Chapter 36645584

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Chapter NumberXXI
Chapter Url
Full Date1867-08-22
Page Number2
Word Count5949
Last Corrected2020-01-27
Newspaper TitleLaunceston Examiner (Tas. : 1842 - 1899)
Trove TitleThe Maxwells of Bremgarten
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THE MAXWELLS OF BREMGARTEN. A STORY OF TASMANIA. [Founded on Facts.] (ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED.) (Continued from last Saturday.) CHAPTER XXI. EDWIN HERBART.—EVENING AMUSEMENTS. When Maxwell got down from his gig his fair daughter flew to welcome him. She threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him with all the affection of a simple and generous heart. As soon as that pleasing duty was performed she turned to the young stranger, held out her hand, and murmured a few words expressive of her pleasure at seeing him. If a deep blush mantled over her features the reader must not be hasty in setting it down to any other feeling than that of happiness at being called upon to welcome, in the far-off wilds of Tasmania, a relative whom she had known in the days of her youth. Her father passed in hastily to see his wife, and Griselda showing the stranger into the parlor merely said, " Cousin Edwin, we are delighted to see you," and ran away to prepare the tea. This young gentleman, Edwin Herbart by name, walked into the parlor, with a smiling countenance, and ex- amined the little ornaments that were ar- ranged on the mantle-piece. He was about twenty years of years. In figure he was tall and well-proportioned. His hair, dark brown in color, fell in, perhaps, rather too luxuriant curls over his ears, and even upon his neck ; but not in the least concealing a noble and highly intellectual forehead. His eyes, the most expressive feature in his singu- larly attractive face, were large and brilliant, dark-grey in color, and surrounded by a fringe of long lashes. He could boast, too, of a delicate pair of whiskers ; but had not begun to cultivate a moustache, as they were not then fashionable amongst civilians : still, without this appendage, considered by so many almost indispensable to manly beauty, no passing observer could behold Edwin Herbart's mouth and teeth, and fail to be struck, almost fascinated, by the expression of frankness and high-toned moral feeling con- veyed. And yet our hero was not, either in face or figure, like Count Van Horn, a per- fect model of manly beauty : his complexion was neither fair nor delicate ; on the contrary, a ruddy hue of health generally suffused his face even to his forehead ; while his hands, embrowned as they were by exposure during his long voyage, removed every impression of effeminacy, or indolent self-indulgence. He looked proud, and proud he certainly was proud, we say, it was his great fault—a great fault indeed when he had nothing whatever to be proud of except a clear conscience and an unsullied name, great things in themselves certainly in the estimation of a few fools ; but rather despicable in the eyes of sensible people if accompanied by an empty purse ! His poverty was nearly as great as his pride, perhaps much greater, for whatever was the height to which the latter soared, the former had descended to a very low estate indeed. But his case was not actually desperate, for he had when he landed in Tasmania, on the invitation of his father's cousin, Maxwell, the sum of ten pounds in his pocket, and an outfit of clothing and some favorite books which many a young gentle- man beginning the world would consider a fortune in themselves. But with all this he knew he was poor, and felt it bitterly : it was an awful stumbling-block to a young man of high spirit, liberal ideas, and sleepless aspira- tions after fame ; it was a misfortune and, in the eye of the world, a disgrace. The great Franklin first entered the city of Philadel- phia covered with dirt, a Dutch dollar and a shilling's worth of coppers in his pocket, and walked through the streets with a penny roll under each arm and one in his mouth. Might not Herbart yet become a Franklin ! Cin- cinnatus was a very poor man, and we do not find that Xerxes and Crœsus were very happy in their wealth and greatness. But it is of no use bringing up Franklin and Cincinnatus to our modern self satisfied friends, who sleep, as it were, in blankets of bank notes, and who immediately demolish such interlopers as Herbart at a single blow, by denouncing them as "needy adventurers," deserving only of supreme contempt. Take him for all in all, Herbart cut no despicable figure. He was well built and well dressed ; his frame was strong and muscular, and stout in proportion to his height. His address was polite, while his conversation was delicately pure, and there was a certain mild- ness in his manner which went far to secure a tolerable share of respect and esteem. He was, like his interesting relative Griselda, a native of the Emerald Isle, of whose charm- ing capital his father was a plodding citizen, famous for his keen notions of business, his strict punctuality, and his undeviating in- tegrity. Having great commercial influence as one of the leading stockbrokers of Dublin, he became extensively connected with the aristocratic portion of the dealers in stock, and by slow degrees and patient watchfulness he succeeded in amassing a small fortune, which, had he continued his patient careful- ness, or retired at the proper time, would have kept him in comfort all his days, and provided handsomely for his family. But in an evil hour his prudence deserted him. The demon of speculation stalked abroad. The old gentleman was tempted, and he yielded. On the principle of " double or quits" he staked his all and— lost it. Thus was Edwin left—and he had no busi- ness to grumble about it seeing that it is the case of thousands—with a clear course before him and no favor, to become the architect of his own fortune. His parents were both living when he left them—also a younger brother and two amiable sisters—in the hope of being able to find a home for them, as well as himself, in some smiling paradise of the antipodes.

