"Prove that I found anything," said I, angrily.

"Young man," said the voice of the big man who was leaning on his cane, still looking at me, "it is as bad to lie about a thing as it is to steal. I saw you pick something up, and to me it had the appearance of money.” He struck his cane on the floor as he spoke, and grasped it firmer, as if to clinch his remark.

"Yes," said the conductor; "and we don't want nothing of the kind here, and what's more, we won't have it; so hand over."

"My fine fellow," said I, prepared for a crisis, "I know my rights, and, without admitting that I have found anything, I contend that if I had, in this public conveyance, which is as public as the street to him who pays for a ride in it, that which I find in it is mine after I have made due endeavor to find out its owner. Money being an article impossible to identify unless it is marked, if I had found it, it would have been mine-according to Whately, Lycurgus, and Moses.”

"Hang your authorities," said he; "I don't know anything about 'em, but this I know, that money belongs to this Horse Railroad Company, and I'll have it. Ain't I right, Mr. Diggs?" addressing a gentleman with glasses on, reading the Journal.

"I think you are," replied he, looking at me over the top of his spectacles, as though he were shooting from behind a breastwork; "I think the pint is clear, and that it belongs to the company to advertise it and find out the owner."

"Well," I put in, "suppose they don't find the owner; who has it?"

"The company, I should think," said he, folding his paper preparatory to getting out.

66

'That's it," said the conductor, taking up the thread as he put the passenger down "and now I want that money." He looked ugly.

66

What money?" I queried.

"The money you picked up on the floor."

I saw that I was in a place of considerable difficulty, involving a row on one side and imputation of villainy on the other, and studied how to escape.

"Well," said I, "if, in spite of the authorities I have quoted, you insist upon my giving this up which I hold in my hand, the value of which I do not know,—I shall protest against your act, and hold the company responsible."

"Responsible be blowed," said he, severely; "shell out." The people in the car were much excited. The fat man had risen up, though still in sitting position, and balanced himself upon his toes to get a better view. I unclosed my hand and deposited in the conductor's a round piece of tin that had been punched out by some tinman and hammered smooth, bearing a close resemblance to money!

The disappointment of every one was intense. The conductor intimated that if he met me in society he would give me my money's worth, the fat man muttered something about my being an "imposture," several lady passengers looked bluely at me, and only one laughed heartily at the whole affair, as I did. It was a queer incident.

MAIN HAZIR HUN.-M. E. WINSLOW.
A Legend of Chandra,

The following story was told to an American missionary by a shepherd lad, who thus accounted for the origin of a pure stream which rises on the brow of a high hill and thence flows downward to fertilize the valley of Chandra. The meaning of the words "Main Hazir hun" is Here am I.

No rain, no rain; the long, hot hours rolled by,
Low hung the fiery sun-god in the sky,

The parched leaves quivering clung; the crisp brown grass
Along the dusty road where all men pass
Fell back despairing of a cooling breath,
And wrought the starving cattle only death.
No fruit, no flowers, no perfume on the air;
With baleful magic and relentless glare

From morn till eve the hateful sunlight fell
On silent fountain and exhausted well;
No streamlet plashed the dull dark pebbles o'er;
The shrunken river washed its banks no more.
The beasts in dumb endurance faintly sank
Beside the fountain where of old they drank,
While man, more bitter, scanned the brazen sky,
And muttering curses, turned away to die.
But where the cool acacias lightly swayed
Above the marble pavements, dwelt a maid
White as the snow, as sweet June roses red,
With night's dark plumelets on her graceful head.
No drought or dearth reached Râui; day by day
Slaves traversed deserts at her feet to lay
The luscious fruitage of a happier clime,
Or vied with mountain antelopes to climb
To where pure, limpid waters poured their tide
From dark rock caverns in Himalaya's side.
Fresh sherbets cooled by fleecy mountain snow
Slept in the ruby goblet's liquid glow;
Birds sang upon their golden perches free
As when they joined the forest minstrelsy.
A score of slaves from morning until night
Drew the silk cords which moved the fans aright.
Another score from silver vessels played
Cool streams upon the pavement in the shade.
Quick growing vines around white pillars clung,
And curtaining webs of lightest tracery hung,
And perfume of the Indies, faint and rare,
Floated at nightfall on the silent air

To fan the slumber of this princess fair.

