bring them into the garden, while as he went the stones and thorns pierced him. They rejoiced in thinking that he was watching them from his distant Palace, and that at his return they should go in with him to enjoy the true feast, and lasting honours which the King had prepared there for them. Even now their worst toil was over, they had overcome the hardness of their soil, the firmest weeds had been pulled up, and the rich fruits were ripening for a plentiful harvest.

The

They now began to perceive the beauty of each other's gardens, and each thought the ground of his com panion richer and better tilled than his own. gardens were very different, for not only was there much variety in the soil, so that various weeds would spring up here and there, but also the good plants grew very differently, some reaching greater excellence in one bed, some in another. However the desire of all was, that every plant the King had set should bear its fruit, and where they found any that drooped or was injured by some weed overgrowing it, there they bestowed more abundant labour. The beauty of each other's fruits made them try more earnestly to improve their own, and often one would point out to another some blight or weed which was doing harm to his plants, and so put him upon removing it.

The gardens of Euphilus and Oriana were the fairest and most abundant in fruit; yet when Euphilus began his toil he found the ground so full of stones, such a variety of weeds running wild over it, and so much blight. on the plants, that he had thought he never should clear it in time for the fruits to come to maturity, and his companions had pitied him for his arduous labour. But not one instant had he remained idle to lament the bad state of his garden; he rose early and laboured, while the fresh dews fell which sunk into the hardened ground, and made it to give out all its richness. With eyes always turned to the image of the King's Son, he distinguished the true plants from the useless ones; his countenance caught his Master's likeness, and ere long on no brow did the King's mark shine so clear.

In Oriana's garden the flowers and fruits seemed to

spring up almost of themselves, and it had soon become the object of her companion's admiration; but she seemed to think it far from deserving this, and was not satisfied with the fruit, for she saw not in it the beauty which her eye, ever dwelling on the Mirror, sought. She laboured on however in patience and said, "When the King's Son comes, his smile will shed the brightness and beauty on my garden which it wants."

The summer had passed, and autumn was also rapidly going on, when Euphilus, having cast a sad glance on the many barren gardens around, turned to gaze on the blooming bed of Oriana. She lay in the midst of it, her eyes closed, her tools by her side, and her yet uplifted countenance bright with the King's mark. Then he knew that she had fallen into that sleep from which only the voice of their Deliverer could waken her, and though he and his companions felt grieved to have lost her society, they rejoiced that she should be at rest.

Now the mists of autumn spread over the country, and the chill air told of approaching winter; but from the King's Palace went forth bright beams of light, and warm soft winds which made the advancing season only more lovely to the faithful ones in the garden. But the autumnal winds and fogs had nothing to soften their severity in the plain and hills around; and many of those who till now had sported and played on the green turf, enjoying the summer, and following their own various pursuits during the bright days, now became chilled and quite saddened by the gloomy weather. Hedon found that his gay mansion was no defence against frequent storms, nor from the chill blasts that swept around; the feast could no more be supplied with the summer fruits, and his comrades reproached him with the ceasing of their amusements. Those who yet chose to try to continue their banquet, were obliged to content themselves with mouldy provision and the dregs of the now exhausted wine; the pleasure of hunting and dancing was over, for the rains penetrated through the light clothing of the hunters, and into the halls of the revel, often even extinguishing the lights. The tower of Philexous fared no better, it was shaken to the foundation, and fell into

ruins; leaving scarce a pinnacle from which might wave a flag, and burying many of its proud inhabitants in the rubbish. Philexous still continued by his tower, endeavouring to raise its fallen battlements, and hoping vainly to restore somewhat of its former height and majesty. Some few of his companions remained to assist him, but their toil was of no avail; the materials were rotten, and repeatedly large fragments fell and crushed the unfortunate builders, who unable to rise lay groaning or sank into stupor. The few who escaped rushed yet more eagerly away from the hill than they had ascended it.