The times were altered from what they had been, when he stood with tears in his eyes on the North Wall, watching through the gloom the vessel that conveyed his Griselda away. Then he had tolerable prospects—now he had none : then he was proud, hopeful, and happy—now he was no less proud, but his mind was gloomy, restless, and anxious. It was some consolation to him to know that his beloved mother and her children could not come to absolute want as she was in the en- joyment of an annuity of three hundred pounds, destined in the natural order of events to descend to her heirs. Having thus introduced him to the family circle at Bremagarten we will leave him to take his chance, merely concluding our im- perfect description by saying that his educa- tion though not first-rate was pretty good, and his mind well stored with miscellaneous information, he having been from his earliest youth extremely desirous of acquiring know- ledge. The servant entered the parlor with the tea equipage, and Griselda took her accus- tomed place at the table. A certain gloom hung on the young people owing to the ill- ness of Mrs. Maxwell, and when her husband entered and sat down to tea he answered an enquiry of his guest by saying that Mrs. Maxwell was a little better, but still, he was sorry to say, in great pain. It was the nature of the complaint to come on with slow and gradual steps, like a silent and cautious enemy, then take full possession and render the life of its victim almost un- endurable ; then when finally conquered by the skill of the physician, it would retreat as slowly and stealthily as it had advanced. An animated conversation then sprang up. Maxwell and his daughter had many ques- tions to ask, the latter especially requiring to be told all about her well remembered friends, her relatives, and schoolfellows. Thus the evening wore away, Maxwell conducted his guest to the small chamber that had been prepared for his use, and bade him good night. The next day, after breakfast, the two gen- tlemen went out together to the fire, the em- bers of which were still smoking, and the burning trees had not yet ceased to fall at intervals. They found Mr. Juniper on guard, sitting comfortably under a spreading tree smoking his pipe. He rose up, and Maxwell, shaking him cordially by the hand, thanked him for the exertions he had used in arresting the progress of the conflagration. " Edwin," he said, turning to his companion, " if when you have a farm of your own, you should happen to find as good a neighbor as Mr. Juniper, you will be well off. This is my cousin, Juniper, Mr. Edwin Herbart." Juniper and Herbart bowed and shook hands. " How did this fire originate, Juniper?" enquired Maxwell. " I should very much like to know that, Sir," answered Juniper. " It came from the other side of the hills at the back of my place. I just had time to burn a train round my paddocks when my old cook came and told me that it had crossed the river and was in full gallop for your wheat as fast as a horse could go, and that Miss Maxwell had been to look for me. I lost no time, swam across the river, and found some of Mr. Earlsley's men killing themselves for no good ; got them to help me, and made this track ; worked for life and death ; never was at such a fire in my life, and the heat and smoke enough to knock the breath out of a rhinoceros. " It was very severe, certainly," said Max- well, " we travelled all the way from Laun- ceston in a dense atmosphere of smoke : as to the heat it was almost more than we could bear ; when we got to Avoca whom should we meet but your cook, Heffernan, and he told me my crops were all burnt." Here the speaker made Juniper acquainted with the treatment the old man had received from the widow Trapfarthing. " Serve him right," said Juniper, laughing loudly, " the incurable old fool. He was de- termined to have a spree, and I'm glad he met with a cool dose. He goes away at the as busiest times, when the thirst for rum comes over him, and if I didn't take pity on him and beg him off he'd be working in chains at Macquarie Harbor this moment." " He ought to be grateful to you, Sir," said Edwin Herbart. " He never is, Sir," said Juniper, " he doesn't understand what gratitude is, and there's not one in a thousand of them that does—you might as well try to extract Scotch whiskey from a gum-tree stump." " Did Mr. Earlsley come to see the fire ?" asked Maxwell. " No ; but he sent his overseer with some men. We had unexpected assistance, too : when the fire crossed and got right into the wheat and flared up over my head, who in all the world should come and lend us a hand but a runaway convict—a bushranger !" " No—is it possible—you don't say so !" " It's a fact, 'pon my life. I knew him as as well as I know you. I was in the police- office at Campbell Town once and he was there. The magistrate sent him under escort to Launceston, but on the road he knocked down the two constables, took their arms, and became a bushranger. When we put the fire out I told him I knew him, and arrested him in the King's name." " Did you really, though ? And what did you do with him ?" " Why, when I arrested him, I called to the men to come and help me, but not one of them would stir—they are such a set, Mr. Maxwell,—and the scoundrel pulled out a pistol, backed in among the trees, and laughed of at me." " And so he escaped ?" " Yes, he did for this time, but it was the fault of the cowardly men." " Do you know his name ? Can you des- cribe him ?" " No, Sir ; I heard his name once but I

