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John's, and St. Francis, the first settlement to be met, is twelve miles again beyond that point. An examination of the larder revealed a most impoverished condition, and we fully realized that any loss of time would render our supply inadequate to the distance. With this rather powerful stimulant to exertion every paddle had plied morning and afternoon, with hardly any intermission, and the sun was sinking behind some heavy clouds that were fast gathering in the west. The shores on either side were steep, and very thick with underbrush, and while looking anxiously for some spot where it would be possible to pitch our tent, one of our guides, the only one who had been through before, said that he remembered a clearing with a cabin on it which he thought could not be far beyond. The forbidding aspect of the shores and the surely coming storm boded us no good, and it was at once determined to make a desperate effort to reach the spot with our two canoes, containing the two children, Mr. O'C., H. and myself, the others being half a mile behind. The Indian guides were well tipped, and their paddles responded vigorously as we sped on in the fading light. Mile followed mile and still no semblance could be traced of the spot described; moreover, darkness was not destined to be the only obstacle to our progress, as the ominous sound of rapids fell upon our ears. Still we kept our course, and thanks to the keen Indian eye and steady hand, were guided safely through. Then came shallow water where both canoes and hopes were well-nigh stranded. All four men were in the water, and we were finally pushed and pulled through it, reaching again the deeper channel; but in a darkness so profound as to render the banks almost invisible. Had there only been still water now, we might yet have reached our goal; but the fates were dead against us, for the current was growing swifter and another stretch of rapids lay beyond. To attempt their passage in the darkness would have been sheer madness; so we faced the inevitable and groped about for a landing-place. The storm was now upon us, and as we stepped out on a bank of soft oozing mud,-the only place they could find to land,-the heavy rain began to fall, and my heart sank within me as the full force of our extremely disagreeable situation rose before us. The other boats contained the tent, provisions, and in short the whole camp equipage, and we


had left them miles behind in the vain selfflattery that the "farm" was to afford us shelter and entertainment for the night. If the darkness had overtaken them before they came to the last rapids we had passed, it would be almost impossible to reach us. We had simply nothing but the clothes we wore and two little pieces of maple sugar which we gave the children, they were delighted with everything and in the most excellent spirits. I do not know what we should have done without the handy Indian woodcraft of the guides, which now came greatly to the rescue. A bright fire blazed up, as if by magic, from the wet sticks and muddy bed, and with the paddles and a bit of string a frame was made over one of the canoes, which they pulled up on shore and covered with great sheets of birch-bark peeled from the trees near by, and in it Jack and Jill were put supperless to bed. But they now had at least warmth and shelter. They were very good, poor little things, and I put them to sleep, kneeling in the wet mud to rock the birch canoe, and singing "Little Jack Horner" and "Jack and Jill," while the rain fell steadily and the solemn night settled down over the wilderness. The possibility of our being obliged to pass the night in this forlorn condition and entirely at the mercy of the storm, was merging rapidly into certainty, and for the first time since the start I felt my courage quite give way. It was not destined to be tested to the full, however, for a little later on we heard the shouts of the rest of the party, who had providentially determined to reach us at all hazards; and a very hearty welcome we gave them, especially those who brought the tent and blankets. With these we managed to get through the night somehow, dwelling with pleasure upon the prospect of reaching the settlements the following day. And this we succeeded in doing, completing the remaining twenty miles upon the Alleguash, and entering triumphantly upon the St. John's River. It was nearly sunset, and St. Francis lay twelve miles beyond; but the river is very swift, and the current alone would carry us that distance in an hour. The rapids here were on a far grander scale than any we had passed, very swift, and much greater in the volume of the water. The frail craft shot through them like an arrow from the bow, and when I reflect now that a single miscalculation or a moment's want of presence of mind in our guides would have ended our journey in this world, I wonder how I ever dared to take those blessed babies through.

Of course, having gone so far, it was necessary to go farther. But I felt we had good cause that night, once more among our fellow-men, to thank the ever-watchful Providence who had safely guided us through our journey. In the following three days we paddled over a hundred miles down the St. John's River, passing all too quickly through its noble scenery, ever changing in its grandeur or its beauty, and stopping for the night at the settlements that are scattered here and

Kineo. It was with mingled delight and regret that I laid aside my wood-toggery and donned a French costume, and when Jack and Jill came into my room with their bonne

there along its banks. At Tobique we reached the railroad, and our trunks, which had been forwarded to us from Mount

she with smart cap and ribbons and stiffly starched gown, and the children in embroidered frocks and broad sashes-I could hardly believe them to be the little gnomes that played under the giant trees of the " Urwald" such a short time before. And I think that all our party felt more sorry than glad when we met at dinner in the garb of civilization, and bade good-bye to the pleasures and hardships of our forest roamings.


"Two kings are dead."-Thomas Goffe.

I SAW, but whether it was in a dream,
Where Present, Future, Past

Blend and bewilder us, and strange things seem
Familiar-while they last;

Or in the flesh, as walking in the street
We see a friend or foe-

Who knows? I saw a man with faltering feet
Who down a hill did go.

