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the origin of many a brawl and tumult, and served only to keep alive a spirit of religious and political animosity that ought not to exist. The fifth of November was made a day of contumely to the Romanists. The ringing of bells, the blazing of bonfires, the discharge of artillery, the preaching of gunpowder sermons, and the due celebration of a thanksgiving service were unwise and unjust. These practices became less violent as time went on. The poor old Guy" of the schoolboys, dressed up in tatters and tag-rags, was the only thing left to keep up the memory of gunpowder treason except the form of prayer and thanksgiving in the Prayer-book, a form which, breathing malice and ill-will through its devotions, has lately been expunged from the church services. That form of prayer and thanksgiving was designed for two purposes, "the happy deliverance of King James I. and the three estates of England from the most traitorous and bloody intended massacre by gunpowder: and also for the happy arrival of his Majesty King

William." Surely these circumstances are strongly opposed: James I. preserved to England, James II. driven from our shores, the beginning and the ending of the Stuart male line in our country. But the spirit of the two faiths is brought out in the two events which mark the fifth of November. When the one was persecuted, and her priests and people suffered in purse and person, what was her remedy? Massacre; the murder of the king and the parliament, and hundreds of people innocent of all offence. When, in the reign of the second James, the grandson of the first, Colonel Kirke and Judge Jeffreys were committing every sort of cruelty and oppression, when the king publicly received mass, and the Protestant liberties of the country were tottering to their fall-what was the remedy? The expulsion of the monarch; no bloodshedding, no violence, but a king driven into exile by the strength of truth and justice. B. K. C.

where that the events happened, either up the Baltic or the Cattegat, or somewhere else, and as they happened a long time ago, it very likely was long before Claudius ascended the throne, and the late king amused his evenings by walking on the castle platform.

Well: down at the bottom of the sea there reigned a certain king; his queen had brought him seven daughters, beautiful as the seven stars, and he was about the happiest of royal potentates. Everything by which they were surrounded was calculated to increase their delight; their crystal palace was enriched with gems of the first water, and sparkled with gold and silver; pearls of exquisite size and beauty incrusted all the furniture, which was of mother of pearl; and the gardens were well laid out with the most curious and beautiful of marine plants, amidst the waving foliage of which the fish sported, just as birds nestle in trees. Everything of course had a very subaqueous aspect, but it was no more like what people who profess to teach us physical geography would lead us to suppose, than Ptolemy's astronomy resembles that of Newton. Who has not heard of the phosphorescence of the ocean in all zones of the earth? how, especially in the northern seas, it is highly luminous one night and not at all so on the following? Humboldt could not explain this. The fact is of course that the sea-king gave a banquet, and that the palace and the city became one blaze of light; attendant dolphins sporting amongst the foaming waves gave to them an unutterable appearance of magnificence. Such effects as these were always to be witnessed when one of the king's daughters came of age, or whenever the king felt disposed, for some reason or other, or no reason at all, to gather his numerous vassals and delight them with his royal bounty.

The coming of age of one of the king's daughters was always an event of immense importance. All classes of the community Leptocardia, Cyclostomata, Teleostia, Ganvidea, and Selachina-were in a state of perturbation to learn the news. But it always happened that the princess herself was more anxious about it than any one else, for it was the privilege of the princess on attaining her majority to ascend for the first time to the surface of the water and behold the upper world.

Oh that world! how the princess longed to behold its beauties; to see its wondrous sights, and to experience all the enjoyment of delightful novelty! There the sun shone through the day, and the pale moon came out o'nights, and stars there were, like jewels, spangling the sky; there flowers of all colours bloomed and exhaled delicious perfumes, not scentless flowers like those below the sea; and there winged fish -birds they called them-spread their rich plumage in the light, and sang melodious music, not like the dumb fishes in the world of waters. Some submarine philosophers, who had never been privileged to see it, wrote about the upper world, and described it very minutely; unfortunately the details were all wrong, but then no one below the water knew any better, so the philosophers took their oyster-shell degrees, and swaggered mightily about their wisdom. Sometimes they fell to

quarrelling amongst themselves, and denounced some teacher who ventured to swim a little out of the regular track and to suggest something new: they were always very hard on such a fellow, and shunned him as they would a torpedo or an electrical eel.

