Fierce, hot, and swift as running flame,
Around the dark red trampled ring,
With poising lance and shaking sword
He spurred and churned the tilt-yard dust;
His sword was of the spotless steel,
His battle-axe was one of trust.

When the harsh trumpets blew together
The knights met, rough as northern seas,
With angry shouts, war-cries, and clamour,
As of the blast that fells great trees.
Swift through them, like a thunderbolt
From storm-clouds riven, broke the knight;
Unharmed he rode, the stern crowned victor
Of that jostling, clashing fight.

Five spears had broken on his breast,
Yet he was heart-whole. Cold he laughed
When axes snapped upon his helm,
And maces shivered at the haft.
He bore him on and waved his spear,
Then made his charger leap and prance,
Or caracole, with spring and bound,
As he dashed onward with his lance.

The prize was his, he donned the crown,
But never spoke nor kissed his hand,
Nor deigned a look to where there lay
Four knights loud groaning on the sand,
And when the people gave a cheer,
He flung them glittering showers of gold.
Then, without homage, word, or smile,
Rode sternly forth across the wold.

The proud king sent to call him back,
But he rode on and never turned
Until they touched his silver robe:
Then his fierce eyes upon them turned.
He drew his falchion whistling forth,
And slew the first: " On him the blood!"
He cried, and stately rode away,
Through a dark vista of the wood.

"Out on the knave!" the monarch stormed,
And leapt upon his snowy barb.
"Who am I, slaves, and who is this
That dares to spit upon my garb?"
Crowned as he was, he led the chase,
And all his train rode humble then;
They overtook the stranger knight
Beside a brook deep in the glen.

Wrathful he proved, and slew the king,
And from his temples tore the crown;
Then rode amongst the trembling train,
Smiting the bravest of them down.
Yet, when they struck, they struck the air,
The knight was gone, nor left a sign;
But from the rocks this echo came,
"I AM THE SPIRIT OF THE MlNE!"

ON BRIBES.

THE subjoined communication has been
forwarded to us by an indignant gentleman.
We publish it though wholly disagreeing with
his views. Indeed, we can hardly conceive of
anything less calculated to serve the cause
which our correspondent advocates, than the
publication of his sentiments.

TO THE EDITOR OF ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

SIR,— I calculate confidently on your
generosity of spirit and love of justice to give
insertion to some remarks which I am about to make,
although those remarks are contrary in tone to
a certain article which appeared a week or two
since in your ably-conducted periodical.

The article to which I allude was entitled
"Don't," and the object aimed at by its author
was the abolition of one of the most elegant, one
of the most graceful, generous, and I may say
soothing, institutions which adorn civilisation.
In that article a blow was aimed at the whole
system of gratuities. Sir, I have no hesitation
in saying— and I am prepared to abide the
consequences of my assertion— that the author of
that article was a stingy and close-fisted person,
that he was smarting under the thought of the
near approach of Christmas-time, and
desperately anxious to get out of the liabilities which
he feels himself to be legitimately involved in,
and which fall due on Boxing-day. Sir, I pity
that gentleman's servants, I pity his " constant
dustman," his " loyal scavengers." I pity the
waits who serenade him, I pity his cabman, and
I pity his young friends from school who visit
him about Christmas-time, and who leave him
empty and un-tipped.

Gratuities are the legitimate and rightful
perquisite of a large class of meritorious and under-
paid individuals. Do away with gratuities, why
you might as well do away with those graceful
and becoming little presents which generous and
high-souled men make to those from whom they
expect a service. A pretty thing that would
be, and a nice barren wilderness this world
would be without that system of what shall
I call it?— anticipative remuneration, which at
present, thank goodness, obtains so largely.

I have said that gratuities are soothing
(Sancho Panza says that presents break rocks),
and I will add that anticipative remuneration is
soothing also. How beautiful is the compactness
with which the mutual services rendered
to each other by the anticipative remunerator
and the anticipative remuneratee, fit and dovetail
into each other. Let us take one or two
purely supposititious cases of anticipative
remuneration, and examine them for a moment.

Suppose the case. I take the wildest
instances on purpose, and have nothing to do
with facts. Suppose the case of a government in
want of votes for the carrying of a certain
measure— the removal of the statues from Trafalgar-
square, or what not— suppose that about the
time that this measure is under discussion a
ministerial lady has issued her invitations for a
mighty dance. Suppose that the great Savourneen
Deelish, M.P., is up in town in company with
Mrs. Deelish and the six tall and raw-boned Miss
Deelishes. Can anything be more natural than
that the young ladies should desire to add their
light fantastic toes to the number of those already
engaged to sport in the presence of nobility?
Can anything, in short, be more praiseworthy
than that these young ladies should pine to be
present at the ministerial ball? They do pine
for that honour. They plague their unfortunate
papa out of his life on the subject, and in
lobbies, in clubs, and where not, Savourneen
Deelish consults all his friends and brother
members as to how the desired cards of invitation