THE STORY OF A GOVERNESS. PROMISED you, my dear Gertrude, a true and particular account of my daily life, and you shall have it as near as I can describe it. My letters will, perhaps, be irregular. I can foresee they they will, but every evening I shall endeavour to note down the impressions and events of the day as they occurred. When my sheet of paper is full of that crossed writing, which your uncle calls "boarding-school hieroglyphics," I shall send it to the post-office, and begin another sheet without waiting for your reply. What will it matter if our letters cross each other? We are not merchants; our business is only to interchange thoughts and feelings. I have already told you that I left home, mother and brother, on Wednesday morning. Their grief was so great that I strove to conceal my own as much as possible. If I had shed but a single tear, I verily believe that my mother, who only wanted an excuse to keep me at home, would have immediately given up the governess' place, which I had obtained after so much difficulty. Evidently she was sorry at having accepted it for me, and would have preferred that we should live and struggle on together. But I felt the necessity for persevering in a resolution which would put an end to our make-shift existence, and permit my brother to pursue the studies that will help him to lead a life of usefulness, and break the chain of poverty which for the last ten years has hemmed us in and nearly crushed us. So I put on as indifferent an air as I possibly could. Had you seen me, you would have said that my going away from home gave me much more pleasure than pain. But mother was not deceived; the more effort I made to appear cheerful, the sadder she became. However, I succeeded in keeping up my courage until the moment of separation arrived, and then, but not till then, did my courage fail me. May you, dear Gertrude, never experience such a trial. I would not wish it to my worst enemy. I have no recollection how I got away. When I recovered myself, I was seated in a corner of a railway carriage, my face covered with my veil, which my tears had glued to my cheeks. I was glad to find myself alone; there were no other passengers in the same compartment, and it was nearly dark. I soon cried myself to sleep, and thus I passed the live-long night, sleeping or crying. In the morning, when it became daylight, I roused myself up, and endeavoured to summon a little fortitude. My tears had ceased to flow from utter weariness, and when about mid-day I arrived at my destination, Julia was herself again! I fully expected to find some one at the railway station to meet me, and conduct me to my new abode: there were a great many happy faces waiting to welcome friends, but not one that appeared to be looking for a poor governess. So putting my boxes into the waiting-room, I seated myself there an object of curiosity to all comers. I was greatly embarrassed at my forlorn position and helplessness. It was the first time I had ever found myself away from my mother's protection, at the mercy of strangers, and obliged PRICE ONE PENNY. to take care of myself. I thought what a blessing it is to have a fond mother to watch over and care for us, and relieve us from embarrassment and doubt. I now, for the first time perhaps, fully understood how much care and anxiety a mother's tenderness and watchfulness keeps away from us. clerk in the booking-office if he had seen any of Lord G's I waited and waited, until at last I lost all patience. I asked the servants inquiring for a passenger from London? Staring rudely at me, he deliberately puffed the filthy smoke of a cigar he was smoking right into my face, saying, "No, I aint, young 'oman." Had I been a man I would have boxed his ears for his cowardly impudence, but being only a poor friendless girl I was obliged to put up with it. Weary with the close, stifling atmosphere of the waiting-room, I now took a seat outside, near the door, where I could get a view of the road along which I expected a messenger from Lord G― to approach. My heart fairly sunk within me; I felt a sense of loneliness come over me that again brought the tears to my eyes, and I pulled my veil down so that no one should see me crying. While I was sitting there several children came along, disputing and quarrelling about a bird's nest they had found in the fields. It contained but one poor little half-fledged bird; its noisy chirping made me shudder. Here, then, I thought, is another poor exile with no mother to comfort it. During the dispute the nest was torn to pieces, and the poor orphan bird fell panting at my feet. I picked it up with a feeling of pity, and giving a few halfpence to the bird stealers, I put the bird into my muff to keep it warm. A carriage now drove up, and the footman went into the bookingoffice; he soon came out again, and casting an inquiring look at me, at length spoke, saying "Are you waiting to go to Lord G-'s, mum?" "I am," I replied. Is them your "His lordship has sent the carriage for you, mum. boxes?" Placing my luggage on the carriage, he opened the door, and handed me in. Then turning to the coachman, he exclaimed,— "All right, Briggs; her ladyship's quite