Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 121) (1882 03 07)
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Price, but 5 cents each. The Only for Ladies’ saan of First- Class ew Novels Published! oe BS a rs NG se AN c an een ee a ne aah es Cees ns eee. pwn corecore thf $2.50 a year. Entered att the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mall Rates. — Copyrighted in 1882 = BEADLE AxD ADAMS. “March 7, ee, No 121. Vol. 'Y, PUBLISHED WEEKLY E BY Y BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST, N. Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS bled in their way and in their antl and extracted erie satisfaction The King af Io- land from the feast of the future, which they painted in colors hard and fast, and warranted to wash. Generally, however, the people, be- rear ing worked into a state of enthusiasm, were red-hot with excite- BY B. L. FARJEAN. ment; guns and cannon were in the same condition; triumphal arches were erected; loyal dinners were loyally eaten; loyal speeches were bb tea ke es loyally spoken; mayors, lord-mayors, and councilors were in their CHAPTER I. glory, and each frog thought himself an ox; children were dressed A WHITE-ROBED WOOD, BATHED IN SWEET AIR. in their Sunday clothes, and taken out to see the sights; the theaters Kina SassaAFRAS reigned over the kingdom of No-land. He was | were thrown open free to the people, who behaved as the people crowned in the snow season; and one of the leading papers of the capi- | generally do on such occasions, with much gentleness; and at tal, in its enthusiastic comments upon the imposing ceremony, poetical- | night the streets were flooded with light. Just before that time the ly remarked that the soft flakes of snow which floated dreamily in the | doctors of No-land had been complaining that things were very air, and kissed the earth during the day, were white-winged heralds | bad, and were shaking their heads at each other with ominous looks, of welcome sent expressly from heaven to greet the Lord’s elect, | being depressed by the healthfulness of the people. But the feast- They were sure indications also, it was said, that the reign of the | ing indulged in by the new King’s subjects on his accession to the new King would be a reign of purity and love. A copy of these senti- | throne brought the dyspepsia and other ailments, and for many weeks ments, printed upon white satin in letters of gold, was presented to the | after that the doctors’ pockets were filled with guineas, Then they King, and he read them with a certain kind of pleasure, although he | had hopes of their country, and with cheerful looks declared that the seemed at the same time to be inwardly disturbed by the extravagant | reign of the first Sassafras had commenced most auspiciously. praise which was lavished upon his personal virtues and qualifications The father of Sassafras had been a hypochondriacal valetudinarian, —being doubtful, perhaps, whether it was deserved. But the senti- | and being entirely wrapped up in himself (as most such characters are, ments expressed aud the similes drawn were decidedly pretty and | whether high or low in station), bestowed no care and but little thought graceful, and as the writer was satisfied with his work, it is to be | upon his son. Losing his health in the pursuit of pleasure, in which hoped his readers also were. | all his intellect was engaged and all his moral and religious affections As no further reference will be made to the ceremony of the corona- | were buried, he hobbled for years after his lost treasure in precisely tion, let it be here briefly stated that, gorgeous and solemn as it was, | the very places where it was not to be found, and growing year tho King’s thoughts frequently after year more querulous and wandered from the brilliant scene : : P infirm and selfish, he often for of which he was the principal fig- é : = : 4 months together forgot that he bad ure, The myriad facets of light, the achild. His forgetfulness was a silks, the laces, the thousands of gain to Sassafras, who, being given eyes-that gazed worshipfully upon into the charge of a number of tu- his person, faded from his sight as tors and time-servers, found life utterly as if they had no existence; more pleasant than it would have and in their place there came: been to him had he been doomed A white-robed wood, bathed in to endure the caprices of his royal sweet air. A cottage in the dis- father. With this retinue he tance, covered with ivy, whose passed bis time until the arrival eyery snow-rimmed leaf with of the day when the people went its feathery tip, was a marvel of into mourning for the death of beauty. Nests in the chimneys, the King, and wept, and wore with birds peeping out — grate- erape, and gazed dolefully at each fully, for good store of food was other, because a ruler who had theirs. A modest and beautiful many vices and no virtues bad young maid; a grave-visaged man; passed away from among them. an old woman with white hair; At the time of the King’s death, and, strangest of all, three little the immediate symptoms preced- girls, armed with violins and ing which were so sudden that he bows, playing quaint old tunes with was maddened and confounded wonderful grace. when he was told that he had but Clang! The trumpet’s blast a few bours to live, the heir appar- blew these fancies into nothing- ent was abroad, traveling by com- ness, and precious stones and silks mand of the King; but the news and laces reigned again. came to him by wire and courier, No land was a vast territory, and and he hastened home, shortly its inhabitants numbered many after reaching which he was millions, Sassafras was the first crowned and made kii;:, to every king of that name, and he came to one’s satisfaction but his own, the throne when he was twenty Those who were about him at that years ofage. There were substan- period were glad to be relieved of tial rejoicings, of course, upon the an awkward responsibility, for occasion, and in all the towns and they found him difficult to man- cities, and even villages of No-land age. But this is not surprising, the new King’s subjects made for even during his childhood his ty merry and feasted for 4 week. tutors and time-servers had bad All the subjects, that is, except no easy time of it. Young as he those who did not believe in kings f i. Pi was, he had a mind of his end queens; but even they assem- SHE WAS PLAYING IN A BY-WAY WHERE BUT FEW PERSONS PASSED. own, in which, by some
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2 i — ETT ITED EE IEE ET: a ae { means, notions and ideas not exactly in accord- | listen to the melody of the birds; now gazing — ance with his royal station found place. Gentle | you”—— they pleaded. he was by nature, but he was also rebellious of restraint. Being a very exalted baby, the great- ast possible fuss had been made with him from nis birth; but even as a baby he seemed to wonder at the oppressive attention which was bestowed upon him, 4ime that he began to think of things, he chafed and fretted at not being let alone. On one memorable occasion during his boyhood he en- | run the risk.” tered a vigorous protest against this. He had planned a truant run into the woods, being animated by an eager desire to climb one particular old elm-tree, through the branches of which, in the summer, the clouds could be seen sailing like fairy ships on a white and blue sea, | most obsequiously. and among which the birds built their nestsand flitted merrily in the sunlight. In the winter the fairy ships sped swiftly onward before the | gave them a queer look— ‘‘ Well, you shall driving wind, and the birds made themselves | see what you shall see |” warm and snug in their nests. The Prince longed to sit among the higher branches of this | then grew thoughtful, and returned with them tree, with his back against the trunk, and watch | to the palace. the clouds and the birds, and idly muse upon goodness knows what. On a finesummermorn- ing he escaped from the palace as he had de- signed, and he ran into the forest; but just as he was about to climb the old elm, having se- lected the particular branches in which he would sit and be enthroned, his tutors and time-servers came running after him, and he had not time to get out of their reach, He was desperately angry. ‘* Hands off!” he cried, shaking himself free 'tiently; and one day he was missing. They from them. They stood about him, almost breathless with the run they had had. ‘‘ Why,” exclaimed the Prince, ‘“‘should I be surrounded in this manner, and be dogged and watched as if I were a slave? Am Ia slave?” They raised their hands in astonishment, and their voices also. ‘¢A slave, your Royal Highness!” they cried. ‘‘ You! It is we who are slaves—your slaves, ready to lay down our lives for you.” “Then,” demanded the Prince, ‘“‘why don’t you go away, and let me climb this tree? See there! those two branches with their arms folded, looking down upon us. If you look at- | tentively at them, you will see two queer brown faces bending toward us. They are like twin | brothers embracing. You don’t see anything of the sort? No, that is because you don’t care to. But you can’t help seeing in what fantastic fashion their twisted limbs are made into the shape of an §, the initial of myname. Nature might have made the symbol for me—nay, nature has! See those peeps of the sun, and that bright cloud which dyes with heaven’s light the feathers of the birds flying beneath it. See how the sunbeams are laughing. I want to climb into those branches, and make my throne there. Why don’t you go away, and let mie, if you are my slaves?” ‘* Your Royal Highness,” they answered, in gene tones, ‘‘ you must not—you must not! ou might break one of your royal limbs ”»——— ‘No, | won’t; you watch now!” And Prince Sassafras darted from among them. But be- fore his lithe body could embrace the trunk his tuters and time-servers threw their arms about him, and besought him to be reasonable. As they formed a circle round him, his breast heaved with passion, and his eyes were filled with indignant tears. ‘¢ You mock me!” he cried. ‘‘ Who is the slave—you or I? I can’t move; I am tied down. Other boys climb trees, and don’t break their limbs.” Forward came the Court Statistican, all the wrinkles in whose face formed figures of >, and produced a book from which ba how many boys in the kingdom of No-land climbed trees annually, how many met with accidents, and what the percentage of the one to the other was, ; ‘* Bother!” exclaimed the Prince, putting his fingers in his ears. ‘‘I don’t want to hear it —I won't hear it, I want to climb this tree.” As he grew, this wonder | changed into inward rebellion; and from the | THE KING OF NO-LAND. ‘‘The hopes of the nation are centered in with heart-worship at the light and color which surrounded him, and with full soul drinking nm the beauty of nature’s most wondrous works— ‘“The eyes of the world are upon you” the Prince came suddenly upon a lad of about ‘“Why don’t they turn their eyes away, | the same age as himself. Robin was this lad’s then? What is it to them? ,I don’t want| name; poorly clad was he; with a sunburned them to stare at me so; I want to be let alone. face, and with eyes afire with light caught from The eyes of the world won’t see me climb the | nature’s smiles. tree if you will let me.” ‘“* Halloo !” cried Robin. ‘We dare‘not allow your Royal Highness to} ‘‘ Halloo!” responded the Prince; and sat him down, and looked at the exquisite tints af the leaves and petals, and then looked up at the skies, and wondered whether the flowers drew their color from the clouds.’ The lads fell into conversation, and the Prince, who was a cun- ning questioner, learned in a very short time a great deal concerning Robin. ‘‘So your father is a woodman?” said the Prince, stretching himself lazily on the ground, and peering into a tangle of wild forget-me- nots, whose thousand blue eyes peered up into his own. i ** Yes,” answered Robin; ‘‘he cuts wood for the King.” ‘*Has he got a large house ?” “Tt ain’t a house; it’s a cottage. large enough, and better than some. ‘*T don’t believe it,” he exclaimed, interrupt- ing them. | Oh!” he said, with sarcastic emphasis ; |**you dare not allow me! And I am not a | slave !” / ‘You are our most gracious prince and mas- ter.” And they bowed and fussed about him ‘‘Oh, Iam, amI? Well one day you shall see”—they inclined their heads eagerly; he And the Prince laughed at their eager air, and Being endowed with the delicate cunning | which is often a special attribute of sensitive young natures, and of quiet, shy women as well, | he was not to be so easily thwarted as they im- | agined ; and, pitting his wit against theirs, he | mother’s a good un! proved himself more than a match for the | pigs.” wiley old courtiers, deeply steeped as they were “‘Ah,” said the Prince, with a suddenand un- | in world wisdom. ‘They kept a strict watch | accountable interest in the litter of pigs, “‘and upon him, and he knew it; and they did not | what do they do?” | know that he knew it. He bided his time pa-| « They squeak, they do—except the big uns.” “* And they ?” ‘*They grunt, they do.” at his own wit. The Prince reflected upon this information, and not finding the subject profitable, dismissed the pigs from the conversation. ‘*Have you got woods and grounds ?” ‘*Yes, surely; all these.” And Robin made & comprehensive sweep with his arm, as though all the hills and woods were as good as his, ‘“*Ts your father happy?” But it’s There’s a And there’s a litter of ‘hunted for him here and there, but although | they thought they were acquainted with every | nook and corner in the woods and palace, they could not find him. They searched for him under the beds and in the cupboards, and up ‘the trees and in the summer-houses, and in |every place where it was possible for him to hide himself; they turned the palace inside ‘out, to speak figuratively; and the grounds about the palace outside in; they questioned | the sentries, and the cooks, and the gardeners ; And Robin laughed / ness in praise of bounteous nature. they locked up one old woman and three small boys for not giving satisfactory replies to un- intelligible questions; and all to no avail. In a certain corner in a certain closet they might have found the suit of clothes the Prince had worn the day before—for he had taken the pre- caution to array himself in the plainest gar- ments he could get together—but they certain- ly would not have found him, Where was he? He had made his way, by devious paths, so that he might not be tracked, to a quiet hollow near the base of a flower-clad hill, in the crown of which a pretty stream had birth, the silver wager dheodie of which danced down the sides most unmathematically and erratically. Once or twice he had lingered on the, road, to listen to the whisper of the corn which was ripening in the fields, and to watch the bees as, with their dusky belts of burnished gold, they flew, honey- laden, to their hives, hamming hymns of glad- Summer's sweetest breath was here, and the wondrous colors of a myriad delicate flowers were made / more beautiful by contrast with the tufts of bright green moss which dotted the course of the silver stream, and drew life from its laugh- ing spray. Here the water-beads ran swiftly; here they stole slyly; here they flashed merrily ; as if they were being pursued, and. were fear- ful lest they should be caught; or as if they were stealing to where the lovers were sleep- ing; or as if, with their glistening eyes, they were speeding to the embrace of beloved com- panions; or as if, with their fresh lips bub- bling with joyous delight, they were running to kiss the wild flowers that grew at the foot of the hill, and to breathe new life and beauty into’ them. In this retired spot there were no trees; but there were masses of wild forget- me-nots and other flowers as beautiful, to charm the senses of the truant Prince. Roam- ing about this lovely retreat—now stoop- ing to kiss his own lips in the sparkling stream, and to taste its sweet waters; now pausing to ‘ ‘“'There’s something’d make him happier,” ‘What's that?” ‘«Two shillin’ a week more.” ‘Tf he had that he’d be quite happy ?” ‘Ay, as happy as the day is long.” “And you—you are not watched and sur. rounded and dogged by spies, are you?” ‘*No, indeed!” said Robin, with a stare, ***T should like to catch ’em at it!” ‘*And if you want to climb a tree i che y » you can, ‘‘T should think so! I say, did you ever bird’s-nesting ?” go ‘‘No,” replied the Prince. . ‘Ts it nice ?” Robin’s blithe laughter ran along the hill, and — met the dancing water-beads, which rippled in- — to the stream with it. ‘*Nice! There ain’t nothing in the world like it. But you’ve got to be careful, you know, sometimes. Some places you mustn’t go into; and they’re the best! Some trees you mustn’t climb; and they’re the best! to look about you. Such fun!” ** And go elsewhere, eh ?” “Not a bit of it,” chuckled Robin. “Can't No F go into hs them places that you mustn’t go into—when get.such fun out of elsewhere. nobody’s looking! Climb them trees that you Then you’ve got musn’t clinb—when nobody’s looking! Get — them birds’ nests—when nobody’s looking! And run home with them—when nobody’s look. ing!” And Robin rubbed his L about him blithely, as though he were doing all these delightful things. ‘*And to whom do Robin ?” ‘‘ They’re in the King’s ground, but the ‘hands, and looked | t garden, and plenty of beans and taters; and ~ he don’t mind a bit. He ain’t mean enough!” Prince Sassafras laughed at the idea of this — common boy outwitting the attendants, whe were always on the watch with dogs and guns; but his laughter changed to sighs as he thought, - those trees belong, - 7 a
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f a . bad ' openeda pair of blue eyes. | Pi ee fi oe Jey: z ye . To - 7 orm ‘y ‘ D '. » “Tdidn’t see it,” grinned Robin. tone, for he knew that that was not the answer THE KING OF NO-LAND. SS Ce a SN ES ae TS aS SL a. “Oh, if I might do this! If I might go birds’-nesting in one of my own trees !” Robin. Said Robin, ‘‘Never went birds’-nesting! | good for?” Ho! lio! Did you ever hear the larks sing when they get up of a morning ?” i : : ‘‘No,” sighed the Prince, ‘I am not out of! ‘Don’t know your poor relations !” (Which reproach, as botanists will know, had a deeper bed early enough. It must be beautiful!” i “Tt’s just jolly, that’s what it is. Did you | significance than either Sassafras or even Robin ever go nutting ?” | was aware of.) ‘The pretty pimpernel! ‘‘No,” sighed the Prince. | Why, this is the poor man’s weather-glass! In “Nor blackberrying ?” the morning, when it is going to rain, it folds “No,” sighed the Prince. Robin stared at the Prince with a mixed feel- ing of pity and contempt; and the Prince, keenly alive to his own shame, hung his head. Robin gave him one more chance. “Did you ever get up in the night and steal the pickles and the jam ?” € “No,” murmured the Prince, tears of humili- | ation coming into his eyes. | fras. | bit of its golden color. Don’t know the pim- |pernel! You’re a wiseacre, you are, with your shadows !” The Prince felt the justice of Robin’s rebuke, and acknowledged the wit of the retort. ‘You are wiser than I am,” he murmured. ‘You're a queer one,” said Robin, perplexed by these variable moods. But his thoughts ders, fell to upon his work, with the evident | pain, he cast envious eyes upon the Prince’s conviction that further conversation would be | clothes, which, although they were the com- wasted upon such a creature as Prince Sassa-| monest the Prince could find, were grand in fras. He was making a basket of reeds and | comparison with those of hiscompanion. Then grasses, and was twining wild flowers about it | Robin looked down upon his own hobnails and to give it variety of color, and the Prince, de- corduroys. ‘‘But your clothes are fine,” he sirous of redeeming his character, suggested | sighed. certain alterations in the arrangement of the| The Prince was inspired by a whimsical idea. flowers. He had a good eye for color and | ‘‘Shall we change?” he suggested. ; ‘ harmony of design, and Robin condescended| ‘‘I don’t mind,” said Ragged Robin, with to profit by his suggestions. The basket being | sparkling eyes. finished, Robin held it out at arm’s-length to | And, without more ado, the boys stripped to admire it. ‘The Prince asked whom it was for. | the skin. ‘‘Tt’s for Bluebell,” replied Robin. “T think I’m as fine as you,” said Robin, And, inspired by the name, he sang ‘‘ Blue- | ‘‘ without the clothes.” i r bell, Bluebell!” to many kinds of airs, sweet | ‘‘Finer,” assented the Prince, comparing and rough; and whistled, ‘‘ Bluebell! Blue- | himself with Robin critically. ‘‘ You are better bell!” to the birds and the trees and the dancing |} shaped, and stronger too. I wish I had such a stream. chest as yours.” ‘« Bluebell ?” echoed the Prince, inquiringly. *¢ And I’m as white as you are!” ‘“My little sister, Mother says she’s the} ‘“‘Quite as white—except your hands and darlingest darling as ever drawed breath, and | face.” 5 father says she’s the prettiest pretty as ever ‘‘Blame the sun for that,” remarked Robin, And I say, Blue- | sententiously. bell! Bluebell!” And he sang and whistled; Then they donned each the other’s clothes, again. | and each went his way. “She is the same as you are, I suppose?”| Prince Sassafras walked straight to the old said the Prince. | elm tree, and climbed it, and clapped his hands ‘‘ What do you"mean ?” in triumph as he sat on his throne. When he ‘Why, her clothes, now—something like | clapped his hands, the birds flew out of their yours ?” nests in sudden alarm, and perched themselves ‘Something like,” was the reply. ‘on far-off branches. “Hm” said the Prince, reflectively, and | watched him, with their heads set rakishly on with no intention of giving pain. ‘“‘ Bluebell) one side, and he, sitting very still, watched can’t be very well dressed, then.” them. ‘Then, without moving his limbs, he Robin, who was more familiarly known as | began to whistle and chirrup softly; and the Ragged Robin, for the reason that he was al- | birds, after much listening, questioned each ways tearing his clothes among the briers and | other in melodious notes, and, deciding that he brambles, looked down upon his common jacket. was not an enemy, returned to their homes, and and trowsers, and for a moment & shadow of | peeped at him through lace-work of moss and discontent rested on his face; but a sun-|twig. All this was very delightful to the Delim saw it, darted down, caught it in its em- | Prince; never in his life had he spent so pleas- brace, and dissolved it. The Prince saw the | ant a day. The earth, the air, the clouds, the shadow appeat and disappear; and he said | tree in which he sat, were filled with marvels, aloud, but in a musing tone, as though he were | and his mind became attuned to the grand ing to himself: works by which he was surrounded. ‘The day “Ah, now I know what sunbeams live on.” | grew drowsy, and the hum of insect life sounded **On what ?” inquired Robin. in his ears like a hynin. Suddenly his reverie **On shadows,” replied the Prince. was disturbed by a great commotion below. Robin laughed. He looked down, and beheld a number of “ Why do you laugh ?” continued the Prince. | his attendants and time-servers in anxious ** Because sunbeams live on shadows? I saw a consultation. They were dirty and dusty, and sunbeam just now swallow a shadow from off | their faces had lengthened considerably during our very face.” the last few hours. Altogether they were in a sad plight. ; ‘“They have been looking for me,” said the Prince, chuckling. ? As they stood debating and. stretching out their fingers in all directions, one of the party who was especially obnoxious to the Prince, and who, being much heated, was wiping his bald head, suddenly shrieked very loudly, and Gapped his hand to his head. The others thought he had been attacked by an idea, and they waited for him to deliver, holding out their arms and inclining their bodies, in the at- titude of persons who expected to catch a prize. But something more tangible had caused his alarm. The Prince, finding a marble in the **T dare say not,” observed the Prince, phil- | osophically ; ‘‘ we often don’t see what’s right site our noses.” ' ‘From right under the Prince’s nose Robin plucked a flower. , ~ “Took here,” he cried. ‘‘ What is this ?” It was a small flower, with a green cup, and with its inner covering shaped like a wheel ; but its petals were glowing with the lovliest dyes of the lovliest sunset. Prince Sassafras was en- chanted with its rare beauty. ‘* What is it?” repeated Robin. ‘« A flower,” replied the Prince, in a helpless oe pocket of Robin’s trousers, had dropped it on a eo I - ee "7 bo ; \ itself up in its green cup, and you can’t see a | eee ee **T don’t know,” stammered Prince Sassa-| was discovered. | his at them. Robin, with a disdainful shrug of his shoul-| reverting to a subject which had given him | | The old birds solemnly | , 4 its a _ + eg OR ie 5 | had first tried to climb it. | sure, made it sacred in their eyes by his notice, ** Any numskull could see that!” exclaimed | to the time-server’s bald pate. The unfortunate, ‘¢But what is its name, and what is it | attendant looked down for the cause, and then: looked up to heaven, and in this way the Prince . , wrathfully. How dare ‘“‘Come down,” they cried, “Come down, you young ruffian! you sit in the Prince’s tree ?” For so they had dubbed it from the day he He had, in @ mea- and they had even debated the advisability. of hedging it round with gilt palings, as being im- measurably superior to the other trees, and as being of a kind of historical landmark. “Go away, you old stupids!”’ the Prince called out in reply, making ‘his voiee very rough, so that they should not recognize it. ‘Don’t you see that Iam enjoying myself?” They shook their fists at him, and he shook He was prodigiously elated. The birds hopped out of ‘their nests, and observed the disturbance. ‘They chattered about it, and gave opinions. The younger ones, with youth- ful enthusiasm, would have sided with the Prince, as their sympathies were with him; but the older and wiser birds said, ‘‘No: let us stand aside and arbitrate.” “Tt you don’t come down, bawled the at- tendants, ‘‘ we'll put you in the stocks!” ‘*Tf I don’t come down,” bawled the Prince, “‘T can’t for the life of me see how you will manage it.” They gasped at him, and at each other, and one bolder than the rest commenced to climb the tree. Prince Sassafras broke wood from the branches, and threw the pieces at him so vigorously, and with such good aim, that he was glad to get safe to earth again. ‘Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the Prince; anda scaly old jackdaw, who had not laughed for ever so many years, flew out of 1s nest, and echoed feebly, ‘‘Ha, ha, ha!” after the fashion ' of doddering old lunatics, who strive to ape. youth. The attendants were more and more furious, “*Read the Riot Act!” they cried. In accordance with that wisdom for which they were celebrated, and which provided for the fitness of all things, the time-server with the weakest voice read the Riot Act elaborately. That part of it which impressed his hearers most powerfully was contained in the word WHEREAS. _ Whenever he came to that magic word, he piped it out with a mighty effort at the top of his voice, and those who surrounded him—who had always suspected that WHerras was the fount of justice, and now were sure of it— bowed their heads worshipfully as to a talis- man which’ contained the pith of ‘all law. Prince Sassafras listened with profound atten-~ tion until the reading was completed. “Hear, hear!” he said, clapping his hands in applause. ‘‘Now I will come down. The moral force that lies in WHerras has conquered me, and I’m getting very hungry.” Down he scrambled, hand under hand, as active as a squirrel, and as though he had been accustomed to climb trees all his life. Down he plumped in the midst of his attendants, and raised such a dust that they ran afew paces away to save their eyes. He leaned his back against the tree, and looked at them jauntily. As they advanced towards him with wrath in. - their countenances, with the intention of seizing him and treating him roughly mayhap, he spoke to them in his natural tones, and bade them be careful, for he was rather tired. “Tt is the Prince,” they cried in amaze- ment. Their manner was so comical that the Prince laughed long and blithely, and the doddering old jackdaw made such an effort to renew its youth that it shed its last feather, and almost shook itself into a fit. “And in these clothes!”. they exclaimed, as they surrounded him. ‘‘Hehas been waylaid and robbed!” The Prince held up his hobnailed boots for inspection, and then walked slowly up, and down among them, to give them the oppor~ + — Shay Py. fa aie a pitt) oda lt aa a 4 Vr ‘ ara ae ; rt f . ae, : ' = ew
