aze of all the
relative Seppls and Barthels, he did it with manliness, and turning
round and addressing the popular old man as Hansel, asked him if his
brother Joergel were below; and being answered in the affirmative, he
hastened away, and returned with another compact little peasant, whom
he introduced to us as Senner Franz's brother, with an aside, that he
was "a friendly mortal and Count Arlberg's forester."

The agreement was soon made, the sullen-looking man glowering at us
from behind a stack of firewood, whilst Hansel and Anton packed a
_kraxe_ or wooden frame and fixed it on Joergel's back. As we set
off, Anton drove away homeward, although the skittle-balls were just
beginning to roll, and the sound of "I bin a lustiger bua" and other
Tyrolese songs came floating from the windows.

MARGARET HOWITT.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

SAINT ROMUALDO.

I give God thanks that I, a lean old man,
Wrinkled, infirm, and crippled with keen pains
By austere penance and continuous toil,
Now rest in spirit, and possess "the peace
Which passeth understanding." Th' end draws nigh,
Though the beginning is as yesterday,
And a broad lifetime spreads 'twixt this and that--
A favored life, though outwardly the butt
Of ignominy, malice and affront,
Yet lighted from within by the clear star
Of a high aim, and graciously prolonged
To see at last its utmost goal attained.
I speak not of mine Order and my House,
Here founded by my hands and filled with saints--
A white society of snowy souls,
Swayed by my voice, by mine example led;
For this is but the natural harvest reaped
From labors such as mine when blessed by God.
Though I rejoice to think my spirit still
Will work my purposes, through worthy hands,
After my bones are shriveled into dust,
Yet have I gleaned a finer, sweeter fruit
Of holy satisfaction, sure and real,
Though subtler than the tissue of the air--
The power completely to detach the soul
From her companion through this life, the flesh;
So that in blessed privacy of peace,
Communing with high angels, she can hold,
Serenely rapt, her solitary course.

Ye know, O saints of heaven, what I have borne
Of discipline and scourge; the twisted lash
Of knotted rope that striped my shrinking limbs;
Vigils and fasts protracted, till my flesh
Wasted and crumbled from mine aching bones,
And the last skin, one woof of pain and sores,
Thereto like y