HAYDN IN A STORM.

a young soldier with the other. Drunkards are much given to weeping. They will shed tears of bitter repentance this moment, and sin the next. It is no uncommon thing to hear them cursing the effects of intemperance, while they are poising the cup of indulgence, and gasping to gulp down its contents. The beggar and the tragedian weep for a livelihood: Joseph begged his two friends to wait for him, and followed they can coin their tears, and make them pass for the current Bernardone. He was ushered into an apartment, perfumed money of the realm. The one weeps you into a charitable with the most agreeable incense, gorgeously furnished, and humor, and the other makes you pay for being forced to weep realizing, in its small compass, all the magnificence of the along with him. Sympathy bids us relieve the one, and curi- East. Joseph, however, took little notice of all this finery, osity prompts us to support the other. We relieve the beggar his head was filled with the opera he had to compose-so when he prefers his claim, and we pay the tragedian before-filled, that even the Count of Staremberg, who was pacing the hand. The one weeps whether he will or not, but the other room with a peevish countenance, and an awkward limp, and weeps only when he is well paid for it. Poets are a weeping his mistress, lying on a sofa, her back turned to the door, estribe; they are social in their tears; they would have the caped his notice. She half turned her head as the stranger whole world to weep along with them. Their sensibility is so entered, saluted Bernardone, and merely nodded to the other, exquisite, and their imaginations so fantastic, that they make who, thin, pale, and mean-looking, was not thought worthy of even the material world to sympathize with their sorrows.further notice. The dew on the lily is compared to tears on the cheek of a disconsolate maiden; when it glitters on the herbage at twilight, it is called the tears of the evening: and when the sun rises and exhales the dew drops from the flowers, it is said to wipe away the tears of the morning. Thus we have a weeping day and a weeping night. We have weeping rocks, weeping waterfalls, weeping willows, weeping grottoes, weeping skies, weeping climates (as our late winter has proved); and, if any signal calamity has befallen a great man, we have, to finish the climax, a weeping world.

A SABBATH THOUGHT.
(WRITTEN IN FRANCE.)

BY FLORENCE WILSON.

Where is the Sabbath blest?

Alas! not here;

Here is no sacred rest

The soul to cheer;

Here Mirth with ready feet

Folly's gay pageant swells,
While in the crowded street
Revelry dwells!

Where does the Sabbath reign

With hallowing power?
Where the neat rustic train

At noontide hour

Beneath the moss-grown porch
Thronging is seen;
Where the old village church
Stands on the green.
Where is God's temple found?
Where do we feel
His presence shed around,

Sin's wounds to heal?

Is 't in cathedral proud,
Where choral voices blend,

And in hosannas loud

To Heaven ascend?

Or where the deep-toned bell
Booms on the air,

Calling with sullen swell

To midnight prayer?
Where the dim-lighted shrine

A pale gleam throws,

Mocking the light divine,
Religion knows?

God's temple is 'all space'-
Through earth, sea, air,
His presence we can trace—
His temple 's there'
There may Devotion kneel,

There may the Christian pray,

And all the comfort feel

Of this blessed day!

"Sir," said Bernardone, "I have brought him; I am sure he will distinguish himself, young as he is. He has engaged for an opera." "Very well, I'll hiss it then, that's all," said the count, shrugging his shoulders.

Haydn made a bow, and the count resumed his halting walk.

"And I will go and applaud it," cried Wilhelmina, bounding off the sofa, in pure spirit of contradiction, "and I'll choose the poem, I will; luckily we have abundance of poet ry," and running to a scrutoire she drew forth a number of MS. poems, from which, having selected one, she gave it to Haydn.

"Thank you, Madame," said Haydn, "ladies are ever obliging. The black coat you see me wear, I owe to the generosity of an Italian lady, to whom I gave singing lessons, a twelvemonth ago, while in the service, as footman, of the cele brated Porpora."

