and they shuddered in the silence to see that martyr-heart about to perish there. And the wayward flames, as if knowing the presence of a diviner spirit and a holier form, lingered around, unwilling to touch and mar that beauty which the Master loved. Without care or anxiety shadowing on her trustful countenance, she clasped her hands, gazed up into the far heaven, and her clear bright eye wavered not, for its line of vision rested at the foot of the King's throne. And while there came whisperings of the summers she had loved and left, tearful thoughts of the cell which should bind her free spirit no more for ever, and a terrible consciousness of the fate which gathered the flames to her feet-she went. In a moment she was gone. Part of the building giving way, she fell into the midst of the burning mass-her funeral pyre. And darkness fell once more on the spot lately the scene of those ravages. The fires having spent themselves, with the exception of an occasional gleam, the whole blaze became extinct. The cavalier turned with a sick heart from the smouldering mass. As he did so a ray of light bursting from the ruin disclosed a dark form gliding across the valley. It was the murderer escaping. A moment more and the cavalier was in full pursuit. The fugitive saw that he was chased, and fled precipitately. In a few minutes he stopped, and the cavalier thought that he was exhausted, and called upon him to surrender. But it was not so. He had just regained his horse, and in a twinkling scampered full speed for the crags. Away they went, pursuer and pursued, avenger and murderer, and each nerved himself for the ensuing struggle. The fugitive in his haste mistook his road, and arrived at a perilous part. It was an almost perpendicular ascent. Stop he dare not; he almost felt the hot breath of the avenger behind, and so, striking his spurs fiercely into his horse's sides, he forced it to the dreadful task. With a powerful spring it scaled the height; but, whether through some mishap of the rider's, or overbalanced in the effort, it slipped, struggled desperately to regain its position, failed, and fell backwards down the crags, and the fugitive was thrown head foremost from his seat. The cavalier arrived just in time to witness it. The murderer was dead. His head was broken with the fall, and his eyes glared ghastily and mockingly in the moonlight. The cavalier shuddered at the horrible sight, and forebore to touch where a mightier agency had interfered. Next day he called at the monastery to communicate his ill-success to the monk, but was informed that he could not be seen. Again and again he applied, but with similar fortune. Years rolled by, and he saw nothing of his friend. He suspected the awful truth, but was never permitted to assure himself about it. But long after, when the Abbé was dead, and the monastery had become a relic of the past, in taking up some of the flags in one of the cells some men found a human skull and bones, and this they surmised to be all that was earthly of some poor monk, but whether he had died by fair means or foul they were unable to tell. RUTHENPHABL. ABOUT PHOTOGRAPHS. Of course I have a Photographic Album; in fact, I possess two, each holding fifty, and should be delighted to commence filling another with the portraits of all the M.C.'s (by which, be it understood, I do not mean Masters of the Ceremonies, but Members of the Council), with the friendly Editor and President at the head. "No doubt you would," I think I hear some one say; "really you have plenty of assurance !" I assure you, my dear sir, or madam, that the reverse is the case, but I have a habit of saying anything that may happen to come into my head, and I merely wish to remark that, if it were possible for me to make such a collection of gems, they should be inlaid in the richest and most tasteful album that money could procure. It should be unique; I would have one made on purpose, after a design of my own. Of course I have "been taken." Times, the mystical number of three, all registered. First position-standing with my back to the fire, in the attitude an Eng. Water would never cease-not that I dislishman dearly loves; the photographer like enthusiasm in young people, quite declared it was the most effective portrait the reverse, but I was anxious to make he had ever taken; but really, when I inquiries about his sister Ethel, who is first looked at it, I could not help ex-my goddaughter-or rather, I should say, claiming, "Is it myself I see before me?" one of my godchildren. People seem to That dark countenance those stern think I am a very eligible godfather, and, eyes-that severe-looking mouth-never as I have a great dislike to saying no, the could