in pieces, but the sword held firm. Then ran he joyfully down to the stream and cast therein a lock of wool, and, as it floated down, it met the edge of Gram, and the lock became two, and Sigurd laughed again.

Then said Regin, "Bethink thee, now thou hast a sword to thy mind, of thy promise to go up against Fafnir!"

"That will I gladly do when I have avenged my father on the Hundings," said the lad.

Then the kings made ready many ships, and Sigurd was chief over them, and they sailed to the land of the Volsungs, and in a great battle he overthrew his father's enemies and won the kingdom. And ever in the thickest of the battle gleamed Gram. And afterward he did not forget his promise to Regin, but slew Fafnir and did many other wonderous deeds before he journeyed to Valhalla's gates to join Odin and his father Sigmund.

Adpted from Katherine F. Boult's

"Heroes of the Norselands."

THE BATTLE OF BALAKLAVA.

Never did the painter's eye rest on a more beautiful scene than I beheld from the ridge. The fleecy vapors still hung around the mountain tops and mingled with the ascending volumes of smoke. The patch of sea sparkled in the rays of the morning sun, but its light was eclipsed by the flashes which gleamed from the masses of armed men below.

Looking to the left toward the gorge, we beheld six compact masses of Russian infantry, which had just debouched from the mountain passes near the Tchernaya, and were slowly advancing with solemn stateliness up the valley. Immediately in their front was a regular line of artillery at least twenty pieces strong. Two batteries of light guns were already a mile in advance of them, and were playing with energy on the redoubts from which feeble puffs of smoke came at long intervals. Behind these guns, in front of the infantry, were enormous bodies of cavalry.

The cavalry were in six compact squares, three on each flank, moving down en echelon toward us, and the valley was lit up with the blaze of their sabers, lance-points, and gay accouterments. In their front, and extending along the intervals between each battery of guns, were clouds of mounted skirmishers, wheeling and whirling in the front of their march like autumn leaves tossed by the wind.

The Zouaves close to us were lying like tigers at the spring, with rifles ready in hand, hidden chin-deep by the earthworks which ran along the line of these ridges in our rear; but the quick-eyed Russians were maneuvering on the other side of the valley, and did not expose their columns to attack. Below we could see the Turkish gunners in the redoubts, all in confusion as the shells burst over them. The Russians capture redoubt after redoubt, turning the guns of one redoubt on the other, routing the Turks who flee toward the town. The solid column of cavalry opens like a fan, and resolves itself into a long spray of skirmishers. The line laps the Turks, steel flashes in the air, and down go the poor Moslem quivering on the plain, split through fez and musket guard to the chin and breast-belt.

At that moment the English cavalry were formed in glittering masses, the Light Brigade

in advance, and the Heavy Brigade in reserve. The Highlanders were drawn up in line covering the approach to Balaklava. The Turks who escaped checked their flight and form in companies on the flanks of the Highlanders.

As the Russian cavalry on the left of their line crown the hill across the valley, they perceive the Highlanders drawn up half a mile away, awaiting their approach. They halt, and squadron after squadron flies up from the rear until some fifteen hundred lancers, dragoons, and hussars form a compact body along the ridge. Then they move en echelon in two bodies, with a third in reserve. They draw breath for a moment, and then in one grand line dash at the Highlanders. The ground flies beneath their horses' feet, and gathering speed, they rush on toward that thin, red streak, topped with a line of steel. As they come within six hundred yards, down goes the line of steel and out rings a rolling volley of musketry. But the Russians rush onward through smoke with the whole force of horse and man to within one hundred and fifty yards, when another volley flashes from the leveled rifles, carrying death and terror into the Russian ranks, who wheel about, open ranks right and left, and fly back with the utmost speed.

Concealed by a hill, the English cavalry

are drawn up in two lines, while another body of Russian cavalry are advancing at an easy gallop toward the brow of the hill. The instant the Russians came in sight, the British trumpets gave out the warning blast. The Russians, overlapping the British cavalry, and formed in two lines each three times as deep, advanced down the hill at a slow canter, which they changed to a trot, and at last nearly halted. The trumpets rang out again, and the British cavalry rush at the center of the Russians with cheer and shout. As lightning flashes through a cloud, so they pierce through the dark masses of Russians. There was a clash of steel and a light play of sword blades, and the assailants disappear in the midst of the shaken and quivering columns.

They emerge and dash on with diminished numbers against the second line which is advancing against them as fast as it can, to retrieve the fortune of the charge. It was a terrible moment. With unabated fire, the noble hearts dashed at their enemy. By sheer steel and sheer courage the British were winning their desperate way through the enemy's squadrons, when, with irresistible force, like one bolt from a bow, the second line of British cavalry rushed at the remnants of the first line of Russians, and went through it as though it were