drum being conveniently placed for filling, inferior figs are first placed as under-layers, and those being duly packed, an upper coating of fruit, superior in size and appearance, is placed over all, each particular fig being kneaded and pulled, and manipulated by the packer before being bruised and pressed into its place. From the fig-packing we went to the slave-market, expecting to see some such scenes as those described in "Uncle Tom's Cabin!" None such, however, awaited us. An enclosed space, with den-like compartments, was that pointed out as the slavemarket; and the appearance was rather that of a series of sheds for animals than place designed for even the temporary residence of human beings. These sheds were of wood, and the only inhabitants of them were a few people of colour, such as would be employed in the lowest domestic service; and I must say they did not seem to feel their degraded position in the least. Some two or three women, as many children, and I think one or two men, one a youth just passing into manhood, were the only slaves to be seen on the occasion of our visit, and the last-mentioned individual seemed to be the only one evincing any striking evidence of ntelligence. The women, as it is natural to expect of that class in the east, seemed but little elevated above the brute, and but for their instinctive care of their young, being more intelligent, seemed only remarkable from their greater readiness to beg! Altogether the visit to the slave-market was not an interesting or instructive one, and I am happy to say that, having since again visited Smyrna within the last two years, I learned that the market in question was totally done away with. Nothing now remains to be noticed in a descriptive account of Smyrna but the bazaars. Having, however, already described the Constantinople bazaars, it is only necessary to say that those of Smyrna were in many respects similar, but inferior as to number and importance. The same pipes, cherry-wood stems, and amber-mouth pieces; the same dressinggowns, robes, red caps, and parti-coloured girdles; the same otto-of-rose, musk, rats' tails, and sandal wood beads; the same broad inlaid blades, cumbrous firelocks and barbaric pistols, were to be seen here as in every large bazaar in the east. If to the above catalogue be added the presence of Turkey sponges in rare perfection, the picture will more immediately apply to Smyrna, a city whose claims upon the notice of travellers are, though treated of, by no means exhausted, in the chapter. LEAVES FOR THE LITTLE ONES. THE ROSE-BEARERS. BY LILY SHORTHOUSE. No one knew whence the river came that washed the walls of Eiserheim, nor why the current ran so fast along one bank and crept so slowly by the other, as if it wanted to steal, unseen into the sea. Strangers, sometimes, stood and puzzled over it; but the townspeople thought nothing of the wonder-it had been so in the time of their fathers, and this was enough for them. To be sure, the water was clearer and more sparkling than any other; it watered their meadows and made their town great, and, as long as it did all this, about its source they cared nothing. Strange stories were told of those who had, in time past, attempted to find it; some had been lured away by the Elle-maid and other spirits of the woods that skirted its banks for some distance; and others had been drowned in the marshes by the malicious water-goblings who had offered to guide them; but the townspeople were grown far too wise for this; they shook their heads gravely when any inquisitive boy talked of making the journey; and, indeed, it had become a proverb respecting any one engaged in a hopeless undertaking, "He is seeking the source of the river." It seemed as if no one else ever would go, and there was a great outcry in the town, one day, when Liuchen Dorner's seat in church was empty, and her aunt answered the neighbours' inquiries with the news that she was gone to find the source of the river. Poor Liuchen! how they all pitied her! gone on that dangerous journey alone, while she went on her way, little dreaming how many prayers and good-wishes followed her, thinking that no one would miss her in the old town that she had left behind. Perhaps, if she had known the truth, nothing would have tempted her away; but we walk blindfold among our friends, and never know that they were so till we have lost them. It was easy to follow the river in its windings near the town, but when it left the meadows, and plunged into the dark woods, of whose dangers so many tales had been told, Liuchen stood awhile and hesitated, for she was little more than a child after all. Still, her determination was stronger than her fears, and she went on. The woods were pleasant, too, in the day-time, for the sun had been scorching poor Liuchen, and now she was safe in their would save you, Liuchen! You are weary and thirsty; sit down beside me, and drink.” Liuchen looked wistfully at the speaker, and at the cup offered; then stepped forward to take it; but at that instant a lizard darted out of the grass at her feet, and she involuntarily paused and looked down to see where it had come from. It had crept out of a scull lying close to the bower which Liuchen had at first sight mistaken for a stone overgrown with moss. cool shade; but, when evening came, and strange faces peered at her from behind the gnarled tree-trunks, or dim shadows flitted to and fro in the grey distance. she recalled the old stories and shivered with fear, lest she should be carried away. Strange figures came to her in her dreams, too, sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning, and, when she started from her sleep, their