have belonged to me at any time money I have invested in silver spoons save one- ten minutes past five, and and forks, and cups, amounts to a handdinner not commenced, punctuality being some sum. When spoke of Ethel, strictly enforced in my establishment; Frank's face assumed a serious expresbut as it was only one o'clock in the day sion. "Ah! only just fancy Ethel being when I was taken so ill, I could not have engaged." "Engaged!" I repeatedbeen in want of my dinner. Second po- "how-when-where--and to whom?" sition-seated in an easy chair, spectacles on nose, and newspaper in hand, with such an expression of grand, serene satisfaction on my face, that I think I must just have seen in print one of my letters to "The Times," concerning a matter of great public interest, and which that Emperor of all the Papers alludes to in a leading article, designating me "our esteemed correspondent." Third position-seated at a table, scribbling away in my notebook; said by most of my friends to be very characteristic. But enough of myself. "Rather too much," some ill-natured person observes. Now, I put it to you, Mr. Editor, Mr. President, and ladies and gentlemen of the Council, how can you know anything about the M.C.'s, unless they talk a little of themselves? And if you have not by this time formed a pretty accurate idea of the present writer, I do not think it can be my fault. As my subject is the very prolific one of photographs, I will now relate a little incident, which, I hope, may prove a warning to all young men addicted to I must not say what just yet, as my tale will lose its interest. A few days ago, I had a visit from young Frank Riverton, whom I had not seen for some time. He amused me for about an hour with his lively rattle, giving me an account of his autumn excursion to the Cumberland lakes, where he seemed to have met with all kinds of adventures and people, and climbed higher mountains than were ever climbed by any tourist before. I thought his raptures on Furness Abbey and Rydal "Dear me," said Frank, "how stupid I am! I quite forgot I was on no account to mention it to you. However, I won't say another word !" "My dear Frank, as you have said so much, you must say more. Not tell me her godfather and confidant ever since she could speak?" I do not understand it. Who is he, and what is he? Come, Frank, I must know something of Ethel's choice?" It was no use; not another word upon the subject could I squeeze out of Master Frank; but at last he offered to send me his future brother-in-law's carte de visite, by which I might judge myself of his personal appearance. By the next afternoon's post came an envelope addressed to me, in Frank's scrawly handwriting. I felt it-yes! it undoubtedly contained the expected photograph. I tore open the envelope, and this was my exclama tion "A prize-fighter! Ethel marry a prizefighter!! preposterous!!! This is one of Frank's tricks-a great deal too bad, though I should scarcely have thought it of him-to make his sister the subject of such a joke." I examined the photograph more closely-a most desperate-looking individual, in some indescribable costume, all white and without sleeves; his bare arms, showing great development of muscle, were folded; his brows knit and lips compressed, with the stern determination to conquer or die. Such, at least, was my impression. Underneath was written, in tolerable characters, "Very sincerely yours, Eruest Graham." Ernest Graham! I had heard of the Grahams; they are a good family. This young man may not be a pugilist, but he is clearly an amateur in that line; I suppose what is called a sporting character. Could it be that my gentle, refined, accomplished, blue-eyed, golden-haired Ethel had fixed her affections upon the original of this alarming photograph-she who is not in the slightest degree fast, has a horror of Balmoral boots, and never wore a pork-pie hat in her life? It was to be kept a secret from me, too, as if she were afraid I should not approve. Well, I wondered and cogitated antil I grew quite irritable. I could not enjoy my dinner. The chicken was over roasted, the potatoes watery, the apple-tart too sweet; and if I had been anywhere but at home, I should have declared the sherry to be South-African. After dinner I fell into an uneasy slumber, and dreamt that Frank and the pugilist were quarreling. The latter doubled his fists, Ethel screamed and rushed in between them; I was rushing after her, when I stumbled over a footstool, and awoke with a start to find my noderator burning dim, and my fire low. I turned up the one, replenished the other, and resolved to perplex myself no more with thinking about the matter. Two days after, on returning from a walk with