It was not Bob,
however, for the corpse was much too short and small for him.

I drew nearer. "Johnny!" I exclaimed "That's Johnny!"

"It _was_," answered Anthony. "Thank Heaven, there's an end of him!"

I shuddered. "But where is Bob?"

"Bob?" cried Anthony. "Bob!"

He glanced towards the grave. The mound of earth seemed to me larger and
higher than when I had last seen it. Doubtless the murderer lay beside
his victim.

"Shall we not render the last service to this wretch, Anthony?" asked I.

"The scoundrel!" answered the huntsman. "I won't dirty my hands with
him. Let him poison the kites and the crows!"

We rode on.

DEATH FROM THE STING OF A SERPENT.

As when a monstrous snake, with flaming crest,
Some wretch within its glittering folds has press'd--
He vainly struggles to escape its fangs,
The reptile triumphs, and the victim hangs
His head in agony, and bending low,
Feels the cursed venom through his life-blood flow.
On through his veins the burning poison speeds,
Drinks up his spirit--on his vitals feeds,
Till, tortured life extinct, the senseless clay
In hideous dissolution melts away.

M. J.

GIFTS OF TEREK.

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN OF LERMONTOFF. BY T. B. SHAW.

Terek[21] bellows, wildly sweeping
Past the cliffs, so swift and strong;
Like a tempest is his weeping,
Flies his spray like tears along.
O'er the steppe now slowly veering--
Calm but faithless looketh he--
With a voice of love endearing
Murmurs to the Caspian sea:

"Give me way, old sea! I greet thee;
Give me refuge in thy breast;
Far and fast I've rush'd to meet thee--
It is tine for me to rest.
Cradled in Kazbek, and cherish'd
From the bosom of the cloud,
Strong am I, and all have perish'd
Who would stop my current proud.
For thy sons' delight, O Ocean!
I've crush'd the crags of Darial,
Onward my resistless motion,
Like a flock, hath swept them all."

Still on his smooth shore reclining,
Lay the Caspian as in sleep;
While the Terek, softly shining,
To the old sea murmur'd deep:--

"Lo! a gift upon my water--
Lo! no common offering--
Floating from the field of slaughter,
A Kabardinetz[22] I bring.
All in shining mail he's shrouded--
Plates of steel his arms enfold;
Blood the Koran verse hath clouded,
That thereon is writ in gold:
His pale brow is sternly bended--
Gory stains his wreathed lip dye--
Valiant blood, and far-descended--
'Tis the hue o