u a** 
 
 tud^ / tL^*d t rV*S- 
 
 >V 
 
 ) ,j< tiZ^ LcU^x, 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/miniatureromanceOOIamo 
 
Mxniatnxt Romances 
 
 jfrom tije German, 
 
 AVITH OTHER 
 
 PROLUSIONS OF LIGHT LITERATURE. 
 
 Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth, 
 
 Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep Milton. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY C. C. LITTLE & J. BROWN. 
 
 1841. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and forty-one, by 
 
 C. C. LITTLE AND J. BROWN, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 S. N. DICKINSON, PRINTER, 
 52 Washington Street. 
 
J<**tfL 
 
 *C3L 
 
 TO THE MEMORY 
 
 OF 
 
 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, 
 
 THESE MINIATURE ROMANCES 
 AND OTHER PROLUSIONS OF LIGHT LITERATURE, 
 
 THOUGH BUT LEAVES FROM AN ENCHANTED FOREST, 
 
 A RE, 
 
 With, affectionate gratitude 
 
 For the teachings of his Genius, 
 
 Inscribed by 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Advertisement, 7 
 
 Undine, 13 
 
 The Vial-Genie and Mad Farthing, .... 114 
 
 The Collier-Family; or, Red-Mantle and the Merchant, - 150 
 
 Table-Talk Notices of Phantasmion, including the For- 
 tunes of Fairylore, ------- 166 
 
 The Almadora Ravine, 179 
 
 Faithful or False ? 186 
 
 The Fortieth Hour, 217 
 
 Werter's Warning, 249 
 
 Maurice ; or, Away for St. Brendan's, - 257 
 
 L'Amore, an Italian Translation, * 311 
 
 Notes, - 321 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 The following translation of Undine, one of the minor romances of 
 Frederic, Baron de la Motte Fouque, is from the fourth impression of 
 the original, that of Berlin, 1826. It was made in the winter of 1835, 
 and has since received such revision and improvement, as the kindness 
 of literary friends, in connection with my own wish to do as little injus- 
 tice to the genius of the author as I could, has enabled me to give it. 
 
 This is no place for discussing the characteristics of Fouque, but he 
 has one excellence of composition so rich and rare, that I may be per- 
 mitted to allude to it here : — I mean his harmonious union of fiction 
 and fact, his exquisite blending of the natural and supernatural. So 
 perfect do we find this union to be, such a melting indeed of both into 
 one, that we hardly know in which of the two we feel ourselves most 
 at home. We have the true feeling of real life, embellished by the 
 magic of imagination, — just as the frost-work, which at times we see 
 almost spiritualizing our groves and shrubberies in winter, constitutes 
 so much of their peculiar charm ; — and this double excellence it was, 
 that led me to select and translate a few specimens of this writer's Nat- 
 ural and Supernatural. 
 
 Undine is a beautifully imaginative tale, a masterpiece in this depart- 
 ment of German literature. With a simplicity of the antique cast it 
 combines the most picturesque wildness, unbroken interest, excellent 
 principles, a peculiar vein of pleasantry, and even what we seldom look 
 for in works of this kind, touches of genuine pathos. We are esteemed, 
 and I presume justly, a less imaginative race than the people of Ger- 
 many. Our traditions, local superstitions, early influences, education, 
 habits of thought, and other circumstances of life, are of a more com- 
 mon-place order than theirs. We are not, it may be, less fond of legen- 
 dary lore, since love of the marvellous seems to be a universal impulse 
 in our nature ; but we seek its enjoyment with the mere calm approval of 
 fancy, while they welcome it with much of the warmth of good faith. 
 
Vlll ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Still, if 'the World of Reality, not the Fairyland of Romance,' 
 be our maxim, the spirit of truth and tenderness is no where wholly ex- 
 tinct : long as it may lie slumbering in the soul, it is too inseparable a 
 part of our being ever to die. Is not imagination a germ of immor- 
 tality ? 
 
 I am gratified to perceive that many writers allude to this fiction in 
 terms of warm commendation. Menzel, in his developement of German 
 Literature, of which we have lately been favoured with an able transla- 
 tion, speaks of this and the ' Vial-Genie,' or ' Mandrake,' another minia- 
 ture romance by the same author, in these words : " Fouque's ' Undine ' 
 will always continue one of the most delightful creations of German 
 poetry. Also the little story of the 'Mandrake' belongs to the best 
 elaborations of the old national sagas," or tales of the supernatural, de- 
 rived from the voice of traditional superstition. But the most accurate 
 appreciation that 1 have seen of Undine, J find among those golden 
 fragments of the richest of minds, the Specimens of the Table Talk of 
 S. T. Coleridge. This is the passage to which I refer : " Undine is a 
 most exquisite work. It shows the general want of any sense for the 
 fine and the subtle in the public taste, that this romance made no deep 
 impression. Undine's character, before she receives a soul, is marvel- 
 lously beautiful." 
 
 The author, to whom we are so much indebted for these Specimens 
 and other Literary Remains, and to whom we hope to be more and more 
 indebted, as well for these labours of love as for those of his own classi- 
 cal genius, observes in a note : " Mr. Coleridge's admiration of this little 
 romance was unbounded. He said there was something in Undine 
 even beyond Scott, — that Scott's best characters and conceptions were 
 composed ; by which I understood him to mean, that Baillie Nicol Jarvie, 
 for example, was made up of old particulars, and received its individu- 
 ality from the author's power of fusion, being in the result an admirable 
 product, as Corinthian brass was said to be the conflux of the spoils of a 
 city. But Undine, he said, was one and single in projection, and had 
 presented to his imagination, what Scott had never done, an absolutely 
 new idea." 
 
 This character being formed according to the principles of the Rosi- 
 crucian philosophy, it has been suggested to me, that, to enable the 
 reader to understand and appreciate her story, I ought to prefix a sketch 
 of that system to my translation, and I once thought of profiting by the 
 suggestion. On reflection, however, I cannot but view the work as 
 complete in itself. Whatever seems requisite, even for readers least 
 conversant with such lore, Fouque has contrived to incorporate, and I 
 think very happily too, with the texture of his fable. See the develope- 
 ments of the eighth chapter. Every body enjoys the delightful marvels 
 of the Arabian Nights, marvels that have almost become numbered 
 among the commonplaces of our experience ; even children understand 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. IX 
 
 the machinery of genii, magicians, talismans, rings, lamps, and enchant- 
 ed horses. 
 
 To this fourth edition, and it may be to an earlier, the author attached 
 the following airy and graceful ' dedication : ' 
 
 Vision of beauty, dear Undine, 
 
 Since led by storied light, 
 
 I found you, mystic sprite, 
 How soothing to my heart your voice has been ! 
 
 You press beside me, angel mild, 
 
 Soft breathing all your woes, 
 
 And winning brief repose, — 
 A wayward, tender, timid child. 
 
 Still my guitar has caught the tone, 
 
 And from its gate of gold 
 
 Your whispered sorrows rolled, 
 Till thro' the world their sound is flown. 
 
 And many hearts your sweetness love, 
 Though strange your freaks and state, 
 And, while I sing your fate, 
 
 The wild and wondrous tale approve. 
 
 Now would they warmly, one and all, 
 
 Your fortunes trace anew : 
 
 Then, sweet, your way pursue, 
 And, fearless, enter bower and hall. 
 
 Greet noble knights with homage due ; 
 
 But greet, all trusting there, 
 
 The lovely German fair ; 
 " Welcome," they cry, " the maiden true ! " 
 
 And if toward me one dart a glance, 
 
 Say, " He 's a loyal knight, 
 
 Who serves you, ladies bright, — 
 Guitar and sword, — at tourney, feast, and dance." 
 
 The reader will allow me to observe, in closing these brief notices, 
 that, supported as well by my own feeling as by the judgment of Men- 
 zel, Coleridge, and, I may add, by the general voice of criticism, I view 
 Undine not only as a work of art, but as something far superior, an ex- 
 quisite creation of genius. If I have failed to do justice to her peculiar 
 
X ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 traits, in thus introducing her to him in the costume of our language, it 
 is not owing to want of admiration, or of studiously endeavouring to be 
 faithful to my trust ; and, aware of the difficulty of presenting her the 
 * vision of beauty ' that Fouque « found ' her, he will forgive the fond 
 impulse of my ambition. What welcome she may receive among us, 
 it remains for the noble knights and lovely ladies of our country to show. 
 She does not come as a stranger, — she has already been once greeted 
 with favour ; still, wide as may be her fame in the world of letters, she 
 seems, as yet, to be more talked of in the world of common readers, 
 than, if I may so speak, known in person. To all lovers of the imag- 
 inative, therefore, — to every "simple, affectionate, and wonder-loving 
 heart," — her fortunes are again committed. 
 
 This translation of Undine was first published in 1839, as the third 
 volume of the New York 'Library of Romance,' of which ' Phan- 
 tasmen ' formed the first and second. It was republished also, the 
 same year, in the London ' Standard Library.' Encouraged by 
 its favourable reception, and feeling that every thing of value, in a pic- 
 ture so closely allied to poetry as this, depends on skilfully disposing 
 the colours of thought, the lights and shades of expression, I have since 
 that edition again and again compared it with the German, and spared 
 no pains to render it less unworthy of the welcome with which it has 
 been honoured. 
 
 What I proposed to myself, as a general if not an invariable rule in 
 translating and revising, was this, to adhere to the verbal import of the 
 original, whenever a freer rendering did not give promise of more clear- 
 ness, beauty, or force of expression, in English. Freedom and fidelity, 
 indeed, have been my continual aim ; but, notwithstanding the imper- 
 fections which I have from time to time detected and removed, when I 
 perceive how faint a shadow my version is of the vivid original, I am 
 able to make no higher boast than that of having tried to copy the au- 
 thor's fineness and subtlety of conception, as well as the ease and sim 
 plicity of his execution. Still, however inadequate the translation may 
 be, and however perfect a copy some more expert translator may produce, 
 few or none will ever submit to a like process of revision and improve- 
 ment to make it such ; and though ' a labour of love,' as one of my 
 reviewers has been pleased to call my work, — a striving after accuracy 
 of thought and expression, as if it were a case of conscience, — it is a 
 labour, that I would fain hope I shall seldom find it necessary to repeat. 
 
 The Vial-Genie and Mad Farthing, entitled in the original " Das 
 Galgenmännlein," I translate from Fouque's " Kleine Romane," or 
 Little Romances. Its peculiar merit was suggested to me by a friend, 
 (the late deeply lamented Dr. Charles Follen,) most familiar with 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 what he happily called " the interminable forest of German literature " 
 and to him I am therefore indebted for the pleasant labour of translation. 
 To many minds, it is probable, the liveliness of the fiction, its rapid 
 transitions of fortune, its natural developement of feeling, its air of ear- 
 nest reality, the danger it impresses of tampering with evil, and the fine 
 moral influence of its crowd of incidents, will be even more arresting 
 than the greater delicacy, sweetness, and imaginative power of Undine. 
 Vial-Genies and Mad Farthings, being more tangible to the general 
 reader, are more formed to gratify the popular taste, than (if I may 
 venture to use such a phrase) the spiritual picturesque of Nature, or the 
 tender glimpses of the heart. 
 
 The Collier-Family, or Red-Mantle and the Merchant is a 
 translation of Fouque's " Die Köhlerfamilie," one of his New Tales 
 or Minor Romances. He calls it a 'remarkable adventure ' in the life 
 of a German merchant. Tt is indeed as original in its conception as it 
 is happy in its execution, blending, in a manner peculiarly the author's 
 own, the fine touches of imagination with the homeliness of common 
 life. Its moral is admirable, perhaps the only infallible charm for laying 
 the evil spirit of the times. 
 
 Allusion being often made in this volume to the Almadora Ravine 
 a scene of no visionary attributes, I thought the reader might be desirous 
 as well as the lady, of a more particular introduction. Such is one of 
 the purposes of this little panorama. The picture is of the Flemish 
 school, taken immediately from Nature, and without one touch of fiction 
 in its composition. The first sketches or brief outlines of the pieces it 
 illustrates, were made many years ago, (more than three times the num- 
 ber required by the nine-year dogma of Horace,) but they were finished 
 at a later period. All who may have loved, in the morning of their 
 creative power, to weave these webs of " elfine loom," will speak in 
 their defence the kind word of Shakspeare's Theseus : " The best in 
 this kind are but shadows ; and the worst are no worse, if imagination 
 amend them." I know not whether they "are worth preserving but 
 
 possibly they may find favour with some few readers of this class 
 
 such as, yet feeling within them somewhat of the freshness of youthful 
 impulse, are not too wise to love the workings of Fancy, — 
 
 " the power 
 
 That first unsensualizes the dark mind, 
 Giving it new delights ; and bids it swell 
 With wild activity." 
 
Errata. — Page 33, line 33, read 'stopt, trembling.' — P. 121, 1. 21, 
 read 'wild and extravagant.' — P. 122, 1. 22, read 'devils' doggerel.' — 
 P. 136, 1. — 29, read ' variation.' — P. 151, 1. 19, read 'then willingly.' 
 — P. 163, 1. 28, read 'heart."' — P. 171, 1. 19, read 'scouring.' — P. 
 196, 1. 35, read 'could.' — P. 255, 1. 15, read 'communion's dream.' — 
 P. 255, 1. 27, read ' Goethe.' — P. 290, 1. 7, read ' this Goshen.' — P. 306, 
 1. 7, read 'I hope.' — P. 316, 1. 5, put a period after 'doglie.' — P. 316, 
 1. 24, read ' Spirar.' — P. 318, 1. 6, put a period after ' orgogliosa.' 
 
 These errata, minute as they are, the reader will have the goodness 
 to correct, with some few others of still slighter moment. 
 
UNDINE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 HOW A KNIGHT CAME TO A FISHERMAN'S COTTAG-E. 
 
 Once on a beautiful evening, it may now be many 
 hundred years ago, there was a worthy old fisherman 
 who sat before his door mending his nets. 
 
 Now the corner of the world where he dwelt, was ex- 
 ceedingly picturesque. The green turf on which he had 
 built his cottage, ran far out into a great lake ; and this 
 slip of verdure appeared to stretch into it as much through 
 love of its clear waters, blue and bright, as the lake, moved 
 by a like impulse, strove to fold the meadow, with its wav- 
 ing grass and flowers, and the cooling shade of the trees, 
 in its fond embrace. Such were the freshness and beauty 
 of both, that they seemed to be drawn toward each other, 
 and the one to be visiting the other as a guest. 
 
 With respect to human beings, indeed, in this pleasant 
 spot, after excepting the fisherman and his family, there 
 were few or rather none to be met with. For in the back- 
 ground of the scene, toward the west and northwest, lay 
 a forest of extraordinary wildness, which, owing to its 
 gloom and its being almost impassable, as well as to fear 
 of the strange creatures and visionary forms to be encoun- 
 tered there, most people avoided entering, unless in cases 
 of extreme necessity. The pious old fisherman, however, 
 many times passed through it without harm, when he 
 carried the fine fish, which he caught by his beautiful strip 
 2 
 
14 
 
 of land, to a great city lying only a short distance beyond 
 the extensive forest. 
 
 Now the reason he was able to go through this wood 
 with so much ease, may have been chiefly this, because 
 he entertained scarcely any thoughts but such as were of a 
 religious nature ; and besides, every time he crossed the 
 evil-reported shades, he used to sing some holy song with 
 a clear voice and from a sincere heart. 
 
 Well, while he sat by his nets this evening, neither fear- 
 ing nor devising evil, a sudden terror seized him, as he 
 heard a rushing in the darkness of the wood, that resembled 
 the trampling of a mounted steed, and the noise continued 
 every instant drawing nearer and nearer to his little territory. 
 
 What he had fancied, when abroad in many a stormy 
 night, respecting the mysteries of the forest, now flashed 
 through his mind in a moment ; especially the figure of a 
 man of gigantic stature and snow-white appearance, who 
 kept nodding his head in a portentous manner. Yes, when 
 he raised his eyes toward the wood, the form came before 
 him in perfect distinctness, as he saw the nodding man 
 burst forth from the mazy web-work of leaves and branches. 
 But he immediately felt emboldened, when he reflected 
 that nothing to give him alarm had ever befallen him even 
 in the forest ; and moreover, that on this open neck of 
 land the evil spirit, it was likely, would be still less daring 
 in the exercise of its power. At the same time, he prayed 
 aloud with the most earnest sincerity of devotion, making 
 use of a passage of the Bible. This inspired him with 
 fresh courage ; and soon perceiving the illusion, the strange 
 mistake into which his imagination had betrayed him, he 
 could with difficulty refrain from laughing. The white, 
 nodding figure he had seen, became transformed, in the 
 twinkling of an eye, to what in reality it was, a small 
 brook, long and familiarly known to him, which ran foaming 
 from the forest, and discharged itself into the lake. 
 
 But what had caused the startling sound, was a knight, 
 arrayed in sumptuous apparel, who beneath the shadows 
 of the trees came riding toward the cottage. His doublet 
 was of violet blue, embroidered with gold, and his scarlet 
 cloak hung gracefully over it ; on his cap of burnished 
 gold waved red and violet-colored plumes, and in his golden 
 
15 
 
 shoulder-belt flashed a sword, richly ornamented and 
 extremely beautiful. The white barb that bore the knight, 
 was more slenderly built than battle-horses usually are ; 
 and he touched the turf with a step so light and elastic, 
 that the green and flower-woven carpet seemed hardly to 
 receive the slightest break from his tread. The old fisher- 
 man, notwithstanding, did not feel perfectly secure in his 
 mind, although he was forced to believe, that no evil could 
 be feared from an appearance so prepossessing ; and there- 
 fore, as good manners dictated, he took off his hat on the 
 knight's coming near, and quietly remained by the side of 
 his nets. 
 
 When the stranger stopped, and asked whether he with 
 his horse could have shelter and entertainment there for 
 the night, the fisherman returned answer : " As to your 
 horse, fair Sir, I have no better stable for him than this 
 shady meadow, and no better provender than the grass 
 that is growing here. But with respect to yourself, you 
 shall be welcome to our humble cottage, — to the best 
 supper and lodging we are able to give you." 
 
 The knight was well contented with this reception ; and 
 alighting from his horse, which his host assisted him to 
 relieve from saddle and bridle, he let him hasten away to 
 the fresh feeding-ground, and thus spoke : " Even had I 
 found you less hospitable and kindly disposed, my worthy 
 old friend, you would still, I suspect, hardly have got rid 
 of me to-day ; for here, I perceive, a broad lake lies before 
 us, and as to riding back into that wood of wonders, with 
 the shades of evening deepening around me, may Heaven 
 in its grace preserve me from the thought ! " 
 
 " Pray, not a word of the wood, or of returning into it ! " 
 said the fisherman, and took his guest into the cottage. 
 
 There, beside the hearth, from which a frugal fire was 
 diffusing its light through the clean dusky room, sat the 
 fisherman's aged wife in a great chair. At the entrance of 
 their noble guest, she rose and gave him a courteous wel- 
 come, but sat down again in her seat of honour, not making 
 the slightest offer of it to the stranger. Upon this the 
 fisherman said with a smile : 
 
 " You must not be offended with her, young gentleman, 
 because she has not given up to you the best chair in the 
 
16 
 
 house ; it is a custom among poor people to look upon this 
 as the privilege of the aged." 
 
 " Why, husband ! " cried the old lady with a quiet smile, 
 " where can your wits be wandering ? Our guest, to say 
 the least of him, must belong to a Christian country, and 
 how is it possible then, that so well-bred a young man, as 
 he appears to be, could dream of driving old people from 
 their chairs ? Take a seat, my young master," continued 
 she, turning to the knight; "there is still quite a snug 
 little chair across the room there, only be careful not to 
 shove it about too roughly, for one of its legs, I fear, is 
 none of the firmest." 
 
 The knight brought up the seat as carefully as she could 
 desire, and sat down upon it with gentlemanly good- 
 humour ; while it seemed to him for a moment, that he 
 must be somehow related to this little household, and have 
 just returned home from abroad. 
 
 These three worthy people now began to converse in 
 the most friendly and familiar manner. In relation to the 
 forest, indeed, concerning which the knight occasionally 
 made some inquiries, the old man chose to know and say 
 but little ; at any rate he was of opinion, that slightly 
 touching upon it, at this hour of twilight, w r as most suitable 
 and safe ; but of the cares and comforts of their home and 
 their business abroad, the aged couple spoke more freely, 
 and listened also with eager curiosity, as the knight 
 recounted to them his travels, and how he had a castle 
 near one of the sources of the Danube, and that his name 
 was Sir Huldbrand of Ringstetteru 
 
 Already had the stranger, while they were in the midst 
 of their talk, been aware at times of a splash against the 
 little low window, as if some one were dashing water 
 against it. The old man, every time he heard the noise, 
 knit his brows with vexation ; but at last, when the whole 
 sweep of a shower came pouring like a torrent against the 
 panes, and bubbling through the decayed frame into the 
 room, he started up indignant, rushed to the window, and 
 cried with a threatening voice : 
 
 " Undine ! will you never leave off these fooleries ? not 
 even to-day, when we have a stranger-lord with us in the 
 cottage?" 
 
17 
 
 All without now became still, only a low titter was just 
 perceptible, and the fisherman said, as he came back to his 
 seat : " You will have the goodness, my honored guest, to 
 pardon this freak, and it may be a multitude more, but she 
 has no feeling of evil or any thing improper. This mis- 
 chievous Undine, to confess the truth, is our adopted 
 daughter, and she stoutly refuses to give over this frolic- 
 some childishness of hers, although she has already entered 
 her eighteenth year. But in spite of this, as I said before, 
 she is at heart one of the very best children in the world." 
 
 " You may say so," broke in the old lady, shaking her 
 head, — "you can give a better account of her than I can. 
 When you return home from fishing, or from selling your 
 fish in the city, you may think her frolics very delightful. 
 But to have her figuring about you the whole day long, 
 and never, from morning to night, to hear her speak one 
 word of sense ; and then, as she grows older, instead of 
 having any help from her in the family, to find her a con- 
 tinual cause of anxiety, lest her wild humours should com- 
 pletely ruin us, — that is quite a different affair, and enough 
 at last to weary out the patience even of a saint." 
 
 "Well, well," replied the master of the house, with a 
 smile, " you have your trials with Undine, and I have mine 
 with the lake. The lake often beats down my dams, and 
 breaks the meshes of my nets, but for all that I have a 
 strong affection for it ; and so have you, in spite of your 
 mighty crosses and vexations, for our nice pretty little 
 child. Is it not true ? " 
 
 " One cannot be very angry with her," answered the old 
 lady, as she gave her husband an approving smile. 
 
 That instant the door flew open, and a girl of slender 
 form, almost a very miniature of woman, her hair flaxen 
 and her complexion fair, in one word, a blonde-like miracle 
 of beauty, slipped laughing in, and said : " You have only 
 been making a mock of me, father ; for where now is the 
 guest you mentioned ? " 
 
 The same moment, however, she perceived the knight 
 also, and continued standing before the comely young man 
 in fixed astonishment. Huldbrand was charmed with her 
 graceful figure, and viewed her lovely features with the 
 more intense regard, as he imagined it was only her surprise 
 2* 
 
that a ll owed him the opportunity, and that she would soon 
 turn away from his gaze with double bashfulness. But the 
 event was the very reverse of what he expected. For 
 after now regarding him quite a long while, she felt more 
 confidence, moved nearer, knelt down before him, and, 
 while she played with a gold medal, which he wore attached 
 to a rich chain on his breast, exclaimed : 
 
 " Why, you beautiful, you friendly guest ! how have 
 you reached our poor cottage at last? Have you been 
 obliged, for years and years, to wander about the world, 
 before you could catch one glimpse of our nook ? Do you 
 come out of that wild forest, my lovely friend ? " 
 
 The old woman was so prompt in her reproof, as to allow 
 him no time to answer. She commanded the maiden to 
 rise, show better manners, and go to her work. But Un- 
 dine, without making any reply, drew a little footstool near 
 Huldbrand's chair, sat down upon it with her netting, and 
 said in a gentle tone : 
 
 " I will work here." 
 
 The old man did as parents are apt to do with children, 
 to whom they have been over-indulgent. He affected to 
 observe nothing of Undine's strange behaviour, and was 
 beginning to talk about something else. But this was 
 what the little girl would nof ffilow him to do. She broke 
 in upon him : " I have asked our kind guest, from whence 
 he has come among u's, and he has not yet answered me." 
 
 " I come out of the forest, you lovely little vision," 
 Huldbrand returned, and she spoke again : 
 
 " You must also tell me how you came to enter that 
 forest, so feared and shunned, and the marvellous adventures 
 you met with there ; for there is no escaping, I guess, 
 without something of this kind." 
 
 Huldbrand felt a slight shudder, on remembering what 
 he had witnessed, and looked involuntarily toward the 
 window ; for it seemed to him, that one of the strange 
 shapes, which had come upon him in the forest, must be 
 there grinning in through the glass; but he discerned noth- 
 ing except the deep darkness of night, which had now 
 enveloped the whole prospect. Upon this, he became 
 more collected, and was just on the point of beginning his 
 account, when the old man thus interrupted him : 
 
19 
 
 " Not so. Sir knight ; this is by no means a fit hour for 
 such relations." 
 
 But Undine, in a state of high excitement, sprang up 
 from her little cricket, braced her beautiful arms against 
 her sides, and cried, placing herself directly before the 
 fisherman : " He shall not tell his story, father ? he shall 
 not ? But it is my will ; he shall ! he shall, stop him who 
 may!" 
 
 Thus speaking, she stamped her neat little foot vehe- 
 mently on the floor, but all with an air of such comic and 
 good-humoured simplicity, that Huldbrand now found it 
 quite as hard to withdraw his gaze from her wild emotion, 
 as he had before from her gentleness and beauty. The 
 old man, on the contrary, burst out in unrestrained displeas- 
 ure. He severely reproved Undine for her disobedience 
 and her unbecoming carriage toward the stranger, and his 
 good old wife joined him in harping on the same string. 
 
 By these rebukes Undine was only excited the more. 
 " If you want to quarrel with me," she cried, " and will 
 not let me hear what I so much desire, then sleep alone in 
 your smoky old hut ! " — And swift as an arrow she shot 
 from the door, and vanished amid the darkness of the night. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 IN WHAT MANNER UNDINE HAD COME TO THE FISHERMAN. 
 
 Huldbrand and the fisherman sprang from their seats, 
 and were rushing to stop the angry girl ; but before they 
 could reach the cottage door, she had disappeared in the 
 cloud-like obscurity without, and no sound, not so much 
 even as that of her light foot-step, betrayed the course she 
 bad taken. Huldbrand threw a glance of inquiry toward 
 his host: it almost seemed to him, as if his whole inter- 
 view with the sweet apparition, which had so suddenly 
 plunged again amid the night, were no other than a contin- 
 uation of the wonderful forms, that had just played their 
 mad pranks with him in the forest; but the old man mut- 
 tered between his teeth : 
 
 " This is not the first time she has treated us in this 
 manner. Now must our hearts be filled with anxiety, and 
 our eyes find no sleep, the livelong night ; for who can 
 assure us, in spite of her past escapes, that she will not 
 some time or other come to harm, if she thus continue out 
 in the dark and alone until daylight ? " 
 
 " Then pray, for God's sake, father, let us follow her," 
 cried Huldbrand anxiously. 
 
 " Wherefore should we ? " replied the old man ; " it 
 would be a sin, were I to suffer you, all alone, to search 
 after the foolish girl amid the lonesomeness of night ; and 
 my old limbs would fail to carry me to this wild rover, 
 even if I knew to what place she has hurried off." 
 
 " Still we ought at least to call after her, and beg her 
 to return," said Huldbrand ; and he began to call in tones 
 
21 
 
 of earnest entreaty : " Undine ! Undine ! come back, pray 
 come back ! " 
 
 The old man shook his head, and said : " All your 
 shouting, however loud and long, will be of no avail ; you 
 know not as yet, Sir knight, what a self-willed thing the 
 little wilding is." But still, even hoping against hope, he 
 could not himself cease calling out every minute, amid the 
 gloom of night : " Undine ! ah, dear Undine ! I beseech 
 you, pray come back, — only this once." 
 
 It turned out, however, exactly as the fisherman had 
 said. No Undine could they hear or see ; and as the old 
 man would on no account consent that Huldbrand should 
 go in quest of the fugitive, they were both obliged at last 
 to return into the cottage. There they found the fire on 
 the hearth almost gone out, and the mistress of the house, 
 who took Undine's flight and danger far less to heart than 
 her husband, had already gone to rest. The old man 
 blew up the coals, put on kindling stuff and billets of wood, 
 and by means of the renewed flame hunted for a jug of 
 wine, which he brought and set between himself and his 
 guest. 
 
 " You, Sir knight, as well as myself," said he, " are 
 anxious on the silly girl's account, and it would be better, 
 I think, to spend part of the night in chatting and drinking, 
 than keep turning and turning on our rush-mats, and trying 
 in vain to sleep. What is your opinion ? " 
 
 Huldbrand was well pleased with the plan ; the fisherman 
 pressed him to take the vacant seat of honor, its worthy 
 occupant having now left it for her couch ; and they relished 
 their beverage and enjoyed their chat, as two such good 
 men and true ever ought to do. To be sure, whenever 
 the slightest thing moved before the windows, or at times 
 when just nothing at all was moving, one of them would 
 look up and exclaim, " There she comes! " — Then would 
 they continue silent a few moments, and afterward, when 
 nothing appeared, would shake their heads, breathe out a 
 sigh, and go on with their talk. 
 
 But since they were both so pre-occupied in their minds, 
 as to find it next to impossible to dwell upon any subject 
 separate from Undine, the best plan they could devise was, 
 that the old fisherman should relate, and the knight should 
 
22 
 
 hear, in what manner Undine had come to the cottage. 
 So the fisherman, giving an account of the circumstances, 
 began as follows : 
 
 " It is now about fifteen years, since I one day crossed 
 the wild forest with fish for the city market. My wife had 
 remained at home, as she was wont to do : and at this time 
 for a reason of more than common interest ; for although 
 we were beginning to feel the advances of age, God had 
 bestowed upon us an infant of wonderful beauty. It was 
 a little girl, and we already began to ask ourselves the 
 question, whether we ought not, for the advantage of the 
 new-comer, to quit our solitude, and, the better to bring up 
 this precious gift of Heaven, to remove to some more 
 inhabited place. Poor people, to be sure, cannot in these 
 cases do all you may think they ought, Sir knight ; but 
 still, gracious God ! every one must do as much for his 
 children as he possibly can. 
 
 " Well, I went on my way, and this affair would keep 
 running in my head : it put my mind into a perfect whirl. 
 This tongue of land was most dear to me, and I shrunk 
 from the thought of leaving it, when, amidst the bustle 
 and brawls of the city, I was obliged to reflect in this man- 
 ner by myself: ' In a scene of tumult like this, or at least 
 in one not much more quiet, I too must soon take up my 
 abode.' But in spite of these feelings, I was far from mur- 
 muring against the kind providence of God ; on the con- 
 trary, when I received this new blessing, my heart breathed 
 a prayer of thankfulness too deep for words to express. I 
 should also speak an untruth, were I to say, that any thing 
 befell me, either on my passage through the forest to the 
 city, or on my returning homeward, that gave me more 
 alarm than usual, as at that time I had never seen any 
 appearance there, which could terrify or annoy me. In 
 those awful shades the Lord was ever with me, and I felt 
 his presence as my best security." 
 
 Thus speaking, he took his cap reverently from his bald 
 crown, and continued to sit, for a considerable time, in a 
 state of devout thoughtfulness. He then covered himself 
 again, and went on with his relation : 
 
 " On this side the forest, alas ! it was on this side, that 
 woe burst upon me. My wife came wildly to meet me, 
 
23 
 
 clad in mourning apparel, and her eyes streaming with 
 tears. ' Gracious God ! ' I cried with a groan ; < where's 
 our child ? Speak ! ' 
 
 " < With the Being on whom you have called, dear hus- 
 band,' she answered; and w T e now entered the cottage 
 together, weeping in silence. I looked for the little corse, 
 almost fearing to find w T hat I w T as seeking ; and then it was 
 I first learnt how all had happened. 
 
 " My wife had taken the little one in her arms, and 
 w 7 alked out to the shore of the lake. She there sat clown 
 by its very brink ; and while she was playing with the 
 infant, as free from all fear as she was full of delight, it 
 bent forward on a sudden, seeing something in the water, 
 a perfect fairy wonder of beauty. My wife saw her laugh, 
 the dear angel, and try to catch the image in her little 
 hands; but in a moment, — with a motion swifter than 
 sight, — she sprung from her mother's arms, and sunk in 
 the lake, the watery glass into which she had been gazing. 
 I searched for our lost darling again and again ; but it was 
 all in vain ; I could now T here find the least trace of her. 
 
 "Well, our little one was gone. We were again child- 
 less parents, and were now, on the same evening, sitting 
 together by our cottage hearth. We had no desire to 
 talk, even would our tears have permitted us. As we thus 
 sat in mournful stillness, gazing into the fire, all at once we 
 heard something without, — a slight rustling at the door. 
 The door flew open, and we saw a little girl, three or four 
 years old, and more beautiful than I am able to tell you, 
 standing on the threshold, richly dressed and smiling upon 
 us. W r e were struck dumb with astonishment, and I knew 
 not for a time, whether the tiny form were a real human 
 being, or a mere mockery of enchantment. But I soon 
 perceived w r ater dripping from her golden hair and rich 
 garments, and that the pretty child had been lying in the 
 water, and stood in immediate need of our help. 
 
 " < Wife,' said I, ' no one has been able to save our 
 child for us ; still we doubtless ought to do for others, what 
 would make ourselves the happiest parents on earth, could 
 any one do us the same kindness.' 
 
 " We undressed the little thing, put her to bed, and 
 gave her something warming to drink : at all this she spoke 
 
24 
 
 not a word, but only turned her eyes upon us, eyes blue 
 and bright as sea or sky, and continued looking at us with 
 a smile. 
 
 " Next morning, we had no reason to fear, that she had 
 received any other harm than her wetting, and I now 
 asked her about her parents, and how she could have come 
 to us. But the account she gave, was both confused and 
 incredible. She must surely have been born far from 
 here, not only because I have been unable, for these fifteen 
 years, to learn any thing of her birth, but because she 
 then spoke, and at times continues to speak, many things 
 of so very singular a nature, that we neither of us know, 
 after all, whether she may not have dropped among us 
 from the moon. Then her talk runs upon golden castles, 
 crystal domes, and Heaven knows what extravagances 
 beside. What of her story, however, she related w T ith 
 most distinctness, and what appeared to have in it some 
 shadow of likelihood, was this, that while she was once 
 taking a sail with her mother on the great lake, she fell 
 out of the boat into the water ; and that when she first 
 recovered her senses, she w T as here under our trees, where 
 the gay scenes of the shore filled her with delight. 
 
 " We now had another care weighing upon our minds, 
 and one that caused us no small perplexity and uneasiness. 
 We of course very soon determined to keep and bring up 
 the child we had found, in place of our own darling that 
 had been drowned ; but who could tell us whether she 
 had been baptized or not? She herself could give us no 
 light on the subject. When w r e asked her the question, 
 she commonly made answer, that she well knew she was 
 created for God's praise and glory ; and that as to what 
 might promote the praise and glory of God, she was 
 willing to let us determine. 
 
 " My wife and I reasoned in this way : ' If she has 
 not been baptized, there can be no use in putting off the 
 ceremony ; and if she has been, it is more dangerous, in 
 regard to the duties of religion, to do too little than too 
 much.' 
 
 " Taking this view of our difficulty, we now endeavoured 
 to hit upon a good name for the child, since while she 
 remained without one, we were often at a loss, in our 
 
25 
 
 familiar talk, to know what to call her. We at length 
 concluded, that Dorothea would be most suitable for her, 
 as I had somewhere heard it said, that this name signified 
 a Gift of God; and surely she had been sent to us by 
 Providence as a gift, to comfort us in our misery. She, 
 on the contrary, would not so much as hear Dorothea 
 mentioned : she insisted, that as she had been named 
 Undine by her parents, Undine she ought still to be 
 called. 
 
 " It now occurred to me, that this was a heathenish 
 name, to be found in no calendar, and I resolved to ask 
 the advice of a priest in the city. He too would hear 
 nothing of the name, Undine, even for a moment ; and 
 yielding to my urgent request, he came with me through 
 the enchanted forest, in order to perform the rite of bap- 
 tism here in my cottage. 
 
 " The little maid stood before us so smart in her finery, 
 and with so winning an air of gracefulness, that the heart 
 of the priest softened at once in her presence ; and she 
 had a way of coaxing him so adroitly, and even of braving 
 him at times with so merry a queerness, that he at last 
 remembered nothing of his many objections to the name of 
 Undine. 
 
 " Thus then was she baptized Undine ; and during the 
 holy ceremony, she behaved with great propriety and gen- 
 tleness, wild and wayward as at other times she invariably 
 was. For in this my wife was quite correct, when she 
 mentioned the care, anxiety, and vexation the child has 
 occasioned us. If I should relate to you" 
 
 At this moment the knight interrupted the fisherman, 
 with a view to direct his attention to a deep sound, as of 
 a rushing flood, which had caught his ear, within a few 
 minutes, between the words of the old man. And now 
 the waters came pouring on with redoubled fury before the 
 cottage windows. Both sprang to the door. There they 
 saw, by the light of the now risen moon, the brook which 
 issued from the wood, rushing wildly over its banks, and 
 whirling onward with it both stones and branches of trees 
 in its rapid course. The storm, as if awakened by the 
 uproar, burst forth from the clouds, whose immense masses 
 of vapour coursed over the moon with the swiftness of 
 3 
 
26 
 
 thought; the lake roared beneath the wind, that swept 
 the foam from its waves ; while the trees of this narrow 
 peninsula groaned from root to top-most branch, as they 
 bowed and swung above the torrent. 
 
 " Undine ! in God's name, Undine ! " cried the two 
 men in an agony. No answer was returned ; and now, 
 regardless of every thing else, they hurried from the cot- 
 tage, one in this direction, the other in that, searching and 
 calling. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 HOW THEY FOUND UNDINE AGAIN. 
 
 The longer Huldbrand sought Undine beneath the 
 shades of night, and failed to find her, the more anxious 
 and confused he became. The impression that she was a 
 mere phantom of the forest, gained a new ascendancy over 
 him ; — indeed, amid the howling of the waves and the tem- 
 pest, the crashing of the trees, and so entire a transforma- 
 tion of the scene, that it discovered no resemblance to its 
 former calm beauty, he was tempted to view the whole 
 peninsula, together with the cottage and its inhabitants, as 
 little more than some mockery of his senses ; but still he 
 heard, afar off, the fisherman's anxious and incessant shout- 
 ing, " Undine ! Undine ! " and also his aged wife, who, 
 with a loud voice and a strong feeling of awe, was praying 
 and chanting hymns amid the commotion. 
 
 At length, when he drew near to the brook which had 
 overflowed its banks, he perceived by the moonlight, that 
 it had taken its wild course directly in front of the haunted 
 forest, so as to change the peninsula into anisland. 
 
 " Merciful God ! " he breathed to himself, " if Undine 
 has ventured one step within that fearful wood, what will 
 become of her ? — perhaps it was all owing to her sportive 
 and wayward spirit, because I could give her no account 
 of my adventures there ; and now the stream is rolling be- 
 tween us, she may be w T eeping alone on the other side in 
 the midst of spectral horrors ! " 
 
 A shuddering groan escaped him, and clambering over 
 some stones and trunks of overthrown pines, in order to 
 
28 
 
 step into the impetuous current, he resolved, either by wad- 
 ing or swimming, to seek the wanderer on the further shore. 
 He felt, it is true, all the dread and shrinking awe creeping 
 over him, which he had already suffered by daylight among 
 the now tossing and roaring branches of the forest. More 
 than all, a tall man in white, whom he knew but too well, 
 met his view, as he stood grinning and nodding on the grass 
 beyond the water ; but even monstrous forms, like this, only 
 impelled him to cross over toward them, when the thought 
 rushed upon him, that Undine might be there alone, and in 
 the agony of death. 
 
 He had already grasped a stout branch of a pine, and 
 stood supporting himself upon it in the whirling current, 
 against which he could with difficulty keep himself erect ; 
 but he advanced deeper in, with a courageous spirit. That 
 instant, a gentle voice of warning cried near him : " Do not 
 venture, do not venture ! that old man, the stream, is too 
 tricksy to be trusted ! " — He knew the soft tones of the 
 voice ; and while he stood as it were entranced, beneath 
 the shadows which now duskily veiled the moon, his head 
 swum with the swell and rolling of the waves, as he every 
 moment saw them foaming and dashing above his knee. 
 Still he disdained the thought of giving up his purpose. 
 
 " If you are not really there, if you are merely gambol- 
 ing round me like a mist, may I too bid farewell to life, and 
 become a shadow like you, dear, dear Undine ! " Thus 
 calling aloud, he again moved deeper into the stream. 
 " Look round you, ah pray look round you, beautiful young 
 stranger! why rush on death so madly ! " cried the voice a 
 second time close by him ; and looking side-ways, as the 
 moon by glimpses unveiled its light, he perceived a little 
 island formed by the flood, and, reclined upon its flowery 
 turf, beneath the high branches of embowering trees, he 
 saw the smiling and lovely Undine. 
 
 O with what a thrill of delight, compared with the sus- 
 pense and pause of a moment before, the young man now 
 plied his sturdy staff! A few steps freed him from the 
 flood, that was rushing between himself and the maiden, 
 and he stood near her on the little spot of green-sward, in 
 secret security, covered by the primeval trees that rustled 
 above them. Undine had partially risen, within her tent of 
 
29 
 
 verdure, and she now threw her arms around his neck, 
 so that she gently drew him down upon the soft seat by her 
 side. 
 
 " Here you shall tell me your story, my handsome friend," 
 she breathed in a low whisper ; " here the cross old people 
 cannot disturb us. And, besides, our roof of leaves here 
 will make quite as good a shelter, it may be, as their poor 
 cottage." 
 
 " It is heaven itself," cried Huldbrand ; and folding her 
 in his arms, he kissed the lovely and affectionate girl with 
 fervour. 
 
 The old fisherman, meantime, had come to the margin 
 of the stream, and he shouted across to the young lovers : 
 « Why how is this, Sir knight ! I received you with the 
 welcome, which one true-hearted man gives to another, and 
 now you sit there caressing my foster-child in secret, while 
 you suffer me in my anxiety to go roaming through the 
 night in quest of her." 
 
 " Not till this moment did I find her myself, old father," 
 cried the knight across the water. 
 
 " So much the better," said the fisherman; "but now 
 make haste, and bring her over to me upon firm ground." 
 
 To this, however, Undine would by no means consent. 
 She declared, that she would rather enter the wild forest 
 itself with the beautiful stranger, than return to the cottage, 
 where she was so thwarted in her wishes, and from which 
 the handsome knight would soon or late go away. Then 
 closely embracing Huldbrand, she sung the following verse 
 with the warbling sweetness of a bird : 
 
 " A Rill would leave its misty vale, 
 And fortunes wild explore ; 
 Weary at length it reached the main, 
 And sought its vale no more." 
 
 The old fisherman wept bitterly at her song, but his emo- 
 tion seemed to awaken little or no sympathy in her. She 
 kissed and caressed her new friend, whom she called her 
 darling, and who at last said to her : " Undine, if the dis- 
 tress of the old man does not touch your heart, it cannot 
 but move mine. We ought to return to him." 
 
 She opened her large blue eyes upon him in perfect 
 amazement, and finally spoke with a slow and lingering ac- 
 3* 
 
30 
 
 cent: "If you think so, — it is well; all is right to me, which 
 you think right. But the old man over there must first 
 give me his promise, that he will allow you, without objec- 
 tion, to relate what you saw in the wood, and well, 
 
 other things will settle themselves." 
 
 " Come, do only come ! " cried the fisherman to her, 
 unable to utter another word. At the same time, he 
 stretched his arms wide over the current toward her, and, 
 to give her assurance that he would do what she required, 
 nodded his head ; this motion caused his white hair to fall 
 strangely over his face, and Huldbrand could not but re- 
 member the nodding white man of the forest. Without 
 allowing anything, however, to produce in him the least 
 confusion, the young knight took the beautiful girl in his 
 arms, and bore her across the narrow channel, which the 
 stream had torn aw r ay between her little island and the 
 solid shore. The old man fell upon Undine's neck, and 
 found it impossible either to express his joy, or to kiss her 
 enough ; even the ancient dame came up, and embraced the 
 recovered girl most cordially. Every word of censure 
 was carefully avoided ; the more so indeed, as even Un- 
 dine, forgetting her waywardness, almost overwhelmed 
 her foster-parents with caresses and the prattle of ten- 
 derness. 
 
 When at length, after they were able to realize the joy 
 of recovering their child, they seemed to have come to 
 themselves, morning had already dawned, opening to view 
 and brightening the waters of the lake. The tempest had 
 become hushed, and small birds sung merrily on the moist 
 branches. 
 
 As Undine now insisted upon hearing the recital of 
 the knight's promised adventures, the aged couple, smiling 
 with good-humour, consented to gratify her wish. Breakfast 
 was brought out beneath the trees, which stood behind the 
 cottage toward the lake on the north, and they sat down 
 to it with delighted hearts, — Undine lower than the rest 
 (since she would by no means allow it to be otherwise) at 
 the knight's feet on the grass. These arrangements being 
 made, Huldbrand began his story in the following manner. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO THE KNIGHT IN THE FOREST. 
 
 " It is now about eight days, since I rode into the free 
 imperial city, which lies yonder on the further side of the 
 forest. Soon after my arrival, a splendid tournament and 
 running at the ring took place there, and I spared neither 
 my horse nor my lance in the encounters. 
 
 " Once, while I was pausing at the lists, to rest from 
 the brisk exercise, and was handing back my helmet to 
 one of my attendants, a female figure of extraordinary 
 beauty caught my attention, as, most magnificently attired, 
 she stood looking on at one of the balconies. I learnt, on 
 making inquiry of a person near me, that the name of the 
 gay young lady was Bertalda, and that she was a foster- 
 daughter of one of the powerful dukes of this country. 
 She too, I observed, was gazing at me, and the consequen- 
 ces were such, as we young knights are wont to experience : 
 whatever success in riding I might have had before, I was 
 now favoured with still better fortune. That evening I was 
 Bertalda's partner in the dance, and I enjoyed the same 
 distinction during the remainder of the festival." 
 
 A twinge of pain in his left hand, as it hung carelessly 
 beside him, here interrupted Huldbrand's relation, and 
 drew his eye to the part affected. Undine had fastened 
 her pearly teeth, and not without some keenness too, upon 
 one of his fingers, appearing at the same time very gloomy 
 and displeased. On a sudden, however, she looked up in 
 his eyes with an expression of tender melancholy, and 
 whispered almost inaudibly : 
 
32 
 
 " You blame me for being rude, but you are yourself 
 the cause." 
 
 She then covered her face, and the knight, strangely 
 embarrassed and thoughtful, went on with his story : 
 
 " This lady Bertalda of whom I spoke, is of a proud 
 and wayward spirit. The second day I saw her, she 
 pleased me by no means so much as she had the first, and 
 the third day still less. But I continued about her, because 
 she showed me more favour than she did any other knio-ht ; 
 and the result of my indiscretion was, that I playfully 
 asked her to give me one of her gloves. 
 
 " f When you have entered the haunted forest all alone,' 
 said she ; ' when you have explored its wonders, and 
 brought me a full account of them, the glove is yours.' 
 
 " As to getting her glove, it was of no importance to 
 me whatever, but the word had been spoken, and no 
 honourable knight would permit himself to be reminded of 
 such a proof of valour a second time." 
 
 " I thought," said Undine, interrupting him, " that she 
 felt an affection for you." 
 
 " It did appear so," replied Huldbrand. 
 
 " Well ! " exclaimed the maiden, laughing, " this is 
 beyond belief; she must be very stupid and heartless. To 
 drive from her one who was dear to her ! And, worse 
 than all, into that ill-omened wood ! The wood and its 
 mysteries, for all I should have cared, might have w r aited a 
 long while." 
 
 " Yesterday morning, then," pursued the knight, smiling 
 brightly upon Undine, " I set out from the city, my enter- 
 prise before me. The early light lay rich upon the 
 verdant turf. It shone so rosy on the slender boles of the 
 trees, and there w T as so merry a whispering among the 
 leaves, that in my heart I could not but laugh at people, 
 who feared meeting any thing to terrify them in a spot so 
 delicious. <I shall soon trot through the forest, and as 
 speedily return,' I said to myself in the overflow of joyous 
 feeling ; and ere I was well aware, I had entered deep 
 among the green shades, while of the plain that lay behind 
 me, I was no more able to catch a glimpse. 
 
 "Then the conviction for the first time impressed me, 
 that in a forest of so great extent I might very easily 
 
33 
 
 become bewildered, and that this perhaps might be the 
 only danger, which was likely to threaten those who 
 explored its recesses. So I made a halt, and turned myself 
 in the direction of the sun, which had meantime risen 
 somewhat higher ; and while I was looking up to observe 
 it, I saw something black among the boughs of a lofty oak. 
 My first thought was, — c It is a bear ! ' and I grasped my 
 weapon of defence ; the object then accosted me from 
 above in a human voice, but in a tone most harsh and 
 hideous : ' If I overhead here do not gnaw off these dry 
 branches, Sir Wiseacre Noodle, what shall we have to roast 
 you with, w T hen midnight comes ? ' And with that it 
 grinned, and made such a rattling with the branches, that 
 my courser became mad with affright, and rushed furiously 
 forward with me, before I had time to see distinctly what 
 sort of a devil's beast it was." 
 
 " You must not name it," said the old fisherman, crossing 
 himself; his wife did the same without speaking a word ; 
 and Undine, while her eye sparkled with glee, looked at 
 her beloved knight and said : " The best of the story is, 
 however, that as yet they have not actually roasted you. 
 But pray make haste, my handsome young friend. Hong 
 to hear more." 
 
 The knight then went on with his adventures : " My 
 horse was so wild, that he well-nigh rushed with me 
 against limbs and trunks of trees. He was dripping with 
 sweat, through terror, heat, and the violent straining of his 
 muscles. Still he refused to slacken his career. At last, 
 altogether beyond my control, he took his course directly 
 up a stony steep ; when suddenly a tall white man flashed 
 before me, and threw himself athwart the route my mad 
 steed was taking. At this apparition he shuddered with 
 new affright, and stopt, trembling. I took this chance of 
 recovering my command of him, and now for the first time 
 perceived, that my deliverer, so far from being a white 
 man, was only a brook of silver brightness, foaming near 
 me in its descent from the hill, while it crossed and 
 arrested my horse's course with its rush of waters." 
 
 " Thanks, thanks, dear Brook," cried Undine, clapping 
 her little hands. But the old man shook his head, and, 
 deeply musing, looked vacantly down before him. 
 
34 
 
 " Hardly had I well settled myself in my saddle, and 
 got the reins in my grasp again," Huldbrand pursued, 
 " when a wizard-like dwarf of a man was already standing 
 at my side, diminutive and ugly beyond conception, his 
 complexion of a brownish yellow, and his nose scarcely of 
 less magnitude than all the rest of him. The fellow's 
 mouth was slit almost from ear to ear, and he showed his 
 teeth with a simpering smile of idiot courtesy, while he 
 overwhelmed me with bows and scrapes innumerable. 
 The farce now becoming excessively irksome, I thanked 
 him in the fewest words I could well use, turned about my 
 still trembling charger, and purposed either to seek another 
 adventure, or, should I meet with none, to pick my way 
 back to the city ; for the sun, during my wild chase, had 
 passed the meridian, and was now hastening toward the 
 west. But this villain of a manikin sprung at the same 
 instant, and, with a turn as rapid as lightning, stood before 
 my horse again. ' Clear the way there ! ' I fiercely 
 shouted ; ' the beast is wild, and will make nothing of 
 running over you.' 
 
 " 'He will, will he !' cried the imp with a snarl, and 
 snorting out a laugh still more frightfully idiotic ; ' pay me, 
 first pay what you owe me, — I stopt your fine little nag 
 for you ; without my help, both you and he would be now 
 sprawling below there in that stony ravine : Hu ! from 
 what a horrible plunge I've saved you.' 
 
 " < Well, pray don't stretch your mouth any wider,' said 
 I, 'but take your drink-money and off, though every word 
 you say is false. See, it was the kind brook there, you 
 miserable thing, and not you, that saved me.' And at the 
 same time I dropt a piece of gold into his wizard cap, 
 which he had taken from his head while he was begging 
 before me. 
 
 " I then trotted off, and left him ; but, to make bad 
 worse, he screamed after me, and on a sudden, with 
 inconceivable quickness, he was close by my side. I 
 started my horse into a gallop ; he galloped on with me, 
 impossible for him as it appeared ; and with this strange 
 movement, half ludicrous and half horrible, forcing at the 
 same time every limb and feature into distortion, he kept 
 raising the gold piece as high as he could stretch his arm, 
 
35 
 
 and screaming at every leap : < Counterfeit ! false ! false 
 coin ! counterfeit ! ' and such were the croaking sounds 
 that issued from his hollow breast, you would have sup- 
 posed, that, every time he made them, he must have 
 tumbled upon the ground dead. All this while, his disgust- 
 ful red tongue hung lolling far out of his mouth. 
 
 " Discomposed at the sight, I stopt and asked him : 
 'What do you mean by your screaming? Take another 
 piece of gold, take two more, — but leave me.' 
 
 " He then began to make his hideous salutations of 
 courtesy again, and snarled out as before : ' Not gold, it 
 shall not be gold, my smart young gentleman ; I have too 
 much of that trash already, as I will show you in no-time.' 
 
 "At that moment, and thought itself could not have 
 been more instantaneous, I seemed to have acquired new 
 powers of sight. I could see through the solid green 
 plain, as if it were green glass, and the smooth surface of 
 the earth were round as a globe ; and within it I saw 
 crowds of goblins, who were pursuing their pastime, and 
 making themselves merry with silver and gold. They 
 were tumbling and rolling about, heads up and heads down ; 
 they pelted one another in sport with the precious metals, 
 and with irritating malice blew gold dust in one another's 
 eyes. My odious companion stood half within and half 
 without; he ordered the others to reach him up a vast 
 quantity of gold ;»this he showed to me with a laugh, and 
 then flung it again ringing and chinking down the meas- 
 ureless abyss. 
 
 "After this contemptuous disregard of gold, he held up 
 the piece I had given him, showing it to his brother gnomes 
 below, and they laughed themselves half dead at a bit so 
 worthless, and hissed me. At last, raising their fingers all 
 smutched with ore, they pointed them at me in scorn, and 
 wilder and wilder, and thicker and thicker, and madder 
 and madder, the crowd were clambering up to where I sat 
 gazing at these wonders. Then terror seized me, as it 
 had before seized my horse. I gave him both spurs to 
 the quick ; and how far he rushed headlong with me 
 through the forest, during this second of my wild heats, it 
 is impossible to say. 
 
 " At last, w T hen I had now come to a dead halt again, 
 
36 
 
 the cool of evening was around me. I caught the gleam 
 of a white foot-path through the branches of the trees ; 
 and presuming it would lead me out of the forest toward 
 the city, I was desirous of working my way into it ; but a 
 face perfectly white and indistinct, with features forever 
 changing, kept thrusting itself out and peering at me 
 between the leaves. I tried to avoid it ; but wherever I 
 went, there too appeared the unearthly face. I was 
 maddened with rage at this interruption, and drove my 
 steed at the appearance full-tilt ; when such a cloud of 
 white foam came rushing upon me and my horse, that we 
 were almost blinded and glad to turn about and escape. 
 Thus from step to step it forced us on, and ever aside from 
 the foot-path, leaving us, for the most part, only one 
 direction open. But when we advanced in this, although 
 it kept following close behind us, it did not occasion the 
 smallest harm or inconvenience. 
 
 " At times, when I looked about me at the form, I 
 perceived that the white face, which had splashed upon 
 us its shower of foam, was resting on a body equally white 
 and of more than gigantic size. Many a time too, I 
 received the impression, that the whole appearance was 
 nothing more than a wandering stream or torrent, but 
 respecting this I could never attain to any certainty. We 
 both of us, horse and rider, became weary, as we shaped 
 our course according to the movements ef the white man, 
 who continued nodding his head at us, as if he would say : 
 * Perfectly right ! perfectly right ! ' — And thus, at length, 
 we came out here at the edge of the wood, where I saw 
 the fresh turf, the waters of the lake, and your little cottage, 
 and where the tall white man disappeared." 
 
 " Well, Heaven be praised that he is gone ! " cried the 
 old fisherman ; and he now fell to considering how his guest 
 could most conveniently return to his friends in the city. 
 Upon this, Undine began tittering to herself, but so very low 
 that the sound was hardly perceivable. Huldbrand, 
 observing it, said : " I had hoped you would see me 
 remain here with pleasure ; why then do you now appear so 
 happy, when our talk turns upon my going away ? " 
 
 " Because you cannot go away," answered Undine. 
 « Pray make a single attempt ; try with a wherry, with 
 
37 
 
 your horse, or alone, as you please, to cross that forest- 
 stream which has burst its bounds. Or rather, make no trial 
 at all, for you would be dashed to pieces by the stones and 
 trunks of trees, which you see driven on with such violence. 
 And as to the lake, I am well acquainted with that ; even 
 my father dares not venture out with his wherry far enough 
 to help you." 
 
 Huldbrand rose, smiling, in order to look about, and 
 observe whether the state of things were such, as Undine 
 had represented it to be ; the old man accompanied him, 
 and the maiden, in mockery, went gamboling and playing 
 her antics beside them. They found all in fact, just as 
 Undine had said, and that the knight, whether willing or 
 not willing, must submit to remain on the island, so lately a 
 peninsula, until the flood should subside. 
 
 When the three were now returning to the cottage, after 
 their ramble, the knight whispered the little girl in her 
 ear : " Well, dear Undine, hov: is it with you ? Are you 
 angry on account of my remaining? " 
 
 "Ah," she pettishly made answer, "not a word ofthat. 
 If I had not bitten you, who knows what fine things you 
 would have put into your story about Bertalda ! " 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOW THE KNIGHT LIVED ON THE POINT OF LAND, NOW 
 ENCIRCLED BT THE LAKE. 
 
 At some period of your life, my dear reader, afler mani- 
 fold triumphs and repulses in the crusade of the world, you 
 may have reached a situation where you were happy ; that 
 love for the calm security of our own fireside, which we 
 all feel as an affection born with us, again rose within you ; 
 you imagined that your home would again bloom forth, as 
 from a cherished grave, with all the flowers of childhood, 
 the purest and most impassioned love ; and that, in such a 
 spot, it must be delightful to take up your abode, and 
 build your tabernacle for life. 
 
 Whether you were mistaken in this persuasion, and 
 afterward made a severe expiation for your error of judg- 
 ment, it suits not my purpose to inquire, and you would be 
 unwilling yourself, it may be, to be saddened by a recol- 
 lection so ungrateful. But again awake within you that 
 foretaste of bliss, so inexpressibly sweet, that angelic salu- 
 tation of peace, and you will be able, perchance, to real- 
 ize something of the knight Huldbrand's happiness, the 
 tender visions of his heart, while he remained on the point 
 of land, now surrounded by the lake. 
 
 He frequently observed, and no doubt with heartfelt sat- 
 isfaction, that the forest-stream continued everyday to swell 
 and roll on with a more impetuous sweep ; that, by tearing 
 away the earth, it scooped out a broader and broader chan- 
 nel ; and that the time of his seclusion on the island be- 
 came, in consequence, more and more extended. Part of 
 
39 
 
 the clay he wandered about with an old cross-bow, which he 
 found in a corner of the cottage, and had repaired, in order 
 to shoot the water-fowl that flew over ; and all that he 
 was lucky enough to hit, he brought home for a good roast 
 in the kitchen. When he came in with his booty, Undine 
 seldom failed to greet him with a scolding, because he had 
 cruelly deprived her dear merry friends of life, as they 
 were sporting above in the blue ocean of the air ; nay more, 
 she often wept bitterly, when she viewed the water-fowl 
 dead in his hand. But at other times, when he returned 
 without having shot any, she gave him a scolding equally 
 serious, since, owing to his indolent strolling and awkward 
 handling of the bow, they must now put up with a dinner 
 of pickerel and crawfish. Her playful taunts ever touch- 
 ed his heart with delight ; the more so, as she afterward 
 strove to make up for her pretended ill-humour with that 
 most endearing of prattle, of which lovers alone are able 
 to understand the value. 
 
 In this familiarity of the young people, their aged friends 
 saw a resemblance to the feelings of their own youth : they 
 appeared to look upon them as betrothed, or even as a 
 young married pair, that lived with them in their age, to 
 afford them assistance on their island, now torn off from 
 the mainland. His retired situation, too, strongly im- 
 pressed young Huldbrand with the feeling that he was al- 
 ready Undine's bridegroom. It seemed to him, as if, be- 
 yond those encompassing floods, there were no other world 
 in existence, or at any rate as if he could never cross them, 
 and again associate with the world of other men ; and when 
 at times his grazing steed raised his head and neighed to 
 him, seemingly inquiring after his knightly achievements 
 and reminding him of them, or when his coat of arms 
 sternly shone upon him from the embroidery of his saddle, 
 and the caparisons of his horse, or when his sword hap- 
 pened to fall from a nail on which it was hanging in the 
 cottage, and flashed on his eye as it slipped from the scab- 
 bard in its fall, — he quieted the dubious suggestions of his 
 mind, by saying to himself: "Undine cannot be a fisher- 
 man's daughter ; she is, in all probability, a native of 
 some remote region, and a member of some illustrious 
 family." 
 
40 
 
 There was one thing, indeed, to which he had a strong 
 aversion : this was to hear the old dame reprimanding Un- 
 dine. The wild girl, it is true, commonly laughed at the 
 reproof, making no attempt to conceal the extravagance 
 of her mirth ; but it appeared to him like touching his own 
 honour ; and still he found it impossible to blame the aged 
 wife of the fisherman, since Undine always deserved at 
 least ten times as many reprimands as she received : so he 
 continued to feel in his heart an affectionate tenderness for 
 them all, even for the ancient mistress of the house, and 
 his whole life flowed on in the calm stream of contentment. 
 
 But still there came some interruption at last. The 
 fisherman and the knight had been accustomed at dinner, 
 and also in the evening, when the wind roared without, as 
 it rarely failed to do toward night, to enjoy together a 
 flask of wine. But now their whole stock, which the 
 fisherman had from time to time brought with him from the 
 city, was at last exhausted, and they were both quite out of 
 humour at the circumstance. That day Undine laughed at 
 them excessively, but they were not disposed to join in 
 her pleasantries with the same gaiety as usual. Toward 
 evening she went out of the cottage, to escape, as she said, 
 the sight of two such. lengthened and tiresome faces. 
 
 While it was yet twilight, some appearances of a tem- 
 pest seemed to be again mustering in the sky, and the 
 waves already rushed and roared around them : the knight 
 and the fisherman sprung to the door in terror, to bring 
 home the maiden, remembering the anguish of that night, 
 when Huldbrand had first entered the cottage. But Un- 
 dine met them at the same moment, clapping her little 
 hands in high glee. 
 
 " What will you give me," she cried, " to provide you 
 with wine? or rather, you need not give me any thing," 
 she continued ; " for I am already satisfied, if you look 
 more cheerful, and have a livelier flow of spirits, than 
 throughout this last most wearisome day. Do only come 
 with me one minute ; the forest-stream has driven ashore 
 a cask ; and I will be condemned to sleep a whole week, 
 if it is not a wine-cask." 
 
 The men followed her, and actually found, in a bushy 
 cove of the shore, a cask, which inspired them with as 
 
41 
 
 much joy, as if they were sure it contained the generous 
 old wine, for which they were thirsting. They first of all, 
 and with as much expedition as possible, rolled it toward 
 the cottage ; for a heavy shower was again rising in the 
 west, and they could discern the waves of the lake, in the 
 fading light, lifting their white foaming heads, as if looking 
 out for the rain, which threatened every instant to pour 
 upon them. Undine helped them, as much as she was 
 able ; and as the shower, with a roar of wind, came suddenly 
 sweeping on in rapid pursuit, she raised her finger with a 
 merry menace toward the dark mass of clouds, and cried : 
 
 "You cloud, you cloud, have a care! — beware how 
 you wet us ; we are some way from shelter yet." 
 
 The old man reproved her for this sally, as a sinful pre- 
 sumption ; but she laughed to herself with a low tittering, 
 and no one suffered any evil from her wild behaviour. 
 Nay more, what was beyond their expectation, they all 
 three reached their comfortable hearth unwet, with their 
 prize secured ; but the moment the cask had been broached, 
 and proved to contain wine of a remarkably fine flavour, 
 then the rain first poured unrestrained from the black cloud, 
 the tempest raved through the tops of the trees, and swept 
 far over the billows of the deep. 
 
 Having immediately filled several bottles from the large 
 cask, which promised them a supply for a long time, they 
 drew round the glowing hearth ; and comfortably secured 
 from the violence of the storm, they sat tasting the flavour 
 of their wine, and bandying their quips and pleasantries. 
 
 As reflection returned upon him, the old fisherman 
 all at once became very grave, and said : " Ah, great God ! 
 here we sit, rejoicing over this rich gift, while he to whom 
 it first belonged, and from whom it was wrested by the 
 fury of the stream, must there also, it is more than probable, 
 have lost his life." 
 
 " His fate, I trust, was not quite so melancholy as that," 
 said Undine, while, smiling, she filled the knight's cup to 
 the brim. 
 
 But he exclaimed: "By my unsullied honour, old 
 father, if I knew where to find and rescue him, no exposure 
 to the night, nor any thought of peril, should deter me 
 
 from making the attempt. But I give you all the assur- 
 
 4# 
 
42 
 
 ance I am able to give, that provided I ever reach an 
 inhabited country again, I will find out the owner of 
 this wine or his heirs, and make double and triple 
 reimbursement." 
 
 The old man was gratified with this assurance ; he gave 
 the knight a nod of approbation, and now drained his cup 
 with an easier conscience and a more delicate relish. 
 
 Undine, however, said to Huldbrand : "As to the repay- 
 ment and your gold, you may do whatever you like. 
 But what you said about your venturing out, and searching, 
 and exposing yourself to danger, appears to me far from 
 wise. I should cry my very eyes out, should you perish 
 there on such a wild jaunt ; and is it not true, that you 
 would prefer staying here with me and the good wine ? " 
 
 " Most assuredly," answered Huldbrand, smiling. 
 
 "Well," replied Undine, " you spoke unwisely then. 
 For charity begins at home ; our neighbour ought not to 
 be our first thought ; and whatever is a calamity to him, 
 would be one in our own case also." 
 
 The mistress of the house turned away from her, sigh- 
 ing and shaking her head, while the fisherman forgot his 
 wonted indulgence toward the graceful little girl, and thus 
 reproved her : 
 
 " That sounds exactly as if you had been brought up by 
 heathens and Turks ; " and he finished his reproof by adding : 
 "May God forgive both me and you, — unfeeling child ! " 
 
 " Well, say what you will, this is what I think and 
 feel," replied Undine, " be they who they may that 
 brought me up, — and how can a thousand of your words 
 help it?" 
 
 " Silence ! " exclaimed the fisherman, in a voice of 
 stern rebuke ; and she, who with all her wild spirit was at 
 the same time extremely alive to fear, shrunk from him, 
 moved close up to Huldbrand, trembling, and breathed 
 this question in the lowest tone possible: 
 
 " Are you also angry, dear friend ? " 
 
 The knight pressed her soft hand, and tenderly stroked 
 her locks. He was unable to utter a word ; for his vexa- 
 tion, arising from the old man's severity toward Undine, 
 closed his lips ; and thus the two couple sat opposite to 
 each other, at once heated with anger and in embarrassed 
 silence. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 A WEDDING. 
 
 In the midst of this painful stillness, a low knocking was 
 heard at the door, which struck them all with dismay. 
 For there are times when a slight circumstance, coming 
 unexpectedly upon us, startles us like something supernat- 
 ural. But here it was a further source of alarm, that the 
 enchanted forest lay so near them, and that their place of 
 abode seemed at present inaccessible to the visit of any 
 thing human. While they were looking upon one another 
 in doubt, the knocking was again heard, accompanied with 
 a deep groan. The knight sprang to seize his sword. 
 But the old man said in a low whisper : 
 
 " If it be what I fear it is, no weapon of yours can 
 protect us." 
 
 Undine, in the mean while, went to the door, and cried 
 with the firm voice of fearless displeasure : " Spirits of 
 the earth ! if mischief be your aim, Kühleborn shall teach 
 you better manners." 
 
 The terror of the rest was increased by this wild 
 speech ; they looked fearfully upon the girl, and Huld- 
 brand was just recovering presence of mind enough to ask 
 what she meant, when a voice reached them from without : 
 
 " I am no spirit of the earth, though a spirit still in its 
 earthly body. You that are within the cottage there, if 
 you fear God and would afford me assistance, open your 
 door to me." 
 
 By the time these words were spoken, Undine had 
 already opened it ; and the lamp throwing a strong illumi- 
 
44 
 
 nation upon the stormy night, they perceived an aged 
 priest without, who stept back in terror, when his eye fell 
 on a sight so unexpected, the vision of a little damsel of 
 such exquisite beauty. Well might he think there must 
 be magic in the wind, and witchcraft at work, where a 
 form of such surpassing loveliness appeared at the door of 
 so humble a dwelling. So he lifted up his voice in prayer : 
 
 " Let all good spirits praise the Lord God ! " 
 
 " I am no spectre," said Undine with a smile. " Do 
 you think indeed, I look so very frightful ? And more, — 
 you cannot but bear me witness yourself, that I am far 
 from shrinking terrified at your holy words. I too have 
 knowledge of God, and understand the duty of praising 
 him ; every one, to be sure, has his own way of doing 
 this, and this privilege he meant we should enjoy, when he 
 gave us being. Walk in, father ; you will find none but 
 worthy people here." 
 
 The holy man came bowing in, and cast round a glance 
 of scrutiny, wearing at the same time a very placid and 
 venerable air. But water was dropping from every fold of 
 his dark garments, from his long white beard, and the 
 white locks of his hair. The fisherman and the knight 
 took him to another apartment, and furnished him with a 
 change of raiment, while they handed his own suit into 
 the room they had left, for the females to dry. The aged 
 stranger thanked them in a manner the most humble and 
 courteous, but on the knight's offering him his splendid 
 cloak to wrap round him, he could not be persuaded to 
 take it, but chose instead an old gray overcoat that belonged 
 to the fisherman. 
 
 They then returned to the common apartment. The 
 mistress of the house immediately offered her great chair 
 to the priest, and continued urging it upon him, till she 
 saw him fairly in possession of it. " You are old and 
 exhausted," said she, "and are moreover a man of God." 
 
 Undine shoved under the stranger's feet her little cricket, 
 on which at other times she used to sit near to Huldbrand, 
 and showed herself, in thus promoting the comfort of the 
 worthy old man, in the highest degree gentle and amiable. 
 On her paying him these little attentions, Huldbrand whis- 
 pered some raillery in her ear, but she replied gravely : 
 
45 
 
 " He is a minister of that Being, who created us all, and 
 holy things are not to be treated with lightness." 
 
