garden, where a great many common big-blown roses were growing by the hedge. Of these he made bouquets, which he arranged in corn measures, cans, or whatever came to hand that might serve as a temporary flower-pot, and placed them in the openings which had been hastily knocked in the timbers of the barn to give air. They seemed to bring a breath of freshness and life into the chamber of suffering. Alexandre, seeing what he was about, gave him a nod of approval; and he was rewarded by the pleased looks on hot and haggard faces, as they turned towards these flowers. Then he hit upon another way of being serviceable. Near the door lay a French artillery officer, who appeared almost unconscious of all around him, and gave no other sign of life than a faint groan from time to time. eyes. "Would you not like me to write to anyone?" The poor man opened his eyes again to fix them eagerly on him. "Yes! yes!" he murmured. In the carriage was Victor's leather knapsack, or satchel, commonly used by schoolboys in that part of the world, which that morning, to disguise his real errand, he had filled with a few books, a half-written exercise book, and pen and ink. These writing materials now came in very useful. He made a desk of the knapsack, holding it over his knees as he sat on the floor and prepared to write to the officer's dictation. But the poor man had only strength to mutter his wife's name and address, adding "Tell her my wound is light-give her hopeah! I cannot!" The boy began the letter to this effect, but he never had courage to finish it, for the lady's husband died during the night. the cavalry! Don't let them trample on me!" Another, again, was whimpering like a child, his fretful exclamations mingling strangely with the steady snores of a big German sergeant lying next to him, who had lost a leg indeed, but seemed blest with a constitution to make the best of all accidents of fortune. At last some of the attendants found time to snatch a meal prepared for them in the courtyard, and Victor took his supper with them. They had black bread, coffee without milk, half-cooked potatoes, and tough steaks, about which these hungry men asked no questions, but there was reason to believe they had been cut from a dead horse, for a splinter or two of shell was found in the meat. None of them could afford to be particular; many others that night were worse off. After a short rest, the doctors had to go back to their posts. Victor, hardly able to hold up his head, contrived to coil himself up at the bottom of their open carriage, the best bed he could find vacant. Yet, for all his fatigue, he lay some time restless, haunted by the incidents of this most momentous day of his life, and amazed by the strangeness of his situation. The country, usually so quiet at this hour, was still all astir. In two or three places the sky glowed with the reflection of burning houses, or perhaps stores destroyed by the French in their retreat. The roads resounded with an almost ceaseless roll of guns and waggons, the clatter of hoofs, and the steady tramp of regiment after regiment. A little way from the forester's house, a band of Germans were singing a hymn round their watchfire, "Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott; a solemn strain, that to the French boy seemed to have something terrible, as mysteriously expressing the confidence of his country's foes. Then, from time to time, came a distant report, a cry of suffering, the hoarse challenge of a sentry. To this varied lullaby Victor at last fell asleep. Once set to this sort of task, however, he had no lack of employment. When other men saw what he was at, they began begging him from all sides to write for them also. So, till it grew too dark, and the blank leaves of his book were exhausted, he kept writing to their dictation, first beside one couch, then another, addresses, messages, promises, news, lamentations, all of which he undertook to see duly forwarded by post, to the great satisfaction of the THE helpless sufferers. Night came on. The barn was dimly lit up by candles fixed upon bayonets, and a few flickering lamps, made for want of better, by putting a potato with a wick through it into a glass full of melted tallow. The patients were exhorted to be quiet and try to sleep. But the restless ones had small chance of composing themselves in that stifling obscurity, that lent double terror to the continual incidents of suffering and death. Some became delirious. One, heedless of his bandages, insisted on getting up to stumble towards the open air, and had to be led back by force. Another, in his fury, took the surgeon for an enemy, and struck wildly at the very sister of mercy who was