They that in beauty divine lead dances beside Achelöus;— There still, stone though she be, doth she brood on her harm from the godheads. But, O reverend king, let us also of needful refreshment Think now. But now of bread and of meat have I tasted again, and the black wine I for the space thou hast meted will hold the Achaians from warring." All then of Gods upon high, ever-living, and warrior horsemen, Slept through the livelong night in the gentle dominion of slumber; But never slumber approach'd to the eyes of beneficent Hermes, As in his mind he revolv'd how best to retire from the galleys Priam the king, unobserv'd of the sentinels sworn for the night-watch. Over his head, as he slept, stood the Argicide now, and address'd him: "Old man, bodings of evil disturb not thy spirit, who slumber'st Here among numberless foes, because noble Peleides has spared thee. True that thy son has been ransom'd, and costly the worth of the head-gifts; Yet would the sons that are left thee have three times more to surrender, Wert thou but seen by the host, and the warning convey'd to Atreides." Thus did he speak, but the king was in terror, and waken'd the herald. Then, when beneficent Hermes had harness'd the mules and the horses, Swiftly he drove through the camp, nor did any observe the departure. So did they pass to the ford of the river of beautiful waters, Xanthus the gulfy, begotten of thunder-delighting Kronion; Then from the chariot he rose and ascended to lofty Olympus. But now wide over earth spread morning mantled in saffron, As amid groaning and weeping they drew to the city; the mule-wain Bearing behind them the dead: Nor did any in Ilion see them, Either of men, as they came, or the well-girt women of Troia: Only Cassandra, that imaged in grace Aphrodité the golden, Had to the Pergamus clomb, and from thence she discover'd her father Standing afoot on the car, and beside him the summoning herald; And in the waggon behind them the wrapt corse laid on the death-bier. Then did she shriek, and her cry to the ends of the city resounded: "Come forth, woman and man, and behold the returning of Hector! Come, if ye e'er in his life, at his home-coming safe from the battle Joyfully troop'd; and with joy might it fill both the town and the people." So did she cry; nor anon was there one soul left in the city, Woman or man, for at hand and afar was the yearning awaken'd. Near to the gate was the king when they met him conducting the death-wain. First rush'd, rending their hair, to behold him the wife and the mother, And as they handled the head, all weeping the multitude stood near :And they had all day long till the sun went down into darkness There on the field by the rampart lamented with tears over Hector, But that the father arose in the car and entreated the people: "Yield me to pass, good friends, make way for the mules-and hereafter All shall have weeping enow when the dead has been borne to the dwelling." So did he speak, and they, parting asunder, made way for the mule-wain. But when they brought him at last to the famous abode of the princes, He on a fair-carv'd bed was compos'd, and the singers around him Rang'd, who begin the lament; and they, lifting their sorrowful voices, Chanted the wail for the dead, and the women bemoan'd at its pausings. But in the burst of her woe was the beauteous Andromache foremost, Holding the head in her hands as she mourn'd for the slayer of heroes:"Husband! in youth hast thou parted from life, and a desolate widow Here am I left in our home; and the child is a stammering infant Whom thou and I unhappy begat, nor will he, to my thinking, Reach to the blossom of youth; ere then, from the roof to the basement Down shall the city be hurl'd-since her only protector has perish'd, And without succour are now chaste mother and stammering infant. Soon shall their destiny be to depart in the ships of the stranger, I in the midst of them bound; and, my child, thou go with them also, Doom'd for the far-off shore and the tarnishing toil of the bondman, Slaving for lord unkind. Or perchance some remorseless Achaian Hurl from the gripe of his hand, from the battlement down to perdition, Raging revenge for some brother perchance that was slaughter'd of Hector, Father, it may be, or son; for not few of the race of Achaia Seiz'd broad earth with their teeth, when they sank from the handling of Hector; For not mild was thy father, O babe, in the blackness of battle Wherefore, now he is gone, through the city the people bewail him. Wherefore they care for thee now, though in death's dark destiny humbled! Sell, whomsoever he took, far over the waste of the waters, Either to Samos or Imber, or rock-bound harbourless Lemnos ; But with the long-headed spear did he rifle the life from thy bosom, And in the dust did he drag thee, oft times, by the tomb of his comrade, Him thou hadst slain; though not so out of death could he rescue Patroclus. Under a pangless shaft from the silvern bow of Apollo." So did the mother lament, and a measureless moaning received her; Them didst thou check in their scorn, and the bitterness yielded before thee, : Deep in the grave they were laid, and the huge stones piled to the margin. THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. PART V. Ya vienen chapelchurris Mal chacolin tuvieron Que con la borrachera "TEN-fifteen-thirty-all plump full-weighted coins of Fernando Septimo and Carlos Quarto. Truly, Jaime, the trade thou drivest is a pleasant and profitable one. Little to do, and good pay for it.” It was a June day, a little past the middle of the month. Just within the forest that extended nearly up to the western wall of the Dominican convent, upon a plot of smooth turf, under the shadow of tall bushes and venerable trees, Jaime, the gipsy, had seated himself, and was engaged in an occupation which, to judge from the unusually well-pleased expression of his countenance, was highly congenial to his tastes. The resting-place he had chosen had the double advantage of coolness and seclusion. Whilst in the court of the convent, and in the hollow square in the interior of the building, where the nuns cultivated a few flowers, and which was sprinkled by the waters of a fountain, the heat was so great as to drive the sisters to their cells and shady cloisters, in the forest a delicious freshness prevailed. A light air played between the