sang his morning hymn with a provoking vehemence whilst Smith was accosting him; the owl shook her head gravely and gave vent to a low hoot of determined refusal; while the gaudy jays flew away laughing and shrieking in a most impertinent manner, which left no hope of their compliance.

Thus baffled in his first attempt, Smith once more consulted the toads, and asked the oldest and wisest of them for his advice, which was promptly given. "The Foul Swine," said he, "is not the great magician which he pretends. His tusks are long and his years many, but there are those within and without the forest more powerful than he. Your task is certainly one of some difficulty. Nevertheless, there is an ancient proverb well known among us toads which will be of great use to you, and which we are bound never to repeat to mortal ear save under certain conditions. The first of these is, that the mortal to whom we may repeat it must have passed at least half his life with our own people, and have learned to speak the toad language like a native. As you have now passed considerably more than the prescribed period among us, and (except perhaps as regards spitting) are in all respects a regular toad, this first condition has evidently been fulfilled in your case. The second condition requires that the person to whom the proverb shall be imparted must have rendered service to the toad people by killing at least twenty of our natural enemies, the snakes. This service you have yet to perform. The third condition simply stipulates that the individual in question shall bind himself by the most solemn oath known to toads—namely, by the eyes of the two golden toads which sit day and night at the foot of the throne of the Emperor of China—that he will set himself strenuously to perform the task to which the proverb alludes. About this you will probably find no difficulty, and therefore it is really only with the second condition that you need trouble yourself at all."

Smith listened with great attention to the remarks made by his ancient friend, and lost no time in qualifying himself to be the recipient of the desired information by destroying the requisite number of snakes. That very evening his art as a snake-charmer was so successfully practised, that more than fifty of the creatures lay twisting and writhing in front of the toads' favourite trees, and were presently dispatched by vigorous blows from the stalwart arm of Smith.

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This feat having been performed, he requested the venerable toad to impart the proverb upon which so much might depend. The worthy old gentleman was nothing loath, and, having given an exulting croak over the bodies of his slain foemen, spat twice in the air for joy, and proceeded to administer the toad-oath, which pledged Smith to strive his utmost to perform some task as yet unknown. Great, however, was his delight at finding that this task was none other than the very one to which he had already determined to devote his life, namely, the destruction of the Great Boar. And thus ran the proverb:—

These words having been pronounced by the toad with due solemnity, he again went through the apparently unnecessary, not to say unpleasant, process of spitting twice, after which he quietly subsided, and crept under a large root, with a view to a long nap, which might last for a day, a year, or a century, as the humour took him.

Smith now set himself seriously to consider what should be done, and what was the exact meaning of the proverb. It was his earnest wish that the "detested reign" of the Boar should cease as soon as possible, but what the blending together of the blood of the slayer and the slain could possibly mean was an exceedingly hard puzzle, and one which he knew not how to unravel. As, however, he was bound to do his best to perform the task to the accomplishment of which he had pledged himself, he determined to sally forth from the forest and endeavour to seek the aid which the birds and beasts within it were unable to afford him. Accordingly, he marched back into society, which, if not precisely civilised, was somewhat different from that of the toads and other creatures who had for the best part of his life been his only companions. Had he lived some years later, there can be little doubt that his reappearance would have created considerable surprise, and his costume would have been in singular contrast with that of ordinary men. As, however, at that period of the island's history, men wore very little costume at all beyond that which nature had bestowed upon them, this was no difficulty in the way of our hero's return. Moreover, the education given him by the toads had been so vastly superior to that which he would have received at the hands of his fellow-men, that there was nothing strange, uncouth, or remarkable either in his speech or manners, which, in fact, contrasted favourably with those of the human beings whom he was likely to meet.

In those days the villages were small and the dwellings comparatively few and far between. The country upon the borders of the forest presented a barren and miserable appearance, mainly in consequence of the extreme poverty of its inhabitants, who were deterred from the agricultural pursuits which they would otherwise have followed by the constant ravages of the cruel Boar. It was, therefore, a rare thing to see many people in that part of the country, and Smith, had he known it, would have been surprised at the number he saw as he strode forward on his way. As, however, he had been so long in the forest as to have forgotten the usual habits of the peasantry outside, he was not astonished at all, and saw without wonder that people were hurrying along in the same direction as himself from every quarter. It struck him as rather strange that they should all be going the same way, and, being desirous ol knowing the reason why, he took the not unnatural course of asking a peasant woman whom he overtook. "Do you not know?" she replied. "Are you a stranger in the country, not to have heard that the great Druidess Bertha sacrifices to-day on Ascot Heath?"

"I knew it not," returned Smith, and followed up his answer by an inquiry as to who the great Druidess Bertha might be. The peasant woman appeared to be quite shocked at his ignorance, but, with the gossiping propensity which occasionally besets the weaker portion of her sex, began instantly to impart to him all she knew and a good deal more.

Bertha, it seemed, was a person whose origin was shrouded in mystery. She had been educated by the Druids, and brought up as a female priestess of that reverend society. Although still young, she was supposed to have attained to great sanctity, and was immensely venerated by the peasantry. One thing alone distinguished her from the other Druids, namely, her unconquerable objection to human sacrifice; and Smith found, on further inquiry, that to-day's ceremony was to consist only of the slaughter of oxen and sheep, and the offering of corn and fruits to the deities, whose aid was to be once more invoked against the tyranny of the Great Boar of Windsor. The account which he had heard made our hero more than ever desirous to witness the ceremony and to see the Druidess, and he accordingly