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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES 
 
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 MukihuuiuM S 
 
 EDWARD BAKER, 
 
 & M\ JOH.V ]!Kl(;lll' S'lKEliT, 
 
 IiI^;^fl^■f.HAM, Fwoi.ANn.
 
 THE ODD VOLUME.
 
 Printed by Jolin Stark.
 
 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
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 " MEHRY OH SAD SHALT BE ? " 
 
 Winter's Tak. 
 
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 > • J t » ' 
 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 PRINTED FOR DANIEL LIZARS, EDINBURGH; 
 
 THOMAS OGILVIE, GLASGOW; 
 
 AND G. B. WHITTAKER, LONDON. 
 
 1826.
 
 
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 uJ CONTENTS. 
 
 ^ Page 
 
 f^ Emily Butler, 1 
 
 The Mysterious Invalid, 51 
 
 ^ ^ Legends op Number-Nip, 89 
 
 Legend First, 103 
 
 Legend Second, 119 
 
 The Miller of Doune, 149 
 
 ^ The Black Knight, 191 
 
 Mynheer Dodimus Doolittle, 215 
 
 J The Lantern in the Castle Yard, . . . 227 
 Uggero the Dane, 237 
 
 ^ The Hussar's Saddle, 247 
 
 The Devil's Own, 263 
 
 The Outpost, 271 
 
 The Vow, 281 
 
 The Widow's Nuptials, • . . 291 
 
 Beware of what you say before Children, 341 
 
 1571 J 2
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 " O ! Night's the tijie when sorrow sleeps." 
 
 Emily Butler, p. 14 
 
 " This mournful heart." The Black Knight, 198 
 
 Waltz, The Hussar's Saddle, 252
 
 EMILY BUTLER.
 
 I WRITE NOT FOR THOSE WHO, HAHnENED IN INIQUITV, OBEY THE 
 IMPULSE OF THEIR FIERCE FASSIONS; WHO, CALLOUS TO REPHOOF, 
 INVULNERABLE TO REMORSE AND CONTRITION, PURSUE THEIR DARK 
 CAREER. For YOU I WRITE WHO, HESITATING BETWEEN VIRTUE 
 
 AND VICE, DELAY TO TAKE THE FATAL PATH WHICH LEADS TO DESTRUC- 
 TION—TOUR HEARTS ARE NOT YET SEARED ; READ THEN A SIMPLE 
 STORY, AND IF THE SUFFERINGS THEREIN NARRATED TURN BUT ONE 
 HUMAN BEING FROM GUILT AND SIN, I SHALL NOT HAVE LIVED IN 
 VAIN.
 
 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 EMILY BUTLER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Sadness had sunk 
 Into his inmost soul, though none knew why, 
 And few might guess the cause.— Alaric A. Watts. 
 
 " Lay aside your harp, my dear Emily," said 
 Colonel Butler, " and walk with me : the sun is 
 almost down, and there is now a refreshing breeze ; 
 we shall have a little music when we return." 
 At these words the sound of the harp ceased, 
 and in a few moments Emily joined her father 
 on the little lawn before their romantic cottage. 
 It was indeed a delightful evening. Through a 
 
 O DO 
 
 shady lane were seen bounding a troop of chil- 
 dren returning from the village school, to whom 
 liberty, — the pure air of heaven, — the green turf 
 under their feet, — the wild flowers which strewed
 
 4 THE ODD VOLUxME. 
 
 their path, — were sources of unspeakable enjoy- 
 ment. When these little wanderers drew near 
 Colonel Butler and his daughter, they made their 
 rustic obeisances, which the former noticed with a 
 smile, tempered by a pensiveness now habitual to 
 him, but which did not appear to be a native feeling 
 of his soul. But in the smile with which Emily 
 greeted her youthful friends, there was ajoyousness, 
 a buoyancy of expression, which showed a heart 
 untouched by sorrow; and as she turned her cheer- 
 ful eyes on the little group, she was met v/ith looks 
 scarcely more smiling and innocent than her own. 
 As Colonel Butler and his daughter proceeded 
 down one of those shady lanes which abounded 
 near the romantic village where they resided, 
 they perceived approaching them a figure which 
 bore no resemblance to the rustics who frequent- 
 ed these walks. While yet at a distance, the 
 singular grace of his motions, and the elegance of 
 his form, clad even as it was in a dress remarkable 
 only for its extreme simplicity, were apparent; 
 and when he drew near, the high and command- 
 ing forehead, the clear penetrating eye, and manly 
 countenance, gave promise of a mind of no com- 
 mon stamp. Nor were Colonel Butler and Emily 
 unobserved by the stranger. On Colonel Butler 
 his eyes first fell, and his surprise was extreme 
 on meeting in that solitary place one who seemed 
 destined by nature to grace the highest society,
 
 l.MII.V BUTI.EK. 5 
 
 and whose air and bearing announced the man of 
 birth and education ; and in the lovely being who 
 walked by his side he traced a resemblance so 
 strong, as to confirm him in the belief that they 
 were parent and child. Emily possessed in a 
 great degree her father's striking dignity of mien, 
 but it was tempered by the most playful gaiety of 
 manner ; and as Howard Pembroke observed the 
 return she made to his respectful salutation, he 
 thought he had never before seen so much vivacity 
 of expression, combined with that dignity and 
 propriety of deportment which is so powerful a 
 charm to a man of a refined and cultivated mind. 
 As the path was narrow, he stood respectfully 
 aside to permit Colonel Butler and Emily to pass ; 
 and they acknowledged his courtesy in a manner 
 which charmed the enthusiastic Howard, who 
 stood gazing after them till a turn of the road 
 shut them from his sight. 
 
 Colonel Butler and his daughter proceeded 
 onwards till the deepening shades of night warn- 
 ed them to return. As they ascended the slope 
 which led to their cottage, Emily gently press- 
 ed the arm of her father, and entreated him to 
 pause a few moments to survey the scene be- 
 fore them. " How much of loveliness and beauty 
 has our bountiful Creator scattered over this 
 world," said Emily in a low voice, as if afraid to 
 interrupt the stillness which reigned around.
 
 6 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 Her eyes fell on their cottage, sheltered by luxu- 
 riant trees, her flower garden rich in the sweets of 
 summer, and the clear brook which skirted a 
 lawn embellished with flowering shrubs. " Here,", 
 continued she, looking on her father, " here I 
 should wish to live and to die." An expression 
 of sudden pain clouded the countenance of Colo- 
 nel Butler ; and Emily, secretly blaming herself 
 for alluding, however vaguely, to their future 
 plans, a subject which seemed always to distress 
 him, endeavoured to chase away his melancholy, 
 and repair her error, by changing the topic of 
 conversation. 
 
 She then called the attention of her father to 
 the beauty of the firmament. " Who," said she, 
 " can contemplate that glorious luminary, and 
 those burning stars, without raising their hearts 
 to the great Being who made them, who has 
 formed thousands of immortal souls, who upholds 
 us by his mighty power, whose often repeat- 
 ed command is, ' Come to me.' While dwelling 
 on such a scene as this, the heart fills with a 
 vehement desire to do his will, to obey his pre- 
 cepts ; and earth and earthly things lose their 
 hold on our affections. Can any one look on the 
 sublime objects we now behold, and not shudder 
 even to think of sin !" 
 
 " Emily," said Colonel Butler, while a deep 
 sigh broke from him, " this is a sinful world ; we
 
 EMILY BUTLER. 7 
 
 are all weak creatures, prone to evil, and too apt 
 to bind our souls to this world with bonds which 
 nothing but the iron hand of death can sever. 
 All of us perhaps have at some period of our lives 
 experienced the sensations which now fill your 
 mind — have detested vice, and worshipped virtue ; 
 till, relying too much on our own stability, leaving 
 unguarded some avenue to sin — some powerful 
 temptation, some master-passion seizes on us, we 
 fall — and, alas ! with how many bitter tears do 
 we bewail our error ! How does ihe guilty wretch 
 cry out in agony, when he sees the fatal conse- 
 quences of his crime, when he feels and knows 
 that those he has injured are hidden from him in 
 the grave, alike insensible to his sorrow and re- 
 pentance ! When, kneeling at the tomb of the in- 
 jured, an appalling silence alone follows the tears 
 of the injurer, who would pour his heart's blood 
 on that tomb, could its silent inmate be permitted 
 for one short moment to witness his repentance, 
 his deep humiliation, and to bestow one look of 
 forgiveness on him who, in the midst of the ten- 
 derest caresses, was secretly digging her grave : 
 — Oh, that he shared it with her !" 
 
 A ray of the moon falling on the pale and 
 troubled countenance of Emily, recalled Colonel 
 Butler to a sense of his imprudence. He kissed 
 her forehead. " Go in, my dear child, and let 
 not my emotion distress you. I have unwisely
 
 8 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 allowed my thoughts to dwell on the disastrous 
 story of a friend who was very dear to me. The 
 recollection of it always unmans me. There 
 was much guilt ; but if tears of blood, years of 
 misery, never-ceasing penitence, can expiate the 
 crime, the unhappy man may hope that it is for- 
 given. Go home, my dear Emily ; I shall soon 
 join you there." 
 
 Emily did not speak, but affectionately kissing 
 his hand, she bent her steps towards the house ; 
 while Colonel Butler turned into the beech walk, 
 beside which the silver stream glided with mur- 
 muring sound. Emily extinguished the lights in 
 the cheerful apartment, drew aside the curtains, and 
 seated herself at the window. The night was still 
 beautiful, — the firmament was gemmed with stars, 
 — the moon, now high in the heavens, silvered the 
 weeping willows, and in her light the dew upon 
 the grass and flowers sparkled with mild radiance. 
 Gusts of wind were heard, and at intervals dark 
 clouds were driven across the resplendent orb of 
 night, which to Emily's now pensive mind seemed 
 an emblem of life — one moment bright and spark- 
 ling, the next shrouded in darkness. But the clouds 
 pass away, thought Emily, as in vain she tried to 
 shake off an oppression of spirit, with which till 
 this night she had been wholly unacquainted. 
 
 She was aroused from her painful revery by 
 the sound of a horse approaching at full speed.
 
 EMILY BUTLER. 9 
 
 Alarmed at this unusual circumstance, she hastily 
 arose ; but before she could reach the door, it 
 was opened by a servant, who brought in a packet 
 of letters addressed to Colonel Butler, and which 
 the messenger who conveyed it requested might 
 be delivered to him without delay. Rendered 
 still more uneasy by this appearance of urgency, 
 Emily threw on her shawl, and sought her father. 
 He was pale, but composed ; and his manner was 
 more than usually tender to Emily, who present- 
 ed to him the packet, mentioning the wish of the 
 messenger that it should be perused immediately. 
 Colonel Butler drew the arm of his daughter 
 within his own, and they walked on in silence. 
 On entering the house he ordered lights, and 
 opened the letters. As he raised his head after 
 finishing them, he found the eyes of Emily fixed 
 on him with a look of the deepest anxiety. His 
 calm smile instantly re-assured her. " You appear 
 to be uneasy, my dear Emily ; but your alarm 
 is without cause. These letters, which seem 
 to have chased the colour from your cheek, con- 
 tain nothing to agitate either of us, nor do they 
 convey any intelligence more unpleasant than 
 the necessity of my instant appearance in Lon- 
 don. Fane Vivian's title to one of his large 
 estates is disputed, and he has been under consi- 
 derable anxiety as to the result of the law-suit in 
 which he is engaged. He has only lately dis-
 
 10 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 covered that I can give very material evidence 
 regarding some deeds, and he writes to request 
 my presence. I cannot refuse to comply with his 
 wishes ; and as the cause comes on directly, I 
 must set off without delay. I hope my absence 
 may be short, my dear Emily; but I could not be 
 comfortable when recollecting that you were alone : 
 You will oblige me by residing with Mrs. Howell 
 till my return. I hope this will not be disagree- 
 able to you." "^ 
 
 In the present state of her mind, Emily would 
 have preferred the seclusion of her own home ; 
 but she saw that her consent to go to Mrs. Howell 
 would contribute to the comfort of her father : 
 it was therefore given, and so readily, as to pre- 
 vent him from suspecting that he had exacted a 
 sacrifice. 
 
 As Colonel Butler was to set off early next 
 morning, he now proposed retiring to rest ; and 
 having embraced and blessed his daughter, he led 
 her to the door of her apartment, and then with- 
 drew to his own. 
 
 Many years had elapsed since he had been in 
 London, and to be forced to revisit it gave him 
 great pain. He retired to bed, and endeavoured 
 to compose his mind ; but a train of reflections 
 had been awakened which prevented sleep from 
 visiting his eyes. Too minutely for his peace did 
 busy memory retrace events remembered perhaps
 
 EMILY BUTLEIl. 11 
 
 by him alone. He lived over again the scenes of 
 his youth, when all nature seemed to smile on him. 
 Then came the soul-harrowing grief, the fruitless 
 repentance, the deep contrition, and all the thou- 
 sand miseries of a wounded mind. But one bless- 
 ing still was his, and his most fervent earthly 
 wishes were for the happiness of that beloved 
 child, in whom all his ardent affections now cen- 
 tered. 
 
 Languid, spiritless, and unrefreshed, Colonel 
 Butler next morning entered the carriage which 
 was to convey him from his home. With great 
 reluctance did he undertake this journey. A 
 secret misgiving oppressed and harassed his mind 
 when he thought of his daughter ; and so power- 
 fully was he impressed with a presentiment of 
 evil, that he had his hand on the check-strinsr to 
 order his postilions to return ; but ashamed of his 
 weakness, he stifled these painful feelings, recol- 
 lected he was performing an imperative duty, 
 commended his child to Heaven, and gradually 
 recovered his serenity.
 
 12 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 And must we part, though scarcely met, 
 
 Our love just in its bloom ? 
 Oh, 'tis too soon for parting yet : 
 
 But Fate has pass'd its doom ; 
 And we must yield, however loath, 
 
 To burst the chain which binds us both ! — T. C. Smith. 
 
 According to her father's wish, Emily offered 
 a visit of a few weeks to Mrs. Howell ; and as 
 this lady had always shown much affection for 
 her, she had no doubt of her acceptance of the 
 visit. She therefore completed the preparations for 
 her removal ; and by the time her servant brought 
 a note from Mrs. Howell, written with all the 
 warmth of friendship, she was ready to leave the 
 cottaire. Her kind friend received her with tender 
 affection. 
 
 " What have you done with all your gaiety, 
 my dear Emily ?" said Mrs. Howell, on observing
 
 EMILY BUTLER. 13 
 
 the pensive expression of her countenance; "I hope 
 nothing unpleasant has occasioned the absence of 
 Colonel Butler." 
 
 " No," replied Emily, " there is nothing in the 
 cause of his absence which affects me ; but," added 
 she hesitatingly, " I have never been separated from 
 him before, and I confess it grieves me much 
 more than I think it ought to do. It is no real 
 evil, and I must not allow it to depress my spirits." 
 
 " You are quite right, Emily, to view the matter 
 in this light ; you suffer a deprivation undoubtedly, 
 but no real calamity touches you. Learn, therefore, 
 my dear child, to be thankful for the blessings you 
 enjoy, and do not nourish a morbid sensibility, 
 which is too often the bane of all our happiness. 
 I must have you laugh and talk as my own Emily 
 used to do ; and here," continued she, after listen- 
 ing a moment to an approaching footstep, " here 
 comes an auxiliary on whom I have great re- 
 liance." 
 
 As she spoke the door opened, and Howard 
 Pembroke stood before Emily Butler. The sur- 
 prise expressed in the countenances of both in- 
 duced Mrs. Howell, after performing the cere- 
 mony of introduction, to ask if they had met be- 
 fore ; and Emily without embarrassment mention- 
 ed having seen Mr. Pembroke in her walk the 
 preceding evening. But Mr. Pembroke lost for 
 a moment his usual self-possession ; he had not
 
 14 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 mentioned the rencontre to Mrs. Howell, and he 
 dreaded the inference she would draw from that 
 circumstance. Contrary to his expectations, Mrs. 
 Howell did not appear to think there was any 
 thing remarkable in the omission ; on observing 
 which, he resumed his playful vivacity of manner, 
 and in the opinion of all parties the evening pass- 
 ed delightfully. 
 
 A month had elapsed and Colonel Butler was 
 still in London, and Howard Pembroke was be- 
 coming gradually attached to Emily. In the 
 quiet routine of a country life, he had abundant 
 leisure and opportunity for studying her disposi- 
 tion ; and the result of the investigation was a pas- 
 sion as ardent as it was sincere. 
 
 The mornings were passed in reading or in 
 walks among the surrounding bold and romantic 
 scenery, the evenings were devoted to conversa- 
 tion or music ; and frequently, in the still twilight, 
 did Pembroke mingle the rich tones of his voice 
 with hers, in strains like the following.* 
 
 • Perhaps it may gratify our young friend Mr. T. C. Sjiith, should 
 this volume cross the seas to him, to observe, that upon this occasion 
 we have preferred one of his beautiful lyrics to any thing of our own. 
 From this the reader will understand, that although our claim to the 
 music which follows may not be disputed, we have not attempted to 
 " marry it to immortal verse, ^' the poetry being from the elegant little 
 volume, " Bay Leaves," published lately, and which wc understand 
 is now reprinting.
 
 EMILY BI'TLER. 
 
 OHl NIGHT'S THE TT\lE WHEN SOKKOW SLEEPS 
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 EMILY BUTLER. 15 
 
 Emily was long unconscious of her own feel- 
 ings. She knew not the power of love, nor was 
 'she aware that the pleasure she felt in the society 
 of Howard Pembroke, was the beginning of a 
 passion which would strew her path either with 
 roses or with thorns. 
 
 Another month passed away, strengthening the 
 love of Pembroke, and increasing his influence over 
 that heart which he sought to make his for ever. 
 > During the first month of the absence of her 
 father, Emily had written to him frequently ; but 
 she had only slightly mentioned Pembroke as the 
 relation of Mrs. Howell, with whom he was to re- 
 side for a short time. There was no art in this, 
 for Emily's was a transparent heart; she then 
 thought of Pembroke only as an agreeable addi- 
 tion to their limited society, and she spoke of him 
 in corresponding terms. And after she had begun 
 to surmise the tnie nature of her feelings towards 
 him. Colonel Butler, being in daily expectation of 
 finishing the business in which he was engaged, 
 and of returning home, had desired her to discon- 
 tinue writing to him ; consequently he was quite 
 unsuspicious of the state of her heart. At length 
 he was able to name the day on which he would 
 return to his home, and desiring Emily to meet 
 him there, concluded a long and afl'ectionate 
 letter with his warmest thanks to Mrs. Howell for 
 her kindness to his daughter.
 
 16 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 Emily was seated beside Pembroke when she 
 received this letter, which she perused with eager- 
 ness, unconscious that his anxious gaze was fixed 
 upon her glowing cheek, while he silently envied 
 the being who had power to create so much 
 beautiful emotion ; but a few words from Emily 
 expressive of her joy at the expected return 
 of her father, removed his jealous fears, and 
 rendered him almost as happy as herself. 
 
 It was then that Emily first listened to the 
 vows of Pembroke — and never before were vows 
 breathed with a deeper devotion, or heard and 
 answered with more heartfelt tenderness. 
 
 No thought of evil troubled their new-born 
 happiness. Howard Pembroke was descended 
 from an honourable house ; Emily Butler was 
 sprung from a race whose deeds of patriotism 
 and virtue were blazoned in the page of history. 
 Pembroke was referred by Emily to her father, 
 and his consent obtained, he was then to unfold 
 his wishes to his indulgent parents, of whose 
 warm approval he could not for one moment 
 entertain the slightest doubt. 
 
 The day so anxiously expected at length arriv- 
 ed, and Emily found herself once more clasped to 
 the breast of her father, whose return she welcomed 
 with the tenderest affection. 
 
 Emily was grieved on observing that her father 
 was paler and thinner than when he left her, and
 
 EMILY BUTLEK. 17 
 
 looked as if he had suffered from uneasiness of 
 mind ; but he did not say that this had been the 
 case, and she would not appear to notice it, but 
 exerted herself to revive his spirits; and before they 
 parted for the night, she had the pleasure of see- 
 ing a renewal of his calm cheerfulness. As Emily 
 found herself unequal to the task of speaking to 
 her father of their attachment, it was settled that 
 it should be done by Pembroke, who was to wait 
 on Colonel Butler the evening succeeding his 
 return. 
 
 The evening came, and as soon as Emily ob- 
 served her lover approaching the cottage, with a 
 heart beating with a thousand new and pleasing 
 emotions she left the house, and hastened into the 
 deepest recesses of the wood which bordered their 
 Httle domain. 
 
 From an enchanting revery she was suddenly 
 aroused by the voice of Pembroke, calling on her 
 name in hurried accents. She appeared and ad- 
 vanced to meet him; but her smiles were checked 
 on seeing his disturbed and agitated mien. He 
 instantly joined her, and placing her arm within 
 his, proceeded a few steps in total silence, till an 
 exclamation from Emily, of, " My dear Howard," 
 drew from him the cause of his distress, and he 
 related to his astonished listener the particulars of 
 his interview with her father. 
 
 B
 
 18 THE ODD VOLUiME. 
 
 He had been received with the most cordial 
 warmth. Colonel Butler would so have welcomed 
 any friend of Mrs. Howell ; but independently of 
 that circumstance, the family of Pembroke was 
 well known to him, though he had not seen any 
 member of it for many years. Colonel Butler 
 congratulated himself on the return of Pembroke 
 to the residence of Mrs. Howell, as affording him 
 an opportunity of cultivating his acquaintance ; but 
 started on finding that he had been there during 
 the whole time of his absence. But when Pem- 
 broke mentioned Emily in accents which could 
 not be mistaken, it appeared to cost him a violent 
 effort to restrain his feelings sufficiently to inquire, 
 whether his daughter was aware of his sentiments, 
 and then in an unsteady voice, whether she parti- 
 cipated in them. Pembroke had replied decidedly 
 in the affirmative to the first question ; and though 
 he spoke less assuredly on the next point. Colonel 
 Butler, in spite of the diffidence and delicacy of 
 Pembroke, saw that he considered himself to be 
 a favoured lover. On ascertaining this. Colonel 
 Butler had become deeply agitated, and under the 
 plea of sudden indisposition, had declined giving 
 any answer to the proposal of Pembroke, who, 
 shocked and amazed at his situation, had taken 
 leave of him. On going round for his horse, he 
 had heard accidentally, that Colonel Butler had 
 shut himself up in his apartment, desiring not to
 
 KMILY BUTLER. 19 
 
 be disturbed, and that Emily was in the wood, 
 where he had instantly sought her. Pembroke 
 now asked iier if she could in any way account 
 for the agitation and distress of her father ; but 
 Emily was so much astonished at the detail which 
 Howard had just given her, that some time 
 elapsed before she could collect her thoughts suf- 
 ficiently to reply to him, and she then appeared 
 to be so much affected, that Pembroke stifled his 
 own uneasiness, and, against conviction, declared 
 that he believed indisposition to be the sole cause 
 of the strange reception he had met with from 
 her father, and Emily faintly smiled as he tried 
 to assure her that all would yet be well. 
 
 Traces of deep agitation were yet visible in the 
 countenance of Pembroke ; and Emily, grieved at 
 witnessing his distress, suppressed her own alarms, 
 and endeavoured to appear calm. Anxious to see 
 her father, she would not allow Howard to detain 
 her longer, but taking a tender leave of him, she 
 returned to the house. There she was met by 
 one of the domestics, who informed her that 
 Colonel Butler, finding himself somewhat indis- 
 posed in consequence of his rapid journey, had 
 retired to his apartment, and had requested that 
 he might not be disturbed. Although this inti- 
 mation served only to increase her uneasiness, 
 she endeavoured to compose her restless thoughts ;
 
 '20 I'HE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 but sufiering all the tortures of suspense, she 
 found stillness and inactivity intolerable. Every 
 little noise caused her to start — she fancied she 
 heard groans proceeding from the chamber of her 
 father; breathless with terror she approached his 
 door — all there was still. 
 
 Again her apprehensions took a new direction, 
 and, in an agony of fear, she was about to enter, 
 when a deep drawn sigh arrested her steps ; she 
 listened, and heard another and another, and 
 there was in them an expression of mental suffering 
 which smote on the heart of Emily. How did she 
 long to throw herself into his arms, to sooth him, 
 to comfort him, or to weep with him. But the 
 sorrows of a parent are sacred : Emily felt they 
 should be so, and she retired to her apartment, 
 harassed by contending -fears, and suffering all 
 the horrors of conjecture and suspense. Late in 
 the evening the door of her father's chamber was 
 opened, and she heard him desire his valet to go 
 to Mrs. Howell and request Mr. Pembroke to 
 call on him next day. The servant departed, the 
 door was again closed, and all was silent as be- 
 fore. 
 
 Emily passed a wretched night, her busy fancy 
 conjuring up evils in every possible shape. That 
 the attachment existing between Pembroke and 
 herself was disapproved of by her father, was
 
 EMILY BUTLEU. '21 
 
 beyond a doubt — but wherefore ? In vain Emily 
 wearied her imagination to assign a cause for his 
 present affliction. 
 
 Her father loved her, Pembroke loved her — 
 what obstacle could there be which their affection 
 would not overcome ? But that there was an ob- 
 stacle, Emily was but too fatally assured ; and she 
 arose from her pillow in a state of feverish anxiety 
 too acute to be long endured. What a change 
 had one short day made in the feelings of Emily ! 
 Yesterday she had seen her lover approach, and 
 her countenance was full of love and joy ; to-day 
 she watched for his appearance with eyes from 
 which fell incessant tears, and a heart bursting 
 with anxiety. 
 
 Pembroke was already in the avenue, his horse 
 panting and covered with foam. Emily wished to 
 regain her chamber, but her limbs trembled, dim- 
 ness fell upon her eyes, her breath came short, 
 and, totally unable to move, she sat the image of 
 despair. 
 
 But Pembroke was spared the sight of her 
 misery ; a servant met him and conducted him to 
 the libi-ary, where Colonel Butler waited his arri- 
 val. He entered, the door was closed, and Emily 
 had still further to endure the pangs of suspense. 
 All was still — not a sound reached Emilv as she 
 sat transfixed by agony. Her watch lay on the
 
 •22 THK ODD VOLUME. 
 
 table before her — its sound, at other times un- 
 marked, now pierced her ear. 
 
 Every nerve was wound up to an acuteness 
 almost insupportable, still nothing was heard but 
 the beatings of her own heart. Eager to catch the 
 slightest sound, she tried to still the pulses of her 
 burning temples — she pressed her hands upon 
 them. At this moment the door of the library 
 was violently thrown open. Was it the agitation 
 of happiness or despair? She heard the step of 
 Pembroke — it was hurried, it was frantic ; in 
 another moment he had leaped upon his horse, 
 urged him to his utmost speed, and darted like 
 lightning across the lawn. Emily saw no more ; 
 no word escaped from her pale lips, she breathed 
 one anguished sigh, and in deep and long-conti- 
 nued insensibility she found a relief from her over- 
 whelming fears. When Emily revived, she found 
 herself supported by her father, who kneeling 
 beside the couch, was pressing her to his heart, 
 and bathing her pale face with his tears. It is 
 dreadful at all times to see a man weep, for tears 
 are drawn from him only by extreme anguish ; 
 but it is still more appalling to see the tears of a 
 parent. They seemed to fall on the heart of poor 
 Emily, who neither spoke nor wept, but fixed 
 on her father a look which too truly spoke her 
 suffering ; and Colonel Butler, wholly overcome
 
 EMILY BUTLER. 23 
 
 with her mute ngony, covered his face with his 
 hands and sobbed aloud. 
 
 Emily removed his hands, and in a few words, 
 rendered almost inarticulate by her emotion, 
 begged that he would unfold the cause of their 
 distress. " I can bear any thing but suspense," 
 said she, in a faint voice. 
 
 Colonel Butler looked on her wan countenance, 
 and wrung his hands in frantic grief. A few 
 broken and imperfect sentences informed Emily 
 of her misfortune. She suddenly withdrew her 
 hands from his grasp, recoiling at his touch, and 
 cast on him one glance of deep reproach, when, 
 moved by the misery and humiliation expressed 
 in his countenance, she threw her arms around 
 his neck, and hiding her face on his shoulder, 
 relapsed again into a stale of insensibility.
 
