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THE CRUSADER.
MDCCCXLVIIT.
CHARLES BONER'S BOOK
For those who're young, and those who love
What's natural and truthful :
If old in years, yet young in heart —
Tis that which must be youthful.
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY
Gouut T occi ; of Jliluiucn.
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186 STRAND.
MDCCCXLVIII.
3>1*
PRINTED BV ROBSON, LEVKY, AND FRANKLYN,
Great New Street, Fetter Lane.
©0ntJWU0,
THE MERRY WEDDING
THE MOTHER'S MORNING SONG ....
TO THE SWALLOW
THE FIRST TEAR . . . . . .
THE SHIPWRECK ......
RHYMES . .......
A NIGHT-SCENE IX POLAND. A GHOST STORY*
THE BALLAD OF THE ROYAL HUNT IN THE NEW FOREST
THE MALCONTENTS
LOOSE PEARLS OF GREAT PRICE .
PRAYER FOR RAIN
THE CLOUDf ....
THE DREAM OF THE CRUSADER .
THE MOST DIFFICULT PATH*
THE WALK THROUGH THE CORNFIELD
GERMAN TRADITIONS .
THE RAINBOW ....
PAGE
1
8
10
11
19
26
28
33
51
60
61
63
66
73
81
84
93
* Translated from an unpublished volume of His Serene Highness Prince Frederic von S—
f Translated from the German of Reinecke.
IV CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE HALF MOON 95
TRINE* 97
AN EVENING WALK 116
* Also from his Serene Highness's unpublished volume.
®o mg Houftg lUafcrff.
MY DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS,
LL of you will, no doubt, re-
collect — for, of course, I con-
sider there is not one of you
but has read the book — the
words with which the preface to my " Tales from Den-
mark" concluded : " I hope soon to meet you all again."
And now that wish is gratified. Moreover, what I now
bring you for Christmas is chiefly of my own writing,
a circumstance which greatly enhanced the pleasure of
getting the book ready for you; for in making a pre-
sent to those one likes, one feels quite differently — one
is so much more glad to offer what is really one's very
VI TO MY YOUNG READERS.
own, even though it be a trifle, than when bringing
something which, after all, is the work of another, I
had intended, however, to have given you a new story
by Andersen — for his fairy tales delight me as much
as they do you, and nothing gives me more pleasure
than to translate them for the children of England — -but
I have been disappointed in receiving it : so you must
have it another time.
And as I feared that what I alone could bring might
not be found sufficiently varied or amusing, I have
taken a story or two (" Trine," " The most difficult
Path," &c.) from a work that was written for a dear
brother only and some few friends of the author, and
which, therefore, has never been given to the public.
The story of " Trine" will doubtless please you : per-
haps you did not know before that out in the wild North
Sea was a bit of English ground. The author has writ-
ten accounts of many a strange scene besides ; for his
life has been an eventful one ; that of an adventurous
rover about the world — to-day in the brilliant drawing-
rooms of Paris or Vienna, and shortly after among the
TO MY YOUNG READERS. Vll
banditti of Catalonia, or bivouacking with the troops
around a crackling fire at the foot of Mount Atlas, and
keeping a sharp look-out against a surprise from the
Kabyles, or some other prowling tribe friendly to Abd-
el-Kader.
As to the other stories and the ballads from my pen,
I most sincerely wish that you may like them. It is
about your criticism that I care more than any other —
though you need not mention this, lest certain person-
ages, who shall be nameless, might take offence — and
if you receive favourably what was intended for you,
that is praise enough for me, and is, indeed, the very
praise I want.
If the book do please you, you must let me know ;
and then, should you wish it, I will see if, with Count
Pocci's kind assistance, I can get another volume ready
for next year, which would certainly be quite as pretty
as this. I have all sorts of things in my head for an-
other book, and I know that Count Pocci has too :
so you have only to say that you would like it, and
we both will set to work and do our best to please
Vlll TO MY YOUNG READERS.
you. By that time also I shall have a new story from
Andersen.
So now the matter is entirely in your hands, and
there I leave it. Farewell, then, for the present ; and
may you all have a right happy Christmas, and plenty
of laughing, and jokes, and merry games — not forget-
ting blind-man's-buff, for that is the best of all.
CHARLES BONER.
St. Emeram, Ratisbon,
November 3, 1847.
.--
CHARLES BONER'S BOOK.
HAT child is there, what man or
woman is there — for they too,
after all, were little boys and
girls themselves once — that
does not know the affecting
story of " Cock Robin V 9 The
names of the Sages of Greece,
though we once knew them,
may be now forgotten ; some
also, no doubt, there be who
never even heard of the proud
satrap Artabazus, nor of Xerxes,
treacherously assassinated by
his own captain, Artabanus.
But who is there to whom
the name of "Cock Robin"
is not familiar ; he who was
foully murdered by his own
friend, the Sparrow? And who,
having once heard the tale, ever
ceased to remember it? Are
*JJ not even the very words of
J. THE MERRY WEDDING.
the ruthless assassin, daringly bold as they are, still current
throughout the land ? To the question, so full of incredulous
astonishment, " Who killed Cock Robin 2" we have the reply,
unparalleled in its effrontery :
" I," said the Sparrow,
" With my bow and arrow,
And I killed Cock Robin !"
No remorse, no repentance! but seemingly glorying in the
crime ; telling even, with shocking indifference, the manner of
its committal : " With my bow and arrow."
It is pleasing to turn from such hardened wickedness to
the sympathy shewn by all the creatures when they learn the
loss they have sustained. That his death did very sorely
grieve them, we cannot for a moment doubt ; for it was one
among themselves who had committed the savage deed ; and
they all therefore eagerly came forward to testify their sorrow,
and, by such public demonstration of respect, to mark, at the
same time, their abhorrence of the murder. Men, you know,
have their demonstrations as well as birds.
It was a double murder; for not only was Cock Robin
killed, but, in his death, Friendship also suffered a mortal
wound. They had been friends in youth; and this circum-
stance but serves to make the deed of blood more tragical.
Caesar, the great Caesar, was also assassinated; and, lament-
able as was the event, the knowledge that it was his friend
Brutus's hand that struck him to the heart excites emotions
still more painful. So it is with Robin. To this day the
cause of quarrel between him and his murderer is unknown.
In the solitude of the forest his death was accomplished ; and
when the Fly who "saw him die" came to his assistance, he
THE MERRY WEDDING. O
was, it is evident, too far gone to be able to give an account
of the catastrophe. Had he in his last moments uttered a
word to clear up the mystery that enveloped his end, it would
most certainly have come down to us, for the little Fish who
caught his blood was also present. This was, we may well
suppose, some gentle crimson -speckled troutlet, who had
often listened to his sweet pipings while floating dreamily on
the surface of the sunny stream beneath the branches where
Robin was disporting himself.
That he was of most amiable character and generally be-
loved is shewn by the readiness with which all the creatures
proffer their services to aid at his funeral and to shew him
honour. Even the sturdy Bull lends his strength for his ser-
vice : he tolls the bell, because, as he says, he is powerful, and
M can pull." The Beetle volunteers the sad task of making
his shroud ; sewn together probably of withered leaves. The
Owl offers to dig his grave. The ever-rejoicing Lark is not
on this day heard on high: he remains on earth to perform
the duty of clerk beside the grave of his friend. " If 'tis not
in the dark," he adds ; feeling, as he does, that the gloom of
night would be too much for one accustomed, like himself,
to go forth to meet the morn. The Dove, already deeply
afflicted by a recent bereavement, offers to be chief mourner.
" She mourned for her love," we are told ; and there is
something so sacred in grief, that none would pain her
by refusing her wish, and so she was chief mourner. The
Thrush, who had never done such a thing before, volun-
teered a psalm ; and, though it was evident he did not know
the tune, the offer proves how kindly he, as well as his
friends, was disposed to poor Cock Robin. The bell at
THE MERRY WEDDING.
length tolled; and then, unable any longer to control their
emotion,
u All the birds fell *
To sighing and sobbing."
Sweet consolation, to find true worth so feelingly deplored !
1
But we have unconsciously forgotten " The Merry Wed-
ding. " Reminiscences of our childhood- days, long, alas!
very long since gone by, have arisen in our mind, and we
were well pleased to dwell on them a while, and again live
over that fresh primal time, when our heart was touched and
withal delighted by this most delectable of ballads ; which
even yet, a somewhat silvered though our head now be, has
had power to arrest us. " So, Cock Robin, farewell/ 5
That such rhymes, in which the various animals are made
to speak and to perform a part, were prevalent in remote times
and among remote nations, is shewn by the circumstance that
a song, not unlike the one in question, is to be found among
the " Songs of the Vandals," and called
Who shall be bride ?
The Owl shall be bride.
But the Owl said :
THE MERRY WEDDING.
I am a very ugly creature,
I cannot be bride ;
No, I cannot be bride.
Who shall be bridegroom ?
The Wren shall be bridegroom.
But the Wren said :
I am a very little fellow,
I cannot be bridegroom ;
No, I cannot be bridegroom.
Who shall be bridesman ?
The Crow shall be bridesman.
But the Crow said :
I am a very black fellow,
I cannot be bridesman;
No, I cannot be bridesman.
Who shall be cook ?
The Wolf shall be cook.
But the Wolf said:
I am a very cunning fellow,
I cannot be cook;
No, I cannot be cook.
Who shall be cup-bearer ?
The Hare shall be cup-bearer.
But the Hare said :
I am a very quick fellow,
I cannot be cup-bearer;
No, I cannot be cup-bearer.
Who shall be piper?
The Stork shall be piper.
But the Stork said :
I have a great bill,
I cannot well be piper;
No, I cannot well be piper.
THE MERRY WEDDING.
Who shall be table?
The Fox shall be table.
But the Fox said :
Cut off my tail,
That will make your table ;
Yes, that will make your table.
But there is, however, a material difference in the spirit
manifested in the two songs. In the former one we see that
every creature came forward willingly to shew the deceased
honour; with fraternal love each fellow-bird volunteered a
kindly service. Thus it is when we leave behind us an un-
blemished name, and have lived lovingly and in good fellow-
ship with those around us. In those early days, whence
we derive the other ballad, such sweet harmony reigned not
amongst the creatures. It presents us a sad picture of those
times : no meek forbearance, no gentle yielding to the will of
another, which makes intercourse between bird and bird so
full of enjoyment. The offer of the Fox is no exception, for
it is evidently nothing but a mockery ; he, of course, never
having the least intention of giving his brush to be used as
a table. There was not, therefore, one willing to aid at the
Owl's nuptials ; and we have reason to believe it was this cir-
cumstance which, deeply wounding her too-sensitive feelings,
inclined her ever after to a life of melancholy and seclusion.
An English poet, with a total absence of all proper sympathy,
as well as gallantry, calls this " moping/'
Antiquarians are assuredly right in setting such value on
the popular rhymes, stories, and traditions of ancient people,
asserting as they do with great justice, that they often throw
light on matters which, but for some old song, would remain
obscure. "They serve to perpetuate/' as no less a person
THE MERRY WEDDING. /
than Sir Walter Scott most justly observes, " a great deal of
what is rare and valuable in ancient manners, and to record
many curious and minute facts, which could have been pre-
served and conveyed in no other manner/ 5 Is not the state
of things in those hoary times of Vandal existence illumined
by this one ballad ? Is not a flood of light flung on the social
intercourse of those days ? Little edifying as the picture is,
it must, however, afford much satisfaction ; for by it we are
enabled to see the great improvement in manners and the
humanities that has taken place since then.
The Wren, who refused to be bridegroom on account of
his diminutive size — a paltry excuse, as if there were not
thousands of little men who had large wives and large families
— has in later days seen his folly, and we find him, with
Mrs. Wren, holding the pall at his friend's funeral.
And so on with the rest. Despite the manner of Cock
Robin's death, we may assert that all have become more civi-
lised, and the great human family have happily, at the same
time, advanced in civilisation also.
&%t iftotfjer's fftormng Song to ijer £jtl&.
Wake, wake, my little one, wake and see
How the glad sun is looking for thee ;
Looking for thee full an hour or more
Among thy playthings upon the floor ;
Then gently creeping up towards thy bed,
And playing around thy unconscious head,
And kissing thy cheek so fresh and rosy,
Making it look like a July posy,
And touching thy eyelids, where still he lingers,
As gently as even thy mother's fingers.
He wants thee up and abroad to see
How bravely he comes, and to hear the glee
THE MOTHERS MORNING SONG. \J
That rings from each bush and from up on high,
And tells that a lark must be in the sky.
He creepeth along on thy chamber wall,
And lighteth it up like a festal hall ;
But ever in silence, without a sound,
He flingeth, all golden, his splendour round.
And then quite impatient at what thou'rt losing,
Nor caring aught for thy liking or choosing,
He tells the rose and the jasmine too,
So in at the window they peep to view ;
And still farther in come waving and bending,
The fragrance of morning around thee sending.
As the breeze glides on, the rose nods her head,
To shew him the boy that is still in bed,
And her shadow plays on his face and eyes,
As the sweet flow'r thus to awake him tries.
And here is the bee too — she's just flown in,
To try to arouse thee with buzzing din ;
To tell how the morning is bright and sunny,
And say she's gone home with a load of honey.
Ha ! ha ! thou'rt awake now ! — Come, come, no pouting,
That fresh rosy mouth should have long been shouting,
And sending a greeting distinct and loud
Up high to the lark in his pearly cloud ;
But still on the jasmine some dewdrops glisten,
The birds are still calling thee — hark now — listen !
He's coming, blithe birds ! Now then, quick, away !
And carol as loudly and glad as they !
Halloo ! halloo ! little swallow,
Thou dost seem quite drunk with
joy J
f Wilt thou calmer be to-morrow,
Or thy little day employ
\jd Thus pursuing of thy fellows
Over river, bank, and lea,
i0 Over all the flow'ry meadows,
In this heart-felt jollity ?
Now on earth and now in heaven,
Now just hid behind a cloud,
Now downwards by thy playmates
driven,
With that cry so sharp and loud.
* Thou art right, thou happy creature,
Shout with gladness on thy flight,
Take thy nil of sunny nature,
Fly, shout on with all thy might !
Man from thee might wisdom bor-
row, [ger ;
; ^01g Thou, the spring's first messen-
lIP Though thou know'st it not, my
swallow,
Thou art a philosopher.
THE FIRST TEAR.
e^o
NCE upon a time — it was a
very long time ago, I dare say,
for such things, of course, never
occur now-a-days — there was a
very beautiful pair of eyes ; and
what is more, they were blue,
really blue, and not of some
other colour called so from
mere complaisance. They were
accompanied, too, by much else that was beautiful, and which
did the heart good to look upon — a cheek as fair ; but as it is
with the eyes only that we have to do, we will leave all beside
undescribed.
You will no doubt think that I am very fond of eyes,
having begun another story by talking about them. To
tell the truth, I am fond of them, and I have gazed on so
many, and some have made such an impression upon me, that
at times I am haunted by them ; and I suppose it is this cir-
cumstance which forces me so often to choose them for my
theme. It is a sad affair to be thus haunted by anything — by
eyes or by hob-goblins : and you may read of the like in
Walter Scott's book on Demon ology and Witchcraft.
Well, the eyes I now speak of were a lady's eyes ; and
they were such as, according to all received tales of fairy and
12 THE FIRST TEAR.
the olden time, could only be those of a king's daughter.
And they were so.
Now it happened from some cause or another, which not
even the court physician was able to determine, and he was
the very wisest man in the whole palace, that the eyes of the
princess were never turned downward. They looked straight
forward, and they looked up, and to the right, and to the left,
but on what was lower than themselves they never looked.
But this was not from pride, — it was a habit the eyes had
contracted, and which they still retained. All the maids of
honour, and the chamberlains, and all the other gentlemen of
the royal household said that was not necessary for the eyes
of a princess ; but the king, who was a wise old man, though,
of course, not so clever as the physician, was vexed at the re-
port, and inquired if it were really true. That it was true all
agreed, and there was equal unanimity in deciding that such
beautiful blue eyes were right in not caring to look on what
was not at least as high up as themselves. One only of the
princess's handmaidens, of whom the old king inquired, said
that her mistress's eyes could turn earthwards, although they
never did; "and very right they were," she added, with rather
a saucy look at his venerable majesty ; for, as she remembered,
they had deigned to do so once some months before, in order
to admire a pair of gold-embroidered slippers which covered
each small princely foot as it rested on a silken cushion.
The slippers in question had been brought from the East
by one of the handsomest young cavaliers of the court, who
had vowed that his first deeds in arms should be achieved
against the Paynim.
The good old king from being vexed grew angry when he
THE FIRST TEAR. 13
found that his daughter's eyes really did never look earth-
wards ; and he severely scolded all who had had charge of
her from childhood. First the nurse was blamed for having
tolerated, or may be even induced, such a defect ; then the
governess received a reprimand for not having corrected it;
and the dancing-master was told a heavy responsibility lay on
him for having, year after year, passed it over unnoticed.
They all excused themselves as best they could; the nurse
asserting the impossibility of its being her fault, while the king
said sternly she was most to blame ; and perhaps he was right.
Thus summer after summer passed, and these lovely eyes
enjoyed many sights of beauty ; they saw the tall trees bend-
ing and waving in the breeze; they looked forth at night
when all was calm and clear, and watched the stars with a
longing new and undefinable ; or they gazed in admiring
delight upon the distant line of hills when the sun had passed
the meridian ; while above the wondrous blue of the horizon,
like icebergs from an ocean, rose snowy peaks and glaciers.
But many other things of earth, most fair to see, they had
never beheld. Flowers they never saw growing, unless they
happened to be those of some tree or shrub of about the
height of the eyes themselves ; yet, nevertheless, they feasted
on the beauty of the rarest exotics, and revelled in the tints of
their glowing buds and blossoms. These were gathered daily
for their pleasure, and the rooms and the balcony where they
tarried were adorned with them. Moreover, to those blue
eyes, as before a shrine, some blushing wreath of exceeding
beauty was not seldom offered; and each votary who there
worshipped deemed himself blessed if at such time the sun-
light of a bland smile had fallen on the offering.
14 THE FIRST TEAR.
And they loved, too,
" to watch the moon at night,
Gliding, all queen-like, through a sky unclouded ; v
to look up at the graceful waving of a flag when the wind
blows strongly ; and to see the tapering mast of some brave
frigate, as, inclining before the breeze, it moved majestically
across the bay. They loved, too, to watch the rainbow as it
grew into the sky, and wo aid dwell in ecstacy on the coloured
light as it shone in the face of heaven. But they never saw
the gloom that had preceded such phenomena; they were
only allowed to look on what was bright and glad. They
were shewn the rainbow, but not the lowering cloud.
And in all such sights those eyes took real pleasure and
delight. They were calm lakes in which the sky is mirrored
when all is fair and sunny. And as you look down into the
deep water, and give way to thought till you forget that you
are looking, so you might gaze into those depths of 1 blue till
your heart would be moved by good and holy and pleasurable
emotions. For you saw that heaven was reflected there : a
pure soul shone forth from that serene profundity, like the
mass of light which seems enshrined in pure waters, as though
it were a part even of the clear element. But, alas, there was
still that one defect — they never were cast downwards.
And so years passed on. The court physician consulted
with another court physician ; but still the cause of the strange
defect in the princess's eyes could not be discovered. It had
been strictly forbidden, under pain of instant disgrace, ever to
mention the malady to the princess herself, for fear of hurting
her feelings ; and as she was not aware that her eyes had any
THE FIRST TEAR. 15
peculiarity, or never looked downwards, the physician said,
under such circumstances, his art could avail nothing.
One day the princess, attended by her ladies and all the
high personages of the court, went into the country on an
excursion which had been planned some weeks before. They
were to take nothing to eat with them — though, no doubt,
there was a store in reserve for the princess, in case no pro-
visions were to be got ; but they were to trust to what they
might be able to procure from the cottagers — bread, fruits,
milk, and honey; and they were, besides, to look for the
wild strawberries, of which they had been told there were
abundance in the woods. Now it was just this uncertainty
that caused the agreeable excitement felt that day by all ; for
you must know that at courts people are glad of any pretext
whatever for breaking the dull monotony of their life.
In the open air the blue eyes of the princess were enjoy-
ing all they saw, — now watching the pearly clouds, now the
lark as it bounded upwards into the sky. And they presently
looked towards two other eyes : these were dark, and sent
forth beams as burning as the sun at noon-tide ; they were the
eyes, meseems, of him who had fought in Palestine, and had
added fresh green leaves to the laurel- wreaths already won by
his illustrious race. But their fiery light was now subdued,
as they contemplated, with an expression not to be mistaken,
the artless face of one of the princess's attendants, who, un-
conscious of the gaze, was arranging a posy of wild flowers
she had been gathering on the meadow and in the hedge-
row.
Then suddenly over those beautiful blue depths, where the
bright heaven was reflected, a thin cloud seemed passing.
16 , THE FIRST TEAR.
Those eyes were still effulgent ; but it was the subdued light
of the sun when it is veiled for a moment by a silvery
summer shower; when the brightness is no longer concen-
trated, but diffused, and falling in moisture on the earth
beneath.