ready." The The road over which we travelled was a very dismal one. prospect, so different from what I had anticipated, made me feel quite sad and melancholy; it was like riding to a funeral, and I could not prevent the tears filling my eyes. I soon grew tired with looking at the barren fields, and with listening to the harsh grating of the wheels over the new-made road, so I threw myself back in one corner of the carriage, waiting impatiently for the moment when I should reach my journey's end. At length we came upon an avenue of lime trees, at the end of which was the dismal-looking mansion where I was about taking up my abode. Upon arriving at the hall-door, I was received with ceremonious coldness by Mrs. Clements, the housekeeper, who informed me that his lordship begged that I would excuse him, as he had a severe headache, and to give me time to recover myself after my long journey would not require me to attend to my duties until the following day. I was shown to the apartment prepared for my reception. It was a large dingy-looking room with a faded carpet and curtains, and old furniture, too old to be ugly, and too new to be interesting. Mrs. Clements asked me, if I would "take anything;" I should have been very glad of a cup of tea, but the inquiry was made in such a tone that, embarrassed and resentful, I declined to "take anything." She did not attempt to persuade me, and after informing me that the servant would answer my bell if I rung it, and making me a formal bow, she left the room. As soon as she was out of sight, I ran to the door, and bolted it. I had need of being alone, in order to summon up all my courage, and prepare myself for what I should have to endure. After carefully examining my gloomy apartment, I seated myself in the corner of a great bow-window, behind the damask curtains, whose colour, what with the sun and dust, had long since faded and vanished. The little daylight that remained enabled me to perceive through the window immense cultivated fields spreading far and wide in every direction, but not a living creature in sight. The wind whistled through the long corridors, not with those musical, though melancholy tones we so loved to hear in our uncle's old deserted mansion, but inarticulate and mournful-a wail, not a voice. I abandoned myself to the gloomy thoughts that stole over me. All the subdued anguish of the preceding days seemed to unite together at this listless hour in intense bitterness. I was certainly separated from all who loved me, and among strangers as indifferent to my sorrows as to my joys: who had a claim upon me, but of whom I could demand nothing. From the moment I crossed the threshold of my new abode, I was no longer my own mistress: even this hour of solitude, granted to me to enable me to ponder on my miserable position, was a gift from my employer. This idea disturbed me, I felt that my courage was about to fail, I started up and began to pace the room with hasty steps. But I must give you a description of this room, so that you may better understand what I shall have to say about it hereafter: thus having it in your mind's-eye, you can, in a manner, occupy it with me. The principal piece of furniture in the room from whence I now write is an old carved book-case, so black with age, that it looks as if it were charred. Doubtless, it was at one time filled with books, but it is now transformed into a wardrobe. The panels, filled in with tapestry represent scenes of rural life some hundred and fifty years ago. There is a window at each end of the room. One looks out upon the kitchen yard, the other upon the open country. A little room adjoining is almost entirely filled up with a carved mahogany bedstead, with gilt ornaments, and faded red curtains, and covered with a canopy. There is another room appropriated as our "study," which contains nothing but a large table, some chairs, and an oldfashioned eight-day clock, looking very much like a coffin in which my future hours will be buried. Its large pendulum sounds like the measured step of a dead march. This old clock acts like a spell upon me, it seems to be the only thing with which I can have communion; it is my monitor, reminding me every moment that I am a step nearer to the grave, and that I am a prisoner within its hourly circle. A chambermaid brought me a light. She is a cold, dry, stiff old woman, who appears ill-adapted to the general movements of the house; for here everything appears to proceed with mechanical regularity. After placing the candles on the table, closing the shutters and drawing the curtains, the chamber-maid came and placed herself before me, saying "Has the young lady no orders to give me?" I dared not retract the reply I had given to Mrs. Clements, and say that I would take some supper, so I replied"Nothing, thank you." The chamber-maid then turned upon her heels and left the room. I had therefore decided to go to bed hungry, but, upon emptying my little carpet bag, I found a large piece of ginger-bread, which my considerate mother had put into it unknown to me, together with my embroidery, and two volumes of poetry to read on the road. Here was quite an unexpected feast. Doubtless