to his brothers, "I have them! Draw me
up!"

Already the first upward pull was given to
the cord, when Pierre felt himself attacked
by two enormous eagles, whose furious cries
proved them to be the parents of the nestlings.

"Courage, brother! defend thyself! don't
fear!"

Pierre pressed the nest to his bosom, and
with his right hand made the sabre play
around his head.

Then began a terrible combat. The eagles
shrieked, the little ones cried shrilly, the
mountaineer shouted and brandished his
sword. He slashed the birds with its blade,
which flashed like lightning, and only rendered
them still more enraged. He struck the rock,
and sent forth a shower of sparks.

Suddenly he felt a jerk given to the cord
that sustained him. Looking up he perceived
that, in his evolutions, he had cut it with
his sabre, and that half the strands were
severed!

Pierre's eyes, dilated widely, remained for
a moment immovable, and then closed with
terror. A cold shudder passed through his
veins, and he thought of letting go both the
nest and the sabre.

At that moment one of the eagles pounced
on his head, and tried to tear his face. The
Savoyard made a last effort, and defended
himself bravely. He thought of his old
father, and took courage.

Upwards, still upwards, mounted the cord:
friendly voices eagerly uttered words of
encouragement and triumph; but Pierre could
not reply to them. When he reached the
brink of the precipice, still clasping fast the
nest, his hair, which an hour before had been
as black as a raven's wing, was become so
completely white, that Guillaume and Jehan
could scarcely recognise him.

What did that signify? the eaglets were of
the rarest and most valuable species. That
same afternoon they were earned to the
village and sold. Old Bernard had the
medicine, and every needful comfort beside, and the
doctor in a few days pronounced him
convalescent.

THE HARMONIOUS BLACKSMITH.

I LEAVE Carlisle early this fine morning,
in no way matrimonially inclined. I set out
to explore the recesses of Gretna Green with
perfect confidence. This confidence is the
result of two facts. The first, that I am a
married man; the second, that bigamy is
impossible, since I have no lady with me.
Through dark boglands, and past prim fir-
plantations, the train whisks me to the station,
the name of which an unpoetical station-
porter shouts into railway carriages, without
a thought of the flutter into which it throws a
young lady deeply veiled, who is sitting in the
first-class compartment nearest the engine. I, a
married man with a houseful of children, hear
the word "Gretna" with no kind of emotion;
but two fellow-passengers are ready to bless the
only official who announces the arrival of the
train at the charmed spot. Yet I do feel a kind
of nervous interest in the place. I think of the
scenes which have been acted here; of the
fathers who have stamped furiously upon this
classic ground; of the trembling girls who have
hurried hence across the Border, and to the
famous Hall, to dream of unclouded happiness
shining every step of the way from that spot
to their distant grave. I think of the cunning
lovers who used to engage all the post-horses
of Carlisle, so that their pursuers might not
reach them before the marriage ceremony was
over; of the impudent impositions of the
Carlisle postboys; of the determined lover
who shot the horses of his pursuer from the
carriage window; and of other memorable
matters with which Gretna is associated in
the minds of most of us. If there be a touch
of poetry in my present reflections, that touch
is speedily effaced by the spirit of competition
that arises before me. A couple, evidently
bent upon matrimony, though they are
making painful efforts to appear at their ease,
and to regard the place with a placid indifference,
are addressed eagerly by one or two
men of common appearance. Are these
individuals making offers for the conveyance of
the couple's luggage? The station-man looks
on at the warm conference, with a sardonic
grin; and, with a quick twitch of the head,
draws the attention of the guard to the
interesting group. The tram goes forward, and
the conference breaks up. One of the men
conducts the lady and gentleman to a little
red-brick hotel close by; and the others
retire discontentedly. I inquire about this
rivalry, and am informed that it is a clerical
contest. And here I am made party to a
curious local secret. This little red-brick
hotel is the property of Mr. Murray.
Mr. Murray also inhabits the famous toll-
bar which is on the Scotch bank of the
little stream that marks the borders of the
country. Thus this sagacious toll-keeper
pounces upon the couples at the station;
removes them to his "Gretna Hotel," and then
drives them down a narrow lane, and over the
bridge to the toll-bar, where he marries them.
In this way it appears Murray has contrived
to monopolise five-sixths of the trade
matrimonial. It should be observed, however, by
persons about to marry, that there is a Gretna
station, and a Gretna Green station; and
that the latter is the point which deposits
happy couples opposite Gretna Hall.
However, as I am altogether ignorant of the
superior convenience of the "Green" station,
I may be pardoned the mistake, which makes
a walk, in a dense shower of rain, through
slippery lanes, a necessity. I advance briskly,
however; pass the famous toll-bar, near
which a bluff Scotch ploughboy is yoking
horses to a waggon, and presently approach
the Green. It is a pretty place enough, but