ae eee geese eA a nt Ps = nerf ta Tbe net pn Sy ee ern ne pppoe phe : ‘sieged. A CURIOUS FACT. ANY years ago a friend of my father’s built i a country house, which he fitted up and fur- nished according to his own taste. To accomplish this, he caused to be brought from Italy a piece of pure white marble, out of which a mantel-piece was constructed for his own particular sitting-room. The mantel-piece was of singularly pure marble, in one block, and free from flaw save in one part. Shortly after its erection the owner of the house noticed a small, damp-looking stain, no bigger than the nail of his little finger, in the very centre of the mantel- piece. This, however, was so slight a blemish that it did not trouble him, till, as months and years went by, it became evident that the mark slowly but surely increased in size. After twenty years it had increased to the size of the palm of his hand. Ma- sons were sent for, and desired to take down the marble and break it in two, so as to disclose the mystery. This was done, and, to the amazement of all, out hopped an enormous toad ! H. A. F. WILLIAM RUFUS AND THE SOLDIER. HILE William I. of England, . commonly called Rufus, was waging war against his brother Henry, whom he held in close siege in the strong castle of Mount St. Nicholas, William saw his men recoil before a desperate sally of the be- He dashed, single-handed, into a dense body of the enemy, dealing right and left the blows which never fell from his vigorous arm in vain. But though his valor and skill saved him, his horse was mortally wounded. The stricken steed plunged, and threw the King from ‘his saddle, dragging him along on the ground till it at last sank to the earth beside the bruised monarch. Before he could rise, a soldier sprang upon him, his sword raised to strike. “ Fellow,” cried the now terrified William, “I am the King of .England! ” The soldier drew back among his comrades; and William’s party, at the sound of his well-known voice, brought another horse. William leaped into the saddle, and, glancing around with flashing eyes, cried out, — “ Where is he that unhorsed me ? ” “Here Iam!” exclaimed one; “ but I took you for a knight, and not for a king.” . The monarch’s features softened into a smile, and he bade the man follow him, to obtain in his service the reward he deserved. THH BROKEN VASE. OW, Susie, will you confess to breaking the vase?” So spake Aunt Mary; and this is what Susie answered, — “‘No, Aunt Mary, I can’t, because : I didn’t do it.” ee “Well, then, if you persist. in your denial, I forbid your going to the hayfield with the rest; and, as there will be no lessons, ¢o into the kitchen, and make yourself useful by. paring the potatoes for dinner.” Not to go to the hayfield with the rest, when she and her cousins had been dwelling for days upon the long, bright, hay-making holiday, when there was a picnic dinner — ay, and a tea likewise — to be eaten out there! And this punishment was to fall upon her for nothing, -— simply nothing, for she had not broken the vase; and Uncle Ben was not there to plead for her, — Uncle Ben, who, fresh from college, had come to spend a long vacation at his brother’s house, and had brought the first pay of sunshine that had gladdened the child’s heart since that sad, sad day when her father had sailed for Africa. Poor little, lonely waif, whom nobody in the house except Uncle Ben understood, and he was far away! She went to the open window, and burst into bitter sobs and tears. “Papa, papa, come to me!” she cried, stretching — out her hands in her passionate sorrow. “O Uncle Ben, Uncle Ben, come to me!” But the one was in Africa; the other miles away, fishing with a friend: they could not help her. The sweet summer sounds stole into the room, the sunshine laughed, the birds sang ; that was all. The door opened for the second time, and a bright- eyed boy of eleven put his head in. “T say, Susie, say you did it,” was his speech, remarkable for its poverty of words; he, the while, looking aghast at her tears. “Tcan’t, Harry, and I won’t; let me alone!” cried sobbing Susie. “TI didn’t do it, and I won't say I did.” “Then you'll lose all the jolly fun in the hay- field.” “T don’t care!” O Susie! “Well, I do; I don’t like to think of your being cooped up here in Coventry when three little words would set you free,” spoke the boy, in real concern. “But, Harry, *twould be a mean lie; I won't \ say it.” All the birds, bees, flies, and gnats seemed ‘ to say, as well as they could, “ Hurrah!” to this. “ Well, so it would; but mamma won’t set you | free without, because she thinks you did it.” Susie made no reply; so Harry, the tempter, sadly shut the door, and ran out through the hall into the sunshine, fo!lowed by Fred, Ned, Willie, and Allie, leaping like troutlets in a pool, and shouting till the echoes answered them. Susie heard them, and sobbed on. Again the door opened. “Miss Susic, your aunt says, will you go into the kitchen and begin the potatoes? They are ready.” _ It was Jane’s voice. Jane was doing her own and the housemaid’s work this week, so she had no time to waste. Rebellion was busy in Susie’s heart ; ” she had half a mind not to go, but that second thought, whatever 1¢ was, decided her, — she went. There in the kitchen was her apron, and there were the potatoes — oh, such a quantity ! — and they were to be eaten in the sunshine, while she was to be a prisoner, a slave. to pare them all. She sat down, and began; but the knife went slowly, very slowly.