Economos had kept vigilant watch for some time, when the sound of merry laughter and singing suddenly fell upon his ear, followed by the tramp of horses, approaching at an irregular and varying pace, seemingly in a direct line for the entrance into Hajjilar, and apparently likely to reach the road leading into the village, half-way between the six sleepers of his own party and the two nearest sentinels, in the rear of whom towards Narlequee, and distant but a gunshot from their posts, a party of several horsemen now gradually became visible by the faint light which the young tell-tale moon shed upon the plain.

Economos at once awakened his party, and judging that the sentinels were already engaged in watching the coming horsemen whom, by the careless manner of their approach, he intuitively judged to be Frank travellers, he managed in a few words with his friends to point out, first, the probability of the strangers being totally unaware that the plague had broken out in Hajjilar, as they had certainly ridden towards the village not from the front, that is, from the direction of Smyrna where the fact of the cordon must be known, but had arrived from the country to the right of Narlequee, and might well therefore, be altogether ignorant of the state of affairs in the place; then he added, "they probably expected to be able to halt and sleep at Hajjilar for the night, which the soldiery would of course prevent, and thus a scuffle might arise that, Panayia, would favour their own escape."

Economos was right in his conjecture. It happened as he had predicted. The horsemen rapidly approached, a challenge was heard from the sentries, there was no reply, but the cavaliers still rode onwards and then through the cordon when instantly and without further warning several shots were fired at them, followed by an advance of the sentries and other soldiery, and while the travellers-soon surrounded and stopped -were giving vent to a jargon of oaths, and misunderstanding attempted explanations, the seven Greeks, first crouching and availing themselves of such shelter for concealment as the inequalities of the ground afforded them, moved cautiously from their position, and then advancing more rapidly and openly, struck into the road to Smyrna and rushed onwards at full speed. They had not proceeded far when they suddenly heard the roll of a drum, and at the same instant found they were pursued-fear gave them wings-and they passed on still more rapidly, straining every nerve, till they reached an unwalled cemetery on the left, into which they plunged, and leaping and stumbling and running through it, not without contusions from coming in contact with the turbaned tombstones, they ultimately had the satisfaction of finding that their pursuers had lost the scent, were altogether at fault, and had at last given up the chase. Yanaki and his friends now paused to recover breath, and threw themselves on the ground to refresh their strength, which for the time had been somewhat taxed by their unrelaxing exertions. After a pause, they again moved a short distance onwards to take up a better position behind some brushwood in order to arrange their further proceedings. They were now far to the left of the direct route to Smyrna. "Well," said Spiro, who was the first to speak, "I told you we could outrun the Nizam. 'Twould be hard to say who is the fastest of the whole seven of us. And had we but something to eat, all would be well enough. As for the walk into Smyrna, we may make that an easy

and

agreeable affair enough by taking our time, procuring refreshments at Shaiklar or some other village by the way, and above all, keeping together till we reach our destination."

"Curses on that owl," said Economos, "his noise might even vex a saint. What with owls and frogs one can't get a moment's quiet." "And on the left there," added Andreas, "I hear the jackals, yelping loud enough to awake the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus."

"Let them yelp on," said another," what are jackals, and owls, and frogs to us Palikars? We have to-night laughed at the infidels' beards; we have made them eat dirt; but, Panayia, they were very close upon us at one time."

"Much closer now," said a deep voice suddenly behind them, “much closer now," and the speaker at once stood among the runaway Greeks, to the great amazement of the whole party. The new comer was a Turk, who, by his costume, seemed to be one of the leaders of the irregular troops in the pay of the Pasha of Izmyr.

"Much closer now," repeated the Turk. "Sons of dogs! thought ye to escape? But, Inshalah, you are my prisoners, the prisoners of Raouf! Show yourselves, friends of the sultan! let these Giaours see they are overmatched. Tchabook! Tchabook! Make haste! These dogs of rayahs, may their fathers be burnt, are all armed!"

66

They have arms, and know how to use them," shouted Vassili, as he buried his handjar in the heart of Raouf, who, so sudden was the blow, and so true to its mark, fell dead without a groan, without a struggle. But the leader's fall was soon avenged. His party-a body of zebeesinstantly appeared on the scene, and without further parley, a short but dreadful hand to hand combat ensued. Two of the Greeks were shot in the very outset; four disabled by sword-cuts, and taken prisoners; and Yanaki himself, mortally wounded by the thrust of an ataghan and a dreadful blow in the temple, lay on the ground almost insensible and fast sinking to his rest. A surly silence ensued on both sides. One of the victorious party was despatched to Hajjilar for assistance, and when that assistance arrived, the prisoners were found too weak to be moved except on litters, and even then with the greatest difficulty. Every attention was paid to Yanaki, he was known to two of the captors, but his hour was come. For a moment he rallied, and but for a moment; he tried to speak, and the only word he had strength to utter, ere his spirit fled to its Maker, was

"Kattinoula!"

