the warrior dropped his uplifted sword. "Mother!" he
exclaimed. He fell on his knees before her.

"Yea, thy mother," answered the enchantress; "who, when her warrior
husband fell, fled to the desert, to the cave, and to the forest, for
protection--even for protection from the love and from the wrath of
Ethelfrith the fierce, the brother of thy warrior father, whose eyes
were as the eagle's, and his arm great of strength. Uncouth is the
habit, wild is the figure, and idle the art of thy mother. Broken is her
wand which the vulgar feared. That mine eyes might behold my son, this
cave became my abode. Superstition walled it round with fire."

"And Agitha?" gasped the warrior.

"Behold!" answered she, "the loathly worm at the feet of thy mother."

The skins of fish of the deep sea were sewed together with cords--they
were fashioned into the form of a great serpent.

"Come forth, my daughter!" cried the enchantress. Agitha sprang from her
disguise of skins. She sank on the breast of her hero.

The people beheld her from afar. Their shout of joy rang across the
sea. It was echoed among the hills. A scream rose from the tower of
Ida. From the highest turret Bethoc the queen had sprung. In pieces
was her body scattered at the foot of the great cliff. They were gathered
together--they were buried in the cave of Elgiva. From her grave crawled
an unclean beast, and it crawleth around it for ever.

Ethelfrith died in battle. Woden shut his eyes and saw him not, and he
fell. And Elgiva, the enchantress, the worker of wonders, was hailed as
Rowena, the mother of Wynde, the subduer of princes; yea, even of Chylde
Wynde, the beloved, and the lord of Agitha the Beautiful.

Such was the tale of the Saxon bard.

THE SABBATH WRECKS.

A LEGEND OF DUNBAR.

It was a beautiful Sabbath morning in the autumn of 1577: a few small
clouds, tinged with red, sailed slowly through the blue heavens; the sun
shone brightly, as if conscious of the glory and goodness of its Maker,
diffusing around a holy stillness and tranquillity, characteristic of
the day of rest; the majestic Frith flashed back the sunbeams, while, on
its bosom, slowly glided the winged granaries of commerce; there, too,
lay its islands, glorying in their strength--the May, shrouded in light,
appeared as a leviathan sunning in its rays--and the giant Bass, covered
with sea-fowl, rose as a proud mountain of alabaster in the midst of the
waters. A thousand boats lay