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doors the gossips talked of nothing else but what the stranger had told them, and from a vague notion it came to a certainty that the grave in the corner was a mere sham, and that the singular young creature who was said to be confined therein as her last home still walked the earth. Most of those who remembered her-and that everybody did-suddenly found out that there was something very extraordinary about her, and not at all like other people. She never joined in any girlish sports, and never danced or laughed like other young folks, and at last it was said, after being first put as a question, that no one could remember to have ever seen her eat or drink even, and everybody knew the fact, that during the six years she came backwards and forwards she had not changed in the least degree, or become in appearance a day older.

IV.

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE STATUTE FAIR.

THIS was exactly the state of things at the end of three days from that in which the stranger was among them who brought the account of the mysterious wanderers he had seen at the other end of the kingdom, or-some people like them. On the fourth day a circumstance occurred which drove the excited villagers half frantic, creating such a ferment as was never known before.

This forth day brought about the anniversary of a statute fair, which was a good deal altered from what it once was, but still numbers flocked to it to sell cattle and other commodities, and, in addition, it was the day on which a "Mop" was held for hiring servants, so that the little town was pretty well thronged with visitors-showmen, pedlars, and trampers of all sorts. The locale of these festive doings was a strange kind of oddly-shaped place, neither a square, nor a market-place, nor a green, but something of all three. It was surrounded by cottages, with here and there a house of the better sort, and in the midst stood a Gothic cross fallen into that state of dilapidation which is everywhere found, and may be regarded as a monument of the general taste and respect of the public, churchwardens and overseers, and the little respect paid to such relics of antiquity. However, a portion of the upright shaft, surrounded by a broken flight of three steps, was still left. Here was the thickest and funniest of the throng; and just about the hour when the place was fullest, and the stir and excitement at its greatest height, a clear, strong voice was heard singing a well-known sea-song, and, looking towards the cross, there was

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seen, standing upon the upper of the three steps, the old mariner! All the notes of admiration in the world would not express the surprise, wonder, astonishment, dismay, terror, and alarm that took possession of the villagers, to whom he was well known. In a moment there seemed to be a general suspension of everything, even breath; people in the midst of a long talk, a hard bargain, or a loud laugh, suddenly stopped short as if electrified, and stood with stupid wonder and staring eyes directed to the old cross. There was a hush and a suspension of movement so sudden and general, that the voice appeared to be given out with a tenfold power, and was, in consequence, heard to the extreme limits of the crowd. There stood the old sailor, looking the same as he had done many years before, his dress the same, his face as flushed, as ruddy, and as careless as ever, and his long white hair, as he held the same low-crowned glazed hat in his hand, waving in the breeze. But who shall describe another sight that appeared at the same time? By his side, rather behind him, and one step lower, stood his grandchild-the same slender, pale creature, arrayed in the same way, and engaged in the same occupation! The straw plaits were in the same long thin hands, and by her side hung the unfinished and the completed coarse straw hats she made and sold. Wonder of wonders, how it is to be told; and who shall describe the sensation produced, when the same sweet, touching voice was again heard to join in with that of the old mariner? Words are mere empty sounds when employed upon such an occasion as this and mean nothing. The song was heard to the end before the people at all recovered themselves, and still they stood staring with fearful astonishment. Before any movement had been made, and before any one had addressed a question or a remark to the old sailor, he had lifted up the basket that stood at his feet, had attached it to a strap that suspended it before him, and in the same voice and manner all knew so well, he stood recommending the flower ladders and the toys he was accustomed to deal in, while the young girl at his back continued plaiting straw. As people became somewhat bolder, and approached him, he nodded familiary to them, and offered his wares. It was some time before any one ventured to ask him a question as to where he had been so long, or what he had been doing, or anything else. Some children who had come into the world since the old man left the village, as they approached the girl in order to touch the long straw plaits, or the hats and bonnets that hung at her side, were suddenly plucked back by their affrighted mothers, and for some time everybody kept his distance.

It is scarcely necessary to say that the young creature by the old man's side was not the same grandchild who had been buried in

the new churchyard six years before, but her sister, and that the resemblance, which the vulgar fears of the village converted into identity, was really no more than is often found to exist in families. The girl herself was altogether unconscious of the terrors she created, and, being absorbed in her work, she failed to notice many occurrences and remarks which would have struck another. During the day the old mariner disposed of the greater part of his stock, as well as that of his grandchild. He kept the place he had chosen, and sang over and over again all his songs, to the great delight of the listeners; and the girl was repeatedly asked to sing, but she shook her head, and only now and then joined in with her grandfather.

Late in the day, as the old man and his child appeared to be leaving the scene, they were met and stopped by a party of respectable people. Before a word was spoken these persons exhibited evident marks of surprise and some fear. The gentlemen nodded and spoke to the old man, as the ladies did to the young girl; but as one of them, who had been present at the festival in the booth, approached to shake hands with the girl, an elderly woman made an attempt to prevent her, and exhibited some show of displeasure, if not dread. However, it did not prevent the long thin hand from being taken hold of and examined: the lady spoke kindly, the rest looked on with a singular expression upon their faces.

