emerged into the broad moonlight, fully prepared to hear my fate from the lips of the passers-by. Spare me, my beloved friend, the painful recital of all that I was doomed to endure. The women often expressed the deepest sympathy for me-a sympathy not less piercing to my soul than the scoffs of the young people, and the proud contempt of the men, particularly of the more corpulent, who threw an ample shadow before them. A fair and beauteous maiden, apparently accompanied by her parents, who gravely kept looking straight before them, chanced to cast a beaming glance on me; but was evidently startled at perceiving that I was without a shadow, and hiding her lovely face in her veil, and holding down her head, passed silently on. This was past all endurance. Tears streamed from my eyes; and with a heart pierced through and through, I once more took refuge in the shade. I leant on the houses for support, and reached home at a late hour, worn out with fatigue. I passed a sleepless night. My first care the following morning was to devise some means of discovering the man in the gray cloak. Perhaps I may succeed in finding him; and how fortunate it were if he should be as ill satisfied with his bargain as I am with mine! I desired Bendel to be sent for, who seemed to possess some tact and ability. I minutely described to him the individual who possessed a treasure without which life itself was rendered a burden to me. I mentioned the time and place at which I had seen him, named all the persons who were present, and concluded with the following directions: He was to inquire for a Dollond's telescope, a Turkey carpet interwoven with gold, a marquee, and, finally, for some black steeds the history, without entering into particulars, of all these being singularly connected with the mysterious character who seemed to pass unnoticed by every one, but whose appearance had destroyed the peace and happiness of my life. As I spoke I produced as much gold as I could hold in my two hands, and added jewels and precious stones of still greater value. "Bendel," said I, "this smooths many a path, and renders that easy which seems almost impossible. Be not sparing of it, for I am not so; but go, and rejoice thy master with intelligence on which depend all his hopes." He departed, and returned late and melancholy. None of Mr. John's servants, none of his guests (and Bendel had spoken to them all) had the slightest recollection of the man in the gray cloak. The new telescope was still there, but no one knew how it had come; and the tent and Turkey carpet were still stretched out on the hill. The servants boasted of their master's wealth; but no one seemed to know by what means he had become possessed of these newly acquired luxuries. He was gratified; and it gave him no concern to be ignorant how they had come to him. The black coursers which had been mounted on that day were in the stables of the young gentlemen of the party, who admired them as the munificent present of Mr. John. Such was the information I gained from Bendel's detailed account; but, in spite of this unsatisfactory result, his zeal and prudence deserved and received my commendation. In a gloomy mood, I made him a sign to withdraw. “I have, sir,” he continued, "laid before you all the information in my power relative to the subject of the most importance to you. I have now a message to deliver which I received early this morning from a person at the gate, as I was proceeding to execute the commission in which I have so unfortunately failed. The man's words were precisely these: Tell your master, Peter Schlemihl, he will not see me here again. I am going to cross the sea; a favorable wind now calls all the passengers on board; but in a year and a day I shall have the honor of paying him a visit; when, in all probability, I shall have a proposal to make to him of a very agreeable nature. Commend me to him most respectfully, with many thanks.' I inquired his name; but he said you would remember him.” "What sort of a person was he?" cried I, in great emotion; and Bendel described the man in the gray coat feature by feature, word for word; in short, the very individual in search of whom he had been sent. "How unfortunate!" cried I, bitterly; "it was himself." Scales, as it were, fell from Bendel's eyes. "Yes, it was he," cried he, "undoubtedly it was he; and fool, madman, that I was, I did not recognize him—I did not, and have betrayed my master!" He then broke out into a torrent of self-reproach; and his distress really excited my compassion. I endeavored to console him, repeatedly assuring him that I entertained no doubt of his fidelity; and dispatched him immediately to the wharf, to discover, if possible, some trace of the extraordinary being. But on that very morning many ves sels which had been detained in port by contrary winds had set sail, all bound to different parts of the globe; and the gray man had disappeared like a shadow. JAPANESE POEMS.1 TRANSLATED BY BASIL H. CHAMBERLAIN. [BASIL HALL CHAMBERLAIN: An English writer on Japanese subjects; born in England. He entered the Japanese imperial naval service and afterward became professor of the Japanese language and philology in the Imperial University at Tokio. He published: "The Classical Poetry of the Japanese” (1880), "A Simplified Grammar of the Japanese Language" (1886), "A Romanized Japanese Reader" (1886), "The Language, Mythology, and Geographical Nomenclature of Japan, viewed in the Light of Aino Studies” (1887), “Aino Folk Tales" (1888); a series of Japanese fairy tales: "The Fisher Boy Urashima," "My Lord Bag-o'-Rice," "The Serpent with Eight Heads," and "The Silly Jellyfish" (1888); "Things Japanese" (1890); and “A Handbook for Travelers in Japan" (4th ed., 1894), with W. B. Mason.] 1 From "Classical Poetry of the Japanese." By permission of Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co. Post 8vo., price 78. 6d. But the foolish boy said: "To-morrow The maiden answered: "A casket To come back to the Evergreen Land, "Then open it not, I charge thee,- So the boy rowed home o'er the billows But where is his native hamlet? Strange cots rise on either hand. "What, in three short years since I left it," He cries in his wonder sore, "Has the home of my childhood vanished? Is the bamboo fence no more? "Perchance if I open the casket Which the maiden gave to me, My home and the dear old village Will come back as they used to be!" And he lifts the lid, and there rises That floats off to the Evergreen Country- He waves the sleeve of his tunic, Running wildly round and round. But a sudden chill comes o'er him The form erst so young and fair. His breath grows fainter and fainter, Till at last he sinks dead on the shore. NO TIDINGS. The year has come, the year has gone again, In dark cocoon my mother's silkworms dwell: Like to the pine trees I must stand and pine, SPRING. No man so callous but he heaves a sigh When o'er his head the withered cherry flowers Come fluttering down. Who knows? the Spring's soft showers May be but tears shed by the sorrowing sky. SUMMER. In blossoms the Wistaria tree to-day Breaks forth, that sweep the wavelets of my lake. The garden vocal with his first sweet lay? AUTUMN. Can I be dreaming? 'Twas but yesterday |