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& THE KING OF NO-LAND. ET ay tunity of admiring the easy fit of his corduroys. There were no bounds to their indignation. ‘*Where is the robber ?” they shouted. ‘‘ Can your Royal Highness describe his person ?” They glared about in such a state of excitement that one might have fancied they were going to luy violent hands on one another. “Tt was a nut,” said the Prince. “A nut?” ‘‘A nut, that fell upon my head as I was walking along. It hurt me, too.” ‘*Surely, your Royal Highness,” said the at- tendant, upon whose bald pate the Prince had let the marble fall, ‘‘ surely they drop about to- day. It must have been a nut that fell upon my head.” He rubbed the sore place as he spoke, ‘*Thank your stars it was not sucha nut as mine. Listen.” And the Prince illustrated his words with appropriate action. ‘‘ Down dropped the nut. I picked it up, and cracked it—you know how fondIam of nuts! But when the cracked shell was between my teeth, I felt that something living was inside. I spat it out quickly, and the kernel rolled from the shell, and looked at me, in the shape and like- ness of aman. And as it gazed at me I be- camé fascinated by its beauty, and it grew and grew until it was as high as my knee; and there if stopped growing. It was dressed in the brightest green and scarlet, and its eyes were rimmed with purple. It claimed a distant kinship with me, and said, indeed, that it was one of my neglected poor relations—which I could scarcely credit, so far as regards the plea of poverty, when I looked at the creature’s beautiful clothing. But these things want searching into, my lords; and it saddens me to think that many of us die, and have been blind through all our lives. It told me so many wise things, and taught me so many strange lessons, that I was as one entranced. I remember no more about it except its name, which some of you may know. It was Pimpernel.” ‘*Pimpernel! Pimpernel!” they mused, and questioned one another, but no one had heard ef such a creature. ‘‘ One of your Royal High- ness’s poor relations—indeed. Are they not all rovided for? This Pimpernel is a beggar, an postor! But we will find him. Call out the , and let the woods be searched.” _ Shut up the bull-shaped flowers!” shouted the Prince, mimicking them. ‘Place a sen- tinel at every tree, and build a fence of forget- me-nots around the forest!” Some were actually about to see to the car- rying out of these orders, when he called to them. ‘Hold! I was but jesting ! do not make a fuss!” . They clustered about him at this adjuration. As they loved him! Two Grand Old Sticks, with white heads, giggled with delight, like a couple of foolish school-girls, at the ecstatic honor of being thus appealed to. “Do not heed what.tI have said. No one is to blame but I, I give you my honor; so let no word be said. Regard this as a freak, and let it be a close secret between you and me. Do you understand? Mum! [If you break my confidence,” he added with, a malicious twinkle, “Tl cut down all your salaries when I am king. Now, then, let us pledge each other. Take the word from me. um!” They stood before him with their fingers on their lips, and took the oath. Mum! “Tis well,” said the Prince, quoting from the last original drama. ‘‘ Let me rest awhile.” His back was still against the tree, and he looked about him with regret that so glorious a day was nearly at an end. Directly in front of him, but at some distance, on an eminence, was the west wing of the palace, behind a fret- work of trees. The sun was setting, and mass- ed troops of fiery shadows were invading the palace, and as they passed the windows glared out with threatening eyes. ‘‘ How beautiful!” sighed the Prince. His attendants urged him to depart. ‘*We are ashamed to see your Royal High- eness in such mean attire.” As you love me, ‘‘And yet I enjoy,” he said. ‘‘ Look above ou at the clouds. What lovely fancies dwell in them! Here are an angel’s wings, stretched forth beneficently, blessing mankind in fustian and silk. See their feathery tips, and the pale purple folds that hide the body of the glorious being. Here is a great hill, with a many-tur- reted castle built on its peak. The landscape opens—the hill grows smaller, the castle larger. A forest of pollards rises up beyond it, over- shadows it, dissolves it. The airy trees and land melt into a lake, on the bosom of which are reflected the colors of a myriad sapphires and rubies, and the soft glow of many-tinted pearls which lie beneath. See—night is coming; the shadows creep into the lake’s breast. Weep- ing-willows rise on either bank—rise and over- lap the water. They bend toward each other from the opposite banks with melancholy grace- fulness. Is it not beautiful ?” They gazed above and around, and then at one another. They saw none of these things. Their unsympathizing looks chilled the Prince. ‘There go my fancies,” he said, bitterly, pointing to some butterflies that were flying home. ‘‘And here is a troop of caterpillars, creeping, oh, so slowly and lazily! up the old elm. Come, let us creep to the palace, cater- pillar-like.” OHAPTER II. MANY MEN GROW BLIND BY LOOKING AT THE SUN, AND NEVER SEE THE BEAUTY OF THE STARS, Tus was but the beginning of the Prince’s truant-playing. A second time he evaded his attendants and time-servers, and they did not discover him until near the close of day. Again he pledged them to secrecy, and then they were to a certain extent in his power. Then he played them a trick. He knew that they were curious to find out where he went to, and that they had laid plans to follow him. “Tt really must be seen into,” they said to one another, ‘‘for our own sakes as well as his. Youth is ever rash.” “ His Royal Highness is so cunning,” cried one. ‘‘We must use stratagem,” said another, with his finger to his nose; ‘if we can’t find out by hook, we must by crook.” But neither hook nor crook was of use to them, as it turned out. Prince Sassafras stole away one day, and knowing that they were fol- lowing him he led them a pretty dance. He played them a pretty trick, too. He came toa morass, and jumped across it. They, not aware that the ground was soft, jumped as he jumped, but not being so lithe, stuck in the middle. Then, as they were floundering in the mud in their silk stockings and dandy pumps, he turned upon them, and laughed heartily at their comi- cal appearance. They were in a nice plight! On the next occasion, he knowingly threat- ened to ‘‘tell upon them,” if they did not let him have his way, or if they betrayed him. ‘‘ In which case,” he said, saucily, ‘‘I should say you will be discharged for not taking better care of me.” With this fear upon them, they concealed his delinquencies, groaning at the same time under the burden of the fear that they were between two stools. For, supposing that one day the Prince should fail to present himself, and supposing that any accident should happen to him while he was out of their sight, the whole country would rise against them for having betrayed their trust. Fortunately for them, however, nothing of this sort occurred. “Tf you keep faith with me,” said Prince Sassafras to them one day, when they were in amore than usually terrible pucker, ‘‘I will keep faith with you. Always after I have en- joyed my run you will find me under the dear old elm. Come, now; is it a bargain?” — They had no choice, according to their no- tions, but to enter into this compact. ‘“‘ After all, you know,” he said, ‘‘I have somewhere chal that boys will be boys.” “But your Royal Highness is a prince,” they urged. - ok ‘“* And not a boy?” was his reply, ‘‘ Well. I don’t understand that.” They tried to make him unaerstand it; but they could not beat it into his obstinate lead. “Tell us, at least,” they begged ‘‘ where your Royal Highness goes to.” ‘‘No, I will not tell you; I go to dimerenf places, and 1 choose to keev their whereabouts’ to myself.” He answered them very independently, for he saw that he had them in his power. ‘* What does your Royal Highness do when you are out of our sight?” ‘‘ Nothing wrong, I assure you, wrong, on the honor of—a prince!” After that, of course, there was nothing more to be said. The honor of a boy they might have doubted, but they did not dare to doubt the honor of a prince. So they were compelled. to assume an appearance of content, although' they were far from easy in their minds. It was with Ragged Robin, and at Ragged: Robin’s home, that he spent his stolen hours. His station was not known; it was supposed, that he lived in the neighboring town; and it was plainly seen that his circumstances were better than those of Robin’s parents. When +he was asked his name, he hesitated a moment, and then said it was Myrtle; so as Myrtle he was known to them. He became a great fa- vorite with them, as much because of his blithe,' cheery manner and handsome face as because he made them small presents occasionally.; They were simply country people, happ enough in their way, and contented with their station in life. One thing certainly would have made Robin’s father as happy as the day was long, as Robin had said, and that was the two shillings a week more which Robin had spoken of. It was his only grievance, and he spoke of it invariably as if two shillings a week more would set everything in the world right that happened to be wrong. Perhaps it may be recognized that the burden of his grievance is not an uncommon one. Their home was ex- actly as Robert had described it—very small, very humble, and very pretty. Bluebell, a child of about eight years of age, was the prettiest. and most engaging creature that Sassafras had ever seen, and deserved all the praises that Robin had bestowed upon her. She and Sas- safras became great friends; and when the fond mother had sufficient confidence in Sassa- fras, she allowed him to take her blue-eyed dar- ling for a ramble in the woods, He learned a great deal from these poor people, and was en- tirely happy in the society of his humble friends, The hours he spent with them were the bright- est in his boyhood’s life. Near to their cottage lived two friends of Nothing theirs—an old woman and her son; he known — as Coltsfoot, she as Dame Endive. Proud, in- deed, was this old woman of her son; and she had every reason to be, for Coltsfoot was of a rare type; agrave and thoughtful man, too se-. rious for his years in the opinion of some, but. ties. If Ragged Robin was learned in the life. of the woods, and spoke of their inhabitants ag: one does of familiar companions, Coltsfoot was. learned in the higher life of human creatures. He had studied deeply among them, and was wiser than he who gains know i from books, More than this: he did not learn by rote. . The eyes of his mind were open wherever he walked ; he wasa just man, with a tender heart. He was. & poor schoolmaster, and he worked among the ect. poor, and was re ed by them with and admiration ; with affection also, for he had in his studies gained some knowledge of medi- cine, and he administered to the sick withouta. | fee, where to pay one would have been a hardship. — “oy e. Many and many a night did he sit by the bed- side of a sick neighbor, and cheer body andsouk -~8 ¥ 4 éz | ov an 2) fie 4 Ne, ifs ’ “us by his kindly words and deeds; and when his } task was done, he would put aside the offered reward with a gentle hand, and say, ‘Nay, neighbor; another time, when you are better able to afford it; well knowing that. that ak would never come. His was the unclou oe » a -_ < - a oo i P| i | ae \ a, . " ‘ earnest, whole-souled, and with fine susceptibili- ¥ q
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_ -_ - — . NN eeeeeeeEeE—eEeEeEeEeEeeEeeEeEeEeEeEeEeEeEe———eEEeew EE , eee THE KING OF NO-LAND. s Le eeeeeeaaaaes=ee@aqaananq{qanyueee —™—reaaaa—s———s—aoaoaa«s>s>_ charity which springs from an unselfish, com-| years) was anxious to show the best side of | fully, ‘‘I have looked upon it with a careless ; passionate nature. those he loved and compassionated. Yet he | eye.” eg 1% ; Between Coltsfoot and Sassafras an intimacy | did not utterly conceal their vices ; he spoke *‘The fashion is a common one,” observed ‘sprang up which ripened intofriendship. Colts-| of them with gentle words of commiseration, | Coltsfoot; ‘‘many men grow blind by looking foot was attracted by the bright wit and lively | saying how, in many instances, the poor were | at the sun, and néver see the beauty of the fancy of Sassafras, and Sassafras was not long | like creatures walking in the dark, being, in | stars.” oF in discovering that here was a man of a higher | most instances, judged by a higher standard ‘* Nor feel the peace that is in them,” added order than those among whom he was accus- | than that up to which they were educated, or | Sassafras. ‘‘I have sometimes thought, as I tomed to move. were like helpless flies attracted by the glare | have gazed at them from my window on @ still J “You know a great deal,” said Sassafras; | of lights. It was while the Prince’s mind was | night, that I should like to pass away into the **and yat you are not very old.” filled with the theme that he said to his time-| depths where they lie, and float among them in ‘‘T am more than thirty years of age,” replied | servers. ; eternal peace.” : re ¢ Coltsfoot. ** What do you think of the poor ?” ‘* The nights are not always still,” responded ** How did you learn all you know ?” They shrugged their shoulders, as they were | Coltsfoot: ‘‘ storms come, and wild winds ; the k 4 ‘T taught myself chiefly, I think,” said Colts- | wont to do, at any subject that was indifferent | clouds are tossed and whirled on the wings of ; foot, with a smile. to them, and answered, carelessly : the wind; and if a star is visible, it hangs dis- ‘© One can do that, then?” ‘* They are an ungrateful class.” ; consolately and drearily in the heavens, like a ’ | ae ‘* Surely ; and if you read the history of men, “Why ungrateful ?” questioned the Prince. soul indoubt.”. | ; ‘you will find that that kind of teaching seems | ‘‘ For being allowed to live?” ‘ Sassafras in a timid tone repeated a few lines to bear the best fruit.” They evaded explanation by remarking, | of a poem he had composed, but had never had He said this candidly, not as a boast, for he | ‘‘ Your Royal Highness is too young to under-| courage to show his friend : ‘was not vainglorious, but as the sober truth. stand these matters.” Q “T stood upon a dark and dreary shore, ‘*Then to be born great”— mused Sassafras. With this he was forced to be satisfied, for And voices rose upon the viewlérs alr, “‘Do you mean, to be born rich and in a high| they would return him no other answer. In Evermore shalt thou be tonsed on this datk shore, | position ? ” Weiith,“they' were pussled’ and perplexed by: tis | «Te eee Mion eontulacaien waa: ebadl} ‘“Ves. Tobe born great, in that way, does pir and Meer as bap term ae ; ny B25, Sed (bon soccnlubdpaptar, wae All ke . mot make one great ?” as they might to educate him in the right way, ; rahe a Py i Py; Unibetehinbely; no.” he refused to think as they bade him. To them tt oe alae oo ie ain Cat py sling Srv ‘“Why unfortunately ?” pursued Sassafras. it was inexplicable that he would not follow ed thoughtfull r¢ rh ij Wey hd teeceek ts tae r ‘‘ Because those who are born thus have so|them blindly through the path of roses, but the d | ayes teh ami veg 504) © eee Dae ; - - , : * ‘hy e doubts and yearnings of a young sensitive much power for good in their hands that, if | would bother his head about the nettles. This soul, and with a peculiarly sweet smile, he they were really great, the world would be bet- | suggestion concerning the roses came fronr the | wad . : , ter than it is.” wig Court Poet, and was highly praised by all ‘but | “i you sigh for peace. Well, peace will come : It is not a good world, then!” sighed Sas- | the Prince. b es ah 08 ds telnet safras. ‘* You have forgotten the thorns,” he said. ‘ ** To-morrow ?” ** Yes, for to-morrow all of us must die.” **And then?” asked Sassafras, with eager yearning. ** A new birth,” replied Coltsfoot, passing his arm around Sassafras with a kind and affection- ate motion. ‘‘To be believed in as we believe in the wisdom which designed this wondrous work, the world ; to be worked for, so that we may fit ourselves ‘for it, with faith and cheer- ~ He was young; his mind was pliable and ‘They are not for your Royal Highness,” amenable to kindly influence, his nature was | was the answer he received. _ susceptible and tender ; not to be wondered at, ‘“‘If weeds and thorns exist,” he remarked therefore, that out of his regard and admiration | sagely, ‘‘they must be minded.” for Coltsfoot, he was ready to accept Coltsfoot’s| ‘‘It will be our pleasure and duty,” they \ views without question; ready, indeed, to ac-| said, ‘‘to clear them from your Royal High- ; «ept them ina more exaggerated sense than | ness’s life. They shall not touch your sacred ‘Coltsfoot intended. person.” : Coltsfoot laid his hand kindly on Sassafras’s| ‘‘ My sacred person!” he repeated, under his -_ head. “‘It is a good world,” he said with | breath, and trembled at the words. To him Sohne idilodod Wabesie” | somewhat of seriousness in his tone, as though | they sounded like Lagemmesag’ f Still he persisted, Searce) E Hetcuntesls tks coud ese he wished to impress Sassafras; ‘‘a good world, | and was then told that it was not seemly in| 4.0. ried 6 Pit sins "then Wie Prinas coe il in every sense ; but there are many wrongs and | him to allow his mind to be thus disturbed. A we ; c ; . ” t is t yeis i i injustices in it which are allowed to exist, and| ‘‘These things are not for princes,” they anteater caeteheniaecemnitae which might with ease be removed by those | said. lighted. “No more troant-playing then,” they who are born to greatness.” His words sank| After his usual fashion, he flew from one to 4 ‘> 7 5 ay ‘ into Sassafras’s hibit, ‘But in the meantime,” | another for counsel and assistance. In some on home Momsen Ie annie, . €oltsfoot continued, with a sweet and serious | rare way there had come to this young Prince| |... y then vie vt beouble. eae fies es pots 4 smile, ‘‘ we will go on and work, and not lose | an intense and earnest desire to know the rights y ' heart because things are not as we wish them |and wrongs of things, and he found himself oe 9 i pr gh eee A isms at oan we | tobe,” battling in a sea of doubt because of the con- woul 4052 : 4b waa a Ye a aril ; a ‘© You are never idle,” said Sassafras. flicting- views that were presented to him. He] 4.54 he wodld a pew nt ince a ee ity > a *“Do you think man was born to be idle? | asked Coltsfoot about the “‘divine right,” which left? Bint -day Soey everett a a he pe 4 { . Have you not heard that work is God’s her-| he said he had heard was the especial attribute | |, ¢nortunity to an t. nib bene aaa & ‘tage to man ?” of kings; and Coltsfoot showed him, first, not an ms ne or 3 ae ann wo Up- ae | “No.” only the folly but the blasphemy of the term, aiaits ‘ ~ aa ge “ sat = oe a care al s - “ It is ; and the best and sweetest heritage. | if taken (as it is too often taken) in its literal om a to fall th, ng Py ge: the. 8 bbath P- ae ‘The idle man is like a weed in a field.” sense ; and next, to what great ends it might | P at year on the Sabbath. y. . Then one who does not work ”—— be used, if rightly understood. Raising some ie : ‘* Pulfills not his mission. The world would | up, and bringing some down, Coltsfoot brought OHAPTER III. Bs benefit by his absence.” all persons on a level, so far as regards the laws : Thought Sassafras: ‘‘I wonder what some | and principles of humanity and morality and | DEEP IN THE EARTH LIES THE GOLD, HIDDEN IN oe ee ~of my time-servers would say to this? ‘Read the proper living of life. Coltsfoot saw that DARENESS ; AND PRECIOUS STONES ARE FOUND a % the Riot Act,’ perhaps.” Sassafras was in doubt as to his opinions, and IN ROUGHEST PLACES. Such conversations as these were not uncom- | without in the least suspecting the lad’s exalted| Hx met Coltsfoot on his way. Coltsfoot had mon between Sassafras and Coltsfoot ; and they | station, he opened his heart and mind to the} a bundle in his hand, and a bunch of winter wm led the Prince into new fields of thought. | lad whom he had learned to love. He implant- roses. Bee man “What he saw, also, in his wanderings with | ed in the lad’s soul the purest seeds of honor “Twas coming to you,” said the Prince, ; 4 Coltsfoot stirred him strangely. He had been | and religion, and did his best to lay the founda- | Coltsfoot nodded and smiled. ‘‘I would not go taught to believe—not directly, not in plain | tion for a good life. away without seeing you once more, and bid- \ words, but insidiously and by false inference—| These conversations occurred when the snow | ding you good-by.” The Prince’s lips quivered that the poor were of a different order from that | was falling, early in December, and Coltsfoot, | as he uttered these words. ~ * oe of which he was the chief ornament. He ex-| who never missed an opportunity of enriching **Good-by !” echoed Coltsfoot. ‘You are 8 ressed this to Coltsfoot, not as his own opin- | the lad’s mind, told him wonderful things con- | about to leave us, then ?” ion, but as he heard it. cerning the soft flakes: how that each crystal! ‘‘Yes. I am to to be taken from those I love “* Come with me,” said Coltsfoot. was of the most exquisite shape and form, tran-| best in the world; J am to be torn from the And the Prince and the poor school-master | scending in beauty the finest and most elabo-| scenes and the friends that are dearest to me. went together into the houses of the poor, and | rate work of man’s hands; how that, as it light-} Pitiless fate! Should I not be content here te Coltsfoot showed Sassafras the virtues and the | ly covers the earth, it keeps the soil beneath it | live and die!” good tliat were in their lives. Had the Prince| warm, protecting it from the nipping cold} ‘‘Why does not the world stand still?” said been of Coltsfoot’s age, Coltsfoot would prob-| which would destroy the treasures sleeping in | Coltsfoot, in a tone of gentle reproof, ‘‘ and : ably have shown him more of their vices, so} its breast; and many other particulars which | why does not old Time stop the ranning of ‘his ; that whatever judgment he formed might have | need not be set down here. _ sands to prolong our happy moments? Why : ‘ been formed upon a thoroughly correct basis;} ‘‘But for the snow,” said Coltsfoot, ‘‘we | are we not always young? why are the skies not but Sassafras was a boy, and Coltsfoot (apart | should have no primroses.” always bright? why do the flowers wither and from his consideration for Sassafras’s tender} ‘‘And until to-day,” said Sassafras, regret-| die? why is it not foreyer summer ? » cee | eg > ee ee eM Nery Ley Ce
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THE KING OF NO-LAND. $$$ $$ $$ $y —____—_—— — ‘*T understand you,” answered the Prince. “You think me weak for complaining. I do not ask for these impossibilities. Nature must run her course—seasons must change, flowers must die. But they will come again, and I shall not be here to welcome them. Summer’s sweet breath will kiss these dear woods before many months are passed, and I shall be far away. “ Your regrets are natural,” responded Colts- foot, ‘but you must not magnify them into wrongs. Ishall miss you, dear lad, for I have grown to love you!” The Prince raised his face, now flushed with pleasure at the declara- tion, eagerly to the more sober face of Colts- foot. ‘‘ Now is there not balm in Gilead? Is there not comfort in the thought that we have fairly won love and respect, and that we hold a place in the hearts of friends whose faces we may never look upon again ?” “Do not say that!” cried the Prince, cover- ing his eyes with his hands. ‘‘Oh, do not say that!” ‘*Nay, nay, nay! Life has its duties, and we must perform them with cheerful minds. Life has its griefs, thank God! and we must bear them with resignation. Yes, thank God that life has its sorrows. There is sweetness in them, believe me. Suffering is the mother of com- passion. Hearts might be stone but for pity; life would be harsh without charity, Think— think, dear lad! and be grateful for everything in which there is no shame.” “ Your words strengthen me,” murmured the Prince. “Then,” continued Coltsfoot, ‘‘is it in this place only that summer is to be found? What spot is there in the world upon which the sun does not shine? Dear lad, summer is not here or here”—he lightly waved his hand to the _ south, to the west—‘‘summer is here.” He ’’ placed his hand on his companion’s heart. ‘‘Ah, we are not grateful enough. We do not know how happy is our lot, in comparison with the lot of others. How often have I been shamed into humbleness by the contemplation of the lives of those who are not blessed as I am bless- ed!” They were walking in the woods toward a village; the trees were lightly covered with snow, which had fallen during the night: the air was keen and fresh and sweet. ‘‘If a mul- titude of people were before me on this fair Christmas Day, I should be tempted to preach them a sermon in six words: Be humble; be grateful; be charitable. And should these few words bear fruit, the sermon would be long enough and good enough. You cannot re- main with me much longer, I suppose, to-day?” ‘‘T have come to spend the day with you,” replied the Prince, ‘‘if you will let me.” **You may?” ‘*Yes, I may, as it is the last day we shall have together for along time. But I will come back.” ** You will come back aman. I shall be al- ways here, I think. My way of life is marked out for me, and it lies within a small circuit.” Thus conversing, they arrived at the village, and halted at a small cottage, which bore signs of decay. The doorway was so low that Colts- foot, who was a six-foot man, had to stoop his head upon entering; a little girl, who looked like a wise little woman, and yet was not more than six years of age, was sitting in a low chair, hushing a baby to sleep. The baby may have been three months old, and the nurse might _ have been her mother, so womanly were her ways. Another little girl, two or three years younger than the nurse, was also in the room, which was clean and very poorly furnished. A few paper pictures, cut from cheap prints, were pasted on the walls, and three violins were hang- ing inacorner. The children looked at Colts- foot, and smiled.a welcome, staring bashfully at Sassafras “Well, little ones,” said Coltsfoot, ‘‘and how is mother this morning ?” _ “She is a little better,” answered the eldest girl; ‘‘soshe said.” _ “That is good,” he said, rubbing his hands Gheerily. ‘Here are some winter roses. for you.” A thin voice from an inner room, which was | the only other room in the cottage, asked who was there. ‘It is I,” called Coltsfoot; ‘‘I will come in| Well, pet, and what | | right hand, and showed me a few coppers which, presently and see you. J have you to say?” ‘This to the second little girl, who was climbing on to his lap. The baby was asleep by this time, and was lying in a cra- dle. The eldest child, being released from her burden, was arranging the flowers in a broken jug, and admiring them with eyes too sadly bright for one so young. - ‘“We'ze got a pum-pudden for dinner,” said the child on Coltsfoot’s lap. ‘‘Ah, that’s a fine thing,” responded Colts- foot, kissing her, and setting her down. ‘‘Go and shake hands with the young gentleman, and tell him your name.” ‘“‘[’'m Lucerne,” she said, standing by the Prince’s side, and gazing up at him. ‘‘And baby’s name is Daisy,” added Coltsfoot ; ‘and our little mother here is Iris.” Iris calmly shook hands with Sassafras, and then resumed her duties. ‘‘Our little woman,” continued Coltsfoot, tenderly, ‘‘does everything in the house, and is quite wise. She can scrub and cook and mend clothes; and she can do something clev- erer than all these—she can play the fiddle.” ‘‘And so can I,” put in Lucerne. ‘‘And so can Lucerne,” Coltsfoot assented, ‘‘and I shouldn’t wonder, when Daisy gets to be as much of a little woman as her sisters, that she will play the fiddle also. Now Ill go and see mother.” He went into the sick woman, and remained with her for a few minutes, Sassafras in the meanwhile making friends with Iris and Lu- cerne. When Coltsfoot and the Prince left the house they left sunshine behind them. On their way Coltsfoot related the story of these poor people. It was simple enough. The fa- ther had died nine months ago, leaving his fam- ily destitute. ““That was surely wrong,” observed Sassa- ‘Undoubtedly ; but you must not blame the man. He worked from morning to night, and earned the barest pittance for his brood. He had no extravagances and no vices ; he was not even a beer drinker. In this respect, he was useless to the State, and useless to those vora- cious creatures who distill and brew, and whose appetites grow by what they feed on.” Sassafras did not understand these allusions, and Coltsfoot continued : ‘The bread-winner being gone, the wife was left helpless. It is a mystery to me how some poor persons manage to live. They have noth- ing, and can earn nothing, and yet they man- age to rub on somehow. Deep in the earth lies the gold, hidden in darkness; and precious stones are found in roughest places. So among the poor and in the roughest places there must be running veins of sweet humanity, which are never idle and never worked out. There can be no other solution to the mystery. The wom- an did some little work, until she was near her confinement with Daisy. Then things began to look very bad indeed, and Heaven knows how matters might have ended, but fora cer- tain little fairy in that house whose name is Iris.” ‘Tris! That child!” exclaimed the Prince. ‘*Why what could she do?” ‘* Tris, that child, did a brave and wise thing. Her father had taught himself the violin, and she, young as she was, had learned from him how to handle the bow. You saw her father’s violins hanging on the wall; the wife had part- ed with nearly everything, so that the partner- ship between the bodies and souls of her chil- dren should not be dissolved, but with a weak, womanly tenderness she clung to her dead hus- band’s violins as though they were living crea- tures, determining that they should be the last things to go for bread. Im the dead of night she may have fancied she heard their strings ‘vibrate, speaking to her of old times—they had | out of the house. | hold. i ne loved each other, this man and woman—and perhaps the strings of her heart were touched responsively. Iris, one morning inthe spring, took a violin from the wall, and quietly went I saw her that morning ; she was playing in a byway, where but few persons passed. ‘‘ Why, Iris!” I cried. She opened her even in that but little frequented place, the char- itable poor had given to her as they passed. | Then I understood it all; the little six-year- old maid had taken upon herself the duties of bread-winner, but was not yet bold enough to stand where many people were. That courage came soon, and she taught Lucerne to play a little ; and day after day the two mites go out and play the old tunes their father played while their mother lies sick at home. The people have grown very fond of them, and give out of their small store. When Daisy grows up into & woman of two years old, I have no doubt she will go forth with her sisters to fight the battle, armed with violin and bow. Already Iris gives her the fiddle to nurse, instead of a doll. And now you have the history of that humble house- May be you may find some heroism in it.” They had dinner at Ragged Robin’s house, Coltsfoot’s mother being of the party. A hap- pier group was never assembled beneath a roof. The fare was plain and sweet, the walls rang with merry laughter, and the entire absence of ceremony contributed vastly to the Prince’s en- joyment. \ “I think,” he whispered to Coltsfoot, ‘ that the poor have many pleasures which the rich do not taste.” Coltsfoot smiled ; he was satisfied that his young friend was learning good lessons in a good way. The family wished Coltsfoot and Sassafras to remain with them the whole of the day ; but Coltsfoot said that they had many things to see, and that they would return in the evening. In accordance with Coltsfoot's wish, Sassafras had not told them that he was about to leave them. “Wait until to-night,” Coltsfoot said ; ‘it might spoil their pleasure to know too soon. They have but few holidays.” “Then you really think,” asked Sassafras, ‘‘that-they will be sorry to lose me 4 ‘Tam sure so,” replied Coltsfoot. Sassafras found some consolation in this; it sweetened his grief. Coltsfoot took him into the city, where he witnessed many strange scenes, and where he saw the poor and help- less in their best and worst aspect. Wherever he went, he met with touches of humanity which brought sweet light into the darkest laces; wherever he went, he saw the poor felpiie the poor. Coltsfoot was welcomed every- where, even in the worst. of places, for all re- cognized in him a friend. They walked through a nest of bad, narrow thoroughfares, avery maze of shrunken, diseased courts and lanes, in which it was almost impossible for virtue not to lose its way. Sassafras was frightened at the sights and sounds which , greeted him ;he clung closely to Coltsfoot, who conducted him safely through these hot-beds. Swarms ofchildren were there, learning; Swarms ' of men and women were living the lives they had been brought up to in their childhood, do- ing their duty, as one bitter cynic among them said, to the best of their ability in that sphere of life in which it had pleased God to place them. ‘There is nothing to fear,” said Coltsfoot « ‘*they will not harm us.” j “Where do all these people live?” asked Sassafras. Ca ‘In cellars,’ replied Coltsfoot, ‘in garrets. in rooms where heaven's light is vailed, hud- dled together like rats, clinging to each other for warmth like vermin. ruler, if only to accomplish one task !” ‘What task ?” “To sweep away these nests of corruption— to purify the streets. Sewers breed rats. But : these living things are human creatures, God» help them? Dear lad, I have my doubts a8 = SAS . ae ‘s . s = ry at J < i rrr i per - 4 “~ = * A yr a ty —_ Ob that I were mw