The count cast a look of supreme disdain on poor Joseph. "Yes, madame," continued he, "every morning I had to brush his clothes, clean his boots, and powder his old-fashioned wig, and the most scolding and rough master he was. The lady I speak of, having heard my story, begged me to call on her, and she gave me six sequins for twelve lessons-it was with that money I purchased this coat, and I dare now show myself without being ashamed."

The count, who was still limping the length of the room, again stopped short, and inquired for the title of the poem. The young man could scarcely repress a smile, when he saw at the head of the manuscript, the title, Le Diable Boiteux,' and he said to the count, "Excuse me, sir; but the title had better remain a mystery; as you are determined to hiss my composition, you might prejudice some of your friends against

me.

"This young man is not in want of sense," said Wilhel

mina.

"He has more impudence than sense," remarked the surly

count.

It was stipulated that the price the composition was to fetch, was to be four-and-twenty sequins, and no more; and that, on condition that the work was completed within a week. This was more time than Haydn wanted, who found it more difficult to contain the crowd of ideas that filled his head, than to find time and opportunity to express them. At the expiration of four days, the piece was finished, with the exception of a passage, which was the torment of the poor composer. Haydn called with the manuscript on the poet; "You have interlined here, here comes a tempest,' but I have never seen one, can you describe one to me?"

"Unfortunately, I am unable, I put the tempest between parentheses, because I found it impossible to put it in verselike you, I have never seen a tempest.'

The difficulty was considerable, what was to be done?-he called on Bernardone.

"Have you ever seen a tempest," said Joseph, on entering.

I should think I had; I was as near as possible being wrecked four times."

"Just explain it to me then, I will sit at the instrument." Stop, I will do better," said Bernardone, "I will play one for you," and he began the strangest antics imaginable, raising and lowering his arms, leaning from one end of the piano to the other, to imitate the rocking of a vessel, as he said; imitating, in the base and the treble, the thunder and gusts of wind.

"Do you understand, my boy?"

"I am afraid I am not much wiser than I was before," said Haydn, smiling, "this appears more like the music, cats let loose would make, than any thing else."

"Picture to yourself," said Bernardone, rising, and kicking chairs, tables and stools about, throwing books and other articles from one end of the room to the other, "picture to yourself the sky darkening-psh! wish-there goes the windlightning darts athwart the skies-the vessel rises and then descends-broong! wong!-there goes the terrible thunder. Then look here, mind-here rises a mountain-there sinks a deep valley-mountains and vallies run, without being able to catch each other up-the mountain is engulphed in the valley -the valley repels the mountain-the lightning flashes-the thunder rumbles-the ship floats like a straw-now describe all this; I should think I have made it clear enough, eh?" Haydn, lost in the midst of this grand description, accompanied with all due contortions and stamping; on his side, sat down to the instrument, tried and stamped in his turn, till, truly, if any one had stepped into the room at this conjuncture, he would have thought himself in the presence of a couple of men possessed by some malicious demon. At length Haydn, in sheer despair, ran the left hand from the lowest note, and the right one from the highest, towards each other, exclaiming "The deuce take the storm!"

REVIVALS OF RELIGION.

A SERMON

PREACHED AT THE CHURCH OF THE MESSIAH, NEW YORK,

BY THE REV. ORVILLE DEWEY.

Nehemiah, ix. 13, 14.-Thou gavest them right judgements and true laws, good statutes and commandments; and madest known to them thy holy Sabbath, and commandest them precepts, statutes and laws. The great end of our being is the formation of a religious virtue; and in comparison with this, every thing else in the world, sinks to insignificance. The affairs of a visible empire, of a visible world, are of no such importance to any man as the concerns of the empire, the world within him; nor do all those visible events taken together, nor all their physical effects taken by themselves, present an object of such grandeur and moment as the salvation of a single soul. The means therefore, by which this end is to be accomplished, deserve at all times a deep and careful consideration. What are they? All that is, doubtless is a means. Life is a means. All involuntary human experience is a means. God has That 's it, bravo," cried Bernardone, "that is beautiful-appointed them for this end. But besides all this, he has apsuperb, you have got it, Joseph, you shall have thirty sequins pointed specific means-right judgements, true laws, good instead of twenty-four." statutes and commandments-the Sabbath, public worship, private meditation and prayer, and, above all, personal effort and vigilance.

