tions when he
went to the hill for a supply of fuel; but from that day Liege grew up
in industry, riches, and power. Jacques had found coal, and thus became
the benefactor of his native country, and the hero of this favourite
Legend of the Liegeois.

The Sword-slipper of Solingen

In Solingen, where the forges rang to the making of sword-blades, many
smiths had essayed to imitate the falchions of Damascus, their trenchant
keenness and their wondrous golden inlaying. But numerous as were the
attempts made to recapture the ancient secret of the East, they all
signally failed, and brought about the ruin of many masters of the
sword-slipper's art.

Among these was old Ruthard, a smith grown grey in the practice of his
trade. He had laid aside sufficient savings to permit himself a year's
experiment in the manufacture of Damascus blades, but to no purpose. As
the months wore on he saw his hard-earned gold melting steadily away.
The wrinkles deepened on his brow, and his only daughter, Martha,
watched the change coming over him in sorrowful silence.

One evening--the evening of all evenings, the holy Christmas eve--Martha
entered the forge and saw the old man still hard at work. She gently
remonstrated with him, asking him why he toiled on such an occasion.

"You work, my father, as if you feared that to-morrow we might not
have bread," she said. "Why toil on this holy evening? Have you not
sufficient for the future? You must have laid by enough for your old
age. Then why fatigue yourself when others are spending the time by
their own hearths in cheerful converse?"

The old smith's only reply was to shake his head in a melancholy manner,
take some pieces of broken food in his hands, and leave the house. At
that moment Wilhelm, the smith's head apprentice, entered the room.
He seemed pale and disturbed, and related to Martha, to whom he was
betrothed, that he had asked Ruthard for her hand. The old man had
firmly told him that he could not consent to their union until he
had discovered the secret of making Damascus blades. This he felt was
hopeless to expect, and he had come to say "good-bye" ere he set out on
a quest from which he might never return. At the news Martha was greatly
perturbed. She rose and clung to the young man, her wild grief venting
itself in heartrending sobs. She begged him not to depart. But his mind
was fully made up, and, notwithstanding her tears and caresses, he tore
himself away and quitted th