shoeless the next day when the time came for her return to Almenau.

The passage outside the room was very dark, and as one of the girls remained behind to put everything in order again, and close the wardrobes, unceremoniously retaining the light for that purpose, Nora laid her hand on the arm of the other, and so groped her way to the staircase. At the foot of it, a red-flamed guttering candle in his hand, stood the fisherman's son, and near him Torp, completely equipped as a peasant, and looking remarkably well in a dress peculiarly calculated to show to advantage his well-proportioned muscular figure. With his arms folded, and head thrown back, he leaned against the open door of the kitchen, and Nora asked herself was it possible that the calm, indolently lounging personage before her could be the man whose unremitting energy and athletic strength she had during that day, so much against her inclination, been forced to admire. Greatly she rejoiced that he had spurned her thanks, and reminded her so opportunely that she had released him from imprisonment. And it was true, quite true, that she had been brought into an unpleasant predicament, and some danger, by her effort to relieve him from a situation just as unpleasant, and nearly as perilous, as her own had been subsequently. In short, as he had himself observed, she had been useful to him, and he to her, and now they were mutually free from all obligation.

"Anything you please," said Torp at that moment, as if in answer to some question on the part of the fisherman's wife; "give us anything you please, provided it be quickly. People who have not eaten for so many hours are not likely to be dainty, and a walk across the mountains from the Wild Alp in such weather would give any one an appetite."

The woman laughed, threw fresh wood on the hearth to hurry the process of cooking; and as the flickering flame lighted up Torp's features, he bore so strong a resemblance to his mother, especially as Nora remembered her, sitting by the fireplace at The Willows on the memorable last evening there, that all her bitter feelings towards his family, and personal dislike to himself, returned with double force, and she passed on in silence to the dwelling-room, thinking how much she could have enjoyed so pleasant a termination to her mountain adventure had any one but Torp been her companion.

The sitting-room at the fisherman's was like all such apart

ments in peasant's cottages, but the ceiling, composed of beams of wood darkened by age, was lower, and the windows smaller than in any room Nora had yet seen; and through the latter the moonlight entered sparingly. As for convenience and warmth, the winter store of fuel-wood was piled against the walls of the house, merely leaving free the space occupied by the diminutive square window-frames. The fisherman and his younger children were seated on the wooden bench with which the sides of the great green tile stove were furnished. Above their heads, suspended on a rail, hung shirts both large and small, worsted stockings and leggings, airing in preparation for the pilgrimage to the distant church the ensuing morning.

The children moved near to their father when Nora entered, and whispered eagerly, "She's got Ursi's best green gown and Lina's new black bodice; and oh, father! they've been and given her Hans's spick and span new boots."

The last words attracted the attention of a bare-legged boy who, sitting astride on the bench at the table, was watching intently the flame of the candle, evidently prepared with a pair of old rusty iron snuffers to swoop down on the wick when ever it had attained a length that would enable him to do so without incurring a reprimand from his father. He turned round, slid nimbly from the bench, bent forward to ascertain the truth of what he had heard, and then, resting the forefinger of the left hand on his under teeth, sidled towards his father, all the while gazing at Nora from beneath his eyebrows, with a mixture of curiosity and dismay.

As she took the place he had vacated, and drew him towards her by his shirt-sleeve, for jacket he had none, Torp entered the room.

"Hans," cried the fisherman, "take your finger out of your mouth and tell the young lady she's welcome to the loan of your boots."

"It will not be for long," said Nora, smiling, "and when I send them back to you, Hans, you will find something that you like packed up in the same paper with them. Can you guess

what it will be?"

7 Hans eyed her keenly, placed his thumbs beneath the faded green braces of his tightly-fitting black leather shorts, yielded to the impulse given by her hand, and on finding himself standing close beside her, asked shyly, "Is it a harmonica?"

"I think it is," she answered, "but I don't exactly know of what kind."

"You put it in your mouth and blow music," he rejoined, more confidently; "there were hundreds of them at the fair in Tyrol, but they cost twelve kreutzers."

"Ah, exactly," said Nora; "and if there be anything else you would like, I can send it by the same opportunity."

"A great, great, big, long, smoked sausage," said the boy, to Nora's infinite amusement; and evidently gaining courage as she nodded her head and told him to go on.

"And a-bouquetal of real flowers" (he meant a bouquet of artificial ones, but Nora understood him). "And a bouquetal of real flowers for my holiday hat! and a — a fishing-line -and- and hooks," he continued, eagerly placing his hand on her arm to secure her attention, for just at that moment his mother entered the room, carrying in her hand a steaming iron pan, fresh from the kitchen fire, and containing a quantity of the chopped omelette called "schmarn." She deposited it on a tripod, placed on the table for the purpose, motioned to Torp to advance, gave him and Nora each a horn spoon and an enormous slice of very dark-brown bread, and then, placing her hands on her hips, uttered a sort of satisfied sigh, as she wished them a good appetite, and hoped they would not disdain what her poor house had to offer on so short a notice.

