The beauty was not Mathilda, but her younger sister, Camilla, over whom three years had passed. Delighted and astonished was she when she beheld Ludwig; she uttered an exclamation of surprise, which at once brought Mathilda, who looked as charming as ever, but less cheerful, into the garden. She had, indeed, contended with her sorrows courageously, but they had given to all her demeanor more steadiness and more composure. What a moment of joy mingled with melancholy, of hope struggling against memory, was this for all three! The professor and his lady received him with cold politeness; in their manner, too, much uneasiness might be detected. This was far more galling to one so sensitive as Ludwig, than would have been the most violent outbreak of passion; but it decided him on the course he should take, and he instantly resolved on the execution of his Dearest," continued he, " am I inconstant if I love thee? Think'st thou Mathilda has forgotten Sigfrid? In feature, in mind, and in the youthful cheerfulness of character, thou art all she was! I adore thee, Camilla! yield thy heart-give thy hand to me-I am wealthy and free; I will be a support to thee and thine. Say Yes, and we go together to seek our lost Sigfrid, and restore him to his bride." Camilla answered not-her eyes filled with tears-yet, one look of hers entranced him-it gave consent. The scene of his former misery was now that of his happiness; and the old tree that had witnessed his fainting from loss of blood, now beheld his cheeks suffused with red, from the consciousness that he had indeed won a treasure as his own. Their union rejoiced all but the poor Mathilda, whose sense of her woe was increased by their bliss. She induced Ludwig and his bride to let her accompany them in their wedding tour. She hoped to gain some intelligence of Sigfrid, who probably, as she supposed, had gone to Italy to perfect himself in his art, and by devotion to it to soften, if not obliterate, the remembrance of his misfortunes. They soon reached the well-known town of Baden. They visited the noble castle, which, towering over the fertile sides of the rocks, invites all travellers to tarry; and at Mathilda's suggestion, they determined to explore the vaults in which, so says tradition, sat the awful tribunal of the Wehme Gericht. Most anxiously did they wish to see the cave which Goethe has rendered in his "Goetz of Berlichingen," so interesting that reality is tame when compared with the image his poetry has raised. There, accompanied by a guide, they descended, and were shown the Keep whereto the accused were lowered in a basket, and blindfold, that they might not, if released, know where they had been. The travellers passed through a long gallery, terminating with a stone door, which closed so accurately, that none could detect it within, and which led to a cave where the fatal doom was ingeniously but cruelly carried into execution. With awe, and silently, did the party now gaze on the various monuments and memorials of the past, and the marks of the dread judges and tribunal engraven on the rocks; and to all of which the lurid gleaming of the torchlight gave a more mysterious character. Many," said the guide, " doubt the fact* of the secret tribunal having held its sittings here: but one thing is clear, this is a very mysterious place. Now, for instance, about three years since a young man, and a fine young man he was, chose to stay all night here. Well, I let him in at sunset, but in the morning he was not to be found; and never have we heard any tidings of him. Ludwig, who paid but little attention to the guide, had wandered rather further among the ruins in the vaults, and to his surprise discovered, by the light of his torch, some lines * There is no foundation in fact for supposing that the Wehme Gericht, or secret tribunal, ever held its sittings under the castle of Baden. The details are taken by Oehlenschlaeger, from a most interesting work, Friederike Brune's "Episoden aus Reisen durch das suedliche Deutschland." —Translator's note. 164 Novels freely Translated from the Danish of Oehlenschlaeger. graven on a piece of stone: on a more accurate examination he read the following verses: 66 Call me, judges, who of late Like Cain, I wander and I fly ; And not, like him, to live in pain- Ludwig read these lines with deep attention. Could he doubt by whom they had been written? Sigfrid alone," thought he, " has carved the verses." Fearing lest his conjecture might prove false, and anxious not to raise any hope on such uncertain grounds, he did not mention either his discovery or his conjecture to Mathilda or Camilla. Finding it in vain to question the guide, he resolved to visit the