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( — — THE KING OF NO-LAND. well as you. Sometimes when I visit these | places, knowing that they have existed for scores of years, knowing that they will exist for | scores of years longer, knowing that thousands | and thousands of helpless babes will be born | here and educated to lives of infamy, I doubt | whether under such circumstances man can be | held responsible for crime, and I am driven against my reason to ask whether civilization is a curse or a blessing. Only to you, dear lad, would I express these doubts, for I know the danger that lies in them.” ‘These words were as painful to Sassafras to | hear as they were to Coltsfoot to utter; but _ they were prompted by indignant pity, and Coltsfoot could not restrain the utterance of them. They emerged into the wider thorough- fares, and—in the brighter aspect of the space in which they now moved, and the brighter | prospect of pleasant hours presently to be spent with Bluebell and her kindred—were striving to shake from their minds the dust of melan- choly which the scenes they had witnessed had engendered, when a Babel of voices and sounds of hurried steps in their rear caused | them toturn. Some twenty men and women, with alarm and pity on their faces, clustered | about Coltsfoot and Sassafras, and began to speak all at once. | **T tell you he’s a doctor, I tell you he isn't. | He is. Heisn’t. Well, ask him. He’s a good | sort any way, and’s likely to know something | about it.” Coltsfoot held up his hand, to stop their un- | , intelligible babble. “Tam not a doctor according to the law,” he | said, ‘‘ but I have some knowledge of medi-| eine.” r : “There! there! didn’t I tell you so?” ex- Ylaimed those who were right to those who | were wrong. “But what special thing is it,” continued | _ Ooltsfoot, “that you say I am likely to know | something about ?” “Death,” said a man, stepping forward. | ~~, That special thing.” / «Explain yourself.” “You know death when you see it?” de—_ manded the man, somewhat surlily. “Ido,” replied Coltsfoot, gravely. “So do I; theseignorant cattle don’t. "The | woman’s dead,’ said I, with halfa look at her. But they wouldn't believe it. So they run after | ae & you to prove mea liar.” \ } —§ © © Before the man’s last words were uttered, _" __‘ Coltsfoot, with Sassafras by his side, was re- ‘ss tracing his steps towards the narrow courts . +» andlanes. The mob of men and women, the “a numbers of which had by this time consider- | ¥ ably increased, led the way intoone of the foul- est of the thoroughfares, the entrance to which was arched; the rookeries it contained were of the vilest character, and were fit only for vermin tobreedin. Inagarretin one of these nf _ dens lay a woman on the ground—a woman * so thin and emaciated as to cause sighs of ae compassion to escape from the breast of Sassa- 4 ‘ _ fras. Coltsfoot knelt by the side of the woman, whose only covering was a brown gown, torn, Fi tattered, faded—fit for a dungheap. Art > “She is dedd,” said Coltsfoot. me The man who had first pronounced her so cast “a ) look of triumph at the doubters. _--—__ ** What was her complaint ?” asked Sassafras, in a whisper, to Coltsfoot, but his whisper was ne heard, and the question answered by the man, + aay who lifted the woman’s bare arm, and ran his % hand along the sharp bones. ~~~. -* Starvation, my boy,” replied the man; | “that was her complaint. A pretty time of the ae year to die of that disease, eh?” : “Tis true, Iam afraid,” said Coltsfoot, an- . *—- $wering Sassafras’s eloquent look of pity. “But | what is this—a child ?” ~ at. *-) “Draly, his eyes had lighted on a child, a baby of six months, who was asleep in a corner of ‘the room. The baby was covered by a piece of | —- yough sacking. Xoo ha “Ah,” said a woman, “this is Dick—little oS rie ae Coltsfoot took the child in his arms, who, for / ga wonder, was clean ; this was clearly to be seen ; for when Coltsfoot let the piece of sack- ing fall to the ground, the child was discovered to be perfectly naked. ‘Give him to me,” said the woman ; and as she relieved Coltsfoot of his burden, the baby opened his eyes, and gazed upon the group, and upon the body of his dead mother lying on the ground. ‘Little Dick!” exclaimed the woman, ten- derly. ‘Cunning little Dick! Ill take care of him to-night, sir.” With sad hearts Coltsfoot and Sassafras walked away from the fevered thoroughfares toward the country lanes. “Cunning little Dick!’ mused Coltsfoot. ** Poor, naked little mortal? If you happen to see fhim when you return from your travels, what will he have grown into? But I know— alas ! I know.” ’ He would have been filled even with a deeper sorrow had any foreshadowing fallen upon him of another Christmas-night in the years to come, when he and Sassafras and cunning little Dick met for the second time, in another place and under other circum- stances. Night stole upon them as they | walked. ““Come,” said Coltsfoot, with an affectionate pressure of his companion’s arm, ‘ let us ban- ish melancholy thought. We are in a purer air now.” CHAPTER IV. CHRISTMAS-NIGHT AT THE COTTAGE, Taz heavens were full of stars, which shone brightly through the frosty air. Sounds of music fell upon their ears, and as their way lay in that direction they walked toward it. ‘Can you guess who are playing?” asked Coltsfoot, with a bright smile, stepping briskly along. A little crowd of persons stood around the players, and Sassafras, peeping through, saw Iris and Lucerne with their violins at their shoulders. The little girls bore a great resem- ‘blance to each other, but the expressions on their faces were not at all alike. The face of Iris was grave, and she drew her bow across the strings with a thoughtful and serious air ; her little body moved slowly and soberly in response to the music. Lucerne’s face, on the other hand, was full of smiles and sparkles ; her eyes, her feet, her body danced to the music, and she swayed this way and that with graceful, joyous motion. ‘You see,” said Coltsfoot, in explanation, ‘Tris has the cares of.a family upon her; re- sponsibility makes her serious and grave.” The air being finished, the children stood in quiet expectation of reward. They were not disappointed ; a good many gave, the gifts being very small. One woman, putting a half- penny into her baby’s hand, caused the little one to bend over to Iris, and directed the gift ; and when Iris kissed the baby, the woman her- self stooped down to the tiny bread-winners, and kissed them in her motherly way. ‘ “y better scene than the last,” said Colts- oot. He did not make himself known to the chil- dren, but he and Sassafras followed them quietly out of the street. When they reached a retired spot Iris paused, and tucking her violin ander her arm, proceeded with a busi- ness air to count their gains. Shenodded and nodded again with satisfaction, and then the two children, with their arms round each other’s necks, walked home singing softly. ‘I should like to say good-by to them,” said Sassafras, wistfully ; “‘I may never see them again.” “Don’t say good-by,” replied Coltsfoot, ‘it makes children sad. Wish them a merr Christmas instead. Besides, we shall see them eg They are coming to the cottage to- night.” sassafras ran after the children, and em- braced them, and when he went away left good wishes behind him, and something more tangible, which he slipped unobserved into Tris’s pocket. As he and Coltsfoot entered the lane in which Ragged Robin and Bluebell lived, sounds of merriment floated toward them. Ragged _Robin’s loud laugh could be plainly heard, and when they were closer to the house, Bluebell’s sweeter voice greeted them. She was singing a simple song of the seasons, and Sassafras and Coltsfoot listened outside until the last line was sung, and then clapped their hands in applause, and cried, ‘ Bravo! bravo!” All the family rushed to the door, and also some neighbors who had been invited. ‘Here they are—here they are!” they shouted; and they had a scramble and a race along the nar- row lane after Coltsfoot and Sassafras, who pre- tended that they wanted to run away. The wrens, in their warm nests in the chimneys, must have been astonished at the noise which awoke them, and as they raised their heads lazily from their beds of brown moss must have looked at each other with an air of ‘t What's all this about?” The Christmas party return- ed to the house ina merry cluster, filling the air with their laughter. Some of the older wrens who were well acquainted with them, doubt- less thought to themselves, ‘‘Ah, that’s Ragged Robin’s ‘Ho! ho! ho!’ harsh, and wild, and unruly ; and that’s his father’s creak, like a door with rusty hinges ; and that’s his mother’s cackle, ‘He! he! he!’ and that is Bluebell’s tender voice—her laugh is like music—let us listen a little longer to it ; and that’s Coltsfoot’s ‘Ha! ha! ha!’--why he laughs like a boy to- night; and that’s Sussafrag’s voice, low and soft. What makes it so sad and pensive? He is generally very merry. Ah, if they knew what we know, they wouldn’t make so free with him!’’ For these discreet old wrens had friends and relations living in the warm chim- aM of the King’s palace, and were in the habit of visiting them very often—being but flighty creatures, as you may guess; and there they had seen Myrtle in his proper form of Prince Sassafras, and consequently knew of the deception he was practicing upon Robin, and Coltsfoot, and Bluebell, and the rest. They chattered about it among themselves. ‘* What does he do it for?” they asked of one another, without being able to furnish a sufficient ex- planation. ‘It is perfectly inexplicable,” said one old wren, who had been born in the royal chimneys—indeed, in the very chimney of the bed-room where Sassafras slept—and whose courtly airs were a sight to behold ; she never came to dinner with her feathers ruffled! ‘It is perfectly inexplicable! I can’t make it out. A prince, who is in the enjoyment of eve luxury, and who has his drawers filled wi silks and laces and furs, toussociate on terms of familiarity with such common persons as. Ragged Robin and his family! With Ragged Robin, who hasn’t a second pair of breeches to”"— “Hush! hush!” interrupted a staid old wren who: looked after the proprieties. ‘To his common legs,” continued the court wren, in a stately way ; ‘‘and with a persom like that Coltsfoot, who teaches a b ¢ to a lot of dirty, ragged brats, and gives medicine and trash toa parcel of old women! Our Prince to associate with such-like! I don’t know what we're coming to!” But an equally outspoken old wren, who had been born in the cottage chimney, and who had lived a happy life there, resented this with spirit. ‘And pray, madam,” she cried to the court wren, ‘‘whoare you that you should think the Prince demeans himself y coming to us for a few hours now and then? And who are you that you should try to take away the character of honest Robin and our good Coltsfoot? Let me tell you that the Prince is never so happy as when he is with us ; I have heard him say so as we were taking away our dinner whick he spread on the sill for us.” The court wren cocked her head dis- dainfully, and looked straight before her into Y | vacancy, as though there were no such bird in existence as the cottage wren. But the cottage wren was not to be put down in this way. “You!” she continued, “with your stuck-up ways and your grand airs! Who are you, I should like to know? Because you happen to be hatched in a royal chimney, you think your- self of more consequence than your betters!” In short, they had a desperate quarrel, which was not confined to themselves, All the other
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3 en birds joined in, and such a chattering and a whistling were heard in the royal chimneys that it was a mercy something dreadful did not occur to the walls. The upshot of it was that a breach occurred in their friendship, and for eight whole days the cottage wrens and the court wrens were not on speaking terms. It must be confessed that when the quarrel was patched up, it was the cottage wrens who had to eat humble pie; they could not resist the only opportunity they had of hearing the de- licious bits of fashionable scandal which the court wrens always had on the tips of their tongues. Well, these cottage wrens heard Ragged Robin and the rest making merry on this Christmas-night, and made their remarks on what was going on. But they did not see everything. The best room in the cottage was lighted up by means of wooden hoops, which were suspended flat from the ceiling, and around the rims of which were stuck Christmas candles of all colors. There were holly and mis- tletoe on the walls, and on the mantel-piece, and over the door, and in the passages, and hanging everywhere from the ceiling, so that there were plenty of opportunities. How many kisses were given it would be impossible to say, for ‘nobody stood on ceremony, and least of all Bluebell, who was fond of being kissed. So the night passed merrily until it was time for Sassafras to leave, and “‘good-by” had not been said. Coltsfoot saw that Sassafras could not gay the word before strangers. ‘‘Tet us walk together down the lane,” he said. ‘*Come, Bluebell, take Myrtle’s hand; come along, Robin; we four will be enough.” He whispered to Sassafras that he would tell the mother and father. They walked down the lane, and at the foot of it Sassafras bade good- by—to Ragged Robin first, who, when he un- derstood that he was about to lose his friend, fairly blubbered, and ran off to hide his grief. ‘Going away!” exclaimed Bluebell. ‘*‘ Where to?” It was a difficult matter to make the little maid understand why it was imperative that Sassafras should go away to foreign countries ; she thought one country was enough to live in, she said. But the word had to be spoken, de- spite her ignorance of necessary things. ‘‘T will never forget you, Bluebell,” said Sassafras, ‘‘and I want you to think a little ae when I am away, and to love mea ittle,” “Pll love you always—always,” said the little maid, her tears flowing freely, for these young tender hearts are easily touched, and suf- fer more than we are aware, ‘‘ and I’ll think of you day and night.” ‘Here is a little present for you that I want you to wear, so that you can’t forget me if you try to.’ He produced avery thin and slender gold chain, of trifling value, at the end of which a small gold heart was attached. He placed the chain round her neck, and kissed her; the pic- ture of her pretty child’s face raised to _his, ‘with the tears swimming in her eyes, and her soft red lips asking for another kiss, recurred to him many and many a time during the years of his travels, and he loved to linger on the memory. The stars were glittering above and around them, and in his memory he never saw ‘Bluebell’s face with the daylight shining on it, but always in a frame-work of stars on such a soft, clear, tender night as this was. ) “ And now, dear lad,” said Coltsfoot, with a strong, firm grasp of the Prince’s hand, ‘‘good- by, and God bless you!” - ) **Good-by,” sobbed Sassafras; ‘‘I never shall forget what you have shown me this day.” y He turned to go, and lingered still, and a few more words were spoken. Then Coltsfoot, with a pain at his heart, left him swiftly and abruptly, and an important chapter in the Prince's life came to an end.’ THE KING OF NO-LAND. CHAPTER V. LIKE WHITE FINGERS BECKONING THE DEAD. Wuere he traveled, and what he saw, there is no room here to describe. When the first pangs of grief were assuaged, he enjoyed with keen pleasure the new scenes through which he passed. New countries, new customs, new com- munities passed before him, as it were, and he kept his eyes open. But it was rarely that a prince traveled as he traveled, with such mod- esty and unostentation. His chief pleasure was to wander from one place to another in an un- pretending way, unknown and unobserved, but not unobserving. He was not outwardly de- monstrative, and his time-servers said among themselves that they were afraid his travels were not doing him any good. ‘They told stories of the travels of other princes and royal personages whose course was marked by the most magnificent display. This town was one blaze of light when a certain prince entered it by night; the houses of that town were festoon- ed with flowers, which hung from every roof and garlanded the thoroughfares. derful entertainment was given in honor of Prince So-and-so, whom the inhabitants had never seen before and never would see again, and for whom they did not care a jot; there all the inhabitants had journeyed out of the town to meet Prince So-and-so, and meeting him when he was within four miles of the gates, ran before his carriage all the way, filling the air with huzzas, and behaving as frantically as they could have behaved if the greatest and most precious blessings which Heaven could | bestow had fallen upon them. How different it was with Prince Sassafras! His most earnest desire was to be allowed to ramble quietly through the strange countries in which he was traveling, and to avoid public display. Often in his wanderings and musings did he see two tiny mites of children playing the violin in the streets of No-land, one with a grave and thought- ful face, the other with a face flushed with delight; often did he conjure up a picture of the woods round about his palace in No-land, and see himself and Coltsfoot walkmg slowly through them, as they had done on that mem- orable Christmas-day, when the beautiful white snow rimmed every leaf and branch with pure and glistening lines; often and often did he see a sweet little face raised to his, set in a frame- work of bright stars, which were scarcely brighter than the tears than shone in the large blue eyes. He fed upon these memories as he grew to manhood; and months and years passed. The seasons marched royally onward; the prim- roses rose from their beds; the violets opened their eyes and peeped through the hedges, making the air fragrant; the buds laughed into blossoms; the hills were crowned with flowers; the golden corn grew gray as the waves of the wind passed over it; the vines were heavy, the leaves grew old and died; the soft snow felland filled the churchyards with white phantoms ; the icicles made the valleys radiant with won- drous beauty. Until one day a courier, with his hair wildly blowing about his face, rode into the midst of the nobles of the suite, and cried, “*The King of No-land is dead!” When they recovered their breath they has- tened to the Prince, and found him lying idly by the side of a laughing brook, to which he was whispering soft and tender words. They approached him humbly and reverently. ‘‘Your Gracious Majesty,” they said, and knelt on one knee before him. He started to his feet and gazed at them with wild eyes. He comprehended the mean- ing of their attitude, and he trembled with fear and awe. ‘*My father ’— and he faltered. They hung their heads, and one or two con- trived to squeeze a tear—Heaven only knows how they managed it—which they allowed to hang upon their eyelashes, so that their new King might see and remember. But he saw nothing real; he stood alone in the midst of tumultuous clouds, He was not even aware Here a won- | that he had waved his attendants away, and that —— had obeyed him. His father was dead ! e could not recall one tender word or look which had ever been bestowed upon him by the dead King, whose state and duties now devolved on himself. Not one. Love between them had been a dead letter. He had often watched the children of peasants playing with their fathers; he had often seen common men carrying their children on their shoulders; he had heard words from mothers’ lips which had thrilled him with tumultuous pain; he had listened to childish prattle which had brought a strange yearning to his heart; he had peeped into cottage windows and seen happy family groups there, and had heard them singing and laughing together. Such a joy he had never tasted. The image of his father as he saw it was the image of a man so gross and fat that he almost groaned as he ‘made a step toward his carriage; a man magnificently dressed, with dozens of glittering orders upon his breast. Orders bestowed upon him because of his deeds in war, of his achievements in art, of his efforts in the cause of humanity? No; bestowed upon him because he was a king, and which would well have graced him had he been worthy of his high position. A man with purple face and hanging cheeks, who drank of the best, who ate of the best, and whose life was one of splendid misery—truly, a man to be sincerely pitied, and more to be pitied because of the splendid opportunities which were his, and which had been so miserably wasted. But this | picture faded from the mind of Sassafras, and raising in its stead an ideal image of his father, Be sank to the ground, ahd shed tears for his Oss. Early the next day he and his retinue turned their faces toward No-land, and when they reached it they found the nation in deep mourn- ing for the bereavement it had sustained. Sas- safras felt a strange thrill as he set foot once more upon his native land. He had leftita boy; he returned to it a man, Whether his heart was changed you will see for yourself as you proceed. But that it was stirred to.tender emotion as he trod the steps of the palace in which his boyhood had been passed may at once be stated. It was evening when he arrived, and saying that he wished to be alone for the night, he left his courtiers abruptly, and strolled out by himself, wrapped in a cloak which con- cealed him from head to foot. Into the woods filled with sweet memories he strolled, and paused before the old elm-tree which he had | climbed for the first time many a year ago. How well he remembered all the incidents of that day: his meeting with Ragged Robin, the changing of their clothes, the delicious minutes he had spent while sittmg in the branches —there they were above him now, but he ~ could hardly fancy what had been so clear to him then, the folding arms waiting to re- ceive him, and the fantastic §, the initial of his name! He saw, however, the tutors and time-servers standing beneath the tree, while he, dressed in Robin’s ragged .clothes, sat in the branches above them; he heard the loud ery of the old courtier as the marble dropped upon his bald pate; he heard the Riot Act read, with its mighty Whereas; and then in memory he scrambled down the tree, and told again the story of Pimpernel. Although it was winter, and the soft snow was falling, he did not feel cold. He made his way slowly to the stream, so bright and beautiful in the sum- mer with its flowery and mossy banks, so white — and solemn now; then he walked in tender, thoughtful mood toward the village where Coltsfoot lived. He did not intend to make himself known; he: wished, for the present, omy to look on the cottage where Bluebell and Ragged Robin lived, and, if possible, to catch a glimpse of the faces of those dear friends. He had to pass a churchyard on his way, and as he approached this place he heard music in the air. I 2 along, satisfied that if he were seen he would not be recognized. The sounds of music grew louder as he approached closer to the church It was night now, and he walked — ¢ }
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25 ae i ¢ a as THE KING OF NO-LAND, ae yard, when he was quite up to it he was|now. He will never take anything from us. hohe nary to find that the ania who were | Before mother died, she kissed him more than playing were playing in that solemn place. It) once, and told us he was the best man that ever must be so, for there were no lights in the| drew breath. Didn’t she say those very words, windows of the quaint old church which over-| Lucerne? The best man that ever drew breath. looked the graves. Sassafras peered into the | And he is. Then mother asked us to come and churchyard to discover the players, but he! play by her grave sometimes, and told us to could not at first distinguish them from the | keep good and be kind to one another.” To tombstones. All those tombstones were cov- | these and other outpourings Sassafras listened ered with soft snow, and some stood firm and | with a full heart, and when he was about to straight, like soldiers on the watch, and some | leave them he asked whether they would let were bent and decrepit, like old, old men whose | him give them a kiss. They held up their ‘ lingering tenderly here and there, and gliding he said. He was speaking to friends of yes- | > ry ba . | had condemned himself to bend and bow until the last breath was out of him. He was com- pelled also to smile for such a length of time together that he felt as if his features were waxed into grin curves, and as if he should never be able to get the wrinkles out of his eye- lids again. All this was very annoying and dis- tasteful to him. According to all human calcn- lation, he ought to have been the happiest of the happy. It is but an additional proof of the perverseness of human nature—although, to be sure, not one more is needed—that he was ag time had come. Three or four trees were in | faces readily, and he kissed them tenderly, and | discontented a mortal as could be found in his the churchyard, and their bare and naked | branches were like white fingers beckoning the | dead. One tree, which was branchless, and whose top was slightly bowed to earth, looked | like a giant ghost in a white shroud. And | round about dea all, and among the trees and | tombstones, floated the strains of the music, | softly away like spirits. Sassafras steppec quietly into the churchyard, and the music came to meet him, and conducted him to the spot where the players stood. There were three | of them, all girls, and they were standing round | anewly-made grave. A singular sensation of | faintness came upon him as he recognized the | children, Iris, Lucerne, and Daisy, and as here- | membered that Coltsfoot was their best friend. | Could it be his grave that they were standing | by? Daisy, the youngest, was the image of | Tris, as he saw her last on Christmas-day, and Tris herself a little woman twelve years of age now, drew her bow across the strings with the same old grave, thoughtful air. They did not ow @ stranger was near them until their mel- ody was finished. Then, seeing a tall shadow close by, they started in alarm, and Iris, with a rapid motion drew Daisy to her side. ‘’ Do not be frightened,” said Sassafras, dis- guising his voice; ‘‘I ama friend. I heard music as I passed, and I came closer to listen. Your name is Iris?” ‘*'Yes, sir.” ** And you are Lucerne ?” Lucerne courtesied. ‘* And this is little Daisy ?” Daisy looked up at the tall shadow without fear ; his kind voice had reassured them. Sas- | safras held outa piece of money to them, but | Iris shrank back, and refused the gift. He un- | derstood at once that they were engaged in a | labor of love, and he put the money into his | ket again. Then hé remembered that when last saw them their mother was ill. “Your mother is well and strong, I hope,” | ter: y ; it did not seem to him that years had | . e . “« Mother is there,” said Iris, pointing to the grave ; ‘‘ we are playing to her, She likes to hear us.” Iris said this quite seriously. The tears came into Sassafras’s eyes; this tribute of love for the dead touched him deeply. ‘“‘ Was this the last air you intended to play?” | he asked. ' _ **No, sir ; mother’s favorite tune is to come.” - “Shall I disturb you ifI remain? If I do, say 60, and I will go answer, Iris tapped gently on her violin with her bow, and the other little ones fell into position immediately, They played for half! an hour, Sassafras standing then, as they walked side by the churchyard, he inquired after his friends. He found that there had been other deaths dur- ing his absence. Bluebell’s father and moth- er were both gone, and she, Robin, Coltsfoot, quietly by; and ‘and his old mother all lived together now in one cottage. ‘‘ We go there often,” said Iris: ‘they were very good to poor mother, who was bedridden for years, and they are — good to us. Weall love them dearly, don’t we Lucerne ? _ —don’t we, Daisy?’ : Pome: yes,” they answered, with eager affec- Di - _ “Coltsfoot used to come,” continued Iris “‘and sit with mother regularly, and Bluebell came often too, and made nice things for us. ~ Lucerne and I know how to read and write; 4 Ooltsfoot taught us, and he is teaching Daisy side softly out of wished them good-night. night,” they said. But he had not gone a dozen yards when a thought occurred to him, and he turned back. Hearing his steps, they stopped, and said, ‘‘Here is the gentleman again.” *““Some one told me,” he said, ‘‘that Blue- bell has a gold chain, _Is it true ?” *‘Oh yes,” replied Iris; ‘‘such a beautiful one! And she wears it regularly every Sunday. And there’s a little gold heart at the end of it. I know, because she has shown me.” *« That’s right,” said Sassafras, ina glad tone. “*Good-night, children, good-night.” But, un- seen by them, he followed them to their humble home, taking upon himself the office of protector to these little ones. Even when they were safely housed he did not depart, but lingered long about the place, thinking of them with tenderness; and an hour afterward, when the two younger children were abed and asleep, he | peeped through a chink in the shutters, im- pelled to do so by the sound of musical chords | which came from within the cottage. There he |saw- Iris partly undressed, tuning her violin | softly, and witha beautifully pensive expression | on her face. | God bless you, little one!” he murmured, }and walked home to his palace with a happy heart. CHAPTER VI. TO GRASP THE JEWELED HAND OF POVERTY. | Sassarras was king, and the loyal subjects of No-land threw up their caps. Things went on as usual, and notwithstanding the difference in the character of the ruler who ruled yesterday, and the ruler who ruled to-day, everything to-day was the same asit was yesterday. Thou- sands of men were butchered in cold blood in | the name of civilization, fortunes were won and lost, swindlers made millions by lies and trick- ery, and strove to earn popularity by spending a little of their stolen money in a public way, and persons earned and lost salvation accord- | ing to circumstances. Sassafras was king. Everybody bowed and bent before him. His nobles listened with fer- vor to every breath he drew. Every beat of his pulse, every look, every motion, was index- ed. When he went to bed and when he rose —when he yawned and when he sighed—how much he ate and how much he drank—when he sneezed, and when he blew his royal nose— every word he spoke, and its inflection—every twinge, every grimace, every start, every smile —were recorded in the royal books by zealous servants for the enlightenment of future gen- | erations. “Dear, dear!” he often exclaimed, ‘ why don’t you let me alone ?” A pimple on his nose, a whitlow on his finger, a corn that troubled him a little, were national calamities. Everybody talked of him, morn- ing, noon, and night, and his ears were contin- rest was given him. If he showed only the tip of his nose in the open air, he was run after, and ae ema at, and cheered and cheered again. “Dear, dear!” he cried, with his fingers in his ears, “what a noise! Is this the normal state of things in the public thoroughfares ? are my subjects always screaming thus ?” And as he rode along he bowed, as he had been taught, this way and that, this way and that, this way and that, until cricks came in his back, and he felt like a miserable dervish who ‘‘Good-night, good- | ually burning. He was public property, and no | f own kingdom of No-land. He had wit, intelligence, imagination, Se goee heart and large sympathies. But he no time to give practical shape to his best im- pulses. The duties of his position were so nu- merous and exacting that he had scarcely a mo- ment he could call his own, wiless he stole it, and then he was told that everything went wrong and was turned topsy-turvy. “‘Tam the pivot, then, my Lord Crabtree,” he said, ‘‘ upon which everything turns?” ‘‘Upon which everything turns, your most gracious Majesty,” gravely assented Lord Crab- tree. ‘‘ You are the sun of the nation, the source of all light, honor, and happiness.” King Sassafras made a movement of impa- tience. He had just breakfasted, and Lord Crabtree, who held the post of Principal and Confidential Worryer, was attending on his roy- al master. ‘*My Lord Crabtree, it is a lovely morning.” **Your Majesty, it is king’s weather.” ‘* Even the weather, then, waits upon me?” ‘* Lord Crabtree moved his hands, expressing, who can doubt it ?” King Sassafras laughed lightly. ‘* King’s weather! Nonsense! | body’s weather.” | Ibis well known, your most gracious Maj- | esty, upon all important occasions, that”—— ‘* That-that-that-that, and there’s an end to it. | Don’t prose. I should like to take a walk, and |pay my respects to Nature—unattended, my Lord Crabtree, unattended. I can speak to her more appropriately when I am alone. I haye been woefully neglectful of the good mother, but she will smile upon me, I have no doubt,” ‘Your Majesty, it is impossible.” ; ‘‘Impossible, my lord! I am speaking of a lady.” ‘** Your Majesty, the lady must wait.” ‘‘My Lord Crabtree, you are insufferably rude.” ** What your most gracious Majesty says can- not be disputed. But your Majesty has forgot- ten. In one hour from this you have to lay the foundation-stone of the great institution for the perpetuation of pauperism,, The cere- mony is most important; it will be a gay sight. The people are eager to see their monarch ; all the big-wigs will be present; eight thousand flags will wave a welcome ; two thousand and five hundred charity children will sing the national anthem "—— ‘In the blessed hope that they may one day find a shelter within the walls which we com- mence to raise this day. Good.” ‘The golden trowel is ready; I have seen it, your Majesty. Itis inlaid with jewels of the first water.” ‘How appropriate to the purpose. to which it is to beapplied! To grasp the jeweled hand of poverty—— Well, as you say, my Lord Crab. tree, the lady must wait. the afternoon.” ‘ “Pardon me, your Majesty. This afternoon you have to preside at a meeting of the Old- ce It is every- ogyarians, to hear the record of the precious discovery made by the Royal Snuff-takers con- cerning the exact date on which the death of King Musty took place.” “King Musty, who reigned in some out-of- the-way place more than three thousand years ago! And the Royal Snuff-takers have been thirty years fixing the date! Drawing salaries all the time, and causing snuff to rise in the market. Precious discovery, indeed! Worthy of my reign ! My Lord Crabtree, answer me a question.” — But I can visit her in ‘
