monster, loud enough to be heard by the whole company, and went off in hysterics. As for Philip, he went off next day in the diligence to his paternal property, where he devoted himself to getting rich among his cottars, and his confession of faith henceforth was, that women were troublesome fools, whom no wise man ought to admit to his domicile, with the exception of old Lettice, his housekeeper.

Such was the guardian to whose wisdom Alphonse had been temporarily consigned, the old gentleman was willing to do his part, in preventing the further disgrace of the family; but finding that his nephew knew nothing of wheat crops, and took no interest in oxen, he pronounced him a fool also, and left the youth to his own devices, the last result of which had made him the guest of the Perriers.

When the men of the hamlet brought home his nephew, Philip thanked them, especially Claude, with great courtesy, commanded Lettice to give each a draught of household wine from a huge wooden goblet, rimmed with silver, which had descended to him with the old house, and sent them home marvelling at the magnificence of the Chateau de Maron. It stood about four leagues from Saint Marie, by the common way, but a by-path through the thickest of the forest considerably shortened the distance, and by it Alphonse had been conducted home. It soon appeared that his perils in the wood had taught the young Parisian caution and not fear, for by the help of one of his uncle's labourers he found his way back, and having little employment for time or attention, became a frequent visitor at the Perriers' cottage. At first his comings were set down to the account of civility and gratitude. He had still wonderful things to tell, and they were proud of him being seen with them at the hamlet dances in his fine Paris clothes, but byand-by the keen eye of the elder sister, and the keener ones of the Monods, discovered that the object of his visits, was the pretty Ninette.

Like most pretty girls, we are sorry to say Ninette was a little vain ; she did not mean to break with Honore, but the novelty and grandeur of the greater admirer dazzled her, and Honore never flattered like him, she therefore did like silly girls every where, tacitly encouraged the new lover's advances, and tried to make believe she could not help captivating. Honore and his father were not men to see such goings on quietly. The code of manners in Le Morvan, old and strict as it is, allows no room for flirtation, and with the rude honesty of their forest race, Honore at once signified to the stranger that the girl was his sweetheart, and commanded her to dance with him no more on pain of his displeasure; while old Monod threatened in the hearing of all his neighbours, to break off the intended connexion with the family at the mill. The blood of the Perriers rose at that menace, one and all recollected that they were the curé's relations, and the Monods comparatively nobody, even Father Jean scarcely kept his temper within priestly bounds, for notwithstanding his better intellect, and education, it was near akin to that of his brother Claude. The result was a quarrel, in which both sides maintained their honour, and though the Monods did not absolutely renounce the engagement, the friendship of the families was broken up for some time. Meantime, the miller's eldest sister with her wonted wisdom, and governance, informed Alphonse, that as his comings had caused scandal, he was not expected to be seen at the cottage in future. Of course Ninette got a number of good advices, and was

rather kept under surveillance, but when did good advice, or vigilance avail in such a case? Alphonse had no occupation, the miller's sister had therefore supplanted the workman's daughter, besides the savour of forbidden fruit had been given to the affair, and his vanity required satisfaction of his rustic rival, but short as his stay had been among the forest men, it was sufficient to let him know that they had long knives and axes, and that his way did not lie across the Champs Elysée, so he trusted to Parisian ingenuity for prosecuting his suit in a series of stolen visits.

That useful labourer of his uncle's having been purchased by the present of a linen shirt, the first of its kind that ever was in his possession, had actually succeeded in getting him safe through one interview, in the orchard, where Ninette was gathering summer apples, and Jacque the said labourer did duty as a sentinel. He had arranged another, for things were progressing, behind the mill. One Sunday, when the Perriers had gone to mass, all but the youngest sister, who remained, of course, indisposed at home. Alphonse and she were exchanging vows behind the mill, Jacque had left his post for a regale in the orchard, when the fates ordained that Claude should return in search of a forgotten rosary, and just in time to discover the gallant Parisian kissing his sister's hand, with sundry assurances of eternal adoration. To rush into the cottage, and seize his axe, was the next moment's work with Claude, the truant sentinel caught sight of him coming forth with that weapon, and fled to his mother's hut. Ninette saw and shrieked, and Alphonse ran, while Claude pursued him far over the pastures, and through the wood, with many a wild Morvan oath and threat. The speed of fear could never enable the city student, to outstrip the fierce and active forester on his own ground, though Alphonse knew the race was for life, but Claude neared upon him every bound with his brandished axe, and was almost within striking distance, when a party of woodmen, late on their way to mass, dashed down one of the woodland paths, and seized him from behind. There was terrible work in disarming him of the axe, and no getting him back to mass on any terms. His wrath had been prevented but not cooled, and he insisted on following Alphonse home to the chateau, and "telling the noble gentleman, his uncle, what mischief the scapegrace was doing to his family."

