed, and he, consciencestricken by his own folly, could not face the family he had wronged, and fled precipitately from the creditors.

So Ernest was invited to fish in the river, and to lunch and dine, and he came duly "as per notice," and his manner to me grew more expressive than ever, and his voice had softer and deeper tones; and yet he said no word of love. It was too late for me to think of prudence now. I had leaped before I looked, and could not re- And another drop in this full cup of bittersume the heart I had so freely given. His sadness was, that the general crash had overness oppressed, but did not chill me. I knew he must have some good cause for it, and that soon appeared too vividly.

Every day his presence grew more precious; for I knew it would soon cease for ever.

Α

whelmed the small capital possessed by Mrs. Marchmont, and that now the whole dependence of herself and her son was on that son's daily and unflagging labour.

(To be continued.)

THE CHRISTMAS TREE.

BY MARIA NORRIS.

(From a German Legend.)

One Christmas night, an orphan child

Walked trembling through the snow; With sighs he marked the hurrying guests Pass gaily to and fro.

With sighs he marked the many lights

Outshining far and nigh;
The night was dark, and over all
There arched a starless sky.

He heard the sound of dancing feet-
He heard the music's strain;
He saw the shadows flitting by
On many a window-pane;
And presently the tapers beamed

From many a Christmas Tree-
"I wish," the child in anguish cried,
"A bough were dressed for me!"

So passed he up and down the street
Till guests began to part:

Poor boy! Each kindly word they spoke
Breathed sorrow to his heart.
Each echo of their festal mirth

Called forth his tears like rain-
"I'll go," said he, "to yonder wood,
And pray to God again!”

He laid him down upon the snow-
The snow so soft and white-

And scarcely were his eyelids closed
When visions of delight,

Like sundawn beamed upon his soul-
"Dear child," an angel cries,

"Come quick with me, thy Christmas Tree Is blooming in the skies!"

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THE TWO RINGS.

"By Fiction Truth severe is taught." "Tis said that in the days of old, Two rings by magic skill were wrought, A monarch's fingers to infold.

In strange, artistic beauty done,

A mystic form on each was traced: Sullen Oblivion darkened one,

And one divinest Memory graced.

A charmed power these rings possess'd,
Fatal or kind to those who wore ;
For on the wearer each impressed
The influence of the shape it bore.

Oh, wondrous rings! Oh, blessed ones
To us poor pining "men of letters!"
To give of one kind to our duns,

And of the other to our debtors!

And sailors, too, who through their lives
Have tender hearts, that always meet hearts,
Might give of one kind to their wives,

And of the other to their sweethearts!

Not so our King: across the wave
Departing from a daine unkind,
To her the Oblivious gift he gave,

And Meinory to himself assigned.

Alas! the changes Time will bring!
Now, many a weary married elf
Would give his spouse the Thoughtful ring,
And keep the Oblivious one himself.

For me (but let it be believed

Of Friendship, not of Love, I write),

I, too, have given and received

Those "tokens of the heart's troth-plight;"

And think, like spells in them must be
(To such hard thoughts at last I'm driven)
Memory in all bestowed on mc-
Forgetfulness in all I've given.

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THE MANGLING ROOM.

(A Scene out of the Every-day Life of a Danish Household.)

FROM THE DANISH. BY MARY HOWITT.

One day, when I was about ten years old, having found my uncle's powder-horn, I filled my pocket-handkerchief with a quantity of gunpowder, with which, as soon as it grew dusk, I stole down to the shore, that I might amuse myself with what the children call water-spouts. I was so absorbed with the pleasure I was anticipating, that having set up my first waterspout, I forgot to place my powder in safety; it lay therefore in my left trousers' pocket, whilst I swung round the little black instrument which sputtered forth glittering yellowish-red sparks. Just when, with a shriek of delight, I was about to hurl it up in the air, I was startled by a dull report, and then a hot, burning current of air rushed past my face, and I was thrown to the ground. The first thing which I saw when I rose up was my pocket-handkerchief still burning in a tall tree; I had, however, no time to form any plans for recovering it, because a violent pain in my left leg made me look down to discover the cause, when to my unspeakable horror I perceived that my trousers were burning.