forgot it, because he has kept himself very quiet for a bushranger ; he is a tall man, with piercing black eyes, with a neck and shoul- ders like a bull, and the strength and activity of a Barbary baboon. There's fifty pounds on his head and a grant of land, besides a free pardon and passage to St. Giles's, London, to a prisoner, Mr. Bertram." " Not Bertram—Herbart ;" said Max- well. " That would be a good prize to some poor prisoner," said Edwin. From Juniper's description of the outlaw, Maxwell thought he recognised his friend of the forest, though of course he could not be quite sure. He said nothing of the matter, but agreed with his informant that the stran- ger's sudden appearance and conduct were most extraordinary. The movements of this singular individual were shrouded in deep mystery. How he managed to go about with arms and elude the vigilance of soldiers and police for years, was a circumstance that puzzled Maxwell extremely. Extending their walk round the greatest part of the fire they turned away from it, and strolled along the paddock fences until it was time to return to dinner, to which Max- well invited Juniper. Proceeding to the house they found the doctor, who pronounced Mrs. Maxwell in a favorable state, and held out hopes that she would soon be as well as ever. In the evening Charles returned from Campbell Town, and welcomed his cousin with kindness. He brought men with him to reap the wheat, and the very next day commenced to initiate Edwin into the mys- teries of Tasmanian bush life. When the labors of the harvest were over and the heat of summer had given place to the salubrious breezes of autumn, Mrs. Max- well had so far recovered her health as to be able to accompany her son and daughter and Edwin, whose farming experience would not yet justify him in commencing on his own account, in their little evening excursions along the banks of the river. Here when tired of rambling they would seat themselves on cloaks spread on the grass, and wile away the time, either Charles or Edwin reading aloud for the ladies as they worked with ever busy fingers. On one particular occasion, when it was Edwin's turn to read, Charles strolled by himself along the river, trying to catch some of the small fishes which abounded in it ; but being unsuccessful he returned, and was about to throw himself down beside his sister when a dark shining object lying on the ground close to where his mother was sitting caught his attention. It was a black snake, five feet in length, and it lay coiled in a half circle, with its sharp eyes fixed upon the new comer. Without saying anything, Charles lifted his fishing rod and prepared to strike ; the reptile no sooner saw the movement than he made a rapid and desperate attempt to escape into some long grass, flattening his head and shooting out his fangs with rage. He was too late. The fishing rod descended with great force on his back, cutting him nearly in two, and in another moment he was wriggling down the stream, Charles having flung him in from the point of his rod. Mrs. Maxwell was greatly alarmed when she found she had had such an unpleasant neighbor, but it was not the first she had been close to, nor in all probability would it be the last. Charles sat down, and turning to Edwin, said suddenly—" Edwin, are you not a poet " " No, Charles, nor am I likely ever to be one." " Don't you write verses ?" " A man may write verses, and not be a poet." " Yes, but if he didn't think himself a poet he wouldn't write verses, would he ?" " Perhaps not ; but in my case I don't profess to be a poet, though I will plead guilty to having written a few rhymes." " Well, you have a subject now—' Lines on a dead snake,' or ' Ode on a snake that was killed by a man.' Come, let us have it." Mrs. Maxwell laughed : " Do you call yourself a man ?" said she. " I never," said Edwin, " wrote anything in a hurry in my life. I wrote some verses once in a lady's album ; they cost me a whole night, and I had a headache for a week after- wards." Griselda and her mother laughed. " Have you written a sonnet yet, to our dark river here ?" said Charles. "No : I never thought of it," answered Edwin. " Have you ever written a sonnet to any river, to a mountain, or to the moon ?" " Why, I believe you are getting poetically cranky this evening, Charley. I have written in praise of my native stream the Dodder, since you will have it." " Ah, the pretty Dodder, I remember it well ; I wish I was up to my neck