innermost and most secluded recesses of the Black Forest, trusting that his friend would not hurry through it, but tarry to catch the beautiful and ever-varying tints of nature it offers to an artist's eye; and fully anticipating that, anxious hunter as he was, he might succeed in running down the noble game he sought. Towards the evening they reached a country tavern; and hardly had they arrived ere a traveller entered. "Faith," exclaimed he, addressing the innkeeper, I am delighted at the prospect of sleeping here to-night in peace, for last night I met with a strange and singularly unpleasant adventure." All expressed a desire to know the adventure in question, and the newly-come guest related it thus: 66 "I had been," said he, on a botanical excursion, and after a hard day's work and walk I reached a lonely tavern in yonder forest, and asked for a bed; the only one they could offer me stood in a large antique room, to which I gladly repaired. When the servant retired, leaving me a light, I looked about me, and observed several quaint-looking pictures hanging on the walls. Feeling an interest in the arts, I took my candle to examine them more closely, and then I saw several portraits of bygone centuries; there were the long perukes, the bright armour, and the broad ruffles over the stiff gauntlets which characterised the heroes of the seventh century. Many of them were so blackened by age, that the features could hardly be distinguished from the background; but there was one which surprised me, for it was turned to the wall, the canvas alone being visible. This astonished me, and to ascertain what it might be, I naturally restored it to its proper position, when I beheld the portrait of a very handsome young man. I looked at it for some time, for certainly it was a very fine painting, though evidently of modern date. At first no particular effect, beyond the admiration it commanded, was produced upon me; but as I receded from it, the figure gazed at me with awful reality, and with a most threatening fearful expression. I could not help exclaiming, such was the effect, this can be no mere picture. I went to prepare for bed, but each time my eye fell on the portrait, all my faculties, save that of sight, were suspended, for there was a terrible expression of despair in the features of him. I could not believe it was but colour on canvas that sternly stared at me. My heart beat, I felt as if I had sinned against him, yet I knew full well that I had not; I tried to leave the room, but I could not, for there stood the pictorial state that I spent a night of horror”—and the vision in my way. I will detail no more, but traveller shuddered. "In the morning," continued he, "the servant came in with my coffee. Ha! ha!' exclaimed the fellow, addressing the picture, so you have again been at your work, frightening people out of their wits! 66 6 ture?' Have many,' inquired I, seen this pic “To be sure,' answered the servant, every one who comes here; but why had not you the sense to leave it as you found it, turned to the wall?' I, severely; first you excite our curiosity, and "Your own sagacity will answer that,' said then you wonder that we gratify it?' "Faith,' laughed out the servant, master and I know that right well. This same picture is like a magnet in drawing guests hither; all that behold it are terrified; well, of course they relate their sensations at their firesides, for you know people prefer shivering at a tale of wonand then the listeners are sure to come here, or der to gaping at an every-day common-place; send some one who wishes to be scared also.' "I was anxious to get some clue to the but the innkeeper wanted his secret to be purmystery, chased, and that I disliked. But in fact, when I discovered that in daylight, and in company with others, I experienced no extraordinary effect from looking at the picture, I set down the singular sensations to some merely natural cause; and paying my reckoning, I went my way, without further thought on the subject. I hope, however, I shall sleep better to-night.” with amazement, but none was so impressed by This narrative* was listened to by all present it as Ludwig, for he connected it with what he had read at Baden in the vaults, and a faint hope again arose in his mind; and again he carefully concealed his hope from Mathilda and Camilla; but he resolved to take the earliest opportunity of visiting the tavern in the forest. Towards noon the next day our travellers started on their way, and soon reached a fine nunnery. The day was intensely hot, and the *In justice to Oehlenschlaeger, it is but right to state that this novel was written some years before Washington Irving's "Tales of a