"What brought the messenger?" the princess said One morn, while braiding seed-pearls with her maid.

"But heavy tidings, lady, such as be

Not meet to give to bright ones like to thee.

No bird of evil omen droops its wing

Where Chandra's bright-plumed birdlet lives to sing."

"Nay, but I bid thee tell me, I will know.

Darest thou answer to thy mistress so?

What but a painted banble to a king

A crown that cannot full obedience bring?

This pearl-wrought chaplet on my head I lay,
And what the tidings are I bid thee say."

"Well, princess, since thou wilt, thy people die
Like sheep beneath this brazen, fiery sky;
The herds lie rotting on the highway-side,
Unburied where with thirst they fell and died;
The blasted crops like spectres cut the air;
The rain-god heareth not the people's prayer;
Ruin and death stalk gauntly everywhere.
Last night, when you were sleeping cool and still,

At Sharda's cottage underneath the hill

Death came and stretched his long arms lean and pale
To grasp the sweetest wild flower of the vale:

This morn the warrior Murtan, by whose might
Thine arms were victor oft in deadly fight,
Fell lifeless on the road, the people say,

And none has strength to bear his corpse away."

"But why, why, why!" the wondering princess cried,
"Do they not send to the far mountain-side,
Bring thence the waters, sparkling, pure, and free,
As they are brought by day and night to me?"

"Ah, lady, all are not princesses; know
Much gold and jewels make thy fountains flow;
The way is long, spent is the people's store,
Their ruined crops forbid their hopes of more."

Long hours that night the princess waking lay,
Unvisited by sleep till break of day;

When morning dawned a queenly grandeur, new
To all that saw it, on the maiden grew,
Mingled with sadness; and a mute surprise
Spoke in the soundless depths of her dark eyes.
The vizier, summoned to his mistress, came,
While yet the East with sunrise was aflame.

"Say, wisest counsellor, if say thou may,
What can my people's miseries allay?
Shame on a monarch who shall dance and sing,
Her subjects perishing! and base the king
Who doth in slumber's arms securely lie,
Nor heeds his suffering children when they cry!
Behold my water-jars, my fountains clear,
Bid the men come and fill their vessels here.
Let my slaves carry fruit and flowers down,
And honey-cakes to feed the starving town."

"Alas, fair maiden, little do ye ken

Of what will meet the needs of starving men.
Shouldst thou thy granaries with tly palace store
Of food and drink upon the city pour,

To meet at once its great and fearful need,

All would not for one hour the people feed."

"Do what thou canst then, friend, take what thou will The fountains and the reservoirs to fill;

A thousand slaves send to the mountains high
To bring those cooling streams for which men die.
Empty my coffers, take my jewels, spare

Nor silken robe, nor broidered girdle rare.”

"Fair princess," thus the vizier made reply,

"Though we should drain the mountain torrents dry,
And every slave in Chandra bring with care
Water jars heavy as his arms can bear;
Though every vessel in the land thus filled
Be borne across the desert and not spilled,
One summer's day beneath this brazen sky,
People and beasts would use the whole supply."

"Is there no way?" the sorrowing princess said,

While drooped as withered corn her bright young head.

Yes, one," at length replied the musing sage,

His dark brow bent beneath the snow of age.

"Far in the mountains lives the awful Var,

God of the water-courses; from afar

He sends the rain; he cracks the parching earth,
Whence at his word the dancing streams leap forth;
He rolls the mighty river to the sea;

He bids the fountains rise eternally.

Men say the god is angered, none may know
Unless one to his hidden cave should go.
But who in heat like this would dare the task;
Who find the price the angry god may ask?"

"Wilt thou not go?" shyly, as, half afraid
That she had asked too much, the maiden said,
Adding, with movement beautiful and coy,
"I would not ask thee if I were a boy."

For shame the vizier dared not say her nay,
But said, “I will set out this very day."