Perhaps the impending holiday might have given a more than usual animation to the country; for it seemed to me as if everybody was in good looks and good spirits. Game, poultry, and other luxuries of the table were in brisk circulation in the villages; the grocers', butchers', and fruiterers' shops were thronged with customers. The housewives were stirring briskly about, putting their dwellings in order; and the glossy branches of holly with their bright-red berries began to appear at the windows. The scene brought to mind an old writer's account of Christmas preparations. "Now capons and hens, besides turkeys, geese, and ducks, with beef and mutton, must all die-for in twelve days a multitude of people will not be fed with a little. Now plums and spice, sugar and honey, square it among pies and broth. Now or never must music be in tune, for the youth must dance and sing to get them a heat, while the aged sit by the fire. The country maid leaves half her market, and must be sent again if she forgets a pack of cares on Christmas eve. Great is the contention of Holly and Ivy, whether master or dame wears the breeches. Dice and cards benefit the butler; and if the cook do not lack wit, he will sweetly lick his fingers."

I was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation by a shout from my little traveling companions. They had been looking out of the coach-windows for the last few miles, recognizing every tree and cottage as they approached home; and now there was a general burst of joy-"There's John! and there's old Carlo! and there's Bantam!" cried the happy little rogues clapping their hands.

At the end of a lane there was an old sober-looking servant in livery looking for them; he was accompanied by a superannuated pointer, and by the redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat of a pony with a shaggy mane and long rusty tail, who stood dozing quietly by the roadside, little dreaming of the bustling times that awaited him.

I was pleased to see the fondness with which the little fellows leaped about the steady old footman, and hugged the pointer, who wriggled his whole body for joy. But Bantam was the great object of interest; all wanted to mount at once, and it was with some difficulty that John arranged that they should ride by turns, and the eldest should ride first.

Off they set at last; one on the pony with the dog bounding and barking before him, and the others holding John's hands;

both talking at once, and overpowering him with questions about home and with school anecdotes. I looked after them with a feeling in which I do not know whether pleasure or melancholy predominated; for I was reminded of those days when like them I had neither known care nor sorrow, and a holiday was the summit of earthly felicity. We stopped a few moments afterwards to water the horses; and on resuming our route, a turn of the road brought us in sight of a neat country-seat. I could just distinguish the forms of a lady and two young girls in the portico; and I saw my little comrades with Bantam, Carlo, and old John, trooping along the carriage road. I leaned out of the coach window in hopes of witnessing the happy meeting, but a grove of trees shut it from my sight.

In the evening we reached a village where I had determined to pass the night. As we drove into the great gateway of the inn, I saw on one side the light of a rousing kitchen fire beaming through a window. I entered, and admired for the hundredth time that picture of convenience, neatness, and broad honest enjoyment, the kitchen of an English inn. It was of spacious dimensions, hung round with copper and tin vessels highly polished, and decorated here and there with a Christmas Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon were suspended from the ceiling; a smoke-jack made its ceaseless clanking beside the fireplace, and a clock ticked in one corner.

A well-scoured deal table extended along one side of the kitchen, with a cold round of beef and other hearty viands upon it, over which two foaming tankards of ale seemed mounting guard. Travelers of inferior order were preparing to attack this stout repast, whilst others sat smoking and gossiping over their ale on two high-backed oaken settles beside the fire. Trim housemaids were hurrying backwards and forwards, under the directions of a fresh bustling landlady; but still seizing an occasional moment to exchange a flippant word, and have a rallying laugh with the group round the fire. The scene completely realized Poor Robin's humble idea of the comforts of midwinter:

"Now trees their leafy hats do bare

To reverence Winter's silver hair;

A handsome hostess, merry host,

A pot of ale now and a toast,
Tobacco and a good coal fire,

Are things this season doth require."

8046

JORGE ISAAKS

(1843-)

N 1890 there appeared in English dress the South-American romance entitled 'María.' Author and work were alike unknown, but the book attained an instant and wide-spread popularity. Until then the English-speaking people of the north had not heard of a story which for a quarter of a century had been a chief favorite among their Spanish-speaking neighbors at the south. Indeed, the literature of South America has until recently been neglected almost as much in Spain as in England and in the United States; and yet it is a fact that American literature was born at the south, and spoke the Spanish tongue. The first book printed in the New World was printed in Spanish, in the year 1537, antedating by more than a century the Bay Psalm Book.' More than one hundred books had been printed in Spanish before 1600, and a long line of poets extending down to the present day testifies to the vigor of the literary traditions. Thomas A. Janvier quotes an American merchant as saying that "At Bogotá the people think a great deal more of literary pursuits than of manufacturing."