STANZAS FOR EASTER-DAY.

H. M.

T was in the middle watch of night, when darkness hung profound
About the city of the Lord, and Judah's heights around,
That at the portal of a tomb a Roman guard patrolled-

A new-made grave, against whose mouth a mighty stone was rolled.
Slow tramped the guard, and hollowly the armour's clank was heard
For all was still upon the hill, and not a vine-leaf stirred;
The neighbouring city silent heaved, in hushed and heavy dream,
And sleep outspread with wings of lead hung o'er Jerusalem.

The listless soldier's heart was back to his far-distant home,
Where red the Tiber rolled along by old familiar Rome;
A spell was cast across the past, and shapes of things gone by
Came back distinct upon his soul, and passed portentously.

Then thoughts arose of where he was, the story of the land,
The mystic spirit here adored, the marvels of his hand,
The rumour of divinity beneath that tombstone there,
And closer to his band he drew, and his lips moved in prayer.

These are the established means of virtue and piety.For six thousand years the world has used them, and found them sufficient-found them, at least, to answer all the purpose that means could answer. On the Sabbath, the holy word has been spoken, and the prayer or sacrifice offered; in private hours, it has been meditated upon, and prayed over; in the cares and labors of life the endeavor has been made by the faithful to put it in practice. This, I say, embraces the whole ordinary instrumentality of the religious life -all that has been recognized as proper and useful, by the religious and good men of all past ages.

But at length-in these latter days-in this country of many inventions-by two or three sects-an entirely new system of means has been adopted, which is regarded by them, not indeed as superseding all others, but as superior to all others. This is the system, as it is called of "Revivals of Religion." It is believed among their promoters, that the number of persons converted and made truly religious in their congregations by these means, is out of all proportion greater than the number of persons saved by all other means put together.

That this system is new, and that it is operating within comparatively very narrow bouuds, I suppose will not be denied. I am not objecting to it simply as new, though it cannot be denied that it is so. Nothing answering to these Revivals of Reli

Whispered the palm-trees, stirred the grass, on Kedron's banks below; gion, has ever been known among the Jews, the Catholics, or

The rushes shivered; was 't a breeze that shook the mountain so?

It gathers-strengthens; from above a burst of thunder breaks,
And horribly beneath their feet the earth's foundation quakes!

A step is in the earthquake, and a voice upon the storm;
Jehovah's angel hath come down, revealed in human form;
Straight to the sepulchre he strides, rolls back the ponderous stone,
And in a flood of glory forth the Crucified hath gone!

Nor witnessed this by mortal eye, for struck with sore dismay,
The steel clad heathens fell to earth, and like the lifeless lay;
And when the vision disappeared, they rallied not again,
But rose and hasted from the spot, like conscience-stricken men.

Tis past-and all hath long been hushed,-the fading stars are set,
And now the early lines of light gleam o'er Mount Olivet,
When two worn, weeping women come-rebuke them not this morn;
The grataful heart will hover near, though all should laugh to scorn.
They stop the stone is rolled away-they look, and quake at heart-
There are the grave-clothes scattered round; the napkin wrapped
apart ;-

The tenant's fled-but in its stead One of seraphic mien
Sits smiling where the mangled corse of him they sought had been.

Why, daughters of Jerusalem, why bow ye thus the knee?
Seek ye the man whose life-blood ran from yon accursed tree?
Go-be of comfort; he hath left this dark and cheerless prison-
The work is done, and Mary's son-the Lord of Lords—is riseu!