Now, there was one thing which appeared to be tolerably certain; it was generally received as true; namely, that the people in the upper world were short-lived; unlike the people of the world of waters, they died early, some in a few days, some in a few months, all in a comparatively few years, while they of the sea lived on for a thousand or fifteen hundred years. But then it was stated that the people in the upper world possessed immortal spirits, which ascended to a better world after death; and, as is well known, fairies, elfs, kelpies, brownies, mermaids, mermen, syrens, and the rest of the supernatural race, have no souls, and when they die, they die!

It is necessary that this should be distinctly understood as the accepted creed in the world of waters, otherwise the intense desire to rise to the surface of the water, in the heart of the youngest princess, will not be sufficiently obvious.

All the princesses were anxious to look at the upper world, but none so anxious as the youngest; all listened with interest to what each one had to tell when she had caught her first glimpse of earth, but none listened with so much interest as the youngest. And being the youngest, you see, she had a long time to wait before her turn came, and she occupied that leisure in acquiring information as to what they had seen and done on their first visit. One thought the most beautiful thing she had seen was a globe of fire which seemed to rise out of the sea, and lighted up everything with dazzling lustre: another had seen something she thought exceedingly curious, a boat with a sail spread, and some creatures sitting in the boat who-monsters as they were-let down a great net and dragged a quantity of fish into their vessel: another had seen a lofty mountain, whose sides were clothed with gardens and vineyards, and from the summit of which smoke and flame burst forth: another had seen icebergs floating on the water, and had seen a goodly ship go down in a storm; there was no doubt about this, for there were the timbers of the old ship at the bottom of the water.

To float away to this strange relic of the upper world was the youngest princess's chief delight. A sadness stole over her as she saw it stored with merchandise, the worth of which she knew not, and showing still the ghastly remains of what had been men, but the sight of which she knew not: it was very strange to her, very strange

Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scatter'd at the bottom of the sea.
Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes
Where'eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,

And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. At last the birthday arrived, and the youngest princess attained her majority. With her own hands her mother decked her brow with a

The Syren, implicitly following the instructions of the creature, drew herself on to the shore, and drank the contents of the phial. A heavy drowsiness, a gnawing pain, a dull sense of something terrible came upon her, and she slept. It was a heavy, dreamless sleep, and when she awoke it was with the sense of some calamity, some pressing sorrow, that for a few moments rendered her oblivious to the change she had undergone. Only a few moments, and then she saw it all. She was a woman-a woman clothed in a graceful dress that was girded at the waist by a jewelled zone. The remembrance of all that she had done now rushed upon her: she was a mortal, having a mortal's destiny, and immortal hopes, if

She heard his voice singing the old love song she heard him sing before; he was coming towards her; she saw his shadow, and rose up, a little oddly at first, it must be owned, for she was unused to move as the children of clay; but after a little while, so short a time that he had scarcely advanced ten paces, she moved with ease and grace. Her heart fluttered like a frightened bird in a cage. She thought of retreating, but the thought came too late: he had seen her, come towards her, gazed upon her with astonished rapture, and then in courtly language begged to know the name and rank of the fair stranger. She tried to speak, not knowing what to say, but the effort was in vain-no sound was heard. She tried again and again, and her brain seemed on fire, but she met with no success. She essayed to sing, but not a single note could she produce-her voice was gone; the treacherous creature of the sea had robbed her of her Syren power, and of woman's grand prerogative-the power of speech.