moss-clad tree-trunks, and the soft turf, protected by the foliage from the scorching rays of the sun, felt cool to the foot that pressed it. Nay, in some places, where the shade was thickest, and where a current of air flowed up through the long vistas of trees, might still be seen, although the sun was in the zenith, tiny drops of the morning dew, spangling the grass-blades. Into those innermost recesses of the greenwood, however, the esquilador had not thought it necessary to penetrate: habituated to the African temperature of Southern Spain, he was satisfied with the moderate degree of shelter obtained in VOL. LIX. NO. CCCLXV. Christino Song. the little glade he occupied; into which, although the sunbeams did not enter, a certain degree of heat was reflected from the convent walls, of whose grey surface he obtained a glimpse through the branches. The sheep-skin jacket, which was his constant wear-its looseness rendering it a more endurable summer garment than might have been inferred from its warm material-lay upon the grass beside him, exposing to view a woollen shirt, composed of broad alternate stripes of red and white; the latter colour having assumed, from length of wear and lack of washing, a tint bordering upon the orange. He had untwisted the long red sash which he wore coiled round his waist, and withdrawn from its folds, at one of its extremities, forming a sort of purse, a goodly handful of gold coin, the result of the more or less honest enterprises in which he had recently been engaged. This he was counting out, and arranging according to its kind, in glittering piles of four, eight, and sixteen-dollar pieces. A grim contortion of feature, his nearest approach to a smile, testified the pleasure he experienced in thus handling and reckoning his treasure; and, in unusual contradiction to his taciturn habits, he indulged, as he gloated over his gold, in a muttered and disjointed soliloquy. "Hurra for the war!" so ran his monologue; "may it last till Jaime bids it cease. 'Tis meat and drink to him-ay, and better still." Here he glanced complacently at his wealth. Surely 'tis rare fun to see the foolish Busné cutting each other's throats, and the poor Zincalo reaping the benefit. I've had fine chances, cer tainly, and have not thrown them away. Zumalacarregui does not pay badly; then that affair of the Christino officer was worth a good forty ounces, between him and the fool Paco; and now Don Baltasar-but he is the worst pay of all. Promises in plenty; he rattles them off his tongue as glib as the old nuns do their paters; but if he opens his mouth he takes good care to keep his purse shut. A pitiful two score dollars are all I have had from him for a month's service-I should have made more by spying for Zumalacarregui; with more risk, perhaps-though I am not sure of that. Both the noble colonel and myself would stretch a rope if the general heard of our doings. And hear of them he will, sooner or later, unless Don Baltasar marries the girl by force, and cuts Paco's throat. Curse him! why doesn't he pay me the fifty ounces he promised me? If he did that, I would get out of the way till I heard how the thing turned. I must have the money next time I see him, or" What alternative the esquilador was about to propound must remain unknown; for, at that moment, the sound of his name, uttered near at hand, and in a cautious tone, caused him to start violently and interrupt his soliloquy. Hastily sweeping up his money, and thrusting it into the end of his sash, he seized his jacket, and was about to seek concealment in the neighbouring bushes. Before doing so, however, he cast a glance in the direction whence the sound had proceeded, and for the first time became aware that the spot selected for the telling of his ill-gotten gains was not so secure from observation as he had imagined. In the outer wall of the western wing of the convent, and at some distance from the ground, two windows broke the uniformity of the stone surface. Hitherto, whenever the gipsy had noticed them, they had appeared hermetically blocked up by closely-fitting shutters, painted to match the colour of the wall, of which they almost seemed to form a part. On taking up his position just within the skirt of the forest, the possibility of these casements being opened, and his proceedings observed, had not occurred to him; and it so happened that from one of them, through an opening in the branches, the retreat he had chosen was completely commanded. The shutter of this window had now been pushed open, and the lovely, but pallid and emaciated countenance of Rita, was seen gazing through the strong bars which traversed the aperture. "Jaime!" she repeated; "Jaime, I would speak with you." Upon seeing whom it was who thus addressed him, the gipsy's alarm ceased. He deliberately put on and knotted his sash; and casting his jacket over his shoulder, turned to leave the spot. "Jaime!" cried Rita for the third time, "come hither, I implore you." The gipsy shook his head, and was walking slowly away, his face, however, still turned towards the fair prisoner, when she suddenly exclaimed "Behold! For one minute's conversation it is yours." And in the shadow cast by the embrasure of the casement, Jaime saw a sparkle, the cause of which his covetous eye at once detected. Three bounds, and he stood under the window. Rita passed her arm through the bars, and a jewelled ring dropped into his extended palm. "Hermoso!" exclaimed the esquilador, his eyes sparkling almost as vividly as the stones that excited his admiration. "Beautiful! Diamonds of the finest water!" The shock of her father's death, coupled with previous fatigue and excitement, had thrown Rita into a delirious fever, which for more than three weeks confined her to her bed. Within a few hours of her arrival at the convent, Don Baltasar had been compelled to leave it, to resume his military duties; and he had not again. returned, although, twice during her illness, he sent the gipsy to obtain intelligence of her health. On learning her convalescence, he dispatched him thither for a third time, with a letter to Rita, urging her acceptance of his hand-their union having been, as he assured her, her father's latest wish. As her nearest surviving relative, he had assumed the office of her guardian, and allotted to her the convent as a residence; until such time as |