Alphonse had taken refuge in Jacque's hut, which happened to stand almost in his way; but his assistant had arrived before him, and the eloquent old mother already prepared a scold for leading her son into danger. Alphonse went home cursing them both, but Claude and his complaint had been there, and his uncle warned him that the next was to be his packing-up day, because as the worthy proprietor remarked, he "could not afford to take care of common people's children when they would be mischievous."

From that sentence there was no appeal. Moreover, Alphonse was certain that the story would get wind, and himself get laughed at in Saint Marie so he went back to Paris with a wonderfully good grace, and told his father that "there was no enduring the vulgar pride of the old savage, who had called him and his relations common people, and would not allow a young man to amuse himself in that desert of a place." Thrifty Philip wrote no letters, and whether the merchant found his son's explanation satisfactory or not, was never made public.

Is may be that the numbering with common people stuck in his mind. for he wenzel Alphonse shas a tour in Germany would improve him Pasig, and she andens was dispatched with a more than criinary moply for travelling expenses, and letters of introduction to all his fander's merantile friends from Strasburg to Dresden.

Claude

After his departure from their frontier, peace was restored to the home of the Ferriers, though not without a famly storm. raged, father Jean rebuked with more of sharpness than charity, Ninette cried as might be expected; and Bastlene, after doing some dasy in the reproving line, reminded her brothers that the girl was young, and had no mother.

Honore heard the tale (for it became hamlet gossip) and thought himself bound in honour to draw further off than ever. Claude did not go to the cottage now, and the old man was giving daily hints concerning Jerome, the son of one neighbour, and Felice the daughter of another, but all to no purpose, neither Florette nor her brother could forget the Perriers, and they talked together by the hearth, when their father was asleep, of how very ill they had behaved.

The summer days as they ripened the corn, tinged the grapes with purple, and gave a deeper tint to the forest foliage, smoothed down these recollections. Something like good neighbourhood again began to grow between the cottages, which though far from their old familiarity promised to wax warmer. The house and mill went peaceably on, under Basilene's government, so did Saint Marie at large under the more sovereign rule of Father Jean, when as the first sickles glittered in the harvest-fields, an extraordinary rumour began to disturb the parish.

One morning a boar-hunter encountered Jacque hurrying home, his black hair standing almost erect, and his look wild with terror: he answered the hunter's questions at first incoherently, but at length growing more collected, the labourer solemnly declared, that while Looking after some sheep on the outskirts of the Perriers' pasture land, which was by memorial usage, a kind of common for all who brought their wheat to the mill, he had seen in the grey of the early dawn, no other than the old whisperer himself. Why the Le Morvan people please to confer that title on the prince of evil would be as difficult to discover as the origin of his many names, including that of old Harry among ourselves; but Jacque averred that he had seen no less a personage, and described him according to the primitive faith of the forest, as walking like a man, but hairy and horned. The boar-hunter returned with his gun and spear to tell the news in the hamlet. Jacque went home, but before noon his tale was far beyond the boundaries of Saint Mario. It was believed by all the inhabitants, but Father Jean, who had set his face against popular superstitions, he sent for Jacque and strictly examined him, but his statement was soon numerously supported. Early and late goers abroad swore to have seen the same sight, Bome in the twilight, some at the dawn, but all in the vicinity of the Perriers. One had seen it among the corn-fields, another by their orchard fence, and old Monod at length staggered the curé's incredulity, by declaring he had seen the dreaded shape passing the mill.

The talk and terror which these reports created among the scattered people of that wild woodland parish, were sufficient to supersede every other interest. No one would stir abroad before sunrise, or after sundown, for fear of encountering the enemy of mankind,-young men

gave up visiting their sweethearts, and old friends their evening gossip. Woodmen would not hew in the darker thickets of the forest, and no reaper would work alone in the harvest-field. The most astonished if not the most frightened people were the Perriers themselves. What business the monarch of mischief had on their lands they could not divine.

"We have never refused charity, nor cheated at the mill," said Basilene, "why should evil things come about us?”