When man would bend in pain of heart o'er some beloved tomb,
Oh, may a voice as sweet as this make answer from the gloom-
That when the bitterness of death to dust directs the eyes,
An angel may be waiting there, to turn them to the skies!

the great body of the Protestant churches. Ebullitions of religious zeal, there have been; outbreaks of wild fanaticism, as among the Anabaptists of Germany; great changes, as at the Reformation; extraordinary effects produced by miracles, as at the Pentacost, or by remarkable preaching as that of Whitefield and Peter the Hermit; but it will not be maintained, I presume, that either of these bore any strict analogy to the systematic excitements of which we are now speaking. A great national revival of religion, succeeding its decay or long slumber, may be witnessed-such as that produced in England by the Methodists-such as we may look for in France, nay, and in the whole world, I trust; but all this is a very different thing from our modern American Revivals.Of these, the world in all past ages has experienced literally nothing. On the Continent of Europe they have scarcely been heard of: the piety of England has been sustained for ages without them; our Puritan fathers knew nothing of them; and side by side with their advocates, are marching large bodies of Christians at this day and in this country-the Catholics, the Episcopalians, the Lutherans, the Dutch Reformed Churches, the Quakers-who have never adopted these methods of promoting religion.

In this state of the case, it cannot surprise those who are confessedly innovating upon the whole universally received and long-established order of divine institutions, that we should subject their measures to a strict and cautious scrutiny. This

is what I propose to do-reverently, as well becomes the treatment of a religious theme-and charitably, as becomes the treatment of men, doubtless honest, and verily thinking that they are doing God service. I will not touch their holy things, but "with solemn awe that bids me well beware with what intent," I do it; nor with any conscious intent but to promote that welfare, the dearest, most vital and momentous of all-the spiritual welfare of men. If the system of the Revivalists is right, we ought to go over to it. If it is wrong, they ought to forsake it. Or if they are inaccessible to any considerations tending to that result, it is not improper for the great body of Christians that stands aloof from them, as it confessedly does, to assign the reasons that justify it in refraining from their counsel.

Let us then proceed to consider this new method of promoting religion; this method, so modern that only till within he last century has it ever been known in the church: this method that has originated in America, and is confined here to three or four sects. Let us inquire whether this is a better method than any that has ever been ordained by God or devised by man; or whether it offers any important accession to the means of promoting religion. This, as I understand it, is the real question; whether this is the best method and far he best; in other words, whether this, added to other influ-propriate work. Now it may seem at first view, that a Revi ences, constitutes far the most efficient system of means. If not, why shall we adopt it, with all its acknowledged dangers? Undoubtedly it is held, in the churches where it prevails, to be the means, as I have said before, of making more converts and Christians than all other means put together.

I. I must observe then, in the first place, that this claim is, on the face of it, and to say the least, very questionable. Has it been reserved for a small fraction of the church, within the last century, to devise a means of grace, more powerful than all others united-than all others ever before known in the world? God has ever governed the world, as I believe, for its spiritual welfare. He has ever been appointing means to this end. But has he left untried the grandest means of all till now? Saints and seers, prophets and apostles, and the Great Teacher, have spoken to the world, but they have never said a word about this system of Revivals about protracted meetings and anxious seats, or any part of the peculiar machinery of these modern excitements. Would they not have spoken of these things-would they not have recommended and enjoined the use of these means, if they actually held the place assigned to them by their advocates? Has the church been languishing for ages-have millions gone to perdition, for the want of this grand instrument of salvation; and has it been withholden from all ages, and is it now withholden from almost the whole world!