With her name upon his lips he died. Poor fellow! Had he but lived another week, Yanaki and Kattinoula would have become bride and bridegroom. Destiny, however, had decided otherwise. His fate is already told, but the author must here draw a veil over the effect produced on Kattinoula, (and not on her alone,) when made acquainted with the sudden death of Yanaki, the Smyrniote Palikar.

THE STREAMS OF SKIDDAW

A TALE OF KESWICK.

BY MRS. PONSONBY.

HERE the Winter storms are frequent,
And heavy is the Autumn's rain,
Then the foaming mountain streams
Come roaring to the plain,
Roaring come the mountain streams
To the peaceful plain.

In our village dwelt a maiden-
Young and fair was she, but poor,
And a cripple from her childhood:
She had never pass'd the door.
No! a cripple from her cradle,
Never had she pass'd the door.

But her casement look'd towards Skiddaw,
And at morning and at night
Ever gazed she on the mountain
Where the sunbeams fall so bright,
That the ancient hill is shrouded
In the glory of their light.

On that dark and ancient mountain,
Every rock and every stone,
Visible to eyes so distant,

Unto her were known,

Unto her as friends they were:

She never felt alone.

She loved to watch the morning mists
Curl around its base,

Or dance before the driving wind

With a fantastic grace,

Or as a cloudy incense rise

Before its rugged face.

She loved to see the evening come,
With soft and blending hue,
Flooding the valleys and the hills,
With purple and with blue,
Until beneath the deepening night
All dark the mountain grew.

To her old Winter's cap of white
Was as a silver crown;

But Spring will come to melt the snow,
And bare the heather brown,

Then dearest to her sight, the streams
That in their strength came down.

Oh! when the heavy rains were past,
And the clouds were swept away,

How did she love to watch the streams

Upon the hills at play,

And yet how endless seem'd the night, How weary was the day.

Between her and those waters wild
There seem'd some link to be,
Some deep mysterious bond was there,
Some hidden sympathy.

Then only did her spirit rise,

In longings to be free.

Seldom hath aught inanimate
So deep a feeling stirr'd

As that which bound her to those streams,
Whose voice she never heard
But to whose look she answered
With many a loving word.

For in her lowly cottage-home-
You might not hear the streams,
Though down old Skiddaw's purple side
They shine in silver gleams,
Tracking with lines of living light
The hollow mountain seams.

All through the Summer's parching time
The hollow seams were dry.
Nor when the white snow cover'd all
Could she those streams descry,
Then she upon her languid couch
Contentedly would lie.

'Twas only when the Spring was wild,
Or Autumn storms would rage,
The waking of those streams again
Her spirit would engage

To chafe with vain, regretful wings,

Against its prison cage.

And once when Summer storms had been,

Ere an early Autumn came,

These lengthen'd yearnings tried her sore,

Shaking her feeble frame

Until the very springs of life

Wither'd beneath the flame.

And they were kind who watch'd her couch,
But rude as they were kind.

They pitied her, but could not trace
The workings of her mind:

'Twas not for them to loose the cords

That did her feelings bind.

But to her side the pastor came,

A thoughtful man was he;

He heard her vain and ceaseless cry

For all that might not be

"Oh! were I near those streams," she said,

"Or were they near to me!"

"Oh, pale, weak girl," the Pastor cried, "Tis little thou dost crave,

But I will sooth this weary

life;

This life I cannot save;
So may thy future home be bless'd,
And quiet be thy grave."

"My future home! Ah! there the streams Flow ever through the year.

I see them in my morning dreams,
Ere the red sun draws near.

White are the flashings of those streams,
And the deep pools are clear.

"There upon that transcendent mount
The purple heather glows,

And fairer than I've seen on earth
Blooms the deep-blushing rose,
And never are those waters hid
By whelming Winter snows."

So sang she-as with careful arms
They bore her through the vale,
While her quick heaving breath grew short,
And her thin cheek grew pale,
Though fann'd to momentary life
By the soft mountain gale.

But, oh! with what a deep delight,
As slowly they drew near,
She listened to the gushing sounds
That broke upon her ear,

That music she had never heard,
And never hoped to hear.

With what a deep and noiseless joy
She gazed upon the stream,
Whose beauty unto her had been
A wild and lifelong dream,
And which, while leaping at her feet,
More lovely yet did seem.

Above her rose that ancient hill

Throned on its emerald throne;

Upon those waters swift and free,
The noonday sunlight shone,
And yellow Autumn leaves were whirl'd
O'er rock and mossy stone.

She knelt beside the running stream,
And bathed her heavy brow.-
'Tis long ago: the streams run free,
But she forgets them now,

And closed in death the weary eye,
And cold the heavy brow.

For when they fain would bear her home,
From what they deem'd so drear,
She bow'd her head upon the rock
Where the deep pool is clear;
She died beside those flashing streams
Where the deep pools are clear.