 The knight and the fisherman now refreshed the priest 
 with food and wine ; and when he had somewhat recovered 
 his strength and spirits, he began to relate how he had the 
 day before set out from his cloister, which was situated 
 afar off beyond the great lake, in order to visit the bishop, 
 and acquaint him with the distress, into which the cloister 
 and its tributary villages had fallen, owing to the extraor- 
 dinary floods. After a long and wearisome wandering, on 
 account of the same rise of the waters, he had been this 
 day compelled toward evening to procure the aid of a 
 couple of stout boatmen, and cross over an arm of the 
 lake which had burst its usual boundary. 
 
 "But hardly," continued he, "had our small ferry-boat 
 touched the waves, when that furious tempest burst forth, 
 which is still raging over our heads. It seemed as if the 
 billows had been waiting our approach, only to rush upon 
 us with a madne?s the more wild. The oars were wrested 
 from the grasp of my men in an instant ; and shivered by 
 the resistless force, they drove further and further out 
 before us upon the waves. Unable to direct our course, 
 we yielded to the blind power of nature, and seemed to 
 fly over the surges toward your remote shore, which we 
 already saw looming through the mist and foam of the 
 deep. Then it was at last, that our boat turned short from 
 its course, and rocked with a motion that became more 
 and more wild and dizzy : I know not whether it was 
 overset, or the violence of the motion threw me overboard. 
 In my agony and struggle at the thought of a near and 
 terrible death, the waves bore me onward, till one of them 
 cast me ashore here beneath the trees of your island." 
 
 " Yes, an island ! " cried the fisherman. " A short 
 time ago it was only a point of land. But now, since the 
 forest-stream and lake have become all but mad, it appears 
 to be entirely changed." 
 
 " I observed something of it," replied the priest, " as I 
 stole along the shore in the obscurity ; and hearing nothing 
 around me but a sort of wild uproar, I perceived at last, that 
 the noise came from a point, exactly where a beaten foot- 
 path disappeared. I now caught the light in your cottage, 
 
46 
 and ventured hither, where I cannot sufficiently thank my 
 
 heavenly Father^trun^after preserving me from the waters, 
 he has also conducted me to such pious people as you are ; 
 and the more so, as it is difficult to say, whether I shall 
 ever behold any other persons in this world except you 
 four." 
 
 " What mean you by those words ? " asked the fisher- 
 man. 
 
 " Can you tell me, then, how long this commotion of 
 the elements will last ? " returned the holy man. " And 
 the years of my pilgrimage are many. The stream of my 
 life may easily sink into the ground and vanish, before the 
 overflowing of that forest-stream shall subside. Indeed, 
 taking a general view of things, it is not impossible, that 
 more and more of the foaming waters may rush in between 
 you and yonder forest, until you are so far removed 
 from the rest of the world, that your small fishing-canoe 
 may be incapable of passing over, and the inhabitants 
 of the continent entirely forget your age amid the dissipa- 
 tion and diversions of life." 
 
 At this melancholy foreboding, the old lady shrunk back 
 with a feeling of alarm, crossed herself, and cried : " May 
 God forbid ! " 
 
 But the fisherman looked upon her with a smile, and 
 said : " What a strange being is man ! Suppose the worst 
 to happen : our state would not be different, at any rate 
 your own would not, dear wife, from what it is at present. 
 For have you, these many years, been further from home 
 than the border of the forest ? And have you seen a single 
 human being beside Undine and myself? — It is now only 
 a short time since the coming of the knight and the priest. 
 They will remain with us, even if we do become a forgot- 
 ten island ; so after all you will derive the best advantage 
 from the disaster." 
 
 " I know not," replied the ancient dame, " it may be 
 so ; still it is a dismal thought, when brought fairly home 
 to the mind, that we are forever separated from mankind, 
 even though, in fact, we never do know nor see them." 
 
 " Then you will remain with us, then you will remain 
 with us!" whispered Undine in a voice scarcely audible 
 and half singing, while with the intense fervour of the heart 
 
47 
 
 she moved more and more closely to Huldbrand's side. 
 But he was immersed in the deep and strange musings of 
 his own mind. The region on the other side of the forest- 
 river, since the last words of the priest, seemed to have 
 been withdrawing further and further, in dim perspective, 
 from his view ; and the blooming island on which he lived, 
 grew green and smiled more freshly before the eye of his 
 mind. His bride glowed like the fairest rose, — not of this 
 obscure nook only, but even of the whole wide world, 
 and the priest was now present. 
 
 Beside these hopes and reveries of love, another circum- 
 stance influenced him : the mistress of the family was 
 directing an angry glance at the fair girl, because, even in 
 the presence of their spiritual director, she was leaning so 
 fondly on her darling knight ; and it seemed as if she was 
 on the point of breaking out in harsh reproof. Then was 
 the resolution of Huldbrand taken ; his heart and mouth 
 were opened; and, turning toward the priest, he said, 
 " Father, you here see before you an affianced pair, and if 
 this maiden and these worthy people of the island have no 
 objection, you shall unite us this very evening." 
 
 The aged couple were both exceedingly surprised. 
 They had often, it is true, anticipated an event of this na- 
 ture, but as yet they had never mentioned it ; and now 
 when the knight made the attachment known, it came upon 
 them like something wholly new and unexpected. Undine 
 became suddenly grave, and cast her eyes upon the floor 
 in a profound reverie, while the priest made inquiries re- 
 specting the circumstances of their acquaintance, and asked 
 the old people whether they gave their consent to the union. 
 After a great number of questions and answers, the affair 
 was arranged to the satisfaction of all ; and the mistress of 
 the house went to prepare the bridal apartment for the 
 young couple, and also, with a view to grace the nuptial 
 solemnity, to seek for two consecrated tapers, which she 
 had for a long time kept by her. 
 
 The knight in the mean while busied himself about his 
 gold chain, for the purpose of disengaging two of its links, 
 that he might make an exchange of rings with his bride. 
 But when she saw his object, she started from her trance 
 of musing, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Not so ! my parents were far from sending me into 
 
48 
 
 the world so perfectly destitute ; on the contrary, they 
 must have foreseen, even at so early a period, that such a 
 night as this would come." 
 
 Thus speaking, she was out of the room in a moment, 
 and a moment after returned with two costly rings, of 
 which she gave one to her bridegroom, and kept the other 
 for herself. The old fisherman was beyond measure as- 
 tonished at this ; and his wife, who was just re-entering the 
 room, was even more surprised than he, that neither of 
 them had ever seen these jewels in the child's possession. 
 
 "My parents," said Undine, "made me sew these 
 trinkets to that beautiful raiment, which I wore the very 
 day I came to you. They also charged me on no ac- 
 count whatever, to mention them to any one before my 
 nuptial evening. At the time of my coming, therefore, I 
 took them off in secret, and have kept them concealed to 
 the present hour." 
 
 The priest now cut short all further questioning and 
 wondering, while he lighted the consecrated tapers, placed 
 them on a table, and ordered the bridal pair to stand 
 directly before him. He then pronounced the few solemn 
 words of the ceremony, and made them one ; the elder 
 couple gave the younger their blessing ; and the bride, 
 slightly trembling and thoughtful, leaned upon the knight. 
 
 The priest then spoke plainly and at once : " You are 
 strange people after all ; for why did you tell me you were 
 the only inhabitants of the island ? So far is this from 
 being true, I have seen, the whole time I have been per- 
 forming the ceremony, a tall, stately man, in a white 
 mantle, stand opposite to me, looking in at the window. 
 He must be still waiting before the door, if peradventure 
 you would invite him to come in." 
 
 " God forbid ! " cried the old lady, shrinking back ; the 
 fisherman shook his head without opening his lips, and 
 Huldbrand sprang to the window. It appeared to him, 
 that he could still discern some vestige of a form, white* 
 and indistinct as a vapour, but it soon wholly disappeared 
 in the gloom. He convinced the priest that he must have 
 been quite mistaken in his impression ; and now, inspired 
 with the freedom and familiarity of perfect confidence, they 
 all sat down together round a bright and comfortable 
 hearth. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHAT FURTHER HAPPENED ON THE EVENING OE THE 
 WEDDING. 
 
 Before the nuptial ceremony, and during its perform- 
 ance, Undine had shown a modest gentleness and maidenly 
 reserve ; but it now seemed as if all the wayward freaks 
 that effervesced within her, were foaming and bursting 
 forth with an extravagance only the more bold and unre- 
 strained. She teased her bridegroom, her foster-parents, 
 and even the priest, whom she had but just now revered so 
 highly, with all sorts of childish tricks and vagaries ; and 
 when the ancient dame was about to reprove her too frolic- 
 some spirit, the knight, by a few serious and expressive 
 words, imposed silence upon her by calling Undine his wife. 
 
 The knight was himself, indeed, just as little pleased 
 with Undine's childish behaviour as the rest; but still, all 
 his winking, hemming, and expressions of censure were to 
 no purpose. It is true, whenever the bride observed the 
 dissatisfaction of her husband, — and this occasionally 
 happened, — she became more quiet, placed herself beside 
 him, stroked his face with caressing fondness, whispered 
 something smilingly in his ear, and in this manner smooth- 
 ed the wrinkles that were gathering on his brow. But the 
 moment after, some wild whim would make her resume 
 her antic movements, and all went worse than before. 
 
 The priest then spoke in a kind, although serious tone : 
 
 " My pleasant young friend, surely no one can witness 
 
 your playful spirit without being diverted ; but remember 
 
 betimes so to attune your soul, that it may produce a har- 
 
 5 
 
50 
 
 mony ever in accordance with the soul of your wedded 
 bridegroom." 
 
 " Soul ! " cried Undine, with a laugh, nearly allied to 
 one of derision ; " what you say has a remarkably pretty 
 sound, and for most people, too, it may be a very instruc- 
 tive rule and profitable caution. But when a person has 
 no soul at all, how, I pray you, can such attuning be pos- 
 sible ? And this in truth is just my condition." 
 
 The priest was much hurt, but continued silent in holy 
 displeasure, and turned away his face from the maiden in 
 sorrow. She, however, went up to him with the most 
 winning sweetness, and said : 
 
 " Nay, I entreat you, first listen to some particulars, 
 before you frown upon me in anger ; for your frown of 
 anger is painful to me, and by no means ought you to give 
 pain to a creature, that has itself done nothing injurious to 
 you. Only have patience with me, and I will explain to 
 you every word of what I meant." 
 
 She had come to the resolution, it was evident, to give 
 a full account of herself, when she suddenly faltered, as if 
 seized with an inward shuddering, and burst into a passion 
 of tears. They were none of them able to understand the 
 intenseness of her feelings, and with mingled emotions of 
 fear and anxiety, they gazed on her in silence. Then 
 wiping away her tears, and looking earnestly at the priest, 
 she at last said : 
 
 " There must be something lovely, but at the same time 
 something most awful, about a soul. In the name of 
 God, holy man, were it not better that we never shared a 
 gift so mysterious ? " 
 
 Again she paused and restrained her tears, as if waiting 
 for an answer. All in the cottage had risen from their 
 seats, and stept back from her with horror. She, however, 
 seemed to have eyes for no one but the holy man : a fear- 
 ful curiosity was painted on her features, and this made 
 her emotion appear terrible to the others. 
 
 " Heavily must the soul w T eigh down its possessor," she 
 pursued, when no one returned her any answer, " very 
 heavily ! for already its approaching image overshadows 
 me with anguish and mourning. And, alas ! I have till 
 now been so merry and light-hearted!" — And she burst 
 
51 
 
 into another flood of tears, and covered her face with her 
 veil. 
 
 The priest, going up to her with a solemn look, now 
 addressed himself to her, and conjured her by the name of 
 God most holy, if any evil or spirit of evil possessed her, 
 to remove the light covering from her face. But she 
 sunk before him on her knees, and repeated after him 
 every sacred expression he uttered, giving praise to God, 
 and protesting that she wished the well-being of the whole 
 world. 
 
 The priest then spoke to the knight : " Sir bridegroom, 
 I leave you alone with her, whom I have united to you in 
 marriage. So far as I can discover, there is nothing of 
 evil in her, but assuredly much that is wonderful. What I 
 recommend to vou in domestic life, — is prudence, love, 
 and fidelity." 
 
 Thus speaking, he left the apartment, and the fisher- 
 man with his wife followed him, crossing themselves. 
 
 Undine had sunk upon her knees ; she uncovered her 
 face and exclaimed, while she looked fearfully round upon 
 Huldbrand : " Alas, you will now refuse to regard me as 
 your own ; and still I have done nothing evil, poor unhappy 
 child ! " She spoke these words with a look so infinitely 
 sweet and touching, that her bridegroom forgot both the 
 confession that had shocked, and the mystery that had 
 perplexed him ; and hastening to her, he raised her in his 
 arms. She smiled through her tears, and that smile was 
 like the dawn playing upon a small stream. " You cannot 
 desert me ! " she whispered with a confiding assurance, 
 and stroked the knight's cheeks with her little soft hands. 
 He was thus in some degree withdrawn from those terrible 
 apprehensions, that still lay lurking in the recesses of his 
 soul, and were persuading him that he had been married 
 to a fairy, or some spiteful and mischievous being of the 
 spirit-world ; but, after all, only this single question, and 
 that almost unawares, escaped from his lips : 
 
 " Dearest Undine, pray tell me this one thing ; what 
 was it you meant by c spirits of the earth ' and c Kühle- 
 born, ' w r hen the priest stood knocking at the door? " 
 
 " Mere fictions ! mere tales of children ! " answered 
 Undine, laughing, now quite restored to her wonted gaiety. 
 
52 
 
 " I first awoke your anxiety with them, and you finally 
 awoke mine. This is the end of the story and of our 
 nuptial evening.' 5 
 
 " Nay, not exactly that," replied the enamoured knight, 
 extinguishing the tapers, and a thousand times kissing his 
 beautiful and beloved bride, while, lighted by the moon 
 that shone brightly through the windows, he bore her into 
 their own bridal apartment. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING. 
 
 The fresh light of morning awoke the young married 
 pair. Undine bashfully hid her face beneath their cover- 
 ing, and Huldbrand lay lost in silent reflection. Whenever 
 during the night he had fallen asleep, strange and horrible 
 dreams of spectres had disturbed him; and these shapes, 
 grinning at him by stealth, strove to disguise themselves 
 as beautiful females ; and from beautiful females they all 
 at once assumed the appearance of dragons. And when 
 he started up, aroused by the intrusion of these hideous 
 forms, the moonlight shone pale and cold before the 
 windows without ; he looked affrighted at Undine, in whose 
 arms he had fallen asleep, and she was reposing in unalter- 
 ed beauty and sweetness beside him. Then pressing her 
 rosy lips with a light kiss, he again fell into a slumber, 
 only to be awakened by new terrors. 
 
 When he had now perfectly awoke, and well considered 
 all the circumstances of this connection, he reproached 
 himself for any doubt, that could lead him into error in 
 regard to his lovely wife. He also earnestly begged her 
 pardon for the injustice he had done her, but she only gave 
 him her fair hand, heaved a sigh from the depth of her 
 heart, and remained silent. But a glance of fervent ten- 
 derness, an expression of the soul beaming in her eyes, 
 such as he had never witnessed there before, left him in 
 undoubting assurance, that Undine was conscious of no 
 evil design against him whatever. 
 
 He then rose with a serene mind, and, leaving her, went 
 5* 
 
54 
 
 to the common apartment, where the inmates of the house 
 had already met. The three were sitting round the hearth 
 with an air of anxiety about them, as if they feared trust- 
 ing themselves to raise their voice above a low apprehen- 
 sive undertone. The priest appeared to be praying in his 
 inmost spirit, with a view to avert some fatal calamity. 
 But when they observed the young husband come forth so 
 cheerful, a brighter hope rose within them, and dispelled 
 the cloudy traces that remained upon their brows ; yes, 
 the old fisherman began to be facetious with the knight, 
 but in a manner so perfectly becoming, that his aged wife 
 herself could not help smiling with great good-humour. 
 
 Undine had in the mean time got ready, and now enter- 
 ed the door ; when all were on the point of rushing to 
 meet her, and yet all continued standing in perfect admi- 
 ration, so changed and at the same time so familiar was 
 the young woman's appearance. The priest, with paternal 
 affection beaming from his countenance, first went up to 
 her, and as he raised his hand to pronounce a blessing, the 
 beautiful bride, trembling with devotion, sunk on her knees 
 before him ; she begged his pardon, in terms both respect- 
 ful and submissive, for any foolish things she might have 
 uttered the evening before, and entreated him, in a very 
 pathetic tone, to pray for the welfare of her soul. She 
 then rose, kissed her foster-parents, and, after thanking 
 them for all the kindness they had shown her, said : 
 
 " O, I now feel in my inmost heart, how great, how 
 infinitely great, is what you have done for me, you dear, 
 dear friends of my childhood ! " 
 
 At first she was wholly unable to tear herself away from 
 their affectionate caresses ; but the moment she saw the 
 good old mother busy in getting breakfast, she went to the 
 hearth, applied herself to cooking the food and putting it 
 on the table, and would not suffer her aged friend to take 
 the least share in the work. 
 
 She continued in this frame of spirit the whole day ; 
 calm, kind, attentive ; — at the same time a little mistress 
 of a family, and a tender, modest young woman. The 
 three, who had been longest acquainted with her, expected 
 every instant to see her capricious spirit break out in some 
 whimsical change or sportive vagary. But their fears were 
 
55 
 
 quite unnecessary. Undine continued as mild and gentle 
 as an angel. The priest found it all but impossible to re- 
 move his eyes from her, and he often said to the bridegroom : 
 
 " The bounty of Heaven, Sir, making me its unworthy 
 instrument, entrusted to you last evening an invaluable 
 treasure ; regard and cherish it as you ought to do, and it 
 will promote your temporal and eternal welfare." 
 
 Toward evening, Undine was hanging upon the knight's 
 arm with lowly tenderness, while she drew him gently out 
 before the door, where the setting sun shone richly over 
 the fresh grass, and upon the high, slender boles of the 
 trees. Her emotion was visible: the dew of sadness and 
 love swam in her eyes, while a tender and fearful secret 
 hovered upon her lips ; but sighs, and those scarcely per- 
 ceptible, were all that made known the wish of her heart. 
 She led her husband further and further onward without 
 speaking. When he asked her questions, she replied only 
 with looks, in which, it is true, there appeared to be no 
 immediate answer to his inquiries, but yet a whole heaven 
 of love and timid attachment. Thus they reached the 
 margin of the swollen forest-stream, and the knight was 
 astonished to see it gliding away with so gentle a murmur- 
 ing of its waves, that no vestige of its former swell and 
 wildness was now discernible. 
 
 "By morning it will be wholly drained off," said the 
 beautiful woman with an accent of weeping, "and you 
 will then be able to travel, without any thing to hinder 
 you, whithersoever you will." 
 
 " Not without you, dear Undine," replied the knight, 
 laughing ; " for pray remember, even were I disposed to 
 leave you, both the church and the spiritual powers, the 
 emperor and the laws of the realm, would require the 
 fugitive to be seized and restored to you." 
 
 " All this depends on you, all depends on you ; " whis- 
 pered his little companion, half weeping and half smiling. 
 " But I still feel sure, that you will not leave me ; I am in 
 truth too fondly attached to you to fear that misery. Now 
 bear me over to that little island, which lies before us. 
 There shall the decision be made. I could easily, indeed, 
 slip through that mere rippling of the water without your 
 aid, but it is so grateful to rest in your arms ; and should 
 
56 
 
 you determine to put me away, I shall have sweetly rested 
 in them once more, . . . for the last time." 
 
 Huldbrand was so full of strange anxiety and emotion, 
 that he knew not what answer to make her. He took her 
 in his arms and carried her over, now first realizing the 
 fact, that this was the same little island, from which he 
 had borne her back to the old fisherman, the first night of 
 his arrival. On the further side, he placed her upon the 
 soft grass, and cherished with a lover's fondness the hope 
 of sitting near his beautiful burden; but she said to him, 
 "not here, — if you please, there, over against me. I 
 shall read my doom in your eyes, even before your lips 
 pronounce it : now listen very attentively to what I shall 
 relate to you." And she began : 
 
 " You must know, my dear love, that there are beings 
 in the elements, which bear the strongest resemblance to 
 the human race, and which, at the same time, but seldom 
 become visible to you. The wonderful salamanders sparkle 
 and sport amid the flames ; deep in the earth the meagre 
 and malicious gnomes pursue their revels; the forest- 
 spirits belong to the air, and wander in the woods ; while 
 in the seas, rivers, and streams live the wide-spread race 
 of water-spirits. These last, beneath resounding domes of 
 crystal, through which the sky appears with sun and stars, 
 inhabit a region of light and beauty ; lofty coral trees glow 
 with blue and crimson fruits in their gardens ; they walk 
 over the pure sand of the sea, among infinitely variegated 
 shells, and amid whatever of beauty the old world pos- 
 sessed, such as the present is no more worthy to enjoy ; — 
 creations, which the floods covered with their secret veils 
 of silver; and now the noble monuments glimmer below, 
 stately and solemn, and bedewed by the water, which loves 
 them, and calls forth from their crevices exquisite moss- 
 flowers and enwreathing tufts of sedge. 
 
 " Now the nation that dwell there, are very fair and 
 lovely to behold, for the most part more beautiful than 
 human beings. Many a fisherman has been so fortunate, 
 as to catch a view of a delicate maiden of the waters, while 
 she was floating and singing upon the deep. He then 
 spread to remotest shores the fame of her beauty, and to 
 such wonderful females men are wont to give the name of 
 
57 
 
 Undines. But what need of saying more ? — You, my 
 dear husband, now actually behold an Undine before you." 
 
 The knight would have persuaded himself, that his 
 lovely wife was under the influence of one of her odd 
 whims, and that she was only amusing herself and him 
 with her extravagant inventions. He wished it might be 
 so. But with whatever emphasis he said this to himself, 
 he still could not credit the hope for a moment ; a strange 
 shivering shot through his soul ; unable to utter a word, he 
 gazed upon the sweet speaker with a fixed eye. She 
 shook her head in distress, heaved a sigh from her full 
 heart, and then proceeded in the following manner : 
 
 " In respect to the circumstances of our life, we should 
 be far superior to yourselves, who are another race of the 
 human family, — for we also call ourselves human beings, 
 as we resemble them in form and features, — had we not 
 one great evil peculiar to ourselves. Both we, and the 
 beings I have mentioned as inhabiting the other elements, 
 vanish into air at death, and go out of existence, spirit and 
 body, so that no vestige of us remains ; and when you 
 hereafter awake to a purer state of being, we shall remain 
 where sand, and sparks, and wind, and waves remain. We 
 of course have no souls ; the element moves us, and, 
 again, is obedient to our will, while we live, though it 
 scatters us like dust, when we die ; and as we have noth- 
 ing to trouble us, we are as merry as nightingales, little 
 goldfishes, and other pretty children of nature. 
 
 "But all beings aspire to rise in the scale of existence 
 higher than they are. It was therefore the wish of my 
 father, who is a powerful water-prince in the Mediterranean 
 Sea, that his only daughter should become possessed of a 
 soul, although she should have to endure many of the 
 sufferings of those who share that gift. 
 
 " Now the race to which I belong, have no other means 
 of obtaining a soul, than by forming with an individual of 
 your own the most intimate union of love. I am now 
 possessed of a soul, and I, the very soul itself, thank you, 
 dear Huldbrand, with a warmth of heart beyond expres- 
 sion, and never shall I cease to thank you, unless you 
 render my whole future life miserable. For what will 
 become of me, if you avoid and reject me ? I was not 
 
58 
 
 permitted, however, to retain you as my own by artifice. 
 And should you decide to cast me off, then do it now, 
 . . . leave me here, and return to the shore alone. I will 
 plunge into this brook, where my uncle will receive me ; 
 my uncle, who here in the forest, far removed from his 
 other friends, passes his strange and solitary existence. 
 But he is powerful, as well as revered and beloved by many 
 great rivers ; and as he brought me hither to our friends of 
 the lake, a light-hearted and laughing child, he will also 
 restore me to the home of my parents, a woman, possess- 
 ing a soul, full of affection, and heir to suffering." 
 
 She was about to add something more, when Huldbrand, 
 with the most heartfelt tenderness and love, clasped her in 
 his arms, and again bore her back to the shore. There, 
 amid tears and kisses, he first swore never to forsake his 
 affectionate wife, and esteemed himself even more happy 
 than the Grecian sculptor, Pygmalion, for whom Venus 
 gave life to his beautiful statue, and thus changed it into a 
 beloved wife. Supported by his arm, and cherishing 
 within her the sweet confidence of affection, Undine 
 returned to the cottage ; and now she first realized with 
 her whole heart, how little cause she had for regretting 
 what she had left, the crystal palaces of her mysterious 
 father. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HOW THE KNIGHT TOOK HIS YOUNG WIFE WITH HIM. 
 
 Next morning, when Huldbrand awoke from slumber, 
 and perceived that his beautiful wife was not by his side, 
 he began to give way again to his wild imaginations : these 
 represented to him his marriage, and even the charming 
 Undine herself, as only a shadow without substance, a 
 mere illusion of enchantment. But she entered the door 
 at the same moment, kissed him, seated herself on the 
 bed by his side, and said : 
 
 " 1 have been out somewhat early this morning, to see 
 whether my uncle keeps his word. He has already 
 restored the waters of the flood to his own calm channel, 
 and he now flows through the forest, a rivulet as before, 
 in a lonely and dreamlike current. His friends too, both 
 of the water and the air, have resumed their usual 
 peaceful tenor ; all in this region will again proceed with 
 order and tranquillity ; and you can travel homeward 
 without fear of the flood, whenever you choose." 
 
 It seemed to the mind of Huldbrand, that he must be 
 wrapt in some reverie or waking dream, so little was he 
 able to understand the nature of his wife's strange relative. 
 Notwithstanding this, he made no remark upon what 
 she had told him, and the infinite charm of her beauty, 
 gentleness, and affection soon lulled every misgiving to rest. 
 
 Some time afterward, while he was standing with her 
 before the door, and surveying the verdant point of land 
 with its boundary of bright waters, such a feeling of bliss 
 came over him in this cradle of his love, that he exclaimed : 
 
 " Shall we then, so early as to-day, begin our journey ? 
 
60 
 
 Why should we ? it is probable, that abroad in the world 
 we shall find no days more delightful, than those we have 
 spent in this little asylum, so secret and so secure. Let 
 us remain here, and enjoy two or three more of its glo- 
 rious sunsets." 
 
 " Just as my lord shall command," replied Undine 
 meekly. " Only we must remember, that our aged 
 friends will, at all events, think of my departure with 
 pain ; and should they now, for the first time, discover the 
 true soul in me, and how fervently I can now love and 
 honour them, their feeble eyes would surely become blind 
 with weeping. As yet, they consider my present calm 
 and exemplary conduct as of no better promise than my 
 former occasional quietness, — merely the calm of the lake 
 just while the air remains tranquil, — and they will now 
 become as much accustomed to cherish a little tree or 
 flower, as they have been to cherish me. Let me not 
 then make known to them this newly bestowed, this love- 
 inspired heart, at the very moment they must lose it for 
 this world ; and how could I conceal what I have gained, 
 if we continued longer together ? " 
 
 Huldbrand yielded to her representation, and went to 
 the aged couple to confer with them respecting his jour- 
 ney, on which however he proposed to set out that very 
 hour. The priest offered himself as a companion of 
 the young married pair ; and, after their taking a short 
 farewell, he held the bridle, while the knight lifted his 
 beautiful wife upon his horse ; and with rapid step they 
 crossed the dry channel with her toward the forest. 
 L T ndine wept in silent but intense emotion; the old people, 
 as she moved away, were more clamorous in the expression 
 of their grief. They appeared to feel, at this moment of 
 separation, a presentiment of what they were losing in 
 their affectionate foster-daughter. 
 
 The three travellers reached the thickest shades of the 
 forest without interchanging a word. It would have been 
 a picturesque sight, in that hall of leafy verdure, to see the 
 figure of this lovely female sitting on the noble and richly 
 ornamented steed, on her right hand the venerable priest 
 in the white garb of his order, on her left the blooming 
 young knight, clad in splendid raiment of scarlet, gold, and 
 
61 
 
 violet, girt with a sword that flashed in the sun, and 
 attentively walking beside her. Huldbrand had no eyes 
 but for his fair wife ; Undine, who had dried her tears of 
 tenderness, had no eyes but for him ; and they soon entered 
 into the mute and voiceless converse of looks and gestures, 
 from which after some time they were awakened by the 
 low discourse, which the priest was holding with a fourth 
 traveller, who had meanwhile joined them unobserved. 
 
 He wore a white gown, resembling in form the dress of 
 the priest's order, except that his hood hung very low 
 over his face, and that the whole drapery floated in such 
 wide folds around him, as obliged him every moment to 
 gather it up and throw it over his arm, or by some manage- 
 ment of this sort to get it out of his way, and still it did 
 not seem in the least to incommode him in his movement. 
 When the young couple became aware of his presence, 
 he was saying : 
 
 " And so, venerable Sir, many as have been the years 
 I have dwelt here in this forest, I have never received the 
 name of hermit in your sense of the word. For, as I 
 said before, I know nothing of penance, and I think too, 
 that I have no particular need of it. Do you ask me why 
 I am so attached to the forest ? It is because its scenery is 
 so peculiarly picturesque, and affords me so much pastime, 
 when, in my floating white garments, I pass through its 
 world of leaves and dusky shadows; — and then a sweet 
 sunbeam glances down upon me, at times, before I think 
 of it." 
 
 " You are a very singular man," replied the priest, 
 " and I should like to have a more intimate acquaintance 
 with you." 
 
 " And who then may you be yourself, to pass from one 
 thing to another ?" inquired the stranger. 
 
 " I am called father Heilmann," answered the holy man, 
 " and I am from the cloister of our Lady of the Salutation, 
 beyond the lake." 
 
 "Well, well," replied the stranger, "my name is 
 Kühleborn, and were I a stickler for the nice distinctions 
 of rank, I might with equal propriety require you to give 
 me the title of noble lord of Kühleborn, or free lord of 
 Kühleborn ; for I am as free as a bird in the forest, and, it 
 6 
 
62 
 
 may be, a trifle more so. For example, I now have some- 
 thing to tell that young lady there." And before they 
 were aware of his purpose, he was on the other side of the 
 priest, close to Undine, and stretching himself high into 
 the air, in order to whisper something in her ear. But 
 she shrunk from him in terror, and exclaimed : 
 
 "I have nothing more to do with you." 
 
 " Ho, ho," cried the stranger with a laugh, " what sort 
 of a marriage have you made, then, so monstrous and 
 genteel, since you no longer know your own relations ? 
 Have you no recollection of your uncle Kühleborn, who 
 so faithfully bore you on his back to this region?" 
 
 " However that may be," replied Undine, " I entreat 
 you never to appear in my presence again. I am now 
 afraid of you ; and will not my husband fear and forsake 
 me, if he sees me associate with such strange company 
 and kindred ? " 
 
 "You must not forget, my little niece," said Kühleborn, 
 " that 1 am with you here as a conducter ; otherwise those 
 madcap spirits of the earth, the gnomes that haunt this 
 forest, would play you some of their mischievous pranks. 
 Let me therefore still accompany you in peace; even the 
 old priest there had a better recollection of me, than you 
 appear to have, for he just now assured me, that I seemed 
 to be very familiar to him, and that I must have been with 
 him in the ferry-boat, out of which he tumbled into the 
 waves. He certainly did see me there, for I was no other 
 than the water-spout that tore him out of it, and kept him 
 from sinking, while I safely wafted him ashore to your 
 wedding." 
 
 Undine and the knight turned their eyes upon father 
 Heilmann ; but he appeared to be moving forward, just as 
 if he were dreaming or walking in his sleep, and no longer 
 to be conscious of a word that was spoken. Undine then 
 said to Kühlebora : " I already see yonder the end of the 
 forest. We have no further need of your assistance, and 
 nothing now gives us alarm but yourself. I therefore 
 beseech you, by our mutual love and good will, to vanish 
 and allow us to proceed in peace." 
 
 Kühleborn seemed to be transported with fury at this : 
 he darted a frightful look at Undine, and grinned fiercely 
 
63 
 
 upon her. She shrieked aloud, and called her husband to 
 protect her. The knight sprung round the horse as swift 
 as lightning, and, brandishing his sword, struck at Kiihle- 
 born's head. But, instead of severing it from his body, 
 the sword merely flashed through a torrent, which rushed 
 foaming near them from a lofty cliff; and with a splash, 
 which much resembled in sound a burst of laughter, the 
 stream all at once poured upon them, and gave them a 
 thorough wetting. The priest, as if suddenly awaking 
 from a trance, coolly observed : " This is what I have been 
 some time expecting, because the brook has descended 
 from the steep so close beside us, — though at first sight, 
 indeed, it appeared to look just like a man, and to possess 
 the power of speech." 
 
 As the waterfall came rushing from its crag, it distinctly 
 uttered these words in Huldbrand's ear: " Rash knight ! 
 valiant knight ! I am not angry with you ; I have no quarrel 
 with you ; only continue to defend your charming little 
 wife with the same spirit, you bold knight ! you rash 
 blade ! " 
 
 After advancing a few steps further, the travellers came 
 out upon open ground. The imperial city lay bright 
 before them ; and the evening sun, which gilded its towers 
 with gold, kindly dried their garments that had been so 
 completely drenched. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 HOW THEY LIVED IN THE CITY. 
 
 The sudden disappearance of the young knight, Huld- 
 brand of Ringstetten, had occasioned much remark in the 
 imperial city, and no small concern among those of the 
 people, who, as well on account of his expertness in 
 tourney and dance as in consequence of his mild and 
 amiable manners, had become attached to him. His 
 attendants were unwilling to quit the place without their 
 master, although not a soul of them had been courageous 
 enough to follow him into the fearful recesses of the forest. 
 They remained therefore at their public house, in the 
 indulgence of idle hope, as men are wont to do, and, by 
 the expression of their fears, kept the fate of their lost 
 lord fresh in remembrance. 
 
 Now when the violent storms and floods had been 
 observed, immediately after his departure, the destruction 
 of the handsome stranger became all but certain : even 
 Bertalda had quite openly discovered her sorrow, and 
 detested herself for having induced him to take that fatal 
 excursion into the forest. Her foster-parents, the duke 
 and dutchess, had meanwhile come to take her away, but 
 Bertalda persuaded them to remain with her until some 
 certain news of Huldbrand should be obtained, whether 
 he were living or dead. She endeavoured also to prevail 
 upon several young knights, who were assiduous in court- 
 ing her favour, to go in quest of the noble adventurer in 
 the forest. But she refused to pledge her hand as the 
 reward of the enterprise, because she still cherished, it 
 
65 
 
 might be, a hope of its being claimed by the returning 
 knight ; and no one would consent, for a glove, a ribband, 
 or even a kiss, to expose his life to bring back a rival so 
 very dangerous. 
 
 When Huldbrand now made his sudden and unexpected 
 appearance, his attendants, the inhabitants of the city, and 
 almost all the people rejoiced : we must acknowledge, 
 indeed, that this was not the case with Bertalda ; for 
 although it might be quite a welcome event to others, that 
 he brought with him a wife of such exquisite loveliness, 
 and father Heilmann as a witness of their marriage, Ber- 
 talda could not but view the affair with grief and vexation. 
 She had in truth become attached to the young knight 
 with her whole soul, and then her mourning for his 
 absence, or supposed death, had been more unreservedly 
 shown, than she could now have wished. 
 
 But notwithstanding all this, she conducted herself like 
 a prudent woman in circumstances of such delicacy, and 
 lived on the most friendly terms with Undine, whom the 
 whole city looked upon as a princess, that Huldbrand had 
 rescued in the forest from some evil enchantment. 
 Whenever any one questioned either herself or her hus- 
 band relative to surmises of this nature, they had wisdom 
 enough to remain silent, or wit enough to evade the inqui- 
 ries. The lips of father Heilmann had been sealed in 
 regard to idle gossip of every kind, and besides, on Huld- 
 brand's arrival, he had immediately returned to his cloister; 
 so that people were obliged to rest contented with their 
 own wild conjectures, and even Bertalda herself ascer- 
 tained nothing more of the truth than others. 
 
 In addition to this state of things, Undine daily regard- 
 ed this young lady with increasing fondness. " We must 
 have been heretofore acquainted with each other," she 
 often used to say to her, " or else there must be some 
 mysterious connection between us ; for it is incredible, that 
 one individual so perfectly without cause, I mean without 
 some deep and secret cause, should be so fondly attached 
 to another, as I have been to you from the first moment 
 of our meeting." 
 
 Even Bertalda could not deny, that she felt a confiding 
 impulse, an attraction of tenderness, toward Undine, much 
 6* 
 
66 
 
 as she deemed this fortunate rival the cause of her bitter- 
 est disappointment. Under the influence of this mutual 
 regard, they found means to persuade, the one her foster- 
 parents, and the other her husband, to defer the day of 
 separation to a period more and more remote ; nay more, 
 they had already begun to talk of a plan for Bertalda's ac- 
 companying Undine to Castle Ringstetten, near one of the 
 sources of the Danube, and spending some considerable 
 time with her. 
 
 Once on a fine evening, while they were promenading 
 the city by starlight, they happened to be talking over their 
 scheme just as they passed the high trees, that bordered 
 the public walk. The young married pair, though it was 
 somewhat late, had called upon Bertalda to invite her to 
 share their enjoyment ; and all three now proceeded famil- 
 iarly up and down beneath the dark-blue heaven, not sel- 
 dom interrupted in their converse by the admiration, which 
 they could not but bestow upon the magnificent fountain 
 in the middle of the square, and upon the wonderful rush 
 and shooting upward of its water. All was sweet and 
 soothing to their minds ; among the shadows of the trees 
 stole in glimmerings of light from the adjacent houses ; a 
 low murmur as of children at play, and of other persons 
 who were enjoying their walk, floated around them; so 
 lonely were they, and sharing at the same time so much 
 of social happiness, under a serene sky and amid the living 
 world, that whatever had appeared difficult by day, now 
 became smooth and easy of its own accord, and the three 
 friends could no longer see the slightest cause for hesita- 
 tion in regard to Bertalda's taking the journey. 
 
 At that instant, just as they were appointing the day of 
 their departure, a tall man approached them from the 
 middle of the square, bowed respectfully to the company, 
 and spoke something in the young bride's ear. Though 
 displeased with the interruption and its cause, she walked 
 aside a few steps with the stranger, and both began to 
 whisper, as it seemed, in a foreign tongue. Huldbrand 
 thought he recognized the strange man of the forest ; and 
 he gazed upon him with a look so intense and immoveable, 
 that he neither heard nor answered the astonished inquiries 
 of Bertalda. All at once Undine clapped her hands with 
 
67 
 
 delight, and turned back from the stranger, laughing : he, 
 frequently shaking his head, retired with a hasty step and 
 discontented air, and descended into the fountain. Huld- 
 brand now felt perfectly certain, that his conjecture was 
 correct, but Bertalda asked : 
 
 " And what, my dear Undine, did the master of the 
 fountain wish to say to you ? " 
 
 The young wife secretly laughed within herself, and 
 made answer : " The day after to-morrow, my dear 
 child, when the anniversary of your name-day returns, you 
 shall be informed." And this was all she could be prevail- 
 ed upon to disclose. She merely asked Bertalda to dinner 
 on the appointed day, and requested her to invite her 
 foster-parents ; and soon afterward they separated. 
 
 " Kühleborn ? " said Huldbrand to his lovely wife with 
 an inward shudder, when they had taken leave of Bertalda, 
 and were now going home through the darkening streets. 
 
 " Yes, it was he," answered Undine, " and he would 
 have wearied me with stupid warnings and forebodings 
 without end. But in the midst of his senseless trash, 
 what was altogether the reverse of his intention, he de- 
 lighted me with a most welcome piece of news. If you 
 my dear lord and husband, wish me to acquaint you with 
 it now, you need only command me, and I will freely and 
 from my heart tell you all without reserve. But would 
 you confer upon your Undine a very, very peculiar pleas- 
 ure, only wait till the day after to-morrow, and then you 
 too shall have your share of the surprise." 
 
 The knight was quite willing to gratify his wife, in 
 regard to what she had requested with so beautiful a spirit ; 
 and this spirit she discovered yet more, for while she was 
 that night falling asleep, she murmured to herself with a 
 smile : " How she will rejoice and be astonished at what 
 her master of the fountain has told me, — the dear, happy 
 Bertalda!" 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 FESTIVAL OF BERTALDA'S NAME-DAT. 
 
 The company were sitting at dinner; Bertalda, adorned 
 with jewels and flowers without number, the presents of 
 her foster-parents and friends, and resembling some goddess 
 of Spring, sat beside Undine and Huldbrand at the head 
 of the table. When the sumptuous repast was ended, and 
 the dessert was placed before them, permission was given 
 that the doors should be left open : this was in accordance 
 with the good old custom in Germany, that the common 
 people might enjoy the privilege of seeing the splendour 
 and sharing the festivity of their superiors. Among these 
 spectators the servants carried round cake and wine. 
 
 Huldbrand and Bertalda waited with secret impatience 
 for the promised explanation, and never, except when 
 they could not well help it, removed their eyes from Un- 
 dine. But the beautiful woman still continued silent, and 
 merely smiled to herself with secret and heartfelt satisfac- 
 tion. All who were made acquainted with the promise 
 she had given, could perceive that she was every moment 
 on the point of revealing a secret, which she felt to be of 
 an exciting nature ; and yet, as children sometimes delay 
 tasting their choicest dainties, she still withheld the com- 
 munication, with a denial that made it the more desired. 
 Bertalda and Huldbrand partook of the same delightful 
 feeling, while in anxious hope they were expecting the 
 unknown disclosure, which they were to receive from the 
 lips of their friend. 
 
 At this moment, several of the company pressed Undine 
 
69 
 
 to give them a song. This appeared to her to be quite a 
 well-timed request, and, immediately ordering her lute to 
 be brought, she sung the following words : 
 
 " Morning so bright, 
 Wild-flowers so gay, 
 Where high grass so dewy 
 Crowns the wavy lake's border. 
 
 " On the meadow's verdant bosom, 
 What glimmers there so white ? 
 Have wreaths of snowy blossoms, 
 Soft-floating, fallen from heaven ? 
 
 " Ah, see ! a tender infant ! — 
 It plays with flowers, unwitting; 
 It strives to grasp morn's golden beams. — 
 O where, sweet stranger, where's your home ? 
 Afar from unknown shores, 
 The waves have wafted hither 
 This helpless little one. 
 
 " Nay, clasp not, tender darling, 
 With tiny hand the flowers ; 
 No hand returns the pressure, 
 The flowers are strange and mute. 
 They clothe themselves in beauty, 
 They breathe a rich perfume, 
 But cannot fold around you 
 A mother's loving arms; — 
 Far, far away that mother's fond embrace. 
 
 M Life's early dawn just opening faint, 
 Your eye yet beaming Heaven's own smile, 
 So soon your first, best guardians gone ; — 
 Severe, poor child, your fate, — 
 All, all to you unknown. 
 
 " A noble duke has cross'd the mead, 
 And near you check'd his steed's career: 
 Wonder and pity touch his heart; 
 With knowleJge high and manners pure 
 He rears you, — makes his castle home your own, 
 
 "How great, how infinite, your gain! 
 Of all the land you bloom the loveliest, 
 Yet, ah ! that first, best blessing, 
 The bliss of parents' fondness, 
 You left on strands unknown." 
 
 Undine touched her lute with the low undertones of 
 feeling, and paused with a melancholy smile ; the eyes of 
 Bertalda's ducal foster-parents were filled with tears, 
 
70 
 
 " Ah yes, it was so, — such was the morning on which 
 I found you, poor amiable orphan," cried the duke with 
 deep emotion ; " the beautiful singer is certainly right ; 
 still 
 
 1 That first, best blessing, 
 The bliss of parents' fondness,' 
 
 it was beyond our power to give you." — 
 
 " But we must hear also, what happened to the poor 
 parents," said Undine, as she struck the chords, and sung : 
 
 " Through her chambers roams the mother, 
 Searching, searching everywhere ; 
 Seeks, and knows not what, with yearning, 
 Childless home still finding there. 
 
 " Childless home ! — O sound of anguish ! 
 She alone the anguish knows, 
 There by day who led her dear one, 
 There who rock'd its night repose. 
 
 " Beechen buds again are swelling, 
 Sunshine warms again the shore, 
 Ah, fond mother, cease your searching, 
 Comes the loved and lost no more. 
 
 " Then when airs of tve are fresh'ning, 
 Home the father wends his way, 
 "While with smiles his woe he's veiling, 
 
 Gushing tears his heart betray. , 
 
 " Well he knows, within his dwelling, 
 Still as death he'll find the gloom, 
 Only hear the mother moaning, — 
 No sweet babe to smile him home." 
 
 " O tell me, in the name of God tell me, Undine, 
 where are my parents ? " cried the weeping Bertalda. 
 " You certainly know, you must have discovered them, 
 "Jye» wonderful wmxHmT Tdr otherwise you would never 
 ( have thus torn my heart. Can they be already here ? 
 May I believe it possible ? " Her eye glanced rapidly 
 over the brilliant company, and rested upon a lady of dis- 
 tinction, who was sitting next to her foster-father. 
 
 Then, with an inclination of her head, Undine beckoned 
 toward the door, while her eyes overflowed with the sweet- 
 est emotion. "Where are the poor parents waiting?" 
 she asked, and the old fisherman, diffident and hesitating, 
 

 71 
 
 advanced with bis wife from the crowd of spectators. 
 Swift as the rush of hope within them, they threw a look 
 of inquiry, now at Undine, and now at the beautiful lady, 
 who was said to be their daughter. 
 
 "It is she! it is she there, before you ! " exclaimed the 
 restorer of their child, with the imperfect utterance of rap- 
 ture, and both the aged parents embraced their recovered 
 daughter, weeping aloud and praising God. 
 
 But, shocked and indignant, Bertalda tore herself from 
 their arms. Such a discovery was too severe for her proud 
 spirit to bear, especially at the moment when she had 
 doubtless expected to see her former splendour increased, 
 and when hope was picturing to her nothing less brilliant 
 than a royal canopy and a crown. It seemed to her as if 
 her rival had contrived all this, and with the special view 
 to humble her before Huldbrand and the whole world. 
 She reproached Undine, she abused the old people, and 
 even such offensive words as " deceiver, bribed and per- 
 jured imposters," burst from her lips. 
 
 The aged wife of the fisherman then said to herself, but 
 in a very low voice : " Ah, my God ! what a worthless vix- 
 en of a woman she has grown ! and yet I feel in my heart, 
 that she is my child." 
 
 The old fisherman, however, had meanwhile folded his 
 hands, and offered up a silent prayer, that she might not 
 be his daughter. 
 
 Undine, faint and pale as death, turned from the parents 
 to Bertalda, from Bertalda to the parents ; she was sudden- 
 ly cast down from all that heaven of happiness, of which 
 she had been dreaming, and plunged into an agony of ter- 
 ror and disappointment, of which until now she had never 
 formed even a dream. 
 
 " Have you a soul ? Can you really have a soul, Ber- 
 talda? " she cried again and again to her angry friend, as 
 if with vehement effort she would rouse her from a sudden 
 delirium or some distracting dream, and restore her to re- 
 collection. 
 
 But when Bertalda became every moment only more 
 and more enraged, as the disappointed parents began to 
 weep aloud, and the company, with much warmth of dis- 
 pute, were espousing opposite sides, she discovered a 
 
72 
 
 prompt and admirable presence of mind : she begged for 
 the liberty of speaking in this her husband's dining-hall, 
 and so worthy of praise was her purpose, and so earnest 
 were her expressions and tones, that all around her were 
 in an instant hushed to silence. She then advanced to the 
 upper end of the table, where, both humbled and haughty, 
 Bertalda had seated herself, and, while every eye was fast- 
 ened upon her, spoke in the following manner : 
 
 " My friends, I am grieved to see you appear so dissat- 
 isfied and disturbed. This entertainment of mine, which 
 you are interrupting with your heated discussion, I had 
 hoped would prove a satisfaction to you and myself. Ah, 
 my God ! I knew nothing of these your heartless maxims, 
 these your unnatural ways of thinking, and never so long 
 as I live, I fear, shall I become reconciled to them. The 
 disclosure I have made, it seems, is unwelcome to you ; it 
 has produced all this excitement and confusion ; but I am 
 not to blame for such a result. Believe me, little as you 
 may imagine this to be the case, it is wholly owing to your- 
 selves. One word more, therefore, is all I have to add, 
 but this is one that must be spoken : I have uttered noth- 
 ing but truth. Of the certainty of the fact I give you 
 the strongest assurance ; no other proof can I or will I pro- 
 duce ; but this I will affirm in the presence of God. The 
 individual who gave me this information, was the very per- 
 son who decoyed the infant Bertalda into the water, and 
 who, after thus taking her from her parents, placed her on 
 the green grass of the meadow, where he knew the duke 
 was to pass." 
 
 " She is an enchantress," cried Bertalda, " a witch, that 
 has intercourse with evil spirits. She has even now con- 
 fessed it herself." 
 
 " Never ! I deny it," replied Undine, while a whole 
 heaven of innocence and truth beamed from her eyes. " I 
 am no witch ; look upon me, see and acknowledge the in- 
 justice of her words." 
 
 " Then she utters both falsehood and folly," cried Ber- 
 talda, " and she is unable to prove that I am the child of 
 these low people. My noble parents, I entreat you to 
 take me from this company, and out of this city, beyond 
 the breath of calumny and abuse. Nothing but detraction 
 meets me here." 
 
73 
 
 But the aged duke, a man of honourable feeling, re- 
 mained unmoved by her excited state, and his lady re- 
 marked : " We must thoroughly examine the circumstances 
 of this matter. God forbid, that we should move a step 
 from this hall, before we do so." 
 
 Encouraged by this kind word, the aged wife of the 
 fisherman drew near, made a low obeisance to the dutchess, 
 and said : " Exalted and pious lady, you have opened my 
 heart. Permit me to tell you, that if this evil-disposed 
 maiden is my daughter, she has a mark, like a violet, be- 
 tween her shoulders, and another of the same kind on the 
 instep of her left foot. If she will only consent to go out 
 of the hall with me " 
 
 " I will not consent to uncover myself before the peasant 
 woman," interrupted Bertalda, haughtily turning her back 
 upon her. 
 
 " But before me you certainly will," replied the dutch- 
 ess with solemnity. " You will follow me into that room, 
 young woman, and the worthy old lady shall go with us." 
 
 The three disappeared, and the rest continued where 
 they were, in the hush of almost unbreathing expectation. 
 In a few minutes the females returned, Bertalda pale as 
 death, and the dutchess said : " Truth must be acknow- 
 ledged as truth ; I therefore declare, that our lady hostess 
 has spoken with perfect correctness. Bertalda is the fish- 
 erman's daughter ; no further proof is required ; and this 
 is all, of which on the present occasion you need to be 
 informed." 
 
 The princely pair went out with their adopted daughter ; 
 the fisherman, in consequence of a sign from the duke, 
 followed them with his wife. The other guests retired in 
 silence, or but imperfectly suppressing their murmurs, 
 while Undine, weeping as if her heart would break, sunk 
 into the arms of Huldbrand. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 HOW THEY DEPARTED FROM THE CITY. 
 
 The lord of Ringstetten would certainly have been 
 more gratified, had the events of this day been different ; 
 but even such as they now were, he could by no means 
 look upon them as unwelcome, since his fair wife had 
 discovered so much natural feeling, kindness of spirit, and 
 cordial affection. 
 
 " If I have given her a soul,'' he could not help saying 
 to himself, " I have assuredly given her a better one than 
 my own ;" and now what chiefly occupied his mind, was 
 to soothe and comfort his weeping wife, and even so early 
 as the morrow to remove her from a place, which, after 
 this cross accident, could not fail to be distasteful to her. 
 Yet it is certain, that the opinion of the public concerning 
 her was not changed. As something extraordinary had 
 long before been expected of her, the mysterious discove- 
 ry of Bertalda's parentage had occasioned little or no sur- 
 prise ; and every one who became acquainted with the dis- 
 closure of Bertalda's story, and with the violence of her 
 behaviour on that occasion, was only disgusted and set 
 against her. Of this state of things, however, the knight 
 and his lady were as yet ignorant ; besides, whether the 
 public condemned Bertalda or herself, the one view of the 
 affair would have been as distressing to Undine as the other ; 
 and thus they came to the conclusion, that the wisest course 
 they could take, was to leave behind them the walls of the 
 old city with all the speed in their power. 
 
 With the earliest beams of morning, a brilliant carriage, 
 
75 
 
 for Undine, drove up to the door of the inn ; the horses of 
 Huldbrand and his attendants stood near, stamping the 
 pavement, impatient to proceed. The knight was leading 
 his beautiful wife from the door, when a fish-girl came up 
 and met them in the way. 
 
 " We have no occasion for your fish," said Huldbrand, 
 accosting her, "we are this moment setting out on a jour- 
 ney." 
 
 Upon this the fish-girl began to weep bitterly, and then 
 it was that the young couple first perceived it was Bertal- 
 da. They immediately returned with her to their apart- 
 ment, where she informed them, that, owing to her unfeel- 
 ing and violent conduct of the preceding day, the duke and 
 dutchess had been so displeased with her, as entirely to 
 withdraw from her their protection, though not before giving 
 her a generous portion. The fisherman, too, had received 
 a handsome gratuity, and had, the evening before, set out 
 with his wife for his beloved peninsula. 
 
 " I would have gone with them," she pursued, " but 
 the old fisherman, who is called my father," 
 
 " He certainly is your father, Bertalda," said Undine, 
 interrupting her. " Pray consider what I tell you : the 
 stranger, whom you took for the master of the water-works, 
 gave me all the particulars. He wished to dissuade me 
 from taking you with me to Castle Ringstetten, and there- 
 fore disclosed to me the whole mystery." 
 
 "Well then," continued Bertalda, "my father, — if it 
 must needs be so, — my father said : 'I will not take you 
 with me, until your mind and manners are changed. If 
 you will leave your home here in the city, and venture to 
 come to us alone through the ill-omened forest, that shall 
 be a proof of your having some regard for us. But come 
 not to me as a lady; come merely as a fish-girl. ' — I am 
 determined, therefore, to do just what he commanded me ; 
 for since I am abandoned by all the world, I will live and 
 die in solitude, a poor fish-girl with parents equally poor. 
 The forest, indeed, appears very terrible to me. Horrible 
 spectres make it their haunt, and I am so timorous. But 
 how can I help it? — I have only come here at this early 
 hour, to beg the noble lady of Ringstetten to pardon my 
 unbecoming behaviour of yesterday. Dear madam, I have 
 
76 
 
 the fullest persuasion, that you meant to do me a kindness, 
 but you were not aware, how severely you would wound 
 and injure me ; and this was the reason, that, in my agony 
 and surprise, so many rash and frantic expressions burst 
 from my lips. — Forgive me, ah forgive me ! I am in 
 truth so unhappy already. Do but consider what I was 
 only yesterday morning, what I was even at the beginning 
 of your yesterday's festival, and what I am at the present 
 moment ! " — 
 
 Her words now became inarticulate, lost in a passionate 
 flow of tears, while Undine, bitterly weeping with her, fell 
 upon her neck. So powerful was her emotion, that it was 
 a long time before she could utter a word. But at length 
 she said : 
 
 " Dearest Bertalda, do not despair ; you shall still go 
 with us to Ringstetten ; all shall remain just as we lately 
 arranged it ; only, in speaking to me, pray continue to use 
 the familiar and affectionate terms, that we have been 
 wont to use, and do not pain me with the sound of 
 1 madam ' and ' noble lady,' any more. Consider, we 
 were changed for each other, when we were children ; even 
 then we were united by a like fate, and we will strengthen 
 this union with such close affection, as no human power 
 shall dissolve. Only first of all you must go with us to 
 Ringstetten. As to the manner in which we shall share 
 our sisterly enjoyments there, we will leave that to be talked 
 over after we arrive." 
 
 Bertalda looked up to Huldbrand with timid inquiry. 
 He pitied the fair girl in her affliction, took her hand, and 
 begged her, with the greatest tenderness, to intrust herself 
 to him and his wife. 
 
 " We will send a message to your parents," continued 
 he, " giving them the reason why you have not come;" — 
 and he would have added much more about his worthy 
 friends of the peninsula, when, perceiving that Bertalda 
 shrunk in distress at the mention of them, he waved the 
 subject. Then taking her under the arm, as they left 
 the room, he lifted her first into the carriage, after her Un- 
 dine, and was soon trotting blithely beside them ; so perse- 
 vering was he, too, in urging forward their driver, that in a 
 short time they had left the limits of the city, and with 
 these a crowd of painful recollections ; and now the ladies 
 
77 
 
 experienced a satisfaction, more and more exquisite, as their 
 carriage rolled on through the picturesque scenes, which 
 their progress was continually presenting. 
 
 After a journey of some days, they arrived, on a fine 
 evening, at Castle Ringstetten. The young knight being 
 much engaged with the overseers and menials of his estab- 
 lishment, Undine and Bertalda were left alone. Eager 
 for novelty, they took a walk upon the high rampart of the 
 fortress, and were charmed with the delightful landscape, 
 which fertile Suabia spread around them. While they 
 were viewing the scene, a tall man drew near, who greeted 
 them with respectful civility, and who seemed to Bertalda 
 much to resemble the director of the city fountain. Still 
 less was the resemblance to be mistaken, when Undine, 
 indignant at his intrusion, waved him off with an air of 
 menace ; while he, shaking his head, retreated with rapid 
 strides, as he had formerly done, then glided among the 
 trees of a neighbouring grove, and disappeared. 
 
 " Do not be terrified, dear Bertalda," said Undine ; 
 " the odious master of the fountain shall do you no harm 
 this time." — And then she related to her the particulars 
 of her history, and who she was herself, — how Bertalda 
 had been taken away from the people of the peninsula, 
 and Undine substituted in her place. This relation, at 
 first, filled the young woman with amazement and alarm ; 
 she imagined her friend must be seized with a sudden 
 alienation of mind. But, from the consistency of her 
 story, she became more and more convinced that all was 
 true, it so well agreed with her former adventures, and 
 still more from that inward feeling, with which truth never 
 fails to make itself known to us. She could not but view 
 it as an extraordinary circumstance, that she was herself 
 now living, as it were, in the midst of one of those wild 
 fictions of romance, which she had formerly heard related 
 for mere amusement. She gazed upon Undine with awe, 
 but could not avoid feeling a shudder, which seemed to 
 separate her from her friend ; and she could not but be 
 extremely astonished, when the knight, at their evening 
 repast, showed himself so kind and affectionate toward a 
 being, who appeared, after the discoveries just made, more 
 
 like a phantom of the spirit-world than one of the human race. 
 
 7 # 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HOW THEY LIVED AT CASTLE RINGSTETTEN. 
 
 The writer of this history, because it touches his own 
 heart, and because he wishes it may equally move the 
 hearts of others, begs you, dear reader, to grant him a 
 single favour. Excuse him, if he now passes over a 
 considerable period of time, and gives you only a general 
 account of its events. He is well aware, that, perfectly 
 conforming to the rules of art and step by step, he might 
 delineate the process, by which Huldbrand's warmth of 
 attachment for Undine began to decline, and to be trans- 
 ferred to Bertalda ; how Bertalda gradually became more 
 and more attached, and met the young man's glance with 
 the glow of love ; how they both seemed rather to fear 
 the poor wife, as a being of another species, than to sym- 
 pathize with her ; how Undine wept, and her tears pro- 
 duced remorse in the knight's heart, yet without awakening 
 his former tenderness, so that his treatment of her would 
 discover occasional impulses of kindness, but a cold shud- 
 dering would soon drive him from her side, and he would 
 hasten to the society of Bertalda, as a more congenial 
 being of his own race ; — all this, the writer is aware, he 
 could describe with the minute touches of truth, and 
 perhaps this is the course that he ought to pursue. But 
 his heart would feel the task to be too melancholy ; for, 
 having suffered calamities of this nature, he is impressed 
 with terror even at the remembrance of their shadows. 
 
 You have probably experienced a similar feeling your- 
 self, my dear reader, for such is the inevitable allotment of 
 mortal man. Happy are you, if you have rather endured 
 
79 
 
 than inflicted this misery, since, in matters of this kind, 
 more blessed is he that receives than he that gives. For 
 when you have been the suffering party, and such remem- 
 brances come over the mind, only a soft pensiveness steals 
 into the soul, and perhaps a tender tear trickles down your 
 cheek, while you regret the fading of the flowers, in which 
 you once took a delight so exquisite. But of this no 
 more ; we would not linger over the evil, and pierce our 
 hearts with pangs a thousand-fold repeated, but just briefly 
 hint the course of events, as I said before. 
 
 Poor Undine was extremely distressed, and the other 
 two were far from being happy ; Bertalda in particular, 
 whenever she was in the slightest degree opposed in her 
 wishes, attributed the cause to the jealousy and oppression 
 of the injured wife. In consequence of this suspicious 
 temper, she was daily in the habit of discovering a haughty 
 and imperious demeanour, to which Undine submitted in 
 sad and painful self-denial ; and, such was the blind delu- 
 sion of Huldbrand, he usually supported the impropriety 
 in the most decisive terms. 
 
 What disturbed the inmates of the castle still more, 
 was the endless variety of wonderful apparitions, which 
 assailed Huldbrand and Bertalda in the vaulted passages 
 of the building, and of which nothing had ever been heard 
 before within the memory of man. The tall white man, 
 in whom Huldbrand but too well recognized Undine's 
 uncle Kühleborn, and Bertalda the mysterious or spectral 
 master of the water-works, often passed before them with 
 threatening aspect and gestures ; more especially, however, 
 before Bertalda, so that she had already several times 
 fainted and fallen through terror, and had in consequence 
 frequently thought of quitting the castle. But partly 
 owing to her excessive fondness for Huldbrand, as well as 
 to a reliance on what she termed her innocence, since no 
 declaration of mutual attachment had ever been distinctly 
 made, and partly also, because she knew not whither to 
 direct her steps, she lingered where she was. 
 
 The old fisherman, on receiving the message from the 
 lord of Ringstetten, that Bertalda was a welcome guest in 
 his family, returned answer in some lines almost too illegi- 
 ble to be deciphered, but still the best his advanced life 
 and long disuse of writing permitted him to form. 
 
80 
 
 " I have now become," he wrote, " a poor old widower, 
 for my beloved and faithful wife is dead. But bereaved 
 and disconsolate as I am, sitting solitary in my cottage, I 
 prefer Bertalda's remaining where she is, to her living with 
 me. One thing is all I have to ask, which is this, that 
 she do nothing to hurt my dear Undine, or to make her 
 unhappy. Should she be thus guilty, she must expect, 
 what she will certainly have, the visitation of a father's 
 curse." 
 
 The last words of this letter, awful as they were, 
 Bertalda flung to the winds ; but the permission to remain 
 from home, which her father had granted her, she remem- 
 bered and clung to as a peculiar indulgence, just as we are 
 all wont to do in like circumstances. 
 
 One day, a few moments after Huldbrand had ridden 
 out, Undine called together the domestics of the family, 
 and ordered them to bring a large stone, and carefully to 
 cover with it a magnificent fountain, that was situated in 
 the middle of the castle court. The servants ventured to 
 hint as an objection, that it would oblige them to bring 
 their water from the valley below, which was at an incon- 
 venient distance. Undine smiled with an expression of 
 melancholy. 
 
 "I am sorry, dear children," replied she, "to increase 
 your labour ; I should prefer to bring up the water vessels 
 myself, but this fountain must indeed be closed. Believe 
 me when I say, that it must be done, and that by doing it 
 we only avoid a greater evil, — one that may well be 
 called a calamity." 
 
 The domestics were all delighted to gratify their gentle 
 mistress ; and making no further inquiry, they seized the 
 enormous stone. While they were raising it in their hands, 
 and were now on the point of adjusting it over the foun- 
 tain, Bertalda came running to the place, and cried with 
 an air of command, that they must stop ; that the water 
 she used, so improving to her complexion, she was wont 
 to have brought from this fountain, and that she would by 
 no means allow it to be closed. 
 
 This time, however, Undine, while she showed her usual 
 gentleness and more than her usual resolution, remained 
 firm to her purpose : she said it belonged to her, as mistress 
 of the castle, to direct the regulations of the household 
 
81 
 
 according to her own best judgment, and that she was 
 accountable in this to no one but her lord and husband. 
 
 " See, O pray, see I " exclaimed the dissatisfied and 
 indignant Bertalda, "how the beautiful water is curling 
 and curving, winding and waving there, as if disturbed at 
 being shut out from the bright sunshine, and from the 
 cheerful view of the human countenance, for whose mirror 
 it was created." 
 
 In truth, the water of the fountain was agitated, and 
 foaming, and hissing in a surprising manner ; it seemed as 
 if there were something within, possessing life and will, that 
 was struggling to free itself from confinement. But Un- 
 dine only the more earnestly urged on the accomplishment 
 of her commands. This earnestness was scarcely required. 
 The servants of the castle were as happy in obeying their 
 sweet-tempered lady, as in opposing the haughty spirit of 
 Bertalda; and with whatever rudeness the latter might 
 even scold and threaten, still the stone was in a few min- 
 utes lying firm over the opening of the fountain. Undine 
 leaned thoughtfully over it, and wrote with her beautiful 
 fingers on the flat surface. She must, however, have had 
 something very acrid and corrosive in her hand ; for when 
 she retired, and the domestics went up to examine the 
 stone, they discovered various strange characters upon it, 
 which none of them had seen there before. 
 
 When the knight returned home toward evening, Ber- 
 talda received him with tears and complaints of Undine's 
 treatment of her. He threw a severe look at his poor 
 wife, and she cast down her eyes in evident distress. Still 
 she spoke with great firmness : 
 
 " My lord and husband, you never reprove even a bond- 
 slave, before you hear his defence, — how much less then 
 your wedded wife ! " 
 
 " Speak, what moved you to this singular conduct?" 
 said the knight with a gloomy countenance. 
 
 " I could wish to tell you, when we are entirely alone," 
 said Undine with a sigh. 
 
 " You can tell me equally well in the presence of Ber- 
 talda," he replied. 
 
 " Yes, if you command me," said Undine, " but do not 
 command me. Pray, pray, do not ! " 
 
82 
 
 She looked so humble, affectionate, and obedient, that 
 the heart of the knight was touched and softened, as if it 
 felt the influence of a ray from better times. He kindly 
 took her arm within his, and led her to his apartment, 
 where she spoke as follows : 
 
 " You already know something, my beloved lord, of 
 Kühleborn, my evil-disposed uncle, and have often felt dis- 
 pleasure at meeting him in the passages of this castle. 
 Several times has he terrified Bertalda even to swooning. 
 He does this, because he possesses no soul, being a mere 
 elementary mirror of the outward world, while of the world 
 within he can give no reflection. Then, too, he some- 
 times observes, that you are displeased with me, that in 
 my childish weakness I weep at this, and that Bertalda, it 
 may be, is laughing at the same moment. Hence it is, 
 that he conceives every sort of wrong and unkindness to 
 exist, and in various ways mixes with our circle unbidden. 
 What do I gain by reproving him ? by showing displeasure, 
 and sending him away ? He does not believe a word I 
 say. His poor imperfect nature affords him no conception, 
 that the pains and pleasures of love have so mysterious a 
 resemblance, and are so intimately connected, that no 
 power on earth is able to separate them. Even in the 
 midst of tears, a smile is dawning on the cheek, and smiles 
 call forth tears from their secret recesses." 
 
 She looked up at Huldbrand, smiling and weeping, and 
 he again felt within his heart all the magic of his former 
 affection. She perceived it, and pressed him more tender- 
 ly to her, while amid tears of joy she went on thus : 
 
 " When the disturber of our peace would not be dis- 
 missed with words, I was obliged to shut the door upon 
 him; and the only entrance by which he has access to us, 
 is that fountain. His connexion with the other water- 
 spirits, here in this region, is cut off by the valleys that bor- 
 der upon us, and his kingdom first commences further off 
 on the Danube, in whose tributary streams some of his 
 good friends have their abode. For this reason I caused 
 the stone to be placed over the opening of the fountain, 
 and inscribed characters upon it, which baffle all the 
 efforts of my suspicious and passionate uncle, so that he 
 now has no power of intruding either upon you, or me, or 
 
83 
 
 Bertalda. Human beings, it is true, notwithstanding the 
 characters I have inscribed there, are able to raise the 
 stone without any extraordinary trouble ; there is nothing 
 to prevent them. If therefore this be your resolve, re- 
 move it according to Bertalda's desire, but she assuredly 
 knows not what she asks. The rude Kühleborn looks with 
 peculiar ill-will upon her ; and should much come to pass 
 that he has imperfectly predicted to me, and which is quite 
 likely to happen, without your meaning any evil, — I fear, 
 I fear, my dear husband, that you yourself would be ex- 
 posed to peril." 
 
 Huldbrand felt the generosity of his amiable wife in the 
 depth of his heart, since she had been so active in con- 
 fining her formidable defender, and even at the very mo- 
 ment she was suffering in consequence of the reproaches 
 of Bertalda. Influenced by this feeling, he pressed her in 
 his arms with the tenderest affection, and said with 
 emotion : 
 
 "The stone shall remain unmoved, all remains and ever 
 shall remain, just as you choose to have it, my dear, very 
 dear Undine ! " 
 
 At these long withheld expressions of tenderness, she 
 returned his caresses with lowly delight, and ending what 
 she had to say, observed : " My dearest husband, since you 
 are so very kind and indulgent to-day, may I venture to 
 ask a favour of you ? Pray observe, it is with you as with 
 Summer. Even amid its highest splendour, Summer puts 
 on the flaming and thundering crown of glorious tempests, 
 in which it strongly resembles a king and god on earth. 
 You too are sometimes terrible in your rebukes ; your eyes 
 flash lightning, while thunder resounds in your voice ; and 
 although this may be quite becoming to you, I in my folly 
 cannot but sometimes weep at it. But never, I entreat 
 you, discover such violence toward me on a river, or even 
 when we are near a piece of water. For if you should, 
 pray consider what the consequences will be : my relations 
 would acquire a right to exercise authority over me. They 
 would tear me from you in their fury with inexorable force, 
 because they would conceive that one of their race was in- 
 jured, and I should be compelled, as long as I lived, to 
 dwell below in the crystal palaces, and never dare ascend 
 
84 
 
 to you again ; or should they send me up to you, O God ! 
 that would be infinitely more deplorable still. No, no, 
 my beloved husband, let it not come to that, if your poor 
 Undine is dear to you." 
 
 He solemnly promised to do as she desired, and, infinitely 
 happy and full of affection, the married pair returned from 
 the apartment. At this very moment, Bertalda came with 
 some work-people, whom she had meanwhile ordered to 
 attend her, and said with a fretful air, which she had 
 assumed of late : — 
 
 " Well, now the secret consultation is at an end, it is to 
 be hoped the stone may be permitted to come down. Go 
 out, workmen, and execute your business." 
 