 •24 THF. ODD VOLU.Mi:. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Shades of departed joys around me rise. — Roceus. 
 
 And oh ! if 'tis pain to reinember how far 
 
 From the pathw.nys of light he was tempted to roam, 
 
 Be it bliss to rememlier that thou wert the star, 
 
 That arose oil his darkness and guided him home. — Moore. 
 
 Walsingham Butler, at nineteen, was gay and 
 enthusiastic, happy in the smiles of his parents, 
 and doubly blessed in the approbation of his own 
 heart. The aggrandisement of this, his only son, 
 occupied incessantly the thoughts of Mr. Butler ; 
 and to promote this darling object, he gave every 
 possible encouragement to the partiality which, it 
 was evident, his son felt for the only child and 
 heiress of Sir Charles Manners, whose princely 
 domain joined the estate of Mr. Butler. This 
 dawning attachment was viewed with equal 
 pleasure by both families, and when Walsingham 
 had attained his nineteenth, and Emily her seven-
 
 EMILY BUTLER. 25 
 
 teenth year, their affection was sanctioned, and 
 their marriage was fixed to take place as soon as 
 he became of age. 
 
 Walsingham Butler and Emily Manners seem- 
 ed born for each other. A marked similarity of 
 pursuits, tastes, and sentiments firmly united 
 them. Equal in birth and fortune, their friends 
 smiled on their loves, and they looked forward 
 with rapture to the happiness of spending their 
 days together. 
 
 At this period it became known that Lady 
 Manners was about to increase her family. In the 
 innocence of her heart, Emily rejoiced at the new 
 blessinc: she was to receive. A brother or a sister 
 would complete all that was yet wanting to her 
 felicity. But in these amiable feelings Mr. Butler 
 by no means participated. It was not Emily he 
 wished his son to marry, it was the heiress of Sir 
 Charles Manners ; he therefore resolved to break 
 off the marriage should the expected child prove 
 a son. 
 
 It was a son, and while the guileless Emily be- 
 dewed him with tears of joy, Mr. Butler was pre- 
 paring for her the first trial to which her young- 
 heart had been subjected. Possessing little tender- 
 ness of feeling himself, he did not use much pre- 
 paration in informing his son that he was de- 
 termined to dissolve his engagement with Miss 
 Manners.
 
 26 THE ODD VOLUMF.. 
 
 Thuiulerstriick at tliis avowal, tor a few mo- 
 ments Walsingham was too much agitated to 
 reply ; but when he did so, it was to state in 
 respectful terms his unalterable resolution to fulfil 
 his engagement. 
 
 Mr. Butler tried every method to induce him to 
 comply with his wishes, but entreaties and threats 
 were alike unavailing, the determination of Wal- 
 singham remained unshaken, and they parted in 
 mutual anger. 
 
 On leaving his father, Walsingham sought Emily, 
 from whom this misfortune could not be conceal- 
 ed, and who, speechless and aghast, listened to the 
 overwhelming intelligence ; but the ardour of her 
 lover, his passionate protestations and unabated 
 attachment, gradually soothed her wounded mind. 
 But even the sad consolation of lamenting together 
 over their blighted happiness was denied them. 
 Sir Charles, irritated by the conduct of Mr. Butler, 
 positively declined receiving the visits of Walsing- 
 ham, ordered Emily to think no more of him, and 
 desired her to prepare to receive a new lover, in 
 the person of a neighbouring baronet. This gentle- 
 man had been long attached to Emilv, but as a 
 knowledge of her engagement had prevented him 
 from addressing her, on receiving the intelligence 
 that she was free, he laid his proposals before Sir 
 Charles, who heard them with unfeigned satistac- 
 tion. Suffering deeply from the deprivation of
 
 EMILY Bl'TLFR. 27 
 
 her societVj fearrul that her gentle nature would 
 not long resist the urgency of her father, Walsing- 
 ham in despair solicited a secret interview, when, 
 with all the energy of a first affection, he implored 
 her consent to a private marriage. Emily wept 
 with him and for him, but she was immoveable. 
 They must be patient, circumstances might alter, 
 his father might relent ; she relied most securely 
 on his constancy — surely he could not doubt her 
 love. She could not be forced into a marriage 
 against her inclination; her friends might persuade, 
 entreat, but they could do no more. Walsingham 
 alone should receive her hand, but she would 
 not involve herself in the disgrace of a private 
 marriage. Emily mingled so much tenderness 
 with her denial of his wishes, her eyes were so full 
 of affection, her manner so engaging, that in spite 
 of himself Walsingham felt consoled by the meet- 
 ing ; and after once more plighting their faith 
 amidst the tears and sighs which affliction wrung 
 from their youthful hearts, they parted, resolved 
 to be patient, and, satisfied with being near each 
 other, to wait for more auspicious times. 
 
 In this manner did a long month pass away, 
 when Mr. Butler, finding that his son continued 
 firm in his determination, and believing that 
 absence would be the best cure for his attachment, 
 purchased for him a commission in a regiment 
 about to embark on foreign and active service, and
 
 28 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 presented it to his son, with his commands to join 
 the regiment without delay. Walsingham once 
 more sought Emily, to whom he communicated this 
 new affliction. Frantic with ffrief at the thoughts 
 of leaving her exposed to the persecutions of her 
 family, dreading that her mild nature would yield 
 to their wishes, his distress was so extreme, that 
 Emily was exceedingly alarmed by his vehemence. 
 Once more he urged a private marriage, and un- 
 happily the firmness of Emily gave way — she pro- 
 mised, and that night they abandoned their pater- 
 nal mansion and fled to London. 
 
 Arrived there, a new difficulty awaited them. 
 They were both under age — a license could not be 
 procured. The regiment was to sail in four days, 
 they could not therefore go to Scotland. What 
 was to be done? The agonies of Emily almost 
 distracted Walsingham. Her situation, revolt- 
 ing to every feeling of delicacy, preyed on her 
 mind. She was alone, — no kind friend was with 
 her to witness the increased respect and diffidence 
 with which her lover approached her. Never 
 even in the halls of her father had she been 
 treated with that observant devotion with which 
 he now watched her varying cheek. Emily had 
 now been for some days under his sole protection ; 
 to return to her family was impossible, to complete 
 their marriage was equally so. Distracted with her 
 silent anguish, in a moment of despair Walsing-
 
 EMILY BUTLER. '29 
 
 ham sought and found one of those ready tools of 
 wickedness, who agreed to personate a clergyman. 
 He was introduced as such, and Butler received 
 the hand of Emily. The sailing of the ship was 
 postponed from day to day, and in a retired 
 cottage near London did Walsingham reside with 
 his Emily, and fancied himself happy. He made 
 arrangements for her continuance in this seclusion, 
 under the care of an elderly and respectable female, 
 to whom the house belonged. Scarcely were 
 these matters completed when he found the ship 
 was under sailing orders, and that he must instant- 
 ly join his detachment. Grievous and bitter was 
 their parting, but in Emily's heart there was less 
 remorse than now poisoned the happiness of Wal- 
 singham. He felt that he had done wrong, and 
 severely did conscience revenge her insulted power. 
 He endeavoured to console himself by reflecting 
 that Emily believed herself to be firmly bound to 
 him. This would be her best protection against 
 the machinations of her friends, should they un- 
 fortunately discover her retreat. The person who 
 had performed the marriage ceremony was on the 
 eve of going abroad ; and besides all this, he was 
 certain that he should soon be able to procure 
 leave of absence from his regiment, when he 
 would return to make her his for ever. Such 
 were the hopes and plans of Walsingham, but 
 buddenly were they overthrown. 
 
 /
 
 30 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 Many months elapsed before Sir Charles disco- 
 vered the residence of his daughter ; but the con- 
 fidence of Butler was at length betrayed, and the 
 enraged father had incontestable proof that the 
 trembling being before him had no legal title to the 
 name of wife. Full of fury, he poured on her 
 startled ear the most opprobrious epithets. Un- 
 moved by the modest, the shrinking delicacy with 
 which she repelled his accusations, he laid before 
 her ample proof of the baseness of her lover. 
 Long did her heart resist conviction, but when it 
 was at length forced upon her, the shock was over- 
 whelming. 
 
 She neither sighed nor wept. The reproaches 
 of her father were unheard, her own injuries were 
 unheeded — Walsingham was a villain, and that 
 soul-harrowing thought alone filled her mind, 
 and wounded her even unto death. Her love, her 
 esteem for Walsingham, was interwoven with every 
 feeling of her heart. To uproot that affection 
 which seemed to make a part of her being, was 
 now become a duty ; but, alas ! poor Emily sunk 
 under the conflict. 
 
 From the moment in which her mind admitted 
 a conviction of the guilt of Walsingham, she had 
 sat a living image of despair. No words had pass- 
 ed her lips — a horrible calmness possessed her — 
 and from this melancholy state she was aroused only
 
 EMILY BUTLEIl. 31 
 
 to new and intense suffering. Her child, her Emily, 
 was born ; she bent her pale face over her infant, 
 kissed its soft cheek, and expired. 
 
 As soon as the remains of his daughter were 
 consigned to the tomb, Sir Charles, unsoftened by 
 affliction, resolved to be revenged on the author 
 of her misery. He knew Walsingham to be deeply 
 and tenderly attached to his daughter, and he was 
 fully aware that he had spared no efforts to give 
 Emily a legal title to his name ; but this did not 
 move him to pity the youthful lover. 
 
 He sent the infant to Butler, accompanied with 
 a letter, calling down a malediction on his head. 
 With fiend-like malice he recounted the sufferings 
 of Emily — her agony on discovering his baseness 
 — her silence — her death. He sent him his 
 child — he prayed that he might cherish her, doat 
 on her ; and he hoped, that when his paternal 
 feelings and affections were most deeply excited, 
 she would choose that moment to sting him to 
 death. 
 
 In vain would I attempt to describe the feelings 
 of Walsingham on receiving the news of the loss 
 of his beloved Emily. For several months he 
 hovered on the brink of the grave ; but his child, 
 the child of his Emily, required his protecting 
 care. For her sake he tried to live, but years 
 elapsed before he attained even that pensive tran- 
 quiUity by which he was ever after distinguished.
 
 32 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 He vowed to live for Emily alone, and most 
 faithfully did he discharge the duties of a parent. 
 In her infant years Emily was his solace, in child- 
 hood his delight, and as time matured her mind, 
 he found in her mild gaiety and playful innocence, 
 a relief from the sorrow that corroded his heart. 
 The deepest wound which his peace had received, 
 was in the knowledge that his Emily had died be- 
 lieving him a practised villain, whose life had been 
 one continued scene of hypocrisy and guilt. She 
 believed that her injuries were premeditated. 
 This was the sting which neither time nor re- 
 pentance could extract. But even remorse could 
 not destroy the natural sweetness of his temper, 
 nor those kind affections with which he was so 
 amply endowed. Feeling within himself the bit- 
 ter fruits of guilt, his efforts to restrain his youth- 
 ful friends from the paths of vice were incessant ; 
 and many a widowed mother, in the solitude of 
 her chamber, pi-ay ed for a blessing on his head, 
 as the preserver of her son from those snares 
 and temptations with which a military life but too 
 much abounds. 
 
 During the childhood of his daughter. Colonel 
 Butler remained in the army ; but when her 
 opening mind required his more constant care, he 
 resigned his commission, and devoted himself to 
 the education of Emily, who was the counter- 
 part of her unfortunate mother.
 
 EMILY BUTLER. 33 
 
 While abroad, intelligence had reached him ot 
 the death of both his parents. His country was 
 distasteful to him, and he would probably have 
 remained on the continent, had he not been sum- 
 moned to take possession of a large estate which 
 had devolved to him from a distant relation, who 
 had entailed it on him and his heir, whether male 
 or female, and failing them, to another branch of 
 the family. This bequest was a source of great 
 uneasiness to Colonel Butler. Formerly no one 
 had any interest in questioning the right of his 
 daughter to his name ; but now, when such a 
 splendid fortune was at stake, the circumstances 
 of Emily's birth must be made known. But even 
 if it had been in his power to conceal what it 
 would have given him the acutest pain to have 
 publicly known. Colonel Butler's mind was too 
 upright to entertain for one moment the intention 
 of defrauding the legal heir. 
 
 Undecided in his plans, on visiting England 
 he retired to a secluded spot in Wales ; and 
 unable to resolve on again entering the busy 
 world, he Jhad lingered there from day to day, 
 till the pressing entreaties of Fane Vivian had 
 forced him, however unwillingly, to revisit Lon- 
 don.
 
 S4 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 There are they met — the young and fond— 
 
 That Buch should ever meet to part ! 
 
 One hour is theirs, and all beyond 
 
 A chaos of the heart :— 
 
 She hears him yet— his softest sigh^ 
 
 The breathing of his lowest word — 
 
 Sounds that, by her, beneath the sky, 
 
 Shall never more be heard. — T. K. Hervet. 
 
 Such was the tale to which Emily listened when 
 the first burst of her grief and dismay had abated. 
 Her mind was a chaos of conflicting emotions. 
 At one moment she viewed her father as the 
 author of all her misery ; in the next she wept 
 over his sufferings, recollected his repentance, his 
 contrition for one fatal error, his never-ceasing 
 love for her, his unwearied care. Renouncing 
 all the pleasures of the world, he had devoted 
 himself to promote the happiness of his daughter. 
 Emily deeply felt his kindness, and her heart
 
 EMILY BUTLER. 35 
 
 melted with pitying sympathy. But the recollec- 
 tion of Pembroke turned again the current of her 
 feelings. She loved, and was beloved ; but an 
 insuperable bar was now between them. She 
 never could be his. At this terrible reflection, 
 with difficulty could she suppress the cry of 
 agony which rose to her lips. Emily was new to 
 affliction, and she writhed and struggled under 
 the anguish which oppressed her. In this state 
 of mind did the evening hour find her, and then 
 came Pembroke. His countenance was pale, and 
 bore marks of recent suffering ; but he was calm, 
 until he saw the ravages which care had already 
 made on Emily, when approaching her, he 
 suddenly caught her to his breast, passionately 
 kissed her, and exclaimed, " My own Emily !" 
 Overcome by his emotion, her tears flowed with- 
 out restraint. Pembroke tried to compose her, 
 and by the tenderness of his looks and words 
 proved that his affection had suffered no diminu- 
 tion. He implored her to pardon his apparently 
 unfeeling conduct in the morning, saying, that he 
 was so much overwhelmed by the communication 
 made by Colonel Butler, he lost all command of 
 himself, and was scarcely conscious of his actions. 
 Gradually, however, he had become composed, 
 and able to reflect on all that had passed ; and he 
 had now returned to claim her love, and her pro- 
 mise to be his for ever.
 
 36 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 At the generosity of her lover the distress of 
 Emily redoubled. Now only did she feel the 
 value of what she had for ever lost, now only did 
 she taste the full bitterness of her trial. There 
 was no room for hope, her calamity was irreme- 
 diable, no human power could remove the cause 
 of her grief. 
 
 The pure disinterestedness of woman's love 
 marked out the path she must pursue. She must 
 resign him ; but every pulse of her bleeding heart 
 witnessed how firmly his image was fixed there. 
 
 The generosity of Pembroke was a balm to her 
 wounded mind, but honour forbade her to take 
 advantage of it. Imperious duty called on her to 
 crush that passion, which even now she felt more 
 deeply than ever. He concealed it from her ; but 
 so minutely was she acquainted with every turn 
 of his mind, she was perfectly aware, that even 
 feeling for her, as he did, a passionate attachment, 
 it must have cost him many struggles to bring 
 himself to resolve on fulfilling his engagement ; 
 and Emily thought she could bear any evil but 
 his repentance. 
 
 The stain on her birth never could be removed. 
 She perhaps could have borne the slights of an 
 unfeeling world ; but Pembroke, sensitive, of a 
 generous but quick spii'it, would be perpetually 
 fancying insult and contumely, and perhaps re- 
 garding her as the unhappy cause, might mourn in
 
 KMILV BUTLER. SJ 
 
 tlie bitterness of wounded pride his youthful folly. 
 This reflection steeled Emily against every argu- 
 ment urged by her lover. He offered to settle 
 abroad with her — all places would be alike to him. 
 She had lived so long on the continent, she would 
 feel as if returning to her native land ; and where- 
 ever she found happiness, there would he find his 
 country. For one short moment Emily gave her- 
 self up to the happiness this vision inspired, but 
 it passed rapidly away — it could not be. Pem- 
 broke had parents who merited his love, a coun- 
 try of which he was justly proud claimed his ser- 
 vices, and tenants and dependants from whom he 
 could not with justice withdraw his protecting 
 care and virtuous example. Emily listened to 
 him with the calmness of despair. She dwelt 
 upon his accents with unutterable affection, for 
 she felt that she was to be separated from him 
 for ever. 
 
 As Pembroke saw that she still suffered too 
 acutely from the recent shock to be susceptible of 
 comfort, he entreated her to seek the quiet of her 
 own apartment ; and after a tender farewell, he 
 tore himself from her. 
 
 Alone in her apartment, the torrent of her grief 
 burst forth. She was to lose Pembroke ; and 
 that alone, without the addition of a dishonoured 
 name, would have proved a deep affliction ; but 
 so to lose him, was a calamity beyond endurance. 

 
 38 TME t)DD VOLUME. 
 
 Happily for her miserable father, he could not 
 pierce the recesses of her heart : to have but sur- 
 mised her feelings, would have been punishment 
 sufficient even for his fault. From the indulgence 
 of her grief she w^as aroused by the entrance of a 
 domestic, w^ho had been long in the service of 
 Colonel Butler, who addressing herself to Emily, 
 gently asked if she would not go to her father, 
 who she feared was indisposed, as he appeared 
 much disturbed and agitated. At this account all 
 the better feelings of Emily returned ; and assum- 
 ing a composure foreign to her heart, she joined 
 her father, whom she found pacing his chamber 
 with disordered steps. On her approach he turn- 
 ed hastily round, embraced and kissed her, held 
 her in his arms, and implored her pardon for all 
 the misery he had entailed upon her. 
 
 It was now Emily's office to bestow comfort. 
 She returned his embrace, soothed and composed 
 him, and spoke to him with warm affection. 
 With their hearts full of the present distress, 
 their conversation naturally fell on it ; and in that 
 solemn hour were the affections of his child re- 
 stored to the unhappy father. Emily could not 
 deny that at present she suffered much, but she 
 allowed him to hope that she would gradually 
 become reconciled to her affliction. " Take 
 comfort, my child," said Colonel Butler, " in the 
 reflection that you are innocent, that you do not
 
 EMILY BUTLER. 39 
 
 suffer from remorse of guilt : what would I not 
 sacrifice to be free from the torturing recollection 
 that this is my work ?" 
 
 Finding herself exhausted, Emily requested 
 permission to withdraw ; and in the solitude of 
 her chamber she wept and prayed for fortitude 
 to bear the affliction which had fallen on her. 
 She slept, but horrible dreams disturbed her re- 
 pose ; and she welcomed a new day, in the vague 
 hope of finding some relief for her grief, some 
 cure for a broken heart. But no alleviation of 
 her misery awaited her. Again her lover im- 
 plored her to listen to him, to promise to be his. 
 The frenzy of Pembroke, on finding her deter- 
 mined to relinquish her engagement, completely 
 overcame the fortitude of Emily, who, exhausted 
 by his vehemence, though unconvinced by his argu- 
 ments, besought him to leave her, promising to 
 reflect on all that he had urged in favour of their 
 union. 
 
 As soon as Pembroke was gone, she entreated 
 her father to devise some means to release her 
 from importunities to which she ought not to 
 yield, and yet could with difficulty withstand ; 
 she could not endure to behold the misery of her 
 lover, and she herself was ready to sink under the 
 conflict. Admiring the high-minded and upright 
 principles of his daughter, Colonel Butler pro-
 
 40 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 fessetl himself ready to adopt any measure which 
 she should suggest. 
 
 At her next meeting with Pembroke, Emily 
 reminded him, that nothing could be resolved on 
 till he had secured the approbation of his parents, 
 without whose consent she never could be his. 
 Pembroke eagerly caught at this hope — he re- 
 lied much on his influence with them ; and if they 
 were ready to welcome his Emily, surely she 
 would no longer resist his wishes, and the still 
 more powerful pleadings of her own heart. 
 
 It was not till he found himself within the rich 
 domains of the Pembrokes, that Howard felt the 
 full difficulty of the task which he had undertaken 
 to accomplish. 
 
 A sudden turn of the road brought the abbey, 
 rich in Gothic grandeur, full in view. The rays 
 of the setting sun illuminated the sombre turrets, 
 and glanced gaily on the majestic oaks which 
 were scattered in profusion through the noble 
 park. In the distance, half hid by clustering 
 trees, stood the asylum for orphans, erected 
 for the shelter of those desolate beings by his 
 excellent mother. He looked again around. 
 The neat and comfortable appearance of the 
 cottages of the peasants showed the protecting 
 and liberal hand of his father, whose exertions to 
 promote the happiness of his people were un-
 
 EMILY BUTLEK. 41 
 
 ceasing, and who found in dieir unbounded love 
 and reverence a sweet reward for all his labours. 
 
 Removed from the immediate influence of 
 Emily, Pembroke could now more dispassionately 
 reflect on the difficulties of his situation. Every 
 object which met his view brought before him 
 some recollections connected with a father's care, 
 a mother's love. 
 
 They had watched, with that affection which 
 parents alone can feel, his infant steps ; and in 
 more mature years their efforts had been unfailing 
 to inspire him with a love of virtue, and to teach 
 him to relinquish at the call of duty the dearest 
 wishes of his heart. Fully aware of the influence 
 in society which usually accompanies a splendid 
 fortune and high descent, Mr. Pembroke had 
 early inculcated on the opening mind of his son, 
 the necessity and importance of giving a good 
 example to those who were ever ready to be 
 guided in their actions by the conduct of their 
 superiors. Under that spreading beech which 
 now threw its gigantic shadow across his path, 
 had he imbibed these noble lessons from the lips 
 of an adored parent ; but the recollection of these 
 precepts filled the heart of Pembroke with bitter 
 grief; and when he found himself received with 
 warm and confiding affection by his inestimable 
 parents, he slirunk from them as unworthy of 
 these caresses they were so eaffer to bestow. It
 
 42 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 was not the princely magnificence of his home, 
 the stately halls filled with a splendid retinue, 
 which rendered Pembroke for a moment unfaith- 
 ful to his Emily. If a spotless name had been her 
 only inheritance, with what transport would he 
 have presented to his noble mother a daughter so 
 worthy of her fondest love; but how could he ex- 
 pect her, how could he ask his virtuous father, to 
 bless his attachment, to sanction his union with 
 Emily ? Would he not by so doing break down 
 one of the barriers to vice and immorality? Did 
 the high minded honourable Pembrokes receive 
 into their family one of these unfortunates, who 
 within the sphere of their influence would hesitate 
 to follow their example, if circumstances rendered 
 it desirable ? And how could Pembroke inculcate 
 in his family a strict regard for morality and prin- 
 ciple, after having himself, by yielding to a fatal 
 passion, degraded his till then unsullied name ? 
 With thrilling agony he framed the answer which 
 would be returned to the question of. Who did 
 Howard Pembroke marry ? 
 
 Distraction was in the thought. 
 
 How many would be acquainted with the dis- 
 graceful circumstances of the connection, who 
 could not know the noble mind of Emily, nor that 
 their hearts were bound together before either 
 were aware that an almost insuperable bar opposed 
 their union. Deeply impressed with these reflec-
 
 EMILY BUTLKR. 43 
 
 tions, Pembroke would have torn his passion from 
 his heart, even if life itself had been the sacrifice, 
 if he alone could have been the victim ; but when 
 he thought of the sufferings of Emily, his heart 
 overflowed with tenderness and love, and he 
 ardently longed to shelter her from every evil in 
 his protecting arms. 
 
 Where should she rest her head, but upon that 
 bosom which beat with a passion as true and 
 generous as ever filled the breast of man ? Could 
 he abandon her to the contumely of the world ? 
 Could he, after exciting in her youthful and 
 innocent mind a pure attachment, leave her to 
 mourn alone, to weep, perhaps to die ? Never ! 
 He would brave every censure, and endure every 
 trial, rather than make that grievous sacrifice which 
 stern and rigid honour demanded of him. He 
 thought himself immoveable in this determination, 
 till some tender look from his mother, whom he 
 adored, or perhaps some words dropping accident- 
 ally from his father, expressive of his pride in the 
 unblemished honour of his virtuous son, revived 
 again these fierce struggles within his breast, 
 which he could with difficulty support or conceal. 
 
 These incessant conflicts at length impaired his 
 health, and shortly after his arrival occasioned a 
 degree of indisposition which seriously alarmed 
 his attached parents. They attended him with 
 unwearied care, and watched every look of that
 
 44 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 now languid countenance ; and the discerning 
 eye of Mr. Pembroke soon discovered that some 
 mental uneasiness preyed upon him. 
 
 " My son," said he, addressing him one day, after 
 having listened long in silence to his stifled sighs ; 
 " my only son, conceal not from me the cause of 
 the sorrow which consumes you; speak then, re- 
 veal your wishes, — I here solemnly engage to gra- 
 tify them, whatever they may be ; for well do I 
 know my Howard will ask nothing but what I 
 can with honour grant." A deep groan burst 
 from Pembroke. " Spare me, my dearest father, 
 spare me; a mortal anguish has indeed seized me, 
 and I am now called upon to show myself the son 
 of such a parent. I will put my fate into your 
 hands ; you will decide for me, and I here swear 
 to obey your mandate. I require your counsel, I 
 may also need your soothing tenderness to con- 
 sole and heal a wounded heart ; but give me 
 time, I cannot speak it yet." 
 
 All the father swelled in the breast of Mr. 
 Pembroke as he pressed his son's hand in his ; he 
 then withdrew to re-assure and compose the 
 alarmed mother. 
 
 Even this half confidence relieved the agitated 
 mind of Pembroke, who could now more calmly 
 look upon the future. He felt an unconquerable 
 reluctance to reveal his secret before his parents 
 had seen his Emily. He would persuade them to
 
 KMILY liUTLEU. 45 
 
 accompany him on a visit to Mrs. Howell, they 
 would there see the object of his devoted attach- 
 ment, and when they had perceived and appreci- 
 ated the beauties of her mind, all should then be 
 unfolded to them. Hearts so generous as theirs 
 could not be unmoved on hearing of her care for 
 his honour, of her noble rejection of his suit, and 
 of her reference to his parents, when an over- 
 whelming passion had caused him almost to forget 
 his sacred duty towards them. Revived by these 
 hopes, his strength rapidly returned ; and after 
 a short interval, the Pembrokes set out for the 
 hospitable mansion of Mrs. Howell. 
 
 They arrived at the seat of Mrs. Howell, which 
 Pembroke almost immediately left, and proceeded 
 to the cottage. The stillness which reigned around 
 smote upon his heart. He approached the house 
 — the windows were closed — the flower garden 
 looked neglected. Rooted to the spot, he gazed 
 around him, filled with terrible forebodings. The 
 door opened — he sprung forward ; again were his 
 steps arrested. It was a servant, who came to- 
 wards him with a letter in his hand. 
 
 Pembroke with difficulty articulated an in- 
 quiry for the family, and heard from the servant, 
 that two days after he had left them. Colonel 
 Butler and his daughter removed from the cot- 
 tage ; where they had gone he could not inform 
 him, but perhaps the letter might.
 
 46 I'HE ODD VOLUMK. 
 
 Pembroke motioned the servant to leave him, 
 and tearing open the letter, found it was from 
 Emily. It was a farewell ; and the anguish she 
 unconsciously betrayed, deeply affected the un- 
 happy Pembroke. 
 
 A regard for his honour, his happiness, had alone 
 dictated her conduct, for her attachment was un- 
 diminished ; but she was so convinced that a union 
 with her would make him miserable, nothing 
 on earth could induce her to accept his hand. 
 She prayed for his happiness, and conjured him 
 to look upon her as one dead to him; and by 
 turning to some other object worthy of his love, 
 to bestow and receive that happiness which he so 
 justly merited. 
 
 As soon as Pembroke recovered from the shock 
 which the perusal of this letter occasioned, he 
 wrote an almost incoherent note to his mother, 
 declaring that sudden and urgent business forced 
 him to absent himself for some time from her. 
 This duty completed, he had now to think only of 
 recovering Emily. Recollecting her partiality for 
 that part of the Continent where she had passed 
 her early years, he firstproceeded there — but there 
 Emily was not. Aware of the probability of Pem- 
 broke following them, Colonel Butler had used 
 every precaution to conceal their route; and while 
 Pembroke was travelling rapidly in one direction, 
 Emily and her father were proceeding in another.
 