"What will my aunt say! And perhaps she will tell my uncle. And the powder! and the powder-horn!" While I thus thought, I began to cry with terror and pain, for the fire in the woollen cloth became still stronger. At that moment I felt myself seized by the neck, and the next over head in water.

It was the head man in my uncle's brandy distillery who had thus laid hands on me, for by chance being near me he had seen what happened. When he had taken me out of the water, and convinced himself that I had not suffered any injury, he said

"But, Lodwig, what sort of a freak was that?"

I answered, crying all the time, that I did not know what it was; that there had come something just like fire, and had burned me.

"Don't tell me any stories, Lodwig," said the man; "I saw as plain as could be that you were playing with water-spouts."

"Dear Ole," besought I, "don't tell my aunt !"

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No," replied Olc, "I wont get you into trouble."

"But what am I to tell my aunt?" exclaimed I, beginning to cry again more than ever.

Ole bethought himself a little while, and then said, "You can say that you tumbled into the water, and that I picked you out."

"But, Ole, I durst not tumble into the water."

He bethought himself again: "Well, then, you can say that I pushed you into the water."

"Yes; but Ole," said I, " they will be cross with you."

"Never mind that," said Ole; "I'll bear all that, if you will only promise me never to play with powder again."

This conduct of Ole's appeared to me the most disinterested which one human being could show to another; and from this time forth I began to think of all the good that I could do to him. I was continually with him in the distillery; I ran errands for him, drew his ale when he was thirsty, and on Sundays always gave him the piece of cake which was given to me after dinner. Ole was not very polite, and did not even say that it was almost a shame to eat my cake. On the contrary, he ate it up to the last crumb, and wiped his mouth afterwards with the back of his hand, with an expression that seemed to say he could eat as much more; after which he asked, "But it was your own cake, Lodwig, was it? You have not stolen it from your aunt?"

On one occasion, however, I was able to give him a still more substantial proof of my devotion. Happening one day to go into the distillery, I saw him and another fellow lying struggling together under a bench. Ole was very strong; but his antagonist having fallen upon him from behind, now held him down by the throat, his body lying uppermost. When I beheld Ole lying thus black in the face, I was almost out of my senses, and running to them, I took a wooden shoe from one of the four struggling feet, and with its iron-bound heel struck his assailant so violently on the head, that he instantly let go Ole, and started up to fall upon me; but the next moment Ole was upon his feet again, and soon put him to flight.

From this time forth our friendship was mutual, and I became as indispensable to him as he to me. When he was not very busy in the distillery, he cut out cards for me, or cast leaden bullets for my cross-bow down in the cellarlike place into which the boiler fires opened, or else played at "touch-wood" with me round the great mash-tubs. On Sunday afternoons he took me with him the only walk he ever indulged in-down to the inclosed piece of land on the shore. When he had sate here for some time perfectly still, he returned to the house, and went up to his own chamber, where he dressed himself in his Sunday's best, and then we two went and stood at the court-yard gate. There we stood: he with his hat on, and in his red waistcoat, buttoned with small silver buttons up to his throat; dark blue coat, and three or four watches in his pockets, each with its watchchain hanging conspicuously out, and with one

silver-mounted meerschaum pipe sticking out from the hind pocket of his coat, and another in his hand; for the head distiller at my uncle's had high wages, and many perquisites. My uncle used to say that his head man earned more than he did himself.

When we had thus stood for half-an-hour or so, and spoken to the young girls of the town who went by, and all of whom had a kind look for the handsome Ole, he returned to his chamber, and again put on his every-day clothes; after which he went to look after his distilling, unless there was mangling to be done this afternoon, in which case he betook himself from the gate to the mangling-room in all his bravery.

This mangling-room was a large square apartment which lay behind the dairy. The floor was of clay, and the furniture consisted alone of the mangle and a large square table. Two small holes served for windows; these the servant maids stopped up in winter with rags, and therefore on the afternoons of highdays and holidays lighted the great iron lamp, with its two wicks, which hung directly over the mangle.

