* * * * *

Still clinging together, they were found.  At their feet lay a fragment of the deadly-poisonous Egyptian river-plant which Marston Brent had ignorantly plucked for a lotos.

CHRISTIAN REID.

ECHO.

FROM THE RUSSIAN OF PUSCHKTN.

  Roars there ever a beast in his forest den,
    Hear we thunder in heaven, a horn among men,
  On the hill sings a maiden now and then,—­
          Sound what may,
  Answer through space thou mak’st again
          With small delay. 
  Aware of the thunder’s rattling roll,
  Of the winds and the waves when without control,
  Of the cries where the village shepherds stroll,
          Reply thou giv’st;
  Yet thou thyself, without one answering soul,
          A poet liv’st.

A.J.

OUR HOME IN THE TYROL.

CHAPTER IX.

Sometimes it was our simple hosts who led the conversation, which then, especially as they became at ease with us, always drifted more or less into the supernatural.  Nor was this surprising, as the tales, legends, old manners and customs amongst the Tyrolese are thoroughly interwoven with threads of heathen mythology and with the occult belief of the Middle Ages.

[Illustration:  VALLEY AND BEEHIVES.]

Franz had a wonderful credence in lucky and unlucky days.  Tuesday and Thursday were witches’ days, and Wednesday was also evil, seeing Judas hanged himself on a Wednesday; therefore never drive cattle to the Olm on that day.  Moreover, he believed that when two persons sneezed together a soul was loosed from purgatory.  As for witches and ghosts, he knew enough about them too.  Did not the witches still dance every night at eight o’clock on their meeting-place by Bad Scharst?  His brother Joergel could have told us about that if he would.  The paechter Josef had likewise experiences which he might relate were he not so shy.  “Josef was returning through the Reinwald one Thursday night, and had just crossed over the Giessbach when he met a black figure, whom he greeted in God’s name; but the figure moved on, making no answer as a Christian would have done.  He had not gone much farther up the wood when he met a second black form.  Crossing himself, Josef spoke out boldly a ‘God greet you!’ but again silence.  The figure had vanished.  Josef crossed himself and prayed.  Nevertheless, he met a third, and, waxing bold, not only greeted him, but turning round looked fixedly at the black figure to see whether it were sorcerer, gypsy, ghost or witch.  And there, behold! it stood, grown as tall as a tree, grinning at Josef until he thought it best to escape.  Next day the black cow went dry:  otherwise you might say that Josef’s hobgoblins were fir trees.”