 EMILV BITI.ER. 47 
 
 With that restlessness common to tlie unhappy, 
 Emily hurried from place to place ; but at length 
 her strength became exhausted, her frame weak- 
 ened, a violent illness followed, and the miserable 
 father for many days dreaded that every hour 
 would be her last. 
 
 But Emily recovered, and tried to be grateful 
 that her life had been spared. 
 
 While stretched on a bed of sickness, in al- 
 most momentary expectation of being called to 
 her great account, she examined her life, her 
 heart ; and now that the world was fast fading 
 from her view, she condemned herself for that 
 excessive attachment to earthly things, the disap- 
 pointment of which had brought her to the brink 
 of the grave. She had mourned too deeply over 
 her unfortunate situation — her lot was appointed 
 to her — she must submit in silent resignation. 
 
 In consequence of these salutary reflections, 
 Emily became serene and composed, and with 
 the purest joy did her attached father hail her 
 convalescence. She resumed her usual employ- 
 ments. Once more did her enchanting voice 
 pour forth strains of sublime beauty, again was 
 her pencil employed in tracing the scenes of 
 matchless loveliness with which they were sur- 
 rounded. She conversed too with her father, 
 and sometimes tried to smile ; but such smiles, 
 so full of woe, so lifeless, pierced her father with
 
 48 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 unutterable grief. He saw too plainly that the 
 blow was struck ; she might be spared to him for 
 a little while, but she could not long survive the 
 sudden deprivation of all she had loved and 
 valued most. 
 
 His fears were but too prophetic — symptoms 
 of decline appeared. Her anxious father watched 
 her looks, lived upon her words, and surrounded 
 her with every enjoyment for which she expressed 
 the slightest wish. Deeply moved by his parental 
 fondness, picturing to herself his desolate state 
 when she should be taken from him, it was now 
 only that Emily really wished to have her days 
 prolonged. 
 
 But it could not be, the fiat had gone forth, 
 her hours were numbered — they both felt it to be 
 so — and when her father gazed upon the wreck of 
 that once joyous being, and remembered that it 
 was his work, his sufferings would often become 
 too great for concealment, and he would rush 
 from her presence, and in solitude give vent to 
 the agony which tore his heart. 
 
 The search of Pembroke was long unsuccess- 
 ful ; but determined never to return without 
 Emily, he visited every place where there appear- 
 ed to be the least probability of finding her. At 
 length he arrived at Naples, where he had just 
 alighted, when he saw Colonel Butler enter a 
 house near which he stood. Surprise and joy
 
 EMILY BUTLER. 49 
 
 rendered him for a few moments immovable ; but 
 suddenly recovering, he quickly followed him, and 
 found himself in the presence of Emily, whose 
 piercing shriek bore witness, that in the haggard 
 and faded form before her she recognised that 
 lover from whom a cruel fate had separated her 
 for ever. 
 
 Pembroke looked on the countenance of his 
 beloved : Death was busy there. He advanced 
 to the couch, knelt beside her, and laid her head 
 on his bosom. No words were uttered by either ; 
 loud and convulsive sighs alone attested the exis- 
 tence of Emily. She raised her head, — her lips 
 moved, — Pembroke bent over her to catch the 
 sound : — " Be kind to my father." Her lover 
 clasped her more ardently to his breast, — she 
 faintly smiled, — and the sorrows of Emily Butler 
 were for ever hushed. 
 
 D
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID.
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF 
 
 FRF.DERICK BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE, 
 
 Fausl. In introducing us, do you assume 
 Tlie character of wizard or of devil ? 
 
 Mephistophehs. In truth, I generally go abcJut 
 In strict incognito. 
 
 Goethe's Faust. 
 
 In one of the German Hanse towns, about three 
 hundred years ago, there occurred the following 
 extraordinary event, which we have deemed worthy 
 
 of being recorded. 
 
 The old, pious, and celebrated Dr. Helfrad sat 
 late one autumn evening with his wife, Frau 
 Gertrude, before the blazing fire, in edifying con- 
 versation. Supper being over, they had sent the 
 servants to bed, because the good old people un- 
 willingly imposed restraint upon any one. The 
 doctor had just got to hand from the Convent of
 
 54) THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 Mariahulf, whence he had ordered it, a richly 
 illuminated devotional ms., and he could not 
 resist reading it aloud to his faithful companion, 
 his eyes being still as fresh and strong as those of 
 a young man of thirty years of age. Interested in 
 the sage reflections of the author, and particularly 
 in some beautiful hymns with which they were 
 interspersed, both husband and wife lifted up their 
 hearts in pious devotion. They talked over with 
 grateful feelings the events of their past lives, 
 looked forward with hope to the future, and con- 
 templated with joy the probable success of their 
 only son, a promising young painter, who at that 
 time was travelling through Italy. 
 
 The great clock of the adjoining cathedral had 
 tolled ten, the lights in the houses of most of tiie 
 citizens were already extinguished, but still the 
 doctor sat in his arm chair, with his silver clasped 
 parchment volume upon his knees; while Gertrude, 
 who had laid aside her spindle, seated herself 
 opposite to him, and with folded hands and eager 
 eyes listened to the discourse of her husband, at 
 intervals interrupting him with an approving nod 
 or smile. 
 
 It now struck hiilf-past ten, when the doctor 
 said, in great surprise, " Ah ! ah ! we have talked 
 to a very late hour ; 'tis not good when men's eyes 
 remain longer awake than the sun." 
 
 " There is no harm, husband," replied Ger-
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 55 
 
 trude, " if our thoughts are occupied with heavenly 
 things." 
 
 The old man rose from his seat, and began to 
 stir the fire, which still glimmered in the grate, 
 while he repeated the following words — " Even 
 in good things we must observe measure and mo- 
 deration." 
 
 At this moment a thundering knock was heard 
 at the gate. 
 
 " I come instantly," cried the doctor through 
 the window; and reaching a light, he said to 
 Gertrude, " Now it is well that we have remained 
 up so late, for if this is any sick person, the 
 quarter of an hour which I shall save may do 
 much good." 
 
 " Would it not be better," said Gertrude 
 anxiously, " to awaken one of the servants to 
 open the door ? who knows what is without ? the 
 night is no man's friend." 
 
 " This protects me," said Helfrad, smiling, 
 and taking his trusty old sword from the wall. 
 He then put into his pocket a small medicine 
 chest which he was accustomed to carry with him 
 when he visited the sick, and having put on his 
 cap and fur cloak, with the light in one hand, and 
 his good sword in the other, he left the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 Again the knocking was repeated more loudly 
 and impatiently, and the doctor exclaimed, while
 
 56 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 descending the few steps wliich led to the outer- 
 door, " Patience, patience; I am coining imme- 
 diately." 
 
 Gertrude, who lighted him out, whispered, 
 " Oh } husband, this lies like a weight at my 
 heart — if you would but awake one of the ser- 
 vants ; yield to this my request." 
 
 " Child," replied the doctor, " when 'tis 
 matters concerning myself, I willingly yield to 
 your advice, but when it is in the way of my pro- 
 fession, I don't care a bit for it." 
 
 The door being now opened, he again took his 
 lantern, which he had placed upon a projection 
 of the wall, stepped back a little, and holding it 
 before him, asked in a friendly voice, " Who is 
 there ? let him enter in the name of God, and say 
 how I can serve him." 
 
 The autumn wind rushed wildly through the 
 open door, and through the darkness of the night, 
 he saw in the circle which his lamp had described, 
 a black figure with an extraordinary high head- 
 dress, and clothed in a garb of flaming yellow. 
 
 With a loud scream Gertrude stacrgered back 
 to the apartment, while the old man also retreated 
 a few steps, and with his sword described a great 
 cross before his whole body. Then supporting 
 liimself upon his weapon, he said with a composed 
 voice, " In the name of God, tell me what is 
 your errand, and who sends you."
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 57 
 
 Tlie Moor, as if terrified at the appearance of 
 the stern old man, with lamp and sword, 
 trembled violently; but recovering himself, he 
 replied, " Quick with me to the inn of The Three 
 Crowns ; my master lies there ill of a dreadful 
 fever, which has attacked him so violently, that 
 unless you give him immediate assistance, it must 
 speedily end him." 
 
 " We shall see what can be done," replied 
 the doctor ; " from God and the profession man 
 may hope much." Upon which he trimmed his 
 lamp and stepped out of the house, calling to the 
 trembling Gertrude, " Shut the door, put out 
 the fire, leave all things in order ; go to bed, and 
 don't be afraid. I have the key of the door with 
 me, and I go under the protection of God. And 
 you, strange messenger," he continued, turning 
 to the Moor, " go you before me, and walk 
 quickly, that we may soon reach the place." 
 
 As they walked hurriedly along the dark and 
 narrow streets, the doctor almost shuddered as he 
 looked at the tall, black, and fiery yellow figure 
 which marched before him like an enormous 
 wandering flame. Then the old man murmured 
 to himself, " Certainly this is not the pillar 
 of fire of Moses which goes before me ; but 
 never mind, God can bring good out of every 
 
 thincf 
 
 
 The Moor now began to walk a little slower;
 
 58 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 and as the doctor urged him on, he replied in a 
 not unpleasant voice, " Old gentleman, I have 
 seen your hoary hair, and your white beard, and 
 think this pace must be fatiguing for you." 
 
 " 'Tis good that you should think so, my son," 
 replied the doctor ; " but don't mind that, I walk 
 as fresh and as swift as the gayest young man." 
 
 " Ha ! ha !" said the Moor, and broke out into 
 a loud fit of laughter ; " then let us bet who can 
 run fastest. On then — we shall see who will first 
 reach the inn." 
 
 " Speak not in such an improper manner," said 
 the doctor. " A grave German citizen knows 
 nothing of such grimace and levity. I walk as 
 God permits ; as it seems most proper tc myself : 
 any thing unbecoming, I would not do for the 
 sake of the Emperor himself." 
 
 *' We should, however, reach the place sooner," 
 said the Moor, with another shout, which re- 
 sounded through the dark and deserted streets. 
 
 " Keep silence," exclaimed the doctor, in a 
 serious and angry tone ; and the Moor shrunk 
 within himself, and went quickly and silently on 
 before. 
 
 On reaching The Three Crowns, they found it 
 lighted up, and the whole house in commotion, so 
 that the doctor began to think they held a sump- 
 tuous feast there ; but on entering, he remarked 
 that every countenance was pale with terror, and
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 59 
 
 the servants running up and down in disorder ; 
 and through a little window he saw the landlord 
 and his whole family praying on their knees before 
 a crucifix. 
 
 The doctor asked whether the sick gentleman 
 still lived. 
 
 " If you have the courage to go to him," replied 
 a servant, " there is the stair — turn to the left 
 hand ; but you cannot mistake it, for his dreadful 
 bowlings and blasphemies make our very hair 
 stand on end; we fear we have harboured the devil, 
 or at least one of his familiars." 
 
 At this moment a hollow cry reached them 
 from a distant part of the building, and conquer- 
 ing his terror, the doctor went up stairs. The 
 Moor with a bound got before him, and he heard 
 him run to the Invalid. The doctor followed him 
 along the narrow passage, which was only lighted 
 by a half extinguished lamp. It was indeed im- 
 possible to go wrong, for from an inner apart- 
 ment there issued such dreadful bowlings, that 
 one would have thought them the roarings of a 
 lion, had not the revolting blasphemies too surely 
 attested that they proceeded from a being endow- 
 ed with reason. Before the fearful door the doc- 
 tor prayed most fervently to God, and making 
 the sign of the holy cross, he boldly passed the 
 threshold.
 
 60 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 A Jazzling light met his view, for from every 
 corner of the apartment there blazed a multitude 
 of tapers. Darkness seemed banished from every 
 part of it with the most anxious care, as if it 
 were considered one of the worst of evils. 
 
 Upon a couch-bed opposite the door, and in 
 the arms of the Moor, a figure lay extended, in a 
 singularly magnificent dress. First he convulsive- 
 ly stretched out a foot with an enormous purple 
 shoe, then an arm made its appearance from 
 under its ample dark folds, in a Spanish sleeve 
 with blood-red slashes. The doctor felt as if this 
 was no earthly being. Inquiringly he approached ; 
 but one look at the strange figure had nearly 
 sent him back in terror, having observed that 
 there was a mask on the sick man's face. The 
 Incognito with much effort at length became 
 quiet, which seemed occasioned by a few words 
 which the Moor whispered in his ear, and in 
 a languajre which the learned doctor had never 
 heard before. 
 
 " Sir," said the doctor, " you must remove the 
 mask — the sick man's face is the doctor's book." 
 
 The Invalid shook his head and was silent. 
 
 " Does your master understand me?" continued 
 the doctor, addressing the Moor. " Shall I speak 
 to him in Latin or in Greek ?" 
 
 " He can speak every language," replied the
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 6l 
 
 Moor ; " you might have heard him swearing in 
 them all as you came in ; but it will be as well to 
 leave the mask in its place." 
 
 "Ah ! you know nothing at all about the matter," 
 rejoined the doctor ; " pray take it off." 
 
 " Do you wish to become mad ?" exclaimed the 
 Invalid in a dreadful voice, and raising himself 
 convulsively upon the bed. " Whoever looks on 
 it becomes indeed mad ; but if thou wilt have woe 
 upon thee, then have it — have it. I often threaten 
 my servant with it when enraged at him ; but have 
 thy wish — have it !" And with these words 
 he began to undo the ribbon. The Moor, 
 however, with a shriek fell upon his knees, now 
 entreating his master, now the doctor, to desist 
 from their purpose ; beseeching the former not to 
 drive to madness the good physician who had 
 come to his assistance, and assuring the latter, 
 that he himself had never seen his master's face, 
 and only knew it was the most terrible sight in 
 the world. 
 
 The Incognito quitted the ribbon of the mask, 
 and again fell back upon the couch. The doctor 
 with a shudder yielded to the entreaties of the 
 Moor. As he felt the pulse of the patient, and 
 bent over him to observe his breathing, to his 
 horror and amazement, two fiery glowing eyes 
 glared out upon him from under the mask. From 
 the arm, hand, and figure of the patient, the
 
 62 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 learned doctor knew that he had a strong, ner- 
 vous, but very emaciated man, of about sixty 
 years of age, before him ; and going to his medi- 
 cine chest, he began to prepare a salve by the 
 flame of two wax tapers ; and while it was warm- 
 ing, he mixed a refreshing draught. 
 
 " You require a vessel," said the Moor, opening 
 a splendid cabinet, in which were glasses, phials, 
 and retorts in great abundance, and all of the 
 finest and best workmanship. Some metal flasks 
 stood near, of such singular forms, that the doc- 
 tor, who never had seen any thing resembling 
 them, could not comprehend their use. He there- 
 fore replied, " My son, this cabinet looks a little 
 strange to me ; I only meddle with things which 
 I perfectly understand, and of which I can give 
 a proper account to God and to man. You may 
 shut the cabinet — I can do quite well with my own 
 utensils." 
 
 The Moor at this moment dashed down the 
 lid of the cabinet; for his frightful mastfer up- 
 braided him, saying — " Silly fool, you are always 
 so ready to boast of the little you know ;" and im- 
 mediately his malady returned with such violence, 
 as completely overturned his composure, and the 
 dreadful bowlings were again renewed. Blas- 
 phemies, in almost every language, rolled through 
 the mask ; but the most fearful of all were those 
 in the unknown tongue, and which seemed to be
 
 THE MYSTKUIOUS INVALID. (>3 
 
 allied to all the terrors of the iiuknowii's counte- 
 nance. The Moor held his master in his arms, 
 sometimes trembling in every limb, and sometimes 
 stamping wildly on the ground, or joining in the 
 curses of the Invalid. 
 
 Meanwhile the doctor, who was busy with his 
 occupation, hummed with a cheerful countenance 
 a pious hymn. It was like a midnight storm 
 rolling over the earth, and chasing before it the 
 black and fugitive clouds ; and the moon shining 
 again in undisturbed and smiling beauty from the 
 heavens. 
 
 Draught and salve being now ready, the pious 
 doctor approached his fearful patient, saying, 
 " Restrain your wild nature, for without that, 
 even God will not help man." And whilst he 
 gave him the drink, and rubbed his hollow temples 
 and breast with the healing salve, he repeated 
 some devout sayings in regard to the ways of God 
 and the errors of man, all of which referred to 
 his present occupation. 
 
 As long as the pain raged in the sick man's 
 limbs, he was passive to all that the doctor did 
 and said ; but hardly was the agony mitigated, ^nd 
 life had begun to flow calmly through his veins, 
 when he said, in a proud and peevish manner, 
 " I believe, friend, you may as well cease ; for 
 your longwinded tiresome sayings and allegories 
 are quite thrown away upon me."
 
 64 "-- THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 <( 
 
 I hope not," replied the worthy doctor, 
 smiling, and continuing his occupation and edi- 
 fying sayings without intermission. 
 
 " Mock him dumb then, Negromarte," said 
 the Invalid to the Moor; but the Moor threw 
 down his eyes as if abashed, and remained im- 
 movable. " What hast thou promised? why art 
 thou here?" exclaimed the dreadful one. " Wouldst 
 thou shamefully turn back half way ?" 
 
 The Moor collected himself a moment, and 
 then began to pour out a torrent of blasphemous 
 scoffings and taunts on the pious doctor ; who, 
 however, continued calmly to administer relief to 
 the sufferer, at intervals repeating his well-meant 
 sayings. 
 
 Suddenly raising his head, however, and darting 
 a serious look at the masked stranger, without 
 shrinking from his fiery glance, he said, " Man, 
 were I to withdraw my assistance from thee, 
 where wouldst thou be three hours hence ?" 
 
 " Thou shall not make a convert of me !" 
 murmured the unknown, in a haughty tone. 
 
 " 'Tis the more necessary," answered Doctor 
 Helfrad, " that you preserve the little life which 
 still remains." 
 
 " You surely will not abandon nie for the sake 
 of a jest," muttered the Invalitl, "for then you 
 would be a sorry performer of your word."
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 6J 
 
 " Listen then to me once for all," rejoined the 
 doctor ; " let but yourself or your servant ao-ain 
 talk so impiously of those things which every 
 Christian considers sacred, and that moment I 
 turn my back upon you, and all the gold of Africa 
 and India will not bring me back again. Make 
 me, if you will, the object of your mockery; it will 
 not ruffle my temper more than is pardonable. 
 See here are my wrinkled countenance, my white 
 head and beard — these I should think would fur- 
 nish sufficient buts for such archers as you appear 
 to be." 
 
 This was said in so composed a manner, that 
 neither of them had a word to reply; and now 
 that his sufferings were relieved, the Invalid, 
 quite exhausted, sunk into repose. 
 
 The doctor left the necessary instructions with 
 the Moor in regard to his master ; and the whole 
 house as well as the sick person being now quiet, 
 he returned in deep thought home. 
 
 Frau Gertrude lay in calm slumber, to which, 
 trusting in God, she had resigned herself, and 
 awoke next morning as the doctor at break of 
 day was softly leaving the chamber. " Good 
 heavens, where are you going?" inquired she, 
 " Do you mean to ruin your health ?" 
 
 " No," replied the doctor with a friendly 
 smile ; " I mean, on the contrary, to re-establish 
 
 E
 
 06 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 that of the Invalid to whom 1 was called yester- 
 night. I am just now going in search of those 
 herbs for him whicli are best gathered at the 
 dawn : detain me not, therefore, dear Gertrude. 
 I see that, woman-like, you are anxious to know 
 the stranger's name ; but I have no time, and even 
 if I had, I do not know it myself." So bidding 
 her a friendly good morning, he went out sing- 
 ing to the neighbouring meadow, where he might 
 have been taken for a young man gathering a 
 nosegay for his beloved, rather than for an old 
 doctor in search of healing herbs for a patient. 
 
 As the doctor had expected, the stranger 
 grew worse towards noon ; but what appeared 
 most puzzling, was a mysterious hissing and howl- 
 ing sound, which sometimes, as if borne on invi- 
 sible wings, rushed threw the sick-room. The 
 Mask and the Moor evinced on these occasions 
 great terror ; but the former often raised his 
 clenched fist, and then for a moment all was 
 still. 
 
 " Sir," said the doctor, " I know not whom 
 you have about you, but as you seem to have no 
 power over them yourself, I must try what I can 
 do to put them to flight." 
 
 Instantly the sounds were renewed more vio- 
 lently than ever, upon which the patient whisper- 
 ed, " Master, you would do prudently not to med- 
 dle in this matter." But the old doctor shouted
 
 THE JMYSTEKIOUS INVALID. (JT 
 
 with a loud and powerful voice, " Ye infernal 
 rabble, be quiet as long as an honest serious man 
 like me is in the room — this I command you in 
 the name of God, and if you don't obey, some- 
 thing more severe will befal you." In a moment 
 all was so quiet, that one might have heard the 
 tread of a mouse. 
 
 " I have shown you, Sir," said tiie doctor, 
 with a cordial smile, " how such as these can be 
 brought to peace." 
 
 " Do you know them then ?" said the Mask 
 timidly. 
 
 " What is there to know ?" replied the doc- 
 tor ; " I know nothing of such a crew ; but if man 
 walks in God's ways, and speaks in His name, all 
 that is evil must fly before him." 
 
 " Is the way so near, so straight, and so 
 sure ?" murmured the stranger ; " and can such 
 
 homeliness -" but checking himself, he turned 
 
 round towards the wall as if he w^ould sleep, and 
 the doctor left the apartment. 
 
 On the doctor's return in the evening, he 
 found the domestics in as great disorder as the 
 day before, and he listened if the dreadful bowl- 
 ings were renewed ; but he was soon aware of the 
 great difference betwixt this and the previous up- 
 roar. Preparations were making for a sumptuous 
 feast. In the kitchen blazed a flaming fire, from 
 which there issued such savoury vapours, that one
 
 68 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 would have imagined they were preparing a wed- 
 ding entertainment. Servants ran down stairs 
 with empty bottles, and others flew up with full 
 ones ; and as the doctor proceeded to the apart- 
 ment of the stranger, the words of a jovial drink- 
 ing song reached his ear. 
 
 On entering, and shaking his head, he found 
 some young citizens assembled around a magnifi- 
 cent repast. The Moor was seated in the midst 
 of them, and from his mouth proceeded the wild 
 but not unpleasing song, at the end of every verse 
 of which the others joined in chorus. Upon his 
 bed the Mask lay extended, and laughed so 
 horridly, that even the half-intoxicated youths 
 shuddered and looked at him with terror ; but 
 the ringing of glasses, and the noisy songs, again 
 drew their attention back to the wild revel. 
 
 No one observed the presence of the pious 
 doctor but the Invalid, who was so much amused 
 at his astonished look and shaking head, that he 
 shouted out in peals of laughter. 
 
 At length the doctor stepped up to them, say- 
 ing, " What an impious business is here ?" And 
 without waiting a reply, he took the bottles one 
 after another from the table, and also the victuals, 
 and carried them carefully out of the room. " I 
 had nearly," he added, " been tempted to throw 
 them out of the window ; but the gifts of God are 
 not to blame."
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 69 
 
 " Old man, art thou mad ?" cried the Mask ; 
 " thinkest thou that I have tasted a mouthful of 
 these things ? Do you take me for a fool, that 
 for the sake of tickling my palate for three hours, 
 I would throw away my life ?" 
 
 " One cannot know," said the Doctor, still 
 continuing his occupation; " but I apprehend you 
 have done a more foolish thing. Is life not less 
 compared with eternity, than three hours compar- 
 ed with life ? Fortunately, such actions can be 
 cancelled as long as a human being stands on this 
 side of the grave." 
 
 Having now completely cleared the table, he 
 placed himself before the amazed citizens, saying, 
 " You thoughtless boys, go quickly home, and 
 humbly beg your honest parents to chastise you 
 soundly, in order that you may think of it when 
 you are again invited to such a scene of gluttony ; 
 tell those also below, that no waiter dare to come 
 again with such things here ; and let the cook in- 
 stantly extinguish her blazing fire. And now 
 march off." 
 
 With crimsoned faces and hanging heads the 
 young men slunk out of the apartment, while the 
 doctor muttered in his beard, " That red colour 
 suits you well, foolish folks ; it is a livery which 
 shows you still serve a good master." 
 
 Meanwhile the Mask, who had recovered him- 
 self, again attempted to terrify and tame the old
 
 70 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 man by his dreadful and impetuous passion. But 
 his imprecations died upon his tongue, as the 
 doctor said, " Thou man, say nothing to me 
 against God, — a judge of life and death stands 
 before you." 
 
 Gloomily the Invalid threw himself down upon 
 his bed, and from that evening neither he nor 
 Negromarte dared farther to rebel against so 
 severe but useful a physician. 
 
 The latter so conscientiously gave up his 
 whole time to his patient, that he was constantly 
 employed either in consulting old medical books, 
 or in gathering herbs in the meadow, or in pray- 
 ing to God for help and direction. 
 
 One day his wife, Frau Gertrude, who had 
 heard what a fearful guest the inn of The Three 
 Crowns harboured, asked her husband why he 
 should sacrifice his own precious health for the 
 sake of a godless wicked man. 
 
 " Wife," replied her husband, " a sick person 
 is a sick person : — the Judge, whether or not he 
 deserves to be recovered, is on high, and not the 
 doctor ; but this much I know, that no one stands 
 more in need of a prolongation of life than that 
 poor erring mortal." And taking his cap and 
 mantle, he once more bent his steps to the inn of 
 The Three Crowns. 
 
 Before the door of the Invalid he found Negro- 
 marte sitting upon a bencli, and busily employed
 
 
 THE MYSTKKIOUS INVALID. 7I 
 
 in drawing, who motioned to him that his master 
 slept. " That is good," said the doctor, as he 
 seated himself by the Moor, to be in readiness 
 when the patient awoke ; and he began to examine 
 the drawing. It rejoiced the doctor much to see a 
 well drawn and elegant copy of Saint George, as 
 it was cut in stone over the door of the neighbour- 
 ing cathedral. 
 
 " Do not mention this picture to my master," 
 whispered Negroni arte. 
 
 Why not, young man ?" said the doctor ; 
 
 thou hast done a praiseworthy thing, and the 
 whole world may know of it : — I say this as an 
 honest man. But I tell you plainly, one thing 
 displeases me in your sketch. Why hast thou 
 not drawn the wonderfully beautiful sword which 
 hangs upon the side of the saint ?" 
 
 Negromarte replied, that that was a matter of 
 indifference ; and as he observed the doctor was 
 preparing an angry expostulation, to turn his 
 thoughts into another channel, he quickly brought 
 a portfolio, and began to show him many other 
 beautiful paintings and sketches. The good doc- 
 tor looked at most of them with great delight, 
 but put others aside without paying them any 
 attention. 
 
 " Why do you not look at these admirable 
 drawings ?" said Negromarte ; " they are exact
 
 72 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 copies from the most celebrated monuments of 
 old Grecian art." 
 
 " Friend," replied the doctor, " in painting I 
 only understand what is German, and Italian only 
 so far as it is allied to our mother tongue ; — these 
 learned things I put aside, just as an ignorant 
 man does my Greek and Latin books. But who- 
 ever wishes to practise the fine arts, must first 
 become learned therein ; and for this purpose I 
 have sent my only son to travel through Italy, 
 that he may there lay a proper foundation for the 
 superstructure which, with Qod's help, he may 
 erect in his own fatherland, in producing, as a 
 powerful native painter, many beautiful models for 
 the improvement of his fellow-creatures. Thou, 
 who art a fellow artist, hast thou not met him any 
 where ? he is called Freimund." 
 
 " Ah ! Freimund ?" said Negromarte ; " yes, I 
 know him well." And he began to relate in what 
 high estimation the young artist was held by the 
 Venetian, Florentine, and Roman masters, and 
 that the Italian nobility considered it an honour 
 to associate with him, and many other honourable 
 and gratifying things. 
 
