am in good health, yet I must die, and I am glad that I must soon depart from hence. Let me at least be proud of this-that I shall die like an honest man in the midst of my pious children. When I think of it I am more joyful than on the day I married my Margaret.'

66

People don't go to heaven with shoes and stockings on like that," said the Pastor.

My grandfather will pull them off before he dies," said little Heinrich.

Everyone burst out laughing. Even Stollbein could not refrain. Margaret put an end to the consultation. She proposed to give the boy a good breakfast of a morning, and bread and butter for him to take in his pocket for his midday meal, and in the evening he could again have a good meal at home. "And so the youngster can go early to-morrow morning to school at Florenburg, and come home again in the evening. We shall soon have summer now. In the winter we must see how we can manage."

So all was now settled, and Stollbein went home.

At this time many changes took place in Stilling's house. The eldest daughters got married, and so the entire family consisted of Eberhard and his Margaret, Wilhelm, and Mariechen and Heinrich. Eberhard also determined to give up his charcoal-burning, and to confine himself to his field work.

The mastership of the village school at Tiefenbach became vacant, and every villager had Wilhelm Stilling in his eye as the new master. They offered him the post, and he accepted it without opposition, although he felt inwardly uneasy at leaving with such readiness his solitary and pure life to mix once more with his fellow-mortals. The good man did not notice that it was the smart of Dorothy's death alone (which could brook no other feeling) which had made him a hermit, and that when this became more bearable he could again converse with men and find pleasure in an occupation. He saw the matter in quite another light. He thought the inclination to a holy life was beginning to grow cold, and so he went to his new position with fear and trembling. However, he performed his duties with zeal and fidelity, and began at length to suspect it could not be displeasing to God that he should improve his talents and try to serve his neighbours.

Heinrich now began to go the Latin school. It may be easily imagined what a sensation he made among the other schoolboys. Up to this time he was only known in Stilling's house and garden, a d had never been with strangers. His way of expressing himself was so peculiar that few people understood what he said. No youthful games, which most boys are so eager after, had pleasure for him; he passed by and saw them not. The schoolmaster,

Weiland, noticed his capacity and diligence, and left him to himself; and as he saw that the slow process of learning by heart did not suit him, he released him from it, and, really, Henrich's way of learning Latin was very profitable to him. He took a Latin text, looked out all the words in the dictionary and then found out what parts of speech they were, and afterwards looked for the declensions in the grammar. By this way of learning he gained a knowledge of the best Latin authors, and learnt to write, read, and understand the language sufficiently. But that which afforded him the greatest pleasure was the schoolmaster's small collection of books, which he had permission to use. It consisted of all kinds of useful productions of the press of Cologne; as "Reynard the Fox," with delight. ful woodcuts; "Kaiser Octavianus, his Wife and Sons ;" a fine edition of "The History of the Four Sons of Aymon ;" "Peter and Magelone;" "The beautiful Melusina ;" and lastly, "Hans Clauert." As soon as afternoon school was over, he started off for Tiefenbach, and read one of these histories on the road. The way

was through green meadows, woods, and copses, up and down hill, and the beautiful scenery around him made the deepest impression on his free and open heart. In the evening our five good people were once more together. They supped and exchanged confidences with one another, and Henrich, in particular, related his histories, in which all the others, Margaret not excepted, took uncommon interest. Even the earnest pietist, Wilhelm, took pleasure in them, and read them himself on Sunday afternoons when he made his pilgrimage to the old castle. Heinrich looked over him as he read, and when an exciting passage came, he chuckled in. wardly, and if he saw that his father was interested, his joy was complete.

Meanwhile, young Stilling's Latin schooling went on capitally; at least, the reading and understanding of Latin histories, and the speaking and writing of Latin. Whether this be sufficient or more be necessary, I know not; at any rate, Herr Pastor Stollbein required more. After he had attended the Latin school for about a year the Pastor took it into his head to examine the young student. He saw the boy out of his room window standing before the school, and whistled to him. Heinrich came running up.

"Do you work hard ?" inquired the Pastor.

66

What, you booby! you don't know? I have a mind to box your ears for you. Sum, possum. Well! go on!"

"I haven't learnt that.''

"Ho, Madlene ! Call the schoolmaster."

The schoolmaster came.

"What do you teach this youngster?"

"Latin," humbly replied the schoolmaster, standing at the door with his hat under his arm.

"Why, you good-for-nothing, he doesn't even know how many irregular verbs there are."

"Don't you know, Heinrich ?"

"No," replied Heinrich; "I don't know."

"The schoolmaster began: "What parts of speech are Nolo and Malo?"

"Irregular verbs."

"And what are Fero and Volo?" "Irregular verbs."

"Well, Herr Pastor," said the schoolmaster; "it seems he knows all the words."

"But he ought to commit all the rules to memory. I will have it done-go home."

"Yes, Herr Pastor," said the master and pupil.

From this time Heinrich learnt all the rules by heart without much trouble, but he soon forget them again. It seemed to be a peculiar trait in his character, that his active mind soared above that which was not easily surmounted. But enough of Heinrich's Latin studies. We will return to Father Stilling.

FAREWELL.

OVER the hills and over the sea,

The sun in a crimson flood went down: "Maiden, wilt thou not say to me

Farewell, ere I leave the town?"

Over the roofs of the city vast,
Over turret and over spire,
The rose-red light of the sunset passed,
Like a flame of glowing fire.

Lurid it blazed o'er the busy town,
And lighted the pinetops far away;

The maid looked up, and the maid looked down,
But never a word did she say.

Red and purple, and shining gold,

Folded their colours about the west,

And into a coil of glory rolled,

Round the distant mountain's crest.

'Maiden wilt thou not say Farewell!"
And the light on the mountains faded away,
And a shadow upon their faces fell;

But no word did the maiden

say

"Maiden, adieu! I have loved thee well;

Thou wilt never find truer heart than mine." Spake the maid at last, "Then, why say Farewell, Since I care for no love but thine ?"

JULIA GODDARD.

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

EAST INDIAN LIFE.

BY LIEUTENANT-COLONEL COPINGER.

THE Spaniards have a proverb which, certainly for a period of many centuries, held good; but now, in these days of universal change, the truth of it seems somewhat problematical. It is, “The Pope finds himself very much at his ease in Rome." However it may be now with regard to poor Pio Nono, the meaning of the saying which is applied to the situation of a person who is extremely popular, and who is the "observed of all observers," holds good with regard to the belle newly arrived from England at Calcutta. If admiration be her object she has it there certainly to her heart's

content.

Queen Marie Antoinette, in the days when the fickle sons of France were loyal, or the Princess of Wales in these days, when the brave sons of England delight to look on her who is the type of virtuous beauty, never created greater sensation than the appearance of an English beauty does in Calcutta amongst the Britons who are resident there, whether in the civil or military service.

Miss Rally was in her element. When she appeared on the course in Mrs. Blackall's carriage, cavaliers, generally three deep, came to ride alongside of it. And two of them were invariably Mr. Loder and Mr. Maldon. It was the great delight of Miss Rally to play off one against the other. Although she spoke rather sharply to Mr. Maldon on the night of the ball, she took the first opportunity of saying something in a measure soothing to him the next time she met him, and of bringing back her follower to his allegiance once more. And she by no means limited her admirers to these two; but if a third cavalier came to the other side of the carriage, and made believe that he was talking to Mrs. Blackall, she quickly turned her back upon the two constant swains, and spread her net to entrap the third victim. March.-VOL. IX., NO. LI.

R