And on the eyelash you saw a large drop trembling, pois-
ing itself as though endeavouring not to fall; but it grows
larger, it rolls down, and, as it falls, the glittering gem is
dashed to pieces on the burning cheek. It was the first
TEAR THAT HAD FALLEN FROM THOSE EYES ! " But if
any one should see it!" And the princess, — fearful lest it
might be observed, and struggling to check another, which
she felt was, in spite of herself, about to overflow its boun-
dary, — called all the strength of her womanhood to her
aid ; she made a desperate effort ; the eyelid descended, con-
cealed the tearful eyes, and she looked downwards on the
ground !
At her feet grew the dark-blue dwarf gentian and the wild
violet ; and every where from amid the grass bright golden
eyes peered upward to meet hers with kind and friendly look.
In the round open face of the daisy there was something that
pleased the princess ; and she stooped down, plucked the sim-
ple flower, and placed it in her bosom.
From that hour a new world seemed opened to those
lovely eyes. They saw many things they had never seen
before, or had only viewed from afar, because they were not
on a level with themselves. Till now they had seen the
butterfly only when, in gayest colours, it fluttered in the sun ;
they now could see it when, as a chrysalis, it lay in insigni-
ficance in the dust. And they saw, too, how many of the
THE FIRST TEAR. 17
most fragrant flowers grow near the ground, and that not
all, like the delicate orange-blossom, are lifted on a high
stem above the common mould. But yet they were flowers,
although she had never beheld such till now ; for these
were never gathered for her delight or ornament, but only
the rarer ones which the care of the most skilful gardeners
had reared. For all that, however, these humbler ones, as
the princess now found, possessed a loveliness of their own :
though lowly, they were, as well as the others, the creation of
the hand of God. And they saw hundreds of things beside,
which they had not viewed till then, because they were not
high enough, and because those eyes were unable until now
to bend downwards.
But their greatest source of joy was to look upon the
little children and the poor widows and grey-headed men
who knelt to the princess as she passed, and to see their
grateful countenances, and their eyes that at once spoke
prayers and blessings. And all this was new to them ; here-
tofore they had overlooked such sights.
And it seemed as though the delight the eyes experienced
was communicated to the heart ; or it might be that the daisy
had some mystic power; for, strange to say, the princess
henceforward felt a happiness she had never experienced till
now ; and ever afterwards her bright eyes, which had become,
so all people said, more lovely since their cure, were turned as
frequently on what was below them as on the loftier objects
which were on a level with or above them.
But no one was happier at the wonderful change than the
good old king ; and when the princess told him — though that
she did only a long time afterwards — of the little circumstance
c
18 THE FIRST TEAR.
by which the wonder had been effected, he pressed his daugh-
ter to his bosom, and, kissing her smooth cheek, said, t( How
much do we owe, my child, — how thankful should we be, to
that FIRST TEAR !"
A cheer to keep your hearts up ;
The Betsy, she went down.--'
Hon. Mrs. Norton.
£tn Bttmanti mm Uebcn fein Scfyif? fo fuv f
%tt ob'S feme etgene Puttee time, muhler.
1 His ship to a sailor should be as dear
As though she his very own mother were."
High swelled the waves, and the winds blew high,
And there was not a star in the murky sky ;
And on the ship rushed, hither and thither,
Wildly and darkly, and none knew whither.
Oh ! 'twas a dreadful and horrid flight
Our poor ship took on that fatal night,
Galloping on like a frighted thing,
In speed outstripping the petrel's wing.
20 THE SHIPWRECK.
And the winds followed after, and fore, and about,
Mingling all things in a horrible rout.
And she flew on and on, as the myriads fly
O'er wasted lands when the conqueror's nigh ;
Plunging, perchance, into a worse strife,
While thus madly striving to save their life.
Just so we were borne on with furious speed,
And God could but help us in our great need ;
Yet in the whole ship was not heard a groan,
Each warm living heart seemed now turn'd to stone.
The awe of the danger had made Fear dumb,
The senses were living, the life's blood numb ;
Only the ship, as she rush'd through the surge,
Moan'd long and deeply, as though 'twere her dirge.
The women — from them was no wailing heard —
Look'd on each other, but uttered no word.
Amidst crushing sorrows, in hours of fear,
Woman, I wean, then is oft man's compeer ;
Though dragged to the dust, and there left to die,
What's her repining? She has none save a sigh.
And still none uttered nor shriek nor cry,
As louder and louder the blast roared by.
The pale lip compressed, and wide open eye,
Marked Terror's demoniac mastery ;
And each sense seemed stretched to the fullest strain
To catch at a something like Hope — in vain ;
E'en Hope could not live upon that wild main.
THE SHIPWRECK. 21
And the listening sailor held in his breath,
As he fancied he caught the low wail of Death,
Distinctly, though faintly, heard over the strife
Of elements striving to clutch his life.
Now, now then again he hears the faint shriek,
And his fear-drugged ear hears a death-wraith speak.
The cordage he grasps with convulsive strain,
And his blood runs cold athrough every vein ;
The nostril distended, the jaw clenched fast,
Urge Nature to strive and hold to the last.
His round staring eyeball he lifts on high,
And there, where the rags of the mainsheet fly
High in the air, indistinctly flitting
Around the mast which at last is splitting,
He sees clear against the black chiving clouds
The Spirits of Ocean in watery shrouds.
Then seeks he no longer to pierce the gloom ;
His heart beats much slower — he waits his doom.
But could he have witnessed the scene below,
Where Life seemed held under a spell by Woe,
He had sprung in dread from that floating tomb ;
For 'twas as though Earth had opened her womb,
Disclosing her corpses in row and rank
As they looked when living, but stiff and blank.
He well could have thought 'twas their freed spirit
That hover' d o'er and pursued the frigate ;
Which followed still where their mortal shell
Sat staring like motionless sentinel.
22 THE SHIPWRECK.
There, perched on the stern, sate the petrel bird,
Calm, motionless, solemn ; nor was there heard
The shrill cry it utters, as o'er the waste
It speedeth along with a wond'rous haste.
The sailors they saw it each one and all ;
They wished it away, bat they durst not call
Or shout to the creature that had come in —
They knew what would follow on such a sin.
And still it sat there, nor it moved nor stirred ;
There was something ghostly in that mute bird ;
'Twas like entertaining a fiend as guest,
Who stays in your house while you go to rest.
And thus we drove on, without hope or notion
How we might combat against the ocean.
And thunders were rolling above, around,
Groans seemed to rise up from the ocean ground :
The lightnings were flashing through horrid rents,
That tore the clouds open to get them vents,
And whirled through the sky, and seemed to skip
With certain destruction upon our ship.
And then came another dread clap of thunder,
As though the wide world were riven asunder.
The whirl of the tempest, the blast that rushed,
Was drowned in that one roar, and all seemed hush'd.
Each man that was there for a moment shrank :
All thought that the ship was torn plank from plank,
And then for an instant a lurid glare —
My God ! 'twas a moment of wild despair,
THE SHIPWRECK. 23
For now, just a-head, we saw such a sight
As never was seen but on that one night.
In front of that terrible sheet of flame,
And spectral and ghastly, towards us came
A ship, like a wreck uprisen again
To gallop once more through storm o'er the main.
But just at that moment she changed her course ;
That ship rushed on like a furious horse.
Yes, full in our sight stood that wizard thing ;
Our ship, as by instinct, gave one long swing,
And then, in a second, the ship rushed by.
From out her arose a long piercing cry ;
'Twas a thrilling shriek of desolate woe —
Methought I had never heard man cry so ;
It neither the rain nor wind could smother.
Then came a red flash, and then another,
Dispelling a moment the heavy gloom,
And lighting that ship to her dreadful tomb.
Perchance they thought soon the storm would cease ;
I had much rather they held their peace,
For their voice fell so hollow upon my ear,
It caused me a feeling akin to fear.
Well, day came at last, and the sea grew still ;
But all was not over ; — a greater ill
Was yet in reserve, and when things seemed bright.
The whole of that long and terrible night
Not a plank there was but did strain and creak,
And we found that the ship had sprung a leak.
24 THE SHIPWRECK.
We got out the boats, and we left the home
That hounding had carried us over the foam.
'Twas a pitiful thing for us, her crew,
Thus to desert her ; but what could we do ?
We said not a word, for we could not speak ;
The heart of each one felt as though 'twould break.
We still looked at her as off we rowed,
While round her the waters now higher flow'd.
She suddenly lurched, and we saw she was sinking :
Alas ! at that moment each one was thinking
Of many a joy and many a bout
He'd had in that ship or had weathered out ;
And days that were gone and scenes that were past,
All crowded on memory thick and fast.
She rose, as to give us a parting look
Before that last finishing plunge she took ;
And then, like an arrow shot from a bow,
Down, down in the waters we saw her go.
We knew all was over, but still we peered
Out into the darkness the while we neared
The eddying vortex where she had sunk ;
Which sucked us on, as it had not drunk
Enough yet of life, but still would swallow
Some victims more in its whirlpool hollow.
But the waves soon rolled over that fated place *
All was wild as before ; there was left no trace
Of that spirit-like ship nor her shrieking crew —
She passed like the words I am telling you.
THE SHIPWRECK. 25
She seemed come on the lightning, and then she went
As the white spray flies when a wave is rent ;
And from where thus ended such fear and trouble
There rose but a gurgling and half-choked bubble.
At last God had mercy upon us all :
By little and little the wind dichfall.
The night, which to each one had seemed a week,
Sunk back in the gloom : — some began to speak.
We lay on our oars a minute or so,
To see the last of her and watch her go.
At her seams the water now fast flowed through ;
Ah ! while she was filling, our eyes filled too !
She went at last — and we watched her end,
And felt as we all had lost a friend ;
Still looked at the place, heaved a deep, deep sigh,
And sadly rowed on to some land just nigh.
RHYMES.
A rhyme sometimes wall keep from tripping,
And hold you up just when you 're slipping.
epp
all things openly, and like a
man;
If five years old, or fifty, this
you can.
Give with your alms kind words — 'tis not much trouble ;
This, or kind looks, will make your bounty double.
When you 're alone, then think that a beholder
Of what you do is standing at your shoulder.
RHYMES.
27
OUL words defile the mouth, which,
as I think,
Should be a fountain-head, and
not a sink.
Pray, who made you a judge ? put off the wig;
You look quite foolish when you look so big.
e@o
ET others' faults remind you of
your failing :
You may fall sick, though per-
haps just now not ailing.
A NIGHT- SCENE IN POLAND.
There is a sort of fear against which ordinary courage is of
no avail. Courage relates in general to the opposing and
despising dangers in the outer world, in the world of reality.
One may be able coolly to await the cannon-ball that is to dash
us to pieces ; one may look calmly upon the dark raging flood
that may soon wash away the drowning swimmer ; one may
glance downward into the abyss which yawns beneath our
unsteady footpath ; — and yet not be able to master the feelings
of dread which creep over us when appearances take place
which reason cannot explain, and experience is unable to
designate.
The writer of these pages has experienced the like ; and
since that time, when people laugh at the fear of those indi-
viduals who are overcome by a dread of ghosts, he knocks at
his own breast, and laughs not with the rest.
I was for a short time in garrison near Zolkiew, a small
old Polish town in the neighbourhood of Lemberg. Of an
evening I usually rode from my station into town, in order to
shorten the long evenings, for it was late in the autumn, over
a cup of tschai, or by a game at tarok. On the evening in
question the conversation turned on that strange book, " The
Seer of Prevorst," in which are found detailed notices of the
whole inner life of the spiritual world. A very accomplished
A NIGHT-SCENE IN POLAND. 29
and intelligent physician gave ns his opinion, in opposition to
that of many unbelievers in such matters who were of the
party, that it was easy to laugh at such things, but very diffi-
cult to give an explanation of manifold daily appearances in
nature, which are, however, in connexion with an invisible
sphere, and of their connexion with us.
Every one of those present had now some goblin story or
other to relate. An old captain told how the ghost of a
French general who had been shot, gradually approached the
out-posts, and, in spite of the "Who goes there V s and the
firing of the sentry, rushed by on his visionary grey horse ;
and that private B , who, moreover, was tipsy at the time,
got five-and-twenty lashes on his back for not having stopped
him. One had something to tell of a "white lady;" another
of a "black gentleman:" so that at last nothing but such
phantoms were dancing before my eyes ; and I was right glad
when I was again astride my bay, and was trotting oat of the
town- gates.
It was a cold November night. The moon gazed with a
really corpse-like face from among the scudding clouds. Then
occurred to me the story of Colonel K., an old friend of my
father's, who, a short time before his sudden death, was
accompanied one night for two miles by a black rider with-
out a head, whom the orderly officer, an old uhlan, that was
with him, persisted in asserting he had not seen ; and who
only vanished at a little votive cross erected by the way-side.
I thought of the church at L , whose windows were
lighted up of themselves at midnight, and whence the tones
of the organ and chants for the dead were heard. In short,
I was quite confused, In vain I endeavoured to circumscribe
30 A NIGHT-SCENE IN POLAND.
my imagination with thoughts of " white ladies/' or even
" brown ladies/' only ; do what I would, a " black man"
always occupied my thoughts.
My horse, that was inveterately obstinate, and had the
bad habit of forcing his way through every gate that he found
open, gave me enough to do. Happily doors and gateways
were every where closed; but he seized each opportunity of
at least forcing himself up against them, and thus, if possible,
of getting me off his back. In this manner, constantly
battling together, we had got to the outside of the town, and
I drove him on with whip and spur along a high wall, when
at last we had to pass an open gate. With one bound the
horrid brute was inside. Spur and lash were useless ; he
reared almost upright, and was not to be moved from the
spot. I looked around me to see into what place I had got,
and found, to my no small terror, that it was the churchyard
in which I was. It was unlucky; and, I confess it openly,
a shudder crept over me. Moreover, my horsemanship, for
getting the mastery over the obstinate beast, it was difficult
to employ here. In the first place, a Polish churchyard is
like a wood ; for the crosses erected over the graves are not, as
with us in Germany, only a few feet high, but as high as a
tree. Then I risked every moment to plunge into one of the
many open graves — for it was the cholera time — which were
ready prepared. In vain I dug my spurs in my horse's sides.
Now he knocked against a crucifix with his fore feet ; now I
could feel that his hinder ones were sinking in the fresh up-
turned heap. I was just on the point of executing a man-
oeuvre so disliked by the cavalry, of forming on foot namely,
when something occurred that absolutely made my very blood
A NIGHT-SCENE IN POLAND. 31
curdle. In the middle of the churchyard, as is often the case
in Poland, was a little chapel for the dead, wherein the biers
and other things necessary for interment were kept; some-
times also it was used to receive a still unburied corpse. But
who shall paint my horror when the door of the chapel
opened, and a ghostly figure, illumined by the moonshine,
came forth. It was a Templar, with a long white garment
which fell to the earth, with a red cross on his breast, and a
full grey beard that reached to his girdle. I thought I should
sink from the saddle ! Slowly gliding, the apparition ad-
vanced towards me. I still had self-possession enough to
observe if the footsteps of the figure on the newly-frozen snow
gave signs, by causing a cracking sound, of bodily earthly
consistency. But no! noiselessly it approached; the red cross
grew more and more distinct ; I could already distinguish the
curls of the beard ; from the haggard, sunken, aged counte-
nance two hollow eyes stared on me ! There stood the figure
before my horse's head; I felt a certain cold trickling down
my back, and my knees trembled or clung convulsively to the
saddle. It now lifted its hand towards the reins, and asked
in a low tone, and in Polish, " What do you look for, sir, and
what do you wish?" "That you lead out my horse/' stam-
mered I, with the resignation of despair; and behold, the oblig-
ing ghost led my horse by the bridle through the gate of the
churchyard ! Once outside, I began to breathe more freely, and
commenced making acquaintance with the apparition that had
done me such good service ; and the whole affair was now
explained, which, had I been longer in Galicia, might very
easily have been so sooner. The church-watchmen, as they
are called, who have the care of church and churchyard, are
32 A NIGHT-SCENE IN POLAND.
dressed much in this manner. They are generally old men,
who, moreover, in these parts mostly wear long garments,
their robes being of all colours, according to the community to
which they belong. His happened to be white, which gave
him the appearance of a Templar. He had that night the
charge of the churchyard; and the tremendous row that I
had made with my horse had brought him out of the chapel.
He took very thankfully some silver coin which I with much
joy put into his hand, and we parted quite contented. He
locked the churchyard, for a long time as I hope, on me ; I
spurred my horse and galloped away : but it was not before
I got home, and was sitting by the stove with a cup of tschai,
that I felt comfortable and warm.
You laugh, dear reader! But if you were on the horse
and before the Templar, it would then be my turn to laugh.
itogal 5^unt in ttje Neto jForest.
N a summer's day, in the morning
time,
With archers many and good,
Rode the Red King forth to sur-
prise the stag,
And wake the merry green
wood.
And many a churl there was there that day
To beat up and drive the game,
Whose home had been built 'neath those broad oak-trees
Long ere he'd heard William's name.
But the Hunter King he had driven them forth,
As they now drove out the deer ;
And the swineherd's hollow dull-sounding horn
Dare no more re-echo there.
No longer was heard the blithe woodman's axe,
Nor stave of his Saxon song ;
Nor the dance on the frequent holyday,
Nor shout of the festive throng.
34 BALLAD OF THE ROYAL HUNT
One now only met with a troop of deer
At rest in a forest glade ;
Or a buck at gaze, ere he dashed away
To the covert's deeper shade.
The rotting cot of some forest churl
Might be seen, as on one strayed ;
But the fawn now over the threshold skipp'd,
Where his children once had played.
On the rippling breath of the morning air
There floated many a curse :
But what matters that to a so v' reign lord ?
He breathes not a whit the worse.
God save me, I pray, from another's curse,
Words muttered with meanings dim ;
For a curse makes desolate heart and hearth,
Yea, withereth soul and limb.
IN THE NEW FOREST. 35
" Now hie ye along, all ye Saxon boors,
Ye lagging and mutt' ring crew ;
And beware if ye keep not close to-day,
Or let but one stag break through !"
And athrough the wood where the deer must pass
Each archer doth take his stand,
With his yewen bow, and a three-foot shaft,
Fitted ready to his hand,
Oh, it's pleasant to be in the green wood shade
When all is solemnly still,
And there's hardly a breeze to move the leaves
Atop of the wooded hill ;
And watch with expectant and longing ear
For the merest coming sound ;
And, breathless, at last hear a rustling step
Move stealthily o'er the ground.
And then to behold, with exulting eye,
The creature with antlered crest,
Emerge from a thicket, whose leafy boughs
Give way 'fore his broad brown chest ;
And watch how with caution he cometh forth,
And how in his pride of height
He walketh erect o'er the sun-lit sward,
Encircled in golden light ;
36 BALLAD OF THE ROYAL HUNT
And behold him then stand before you there,
In that still forest glade alone,
Not a bow-shot's length from your own right hand,
And to feel he is all your own.
Ay, this is delight which none can know
But he who hath roamed the wood,
And watched the deer, and followed him close,
Through valley, and brake, and flood ;
And stopped to listen upon the hill
For sound of the tinkling bell,
And watched for the bay of the bloodhound sure,
As he follows through yonder dell ;
Then hears by the quickly repeated yell,
The creature is now at bay,
And mad with expectancy dashes on
Through bushes and tangled spray.
Oh, none but a hunter can know what's felt,
When looking long vainly round,
He findeth at last by the traces fresh,
Red drops on the mossy ground.
The flower thus stained, unto him cloth bring
More joy than the reddest rose ;
It telleth a tale to his heart as dear
As the blush that doth all disclose.
IN THE NEW FOREST. 3/
The gay green wood ! 'Tis a lovely world,
With a beauty that's all its own ;
And pleasant it is in summer time
To roam through that world alone.
Jioto tomtfy fyt ^econU |part.
On came the deer through the sounding wood,
At first like a rising wind ;
Then by they swept with a growing noise,
Till foes were all far behind.
Now on again comes another herd,
They follow their leader's track :
F the van their chief, his embattled crown
Flung down on his velvet back.
" Now mark him well as he cometh on !
Take heed when he rushes by !
And when he emerges from yonder oaks,
Be ready, and then let fly!"
He stops a moment : with haughty mien
He casts a quick look around ;
Have heed ! the monarch must die to-day.
Ha ! that was a mighty bound !
Follow him quick with your cloth-yard shaft,
Sir Walter, he nears the glade !
Now let the string right merrily ring ;
He must in the dust be laid !
38 BALLAD OF THE ROYAL HUNT
St. Hubert ! still he leads on the van —
Yon monarch dies not to-day :
A shaft, though sent by a cunning hand,
Finds not the right heart alway.
" Grammercy ! sure there is some strange power
To turn thus a shaft awry,
When breeze is none e'en to chase away
Yon cloudlet upon the sky !"
Now, if it be true that God sees when
A sparrow falls to the ground,
Why should He not guide the arrow's flight
Where the noblest quarry's found?
But why starts he who has shot his bow,
Why looketh he pale with fright ?
Perchance he hath seen some wondrous thing,
Some supernatural sight.
See what he may, he hastens away,
And leaves his good bow behind ;
And when a breeze rustles through the leaves,
He's scared like a timid hind.
And on, still onward, and on he flies,
Nor stops till he hears the sea ;
Then at the roar of the sounding shore,
He draweth his breath more free.