 " I trust he wont get intoxicated with it," sigh- 
 ed Helfrad. " True, behind his back I may say, 
 that he took an angelic mind with him from this ; 
 and God grant, among so many beautiful pictures,
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 73 
 
 that he may preserve it. His mother and I pray 
 day and night for that. Ah ! my dear Moor, 
 thou hast, with thy intelhgencc, made my heart 
 right glad, and I wish the more that you had not 
 left out the sword of Saint George ; for, in the 
 first place, a sword is at no time a secondary mat- 
 ter to a man, as you supposed a little while ago ; 
 and then it has, in this picture, distinctly the form 
 of a cross. I hope that my son never omits a cross 
 on die sword of his picture. Hear me, my dear 
 Moor — you serve a strange master — I hope in 
 God you have not already sworn never to paint a 
 cross?" 
 
 The Invalid now moved in the apartment, and 
 the doctor was obliged to go to him without wait- 
 ing his reply. 
 
 A short time afterwards the Moor presented to 
 him the sketch of Saint George, saying, " Keep 
 this in remembrance of me — see, I have dared 
 to add the sword." And as the noble weapon 
 hung distinctly in the form of a cross from the 
 side of the heavenly knight, the old man kindly 
 pressed the hand of the Moor, took the painting, 
 and felt much delighted with the present. 
 
 As the doctor went out early each morning in search 
 of herbs, he frequently observed in tlie meadow a 
 lovely slender girl, with a pale interesting counte- 
 nance, who, in a modest and respectful manner, 
 kept close to, and assisted him in his occupation, just
 
 y4 1"HE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 as a well nurtured daughter would have done to her 
 father. She had dexterously observed what herbs 
 he particularly wanted, and had also kept their 
 peculiar properties in mind ; for the doctor, upon 
 her inquiring why he was searching for them with 
 so much care himself, when they might be got 
 from the laboratory, had given her the following 
 answer : — " My sweet child, in buying a horse, an 
 ox, or a dog, are we satisfied with knowing that 
 the animal is a horse, an ox, or a dog ? We in- 
 quire the properties and powers of each animal. 
 How then should I take at random dried herbs, 
 of which it cannot be said at what season they 
 were gathered, still less at what time of day, 
 and of which I cannot properly calculate the 
 effects ?" 
 
 One beautiful morning, as the pious doctor and 
 his lovely assistant, having finished their employ- 
 ment, were resting themselves under the shade 
 of some lime-trees, in pleasing conversation, the 
 doctor, turning to his companion, said, " It is now 
 time that I should ask, and that you should an- 
 swer me, thou sweet maiden, how one of your sex 
 can take such wonderful delight only in listening. 
 Open then your pretty mouth, and relate to me 
 something of yourself; but first of all, tell me your 
 name. Were it not for the melancholy paleness 
 of your countenance, and a slight foreign accent, 
 from which one may perceive that you are the
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 7<5 
 
 native of another countrv, I should almost, with- 
 out inquiry, assert that your name is Angel, thou 
 graceful apparition, so full of all humility and 
 beauty." 
 
 " I know not, dear father, how you should think 
 so," replied the maiden, while a faint blush tinged 
 her lily cheeks ; " but in your good German lan- 
 guage I am really called Angel. In Italy I was 
 christened Angela." 
 
 " Indeed ! were you then born in that beautiful 
 flower-garden, Italy ?" asked the old man. " And 
 what has blown you over the high Alps to us 
 here?" 
 
 " No spring-wind full of hope," replied the 
 maiden, " but a cold autumnal blast, which 
 stripped the leaves from my flowers. In this 
 country 1 hope to lead a quiet pious winter, and 
 if to me the eternal spring shall dawn, then shall 
 I step peacefully among the never-fading blossoms 
 of heaven. I dwelt with my old widowed mother, 
 in a grove of laurel not far from the holy city of 
 Rome, and we led there a contented quiet life, re- 
 mote from all the world. We never went into the 
 town, which, with its ancient temples and palaces, 
 lay before us, and seemed to me a continuation of 
 the half-broken pillars and walls which stood in 
 our own grove, under whose shade I read with so 
 much pleasure many pious books, and some beau- 
 tiful historical works, which my late father left
 
 76 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 behind him. Now it happened that a young 
 German painter came to our laurel grove, in order 
 to sketch the ruins. My mother treated him with 
 hospitality for several days, and as he was beau- 
 tiful as an angel, and at that time innocent, I 
 became attached to him with my whole heart. 
 After some time, he asked me in marriage, and 
 with my mother's consent I became his betrothed 
 bride. He now wished to carry us to Germany ; 
 and on my expressing some fear of the cold distant 
 country beyond the high mountains, he began to 
 tell me many pleasing things of it, and also taught 
 me your language. Whether it was that my 
 whole soul hung upon him, or the attractive charm 
 which your country has for every one who hears 
 about it, I know not, but in all my dreams your 
 German oaks and lime-ti'ees, with the immeasur- 
 able verdure of your extensive forests, waved be- 
 fore me, and the calm pure mirrors of your mighty 
 rivers rolled nobly and peacefully among them. 
 From my lips soon flowed the heroic, and love- 
 songs of your great poets, and all day long I was 
 absorbed in the delightful picture which my 
 bi'idegroom had drawn of your German warriors, 
 your pious men, and your modest women. But 
 the more I wished to visit this land of true love, 
 which was so attractive to me, the seldomer my 
 bridegroom spoke of our journey, and with glowing 
 words began to praise the superior magnificence
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 77 
 
 of Italy ; and at length he gave me clearly to un- 
 derstand, that he thought of spending his days in 
 that earthly paradise. I was therefore obliged 
 to submit, and only prayed him to paint me 
 nothing but German pictures. On asking him if 
 his parents were dead, of whom he used to speak 
 so highly, for their kindness in allowing him to 
 bring home a foreign bride, if Heaven directed 
 his heart that way, provided she was virtuous 
 and good ; he answered with a smile, that for any 
 thing he knew, his parents were quite well ; but 
 that they led a very monotonous life, and that I 
 should soon know a much better than I had 
 hitherto done. 
 
 " I was startled at this reply, but was inclined 
 to attribute it to the effects of the wine which he 
 was now in the practice of drinking at Rome, 
 where he went almost daily. The German pic- 
 tures, and images of saints, now disappeared 
 from his studies ; and he only copied from the 
 antiques of heathen times, and laughed at me 
 when I requested such pictures as had employed 
 his pencil in his early and happy days. ' These 
 are only childish trifles,' said he ; ' but now I walk 
 in the only right way of Nature and divine free- 
 dom.' I however could perceive nothing divine 
 in this way ; on the contrary, I often found in his 
 possession such immodest pictures, that I no lon- 
 ger ventured to enter his study. My good mo-
 
 78 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 ther, God be praised, remarked not liis change, 
 and died in peace and hope, once more solemnly 
 blessing us ; but alas ! with what cold, unsatisfy- 
 ing, worldly consolation did this once so good 
 young man wound my heart. He now wished 
 to carry me immediately to Rome, and as I would 
 upon no account consent to it, he went there him- 
 self, to prepare, as he said, our future dwelling. 
 But many moons passed away, and still I heard 
 not from him. At length I ventured into that 
 great City of the World, and passed through the 
 unwonted crowd, tears of anxiety in my eyes, to- 
 wards the dwelling which he had often described, 
 and once painted for me. I stood before the ele- 
 gant building, which appeared to smile on me 
 with its splendid windows; and with equal friend- 
 ly greeting the golden oranges glanced out of the 
 dark leaves, and from between luxuriant flowers. 
 Nevertheless I thought I must be deceived, and 
 that this could not be my bridegroom's dwelling, 
 for the sounds of riotous orgies reached my ears, 
 and then again in another tone came soft and 
 delicious music from many voices. I had nearly 
 turned away for ever, but I loved him as myself, 
 and I thought it was God's command to recover 
 the lost one ; so with confidence and prayer I as- 
 cended the marble steps, and entered the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " The revellers were startled at my appearance,
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 79 
 
 being in deep mourning for my mother ; and in 
 the stilhiess which reigned I stepped up to my 
 bridegroom, who was crowned with a chaplet of 
 roses and perfumed with costly essences, and re- 
 minded him of time and eternity, of the world, and 
 of God. At first he appeared touched and alarmed, 
 but the torrent of his passions soon effaced my 
 words from his heart, and he began to extol the 
 cheerful and happy life of an artist, and had the 
 boldness to invite me to join them, praising 
 my beauty in glowing terms. Then I left him, 
 and I have never seen him since ; but I hear he 
 is the favourite of a powerful prince, with whom 
 he is now travelling in Greece. My little pro- 
 perty I have converted into money, and I am 
 now on a pilgrimage to beautiful Germany, hav- 
 ing transferred my love to it in place of my poor 
 bridegroom, and I hope that it will not be lost to 
 me as he is lost." 
 
 The maiden now wiped the tears from her eyes, 
 and the old man said, " God forbid that Ger- 
 many should be lost to you, or to any angel." Then 
 in a low and almost inaudible voice he continued, 
 " Tell me freely, dear child, is not your bride- 
 groom called Freimund ?" 
 
 " Oh God ! yes," she replied, weeping bitterly ; 
 " and since you ask the question, are you indeed 
 his father, the celebrated Doctor Helfrad, who
 
 80 THE ODD VOLUME, 
 
 lives in this town ? I have long thought so, but 
 had not courage to ask." 
 
 " In truth I am," said the old man, " as my 
 broken heart sufficiently testifies." 
 
 Then Angela kneeled down weeping on the 
 grass, while the old man laid both his hands upon 
 her dark locks, and blessed her. After a little 
 while he said : 
 
 " Dost thou then love Freimund no more !" 
 
 " Oh heavens !" she replied, " how can I help 
 loving him?" 
 
 " Then, Angela," said the old man, " we 
 will now and in future pray often for him ;" 
 and he knelt down beside her on the grass. 
 Stretching out their hands to heaven, in low and 
 at first scarcely articulate tones they prayed 
 together, which gradually becoming louder and 
 louder, they were at last interrupted by the vio- 
 lent sobbing of a third person near them ; and on 
 turning round they beheld the Moor weeping 
 bitterly, and busily employed in washing his face 
 in a neighbouring brook. The Moor now raised 
 himself up, and looked at them — the brook and 
 his tears had washed away the fearful blackness 
 from his countenance — the high flaming yellow 
 turban fell on the grass, and in its place fair 
 golden ringlets flowed over his temples. It was 
 Freimund, who in sorrowful confusion sunk M'eep-
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 81 
 
 ing on his kness before his father and his bride, 
 exclaiming, " Oh God, oh God ! they pray for 
 me, and I tear their hearts !" 
 
 " But thou wilt heal them again," said Angela, 
 bending over him soothingly. 
 
 The old man gave him his hand, and raising 
 him, said, " If our heavenly Father receives the 
 prodigal son who returns to him, what should a 
 poor earthly father not do?" Upon which he 
 warmly embraced him, and returned thanks to 
 God for hearing his prayers. Then addressing 
 Freimund, " Take courage," said he, " as a man, 
 and relate to us briefly what brought you and the 
 fearful Invalid together, and how it now stands 
 with you." 
 
 " Father," replied Freimund, " I found him 
 in the subterraneous vaults of an old palace ; and 
 on my appearing terrified at his mask, he spoke 
 to me kindly, and conducted me through secret 
 passages, to some splendid statues, such as I had 
 never before beheld. He first bound me to him 
 by mysterious arts, and then by his knowledge 
 of the joyous lives of the ancient Greeks ; and 
 urging me to imitate their mode of life, poured 
 more gold into my hands than I knew how to 
 use. But he also taught me more baneful prac- 
 tices, and I became the most dissolute and effe- 
 minate voluptuary in Rome. Nor was I satisfied 
 
 F
 
 82 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 with the visible world. I began to knock at the 
 gate of futurity ; not that it might enhghten 
 me, but that it might be subservient to my base 
 purposes. Connected, as you must have re- 
 marked he is, with powerful spirits, and having 
 secured me in his toils, my terrible guide now 
 wished me to become partaker of all his seci'ets, 
 and to aid him in bringing under his subjection 
 man and nature, as the Grecian deities in old times 
 had done." 
 
 The old man here crossed both himself and 
 his son, saying, " Then you voluntarily fled 
 from all that is holy?" 
 
 " But," continued Freimund, " I was to be- 
 gin with abjuring country, kindred, and religion — 
 and disguised as you have seen me, to become 
 his servant, under the hated name of Negromarte, 
 till the time of my trial was past, when with a 
 new form of perfect beauty, I was to assume a 
 divine appellation. Even my conductor would be- 
 come young again, and laying aside his mask, 
 his countenance would be relieved from that hi- 
 deous deformity which a spell has thrown over 
 it. On this terrible probation we came into this 
 good town, to try if I were abandoned enough, 
 under a strange disguise, to ridicule father, mo- 
 ther, and home ; then I was to renounce that Be- 
 ing in whom the learned heathens do not believe.
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 83 
 
 — Oil ! God be praised, who threw the dreadful 
 one upon a sick bed, and saved me from the aw- 
 ful fate into which I was about to be plunged !" 
 
 Again they knelt down, and father and bride 
 joined with him in earnest prayer. 
 
 " Carry the bride home," said Helfrad, " and 
 present her to your mother, to whom you must 
 relate all." 
 
 "All !" sighed Freimund; " ah ! if one might but 
 conceal this misery from the tender, pious woman." 
 
 But his father replied, " My son, truth is good, 
 but the whole truth is better ; for without perfect 
 truth there can be no love." 
 
 Freimund bowed his head in humble submis- 
 sion, and returned home hand in hand with a con- 
 soling angel, whose soothing conversation cheered 
 and encouraged him, while the old man went to 
 his patient. 
 
 "With a serious countenance he stepped up to 
 the bed, saying, " Sir, I have again found my son — 
 would it had happened sooner — but I have just 
 learned that he is in your service; reckon no longer 
 on his assistance." He then began to prepare 
 draughts and medicines with as much good humour 
 as if nothing had happened. 
 
 The Mask trembled violently. At length he fal- 
 tered out these words, " And wilt thou not forsake 
 me until I am recovered ?" 
 " Ah !" replied Helfrad, " can you doubt it ? Am
 
 84 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 I not appointed by God and the magistrates to do 
 my duty?" 
 
 The Invalid sighed heavily, and pressed his 
 fostering hand. 
 
 " Has Negro " 
 
 " That name I forbid," interrupted the doctor 
 eai'nestly ; and the other correcting himself, repli- 
 ed, " Has Freimund revealed to you who I am ? 
 A solemn oath ensures his silence." 
 
 " And he keeps it," said the old man ; " my son 
 has not begun his reformation with perjury." 
 
 " I will intrust you with it," rejoined the Inva- 
 lid, ^' if you desire, and it will astonish you ; but it 
 would distress me much." 
 
 " Give yourself no trouble," said the doctor; 
 " I am not curious, and God forbid that I should 
 render your situation more painful than it is." 
 
 With these words he hastened home, where 
 he found his son in the arms of a weeping, forgiv- 
 ing mother, and of a happy bride. After a little 
 while Helfrad took Frau Gertrude aside, and 
 earnestly entreated her not ;o tempt their son, by 
 foolish questions, to break his oath, adding, " You 
 like to hear something new, but the fresh planted 
 tree may not have taken deep root; after a year 
 is over, I hope you may ask him as much as you 
 wish to know." 
 
 Nor did the father's hope deceive him. Our 
 holy religion again took possession of Freimund's
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 85 
 
 heart, strengthened by the storms of temptation 
 against which he had been forced to struggle. A 
 happier probation did the young man now expe- 
 rience under the eyes of his parents, and in the 
 possession of Angela ; and the true old German 
 art again refreshed its recovered disciple with its 
 sweetest pleasures. 
 
 Meanwhile the Invalid recovered from his sick- 
 ness ; and as the doctor took leave of him with 
 many pious warnings, he listened with great calm- 
 ness, and replied in a soft and tin) id voice, 
 " Do you then really believe that 1 can yet be 
 saved ?" 
 
 " Why not?" rejoined the doctor; " the eternal 
 God still lives." The convalescent then humbly 
 besought him to obtain permission that he should 
 dopenance in a neighbou 'ing convent, and that his 
 mask should be allowed to remain, his face beino; so 
 hideous ; and again the red glaring eyes flamed so 
 strangely through, that the good doctor, contrary to 
 his custom, cast down his own. He also begged 
 to conceal his name, in order that the knowledge 
 of it might not terrify the monks, or perhaps 
 awaken idle curiosity on account of the strange 
 mystery in which his own life, and that oi another ^ 
 were involved. Helfrad promised to do what he 
 could, and in a short time arranged every thing 
 according to the wishes of the stranger. 
 
 Received within the holv walls of Mariahulf,
 
 86 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 the latter performed such severe penance, as at 
 first alarmed, but afterwards greatly edified the 
 brethren. His voice became milder, the glare of 
 his eyes gradually less fearful, nay at last serene 
 and pleasant. Then, in full assembly, the Abbot 
 said to him, " Penitent, the spirit announces to 
 me that your sins are forgiven, and that your face 
 has again become like that of a human being; 
 thou hast no further need to conceal it under that 
 horrible mask — I therefore command thee to re- 
 move it." 
 
 The sinner bent submissively to obey the 
 Abbot's command, and the heavenly composed 
 features of an old man met the astonished gaze 
 of the brotherhood. Then they all praised God, 
 took the restored one into their pious society, 
 and named him Brother Redivivus. 
 
 Meanwhile Freimund lived a blessed hfe by 
 Angela's side, and his probation being finished, 
 they were married. For the first time, he saw 
 brother Redivivus at a procession; and upon 
 learning who he was, every shade of grief disap- 
 peared from his mind, and he felt as if all his 
 faults were fully forgiven. He afterwards paint- 
 ed a likeness of the monk, so beautiful and full of 
 life, that it was considered the master-piece of his 
 celebrated pencil. 
 
 When Freimund and Angela had been about 
 three years married, and with their parents were
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS INVALID. 87 
 
 returning from the baptismal ceremony of their 
 first-born son, they met the funeral of brother Re- 
 divivus. He had quietly fallen asleep in the Lord. 
 The christening party joined the other, and Hel- 
 frad, Gertrude, Freimund, Angela, and their sweet 
 smiling babe, accompanied the reclaimed one to 
 his everlasting rest. 
 
 Many years afterwards it was discovered, that 
 the portrait of brother Redivivus, which Freimund 
 had painted, bore the most striking resemblance 
 to that of Wagner, the disciple of the celebrated 
 Faustus* — only the latter appeared to be a demon 
 
 • Slost of our readers are aware, that even the redoubted Don 
 Giovanni sinks into the shade when compared with the far-famed John 
 Faust, or Faustus, of whom it is recorded that he sold his shadow to 
 the evil one, and committed all kinds of diablerie ; but there may be 
 some who do not know that this character of Faust is quite fictitious 
 —that, on the contrary, he was one of the greatest benefactors of his 
 race. To Faustus we are indebted for some of the most important 
 discoveries in the art of printing. To him and to his coadjutors we also 
 owe the first printed edition of the bible, (1450,) his second edition of 
 which was so exceedingly beautiful, that in 1462 he sold copies of it 
 in Paris, which were believed the work of magic, and brought 
 from 500 to 600 crowns. It is highly probable that his efforts to 
 enlighten the world, by rendering the Scriptures more accessible to all 
 classes, brought down upon him the indignation of the monks; for it is 
 generally understood, that to them he is indebted for the obloquy which 
 has since been attached to his name. 
 
 Faust was a wealthy citizen of Meutz ; and about 1442 embarked 
 with the utmost spirit in prosecution of the art of printing, some rude 
 attempts at which had been executed a few years before. So hearty,
 
 88 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 sinking downwards, while the former seemed an 
 ascending angel. 
 
 indeed, was he. in the cause, that he bestowed his only daughter on 
 Peter Schoeffer, one of his assistants, and the Wagner, we believe, of our 
 story, for having discovered, after repeated trials, how metal types 
 might be cast in a matrix, in place of being cw<-^such having lately 
 superseded the use of wooden letters. 
 
 Schoeffer survived his father-in-law twenty years, Faust having died 
 about 1471, furnishing a subject for one of the most majestic dramas in 
 any language — the " Faust" of Goethe — which is now familiar to the 
 English reader by the elegant translation of Lord F. Leveson Gower. 
 
 Translator.
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP.
 
 Such traditions, and especially the exploits of the mischie- 
 vous SPIRIT Number- Nip, (Rubezahl,) commonly while away the 
 
 HOURS OF NIGHT AMONG THE TWENTY OR THIRTY WANDERERS WHO 
 ASSEMBLE AT EVENING FROM DIFFERENT PARTS OF THE MOUNTAINS IN 
 THE HeMPKLSBAUDE, TO START, LONG BEFORE THE SUN, FOR THE REST 
 OF THE ASCENT. RuSEELL's GeRMANY.
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 But women, that inconstant kind, 
 Can ne'er fix in one place their mind ; 
 For she, impatient of long stay. 
 Drives to the upper earth her way. 
 
 Duchess of Newcastle, 1646. 
 
 Who has ever travelled in Silesia without hearing 
 of the freaks and frolics of Number- Nip,* to whom 
 
 * " This perished spirit, so well known from our nursery tales, has left 
 behind him a very uncertain character. The legends still preserved 
 among the inhabitants of the mountain vallies, sometimes represent him 
 as the most good-natured of spirits, and sometimes as taking delight in 
 nothing but doing mischief. He stood out for a short space, after the 
 erection of a chapel on the summit of his mountain, in the end of the 
 seventeenth century; but the first time that mass was performed in it 
 was the signal for his departure. Though he never re-appeared himself, 
 the host of tiny subjects, loth to quit their ancient abodes, lingered long 
 behind him, till bad usage, about fifty years ago, drove them away.
 
 92 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 the well known Riesengebirge owe all their cele- 
 brity ? These mountains have long been the scene 
 of pranks with which he has sometimes amused, 
 
 They employed themselves, in the bowels of the mountain, in manufac- 
 turing all sorts of household utensils, which they readily gave or lent 
 out to the neighbouring villagers, on receiving a small meat-ofifering 
 and drink-offering in return. The daughter of a villager was about to 
 be married. Her father went up to " Riibezahl's Habitation," a col- 
 lection of huge granite blocks tossed together in wild confusion, and re- 
 quested the spirits to furnish the bridegroom's house, and lend him the 
 necessary dishes and utensils for the wedding festival. His prayer was 
 granted, with the condition that, on the marriage night, he would place 
 a fixed portion of the marriage supper on a rock which was pointed 
 out to him, and return the spits, and knives, and forks, next day. 
 The spirits kept their word, but the niggardly churl broke his j he ate 
 up the supper, and retained the dishes. The spirits then finally resolv- 
 ed to desert for ever so ungrateful a people. In the course of the fol- 
 lowing night, these little kindly creatures, not one of them more than 
 a foot and a half high, were seen marching, in long array, through the 
 standing corn, which, next morning, scarcely seemed to have been 
 touched ; and they are supposed to have joined their old master in some 
 region more friendly to supernatural spirits, and more grateful for 
 supernatural assistance. 
 
 " This matter, trifling as it is, furnishes an amusing instance of the 
 obstinacy with which men who pretend to learning will sometimes write 
 downright nonsense, and of the huge interval that separates artificial 
 erudition from straight-forward clearness of intellect. A disputed text 
 in Virgil or Homer could not have produced more various readings, 
 than the name of this amusing goblin has done. His name, R'dbezahl, 
 means just, Turnip-number. But erudite Germans, though they al- 
 low that the appellation, as it stands, means Turnip-number, insist on 
 referring it to a classical origin, or finding in it some disguise of a 
 foreign phrase. One maintains, that Riibexahl is a corruption of 
 Riesensahl, (Giaut-number,) and peoples the Schneekoppe with whole
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. QS 
 
 but more frequently terrified, those who had the 
 audacity to approach his territory ; for but to 
 whisper his name on the Giant Mountains was an 
 offence which seldom failed to meet with summary 
 punishment, as that hated name commemorated 
 an adventure which our hero would fain have 
 forgotten for ever. Still there was nothing singular 
 in his case. He loved, and was outwitted by a 
 woman. We are not sufficiently acquainted with 
 the mode of conducting love affairs amonsr the 
 gnomes, to be enabled to say whether this circum- 
 stance should have occasioned much surprise to 
 the lord of Giant-dale ; but certain it is, that our 
 friend took the affront very much to heart, not 
 being perhaps aware, that in this particular he only 
 shared the fate of most earthly potentates, and 
 of about ninety-nine out of every hundred of their 
 subjects. 
 
 legions of Goliaths. A second, adopting the giants, supposes, that the 
 Silesian boors, at a time when they could neither read nor write, called 
 the spirit Giant-number, because they believed him to have piled their 
 mountains upon each other, as the giants did PelioiL on Ossa to storm 
 Olympus. Excellent ! The third, likewise, is both gij,antesque and clas- 
 sical. According to him, the name is merely a corruption of Jiies 
 Encelad, the Giant Enceladus. Better still ! A fourth runs away to 
 France to find the origin of the pure German name of a German hob- 
 goblin, and is quite sure that Riibezahl is only a corruption of lioi des 
 Vallees. Best of all ! Somebody or other has very justly remarked, that 
 there are things so close to a man's eyes, that he cannot see them." 
 
 Russell's Germany.
 
 94 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 There was certainly, however, something hu- 
 miliating in the trick played upon him by the 
 beautiful Emma, whom our enamoured sprite 
 carried off to his subterraneous abode without 
 leave asked and obtained, except perhaps such an 
 assent as we give to the French highwayman who 
 claps a pistol to our head, and with the characte- 
 ristic politeness of his nation exclaims, " Excusez- 
 moi!" or, " Je vous demande pardon !" 
 
 Although tradition has handed down to us every 
 minute circumstance connected with the abduction 
 by Number-Nip of his fair mistress, we do not 
 consider it necessary to enter into them. Indeed 
 it was only one of those dull affairs which one 
 meets with daily among ourselves, and which 
 possess merely a local interest ; but as her deser- 
 tion of him was conducted with the utmost degree 
 of female ingenuity, we shall abridge the particu- 
 lars for the benefit of others. 
 
 Observing, " saith mine authority," that his 
 lovely idol languished for society, the obliging 
 gnome presented her with a basket of fresh and 
 full-grown turnips, giving her at the same time a 
 silver wand, by means of which she metamor- 
 phosed these homely vegetables into well-dressed 
 and well-bred courtiers, partaking somewhat per- 
 haps of their original insipidity, for they would 
 not, as is customary, betray, calumniate, or sup- 
 plant each other. Enchanted with her imposing
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBEIl-NIP. 95 
 
 retinue, the Princess Emma would now roam 
 through every crook and cranny of her subterra- 
 neous dwelling, and when tired of exploring its 
 numerous halls and chambers, pace every alley 
 and shady walk of the spacious garden, through- 
 out which reigned a perpetual spring. But alas ! 
 even in fairy-land it would appear that nothing is 
 certain but change. For a few weeks her at- 
 tendants footed it nimbly behind her, keeping only 
 that due distance which is still preserved between 
 a Highland chieftain and his tail; but before a 
 month had elapsed, their out-of-door rambles 
 began to assume the appearance of a race between 
 the hare and the tortoise. Full of the elasticity 
 of eighteen, the lively Emma hurried along the 
 verdant walks, and sometimes, blinded by the 
 eagerness of her pursuit of a beautiful butterfly, 
 would plump into the middle of a rose bush, in 
 which she was often forced to remain till her pant- 
 ing attendants crawled to her rescue. Emma 
 would then reprove them for their sluggishness, 
 and punish them for it as the great Henri Quatre 
 did his fat cousin, the Due de Maienne, by walk- 
 ing him, in the face of a burning sun, up and down 
 a long alley at the rate of six miles an hour. 
 
 But Emma found, as we all do at times, that it 
 is dijflicult to war with nature. It surpassed the 
 art even of a courtier to conceal the ravages of a 
 decay which advanced with rapid strides. Even
 
 96 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 the love-inspiring waltz failed to animate them ; 
 and Emma, at last, enraged to behold that graceful 
 dance executed by tottering feet and trembling 
 arms, in a fit of high indignation ordered them 
 all from her presence, and ran to lay her grievan- 
 ces before her lover. The complaisant sprite 
 explained to her, that as soon as the juice of the 
 turnip was dried up, the vegetable became utterly 
 worthless, and its functions extinct. A philoso- 
 pher perhaps might draw a parallel between the 
 fate of the turnip and " this mortal coil ;" but 
 who can philosophize while telling a love-story ? 
 Let us go on. 
 