my little bird had a presentiment of it, for I heard it chirping from inside my muff. I took it gently in the hollow of my hand, and we supped together. At every mouthful the poor little fledgling uttered a cry of joy, and flapped its wings. When its hunger was satisfied, it tucked its head under its wing and went to sleep on the warm fur. Sleep, poor little thing, who art more of an orphan and more forlorn than I! Sleep peacefully, to teach me submission and give me reliance in the future. Next morning his lordship sent to inquire if he could see me. I was about going to him, but he came to me. I had greatly dreaded this first interview; the more I desired to please the greater my fear that I should displease. So when his lordship made his appearance, I stood silent and confused. His lordship appeared to take no heed of my confusion. He made me sit down, and began questioning me as to what I could do. I know but too well what I replied, and I could not tell whether his lordship was satisfied or not, for he did not change a feature. He made a pause, as if to separate what he heard from what he was about to say; then he spoke of his daughter, and it appeared to me that he indulged in no illusions respecting her. He considered that she had a moderate amount of talent, and he did not expect me to perform miracles. He hoped that one day his Clara would make a respectable figure in society, and he desired nothing more. "What I expect of you, Miss," he said, on taking his departure, "is a certain temperance in all things. Require neither too much nor too little. I wish to have no complaints. I ask for no praises. The important thing for me is that my daughter's education be properly finished without my perceiving it; it is for that I required a governess. Still, if you should have anything to say to me respecting Clare, let me know. I am generally at liberty until eleven o'clock in the forenoon." Taking up his hat and bowing, he took his departure. I remained standing where he left me, oppressed in feeling by what I had heard. The task which I had hoped to render more easy by paternal assistance I must then undertake alone! I am not required to inform a mind but to discipline a nature: where I had dreamed of performing the part of a mother, I find only the duties of a drill sergeant left to me. Foolish creature that I was, to believe myself a woman where I must be only an instrument; and to bring a heart where only my hours are wanted! Mrs. Clements next arrived, bringing my pupil. She has neither the grace nor the freedom proper to her age. She is not at all pretty, while some feeling of haughty constraint impels her to keep a defensive reserve. She sharply scrutinised me while I was asking the housekeeper some necessary questions, and when we were left alone together, I could obtain no reply from her but Yes or No! I then read the written regulations drawn up by his lordship and brought to me by Mrs. Clements. Every hour of the day had its special employment noted down. I must take charge of Lady Clara from the moment she opens her eyes, and not lose sight of her until she is again in bed asleep. My existence is merged in hers. All in good time! I accept this servitude; but I expected at least to have found some compensation! When a mother watches and devotes herself to her child, she is sustained by its kisses, its looks of love, by the tones of its voice when it speaks to her, while I must devote myself without any of these encouragements for the heart. I am here to serve a purpose-a means to an end-not as a being who devotes herself voluntarily. And what, in fact, am I? A "person" performing the noble work of education at an abated salary! In entrusting me with the task of forming a soul, they have traced the plan for me; I must render up my trust at a fixed date, like an the prescribed formula. The bill paid I shall be released. Oh! edifice built by contract and surrendered, key in hand, according to ungrateful task and hard conditions! (To be continued.) THE RAINBOW. I SOMETIMES have thought in my loneliest hours, When my spirit was light as a blossom in June; On the white wing of peace floated off in the west, It bent from the cloud and encircled the world. AMELIA. HAROLD AND HACON, A DANISH TRADITION. ABOUT the middle of the tenth century there reigned in Denmark one of the most famous princes that had ever governed that country. He was called, "Harold with the blue tooth." After a long series of wars, it happened that he conquered a province of Pomerania, but he was not at ease in his mind respecting this conquest. He well knew the warlike character of the inhabitants, he remembered the obstinate resistance their cities had opposed to his arms, the murmurs and discontent of the conquered people; and he well understood that they only awaited the moment when he quitted the conquered territory, to return to his own country, to rise in revolt, and call upon the Norwegians to aid them. Harold, as prudent as he was brave, adopted such measures as he considered would secure to him possession of the conquered country. He called together his most illustrious young warriors-they were the flower of the Danish nobility, of