 The knight, however, highly resenting her impertinence, 
 said in brief and very decisive terms: "The stone remains 
 where it is ; " he reproved Bertalda also for the vehement 
 and undisciplined spirit that she had discovered toward his 
 wife. Whereupon the workmen, smiling with secret satis- 
 faction, withdrew ; while Bertalda, pale with rage, hurried 
 to her room. 
 
 When the hour of supper came, no Bertalda appeared : 
 they waited for her in vain. They sent for her ; but the 
 domestic found her apartments empty, and brought back 
 ~f IJUk w ^ ^ m on ty a sea l e d billet, addressed to the knight. W«k 
 t2jfo <Jj*«y~, opened it in alarm ^ and read these words : 
 jL tL* it a- "I feel with shame, that I am only the daughter of a 
 fi+* , poor fisherman. That I for one moment forgot this, I will 
 
 make expiation in the miserable hut of my parents. Fare- 
 well, — with your beautiful wife ! " 
 
 Undine was troubled at heart. With passionate empha- 
 sis she entreated Huldbrand to hasten after their friend, 
 who had flown, and bring her back with him. Alas ! she 
 had no occasion to urge him. His passion for Bertalda 
 again burst forth with vehemence. He hurried round the 
 castle, inquiring whether any one had seen which way the 
 fair fugitive had gone. He could gain no information, and 
 was already in the court upon his horse, determining to 
 take at a venture the road by which he had conducted 
 Bertalda to the castle ; when there appeared a shield-boy, 
 who assured him, that he had met the lady on the path to 
 the Black Valley. Swift as the impulse of passion, the 
 
85 
 
 knight sprung through the gate in the direction pointed 
 out, without hearing Undine's voice of agony, as she cried 
 after him from the window : 
 
 " To the Black Valley ? O not there ! Huldbrand, not 
 there ! or if you will go, for God's sake take me with 
 you ! " 
 
 But when she perceived that all her calling was of no 
 avail, she ordered her white palfrey to be instantly saddled, 
 and followed the knight without permitting a single servant 
 to accompany her. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. . 
 
 HOW BERTALDA RETURNED WITH THE KNIGHT. 
 
 The Black Valley lies secluded far among the moun- 
 tains. What its present name may be, I am unable to 
 say. At the time of which I am speaking, the country- 
 people gave it this appellation from the deep obscurity 
 produced by the shadows of lofty trees, more especially 
 by a crowded growth of firs, that covered this region of 
 moor-land. Even the brook, which gushed out among 
 the crags, and wound its way down a ravine into the 
 valley, assumed there the same dark hue, and exhibited 
 nothing ofthat cheerful aspect, which streams are wont to 
 wear, that have the blue sky immediately over them. 
 
 It was now the dusk of evening, and the view between 
 the heights had become extremely wild and gloomy. 
 The knight, in great anxiety, skirted the border of the 
 brook ; he was at one time fearful, that by delay he should 
 allow the fugitive to advance too far before him ; and then 
 again, in his too eager rapidity, he was afraid he might 
 somewhere overlook and pass by her, should she be de- 
 sirous of concealing herself from his search. He had in 
 the mean time penetrated pretty far into the valley, and 
 felt assured of soon overtaking the maiden, provided he 
 were pursuing the right track. The fear, indeed, that he 
 might not as yet have gained this track, made his heart 
 beat with more and more of anxiety. In the stormy night, 
 which was now impending, and which always hovered 
 more fearfully over this valley, where would the delicate 
 Bertalda shelter herself, should he fail to find her ? At 
 
87 
 
 last, while these thoughts were darting across his mind, he 
 saw something white glimmer through the branches on the 
 ascent of the mountain. He felt quite certain, that the 
 object he discerned was Bertalda' s robe, and he directed 
 his course toward it. But his horse refused to go forward ; 
 he reared with a fury so uncontrollable, and his master 
 was so unwilling to lose a moment, that (especially as he 
 saw the thickets were altogether impassable on horseback) 
 he dismounted, and, having fastened his snorting steed to 
 an elm, worked his way with caution through the matted 
 underwood. The branches, moistened by the cold drops 
 of the evening dew, keenly smote his forehead and cheeks ; 
 thunder muttered remotely on the further side of the 
 mountains ; and every thing put on so strange and mystic 
 an appearance, that he began to feel a dread of the white 
 figure, which now lay only a short distance from him upon 
 the ground. Still he could see with perfect clearness, 
 that it was a female, either asleep or in a swoon, and 
 dressed in long white garments, such as Bertalda had 
 worn the past day. Approaching quite near to her, he 
 made a rustling with the branches and a ringing with his 
 sword, — but she did not move. 
 
 "Bertalda!" he cried; at first low, then louder and 
 louder ; still she heard him not. At last, when he uttered 
 the dear name with an energy yet more powerful, a hollow 
 echo, from the mountain-summits around the valley, re- 
 turned the deadened sound, " Bertalda ! " Still the 
 sleeper continued insensible. He stooped low, with a 
 view to examine her countenance, but the duskiness of 
 the valley and the obscurity of twilight would not allow 
 him to distinguish her features. While with agonizing 
 uncertainty he was bending near to her, a flash of lightning 
 suddenly shot across the valley. By this stream of light, 
 he saw a frightfully distorted visage close to his own, and a 
 hoarse voice struck him with startling abruptness : 
 
 " You enamoured shepherd, give me a kiss :" Huldbrand 
 sprang upon his feet with a cry of horror, and the hideous 
 figure rose with him. 
 
 "Home!" it cried with a deep murmur ; "the fiends 
 are abroad. Home ! or I have you ! " And it stretched 
 toward him its long white arms. 
 
88 
 
 " Malicious Kühleborn," exclaimed the knight with 
 restored energy, "if Kühleborn you are, what business 
 have you here ! — what's your will, you goblin ! — There, 
 take your kiss ! " — And in fury he flashed his sword at 
 the form. But the form vanished like vapour ; and a rush 
 of water, giving the knight as good a drenching as wetting 
 him to the skin could make it, left him in no doubt with 
 what foe he had been engaged. 
 
 " He wishes to frighten me back from my pursuit of 
 Bertalda," said he to himself; " he imagines, that I shall 
 be terrified at his senseless enchantments, and resign the 
 poor distressed girl to his power, so that he can wreak his 
 vengeance upon her at will. But, impotent spirit of the 
 flood ! he shall find himself mistaken. What the heart of 
 man can do, when it exerts the full force of its will, the 
 strong energy of its noblest powers, of this the feeble en- 
 chanter has no comprehension." 
 
 He felt the truth of his words, and that, in thus giving 
 utterance to his thoughts, he had inspired his heart with 
 fresh courage. Fortune too appeared to be in league with 
 him ; for, before reaching his fastened steed, he distinctly 
 heard the voice of Bertalda, where she was now weeping 
 and now moaning not far before him, amid the roar of the 
 thunder and the tempest, which every moment increased. 
 He flew swiftly toward the sound, and found the trembling 
 maiden, just as she was attempting to climb the steep, and 
 striving to the extent of her power, to escape from the 
 dreadful darkness of this valley. He stepped before her, 
 while he spoke in tones of the most soothing tenderness ; 
 and bold and proud as her resolution had so lately been, 
 she now felt nothing but the liveliest gratitude, that the 
 man, whom she so passionately loved, would rescue her 
 from this frightful solitude, and extending to her his arms 
 of welcome, would still cast a brightness over her existence 
 in their re-union at the castle. She followed almost unre- 
 sisting, but so spent with fatigue, that the knight was glad 
 to accompany and support her to his horse, which he now 
 hastily unfastened from the elm : his intention was to lift 
 the fair wanderer upon him, and then to lead him carefully 
 by the reins through the uncertain shades of this lowland 
 tract. 
 
89 
 
 But, owing to the mad appearance of Kühleborn, the 
 horse had become altogether unmanageable. Rearing and 
 wildly snorting as he was, the knight must have used 
 uncommon effort to mount the beast himself; to place the 
 trembling Bertalda upon him was impossible. They were 
 compelled, therefore, to return home on foot. While with 
 one hand the knight drew the steed after him by the bridle, 
 he supported the tottering Bertalda with the other. She 
 exerted all the strength she had remaining, in order to 
 escape from this vale of terrors as speedily as possible ; but 
 weariness weighed her down like lead, and a universal 
 trembling seized her limbs, partly in consequence of what 
 she had suffered from the extreme harassment with which 
 Kühleborn had pursued her, and in part from her contin- 
 ual fear, arising from the roar of the tempest and thunder 
 amid the mountain forest. 
 
 At last she slid from the arm of her conducter, and, 
 sinking upon the moss, she said : " I can no more ; let me 
 lie here, my noble lord. I suffer the punishment due to 
 my folly, and nothing can save me now; I must perish 
 here through fain tn ess and dismay." 
 
 " Never, my dear friend, will I leave you," cried 
 Huldbrand, vainly trying to restrain the furious animal he 
 was leading; for the horse was all in a foam, and began to 
 chafe more ungovernably than before, till the knight was 
 glad merely to keep him at such a distance from the ex- 
 hausted maiden, as would secure her from still greater 
 fear and alarm. But hardly had he withdrawn five steps 
 with the frantic steed, when she began to call after him in 
 the most sorrowful accents, fearful that he would actually 
 leave her in this horrible wilderness. He was wholly at a 
 loss what course to take. Gladly would he have given 
 the enraged beast his liberty, — he would have let him rush 
 away amid the night, and exhaust his fury, — had he not 
 shuddered at the thought, that in this narrow defile his 
 iron-shod hoofs might come trampling and thundering over 
 the very spot where Bertalda lay. 
 
 During this extreme peril and embarrassment, a feeling 
 
 of delight, not to be expressed, shot through him, when he 
 
 heard the rumbling wheels of a wagon, as it came slowly 
 
 descending the stony slope behind them. He called out 
 
 8* 
 
90 
 
 for help : answer was returned in the deep voice of a man, 
 bidding them have patience, but promising assistance ; and 
 two horses of grayish white soon after shone through the 
 bushes, and near them their driver in the white frock of a 
 carter ; and next appeared a great sheet of white linen, with 
 which the goods which he seemed to be conveying, were 
 covered. The whitish grays, in obedience to a shout from 
 their master, stood still. He came up to the knight, and 
 aided him in checking the fury of the foaming charger. 
 
 " I know well enough," said he, "what is the matter 
 with the brute. The first time I travelled this way, my 
 horses were just as wilful and headstrong as yours. The 
 reason is, there is a water-spirit haunts this valley, and a 
 wicked wight they say he is, who takes delight in mischief 
 and witcheries of this sort. But I have learned a charm ; 
 and if you will let me whisper it in your horse's ear, he will 
 stand just as quiet as my silver grays there." 
 
 " Try your luck, then, and help us as quick as possi- 
 ble ! " said the impatient knight. 
 
 Upon this the wagoner drew down the head of the rear- 
 ing courser close to his own, and spoke some half-dozen 
 words in his ear. The animal instantly stood as still and 
 subdued as usual, excepting his quick panting and smoking 
 sweat, produced by his recent violence. 
 
 Huldbrand had little time to inquire, by what means 
 this had been effected. He agreed with the man, that 
 he should take Bertalda in his wagon, where, as he 
 said, a quantity of soft cotton was stowed, and he might in 
 this way convey her to Castle Ringstetten ; the knight 
 could accompany them on horseback. But the horse 
 appeared to be too much exhausted to carry his master so 
 far. Seeing this, the man advised him to mount the 
 w r agon with Bertalda. The horse could be tied to it be- 
 hind. 
 
 " It is down hill," said he, " and the load for my grays 
 will therefore be light." 
 
 The knight accepted his offer, and entered the wagon 
 with Bertalda ; the horse followed quietly after, while the 
 wagoner, sturdy and attentive, walked beside them. 
 
 Amid the silence and deeper obscurity of the night, the 
 tempest became more and more remote and hushed ; in 
 
91 
 
 the comfortable feeling of their security and their commo- 
 dious passage, a confidential conversation arose between 
 Huldbrand and Bertalda. He reproved her in the most 
 gentle and affectionate terms for her resentful flight ; she 
 excused herself with humility and emotion, and from every 
 tone of her voice it was clear, — just as a lamp guides a 
 lover amid the secrecy of night to his waiting mistress, — 
 that she still cherished her former affection for him. The 
 knight felt the force of what she said far too powerfully to 
 regard the import of her words, and his replies related 
 merely to the impression he received, — to the feeling and 
 not the confession of love. 
 
 In the midst of this interchange of murmured feelings, 
 the wagoner suddenly shouted with a startling voice : " Up, 
 my grays, up with your feet ! Hey, my hearts, now 
 together, show your spirit ! Do it handsomely ! remem- 
 ber who you are ! " 
 
 The knight bent pvejy the side of the wagon, and saw 
 that the horses had A otoppod - into the midst of a foaming 
 stream, and were, indeed, almost swimming, while the 
 wheels of the wagon were rushing round and flashing like 
 mill-wheels, and the teamster had got on before to avoid 
 the swell of the flood. 
 
 " What sort of a road is this ? It leads into the middle of 
 the stream I " cried Huldbrand to his guide. 
 
 " Not at all, Sir," returned he with a laugh, " it is just 
 the contrary. The stream is running in the middle of our 
 road. Only look about you, and see how all is over- 
 flowed." 
 
 The whole valley, in fact, was covered and in commo- 
 tion, as the waves, suddenly raised and visibly rising, swept 
 over it. 
 
 " It is Kühleborn, that devil of a water-spirit, who wishes 
 to drown us!" exclaimed the knight. "Have you no 
 charm of protection against him, companion ? " 
 
 " Charm ! to be sure I have one," answered the wag- 
 oner, " but I cannot and must not make use of it, before 
 you know who I am." 
 
 " Is this a time for riddles ? " cried the knight. " The 
 flood is every moment rising higher and higher, and what 
 does it concern me to know who you are ? " 
 
92 
 
 " But mayhap it does concern you though," said the 
 guide, " for I am Kühleborn." 
 
 Thus speaking, he thrust his face into the wagon, and 
 laughed with every feature distorted ; but the wagon re- 
 mained a wagon no longer, the grayish white horses were 
 horses no longer; all was transformed to foam, — all 
 sunk into the waves that rushed and hissed around them, — 
 while the wagoner himself, rising in the form of a gigantic 
 surge, dragged the vainly struggling courser under the 
 waters, then rose again huge as a liquid tower, burst over 
 the heads of the floating pair, and was on the point of 
 burying them irrecoverably beneath it. 
 
 At that instant, the soft voice of Undine was heard 
 through the uproar, the moon emerged from the clouds, 
 and by its light Undine became visible on a rising ground 
 of the valley. She rebuked, she threatened the flood 
 below her ; the menacing and tower-like billow vanished 
 muttering and murmuring ; the waters gently flowed away 
 under the beams of the moon ; while Undine, like a hov- 
 ering white dove, came sweeping down from the knoll, 
 seized the knight and Bertalda, and supported them to a 
 green spot of turf on the hillock, where, by her earnest 
 efforts, she soon restored them, and dispelled their terrors. 
 She then assisted Bertalda to mount the white palfrey, on 
 which she herself had been borne to the valley, and thus 
 all three returned homeward to Castle Rinsstetten. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 PASSAGE DOWN THE DANUBE TO VIENNA 
 
 After this last adventure, they lived at the castle 
 undisturbed and in peaceful enjoyment. The knight was 
 more and more impressed with the heavenly goodness of 
 his wife, which she had so beautifully discovered by her 
 instant pursuit, and by the rescue she had effected in the 
 Black Valley, where the power of Kühleborn again com- 
 menced. Undine herself felt that peace and security, 
 which the mind never fails to experience, so long as it has 
 the consciousness of pursuing the path of rectitude ; and 
 she had this additional comfort, that, in the newly awaken- 
 ed love and regard of her husband, Hope and Joy were 
 rising upon her with their myriad beams of promise. 
 
 Bertalda, on the other hand, showed herself grateful, 
 humble, and timid, without taking to herself any merit for 
 so doing. Whenever Huldbrand or Undine began to 
 explain to her their reason for covering the fountain, or 
 their adventures in the Black Valley, she would earnestly 
 entreat them to spare her the recital, since the fountain 
 had occasioned her too much shame, and the Black Valley 
 too much terror, to be made topics of conversation. With 
 respect to these, therefore, she learnt nothing further from 
 either of them ; and why was it necessary that she should 
 be informed ? Peace and Happiness had evidently taken 
 up their abode at Castle Ringstetten. They enjoyed their 
 present blessings in perfect security ; and in relation to the 
 future, they now imagined it impossible, that life could 
 produce any thing but pleasant flowers and fruits. 
 
94 
 
 In this grateful union of friendship and affection, winter 
 came and passed away ; and spring, with its foliage of 
 tender green and its heaven of softest blue, succeeded to 
 gladden the hearts of the inmates of the castle. The 
 season w T as in harmony with their minds, and their minds 
 imparted their own hue and tone to the season. What 
 wonder, then, that its storks and swallows inspired them 
 also with a disposition to travel ! On a bright morning, 
 while they were taking a walk down to one of the sources 
 of the Danube, Huldbrand spoke of the magnificence of 
 this noble stream, how it continued swelling as it flowed 
 through countries enriched by its waters, with what splen- 
 dour Vienna rose and sparkled on its banks, and how it 
 grew lovelier and more imposing almost the whole of its 
 progress. 
 
 " It must be a glorious privilege, once in our life, to 
 trace its course down to Vienna ! " Bertalda exclaimed 
 with warmth ; but, immediately resuming the humble and 
 modest demeanour she had recently shown, she paused 
 and blushed in silence. 
 
 This incident, slight as it may appear, was extremely 
 touching to Undine ; and with the liveliest wish to gratify 
 her friend, she said : " And who or what shall prevent 
 our taking this little voyage ? " 
 
 Bertalda leapt up with delight, and the two females the 
 same moment began the work of imagination, painting this 
 enchanting trip on the Danube in the most brilliant colours. 
 Huldbrand, too, agreed to the project with pleasure ; only 
 he once whispered with something of alarm in Undine's 
 ear : 
 
 " But, at that distance, Kühleborn becomes possessed of 
 his power again ? " 
 
 " Let him come, let him come," she answered with a 
 laugh ; " I shall be there, and he dares do none of his 
 mischief in my presence." 
 
 Thus was the last impediment removed ; they prepared 
 for the expedition, and soon set out upon it with lively 
 spirits and the brightest hopes. 
 
 But be not surprised, O man, if events continually hap- 
 pen very different from what you expect. That malign 
 power, which lies in ambush for our destruction, delights 
 
95 
 
 to lull its chosen victim asleep with sweet songs and golden 
 delusions ; while, on the other hand, the messenger of 
 Heaven, sent to rescue us from peril, often thunders at 
 our door with the violence of alarm and terror. 
 
 During the first days of their passage down the Danube, 
 they were unusually gratified. The further they advanced 
 upon the waters of this proud river, the views became 
 more and more picturesque and attractive. But here, 
 amid scenes otherwise most delicious, and from which 
 they had promised themselves the purest delight, here 
 again the stubborn Kühleborn, dropping all disguise, began 
 to show his power of annoying them. He had few other 
 means of doing this, indeed, than mere tricks and illusions, 
 for Undine often rebuked the swelling waves or the con- 
 trary winds, and then the insolence of the enemy was 
 instantly humbled and subdued ; but his attacks were 
 renewed, and Undine's admonition became again neces- 
 sary ; so that the pleasure of this little water-party was 
 completely destroyed. The oarsmen, too, were continu- 
 ally whispering to one another in dismay, and eyeing their 
 three superiors with distrust; while even the servants 
 began more and more to form dismal surmises, and to 
 watch their master and mistress with looks of suspicion. 
 
 Huldbrand often said to himself, in the silence of his 
 soul : " This comes to pass, when like marries not like, 
 — when a man forms an unnatural union with a female of 
 the sea. Still, excusing himself, as we are most of us so 
 fond of doing, he frequently pursued a train of thought 
 like this : " I did not in fact know that she ivas a maid of 
 the sea. It is my misfortune, that all my steps are haunted 
 and disturbed by the wild humours of her kindred, but it 
 is not my crime." 
 
 Making reflections like these, he felt himself in some 
 measure strengthened; but, on the other hand, he only 
 the more entertained a feeling of ill-humour against Un- 
 dine, almost amounting to malevolence. He cast upon 
 her glances of fretfulness and ill-nature, and the unhappy 
 wife but too well understood their meaning. 
 
 One day, grieved by this unkindness, as well as exhausted 
 by her continual exertions to foil the artifices of Kühleborn, 
 while rocked and soothed by the gentle motion of the bark, 
 
96 
 
 she toward evening fell into a deep slumber. But hardly 
 had she closed her eyes, when every person in the boat, in 
 whatever direction he might look on the water, saw the 
 head of a man, beyond imagination frightful : each head 
 rose out of the waves, not like that of a person swimming, 
 but quite perpendicular, as if firmly fastened to the watery 
 mirror, and still moving on with the progress of the bark. 
 Every one wished to show to his companion what terrified 
 himself, and each perceived the same expression of horror 
 on the face of the other, only his hand and eye were 
 directed to a different quarter, as if to a point where the 
 monster, half laughing and half threatening, rose opposite 
 to himself. 
 
 When, however, they wished to make one another 
 understand the sight, and all cried out, " Look there ! " 
 " No, there ! " the frightful heads all became visible to 
 each, and the whole river around the boat swarmed with 
 faces of the most horrible expression. All raised a scream 
 of terror at the sight, and Undine started from sleep. The 
 moment she opened her eyes upon the mad group, the 
 deformed visages disappeared. But Huldbrand was made 
 furious by the frequent recurrence of these hideous visions. 
 He would have burst out in wild imprecations, had not 
 Undine, with the most submissive air, and in the gentlest 
 tone of supplication, thus entreated him : 
 
 " For God's sake, my husband, do not express displeas- 
 ure against me here, — we are on the water." 
 
 The knight was silent and sat down, absorbed in a pro- 
 found reverie. Undine whispered in his ear : " Would 
 it not be better, my love, to give up this foolish voyage, 
 and return to Castle Ringstetten in peace ? " 
 
 But Huldbrand murmured in a voice expressive of the 
 embittered state of his mind : " So I must become a 
 prisoner in my own castle ? and not be allowed to breathe 
 a moment but while the fountain is covered ? Would to 
 Heaven that our frantic union " 
 
 At these fatal words, Undine pressed her fair hand on 
 his lips with the most touching tenderness. He said no 
 more, but, assuming an air of composure, pondered on all 
 that Undine had lately warned him to avoid. 
 
 Bertalda, meanwhile, had given herself up to a crowd 
 
97 
 
 of wild and wandering thoughts. Of undine's origin she 
 knew a good deal, but not the whole, and the terrible 
 Kühleborn had, more especially, remained to her an awful 
 and yet in every view an impenetrable mystery ; never, 
 indeed, had she once beard his name. Musing upon this 
 series of wonders, she unclasped, without being fully 
 conscious of what she was doing, a gold necklace, which 
 Huldbrand, on one of the preceding days of their passage, 
 had bought for her of a travelling trader; and she was 
 now letting it swing in sport just over the surface of the 
 stream, while, in her dreamy mood, she enjoyed the bright 
 reflection it threw on the water, so cjear beneath the glow 
 of evening. That instant, a huge hand flashed suddenly 
 up from the Danube, seized the necklace in its grasp, and 
 vanished with it beneath the flood. Bertalda shrieked 
 aloud, and a laugh of mockery and contempt came pealing 
 up from the depth of the river. 
 
 The knight could now restrain his wrath no longer. He 
 started up, gazed fiercely upon the deep, poured forth a 
 volley of reproaches, heaped curses upon all who inter- 
 fered with his connection or troubled his life, and dared 
 them all, water-spirits or mermaids, to come within the 
 sweep of his sword. 
 
 Bertalda, meantime, wept for the loss of the ornament 
 so very dear to her heart, and her tears were to Huldbrand 
 as oil poured upon the flame of his fury ; while Undine 
 held her hand over the side of the boat, dipping it in the 
 waves, softly murmuring to herself, and only at times 
 interrupting her strange mysterious whisper, when she 
 addressed her husband in a voice of entreaty : 
 
 " Do not reprove me here, my dear Huldbrand ; throw 
 whatever blame upon others you will, but me, show me 
 no unkindness here. Surely you know the reason!" 
 And, in truth, though his tongue was trembling with excess 
 of passion, he with strong effort kept himself from articu- 
 lating a single word against her. 
 
 She then brought up in her wet hand, which she had 
 been holding under the waves, a coral necklace of such 
 exquisite beauty, such sparkling brilliancy, as dazzled the 
 eyes of all who beheld it. " Take this," said she, holding 
 it out with affectionate sweetness to Bertalda ; " I have 
 9 
 
98 
 
 ordered it to^ be brought, to make some amends for your 
 loss, and do not, be troubled any more. " poor ohilc L^ 
 
 But the knight rushed between them, and, snatching 
 the beautiful ornament out of Undine's hand, hurled it 
 back into the flood, and in a flame of rage exclaimed : 
 " So then, you have a connexion with them forever? In 
 the name of all witches and enchanters, go and remain 
 among them with your presents, you sorceress, and leave 
 us human beings in peace ! " 
 
 But poor Undine, with a look of mute amazement and 
 eyes streaming with tears, gazed on him, her hand still 
 stretched out, just as it was when she had so kindly offered 
 her brilliant gift to Bertalda. She then began to weep 
 with more and more of impassioned anguish, like a tender 
 child, all innocence and very bitterly grieved. At last 
 she said, in a tone of voice the most faint and affecting : 
 
 " Alas, dear friend, all is over now, — farewell ! They 
 shall do you no harm ; only remain true, that I may keep 
 them from you. But I, alas, must go away, I must go 
 away, even in this early dawn of youth and bliss. O woe, 
 woe, what have you done ! O woe, woe ! " 
 
 And she vanished over the side of the boat. — Whether 
 she plunged into the stream, or whether, like water melting 
 into water, she flowed away with it, they knew not, her 
 disappearance so much resembled both united, and neither 
 by itself. But she was gone, gliding on with the Danube, 
 instantly and completely; only little waves were yet whis- 
 pering and sobbing around the boat, and they seemed 
 almost distinctly to say : " O woe, woe ! Ah, remain 
 true ! O woe ! " 
 
 But Huldbrand, in a passion of burning tears, threw 
 himself upon the deck of the bark, and a deep swoon soon 
 wrapped the wretched man in a blessed forgetfulness of 
 misery. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 WHAT FURTHER HAPPENED TO HULDBRAND. 
 
 The brief period of our mourning, — ought we to view 
 it as a misfortune, or as a blessing ? I mean that deep 
 mourning of the heart, which gushes up from the very- 
 well-springs of our being ; that mourning, which becomes 
 so perfectly one with the lost object of our affection, that 
 this even ceases to be a lost thing to the sorrowing heart ; 
 and which desires to make the whole life a holy office 
 dedicated to the image of the departed, until we too pass 
 that boundary which separates it from our view. 
 
 Some men there are, indeed, who have this profound 
 tenderness of spirit, and who thus consecrate their affections 
 to the memory of the departed ; but still their mourning 
 softens into an emotion of gentle melancholy, having none 
 of the intenseness of the first agony of separation. Other 
 and foreign images intervene, and impress themselves upon 
 the mind ; we learn at last the transitory nature of every 
 thing earthly, even from that of our affliction ; and I cannot 
 therefore but view it as a misfortune, that the period of 
 our mourning is so brief. 
 
 The lord of Ringstetten learnt the truth of this by ex- 
 perience ; but whether he derived any advantage from the 
 knowledge, we shall discover in the sequel of this history. 
 At first, he could do nothing but weep, — weep as bitterly 
 as the poor amiable Undine had wept, when he snatched 
 out of her hand that brilliant ornament, with which she so 
 beautifully wished to make amends for Bertalda's loss. 
 And then he stretched his hand out as she had done, and 
 
100 
 
 wept again like her with renewed violence. He cherished 
 a secret hope, that even the springs of life would at last 
 hecome exhausted by weeping ; and when we have been 
 severely afflicted, has not a similar thought passed through 
 the minds of many of us with a painful pleasure? Bertal- 
 da wept with him, and they lived together a long while at 
 Castle Ringstetten in undisturbed quiet, honouring the 
 memory of Undine, and having almost wholly forgotten 
 their former attachment. 
 
 Owing to this tender remembrance of Huldbrand, and 
 to encourage him in conduct so exemplary, the good Un- 
 dine, about this time, often visited his dreams ; she soothed 
 him with soft and affectionate caresses, and then went 
 away again, weeping in silence, so that when he awoke, 
 he sometimes knew not how his cheeks came to be so wet, 
 — whether it was caused by her tears, or only by his own. 
 
 But as time advanced, these visions became less frequent, 
 and the severity of the knight's sorrow was softened ; still 
 he might never while he lived, it may be, have entertained 
 any other wish than thus to think of Undine in silence, 
 and to speak of her in conversation, had not the old fisher- 
 man arrived unexpectedly at the castle, and earnestly in- 
 sisted on Bertalda's returning with him, as his child. He 
 had received information of Undine's disappearance, and 
 he was not willing to allow Bertalda to continue longer at 
 the castle with the unmarried lord. "For," said he, 
 " whether my daughter loves me or not, is at present what 
 I care not to know ; but her good name is at stake, and 
 where that commands or forbids, not a word more need be 
 said." 
 
 This resolution of the old fisherman, and the fearful 
 solitude, that, on Bertalda's departure, threatened to 
 oppress the knight in every hall and passage of the deserted 
 castle, brought a circumstance into distinct consciousness, 
 which, owing to his sorrow for Undine, had of late been 
 slumbering and completely forgotten, — I mean his attach- 
 ment to the fair Bertalda ; and this he made known to her 
 father. 
 
 The fisherman had many objections to make to the pro- 
 posed marriage. The old man had loved Undine with 
 exceeding tenderness, and it was a doubtful conclusion to 
 
101 
 
 his mind, that the mere disappearance of his beloved child 
 could be properly viewed as her death. But were it even 
 granted, that her corse were lying stiff and cold at the 
 bottom of the Danube, or swept away by the current to 
 the ocean, still Bertalda would not be guiltless in her death, 
 and it would be wrong for her to step into the place of the 
 poor banished wife. The fisherman, however, had felt a 
 strong regard also for the knight: this, and the entreaties 
 of his daughter, who had become much more gentle and 
 respectful, as well as her tears for Undine, all exerted their 
 influence ; and he seems to have been forced at last to 
 give up his reluctance, for he remained at the castle with- 
 out objection, and a courier was sent off express to father 
 Heilmann, who in former and happier days had united 
 Undine and Huldbrand, requesting him to come and per- 
 form the ceremony at the knight's second marriage. 
 
 But the holy man had hardly read through the letter 
 from the lord of Ringstetten, ere he set out upon the jour- 
 ney, and made much greater dispatch on his way to the 
 castle, than the messenger from there had made in reach- 
 ing him. Whenever his breath failed him in his rapid pro- 
 gress, or his old limbs ached with fatigue, he would say to 
 himself: 
 
 " Perhaps I may still be in season to prevent the com- 
 mission of a crime ; then sink not, weak and withered 
 body, before I arrive at the end of my journey ! " And 
 with renewed vigour he pressed forward, hurrying on with- 
 out rest or repose, until, late one evening, he entered the 
 embowered court-yard of Castle Ringstetten. 
 
 The betrothed pair were sitting arm in arm under the 
 trees, and the aged fisherman in a thoughtful mood sat 
 near them. The moment they saw father Heilmann, they 
 rose with a spring of joy, and pressed round him with 
 looks, tones, and expressions of cordial welcome. But 
 he, in the fewest words possible, urged the bridegroom to 
 accompany him into the castle ; and w T hen Huldbrand 
 stood mute with surprise, and delayed complying with his 
 earnest request, the pious priest said to him : 
 
 " Why do I then defer speaking, my lord of Ring- 
 stetten, until I can address you in private ? There is 
 no occasion for the delay of a moment. What I have 
 9* 
 
102 
 
 to say, as much concerns Berlakla and the fisherman 
 as yourself; and what we cannot avoid hearing at some 
 time, it is best to hear as soon as possible. Are you then 
 so very certain, knight Huldbrand, that your first wife is 
 actually dead ? It hardly appears so to me. I will say 
 nothing, indeed, of the mysterious situation in which she 
 may be now existing ; in truth, I know nothing of it with 
 certainty. But that she was a most devoted and faithful 
 wife, so much is beyond all dispute. And for fourteen 
 nights past, she has appeared to me in a dream, standing 
 at my bed-side, wringing her tender hands in anguish, and 
 imploring me with deep sighs : ' Ah, prevent him, dear 
 father ! I am still living ! Ah ! save his life ! Ah ! save 
 his soul ! ' 
 
 "What this vision of the night could mean, I was at 
 first unable to divine; then came your messenger, and I 
 have now hastened hither, not to unite, but, as I hope, to 
 separate, what ought not to be joined together. Leave 
 her, Huldbrand ! Leave him, Bertalda ! He still belongs 
 to another ; and do you not see on his pale cheek the 
 traces of that grief, which the disappearance of his wife 
 has produced there ? That is not the look of a bride- 
 groom, and the spirit breathes the presage on my soul : 
 ' If you do not leave him, you will never, never be happy. J " 
 
 The three felt in their inmost hearts, that father Heil- 
 mann spoke the truth ; but still they affected not to believe 
 him, or they strove rather to resist their conviction. Even 
 the old fisherman had become so infatuated, that he con- 
 ceived the marriage to be now indispensable, as they had 
 so often, during the time he had been with them, mutually 
 agreed to the arrangement. They all, therefore, with a 
 determined and gloomy eagerness, struggled against the 
 representations and warnings of the holy man, until, shak- 
 ing his head and oppressed with sorrow, he finally quitted 
 the castle, not choosing to accept their offered shelter even 
 for a single night, or indeed so much as to taste a morsel of 
 the refreshment they brought him. Huldbrand persuaded 
 himself, however, that the priest was a mere visionary or 
 fanatic, and sent at day-break to a monk of the nearest 
 monastery, who, without scruple, promised to perform the 
 ceremony in a kw days. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE KNIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 It was at the earliest moment of dawn, when night 
 begins faintly to brighten into morning twilight, that Huld- 
 brand was lying on his couch, half waking and half sleep- 
 ing. Whenever he attempted to compose himself to 
 sleep, he was seized with an undefined terror, that made 
 him shrink back from the enjoyment, as if his slumber 
 were crowded with spectres. But whenever he made an 
 effort to rouse himself, the wings of a swan seemed to be 
 w 7 aving around him, and soothing him with the music of 
 their motion, and thus in a soft delusion of the senses he 
 sunk back into his stale of imperfect repose. 
 
 At last, however, he must have fallen perfectly asleep; 
 for, while the sound of the swan-wings was murmuring 
 around him, he seemed to be lifted by their regular strokes, 
 and to be wafted far away over land and sea, and still their 
 music swelled on his ear most sweetly. " The music of 
 the swan ! the song of the swan ! " he could not but 
 repeat to himself every moment ; " is it not a sure fore- 
 boding of death ? " Probably, however, it had yet another 
 meaning. All at once he seemed to be hovering over 
 the Mediterranean Sea. A swan with her loud melody 
 sung in his ear, that this was the Mediterranean Sea ; and 
 while he was looking down upon the waves, they became 
 transparent as crystal, so that he could see through them 
 to the very bottom. 
 
 At this a thrill of delight shot through him, for he 
 could see Undine, where she was sitting beneath the clear 
 
104 
 
 domes of crystal. It is true, she was weeping very 
 bitterly, and such was the excess of her grief, that she 
 bore only a faint resemblance to the bright and joyous 
 being she had been, during those happy days they had 
 lived together at Castle Ringstetten, both on their arrival 
 and afterward, a short time before they set out upon their 
 fatal passage down the Danube. The knight could not 
 avoid dwelling upon all this with deep emotion, but it did 
 not appear that Undine was aware of his presence. 
 
 Kühleborn had meanwhile approached her, and was 
 about to reprove her for weeping, when she assumed the 
 boldness of superiority, and looked upon him with an air 
 so dignified and commanding, that he was well-nigh ter- 
 rified and confounded by it. 
 
 " Although I too now dwell here beneath the waters," 
 said she, " yet I have brought my soul with me ; and 
 therefore I may well be allowed to weep, little as you may 
 conceive the meaning of such tears. They are even a 
 blessed privilege, as eveiy thing is such a privilege, to one 
 inspired with the true soul." 
 
 He shook his head with disbelief of what she said, and, 
 after musing a moment or two, replied : " And yet, 
 niece, you are subject to our laws of the element, as a 
 being of the same nature with ourselves ; and, should he 
 prove unfaithful to you and marry again, you are obliged 
 to take away his life." 
 
 " He remains a w T idower to this very hour," replied 
 Undine, te and he still loves me with the passion of a 
 sorrowful heart." 
 
 " He is, however, a bridegroom withal," said Kühle- 
 born, with a chuckle of scorn ; " and let only a few days 
 wear away, and anon comes the priest with his nuptial 
 blessing, and then you must go up and execute your share 
 of the business, the death of the husband with two 
 wives." 
 
 "I have not the power," returned Undine, with a smile. 
 " Do you not remember ? I have sealed up the fountain 
 securely, not only against myself but all of the same 
 race." 
 
 " Still, should he leave his castle," said Kühleborn, 
 " or should he once allow the fountain to be uncovered, 
 
105 
 
 what then ? for doubtless he thinks there is no great 
 murder in such trifles." 
 
 " For that very reason," said Undine, still smiling amid 
 her tears, "for that very reason he is this moment hover- 
 ing in spirit^over the Mediterranean Sea, and dreaming of 
 this voice of warning which our conversation affords him. 
 It has been with a view to give him this warning, that I 
 have been studious in disposing the whole vision." 
 
 That instant Kühleborn, inflamed with rage, looked up 
 at the knight, wrathfully threatened him, stamped upon 
 the ground, and then, swift as the passion that possessed 
 him, sprang up from beneath the waves. He seemed to 
 swell in his fury to the size of a whale. Again the swans 
 began to sing, to wave their wings, to fly ; the knight 
 seemed to be soaring away over mountains and streams, 
 and at last to alight at Castle Ringstetten, where he awoke 
 upon his couch. 
 
 Upon his couch he actually did awake, and his attend- 
 ant, entering at the same moment, informed him, that 
 father Heilmann was still lingering in the neighbourhood ; 
 that he had, the evening before, met with him in the forest, 
 where he was sheltering himself under a booth, which he 
 had formed by interweaving the branches of trees, and 
 covering them with moss and fine brush-wood ; and that 
 to the question, 'What he was doing there, since he had 
 so firmly refused to perform the nuptial ceremony ? ' his 
 answer was : 
 
 " There are yet other ceremonies to perform, beside 
 those at the altar of marriage; and though I did not 
 come to officiate at the wedding, I can still officiate at a 
 very different solemnity. All things have their season, 
 and for this we must wait. Besides, marrying and mourn- 
 ing are by no means so very far from each other, as every 
 one, not wilfully blinded, must know full well." 
 
 In consequence of these words and of his dream, the 
 knight made a variety of reflections, some wild and some 
 not unmixed with alarm. But a man is apt to consider it 
 very disagreeable to give over an affair, which he has once 
 settled in his mind as certain, and therefore all went on 
 just according to the old arrangement. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 HOW THE KNIGHT HTTLDBRAND SOLEMNIZED HIS MARRIAGE. 
 
 Should I relate to you the events of the marriage 
 festival at Castle Ringstetten, it would seem as if you 
 were viewing a crowded assemblage of bright and joyous 
 things, but all overspread with a black mourning crape, 
 through whose darkening veil the whole splendour appeared 
 less to resemble pleasure, than a mockery of the nothing- 
 ness of all earthly joys. 
 
 It was not because some spectral confusion disturbed 
 the scene of festivity ; for the castle, as we well know, 
 had been secured against the mischief and menaces of 
 water-spirits. But the knight, the fisherman, and all 
 the guests, were unable to banish the feeling, that the 
 chief personage of the feast was still wanting, and that 
 this chief personage could be no other than the amiable 
 Undine, so dear to them all. 
 
 Whenever a door was heard to open, all eyes were 
 involuntarily turned in that direction ; and if it was noth- 
 ing but the steward with new dishes, or the cup-bearer 
 with a supply of wine of higher flavour than the last, 
 they again looked down in sadness and disappointment ; 
 and the flashes of wit and merriment which had been 
 passing at times from one to another, ceased, and were 
 succeeded by tears of mournful remembrance. 
 
 The bride was the least thoughtful of the company, 
 and therefore the most happy ; but even she, occasionally, 
 found it difficult to realize the fact, that she was sitting at 
 the head of the table, wearing a green garland and gold- 
 
107 
 
 embroidered garments, while Undine was lying a corse, 
 stiff and cold, at the bottom of the Danube, or carried 
 out by the current into the ocean. For, ever since her 
 father had suggested something of this sort, his words 
 were continually sounding in her ear; and this day, in 
 particular, they would neither fade from her memory nor 
 give over their intrusion. 
 
 Evening had scarcely arrived, when the company re- 
 turned to their homes ; not dismissed by the impatience 
 of the bridegroom, as wedding parties are sometimes 
 broken up, but constrained solely by painful associations, 
 joyless melancholy, and forebodings of evil. Bertalda 
 retired with her maidens, and the knight with his atten- 
 dants, to undress ; but these young bridemaids and bride- 
 men, such was the gloomy tenor of this festival, made no 
 attempt to amuse bride or bridegroom with the usual 
 pleasantry and frolicsome good-humour of the occasion. 
 
 Bertalda wished to awake a livelier spirit : she ordered 
 them to spread before her a brilliant set of jewels, a present 
 from Huldbrand, together with rich apparel and veils, that 
 she might select from among them the brightest and most 
 beautiful for her dress in the morning. The attendants 
 eagerly seized this opportunity of gratifying both their 
 young mistress and themselves ; and while, with many 
 wishes and promises of happiness, they indulged their love 
 of talkingj and declared how charmed they were with all 
 they saw, they failed not to extol the beauty of the 
 new-married lady with their liveliest eloquence. They 
 became more and more absorbed in this admiration and 
 flattery, until Bertalda at last, looking in a mirror, said 
 with a sigh : 
 
 " Ah, but do you not see plainly how freckled I am 
 growing ? Look here on the side of my neck." 
 
 They looked at the place, and found the freckles, indeed, 
 as their fair mistress had said ; but they called them mere 
 beauty-spots, the faintest touches of the sun, such as 
 would only heighten the whiteness of her delicate 
 complexion. Bertalda shook her head, and still viewed 
 them as a blemish. 
 
 " And I could remove them," she said at last, sighing. 
 " But the castle-fountain is covered, from which I formerly 
 
108 
 
 used to have that precious water, so purifying to the skin. 
 O, had I this evening only a single flagon of it ! " 
 
 " Is that all ?" cried an alert waiting-maid, laughing, as 
 she glided out of the apartment. 
 
 " She will not be so frantic," said Bertalda, in a voice 
 of inquiry and agreeably surprised, " as to cause the 
 stone-cover of the fountain to be taken off this very 
 evening?" That instant they heard the tread of men 
 already passing along the court-yard, and could see from 
 the window where the damsel, so kindly officious, was 
 leading them directly up to the fountain, and that they 
 carried levers and other instruments on their shoulders. 
 
 " It is certainly my will," said Bertalda with a smile, 
 " if it does not take them too long." And, charmed with 
 the conviction, that the merest hint from her was now 
 sufficient to accomplish, what had formerly been refused 
 with a painful reproof, she looked down upon their opera- 
 tions in the bright moonlight of the castle court. 
 
 The men seized the enormous stone, as if they must 
 exert all their strength in raising it; some one of their 
 number indeed would occasionally sigh, when he recol- 
 lected they were destroying the work of their former 
 beloved mistress. Their labour, however, was much 
 lighter than they had expected. It seemed as if some 
 power, from within the fountain itself, aided them in rais- 
 ing the stone. 
 
 " It certainly appears," said the workmen to one anoth- 
 er in astonishment, " as if the confined water were become 
 a jet or spouting fountain." And the stone rose more and 
 more, and, almost without the assistance of the work-peo- 
 ple, rolled slowly away upon the pavement with a hollow 
 sound. But an appearance, from the opening of the 
 fountain, filled them with awe, as it rose like a white col- 
 umn of water : at first they imagined it to be a spouting 
 fountain in good earnest, until they perceived the rising 
 form to be a pale female, veiled in white. She wept bit- 
 terly, raised her hands above her head, and wrung them 
 with anguish, as with slow and solemn step she moved 
 toward the castle. The servants shrunk back, and fled 
 from the fountain ; while the bride, pale and motionless 
 with horror, stood with her maidens at the window from 
 
109 
 
 which she had been viewing what passed without. 
 When the figure had now come close beneath their room, 
 it looked up to them and uttered the low moaning of misery, 
 and Bertalda thought she recognized through the veil the 
 pale features of Undine. But the mourning form passed 
 on as sad, reluctant, and lingering, as if going to the 
 place of execution. Bertalda screamed to her maids 
 to call the knight ; not one of them dared to stir from her 
 place ; and even the bride herself became again mute, as 
 if trembling at the sound of her own voice. 
 
 While they continued standing at the window, over- 
 powered with terror and motionless as statues, the mys- 
 terious wanderer entered the castle, ascended the well- 
 known stairs, and traversed the well-known halls, her 
 tears ever flowing in silent woe. Alas, with what different 
 emotions had she once wandered through these rooms ! 
 
 The knight had in the mean time dismissed his attend- 
 ants. Half undressed and in deep dejection, he was 
 standing before a large mirror; a wax taper burned dimly 
 beside him. At this moment he heard a low tapping at 
 his door, the least perceptible touch of a finger. Undine 
 had formerly tapped in this way, when she wished to 
 amuse him with her endearing sportiveness. 
 
 " It is all illusion ! a mere freak of fancy ! " said he to 
 himself. " I must to my nuptial bed." 
 
 " You must, indeed, but to a cold one ! " he heard a 
 voice, choked with sobs, repeat from without ; and then 
 he saw in the mirror, that the door of his room was 
 slowly, slowly opened, and the white wanderer entered, 
 and gently secured it behind her. 
 
 " They have opened the fountain," said she in a low 
 tone, "and now I am here and you must die." 
 
 He felt in the shock and death-pause of his heart, that 
 this must indeed be his doom ; but, covering his eyes 
 with his hands, he cried : " Do not, in my death-hour, 
 do not drive me to distraction with terror. If you have a 
 visage of horror behind that veil, do not lift it ! Take my 
 life, but let me not see you." 
 
 " Alas ! " replied the wanderer, " will you not then look 
 upon me once more ? I am as beautiful now T as when you 
 wooed me on the peninsula ! " 
 10 
 
110 
 
 " O would to God it were so ! " sighed Huldbrand, " and 
 that I might die by a kiss from you ! " 
 
 " Most willingly do I grant your wish, my dearest love," 
 said she. And as she threw back her veil, her dear face 
 met his view, smiling with celestial beauty. Trembling 
 with love and the awe of approaching death, the knight 
 stooped to give and receive the embrace. She kissed 
 him with the holy kiss of Heaven ; but she relaxed not 
 her hold, pressing him more passionately in her arms, and 
 weeping as if she would weep away her soul. Tears 
 rushed into the knight's eyes, while a thrill both of bliss 
 and agony shot through his heart, until he at last expired, 
 sinking softly back from her fair arms, and resting upon 
 the pillow of his couch, a corse. 
 
 " I have wept him to death ! " said she to some domes- 
 tics, who met her in the ante-chamber ; and passing 
 through the terrified group, she went slowly out and dis- 
 appeared in the fountain. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 HOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND WAS BURIED. 
 
 Father Heilmann had returned to the castle, as soon 
 as the death of the lord of Ringstetten was made known 
 in the neighbourhood ; and he arrived at the very hour 
 when the monk, who had married the unfortunate couple, 
 was hurrying from the door, overcome with dismay and 
 horror. 
 
 When father Heilmann was informed of this, he replied : 
 " It is all well ; and now come the duties of my office, in 
 which I have no need of an assistant." 
 
 He then began to console the bride, now become a 
 widow, small as was the advantage her worldly and light- 
 minded spirit derived from his kindness. 
 
 The old fisherman, on the other hand, though severely 
 afflicted, was far more resigned in regard to the fate of his 
 son-in-law and the calamity of his daughter ; and while 
 Bertalda could not refrain from accusing Undine as a 
 murderess and fiendlike enchantress, the old man calmly 
 said : " The event, after all, could not have happened 
 otherwise. I see nothing in it but the judgment of God ; 
 and no one, I am sure, could have his heart more pierced 
 by the death of Huldbrand, than she who was obliged to 
 accomplish his doom, the poor forsaken Undine ! " 
 
 He then assisted in arranging the funeral solemnities, as 
 suited the rank of the deceased. The knight was to be 
 interred in a village church-yard, in whose consecrated 
 ground were the graves of his ancestors ; a place which 
 they, as well as himself, had endowed with rich privileges 
 
112 
 
 and gifts. His shield and helmet lay upon his coffin, 
 ready to be lowered with it into the grave, for lord Huld- 
 brand of Ringstetten had died the last of his race ; the 
 mourners began their sorrowful march, lifting the melan- 
 choly wail of their dirges amid the calm unclouded 
 heaven ; father Heilmann preceded the procession, bearing 
 a lofty crucifix, while Bertalda followed in her misery, 
 supported by her aged father. 
 
 While proceeding in this manner, they suddenly saw, 
 in the midst of the dark-habited mourning females in the 
 widow's train, a snow-white figure, closely veiled, and 
 wringing its hands in the wild vehemence of sorrow. 
 Those next to whom it moved, seized with a secret dread, 
 started back or sideways ; and owing to their movements, 
 the others, next to whom the white stranger now came, 
 were terrified still more, so as to produce almost a complete 
 disarrangement of the funeral train. Some of the military 
 escort were emboldened to address the figure, and attempt 
 to remove it from the procession, but it seemed to vanish 
 from under their hands, and yet w r as immediately seen 
 advancing again, with slow and solemn step, among the 
 followers of the body. At last, in consequence of the 
 shrinking away of the attendants, it came close behind 
 Bertalda. It now moved so slowly, that the widow was 
 not aware of its presence, and it walked meekly on behind, 
 neither suffering nor creating disturbance. 
 
 This continued until they came to the church-yard, 
 where the procession formed a circle round the open 
 grave. Then it was that Bertalda perceived her unbidden 
 companion, and prompted half by anger and half by terror, 
 she commanded her to depart from the knight's place of 
 final rest. But the veiled female, shaking her head with 
 a gentle refusal, raised her hands toward Bertalda, in lowly 
 supplication, by which she was greatly moved, and could not 
 but remember with tears, how Undine had shown such 
 sweetness of spirit on the Danube, when she held out to her 
 the coral necklace. 
 
 Father Heilmann now motioned with his hand, and gave 
 order for all to observe perfect stillness, that over the body, 
 whose mound was well-nigh formed, they might breathe a 
 prayer of silent devotion. Bertalda knelt without speak- 
 ing ; and all knelt, even the grave-diggers who had now 
 
113 
 
 finished their work. But when they rose from this 
 breathing of the heart, the white stranger had disappeared. 
 On the spot where she had kneeled, a little spring, of 
 silver brightness, was gushing out from the green turf, 
 and it kept swelling and flowing onward with a low mur- 
 mur, till it almost encircled the mound of the knight's 
 grave ; it then continued its course, and emptied itself into 
 a calm lake, which lay by the side of the consecrated 
 ground. Even to this day, the inhabitants of the village 
 point out the spring ; — and they cannot but cherish the 
 belief, that it is the poor deserted Undine, who in this 
 manner still fondly encircles her beloved in her arms. 
 
 10* 
 
THE 
 
 VIAL-GENIE AND MAD FARTHING. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 YOUNG- GERMAN ARRIVES AT VENICE. WHO BID HIM 
 WELCOME THERE. A SPANISH CAPTAIN 
 AND HIS VIAL-GENIE. 
 
 It was a fine evening of summer, when a young German 
 merchant whose name was Richard, quite a wild and jovial 
 spirit, entered Venice, the far-famed commercial city of 
 Italy. Just at that period, owing to the Thirty Years' 
 War, there were continual disturbances throughout Ger- 
 many ; and in consequence of this state of things, the 
 young merchant, glad to embrace the opportunity of enjoy- 
 ing himself, esteemed it a most fortunate circumstance, 
 that his affairs called him for some time to Italy, where 
 the tumults of war were little felt, and where, as he had 
 been informed, he would meet with wines of the finest 
 flavour, and many of the most delicious fruits, not to men- 
 tion crowds of women of exquisite beauty, of whom he 
 was a passionate admirer. 
 
 On this evening of his arrival, wishing to enjoy the 
 customary amusement of Venice, he stepped aboard a 
 gondola, and was rowed about on the canals, which there 
 supply the place of our paved streets. He took great 
 pleasure in viewing the beautiful houses, and, what were 
 much more attractive, the forms and features of the 
 females, whom he frequently saw gazing from the balco- 
 nies. At length, as he came opposite a magnificent 
 edifice, at whose windows appeared ten or twelve girls in 
 the bloom of beauty, the gallant young blade said to one 
 of the gondoliers, who were rowing his boat : 
 
115 
 
 11 Would to heaven I were so happy as to know those 
 beautiful creatures up there ! — that I were allowed to 
 speak only two words to one of them ! " — 
 
 "Why," said the gondolier, "what can be more easy? 
 you have only to step ashore, and go boldly up to them. 
 Your two words will keep you there but a few moments." 
 
 But young Richard replied : " You take pleasure, no 
 doubt, in imposing upon strangers, and think you have 
 found in me a rustic, who is simpleton enough to follow 
 your advice, and then get laughed at above there in the 
 palace, with perhaps a clever drubbing into the bargain." 
 
 " Do not think, Sir, to teach me the customs of this 
 country," rejoined the gondolier. " Only do as I have 
 advised you, in case you really wish to enjoy that pleasure, 
 and if they do not open their beautiful white arms and bid 
 you welcome, then I am willing to forfeit my fare." 
 
 Supposing the gondolier not to have misrepresented 
 matters, this appeared to our novice well worth the trying. 
 So he landed and went up. 
 
 The bevy of girls, that appeared so charming to the 
 stranger, not only received him with the greatest courtesy, 
 but one of the number, she whom he considered the hand- 
 somest of them, was still more civil : she conducted him 
 to her own room, where she regaled him with cordials and 
 delicacies, and even gave him the welcome of many a kiss ; 
 nay more, he had no single wish remaining, of which she 
 did not grant him at last the complete accomplishment. 
 He could not avoid, every now and then, thinking within 
 himself: "I have assuredly reached the most delightful 
 and extraordinary country in the world : at the same 
 time, however, I cannot be too thankful for my attractions 
 of mind, manners, and person, which render me so accept- 
 able to these foreign ladies of quality." 
 
 But when he was on the point of departing, this beauty 
 of his required of him the modest sum of fifty ducats ; 
 and as he seemed to be astonished at this demand, she 
 said^ to him : " Why pray, young gentleman, do you 
 expect to share the favours of the fairest courtesan in all 
 Venice for nothing? Let me advise you to pay with 
 alacrity, for he who makes no agreement beforehand, must 
 rest contented with whatever another, may ask him. But, 
 
116 
 
 should you come again, then mind and be more prudent, 
 and for the same sum it has cost you this evening, you can 
 pass a whole week in every kind of enjoyment." 
 
 What severe mortification was this ! especially for one, 
 who, supposing he had made conquest of a princess, 
 discovered that she was a mere woman of the town, and 
 had tricked him too out of so considerable a sum of money ! 
 The young fellow showed, however, less indignation than 
 most men would have done. Personal indulgence seemed 
 to be more his object, than distinguished name or excel- 
 lence of character ; and so, after making the payment 
 demanded, he ordered his boatmen to proceed with him to 
 a wine-tavern, where he might drink away his confusion 
 and chagrin. 
 
 Our German spark, having thus entered upon a career 
 of dissipation, failed not to have a large number of merry 
 companions. He went on with his revels and riots for a 
 considerable time, and among none but convivial associ- 
 ates : there was one exception, however, to this class of 
 characters, and this was a Spanish captain, who was pres- 
 ent indeed at all the jollities of the wild set, to which 
 young Richard had abandoned himself, but almost always 
 without deigning to waste a single word among them, and 
 wearing a strong expression of distress upon every feature 
 of his dark countenance. Still they were willing to endure 
 the gloom of his presence, as he was a person of wealth 
 and respectability, who made nothing of defraying the 
 expenses of the whole band many evenings in succession ; 
 and this was an event of no rare occurrence. 
 
 Notwithstanding this liberal spirit in the captain, and 
 although young Richard no more suffered himself to be 
 so grossly over-reached, as on the day of his arrival at 
 Venice, still his money began at length to fail, and he 
 could not without deep concern reflect upon the fact, that 
 a life so delightful must for him soon come to an end, 
 should he be so prodigal as to lose all he possessed. 
 
 His companions perceived his melancholy, and at the 
 same time detected its cause, — as they had frequently 
 witnessed in their circle occurrences of a like nature, — 
 and they cracked their jokes upon the spendthrift, who, 
 though drained in puuse and depressed in spirit, could not 
 
117 
 
 refrain, with the remnant of his money, from tasting the 
 sweet poison of dissolute living. 
 
 At this time it was, that the Spaniard took him aside 
 one evening, and with an air of unusual kindness, led him 
 into a rather solitary quarter of the city. Our exemplary 
 young gentleman became somewhat alarmed at this, but 
 after a moment's reflection he said to himself: "My com- 
 panion is well aware, that I have but little more with me 
 to lose ; and as to any personal violence, if such be his 
 aim, he must first hazard his own safety, which he will 
 perhaps value at a rate too high to seek an encounter of 
 that kind." 
 
 But the Spanish captain, seating himself upon the foun- 
 dation of an old ruined building, pressed the young mer- 
 chant to sit down beside him, and began addressing him as 
 follows : 
 
 "I strongly suspect, my dear young friend, that, owing 
 to your inexperience, you are in want of precisely the 
 same power, which to me is above all measure a burden, — 
 the power, I mean, of procuring at any moment a sum of 
 money to whatever amount you may choose, and the abil- 
 ity to continue doing so at will. This power of securing 
 wealth, and many other gifts that the world prizes, I am 
 willing to sell you for a small sum of money." 
 
 " But how can" more money be of any importance to 
 you, when you wish to dispose of your means of produ- 
 cing it ?" asked Richard. 
 
 " The thing is embarrassed with the following condition," 
 answered the captain. " I know not whether you are 
 acquainted with certain diminutive creatures, called vial- 
 genies. These manikin imps are little black devils en- 
 closed in vials. He who possesses one of them, can 
 obtain from him whatever gratification he may wish for in 
 life, but more especially countless sums of money. In 
 return for these, the imp requires the soul of his possessor 
 for his master Lucifer, should the possessor die without 
 having transferred him to other hands. But this transfer 
 can be effected only by sale, and beside he must receive 
 from him a less sum than he gave. My demon cost me 
 ten ducats ; if you are willing to give me nine for him, he 
 is yours," 
 
118 
 
 While young Richard was yet deliberating what to do, 
 the Spaniard went on: "I have the power indeed of im- 
 posing upon a person, and of putting the imp into his 
 hands in room of some other vial or play-thing, just as an 
 unprincipled trader put me in possession of him. But I 
 mean to burden my conscience no more, and I offer you 
 the purchase honourably and openly. You are yet young 
 and attached to life, and will doubtless have numerous 
 opportunities of getting rid of the thing, should it ever 
 become oppressive to you as it now is to me." 
 
 " My dear Sir," said Richard in return, "you must not 
 take it ill, if I am somewhat slow to believe such wonders, 
 for, since coming to this city of Venice, I have been more 
 than once imposed upon already." 
 
 " Why, you foolish young fellow," cried the Spaniard in 
 anger, "you have only to remember my entertainment of 
 last evening, to satisfy yourself whether I would deceive 
 you for the paltry pittance of nine ducats." 
 
 " He who is lavish in banqueting, must be lavish also 
 in expenditure," modestly observed the young merchant ; 
 " and it is not coffers of gold, but the labour of the hands, 
 that secures to us an unfailing mine of wealth. Now sup- 
 posing you last night spent the only ducats you had 
 remaining, no doubt my nine, the last but one that I pos- 
 sess, would be very welcome to you." 
 
 " Excuse my not stabbing you to the heart," cried the 
 Spaniard, withdrawing his hand from the dagger he had 
 grasped. "Perhaps I break the laws of honour by this 
 forbearance, but I am influenced by a powerful motive : I 
 hope you will relieve me of my genie of the vial, and thus 
 aid me in my resolution to do penance, while such an act 
 of violence would only aggravate my crime." 
 
 " Will you give me with the vial, then, some proofs of 
 its value ?" the young merchant cautiously asked him. 
 
 " How is that possible?" answered the captain. "It 
 remains with him alone, and affords assistance to him alone, 
 who has first fairly bought it with cash." 
 
 Young Richard now became anxious and alarmed ; for 
 the lonely place, where they sat together in the darkness, 
 appeared dismal, although the captain was prompt to 
 assure him, that, owing to the penance he purposed, he 
 
119 
 
 would by no means compel him to embrace his offer. 
 Still all the enjoyments, which would surround him on the 
 acquisition of the vial-demon, seemed at once hovering 
 before him. So he resolved to hazard on the purchase 
 half of all the ready money he possessed, though he first 
 made trial whether he could not reduce the high price 
 somewhat lower. 
 
 " You are a fool ! " exclaimed the captain with a laugh 
 more grave than gay : " It is for your advantage, and the 
 advantage of those who make the purchase of you, that I 
 ask the highest price : my motive is, that no one may soon 
 buy the vial for the smallest of all the coins in the world, 
 and thus irretrievably become the devil's property, because 
 he would then no longer have the power of selling it." 
 
 " Ah, say no more, leave that to me," said Richard in 
 a tone of friendly acquiescence : " Believe me, I shall be 
 in no hurry to dispose of that wonderful thing. Could I 
 have it then for five ducats " 
 
 " For my own sake I accept the offer," replied the 
 Spaniard. " Should you make your little black devil 
 work out his whole term of service, even to the last mo- 
 ment, a human soul, alas, will be lost too soon." 
 
 Receiving the sum offered, he then handed to the young 
 German a slender glass vial, in which Richard saw by the 
 starlight something black leaping wildly up and down. 
 
 To prove the worth of his purchase, he at once required 
 in thought the sum he had expended, to be doubled in 
 his right hand, and swift as the wish he felt the ten ducats 
 to be there. He then joyfully returned to the public 
 house, where the rest of his clan were still carousing, and 
 they were all in the highest degree astonished, that their 
 two companions, who had just left them with an air so 
 disconsolate, now re-entered with faces so brightened. But 
 the Spaniard took a hasty leave without remaining to share 
 the rich and sumptuous entertainment, which Richard, 
 although the night had far advanced, ordered to be brought 
 in, — paying the mistrustful landlord beforehand, while 
 through the power of his manikin genie both his pockets 
 chinked anew, with ducats, the very moment he formed 
 the wish to have them. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 INCIDENT OF THE BROOK. SIN AND SUFFERING. DANCE OF 
 
 VIALS. DEVIL'S CHANT. THE DOCTOR AND HIS 
 
 RARE REMEDY. LAWYER'S TRICK. 
 
 Those persons who would like to get possession, them- 
 selves, of such a genie as Richard had obtained, will best 
 be able to imagine the life, which this jovial youngster led 
 from this day forward, unless indeed they would choose to 
 devote themselves to the excesses of avarice. But even 
 a provident and better disposed mind may easily conceive, 
 that his course of conduct all savoured of the wildest prodi- 
 gality. His first concern was, that the beautiful Lucre- 
 tia, — for by this name his late sharper-courtesan had not 
 scrupled to call herself, — should by uncounted sums of 
 money be secured wholly to himself; after which he pur- 
 chased a palace and two villas, and surrounded himself 
 with all the imaginable splendour of the world. 
 
 It happened one day, that he was sitting with Lucretia 
 in the garden of one of his country-seats, on the border of 
 a deep and rapid stream. A good deal of raillery and 
 laughter had passed between these two young fools, when 
 at length Lucretia unexpectedly saw and seized the imp- 
 vial, which Richard had attached to a small chain of gold, 
 and carried in his bosom under his vest. Before it was in 
 his power to prevent her, she had torn the delicate chain 
 from his neck, and now sportively held up the slender vial 
 toward the light. At first she laughed at the wonderful 
 gambols of the little black within, «Sä all at once shud- 
 dered and screamed with affright : " Foh ! it is a 
 perfect toad ! " and she threw chain, vial, and demon into 
 
121 
 
 the stream, which instantly whirled them all from their 
 view. 
 
 The poor young fellow strove to conceal his terrour, lest 
 his mistress should press him too closely with questions, 
 and at last bring him before the tribunal of justice on the 
 charge of sorcery. But he represented the thing as a 
 curious toy, and as soon as he thought it discreet, relieved 
 himself of Lucretia's company, in order to deliberate by 
 himself what was now best to be done. He was still in 
 possession of his palace, as well as his country-seats, and 
 a glorious heap of ducats must remain in his pockets. 
 But he was agreeably surprised, when, feeling for his 
 money, he held in his hand both vial and devilkin. The 
 chain was lying perhaps at the bottom of the brook, while 
 the vial and wishing genie had safely returned to their 
 owner. "Why, how is this?" cried he in a transport : 
 " I possess a treasure, then, of which no power on earth 
 can deprive me ! " and he would no doubt have kissed the 
 vial, had not the little gamboling black within looked 
 rather too horrible. 
 
 Wild and ^extravagant as Richard's career had hither- 
 to been, he now made it ten times more so. He looked 
 down with pity and contempt upon all the princes and 
 potentates of the earth, convinced that no one of them 
 could enjoy half so delightful a life as his. Scarcely an 
 individual, in the rich commercial city of Venice, could 
 bring together such rare viands and choice wines, as he 
 demanded for his sumptuous banquets. Whenever any 
 friendly person reproved or warned him in relation to these, 
 he was wont to reply : " Richard is my name, and my 
 riches are so inexhaustible, that no expenses can make any 
 impression upon the sum." Often too did he laugh im- 
 moderately at the Spanish Captain, who sought to rid him- 
 self of a treasure so invaluable, and who, as he was told, 
 in addition to such folly, had retired into a monastery. 
 
 But every thing earthly is of brief continuance. This 
 truth was our young libertine, as well as the rest of the 
 world, compelled to experience, and no doubt the sooner, 
 as he abandoned himself to every species of sensual pleasure 
 with the most unbounded indulgence. A deathlike weari- 
 ness fell upon his exhausted body, notwithstanding his 
 11 
 
122 
 
 wishing genie, whose assistance, the first day of his ill- 
 ness, he called for ten times — in vain. One weary hour 
 followed another : still he became no better, and more- 
 over, he that night had a strange dream. 
 
 It seemed to him, that one of the vials of medicine, 
 that stood by his bed, began the merriest fandango ever 
 danced, and with ceaseless din kept clinking and tinkling 
 against the tops and sides of the rest. When Richard 
 examined the matter more narrowly, he saw it was the 
 vial that contained his demon, and he exclaimed : " Why, 
 you gallows-bird, you gallows-bird, you not only refuse to 
 help me, in defiance of your duty, but are spilling and 
 destroying the medicines provided for my cure." The 
 fiend, however, sang hoarsely from his vial in reply : 
 
 " Why, Richard dear, why, Richard dear, 
 No endless pains torment you here; 
 But when you hell's fierce tortures share, 
 You'll feel the gentlest patience there. 
 To cure your ails I craft have none, 
 For death no healing herb has grown, 
 It joys me, — you are now my own." 
 
 Thus chanting his devil s' doggerel, he stretched him- 
 self out into a long and slender shape ; and fast as Rich- 
 ard held the vial, he crawled out between his thumb and 
 the sealed stopple, and became a huge black figure, that 
 hideously danced about, and at the same time made a 
 swift whirring with his bat-like wings, and finally pressed 
 his hairy breast upon the breast of Richard, and his grin- 
 ning face upon his face, so firmly and so closely, that 
 Richard felt as if he already began to resemble him, and 
 shrieked out in terrour: "A mirrour ! amirrour! bring me a 
 mirrour! " 
 
 He woke in the cold sweat of agony, while it still 
 seemed to him, as if a black toad were running nimbly 
 down his bosom into the pocket of his night-robe. Shud- 
 dering, he thrust his hand into it, but brought nothing out 
 except the vial, wherein the little black was now lying, as 
 if wearied out and dreaming. 
 
 Alas, how endless to the sick man appeared the remain- 
 der of this night ! He would no longer trust himself to 
 sleep, fearing it would bring the black miscreant upon him 
 
123 
 
 again ; and still he hardly ventured to open his eyes, fear- 
 ful that the monster might be actually lurking in some 
 corner of the room. If he again closed them, he thought 
 the form had come creeping close upon him by stealth, 
 and once more started up in terrour. He rung the bell for 
 his attendants, but they continued sleeping as soundly as 
 if they were deaf or dead, and Lucretia, since his illness, 
 had never once appeared in his chamber. Thus then was 
 he obliged to lie alone in his anguish, which became still 
 more aggravated, as this reflection was continually forced 
 upon him : "Ah, my God, if this night seem so long, 
 how long will be the perpetual night of hell ! " and he 
 resolved, should God spare his life until the morrow, to 
 employ all the means in his power of freeing himself from 
 his fiend. 
 
 When morning at length came, and he was somewhat 
 enlivened and strengthened by the early light, he set 
 about considering whether he had as yet derived as much 
 advantage from his purchase, as it would be wise to do. 
 His palace, villas, and every variety of splendour appear- 
 ing insufficient, he instantly required a great quantity more 
 of ducats under his pillow ; and the moment he found the 
 heavy bag there, he began calmly to deliberate, to whom 
 he could best sell his vial. His physician, he knew, was 
 fond of collecting all the strange creatures, that are pre- 
 served in spirit, and he hoped to pass off his genie to him 
 for one of these, because the doctor, being a religious man, 
 would make no improper use of it. To be sure, it would 
 be playing him a scurvy trick, but he reasoned himself into 
 the measure thus: " It is better to expiate a smaller sin 
 in purgatory, than to yield yourself up to Lucifer irre- 
 vocably. Besides, every man is most interested in his 
 own destiny, and my danger of death admits of no 
 delay." 
 
 Thus the matter rested. He offered the imp to the 
 physician. It had just become lively again, and was gam- 
 boling in its vial right merrily ; so that the learned man, 
 wishing to examine such a production of nature more 
 closely, (for in that light it was he considered it) said he 
 should like to buy it, if the price were not too high. 
 With a view to ask enough to satisfy his conscience, in some 
 
124 
 
 degree at least, Richard set the price as high as he could, — 
 four ducats, two thalers, and twenty groschen, German 
 money. But the doctor was not willing to give more than 
 three ducats at most, and decided at last, that if he could 
 not have it for that, he must think of it a few days. Then 
 the horrour of death again fell upon the poor young sin- 
 ner ; he let him take it for three ducats, and ordered his 
 servants to distribute them among the poor. He kept his 
 bag of money under his pillow, however, now purposing, 
 in the best manner he could, to found upon it all his future 
 fortune, — whether weal or w T oe. 
 