holding drink to his lips. A third, who fancied himself still on the field, kept screaming, at the pitch of his voice, "Take me out of the way of (To be continued.) OUR PRIZE PAPER. CHRISTMAS TALE COMPETITION, 1881. HERMIT OF CASTLE WOOD; OR, A I. THE HERMIT. T was Christmas Eve in the year 1571, and a real Christmas Eve it was. The glistening snow covered all the ground, and the whole earth had a ghost-like appearance. Here and there the rugged point of some larger than ordinary stone projected out of the white mantle which enveloped its smaller neighbours, and appeared a solitary black speck on the shining crystal background. Neither the twittering song of a bird nor the rushing sound of the wind broke the stillness of the night, nor did the brilliant moon or any twinkling star relieve the sombre darkness. In the castles of the nobles the board was covered by delicious dainties, and all kinds of beverages which at the time of our story were prevalent in England. The most gallant knights of the country round joined in the merry meetings; and the fairest "ladyes" of the land graced the assemblies with their presence. Far away from the haunts of men, and from all the scenes of Christmas festivity, and the revelry and riotings which at that season were so prevalent, right in the centre of Castle Wood, in a rude and uncivilised looking hut, lived a holy hermit. For years this had been his dwelling-place, and to all appearances would continue to be so until the time of his death. Never a human face did he see, save when some weary pilgrim travelling through the wood, sought shelter from the pitiless blast, the pelting rain, or the falling snow. On the night on which my story begins, the hermit was engaged in devotional exercise. On the deal table before him was laid a Bible, over which he eagerly bent, and read with earnestness the comforting words of the Gospel. In the position in which he sat, he afforded an excellent subject for an artist. He was an old man, of middle-stature, with a benevolent face, and dark, kindly-looking eyes, which were now gazing intently upon the word of God. His brow bore marked signs of sorrow and grief, for the furrows of trouble were plainly seen there. His long, white beard gave him a patriarchal look, and one could almost have thought him the tried and faithful Abraham or the aged Jacob. In the words of the poet Goldsmith, his "Beard descending swept his aged breast." But suddenly he was interrupted in his reading by a knock at the door. He raised his head and gazed round the hut, as if to ascertain whence the sound proceeded. There was a second knock, then a third. Upon this the hermit rose, and advancing to the door he said, 66 "Who is he that would at so late an hour, on this holy night, interrupt my devotions?" And thus speaking he cautiously opened the door, and peering out into the darkness, discovered the form of a man, tall and slender, standing before the hut. Fear not, good hermit," answered the stranger, drawing nearer; "I swear you shall never repent any kindness done to me, a traveller in this wood, caught by a storm, blinded by the snow, and brought by a lucky chance to your dwelling." Upon this the door was opened wider, and the stranger entered, and without waiting for an invitation, divested himself of his outer garments, and sat down before the one burning stick-designated by politeness a fire. He did not take long to devour the small morsel of coarse, brown bread, or to drink the horn cupful of water set before him as his meal. 'Well, that's better certainly, but still it's nothing to boast about," coolly remarked the stranger as the flame brightened up. "I can't see what makes a man live in such a solitary place as this; for my part I prefer a life in the world to one of solitude. But come, reverend father, tell me how thou didst come to live in this miserable hut?" "Call it not a miserable life," replied the hermit solemnly; "call it not a miserable life to devote oneself to prayer and sacred things in this place, where none of the vices which corrupt the people of the world can enter; call it not a foolish way, young man, to pass one's life." 66 Well, well, father, every man has different opinions," answered the traveller, shrugging his shoulders; "I will not dispute with thee; but tell me why thou didst come here." And who art thou, who wouldst know this thing? And what reasons hast thou for asking such a thing? said the hermit, gazing intently at the face of the stranger. "In truth, good father," replied the knight, for such he appeared to be, thy question is hardly answered. Whom I am I reveal not to thee for reasons of my own; why I desire thee to tell me thy history, I cannot