wars that Angela became conscious to herself of what I was to her; I know all. It was too late. The Spirit of Evil suggested to me the idea that I might ruin you in play, and so I took to gambling, followed you to Genoa, and now I have succeeded. Away now to your wife.'

"The Chevalier was almost annihilated, like one upon whose head had fallen the most disastrous blows of fortune. Now he saw to the bottom of that mysterious secret, now he saw for the first time the full extent of the misfortune which he had brought upon poor Angela. Angela, my wife, shall decide,' he said hoarsely, and followed the Colonel, who was hurrying off at full speed.

"On reaching the house the Colonel laid his hand upon the latch of Angela's chamber; but the Chevalier pushed him back, saying, 'My wife is asleep. Do you want to rouse her up out of her sweet sleep?'

"Hm!' replied the Colonel. Has Angela ever enjoyed sweet sleep since you brought all this nameless misery upon her?' Again the Colonel attempted to enter the chamber; but the Chevalier threw himself at his feet and screamed, frantic with despair, Be merciful. Let me keep my wife; you have made me a beggar, but let me keep my wife.'

"That's how old Vertua lay at your feet, you miscreant dead to all feeling, and could not move your stony heart; may Heaven's vengeance overtake you for it.' Thus spoke the Colonel; and he again strode towards Angela's chamber.

"The Chevalier sprang towards the door, tore it open, rushed to the bed in which his wife lay, and drew back the curtains, crying, Angela! Angela!' Bending over her he grasped her hand; but all at once he shook and trembled in mortal anguish and cried in a thundering voice, Look! look! you have won my wife's corpse.'

"Perfectly horrified, the Colonel approached the bed; no sign of life! Angela was dead-dead.

“Then the Colonel doubled his fist and shook it heavenwards, and rushed out of the room uttering a fearful cry. Nothing more was ever heard of him."

This was the end of the stranger's tale; and the Baron was so shaken that before he could say anything the stranger had hastily risen from the seat and gone away.

A few days later the stranger was found in his room suffer

ing from apoplexy of the nerves. He never opened his mouth up to the moment of his death, which ensued after the lapse of a few hours. His papers proved that, though he called himself Baudasson simply, he was no less a person than the unhappy Chevalier Menars himself.

The Baron recognized it as a warning from Heaven, that Chevalier Menars had been led across his path to save him just as he was approaching the brink of the precipice; he vowed that he would withstand all the seductions of the gambler's deceptive luck.

Up till now he has faithfully kept his word.

THE SONG OF THE BELL.

BY JOHANN FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER.

(Translated by Edward Lytton-Bulwer.)

[JOHANN CHRISTOPH FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER, the famous German poet and dramatist, was born at Marbach, Würtemberg, November 10, 1759. He studied law and medicine at Stuttgart, and was appointed surgeon to a Würtemberg regiment. Objecting to the restraint imposed upon him by the Duke of Würtemberg in consequence of the production of his first play, "The Robbers" (1782), he left the army and went to Mannheim, Leipsic, Dresden, Jena, and Weimar, where he became the firm friend of Goethe. From 1789 to 1799 Schiller held a professorship at Jena, and during this period published "The History of the Thirty Years' War." He died at Weimar, May 9, 1805, of an affection of the lungs. Besides the works already mentioned, Schiller wrote "The History of the Revolt of the Netherlands"; the dramas "Mary Stuart," "Maid of Orleans," "Bride of Messina," "William Tell"; and the trilogy of "Wallenstein." Among his lyric pieces are: "The Ring of Polycrates," "The Diver," ‚” “The Knight of Toggenburg," and "The Song of the Bell.”]

FAST in its prison walls of earth
Awaits the mold of bakèd clay!
Up, comrades! up, and aid the birth-
The BELL that shall be born to-day!
Who would honor obtain,

With his sweat and his pain

The praise that man gives to the Master must buy;

But the blessing withal must descend from on high!

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, LENOX, AND TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

R

And well an earnest word beseems
The work the earnest hand prepares;
Its load more light the labor deems
When sweet discourse the labor shares.
So let us ponder, not in vain,

What strength can work when labor wills!
For who would not the fool disdain
Who ne'er designs what he fulfills ?
And well it stamps our Human Race,
(And hence the gift-To understand)
That Man within the heart should trace
Whate'er he fashions with the hand.

II.

From the fir the fagot take!

Keep it, heap it, hard and dry!

That the gathered flame may break
Through the furnace, wroth and high.
When the copper within

Seethes and simmers, the tin

Pour quick! that the fluid which feeds the Bell May flow in the right course glib and well.

Deep hid within this nether cell,
What force with fire is molding thus
In yonder airy tower shall dwell
And witness far and wide of Us!
It shall in later days, unfailing,
Rouse many an ear to rapt emotion,
Its solemn voice with Sorrow wailing,
Or choral chiming to Devotion.
Whatever Fate to Man may bring,
Whatever weal or woe befall,

That metal tongue shall backward ring
The warning moral drawn from all.

III.

See the silvery bubbles spring!
Good! the mass is melting now;

Let the salts we duly bring

Purge the flood, and speed the flow!
From the dross and the scum

Pure the fusion must come :

For perfect and pure we the metal must keep,

That its voice may be perfect, and pure, and deep.