THOUGHTS ON PICTURES. THE MAIDEN AND THE DRAGON. It was a pleasant spring that Fanny Lester spent at Albury Castle. She was about fourteen, and had been made pupil-teacher at Netherton school, for her goodness, gentleness, thought and knowledge, seemed to mark her as quite fit for the office. But as it turned out, MARCH, 1853. VOL. XII. D she either was too young, or had not spirit or health for it, her mother, the mistress, and Mrs. Hayward, the clergyman's wife, agreed that it must be for one of these reasons; she could not get the children to mind her, and was so tired with her efforts that she could hardly speak or eat when she came home in the evening, and at night she could not sleep for thinking how badly she had managed, and what she should do to morrow. All this, and trying to learn besides, brought on bad headaches, and at last she was so unwell that she could keep up no longer; her mother took her to the doctor, and he said that she must not try to teach any more for a long time, and that it would be a good thing if she could go quite away, and forget all about it. She was Poor Fanny was in great trouble, after having been so pleased to be chosen, and having hoped to do so well, and not all her mother or Mrs. Hayward could say would make her cheer up. Just then her aunt came to see them. Lord Albury's housekeeper, and used to stay and take care of the Castle when the family were away, as they were to be all the early part of the year; and when she saw how poorly Fanny was, and heard what the doctor said, she said she would write to ask leave to take her back with her, to help all she could, and perhaps to be put in the way of service. Fanny was well-pleased, and in due time she was settled in the very grand house, and had looked into every one of the rooms, and learnt all her aunt could tell of the beautiful pictures. But though aunt Lester was used to tell the names of the painters and the subjects to whole parties of ladies and gentlemen who came to see the place, there were many questions that Fanny could not get answered-who the people in the pictures were, and what they were doing, and it always ended in aunt Lester's telling her not to be so inquisitive. In a little sitting-room of the young ladies, up stairs, there was one figure that particularly took Fanny's fancy, though her aunt did not think much of it, because it was a print, not a picture, and was not in one of the show-rooms. It was a large print. * Behind there was a dark rock, with a few bushes growing on it, as if in the midst of a wild desolate forest, and alone in this wood there walked a young maiden, her face was almost that of a child, and so were her plump round arms, and small tender feet. Her long light hair fell down over her shoulder, just fastened across her brow by a delicate veil; in one hand she held a palm branch, and with the other she lifted her flowing robe, as, bending a little forward, she walked on, her lips parted, and her eyes looked straight before her, while her foot was treading on what? Strange companion for that soft, meek-looking girl! on the scaly wing of an enormous dragon! There he lay, his striped coils of tail twisted in one corner of the picture, one dreadful claw raised and stiffened as if in extreme agony, and his frightful head up-side-down, the fiery eyes rolling andglaring, and the forked tongue stretched over the horrible teeth that the gaping mouth displayed. He was dying in torments, and yet Denoyer's engraving from Raffalle's St. Margaret. Where was how had that maiden slain him? the strength in those small hands? Where was St. George's lance and sword? Where was his manly courage? There was nothing of it in that sweet calm face; for though she looked steadily on, there was still a little air of shrinking, as if she did not like the touch of the monster's cold scaly wing, and perhaps some bewilderment, such as might be seen on a little child's face, when it knows not where its father may be leading it, and yet feels safe, with its hand in his. These things used to come into Fanny's head, when while she was carefully dusting the room, she often looked up at the figure, till she seemed to know the face as well as that of an old friend, and found out more and more than she had at first seen, especially that the maiden had a pale crown of rays of light around her brow, very faint, and scarce seen at first, but increasing in glory the longer the picture was looked at. Was it a Who was the victorious maiden? real history, or was it only a story? Fanny longed to know. The name below was St. Marguerite, and there was more written, but it was in French, and she could not make it out. There were a great many books about the house, and those in the library and several other rooms were by no means to be meddled with, but there were others about which there were no such rules, and Fanny might read them as much as she liked; her aunt thought much of her learning, and when her needlework was done, liked to see her with a book. Some of the books, however, Fanny doubted about. They looked amusing, but there seemed to be bad people in them, saying words she did not like the looks of, and she shut them up with a start and shrinking, just as St. Margaret shrank at the touch of the dragon's wing. However, at last she found a book that she thought must be good, a book of histories of the saints, and before long she had hunted out in it the history of her favourite. Margaret, it said, was the daughter of a heathen priest at Antioch. She was sent to be nursed in the country, and there her nurse taught her the Christian faith, and brought her to be baptized. When she was fifteen years old, as she was keeping her nurse's sheep, the governor of Antioch passed by, saw her, and thought her so beautiful, that he was resolved to make her his wife. Her father would have rejoiced, but Margaret said she might not marry a heathen, for she was a Christian. Her father and friends fled away for fear they should share her punishment, and she was put to such tortures that the persecuting governor himself hid his face in his robe, unable to bear the sight. She was thrown into a dungeon, and there she had a dream that an enormous dragon came upon her, and devoured her alive, but as she made the sign of the Cross, he was cleft asunder, and she stood victorious and unharmed. The next day she was led forth again, and "innocent in life, and constant in faith unto the death," she was beheaded a virgin-martyr at the age of fifteen. The book said it was not certain that this whole story was true, but that the dream was |