IN THE NEW FOREST. 39
Ho, fisher ! I must away to France,
And thou and thy boat must go ;
A purse right full of good silver marks
Is better than fish I trow !
Now, prithee, for love of God and Christ,
And by his dear Virgin Mother,
If ye delay until break of day,
I never may see another !
Now for the boat ! and get her afloat
As quick as ever ye can :
Nay, waste not breath, 'tis for life and death,
For I am a followed man !
And there is need of the utmost speed,
A price is upon my head, —
The string I drew of my bow of yew,
And a royal hart fell dead !"
f And so, because of these cursed laws,
Thou'rt driven across the sea? —
My boat is thine, and both I and mine
Will aid thee to quickly flee.
For sake of a royal hart laid low,
'Twere pity that thou should'st die !" —
I know no more than they left the shore,
And over to France did hie.
40 BALLAD OF THE ROYAL HUNT
The sky was clear and the night serene,
And brightly looked forth the Moon,
Right over-head in the topmost place,
As high as the sun at noon.
Lone as a boat on the open sea,
Full a thousand miles from land,
So moveth she through the concave depths
Of the blue serene and bland.
And over the ground a mystic light
Was spread, and over the trees ;
They seemed to lie in a charmed sleep,
And silent as frozen seas.
Now, strange is the power the Moon hath got ;
She worketh with potent spell ;
She changes nought, and yet changes all,
Hill-side, and river, and dell.
The Sun, he comes with his ardent looks ;
He gazes, and all things glow ;
His touch so fervid consumeth some —
Consumes e'en the virgin snow.
Like one who in manhood is strong moves he,
In fulness and pride of health,
And over the earth that he loves he spreads
His splendour and golden wealth.
IN THE NEW FOREST. 41
But she, the Moon, she is calm and cold,
Her beams have no warming power;
And bale they work in the brains of men,
If struck at the midnight hour.
Whether she races among the clouds,
Or moves like a pageant queen,
Alike her spell o'er the atmosphere,
Trance-like is her steady sheen.
And all in the wood was hush'd and still,
Not a deer moved o'er the ground ;
But from the depths of the under-growth
They listen' d and stared around.
They stare and listen with form erect,
As though they still heard the rout ;
And watchful stand in the silver' d shade,
Too fearful to venture out.
And some lay there in the thicket dense,
Where even at noon 'twas cool ;
Or in the sedge, or upon the grass,
Not far from the oft-sought pool.
But these nor listened nor peer'd about,
Each eye it was glaz'd and dim ;
The head flung back, and outstretched and stiff
Each active and graceful limb.
42 BALLAD OF THE ROYAL HUNT
And here was Death ; and around was Death ;
Was it this made all so still ?
For Life, flow calm as it may, when stopp'd,
Is felt like a silenced rill.
Ah, Life is strange, and Death too is strange !
Strange whether in man or brute ;
And awful too is in both the change
That brings on the state that's mute.
And awfid it is to feel the heart
Has finish' d to heave and knock ;
Its movement stopp'd and now standing still,
As still as a run-down clock.
But where now was he, the Hunter King,
The lord over life and death,
Whom Saxon serf and his houseless child
Both curse, though with stifled breath ?
" Now surely ye wot, lords of Normandie,
Where he so long doth tarry ?"
"Pardie ! he must in the forest stray,
After the wounded quarry."
Ay, sound your horns, lords of Normandie ;
The deer, they may start and waken,
But no reply from the wood will come,
'Tis mute now and all forsaken !
IN THE NEW FOREST. 43
And men at first they in whispers spoke,
Then louder, but yet not loud ;
And strange surmises, half-uttered, ran
Among the scar'd courtier crowd.
With shy mistrust and with doubt each look'd
Suspicious upon the other ;
And keeping close his own thoughts, not one
Did trust to his very brother.
And all remember' d Duke Robert's son —
'Twas scarcely more weeks than five—
How he to that very forest went,
And never returned alive.
And in each eye was a restless fear,
That told more than words could say.
" A curse !" — the thinker he crossed himself —
" A curse ! no, that cannot slay !"
Now save me, I pray, from another's curse,
Words mutter' d with meanings dim ;
For a curse makes desolate heart and hearth,
Yea, withereth soul and limb.
jioto romenj tfje last $art
Sweet is the breath of a July morn,
And pleasant each sight and sound
WTiich through the wood at the prime of day
Spreads gladness and joy around.
44 BALLAD OF THE ROYAL HUNT
The sky looks in through the vaulted roof
Of tracery, arch, and beam ;
The vast oak-stems its strong pillars are,
Adown which the sun doth gleam.
And he who walketh at this sweet time
Abroad in the forest-world,
When all is fresh, and each verdant bough
Is still from the dawn impearl'd;
Him greeteth at every onward step
Some sight that is new and strange ;
A shadow here, or a sunbeam there,
Producing fantastic change.
But what moves him, yonder peasant churl,
With dull inanimate look ?
He surely feels not the morning's joys,
He hears not the humming brook.
For shadow nor sunbeam careth he ;
However, 'tis some strange sight
That holds him there with fixed staring look,
And, seemingly, great affright.
Is it, perchance, but the devil's will ;
Or one of those horrid shapes
Which, as 'tis said, since the Norman times,
Are seen in these forest brakes ?
IN THE NEW FOREST. 45
He goes with his comrades towards the spot,
'Twas under a road-side tree ;
There lay a corpse — 'twas the Hunter King —
Ay, dead, stricken dead was he.
" Aha !" quoth they, as they saw the shaft
That stuck in the Red King's breast ;
" The Fiend, he shoots with a right true aim,
His arrows they are infest." 1
Now I do say 'twas no demon's work,
Nor wrought by accursed spell ;
That shaft was guided by God in heaven,
Not sent by a fiend of hell.
They drag him forth, and each takes a hand,
And two at his feet and head ;
Now care they not for the mighty lord,
His presence inspires no dread.
And so they bare it along, the corpse,
With grim Saxon jest and niirth,
To a rotting cot, and there laid it down,
Down on the desolate hearth.
No Norman lord was there near to lay
The limbs out in decent order ;
Three peasant churls were his chamberlains,
And a charcoal-burner warder.
1 deadlv.
46 BALLAD OF THE ROYAL HUNT
No roof above ; 'twas all bare, all bare !
The walls were mere to tt' ring wrecks :
'Twas his work all ; — it was thus he used
To trample on Saxon necks.
The children's songs and the baby's laugh,
That once made that cot so gay,
Were hush'd ; and now not a human voice
Was heard there the live-long day.
* # # * *
The spoiler then from the ground they lift,
But that which seemed dry before,
The corpse, large blood-drops it now lets fall,
Up to where had been once the door.
And step by step as they bore it on,
Still falleth it drop by drop :
From where it lay all along the way,
It oozes and will not stop.
And still as a crazy horse drags on
The cart with its staring load,
That red bloody sign it follows still,
Ay, all along the road.
That bloody track like a chain goes back,
Goes back to the rotting cot :
No iron bands forged by human hands
Such terrible power have got.
And so they journey athrough the wood,
In sunshine and now in shade ;
IN THE NEW FOREST.
Now winding down through a hollow way,
And crossing a water' d glade.
The shaft still sticks in the dead man's breast,
And on it the shadows dance :
5 Tis seen afar neath the thick boughs where
The light shineth in askance.
For still erect stands that gleaming thing
In spite of the ruts and stones ;
Nought shakes it down ; it is planted firm,
Wedged tight in between the bones.
Those Saxon churls who had found the corse,
That arrow dared not to touch :
" It had been sped by the Fiend," they said ;
" Oft-times had they heard of such.
He goes to the chase of the Norman race
As they go to hunt the deer ;
A shaft he lets fiy, and then one must he
Outstretched on a mossy bier."
And so they came on to Winchester,
And much folk did run to gaze ;
Each one was scared, and some stood and stared
In fear and in great amaze.
And on behind the corpse of the king
Still followed that track of gore ;
Althrough all the streets of Winchester
Up to his own palace- do or.
48 BALLAD OF THE ROYAL HUNT.
Like written signs are those red-traced lines,
A fearful and bloody scroll ; —
God grant that blood may but wash away
The guilt that's upon his soul !
Then to the Abbey of Winchester
The priests with the body go ;
And prayers were said at the dead man's head.
And masses not few I trow.
So this is the tale of the famous hunt
When William the Eed was slain ;
Though roughly told, yet I fain would hold
'Twill not be withouten gain.
Xotrs on Uje ftopal Jfcunt in ttye Neb) JForrst.
There is, as I have lately learned, a (modern) ballad on the same sub-
ject, the death of William Rufus, and possessing considerable merit; but
I have not yet had the good fortune to meet with it.
The sound of the tinkling bell. — Part i. verse 17.
For those not versed in " the noble science of venerie," the following
explanation will render the allusion intelligible. When a stag has been
wounded, and one has reason to think, from the appearance of the slot, or
from other signs, that he cannot go far, the bloodhound is put upon his
traces; he is not, however, held in a leash, as is the case on other occa-
sions, but is allowed to run at full liberty. Round his neck, however, a
small bell is attached ; so that, as he ranges through the forest or dense
thicket in pursuit of the wounded game, keeping always unerringly on its
traces, you can hear whereabouts he is, and on which side of the wood the
stag is likely to emerge, and so be prepared to meet him.
The bloodhound gives tongue only when the game is in view. But
when the stag is at bay, the sound is quite different from that while in
pursuit; it is then a quickly-repeated bark, almost a yell — angry, impe-
tuous, sharp, and high. You may hear it from afar ; you see nothing, it
is true, but you know exactly what is going on there as though you were
on the spot. You know that the mighty stag is standing in the wood,
unable to go further, with his antlers bent to the ground, and defending
himself against the bloodhound, as, maddened with excitement and fury,
he flies at his throat, or strives to fix himself on his haunches, and so tear
him to the earth. And as you dash towards the spot to secure the prey,
the whole scene is as distinctly visible as though it were really before
your eyes.
50 NOTES ON THE ROYAL HUNT.
When looking long vainly round. — Part i. verse 19.
When the stag does not fall immediately after the shot, the first thing
is, to see if he has been wounded or not. It sometimes happens, that for
many paces from the spot where he passed at the moment of being
struck, no traces of his being wounded are to be found. It is an anxious
moment, then, while looking with strained eye upon every blade of grass,
or on the bushes, or against the stems of the trees, for some sign or other
to tell that we have not missed; and when, after looking long around in
vain, some "red drops" are found at last, the exultation of the moment is
not easy to be described.
One of those horrid shapes. — Part iV. verse 7.
The devastation caused in forming the New Forest was frightful.
Thirty-six parishes were destroyed. The chase had hitherto been the
sole means of subsistence to many a one who now, by the sanguinary
forest-laws, was at once deprived of it. The Saxon peasant was despoiled
of his land, and turned adrift. Such acts seemed to cry aloud for retribu-
tion ; and men deemed that the powers of darkness were leagued to
punish them. It was said that the devil appeared to the Normans in
the most horrible shapes, as they passed the forest ; and that a frightful
end awaited them, the king, and his councillors. And the events that
really did happen there confirmed the superstitious in their belief. In
1081 one of the Conqueror's sons, while riding in the forest, was crushed
against a tree. That it was looked upon as a visitation of Heaven is
natural. In May 1100, his nephew there lost his life ; and in the July
following, William Rufus was killed.
r-%3 «« ifc» v
3k i
IttCOHXEXtSL
OV comfortable it wss before
the cheerful blazing fire !
How it crackled and flickered,
and how the flames seemed to
play with one another ! It was
good fun to see them getting
on each other's backs, knock-
ing each other down, and then scrambling away up the chim-
ney as fast as ever they could, before the others had time to be
after them.
Sometimes the spirit of some poor little bit of flame was
so completely damped by being thus licked up, as it were, by
a noisy blustering blaze, that it did not attempt to shew itself
again, and so, as it was able to do nothing else, it made a
great deal of smoke.
And a pair of hazel eyes were watching the fire and all
that was there going on ; and the head to which the eyes
belonged was thinking the while how delightful a thing an
English fireside is ; how unlike anything, how far better than
all, one finds elsewhere. The carpeted floor, the thick ample
*
52 THE MALCONTENTS.
curtains that hung down so dozingly beside the window — for
there was only one window to the room, and that led at once
to a pretty little lawn where the daisies would keep shewing
themselves, although warrants for their instant decapitation
had been issued daily, which the executioner, that is to say
the old gardener, never failed of obeying ; and all along one
side, row upon row of books, and above fancifully carved
beams, which were meant to look gothic, painted of a brown-
ish red ; and then too the polished mahogany sideboard that
was facing the window, and which gleamed in the flickering
light like a broad brown face indolently laughing in its cor-
ner — all united to make the room look as snug and as cozy as
any body with an English heart could possibly wish.
And so thought the person who was sitting there in the
twilight; for the evening was closing in, and the candles,
those intrusive visitors that so often walk in just when one
would rather be without them, had not yet made their appear-
ance. On the soft rug rested a foot.
"What!" you ask, "had the person who was sitting
there but one leg?"
Oh no ; but the other was safely deposited, in most ap-
proved English fashion, on the right knee ; and all the five
fingers of the right hand were helping to nurse it.
Well, the foot on the rug as well as the foot that was be-
ing nursed on the knee had both shoes on — good thick solid
shoes, fit for walking in the lanes out in the country, even
though they should be wet, — and this is just what the shoes
had been doing. And in front were ten eyelet holes, five on
each side, through which the shoe-string passed, and it went
zig-zag all the way up, making cross-bars like a prison-win-
THE MALCONTENTS. 53
dow ; and a -top of the instep it was fastened so cleverly as
not to be easily undone, unless you knew the secret. The
secret was, to pull one end of the string, and then the knot
was open in a moment. Of course, now you know it, you
find it very easy ; but if no one had ever told you, what then ?
And as the person who owned the two shoes, as well as the
feet that were in them, sat looking at the fire, and seeing all
sorts of strange things among the coals — hump-backed people,
and houses, and great staring faces — he fell into a sprt of
reverie. Perhaps he was thinking of the daisies on the lawn
that had given him so much trouble, and of how he should
get rid of them ; for though he was constantly ordering their
poor little heads to be cut off, there they were the next morn-
ing as bright-eyed as ever. And this vexed him, for he wanted
to have his lawn all green — without a single daisy. Be it as
it may, the fingers of his right hand were still round the left
ancle, when the toes suddenly seemed to give a jerk ; but this,
no doubt, was only the effect of the warm blaze which, from
their present position, was now on a fine with them.
"We have risen to our proper station in the world at
last," said a low murmuring voice that seemed to proceed
from the innermost depth of the left shoe, and which, low
as it was, the person before the fire, no doubt, heard; for
his head was every moment nodding down lower and lower
towards his lap, on purpose, I suppose, to catch every word
of the conversation that had just begun.
" We have risen to our proper station at last, and are now
on a level with those who have so long looked down upon us
as our betters. There is, after all, nothing so hateful as up-
start vanity." And at the same moment the extreme end of
54 THE MALCONTENTS.
the left shoe gave another jerk, for it was the five toes therein
contained that had just been speaking.
" We can maintain our position without your help/' said
they snappishly to the five fingers that were resting on the
instep. "We wonder such grand personages as you are can
condescend to associate with us !" and again another jerk.
"Why, what's the matter?" asked the fingers. "Have
you been pinched?"
"Oh, there's nothing at all the matter," said the toes;
"though as to being pinched, you know very well that we
have been often enough. You have always looked down upon
us till now ; but we have risen to our proper station in the
world at last : ours is an elevated position, and we can main-
tain it."
"But what makes you so cross?" asked the little finger,
which, though rather somewhat of a dandy, was yet acknow-
ledged by every one to be the gentlest and most innocent of
the family.
" Cross !" said the great toe in reply ; " I think the treat-
ment we have received is enough to spoil the sweetest temper.
While you and your four brothers have been made as much of
as if you were princes, we have hardly seen the light. And
are we not every whit as good as you?"
"Oh, certainly, every whit as good!" said the fingers.
" But you should not be in such a fury because we happen to
be placed higher in the world."
" Oh, we are on a level now ; we have got into our proper
station at last; ours is an elevated position," cried all the toes
at once.
" I dare say you think we have nothing to do," said the
THE MALCONTENTS. >.)
thumb, who was generally looked upon as the most influential
member of the family. " But our life is not passed in idle-
ness, and we are not always so wonderfully well off, I can
assure you."
" Idleness, indeed !" rejoined the others ; " when two or
three of you choose to take a walk about some smooth white
paper, and amuse yourselves by making a quantity of black
scratches, you fancy you have done a wondrous deal, and
exclaim, c We can write !' or * We have written a book!'. And
you play with sweet flowers, and you can take wives, so it
seems at least by the rings some of you wear, and other long
taper and much fairer fingers come to visit you, and " .
"Don't talk scandal!" quickly interrupted the second
finger, who, being the tallest of the family, took upon himself
the part of champion. I hope you meant nothing personal."
" We have always been ill-used," continued the others, not
heeding the interruption ; " we have been laced up in a sort of
strait waistcoat, as though we had been mad ; we have been
thrust down into a deep dungeon called a boot, deprived of
light and air; and we, moreover, have all grown hump-backed
from the shocking treatment we have received."
" There is some truth in what you say," answered the
fore-finger, who, on particular occasions, was very fond of
thrusting himself forward : " you have, indeed, been very
often in narrow circumstances, and we have frequently felt for
you ; but then our abilities are so different, that I really do
not see how you can think of doing as we do, and of taking
the same position in society."
" Abilities ! position in society !" exclaimed all the toes at
once in a great rage. " Pray are you aware that one of the
56 THE MALCONTENTS.
toe family is knelt to and kissed by thousands every year?
And as to abilities, did you never see what some of our name
once did that belonged to a lady who had no fingers — she
preferred not having any — and how cleverly they cut out, and
wrote, and did all that you boast of doing I They were so
skilful that people used to pay to see them ; and pray when
did any one ever pay money for seeing fingers ? Abilities,
forsooth !" and the shoe gave a tremendous jerk.
" It is well known you have at all times been particularly
instrumental in the advancement of the human race," said
the third finger very calmly — for he was of a most unassum-
ing disposition, and, like his smaller brother, seldom meddled
much in what the others did — " and what greater praise can
you require? That you have been often cruelly bound and
cast into profound dungeons we well know, and we have
pitied you ; and not seldom have we, as soon as we were able,
unloosed your bonds; and if too weak ourselves,, when no
one was by, we have bribed the hard-hearted gaoler, Boot-
jack, who has always his nose in the air, to drag you from
your gloomy prison. And wherever we have gone, you have
always accompanied us ; we have never left you behind."
"That's a good joke!" said the toes. "But for us you
must always have stayed at home. And what have we got for
our good nature ? If you are invited out to dinner, you have
every time a bran-new coat on for the occasion, supple and
soft, and as golden as the buttercups we have once or twice
got a peep of through a chink in our prison- wall ; while we
are ever thrust into the same obscurity. Well, we take you out
of the carriage, and up stairs we go. Arrived at the drawing-
room, we expect some little notice will be taken of us. But
THE MALCONTENTS. 0/
no : 'tis you who are noticed. Another five fingers, also in a
bran-new coat of a pale yellow colour, comes and asks you
how you do, and you pinch each other, and it's thought all
very pretty. Then dinner is announced, the very thing for
which we both have come. And how are we treated ? While
you all lie down upon the nice white table-cloth, and stretch
yourselves out to shew your fine figures or some bit of finery
that you happen to have on "
" You're growing personal," said the little finger, some-
what embarrassed, for, in reality, he was very apt in company
to shew-off a little, and to stand at some distance from his
brothers, as though he did not belong to the family.
" Oh, if the cap fits, pray wear it," said the toes, con-
tinuing their complaint ; " and while you are twisting and
twirling about, and playing all manner of tricks with the
candles shining upon you, we are put under the table, and
are expected to be still. And if we try to scrape acquaintance
with another five toes in the same miserable situation as our-
selves, instead of meeting with kindness or sympathy, they
draw back directly, and the person to whom they belong
looks up, and seems to think it very disagreeable. But this
is over now. We have risen to our proper position in the
world at last. We are now on a level with each other !"
" We really cannot help it," said the fingers, getting some-
what angry, and, loosening their hold of the instep, seemed
very much inclined to leave their neighbours to their own re-
flections. " The place we fill at table we have filled since our
birth, and we cannot creep under the table to please you, and
because you are discontented. Besides, the mouth would not
allow it."
58 THE MALCONTENTS.
" Oh, the mouth has always a great deal to say for him-
self, and, moreover, requires constant attendance. But as to
birth," said the great toe, " our race is quite as ancient as
yours; and though you seem to think our place is on the
floor, we formerly, let me tell you, were treated with respect,
and we saw what was going on at table as well as any of you.
But all things degenerate ; yet of us who can say that we ever
go backwards ? we are always in advance ; we are the only
true progressionists. Yes, in olden times, at the great feasts
that we went to, cushions were laid on purpose for us to repose
on. In those days we enjoyed much more liberty, and saw
more of the world. We then were free. We cannot now go
free on account of civilisation. For our part, we don't see
what has been gained by civilisation, except the art of making
our prison-walls shine as though they were of black crystal ;
and, after all, we are not a bit the happier. But this is civilisa-
tion — yes, this is what they mean by the much-bepraised civili-
sation!"