The prince, for he was a prince, was astonished at her silence; but supposing that she was a foreigner unacquainted with his language, he resorted to others. Tried her with French, German, High Dutch, Low Dutch, English, Scotch, Hebrew, and Irish, Spanish, Italian, Welsh; ever so many more, for he was a right learned prince-the Admirable Crichton of his day. The right thought occurred to him at last; she was dumb. He ingenuously pantomimed to ascertain if she was deaf; found out she was not. Was she dumb? she was. Greatly to his surprise, she, after this announcement, began to dance, lightly, elegantly, gracefully; not like a creature of earth, not like a belle in a ball-room, not like a stage ballet-girl, not like a principal danseuse executing a pas, not like anything that he had ever seen before in his experience -and he was a right clever prince, and his experience was enormous.

He questioned; she danced. She intimated in that dance, plain as toe and heel could do it, that she was a princess; that she sought protection at his court; that she felt assured he was a right honourable prince, whose sword would leap from its scabbard that he might succour damsels in distress; might she trust him? He gazed upon her with admiration; understood pretty well the ideas she was expressing; assured her in reply that he had a sister who would render her every assistance, and to whom he would take her, then and

there, if she so felt disposed. She accepted his offer, and proceeded with him to the house. House! it was a palace; a palace fit for an emperor. The prince led the Syren to the princess's private apartments, and introduced her as a young lady in distress.

The princess was all sympathy and curiosity, in the proportion of seventy-nine of the latter to twenty-one of the former. However, she was very kind, and the poor Syren danced delightfully. So, with the mystery of her past life unsolved, the princess made her exceedingly welcome, and so did the prince; and from that time forth she resided as an honoured guest at the court.

She saw him that was much; heard himthat was much; but she could not speak the words that would have relieved her own bursting heart, and feared that she would never hear the words she longed to hear from his lips. He was kind to her, very kind, but it was not the passion of a lover; he was gentle, considerate, sympathizing, but he did not love as she loved; he never divined the flame that consumed her. Had he but known how much she prized and treasured every look and word of his; how she garnered in her soul his sentiments; and how sometimes when alone there came upon her an impetuous burst of passion and of self-reproach,-he must have loved her. But he had no suspicion of the truth; he came to regard her as a sister, and bade her love him as a brother.

One day he approached her, with a face radiant with joy.

"News, sister mine! Good news-" he took her by the hands. "Give me joy: she has consented."

A pang shot through her heart; she trembled violently. faint; let me

"Sister, darling, you are ill, call assistance."

She shook her head, smiled, professed that she was better, and that he should go on with the news.

"Well, then, I have been in love these six months. Six times the crescent moon has filled her horn, and I have kept my secret. Ah! sister, you were never in love?

She looked upon him with a smile, but there was wild reproach in her heart.

"And so I am to be married. You shall attend my bride, you alone, and go with me, so please you, across the sea in our stately galley, to wander for awhile in foreign lands. I am sure you will love the lady, she is all gentleness, all goodness, all truth; her eyes, her lips but you are ill, sister, I am sure you are ill!"

She struggled with her emotion, and smiled again.

"I have told her," he went on," how good a second sister I have found in you; told her how you have ever anticipated my wishes, how you have cheered my hours of despondency, and added fresh joy to my happiest days; I have told her how you tended me in my sickness, sharing that duty with my own sister, and permitting no menial hand to approach me; how grateful I am; I told her that, and she is grateful too, and sends you this token of her love," he presented her with a chain

to which an amulet was attached,- 'tis a precious relic of great virtue; will you not take it ?"

Yes: he saw that she consented, and threw it round her neck with his own hand. "You promise to attend my bride?" She motioned her assent, and then a gay company of the court ladies approaching, the Syren fled to her own chamber.

Wild despair, self-reproach, unutterable sorrow, were in her heart. The hope which she had indulged was disappointed; the fear she had felt was realized; then there sprang up a desire for revenge. Why should this man love another? why should he mock her, for was it not a bitter mockery to whisper the story of his happiness to her whose happiness he had destroyed? Who was this mortal woman who had won his heart, and who had smitten her with shame and remorse and agony? And this was mortal life! Vanity and disappointment, sorrow and sin and suffering. Ah well! the children of earth knew how to revenge their wrongs; could she not revenge herself as well as they! Here, on her ivory table, was a dagger, its hilt richly chased and jewelled; its sheath of crimson velvet, its blade seven inches long. Good; this would serve her excellently well.