 The young merchant's illness, meantime, became ex- 
 tremely severe. He lay almost continually in a delirium 
 of fever ; and had he still felt on his heart the distress oc- 
 casioned by his vial-fiend, he would no doubt have per- 
 ished with anguish of soul. But that being removed, he 
 at length gradually recovered, and a single circumstance, 
 alone, was all that retarded his perfect restoration : this 
 was the anxiety, with which he every moment thought of 
 the ducats he had placed under his pillow, and which 
 from his first lucid interval he had searched for there in 
 vain. He felt unwilling, at first, to ask any one respect- 
 ing them ; but when he at last did so, no one chose to 
 know any thing of the matter. He sent to Lucretia, who 
 in the most dangerous hours of his unconsciousness would 
 be about him, and had now returned home again to her 
 former companions. But she ordered his messenger to 
 carry back this answer to his inquiries : ' That there was 
 no use in troubling either her or himself about the ducats ; 
 for had he ever mentioned them either to her or any other 
 person ? and if no one knew any thing about them, his 
 impression must doubtless have been all produced by the 
 frenzy of fever.' 
 
 While he was rising with a weight of sadness on his 
 mind, the thought struck him, that he could convert his 
 palace and country houses into money. But several per- 
 sons came in soon after, who brought deeds of all his pos- 
 sessions, which they had bought and paid for ; they were 
 signed and sealed by himself, for in the season of his pride 
 and prodigality he had given blank-bonds to Lucretia, to 
 make whatever use of them she might chuse ; and he was 
 
125 
 
 now compelled, in his reduced state, to scrape together the 
 miserable fragments of his fortune, in order to set himself 
 up as little more than a beggar. 
 
 In addition to this calamity, came the physician who 
 had cured him, with a solemn countenance. — " Why, 
 doctor," exclaimed the young prodigal, fretfully accosting 
 him, "if, after the practice of all your tribe, you have 
 come with your bill drawn out as long as your arm, then 
 give me a poison-powder into the bargain ; for the conse- 
 quence of paying such a demand, I well know, would be 
 my ruin ; my last bread would be baked, since I should 
 have no money to buy any more." 
 
 " Not so," replied the physician with much gravity ; "I 
 remit to you my whole charge for your cure. But I bring 
 you a rare remedy, which I have already set away in that 
 cupboard, and which you may take for your future 
 strengthening, as occasion may require; — for this you 
 must allow me two ducats. Would you like to have it ? " 
 
 " Yes, with all my heart ! " cried the delighted merchant, 
 and gave him the money. The doctor then left the cham- 
 ber with as much speed as possible. But hardly had 
 Richard put his hand into the cupboard, when his genie- 
 vial already stood snugly between his fingers. A small 
 billet was twisted about it, in which were the following 
 rhymes : 
 
 " Your body I sought to cure, 
 My soul you sought to kill ; 
 Soon warned by deeper lore, 
 I knew your scoundrel will. 
 
 Preferring you to all, — 
 
 How pat the countermine ! — 
 I here to worthier hands 
 
 Your devilkin resign. 
 
 Be a gallows-rope 
 A gallows-bird's hope, 
 And a devil's friend 
 Have a devil's end." 
 
 Young Richard was certainly in extreme terrour, when 
 
 he found that he had purchased the vial-fiend again, and 
 
 for so small a sum. But still there was joy mixed with the 
 
 terrour. He purposed to be soon rid of the imp again, 
 
 11* 
 
126 
 
 and he was not embarrassed with the least scruple in re- 
 gard to the way, so determined w T as he, by means of it, 
 on being revenged upon the vile cheat, Lucretia. 
 
 And he undertook the business in the following man- 
 ner. He first wished his pockets replenished with double 
 the number of ducats, that he had placed under his pillow, 
 and he immediately almost sunk to the ground beneath 
 their weight. The whole of this enormous sum he 
 deposited with the nearest advocate, and took such receipt 
 or security as the law requires, reserving only about a 
 hundred and twenty pieces of gold, with which he repair- 
 ed to the residence of the dissolute Lucretia. There he 
 again gave himself up to intemperance, gaming, and 
 every species of folly, as he had done some months before, 
 and Lucretia showed exceeding kindness to the young 
 merchant, — in consideration of his money. From time 
 to time he played every variety of ingenious juggling 
 tricks by means of his vial-genie, and told his astonished 
 mistress, that it was a thing of the same kind as that, 
 which she had once thrown into the w T ater, and that he 
 was in possession of several of them. Like other women, 
 she too was eager to possess a plaything so curious, and 
 when, as if he were in sport, he demanded money for it, 
 she without hesitation gave him a ducat. The bargain 
 being closed, Richard left the house as soon as possible, 
 in order to get from the advocate a part of the sum 
 intrusted to his care. But not a stiver could he obtain 
 there ; the lawyer opened his eyes as wide as an owl, 
 and appeared to be exceedingly surprised : he was a per- 
 fect stranger, he said, to the young gentleman. When 
 Richard would have produced a testimonial from his 
 pocket, he found it nothing but an unwritten piece of 
 white paper. The advocate had written his document 
 with that kind of ink, which fades away in a few hours, 
 and leaves no vestige of the words. By this manoeuvre, 
 so contrary to all expectation, the young blade saw him- 
 self again impoverished ; and he would have been a 
 beggar, had he not still retained in his pocket about thirty 
 ducats of his lavish expenditure with Lucretia. 
 

 CHAPTER III 
 
 OUR HERO REDUCED TO A PEDLAR. RICHARD HIMSELF 
 
 AGAIN. RESUMES HIS GRAND STYLE OE LIVING. 
 
 HIS THREE GROSCHEN. 
 
 He whose bed is too short, must lie crooked ; he who 
 has no bed at all, must make shift to sleep on the floor; 
 he who is unable to pay for a carriage, must ride on horse- 
 back ; and he who has no horse, must go on foot. 
 
 After some days of idle indecision, Richard saw clearly, 
 that in this lounging kind of life his money would soon be 
 exhausted, and that he must resolve at once to sink for a 
 time from merchant to pedlar. So making inquiry for a 
 small trunk, suitable to his humble employment, he found 
 one to his mind : he bought a box also to hold the remnant of 
 his money, while for every little article he put into his 
 trunk, he paid on an average about four groschen, German 
 money. 
 
 Alas, what a change was here ! how irksome he found 
 the task of bending over the strap, and offering his trinkets 
 for sale in those very streets, where, only a few weeks 
 before, he had flaunted with all the airs of lordly insolence ! 
 He however got through the day with a pretty cheerful 
 mind, as purchasers came for the most part running to 
 meet him, and frequently offered him more than he 
 had ventured to ask. — " The city after all is very good," 
 he thought within himself, " and if things go on in this 
 way, a short period of hardship will again raise me to the 
 condition of a wealthy man. I will then return to Ger- 
 many, and shall be so much the more able to realize the 
 
128 
 
 comforts of home, since having been in the clutches of the 
 cursed vial-genie, I have had sense and consideration 
 enough to escape out of them." 
 
 With musings of this nature he flattered and comforted 
 himself that evening at the inn, where he had just set 
 down his trunk. Some inquisitive guests were standing 
 about the bar-room, and one of them asked him : " What 
 strange animal is that, friend, which you have in that vial 
 there, and which is tumbling and shooting about so comi- 
 cally ?" — Richard darted a look of alarm that way, and 
 now for the first time perceived, that among other trinkets 
 of his trade he had unawares possessed himself of the. vial- 
 demon again. Without a moment's delay, he offered it to 
 the stranger who made the inquiry, for three groschen, — 
 he had just given four for it himself, — and with the same 
 haste he offered it to all the guests at the same price. But 
 they were disgusted with the odious black creature, for 
 which he was unable to tell them the least use, — or none 
 that he dared tell them ; and as he kept pressing his worth- 
 less toy upon them, never ceasing to interrupt their talk, 
 they turned their troublesome companion, together with 
 his trunk and black jumper, out of the house. 
 
 In perfect agony of soul, he hurried to the man who 
 had sold him the box containing the vial, and would have 
 forced upon him the little Satan for a lower price than he 
 gave. But the man was drowsy, and absolutely refused to 
 have any thing to do with the matter ; and he ended by 
 saying, that if he was determined to restore the hateful 
 vial to its first owner, he must go with it to the wench 
 Lucretia ; she had sold him the thing, together with 
 several other trifles. But for himself, he begged to be 
 allowed to sleep in peace. 
 
 " Ah, most gracious God ! " sighed Richard from the 
 depth of his soul, " how is it possible for him to sleep thus 
 peacefully I " While he was hurrying across a great 
 square, in order to reach the residence of Lucretia, he felt 
 the certain conviction, that somebody was running and 
 making a rustling behind him in the darkness, and every 
 now and then grasping him by the neck. Trembling with 
 terrour, he entered Lucretia's apartment by a back door, 
 formerly quite familiar to him. She was still seated at a 
 
129 
 
 merry supper with two of her paramours, who were stran- 
 gers to him. At first she did not know who he was, and 
 reproved the insolent pedlar with severity. Her sparks 
 however purchased nearly all the articles he had, as pres- 
 ents for the courtesan, who thus coming to know him, 
 began laughing him to scorn. But as for the vial-genie, 
 no one was disposed to buy it. When he repeatedly made 
 them the offer of it, Lucretia cried out : 
 
 " Foh ! away with the offensive thing ! I have already 
 been the owner of it once, and endured the abomination a 
 whole day. T then sold it for several groschen to a miser- 
 ly sharper resembling its present owner, this huckster, who 
 had himself persuaded me to give him a ducat for it." 
 
 "It was for your own temporal advantage," cried the 
 young merchant in deep distress : " you know not, Lucre- 
 tia, what a treasure you are thrusting from you. Let me 
 speak but five minutes alone with you, and you will not 
 fail to purchase the vial." 
 
 She stepped a little apart with him, and he fully disclos- 
 ed to her the strange secret of the wishing genie. But 
 she only began to scream and revile him. " Do you still 
 take me for a fool, you rascally beggar?" she cried. 
 " Were your story true, you would certainly require Satan 
 to give you something of more value, than that trunk and 
 that strap. Pack off! And even should you speak false- 
 ly, I will denounce you as a sorcerer and wizard ; and then 
 you will be burnt, senseless braggadocio that you are." 
 
 In addition to this abuse, the two profligates, in order 
 to recommend themselves to their mistress, fell upon the 
 young stripling, bewildered and alarmed as he was, and, 
 after pommeling him without mercy, pitched him down 
 stairs ; so that although enraged at this ignominious treat- 
 ment, he was so horribly afraid of being burnt for sorcery, 
 that he did nothing but hurry from Venice with all the 
 speed in his power. By the next day at noon he had left 
 its boundaries, when he turned and cursed it from its bor- 
 ders, as the cause of all his misery. 
 
 At this moment Richard saw the vial-genie peering from 
 his pocket, and while he chanced to observe the creature's 
 wild jumps and gambols, he exclaimed : " Well, this is 
 fortunate, you worthless miscreant ; you shall still prove of 
 
130 
 
 some service to me, and aid me too in the more expedi- 
 tiously getting rid of you." And he instantly wished 
 himself again a countless sum of money, much more than 
 at the last time ; and now, with difficulty supporting his 
 heavy pockets, he stole along into the nearest town. 
 There he bought a brilliant chariot, hired lackeys, and 
 hastened to plunge into the vortex of dissipation, — the 
 pomp and luxury of the great metropolis, Rome, — (ully 
 persuaded that there, amid the confusion of so many men 
 of diverse wishes and manners, he should get rid of the 
 foe of his peace. Meanwhile, as often as he spent his 
 ducats, he required his imp to make good the sum expend- 
 ed, so that after the sale of the vial he might still have the 
 whole undiminished. This appeared to him no more than 
 a just recompense for the misery he endured ; for it was 
 not enough, that almost every night the demon assumed 
 again the hideous black figure of his first dream, and lay 
 upon his breast ; — he saw also when wide awake, that the 
 fiend continually danced about in his vial with such a 
 frenzy of delight, as if he were now sure of his prey, and 
 were exulting in prospect of the speedy accomplishment 
 of his term of servitude. 
 
 Hardly had his wealth and profusion introduced him into 
 the most distinguished society of Rome, ere his terrour, ever 
 awake, allowed him no leisure to wait for convenient op- 
 portunities of selling his enemy. To every man he 
 addressed, he without distinction, offered the vial for three 
 groschen, German money, and was soon viewed as a strange 
 madman, the universal. derision of the city. Money in- 
 deed inspires courage and gains us friends. He was 
 everywhere, too, very desirous of making a display of his 
 riches ; but the instant he began to speak of his vial and 
 three groschen, German money, all nodded to him with 
 much courtesy, and then with a smile made haste to dis- 
 engage themselves from his company. This treatment led 
 him often to remark : " There is only one thing prevents 
 men's selling themselves to the devil, and that is, alas !.... 
 they are more than half his already ! " 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 JOINS A TROOP IN DESPAIR SKIRMISH. ADVENTURE 
 OE SOLDIERS IN A "WOOD. 
 
 Our hero was at last seized with such a feeling of des- 
 pair, that he could bear to remain in the beautiful city of 
 Rome no longer ; so he formed the resolution of taking 
 his chance in war, to see whether he could not deliver 
 himself from his vial-demon there. Hearing that two of 
 the small states of Italy were engaged in hostilities, he se- 
 riously prepared to attach himself to one of the parties. 
 Provided with a coat of mail ornamented with gold, 
 a hat waving with plumes, a choice pair of horse-pis- 
 tols, a sword as bright as a mirrour, and two costly daggers, 
 he rode from the gates on a Spanish charger, followed by 
 three well-armed attendants on stout horses. 
 
 Would not a warriour so well equipped, and who was 
 willing beside to serve without pay, receive a warm wel- 
 come from any captain of horse whatever ? The bold 
 Richard saw himself at once enrolled in a brave troop, 
 and for a long while fared so well, and lived so pleasantly 
 in the camp, that he seemed to be less sensible to his 
 severe distress arising from his genie, and the stifling 
 dreams with which he was all night persecuted. Gaining 
 wisdom from his experience at Rome, he now became 
 more cautious how he offered his unwelcome article with 
 too much importunity. As yet, indeed, he had avoided 
 mentioning it to any of his comrades ; and this he did, that 
 he might effect his purpose the more easily, and, as it 
 might seem, in sport. 
 
132 
 
 One fine morning, about this time, some scattering 
 reports of fire-arms came cracking from the neighbouring 
 mountain. The troopers, who happened at the moment to 
 be playing dice with Richard, paused and listened ; soon 
 after the trumpets blew a blast, summoning all to muster 
 throughout the camp. They mounted their horses in 
 haste, and moved rapidly and in good order toward the 
 plain, at the foot of the mountain. On the mountain side 
 they already saw the foot-soldiers of both armies enveloped 
 in vapour and smoke ; the enemy's horse formed on the 
 plain. Richard felt in high spirits, as his Spanish war- 
 horse neighed and pranced under him, his weapons pro- 
 duced an inspiring clang, the leaders shouted, the trumpets 
 blew. A troop of horse, belonging to the enemy, advanced 
 toward them, with a view, as it appeared, to prevent their 
 ascending the mountain, but soon sheered off and retreated 
 before the superiour force ; and Richard, with his attendants, 
 was by no means among the last, who pressed them hard 
 at full gallop, and who were greatly amused in becoming 
 themselves the pursuers and objects of alarm. All at 
 once they heard a whizzing in the air over their heads. 
 The horses started ; then came the whizzing a second time, 
 and a horseman, struck by a cannon-ball, rolled with his 
 horse in blood. 
 
 Now Richard thought within himself, " the great- 
 er the number the greater the safety," and he was 
 on the point of scouring off, when to his astonishment 
 his own troop came pouring on close in his rear, resolving 
 to advance upon the foe, almost in the very face of the 
 artillery. Richard kept with them for a while ; but when 
 the balls began to tear up the ground near him, on the 
 right and left, and the enemy's horse were pushing for- 
 ward in great numbers, the thought flashed upon him : 
 " Why, where am I ? How have I been guilty of such 
 madness, as to rush into peril like this! On this meadow 
 I am much nearer death, than on the bed of sickness ; 
 and should one of these cursed whizzers hit me, I am the 
 booty of the imp and his master Lucifer forever." — And 
 hardly had the thought darted through his mind, when bis 
 Spanish courser turned, and rushed with uncontroulable 
 swiftness toward a wood not far off. 
 
133 
 
 So long and so wildly did he spur forward beneath the 
 lofty trees, and so perfectly regardless was he of path or 
 direction, that at last his horse stood stock-still through 
 exhaustion. Overwearied himself, he then dismounted, 
 disengaged himself from his cuirass and shoulder-belt, and 
 his horse from his head-stall and saddle, and said, as he 
 flung himself upon the grass : " Why, good Heaven ! 
 how little I am fitted for a soldier, at least with the vial- 
 fiend in my pocket ! " — He was now about to deliberate 
 what his next move should be, but in doing so he fell into 
 a deep slumber. 
 
 When he had slept a considerable time, it may have 
 been many hours, a murmur like that of human voices, 
 and the sound of the trampling of men's feet, came crowd- 
 ing upon his ear. But as he lay stretched upon the cool 
 turf of the forest, he tried to keep out of his mind the 
 bustle, and to sink deeper and deeper into the lethargy of 
 sleep, until a voice of thunder burst upon him : " Are 
 you already dead, in the devil's name ? Speak, speak 
 instantly, or we crack away upon you, and burn our pow- 
 der for nothing." — Our hero, thus roused with so little 
 ceremony, looked up and saw a musket levelled at his 
 breast. The man who held it, was a grim-looking foot- 
 soldier, whose companions stood around, having already 
 taken possession as well of his weapons as of his horse 
 and portmanteau. He begged for quarter, and cried 
 above all in the greatest agony of spirit : 
 
 " If you will shoot me, do at least first buy this small 
 vial in the right pocket of my doublet." 
 
 "Buy it! you stupid fellow," replied one of the sol- 
 diers with a laugh ; " I will not buy it, but as sure as fate I 
 will have it." And while speaking, he seized the vial, 
 and tucked it into his bosom. 
 
 " In God's name," cried Richard, " take the creature, 
 if you are only able to keep him. But unless you buy 
 him, he will not stay with you." 
 
 The soldiers laughed, and marched off with horse and 
 booty, — giving themselves no more trouble about a man, 
 whom they looked upon as half crazy. But feeling in his 
 pocket, and finding his fatal genie snug in his place again, 
 he shouted after them, and held up the vial. The soldier 
 12 
 
134 
 
 who had taken it from him, in astonishment thrust his 
 hand in his bosom, and, not finding it there, ran back to 
 get it a second time. 
 
 "I tell you of a truth," said Richard in distress, "it 
 will never remain with you, unless you buy it. Pray give 
 me only a few groschen for it." 
 
 " Ay, you conjurer!" replied the soldier with a laugh ; 
 " never think to chouse me after that fashion, — I am not to 
 be fooled out of my hard-earned money so easily." And 
 he ran after his comrades, carefully holding the vial in his 
 hand. But stopping suddenly, he cried : 
 
 " The devil ! the thing has slipped through my fingers 
 in spite of all my care." 
 
 While he was hunting for it among the grass, Richard 
 shouted to him : " For heaven's sake do only come here. 
 It has got into my pocket again already." 
 
 When the soldier became sensible of the nature of the 
 animal, he for the first time felt a real inclination for the 
 sportive thing, which, — as it was wont to do, when it was 
 sold, — showed the highest glee and delight ; for whenever 
 it changed its master, it of course drew nearer to the end 
 of its slavery. — Bat the three groschen he asked for it, 
 appeared to the soldier to be too much, at which Richard 
 said impatiently : 
 
 " Well, you stingy fellow, if you think so, we will not 
 chaffer about trifles. I shall be satisfied, if you are. Give 
 me a single groschen then, and take the thing." So the 
 bargain was closed, the money paid, and the little Satan 
 delivered up. 
 
 While the soldiers continued standing a little way off, 
 observing and laughing at this whimsical sale and purchase, 
 Richard reflected upon his future fate. He now stood 
 there with a light heart, indeed, but at the same time with 
 pockets as light, and with no fair prospect of improving 
 his condition ; for he could not venture to return to his 
 company of horsemen, where his attendants yet remained 
 with weapons, horses, and a large sum of money. This 
 was partly ow 7 ing to shame on account of his disgraceful 
 flight, and partly because he feared being shot as a desert- 
 er according to martial law. Then the thought occurred 
 to him, whether it would not be wise to change sides, and 
 
135 
 
 go at once with these soldiers to their army. He had 
 learned from their talk, that they belonged to the other 
 party, where no one would know him ; and having dis- 
 posed of his demon, he was now well pleased, destitute 
 as he was of money, and unlucky as his experiment in 
 war had been, to hazard his life on any adventure of prom- 
 ise. He expressed his desire, they consented to what he 
 proposed, and he went with his new companions to their 
 camp. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 RESORT TO DICE. FIVE HALF-PENCE AND FIVE CARTRIDGES. 
 
 THE RICHEST MAN IN THE WORLD PERISHING 
 
 FOR WANT OF A FARTHING. 
 
 The captain made little or no difficulty in receiving a 
 young fellow of so fine a form and so muscular a frame, 
 as Richard, and he now passed his life for some time as 
 a foot-soldier. But still he was often a prey to dejection 
 and grief. Ever since the last engagement, the two ar- 
 mies had lain inactive over against each other, as a treaty 
 of peace was on foot between the two states. He was 
 not now, to be sure, exposed to the danger of death, but 
 at the same time he had just as little opportunity of plun- 
 der and booty. He was obliged to live within the camp 
 in peaceful inaction, his pay very slender, and his portion of 
 food equally small. In addition to these circumstances, 
 most of the soldiers had possessed themselves of consider- 
 able plunder during the progress of the war ; and Richard, 
 who, as a merchant, had fared so sumptuously as almost 
 to rival the luxury of kings, was now compelled to make 
 shift, as it were, with the scanty subsistence of a beggar. 
 This was a kind of life, of which he was naturally enough 
 soon -weary ; and when he one day held in his hand his 
 pittance of wages for a month, — too little to support him 
 in comfort, too much to hazard for nothing at all, — he 
 resolved to go to the sutler's tent, and see whether dice 
 would not be more propitious to him, than business and 
 war had hitherto been. 
 
 Richard's course of playing discovered the usual vari- 
 
137 
 
 •ety of fortune : now winning, and then losing, he contin- 
 ued at the gaming table till late at night, by which time 
 he had become not a litle intoxicated. But at last every 
 throw of the dice went against him in his present condi- 
 tion ; his month's wages were all played away, and no 
 one would give him credit for even a half-penny. He then 
 rummaged all his pockets, and finding them empty, he 
 at last opened his cartridge-box, where was nothing but 
 cartridges. He produced these, and offered them as a 
 stake ; they were accepted, and the moment the dice 
 rolled upon the table, the tipsy Richard saw for the first 
 time, that the same soldier had thrown upon them, who had 
 some time before purchased his imp-vial of him, and who 
 without doubt would now become the winner of them. 
 He would have cried out, "Hold!" but the dice were 
 already thrown, and had decided in favour of his oppo- 
 nent. He left the company with curses on his lips, and 
 returned toward his tent amid the darkness of night. A 
 comrade, who had also lost his money in gambling, but who 
 had kept himself more sober, took him by the arm. 
 
 As they walked along, the man asked him whether he 
 still had cartridges provided in his tent. " No," cried 
 Richard, almost maddened with rage; "had I the means 
 yet in my power, be assured I would return and play 
 longer." 
 
 " Ah, is that the case ? " replied his comrade ; "then 
 you must contrive to buy some more, for should the 
 commissary come to the review, and find a paid soldier 
 without cartridges, he would order him to be shot." 
 
 " Thunder and lightning! " exclaimed Richard, cursing 
 himself, " how was it possible for me to be so stupid ! I 
 have neither cartridges, nor money to buy any." 
 
 " Why," rejoined his companion, " the commissary 
 does not come these four or five months." 
 
 " Oh, then all is safe," thought Richard ; " before that 
 time I receive my pay again, and shall be able to buy 
 cartridges to my heart's content." Upon this they bade 
 each other good night, and Richard lay down to sleep off 
 the excesses of the evening. 
 
 But he had not lain long, ere the corporal came and 
 shouted before the tent : " Holla within there ! tomorrow 
 12* 
 
138 
 
 is muster day ; the commissary will be in camp at day- 
 break." 
 
 Richard's slumber was instantly broken. Though 
 quite bewildered by intemperance, he still felt the loss of 
 his cartridges blending with the confusion of his senses. 
 He went round to his comrades of the tent, and anxiously 
 inquired, whether any one would lend them, or sell them 
 to him on trust. But they cursed him for a night-revelling 
 tippler, and sent him back to his straw. In extreme an- 
 guish, through fear of being shot in the morning, he 
 searched for money in every garment he possessed, but 
 was unable to find among them all more than five half- 
 pence. With these he now ran stumbling from tent to tent 
 amid the obscurity of night, and tried to buy cartridges. 
 Some laughed, others abused him, but no one gave him so 
 much as an answer to his request. 
 
 At length he came to a tent, from which the voice of 
 the soldier, who had won his cartridges an hour or two be- 
 fore, saluted him with curses. " Comrade," cried Richard 
 in a moving accent, " either you can assist me, or no one. 
 You took my all last evening, and aided others before in 
 plundering me. Should the commissary find me without 
 cartridges in the morning, he would give orders for my 
 being shot. You are the cause of all my misery. Give 
 them to me then, or lend them to me, or sell them to me, 
 whichever you will." 
 
 " Either to give or lend, is what I have sworn never to 
 do," replied the soldier ; " but, to be freed from the trouble 
 of you, I will sell you the cartridges. How much money 
 have you ? " 
 
 " Only five half-pence," answered Richard in a mourn- 
 ful tone. 
 
 "Well," said the soldier, " that you may see I am a 
 friendly fellow, there you have five cartridges for your five 
 half-pence, and now to bed again, and leave me and the 
 camp in quiet." 
 
 Saying this, he reached him the cartridges out of the 
 tent, while Richard handed him in the money, and then 
 with a mind relieved he went back, and slept undisturbed 
 till morning. 
 
 The inspection took place, and Richard got through 
 
139 
 
 with bis five cartridges ; toward noon the commissary 
 departed, and the soldiers returned to the camp. But the 
 sun burnt insupportably through the canvass tent, and the 
 companions of Richard went to the sutler's, while he re- 
 mained himself sitting at home with empty pockets, and 
 gnawing a piece of the commissary's crust, faint and ill 
 with the excess of the preceding day and his fatigue of 
 the present. 
 
 "Ah," said he with a sigh, " would to Heaven I had 
 only one ducat, — only one of all those I have squandered 
 in a way so thoughtless and wasteful ! " when hardly had 
 he breathed the wish, and a bright ducat lay in his left 
 hand. Thought of the vial-genie now shot through 
 his mind, embittering all his joy, as he felt the heavy piece 
 of gold in his palm. That instant his fellow-soldier, who 
 had let him have the cartridges in the night, entered the 
 tent all in a flurry, and said : " Friend, you know that 
 vial with its little black tumbler; — you must remember I 
 some time ago bought it of you in the wood ; — it has 
 disappeared. Did I give it to you unawares instead of a 
 cartridge ? I had wrapped it in paper like my cartridges, 
 and laid it away with them." 
 
 Richard searched his cartridge-box in alarm, and the 
 very first paper he took up and unwrapped, contained the 
 slender vial and his fearful slave. 
 
 " Well, that is lucky," cried the soldier, " I should have 
 been very sorry to lose him, glum as he looks ; it always 
 seems to me, that he brings me extraordinary good luck 
 at play. There, comrade, take your half-penny again, 
 and give the creature to me." Richard, with all the haste 
 in his power, complied with his request, and the soldier 
 hurried well pleased to the tent of the sutler. But the 
 unhappy Richard, from the moment he had seen the vial- 
 fiend again, held him in his hands, and carried him about 
 with him, endured a misery amounting to horrour. Such 
 was his dread, that he thought the demon must be grinning 
 at him from every fold of the tent, and while he was una- 
 ware, might strangle him in his sleep. The ducat, which 
 only a wish had called into his possession, he threw from 
 him in his agony of alarm, however extreme his need of 
 refreshment might be ; and at last the fear that the genie 
 
140 
 
 might be nestling so near him again, drove him far out of 
 the camp, and by evening twilight he had hurried into the 
 darkest recesses of a wood, where, exhausted by terrour 
 and fatigue, he sunk down on a desert spot. 
 
 " Oh miserable man ! " he sighed, parched with thirst, 
 " would to God I only had a canteen of water to keep me 
 from fainting ! " And a canteen of water stood by his 
 side. Scarcely had he, too eager to be conscious of the 
 act, swallowed a few draughts of it, ere he asked himself 
 whence it could have come. The wishing genie then flashed 
 across his mind again ; with intense emotion he thrust his 
 hand into his pocket, and feeling the vial there, he sunk 
 back, overpowered by terrour into a deep swoon. 
 
 During this swoon-sleep, the horrible dream, with which 
 he had been afflicted before, returned upon him ; and the 
 demon, rising taller and taller from his prison, lay grinning 
 on his breast with the weight of lead. He would have 
 struggled against the fiend, and disclaimed all connexion 
 with him, but the fiend cried with a hollow laugh : " You 
 have bought me for a half-penny ; you must now sell me 
 for less ; otherwise the bargain will not hold good." 
 
 Richard sprung upon his feet in a cold horrour, and 
 again imagined he saw the shadowy form, just as it was 
 snuggling into the vial in his pocket. Half distracted, he 
 hurled it down the precipice of a rock, but the moment 
 after felt it in his pocket again. 
 
 " O woe ! woe ! " he screamed aloud, till the forest rung 
 amid the gloom of night ; " once I viewed it as my pecu- 
 liar happiness, my blessed fortune, that the vial was sure 
 to return to me even from the waves and deep waters ; 
 now it is my misery, alas, it may be, my eternal misery ! " 
 and he began to run through the dark thickets of the wood, 
 rushing against tree and rock in the obscurity, and at every 
 step he heard the vial clink, clink in his pocket. 
 
 He left the forest by dawn of day, and came out upon a 
 bright, cheerful, and cultivated plain. His heart was 
 deeply oppressed with melancholy, but he began to in- 
 dulge the hope, that all this wild turmoil of his might be 
 no more than a dream of frenzy or delusion ; possibly he 
 might find the glass in his pocket of a different kind, and 
 such as was quite common. Drawing it forth, he held it 
 
141 
 
 up to the morning sun. Ah, God of heaven ! there the 
 little black devil was dancing away between him and the 
 pleasant light, and stretching toward him as usual his small 
 misshapen arms like tongs. With a loud scream he let the 
 vial drop, but only to hear it the moment after cuddle 
 clinking into his pocket again. 
 
 What could he do ? The sole and engrossing object of 
 his life must now be to search for a coin of less value than 
 a half-penny, but with all his searching he could nowhere 
 find any. So that every hope of selling his detested slave, 
 who now threatened soon to become his master, vanished. 
 He determined to demand nothing more of this terrible de- 
 mon, for every time he attempted to do so, a fearful agony 
 took from him both strength and recollection, and thus 
 then he went begging up and down throughout Italy. As 
 he now discovered the wildest discomposure in his air, and 
 besides, while wandering on from town to town, continual- 
 ly kept asking for farthings, he was everywhere considered 
 as crazy, and was called nothing but the Mad Farthing, 
 by which name he was soon distinguished far and wide, 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A RED HORSEMAN AND HIS BLACK HORSE. DUSKY RAVINE. 
 
 MONSTER AND PRINCE. BLACK FOUNTAIN. 
 
 THE DEVIL OUTWITTED. 
 
 It is said of vultures, that they sometimes pounce upon 
 the necks of young deer or of other wild animals, and thus 
 pursue their poor victim even to death, clinging to him 
 and attacking him with the most determined fierceness, as 
 in his flight of fear and torment he rushes through bush and 
 brake, forest and ravine. In like manner fared the unhap- 
 py Richard with his imp of Satan in his pocket ; but 
 since it would be too painful and excite too much com- 
 miseration to dwell upon the excess of his sufferings, I 
 shall say nothing more to you respecting his long and 
 helpless flight, but relate only what happened to him 
 many months afterward. 
 
 One afternoon, having lost his way on the southern 
 ascent of a wild mountain tract, he was sitting silent and 
 sorrowful on the margin of a small stream, whose waters, 
 trickling down among the bushy undergrowth, seemed to 
 have a feeling of sympathy and compassion for him, and 
 to be urging on their course to soothe and refresh him ; — 
 when all at once he started, as if thrilled by an electric 
 shock, for the powerful tramp of a horse came sounding 
 over the stones and rocks of the mountain, and, riding on 
 a high, black, wild-looking courser, appeared a man of gi- 
 gantic figure, his countenance hideous in the extreme, his 
 garments magnificent, and of a blood-red colour. He ap- 
 proached the spot where Richard was sitting. 
 
 " Why so disconsolate, friend ? " cried he, accosting the 
 
143 
 
 young man, whose very soul trembled with alarm and a 
 presentiment of calamity. "I should take you for a mer- 
 chant. Have you bought any goods too dear ? " 
 
 " Alas no, quite the contrary ; my purchase has been 
 too cheap," answered Richard in a low trembling voice. 
 
 " So also it appears to me, my dear merchant," cried 
 the horseman with a frightful laugh. " And you have, it 
 may be, a small article to sell me this evening, called a 
 vial-genie ? Or do I mistake, when I suppose you to be 
 the famous Mad Farthing ? " 
 
 Hardly could the poor young fellow return answer, 
 with blanched lips and in a subdued tone, " Yes, I am he :" 
 he shuddered as if he were expecting every moment to 
 see the horseman's mantle take the form of blood-dropping 
 wings, and his -charger expand his broad vans covered with 
 feathers black as night, and illumined by the flames of hel], 
 and himself, wretched man, be borne swiftly away to the 
 abode of eternal torment. 
 
 But the horseman went on with a voice somewhat soft- 
 ened and gestures less terrible : " I see plainly for whom 
 you take me. Pray be comforted ; I am not he. So far 
 from it, I may perhaps deliver you from his power, for I 
 have been these many days in quest of you, with a view to 
 make purchase of your vial-treasure. You gave, it is true, 
 but a cursed small piece of money for it, and I know not 
 myself where to find a smaller. But listen, and mark what I 
 say to you. On the northern side of this mountain lives a 
 prince, a young man of extravagant habits. Tomorrow 
 morning, when he goes out to hunt, I shall drive a horrible 
 monster upon him, the very instant I succeed in withdraw- 
 ing him from his train of attendants. Do you, meantime, 
 remain here till midnight, and then, — exactly at the mo- 
 ment the moon rises over that jagged rock yonder, — set 
 off at a moderate pace eastward, along that dusky ravine 
 to the left. Neither loiter nor hurry, and you will arrive 
 at the place, just when the monster has the prince in his 
 clutches. Do you ask what next ? You have only to seize 
 the beast with a fearless grasp, and he will be forced to 
 yield to you, and tumble headlong before you down the 
 steep crags of the sea-shore. Then, while the prince is 
 warm with gratitude, request him to allow you to coin a 
 
144 
 
 few farthings, exchange two of them with me, and for one 
 of them the vial-genie shall be mine." 
 
 Thus spoke the terrible horseman, and, without waiting 
 to receive an answer, rode slowly into the thickets of the 
 mountain. 
 
 " But where shall I find you, when I get the farthings ?" 
 Richard shouted after him. 
 
 " At the Black Fountain ! " shouted the horseman in 
 return. " Every nurse in the district can tell you where 
 that lies." 
 
 And with slow, but far reaching strides, the huge steed 
 bore off his hideous burden. 
 
 For a person, who is almost the same as completely 
 ruined, there can be no more room for choice or hesitation ; 
 Richard resolved therefore, in the misery of'his despair, to 
 comply with the advice of the terrible horseman. 
 
 Night came on, the moon rose, and with its reddish lus- 
 tre at length stood over the craggy cliff that had been 
 pointed out. The pale wanderer then moved forward, 
 trembling, and entered the dusky ravine. All within ap- 
 peared joyless and gloomy ; seldom was a moonbeam ad- 
 mitted over the lofty summits on either hand ; and there 
 was a vapour in this confined passage, like the effluvia of 
 the tomb, but he met with nothing else to annoy him. 
 Faithful to the horseman's instructions, Richard was care- 
 ful neither to linger nor hasten, but resolved that through 
 no fault of his own would he lose his hold on that slender 
 thread which as yet connected him with light and hope. 
 
 After the lapse of many hours, some faint rays of morn- 
 ing light beamed upon his obscure passage, while cool airs 
 with a comforting influence came breathing in his face. 
 But just as he emerged from the deep pathway, and began 
 to enjoy the freshness of the woodlands, and the glimmer- 
 ing of the blue sea, that lay only a short distance from him, 
 a cry of distress broke in upon his enjoyment. Looking 
 round, he saw where a monstrous beast had thrown a 
 young man in a rich hunting suit upon the ground, and. 
 was standing over him. Richard's first impulse, indeed, 
 was to run and afford assistance ; but when he fixed his 
 eyes directly upon the beast, and saw that he resembled a 
 fierce baboon of monstrous size, and that his head was 
 
145 
 
 
 armed with the prodigious horns of a hart, his courage all 
 forsook him, and he felt tempted, notwithstanding the 
 fallen stranger's cry of distress for help, to creep back into 
 his ravine again. Then it was, that he seemed first to 
 remember what the horseman had said ; and impelled by 
 fear of eternal perdition, he rushed upon the monster-ape 
 with his knotted club. The beast was just seizing the 
 hunter in his forepaws, in order, as it appeared, to throw 
 him up into the air, and then catch him upon his horns. 
 But the moment Richard drew near, he dropped his prey, 
 and scampered off with a hideous whistling and croaking ; 
 while Richard, now grown fearless, pursued him, till he 
 pitched headlong from the cliffs overhanging the sea, (still 
 grinning at him as he fell,) and then disappeared beneath 
 the waves. 
 
 The young adventurer now returned in triumph to the 
 hunter whom he had rescued, and who before long made 
 himself known as the reigning prince of the country, pro- 
 claiming his protector a hero, and entreating him boldly to 
 claim from him the highest recompense he had the power 
 to bestow. 
 
 "May I indeed thus presume?" cried Richard with 
 the inspiration of hope ; " can you be serious ? and will 
 you on your princely honour aid me, as you can, in relation 
 to a request I shall make ? " 
 
 The prince cheerfully renewed his promise, and gave 
 him all the assurance he could desire. 
 
 "Well then," cried Richard with impassioned eager- 
 ness, " pray, for God's sake allow me to coin a few far- 
 things, good current money, even if not more than two." 
 
 While the prince was yet looking upon him in perfect 
 astonishment, some of his train came up, to whom he rela- 
 ted all that had happened ; and one of them immediately 
 knew Richard to be the Mad Farthing, whom he had 
 formerly seen. 
 
 l^jOn receiving this information, the prince began to laugh, 
 ^*«4> the unhappy Richard embraced his knees with the 
 most intense anguish, and appealed to heaven for the truth 
 of what he said, that without the farthings he should be a 
 lost man. 
 
 13 
 
146 
 
 But the prince replied, still laughing : " Rise, my 
 friend, dismiss all fear ; you have my princely word, and 
 if you persist in making this request, I permit you to coin 
 as many farthings as you please. But were it equally 
 agreeable to you, instead of these, to get a piece of money 
 worth one third of a penny, you would have no occasion 
 for coining ; for the neighbouring states complain, that the 
 half-pence of mine are so light, that three of them pass for 
 two common ones." 
 
 " I should be but too happy to get a few of those half- 
 pence, were I only sure of their inferiour value," said 
 Richard, in doubt. 
 
 « Why," replied the prince, "you are the first person, 
 that ever considered them as worth too much. But not- 
 withstanding this, should you light upon any such, then I 
 give you my solemn word, before these witnesses, to per- 
 mit you to coin still worse, ... if indeed we can suppose 
 that to be possible." 
 
 Saying this, he commanded an attendant to give Rich- 
 ard a whole purse of the half-pence of the country. 
 
 Thus provided, he ran, as if the evil one were in pur- 
 suit of him, to the bordering frontier of the prince's terri- 
 tory, and was a happier man than he had been for a long 
 period, when, at the first public house of the neighbouring 
 state, he received, though not without some difficulty and 
 delay, two common half-pence for three of the prince's, 
 which he got exchanged merely to ascertain their current 
 value. 
 
 He now in a hurried voice inquired for the Black 
 Fountain, when several children who were playing in the 
 common apartment for guests, ran screaming from the 
 room. The host informed him, though almost shudder- 
 ing himself as he spoke, that this place was notorious as 
 one of a very bad and alarming character, from which 
 many evil spirits were wont to go forth into the land, and 
 which few men had ever personally seen. He knew it 
 well himself: the entrance leading to it, was not far 
 distant from where they were, a cave with two dead 
 cypresses before it, and he could not miss the way, if he 
 entered there, — but from that peril might God preserve 
 him and all true Christians ! 
 
147 
 
 It must be acknowledged, that, on hearing this account, 
 Richard became extremely alarmed again ; but still, come 
 monster, come fiend, he was resolved to hazard the ad- 
 venture, and therefore set off to achieve it. While he 
 was yet afar off, the cave looked very dark and dismal ; 
 it almost seemed as if the two dead cypresses over the 
 horrible abyss, which disclosed to him as he approached a 
 wonderful rock at its opening, had been withered and killed 
 with terrour. This rock appeared full of faces, distorted, 
 long-bearded, and baboon-like, some of which bore a strong 
 resemblance to the ape-monster he had encountered on the 
 cliffs of the sea shore.' JA»4 when he looked directly in, 
 nothing was visible but jagged and cracked veins of rock. 
 The poor fellow stepped in, trembling, beneath these fearful 
 forms. The vial-fiend in his pocket now became so 
 heavy, that it seemed to be pulling him back. But this 
 only inspired him with a new rush of courage ; " for," 
 thought he, "just what my enemy would not desire, that 
 must I strive to do." 
 
 Deeper within the cave, so thick a darkness met his 
 view, that he soon lost sight of the frightful figures 
 entirely. To avoid plunging down some unknown and 
 abrupt descent, he cautiously felt his way before him with 
 a staff; he found nothing, however, but a soft, smooth, 
 moss-grown bottom ; and had not a strange whistling and 
 croaking now and then sounded through the cavern, he 
 would have been preserved from every semblance of 
 alarm. 
 
 At length he got through the passage. A desolate 
 scene, resembling a deep mountain chasm or crater, in- 
 closed him in on every side. On the left hand, he saw 
 the huge and terrific black steed of the giant who prom- 
 ised to purchase his wishing genie, standing unfastened, 
 w T ith head high-raised, like a brazen statue, neither feed- 
 ing nor moving. On the right hand, flowed a fountain 
 from the rock, in which the horseman was washing his 
 head and hands. But the evil stream was as black as 
 ink, and possessed the same colouring quality ; for as the 
 giant turned toward Richard, his hideous countenance 
 was that of a perfect blackamoor, and formed a fearful 
 contrast with the richness of his splendid crimson attire. 
 
148 
 
 " Do not tremble, my young hero," said the dreadful 
 form. " This is one of the ceremonies, which I am 
 forced to perform to please the devil. Every Friday I am 
 obliged to wash here in this manner, in defiance and mock- 
 ery of Him, whom you call your gracious Creator. In 
 the same manner, too, I am compelled to tinge the purple 
 of my red robe, whenever I have occasion for a new one, 
 with a devilish deal of my own blood, little less than a 
 bucketful, — from which it acquires its wonderfully gor- 
 geous hue, — and this is the most burdensome condition 
 of all. What is yet worse, I have so firmly signed 
 and sealed myself over to him, body and soul, that it is 
 impossible to think of any deliverance. And do you 
 know what the curmudgeon gives me for all this ? A hun- 
 dred thousand pieces of gold a year. I cannot subsist 
 upon this pittance, and this is the reason I wish to pur- 
 chase your gentleman of the vial, just to serve the old 
 niggard a clever trick. For observe, he is sure of my 
 soul already, and the little devil in the vial, after his long 
 period of slavery, must hereafter return to hell without 
 having in the least accomplished his purpose. Then what 
 a rage will seize the grim dragon ! and what a glorious 
 cursing-bout will he have ! " And he set up such a shout 
 of laughter, that the rocks rebellowed, and even the black 
 horse, that stood so motionless, shrunk and shuddered at 
 every explosion. 
 
 " Well," he asked, again turning to Richard, " have you 
 brought your farthings, partner ? " 
 
 " I am no partner of yours," answered Richard, half in 
 fear and half in bravado, while he opened his purse. 
 
 " Ah, don't affect so much superiority," cried the giant 
 purchaser. " Who drove the monster upon the prince, 
 that you might gain the victory ? " 
 
 " All that bustle and hobgoblin business were unneces- 
 sary," answered Richard ; and he related how the prince 
 had not only promptly consented to let him coin fourths of 
 a penny, but had provided him with thirds that were coined 
 already. 
 
 The red man appeared to be chagrined, that he had 
 given himself the needless trouble of conjuring up the mon- 
 ster. He nevertheless exchanged two good half-pence for 
 
149 
 
 three of the bad ones, gave back Richard one of the latter, 
 and received the vial instead of it : the vial fell from his 
 pocket with its excessive weight, and the imp lay at the 
 bottom in deep dudgeon, miserably doubled together neck 
 and heels. Upon this the buyer raised another shout of 
 laughter, and exclaimed : "All this can afford you no help, 
 Satan ; gold, gold here, as much as my black courser can 
 carry beside myself." And instantly the monstrous beast 
 groaned beneath a heavy burden of gold. Still he received 
 his master also, and then, like a fly that goes up the wall 
 toward the ceiling, he went directly up the perpendicular 
 rock, but at the same time with motions and distortions so 
 horrible, that Richard could not help fleeing swiftly from 
 the spot, and rushing back into the cavern, that he might 
 see nothing more of him. 
 
 As soon as he had come out again, on the eastern side 
 of the mountain, and run on a great distance from the 
 abyss, his whole soul was filled with the rapturous feeling 
 of his deliverance. He felt in his heart, that he had made 
 expiation for the grievous offences, which he had commit- 
 ted since leaving his home, and that henceforward no vial- 
 fiend could any more embitter his being. He threw him- 
 self for joy among the high grass, played caressingly with 
 the flowers, and kissed his hand to the sun. His heart, 
 relieved from its paroxysm of terrour, was again serene 
 and lively within him, but, at the same time, he neither 
 cherished nor discovered aught of his former shameless 
 levity and proneness to evil. Although he could now 
 boast, and with some justice, that he had outwitted the 
 devil himself, this was a feat on which he was far from 
 priding "himself. Yes, he was a true penitent : he directed 
 the whole energy of his renovated powers to the grand 
 purpose of existence, how he should henceforth pass his 
 life in the world as a pious, respectable, and cheerful man. 
 He succeeded so well in effecting this purpose, that, after 
 some years of laborious exertion, he was able to return 
 home to his dear Germany an opulent merchant, where he 
 married a wife, and in his blessed old age often related to 
 his grandchildren and great-grandchildren the story of his 
 accursed vial-genie, as a warning full of instruction, 
 13* 
 
THE COLLIER-FAMILY; 
 
 OR, 
 
 RED-MANTLE AND THE MERCHANT. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A MERCHANT, A COLLIER, AND A LITTLE OLD MAN. 
 
 Berthold was a German merchant, who is said to 
 have once met with the following remarkable adventure ; 
 an adventure, which, even if not warranted in all its 
 minute circumstances to be fact, still for various reasons 
 well deserves to be related. 
 
 He had become bewildered, one evening, in an exten- 
 sive mountain forest of our fatherland ; and as he ven- 
 tured, at that time, to run many risques for the rapid 
 increase of his fortune, he carried behind him on his horse 
 a considerable amount of property in jewels, bills of 
 exchange, and ready money ; and therefore, on the ap- 
 proach of night, he began to be fearful of travelling through 
 a dusky valley, alone and on an unknown track. He saw 
 that he had wandered away into a narrow and unfrequented 
 pass ; for the wild animals there were not in the least 
 afraid of him, and owls hooted and screeched so close 
 above him, that he often dodged his head, before he thought 
 of it, to avoid their fearless flight and the hateful flapping 
 of their wings. 
 
 * After proceeding some time in this defile, he at length 
 caught a glimpse of a man, who was passing with sturdy 
 step along the footpath before him, and who, on his making 
 such inquiries as were natural in his situation, told the 
 merchant he was a collier, and that he dwelt there with 
 
151 
 
 his family in the forest. The traveller immediately 
 requested a lodging for the night and direction for his 
 journey on the morrow ; and so cordial was the man in 
 complying with his wishes, that all mistrust vanished, and 
 they reached the little cottage extremely well pleased with 
 each other. The mistress of the family came out of the 
 door with a lamp, and behind her appeared the good-hu- 
 moured, downright honest faces of the children, a crowd of 
 boys and girls ; and the rays of the light that fell upon the 
 countenance of the host, discovered such confiding features, 
 such genuine traits of the old-German stamp, as, thank 
 heaven, we are still allowed to meet with every where 
 among our people. 
 
 They entered the bright, warm room together, and seated 
 themselves round the common hearth, where the traveller 
 felt as little anxiety on account of the rich merchandise he 
 carried with him, as if he had come home to his father and 
 mother, his brothers and sisters. He merely unbuckled 
 his baggage from his horse, and thus, willingly intrusted 
 him to the care of a son of the collier. He set away his 
 burden in the nearest convenient corner of the room ; and 
 though he placed his weapons close behind him, it was 
 more owing to the commendable old custom of travellers, 
 than to his fearing the possibility of having occasion to 
 make use of such things there. 
 
 They now entertained one another with talk on various 
 subjects ; the merchant gave some account of his journeys, 
 and the collier, in a ready but modest manner, spoke of 
 the forest, and his family that lived there. The collier 
 sent one of his boys to draw a pitcher of his sparkling 
 perry ; and as they passed from talking to singing, from 
 stories to songs, they tasted its flavour with better and bet- 
 ter relish. The collier's children were just striking up a 
 merry roundelay, when a strange knocking was heard at 
 the door. The person who stood without, tapped the pan- 
 nel with the lowest touch possible ; but the faint sound was 
 notwithstanding distinctly heard through the room, and was 
 audible even through the clear jubilee-song of the young 
 voices. The children stopped singing, and made a pause 
 in their merriment, while the master of the house cried 
 with a tone of cordial welcome : " Come in, come in, 
 father, in the name of God ! " 
 
152 
 
 Upon this, a little old man of gentle manners came softly- 
 stealing in at the door, and greeted them all very courte- 
 ously, except that he eyed the stranger with something of 
 surprise. He then went up to the round table, and took 
 the lowest place, which appeared to have been left for 
 him unoccupied. Berthold in his turn could not help 
 being surprised at him. For the garments he wore, 
 seemed to be of the fashion of very ancient times ; yet 
 they were neither faded nor torn, but appeared perfectly 
 fresh. As I have already said, he was exceedingly small, 
 but of an agreeable countenance, which was touched at 
 the same time with an air of deep melancholy. The 
 family viewed him with great compassion, but quite as 
 an old acquaintance. Berthold would fain have asked, 
 whether he might not be the grandfather of the family, 
 and whether he were not suffering from some disease, 
 that made him look so wan and wobegone ; but as often 
 as he would have opened his mouth to speak, the old 
 man fixed his eye upon him with a gaze half timid and 
 half displeased, which looked so very peculiar, that Ber- 
 thold thought it best to keep a profound silence. 
 
 At last the old man folded his hands, as if preparing for 
 the act of devotion, looked toward the master of the house, 
 and spoke in a very hoarse voice : " Now pray, if you have 
 nothing to prevent you ; it is the hour of prayer." — The 
 collier immediately began that fine old hymn, 
 
 1 Now all the woods are sleeping,' 
 
 in which the children and their mother united their voices ; 
 and the weird-looking old man too joined in, and in truth 
 with a voice of such power, that it seemed to make the 
 cottage tremble, and any person, not accustomed to it, 
 would have been astonished at its force. Such was the 
 surprise of Berlhold, that at first he found it impossible to 
 fall in with the music. At this the little old man appeared 
 to be displeased and alarmed ; he darted suspicious glances 
 at Berthold, and the collier, by making earnest signs, tried 
 to encourage him to join them in their singing. At last he 
 did join them, and they all finished the hymn in a happy 
 devotional spirit ; and after several more prayers and hymns, 
 the little old man went out at the door, bowing and hum- 
 ble as he had come in. But the moment the latch had 
 
153 
 
 caught, he burst the door open again, threw a look of fear- 
 ful wildness upon Berthold, and then slammed it to with 
 violence. 
 
 " That is altogether different from his usual behaviour," 
 cried the collier in astonishment, and then turned to his 
 guest with some words of excuse. Berthold imagined, 
 that the old gentleman was probably somewhat touched in 
 his mind. 
 
 " That cannot be denied/' answered the collier, " but 
 he is harmless, and never does injury to any one. At any 
 rate, I have not for a long while seen in him the least ap- 
 pearance of evil. — The only little chamber, however, 
 that I can offer you," he continued, "has a door that does 
 not shut very tight, and the old man often comes into it. 
 But don't let that trouble you; only be careful and not dis- 
 turb him, and he will go out again of his own accord. 
 Besides, I think it likely you are too tired to be easily 
 awoke by his movements ; for he glides in and out, as you 
 may have already observed this evening, with extraordina- 
 ry lightness." 
 
 Berthold assented with a smile on his lips, but his heart 
 was far from being as tranquil as before, although without 
 his exactly knowing the reason why ; and as his host light- 
 ed him up the narrow stairs, he pressed his portmanteau 
 close to his side, and kept his eye, though unperceived, 
 upon his pistols and hanger. 
 
 They entered the small chamber above, through which 
 the wind was rushing ; and the collier, after he had hung 
 up a lamp so carefully, as to afford his guest light without 
 danger of fire, and after wishing him the divine blessing on 
 his night's rest, soon left him alone. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 RED-MANTLE, AND WHO HE WAS. HOW TO LAY 
 AN EVIL SPIRIT. 
 
 The wish, however, expressed by Berthold's host, 
 seemed to fail of its due effect upon him. Seldom or 
 never had his mind been so uneasy and discomposed. 
 Great as was his fatigue, and immediate as was his retiring 
 to bed, still it was impossible to think of sleeping. Now 
 his portmanteau lay too far from him, now his weapons, 
 and now again both were so placed, that his hand could 
 not conveniently grasp them. More than once he rose 
 and bent over them, and if he fell into a slumber for a 
 moment, he started up as every gust of wind swept over 
 the roof, now dimly apprehending some terrible disaster, 
 and now expecting some lucky contingence, equally 
 improbable. His commercial schemes and speculations all 
 kept floating in his brain, and became so blended together 
 in his drowsiness, as to produce a whirl and stunning din, 
 from which he was unable to free himself, so as to sepa- 
 rate and consider the points of his business distinctly. In 
 addition to this, he had never felt a greediness of gain so 
 strong and engrossing, as in his peculiar circumstances of 
 the present moment ; but, notwithstanding all this, he at 
 length sunk into a slumber, which might perhaps with 
 more propriety be called a swoon-like weakness or 
 fainting. 
 
 It may have been past midnight, when he thought he 
 every now and then heard a slight stir and moving in the 
 chamber. But weariness would not relax from its long 
 disputed sway. Once too, when he opened his heavy eye* 
 
155 
 
 lids, and it appeared evident to him, that the little old man 
 was coursing up and down not far from the bed, the con- 
 clusion of his drowsy mind was this : ' He has made a 
 mistake, and, besides, this is exactly what the collier warned 
 me to expect. 5 
 
 At last the interruptions of the merchant's rest became 
 too frequent to be borne ; a terrour, like a sudden blow, 
 dispersed all his sleepiness ; he sat up in his bed with wide- 
 staring eyes, and saw the old man of the evening busying 
 himself with the portmanteau, at the same time looking 
 towards him with an air of contempt. 
 
 " Hands off, robber ! back from my baggage ! " shouted 
 the merchant in wrath and alarm. The old man appeared 
 to be much terrified. He moved swiftly toward the door, 
 seemed to be in an agony of prayer, and in the twinkling 
 of an eye was out of the chamber. 
 
 It was now Berthold's most pressing concern to exam- 
 ine his portmanteau, and ascertain whether he had lost any 
 thing by the old man's intrusion. He could not consider 
 him as a robber, indeed, but whether as a madman, he 
 might not, in his childish folly, have put his brilliant dia- 
 monds and other precious stones in his pocket, or have 
 tossed about his valuable papers, — that was another ques- 
 tion. The pad-locks and straps appeared to be well se- 
 cured, and after he had removed them, he found all in the 
 best order. But the restless inquietude of Berthold again 
 returned ; something, he feared, might be yet lost or des- 
 troyed on his journey ; and he extended his views further 
 and further onward, comforting himself with the possession 
 of wealth, at the same time he was dissatisfied that he 
 possessed no more. 
 
 He was startled from this dreamlike eagerness of spirit 
 by a breathing on his cheek. He at first imagined, that it 
 might be nothing more than the wind of night, that forced 
 its way through the ill secured window, and he wrapped 
 himself in his cloak the more closely. But the breathing 
 came again, more perceptible and more startling ; and at 
 last, when he turned indignant to the quarter from which it 
 came, he with horrour saw the little old man's hairy face 
 nuzzling near to his own. 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " cried the merchant ; 
 " creep to bed and warm yourself." 
 
156 
 
 " I am still colder there," croaked the hoarse voice in 
 reply, "and I like to see such beautiful things as you have 
 here. But I know, to be sure, where there are finer, ah 
 yes, much finer still. " 
 
 " What mean you ? " inquired Berthold ; and he could 
 not help reverting to his reverie, the extraordinary luck, 
 which he had been thinking, in his dreamy slumber, might 
 now fall to his lot by means of this madman. 
 
 " If you will come with me," sighed the old man, " I 
 will show you what treasures I meant. They are below 
 there, far down in the forest, near the moorland." 
 
 " Well, if I could venture to go with you," replied 
 Berthold, " we might set off." 
 
 Upon this, the old man turned toward the door, and 
 added : "Just let me get my mantle first; I will be back 
 again in a minute, and then we will go." 
 
 Berthold remained but a moment in suspense; for 
 hardly had the old man disappeared from the door, when 
 it was again unlatched, and a haggard giant of a man 
 in a blood-red mantle, with a huge sword under his left 
 arm, and a musket under his right, stalked solemnly in. 
 Berthold seized his weapons to defend himself. 
 
 "Now then," said the red man, " I am all ready: — 
 yes, you are right, take your weapons along with you ; 
 only make haste, that we may get out into the forest." 
 
 " Out with youl" cried Berthold, "I will not go out 
 with you. Where is the little old man ? " 
 
 " Why, pray, only look right at me," answered the red 
 man, and threw his mantle further back from his face. 
 Berthold perceived a strong resemblance between this 
 frightful apparition and the little old man, almost as striking 
 as if they were twin brothers, only in one all looked 
 wrathful and wasted to skin and bone, and in the other, 
 all was mild and tranquil. But Berthold now believed 
 himself the dupe of treachery, and that his treasures 
 were inevitably gone. He cried out : " Was it your plan 
 to send your fool of a brother to ensnare me in your 
 nets ? You ought to have more wit than to defeat your 
 own fraud. Your villany is too shallow, Sir ; and J 
 should be shallower still to accompany you." 
 
 " Say you so ? " replied the red man ; " you will not 
 do it? But you shall." And with that he stretched forth 
 
157 
 
 his arm, an arm of fearful length, to seize him. Berthold, 
 in an agony of terrour, fired his pistol at him. Immedi- 
 ately all was awake and in brisk motion in the rooms be- 
 low ; the collier was heard hurrying up stairs, and the red 
 man fled swiftly from the door, while he still turned and 
 threatened Berthold with looks and gestures. 
 
 " In the name of God," cried the collier, rushing in, 
 " what have you done to our house-spirit ? " 
 
 "House-spirit!" cried Berthold with broken utterance, 
 and eyeing his host with a glance of suspicion. For his 
 treasures in money and articles of value were still pro- 
 ducing in his mind a whirl of confusion and fear ; and since 
 he should now obtain no more, he felt almost sure that he 
 must lose what he possessed already, and that the whole 
 house had conspired against him. But the collier went on 
 and said : " He met me on the stairs perfectly monstrous 
 in his size and inflamed with fury, wearing his red 
 mantle and carrying weapons of defence." 
 
 But when he perceived, that every word he said, was 
 quite incomprehensible to Berthold, he entreated him to go 
 down with him to the common apartment, where the whole 
 family, alarmed by the report of the pistol, had already 
 met; and there he would quiet at the same time both his 
 household and him. Berthold did as his host desired, and 
 took his portmanteau under bis left arm, his other pistol 
 loaded and cocked in his right hand, and his remaining 
 weapons in his girdle and belt. He was the more willing 
 to go down, since he judged, that he would be more secure 
 in the great room near the cottage door, than in the nar- 
 row, confined chamber above. The people of the house 
 eyed him with an expression of doubt, and there was a 
 very marked difference between their meeting now and 
 over-night, — the same difference as between peace and 
 war. The collier, however, gave a short account of him- 
 self in the following words : 
 
 " When I first came here to live in this cottage, the 
 house-spirit never ceased to haunt it, driving about in that 
 fearful form, which you, my guest, and myself have just 
 witnessed. In consequence of this, no other collier would 
 live here, or even in this district of the mountain forest. 
 For the spectre draws a wide circle round the centre of 
 14 
 
158 
 
 his power. The truth is, he is the spirit of one of my 
 predecessors, who was very rich and very avaricious. For 
 he buried money in this wilderness, and as long as he lived, 
 he used to wander in a wide circuit through the region 
 round about where his treasures lay ; he also wrapped him- 
 self in a red mantle, with a view, as he said, to remind the 
 robbers of the crimson robe of the executioner ; and he 
 carried a sword and musketoon in his hands. 
 
 " Well, he died, and then he had no power to point out 
 his treasures to friend or foe ; he may have even forgotten 
 the spot where he had buried them, and therefore, in a 
 state of perfect bewilderment and delusion, he used to 
 enter the cottage in that frightful form. 
 
 " What could I do ? I came to this conclusion : ' If I 
 am a truly christian man, and never cease to be alive, 
 heart and soul, to the duty of devotion, then even the very 
 devil in hell will be unable to hurt me ; and how much less a 
 poor deluded spectre!' And then, in the holy name of 
 God, I moved hither with my wife and children. 
 
 " At the outset, you may be sure, Red-Mantle, as we 
 used to call him, made himself busy enough. When we 
 are walking along our way in a thoughtful mood, and some- 
 thing wholly unexpected suddenly stands before us, more 
 especially if it be of the spectre kind, the very bravest of 
 us may well be terrified. The children now fled from the 
 phantom as from a dreadful enemy, and even my wife was 
 often greatly frightened." 
 
 " Yes, and that horrible time must now be lived over 
 again," said his wife with a sigh. " He was just now seen 
 at the door, altogether monstrous in his shape, wild in his 
 looks, and clad in his blood-red garment." 
 
 "Do as you formerly did," replied the collier; "pray, 
 think holy thoughts, and nothing will harm you." 
 
 That very instant the door-latch was rattled in a furious 
 manner; all shuddered, and the children cried. But the 
 collier resolutely stepped forward, and spoke with a loud 
 voice : "Depart, I command you in the name of the Lord. 
 You have nothing to do with us here." — They then heard, 
 without the cottage, a sound like the roar of a whirlwind, 
 and the collier, while he reseated himself by the hearth, 
 went on in the following manner : 
 
159 
 
 " We formerly made a fair trial of the course I advise, 
 and we cannot take a better. We will be more constant 
 in our prayers, and more watchful over our conduct. If 
 we have so far subdued him already, that he has laid his 
 red mantle aside, become quite gentle in his manners, 
 joined us at the hour of our evening prayer, put on a calm 
 and friendly countenance, and shrunk to the small size we 
 have seen ; then, released from his troubled state, he will 
 soon disappear from the earth, and lie at rest until the 
 great day. Children, you have loved him as a meek and 
 quiet house-spirit ; you have commonly grieved, that in his 
 subdued state he would never take any but the lowest seat 
 at our evening service, — now cheerfully strive to secure 
 both his repose and your own by devotion, patience, and 
 purity of heart. We shall soon restore him to the peace- 
 fulness of last evening." 
 
 Then all of them, mother and children, joyfully rose up, 
 and, as they gave their hand to husband and father, prom- 
 ised to do as he had exhorted them, and no more suffer 
 themselves to be faint-hearted in opposing the evil spirit, 
 so that its form might ever be such alone, as it dared to 
 show in the light. 
 
 The mind of Berthold, however, was quite bewildered 
 by all this. He now thought he had been seized with a 
 fever, and that all these things were mere visionary won- 
 ders, the delusion of a wandering mind ; now he imagined, 
 that he was at this very moment the sport of the same 
 delirium ; and now, finally, that he was betrayed to a band 
 of robbers, whose object in assuming the semblance of 
 piety was solely to possess themselves of his money and 
 rich merchandise. He begged them to bring him his 
 horse. The oldest son ran to the door, but the host said 
 to the traveller : 
 
 " You will do more wisely to remain till it is bright day- 
 light. At this early hour of dawn, it is very gloomy in 
 the forest." 
 
 But when he insisted on departing, it was not difficult to 
 see, that the whole family were heartily rejoiced to be rid 
 of him, and the collier had pressed him to wait merely 
 out of civility and regard to duty. He was desirous of 
 compensating his host for his supper and lodging, but he 
 
160 
 
 found his money refused with a feeling so indignant, that he 
 did not see fit to repeat the offer. His horse stood stamp- 
 ing before the door, and the portmanteau was soon fastened 
 to the saddle ; Berthold mounted, and observed, that his 
 mysterious host bade him farewell much less cordially, than 
 he had bidden him welcome the evening before. Full of 
 ill-humour and wild surmises of evil, he trotted along the 
 way, which had been pointed out to him through the 
 forest. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 BERTHOLD'S MONET-DIGGING, AND WHO HELPED HIM. 
 GROWTH AND FADING AWAY OF EVIL. 
 
 Berthold could not persuade himself, that the inhabi- 
 tants of the cottage were so indisputably right, and the 
 spirit so entirely wrong. — "For," said he to himself, "if 
 he is not a spectre, then they are deceivers ; and if he is 
 one, then he does perfectly right to discover his treasures, 
 so that some living person may be happy in making use of 
 them. And who knows but I may myself be that fortunate 
 individual ? " 
 
 While he was thus musing, the trees assumed a wonder- 
 ful and very peculiar appearance ; the wind of morning whis- 
 tled, as it came in his face, like the music of promise ; the va- 
 pours rose and withdrew before him like lofty colonnades, 
 and as he rode on beneath them, his train of thought ran 
 thus : c Nature seems to be in league with me ; and if she 
 is so, then I require no sunshine to guide me in the right 
 way.' 
 
 " On then, and good luck attend me ! " — he exclaimed in 
 triumph. Scarcely had he given utterance to his emotion, 
 when he saw Red-Mantle moving on by his side, and 
 seeming to nod assentingly, not only to his words, but even 
 to his very thoughts. He was at first somewhat disconcerted 
 at this intrusion ; but the more he endeavoured to calm him- 
 self, the more did Red-Mantle nod to him with an air of 
 friendliness, and at last began of his own accord to speak 
 thus: 
 
 " After all, companion, I was in but a pitiful condition 
 14* 
 
162 
 
 there with that set of collier-people. Their everlasting 
 praying and singing reduced me within an ace of annihila- 
 tion ; you saw yourself to what a dwarf I had dwindled, 
 and what a shrivelled figure I had become in that wretched 
 circle. Well, you came in, and I was at first disturbed, 
 as if something strange and disagreeable had entered among 
 us, but we soon became congenial spirits. Then I grew, — 
 oh yes ! and I am able to grow, until I reach the sparkling 
 canopy of the stars. Only be as haughty as possible, and 
 think thus within yourself: 'I already stand elevated above 
 others, and I ought tobe a person altogether different from 
 my fellow-creatures one and all, a perfect lord of creation, 
 the first favourite of Nature, freed from all labour and exer- 
 tion ; ' then will you stand where I wish to have you, and 
 the treasure is yours. That scurvy collier-family, you see 
 at a glance, are too stupid for such fortune as this. — Shall 
 we dig ? " — 
 
 Berthold in a rapture consented, and Red-Mantle point- 
 ed to a small eminence, that rose not far before them, 
 strowed with the slender, needle-like foliage of the pine. 
 The merchant, having no implement suitable for digging, 
 was obliged to turn up the ground with his broad hanger ; 
 and then he saw with alarm, that the red man stood oppo- 
 site assisting him, and that where he thrust his huge hands 
 into the opening, a blue vapour of sulphur ascended from 
 the earth, that strangely confused them in their search. 
 The vapour rose, the earth groaned, the stones rolled, 
 and at last appeared two or three urns, that immediately 
 crumbled to ashes before the breeze of morning. In vain 
 did Berthold hunt for treasure in that miserable hole. 
 
 On this failure, the unquiet spirit wrung his bony hands 
 most pitiably, and pointed forward to the next knoll. 
 Again they dug, and again they found the same kind of 
 money-pots, filled with ashes and decayed rubbish. They 
 then went to other rising grounds, and the many openings 
 they made, all disclosed to them, one after another, the 
 same wretched disappointment of their hopes. At this, 
 the wandering spirit became enraged, and struck his bony 
 fists against the trees with such force, that sparks streamed 
 from them like a shower of fire ; and he cast the most 
 violent abuse upon Berthold, swearing that he had discov- 
 
163 
 
 ered the buried treasures there below, and like a thief had 
 stolen them away. His huge figure glowed like the flame 
 of a furnace, and Berthold trembled before it, as it rose 
 higher and higher in its fury, above the tops of the oaks, 
 beeches, and pines. 
 
 That moment the cock crew. With a shriek of agony 
 the apparition was dispersed into the four winds, and the 
 sweet tones of the morning bell, in a neighbouring village, 
 came wafted through the woods with a most soothing influ- 
 ence. Berthold returned in terrour to his frightened horse, 
 which, at the commencement of his digging for the treas- 
 ure, he had tied to the trunk of a tree ; he mounted him, 
 and, soon finding the high road, trotted on toward an 
 inhabited district. — 
 
 Years now passed away. Berthold spent them in for- 
 eign countries remote from Germany, detained by various 
 avocations, now in embarrassment and now encompassed 
 with snares, but still not so much so, that the story of 
 Red-Mantle and the collier-family altogether faded from 
 his remembrance. On the contrary, he often called it to 
 mind, and with a mingled emotion of solicitude and lon^ino- 
 of the heart; and when at length he was returning home- 
 ward, and had now come to that same quarter of the 
 country, no apprehension was so great, and no scruple of 
 judgment so strong, as to restrain him from searching out 
 his former pathway, although the evening was becoming 
 fearfully dark in the solitary forest, so that he again stopped 
 before the collier's cottage in the deep obscurity, and asked 
 for his hospitable shelter. 
 
