been alive then, and have been changed into wood, on purpose to preserve his looks till I could see him.  It would be a right pleasant destiny, when one begins to grow old and ugly, to be transformed into wood, and carved as one would wish to appear perpetually.  And happier fate still, like Philemon and Baucis, to change into living trees, and flourish for hundreds of years in youth and vigor.  There are willow-trees growing on the banks of the river that may easily have been girls who wept themselves into trees, because their hair would soon be gray, and they have exchanged it for tresses of green.  Near those willow-trees the princely stranger who has lately occupied the castle will next week give a boating fete, to which I am invited; I suppose you also, courteous Sir, will be present, a knight-errant for distressed damsels?

“HAGUNA.”

Anthrops kissed the little old man on the dagger’s hilt again and again, and made two equally firm, but entirely disconnected resolutions, simultaneously:  namely, never to give his nephew the intended present, and by all means to be at the boat-fete the following week.

The day of the fete arrived,—­a clear, lovely day in early June.  The host had provided for the accommodation of his guests a number of boats of different sizes, holding two, three, or a dozen people, according to the fancy of the voyagers.  Anthrops, descending the flight of steps that led to the river, came unexpectedly upon his old friend the philosopher, apparently emerging from the side of the hill.

“I expected you here,” said he; “are you going on the river?”

Anthrops replied in the affirmative.

“Haguna is here, and I have come to exact a promise that you will not sail with her.  You will repent it, if you do.”

“Better than starvation is a feast and repentance,” cried the young man, gayly.  “What harm is there in the girl?  Though, to be sure, I had no particular intention of sailing with her.”

“It would be of no use to warn you explicitly,” said his friend; “you would not believe me.  But you must not go.”

“Nay, good father,” returned the youth, a little vexed,—­“it is altogether too unreasonable to expect me to obey like a child; give me one good reason why I should avoid her as if she had the plague, and I promise to be guided by you.”

“All women have some plague-spot,” said the philosopher, sententiously.

“Well, then, I may as well be infected by her as by any one,” cried Anthrops, lightly, and was rushing down the steps again, when the philosopher caught him by the arm.

“Follow me,” he said; “you will not believe, but still you may see.”

He led the way down to the river, and, the youth still following, entered one of the gayly trimmed row-boats and pushed from shore.  The boat seemed possessed by the will of its master, and, needing no other guide or impetus, floated swiftly into the centre of the channel.  Obeying the same invisible helmsman, it there paused and rocked gently backwards and forwards as over an unseen anchor.  The philosopher drew from his pocket a small cup and dipped up a little water.  He then handed it to the youth, and bade him look at it through a strong magnifying-glass, which he also gave him.  Anthrops was surprised to find a white dust in the bottom of the cup.