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‘ ure on them. » THE KING @¥ NO-LAND. “T am all ears, your most gracious Maj- e 2 *¢ You are not complimentary to yourself, my lord. Do you think that these thirty years of labor on the part of the Royal Snuff-takers have been profitably spent? Now, do you? Or do you think, as I do, that both the time and mon- ey might have been better applied ?” Lord Crabtree fussed and fidgeted, but could not find words to shape a fitting reply. He ‘made an attempt to evade the subject. ‘* Your most gracix=) Majesty, it is time to dress for the foundation-stone.” ‘*But answer me, my lord. I will put it an- other way. Is not the well-being of those who live to-day of more importance than those who lived three thousand years ago?” Still Lord Crabtree could not reply. He saw that the King was in one of his strange humors, and he was fearful of aggravating it. ‘“Nay, but my Lord Crabtree, I wii be an- swered in some way, or if you cannot answer, I will:make you understand. Come to this win- dow. What do you see?” ‘*Your most gracious Majesty’s private gar- den.” “How does it look? Is it fair to the eye, is it pleasant to every sense?” *¢ Your Majesty, it is a most delightful pros- ect.” . ‘There are flowers there of every kind, you gee. It requires no great stretch of the imagi- nation, my Lord Crabtree, to itnagine that gar- den a kingdom ”—— “Tt isa kingdom, your Majesty,” said Lord Crabtree, thinking that an exhibition of enthu- siasm would please his rovel master—‘‘a king- dom of beauty.” **You are right. It isa kingdom of beauty, and although there arb numbers of the com- monest flowers in it, the eye dwells with pleas- It is, as you see, my lord, peo- pled with grandees and commoners. Alt ~lass ses are represented. Thedamty maiden and the flaunting madam, the prince and the peas- ant, are there. Some are decked out in the most gorgeous colors, some have but two or three modest tints, How sweet those lilacs are! How refreshing those humble wall-flow- ers! There is modesty, there is pride, there is humility, there is arrogance. But observe: modesty thrives, and is beautiful; humbleness is not humiliated. Nothing is trodden down, or crushed into deformity; room and oppor- tunity are given to them to grow up in health and strength, and they all lift their heads after their various temperaments, and enjoy the bless- ings of life. They are Nature’s children, and Nature smiles on all alike. Not so very long ago, my Lord Crabtree, this that we see before us was waste land; now it is civilized, and the living creatures of all grades and degrees with which it is peopled arebrightand happy. What makes them so, my lord ?” Lord Crabtree pondered deeply, and cocked his left eye toward the darkest corner of the royal ceiling; but intelligence did not dawn upon him from that quarter, and he was com- pelled to say : ; **T do not know, your Majesty.” ‘*T will tell you. By the mercy of the good God that reigns over all”—the King bowed his head reverently—‘‘it is the gardeners who make this kingdom fair to the eye and pleasant to every sense, It is they who see that noth- ing is trodden down and crushed into deform- ity; it is they who see that room and good op- portunity are given to all. They attend to their kingdom regularly, devotedly, and wisely every morning and evening. And observe—it is the weakest flowers that receive the greatest care and tenderness. Under that care they grow strong; they thrive, and their lives are pleasant to themselves and to those around them. That garden represents the Present; and the gardeners—Well, if you have any understanding of my parable, you need not me to tell you whom the gardener should repre- sent.” Lord Crabtree, with owlish wisdom, blinked his eyes and nodded his head; but having no comprehension of his royal master’s parable, discreetly spoke nota word. Presently King Sassafras resumed. “The meeting of the Oldfogyarians will be over at six o’clock, will it not, my Lord Crab- tree ?” ‘* At about that hour, your Majesty.” ‘The evening will be pleasant. I will visit my lady then.” ‘‘Has your most gracious Majesty forgotten that you have a State dinner this evening ?” “Truly,” sighed the King, ‘‘I had forgot- ten;” and murmured, ‘‘No rest, no peace! What are those papers ?” ‘‘ This is the speech which your Majesty will read after laying the foundation-stone for the institution for the perpetuation of pauperism. This is the speech which your Majesty will read at the meeting of the Oldfogyarians when the vote of thanks is passed to your Majesty for presiding.” ‘*T see,” observed the King, glancing over the papers, “that in both cases I speak from my heart.” ‘*Very much so, your Majesty.” King Sassafras made a sour face, as if he were swallowing physic, and retired to his pri- vate apartment to prepare himself for the cere- monies. CHAPTER VII. THE THRER SMALL FIDDLERS—IRIS, AND DAISY. Bur, chafing as he did most bitterly at the bondage in which he was held, he contrived to steal a few hours of privacy now and then. In a retired part of the grounds around the palace he ordered a pretty lodge to be built; it was small, and was comfortably fitted up; locks of an ingenious and peculiar fashion were made, and as no one possessed a key but himself, no other person could enter the retreat. He caused it to be distinctly understood that when he went to the lodge he was not, under any pretense whatever, to be disturbed, and so ab- solute and determined was he in this respect that those about him were compelled to obey his command. ‘‘Let me but discover,” he said, with stern emphasis, ‘‘that I am watched or observed, and to recommend him; he was sullen, narrow- : ' minded, insolent, and indescribably dirty in hie habits. Nevertheless, it was deemed n for State reasons to receive and entertai as though in his person were to be found the r “s embodiment of all the virtues and the personi. fication of all those great qualities by which mankind is ennobled. Therefore, this miser-~— able King of Kings was received and worshipped — as though he were truly a God, and if his and arrogance needed strengthe not have come to a better place. ce dered, music played, soldiers marched, ne waved, and the streets were crowded | honor, and as the barbarian was drawn in q e m4 Oe hee”
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f stately carriage here and there to grand enter- tainments, heralded by trumpets, surrounded by obsequious magnificence, his handsome,tawny face, if it can be said to have had any express- sion, bore on it an expression which said, ‘It is well; all this flattering, all this bending, and bowing, all this groveling and fawning prove to me, if I needed proof, that I, the ig- norant barbarian, am something more than hu- man, and that you are as dirt beneath my feet. There are in me divine attributes which you might search for in vain among the hordes of common people who assemble to do me honor.” He wore a hat which blazed with costly dia- monds and other jewels, such as had never be- fore been seen within so small a compass, and those men and women in No-land, who led the fashion and constituted “‘ society,” gazed with awe and worship upon the glittering mass, and many among them would have been glad of the opportunity to fall down and kiss the dirty feet of him who wore them. Not in the most solemn moments, nor on the most sacred occa- sions of their lives, never in their homes nor in their churches, had their minds been filled with such worshipping adoration. CHAPTER VIII. NO EXAMPLE OF MINE SHALL EVER WEAKEN OR DEGRADE IN MY PEOPLE’S EYES THE SANOTITY OF THE MARRIAGE BOND. Te nation was in a state of extreme dejec- tion. King Sassafras was indisposed, and an important céremionial had to be postponed toa future day. Bulletins were flying all over No- land, and a hundred editors were writing lead- ing articles upon the subject of the King’s ill- ness. Fresh editions of all the principal news- papers were published every hour, containing such intelligence as ‘“‘His most gracious Maj- esty remains in the same condition;” ‘* The pain in his most gracious Majesty’s head con- tinues unabated ;” ‘‘ His most gracious Majesty is no worse ;” ‘‘His most gracious Majesty is no better ;” ‘‘ No change to report ;” ‘‘ His most gracious Majesty has eaten his dinner.” In this ‘way the appetite and anxicty of the sub- jects of King Sassafras were in some measure oe ae ; d all this while King Sassafras, quite un- aware of the excitement he was creating, was se a in his sleeve. was shamming illness, not for the first ‘ eye purpose of having a few hours’ tude. He saw no other way of being let one for a short while. There was not the least cause for anxiety. He was as well in health as you and I are, but he was wearied _ almost to death by the fees and ceremonies given in honor of the King of Kings, and in which he had to play so prominent a part. He had during that time been disgusted with himself for having had to do this and that in the way of pumped -up hospitality to this barbarian ; for, entertaining as he did a rofeund contempt for this man, and a pro- d horror of his ideas and notions, Sassa- fras would have been inclined to teach him a different lesson from that which he must have learned during his visit. However, on this int he had, if he wanted any peace, to keep 8 opinion to himself, and he was heartily glad when the barbarian ruler qnitted the shores of No-land, and the absurd and senseless pomp was at an end. ‘ He was alone now in his private apartment. Books and papers were scattered on the floor and onthe sofa on which he was lying. He had been readiag for fully two hours, and his desire that he should be undisturbed had thus far been obéyed. On his features, as he read, ‘were exhibited signs of doubt and perplexity, and he was so deeply interested in his pursuit as not to hear a knock at the door, thrice re- Ree Presently, with caution and timidity, he door was opened. Sate ** Your most ious Majesty "—— ; “Tt was Lord Crabtree who spe ke. The Kin looked up and frowned. Then he remembere that he was sick, and he put his hand to his ‘ . ¥ THE KING OF NO-LAND. sumed an expression of most anxions sym- pathy. ** Your Majesty still suffers, I regret to see.” King Sassafras groaned again, and shifted his position fretfully. ‘*Will your most gracious Majesty see the royal physicians ?” ““No, my lord. Repose is what I require— perfect repose. Solitude is the only medicine that can do me good—with no one to worry me —with no old chatterpate to set my head a- singing.” Lord Crabtree did not take the hint—being too dull, perhaps, to understand it. “The royal physicians have held a consulta- tion upon the state of your Majesty’s health.” “That is the fifth to-day. Dear! dear! Why do they trouble themselves so much ?” ‘*The trouble’s a pleasure,” said Lord Crab- tree, quoting a common form of politeness, and unaware of its inappropriateness on the present occasion. ‘‘They say that your gracious Maj- esty reads too much.” ‘The royal physicians are a set of—very worthy fellows. But tell me, my Lord Crab- tree, should not a king make himself acquaint- ed with what goes on in his kingdom ?” “Tt is scarcely necessary, your Majesty,” re- plied Lord Crabtree ; “vour Majesty is in the happy position of being spared the trouble of thinking. You are surrounded by servants who joyfully take that labor upon themselves.” ‘* Servants such as yourself, my Lord Crab- tree?” ‘Such as myself, your Majesty.” ‘* Servants who cut and measure my life as a tailor cuts and measures his cloth. But we live two lives, my lord.” “T do not understand your gracious Majesty.” ‘* An outer and an inner life. My outer life you may cut, and measure, and snip; but my inner life”—and King Sassafras touched his head and his heart—‘‘ it is my own, and notape of yours shall measure it.” Lord Crabtree bowed, vainly striving to ban- ish the look of alarm which had overspread his features when King Sassafras had touched his forehead. ‘*' Therefore,” continued the King, ‘‘ I deem it necessary to learn what my subjects are do- ing—how arts and learning progress, or wheth- er they do progress—how my subjects amuse themselves—what changes are being made in the social life—whether the people are con- tented—and what views are held by different classes. How am I to gain this knowledge? But through one medium that I can see— printed paper. Books and newspapers. See —here they are.” Sassafras looked round wearily, and repeated, ‘‘ Books and newspa- pers! Books and nowspapers! My Lord Crabtree, they are sufficient to drive a weak mind to idiocy. I have read and read until I am fairly bewildered. The fever of this life is too much for me. Iam racked with anxiety. Iam torn to pieces by doubt. The past and the future weigh me down. What now is the present to me? Yesterday I was a monkey, and to-morrow I shall have no coals to burn.” Sassafras walked about the room with a dis- turbed air; but presently, seeing Lord Orab- tree’s anxious eyes watching him, he laughed merrily, and clapping the old nobleman on the shoulder, said, in a gay tone, **Never mind my wild words, my lord; kings must have their humors.” ‘* Your Majesty’s merry mood delights me.” ‘‘A true courtier’s speech. But come, my lord, you had a motive in intruding upon me.” ‘‘Indeed your Majesty, if I might make so bold” —— “To the point, my lord; Your motive ?” But it was impossible for Lord Crabtree to come to the point without going round about. It is the way of such. “If it might please your Majesty to forgive your loyal servant and subject”—— ‘* You are forgiven. Proceed.” to the point. _ head, and groaned. Lor Crabtree’s face as-| ‘‘ I would humbly crave an audience to speak Ti: with your Majesty privately upon a subject most important to yourself and to the nation —a vital subject, your Majesty.” ‘Therefore an unpleasant one.” ‘Not at all, your Majesty,” said Lord Crab. tree, with a giggle. ‘‘Pleasant and joyful! Pleasant and joyful !” ‘Pleasant and joyful! Name it.” With a preparatory smack of his lips, Lord Crabtree replied : ‘*Marriage.”’ King Sassafras looked thoughtfully and grave. ly at his Confidential Worryer. ‘*A pleasant and sacred subject, my lord. I will listen to what you have to say.” The King settled himself comfortably in an easy-chair. Lord Crabtree thus encouraged, cleared his throat, and proceeded : ‘* Your most gracious Majesty’s health is not good,” ‘Truly, my lord; I suffer much. What has that to do with the subject in hand?” ‘Your Majesty, marriage is good for the health.” ‘Ah! andI am to take it as if it were a il.’’ ‘* Your Majesty’s wit is transcendent. Will your Majesty, looking upon me for the nonce in the light of a physician—and I may consider myself one on this subject, having lived matri- monially for seven-and-twenty-years—conde- scend to explain to me the ordinary symptoms of your sickness ?” ‘““My symptoms! Let me my lord, a general weariness.” ‘*Good—good. A disinclination for society.” ‘*Especially for society that bores me. A desire for solitude—a wish that I could shut the door upon the world, and be let alone. Then an inclination to make myself disagree- able, from which Iam sure, my lord, you have suffered much. Then a general peevishness, and a tendency to believe that most things are wrong.” ‘As I expected, your Majesty. A complete disorganization of the system.” ‘Precisely. Leading me to take distorted views of things. As, for instance, that absurd comparison of mine the other day concerning the Garden and the Present. You must have been much astonished, my lord, at my wild words.” “‘T was, your Majesty, I was. Ihave thought seriously and deeply upon your Majesty's re- marks alice that garden—have put all my mind to them—and I have been unable to arrive at an understanding of them.” “I do not wonder at it, my lord. Are my symptoms such as you imagined ?” ‘Your Majesty, they tally exactly with the diagnosis { have made of your Majesty's health. And the royal physicians are with me.” In this way Lord Crabtree placed himself above the royal physicians. ‘*And you still prescribe”—— ‘‘Marriage, your Majesty. The pleasantest medicine !” ‘* Have you found it so, my lord ?” Lord Crabtree winced slightly. ~ ‘*Lady Crabtree and I are of one mind upon that, your Majesty. Nothing could have been better—nothing could have been better.” But his voice was not remarkable for cheerfulness as he made the declaration. ‘I desire no greater happiness,” said King Sassafras, in a musing tone, ‘‘ than to mate with one to whom my heart is drawn. A partner- ship of hearts and souls, my lord, as well as of hands. Heaven upon earth must be realized in the perfect joy of such an union.” Lord Crabtree listened with delight. All was going on swimmingly. : ‘“‘The wisest man, your Majesty, that ever lived” —— The fussy, fidgety manner of Lord Crabtree changed the King’s humor. ‘*Surely the man lives not in my kingdom, my lord! His name ?” “The great King Solemon, your Majesty. He, who knew how to rightly estimate all things, spoke in favor of matrimony.” ‘*Gave his vote for it. I can not call to think. First,
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oa language, nor I a word of hers. - ferent circumstances of our lives, from the op- | posite natures of the peoples over whom her 13 THE KING OF NO-LAND. mind -the manner or the matter of his testi-| by that sweet sentiment which humanizes the | they should be, their wisest course at present | was to humor his eccentric Majesty. When the mony.” “Did he not say that a virtuons woman was a crown of something to her husband ? get the precise words.” “Something in the jewel way, doubtless, as @ woman was in question. He should have known the value of a wife. He had a thousand who ought to have stood to him in that con- nection.” ‘‘Has your Majesty ever given the matter a thought?” inquired Lord Crabtree. ‘‘T have, my lord; many and many a dream have I indulged in, in which I have pictured the pure delights which wait on mutual love. Is it possible that such happiness can ever be mine?” He rose and paced the room with an_ agitated air. ‘*‘Canit ever, ever be? Oram I doomed to be denied the sweetest blessing which life contains? My lord, Ican see the woman I ‘would fain call my queen ?” ‘¢ See her, your Majesty !” and Lord Crabtree looked about him anxiously, in the fear that some fair nymph was concealed behind the cur- tains. ‘She is, hore, my lord,” said King Sassafras, touching his forehead, and, relieved of his fears, Lord Crabtree gavea sigh of relief. ‘‘If one could find her now! And if there was no ob- stacle in the way?” He paused before Lord Crabtree, and the old courtier leaned forward, and rubbed his hands to and fro upon his knees, and clucked like an old hen. ‘‘ What obstacle can there be in the way, your Majesty? What other gentleman in the world can choose as your Majesty can choose, | with the certainty of being blessed? Not that but the lady willbe much more blessed. happy, happy lady! A queen whom all will envy !” more vigorously upon his shaky old knees, King Sassafras gazed upon him with suspicion. *T do not. understand, my lord.” ‘* If one could find her now !” chuckled Lord | That | Crabtree. ‘‘ If one could find her now! is what your Majesty said. He! he! he!” And having had his wheezy oid laugh out, Lord Crabtree whispered confidentially, ‘‘ Your Ma- jesty, we have found her !” The King started back, and his face grew | pale. “< You have found her!” he echoed. Lord Crabtree was so enthusiastic in his pur- | von that he did not observe the expression on | is royal master’s countenance. ‘‘We have found her, your Majesty! A Princess in whose veins runs the blood of half. a "hundred kings, A Princess whose lineage’ will add honor and luster even to the House of Sassafras. A Princess who”—— “Stop, my lord. Of what lady are you reg “The Princess Calla, your Majesty, whom you met, doubtless, in your travels, A girl, then; a woman now. A Princess out of a thousand, your Majesty! Happy, happy day!” ‘Say no more, my lord,” cried the King, haughtily. ‘‘ So! you have measured even this part of my life for me. This is the union of hearts and souls that you propose tome. Why, my lord, you must think me a very puppet, or something worse! fer I never met in my travels; she never saw me, nor‘I her. I know her, of course, as does all the world, as the daughter of a great king, | and that is all. She speaks not a word of my royal father and I reign, it is almost impossible that we can have one sentiment in common. Our laws are different; our institutions are different; our religions are different. I love my country; I love my people, cut off from | them as it seems tome Iam. What would the world be but for love? and amI to be deprived of it because I had the misfortune to be born a ince? If I met with one of my own people in whose breast dwells all that is pure and good vand innocent, and to whom my heart is drawn I for- | A ’ And Lord Crabtree rubbed his hands | The lady to whom you re- | From the dif- | | world, why should I not mate with her?” Lord Crabtree clasped his hands, with a cry of dismay which he could not check, and the | King, whose last words had been addressed to his own soul, as it were, said sternly : ‘‘Mark me, my lord. This part of my life shall not be measured for me. When I marry, I choose for myself.” ‘Tt is against all precedent, your Majesty,” whimpered Lord Crabtree, in anguish. ‘I beg, I implore your Majesty to reflect.” ‘*No reflection is necessary. Why should I be deprived of a man’s dearest privilege? My lord, I will dispense with your further attend- ance to-day.” “*T entreat your most allow me one more word.” ** Quickly then.” “Tf any lady has been happy enough to at- gracious Majesty to ‘tract your Majesty’s notice,’”’ said Lord Crab- tree, his head wagging from one side to the other, in deep distress; *‘ if your Majesty’s eye has been captivated by beauty—we old men know from experience how hard it is to restrain young blood” —(the King stamped his foot im- patiently)—‘‘if yovr Majesty has any private attachment” “Well, my lord! What then ?” Lord Crabtree was in agony. The King’s last words seemed to admit of the existence of a private attachment. The old lord had a thought to express, but he did not know how | to shape it in words. ** Your Do not commit yourself. ‘* Speak plainly, my lord. private attachment. Say that I have met a lady whom I love. Well?” “Your Majesty,” said, Lord Crabtree, with tears in his eyes, ‘‘ would not surely think— think of—of” --— ‘*Of what, my lord? Majesty, consider I implore you. Do nothing rash.” Court newsman asked Lord Crabtree what he should say in his daily report concerning the | . rs . movements of the King, he was told to write: ‘*His Majesty walked in the royal grounds.”’ sut this line was repeated so many times when Sassafras was not seen in, the royal grounds, that it set tongues a-wagging even among the attendants, and it began to be a saying, when anyone was on a sly expedition, that he was walking in the royal grounds. A bit of gossip, with the favor of scandal in it, is as delightful to a duchess as to a waslicrwoman. Some of them even went so far as to wink at each other, and to touch their noses with their fore- fingers. But these palace tongues wagged discreetly, and a sort of freemasonry was established in the winking of eyes and the touching of noses, to which only the select were admitted. Out- side the palace, tongues, eyes, and noses were not so discreet. Numbers of people were busy putting two and two together, as the saying is. The saying was not sufficiently explicit in this instance, for instead of putting two aud two, the gossipers and tittle-tattlers were busy putting on and one together. And one was Sassafras.and one wasalady. The presence of Sassafras was always necessary for the correct | doing of the sum; the lady was sometimes changed. The misfortune was that all sorts of things got mixed up together in consequence. One thing leads to another, it is true, but thera is often not the slightest relationship between | one and another. Say that I have a | Speak out, like a man.” | ‘ Of marrying, your Majesty? Your Majesty | would not surely think of that?” “The King’s eyes glittered. ‘‘ What else should I think of with reference to a woman whom I love?” tree, wringing his hands, ‘‘ Anything—any- thing! Women are easily satisfied. What mis a woman not give for a king’s smile, for a king’s embrace! Your Majesty does not know—the honor of the royal notice—even, if the worst came to the worst, a morganatic mar- riage, easily managed, your Majesty, easily ”"—— But Lord Crabtree was obliged to pause in his floundering speech. ‘The King’s strong hand had grasped his shoulder so firmly that 1} ageeago. gl Rerw di iy alae mes ikese ° | for they poked them everywhere, especially in winced with pain. ‘Enough, my lord,” said Sassafras, in clear, scornful tones. assurance. No example of mine shall éver | weaken or degrade in my people’s eyes the sanc- | | tity of the marriage bond. Tam but aman, and _in this am no better than the humblest of my subjects. What would be crime in him is crime in me. the part of priests and laymen can make it oth- The sham of a left-handed marriage When I marry, ' ' / . | erwise. shall not rest upon my name. | shall be in it.” CHAPTER IX. THE QUAMOCLITS AND THE WHORTLEBERRIES. spent more time than ever in his private lodge, and it was quite a common thing for the lords- | in-waiting to be informed three and four times a week that his Majesty had gone to his lodge, and had given orders that he was not to be dis- ‘turbed. The lodge began to be talked about, and queer things were said concerning it. With reference to the King’s conduct and his grow- ing desire for seclusion, the lords-in-waiting, ‘with Lord Orabtree at their head, decided in consultation that although matters were not as / ‘“‘ Anything, your Majesty ” cried Lord Crab- | No convenient winking of the eyes on | I marry with my right hand. And my heart | From the date of this conversation Sassafras | It had been intended that the proposed mat- rimonial alliance between King Sassafras and the Princess Calla should be kept a profonnd secret ; but somehow or other the news leaked out, and it was spread abroad that his Majesty declined to entertain the proposal. The news- papers of good repute said as Jittle about it as possible, for political reasons, but the matter 'was not allowed to die out because they were | silent. There resided in No-land a very prolific tribe, whose family name was Quamoclit. Great numbers of the members of this family were to be found in every town, city, and hamlet of the kingdom, The smallest villages were not free from them. Their prying eyes were.ii every street, and so powerful were those eyes _ that they could pierce stone walls, and see what was going on inside: their tongues Pat ent every corner; they stopped at every conv post, and touched noses, with a knowing air.. These Quamoclits made grand use of their noses, those places where they were least wanted.’ “T forbid you to speak anoth- | They scented the news of the King’s refusal to er word, Leave me; and take with you this | contract an alliance with the Prinecss Calla as bees scent honey, and the owners of these clever features went round and about whispering to each other, and making friends of each other's |buttons, which they contenrplated with pensive |affection as they tittle-tattled. So the King would not marry! they said to one another. Strange! was it not? (Here they winked.) — There must be a reason for it, Oh yes; there must be a reason for it. Do you know? Hm! Do you? (Here they touched their noses.) Well, we have heard something. Indeed! But it must not be repeated—no, not for the world. It was strange, and the more one thought of it the stranger it was. His Majesty was often absent from the palace now! (Here they looked mysteriously at one another.) Indeed! Oh yes; for hours together. Perhaps he was in the palace all the while! Perhaps. Hm! hm! hm? Even Lord Crabtree was, kept in the dark. Curious! was it not? Then there is that lodge which he will allow no one but himself to enter. What tales thore walls could tell if they could speak! Very mysterious; — very. A lady in the case. (Here they winked, — and touched their noses, and looked knowingly atone another, all at one time.) Hush-sh-sh! — How can you? Well, we did hear yesterday that hm! hm! hm! You won't tell anybody, ers ra