 And the same group of bright, cordial faces, as on the 
 former evening, came clustering to the door ; the mistress 
 of the house held out her small lamp, carefully screening 
 it from the current of air with her apron ; while the worthy 
 collier stood by the horse with a friendliness the most un- 
 feigned. He pressed the traveller to dismount and walk 
 in, and committed the beast to the care of one of the boys ; 
 the moment they called to mind who he was, they bade 
 him welcome, little as most people might have welcomed 
 him under like circumstances. 
 
 In the room he entered, all continued to look as on his 
 first visit ; they again took their seats around the family 
 
164 
 
 table ; perry was placed before them ; the place, which 
 the spectre had formerly occupied, to the terrour of 
 Berthold remained vacant again, as if they were every 
 evening still expecting the mysterious visitor. All contin- 
 ued silent, and wore an air of doubt or suspicion, so that 
 two things of their former entertainment were wanting, 
 and those, it must be confessed, were better than all the 
 rest, — familiar talk and heart-inspiring music. 
 
 The good collier then opened his mouth, and spoke 
 thus : " My guest, what variance you had with our house- 
 spirit some years ago, we know not. But we ourselves 
 have suffered from him difficulty and trouble, terrour and 
 anxiety enough. I trust you will pass the night with us 
 again, and I therefore wish from my heart, that you may 
 fill your mind with holy thoughts, so as to disturb neither 
 us nor the house-spirit. So far as he is concerned, indeed, 
 I think you cannot now so easily offend him again, even 
 supposing you have nothing in your head and heart but 
 money and merchandise. But let all be hushed to silence 
 now, our season of prayer is come." 
 
 All folded their hands, the father of the family took off 
 his cap, and began to sing again that beautiful hymn, 
 
 " Now all the woods are sleeping." 
 
 Berthold reverently sang with them, expecting every mo- 
 ment to see the apparition of the house-spirit, though 
 in the meek form and humble garb of his first ap- 
 pearance. But no finger tapped at the door, and no 
 door opened. Only a soft light was diffused through the 
 room, and a breathing melody arose, as when with moisten- 
 ed finger we touch the finely attuned musical glasses. 
 
 Hardly had the hour of prayer passed, when Berthold 
 accosted the master of the house, and asked him : " What 
 was the meaning of that music and that light ? " 
 
 " That was the house-spirit," answered the collier ; " and 
 this is the only way, in which he now makes his presence 
 known to us. We have subdued his violence, as you saw, 
 by prayer and true watchfulness over the purity of our 
 mind." 
 
 There was something in the heart of the merchant, 
 which whispered to him, that, notwithstanding some im- 
 
165 
 
 provement of character, he was still too unworthy to pass 
 the night there. He called for his horse, but in a far more 
 friendly tone than before ; and in a far more friendly 
 manner the eldest son brought him to the door. They all 
 then bade Berthold farewell, perceiving that no evil feeling 
 drove him from them, and gave him direction in regard to 
 the way he must take, — when the traveller rode on with 
 impulses of heart and purposes of life entirely changed. 
 He met with nothing to annoy him as he went on his way. 
 But a beautiful radiance, at times, hovered and flowed on 
 before him, illuminating the bushes and foliage of the moun- 
 tain forest : it was a lustre strange and lovely, such as the 
 soul may conceive, but no words are able to express. He 
 felt its power in the very depths of his being, - -lUt £ 
 
TABLE.TALK NOTICES OF 'PHANTASMEN,' 
 
 INCLUDING THE 
 
 FORTUNES OF FAIEYLORE. 
 
 This modest volume, published without name, motto, 
 note, or comment, is said to be the composition of Mrs. 
 Henry Nelson Coleridge, only daughter of the late S. T. 
 Coleridge. I have been so much gratified with this lady's 
 fine spiriting in fairyland, that I cannot deny myself the 
 pleasure of reviving some of the impressions her adven- 
 tures there have produced ; and as preliminary to a famil- 
 iar, table-talk notice, the reader may welcome the follow- 
 ing trifle translated from the German of W. HaufF. It 
 forms a lively introduction to his series of tales for youth, 
 and, though entitled " Mährchen als Almanach," in the 
 original, may be called Fortunes of Fairylore, in 
 English. 
 
 In a beautiful kingdom of a region far away, concern- 
 ing which a rumour is rife that the sun never goes down 
 upon its gardens of eternal green, Queen Fancy has 
 reigned from the earliest period to the present day. Ma- 
 ny hundred years ago, in the olden lime, she distributed 
 rich blessings to her people with full hands, and was loved 
 and revered by all who knew her. But the heart of the 
 queen was too large to confine her favours to her own 
 country ; she even, in the regal splendour of her eternal 
 youth and beauty, descended upon the earth in person ; 
 
167 
 
 for she had heard that men dwelt there, who wore away 
 a sad existence amid anxiety and toil. The fair queen 
 brought them the choicest gifts of her kingdom ; and 
 while she wandered through the fields of the world, all 
 were blithe at their labour and contented with the severity 
 of their lot. 
 
 Still more to make them happy, she sent forth her 
 children, who were not less fair and lovely than their 
 royal mother. Fairylore, the eldest daughter of the 
 queen, was the first that returned from the earth. The 
 mother remarked one day, that Fairylore seemed to be 
 quite depressed, nay that, every now and then, her eyes 
 looked as red as if she had been weeping. 
 
 " What is it ails you, dear Fairylore ? " said the queen 
 with heartfelt concern. " Ever since you came home 
 from your journey, how melancholy and low-spirited you 
 have been ! What can be the matter with you ! Will you 
 not confide to me, your mother, every event or evil that 
 troubles you ? " 
 
 " Alas, dear mother ! " answered Fairylore, " I should 
 not have continued so long silent, be assured, had I not 
 known that my sorrow concerned you as much as myself." 
 
 " Nay, speak out, my daughter ; never fear being open- 
 hearted," said the beautiful queen in a persuasive tone; 
 " sorrow is a stone, that crushes a single bearer to the 
 ground, while two are able to carry it with ease." 
 
 " Since such is your will," replied Fairylore, " pray 
 listen while I relate a word or two of my fortunes. You 
 know how delighted I am to have intercourse with the hu- 
 man race ; you know with what joy I take my seat with the 
 very humblest before their cottage doors, and chat with 
 them a little while after their labours : formerly, when they 
 saw me come to make them a call, they sprang to give me 
 the hand and kiss of cordial welcome ; and when I went 
 away, they looked after me smiling and grateful ; but in 
 these days all is very different, — all quite the reverse of 
 such warmth of heart." 
 
 " Why, poor Fairylore!" said the queen, stroking her 
 cheek, that was moistened with, a tear ; " but are you not 
 too sensitive ? May not this change of treatment exist 
 only in your own fancy ? " 
 
168 
 
 " Believe me, I feel but too keenly," returned Fairy- 
 lore, " that they love me no longer. Everywhere, wherev- 
 er I go, I meet none but cold or half averted looks ; I 
 am nowhere greeted with heart, and hand, and lip, as I 
 used to be ; the very children, who were ever wont to love 
 me dearly, now laugh at me, and, much too knowing for 
 an age so tender, turn their back upon me." 
 
 Hearing this, the queen rested her brow upon her palm, 
 and mused a moment in silence. 
 
 " And pray how does it happen, Fairylore," inquired 
 the queen, awaking from her reverie, " how does it happen 
 that people are so changed below there on the earth ? " 
 
 ci I can tell you, Queen Fancy, — this is the cause: 
 men have appointed a band of shrewd and sharpsighted 
 watchmen, who stop, search, and scrutinize all that come 
 out of your kingdom. Whenever a new-comer arrives, 
 whose garments are not cut according to the fashion they 
 approve, they raise a huge outcry ; then they either give 
 him his death-blow at once, or spread abroad so bad a 
 character of him, that the world receive their slander for 
 truth, and not a soul will any more show him a spark of 
 love or confidence. Ah, how happy are those brothers of 
 mine, Dreams ! What a dainty life, what a brave freedom, 
 is theirs ! Full of frolic, they leap lightly down to the 
 earth, care not a whit for those wiseacre watchmen, visit 
 all in their slumber, and w T eave such brilliant webs, and 
 paint such glorious pictures for them, as charm their eye 
 and rejoice their heart. * 
 
 " In truth your brothers are light-footed," said the queen, 
 " but you, my darling, have no reason to envy them. Be- 
 sides, I am well acquainted w T ith those critical gentlemen 
 of the border-land; we must not blame the commonwealth 
 of letters too severely for stationing them there as sentinels ; 
 it had become quite an indispensable precaution, there were 
 so many emptyheaded fellows kept rushing into the country, 
 pretending to have come directly from my kingdom, while 
 the truth was, they had caught, at most, only some faint 
 glimpses of it from a mountain below." 
 
 " But why do they make me, your own daughter, a vic- 
 tim on account of those brainless interlopers ? " cried 
 Fairylore, weeping ; "alas! if you knew what shameful 
 
169 
 
 treatment I have suffered from that outpost watch ! they 
 abused, they made a mock of me, just as if I were entirely 
 antiquated, and still were affecting the frolicsome spirit of 
 a girl; and they threatened, the next time I dared make 
 my appearance, not to let me enter the country at all." 
 
 " How, not permit my own daughter to enter!" ex- 
 claimed the queen, while wrath heightened the glow of her 
 cheek, and her eye flashed fire ; " but I now see from what 
 quarter these trials of yours arise : that vile gossiping 
 female, who changes her mind with every change of moon 
 or wind, — she has been defaming us." 
 
 " Is Fashion the abusive gossip you mean ? that 's im- 
 possible ! " cried Fairylore ; " Fashion has ever been one 
 of our warmest friends and advocates." 
 
 " O, I know her, the false Gipsey ! " replied the queen : 
 " but let me advise you, my daughter, to set her at defi- 
 ance, and try your fortune once again : whoever would do 
 good, must never be idle." 
 
 "Alas, mother ! what if they send me home irrevocably ? 
 or what if they so bitterly revile me, that all shall scorn to 
 look at me, or doom me to stand alone and despised in a 
 corner ? " 
 
 " If the old are so befooled by Fashion, as to treat you 
 with neglect or contempt, then turn to the young ; they in- 
 deed are the very darlings of my heart, and I send them 
 my loveliest pictures by those brothers of yours, Dreams ; 
 nay, I have often swept down to where they were myself, 
 hovered round them, pressed them to my heart, kissed 
 them, prattled with them, and played beautiful games with 
 them. They know me well, though not acquainted with 
 my name, but I have frequently observed, that in the even- 
 ing they look up to my stars with a smile ; and in the 
 morning, when my bright clouds are scudding along the 
 sky like white lambs in a race, they clap their hands for 
 joy. And when they grow larger, they still love me: I 
 then assist fair maidens in wreathing their gay garlands ; 
 and wild youth feel a calm of delight steal over their spir- 
 it, when I place myself before them on the lofty summits 
 of rocks, and out of the cloud-world of distant blue moun- 
 tains I command high castles and sparkling palaces to loom ; 
 15 
 
170 
 
 and out of the crimson clouds of evening I form brave 
 troops of horsemen and wonderful processions of pilgrims." 
 
 " O, those blessed, blessed children and youth ! " cried 
 Fairylore, enraptured ; " yes, it shall be as you advise ! I 
 will go forth once again, and try my fortune with them." 
 
 " Yes, my good daughter," said the queen, " go to them ; 
 but I will dress you with a little more elegance than here- 
 tofore, that while you are acceptable to the small, the larger 
 may not thrust you from their presence : see there, I will 
 give you that robe of changeable silk to wear." 
 
 " A silk robe, mother ? woe 's me ! — I shall be ashamed 
 to appear before people in such fine garments as those ! " 
 
 The queen motioned to her hand-maids, and they 
 brought the elegant robe of changeable silk. It was vari- 
 egated with vivid colours, and interwoven with exquisite 
 figures of tissue-work. 
 
 The maidens braided the fair damsel's long hair ; they 
 bound her golden sandals to her feet, and gracefully dis- 
 posed her silk robe about her form. 
 
 The modest Fairylore hardly ventured to look up, but 
 her mother viewed her well-pleased, and folded her in her 
 arms : " Go forth," said she to her little favourite, " my 
 blessing be with you ; and should they scorn and scoff at 
 you, then return home to me, — some later generation, it 
 may be, more true to the impulses of nature, will again 
 give you the warmth of their heart." 
 
 Thus spoke Queen Fancy, and Fairylore descended to 
 the earth. With throbbing heart she approached the 
 place, where the shrewd watchmen kept guard ; sinking 
 her head low toward the ground, she drew her beautiful 
 robe more closely about her, and with tottering step went 
 up to the gate. 
 
 "Stop!" shouted a voice grum and gruff; "watch, 
 without there 1 there 's a new intruder coming !" 
 
 Fairylore trembled, when she heard these sounds of 
 alarm ; a crowd of old fellows of gloomy aspect came 
 stumbling out; they held sharppointed quills in their clutch, 
 and, with a fierce brandishing, thrust them forward to op- 
 pose Fairylore. One of the number stepped up to her, 
 and with rough grasp seized her by the chin. "Be so 
 good as to hold up that head of yours, Sir Stranger ! " he 
 
^171 
 
 cried ; " we want to look into your face and eyes, and see 
 whether all is as it should be." 
 
 Fairylore raised her head, blushing, and opened her 
 dark eyes. 
 
 "Why, it's Fairylore!" cried the watchmen with a 
 peal of laughter; " it's Fairylore ! you meant to make us 
 wonder who was coming, did you ? Now just tell us one 
 thing : — how came you to be so daintily bedizened in that 
 robe ? " 
 
 "My mother put it on me," answered Fairylore. 
 
 " She did ? And she thought to smuggle you by us, 
 did she ? This won't do. There's no admittance for you ! 
 Take yourself off! tramp back the same way you came !" 
 shouted the watchmen all in a breath, and raised their sharp- 
 pointed weapons. 
 
 " But I only want to visit children and youthful friends," 
 said Fairylore in a tone of entreaty : " you surely can 
 grant me a favour so slight as that ? 
 
 " Have we not too many of your tribe already, scourg- 
 ing the country from side to side ? " cried one of the 
 guard ; " they do nothing but stuff the heads of our chil- 
 dren with their stupid trash." 
 
 " Let us see, however, what she can say for herself 
 once more," said another. 
 
 " Well, now for it ! " cried these grave signiors, "unpack 
 your budget of wisdom and wit ; but be quick about it ; 
 we have no time to waste with such wild gentry as you." 
 
 Fairylore stretched forth her hand, and with her fore- 
 finger made many mystic characters in the air. The 
 same moment, confused forms and groups of figures were 
 seen moving by; — caravans, beautiful steeds, horsemen 
 in splendid apparel, numerous tents on the sand of the 
 desert ; birds and fishes on stormy seas ; calm woods and 
 crowded squares and streets; battles and peaceful shepherd- 
 wanderers, — these all came sweeping by in lively repre- 
 sentation and gay confusion. 
 
 Fairylore had not observed, through the eagerness with 
 which she conjured these living forms before the eye, that 
 the keepers of the gate had one after another fallen dead 
 asleep ; when just as she was calling up a new series of 
 scenes and figures, a friendly man came up to her, and 
 
172 
 
 took her by the hand. " See there, my good Fairylore," 
 said he, pointing to the slumbering watchmen ; " your 
 wild and wondrous creations are for the living ; to such 
 dead and drowsy souls as those, palsied in heart and imag- 
 ination, they are nothing : this moment make haste, and 
 slip through the gate ; they will never suspect that you 
 are in the country ; while you can pass on your way 
 unmolested and unobserved. 1 will conduct you to my 
 children, and give you a snug little room in my house, still 
 and cheerful. There you can remain, and live just as you 
 like ; and whenever my sons and daughters have been 
 studious in getting their lessons, they shall be allowed to 
 come to you with their schoolmates, and listen to your 
 beautiful stories. Will you come, and gratify both me 
 and them ?" 
 
 " O how joyfully I will follow you to your dear children ! 
 and how active I shall be in creating for them now and 
 then a bright hour of enjoyment ! " 
 
 The worthy man gave her a friendly nod, and assisted 
 her to step over the feet of the sleeping watchmen. When 
 Fairylore had got over, she looked round with a smile, 
 and then instantly slipped thro' the gate. 
 
 There is too much truth, no doubt, in what Hauff observes 
 respecting our present distaste of the spiritual, though he 
 seems not to remember the continued popularity of the 
 Arabian Nights. His little allegory, however, is quite 
 descriptive of the general neglect into which fairy legends 
 of the olden time have fallen, except upon the stage, 
 indeed, where dress and good acting, scene-painting and 
 machinery, save the dull or dead imagination of the age 
 as much effort as may be : it shows, too, the propriety of 
 our now embellishing such compositions with more elegance 
 of invention and richness of imagery, and these facts 
 remind me of the brief remarks I purposed to make on 
 Phantasmion. 
 
 This is a beautiful tale, highly imaginative and original, 
 and to all true lovers of legendary lore, the wild and won- 
 derful creations of jrenius, it cannot fail to be welcome. 
 
173 
 
 Nothing has appeared in this species of writing, to be for 
 one moment compared with Phantasmion, since Fouque 
 produced his inimitable Undine. Like that embodying of 
 German imagination, it is a fine specimen of the union of 
 the natural and supernatural, — a union indispensable in 
 all works of fairy invention. 
 
 We are not insensible, that finely touched spirits are 
 alone qualified fully to appreciate productions of this class. 
 There must be some mystic congeniality between the 
 writer and the reader. Something more, too, is required. 
 Beside the poiver to enjoy these picturings of the spiritual, 
 the reader must have the fear of injustice continually before 
 his eyes: he must be as alive and alert in catching the 
 glimpses of fairyland created, as the author was in pre- 
 senting them to his vision. Quite as much of our false 
 criticism and imperfect enjoyment, if not more, arises from 
 want of this faithful examination, as from our incapacity. 
 
 For our own part, we have endeavoured to be as just to 
 the fair writer of this little volume, as to our critical selves. 
 We have given her book several leisurely perusals, and 
 each time not only with increased admiration of her fine- 
 ness of conception and simple elegance of execution, but 
 with higher and higher gratification. 
 
 To give a full analysis of the story, would be delightful 
 to ourselves, — a lingering, fond delay, — but unprofitable 
 to the reader, — the shadow, not indeed of a shade, but of 
 celestial light. 
 
 The little songs and other breathings of poetry, scattered 
 throughout the volume, are of such beauty, both in deli- 
 cacy of thought and flow of versification, as S. T. Cole- 
 ridge himself might have admired. 
 
 There is one trait or characteristic feature in this book, 
 that will render it peculiarly acceptable to all lovers of 
 nature. We do not allude to its accuracy in the delinea- 
 tion of the infinite phases of earth and air, sea and sky, 
 tho' nothing can be more perfect in this respect ; but what 
 we mean, is its remarkable freedom from the conventional 
 forms and usages of life. It has the patriarchal simplicity, 
 the beautiful truthfulness, of primitive ages, while it is at 
 the same time enriched and ennobled by the refinement of 
 a more advanced period. 
 15* 
 
374 
 
 As it would be quite contrary to the whole code of crit- 
 icism, made and provided in the commonwealth of letters, 
 not to find or create some occasion for censure, we must 
 conform to a regulation so universal. 
 
 There are only two imperfections that occur to us, 
 worth mentioning in this brief notice, and one of these is 
 more a difference of taste, perhaps, than a valid objection. 
 The use of the solemn style, — thou, thee, hath, hast, art, 
 &tc. — has in our view far less of reality in prose, than the 
 familiar form of common talk. We merely suggest this, 
 however, as an individual feeling. Our other impression 
 we consider of greater moment. More concentration of 
 action in a few characters, as is so studiously accomplished 
 in Undine, and not diffusing the interest among so many, 
 as it seems to us, would have been a great improvement. 
 It may be too late to remedy this defect now, since we 
 have not the heart to vote for the death of more than one 
 or two of the subordinate characters, still the evil might 
 have been easily avoided, while the work remained in 
 manuscript. 
 
 But instead of dwelling for a moment on any possibili- 
 ties of improvement or perfection, it is an impulse infinitely 
 more grateful to welcome with heart and hand the treasure 
 as it is, — the beautiful Silver Pitcher of the romance 
 itself. The author is by nature rich in mental endowment; 
 indications of her father's plastic imagination are every- 
 where visible ; and by no means has she, though now 
 residing in the heart of London, lived in the Arcadia of 
 Cumberland in vain. 
 
 Although not distrusting the correctness of my own 
 convictions, yet wishing to secure the literary sympathy of 
 a friend, I wrote to him as follows, inclosing a copy of the 
 book : 
 
 November 26. 1838. 
 
 Have you read the new fairy-tale, Phantasmion ? I 
 hope you have not, as in that case you have a peculiar 
 pleasure to come. 
 
 I hazard nothing, when I call Phantasmion not only one 
 of our best fairy-tales, but the most beautifully imaginative 
 creation in the legendary lore of England. When I say 
 
175 
 
 this, I do not of course forget those splendid exhibitions of 
 the supernatural, 'Gaston de Blondeville ' and 'The 
 Five Nights or St. Albans,' since these belong to 
 another and a higher department of fiction. The tenderness 
 of the former, and the terrible graces of the latter, are equal- 
 led only by the magnificence of both. Phantasmion com- 
 bines, what we find extremely rare, the wildest originality 
 with the nicest inspection and observance of human nature, 
 exquisite elegance with even Saxon simplicity of composi- 
 tion. Do you ask me what is its grand characteristic ? I 
 answer, Beauty, — beauty truly feminine, beauty of con- 
 ception, character, and expression. It is indeed a wilder- 
 ness of sweets, illumined by the richest hues of earth and 
 heaven, and thro' which a stream of magic melody is for 
 ever flowing. 
 
 Phantasmion is not a creation for the million, — not 
 because it is hard to understand, for the most unlettered 
 may comprehend and enjoy its delightful marvels, — but 
 because the number of imaginative minds is small, and few 
 are both able and willing to reproduce, as they read, the 
 writer's train of thought and feeling, the impulses felt, the 
 images awakened, and the emotion created, in the glow of 
 composition. So much more easy is it to hurry-scurry 
 thro' the soulless farragoes of the day, than to be at the 
 expense of this intellectual effort, that when a volume like 
 this appears, so many readers do great injustice both to 
 the writer and themselves. 
 
 Were I less familiar than I am with the idiosyncrasies 
 of your head and heart, I should be cautious how I recom- 
 mended a book like this to your perusal. You well 
 remember who has said, that " Pindar's remark on sweet 
 music holds equally true of Genius : as many as are not 
 delighted by it, are disturbed, perplexed, irritated. The 
 Beholder either recognizes it as a projected Form of his 
 own Being, that moves before him with a Glory round its 
 head, or recoils from it as from a Spectre." And you 
 will be delighted to know, that it is the " dear daughter" 
 of him who made this remark, to whom we are indebted 
 for Phantasmion. Is she not one of the rare instances, in 
 which the genius of the parent is inherited by the child ? 
 
 You will be glad to see the many pieces of poetry in- 
 terspersed through the volume. They were not inserted, 
 
176 
 
 because the author found it convenient to dispose of them 
 in this way, but evidently because most of them would be 
 written for the places they occupy ; and they are not only 
 the delicious breathings of a finely touched spirit in them- 
 selves, but admirably appropriate in their place. They 
 harmonize exceedingly well with the melodramatic tone of 
 the fiction, while they add much to its sweetness and 
 power. 
 
 You will be pleased to find, that the mystic tone you 
 mentioned as felt and employed by Fouque, has thrilled 
 also the author of Phantasmion : — " His attention was ar- 
 rested by a soft melancholy voice, liquid and musical as 
 the chime of crystal cups thrilled by a dewy finger." 
 
 Indeed, the scenes and sentiments, the characters and 
 incidents of this fine tale, seem to bear as much the im- 
 press of reality, as if they were all taken from the book 
 of experience. It is a garden of fragrance and beauty, a 
 new world of exquisite sights and sounds, wild creations of 
 fairy lore, and emotions true to the beatings of the human 
 heart. If the German Undine have more simplicity of 
 plot and concentration of interest, the English Phantasmion 
 must be viewed as superiour in the riches of a more 
 refined imagination. Then the songs of Phantasmion, — 
 I cannot too often repeat my admiration of them. What 
 sweetness of verse ! what breathings of a tender spirit ! 
 whose voice, — who but the writer's own Spirit of the 
 Flowers, — could do them justice ! 
 
 To this letter I received an immediate reply ; and the 
 reader, I think, will be as much pleased to see it, as I was 
 myself. It may be that I flatter myself, since my friend's 
 views coincide so entirely with my own. Still, as several 
 other topics are touched upon in his favour, I cannot deny 
 myself the pleasure of making a few extracts. 
 
 November 27. 1838. 
 I agree with you, that the fairy-tale you were so kind 
 as to send me yesterday, is original in conception and con- 
 struction. My first reading, as you knew it would, carried 
 me far into the night. I had no opportunity of resorting 
 
177 
 
 to my old trick, for which you give me so much of your 
 admiration, — that of skipping irrelevant matter. Who 
 does not hate to see such prosing smuggled into a story ? 
 
 The style is almost Saxon, as you say, more especially 
 in the first half, carefully excluding all ambitious words, 
 when simple, familiar, and direct ones answer the purpose 
 as well. With regard to the story, a fault-finder would 
 say that the attention is divided among too many charac- 
 ters, — a practice we always wish to see avoided; and, on 
 the first reading, perhaps it is perplexed by them ; yet 
 there is sufficient interest excited to draw the reader gently 
 onward to the very close. I am now more than half way 
 through my second perusal. What a bright dawning of 
 the writer's initiative, as we grow familiar with her object ! 
 
 As you observe, the poetry so freely interspersed is 
 genuine ; — not prose, shortened or extended to the needed 
 measure, as the robber of Attica used to versify the travel- 
 lers he seized; — '-'but musical as is Apollo's lute," — 
 rich in thought, and thrilling with deep feeling. 
 
 But why speak of the poetry ? The prose is itself 
 poetry, the poetry of thought. As a whole, indeed, it is 
 a unique production ; but those who hurry through it to 
 reach the end, merely for the gratification of curiosity, 
 must meet the fate common to such readers. The end in 
 every work of genius, and in this preeminently, is to be 
 found in the means. No, — not a page is here written 
 merely to fill up and lengthen out the book. The whole 
 is an evolvement from within, not a picking up and patch- 
 ing together of the outward. It is evident, that in the 
 author's own mind the objective is always subservient to 
 the subjective, " beautiful exceedingly " as are her con- 
 ceptions of the outward world, and magical as are her 
 pictures of its almost spiritual beauty. 
 
 Illustration, as used by this lady, has a sort of creative 
 power, — the light, flowing from it, makes objects not only 
 clear and distinct, but vivid, living, and full of motion. In 
 this particular, she is indeed the " dear daughter" of her 
 illustrious father. 
 
 The grace and delicacy of the author's own mind flow 
 through this tale, or, to speak more exactly, pervade it 
 like an atmosphere, — blending, softening, and sometimes 
 a little obscuring, but oftener illustrating its pictures of 
 
178 
 
 nature and delineations of the heart. They breathe through 
 every thing and affect every character, bringing often to 
 mind the remark of our lamented Coleridge, that " all 
 things and modes of action shape themselves anew in the 
 being of Milton ; " for so in these light and airy visions of 
 fairy-land, the lovely " ideal " of this Mistress of the 
 Magic Wand is seen and felt every where. 
 
 To do justice to this work of imagination, so rich in 
 thought, so bewildering in its mazes of imagery, and so 
 unrivalled in some scenes of beauty never before deline- 
 ated, — to do any justice to these things, the book must 
 be read in the true spirit of what has been happily called, 
 re-productive criticism. 
 
 Yes, the same rumour has reached me as yourself, — 
 that Phantasmion was written by Mrs. Sara Coleridge, wife 
 of H. N. Coleridge, Esq., with a view to relieve the tedious 
 hours of illness, when long confined to a sick couch. If 
 so, what might not such a mind produce in the vigour and 
 elasticity of health ! 
 
 Since transcribing these extracts from my friend's letter, 
 I have been turning over the leaves of Phantasmion, in 
 order to select a few passages in proof of the justness of 
 the praise bestowed, but have found myself again and again 
 reading on, forgetful of my purpose, so attractive is the 
 book even after the third perusal. I find also how difficult 
 is the task of detaching passages without doing them injus- 
 tice, so entirely is each part a portion of the beautiful 
 whole, intimately blending in with lights and shadows re- 
 ciprocally given and received. It seems advisable, there- 
 fore, to refer the reader to the book itself. 
 
 Readers of every taste desire to be gratified, and each 
 repairs to his favourite source. While many delight in the 
 drollery and satire of one department of fiction, and more 
 in the developements of vice and crime, low life and ruf- 
 fianism, in another, as well as some in the finer spirit of 
 works inspired with the immortality of genius, the number 
 is not small, it is to be hoped, that feel the influence of the 
 rich fancies, pure thoughts, pure language, and pure moral- 
 ity of Phantasmion. 
 
THE ALMADORA EAVINE 
 
 And all put on a gentle hue, 
 Hanging in the shadowy air 
 Like a picture rich and rare. 
 
 Wanderings of Cain. 
 
 Author. I have come, dear Madam, to claim the per- 
 formance of your promise. You have forgotten, I fear, 
 the ravine I mentioned to you. 
 
 Lady. Far from it. The manuscript you have allowed 
 me to peruse, has made me impatient to view it with you. 
 When shall we visit that scene of lonely nature, to which 
 you so frequently allude, and which you say resembles a 
 picture rich and rare ? 
 
 Author. This very moment, if it suit your conve- 
 nience. My arm is at your service ; the December air is 
 pure and bracing, the earth sprinkled with hoar-frost like 
 manna, the day young and promising ; and you are pre- 
 pared, I see, for our little tour of discovery. 
 
 Lady. How glad I am it happens to be so ! I should 
 be sorry to lose the opportunity, with which you are so 
 kind as to favour me. We pass that white house, I think ? 
 
 Author. Yes, and a hundred rods eastward, along this 
 grassy road-side. 
 
 Lady. I see, — to yonder rail-fence on the left. 
 
 Author. We enter by these bars, which neighbour 
 
 B has painted so gaily. Permit me to let them down 
 
 for you. We are now admitted to the commencement of 
 things. You observe those feathery spires of pasture- 
 grass ? 
 
 Lady. That harvest too of witch-hazle twigs. 
 
180 
 
 Author. And the crimson leaves of those shrub-oaks. 
 
 Lady. Nothing can be more richly frosted. Frosted 
 windows are beautiful, but not so beautiful ; for here we 
 have the addition of exquisite colouring. 
 
 Author. Observe, as we slowly move forward, that 
 tinge before us, that wave of hues I may call it, ever pre- 
 serving the same distance on the grass. To what may we 
 compare it ? 
 
 Lady. I know not : call it the incomparable, if you 
 will, the wave of heaven, or the hue without a name. 
 Whatever you may christen this living lustre, it seems at- 
 tracting us toward some wonder to come. See it moving 
 over that grove of coated shoots ; over those russet leaves 
 too, edged with rough-silver frost-work. 
 
 Author. A glorious view, the very rainbow of the 
 groves. 
 
 Lady. Lunar rainbow, if you please. 
 
 Author. Leaving these faint hues of the bow of 
 promise, — this galaxy of the earth, — on our right, and 
 still following our reflected glory, we must descend with 
 extreme caution into this deep ravine, down which a brook 
 is stealing beneath its crystal prison. See that you walk 
 exactly, even with apostolic exactness : on this slippery 
 surface we must keep a firm foot. Let us cross the stream, 
 where you see those mossy steps on either side. We are 
 safely over ! 
 
 Lady. Do you call this winding strip of white ice a 
 stream ? How silent ! how dumb ! the very mockery of 
 a stream. 
 
 Author. Let us trace the left-hand margin downward, 
 a little to the left of the sun. Our path is velvety and 
 free from danger, here, and wide enough for two ; we might 
 without inconvenience admit even a third. 
 
 Lady. Some Bertha or Seraphina, for example, trem- 
 bling on your right ! 
 
 Author. Even so, Undine or Eumela. Do you per- 
 ceive the air grow chill ? 
 
 Lady. Yes, and the cause : the sun is disappearing 
 behind that pine-covered bank on our right. Our passage 
 grows more and more dusky. 
 
 Author. How wide do you conceive the ravine to be 
 at the top, from bank to bank ? 
 
181 
 
 Lady. About fifty feet. How gracefully those white 
 birches shoot up the two steeps ! 
 
 Author. You remember who calls the birch " the 
 lady of the woods." 
 
 Lady. The same poet, who calls it " most beautiful 
 of forest-trees." — But see, our companion here, the brook, 
 is not entirely a Persian mute, where it sprays over the 
 rock in the channel. Should your Almadora come down 
 this way — 
 
 Author. ' Winding at its own sweet will ' — 
 
 Lady. Would it not find or make room enough for its 
 onward sweep ? 
 
 Author. Yes, the whole Almadora might here pour 
 its collected waters through, in one mighty stream. 
 
 Lady. And the whole Merrimac, our own Merrimac, 
 united with it. 
 
 Author. Will you believe it ? Nay, you must believe 
 it : this very rivulet, by which we are walking and exclaim- 
 ing, like that of the sweet wayward Undine, is here setting 
 oft in quest of adventures, . . . seeking its fortune. It 
 sinks into the ground on yonder grass-plat, near that snowy 
 stump, filtrates deeply through the hill, gushes out half a 
 mile eastward, forms a fountain of the first water, then 
 turns to the right, flows onward in its frolicsome meander- 
 ing to the Almadora, and so keeps moving, till, passing 
 the scenes of magic reality which I have attempted to 
 describe, it reaches the ocean. 
 
 Lady. Well, — ive are yet moving through this chill 
 but enchanting obscurity, though, I trust, not quite to the 
 ocean. 
 
 Author. Winding round to the north. Daylight is 
 brightening. 
 
 Lady. The sunny influences are welcome. 
 
 Author. But as yet, you perceive, they produce no 
 impression on this world of frostwork. The brook has 
 entirely vanished. Had it not preferred a more romantic 
 passage, it might have run where we are stepping over 
 this fine turf, our shoes covered with sparkles — 
 
 Lady. Or spangles, — like Sindbad the Sailor, in his 
 Valley of Diamonds. 
 
 Author. Twenty rods further: — Ah, we are now 
 16 
 
182 
 
 treading the very border of that scene, which " nature 
 created in silence " and love. Here the rugged ravine 
 widens at once. It forms a circular glade of more than 
 five hundred feet diameter, and completely terminates the 
 view, as well as its own course. 
 
 Lady. This bottom is level as a calm lake ; smooth 
 and delightful to the tread, as these brown tufts of grass, 
 thick-inwoven, can make it. 
 
 Author. It is truly a magic inclosure ; a genuine 
 " corner of calmness ; " suitable for Oberon, Titania, Puck, 
 and Co. to foot it upon, under some Midsummer Night's 
 moon. Well, — good people and true are footing it now. 
 Are these circling banks a hundred feet high ? Their 
 steep sides, crowded with oak, birch, white poplar, beech, 
 and maple, intertwisted with thickets of thorn and under- 
 brush of every name, and surmounted by pines forming a 
 wall of verdure, render all escape impracticable, except by 
 retracing the tongue of our Jewsharp. 
 
 Lady. Who wishes to escape ? — Not a breath of wind 
 reaches us here. How perfectly still ! But look at those 
 fringed wood-tops above, waving in the breeze like war- 
 plumes. 
 
 Author. And let your eye glance round the whole 
 of this magnificent interiour, from the surface to the sum- 
 mit, all white with interwoven silver, or luminous w T ith 
 gems, — as if it were actually a thousand yards torn off 
 from the Milky Way. O that those High-priests of Nature, 
 Coleridge, Southey, and Wordsworth, were here, 
 viewing this mighty sweep of circumference, made almost 
 uniform and imbodied by frostwork ! 
 
 Lady. Or Bryant, the poetic hope of our own coun- 
 try. But not even the breath of fame penetrates to this 
 seclusion. Here is no sound of the living world — 
 
 Author. Save the note of that blue-jay, you see flying 
 across. 
 
 Lady. And Moore's " woodpecker tapping the hollow 
 beech tree." 
 
 Author. See the speckled rogue sticking to that de- 
 cayed pine. With what ease he clings to the under side 
 of that old branch ! Do you know his aim ? He is 
 cleverly stealing the kernels of corn, which the careless 
 
183 
 
 jay has imperfectly tucked under the bark. See him dart 
 up that dry picturesque pine-top, which like a mast rises 
 above its evergreen brethren. He is sharpening his bill 
 on the very pinnacle. 
 
 Lady. But there is a sound, a " soft and soul-like 
 sound," a low deep melody, — something that is not 
 earthly. Does that hollow murmur come from the wind, 
 passing through this vast circumference of boughs ? 
 
 Author. Let a line of Young express its mystic, — 
 its almost supernatural power : 
 
 Like voice of " seas remote or dying storms." 
 
 Is it the same, as that sound of a going or motion in the 
 tops of the mulberry trees, mentioned in Scripture? — A 
 
 year or two since, my friend G , in order to hear this 
 
 playing of Nature's instrument, entered this glade by climb- 
 ing up some forbidden way. 
 
 Lady. And what was the consequence ? 
 
 Author. He got himself more effectually scratched, 
 than a dozen grimalkins could have done it for him. — One 
 view more 
 
 Lady. Another ! 
 
 Author. One view more completes the panorama. 
 From this immense area, chequered with shadow and 
 sunshine, its wall sparkling with gems of many-coloured 
 lustre, and yet dim and visionary as a sparry cavern, 
 
 Lady. Forgive my interrupting you again, but this 
 feature of your panorama I consider more exquisite than 
 all the rest; — this many coloured lustre, yet dim and 
 visionary as that of your Lovers' Grotto. The author of 
 the 'Sylphs of the Seasons,' — would that he were this 
 moment here with us, — here to see the wonders that we 
 are seeing ! 
 
 Author. Still, whatever marvels of poetry his Sylph 
 of Winter might embody, must he not feel that all power 
 of the sister art, even art admirable as his own, would be 
 inadequate to embody a vision so divine as this ? 
 
 Lady. Unquestionably, and for this very reason he 
 would delight to confess the inimitable touches of Nature. 
 
 Author. Yes, the Hand of God himself. I am most 
 happy to share with you this feeling or impression of yours. 
 
184 
 
 Nothing in nature or art, nothing I mean of still-life pictu- 
 resque, have I seen equal to it. — Well, from all you con- 
 template below and around, lift up your eyes, and behold 
 that purest canopy of heaven, resting on the glorious cir- 
 cumference. 
 
 Lady. A majestic dome of sapphire for this temple of 
 Nature. The world is far away, — and unregardful as 
 remote ; but, like yonder brightest azure, a way is forever 
 open, up to the secret pavilion of the Almighty. I seem 
 to see your Old Man of the Island, rising above this 
 circling wall, and fading from the gaze into heaven. 
 
 Author. That mysterious old man, — I am glad you 
 remember him. 
 
 Lady. O yes, and what a rich gift he gave your young 
 student of the Almadora. 
 
 Author. Another, and yet another farewell look, — 
 and I accompany you, dear Madam, to our Inner Temple, 
 where a warm atmosphere will give a feeling of welcome 
 to our faces, and where a smile of welcome will salute our 
 heart of heart. 
 
 Lady. And my wonder and delight are a thousand-fold 
 superiour to what I anticipated. Your scene of lonely 
 nature is more than magic, unless, as you somewhere ob- 
 serve, the perfection of magic is no more than the simplici- 
 ty of nature. It may not produce the same excitement, 
 as the wanderings of imagination sometimes do, but it has 
 surely awakened an emotion in me not less powerful. 
 
 Author. Your sympathy is most grateful to me. It 
 heightens and justifies my own enthusiasm. 
 
 Lady. That I am most grateful for the privilege, with 
 which you have this morning indulged me, I need not say. 
 It is a scene of more than imperial attributes, to which you 
 have introduced me. Nothing can be more just than the 
 common-place remark, that, to be felt, such a miracle of 
 nature as this must be seen ; and no wonder, in a place 
 like this, that troops of supernatural friends and foes come 
 clustering around you. 
 
 Author. It is a scene of miraculous beauty ; but 
 should you again visit these banks, in Midsummer, as I 
 hope and trust you will, I promise myself the privilege of 
 accompanying you to this same spot, under another form of 
 
185 
 
 enchantment, — arrayed in the verdant glory of its summer 
 robes. 
 
 Lady. I shall long for the time, — nay more, as some 
 of my friends are wont to do, — I shall doubtless dream of 
 the enjoyment to come. Meanwhile, as the mind's eye 
 sometimes has a finer vision than that of the body, what if 
 you make a picture of our Winter Walk this morning ? 
 You may aid those who have never been here, in forming 
 some conception of what they have never seen. 
 
 Author. With such materials before me, it would be 
 more difficult to deny myself the pleasure, than to make 
 the attempt. — But here we are again, and the Inner 
 Temple opens to receive us ; and what is more, we feel 
 this warm welcome to be no dream or illusion of the 
 senses. 
 
 December 8. 1817. 
 
 16* 
 
FAITHFUL OR FALSE? 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHO MEET ON MAY-DAT MORNING. 
 
 On the northern bank of the Almadora, not far above 
 where this river becomes united with the waters of the 
 ocean, rises a hill that resembles an immense dome. It 
 is an eminence of such elevation as to be discerned afar 
 off on the sea, and by way of courtesy to be sometimes 
 called a mountain. 
 
 Up this eminence or mountain-side, whichever you may 
 choose to name it, I was rambling on May-day morning. 
 A few stars yet twinkled in the blue heaven, and the air 
 wafted a freshness undreamed-of by the slumberer ; when 
 winding round a lofty projection of rock, I met the fairest 
 being fashioned in the image of God. The blush of the 
 east glowed on her cheek ; her eye was dark, and sparkled 
 with the fire of the soul ; while her slender form, habited 
 in white, displayed the airy charm of perfection without a 
 name. She at once stood revealed before me like a vision. 
 With modest confusion, a smile at the same time playing 
 on her lips, she said the beauty of this rural anniversary 
 had invited her abroad, to gather the earliest flowers, and 
 to enjoy the freshness of the season. Her voice was melo- 
 dy, the very sweetness of melody, and its peculiar tone 
 indicated that the Italian was her native language. Culling 
 violets, wind-flowers, and snowdrops, I interwove a wreath, 
 and, crowning her queen of the morning, begged leave to 
 
187 
 
 join her in her mountain excursion. So we turned a little 
 to the right, and moved on together. 
 
 As we entered a small valley of the mountain, we ap- 
 proached the grassy mounds of two graves, each marked 
 by a simple head-stone of white marble, and my companion 
 inquired for whom these memorials were erected. 
 
 " For two foreigners," I answered, " a father and son. 
 Alberto Gherardi, the son, was a very dear friend of mine. 
 I call him friend ; for although considerably older than 
 myself, he was one of the first playmates of my boyhood, 
 and his virtues and affectionate spirit claim my tenderest 
 remembrance." 
 
 Possibly it was a misapprehension, but when I pro- 
 nounced the name, Gherardi, I thought I perceived in 
 the lady a slight agitation, as she begged me to mention 
 some of the circumstances of their fate. 
 
 " It is now about seventeen years," I replied, observing 
 her emotion, " since the elder Gherardi, owing to domestic 
 affliction and some difficulties of a political nature, emigrated 
 from Italy. He brought with him an honourable compe- 
 tence, and devoted himself almost exclusively to the edu- 
 cation of his son. But the constitution of Alherto was 
 feeble, and so impaired by his too closely applying himself 
 to study, that frequent excursions by sea and land were 
 required to restore or preserve his health. 
 
 " Returning from one of these, a trip of several months 
 to the Bermudas, and that " Queen of Western Isles," 
 Barbadoes, he hastened to meet the warm welcome of 
 home. Still a presentiment of evil, to which his imagina- 
 tive mind, as well as the feebleness of his frame, too often 
 disposed him, mingled with this longing of his heart. 
 
 " The sun had set when he arrived. An aged domestic 
 met him at the door. The first word he heard, — alas ! 
 it was the ' thunder-word' of the knight of Toggenburg, 
 — told him all : — his father was no more. He had been 
 drowned in attempting to save a little brother of mine, 
 who overset his boat on the river, and he was now reposing 
 in that grave. 
 
 " A few friends endeavoured to alleviate the pressure of 
 Alberto's sorrow. But what are the soothings even of 
 friendship and affection! — The shock he had received, 
 
188 
 
 was too violent for his present weakness : for a considerable 
 time it deprived him of reason. He however had a tem- 
 porary recovery, but he was fully sensible of his situation." 
 
 " And was the death of your friend," asked the lady, 
 " lingering or rapid ? I am more interested in what you 
 tell me of Alberto and his father, than you might expect 
 me to be for persons I never saw ; but I am myself a 
 stranger, and from the same dear region of Italy. Blessed 
 be the kind spirits, that pitied, consoled, and relieved ! " 
 
 Grateful for this sympathy, I replied with emotion : 
 " One evening when I visited my friend, he invited me to 
 take a walk with him by the river-side. The full moon 
 was pouring her light over hill and river, mountain and 
 ravine. For a long while we were absorbed in reverie ; 
 but a view of the moon gleaming on the water, and a 
 strain of music which seemed to float with her radiance 
 over the wave, gradually recalled our thoughts. Alberto 
 addressed me : 
 
 " ' My friend, St. Helier,' said he, ' often amid my 
 wanderings, when far from the scenes of home, often have 
 I sunk in reveries like this. The bird-nesting we used to 
 have on Woodhill, the squirrel-hunting among the oaks 
 and walnuts of Ox-Common, the snaring of partridges in 
 Birch-Swamp, and pickerel-fishing along the shores of 
 Great Pond, — these were all most vivid in remembrance. 
 My soul hovered, too, over my father. Every word of 
 admonition lost its severity ; every little incident, a serious 
 or witty remark, a lively or plaintive song, some striking or 
 whimsical originality, and a thousand nameless associations 
 mixed with the memory of home. — At last I have returned 
 to a home of death, — and returned myself only to die.' 
 
 " I entreated him not to indulge a presage like this, but 
 rather to look forward to a gradual restoration. He replied 
 with a melancholy smile, while a flash of wildness illumined 
 his features : 
 
 " ' I know rny situation to be dangerous, but I hope I 
 am resigned. Nay more, I long to rejoin my parents in a 
 happier world. Yonder curtain of God separates us, — and 
 who can say how little ! — from the awful mysteries to 
 which they are admitted, — awful and yet lovely. When 
 will this veil be removed ? When will the heavens be 
 
189 
 
 folded up ? Oh when will the light of eternity shine 
 around and within us? And are the souls that are gone, 
 thus imprisoned ? Are they no more suffered to revisit 
 these scenes of earth? — Even now, even now imagination 
 views their hovering forms. They whisper in the trem- 
 blings of this music around us. They call their weary 
 wanderer home. Take me, take me, O God, to thyself.' 
 — Such was the bursting forth of his feelings. 
 
 " We now arrived at the mountain valley, where his 
 father had been laid, — at the very spot where we now 
 stand. He flung himself upon that green turf, and groaned 
 with agony and bitterness of heart. 
 
 "At length commanding his feelings, and as if awaking 
 from a transient delirium, he told me his motive for this 
 visit. 
 
 " ' This,' said he, ' is a congenial scene. It seems to 
 be the very threshold of another world. I have led you 
 hither for a particular purpose. You have always been 
 interested in my welfare : you will oversee my burial. 
 Lay me here by the side of my father. The clods of the 
 valley will be sweet to me. Here will end my earth, and 
 here will commence my heaven ; that heaven, where I 
 shall remember your tender assiduities in life and death ; 
 and where, if permitted, I shall strive to recompense you 
 with the love of a brother, — a love stronger than death. 
 
 " ' One earthly wish,' he added, ' I have but one earthly 
 wish remaining. When my father came to this country, 
 he left an infant daughter, whom for many years we have 
 supposed to be no more ; but this very evening I have re- 
 ceived a letter from Palermo, which informs me that my 
 sister is not only alive, a very lovely and accomplished 
 girl, but that she has become affluent by the bequest of 
 her benefactress, and has already embarked for this resi- 
 dence of her father and brother, her only connexions now 
 living. Oh, should I too be summoned away before my 
 sister's arrival, will you, as the friend of her brother, re- 
 ceive her ? will you soften the severity of her trial ? and 
 should your affectionate heart find in her, as 1 fondly hope 
 it will, all that it languishes to find in woman, it would be 
 a smile of Providence, and would heighten the bliss even 
 of my spiritual existence.' 
 
190 
 
 " My tears testified my willingness to gratify his wishes. 
 
 " Alberto survived several weeks. We frequently en- 
 joyed the same walk, and he invariably visited this green 
 mound of his father's grave. He would lean against this 
 tomb-stone I had erected, and gaze now upon the sprinkled 
 starlights of the town, now upon the southern cliffs and 
 western hills wrapped in shade, and now listen to the waves 
 rippling along the shore. He ever loved the shadowy 
 features and intermitting voices of night. Sometimes he 
 touched on his flute a few low notes of some plaintive 
 Italian air ; he seemed also to be never weary of playing 
 some of the Irish and Scottish melodies, — Gramachree, 
 Ettrick Banks, Silent, O Moyl^'the Last Rose of Summer, 
 the Demon Lover, and that deep wail of the heart, Cath- 
 rine Ogie ; and sometimes he appeared to be holding mys- 
 terious intercourse with the spirit of his father. 
 
 " Alberto gave me the following stanzas the evening 
 before his departure. Having wandered forth at midnight, 
 he had reclined upon the margin of the Almadora, and as 
 his soul felt the deep repose of nature, he heard, or for a 
 moment seemed to hear, a strain of such entrancing sweet- 
 ness, that he averred the melody must have come from a 
 lonely spirit over the water. Was it the delusion of a 
 melancholy mind ? Was it the last soothing of his guard- 
 ian angel ? Or was it a voice from the invisible world, — 
 the voice of his father, calling him away ? 
 
 The summer moon her lustre gave 
 To Almadora's charmed wave, 
 
 And viewed her beauty there ; 
 No breath of Zephyr broke the tide, 
 Repose its reign extended wide 
 
 Amid the dewy air : 
 
 When wafted o'er the slumbering stream, 
 And mingling with the lunar beam, 
 
 A flow of music stole ; 
 The flowing note, so soft and mild, 
 So trembling sweet, so sweetly wild, 
 
 Entranced my yielding soul. 
 
 Melodious Power ! thy holy charm 
 Can sorrow's wildest throb disarm, — 
 
 The heart's despairing moan ; 
 Make sweeping storms of passion sleep, 
 And bland oblivion o'er them creep, 
 
 With maffic all thine own. 
 
191 
 
 Soon, soon arrive the welcome night, 
 That wings to bliss my mystic flight 
 
 From this obscure abode ! 
 Some seraph-minstrel guide me there, 
 Oh waft me on the warbling air 
 
 To realms of light and God. 
 
 " Dear Alberto ! — he has been wafted on angels' wings 
 to the abode of his father. Their remains now mingle 
 here with the same dust. To them these clods of the 
 valley are sweet." 
 
 My fair listener was moved even to tears at some of 
 these particulars, and expressed the warmest gratitude for 
 my kindness to her countrymen. Her emotion more re- 
 sembled a personal feeling than a general interest. It 
 seemed to strengthen our dawn of attachment. 
 
 And were we victims of the soft passion so soon ? Could 
 its mystic influence so soon hover around our hearts, and 
 become a mutual feeling ? so speedily form but one pure 
 atmosphere, in which w T e lived, moved, and had our being ? 
 The breath of love has a transforming an amalgamating 
 power. I know not how it happened, but I drew her arm 
 within mine, as we explored these scenes of wild nature : 
 or side by side, resting on the trunk of an uprooted oak, 
 we examined the mosses and unfolding buds of spring ; or 
 absorbed in visions to come, we found no end to these day- 
 dreams of the heart, till we came home to ourselves in the 
 world of reality. 
 
 While we were thus pausing or moving forward, hovering 
 between the world of the heart and the world of every-day 
 life, and dreaming of means to make them one, how bliss- 
 fully the moments flew ! We could have welcomed an 
 age of such intercourse ; but envious time now warned mv 
 woodnymph to return. 
 
 Having insensibly reached the summit of the mountain 
 as the Sun rose, we watched his orb emerging from the 
 Ocean, and smiling, as we imagined, on this commencement 
 of our being. A world lay unbounded beneath us. As 
 we surveyed the harmonious assemblage of nature's varie- 
 ties ; — woods, whose embryo leaves were moistened with 
 dew ; streams, winding through fertile vales, or partially 
 concealed by clustering vapour ; smoke, curling and melting 
 over village tops ; the spires of a distant city ; the noble 
 
192 
 
 Almadora, the life and pride of the landscape through which 
 it passed ; the moving gleam of the ocean ; a vessel of 
 flame, in the remote horizon, sailing across the disk of the 
 sun; — inspired by views like these, our hearts sponta- 
 neously breathed a prayer of gratitude to that Benevolence, 
 which spoke into being the beauteous fabric of the universe. 
 
 I would have urged my new friend to prolong her ramble, 
 or I would have gladly accompanied her home ; but as I 
 thought I perceived in her an air of reluctance, and a 
 crowd of frolicsome girls were now approaching, preceded 
 by an insidious, dark-looking fellow, whom I instinctively 
 knew for an enemy, we unwillingly separated. I had only 
 time to whisper a hope, that I should not intrude by calling 
 at her place of residence, — ere she was gone. She was 
 gone, and where was I ? More alone than I had ever 
 been in my whole life. — Yet not alone, for what associa- 
 tions came swarming around me ! 
 
 A mutual eye-beam, if I may use the w r ord, had con- 
 firmed our wish to meet again. I stood motionless on a 
 cliff, admiring her elastic step, and marking her every move- 
 ment, even her white robe, ruffled or smoothed by the 
 breeze, as she bounded down the western descent. At the 
 bottom she stopped, looked back a moment, and noticing 
 my statue-like posture, playfully waved her wreath of 
 flowers, and disappeared behind a grove of willows. Her 
 fairy figure still floated before me. 
 
 The peasant girls, having in the mean time encircled the 
 cliff, archly inquired what star I was gazing at so intently. 
 Alas, my bright particular star had set ; or, as my reader 
 will say, had gone down. I turned toward Roberto, as I 
 heard some of the laughers speaking his name : his face 
 was half averted, but the eye and lineaments that I could 
 see, were the same that Fuseli summoned before him, when 
 he gave immortality to the fiend of night. They all rallied 
 me. My musings of heaven could ill brook their pleasant- 
 ries. I left them in their mirth, and returned down the 
 eastern declivity, pondering upon my May-morning adven- 
 ture. Twenty times did the thought of my heart rise to 
 my lips, ' Is not this the expected sister of Alberto ? May 
 Heaven realize to me this blessed vision of hope ! this one 
 earthly wish that remained to my friend ! ' 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 A LADY'S LOVE AND A LOVER'S MADNESS. 
 
 Impatient as I was to meet my nymph of the woods 
 again, it was not in my power to do so either that day or 
 the next. Being obliged to leave home for two days, I 
 could neither see her, nor hear from her, till I returned on 
 the third day toward night. But my spirit had reposed on 
 her image, — had dwelt upon her smile ; when just before 
 sunset, while I was traversing my garden, wrapt in this 
 meditative mood, and dreaming of a second interview in 
 the evening, as I happened to glance my eye over my 
 right shoulder, — like the superstitious looking after the 
 new moon, — I perceived a very diminutive urchin, the 
 veriest mite of a boy. He was arrayed in a Roman toga, 
 that seemed to have been cut out of the blue sky, so 
 sparkling was it with gems and starry frostwork. Hastily 
 advancing through my entry, he came into the garden, and 
 handed me this billet unsealed : 
 
 To the Rambler of the Mountain. 
 
 Do you then, St. Helier, remember me no more ? Or if 
 you do remember me with the pleasure, that your eyes 
 seemed to speak at our taking leave three mornings ago, 
 ( pray forgive this unfeminine complaint,) why have you 
 not, by visiting my humble residence, made me an eye and 
 ear witness to the goodness of your memory ? The idle 
 and the envious, the simple and the impertinent, provoke 
 me incessantly. A look of dignity will scarcely restrain 
 17 
 
194 
 
 their curiosity. It is a mode of treatment, to which a 
 stranger is not accustomed. — I needed a friend in a strange 
 land, and I fondly hoped I had found one in you. 
 
 Our accidental meeting has occasioned me many happy 
 and many unhappy reflections ; but if we are to meet no 
 more, I must remove beyond the reach of calumny and 
 impertinence. 
 
 Alas, I fear you have forgotten your ramble of May- 
 morning, as well as your companion of ' that sweet hour of 
 prime.' Bertha. 
 
 I cannot remember her words with precision, — I wish it 
 were in my power, — but I am positive there was an errour 
 of idiom or two, reminding me of foreign modes of ex- 
 pression, that were inestimably dear. 
 
 " She needed a friend in a strange land, and fondly 
 hoped she had found one in me." — How I pitied her un- 
 deserved vexation ! All too on my own account ; and how 
 exquisitely was I affected by her artless confession ! It 
 corresponded with the undisguised simplicity of her char- 
 acter. — Ah, thought I, were Bertha the sister of Alberto, 
 were she indeed Bertha Gherardi, I should be too happy. 
 Who knows but she may be ? The fond hope of Alberto, 
 what he called his sole earthly wish, may have induced her 
 to withhold the acknowledgment. — It must be so. — 
 
 I perused and reperused the lines with an ecstasy, which 
 I am altogether unable to express. Pressing my lips to 
 them a thousand times, and seeming as often, in my im- 
 passioned state of mind, to press their author to my heart, 
 I resolved to make her Mercury wait till I could write one 
 word of answer, which, after an engagement of a few mo- 
 ments, I intended to follow in person. How long it seemed 
 since I had seen her ! and yet had I not been with her the 
 whole time? 
 
 We were now just entering my library, and I was going 
 to my desk; when, — so some demon seemed to have de- 
 creed, — four intruders rudely burst into the room, and 
 at their head the same malevolent Domdanielite, whose 
 ominous visage had lowered disaster upon me, the morning 
 I met Bertha on the mountain. A satisfaction that came 
 and went, faded and revived, like the dewy hues of ven- 
 om on the back of a serpent, overspread bis countenance. 
 
195 
 
 They sat clown. My Ariel gave me a very peculiar 
 look and vanished, my undefined rapture vanished with 
 him, and the fiercest indignation shook my frame. My 
 eyes must have flashed fire. Is it impossible to suppress 
 the frenzied swellings of rage ? Assuredly it is not impos- 
 sible, for I did suppress them. Although my smothered 
 fury longed to burst, to mount, to flame, politeness, — ac- 
 cursed politeness I was tempted to call it, — forbade that 
 I should treat the interlopers with absolute neglect or con- 
 tempt. I did not wish them annihilated, sunk in the 
 abysses of the Styx, or hurled beyond the flaming bound- 
 aries of the universe, but as I then felt, I fear I should not 
 have grieved at any catastrophes of this kind, which it 
 might please Heaven to send them. As they had effectu- 
 ally discomposed me, and apparently could not heighten 
 my discomposure, they went away after an hour's treat of 
 frigid civility. But to do them no injustice, they once, 
 however incredible it may seem, gave me exquisite 
 pleasure : — they all concurred in condemning the author 
 of Madoc, a poet whom I had for many years admired 
 and loved. I never was more gratified, even in hearing 
 him receive most deserved applause from the lips of genius. 
 So formed is the human mind. 
 
 Here let me pause a moment, and acknowledge myself 
 to blame for this disproportionate excitement : it discovered 
 a want of wisdom, an impatience of temperament, wholly 
 unpardonable. Something might be said in extenuation, — 
 that the malice of Roberto designed to blast my promised 
 joy, the moment Bertha's messenger arrived ; but not a sin- 
 gle extenuating circumstance will I bring, conscious that to 
 subdue the impulse of exasperation is a prime duty ; and at 
 the same time conscious, that all who ever suffered a like 
 interruption, will have some sympathy with me in my ago- 
 ny, if they do not quite so much execrate my adversary. 
 
 After my engagement, I visited Bertha in the parlour of 
 a modest dwelling, that stood near the mansion-house of 
 the Gherardis ; and the pleasure which I really felt, and 
 which I fancied I saw beaming in her guileless countenance, 
 is not to be described. How I looked, how I languished, 
 how the fatal delusion stole me from myself! And was it 
 
196 
 
 a delusion ? — My partiality was immoveably fixed. Every 
 glance from her eloquent eye, every view of her intelligent 
 features, her every sentiment, expression, and tone of 
 voice, deepened my former impression. O how I imbibed 
 the sweetness of her smile ! 
 
 Several persons came in, as the simple manners of the 
 place made all ceremony out of the question, and Roberto 
 came among them. A gentleman having a violin, the 
 sweetest-toned I ever listened to, played some sprightlier 
 airs with superior skill. A flute was handed to me, and 
 we attempted a few more together ; but as the instruments 
 indifferently accorded, we were not very successful. Nay, 
 this sounds like the conventional falsehood of fashionable 
 life: why not employ the exact term, and say it was a mis- 
 erable discord ? for such it assuredly was. 
 
 Bertha however made amends for our failure. At the 
 request of several of the company, she timidly seated her- 
 self at a piano-forte, and performed some of the admired 
 specimens of Italian music, and also several of the more 
 simple airs of Germany and Scotland, so full of tenderness 
 and tears. At last she selected one, which, as a gentleman 
 gave me to understand, was her own composition. She 
 commenced with a tremulous hand, and touched a few of 
 the chords by way of prelude. With this accompaniment, 
 she then sang a plaintive song, expressive of the languishing 
 illness of a brother, in a foreign land, among strangers, and 
 longing from moment to moment to be called away, she 
 drew a gush of tears from almost every eye ; but when she 
 sang his release from pain, and tears, and unparticipated 
 anguish, — his reuniting with endeared friends, his commu- 
 nion with blessed spirits, and the sun-smile of a recom- 
 pensing God, — there were hearts there beside my own, 
 that were lifted to a sublimity of devotion, which to be 
 conceived must be felt. We knew it to be the inspiration 
 of real feeling, and w r e ^ould not but share in the fervour 
 of her spirit, as the sounds faded away, and the pause of 
 silence came on the soul. It was a pause of relief, that 
 the sublimities of heaven might become mellowed down to 
 human emotion. 
 
 What a soul actuated that delicate form ! She appeared 
 to be all soul. And did her performance afford me un- 
 
197 
 
 mingled satisfaction ? There was a sentiment, the child of 
 genuine but over-refined passion, which inwardly whis- 
 pered, as in the instance of Corinna, that such powers, 
 exercised on such a subject, should not have been displayed 
 before a mixed and unappreciating company, but reserved 
 for the elect alone. After some struggle, the envious mo- 
 nopolizer was dismissed as unworthy of us both. ' So near 
 grows death to life.' 
 
 Evening had now passed away in music and conver- 
 sation ; the company went off one after another ; and 
 finally none remained but Roberto. He gloomily sat in 
 a remote corner of the room ; but just as I was rising to 
 take a seat beside the fair musician, — now the retired 
 visitors had given me the opportunity, — he suddenly came 
 forward, and occupied the place before me. My blood 
 boiled in my veins. Was it malicious envy, or might it 
 not be a real attachment ? His presence must be unwel- 
 come : I was fully convinced of Bertha's fidelity. To be 
 a third time interrupted by this black promoter of mischief! 
 
 — I can hardly name the outrage, which resentment did 
 not move me to commit. But I did not massacre him. 
 Respect for a house I had never entered before, aversion 
 to bringing myself down to his level by altercation, the 
 peculiarity of my situation, the remembrance of my earth- 
 quake violence of the afternoon, and perhaps a secret desire 
 to witness the repulsive deportment of Bertha, — these 
 considerations restrained my tongue and arm before a lady. 
 My violence however was soon redoubled, and diverted to 
 another object. Bertha, — yes, that emblem of immacu- 
 late, undeceiving simplicity, — Bertha was not displeased 
 with the fellow, who had usurped my place. They smiled, 
 they whispered, they gave reciprocal glances. Hypocrite ! 
 
 — Deceiver ! — Here were eye-beams, — eye-beams of 
 the basilisk. This the sister of Alberto Gherardi ! — She 
 had solicited this interview, and with such an unfeminine 
 forwardness, as it required both my infatuation and almost 
 a blindness to the impropriety to excuse ; and now, while 
 I sat agitated with conflicting emotions, love, jealousy, re- 
 venge, amazement, — a whirlwind of the soul, — she con- 
 tinued as tranquilly unconcerned, as if they two were alone 
 in existence. We were thus situated a long — Oh an eter- 
 
 17* 
 
198 
 
 nity to me, — when three girls, knocking at the lower door, 
 broke up their abhorred whispers and my trance of venge- 
 ful broodings. 
 
 These village girls would not come in, but bashfully re- 
 mained until Bertha went out. Roberto being nearest to 
 a lamp, took it, and we three went down together. While 
 she walked a few rods with the villagers, and he stood 
 holding the light at the door, and smiling maliciously in 
 my face, I burnt to chastise his intrusion and triumph : to 
 my unsubjugated spirit what sweetness in throttling the 
 fiend ! — The time and place were unfit, confusion would 
 follow, and my impetuosity would be construed as an 
 affront. — I might have had the wisdom coolly to ask him, 
 whether Bertha favoured his pretensions to her regard, but 
 passion spurned the very thought of a spirit so tame. I 
 delayed the expression of my resentment, and pursued 
 another plan. 
 
 I joined the girls. Their trifling errand, or their no- 
 errand, was soon performed. Bertha and I remained 
 alone. I offered to take her hand, and lead her back to 
 the house, but this favour she refused me ; and as I was 
 opening my parched mouth to remonstrate, she flew with 
 the rapidity of lightning toward the^ houoo » I more slowly 
 followed. Roberto holding the lamp, received her, and in 
 a twinkling they were in the apartment we had left. She 
 supposed me close at hand, and in fact I had advanced as 
 far as the head of the stairs ; but then an instantaneous 
 effort or suggestion of judgment arrested me. I turned, 
 descended, hurried round the corner of the house, as I 
 heard her calling after me, and distractedly strode away. 
 Who shall picture my feelings ! A delirium of fury and 
 tenderness, — a flood of mingled thoughts overwhelmed me. 
 
 The evening had been changeful : sometimes the sky 
 was completely obscured with masses of vapour, and some- 
 times brilliant glimpses of the moon and stars were caught 
 between them. The night was now becoming dark and 
 tempestuous. The wind howled through the forest of the 
 mountain, which almost reached the village on the south 
 and the ocean on the east, and amid its wild sweeps the 
 surge was heard heavily dashing on the beach. The 
 sounds, the darkness, the midnight hour, were in unison 
 
199 
 
 with ray soul. I bent my course over the mountain, visited 
 every spot where we had rambled on the morning we met, 
 leaned a few minutes on the grave-stones of the Gherardis, 
 dwelt on the coming of the fair stranger from Palermo, 
 mounted the cliff, and gazed toward the village I had left ; 
 but, — one little window excepted, — all was wrapt in un- 
 distinguishable gloom. 
 
 Was the glimmering from Bertha's apartment ? — Mad- 
 ness ! — Distraction! — Like a perturbed spirit, I flung 
 myself down the craggy declivities ; plunged into the 
 thickest woods ; invoked the phantoms that rushed on the 
 pinions of the storm ; traversed unheedingly the adjacent 
 country ; and at last found myself on the margin of the 
 deep. The billows raved and burst. The wind swept 
 over the waste. It was a scene, that well accorded with 
 my state of feeling. 
 
 I sat down on a fragment of a mast. There, as I re- 
 volved my fate, — my imbittered fate, — I heard in a pause 
 of the ocean-roar, I distinctly heard these emphatic words, 
 as they came over the sea : " Bertha is faithful ! " I 
 sprang from the sand, and listened breathlessly ; but the 
 sounds had mingled with the weltering of the waves. In 
 the next pause a few faint notes vibrated on my ear, and 
 for a moment the moon burst from a broken cloud. A dim 
 form, as I turned my face toward the sound, was melting 
 into the foam of the beach. It was a glimpse of the mes- 
 senger of Bertha, the same instant revealed and gone. 
 
 I ran, I leapt, I flew, nor relaxed my speed, till I came 
 within view of the lady's mansion. There I paused with 
 a feeling of doubt, wonder, and hope. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 MADNESS CUBED AND LOVE INCREASED. 
 
 The clouds were now dispersing before the rays of dawn. 
 Bertha had observed my pause of indecision. She now 
 saw me hastening across a meadow, came out to meet me 
 in a grove on the right, and addressed and welcomed me 
 with the ingenuousness of our first meeting. I as ingenu- 
 ously repeated to her my feelings of the past night, the 
 cause of my abrupt departure, and of my consequent ago- 
 nies and wanderings. While a tear trembled in her eye, 
 and her lip quivered with emotion, she declared that the 
 cause was ill-founded, that I had no rival, that Roberto 
 was a true friend to us both, who occasionally wiled away 
 a vacant hour at her boarding-house, and that, having re- 
 turned from the door below to get his hat, he departed 
 immediately after myself. 
 
 In her eager self-defence, she rested one hand on my 
 arm ; the other I clasped in mine, as she spoke. A tear 
 was on her cheek. How could I help pressing her to my 
 heart, and kissing it off? It was the first time ; was it also 
 the last ? 
 
 " My dearest love," I breathed, " I now believe the 
 spirit : Bertha is faithful." 
 
 " Do you remember La Roche ? " she replied, smiling. 
 " It was the first English story I ever read. With the 
 skeptical traveller there introduced, I cannot but wish you 
 had l never doubted.' " 
 
 " Still, Bertha," I said to her, " how could I be insen- 
 sible to those glances, those sunny smiles, and that host of 
 whispers in the parlour ? I abhorred them all. The re- 
 
201 
 
 fused hand, too, and the flying return to Roberto ! what 
 could I — what was I obliged to think ? 
 
 " O I was every instant expecting he would go away 
 like the rest," she answered in distress and vexation ; " and 
 when I returned to the door below, believe me, I felt the 
 power of your tenderness too vividly for any outward show. 
 I may have done wrong ; but Roberto had already been 
 rallying me, and false shame made me wish to avoid the 
 repetition. Pray forgive the impulse of bashfulness." 
 
 "hicas a false shame," I observed, as we wandered 
 away, " but, thank heaven ! the heart, the heart was right, 
 and all is well." 
 
 As this was a very unseasonable time to enter the house, 
 it being yet more than half an hour to sunrise, we con- 
 tinued our walk along the river, in the sequestered lawn 
 where Bertha had discovered and met me. Although I 
 still feared I saw an air of mystery and reserve in her 
 manner, yet so willing are we to believe what we wish, 
 her explanation instantly calmed the tempest of my soul. 
 Beams of bliss dawned out of chaos ; blissful schemes 
 were busily formed ; moments winged their flight with un- 
 wonted swiftness. Visions of love, do ye lap the soul in 
 Elysium ? 
 