Traveller."Translator's note. Novels freely Translated from the Danish of Oehlenschlaeger. whole party thirsty and weary. The hostess kindly gave them milk to drink, and earnestly entreated the ladies to stay there for the night. Ludwig gladly seconded her, and at last it was arranged that her request should be complied with. Ludwig besought his wife and sister-inlaw not to be uneasy at his absence, and they promised obedience, consoling themselves with the thought that they would enjoy the simple comforts of the convent, which he was forbidden even to enter. Off started Ludwig, with the knapsack on his back, bent on discovering the Forest inn, and toward the evening he succeeded in his researches. He knocked loudly at the door, and soon a servant opened it; but the instant the light shone on Ludwig's face, the affrighted menial dropped it, and ran off at full speed into the house. Not a little surprised, he entered the inn, but found the first room quite empty. He sat down, partly to rest himself, and partly in hopes that some one would come; but as none did, he penetrated farther, and as he entered a side room, he heard some one say in a deep bass voice, "Thou stupid fool, what hast got into thy noddle now? Thou'rt pale with fear about some trumpery nonsense. I'll just go and take a look myself-pooh! thou paltroon!"-and then a door opened, and a fat man, bearing a candle, waddled in; but the instant he saw Ludwig, he let his light fall, and screaming out, "He is right-it is he! it is he! alas! it is all over with us!" rushed off through the door again. This reception greatly surprised Ludwig indeed he was perfectly at a loss how to account for it. Seeing some steps leading from the room, he thought he might as well ascend them; and following his inclination, he did, and found himself in a spacious room. Not long afterwards he fully understood the cause of the servant's fright and the landlord's terror. 165 seen, the latter portion of the army ran away helter skelter. "What in heaven's name means all this?" demanded the astonished Ludwig. "Are you all crazy?" "Throw away your sword, host," loudly exclaimed the friar, "and use this censer-this battle must be fought with other than temporal weapons." The host obeyed, and vigorously plied Ludwig with the thick smoke of incense, so as nearly to stifle him, and certainly to cause him to retreat. At the same time a well-directed handful of holy water, aimed by the priest, struck him in the face. "Ha! ha!" exultingly cried the monk; see there, my children; see how I make him go back; see how she shrinks from aught that is holy;" and the priest was about to repeat the ceremony, when Ludwig succeeded in gaining a hearing, and said "Gentlemen, I know what alarms you-you take me for a ghost. Now I really wish to prove that I am none; and to show you I am flesh and blood like one of you, let me entreat of you to get me some supper, for I am very hungry. Here's what will pay my shot;" and suiting the action to the word, he produced and shook a purse well stocked with golden pieces. Not to Pythagoras would the music of the spheres have been more delightful, than was this clinking of gold to the host. "Ghost or no ghost," exclaimed the worthy innkeeper, "he is certainly a very respectable individual. Here, Father, do you examine him more carefully, whilst I go to my kitchen to prepare his supper;" and off he went. "It is all a delusion and deception of Satan," cried out the friar. "Does not the Prince of darkness deal amply in the Mammon of unrighteousness, and delight in gluttony and other mortal sins?" Ludwig no sooner saw the picture he sought for, than he sprang on a chair, turned it, and beheld the portrait of HIMSELF, drawn by a master's hand. He took it down, as the traveller had done, and retiring from it, was stared" at by it with such a threatening piercing glare, that he was half inclined to be afraid of his own image. He was lost in meditation, when he heard a loud noise of footsteps. "You must go up stairs, brother Martin," exclaimed the well-known bass voice; you have enjoyed yourself often enough here in times of peace, now let us see what you can do in times of war." "Be not afraid, good Father," cried other voices; "go in, and all will be right." "Feel me, then, thou superstitious man!" exclaimed Ludwig, springing from the stair-top, and grasping the arm of the horrified monk. Dost now believe I am a ghost or a delusion?" It was not easy to dispossess the good friar of an opinion once formed; but at length he did admit that Ludwig was a man and no ghost, especially when he saw him do ample justice to the supper the host had cooked. Strange to say, Ludwig, before he could partake of