ve remembered his name, for one remembers what is bad--a
trait of him often comes into my thoughts, and I wish one could say
the story is not true. He had his lord high constable executed, and he
could execute him, right or wrong; but he had the innocent children of
the constable, one seven and the other eight years old, placed under
the scaffold so that the warm blood of their father spurted over them,
and then he had them sent to the Bastille, and shut up in iron cages,
where not even a coverlet was given them to protect them from the
cold. And King Louis sent the executioner to them every week, and had
a tooth pulled out of the head of each, that they might not be too
comfortable; and the elder of the boys said, 'My mother would die of
grief if she knew that my younger brother had to suffer so cruelly;
therefore pull out two of my teeth, and spare him.' The tears came
into the hangman's eyes, but the king's will was stronger than the
tears; and every week two little teeth were brought to him on a silver
plate; he had demanded them, and he had them. I fancy that Death took,
these two teeth out of the savings bank of life, and gave them to
Louis XI., to carry with him on the great journey into the land of
immortality: they fly before him like two flames of fire; they shine
and burn, and they bite him, the innocent children's teeth.

"Yes, that's a serious journey, the omnibus ride on the great
moving-day! And when is it to be undertaken? That's just the serious
part of it. Any day, any how, any minute, the omnibus may draw up.
Which of our deeds will Death take out of the savings bank, and give
to us as provision? Let us think of the moving-day that is not marked
in the calendar."

THE BOTTLE-NECK.

In a narrow crooked street, among other abodes of poverty, stood an
especially narrow and tall house built of timber, which time had
knocked about in such fashion that it seemed to be out of joint in
every direction. The house was inhabited by poor people, and the
deepest poverty was apparent in the garret lodging in the gable,
where, in front of the only window, hung an old bent birdcage, which
had not even a proper water-glass, but only a bottle-neck reversed,
with a cork stuck in the mouth, to do duty for one. An old maid stood
by the window: she had hung the cage with green chickweed; and a
little chaffinch hopped from perch to perch, and sang and twittered
merrily enough.

"Yes, it's all very well for you