say, unless it is that my curiosity is great. But come, prithee wilt thou e'en do it for these? and the stranger placed a few gold and silver coins on the deal table. The old man eagerly grasped the money, and said: “On condition that thou revealest to no man what thou hearest, will I tell the tale of my life." Agreed," said the knight, and fortwith he placed himself in a position to hear all that was said. My father," began the recluse, was a powerful and wealthy earl; but I was only his younger son, and my elder brother looked upon me with scorn. One day we had a quarre!; it came to blows, and after a brief struggle he fell wounded. I fled from the scene of the fight, thinking him dying, and for years wandered about having no settled abode. But by and by I heard that my father was dead, and that my brother had possession of the estate. Vexed at his prosperity and my poverty, I determined to slay him. Disguised as a minstrel, I gained access to his castle, and played before his wife and children (for he had married during my absence). At a late hour he retired, and I tracked him to his bedroom. There, as the midnight hour pealed forth, the blow descended, and he lay dead before me! I fled for my life, and at last found this place of refuge. Here I have lived since then; but one change has taken place in me; and that is, the blessed Gospel has reached me. While I lived in plenty I was a world-loving being; now I am changed, and looking forward to heaven when I die." During the latter part of this recital, the knight's eyes had flashed angry gleams upon the hermit, and now as the latter finished, his pent-up passion burst forth, and advancing to the recluse he seized him tightly and said: Wretch, miscreant, see in me De Levier, thy victim's son ! It is meet that thou shouldest die by my hand! Prepare to meet thy doom!" 'Mercy, mercy," cried the terrified man, "for the love of God, mercy! Pardon, De Levier, pardon But all entreaty was in vain, and as the calm Christmas morning dawned, the weapon fell, and the hermit of Castle Wood lay stretched on the floor! II. CHRISTMAS AGAIN. Again the merry Christmas had come, and with it came festivity and joy. The knight De Levier had purposely avoided ever approaching the Castle Wood, and what had become of the hermit's body he cared not to know. But on Christmas Day, 1572, a number of his acquaintances requested him to go with them to the estate of a friend, an Earl of some distinction; and as Sir Levier was unable to decline, he went. Their way led through Castle Wood, so you may imagine the knight's feelings as he once more visited the hated place. For some time all went merrily, and jests were interchanged among the jolly knights. But suddenly a storm of snow came on, and they were completely unable to see their way. In the confusion that followed they dispersed one from another, and De Levier trusted entirely to his horse. The animal, however, stumbled and threw his master. The knight's head came in violent contact with the root of a tree, and he became unconscious. When he recovered, he was lying on a pallet in a small hut. As he opened his eyes, they met the gaze of the murdered (?) hermit. At the time of our story superstition was rife, and De Levier thought he gazed on the face of a spirit; for the grey hair was greyer still, and the long white beard.was longer and whiter. With a terrified expression on his countenance, he exclaimed: "It is thy turn to pray for mercy now," said the recluse, with a quiet smile. But rest thee, good knight, be not afraid; a Christian loveth his enemies." "But art thou not a spirit?" said De Levier. "Nay, my lord, nay; I am a plain man, and no spirit. When thou thoughtest to have killed me, I, by the providence of God, escaped wounded. I recovered from my stupor, and, by means of herbs, cured myself. This evening I found thee unconscious beside a tree, and brought thee here, and now, prithee, rest thee, for I forgive thee, even as Christ forgave me." Time passed on, and the knight grew rapidly better, under the treatment of the recluse. He was at last moved to his own castle, and when he went his preserver went too. He left his solitary hut and took up his abode with his, at one time, wouldbe murderer. He found out now what he should have known before, that it was better to live in the world and spread the Gospel, than live in solitude and keep it to himself. None ever knew whom he really was, not even the Lady De Levier, beyond that he was the rescuer of the knight. As such he was known and honoured by the family of his nephew. During the few remaining years of his life he tried to make amends for his past crime, by spreading the good news of salvation among