and were the only trustworthy soldiers that he possessed. The inhabitants saw the vessels depart with foreboding minds, for it seemed impossible that fifteen ships, apparently almost ready to sink, should be able to defeat the vast armament of the Russians. The day was fine, the sky without a cloud, and the sun poured down its ray in all the blaze of Eastern splendour, when the hostile fleets advanced to the deadly struggle; the one side confident in their numbers, and excited by the hopes of a booty far exceeding any yet obtained in their ravages, the plunder of the richest city in the world; the other, doubtful of success, harassed with fears for their relatives and homes, yet animated by a stern courage, and a determination to save their country or perish in the attempt. The Barbarians advanced with swiftness against the small fleet of their opponents, stimulating one another with shouts, and clashing their arms, preparing themselves, as soon as the fleets had approached sufficiently near, to discharge their missiles, and ascend the lofty sides of the hostile galleys.

The latter boldly awaited the attack. Every means of resistance in their power was put into effect, and, as it ultimately proved, with complete success; but the terrible Greek fire was the chief cause of the universal rout of the Russians. Contrary to their usual custom, and regardless of the danger to which they were exposing themselves, the Byzantines fitted out their galleys with their destructive tubes of fire along the whole of each side of the deck, though in general a single tube at the prow was the equipment for each galley. The engineers of the Byzantines happened at that time to be men of great skill, and accordingly as soon as the Russians were within sufficient range, they were saluted with showers of this liquid flame, which fell in overwhelming quantities around them, consuming their ships, and causing exquisite torture to all on whom it fell. Then arose a scene of confusion more easily imagined than described; the multitude of the enemy's vessels, was rather a disadvantage than otherwise, for being kept at a distance by the fire, their numbers gave them no superiority, but on the contrary impeded them in their efforts to escape, as they continually ran foul of one another, and often extended the conflagration by communicating the flames to vessels yet untouched. Moreover, ships which had not yet been reached by the Greek fire were prevented from retreating, by being entangled with others, and their oars broken, their sails rent, they were tossed to and fro, till some jet of fire from the galleys kindled them, and they were quickly consumed, while at the same time they increased the loss among their own fleet. Many thousands of the Russians, fearing to be

burnt in their ships, sprang into the sea; but here those whose clothes had been already fired, found that even water was no defence against this terrific invention, while those, who succeeded in reaching the shores of Thrace in safety, were only involved in fresh calamities, for bands of soldiers scoured the country by the sea side, and put to the sword, without mercy, all who had escaped from deaths by fire and water. The peasantry also who had been plundered by the enemy, eagerly hastened to seize every opportunity for vengeance, and assembling in crowds by the water's edge, spared none, who had the ill fortune to fall into their power. The victory of the Byzantines was complete, and Constantinople was saved from being plundered by the Russians. Izor, with about a third of his fleet, eluded the destruction, which had already overtaken most of his followers, by escaping into the shallows, where the galleys of the enemy were unable to pursue him; and the next spring his depredations in the Black Sea were renewed with great success, although he did not venture to make a second expedition against Constantinople.

Nearly a hundred years elapsed before his descendants again ventured to send an armament against it, when they were met at the entrance of the Bosphorous by a fleet, and again repulsed by the aid of the Greek fire. This time, however, the Byzantines advanced too far in the eagerness of their pursuit, and, their Greek fire failing them, they lost twenty-three galleys, which were sunk or captured by the Russians.

A similar calamity seemed likely to befall the city of Constantine two years ago, when the fleet of the Czar sailed triumphantly and almost unopposed over the waters of the Black Sea, threatening in no long time to overthrow the empire of the Turks by an attack on their capital; but the destruction of that fleet at Sebastopol has averted for the present such a calamity; and we hope that no Russian fleet will ever be allowed to repeat with success, or even with impunity, the aggressive designs of the Czar Izor.-A. M. J. Austin

THE MOUNTAIN TARN.

Helvellyn is shrouded in volumes of mist,
Yet there wandereth one o'er its height;

For sad and despairing he careth not now
For Heaven's first blessing, the light.

He neareth the brink of a small mountain tarn,
Deep and black roll its waters below,
And scant are the curls of the emerald fern,

That among the bleak rocks dares to grow.

In mid-air an eyrie hangs over the tarn,

The mountain sheep seldom comes there;

But the blasts enter in, and they whirl round the waves,
And dash them in spray through the air.

Down sat the lone man by the side of the pool,

And gloom brooded over his mind;

In sympathy shrieked with the thoughts of his heart
The piercing lament of the wind.

The fern it was broken; the bells of the heath
Were strown o'er the dark silent lake;

So thought he his hopes had long fled one by one,
His heart, it could now only break.

Still rose the loud storm, and the depths of the tarn
Were riven and torn by the gale;

And the depths of his soul were exposed to his view,
Oh! well might his cheek grow so pale.

But the tempest was ceasing; less fierce came the sound

Of the hail and the desolate rain;

The heavy cloud passed from the wanderer's brow,

And his hope 'gan to blossom again.