The fingers at length grew tired of listening ; and when
the toes began to talk of classic banquets, and of the days of
Greece and Rome, and of civilisation, they fancied they must
be dreaming — and dreaming they were. The leg, from its
cramped and unusually high position, had, in fact, gone to
sleep, and the toes of course had gone to sleep too, and they
were now talking in their sleep.
Now, the whole secret of their ill-humour was this. The
shoes had got a little damp from the walk they had had ; and
so when the left foot was raised to a position so much higher
than that to which it was accustomed, and brought on a level
with the glow of a blazing fire, the leather began to contract a
THE MALCONTENTS. ">9
little ; and as the beat increased, the tighter the discontented
five were pinched together. But this discomfort was solely
consequent on their elevation in the world, which they were
so nughty proud of, and had made such a fuss about.
The fingers had heard enough, and they determined tf
drop the acquaintance, which they did by leaving their hold
on the instep and falling listlessly against the side of the
chair ; when at the same moment down slid the left foot from
its resting place on the right knee, and fell with a thump on
the floor. The noise caused the head, which before had been
nodding backwards and forwards, to stop with a sudden start.
The two hazel eyes half opened and peered into the fire, which
was now all in a glow, without a bit of flame ; and while they
did so, the door of the snug room opened, and two candles,
the light of which made the eyes feel as if they were dislo-
cated, were brought in.
"Why, I declare, I think I have had a nap," said the
person who had been sitting before the fire ; "and my left
leg, — ah ! confound it ; why it has gone to sleep too." And
up he got to stretch himself and to see what o'clock it was ;
but directly he did so, ten thousand pins and needles seemed
running into his left foot, and up his leg, and right through
and through all the very toes that were so proud of their new
position in the world. It was a sort of cramp ; and for a long
time they were quite dead, and were very glad to stamp upon
the ground to help them to get rid of the ten thousand pins
and needles.
And so that was all they got by their "elevated position."
Who shuts his hand, hath lost his gold;
Who opens it, hath it twice told.
Who goes to bed, and doth not pray,
Maketh two nights to every day.
Dare to be true. Nothing can need a lie ;
A fault which needs it most, grows two
thereby.
Gold thou may'st safely touch ; but if it stick
Unto thy hands, it woundeth to the quick.
The man that needs five thousand pounds to
live,
Is full as poor as he that needs but five.
Scorn no man's love, though of a mean
degree
(Love is a present for a mighty king) ;
Much less make any one thine enemy.
All things on earth do fade and
wane,
Honour alone doth firm remain.
GEORGE HERBERT.
IPsages fat Mux®.
WRITTEN DURING THE LONG DROUGHT OF 1842.
Almighty God ! send rain upon Thy earth !
The land is dying, and each heart is drear :
With Thee of mercy there is never dearth ;
Then hear our prayer, Lord, in pity hear !
We thirst, God, we thirst ! all, all is dry !
The very rivers running to the sea
Shrink day by day beneath Thy parching sky,
And Thy blest fruits hang sapless on the tree.
Holdest Thou not the ocean in Thy hand ?
Have we, then, Lord, so grievously transgress' d,
That Thou dost make our globe as barren sand,
The land Thy mercy hath so often bless' d?
62 PRAYER FOR RAIN.
Oh, let the rivulets be heard again,
Rejoicing as they leap athrough the vale ;
Oh, let our harvests droop not on the plain,
Lest Famine should our cottages assail !
But if, in Thy omniscience, Thou dost still
To our entreaties a deaf ear incline,
Then help us, Lord, to bear what is Thy will,
Then strengthen us, that we may not repine.
m
1 %
One summer's morning a small cloud rose from the sea, and
sailed, buoyant and joyful, like a blooming playful child,
through the blue sky and over the whole land, that lay below
parched and sorrowing after a long drought.
As the cloudlet floated onward, it saw how man, full of
care, and in the sweat of his countenance, was working and
toiling on the earth ; the while it, free from all care and
trouble, was borne on its way by the light breath of a purer
air.
" Ah !" said the cloud, " were I but able to do aught for
those poor men below ; to lighten their labour, to fright away
64 THE CLOUD.
their cares, to provide food for the hungry, and give refresh-
ment to those who thirst !"
And the day advanced, and the cloud grew always larger;
and as it grew, the desire to devote its existence to man ac-
quired still greater force.
But on the earth it was hotter and hotter ; the glowing
sun burned fiercely, and sorely oppressed all those who were
at labour. They well nigh fainted with the heat ; but they
were obliged to toil on, for they were very poor.
And they cast an imploring look towards the cloud, as
though they would say, " Oh, if thou wouldst but help us !"
" Yes, I will help ye !" said the cloud ; and immediately
began to incline gently towards the earth.
But then the cloud remembered what it had once heard as
a child when in the bosom of the ocean ; that the clouds, if
they descend too low earthward, inevitably meet their death.
For a long time it hesitated, and was driven to and fro by
its thoughts. At last it stood still, and spoke bold and joyful ;
" Ye children of men, I will help you, let happen what may !"
This thought suddenly made the cloud of a gigantic size,
and strong and mighty. It never before had even a presen-
timent that it was capable of such greatness. Like a God of
blessing it stood over the land, and lifted its head and spread
its wings far over the fields. Its magnificence was so great
that men and animals were afraid; that the trees and the
grass bowed before it ; but all felt an inner consciousness that
it was their benefactor.
" Yes, I will help ye!" cried the cloud again; " receive
me — I die for you !"
It was a mighty will which then agitated the cloud. A
THE CLOUD. 65
more exalted brightness inflamed it, thunder rolled through
ever}- part ; it was pervaded by a vast, by an endless love. It
sank down on the earth and dissolved in blessing — dropping
rain.
This rain was its deed, this rain was its death, and in it
it was to be glorified.
Over the whole land, as far as the rain had poured itself,
there rose a gleaming rainbow, formed of the purest rays of
heaven : it was the last visible salutation of a vast self-sacri-
ficing love.
Yet that soon vanished also ; but the blessings which the
cloud had given remained, and were long afterward possessed
by man, whom it had rejoiced and saved.
[The principal circumstance related in
this ballad is told in few words by
Raimond von Agiles, chaplain to
the Count of St. Gilles, and may be
found in his History of the First
Crusade.]
fart jFtrst
When Christian men did
hear aghast,
The soil that Christ had
trod
Was in the might of Paynim
men,
Who scorned the Son of
God;
';'_,
THE DREAM OF THE CRUSADER. 67
Arose there then through Christendom
One universal cry,
To wrest that land from such a grasp —
To win it or to die.
That cry went forth through Europe's realms,
From one end to the other ;
The call was like the thunder's voice,
That nought on earth can smother.
It woke up those whose life had been
A long and quiet slumber ;
It roused and brought together men,
A vast and mighty number.
And they, whose only mates had been
Repose and slothful ease,
Sought sterner comrades, and embarked
To sail across the seas.
The holy priest was there to pray,
And if need be to fight ;
And should a coward heart be there,
With curse that heart to blight.
And kings and princes when they heard
Did doff the kingly coat,
And in its place a shirt of mail
That went up to the throat.
68 THE DREAM OF THE CRUSADER.
And men left all that man holds dear,
Sold land and dwelling-place,
To win a better home in arms
Against that Paynim race.
And France's fairest chivalry
Did mount at that loud call ;
From Normandy unto Provence,
None tarried in his hall.
Some came from the fast-flowing Loire,
And others from the Khone,
And some whose castles were upon
The hanks of the Garonne.
The troubadour flung down his lute
To gird him on his sword,
And gave to his fair ladye-love
A hasty parting word.
He loves her well, but there is one
He loveth better far :
'Tis Christ who calls, for Christ's dear sake
He joins the holy war.
On prancing steeds the knights ride forth
With pennon and with spear,
And lesser men they are afoot,
With varied fighting gear.
THE DREAM OF THE CRUSADER. 09
One common badge they all do wear,
A proud and holy crest,
A blood-red cross, emblazoned bright
On each left arm and breast.
Their banner is that blood-red cross,
Upraised as for a sign,
And animating all the host
With thoughts of Palestine.
And day by day they fought their way
Still onwards from the sea,
And charged upon the Infidel
With dauntless constancy.
The Paynim men advance again,
To drive them in the sea ;
But on them rush those red-cross men
With all their chivalry.
$art SnontK
And 'mid that host of noble knights
Who from their homes had gone,
There was not one more worthy than
Anselm of Ribeaupont.
One early morn, the sun as yet
Was scarcely in the sky,
He begged the priest to shrive him then,
And so be fit to die.
70 THE DREAM OF THE CRUSADER.
He wished to take the sacrament
As soon as he was shriven,
That he might dare to meet his God
With hopes to be forgiven.
Now all did marvel at his words,
For he was fresh and well ;
And why he deemed that he should die,
No mortal man could tell.
But good Sir Anselm with grave mien
Thus spake — " My race is run !
Ere yonder sun shall set again,
Life's journey will be done.
My friend, Ingolram of St. Pol,
Who fell at Ma'ra's fight,
And whom we all lamented so,
I've seen in the past night.
This very night he came to me,
And stood beside my bed ;
'Twas not a dream — I was awake,
And heard each word he said.
I asked him, f Whither comest thou,
And why so bright and fair ?
For thou wert killed at Maara,
And we interred thee there.*
THE DREAM OF THE CRUSADER. 71
He was so bright and beautiful,
And mild each placid feature ;
He was not like a mortal man,
But some angelic creature.
He answered me, ( I am so fair,
And beautiful and bright,
Because my dwelling shineth so
With all-resplendent light.
And this to me my God hath given,
Because I served Him well ;
For laying down my life for Him
Against the Infidel.
And it hath been revealed to me,
That such a dwelling-place,
But brighter still, awaiteth thee,
Through God's great sovereign grace.
And I am come to bring to thee
These tidings glad and sweet ;
Thy dwelling it is wondrous fair —
To-morrow there we meet V "
Again they went to fight their way
Still onwards from the sea ;
They charged upon the Infidel
With wonted constancy.
72 THE DREAM OF THE CRUSADER.
The Paynim men advance again,
To drive them in the sea,
But on them rushed the red-cross men
With all their chivalry.
And when the day's hard strife was o'er,
The sun went down apace,
The good Sir Anselm he was missed
At his accustomed place.
They sought him on the battle-field,
They found him 'midst the dead :
A stone, by some huge engine hurled,
Had struck him on the head.
— ©^
THE MOST DIFFICULT PATH.
ERE we are at last, sir!" said my guide,
the chamois-hunter, Jacob E , as
we emerged from the gloom of the
wood, and beheld at the end of the
green meadow, bordered with an ena-
mel of flowers, the little cottage
of the hunter lying before us.
" Thank God !" groaned I, ex-
hausted by a long excursion that had lasted several hours over
rock and crag, through woods and bushes, in endeavouring to
stalk a chamois ; and doffing my green hat, I stuck my moun-
tain staff in the ground, laid rifle and pouch and hunting-
knife beside it, and stretched myself at full length in the
fragrant grass, while Jacob went on before to announce our
arrival in the house.
As he stepped along so fresh and nimbly, carrying the
chamois, the result of that day's sport, upon his shoulders, as
easily as one of us would a partridge, I was vexed at my own
exhaustion ; while he, the robust young hunter, was scarcely
fatigued by the unusually long march. " That's an iron
churl truly, with springs of steel in his limbs instead of mus-
cles," muttered I: "but this strong, indestructible physical
nature is perhaps purchased with mental obtuseness and apa-
thy. What does such a fellow feel, what does such a fellow
think, in all his uniform existence, year after year the same ?
74 f THE MOST DIFFICULT PATH.
While our nerves are constantly in play, on account of the
multifarious impressions and excitements of our life. But
just therein lies the real fulness of our being. After all, the
butterfly enjoys existence more intensely than the snail ; the
bird in the air feels a joy different to the marmot. But who
can tell if such a man knows the magic power of love, or
the intoxication of ambition ; if he has an idea of the many-
coloured puppet-tragedy which the passions in our breast daily
represent?"
So whispered Cousin Vanity : but when I followed Jacob
with my eyes, and saw how the joints of his bare knees
stretched and extended at every step ; when I looked at his
broad vaulted chest, and observed the symmetry of his power-
ful healthy limbs, his good-natured friendly countenance, the
true-hearted look of his blue eyes, and the luxuriance of his
curly hair ; when I thought of the many proofs of stout re-
solve which had been put to the test by poachers and the
varied dangers of hunting in the mountains ; when I remem-
bered that his sinewy arm had supported me on the very brink
of the precipice when I was already sliding downwards, — I
was then obliged to acknowledge that he was a man, a proper
man, in every sense of the word ; and that I, and many others
beside, might feel flattered to be allowed to take, in more mat-
ters than one, a place beside him.
Soon after came Maria, the spruce hunter's wife, who,
four years ago, had been led home, or rather led up home, by
the worthy Jacob from out the neighbouring hamlet to share
with him his mountain solitude. She announced that the
dinner was ready ; and we immediately entered the cottage.
In the little room of the hunter's dwelling was the house-
THE MOST DIFFICULT PATH. / D
hold furniture of the family : — a few wooden chairs and stools,
a large oaken table, a clock in a case, a spinning-wheel, a
gaudily painted box with the clothes of the wife, and a closet
with plates and glasses, were to be seen there ; there, too, was
an empty cradle, there a warm winter jerkin, a green hat with
gemsbart 1 and tuft of feathers, a small tin vessel for holding
holy water, the portrait of St. Eustace, and, hung up in a
frame, his indentures, to shew that he had served his time as
a hunter; bsside this were a pair of stag's antlers, and those
of a roebuck ; while over the door a small chamois of carved
wood, but with real horns, peeped very knowingly into the
room.
I again went out and stood before the door of the cottage.
The stillness that reigned within struck me ; for I well remem-
1 Gemsbart, which means, if literally translated, " beard of the cha-
mois," is a trophy of the chase "worn by the hunter in his green hat as an
ornament. It is made of the long hair which grows along the back of the
chamois, the tips of which are of a lighter colour, and the lower part of a
dark brown. When you have a handful, those of equal length are care-
fully sorted and arranged in a fan-like shape, the light- coloured tips form-
ing a regular border all round. The longer the hair, the handsomer is the
gemsbart considered. It is very troublesome to make them ; they conse-
quently are rather expensive. At the bazaar to be held in May next* for
the benefit of the German Hospital in London, two such may be seen,
which I obtained from German friends in Munich, among the various
things I had the pleasure of collecting for this excellent Institution. A
similar ornament may also be made of the thick hair found on the neck
of the stag in the rutting season, and is called hirschbart. A gemsbart as
worn by the chamois-hunter may be seen in the vignette at the end of this
story.— C.B.
* It was to have been held last May ; but was deferred on account of the Irish
Bazaar.
76 THE MOST DIFFICULT PATH.
bered to have been disturbed a few years ago in my noontide
nap by the shouting of children, or by the reprimands of their
mother. In front of the house sat Jacob smoking his pipe.
Maria was busied in the kitchen. I cast my eye across to-
wards the glaciers and walls of rock which, like an enchanted
crystal mountain, gleamed in the sun ; and I thought the while
how often must one wander along these dangerous ways and
dizzy narrow footpaths when, allured by the love of the chase
or of rambling, one ventures into this granite temple where
Nature performs her mysteries. There dwells the nimble cha-
mois, there blooms and gives fragrance the healing spicy herb :
but there alone do they shew themselves, and are not to be
found on the well-trodden plain. Therefore is it that he who
seeks the rare booty adventures his neck in the pursuit ; and
with all in the world it is so. He who seeks what is precious
must risk what is best to get it. Sparrows may be shot from
the house-top, flints and granite lie on the road-side ; but it is
only in the upper air that the heron soars, and gold shines
only within the deep shaft.
I conversed with Jacob about the different difficult places
and paths that lead through and over the mountains. He
had been on the highest summits, had followed poachers and
the chamois along dizzy ways, had let himself down by ropes
into the abyss that he might track the rapacious golden eagle
into his very nest. And he spoke of all this as if it were
about a walk on the ramparts that he was talking ; while a
cold shuddering would creep over one of us, and we grew
dizzy from merely listening. At last I asked him if the narrow
path over the " Hollriegel" was more dangerous than that at
" Schonbrett," or than that at the so-called "holy spot,"
THE MOST DIFFICULT PATH. /7
where one is obliged to shove oneself along while sitting
astride on a crag which, like the gable of a house, crowns
two perpendicular walls of rock twice as high as the highest
church- steeple. He said that in summer this was easy and
not at all dangerous, but in winter perilous enough, because
the rocks are slippery from the ice. " But which path, Jacob,
appeared to you the most difficult, since you have climbed
about these mountains?" Jacob considered for a long time ;
his countenance then suddenly grew serious, and he looked at
me with a sorrowful expression. " The hardest way, kind
sir, is that I went last year — 'twill be a twelvemonth come
next Holyrood-day ; — I went down to the vicarage in W ,
and when I came up again, I thought I should never reach
home ; my knees failed me, and my eyes were so dim that I
was hardly able to find my way."
I looked at him in astonishment. " But, Jacob, why was
the way so difficult ? I can well conceive that in winter, when
the snow drifts across the footpath, it may sometimes be diffi-
cult and dangerous to go up or down ; but on the day of the
Holyrood, why, then it is fair and serene in the mountains.
How could the way then appear so difficult ? unless, perhaps,
you had taken a glass of Bavarian beer too much." " No, good
sir, it was not that : I was forced to go down to bury my dead
child. You know, of course, little Rosa, with whom you played
so kindly two years ago ? Well, she grew sick — she got the
measles, and on the second day she died. I could not bring
a doctor up here ; but the young clergyman, the curate at the
vicarage, he climbed up the mountain with me, because he
had studied a good deal, and knows sometimes what will help
the sick. But there was no help. Little Rosa was forced to
/« THE MOST DIFFICULT PATH.
die because our Lord God would make an angel of her ; and
some day in our dying hour she will pray for us, for she has
nothing to atone for in the other world, like us sinful men ;
that was what the young clergyman said, and it comforted
Maria and me.
" When the child was dead, and the clergyman was gone,
Maria wept bitterly, and begged me to carry the child down
below, that it might rest in consecrated ground. The next
morning we laid it in a little coffin, which my wife slung
at my back, and so I carried it down to the vicarage. The
reverend gentleman read the service and blessed it himself;
and there it lies in the churchyard that you see down yonder.
A pretty crucifix and a rose-bush stand upon the mound ; but
it is too far to see it from here. Now look you, kind sir,"
continued Jacob, wiping a tear from his eye, "when I came up
again in the evening to Maria to the lonely house, my knees
tottered, and I thought they would never carry me further.
That, sir, yes, that was my most difficult way !"
I was, I acknowledge, much moved. I know many men
with, both mentally and physically, very unmanly qualities,
who never weep; and it therefore affects me so much the
more when a true man does do so. A genuine manly tear is a
rare invaluable pearl, that drops from the crucible of profound
feeling. I wished to make some reply, and, as it generally
happens on such occasions, I said something very little fitting,
stupidly remarking, " But, good Jacob, it was surely much
less difficult to come up than to descend when you had to
carry your melancholy burden !" Hereupon Jacob looked at
me with a sad, I might almost say with a rebuking glance, as
though he would reprimand me for my want of delicacy of
THE MOST DIFFICULT PATH. 79
feeling ; a look that seemed to say, " Oh, you dweller in
cities, you comprehend me not! With you, no doubt, it is
legs and lungs and stomach only that is referred to when you
talk of suffering; as to what is going on within the heart,
of that you trouble yourselves but little!" and said; " Ah,
the going down was easy enough, for then I felt my little
child on my shoulders — on my shoulders I rocked it still —
how, then, could I find the dear burden heavy, I, who have
borne the largest chamois at my back for miles ? But up again,
when the child was already resting in the earth — up again,
that was hard work ! It seemed to me as though the little
birds that chirped around me so merrily, asked about their
little comrade ; as though the alpine rose and the moss
flowers bloomed in mockery of me ! And when I at last from
afar saw my cottage-door standing open, whence formerly the
little fresh maiden always sprang to meet me at my return,
then, good sir, my knees trembled, and I thought my heart
must surely break ! I can assure you, worthy sir, that was
my most difficult way !"
Maria had heard the concluding part of our conversation,
for she wiped her eyes with her apron, and brought out the
steaming soup in silence. But I now knew that the strong
mountaineer bore a feeling heart in his broad powerful manly
bosom.
I now sat down to table. The friendly endearing child
was greatly missed too by me. When about to leave after our
meal, I pressed Maria to accept a small present. When she
shewed the bright coin to her husband, he said, " If our little
Rosa were still alive, we could buy her some pretty clothes,
and good stockings, instead of being obliged to let her run
80
THE MOST DIFFICULT PATH.
about barefoot. But now God will provide for her." And
again Maria's apron was before her face. It cannot have
been there always, however ; for when I returned the following
year, from the once empty cradle the voice of a little screamer
met my ear, to whom I stood godfather. l( God has taken
from us one angel, and sent us another," whispered Maria
from her bed. And I descended the mountain with Jacob to
go to the christening ; and when we came up again, the way
seemed quite easy to us and commodious.
WALK THROUGH THE CORNFIELD.