The bleak and barren hill like iron rang

Beneath his fitful tread;

The trees had shed their leaves, and no bird sangThe birds were flown, or dead!

The time of the year was autumn, and the hour
The last that leaves the light;

For in the sullen West, like a great flower,

Day faded into Night.

What could be more forlorn than that hill-side,
Where, through the withered leaves,

That wrinkled, bent old creature walked and sighed,
That mournfulest of eves?

The grief that looked out of his hollow eyes

Refused to be consoled

By tears, that still would come, with heavy sighs

Piteous in one so old!

He wrung his trembling hands, and tore his hair,
Then stood as carved in stone,

And stared behind him-there was no one there,
For he was all alone.

"Why are you here in such a woful plight? Why do you turn your head,

And stare so backward through the glimmering light?" "Because my kings are dead."

"Clearly," I thought, "his wits have gone astray." And then to him I said,

"Your kings-what kings? There are none here to-day-" "Because the kings are dead."

I thought it best to humor this old man,

Who, like another Lear,

Went wandering down the hill-side, weak and wan,
As if his end were near.

"Tell me about them, Sire, for I perceive
That you are kingly, too.

I will go downward with you, by your leave."
He smiled, and said, "You do."

I scanned him closer, and, to my surprise,
He was not as before;

There was a wild light in his laughing eyes,
And he was old no more!

"O Prince! O King!" he cried; but not to me
His greeting was addressed,
Nor any person there whom I could see.
"My master, and my guest!

"Most beautiful art thou of all thy race,
Most gracious and benign;
The right to rule is in thy royal face,
And in those lips of thine!

"No robe is rich enough for thee to wear-
What earthly robe could be ?

The bright abundance of thy golden hair
Is crown enough for thee!

"All things that thou dost look on are made fair. The eagle's eye sees far;

But thy soft eye sees farther-everywhere

It lights upon a star!

"The feet of the mountain does are swift in flightOff like the wind they go;

Thou art before them on the mountain height,

And thou art first below!

"This to the eye thou art; but to the heart
Whose pulses beat with thine,

Who can declare what happiness thou art?
Declare, O Heart of mine!

"Dear is the pressure of a woman's hand,
And woman's lips are sweet;
Weak men by her caresses are unmanned,
And grovel at her feet.

"But she is not the best of all good things; For, when I am with thee,

I love thee better, O my King of Kings!

And dost not thou love me?

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"Thou strange old man," I said "if man thou art.
That growest so thin and pale,—

I feel a chillness creeping round my heart

At thy accursed tale!

"Who art thou? Speak!" He spoke not-was not there,—
If ever there, had flown,

And left me talking to the empty air,

On the dark hill alone!

"I am the man whom I have seen," I said,

"I have my story told;

I have a wrinkled face and a grey head,

And I am growing old.

"I have outlived my YOUTH, that was so dear,
Seen MANHOOD pass away,

And now have reached the autumn of my year,
The evening of my day.

"For lo! in the far West, so lately red,
There is no spark of light;
Darkness below, and darkness overhead-
Alone, alone at night!"


SEVERAL years ago when the troupe of Japanese jugglers were in New York, I happened to remain in town late in the season, and attended a number of the remarkable entertainments given by them at the Academy of Music. The only drawback to my enjoyment of their wonderful feats with ladder, pole, tubs, butterflies, etc., -and especially those of little All-Right and his father, was the exceedingly harsh and disagreeable noise made by the Japanese orchestra, consisting of five performers seated on the floor at the rear of the stage. But one night,-after having attended these entertainments ten or twelve times,-I made what was to me a most curious and interesting discovery. At the moment when little All-Right was performing on the pole, which was supported in a socket attached to a belt around his father's waist,-in the midst of the strange sounds made both by the orchestra and by the man himself, who was coolly playing on a "samiseng" while balancing the boy in mid-air,-I suddenly noticed a melody, at first indistinct, but after-withdrawn. ward assuming definite shape as I was able to shut out the discordant accompaniment. After listening intently during several performances I at last succeeded in following

the air and in getting it by heart. Once after this, when little All-Right came to see me, with the interpreter of the troupe, I took his forefinger in my hand and made him play the melody on the piano. He recognized it at once,-although separated from the dreadful sounds he was accustomed to hear with it,—and cried out delightedly, in Japanese: "Oh, that is what my father plays when I am up on the pole!" I met little All-Right after this again in London, and became quite well acquainted with the boy. He had great pride in his profession, and he and his father were grieved at the accident which happened to the youth during the season in New York, not so much on account of the personal injury, but because a fall during a performance brought such mortification to them as artists. I had desired while the troupe was in London, to gather more of their melodies, and expressed my regret at the absence of the native orchestra. All-Right replied that their music was so widely objected to that it had been I was not surprised at this for the same feeling prevailed in this country, and was shared at first by myself.

What shall I say of this melody? It is perfect in construction, original, beautifully

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