of the bride. But when in a little while all the visitors had departed, the grass and weeds began to grow before the White House as before.

V.

Another winter was approaching, and the inhabitants of the White House had been increased by one person only-its mistress. Most of the numerous servants who were engaged at the marriage, soon ran away in terror, on hearing that their master had an evil eye. The few who remained, having suffered greatly from illness, finally left the house also. Its young and beautiful mistress was deserted; and in the hour of her distress lay alone-forsaken by her friends-on the costly bed. Her husband only was present, his face turned away from her, as he held her cold, damp hand in his own. She knew the terrible effect of his evil eye; she knew that each time he glanced at her, he but added to her pain and sorrow, yet, in her affectionate nature, and loving him, she begged that he would look upon her at least

once more.

"Oh, Mary!" cried the unhappy man, with a deep sigh, "I know I can never be happy with you so long as I have my sight. Here is a knife-cut out my eyes! Done by your dear hand the act will lose its pain and anguish."

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The poor wife trembled with horror at the 'proposal, and her husband, seeing that he could not prevail upon her, sank in a chair, and shed bitter tears.

"Of what value to me is this heavenly gift-the gift of sight!" he exclaimed. "At every glance I bring destruction and misery about me! No wonder, dearest Mary, that your pain is great: a tree would wither as I looked at it. But take courage, love; I will not look upon our child. Him at least my eyes shall not injure."

The suffering woman answered him only with a groan. He called the old servant in, and left her. Soon afterwards two cries, unlike in their sound, were heard in the house. The one-the joyful cry of a new-born infant, as it first saw the light; the other-the agonised cry of a man, the infant's father, as he parted with sight for ever! His eyes, glittering like two diamonds, lay on the ground by the side of a blood-stained knife.

VI.

Another six years had passed away.

Windows had

been made on the side of the White House from which a beautiful view of the village and fields could be obtained. The boatmen now often stopped near the house to rest. Its mistress was well and happy blessed in a beautiful daughter, who was the guide of her blind father. The

peasants no longer ran away at the sight of their master. The former silence reigned no more at the White House, numerous servants were in attendance, and the whole place was full of life and bustle.

Old Stanislas, who had buried his master's eyes at the time of the self-sacrifice, was now bent with age. One day, curious to know whether they had perished or not, he dug for them in the ground. Suddenly they glared upon him like two live coals. As soon as their baneful light shone upon his wrinkled face, the old man shivered, fell down, and died.

This was the first and last time that the evil eye exercised its power for harm upon the old servant. For as the master loved him dearly, so his heart counteracted the effect of his eye; but now the eyes, long buried in the ground, and freed from the influence of the heart of their master, had acquired additional strength for evil, and killed the poor old man.

The blind master deeply lamented his faithful servant. In memory of his fidelity he erected a handsome cross over his grave, beneath which the boatmen often prayed.

HUNTSMAN THE UNLUCKY.

(FROM THE RUSSIAN.)

ONCE upon a time there lived a huntsman. He would go every day in search of game, but it often happened that he killed nothing, and so was obliged to return home with his bag empty. On that account he was nicknamed "Huntsman the Unlucky." At last he was reduced by his ill fortune to such extremities that he had not a piece of bread nor a copeck left. The wretched man wandered about the forest, cold and hungry; he had eaten nothing for three days, and was nearly dying of starvation. He lay down on the grass determined to put an end to his existence; happily better thoughts came into his mind; he crossed himself, and threw away the gun. Suddenly he heard a rustling noise near him. It seemed to issue from some thick grass close at hand. The hunter got up and approached the spot. He then

observed that the grass partly hid a gloomy abyss, from the bottom of which there rose a stone, and on it lay a small jar. As he looked and listened the hunter heard a small voice crying,

"Dear, kind traveller, release me!"

The voice seemed to proceed from the little jar. The courageous hunter, walking carefully from one stone to another, approached the spot where the jar lay, took it up gently, and heard a voice crying from within like the chirping of a grasshopper,

"Release me, and I will be of service to you."

"Who are you, my little friend?" asked Huntsman the Unlucky.

"I have no name, and cannot be seen by human eyes," answered a soft voice. “If you want me, call 'Murza!' A wicked magician put me in this jar, sealed it with the seal of King Solomon, and then threw me into this fearful place, where I have lain for seventy years.'

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'Very good," said Huntsman the Unlucky; "I will give you your liberty, and then we shall see how you will keep your word." He broke the seal and opened the little jar—there was nothing in it!

Halloa! where are you, my friend?" cried the

hunter.

"By your side," a voice answered.