this odd little episode, between the boar-hound and the churk falcons, had interrupted the conversation of the two brothers on the subject which caspar had introduced. nor was it resumed immediately, on the termination of the affair: for the look with which fritz regarded the departure of the bird, that had so adroitly bilked him out of his bit of venison, was so supremely ludicrous, as to elicit long loud peals of laughter from the spectators.

fritz’s “countenance” betrayed the presence of rare emotions. profound surprise and chagrin—strongly blended with a feeling of concentrated rage—were visible not only in his eyes, but his attitude, and, for some time, he stood with head erect and muzzle high in air, his glances speaking unutterable vows of vengeance, as they followed the flight of the falcons.

never in all his life—not even when the trunk of the elephant was trumpeting at his tail—had fritz so sensibly felt the want of wings. never had he so regretted the deficiency in his structure that left him without those useful appendages; and had he been gifted with the “wand of a fairy,” the use to which he would at that moment have applied it would have been to furnish himself with a pair, not of “beautiful wings”—for that was a secondary consideration—but of strong and long ones, such as would have enabled him to overhaul those churk falcons, and punish them for their unheard-of audacity.

for more than a minute fritz preserved the attitude to which we have alluded: the demeanour of a dog that had been regularly duped and “sold” by a brace of beings, for whose strength and capacity he had exhibited supreme contempt; and it was this mingling of surprise and rage that imparted to him that serio-comic appearance that had set them all a-laughing. nor was his countenance less ludicrous under the expression with which, on turning round, he regarded his trio of human companions. he saw that they were making merry at his expense; and his look of half-reproach half-appeal had no other effect than to redouble their mirth. glancing from one to the other, he appeared to seek sympathy from each in turn—from karl, caspar, and ossaroo.

it was an idle appeal. all three had equally surrendered themselves to hilarity—unsympathetic, as it was uncontrollable. fritz had not a friend on the ground.

full ten minutes must have elapsed before any of them could check his loud cachinnations; but long before that time, the butt of their ridicule had betaken himself out of sight—having moved away from the spot, where he had been robbed of his supper, and retired, with an offended and sneaking air, to the more friendly concealment of the hovel.

it was some time before our adventurers could recover their serious mood; but the subject of their mirth being now out of their sight, went gradually also out of their minds.

it might be wondered that, circumstanced as they were, they had thus given way to a fit of jollity. but, indeed, there was nothing wonderful about it. on the contrary, it was perfectly natural—perfectly true to the instincts of the human soul—to be thus stirred: joy and sorrow following each other in periodic succession—as certainly as day follows night, or fair weather succeeds to the storm.

though we know not the why and the wherefore of this, we can easily believe that a wise providence has ordered it so. a poet who has sung sweetly says, that:—

“spring would be but gloomy weather,

if we had nothing else but spring;”

and our own experience proclaims the truth conveyed in the distich.

he who has lived in the tropical lands of ever-spring—where the leaves never fall, and the flowers never fade—can well confirm the fact: that even spring itself may in time become tiresome! we long for the winter—its frost and snow, and cold bitter winds. though ever so enamoured of the gay green forest, we like at intervals to behold it in its russet garb, with the sky in its coat of grey, sombre but picturesque. strange as it may appear, it is true: the moral, like the natural atmosphere, stands in need of the storm.