Nora not only reassured her, but flattered her vanity by immediately commencing to eat and praise with such thorough good-will that the whole family began to gather round her, while Torp, silently helping himself to his share from the other side of the pan, glanced towards her occasionally with a sort of amazement that, unknown to himself, began to verge on admiration.

When the remains of their repast had been removed, and Nora turned from him to talk to the fisherman and his wife about their cattle and crops, and then to the latter of her homespun linen and the children's school attendance; to the fisherman's son of the forest clearings in the neighborhood, and the occupation that the sledging of the wood and charcoal gave the peasants in winter, Torp placed both his elbows on the table and leaned forward, surprised alike at her knowledge of such matters and the fluent highland patois in which she discussed them. He found himself wondering where she could have acquired both, when the fisherman drew him into the conver-.

sation by referring to his fishery, and describing his winter occupations. This subject interested Nora also, and she moved nearer to listen, taking up at the same time the ponderous half of a colossal blue stocking, and beginning to knit with a rapidity that only a German education could give.

For some reason which she would have found it difficult to explain, even to herself, Nora did not choose Torp to know how completely she was fatigued, so she forced herself to knit, and listen, until the effort became downright painful to her. The stocking seemed to widen immeasurably, and rise to her very eyes; the voice of the speakers sank into an indistinct murmur, like the hum of distant bees: one hand sought her forehead, to rub away the unwelcome drowsiness, but remained to support her drooping head; while the other, round which the blue thread was twisted in a manner incomprehensible to the uninitiated, at length fell powerless among the knittingneedles. A few faint struggles she made to raise her heavy eyelids, to look around her, to move, in vain; overcome by weariness, she first slumbered lightly, then, slept profoundly.

The younger children had been taken off by their mother in succession; the elder girls had followed, and might be heard at work in the adjacent kitchen; the ticking of the clock in the wall became audible at intervals, for the fisherman alone continued to talk, Torp having ceased for some time to answer, even in monosyllables. He was, however, not sleeping, or even sleepy on the contrary, very wide awake, though he no longer heard the voice of the speaker, or took cognizance of anything in the room, save the slumberer opposite him. Perhaps he had been attracted by the white hand and arm, that appeared so strikingly inappropriate to the short, coarse linen sleeve; or the rounded figure, that gave so much grace to a rustic costume of most ordinary materials; or the fair face, in perfect repose; or the braids of shining black hair; or the long eyelashes, or

or all together, perhaps. Certain it is, that he might have seen Nora in London at fifty balls, and as many déjeunés, in the most splendid dresses that can be imagined; or spent a fortnight under the same roof, in the most distinguished and popular of country-houses, without her having had the power to interest and fascinate him as she had done that day, during the storm on the mountain, and in the dwelling-room of the fisherman's lonely cottage.

BAYARD TAYLOR.

TAYLOR, BAYARD, a famous American poet, traveller, and novelist; born at Kennett Square, Chester County, Pa., January 11, 1825; died at Berlin, Germany, December 19, 1878. He began to write verses at the age of seventeen. In 1844 he put forth "Ximena," a small volume of poems, and soon afterward, having secured an engagement as a newspaper correspondent, he set off for Europe. Upon his return, in 1846, he published his first book of travels, "Views Afoot." In 1847 he became connected with the New York "Tribune," and made numerous journeys to different parts of the world; these journeys furnished materials for the following books: "A Journey to Central Africa" (1854); "The Lands of the Saracen" (1855); and "A Visit to India, China, and Japan" (1855). In 1856-57 he visited Northern Europe, and wrote "Northern Travel: Summer Pictures of Sweden, Denmark, and Lapland" (1858). His books of travel comprise eleven volumes, the latest being "Colorado, a Summer Trip" (1867); "Byways of Europe” (1869); "Egypt in the Year 1874" (1874). In 1862 he was appointed Secretary of Legation at St. Petersburg. In 1878 he was sent as United States Minister to Germany, but died not long after reaching Berlin. He wrote the following novels: "Hannah Thurston" (1863); "John Godfrey's Fortunes" (1864); "The Story of Kenneth" (1866); "Joseph and His Friend" (1870). He published several volumes of poems: "Poems of the Orient" (1855); "Poems of Home and Travel" (1855); "The Poet's Journal" (1863); "The Picture of St. John" (1866); "The Ballad of Abraham Lincoln " (1869); "The Masque of the Gods" (1872); "Lars, A Pastoral of Norway" (1873); "The Prophet, a Tragedy" (1874); "Home Pastorals" (1875); "The National Ode" (1876); "Prince Deukalion," a lyrical drama (1878). For several years he was engaged upon the translation of Goethe's "Faust," which was published in 1871.

THE BURNS FESTIVAL.

(From "Views Afoot.")

WE passed a glorious summer morning on the bank of Loch Katrine. The air was pure, fresh, and balmy, and the warm