white robes would melt into the night-mist that hovered above the river, or vanish in the spray of one of the little cas- She started away from it with an exclamation cades with which the woods abounded. She of horror, and her sudden movement revealed knew that they were not always birds that the truth. The lady of the bower had risen to flitted through the branches overhead, nor field-welcome her guest, and, before she had time to mice that rustled among the moss and leaves resume her seat, Liuchen saw that the figure at her feet. Every leaf in the woods was qui- | which had charmed her was hollow, like a mask; vering with life: only in the river was the quiet and the bracelet, slowly uncoiling itself, dropped of eternal repose: still the woods had their at her feet with forked tongue and lifted crest. charms for her as well as their terrors, and she It was the terrible Elle-maid herself. One kiss would willingly have lingered; but, for the task from those lips, and one draught from that cup, that she had undertaken, she could have been had beguiled thousands to death, whose bones content to spend her life there. lay hidden under the moss and leaves of the forest-some, indeed, scarce covered yet, like the scull which had warned Liuchen of her danger. Recovering from her fright, the girl fled away from the temptress, followed far down the wood-path by a burst of mocking laughter, which seemed to be caught up and prolonged, from time to time, by her sister Elle-maids of the forest. Many a bridegroom had broken his vows for that offered kiss, and gone home a raving maniac to die: many youth who had tarried to drink deep of the cup into which those fatal flowers shed poison had died at her feet; and many a maiden, whose lips that fatal kiss had sealed, had drank in there the deadly heart-sickness that only death can cure. None ever escaped who entered that bower: sooner or later they were her victims. Poor child! she could not have lived many days in this haunt of spirits and elves, where every moment brought her near some creature whose breath had power to chill her, and whose lightest touch would have made her heart stand still for ever. Poet, painter, sculptor, all on whose foreheads the star of deathless genius blazed, had trodden these paths before; but they were men, and could gaze steadily on the strange shapes of the forest; while, in spite of her steadfast will, the girl's heart almost choked her with its wild throbbings, as they came and went before her eyes. But Liuchen, standing in the midst of danger, knew little of it, "Another day and the woods will be past," she said, mournfully, wandering down an avenue of lime-trees, for in the distance she could see glimpses of the open country beyond. "Stay with me in the woods, Liuchen," said a sweet voice almost close beside her. It came from a bower formed of twining flowers a little to the left of the path, and the girl turned eagerly, quickening her pace to obtain a view of the speaker. She leaned against a tree like one asleep, her eyes shaded by their long lashes, and her face by the bright hair that fell in masses of glistening gold on a robe of misty blue: one hand rested on a golden cup filled with wine, into which some of the hanging blossoms of the bower dipped their graceful leaves; the other arm hung listlessly by her side, and round it was a rich bracelet of glistening green and gold. She is sleeping, and I dare not wake her," murmured Liuchen, regretfully. "I must go on." The sleeper opened her eyes, and smiled. "Stay with me, Liuchen!" "I cannot," said the girl, sorrowfully; "I must follow the river." "To die in the swamps!" said the silver voice, in a tone of mockery. "It would kill you to look on the evil spirits of the marshes, child! I have seen many go to their fate, and I Friendly faces came to Liuchen in her dreams that night to charm away her terror, and she rose from her mossy pillow in the morning with no fears for her journey, although the path lay through the marshes which had swallowed so many travellers. At a distance they looked like green meadows; but the grass and rushes concealed black inky water and mud, in which the traveller was in momentary danger of sinking. Yellow pond-lilies spread their leaves over the treacherous surface; here and there vast sweeps of rushes broke the level, and birds waded in and out amoug them, turning their long necks wonderingly in the direction of the stranger; and, further off, gigantic water-lilies lay like snow on the clear water. Here and there was a little green island on which stately swans reposed, and flocks of ducks and other water-fowl swam in the river farther away. Liuchen took off her shoes and stockings to wade through the spongy grass and rushes, sinking over her ancies at every step, and wondering how she should pass her nights in this wilderness of swampy water. When night came she was very weary; the moon had not risen, and there was no light to continue her journey or guide her, as she looked anxiously round in the twilight for some island on which to rest till morning. There were many in sight, but between them and her lay stretches of swamp that defied all attempts to find a passage, and the only resting-place near was the trunk of a fallen tree, on which she lay down to sleep. The sun had long set, and surrounded by a sea of mist through which the trees of the wood loomed in the distance like the vanguard of a giant army. The creeping damp made her shiver as she turned on her uneasy pillow, and woke from time to time with a start as a cold hand was laid on her cheek or twined round her neck; but the spirits of the woods had often disturbed her slumbers, and she was not too