All his thoughts seemed to be clearing themselves in this interval. He took in the whole series of incidents: his own frightful risk; the strange, instinctive, nay, Providential impulse which had led him so suddenly to do the one only thing which could possibly have saved him; the sudden appearance of the Doctor's man, but for which he might yet have been lost; and the discomfiture and capture of his dangerous enemy. It was all past now, and a feeling of pity rose in Mr. Bernard's heart. "He loved that horse, no doubt," he said,--"and no wonder. A beautiful, wild-looking creature! Take off those things that are on him, Abel, and have them carried to Mr. Dudley Venner's. If he does not want them, you may keep them yourself, for all that I have to say. One thing more. I hope nobody will lift his hand against this noble creature to mutilate him in any way. After you have taken off the saddle and bridle, Abel, bury him just as he is. Under that old beech-tree will be a good place. You'll see to it,--won't you, Abel?" Abel nodded assent, and Mr. Bernard returned to the Institute, threw himself in his clothes on the bed, and slept like one who is heavy with wine. Following Mr. Bernard's wishes, Abel at once took off the high-peaked saddle and the richly ornamented bridle from the mustang. Then, with the aid of two of three others, he removed him to the place indicated. Spades and shovels were soon procured, and before the moon had set, the wild horse of the Pampas was at rest under the turf at the wayside, in the far village among the hills of New England. * * * * * THE TEST. _Musa loquitur._ I hung my verses in the wind; Time and tide their faults may find. All were winnowed through and through; Five lines lasted sound and true; Five were smelted in a pot Than the South more fierce and hot. These the Siroc could not melt, Fire their fiercer flaming felt, And their meaning was more white Than July's meridian light. Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, Nor Time unmake what poets know. Have you eyes to find the five Which five thousand could survive? RECOLLECTIONS OF KEATS. _BY AN OLD SCHOOL-FELLOW._