 As we left the lawn, and entered a retired spot, called 
 the Almadora Ravine, higher up, " what have we here?" 
 I exclaimed, as I took a pamphlet from the side of a hol- 
 low oak, the leaves somewhat moistened by the damp of 
 the night. 
 
 "Ah, how careless I am!" she answered. "It is 
 Count Basil. I was reading it the other morning as an 
 English exercise, soon after you found me exploring the 
 mountain, and I left it there by accident." 
 
 " Basil," I replied, " is a noble drama : like most of 
 the tragedies of its gifted author, it has much fine delinea- 
 tion of character, as well as touching interest. Victoria 
 however, the imperial Victoria, with all her loveliness, fails 
 to inspire me with what we term heart-tenderness. I should 
 find it difficult to love a Victoria. Fairness of mind, — 
 how inestimable is fairness of mind ! " 
 
 " This fifth scene of the fourth act," said Bertha, not 
 regarding my remark, " I thought very beautiful. " How 
 
202 
 
 exquisite are many of the images ! the ' little downy- 
 clouds,' — ' the snowy clouds,' — ' the veil tempering 
 heaven's brightness, of softest, purest white ' — 
 
 ' As though an angel in his upward flight 
 Had left his mantle floating in mid-air.' 
 
 Here is a passage," added she, " which we ought to read 
 together. Victoria makes a very innocent allusion to a 
 dear friend, innocent and mischievous you may call it, 
 and Basil's misinterpretation of it leads to one of the finest 
 ebullitions of jealousy, that I remember to have read. Shall 
 we read it now ? I begin with the lady. 
 
 Victoria. We'll quit this spot ; 
 I do repent me that I led thee here. 
 But 'twas the favourite path of a dear friend : 
 Here, many a time we wandered, arm in arm ; 
 We loved this grove, and now that he is absent, 
 I love to haunt it still. [Basil starts,'] 
 
 Basil. His favourite path — a friend — here arm in 
 arm — 
 
 [Clasping his hands, and raising them to his 
 head.] 
 Then there is such an one ! 
 
 [Drooping his head, and loolcing distractedly 
 upon the ground.] 
 
 I dreamed not of it. 
 Victoria. [Pretending not to see him.] 
 
 That little lane, with woodbine all o'ergrown, 
 He loved so well ! — it is a fragrant path, 
 Is it not, Count ? 
 
 Basil. It is a gloomy one ! 
 
 Victoria. I have, my lord, been wont to think it 
 
 cheerful. 
 Basil. I tho't your highness meant to leave this spot. 
 Victoria. I do, and by this lane we'll take our way ; 
 For here he often walked with sauntering pace, 
 And listened to the woodlark's evening song. 
 
 Basil. What, must I on his very footsteps go 1 
 Accursed be the ground on which he trod. 
 
 Victoria. And is Count Basil so uncourtly grown, 
 That he would curse my brother to my face ? 
 
203 
 
 Basil. Your brother ! Gracious God ! is it your 
 brother ? 
 That dear, that loving friend of whom you spoke ? 
 Is he indeed your brother ? 
 
 Victoria. He is indeed, my lord. 
 
 Basil. Then heaven bless him ! all good angels bless 
 him ! 
 I could weep o'er him now, shed blood for him ! 
 I could — O what a foolish heart have I ! 
 
 [Walks up and down with a hurried step, 
 tossing about his arms in transport ; then 
 stops short, and runs up to Victoria.] 
 Is it indeed your brother ? 
 
 " Bertha, I thank you ; I thank you for pointing out 
 this spirited scene. It never appeared so racy, not even 
 on the first perusal. Nothing could be more characteristic 
 of the two lovers. The anathema, the ebullition of jealousy, 
 seems to me to be admirably true to nature." 
 
 "And how much happier was the simple reality," ob- 
 served Bertha with a smile, while her dark eye filled with 
 emotion, " than poor Basil apprehended ! Do you not 
 think it often so ? And have you not, even before this 
 morning, experienced it to be true yourself?" 
 
 " Without question," I answered ; " and may the light 
 of hope, which has now dawned upon me, never fade. 
 When present evils threaten to be more powerful than the 
 assurances of faith, when sounds the most discordant assail 
 us, may we believe that the music of a sweet voice is on 
 its way to our ear. 
 
 " Allow me, Bertha, if you please," I continued, u to 
 mention a trifling incident, partly by way of illustration, 
 and partly for its originality. It was four nights ago, a 
 few hours only before I first saw you. Our clocks were 
 just striking two, when some very sweet sounds, like the 
 notes of a bird, entered my room. My nearest window, 
 fronting the water, was raised. I rose, went to it, drew 
 my shutters further back, looked out, and listened. 
 
 " The moon was exceedingly bright, and I could not 
 forbear observing? for a moment, how beautifully calm the 
 river moved along in its lustre. While I was tracing the 
 
204 
 
 foliage of the further shore distinctly even down to that 
 little island yonder, which was more than half a mile dis- 
 tant, I heard the warblings of a thrush, seemingly upon 
 one of the loftiest trees. Her tones came over the water, 
 and through the still air, with such supernatural power as 
 I never felt before. She went through her stave of inimi- 
 tably varied notes, and then remained silent about a dozen 
 seconds ; then poured all her soul again in melody. I 
 thought of Strada's nightingale. It was partly the rich 
 scenery under the moon, partly the wood-notes wild them- 
 selves, and in part the uncommonness of such sounds at 
 such an hour, that awoke my emotion. I listened about 
 ten minutes. The bird then ceased singing. I imagine 
 she mistook the bright moonlight for the light of morning. 
 These magic warblings dwell upon my ear even now, and 
 their influence is most sweet." 
 
 " I do not wonder at their power," replied my fair 
 friend, " for although imagination can accomplish much, 
 reality, glorious reality, can accomplish infinitely more. I 
 feel the magic of your original incident, and welcome it as 
 a propitious omen ; and as we seem to be imparting our 
 experiences this morning, let me give you one of yesterday 
 forenoon. My prism presented one of the very richest 
 views, with which a mortal was ever indulged. Although 
 it is impossible to impart any adequate conception, I must 
 attempt to say something. 
 
 " The morning, as you may remember, St. Helier, had 
 been calm, and the river unruffled. Sitting by one of the 
 southern windows of my apartment, that faces the water, 
 and looking over some of the wild creations of Tasso, I 
 could not at times help lifting my eye from the page, and 
 observing the mirrour-like smoothness of the Almadora, 
 and the line of verdure bordering both the shores. They 
 reminded me of home. 
 
 " Suddenly came a violent gust from the east, and in 
 less than five minutes made the glassy surface as swelling 
 and billowy, as such a river ever boasted. Though the 
 sun shone in all its splendour and glory, the prospect in- 
 stantly became dark and angry, the summits of the waves 
 alone excepted : these ridges, breaking, exhibited a living, 
 and, if I may so speak, an impalpable bead of the snowiest 
 foam. 
 
 
205 
 
 u I took my prism from the table, and oh what a scene 
 appeared high in air! — for I always prefer elevating the 
 scene. The waves were literally waves of light, ever 
 mingling and ever changing. The snowy foam gave the 
 view of views. The light hovering violet for a moment 
 blended with the opposite extreme, red ; while the five 
 intervening colours faintly, though resolutely, struggled for 
 a brief instant of preeminence. From every little gleam 
 streamed hues of sparkling beauty, — some of them trans- 
 cendantly brilliant, and others of the softest loveliness." 
 
 " Was it not impossible, " I asked, " to forget the astro- 
 nomer's division of light into its component parts, as they 
 appear to us through the prism of the poet's mind ? I know 
 the passage is familiar to you. Allow me to associate the 
 lines with your magnificent view of the Almadora. 
 
 " First the flaming Red 
 Sprung vivid forth ; the tawny Orange next; 
 And next delicious Yellow ; by whose side 
 Fell the kind beams of all-refreshing Green. 
 Then the pure Blue, that swells autumnal skies, 
 Ethereal played; and then, of sadder hue, 
 Emerged the deepened Indigo, as when 
 The heavy-skirted evening droops with frost; 
 While the last gleamings of refracted light 
 Died in the fainting Violet away." 
 
 " I certainly did remember both poet and astronomer," 
 said she, " nor was it they alone I remembered. How I 
 longed to have you beside me ! How I longed to hear 
 you exclaim, ' A glimpse of the New Jerusalem ! its mys- 
 tic wall and gates ! There you have the colour of the 
 seraph's wing ! '" 
 
 " Thank you, dearest, for your association." 
 
 " Nay, St. Helier," she pursued, " I have not done 
 yet. You would have said, 'The generations of men are 
 like the waves of the ocean, following each other in con- 
 tinual succession.' And then you would have added, ' I 
 admire these images, which connect even with a common 
 sentiment so many things to charm.' — I agree with you, 
 my dear friend, in all your admiration." 
 
 " Certes, Bertha, I cannot but admire the facility," I 
 observed, " with which you set the minds of your friends 
 to effervescing. In truth it is wonderful, with what a com- 
 prehensive glance of delight the mind embraces the inci- 
 18 
 
206 
 
 dental circumstances of the illustrating imagery. Here, 
 in its simplest form, we view the wave while remote, grad- 
 ually advancing. It forms the curve line of beauty, forever 
 transforming, forever transformed, and forever the same. 
 We see the cap of foam whitening and cresting the surface, 
 still preceded and still pursued, till the wave breaks upon 
 the beach, and scatters along the sunny sand exquisite 
 fragments of the rainbow. It is no more. But what 
 myriads have begun the same voyage, and are to meet the 
 same changes of fate ! " 
 
 " I forgot to tell you, St. Helier," Bertha added, "that 
 amid the glorious manifestation, that flood of combating 
 colours, a new light skiff, with one sail perfectly white, 
 passed directly up, and vanished beneath the arch of the 
 bridge, while I was viewing the scene in almost unbreathing 
 rapture. I thought of Thalaba's little boat, which your 
 favourite compares to a ' seabird breasting the broad wave,' 
 and < heaving on the heavier swell.' " 
 
 " One of my favourites, if you please." 
 
 " The first love certainly, and perhaps the last." 
 
 " The last, Bertha I " 
 
 Thus passed the morning twilight. The sun was now 
 rising. Bertha remarking that this was her birthday, gave 
 me an invitation to a dance in the evening. Need I repeat 
 my answer ? I told her what recluse, unenlivened years 
 my six last had been, and that I now looked forward to 
 many of a livelier aspect. She blushed, and hoped the 
 same. We parted after a long, delightful, uninterrupted 
 interchange of joy. With Hamlet I exclaimed, as I re- 
 turned home : " * I'll take the spirit's word for a thousand 
 pounds ;' Bertha, is faithful." 
 
 Such are the moments, which, by the munificence of 
 Heaven, are permitted to illuminate the gloom of life. Would 
 you know their colour ? Go view the moving, melting, 
 transforming foam of a prismatic wave. — Happy are they, 
 to whom in the allotment of life many such moments are 
 apportioned, and who are capable of estimating their value : 
 the Divinity has smiled upon them in love. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN LADY'S WELCOME AND THE MAD LOVER'S 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 At the close of my last chapter, I made allusion to the 
 interviews of lovers ; and I remarked, that, by the kindness 
 of Heaven, they are permitted to brighten the gloom of 
 life. We may say of them, what has been so beautifully 
 said of smiles, they 
 
 " are light — the light of soul, 
 
 Light of many tints combined." 
 
 Whenever these beams illumine our w T ay, the wings of Time 
 waft us with unimagined swiftness ; but when wafting us 
 toward the ecstasy of some luminous moment, with what 
 slow and weary effort they move ! 
 
 I went to see Bertha in the afternoon, for impatience 
 prevented my waiting till night. Did my feet convey me 
 thitherward without any intimation from my will ? I found 
 her with a merry cluster of girls, who -were amusing them- 
 selves in a swinging machine. She welcomed me with a 
 shade of reserve, the death-chill of becoming formality, 
 while she strove at the same time to appear more gratified 
 than common, though to the lynx-eye of a lover all was 
 evidently not right. Had false shame or maiden modesty 
 come again ? Nothing of these was visible in the cool 
 reception she gave me, — in the lifeless hand I pressed in 
 mine, in her averted eye and embarrassed air, or in the 
 tones of her voice so perfectly without heart and soul. 
 The willow-grove farewell was no more ; the pale-green 
 meadow, the grove of the Almadora, the Ravine, were 
 
208 
 
 forgotten ; the prismatic foam, and the bird-warbling from 
 the island, — all, all were unreinembered. O what is the 
 female mind ! Spoke not the god of eloquence well ? that 
 a thing, forever changeful and mutable, is woman ? 
 
 She politely invited me to stay at tea, but I, as politely 
 refusing to accept her civility, went home, and returned 
 some time after sunset. We danced reels, sixes, and co- 
 tillons. Though caring little for either minuets or waltzes, 
 I regretted the omission of my favourite contra dances. 
 Bertha averred that she never danced, and consequently 
 resisted my every attempt to persuade her to dance with 
 me ; all my importunity was of no avail ; but near the 
 close of the evening she danced with Roberto, unsolicited. 
 It seemed to be a manoeuvre, which they had both pre- 
 meditated. That was a finishing stroke, a deep wound. 
 I witnessed her coldness with silent sorrow, the change in 
 her affections with imbittered anguish ; for her loveliness 
 of person and mind had from the first intwined itself with 
 the fibres of my heart. Having, from the very moment 
 of our meeting on the mountain, ever treated her with 
 great delicacy and respect, even with affectionate partial- 
 ity ; and, notwithstanding my misapprehension of the pre- 
 ceding night, if such it were, having received from her 
 many evidences equally unequivocal of her tenderness and 
 truth I could not account for her inconsistencies. Did 
 she belong to that strange class of characters, whose love 
 is said to be formed and perfected by severe unkindness ? 
 With such affection I neither have nor wish to have the 
 smallest sympathy. Had some infernal busy-body inter- 
 meddled ? Was Roberto, or Bertha, or both the cause of 
 this alienation ? — However this might be, I felt that Ber- 
 tha was false, and as false I determined to treat her. 
 If my madness was not cured, I would strive at least to 
 restore and exemplify the wisdom of a sound mind. 
 
 The company departed at eleven. All went away as 
 before, but the accursed Roberto. I waited not his move- 
 ment, but bidding them ' good night,' — if those simple 
 words may be so called, when uttered in tones of hatred 
 and scorn, — rushed home, flung myself upon my bed, 
 rolled, and tossed in bitterness of heart. O for the relief, 
 the heaven of a single tear! — The fountain of my eyes 
 
209 
 
 was dried up. My throat was choked with passion. I 
 meditated an everlasting estrangement. No more would I 
 see her, — no more should the perfidious coquette sport 
 with my misery. I would tear her from my heart, though 
 my life-blood followed the effort. I would re-assume my- 
 self, whom, — since meeting this false-hearted stranger, 
 this angel of Paradise now a vision of Death, — I seemed 
 to have completely changed. My maxim, I was resolved, 
 should be nothing less than Heart for Heart. God 
 forbid that I should solicit the love even of the worthiest, 
 much less of the most faithless and worthless of her sex. 
 — ' Solicit ? ' Perish all surmise of an impulse so low ! 
 — I was truehearted myself; I had given the false one 
 my all, the very essence of my being, in exchange for her 
 affection ; and now, when my truth and tenderness were 
 despised, should I stoop to solicit the bestowal of that 
 heart, which I had believed to have been granted as freely 
 as my own ? Never, never. — 
 
 While forming these wise resolves, and, — with sorrow 
 and shame be it recorded, — as frequently dismissing them, 
 I drew my writing-stand to the window. Then mastering 
 the strong delusion, that was coiling its folds of fascination 
 around me, I wrote by the light of the full moon these 
 farewell lines : 
 
 To the Lady of the Mountain. 
 
 Bertha, you have cruelly deceived an honest heart, 
 whose dearest pleasure was in seeing you happy. That 
 heart, however, although it has been cruelly deceived, 
 shall never curse the deceiver, but unceasingly pray for 
 her prosperity. 
 
 What visions of earth and heaven have hope, faith, 
 and love awakened ! I have said with a German poet : 
 " There shall be one temple where we kneel, one region 
 toward which we move, one happiness for which we glow, 
 one heaven for you and me." With your own Strozzi I 
 have exclaimed: "My Bertha, sweet Bertha, O music 
 forever new and more and more exquisite ! What sweet- 
 ness I experience in only saying Bertha ! I seek, but, if 
 I may believe the breathing from within, neither on earth 
 18* 
 
210 
 
 nor in heaven do I find a harmony, that can be sweeter 
 than her beautiful name : Heaven, Love, and the Echo of 
 my heart repeat no other." 
 
 I have sometimes murmured in my haste: "The world 
 is full of demons." But when these demons pour upon us 
 the shadows of midnight, and strive to envelope us in total 
 darkness, then a faithful friend becomes a star of 
 comfort. Dark unillumined night is cheerless and unlove- 
 ly, but only one little luminary, trembling through the 
 gloom, sends a beam of peace into the bosom of the trav- 
 eller, and makes him hope for unclouded skies. 
 
 Yes, how often have I said! We may illumine this 
 dim speck of existence by our mutual affection. Though 
 doomed to be separated half a world, the thought that 
 there lives a heart that exclusively loves us, that is perhaps 
 more interested in our welfare than in its own, that muses 
 upon us till tears of tenderness gush, and that even in the 
 hour of expiring nature, when all other things fade from 
 view, would beat a last farewell, as it winged its way to 
 its God, — these thoughts have filled my soul, and awaken- 
 ed my holiest enthusiasm. But I no longer breathe, what 
 my heart was most prompt to breathe this morning, — this 
 morning after our walk by the Almadora, — that our wreath 
 of love was woven in heaven, 
 
 u With sparkling stars for flowers." 
 
 No : I find you false and unfaithful, and not that loyal 
 perfection of woman I thought you. With your own hand, 
 your own rash hand, you have snapped the wreath, and I 
 scatter the star-flowers to the winds. But do not imagine, 
 that, because I have found you heartless and disloyal, I 
 have lost all confidence in woman. My confidence re- 
 mains unimpaired. I once dreamed, — it was a fond de- 
 lusion, — that Bertha, the stranger from Italy, must be the 
 sister of Alberto Gherardi from Palermo ; but that misery, 
 thanks be to God, is an impossibility. No such perfidy 
 can I associate with the name and the blood of the Gher- 
 ardis. The sister of my dear departed Alberto, — how I 
 languish for her arrival! — But you, you and your spirit 
 messenger, I have proved to be false, and I spurn the 
 glozings of you both. 
 
211 
 
 And now farewell. The cold moon is smiling upon me 
 from heaven, a fit emblem of yourself, . . . changeful as 
 fair. I shall often remember the rock, the uprooted oak, 
 the willow grove, the twilight meadow, the lawn, the 
 Almadora Ravine, the momentary gleam of the prismatic 
 foam, and weep — bitterly weep for the capricious Bertha, 
 — that Bertha, whom so late as this morning I numbered 
 among the true-hearted maidens of the Almadora. 
 Adieu forever. St. Helier* 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 WHO THE LADY'S ARIEL AND THE LOVER'S DOMDA2STIELITE 
 WERE, AND WHAT BECAME OF THEM ALL. 
 
 Scarcely had I written and folded the farewell lines of 
 the preceding chapter, when my little messenger of love 
 reappeared in his former lustre, and thus briefly accosted 
 me : 
 
 " I will now carry to my mistress your billet of love. 
 Why were you so abrupt in leaving her ? She is weeping 
 alone, and in deep distress." 
 
 " My billet of love ! I inwardly groaned, as his words 
 struck on my soul. "In deep distress, is she?" I con- 
 tinued with bitter scorn. " Weeping alone too ! I saw 
 nothing of tears. She seemed to be most happy with her 
 black minion, her demon lover. Where is that favoured 
 rival? Does not Roberto remain to comfort the maiden 
 all forlorn ? " 
 
 But I repressed all emotion, and, conceiving the earliest 
 moment to be the best, gave him the farewell I had just 
 written. Near four days had now passed, and two of those 
 in absence, since my love adventure commenced; I had 
 gone through extreme variations of feeling; and my "seeth- 
 ing brain " was perfectly aweary of them. I was glad to 
 make my escape, and be once more at peace. 
 
 The seeming page received my note, and, without ask- 
 ing my permission, ran his eye over it ; he then looked up, 
 and smiled upon me with unspeakable benignity. On a 
 sudden his diminutive form became dilated to the size of a 
 man, and at the same moment assumed such commanding 
 beauty, such majestic mildness, as made me long, yet fear, 
 
213 
 
 to look upon him. The rustling of his starry robe impress- 
 ed me with awe, as with a dignified smile, and the same 
 thrilling voice as at the night-scene of the sea-shore, he 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Bertha is faithful ! — She is no heartless deceiver. 
 Attend to the warning voice of a brother. You are going 
 on in a course, that will afford you no real enjoyment ; and 
 what is still more deplorable, it must end in misery to 
 yourself and to all that you love. 
 
 " Would you, St. Helier, would you dare hope to be 
 happy ? Learn to acquire internal as well as external 
 self-government. Let a meeker, a milder, a holier princi- 
 ple take possession of that stormy spirit. Let your motive 
 be adequate, before you dare act the madman, — crushing 
 the globe, or making a ruin of creation. Because disap- 
 pointed of some scheme of bliss, which the magic of 
 idolized enthusiam has unfolded to your view, must you 
 flame in wrath, fury, distraction ? It was pitiable to be- 
 hold you. 
 
 " Now view the unfolding mystery. That maiden 
 whom you met and admired on May-morning, and to pro- 
 mote whose well-being I have been permitted to leave 
 the mansions of heaven, was conditionally destined to be 
 yours. That gem, that gem of inestimable value, was 
 not destined for the unworthy. You have therefore, 
 without losing your own freedom of action, been under 
 the influence of a power, that you neither knew nor 
 suspected. Roberto you imagined to be your enemy, 
 your evil genius; or, as you were pleased to call him, a 
 fiend, an insidious, dark-looking Domdanielite. Have I 
 not read the language of your heart ? 1 was Roberto my- 
 self. In his person, I have framed your perplexities and 
 your frustration of hope. I have awakened also images 
 of beauty and bliss. I have diffused through your soul 
 the soft influences of love, the lambent flame of domestic 
 joy. Still, like all men, you have been left master of 
 your own destiny." 
 
 " Thus have I woven the tissue of your trial ; thus have 
 I weighed you in the balance ; and though far from being 
 unexceptionable, your behaviour has not been entirely 
 disapproved : the frailty and imperfection of human nature, 
 
214 
 
 when combating with such causes of violence and exas- 
 peration, have contributed to form the decision in your fa- 
 vour. But this remember: Had you so far overcome 
 the intimations of your better judgment, as to have moved 
 a finger against your imagined rival, the cup of promise 
 would have eluded your lips forever. 
 
 " Are you still in mystery ? . . . . Know then, that your 
 interview on the mountain, your hopes and ecstasies, your 
 disappointment and fury, your midnight wandering to the sea- 
 beach, your walk by the river and in the Almadora Ravine, 
 with your fierce indignation at the supposed perfidy of Ber- 
 tha, — all have been effected by the influence of supernatural 
 power : of the whole series of events and adventures, 
 from beginning to end, I have been the spiritual mover 
 and accomplisher. 
 
 " I see your wonder, St. Helier, but be patient. One 
 thing at least is no illusion. You have been this night 
 allowed, as in a trance, to gather something of that wisdom 
 of experience, which is formed to promote the perfection 
 of domestic life. Rouse yourself from bewilderment. Is 
 not this your wedding day ? Have you not, long since, 
 wooed and won the lady of your heart? Has not your 
 spirit been with her spirit this long winter night ? Have 
 you loved her so tenderly, bidden her adieu with such in- 
 dignant scorn, and yet failed to know her, — failed to 
 recognize her twin-sister resemblance ? Have you been 
 so dull as not to perceive, that your Italian lady of the 
 mountain, and your betrothed of Palermo, were one and 
 the same ? 
 
 ' T' was a good dulness ; 
 You gave itVway; I know you could not choose.' 
 
 This lady is faithful, — I must be allowed to repeat the 
 good word, — this lady, notwithstanding your sarcasm 
 upon the female mind, is faithful, truehearted as truth 
 itself; she has been wholly unconscious of evil; and this 
 day, before you can either of you be unfaithful even in a 
 dream, she is to be all your own. Cherish her lovingly, 
 because you love her ; cherish her lovingly for her own 
 worth ; O you will lovingly cherish the sister of him, who 
 sat down by the waters of the Almadora, sat down and 
 wept, — the beloved sister of your Alberto." 
 
215 
 
 I knew, I sprang to embrace, my departed friend, my 
 dear playmate of Ox-Common and Great Pond, Wood- 
 Hill and Birch Swamp; but he was gone, — the strong 
 eagerness of the heart broke my reveries, .... restored 
 me to the realities of day. 
 
 Was all a dream ? Was it supernatural ? Or was it 
 not rather a hovering between the two ? 
 
 The sun of the new year had already risen, and darted 
 his radiance through the five stars of my window-shutters. 
 Instead of the verdure, the blossoms, the bird-warblings 
 of Spring, appeared the ravages and desolations of Win- 
 ter. Instead of waves flowing in prismatic glory, the 
 Almadora was solid, and silent, and colourless as crystal. 
 I mused deeply all the morning on the strange shapings of 
 fancy, — so I called them, — and was sometimes affected 
 even to tears at the remembrance. But for these anomalies 
 of the dreaming mind, these wanderings of imagination, 
 I presume not to account ; " whether," to quote the sug- 
 gestions of a poet, 
 
 " Whether that superiour powers, 
 
 By wise permission, prompt the midnight dream, 
 Instructing best the passive faculty ; 
 Or that the soul, escaped its fleshly clog, 
 Flies free, and soars amid the invisible world, 
 And all things are that seem." 
 
 With these mysteries of metaphysics I need not, and do 
 not, intermeddle. For my present purpose it will be suf- 
 ficient to observe, that the reader must suppose the fortunes 
 and fates of the Gherardis to be both real and fresh in 
 remembrance, exactly as I detailed them in my dream ; that 
 the arrival of a lady from Palermo a year before, an orphan 
 of the same name, and under many circumstances of affect- 
 ing interest, although bearing but a shadowy resemblance 
 to those my friend recounted of his sister, had very strongly 
 impressed me ; that the preceding May-day, four months 
 after her coming to this country, she had consented to 
 unite her fortunes with mine on the next anniversary of the 
 new year ; and that the dream-lady, and the real lady of 
 my affections, had somehow become strangely blended in 
 my slumber, — another and the same. 
 
 It is singular enough, that although the names of both 
 were Bertha, and that during the past summer I had fre- 
 
216 
 
 quently accompanied the true Bertha to the graves in the 
 mountain valley, and dwelt as often upon the story of the 
 Sicilian strangers, I never once for a moment remembered 
 her in my busy slumber from first to last. But however 
 singular the fact may appear, and however ductile my fancy 
 and affections may be deemed, such disloyalty I believe to 
 be the very perfection of etiquette in the Court of Dreams. 
 At any rate, so far from explaining the inconsistency, T 
 must leave it with the simple assertion of its truth. 
 
 More than once, it is true, I have been half disposed to 
 embrace the supernatural view of the subject, and to believe 
 my beloved in very deed the sister of Alberto, — as he 
 said, — the dream-lady herself. It is a delightful super- 
 stition, if nothing more. But my heart assures me, that 
 it is something more, and that the spirit of the brother had 
 a powerful motive for his kindness. Bertha has repeatedly 
 informed me, that so peculiar were the circumstances of 
 her infancy, she never knew her parents, — never could 
 ascertain even who they were. She had been educated 
 by a noble lady of Palermo, who had been to her more 
 than a mother, who had cherished her as a daughter to the 
 close of life, and who, on her removal at the advanced age 
 of eighty-five, bequeathed her almost her whole fortune. 
 
 So grateful, therefore, is this revelation of the night to 
 us both, it may be, even " dearer for the mystery," that, 
 visionary as it may seem, we cannot but welcome it as 
 something more than delusion. The topic is almost too 
 serious for pleasantry ; and just now, when I smilingly re- 
 minded Bertha of her tricksy unfaithfulness, so far from 
 denying the charge, she too with a smile, a grave smile, in- 
 deed, bade me keep a sharp look out for my amiable Dom- 
 danielite, Roberto, — archly adding, "What has been 
 once, St. Helier, may be again ! " 
 
 Unable to employ my mind upon any other theme, I 
 occupied the remainder .of the forenoon in composing a 
 regular detail of the particulars, before they faded forever 
 from the memory. I then presented the manuscript to the 
 true and only Bertha Gherardi, and this was the last day 
 she was called by that name ; for in the evening, as Al- 
 berto had promised me, she became 
 
 " My bright and beauteous bride." 
 
THE FORTIETH HOUR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHO SLEEPS WITH A DEMON AT HIS EAR, AND WHO 
 WAKE HIM, 
 
 Do you love the wanderings of the unfettered mind ? 
 Or have you, in the bitterness of disappointed hope, dis- 
 trusted the wisdom of Heaven ? Come to the banks of 
 the Almadora : come, speed on wings of wind, to the 
 views and events that await you. And are you come ? 
 
 It is the deep of night ; the winds are wild ; a summer 
 shower beats heavily on the mansion of Muzoil. What 
 form do you behold, standing at the door of his dwelling ? 
 Is it a Spirit, viewing the waters, the woods, the dead waste 
 of night, the clouds illumined by lightning ? Listen to his 
 voice. 
 
 Guardian Spirit. How sublime is darkness ! What 
 a sweep was there ! I love these sights and these sounds. 
 There is something in them unspeakably majestic. I love 
 to look abroad, when to the human eye scarcely an object 
 is distinguishable : I love to pass through this pavilion of 
 the Almighty, and never am I more sensible of his imme- 
 diate presence. 
 
 Nor are softer views undelightful ; — the moonlight 
 evenings of summer, the features of nature veiled in partial 
 obscurity, the light fleecy vapour curling along the Alma- 
 dora, the mingled voices of midnight, the music of my 
 little winged friend that soothes the ear of melancholy, 
 19 
 
218 
 
 the fresh breeze among the elm and poplar boughs, the 
 low murmur that comes from the river, .... 
 
 Spirit of the Almadora, (coming up from the wa- 
 ter.) And do you, brother Spirit, admire the summer 
 ripplings along my shore, and the low music of my waves ? 
 Thanks for the compliment Your charge reposes ? 
 
 Guardian Spirit. He slumbers, but the balmy influ- 
 ence of rest will not visit him. His day-dreams he once 
 thought his best enjoyment, but they are now full of 
 anguish ; his night-visions were once illumined by light 
 from heaven, but they are now darkened with gloom and 
 disquietude. Sad and weary he retires ; he is full of toss- 
 ing until the day-spring ; and he rises unrefreshed. He 
 has just closed his eyelids in oblivion. 
 
 Spirit of the Almadora. What may this mean ? 
 Whenever he has bathed in my pure stream, I have per- 
 ceived by his countenance, that although a shade of pen- 
 siveness may be mingled with the colouring of his mind, 
 he is of a temperament not far removed from sober 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 Guardian Spirit. You judge with your wonted pen- 
 etration. Tempered mirth appears to be most congenial 
 to his disposition ; but so volatile are his spirits, when 
 diverted from their usual calmness, that they immediately 
 rush toward extremes, the extremes of hope or of dejection 
 and despair. 
 
 Spirit of the Almadora. That is contrary to the 
 wisdom of God and man, — even bordering on folly. He 
 needs the chastenings of severe experience. The germ of 
 heavenly fortitude must be made to flourish. A few such 
 tempers I have known ; and I have remarked, that they 
 are formed to be very happy or very miserable. They 
 seem almost unfitted for the realities of earthly affairs. 
 It is the will of Him, who disposes all things in wisdom. 
 
 Guardian Spirit. Such a being you now see slum- 
 bering before you. You observe his agitation? 
 
 Spirit of the Almadora. Assuredly, — on his couch. 
 No wall or curtain, you are sensible, can intercept the 
 vision of spirits. But, my brother, what has tinged his 
 soul with the gall of bitterness ? I am much interested in 
 his welfare. 
 
 
219 
 
 Guardian Spirit. Are you ? May the Eternal smile 
 upon you ! This Father of spirits and men viewed the 
 features of his soul, and saw that they were not right. In 
 mercy he commissioned the Angel of his Will, who re- 
 moved from him, one after another, all he most loved and 
 cherished on earth, and left him at last in utter loneliness. 
 If he needed the chastenings of severe experience, he has 
 certainly had them. And now, when he views his fate in 
 the glass of reflection, he passionately wishes that God 
 would take him also to himself. He longs, yet shudders, 
 to lift the awful veil ; but those mysteries he feels to be 
 wisely, most wisely concealed from the eye of . . . . Ha ! 
 do you see that Form standing by the couch of Muzoil, 
 and staring him in the face ! What words is he breathing 
 in his ear? .... 
 
 Voice of the Demon. Thou wast not born for bliss. 
 Forbear, thou ill-starred wretch, forbear to anticipate 
 bright visions of joy. Thou wilt " drop from existence 
 like a withered leaf, unseen and unregarded. God hath 
 abandoned thee." In wretchedness thou earnest into be- 
 ing, in wretchedness art thou to journey on, in wretched- 
 ness art thou to die. Think of this, thou withered leaf, 
 and forbear to indulge in those dreams of bliss, which thou 
 art never, never to realize. 
 
 Guardian Spirit. What Fiend art thou, that intrud- 
 est upon our retirement ! Fly, fly, thou imp of darkness ; 
 show thy hateful visage no moie: or feel the force of 
 heavenly displeasure. 
 
 Spirit of the Almadora. Do you know that terrific 
 shape ? 
 
 Guardian Spirit. An evil demon, as I imagine, in- 
 tent on purposes of malice. 
 
 Spirit of the Almadora. Evil he certainly is, and 
 intent on purposes of malice, but not a demon from the 
 region of lost spirits: he is the man-demon, Logoul, com- 
 panion of the old magician, whose place of abode I once 
 mentioned to you. That magician, as I then said, is not 
 wholly depraved ; I cherish much hope of his conversion 
 from evil ; but Logoul seems to have eradicated every 
 human feeling. He will venture into our presence no 
 more. 
 
220 
 
 Guardian Spirit. And our slumbering friend shall 
 lose nothing by this venomous attempt to augment his 
 misery. 
 
 Spirit of the Almadora. No, by the divinity of the 
 ocean ! He came into being upon my banks, — there are 
 none more lovely that embellish the rivers of the north, — 
 and he ought not to be unworthy of his native soil. That 
 Hell-doomed has deckled mein his favour. Shall magi- 
 cians and demons of malice infuse their venom, and shall 
 no spirits of health be found to soothe and to save ? For- 
 bid it, Heaven. Let us befriend him : A secret impulse 
 inspires me. 
 
 Guardian Spirit. Lo ! the shower is passing off, and 
 a soothing calm begins to pervade the scene. Ah ! do you 
 see that little star through the opening cloud ? and do you 
 read its meaning? 
 
 Spirit of the Almadora. Yes, I do read its mean- 
 ing of benevolence. Heaven permits and commands us to 
 teach him wisdom, and with the tenderness of the heart. — 
 Tremble, magician ! tremble, Logoul ! 
 
 Guardian Spirit. Let us this moment begin the good 
 work. Shall we soothe him with our favourite air, Dream- 
 ing on the Water ? Touch your instrument of power. 
 
 Muzoil, (awaking from a perturbed vision.) Am I 
 in heaven ? Whence come these notes of enchantment, 
 that breathe upon the silence of night ? Who would not 
 listen forever ? How calm after the tempest ! It is a pro- 
 pitious omen. Not a breath moves a leaf; the moon 
 gleams upon the smooth Almadora ; the sky is blue and 
 starry ; the stars twinkle in the water. O what freshness 
 pervades my senses ! I could drink it in forever. 
 
 Voice of the Guardian Spirit, (from above.) Lis- 
 ten ! there is something even more heavenly than nature. 
 You may imbibe the pure breath of faith, the heaven of 
 confidence in God, forever. Only submit to the wisdom of 
 the All-wise, — only with cheerful and holy confidence 
 endure the anguish of frustrated hope, — and such gifts 
 await you as Infinite Perfection grants to those it loves. 
 The moment draws near. Walk forth by the Almadora ; 
 let the calm of its waters soothe the tumult of your soul ; 
 
221 
 
 let it render you tranquil and resigned ; and remember, 
 Muzoil, that the Eye of Mercy ever beams upon the obe- 
 dient. Be comforted. Rich blessings are in store for 
 you. They appear when least expected. Walk forth and 
 bid them welcome. 
 
 19* 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 HOW MUZOIL MET A FAIR DAMSEL BT THE ALMADORA, 
 AND WHERE THEY WENT. 
 
 As commanded by the voice of the Invisible, Muzoil 
 wandered forth, inhaled the breezy freshness that came 
 from the south, breathing from the pine woods beyond the 
 river, and listened in a reverie to the tide softly stealing 
 onward to the ocean. The elements were calm. All 
 nature seemed hushed to repose. Still the form of 
 Logoul, as well as his presages of malice, continued to 
 haunt his imagination, while the soothings of the Invisible 
 were accounted the mockery of a dream. "I am not only 
 bereaved of all most dear," he groaned, " but some fiend 
 of hell is seeking my own destruction. My bodily eye 
 was closed, but I saw him, most distinctly I saw him." 
 
 There stood Muzoil by the Almadora, and all was 
 tranquil but the spirit that possessed him. His soul formed 
 a striking contrast with the calmness of earth, air, and 
 water: it was depressed, despondent, and at times wild 
 with alarm. 
 
 Unable to feel in its mysterious power the sleeping 
 tranquillity around him, and uninfluenced by the assurances 
 that had been just made to him, he was on the point of 
 returning homeward, languid and melancholy. His better 
 spirit however prevailed, and he resolved to proceed as 
 far as the Almadora Ravine, which was one of his usual 
 resorts in trouble ; when lifting his eye toward the moon, 
 that looked tranquilly from a mountain in the west, as it 
 began to verge toward the horizon, he saw something afar 
 
223 
 
 off in the intervening space, almost as if moving on its 
 flood of beams, very small, and but dimly distinguishable, 
 and it every moment enlarged as it came near. Was it a 
 human being? It descended, it came down the declivity, 
 it stood on the bank-turf beside him. 
 
 Powers of language, can ye describe the form that 
 beamed on his view ? The little moonlight being, though 
 almost of Ariel slenderness, was of the perfect stature of 
 woman. Her robe w 7 as of the palest violet, — or that hue 
 without a name rather, produced by the union of the light 
 of a lamp with that of the moon. She had a countenance 
 shaded with an air very slightly meditative, but the modest 
 reserve of its expression was accompanied with a smile of 
 ineffable beauty. Was it the expression of Heaven that 
 beamed serenely there ? Did it touch his heart with a 
 gleam of delight? Were all sorrow and languor forgotten 
 in the beautiful object before him ? 
 
 All these things were. The moment she descended, 
 almost as if alighting like a dove, and while she drew from 
 her bosom a small vial, and rapidly poured its misty 
 contents into the air, such a magic loveliness effused itself 
 around, that nothing filled his conception but thought of 
 her. It was wonderful. Although her form was lovely, 
 though her full eyes were dark and lustrous, and her 
 mouth of such sweetness of expression, as stole into the 
 heart ; still persons of a more mirthful mind would have 
 viewed her, — it would be profanation to say with indiffer- 
 ence, — but they would have viewed her as far less beau- 
 tiful than Muzoil did. Do we, indeed, " receive but what 
 we give 1 " 
 
 Perceiving his astonishment, she gave one of her sweet- 
 est smiles at the embarrassment visible in his manner, and 
 with a readiness peculiar to her sex exclaimed : " If you 
 will wander the banks of a stream so attractive, and at the 
 very witching time of night, you ought to incur the incon- 
 venience of a few surprises." 
 
 Who will dare picture the meaning of her eyes at that 
 moment? With pleasantries so innocent, with simplicities 
 so artless, did she relieve his embarrassment, that he soon 
 felt completely at ease in her company. They rambled 
 amid those scenes of beauty, until they had almost talked 
 
224 
 
 down the moon. With the egotism of lovers, — so de- 
 lightful to themselves, — they still wandered on, she dis- 
 closing the wonders of the region she had just returned 
 from visiting, and he in his turn describing, as accurately 
 as he could, the peculiarities of his native banks; and if, 
 with greater and greater frequency, he intermingled a 
 sentiment more warm than suited a geographical description, 
 who shall blame him ? Seraphina, it is certain, was far from 
 viewing either his admiration or his tenderness as inexcusa- 
 ble. She knew herself to be worthy of inspiring affection, 
 and in the emotion of Muzoil she rejoiced to discern the 
 genuine evidence of truth. True, indeed, he most as- 
 suredly was. Had he not reason for being strongly 
 attached ? Every feature of her face, every look she gave, 
 every gesture she made, every thought she uttered, every 
 image she employed to enforce or illustrate her ideas, — 
 the radiant bloom of her countenance, the intellectual light 
 which shone through it, and above all, the outbreaking of 
 real, unaffected sincerity, — these all contributed to pro- 
 duce on him a powerful effect. How he drank in the truth 
 and loveliness pervading her! It was indeed a "fair 
 encounter of two most rare affections." — What will be 
 their issue ? 
 
 Just as they ascended the summit of the highest emi- 
 nence upon the bank, with the exception of the mountain 
 in the w r est, they stopped somewhat fatigued, and his fair 
 companion leaning more heavily upon his arm, which made 
 his bosom heave with an ecstasy not to be imagined, thus 
 pursued : 
 
 " I have been gratified with your plain, unembellish- 
 ed description of the scenes of your home, although you 
 will find I have enjoyed opportunities of surveying their 
 varieties, inferior to few. My father is from the country 
 of magicians, and is himself one of their number. After 
 considering the attractions and disadvantages of various 
 climates, and residing several years in the more inviting, 
 he at last, a month before the death of my mother, when 
 I had attained the age of twelve, selected this spot as his 
 permanent abode. He preferred it to all others, and here, 
 within view of her grave, he hopes that his wanderings 
 will cease. In consequence of the filial assiduities, which 
 
225 
 
 l nave endeavoured to show him during the five years of 
 our residence here, there seems to be no indulgence what- 
 ever which he is unwilling to allow me. Fourteen nights 
 ago, when yonder full moon resembled the bright edge of 
 a sickle, he imparted to me something of the power of 
 magic, and in the fulness of fatherly kindness permitted 
 me to visit his native home and mine, far distant beyond 
 the western ocean. The short time I have been absent, 
 has fleeted away with the swiftness of moments of love, 
 and I now return to my dear adopted banks, — return to 
 my usual duties and pursuits. Will you descend with me 
 to the palace of my father? It is far down, underneath 
 the grass-plot where we are now standing." 
 
 Daughter of a magician ! Palace of enchantment be- 
 neath the banks of the Almadora ! Suddenly become 
 enamoured of a female magician ! — These particulars shot 
 through the brain of Muzoil with the rapidity of lightning. 
 Could he suspect such modesty, such undissembling open- 
 ness of heart ? No, circumstanced as he was, — under 
 the influence of more than magic illusion, even the strong 
 energy of his heart's first affection, — it was impossible to 
 refuse her request. Yes, had she been the daughter of 
 Khawla herself, he could not have done it. Besides, what- 
 ever he might think of her father, he could not but be- 
 lieve herself one of the best of human beings. 
 
 So he gratefully accepted her offered favour. 
 
 Seraphina smiled upon him benignly, and three times 
 clapping her hands, the green-sward before them parted, 
 and a narrow way of marble steps, covered with rich car- 
 peting, appeared below. She put her arm within his again, 
 and they began their descent. Scarcely had they gone 
 down a dozen steps, ere the earth closed over them, and 
 the passage was illumined by golden lamps suspended 
 on either side. 
 
 How he longed to pour out his soul to her as they 
 leisurely descended ! but timidity, awe, or I know not 
 what, prevented. How his heart throbbed ! She must 
 have felt and even heard its throbbing ! She must 
 have discovered his violent emotion. But he continued 
 silent : some whispered words of endearment, a pressure 
 of the hand, and looks of impassioned tenderness, were the 
 sole manifestation of what he felt. They had passed 
 
226 
 
 through eleven brazen doors, with long intervals between 
 them, and each one opened on the waving of her hand ; 
 but as the twelfth expanded its folding leaves, they seemed 
 ushered into the Paradise of Irem, — or rather into what 
 might be termed the spiritual scene of the natural scene 
 above. Many, indeed most of the objects, strikingly 
 resembled those of the upper world, save their surpassing 
 beauty. Still there were new heavens and a new earth : 
 by magic power the moon still shone in the west, but it 
 seemed to emit a lovelier light ; the stars beamed with 
 softer lustre, the river flowed with sweeter murmur, and 
 hills, valleys, and woods melted into a mellow, dusky, in- 
 distinct plain ; but, after all, what more is the perfection 
 of magic than the simplicity of nature? The object of 
 this subterranean abode, a retreat from the world so deep 
 within the earth, was obvious ; they who formed it, made 
 magnificence much less their aim than concealment. 
 
 On the margin of the stream, and surrounded by a 
 grove of beech, maple, and larch, stood the Palace of 
 Enchantment, whose lofty walls of white marble gleamed 
 faintly in the moonlight, like the visionary dimness of an 
 ice-coated wood. No other mansion was visible. Within 
 the grove a garden, from which was wafted the perfume 
 of flowers, gave additional beauty to this solitary but mag- 
 nificent edifice ; and far as the eye extended, no obstruc- 
 tion or inequalities interrupted the dark verdure of the 
 waving surface. The soft breeze sighed among the 
 boughs of the grove as the lovers advanced, but they 
 paused not a moment to enjoy its freshness, or to listen to 
 its mystic sound. 
 
 As they drew near the western side of the mansion 
 remote from the front, a small door unclosed of its own 
 accord, seeming to welcome their admission ; and they 
 moved lightly into a long entry, passed through another 
 side-passage on the right, ascended a flight of stairs, and 
 entered a chamber on the second story, fronting the water 
 toward the south. It was the south-western chamber of 
 the story. 
 
 No sooner had they entered the apartment, than the 
 fair conducter of Muzoil vanished without any intimation. 
 Indeed she may not have stepped within the door. He 
 looked round, and she was gone. All was still as the 
 
227 
 
 depth of night could make it : no sound broke upon the 
 impressive silence, save the melancholy music of the 
 breeze, and the fancied or real whisperings of spirits. Lit- 
 tle could now be discerned without, except the setting 
 moon beaming feebly through the grove, and giving a 
 steady farewell look, a melancholy smile, to these scenes 
 of magic beauty. 
 
 Going to the doors of his chamber, Muzoil found them 
 both fastened. Suspicion began to grow upon him. But 
 what motive could Seraphina have to lead him into peril ? 
 or why should she even allow him to fall into harm ? He 
 so unequivocally merited the reverse, that he immediately 
 dismissed the suspicion. " It is an unseasonable hour," 
 said he; " she cannot introduce me to her father now;" 
 and having no reason for complaint except confinement, 
 he patiently and confidingly awaited the conclusion of 
 these witcheries. — What, I ask again, will be their issue? 
 
 The room was completely furnished. A dim light, re- 
 sembling that of a single planet, discovered a table in the 
 centre, spread with delicacies of every description. All 
 tempting and refreshing fruits were there. It was a table 
 fitly furnished for the King of the Genii. Nothing but 
 society was wanting. He ate and drank very sparingly ; 
 and then, reclining on one of the richest of couches in the 
 south-western corner of his apartment, he mused on the 
 mysterious events of the night. All seemed the merest 
 illusion of the senses, but still he saw himself there in a 
 palace of enchantment ; and wherever one may be, how 
 can he well dispute the evidence of hearing, seeing, feel- 
 ing, taste, and touch ? 
 
 The moment he lay down, the table vanished, the star- 
 like taper was extinguished by an invisible hand, and he 
 was lulled to sleep by a strain of music, very low and soft. 
 A single musician drew such touching tones from some 
 unknown instrument, as almost overpowered him. Did 
 they resemble the minstrelsy of the departed ? Every 
 note thrilled his soul. So unearthly was the strain, 
 
 " It seemed from other worlds to plain ; 
 
 Thus falling, falling from afar, 
 
 As if some melancholy star 
 
 Had mingled with her light her sighs, 
 
 And dropped them from the skies." 
 
228 
 
 The music at length insensibly died away, but the im- 
 pression still dwelt upon the ear of memory ; and so pow- 
 erfully were the feelings of Muzoil excited, that as old 
 recollections came over him, along with that of his inter- 
 view with Seraphina, tears gushed copiously from his 
 eyes. He did not sob, but half willingly, half unwillingly, 
 wept. It was a strange and mixed emotion, which he had 
 never felt before. At the same time, he was happier than 
 he had been for many a weary month, — far happier than 
 he had ever dared to promise himself. Recommending 
 himself to God, he soon fell asleep, and dreamed over and 
 over his adventures of the night. 
 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 MUZOIL GETS A MAGIC RING, AND OVERHEARS A BLACK 
 
 COMPLOT. 
 
 When Muzoil awoke, daylight had dawned over the sea, 
 — the sea, river, and scenes of magic. The sun rose, un- 
 veiling to the right and the left the long expanse of the 
 Almadora, which lay trembling in liquid light. Imagination 
 can alone paint the scenes unfolded, and to imagination I 
 leave them. The following billet lay upon his pillow, the 
 superscription not yet dry. 
 
 To the Wanderer of the Almadora. 
 
 Last night, my friend, you were undoubtedly amazed at 
 being confined, as well as at my sudden departure ; but 
 before you judge me, consider my motive. Forgive me, 
 dear Muzoil, I wished to discover what manner of spirit 
 you were of, and for a reason not now to be mentioned, I 
 desired to conceal your admittance here from my father. 
 Be assured it will grieve me, if you hold me inexcusable. 
 It was the only way I could render your concealment sure. 
 
 " But why study concealment at all ? " I seem to hear 
 the ingenuous Muzoil exclaim. Trust me, my friend, I 
 have a reason — a reason which you yourself will here- 
 after acknowledge to be a good one. Will you trust me ? 
 Will you confide in my discretion? I think, — I am pur- 
 suaded you will. 
 
 Though you knew it not, I have proved you to my 
 mind. I never entertained a doubt, indeed, that I should 
 20 
 
230 
 
 find you all you appeared to be, and more than all ; I 
 therefore made the trial of your faith as gentle and short 
 as possible. 
 
 How did you like the music of my magic instrument ? 
 An invention of my own. I have named it the tearful 
 mystery. 
 
 My other plans, I fear, are discovered. My father, 
 and an associate of his whom, — among a thousand other 
 things, — I forgot to mention to you last night, seem to be 
 employing their wits this morning on some unknown project. 
 What makes me more fearful is this : my father accuses 
 me in general terms of misbehaviour; he seems, too, 
 unusually sullen and irritable, and is this moment perform- 
 ing a charm to deprive me of the power of magic. 
 
 When my power is gone, you will no longer remain in 
 concealment, unless I prevent the evil now. I therefore, 
 before he accomplishes his purpose, send you this needful 
 information. You observe the slender ring I inclose. It 
 is mysteriously woven of a single hair. Place it upon the 
 little finger of your left hand, and it will render you invisi- 
 ble to the eye of mortals. I have just made it for you, 
 guided by instructions derived from the magician, who 
 accompanies my father. 
 
 Of this privilege of invisibility make whatever use you 
 please, with one exception : Come not near my apartment 
 within forty hours, — forty hours from the moment 
 we entered the Palace. After leaving you, I perused the 
 constellations, and discovered that if we meet within that 
 time, Fate will frown. Therefore observe this injunc- 
 tion with a scrupulousness the most sacred. Life and 
 more than life depend upon it. 
 
 Be discreet and confiding. Fear no detection, while 
 the Spirit of the Ring is your friend. 
 
 My billet has grown into a letter. Excuse its imper- 
 fections. It is the first attempt I ever made to write in 
 your language. But I must not indulge my fond delay 
 a moment longer. I hear my father ascending from be- 
 low, — no doubt to confine me to my apartment. 
 
 Do not forget the two precautions, nor your friend 
 
 Seraphina. 
 
 Having placed the hair-ring as directed, Muzoil re- 
 
231 
 
 turned the following answer. No sooner was it finished 
 and folded, than it instantly disappeared. 
 
 TO SERAPHINA. 
 
 Forget you ! Dear Seraphina, you either think un- 
 worthily of yourself, or imagine my memory to be planet- 
 struck, — (struck by those same wicked constellations 
 you have been perusing,) before the time. Both these 
 surmises are imaginary. 
 
 Your imprisonment, — is it not possible for me to free 
 you ? My invisibility may afford me opportunity. 
 Why may we not escape from this mansion of magic ? 
 There is another, the home of truth and tenderness, open 
 to receive us. 
 
 I feel more grateful for your gift, than the cold language 
 of words can express. O that I were with you, and 
 using the more expressive language of looks and tones ! 
 Why this injunction not to see you ! What heavier mis- 
 fortune than absence from you ! Forty hours are forty 
 ages. Why should w T e both be invisible, you without the 
 ring and I with it ? 
 
 O Seraphina, dearest Seraphina, could you know the 
 effect of your melody ! The notes all seemed touched 
 by a messenger from heaven, and in reality they were. 
 They appear to have made another being of me. Angel 
 of light, when shall I see you again ? O when shall I 
 see you, and call you my own Seraphina ! Forgive me. 
 When I remember the desolation of my cherished hopes ; 
 when I call to mind the gloom and despair of last evening, 
 at the hour I started from visions of horror, (as among a 
 thousand other things I believe I told you,) and walked 
 forth by the Almadora ; — the possibility of your love 
 transports me beyond myself. Who can tell the conse- 
 quences of that hour ? I can only say, to employ one of 
 the strong expressions of a language you understand so 
 well, that I have no dearer hope than to be forevermore 
 Your own 
 
 Muzoil. 
 
 Muzoil went immediately toward the eastern door, 
 which now opened of itself before him, and slowly wan- 
 dered through the endless suites of apartments. He found 
 
232 
 
 them filled with curiosities, the workmanship of men and 
 genies, but he felt no disposition to examine them. He 
 was absorbed in a more human interest, and the burden of 
 suspense and impatience pressed heavily upon his soul. 
 
 Entering a small remote chamber, the door of which 
 stood open, .... what were his horror and consternation, 
 when the accursed Logoul met his view ! Not one cir- 
 cumstance of his vision, not a single feature of this terrific 
 man-demon, had faded from his memory. How thankful he 
 felt, when he recollected the gift of Seraphina, the blessed 
 ring of invisibility ! Logoul and the old magician were 
 in violent dispute. The former continued in a voice of 
 fury : — 
 
 Logoul. I would, — I would, — lightning blast me 
 if I would not. I know this young Muzoil for my foe. 
 I know my fate to be somehow connected with his. When 
 Seraphina returned, I had purposed to destroy him, but 
 some higher power interposed, — his own guardian angel, 
 perhaps, or it may have been the confederate of that angel, 
 the Spirit of the Almadora, — and my vial scheme proved 
 abortive. 
 
 Old Magician. Broken her promise, — deceived and 
 outwitted me at last. No trust, no confidence, can be 
 reposed in them. I always knew how artful they were, 
 but never suspected the artless simplicity of Seraphina, 
 the very image of her whom I loved and lost, and who 
 lies buried yonder beneath these banks. Would that I 
 were with her ! 
 
 Logoul. Artless simplicity ! How often have I said 
 to you, — " Never trust a woman ! " — and now too late, 
 you see the value of those four words. The foot of a 
 stranger, wherever he may be now concealed, has trod the 
 pavement of our enchanted palace, — and do you not 
 know the consequence ? 
 
 Old Magician. Too well I know it. Yes, inevitable 
 destruction, unless our efforts prevent. Death is the con- 
 sequence. You, I, the Stranger, or my daughter 
 
 Logoul. Must die ! 
 
 Old Magician. Let us then exert the powers we pos- 
 sess. Our enchantments shall bring this intruder out of 
 his cave of concealment ; and then the fortieth hour, 
 
 
233 
 
 — not a moment more is allowed, — the fortieth hour 
 must either give us security 
 
 Logoul. Or the flames of ruin. 
 
 Old Magician. The first law of nature is self-preser- 
 vation. Still I cannot but feel a misgiving, when I 
 
 Logoul. To business then. The words are, the 
 Stranger, Seraphina 
 
 Old Magician. Not Seraphina, O not Seraphina ! 
 Not one hair of her head shall perish. 
 
 Logoul. The words are, I repeat, the Stranger, Ser- 
 aphina, or ourselves, — security or perdition. 
 
 Father of mercies ! how Muzoil shuddered as they 
 spoke ! That they should destroy this innocent maiden 
 for love of him ! — what other motive than that of love 
 could induce her to admit him to these forbidden scenes ? 
 
 — It must never be. But, alas ! what could he do for 
 her ? He was distracted. He cared not for himself, — 
 but that undeserving sufferer ! — he instantly wrote, ac- 
 quainted her with their exact situation, again suggested the 
 possibility of their escape, and offered her the ring. But 
 she returned for answer, that she had little or no fear, and 
 refused to take the ring, advising him to await the event in 
 peace, and not to approach her solitude on any account 
 whatever. 
 
 " The fortieth hour," she added, " will soon pass by, 
 and all will be well. I have no regret for the past, and no 
 fear for the future. My faith in God is immoveable, and 
 my regard for you, — why should a true heart withhold 
 the acknowledgment of its holiest impulse ? — my affection 
 for you possesses the strong energy of my faith. Escape 
 we cannot ; but believing and waiting, hoping the best and 
 even enduring the worst, — these are all within our 
 power." 
 
 20* 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 MUZOIL DREAMS A DREAM, AND SEES A VISION. 
 
 The second morning came. Muzoil sent by his faithful 
 messenger the following letter : 
 
 To Seraphina. 
 
 The eventful day has dawned. Last night I ascended 
 the roof-walk of the palace, and what was the first object 
 that saluted me ? Nothing less brilliant than that planet, 
 which we called the star of the Almadora. It was trem- 
 bling through its thin veil of mist westward from the pole. 
 How 7 forcibly it reminded me of another night-wanderer of 
 the Almadora, more bright and beautiful still. But I have 
 no occasion for any remembrancer of earth or heaven. 
 Still my emotions of tenderness are mingled with those of 
 fear and apprehension. Should our first meeting be our 
 last ! — Should I lose you forever ! The mournful pre- 
 sentiment continually crowds upon my imagination. O 
 will the time ever come, when the bliss of our first hour 
 shall be tasted again ! 
 
 This is the weakness of a too affectionate heart, the 
 apprehensiveness of a severely tried spirit. I feel and 
 confess it; and I have prayed for more of your unwavering 
 confidence. 
 
 A murmuring sound came from below. I went down, 
 but saw no one and heard nothing. The very silence of 
 death prevailed. 
 
 You must have witnessed the violence of the tempest, 
 that came on after midnight. I imagined you would rise, 
 
235 
 
 and with a hope of catching some momentary glimpse of 
 you through your windows, I walked backward and for- 
 ward before your chamber, but did not see the object of 
 my wishes. You did not suppose me there amid the 
 strange portents of this region of magic. But what are 
 portents to me ! 
 
 As I stood near the northern gate of the garden, a mys- 
 terious signal came in a sweep of the wind. I listened, 
 but it was not repeated. This tempest may have been 
 raised by the malice of Logoul, or it may forerun calamities 
 now rushing upon us all. Did you tell me, or was it a 
 dream of my own, that peaceful and unclouded skies ever 
 gladden your abode ? I hope you sometimes find it diffi- 
 cult to distinguish what you dream from actual fact. Is 
 it so? 
 
 Musing upon the mysteries of existence, and reluctantly 
 withdrawing my eyes from your windows, I re-entered my 
 own safe asylum, repeating to myself the words of an in- 
 visible spirit. It was only a few moments before I met 
 you by the Almadora, when a sweet voice addressed me 
 from above. As I tell you every thing, I may have told 
 you this ; if 1 have not, I must tell you now. " Only sub- 
 mit," said the voice, " only submit to the wisdom of the 
 All-wise, — only with cheerful and holy confidence endure 
 the anguish of frustrated hope, — and such gifts await you, 
 as Infinite Perfection grants to those it loves. The mo- 
 ment draws near. Rich blessings are in store for you. 
 They appear when least expected. Walk forth by the 
 Almadora, and bid them welcome." 
 
 The voice spoke in mystery, but I determined to obey 
 its command. I walked forth by the Almadora, hoping 
 indeed that I might welcome the fulfilling of the promise, 
 but doubting more. I now understand something, I trust, 
 of the purposes of Providence. May we both have 
 strength of faith to confide in their wisdom. The dawn of 
 hope has touched our horizon, and we are longing for the 
 day, but the gloom of night is still around us. May we 
 have grace to believe and to wait. 
 
 My dreams however have been most sweet. Scarcely 
 had I fallen into a slumber on my couch, when I seemed 
 to be reclining upon the bank of the Almadora, and kissing 
 
236 
 
 the spot where you first descended from the mountain, on 
 your return from your visit beyond the western waters. 
 At that moment I espied a bright-eyed maiden coming up 
 the bank with the speed of a spirit. She rather flew than 
 touched the green turf, and like yourself, when you came 
 down the mountain side, she was with me. 
 
 " And pray who was she ? " 
 
 Seraphina herself. Your countenance wore the very 
 smile of heaven ; you were all animation and loveliness ; 
 but the instant I opened my lips to address you, my eye 
 glanced upon a dark cloud hanging over the Almadora, 
 and on its obscurity we saw these words written in hues of 
 light : 
 
 " HOW BEAUTIFUL THE BLUSH OF MORNING ! BuT A 
 CLOUD, TINGED BY THE MOONBEAM, AND THROUGH WHOSE 
 FOLDINGS OF SILVER SMILES A STAR, IS THE LUSTRE OF 
 SPIRITUAL BEAUTY." 
 
 The moment I withdrew my eyes from this image of 
 mystery, and rested them upon your form and features, 
 you seemed to fade into air like a column of mist. Do 
 interpret for me. 
 
 Your father and Logoul, — (T grieve that your father 
 suffers that demon to be his companion,) — have not ap- 
 peared since I listened to their dreadful discourse. Are 
 they plotting our destruction ? Dear Seraphina, I am 
 immoveably resolved : if it be the will of Heaven that one 
 of us must perish, most willingly will I part with this worth- 
 less life, — no, not worthless, if it be dear to you; but 
 whatever be its worth, I most willingly resign it for you. 
 Oh what is life, when all its delights are gone ! May I be 
 able to hope the best, and endure the worst. 
 
 I long, yet tremble for the moment of fate, — the for- 
 tieth hour. 
 
 Your own 
 
 Muzoil. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 HOW MUZOIL SAW A SPIRIT, AND, EVEN AT THE PERIL GE 
 HIS LIFE. BROEE HIS MAGIC RING. 
 
 During the remainder of the day, Muzoil wandered over 
 this mansion of mysteries. While Seraphina remained, 
 he would not have escaped, even had it been in his power. 
 He could take no refreshment, although his trusty spirit 
 furnished him abundantly. No one appeared. The ma- 
 gicians had failed in their efforts of enchantment. The 
 ring and the spirit of the ring were too powerful for them. 
 No sound, but the distant roaring of the ocean, broke the 
 awful stillness. Evening came, hot and suffocating. Dark- 
 ness followed with unusual rapidity. No twilight, no 
 moon, no stars. Fancy or fear foreboded something un- 
 known and terrible. 
 
 Wearied with doing nothing, effecting nothing, — what 
 could he effect? — he wandered up the river bank, until 
 the Palace had become invisible in the darkness ; and feel- 
 ing very sad and sick at heart, he sat down on a rock near 
 the water. Resting his elbow upon his knee, and his 
 cheek upon his hand, he sat musing upon the hour of fate, 
 that seemed to be drawing nigh ; when, toward the south, 
 a bright spot of fire appeared at considerable distance on 
 the river. It grew, it swelled, it became a blaze of glory, 
 it lighted up the whole shore and stream ; when from this 
 involving illumination burst a youthful Form, habited in a 
 flowing robe. He slowly moved toward Muzoil. There 
 was a winning vivacity in his air, a glow of beauty in his 
 features, while his eye beamed forth the soft lustre of 
 
238 
 
 benevolence. A something, half gay and half melancholy, 
 spoke in the tones of his voice, as he exclaimed : 
 
 " Muzoil, arise ! Behold the Spirit of the Almadora 
 before you. Listen to what I say. I can read the heart. 
 
 ""Two evenings ago, you met and you loved a sylph- 
 like maiden of these Banks. You were in my dominion, 
 (for what is magic to me !) and I witnessed all your move- 
 ments. Yes, that burning blush confirms the truth of what 
 I say. Do not imagine I condemn your feelings. What 
 were man without them? In their purest manifestation, 
 these emotions ally you to beings of a nature altogether 
 spiritual. But you are young, inexperienced, under the 
 influence of peculiar bereavement, and therefore more ex- 
 posed to the power of delusion. 
 
 " I ask you at once, then, is Seraphina worthy of your 
 affection ? I acknowledge, that although daughter of a 
 magician, I have esteemed her one of the best, the most 
 undeceiving of your race. Such she has been, but is she 
 so now, since her visit to the country of magicians ? Ten- 
 derness for your feelings might make me withhold my fear 
 that she is unworthy, yet truth and affection bid me warn 
 you to beware. 
 
 " I speak not of the power she received from her father. 
 In that, perhaps she was an innocent recipient, unconscious 
 of evil. But when she returned, did I not see her diffuse 
 around you the mist of magic, such as no unaided mortal 
 could withstand ? You yourself saw her, but you saw not 
 my friend, your guardian spirit, counteract the fatal pur- 
 pose. Can this be like that simplicity, which thinketh no 
 evil ? Beware. Such illusions of magic, unless thwarted 
 by the interposition of Heaven, lead to immediate destruc- 
 tion ; and such, you have reason to fear, was the secret 
 object of Seraphina. 
 
 "This is not all : the worst remains to be told. To 
 accomplish some private scheme, which she may believe 
 to be justifiable, she has given you, possibly indeed without 
 knowing its fatal effect, the deadly hair-ring of invisibility, 
 which none of humankind ever wore two days with life. 
 Burst, burst it asunder. The hand of death is even now 
 upon you. You become visible indeed, and exposed to 
 peril ; but make the wisest use of your own powers, while 
 you put unlimited confidence in God, and the event cannot 
 
239 
 
 be such as you need fear. Remember these words of 
 kindness and caution. The Spirit of the Almadora is as- 
 suredly your friend." 
 
 The Spirit gave a tearful and melancholy smile, and 
 with all his glory vanished like a dream. 
 
 Surprise, astonishment, and anguish choked the utter- 
 ance of the wretched Muzoil. " This," he at length 
 exclaimed, "this is my sole unexpected calamity, — a 
 thunder- stroke from a cloudless sky. And is that fair ex- 
 cellence, — what I fondly imagined to be such, — isthat 
 fair excellence no more ! Is Seraphina, Seraphina be- 
 come beautiful unworthiness ! If there is truth in woman, 
 it is impossible. And yet the voice of the Spirit still rings 
 in my ear, 'Beware !' Oh, are all my joys thus to glide 
 away in the stream of disappointment ! Better had death 
 ended at once both life and misery." 
 
 Muzoil was bewildered. He was deserving of the deep- 
 est commiseration. What should he do ? He was man, 
 and human feeling prevailed. Fearless of consequences, 
 and strong in the conviction of the Spirit's veracity, he 
 tore the ring from his finger, burst its fatal circlet asunder, 
 and, overmastered by the impulse of the moment, stamped 
 it in fury under his feet ; and knowing himself to be no 
 longer invisible, he in his frenzy of indignation rushed 
 toward the palace. But scarcely had he come within 
 view of the grove, when looking up amid the thick dark- 
 ness, his eye-balls grew stiff, his heart froze with horror ; 
 for out of that black canopy, that shroud of impending 
 vapours, a mighty arm, clothed in lightning, burst forth, 
 came down as he stood immoveable, lifted him with the 
 force and swiftness of Fate into the air, and hurried him 
 away through infinite space. 
 
 The black canopy which shrouded the face of heaven 
 now changed to flame, the whole firmament seemed on 
 fire, and Muzoil was held by the grasping hand of that 
 resistless arm suspended over an ocean, immeasurable and 
 shoreless, whose billows rose and swelled, burst and roared 
 beneath that world of flame: — it held him a moment, 
 until he saw the hideous shape, and heard the demon 
 laugh of Logoul, then hurled him from its grasp ; and lo ! 
 the flaming heavens were dark again, and he felt, in the 
 rush of his descent, that his hour was come. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HOW MUZOIL REBUKED THE FAIR DAMSEL, AND WHAT 
 CAME OF IT. 
 
 " And do the mysteries of magic end thus ? Did magi- 
 cians and demons of malice conspire to destroy ? And 
 were there no spirits of health to soothe and to save ? " 
 
 Reader, distrust not the goodness of Providence. The 
 fortieth hour, though near, is not yet come. 
 
 Scarcely had the feet of Muzoil touched the mountain 
 swell of the deep, ere the Spirit of the Almadora was 
 visibly with him, and with a single wave of his hand 
 brushed away the impending gloom ; when, behold ! the 
 moon and stars beamed mildly over the waste of waters. 
 Did the spirit take his hand ? Did they move with spirit- 
 speed over the gently subsiding wave ? He took his hand, 
 wafted him with spirit-swiftness over the heaving wave, 
 and they stood amid the grove of the palace of enchant- 
 ment. 
 
 " The wicked have conspired your death," said the 
 preserver of Muzoil ; " but even amid the wreck of worlds," 
 he added, "confide in the Supreme Disposer, and nothing 
 of real calamity can assail you. Be firm in faith. The 
 eventful moment draws near. Though forbidden by Sera- 
 phina, go to her apartment ; an unseen power will direct 
 and receive you ; and while you feel constrained to speak 
 the words of truth, remember to speak them with the ten- 
 derness of Christian love. She may be more innocent 
 than appearances seem to show ; and even if not so, shall 
 a single error of youth have more weight than the exem- 
 
241 
 
 plary conduct of her whole life? Be the divine light of 
 the golden rule your guide, and ever hope for the best." 
 
 Thus speaking, the Spirit of the Almadora vanished in 
 air, and the same obscurity covered the heavens as before. 
 
 The powers of Muzoil had now returned in vigour ; re- 
 membrance came over him like a cloud ; he rushed to the 
 apartment of Seraphina, and found her door standing open. 
 But all the seventy of feeling, or intensity of emotion 
 rather, which had hurried him thither, instantly subsided 
 on his viewing the guileless simplicity, that sat tranquilly 
 on her countenance ; and instead of his vehement upbraid- 
 ings, he could vent nothing but a flood of impassioned tears. 
 
 She eyed him with a look of surprise and sorrow, but 
 no consciousness of guilt, not so much as the faintest sem- 
 blance of evil, was visible. On the contrary, the same 
 lovely expression, call it rather the same seraphic emana- 
 tion of a finely touched spirit, which he had admired and 
 loved the first moment they met, still imparted the charac- 
 ter of inspired beauty, almost the beauty of holiness, to 
 her features. But the "beware" of the warning spirit 
 came over his soul, and gave him sufficient command of 
 himself to address her. 
 
