The master cook then accepted his services, and he was to commence on the following day. The young man now drove the giant's cattle, and sung his song, and rang his little bell, as he had formerly done; and the princess sat at her window and listened, and made signs to him that he should not appear to notice her. In the evening he drove the herd from the forest, and was met by the giant, who said to him: "Thy life is in the place of any one that may be missing." But not a beast was wanting, let the giant count them as he would. Now the giant was quite friendly, and said, "Thou shalt be my herdsman all thy days." He then went down to the lake, loosed his enchanted boat, and rowed thrice round the island, as he was wont to do. During the giant's absence the princess stationed herself at the window and sang: "To-night, to-night, thou herdsman brave, And if thou comest hither, then will I be thine, The young man listened to her song, and understood from it that he was to go in the night and deliver the princess. He therefore went away without appearing to notice anything. But when it was late, and all were sunk in deep sleep, he stealthily approached the tower, placed himself before the window, and sang: "To-night will wait thy herdsman true, And if thou comest down thou mayest one day be mine, The princess whispered, "I am bound with chains of gold, come and break them." The young man now knew of no other course than again to blow a very long st rain upon his pipe, when instantly he heard a voice behind him, saying, "Good evening!" "Good evening to you," answered the youth, looking round; when there stood the little elf-king from whom he had got the little bell and the pipe. "What wilt thou with me ?" inquired the old man. The young man answered, "I beseech you to convey me and the princess hence." The little man said, "Follow me." They then ascended to the maiden's tower-the castle gate opened spontaneously, and when the old man touched the chain it broke into pieces. All three then went down to the margin of the lake, when the elf-king sang: "Thou little pike in the water must go, At the same moment appeared the little damsel, whose cap the herd-boy had found in the grass. She sprang down to the lake, and was instantly changed into a large pike that sported about in the water. Then said the elf-king, "Sit ye on the back of the pike. But the princess must not be terrified, let what may happen; for then will my power be at an end.” Having so said, the old man vanished; but the youth and the fair princess followed his injunctions, and the pike bore them rapidly along the billows. While all this was taking place, the giant awoke, looked through the window, and perceived the herd-boy floating on the water together with the young princess. Instantly snatching up his eagleplumage, he flew after them. When the pike heard the flapping of the giant's wings, it dived far under the surface of the water, whereat the princess was so terrified that she uttered a scream. Then was the elf king's power at an end, and the giant seized the two fugitives in his talons. On his return to the island he caused the young herdsman to be cast into a dark dungeon, full fifteen fathoms underground; but the princess was again placed in her tower, and strictly watched, lest she should again attempt to escape. The youth now lay in the captive's dungeon, and was in deep affliction at finding himself unable to deliver the princess, and yet, at the same time, having most probably forfeited his own life. The words of the elfin king now occurred to his memory: "If on a third occasion, thou findest thyself in great peril, break the pipe in two, and I will help thee." As a last resource, therefore, he drew forth the little pipe and broke it in two. At the same moment he heard behind him the words "Good evening!" "Good evening, again," answered the youth; and when he looked round there stood the little old man close by him, who asked: "What wilt thou with me?" The young man answered, "I wish to deliver the princess, and to convey her home to her father." The old man then led him through many locked doors and many splendid apartments, till they came to a spacious hall, filled with all kinds of weapons, swords, spears, and axes, of which some shone like polished steel, others like burnished gold. The old man kindled a fire on the hearth, and said, "Undress thyself." The young man did so, and the little man burnt his old garments. He then went to a large iron chest, out of which he took a costly suit of armour, resplendent with the purest gold. "Dress thyself," said he; the young man did so. When he was thus armed from head to foot, the old man bound a sharp sword by his side, and said, "It is decreed that the giant shall fall by this sword, and this armour no steel can penetrate." The young herdsman felt quite at ease in the golden armour, and moved as gracefully as if he had been a prince of the highest degree. They then returned to the dark dungeon; the youth thanked the elf-king for his timely succour, and they parted from each other. Till a late hour there was a great bustle and hurrying in the whole palace, for the giant was on that day celebrating his marriage