new emperor.

nificent bed: all the court thought he was dead already, and each one had hastened out to salute the But the emperor was not yet dead: stiff and pale, there he lay in the magnificent bed with the long velvet curtains and the heavy golden tassels; high above, a window was open, and the moon shone down on the emperor and on the artificial bird.

The poor emperor could hardly breathe: he felt as if something was pressing on his chest; he opened his eyes, and saw it was Death who sat on his breast. Death had put on his golden crown, and, in one hand held the golden sabre; in the other, the splendid banner of the emperor; and around, from the folds of the great velvet curtains, peeped out the strangest faces; some quite ugly, and others so pleasing, so mild. They were the good and evil deeds of the emperor, which stared him in the face now that Death was sitting at his heart.

"Music! Music!" screamed the emperor. "Oh, dear little artificial bird, sing-oh, sing! I have given thee gold and precious things; I have even given thee my golden slipper to hang around thy neck; sing then-oh, sing!"

But the bird was silent; for no one was there to wind it up-and without that he could not sing; and Death still sat gazing at the emperor.

Suddenly was heard, very near the window, the

tones of the sweetest song: it was the little live Nightingale, that was sitting on a bough without. She had heard of the severe illness of her emperor, and was now come to sing to him, and bring him hope and consolation.

And now, as she sang, the forms became fainter and fainter, the blood flowed quicker and quicker through the emperor's weak limbs, and even Death listened and said, "Go on, little Nightingale, go on!"

"And wilt thou give me the magnificent golden sabre? Wilt thou give me the splendid banner, and the emperor's crown?" said the Nightingale.

And Death gave all these emblems of royalty for a single song and the Nightingale sang on. She sang of the peaceful churchyard, where the white roses bloom, where the lilac sends forth its fragrance, and the fresh grass is bedewed by the tears of sorrowing friends. Thereupon Death felt a longing after his garden, and, like a cold white shadow, floated slowly out of the window.

"Thanks, thanks!" said the emperor, "thou heavenly little bird, I know thee well! I banished thee my dominions, and yet hast thou, by thy song,. dispelled the evil faces from my bed, and Death from my heart. How shall I reward thee?"

"Thou hast already rewarded me," said the Nightingale. "I saw tears in thy eyes when I sang to thee for the first time; that I shall never forget."

And she sang, and the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and oh, how calm, how restorative was that sleep!

The sun shone in at the window when he awoke, strengthened and restored to health.

And then the Nightingale flew away.

The attendants came in to look after their dead emperor and the emperor said, "Good morning!"

NOTES FOR STUDY.

PORCELAIN, a costly kind of FRAG'ILE, frail, easily broken. LACK EYS, male servants.

pottery.

COR'RI DORS, wide galleries or pass- PAR CEL, a package, a small age-ways in a building.

TAT TOO', a continuous beating.
COURTIER, a flatterer, a member
of a royal or court circle.

CHAP LAIN,
a clergyman with
special duties as at court, on a
vessel, or in the army.

bundle.

MECH'A NISM, the machinery in

any object by which it is moved. AR TI FI'CIAL, not natural. CON SO LA'TION, the act of comforting.

SA LOON', a large hall.

CIX. A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

What was he doing, the great god Pan
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,

Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,

And breaking the golden lilies afloat

With the dragon-fly on the river?

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep, cool bed of the river;
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,

Ere he brought it out of the river.

High on the shore sat the great god Pan,
While turbidly flowed the river,

And hacked and hewed as a great god can
With his hard, bleak steel, at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of a leaf, indeed,
To prove it fresh from the river.

He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river!)

Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,

Then notched the poor, dry, empty thing
In holes, as he sate by the river.

"This is the way," laughed the great god Pan,— Laughed while he sate by the river!—

"The only way since gods began

To make sweet music, they could succeed." Then dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, He blew in power by the river.

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan,

Piercing sweet by the river!