I had always had a sort of horror of this room, partly because it was so dark, and lay at the end of a long, dark passage, and partly because I had once heard a story about it which did not greatly redound to its credit. I was sitting one winter afternoon in a corner of the drinking-room for my uncle also dealt in liquors by retail-and was amusing myself with an old pack of cards. It was early in the afternoon, and the room was empty, with the exception of old Niels Olsen, who sate asleep beside the stove; when all at once in rushed Maren, the dairy-maid, and threw herself upon a bench. The noise woke Niels Olsen, who exclaimed

"What is amiss with you, Maren?" "Oh, I am just ready to swoon!" replied Maren.

Niels raised himself from his bowed position, looked compassionately at her, and said," Drink a drop, Maren!"

"You drunken old swine," said Maren, "would you have me drink brandy as well as you! Oh Lord Jesus, my Saviour!"

"I think she's out of her mind!" said Niels to himself, and then asked once more, "What is amiss with you, Maren?"

"Oh Lord Jesus!" again cried Maren, "God grant that I may never hear the like again! Niels Olsen, just now when I was coming out of the dairy, what should I hear but mangling in the mangling-room!"

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Nay! then I know for sure-" said Niels Olsen, with suppressed voice and folded hands

"What do you know?" screamed Maren, and became as white as chalk.

"Is there anybody ill in the house?" asked Niels Olsen.

"Ay, little Kirstine lies ill," said Maren, her eyes expanding, and her whole appearance as if her blood was turning to ice.

"Oh, then, you'll see in three days."

"What shall we see, Niels Olsen?" asked Maren, coming close to him, as if she feared to stand alone.

66

Did not I live here in service with Birgitta ?" said Niels.

"And who was Birgitta, Niels Olsen ?" "Yes, that was before your time, Maren; Birgitta was the first dairy-maid that the master had after he was married."

"Well, and what about her, Niels?"

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"Yes, she and I were to mangle together by ourselves, for there were not so many of us then as there are of you now. The last time I had mangled with her she was poorly, and she said to me, I think this will be the last time that we shall mangle together, Niels Olsen.'You mustn't say so, Birgitta,' said I, God willing, we'll mangle many a good piece of cloth together yet. The next Sunday, as I was standing in the stable, and was filling the rack for the big bull that we had then, and which afterwards went mad, and tossed Butcher Mogensen, I heard Birgitta calling to me that I must come in and mangle. I thought nothing but that it was all right, and went up into the mangling-room; and when I opened the door, Maren, there I saw Birgitta, as plain as ever I saw her in my life, standing and turning the mangle all by herself, but there were no clothes in the mangle. In Jesus' name!' said I, shut the door after me, and went back into the stable. And on Wednesday night Birgitta died!

"God be merciful to us!" cried Maren, and became more faint than ever.

Niels Olsen filled a half measure with brandy, drank some of it himself, and threw the rest into Maren's face; on which she recovered, and they then promised each other not to say a word about what had happened to any of the people of the house, lest it should come to the ears of little Kirstine. After this Maren went back into the dairy.

It is only necessary now to tell that little Kirstine did not, after all, die at that time; nevertheless, I retained all my terror of the manglingroom. I entered for the first time with Ole-for where should I have been afraid of going, when Ole was with me?

Although I did not at that time understand all that I saw going forward in the manglingroom, yet it has remained as clearly imprinted on my memory as if it had occurred but yesterday. The lamp with its two wicks was lighted, and threw its strong reddish light upon the two oldest herdsmen, who turned the mangle; this having been from time immemorial a part of the duty attached to the stable. In a less strong light stood all the men servants of the house side by side, along one wall; and exactly opposite to them, against the opposite wall, stood the maid-servants of the family, as well as other young women from the neighbourhood. The young men conversed at broken intervals among themselves; but their conversation had reference to the girls, who replied to it by talking to each other. Without the two opposite rows

looking at each other, yet they mutually communicated in this way all the news; flung repartees backwards and forwards, and talked till they were tired.