with the beautiful princess, and had invited many of his kin to the feast. The princess was clad in the most sumptuous manner, and decorated with a crown and rings of gold, and other costly ornaments, which had been worn by the giant's mother. The health of the wedded pair was then drunk amid all kinds of rejoicing, and there was no lack of good cheer, both of meat and drink. But the bride wept without intermission, and her tears were so hot that they felt like fire on her cheeks. When night approached, and the giant was about to conduct his bride to the nuptial chamber, he sent his pages to fetch the young herdsman, who lay in the dungeon. But when they entered the prison the captive had disappeared, and in his stead there stood a bold warrior, with sword in hand, and completely armed. At this apparition the young men were frightened and fled, but were followed by the herdsman, who thus ascended to the court of the palace, where the guests were assembled to witness his death. When the giant cast his eyes on the doughty warrior, he was exasperated, and exclaimed: "Out upon thee, thou base Troll!" As he spoke his eyes became so piercing that they saw through the young herdsman's armour; but the youth fearlessly said, "Here shalt thou strive with me for thy fair bride." The giant was not inclined to stay, and was about to withdraw; but the herdsman drew his sword, which blazed like a flame of fire. When the giant recognised the sword, under which he was doomed to fall, he was terror-struck, and sank on the floor; but the young herdsman advanced boldly, swung round his sword, and struck a blow so powerful that the giant's head was separated from his carcase. Such was his end. On witnessing this exploit, the wedding guests were overcome with fear, and departed each to his home; but the princess ran forward and thanked the brave herdsman for having saved her. They then proceeded to the water, loosened the giant's enchanted boat, and rowed away from the island. On their arrival at the king's court, there was great joy that the king had recovered his daughter, for whom he had mourned so long. There was afterwards a grand wedding, and the young herdsman obtained the king's fair daughter for his bride. They lived happily for very many years, and had many beautiful children. The bell and the broken pipe are preserved as memorials, aye, even to the present day. THE TWO GARDENS. "I CANNOT tell," said Alphonso to his father, "why it is there are such beautiful flowers in my sister Amelia's garden, and none in mine; though I water it every day, and take the greatest care of it, nothing grows there." "My son,” replied his father, "you would have had as fine flowers in your garden as your sister Amelia has in hers if you had sown the seed at the proper time, as she has done. It is necessary not only to sow seed but also to sow it at the right season, to prepare the soil, and to carefully tend it, in order that it may produce flowers. Do you understand me, Alphonso ?" THE GOLDFINCH. GOLDFINCH, pride of woodland glade, THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE. THERE was once a fisherman who lived with his wife in a pigstye, close by the sea-side. The fisherman used to go out all day long a fishing; and one day, as he sat on the shore with his rod, looking at the sparkling waves and watching his line, all on a sudden his float was dragged away deep into the water, and in drawing it up he pulled out a great fish. But the fish said, "Pray let me live! am not a real fish; I am an enchanted prince. Put me in the water again, and let me go!" "Oh! ho!" said the man, "you need not make so many words about the matter; I will have nothing to do with a fish that can talk, so swim away, sir, as soon as you please!" Then he put him back into the water, and the fish darted straight down to the bottom, and left a long streak of blood behind him on the water.. When the fisherman went home to his wife in the pigstye, he told her how he had caught a great fish, and how it had told him it was an enchanted prince, and how, on hearing it speak, he had let it go again. "Did not you ask it for anything?" said the wife. "No," said the man, "what should I ask for?" "Ah!" said the wife, "we live very wretchedly here, in this nasty dirty pigstye; do go back and tell the fish we want a snug little cottage." The fisherman did not much like the business; however he went to the sea-shore, and when he came there the water looked all yellow and green. And he stood at the water's edge and said— "O man of the sea! Hearken to me! My wife Isabill Will have her own will, And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!" Then the fish came swimming to him, and said, "Well, what is her will? what does your wife want?" "Ah!" said the fisherman, "she says that when I had caught you I ought to have asked you for something before I let you go; she does not like living any longer in the pigstye, and wants a snug little cottage." "Go home, then," said the fish, "she is in the cottage already." So the man went home, and saw his wife standing at the door of a nice trim little cottage. "Come in, come in !" said she; "is not this much better than the filthy pigstye we