serving the cause of a return to the religion of the past. In America, that vast New England,' Longfellow and Bret Harte, the former in greater, the latter in small poems, have each striven to paint with truth and beauty the picture of the by-gone ages of faith. When I read Bret Harte's lines on the Bells of the Mission Dolores,' I feel no doubt that the Church will progress and make converts in the grand republic of the West. It is the same everywhere-in Germany for instance, which is the great school country of the world."

In the company of this grand old man a fortnight passed rapidly away. We had rambles on the hillsides; journeys to inspect ruins, castles, churches; visits from several of the surrounding grandees and clergy; and at the close of our visit we confessed to have seen much more of the country in social life than we ever expected. It is the same in Spain as everywhere else—much refinement and much degradation. The one jostling the other, much superstition and much enlightened faith-many good points and many bad. Causes of failure in the past two centuries are many and lie upon the surface of things, but causes there are for hopes of the future certainly not fewer in number.

D. S.

S. JAMES.

"Ye shall drink indeed of My cup."-S. Matth. xx. (Gospel for the day.)

The darkness gathers over me searching for Thee,
Finding Thee, yea, in my tears discovering Thee.
Suffering, to gain a sufferer's glorious right,
To quaff of Thy strange chalice, woe-bedight,
Yea, to rehearse that lesson sweet and old,
He who would reign, must with his griefs be bold.
VOL. VIII.

F

So in the gloom, like Galahad of eld,
For me the chalice of Thy love appears,
Brent with no ruby, but a wreath of thorn
Filled with the dolour of a SAVIOUR'S tears.

While as I gaze, I hear an Angel say,

(Standing betwixt the lights of dying day)
"This is the cup whose sweetness fadeth never,
Where the rich fragrance hovereth ever.
This is elixir of eternal life,

Transmuting peace, from the dark ore of strife."

M.

THE MYSTERIOUS VISITANTS.

A POLISH LEGEND.

"THE king is dead; long live the king!"

Popiel, Duke of Lechia, the second of his name, was dead, the deceased prince having left no heir male of his body begotten, the kingdom was thrown into confusion, and as a consequence the cry quoted above remained unshouted (though between you and me, gentle reader, I may say that I am of opinion that the poor benighted idolatrous Poles knew little and cared less about the divine right of kings, and had never heard, much less given tongue to, such an apparently paradoxical cry), the appointment and proclamation of a successor remained unperformed-there was an interregnum.

At the end of a week, however, the cousin of the late prince, a young man of no great ability, aspired as by right to the vacant throne; but his pretensions were opposed by the great body of palatins or nobles of the country. These men, proud, haughty, ambitious, and unquestionably brave, had long been jealous of the ducal power, and well aware that united they were far more than a match for the monarch to whom they owed allegiance, they, deeming the present opportunity a fitting one, determined to oppose, and if need were nullify, the young prince's election, and revive the ancient but obsolete form of government. According to this extinct form the sovereignty was vested in twelve of the nobles chosen by their peers; these were called voivods, and possessed despotic power. Now as the rule of the voivods was essentially military, it was favourably regarded by all classes, from the baron in his hall to the peasant in his wattled hut; for then as now

the Poles were the most passionately addicted to military pursuits of all the nations in Europe.

But notwithstanding the national desire, the prince was by no means without supporters. He and his friends hastily collected an army, if that may so be called which was in reality a small but formidable band of partisans (drilled and organised troops being then unknown in the country), and both parties were preparing to justify their claims by an appeal to arms, when, fortunately for the peace and safety of the kingdom, a few noblemen more enlightened than their compeers, feeling persuaded that the future happiness or misery of millions of their fellowcreatures, could be better decided in the council chamber than on the battle field, prevailed upon the rival claimants to submit to arbitra

tion.

By the advice of these nobles a council was convened for the purpose of discussing, and, if possible, deciding upon the respective merits and demerits of the monarchal and oligarchal form of government. The council was accordingly held at Kruswick, but each party possessed such potent arguments, and so many well-armed followers, that no decision could be arrived at. A second parliament or hall of arbitration assembled, but their discussions ended with the same ill-success; and prince and palatins were again making ready for war and bloodshed, when an unparalleled incident occurred, setting aside at one and the same time both disputants, and ending by placing the ducal coronet upon the brow of a lowly unknown peasant, who had hitherto been a disinterested, and doubtless unconcerned, spectator of the internecine strife.

