the tiger kind, as a tiger an animal of the cat-kind? So, if you recollect what I have been describing, you will find, with Betsy's help, that all the other wonderful things I have told you of are matters familiar among ourselves. But I meant to show you, that a foreigner might easily represent every thing as equally strange and wonderful among us, as we could do with respect to his country; and also to make you sensible that we daily call a great many things by their names, without ever inquiring into their nature and properties; so that, in reality, it is only their names, and not the things themselves, with which we are acquainted.

Scene-The Isle of Athelney.

Alfred. How retired and quiet is every thing in this little spot! The river winds its silent waters round this retreat; and the tangled bushes of the thicket fence it from the attack of an enemy. The bloody Danes have not yet pierced into this wild solitude. I believe I am safe from their pursuit. But I hope I shall find some inhabitants here, otherwise I shall die of hunger.Ha! here is a narrow path through the

wood, and I think I see the smoke of a cottage rising between the trees. I will bend my steps thither.

Scene-Before the Cottage.

GUBBA coming forward. GANDELIN, within.

Alfred. Good even to you, good man. Are you disposed to show hospitality to a poor traveller ?

Gubba. Why truly there are so many poor travellers now a days, that if we entertain them all, we shall have nothing left for ourselves. However,

come along to my wife, and we will see what can be done for you.

Wife, I am very weary: I have been chopping wood all day.

Gandelin. You are always ready for your supper, but it is not ready for you, I assure you the cakes will take an hour to bake, and the sun is yet high;

it has not yet dipped behind the old barn. But who have you with you, I

trow?

Alfred. Good mother, I am a stranger; and entreat you to afford me food and shelter.

Gandelin. Good mother, quotha! Good wife, if you please, and welcome. But I do not love strangers; and the land has no reason to love them. It has never been a merry day, for Old England since strangers came into it.

Alfred. I am not a stranger in England, though I am a stranger here. I am a true-born Englishman.

Gubba. And do you hate those wicked Danes, that eat us up, and burn our houses, and drive away our cattle?

Alfred. I do hate them.

Gandelin. Heartily! he does not speak heartily, husband.

Alfred. Heartily I hate them; most heartily.

Gubba. Give me thy hand, then; thou art an honest fellow.

Alfred. I was with King Alfred in the last battle he fought,

Gandelin. With King Alfred? Heaven bless him!

Gubba. What is become of our good King?

Alfred. Did you love him, then?

Gubba. Yes, as much as a poor man may love a King; and kneeled down and prayed for him every night, that he might conquer those Danish wolves; but it was not to be so.

Alfred. You could not love Alfred better than I did.

Gubba. But what is become of him? Alfred. He is thought to be dead. Gubba. Well, these are sad times; Heaven help us! Come, you shall be welcome to share the brown loaf with