 The fair Emma, finding that she was again to be 
 doomed to solitude, first pouted, and then wept ; 
 and so powerful are the tears of a lovely woman, 
 not even a gnome could withstand them. He 
 swore that he would explore every inch of his 
 subterraneous domain in quest of another supply 
 of turnips suited to her purpose; but vain were his 
 exertions. There, as in other places that shall 
 be nameless, the useful had been sacrificed to the 
 ornamental. Delicious fruits and fragrant flowers 
 he found in abundance; but though he would wil- 
 lingly have exchanged a whole bushel of the golden 
 apples of the Hesperides for a single turnip, not 
 one could he procure. 
 
 To be forced to acknowledge that it is im- 
 possible to indulge a beloved object in some
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 97 
 
 whim on which she has set her heart, is a 
 situation disagreeable enough to a mere mortal ; 
 but for the lord of the mountains, sovereign 
 potentate of Giant-dale, who had boasted of his 
 power to his fair captive, to be obliged to confess 
 he could not procure her a paltry turnip, was vex- 
 atious in the extreme. Finding, however, that all 
 his efforts below ground were fruitless, he deter- 
 mined to ransack his dominions over head ; but 
 what then was his dismay, on finding the icy 
 sceptre of winter extended over the whole earth, 
 where not even a blade of grass penetrated through 
 the deep masses of snow ! 
 
 In this dilemma, there was nothing left for our 
 dejected lover but to assume the appearance of a 
 countryman, walk into the nearest village, and 
 purchase a sackful of turnip-seed, which he laid 
 at the feet of his beautiful tyrant. Provoked and 
 disappointed, she now loaded him with reproaches, 
 ridiculed the idea of his possessing such boasted 
 power of transmutation, and cut him to the heart 
 by sarcasms on his inability to perform what he 
 had undertaken ; in short, she raised such a storm 
 as any one save a lover would have fled from. 
 But our friend the gnome stood his ground, hav- 
 ing perhaps learned, that to gain a woman's heart 
 there are three requisites, perseverance, persever- 
 ance, perseverance ! And the lovely Emma gra- 
 dually cleared her brow, and consented to accom-
 
 98 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 pany him to the garden, to see him sow the seed 
 from whicli her future happiness was to arise. The 
 gnome set instantly to work, and in a few mo- 
 ments innumerable uprooted myrtles, hyacinths, 
 and carnations strewed the ground. So eager 
 indeed was Emma to forward the work of exter- 
 mination, she laid her dignity aside, and assisted 
 her lover to tear up whole beds of her once loved 
 flowers, and to sow the much-valued substitutes 
 in their place. The affair completed, our lovers 
 returned to the palace ; and on parting for the 
 night, the enraptured hero was permitted, it is said, 
 to kiss her fair hand. If women, as has been allow- 
 ed, take every thing with calmness and modera- 
 tion, the Princess Emma was an exception to the 
 rule. To watch the progress of the turnip field, 
 was her occupation morning, noon, and night; 
 and there at sunrise or sunset her lover never 
 failed to find her. He rejoiced at it, for she never 
 listened so complacently to his suit as when so 
 engaged. Ah ! unhappy sprite, there was no mor- 
 tal near to whisper that there must be treachery 
 on foot ; the daughters of men never smile so 
 sweetly as when about to torture or deceive. 
 
 Bowers of jessamine, or groves of myrtle, have 
 generally been the favourite resort of lovers when 
 they wished to tell their tender tale; our hero and 
 heroine were more homely in their taste, for, seated 
 beside his enslaver on the edge of the turnip field,
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 99 
 
 the gnome pressed the gentle Emma to bestow 
 on him her fair hand ; nor did he plead in vain. 
 Gradually the young plants increased in size and 
 beauty, and gradually the coldness and reserve 
 of the princess began to give way, until at length 
 she consented to unite her fate with his — but on 
 one condition. " My marriage," said she to her 
 enraptured lover, " shall not be without witnesses; 
 go, then, and count every turnip in the field ; I 
 shall animate every one of them ; a marriage with- 
 out company is but a paltry affair. Take care, 
 however, that you count them correctly, for if you 
 miss but one of them, my promise shall be with- 
 drawn." So much enamoured was the gnome, it 
 is believed he would not have scrupled to count 
 the sands of the sea-shore. The counting of a 
 field of turnips, therefore, appeared a mere baga- 
 telle ; and Emma having retired into the palace 
 not to disturb his calculations, he immediately 
 began his task. But this he soon found was no 
 such easy matter. In the middle of the fourth 
 row some tender thoughts of his beloved princess 
 flitted across his brain, and occasioned such con- 
 fusion there, as to put units, tens, hundreds, thou- 
 sands, and tens of thousands, completely to the 
 route, and there was no remedy but to begin again 
 at the beginninfT. Hour after hour did our lover 
 labour at his task ; but at length it was accom- 
 plished, and he hurried to the palace. There a
 
 100 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 dead silence reigned. " I will find her in the 
 garden gathering flowers for her bridal wreath," 
 said the gnome ; but in vain did he make the 
 groves resound with the loved name of Emma — 
 echo alone answered him, as if in mockery. A sud- 
 den suspicion came across him, he darted upwards, 
 and in another instant stood upon the surface of 
 the earth. Unhappy sprite, what a heart-rending 
 scene did he now behold ! There was his loved 
 Emma, mounted on a steed swifter than the wind, 
 flying to her former lover, Prince Ratibor, who 
 rapidly approached her. He now comprehended 
 the whole extent of his misfortune. The deceit- 
 ful Emma had abstracted one of the turnips, me- 
 tamorphosed it into a fiery courser, and had 
 nearly attained the boundary of his territory, be- 
 yond which he had no power. " Ah traitress ! 
 you shall not escape me,", exclaimed the indignant 
 o-nome, as he darted after the flying fair one. 
 The panting Emma heard him cleaving the air 
 behind her. She redoubled her speed, and the 
 boundary line lay but a few paces onwards, when 
 an envious gust of wind blew one of her glossy 
 rinulets behind. The gnome seized it in his iron 
 hand ; but a woman is never without expedients. 
 The princess \msheathed her scissors and divided 
 the fugitive lock. Her courser gave one bound, 
 and in an instant she was folded in her lover's 
 arms.
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBEIl-NIP. 101 
 
 The deserted spirit rent the air with his cries, 
 scattered the ringlet to the four winds of heaven, 
 and plunged down to his subterraneous dominions, 
 there to bewail his disappointment, and to lament, 
 as many a son of mortal race has done, that he 
 ever placed his happiness at the mercy of a 
 woman. 
 
 To the above narrative, tradition also addeth, 
 that the beautiful Princess Emma, in strict confi- 
 dence, communicated the whole affair to the lady 
 who officiated as bride' s-maid on her subsequent 
 marriage with Prince Ratibor; and she on the 
 same conditions to her three cousins, each of 
 whom had several friends from whom they con- 
 cealed nothing. Thus the circle went on increasing, 
 until it included every tea-table in the city, whence 
 it travelled rapidly to the villages in the imme- 
 diate neighbourhood of the Giant Mountains, till 
 at last, in memory of the event, the name of 
 Number 'Nip became the universal cognomen of 
 the redoubted Lord of Giant-dale. 
 
 Meanwhile, shut up within his subterraneous 
 palace, vowing revenge against the whole sex, the 
 unhappy spirit was too much occupied to notice 
 the impertinence of the rustics; and so obstinate 
 indeed was his chagrin, that not until the great 
 grandchildren of the deceitful Emma were burstinir 
 into beauty, did he condescend to walk up stairs in
 
 102 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 order to ascertain what had been doing in his 
 earthly domains during his absence. 
 
 Having been so fortunate as to pick up a few 
 of his first adventures after his re-appearance 
 among the Giant Mountains, we have strung them 
 together in the following pages, for the amusement 
 of our readers.
 
 LEGENDS or NUMBER-NIP. 103 
 
 LEGEND FIRST. 
 
 And here let those who boast in mortal things, 
 Learn how their greatest monuments of fame, 
 And strength, and art, are easily outdone 
 By reprobate spirits. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 In a melancholy mood Number-Nip, having again 
 emerged above ground, rambled down the side of 
 the mountain, and sauntered along the banks of a 
 rapid stream, towards an industrious fisherman, 
 who in the exercise of his wonted calling had 
 hooked a very fine salmon, which nevertheless 
 for nearly two hours had baffled his utmost endea- 
 vours to land it. 
 
 " Now," exclaimed Klaus Kleimer, in the bit- 
 terness of his heart, " I could almost call on 
 Number-Nip himself for help." 
 
 Hardly had he spoken when the fish ceased to 
 struggle, and a grave-looking personage stood at 
 his elbow.
 
 104 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 " You have him fast, I see," said the stranger. 
 " I have so," answered Klaus, " and before I 
 part with him, we shall be better acquainted." 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that," said the stranger; 
 " I've seen fellows look as exhausted, and give the 
 slip at last." 
 
 " May be so," said Klaus, " but all don't un- 
 derstand the craft alike, as you shall see immediate- 
 ly ; for here he comes, here he comes, you see, 
 without sense or motion, and I have him snug. 
 — The devil 1" exclaimed Klaus ; " the devil !" 
 repeated he, as the fish, by a sudden jerk, broke 
 his fishing tackle, and sailed slowly towards the 
 opposite bank; " who could have believed that?" 
 " Did'nt I tell you," said the stranger, " not to 
 be so sure ?" But Klaus was too much vexed and 
 mortified to return him any answer ; so he sat him- 
 self down on the grass, and began to repair the 
 broken line. 
 
 " Now, friend," said the stranger to Klaus, " if 
 I were in your place, instead of working at the 
 tackle, I would try and lay hold of the fish, which 
 is lying quietly on the gravel yonder." 
 
 " Thank you," said Klaus, drily ; " but as I 
 do not fancy myself quite five yards in height, 
 which I take to be about the depth of the pool, I 
 would rather be excused, do you see." 
 
 " But you might jump across," replied the
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-MP. 105 
 
 Stranger, " first on that rock there, and then on 
 the gravel ; I think I've done as much myself." 
 
 " Have you?" said Klaus, somewhat sarcasti- 
 cally ; " I'll believe't when I see it." 
 
 The stranger stepped back a few paces, and 
 then running forward, sprung over as he had pro- 
 posed. 
 
 " Aha ! what say you now?" cried he, turning 
 to Klaus, and holding up the salmon. " But holla 
 you. Sir, where are you going?" 
 
 " Out of your clutches," cried Klaus, jumping 
 up and making off as hard as his legs could carry 
 him. But fast as Klaus ran, he had not made fifty 
 yards when a heavy hand laid on his shoulder 
 arrested his progress. 
 
 " Friend," said the stranger, " what has 
 alarmed you ? whom do you take me for ? speak 
 the truth, and boldly." 
 
 " Why, then," said Klaus, " since you will have 
 it, in my opinion, you must be Number- Nip, or the 
 old gentleman himself; and it little matters which, 
 if what they say is true." 
 
 " I should like much," cried Number-Nip in a 
 rage, " to fall in with some of these rascals who 
 make so free with my name ; and in the mean- 
 time," continued he, shaking Klaus, «' I can do 
 no less than hang thee, for daring to believe in 
 their wicked lies."
 
 106 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 " Very well," said Klaus, composedly untying 
 his neckcloth ; " what must be must." 
 
 " How, rascal !" exclaimed Number-Nip, " do 
 you suppose I can't hang thee cravat and all ?" 
 
 " Quite easily, no doubt, my lord," returned 
 Klaus ; " but it is an old custom in this part of 
 the country to untie it when one is to be hanged, 
 and I shouldn't like to have it said that Klaus 
 Kleimer was the man to break through an old 
 custom, that's all." 
 
 " You're an impudent varlet," cried Number- 
 Nip, " and, I verily believe, well deserve hanging ; 
 however we shall see : — and now, fellow, answer 
 me, why were you so anxious about having this 
 fish ? art thou a glutton, and did'st thou mean to 
 pamper thine own vile carcass with it ?" 
 
 " Not at all," said Klaus. 
 
 " What then?" demanded Number-Nip. 
 
 " To carry it to the castle," answered Klaus, 
 " where it is much wanted." 
 
 " Then it was for the sake of filthy lucre you 
 wished it," cried Number- Nip ; " and faith such a 
 prize would have brought a good penny to thee." 
 
 " Not so much as would have kept my wife 
 and little brats in bread for two days," answered 
 Klaus. 
 
 " How, rascal !" cried Number-Nip, " do you 
 mean to say that the baron does not give value for 
 what he gets ?"
 
 ivKOSKDS OK NLMBER-NIP. 107 
 
 " 1 would lie in my throat if I did," replied 
 Klaus ; " for the baron is a just man, and the fault 
 is not with him." 
 
 " With whom, then?" demanded Number-Nip. 
 " Explain, and briefly." 
 
 " Why, thus," answered Klaus : " The fish 
 weighed, and the price fixed, the butler carries 
 me to the housekeeper's room, where the money 
 is counted out and laid in four heaps ; one of these 
 goes into the housekeeper's purse, a second into 
 the butler's, a third is retained for the cook and 
 my lord's footman, and the fourth is handed to 
 your humble servant, who is expected to receive 
 it with profound respect and a thousand thanks." 
 
 " The villains ! the scoundrels !" exclaimed 
 Number-Nip. " But the thing is monstrous, and 
 I can't credit it." 
 
 " You may prove it just now," answered Klaus, 
 pointing to the salmon. 
 
 " A good thought," cried Number-Nip ; " so 
 here take it, and let us on to the castle. And now, 
 fellow," continued he, " if your story is true, you 
 shall have your revenge ; but if thou hast borne 
 false witness, up you go." 
 
 '* Agreed," quoth Klaus. 
 
 Arrived at the castle, Klaus entered with the 
 fish, and Number- Nip in the shape of a blow-fly 
 entered with him, and witnessed the bargain and 
 the division of the spoil just as Klaus had said.
 
 108 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 When they came out again, Number- Nip was in 
 such a rage that Klaus trembled for the very lives 
 of the culprits. After a while, however, Number- 
 Nip cooled, and resolved to ascertain where the 
 rascals were, and what they were about ; and pre- 
 sently the butler and the footman were discovered 
 in the room of the former, the one busy with the 
 baron's plate, and the other polishing a pair of 
 new boots. " Place yourself at this little window," 
 said Number-Nip to Klaus, " and you will have 
 some amusement by and by." 
 
 Klaus did as he was desired, and found that the 
 two domestics were in high debate on the old ques- 
 tion of, which was the proper end to break an egg. 
 The footman was clear for breaking it at the large 
 end. This the butler, who was a bit of a philoso- 
 pher, treated with great disdain, and insisted that 
 the small end was the true and proper one for 
 opening. " Nature herself," said he, " has decided 
 it ; and why ? there is only one skin on that end, 
 
 whereas on the broad end there " A most 
 
 provoking and boisterous laugh from the footman 
 interrupted this learned argument ; which famili- 
 arity from an inferior appeared so very imperti- 
 nent to the indignant butler, that he disdained to 
 prolong the dispute, contenting himself with mut- 
 tering something about " braying a fool in a 
 mortar." 
 
 Immediately Number-Nip, who had beenM'atch-
 
 LEGENDS or NUMBER-NIP, 109 
 
 ing his opportunity, changed himself into a pump- 
 kin, and darted with such force at the butler*s 
 face, as made the blood stream from his Bardolph 
 nose. 
 
 " What the devil do you mean by that. Sir ?" 
 exclaimed the butler, rushing up to his adver- 
 sary. 
 
 " What, Sir ?" said the footman, quite compos- 
 edly. 
 
 " That, Sir?" echoed the butler. 
 
 " What's That ?" quoth the footman. 
 
 " Do you pretend, Sir, that you do not see my 
 coat all covered with blood ?" 
 
 " Well," said the footman, quite unmoved, 
 " what then ?" 
 
 " That then," cried the butler in a fury, and 
 giving him a box on the ear. 
 
 " That then, too," retorted the footman, clap- 
 ping his shoe-brush smack on the butler's mouth. 
 
 " Villain!" exclaimed the butler, as he cleared 
 his mouth and throat of a rather unpleasant 
 mixture of blood and of Warren's best blacking; 
 « Villain !" exclaimed he, " I'll be the death of 
 thee for this." And seizing a large billet of wood, 
 he swung it with all his force at the footman's head. 
 Observing the advance of the flying ruin, and not 
 being at all desirous of their better acquaintance, 
 the other made a dip, in the true lady-like style, 
 and avoided it, at same time dexterously re-
 
 110 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 turning the compliment on his antagonist, in the 
 shape of the bottle of blacking, which breaking 
 on the wall just above the butler, made sad pie- 
 bald work of his gay habiliments. This sight ren- 
 dered the butler furious, and seizing on what was 
 nearest him, which happened to be a large silver 
 flaggon, he hurled it at his adversary, who repaid 
 him with the baron's riding boots ; and then follow- 
 ed a shower of missiles from both sides, and with 
 such equal vigour, that it was difficult to say which 
 party had the advantage in the cannonade. At 
 length an unlucky caudle-cup striking against the 
 butler's shins, he became quite frantic, and howl- 
 ing according to some modes of ancient war- 
 fare, rushed to close combat with his adversary. 
 They met in a moment, and political economy was 
 no longer thought of. As to " husbanding their 
 resources" neither of them dreamed of it ; on the 
 contrary, hands, feet, nails, teeth, were all imme- 
 diately in a state of action ; and what with thump- 
 ing, and kicking, and scratching, and biting, and 
 tumbling, and cursing, there was pretty work of it. 
 The hubbub was immense — Waterloo was a mere 
 joke to it — it seemed, indeed, hell broke loose. 
 
 The direful uproar caused, as might have been 
 expected, a general rush of the inhabitants of the 
 castle towards the butler's apartment ; and as 
 they came in different directions, and were of 
 course all equally anxious to be first, it naturally
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. Ill 
 
 happened that a few ratlier unpleasant rencounters 
 ensued. It was in vain, however, that the fat cook, 
 who had been upset in the fray, roared for assistance 
 to set her again on her legs — she was left to her 
 fate ; in vain that the fair daughters of the baron 
 stretched their slender necks over the bannisters, 
 inquiring the cause of the strange confusion be- 
 low — nobody answered them ; and to as little pur- 
 pose was it that the baroness plied the bell-rope, 
 as if celebrating a victory, for nobody came. Her 
 eye turned on the baron, but apprehensively, for 
 his favourite dish, a smoking grouse-pie, stood be- 
 fore him ; and well she knew, that to disturb him 
 at such a repast, was nearly equal in temerity to 
 rousing a she-bear from her cubs. He had already 
 made an incision in the pie, and had removed so 
 much of the crust as afforded him a tempting 
 view of the interior, when the first sound of hosti- 
 lities broke on his ear. He laid down his imple- 
 ments and listened ; for a moment all was still, 
 and he proceeded to stick his fork into a glorious 
 bird, when the crash of dishes, and the fearful 
 sounds which followed, again obliged him to sus- 
 pend his operations. Still he was unwilling to 
 relinquish his employment, thinking the hubbub 
 would pass over ; but when, instead of that, it went 
 on increasing and increasing, and on observ- 
 ing the aforesaid glance of the baroness, he hastily 
 thrust the bird again into the pie, and making a
 
 112 TIIK ODD VOLUME. 
 
 sign to have it placed by the fire, he stalked 
 solemnly out of the room. 
 
 " Heaven have mercy on them !" ejaculated the 
 baroness, on seeing his very mustachios curling 
 with indignation. 
 
 The baron advanced towards the butler's 
 apartment ; but on finding its entrance blocked 
 up, he seized the two persons nearest him, and 
 hurled them right and left, the one over a bench, 
 the other over a table. He then applied his foot 
 to the rear of a fellow in front, and with such 
 effect, that the man rose like a rocket, until brought 
 up by the opposite wall. He had now a fair view 
 of the scene of action. The combatants lay on 
 the floor too much exhausted to renew the at- 
 tack, but, like English bull-dogs, holding each 
 other by the throat. The baron eyed them for a 
 moment, then pointed to a huge water-butt, and 
 nodded. It was instantly brought by four athle- 
 tic fellows, and upon another nod from the baron, 
 its contents were emptied on the belligerent parties. 
 The descent of this Niagara in miniature had an 
 instantaneous effect. With a velocity which 
 nearly overset the surrounding spectators, the 
 combatants rolled from each other; and after some 
 gasping, and coughing, and choking, they were 
 at length able to sit upright, and to answer the 
 baron's stern interrogatories. The butler stated 
 the assault of the pumpkin ; the footman stoutly
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 113 
 
 denied it, declaring that the butler knew well 
 enough there was no such thing in the room. " If 
 there is, let it be produced." A search commen- 
 ced, but no pumpkin appeared, and no wonder, 
 for, metamorphosed into a cat, it was now sitting 
 snugly on a shelf, purring away with huge delight. 
 The baron therefore pronounced sentence, and 
 in these emphatic words, " Set them both in the 
 stocks;" and immediately the castle became as 
 a place uninhabited. 
 
 The culprits being now left to cool their wrath 
 in the place of punishment, the baron returned 
 to his pie, and the domestics to the kitchen. 
 
 " Who has taken away the salmon ?" cried the 
 cook. 
 
 " Not I, Not I," said half a dozen voices. 
 
 " I am ruined and undone !" exclaimed she, 
 wringing her hands. " To-morrow is fast-day, 
 and if the salmon do not appear, I will have a 
 month of black bread and ditch water in the north 
 dungeon. Heaven preserve us !" she continued, 
 on seeing the last fin of the valued fish disap- 
 pearing in the capacious mouth of the baron's 
 favourite hound ; but as the sorrowful damsel did 
 not happen to be a favourite with the other 
 domestics, they afforded her very little sympathy, 
 and went oflp to their several occupations without 
 bestowing on her one look or word of comfort. 
 
 H
 
 114 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 Her lamentations were still in full force, when a 
 stranger dressed in the garb of a fisherman, and 
 bearing a huge salmon in his hand, entered the 
 kitchen. In perfect rapture the cook seized the 
 iish, carried it to the baroness, told her the mishap 
 attending the other, and falling down on her 
 knees, entreated the baroness to purchase this 
 one to save her from the wrath of the baron. 
 
 Pretty well aware of what would be the conse- 
 quence of a lack of fish on fast-day, the baroness 
 good-naturedly consented, and giving her the 
 requisite sum, the overjoyed cook huri'ied down 
 stairs, bestowed on the fisherman the fourth part 
 of the gold, and bid him begone. 
 
 In a few minutes after the housekeeper entered, 
 claimed her portion, and went off to lock it up in 
 her strong box ; and hardly was she out of sight, 
 when the butler with his battered face and torn 
 vestments made his appearance. To the cook's 
 question, as to how he came to be at large, he 
 answered, that the housekeeper had set him at 
 liberty that he might claim his share, but that he 
 had to return directly, lest the baron on going his 
 rounds should miss him. On receiving his por- 
 tion of the spoil, he limped off, making way for 
 the footman, who next appeared. " Well, mistress 
 cook," said the footman, " this dollar comes in 
 good time. It will pay for a flask of master's
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. Ho 
 
 best Rhenish, which the butler has prdmised me 
 when I am rich enough to buy it ;" and seizing the 
 money, he also departed. The housekeeper now 
 returned, and stepping up to the cook, requested 
 from her the modicum of the fish bargain which 
 belonged to the butler, as also the footman's 
 half share. " Poor fellows," added she, " they 
 require some consolation, and I shall carry it to 
 them." 
 
 " Would you impose on me ?" demanded the 
 astonished cook. 
 
 " Impose on you, scum of the earth !" exclaim- 
 ed the enraged housekeeper; "what do you mean?" 
 
 " I mean," replied the cook, " that set at liberty 
 by your own hands, they have both got their 
 money ; and now you want to deny it, and make 
 me pay it over again." 
 
 " Vile wretch," cried the housekeeper, " do 
 you want to cheat the poor fellows out of their 
 lawful gains ?" 
 
 " I cheat ?" rejoined the cook in a fury ; " I 
 scorn your words, I have paid them their due, 
 and they will not deny it ; why dont you ask 
 them?" 
 
 " So I shall," retorted the housekeeper, " but 
 you shall go with me ;" and seizing her by the 
 hair, she dragged her, scolding and screaming, into 
 the presence of the two culprits, who, when they 
 learned what the cook had asserted, assailed her
 
 116 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 with a torrent of abuse. The cook tried in vain 
 to defend herself. Amid the united vociferations of 
 lier accusers, eloquence of speech was of no avail; 
 she was therefore compelled to use such striking 
 arguments, as made a deep impression on the house- 
 keeper's visual organs, who, exasperated to fury, 
 released the prisoners from their confinement, and 
 all three fell to beating the poor cook, who sent 
 forth such hideous shouts as made the welkin 
 ring. 
 
 The baron had now arrived at the back of the 
 grouse, which he was preparing to dissect, when 
 this new uproar reached his ears. Without say- 
 ing one word, he rose from his seat, took down a 
 bunch of huge rusty keys which hung on the wall, 
 and descended to the scene of action, followed by 
 most of the inhabitants of the castle. On finding 
 the prisoners at large, his eye gleamed with fire, 
 his countenance became livid with passion, as he 
 demanded, in a voice of thunder, who had dared 
 to release them. 
 
 " Pardon ! my gracious lord, pardon !" ejaculat- 
 ed the housekeeper, falling on her knees. 
 
 " The north dungeon !" said the baron, handing 
 the keys to the seneschal. 
 
 " Which of them, my lord?" 
 
 " All !" and away stalked the baron. 
 
 When Number-Nip, who had been playing so
 
 LEGENDS OF iNUMBER-MP. 1 I7 
 
 many characters, joined the fisherman, he found 
 him rolling on the grass in a paroxysm of mirth. 
 
 " Well, friend," said the gnome, " dost thou still 
 think me the friend of villany and fraud ?" 
 
 " Ah, my good spirit," exclaimed the fisherman, 
 " henceforth let no one speak irreverently of you 
 in my presence." 
 
 " Here, then," said he, throwing Klaus the 
 money which he had so cunningly extracted from 
 the cook, " take that and buy bread to your 
 hungry children, and begone." 
 
 " Indeed, your excellency," replied Klaus, " I 
 am so exhausted with laughing, that I could not 
 move a single step if the baron himself with his 
 bunch of keys were at my elbow." 
 
 " You had better, friend," said Number-Nip, 
 disappearing as he spoke. But the fisherman 
 continued rolling about, and every now and then 
 bursting into loud fits of laughter, when his mirth 
 was suddenly interrupted by hearing some one 
 thunder forth, " What villain is that who dares 
 to destroy my grass ?" and looking round he saw 
 the baron at a little distance levelling at him a 
 blunderbuss, which might have rivalled even Her- 
 schell's telescope in dimensions. There was no 
 time for ceremony— Klaus sprung up instantly, 
 dashed through the horse pond, and rushed into 
 the adjoining copse ; and when he found himself 
 plunged into the middle of a bramble bush, the
 
 118 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 loud laugh of the gnome revealed to him who had 
 been the occasion of his terror ; but consoled by 
 the gold in his pocket, Klaus trudged merrily 
 home.
 
 LEGENDS OF NUiMBER-Nir. 119 
 
 LEGEND SECOND. 
 
 " Life ! liow pleasant is thy morning. 
 Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! 
 Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning, 
 
 We frisk away. 
 Like school-boys, at the expected warning, 
 
 To joy and play." 
 
 Burns. 
 
 The goblin prosecuted his rambles, and had not 
 proceeded far, when in skirting a shady grove, 
 his attention was arrested by a sweet yet manly 
 voice uttering protestations of love and inviola- 
 ble fidelity. " Here is another fool for the 
 nonce," thought he, smiling sarcastically ; " let 
 us see how this romance will terminate." 
 
 " I believe you, Rolf," replied his fair com- 
 panion, " but, alas ! what avails our plighted faith, 
 our mutual attachment, when aunt Ursula refuses 
 her consent, on whom you kno\^ my fortune de- 
 pends. Since she forbade you the house. Pro- 
 fessor Dunderpole has been most assiduous in his 
 visits, and the higher he ascends in the good
 
 120 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 lady's favour, the lower my poor student descends. 
 Ah ! how I wish Number-Nip would some day 
 pop in upon them, and ferret out this professor, 
 if his object is dubious." 
 
 Thy prayer is heard, thought Number-Nip, 
 and may be granted. 
 