It was at Bogotá that Jorge Isaaks began his literary career. His father was an English Jew who married a woman of Spanish blood, and Isaaks was born in the town of Cali in the State of Cauca: but he was taken to Bogotá when still a lad, and it became his home for life; the Bogotanos claim him with justice as their own. There in 1864 he published his first literary venture, a volume of verses. His second work appeared three years later; this was 'María,' and it found its way at once into the hearts of all the Spanish-speaking people.

'María' is a tale of domestic life in Colombia, told with the convincing simplicity of a consummate artist. A vein of true and tender sentiment runs through the story, which lends it an idyllic charm; but it is free from the unreality and sentimentality of Châteaubriand's 'Atala' and St. Pierre's 'Paul and Virginia,' with which it has been compared. Those romances move in idealized realms both as to scenery and character; this portrays with absolute faithfulness the actual life of to-day in a well-to-do Colombian home. This convincing fidelity of treatment gives the work a character that is almost autobiographic. The plot is simple, and its pivot is love. The young

hero loves his father's ward María; his studies necessitate long absences from home; during one of these María dies. This is all. The story moves gently through emotional experiences, and the agony of the final separation through death is portrayed with a touch at once powerful and tender. It is in the episodes that the local color of South-American life is to be found. Prieto has called 'María' "a reliquary of pure sentiment," and through the translation of Mr. Rollo Ogden it has become a part of our own literature.

THE JAGUAR HUNT

From María): Translation of Rollo Ogden. Copyright 1890, by Harper & Brothers

THE

HE following morning at daybreak I took the mountain road, accompanied by Juan Ángel, who was loaded down with presents sent by my mother to Luisa and the girls. Mayo followed us: his faithfulness was too much for his prudence, for he had received many injuries in expeditions of this sort, and was far too old to go upon them.

Once across the bridge, we met José and his nephew Braulio, who were coming to find me. The former at once broached to me his plan for the hunt, which was to try for a shot at a famous jaguar of the neighborhood that had killed some of his lambs. He had followed the creature's trail, and had discovered one of his lairs at the head-waters of the river, more than half a league above his cabin.

Juan Ángel was in a cold sweat on hearing these details, and putting down on the fallen leaves the hamper which he was carrying, looked at us with staring eyes as if he were hearing of a plan to commit a murder.

Now we'll see if

José kept on talking of his scheme of attack: "You may cut off my ears if he gets away. that boastful Lucas is only the braggart they say. answer for. Have you got large bullets?»

"Yes," I replied, "and my long rifle."

Tiburcio I'll

"This will be a great day for Braulio. He wants very much to see you shoot; for I have told him that you and I consider shots very poor that do not hit a bear square between the eyes." He laughed boisterously, clapping his nephew on the shoulder. "Well, let's be off," he continued; "but let the boy carry this garden-stuff to the Señora, and I'll go back." He caught up Juan

Ángel's hamper, saying, "Are these sweetmeats that María is sending for her cousin?"

"That's something my mother is sending Luisa."

"But what can be the matter with the girl? I saw her go by yesterday looking out of sorts. She was as white as a Castile rose-bud."

"She's well again."

"Here, you young nigger, what are you doing here?" said José to Juan Ángel. "Be off with that bag, and come back quickly, for it won't be safe for you to pass by here alone after a while. Not a word of this down at the house."

"Mind you come back!" I shouted to him after he had crossed the bridge. He disappeared in the reeds like a frightened partridge.

Braulio was of about my age. Two months before, he had come from Antioquía to live with his uncle, and was already madly in love with his cousin Tránsito. The nephew's face had all of that nobility which made that of the older man so interesting; but the most striking thing in it was a beautiful mouth, not bearded as yet, whose feminine smile was in strong contrast with the manly energy expressed in the other features. Of a gentle and yielding nature, he was an indefatigable worker, a real treasure for José, and just the husband for Tránsito.

Luisa and the girls came out to welcome me at the door of the cabin, smiling and affectionate as ever. Frequent sight of me in the last few months had made the girls less timid with José himself in our hunting expeditions—that is, upon the field of battle-exercised a paternal authority over me; but this disappeared when he entered his house, as if our true and simple friendship were a secret.

me.

"At last! at last!" said Luisa, taking me by the arm to lead me into the humble parlor. "It's all of seven days! have counted them one by one."

We

The girls looked at me with mischievous smiles. "Dear me," exclaimed Luisa, observing me more closely, "how pale you are! That won't do. If you would only come oftener it would fatten you up like anything."

"And you, what do you think of me?" asked I of the girls. "Why," replied Tránsito, "what must we think of you if by staying off there studying—”

"We have had such lovely things for you," interrupted Lucía. "We let the first melon of the new crop spoil, waiting for you;