it

are ever stillest? In short the Revival system seems to me
quite too much an American system; much more the offspring
of our national character, than adapted to it. We are pro-
verbially in haste about every thing. We cannot wait for any
thing to be done deliberately. And this national tendency
seems to me unfortunately to be working itself into our Reli-
gion.
II. But let us now, in the next place, look more particularly
at the character of these religious excitements.
And here, be it observed, that the question is not about the
fundamental principles of Religion, but simply about the best
means of promoting it. That Religion, or a true, inward,
spiritual virtue, is the supreme concern of life—that it is griev
ously neglected-that multitudes around us need a change, a
conversion-that it is of unspeakable importance that they
should be brought to a crisis in the affairs of their minds, to a
solemn resolve and a persevering endeavor to lead a good and
religious life: all this is true. The question is, how shall this
effect be wrought in them, and wrought in the best manner?
Here is a mind to be moved-with various powers, passions,
affections, tendencies and exposures. To judge what is the
best influence, the fittest discipline for it, we must look all
round about it. It is to be moved, we say-aroused to its ap-
val-season is singularly adapted to this end. It arrests atten-
tion; it brings some minds to a crisis-to a solemn resolve;
is to some the means of genuine conversion. So far, it seems
a great good. But we must survey it on every hand. We
must consider whether those who are moved, are best moved
whether those who begin to lead a religious life under this
kind of excitement, begin under the most favorable circum-
stances. We must consider the effect of it upon the many
who do not become its subjects. We must take into the ac
count its effect upon Religion in general, and upon the ideas
of Religion that prevail in society. To be sure, if a man looks
upon the thousands around him as so many brands burning, bis
only effort may be to snatch as many as he can from the fire;
and he may think that he has nothing further to consider.-
But if he looks upon the surrounding multitudes as a mass of
rational beings, all of whom are to be wisely cared for, all of
whom are to be rationally influenced, and the utmost possible
number of whom are to be saved, he will find that he has a
larger view to take, of a wise and considerate administration
of Religion. He will not think it enough to move a few, or
merely to move any. What if the preacher were to come in
to his pulpit once in a year or two, clothed in sackcloth and
with ashes on his head, and should tell the people that he had
done this to testify his concern and mourning for their souls!
And suppose that this were considered by the people as a
thing very proper to be done. Certainly it could not appear
to any more extraordinary, I may say in passing, than to
many of us do some of the Revival measures. And it must be
remembered that a man may put on a spiritual costume just
as strange and startling as any costume of dress. Suppose
the thing I speak of, then, to be done. It is evident that
ny would be moved by such an appeal, and that some would
be very deeply moved-nay, would be converted—as truly, I
say it not ironically, but seriously, as they ever are in any Re
vival. But when all this is done, is there no further question
to be asked? Nay, if reason is to have any thing to do with
Religion, there are further questions to be asked.

I am willing to take the most liberal view of the means of religion and virtue. As spiritual natures are the only things of any essential value, in this world, I believe that the eye of Providence has ever been fixed upon them. The true problem of all history is to show how that Providence hath cared for them and helped them. The great story of human life, in my view, hath no other interpretation. And amidst clouds and darkness-amidst the struggles of blind, wilful and passionate beings, I think that I see every where this interpretation. I see that men have been helped as fast and as far as consisted with their moral freedom, and with their working out for themselves their highest welfare. That help has always been a wise accommodation to their circumstances. I see that this 1. For does not the preacher perceive, in the first place, principle has presided over those successive and improving that just in proportion as he makes an impression by any exdispensations of religion that have been given to the world-traordinary costume, whether of mind or manner or dress, over Judaism and Christianity. I believe in these dispensa- that he lessens the effect of his ordinary ministration? Or tions. I believe in increasing light. I believe in progress. if he introduces a Revival preacher into his pulpit, to do, by a I do not object to "new measures" for religious advance- certain manner or a certain fame, that which he cannot do; is ment, solely because they are new. My mind is not shut not his own preaching likely to suffer disparagement in conagainst the possibility of a new dispensation-of new revela- sequence, and probably a very unjust disparagement of its real tions-new institutions. But will it be maintained that the power and usefulness? Suppose that Sunday was represented Revival system is of this character! It must show two things as the only day for becoming or for being religious. Would to make this claim good. It must show a miraculous warnot the pressure of conscience be taken off from every other rant. And it must show a need in the time-an adaptation day in the week? And is not something precisely analogous to the time. The first, I suppose, is not alleged by any sober to this, witnessed in congregations where Revivals prevail?Revivalist. And the second I cannot see, but the very con- Is not the Revival regarded as offering the main chance-al trary. It appears to me that in this country-a country of most the only chance-of becoming religious? And when it unprecedented excitement a country of multiplying sects, of is past, are not the most of those who think of ever being sects breaking out into boundless freedom-of a religion set Christians, waiting for another season? They may be told free from all forms, fixtures, establishments-we especially that this is wrong, but is not the result almost inevitablewant a grave and staid sobriety. Excitement is not what we God's spirit is represented as having been in the midst of want, but moderation; moderation, I say, not stupor. When them, and now as having left them. The Angel of the Lord will it be believed that the strongest thing in the world is self-came down, and the waters of the healing pool flowed forth. restraint that the deepest emotions, like the deepest waters, They did not step in, they are not healed; now all is dry, the

