"How you speck Brer Rabbit gittin' on, Brer right down ter de groun'. Den Mr. Buzzard Buzzard' sez Brer Fox, sezee. squall out, sezee : "Oh, he in dar,' sez Brer Buzzard, sezee. 'He mighty still, dough. I speck he takin' a nap,' sezee. 666 "Den I'm des in time fer ter wake 'im up,' sez Brer Fox, sezee. En wid dat he fling off his coat, en spit in his han's, en grab de axe. Den he draw back en come down on de tree-pow! En eve'y time he come down wid de axe-pow!-Mr. Buzzard, he step high, he did, en hollar out: "Oh, he in dar, Brer Fox. He in dar, sho.' "En eve'y time a chip ud fly off, Mr. Buzzard, he'd jump, en dodge, en hole his head sideways, bush,' sez Brer Fox, sezee, 'en dat ain't de way he he would, en holler: "He in dar, Brer Fox. I done heerd 'im. He in dar, sho.' "En Brer Fox, he lammed away at dat holler tree, he did, like a man maulin' rails, twel bimeby atter he done got de tree mos' cut thoo, he stop fer ter ketch his bref, en he seed Mr. Buzzard laffin' behime his back, he did, en right den en dar, widout gwine enny fudder, Brer Fox he smelt a rat. But Mr. Buzzard, he keep on holler'n: "He in dar, Brer Fox. He in dar, sho. I done seed 'im.' "Den Brer Fox, he make like he peepin' up de holler, en he say, sezee: 666 "Run yer, Brer Buzzard, en look ef dis ain't Brer Rabbit's foot hanging down yer.' "En Mr. Buzzard, he come steppin' up, he did, same ez ef he were treddin' on kurkle-burrs, en he stick his head in de hole; en no sooner did he done dat dan Brer Fox grab 'im. Mr. Buzzard flap his wings, en scramble roun' right smartually, he did, but 'twant no use. Brer Fox had de 'vantage er de grip, he did, en he hilt 'im come,' sezee. "Den Mr. Buzzard up'n tell Brer Fox how 'twuz, en he low'd, Mr. Buzzard did, dat Brer Rabbit wuz de low-downest w'atsizname wa't he ever run up wid. Den Brer Fox say, sezee : "Dat's needer here ner dar, Brer Buzzard,' sezee. I lef' you yer fer ter watch dish yer hole en I lef' Brer Rabbit in dar. I comes back en I fines you at de hole, en Brer Rabbit ain't in dar,' sezee. 'I'm gwinter make you pay fer't. I done bin tampered wid twel plum' down ter de sap sucker'll set on a log en sassy me. I'm gwinter fling you in a bresh-heap en burn you up,' sezee. "Ef you fling me on der fier, Brer Fox, I'll fly 'way,' sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee. "Well, den, I'll settle yo' hash right now,' sez Brer Fox, sezee, en wid dat he grab Mr. Buzzard by de tail, he did, en make fer ter dash 'im 'gin de groun', but des 'bout dat time de tail fedders come out, en Mr. Buzzard sail off like wunner dese yer berloons, en ez he riz, he holler back : "You gimme good start, Brer Fox,' sezee, en Brer Fox sot dar en watch 'im fly outer sight." "That's buff an' styte [stuff and nonsense], Shargar. Do ye think I dinna ken a fiddle whan I see ane, wi' its guts ootside o' 'ts wame, an' the thoomacks to screw them up wi' an' gar't skirl?" "Buff an' styte yersel'!" cried Shargar, in in dignation, from the bed. "Gie's a haud o''t." Robert handed him the case. Shargar undid the hooks in a moment, and revealed the creature lying in its shell like a boiled bivalve. can play the fiddle fine. An' I'll play 't too, or the de'il s' be in't." "Eh, man, that'll be gran'!" cried Shargar, incapable of jealousy. "We can gang to a' the markets thegither and gaither baubees." To this anticipation Robert returned no reply, for, hearing Betty come in, he judged it time to restore the violin to its case, and Betty's candle to the kitchen, lest she should invade the upper regions "I tellt ye sae!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "Maybe ye'll lippen to me (trust me neist time." "An' I teilt you? retorted Bobert, with an equivocation altogether worthy of his growing honesty. "I was cocksure that endna be a fide There's the fiddle i the bert o't! Losh! I min noo. It mann be my grandfather's fire at I has heard tell o "No to ken a 61: refectel harzar, with as much of contempt a is a pattie for him to show. "I tell ye what Stargar." returned Robert, in dignantly: "ye may ken the box a bite tex nor I do, but del bae me za I dan ken the fiddle itsel rather better nor kaikess in warch of it. But that very night he managed to have an interview with xxx te maker, and it was arranged between them that Robert should bring ha van on the g which my story has ww arrivst. Whatever rive be a forme the atly of me, it was more matters that if the thing ret L. TE is a bed the pores page when wow the tone mr & wwwred in the aware of the #1 *** generati xa a un sep 1: an e * Acenter :: I but was at t * 1: 1211 2.3 frae this time. Itt Lorie bany; he m THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. HIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their stream- Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed. Year after year beheld the silent toil Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! ROBERT FALCONER'S FIDDLE.