tried courage, as more than one battle-field had proved-and they were all rich and powerful. He selected, in the heart of the conquered country, the place that seemed most favourable to his design, and made the vanquished people build him a strong city. It was named Julin, or Jombsbourg. He peopled it with his Danish subjects, and entrusted the government of it to Panatosko, one of his most devoted lieutenants; and then he departed, full of confidence in the bravery and fidelity of the new inhabitants. Panatosko preserved his master's secret; he knew the object for which he had been placed at the head of this colony. It was an important post, which might suddenly become very difficult to keep; moreover, he was not satisfied with being the governor of Jombsbourg, he wished, also, to be its lawgiver. He made every effort to form intrepid soldiers, gave large rewards to every one who displayed unusual courage, and made contempt of death the greatest glory; and he succeeded so well in establishing this principle that it was forbidden, under the penalty of being considered infamous, to pronounce the word fear. The word was expunged from their language. The people gave good proof that they had well profited by the lessons in heroism given them by their chief. The Jombsbourg people, provoked by their neighbours, made an irruption into the country of Hacon, Duke of Norway, but they fell into a skilfully laid ambush, and in spite of the obstinacy of their resistance, they were overcome. The chief who led them during this fatal engagement fought for a long time alone against a crowd of enemies, and resisted to the last, although his body was covered with wounds. At length, a Norwegian struck him a blow in his breast, which pierced his heart; then uttering a shout of defiance, he fell dead. The other leaders were taken prisoners, and, as a matter of course, condemned to immediate death. Hacon had heard of the marvellous courage and fortitude of the Jombsbourg people, to whom, it was said, death was a festival, for the laws of Panatosko had taught them to brave it from their infancy. He wished to satisfy himself of the truth of what be had heard, and resolved to be present at the execution of the chiefs. His pride would have been flattered could he have drawn a plaint from them, and to have forced them to give signs of weakness would have been to conquer them a second time. With this object the scaffold upon which they were to die was built up before their eyes, and jeers and insults unsparingly bestowed upon them. The executioner was at his post, the victims were ready. A captive, the boldest and most illustrious, was selected. "See," said a Norwegian to him, ironically, "this is the sword that will send thee to Odin." The captive showed neither surprise nor fear, nor was a feature of his face disturbed. Then, smiling, he answered, "Why should not that which happened to my father happen also to me? He is dead, and I too must die." Torkill, the executioner, showed to the second Dane the corpse of his companion, saying, "Do you know the fate that awaits you? Do you not tremble now ?" "Tremble?" replied the Dane, "I must first forget the laws of Jombsbourg if the approach of death extorts from me a single word of fear. What glory think you to derive from our death? Do you not know that we must all die ?" Torkill, indignant, struck off the captive's head at a single blow; and then passed on to another, who interrupted him in his ferocious jests. "I die gloriously," he exclaimed; "and I rejoice. But thou, Torkill, thy life brings thee only shame and disgrace; thy days will be short and infamous." "As for me," said the fourth captive," I suffer death cheerfully, and this hour is most delightful to me. I ask only one favour, Torkill, cut off my head as quickly, and as gently as possible, for it is a question very often discussed amongst us whether a man retains any feeling after his head is cut off; so I shall take this dagger in my it hand; when you have cut off my head, if I point it towards you, will be a sign that I am not wholly deprived of feeling: but, in the contrary case, it will immediately fall from my hand. Cut off my head, then, at once, to put an end to my doubts." Torkill immediately complied with the young man's wishes, and cut off his head, while the dagger naturally fell from his victim's hand. Torkill addressed the fifth with the inevitable question, asking him how he regarded the approach of death. "I rejoice to die," replied the youth. Then he began to mock his executioner and all his enemies, with so much carelessness and gaiety, that Torkill himself, confounded, asked him how, at such a moment, he could speak and act such follies. History has preserved the name of the sixth: he was called Sibald. After replying to the insulting remarks of Torkill, as became a Jombsbourgian, he said— "Grant me a favour. I do not desire that Sibald should be led to death like a lamb to the slaughter. I will stand firm, strike me in the face, and examine attentively if I show any sign of fear, or if you discover the least flinching, for at Jombsbourg we often exercised ourselves in receiving such blows as this without moving." Torkill