terrified to settle to sleep again. A sudden gleam of bright light roused her effectually, and she rose, eager to catch a glimpse of the bearer, some human being to be her companion in this wilderness of waters. The mists had dispersed leaving the night clear, and the light shone with steady brightness, but from what direction she could not tell. Now it seemed to come from the woods, now from the river, sometimes from the marshes on the right, sometimes before her. An hour's Liuchen felt dazzled and bewildered, perhaps it was sent to guide her out of her present peril; yet she dared not trust herself to it-it might only be a wandering light after all. patient waiting convinced her of this. She saw it shining immediately over some of the most dangerous places of the marsh, and although the bearers continued invisible, she felt sure that they were the cruel water-goblins endeavouring to lead her into their haunts. She turned away with a sigh of disappointment, and, laying her head down once more, tried to sleep. Instantly the vagrant light reappeared in front of her, shining broad and clear from the opposite bank of the river, and revealing a scene that effectually chased sleep from her eyes. Between her and the river an innumerable multitude of fantastic creatures ran, flew, and crawled, some so unsubstantial and shadowy, that she could clearly see the river and its banks through their bodies as they danced along; others thin and thread-like, with arms and legs like whipcord, eagerly chasing the terrified frogs and lizards that inhabited the swamp; some bristling with quills like porcupines flew over the water, occasionally pouncing down on their slower companions with exulting screams; while others bounded from island to island like India-rubber balls, sometimes passing over Liuchen in their transit, sometimes alighting on the trunk where she sat, and there slowly uncoiling themselves, shooting out their forked tongues, wagging their long tails, moving their horns and making unearthly grimaces at the terrified girl. Their dark bodies glimmered with faint electric light, as they darted to and fro in the darker parts of the marsh, with their spark-like eyes bent on her, and all seemed by their gestures to be jeering and mocking at poor Liuchen. As morning approached they all vanished, some sinking into the water, and others biding among the rushes or pond-lilies, leaving the marshes as silent and dreary as before their revelry had begun. With daylight Liuchen resumed her toilsome march, slipping from root to root and tuft to ruft, often sinking knee-deep into the mud; and, recovering herself with an effort, and still looking heedfully in spite of all her danger, that she did not for an instant lose sight of the river. That night she sheltered on a little island, under an old willow-tree, in less danger, but with little more peace than before, for with the darkness the water-goblins recommenced their pranks, roosting in the branches of the tree overhead, pinching her hands and pulling her hair with their thread-like claws, hanging down tiny lanterns which almost touched her face, and sometimes running over her in their mad races. A few more such nights of watching and fright would have killed her; she felt that she could willingly plunge headlong into the marsh to hide herself from her little tormentors; but she was not destined to perish there. Three days and nights went by, and on the morning of the fourth day the dry land spread before her once more, and the marshes were past. And her journey, too, was coming to an end. The river was no longer the broad flood that washed the walls of Eisenheim: it was deeper, and still more rapid, as it narrowed to its source: one mass of irregular rocks alone seemed to obstruct her view of the place, where it issued from the mountains that now towered overhead. A narrow path led round the foot of the rock, and in a few moments she stood by the mouth of a little cave, from which flowed the river, displaying in its rise the same peculiarity which had first attracted her attention when she dwelt in Eisenheim. She sat down by the mouth of the cave, letting the water ripple through her fingers. Was it her fancy that the spray made her shiver? it might have been only a breath of chill mountain air; but our presentiments are often truer than we are willing to own. Liuchen felt sure in her heart that it was indeed the bright sparkling water which had given her such a death-like chill, and once again her home in Eisenheim rose before her, while the temptation to return was stronger than ever. Poor Liuchen, it was not too late then; she might have gone back, to live and die in peace under the shadow of the old cathedral; but she put the thought away from her, and told herself that it would be time enough to return when she had explored the secrets of the cave. Guided by a distant gleam of light, she entered, and discovered a flight of steps cut in the rock, besides which the water fell in a small cascade sparkling in the light that streamed down the rocky steps. Liuchen ascended slowly, and looked round, almost bewildered by the magnificence of this strange retreat. The pavement was all of misty blue studded with golden stars, waving and undulating like the waters of a lake: at one end of the lofty chamber grew a large tree, whose branches spread far and wide, form ing the roof of the apartment, and through its foliage she could distinguish a hall beyond, adorned with marble statues. Almost beside her stood a marble figure, resting one hand on a vase of crystal, which followed the stream that formed the waterfall. The light which had guided Liuchen to the chamber came from a pyramid of