the snake had seen the form of an animal in the
distance, and as they approached they found a
very old hunting dog fastened with a cord to
the trunk of a willow tree, lean and wretched,
and utterly unable to protect himself from the
swarms of flies that tormented him dreadfully.

"And who brought thee, Squire Harehunt,
to this willow trunk—to this forlorn condition.
Why, it was but the other day I saw thee
joyfully and bravely following the game over the
country. What does it all mean?" inquired
the snake. The poor dog set up a bitter howl,
and thus replied, "Such are the world's wages,
such the recompense of friendly deeds. Six
years I served my master with diligence and
fidelity—served him in house and field—and
deserved the name I bore; I was a terror to
the hares, known and feared by their whole
army; and now I am bound to this willow
trunk, condemned to die, and only waiting the
arrival of the keeper to despatch me."

The countryman shuddered body and soul.
He saw the snake wreathing her folds in
self-gratulation, and preparing to revel in the
success of her machinations. All hope of
delivery had vanished, and the poor countryman
began to prepare himself for death, and to
recommend himself to the keeping of God before
drinking the bitter cup. But, lo! suddenly a
fox sprung forward from the wood where he
had been hidden, quickly took his place between
the countryman and the snake, and very
courteously asked what was the subject of their
quarrel. He winked at the countryman, while
the snake watched all his movements, and offered
the poor man his patronage if he would help
him to a good supply from the poultry yard.
"Yes! yes!" said the countryman, upon which
the fox said he would institute a proper inquiry
into the whole affair.

And to the countryman's great astonishment,
the snake gave her consent, and they conducted
the wondering fellow back to the very boundary
from which he had witnessed the beginning of
his strange adventure.

When they reached the spot the fox betook
himself to silent and thoughtful musings. He
looked at the stone around, above and below,
poked with his nose, brushed with his tail, and
began an eloquent harangue: "Beloved, beautiful
and accomplished snake! I can no more
doubt or deny your right than I can add another
charm to the grace of your body; nay, I am as
sensible of the justice of your claims as is this
stone to the brightness of the shining scales on
your back, but I am somewhat perplexed with the
question as to how your stately form could
have been confined in this small hole. In order
that I should form a righteous judgment the
whole matter must be made clear.'"

"I will answer then at once," said the snake,
and suddenly crept into the very hole where
she had been before concealed. The fox gave
a sharp wink to the countryman, who so
suddenly and dextrously turned over the stone
upon the snake that it was almost impossible
for her to stretch out her head. "And couldst
thou indeed breathe," inquired the fox, with
affected wonderment; "couldst thou indeed
breathe in this narrow uncomfortable place?"
"Uncomfortable, indeed," said the snake, "very
uncomfortable—the stone is so very heavy—
let me out, let me out, or I shall be pressed to
death." The last words were feebly uttered
from the squeezed throat of the snake, but the
countryman gaily answered. "No! no! my
lady snake! remain where yet thou art," and he
and his cunning deliverer wended their way
homeward.

They had not proceeded far when the fox
reminded the countryman of his engagement, and
the countryman promised that on the very next
morning he would have six noble cocks ready
for breakfast, to which he invited him, whereupon
the fox bade him heartily farewell, and
slipped away into a vineyard that was near.

The countryman hurried back to his village
as fast as his legs would carry him, but reached
it only late in the evening; but before he
perceived his cottage he heard in the distance the
noisy shoutings of his impatient wife, and he
had scarcely crossed the threshold ere she set
upon him with all the fury of a wild beast as if
she would destroy him. It was in vain he
narrated to her the fearful adventures which
had delayed his return, it was in vain he lauded
the kindness of the benevolent fox which had
been his deliverer, she only raved and scolded
the more till the stream of her desperation was
exhausted, and her poor husband was enabled
to insinuate a word.

He told her of the promise he had made to
the fox, and said that on its fulfilment her life
and his own depended; but she burst out more
furiously than ever, and swore that she would
rather sacrifice him than surrender a single
cock from her poultry-yard; and before the
appearance of the morning star she stood
armed with a sharp heavy hatchet behind the
wicket door, and as the unsuspecting guest
entered to partake of the proferred hospitality
and had just stretched his head over the
threshold she struck his neck with a mortal
blow.

The countryman hearing the death-cry of the
wounded fox hurried out of his chamber hoping
to warn and to save him. It was too late.
The dying fox was bathed in his own blood,
and perished with the exclamation: "The
world's reward for well-doing."

  THE SONGS OF THE MUSIC HALLS.

"SONGS without words," or songs of which
the melody is played upon an instrument,
without any aid from the voice are always
more or less beautiful. Every tune gives
some degree of pleasure to the lover of
music, whether educated or uneducated; and
no tune or melody can of itself, without
association with human speech, convey to the mind
any ideas that are not innocent and pure.
Music can express joy, hope, love, tenderness,