granted his wish, and struck him in the face: but no sign of fear or surprise, not even a winking of the eyes was exhibited. The seventh was a young man of rare beauty and in the flower of his youth. His long blonde hair hung in thick curls upon his His shoulders. It could be seen that he was prepared to die. appearance excited a murmur among the warriors, pity among the old men, and the envy or disdain of the young. Torkill hastened to question him, hoping to extort some confession of weakness, or at least of regret, from one, who, in appearance, was so little fitted for fighting. "I die willingly," replied the Dane, "for I have already snatched from life all that is beautiful in it. It will give me more pleasure to perish with my companions than to survive them, especially were I to remain captive as I am now. I ask only one thing, let me not be led to death by slaves. Give to one of my equals the order to hold my head by the hair, that he may quickly lift my head as soon as it is cut off, so that my hair, of which I have taken so much care during my life, may not be soiled with blood after my death. Now, strike." All this was spoken in so mild, yet firm a voice, and his coquettry at such a moment appeared so strange to Torkill, that, for the first time his hand trembled. He required two blows to sever this beautiful head, and the last wish of the dying youth was not fulfilled. But amid this cruel torture, not the least cry, groan, or murmur escaped the Dane. Hacon looked on silently at this scene of death; no sign betrayed the impression it produced on him. He retired without saying a word. But next day he proposed peace to Harold with the blue tooth. CLOUDS. How beautiful are the Clouds at noon! they look like ruby gems set round with gold; and the lark mounts toward them, and sings as if he were at heaven's gate. How bright are the Clouds at mid-day, when high in the sky they hang, and show their pearly whiteness in the azure sky! At sunset they again are beautiful, and in the far west they take all hues and forms. Sometimes they look like towers and castles, high thrones and lofty palaces, of topaz and of gold. At night, when the moon shines on them, they look fair and white, and pure, and when all is hushed and still, seem like a flock of little lambs asleep. Yet what are clouds but vapours? Soon they pass away, soon they change; now they become dark with tempest, now they swell in storm; but then the bow of mercy is seen, and nature, in the midst of showers, is cheered. Life is like a Cloud, fleeting and changeable; to-day it is gay and bright, to-morrow it is dark and full of gloom; yet again the sun shines upon it, and it sinks to its rest in peace. What gives to the Clouds their brightness and their beauty? It is the sun that lights them, gilds them with his beams, and paints them with his smiles, What gives to life its glory? It is the smile of Him who formed the Clouds to water the earth with rain, and to refresh all plants and herbs. It is He who gives to life's morning its bright joys; who in manhood's prime exalts us and sustains; who in the storm and darkness, like the rainbow, smiles upon us; and who at eventime, when death would draw his curtains around us, brightens the soul with hope. SONG OF THE CAPTIVE LARK. 'Tis merry morn-the sun hath shed His light upon the mountain head. On heath and hill, on flower and bough; Soar up and sing in yonder sky. Through these harsh wires I glimpse in vain, The ray that once awoke my strain; In pain, while coop'd, I fret and pine, My useless wings their strength decline. Oh, barbarous you, who still can bear 'Gainst these dread wires that vex me so : Oh, let me fly-fly up once more, THE NIGHTINGALE. 'N China, as you well know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and all his subjects are Chinese. Now what I am about to relate A happened many years ago; but, even on that very account, it is the more important that you should hear the story at once, before it is forgotten. The Emperor's palace was the most magnificent palace in the world; it was made entirely of fine china porcelain, very costly, but at the same time so brittle, that it was dangerous even to touch it. The choicest flowers were to be seen in the garden; and to the most splendid of them all little silver bells were fastened, in order that their tinkling might prevent any one from passing by without noticing them. Yes! everything in the Emperor's garden was excellently well arranged; and the garden extended so far, that even the gardener did not know the end of it; whoever walked beyond it, however, came to a beautiful wood, with very high trees, and beyond that, to a lake. The wood went quite down to the lake, which was very deep and blue; large vessels could sail close under the branches; and among the branches dwelt a Nightingale, who sang so sweetly that even the poor fisherman, who had so much else to do, when he came out at night-time to cast his nets, would stand still and listen to her song. "Oh! how pretty that is," he would say; but then he was obliged to mind his work, and forget the bird. Yet the following night, if again the Nightingale sang, and the fisherman came