In Kruswick, where, as I said, these assemblies were held, resided a poor and virtuous peasant of the name of Piast; but though he was poor, he lived in quietude and contentment with the wife of his bosom, and the son with whom he had been blessed. During the session of the second council this son, whose name was Ziemowit, attained to the age at which it was customary for the Polish youths to receive a name, and to be shorn of their flowing locks (an important ceremony closely connected with their religious observances). At this time the hospitable countryman threw open his house, and gave a feast to all who chose to come and partake thereof, designing thereby both to conform to the established custom of the nation, and to honour his son. On the first day of this festival, when the guests had seated themselves, and the laugh and the jest ran high, and the wine circulating freely

caused jovial mirth and hilarity to abound, Piast noticed among them two travel-stained, coarsely clad, but otherwise distinguished and noble looking strangers. Supposing them to be members of the council, who had taken this unusual mode of observing the habits and customs of the peasantry, Piast approached them, and apologising for the meagre quantity and mean quality of his viands, modestly intimated that he had provided for the occasion to the best of his ability. They took no notice, however, of his politeness, and the host retiring discomfited, their presence was soon forgotten by the rest of the guests.

Some time afterwards, however, the two strangers rose from the table, and pronouncing several words solemnly in an unknown tongue, made cabalistic signs over the food; after this procedure they sat down again, but to the astonishment of the beholders the provisions no longer decreased, as was natural to expect when such a hungry crowd had sat down to them, but multiplied beyond conception. The extraordinary tale got wind, and daily for several consecutive weeks did Piast entertain hundreds of people with princely liberality.

At this signal manifestation of the favour of the gods, both prince and barons forgot their animosities, and unanimously recognised Piast as their chosen ruler. Thus in A.D. 842 the ducal crown of Poland was placed upon the head of a plebeian, and that plebeian was the founder of the illustrious house of Piast, and the father of a long line of kings.

So humble was he, however, and so thoroughly convinced of the superiority of a life of private happiness to the turmoil and licentiousness of a court, that he would still have continued in his lowly state, had not the strangers again appeared to him, and commanded him to sacrifice his own private comfort for the good of the Polish nation.

Five years had passed away-five years of peace and quiet-five years of halcyon bliss for poor distracted war-torn Poland, when one bright autumn, or rather early winter afternoon (for it was in November), Prince Ziemowit, accompanied by his favourite companion Lord Dietnizt, and three other noble youths, started out on a wolfhunt. They quickly found the quadruped they were seeking, and loosing their dogs eagerly gave chase. The wolf had, pressed by the dogs, sought safety in the forest, and the youths plunging into its gloomy depths, were soon so deeply immured beneath its shade, and so intently searching for their noble game, that they noticed not the

growing blackness of the heavens, the heavy soughing of the trees, or the distant rumbling of the rocks as they, loosed from their bonds by some swollen waterfall among the distant hills, broke away from their fastenings, and fell with deafening crashes into the deep chasms and valleys below.

But ere long the black storm clouds spread their murky canopies so thickly over the whole face of the sky, that the forest in which were our adventurers grew black as night, and recalled them to a sense of their position; calling in their dogs they prepared to retrace their steps, trusting to reach some village or hamlet ere the storm burst in all its fury. They had not, however, proceeded more than three hundred yards when the distant rumbling of the thunder sounded in their ears; the winds rose and howled and whined amidst the giant trees with a weird unearthly sound, such as we might well suppose to be occasioned by an assemblage of doomed spirits gathered from the realms of Tartarus; whilst ever and anon some old monarch of the woods, that had for a thousand and odd years braved heaven's fury with impunity, fell with a deafening noise, bearing witness to the increasing violence of the elemental strife: and the thunder, becoming louder every moment, and reverberating through the woodland glades, seemed as it were the mighty voice of the puissant genius of the power of air. To add, i possible, to their discomfort, the clouds now poured down a perfect deluge of rain, and the mazy streaks of forked lightning played rapidly about the tops of the lofty trees. Looking around as they hastened onwards, the young prince and his associates perceived at a short distance a small glade or clearing, and beyond it, on the banks of a narrow river, an old ruined tower. Towards this welcome sight they rapidly directed their steps, well pleased at the prospect of such a shelter; but ere they had reached the entrance of the glade, their progress was abruptly stayed by the appearance of a venerable old man, whose long white locks, grizzled beard, and majestic countenance, struck an involuntary awe into the hearts of the gay young nobles, and they stood riveted to the spot with surprise.

Pointing to the dismantled castle with a commanding gesture, he demanded their reasons for seeking that unhallowed spot. The prince, although awed by the sudden appearance and lofty aspect of this singular stranger, could not wholly resist a feeling of displeasure at this apparently unwarranted assumption of authority, and this feeling, the fact of his being cold, hungry, and wet to the