^^£:l-~'' ^wM^*v'.--
WKHi
if 1===^
MM
■Bss^ra
jgia^®.
WAS April time, and evening :
some days more
The month had still to count;
and though sweet May —
Like a young dancer waiting
for his turn
To step into the round, so near
— seem'd all
Impatient to bound o'er the slopes and fields,
And lovingly with warm breath coax the flowers
To wake and shew themselves, fresh was the time,
And changeful : — April weather. Full of smiles
At first, and gay and bright as though he were
Betroth' d to sunny May, he full soon chang'd :
He hid his laughing face, and wrapt himself
Up in a snowy mantle. Thus more like
Stern old December's son than ardent fant,
Who on his face might feel a maiden's breath
So near approaching him, and all his limbs
Be penetrated by the radiant warmth
Of her young swelling form. And still he frown' d,
G
82 THE WALK THROUGH THE CORNFIELD.
And would not be more gentle. Shrill and loud
In sullen mood he whistled for himself;
And not the full buds nor the teeming earth
Could move him kindly.
And I stood beside
A field of some few acres, where the corn,
Mere grass as yet, put forth its bright young green.
'Twas full of promise ; yet me thought, how much
May happen to mar all our present hopes
Of future plenty, ere the harvest come !
And will the sheaves be full and blessing-laden ;
Or shall again man sorrow, and the land
Cry unto God in anguish !
As these words
Were spoken inwardly, a lark sprang up,
And ho v' ring o'er the cornfield, fill'd the air
With sounds of joy. It was as he foresaw
The blessings which that spot of earth should bear,
And so pour'd forth a hymn of thankfulness
To God in heaven. Still he kept aloof,
Not bounding upwards to the highest cloud,
But at mid-distance ; and there sang and sang
In loudest ecstacy, as o'er that field
He seem'd to hover like the Holy Dove.
The sun now sank behind the hills, and down
The creature dropp'd. His song was eloquent
As words imparted by a spirit's voice.
THE WALK THROUGH THE CORNFIELD. 83
I homeward went rejoicing ; for the hope
Was quick within my heart, that all the land
Would bring forth fruitfully, and the nodding ears
Fall thick and heavy in the reapers' arms.
Nor could I feel such joyous song but as
An admonition that in gloomy thought
I, for a moment, with a faltering hope
Had read the future. But thy song attun'd
My heart, sweet bird, and gave it back its joy.
So let me be admonish' d, Lord, each time
That faithless heart forgets its trust in Thee !
GERMAN TRADITIONS.
HE traditions of a country are al-
ways indicative of the character of
its people. Those too which they
cherish most fondly are not with-
out an historical importance, as
they are certain to relate to per-
sons or events whose memory, from
certain causes, is very dear to them ;
or to he connected with a future that is to bring them glory,
and with wishes which are then to be fulfilled. These two —
the popular feeling and the tradition — are sometimes so ac-
cordant, that it would not be quite easy to decide if the one
owes its protracted existence to the other, or whether it is the
nation's mind which is quickened and kept watchful by the
remembrance of such old traditions and their heart-stirring
prophecies. And as they always have reference to some
name worthy of being remembered with gratitude, or to an
act which, if wicked, is sure to have been followed by some
striking judgment; such tales of ancient times, though no
one strictly believes in their truth, do still tend to inculcate a
veneration for good deeds, and to remind us that crime is
inevitably overtaken by punishment. Let them, therefore, be
1 Much of what follows I have taken the liberty of extracting from a
chapter which I added to the story of " Holger Danske." See " The
Shoes of Fortune, and other Tales."
GERMAN TRADITIONS. 85
cherished ; for, despite our knowledge, it is no lack of wisdom
to do so.
The most popular of these, and very naturally so, is about
the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa. It is the offspring of a
most poetical fancy, — the creation of a most poetical time.
The events of that period were full of excitement, and roused
men's spirits to the highest pitch of enthusiasm : their fiery
hearts were still alive to momentary impressions; and the
ardent minds of those days hoped all things. Imagination,
too, had the fullest scope ; for then, distance and space not
having yet been annihilated, communication was difficult, and
the events of some hundred miles off were spoken of with,
uncertainty. The rumour of the battle or the victory, the
death or the coronation, swept by like the wind, and none
knew whence it came. Anon appeared some traveller, bring-
ing strange and marvellous accounts. These passed from
mouth to mouth, and men's ears could not listen enough.
The event of the same year sounded to them as history does
to us: what they heard of was to them remote; and the oftener
it was repeated, the more wondrous grew the tale.
But wild as this tradition may be, it has much of solemnity
and of interest too ; for with it are associated the destiny and
the hopes of a whole people.
This mighty Emperor, this " greatest hero of the Christian
world," who, while he reigned, strove incessantly to make the
German empire what it once had been, is said to be still alive.
He sits spell-bound in the Kyfhauser Mountain ; nor will that
spell be broken until the day of judgment, unless his country
be in the dreadest need. But if such time should come, he
will shake off sleep, and will arise and come forth in great
86 GERMAN TRADITIONS.
glory and magnificence, the sword of the empire in his hand,
and will lead on his people to battle. Should Germany need
his aid, he will be sure to appear. He has taken with him
the jewels of the empire, and they stand beside him on a mar-
ble table. His fiery beard, which still grows during his en-
chanted sleep, must reach three times round the table before
he will awake. As yet, however, it goes round but twice.
His sword is in his hand in readiness ; and he waits till his
day shall come. Some shepherds, 'tis said, have seen him ;
and he has asked, " Do the ravens still fly round the moun-
tain?" and when answered in the affirmative, he has again
rested his head upon his hand, and said, "Then I must sleep
for another hundred years!"
And why, you will ask, should the people think that he is
still alive ? Because the nation could not bring themselves to
believe that the great monarch who for near forty years had
ruled as German Emperor ; who had gone forth with his tens
— ay, with his hundreds — of thousands of soldiers to battle ;
that he — the noble, the magnanimous, the indomitable Em-
peror, — could possibly have left them for ever.
He was endeared to then\ by many qualities ; they were
bound to him by many a tie. They remembered his devotion
to his country, and how he gloried in her proud name. They
remembered how — at Partenkirchen, overcome with grief at
the thought of the danger which was impending over the
German name in Italy, — he had sunk on his knee before his
powerful kinsman, Henry the Lion, and had implored him by
his sworn allegiance and by the ties of blood, " Oh, forsake
me not in this hour of peril ! The honour of Germany
is at stake!" And that most glorious day at Venice they
GERMAN TRADITIONS. 87
too remembered — ay, glorious though vanquished, — when
before the Church of St. Mark he saluted the Pope with the
respect which he so well merited, and when he, the Emperor,
was received with awe and with songs of thanksgiving. The
fame of the Hohenstaufen he had raised so high, that on Ger-
man ground there seemed nought to equal it. And when, I
say, his astounded people were told that he was no more —
that they would never again behold his glorious countenance ;
when they saw the Crusaders coming back from the struggle
with the Infidel, and missed the chief who had led them forth
in power; when asking for him, they were told he lay en-
tombed in Antioch, — then all were struck dumb with amaze-
ment, and men knew not what to think.
The Holy Land was a far-distant country, around which
was mystery. The eager questioners about the circumstances
of their hero's death heard various accounts; and when men
began to wake from their bewilderment, they whispered to
each other doubts of what they had been told — doubts of his
being really dead! They forgot his mortal nature, and re-
membered him only as what, to their minds, he had ever
been, as a guiding spirit sent by Heaven for the accomplish-
ment of some great destiny. Could he, then, have ceased to
be? Could he have left them thus suddenly, and for ever?
The more they pondered, the stronger grew the pleasing hope
that he was still with his people, and that when the day
should come for the fulfilment of his darling scheme — the
restoration of the German Empire as it once had been — he
would certainly appear and lead his chosen to victory. And
in this thought they found consolation. From a hope it
became a certainty ; and henceforth they clung to this creation
88 GERMAN TRADITIONS.
of their fancy with all the devotedness of veneration and of
love.
And that it is thus such fanciful creations originate, a cir-
cumstance of late occurrence may be quoted as proof. 0' Con-
nelly who, for so long a time had been the idol of the Irish
people — to whom they looked with the certainty that, while he
watched, their interests were safe — leaves them for a time and
never more returns. He dies far from them in a foreign land.
All were not prepared for such a sudden blow ; to some it
was so unexpected as to be scarce intelligible ; and what is the
consequence ? That some still doubted if he were really
dead. 1 They did not think that, like Barbarossa, he was watch-
ing in some enchanted spot till his day should come ; but
they simply were unable to comprehend that he should thus
have left them ; he, whom they were accustomed to look on
as intimately associated with their destinies, almost with their
very existence. Like Barbarossa, he died not in his own
country, but in that of the stranger ; and it is this circum-
stance which tended to foster such belief.
It probably is now entertained by none, and at first even
but by few, and those in remoter districts, ignorant of all but
what is passing immediately around them ; but if entertained
by one individual only, it were sufficient for the purpose, to
shew, namely, how such traditions arise ; and it is interesting
inasmuch as it proves that though all else in the world may
change, the human heart, with its passions and sympathies,
ever remains the same.
1 My authority is information to that effect contained in a letter from
Ireland. But this, it is true, was before the body of the deceased had
reached Ireland. — C. B.
GERMAN TRADITIONS. 89
Thus we see that the tradition in question is not a tale
invented for mere amusement's sake, but rather the visible
form which the cherished feeling of a whole people has taken
in expressing itself — the tangible shape assumed by the hopes
and longings of the nation in giving themselves vent.
You must know, too, that the desire of Barbarossa to
re-establish the Holy Roman Empire under one head, makes
his memory especially dear to Germany; for there even
now men talk of its fulfilment; not, indeed, as an event
likely to be accomplished, but as one most ardently to be
desired. Still many a heart beats quicker at the mention
of such a state of things ; there are many who, like Bar-
barossa, view this as the grandest aim of all human striv-
ing.
Can we wonder, then, that the Germans love to dwell on
this pleasing vision, connected as it is with so much that is
most dear to them ? It is like a shadow falling on the stream
of time ; but the event that casts the shade is behind them, out
of sight, and beyond their reach.
And what spot more natural for the abode of such a
sleeper than some mountain solitude? Childhood is always
poetical ; and I do not doubt that those of my young readers
who have stood amid the mountain-scenery of England, on
the dreary heights of Westmoreland for example, will have
felt its influence; and, without being cowards, have experi-
enced a sort of dread at the awful stillness around them. No
living thing is there to disturb the slumberer ; not a sound is
heard of man or beast ; for not a creature comes up into that
realm of dreariness; the very rocks seem spell-bound, and
lying in an enchanted sleep.
90 GERMAN TRADITIONS.
Another popular belief relates to Charles the Great, and is
contained in the following
©rafcttton of tfye tftijme, 1
The Rhine — the pale-green Rhine stream I
So mild is there the night ; .
There lie the hills and vines in
The moon's soft golden light.
And on the hills advancing,
A tall form ye behold ;
With sword and purple mantle,
And crown of massy gold.
'Tis he ! the Karl, the emperor,
Who once with mighty hand,
In long, long bygone ages,
Did rule the German land.
But he is now arisen,
He cometh from his tomb ;
His purple grapes he blesseth,
And breathes the vine's fresh bloom.
The stream at Rudesheim sparkles,
The moon upon it doth shine,
And a golden bridge it buildeth
Right over the pale-green Rhine.
The Emperor goeth over,
And he moveth slowly on ;
And all along the river
Gives the vines his benison.
1 From the German of Geibel.
&
GERMAN TRADITIONS. 91
Then home he wends to Aachen,
And sleeps within his tomb,
Till in the new year wakes him
His vines' refreshing bloom.
But we, we fill up the goblet
With juice that sparkles like gold ;
And drink to Germany's heroes,
With hearts of true German mould !
There is a great difference in the two traditions. The only
point of resemblance between them is, that the hero of each
watches, in his own particular manner, over the land where
he once was ruler. It may be found strange that the more
important charge should not rather have been ascribed to the
greater monarch ; he who had been crowned Emperor of the
East. But it is this very circumstance, that he had been so
crowned, which is the cause — his wish was fulfilled: while
Frederick died, leaving the one great object of his life unat-
tained, and so men thought his mighty spirit could not rest.
Moreover, Charles died overcome by the weight of years and
in his own land. Of his death there was no doubt : though
solemn, it was not wrapped in mystery. All knew the very
spot where he was let down into the burial-vault, the imperial
crown upon his head, his sword girded round him, and a
chalice in his hand ; on his knees the holy Gospel, his shield
and the sceptre at his feet. There was no room for doubt.
His end, 1 too, was so calm and pious, and indicative of a
1 It was in the tenth morning hour, so the old chronicles relate, that
he closed his life, so rich in great deeds, calm and collected, his hands
folded on his breast, with the words, " Lord, into thy hands I commend
my spirit."
92 GERMAN TRADITIONS.
tranquil spirit — for even the particulars of his last moments
have come down to us, — that should the veneration of his
people cause them to think there was still some tie between
them, it would be as connected with works of peace only;
and if he appeared to them, it would be to dispense but the
mildest blessings.
In the council, the words of Charles were full of wisdom ;
on the throne, his majesty and magnificence were most im-
posing; his vigour and his name spread terror on the field
of battle. Yet his great mind occupied itself with humbler
objects ; he made most useful laws for the promotion of agri-
culture, he took great interest in all that related to it; and
hence perhaps the origin of the belief that, when the vines
were in blossom, he glided along the mountain-side to enjoy
their fragrance, to behold and to bless their increase.
The very act of blessing, which the tradition ascribes to
him, gives better evidence than even sober history could do,
of the beneficence and equity of his rule, and of the estima-
tion it was held in by ". the people ;" those among whom
such " Saga" have their origin, As is always the case with
what is really good, the memory of his care for the happiness
and the necessities of the more lowly among his subjects
still lives after a thousand years in the simple rhymes of the
peasant, and in the oft-repeated tale which he relates to his
children.
THE RAINBOW.
GQD
RAINBOW is a beautiful
creation !
Its grand proportions, e'en
its evanescence,
Doth fill the heart with
joyful admiration.
I always go forth to be-
hold its presence,
And every time an un diminish' d sense
Of wonderment and gratitude I feel,
Holy and calm, but not the less intense,
• Which seems unconscious in the heart to steal,
And call it to behold what God doth there reveal.
It leans upon a cloud that's filled with thunder,
Making the vision more aerial still :
Darkness is round the vivid arch, but under
Effulgence which the atmosphere doth fill ;
And bank and meadow, river, cornfield, hill,
Lie in the embraces of the blushing light.
The dewy landscape seems to feel the thrill :
The teeming Earth in freshness and delight
Array eth herself anew. It is a glorious sight !
94 THE RAINBOW.
And like a seraph winging its clear way
Up into heaven, smiling and still ascending,
The lucid bow now higher doth display
Itself ; then lovingly its brightness blending
With scowling clouds which o'er it are impending,
Ail-suddenly the gloom dissolves in rain,
In dewy, dropping light : — and hither bending,
It cometh downward to the earth again,
And gliding moveth on majestic o'er the plain.
ERE I to ask any of those
thousands who, of course,
will read this book, why the other
night only half the Moon was visi-
ble, what a mass of learning I should
be sure to hear! They would want
the Earth to help them, and the Sun
too ; and all the spheres would be
put in commotion to shew that it
must be so and so, and cannot be
otherwise. Now the Lithuanians, a
very scientific people, and, as you
will presently see, deeply versed in
astronomy, explain the matter in a
moment, and in a way too that is
intelligible to every body. And so
lightly do they think of this wonder-
ful fact, which has, doubtless, been
known to them for centuries, that
they have merely recorded it in a
song. How Herschel would stare
96 THE HALF MOON.
if he could hear their solution of the question ! For, great
mathematician as he was, no such thing ever once occurred to
him ; nor will it, I am sure, to any of those learned men who
now are certain to study this book, since its pages contain so
astounding an addition to science. So I will tell the secret at
once, and without further preface ; only stating, however, that
among the northern nations, as is the case too in Germany,
the Moon is of the masculine gender.
You ask :
Why comes the Moon in half his pride,
Shining so pale and with so weak a ray ?
And the answer is :
The Morning Star's affianced bride
He hath enticed and carried away :
So the Sun, when he came, without any ado
Hew'd the face of the cozening knave in two.
cm*
Amid the stormy waves of tlie North Sea rises an island, in
appearance like a bastion of red rock, and equally distant
from the coast of Germany and from Denmark's shore. It is
adventurous Helgoland.
This rock, whose upper surface is, at most, three quarters
of a German mile in circumference, forms towards the sea a
red wall of rock, full of clefts and cavities, into which the
Ocean thrusts its greedy tongue, and makes in it every year a
more or less capacious breach. Separate masses of stone, with
the most romantic, fantastic shapes, there remain like bul-
warks ; and the strangest forms, into which chance has fash-
ioned them, afford to Fancy most delightful play. Now one
seems to behold towers on whose summits gigantic warders
98 TRINE.
keep guard with shield and lance ; now one sees triumphal
arches with lofty domes, now a castle with gateway and case-
ment, now a cloister and chapel; and even the mourning
petrified " monk" 1 is not wanting. On the upper part of the
island, potatoes are cultivated to such an extent that from afar
the island appears like a red floating table with a green cloth
spread out upon it. On the south-east declivity lies the town,
where the inhabitants dwell, and where the visitors who come
there to bathe take up their abode. It looks exactly, situated
as it is below and against the rock, like those pretty things of
wood or pasteboard made at Nuremburg or Berchtholdsgaden,
representing generally a mine, or the history of the Passion,
with innumerable little neat houses, busy workmen, and end-
less figures, and which in southern Germany are called Krip-
penspiel. Many nice houses, only one story high, however, —
one of which is inhabited by the governor of the island, a re-
tired English naval officer, — the church, the public reading-
room, Madame Mohr's hotel, a few other houses belonging to
private individuals, a lighthouse, and an observatory, are the
few buildings which are visible. The rest are neat, clean, but
small, fishermen's cottages, built very close together. A long
broad stair that winds along the rocky declivity connects the
lower part of the little town with the upper, and many paths
provided with balustrades lead across some of the crags.
From the activity which, besides the industrious habits of the
inhabitants, the presence of the bathing visitors brings with
it, at a distance one fancies that it is an ant-hill which is seen.
On the whole island are only a few stunted trees in a square
before the public room ; and the fields and gardens, which for
1 A rock so called.
TRINE. 99
the most part furnish potatoes, are barely sufficient to afford a
few cows and sheep the necessary subsistence. But poor and
needy as vegetable and animal nature is on this duodecimo
island, it is rich in grand sea-dramas, the ocean, the northern
tempests, rocks and cliffs, waves and clouds, presenting al-
ternately the inner and the outer scene illumined by sunshine,
moonlight, the glimmer of the stars, aurora borealis, or the
lurid gleam of the lightning.
This rocky isle, and a sandbank in front of it called the
Downs, about half a mile in circumference, divided from Hel-
goland proper by a current a quarter of a mile broad, and
which forms the bathing-place of the visitors, is all that the
sea has left of a continent which was originally of importance,
and which was once connected with the Danish coast. As
late as the 12th century it was a large, considerable tract of
land; and in the loth, Helgoland counted fourteen parishes
and several market-towns and villages. I have spoken with
an old man who remembers the time when the Downs were
connected with the island, so that at low water one could go
across dry- footed. The sea makes yearly new incursions, and
overflows some furlongs more of the Downs ; yearly some
cliffs tumble into the waves ; and in some ten years more
many of the sturdy bastions of rock will have melted away ;
while in a few centuries their name hardly will have remained.
When by degrees the sea had separated the large island,
of Helgoland from the continent, nothing remained but the
present town, inhabited by skippers, fishermen, and pilots.
Far and wide they were renowned as excellent seamen — in
England, Scotland, Norway, and Denmark — and they found
a scanty, but still sufficient, livelihood. From Helgoland one
100 TRINE.
commands at once the mouth of the Elbe, of the Ems, and
the Weser ; it is therefore easy to understand how much im-
portance England lays on the possession of this island, which,
during the war, was, like a little Malta of the north, always a
station for several ships of war. The great extent to which
smuggling was carried under the continental system power-
fully contributed to the advancement of the small population
of Helgoland. Here was the emporium, the depot from which
the surrounding coasts were supplied ; in which employment
the far-famed seamen of Helgoland displayed, to their profit
doubtless, no small activity. Even now, this adventurous oc-
cupation, which demands, at the same time, boldness, cunning,
determination, and perseverance, where body and mind, in
constant danger and exertion, grow steeled and strengthened,
has left upon them a peculiar imprint ; just as is the case with
the Contrabandista of Catalonia, Andalusia, and the Pyrenees.
This has descended to the younger race, and these, as well as
their colleagues on the other side the Pyrenean Mountains,
might afford original types for many a romantic creation.
Here, as on the coast of Norway, Nature rears man quite
differently to what she does elsewhere. Accustomed from
youth upwards to combat with the elements, intimate with
danger, and used to but few necessaries, at the same time that
a feeling for freedom and a consciousness of physical and
moral strength is developed, there developes itself also a
feeling of confidence in God, of respect for the laws, of rever-
ence for age and experience, as well as strict moral conduct
in the relations of family life.