Don and Mungo (Don, my last new dog, is growing a splendid fellow), I was informed that Miss Riverton was in the library. I thought Ethel looked prettier than ever, and after the first greetings were over, I soon saw that she wished to say something, but hesitated how to begin. I was determined not to help her, and only casually mentioned Frank's visit. She caught at that directly, and said, half turning away her face, "Frank did not tell you anything, dear godfather, did he?" thing about-about it, because I wanted to tell you myself." "Oh, oh!" thought I; "here is one thing satisfactorily explained." I felt softened. "About what, my dear?" She hid her face in my shoulder, and whispered, "I am going to marry Ernest Graham." "Ethel going to be married!" cried I; "why, who would have thought it? I hope this Ernest Graham is worthy of my goddaughter. I suppose papa and mamma think so, or they would not have consented. But tell me something about him, dear; what is he like?" Her eyes sparkled, and she held her head high, as she answered, "He is everything that is manly and good, and I am proud to be his choice. I am going to leave his card for you." And then, from some secret recess in her dress, she blushingly drew forth an envelope. I anxiously looked for the enclosure, and this is what I saw : The carte de visite of a gentlemanly young man, in proper civilised costume, of the latest fashionable cút, standing by a table, with one hand upon an open book; he had a most urbane countenance, and seemed either going to deliver a lecture to an audience whom he knew would appreciate and applaud everything he said, or just about to return thanks for the honour somebody had done him in proposing his health, and in his turn would beg leave to propose "The Ladies.” I could imagine his saying something of this kind : "Yes, gentlemen, what would a ballsupper be without trifles, and jellies, and creams? Would it not be a dull, heavy, solid affair, not particularly pleasing to the eye, or tempting to the lips? And what would our life be without the sweetness and brightness of our existence, the ladies? Would it not be all proseno poetry, no sentiment!" (Tremendous "Tell me anything, my dear?" I re-applause.) plied; to be sure he did." He was telling me all kinds of things all the time he was here. His tongue generally runs pretty fast, but I thought it ran faster than ever that day." "I made him promise not to say any All this passed rapidly through my mind as I sat, holding the photograph. Frank should suffer for his trick if I could possibly make him do so. "Well, dear godfather," said Ethel. "The contrast between the two is very striking," said I. "What could Frank mean ?' "What do you mean? Did Frank say anything?" I opened my note-book, and took out the individual in white garments and bare arins, and placed the two photographs side by side. To my astonishment, Ethel burst into a merry fit of laughter. "My dear, do you know anything of this pugnacious-looking gentleman ?" She pointed to the name underneath. 'Why, you told me just now that this prepossessing young man was Ernest Graham." "Yes, and, if you look, you will find the likeness, as well as the contrast between the two, to be very striking." Well, I looked, and could not deny it; the hair was exactly the same, brushed up in the same towering pile; and. although the expression was very different, there was a strong resemblance in feature and in the form of the face. "My dear godfather, I see Frank has been mystifying you; it was too bad of him not to explain-you, like many others, do not understand that costume, as shown in photography." "He looks to me, Ethel, exactly as if he were ready to fight some one.' "I thought as much. I don't like the thing myself at all; no one knows what it is." "And it is-" Ernest "Only a rowing costume. belongs to the Meteor Rowing Club, and has won I don't know how many cups." And very good exercise too, my dear. Of course, there is nothing objectionable in that. I feel quite relieved. You may introduce your Ernest as soon 25 you like; only, if I were you, I should impress upon him to be careful not to take cold-such very light clothing almost makes me shiver to look at it; and I quite agree with you, that the photograph itself" "Is a horrid thing, and does him great injustice," interrupted Ethel, warmly; "I would not have it in my book on any consideration; but Frank seizes hold of it, and calls it 'fine."" Thus the mystery was satisfactorily explained; and now for my warning :— List, all young men addicted to aquatics! Don't have your photo. taken in your rowing dress of white. I have since put in the blue stripes on the blue jacket, and brought the straw hat prominently