The deadly swoon in which they left so many of their comrades, the failure of their efforts, and the fall of all their grandeur, made them remember the dark prison, into which the King had declared all should be thrust who had broken his commands; and in fear they thought how they had wasted all the summer, and that now it was probably too late to raise the fruits he would demand. They looked at each other and saw how wild and fierce their countenances had become, how utterly the King's mark was obliterated, and how they were defiled by the mud and rubbish of the tower. "It is in vain to think of going back to the garden now," said they, we have lost all hope of regaining the King's favour, and to return would be useless pain." So some turned aside to the mine hoping to get treasure, and others rushed to the mansion of Hedon, to seek in such amusement as it afforded, to forget the howling blast and the thought of the prison.

One sat down by himself, not wishing to go with the rest, and looked mournfully towards the garden, bitterly lamenting the hour when he left it. As he so sat he fell into a broken slumber through weariness; and thought he had again reached the gate through which he at first was brought into the garden. The King's officer sat there as before, with the book in which the names of himself and the others had been written, open before him. He was now blotting out several from it; and as the frightened boy looked closer, he saw the names of several of those, who had been lately with himself in the

tower, thus struck out. His own was passed over, but the officer seemed in doubt whether to blot it out or not. In extreme fear he awoke, and instantly began to set out for the gate, with the faint hope that it might be possible to reach his garden, and even then begin the labour so long neglected. On his way he met some whose pale faces and soiled garments told of their long labours in the mines; but instead of treasures the remains of broken chains hung about them, and they appeared in the wretched guise of slaves. They told him that they had been much alarmed by finding that Arpagus suddenly sank down in a heavy slumber, from which they could not wake him; and that fearful sights had been seen by them of late in the mine, so that they resolved to leave it. But when they tried so to do, they found that they were all chained to the spot on which they had been working; their enemies had taken advantage of their eagerness to fetter them, and it was only after a desperate struggle that they succeeded in breaking away from the mine; and yet could not get rid of their chains entirely, so fast had the irons been riveted. In haste and terror, while the cold blasts numbed them, the little band made their way on stumbling over the plain which now seemed full of pitfalls. Others joined them as miserable as themselves, from the once gay troop at Hedon's mansion, and several came also of those who had wandered wildly over the plain. But though they strove earnestly to reach the garden, all their efforts would have been vain, as they had no certain knowledge of the way, and were besides almost exhausted, had not the King beheld them with pity, and sent some of his officers to guide them, and guard them from the enemies, who still watched to lead them astray.

Under this escort the trembling and miserable wanderers reached a gate leading into the garden. It was different from that through which they had passed at first, and three steps led up to it; on the upper one sat one of the King's officers, who had charge of the gate, and to look to those who were seeking to pass in by it. When the now repentant ones set their feet on the first step, they were filled with horror to see their own forms

reflected in it, for this step was of pure white marblé brightly polished, so that every feature of their now deformed countenances was visible. With deep anguish they ascended the next step of dark ash-coloured stone, and then the third of crimson hue, in which was visible a deep crack both lengthways and across. The King's officer received them with a grave and sad air; but he showed them a fountain beside the gate, where they might bathe, and told them that rebellious as they had been their Deliverer still pitied them. When they had plunged into this fountain, they found that they were again healed, and that the horrible stains were removed from their persons, though the pain and mark of their fetters and wounds remained, and they looked as if just recovering from some terrible sickness.

With much shame, and with trembling yet eager steps, they advanced to the spot they had so foolishly deserted, where stood the Golden Mirror, and where their gardens had been allotted them. They did not dare to raise their eyes to their former companions, whose gardens they beheld richly flourishing, all set in order to receive again their Deliverer whom ere long they expected to return; but Euphilus and many of the rest ran out to meet them, and gave them a welcome they little had expected. They encouraged them to look up to the image of their Deliverer, for fear and their long downcast eyes made them almost unable to do so; and bade them take courage, for had not the Great King pitied them and helped them, they never could have reached the garden at all. It was bitter grief to the rebellious ones, to see how very faint was the King's mark on their forehead, and how altered they were from what they had been when they last looked into the Mirror. Their gardens were choked with all kinds of evil weeds and rank poisonous herbs, among which lurked vile insects; and so hard had the soil become round these, that had it not been that the heavy autumn rains, tempered by the soft air from the King's Palace, fell upon them, they never could have rooted out any.

Now they felt by bitter experience, what it was to have sought their own pleasure and gone their own