"Now bring me the horse," he said.

"Harness

my trusty steed and hitch him to my enchanted sledge. I am going on a long journey to woo the Maid of Beauty. I am going to the North Country, to the frozen shores of Pohyola."

"Which steed shall it be?" asked the serving man. "There are seven racers in your stables, all trusty and true seven fleet-footed steeds of rare strength and mettle. Which shall it be?"

"The gray is the best," answered Ilmarinen. "Hitch the gray steed to my enchanted sledge. Put in food and feed for seven days' journey -- yes, for eight days of wintry weather. Remember, too, the big bearskin and the soft fur robes to be wrapped about me; for in the North Country the winds blow cold."

"Everything shall be done as you wish, my master," said the serving man.

Very soon the fleet-footed gray steed and the enchanted sledge were brought to the door. The soft fur robes, the skins of two great bears, blankets in plenty, were put in their proper places; a jar of reindeer meat, a string of smoked herring, food for many days, were stowed beneath the seat; everything was done to speed the traveler on his way.

The hero stepped out of the door, clad in his beautiful garments, princely in form and bearing. He climbed nimbly into the sledge and sat down upon the great bearskins. The warm robes were wrapped

around him. He took the long guiding lines in his hands. The last good-bys were spoken. The hero cracked his whip, and the gray racer bounded forward and sped swiftly away. Like the wind he flew through the woods and the marshes and along the pebbly margin of the sea; and the brave heart of Ilmarinen beat fast with courage and hope.

Then in the dim twilight, the hero perceived six cuckoos perched on the dashboard before him, and beside them seven small bluebirds were sitting. They had been placed there by the serving man, and now they all began twittering and singing, and the faster they traveled the louder was their sweet music.

"They are omens of good fortune!" cried Ilmarinen. ""Tis thus the springtime goes merrily wooing to the Frozen Land. Good luck, good luck, good luck!"

He cracked his whip again and shouted loudly, joyfully. The gray racer neighed shrilly and flew onward with redoubled speed. The waves of the sea rippled with joy upon the sands, and the very stars in the sky twinkled and danced as the enchanted sledge glided like a swift meteor toward the far North Country. "B."

- From "The Sampo." Copyright, 1912. Used with permission of Charles Scribner's Sons, publishers.

A

THE RED CROSS KNIGHT

GENTLE Knight was pricking on the plaine,

Ycladd in mighty armes and silver shielde, Wherein old dints of deepe wounds did remaine, The cruel marks of many a bloody fielde;

Yet armes till that time did he never wield.
His angry steede did chide his foming bitt,
As much disdayning to the curb to yield.
Full iolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt,
As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt.

A lovely Ladie rode him faire beside,

Upon a lowly asse more white than snow;
Yet she much whiter; but the same did hide
Under a vale that wimpled was full low;
And over all a blacke stole shee did throw.
As one that inly mournd, so was she sad,
And heavy sate upon her palfrey slow;

Seemed in her heart some hidden care she had;
And by her in a line a milke-white lambe she lad.

Behind her farre away a Dwarfe did lag,

That lasie seemd in being ever last,

Or wearied with bearing of her bag

Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past
The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast,
And angry Iove an hideous storme of raine
Did poure into his lemans lap so fast,

That everie wight to shrowd it did constrain;

And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves were fain.

- From "The Faerie Queene," by Edmund Spenser.

TH

HE night on which it occurred is described as one of the darkest and most awfully silent that had ever been known. There was no crowing of cocks nor barking of dogs; no howling of wild beasts nor hooting of owls. The very waters ceased to murmur, and the winds to whistle. All nature seemed motionless and dead.

In the mid watches of the night, Mahomet was roused by a voice crying, "Awake, thou sleeper!" The angel Gabriel stood before him.

The angel's forehead was clear and serene, his complexion white as snow; his hair floated on his shoulders. He had wings of many dazzling hues, and his robes were sown with pearls and embroidered with gold.

He brought Mahomet a white steed of wonderful form and qualities, unlike any animal he had ever