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Where his heart ached, but spake not. “ Fetch your son,
And I remain; refuse, and I am gone
Even while we parley." Stifling the great sigh
That heaved his breast, he answered, " He shall die.”
And now for the first time he was aware
Besides themselves there was a Presence there,
Which made his blood run cold, but did not shake
His resolution that, for the king's sake,
His boy must perish. So he said, “I go,"
And like the swiftest arrow from his bow
The phantom vanished, and he went to bring
His sleeping child as ransom for the king,
Leaving that strange, bright woman there alone;
Who, smiling sadly, soon as he was gone,
Ran to her lord, fallen upon the ground;
And while she lifted his dead weight, and wound
Her arms around him, and her tears did rain,
Kissed his cold lips, till, warmed, they kissed her own again!

Meanwhile the sentinel down the royal park
Groped his way homeward, stumbling in the dark,
Uncertain of himself and all about;
For the low branches were as hands thrust out-
But whether to urge faster, or delay,
Since they both clutched and pushed, he could not say;
Nor, so irregular his heart's wild beat,
Whether he ran, or dragged his lagging feet!
When, half a league being over, he was near
His poor, mean hut, there broke upon his ear-
As from a child who wakes in dreams of pain,
And, while its parents listen, sleeps again-
A cry like Father !—Whence, and whose, the cry?
Was it from out the hut, or in the sky ?
What if some robber with the boy had fled ?
What-dreadful thought!-what if the boy were dead?
He reached the door in haste, and found it barred,
As when at set of sun he went on guard,
Shutting the lad in from all nightly harms,
As safe as in the loving mother arms
Which could no longer fold him: all was fast, -
No footstep since his own that night had passed
Across the threshold—no man had been there;
'Twas still within, and cold, and dark, and bare ;
Bare, but not dark; for, opening now the door,
The fitful moon, late hidden, out once more
Thrust its sharp crescent through the starless gloom
Like a long cimetar, and smote the room
With pitiless brightness, and himself with dread, -
Poor, childless man !—for there his child was dead !
He spake not, wept not, stirred not; one might say,
Till that first awful moment passed away,
He was not, but some dead man in his place
Stood, with a deathless sorrow in its face !
Then for a heart so stricken as was his,
So suddenly set upon by agonies,

Must find as sudden a relief, or break-
He wept a little for his own sad sake,
And for the boy that lay there without breath,
Whom he so freely sacrificed to Death!
Thereafter kneeling softly by the bed,
Face buried, and hands wrung above his head,
He said what prayer came to him; and be sure
The prayers of all men at such times are pure.
At last he rose, and lifting to his heart
Its precious burden—limbs that dropped apart-
Hands that no longer clasped him—little feet
That nevermore would run his own to meet,-
Wrapping his cloak round all with loving care,
To shield it from the dew and the cold air,
He staggered slowly out in the black night.
Nowhere was that strange woman now in sight
To take the child; but at the palace gate
The king stood waiting him-reprieved of Fate !
" What was it, soldier ?" “ God preserve the King !-

'Twas nothing." "Tell me, quickly." "A small thing
Not worth your hearing. In the park I found
A lonely woman sitting on the ground,
Wailing her husband, who had done her wrong:
Whose house she had forsaken-but not long;
For I made peace between them-dried the tears,
And added some, I hope, to their now happy years."
“What bear you there?” "A child I was to bring'

He paused a moment—"It is mine, o king!” “I followed, and know all.–So young to diePoor thing !—for me! . . You should be King, not I. You shall be my Vizier-shake not your head; I swear it shall be so.-Be comforted. For this dead child of yours, who met my doom, I will have built for him a costly tomb Of divers marbles, glorious to behold, With many a rich device inlaid of gold, Ivory, and precious stones, and thereupon Blazoned the name and story of your son, And yours-Vizier,--of whom shall history tell That never King but one had such a Sentinel !"

SALMON-FISHING ON THE NIPISSIGUIT.

more."

On one occasion while on the Nipis- would have considered it a handsome siguit, as I was sitting under the lee prize. of a cedar-bark smudge, enjoying the But Roma taking the hook from its fragrant smoke that drove away the mouth, administered a hearty kick, mosquitoes, and had just finished the sending it some twenty feet inland, recital of a favorite verse, I saw a fish with “ Aha! you t'ink you saumon, you break the surface on the opposite side beggar, you; you no rise to fly no of the pool.

