Μ'

October.

THE FIERY STONE.

ITRY was sad and very poor. His only possession in the world was an old violin that had once been his grandfather's. His father was dead; his brothers had divided the slender heritage, leaving nothing to Mitry, the youngest.

He was a dreamer, a player of strange weird melodies, composed out of his own head,-a youth who had never learned anything or achieved aught; what did he need with worldly goods? So they reasoned among themselves, according to their lights; and, giving Mitry the ancestral violin, they turned him out of his paternal home.

Mitry never questioned the justice of their proceedings. They knew he would not do so; they had counted upon his indifference to earthly things. But Mitry was not as indifferent as they fancied. He knew that this which his brothers had done was not right was unjust, unfair; and it was only respect for his father's sons that kept him silent anent his wrongs.

Sadly he wandered away from the home that had

given him birth. As he turned the corner of the road that would shut it out, perchance for ever, from his view, he stood still awhile and gazed at its pretty straw-thatched roof. He tried to scent once more the dark red roses that clambered up its walls, and peeped with wilful luxuriance of beauty into its open casements. His fingers twitched convulsively, he touched the violin almost unconsciously. It gave forth a low musical wail.

When Mitry heard the sound he shivered; a strange thrill passed through his frame; he fainted.

Mitry recovered in the midst of a wild mountain. region. The whole place was strange to him; he had been a dweller in plains, and had never seen the like before. He gazed around him in astonishment, at the splendid sight that greeted his eyes. Snow-topped peaks rose one above the other, their summits lost to view amid the clouds; the mountain sides were clothed with dark green pines that contrasted well with the dazzling white. Huge boulders of granite strewed the valley; moss and rank grass was the only vegetation that found nurture in this weird spot, save here and there a dark blue gentian that glistened brightly amid the green.

Mitry stooped and picked one of these flowers. Sweet blossom,' he said, 'symbol of the sky above,

whence you have borrowed your lovely hue, be my guide, for I am sad and dreary.'

The little blue star dropped from his fingers and fell upon his violin. Then Mitry looked upon it as a sign. 'Yes, there is happiness in art,' he murmured, and he drew his bow across the strings.

Strange wild sounds gushed forth; first they were agonized, then they softened and became resigned, then they grew plaintive, and at last were peaceful and sweet: As he listened and gazed at the flower, the eternal snow-clad hills, and the deep blue heavens, a sweet calm crept into his troubled breast also.

When he had ended playing, he was still walking on, lost in reverie. Suddenly the path came to an end, and he found himself upon the shores of an emerald green lake, circled by precipitous mountain walls, that uprose from its waters.

'This surely is the world's end,' spoke Mitry. 'Here let me lay me down and die.'

His fingers instinctively caressed the loved instrument, and lured forth sweet tones from its sides. The still waters of the lake were moved; sounds as of a boat cleaving the waters caught the youth's ear. His head had sunken sadly on his breast, he raised it, and looked out to see what human being shared with him this lonely spot. It was a boat in very deed that ap

proached him; a slender black boat with sails of rosy hue; but in it was no human being. The wind propelled it onward, swelling its sails, and when it had reached the spot where Mitry sat, it stopped, as though inviting him to enter.

The youth hesitated what he should do, but only for a second. Then he stepped fearlessly into the little vessel, and laid himself down amid the soft silken cushions

that lined its prow. As he did so the boat slipped from the land, and glided out into the lake. Mitry wondered whither it was bearing him. He touched his violin ; it did not wail as it had done the hour he left his father's home, but gave forth a short joyful cry. The boat glided on and on.

A feeling of well-being and contentment crept over Mitry's soul. He wished to glide on thus for ever until

the end of life,

until there should be no more sorrow no more pain. His heart softened towards his brothers. Perchance but for their hardness he should never have tasted of this peace.

The boat glided on.

Mitry drew forth his cherished companion, and it sang under his hands as it had never sung before.

Still the boat glided on.

Slowly the sun sank behind the hills, leaving them aglow with longing for its beloved return. The moon

rose chill, and changed the whole aspect of the scene, with its silver, eerie light.

And still the boat glided on.

Then suddenly it stopped. Mitry felt as though his heart's blood stopped also, so grieved was he when its gliding ended. In vain he hoped it would commence again; it neither stirred nor swayed, it appeared anchored to the very spot.

Deep, awful silence reigned. Mitry touched his violin; its music sounded wild and shrill through the still night air. He shivered, and laid it aside. Time sped on, and still the boat neither stirred nor swayed. The moon's light grew paler, the stars began to fade. The waters of the lake became troubled, waves arose and lashed the boat's side angrily. They struggled wildly to lap it into their bosom. Then they uprose to a great height, so high that they closed over it, and the boat sank down into the bosom of the lake. It fell upon a soft bed of green weed; two lovely youths awaited it, and assisted Mitry to descend.

'We have expected you long, brother,' they sang. 'Welcome at last! For four-and-twenty summers has your advent been looked for. Welcome at last!'

'You mistake surely, I am not he whom you expect,' spoke Mitry. 'It is but four-and-twenty years since I walk this earth.'