had ?" And there was a parlour, and a bed-chamber, and a kitchen; and behind the cottage there was a little garden, planted with all sorts of flowers and fruits; and there was a courtyard behind full of ducks and chickens. "Ah!" said the fisherman, "how happily we shall live now!" "We will try to do so, at least," said his wife. Everything went right for a week or two, and then Dame Isabill said, "Husband, there is not near room enough for us in this cottage; the courtyard and the garden are a great deal too small. I should like to have a large stone castle to live in: go to the fish again, and tell him to give us a castle." "Wife," said the fisherman, "I don't like to go to him again, for perhaps he will be angry; we ought to be contented with this pretty cottage to live in." "Nonsense," said the wife," he will do it very willingly, I know; go along, and ask him!" The fisherman went, but his heart was very heavy; and when he came to the sea, it looked blue and gloomy, though it was very calm; and he went close to the edge of the waves, and said :— "O man of the sea! My wife Isabill Will have her own will, And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee !" "Well, what does she want now ?" said the fish. "Ah!" said the man, dolefully, "my wife wants to live in a stone castle." "Go home, then," said the fish; "she is standing at the gate of it already." So away went the fisherman, and found his wife standing before the gate of a great castle. "See," said she, "is not this grand?" With that they went into the castle together, and found a great many servants there, and the rooms all richly furnished, and full of golden chairs and tables; and behind the castle was a garden, and around it was a park half a mile long, full of sheep, and goats, and hares, and deer; and in the courtyard were stables and cow-houses. "Well," said the man, "now we will live cheerful and happy in this beautiful castle for the rest of our lives." "Perhaps we may," said the wife; "but let us sleep upon it before we make up our minds to that." So they went to bed. The next morning when Dame Isabill woke it was broad daylight, and she jogged the fisherman with her elbow, and said, "Get up, husband, and bestir yourself, for we must be King of all the land!' "Wife, wife!" said the man, "why should we wish to be King? I will not be King!" "Then I will," said she. "But, wife," said the Fisherman, "how can you be King? the fish cannot make you a king." "Husband," said she, "say no more about it, but go and try. I will be King." So the man went away quite sorrowful to think that his wife should want to be King. This time the sea looked a dark gray colour, and was overspread with curling waves and ridges of foam as he cried out : "O man of the sea! Hearken to me! My wife Isabill Will have her own will, And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!" "Well, what would she have now ?" said the fish. "Alas!" said the poor man, "my wife wants to be King." "Go home," said the fish, "she is King already." Then the fisherman went home; and as he came close to the palace he saw a troop of soldiers, and heard the sound of drums and trumpets. And when he went in he saw his wife sitting on a high throne of gold and diamonds, with a golden crown upon her head; and on each side of her stood six fair maidens, each a head taller than the other. "Well wife," said the fisherman, 66 "Yes," said she, "I am King." are you King?" And when he had looked at her for a long time he said, “Ah, wife, what a fine thing it is to be King! Now we shall never have anything more to wish for as long as we live." "I don't know how that may be," said she; "never is a long time. I am King, it is true; but I begin to be tired of that, and I think I should like to be Emperor." "Alas, wife! why should you wish to be Emperor ?" said the fisherman. 66 Husband," said she, "go to the fish. I say I will be Emperor." "Ah, wife!" replied the fisherman, "the fish cannot make an Emperor of you I am sure, and I should not like to ask him for such a thing." "I am King," said Isabill, "and you are my slave; so go at once !" So the fisherman was forced to go; and he muttered as he went along, "This will come to no good, it is too much to ask; the fish will be tired at last, and then we shall be sorry for what we have done." He soon came to the sea-shore; and the water was quite black and muddy, and a mighty whirlwind blew over the waves and rolled them about, but he went as near as he could to the water's brink, and said: "O man of the sea! Hearken to ine! My wife Isabill Will have her own will, And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!" "What would she have now ?" said the fish. "Ah!" said the fisherman, "she wants to be Emperor." "Go home," said the fish, "she is Emperor already." So he went home again; and, as he came near, he saw his wife Isabill sitting on a very lofty throne made of solid gold, with a great crown on her head full two yards high, and on each side of her stood her guards and attendants in a row, each one smaller than the other, from the tallest giant down to a little dwarf no bigger than my finger. And before her stood princes, and dukes, and earls; and the