in behalf of a man so changed and selfish, and quite hated a jolly-looking old gentleman opposite for declaring himself, in the pride of his heart, a patten-maker.

As the banquet proceeded, he took more and more to heart the rich citizen's unkindness-and that not from any envy, but because he felt that a man of his state and fortune could all the better afford to recognize an old friend, even if he were poor and obscure. The more he thought of this, the more lonely and sad he felt. When the company dispersed and adjourned to the ball room, he paced the hall and passages alone, ruminating in a very melancholy condition upon the disappointment he had experienced.

It chanced while he was lounging about in this moody state, that he stumbled upon a flight of stairs, dark, steep and narrow, which he ascended without any thought about the matter, and so came into a little music-gallery, empty and deserted. From this elevated post, which commanded the whole hall, he amused himself in looking down upon the attendants, who were clearing away the fragments of the feast very lazily, and drinking out of all the bottles and glasses with most commendable perseverance.

Joe Toddyhigh instinctively stooped down, and, more dead than alive, felt his hair stand on end, his knees knock together, and a cold damp break out upon his forehead. But even at that minute curiosity prevailed over every other feeling, and somewhat reassured by the good humor of the Giants and their apparent unconsciousness of his presence, he crouched in a corner of the gallery, in as small a space as he could, and peeping between the rails, observed them closely.

FIRST NIGHT OF THE GIANT CHRONICLES. Turning toward his companion, the elder Giant uttered these words in a grave majestic tone:

"Magog, does boisterous mirth beseem the Giant Warder of this ancient city? Is this becoming demeanor for a watch ful spirit over whose bodiless head so many years have rolled, so many changes swept like empty air-in whose impalpable nostrils the scent of blood and crime, pestilence, cruelty and horror, has been familiar as breath to mortals-in whose sight Time has gathered in the harvest of centuries, and garnered so many crops of human pride, affections, hopes, and sorrows? Bethink you of our compact. The night wanes; feasting, revelry and music have encroached upon our usual hours of solitude, and morning will be here apace. Ere we are stricken mute again, bethink you of our compact."

His attention gradually relaxed, and he fell fast asleep. When he awoke, he thought there must be something the matter with his eyes; but, rubbing them a little, he soon fou .d that the moonlight was really streaming through the east window, that the lamps were all extinguished, and that he was alone. He listened, but no distant murmur in the echoing passages, not even the shutting of a door, broke the deep silence; he groped his way down the stairs, and found that the door at the bottom was locked on the other side. He began now to comprehend that he must have slept a long time, that he had been overlooked, and was shut up there for the night. His first sensation, perhaps, was not altogether a comfortable one, for it was a dark, chilly, earthy-smelling place, and something too large for a man so situated to feel at home in. However, when the momentary consternation of his surprise was over, he made light of the accident, ar.d resolved to feel "You know, Gog, old friend, that when we animate these his way up the stairs again, and make himself as comfortable shapes which the Londoners of old assigned (and not unworthas he could in the gallery until morning. As he turned to ex-ily) to the gardian genii of their city, we are susceptible of ecute this purpose he heard the clocks strike three.

Any such invasion of a dead stillness as the striking of distant clocks, causes it to appear the more intense and insupportable when the sound has ceased. He listened with strained attention in the hope that some clock, lagging behind its fellows, had yet to strike-looking all the time into the profound darkness before him until it seemed to weave itself into a black tissue, patterned with a hundred reflections of his own eyes. But the bells had all pealed out their warning for that once, and the gust of wind that moaned through the place seemed cold and heavy with their iron breath.