"Oh, how like, how like!" said the kind lady. "I can scarcely pursuade myself it is not the same." The party moved a step or two backwards. "How many, many times have I thought of that sweet creature, and shed tears that anything so beautiful should be so" Here the lady stopped, as if something in her throat prevented her finishing what she was about to say. But, recovering herself, and still holding the hand she had taken, she said, looking at the old man, "How many times I have thought of that wild song she used to sing the sea-bird's song, I think you used to call it. Can this girl sing it, and will she?" said the lady, relinquishing the hand of the young creature, and putting her own into her reticule, as if searching for something to give her. "Will she sing it for an old friend?"

The old mariner, perceiving the intention of the lady, checked her respectfully in what she was doing, and remarking that kindness would do anything with his grandchild, he made a sign to her, and she immediately commenced the required song, which she sang to a wild air, with a peculiarly sweet and touching voice and cadence, and with a gentle sway of the body and arms that gave it a singular charm full of the sentiment of the subject.

THE SEA-BIRD'S SONG.

I revel and rove o'er the wide, wide sea,
The crest of the billow's a home for me;
I rise in the foam, and I ride on the spray,
Untouched and untired I wing my way,
Buoyant and bright

As a gleam of light;

The waves they are wild, and the winds they are free,
I'm a thing of life, of the air and the sea.

O'er the reefs and rocks that the mariners dread,

I fearlessly, carelessly, merrily tread;

And I laugh at the fathomless depths of the sea,
Its threatening growl and its savage glee;
Buoyant and bright

As a gleam of light;

The waves they are wild, and the winds they are free,
I'm a thing of life, of the air and the sea.

When the sky is blue and the sun is bright,
I'm a spark of his fire, a flash of his light,

I'm a voice in the storm in the gloomy night,

When the dark, dark clouds meet the billows white.
Buoyant and bright

As a gleam of light,

The storm and the calm are the same to me,
I'm a thing of life, of the air and the sea!

As the last cadence of the song died away, no vulgar applause followed it, but the lady again pressed the singer's hand without speaking, and the rest of the party retained their position, as if listening still. The old man made his seaman-like bow, and placing his hand upon the shoulder of his grandchild, and shutting his eyes, as those who knew him had often observed to be his practice, he followed very much in the manner of a blind

man.

The old mariner and the girl had proceeded to some distance before the party, who continued looking after them, had recovered themselves, and the first remarks made were that they had never heard anything so wild and beautiful, or had seen such extraordinary people.

The evening was now closing in, and the old man and the young girl continued their walk. Curiosity was by no means satisfied, and it was more likely than not that there would be a crowd of inquisitive people at their heels, but as most of the villagers had some visitors, relatives, friends, and acquaintances, or were engaged upon such a busy mission in some other way, this probably prevented it, and the old mariner and his grandchild passed on with but little interruption. Every now and then they were pointed out, and called to, and two or three times there was a cry Oct.-VOL. CXLVII. NO. DXCVIII.

2 F

of "The ghost! the ghost!" of which no notice was taken. The alehouses were full of people singing, shouting, and drinking, and just as the old man and girl were approaching, and about to pass the end of a long straggling street, a party of young men, far from being sober, came suddenly upon them. The young girl attempted to lead the old sailor aside out of their path, but the drunkards obstructed the road, and before it was possible to pass by, one of them seized her in his arms, and lifted her from the ground. The old sailor in an instant lifted the long stick with which he walked, and struck the fellow such a blow over the head that he fell to the earth as if shot. The young girl freed herself, and flew directly to the arms of her grandfather for protection. An uproar was the immediate consequence; the man was taken up from the ground rather stunned than hurt; but, at the same moment, one or two of his companions fell upon the old mariner, who got very roughly handled, and if a powerful arm had not been interposed to protect him, he would have fared much worse.

"What outrage is this?" said the person who had come to the rescue, casting aside the assailants, and placing himself before the old man and the trembling girl.

"Oh, it's you, farmer, is it ?" said a voice; "oh, ah! these are old friends of yours-I remember now. Well, never mind, some people like to keep company with vagabonds. We don't, and so we'll wish you good-night, and some other time you may get a good turn done for you."

VALE AND CITY.

XXXIII.

The City, Berlin.

I SAID, I believe, my dear friend, that I should write to you next from Weimar. I suppose it will be next, for we still think of visiting that town, but for the present we remain here, having fallen in with some acquaintances, who make our stay more agreeable. They have resided for a winter in Berlin; they are not, therefore, guide-book people going through museums, and palaces, and public places with us, and then bidding us good-bye, but are able to tell us what is of interest about social and political affairs. At least, Mr. W., the father of these new friends of ours, and Mr. N. find much to talk about on those subjects, and we of the weaker-headed sex take in what we can from their discourse.

I recollect that once, after some talk of our own of that kind,

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