As soon as the "family's linen" was mangled, the two old herdsmen walked off to the drinkingroom, as if they knew that they were unnecessary for the scene which followed. Then stepped forward one young woman after another to the table, placed the linen ready on the roller, and laid it under the mangle; on which one of the young men stepped forward from their side, and helped her to turn the mangle. When this was done sufficiently, the girl gave the young man her hand, and said, "Thanks, so and so," mentioning his name. Sometimes it would happen that two or more young fellows would rush forward at once to help some one girl; and then followed a short combat, until one of them succeeded in possessing himself of the mangle, when all quietly retired, and the work proceeded as before. Sometimes also a young fellow, who wished to go forward, was withheld from doing so, amid the laughter of the whole row. The more earnestly he tried to get away, the louder grew the laughter; nor would they release him till he had promised to give them some brandy. All this appeared so very amusing to me, that I asked Ole whether he also would not mangle. To which he replied, "Hush! Lodwig, there is something about this which you don't understand."

When all the girls had finished, one of them went out and called to Fransine, my aunt's parlour-maid. Fransine was a peasant girl, who had entered my aunt's service when she was a child, and thereby had acquired the appearance of a city maiden; her face was not so red as those of other girls; neither did she wear wooden shoes, nor yet heavily plaited petticoats; nevertheless she was much liked by the houseservants, because she was not proud, by which it might be inferred that her predecessor had been so.

Fransine came hastily in, with a small bundle of clothes, saluted the company with a "Good evening to all in the room!" arranged the linen round the roller, then placed it in the mangle, and seemed as if she were about to mangle by herself. On this Ole left his place in the ranks, without any one attempting to interrupt him, placed himself at the mangle, and turned it for Fransine. Fransine never once looked up, all the time he was mangling; but when he had finished, she gave him her hand, looked kindly at him, and said-"Thanks, Ole!"

At that moment such an expression of joy passed over Ole's face that I also fell involuntarily glad, and exclaimed-"I, too, will mangle!"

Maria, the kitchenmaid, said-" In that case we must send a message after little Emilie; but you two are too young for that yet."

About this Emilie there is, however, a long story; but I will not tell it now.

It was towards the end of the midsummerholidays that this scene took place in the mangling-room, and as I immediately afterwards

went to Copenhagen, to school, I was not present at any others for some time.

When I returned at Christmas a great delight awaited me. My cousin Anton was at my uncle's house on a visit. I now had my uncle, my aunt, Ole, the whole house, and over and above all, cousin Anton. I did not at all know how I should divide myself among so many; I had almost more to love than I could manage.

Anton Falsen was the one whom I most desired to resemble when I became a man. He was, properly speaking, in trade-that is to say, he managed his father's business; and I was to be a student; but he had no resemblance whatever to any other merchant's clerk, or shopkeeper's assistant. He understood everything; he could sing, dance, play comedy, imitate people's way of talking and looking; and let anybody be as melancholy as they might, they were sure to laugh when he began; then he had also a strange, indescribable smile which produced an irresistible, effect upon all. I once heard his father say, when speaking of him“Anton is a wild-cat, and has cost me a deal of money; but for all that, he will get through the world; for he is a merry fellow, and is liked by everybody-especially by the ladies."

And I can very well remember that it was from this very assertion of his father's that I wished so much to be like Anton when I became a man.

In the beginning I spent all my time with Anton, and quite forsook Ole and the distillery; after a while, however, my conscience smote me for so doing; and leaving my cousin, I once more visited Ole. I could not help fancying that he was less gentle and kind than formerly, and as I supposed that it might be in conse quence of my having deserted him, I now redoubled my attention to him; but this produced no effect whatever on Ole. Now and then he would show somewhat of his former kindness; but the next moment he again became gloomy, and said that I must go away from him. One day when I stood beside him, on the best of terms as I supposed, he pushed me away, 50 that I fell; while he said-"Get away! You look just the image of your cousin!"

When I, however, began to cry, he took me in his arms, caressed me, asked my forgiveness, and promised me everything I wished for, if I only would be quiet, and not tell anybody in the house anything about it.

When on Sunday I took to him, according to old custom, my piece of after-dinner cake, I found him sitting down by the boiler fires, looking very melancholy.

"No, Lodwig," said he, when I offered it to him; “I shall not have it. Give it, rather, to your cousin."

"Why should I give it to him?" asked I; "he has had a piece as well as me." "Give it to him," said Ole; "let him have it

as well."

Ole's voice was so very sorrowful that I was ready to cry.

"Are you angry with me?" I asked.

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