fisherman went up to her and said, "Wife, are you Emperor ?" "Yes," said she, "I am Emperor." "Ah," said the man, as he gazed upon her, "what a fine thing it is to be Emperor !" "Husband," said she, "why should we stop at being Emperor? I will be Pope next." "O wife, wife!" said he, "how can you be Pope? There is but one Pope at a time in Christendom." "Husband," said she, "I will be Pope this very day." "But," replied the husband, "the fish cannot make you Pope." "What nonsense," said she; "if he can make an Emperor he can make a Pope: go and try him." So the fisherman went. But when he came to the shore the wind was raging, and the sea was tossed up and down in boiling waves, and the ships were in trouble, and rolled fearfully upon the tops of the billows. In the middle of the heavens there was a little piece of blue sky, but towards the south all was red, as if a dreadful storm was rising. At this sight the fisherman was dreadfully frightened, and he trembled so that his knees knocked together; but still he went down near to the shore, and said, "O man of the sea! Hearken to me! My wife Isabill Will have her own will, And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!" "What does she want now?" said the fish. "Ah!" said the fisherman, "my wife wants to be Pope." "Go home," said the fish; "she is Pope already." Then the fisherman went home, and found Isabill sitting on a throne that was two miles high. And she had three great crowns on her head, and around her stood all the pomp and power of the church. And on each side of her were two rows of burning lights, of all sizes, the greatest as large as the highest and biggest tower in the world, and the least no larger than a small rushlight. "Wife," said the fisherman, as he looked at all this greatness, "are you a Pope ?" "Yes," said she, "I am Pope." "Well, wife," replied he, "it is a grand thing to be Pope; and now you must be easy, for you can be nothing greater." "I will think about that," said the wife. Then they went to bed; but Dame Isabill could not sleep all night for thinking what she should be next. At last, as she was dropping asleep, morning broke, and the sun rose. "Ha!" thought she, as she woke up and looked at it through the window, "after all I cannot prevent the sun rising." At this thought she was very angry, and awakened her husband, and said, “Husband, go to the fish and tell him I must be lord of the sun and moon." The fisherman was half asleep, but the thought frightened him so much that he started and fell out of bed. "Alas, wife!" said he, 66 cannot you be ca›y with being Pope ?" "No," said she; "I am very uneasy as long as the sun and moon rise without my leave. Go to the fish at once!" Then the man went, shivering with fear; and as he was going down to the shore a dreadful storm arose, so that the trees and the very rocks shook; and all the heavens became black with stormy clouds, and the lightnings flashed, and the thunders rolled; and you might have seen in the sea great black waves, swelling up like mountains, with crowns of white foam upon their heads. And the fisherman crept towards the sea, and cried out as well as he could "O, man of the sea! Hearken to me! My wife Isabiil Will have her own will, And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee.' "What does she want now ?" said the fish. "Ah!" said he, "she wants to be lord of the sun and moon." "Go home," said the fish, "to your pigstye again." And there they live to this very day. We never expect fruit from a tree which in spring has borne no flowers: neither can we hope for good works in a man unless he has shown a good disposition in his youth. THE more loaded a tree is with fruit the lower it bends: so where there is most humility there is most virtue. HOME AND REST. We shall reach our home to-night, And the waters bright; And the breezes have scarcely strength To unfold that little cloud, That like a shroud As we cleave our silver way Fear not, my child! We shall rest from our stormy voyage In peace at last. URING the time of Augustus Cæsar, Emperor of Rome, there reigned in England (which was then called Britain) a king whose name was Cymbeline. Cymbeline's first wife died when his three children (two sons and a daughter) were very young. Imogen, the eldest of these children, was brought up in her father's court; but by a strange chance the eldest was but three years of age, and the youngest quite an infant; two sons of Cymbeline were stolen out of their nursery, when the and Cymbeline could never discover what was become of them, or by whom they were conveyed away. Cymbeline was twice married: his second wife was a wicked, plotting woman, and a cruel stepmother to Imogen, Cymbeline's daughter by his first wife. The queen, though she hated Imogen, yet wished her to marry a son of her own by a former husband (she also having been twice married); for by this means she hoped, upon the death of Cymbeline, to place the crown of Britain upon the head of her son Cloten; for she knew that, if the king's sons were not found, the princess Imogen must be the king's heir. But this design was prevented by Imogen herself, who married without the consent or even knowledge of her father or