Thus the people of Helgoland are honest and simple-
hearted, with free speech and open countenances : sometimes
TRINE. 101
they shake your hand rather roughly ; and the numerous
visits of the bathing- visitors have gradually developed their
selfishness. Yet a friendly complaisance and a readiness to
assist always predominates : in their ways and manner they
remind one of the Tyrolese ; they are, however, less gay.
Their occupation as sailors, fishermen, lootsen or pilots, being
always on the perilous ocean, has given them a quiet resolute-
ness, but at the same time a poetical touch of contempt of
death, which they only at times lay aside when over their
glass, or when dancing in the hostelry at the sign of "The
Red Waters. 5 '
The women and girls are pictures of beauty, and wear a
national costume which is very becoming, the peculiar distinc-
tive mark of which is a coloured kerchief in the form of a tur-
ban, wound round the head in a particular manner. German
and Helgolandish are spoken in the island ; which latter is a
dialect composed of Danish, English, and German.
It is an interesting sight, when the pilot-bell announces
that a ship is in danger, or that the aid of a pilot or some
other assistance is wanted. From all sides the pilots hasten
to the shore: old experienced hoary-headed seamen, strong
gigantic men, and blooming stout-hearted youths. Here in
the pilot-house the names of those are signified who are to
man the boat to carry aid to the vessel in distress. Welcome
as such nomination is in calm weather and with a quiet sea
— for the pilots are exceedingly well paid — as threatening
and dangerous is it in storm and fog; for no pilot, whose
turn it is to go, dare draw back, or refuse to put off to sea,
under penalty of losing his rights as a pilot, and of suffer-
ing universal contempt. In such cases it is affecting to see
102 TRINE.
how maidens and wives hasten to the spot ; one bringing the
husband his thick sailor's jerkin, another carrying the leather
nor'-wester for her lover ; a little boy, himself half a Triton
already, drags along a pair of high fishing-boots for his father.
The farewell is then always short, but solemn and affecting.
A pressure of the hand, a tear in the eye of the wife ; and
while those appointed for the adventure dress themselves and
get ready, the others, bare-legged or provided with mighty
boots, shove off the boat, which the huge waves, roaring and
foaming for fifty or sixty paces over the shore, dash forward
to meet; while seamen, assistants, spectators, and those in-
terested in the event, are covered by the spray. Now the
boat is on the sea ; you see it lifted up as high as a house,
and then dive down again in the abyss ; at last a dark spot
alone is visible, rising and falling at intervals, and gradually
this too is lost in the foggy distance. Women and girls,
the grey old seamen, and the children, remain on the shore,
sometimes waving their handkerchiefs in anxious farewells to
those who are gone. Sometimes the boat remains absent
several hours, sometimes whole days — that is to say, if it moors
off the strange vessel. The inhabitants, however, are so ac-
customed to these grand sights, and have such confidence in
their own skill, strength, and practice ; they are from infancy
so intimate with the fearful element, and have, so to say,
grown up in companionship with the waves, and been suckled
with salt water, — that to them all the perils with which the
angry sea threatens the stranger appear much less terrible.
I am pretty well accustomed to the ocean; nevertheless, I
have made voyages with Helgoland seamen, amongst others
one to the island of Fohr, when I should have lost all pre-
TRINE. 103
sence of mind if the calm and the unchangeable coolness of
my companions had not forced me, for shame's sake, to con-
ceal my fears by the most complete self-restraint.
When the equinoctial storms are raging, it is with much
difficulty and great danger that the coast can be approached,
and the breakers passed which rush towards it from all sides.
Communication with the mainland is then cut off for days
together. One then sees at evening, wives, maidens, old
men, and children, assemble on the shore or upon the rocky
heights, anxiously awaiting the return of the boats that are
still out at sea. Here and there an old experienced skipper,
who has grown grey in a hundred tempests, looking through
his telescope ; every one listening awaits his decision, for the
unpractised and naked eye is easily deceived. At last he con-
firms the belief that the dark spots which shew themselves on
the horizon are really the vessels in question. Then what
joy, what a happy throng is on the beach, what impatient rest-
lessness ! till at length the long-wished-for approach nearer
and nearer, and land at last, and moor their boats. What a
welcoming, what blissful enjoyment ! All is finally unshipped
and disembarked, and the brave seamen are led home by wife
and child, by friend and sweetheart, amid loud rejoicings.
Among such a people, and amid such occupations, a cer-
tain poetry of life, an elevated view of nature, and a certain
feeling of self-respect, must develope themselves ; and if even
at times they appear coarse and rude, they can never be
vulgar.
I have a little story to tell about Helgoland. It is short
and simple, and yet it is a drama in which the tempest and
the ocean have taken upon themselves the tragic parts.
104 TRINE.
In the hotel of the excellent Madame R , a party of
about twenty persons assembled daily to dinner. As is the
case in all society, it was a material want, an appetite, namely,
whetted by exercise and the sea-air, and the satisfying this
want by eating, which had brought all these persons together.
By degrees various poetical impulses were united with this
prosaic tendency, and conspired to make this coterie the most
agreeable point of union in the whole island during the
bathing season.
The dinner at Madame ft, 's was served by female
Helgoland attendants, as is the case in the south of Germany.
And who has ever been at Munich, Linz, or Gratz, that does
not remember them with pleasure ? In neatness, cleanliness,
and activity, those of Helgoland are in no way inferior to
their colleagues of southern Germany; they are only more
inhuman, and have hearts like the rocks of their island.
Among these female cup-bearers was a tall slender girl,
whose great beauty and really seemly grace could not fail to
strike every one; and whom Helgoland might boldly have
sent as specimen to a general exhibition of gyneological pro-
ductions, without any fear of being left behind in the compe-
tition. Trine, so this maiden was called, in her Helgolandish
dress, with the peculiar headgear, the tight boddice, short
sleeves, which left uncovered the most beautiful, fullest arms,
and the short looped-up dress, was most lovely to behold.
From under the most beautiful black eyebrows and long
silken lashes, which gave her a serious, sometimes indeed a
melancholy expression, looked forth, like two stars in a stormy
night, the most lovely blue eyes. Trine was withal ever
polite and friendly; but as soon as she remarked that any
TRINE. 105
one was on the point of forgetting her part of attendant in
order to pay attention to her, she knew how, by a certain
dignity, and a very modest but befitting demeanour, to keep
such troublesome suitors within bounds.
I was sitting alone one afternoon in the public-room
reading the newspaper, when Trine brought me a light for my
cigar, which had just gone out. She busied herself near me,
grew less and less reserved, and at last sat down near me,
twitching the corner of her apron in an embarrassed manner,
and laid her hand on mine. However, I did not put my paper
aside, nor did I let my cigar go out again, and only looked
askance over the edge of the gazette. But Trine looked at
me, from under her silken lashes, with her large blue eyes,
with such open-heartedness, that I at last said, " What's the
matter, Trine?"
"0 God!" said she; " much, very much!" and a few
tears, like pure pearly dew, hung on her eyelids.
" And is there no help, Trine ?"
" Oh, yes ; if you did but choose !"
"If /choose?"
" Oh, I am so poor," answered she ; and my purse wan-
dered as gently as possible into her apron. But Trine looked
at me astonished, and placed the purse on the table. " What
shall I do with your money ? lend it me you surely will not ;
I have not earned it ; and for a present it is too much. You
rich people," continued she, rather pettishly as she rose,
" always think one wants your money ; ah, that is not what I
meant ; and I hoped you would help or counsel me ; for you,
of ail the gentlemen, have always been so kind and friendly to
me. Now do not be angry— and pray aid me. My Steffen — "
106 TRINE.
" And pray who is Steffen?" I asked.
" Oh, he is an honest, worthy, and," she added rather
archly, " a young and very handsome Helgolander. Now
look you, good, kind sir, we have loved each other for many
years. When Steffen was still a little hoy, and went out
fishing with his father, I, as a little girl, used to play at being
his wife, and waited on the beach with the basket and the keg
till he returned ; and Steffen' s father, too, thought I was then
his son's little wife, and should some day be his grown-up
one. But Steffen' s father is dead now, and mine also ; they
were both very poor ; but we love each other so dearly, and we
will marry still, if it please God. We have saved a little sum,
and in two or three years we shall be able to buy Peter
Huysen's, the fisherman's, cottage. We might think of doing
so now, but I must support my old mother, and so I dare not
give up my business here in the house, by which I get more
in one summer than in the whole year besides. Two years is
certainly a long time, and then I shall not be pretty any
longer; but Steffen will like me still, even though I don't
please other people. Now my only consolation of an evening
was, when I was no longer wanted here, to go and sit with my
old mother, where Steffen too used to come when he returned
from the sea ; and there we used to make plans for our future
housekeeping; and in such an evening one forgets many a
hard day. For you do not know how hard it is when one is
the child of respectable parents, and has learned a little —
for my father was the schoolmaster here — to be obliged to
serve in an hotel. Not only the scolding, calling, sending
hither and thither, the hard labour, the want of quiet, is
difficult to get accustomed to, but the envy and ill-nature of
. TRINE. 107
the other maids, when any of the gentlemen are friendly ; so
many unbecoming remarks, so many an unkind word ! Some-
times I have half a mind to quit the service ; but Madame
R will not let me go ; and she pays me so well, that it
would be foolish as well as ungrateful if I were to leave the
good Madame R , who had my mother taken care of when
she was so ill two years ago. And so I stay, and spend my
evenings at home with my mother in her cottage."
" With Steffen," I added maliciously.
" Yes ; with Steffen," she continued, without the least
embarrassment. " But now Madame R pretends I ought
to spend the evenings here, and that more visitors are coming ;
and so I should not see Steffen any more ; for Madame R
says I am a silly creature to care so much for a rude fisher-
man, and she cannot bear to hear people talk of it, and would
herself get something better for me. Now she thinks a great
deal of you ; and if you, good, kind sir, would speak a favour-
able word for me, she will let me go down to my mother's
house, or even let Steffen come up here !"
" A pretty commission !" murmured I ; " but I will speak
to Madame R ; and what is more, I will speak with the
captain of the pilots ; he will give your Steffen employment at
the docks, and then you may marry as soon as you can."
" Oh, dear, kind gentleman !" cried Trine ; " oh, I really
could give you a kiss, I like you so much, and from my very
heart—!"
" And I will allow it willingly !" said Steffen ; who mean-
while had come in unobserved, and had heard the latter part
of the conversation.
The same evening at table we made a collection for the
108 TRINE.
young couple ; and with the addition of a few louis d'or, the
sum was sufficient for Trine to begin housekeeping. The
happiness of both, the accomplishment of which they had
looked for only in some years, was now quite near. On the
following Sunday they were married, and fourteen days after
I already saw them, a wonderfully fine pair, going to church
as man and wife.
A few months passed. As to myself, fate had driven me
about meanwhile. When fencing with one of our Brazilian
fellow-boarders, I got a lunge in the shoulder from a pointed
foil, and this kept me for some weeks at the island of Fohr.
Thence I coasted about Norway, occupied with shooting seals.
When I came back to Helgoland, summer, it is true, was
over, but not, as it seemed, the honeymoon of the young
couple, who appeared only to love each other more. The
equinoctial storms already raged ; they tore up the sea so that
it dashed its towering waves against the rocky wall of the
island ; bat here, in this happy wedded union, the fresh spring
air of love whispered always. Then came the time when the
Helgoland fishermen carry the greater part of the produce of
their toils in casks to Hamburg. For such transports, at
which time all sorts of other wares are also taken, and differ-
ent articles brought back from Hamburg in return, a quantity
of large sailing-boats join together, and make the voyage to
and fro in company. So was it this time ; and Steffen, as
one of the most skilful and tried sailors, and whose growing
prosperity increased his interest in the undertaking, could not
on any account be absent. After a tender parting, he em-
barked with the rest for opulent luxurious Hamburg, to return
in a few days. In tears his young wife took leave, and only
TRINE. 109
Steffen's solemn promise shortly to return to that same spot
on the shore was able to calm her sorrow. In gloomy ap-
prehension she saw the little flotilla sail away, and continued
peering into the hazy distance till the last sails had vanished
in fog and cloud.
A glorious night followed. With flattering looks of bright-
ness the Moon wooed the Ocean, which received them, like an
ardent lover, in her glittering bosom. The little stars winked so
friendly, like the innocent eyes of children, peeping into the
watery mirror ; and the larger ones sent their carbuncle rays
downwards from the blue heaven, like messengers of the de-
parted loved ones who now dwell above, and sometimes greet
the earth when it is sleeping, and men when they dream, with
a portion of their heavenly brightness. It was a night of
love, in which the heavens wooed the sea — not the Mediter-
ranean, however, the glowing lover of the south, who is
anointed with spices, and odorous of jasmine and roses; but
the North Sea, the stern, proud, yet affectionate bride, in
whose depths glows endless love with all her wonders, and
whose billowy longing even the icebergs of the pole cannot
chill. Yes, it was a night of love for nature! But, alas, how
near is love to sorrow ! and the sea renounces not its deceit ;
often with tepid waves it embraces and whispers softly words
of love to the mariner, whose corpse it a few hours after hurls
with cold disdain from its bed on to the sandy beach.
The next day was less serene. A strong north-east wind
rose, and the sea grew agitated. The sun set behind red
flaming clouds, whose purple mantle, like bloody banners,
hung down in the firmament ; and afar the northern tempest
howled, driving the black clouds before it. The sea grew
110 , TRINE.
more agitated — on the furthermost horizon one saw the waves,
like gigantic serpents, tumbling onwards, and the breakers
covered the shore with their white yeast. A frightful hurri-
cane arose, which lasted the whole night; air and water
seemed battling with each other in fearful uproar. The
Storm howled his war-song, and the Ocean bellowed a battle-
cry in answer. The clouds, as they hastened by, shook down
hail and rain and snow ; the rocks appeared to tremble, for
the storm tore large masses of stone and earth away, and the
roofs and walls of the little Helgoland dwellings creaked and
groaned. The night passed, but not the storm, which rather
increased towards morning, and raved on the whole day
with unabated fury. I had often had opportunities of seeing
the Mediterranean in uproar, as well as the Black Sea,
which is so often visited by tempests ; but I was forced to
confess to myself, that, in comparison with these grand scenes,
all that I had hitherto witnessed was but as temples dans un
verre d'eau.
The day passed in anxious suspense. Many spars and
bits of wreck which were cast upon the shore shewed how
fatal this night had been for those ships which had been out
at sea. But one could discern by various marks that these
were not wrecks of Helgoland vessels.
One may imagine the apprehension, bordering on despair,
of those of the Helgoland population that had remained be-
hind, and which consisted chiefly of old men, women, and
children ; nearly all the robust men and youths having gone
to sea. Every family counted at least one relation among the
crews of those vessels that had sailed to Hamburg, and who,
it is evident, were in the greatest danger. The storm lasted
TRINE. Ill
three days. At length the north-wind had vented its rage on
the ocean ; the waves, it is true, still writhed, murmuring,
from the lashing they had received, but they only groaned,
and gradually grew calm. In the sky the clouds retreated ;
and finally the sun shone warm and cheeringly from the blue
above, like a tender mother mildly consoling the waters, —
those disobedient weeping children who had felt the chastising
rod of their angry father Boreas.
When the weather permitted, the remaining inhabitants of
Helgoland hastened to the projecting crag on the shore, anxi-
ously awaiting the return of the flotilla ; for then only would
they be able, with certainty, to appease their fears. Some
old experienced sea-captains and skippers looked out upon
the horizon with their glasses ; beside them stood blooming
women and maidens in painful expectation ; while little boys,
reckless as childhood is, splashed about in the pools of water,
and with little boats of cork played at " storm ;" already
yearning after the perils of the future.
At last, towards evening, an old captain discovered some
specks on the horizon. One was soon convinced that they
were vessels steering towards Helgoland ; and in an hour
more, one was certain that they were the returning boats.
Yet one could not count them with exactness, and there was
still the fear that some might be missing. All uncertainty
vanished at length, for the full number was there ; and one
only had yet to tremble for the individual friends that were
on board them. Nearer and nearer came the boats, and as
the distance between them and the shore diminished, so also
the apprehension and uncertainty ; and when they finally were
moored, all waded out to meet them. The women waved
112 TRINE.
their handkerchiefs, the men their straw-hats or leathern nor'-
westers, and the boys tossed their caps up in the air. All
cried, called, beckoned, and rejoiced.
After a time all the boatmen landed; each one was re-
ceived by father, mother, wife, child, or sweetheart, who hung
on their arm, and kissed and embraced the dear ones now
restored to them ; the children crept through their legs and
clung to their knees, and the men shook heartily the strong
rough hands, and all hastened home to the friendly hearth.
Only by the greatest exertions, and through the oft -tried
coolness and skill of these excellent seamen, had the little
flotilla escaped the threatened destruction. Every family con-
ducted its own members home in triumph, as each one has-
tened to his own fireside. Gradually the beach grew empty ;
one young woman only hastened to and fro along the shore in
anxious haste, seeking and inquiring. It was Trine. Beside
each skiff she stood expecting that Steffen would step out
and sink in her arms. But in vain ; from one boat after the
other the crew departed, and no Steffen appeared. The shore
grew more and more lonely, the greater part of those who had
been expected were already gone to their homes, and in vain
she still sought among the last comers for the friend of her
heart. " My God ! I surely cannot be the only one that Thou
wilt visit with affliction on this day of rejoicing !" exclaimed
the poor wife, her voice almost choked with weeping. And
yet it was so. Steffen, the brave Steffen, had ventured, in
a moment of peril, to get upon a spar in order to hoist a
sail, when a wave washed him away, before any attempt to
save him could be made ; the more so, as the accident hap-
pened in the dark, which rendered all endeavours more fruit-
TRINE. 113
less. No one dared to tell poor Trine of the sad truth ; all
hoped that she would guess the melancholy reality. But
Trine asked no more ; but the following and the next follow-
ing day she stood pale, and still, and weeping, on the shore,
from morning until evening, silent and expecting. She did
not speak ; sometimes only she would say, ( ' The only one ! my
God, I the only one! — and 1 why then I, just I!" and she
whispered, while she smiled most wofully, as though she
were imparting a great secret; " But I know that he will
come again — he will come back, for he promised me ; but he
will come alone, and at night quite quietly when it is dark I"
as though the remembrance of the blissful past were blended
in her poor bewildered brain with the consciousness of pre-
sent woe.
We feel certain presentiments, and there is a strange coin-
cidence of outward circumstances with the visions of the mind ;
and it seems as though sometimes the material world was
obliged to fulfil that for which the spiritual world gives se-
curity. It is strange, but although Steffen was lost many
miles from Helgoland, quite near Cuxhaven, yet the current
brought his corpse back to the beloved island; and on the
fifth day the waves laid it on the beach, not far from the spot
where he had taken leave of his wife. One morning Trine
was found sitting beside Steffen' s body, with a wisp of straw
in her hand, brushing away the flies, and repeating lowly,
" Let him sleep ; he is so weary. I well knew that he would
come back ; but he is tired, and he was obliged to swim so far :
oh, let him sleep !"
They buried Steffen in the churchyard of Helgoland. All
the seafaring men followed the much-loved and respected
i
114 TRINE.
young man to the grave ; and the poetical fancy of the North
found no small matter for consideration in the truly wonderful
return of the body, which in death had still kept the promise
of the living man, and which fain would rest in its native land
near the fondly cherished wife, and not far away in the cold
waves. From that time forward Trine' s grief grew calmer and
more mild ; but her intellect never returned. I found her
once, a long time afterwards, sitting in the churchyard beside
Steffen' s grave, with a bundle of straw in her arms, which she
was nursing. She stole towards me on tiptoe, and with a
friendly smile extending her hand, made a sign that I was to
step gently. " I am rocking the child to sleep, lest it should
awaken my husband : I have already told you that he is come
back, as he promised me he would ; but he came alone, quite
alone ; not with the others, who had deserted him ! But he
does not want them — the others ! Yet they should not have
deserted him. Between ourselves, I do not like them since,
and we cannot agree together ! But he was forced to swim so
far, my poor Steffen ! And now he is so tired and weary, and
he sleeps so long and soundly ! God ! too long, much
too long ; for I almost fear that he will not wake at all ! And
when he arrived he was so cold ; I pressed him so lovingly to
my heart, yet I could not warm him! And only think, I
have not yet been able to shew him his child ! How sweetly
it smiles, does it not ? And how like him it is ! They told
me, the unkind people, that it is dead; just as they said of
Steffen, that he was drowned, that I might not wait for him any
longer on the shore ; and yet how angry he would have been,
if he had not found me there when he arrived ! Oh, I was
speaking of my child ! Yes, they wanted to take that too ; but
TRINE. 115
I have kept it, and it grows day by day, and it has so many
pretty ways ; only look how it is smiling at you I"
I am an old trooper, slashed, and hacked, and scarred ;
I have lived among the Cossacks and all sorts of marauders ;
have held intercourse with Bedouins and Contrabandista ; I
have seen storms, revolts, and battles ; have passed through
many of the trials of life, and am pretty well hardened against
momentary impressions ; — but I must confess that I now grew
weak as a child, and the tears rolled down over my cheeks.
I could not support such misery, and soon withdrew.