out, again he would exclaim, "Oh! how pretty that is." Travellers came from all parts of the world to the Emperor's city; and they admired the city, the palace, and the garden; but if they heard the Nightingale, they said, "This is best of all." And they talked about her after they went home, and learned men wrote books about the city, the palace, and the garden; nor did they forget the Nightingale: she was extolled above everything else; and poets wrote the most beautiful verses about the Nightingale of the wood near the lake. These books went round the world, and one of them at last reached the Emperor. He was sitting in his golden arm-chair; he read and read, and nodded his head every moment, for these splendid descriptions of the city, the palace, and the garden, pleased him greatly. "But there is nothing like the Nightingale," was written in the book. "What in the world is this?" said the Emperor. "The Nightingale! I do not know it at all! Can there be such a bird in my empire-in my garden even, without my having heard of it? Truly, one may learn something from books." So he called his Gentleman Usher. Now this was so grand a personage, that no one of inferior rank might speak to him; and if one did venture to ask him a question, his only answer was "Pish!" which has no particular meaning. "There is said to be a very remarkable bird here, called the Nightingale," said the Emperor; "her song, they say, is worth more than anything else in all my dominions. Why has no one ever told me of her ?" "I have never before heard her mentioned," said the Gentleman Usher; "she has never been presented at court." "I wish her to come and sing before me this evening," said the Emperor. "The whole world knows what I have, yet I do not know it myself." "I have never before heard her mentioned," said the Gentleman Usher; "but I will seek her-I will find her." But where was she to be found? The Gentleman Usher ran up one flight of steps, down another, through halls and through passages-not one of all whom he met had ever heard of the Nightingale; and the Gentleman Usher returned to the Emperor, and said "It must certainly be an invention of the man who wrote the book. Your Imperial Majesty must not believe all that is written in books; much in them is pure invention, and there is what is called the Black Art." "But the book in which I have read it," returned the Emperor, "was sent me by the high and mighty Emperor of Japan, and therefore it cannot be untrue. I wish to hear the Nightingale-she must be here this evening; and if she do not come after supper the whole court shall be flogged." "Tsing-pe!" exclaimed the Gentleman Usher; and again he ran up-stairs and down-stairs, through halls and through passages, and half the court ran with him, for not one would have relished the flogging. Many were the questions asked respecting the wonderful Nightingale, whom the whole world talked of, and about whom no one at court knew anything. At last they met a poor little girl in the kitchen, who said"Oh yes, the Nightingale! I know her very well. Oh! how she can sing! Every evening I carry the fragments left at table to my poor sick mother. She lives by the lake-side, and when I am coming back, and stay to rest a little in the wood, I hear the Nightingale sing; it makes the tears come into my eyes! it is just as if my mother kissed me." "Little kitchen-maiden," said the Gentleman Usher, "I will procure for you a sure appointment in the kitchen, together with permission to see his Majesty the Emperor dine, if you will conduct us to the Nightingale, for she is expected at court this evening." So they went together to the wood, where the Nightingale was accustomed to sing; and half the court went with them. Whilst on their way a cow began to low. "Oh!" cried the court-pages, 66 now we have her. It is certainly an extraordinary voice for so small an animal; surely I have heard it somewhere before." "No, those are cows you hear lowing," said the little kitchenmaid; "we are still far from the place." The frogs were now croaking in the pond. "That is famous!" said the chief court-preacher; "now I hear her, it sounds just like little church-bells." "No, those are frogs," said the little kitchen-maid; "but I now think we shall soon hear her." Then began the Nightingale to sing. "There she is!" said the little girl; "listen! listen! there she sits;" and she pointed to a little grey bird up in the branches. "Is it possible ?" said the Gentleman Usher; "I should not have thought it. How simple she looks! she must certainly have changed her colour at the sight of so many distinguished personages." "Little Nightingale !" called out the Kitchen-maid, "our gracious Emperor wishes you to sing something to him." "With the greatest pleasure," replied the Nightingale, and she sang in such a manner that it was delightful to hear her. "And "It sounds like glass bells," said the Gentleman Usher. look at her little throat, how it moves! It is singular that we should never have heard her before; she will have great success at court." "Shall I sing again to the Emperor ?" asked the Nightingale, for she thought the Emperor was among them. "Most excellent Nightingale!" said