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It was curious to observe the deportment of those who stopped to have glimpses in the shield. There came a sweet young girl, with such eyes and a smile so arch, and she laughed when she saw her pretty self in the shield, and danced before it and made shapes; but she blushed a little too, for she wondered how she ever could have got her hair trussed up after a fashion so extravagant. And then she let down her flowing tresses, and wound them into a knot simpler and more modest, as she tripped laughingly away. The crusty old lord, whose chariot-wheels had

raised such a dust upon the road, was there too; and, as he gazed upon his image in the shield, he wondered at first what it was, and grinned and gibbered at it amazingly. But when it grinned and gibbered back at him, he saw that it knew him, and away he tottered on his bad old legs, afraid to face the truth.

See what hosts of beautiful children dance and gambol before the shield, laughing to see themselves imaged in it! And their fathers and mothers laugh too at the pretty sight, though they look somewhat grave when they behold their own reflection, and see how much stouter they are growing as the years pass, and some of them a little bald too.

Old ladies and gentlemen, made up to look young, pause but a short time before the shield, because the moment they look at it they feel their wigs coming off, and the paint running down through the wrinkles of their false faces. And so it is with numbers of iil-looking personages who pass before it, quacks and impostors of all sorts; and soon a panic seizes upon all these, and they rush wildly away from the spot, as if they felt that truth was tearing after them like a troop of wolves.

Then Sir John braced his buckler once more upon his arm, and the two knights rode on stately through the town, the people making way for them and saluting them as they passed. Out into the country again, until they came to a wide plain, far away upon the horizon of which there towered an immense black rock. On the summit of this a castle with notched battlements and many towers loomed awful and dark in the clear air. Paths, crooked and stony, and half choked with briers and noxious weeds, branched in every direction from the dark rock. There was no song of birds along those dreary hedges, and the grasshopper was silent in the lanes, though the hissing of serpents might have been heard there. Huge spiders hung their nets upon the thorns, and lay in ambush for the death-watches and other insects of ill omen with which the place swarmed. The ground sounded hollow to the tread of those who ventured upon these dismal tracks, along which there straggled many strange figures, all with great hollow heads like those worn in a pantomime, on their way to and from the castle.

"Before us lies our work," said Sir William, as the two knights reined up their horses and gazed upon the scene; "for yon gloomy castle that frowns upon the plain is the fortress in which dwells the giant Sham. We must get rid of that fellow ere the sun goes down, for he is the greatest tyrant in all the land. So now look well to your weapons, for the cry is 'Onward, march!'" Charles Dawson Shanly.

(To be concluded.)

THE TINY MAHOGANY BOX:

A CHRISTMAS STORY FOR LITTLE CHILDREN.

DEAR little bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked, laughing children, I am going to

tell you a Christmas story. It will not be about giants or dwarfs, or genii or dragons, or ogres or fairies, for stories about such things are for the most part untrue; and I want to tell you something that is as true

as true

as that you love mamma better than anybody in the whole world. Mind you, I said, "for the most part untrue," for I don't want you to think for a moment that I don't believe in fairies. Bless you, I know as well as you do that in every beautiful flower God has given us lives a wee, wee fairy, whose duty it is to take care of her flower-home.

Now the fairy of the red rose must get up early in the morning, before you little children, early risers as you are, have opened your bright eyes, and she must wash the fragrant blossom with the clearest dew-drops she can find – after washing her own face, of course; no real lady-fairy would neglect that. And the fairies that live in the lilies, they are constantly swinging to and fro, shaking the dust from the dainty flowers, which the mischievous

wind, spiteful fellow, has thrown upon them. Don't you think it must be pleasant to have a sweet white lily for a cradle? O dear! now that I have begun talking about fairies, I find it so hard to stop. It's so cunning to think of them, with their little bonnets made out of young blue-bells, and their lovely cloaks made out of butterflies' wings, and—but this has nothing to do with my story. That is about two little children, and is to help to teach you to love and obey your parents when living, and to remember faithfully their last wishes when God calls them to heaven.

These children were named Elsie and Pearl. They lived in a small white house in the country, and a very nice little house it was too. In the summer time the gay morning-glories and the scarlet runners and the honeysuckles crept all up the front and all over the windows, so that they did n't need a bit of a curtain. How you would have liked it, would n't you? Curtains of lovely green, all spangled with sweet-smelling flowers! In the front garden. grew tall hollyhocks, and lady-slippers, and dahlias, and roses, and marigolds, and tulips, and more pretty flowers than I can spare time to tell

you about. The mother of Elsie and Pearl was a poor widow, who owned nothing in the world but this cottage, a cow, some chickens, and a small strip of land which served her for a vegetable garden. She took care of herself and children by selling in the village market all the cabbages, tomatoes, turnips, carrots, beets, radishes, and the like, which she could spare; beside this, she sold milk and eggs in the summer-time to the rich people who came to stay a few weeks in the country.

But this year the rich people did n't come at all. They went to Saratoga, Newport, or some such place, I dare say, where they saw a great deal of fine dress, but no country. And the poor woman did not prosper with her garden vegetables either, and so Christmas Eve, which I suppose you all know comes on the 24th of December, found her without any money to buy a Christmas dinner, let alone any presents for Elsie and Pearl. Was n't it too bad? Not a penny on Christmas Eve, of all times in the year!

