the Rain-Plucking the Indian Corn at the Auberge at Laruns-The

as dismal as a London firmament in the dreariest day of November. Still, M. Martin was sanguine that it would clear up after breakfast. Such weather was absurd-nonsensical; he presumed it was

ne, "has lost the sea

er of St. John to come

rain at least a

sally, at all events-a bold push. Let the weather do what it pleased, we would do what we pleased, and never mind the weather. So old grey was harnessed in the stable; we blockaded ourselves with wraps, and started bravely forth, a forlorn hope against the elements. We took the way to Eaux Chaudes; and the further we went, the heavier fell the rain-cats and dogs became a mild expression for the deluge. The mist got lower and lower; the sleet got colder and colder; old grey snorted and steamed; we gathered ourselves up under the multitudinous wrappers; the rain was oozing through them-it was trickling down our necks-suddenly making itself felt in small rills in unexpected and aggravating places, which made sitting unpleasant-collecting in handsome lakes at our feet, and pervading with one vast, clammy, chilly, freezing dampness body and soul. The whole of creation seemed resolved into a chaos of fog, mire, and rain. We had passed into what would be called in a pantomime "the Rainy Realms, or the Dreary Domains of Desolation;" and what comfort was it-soaked, sodden, shivering, teeth chattering-to hear Martin proclaim, about once in fi

so pretty yester-evening in a gleam of sunshine, spouted away, bringing "coals to Newcastle," with an insane perseverance which it made me sad to contemplate. Dinner was ordered as soon as it could be got ready; we felt it was the last resource. I fortunately had a chan

in; "I am just going to see whe

But poor Martin's weather predictions had ceased to command any credit; and the peasants around the fire shrugged their shoulders and laughed. The dinner pass

-people. Presently, sure enough, a vast pile of maize in the husk was brought up, and heaped upon the floor; and as the dusk gathered, massive iron candlesticks with tapers which were rather rushlights than otherwise, were set in due order around the grain. Then in laughing parties, drenched but merry, the neighbours poured in-men, women, and children-and vast was the clatter of tong

s or towns hereabouts," whispered Martin; "he knows them all-

g and peeling-and moistening their labours by draughts of the valley vine-I p

w you always give us one of your tales to ease our work, and s

hat to M. Martin I am indebted for the outlines of the tale, which

ssed-holding in her hand the hand of their daughter Adele, a

ins of the Dame of Clargues. There are mor

into animals, if she will. Oh, she practices cunning magic; and she is also a wehr-wolf; and once, when Leopold of Tarbes struck a wolf with an arb

huge wolf leaped out of a thicket, and passed under the very feet of the horses, which reared and plunged, and the riders, darting their spears in the confusion, only wounded each other and their beasts, while three or four of the best dogs were trampled on, and the wolf made off at a long gallop down the wood. But Sir Roger had never lost sight of her, and now followed close upon her haunches, standing up in his stirrups, and couching his lance. Never ran wolf so hard and well, and had not Sir Roger's horse been a Spanish barb, he had been left far behind. As it was, he had not

wolf-be thou a bear!" And even as she spoke, the knig

only hearken: thou shalt kill him who killest thee, and killing him, thou

hunt in the Dame of Clargues' domain, grew up, and being very fair, was wooed and wedded by a knight of Foix, who was called Sir Peter of Bearne. They had been married some months, and there was already a prospect of a

the forest, which, when he is hunted, the hunters hear a dolef

th hair of a grizzly grey-for he seemed very old, but his eyes shone bright, and there was something in his presence which cowed the dogs, for, instead of baying, they crouched and whined; and even the knights and squires held off, and looked dubiously at the beast, and called to Sir P

night prevailed, and the bear gave up the ghost. Then all the hunt rushed in, and made a litter, and with songs and acclamations carried the dead bear to the castle, the knight, still faint from the combat, following. They found the Lady Adele at the castle-gate; but as soon as she saw the bear, she gave a lamentable scream, and said, "Oh! what see I?" and fainted. When she was r

bed. Next morning he knew nothing of it; but the next night he rose again; and the next, and the next-and fought as before. Then they took away his weapons, but he ranged the castle through, till he found them, and then fought more furiously than ever, till, at length, he was accustomed to fall on his knees with weakness and fatigue. Before a month had passed, you would not have known Sir Peter: he seemed twenty years older; he could hardly drag one

Lady of Bearne, "did y

a-hunting and never returned, I saw him,

t see it

strange feeling-was true.

ose who stood round sang hymns and prayed aloud. At length the knight shrieked out with a fearful voice-the first time he had spoken in all his dreary sleep-f

of Clargues to the lady-passing at the

upon the floor, and she and the unborn babe died together, and