ites French, Italian, and English; is a stuat in the arts and sciences; writes poetry, 1 is a composer of music under an asned name. She has been rightly taught to ieve in the necessity of a broad and liberal ication for all who aspire above mediocrity her chosen profession. After hearing her y and meeting her almost daily in Weimar, comprehended Liszt's deferential bearing rards her which had struck me the first e I saw her at his lessons. As he honored true gentlewoman, just so did he admire intellectual and artistic gifts. Although zt was ever willing and ready to aid young nists from the wealth of his knowledge, he 3 exceedingly discriminating and gave in nty only to those who evinced uncommon itude. The earnestness of his work with èle aus der Ohe was the most telling comnent he could pay the mental endowments any pupil. She was by all odds the best ong the ladies, and one of the most accomhed artists in his class. He habitually comnted upon her improvisations introductory a piano composition, and frequently bade extricate some frightened player from the agers of an impromptu prelude. At his esial request she compiled a volume of such ludes and modulations, which he desired

her to dedicate to him. This Fräulein Aus der Ohe did-though it has not yet been published-and sent Liszt a copy of the same. It gave him much pleasure, as I can substantiate. In the lessons he frequently remarked her "intrepidity" and "fearless certainty" in playing; and in one of the last soirées musicâles that he gave, said in an aside, "She has a wonderful touch; it is like velvet!" Perhaps I heard him express himself more in approval of Adèle aus der Ohe's performances than of any others; for she had been absent from Weimar some time when she returned in 1885, and her splendid artistic development was a source of gratification to him. In his letters to her, Liszt varied the conventional form of address to "My honored colleague,' My dear virtuoso," etc. Her public life is so arduous that Fräulein Aus der Öhe finds little time for society. Her personal tastes are quiet and unassuming. Once I heard her retort rather warmly to a complimentary remark of a friend: "I have no time to be vain and conceited. My art is holy to me and requires my every effort. If there is anything that I dislike, it is an arrogant artist. He should be thankful to God that he has given him such a talent, and guard it sacredly.' Such sentiments add dignity to the character of a great artiste like Adèle aus der Ohe. Albert Morris Bagby.

MY

Titus Munson Coan.

e wood, abreast of the lugger. His canoe owly turned and pointed towards her, and ien stood still. He sat there with his paddle the water, longing like a dumb brute; longig, and, without a motion, struggling for courge enough to move forward. It would not ɔme. His heart jarred his frame with its beatg. He could not stir.

As he looked out upon the sky a soft, faint emor of light glimmered for a moment over without disturbing a shadow below. The addle stirred gently, and the canoe slowly rew back; the storm was coming to betray m with its lightnings. In the black forest's lge the pot-hunter lingered trembling. Oh or the nerve to take a brave man's chances! little courage would have saved his life. He iped the dew from his brow with his sleeve; very nerve had let go. Again there came cross the water the very words of those who lked together on the steamer. They were ying that the felling of trees would begin in e morning; but they spoke in a tongue hich Acadians of late years had learned to derstand, though many hated it, but of hich he had never known twenty words, and hat he had known were now forgotten the nglish tongue.. Even without courage, to ave known a little English would have made e difference between life and death. Another immer spread dimly across the sky, and a int murmur of far-off thunder came to the r. He turned the pirogue and fled.

Soon the stars are hidden. A light breeze ems rather to tremble and hang poised than blow. The rolling clouds, the dark wilderess, and the watery waste shine out every oment in the wide gleam of lightnings still dden by the wood, and are wrapped again ever-thickening darkness over which thuners roll and jar and answer one another ross the sky. Then, like a charge of ten Lousand lancers, come the wind and the rain, eir onset covered by all the artillery of eaven. The lightnings leap, hiss, and blaze; e thunders crack and roar; the rain lashes; he waters writhe; the wind smites and howls. or five, for ten, for twenty minutes-for an our, for two hours- -the sky and the flood are ever for an instant wholly dark, or the thunder or one moment silent; but while the universal ar sinks and swells, and the wide, vibrant lumination shows all things in ghostly halfoncealment, fresh floods of lightning every oment rend the dim curtain and leap forth; he glare of day falls upon the swaying wood, he reeling, bowing, tossing willows, the seeth1g waters, the whirling rain, and in the midst he small form of the distressed steamer, her reolving paddle-wheels toiling behind to lighten he strain upon her anchor chains; then all

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are dim ghosts again, while a peal, as if the heavens were rent, rolls off around the sky, comes back in shocks and throbs, and sinks in a long roar that before it can die is swallowed up in the next flash and peal.

The deserted lugger is riding out the tornado. Whirled one moment this way and another that, now and again taking in water, her forest-shelter breaks the force of many a gust that would have destroyed her out in the open. But in the height of the storm her poor substitute for an anchor lets go its defective hold on the rushy bottom and drags, and the little vessel backs, backs, into the willows. She escapes such entanglement as would capsize her, and by and by, when the wind lulls for a moment and then comes with all its wrath from the opposite direction, she swings clear again and drags back nearly to her first mooring and lies there, swinging, tossing, and surviving still,— a den of snakes.

The tempest was still fierce, though abating, and the lightning still flashed, but less constantly, when at a point near the lugger the pirogue came out of the forest, laboring against the wind and half-filled with water. On the face of the storm-beaten man in it each gleam of the lightning showed the pallid confession of mortal terror. Where that frail shell had been, or how often it had cast its occupant out, no one can ever know. He was bareheaded and barefooted. One cannot swim in boots; without them, even one who has never dared learn how may hope to swim a little.

In the darkness he drew alongside the lugger, rose, balanced skillfully, seized his moment, and stepped safely across her gunwale. A slight lurch caused him to throw his arms out to regain his poise; the line by which he still held the canoe straightened out its length and slipped from his grasp. In an instant the pirogue was gone. A glimmer of lightning showed her driving off sidewise before the wind. But it revealed another sight also. It was dark again, black; but the outcast stood freezing with horror and fright, gazing just in advance of his feet and waiting for the next gleam. It came, brighter than the last; and scarcely a step before him he saw three great serpents moving towards the spot that gave him already such slender footing. He recoiled a step-another; but instantly as he made the second a cold, living form was under his foot, its folds flew round his ankle, and once! twice! it struck! With a frantic effort he spurned it from him; all in the same instant a blaze of lightning discovered the maimed form and black and red markings of a "bastard hornsnake," and with one piercing wail of despair,