The children had gone to bed, and the poor mother sat alone in the room which served for both parlor and kitchen. And very sad she was, for there hung the little empty stockings, one on each brightly scoured andiron, and empty they were likely to remain too. Perhaps you would like to know how this room looked. I will tell you. On the floor was a nice rag-carpet, and who do you think made it? The widow and Elsie and Pearl. Was n't that splendid? Why, little Pearl could not have been more than four years old when she began sewing. I wonder if any of you would have patience enough to piece together hundreds and hundreds of little strips of old calico! I hope so, if your dear mother needed a carpet, and was poor, like this poor woman, and had no money to spare to buy one.

Ranged around the room against the whitewashed wall stood four wooden chairs, (the chair the widow was sitting in was an old-fashioned rocking-chair, with a cushion in it, made, no doubt, out of one of the widow's old gowns, and pretty old it must have been, too, or Elsie or Pearl would have had a dress, or apron, or something of that sort, instead of the rocking-chair having a

cushion,) and beside the chairs there was a wooden table, scrubbed until it was as white as new milk; and on the wall, just over the table, hung a queer little looking-glass, the frame of which was nearly hidden by Christmas green, dotted with bright elder-berries. The mantel-shelf was very high, and on it stood a couple of candlesticks, a clock, and a tiny mahogany box. A wood fire was blazing on the hearth, and, as I told you before, Elsie's and Pearl's stockings were hanging one on each andiron.

They had gone to bed thinking that the good old Santa Claus would come as soon as the clock struck twelve and bring them some nice presents. At the very moment their mother was grieving about not being able to go to the new store in the village, about a mile off, and buy them some pretty things, they were smiling in their sleep, and dreaming of whole handfuls of sugarplums, and all sorts of beautiful toys.

"Ah!" said the widow to herself, (some people talk a great deal to themselves when they have no one else to talk to,) "how well I remember, when I was a little girl, waking up early Christmas morning and running directly to my stocking. O my dear mother, how kind she was! and to think I love my Elsie and Pearl just as well as she loved me, and yet I can buy them nothing! And that's not the worst of it. We'll none of us have even a Christmas dinner. I declare I could cry." And she did cry, throwing her checked apron over her head and leaning back in her rocking-chair. Just then the clock struck seven, and five minutes after the tired woman, who had been washing all day, fell fast asleep. And she had a beautiful dream, and this was the dream. The little room was suddenly lighted with a great light, and her dear mother stood in the centre, looking exactly as she looked some twenty years before. The same sweet smile was on her lips, and the same love-look shone in her eyes. A wreath of light twined about her head, and her dress was as white and pure as a snow-flake before it touches the earth. She came right up to her daughter, and took her hand just as your mothers take your hands often when they wish to chide you gently for something wrong you have done. "Why, child," she said, and her voice was very sweet, "you forget that God is watching over you. He smiles upon all those who have been good and obedient children, and you were always a kind and dutiful child. Do you remember the little box I put in your stocking many long years ago? It was locked, and I told you never to open it unless you became very, very poor. You promised to obey me, and so faithfully have you kept your promise, that you have never even thought of opening it. I have come to tell you that the time has arrived for you to unlock the box; and never again lose faith in your Father above." She kissed her daughter, and then the great light disappeared, and the widow awoke, and saw nothing but the big fire on the hearth, the clock on the mantel-shelf, and everything just as it was when she fell asleep. But she remembered all her mother had said; and, rising, she took down the tiny box, (which, true enough, she had never thought of opening, because it was her mother's last gift, and she kept it sacred,) placed it on the table, and, lighting a candle, began to look for the key. It was a long time before she could find it; but at last it tumbled out

of an old black-silk bag which she found in a corner of her trunk. She

quickly unlocked the box, and

what do you think she saw in it? A whole row of gold pieces, lying on a soft bed of cotton, and sparkling as brightly as your eyes, little readers. For a moment the widow could not move, she was so surprised; but the next, she fell upon her knees and thanked God for his goodness.

Just then the clock struck eight, and she remembered that she had plenty of time to go to the village store and back again before ten. So she put on her thick hood and cloak and stout shoes, (for it was snowing, as it almost always does about Christmas time,) and, kissing Elsie and Pearl, she took a lantern and set out.

When she came back she not only had her arms full, but a

bundle tied on her back, and the clock struck ten just as the poor, tired woman fell fast asleep again.

O, what a happy little house that was on Christmas morning! Elsie and Pearl were awake at daylight, running around in their white night-dresses; they would n't even wait to put their shoes and stockings on, so eager were they to see what Santa Claus had brought them. Each stocking was filled so full with sugar-plums, cakes, and oranges, that it looked as though it would burst. And two of the wooden chairs were placed close together, and on the back of one hung a new cloak for Elsie, and on the back of the other a new cloak for Pearl. And on the seat of one lay a new pair of shoes and a nice crimson delaine dress for Elsie, and on the seat of the other, new shoes and a crimson dress for Pearl. And that was not all. On the white wooden table lay a plump little turkey waiting to be roasted, some nice large potatoes waiting to be baked, and a plum-pudding waiting to be boiled. And the market-basket! bless your hearts, there was no use in that basket having a no use at all, - for the cover would n't and could n't fit on, because of the parcels of raisins, tea, sugar, flour, and everything nice with which that basket was crowded!

cover,

So you see, dear little children, how the widow was rewarded for being a good child. Had she broken her promise to her mother, most likely the money would have all been spent, (for money is the hardest thing in the world to keep,) and she would have had no Christmas dinner, and Elsie and Pearl no Christmas presents.

Margaret Eytinge.