and genius. An old wood-cutter on a fallen tree at
eventide,--that was all his theme. But there was greatness for the
future in it. I would fain find him, and take him with me and teach him
Art."

And a little child with curling fair hair, sobbing bitterly as she clung
to her father's arm, cried aloud, "O Nello, come! We have all ready for
thee. The Christ-child's hands are full of gifts, and the old piper will
play for us; and the mother says thou shalt stay by the hearth and burn
nuts with us all the Noel week long,--yes, even to the Feast of the
Kings! And Patrasche will be so happy! O Nello, wake and come!"

But the young pale face, turned upward to the light of the great Rubens
with a smile upon its mouth, answered them all, "It is too late."

For the sweet, sonorous bells went ringing through the frost, and the
sunlight shone upon the plains of snow, and the populace trooped gay and
glad through the streets, but Nello and Patrasche no more asked charity
at their hands. All they needed now Antwerp gave unbidden.

Death had been more pitiful to them than longer life would have been. It
had taken the one in the loyalty of love, and the other in the innocence
of faith, from a world which for love has no recompense and for faith no
fulfilment.

All their lives they had been together, and in their deaths they were
not divided; for when they were found the arms of the boy were folded
too closely around the dog to be severed without violence, and the
people of their little village, contrite and ashamed, implored a special
grace for them, and, making them one grave, laid them to rest there side
by side--forever!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER.

BY JOHN RUSKIN.

I.

In a secluded and mountainous part of Styria, there was, in old time, a
valley of the most surprising and luxuriant fertility. It was surrounded,
on all sides, by steep and rocky mountains, rising into peaks, which
were always covered with snow, and from which a number of torrents
descended in constant cataracts. One of these fell westward, over the
face of a crag so high that, when the sun had set to everything else,
and all below was darkness, his beams still shone full upon this
waterfall, so that it looked like a shower of gold. It was, therefore,
called by the people of the neighborhood the Golden River. It was
strange that none of these streams fell into the valley itself. Th