 " I must go now, Rolf," continued the speaker ; 
 " I fear my aunt may observe my absence— nay, 
 do not detain me, it is late." * 
 
 " Ah ! Meta, what cruel pleasure you take in 
 shortening the few moments of happiness which 
 I enjoy in your loved company. Will you meet 
 me again to-morrow ?" 
 
 " Let me fly then, Rolf," answered Meta, 
 " and it shall be so." 
 
 This conversation having excited the utmost 
 desire on the part of the gnome to see the lovers, 
 he placed himself so as to command a view of the 
 path without being seen, and in a few moments 
 there issued from the grove a female form of sur- 
 passing beauty, accompanied by a tall, graceful 
 youth, of gallant bearing, whose open collar, cap, 
 and cloak, indicated the student. Another mo- 
 ment and Number-Nip, transformed into the sem- 
 blance of Rolf's favourite greyhound, walked 
 quietly by the loving couple ; and availing our- 
 selves of the privilege of all story-tellers, we 
 shall allow him leisurely to accompany them, 
 and to gather from their discourse all the infor-
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 121 
 
 mation it could furnish, while we introduce these 
 two young people to the reader. 
 
 Meta, as has already been said, was a lovely 
 young girl, niece to a very cross old woman, who 
 had the command of her fortune, and who w-as 
 determined, that although Meta, like herself, 
 should spend her days in single blessedness, her 
 fortune and her hand should accompany each 
 other only to such a husband as she, Frau Ur- 
 sula, thought worthy of both. Of Rolf — the gay, 
 gallant, light-hearted, and frolicsome Rolf — it be- 
 hoves us to speak more at length. He was a 
 native of Bunzlau, and had come to prosecute his 
 studies at Hirschberg, under the direction of Pro- 
 fessor Dunderpole, who was within the ninety- 
 ninth degree of affinity to some of his relations. 
 Rolf had attained that period of life when, throw- 
 ing off the trammels of nonage, the young mind 
 is just beginning to follow out its own pleasures, 
 and when the first step is generally one of the 
 utmost importance. In short, Rolf had just com- 
 pleted his nineteenth year, and was as mad and 
 merry a young spirit as ever drew breath in 
 Silesia. Possessing uncommon abilities, and stu- 
 dious even to a fault when no giddy whim struck 
 his fancy, his education proceeded rapidly ; and it 
 required very little discrimination in Rolf, ere 
 long to discover that he was already in possession 
 of greater classical attainments than Professor
 
 122 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 Dunderpole himself; who, as his title importeth, 
 had delivered some course of lectures ; but where, 
 at what period, or of what kind, tradition hath 
 not decided — the professor having studiously 
 avoided the subject. 
 
 The professor had been handsome — still thought 
 he was so — and although now in " the sere and 
 yellow leaf," his coat and cap were always of the 
 newest cut, and there was not a gallant in Hirsch- 
 berg whose cloak dangled more gracefully over 
 his shoulder. Proud, pedantic, and a strict disci- 
 plinarian, he was moreover disliked by his pupils, 
 and many plans were formed among them to 
 torment him, and many were put in execution. 
 Can it be wondered, that the natural restlessness 
 of a mind more allied to mirth than melancholy, 
 should frequently beset Rolf in his hours of idle- 
 ness, and that at all times he cheerfully complied 
 with the wishes of his young associates in their 
 plots against the professor ? 
 
 " Would'st like to see Dunderpole in love?' 
 quoth he one day to his chum Ludwig. 
 
 " Delightfully," answered Ludwig ; " but how 
 accomplish it ?" 
 
 " Nothing more simple," was the reply. " Let 
 us transmit a billet-doux to the professor, as 
 if from some languishing damsel, requesting him 
 to sport his elegant person in the market-place, 
 for a few hours daily at hot noon, and my life
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. l^S 
 
 to a fly's the bait takes. Nay, I protest that a 
 correspondence will be entered into between the 
 professor and his fair incognito, which we shall 
 take care to prolong until he is ready to dangle in 
 his garters." 
 
 " Take care, Rolf, that such be not the catas- 
 trophe ; it is dangerous to sport with edge-tools. 
 The professor must demand an interview — and 
 how is it to be avoided ? and how is the corres- 
 pondence to be ultimately broken off?" 
 
 " Never fear, man, we can endow the fair one 
 gratuitously with a club-foot, and that will restore 
 him to his senses without breaking his heart." 
 
 " Agreed," cried Ludwig, antici{)ating much 
 amusement ; " and as my aunt Ursula's windows 
 command a view of the whole space, we can there 
 enjoy the effects of our frolic." 
 
 It required little dexterity to pen the intro- 
 ductory epistle. It was executed in a becoming 
 spirit, and in point of penmanship was as scratchy 
 and careless as the most confirmed exquisite could 
 desire. It was speedily dispatched, and we need 
 hardly say that its object was attained. True to 
 the hour, and arrayed in his most fashionable habi- 
 liments, the professor was on the spot — walked out 
 his hour with as much elasticity of tread as even 
 
 our friend Dr. could execute— made 
 
 his bow, and retired. But there were many eyes 
 looked out upon poor Dunderpole, if no languish- 
 ing fair one beheld him — and many opinions were
 
 124 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 afloat as to the object he had in view. There were 
 eyes too, which came to look upon him, and found 
 other employment; for upon that day Rolf was 
 introduced to Meta by her brother Ludwig, and 
 from that day his attachment took its birth. 
 
 Once embarked in a love affair himself, Rolf 
 would fain have neglected the professor, and it 
 was rather in compliance with the solicitations of 
 Ludwig, than his own wishes, that he continued 
 an aider and abettor in the plot against him ; but 
 the daily opportunity which it afforded him of 
 seeing the lovely Meta, would have reconciled 
 him to any thing. Daily, therefore, did their 
 victim continue his promenade, to the no small 
 amusement of the youthful trio, and to the perfect 
 amazement of aunt Ursula, whose acknowledged 
 inquisitive propensities surpassed those of any 
 other old lady in the city ; but which, upon the 
 present occasion, were of no avail. 
 
 " Do look, Meta," said she one day, "there is Pro- 
 fessor Dunderpole, dressed out in all the colours 
 of the rainbow, and parading up and down the 
 street like a peacock in the sun ! What can be the 
 meaning of all this ? He hath walked there at the 
 same hour every day for a week past. Who is the 
 man looking after? Let me think — there is the rich 
 Widow ; but she has only one eye, and that none 
 of the best. Perhaps the sugar-baker's daughter; 
 but then her temper — the less that is said of it 
 the better. I vow the man stares this way !
 
 LEGENDS or NUMBER-NIP. J25 
 
 Surely some of my idle servant girls are lolling at 
 the windows — I must know ;" and away sallied 
 Frau Ursula. 
 
 " Ludwig," said Meta, " I am sure you have 
 played off some trick on the professor ; is it not 
 so ?" Redoubled peals of laughter from Rolf and 
 he were the only reply. 
 
 Frau Ursula returned, " 'Tis most extraordi- 
 nary," said she on entering ; " not a soul is above, 
 and the maids are all at work. The man must 
 certainly be in love." 
 
 " I am quite of your opinion, aunt," replied 
 Ludwig; " he has been making sad blunders in 
 his experiments of late. His thunder and light- 
 ning have not been worth a rush. Nothing is 
 more likely to make a man blunder than one of 
 the fair sex." 
 
 " Very suspicious circumstances indeed," said 
 Frau Ursula. " But there he is again — out of 
 common politeness I must invite him in to cool 
 himself;" and in spite of all the remonstrances of 
 his pupils. Professor Dunderpole was introduced. 
 
 " Good morning, Sir," said Frau Ursula, as he 
 entered. " Quite well, I hope ? Charming weather 
 this — rather hot, perhaps ? — Don't you find it so 
 over the way ? But probably you have some parti- 
 cular reason for walking there. — Doing penance? 
 eh ?" 
 
 The lady's volubility here exhausted itself, hav-
 
 126 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 ing first overturned some handsome compliments 
 which the professor used on such occasions. Cast- 
 ing, therefore, an intelhgent glance at Meta, he 
 answered with becoming gravity, " Madam, I walk 
 there in obedience to the command of an angel — 
 your lovely niece can tell you, perhaps, who it is I 
 
 mean." 
 
 This was too much for Ludwig — unable longer 
 to control his feelings, he gave vent to them in a 
 roar of laughter, and left the apartment. Dunder- 
 pole looked at Rolf, whom he only now seemed to 
 recognize ; and on observing him labouring with 
 much difficulty to suppress a smile, addressing him 
 in a tone of authority, he demanded why he had 
 absented himself from the morning lecture, and 
 whether his Essay, " De Principiis Attractionis," 
 were completed ? 
 
 On Rolf's replying in the affirmative, the pro- 
 fessor ordered its being instantly brought to him, 
 expecting, of course, that this would occasion Roll's 
 departure; but to his evident disappointment, the 
 young student very deliberately put his hand into 
 his pocket, and pulling out what he supposed the 
 Essay in question, handed it to his preceptor. It 
 would be in vain to attempt giving any adequate 
 idea of the wrath, indignation, and astonishment 
 which collected together in the professor's counte- 
 nance, when, instead of Rolf's Essay on the Prin- 
 ciples of Attraction, his own correspondence with
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 127 
 
 the fair incognito, and duplicates of the answers 
 he had received, were unclosed. The whole conspi- 
 racy seemed in a moment to flash upon his mind's 
 eye ; and starting from his seat, he threw one 
 glance of ominous severity upon the unfortunate 
 Rolf, and in his most dignified manner stalked 
 out of the house. 
 
 The scene which presented itself to Ludwig, 
 who now returned, may be imagined. The sudden 
 and unexpected nature of the whole affair had, for 
 the first time in her life, tied up aunt Ursula's 
 tongue. Rolf sat horror-struck, and poor Meta, by 
 the most painful variations of countenance, plainly 
 evinced how deep an impression Rolf had made 
 on her heart, and that she felt assured something- 
 fatal had occurred to him, but of what nature she 
 could not divine. Ludwig's increasino- merriment 
 at last turned the eyes of the different individuals 
 upon him, and upon each other, and we are not 
 sure that the laugh did not become general — even 
 aunt Ursula's ineffable curiosity could not subdue 
 her risibility ; and before she was prepared to 
 oppose them, the two young students made towards 
 the door. 
 
 We turn now to Rolf, on whom Professor 
 Dunderpole soon directed the whole torrent of his 
 indignation. His expulsion from the Gynmasium 
 was first accomplished — from the mansion of Frau 
 Ursula followed — and latterlv, his remittances
 
 128 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 from his relations were stopped, and poor Rolf 
 was reduced to the last extremity. 
 
 Having for some time contemplated the pro- 
 bability of his being removed from an establish- 
 ment where he could learn nothing, his expulsion 
 gave him very little concern; neither did Frau 
 Ursula's injunction break his heart, for Meta's 
 attachment to him increased with his misfortunes, 
 and their stolen interviews were frequent. 
 
 Such was the state of matters when Number- 
 Nip, in quest of adventures, alighted on the lovers. 
 They were about to part after a very mournful 
 meeting, for Rolf's finances were all but exhausted; 
 he had been compelled to quit his apartments, 
 and absolute want seemed to stare him in the 
 face. Metamorphosed as we have already stated, 
 the kindly spirit dogged them towards the city ; 
 and it may be imagined that he gathered from 
 their discourse a [)retty accurate idea of the 
 situation in which they were placed. 
 
 Rolf now parted from his beloved, and 
 escorted by his humble follower, and closely 
 wrapped in his cloak, he entered the town, pacing 
 with hurried steps the crowded streets. The day 
 was closing in. Already lights were seen in the 
 windows of the rich citizens, and alternately strains 
 of sweet music and sounds of mirth were wafted to 
 him by the evening breeze. Although, as has 
 been said, Rolf was houseless, almost pennyless,
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 129 
 
 he was at that period of life when the lamp of 
 hope burns brightest, and he did not give way to 
 despair. His remittances having been stopped, it 
 was evident that his conduct had been represented 
 to his relations in the most aggravated manner ; 
 but could he once collect his thoughts, and write 
 them on the subject, he did not doubt of being 
 able to make his peace with them. A few days 
 would, therefore, in all probability, put him in 
 possession of a supply ; but how was he to sub- 
 sist in the meantime ? 
 
 Ruminating on this very interesting sub- 
 ject, he accidentally approached the market- 
 place. The busy throng had dispersed. A few 
 stragglers only remained, who with hungry eyes 
 were viewing the tempting morsels. A sudden 
 thought struck Rolf. He boldly advanced, and 
 taking one of the people aside, whispered to him 
 that he was sent at that quiet hour by the cele- 
 brated Doctor Addlebrain, to purchase the tail 
 and the two hind hoofs of an ox, as the Doctor 
 had discovered, that by calcining these substances 
 along with the back bone of an ass, he would obtain 
 a powder which would be an infallible cure for 
 gout, palsy, pestilence, in short a panacea for every 
 ill. Before taking out a patent for this wonderful 
 discovery, the doctor wished to make a final ex- 
 periment, and for that purpose had sent him to 
 purchase the necessary articles. As the butcher
 
 130 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 was well aware that a gout-extirpating powder 
 would be in great demand among the rich burgo- 
 masters, he was perfectly overjoyed at the news, 
 and handled the before despised hoofs as if they 
 were shod with gold and studded with nails of 
 silver. He lugged out the whole assortment of 
 tails, and entreated Rolf to take his choice. 
 
 With a countenance of immovable gravity Rolf 
 examined and criticised them, and at length chose 
 one of a jet black colour, with hoofs to suit. The 
 rejected tails were laid carefully aside; Rolf's 
 offered payment was declined ; and the butcher, 
 slipping a dollar into his hand, begged his interest 
 with Doctor Addlebrain. Rolf gave him a patro- 
 nising nod ; and having packed his purchase, he 
 took it up, and drawing his cloak over it, walked 
 deliberately away. 
 
 Sounds of mirth and revelry were still heard in 
 the inn of The Golden Eagle, when Rolf knocked 
 loudly at the door, and the noise brought out 
 the portly landlord, and some of his satellites. 
 The noble bearing of our student, his free and 
 manly air, impressed mine host with the convic- 
 tion that this new guest was one of fortune's 
 favoured sons, and already in imagination he 
 fingered the ducats which he hoped would soon 
 be transferred from the stranger's pocket into his 
 own. Snatching up two wax candles, he stepped 
 with officious zeal before the youth, and ushering
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. ISl 
 
 him into a handsome apartment, offered to disen- 
 cumber him of his cloak. Rolf waved him off 
 with a haughty air, and in a deep and solemn 
 tone pronounced the word, " Supper !" 
 
 The obsequious landlord disappeared, and soon 
 after returned, bearing a lordly dish of smoking 
 viands, and followed by two domestics loadea 
 with other delicacies. "While the servants arrang- 
 ed the repast, Rolf patted his dog, bestowing on 
 him one or two muttered monosyllables of notice ; 
 and when all was announced to be ready, he 
 placed himself at table, waved his hand, and said 
 sternly, " Begone ! " The landlord looked to the 
 servants, and the servants to the landlord; but 
 there could be no disputing with one who seem- 
 ed accustomed to command, and without loss of 
 time they all retired. 
 
 As soon as the room was cleared, Rolf began to 
 the repast, to which he did ample justice ; he then 
 gaily quaffed the generous wine, and finished this 
 first act of the farce with smoking a cigar. At the 
 first sound of the bell the obedient landlord started 
 into the room. Rolf gave a long, loud yawn, which 
 was enough for the observant Boniface, who tak- 
 ing up a pair of candles, marshalled his silent 
 guest into a commodious bed-chamber. Rolf 
 flung himself carelessly on a couch, without 
 noticing that the useful personage called Boots 
 stood ready to receive his commands. As his
 
 132 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 silent humour was by this time well known 
 through the whole house, when he threw out a 
 leg, our friend Boots thought it a signal for him 
 to do his duty ; and so anxious was he to show 
 his zeal, and in the hope of participating in the 
 bounty of the stranger, Rolf's boot was half off 
 before he seemed to know any thing of the mat- 
 ter. The moment, however, he was aware of the 
 transaction, he lent his officious valet such a hearty 
 cuff, as sent him reeling to the other side of the 
 room, and a single stamp of his foot cleared it of 
 all intruders. Rolf having fastened the door, 
 indulged himself in an extravagant fit of laugh- 
 ter. Loud and long were the peals, which, con- 
 trasting so strangely with his previous taciturnity, 
 froze the blood of every man, woman, and child, 
 within the precincts of The Golden Eagle. 
 
 We regret that our authorities are not agreed 
 as to Number-Nip's proceedings during the night. 
 While some have asserted, that, under sundry 
 disguises, not only Meta and Ursula, but even 
 Professor Dunderpole, were favoured with visits, 
 others as stoutly maintain, that contenting himself 
 with his lately assumed form, he very judiciously 
 couched on the hearth-rug, and in tranquil slumber 
 dozed till morning. Rolf also went to bed, and 
 slept soundly till a late hour, when he arose and 
 equipped himself for the second act of the farce. 
 Having unfastened the door, he jumped again
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 133 
 
 into bed, and rung the bell violently. On a 
 servant entering the room, Rolf threw one leg 
 out of bed, and called out, " Breakfast." As 
 soon as the appalling sight met his eyes, the 
 horror-struck domestic rushed down stairs, nor 
 paused till he found himself in the kitchen, the 
 door of which he bolted behind him. 
 
 " What, in the name of wonder," exclaimed 
 the landlady, " is the meaning of this uproar ? 
 You come tumbling in here as if Number- Nip 
 were at your heels." 
 
 " Talk not of heels !" ejaclated the servant ; 
 " talk not of heels — I say he hath hoofs !" 
 
 " Who has hoofs, blockhead ?" demanded the 
 enraged landlady. " Hast been at the bottle 
 already, sot ? I must beat this evil practice out 
 of you — a drunkard neglects every thing. Up, 
 booby, and see what the stranger gentleman wants 
 — don't you hear how furiously he is ringing ? 
 No one rings in The Golden Eagle in that man- 
 ner without paying for it." 
 
 " I will not hold converse with the enemy," 
 said the terrified domestic. 
 
 " Dolt ! fool ! you shall be well punished for 
 this freak. Go up instantly," bawled she to 
 another servant, " and ask what the gentleman 
 wants." 
 
 The man obeyed ; but by this time Rolf had 
 both legs hanging out of bed, and his dog growl-
 
 134 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 ed from beneath it. In a second the servant came 
 back yelling with affright. 
 
 " I think you are all possessed this morning ; 
 such conduct is enough to drive a woman dis- 
 tracted. Call in my husband." 
 
 Boniface appeared, and the matter was laid 
 before him. It might well have discomposed the 
 equanimity of any host in the city to find a pair 
 of unseemly hoofs in his very best bed ; and ac- 
 cordingly this disapprobation showed itself in his 
 bristling hair, pale cheek, and chattering teeth. 
 
 " Heaven grant me patience !" exclaimed the 
 wife. " Are you also frightened by a bug-bear? 
 Go up this moment, or " 
 
 " I am going, my love ; I am going. I only wait 
 to change my coat, aiul put on a better vest, 
 and " 
 
 " Do you hear that, Nincompoop ?" cried the 
 Frau, as another peal rung in their ears. " Off 
 with you this instant, before we are all deafened 
 with the noise." 
 
 " I am going, sweetest, but I must have all the 
 servants with me. If our guest is the person I 
 suspect him to be, he has been accustomed to 
 many attendants." Accordingly the whole posse 
 was mustered. Boniface, in the humility of his 
 heart, wished to resign the post of honour ; but his 
 troop used such pressing arguments to induce 
 him to be their leader, that it was quite impossible
 
 LEGENDS OF NUJMBER-NIP. 135 
 
 to resist them. He therefore stepped slowly on, 
 followed by the three waiters, the hostlers, boots, 
 the stable boy, and the scullion, all holding by 
 each others' coats. The party paused at the back 
 of the door to take breath, and there came another 
 furious peal. 
 
 They were just on the point of running down 
 stairs, when the hostess thundered out, " What 
 are you about there ? must I come up ?" 
 
 Boniface cast a rueful glance at his followers, 
 which was as much as to say, that will never do. 
 A general groan attested their apprehension of 
 her weighty arguments, and driven to despair, 
 Boniface boldly threw open the door. 
 
 The stranger had now thrust out of bed not 
 only two hoofs, but a long black tail, which he 
 whisked about in a paroxysm of rage ; and had any 
 thing been wanting to complete their consterna- 
 tion, it was supplied by Number-Nip, who, coun- 
 terfeiting the utmost degi'ee of canine vociferation, 
 sprung towards the door. It was too much — the 
 whole troop faced about, and in their flight 
 Boniface fell upon the waiters, they on the 
 hostlers, the hostlers on boots, boots on the stable 
 boy, who overset the scullion, and they all rolled 
 down stairs fiohtin<T and scufflinfv who should get 
 first into the kitchen. Three stuck in the door- 
 way, but were quickly dislodged by their compeers 
 behind, and they all bolted into the kitchen and 
 barricadoed the door behind them.
 
 136 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 Consternation reigned in the inn of The Golden 
 Eagle, from the cellar to the garret. The guests 
 were all ringing to know the cause of the uproar. 
 The landlady railed at the servants, who refused 
 to leave their intrenchment ; and Boniface pru- 
 dently counterfeited a swoon, from which all the 
 kicks and cuffs plentifully bestowed on him by his 
 active spouse failed to recal him. At length 
 snatching up a tray, and exclaiming, " Should 
 he be the devil himself he shall have his breakfast, 
 if he pays for it," this termagant boldly marched 
 up stairs. 
 
 On reaching the apartment, she found her guest 
 seated at table waiting for breakfast, who, after 
 paying her the compliments of the morning with 
 grave courtesy, motioned her to set down the repast. 
 The landlady obeyed, and in doing so glanced 
 under the table ; but nothing was to be seen there 
 except a pair of very handsome unbooted legs. 
 Under pretext of adjusting the window-curtains, 
 she made a detour to the rear, but with no bet- 
 ter success ; and she then walked down stairs, 
 thoroughly persuaded that all those marvellous 
 stories had originated in the ale flagon. 
 
 Rolf having finished breakfast, slowly descend- 
 ed the stair, and at the same moment the carriage 
 of the proud and rich Baroness Liebenstein drove 
 up to the door. Instantly all was bustle within 
 The Golden Eagle. Out rushed the landladv, 
 the waiters, and the hostlers ; and into the kitcheo
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 137 
 
 stepped RoU", with purse in hand. Boniface 
 stood trembling before him. His proffered pay- 
 ment was timidly rejected ; and in a voice al- 
 most inaudible from agitation, Boniface begged 
 him to accept of his poor entertainment, adding, 
 that he considered the honour of his company 
 sufficient compensation. " Nay, nay," quoth 
 Rolf, advancing as the other retreated, " this must 
 not be. At least accept of this purse — you know 
 not how much it will oblige me." 
 
 " Heaven defend me ! Tempt me not ! Avaunt 1 
 I say," cried the horror-struck landlord. But on 
 observing our hero's well-feigned astonishment, 
 dropping on his knees, he added, " Your excel- 
 lency must excuse me ; I am under a vow not to 
 touch money this blessed day." 
 
 " Nay, then, there is no help for it," said Rolf 
 with the utmost urbanity ; " but henceforth you 
 may rely on my patronage ;" saying which, he gaily 
 bade good morning, and left the house, leaving 
 Boniface cursing the hour he entered it.* 
 
 * Should " The Odd Volume" fall Into the hands of an eminent 
 friend, now exalted in station, and not less so in intellect, perhaps he 
 will smile to recognize amid our interpolations his own juvenile frolic 
 in the foregoing story. 
 
 We may take this opportunity of mentioning, that the late lamented 
 Von Weber has made the mountain spirit Riibezhal the subject of one 
 of his divine Operas.
 
 ] 38 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 Heartily amused at the success of this novel 
 mode of raising the wind, Rolf now directed his 
 steps out of the city, and before he was well aware 
 found himself in the neighbourhood of the Giant 
 Mountains. Another moment and he was sur- 
 rounded by a number of persons, and deafened 
 with loud cries of, " That is the thief— seize him 
 — bind him — back with him to prison ;" and most 
 unceremoniously Rolf was seized, pinioned, hur- 
 ried back, and introduced to the chief bailiff' of 
 Hirschberg. 
 
 " Fair and softly, gentlemen, if you please," 
 said Rolf on entering ; " fair and softly, otherwise 
 this amusement may turn out somewhat costly." 
 
 " We will take our chance of that, young sir," 
 replied the bailiff. «' Call in the stranger." 
 
 A man now made his appearance, who in the 
 most deliberate manner asserted that he had been 
 attacked, cruelly maltreated, and robbed by the 
 prisoner. 
 
 Rolf briefly denied the charge. " Whom do 
 you take me for ?" he demanded, addressing the 
 baiUff. " Before you proceed farther with the 
 joke, it may be as prudent to make some one step 
 as far as Professor Dunderpole's with my card, 
 and probably," he added haughtily, " you may 
 find occasion to change your tone." 
 
 " As to your question, Sir," said the bailiff", 
 ♦' we take vou for a thief — dost understand that ?
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 139 
 
 We will humour you, however, so far as to trans- 
 mit your card ; but in the meantime we must have 
 you searched." 
 
 Rolf's pockets were now emptied of their con- 
 tents, and a purse made its appearance, which the 
 stranger instantly identified as his property, even 
 to the number of broad pieces which it contained. 
 Rolf asserted his own right to it, and that there 
 was only one solitary dollar within ; but great 
 indeed was his amazement when a stream of 
 bright golden ducats rolled on the ground. At 
 the same instant the messenger who had been 
 dispatched with Rolf's card returned, and report- 
 ed that the worthy professor had significantly re- 
 plied he knew the prisoner, but that the law 
 might take its course. There was no occasion 
 for farther ceremony. Rolf was instantly hand- 
 ed over to the gaoler, conveyed to one of the 
 dungeons, and put in irons. 
 
 Left to himself, Rolf began to turn the whole 
 matter over in his mind, and the more he thought 
 of it, the more he became convinced, that his hav- 
 ing tampered with unhallowed subjects was the 
 cause of his misfortune, and that his life was likely 
 to pay the forfeit of his folly. A whiff of smoke 
 passing across his face roused him from his revery, 
 and on turnino- round he beheld the stranger who 
 had been robbed sitting beside him, nnd coolly 
 smokino- a c'l^aw
 
 140 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 " And so, young man," quoth the stranger, 
 " you seem to have a good chance of being 
 hanged." 
 
 " It would appear so," said Rolf somewhat 
 sulkily, " although I am as little entitled to the 
 honour as yourself; for how your purse came into 
 my pocket is quite beyond my comprehension." 
 " I put it there," said the stranger drily. 
 " You !" exclaimed Rolf, his eyes flashing fire ; 
 " and now thou art come to insult me. — Oh that I 
 were unbound for a moment, that I might dash 
 thee in atoms !" 
 
 " Or bind me in your fetters ?" added Number- 
 Nip, for it was he. " Tell me now, foolish boy, 
 wert thou again at liberty, how wouldst thou con- 
 duct thyself? Wouldst resume thy wayward 
 habits ? Wouldst desert thy books — mock thy 
 teacher — fall in love ? Wouldst usurp mx) attri- 
 butes, and cheat poor publicans ? Dost heed me, 
 boy? Knowest thou ME ?" Rolf trembled. "Hast 
 heard of Number-Nip ? — Answer me, stripling, 
 and quickly !" 
 
 Modestly, but unembarrassed, Rolf raised his 
 head, as if he would have spoken, while a deep 
 blush overspread his fine countenance. 
 
 " Enough, boy, enough," continued Number- 
 Nip, giving him such a hearty slap on the shoul- 
 der as to shake every link from his encumbered 
 limbs; " that blush bespeaks thy contrition.
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 141 
 
 Speed thee to Bunzlau — make thy peace with 
 thy parents ; and on the eastern slope of the 
 Riesengebirge, where the Krummholz creeps 
 thickest, be with them on the third day at noon. 
 And now fly — there lies thy path," tossing the 
 still smoking stump of his cigar through one of 
 the dungeon walls, and causing thereby a breach 
 sufficient to allow free egress. 
 
