on the other side of the wall, no doubt I would appreciate that also!"

The hoopoe responded encouragingly, the birch tree cracked, and Balder felt to his dismay that it was tottering beneath him. There was no time to clamber down again. With a long creak the faithless birch gave way, and leaned slowly through the air. There was nothing to be done but to go with it: but Balder, even as he descended, was able to imagine how absurd he must appear. The tree fell, but was intercepted at half its height by the top of the wall. The upper part of the stem, with its human fruit still attached to it, bent bow-like towards the earth, the trunk not being quite separated from the

root.

Helwyse had managed to maintain his presence of mind thus far, and now glancing downwards, he saw the ground not eight feet below him. He loosed his hold, and stood un

harmed in the soft grass! The birch tree had been his broomstick. Meanwhile, the hoopoe,

with a triumphant note, flew off towards the house to tell the news.

XVI.

LEGENDS AND CHRONICLES.

HIERO GLYPHIC'S house did not come into the world complete at a birth, but was the result of an irregular growth progressing through many years. It was originally a single-gabled edifice of brick, possessing no other peculiarity than that it was brick instead of wooden. Here, red

and unornamented as the house itself, the future Egyptologist was born. The parallel between him and his dwelling was maintained more or less closely so long as they existed.

He was the first pledge of affection between his mother and father; and he was also the last, for shortly after his arrival, the latter parent, (a retired undertaker by profession,) failed from this world. The widow Glyphic was much younger than her spouse, and handsome to boot; never

theless, it was several years before she married again. Her second lord was likewise an elderly retired business man; but he differed from her first in being enormously wealthy. The issue of this union was a daughter,—the Helen of our story, a pretty, dark-eyed little thing, petted and indulged by all the family, and reigning undisputed over all.

Meanwhile, the old house had been deserted, Mrs Glyphic, upon her second marriage, having accompanied her husband to his more ambitious home in Brooklyn. But as years went on, Hiero (or, as he was then called, Henry) took it into his round head to return to the original family mansion and live there. No objection was made to this desire: in truth, Henry's oddities, awkwardnesses, and propensity to meddle with queer branches of research and experiment, may have helped allay the parting-pangs. Back he blundered, therefore, to the banks of the Hudson, and established

himself in his birth-place. What he did there during the next few years will never be known. Many grisly stories concerning the man in the brick house were current among the countrypeople. A devil was said to be his familiar friend; nay, it was whispered that he was himself the Arch Fiend! Nothing positively supernatural however, or even unholy, was ever proved to have taken place. The recluse had the command of as much money as he could spend, and no doubt he wrought with it miracles incomprehensible to the vulgar. His mind, be it remarked, had no more real depth than a cracked looking-glass, and its images were similarly disjointed and confused: nevertheless, it was capable of reflecting much fragmentary truth and beauty. There are many such men alive, but few possess unlimited means of carrying their whimsicalities into execution.

During this, which may be called the second,