No less thick in head than savage in heart,
these atrocious ruffians, instead of removing
a valuable ring from the doomed little
finger, allowed finger and ring to roll together
under the bed, where they were instantly
pocketed by the concealed lady. The mincing
process being completed, and some unpleasant
observations having been made respecting
a pie that was to be prepared on the
following morning, the robbers lulled their
consciences,— if they had any,— with such
deep potations, that they were soon senseless.

"Now then!" cried the bird.

To start from under the bed, to rush from
the door, to toss a lump of cake to each of
the lions, was but the work of an instant on
the part of the merchant's daughter, who,
scampering along the pathway as fast as she
could, fortunately found her horse where she
had left him, and galloped home, looking as
white as a sheet. Nor was her haste at all
superfluous; for the cake did not last very
long in the lions' mouths, and the roar that
immediately followed its consumption brought
out all the robbers into the wood. What
they had lost they did not precisely know,
but they felt convinced that they had lost
something or somebody.

Some chance-wind or other had perhaps,
conveyed to the mind of the robber-captain
the story of the Forty Thieves. At all events
he shaved off the beard, which he had taken
such pains to dye; he loaded a great wagon
with barrels, in each of which he stowed four
of his men (which proves that Lithuanians
pack close) and, assuming the character
of a travelling dealer, he set off for the
merchant's residence, acutely guessing that
his bride had paid him a visit, and had made
discoveries so far from pleasant, that unless
he would forego her society altogether, he
must contrive some new device for her
recovery. The removal of the green beard
proved sufficient to prevent his recognition
by the merchant, and he was allowed to put
his barrels in the yard, while he himself
received an invitation to dinner. But the
robbers in the barrels would not hold their
tongues; a servant on the establishment,
who overheard them, informed his master of
their loquacity, and the merchant accordingly
engaged four sturdy fellows to manage
matters in the yard, and two still more sturdy
to sit at table by the disguised Captain.
The production of the amputated finger in
the course of the meal, proved to the
Captain that he was discovered, and this incident
was soon followed by a triumph of the sturdy
fellows over him and his men. They were
all put to death, of course; but the reader
will be far more anxious to know what
became of the animals, who are such important
personages in the tale. The bird becnme the
domestic pet of the young lady, and the lions
were kept as curiosities by the merchant.
The rest of the property in the robber's
house was sold for the benefit of the poor,
the house itself was burnt to ashes; and—
— there is one thing more— and the young
lady entirely abandoned her predilection for
green beards.

With pleasure we quit this grim, green-
bearded villain,— this plagiarist, conscious or
unconscious, of the captain of the Forty
Thieves,— this uncouth ruffian, who had
probably stored his mind with the Lithuanian
fable of the Cat and the Sparrow, which is
expressly directed against good manners, and
which we may as well recount here. A
sparrow was once caught by a cat, who was
about to devour him on the instant, but was
checked by the bird's remark that no gentleman
ever ate his breakfast without having
previously washed his mouth, and who, setting
his prisoner down, began to rub his lips with
his paw. Thereupon the sparrow flew away,
and the enraged cat vowed that he would
never again be a gentleman for the rest of his
days. All this by way of parenthesis. With
pleasure we quit the grim, green-bearded
villain, to seek the society of the pleasant,
kindly, murder-hating little thief, who is
immortalised in Lithuanian folk-lore, by the
name of the Sly Youth; and whose history
shows what an inestimable figure may be
made by a robber of gentle disposition.

There was once a rich merchant, an
inhabitant of the town, who had a wretchedly
poor brother, resident in the country. Strange
to say, the man of wealth, far from
forgetting his miserable kinsman, had the
horses put to his sledge one fine winter's day,
and paid a him fraternal visit. Education
was evidently more esteemed than bravery
of apparel among the Lithuanian peasantry,
for while, on the one hand, the poor man's
wife would not show herself on account of
the scantiness of her wardrobe, his sons were
likewise invisible because they were at school.
However, they soon came home, and highly
delighted they were when their kind uncle
gave them each a suit of new clothes that had
been made in the town; and still more
delighted, when he took them out for a ride in
his sledge. They were all smart, intelligent
youths, and took a world of interest in the
different objects that presented themselves on
the road. "There's a big ash-tree," shouted
the first; "what a nice table it would make!"
"Capital oaks for cart-wheels!" cried the
second. "A splendid thicket, that, for thieves
to hide in!" bellowed the third. "What,"
said the uncle, with a pleased smile, taking
out his pocket-book, "would you like to be a
joiner, my little man? and you, a wheel-wright,
my second little man? and you, a
thief, my third little man?" "Very much!"
"Amazingly!" and "Wouldn't I, rather!"
were the three answers to the three
questions. Of all three answers the good uncle
took note.

Now, the merchant was not merely a man
of words, but he really meant to do his duty