“Bruno," I said, “ did you see that?” In but a few minutes more than I

“Yes, sir, I see him very good. Gril- have taken to record this mishap, Bruso, sir, grilso; saumon no lay dare, wa- no, waving the new tip above his head, ter too shallow."

and bounding from rock to rock, came My canoeman had scarcely finished down the hill. It was soon spliced on, speaking, when there was another and in a few minutes more I again hanbreak; a swirl in which a fish showed dled my seventeen-foot withe. its broad tail as it disappeared.

“I'fraid you no reach him; dat very “But you know, Bruno, that salmon long cast,” said Bruno. are apt to lie in shallow water, if it is “You shall know; I have see' Capnear the head of the pool, when the tain make longer cast as dat,” replied river is as high as it is now; of course,

Roma. when the water falls, they will be found I continued drawing an arm's-length lower down where it is deeper.” I re- from my reel, and casting alternately, plied thus as I drew the line through each throw dropping my “Silver Gray” the rings of my rod, and began freeing three feet nearer the fatal spot. When it for a cast.

I covered the place, some twenty-five At that moment Roma Veno, ap- yards off, my fly falling lightly and takproaching from the other side of our ing the drift of the current, there was smudge, said: “Try him, sir; grilso no a bulge, an upheaval of the surface. I got tail like dat; saumon, sir, saumon.” did not see the fish, but my rod bent,

I had already taken the hint from the and there was a heavy strain on my line fish's broad caudal. Alternately draw- as the salmon went down. ing an arm's-length from the reel and

grunted Roma. casting, I had almost covered the place him now, fast as a steeple-church. Ha, where I saw the rise, when a trout seized ha! no grilso; saumon, sir, big saumon." my fly as I was retrieving for another The fish treated me with perfect incast, and striking short, I snapped my difference, as if aware of the ten feet of tip near the splice.

single gut that tapered the end of my “Sacré,” said Bruno, “ dat bad luck. casting-line, and moved off sturdily, but Reel him in, reel him in, sir; let Roma slowly, towards the deeper water. But take him off, while I go for nudder tip.” gradually “realizing” that there was And in a moment he disappeared something wrong with a hook in its amongst the cedars on his way to our snout, and a certain tension bearing on shanty.

it, it became uneasy, but showed no With vexation which it was hard to fight. repress, I landed a beautiful three-pound “ Very lazy fish,” I said. sea-trout, which, on any stream in the “You know better after 'while; hard “States," I would have been a half- for him know he danger yet,” replied hour in killing with light tackle, and Bruno.

“Ugh!”

" You got

we

The salmon gradually increased its bow, and both paddled with all their speed, and then in a bold run of forty might. yards sought the foot of the terrible With a wild whoop, we ran the pitch. rapid that came pouring in at the head The flight of our canoe was like that of of the pool. Presenting the butt of my an arrow; the gray rocks seeming to rod towards the fish, and bringing the pass like phantoms up-stream as point well back over my shoulder, I shot past. The stem of our birch partturned her. She came diagonally down- ed the troubled waves below, and a delstream towards me as I ran backward, uge of spray came over us. reeling in and regaining most of my The men shook themselves like a pair line.

of Newfoundland dogs, as I reeled up "Give when you must, and take when the slack of my line. Finding the fish you can; still this is a dull fish,” I still fast, I landed on the ledge of rock thought.

that formed one shoulder of the pitch. “Lazy saumon," muttered Roma; “ We will fight it out here, my lady," “maybe Monsieur kill him in dis pool." I said, as I forced her into the eddy.

“He wake up bime-by," replied She came reluctantly, with much desBruno. Then my old reel discoursed perate shaking and sawing of her head, music that reminded me of a rattle- and a stubborn disposition to sulk. But snake, and three feet of molten silver I kept her moving; and after a few shot above the surface, and glimmered runs, each showing that her pluck was for an instant in the rays of the morn- gone and her strength declining, I saw ing sun. Then there was a lull, then a her dark-blue back and silver sides. In circuitous run, and another leap, and a few minutes I drew her into a little she turned her nose down-stream. cove. Bruno's gaff went hook-deep into “Canoe !” exclaimed Bruno, shaking her side, and she was landed on the his paddle above his head excitedly, and rocks after a contest of nearly an hour. beckoning to his companion. Keeping The spring-balance was produced from the point of my rod well up, and a taut my satchel, the hook inserted in her line, I stepped into the canoe, steadied snout, and down went the index, markby Bruno's arm. We pushed rapidly ing twenty-nine pounds-fresh-run out from the shore, the fish by this time fish, measuring three feet four inches. having run out two thirds of my line, This, with the exception of the upwhen she stopped in the eddy of a common size of the fish for the Nipisboulder.