roses in the centre, flowers such as she had never seen before, whose leaves sparkled like living diamonds, and Liuchen guessed that these were the fullblown blossoms of the marvellous tree, on which she could see only closed buds sparkling like stars among the dark green leaves. She did not wonder now at the brightness of the river, for those roses had been reflected in it, and their light sparkled on its waves till the river was lost in the sea. Again and again she tried to take one flower from that dazzling pyramid to carry away in her bosom; but an invisible net-work interposed between her and the roses, and, growing weary of fruitless efforts, she sat down under the tree, leaning her head against the trunk, as she looked wistfully at the glittering buds. Gradually her eyes closed, and she dreamed of journeying back to Eisenheim: her heart was heavy with some grief she could not tell what; but she longed to hear her aunt's kind voice speaking comfort to her. Then she stood in the street by their old home, and stretched out her arms to her aunt in the doorway; but Aunt Anna turned from her like a stranger, and Liuchen, sorely grieved, wandered to the riverside, and, looking into it as she had often done, saw, not the little maiden who had gone away, but a tall lady shrouded from head to foot by a veil of glittering frosted gauze, and, with a start of surprise, she woke. Her eyes opened on the marble figure, with the conviction, that it had changed its place during her sleep, and she began to suspect that this was no statue, but the Lady of the Cave slowly advancing towards her. Never, as long as Liuchen lived, could she tell what that face resembled: she could remember the long dark hair, the tall, graceful figure, whose robes rested on the blue pavement; the large white wings that hung drooping from her shoulders, and the crown of spotless lilies, dropped with diamond dew, that she wore in her hair; but, far brighter than either flowers or dew, was the light that burned in her eyes. Liuchen's earnest look met them, and their brilliance dazzled her she cast her eyes down, and stood silent. : "What is it, Liuchen?" asked the Lady of the Cave, kindly. "One rose," said the girl, looking wistfully at the glittering pyramid. "Those are not even mine to give;" replied the spirit. "No mortal hand may ever touch them again." "Give me then a bud from the tree," pleaded Liuchen, earnestly. "Do you know what you are asking, child?" said the river spirit. "If you wear that bud in your bosom you can never return to your home; but must wander on, over mountain and valley, alone, till you meet one who wears a rose like that I give you. If the bearer of the rose is free, he will wed you; but if he is wedded to another, you must return to me with the rose and lay it here. It will open when you wear it on your heart, and where it once hung like a bud it must be brought back to blossom in its full beauty." "And I?” asked Liuchen, with paling cheek. "You can never return to the valley again, Look here;" and, as the river spirit spoke, the spreading branches of the great tree parted, revealing the hall of the statues beyond. Old and young were there, men, women, girls, and youths; some standing, others sitting, but all so life-like that it seemed as if some spell had fallen on them living and fixed them there for ever. Liuchen could have fancied that they were alive, but for the star that blazed on each forehead with such unearthly glory. "Each of these has borne away a bud, Liuchen," said the spirit; "some have been many years on their journey, others only a few months; but all have returned to give up the roses and their lives together-they are changed to marble, and remain in that temple for ever!" The girl shivered in spite of herself; but still extended her hand for the radiant blossom. "Think again, Liuchen," said the spirit, pityingly; "you may wander far before you meet him who wears the rose, and if he cannot wed you it will be a weary journey back, and the rose will lie very, very heavily on your heart. Go home, child: it needs a man's heart to risk such a fate why should you cast away life for such honours as I can give?" "I will venture," said Liuchen, bravely: “but will he know me when we meet?' "Unless his eyes are blinded by another's beauty," said the spirit, sadly, "then he will pass you by, and your rose will grow heavier and heavier every hour after that meeting until you lay it here with its sisters." The Lady of the Cave plucked one of the loftiest buds as she spoke, and, first breathing on it, placed it in Liuchen's bosom. The flower wrought a strange transformation in the wearer. The girl's step was more stately, and her eyes brighter than before: it seemed as if the roses had thrown some of their lustre on her, and with that glow on her face she departed. Her path through the fatal marshes was an easy one now. The swamp dried up wherever her footsteps fell, and when night came the marvellous bud lighted her on her way, while the water-goblins shrank fearfully from its radiant beam. She could gather the great water-lilies now that had been so far out of her reach, and the water-fowl came at a call, clustering round her-no wonder Liuchen felt like a queen. Even the spirits of the woods were at her command, and she summoned them at will, talking long hours with them in the language which had been so mysterious to her when she threaded the woods before. The Elle-maid turned pale with envy as she saw the girl return safe, in spite of all attempts to destroy her, for the temptress knew well that the diamond rose was a charm all powerful to protect the wearer from her wiles. Nor had Liuchen need to hesitate