e watery expanse in their little boats. As she
passes them she can hear their teeth chatter. At the Valley of Blood
she espies other unfortunates. Their hearts are sunken in them and all
memory has left them.

After this terrible ride the Baron and Tina reach the castle of
Jauioz. The old man seats himself near the fire. He is black and
ill-favoured as a carrion crow. His beard and his hair are white, and
his eyes are like firebrands.

"Come hither to me, my child," says he, "come with me from chamber to
chamber that I may show you my treasures."

"Ah, seigneur," she replies, the tears falling fast, "I had rather be
at home with my mother counting the chips which fall from the fire."

"Let us descend, then, to the cellar, where I will show you the rich
wines in the great bins."

"Ah, sir, I would rather quaff the water of the fields that my
father's horses drink."

"Come with me, then, to the shops, and I will buy you a sumptuous
gown."

"Better that I were wearing the working dress that my mother made
me."

The seigneur turns from her in anger. She lingers at the window and
watches the birds, begging them to take a message from her to her
friends.

At night a gentle voice whispers: "My father, my mother, for the love
of God, pray for me!" Then all is silence.

In this striking ballad we find strong traces of the Breton love of
country and other national traits. The death-bird alluded to is a grey
bird which sings during the winter in the Landes country in a voice
soft and sad. It is probably a bird of the osprey species. It is
thought that the girl who hears it sing is doomed to misfortune. The
strange and ghostly journey of the unhappy Tina recalls the _mise en
scene_ of such ballads as _The Bride of Satan_, and it would seem that
she passes through the Celtic Tartarus. It is plain that the Seigneur
of Jauioz by his purchase of their countrywoman became so unpopular
among the freedom-loving Bretons that at length they magnified him
into a species of demon--a traditionary fate which he thoroughly
deserved, if the heartrending tale concerning his victim has any
foundation in fact.

_The Man of Honour_

The tale of the man who is helped by the grateful dead is by no means
confined to Brittany. Indeed, in folk-tale the dead are often jealous
of the living and act toward them with fiendish malice. But in the
following we have a story in which a dead man shows his gratitude to
the living for receiving th