Less dense was the shade o'er the purple heath-bells,

A gentler breeze sung thro' the fern;

He sadly looked up to the blue opening sky,
And his face seemed no longer so stern.

Just then from the mist shone the glorious sun,

A ray darted down on the mere,

And it fell on his face, and his young days came back ;

He repents-see, there glistens a tear.

A FAIRY TALE OF MARLBOROUGH.

'TWAS New Year's Eve, some score of years ago. The bells from every steeple and tower in the land were ringing as bells can only ring at Christmas, or New Year's Eve. Merrily they pealed out of the barred windows, down through the frosty air, making it all alive with their sonorous hum; over town, and city, and

village, lying under the wintry heaven with their lights looking up and wondering at the stars. Merrily over palaces of dukes and earls, gentlemen's snug homes, and the little cottages of labouring men. Merrily over dark rivers, where coal barges lay and the swarthy bargemen smoked an extra pipe in the caboose because a new year was coming, and might bring good luck with it. Merrily away with the wind across wild commons, sweeping with it down into deep hollows, and round and round, and out again to meet the solitary traveller and follow him home, every note making him hurry faster as it told of the warm fire and comfortable supper awaiting him, while the wind was off and away to the open sea, catching up stray sounds and sweeping the world clear, one might think, for the new year to come on the morrow. Merrily, in country farm houses, and keepers' lodges, where fires blazed brightly, and faces vied with them in brightness, and merrily in stray barns and wayside camps where gipsies and other wanderers were feasting and hoping for a good year. Merrily everywhere, where men could collect for mirth, and the new year came with promise of love, and communion of dear friends; where the errors of the months of which the last was so soon to be gone, were mourned, and the new sun would rise on wiser hearts and fixed purposes. Wherever hope had not died in sorrow or crime, nor the spirit deadened in apathy and despair, those New Year's Eve bells rang merrily.

And not a whit less merrily than any other bells in the sister kingdoms, were ringing on that New Year's Eve those of St. Peter's Church, Marlborough. When they burst out in their mighty clamour, making the old tower shake again, weary wayfarers stopped in the High Street to listen, and forgot that their feet were worn by the rugged stones of its pavement, which have worn, and will wear so many feet (and so many boots and shoes too for the matter of that); while sleek members of the Corporation who ought to have made the stones smooth, sitting in their snug parlours, listened with complacency to the same bells, clashing madly away, sending waves of delicious sound against their gabled houses, and penetrating through key-holes down to the lowest cellars and up to the highest attics. The keeper's wife in the Savernake forest stopped some operation at the fire which, to judge of it by the smell, was a pleasant one, to listen, and looked to see that her husband's dry shoes and coat were ready for him. The hostler's hissing was drowned by the sound as he rubbed down the horses just come in from the mail, in the stables of the Castle Inn, and he listened while the happy notes

hurried away to follow the coach on its fresh stage, making the outside passengers long to get down and jump about, and the insides keep awake a few minutes before they settled down to the nap disturbed by changing horses. And the waiters heard them in the inn, and the merry throng in the great kitchen heard them, and three persons were listening to them before they entered and bargained for a humble rest for the night. For they were poor, and their dress showed it, though there was something in the looks of the two elder of them, a man and woman, that seemed to point them something else than what they were. And that old gentleman, with the grey head, but stern and forbidding countenance, must have heard them, for the old inn was ringing with the noise, though he sipped his wine, and read his book without the least attention. He was in a comfortable room, with two windows looking out on the road, hung with comfortable red curtains: the fire blazed brightly in the grate, and sent flickering lights about the old substantial furniture. The old gentleman had evidently had a good dinner, and meant to stay sipping his wine and reading for a long time; and no doubt for a long time he would have done so quite unconcerned about all externals, had he not suddenly heard his name called. "Christopher Crosby." Holloa," says Mr. Crosby looking into the fire, for from thence the sound proceeded. Holloa, what's- -"—but he could get no further, but continued to stare with a frightened look at the fire. And on the fire, enjoying the heat, spreading his hands in the flames, and sticking one leg down deep into the red live coals, was an odd little man, with the oddest little monkey eyes, and the oddest of hats, with a very long peak which he jerked about here and there with the greatest enjoyment. He had the very strangest little legs too that ever were seen, very fat, but capable of being twisted everywhere and anywhere, which he proved by coiling one round a bar to make his seat firmer. He was dressed in red clothes, and looked so very hot and horrible as he put his arms akimbo and leered with his wicked little eyes out of the flames at Mr. Crosby, that that gentleman might well be frightened, and stare in ghastly surprise.

66

66

Christopher Crosby !"

66

"Well- sir," gasped out Mr. Crosby, "what did.

you

want

with

me?"

"Ha, Ha, Ha," laughed the sprite, and "Ha, Ha, Ha," echoed loud and long over the room.

Mr. Crosby turned, and looked about him. All the room seemed to be laughing—and there in every flickering light, on the