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ee _ nn In strict | controlling his agitation, ‘‘ Sassafras ? be, will you? I had it from—hm! hm! confidence, you know.” Thus they talked and whispered, and as our ingenious brethren in the West would doubtless the turning of nouns into verbs. But these Quamoclits did still greater mis- chief. Some of them had newspapers of their own, or were employed upon newspapers, and = THE KING OF NO-LAND, | do you think of him ?” ‘*T have never seen him,” ‘* But,” insisted Sassafras, ‘‘ you have your say, inuendoed. For our Western brethren— | idea concerning him. What do you think of who have also their Quamoclits—are great at him?” ‘At the best,” replied Coltsfoot, shrugging ‘his shoulders, ‘‘ he is nothing more than a pup- pet. the King’s refusal of the hand of the Princess | and special correspondence. They stretched it Calla was a pet theme in their leading articles | wantonly as they would a piece of India-rub- | ber, until they made rents and holes in it. In a@ very short time it was twisted out of all re-| /in similar terms; a larger number would be semblance to itself. There was another tribe in No-land to whom this dish was like the-spice of Arabia. Whortle- berry was the name of this tribe. These Whor- tleberries also possessed a newspaper or two, and in the columns of their papers the dish was served up in a hundred ways, with the very hottest seasoning. Some of these papers fell into the hands of King Sassafras. Some of the remarks which ledge. ** Good God !” he cried. I can be such a monster ?” Stung in the tenderest part of him—his man- hood—he threw aside all counsel, and in direct ‘**Tsit possible that Worryers, he read and studied what was written about him, was distressed. The more he heard the more he grieved. Had he, in his royal station, pos- sessed a friend like Coltsfoot, he might have turned some of the experience he was gaining - his life as his father had done. He blushed that he, above all other men, was watched over by a special Providence, and that he was hedged round by divinity. **Tf this be true,” he mused, “‘I am some- thing more than human.” He trembled from sensitive shame, for he knew that it was false. ‘* And yet,” -he thought, pursuing his reflec- *‘ did not the barbarian ruler who lately . ited No-land arrogate to himself the awful i King of Kings? It is monstrous—mon- sand wicked! be held by the Greatand Merciful King who rules over all.” s aay held up as a kind of sacred symbol—if he set aside (as he did with scorn) the idea that his ty *. men, he was filled with just indignation by what he read concerning himself in the papers owned by the Whortleberries. According to these organs, he was either the feeblest fool that ever breathed, with soul so warped by the ursuit of sensual and sensuous pleasure as to deaf and blind to the misery which surround- ed him, or he was directly responsible and ac- countable for all the evil and suffermg which existed in the land. . “Tf either of these be true,” he mused with troubled soul, ‘‘I am indeed less than human .—more akin to brute than man.” He said to Coltsfoot: ‘* What is your opinion of kings, Coltsfoot ?” = nl ie ie a) ie oe gaan ale sete a dea Lae sey ‘ ~ y ~ aie . ‘plc mor, bug he happened to be so upon this oc- casion. Leas. “T myself,” he said, with alight laugh, ‘‘hap- pened to put that very question once to an ami- able cynic. He answered that they were nec- essary evils.” _-_ Every nerve in Sassafras’s body tingled, quiv- j& ered with pain. Although Coltsfoot had but repeated the words of another man, and al- though he had spoken lightly, a slight dash of scorn in the speaker’s tone tinged them with a _. personal bitterness. we ‘*Of our King, now.” continued Sassafras ae aaee opposition to the advice of his Confidential | The more. he read the more he} Tt was rarely that Coltsfoot was in a light hu- | ‘more violent in the were made concerning him came to his know-_ to good account; but he was surrounded by | flatterers and fawners and court parasites, who | would have been well content to see him spend | when he was told that his person was sacred, | Surely that title can only | rights were more divine than those of other | Set aside the pomp and glitter which sur- round him, and he becomes, in himself and by himself, utterly insignificant.” The tone of indifference in which this was | uttered stung Sassafras more deeply even than Coltsfoot’s previous utterance. ‘Ts your opinion general?” he asked. ‘““No; some few would express themselves same direction. On the other hand, there are many thousands who re- gard King Sassafras with an admiration which approaches idolatry. There are ladies in the fashionable world who would think it no ex- travagance to kiss the ground he walks upon, and who see in him qualities so transcendent as to seriously warp their moral sense. To their minds, a king sanctifies whatever he touches. Let me tell you a story that is ecur- rent. Some years since a prince of another land was sent upon his travels. He wasa per- son distinguished for good humor and amiabil- ity of disposition. He traveled the world, and opportunities were given to him of seeing what no other man had seen in a lifetime, and he | was received everywhere with grand demon- strations, and was cordially welcomed. In a certain flourishing city, a dependency of the ‘empire of which he was a representative, the fashionable men and women—especially the latter—went almost mad in the ecstasy of their admiration. Towels that he wiped his hands upon were torn into fragments, and the pieces were taken home by the ladies as relics: the ends of the cigarettes he smoked were picked | up as he threw them away, and religiously pre- served, It would be the same, I doubt not, with our own King Sassafras. He is to them a _ visible god, whom they worship, not with in- } But if he mentally protested against being | difference and languor, as most of them wor- ship in the churches, but with an enthusiasm which is as lamentable as it is extravagant.” | Coltsfoot paused for a few moments; his light mood had passed away, and he was now serious and thoughtful. ‘‘It may be said by many un- prejudiced lookers-on that these are harmless follies; I differ from them. ‘The persons who practice them are seriously in earnest, and they belong to the classes which setthe fashions for the people—the fashions in conduct and behay- ior at home and in the streets—the fashions in dress (in itself an educator), and even in mor- als, a convertible word, unfortunately, nowa- days. ‘The lowly are taught always to aspire, to look up, and they look up to these persons and aspire to their follies. I would promote mirth, pleasure, and rational enjoyment by ev- ery means in my power; but I would set my heel upon these sinful extravaganees which are practiced by persons whose education and posi- tion should teach them how to make better use of the advantages they enjoy. ‘There are in life sweeter fashions than these to follow.” ‘*Is the King to blame for all these things?” said Sassafras, with downcast looks. “*He is but a young man,” replied Coltsfoot ; *‘it would be most unjust to say that he is re- sponsible forthe bad systems which have grown out of the lust for pleasure and ease. He is much to be pitied.” ** Truly,” said Sassafras, gravely. ‘‘I think so, too, See here what they say about him.” Coltsfoot read the slanders in the paper which Sassafras handed to him, and said: ‘‘'This is one of the reasons why I think the King is to be pitied. I have often seen the person who edits this paper.” ‘‘Ts he in earnest ? Is he sincere ?” inquired Sassafras, anxiously. **T should be sorry to shake hands with him,” replied Coltsfoot. ‘‘ He does what pays him best. Before he became a paper politician, he gained a name among the poor and ignorant | quieter, sweeter theme invites us. 5 What | by writing lewd stories—stories which strike at the very foundation of morality, and which are a disgrace to the literature of No-land. But the people have worthier champions than he, and some of their cheap weekly papers which I could name, and which circulate largely among them, are doing honest and wholesome | work, which is bearing good fruit to-day, and, will bear better by-and-by. But enough of \this. Let us go and see our little fiddlers.” / © * 7 7 > * * * Turn we from these troublesome matters. A While the wild winds are raging in one place, light breezes float in another, where the storm-tossed soul can find repose. Cast your eyes over the world, and | you will see in the same moment the white snow falling and the bright rose unfolding its leaves | —the brown leaves fluttering to the ground in | the sad, pensive light of an evening in autumn, and the green branches, with the dew glisten- ing upon them, laughing into bud in the light | of a sweet, fresh morning in spring. CHAPTER X. } | SWEET IS THE AIR NOW AND FOREVER; HEART WHISPERS LOW, CHANGE WILL COME NEVER ! | Tue old country lane is sweet with the fra- | grance of a bright midsummer. The hedge- rows are beautiful in their luxuriance of wild rose, bluebell, and honeysuckle. Myriad tiny blossoms, with eyes of scarlet and purple and gold, are peeping out beneath the richly laden thickets, and smiling in the face of the drowsy clouds. Here and there are clusters of tiny silver eyes. Ata little distance they look like pure white tears. They might be, for before the sun rose this morning the rain fell. And as it fell it stirred everything into life, and brought out the most precious odors of all the sweet- smelling plants. When the fragrant air, on its way to the clouds, reached the nests of the wak- ing birds, they stretched their wings and bathed in it, piping their blithest notes. In a very small and very old cottage, se cov- ered with ivy and moss as to warrant the fancy that it must have grown out of the earth ‘as the flowers and trees do, sits an old woman shelling peas. Every now and then she looks out of window. A yellow basin is in her lap, and the freshly gathered young peas are in a wicker basket by her side; her brown, bony fingers never cease from their task. ‘The window by which she is sitting is open, and she is within arm’s reach of a young girl, who sits in the cot- tage porch in a frame-work of creeping honeysuckle. The twining plants bend about her and above her wooingly. She is as fair as the summer day, as sweet as the air which steals through the porch to kiss her, and then wanders on rejoicing. Her pretty lips are parted, so that you may catch a glimpse of her pearly teeth; the light in her soft and luminous eyes seems to be turn- ed inward, as thongh she is looking on hersoul; a happy sigh escapes her bosom now and then. She is day-dreaming, but it would not be possi- ble to picture her dreams. composed of sweet, warm color, which makes the present and the future beautiful and peace- ful, say that summer is in her soul, and all is said that can be said. RTA Her name is Bluebell. name of the old woman. In this rustic cottage dwell four persons: Spring and Winter, in the persons of Bluebell and Dame Endive; Coltsfoot, Dame Endive’s son ; and Ragged Robin, Bluebell’s brother, | There are four rooms in “the cottage—two | above, two below. The room above the porch, | the window of which, with its closely latticed | panes, you see peeping out of its green nest, is the bedroom occupied by Bluebell and Dame Endive. The room behind that which looks Dashé Endive is the the peas have been gathered, is the sleeping- room of ragged Robin. Coltsfoot sleeps in a Say that they are down upon a small kitchen-garden from which wort we ¢
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ia . THE KING OF NO-LAND, little room behind his schoolhouse, which is not a great distance from the cottage. Bluebell is making baskets with slender reeds and willows and differently colored grasses; she is very cunning and clever in the weaving of them, and seems to invest them with something of her own grace and beauty and freshness. They are very fragile, and require delicate handling; but they are so pretty that Dame Endive finds a ready sale for them in the mar- ket that is held once a week about two miles distant from the cottage. Ladies buy them as well as country-women, and they grace many a drawing-room round about. Dame Endive, who has led a hard-working, industrious life, is very happy to have something to do in her old age—something, too, that brings in money towards the expenses of the household. The baskets are light, and easy to carry, and on the market-day Bluebell hangs them about the old woman’s, breast and shoulders, and she starts in the early morning, a living net-work of bright, moving color. The baskets are of various shapes —very fantastic, some of them—and as the old woman moves slowly along, assisted by her crutch-stick, she makes quite a picture. When she stops to rest, the birds hover about her, and some who have grown familiar with her are bold enough to perch upon the baskets that hang from the old woman’s back, and enjoy 4 ride without paying for it. ‘* The day is beautiful, my dear,” pipes Dame Endive from her window. Bluebell awakes from her dream, and nods and smiles. She is as beautiful and as happy as the day. She wearsa light cotton dress, with a small lilac sprig; her hair has escaped from its confinement, and garlands her neck. Dame Endive’s cotton dress is of a darker hue, and her white hair is inclosed in a cap as white. This, although itis the middle of the week, os a gala day. Eighteen years ago Bluebell was rm. ‘Ooltsfoot will give his school-children a half-holiday,” says Dame Endive, in her shrill voice. ‘‘How do you know, mother?” asks Blue- bell. ‘‘Did he tell you ?” » ‘*No, my dear; buthe’ll doit. I don’t need my son to tell methings. I can read him, though I can’t read print, and though my old eyes are not as good as they were.” Her old eyes are now, in fact, peering down the road for her son, who is not due for a long time yet. It wants an hour to noon, and half an hour after noon the dinner will be ready, and then the rest of the day will be nt in uiet holiday fashion in honor of . Bluebell. m Bluebell gathers up her work, and goes into the cottage to look after the dinner, Be- fore she quits the porch she also looks down the lane. “Do you see him coming, my dear?” asks the old woman. Bluebell blushes, and shakesherhead. When she is inside the cottage, Dame Endive grows garrulous over the virtues and accomplishments of her son, and dilates with pardonablée pride ‘me the estimatign in which he is held by who know him. Bluebell listens, and says "Yes, yes,” to everything the old woman ad- ‘vances, and Dame Endive gazes on her with secret delight and pleasure. Ooltsfoot and Robin come. Each has flowers for Bluebell. She selects two of the prettiest, one from each bunch, and twines them in her hair. Robin is a strong, sun-burned man now. Woodman as he is, he Naohes to the thinking elasses, for he has his grievance—that two shillings a week more, which is to set every- . thing right. He gives Bluebellasounding kiss, and wipes his lips afterwards. A strong yearn- ing comes into Coltsfoot’s face as he takes Blue- bell’s hand in his, and wishes her joy. As he . stands thus, his old mother calls out: ‘* What! and not kiss her on such a day as this? Well, if I was a man!” Whereupon Bluebell holds up her face, and ze touches her cheek with his lips. The old woman cackles and laughs. ‘ i) “May your life contain much brightness, Bluebell !” says Coltsfoot, tenderly. She answers sweetly, and bustles about to hide a tear. Joy and melancholy hold subtle relationship with each other. Along the fragrant country lane, in the di- rection of the cottage, Sassafras is strolling. When he is within hail of it, he pauses and looks fondly about him. The beauty of nature sinks into his soul, and breathes peace into it. He sighs with a sense of relief, as he thinks that he is here, unknown and free, away from the cares and griefs which weigh so heavily upon him. ‘‘ Has any other man,” he mur- murs, ‘‘ever so fully appreciated the pleasures of obscurity?” The reflection inspires the shadow of serious thought. He shakes it off. ‘‘Thank God,” he says, “to-day I am not a king!” He approvches nearer to the cottage; enters the porch. They within see his face at the window, and they all smile a welcome. Blue- bell runs to open the door for him. He also has a flower for her; it is a rose-bud with a small piece of rosemary attached. She places it in her bosom, and in a few minutes they are all seated down to dinner, and Sassafras is declar- ing that the peas are the sweetest that he has ever tasted.” ‘‘And I'll wager,” he says, ‘‘that I know | who gathered them.” ‘Yes, yes,” cackles the old woman, ‘‘Blue- bell gathered them. My old joints are stiff. | I can’t stoop as I used to.” Robin is full of a subject which interests him hugely. For some time past there had been rumors that the laborers in No-land—those who | tilled and ploughed—were becoming dissatisfied with their condition, and that very week news hadcome thatin a village hard by thirty of them had refused to do any more work for their mas- ters, the farmers, unless they had two shillings a week more. Robin shows himself to be quite a politician.as he descants upon this theme, but the others decline to he drawn into conversation upon the subject. Sassafras certainly says that for his part he thinks he should like te bea woodman. Bluebell’s eyes sparkle. ‘* Eh,” says Robin, ‘‘ but your hands are too soft.” ‘ They would soon grow hard,” replies Sas- safras. Then Robin recalls the day on which they had first met, and tells, for the hundredth time, what a queer chap he thought Sassafras was. 4 Ho didn't know naught,” cries Robin, with asnap of his fingers; ‘he was the ignorant- est chap J ever clapped eyes on!” After dinner they sat in the porch, talking. Sassafras listens, and says very little. He sits next to Bluebell, and this for him is sufficient happiness, There isto him something sacred in the very touch of this young girl’s cotton dress; and if their fingers meet—as they do sometimes—every nerve in him thrills. Rob- in succeeds in drawing Coltsfoot out upon his pet theme. Coltsfoot, who knows the exact state of affairs, sympathizes with the men, and wishes that their reasonable demands had been complied with. Their condition he describes as lamentable. ‘They are waking up now. though-” shouts Robin triumphantly. ‘* But notwithstanding that they have reason and justice on their side,” observes Coltsfoot, ‘they have a hard battle to fight. The issue in the end can not be doubted, but they will have to suffer. One does not need much for comfort and happiness in this world, and a man can do very well ona little; but these men certainly have not enough, and certainly are most unfairly paid for their labor. We'll say no more on the subject; this is not the day for its discussion.” In the afternoon they stroll through the fields and the woods, und Robin and Bluebell point out many wonders by the way. They are the happiest of the happy. Coltsfoot’s usually grave face breaks into smiles, and he joins in the in- nocent merriment with the light spirits of a boy. ‘*T know where there is an echo,” says Sas safras ‘‘Let us go there,” cries Bluebell, clapping her hands. They make their way through tangled brush- wood, Sassafras leading: Now and then he turns, and assists Bluebell. Wigh her hand in his he helps her to overcome obstacles. ‘Eternity must be filled with wuch days as this,” he says. Bluebell sighs a happy assent. Now and then Sassafras runs to help Dame Endive. ‘*'Thank you, my dear,” she says‘ ‘it is fit that the young should help the old.” ‘* Coltsfoot hears this. ‘‘ You are right, moth- er,” he says; ‘‘and the rich, the poor; the wise, the ignorent.” ‘Too much wisdom is a dangerous thing,” observed Sassafras. He is in the humor to say any daring thing. Now they are standing on a slight elevation. A few hundred yards away, where the land slopes toward a wood, rich with the richest treasures of the seasons, lies echo-land. Thitherward they walk briskly, and in another moment the inspired hollow speaks and laughs and sings. ‘‘Hush!” calls out Sassafras, with assumed solemnity. | ‘Hush !” responds the hollow, solemnly. They gather about Sassafras. Coltsfoot re gards him and Bluebell attentively; Bluebell has eyes for noone but him; Dame Endive, leaning on her cruch-stick, peers up at him from beneath her spectacles; Robin waves his arms,, and is about to utter some wild words, when Sassafras, with his fingers on his lips, says, almost in a whisper— “Speak low, or the old fellow will hear ou?” ‘“What old fellow?” asks Robin, with a laugh. “The old fellow who is hiding behind that clump of trees beyond. Did you not hear him call out to us to hush? You look incredulous. Because you do not see him, you think there is ;no old fellow there. But I declare he is there —an old, gray-haired man, with serious eyes andalong beard. He bade us hush, because we were too merry. He has been there ever so many hundred of years. The wood is haunted, and the old gray-beard is but one of a great ee ee: Se on army of spirits who retreat into the hollows at. _ the first sound of human footsteps. His voice is harsh and strong, but he has children whose softer voices mock the sighing wind as it | past them.” ‘‘ A pretty fancy,” says Coltsfoot, regarding ‘Sassafras with tender interest, and yet with a strange admixture of seriousness.” A solemn look is in Bluebell’s eyes as Sassa- fras describes the echo-king, and eabatras: see- ing this, breaks into a laugh, which is so con- tagious that, like magic, the hollow is filled with merry sound. ‘‘Hark!” he cries, holding up again a warn- — ing finger. ‘‘ Those are the young spirits who are laughing. ‘There are merry ones and old ones, if you could only see them.’ a4 ‘‘ What are they like ?” asks Bluebell, bending toward him, her face flushed with excitement. ‘© What are they like ?” ‘Some of them are almost as pretty as Blue- bell here. They have sparkling eyes, and in | the golden hair which floats down to their feet sun-sparkles chase each other. In the summer ‘they sing with the birds. It is they who drink | the dew from the leaves.” ‘And in the winter?” “They bind their hair with garlands of hol- ly and Fo and enchant into beautiful de- vices the hoar-frost on the branches of the trees. They peep into the icicles, and melt them with the fire of their eyes. laugh, they laugh and are happy. old fellow with the long beard shivers and grunts and stamps his feet and blows upon his fingers, I like best to hear the young spirits. One night we will come here pale watch them when they do not think we are looking.” _ Then Sassafras turns to Bluebell, and asks in If they hear any one . Then the ‘ ;
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THE KING OF NO-LAND. PO Wo ee SA ee CY le ooo ooo e—eeea——eooauwuw_=s] ‘“"There is a fairer world eyen than this,” sho | grief, and in the midst of his own happiness his a tender tone if she will sing a song, and Blue- bell in a sweet voice sings, and the hollow echoes her song, but not so sweetly : “ All things are facr ; Natkre rejoices ; Valley and hill Thrill with sweet voices— All things-are fair. ~ “ Sweet is the air Now and forever ; Heart whispers low, Change will come never— All things are fair. “Look where I will, Sunlight’s bright glances Fill me with joy How my heart dances |! All things are fair." * That is my son’s song,” says Dame Endive Sassafras, with a proud look at Coltsfoot ; ‘*he wrote it for Bluebell.” ** Your son is a poet.” ‘‘He is anything he likes,” responds the fond mother; “he knows a mighty deal. He’s a man; there isn’t a clevererin No-land. Where he got all his learning from, gracious only knows, for I’m no scholar. But knowl- edge comes to him as seeks, I suppose. Ah, the nights he sat up when he was a boy!” “You must not credit all that my mother says about me,” says Coltsfoot joining them. ‘Mothers are overfond. I guess she is speak- ing of me.” ‘“Tisn’t me, my son,” says Dame Endive ‘**tig him. He says you're a poet, and he says right. He’s a lad of sense.” Coltsfoét shakes his head. ‘‘Because of my simple lines? Nay, if there is a poet among us, it is our dear friend here, who just woven such pretty fancies out of the echoes. Thereis nothing fanciful in my reverses. They fit Bluebell. All things are fair to her. I wrote them when I was in a happy, hopeful mood. He utters these last words in a saddened tone, which, as the breeze awakes the lyre, stirs the mother’s heart, and causes her to look with sudden apprehension into the face of her son; from his face her eye wanders to the face of Sassafras, and a frowning light shines in them. Coltsfoot, self-engrossed in painful thought, does not observe these signs. ‘* Come, mother,” he says, ‘‘you and I willstroll quietly to sme shady nook, and sit there: I ‘want to talk to you where there are no echoes.” “« Ay, my son,” she replies, tenderly and pit- ously; ‘a mother’s love’ll not fail you.” ~ Mother and son walk away; Robin is wan- dering by himself in the woods; Sassafras and Bluebell are left alone. ‘*This sweetest of days,” murmurs Sassafras, in a tone which trembles from excess of feeling, “has filled my life with tender memories,” They walk slowly, as in a dream, and Blue- bell presently seats herself upon the mossed outspreading trunk of agrand old tree; Sassa- fras lies on the ground at her feet. A spiritual beauty dwells in Bluebell’s face: her soul is in perfect harmony with the beauty of the day. Her hands are resting on her lap; Sassafras, timidly and with beating heart, lays his hand upon hers, and softly imprisons it. She trem- bles and looks down, but she does not shrink from him. Her pure soul trusts in him utter- ly. Thus they sit in silence for fully half an hour, which seems but a few moments, the time flies so swiftly, But when a falling leaf, or the fluttering of a bird’s wings, disturbs the fine current of her waking dream, Bluebell sees the eyes of Sassafras gazing so earnestly and tenderly into hers that @ new-born joy awakes in her heart, and her gentle breast is stirred by an emotion so exquisitely sweet as to border al- most upon pain. : - “Tf it wereso, Bluebell,” whispered Sassafras; *if it were so! Now and forever, heart whis- pers low, change will,come never! If change would never come! we could remain thus forever! How fair, how beautiful is the ‘world |” Bluebell looks upward. says, softly. ‘* T could kneel at your feet, and pray.” He does kneel at her feet, and clasps her hands, which she yields willingly to him. ‘* If during the moments that are now pass- ing we ourselves should pass away, then death would surely be beautiful.” ‘‘Why speak of death?” says Bluebell. *‘Why wish for it? The world is very good. God saw that it was so.” They fall into silence again for a brief space; but the lengthening shadows of the trees warn Sassafras that they must soon depart. He rais- es himself closer to Bluebell, and invites her to stroll to a peep of sunlight in thedistance. They walk hand in hand toward a small glade; the trees, which form a semicircle, throw quaint shadows on the ground. ‘One can fancy the echo-spirits dancing here,” saysSassafras. ‘‘Ona moonlight night the shadows of the trees moving in the wind would present a strange and weird-like appear- ance. Bluebell, I have not wished you happy returns of the day. I doso now, dear. May they all be as happy as this has been!” She thanks him sweetly, and says that it is not to be expected. Life has its duties and cares; she knows this, not from her own expe- rience, for every-body is very good to her, but from what Coltsfoot has told her. ‘* Yes,” he says, ‘‘life has its cares and du- ties. But if love sweetens them ’—— What words are spoken immediately after these, neither of them ever remembers, except that he tells her he loves her, and that she, in perfect innocence and trustfulness, gives her- self up to him; then, with his arms around her dear form, he kisses her lips for the first time, and they walk slowly homeward to the cottage, with a heaven of happiness in their hearts. The changing color of the clouds, the cooing of the birds, the worshipful swaying and murmur- ing of the branches, the fluttering of the leaves, and the other beautiful evidences of a benefi- cent Creator which proclaim themselves where- ever the lovers look or tread, seem to smile upon them, to be made for them. So they wander back to the old country lane, Sassafras leading Bluebell over tangled brush-wood, and beneath bending branches which cling to the young girl’s hair as though they are loath to lose her, Later in the evening, Bluebell and Sassafras stood side by side within the shadow of the cottage porch. It was time for them to part, and still they tarried, saying good-night again and again. The moon came out, and shone upon an orange-tree in the little garden; eyes of pale golden light gleamed among the branches. ‘*You must go, you must g," Bluebell whis- pered, and still she clung to him. _ At length she turned from him with linger- ing steps. **Good-night,” she said. ** Good-night, darling ! You are mine now, mine!” ‘“* Yes, Iam yours,” she sighed, happily. He bent his head, and they kissed. Then Bluebell glided swiftly from his embrace and went into the house, and Sassafras, stepping into the light, saw Dame Endive watchi fim She was standing a few paces away, silk thoes was trouble in her eyes. Sassafras was uncer- tain how to act, but she decided for him. ‘Come into the kitchen,” said the old wo- man, ‘‘and speak low, so that she shall not hear God protect. you! 5. He followed her into the sanded kitchen, and the old woman laid her crutch aside, and sat down, with face averted from him. When she turned, he saw tears running down her old cheeks. «This is the first time, dame,” he said; “TI did not know until to-day that she loved me.” Dame Endive swayed to and froin deep dis- tress, and a feeble wail escaped from her. ‘Oh, my son! my son!” she moaned. Sassafras knew immediately the cause of her heart grew heavy. ‘‘ He loved her !” she said, in a suppressed tone, with jealous fierceness, ‘‘ And you knew it—you knew it !” ‘‘Nay, dame,” he answered, with a spasm in | his throat, ‘‘I did not knowit. Alas! my best and only friend !” ‘*You are no friend of his,” hissed Dame } Endive. ‘“‘ You are a thief, and you have stolen his happiness! She would have loved him but foryou. Oh, why did you comeamong us—why didyou come? I hate you—I hate you! And if you teil him I said so, I'll die, and course you with my dying breath.” “Pll nottell him,” said Sassafras pityingly; ‘‘but do not think so Where is Coltsfoot?” ‘*He bade me see you before you left. He wishes to speak to you. You will find himinthe lane.” ““T will gotohim. Good-night, dame.” But she waved him fiercely away, and as he left the room he heard hér again moan, ‘‘Oh, my son! my son!” Coltsfoot was waiting for Sassafras. The two men regarded each other with earnest looks. Neither strove to hide his thoughts from the her. But Coltsfoot was the more cheerful of the two. ‘Ah !” he said, ‘‘my mother has given you more than my simple message.” ‘*She told me you wished to see me.” ‘‘She told you something more.” Sassafras was silent. ‘‘ Well, I would rather she had not spoken; but you must forgive the mother. Old age has its weaknesses. When we are old men, we shall perhaps babble indiscreetly. And then, dear friend, a mother does not reason.” ‘‘Why was I fated to bring vnhappiness into the life of my friend?” cried Sassafras, mournfully ; ‘‘into the life of the man whom I love and honor more than all others in the world ?” ‘It is pleasant to me to hear those words. We cannot control circumstances. I have in- dulged a hope, and it is not to be realized; but, thank God, she does not know’!’ He put this in the form of a question which Sassafras might be able to answer. aaa think she does not know,” said Sassafras, y- ‘‘That is well. Tell me. She loves you? Your silence is a sufficient answer. And you— you love her?” \ ‘With all my soul,” replied Sassafras; buf you have a prior claim”——. “‘ Nay,” interrupted Coltsfoot, gently ; ‘there is but one consideration for us—her happiness, If you were to desert her now, it would break her heart. I have known and watched her frong her infancy, and I can be, as I have ever been, a brother to her. Dear Bluebell’ dear sister! A purer mind, a sweeter heart, doeg not exist.” He paused for a moment or two. ‘Only in the cause of one whom I look upon as a sacred trust, and through whose innocence and purity human nature becomes ennobled, ently and y of me. would I use the words I now am about tospeak. © But it is unfortunately becoming the fashion of the time to hold many a pure and sacred : thing in light esteem. You have won the love of a good woman; it is asacred and priceless blessing. I have held you as my friend; shall I hold you so still ?” ‘** Prove me.” “‘T will. You have told Bluebell that you love her, and you have received a confession of love from her dear lips. have wooed and won her in full earnest sincerity of heart and mind—as true wooes and wins a good woman, whom he will soon take to his heart as his wife, and to whom he will be faithful till death separates them.” ‘* In that way I have wooed Bluebell—as God, is my judge! ‘Thank God! Youare morethan my friend —you are my brother, Take my hand, and de not fear to trust me. Assure me that you - I cam bear my sorrow | - / 1 oe » 3 a