* OWARDS the end of the week, Robert, after seeing Shargar disposed of for the night, proceeded to carry out a project which had grown in his brain within the last two days, in consequence of an occurrence with which his relation to Shargar had had something to do. It was this: The housing of Shargar in the garret had led Robert to make a close acquaintance with the place. He was familiar with all the outs and ins of the little room which he considered his own, for that was a civilised-being plastered, ceiled, and comparatively well-lighted-little room, but not with the other, which was three times its size, very badly lighted, and showing the naked couples from rooftree to floor. Besides, it contained no end of dark corners, with which his childish imagination had associated undefined horrors, assuming now one shape, now another. Also there were several closets in it, constructed in the angles of the place, and several chests-two of which he had ventured to peep into. But although he had found them filled, not with bones, as he had expected, but one with papers, and one with garments, he had yet dared to carry his researches no further. One evening, however, when Betty was out, and he had got hold of her candle, and gone up to keep Shargar company for a few minutes, a sudden impulse seized him to have a peep into all the closets. One of them he knew a little about, as containing, amongst other things, his father's coat with the gilt buttons, and his great-grandfather's kilt, as well as other garments useful to Shargar: now he would see what was in the rest. He did not find anything very interesting, however, till he arrived at the last. Out of it he drew a long queer-shaped box into the light of Betty's dip. "Luik here, Shargar!" he said, under his breath, for they never dared to speak aloud in these precincts-"luik here! What can there be in this box? Is 't a bairnie's coffin, duv ye think? Luik at it." In this case Shargar, having roamed the country a good deal more than Robert, and having been present at some merrymakings with his mother, of which there were comparatively few in that countryside, was better informed than his friend. "Eh! Bob, duvna ye ken what that is? I thocht ye kent a' thing. That's a fiddle." By permission of the Proprietors of Dr. George MacDonald's works. "That's buff an' styte [stuff and nonsense], Shargar. Do ye think I dinna ken a fiddle whan I see ane, wi' its guts ootside o' 'ts wame, an' the thoomacks to screw them up wi' an' gar't skirl?" "Buff an' styte yersel'!" cried Shargar, in in dignation, from the bed. "Gie's a haud o' 't." Robert handed him the case. Shargar undid the hooks in a moment, and revealed the creature lying in its shell like a boiled bivalve. can play the fiddle fine. An' I'll play 't too, or the de'il s' be in't." "Eh, man, that'll be gran'!" cried Shargar, incapable of jealousy. "We can gang to a' the markets thegither and gaither baubees." To this anticipation Robert returned no reply, for, hearing Betty come in, he judged it time to restore the violin to its case, and Betty's candle to the kitchen, lest she should invade the upper regions "I tellt ye sae!" he exclaimed, triumphantly. "Maybe ye'll lippen to me [trust me] neist time." "An' I tellt you," retorted Robert, with an equivocation altogether unworthy of his growing honesty. "I was cocksure that cudna be a fiddle. There's the fiddle i' the hert o''t! Losh! I min' noo. It maun be my grandfather's fiddle 'at I hae heard tell o'." "No to ken a fiddle-case!" reflected Shargar, with as much of contempt as it was possible for him to show. "I tell ye what, Shargar," returned Robert, indignantly; "ye may ken the box o' a fiddle better nor I do, but de'il hae me gin I dinna ken the fiddle itsel' raither better nor ye do in a fortnicht frae this time. Is' tak it to Dooble Sanny; he | in search of it. But that very night he managed to have an interview with Dooble Sanny, the shoemaker, and it was arranged between them that Robert should bring his violin on the evening at which my story has now arrived. Whatever motive he had for seeking to commence the study of music, it holds even in more important matters that, if the thing pursued be good, there is a hope of the pursuit purifying the motive. And Robert no sooner heard the fiddle utter a few mournful sounds in the hands of the soutar, who was no contemptible performer, than he longed to establish such a relation between himself and the strange instrument, that, dumb and deaf as it had been to him hitherto, it would respond to his touch also, and tell him the secrets of its queerly-twisted |