in it. We would like to hear your verses." " I do not think they dwell in my memory," said Edwin, " but if the ladies do not object I will try to re-call them—under protest that, as I have no opinion of them myself, the utmost I can hope for is indul- gence." " We shall be very happy to hear them," said Mrs. Maxwell, and Griselda ventured to say, that if they were good, she would be obliged to Edwin for a copy as she remem- bered the little river with great affection. The poetical youth then repeated the fol- lowing lines :— Romantic Dodder ! In the murmur Of thy swiftly gliding stream, I think I hear a soft, faint echo Like the music of a dream. While wandering on thy verdant bank, Where brilliant daisies richly growing, All tell me truly how they love To dwell where thou art flowing. Far in the deep and sheltered glade, Beneath the bright labornum flower, That hides the lonely student's cell, And sweetly shadows maiden's bower : Or winding through the gardens fair

Where children, romping, playing, skipping, In summer robes as gaily dressed, With tiny hands thy water sipping. Now gliding by the meadow's margin, With the bird's unceasing twitter, Heardest thee the mower's jest So well repaid by milk-maid's titter ? Onward by the village green, The grey stone bridge thy ripples spanning— Faster by the noisy mill Thy face the gentle breezes fanning : Gushing o'er the stony dam, From point to point with mimic thunder, Sparkling in thy snowy spray While infant barks are dashed asunder. Roam thou to thy ocean home, No longer to mine eyes displaying The rosy hues of years gone by When on thy dear and green bank straying. And still, O Dodder—still thou art To me the loveliest queen of rivers, Just as the wren the king of birds is Where the branch of hawthorn quivers. " Is that all ?" said Charles. " Yes, and quite enough too." " What do you think of it, mother ?" " I cannot well praise it in Edwin's pre- sence ;" said Mrs. Maxwell, " but I think it is poetical and pretty." " I thought," said Charles, "that the eagle was the monarch of the ornithological king- dom : you have just now crowned the wren." " Did you never hear the old rhyme," said Edwin, The wren, the wren, the king of all birds, On Stephen's Day was caught in the furze !" " Well, I forget ; it's so long since I was in the nursery. What do you mean by infant barks being dashed asunder ?" " I suppose," answered Edwin, " you flatter yourself you are a particular cunning and clever critic—the editor in embryo of ' The Grand Snapdragon Austral Asiatic Review !' " " Yes," said Charles, "I'll tear you to pieces as a tiger-cat would a chicken. But what are the infant barks ?" " Perhaps," suggested Griselda, timidly, " Edwin transported himself to the banks of the Nile to assist Pharoah's daughter in draw- ing the infant Moses to the land." " Or," said her mother " to the backs of the Tiber to arrest the progress of the bark in which Romulus and Remus unconsciously slept on their way to the sea." " No," said Edwin, " the idea I intended to convey was concerning little flat bits of wood out out like boats with sticks stuck up- right in them made to resemble masts, and square pieces of paper skewered on by way of sails. I have often seen fleets of them on the Dodder going stern foremost to the intense delight of the lads of the village." " Oh, I see," said Charles, " I thought you intended to convey the idea of a boat load of puppies." At this refined wit Mrs. Maxwell and her daughter laughed, so did Edwin, and they were very merry and very happy—all except one individual. " It is time to return home," said Mrs. Maxwell, rising and taking her son's arm, while Edwin volunteered to carry the ladies work basket, and offered his arm to Griselda. When tea was over Mrs. Maxwell asked Edwin if he had ever written any tales either in poetry or prose. Edwin replied that he had composed one or two, short tales in prose, but they were mere sketches and desti- tute the knew of literary merits. " We shall be happy to hear one this evening, if agreeable to you," said Mrs. Max- well ; " we get no new books here, and we shall look upon your productions as literary novel- ties." " I would be happy to gratify you, Mrs. Maxwell," said Edwin, " but I am quite sure I have not written one that is worth reading." " Well, we will tell you what we think when we have heard it. If your prose is as good as your poetry I think it will be at least worth listening to." Edwin went for his manuscript, and read the following story, entitled-- The Legend of Prince Adamarantha of Borneo. Nearly in the centre of the great island of Borneo, hitherto unexplored by European travellers, there existed three thousand years ago an extensive plain, bounded on every side by lofty and impassable mountains. It was composed of the richest soil in the world, which was covered by a thick sward of bright green grass, and shaded from the intense heat of a tropical sun by dense groves of evergreen trees, intermingled with rare shrubs, and