 When the evening was pretty far advanced, the 
 gaoler of Hirschberg entered Rolf's dungeon, 
 bearing a scanty portion of brown bread and 
 brakish water ; but he speedily started back on 
 beholding the apparently lifeless form of the priso- 
 ner extended on the floor. The council was in- 
 stantly assembled — the faculty was ordered to 
 attend it ; and that the Hirschbergers might not 
 be disappointed of an execution, every plan was 
 tried to restore animation. All their efforts were 
 fruitless — in his assumed form Number-Nip baffled 
 the leeches — he was evidently dead as a log, and 
 was handed over for dissection. 
 
 On the evening of this eventful day, and with a 
 very heavy heart, poor Meta had retired early to 
 her bed-chamber ; for rumours were in general 
 circulation regarding her lover, which afflicted 
 her almost to distraction. Suddenly she was 
 aware of a rustling sound at her half-opened case- 
 ment, and from an unseen hand the followino-
 
 142 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 billet dropt on her knee : " Thy lover is innocent, 
 and at liberty. Grieve not, but on the third day 
 at noon accompany Frau Ursula to the eastern 
 side of the Riesengebirge, where thou wilt receive 
 the reward of constancy." As is customary on 
 such occasions, Meta first doubted her eyes — 
 read and re-read — ^thought it all a dream — and 
 then very prudently went to bed to recollect her- 
 self. 
 
 Turn we now to Professor Dunderpole, who, 
 deeply absorbed in his scientific pursuits, knew 
 not what important events were in progress 
 around him. Imagining that some foolish prank 
 had brought Rolf under the cognizance of the 
 city authorities, and that a single night of solitary 
 confinement would do him some service, and, 
 moreover, to gratify still farther his own revenge, 
 he allowed him to remain in custody. Accord- 
 ingly, not till a late hour next day, and when all 
 the good folks of Hirschberg were grvnnbling 
 with disappointment at the criminal's death, did 
 he wait upon the chief bailiff, for the purpose of 
 effecting; his liberation. On ascertaining the 
 charges that stood against him, he promptly ex- 
 pressed his disbelief — stated who were Rolf's con- 
 nexions, and their respectability ; also his own 
 relationship ; and offered to become his bail for 
 any amount.
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 143 
 
 " It is too late, Sir," said the chief bailiff, " the 
 prisoner is dead." 
 
 "Dead!" repeated Dunderpole ; "it is sud- 
 den retribution. When was the sword of justice 
 so precipitate in Hirschberg ?" 
 
 " The sword of justice had nothing to do in 
 the matter. He died of his own accord." 
 
 " Broke his heart, mayhap, at an unfounded 
 accusation. This must be looked into, Mr. 
 Bailiff; produce his accuser." 
 
 " His accuser is in durance, as must needs be, 
 until after the investigation, which is about to 
 commence ; but Professor Dunderpole's interfe- 
 rence is now too late. Yesterday it might have 
 saved his kinsman. — Follow me." 
 
 In Hirschberg, as in some other places, even 
 the detection of crime is attended with inconveni- 
 ence ; for, under certain circumstances, the accuser 
 is no less sharply looked after than the accused. 
 To the apartments, therefore, usually allotted to 
 such personages, Dunderpole and the bailiff direct- 
 ed their steps ; but great was their consternation, 
 when on unbolting the doors and entering, perch- 
 ed upon a chair, and apparently busy writing, 
 only the outer casement of the man met their 
 eyes. There were his clothes, like the serpent's 
 slough, stuffed full of emptiness ; but where the 
 being was who had filled them, none could tell. 
 Every nook and corner of the chamber was
 
 144 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 searched — every mouse-hole examined — every 
 lock inspected — all was as it should be ; but the 
 habitant was gone. 
 
 The mystery was at length solved. On one of 
 the sheets of paper which lay on the table, where 
 it appeared he had been seated, in antique look- 
 ing characters, but with a steady hand, the fol- 
 lowing words were traced : — 
 
 Nought now remained for these alarmed be- 
 holders but to bewail in a few accustomed phrases 
 the untimely fate of the unfortunate youth, and to 
 arrange that his body should be rescued from the 
 dissecting-knife, and placed in the house of the 
 professor, who should communicate the melan- 
 choly intelligence to his parents. 
 
 Scene, a Library — Hour, Midnight ; and Pro- 
 fessor Dunderpole discovered stretching his intel- 
 lects almost to the sticking-place, for an assort- 
 ment of sufficiently lugubrious terms, to turn the 
 periods of a voluminous letter to Rolf's father. 
 Suddenly he starts from his seat — a slight sound 
 is heard in an adjoining chamber, where the dead 
 
 * '< Good-bye. 
 
 Turnip Number." (aliat^ Number -Nip.)
 
 LEGF.NDS OF NUMBEU-NIP. 145 
 
 body liad been deposited — his taper sinks low in 
 its socket, and a thin, white, uhnost transparent 
 figure stood before him. 
 
 " Art satisfied ?" said a deep hollow voice. 
 
 The professor shuddered. 
 
 *' Thou couldst have saved me. — Hast had thy 
 revenge? — Now for mine!" 
 
 The professor sunk on the ground, partly that 
 his legs refused their office, and partly to implore 
 forgiveness. 
 
 " It shall be granted," said the deep voice, after 
 a pause ; " but upon one condition." 
 
 " Give it a name !" interrupted the professor. 
 
 " Thou shalt marry old Frau Ursula !" 
 
 " Ten Ursulas, if required !" 
 
 *' And to-morrow !" 
 
 " This hour — this minute !" cried the overjoyed 
 professor. 
 
 " Thou shalt renounce all claim to the fortune 
 of her niece, and by hook or by crook thou shalt 
 compel thy wife to do the same !" 
 
 " Agreed !" 
 
 " To the eastern verge of the Giant Mountains, 
 on the second day, at noon, thou shalt bring a 
 deed to this effect ; and see that Mrs. Dunderpole 
 and Meta accompany thee. Obey, or expect me 
 again !" And while the latter words still rung in 
 the professor's ear, the vision melted into thin 
 air. 
 
 K
 
 146 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 Next day saw Professor Dunderpole, arrayed in 
 his gayest apparel, give the knocker at Frau Ur- 
 sula's door such a thundering peal, as if he would 
 have taken the heart of the old lady by storm. 
 He was instantly admitted — his proffered suit 
 accepted on his own terms — the writings drawn 
 out, and the ceremony forthwith completed. The 
 following morning Meta proposed a pleasure 
 excursion to the Giant Mountains, which was 
 joyfully seconded by the professor, and soon after 
 they all set out, carrying with them Parson Scat- 
 tergood, bride's-man to the professor, and his old 
 and tried friend. 
 
 Meanwhile from an opposite direction another 
 party of travellers were gradually approaching the 
 Riesengebirge. It consisted of our old friend Rolf, 
 and his father and mother. The good old people 
 had undertaken the journey in compliance with 
 their son's wishes, but for what purpose, even he 
 could not tell. Both parties were now verging to a 
 point, and about the same moment each of them 
 beheld a small but elegant Gothic looking chapel 
 intercepting their progress, towards which each of 
 their paths seemed exclusively to lead. They 
 approached. The doors stood open, as if to invite 
 them within, and simultaneously, from the opposite 
 sides, each party accepted the invitation. Here, 
 thought Rolf, as he crossed the threshold, is the 
 temple of the lord of Giant-dale, my old friend of
 
 LEGENDS OF NUMBER-NIP. 147 
 
 the dungeon ; and with a Hght step he took the 
 precedence of his parents along the circular 
 passages, which, lighted from the top, winded 
 in gradually lessening revolutions around the 
 area of the building. Here also, thought Meta, 
 I shall receive the reward of constancy, and she 
 tripped it nimbly along before Mr. and Mrs. 
 Dunderpole. The worthy old folks were now 
 leisurely advancing, when a sudden scream hurried 
 them forward, and before a beautiful altar, which 
 occupied the central space, and over which, in 
 letters of burnished gold, the words 
 
 Pass not. Part not, 
 
 were suspended, they beheld our two young 
 lovers locked in each other's arms. 
 
 The two distinct parties ranged round the altar 
 gazing on the scene, and on each other, in dumb 
 astonishment. The loud sonorous voice of Par- 
 son Scattergood first broke silence. 
 
 " Let explanation," said he, " follow. In the 
 meantime," adding in full-toned professional ac- 
 cents, " Whom heaven hath joined let no man 
 sunder." 
 
 Little more remains to be said. Tlie reverend 
 parson performed his office, after which, uniting 
 equipages, the whole cavalcade set off for Hirsch- 
 berg. On their arrival, at Rolf's urgent desire.
 
 148 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 they drove up to the Golden Eagle, where the 
 hearty reception of the landlady more than made 
 up for the suspicious glances of her husband, and 
 where the generosity of our emancipated student 
 soon repaid the trouble and expense which had 
 been lavished upon him during his late wild 
 adventure.
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE.
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. 
 
 ^ CrabrUer'jS Calc. 
 
 In the reign of James the Fifth, the mill on the 
 Teath, near Doune, was possessed, as it had been 
 for abune a century, by a family of the name of 
 Marshall. 
 
 They were a bauld and a strong race of men, 
 and when the miller of whom we're now to speak 
 was in his prime, it used to be a common saying 
 in the kintra, " better get a kick frae a naig's foot, 
 than a stroke frae John Marshall ;" and even now 
 that he was threescore and one, there were unco 
 few that liked to come to grips wi' him. But 
 though John kent he need fear nae man, and 
 would carry things wi' a high hand when needfu', 
 yet he was onything but quarrelsome, and was 
 aye mair ready to gree wi' a man than to fight 
 wi' him ; and as he was a gash sensible man, and
 
 152 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 thoroughly honest, he liad mony friens and weel- 
 wnshers, and was muckle respeckit in the haill 
 kintra side. 
 
 John's family consisted of tvva sons and a dochter, 
 who had lost their mither when they were but 
 weans. The eldest, James, was as like what his 
 father was at the same age, as twa peas ; only, if 
 ony thing, a thought stronger. William, the 
 next, was mair slender ; but though he coudna 
 put the stane, nor fling the fore-hammer, within 
 mony an ell o' James, yet he could jump higher 
 than ony man he had ever met wi' ; and as for 
 rinning, naebody could come near him. Of Jeanie 
 Marshall we need sae nae mair, than that she 
 was a sensible, spirited, light-hearted lassie, the 
 pride of her brothers, and her father's darling. 
 
 It happened that yae night as the miller was 
 coming back frae gien his horse a drink at the 
 water, that he heard something cheep, cheeping in 
 the grass at the road side, and every now and then 
 it gied a bit flee up in the air, and then doun 
 again ; and upon looking at it again, the miller 
 saw that it was a robin chased by a whuttrit, 
 wliich was trying to grip it ; and the miller 
 said to himsel', I canna thole to see the poor bit 
 burdie riven a' to coopens afore my very e'en ; so 
 he bang'd aff the horse, and ran and got it up in 
 his hand, and he let drive sic a kick at the 
 whuttrit, that the beast gaed up in the lift, and
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNF.. 153 
 
 o'er the hedge, just as if it had been a kuist'n 
 snawba'. 
 
 On lookin' at the robin, John saw some straes 
 stickin to't wi' burd-lime, which had stoppit it 
 frae fleein, and he begood to pike them afF; but 
 Clod, who was a restless brute, and was wearyin' 
 for his stable, tuggit and ruggit sae at the helter, 
 that the miller could come nae speed ava. " And 
 now," says the miller, " gif I set you doun, poor 
 thing, as ye are, some beast or anither will come 
 and worry ye ; and it's no in my power to get on 
 that dancing deevil's back wi' yae hand — sae gang 
 ye in there ;" and he lifted up the flap o' his pouch, 
 and pat in the robin. 
 
 Now John Marshall kentna that a' this time 
 there was a man at the back o' the hedge wi' a 
 cockit gun in his hand, ready to shoot the whuttrit ; 
 but who, when he saw the miller jump aff his horse, 
 took doun the gun frae his shouther, to watch the 
 upshot o't ; and when he heard what the miller 
 said, and saw him put the robin in his pouch, he 
 thought to himself, " I maun ken something mair 
 about this man ;" sae he follows the miller at a 
 distance. And when he sees him come out o' the 
 stable, and into the house, and the door steekit, and 
 a' quiet, he slips up to a window which was a wee 
 bit open, and where he could hear and see a' that 
 gaed on. The first thing he sees is the miller and 
 his family preparing for family worship, for that
 
 154 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 was a thing John Marshall ne'er missed ; and 
 after the psalm was dune, the miller spreads the 
 bible before him, and pittin' his hand into his 
 pouch for his napkin to dight his spectacles, out 
 comes napkin, an' burd, an' a'. 
 
 " Od," says Jeanie, safdy, " gif my father hasna 
 brought hame a robin." 
 
 " Whare got ye the bit robin, father ?" said 
 William. 
 
 " Ne'er ye mind, William, my man," said the 
 miller ; " I'm gaun to read ye a part o' the word o' 
 God, and that will do ye mair gude than onything 
 I hae to tell ye ;" and as he pat out his hand to tak 
 the corner o' his napkin, the robin gied him a dab. 
 " Aye, neebor !" says the miller ; " but ye're no to 
 blame, puir beastie, for ye wasna to ken whether 
 I meant ye ill or guid. And now that I think 
 o't," continued the miller, " I'll pass bye our 
 regular order the night, and read ye that chapter 
 where we're tauld that no even a sparrow shall fa' 
 to the grund without the Lord wills it." 
 
 When he had finished it, they a' went doun on 
 their knees, and the miller, amang ither things, 
 prayed that He, wha took care even o' the bit 
 birds o' the air, would watch for their welfare, 
 and gie them grace to resist a' temptation, and to 
 live a gude and a godly life, like men and like 
 Christians. And when it was o'er, and Jeanie was 
 putting by the Bible, a dirl comes to the door.
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. 155 
 
 " See wha's that, Jeanie," cried the miller. Sae 
 Jeanie opens it, and when she comes back, she 
 says, " It's yin John Murdoch, father, wha's tra- 
 vell't a gye lang bit the day ; but gif it's no con- 
 venient to take him in, he'll just trudge on." 
 
 " Bring him ben, lassie," quoth the miller. Sae 
 in walks John Murdoch, a plain, honest, kintra- 
 like chiel ; and " Guid e'en to you, miller," says 
 he. 
 
 " The same to you, frien'," says John Marshall ; 
 " and sit ye doun, and pit bye your bonnet ; we're 
 gaun to hae ourparritch belyve, and if ye'll tak 
 your share o' them, and stay a' night wi' us, we'll 
 mak ye welcome." 
 
 " Wi' a' my heart," says John Murdoch, sitting 
 himself doun. " And ye've gotten a bit burdie on 
 the table, I see, — but it's awee doufways, I think." 
 
 " Ou aye," quoth the miller, " the poor thing's 
 gotten a bit fright the night; and it's a' stickin' 
 wi' burd-lime, and I kenna how to get it afF." 
 
 " Let me see't," says John Murdoch ; " I hae 
 some bit notion o' thae things." And he took a' 
 the straes aft' it, and dighted and cleaned its fea- 
 thers, and made it just as right's ever. 
 
 " And whare'U we put it now ?" said he. 
 
 *' Od," quoth the miller, " it would amaist be a 
 pity to put it out at the window the night ; sae see, 
 Jeanie, if there's naething to hand it till the morn's 
 morning."
 
 156 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 " We'll soon manage that," said Jeanie, takin' 
 donn an auld cage. 
 
 The robin being safely disposed of, John Mur- 
 doch began to speak to the miller of a heap o' 
 things, and he had the best o't on maist o' them ; 
 but when he cam to speak o' kye, and on kintra 
 matters, " I hae ye now, man," thought the mil- 
 ler ; but faith he found John Murdoch his match 
 there too ; and he said to himsel, " Od, but he's 
 a queer man that, sure enough." And John Mur- 
 doch gaed on tell in' a wheen funny stories, — the 
 miller leugh and better leugh, and Jeanie was sae 
 ta'en up about them, that in she rins twa hand- 
 fu's o' saut instead o' meal into the parritch, 
 and them sauted afore. Sae when they're set on 
 the table, John Murdoch gets the first platefu' ; 
 and when he tastes them, he says very gravely, 
 " No that ill; but maybe ye'U hae run out o' 
 saut." 
 
 " Saut !" cried William, "do they want saut?" 
 and in gangs a spoonfu'. 
 
 " Lordsake !" cried he, turning roun' to John 
 Murdoch. 
 
 " What's wrang with them, William ?" said the 
 miller. 
 
 " On, naething, naething, father — only they're 
 as saut's lick, that's a'." 
 
 " Gae awawi' your havers," cried Jeanie, "let 
 me taste them. Bless me ; an' how in a' the wide
 
 THE iMILLER OF DOUNE. 1^7 
 
 warl' cou'd that happen ? I ne'er made sic a mis- 
 tak in a' my days, an' I canna account for't in no 
 gate." 
 
 " Now dinna ye gang an"* vex yoursel about it," 
 said John Murdoch, " for they'll just gaur the yill 
 there gang doun a' the better."" 
 
 " If that's the gate o't," cried the miller, " they'll 
 need strong yill frae the first; sae, Jeanie, put ye 
 that sma' thing bye, and bring the tither." 
 
 " Na, na, gudeman," says John Murdoch, " if 
 we do that, we'll be fou ; sae let's begin wi' the 
 sma' thing first, and we can tak the strong yill af- 
 terwards at our leisure." 
 
 " Weel, weel," said the miller, " sae be't." 
 
 Sae after supper they fell to the strong yill, 
 and to crackin, and the miller took his share in't, 
 but nane o' his family said ony thing maist ; but 
 they coudna keep their een aff' John Murdoch 
 when he was lookin' at their father, though they 
 found that they coudna look him steady in the face 
 when he turned to them, just frae something in 
 his ee, they coudna tell what. 
 
 " And it's a bpnnie place this o' yours, miller," 
 said John Murdoch, " and nae doubt you and 
 your folk afore ye hae been a gye while in't." 
 
 " Deed hae we," said the miller a wee gravely, 
 " and, as ye say, it's a gye bonnie bit place." 
 
 John Murdoch was gaun to ask something niair 
 about it, but he stopped on getting a particular
 
 158 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 look from Jeanie, and changed the subject ; but 
 the miller noticed it, and guessing the reason, said 
 to John Murdoch, " Ye see, frien', that me and 
 my forefathers hae had this place for about twa 
 hunder years, and we're sweert to leave't, and my 
 bairns ken that, and dinna like to speak o't." 
 
 " And what's makin' ye leave't ?" says John 
 Murdoch ; " that's to say if it's no ony secret." 
 
 " Ou, nane ava," says the miller ; " it's just 
 this, ye see — it's owner thinks that it's worth mair 
 rent, and maybe he counts on our geein' him 
 mair than the value o't rather than gang awa, sae 
 he's just put the double on't, and gang we maun ; 
 for to stay here at that rate, would just rin awa 
 wi' the wee thing I hae laid by for my bairns, 
 which I would be sweert to see. It's no very 
 muckle, to be sure, but I can say this, John Mur- 
 doch, that it wasna gottin neither by cheating nor 
 idleness. However, we needna weary you wi' our 
 concerns, sae come, we's drink King James, and 
 lansr life to him." 
 
 " Wi' a' my heart, miller," quoth John Mur- 
 doch. " And nae doubt ye'U a' be gaun to the 
 sports that's sune to be hauden at Stirling ; they 
 say there'll be grand fun, and I was just thinking 
 that your auld son there wadna hae a bad chance 
 o' winning at puttin' the stane, or flinging the 
 mell."
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. 159 
 
 " And I ken," cried Jeanie, "who wad hae some 
 chance at the race, gif there's to be yin." 
 
 " Dinna brag, bairns," said the miller, " and 
 then, if ye're waur'd, there's naething to be 
 ashamed o' ; but whether we gang there or no, 
 time will show ; in the mean time, Jeanie, bring 
 anither bottle o' strong yill." 
 
 " Miller," quoth John Murdoch, " ken ye 
 what hours it's ?" 
 
 " Me ?" said the miller, " not I — maybe half 
 an hour after nine." 
 
 " Because it just wants five minutes of eleven," 
 quoth John Murdoch. 
 
 ." Five minutes o' eleven !" cried the miller, 
 " and me no in my bed ! faith then, frien', since 
 ye dinna seem for't yoursel, we'll just let the yill 
 Stan', and be aff' to our nests ; sae a gude soun' 
 sleep to you." 
 
 " And the same to you and yours," quoth John 
 Murdoch, as he raise and gaed awa with Wil- 
 liam. 
 
 The next morning the miller's family were up 
 and out at the usual hour ; but John Murdoch, 
 who had wearied himself the day before, and who 
 hadna, maybe, been used to sae muckle strong 
 yill at ance, lay still ; and it was aught o'clock 
 when he cam into the kitchen and bade Jeanie 
 good mornin'.
 
 IGO THE ODD VOLUxME. 
 
 " And how's the gudeman ? and is he out or 
 in?" 
 
 " How !" cries Jeanie, " he and the lave hae 
 been up and out at their wark three hours syne." 
 
 " And what are ye gaun to be about, my 
 dawtie ?" says John Murdoch. 
 
 " Tm gaun to wash the kirn," says Jeanie. 
 
 " And suppose I haud it for ye, and help ye," 
 says he. 
 
 " Weel aweel," says Jeanie, " gin ye like — 
 we'll hae't the sooner o'er." 
 
 And John Murdoch did his best, and was very 
 active ; and when a' was dune, he says, " And 
 now, my dawtie, and what am I to get for helping 
 ye?" 
 
 " Nae mair," quoth Jeanie, " than the thanks 
 ye hae gotten already." 
 
 " But in my kintra," says John Murdoch, 
 " when a lad helps a lass to clean out a kirn, he aye 
 gets yae kiss at least." 
 
 " We ken naething about thae fashions here- 
 abouts," says Jeanie, " sae had ye out o' my 
 gate !" 
 
 But as she passed him, John Murdoch, who 
 thought she wasna in earnest, drew her suddenly 
 to him, and he had taen twa or three kisses be- 
 fore Jeanie could recollect herself; but the next 
 minute she threw him frae her, and catching the 
 ladle, she ran to the parritch-pat on the fire, and
 
 THi: MILLER OF DOUNE. 1() 1 
 
 whipped afl' the lid ; and if John Murdoch, who 
 saw what was coming, hadna darted out at the 
 back door, he wad hae had it a' about him, — as it 
 was, a part of the het parritch played splarge aff 
 the wa' on his coat. 
 
 " And now," thought John Murdoch, " is this 
 real anger, or is't put on ?" and he stood a wee 
 bit aff, joking an' jeering her. 
 
 " Aye, aye," says he, " ye're makin' an unco 
 wark about it, just as if ye hadna been kissed a 
 dozen times frae lug to lug, an' by as mony lads, 
 and no said a word about it." 
 
 " Ye notorious vagabond that ye are," cried 
 Jeanie, "but Tse sort ye for't;" and she flung 
 down the ladle, and ran to loose the muckle dog. 
 
 " Ye're surely no gaun to set the dog on me ?" 
 says John Murdoch. 
 
 "Am I no?" says Jeanie, drawing and work- 
 ing wi' the collar, wi' a' her might. 
 
 Sae John Murdoch seeing her sae determined, 
 he slips to yae side, and gets his gun frae whar he 
 had hidden't. " And now, Jeanie," cries he, " hand 
 your hand, for see I've a gun." 
 
 " I dinna care gin ye had twenty guns," said 
 Jeanie, who had now unbuckled the collar, an' 
 held it in her hands ; " sae tak leg-bail an' aff wi' 
 ye, my man, or Bawtie comes to ye." 
 
 " Jeanie," quoth John Murdoch, " I'm ready
 
 162 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 to walk awa peaceably, since it maun be sae ; bat 
 I'll no be hunted frae your father's house like a 
 thief an' a scoundrel, sae keep up your dog, if ye're 
 wise." 
 
 " We'll sune try that," says Jeanie, loosening 
 the collar ; " sae at him, Bawtie ! an' we'll sune see 
 him rin." 
 
 But John Murdoch stirr'd na yae step, and 
 when Bawtie made at him, he keepit him aff for a 
 while, till the brute gettin' below the muzzle, made 
 a dart at him ; and if John Murdoch hadna quickly 
 jumped to yae side, he wad hae gripped him — 
 as it was, he took awa yin o"" the tails o' his coat. 
 And when Jeanie saw that, she was in a terrible 
 fright, for she didna wish him hurt, and thought he 
 wad hae ran for"*! when she loosed the dog, and 
 she cried wi' a' her might for Bawtie to come back. 
 But the beast wadna mind her, for he had gotten 
 twa three gude paps on the nose, which made 
 him furious ; and sae when he's gaun to mak ani- 
 ther spring, John Murdoch, who saw there was 
 naething else for it, levels at him and lets drive ; 
 and round and round the beast gaed, and then o'er 
 wi' him ; and when Jeanie saw he was killed, she 
 set up a great screigh, and ran till him, abusing 
 John Murdoch. 
 
 " I'm sorry for't, but it's a' your ain faut, Jeanie," 
 says he, " an' canna now be helpit; sae fare ye 
 weel." An' as he gaed awa, William comes run-
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. l63 
 
 nin' in at the other side o' the house, an"' cries to 
 Jeanie to ken what's the matter. 
 
 " It's a' John Murdoch's doings," cried Jeanie; 
 " he first affronted me, an' now he's kill'd poor 
 Bawtie." 
 
 "An' which way is he gane ?" cried WiUiam. 
 
 " Out that gate," said Jeanie ; and away went 
 William like a shot. 
 
 But John Murdoch, who had heard what pas- 
 sed, and didna want to hae ony mair to do in 
 the matter, coured doun ahint some bushes till 
 William was passed; then rising up, he took 
 anither direction, an' thought he had got clear o' 
 him; but as he was stappin' o'er a dike, Wil- 
 liam got a glimpse o' him. Doun he comes af- 
 ter him at a bonnie rate ; an' as he gets near him, 
 " Stop, ye rascal !" he cries to him ; " ye may just 
 as weel stop at ance, for ye may depend on my 
 laying a dizzen on ye for every hunder ell ye 
 mak me rin after ye." 
 
 And when John Murdoch heard that, the bluid 
 gaed up into his brow, an' he was thinking o' 
 standin' still, when he hears James cry out, 
 " What's the matter, William ? an' what are ye 
 chasing the man for ?" 
 
 " He's misbehaved to Jeanie, an' shot Baw- 
 tie," cried William. 
 
 " Then taigle him, just taigle him till I come 
 u p," cried James.
 
 lt)i THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 " It's needless," thought John Murdoch to him- 
 self, " to fight wi' twa o' them, an' yin o' them a 
 second Sampson ; and to mak an explanation or 
 apology wad be ten times waur, sae Til e'en pit 
 on;" an' afF he gaed at nearly the tap o' his fit. 
 After rinning a gude bit, he looks o'er his shou- 
 ther, an' seeing naebody near him, he thinks 
 they've gien't up ; but just as he's coming to the 
 end o' a bit wood, he sees William, wha had taen 
 a nearer cut, just afore him ; an' round he comes 
 on him, crying, " Now, my man, I hae ye now," 
 putting out his hand to catch John Murdoch ; 
 but John drave down his hand in a moment, an' 
 clapping his foot ahint William's, an' whirling him 
 to yae side, " Tak ye that, my man," says he ; an' 
 William gaed down wi' sic a breinge, that the 
 bluid spooted out frae his nose, an' the haill warld 
 gaed round wi' him. 
 
 It was a wee while or James came up, an' when 
 he saw William lying covered wi' bluid, " The 
 Lord preserve us," cried he, "the callant's killed!" 
 an' he sat down beside him, an' got William's head 
 on his knee, an' tried to recover him. By an' 
 by William opens his een, an' when he sees James, 
 " After him, after him," cries he, " an' no mind 
 me." 
 
 " After him," says James, " an' the man a mile 
 agate already? it wad be nonsense for me to 
 try't."
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. 165 
 
 " Then let me up, an' I'll try it mysel'," cried 
 William. 
 