Their neighbours did not come to the same conclusion; dark suspicions rose in their minds of some undiscovered sin hanging over the place, by which the evil one had power to haunt it. Legends of the kind there were in Le Morvan as there are in every corner of Europe, and though the cure's family had hitherto stood high in rank and character at Saint Marie, there was a division of opinion on the point, in which but a minority stood on the side of the Perriers. Nevertheless, these were staunch friends, for all that had come and gone the Monods stoutly maintained that the mill family were no worse than their neighbours, Ambrose and Guillieme though terribly frightened and acknowledging to have seen something, would not leave their service, and Father Jean assured the parish, it was all a fancy; but people are apt to believe their eyes in Le Morvan as well as in most places, and the priest himself was convinced. Returning late one evening from the house of a sick parishioner, he took a by-path leading past his brother's vineyard, and suddenly turning a corner he beheld right in the way before him, the identical shape described by Jacque. The back was to him, and Father Jean tried to stand and look at it, but the apparition turned full upon him. There was a black unearthly face below the horns, and the curé's resolution at once giving way, he fled and never stopped till fairly on the miller's hearth-stone. The consternation which this event caused at the cottage may be imagined. Father Jean commenced a series of prayers and masses for his relatives, now honestly believing in their fearful visitor, and all took more strictly to their religious duties. As for Claude, except that he kept within doors after dark, and smoked an extra pipe or two, it wrought no change in him, though he composedly inferred that "the old one had some business at Saint Marie." Basilene could not believe that it was after all that celebrated individual. She had heard of strange animals being seen at times by their forefathers, and there were floating tales of wild unknown men, who lived long ago in the forest. Might not some such have again appeared, but what attraction brought it to their premises? That query baffled Basilene's wisdom, but the house was growing cheerless and troubled, and she remarked that their singular misfortune had fallen most heavily on poor Ninette.

The girl now no longer watched, had been absent late and long one evening after the publication of Jacque's report. She said seeing that the lambs were safe in the fold; but ever after Ninette looked fearful and anxious, and would scarcely stir over the threshold. The corn of Saint Marie was reaped, and Basilene was at work in the granary, (which in their district fashion formed the back part of the cottage and contained all manner of rural implements) making room for the incoming store, when her eye fell on the great wolf-trap, constructed by her grandfather, and employed ever since by the family, with remarkable success. There was not one of them but had a warm winter cloak

VOL. II.

D

made of the skins it yielded, and the thought struck her if that trap were set quietly in the path leading from the forest where their dark visitor had been most frequently seen, might it not do some execution? If it was indeed a wonderful forest animal, they would find it in the morning, for the trap would hold anything, and Basilene with her solid. notions and rustic education was not quite certain that they might not catch the foe of men himself, in which case they had Father Jean, a host of very ancient relics, and the holy water to depend on.

Basilene was alone in the cottage that bright harvest-day, Ninette and all the rest being in the fields, and as she stood meditating over the trap, her solitude was broken by the cheerful voice of Honore Monod. It had not sounded in their house for months, wrath and pride had separated the old familiars, but now that neighbours kept aloof from the haunted farm, Honore had laid aside offence and came to offerhis help in the thrashing of their corn which was to commence that afternoon.

"I suppose you have heard what is said about our farm?" said Basilene, after kind enquiries for all at home. Honore frankly responded he had, but believed it was no fault of theirs, adding that for his own part, he had led an honest life, and with the help of God, he did not fear the old one. Basilene had always respected the sense and spirit of her intended brother-in-law, and such good courage emboldened her to declare her own ideas on the subject. Honore listened, concurred, and at the close of their conference it was fully arranged that the wolf-trap should be set that very night, known only to themselves and Claude, who should watch under the protection of Father Jean, if he could be induced to join them till sunrise in the corner of the orchard. Guillieme and Ambrose slept so soundly, that there was no fear of interruption from them, and to make matters still more secure, Honore contrived that Ninette should be sent to help his sister in cheese-making, and remain for the night, while he stayed with the Perriers.

Ninette went cheerfully to help her old friend, though she looked frightened at the first sight of Honore. Father Jean reckoning it no infraction of clerical dignity, came to assist in the thrashing, which was conducted in primitive fashion, on a space prepared for the purpose among the fields, and known as the thrashing-floor, where oxen as in scripture times, trod out the corn. When all the rest were busy, Claude and Basilene found something to do elsewhere, which occupied them more than an hour, and towards sunset Father Jean reached his own house, supplied himself with a book of the gospels, a bottle of holy water, and a small iron box out of the church, and telling his old housekeeper he would remain at his brother's cottage that night, took the road to the mill.

The work was given up early to the great satisfaction of Ambrose and Guillieme, and after supper in the porch by sunset light, the weary youths retired to rest. There was no thought of sleep in the four heads that bent together under the thick boughs of the orchard, close by the path in which the wolf-trap had been carefully set in a deep hole or pit, neatly hidden with loose turf, and early fallen leaves. The new moon was rising, the twilight had not yet died away, and Basilene's keen ear caught an advancing step. The four held their breath, for slowly sauntering along from the forest came something which none but the priest had seen before. The moonlight shewed them the hairy