he little cottage you see hard-by,
and my existence glided on most peacefully. The fishing trade went
on prosperously. I was still a young man, active and intelligent,
and sold my fish very easily to the vessels passing through the
strait. My son had by this time become a fine young man."

"Of course he resembled his father," said I, recollecting the beginning
of the old man's tale, but my remark could not excite a smile upon
his countenance.

"Oh! the lad was a good fisherman," continued he, "and happily did we
all three live together, till a dreadful misfortune befell us. The
Infant Jesus had no doubt forsaken us, or perhaps the Almighty was
displeased with us; but I am far from murmuring. He has visited us
most severely, since He has overwhelmed us with grief of such a strong
nature, that it must accompany us to our last resting-place!"

And here the poor old man's tears trickled down his weather-beaten
cheeks once more, in abundance, in bitterness, and in sorrow.

Ah! how right was the Italian poet, when he said:--

"Nought lasteth here below but tears!"

The voice of Relempago was stifled by his sobbing; however, he made
one more effort, and continued thus:

"One night--a fine moonlight night--we set our nets in a certain part
of the strait, and as we felt some difficulty in drawing them up,
the lad plunged into the water to ascertain what obstacle we had to
contend with, and to set all to rights. I was in my pirogue, leaning
over the side, waiting for his return, when all of a sudden I thought
I saw, through the silvery beams of the lamp of night, a large spot
of blood spreading itself over the surface of the water. Fear took
possession of me, and I quickly hauled up my nets. My hapless child
had seized upon and become entangled in them--but, alas! when he came
to the surface he was a corpse!"

"What! your son?" cried I.

"My poor dear Jose-Maria," said he, "had his head bitten off by a
cayman that had got entangled in our nets. Ever since that night--that
fatal night!--Theresa and I offer up our prayers to the Omnipotent,
imploring Him to take us to himself; for, alas! nothing now has
any charms for us here below. The first of us that will depart for
that bourn from whence no traveller returns will be interred by the
survivor beside our beloved child--there, under that little hillock
yonder, which is surmounted by a wooden cross, in front of my humble
cottage; and the last of us two to