THE ATTACK OF A WILD BOAR.

ALFRED JOHN CHURCH was born in London, January 29, 1829. He graduated at Oxford University in 1851. For several years he was a clergyman. Then he became a teacher successively in several schools, and at length a professor in the University of London. He is the author of a large number of valuable works, many of which deal with classical themes.

The time is the early morning of a day towards the end of February, when the short winter of South

ern Greece is nearing its end. A young man and a girl are watching the sun as it rises from behind the snow-capped hills of Arcadia. Their father attends. them and is approaching slowly along the hillside path.

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Ho, youngsters!" he cries, "have you no pity on an old man that you climb the hill at so merciless a pace? Rhodium (this, meaning Little Rose, was the girl's name), you are as swift of foot as Atalanta. But let us halt awhile, and wait for Sciton and the dogs."

The spot where they stood was one of remarkable beauty. Just below them was the wooded valley up the eastern side of which they had climbed, with a river showing here and there its gleaming pools

amongst the trees and brushwood. Behind was a long stretch of forest, still full-as in the days of the old soldier and sportsman who had once been the owner of the place-of game, great and small.

On the east rose, ridge over ridge, the mountains of Arcadia. In front was the most famous place in Greece, the plain of Olympia, with its river, its groves of plane and olive, and its temples and treasure-houses just catching on their gilded roofs the first rays of morning.

It was a view of which the father and his children were never weary; still they had not come to look at the prospect. A glance at their dress and equipment will show that they have a more practical purpose. The elder of the two men has a stout hunting spear, with a broad point, in his hand, the younger a staff and a sling in his girdle, an implement with which he is singularly expert, being able to hit a flying bird of moderate size not less than nine times out of ten.

Even the girl is prepared for the chase. A light bow is slung at her side; over her left shoulder hangs a quiver gayly adorned with purple and gold; meant, we may perhaps guess, for ornament rather than for use; for, huntress as she is, she has a woman's heart, and loves all beasts, both great and small.

They have not waited long before Sciton comes up with the dogs in two leashes. There are four of them, not unlike the beagles of the present time, but stouter

in build, somewhat bow-legged, and with curiously long ears.

"I have set the nets, sir," said Sciton, "one between the two rocks at the south end of the wood, the other in the old place by the spring. A hare has been there, I could see, not later than last night."

The party now moved forward about a hundred yards, till they came to the edge of the wood. Here the dogs were uncoupled, and the search for game began, the animals, encouraged by Sciton, who acted as huntsman, searching the thick brushwood in the most methodical way. The party had not to wait long. In a few minutes' time a short bark was heard, soon taken up by other voices.

"that

"Diana be thanked!" cries the young man ; was Wardour's voice. He has found something, and something worth hunting. I never knew him to be taken in."

In a moment the hounds are in full cry, heading away it may be guessed from the direction of their voices for the wildest part of the wood.

"You had best stay here, Rhodium," says Lucius Marius, "the country yonder is too rough for you to follow. But very likely the hare will double back this way. Don't wait too long for us; if we are not back by the time that the sun gets behind the pine tree yonder, make the best of your way home. I shall leave the hunting spear here. Don't trouble

yourself about it. Some one shall come for it if we should not come back this way."

The girl was not in the least disconcerted at being thus left alone; nor did she seem likely to be dull. Her first care was to gather two large bunches of flowers, one of violets, blue and white, the other of anemones and narcissus. Her mother always expected her to bring home at least this spoil from her hunting.

This done, she took a scroll from a fold in her tunic, and seating herself under a lime tree that was just bursting into leaf, prepared herself to read; for reading was at least as dear to her as hunting. She was soon engrossed in her book, -one which she knew almost by heart, but of which she was never tired, the story of how Sparta and Athens, with more than half of Greece false or indifferent, turned back the hosts of the Persians.

She had been engaged thus for about an hour, closing her book every now and then to dream of what she might be if the old days could come back, when the silence was broken by a faint sound in the distance. The hunt, it seemed, was coming back. It grew louder as she listened till she could distinguish, she thought, the voices of her father and brother as they cheered on the dogs.

But what is this that comes crashing through the bushes? Manifestly it is something larger than a hare. Is it a stag, or possibly, for such visitants are

not unknown, even close to the house, a bear or a wild boar?

She is not long left in doubt. A boar, one of the largest of his kind, with shining white tusks at least nine inches long, the bristles on his back erect with rage, his small eyes shining with a fiery green light, bursts out of the thicket. She sees that he is making straight for her, and there is just a hundred yards of open ground between the wood and the seat under the tree before he is upon her.

The brave girl showed herself worthy of her race. An observer might have seen that her face was a little paler than its wont, but that her eyes flashed with a fire that no one would have thought hidden in their violet depths.

She sounded the whistle that hung from her neck three times, the usual signal of urgent need. Then catching at her father's hunting spear, with an inward thanksgiving to the gods that had inspired him with the thought of leaving it, she prepared to receive the attack. Kneeling on one knee, she planted the end of the spear on the ground and rested the haft on her leg, holding it firmly with both hands, so that the point was about two feet from the ground. She had small hope of being able to stop the brute's charge, but she might check it for a few moments, and meanwhile, though it was but a slender hope, her whistle might have brought help.

The boar was now close upon her, but she saw