plied the Poet. "The guardian angel of a child is a gentle Christian mother; she protects not its outward life only, but informs and purifies, and exalts that nobler existence which elevates man above the brute." "I wonder," said Achzib, after a moment's pause, "whether an infidel mother ever took as much pains to instruct her child in unbelief as a Christian mother does in belief." ""Tis an unheard-of thing!" said the Poet. "A mother could not teach her little child to deny God! "Tis a monstrous thought—an outrage to our nature but to conceive it." "In what way," inquired Achzib, “would the af fection of a mother be made the mode of temptation? for every virtue has its appropriate temptation, and divines teach that the highest virtue consists in the resistance of evil!" "Thine are strange speculations," said the Poet; "but the dearly beloved child is often a snare to a parent's heart; it has been an idol between the soul and God, and He has sometimes mercifully taken the child to keep the parent from sin." "I have heard as much," said Achzib, and fell into a long silence. Night-the same forest; the pine trees are old and splintered, and covered with snow; it is a scene of desolation-at a little distance a small house is seen through an opening of the wood. Enter ACHZIB, as a northern hunter. Hun. And this is their abode! A mighty change, As her own cloudless heavens. It is a tale Ter. Thou, that didst bear a pain that had no Where joy was not; but where the tyrant smiled healing An undivided misery, Which unto kindred heart knew no appealing, I tell thee not mine own peculiar woe; I tell thee not the want that makes me poor, For thou, dear Mother of God, all this dost know! But I beseech thy blessing, and thy aid; Assure me, where my nature is afraid, And where I murmur, strengthen to endure! [She bows her head, knceling in silence-as she prepares to leave the chapel, enter PAOLO, with a few snow-drops in his hand. Paol. Mother, in Italy I used to gather Sweet flowers; the fragrant lily, like a cup Chiselled in marble, and the rich, red rose, And carry them, an offering to Our Lady; Think'st thou she will accept such gifts as these, Because his pride and will were gratified. Two innocent as doves, and only cursed He is a hunter now; And his precarious living earns with toil My seventh victim, that I tread these wilds; [He goes farther into the forest. There oft, on summer evenings, A lonely boy would rove, Oft sate his mother by him, "And now from highest heaven Thus spoke his tender mother: And on an evening bright, Again the boy was playing, And earnestly said he, "Oh beautiful child Jesus, Come down and play with me! "I will find thee flowers the fairest, I will get thee ripe, red strawberries, Put him down from off thy knee; There are none to play with me!" The while his mother heard, But on his prayer she pondered, There, playing with the boy. A thousand-fold to thee! Thou shalt roam with me at will, Upon his death-bed lay. And thus he spoke in dying: A-coming down to me! "And in his hand he beareth Bright flowers as white as snow, He died- but that fond mother Her sorrow did restrain, For she knew he was with Jesus, And she asked him not again! I had forgotten that! But, mother dear, Morning and night, that I may never lose thee! Ter. My precious child, heaven is so very good, Who are so dear, so needful to each other! *A free translation of one of Herder's beautiful legends. I will not be a hunter when a man; Mother, hast heard Paol. Nay, my love, "T will be so happy! And oh, wilt thou tell me Ter. -- Enter OLAF, muffled in his hunting dress. Ter. Why, why the boy? What dost thou want Olaf. He shall go out with me on this day's hunt. Olaf. Why, 'tis a puny, feeble-hearted thing, Of a boy's spirit is within his heart! But he shall go with me, and learn to dare Alas, my husband, Enter PAOLO; he runs to his mother's side. It ever is the cry, “Oh not to-day!" And why not? I pr'ythee what new fancy's in thy head, Paol. I besought My mother to sing me her Corinth songs; To tell me of the groves and of the flowers, And of that happy home that was more fair Than even was ours, in pleasant Italy; And she has promised that she will, my father. Olaf. Ha ha! is 't so?--"T is even as I thought. I know wherefore these stories of the past! Yes, I will feed them, Mark me, Teresa, if thou school him thus, And then there will be nothing all the day I'll sunder ye!--Thou need'st not clasp thy hands; To take me from thy side! For on my life I'll do it! I will indeed, my love! Paol. Ter. [He goes out. Thou dear, dear child! Paol. [weeping.] Father, father, Ter. [aside to Olaf.] Pray thee, speak him kindly! To be a man;-dry up these childish tears! Ter. My sweet boy, do not weep! Go out this day Paol. Oh horrid! how they tear each other's flesh. Olof. Now hurry forward, for our only hope Lies in out-speeding them! Paol. Let us go home! Olaf. Again they are upon us — their gaunt jaws Dropping with blood, which they lick evermore! Now for another slaughter! Hunt. For right and left, yet other packs are coming! Paol. Oh father, father, they will be upon us! And I shall never see my mother more! Hunt. Peace, brawling child! Olaf. "T is in vain, My poor, dear boy, be still. Olaf. Where is this wild? I know not where thou But in our flight! drivest! Hunter. Below our feet lies the eternal ice Of the great sea! Olaf. Our prey abides not here! Hunt. We'll find enough, anon! Olaf. [He fires. Now heaven must be our helper! On, on, spare not the thong! Thou dost not know Olaf. [The horse in dashing forward, breaks from the sledge; the wolves fall upon him instantly. Now must we fly! Hunt. There is a hut among these icy deserts Raised by some hunters. While they gorge themselves A chaotic wilderness of icebergs. Olaf. Let go my cloak-they shall not hurt thee, Enter the HUNTER, and OLAF carrying PAOLO, who child! appears faint. How kind thou art, dear father [He fires. I will run on -I will not cumber thee! Olaf. How can we 'scape from them! I'll sell my life Dearly for this child's sake! Hunt. Sweet father, do it not! Paol. Oh father, father, save me! My boy! my boy! Will he repass this threshold! Ter. [He dashes among the wolves with his SCENE VI. Night-the interior of Olaf's house-Teresa alonea bright fire burns on the hearth refreshments are set out, and clothes hanging by the fire for Olaf and Paolo. Teresa. How late it is! an hour beyond the midnight! And bitter cold it is! The icy wind Even pierces through these walls! Poor little Paolo, But he shall sit upon the bench beside me, [She puts fresh logs on the fire. My Paolo will be here," I said, " before These logs shall have burned through!" but, now alas, I know not what to say, saving the wonder Enter HULDA, with a very dejected countenance; she Ter. And what of Paolo? He did not so! Ter. Lady, he is but missing! Hunt. [Teresa clasps her hands, and stands in I might have snatched a pretty lock of hair; Ter. [falling on her kness.] God, of thy mercy Woman, what say'st thou ? Huld. Two hunters from the icebergs are come Enable me to bear what is thy will! down Ere long thy husband comes. [She falls insensible to the floor. Huld. Wretch, why didst tell it her so cruelly — |