 Muzoil. Seraphina! Seraphina! do we meet for the 
 last time ? Must I bid you farewell forever ? 
 
 Seraphina. Bid me farewell? How then am I to 
 interpret your expressions of impassioned regard ? I re- 
 main unchanged myself. What can have produced this 
 air of wildness, this strange alienation, in you ? Some 
 delusion has siezed you. This is no time for unkindness, 
 Muzoil. You will not leave me, — leave me to brave 
 alone the exasperation of a justly incensed father ? I will 
 not, cannot believe you unfaithful and undeserving. You 
 cannot leave me to perish, — me who have preserved your 
 life. — Where is the ring? And why do I see you here ? 
 Fatal, fatal rashness ! The fortieth hour is not yet 
 passed. 
 
 Muzoil. O thou dissembling even now my lips 
 
 refuse to utter what I cannot but feel. What was your 
 affection for me, but poison ? What was your preserva- 
 tion of me, but death ? Seraphina, you are detected. The 
 All-seeing Eye has been upon you. Remember the mist 
 2J 
 
24-2 
 
 of the vial ; — remember the venom of the ring. A spirit 
 has been commissioned to expose your malice, and by his 
 command I now seek your presence. 
 
 Seraphina. Believe him not : it was a spirit of false- 
 hood. 
 
 Muzoil. O how have I deserved evil from you ? With 
 what tenderness, with what glowing warmth of passion, I 
 loved you ! My character, my mind, myself, I imagined 
 to be not displeasing to you. I imagined, mistaken fool 
 that I was ! that your soul was on your lips, that it beamed 
 from your eye. Had I not reason ? I thought you sin- 
 cere as an angel in heaven. 
 
 Seraphina. You thought right. You did me no more 
 than justice. I was sincere. Spare yourself, O spare your- 
 self the grief that will come upon you from thus wronging 
 me. You are deceived. I am not undeserving, as you 
 think me. Dear Muzoil, you are deceived. 
 
 Muzoil. Alas, Seraphina, that the moment has come, 
 a moment even more fatal than the fortieth hour can 
 be, when I am forced to accuse you ! What would I not 
 have done for you ! Oh, how intensely my soul clung to 
 your image ! Do I then love you no more ? False and 
 unmerciful ! — what a heart have you destroyed ! 
 
 Seraphina. O no more; do not, — you break my 
 heart. 
 
 Muzoil. This must be our last meeting, and I cannot 
 give up with indifference what I once loved with a passion 
 so strong. But farewell, farewell, Seraphina. Whatever 
 my fate may be, my heart will ever mourn the perversion 
 of a spirit so pure ; disappointed and crushed as it is, it 
 will breathe a prayer for you even in its last struggles. 
 It is not yourself, but the accursed duplicity of magic that 
 destroys us. Remember me sometimes, Seraphina. When 
 in a still evening you see our planet smiling from heaven, 
 think of the banks where we met, and shed one tear to the 
 memory of him who loved you well. Farewell. Even 
 now will I die for you. — (Turning to leave the room.) 
 
 Seraphina. Never! — never! I may be unworthy 
 of such warmth of attachment ; but still, if in aught I have 
 done wrong, I am the innocent victim of another's crime. 
 I am conscious of no deceit or insincerity toward you. 
 One moment hear me. 
 
243 
 
 When I departed on my visit to the land of my birth, 
 Logoul discovered by his art, that the first person I should 
 meet, on my return, wandering the banks of the Almadora, 
 he was doomed to find his enemy ; and to secure himself 
 against the enmity of this foe, he made me promise to pour 
 amid the air the little vial you saw. If I obeyed, he said, 
 I was destined to be happy with the individual I most 
 loved. He gave me the vial himself, and such he said 
 were the sole properties of the charm. He called it his 
 charm of self-defence. I now fear that his purpose was 
 criminal ; but for myself, I never meant nor suspected 
 injury. Injury ! O no. I must lay open to you my 
 whole heart. The first hour I saw you, my heart was 
 yours. It was love made me, disobeying the command of 
 my father, introduce you into his palace; and this same 
 affection has made me strive to conceal and preserve you 
 here. I knew that I had done wrong ; but I saw in the 
 stars, that could the fortieth hour pass over, and you 
 not behold me, all would end happily. Heaven sees not 
 as man sees. I have disobeyed my father ; it is the first 
 and only time; and if it be the will of Infinite Wisdom, 
 my life shall pay the forfeit of my disobedience. 
 
 Muzoil. Forgive me, forgive me, Seraphina ! I was 
 deceived ; and I echo your " Never, O never ! " from my 
 inmost soul. I am most happy, — most blessed, in finding 
 you innocent. 
 
 Seraphina. For your sake, for my own sake, dear 
 Muzoil, I too am most blessed in being so. But now, — 
 what now is to be done ? That fatal period, — only a few 
 moments remain. 
 
 Muzoil. Our circumstances, our hopes, our fears, — 
 all urge us to immediate determination. Your father, — 
 shall we not hasten to him together, and together spread 
 before him every event, — the whole of our little history 
 
 Of FORTY HOURS ? 
 
 Seraphina. It is the most ardent wish of my heart. 
 Let us hasten, — this moment let us hasten to my father. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 MUZOIL AMID THUNDER, LIGHTNING, AND AN EARTHQUAKE, 
 AND THE GREAT GOOD THEY DID HIM. 
 
 At that instant fearful sounds, like the deepening thun- 
 der of a gong, were heard throughout this region of sorcery. 
 Did they announce the fatal moment, the fortieth 
 hour, to have come ? The sea was heard to roar tumult- 
 uously ; a sweeping hurricane shook the mansion of magic 
 to its foundation; folding sheets of fire completely in- 
 volved it ; and the screams of demons, exulting with joy, 
 mingled with the crash of thunder. 
 
 Amid this tumult of conflicting elements, rushed in the 
 old magician and Logoul ; the former was pale with dis- 
 may, but the features of the latter exhibited a living picture 
 of ferocity. The father of Seraphina spoke with tears. 
 
 Old Magician. My child, my child, what have you 
 done ! Your disobedience — your breaking my command 
 — it is you that produce this wreck of nature and of my 
 dearest hopes. Destruction is this moment impending. One 
 must die, perhaps all. On this condition only I retain my 
 palace: — The foot of a stranger must never cross 
 its threshold. Seraphina, it was parental love made 
 me grant your request : O my daughter, how could you 
 abuse my confidence ! 
 
 Seraphina. My dear father ! it was love of this 
 stranger. I alone am guilty; on me let the punishment 
 fall. 
 
 Muzoil. On me, on me, O magician ! let the thunder 
 burst on me. I have no wish to live, — none, separate 
 from your daughter's love. 
 
245 
 
 Logoul. Both, both, annihilate them both ! one for 
 endangering our place of abode, the other for trusting to a 
 woman's love. Stand off, magician ! stand off! or you too 
 feel my power. Let me strike, let me strike. I'll scatter 
 their limbs in the tempest, and send their souls howling 
 with demons. A moment more, and we are gone . . . 
 
 Old Magician. Logoul ! have you no pity for the 
 errors of human nature ? Logoul ! what are we ? Crim- 
 inal and abandoned as I am, through your infernal seduc- 
 tions, I cannot consent to destroy this unoffending stranger. 
 Much less can I touch the life of my daughter, the only 
 child of my days of innocence. What appeared trivial in 
 prospect, now wears its true face of horror. 
 
 Voice amid the uproar. Magician ! remember the cove- 
 nant, — remember the condition, and tremble ! 
 
 Old Magician. Take back thy palace of enchant- 
 ment, thou Unseen ! in the name of the Almighty. In 
 this awful name I most willingly throw from me the accurs- 
 ed art, both now and forever. O Being of beings, let this 
 suffice. I cannot destroy the innocent ; I cannot harm my 
 daughter ; I fear the hand of Heaven. I cannot 
 
 " But I can," roared the infuriate Logoul. " No power 
 in the universe shall withhold me." He then burst from 
 the grasp of the magician, and, furiously brandishing his 
 sword, rushed forward with dreadful impetuosity ; but ere 
 he could execute his fell purpose, a thunder-stroke stretch- 
 ed him black and breathless on the floor. 
 
 At the very moment of this catastrophe, the guardian 
 spirit of Muzoil became visible in glory, took his hand, 
 and, while amid the convulsions of an earthquake, the 
 palace was crumbling to atoms, they were imperceptibly 
 lifted above this suffocating atmosphere ; and lo ! they stood 
 on his own native banks, and once more breathed the fresh 
 air of liberty. No hurricane, no sweeping whirlwind, no 
 confusion of elements : a soft breeze gently curled the sur- 
 face of the Almadora; the moon walked in brightness and 
 beauty ; and the dark-blue dome of heaven, studded with 
 stars, beamed peacefully over them. 
 
 This holy transition Muzoil felt to be the Peace, he 
 still, of miraculous power. His heart rose to thank his 
 21* 
 
246 
 
 deliverer; but overwhelmed with consternation, as memory 
 rushed upon him, he exclaimed in agony : 
 
 "Where is Seraphina? Where is the innocent Sera- 
 phina ? Why did I not perish with Seraphina ! " 
 
 The Spirit mildly and thoughtfully replied : " The ways 
 of Heaven are ways of wisdom. Your loss is indeed se- 
 vere. I feel its extent, and 1 give you the strong sympa- 
 thy of a spiritual nature, — the sympathy of a heart 
 tenderly interested in all that concerns you. But what- 
 ever may be your calamity, whether trivial or as now 
 disastrous, should you exclaim, " Why did I not perish 
 with Seraphina ! better had death ended at once both life 
 and misery." O no : give to every event of your life a 
 proportionate regard. Remember the words of the wise : 
 " The veil which conceals from view the events of futuri- 
 ty, is a veil woven by the hand of Mercy." God is wise, 
 and will he not know ? God is merciful, and will he not 
 pity ? God is almighty, and will he not afford alleviation ? 
 He removed from you, one after another, all you most 
 loved and cherished on earth. He left you at last in utter 
 loneliness, and now he has taken from you Seraphina, his 
 newly bestowed gift, the dearest and the best. Still con- 
 fide in his wisdom and goodness. Though he slay you, 
 still put your trust in him. The time will come, and it 
 may not be far distant, when you will feel and acknowl- 
 edge his infinite love. Return home, pour out your heart 
 before him, and be no more distrustful of His providence. 
 " Here, or hereafter ! " is the voice of promise : rich 
 and sure are the rewards of faith. Believe in the truth 
 and watchful tenderness of your guardian Spirit." 
 
 The Spirit ceased, and faded into air. 
 
 Before Muzoil returned home to his lonely dwelling, he 
 fell on his face in the dust, and prayed with a gush of 
 tears : " O God, convinced of the wisdom of thine every 
 purpose and dispensation, however mysterious, I submit to 
 thy will, [f it be thy will, O take me home to the loved 
 and the lost. If it be thy wisdom that I remain longer 
 upon earth, I bow to thy sovereignty in holy confidence. 
 O my Maker and Disposer, pity and enlighten thy lonely 
 child. I put my trust in thee, and wait for thy salva- 
 tion." 
 
247 
 
 When Muzoil arose, the peace of earth, air, and heaven 
 that breathed around him, breathed also within his soul ; 
 for the influences of that spirit for which he had prayed, 
 had been granted to his prayer. 
 
 Pausing to realize this divine calm of the soul, before 
 proceeding to his home, whom does he behold, — what 
 blessed vision does he see rise before him, in the light of 
 the moon ? And did his guardian Spirit, did the Spirit of 
 the Almadora, perfectly accomplish their purpose of kind- 
 ness ? Yes, their good work is done ; their scheme of love 
 and trial is completed. His own, his true, his well beloved 
 Seraphina falls upon his neck in the mute ecstasy of grati- 
 tude and affection ; while her father, rescued from perdi- 
 tion, sheds tears of heavenly hope. 
 
 O blessed re-union I Christian light and Christian joys 
 are around them. The delights of mutual tenderness, the 
 energy of faith in the divine will, the glowings of pure de- 
 votion, — these form the bliss of father, son, and wife, and 
 these are enough. They are happy. Their lives remind 
 you of the mysterious words that appeared written on the 
 cloud, and make them clear as the characters of truth : 
 
 "Beautiful is the blush of morning, — the 
 splendour of youthful hope and love ; but the 
 lustre of matured affection, the cloud of even- 
 ing, made luminous by the moon, with the star of 
 
 immortal life gleaming from beyond, this is that 
 
 spiritual light which neither fades on earth nor 
 
 This family of love, — do they dwell in the abode of 
 the humble, far removed from the forbidden riches and 
 false grandeur of sorcery ? They dwell also in the abode 
 of the believing, the obedient, and the blest of heaven. 
 
 Ascending the loftiest eminence on the bank, the father 
 often views the scene of his guilt, his penitence, his pre- 
 servation ; and, near the grave of his departed Selena, he 
 lives in holy hope of pardon and acceptance ; while Mu- 
 zoil and Seraphina never lift their eyes toward the moun- 
 tain in the west, without giving thanks to Infinite Goodness 
 for creating them, and making them one. The lustre of 
 
248 
 
 the moon, setting over it, is not softer or more tranquil 
 than their confidence in each other. Their faithful guar- 
 dian Spirit, and his sympathizing brother of the Almadora, 
 they bear in grateful remembrance ; and they bless the 
 Sovereign Disposer, that the fortieth hour is gone 
 forever, leaving them not only unharmed, but in greater 
 security and happiness, it may be, than thay had ever 
 dared to anticipate. 
 
WERTER'S WARNING 
 
 I then sink into a deep reverie, and cannot help saying: — ' Were 
 
 Albert to die, Charlotte and I would ' 
 
 Letter 60. 
 
 The night was cool and tranquil. I was walking the 
 palace-roof of home ; and, as I mused on the close of the 
 year and the swiftness of time, I saw in the southern sky 
 a bright circlet of stars, resembling the Pleiades so ar- 
 ranged. 
 
 At this image of magic beauty I gazed in delightful 
 wonder, but my wonder soon became astonishment ; for 
 the starry circlet, with a strange whirling motion, rapidly 
 drew nigh, and tempestuously dispersed around me in 
 snow-flakes of fire, — soft, chill, transparent. With these 
 descending gems of heaven music sweetly and mournfully 
 mingled, and the voice of an unseen Being arrested my 
 ear: "Werter! one warning more, and we part, — 
 part forever." 
 
 Werter. Part, O invisible spirit! — We have but 
 this moment met, and do you speak of our parting ? Say, 
 what mysterious Being addresses me ? 
 
 Genius. And are we strangers ? Twelve months have 
 we been companions, although we are never to meet again. 
 You ought by this time to know the Genius of the De- 
 parting Year. 
 
 Werter. Do we then separate forever ? It is a 
 mournful voice, which says ' forever.' It is mournful, we 
 hear it said, eternally to part even with an enemy ; but in 
 bidding you farewell, Genius of the Year, a more tender 
 emotion swells within me. My treatment of you, I ac- 
 knowledge, has not been according to your merit, though 
 I have ever been your friend at heart ; but for your assi- 
 duities to me, Old Year, I am doubly grateful. You have 
 
250 
 
 lifted to my view a glimpse of joys, hard to be imagined 
 and seldom realized, — a transient, moonlight glimpse of 
 other worlds : 
 
 " For all I see around me wears 
 
 The hue of other spheres ; 
 
 And something blent of smiles and tears 
 
 Comes from the very air I breathe. 
 
 Oh, nothing, sure, the stars beneath, 
 
 Can mould a sadness like to this 
 
 So like angelic bliss." 
 
 Genius. A favoured mortal you have been, and you 
 well know the worth of such favours. Few can value 
 them aright. But has not your lot been like the general 
 lot of man, — stars of beauty beaming amid skies of 
 gloom ? 
 
 Werter. Not free from darkness and the shadow of 
 death. O no, anguish has at times crushed me to the 
 earth ; but still so brilliant have been the star-beams con- 
 ferred, I am full of gratitude. At this moment I better 
 than ever appreciate both their worth and the kindness of 
 their bestower. 
 
 Genius. A grateful heart can never be unrewarded : 
 the feeling itself is richer than every other recompense. 
 
 Werter. I feel it in bidding you adieu, — an adieu I 
 may never bid another. This feeble, agitated frame, ere 
 your successor shall follow you, may moulder in the dust. 
 
 Genius. It may be so : what is there permanent here ? 
 But why anticipate melancholy contingences alone ? You 
 see that cloud above the eastern horizon, frowning in its 
 folds of obscurity? Beams of bliss may dwell behind 
 that frown of blackness, — the fruition of those very joys, 
 though in a different form, which you say I have lifted be- 
 fore you. Ever hope for the accomplishment of your 
 best wishes, and that hope will be worth half their com- 
 pletion. But remember, child of sentiment and passion, 
 that all the events of life, whether they appear in the 
 form of calamity or of the fairest fortune, are meant for 
 your trial. Have you received them as such? — You 
 have been tried in the fire. Have you, like pure gold, 
 come forth even brighter from the furnace ? Or like de- 
 based coin, has your alloy been made only the more mani- 
 fest? Beware of cherishing forbidden hopes and 
 
251 
 
 wishes. Be neither unjust to your friends, nor distrust- 
 ful of Providence. 
 
 Werter. I am not unresigned. Though often I 
 could have lain down, " careless of the voice of the morning," 
 yet my soul has invariably trusted in God. Even now a 
 voice is inviting me away. All most dear to me is gone. 
 Should I not exchange this stormy clime for a region of 
 unclouded serenity ? Would not God and good angels 
 welcome me home ? Would not departed friends hail my 
 coming? And will not my endeared, my ever endeared 
 Charlotte, soon be my own sister-spirit there ? 
 
 Genius. Your Charlotte! — Allow me, Werter, to 
 use great plainness of speech, the unflattering truth of a 
 dying friend. I cannot approve either your text or your 
 doctrine. I pity your delusion. Have you trusted in 
 God, can you for a moment cherish a persuasion so wild, 
 when you have been undermining his holy institutions 1 
 Because you love the wife of another, and have more 
 than half alienated her affections, you expect to be wel- 
 comed to the home of the pure in heart ! Your Char- 
 lotte ! In the name of heaven, who is your Charlotte ? 
 Oh only the wife of a very worthy friend of yours ! — 
 Something may be said, perhaps, in justification of your 
 attachment to Charlotte, during the first months of your 
 acquaintance, — though even then it was weakness and 
 infatuation to love a lady, who informed you the very 
 evening you first met, that she was engaged to another ; — 
 but how can you justify your passion after her marriage ? — 
 You speak of death, too, and of Charlotte's following you 
 to Heaven ! Her husband, I suspect, would not thank 
 either you or her for any suggestion of that sort. A 
 treacherous friend and a falsehearted wife, however con- 
 genial they may be on earth, do not appear to be exactly 
 prepared to meet in the blessedness of immortality. — 
 Death, I admit, the death of the righteous, is a blessing ; 
 but you are revolving within you, I perceive, something 
 extremely different, — and yet the same. Confess the 
 truth : you are not thinking of your own death, but the 
 death of the man you have been endeavouring to supplant, 
 your friend Albert. < Were Albert to die,' you are 
 dreaming, ' Charlotte and I would' would be mar- 
 
252 
 
 ried? Is this the selfishness of sentiment that enwraps 
 you ? No wonder you are ashamed to express it in 
 words. 
 
 Werter. It is but too true. You have read my 
 inmost emotion. 
 
 Genius. I thought so. Now look yonder: more re- 
 mains to be read. Direct your eye toward the southern 
 heaven, and you shall yourself view your most secret reve- 
 ries in the motions of the stars. Do you see that star of 
 diminutive lustre ? 
 
 Werter. I see it move, very swiftly move. It de- 
 scends ; it has disappeared beyond the woods, where the 
 mountain stream sparkles in brightness, and whence the 
 sound is wafted on the wind. 
 
 Genius. How willingly, in the same manner, would 
 you see the dim star of Albert go down ! — And what see 
 you in the east ? 
 
 Werter. I see another of peculiar attributes emerg- 
 ing from the cloud. 
 
 Genius. Of more fiery beams, and moving forward 
 with a wild comet-like aspect. It looks like flame. 
 
 Werter. It has coursed almost half the firmament. 
 My God, what miracle do I behold ! A lovely circlet of 
 stars, resembling that beautiful cluster of seven, which I 
 saw on your approach, is dimly visible in the south. 
 
 Genius. Vapours partially obscure it. 
 
 Werter. The cluster and the flame-star from the 
 east are now meeting. Their lustre revives in beauty. 
 They are now met and embodied. Heaven of views ! O Ge- 
 nius, who may paint the more than magic brilliancy of that 
 embodied cluster ! How it smiles from its path in heaven ! 
 
 Genius. Like the union of Werter, Charlotte, and 
 family, — is it not so 1 — And see you nothing more ? 
 
 Werter. I see many wonderful stars, many combina- 
 tions, and many movements ; but who can gaze on lesser 
 glories, when that superior embodied constellation slowly 
 moves on its way ? O friendly genius, I forgive your se- 
 verity. On a sight like this I could gaze unceasing. 
 
 Genius. I repeat my warning : Beware of for- 
 bidden wishes. On that bewildering vision, I charge 
 you, gaze not in admiration and love. It is madness and 
 crime. Gaze upon the cluster no more. 
 
253 
 
 Werter. I cannot choose but gaze ; for see, like the 
 gentle lapse of age, it gradually descends. It approaches 
 the wood-tops ; it glows with augmented splendour ; it il- 
 luminates the whole western horizon ; it sinks ; a luminous 
 edge trembles, ... is gone ; but its pathway of glory is yet 
 visible. 
 
 Genius. You muse upon this " busy motion in the 
 heavens;" you dwell upon these visionary picturings of 
 your spirit ; and you languish for their realization. But, 
 O Werter, beware ! I am forbidden to unveil the secrets 
 of futurity ; still this, what your own conscience has al- 
 ready spoken to you in thunder, this I am allowed to speak : 
 Beware of the illusions of the heart, the illu- 
 sions of unpermitted hope, for they end in misery 
 and death. This is my last warning ; and now farewell 
 forever. 
 
 To these solemn words I listened with almost breathless 
 eagerness ; and while I listened to them, as to the voice 
 of prophecy, the form and features of the genius became 
 visible in the clear starlight. A thoughtful sadness rested 
 on his brow. A tear was on his cheek. He smiled upon 
 me, and, like a meteor of the sky, faded away in silence. 
 At the same instant another form approached, — his ges- 
 tures wild, his features half ecstasy and half distraction, 
 his garments bathed in blood. On this terrific vision I 
 gazed a moment with the intenseness of frenzy ; but who 
 can express my horrour, when I beheld in the form a re- 
 semblance of myself ! As if blasted by a lightning- 
 stroke, I fell prostrate on the house-top, and remained 
 there for hours insensible as the dead. 
 
 Such was my Warning, or Reverie of the closing 
 Year. Shall I beware and live ? Shall I pursue my 
 career of infatuation, and perish? — O the heaven of that 
 embodied cluster ! Is it fatal to contemplate its loveliness ? 
 And equally fatal, in view of the madness that possesses 
 me, is it to turn away from the contemplation. — O 
 wretched, wretched destiny of man ! " His strength fails 
 him, when he most requires its support." — I must 
 depart. — The wisdom of the warning Spirit I perceive 
 22 
 
254 
 
 and acknowledge, but, before the impulses of unrestrained 
 passion, how powerless comes the voice of reason and 
 religion ! — I must depart. — 
 
 To this reverie or warning of Werter I may add a word 
 by way of appendix. So painful is the impression, made 
 by the delusion of "young Werter," as the Germans love 
 to call this character, that I may be pardoned for wishing 
 to change the feeling, and to awaken a more Christian 
 state of mind. I give therefore another picture of New- 
 Year Eve. 
 
 We all have a spark of the imaginative in our system. 
 All experience something of reverie. When the sun is 
 going down, and in the twilight of a Sabbath evening, how 
 grateful to view the rosy clouds of the west ! and while 
 they flow along the expanse like waves, to pause and listen, 
 as if we might actually receive some breath of their 
 murmuring ! 
 
 But more often, like the enthusiast of nature, so finely 
 portrayed by Wordsworth, we look upon their motion as 
 without sound and dreamlike ; when " the clouds are 
 touched," we " read unutterable love in their silent faces." 
 At moments like these, how many associations, hopes, and 
 remembrances come over the soul ! Some emotions of 
 this nature, produced by a remarkably brilliant sunset, I 
 once attempted to embody, and at the very time of my 
 enjoyment of them. 
 
 NEW- YEAR EVE. 
 
 While waves of light unmurmuring flow 
 
 Above yon golden sphere, 
 I welcome thee, thou holy Eve, 
 
 To God and Nature dear. 
 
 But lo ! the rainbow-waves along 
 
 Whose beauteous footsteps glow ? 
 Who spreads that robe of heaven around 
 
 Monadnoc's mount of snow ? 
 
 Th' Eternal One with smile of love 
 
 Illumes both mount and sky, 
 A gleam of heaven unveiling there 
 
 To man's believing eye. 
 
255 
 
 Would He the blight of woe remove ? 
 
 Our comforts are secure : 
 O breathe upon our virtues' bloom, 
 
 Their bloom to fruit mature. 
 
 Still bless our little number, Lord, 
 
 With mild composure's charm; 
 Bright faith bestow, celestial beam, 
 
 Untrembling at alarm. 
 
 While we implore this light of life, 
 
 To soothe, or bliss impart, 
 The healing ray diffuse afar 
 
 To every friendly heart ; 
 
 And, as they view yon new-year throne, 
 
 Where living glories dwell, 
 Let them, in sweet communions dream, 
 
 With warm emotion swell. 
 
 All-hallowed Eve ! beloved and pure 
 
 From heaven's ethereal dome, 
 Form round their life the atmosphere 
 
 Of thine immortal Home. 
 
 But ah ! thy hues, in wayward lapse, 
 
 Pursue their parent sphere ! 
 Farewell to thee, thou holy Eve, 
 
 To God and Nature dear. 
 
 I cannot close this appendix without making a very ob- 
 vious reflection. How opposed are the " must depart " of 
 this weak hero of Goethe and the submission of a Christ- 
 ian ! The impulse of the former is the madness of dis- 
 appointment and despair, while the feeling of the latter is 
 the grateful acknowledgment, that life is a blessing and 
 death is a gain. 
 
 The late Mrs. Grant of Laggan, in one of her " Letters 
 from the Mountains," ( LVII. ) has weighed the faults and 
 the excellences of this work with a delicate hand : I have 
 never seen the fairer and the more exceptionable view so 
 justly exhibited. 
 
 In respect to the developement of nature and the finer 
 feelings of the heart, Werter is no doubt a masterly pro- 
 duction. The truth of its touches has been felt and ac- 
 knowledged, not only in imaginative Germany, but in so- 
 ber New England, and on the wild mountains of Ireland 
 and Scotland. Still I cannot but agree with Mrs. Grant, 
 that this fiction requires to be read with a more discrimin- 
 
256 
 
 ating judgment, than the young, the undisciplined, and the 
 impassioned usually possess. Too much of its spirit re- 
 sembles a species of amiable democracy, the independence 
 and wrongheadedness of inexperience. The pathos and 
 intellectual power, discovered in this little volume, cannot 
 compensate either for its want of principle, or its most in- 
 sidious example. The general tenour of the book, indeed, 
 is in harmony with the egotism, the reckless selfishness, 
 the popular spirit of the age. 
 
 
 
MAURICE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 AWAY FOR ST. BRANDAN'S 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 How a Bird and a Boat 
 
 By night came to me. 
 " What said they ? what did they ?' 
 
 Come, reader, and see. 
 
 Shall I reveal one of the foibles or peculiarities of my 
 brain ? or, to borrow the language of the fashionable vo- 
 cabulary of the day, shall I reveal one of my idiosyncra- 
 sies to the reader ? As I wish to secure his confidence, it 
 seems to be no more than discreet to do so. In a half- 
 whisper, then, I give him the simple truth of my experience. 
 
 The fabulous narratives, as they are called, concerning 
 the island of St. Brandan, the many attempts made to 
 reach its shores, and the many glimpses that were believed 
 to have been caught of them, three hundred years ago, 
 have strongly impressed my imagination from earliest 
 childhood. My boyish ardour and credulity used to cause 
 me so much ridicule, that in early youth I became less 
 communicative of my enthusiasm. Still the same feeling 
 clung to me, and, I never doubted, would " cling to me 
 everlastingly." I seldom failed to examine, and most in- 
 quisitively too, every blackletter chronicle of this optical 
 illusion, as some considered it, that fell in my way. 
 
 One of the effects of this impulse, — as a clergyman 
 would say, — forms the topic of my present discourse. It 
 was an effect of such force, as to confirm all I had dream- 
 22* 
 
258 
 
 ed of St. Brandan's, and to change the coloring of my 
 whole after life. The event to which I refer, took place 
 in the year 1743, — and in the nineteenth of my age. 
 
 It was a late hour one evening, almost the very witch- 
 ing time of night, when I was seated in my library alone. 
 I had just read over, it may have been for the twentieth 
 time, an old account of the island of St. Brandan, and was 
 now musing upon the predisposition of the human mind to 
 ndulge in visionary illusions. Nay more, I exclaimed 
 to myself, almost before I well knew what I was saying, 
 "Would to Heaven /could once view this island of mys- 
 tery! what are all else, — fame, fortune, power, or even 
 the love of woman, — compared with this image of the 
 heart and imagination ! One glimpse of its meadows and 
 mountains, its palaces and pavilions, would be worth the 
 whole world beside ;" — when, the moment I expressed 
 this feeling and wish, I heard in my room the humming or 
 whirring of wings. So peculiar was the sound, I was un- 
 able to distinguish, whether it most resembled that of a 
 lone humblebee or that of a lost hummingbird ; but, my 
 northern window being raised to admit the fresh breeze of 
 a midsummer night, I had no doubt that some little fellow 
 had mistaken his way, and I was on the point of rising to 
 give him his freedom. 
 
 That instant I perceived it was a bird, a bird too of the 
 hummingbird tribe, though I could not but observe, when 
 I saw him perch near my lamp, on the top edge of my 
 writing-leaf, that his feathers had much of the downy 
 softness of the bee, and that his beak was more blunt, 
 like that of the Bobo'link. When he alighted, his head 
 happened to be turned from me, but he managed his tiny 
 feet with infinite dexterity, to bring himself round : and 
 while his plumage varied and flashed in the light, I heard 
 him in a sort of recitative, sweet and spiritual as a voice 
 from heaven, thus address me : 
 
 " Maurice ! — list to my voice ! — 
 Ere the dawning of day 
 For St. Brandan's away; 
 Life and death will await, — 
 Bliss and bale be your fate. 
 Nor by land nor by sea 
 Is your journey to be. 
 Then, ere dawning of day, 
 
259 
 
 For St. Brandan's away ; 
 Since by rising of sun 
 Must the island be won." 
 
 Starting from my sofa, I looked and listened in wonder. 
 His message performed, the bird sat perfectly silent, his 
 head turned slightly on one side, and his large, dark, mel- 
 ancholy eye intently fastened upon mine. 
 
 " But, my bit of a bird," 1 exclaimed, more amused 
 than awed, " a truce to your doggerel rhymes. Be less 
 oracular. Speak the king's English. It is not enough to 
 summon me to this wild enterprise of yours : you must 
 have the grace to tell me how I am to accomplish it. If not, 
 rest assured, long before dawning of day I shall — I shall — " 
 
 The bird interrupted my smiling menace, and spoke in 
 the same voice of music as before : 
 
 " Nor by land nor by sea 
 Is your journey to be ? 
 Haste, yon high bridge ascend, 
 On its arch seek a friend ; 
 For a friend will be there 
 All your fortunes to share ; 
 And by rising of sun 
 Will the island be won." 
 
 Still incredulous, I moved nearer to my desk, and put 
 out my hand gently to secure this messenger of mystery, 
 but he kept hitching and hitching along his perch, and 
 at last, reaching the extremity, he darted from the window 
 like a flash of light. His motion was too swift for me to 
 see and follow it : — he was there and was gone. 
 
 I went to the window, but neither saw nor heard any 
 more of him. Midnight had passed. Above, were flash- 
 ing bright streams of the Aurora Borealis ; below, silence 
 brooded over the Almadora, broken only by the lulling 
 music of a remote waterfall, and the deeper voice of the 
 still .remoter ocean, both rendered distinct by the stillness, 
 and both softened by distance. It was the hour of 
 universal repose. 
 
 What to make of this mysterious summoning, I knew 
 not. However, leaving my study, I wandered forth in a sol- 
 itary reverie, and, without being fully aware of the direction 
 I was taking, found myself on the loftiest arch of the bridge 
 of the Almadora. Much had I heard of this arch, many 
 
260 
 
 a marvel, rumour, and vague surmise ; but, paying no re- 
 gard to the superstition of the vulgar, I had never visited 
 the spot at the eventful hour. That hour was now come. 
 
 Standing on the elevated summit, I leaned over the 
 railing, and listened attentively : save the sound of distant 
 waters, all was still as the footstep of Death. Viewing 
 the stars in the river, as if to fathom their measureless 
 depth, I for some minutes continued lost in lonely mu- 
 sing. 
 
 Suddenly a strange murmur came over the water, — 
 strange and indescribable. It impressed me with an awe 
 amounting almost to terrour. I had often heard of flocks 
 of witches, flying over and screaming in a stormy night. 
 But what was this? I stood in unbreathing suspense. A 
 moment, — and the same sound, but more impressive, was 
 wafted on the rising wind. Smothered voices and min- 
 gled whisperings rose from beneath. A superstitious 
 dread crept over me. A sweep of other voices now came 
 in the air, a female laugh of malice and triumph ; — wings 
 swept by me, even the fanning of invisible wings came 
 full in my face. So completely alive was I to these sounds, 
 that all perception of time and place forsook me. A mis- 
 tiness pervaded my senses. Aerial forms and faces float- 
 ed before me, a mingled multitude of objects half distin- 
 guishable. The sounds, the whisperings, the voices, the 
 strange shapes, above, below, around, now met. They 
 were at my very ear. 
 
 I shuddered and sunk down in a partial trance. At the 
 same moment, half conscious as I was, I seemed to be 
 lifted far above the earth ; and, while my ear caught the 
 music and humming of my bird, I was hurried away with 
 inconceivable swiftness through the air of night. 
 
 When I recovered my faculties, I found myself pillowed 
 on a buoyant cloud, a mystic barge of vapour I may call 
 it, floating in its blue flood, far above the ocean. Morning 
 dawned, and the sun approached the horizon. I never 
 saw a more glorious view, than when it rose over the burn- 
 ing waters. A small island lay in full prospect eastward, 
 and more luminous than I am able to describe: it looked 
 like the phoenix amid the flame of its aromatic nest. A 
 long sweep of woods and ridges stretched before me, 
 
261 
 
 while nearer, midway between me and the island, the sails 
 of a few fishing craft caught the living glow. 
 
 My throne of vapour, as if it felt the unusual weight, slow- 
 ly descended ; and the moment it hovered above one of 
 the swells I had seen, and rested upon it, my glorious pa- 
 geantry all vanished, and I stood amid the crags of an un- 
 known coast, bleak and bare. How chill the feeling that 
 pervaded me ! — 
 
 " Can this,'''' thought I, " be the island of St. Brandan ! 
 this desolate region the object of my hopes and dreams ! 
 — I am the dupe and victim of a lying bird," 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 HOW I REACH AN OLD CASTLE, AND WHOSE GUEST I BE- 
 COME THERE. 
 
 Yes, the region to which I had been spirited, was bleak 
 and bare. The frosts and winds of the north had stripped 
 the forest of leaves and the earth of verdure, and all things 
 appeared to be sullenly awaiting the long season of snow. 
 
 I descended from the ridge, on which the cloud had 
 rested and vanished, and, through this scene of gloom and 
 discomfort, I went roaming up and down, searching for 
 some habitation of man. The day passed in fruitless wan- 
 derings. But directed by the evening beam, wan and 
 wintry as it had become since morning, I advanced toward 
 the only mansion I had discovered amid this desolate tract ; 
 an ancient building, for the date " 1642" was discernible 
 over the door, engraved in stone, the material of which 
 the castle was built. I could distinguish the characters at 
 some distance. 
 
 While I stood contemplating this rude but venerable 
 pile, and was on the point of approaching to ask admit- 
 tance, I saw the heavy door opened by a menial, and soon 
 after a female, of unprepossessing features and appearance, 
 looked out and inquired with a haughty air what I wanted. 
 The abruptness of her inquiry, and the leprous hue of 
 her complexion, rather disconcerted me. I remembered 
 my flocks of witches, and thought she might well have be- 
 longed to their number. 
 
 However, truth and simplicity, as they seldom fail to 
 do, prevailed. I briefly acquainted her with my situation, 
 
263 
 
 as a stranger, and, at the same time, asked her whether I 
 had reached the island of St. Brandan ; " for that," I 
 added, " is the grand object of my thoughts and research- 
 es." The moment I made this disclosure, I perceived, 
 ( not without suspicion and alarm,) that a diabolical satis- 
 faction overspread her countenance. 
 
 " Come in," said the exulting fiend, " and you shall 
 have the needful information." 
 
 With some hesitation I followed her through a long en- 
 try, and passed through a door terminating it on the left 
 hand. My conductor had risen from supper, when she 
 came to the door : she now replaced herself at the table, 
 where an aged man was sitting, who viewed me, as I 
 thought, with mingled wonder and benevolence. The 
 kindness that spoke in the tones of his voice, gave me as- 
 surance ; the expression of his eye and mouth, even more 
 infallible than his tones, went immediately to my heart ; 
 while the calm dignity of his manner superadded that 
 rarest charm of a perfect gentleman, Christian politeness. 
 He invited me to take a seat at his left hand, the nearest 
 to his heart, as he observed with a smile, and partake of 
 the repast. So feeling both tired and hungry, I sat 
 down. 
 
 Pursuing the conversation respecting me, which the 
 beldam had introduced, the old man spoke thus : " Well 
 may you wonder, young man, at your miraculous removal 
 from home ; but the ways of Heaven are not only wonder- 
 ful but good, and undoubtedly it was for the wisest pur- 
 pose. You are a believer in the Christian faith ?" 
 
 " That holy faith," I answered, " I have been taught to 
 cherish from my tenderest years." 
 
 " Now is the time then," he replied, " to make its 
 principles operative. Humbly submit to the divine will. 
 Confide in that paternal Providence, which Christianity so 
 fully reveals. More than a thousand leagues separate you 
 from your native land : mountains rise and oceans roll be- 
 tween. This little island is not St. Brandan's, but a mere 
 gem or "central boss of the ocean," far to the north. I 
 do not claim it as my petty kingdom, since I trust I am 
 superior to all ambition of that nature, but I still exercise 
 
264 
 
 over it no limited control. I therefore consider you as a 
 stranger sent me by the Supreme Disposer, and perhaps 
 for the accomplishment of some event as yet unknown. I 
 suspect you have an enemy, and perhaps more than one. 
 At any rate, I feel it to be my duty and pleasure to pro- 
 tect you. Will you live with me, an inmate of the 
 castle ?" 
 
 " Most excellent of men," I exclaimed, " how can I 
 show gratitude equal to such goodness ! Next to my 
 God, I esteem you the preserver of my life. I am not 
 conscious of meriting the enmity of any one. But how- 
 ever this may be, until the mystery of last night's removal 
 shall be unravelled, I shall rejoice to remain with you, 
 provided I can be, in some measure, even in the smallest 
 degree, useful." 
 
 "Agreed," my kind host replied. " You see that I 
 am old. Your company is what I most want. Your 
 young face and beaming eyes recall the days of my youth, 
 those joyous days never to return. Still remembrance 
 gives me a shadow of former joy, and this remembrance 
 you will keep alive in me. Remain with me, young 
 stranger : I am much prepossessed in your favour, — much 
 interested in your welfare. You long, it appears, to visit 
 St. Brandan's. I cannot disapprove your desire, a wild 
 whim, a midsummer night's wish, as I am compelled to 
 view it. The island is a glorious island ; and hereafter, 
 much sooner, it may be, than you imagine, we may pay it 
 a visit together. Meanwhile, this solitude of the castle, as 
 I hope, will not prove oppressive to you." 
 
 Several days fled swiftly away, and each returning hour 
 gave me renewed instances of Simplicio's worth. His 
 whole soul spoke in his countenance, the fresh countenance 
 of vigorous age. Never had I known a more powerful 
 intellect or a more affectionate heart. I revered him as 
 a superior being, while I loved him with the tenderness 
 of a son ; and I felt that he deserved more veneration, and 
 more warmth of attachment, than it was in my power, or 
 in the power of any one, to give him. Not so Maduba, 
 — not so that fury of a woman, to whom he had committed 
 the management of his household affairs The attentions 
 
265 
 
 he paid me, excited her envy and rancour. The littleness 
 of her soul made her too suspicious to have peace herself, 
 or let others have it. I sometimes said to myself, with 
 a sort of instinctive antipathy : " Is not this my enemy ? 
 Is not my enemy here, manifested in the person of Madu- 
 ba ? I feel the presence of evil, whenever she comes into 
 the room, even before I see her face or hear her voice." 
 
 23 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 WHO COMES TO THE CASTLE, AND WHAT MY BIRD 
 
 BRINGS ME. 
 
 On entering the parlour one afternoon, ten or twelve 
 days after my arrival, I was surprised to find there a beau- 
 tiful girl apparently about sixteen. She was rather below 
 the middle stature, and of a delicately proportioned form. 
 The expression of her face was intellectual, — more intel- 
 lectual, indeed, than I had imagined ever to exist in our 
 imperfect nature. So far did she seem from being made 
 to die, that she appeared to have already become immortal. 
 I speak not of the fine Spanish outline of her counte- 
 nance, the vermilion of her cheek, the languishing yet 
 vivid lustre of her eye, or the air of melancholy sweetness 
 that pervaded her like an atmosphere ; for there was 
 something from within, a spiritual manifestation, surpassing 
 form, features, and complexion, that awakened in my heart 
 an emotion I cannot express. The emotion was instanta- 
 neous. Call it not love, for love it assuredly was not. It 
 was a feeling of delightful surprise, — an impression, if 
 the reader will forgive a comparison so fanciful, most like 
 that produced by an orange grove in blossom, unexpectedly 
 revealed by lightning in a dark night. 
 
 The same moment I entered the room, Maduba came in 
 at the opposite door. She introduced the fair girl as 
 Donna Eumela D'Almanza, the only daughter of her late 
 husband, a gentleman from St. Brandan's, and the very 
 particular friend and favourite of the lord of the Castle. 
 At Simplicio's desire, his pressing invitation I ought to call 
 
267 
 
 it, she had left the hamlet on the south-eastern verge of 
 the island, and had come to pass a few weeks at the Castle. 
 Her father, too well knowing the character of his wife, 
 had committed both her and half his property to the care 
 of Simplicio ; and this most affectionate of guardians, 
 whom she loved like another parent, would have rejoiced 
 to welcome her to the Castle as her future home. But 
 much as she was attached to her guardian, this was impos- 
 sible, for the ill-nature and aversion of her step-mother 
 were beyond endurance. She therefore continued to re- 
 side at the princely mansion-house, bequeathed to her by 
 her father. 
 
 " A gentleman from St. Brandan's ! " I exclaimed to 
 myself, as the words penetrated me like a voice from the 
 stars. " Blessed be God ! " I added, " daybreak is near, 
 the dawn of hope." 
 
 I soon perceived that Maduba, conscious of her power, 
 and delighting in domestic tyranny, treated Eumela with a 
 degree of ill nature, which increased my already confirmed 
 abhorrence. In the absence of Simplicio, her petty ven- 
 geance was exercised in ways innumerable. Under pre- 
 tence of rendering domestic duties familiar, she imposed 
 upon her some of the menial offices of the establishment. 
 " Child," said she a few mornings afterward, " you have 
 spread this table-cloth wrong again. Do you not see it is 
 all awry ? Shall I never teach you any thing ? And this 
 coffee-cup too ! — Did I not tell you, no longer ago than 
 yesterday morning, never to put the cup with this figure in 
 my saucer again ? I hate the very sight of it. The 
 humming-bird figure is for your guardian :— you certainly 
 need a guardian. He seems strangely attached to that 
 bird. Will you never learn to remember ? Where were 
 your thoughts wandering ? Oh I dare say Maurice, that 
 curl-pated student you think so handsome, was occupying 
 your reflections. 1 wonder at men's whimsies. What 
 do we want of that stranger youth ! Let him go to St. 
 Brandan's, if he will. Because he dropped among us from 
 the clouds, are we bound to maintain him, and give him the 
 rich suits of a young knight of Spain, with sword and 
 plumes ! It is really too ridiculous. I shall speak to that 
 
268 
 
 dear guardian of yours on this subject ; and as for you, it 
 will be well to mind what you are doing." 
 
 Though I was at a considerable distance, looking out at 
 the door I first entered, and comparing my fate with the 
 dreary withered prospect presented ; and though the sor- 
 ceress uttered most of her tirade in a muttering voice, I 
 could hear all that passed. 
 
 Of my " silent rages " I say nothing. Eumela made 
 no reply ; but, as I entered to breakfast, her tear of wound- 
 ed pride spoke volumes in her favour : it went to my heart. 
 
 I now had a lovely and intelligent individual, with whom 
 I could freely converse ; and the moments that I enjoyed 
 in the company of Eumela, more than made up for what 
 I suffered from our malicious tormenter. The solitude of 
 the Castle brought us much together, and we soon became 
 as intimate as brother and sister. 
 
 Eumela was by no means forever grave, though, owing to 
 the circumstances of her fate and the intellectual cast of her 
 character, she was more thoughtful and less volatile than 
 many girls of her age. When she uttered some ennobling 
 sentiment, or detailed her thousand reminiscences of St. 
 Brandan's, her features exhibited the glow of genius ; or 
 when more mirthfully disposed, she was full of life and el- 
 oquent vivacity. 
 
 It was now that season, in this high northern latitude, 
 when cold blasts were sweeping through the woods, wild 
 geese were flying over to a warmer climate, and when 
 bare crags and rocky ridges presented a cheerless, uncom- 
 fortable prospect. But whenever opportunity allowed, 
 we wandered over the desert scene with hearts of joy. 
 The woods budded, the wild water-fowl made a pleasant 
 music, and the mighty masses of rock melf ' before the 
 voice of love. O what cannot love, ci.ei ed and 
 strengthened by mutual passion, perform ! i he desert 
 smiles, and the wilderness blossoms like the rose. This 
 sentiment, whatever it might have been at our first inter- 
 view, I now felt in the innermost recesses of my being. 
 This was love. 
 
 What moments of delight were these ! But, alas, how 
 brief! One little month had scarcely gone, ere the ma- 
 lign spirit of Maduba compelled Eumela to leave us, and 
 
269 
 
 return to the village where her father had lived and died. 
 I was extremely depressed on her departure, — more mel- 
 ancholy, indeed, than I could have imagined ; but she was 
 
 " A spot of azure in a cloudy sky," 
 
 and no one loves to be forever shut out from the fair face 
 of heaven. 
 
 I promised to visit Eumela soon, and named the day, — 
 but how the hours lingered after her departure ! They 
 were lengthened to ages. Again I seemed to stand alone 
 amid the wilderness. Sleeping or waking, I thought of 
 nothing but Eumela. I conversed with Simplicio respect- 
 ing the island, which had so excited and seized my im- 
 agination, read to him, recited to him, aided him in ar- 
 ranging his manuscripts, listened to his reading one of them 
 on the secret powers of nature, and wandered in the wood- 
 lands ; but neither book, business, ramble, nor Simplicio 
 afforded much amusement. My spirit was pre-occupied ; no 
 effort of my will could withdraw it from the absent ; the 
 charm of my island life was no more. 
 
 Taking a book on the second morning, with a view to 
 escape from the hateful visage of Maduba, I entered the 
 forest, in which the castle was to the west, north, and east 
 imbosomed, and leaned in a reverie against the sunny side 
 of an aged oak. It was the most grateful of reveries, for 
 views of magic illusion, day-dreams of that dear isle of St. 
 Brandan I was still longing to reach, and visions of Eume- 
 la hovered around me. 
 
 While I was thus roaming the region of soft shadows 
 and sweet delusions, I heard overhead a familiar humming. 
 I looked up. The same Bird that entered my study, and 
 whose pr* ^ of St. Brandan's inspired me with so 
 much of ^ne and doubt, was hovering in the air, and 
 holding in Ins little claws a large oak leaf by the stem. 
 Suddenly he dropped it upon the open volume I had been 
 reading, and began to shoot from side to side, as if he 
 were preparing to depart. That moment I remembered 
 his falsehood, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Ah ! my lying little Jockey ! is it you ? Well met. 
 You are the imp, that came to spirit me from the Almado- 
 23* 
 
270 
 
 ra, and to land me upon this wild coast of the north. 
 Where is your promise? And where, in the name of 
 Heaven, is St. Brandan's ? " 
 
 The Bird settled upon a twig above, and while hitching 
 about to adjust himself, and ruffling his feathers in wrath, 
 he made answer in his old way : 
 
 " Cease : my promise is true, 
 You've St. Brandan's in view. 
 Nor by land nor by sea 
 Was your journey to be : 
 You the bridge sought by night, — 
 Found a friend on its height ; 
 For your birdlet was there, 
 All your fortunes to share. 
 Then believe me, my friend, 
 All your steps I attend : 
 Never, never deny, 
 That truehearted am T. 
 Ah, then blame me no more, 
 That we touched this wild shore ; 
 For truth, beauty, and love 
 Here their influence must prove ; 
 While hate, baseness, and crime 
 &U Must triumph — their time. 
 ^Danger, death must impend, 
 Still confide to the end. 
 Then, ere dawning of day, 
 For St. Brandan's away : 
 All you love shall be there 
 Your strange fortunes to share. 
 
 " Now read me your leaf, 
 
 Nor be too much elate ; 
 Weal and woe are appointed, 
 
 That leaf is your fate." 
 
 I took up the leaf. Its form and beauty were striking. 
 Examining it more attentively, and lifting it between me 
 and the sun, I perceived that its texture was eaten through 
 and through, so as to form a network of regular lines. 
 But on closer inspection, my wonder and surprise grew 
 into amazement; for it was a song, four little verses were 
 legible, though in characters of so singular a formation, as 
 to make them somewhat difficult to read. The lines ap- 
 peared to have an ominous import, which made me almost 
 tremble while I read them. They were entitled the 
 Hunter's Dream. 
 
271 
 
 Over mountain and moorland 
 
 I follow the hare, 
 By brooklet's green border 
 
 Then sweetly sleep there. 
 
 There wild music warbles 
 The wood-tops above ; 
 
 I dream of Eumela, 
 The maid whom I love. 
 
 Enthroned on a rose- cloud, 
 The rainbow her robe, 
 
 This beautiful vision 
 Descends to the globe. 
 
 I leap from my grass-bed, 
 Love-raptures to share ; 
 
 But she melts in the sunbeam, 
 And mingles with air. 
 
 When I raised my eyes toward my little friend, to gain 
 the light I wished, — some elucidation of his oracular leaf, 
 — I saw nothing but his twig remaining: this was gently 
 swayed by the breeze, — or the motion, it may be, was 
 the impulse given by his flight, — but the bird was gone. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I EXCHANGE THE LEAE OF MY BIRD EOR A BALLAD OE 
 ST. BR AND AIT'S. 
 
 Two days before the time appointed, I set out for the 
 home of my friend. The village was some miles distant. 
 What feelings our meeting awakened, I need not say. 
 The dear undissembling girl, in the plain and holy inno- 
 cence of her character, welcomed me with every maidenly 
 demonstration of joy. 
 
 Our conversation for a while turned upon Maduba. 
 Eumela pictured her in true colours. 
 
 " The simplest expressions," she said, " I find to be the 
 strongest, and therefore I call her a bad woman. My 
 aversion was altogether involuntary ; I struggled hard 
 to subdue it, — to repress the rebel feeling, — not 
 only out of regard for the memory of my father, but to 
 show respect and gratitude for his revered friend. Still it 
 was impossible. My very nature revolted at the effort. 
 So settled was my antipathy, you could not but observe it, 
 — you could not but observe, how at table I instinctively 
 averted my face from her, as from odious deformity. I 
 am not alone. In this vicinity her character is so well 
 understood, that I have seen ill-mannered boys hoot after 
 her in the street. I could not endure the sight of her 
 myself. Her features were moulded by the demon within ; 
 and when the voice of that demon breathed from her lips, 
 breathed its breath of venom, I could make little reply 
 beyond a stifled groan. This antipathy of mine, which I 
 rather acknowledge to be a weakness than attempt to justi- 
 
273 
 
 fy, made her my inveterate foe. You partially know the 
 consequences : I know them but partially myself. I made 
 this last visit with extreme reluctance, and I have resolved 
 never to subject myself to such indignities again." 
 
 " But Providence," I interposed, " even from this dark 
 hour of trial has caused the dayspring of our affections to 
 arise." 
 
 " Yes, Maurice," she replied with a glow of devotion, 
 " and never may we distrust its wisdom and goodness. 
 Were it not for the unhappy spirit of Maduba, — pray 
 excuse my not calling her mother, for I would not profane 
 so dear a name, — I might live very pleasantly at the 
 Castle. I know this to be the strong desire of my guar- 
 dian, but I at the same time know, that every new visit I 
 make, more and more convinces him of its impossibility. 
 Too well do I feel assured of this in my own case. 
 
 " After the death of my mother, seven years ago, my 
 father came to this island with a view to being near his 
 friend, and to soften the severity of his loss by change of 
 scene. Here he continued to reside, from year to year, 
 the possessor of great wealth and still more rich in the 
 treasures of his mind, peaceful and beloved at home, hon- 
 oured and respected abroad, until in an evil hour he was 
 drawn, as if by some infatuation, into his second marriage. 
 We read much concerning attachments and unions like 
 this, and we sometimes witness them in real life, but to me 
 they always appear mysterious and unnatural. Over this 
 event, so fatal to the hopes and peace of my father, you 
 will permit me to draw a veil. It is sufficient to say that 
 he was miserable, and that he died within less than a year. 
 
 " Left an orphan, or in circumstances still more painful, 
 on the removal of my parent, I have, from that time, now 
 almost eleven months, lived in my present seclusion. With 
 the exception of my visits to the castle, which have been 
 few and brief, I have occupied this mansion on the sea 
 shore, the bequest of my father. I have enjoyed its bles- 
 sed quietness, but I am confident, from some hints and 
 whispers of Maduba, that it will not be of long continu- 
 ance. Time will show, perhaps in characters of blood. 
 What have we not both to fear ! — O that my father had 
 never seen this Maduba ! — Why did he remove from St. 
 
274 
 
 Brandan's, the beloved island of home ! shall I ever re- 
 visit those scenes of my heart ? O that we might visit 
 them together, and never, never leave them! — This cold 
 region of the north, this region of sordid selfishness, — 
 have we no means of escape from it ? escape to the land 
 of the heart, the dear sunny south ? " 
 
 I endeavored to soothe the fears of a too sensitive mind, 
 and to inspire it with brighter hopes. I retold, perhaps 
 for the fiftieth time, the marvels of my own history. Bird 
 and boat, the voyage of this, and the promises of that, all 
 my adventures passed in review, and sweet St. Brandan's 
 formed the chorus of every song. My soothings were not 
 in vain. Whatever hope rose upon myself seemed to 
 shed a fairer light and a more inspiring warmth upon her. 
 What an evening we enjoyed ! 
 
 I gave Eumela the Sybilline leaf as a curiosity. She 
 was gratified, though the strangeness of its origin, and its 
 somewhat alarming import, baffled her power of interpre- 
 tation, as well as my own. But striving to banish the 
 thought of evils, that might never come, she adapted the 
 verses to the air, "Mia cava Dorinda" and, gently touch- 
 ing her guitar, sung them to me with the warblings of a 
 Seraph. We bade welcome the promises of hope, the 
 sunshiny landscapes of truehearted affection ; and as she 
 had once promised to do, she recited to me the following 
 simple Ballad, descriptive, as she told me, of the fortunes 
 of her only brother, now no more. 
 
 GERALDINE OF ST. BRANDAN'S. 
 
 Who does not wild St. Brandan's love, 
 Where foams the ocean spraj ? 
 There roamed the lovely Geraldine, 
 The rival form of May. 
 
 Scarce fourteen smiling summer years 
 Their charm of love had shed ; 
 Her skin was white as mountain snow, 
 Soft- touched with heauty's red. 
 
 Her eyes with angel sweetness beamed, 
 Her lips with roses glowed, 
 Her soul awoke the stealing blush, 
 That gently ebbed and flowed. 
 
275 
 
 Charles saw this lovely ocean-girl, 
 As o'er the beach she strayed ; 
 His guardian angel whispered him 
 To win this beauteous maid. 
 
 He saw her blush, — her parting tear, — 
 He saw affection's smile ; — 
 " What if she be an opening bud, 
 Can I not wait a while ? 
 
 " Yes, guardian spirits guard my girl, 
 This loveliest maid of mine ; 
 For when three years are overpassed, 
 I'll wed my Geraldine." 
 
 "Pardon my interruption, Eumela," I here observed, 
 " but I am rather inquisitive to know who composed these 
 stanzas." 
 
 " I have reason to suspect," Eumela answered, " that it 
 was my brother himself. He was little accustomed to 
 poetical composition, as the ballad itself shows ; and in two or 
 three of the verses, he adopted some images and expres- 
 sions from an old sea-song, which I often heard him 
 repeat." 
 
 "Thank you, and now I am impatient for the sequel. 
 They were true lovers, I hope ? " 
 
 " You shall hear." 
 
 Eumela then went on with her recital. 
 
 Now three long years had lingering passed, 
 Since Charles to India sailed, 
 And Geraldine with tears of love 
 His absence yet bewailed. 
 
 No white sail gleamed from ocean view, 
 But she wished her wanderer there ; 
 And gazing o'er the moonlight wave, 
 She watched with sleepless care. 
 
 Said she, " tho' men forever blame, 
 And woman call untrue, 
 My soul disdains the heartless thought, 
 Dear Charles, for love of you : 
 
 " You first my little bosom warmed, 
 When I was young and small; 
 And tho' shame stopt my faltering voice, 
 My smile confessed it all." 
 
 One midnight rose a summer storm, 
 And sweeping whirlwinds howled, 
 And lightning streamed athwarthe Deep, 
 While mountain billows rolled. t 
 
276 
 
 Then Geraldine her couch forsook, 
 And sought the foamy shore, 
 For signal-guns were mingled oft 
 With thunder's dreadful roar. 
 
 Whene'er the sea was wrapt in flame, 
 A tall ship loomed in view, 
 Now tost to heaven, now plunged again. 
 As whelming waves pursue. 
 
 But soon she saw her plough the shoals, 
 Her masts go by the board ; 
 She saw their crowded long-boat sink, — 
 Then surges o'er them roared. 
 
 A heart-sick faintness seized her frame, 
 She shuddered, every limb : — 
 '• O if my Charles should perish there, — 
 Mast I not follow him !" 
 
 Deep moans of death came o'er the surf, 
 When land they strove to reach, 
 And many a well-known mariner 
 Dashed lifeless on the beach. 
 
 This ever-faithful maiden viewed 
 The living and the drowned, — 
 She moved aside their heavy locks, 
 But Charles could not be found. 
 
 " O farewell, farewell, worthless life, — 
 Welcome my watery grave ; — 
 I come, my best-beloved, wait," — 
 She leapt amid the wave. 
 
 That moment Charles from a sea-top 
 This storm-beat lily caught ; 
 And tho' o*erspent, he safe on shore 
 The beauteous flowret brought. 
 
 " All-gracious Heaven ! — my Geraldine ' 
 Did you my death deplore ? 
 My ever-dear, true-hearted girl, 
 We meet to part no more." 
 
 Now dawn o'er wild St. Brandan's broke, 
 Retired the roaring flood ; 
 And, looming o'er the shallows high, 
 The Belladonna stood. 
 
 Enriched with India's freighted wealth, 
 Charles wed his love sincere ; 
 Now when " a storm howls round his home," 
 He thinks her doubly dear. 
 
 This ballad was too long to be sung, but the recitation af- 
 forded us opportunity of speaking of our own hopes and fears. 
 
277 
 
 Our sympathy of feeling was perfect, and our interchange 
 of whatever most interested our hearts, was protracted to 
 a late hour. I then hastened back to the Castle with a 
 mixed feeling of gratitude and grief; grateful that I pos- 
 sessed so deserving an object of affection, and grieved that 
 she was so peculiarly situated. Musing on some means of 
 softening the severity of her vexation and alarm, and if 
 possible of inducing Simplicio to take us both to St. Bran- 
 dan's, — I entered my forest home, whose inhabitants were 
 sunk in sleep, and in my half-melancholy mood laid myself 
 down to repose. 
 
 But it was long before I fell asleep. The strange events 
 of the past, the dim perils of the present, the hopes and 
 fears of the future, all kept floating before me. At length 
 a low murmuring, like the wings and voice of a spirit, 
 lulled me to sleep. Was it the busy kindness of my Bird ? 
 Beyond all doubt it was he, for the words, 
 
 " Softly sink to repose," 
 
 more than once came faintly to my ear ; and still more 
 faintly was the warning, 
 
 " Soon the shadow of woes," 
 
 mingled with my last waking emotion 
 
 24 
 
CHAPTEE V. 
 
 MISCHIEF BREWING AT HOME, AND A SNOW-STORM ABROAD. 
 
 Next morning Maduba viewed me with suspicion, — call 
 it rather the serpent eye of hatred, — but the unfeigned 
 smile of Simplicio made ample amends. In the manner 
 of the former, however, there appeared to be a malicious 
 satisfaction, which gave me no small uneasiness. The 
 disclosure, on her part, of what was passing within, was 
 doubtless involuntary ; and the discovery, on mine, of the 
 state of her soul, was that mysterious gift of God, which I 
 am accustomed to call the intuition of the spirit. Sensible 
 of the depravity of her heart, and dreading what might be 
 the event of the whispers and hints, to which Eumela had 
 alluded, I shuddered for the fate of the dear devoted 
 orphan. 
 
 A circumstance occurred too this morning, which height- 
 ened my anxiety. I was thoughtfully seated in a cham- 
 ber contiguous to that of Maduba, to which I had some- 
 times repaired for the benefit of light, and where Simplicio 
 sometimes joined me. It was not long before he came in, 
 and directed my attention to the state of the air abroad. I 
 rose and went to the window. We stood with our faces 
 toward the south. A disastrous twilight, shedding a 
 strange obscurity upon the crags and cliffs before us, was 
 the first thing that met the eye. We looked further, and 
 lo ! on our left hand we saw the sun, and a mighty circle 
 surrounding it, that reached from mid-heaven even below 
 the horizon. The hazy firmament rendered this immense 
 
279 
 
 halo unusually distinct. As we stood gazing, the spectacle 
 assumed a changeful aspect: the vision now exhibited the 
 gloomy grandeur of a total eclipse, and then again the 
 brightening flashes of the northern lights. The electric 
 waves, as they swept over the miraculous wheel, seemed 
 at one moment to have all faded from the sky, and the 
 very next to be all alive with the hues of heaven. . 
 
 " What do you read thefe, Maurice ?" Simplico asked 
 me with a stern smile. 
 
 " I am little acquainted with this climate," I answered, 
 " but in my own I should consider such commotion and 
 such meteors in the sky, the sure presages of a winter 
 storm." 
 
 " Such a storm," he replied, " is probably coming here; 
 but, believe me, there is more mischief in the wind than 
 that." 
 
 Scarcely had he spoken these words, when we heard 
 steps ascending the stairs, and distinguished the voices of 
 two persons, as they entered the adjoining apartment. 
 Some fragments of their smothered whispers now reached 
 us. 
 
 " Is it mutual ? " said an unknown voice in a tone of ser- 
 vility. 
 
 " No doubt, — convinced it is immovable," — answered 
 another, which we knew to be that of Maduba. 
 
 " I expected as much," said the unknown. "A stop 
 must be effected — a removal — for both our safeties ; 
 yet I know not the means." 
 
 " Means ! " exclaimed Maduba : "I am resolved. Let 
 that suffice. Our interest, our fears, our revenge shall 
 teach us the means. Who will, who can oppose us ? 
 There are no means I hesitate to employ. I hate them 
 both. I abhor the very ground on which they tread." 
 
 "Still be discreet," interposed the unknown. " I am 
 as unscrupulous as yourself, but remember Simplicio. Per- 
 haps it is the mere instinctive terror of retributive justice, 
 yet I cannot banish the suspicion, that our fate is connected 
 with these individuals. Such has all along been my read- 
 ing of our charm. To prevent the arrival of this stranger, 
 what would I not have done ! Nay, what did we not both 
 dare attempt that night ! But, owing to that accursed Bird, 
 
280 
 
 we failed. The enemy is here. Did we not see him de- 
 scend as on a throne of triumph and glory ? And now the 
 two persons in the world, whose union we have the strong- 
 est reason to dread, are the two happiest lovers on earth. 
 In all this, you cannot fail to discover the hand of Simpli- 
 cio. Were it not for him and his Bird " 
 
 " I know his power and his goodness," replied Maduba, 
 " and my spirit trembles before them. But I apprehend 
 no interference from him. He is more devoted to specu- 
 lative science than to active exertion. I have a plan, a 
 conspiracy, if you will, which gives me promise of success. 
 It struck me the very moment the stranger entered the 
 Castle. Listen, and let us mature it in the very secrecy of 
 our souls. This night" — 
 
 " This night!" said I, echoing the words, ere I was 
 aware ; and eager as well to detect their malice, as to free 
 my mind from the horrors of suspense, I pressed nearer to 
 the partition ; but the words I repeated, and the noise I 
 made, slight as it was, seemed to put them on their guard. 
 
 Silence ensued, and we heard no more. My God ! had 
 we not heard enough? Simplicio smiled, — there was awful 
 meaning in his smile, — bade me, thus forewarned, be wise 
 and wary, and immediately left the room. Whether he 
 meant to rush in upon the miscreants in the midst of their 
 plotting, or to take some calmer course, I knew not. 
 
 I determined to fly to the village, and warn Eumela of 
 the danger that impended, or to rescue her at the risk of 
 my life ; but the afternoon had far advanced, before I 
 could depart. I was embarrassed and hindered : the arti- 
 fices of Maduba and her wizard accomplice seemed to be 
 woven around me like a web. 
 
 At last I got off, and hurried forward. As I went on, I 
 saw in the remote horizon, before me, a most unexpected 
 sight. It was a range of mountain-tops, far in the east, 
 not only white with snow, but even sparkling with splen- 
 dor, that living light which we sometimes admire under a 
 full moon of winter. I gazed upon it with delight, even 
 anxious as I was. My attention was drawn from this vision 
 by my observing, on my left, a noble rock, that rose from 
 fifty to a hundred feet perpendicular. Without stopping 
 for a moment, 1 contemplated this pile as I continued my 
 
281 
 
 course ; but when I turned my eyes toward the visionary 
 scene just now before me, no vestige of it remained. A 
 level prospect extended as far as I could see in the dusky 
 distance, and not even a glimpse of the snowy eminences 
 met my view. It was mysterious. I could not help dwell- 
 ing upon the circumstance. Was it an illusion of sorcery, 
 designed to bewilder me ? I know not; but that the spark- 
 ling glimpses were visionary, I most fully believe ; and so 
 far from being led out of my way, I persevered in pressing 
 toward the goal. 
 
 The air had a snowy feeling : although the wind came 
 from the south, it chilled me to the heart like a garment 
 of ice. The sky was overcast with heavy clouds, lurid 
 masses of vapor I may call them, which began to descend 
 in rain, and soon after turned to sleet, — even the accom- 
 plishment of the presages of the morning. The rain be- 
 came sleet, the sleet turned to hail and snow, and before I 
 could reach the village, night and the storm having dark- 
 ened around me, I could scarcely distinguish one house 
 from another. I was however enabled, though not without 
 difficulty, to find the mansion of Eumela, it being more 
 lofty than any other. 
 
 I knocked. To my utter astonishment, who should 
 appear but Maduba, the sorceress Maduba herself! With 
 malignity and triumph in her look, she came to the door 
 and addressed me : " You are come, are you ? I have been 
 some time expecting you. What are you after here ? Why 
 are you lurking about in snow-storms ? Donna Euemla, — 
 is she the magnet ? that most amiable and sentimental of 
 damsels ? Eumela D'Almanza, and Maurice the Cloud- 
 boy, — what a beautiful match ! But you are too late, Sir. 
 She has been gone these two hours. So good evening to 
 you. Permit me to wish you a pleasant walk, Sir, back 
 to the Castle." 
 
 I was thunderstruck. 
 
 " You have murdered her !" I exclaimed with frantic 
 fury. " You have murdered her." 
 
 " No, I rather think not," she with cool sarcasm replied ; 
 " at least not yet. Murdering one's daughter does not 
 sound well : do you think it does ?" 
 
 " I intreat you," 1 rejoined, "I conjure you to inform me 
 24* 
 
282 
 
 where she is. As you would find mercy in your last hour, 
 I beseech you to inform me. Let me see her but one 
 moment." 
 
 My intreaties were all in vain. 
 
 " You will find her, it may be, at the Castle ; or she 
 has chartered a cloud, perhaps, to transport her home to 
 St. Brandan's. Who knows ? You shall know in good 
 time," she added with a bitter sneer ; " and I hope soon 
 to see you taken off yourself. Meantime take care never 
 to intrude here again. This mansion, you will please to 
 remember, is mine. I shall make it my home. That 
 grandee of St. Brandan's, whom you so often extol as supe- 
 rior to the whole world, — I leave him. I endure his hom- 
 ilies no longer." 
 
 Scarcely had she uttered these words, when a strong 
 humming sound passed over us, — three times it passed 
 on the wind, — after which a voice, solemn as the voice of 
 Death, chanted the following words: 
 
 " Accursed, beware ! 
 Your last warning receive ; — 
 Beware when we next meet, 
 Be it morning or eve." 
 
 Her lips blanched with terror, and her eyes glowing 
 with rage, Maduba shrunk from the presence and locked 
 the door in my face. 
 
 What had I not reason to fear ! I had but one resource, 
 and that I determined immediately to secure, even the 
 interposition of my preserver and patron, Simplicio. I 
 quitted the door, brooding revenge. What were darkness 
 and tempest to me now ! In a state of desperation, I retrod 
 my way toward the Castle, now running and now in a hur- 
 rying walk, but at last I became bewildered : I knew not 
 whither to move. The gloom of night was extreme, the 
 woods pathless, the ravines and ridges wild. The alterna- 
 tive was before me, either to lie down and tamely perish, or 
 to press forward with the strong resolve of the soul; and 
 peradventure I might come within the gleam of the castle 
 windows. Hour after hour I struggled with the storm. My 
 frame is not muscular or robust, but never until now had I 
 been conscious of its power of endurance. 
 