the queen. His Posthumus (for that was the name of Imogen's husband) was the best scholar and most accomplished gentleman of that age. father died fighting in the wars for Cymbeline, and soon after his birth his mother died also for grief at the loss of her husband. Cymbeline, pitying the helpless state of this orphan, took Posthumus (Cymbeline having given him that name, because he was born after his father's death), and educated him in his own court. Imogen and Posthumus were both taught by the same masters, and were playfellows from their infancy; they loved each other tenderly when they were children, and their affection continuing to increase with their years, when they grew grew up they privately married. The disappointed queen soon learnt this secret, for she kept spies constantly in watch upon the actions of her daughter-in-law, and she immediately told the king of the marriage of Imogen with Post humus. Nothing could exceed the wrath of Cymbeline, when he heard that his daughter had been so forgetful of her high dignity as to marry a subject. He commanded Posthumus to leave Britain, and banished him from his native country for ever. The queen, who pretended to pity Imogen for the grief she suffered at losing her husband, offered to procure them a private meeting before Posthumus set out on his journey to Rome, which place he had chosen for his residence in his banishment: this seeming kindness she showed the better to succeed in her future designs in regard to her son Cloten, for she meant to persuade Imogen, when her husband was gone, that her marriage was not lawful, being contracted without the consent of the king. Imogen and Posthumus took a most affectionate leave of each other. Imogen gave her husband a diamond ring, which had been her mother's, and Posthumus promised never to part with the ring; and he fastened a bracelet on the arm of his wife, which he begged she would preserve with great care, as a token of his love; they then bade each other farewell, with many vows of everlasting love and fidelity. Imogen remained a solitary and dejected lady in her father's court, and Posthumus arrived at Rome, the place he had chosen for his banishment. Posthumus fell into company at Rome with some gay young men of different nations, who were talking freely of ladies, each one praising the ladies of his own country, and his own mistress. Posthumus, who had ever his own dear lady in his mind, affirmed that his wife, the fair Imogen, was the most virtuous, wise, and constant lady in the world. One of these gentlemen, whose name was Iachimo, being offended that a lady of Britain should be so praised above the Roman ladies, his country-women, provoked Posthumus by seeming to doubt the constancy of his so highly-praised wife; and at length, after much altercation, Posthumus consented to a proposal of lachimo's, that he (Iachimo) should go to Britain, and endeavour to gain the love of the married Imogen. They then laid a wager, that if Iachimo did not succeed in this wicked design, he was to forfeit a large sum of money; but if he could win Imogen's favour, and prevail upon her to give him the bracelet which Posthumus had so earnestly desired she would keep as a token of his love, then the wager was to terminate with Posthumus giving to Iachimo the ring, which was Imogen's love present when she parted with her husband. Such firm faith had Posthumus in the fidelity of Imogen, that he thought he ran no hazard in this trial of her honour. Iachimo, on his arrival in Britain, gained admittance, and a corteous welcome from Imogen, as a friend of her husband; but when he began to make professions of love to her, she repulsed him with disdain, and he soon found that he could have no hope of succeeding in his dishonourable design. The desire Iachimo had to win the wager made him now have recourse to a stratagem to impose on Posthumus, and for this purpose he bribed some of Imogen's attendants, and was by them conveyed into her bedchamber, concealed in a large trunk, where he remained shut up till Imogen was retired to rest, and had fallen asleep; and then getting out of the trunk, he examined the chamber with great attention, and wrote down everything he saw there, and particularly noticed a mole which he observed upon Imogen's neck, and then softly unloosing the bracelet from her arm, which Posthumus had given to her, he retired into the chest again; and the next day he set off for Rome with great expedition, and boasted to Posthumus that Imogen had given him the bracelet, and likewise permitted him to pass a night in her chamber: and in this manner Iachimo told his false tale:-" Her bedchamber," said he, "was hung with tapestry of silk and silver, the story was the proud Cleopatra when she met her Anthony, a piece of work most bravely wrought." "This is true," said Posthumus, "but this you might have heard spoken of without seeing." "Then the chimney," said Iachimo, "is south of the chamber, and the chimney-piece is Diana bathing: never saw I figures livelier expressed." "This is a thing you might have likewise heard," said Posthumus, "for it is much talked of." Iachimo as accurately described the roof of the chamber, and added, "I