called to mind how she had looked and spoken, and her early death, some thought it might be so indeed.

Thus coming to the grave in little knots, and glancing down, and giving place to others, and falling off in whispering groups of three or four, the church was cleared in time of all but the sexton and the mourning friends. Then, when the dusk of evening had come on, and not a sound disturbed the sacred stillness of the place when the bright moon poured in her light on tomb and monument, on pillar, wall, and arch—and most of all, it seemed to them, upon her quiet grave-in that calm time, when all outward things and inward thoughts teem with assurances of immortality, and worldly hopes and fears are humbled in the dust before them, then with tranquil and submissive hearts they turned away, and left the child with God.

C. DICKENS. By permission of Messrs. Chapman and Hall.

in-com-par-a-ble, without res-pite, delay, interval

Far away back, some hundreds of years before the birth of Christ, Dionysius the elder reigned as tyrannos or sovereign of Syracuse. A man named

Pythias was condemned to death for being engaged in a plot against this king. Before his execution he asked permission to visit his home to settle his affairs and take leave of his family. His friend Damon offered himself as security for his re-appearance, and stated his readiness to suffer in his stead if Pythias did not return.

With this understanding the condemned man was allowed to depart. The time for the execution of the sentence arrived, but Pythias had not returned. On the morning of the day, the king visited Damon in his cell, and said, 'What a fool you were to trust in the promise of your friend! Can you imagine that he will sacrifice his life for you or any man?'

'My lord,' said Damon, 'I would rather suffer a hundred deaths than my friend should fail in any article of honour. I am as confident of his virtue as I am of my own existence; but I am not expecting that he will be back, at least not until I shall have had the honour of suffering in his stead. The winds are against his journey and he cannot arrive in time. I have prayed the gods for this. His life is of greater consequence than mine; his wife, his children, his friends, and his country stand in need of him. I pray you lead me to the place of execution that I may suffer for my friend.'

The king was astonished to hear this. He delayed the execution as long as he could, after which Damon was led to the scaffold. Addressing the people assembled, he said, 'My prayers are heard; the gods are propitious; the winds have been contrary. Pythias could not do impossibilities; he will be here by to-morrow; but my blood will have ransomed my friend.'

Just at that moment, a movement was observed outside the concourse of people, and a shout was

heard, Stop, stop, executioner! Aman was seen galloping at full speed; in another moment he had dismounted, ascended the scaffold, and was in the arms of his devoted friend. 'You are safe, you are safe, my friend!' said Pythias, for he it was. 'The gods be praised, you are safe!'

'Fatal haste! cruel impatience!' replied Damon. 'What powers have worked against me to disappoint my hope? Since I cannot die to save you, let me die to accompany you.'

Dionysius heard these exclamations with astonish

ment.

His own heart was touched, and he could no longer resist the power of such virtue. From his throne he descended, and walked on to the scaffold. 'Live, ye incomparable pair!' cried he. 'Ye have demonstrated the existence of virtue, and consequently of a God who rewards it. Live happy, live revered; and as you have invited me by your example, form me by your precepts to participate worthily of a friendship so divine.'

The next story has sometimes been called the Damon and Pythias of Arabian history, on account of the similarity of the circumstances. One point, however, you will perceive of difference; whereas the former story shows what a man will do for a friend, this exhibits what a pure generosity will do for an unknown person.

Before the introduction of Mahommedanism among the Arabs, they consecrated two days of each week to two of their divinities. The first of these was a day of happiness, on which the prince would graciously consider any favour asked of him; the second was a day of sadness, and any who asked favours on that day were put to death and offered as sacrifice to the deity to whom the day was consecrated.

During the reign of a sovereign called Naam, an Arab who had met with great misfortune-being reduced from a state of opulence to one of extreme poverty-resolved to state his case to his sovereign, and ask for help. Taking an affectionate farewell of his wife and children, he set out for the imperial court. He was so absorbed with his troubles, that he forgot all about the good and the evil days, and unfortunately went before his sovereign on the latter. No sooner had he made his request known than Naam exclaimed, 'Wretch, what hast thou done? why present thyself before me on this fatal day? Thy life is forfeited, and it is not in my power to save thee.'

The Arab, whose name was Tai, threw himself at the king's feet, and begged to have his punishment delayed for a few hours. 'Permit me,' said he, 'to visit my home for the last time, to make some provision for my wife and children. I swear by all that is sacred, that I will return before sunset; and then I shall die without murmuring.'

The king, touched with pity, agreed to grant his request if he could find sufficient security for his return, in a man willing to suffer in his stead should he fail. This condition almost made the favour valueless he looked round, and appealed to many of the attendants, but none responded to his appeal.

Seeing much compassion in the countenance of one Cherik, the monarch's favourite officer, he turned to him, and said, 'And thou, Cherik, whose soul is so noble and great, wilt thou be insensible to my piteous tale? Canst thou refuse to be security for me? I call to witness the gods and men, that I shall return before the setting of the sun.' Then, sobbing as if his heart would break, he awaited a reply.

Cherik expressed his willingness to be bound for Tai, who was then permitted to visit his family. The poor man was thankful for this short respite, and hurried away to his home.

The time for his return had nearly expired; the sun was just ready to set; but Tai had not returned. His substitute, Cherik, was led in chains to the place of execution; the headsman had already lifted the axe to strike the blow, when in the distance was seen a man running at the top of his speed. A noise caused the executioner to stay his hand for a time; in another moment Tai, covered with dust and perspiration, had burst through the crowd, mounted the scaffold, and thrown himself before Cherik. Removing him gently from the block, he placed his own head ready for the stroke, saying, 'I die well satisfied, having come in time to deliver thee, Cherik.'

The whole company was moved to tears. The monarch's superstition was overcome by this exhibition of devotion: he stepped forward, and said, 'I have never known anything more to be admired. Thou, Tai, art the model of that fidelity with which one ought to keep his word; and thou, Cherik, hast a soul not to be equalled in generosity. I abolish, in favour of you, an odious custom which barbarity had introduced among us. And you, my people, may in future approach me at all times without hesitation or fear.'