 No light, no path appeared. At last, spent with exer- 
 
283 
 
 tion, and despairing to find a house before daylight, I 
 reclined against the sheltered side of a high rock. Resting 
 a moment, I thought of the prophet's shadow of a great 
 rock in a weary land, and took courage. Still there was 
 mystery in the past, and peril in the present. The strange 
 agency of the Bird, my unaccountable removal from home, 
 my aerial voyage, my descent upon the ridge, my wander- 
 ing amid the wilderness, my reception at the castle, the 
 undoubted guilt of Maduba, the affectionate good-will of 
 Simplicio, the disappearance of Eumela, the exhaustion 
 and death-chill now upon me, — these all passed in rapid 
 review before me. My adventures seemed rather to resem- 
 ble the air-wove features of a dream, than those of reality. 
 I stamped the ground, I grasped my arm, to convince 
 myself of the truth of my state. 
 
 Insensibly the snow, the misty rain, the wind, and the 
 cold atmosphere so benumbed my limbs, that I felt inca- 
 pable of proceeding much further, and I resigned myself to 
 that mysterious Power, who overrules in wisdom the desti 
 nies of all. A drowsiness came over my faculties, and 
 closing my eyes, I was about to sleep, perhaps even the 
 sleep of death ; — when in a moment my lethargy was gone, 
 the grasp of death was relaxed, for the warbling of my 
 Bird came over my soul, inspiring as hope from heaven : 
 
 u Wake, arise ! rise, awake ! 
 More than life is at stake ; 
 No more pause, no more sleep, 
 Ever watch and ward keep. 
 Your Eumela is near, 
 Then dismiss every fear ; 
 Hold me faithful and true, 
 Keep St. Brandan's in view : 
 Beauty, virtue, and love 
 Here their influence shall prove, 
 Though Maduba and crime 
 Should e'en triumph — their time. 
 Danger, death may impend, 
 Yet confide to the end. 
 Then arise and awake, 
 For two lives are at stake." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THINGS VISIONARY AND THINGS REAL, SEEN AND SAID 
 WITHIN THE EARTH. 
 
 Thus encouraged and cautioned by the Bird, and know- 
 ing the fatal consequence of indulging in sleep, my spirit 
 once more rallied, and I was moving away from the rock, 
 when a low sound thrilled my soul. This was no bird- 
 note of warning or comfort. Did it issue from the em- 
 bodied darkness, the massy gloom around me ? Did it 
 come up from the depth of the earth ? I listened. In a 
 pause of the storm, a moan came to my ear and heart ; 
 but whence it came, I knew not. A strange feeling pos- 
 sessed me. Was the wilderness haunted? Were spirits 
 lamenting the death of Eumela ? Were they commiserat- 
 ing my own calamity ? Or was it not rather the murdered 
 Eumela herself, calling upon me for vengeance ? 
 
 Advancing a step to the right, where the rock half faced 
 me, I discerned through a crevice a feeble ray of light. 
 A flash of joy shot through my heart. I went up to the 
 spot, and discovered a small aperture, which was almost 
 concealed by snow and brushwood. In open daylight it 
 would have remained unsuspected. This little beam 
 was my sole clue. With difficulty and precaution I re- 
 moved the obstructions, raised a sort of trap door by a ring, 
 went down some rude stone steps, and found myself in a 
 spacious room, formed in the solid marble. It contained 
 nothing but the solitary lamp, which had emitted the 
 feeble light I had caught sight of. Compared with the 
 atmosphere above, a most welcome warmth met and 
 
285 
 
 flowed around me. No person was visible ; no sound was 
 heard but the sweep of the storm ; and even that came to 
 my ear like the dead echo of night. 
 
 By the gleam of the lamp, which burnt dimly on a pro- 
 jection or stone-table, I narrowly surveyed this subterranean 
 abode ; . . . when the same sound of woe, sobbings and in- 
 terrupted moans, — more full and audible, — struck on my 
 soul. Breathless, I hurried toward the sound, rushed 
 against a large rock that secured an inner cave, dragged it 
 away with the strength of madness, when, merciful God ! 
 what a sight met my view ! 
 
 My own Eumela appeared before me in the dusky light. 
 She was bound with cords, half seated on a block of mar- 
 ble, and half reclined against the wall, — her head resting 
 on her bosom, her tears flowing, and sobs bursting forth 
 from excess of suffering. Unbinding the cords, and 
 brushing away the drops that trickled down her cheek, I 
 impetuously and with wild sympathy inquired, how she 
 came to be buried there alive. 
 
 "My fears, dear Maurice, were but too just," she 
 sobbed : " Maduba and some accomplice of hers have 
 worked me this mischief. By those wretches have I been 
 spirited away. I know not where I am. Soon after night- 
 fall, I was seized at my home, blindfolded, forced into a 
 close vehicle, and hurried to this place. Here I was left 
 imprisoned and bound, — left to die. But the righteous 
 Disposer of events, — O may we ever repose unbound- 
 ed confidence in him! — has disconcerted the scheme of 
 villany. My dear friend, from what horrors have you 
 saved me ! Can I ever be sufficiently grateful ? " 
 
 " My own Eumela," I answered, folding her to my 
 heart and kissing away her tears, "you know my every 
 emotion. I need say no more. I am myself but now 
 rescued from a death even more imminent than your own.'" 
 
 It was now, so far as we could judge, some hours past 
 midnight. We took the solitary lamp, and retired still 
 further into the cavern, where the warmth of the tempera- 
 ture became more and more grateful, and where the blessed 
 hopes which had arisen, restored us to ourselves. We 
 took the lamp, but made no pause to contemplate, even 
 for a moment, the brilliancy of the stalactite pillars, and 
 
286 
 
 the forms of magic beauty flashing into life along the 
 starry roof. The grotto was broad and lofty, and, judging 
 from the far echo of our voices, we imagined it must extend 
 into the ridge some hundred feet. With minds more com- 
 posed, we might have explored its picturesque wonders for 
 many hours, but, in our present state of feeling, it would 
 have been doing injustice both to nature and to ourselves. 
 A stronger power was upon us, than even these miracles 
 of the picturesque, — the power of the human heart. 
 Giving our light its best site for illumination, we sat down 
 on a fallen column of spar. 
 
 After recounting what I had learned in the morning, 
 and every subsequent adventure and movement^ " Our 
 perils are now past," I said, "I have perfect confidence in 
 Simplicio's worth. With the return of morning, we will 
 repair to the castle, and lay the crimes of our enemies be- 
 fore him. He is lord of this island, and we have a right 
 to his protection." 
 
 "It will certainly be best," replied Eumela : "I too re- 
 pose unwavering confidence in his justice. I have no 
 doubt respecting the event. Do not call me superstitious. 
 I cannot but cherish the persuasion, that we are sometimes 
 peculiarly open to spiritual influences. There seems, in 
 moments of anguish intense as mine has been, to be a 
 breathing upon our spirits from the invisible world. Since 
 doomed to this dungeon of despair, I seem to have had a 
 visitation from the spirit of my father. It may have been 
 a delusion, fashioned by the shaping mind ; what you told 
 me about that strange Bird of yours, may have furnished 
 the materials ; but you shall judge for yourself. 
 
 " When I had been here two or three hours, I sunk 
 down upon the pedestal where you found me, and from 
 perfect exhaustion fell into a slumber ; but my spirit was 
 intensely awake. You were with me, and we were jour- 
 neying westward, directly toward the evening sun, which 
 was somewhat more than an hour high. As we were 
 noticing its uncommon breadth and lustre, we saw beneath 
 it an orchard-slope, one of the dear orchard-slopes of St. 
 Brandan's. Yes, we were there. A spring shower had 
 just passed over, and evening came on. The sky was of 
 the softest blue, and a breeze, rich with the fragrance of 
 
287 
 
 young buds and blossoms, breathed over one of the low- 
 lands of my native home. It seemed the bliss of heaven 
 to us both. The earth was as dewy as the mist of a night 
 could have made it. As the sun approached the horizon, 
 I observed the clear drops suspended from the green 
 blades of grass; but you were not satisfied with seeing me 
 give them only a general survey; — you made me stoop 
 down with my face to the ground, and catch the brilliancy 
 of the beams, trembling and quivering and sparkling 
 through the drops of crystal. O what hues ! what infi- 
 nite varying of hues ! The dew-drops of the shower, the 
 meadow half water and half verdure, and the moving 
 waves of my own river, seen through the orchard in 
 blossom, were overspread with such vivid and living lustre, 
 as the prism discloses. Hardly could our eyes be satisfied 
 with seeing." 
 
 " What a contrast," I exclaimed, interrupting Eumela, 
 " between your visionary scene and my dark reality at the 
 very same moment ! " 
 
 " It was a mysterious contrast indeed, a strange kind of 
 life in death to us both," replied Eumela ; " but blessed be 
 God, that we are really together now! — Well, leaving 
 our point of observation, and going round the moist 
 meadow, we entered the orchard, where the breeze wafted 
 the very spirit of freshness. While we stood breathing 
 the fragrance, and viewing the world of blossoms around 
 us, we saw a humming-bird, now looking into this blossom, 
 and now sucking honey-dew from that, and now remaining 
 stationary in the air like a spinning top. Once or twice it 
 hovered near us, and we darted out our hands to catch it, 
 but the little creature eluded us. 
 
 " At last I drew up towards the tree with red blossoms, 
 the tree I used to call mine seven years ago, and where 
 this birdlet was sporting ; and just as he was plunging his 
 head up to his eyes in one of the crimson cups., I with my 
 best sleight of hand made him my prisoner. 
 
 " When I came to examine this gleam of a bird, if I 
 may so call him, I found him more beautiful than a 
 blossom itself. I felt his little heart beat in my hand, but 
 he appeared to be not at all fearful ; and when he looked 
 at me with mild expressive eyes, and opened his little bill 
 
288 
 
 and spoke, I was not in the least surprised. And when I 
 asked him what he w r as, whence he came, whither he was 
 going, and what his business was, he very promptly made 
 answer: " I am a Soul, — the soul of your father. I 
 came from heaven, and I came expressly to comfort you 
 in your trials." 
 
 " How my heart throbbed ! how [ trembled, as I viewed 
 this strange visiter ! could it be ? Could my father have 
 assumed the form of a bird? I wept in silence. I then 
 eagerly inquired respecting my dear mother, — the pursuits, 
 enjoyments, and mysteries of a disembodied spirit. 
 " These," said he, " it is not for you to know. But be of 
 good courage, Eumela. Confide in the friend beside you, 
 in the truth and integrity of your revered guardian, in the 
 principles of that holy faith I have taught you, and in the 
 pure impulses of your own heart. Your mother most ten- 
 derly remembers you ; we both remember you in heaven, 
 and we watch over you on earth. And now, daughter of 
 my own Rosamunda, 1 commend you to the care of Him 
 whose mercy and justice never slumber nor sleep." 
 
 " While these words," Eumela added, " were vibrating 
 on my ear and heart, the bird-spirit vanished like a gleam 
 of light : I could only say it was seen, and not seen ; and I 
 awoke to the misery, from which you have delivered 
 me." 
 
 " Whatever," I replied, " may have been the nature of 
 this interview of yours, whether, as you suggest, it were a 
 breathing upon your spirit from the unseen world, or the 
 creative force and elasticity of that spirit itself, we ought to 
 be equally grateful for the gift. Would that I felt more of 
 this elasticity myself." 
 
 " Never yield to despondency, I entreat you," ex- 
 claimed Eumela with impassioned tenderness. <c Even in 
 this cavern of the earth, we ought to be inspired by grati- 
 tude, hope, and lofty courage." 
 
 As the night passed on, the violence of the storm seemed 
 to have abated ; when hearing overhead several peals of 
 thunder, a circumstance quite unusual at this season, we 
 went to the opening of the cave, and lifted the door, to 
 look out upon the aspect of the country, as it might be 
 disclosed by the lightning. The snow was deep, encrust- 
 
289 
 
 ed, and of polished smoothness. There was a thin va- 
 pour in the air, and a few drops of a shower were falling. 
 Lightning of the phosphorescent kind, pure-white I may 
 call it as the robes of heaven, was filling the whole hemi- 
 sphere with its glory, and revealing the footstool of God in 
 all its unimaginable beauty. Eye never saw, heart never 
 conceived, its infinitely-faint blueish delicacy. There 
 was something too very impressive in the thunder among 
 the mountains. Sometimes the wider phosphorescence 
 paused four or five seconds, as if delighting to witness its 
 own power ; and sometimes the flash had hardly permitted 
 our eyes to glance upon a Crag or Steep, far to the west, 
 before a chaos of solid darkness rushed between, and we 
 seemed almost able to hear the concussion of the atoms. 
 We stood rapt with the beauty and sublimity of the phe- 
 nomenon. The Temple of Nature, its floor of snowy 
 whiteness and crystal polish, its wide-swelling dome, its 
 immense interior, all appeared, like the mount of transfigu- 
 ration, to be filled with the glory of God. We never felt 
 the presence of this infinite Being more powerfully, and 
 never did the incense of our hearts ascend to him with a 
 more spontaneous impulse, than from this island sanctuary. 
 Retiring again to the warmer recesses of our grotto, we 
 passed the brief hour that remained of the night, in form- 
 ing plans for the future, and in such communion as the 
 anxious and affectionate prize. Would not hearts, cement- 
 ed by mutual affection, find a prison, a desert, a rock in 
 the ocean, — I do not say a paradise of pleasures, or that 
 they can be insensible to the evils of life; — but even in 
 circumstances disastrous as these, what softening of evil, 
 what disarming of calamity, do they not experience ! — 
 Such, at any rate, are the breathings of youthful tender- 
 ness, and sometimes, it may be, even of maturer life, 
 however romantic the general experience of age may pro- 
 nounce them. 
 
 25 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WE LEAVE THE GROTTO, AND I RETURN TO THE 
 CASTLE ALONE. 
 
 Morning dawned, and we prepared to leave our asy- 
 lum, the prison of despair and hope. Putting out the 
 lamp, which the wizard acc.omplice had in his perturbation 
 left burning, we quitted th^Goshen of security, this Grot- 
 to of Lovers, and breathed the bracing air of a winter 
 morning. The storm was over, and the twilight shone 
 beautifully, even with a spiritual lustre, through the icy 
 branches and upon the glazed cliffs ; but the brilliancy that 
 flashed in the rising sun, — what language can impart any 
 conception of those hues of heaven ? none : it was a misty 
 glory to be seen by the actual vision, and not to be ima- 
 gined from the faint reflection of words. 
 
 Not knowing where we were, we were uncertain which 
 way to proceed, but hunger and exhaustion forced us to a 
 speedy determination. Using our best judgment, we di- 
 rected our course toward the south ; and in about two 
 hours ascending the summit of a rising ground, we des- 
 cried further westward a building at considerable distance. 
 It stood amid a grove of spruce, hemlock, and pine. 
 The cottage-smoke, rising out of this verdure of winter, 
 half hidden by its coat of crystal, curled on the morning 
 air. The snow-crust bore us, and descending with a quick- 
 ened step, it was not long before we reached the house. 
 
 Happily Eumela was well acquainted with the widow 
 who dwelt there, and who gave us a cordial welcome. It 
 was a beautiful sight to see human nature, not only 
 
291 
 
 in its primitive simplicity, but ennobled by the influence of 
 the Christian faith. We sat down to a plain but well fur- 
 nished table. Eumela's kindness was most grateful to me. 
 Oh it was exquisite, after the sufferings of such a night, to 
 experience the bliss of such a morning! The Being, 
 whose attributes of wisdom and goodness ought every hour 
 to come home to our hearts, seldom sends either joy or 
 sorrow unmingled. Even in ecstasy there is a mysteri- 
 ous sadness, and some drops from heaven itself are infused 
 in the cup of bitterness. God is good. 
 
 I ascertained here, that, turning away from the wind, my 
 wanderings, the preceding night, had carried me many 
 miles north of the Castle, and that Eumela had been im- 
 mured in the very depth of the forest. After finishing 
 our repast, therefore, and thanking our kind entertainer, I 
 saw no other way, than to commit Eumela to her care, 
 and to proceed to Simplicio's alone. With the bright 
 sunshine around us, we felt no presentiment of evil ; since, 
 however unwilling we might be to separate, a very few 
 hours would reunite us. 
 
 I bent my course toward home. The unremitted work- 
 ings of my soul imparted life, vigour, alertness. I never 
 walked so unconsciously, or with such spirit-speed. Still 
 the length of the way was considerable, and, from imperfect 
 knowledge, my deviations were so frequent, that it was 
 sunset before I arrived. Nobody was in the Castle but 
 Simplicio. Him I found wrapt in deep study, but he ex- 
 pressed no surprise at my long absence. He said, indeed, 
 that when the night grew so tempestuous, he had become 
 apprehensive for my safety, and had despatched a messenger 
 to afford me any assistance I might need. He added too 
 with a benevolent smile, that he was by no means over in- 
 quisitive, but was rejoiced to see me returned. 
 
 Who could resist a spirit like this? a spirit so consider- 
 ate and kindly ? I could not. I unfolded every feeling 
 of my heart, every suspicion I had formed, every fear I 
 had felt, and every circumstance tending to confirm their 
 truth. "False modesty," I breathed to myself, "shall no 
 longer prevent this disclosure." 
 
 Simplicio's indignation was visible ; his piercing eyes 
 spoke both vengeance and sorrow ; still for a long time 
 
292 
 
 his lips were silent. At last he said : " The detection we 
 made yesterday morning, with other circumstances at 
 present unknown to you, has made all mystery clear, — 
 has put mein complete possession of your story. Of your 
 enemies and their conspiracy I shall at present say little. 
 I have not dismissed Maduba from the Castle. When I 
 met her yesterday, immediately after leaving you, I gave 
 her such a rebuke as she deserved ; and I bade her be- 
 ware as to her conduct for the future. Her accomplice 
 had disappeared, and she too left the castle some time be- 
 fore yourself. 
 
 " Your affection for the daughter of my friend I cordi- 
 ally approve ; and I am persuaded, from what I have 
 myself remarked, that she merits all the warmth of your 
 attachment. So in order to secure her from molestation, 
 as well as to promote your mutual happiness, I desire you 
 to conduct her to the Castle. Were it in your power, I 
 could wish you to bring her this very night; but as dark- 
 ness has now closed over us, you must defer it to the 
 morning. I advise you to retire early to rest, and with 
 the dawn of tomorrow to be on your way to Eumela." 
 
 Maduba was still absent. She had been away all night 
 and all day ; and I doubted not, as she said, that she never 
 meant to return. These were circumstances that gave 
 me great alarm. I had no repose that night. Hour after 
 hour passed slowly away, and Eumela, incessantly rising 
 to view, filled my whole thought. 
 
 Sometimes, when I half slumbered, imagination unfold- 
 ed visions of horror. I saw her bathed in blood beneath 
 the dagger of an assassin ; I saw her poisoned and con- 
 vulsed ; 1 heard her in the agony of death calling on me 
 for relief; I saw her plunging from a precipice into the 
 sea ; and then 1 saw Maduba and her accomplice exulting 
 at the sight. 
 
 Again I thought that Simplicio, Eumela, and myself 
 were standing on one of the highest mountain ridges of 
 the island. On every side we contemplated the ocean. 
 We saw the pennants fluttering and streaming on the even- 
 ing breeze. Suddenly the island trembled to its centre. 
 O God ! it sunk, it slowly went down, mighty billows 
 from every quarter came rolling onward, throwing up clouds 
 
293 
 
 of foam, and overwhelming fields, woods, houses, inhab- 
 itants, — one general ruin. The waves momently gained 
 upon the height where we stood ; they covered it ; when 
 we were suddenly lifted above the roaring inundation, 
 and carried upward, buoyant as the disembodied, toward 
 the myriads of stars in the immense dome above us. 
 
 Thus imagination, which had formerly pictured scenes 
 of delight, now tortured me with fantasies equally unreal ; 
 and it may not be unworthy of remark, that the real suf- 
 ferings of the past night, severe as they were, caused me 
 less misery than the imaginary woes of the present. 
 Which then are the most grievous, misfortunes feared and 
 impending, or misfortunes come and endured ? 
 25* 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 DEATH! DEATH! INEVITABLE DEATH!" 
 
 Day at length dawned, — the eventful day. Simplicio, 
 my more than father, sent me forth on my errand of love. 
 I set off in a sledge, and drove rapidly to the cottage of the 
 widow. The sun was but just above the horizon, when I 
 reached her door. A presentiment of evil shot through 
 me, as I saw her standing there, pale and in tears, the very 
 statue of grief and fear. 
 
 " O that you had come, sir," she cried, " only a few mo- 
 ments sooner ! Eumela is gone. She has just been carried 
 off in a covered carriage, almost, I fear, in a state of insen- 
 sibility. They went toward the southwestern haven. You 
 see the track of the horses' hoofs. I can tell you no more. 
 But fly, fly after them, and the dear child may yet be saved." 
 
 While she spoke, I felt as if sinking into the earth ; but 
 before she had finished, the thought of revenge, and of lib- 
 erating Eumela, roused me. 
 
 Turning my horse to the right, off I drove over the crust, 
 like a bloodhound on the track of a murderer. Some miles 
 onward, I passed the body of a man apparently frozen and 
 stiff. Whether he had met his death by falling down the 
 precipice, at the foot of which he was lying, or whether he 
 had been smitten by the judgment of heaven, the thunder 
 I had heard in the grotto, I cannot say : the snow was 
 discolored by his blood, and a glance was sufficient to 
 convince me, that he must have perished in the storm, to 
 which I had been some hours exposed myself. Was he 
 
295 
 
 the accomplice of Maduba ? Without the pause of a mo- 
 ment, I hurried forward, and less than two hours brought 
 me near the cliffs of the southwestern border of the forest, 
 and almost within sight of the haven. Already was the 
 ocean, on the left, in full view before me. Thank God ! 
 there is something else in full view. Far before me, pass- 
 ing close to the verge of the cliffs, I saw the flying car- 
 riage ; I gained upon the fugitives, and pressed them hard. 
 They hurried up the ravine, and drove rapidly along the 
 summit. I followed after like destiny, and, when I had nearly 
 overtaken them, saw a hand thrust out of the carriage, and 
 waved in the air. Great God, that sound from the steep ! — 
 all disappeared in a moment; — and that cry of terror ! — 
 
 I paused in breathless consternation. — Whom did I see 
 before me ? her hair dishevelled, and streaming in the wind, 
 her garments rent, — a form moving with the wildness of 
 distraction ! — It was Eumela herself! — A cry of aston- 
 ishment burst from us both. I had slackened my furious 
 speed. Stopping one moment, and reaching her my hand, 
 1 helped her into the sledge; and, turning back the way 
 we had come, we gave a loose to this unexpected joy. 
 
 " Eumela ! Eumela! how is it I meet you thus ! " 
 
 " O Maurice ! it is a dreadful tale," she answered ; 
 " avarice and pride, malevolence and fear, had conspired 
 to destroy us. I say to destroy us, for the plotting was 
 equally against the peace of us both. An emissary of Ma- 
 duba saw us quit the grotto, followed us at a distance to 
 the widow's cottage, and, after observing you depart alone, 
 gave his mistress information. Not murder, as I imagined, 
 but temporary confinement had been her object ; and this 
 scheme she now saw was defeated. Her purpose had 
 been to remove me from the island at the earliest oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 " Thus disconcerted, and perhaps awed by the interpo- 
 sition of Providence, she resolved to adopt, for the present 
 at least, measures less atrocious. Last evening, when you 
 failed to return, I could not avoid feeling disappointed and 
 anxious. However, I rose early this morning, to be pre- 
 pared for your coming ; and when I looked from the win- 
 dow, I saw a carriage already waiting for me in the grove. 
 The driver, who had been himself deceived, said it was to 
 
296 
 
 convey me to the Castle. Suspecting no evil, I stept in, 
 and away went the horses full-speed. But what was my 
 consternation, when, on raising my eyes, I perceived Ma- 
 duba, — the detested Maduba, — smiling upon her poor 
 captive with the malice of a demon ! 
 
 " I screamed with terror. Our kind hostess must have 
 heard me. But disregarding my cries, Maduba said to me : 
 ' Peace ! The strong arm of necessity is upon you. I 
 now have you securely, and to my will you shall submit. 
 You would rather, perchance, be mistress of an elegant man- 
 sion-house by the sea-side ; you would prefer, no doubt, to 
 warble Hunters' Dreams and Geraldines of St. Brandan's 
 to some king of the clouds ; or it is not impossible, — who 
 knows? — but you may aspire to be mistress of a Castle. 
 Or a trip to St. Brandan's, — what say you to that ! — 
 Perhaps become queen ofthat famous island! — Enter- 
 tain no fear : I will provide you with islands, and queens, 
 and kings, and clouds, and grottoes, and palaces, and cas- 
 tles, and dreams ! ' — 
 
 " She continued her taunts, though evidently mortified 
 that my spirit rose above them, until we passed the frozen 
 corse of a man, whom I knew to be her accomplice. 
 
 " c See there,' I exclaimed, 'mark the judgment of 
 God ; that judgment, which will inevitably overtake your- 
 self. I have a presentiment, that it is near. Return. It 
 is not too late to repent. I have never injured you : 
 I have never wished to injure you. Your avarice, 
 your injustice, your antipathy, your unkindness, I will 
 forgive you all. O for your own sake, for my dead 
 father's sake, if not for mine, tremble at the manifested 
 wrath and retribution of Heaven. Return, return ; it is 
 not yet too late.' 
 
 " She seemed to be awed for a moment, but continued 
 inflexibly firm to her purpose. 
 
 " Glancing my eye toward the last cliff we had passed, 
 * Look back, look back,' I cried, ' a rescue, a rescue ; he 
 is coming, the hand of God is upon you.' 
 
 " Pale with rage and dismay, she commanded the driver 
 to hurry forward. He did so, until we reached the sum- 
 mit of that precipitous passage, which from the peril of 
 its height is called Death-Steep; when Maduba cast a 
 glance down the ravine, and perceived the furious ap- 
 
297 
 
 proach of her pursuer. Inflamed with the madness of 
 disappointed hate and revenge, she snatched a dagger from 
 her bosom, and aimed a blow at my heart. I shrunk 
 aside, and escaped the stroke. That instant the humming, 
 as of ten thousand wings, was heard on every side, and 
 the words, 
 
 " Accursed, beware, 
 
 And for judgment prepare ! " 
 
 burst around us like the blast of a trumpet. Maduba shriek- 
 ed, and dropped the dagger, for she knew that her hour of 
 doom was come. The horses took fright. They flung 
 the driver from his seat. He held the reins, and at the 
 hazard of his life strove to stop them — in vain. They 
 reared, they snorted, they sprung, they flew. He scream- 
 ed, ' Save yourselves ! Save yourselves ! ' 1 forced open 
 the door, and bade Maduba follow me. She made a con- 
 vulsive effort, and grasped my clothes ; but my feet had 
 scarcely touched the bank, when the infuriated steeds leapt 
 headlong down the precipice, and were all dashed to pieces 
 among the crags some hundred feet below me. A thun- 
 der-stroke could hardly have been more instantaneous. 
 My miserable persecutor ! I heard her shrieks, I saw her 
 in the agony of her descent, I saw her in the very crush of 
 destruction. A mist rose over the ruin, and partially veiled 
 it. I could not endure the dreadful sight. So, while the 
 driver stood stupified at what had happened, 1 ran down the 
 ravine to meet the person who was approaching. I cher- 
 ished the hope of being blessed, as I now am, yet I feared 
 too that you might be a stranger. And now you behold 
 me here, rescued by the hand of Providence from an un- 
 timely death, or from an existence, it may be, worse than 
 death." 
 
 "Our implacable enemies," I exclaimed, " are no more. 
 They have received a merited reward. Let us not exult 
 over their doom, but soberly mark the hand of heaven, 
 which is ever, visibly or invisibly, working for our good." 
 
 Relieving the anxiety of the good widow, as we passed, 
 we soon arrived at the Castle, and acquainted Simplicio, as 
 distinctly as our agitation would permit, with the events of 
 the morning. Though by no means insensible of Maduba's 
 
298 
 
 unworthiness, still his pure mind appeared to be shocked, 
 that she had so far lost all the impulses of humanity, as to 
 be capable of perpetrating atrocities like these. Inex- 
 pressibly moved, he lifted up his hands and eyes in aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 " Verily," exclaimed the good old man, " the just judg- 
 ment of God has overtaken your foes, and almost in the 
 very execution of their premeditated crime. Let Death- 
 Steep, the place of the destruction of the chief criminal, be 
 the place of the interment of them both. They may afford 
 an awful warning to the inhabitants of the island. — Come, 
 my dear children, for such I must now call you : you will 
 not forsake my old age. I am left alone, and my time is 
 short. I love you both ; you love each other ; let us, at 
 least for the winter, live at the Castle together. You have 
 no Maduba to annoy you now. Whether we remain here, 
 or go home to St. Brandan's, you will comfort and enliven 
 the remnant of my days, and I will recompense your kind- 
 ness to me." 
 
 Having addressed us in this affectionate manner, he 
 called us both to him ; and as he joined our hands, a tear 
 of joy fell upon them. He gave us his blessing, and bade 
 us be happy. 
 
 We remained at the Castle of our Benefactor, as he had 
 kindly requested. Our nuptials were not solemnized im- 
 mediately. " You are both young and inexperienced," he 
 said, "and all haste in a matter of such importance would 
 be wrong. Besides," he added, " it is not the will of 
 Heaven that you be united here. Before that event, you 
 must visit St. Brandan's. When the milder season shall 
 come, I hope to accompany you in your voyage, and join 
 your hands the very day we arrive," 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Sweet Bird with your cloud-boat, 
 
 Now waft us away : — 
 " Yes, away for St. Brandan's 
 
 Ere dawning of day." 
 
 We had no Maduba to annoy us now. — 
 Our days, — how serenely they now glided away ! Even 
 St. Brandan's seemed to be forgotten. Spring arrived and 
 was gone. Summer came. We delighted to visit the 
 scenes of our past misfortunes, but no one of them had 
 an attraction so peculiar as our glorious grotto. Every 
 object became endeared by remembrance, and we became 
 more and more endeared to each other. — O blissful days 
 of the heart ! were they full of memory and hope ? more, 
 infinitely more, — they were full of the present. 
 
 Yes, it was now summer, and the day we purposed to 
 embark, was near. One beautiful evening of June, after 
 a gentle shower resembling that of Eumela's dream, we 
 walked forth with our Benefactor to enjoy the fresh fra- 
 grance of the season ; and by accident we ascended one 
 of those eminences, from which, some months before, we 
 had contemplated the desolation of winter. What a 
 change ! Now was the resurrection of nature. We gazed 
 delightedly upon the breathing landscape, illumined by 
 the setting sun. The woods were thickening with foliage ; 
 the breeze was soft and salubrious ; all things wore an as- 
 pect of placid and sober beauty. Could we ever look 
 enough ? We were full of the view, and yet we viewed 
 it again and again. For some weeks had the ground-lau- 
 rel ventured to peep forth from its shelter of moss and 
 
300 
 
 old leaves ; and, though now shedding its minute blos- 
 soms of tinted white and delicate pink, it was still diffus- 
 ing around us the breath of its perfume. The bold buds 
 of the walnut, ('giant buds,' as we loved to call them,) 
 were bursting their velvet envelope ; the little gray-green 
 leaves of the white oak were loaded with drops of crystal ; 
 the earth displayed a darker verdure ; while the breeze 
 came pure and healthful, as the first that sported, I say 
 not among the rose-bowers of Eden, but along the banks 
 and among the apple-blossoms of my own Almadora. We 
 gazed upon the magnificent prospect. We looked in the 
 faces of one another, and read our own feelings there. 
 
 Twilight was fading away in softness, though several of 
 those crimson clouds that accompany the sun's departure, 
 were still floating in the west. The murmur of the ocean 
 reposed on the shore ; the rising moon but faintly beamed 
 upon the smooth wave, whose yielding surface, as an Ital- 
 ian poet would say, the lips of Zephyr timidly kissed ; 
 the elements ministered delight ; their dewy influences 
 flowed into the soul. 
 
 " And shall i#e," softly exclaimed Eumela, " shall we 
 remain the same amid these views of beauty ? or, resem- 
 bling their shortlived loveliness, shall we too vanish in the 
 obscurity of night ? " 
 
 While, in a meditative spirit, Eumela thus breathed the 
 feeling of her heart, Simplicio bade us look toward the 
 remote horizon, beneath the moon. We looked: — Was 
 it possible ? — My own Barge of Vapour, far in the east, 
 was seen moving over the ocean. As it approached our 
 elevated spot, hovering high above the island, we viewed 
 its exquisite colour and form ; and while we were viewing, 
 a soft symphony came to our ear, like the far-off music of 
 flutes, clarionets, and bugles, and a sweet voice, which I 
 instantly recognized as that of my Spirit-Bird, stole along 
 the still air ; after which these warbled words, as if in 
 answer to the breathing of Eumela, were distinctly 
 audible : 
 
 Here, while a shadowy bourn you roam, 
 Your blooming cheek may fade to snow ; 
 Then welcome, 'mid your island-home, 
 The liorht that shall immortal glow, 
 The Light of Life. 
 
301 
 
 If fade to snow your roseate bloom, 
 "Will not the heart all-radiant shine ? 
 And can a sweeter smile illume 
 A Seraph's eye, than beams from thine, 
 The Smile of Soul ? 
 
 Those crimson clouds of eve survey, 
 Whose roses flush the west afar ; 
 A moonbeam sheds a fainter day, 
 But thro' its pale mist dawns a star, 
 
 The Star of heaven. 
 
 The melody died away in air. Simplicio addressed us. 
 There was something more than mortal in his commanding 
 countenance. Never had we seen there before an expres- 
 sion of such majesty, such intellectual supremacy. 
 
 " My dear Maurice and Eumela," said he, " you know 
 me not. How should you know me ? I am not allowed 
 to disclose the nature of my delegated prerogative ; or I 
 ought rather to say, that to the unprepared mind the ac- 
 count would be incomprehensible. Something, however, 
 I can disclose, and that I impart most willingly. 
 
 "I am a native of St. Brandan's, and a graduate of 
 its university. Your father, Don Guzman D'Almanza, 
 was my classmate and friend. We were both attached to 
 the more abstruse studies of nature, and with a solemn oath 
 we swore not only to befriend each other, but to promote 
 the welfare of each other's family. 
 
 " The peculiarities of my studies and habits disposed 
 me to solitude ; and, leaving my friend in the full enjoy- 
 ment of domestic bliss, I removed in middle life to this 
 island of the north. Many years afterward, when he fol- 
 lowed me in his day of bereavement, I welcomed him with 
 all the warmth of our college attachment. His fate here was 
 mysterious, but not without many an example equally sad. 
 When I saw at his death, into whose hands his daughter 
 would fall, I determined to be faithful to our covenant vow. 
 The requisitions of his will, too, I have executed to the 
 letter. 
 
 "When Maduba and a miscreant of the island, both 
 addicted to the accursed arts of sorcery, had persuaded them- 
 selves that their lives and fortunes were to be endangered 
 by Eumela and a student of the Almadora, I was awake to 
 their devices. I kept mine eye upon them; and the night 
 26 
 
302 
 
 they set off for the Almadora, I sent my bird-messenger 
 to disconcert their schemes, and to bring their intended 
 victim to this island. With what has since happened, 
 you are already well acquainted ; and you cannot but per- 
 ceive, that what their false science made them fear, they 
 have themselves effected, — that they have accomplished 
 the very doom, which they were striving to avert. 
 
 "For myself, I have befriended the affectionate and 
 deserving ; and my bird-agent, with his rhymes and his 
 boat, both of which are whims of his own, has been so 
 busy, that we stand here together at this sweet hour, 
 unharmed, and with the influences of love and nature 
 warm on our hearts. 
 
 "And now, my children, for a moonlight excursion. 
 Let us go to St. Brandan's. Why wait for wind, and 
 waves? Let us away, — away for the island of Hope and 
 Memory ! Would you view the glory of that island, 
 gleaming through its veil of mystery ? I know it has been 
 for years the impulse of hope and love, the dream of mem- 
 ory and imagination. Yes, I perceive your joy, your 
 strong emotion. Farewell, then, and good night to our 
 emerald of the north." 
 
 My Barge drew nigh, tinged with the delicate hues of 
 the lunar rainbow, and impelled by unseen powers. It 
 hovered in the air before us. Softer than down, yet 
 stronger than any fabric of man, elastic and gently heaving 
 as the " billows of the air," was that mysterious Boat. 
 When we were seated in it, Eumela pressed my hand. 
 For one moment I was tempted to clasp her to my heart, 
 but the presence of Simplicio checked the impulse. He 
 viewed us with love, and a portion of divinity seemed to 
 beam from his smile. 
 
 Side by side, Eurnela between us, we sat impatient for 
 our voyage. All at once, the humming of wings three 
 times whirred across our caravel, and we rose amid the air 
 like a balloon. The island lessened, became a dim spot 
 in the ocean, — it vanished. 
 
 " Away, away, thro' the wide, wide sky, 
 The fair blue fields that before us lie." 
 
 We moved toward the south with magic swiftness, 
 
303 
 
 viewing the ocean below, as it flashed under the moon ; 
 we left the " scudding stars" behind us; and hearing, at 
 times, the blithe snatches of our Bird, we felt our hearts 
 swell with confidence. We were too full of wonder and 
 expectation to converse, while we sat awaiting the accom- 
 plishment of the hopes of years. Thus hour after hour 
 slowly wore away ; and much of the night having passed, 
 we imagined that we must now be near completing our 
 voyage. The spicy fragrance of the south came wafted 
 on the breeze ; and as we drew near, and made a wide 
 sweep round the coast, we discerned the summits of two 
 mountains with a woody ravine between them. A floating 
 light lay on the headlands, the verdant shores, the mead- 
 ows, the orange-groves, the plantations, the clustering 
 villages, the palaces and pavilions, of the island ; and we 
 were hovering before the door of Eumela's native home. 
 The mansion resembled " burnished gold," and was "so re- 
 splendent that it shone like crystal." We were just on 
 the point of stepping out upon the turf, expecting every 
 moment to see the friends of Eumela throw open their door, 
 and burst forth to bid us welcome, " when a whirlwind 
 came rushing down the ravine," and with such violence as 
 to hurry our Barge out over the sea. To struggle against 
 a hurricane, — what could it avail ! — Still I struggled, and 
 with an energy almost superhuman ; but as I looked back, 
 the island had disappeared, and the light of morning had 
 dawned, over the waste of waters. 
 
 When the whirlwind rushed upon us, I had started from 
 my seat, and sprung forward. I now turned, and cast a 
 look of agonized inquiry toward Eumela and Simplicio, but 
 a thick vapor was rolling up, and shrouding every object 
 from my sight. Merciful God ! I was alone, and I felt 
 myself gliding over the sea with the swiftness of thought. 
 So appalled was 1 by disasters like these, that I exclaimed, 
 " Would to God I had never wasted a wish on St. Bran- 
 dan s ! " and sunk down in a state of half-consciousness, 
 as I had done before on the Bridge of Enchantment ; and 
 when I came completely to myself, I found I had returned, 
 and was again standing upon its lofty arch. No Eumela, 
 no Simplicio, no boat, were to be seen. I instantly hur- 
 ried home, entered my room, and threw myself upon my 
 
304 
 
 brocade sofa. While resting there, my lamp burning, and 
 my solitary study around me, I heard the voice of my tame 
 humming-bird, as if he too were in the same jeopardy and 
 trouble as myself; and I saw him come whirring toward 
 me, and lighting upon the forefinger of my left hand. " In 
 the name of Heaven, " I exclaimed, " how is all this ! " 
 
 My north window, exactly as I had left it, — whether the 
 year or the evening before, 1 knew not, — was raised to admit 
 the welcome freshness of midsummer, and bright flashes of the 
 northern lights were yet streaming up the heavens. Nay more, 
 not only the sound of a remote water-fall and the still re- 
 moter ocean came to my ear ; but as I have said, my pet hum- 
 ming-bird, my little Jockey, as I used to call him, had actual- 
 ly perched upon my finger, and with his delicate and needle- 
 pointed claws made punctures even to the quick. His large 
 melancholy eye was looking up to mine, and asking, as 
 well as he was able, for his fairy dole of honey and wa- 
 ter, and perfectly unconscious of the wild adventures, which 
 his namesake had been aiding and abetting. My sympathy 
 with him and myself, if I may venture to use such a phrase, 
 made me almost laugh and shed tears at the same moment. 
 
 I fed the poor little fellow, and, remembering the story 
 of Mohammed, could not but wonder at the mysteries of 
 the human mind. Mohammed (so runs the legend) 
 overset a pitcher of water, the very moment he was as- 
 cending to heaven to receive his divine commission. He 
 went up, learnt all the particulars relative to his office, and 
 returned to earth before a drop of the water was spilled. 
 When some one doubted the possibility of a marvel like 
 this, he confirmed his miracle by adducing the instance of 
 a man, who plunged his head in a tub of water, found 
 himself on the seashore, went on board a ship, sailed away 
 to another country, married, had a family of children, and 
 experienced the vicissitudes of a long life, before he with- 
 drew his head from the water. Had my experiences 
 borne some resemblance to these ? A crowd of remem- 
 brances oppressed me, and among others the solution of 
 my ominous leaf. I thought I could easily give one, and, 
 like Mozart composing his own requiem, sing my finale in 
 some such strain as the following : 
 
305 
 
 Even so, dear Euinela, 
 Hope darted a smile, — 
 
 The dayspring of heaven, — 
 Unfashioned by guile. 
 
 A rose-cloud of glory, 
 
 A vapour divine, 
 Infolded (he vision 
 
 I wooed to be mine. 
 
 While hope whispered softly 
 To prove the dream true, 
 
 Reality's sunbeam 
 
 Dispersed it from view. 
 
 26* 
 
CHAPTER X, 
 
 THE FINALE FINISHED. 
 
 " A gloomy finale that ! " — cried my Bird-spirit, read- 
 ing my thoughts and again becoming visible, as he kept 
 hitching along his old perch, not far from his brother, — 
 " quite a gloomy finale, and a true, but not the whole 
 truth, I hope. 
 
 " You beg me to be less oracular, and to speak the king's 
 English, do you? Then go back to your midsummer 
 night's wish. A moment listen to me, — listen and learn. 
 I remember my promise, every word of it. You may 
 say I have been more true to its letter than to its spirit. 
 Be it so. I am bound as a bird of honour, to give you 
 all the satisfaction you require. I have no wish to mock 
 you with dreams. 'Truehearted am I? ' You shall have 
 no cause for complaint. 
 
 " The smile of Hope, I allow, was bright and beautiful 
 as the dawn ; the vision of your heart, I allow, was divine ; 
 but I do not allow that all was unreal. The promises of 
 hope were not illusive ; they were the shadow, that went 
 before the substance. Would you have proof? Proof 
 you shall have. 
 
 By rising of sun, 
 Your faith shall be won. 
 
 "Well, you have had your wish : you have been once 
 allowed to view St. Brandan's. And how like you the 
 wonders and mysteries of your favourite island ? No doubt 
 they are worth the whole world, — fame, fortune, power, 
 — even superior to your love of woman ! " 
 
307 
 
 "I like them so well," I answered, "that I am cured 
 of them. I am more happy to bid them farewell, than I 
 was to visit them." 
 
 " Rather a short visit too," said my bird-spirit, sliding 
 in his remark. 
 
 " Short indeed," I replied : " I leave those fatal shores 
 as unexplored, as they were in the age of Columbus, and 
 to some more fortunate or foolish adventurer than myself, 
 I grant all right of discovery and possession." 
 
 " I thought as much," said my bird with his wild Bob- 
 o'link chuckle. " Experience is the natural death of 
 wishes, — midsummer-night wishes, — like yours. This 
 your revered friend knew from the first, and his aim has 
 been to free you from the folly by seeming to fall in with 
 it. Let me tell you a secret. There are two grand 
 points in the laws of St. Brandan's, and they are so well 
 guarded as never to be broken. They are these : no 
 stranger is allowed to land upon the island ; and no native, 
 who leaves it to live in another country, is ever permitted 
 to return. Your friend, I repeat, knew all this, but Eu- 
 mela never heard the least" 
 
 " Eumela ! tell me, tell me," I broke in upon him, 
 " what of Eumela ? where is she ? when, how," — 
 
 "Patience! patience!" the little fellow went on, — 
 " Eumela lives, and, it may be, lives for you. What more 
 likely ? and what better would you wish, than this new 
 way to get a wife ? — Simplicio knew the plottings of your 
 two enemies, as he told you, and sent me to defeat them. 
 He could not have sent a more willing messenger to do 
 his spiriting. I hated, and not without cause did I hate, 
 these foes of your peace. They had once made me their 
 slave ; and had not my present kind master delivered me, 
 I might have been their slave at this moment." 
 
 " And then, my bright Bird," I exclaimed, " where 
 would Eumela have been ? and where should I be myself? 
 Now tell me where is " — 
 
 " Who knows where ? " he answered. " But your 
 suffering and your disappointment, — had they been even 
 more severe, would not the lady you have won, be a re- 
 ward a thousand-fold more rich ? Compared with worth 
 like hers, what are sorcery and St. Brandan's? — That 
 
308 
 
 was a rash word, Maurice, you spoke against the love of 
 woman ; but since meeting your maiden of the north, you 
 have learnt a wiser lore. — To your tenderness the mys- 
 terious old man, my master, now intrusts this daughter of 
 his friend ; and with this performance of his promise 
 to her father, he fades from the world, and enters upon 
 that higher and holier sphere, prepared for all who fear 
 God and do his will." 
 
 " But where is Eumela, and what of yourself ? " I asked. 
 
 " O, I am off to my happy spirit-world, though I mean 
 just to look in upon you now and then. I assumed the 
 form of your little dull Jockey there, so drowsy on his brave 
 cord of crimson silk, and have accompanied you through 
 all your adventures. ' All your fortunes I've shared.' ' 
 
 " But, in the name of Heaven, where is Eumela ? when 
 you came in just now, I was bewildered ; I was afraid our 
 adventures were all visionary ; and they were a dawn of 
 hope, I still fear, too blessed for me." 
 
 " No, believe me, all, however mystic, all have been 
 real, plain truth of fact and experience. What miracles 
 cannot spirits perform ? With them, time, space, events, 
 are as nothing. I play with the supernatural, as the wind 
 plays with the down of my plumes. Have I not made the 
 last few hours equal to as many months ? And this your 
 dream of the dawn, that I have been so busily weaving for 
 you, this your island dream of the heart, — shall I fail to 
 make it the reality and sunshine of your home ? Believe 
 me, I never leave my work but half accomplished. 
 
 " Now St. Brandan's give o'er, 
 Since you've seen its strange shore ; 
 Never give me the he, 
 For truehearted am I ; 
 And the truth of my words 
 
 Shall most clearly be seen, 
 When at sunrise you visit 
 
 Th' Almadora Ravine." 
 
 The Bird-spirit, as ever, spoke in a voice of music, a 
 wild burst of melody ; — he spoke, and was gone. For one 
 moment, as he vanished, I caught a glimpse of his changed 
 form and features, his spiritual beauty, and joyous smile. 
 But both he and the moment were gone. 
 
309 
 
 With the swiftness of love and hope I flew to the ravine. 
 Need I say who met me in the rich morning twilight ? 
 Need I say who bade me welcome to their hearts ? Need 
 I say from whose hand, and with what deep joy, I received 
 all I hold most dear in life and death ? — We sat down 
 upon a mossy bank, with the glorious foliage of mid-sum- 
 mer around us, and there the wonders of the night were 
 one and all made plain. Our experiences had all been 
 just as I have described them ; we had both of us lived 
 and loved in the Land of Mystery ; and we now met the 
 very faces and features we had known in our island abode, 
 — the very smiles of heart, and lip, and eye, that we had 
 been accustomed to meet there. Yes, we could not but 
 feel and know, that a Power, superiour to our own, had 
 woven the mystic web of our destiny. All was clear as 
 the heaven above us, — all bright as the sunrise over the 
 sea, — when, leaving our seats of soft verdure, we looked 
 up to our revered preserver in confidence and love. The 
 moment of our union was come, the last act in our drama 
 of St. Brandan's. Uniting Eumela's hand with mine in 
 holy wedlock, and promising still to watch over the young 
 friends he loved, Simplicio commended us to God ; and 
 then, like a luminous vapour, he rose above the circling 
 wall of leaves and branches, and faded from our gaze 
 through the azure opening of heaven. 
 
 Simplicio was gone. We viewed his departure with 
 awe and wonder, grief and tears. Simplicio was gone, 
 and we saw him no more. We were left alone in the 
 world ; and while we remembered our manner of coming 
 together, and all the marvels of the supernatural that had 
 become familiar to us both, we felt that we were left alone 
 for each other, — left to aid each other in obeying the will 
 of that Providence, which had so mysteriously made us 
 one. What were to us the remote regions of our birth ? 
 that Eumela was from the enchanted isle of St. Brandan's, 
 and that my own native home was the banks of the Alma- 
 dora ? So much the more reason had we, after the events 
 of the past night, to believe that Heaven had appointed 
 our fates and our fortunes to be the same. Our hearts 
 confided as well in their own impulses, as in the assurances 
 
310 
 
 of the departed, that their truth and tenderness could never 
 die. Hand in hand, as well as arm in arm, we went to 
 our home of the Almadora ; and never from that hour to 
 the present, though many years have now glided away, — 
 many more, indeed, than we are well able to realize, — 
 never have we formed one wish, — one Mid-summer Night's 
 Wish, — to visit the island of St. Brandan. With faith, 
 hope, and love, we have never felt a want ; and, possessed 
 of these, what need have we to wish for more ? 
 
L'AMORE. 
 
 [For this translation of Genevieve, the most admired of 
 Coleridge's minor poems, I am indebted to the skill and 
 kindness of my friend, Mr. Pietro D' Alessandro, a liter- 
 ary gentleman from Palermo. He speaks of his " copy 
 of the beautiful Genevieve in her simple and unpretending 
 Italian costume," and adds : " Dearly as I love my own 
 plain and modest Ginevra, I feel still that I can love her 
 faithfully, only so long as her elder sister remains out of 
 sight ; so that if you have decided to put the temptation 
 in my way, the responsibility will rest entirely on you ; 
 for I shall be the first to proclaim that Genevieve, though 
 a few years older, is far more beautiful than Ginevra." 
 
 It is true, that all poetry worthy of the name, as my 
 friend once said to me of Dante, has a spirit too ethereal 
 for perfect translation ; still, warmly as ive admire the 
 elder sister, the land of Juliet will love the sweetness, 
 feeling, and simplicity of the younger with a heart not less 
 impassioned.] 
 
L'AMORE. 
 
 I pensieri, i desiri, ogni contento — 
 Quanto la mortal forma agita e affina — 
 Son ministri d'Amor, sono alimento 
 
 Di sua fiamma divina. 
 
 Spesso ne' vaghi sogni miei soglio io 
 Riviver l'ora a me etf-anto arnica, 
 Quand' io giacea del monte in sul pendio 
 Presso la torre antica. 
 
 Fioca la luna per le quete scene 
 Co' notturni splendor mesceasi grata ; 
 Ivi la mia speranza era, il mio bene, 
 La mia Ginevra amata ! 
 
 Sull' uomo armato s' appoggiava lente, 
 Sullo scolpito Cavaliero in armi ; 
 Stava Ella, — e al lume del chiaror languente 
 Intesa era a' miei carmi. 
 
 II proprio duol raro affannö di tanto 
 
 La mia Ginevra, l'amor mio, il mio bene ! 
 E m' ama piu, quando le storie io canto 
 Fonti al suo cor di pene. 
 
 Trassi un accordo flebile e dolente, 
 
 E un' antica cantai storia pietosa — 
 
 Una vecchia canzon, ma confacente 
 
 Quella ruina annosa. 
 
LOVE 
 
 All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
 Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
 All are but ministers of Love, 
 
 And feed his sacred flame. 
 
 Oft in my waking dreams do I 
 Live o'er again that happy hour, 
 When midway on the mount I lay, 
 Beside the ruin'd tower. 
 
 The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, 
 Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
 And she was there, my hope, my joy, 
 My own dear Genevieve ! 
 
 She leant against the armed man, 
 The statue of the armed knight ; 
 She stood and listen'd to my lay, 
 Amid the lingering light. 
 
 Few sorrows hath she of her own, — 
 My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! 
 She loves me best, whene'er I sing 
 
 The songs that make her grieve. 
 
 I play'd a soft and doleful air, 
 I sang an old and moving story, — 
 An old rude song, that suited well 
 That ruin wild and hoary. 
 27 
 
314 
 
 Di rossore suffusa Ella ascoltava, 
 Con occhi bassi e alteramente umile ; 
 Che sapea, come intento io.mi beava 
 Nel volto suo gentile. 
 
 Dissi del Cavalier che un infocato 
 Brando portava sullo scudo in guerra ; 
 Com' ei, per dieci lunghi anni, avea amato 
 La Dama della Terra. 
 
 Come d' amore egli languia, narrai — 
 Ma gl' infiammati, e i rnesti accenti ond' io 
 Del Cavalier tutto 1' araor cantai, 
 Le interpretaro il mio. 
 
 Di rossore suffusa Ella ascoltava, 
 Con occhi bassi, e alteramente umile ; 
 E soffna, se raptto, io mi beava 
 Nel volto suo gentile ! 
 
 Ma quando venni il rio scorno narrando 
 Onde il bei Cavaliero ebbe ad ir folle, — 
 Com' ei, di e notte i boschi attraversando, 
 Mai riposar poi volle ; 
 
 Come talfiata da selvaggia grotta, 
 E tal' altra da selva oscura antica, 
 Od improvviso spuntando talotta 
 Dalla verde ombra aprica, 
 
 A lui veniva, e in viso 1' affiggea 
 Un Angiolo di luce risplendente ; — 
 E il Cavalier tapino, ahi ! conoscea 
 Ch' era una Furia ardente ! 
 
 E come, ignaro omai di quel ch' ei fesse, 
 Fra i masnadier lanciossi a crucla guerra, 
 E d' aspra morte, e dal disnor protesse 
 La Dama della Terra. 
 
315 
 
 She listen'd with a flitting blush, 
 With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
 For well she knew, I could not choose 
 But gaze upon her face. 
 
 I told her of the Knight that wore 
 Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
 And that for ten long years he woo'd 
 The Lady of the Land. 
 
 I told her how he pined ; and ah ! 
 The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
 With which I sang another's love, 
 Interpreted my own. 
 
 She listen'd with a flitting blush, 
 With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
 And she forgave rrie, that I gazed 
 Too fondly on her face ! 
 
 But when I told the cruel scorn 
 That craz'd that bold and lovely Knight, 
 And that he cross'd the mountain-woods, 
 Nor rested day nor night ; 
 
 That sometimes from the savage den, 
 And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
 And sometimes starting up at once 
 In green and sunny glade, 
 
 There came and look'd him in the face 
 An angel, beautiful and bright ; 
 And that he knew it was a Fiend, — 
 This miserable Knight ! 
 
 And that, unknowing what he did, 
 He leap'd amid a murderous band, 
 And sav'd from outrage worse than death 
 The Lady of the Land ! 
 
316 
 
 Come Ella poi ne pianse, e notte e giomo 
 Pregö a' suoi piedi, e scongiurollo invano — 
 E fe' di tutto onde espiar lo scorno 
 
 Che il suo fedel fe' insane-, — 
 
 Come in un antro ministro a sue doglie . 
 E come poi cesso la sua follia, 
 Quando su di silvestri aride foglie 
 Moribondo ei languia. 
 
 Gli ultimi detti suoi, — ma quando a tanta 
 Miseria estrema la mia storia giunse, — 
 L' arpa taceasi, e la mia voce infranta 
 Di pietä la compunse ! 
 
 II suon, la storia, la soave calma 
 Delia sera divina, — ed il frequente 
 Fremito interno, e 1' afT|(nnar dell' alma 
 Mosser la mia innocente. — 
 
 E speranze, e timori ond' e la speme 
 Confusamente accesa, — e gl' infiammati 
 E repressi desir, repressi e insieme 
 Cotanto vagheggiati ! 
 
 Trasserle un pianto di pieta, di gioja, 
 Di verecondia e d' amor fiamme ; — e come 
 Un mormorar di sogno che si muoja, 
 Spi^rar le udii '1 mio nome. 
 
 Le ansava il petto — balzommi dal fiarrto, 
 D' un guardo accorta che tutta 1' affranse — 
 Indi improvvisa, e smorta il viso bianco 
 Volo al mio seno, e pianse. 
 
 Delle braccia cingendomi piangea, 
 E mi stringea teneramente al petto, 
 E alzando gli occhi in viso m' affiggea 
 Trepida del suo affetto. 
 
317 
 
 And how she wept, and claspt his knees ; 
 And how she tended him in vain, — 
 And ever strove to expiate 
 
 The scorn that crazed his brain ; 
 
 And that she nursed him in a cave ; 
 And how his madness went away, 
 When on the yellow forest-leaves 
 A dying man he lay : — 
 
 His dying words — but when I reach'd 
 That tenderest strain of all the ditty. 
 My faltering voice and pausing harp 
 Disturb'd her soul with pity ! 
 
 All impulses of soul and sense 
 Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve ; 
 The music, and the doleful tale, 
 The rich and balmy eve ; 
 
 And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
 An undistinguishable throng, 
 And gentle wishes long subdued, 
 
 Subdued and cherished long ! 
 
 She wept with pity and delight, 
 
 She blush'd with love, and virgin-shame ; 
 
 And like the murmur of a dream, 
 
 I heard her breathe my name. 
 
 Her bosom heav'd — she stept aside, 
 As conscious of my look, she stept — 
 Then suddenly, with timorous eye, 
 She fled to me, and wept. 
 
 She half enclosed me with her arms, 
 She press'd me with a meek embrace ; 
 And bending back her head, look'd up, 
 And gazed upon my face. 
 
 27* 
 
318 
 
 Era amore, era speme, era timore, 
 E un virgineo era, in parte, onesto inganno, 
 Perch' io sentir, piu che veder del core 
 Potessi il grave affanno. 
 
 E P acquetai — e di timor fu scevra, 
 E mi disse il suo amor tutta orgogliosa . 
 E cosi m' acquistai la mia Ginevra, 
 La tenera mia Sposa. 
 
319 
 
 'T was partly love, and partly fear, 
 And partly 't was a bashful art, 
 That I might rather feel, than see 
 The swelling of her heart. 
 
 I calm'd her fears, and she was calm, 
 And told her love with virgin-pride. 
 And so I won my Genevieve, 
 
 My bright and beauteous bride. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Vision of Beauty, dear Undine. — Page 9. 
 This name is pronounced Oondee'na in German, but the common 
 English pronunciation, ' Undeen,' seems to be more in accordance with 
 our mode of speaking such names as Emmeline, Geraldine, Iarine, 
 Rosaline, &c. ; that is, Emmeleen, Geraideen, Eeareen, Rosaleen. 
 
 Masses of vapor coursed over the moon with the swiftness of thought. — 
 
 Page 25. 
 Some of these images may remind the reader of the vivid pictures of 
 the Buccaneer, that rich contribution to our permanent literature : 
 " The scud is driving wildly overhead." 
 
 " The seas run high ; 
 Their white tops, flashing thro' the night, 
 Give to the eager, straining eye, 
 A wild and shifting light." 
 We do not remember any poem of this class, since the appearance of 
 the Ancient Mariner, that has discovered such powers of imagination, 
 the union of such sweetness and terrible energy, as this tradition of the 
 olden time. We have had here, on this side the water, many of the 
 gentler breathings of Nature, but, in the strong delineation of passion, 
 we know not what America has produced to be well compared with the 
 Buccaneer. 
 
 Is this trumpet-note of crime, and the doom of crime, the last ' sound ' 
 we are to hear from ' the Pyrenees ' ? We hope not. 
 
 Dear, dear Undine ! — Page 28. 
 This intensive form of expression is almost as familiar in English as 
 in German, and I have not scrupled occasionally to employ it. The 
 following example, from Tiialaba, is one of the most impressive in the 
 language : 
 
 " No sound but the wild, wild wind, 
 And the snow crunching under his feet." 
 These lines from the Ancient Mariner afford another example, and 
 one still more remarkable : 
 
 " Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
 Alone on a wide, wide sea." 
 
 And well, other things will settle themselves. — Page 30. 
 
 " Undine evidently meant to have added another condition, but then 
 thinking it superfluous, only remarks, — ' well, other things will settle 
 themselves.' " C. F. 
 
NOTES. 321 
 
 You are yourself the cause. — Page 32. 
 " That is, you act or speak in such a manner, as to make me treat you 
 rudely. Why do you say such provoking things? — It is a kind of 
 tender reproof, in self-defence." C. F. 
 
 Noble monuments glimmer below. — Page 56. 
 No reader of English poetry need be reminded of Southey's admirable 
 description of the submarine City of Baly in his Curse of Kehama. 
 " In sunlight and sea-green, 
 The thousand palaces were seen 
 Of that proud city, whose superb abodes 
 Seemed reared by giants for the immortal gods. 
 How silent and how beautiful they stand, 
 Like things of nature." 
 
 Free lord of Kühleborn. — Page 61. 
 " Freiherr," baron. There is something peculiarly whimsical in this 
 quiet humor of ' lord or baron Kühleborn.' 
 
 Name-day . — Page 67. 
 A literary friend, from whose kindness I have derived the best aid in 
 revising and correcting my version, informs me, that this term " refers 
 to a German custom of celebrating, not only the birth-day, but also the 
 name-day, that is, the day which in the almanac bears the person's Chris- 
 tian name. The old almanacs contained a name for each day in the 
 year, being either the name of a saint, or some other remarkable person- 
 age in history." 
 
 The preceding note was written six years ago. The friend to whom 
 I referred, is now with God. He perished in the appalling calamity of 
 the steamboat Lexington, on the evening of January 13, 1840 ; and I 
 cannot but allow myself the mournful indulgence of adding, that it was 
 the late lamented Charles Follen, LL. D., to whom the allusion 
 was made. The words of Horace never seemed so natural as now : 
 " Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus 
 
 Tarn cari capitis ? 
 
 — cui Pudor, et Justitiaß soror 
 Incorrupta Fides, nudaque Veritas, 
 
 Quando ullum inveniet parem ? 
 Multis ille bonis flebilis occidit.' 
 Shall we not weep ? Shall tenderness e'er die 
 
 For one so dear ? 
 
 O when shall modest Genius, spotless Faith, 
 Sister of Justice, guileless Truth, e'er look 
 Upon his like again ? All, all the good 
 Bewail his fate in tears. 
 With every friend of literature, religion, and human happiness, we 
 are impatient to receive the promised Memoir and Remains of one so 
 truly christian, — one so exalted in wealth and power of intellect, so 
 childlike in spirit, so holy in heart and life. 
 
 Morning so bright. — Page 69. 
 In reading some of the verses of Fouque, we cannot but remember 
 the question of Hamlet to the player, — ' Is this a prologue, or the posy 
 of a ring ? ' As one example, among many, we may take the original 
 of his miniature picture here : 
 
 " Morgen so hell, 
 
 Blumen so bunt, 
 
 Gräser so duftig und hoch 
 
 An wallenden See's Gestade." 
 
322 NOTES. 
 
 These four little lines, descriptive of the scene of Undine's song, sim- 
 ple as they are, cost me more trouble in trying to mould them into a fit 
 English form, than I well like to acknowledge. I made several attempts, 
 without much success, to translate them to my mind. Among these 
 versions, the following had the merit of not being the worst : 
 
 ' The morning beams in glory, 
 
 Where wild-flowers gaily bloom, 
 
 Where dewy grass is waving 
 
 The lake's fresh marge along ; ' 
 but after all, the more verbal rendering, as it now stands, seemed to be 
 preferable. 
 
 The familiar and affectionate terms. — Page 76. 
 The words of the original are, " nur nenne mich wieder Do," ' only 
 do call me thou again.' The use of the personal pronouns, thou and 
 thee, so familiar and endearing in the German idiom, gives an entirely 
 different impression in English. In the conversations of this tale, ex- 
 amples of this peculiarity occur on almost every page. The translator 
 has of course avoided a mode of expression, which most of his readers 
 would feel to be stiff, strange, and unsuitable. 
 
 A laugh of mockery and contempt came pealing up from the depth of the 
 river. — Page 97. 
 This fine passage of Fouque bears a strong resemblance to a finer one 
 in Southey's Thalaba, Book V. 
 
 " And he drew off Abdaldar's ring, 
 And cast it in the gulf. 
 A skinny hand came up, 
 And caught it as it fell, 
 And peals of devilish laughter shook the cave." 
 The reader, if he take any interest in the coincidences of genius, may 
 like to compare with these passages, the following verse from king Ar- 
 thur's death in Percy's Reliques : 
 
 " A hande and an arme did meet the sworde, 
 And flourish'd three times in the air ; 
 Then sunke benethe the renninge streme, 
 And of the duke was seene noe mair. ' 
 
 Only little waves were yet whispering and sobbing around the boat. — Page 98. 
 The original of this clause is, " nur flüsterten noch kleine Wellchen 
 schluchzend um den Kahn." If the translator may be allowed to ex- 
 press his admiration, without being considered intrusive, he would say 
 that nothing could have been more exquisitely conceived than this cir- 
 cumstance. Its tenderness seems to have touched the heart of a lover 
 of the beautiful and true, who has just favored us, in his ' Year's Life,' 
 with so much of fine feeling and poetical experience : 
 
 " Or weep, unmindful if my tears be seen, 
 For the meek, suffering love of poor Undine." 
 
 The bridegroom. — Page 101. 
 The betrothed, are called bride and bridegroom in Germany. 
 
 Earliest moment of dawn. — Page 103. 
 " Post mediam noctem visus, quum somnia vera." — Horat. 
 
 No great murder in such trifles. — Page 105. 
 " Denn er denkt gewiss blutwenig an alle diese Dinge." ' For he 
 surely thinks very little of all these things.' The temptation to render 
 
NOTES. 323 
 
 this odd idiom, bluticenig, by some equivalent phrase in English, was a 
 whim too strong to be resisted. 
 
 A thrill both of bliss and agonij. — Page 110. 
 
 The expression of the original is, " lieblichen Wehe," 'a blissful ago- 
 ny' or l pang.' This union of opposite qualities, however bold the con- 
 ception producing it, and however suited to express the death-pang 
 under such circumstances, forms a euriovs felicity, rather too violent to 
 be often admitted in English. Phrases of this kind are more familiar in 
 German. 
 
 Groschen. Thaler. Ducat. — F age 124. 
 
 " A Saxon groschen is about 3 cents (2 cents, 9 mills ;) a thaler, (an 
 imaginary coin) 72 cents (71 cents, 8 mills ;) a ducat, 2 dollars 20 cents, 
 (2 dollars, 19 cents, 4 mills,) American money." 
 
 Waters— feeling of sympathy. — Page 142. 
 This sympathy of Nature with man, may remind the reader of the 
 fine imaginative feeling of Bryant in the opening of his Thanatopsis. 
 Speaking of Nature, and of one who " holds communion with her vis- 
 ible forms," the poet observes, that to such an one, 
 
 " She speaks 
 A various language ; for his gayer hours 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
 And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
 Into his darker musings, with a mild 
 And gentle sympathy, that steals away 
 Their sharpness, ere he is aware." 
 
 Phantasmion. — Page 16'6. 
 I was not a little gratified, three years after my Table-Talk Notices of 
 these " dreams of faery " were written, to meet with the deserved 
 praise of this ' unique ' story in the London Quarterly Review ; and I 
 cannot deny myself the pleasure of quoting the passage in this place. 
 " ' Phantasmion ' is not a poem ; but it is poetry from beginning to end, 
 and has many poems within it. It is one of a race that has particularly 
 suffered under the assaults of political economy and useful knowledge : 
 — a fairy tale, — the last, we suppose, that will ever be written in 
 England, and unique in its kind. It is neither German nor French. It 
 is what it is — pure as a crystal in diction, tinted like an opal with the 
 hues of an ever-springing sunlit fancy." 
 
 Rivulet — seeking its fortune. — Page 181. 
 " Sie rann und sucht'ihr Glück." — Undine. 
 
 High-priests of JVature. — Page 182. 
 This, of course, was written prior to the death of Coleridge, — many 
 years before he was admitted to visions of the universe, to which the 
 views of earth, views even glorious as this, are dim as the earliest dawn. 
 
 " Queen of Western Isles." — Page 187. 
 
 From Park Benjamin's beautiful lines, written in that " fair Elysian 
 isle," Barbadoes. 
 
 By the way, when are we to welcome this writer's Sibylline Leaves 
 in a collected form ? There are many who feel his spirit, the easy flow 
 of his verse, as well as his fine touches of nature, — many, who have 
 been long waiting to see, not only these compositions gathered from the 
 four winds, but others of greater extent, whether narrative or dramatic, 
 permitted to come forth from their Delphic recesses. 
 
324 NOTES. 
 
 1 Thunder-word.' — Page 187. 
 
 " Ach ! und mit dem Donnerworte." — Schiller. 
 
 How I looked, how I languished, fyc. — Page 195. 
 
 " Ut vidi, ut perii, ut me malus abstulit error ! " — Virgil. 
 Forever changeful and mutable. — Page 208. 
 
 " Varium et mutabile semper ( Virgil.J 
 
 fcc „,«.-».*. /- Strozzi. — Page 209. 
 
 This is a version, the name only changed, of one of the Madrigale 
 of Giovambatista Strozzi. See that delightful melange of literature, 
 the Biographia Literaria of S. T. Coleridge. When may we hope to 
 have a full memoir, or a new edition of this work, enriched with origi- 
 nal letters, the omitted chapter on the ' esemplastic ' power of the imag- 
 ination, and many other matters that we are impatient to greet ? Where, 
 too, can the ' Philosophical Fragment ' be lingering from year to year ? 
 But we are too importunate, we fear, considering what treasures of 
 thought we have already received from the Coleridge mine. Besides, 
 we are waiting in confidence as well as in hope : Mr. Green, the author 
 of 'Vital Dynamics,' cannot but give us this " fragment from the table 
 of the gods " both ably and at the best time. 
 
 Bobolink. — Page 258. 
 
 This is one of the most joyous birds, that pay us their annual visit of 
 the warm season. He seems to be the very impersonation of "tipsy 
 mirth and jollity." 
 
 Among bird-amateurs, however, there is a slight difference of feeling 
 in regard to the characteristics of his mind and music. Some receive 
 the impression from his " sweet jargoning," his grave glee, we may call 
 it, that, shaking his wig of pale yellow with an air of the most comic 
 solemnity, he is cracking his jokes and wasting his musical bon-mots 
 upon the sober birds around him, from morning to night ; and that even 
 his name, Robert of Lincoln, he considers as much too grave for him, 
 since he is never weary of reminding you, that ' Bobolink,' ' Bobolink,' 
 is the true christening. 
 
 But others there are, who " see nothing of the jocose in Bob." In 
 their view, " he has a heart full of joyous sensations, and pours them 
 out with utter delight ; but he is no quizzer, — too innocent in his mirth 
 for that, too much taken up with mere happy sensation for it." 
 
 Who shall reconcile these differences of feeling ? Coleridge seems 
 to have made this abstruse item of bird-metaphysics quite clear : 
 " O Lady ! we receive but what we give, 
 And in our life alone does nature live." 
 
 THE END.