had almost forgot her andirons; they were two winking cupids made of silver, each on one foot standing." He then took out the bracelet, and said, "Know you this jewel, sir? She gave me this. She took it from her arm. I see her yet: her pretty action did outsell her gift, and yet enriched it too. She gave it ine, and said, she prized it once." He last of all described the mole he had observed upon her neck. Posthumus, who had heard the whole of this artful recital in an agony of doubt, now broke out into the most passionate exclamations agains Imogen. He delivered up the diamond ring to Iachimo, which he had agreed to forfeit to him if he obtained the bracelet from Imogen. Posthumus then in a jealous rage wrote to Pisanio, a gentleman of Britain, who was one of Imogen's attendants, and had long been a faithful friend to Posthumus; and after telling him what proof he had of his wife's disloyalty, he desired Pisanio would take Imogen to Milford Haven, a sea-port of Wales, and there kill her. And at the same time he wrote a deceitful letter to Imogen, desiring her to go with Pisanio, for that finding he could live no longer without seeing her, though he was forbidden upon pain of death to return to Britain, he would come to Milford Haven, at which place he begged she would meet him. She, good, unsuspecting lady, who loved her husband above all things, and desired more than her life to see him, hastened her departure with Pisanio, and the same night she received the letter she set out. When their journey was nearly at an end, Pisanio, who, though faithful to Posthumus, was not faithful to serve him in an evil deed, disclosed to Imogen the cruel order he had received. Imogen, who, instead of meeting a loving and beloved husband, found herself doomed by that husband to suffer death, was afflicted beyond measure. Pisanio persuaded her to take comfort, and wait with patient fortitude for the time when Posthumus should see and repent his injustice: in the mean time, as she refused in her distress to return to her father's court, he advised her to dress herself in boy's clothes, for more security in travelling; to which advice she agreed, and thought in that disguise she would go over to Rome, and see her husband,' whom, though he had used her so barbarously, she could not forget to love. When Pisanio had provided her with her new apparel, he left her to her uncertain fortune, being obliged to return to court; but before he departed he gave her a phial of cordial, which he said the queen had given him as a sovereign remedy in all disorders. The queen, who hated Pisanio because he was a friend to Imogen and Posthumus, gave him this phial, which she supposed contained poison, she having ordered her physician to give her some poison, to try its effects, as she said, upon animals; but the physician, knowing her malicious disposition, would not trust her with real poison, but gave her a drug which would do no other mischief than causing a person to sleep, with every appearance of death, for a few hours. This mixture, which Pisanio thought a choice cordial, he gave to Imogen, desiring her, if she found herself ill upon the road, to take it; and so, with blessings and prayers for her safety and happy deliverance from her undeserved troubles, he left her. Providence strangely directed Imogen's steps to the dwelling of her two brothers, who had been stolen away in their infancy. Bellarius, who stole them away, was a lord in the court of Cymbeline, and having been falsely accused to the king of treason, and banished from the court, in revenge he stole away the two sons of Cymbeline, and brought them up in a forest, where he lived concealed in a cave. He stole them through revenge, but he soon loved them as tenderly as if they had been his own children, educated them carefully, and they grew up fine youths, their princely spirit leading them to bold and daring actions; and as they subsisted by hunting, they were active and hardy, and were always pressing their supposed father to let them seek their fortune in the wars. At the cave where these youths dwelt it was Imogen's fortune to arrive. She had lost her way in a large forest, through which her road lay to Milford Haven (from which she meant to embark for Rome); and being unable to find any place where she could purchase food, she was with weariness and hunger almost dying; for it is not merely putting on a man's apparel that will enable a young lady, tenderly brought up, to bear the fatigue of wandering about lonely forests like a man. Seeing this cave, she entered, hoping to find some one within of whom she could procure food. She found the cave empty, but looking about she discovered some cold meat, and her hunger was so pressing that she could not wait for an invitation, but sat down and began to eat. "Ah," said she, talking to herself, "I see a man's life is a tedious one; how tired am I! for two nights together I have made the ground my bed: my resolution helps me, or I should be sick. When Pisanio showed me Mitford Haven from the mountain top, how near it seemed!" Then the thoughts of her husband and his cruel mandate came across her, and she said, "My dear Posthumus, thou art a false