The wedding-day arrived, so did the wedding guests, so did the bride, a beautiful creature, all life and gaiety; she was fond of the Syren, at once caressed her as if she had known her for years, told her all her prospects for the future as if life was a drama in which people rehearsed their parts, and knew the end from the beginning. So the prince and the princess were married; crowds thronged the sands to see them depart in their stately galley; the Syren was in attendance; the gilded prow of the galley was covered with flowers; the pavilion of the royal party was also decorated in the same way; wreaths of flowers were worn by all the courtiers; flowers crowned the heads of gentlemen and ladies alike; the swarthy oarsmen had coronals of flowers, and flowers were scattered on the deck, a pathway of roses for the princely pair-roses with all the thorns picked out.

The boat left the shore and glided out to sea; the sun sank, and the purple twilight deepened into night; the stars came out and the full-orbed moon, and still onward went

the stately galley obedient to her helm. The hours chased each other through the night, and when everything was very still, and the prince and princess had long retired, the Syren stole along the deck, her hair hanging loosely about her shoulders, and her face as pale as the moonbeams. She looked out on the tranquil sea, and listened to its murmuring voice as to the voice of a friend; to her that murmur was something more than the mere splashing of the waves; she bent over the side of the vessel and listened; she heard her sisters' voices singing; heard them wailing for her as for one dead; heard them tell to each other the story of her flight, and how nothing but human blood sprinkled on her feet, blood shed by her own hand, could restore them to her more. They continued singing as she listened, and seemed to draw her towards them with the same magical power which she had once herself exercised over mortals. She laid her hands upon the amulet and heard no more. Then taking from the folds of her garment the jewel-hilted dagger, revenge and despair struggling in her heart, she crept to the pavilion, lifted the heavy curtain, and entered. They were asleep, and she looked upon their faces,-love and hope were written plainly there; a blow from her hand, and darkness would be their portion. She gazed upon them— he so noble in his bearing, she so graceful and beautiful; the blade glittered in the light of the lamp, she crept towards the man she loved, stood over him, lifted her hand, and the dagger fell-fell from her nerveless hand, fell harmlessly upon the ground, and down she knelt beside it, and with the voice of her soul cried,-Now Heaven have mercy on me; now Heaven bless and keep these twain beneath its own benignant power; now Heaven spare and pity the child of the sea whose only hope is death!

There were voices heard; voices in the water, Syren voices wildly chanting; voices on the deck, and hurrying footsteps, for the prince had awakened and found the dead Syren in his pavilion; voices in the sky-voices of celestial spirits that, as they bore upward a sister spirit to their heavenly home, were singing of a victory attained over self and sin, and uttering such words as these, Thy forbearance has saved thee, O child of the Sea!" J.T.

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PUZZLE.

A man had two silver cups of unequal weight, having one cover to both of 5 oz.; now, if the cover be put on the less cup, it will be double the weight of the greater; and if set on the greater cup, it will be thrice as heavy as the less. What is the weight of each ? ERNEST HEINS.

ETC.

my 9, 8, 11, 9, 10, is what we all do when we eat 7, 8, 9, 10, 11; my 7, 8, 1, means a bank to stop water; my 1, 8, 11, 9, is part of a ship; my 7, 8, 5, 9, is a dangerous weapon; my 5, 6, 9, 10, is a ceremony; my 1, 8, 3, 10, is a companion; and my whole is a king of Pontus. R. A. CARY.

PARALLELOGRAMS.
No. 1.
R

REBUS.

I am a word of eleven letters. My 4, 8, 9, is an article of wearing apparel; my 7, 8, 9, 10, is a dried fruit; my 5, 8, 9, is a small animal; my 7, 6, 11, 4, is a domestic utensil; my 9, 10, 8, an article of consumption; my 1, 8, 6, 7, an unmarried woman; my 3, 8, 5, 10, a kind of weed; my 9, 10, 11, 3, is a trial;