his meal, felt compelled to hide the picture; it seemed to start from its frame, and stare in so unearthly a manner at him, and being a likeness of himself, the effect it produced was so singular and painful, that it became utterly intolerable. "Can you tell me, friar," asked he, "who painted that portrait ?” Ludwig at once ran to the door, and perceived a most wonderful procession. First appeared a very fat sleek monk, holding a vessel of holy water in one hand, and a censer in the other; "None better, son," answered the ghostly next came, armed with an old sword, the host, priest, "since he is painter-in-chief at the confollowed by the groom brandishing a pitch-vent of St. Blaise, whence I come: he has exefork, and the servant, who lacking a better weapon, wielded a large bootjack. The hostess and her troop of amazons made up the rear of this warlike array; but the instant Ludwig was cuted some splendid pictures for our church. Poor fellow! he has murdered some very dear friend, and when first he came to us, the image of the slain was constantly before him; he con sidered himself doomed, both here and hereafter, to endless misery, and he treated as mere sophistry all our attempts to console him. In vain we tried to persuade him to join our holy church, (for he is some kind of heretic.) but it was in vain. At last he bethought himself of painting the likeness of his supernatural tormentor, and there it is; and it seems to produce on all who see it the same effect the original did on him. But strange to say, the instant the portrait was finished, the vision departed, and tormented our poor friend no more. We took the painting away, and hung it here, that it might not be before his eyes. He became more quiet and social, but still remains sad and melancholy." "I understand it all, friar," said Ludwig; "I am the friend he fancies he killed, but my wound, though dangerous, was not mortal. Since my long illness I have searched for him without success, till now, Heaven be praised! I have found him at last." Ludwig delayed not to communicate the happy tidings to his lady and sister, and no one can depict their joy. He then speeded to the convent, and soon saw the Prior, to whom he communicated his wondrous tale; and the worthy man's heart beat with pious fervour at the goodness of Providence, in uniting the friends that had been so strangely and painfully parted. "There came hither a few days ago," observed the prior," a traveller, a friend of Sigfrid, who asserted that you still lived; and though Sigfrid treated it as a mere fabrication, yet it seems to have given him some hope, for he has been more cheerful ever since. But let us seek him he is always to be found in our church, which he has enriched with many noble paintings; but all his subjects are of a melancholy character. He delighted in painting the Crucifixion, the raising of the Widow's son of Nain, the death of Abel, the sale of Joseph and his brethren, and other mournful events of the Old and New Testaments. He tried the Last Judgment, but has finished that part only whereto the condemned spirits are cast. The blessed in heaven, and the angels, he cannot picture to himself; and has hitherto failed in sketching any plan for completing his picture. To the church they went there, high on a scaffold, sat Sigfrid, using his pencil with one hand, while the other dropped, as if lifeless, by his side of a sudden he ceased to work, and sang these lines: My soul is more at rest, Hope soothes my grief, my pain, Shall Sigfrid's timid soul And make the sinner whole? Ludwig, shall I see thee? Shall I clasp her to my heart? Then-tortures of hell depart, For heaven is with me! The friends embraced indeed; and all of which Sigfrid sung doubtingly was realised. He did clasp Mathilda to his breast; but would not, that wonderful picture, remarkable for its beaueven for her, quit the convent till he had finished tiful delineation of the Blessed-THE LAST JUDGMENT. All were happy. Such were the wonders worked by THE PICTURE. THE SNOWDROP. The first flower of the coming Spring The gloomy pall which winter throws Time wills that such dark reign should cease, Nature, awakened with a smile, Will chase the wintry gloom; Winter reluctant hears the voice, Must yield to what compels ; All life rejoices in the hope Thy blooming birth foretels. The thrush upon the topmost branch Cheers with his song his new-found mate, VIOLETS. Sweet things, ye seem a glimpse of the blue skies, The gentle summer time that soon shall come, Making earth radiant with all lovely dyes, With holy twilight shades or sunny home; And wherefore are ye sad? ye who have made All hearts rejoice for the bright promise nigh? Is it, alas! that ye are doom'd to fade, Nor share the loveliness ye prophesy ? Ah! early call'd, your leaves with tears are wet, Yet scarcely need they be of heart regret. While viewing ye, how lightly do I prize The glitt'ring worthless things of prouder birth; O! let me gaze into your deep blue eyes, And pass a moment from the weary earth. ANNE A. FREMONT. AN APHORISM.