Some months later, I came to Helgoland again. The red
rock was no longer hung with green, — it was covered with
snow as with a fresh white pall. I asked immediately after
Trine ; and was pointed to the churchyard. I hastened thither ;
but this time I did not find her ; for she, too, now sleeps, long
and soundly, beneath the snow, beside her Steffen. When
nature's white shroud has disappeared, her grave will deck
itself with fragrant violets and with fresh green turf; and this
is the uniform of hope. It signifies resurrection. And their
love will arise from out the earth, just as death was forced to
surrender the body from the waves. And then both will
sleep no more ; but will awake, and live, and love each other
for ever.
This is the story of the fair Trine and of poor Steffen, as
I noted it down at Helgoland in the year 18**.
Green is the land,
Red the rocks, and
White is the sand :
These are the colours of Helgoland !
AN EVENING WALK. ] 1 7
But there was still one gateway
The storms had not thrown down,
'Twas broken though, and covered
With golden moss and brown.
And through the broken archway
The bright-blue sky looked in ;
And up on high a birch-tree
Did wave its branches thin.
And all was still and silent,
Except the bees' low hum,
And our steps on the drawbridge,
As o'er it we did come.
When from the tangled bushes
That now half-filled the moat,
A startled blackbird darted,
But uttered not a note.
My little comrade stopping,
Did gently press my hand ; —
Before us the old archway
All sunlit there did stand.
" Now only think, if suddenly
A knight should there appear,
Towards us slowly riding,
While we are standing here.
118 AN EVENING WALK.
And on beneath the archway
With ivy crowned o'er,
And then at last should vanish
Out at the great old door !
Would you not like to see it ?
Oh, think how fine 'twould be ;
The knight in shining armour,
And riding silently !
And on his head a helmet,
And in his hand a lance ;
And then his plume of feathers,
How it would nod and dance !
D'ye think you would be frightened ?
I think that / should be :
But yet I wish 'twould happen, —
That were a sight to see !"
Thus on we went, still talking
Of knights and prancing steeds,
Of dungeons and of castles,
And valiant knightly deeds ;
Scarce noticing the chafer,
That noisily hummed by ;
Not heeding e'en the first stars,
Just twinkling in the sky.
AN EVENING WALK. 119
And where on high the birch-tree
Did wave its branches thin,
Athrough the mouldering archway
The moon was looking in.
And all the ground was silvered,
The old walls all were grey,
And all now looked quite different
From what it did by day. %
And from beneath the lindens
The glow-worm's light did peep :
In half an hour after
My little friend did sleep ;
Of knights in armour dreaming,
Such as he wished to see ;
A-riding in the moonlight
All still and silently.
tondon:
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" We cannot conceive a more fascinating story of genius." — Examiner.
"This is decidedly the best and most complete Biography of the great com-
poser that we have ever seen." — Westminster Review.
The Whiteboy. A Story of Ireland in 1822.
By Mrs. S. C. Hall.
2 vols, post 8vo, cloth, 18s.
" Indisputably Mrs. Hall's best novel." — Athenceum.
" Full of vivid descriptions, life-like sketches of character, dashes of genuine
Irish humour, with occasionally scenes exhibiting the strong passions and affec-
tions of the Irish people, drawn with exceeding energy and power." — Atlas.
Monnt
Sorel ;
Or, the Heiress of the De Veres. A Novel.
By the Author of the " Two Old Men's Tales."
2 vols, post 8vo, cloth, 18s.
" A tale of singular beauty." — Examiner.
"We have rarely read a book exciting so strong an interest, in which the
mean, the criminal, and the vulgar had so small a share; and for this, as a
crowning charm and an excellence too rare, alas ! in these days, does it give us
pleasure to commend and re-commend ' Mount Sorel.' " — Athenceum.
BY CHAPMAN AND HALL. 11
(
ostume in England :
A History of Dress, from the Earliest Period until the Close of the
Eighteenth Century ; with a Glossary of Terms for all Articles of Use
or Ornament worn about the Person.
By F. Vf. Fairkolt, F.S.A.
With upwards of 600 Engravings drawn on Wood by the Author.
One volume, Svo, cloth, price Sis. 6d.
" One of the most useful and interesting books we have seen for a long time."
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or reference." — John Bull.
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and complete, with which we are acquainted. It has manifestly been a labour of
love. There is a learning in the book, without pretence ; a familiarity with the
abstruser points of the subject, without a display of hard words ; and altogether
as much modesty as merit." — Examiner.
lhe Country House, and other Poems.
By James Prior, F.S.A., M.R.I.A., &c.
Author of the " Life of Burke," " Life of Goldsmith," &c.
Small Svo, cloth, price 6s.
" This poem belongs to a class which can never go out. Simplicity of dic-
tion, quiet truthfulness of description, and sound moral feeling, are essential
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— Atlas.
The Child of the Islands. A Poem.
By the Hon. Mrs. Norton.
Second Edition, Svo, cloth, price 12s. ; or in morocco gilt, 18s.
" There can be no question that the performance bears throughout the stamp
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" We find in almost every page some bold burst, graceful allusion, or delicate
touch — some trait of external nature, or glimpse into the recesses of the heart, —
that irresistibly indicates the creating power of genius." — Edinburgh Review.
ihe Parsonage of Mora.
LIFE IN DALECARLIA.
By Frederika Bremer.
Translated by WILLIAM HOWITT.
Small Svo, ornamental boards, price 5s.
12 WORKS PUBLISHED
Heath's Illustrated New Testament.
NOW PUBLISHING, MONTHLY,
To be comprised in about Thirty Parts* elegantly printed in Small Folio,
price Two Shillings, or on Large Paper Three Shillings, each,
A New Edition of
THE NEW TESTAMENT,
EMBELLISHED WITH
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and each Page surrounded by an Elaborate Decorative Border, drawn
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Under the superintendence of Mr. Charles Heath.
Five Hundred Borders, of surpassing beauty, each generally illustrative
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Specimens of the Work may be seen at all Booksellers'.
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Published on the First of every Month, price Is. 6d.
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BY CHAPMAN AND HALL. 13
Sharpens Corresponding Maps.
Now publishing, to be completed in Twenty-seven Parts, each con-
taining Two Maps in a Wrapper, Price Eightpence plain,
or One Shilling coloured,
A SERIES OF MODERN MAPS,
Constructed upon a system of Scale and Proportion, from the most
Recent Authorities,
By John Sharpy
And engraved on Steel by J. Wilson Lowry.
In order to expedite the completion of this Atlas, Two Parts are now
published monthly.
List of the Maps.
1. The "World — Western Hemisphere.
27. South-Eastern Asia — Birmah, China,
2. The World — Eastern Hemisphere.
and Japan.
3. The World— Mercator's Projection.
28. Australia and New Zealand.
4. Europe, with the Mediterranean.
29. Egypt and Arabia Petraea.
5. Great Britain and Ireland.
30. Nubia and Abyssinia to Babel Mandeb
6. England and Wales — Railway Map,
Strait.
North.
31. Asia Minor.
7. England and Wales — Railway Map,
32. Syria and the Turkish Provinces on
South.
the Persian Gulf.
8. Scotland.
33. Western Persia.
9. Ireland.
34. Eastern Persia.
10. France — Belgium — Switzerland.
35. Afghanistan and the Punjab.
11. Belgium and Holland.
36. Beloochistan and Scinde.
12. Prussia, Holland, and the German
37. Central India.
States.
38. The Carnatic.
13. Switzerland.
39. Bengal, &c.
14. Austrian Empire.
40. India — General Map.
15. Turkey and Greece.
41. North Africa.
16. Greece.
42. South Africa.
17. Italy.
43. British North America.
18. Spain and Portugal.
44. Central America.
19. Northern Sweden and Frontier of
45. United States — General Map.
Russia.
46. United States— North- East.
20. Denn ark, Sweden, and Russia on the
47. United States— South-East.
Baltic.
48. United States— South- West.
21. Western Russia, from the Baltic to
49. Jamaica and Leeward and Windward
the Euxine.
Islands.
22. Russia on the Euxine.
50. Mexico and Guatemala.
23. Russia on the Caucasus.
51. South America.
24. Russia in Europe.
52. Columbian and Peruvian Republics,
25. Northern Asia — Asiatic Russia,
and Western Brazil.
26. South -Western Asia — Overland to
53. La Plata, Chili, and Southern Brazil.
India.
54. Eastern Brazil.
A copious Consulting Index -will be published on the completion
of the Series.
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and other Schools, the Maps will be sold in separate Sheets, at Four-
pence each plain, or Sixpence coloured.
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14
WORKS PUBLISHED
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On a Sheet , price 6d.; or in a Case, price 9d. and Is. each.
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The maps are quarto size, but fold in the middle, so that the whole, when closed,
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Hall's New Connty Atlas;
Comprising the above Maps, bound flat in 4to, for the Library or
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BY CHAPMAN AND HALL. 15
Works of Charles Dickens.
Ike Pickwick Papers.
With Forty- three Illustrations by " Phiz."
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Svo, cloth, price 11. Is. ; half morocco, marbled edges,
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American Notes, for General Circulation.
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16 WORKS PUBLISHED
With Twelve Steel Engravings of Dinner Courses, for Various Seasons,
and Directions for Carving,
Ihe Practical Cook; English and Foreign:
Containing a great variety of Old Receipts improved and remodelled,
and many ORIGINAL RECEIPTS in
ENGLISH I GERMAN I SPANISH I DUTCH
FRENCH I RUSSIAN I POLISH I AMERICAN
SWISS, AND INDIAN COOKERY.
"With copious Directions for the choice of all Provisions — the laying
out of a Table — giving small and large Dinners — and the Manage-
ment of a Cellar.
By Joseph Bregion,
Formerly Cook to H. E. Prince Rausmouski ; to H. H. the Prince
Nicholas Esterhazy ; to the Marquis of Ailesbury ; &c. &c.
And Anne Miller,
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Foolscap §vo, cloth, price 7s. 6d.
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it and get benefit by it." — Fraser's Magazine.
" A most formidable rival to all previous existing cookery-books. It appears
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of cooking them, that is now to be met with." — New Monthly Mag.
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" The style throughout is careful and methodical, and the receipts given with
such clearness, that ' she who bastes may read.' " — Morning Chronicle.
" To all persons who wish to excel in cooking, the present volume must
prove highly useful, as, in addition to all the most approved English receipts, it
contains copious directions for the preparation of all kinds of continental and
Indian delicacies. It will likewise be of great service to all young housekeepers,
who have yet to learn the proper arrangements of a dinner-table, as it contains not
only a bill of fare for every month in the year, but is illustrated by very neat en-
gravings, shewing the proper method of placing the dishes on the table, and the
order in which the courses and the dessert are to appear. Indeed, the work will
prove a complete guide to all who wish to place a dinner properly on the table,
from the plain family joint to the three courses and a dessert." — Britannia.
jYursery Government 5
Or, Hints addressed to Mothers and Nurserymaids, on the Manage-
ment of Young Children.
By Mrs. Barwell.
Second Edition, Enlarged, foolscap 8vo, cloth, price 2s.
" One of the most sensibly written productions on this interesting subject
that we ever remember to have perused. We earnestly recommend it to the notice
of mothers, and all who have the care of young children confided to them, certain
that it only requires to be generally known to become justly $oj}ular"— Salisbury
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BY CHAPMAN AND HALL. 17
Works of Thomas Carlyle.
Oliver CroiuwelPs Letters and Speeches.
With Elucidations and Connecting Narrative. With a Portrait of
Cromwell, from an Original Miniature by Cooper.
Second Edition, with Numerous Additional Letters.
3 vols. Svo, cloth, price 11. 16s.
The Additional Letters
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The Life of Schiller.
A New Edition, with a Portrait, small Svo, cloth, price 8s. 6d.
Fast and Present.
Second Edition, post Svo, cloth, price 10s. 6d.
Lectures on Heroes and Hero-Worship.
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lhe French Revolution : a History.
Vol. I. The Bastille; Vol. II. The Constitution; Vol. III. The
Guillotine.
Third Edition, 3 vols, post Svo, cloth, price 11. lis. 6d.
Chartism.
Second Edition, crown Svo, cloth, price 5s.
Critical and Miscellaneous Essays.
Third Edition, 4 vols, post Svo, cloth, price 21. 2s.
Translation of Goethe's Wilhelm Meister;
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Second Edition, Revised, 3 vols, small Svo, cloth, price ISs.
18 WORKS PUBLISHED
Egypt and Nubia
Popularly Described ; their Scenery and National Characteristics,
Incidents of Wayfaring and Sojourn, Personal and Historical Sketches,
Anecdotes, &c. &c.
By J. A. St. John,
Author of " Egypt and Mohammed Ali," " Manners and
Customs of Ancient Greece," &c.
Illustrated with One Hundred and Twenty-five Wood Engravings.
8vo, price 9s. in cloth gilt; or in morocco gilt, 1 5s.
Syria and the Holy Land
Popularly Described; their Scenery and their People, Incidents of
Travel, &c. From the best and most recent Authorities.
By Walter Keating Kelly.
With One Hundred and Eighty Woodcut-Illustrations.
Svo, price 8s. 6d. in cloth gilt ; or in morocco gilt, lis.
" Never was information more amusingly conveyed — never were the results
of voluminous works of travel more spiritedly condensed. The execution is truly
admirable. The moral, social, physical, political, and geographical features of
the East are well brought out, and the reader is at home with the Turk, the
Arab, the Jew, the Druse, and the Maronite." — Westminster Review.
Sketches of Young Ladies, Young Gentlemen,
and Young Couples. With Eighteen Illustrations by " Phiz."
Cloth, gilt edges, price 6s.
Songs and Ballads. By Samuel Lover,
Second Edition, with Additions, small Svo, cloth, price 5s.
*** This Edition contains the Songs sung in Mr. Lover's "Irish Evenings."
Zoe : the History of Two Lives. A Novel.
By Geraldine E. Jewsbury.
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" Written with masculine energy, and were it not for the title-page we
should certainly never have imagined that it was the production of a female
hand. The characters are drawn in the most vivid colours, and the whole story,
though simple in its construction, is told with great power and originality."—
Atlas.
BY CHAPMAN AND HALL. 19
A True and Faytlifnll Rclationn
Of a Worthye Discourse, held, June y e eleauenth, in y e Yeare of
Grace 1643, betwene y e late Colonell HAMPDEN, Knighte of y«
Shire for y e Countye of Buckingham, in y e presente Parliament, and
Colonell OLIVER CROMWEL, Burgesse for y e Towne of Cam-
bridge, in y e same.
Foolscap 4to, in appropriate binding, 8s.
" A remarkably clever imitation of the political and oratorical literature of
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its books and men are familiar." — Examiner.
lhe Industrial History of Free Nations,
Considered in relation to their Domestic Institutions and External
Policy.
By W. Torrens I'Gullagh.
2 vols. 8vo, cloth, price 24s.
" A very able, eloquent, and learned work, on a subject of surpassing in-
terest." — Atlas.
"It is not saying more than enough to affirm, that no work on cognate sub-
jects equal to this has fallen under our observation for a long series of years. It
is full of instruction and of excellent example Mr. M'Cullagh speaks like a
philosopher, and a profound student of history and of man's higher nature and
attributes." — Tail's Mag.
Ilie Use and Study of History ;
Being the Substance of a Course of Lectures delivered in Dublin.
By Wi Torrens 1'Cullagh.
Second Edition, Svo, cloth, price 10s. 6d.
" A work of the highest promise." — British Quarterly Review.
Letters on the Condition of the People of Ireland.
By Thomas Campliell Foster, Esq.
Barrister-at-Law, " The Times Commissioner."
Reprinted from " The Times,'" with copious Notes and Additions,
and a Map of the Route.
Second Edition, thick Svo vol., cloth, price 12s.
" An admirable book."— Speech of Mr. Ward on the Coercion Bill.
" No mean authority." — Lord George Bentinck, Debate on the Corn Lairs.
" By the consent of all moderate men, the most useful and interesting book
that has yet been written on Irish affairs." — The Times.
20 WORKS PUBLISHED
THE FOREIGN LIBRARY.
A Series of Translations of Popular and Interesting Foreign Works.
" The project of a Foreign Library we thought, in the first instance, very
highly of, and are particularly glad to observe its confirmed success. The hooks
have been well chosen, and, without an exception, well translated." — Examiner.
VOLUMES COMPLETED:
Travels in the Steppes of the Caspian Sea,
the Crimea, the Caucasus, &c.
By Xarier Hoinniaire de Hell.
Civil Engineer, Member of the Societe Geologique of France, &c.
With Additions from various sources.
Cloth , price lis.
"One of those valuable volumes, which, under the aggregate title of 'The
Foreign Library,' the publishers have given to the world." — Observer.
" The most complete account of Southern Russia hitherto published." — Bri-
tannia.
ihe King of Saxony's Jonrney through England
and Scotland, in the Year 1844.
By Dr. C. 0. Cams,
Physician to His Majesty.
Translated by S. C. DAVIDSON, B.A. Cloth, price lis.
" Without comparison, the most fascinating book that we have perused for a
longtime." — New Monthly Magazine.
" A very amusing, very lively, and, in more senses than one, very entertain-
ing volume." — Sunday Times.
The Autobiography of Heinrich Zschokke.
Cloth, price 6s.
" One of the best autobiographies ever published." — Chambers* Journal.
" Will be read with intense interest; with all the interest of a work of fiction.
It is a beautiful picture of a good man's life, of a good man's struggles, of a be-
nefactor of the human race." — John Bull.
" A vivid picture of the mind and life of a man worthy to be known — one
who has striven with success, by speculation and by action, to improve the con-
dition of his fellow-man." — Morning Chronicle.
Life in Mexico.
By Madame Galderon de la Barca.
Cloth, price lis.
11 Madame Calderon's book has all the natural liveliness and tact, and readi-
ness of remark, which are sure to distinguish the first production of a clever
woman. * * A more genuine book, in air as well as in reality, it would be diffi-
cult to find." — Edinburgh Review.
BY CHAPMAN AND HALL. 21
The Foreign library (continued).
Russia. By J. G. Kohl.
Comprising St. Petersburgh — Moscow— Karkhoff — Riga — Odessa —
The German Provinces on the Baltic — The Steppes — The Crimea —
and the Interior of the Country. With a Map, cloth, price lis.
Austria. By J. G. Kohl.
Comprising Vienna — Prague — Hungary — Bohemia — The Danube —
Galicia — Styria — Moravia — Bukovino, and the Military Frontier.
Cloth, price lis.
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by universal consent, been awarded to them. They are the very best books about
the two countries which have yet appeared, containing a greater quantity of solid
information, digested into the pleasantest possible form, than all the tours and
journals extant." — Eraser's Magazine.
Ireland, Scotland; and England. By J. G. Kohl.
Cloth, price lis.
" Mr. Kohl's work on Ireland is beyond all comparison the most succinct
and faithful that we have yet seen, and exhibits the lamentable condition of that
country in a light in which none but a foreigner, or at least a sagacious traveller,
could paint it. His testimony is doubly valuable from the weight of experience
and authority which his name carries with it." — Times.
Celebrated Crimes. By Alexandre Dumas.
Containing The Borgias — The Countess of St. Geran— Joan of Naples
— Nisida — The Marchioness of Brinvilliers — The Cenci — The Mar-
chioness de Ganges — Karl Ludwig Sand — Vaninka — Urban Grandier.
Cloth, price 10s.
'* Dumas's book is very striking. The Tragedy of Truth — the serious side
of what is called the Romance of Real Life — had never such startling illustration
as this remarkable book affords. Its capital constructive art is only a less ad-
mirable feature than its perfect and close fidelity of detail. What a story is that
of the Marchioness de Ganges!" — Examiner.
1 ales from the German.
Comprising Specimens from the most celebrated Authors.
By J. Oxenford and C. A. Feiling.
Cloth, price lis.
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with whom he has before been associated in foreign literature, is a German
known for his proficiency in the studies of his native language. The combina-
tion was the most fitting conceivable for a work of this kind. Selection and
translation are alike characteristic and spirited." — Examiner.
22 WORKS PUBLISHED
The Foreign Library (continued).
History of the Eighteenth Century 5
And Part of the Nineteenth, with Particular Reference to Mental
Cultivation and Progress, Literary and Political.
By P. C. Schlosser.
6 vols, cloth, price SI. 7s.
" Schlosser is, as an historian, second to none of his contemporaries. We
possess in England no writer between whom and himself it would not he mere
irony to institute any comparison. "We must look to countries where literature is
thought its own reward for his competitor. Ranke among German, and Thierry
among French historians, may enter the lists with him. In the depth and va-
riety of his attainments, and the range and compass of his view, he is superior to
them, and, among modern writers, quite unrivalled. In vigour of expression,
sagacity of judgment, and complete command of his materials (which are like
the spear of Achilles, what its owner alone can wield), he is fully equal — and it
is a praise of which any historian might be proud — to those great writers." — West-
minster Review.
History of Germany,
From the Earliest Period to the Present Time.
By F. Kolilransch.
Cloth, price lis.
History of Ten Years : 1830-1840.
France during the Three Days, and under Louis Philippe.
By Louis Blanc.
2 vols, cloth, price 11. 6s.
