Doubtless, the countess, good and true,
From pity kept the lines from you;

And I'll unsay my words again,

Should they have caused your highness pain."

Straight galloped he with vengeful ire,
The count a wood unto,

Where, in the mighty furnace fire,
The iron ore did glow.

Here, late and early, fed the flame
The smiths, with tireless hands the same.
The sparkles fly, the bellows groan,
As if they would melt rock and stone.

'Tis here that fire and water power
Are seen together bound:

The mill-wheel, in the liquid shower,
Whirls swiftly round and round.
All day, all night, the forges glow,
In measured strikes the hammer-blow;
And amid this din and clashing,
Stubborn iron ore they fashion.

Two smiths, as o'er their task they bend,
The count he calls away :-

The first whom I to you may send,
And who to you may say,
'Have you obeyed my lord's behest!'
Thrust him in yon hell-fire your best;
And let him like those ashes blight,
That he no more offend my sight."

Glad were they, the brutish pair,
With hellish smile they grin ;
For senseless as the iron there,
Their heart it slept within.
And swiftly with the bellows' blast,
'Gan they the flames to swell avast ;
And rife for crime themselves prepare,
To wait the coming victim there.

Then Robert to his fellow spake,
Full of hypocrisy,—

"Up, comrade, up, nor tarry make,
Our lord hath need of thee."

To Fridolin his lord thus said:

"Haste to the forge which gloweth red,
And ask the knaves who labour best,
If they've obeyed my strict behest."

The page replied,-" I'll do thy will!"
And straight ran to the task;

But of a sudden held him still,-
"Hath she no word to ask?"

Then forthwith to the countess went,-
"My ladye, to the forge I'm sent;
And thou hast some command, perchance,
To do which will my joy enhance ?"

In silvery tones, like brooklet clear,
The dame she did reply :-
"The holy mass fain would I hear,
But my babe sick dost lie:

I prithee, then, my child, away,
And raise a double prayer to-day;
With meekness all your sins o'ertrace,
That I may thereby find some grace."

The welcome hest with lowly bend,
The henchman ran to do;
But ere he reached the village end,
While swiftly hastening thro,'
Upon his ear a sound did steal,-
It was the clear and ringing peal,
Which calls all sinners to repent,
Thro' mercy of the sacrament.

"From God on high turn not aside,
But seek him on thy way!"

And to the church he bent his stride,
But few were there that day:
For harvest 'twas, and every field
Required a man the scythe to wield;
And none was there the choir to fill,
But one the mass to serve with skill.

Forthwith the good resolve takes he,
The sacristan to play;

دو

"That should admit no doubt," quoth he,
"Which points the heavenly way.'
And standing by the priest all dumb,
He hangs the stole and cigulum;
And then he hands the cup and glass,
Wherewith the priest may serve the mass.

Now, when this duty's done with care,
As ministrant he stands

Beside the priest and altar there,
The mass-book in his hands.

Now right, now left, he dost incline,
Watchful of every word and sign;
And when the sanctus blessing came,
Thrice fell he at the holy name.

Then when the good priest, bending low,
The shrine approaching nigh:

The symbol God, the cross, doth show,
With arms uplifted high:

The silver bells the boy began

To ring, as doth the sacristan,

The kneeling crowd the breast did beat,
And humbly kissed the cross' feet.

And every part he filled with grace,
With quick and inborn art;
For every form within that place
The lad he knew by heart.

Unwearied to the close he staid-
Vobiscum Dominus was prayed:
"Tis thus the priest a blessing lends,
And thus the holy service ends.

Each holy thing he then sets up,
Each in its place dost lay;
First cleanseth he the sacred cup,
Then speeds him on his way.
And with his conscience thus at rest,
Towards the forges quick he prest;
Twelve paternosters, too, the while,
The distance of the road beguile.

The smoking chimney when he spies,
And the pair working best,-

"Ho! knaves, have ye," to them, he cries,
"Obeyed my lord's behest?"

They twist their mouth with ghastly grin,
And point the furnace flames within:
"The deed was done by yon same fire,-
We servants wait Count Savern's hire."

On with this answer, on he flies,
With swift and breathless flight;
Whom when the count afar off spies,
He scarce can trust his sight.

"Unfortunate! whence comest thou ?”

"Sire, from the forge."-"Not elsewhere, now!

"Sure, somewhere on the road didst stay?"

"Sire, only in the church to pray."

"When from your sight, my lord, 'tis true,

I went to do thy hest,

I ran to ask what I could do,

To please my ladye best.

The mass, my lord, she bade me hear,

And glad I was of words so dear;

And for her peace and thine told o'er,

My rosaries, in number four."

Deep stunned, this speech Count Savern heard, All wondering in amaze :—

"And at the forge, say-say, what word
Or speech the smiths did raise?"

"Dark was their speech, my lord, I ween,
They spake it with a hellish mien,—
"The deed was done by yon same fire,
We servants wait Count Savern's hire.'

"And Robert?" gasped the count, abroad,
While cold run thro' his blood;

"Sure, Fridolin, he crossed thy road? I sent him to the wood."

"My lord, in wood or field, nowhere Did I see trace of Robert there."

'Now," cried the count, abashed his sight, "The God of heaven hath judged aright!"

And kindly, like he'd ever loved,
He took the page's hand;

And brings him to the countess, moved,
She naught did understand.

"This child, no angel is more pure,
O may your love for him endure !

How weak were we to be misled,

While God and heaven waft o'er his head!"

DOLEFUL as the story was, and sentimental as my friends deemed it necessary to become under the influence of the history of the fair Senora, the repast which speedily succeeded the narrative suffered not the less, notwithstanding whatever mental afflictions may have visited my male companions. But as regarded the ladies, the case was diametrically reversed; for the very instant they were placed in possession of the tale, it appeared somewhat doubtful whether they would not sally forth on the instant in quest of the much persecuted heroine, prior to taking into consideration what description of assistance they were about to proffer, as well as the extent of their ability to do good. This anxiety on the part of the fair travellers was by some attributed to a feeling approximating towards curiosity: but I, for one, am fully persuaded it had its origin in a superior and far more generous motive.

And who can blame the kindly impulse which, responding to a detail of suffering, readily casts aside the cold, calculating axioms of society, and nobly dares public opinion in effecting what, probably, may prove beneficial to the distressed?

Who would stigmatize the inexpressible impulse leading to so meritorious a consummation? And happy is it for the rougher and less polished portion of society, that the paramount influence of women is so frequently called into action, when our more hardened natures would have carelessly passed by objects of compassion without comment or regard.

Thus premising, in order to avoid future misconception touching our unbounded devotion where a lady is concerned, we recur to our friends at Loxa, who, notwithstanding the misery they had suffered, and the great fatigue already undergone, were ready and anxious to brave the toils of another day's march.