horses and weary cattle were standing in the shed; she loosed the strong, white charger, that fed from out her hand; she mounted, and she turned his head towards her native land.

Out-out into the darkness-faster, and still more fast-the smooth grass flies behind her, the chestnut wood is passed. 'Faster!' she cries, 'oh, faster!' Eleven the church-bells chime. 'Oh God,' she cries, help Bregenz, and bring me there in time!' But louder than bells' ringing, or lowing of the kine, grows nearer in the midnight the rushing of the Rhine. She strives to pierce the blackness, and looser throws the rein; her steed must breast the waters that dash above his mane. How gallantly, how nobly, he struggles through the foam, and see-in the far distance shine out the lights of home! They reach the gates of Bregenz just as the midnight rings, and out come serf and soldier to meet the news she brings.

Bregenz is saved! Ere daylight her battlements are manned; defiance greets the army that marches on the land. Three hundred years are vanished, and yet upon the hill an old stone gateway rises to do her honour still. And there, when Bregenz women sit spinning in the shade, they see in quaint old carving the charger and the maid. And when, to guard old Bregenz by gateway, street, and tower, the warder paces all night long and calls each passing hour; 'Nine,'' ten,' 'eleven,' he cries aloud. And then (oh, crown of fame !), when midnight pauses in the skies, he calls the maiden's name!

Grace Darling.

All night the storm had raged, nor ceased, nor paused,
When, as day broke, the Maid, through misty air,

Espies far off a Wreck, amid the surf,
Beating on one of those disastrous isles-

Half of a Vessel, half-no more; the rest
Had vanished, swallowed up with all that there
Had for the common safety striven in vain,
Or thither thronged for refuge. With quick glance
Daughter and Sire through optic-glass discern,

Clinging about the remnant of this Ship,
Creatures—how precious in the Maiden's sight!
For whom, belike, the old Man grieves still more
Than for their fellow-sufferers engulfed

Where every parting agony is hushed,

And hope and fear mix not in further strife.
"But courage, Father! let us out to sea-

A few may yet be saved." The Daughter's words,
Her earnest tone, and look beaming with faith,
Dispel the Father's doubts: nor do they lack
The noble-minded Mother's helping hand
To launch the boat; and with her blessing cheered,
And inwardly sustained by silent prayer
Together they put forth, Father and Child!
Each grasps an oar, and struggling on they go-
Rivals in effort; and, alike intent

Here to elude and there surmount, they watch
The billows lengthening, mutually crossed
And shattered, and re-gathering their might;
As if the tumult, by the Almighty's will
Were, in the conscious sea, roused and prolonged,
That woman's fortitude-so tried, so proved—
May brighten more and more!

True to the mark,

They stem the current of that perilous gorge,

Their arms still strengthening with the strengthening heart,
Though danger, as the Wreck is near'd, becomes

More imminent. Not unseen do they approach;
And rapture, with varieties of fear
Incessantly conflicting, thrills the frames
Of those who, in that dauntless energy,
Foretaste deliverance; but the least perturbed
Can scarcely trust his eyes, when he perceives
That of the pair-tossed on the waves to bring
Hope to the hopeless, to the dying, life-
One is a Woman, a poor earthly sister,
Or, be the Visitant other than she seems,
A guardian Spirit sent from pitying Heaven,
In woman's shape. But why prolong the tale,

Casting weak words amid a host of thoughts
Armed to repel them? Every hazard faced
And difficulty mastered, with resolve

That no one breathing should be left to perish,
This last remainder of the crew are all
Placed in the little boat, then o'er the deep
Are safely borne, landed upon the beach
And, in fulfilment of God's mercy, lodged
Within the sheltering Lighthouse.

Bishop Hatto.

The summer and autumn had been so wet,
That in winter the corn was growing yet ;-
'Twas a piteous sight to see all around
The grain lie rotting on the ground.

Every day the starving poor
Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door,-
For he had a plentiful last year's store,
And all the neighbourhood could tell
His granaries were furnished well.
At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day
To quiet the poor without delay;
He bade them to his great barn repair,

And they should have food for the winter there.
Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,

The poor folk flocked from far and near;
The great barn was full, as it could hold-
Of women and children, and young and old.
Then when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;
And while for mercy on Christ they call,
He set fire to the barn and burnt them all.
"I' faith, 'tis an excellent bonfire," quoth he,
"And the country is greatly obliged to me,
For ridding it in these times forlorn
Of rats, that only consume the corn.”

So then to his palace returnèd he,
And he sat down to supper merrily,

And he slept that night like an innocent man ;
But Bishop Hatto never slept again.

In the morning, as he entered the hall,
Where his picture hung against the wall,
A sweat like death all over him came,
For the rats had eaten it out of the frame.

As he looked there came a man from the farm,
He had a countenance white with alarm;
"My lord, I opened your granaries this morn,
And the rats had eaten all your corn."

Another came running presently,
And he was pale as pale could be,
"Fly, my Lord Bishop, fly," quoth he,
"Ten thousand rats are coming this way-
And the Lord forgive you for yesterday!"

"I'll go to my tower on the Rhine," replied he, ""Tis the safest place in Germany;

The walls are high, and the shores are steep,
And the stream is strong, and the water deep."

Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,
And he crossed the Rhine without delay,
And reached his tower, and barred with care
All the windows, doors, and loopholes there.
He laid him down, and closed his eyes,
But soon a scream made him arise ;—
He started, and saw two eyes of flame
On his pillow from whence the screaming came.
He listened and looked; it was only the cat ;
But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that,
For she sat screaming, mad with fear,
At the army of rats that was drawing near.
For they have swum over the river so deep,
And they have climbed the shores so steep,
And up the tower their way is bent

To do the work for which they were sent.

They are not to be told by the dozen or score,

By thousands they come, and by myriads and more;
Such numbers have never been heard of before,
Such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore.
Down on his knees the Bishop fell,

And faster and faster his beads did he tell,

As louder and louder drawing near

The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.

And in at the windows, and in at the door,
And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,
And down from the ceiling, and up through the floor,
From the right and the left, from behind and before,
From within and without, from above and below,
And all at once to the Bishop they go.

Sir Richard Grenville's Last Fight,

Our second Richard Grenville

In days of great Queen Bess,

He did this deed, he played this part

With true old nobleness

And wrath heroic that was nursed

To bear the fiercest battle-burst,

When maddened foes should wreak their worst.

Signalled the English Admiral,

'Weigh or cut anchors." For

A Spanish fleet bore down, in all
The majesty of war

Athwart our tack for many a mile
As there we lay off Florez Isle,

With crews half sick, all tired of toil.

Eleven of our twelve ships escaped;

Sir Richard stood alone!

Though there were three and fifty sail—
A hundred men to one-

The old Sea-Rover would not run,
So long as he had man or gun;
But he could die when all was done.