one!" The two brothers of Imogen, who had been hunting with their reputed father Bellarius, were by this time returned home. Bellarius had given them the names of Polidore and Cadwal, and they knew no better, but supposed that Bellarius was their father; but the real names of these princes were Guiderius and Arviragus. Bellarius entered the cave first, and sceing Imogen, stopped them, saying, "Come not in yet; it cats our victuals, or I should think it was a fairy." "What is the matter, sir ?" said the young men. "By Jupiter," said Bellarius again, "there is an angel in the cave, or if not, an earthly paragon." So beautiful did Imogen look in her boy's apparel. She, hearing the sound of voices, came forth from the cave, and addressed them in these words: "Good masters, do not harm me; before I entered your cave, I had thought to have begged or bought what I have eaten. Indeed I have stolen nothing, nor would I, though I had found gold strewed on the floor. Here is money for my meat, which I would have left on the board when I had made my meal, and parted with prayers for the provider." They refused her money with great earnestness. "I see you are angry with me," said the timid Imogen; "but, sirs, if you kill me for my fault, know that I should have died if I had not made it." "Whither are you bound ?" asked Bellarius, "and what is your "Fidele is my name," answered Imogen. "I have a kinsman, who is bound for Italy; he embarked at Milford Haven, to whom being going, almost spent with hunger, I am fallen into this offence." name ?" "Prithee, fair youth," said old Bellarius, "do not think us churls, nor measure our good minds by this rude place we live in. You are well encountered; it is almost night. You shall have better cheer before you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it. Boys, bid him welcome." The gentle youths, her brothers, then welcomed Imogen to their cave with many kind expressions, saying they would love her (or, as they said, him) as a brother, and they entered the cave, where (they having killed venison when they were hunting) Imogen delighted them with her neat housewifery, assisting them in preparing their supper; for though it is not the custom now for young women of high birth to understand cookery, it was then, and Imogen excelled in this useful art; and, as her brothers prettily expressed it, Fidele cut their roots in characters, and sauced their broth, as if Juno had been sick, and Fidele were her dieter. "And then," said Polidore to his brother," how angel-like he sings!" They also remarked to each other, that though Fidele smiled so sweetly, yet so sad a melancholy did overcloud his lovely face, as if grief and patience had together taken possession of him. For these her gentle qualities (or perhaps it was their near relationship, though they knew it not) Imogen (or, as the boys called her, Fidele) became the doting-piece of her brothers, and she scarcely less loved them, thinking that but for the memory of her dear Posthumus, she could live and die in the cave with these wild forest youths; and she gladly consented to stay with them till she was enough rested from the fatigue of travelling to pursue her way to Milford Haven. When the venison they had taken was all caten, and they were going out to hunt for more, Fidele could not accompany them because she was unwell. Sorrow, no doubt, for her husband's cruel usage, as well as the fatigue of wandering in the forest, was the cause of her illness. They then bade her farewell, and went to their hunt, praising all the way the noble parts and graceful demeanour of the youth Fidele. Imogen was no sooner left alone than she recollected the cordial Pisanio had given her, and drank it off, and presently fell into a sound and death-like sleep. When Bellarius and her brothers returned from hunting, Polidore went first into the cave, and supposing her asleep, pulled off his heavy shoes, that he might tread softly and not wake her; so did true gentleness spring up in the minds of these princely foresters; but he soon discovered that she could not be awakened by any noise, and concluded her to be dead, and Polidore lamented over her with dear and brotherly regret, as if they had never from their infancy been parted. Bellarius also proposed to carry her out into the forest, and there celebrate her funeral with songs and solemn dirges, as was then the custom. Imogen's two brothers then carried her to a shady covert, and there laying her gently on the grass, they sang repose to her departed spirit, and covering her over with leaves and flowers, Polidore said, "While summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I will daily strew thy grave. The pale primrose, that flower most like thy sad face; the blue-bell, like thy clear veins; and the leaf of eglantine, which is not sweeter than was thy breath; all these will 1 strew over thee. Yea, and the furred moss in winter, when there are no flowers to cover thy sweet corse." When they had finished her funeral obsequies, they departed very sorrowful. Imogen had not been long left alone, when, the effect of the sleepy drug going off, she awaked, and easily shaking off the slight covering of leaves and