-(From the Greek of Plato.)— The Pleasant and the Good are not synonymous— the Pleasant is to be desired and followed for the sake of the Good, and not the Good for the sake of the Pleasant.-GEORGE J. O. ALLMAN. PART I. The village of Mitcham, in Surrey, some eight or ten miles from London, presents the appear ance of a perfect blooming Eden, when the proud Summer clothes its varied scenery in her gorgeous luxuriance of green. The eye falls not on one single object that is not invested with a beauty which fails not to charm, even though the sense be enraptured by the brighter skies and glowing sunsets of Italy. There is a quietude, a repose about parts of its scenery that sheds a tender and peaceful influence over the spirits, peopling the imagination with, not the confused and incoherent mass of moving Life which a crowded city presents, but a gentle array of sweet imagery and pleasant associations. The old houses of red pointed brick stand out with a silent awe, telling the beholder of the Mighty Past-ancient-looking portals jutting out like records of a Time that hath passed away, like a Dream of Joy, for ever-and the deep and embrazoned windows, possessing recesses within the rooms they enlighten, large enough to conceal a pair of "lovers good and true," from the prying eyes of others, should they feel inclined to retire from observation by drawing more closely the drapery of the curtains. I do not know how to account for it, but an old mansion ever exercises a powerful spell over me. I could sit in one of the old-fashioned libraries with which they abound, and dream away a whole existence; but we are all creatures of materiality and yet not so, altogether, for the intangibility of the Mind's operativeness endows us with a Spirituality that is all too liable to be annihilated by the grosser instincts of our nature; so that, even were the mind content to muse there during Man's appointed stage, with none other food from the rising to the setting of the sun, save its own thoughtful pondering, the body would rebel; and in good sooth the struggle would be brief, for the latter would soon come off victorious. A mansion of this sort has always some gigantic, time-scarred tree, spreading its stately height near, where is sure to be found a secure harbourage for a nation of rooks—a republic of hoarse orators, who, if at all times they do not utter wisdom, it is certainly to be attributed to our impotence of comprehending their "parts of speech." Out of a dozen persons, were you to put the question to them, you will find that ten are terribly annoyed at what they term the dismal croaking of these ravens. I do not know if I am different from most persons in this respect, but I have frequently listened to the chattering of a tribe of rooks, and all the while felt a strange interest in watching their proceedings. I remember, when a boy, that at the back of the school play-ground stood a fine elm-tree, on which these creatures of the sable plumage were wont to congregate; and I would steal away from my noisy schoolmates in order to gaze, unwatched, on their movements. How frequently was I apt to wonder whether, as one and another of them with a solemn and portentous croak seemed to address the others, the spirit of Lycurgus or Solon framed laws for their community, or the soul of Cicero and Plato uttered words of wisdom to the assembled council. But I have wandered from my story too considerably, and must endeavour to atone for my fault by a strict adherence to its relation in future. In the village of Mitcham then, dear reader, there stood some years ago-as there stands now, I believe-a row of buildings consisting of ten or a dozen white cottages, detached from each other by a narrow communication between the front and rearward garden. They all present a comfortable, though, it must be confessed, a humble appearance, for in truth they were, with one exception, inhabited only by the families of farm labourers; the exception I have alluded to being, that one of the cottages which had the look of greater compactness and superiority, though not a whit of more extent than the others, was the domicile of "Master Grayson"-as he was called by the cottiers-the land-bailiff of the estate. He was a hard-dealing, worldly-minded man, whose soul delighted in acts of oppression. His wife was a patient, |