The time and circumstances were favorable to reflection. He tried to keep his thoughts to the current, unpleasant though it was, in which they had moved all day, and to think with what a romantic feeling he had looked forward to shaking his old friend by the hand before he died, and what a wide and cruel difference there was between the meeting they had had, and that which he had so often and so long anticipated. Still he was disordered by waking to such sudden loneliness, and could not prevent his mind from running upon odd tales of people of undoubted courage, who, being shut up by night iu vaults or churches, or other dismal places, had scaled great heights to get out, and fled from silence as they had never done from danger. This brought to his mind the moonlight through the window, and bethinking himself of it, he groped his way back up the crooked stairs-but very stealthily, as though he were fearful of being overheard.

He was very much astonished, when he approached the gallery again, to see a light in the building: still more so, on advancing hastily and looking round, to observe no visible source from which it could proceed. But how much greater yet was his astonishment at the spectacle which this light re

vealed!

The statues of the two giants, Gog and Magog, each above fourteen feet in hight, those which succeeded to still older and more barbarous figures after the Great Fire of London, and which stand in the Guildhall to this day, were endowed with life and motion. These guardian genii of the City had quitted their pedestals and reclined in easy attitudes in the great stained glass window. Between them was an ancient cask, which seemed to be full of wine, for the younger Giant, clapping his huge hand upon it, and throwing up his mighty leg, burst into an exulting laugh, which reverberated through

the hall like thunder.

Pronouncing these latter words with more of impatience than quite accorded with his apparent age and gravity, the Giant raised a long pole (which he still bears in his hand) and tapped his brother Giant rather smartly on the head; indeed the blow was so smartly administered, that the latter quickly withdrew his lips from the cask to which they had been ap plied, and catching up his shield and halbert, assumed an attitude of defence. His irritation was but momentary, for he laid these weapons aside as hastily as he had assumed them, and said as he did so :

some of the sensations which belong to human kind. Thus
when I taste wine I feel blows; when I relish the one, I dis-
relish the other. Therefore, Gog, the more especially as your
arm is none of the lightest, keep your good staff by your side,
else we may chance to differ. Peace be between us."
"Amen!" said the other, leaning his staff in the window.
corner; "why did you laugh just now ;"—

"To think" replied the Giant Magog, laying his hand upon the cask, "of him who owned this wine, and kept it in the cellar hoarded from the light of day, for thirty years, 'till it should be fit to drink,' quoth he. He was two score and ten years old when he buried it beneath his house, and yet never thought that he might be scarcely 'fit to drink' when the wine became so. I wonder it never occurred to him to make himself unfit to be eaten. There is very little of him left by this time."

"The night is waning," said Gog mournfully. "I know it," replied his companion, "and I see you are impatient. But look. Through the eastern window placed opposite to us, that the first beams of the rising sun may every morning gild our giant faces-the moon-rays fall upon the pavement in a stream of light that to my fancy sinks through the cold stone and gushes into the old crypt below. The night is scarcely past its noon, and our great charge is sleeping heavily."

They ceased to speak, and looked upward at the moon. The sight of their large, black, rolling eyes filled Joe Toddy high with such horror that he could scarcely draw his breath. Still they took no note of him, and appeared to believe themselves quite alone.

"Our compact," said Magog after a pause, “is, if I understand it, that, instead of watching here in silence through the dreary nights, we entertain each other with stories of our past experience-with tales of the past, the present and the future

with legends of London and her sturdy citizens from the old simple times. That every night at midnight, when Saint Paul's bell tolls out one and we may move and speak, we thus discourse, nor leave such themes till the first grey gleam of day shall strike us dumb. Is that our bargain, brother?"

"Yes," said the Giant Gog, "that is the league between us who guard this city, by day in spirit, and by night in body also; and never on ancient holidays have its conduits run wine more merrily than we will pour forth our legendary lore. We are old chroniclers from this time hence. The crumbled walls