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/ 36 THE KiNG OF NO-LAND. more easily now. Dear lad! you are worthy of her love!” CHAPTER XI. ‘““xow,” SAID THE KING, STEPPING CLOSE TO THE PRISONER, ‘‘AS MAN TO MAN!” At about this period signs of political disturb- ance were becoming somewhat alarmingly prominent in No-land. There were in the kingdom certain persons who were conscien- tiously dissatisfied with the form of government under which they lived, and under which they undoubtedly enjoyed many advantages of which the people of other nations were not in posses- sion. ‘These Reformers, as they styled them- selves, sprang chiefly from the ranks of the people, and were proud of the association of a few fine minds from the higher classes of so- ciety. “Notwithstanding their opinions, they were good citizens; they were hard workers, they led peaceable lives, and reasoned out mat- ters for themselves, according to their lights, in a calm and sensible manner. But, unfortunately for their cause, it was surrounded by excrescences which gave it an unwholesome ap ce. The Quamoclits and Whortleberries of No-land fastened them- selves to it, and the consequence was that a thimbleful of common-sense was hidden ina gallon of bubble and froth. The one great in- stitution, of course, which was the object of general attack was the institution of Royalty. ‘Do away with kings and queens,” said the agitators; ‘‘destroy the false theory that be- cause & man is born into Royalty it is impera- tive he should be maintained in costly and idle luxuriance by a down-trodden people; and the misery and distress which now overwhelm the nation will disappear as smoke does before the wind.” Everything seemed to favor the agi- tators. The value of money had decreased in No-land, and~all the necessaries of life were steadily rising in price, so that it took thirty shillings to buy to-day what twenty shillings would have purchased twenty years ago. The workingmen, as a natural consequence, asked’ for higher wages, which in every in- stance was refused tothem. ‘‘Ah,” groaned the Quamoclits and Whortleberries, ‘‘ crushed, oppressed, ground down again! Poor, suffer- ing masses, when will you obtain your rights?” ‘* We'll work no longer,” c1ied the working- men, ‘‘until we are fairly paid for our work.” The masters still resisted, and the men left the workshops. Convinced that their demands were. fair and reasonable, the hearts of these men turned bitter toward those of the higher orders who employed them, and they were, in # measure, driven into demagogism., In this way the Quamoclits and Whortleberries gained many recruits. Other strikes in other parts of the country occured. The agricultural laborers rose, and demanded their rightsasmen. A dis- closure of the circumstances of their lives from their cradles to their graves showed a miserable state of things; they were ignorant, muddle- headed, underpaid, and they lived through all their lives in the worst form of slavery which man can suffer—in a state of helpless pauperism. When the history of No-land comes to be writ- ten by a competent and,impartial person (if His- tory is ever written in any but a partisan spirit) the condition of the kingdom of No-land, so far as concerns these matters, will be more fully di- lated upon; in the meantime the few proceed- ing lines must be accepted as a faithful, if not a. satisfactory, index to the state of affairs. Sassafras, seeking for guidance among his councilors, and for an honest solution of these troubles, was temporized with and lightly put off. He was bidden not to vex himself with these small concerns. - Yet they were not entirely indifferent to the signs of the times. ‘‘Measures must be adopt- ed,” they said to one another, ‘‘ to counteract ‘the influence of these small agitators. The sentiment of loyalty must be stirred into active life in the breasts of the people. The King must go about more than he does.” Sassafras submitted to them; he went about'| for your pratection, as Inow can understand. more; his soul was -wearied with pageants; |At other times my limbs are free. and one day, as he sat in his carriage, he was | shot at. The bullet missed him, but his heart was sorely wounded. ‘‘How my people must hate me!” he thought, with bitterness. The loyal papers bristled with indignation, and with expressions of love and devotion for his person; they denounced the would-be assassin as a mon- ster, whose name would be infamous through all time; and as usual they went to violent ex- tremes. Sassafras read all these papers, and even insisted upon privately seeing the monster who had attempted his life.” **Your Majesty!” implored Lord Crabtree, ‘*such a thing was never heard of in history!” ‘Ts there such a thing as the history of the human heart?” demanded Sassafras, bitterly. ‘*T decline any longer to be guided by prece- dents of which neither my heart nor my con- | science can approve. I will see this man.” ‘*He is a monster of the deepest dye,” en- treated Lord Crabtree, in melodramatic lan- guage; ‘‘nay, perhaps a madman”—— “The more is he to be pitied,” said Sassa- fras, firmly. ‘‘ Your remonstrances are useless, my lord. I will see him.” But king as he was he would have been un- able to carry out his design had he not promised that he would not disclose to the man that he was the King. This promise he gave—and broke. At the door of the cell he halted, and would not allow a single person to enter with him. When he closed the door, he saw before him, seated by a table which was fastened to the ground, a man in rags, with a wild and hag- gard face. ‘‘Do you know me?” asked Sassafras ‘*No,” was the reply. **T am the King.” The man looked at Sassafras steadily, with a frown on his face. ‘*T am sorry for you,” he said. ‘* And not for yourself ?” ‘‘No; I have nothing to reproach myself with,” ‘‘Not for attempting the life of one whose face you do not know when you look upon it?” .‘fI did not shoot at the man; I shot at the King. If I had succeeded, there would have been a king less in the world.” ‘** You hate kings ?” **T hate them.” ‘¢ They say you are mad.” ‘*So I have heard; they might be right—by- and-by; they are not quite right at present.” He pressed his hand upon his forehead as though to crush back oppressive thought. ‘‘I am trying to keep my reason; I may lose it soon.” ‘There was not the slightest wandering in his speech, and his features were firm set; but it was evident that it was only by the strongest effort of will that he retained his composure. He was a man of forty years of age. ‘* Tt is a great honor,” he said, with a scorn- ful smile, ‘‘for me to receive a visit from a king. May I ask for what purpose you come.” ‘*To appeal to you,” answered Sassafras, earnestly ; ‘‘to ask you what wrong I have done you, that you should attempt my life. I do not know you; I have never seen your face before to-day; your name is strange to me. Tell me in what way I have wrongea you.” There was a pause of a few moments’ dura- tion. ‘« You come to appeal to me!” then said the prisoner, ‘‘ You!” ‘*Yes; as man to man.” A laugh that was like a groan escaped from the prisoner’s lips. ‘** Look you!” he said, fiercely battling down his agitation; ‘‘if you destroy my conscious- ness of right, I shall go mad before your eyes. Come closer to me; Ido not know what I am about to say, but there are listeners outside that door, andI do not choose that they shall hear me. Oh, do not fear! I cannot harm you. See; they have chained me to the leg of that table, and I cannot move six inches from the seat, It was done an hour before you came, My hands also are handcuffed. You can approach me with safety.” Sassafras went to the doorof the cell, and threw it open. ‘* My interview is not yet at an end,” he said to the attendants. ‘‘ Where is the jailer? Re- move that man’s chains and °unclasp -his hands.” They hesitated to obey him; but he would not be denied. The prisoner’s limbs were set free; the door of the cell was closed again, and only they two were within the four walls. ‘*Now,” said Sassafras, stepping close to the prisoner, ‘‘as man to man.” The prisoner turned deathly white, and his form trembled; thus he stood before Sassafras, uncertain how to act, uncertain what to say. ‘* Have you a wife,” asked Sassafras, The prisoner suppressed a spasmodic cry. ‘Thad; she is dead, thank God !” “Children?” asked Sassafras ,in a soft and pitying tone. e ‘‘T had one; he is dead, thank God !” ‘¢ You thank God for those affiictions ? ” ‘* Ay, most sincerely. You appeal to me, as man to man. You want me to tell you what wrong you haye done me. Beitso. I will tell you. Not long since I was a married man, with a wife whom I loved, and who, I believed, loved me. ‘Two years after our marriage she bore a child. I was a workman on the estate of a cer- tain nobleman whose name would blister my tongue were I to utter it; if you ask the police —to whom I am well known—they will tell you hisname. He holds high rank in your court ; his name is mentioned in the papers frequently with credit, What wonder? he is a nobleman. His son came of age; there were great feasts on the estate. My wife and I were present, with every other person who was connected in anyway with this nobleman’s property. .My wife was a pretty woman. I have never seen a prettier. This nobleman’s son spoke to me, to her—he did us greater honor, he danced with her in the evening at the ball given to the tenants and the work-people. See you now; no word of sen- timent or passion shall pass my lips; I will tell you my story reasonably and coldly. It is fair that I should say that i never cared for kings and queens; but having my work to do, and being fairly happy, I did not enter deeply into the question; it is no business of mine, thought I. Well, then, so it was, until this young eub came of age, and courted my wife by stealth, and turned her head. At the end of twelve months she left me, secretly ; I was not allowed to remain long in doubt as tothe man. Iwent to the father; he received me civilly enough. ‘ What do you want?’ he asked, when he had heard my complaint. ‘Justice,’ I re- plied. What other reply couldI give? I can see now that it was not a practical demand ; but I was blind at that time. I asked him to tell me where I could find his son; he refused. I spoke hotly, and he not recognizing that I had justification for my passion in the wrong his son had inflicted upon me, turnedme from his doors. I forget now whether I threatened him ; I think I must have done so, for not only was I dismissed from my employment, but from that day I was conscious that I was being watched by the police as a dangerous person. Thad saved a little money, and I went'to the lawyers for justice. Well, I could expose this viper, and disgrace him. I was mistaken. other side spent a hundred. Where I had one lawyer, they had ten. You couldn’t see justice through their black gowns. My money was soon spent, and my lawyer said he could not proceed without means. I don’t blame: the lawyer ; I blame the machinery. And yet the lawyers are the manufacturers. The road to justice should be smooth to rich and poor alike. It isnot. It is a rocky road, and a rich man can pay for the removal or the placing of ob- stacles, while a poor man’s heart is broken be- fore he walks a dozen yards toward the Shadow of Justice that stands in the distance. -‘ Fight What kind of justice? Where I spent one erg the. , eee oe + ek
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_ Out of its desperate tangle. THE KING OF NO-LAND, for me,’ says this shadow. But the odds should be equal. What occurs when twelve armed men fight one? I wrote to the papers; they took no notice, I wrote to persons in author- ity; I received no answer. My heart was turn- ing bitter, and I was beginning to starve, for I could obtain no employment. While in this condition I met the young viper, smiling, well dressed, enjoying life. Inflamed—justly inflamed—I struck him, not lightly. I was dragged to the police court, and imprisoned for three months. [ saw the case in the papers afterward, with the heading, ‘Savage as- sault ona young gentleman.’ I came out of prison, and I made the acquaintance of an old man, a Republican. Still did I think fT might obtain justice. He laughed at me, and taunted me with the holes in my pockets. “Be a scoundrel and rich,’ he said, ‘and you shall eat of the best. Be a scoundrel and poor, and you shall live on prison fare.’ Iwas now a. suspected person, The eyes of the police were never off me; yet I did not relax my éfforts. I wrote again and again to judges, to law-officers, to noblemen, asking for justice, ask- ing that the man who had ruined me should be punished. Silence was my answer. ‘ Will you never believe,” said my friend, ‘that there is one law for the poor and another for the rich in No-land?” Then he showed me, in plain print, how the complex machinery of the law was made to defeat justice when two men appeared before the tribunal, one with a full, the other with an empty, purse; he showed me how, after @ case appeared to be settled and a decision was given, rules for new motions, new trials, injunc- tions, arguments, and God knows what all, ‘were setin motion, until the weakest went to the wall! ‘And observe,’ he said, ‘these obstacles to justice are not open to the poor man, for they are so beautifully framed as to cost much money.’ He showed me more than this: he showed how the judges in one court upset the decisions of the judges in another ; how they all sat together again, and agreed upon a second judgment; and how a judge in a higher court reversed their judgment, and so complicated the case that it would cost thou- sands of pounds before the matter could be got But I weary myself with these details. My heart was sore; my soul was sick; my body was enfeebled by want. I was brought to the police court again for writ- - img what they [called threatening letters. The magistra te paid me acompliment. He said, ‘I am sorry to see a man who can express himself 80 well conduct himself so disgracefully ; but so- ciety must be protected—three months.’ You see what a misfortune it was to me that my par- ents had given me an education. Can you tell me, up to this point of my career, of what crime I had been guilty ? “What will you do now?’ asked my friend, at the end of the three months. ‘There is but one source to appeal to now,’ I answered; ‘I will appeal tothe head of all; I will appeal to the King.’ I sat down, and wrote a fair statement of my case, and sent itto the King of No-land. Silence. I wrote again. Silence. Again, again, again ! Si- Jence, silence, silence!. I might as well have asked the stars to answer me, The King was as far removed from his. people as they are. ‘Well?’ saidmy friend. I could not an- swer him; I was almost choked with rage *So,’ he said, scornfully, ‘you appealed to the King in the cause of virtue and morality! You thought that in that general cause he would take up your case. You fool! Do you think ' he is a respecter of women? And then he re- ' Jated incidents in the King’s licentious life which proved to me how vain it was for me to appeal for justice there. My friend worked _upon this theme until, looking upon the King as the head of these evils, I grew to hate him with deep unquenchable hate. My child died literally of starvation. I thanked the King for it. My wife died. Ithanked the King for it, Want was my portion; sleep deserted me, I thanked the King for it. ‘Shall I die,’ I asked of myself, ‘and end my pain?’ Yes, I decided that I would. But I would first rid the world of a monster, and avenge myself, I made the attempt and failed; I am more than satisfied now to say good-by to the world and its mon- strous cruelties. And if there bea judgment- seat in the hereafter, I will appear before it, and tell my story there.” He ceased, and silence reigned for many mo- ments; the hearts of both these men were sorely agitated—one with passion and despair, the other with grief and commiseration. ‘* The stories you heard about me are false,” said Sassafras, very sadly, when he was able to control his emotion ; ‘‘ I never saw one of your letters. I pity you from my heart.” The man turned his face doggedly to the wall, and rested hishead upon his arm. Sas- safras waited for the man to speak, but he wait- ed in vain. He continuedthen, scarce knowing what he said, but his words were very gentle, and were such as one might have spoken toa brother. Still the man remained obdurate and hid his face. ‘Can I do nothing for you?” asked Sassa- fras. ‘** You can,” then replied the man, turning his haggard face to the King ; ‘‘ two things,” ** Tell me what they are.” ** You will do them ?” ‘* Tf itis in my power.” ‘Tt is in your power. First, let the judges condemn me to instant death. I want to die. Let no false clemency be shown to me, and do not allow me in my condition to be condemned to a worse torture than death—to a life-im- prisonment, where I may eat my heart away. Tam not mad: Iam sane as you or they are. Second, remove yourself from my presence, and mock me no longer with your pitying words. They come too late !” CHAPTER XII. THE KING NARRATES TO THE COURT PARASITES THE PARABLE OF THE TREES. Arter this interview, so deep a meélancholy took possession of Sassafras as to augur the most serious results if measures were not adopt- ed to counteract it. He wandered about the palace, pale, dejected, and suffering. He was at war with himself and the world. His coun- cillors cudgeled their brains to provide amuse- ment for him which would divert his mind from melancholy, but all their efforts to woo him to cheerfulness were vainly made. At this time if my own personal happiness were not consulf- ed in the proposed alliance.” ‘‘ But itis your Majesty,” they protested; ‘itis. Can not you see it?” ‘‘No, I cannot see it,” he continued, in a steady tone. ‘‘ Even, as I said, if my own per- sonal happiness were not consulted in this pro- posed alliance, and I was willing to sacrifice it —which let me tell you plainly, I am not, my lords (there is a certain matter of which you are in ignorance in which my honor is concern- ed—even then my marriage with this lady could not cast oil upon these troubled waters. Whether you are aware of it or not, I have lately in- terested myself in looking into certain matters which have much disturbed me, There are, in my opinion,. grievances existing in No-land which should not be left to remedy themselves in the course of time, but which claim—impera- | tively claim—to be examined and judged at | once on their own grounds. The best thing |to be done is for us to hear in person what these Quamoclits and Whortleberries have to say.” Thereupon ensued such a clamor ‘as was never before heard in the Cabinet. They were aghast at the suggestion. They looked at each other with pale and inflamed faces, according to their temperaments. What! The King in his sacred person—who was the people by symbol of right and might, and power and glory —toso far forget his position as to receive these common agitators! All precedent would be outraged by such a proceeding. The King interrupted them here. ‘“Precedent! precedent! precedent!” “he cried. ‘*And are we to be forever governed by those we have, and never make a new one out of our enlarged knowledge and advancing civilization? Are we forever to be turned from the contemplation of a course which we conceived to be right, because it has never been trodden before ?” They adopted another line of defense. They said that the proceedings of the Quamoclits and Whortleberries were not worthy of high notice ; that the members of their societies and associ- ations were of the very lowest class. \ ** But tell me,” said the King, ‘‘are not-four- fifths of my people of the lowest-class ?” Th: y were compelled to admit that this was 80 be legislated for—the many or the few?” Still they insisted that the persons spoken of they themselves began to be a little disturbed | belonged to the rabble, whom it would be folly by the proceedings of the Quamoclits and Whor- tleberries, and they decided that there was but one means by which this slight disaffection might be overcome, and the personal condition to recognize. ‘*But,” he demanded, “what if they force themselves upon your recognition ?” ‘*They have not forced themselves upon of their sovereign improved: the King musi | ours,” they replied, loftily. marry. The rejoicing attendant upon such an Upon which he related tothem what he term- occasion would be certain to restore the fading | ed ‘‘The Parable of the Trees.” They made a list of all loyalty of the people. Princess This, the available foreign princesses. Princess That, Princess T’other. They selected | stantly to the skies. one in every way fit, according to their opinion, and called a private Cabinet Council, at which the King was present, and at which the subject was brought forward. They used the most powerful arguments in their endeavor to prevail upon him ; they implored him to consider that an alliance with the princess they had decided upon would strengthen his throne, and would not only contribute to his happiness but would be a death-blow to the agitators who were bring- ing dissension into the kingdom. On mention of these agitators, the King spoke, for the first time with animation. ‘* Tt is fitting that this matter should be no- ticed,” he said: ‘it isa serious one.” ‘‘Nay, nay, ® trifle,” observed one and an- other, not wishing to attach too much import- ance to it. : ; He joined issue with them at once, to their great annoyance. ‘¢I dissent entirely from the estimate you form of these agitations. I dissent entirely from the view you take of the result of an al- liance with the princess you mention—whom I believe to be a good and virtuous lady. Even ‘In a fine and fertile tract of land a number of tall trees stood, with their heads raised con- At their feet languished an infinite variety of small flowers and shrubs, whose numbers, in comparison with the trees, were as ten thousand to one. Without any thought of their humbler brethren, these lofty trees grew and grew, and spread their branches wider and wider, until, in course of time, they absorbed all the light and air which it was in the power of nature to bestow. upon our condition,’ cried the smaller flowers, ‘and keep yourselves’ within bounds, so that we may enjoy a fair share of the sweet light | and fresh breezes, which are as necessary to our well-being as to yours.’ But the trees, whose pride had lifted them so high, were now almost out of hearing of the humbler residents of the wood, and as they never condescended to cast their eyes downward, they were in ignorance of the sad condition of the lower growth; and even when, in consequence of the increasing clamor of the multitude for | light and air, the complaints reached their ears, they lifted their heads still higher to the skies. The multitude increased in if not in beauty, and with the necessity of liv- ing strong upon them, wound themselves, from “Well, then,” he continued, “who should Look down
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‘ oS] THE KING OF NO-LAND. very force of circumstances, round about the roots of the trees, and made such intoads into the earth as to sap the foundations of their powerful brethren—for they were all members of onefamily. ‘Give us room,’ they continued to cry; ‘give us opportunity ; give us at least fair play.’ Still the trees turned a deaf ear, and scornfully continued their way, with no fear for their own safety. They thought that what had been always would be. But one day a great storm burst over their heads, and they had become so weakened by the proceedings ot the multitude and their own pride that they had not strength to withstand it; They tot- tered and fell, crushing to death thousands of their humbler brethren in their fall. But they _ fell, never to rise again.” Not one of the councilors could see the slightest application in this parable, to which | nevertheless they were bound to listen withfre- spect. They renewed their solicitations ; they begged the King to reconsider his decision. The harder they begged, the more obdurate he became, He rose and said: ‘My lords, in three days from this I shall receive the Quamoclitsand Whortleberries, and shall listen to what they have to say.” Then he left them. All the foolish ones be- to talk at once; the more sensible were * silent, and drummed on the table with their fingers in great perplexity. ‘He is in earnest ; he means it,” said one. “T am afraid,” said another, in a cautious whisper, tapping his forehead, ‘‘ that all is not right here.” ‘Hush, hush, my lords!” remonstrated Lerd Orabtree; ‘‘your lordships have over- looked something. His Majesty, when speak- ing of his marriage, said that his happiness was not consulted in this proposed allance ; and then he uttered these remarkable words: ‘ There is a certain matter of which you are in a in which my honor is concerned.’ ow what do these words portend? What, my lords, but that there is a lady in the ease 2” They smiled; except *» the mind of Lord this was not a serious matter. ‘‘ Oh, that is easily arranged,’ they said to one an- other. A prelate, aigh in the Church, was present; and be, by his silence, acquiesced in the easy view they took of the matter. Nota word had he to say in opposition. ‘* But,” said Lord Crabtree, ‘‘ suppose his Majesty contemplates anything serious.” ‘‘Nonsense, nonsense,” they exclaimed ; ‘*such a thing is impossible—unheard of.” ** Still,” continued Lord Crabtree, ‘‘ if your lordships will empower me to speak to his Maj- esty upon the subject” ‘‘ Yes, yes; speak to him,” they said, before they broke up, ‘‘and show how easily these matters can be settled both to his and the lady’s satisfaction.” Lord Crabtree waited upon his Majesty, and explained that he had been commissioned to with reference te a few words that had + senate from his Majesty’s lips. He was not allowed, however, to proceed far. ‘“‘T have heard your views on this subject before to-day,” said Sassafras; ‘‘they are un- changed, I presume.” ‘They are the views of the whole body of your councilors, your Majesty,” replied Lord Orabtree. ‘* Let me put a case to you,” said Sassafras, ‘a case that occurs to my mind justnow. Say that a king—any king; select an imaginary one, if it pleases you—loved a lady far below him in position, but far above him in all those higher qualities which religion teaches us are ‘of more precious value than wealth or worldly station. Say that she was intelligent, modest, truthful, innocent and pure; say that in her unsullied breast resided those qualities of per- feet goodness which bring human nature as near as it can be brought to the divine attri- butes. Say shat she loved the king, and that he loved her. Could he marry her!” ““Only in one way, your Majesty,” replied Lord Crabtree. ‘There is but one way of marrying,” said Sassafras, sternly, ‘‘and I ask you whether in| ling pictures. this right way, sanctioned by God and by the words of his priests, this king could marry this woman ?” ‘‘T am glad,” said Lord Crabtree, tremulous- Not new ones; old as the hilis almost were they, but they were faithful tran- scriptions. Here, the very extreme of physical want and destitution ; there, the very extreme of undeserved luxury and ease. Ignorance, ly and gravely, ‘‘ that your Majesty has put | crime, and squaloron the one side; intellectu- before me only a supposititous case. Indeed, it could not be otherwise.” ** Answer me plainly, my lord.” “Such a marriage would be distinctly im- possible, your Majesty.” ‘* That is enough, my lord; Iasked but for information. I have nothing more to say.” CHAPTER XIII. OLD HUMANITY. On the appointed day the representatives of the Quamoclits and Whortleberries had audi- ence of the King. With a rare exercise of wisdom, they had elected as their spokesman one of the most intelligent and consistent of the Reformers. At the important meeting at | which this man was chosen some noisy parti- sans put forward their claims for election to the office. Bugloss, a frothy and insincere dema- gogue, was especially violent in the representa- tion of his claims, but he was set aside by the shrewd chiefs of the party, who knew what kind of stake they were playing for. The spokes- man upon whom their votes fell would have commanded respect in any assembly. He was an old man, who in his younger days had be- come a stanch Republican, from conviction—not the conviction that is inspired by the infliction of a personal injury ora personal injustice, but that which emanates from a large and compre- hensive view of humanity. Born among the people, and living among them, he had made himself intimately acquainted with the condi- tion of their lives, with their struggles, their limited desires, their modest aspirations. He was conversant with their virtues and their vices, and in the views he expressed of these extremes he was almost a philosopher. Every action of his life spoke in his favor; he was a conscientious workman, a temperate liver, and had never been known to lie or to commit a dishonest action. He was fixed in his belief that royalty was a bad institution, and that its existence gave birth to pernicious personal am- bition, in the carrying out of which the lower classes of people were made to suffer. He had been asked on many occasions to go publicly among the people and advocate his views, but he had consistently refused. ‘‘When the right time comes,” he said, ‘‘ better men than I will rise to lead you.” But even his calm tempera- ment had been stirred by the recent agitations, and when he was waited upon by a deputation, and was told that the choice of the people fallen upon him as their spokesman, he allowed himself to be prevailed upon, and consented to accompany the deputation in that capacity. Old Humanity was the name by which he was generally known among the lower classes. To the palace came this old man, in his work- ing clothes, accompanied by a mixed assembly, chiefly composed of Quamoclits and Whortle- berries. Many of the men were hot and dusty, having earried heavy banners through the streets. Outside the palace a huge concourse of people was gathered, waiting to hear the re- sult of the interview. They were perfectly orderly and peaceful. Sassafras received the deputation in the great hall of the palace; behind him stood his coun- cilors, among whom was Lord Crabtree, fid- gety, and fretful, and anxious. The thought- ful, melancholy face of the King evidently sur- prised Uld Humanity as he stepped forward ; but he set aside all sentiment, and proceeded steadily with the task before him. This man was a born orator, and the theme on which he spoke was one in which the whole strength of his heart and mind was enlisted. He had come well armed with facts, and with an army of injustices which he said, would take a week to narrate. He selected the strongest instances, and laid them before the King. By means of contrast he drew powerful and start- | al wealth and material splendor on the other. He even went so far, in his preliminary re- marks, as to show how one man was forced to earn damnation, while his brother rode in his carriage to salvation. He insisted that, as it was no fault or merit of the child whether he was born in St. Giles’ or St. James’, it was the imperative duty of the State to act in some part as the father instead of the jailer of the unfortunate ; he argued that, if this were done wisely and judiciously, there would in time be no such place as St. Giles; and he said that the difference between classes was so appallingly wide as to be acrime in the eyes of God and humanity. He illustrated every step of his argument ; from his mind he drew logic—from his heart he drew pity. He quoted largely from Christ and from religious teachings. He /had brought with him extracts from the ser- mons of living divines, and he placed practice side by side with precept. Here are such and such utterances, he said; here aresuch and such facts; and he asked the King to reconcile them. He spoke of the struggles of great numbers of the laboring classes, which every now and then forced themselves to the surface; he gave a true history of the personal condition of the agricultural laborers and of the miserable con- dition of their lives; he drew a painful picture of children brought up in the abe and the gutters, and who were compelled to suck in degradation with their mothers’ milk; and he declared that there never was a period in the world’s history in which the lust for money and power was producing such baneful effects as at present. Andafter traveling over much ground which there is not space here to touch upo he came to his peroration, in which he idetok his honest conviction that the monarchical in- stitution had proved itself to be utterly inade- quate to remedy these evils. This lame and inadequate description of his speech, which occupied an hour in its delivery, must be accepted; but no words could do jus- tice to the man’s eloquence and fire and sin- cerity. When he concluded, murmurs of de- lighted approval broke out among the auditors in the body of the hall; then there was silenee for many moments, during which all eyes were turned toward the King. His face was hidden, from them, and when he raised it something like a clear light shone in his eyes. ‘*T have listened to you patiently,” he said, in a low, sad tone, ‘‘and you fava told me many things of which I was ignorant. I require time for self-communion ; come to-morrow to the pal- ace, at this hour, and you shall receive my re- ply.” | He bowed to them, and they departed. Th without a word to his councilors, who crowd anxiously about him, he waved them aside, and retired to his private apartments, * *” ’ * * * Had any person been shire in the rear of the Kings’s lodge, at about ten o’clock that night, he might have seen a man emerge from the door. The night was dark, and the man stood for a little while, with the handle of the door in his hand, peering into the darkness, Then he locked the door, and threw the key among the distant trees. He was commonly dressed, and was evidently anxious not to be observed. He turned toward the palace, and waved a farewell to it, and with a strange’ex- pression on his face, and a sigh which seemed to lifta heavy weight from his heart, and yet had in ita sound of pain and weariness, he plunged into the wood, and crept stealthily away. ta * + * * * * : On the following day, at the time set down by the King, the Quamoclitsand Whortlebarries, headed by Old Humanity, made their way to the palace, Their numbers were more numer, ous than on the previous occasion. There eo not have been fewer than a hundred thousand