" This is a remarkable work. The ten years 1830-1840 were troubled,
stirring, and important times to every European nation — to none so much as
France. * * * 'L'Histoire de Dix Ans' is one of those works so often libelled by
being called as interesting as a novel. It is a narrative of events, real, striking,
absorbing— the subjects of immense interest to all readers — the style unusually
excellent." — Foreign Quarterly Review.
History of France. By M. Michelet.
Translated by WALTER K. KELLY. 2 vols, cloth, price 11. Ss.
" Whatever subject M. Michelet touches, he treats it in a style peculiarly his
own. Of all historians he is the most poetic and picturesque. His description
of the physical aspect of France is one of the finest examples of eloquence applied
to geographical illustration ever penned. It is quite original in conception, and
is certainly unrivalled in grasp of subject and luxuriance of language." — Bri-
tannia.
BY CHAPMAN AND HALL.
23
Findeii's Beauties of Moore.
A Series of Portraits of the principal Female Characters in his
Works ; from Paintings by eminent Artists, made expressly for the
Work. With Borders designed by J. Marchant. Engraved in the
highest style of Art, by, or under the immediate Superintendence of,
Mr. Edward Findeii.
Price of each Portrait :
Beautifully Coloured, after the Original \ tt ?f ri
Paintings, Imperial 4to S
Proofs, on India Paper, Atlas ito Two Shillings.
Prints, Imperial ito . One Shilling.
10.
U.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
SUBJECTS.
Black and Blue)
Eyes /
Lesbia
Norah Creina ...
Holy Eyes
Irish Girl
Young Kitty ...
Laughing Eyes .
The Stricken)
Deer /
The Exile
Morning of Life
The Mountain'*
Sprite J
The Garden!
Flower '
Love's Summer-"!
Cloud )
Young Jessica...
The Evening)
Star J
The Pensive)
Thought I
The Coming'!
Step /
St.Jerome'sLove
Ninetta
The Sleeping'!
Beauty /
Theresa
The Vesper"!
Hymn /
Zelica
PAINTED BT
W. P. Frith, A.R.A.
W. P.Frith,A.R.A.
W. P. Frith, A.R.A.
J. G. Middleton
A. Elmore, A.R.A.
J. Wright
W.P.Frith,A.R.A.
A. Elmore, A.R.A.
W.P.Frith,A,R.A.
W. P. Frith, A.R.A.
F. Wood
J. Wright
W. P. Frith, A.R.A.
E. W. Ward
F. Stone
W. P. Frith, A.R.A.
E. W. Ward
H. O'Neil
A. Egg
W. P. Frith, A.R.A.
A. Egg
J. G. Middleton
A. de Valentini
SUBJECTS.
The Grecian!
Maid J
Anna
The Wreath
The Cottage)
Maid $
The Indian Maid
Rich and Rare ..
TheRival Sisters
Eveleen
Young Love's)
Dream /
Kathleen
The Last Rose)
of Summer .../
The Hamlet's
Pride
The Planet
O'Donohue's \
Mistress J
The Desmond's!
Love '
The Lute
The Garland ...
The Casket
The Sunflower..
The High-born)
Ladye /
Lalla Rookh ...
The Peri
Hinda
Xourmahal
Lea
it's!
PAINTED BT
S. Newton, R.A.
W. P. Frith, A.R.A.
J. Wood
E. M. Ward
A. Elmore, A.R.A.
W. Fisher
A. Elmore, A.R.A.
R. T. Bott
A. Derby
E. Hawkes
W. Maddox
W. Room
R. T. Bott
W. Maddox
F. Crowley
A. Egg
J. Wood
W. Maddox
A. Derby
S. Hart, R.A,
A. de Valentini
H. Warren
J. G. Middleton
H. Warren
A. de Valentini
24 WORKS PUBLISHED
Works by M. Eugene Sue.
The Authorised Translations. Embellished with beautiful Illustrations,
on Wood, drawn expressly for these editions by the first Artists in
Paris, and executed by the most eminent English Engravers, under
the superintendence of Mr. Charles Heath.
The Mysteries of Paris,
Adapted to the English Reader. Illustrated with upwards of Seven
Hundred Engravings of all the Characters, Scenes, Costumes, and
Localities, described in the Work.
3 vols, imperial Svo, handsomely bound in cloth, price 21. lis.
The Wandering Jew.
With One Hundred and Four beautiful Illustrations, drawn by M.
Valentin. 3 vols. Svo, handsomely bound in cloth, price IL 16s.
, without the Illustrations,
3 vols, cloth, price 23s.
Illustrations to the Wandering Jew,
The series of 104 beautiful Engravings separately.
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The above Works may, for the present, be had in Numbers, Parts, and
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without delay.
Faula Monti 5 or, the Hotel Lambert.
With Twenty beautiful Illustrations, drawn by Jules David.
Svo, cloth, price 1 2s.
the Count of Monte-Cristo. A Romance.
By Alexandre Dnmas.
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engraved on Wood by the most eminent English Artists, under the
superintendence of Mr. Charles Heath.
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By the Author of " Harry Lorrequer," " Charles O'lalley," &c.
Tlie Knight of Gwynne;
A Tale of the Time of the Union.
By Charles Leyer.
With Forty Illustrations by " Phiz."
8vo, cloth, price 11. Is. ; half- morocco, marbled edges, \l. is. 6d. ;
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" One of the most pleasant and sparkling stories which has yet issued from
the bright and abundant spring of Lever's genius." — Leeds Times.
" This promises to be the best Irish tale Mr. Lever has yet produced, and one
that will permanently establish his fame, as one of the most faithful delineators
of national manners." — Dublin Evening Packet.
"'The Knight of Gwynne' bids fair to rival in popularity the best of Mr.
Lever's former works — and that is no faint praise." — Chester Courant.
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most popular author has hitherto produced." — Sheffield Iris.
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most distinctively drawn— the time 1800— the scene Ireland— and the subject the
Union." — Hampshire A dvertiser.
" Made up of greater elements than any of our author's former productions.
The persons of the tale appear endowed with more than the wonted energy, the
reflecting and serious have more sagacity, the men of action are more adventur-
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scene is richer without being less true to nature." — Dublin Evening Mail.
" This brilliant performance is rich in incident, surprising without being ex-
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ous in the art with which traits of character are sometimes broadly given, some-
times insinuated, rather than openly expressed. It has an air of novelty, too,
thrown around it, which in a season of such literary fecundity is a very rare
excellence. Mr. Lever retaining all his own powers, shews himself capable of
literary distinction in efforts of a new, and, perhaps, we may add, a higher
description than those in which he has obtained his present celebrity." — Evening
Mail.
St. Patrick's Eve ;
Or, Three Eras in the Life of an Irish Peasant.
By Charles Leyer,
With Four Etchings and numerous Woodcuts hy " Phiz."
Small 4to, cloth, gilt edges, price 5s.
" Full of beauty and truth, and will probably be even more popular than
any thing that Mr. Lever has yet given to the world." — Taitf s Magazine.
" One of the best and purest productions of this fertile author. The tale is
touched throughout with genuine pathos, and exhibits glimpses of beauty, moral,
and intellectual, gleaming over the rugged lot of the Irish labourer, like the pure
specks of blue in a stormy sky, when occasionally the clouds sever." — Britannia.
26 WORKS PUBLISHED
Chess for Beginners,
In a Series of Progressive Lessons. Shewing the most approved
methods of beginning and ending the Game, together with various
Situations and Checkmates.
By William lewis.
With Twenty-four Diagrams printed in Colours.
Third Edition, small kto, cloth, price 5s. 6d.
The Book of Symbols.
A Series of Seventy-five Short Essays, on as many different Subjects,
in connexion with Morals, Religion, and Philosophy; each Essay
illustrating an Ancient Symbol, or Moral Precept.
Second Edition, post Svo, cloth, price 6s.
" The Essays are sensible and judicious. * * * We recommend the book to
our readers, as the production of a learned and thinking mind."— John Bull.
flours of Meditation and Devotional Reflection :
upon Various Subjects connected with the Religious, Moral, and
Social Duties of Life.
By Heinrich Zschokke.
Translated from the Twenty-third German Edition.
Second Edition, small 8uo, price 5s. cloth; or in morocco gilt, 9s.
" We can scarcely find terms adequate to express the gratification we have
experienced from the perusal of this admirable volume. Never did philosophy-
appear more amiable, never more exalted, than in these devout reflections. They
are irradiated by the light of heaven and the divinest spirit of religion. On the
Continent, thousands have testified to the merits of this admirable author. We
are convinced that this portion of his writings has only to be known in this coun-
try to be equally appreciated." — Atlas.
A Sketch of the Lives of Lords Stowell and Eldon ;
Comprising, with Additional Matter, some Corrections of Mr.Twiss's
Work on the Chancellor.
By William Edward Surtees^ D.C.L, Barristcr-at-Law.
Svo, cloth, price 5s.
BY CHAPMAN AND HALL.
Chapman and Hall's Juvenile Publications,
My Own Annual;
an Illustrated Gift-Book for Boys and Girls.
Edited by Mark lerriwellj
Two volumes now published, each comprising One Hundred Engrav-
ings, and Coloured Frontispiece and Title.
Small 4to, cloth, extra gilt, price 5s. each.
" We have no hesitation in pronouncing this to be the best gift-book for boys
and girls which the ingenuity of authors and enterprise of publishers has yet pro-
duced." — Critic.
" Nothing can be more felicitous than the way in which, throughout every
chapter, information — valuable, enduring knowledge — is interspersed or rather
insinuated." — Sunday Times.
11 ' My Own Annual' is handsomely produced. There is reading in it of an
instructive character for all tastes ; and its pretty engravings, cheerful spirit, and
well-selected matter, sufficiently mark it as one of ■ the books of the season.' " —
Britannia.
Picture Story-Books;
by Great Authors and Great Painters. Illustrated with many
Hundred Engravings and Illuminated Frontispieces ; in elegant
Ornamental Wrappers. Price \s. 6d. each.
GOOD LADY BERTHA'S HONEY-
BROTH.
LIFE OF PUNCHINELLO.
BEAN-FLOWER AND PEA-BLOSSOM.
GENIUS GOODFELLOW AND THE
WOODCUTTER'S DOG.
THE HISTORY OF DAME MIT-
CHELL AND HER CAT.
HISTORY OF A NUTCRACKER.
Two Parts.
PRINCE HEMPSEED AND HIS
LITTLE SISTER.
TO BE FOLLOWED BY NUMEROUS OTHER INTERESTING WORKS.
"Just the sort of attraction for our holiday groups." — Illustrated News.
" Will occasion more fun than forfeits or blindman's-buff." — Britannia.
" Must prove perfectly enchanting to a child." — Weekly Chronicle.
"We can confidently recommend these Picture Story-books as incomparably
the best of the kind which have yet appeared. In each there is a healthy under-
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young." — Sunday Times.
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" Far overtop all rivals in the character, spirit, and abundance of their illus-
trations." — Literary Gazette.
28 WORKS PUBLISHED
Juyenile Publications (continued).
Felix Summerly's Home Treasury
Of Books and Pictures ; purposed to cultivate the Affections, Fancy,
Imagination, and Taste of Children. With numerous Illustrations
by Horsley, Cope, Corbould, Redgrave, Absolon, Townshend,
Webster, Tayler, &c.
This popular Series is now the property of Chapman and Hall.
1. Jack the Giant Killer.
2. Jack and the Bean-stalk.
3. Sleeping Beauty in the Wood.
4. Little Red Rtding Hood.
5. Cinderella.
6. Beauty and the Beast.
7. Chevy Chace.
8. The Sisters and Golden Locks.
9. Grumble and Cheery.
10. The Ballad of Sir Hornbook.
11. and 12. Nursery Songs.
13. Whittington and his Cat.
14. Bible Events.
Other Works in Preparation.
Price Is. each, plain; \s. 6d. coloured.
Felix Summerly's Home Treasury,
Traditional Nursery Songs of
England. 2*. 6d. plain, 3s. 6d. co-
loured.
, Ballads and Faery Tales.
Chevy Chace — Sir Hornbook — The
Sisters — Golden Locks — The Eagle's
Verdict — Grumble and Cheery.
4s. 6d. plain, 7 s. 6d. coloured.
In volumes, bound in cloth.
Traditional Faery Tales.
Red Riding Hood — Beauty and the
Beast — Jack and the Bean-stalk.
3.9. 6d. plain, 5s. 6d. coloured.
Popular Faery Tales.
Jack the Giant Killer — Cinderella —
The Sleeping Beauty. 3*. 6d. plain,
5s. 6d. coloured.
"What shall we say of the ' Home Treasury?' A • Gallery' of Art in itself, if
it had no other merit ! We consider it to he rich in profit as well as pleasure." —
Athenceum.
"The Editor of these little works is already favourably known as the author
of several of the best Guide Books of the present day. Finding it difficult to pro-
cure the works which used to amuse the childhood of those now in middle life,
especially the works of imagination, he has determined upon reprinting some of
the best of these ; and several distinguished artists have not thought it beneath
them to aid his exertions by what in their case may well be called a labour of
love." — Westminster Review.
A Book of Stories from the Home Treasury;
Including the Fairy Tales and Ballads.
Edited by Mix Summerly.
With Forty Illustrations by Cope, Horsley, Redgrave, Towns-
hend, John Absolon, Webster, and Frederick Tayler.
In one volume, cloth gilt, price 7s. 6d.
BY CHAPMAN AND HALL. 29
Jurenile Publications (continued),
1 lie Boy's Own Library :
A Series of Books for the Young, by Distinguished "Writers, profusely
and beautifully Illustrated.
Each Volume contains about One Hundred and Thirty Pages of Text,
Illustrated with from Thirty to Forty Engravings, and an Ornamental
Title-page and Frontispiece beautifully printed in Colours, in imita-
tion of Water- Colour Drawings.
The Illustrations are executed in a superior manner, and the Books
printed in the best style by Messrs. Vizetelly Brothers and Co.
Small Svo, price 2s. per Volume, tastefully done up in an orna-
mental stiff cover ; or 3s. bound in cloth,
JUST PUBLISHED.
1. THE BOY'S SPRING BOOK. I 3. THE BOY'S AUTUMN BOOK.
2. THE BOY'S SUMMER BOOK. I 4. THE BOY'S WINTER BOOK.
By Thomas Miller.
Author of " Beauties of the Country," " Rural Sketches," &c.
Also, the above Four Books bound together in Two Volumes, cloth, price
Five Shillings each, under the title of
Ihe Country Year-Book :
Descriptive of the Seasons ; Birds, Insects, and Quadrupeds ; Rural
Scenes and Amusements. "With One Hundred and Forty Illustrations.
Also in one volume, elegantly bound in morocco, gilt edges, price 12s.
" These little works for boys, or indeed for girls, are wondrously cheap; and
so excellent that they must succeed." — Westminster Review.
1 ' A work more suited to the right direction and improvement of youth we
could not wish to be placed in their hands." — Literary Gazette.
" Nothing can be more beautiful, and, at the same time, substantial; it is
made for use as well as show, arid is, considering the vast number of its embel-
lishments, and its really lovely title-pages and frontispieces, one of the cheapest
works we know.'-' — Howitt's Journal.
TO BE FOLLOWED BY
Ihe Book of Wonderful Inventions.
In two parts, price in ornamental wrapper, 2s., or in cloth,
3s. each ; or complete in one volume, price 5s. cloth.
The Book of Old English Sports and Pastimes.
By Thomas Miller,
Author of "The Beauties of the Country," "Rural Sketches," &c.
In two parts, price in ornamental wrapper, 2s., or in cloth,
3s. each ; or complete in one volume, price 5s. cloth.
And numerous other interesting Works.
30 WORKS PUBLISHED
Juyenile Publications (continued).
Wonderful Stories for Children.
By Hans Christian Andersen.
Translated from the Danish by MARY HOWITT.
With Coloured Illustrations. Small ito, cloth, price is. 6d.
Also, in Four Books, in Wrappers, with Coloured Plates :
1. OLE LUKOIE — THE DAISY— THE NAUGHTY BOY.
2. TOMMELISE — THE ROSE-ELF.
3. THE GARDEN OF PARADISE — A NIGHT IN THE KITCHEN.
4. LITTLE IDA'S FLOWERS — THE CONSTANT TIN SOLDIER —
THE STORKS. p rke Qm SMUing eacht
A Story about a Christmas in the Olden Time.
By Mrs. Percy Sinnett.
With Coloured Illustrations. Small ito, cloth, price is. 6d.
Hunters and Fishers;
Or, Sketches of Primitive Races in Lands beyond the Sea.
By Irs. Percy Sinnett.
With Coloured Illustrations. Small ito, cloth, price is. 6d.
Herdsmen and Tillers of the Ground;
Or, Illustrations of Early Civilization.
By Mrs. Percy Sinnett.
With Coloured Illustrations. Small ito, cloth, price is. 6d.
" These are nice and novel children's hooks, drawn from sources not "before
familiar to the makers of such wares, for the expansion of juvenile intellect. Our
little friends may have a pleasing Horary altogether in these publications." —
Literary Gazette.
" Pretty books for children illustrated with such plates as children love,
warm and rich in colour." — Britannia.
" Pretty little books, containing more matter and purpose than is always
found in publications designed for juvenile readers." — Spectator.
" Here has Mrs. Howitt brought us from Denmark Hans Andersen's ' "Won-
derful Stories for Children' — a book after our own heart, full of life and fancy; a
book for grandfathers, no less than grandchildren, not a word of which will be
skipped by those who have it once in hand. Mrs. Sinnett's ' Story about a Christ-
mas in the Seventeenth Century,' is a moving and well-conducted narrative.
' Hunters and Fishers, or Sketches of Primitive Races in the Lands beyond the
Sea,' is full of strange, stirring facts ; in their way, food as admirable, as sugges-
tive, as (and more practically useful than) Hans Andersen's fancies " — Athenaeum.
"How many glad young hearts will thank Messrs. Chapman and Hall for
publishing, and Mrs. Howitt and Mrs. Sinnett for writing and translating, these
delightful little volumes. We are not quite sure, too, that some old hearts will
not be gladdened by their perusal ; they are so cleverly done, and are made so
subservient to good moral ends." — John Bull.
BY CHAPMAN AND HALL. 31
Juvenile Publications (continued).
Little Poems for Little People.
By I. S. C.
With numerous Illustrations on Wood.
In small square 8vo.
Heroic Tales of Ancient Greece.
Related by Berthold Niebuhr to his Little Son Marcus. Trans-
lated from the German.
Edited, with Notes^ by Felix Summerly,
With Four Coloured Illustrations by H. J. Townshend.
In small Ato, bound in fancy cloth, price is. 6d.
The Three Paths.
A Story for Young People.
By Julia Raranagli.
With Illustrations on Wood from Designs by Andrew Maclure.
In one volume, small Svo.
The Shoes of Fortune, and other Tales.
By Hans Christian Andersen.
With Four Illustrations by Otto Speckter, and Eight Woodcuts.
Small Svo, cloth, price 5s.
" Every page sparkles with delightful grace and genial fancy." — Fraser.
" Xo fairy tales surpass those "by Hans Christian Andersen; and these are
some of his best." — Athenceum,
" These tales range far above the ordinary run of fairy lore and publication,
both in imaginativeness and moral. They are original, poetical, and highly in-
structive." — Literary Gazette.
I he Horse and his Rider;
Or, Sketches and Anecdotes of the noble Quadruped and of Eques-
trian Nations.
By Rollo Springfield.
With Illustrations. Small Svo, cloth, price os.
32 PUBLISHED BY CHAPMAN AND HALL.
Cheap Edition of tbe Works of Mr. CHARLES DICKENS.
m
In Weekly Numbers, price Three- Halfpence each,
Containing Sixteen handsomely-printed pages, small 8vo, double columns,
And in Monthly Parts, price Sevenpence, in a Wrapper,
A CHEAP EDITION OF
THE WORKS OF MR. CHARLES DICKENS.
A new Preface to each Tale will be published on its conclusion in Weekly Parts. A
Frontispiece to each Tale, engraved on Wood from a Design by some eminent
Artist, will also be given at the same time. The whole Text will be carefully
revised and corrected throughout by the Author.
Now complete in one volume, the Cheap Edition of
The Pickwick Papers. By Mr. Charles Dickens.
With a Frontispiece from a Design by C. R. Leslie, R.A.
Price 4s. 6d. stiff wrapper ; 5s, cloth ; or 7s. 6d. half morocco,
marbled edges.
Cheap Edition of the Novels and Tales of Sir EDWARD
BULWER LYTTON, Bart.
In Weekly Numbers and Monthly Parts,
Uniform in size and price with the Cheap Edition of the Works of
Mr. Charles Dickens,
A Cheap and Complete Edition of
SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON'S
NOVELS AND TALES.
THE SERIES WILL COMMENCE WITH "RIENZI."
Each Work will be comprised in about Twenty Numbers or Five Parts.
This Edition will comprise the whole of the Novels and Tales of Sir Edward
Bulwer Lytton, many of the early Copyrights having been re-purchased for
that purpose. A new Preface to each Tale will be published on the conclusion
in Weekly Parts. A Frontispiece to each Tale, engraved on Wood from a Design
by some eminent Artist, will also be given at the same time. The whole Text
will be carefully revised and corrected throughout by the Author.
LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186 STRAND.
Printed by Levey, Robson, and Franklyn, Great New Street, Fetter Lane.