of the laws of etiquette. First, he
asked leave of the father to woo the daughter;
whereupon the father, recollecting that
he had a great strapping expensive girl on
his hands, and could not find a suitor with a
green beard every day, readily gave his
consent: then he addressed the lady herself,
who, finding her own ideas of human beauty
actually realised before her eyes, could not
do otherwise than accept the offer of his
hand.

Glowing with all the delight of a fortunate
suitor, the captain took his departure, having
told the young lady which road she must
pursue, in order to reach his farmhouse on
the other side of the forest. From this fact,
we conclude that weddings were by no
means costly in ancient Lithuania, and that
he who went to see a nuptial procession
must have been grievously disappointed.
The gentleman proposed, and, if found suitable,
was accepted by the lady and friends.
He then went home, and the lady went after
him, alone, at her own convenience. Here
was a saving in bridesmaids and white
favours!

The merchant's daughter, now a bride,
packed up her trousseau,— that is to say,
caused a large cake to be baked,— and thus
handsomely provided, set off for the
residence of her future lord. There was a bridge
to be crossed, and then there was a road on
the left hand to be taken, which would
infallibly lead to the abode of domestic bliss. At
least so she had been told by the green-bearded
Adonis, whose instructions, as far as
the bridge was concerned, proved to be
thoroughly correct. But, as for the road
to the left, the only thing that could be
called a road at all was a pathway, that led
straight forward into the midst of a thick
forest, and grew more and more narrow at
every yard— nay, became so inconveniently
narrow, that the bride was obliged to get off
the horse on which she rode, and to proceed,
with her cake under her arm, on foot.

Unpromising as it looked, the pathway, at
any rate, brought the lonely fair one to a
cottage, which was not a whit more attractive
in her eyes, from the fact that a lion was
chained on each side of the door. However,
as the beasts offered no opposition, she crossed
the threshold with as much boldness as she
could command, and entered a room fitted
up like an armoury, with a large stock of
muskets. Expending but a short time in the
contemplation of these interesting objects,
she entered another room, from a rafter in
which a cage containing a small bird was
suspended.

No sooner did the bird behold the lovely
stranger, than it seemed bursting with
information.

"Know, most ill-fated of mortals," it
twittered forth, "that you are in a robber's den,
and what is worse, escape at the present
moment is impossible, for the lions, though
they did not object to your entrance, would
tear you to pieces if you tried to get out."

"Then," said the poor girl, overpowered
by the weight of this unpleasant intelligence,
"what am I to do? How, oh feathered
orator, am I to apply all the useful
knowledge which you so liberally diffuse?"

"Knowledge," said the bird, gravely, using
a phrase since immortalised by Lord Bacon,
"knowledge is power."

"That proposition may be generally
correct," answered the young lady, with
corresponding dignity, "but my case seems to be
exceptional."

"Listen," said the bird, in a patronising
"Yonder bed must be your hiding
When the robbers return, they will
get drunk——"

"Inebriated," suggested the young lady.

"And will then go to sleep," continued the
bird, not noticing the interruption. "You,
if you are wise, will seize your opportunity,
and issuing from the door, will throw a piece
of your cake to each of the lions."

"And what am I to do then?" asked the
intelligent maiden.

"Take to your heels as fast as you can, of
course," answered the bird, with something
of contempt in its tone. "I think your own
sense might have told you that."

Piqued by the slur thus indirectly cast
upon her understanding, the young lady
sharply asked: "Why may not I give the
cake to the lions at once, and run away now,
instead of waiting for the return of the
abominable robbers?"

"Because," replied the bird, drily, "you
will be sure to meet them on the pathway.
Your own experince must have already
informed you whether that is exactly the
sort of road on which an unprotected female
would like to meet four-and-twenty robbers."

The convinced damsel crept, shuddering,
under the bed indicated by the sagacious
bird, and had not been long in her hiding-place
when the robbers returned, bringing
with them a female captive. Their first act
was to sit down, and consume a very
substantial supper; their next act——

[Here our Lithuanian tale grows so very
horrible that we advise readers of delicate
nerves to skip all that follows, and be
satisfied with the brief statement, that the
concealed lady did effect her escape from the
robber's den. For the sake of strong-nerved
students alone, we proceed circumstantially,
thus:]

Their next act was to mince the female
captive into ridiculously small pieces, the
first operation being a detachment of her
little finger.

"Oh!" gasped the merchant's daughter,
paralysed with horror.

"What's that?" said the Captain.

"Nothing," said the bird, winking at his
protégée; and the robbers continued their
hideous work.