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persons congregated in the open spaces round | received | through the streets ; the thun about the palace. The deputation was by Lord Crabtree and his fellows. Old Humanity, the courtier said : ““T have received a communication from his most gracious Majesty this morning, he desires me to hand you this letter as his an- swer. His Majesty says that you are to open the letter and read it aloud here. Perhaps it will be as well—perhaps it will be as well.” Old Humanity took the letter from Lord Crabtree’s hand. From where he was standing many of the deputation could not see him. ‘Stand upon the dais,” they shouted, ‘‘so that we can all see and hear.” Lord Crabtree placed himself in old Human- ity’s way. ‘Tt cannot be permitted,” he said, ‘it can- not be permitted. This is royal ground.” Old Humanity, pushing steadily forward, re- lied : ee The King says that Iam to read the con- tents aloud to all the people. elevation from which I can obey the King’s command.” Lord Crabtree was compelled to give way, and Old Humanity stood in the place which the King had occupied the previous day. He open- ed the letter, and every person in the vast hall inclined his head to hear what the King had written. The court parasites, of whom a larger number were now present, were as anxious as the people. “This is what King Sassafras -vrites,” cried Old Humanity, in a ringing tone : ‘*T have pondered seriously over the words you, as representative of the people, have ad- dressed to me, and I recognize the justice of your complaints. I believe that your griev- ances are not imaginary, but that they really exist, and call for instant remedy. What per- sonal feeling influences me in the decision I have come to it is not necessary here to state ; but my conscience tells me that if I, as King, am responsible for one thousandth part of the miseries and injustices which you have placed before me with so much power and eloquence, T should not, now that I am made acquainted with them, deserve to live another hour if in my own person I continued to perpetuate them. You tell me that if the people of No-land were to be governed by themselves, these evils would soon be remedied, and justice would be done. In God’s name let justice be done—but let there be no violence, no bloodshed. Into the people’s hands I resign my crown, and what power and authority they suppose I have pos- sessed. I enjoin the nobles of my court to do nothing to obstruct my wish—if they do, I can at any moment return and punish them for their disobedience. It will be useless seeking for me; they wilhnotfind me, From this day the people of No-land are to be governed by the people. Most cheerfully do I resign my office, and most humbly do I pray for a realization of your noble aspirations. SASSAFRAS.” After the wonderment which the reading of | this strange document produced had subsided, the people broke into a great roar of delight. Lord Crabtree, white and trembling, tottered out of the palace, and hid himself. Old Hu- manity was carried to the window, from the balcony of which he read in his most pier- cing tones the King’s letter. The enthusiasm was wild and unbounded. The Quamoclits and Whortleberries danced and shouted and threw up their caps. The only person upon whose face there was an expression of uncer- tainty and perplexity was the face of Old Hu- manity. CHAPTER XIV. THE FLIGHT FROM THE PALACE. Ir was said afterward that for a hundred ears such a storm hed not been experienced No-land as that which broke over the coun- try on the night of the abdiction of the King. The wild winds shriecked through the forests, rooting the trees, and swaying them as though they were blades of grass; the rain came down. In Lord Grabtree’s hand was a sealed letter. Addressing | sons were struck dead by lightning. This is the only | THE KING. OF. NO-LAND, a | ‘The pious | had come ; | listened to the wind, and prayed that no harm | would befall her friends. Her sisters, Lucerne ‘and Daisy, were sound asleep and our Iris was working after midnight by the light of one candle, putting a stitch here and a stitch there in their humble clothing. A tender little mother was our small maiden, working with cheerful- ness and patience and love. The storm had overtaken Sassafras in the woods. His own fault, chiefly, that he was there when it broke, for he had dallied with the time. He had carefully planned all the details of his flight, but what was to follow he had left to chance. Only when he had thrown away the key of his private lodge, and had plunged into the forest, did he begin to think of what should be his next steps. To go to Bluebell’s cottage at such a time of the night _was impossible; and when his thoughts revert- ed to Coltsfoot as a refuge, he was dismayed | by the reflection that his strange and unexpect- ed appearance, taken in conjunction with the | flight of the King, might engender suspicions | in Coltsfoot’s mind. It was a mild and improb- able contingency to fear, but conscience magni- fied it, and made it reasonable and probable to the thinker. Well did he know that, in such an event, all hope of a happy and peaceful life with the beloved of his heart would be utterly and completely destroyed. The risk, therefore, was too great torun. Where should he hide? Where should he find a refuge ? He sat himself down to think, but his mind was in a whirl, and he wearily raised his hand to his aching head. He was tired and faint and hungry; scarcely an ounce of food had passed his lips that day; he had been too overwrought and excited to give a thought to material things. His nerves had been strung to a dangerous tension during the last few weeks, and unconsciously he had overtaxed his strength, physically and mentally. “This had not made itself apparent during the fever of events through which he had passed; but now that he had, as it were, flung his past life be- hind him, nevermore, as he vowed and resolved, to be resumed, now that he was relieved of the exquisite torture which his heart and soul had suffered for so long a time, his strength gave way: A sndden weakness fell upon him; an aching weariness oppressed him. He found himself listening, with listless curiosity, to the sounds in the air which portended the approach of the storm. A vacant smile came to his lips as he heard the first low growling of the thun- 'der. The trees sighed and bent; he heard the sighs, and he connected the sounds with such thoughs as were uppermost in his mind, shaping them into words, and singing them in a vacant manner, and yet in rhythm with the _murmur of the trees. B> saw them bend, and they assumed the forrus of the persons with _whom he had come ip contact—of the unfor- ' tunate man who had attempted his life—of court | parasites bowing and bending before him—of | Old Humanity—of a vast concourse of people | surging this way and that. | Tris crept softly to the bed where Lucerne and | Daisy were sleeping, and kissed them both, the tenderest caress bcing given to Daisy, who, as the youngest, most needed her care. A per- fect little Daisy, indeed, bright, fresh, and smil- ing in her sleep. Her body was clean, her soul was pure; sweet as the breath of morning was the breath from her lips. closed upon Iris’s hand as this guardian angel of the lowly dwelling leaned over her and caressed her—closed and clasped with eloquent affection. With a bright smile upon her dear and patient face, the little woman tenderly placed Daisy’s arm beneath the clothes, and | wept and prayed, believing that the last day | the woods. the souls of men whose days had | removed his cap from his fevered head. The in which | been evilly spent fainted within them, and the | first few heavy drops of rain fell. He raised Her little fingers | | with the foree of a deluge, and. rivers rushed | of their necks, so that not a gap was left for the der shook strong | cold air to creep through; then she went back buildings to their foundations, and many per- | to her work, and resumed her stitching. The first distinct peal of thunder broke over Sassafras laughed aloud. He had | sinners trembled and repented and made vows. | his hand to his forehead. and felt the raindrops, | While Iris, sitting up in her lowly cottage.| wonderingly. A flash of lightning darted into the earth, and in the sudden blaze of light he saw strange faces appear and disappear, and then a white form which his fancy immged into Bluebell. He started to his feet, and strove to trace the sequence of events which had led him into these dark woods, into this mental chaos. Memory returned to him gradually, and then he knew, by the burning of his flesh, by the trembling of his limbs, by the dreadful sickness in his heart, that he was ill and weak, and that it behooved him to find a shelter. Whither should he direct his steps? His mind wandered again. Dark shapes and forms melted into one another, melted suddenly into the picture of a churchyard, with three small fiddlers playing over a grave. This picture came to him in another vivid flash of lightning; and, impelled partly by delirium, partly by reason, which was struggling vainly to regain its sway, he walked mechanically to- ward the house in which his young friends lived. The rain beat down upon him; he did not know that he had dropped his cap, and he raised his hand and placed it, as he thought, upon his still uncovered head; the lightning played about him ; the thunder whirled in his mind. Still he struggled on, directing his steps aright. But his progress was slow; he had to feel his way, and it is doubtful whether he would not have been compelled to give up the attempt in de- spair had he been quite sensible and responsibly conscious. Iris, having completed her work, put away her needle and thread, and carefully folding up the clothes, placed them aside. en she ub dressed, and knelt to her prayers, and crept into bed next to Daisy, who, in her sleep, nestled close to her sister-mother. The co was in darkness. ‘‘How cold it must be outside,” thought Iris, ‘‘and how nice and warm here! I hope it will be fine to-morrow.” The last thought that dwelt in her mind, before she fell asleep, was the comfortable one that the water- butts would be quite filled in the morning. / The wind shrieked and moaned without, now lashed into agony, now exhausted by pain. It bore presently upon its wings sighs anid moans of human suffering. A lull in the storm took Foes Iris was not, like her sis- ters, a soun many cares. Generally in the middle of night she awoke, and thought of things, reckon up mentally how much money fey had, re scheming and planning. She aweke on this night, and as she lay thinking, a groan fell upon her ears—fell heedlessly and without meaning at first, for she was not fully conscious; but when it was repeated, she sat up in bed quick- ly, and listened, not sure even then that it was. not a trick of her fancy. Again she heard the sound of suffering. What should she do? The question was asked and answered in a breath. Our little maid did not know what fear was; she knew what suffering was, for she had nursed her mother through a long sick- ness; she had been cocknainta her earliest years. Up she rose bravaly, and went to the door. She heard the groans plain- ly now, and unconnected words in which her own name, and the names of Daisy and Lu- cerne, occurred. She lit the candle, and after assuring herself that Daisy and Lucerne were still sleeping, she opened the street-door softly. ‘“ Who is there?” she asked. A moan answered her. The wind rushed in and extinguished the light. Iris shivered with cold. Her warm bare feet were chilled when she advanced upon the doorstep. She stretched out her hand, and felt about in the darkness. It came to a human face, anda hot tucked up both the children to the very creages | hand strove to grasp hers feebly. and deep sleeper; she had too. with it from ion cdimenandel
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THE KING OF NO-LAND. «Who is it?” asked the little maid, with a palpitating heart. ‘‘Who are you?” In .he unintelligible words that followed she recognized the voice of the friend they all loved so well, and with a man’s strength she helped the sufferer into the house, he crawling after her, animated only by the instinct that to lie where he had fallen was certain death. She closed the street-door when he was safely in- side, and relit the candle. Thenshe saw that it was indeed her friend, and with compassion- ate cries she knelt by his side, and raised his head upon her lap. He was wet to the skin, and the water was oozing away all around him. She questioned him, and wild words answered her ; but he opened his eyes, and for a moment they rested tenderly upon her face; then he relapsed into delirium. How she gained the wisdom that guided her actions Heaven only knows; but she saw that he was terribly ill, and that not a moment was to be lost. At this moment Lucerne awoke, and called out to know what was the matter. Iris bade her get up immediately, and Lucerne obeyed her. When she came to the side of Sassafras, and recognized him, she began to cry. ‘You musn’t cry, you musn’t cry !” exclaimed Tris, in an agitated tone. ‘‘ Light the fire, quick! Putthe kettle on. He is very ill, and we must nurse him.” All this time her hands were busy removing his wet clothes; happily for her and for him- self a lucid interval came to him. ‘‘Do you know me? Do you know me ?” in- quired Iris, almost despairing, for she was not strong enough to perform the duties required of her, 7 ‘* Yes, you are Iris, and that is Lucerne there, lighting the fire. Dear children! dear chil- dren !” ‘ **Then quick! Undress yourself and get into ed. ” Swiftly she took Daisy in her arms, out of the warm bed in which they had all been lying, and with their clothes she made a nest for the little one before the fire, and placed her com- fortably there. Daisy did not awake; nothing disturbed that little creature in the night. By | that time Sassafras was in the warm bed, and presently Iris was by his side with a cup of hot tea, which he drank gratefully. He was still lucid. Indeed, he kept himself so by a strong effort of will; he had something to say before he would allow the fever to master him again; he beat the delirium away fiercely. ‘*Bend your head,” he whispered to Iris. **Do you love me ?” ‘*Oh, yes, yes |” “‘T have been overtaken by misfortune; I am afraid I am going to beill. Stop a mo- ment—stop a moment!” (This with a wild motion of his hands: the words were addressed to himself, and were intended to check the wave of fever that he felt to be coming upon him.) ‘‘If you love me, you must promise me to nurse me yourself, and not go to Coltsfoot or Bluebell. LI exact the promise. Give it to me —for God's sake give it to me !” ‘*T do—I do!” cried Iris, with tears running down her face. “God will reward you; I cannot. Dear child! dear child! An ‘angel dwells in your breast. But listen still. You are not to go to those dear ones I have named until the fever is over that I feel coming uponme. And what strange words I may utter you will not repeat. Swear to me—no, promise, that is enough— that you will not tell them what I say.” Yes, yes; I promise.” “Ahme! ahme! Did I not tell you that I have been overtaken by a great misfortune? I shall say strange things—I have had strange fancies. But they will be over soon. The world is not all bad. There is goodness in it; there is sweetness in it. There are stars of peace and love init. Come!” He stretched out his arms, and rose in bed ; the, gentle hand of Iris upon his breast was sufficient to compose him, and he sank back ‘‘Qne more word,” he said, grasping con- |found so much to do in consequence of the | sciousness, as it were, before it entirely escaped | it comes to him. ‘‘Be comforted,” seems to him; ‘‘ If I am rebellious and give you trouble, | be written in the air, in the snow-lined trees, whisper to me the name of Bluebell. Peace | in the clear heavens. The brave, faithful man dwells with her.” stands still for a few moments, with his earnest These were the last rational words he uttered | face turned upward to the skies. Then he for three weeks, during which time Iris nursed | takes a handful of snow, and with it washes the him with tender care. But she would have | traces of tears from his eyes. When he rejoins found it far more difficult than she did to be | Bluebell and Sassafras, they see the same sweet faithful to the trust reposed in her, and which | smile upon his lips as was there when he left she accepted, had it not been that Coltsfoot them by the village church. It is spring. Two men are working in the woods side by side. The sound of their axes excitement into which the country was thrown by the abdication of the King, that every mo-| rings through the air. A tree quivers, totters, ment of his time was occupied. His task was | falls. |The workmen pause to wipe their brows. to throw oil upon the troubled waters among “You're getting on,” says Ragged Robin, ap- the poor whom he knew, and to prevent them} provingly. Sassafras smiles. ‘‘ But I shall from becoming violent in the extravagance of | never be as good a workman as you,” he says. their agitation at the new state of things which | “’Taint to be expected,” remarks Robin, com- was to be sucha blessing to them. During|placently ; but his complacent look changes these three weeks, Coltsfoot saw Iris on three | soon to one of discontent. ‘“ What now, Rob- or four occasions, when she contrived to meet | in?” asks Sassafras. ‘‘’Tis a shame, it is,” an- him always in the streets, and he was satisfied | swers Robin ; “‘ things ain’t right.” ‘Two shil- by her words that all was going on well with | lings a week more—eh, Robin?” exclaims her and her sisters. The little maid played aj Sassafras, with a silly look of merriment. cunning part, and played it well. She obtained | “ That’s so,” says Robin; ‘‘that’s all that’s medicines from Coltsfoot, leading him to be-| wanted.” ‘I wonder,” says Sassafras, swing- lieve that they were for a poor person whom | ing his axe, ‘whether that nut will ever be she visited; and by this means and her own | cracked?” ‘ J/'d crack it,” grumbles Robin, unwearied care she nursed Sassafras into con-| “if I had it between my teeth !” valescence. It is the evening of the same day, A hun- ‘*T can never repay you, dear child,” he said, | dred men, women, and children are reaping as he lay upon the bed, a shadow of his former | to Coltsfoot's school-house. His pupils have self. ‘' Go now to Coltsfoot and Bluebell, and | so increased in numbers that he has been com- tell them I am here.” pelled to callin the aid of Sassafras. Bluebell also assists them occasionally, when she can be pf spared from her household duties. Some of the 3 pupils are gray-haired men, who are now for THROUGHOUT THREE CHANGES OF THE SEASONS. oo first ne. sei their . B C. Iris, Ain panorna somes of plaes fi distant | Cem and, Duin, fe, regal leas from one another pass before our eyes within a se routine of tanks. How can it be other few minutes—space and time being defied, as it | wise with such a teacher as Coltsfoot to guide were, and conquered by the artist’s brush—so, | them ? By the mere force of example Peon in some part after the same fashion, shall cer-| qeys them fitter for life's duties and for the life tain pictures be given while the seasons run|},4 come. Within the scope of his feadiuenae-- their course in nature’s wondrous scheme. which is necessarily very limited, but he does _ A little village church shines out in the clear | ,,ore than one man’s good wwonke<ntlianh ak aen light of morning. ‘The snow is on the ground ;| 5:1 palaces, with garish light and vicious glit- the air is sweet, and the heavens are bright. | toy to poison and mislead. He woes the weak Round about the door are grouped thirty or| 9.4 ignorant toa better spending of their lei forty poor women and children, dressed in their patie yore Wins et in eitcl at rn i best; some carry bunches of winter flowers in . ’ 3 yer just, : ats the lessons they learn from him clear the clouds their hands. To this village church come Blue- : : . bell and Sassafras, to plight their troth accord- | £*0m their minds, and make their souls and ing to God’s hol pete A : Coltsfoot accom. | bodies clean and wholesome. Many and many 8 y ; a home has been made bright and happy. panies them, and Robin ; and Iris and Eucerne and Daisy. Affectionate hands hold out the} It is summer, and Coltsfoot and Sassafras flowers to the bride and bridegroom ; affection- | stand by a small patch of land on which the ate looks greet.them whichever way they turn. | Corn 18 ripening. The plot is a very small With heads reverently bent they listen to the | one, and they have acquired it by industry ; they have cultivated it with their own hands. words of the priest ; love is in their hearts, sol- . emn thoughts are in their minds. Sassafras | ‘There will be a good crop,” says Sassafras ; ‘‘we shall have flour enough for the year.” mentally thanks God for the new life which this ‘And a little to spare,” adds Coltsfoot. To- day begins for him ; and the beautiful face of the bride grows still more beautiful as she | gether they walk to the little cottage, which is plights her troth. It is near Christmas time, | again bright with color. Within the honey- suckle porch sits Bluebell, working, and watch- and the good season’s gladness is reflected in the faces of those who throng the little church. | ing for the approach of her husband and friend. They come. She runs to meet them. A heaven “‘ May it be always Christmas time with you, my of happiness is in the heart of Sassafras as child,” says Coltsfoot to Bluebell, as he kisses her in a fatherly way. He turns to Sassafras, | he walks toward their home, with his arm around and grasps his hand with faithful grasp. Then, | her waist, and he murmurs gratefully: ‘‘ Now with a smile on his lips he leaves them, saying | do I know what sweetness there is in life.” that he will be with them at the cottage in an | ‘‘ What is that you are whispering ?” asks Blue- hour. bell. ‘‘ That Iam the happiest man in No-land, How does he spend this hour? Alone, he | my darling,’’ he replies. ‘‘ Then I think,” she says, with that indescribably tender movement stands in the cold white woods. He knows that this day has set the seal upon all his hopes | which in such moments @ woman makes toward the man she loves, ‘‘ that I must be the heppi- of home and domestic love. No loving woman est woman.” shall ever nestle in his arms, and call him Hus- band. No child shall ever cling to his knees,| The brown tints of autumn are coming into and call him Father. Waves of grief pass over | the leaves as all these humble friends whom I his soul: sighs issue from his aching breast; | have grown to love stand around a@ grave. tears stain his face; a wintry smile dwells upon | Dame Endive is dead, To the last she never his lips. Suddenly the sun shines out; its | forgave Sassafras for robbing her son of Blue- warm rays rest upon a branch from which cold | bell, and if there had been room for a thorn in icicles hang, which presently dissolve, and drop | the happy cottage, she would have planted it. in diamond tears one by one to earth. ‘‘ Yes,” | But there was no room, Her son and her he murmurs, as if in answer to this sign; ‘‘be- | friends would not allow it, to grow. And now she is removed from them, and there. is one soul cause the fruition of love is denied to me, shall I allow my heart to be frozen? Dear sister! | the less in the happy nest. But another willsoon dear brother!” He prays for strength, and | be added to it—a flower which will bring a new