plants bearing flowers of the richest hues and perfume. The size of this plain was about one hundred square miles. It was watered by many pleasant rivulets, but only one stream worthy to be called a river meandered through it from east to west. This river expanded in the middle into a large lake, and seemed to repose in placid beauty at the base of a soli- tary mountain, which presented to the shining water an abrupt precipice six thousand feet in height. It was to all appearance a fearful wall of solid rock, as black as ebony, as smooth as polished marble, and it glittered when the sun shone upon it like a mirror. Its opposite, or southern side, descended to the level of the plain with a somewhat gradual slope. The river on issuing from the lake, held a smooth course, until it pene- trated the mountains which bounded the plain on the western side. Here a narrow rocky gorge received the now turbulent flood, which leaped and foamed and boiled through the chasm, as if in haste to escape from its peaceful solitude above, and mingle its waters with those of a great world below. The sylvan beauty of this charming plain was to be seen in all its loveliness from the summit of the remarkable mountain which rose in awful and precipitous grandeur to the sky, and any adventurous wanderer in search of the fearfully sublime might easily climb to the loftiest crag of the dizzy height and gaze on the vast tracks of meadow and forest, of sloping hill and flowery valley, of lake and river below and all around him. A cordon of magnificent lakes connected together by numerous beautiful cascades,

trackless woods—whose silence was unbroken save by the voice of the tempest—open vales, and hundreds of rich marshes might be seen from this elevated spot. Thousands of glittering objects were observable shining on the distant mountains, forming as it were the boundary of other worlds beyond. Crystals of feldspar, agate, and jasper, and sparkling diamonds abounded there in profusion—bound- less and inexhaustible wealth, but no eager hands to gather it. Close by a little rivulet which, falling from a fissure in the precipice found its way through to a dense jungle into the lake at no great distance, there stood a miserable hovel made of twigs and rushes before whose rude doorway a little fire was constantly kept burning. This was the hut of Adamarantha, a a prince of a distant sea-side nation, who had fled from a murderous uncle—the usurper of his throne—and had selected this lonely and romantic spot as a safe though somewhat un- dignified retreat. Adamarantha was an enthusiast and a dreamer : he might have sec- ceeded his father in peace, but it required an exertion which he could not make. He thought and dreamed about it certainly, but while he did so the opportunity of contending success- fully with his enemies was lost. He was con- sidered as not fit to govern ; some thought him a fool, others a madman. A generous easy-going youth he was ; he hated trouble, detested care, delighted in idle listless reveries, and squandered his wealth on the incapable, the cunning, and the ungrateful, followers by whom he was surrounded. His dreams of ambition, wealth, and power were incessant and superb, but while he dreamed his eyes were fixed on vacancy and his hands unemployed. When Adamarantha fled from the sword of his father's brother he was accompanied by three faithful friends who preferred sharing his fallen fortunes to shining in the court of a villain, but they perished one by one in the wilderness. He alone, torn and bleeding, with a love of life which he had never felt before, and an energy of purpose which he never until now thought he possessed, clambered through the wild forest subsisting on the fruits which he found in abundance, and up the rocky pass beside the foaming torrent, and was surprised to find himself in an earthly paradise, uncultivated indeed, but delightfully cool, and blooming with perpetual spring. He found by expe- rience that the greater the dangers through which he passed the fonder he became of a life of which in the midst of pomp and luxury he had often been weary. The labors he had performed on his harassing journey had given him a taste for existence, an appe- tite for his food, and a zest for the pleasures of freedom, to all of which he had formerly been a stranger. In this state, and while his mind was under the influence of excitement and bodily exercise, he built his rude hovel and enjoyed his newly found liberty for a few months. He ranged the adjacent woods at will without the fear of meeting with a human enemy. He shot wild fowl with arrows, and speared the delicious fish which abounded in the lake, rowing himself out in a bark canoe for the purpose. With these and the fruits which grew wild, the luscious pine- apple, the pomegranate, and delicate mango- steen, he satisfied the cravings of hunger, his health and enjoyments being increased by the excitement of the chase and the pure air of the mountain and lake. He was now as