siguit, and running the pitch at that “ Arrête," said Bruno; and Roma, stage of water, had been a matter of who stood in the bow, snubbed the daily occurrence for more than a week. headway of our birch stoutly with his I had hooked this fish in the “Big setting-pole. Then, as we approached pool," and had landed a brace of twelveher, I reeled in half the line she had pounders at the “ Middle Pool ” as I taken, when she started again. “La, came down. These we picked up as we la ! avante! Him sure to go over de went up the river. I cast a longing look pitch,” cried Bruno.

at the “Flat Rock Pool” on our way to “ Au terre ?” asked Roma, hesitating our shanty, but the water was too wild to shoot the rapid.

for that cast; so I toiled up the hill “Bab! no, no, au large,” responded with a merry heart and a stout appetite. Bruno. Then turning to me, “No time In front are the Papineau, or, as the for de shore-channel ; have to run de inhabitants call them, the “Pabineau” pitch. Down on your knee, sir, and Falls. We are seven miles from Bathbrace youse's hard 'gin de mid strip;” urst, where I bought my stores and emand with one vigorous sweep of his barked with these same canoemen who paddle, he sent our bark into the main had served me several summers before. channel. Roma dropping his pole, and With an “old chum” in Philadelphia I seizing his paddle, kneeled in the own one third of the rod-fishing ou this

river. He was detained at home, and the mouth of the Escadillac, which my friend Walter, who came with me joins the Tabasintac seven miles below. from New York,“ satisfied the senti- I can assure you there was havoc amongst ment” by killing a score or so of sal- the “finians." Under a bright midday mon, and left me a week ago.

sun we killed trout " ad nauseam." It “How did I get here?”

ceased to be sport. Why, of course, I came from Boston “Walter,” I said, as we travelled back by steamer to St. John, where Walter in this delightful conveyance,“ do me and I spent a few days with my old fish- a sum in cubic measure." I took the ing-companion, Nicholson, who, I am length and breadth of the bunk into happy to say, will join me at the Grand which we had thrown our fish, and then Falls, fifteen miles above, in the course measured the depth to which we had of a week or ten days. From St. John filled it. If I studied Pike's old arithwe came to Shediac by the Intercolonial metic to any purpose when I was a boy, Railroad. Every thing of that sort, in- and 21.50 cubic inches-as old Hutton cluding stage-lines and taverns, are “in- has it—is a Winchester bushel, we had tercolonial” or “ international” in this something over five bushels of bright Province of New Brunswick, Then we sea-trout. We did not count them all, came leisurely by stage and private ex- but threw into a pile a hundred, the press along through Chatham, crossed smallest of which weighed two pounds. the Miramichi and stopped at Mrs. Har Many of them weighed four pounds, ris', the half-way house on the road to although young Harris regretted that Bathurst, where we stayed a day and there were no “ large ones” in the pool went trout-fishing. I must tell you at the time. We would have ceased about it.

this murder sooner, but Harris perIt was an hour by sun when we got suaded us to keep on fishing a while there. The little river-I mean the longer, as it would save him the trouble Tabasintac—was in good flow. Walter of coming down to drag the pool with could not wait until next morning, but his net, which he did occasionally must take a few casts. So with bloody through the summer to get trout to salt intent he put up his rod, tied on his down. An ordinary trout casting-line casting-line, and selected for his whip a was of no use, especially when fishing brace of bright-red hackles, while I with two flies; for, getting a dead kept off the mosquitoes and blackflies. pull against each other, one or both fish Then anointing his face and hands with would break loose and carry off part of a little tar, diluted with sweet oil, he the leader or a gut-length. So we used made “ a bee-line" for the upper end of a salmon casting-line and a salmon fly; the meadow, a hundred yards off. I generally an old worn-out one left from knew what was coming next day, so I a previous summer. As long as there did not put up my rod, but followed was feather or dubbing left on the hook after to string his fish. At his first cast they would seize it. Spirit of Father he hooked a brace of trout, and by sup- Isaac ! absolve me! I will sin no per-time he had caught a string of them more in this way. Better wade Broadas long as his leg-small, however, not head's creek till noon, and have barely averaging over a foot long.

as many “speckled " in the bottom of The following morning we embarked my creel as will make a roast for dinon a craft which is a "peculiar institu- ner, than perpetrate an enormity of this tion” in New Brunswick—a large dug- kind. out canoe, the motive power a pair of But come, take a view of my camp, good horses. It was driven by young here on this broad, flat mass of granite Harris; so, floating smoothly through which fronts these Pabineau Falls, pools, rumbling over cobble-stones and whose troubled waters have sung that grating our Argo's bottom on pebbly same hoarse song for ages. This is our shallows, in about two hours we made shanty. Some of those rascally vandals

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