when the woods were past, and she found herself in the open country. She had only to follow her beam of light cast by the bud and this grew brighter continually, for it was fast unfolding, and would soon be as brilliant as those which formed the pyramid in the river-spirit's cave. "Is that Liuchen Dorner ?" exclaimed some of the market-people, as they met her not far from Eisenheim. "She could not have grown so beautiful!" Liuchen only smiled, as she thought of her dream: she was changed indeed, so the river had told her; but her heart was light and her brow unclouded, and the sorrow of the dream had not fallen on her. And she did not go home-the light of the rose led her on far beyond Eisenham, to a stately city that she had never seen before. The same bright river washed its walls and strayed on through the meadows; but there were no such stately palaces in Eisenheim as those which were inirrored here in its broad waters, and she paused on the great bridge to look down at the reflected city with wondering admiration, The city was astir with some great rejoicings, flags were floating from the towers, bells were ringing, while the streets were hung with garlands, and rapidly filling with people. Liuchen had not long to wait for an explanation. "They are coming!-they are coming!" was heard on all sides, and the crowd divided to make way for the coming procession. "Who is it?" asked Liuchen, of a woman who stood beside her. "The Prince and his bride," was the reply, and all eyes were turned to the approaching carriage, drawn by four white horses and followed by a brilliant train of nobles and ladies. The people scarce looked at the Prince, handsome as he was; all were gazing at the bride, whose pretty features and fair hair were only partially shrouded by her veil. Her dress was one blaze of diamonds, the very orange-flowers of her wreath were dropped with diamond dew; but as the carriage passed Liuchen the light of the rose fell on some of the bride's jewels, and they crumbled to ashes. The Princess did not see it, she was whispering an enquiry to her husband about the strange girl who stood among the crowd with such queenly grace. He turned to look; but Liuchen shrank back among the crowd, almost as soon as his eyes met hers, and the carriage passed on through the cheering people. Many admired the star of the Prince's new order; but only one in that crowd knew that it was a diamond rose that the bridegroom wore on the breast of his surtout. He had passed her by, and all hope was gone; yet she uttered no cry, but stood still, with one hand on her heart, like one whom Azrael's wings have fanned. Evening came and found her still standing on the bridge, looking down on the broad river, now flashing with countless lights from the illumination of the city, and listening to music from the palace, where the wedding banquet was being held. At last her reverie was broken by a burgher's wife, who, pitying the lonely stranger, offered her a shelter for the night. Tears started to Liuchen's eyes as she turned to thank the kind woman, but she could not stay; already she should have been far on her way; and, wrapping her mantle round her, she left the city, walking with feverish haste to atone for her delay. Outside the walls she seemed to breathe more freely; but night was coming on, her eyes were heavy for tears and sleep, and, forgetting all else in utter weariness, she threw herself down among the blue-bells, and slept. The morning sun was high overhead, when she woke with a crushing weight on her heart, the diamond rose was full-blown now, and Liuchen's tears fell thickly on its glittering leaves, as she turned to take a last look at the royal city which should have been her home, before following the road to Eisenheim. Poor Liuchen! every tear made the rose heavier still, for they turned to gems and hung flashing in the sunlight as the wearer walked wearily on, never lifting her eyes from the grass, although the splendour of the haughty ladies, who passed her in their Court equipages, paled and faded before her beauty, and even the labourers in the field quitted their work and ran to gaze on her as she passed. She knew her powers, but honours are hard to bear with an aching heart, and she would gladly have given her empire over earth and air to have lifted that leaden weight from her bosom and gone her way in peace. Slowly and wearily the days went by with her until the spires of Eisenheim rose in sight, and, standing on the opposite bank of the river, she lifted her eyes to the old cathedral, and stretched out her arms with an irrepressible longing to take refuge in her old home. One day's delay would matter little, she thought; surely she might go and bid Aunt Anna farewell; but while she stood wavering, the memory of her dream came back with cruel distinctness, and she looked down involuntarily at the river. The dream was realized: a veil of delicate frostwork shrouded her by reflection from head to foot; and Liuchen understood that this veil, unseen till now, and unfelt by herself, separated her from others, and that it would be worse than useless to go back a brilliant stranger to seek her kin in Eisenheim. She could not return now, even if she might have thrown aside the diamond rose and the glittering veil. Aunt Anna's quiet home would have been no place for her, fresh from a life of wandering and marvels and danger. She would have pined in time to come for the days when the spirits and water-elfs came at her call, and itwas better now that she should go on her way alone. Liuchen knew it, too, and still she lingered; the sun was setting, and the vesper-bell ringing from the cathedral tower before she went on her |