happy in his extreme poverty, as he had before in his great wealth been miserable. But it was not long before a change came over him. From being an ardent lover of hunting with his bow and arrows, he dropped again by degrees into the state of a listless dreamer. The change was not indeed without its novelty which amused him for awhile, and he was surprised to find how slowly, yet plea- santly, the time passed as he lay on the banks of his rivulet, gazing around on the calm sur- face of the lake and anon turning his eyes up- ward to the dark summit of the Black Moun- tain as it started out in bold relief in the clear air, seeming as if about to fall and crash him as he lay. His castles in the air were now built with tenfold energy—the energy and a rapidity of uncontrolled thought. His dreams bore with them a romantic charm which haunted him while he slept. Having once again given way to these fascinating reveries he became almost too idle to think. He lay for whole days with difficulty summoning energy sufficient to enable him to catch a fish or keep his little fire alive. From this drowsy lethargy he would often start and sigh for the realisa- tion of his visions. He wished for his former wealth and the power of which he had been deprived ; for he argued with himself, if he had these he could command pleasure and happiness to an unlimited extent. In this manner a few more months passed away, and the condition of the dreamer be- came pitiable. His clothing had fallen off in rags ; his wild shaggy hair hung around his face in elfin locks ; his mind became tortured by the miseries of hope deferred. He had pictured to himself the dark mountain at whose base he lived as the closed entrance to a subterranean world which was governed by a genius or deity of awful and universal power ; and he often wildly apostrophised the spirit of his dream in words in which the intense agony of his soul was conveyed with startling abruptness to the solitary woods, around him. " Genius of yonder mysterious mountain," he would exclaim, " come forth and give me what will change my misery into happiness !" He had accustomed himself to these words, and repeated them so often that he lost all hope, if he ever entertained any, of being favored with any reply, and his surprise and terror were consequently without bounds when, as he uttered his usual exclamation in a voice of despair, he heard close beside him the dis- tinct and solemn question— " What will change thy misery into hap- piness ?" Adamarantha started to his feet in dismay,

looked widely round him and recoiled several steps, shaking with indescribable fear. A thick mist floated before his eyes, so that for awhile he could see nothing. It cleared away, and he saw standing before him an extra- ordinary figure, the like of which he had never seen or imagined. It was that of a lean and withered old man, hoary with age, but perfectly erect ; his skin the color of an orange, and drawn so tightly over the frame-work within that it resembled old parchment pasted to a skeleton. His head was bare, and a few tangled locks of snowy hair hung over his shoulders. His eyes were more piercing and terrible than those of any other demon of whom Adamarantha had ever heard, and around his lank body he wore a robe made of ourang-outang skins. His height was above that of the tallest man, and his bearing and presence those of a super- natural being. " What will change thy misery into happi- ness ?" he repeated in a dreadful voice. " Wealth and power," said the trembling enthusiast, " whereby I may regain my lost kingdom, and be revenged on mine enemies." " Wealth is power," said the Genius ; " fol- low me." Adamarantha followed in silence. The spirit, whether of good or evil, led him across the narrow plain that separated the lake from the mountain, and stopped when within fifty paces of the latter. Pointing at a shining object that lay at his feet, he commanded the dreamer to pick it up : It was a diamond of great adze and the purest water. " Throw it against the mountain," said the uncouth figure, and Adamarantha did so. In a moment with a noise that seemed to shake the earth to its foundations, an enormous door opened in the dark rock, and ere Adamarantha had re- covered from his astonishment a steed of un- paralled beauty and splendid proportions bounded forth on the plain, caparisoned as for a long journey, the gate in the mountain closed behind him with another thundering sound. The horse was black as jet. His eye glanced fire. He pawed the ground and lashed the air with his tail impatiently. " Mount," said the Genius, " and away--wish for wealth and power while thou are in the saddle, and thy wishes thou shalt have ; but BEWARE, let him never have another master than thyself—let him not bear a wish con- cerning the female sex—and teach him not with whip or spur lest thou see him perish." As he said the words the figure vanished in a misty cloud, and the now rejoiced dreamer leaped into the saddle. (To be continued.)