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and heayen-born joy to the hearts of Bluebell and Sassafras, It is winter again; and Christmas-day dawns upon them. The church-bells ring blithely in the air, and Sassafras and his friends walk to church. ‘‘We are seven,” says Coltsfoot as he looks around, for Robin, and Iris, and her sis- ters are of the party, making up the number. They sit in the rear of the building. The preacher is a rough, earnest man, and his un- studied words come from a deep well of earnest- ness, Occasionly his similes are startling in their truthful application. They are like rays of sun- light shining on dark placesy where what is hidden or has been hidden is suddenly made clear to the understanding. He is emphatically a preacher of the Gospel of the poor, and he sets forth the old, old lessons, more needed now than at any other time in the world’s history. His text is, ‘‘Love one another.” In beautiful and simple language he describes the duty which man owes to man, and sets before his hearers so clear a view of the right course of life—not only right, but wise, be- cause of the sweetness there is in it—that the dullest among them can comprehend. ‘‘ Not to- day alone,”’ he says, ‘* but every day in the year should be Christmas.. The sentiments which ani- mate and sweeten this season would, if they were exercised continually, be the mightiest soldiers that can be found against ignorance, and misery, and crime ; they would raise humanity to a higher level —nearer to the divine spirit which raises i¢ above the level of the brute—nearer to the ex- ample which is worshiped in theory, the example pa Him who bade you bear one another's burdens.” The day is spent in rational enjoy- ment. They walk to a spot endeared to Sassafras and Bluebell by the tenderest memories—to écho- land. Again they wake the echoes; again the inspired hollow speaks and sings. The scene is even more beautiful now in their eyes than in the summer. The pure white snow lies lightly on hill and plain, and beautifies every bare branch. *‘Such ascene as this,” says Coltsfoot, ‘always brings to my mind, in some way, a picture of creation before the first day, when the world was waiting for God’s breath to awaken it to life and blossom.’? ‘To me,’’ says Sassafras, ‘tit brings the fancy of the world re after a fever of turbulent years;” and adds, ‘*The world is all asleep, and we stand here, musing on things that in the lap of time have sunk to rest.’? Sassafras and Bluebell wander to the rie where he first told her that he loved her : though nothing but snow meets their eyes, the flowers are blooming as brightly for them as on that bright summer day which filled their‘lives with tender memories, In the evening they are all together in the cottage, and the three little irls, with their violins, play important parts. obin looks at Iris, and the idea suddenly occurs to him that she is very pretty ; but his mind is not of the strongest, and there the idea remains, without forcing itself in.o expression. Bluebell is unusually quiet, and they do not disturb her. The fire crackles and glows, and she gazes ae into the bright blaze, with eyes so happy an wistful that a few words whispered to her ina soft tone by Sassafras bring tears into them. She takes his hand, and her fingers twine round his with convulsive tenderness, And now it is New-year’s-night, and Sassafras and Coltsfoot are walking slowly to and fro out- side the cottage, in the windows of which lights are gleaming. Every now and then Sassafras steps gently into the cottage, and in a few mo- ments comes out again and rejoins Coltsfoot. No word passes between them. A life dear to both is hanging upon the moments, Hark! a cry reaches their ears—a cry so faint that none but ears attuned to love could hear it. Coltsfoot =~ his arm round his friend to support him, or on that cry a sudden dizziness has come upon Sassafras. Still neither speaks; but both are mutely praying that the life so dear to them may be spared, The door of the cottage is softly opened, and a cheerful face invites assafras to enter. When, in a few minutes, Sassafras comes THE KING OF NO-LAND. and muses upon the new and solemn responsibility which has entered into his life. Time rolls on. Men fret and chafe their hearts in the pursuit of small things, which they falsely magnify into desirable possessions, and neglect the priceless blessings and joys which nature holds outto them with willing, untiring hand. When Bluebell steps into the sunlight again, she has a baby at her breast, and into the fresh young beauty of her face has stolen that ineffable ex- pression of holy tenderness which dwells only in the face of the mother. Ah, how happy are the days! how sweet the evenings when she and Sas- safras sit in their little humble room, gazing upon the child which has drawn life from them! Sas- safras wants nothing, yearns for nothing ; he has about him all that can make lifesweet. Heis not oor, for he has enough ; and yet he has but little. ut content is a treasure outweighing gold and silver, and this treasure he has. He looks back upon his past life with amazement at the folly of men, and morning and might he thanks God that he has escaped from the thralldom which poisoned his days and made aslave of him. So happy is he that he trembles at the idea of discovery. But nothing occurs to disturb the harmony of his life, Besides, he is now a bearded man, and few would be able to recognize him. What with his work in the day, and his duties in Coltsfoot’s school in the evening, he is employed fourteen hours out of the twenty-four. He enjoys a glow of health to which he has hitherto been a stranger ; he enjoys the air, the sunshine, the breath of summer, and the invigorating breezes which win- ter brings in its train. ‘It is true,’ he thinks, ‘‘that Iam no longer a king, but I feel that Iam a man.” He cannot quite banish thought of the past, although he strives to do so. e keeps himself steadily aloof from all political matters, and flies from them as though a plague were attached to them ; but at odd times thought of No-land and his Court and people intrudes itself against his will, and seems to whisper in a tone of steel, ‘‘Nay, I will be heard!’? It comes upon him once—he is impelled by the same inward force, and cannot resist—to introduce politics into a conversation with Coltsfoot. They have been to hear a social sermon from the lips of a preacher, upon whom many of his brethren look with dis- pleasure and aversion. Strange to say, this preacher is a Bishop. Strange, because he is not content with flowing platitudes ; because with firm hand he grasps the nettle danger in his search for the Rawat safety ; because he is un- sparing in his denunciation of the follies and friv- olities which pervade certain classes of society, and is bitterly severe upon those who make pleas- ure the chief business of theirlives. This Bishop thanks God that there are some few ‘* noble men and women rising above this utter animalism, this low sensualism, and who do endeavor to real- ize that they have a duty to discharge to God and man;”’ and says, ‘‘though philosophers may make themselves merry at the expense of Christianity, and though clever writers ma run down so-called sectarian schools, and think it the height of enjoyment to ride on the box of a four-in-hand or sail in a yacht, these are not the things by which a man may discharge his con- science to God.” Bitterly does he deplore that so many men and women inhigh places “‘ gothrough the world with blinkers over their eyes, shutting out the em sights around them, or stop their ears with wool, so that they may not hear the cry of the fatherless ; and yet these men and women have a sunny kind of belief that they are perform- ing life's duties worthily, and that to be seen in a church now and then during the year is a cloak for their idle, aimless hours and days.’’ These words make a deep impression upon Sassafras, and he says to Coltsfoot, as they walk out of church : ’ «¢ The preacher seems to think that there is as wide a difference now between classes in No-land as there was before the disappearance of the King.” “You have been too happy in your domestic life,” replies Coltsfoot, ‘‘to pay much heed to from the cottage, his eyes are filled with tears of | politics ; and as I have observed, when I have in- joy and gratitude ; he holds out his hand to Colts- | troduced political matters into our conversations, foot. ‘Thank God!’ he says, with a sob ; ‘‘all| that you have been desirous of avoiding the dis- js well.”’ And then he turns from his friend, ' cussion of them, I have not pressed them upon 22 you. But the change in the political condition of the country has not, up to this day, resulted in a better state of things bor the people, I think that the man who was chosen to represent the opinions of the new governing power would confess as much, The time was not right for change, If you want a tree, after it has attained a full and strong growth, to grow one way or the other, it must be trained very gently. These mendemand- ed an impossibility. ‘They asked forequality, and already they have shown themselves utterly unfit for government; already they are quarreling among themselves for place and pay. ‘The flavor of Egypt’s flesh-pots has proved too strong for their patriotism.” *«T have never heard you express an opinion,” says Sassafras, ‘‘upon the action of the King in deserting his post,”’ **He was both weak,”’ replies Coltsfoot, ‘and wanting in a sense of duty.’ Sassafras does not pursue the subject: and in- deed presently it fades from his mind before the pressure of a deep affliction. His child, so sweet a source of joy and happiness in their home, sickens and dies. The little one lies ill for many days and nights, and neither love, nor unwearying attention, nor heartfelt prayers can save it. e mother, in her care for her dar- ling, begrudges the claims which nature makes upon her ; and even when, after long, long hours of watching, sleep mercifully steals from her for a little while the pangs of grief she suffers, she will not leave her darling, but lies by his side with her hand upon his neck, as though by that tender caress she can move the Angel of Death to stay his hand. In vain. The lag hour comes. surely, and in the dead of night the flower dies: with the dim light of its parents’ eyes shining upon it. Come from the chamber with me; the grief of these stricken souls is too deep, too sacred for our eyes. They find consolation in their faithful love for each other, and a stronger consolation in prayer. In the chamber of death, with the inani- mate form of their beloved before them, they see a light beyond the grave. It falls upon the face of their chiid, and he lives again, and stretches out his arms to them. So Bluebell and Sassafras lives their lives. throughout three changes of the seasons. But this Christmas shall be the last they shall spend together in that humble cottage of love and content. CHAPTER XVI. CUNNING LITTLE DICK, Tue change came about ina strange way. It had been Coltsfoot’s habit for many years to visit certain places on Christmas-day, and he had often spoken to Sassafras of the beautiful and touching scenes he had witnessed at this season in a large hospital, where the sick poor were cared for. Sassafras had expressed a wish to see these scenes, and upon this Christmas-night he accompanied _ Coltsfoot to the hospital. They left Bluebell at home, with Iris, Lucerne, and Daisy, saying they would return at nine o’clock. Robin was also at home, making big eyes at Iris, and thinking, as he had thought three years ago, how pretty she was. He had not, however, yet mus suf- ficient courage to put his thought in words. On their way to the hospital, Coltsfoot conversed with Sassafras upon the state of the country, and Sassafras learned much that astonished him, The new administration had utterly failed to remedy the evils of which the people had complained; the most unscrupulous of the Quamoclits and Whortle- berries had got into power, and were making the worst use of it. Not only were they incompetent, they were corrupt; and the people in every part of No-land were crying out for a change. ‘s Change !” exclaimed Sassafras, change ?’ «They say they were happier under Sassafras, and they are asking where he is. The papers are full of the theme; even the papers owned by the Reformers say it would be a happy day for the country if the King could be found and induced to ‘* What
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ee ee a a EE A EE ER CE TE LE AS ET TT ENE SSS Sa NT resume his crown. The principal one of these papers is edited by Old Humanity’? —— ** Do you know that man?” inquired Sassafras, in an agitated tone. “TI have frequently conversed with him, and if 1 meet him in no other place, I meet him often at the hospital we are going to now. He has a daughter there, a nurse. Well, even old Hu- manity, although his opinions are in noways changed, has said in his paper that it would be well if the King could be found. This man very THE KING OF NO-LAND. == side of the road to the other a man knocked him | the happiness of the party, and curiously observant down. and the poor little fellow fell beneath the horses’ feet, and was picked up terribly crushed.”’ Coltsfoot laid his hand upon the’ nurse’s arm with gentle significance, and they both watched the face of cunning little Dick, seeing’ there what A brewer’s dray was passing at the time, | of everything about him. —_— CHAPTER XVIi. was hidden from the others. The two candles! Ir WAS CHRISTMAS THROUGHOUT ALL THE LAND, which were on the little table by Dick’s side were almost burned out, and the lad’s eyes never wan- dered from them. Coltsfoot knelt by the bed, and singularly speaks in somewhat affectionate terms | took a little wasted hand in his. **Dick,”’ he said, in a whisper, ‘*I want you to window a group of persons approaching, led by of Sassafras; it seems that on the occasion on which he acted as spokesman for the people he| say a prayer; listen, and repeat after me ; it will Coltsfoot. was most favorably impressed by the demeanor of the young King. The mystery is what can have become of him. Some say he is dead; yet his body has not been found. Old Humanity declares that the King is alive, and in No-land; if so, he has concealed himself cunningly. But here we are at the hospital.” Sassafras, disturbed as he was by what he had just heard, found much that interested him in this hospital. He would fain have lingered long in the children’s ward, which was_ beautifully lit up by hundreds of small Christmas candles of yellow and green, and red, and blue. The ward was lined with straight rows of cots, every one of which had its child occupant, and the eyes of all were fixed with eager gaze upon the colored lights which made the scene brilliant. Some of the sick children lay upon their backs, very still and quiet, and from the snow-white bed-linen peeped pitiful white faces; the taces of others were joyous; some clapped their little hands; and some rose in their cots, and.seemed as though they would have wished things to go om forever in this way. Not one of the children in this ward was more than twelve years of age; some were mere babies ; but there were many old, old faces among them. Be- fore one of these old faces Coltsfoot paused. The ‘child—who was so thin and small that he looked scarcely eight years of age, but was two or three years older—was lying on his side, gazing upon the colored candles, which, as they wasted away, but too surely typified his fate. There was not a trace of pleasure in his sullen eyes, and in his pinched, old, weazen face there was the cunning of a fox. *«Cunning little Dick “he’s called,’’ whispéred the nurse, "** and I’ve been told that he is proud of the title, although, since he has been here, I have never seen any other expression on his face than that which rests there now. He was brought here three weeks ago, having been run over and crushed badly, but never'a “murmur has escaped his lips.’ Coltsfoot had started at the name. “Do you remember,’’ he said in a low tone to | Sassafras, ‘‘the Christmas-day we spent together when you were a boy, before you went on your travels, and the scene we witnessed in that’ misera- ble garret, where a woman lay dead of starvation? Do you remember the baby I found in a corner of _ the room, and the name they called it by? Dick —little Dick—cunning little Dick !”’ Two other persons were now at thé bedside. Stassafras trembled as his eyes fell upon the form of Old Humanity. A lad who accompanied the old man stood be the bedside. Not noticing Sassafras’s agitation, Coltsfoot continued: ‘««This poor child must be cunning little Dick.” Old Patty heard the words, and joined in he conversation. “Yes, that is the boy’s name. He has been brought up in the gutters, and the prison has been his best home, God help him !”” Coltsfoot sighed, and at that moment Old Hu- manity raised his eyes, and looked Sassafras full in the face. Sassafras turned red, then white, beneath the fixed gaze of the old man, and stepped a pace or two away from the bed. Old Humanity also moved away, but he did not remove his eyes from Sassafras’s face. He seemed to be puzzling out some problem. The nurse stooped, and said something kind and gentle to cunning little Dick; but the lad made no response in word or look, although her _ ‘tone was most motherly and soft. “Tt wasn’t his fault,’’ said the nurse, in reply to an observation from Coltsfoot; ‘‘he had picked _ a pocket, and was running away. People ran f : , him, and while he was crossing from one . do you good.”’ Dick listened, never turning his eyes from the light, and a faint smile of scorn came to his lips: he uttered no word. One of the candles was almost at its last gasp, it flickered and flickered. ‘© What's that you say, Dick?” asked Coltsfoot, for the lad’s lips were moving. Dick’s features assumed a more cnnning ex- pression. The words he strove to speak could scarcely be said to be spoken, they were so faint and low, but Coltsfoot heard them. ‘* Not guilty, yer worship.”’ With a conyulsive gasp the candle gave up its life, and cunning little Dick closed his eyes. He made no further movement, and presently, with a. look of grief, ‘the nurse placed cunning little Dick’s arms inside the bed, and covered his face with the white sheet. Then Coltsfoot mur- mured : ‘¢To Him who said, ‘Suffer little children to come unto me,’ one has gone this moment. And this corruptible has put on incorruption, and this mortal has put on immortality.” With sad hearts they left the hospital, Old Humanity walking with them. Sassafras would have felt more at his ease had the old man not accompanied them ; but Coltsfoot found pleasure n the old. Reformer’s society. and they talked together until they arrived at the cottage. . The clear pictures which Old Humanity drew of the political state of affairs were revelations to Sassa- fras. ‘* Then you are ready to admit,”’ said Coltsfoot, ‘*that the experiment has been a failure ?” ‘A distinct failure,’ replied Old Humanity, ‘¢ we have gone from bad to worse. The tran- sition. was too violent, and we were not prepared ; neither are we strong enough in numbers. As things are, nothing better can occur than the re- turn of Sassafras, with a proper understanding of his duties and responsibilities. I saw him only once. But I seldom .orget a face and never forget a voice.” Sassafras shrank .vom the old man’s side. ‘*T never saw the hing,’’ said Coltsfoot. ‘*Are you. sure ihat 2??? questioned the old man. ‘¢ Quite sure.’’ A thoughtful smile played about the lips of Old | Humanity. ‘‘I was surprised when I first set eyes on him..; I saw a young man, with an earnest face, in which doubt and distress were plainly visible, .I. seemed to see in his eyes a struggle to.arrive at the truth of things. I thought, ‘ Here plainly is a man who, with proper counselors about him, might become a fit leader of a great people.’ I was certain that the vicious stories 1 had heard about him were false, and I went, from his presence with a strange feeling of respect and pity for him.”’ ** You still believe he is alive ?’” ‘*T am convinced of it. If I had any doubts before to-day, they are now dispelled.’ Sassafras understood the meaning of these words. They had now arrived at the cottage. **T suppose,” said Old Humanity, “ that I must wish you good-night here.’” ; **Uuless.you will join our Christmas party,” replied Coltsfoot. Old Humanity looked at Sassafras, waitin for him to speak, and Sassafras was codlitthinell to say, “1 shall be glad if you will spend an hour with us. Old Humanity bent his head with grave courtesy, and entered the cottage with them. He remained until late in the night, contributing to SASSAFRAS was not permitted to remain long in doubt of Old. Humanity’s intentions. ‘Within a week after Christmas he saw from his cottage They had timed their visit well, choosing the mid-hour of the day, when he gen- erally spent an hour at home, Bluebell was in the room, and, seeing marks of disturbance on her husband’s face, she came close to his side with looks of anxious affection. Following the di- rection of his gaze, she saw the persons upon whom his eyes were fixed. ‘* They are coming here,’’ she said. **T am afraid so,’’ he muttered. ‘*Have you anything to fear from them?” she asked, apprehensively. ‘*Much. My happiness is in their hands.” She did not understand his words, but they filled her with alarm. ‘One word, Bluebell,” he said, hurriedly. ‘* Has your married life been a happy one ?” ‘Can youask? Can you ask ?”’ she exclaim- ed. ‘Oh, my darling, what is the meaning of this change in you ?”’ “You will know all presently. I have not time to explain, but you will learn from them. Strengthen me, my heart’s treasure. Look into my eyes, and assure me again of your love. Ah, my sweet! what perfect joy have I tasted dur- ing these three happy years! Hush! they are here.” Buthe did not loose her. He stood with his arms around her dear form, and faced the persons who entered the room, Old Humanity, Lord Crabtree, and a number of other Reformers and Courtiers composed the group. As they entered they removed their hats, and stood before Sassa- fras with uncovered heads. Coltsfoot was the first to speak. ‘These gentlemen requested me to accompany them. Believing, as they said, that their business. with you was urgent, I led them to the cottage when I knew they would find you at home.”’ It was not without intention that he had cnosen the simplest words in which to explain his pres- ence among them. He stepped aside, and Old Humanity came to the front. His first words caused a shiver to run through Bluebell’s frame, and a, startled look to flash into Coltsfoot’s eyes, **Your Majesty,” said Old Humanity, with straight directness, ‘*‘we, a deputation from ali ranks of society, from the highest to the lowest, have been appointed to wait upon you to beg you to resume your rightful position in the land. Had we known earlier where we could have found you, we should have come to you, This is not the time nor this the place to enter lengthily upon our reasons. Having, as I think, some knowledge of the workings of your heart and mind, I do most truly believe that it will be sufficient incentive to — you to accede to the wish of your people when I tell you that their condition is worse to-day than it was during the time you sat upon the throne.” *“Your most gracious Majesty,” interrupted Lord Crabtree, with tears in his eyes, betraying an intention to fall at his royal master’s feet. ** Silence, my lord !”’ cried Sassafras, in a stern tone. ‘Let this man speak.”’ Old Humanity continued. ‘It is my purpose, and it will best serve our ends, to be brief on this occasion, You will have an opportunity here- after of proving the truth of my words.” Then, in a manly manner, without abating” one jot of his independence, he recounted the experiences of the last few years. He had found that those who entertained: his opinions . from conviction, founded on reason, formed but a small body of the people; around this small body surged vast numbers: of Quamoclits and Whortleberries, who had wrested the power from the hands of the Reformers, and who, being rapa- cious men and ignorant of the first principles of © good government, had shown only an anxiety to ‘ a a
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a enrich themselves at the expense of the people. The consequence was that large employers of labor, distrusting their political rulers, were gradually narrowing their operations; thousands of men were out of employment ; trade was lan- guishing ; there were much misery and distress ‘hroughout the country ; the respect in which No- land, was held by other nations was rapidly diminishing, and there was great danger that the senseless and arrogant folly of the Quamoclits and Whortleberries would bring on a disastrous foreign war, if it did not provoke a worse evil in the shape of civil dissension. These and other matters Old Humanity briefly and forcibly touched upon, and concluded by frankly declaring that when on a former occasion he had accepted the position of spokesman for the people, he had committed a serious error, When he had concluded others pressed forward to speak, but Sassatras held up hishand. He had heard enough, he said, and he bade them depart and return to the cottage in an hour for his answer. The deputation withdrew, and Sassafras, Bluebell, and Coltsfoot were left alone. The countenance of Sassafras was distressed 3 that of Coltsfoot was grave and thoughtful. Bluebell, standing a little apart, watched them both with eyes of anxious love and friendship. **Come to my side, Bluebell,” said Sassafras, **and let me try to gather wisdom from love.” Bluebell moved close to her husband; he took her hand in his. : “You are not angry with me, Bluebell, for having deceived you?” “ Oo, my King’? —_—_. Her hand dro, ped from his grasp as he cried: ’ Bluebell ! ”” _ So sharp was his note of agony, as he detected in her tone such hesitation and reserve as she would naturally adopt when speaking to. one far above her in station, that she trembled before him. Rising her eyesp she saw him with yearning love in his face, holding out his arms toward her. She fgil into them, and he kissed her sweet face again and again. ‘ “Your husband, darling, your mate; not your King.” ** My husband, my mate, my heart’s delight ! ”’ “‘ Always forever, until the last day!” His full love would be satisfied with no less; and she repeated the words after him with a deep happiness in her heart. “‘Never to change, darling, whatever occurs,” he said. “Never to change, my dearest. If I thought otherwise I should die.” “We have been very happy here, Bluebell.” She sighed. What was the future to be? , “* Tf,” he continued, ‘‘all lots in life were set before me, I would choose this life that we have led, and gratefully live my days until the end comes. Surely, in so doing, I should be violat- ing no law, human or divine!. I work for my bread, and by the labor of my hands I sup- py the wants of those whom I love. What ‘higher dignity can I desire? I work, I enjoy, Ido no man wrong, and I thank God for all. | ave : er 20 Why should I change? Within these walls | false fashions and sham moralities fall beneath / sanc- | their lances, and glittering masks are torn from | tified by the dear memories that love and friend- | the faces of idols hitherto worshiped in high / - ship have created; they seem to speak to me as | Places. : since the events recorded. in the last chapters, | great happiness has been mine ; they are {look upon them, and seem to beg me to re- main. Here our first-born drew his first breath; his grave is near; here haye I tasted the sweet- ness that lies in sorrow, the love that lies in affliction, the hope and the joy that are ‘of faith; here have I been drawn nearer to God! Counsel me; Bluebell; advise me, dear woman. What shall I do?” Bluebell looked pleadingly at Coltsfoot ; his countenance had not changed its thoughtful ex- pression. : “Tt is for you to decide, dear love,” said Bluebell ; ‘‘you are wiser and stronger than L However it is to be, believe that I shall be happy if you are satisfied.” Sassafras aa the apartment in serious mental disturbance. He also looked at Golts- somewhat bitterly, foot who, however, made no sign. Then said . ’ | loved throughout the land!” * * * * * * » born | than he is Bluebell, whose modesty, simplicity, lowly, and the light of good dee THE KING OF NO-LAND. ‘* Are you waiting for permission to speak be- fore the King?” ‘No,” replied Coltsfoot, inja gentle tone, ‘‘I am waiting to hear how your best judgment prompts you to decide.” ‘**You have heard. I covet no other lot than this. I desire no higher.” ‘* You speak out of your selfishness, then?” **T speak out of my heart.” ‘‘What would you say of the soldier who, when his country, for a just cause, demands the strength of his arm, slinks out of the ranks, and hides in his chimney-corner ? ” ‘*The soldier enlists of his own free-will. To desert at such a moment is the act of a cow- | ard.” ‘*What then, of the man who, placed by | destiny at the head of a great nation, and hay- ing within his hands the power of achieving great good, flies fretfully from his responsibili- ties, because he has not the strength of mind to set his heel upon ‘the littleness with which established routine declares his life must be oc- cupied? When you say you desire no higher lot than this, you speak out of your blindness. So can I fancy some Sybarite speaking, who maintains that there is no higher aim in life than the indulgence of luxuriousness. And while the world is groaning round about him, he wrapped in his silken cloak of selfish ease and effeminacy, heeds not, hears not, the suffering cries of his brothers and sisters. Oh,” cried Coltsfoot, with passionate fervor, ‘“‘that I had been born to power as you were! that I pos- sessed the capacity which is yours, and which you regard so lightly, of healing the wounds of a great people! I would lift my lance against ignorance. Iwould give good oppor- tunity to those who are born low down. I would root uncleanliness out of my land. I would honor true merit. I would wage war against the fashions which drift a nation upon the rocks of false morality. I would walk with my eyes open through the streets of my country, and I would do my best to purify them. I would be a priest to my people—a healer. By my example, I would make sim- plicity honored. Religion should be something more than a tradition, and God should be wor- shiped on Mondays and Tuesdays, and the other week-days—worshiped, as he should be worshiped, in houses and streets as well as in churches, by the living of good lives and the constant exercise of charity and virtue. So would I walk through my life and live my days, and fulfill the solemn trust which had fallen into my hands—leaving behind me, when my task was done, an honorable name, built upon solid foundation, and a heritage of good deeds to grace my children’s lives, and make them A year has passed, and Sassafras reigns again in No-land. Lord Orabtree is dismissed, and by the King’s side, for councilors, aré Coltsfoot and Old Humanity. Wise councilors, indeed, they; they strike at the very root of evil; Short as is the time that has elapsed | great deeds have been done, and, with God's | help, greater still will be accomplished. Sassa- fras is beloved by all; and even more beloved and goodness have endeared her to the hearts of the people. Their pictures—hers with a baby in her arms—hang upon the walls of every lowly cottage in the land; and when she walks or rides through the streets, loving eyes follow | her, and loving eyes treasure up the affection- ate looks she bestows upon them. _ Iris, Lucerne, and Daisy live in’ Bluebell’s cottage, and many are the happy hours Sassafras and | Bluebell spend in that dear home. And when | the Good Season comes round: again, men and women who have the means are influenced by the bright example set them by their King and Queen, and go among the poor and shines | 41 23 upon their way. Truly a blessing has fallen upon the country, and it is Christmas through. out all the land, THE END. “The Model Family Paper —AND— Most Charming of the Wecklies.” A pure paper; good in every thing; bright, brilliant and attractive. 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_ 86 Wrraovur Mercy. Fireside RAARAAAAA RRARAR AAR ARR RRA Library. Each issue a complete novel and sold at the uniform price of TEN CENTS. No double price numbers. 1 Was Sux His Wire?. Mrs. Ma 2\FLeeinc From Love. By Harriet Irving. 8 Dip He Love Her? By Bartley T. Campbell. 4 A Srrance Woman. By Rett Winwood. 6 Two Girs’ Lives. By Mrs, M. R. Crowell, 9 Tae War or Hearts. By Corinne Cushman, 11 THe Fatse Wipow. By Mrs. J. D. Burton. 12-13 Lost ror Love, By Miss M. E. Braddon. 14-15 TorLers oF THE Ska. By Victor Hugo. 16 Tae Quaproon. By Catharine A. Warfield. 17-18 Uncte Sinas. By J. S. Le Fanu. 19-20 Deap-Sza Frurr. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 21-22 Lirrte Kate Kirpy. By F. W. Robinson. 23 SowInG THE WinD. By Mrs. Mary R. Crowell. 24-25 Brrps or Prey. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 25 THat Boy or Norcort’s. Charles Lever. 27-283 CHARLOTTE’s INBERITANCE, By Miss Braddon. 29 A Greu’s Heart. By Rett Winwood. 80-31 Rep as A Rosg isSae. By Rhoda Broughton. 82 THe Lity of St. Erne. 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By A Parson's Daughter. 81 ALMosT Marriep. By A Parson’s Daughter. 82 Two Farr Women. wa M. Turner. 8 Tux INHERITANCE OF Hate. By J. D. Burton, 84 Peart oF PEARLS. By A. P. Morris, Jr. 8 For Honor’s Sagr. By Reed Ch owell. 86 Lance UrquHArt’s Loves. By Annie Thomas, 87 SAFELY ED. By author of “ Caste.” 88 FLoretre. By Col. ntiss Ingraham. 89 TureE Times Deap. By Miss M. E. Braddon, 90 For A Woman’s Saxe. By Watts Phillips. 91 ‘He Cometu Not,’ Sue Sar. By Thomas. 92 THE New Macpaten. By Wilkie Collins. 93 An Open'VeRDICT. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 94 SworpD AND Gown. y Geo, A. Lawrenca, 95 A BeGGar ON Horsepack. By James Payne, 96 Her Facer Was Her Fortune. By Robinson. 97 Janz Eyre. By Charlotte Bronte, 98 WRECKED IN Port. By Edmund Yates. 99 Tue CoLLEEN Bawn. By Gerald Griffin. 100 AN AmorTious Giru, By A Celebrated Actress, 101 Foun Puay. By Reade and Boucicault, 102 Carrra. By Mrs. Oliphant. 103 A Woman Harter. By Charles Reade, 104 Arter Dark. By Wilkie Collins. 105 Harp Times. By Charles Dickens, 106 Grir, By B. L. Farjeon. 107 Fenton's Quest. Miss Braddon. 108 Turer Featruers. By W. Black. 109 Joun Havirax, GENTLEMAN. Miss Mulock. 110 Murpuy’s Master. By J. Payn. 111 Heaps or Monry. By W. E. Norris. 112 In Mortau Perit, Mary R. Crowell. 113 THe Deap Sreretr. By Wilkie Collins. 114 PLayInG To Win. By G. M. Fenn, 115 Denis Duvau. By W. M. Thackeray. 116 Too Soon. By Katherine S. M 101d, 117 Tae Two Desrixies. By Wilkie Collins.. 118 Ar His Mercy, By Corinne Cushman. 119 Ceciu’s Tryst. By James Payn. CLoups AND SUNSHINE, and CHRistIz JoHN- STONE. By Charles Reade. 121 Vater. By Captain are 122 Bounp By A Spetu. By H. Rebak. 1238 THe Gotpen Lion oF GRANPERE. By An- thony Trollope. 124 THe Curate mn CuHarce. By Mrs. Oliphant, 125 THe Mipnieut Sun. By Fredrika Bremer. + 126 THe Pirerms or’TrHe Rumer. E, L. Bulwer, 127 Founp Deap. By James Pa 128 Harry Hearacors. By Anthony Trollope. 129 Tue Fuerrirves. By Mrs. —_ ly March 9th. 180 THe Best or Hussanps. By James Payn. Ready March A new issue every week, For sale by al! newsdealers, or sent, paid, on receipt of twelve cents. BEAD ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William street, N. ¥, Library. The Only Young Ladies’ Library of First-Class Copyright Novels Published. Price, Five Cents, Maskep Brermpn. By Mary Reed Crowell. 48 It Love? By Wm. Mason Turner. Gm. Wire. By Bartley T. Campbell. Arabella Southworth. . M. Turner. Sara Claxton. Reed Crowell. Southworth. 9 * Author of “Clifton.” 10 A Pam or Gray Eyes. By Rose Kennedy. 11 EnTanciep. By Henrietta Thackeray. 12 His Lawrct Wire. By Mrs. Ann §, Stephens. 18 Mapcap, raz LirrLE QuAKERESS. By Cushinan. 14 Way I Marrmp Hm. By Sara Claxton. 15 A Farr Facs. By Bartley T. Campbell. 16 Trust Her Not. By Margaret Leicester. 17 A Loyvat Lover. By Arabella Southworth. 18 His Ipot. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 19 Tux Broxex BernorHau. By Mary G. Halpine. 20 OrPHAN NELL, THE ORANGE Gre. Agile Penne. 21 Now anp Forsever, By Henrietta Thackeray. 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