the Gentleman Usher, "I have the honour to invite you to a court-festival, which is to take place this evening, when his Imperial Majesty will doubtless be enchanted with your delightful song." "My song would sound far better among the green trees," said the Nightingale. However, she followed willingly when she heard that the Emperor wished it. There was a general cleaning and polishing at the palace; the walls and the floors, which were all of porcelain, glittered with a thousand gold lamps; the loveliest flowers, with the merriet tinkling bells, were placed in the passages; there was a running to and fro, which made all the bells to ring, so that one could not hear one's own words. In the midst of the grand hall, where the Emperor sat, a golden perch was erected, on which the Nightingale was to sit. The whole court was present, and the little Kitchen-maid received permission to stand behind the door, for she had now actually the rank and title of "Maid of the Kitchen." All were dressed out in their finest clothes; and all eyes were fixed upon the little grey bird, to whom the Emperor nodded, as a signal for her to begin. And the Nightingale sang so sweetly, that tears came into the Emperor's eyes, tears rolled down his cheeks; and the Nightingale sang more sweetly still, and touched the hearts of all who heard her; and the Emperor was so delighted, that he said, "The Nightingale should have his golden slippers, and wear them round her neck." But the Nightingale thanked him, and said she was already sufficiently rewarded. "I have seen tears in the Emperor's eyes, that is the greatest reward I can have. The tears of an Emperor have a particular value; Heaven knows I am sufficiently rewarded." And then she sang again with her sweet lovely voice. "It is the most amiable coquetry ever known," said the ladies present; and they put water into their mouths, and tried to move their throats as she did, when they spoke: they thought to become nightingales also. Indeed, even the footmen and chamber-maids declared that they were quite contented; which was a great thing to say, for of all people they are the most difficult to satisfy. Yes, indeed! the Nightingale's success was complete. She was now to remain at court; to have her own cage, with permission to fly out twice in the day, and once in the night. Twelve attendants were allotted her, who were to hold a silken band, fastened round her foot; and they kept good hold. There was no pleasure in excursions made in this manner. All the city was talking of the wonderful bird, and when two persons met, one would say only "night," and the other "gale," and then they sighed, and understood each other perfectly-indeed, eleven of the children of the citizens were named after the Nightingale, but none of them had her tones in their throats. One day a large parcel arrived for the Emperor, on which was written "Nightingale." "Here we have another new book about our far-famed bird," said the Emperor. But it was not a book; it was a little piece of mechanism, lying in a box-an artificial Nightingale, which was intended to look like the living one, but was covered all over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. When this artificial bird had been wound up, it could sing one of the tunes that the real Nightingale sang; and its tail, all gltttering with silver and gold, went up and down all the time. A little band was fastened round its neck, on which was written, "The Nightingale of the Emperor of Japan is poor, compared with the Nightingale of the Emperor of China." "That is famous!" said every one; and he who had brought the bird obtained the title of "Chief Imperial Nightingale Bringer." "Now they shall sing together: we will have a duet." And so they must sing together; but it did not succeed, for the real Nightingale sang in her own way, and the artificial bird produced its tones by wheels. "It is not his fault," said the artist, "he keeps exact time, and quite according to method." So the artificial bird must now sing alone; he was quite as suc cessful as the real Nightingale: and then he was so much prettier to look at; his plumage sparkled with jewels. Three-and-thirty times he sang one and the same tune, and yet he was not weary; everyone would willingly have heard him again. However, the Emperor now wished the real Nightingale to sing something, but where was she? No one had remarked that she had flown out of the open window-flown away to her own green wood. "What is the meaning of this?" said the Emperor; and all the courtiers abused the Nightingale, and called her a most ungrateful creature. "We have the best bird, at all events," said they, and for the four-and-thirtieth time they heard the same tune, but still they did not quite know it, because it was so difficult. The artist praised the bird inordinately: indeed, he declared it was superior to the real Nightingale, not only in its exterior, all sparkling with diamonds, but also intrinsically. "For see, my noble lords, his Imperial Majesty especially, with the real Nightingale one could never reckon on what was coming, but everything is settled with the artificial bird! he will sing in this one way, and no other: this can be proved; he can be taken to pieces, and the works can be shown-where the wheels lie, how they move, and how one follows from another." "That is just what I think," said everybody; and the artist received permission to show the bird to the people on the following Sunday. "They, too, shall hear him sing," the Emperor said. So they heard him, and were as well pleased as if they had all been drinking tea; for it is tea that makes the Chinese merry, and they all said, "Oh!" and raised their forefingers, and nodded their heads. But the fisherman, who had heard the real Nightingale, said, "It sounds very pretty, almost like the real bird; but yet there is something wanting-I know not what." The real nightingale was, however, banished from the empire. The artificial bird had his place on a silken cushion, close to the Emperor's bed; all the presents he received, gold and precious stones, lay around him; he had obtained the rank and title of " High Imperial Dessert Singer," and, therefore, his place was number one on the left side, for the Emperor thought that the side where the heart was situated must be the place of honour, and the heart is situated on the left side of an Emperor as well as with other folks. And the artist wrote five-and-twenty volumes about the artificial bird, with the longest and most difficult words that are to be found in the Chinese language. So, of course, all said they had read and understood them, otherwise they would have been stupid, and, perhaps, would have been flogged. all the Chinese knew every note of the artificial bird's song by Thus it went on for a whole year. The Emperor, the court, and could now sing with him. The little boys in the street sang, heart; but that was the very reason they enjoyed it so much; they “Zizizi, cluck, cluck, cluck," and the Emperor himself sang too— yes, indeed, that was charming! But one evening, when the bird was in full voice, and the Embang!" peror lay in bed and listened, there was suddenly a noise inside the bird, then something sprang "sur-r-r-r," all the wheels were running about, and the music stopped. The Emperor jumped quickly out of bed, and had his chief physician called; but of what use could he be? Then a clockmaker was fetched, and at last, after a great deal of discussion and consultation, the bird was in some measure put to rights again; but the clockmaker said he must be spared much singing, for the pegs were almost worn out, and it was impossible to renew them, at least so that the music should be correct. There was great lamentation, for now the artificial bird was allowed to sing only once a year, and even then there were difficulties; however, the artist made a short speech, full of his favourite long words, and said the bird was as good as ever; so, then, of course, it was as good as ever. When five years were passed away a great affliction visited the whole empire, for in their hearts the people thought highly of their Emperor; and now he was ill, and it was reported that he could not live. A new Emperor had already been chosen, and the people stood in the street, outside the palace, and asked the Gentleman Usher how the Emperor was? "Pish!" said he, and shook his head. Cold and pale lay the Emperor, in his magnificent bed; all the court believed him to be already dead, and everyone had hastened away to greet the new Emperor; the men ran out for a little gossip on the subject, and the maids were having a grand coffeeparty. The floors of all the rooms and passages were covered with cloth in order that not a step should be heard-it was everywhere so still! But the Emperor was not yet dead; stiff and pale he lay in his splendid bed, with the long velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. A window was opened above, and the moon shone down on the Emperor and the artificial bird. The poor Emperor could scarcely breathe; it appeared to him as though something were sitting on his chest: he opened his eyes, and saw that it was death, who had put on the Emperor's crown, and held with one hand the golden scimetar, with the other the splendid imperial banner; whilst, from under the folds of the thick velvet hangings, the strangest looking heads were seen peering forth; some with an expression absolutely hideous, and others with an extremely gentle and lovely aspect: they were the bad and good deeds of the Emperor, which were now all fixing their eyes upon him, whilst death sat on his heart. "Recollectest thou this?" whispered they one after another. "Does thou remember that?" And thus they went on reproaching him until the sweat broke out upon his forehead. "I have never known anything like it," said the Emperor. "Music, music, the great Chinese drum!" cried he; "let me not hear what they are saying." But they went on; and death, quite in Chinese fashion, nodded his head to every word. Music, music!" cried the Emperor, "Thou dear little artificial bird! sing, I pray thee sing! I have given thee gold and precious stones, I have even hung my golden slippers round thy neck-sing, I pray thee, sing! But the bird was silent: there was no one there to wind him up, and he could not sing without. Death continued to stare at the |