the people around him. The knight De Levier never repented meeting the hermit of Castle Wood. JAMES E. ARCHIBALD (14) AS OUR PIONEER COLUMN. S we stated in previous numbers, this column is reserved for the names of those readers who, by recommendation or the distribution of our illustrated prospectus-leaflets, are endeavouring to make our Magazine more widely known, both in London and the provinces. Anyone sending name and address to the editor will be furnished, post-free, with a packet of these leaflets; we have a good many still on hand. The following are the most recent additions to the list, which now numbers no less than one hundred and eighty-nine : morgan Sydney C. Goodman, Taunton H. Alldridge, Wylde Green, W. A. Wills, Derby. Charles S. Herd, Guildford. OUR PRIZE AWARDS. ILLUMINATED TEXT. the SENIOR DIVISION we have much pleasure in awarding the PRIZE to SYDNEY BUNTER WEBB (19), 21, Paul-street, Taunton. Next in order of merit, and excellently designed, were those texts sent in by HARRY ANDERSON (Orphan Working School, Maitland Park, N.W.), and MARY JANE BROWN (Salisbury). CERTIFICATES have been awarded to these two competitors, and also to GEORGE WADE (Leeds), MARY DRAYTON, (Brixton), GERTRUDE A. LEES (Aberfeldy, Perthshire), W. C. PRESCOTT (Beer, Devon). We HONOURABLY MENTION F. W. SMITH, CHARLES S. HERD, W. H. BATEMAN. In the INTERMEDIATE DIVISION the PRIZE is won by CHARLES JOHNSON (15), 64, Canwick-road, Lincoln. CERTIFICATES are awarded to SAMUEL GREENWOOD (Camberwell), JAMES J. NEWMAN (Dalston), BRUCE FRESHWATER (Market Harboro'). We HONOURABLY MENTION JOHN W. WAde. In the JUNIOR DIVISION the PRIZE is gained by HOWARD MOSELEY (13), 52, Kimberley-road, Nunhead. We award a CERTIFICATE to EDMUND JORDAN (Staines). НЕ SIX SCRIPTURE PUZZLES. THE original enigmas sent in for this competition proved so good that we hope to publish many of them from time in our monthly Puzzledom page. The PRIZE in the SENIOR DIVISION is won by THOMAS H. KNIGHT (19), North-street, Lostwithiel, Cornwall. Next in order of merit are ANNIE S. PENN (Gloucester), and GERTRUDE AMY LEES (Aberfeldy, Perthshire). The compositions of these two young ladies were excellent. Certificates have been awarded to them; as also to EDITH J. MILLAR (Uxbridge); LUCY E. RATCLIFFE (Ramsey, Hunts); BLANCHE DEANE (Uxbridge); JAMES BLOSSOM (Sheffield); THOS. F. HOWELL (Cardiff); WALTER SACKETT (Cheetham, Manchester). We HONOURABLY MENTION GERTRUDE DRAYTON, BESSIE M. TUTT. In the INTERMEDIATE DIVISION we have awarded the PRIZE to AUGUSTUS H. SCALES (16), Brompton Cemetery, S. W. CERTIFICATES are gained by AMELIA L. CULVER (Ashford); SYDNEY C. GOODMAN (Taunton); JESSIE H. PENN (Gloucester); J. W. ASHTON (Wakefield); ANNIE CLAY (Bleakheath, Dudley); ANNA M. FREMANTLE (Portman-square, W.); C. WILLIAMS (Bethnal Green). We HONOURABLY MENTION J. W. VERRIER, HUGH COLEBROOK, HOWARD MOSELEY. In the JUNIOR DIVISION we have great pleasure in awarding the PRIZE to UNA MURIEL MAUD HAICH (10), The Walnut-tree House, Upper Walmer, near Deal. OUR YOUNG AUTHOR'S PAGE. THE THREE WISHES. WISH I were a man!" Is the youthful stripling's cry, "I wish I were a boy!" The old man bows his head, When earth was heaven, and every hour Or give me back my manhood's days; But Father Time he answers back, "Ye sons of men, when wil ye cease This foolish, weary strife? This strife with Time, this strife with Death; For men are mortal, men must die, Cease ye to mourn, ye sons of men ; The future in the distance looms, It cometh at the last. The present ye have with you now; A life pure to the end; And he must pass away; O cherish them till they be With their Creator fit to dwell, In the realms of eternity! Learn ye to live, learn ye to die; Fret not the time away; Waste not an hour: nor cease to work; Make use of each passing day!" J. E. A. (15). I. OUR PRIZE COMPETITIONS. WE offer a PRIZE OF BOOKS TO THE VALUE OF HALF A GUINEA to Competitors under Twenty-one; a SECOND PRIZE TO THE VALUE OF SEVEN SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE to those under Seventeen; and a THIRD PRIZE TO THE VALUE OF FIVE SHILLINGS to those under Fourteen, for the best LIST OF SUBJECTS SUITABLE FOR OUR PRIZE COMPETITIONS. Preference will be given to those having the most originality, and which, at the same time, are thoroughly suitable for the purpose. We offer BOOKS TO THE VALUE OF HALF A GUINEA to Competititors under Twenty-two; a SECOND PRIZE TO THE VALUE OF What well-known play of a celebrated dramatist does this SEVEN SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE to those under Seventeen; and represent? a THIRD PRIZE TO THE VALUE OF FIVE SHILLINGS to those under Fourteen, for the best paper on |