W. P. Pycraft, F.Z.S., A.L.S.
A TALE OF BREMEN.
REMEN was a growing city, but its ruler, hard and proud,
Insolent in power and riches, all his humble subjects cowed,
Till one day a bold man pleaded to the Count on bended knee:
'Sire, for just a little season set my toiling brethren free!
Let them leave awhile their labour, let them roam the country fair,
Quit the close and crowded city for a breath of purer air;
Or, perchance, their faithful service you will graciously repay,
And a piece of ground assign them from your gardens vast and gay?'
Frowned the Count, and answered, mocking: 'Not a little do you ask!
Well! your prayer shall find a champion, and I'll set him just one task:
He shall march from dawn to sunset, pacing my fair gardens round;
All his footsteps can encircle shall be then the people's ground.'
Morning came, the folk assembled, full of hopefulness and glee,
But their eager eyes no other than the Count himself can see.
Stay! there standeth one beside him, Hans the cripple, small and weak!
'This is he,' the Count cries, scoffing, 'who shall give you what you seek.
Fly! Hans, fly! Around my pleasaunce speed as quickly as you may!'
And the cripple, smiling bravely, starts forthwith upon his way.
All that day, from morn to even, Hans the cripple did his best,
Walking on without cessation, pausing not for food or rest.
Miracle both Count and people deemed the prowess he displayed,
And the tyrant scowled in anger as he saw the progress made.
Faint and weary, for his brethren Hans toiled on till eventide,
Then, amid the people's cheering, knelt, and breathed a prayer, and died.
Feudal days are gone for ever, but in Bremen's ancient town
Tell they still of Hans the hero, who for them his life laid down.
THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.
(Continued from page [95].)
The children were all eager to hear the story, and a sad one it was. They had become accustomed to see Dick half asleep in his armchair in the garden, or before the fire at the Bridge House. They knew him to be almost helpless, for it was only with assistance he could move, even on his crutches. They had thought very little about his condition, however, except for that feeling of pity which even a child experiences in the presence of suffering. Mrs. Peet's words had roused their interest in her son, and Lady Coke saw an opportunity for deepening the impression she had made. It would be good in many ways for these young people to hear that sad story. It had its lessons, and these she trusted would sink into their young minds; they might make it more possible to feel patient and to show more consideration for Peet, whose irritable temper, she was forced to admit, was very trying to their high spirits.
Dick, the only child of Peet and his wife, had been a fine handsome lad, with an unusual amount of brains, and with, what is still better, a wonderful capacity for really hard work. He had won all the prizes that he could possibly compete for in the little school at Lynwood, as well as most of the honours in the cricket and football field, for he was quite as good at games as at books. Peet was at that time, and had been ever since his youth, a gardener on the Earl of Lynwood's estate—Lynwood Keep, in Scotland. He had risen through steady work to be head gardener and bailiff. On finding himself possessed of sufficient means to take a wife and settle down, he had married an old love of his, a Cornish girl from the village of Newlyn, and had carried her off to the home he had so proudly prepared for her. A very happy couple they had been, and the birth of Dick had added a still greater happiness to their already bright life. Peet's temper had not then become what the sore trials and disappointments of his later life had made it. He was contented and prosperous, and the clouds which afterwards darkened his existence had not so much as sent the tiniest little messenger before them to tell of their coming.