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At the day appointed, the parties met in an open space, with hundreds present to witness the scene. The Eagle, all unarmed, was first seated on the ground, and by his side a large knife was laid down, with which he was to be slain if the ransom were not accepted. By his side sat his wife, her hand clasped in his, while the eyes even of old men were dim with tears. Over against them, and so near that the fatal knife could be easily seized, stood the family of the slain Wolf, the father at the head, by whom the question of life or death was to be settled. He seemed deeply moved, and sad rather than revengeful.

A red blanket was now produced, and spread upon the ground. It signified that blood had been shed which was not yet washed away,

the crimson stain remaining. Next a blanket all of blue was laid over the red one. It expressed the hope that the blood might be washed out in heaven, and remembered no more. Last, a blanket purely white was spread over all, significant of a desire that nowhere on earth or in heaven a stain of the blood should remain, and that every where, and by all, it should be forgiven and forgotten.

These blankets, thus spread out, were to receive the ransom. The friends of the Eagle brought goods of various kinds, and piled them high before the father of the slain. He looked at them a moment in silence, and then his glance wandered to the fatal knife. The wife of the Eagle threw her arms around her husband's neck, and turned her eyes, imploringly, full upon the old man's face, without a word. He had stretched his hand towards the knife when he met that look. He paused ; his fingers moved convulsively, but they did not grasp the handle. His lips quivered, and a tear moistened his eye. ther," said the brother, “he spared my life.” The old man turned away. “I accept the ransom,” he said ; " the blood of my son is washed away. I see no stain now on the hand of the Eagle, and he shall be in the place of my son.”

The feud was completely healed. All were at last convinced that the Eagle was not a murderer ; the ransom itself

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was presented to his wife as a gift, and he and the avenger of blood lived afterwards as friends and brothers.

XLII. THE CATARACT OF LODORE.

SOUTHEY.

[The cataract of Lodore is near the lake of Derwentwater, in the county of Cumberland, England.]

-- How does the water
Come down at Lodore ?"
My little boy asked me
Thus once on a time;
And moreover he asked me
To tell him in rhyme.
Anon, at the word,
There first came one daughter,
And then came another,
To second and third
The request of their brother,
And to hear how the water
Comes down at Lodore,
With its rush and its roar,
As many a time
They had seen it before.
So I told them in rhyme,
For of rhymes I had store ;
And 'twas in my vocation,
For their recreation,
That so I should sing;
Because I was laureate *

* This piece was written in 1820, at which time Southey was poet laureate. This is an office, with a small salary attached to it, bestowed by the kings or queens of England upon some one of their subjects who has given proof of poetical power. The poet laureate was formerly expected to write odes and poems on the king's birthday, and other public occasions ; but such services

*

To them and the king.
From its sources which well
In the tarn on the fell,
From its fountains
In the mountains,
Through moss and through brake,
It runs and it

creeps
For a while till it sleeps
In its own little lake.
And thence at departing,
Awakening and starting,
It runs through the reeds,
And away it proceeds,
Through meadow and glade,
In sun and in shade,
And through the wood shelter,
Among crags in its flurry,
Helter skelter,
Hurry skurry.
Here it comes sparkling,
And there it lies darkling;
Now smoking and frothing
Its tumult and wrath in,
Till in this rapid race
On which it is bent,
It reaches the place
Of its steep descent.

The cataract strong
Then plunges along,
Striking and raging
As if a war waging
Its caverns and rocks among;

are not now required, and the office is merely a compliment to literary merit. Tennyson is now (1857) poet laureate. * Tarn, a mountain lake.

+ Fell, a barren hill.

Rising and leaping,
Sinking and creeping,
Swelling and sweeping,
Showering and springing,
Flying and flinging,
Writhing and ringing,
Eddying and whisking,
Spouting and frisking,
Turning and twisting,
Around and around,
With endless rebound;
Smiting and fighting,
A sight to delight in;

Confounding, astounding,
Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound;

Collecting, projecting,
Receding and speeding,
And shocking and rocking,
And darting and parting,
And threading and spreading,
And whizzing and hissing,
And dripping and skipping,
And hitting and splitting,
And shining and twining,
And rattling and battling,
And shaking and quaking,
And pouring and roaring,
And waving and raving,
And tossing and crossing,
And flowing and going,
And running and stunning,
And foaming and roaming,
And dinning and spinning,
And dropping and hopping,
And working and jerking,
And gurgling and struggling,

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And heaving and cleaving,
And moaning and groaning,
And glittering and frittering,
And gathering and feathering,
And whitening and brightening,
And quivering and shivering,
And hurrying and skurrying,
And thundering and floundering,
Dividing and gliding and sliding,
And falling and brawling and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,
And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,
And sounding and bounding and rounding,
And bubbling and troubling and doubling,
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,
And clattering and battering and shattering,
Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting,
Delaying and straying and playing and spraying,
Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,
Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling,
And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing,
And flapping and wrapping and clapping and slapping,
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling,
And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping,
And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing ;
And so never ending, but always descending,
Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending,
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar,
And this

way the water comes down at Lodore.

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