to view, by giving it a little yellow, and painting the blue ribbon round it, which has the effect of making the costume look rather more civilised to the eyes of the uninitiated. A. DE YOUNGE. THE INDIAN CAVE. IN a remote mountain range of North America is a cavern known only to the neighbouring Indian tribe, none of whom had succeeded in tracing it to its end. The most successful was an old chief, revered for his wisdom, and he was reputed to have penetrated further than any other explorer; but he, too, acknowledged that he believed the end was much further on. In the same tribe was a chief's son, a young man of ardent temperament, and adventurous, but withal boasting and headstrong. Ambitious of distinction, he formed the resolve to explore the cavern to the very end, and trusted that his youthful strength and energy would carry him at least beyond the point where his predecessor relinquished the search. As he would have no one to share the glory, he kept his determination secret, and having provided six large torches, he, not without some misgiving, entered the low-roofed passage. When the first torch burnt out he lighted a second, advancing rapidly, as light was precious. The gallery being nearly straight, and without branches, there was nothing to do but proceed; but one torch was consumed after another, and still no signs of the end. At length the sixth burnt low, and the feeling crept over his mind that his search, too, was doomed to disappointment. Half in despair, he rushed forward to make the most of the little light that remained; the quick movement through the air brightened up the expiring torch, and his heart gave a bound, as he thought the flash shone on the long-sought end of the | sumed. The old chief shook his head. cavern-the next instant he stood in Many moons," said he, "have passed darkness. Had he but one more torch since my search was made, and my foot he could make the matter certain, but was not then slow" But it was hard to regret was useless. "Still," he thought, him to believe that the chief, though "it seemed at no great distance; can still vigorous for his age, could ever have grope my way to it, and by touch can contended with him on the hunting-path. make sure of the fact." Slowly he crept The uncertainty of examination without along, until, to his great joy, he found he light was pointed out, but nothing could could go no further. With outstretched shake his confidence that he had reached hands he fell over it, and plainly his pre- and felt the end. As an agreement could sence was stopped by a barrier of rock. not be come to, and the settlement of the He had at last, then, been successful; he question was deemed important by the had attained the object that had baffled tribe, a proposition was made that the the efforts of his elders. He could boast old chief and another, with torch-bearers, in the assembly of his people that he should accompany the young man to the alone had probed the famed cavern to its point of his discovery. Gladly he closed end. Scarcely knowing what he did in with the offer, which he trusted would his exultation, he commenced retracing set him right with his people, and the his steps; fortunately the way was a next day the expedition was to set forth. plain one, for with his head full of bright | When the sun rose upon the Indian anticipations, he went on mechanically, guiding his way by the wall. Ere long a stumble recalled his thoughts, and he groped his way more carefully. It was a sobering process, as the distance which he had passed over rapidly by torchlight had to be felt step by step in the dark. So long seemed it, that he could have doubted having taken a wrong turning, had he not been persuaded that none such existed. At length, wearied and hungry, he gained the entrance, and, as it was night, he proceeded to his hut unnoticed, and devouring some handfuls of parched corn, forgot alike his joy and his weariness in sleep. The next morning he hastened to present himself before the elders of his tribe, and, with sparkling eyes, announced himself the discoverer of the long-sought cavern's end. When the particulars of the search had been briefly described, all turned to the old chief who had been the furthest in, but his passive features showed no sign of excitement; he gravely inquired how many hours the youth had been absent. When the time had been computed, he quietly observed that the period was altogether insufficient-his own search had consumed more than twice the interval, and without success. Confounded, but not convinced, the youth urged his activity and rapid pace, as sufficiently accounting for the little time he had con village, the explorers were already astir, The old |