me a traveller, whom God has saved from the hungry wolves. He will rest here till another sledge is brought for him; set before him of the best we have."

Like a good housewife, Tochana lost no time in gratifying her own curiosity about the stranger, if indeed she had any, but at once set about her task. A square piece of snow-white leather was spread upon the ground near the fire, and in a few minutes she had laid upon it some pieces of dried fish and reindeer meat in flat wooden platters, with two bowls, one containing reindeer milk, and the other filled with water. A small stock of cheese made of the reindeer's milk completed the repast.

"I pray you be seated," said Duvno to his guest, "and share with us our humble meal."

So saying the little man seated himself upon the ground, and his guest, after some little consideration as to how and where he might best dispose of his huge legs, followed the example, and then, and not till then, Tochana seated herself close to her husband.

"May our Father bless the meal," said Duvno, and then helped the stranger to such a portion of the humble viands before him as might lead to the supposition that he considered that the amount of food must needs be in proportion to the size of the eater.

But the stranger seemed lost in thought, and for a while tasted nothing.

"I fear our fare is too homely for one who, if I am not mistaken, is an officer in the service of our good papa, the Czar."

"Nay, my good friend, the fare is pleasant enough; indeed an honest welcome such as thine would give the driest crust a relish, and make it food fit for the Czar himself; I was but wondering to hear thanks before meat from the lips of a Laplander, one of a race which we of more southern parts are wont to consider more than half heathenish."

"Well," answered Duvno, "I am but a poor scholar; but Tochana hath the good book in the

Finnish tongue, and can read it indifferently well."

Whilst they were conversing thus, and Duvno was relating his somewhat exciting history to the stranger, a low grunting sound was heard at the back of the hut. The visitor looked in that direction, and in a dark opening which he had not before observed, he perceived a pair of antlers of enormous size, which seemed almost to bow down to the earth the head of a huge old reindeer, who slowly pushed her way into the hut.

"She wondered, doubtless," said Duvno, “that she was not sooner called to supper."

So saying, he held out a handful of moss sprinkled with salt towards the animal, who received it with a grunt of thanks, and afterwards unceremoniously slaked her thirst at the water-bowl, for which bad manners she received a gentle chiding from Tochana, who forthwith replaced the vessel by another.

Meanwhile, a fresh actor had come upon the scene; for from beneath the coverlid of the rude couch crept forth a tiny little fellow, a very facsimile in miniature of his father, excepting only the axe at his girdle, who proceeded straightway to climb up the knees of the unresisting and motionless animal, and to hang about her neck, till suddenly perceiving the good cheer spread near the fire, the little urchin (who might be rather more than three years old, but would have been thought in any other climate a marvellously small baby at three months) at once scrambled towards the group, lifted the pan of reindeer milk to his tiny lips, and soon seemed in a fair way to leave as little in it as his gigantic-antlered pet had but just before left in the water-bowl.

Tochana was about to chide the little mannikin for this intrusion, when her quick ear, long used to listen for the sleigh-bells of her returning husband, caught the well-known sound in the distance before either Duvno or the stranger perceived it.

"I hear the bells of a sledge coming over the Black Fell," said she, hurriedly.

Her husband thrust a pine-stick into the fire, and, using it as a torch, left the hut. Guided by the light, old Ivan rapidly drove up, and soon entered the hut with the Laplander.

"Thou hast made good speed, Ivan," said the stranger.

"Ay! that he has," added Duvno. "Thekla herself could not have done the distance much more quickly."

Old Ivan, following the direction of the Laplander's eyes, became aware of the presence of the huge-horned favourite, and replied contemptuously:

"I should think not, indeed. I should like to see the horned beast that could beat the cattle that brought me here."

"Well," rejoined his host, "for all that, with a pack of yon hungry rascals behind me yelping for my lifeblood, I would rather have old Thekla before me than the fleetest steeds that ever scoured the Ukraine."

But here the guest interposed, and stopped the dispute, observing:

"At least, I know, my good friend, that old Ivan has done his best, and I fear me he hath, in his zeal to serve me, gone without his supper, whilst we have been feasting ourselves at this blazing fire. But it is time I were again on my journey. You have done me a great service this night. Tell me how can I requite it." His diminutive host looked at him as though he scarcely understood his meaning. "Is there any service I can render you, or anything which wealth can purchase, and which can add to the comfort or happiness of yourself or of those dear to you? ask it freely, and you shall not ask in vain."

"The Good Book, out of which Tochana reads to me, says, Having food and raiment, let us be therewith content.' Have we not both in plenty?"

"True," answered the stranger;

(6 none are poor

who are contented; and it would need little indeed, I see, to make you feel yourselves rich. Ask of me that little, ay, a hundredfold over, and it is yours." Duvno answered calmly, "Godliness is great riches if a man be content with that he hath.' There is One only who can give us that."

"Thou art indeed a wonderful little man," replied the guest, with something of reverence in his manner, contrasting strongly with his usual demeanour, which had in it rather an air of command. "Yet surely there must be many things which thou wouldst desire to have, or which thy wife might wish for, and which would add to your enjoyment of this somewhat lonely life."

"The Good Book says, 'A man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth,' was the only reply of the Laplander.

Then the little wife arose, holding the little child in her arms, and she kissed her little husband on his forehead, and then sat down again contented by his side.

The stranger looked down upon them for a minute or two in solemn silence, and then said most gently, as the glance of his large blue eyes softened down into a look of the most loving tenderness :

"Heaven forbid that I should mar this picture of most heavenly contentment by striving to add aught to it. Yet is it not my wont to leave behind me no trace to show that I can remember and be grateful for a service done to me. Take this paper," he added, writing two words upon a slip hastily torn from a memorandum-book. "You will find on it the name by which I wish you to remember me- -Рара Paulovitch. If ever you have need of anything, or want a friend, write to me, or let some one write for you."

"Tochana can write passably well," interrupted Duvno, evidently rather vain of this rare accomplishment in his little spouse, whilst the colour rising

to Tochana's cheek sufficiently confirmed the wonderful fact.

"Good. Write to me as to a kind and loving father. Address your letter thus, and give it to the postmaster at Petropol, to whom I will give directions for forwarding it to me. My little friend, may Heaven's blessing rest upon this house and all within it!"

The tall figure of the stranger disappeared. Then came the loud crack of Ivan's whip as the horses dashed away. In two or three minutes the sleighbells sounded faintly afar off as they crossed the Black Fell, and then were heard no more.— -From "Duvno and Tochana," a Lapland story. S.P.C.K.

WILLIE BAIRD.

ROBERT BUCHANAN.

[An old man is talking, a dog lying at his feet.]
'Tis two-and-thirty summers since I came
To school the village lads of Inverburn.

My father was a shepherd old and poor,
Who, dwelling 'mong the clouds on norland hills,
His tartan plaidie on, and by his side

His sheep-dog running, redden'd with the winds
That whistle saltly south from Polar seas:

I follow'd in his footsteps when a boy,

And knew by heart the mountains round our home;
But when I went to Edinglass, to learn

At college there, I look'd about the place,
And heard the murmur of the busy streets
Around me, in a dream ;—and only saw
The cloud sthat snow around the mountain-tops,
The mists that chase the phantom of the moon