flowers they had thrown over her, she arose, and imagining she had been dreaming, she said, "I thought I was a cave-keeper, and cook to honest creatures; how came I here covered with flowers ?" Not being able to find her way back to the cave, and seeing nothing of her new companions, she concluded it was certainly all a dream; and once more Imogen set out on her weary pilgrimage, hoping at last she should find her way to Milford Haven, and thence get a passage in some ship bound for Italy; for all her thoughts were still with her husband Posthumus, whom she intended to seek in the disguise of a page. But great events were happening at this time, of which Imogen knew nothing; for a war had suddenly broken out between the Roman emperor Augustus Cæsar, and Cymbeline, the king of Britain; and a Roman army had landed to invade Britain, and was advanced into the very forest over which Imogen was journeying. With this army came Posthumus. Though Posthumus came over to Britain with the Roman army, he did not mean to fight on their side against his own countrymen, but he intended to join the army of Britain, and fight in the cause of his king who had banished him. He still believed Imogen false to him; yet the death of her he had so fondly loved, and by his own orders too (Pisanio having written him a letter to say he had obeyed his command, and that Imogen was dead), sat heavy on his heart, and therefore he returned to Britain, desiring either to be slain in battle, or to be put to death by Cymbeline for returning home from banishment. Imogen, before she reached Milford Haven, fell into the hands of the Roman army; and her presence and deportment recommending her, she was made a page to Lucius, the Roman general. Cymbeline's army now advanced to meet the enemy, and when they entered this forest, Polidore and Cadwal joined the king's army. The young men were eager to engage in acts of valour, though they little thought they were going to fight for their own royal father; and old Bellarius went with them to the battle. He had long since repented of the injury he had done to Cymbeline in carrying away his sons; and having been a warrior in his youth, he gladly joined the army to fight for the king he had so injured. And now a great battle commenced between the two armies, and the Britons would have been defeated, and Cymbeline himself killed, but for the extraordinary valour of Posthumus and Bellarius, and the two sons of Cymbeline. They rescued the king, and saved his life, and so entirely turned the fortune of the day, that the Britons gained the victory. When the battle was over, Posthumus, who had not found the death he sought for, surrendered himself up to one of the officers of Cymbeline, willing to suffer the death which was to be his punishment if he returned from banishment. Imogen, and the master she served, were taken prisoners, and brought before Cymbeline, as was also her old enemy Iachimo, who was an officer in the Roman army; and when these prisoners were before the king, Posthumus was brought in to receive his sentence of death; and at this strange juncture of time, Bellarius with Polidore and Cadwal were also brought before Cymbeline, to receive the rewards due to the great services they had by their valour done for the king. Pisanio, being one of the king's attendants, was likewise present. Therefore there were now standing in the king's presence (but with very different hopes and fears) Posthumus, and Imogen, with her new master the Roman general; the faithful servant Pisanio, and the false friend Iachimo; and likewise the two lost sons of Cymbeline, with Bellarius, who had stolen them away. The Roman general was the first who spoke; the rest stood silent before the king, though there was many a beating heart among them. Imogen saw Posthumus, and knew him, though he was in the disguise of a peasant; but he did not know her in her male attire; and she knew Iachimo, and she saw a ring on his finger which she per-, ceived to be her own, but she did not know him as yet to have been the author of all her troubles; and she stood before her own father a prisoner of war. Pisanio knew Imogen, for it was he who had dressed her in the garb of a boy. "It is my mistress," thought he; "since she is living, let the time run on to good or bad." Bellarius knew her too, and softly said to Cadwal, "Is not this boy revived from death?" "One sand," replied Cadwal, "does not more resemble another than that sweet rosy lad is like the dead "Fidele." The same dead thing alive," said Polidore. Peace, peace," said Bellarius; "if it were he, I am sure he would have spoken to us." "But we saw him dead," again whispered Polidore. "Be silent," replied Bellarius. Posthumus waited in silence to hear the welcome sentence of his own death; and he resolved not to disclose to the king that he had saved his life in the battle, lest that should move Cymbeline to pardon him. Lucius, the Roman general, who had taken Imogen under his protection as his page, was the first (as has been before said) who spoke to the king. He was a man of high courage and noble dignity, and this was his speech to the king "I hear you take no ransom for your prisoners, but doom them |