 But James held him fast — " The deil's in the 
 callant," says he, " to think o' running, an' him no 
 able to stand his lane. Lie still, I tell ye 1" And 
 William, who knew that it was in vain for him to 
 strive with his strong brither, thought it best no 
 to struggle ony mair. When he had gotten 
 quite round again, James helpit him up ; an' as 
 they're gaun doun to the water for William to 
 wash himser, they meets Jeanie coming fleeing up 
 the path ; and when she saw William's bloody 
 face and claes, she clasped her hands thegither, an' 
 would hae fa'en, if James hadna keppit her. 
 When they questioned her about what had hap- 
 pened, she tell't it to them honestly frae first 
 to last, and blamed herseP sair for being sae angry 
 an' rash, when, after a\ the man meant nae ill ; but 
 the thought o' what Geordie Wilson might think 
 if he heard o't, an"" the shootin*' o' Bawtie thegither, 
 had perfectly dumfoundered her. " However," 
 continued Jeanie, " Tm thankfu' that things are 
 nae waur, an' that the man's awa." 
 
 " Aye, he's awa," says James, " but gin him 
 an' me foregather again, I'se promise him the best 
 paid skin he e'er got since he was kirstened." 
 
 " Weel, weel," said Jeanie, " but I hope ye'll 
 ne'er meet ; an' now we must gang an' pit puir 
 Bawtie out o' the gate, an' think on something to
 
 lf)6 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 say about him, and about John Murdoch's gang- 
 ing awa sae early, before our father comes in to 
 his breakfast." 
 
 The time was now drawing near for the Sports 
 to be held at Stirling, and William was aye want- 
 ing to speak to his father about it, and to ken if 
 they were gaun ; but Jeanie advised against it. 
 " If ye speak till him, and fash him about it 
 enow," says she, " it's ten to yin but he'll say no, 
 and then, ye ken, there"'s an end o't ; but gif ye 
 say naething, and keep steady to your wark, like 
 enough he may speak o' gaun himseP ; sae tak my 
 advice an' say naething ava about it." 
 
 William did as Jeanie wanted him, but still the 
 miller didna speak, an' now it was the afternoon 
 of the day before the Sports were to come on, an' 
 no a word had been said about them ; and Wil- 
 liam was unco vexed, an' didna weel ken what to 
 do. When he's sitting thinking about it, the 
 door opens, an' in steps their neebor, Saunders 
 Mushet, just to crack a wee ; an' by an' by he 
 says, " An' weel, miller, an' what time will ye be 
 for setting aff the morn's morning ?" 
 
 " Me !" said the miller, " an' what to do?" 
 
 " What to do ?" says Saunders, " why to see the 
 Sports at Stirling, to be sure; you'll surely never 
 think o' missinxj sic a grand siirht?" 
 
 " An' troth, Saunders," sa^^s tlie miller, " I 
 had clean forgotten't. Od, I daursay there'll be
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. iQj 
 
 grand fun, an' my bairns wad maybe like to see't ; 
 an' now that I think o't, they've dune unco weel 
 this while past, especially William there, wha's 
 wrought mair than ere I saw him do afore in the 
 same space o' time : sae get ye ready, bairns, to set 
 out at five o'clock the morn's morning, an' we'll 
 tak Saunders up as we gae bye." 
 
 This was glad news to the miller's family, an' 
 ye needna doubt but they were a' ready in plenty 
 o' time ; an' when they cam to Stirling, they got 
 their breakfast, an' a gude rest before aught o'clock 
 cam, which was the hour when the Sports were to 
 begin ; an' grand sports they were, an' muckle 
 diversion gaed on ; but nane o' the miller's family 
 took ony share in them, till they cam to puttin' 
 the stane, an' flinging the mell. 
 
 " Now, James, my man," says Jeanie, squeezing 
 his arm. 
 
 " I'll do my best, Jeanie," says James, " ye may 
 depend on that ; an' if I'm beaten, I canna help it, 
 ye ken." 
 
 James lost at the puttin-stane, by about an 
 inch just, the folk said by the ither man's slight 
 o' hand an' having the art o't; but when they 
 cam to fling the mell, there wasna a man could 
 come within twa ell o' him ; sae James got the 
 prize, which was a grand gun an' a fine pouther 
 horn. 
 
 An' now the cry gaed round to clear the course,
 
 1(3S THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 au' for the rinners to come forrit; and Jeanie, she 
 helps William afF wi' his coat an' waistcoat, an' 
 taks the napkin frae his neck, and maks him tie it 
 round his waist, an' gies him mony a caution no to 
 rin o'er fast at first, but to hain himsel' for the 
 push ; an' when she has him a' right an' sorted, 
 she begins to look at the aught that's to rin wi' 
 him. When her ee cam to the middle yin, 
 " Lord's sake," says she, " wha's that? — surely — 
 yes — no — an' yet if he had but yellow hair in place 
 o' red, I cou'd swear to him. Friend," continues 
 Jeanie to the man next to her, " can ye tell 
 me what's his name amang the rinners there, 
 the man in the middle, I mean, wi' the red 
 head?" 
 
 " Why, honest woman," said he, hesitating a 
 little, " I'm not just sure — that is to say — but why 
 do you ask ?" 
 
 " For a reason I ken mysel'," said Jeanie; "but 
 since ye canna, or winna, tell me, I'll try some- 
 body else." She then turned to look for James, 
 but the signal was given, an' away they went 
 helter skelter, as if it was deil tak the hind- 
 most. But mony o' them couldna rin lang at that 
 rate, an' they drapped aff yin after anither, till 
 naebody was left but Vv^illiam an' the red headed 
 man ; an' the cry got up that the miller's son wad 
 win, for William had keepit foremost frae the 
 first. But some gash carles noticed, that though
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUxNE. 169 
 
 the red headed man was hindmost, he lost nae 
 grund, an' there was nae saying how it might end. 
 William himsel' began to be a wee thing feared, 
 for he had mair than once tried to leave the 
 ithcr man farer ahint him ; but as he quick- 
 ened his pace, sae did the tither, an' he was 
 never nearer, nor never farer frae him, than 
 about ten yards. In a little while afterwards they 
 came up to the distance-post, and when they had 
 passed it a wee bit, " Now's my time," thought 
 William to himseF; an' he puts on faster, an' the 
 cry raise that the miller's son had it clean, an' 
 was leaving the tither yin fast, fast; but that was 
 sune followed by anither cry, that the red haired 
 man was coming up again. William heard 
 him gaining on him, an' he gained an' gained, till 
 he was fairly up wi' him ; an' now they ran a 
 while breast an' breast thegither ; but in spite 
 o' a' that William could do, the red headed man 
 gaed by him, little by little, an' wan the race by 
 four yards. 
 
 " My puir ain William," cried Jeanie, daw- 
 tin' an' makin' o' him, " no to be first; but ne'er 
 mind it," continued she, " for ye hae muckle cre- 
 dit by it ; for a* the folk round me said that they 
 ne'er saw sic a race since Stirling was a toun, sae 
 ye're no to tak it to heart." 
 
 " Surely no," said William ; " an' yet it's gye 
 hard to be beaten."
 
 170 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 " Weel, weel," said Jeanie, " so it is, so it is ; 
 but dinna speak, dinna speak yet, just tak 
 breath an' rest ye." A cry now got up to mak 
 room, an' gie air ; an' the crowd fell back an' 
 made an open space between the twa runners ; an' 
 when Jeanie turned round, lo and behold she sees 
 John Murdoch standing wi' his red wig in yae 
 hand, an' rubbin' his lang yellow hair wi' a napkin 
 in the tither ; an' what he had dune to her an' to 
 Bawtie, an' makin' William lose the race too, made 
 her sae angry, that up she flees to him, " An how 
 daured ye kill our Bawtie ?" she cries ; " I say, 
 how daured ye kill our Bawtie ?" 
 
 Wi' that up starts James, " An' by my faith, 
 John Murdoch, but ye'll hae the weight o' my 
 nieve now ;" but before he could do any thing, in 
 comes the Earl o' Lennox between them, " What, 
 Sir, dare to strike your Sovereign ?" 
 
 '• The Lord preserve us a'," cried Jeanie, 
 jumping back, an' turning white an' red, time 
 about. 
 
 " Here," continued the Earl, " seize this fel- 
 low, an' keep him fast till we can examine into 
 it." 
 
 " No, no, Lennox," cried the king, panting 
 for breath ; " don't touch him, don't touch him ; 
 there's no harm done. But whereas the Miller o' 
 Doune? bring John Marshall." An' the cry raise 
 up for the Miller o' Doune.
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. I7I 
 
 " An' wha wants me ?" quotli John Marshall ; 
 " I'm here." 
 
 *' Your Sovereign wants ye," says yin o' the 
 courtiers, " sae come ye to King James ; an' now 
 tak afF your bonnet, an' stand there." An' John 
 Marshall stood still without lookin' up, waiting to 
 hear what King James \vanted wi' him. 
 
 An' he hears a voice say, " Look at me, miller, 
 an' tell me if ye think we e'er met before." 
 
 An' John Marshall raised his e'en, an' after 
 a pause, he says, " An' please your Majesty, if 
 it wadna offend your Grace, I wad say that ye 
 had once been at the Mill o' Doune." 
 
 " Ye're right, miller," said James, " ye're quite 
 right; an' little did ye ken, when ye louped 
 aff your horse to save the robin, an' to tak it 
 hame wi' ye, that your sovereign was sae near ye, 
 an' saw it all, as well as the way that ye bring up 
 your family to serve their Maker ; an' it gied me a 
 gude opinion o' ye, miller, an' all that I hae learn- 
 ed since has confirmed me in it, an' makes me 
 say before a' the folk here present, that ye're a 
 gude an' an honest man. Ye tell't me, miller, 
 that ye would hae to leave the mill; but I tell 
 ye that I hae settled it, an' that it's yours at the 
 auld rent, as lang as grass grows an' water rins, 
 an' lang may you and yours possess it." 
 
 King James having finished, the miller tried 
 lo say something; but his lip began to (juiver, an'
 
 172 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 his ee to fill, an' he coudna speak ; sae he claspit 
 his bonnet between his twa hands, and laid it to 
 his breast, and bowed his head in silence to the 
 King." 
 
 " It's enough," said King James ; " an' now call 
 Geordie Wilson o' the Hope." Sae Geordie was 
 brought an' placed before him, an' the King said 
 to him, " I hear, young man, that ye hae met wi' 
 some misfortunes of late, an' I hae been asking 
 about you, an' find that ye're an industrious man, 
 an' a man o' character, an' hae behaved yoursel' 
 weel in a' respects ; sae gang ye hame to the Hope, 
 an' ye'll maybe find something, baith in the house 
 an' out o' the house, that will please ye. An' 
 hear ye, Geordie Wilson," continued King James, 
 " if it happens, as it may happen, that ye court 
 a lass, tak ye gude care that she's no quick o' 
 the temper," an' he glanced at Jeanie ; " an' dinna 
 make o'er muckle o' her, or gie her a' her ain 
 way, for there's a saying, a birkie wife, an' a 
 new lightit candle, are the better o' haein' their 
 heads hauden doun." 
 
 " Come hither, William Marshall," said King 
 James ; " this prize was for the best runner among 
 his subjects, and the King canna tak it, sae it's 
 yours ; and, young man," continued King James, 
 in a lower voice, " ye got a sairer fa' than- 1 in- 
 tended ye, but my bluid was up at the time, for
 
 THE MILLER OF UOUNJi. 173 
 
 KiniTS are no muckle used to haein' hands laid on 
 them." 
 
 " My liege," cried the Earl of Lennox, " the 
 Queen fears that danger may arise from your 
 Majesty's remaining so long uncovered after your 
 late exertion, and her Majesty entreats that you 
 will be pleased to throw this cloak around you." 
 
 " 'Tis well thought of, Lennox," said the King ; 
 " and now for a brisk walk, and a change of dress, 
 and all will be well ;" and as he went away, the 
 people threw up their hats and bonnets, and the 
 air resounded with cries of *' Long live the good 
 King James !" 
 
 And now the folk set off for their ain hames, an' 
 the miller an' his family crackit wi' their neebors, 
 till they parted at the road that led to the mill ; 
 and then nane o' them said onything, for tliey 
 were a' busy wi' their ain thoughts ; an' when the 
 miller gaed into the kitchen, the robin chirped 
 an' chirped, for he aye fed it, an' it was glad to 
 see him. 
 
 An' the miller gets some seed in his hand, an' 
 as he's feeding the robin, his heart begins to 
 swell, and his ee to fill, an' he says, " bairns, 
 wha wad hae thought it ; I say," clearing his 
 throat, " wha wad hae thought it, bairns, that 
 sae muckle good wad hae faun to our lot, an' 
 a' coming out o' saving the life o' a bit burdie ?" 
 
 " An' wha kens, father," said Jeanie, " but ye
 
 174 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 may be now rewarded for a' the guid that grand- 
 father Thomas did, an' about which ye hae often 
 tel't us ; for ye ken there's a promise to that ef- 
 fect in the bible, an' as the bible canna lie, I ken 
 wha'll hae a gude chance too." 
 
 " Ye're right, Jeanie," quoth the miller, " ye're 
 very right; and gie me doun the Bible, an' I'se 
 read it to you." 
 
 Just as it was dune, the door flees open, an' 
 in comes Geordie Wilson, clean out o' breath wi' 
 running. 
 
 " What's the matter now, man?" says William. 
 
 " I'm sure it's something gude," says James, 
 " I ken by his ee." 
 
 " Ou aye, ou aye,'" cries Geordie ; " grand 
 news ! grand news !" and he gasp it for breath. 
 
 " Tak a wee thought time," says James, " and 
 now tell us." 
 
 ♦' Weel, ye ken," says Geordie, " that we lost four 
 cows, and an auld horse and a young ane, by the 
 fire, an' a sair loss it was ; an' when I heard what the 
 King said, I wonder't an' I better wonder't what 
 could be the meaning o't ; an' Jeanie she says to 
 me, 'if I was you, in place o' standing wondering 
 there, I wou'd be aff to the Hoj)e'-^an' aff I rins ; 
 an' when I gets up till't, lo an' behold I sees sax 
 fine cows, an' twa as pretty naigs as e'er I set een 
 on, a' thrang puing awa at the grass ; an' as I'm 
 standing glowrin' at them, an' wondering whar
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. 1J5 
 
 they cam frae, a man comes up to me, an' he says, 
 ' Are ye Geordie Wilson ?' says he. ' That's me,' 
 says I. 
 
 '• ' Weel then,' says he, ' there's a paper for 
 ye ;' an' as he put it into my hand, he began to 
 move awa. 
 
 " ' But will ye no stap in frien', an' tak some- 
 thing?' says I. 
 
 " ' No, no,' cries he, ' I daurna byde ;' an* 
 afFhe rins. 
 
 " Sae I opens the paper, an' there I sees a let- 
 ter frae our landlord, telling me, that as I was a 
 man o' a gude character, an' very industrious, that 
 he had sent me the kye an' the horse in a compli- 
 ment to mak up my loss ; an' saying, that as he 
 had a gude opinion o' me, he wad gie me a twa 
 nineteen years' lease o' the Hope at the auld rent ; 
 an' sae we'll be happy yet, Jeanie. " 
 
 " What, Sir!" cries the miller, "are ye think- 
 ing o' my Jeanie, an' we sae honour't as we hae 
 been this day ?" 
 
 " Gude God !" says Geordie Wilson, grippin 
 the back o' a chair to keep himsel' up ; an' nae 
 wonder at it, when the miller spak sae gravely, 
 that Jeanie hersel' gied a great start. But weel 
 can a' bairn read what's in a parent's ee, though 
 anither canna ; an' the next minute she had the 
 miller round the neck, " An' how daured ye, 
 father, u-ie me sic a friolit ?"
 
 176 THE ODD VOLU.MIi. 
 
 " Is — is — is — your father only joking, Jeanie?" 
 stammered Geordie Wilson. 
 
 *' Atweel was I," said the miller ; " sae hae, tak 
 her, an' a' that I hae to say is, that if I kent ony 
 man that deserved her better, ye wadna hae gotten 
 her ; but dinna ye dawt her o'er muckle, my man, 
 or gie her a' her ain way, but mind ye what King 
 James said the day." 
 
 An' Geordie held up his hand an' lookit at 
 Jeanie, as much as to say, " Do ye hear that. 
 Madam !" 
 
 But Jeanie, she half steekit her e'en, an' made 
 a mouth at him, just like, " An' who cares." 
 
 " An' now, bairns," continued the miller, " I'm 
 gaun to my room, and mauna be disturbit." 
 
 " He's awa to pray to his Maker," says Jeanie, 
 *' for a' that's happen'd to us, an' I think we should 
 a' do the same. At ony rate, I can read the 
 Bible." 
 
 " Hout now, woman," says Geordie Wilson, 
 " can ye no just let it stand a' wee, an' gang out 
 bye foi: a little ?" 
 
 " I dinna think it," says Jeanie. 
 
 " But just a wee bit," says Geordie ; " nae mair 
 than ten staps, unless ye like." 
 
 " Aweel," says Jeanie, " but mind, I'll gang 
 nae farer than just to the end o' the lone." 
 
 '* Jeanie," says William, " ye better put on the 
 pat for the kail."
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. 177 
 
 " Put on the pat !" exclaimed Jeanie, " and it no 
 muckle past eleven o'clock ! is the man gane 
 gite ?" 
 
 " There's time enough, nae doubt," said William, 
 " gif ye're back in time." 
 
 '* Back in time !" echoed Jeanie, " and me 
 only gaun to the end o' the lane — gae wa' wi' your 
 havers, man !" 
 
 " Weel weel," said William ; " we'll see, we'll 
 see." 
 
 " Ou aye," said Jeanie, " ye're aye thinking 
 yoursel' wiser than ither fok." 
 
 " I really maist dinna ken what to do wi' mysel' 
 the day," said William ; " I can neither settle to 
 work, nor yet sit still ; — od, by the by, I'll gang 
 an' 'oup my fishing-rod, to be ready for the niest 
 shower." 
 
 Sae he tak's it doun and begins working 
 at it, and presently he sees James rise and put 
 on his bonnet. 
 
 " Whare are ye gaun, James," says he. 
 
 *' I was thinking," said James, " o' gangin' up 
 to Wattie Simpson's, to see if they want ony 
 potatoes." 
 
 " Just as if they didna get a bow o" them la^t 
 Tyesday !" said William. 
 
 " Weel, I can stap in and speer how they like 
 them." 
 
 M
 
 178 THE ODD VOLUiME. 
 
 " Are ve sure, James, ve're gaun there ?" asked 
 William, a wee slily. 
 
 " Whei-e'er I'm gaun, William," said James, 
 " I'm gaun for nae harm." 
 
 " I've gaen far enough wi' Sampson," thought 
 William, " sae I'll say nae mair." And sae he 
 keeps tying his fishing-rod ; but no muckle 
 minding what he's doing, the string plays snap 
 in twa. 
 
 " Toots !" says William, a wee angered, "and 
 me sae near dune !" Sae he begins o'er again wi' 
 mair care ; but he soon forgets himsel' again, and 
 snap gangs the twine a second time. 
 
 " The deevil tak the string and the whaun to!" 
 cried William, " I'll meddle nae mair wi't the 
 day." Sae he hangs it up again, and then draws 
 out his watch and examines it again. " It's really 
 a grand siller watch, and a grand siller chain too, 
 and mony a yin will be asking to hike at it — and 
 I think Elie Allison wad like to see't; and now 
 that I mind o't, gif I didna promise to call and 
 tell her a' the news — and me to forget it a' this 
 time !" 
 
 Sae awa William fares to Elie's, and there he 
 sits crackin' and laughin' at an unco rate, and 
 never thinking o' the time o' day. And Elie's 
 auntie, she says to him, " And now, W^illiam, are 
 ye for taking a potato wi' us, or are ye gaun 
 hame ?"
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. 179 
 
 And his face turned a wee red, for he thought 
 she wanted him awa; and he said he was gaun 
 hame, to be sure. 
 
 " But dinna tak it amiss," said the auntie, " for 
 I thought ye wad be o'er late for hame." 
 
 " Nae fear o' tliat," said William, " for we dinna 
 dine till twa o'clock." 
 
 " I ken't that," said she, "but it's past it already." 
 
 " The deevil it is !" cried William, jumping up ; 
 •' then fareweel — I'll maybe see ye the morn." 
 
 And as he's hurryin' hame, he sees somebody 
 coming frae the road to the Hope, and walking 
 unco fast. 
 
 " Lord's sake !" thought he, " can that be 
 Jeanie? — faith is't, and I'll lay my lugs she hasna' 
 been hame yet : but I maun get before her, and 
 then see if I dinna gie her't for what she said to 
 me the day." 
 
 Sae awa he sets wi' a' his might, and as he gets 
 near the mill, aft" wi' his coat, and up wi' a 
 spade, and begins delving ; and keeking o'er his 
 shouther, he sees Jeanie turning the corner o' the 
 plantin' ; but he never lets on, nor looks round, 
 till she's just beside him, and speaks to him. 
 
 " Hegh !" says he, " I'm glad it's ready at last; 
 od, I really thought we Avere to get nae dinner 
 the day." 
 
 " Is my father in the housje ?" says Jeanie.
 
 180 THE ODD VOLUME, 
 
 it 
 
 Is your father in the house !" repeated William, 
 " Odsake, lassie, hae ye no been hame yet ?" 
 
 " I was taiglecl," says Jeanie, lookin' a wee 
 foolish. 
 
 " And the kail will no be on yet?" cried 
 William. " I was sure o't now — quite sure o't." 
 
 " And what for did ye no gang in and put them 
 on yoursel', then, if ye was sae sure o't?" 
 
 " And sae I wou'd," said William, " sae I 
 wou'd, if you hadna threepit, and better threepit, 
 that ye w^as gaun nae farer than the lane. But 
 dinna put aff time here, for I'se warrant my father's 
 in a bonnie kippidge already." 
 
 " I'm no fear't for that," says Jeanie ; but she 
 was na' very easy for a' that. 
 
 Sae when she comes in at the kitchen door, she 
 sees the kail-pat standin' on the floor, and her 
 father giein' a bit pick to the Robin. 
 
 " Did ever mortal ken the like o' this ?" cried 
 Jeanie ; " naething to be done, and my gude auld 
 father sitting just as contentit there as if the 
 dinner was ready to be put on the table; but 
 we'll no be lang o' makin' something." And she up 
 wi' the stoup, and aff wi' the lid o' the pat, when 
 the miller cries to her, " Tak' care, Jeanie, and no 
 spoil the kail!" 
 
 " Wee], I declare," says Jeanie, " if that callant 
 shou'dna' get his paiks, for gaurin' me believe that
 
 THE MILLER OF UOUNE. 181 
 
 the kail wasna' ready ; but it was thoughtfu' o' 
 him, after a', to pit them on ; and troth," says slie, 
 "but they're uncommon gude." 
 
 " And what for no, Jeanie ?" said the miller ; 
 " did ye think that your father had forgotten how 
 to mak' a pat-fu' o' kail ?" 
 
 " Did ye mak them, father?" said Jeanie. 
 
 " Troth did I," said the miller ; " wha else was 
 there to do't ?" 
 
 " But couldna ye hae cried in William, father? 
 and I'm sure it wad hae been better for him to 
 hae been in the house, than puttin' himsel' into 
 sic a terrible heat wi' delving this warm day." 
 
 " If William's in a heat," quoth the miller, 
 " it's no wi' delving, for I haena' seen him near 
 the house the haill day, an' I was out twa three 
 times." 
 
 " Then I'll lay ony thing I ken whare he's 
 been," said Jeanie ; " and him to hae the impu- 
 dence to speak to me yon gate — but I'se gie him't ; 
 an' yet what right hae I to be angry wi' him, me 
 that's forgotten mysel' sae muckle?" 
 
 " Dinna vex yourself about that, my bairn," 
 quoth the miller, " what has happened the day's 
 enough to put us a' out o' sorts ; but we'll a' come 
 to oursel's belyve. An' now, Jeanie, gang ye out 
 an' look if ye can see James coming hame, an' then 
 we'll hae our dinner."'
 
 182 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 Sae avva Jeanie gangs, an' when William sees 
 her coming, he pretends to be unco busy working. 
 
 " William !" cries Jeanie, " ken ye whare James 
 is gane ?" 
 
 " Me !" said William, " how should I ken whare 
 folk stravaig to ? I might rather hae askit you git" 
 ye had fa'en in wi' him, I think." 
 
 " Aye, aye, my man," says Jeanie, " but ye're 
 speakin'uncocrouse; an' whare hae ye beenyoursel' 
 a' day, I wonder ? no delvin', I'm sure, gif yin 
 may judge by the wee pickle yird that's turn'd 
 up." 
 
 " An do ye think," says W^illiam, " that after 
 a' my racin' an' rinnin', that I should hae been 
 delvin' a' day, an' lighter wark to do about the 
 farm ?" 
 
 *' An' whare was ye, then, that father cou'dna 
 see you when he was out ? " 
 
 " Did my father cry on me ?" says William. 
 
 " No," says Jeanie ; " at least he didna say't. 
 
 " Then that's it," said William, " just it ; for 
 he cries sae loud, that it wad hae wauken'd a man 
 wi' the haill haystack aboon him, forbye lyin' at 
 the side o't." 
 
 " An" sae ye'll hae me to believe," says Jeanie, 
 '■'■ that ye was sleepin' ; but I'm thinking ye was 
 anither gate — I'se find it out yet." 
 
 " Women's tongues, women's tongues !" said
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. 183 
 
 William, beating a piece yird as if he wad mak 
 pouther o't; " they're aye either fleechin' or 
 flytin'." 
 
 " Did ye ever say that to Elie Allison ?" cries 
 Jeanie; " ye've been there, I've a notion. But 
 we'll tauk nae mair about it enou, for yonder's 
 James ; sae pit ye on your coat, and bring in 
 your spade ; or, if ye'll wait, James will carry it 
 for ye, for your arms maun be unco wearit !" 
 
 When W^illiam saw James coming alang, as 
 grave-like as frae a preachin', an' thought on wharc 
 he had been, he fan' that he would laugh in his 
 face downrio;ht if he met him, an' that mi.o-ht 
 anger Sampson ; sae he set aff by himsel' an' 
 put bye his spade. An' when he saw him fairly 
 in the house, an' had his laugh out by himsel', he 
 composed himsel', an' waukVl into the kitchen as if 
 naething had happened. 
 
 Niest day the miller spoke to James anent 
 his marriage, an' tell'd him, as they're no to 
 move frae the mill, it necdna be puttin' aff ony 
 langer ; sae it was settled to be in a fortnight, an' 
 that created an' unco bustle in the house. An' 
 Jeanie was every now and then speakin' o' how 
 they were a' to manage, but the miller ne'er seem- 
 ed to mind her. Sae yae day when they're in the 
 kitchen by themsel's, she begins on't again. " An' 
 James an' his wife will hae to get the room that 
 he an' William arein ; an' then William he maun
 
 184 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 either get my yin, or sleep out bye, for there'll be 
 nae puttin' luni in yon cauld damp bed, unless we 
 want him to gang like a cripple ; sae I dinna ken 
 what's to be dune." 
 
 " Ye forget, Jeanie, " said the miller, " that John 
 Murdoch sleepit there, an' he didna seem to be 
 the waur o't. " 
 
 " Aye, for yae night, nae doubt," said Jeanie, 
 " an' in fine weather ; but how lang will that last?" 
 
 An' the miller he gies her nae answer ; but 
 after sitting thinking a wee, he rises an' tak's 
 doun his bonnet. 
 
 *' It's a fine day for being out," says Jeanie ; 
 " but are ye gaun far, father ?" 
 
 " Nae farer than the Hope," said the miller. 
 
 " The Hope !" exclaimed Jeanie, as her face 
 reddened. 
 
 ** Aye," says the miller ; " an' I'm thinking o' 
 speerin' if there's room there for yin o' ye." 
 
 " Now God bless my gude auld father," said 
 Jeanie ; " he sees brawly what I wanted, an' wadna 
 even look me in the face to confuse me !" 
 
 " Geordie Wilson," cries the miller, " when 
 will it suit you to marry my dochter ?" 
 
 "The day — the morn — ony day !" cries Geordie, 
 as happy's a prince. 
 
 " Because I was thinking," says the miller, 
 " that it might be as weel to pit James's waddin' 
 an' yours o'er thegither."
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. 185 
 
 " Wi' a' my heart !" says Geordie ; " wi' a my 
 heart!" 
 
 " Weel, then," quoth the miller, " I'll awa 
 hame an' see what our Jeanie says to't." 
 
 " An' I'll gang wi' ye," cries Geordie. 
 
 " Come your wa's then, my man," says the mil- 
 ler. 
 
 An' sae as they're gaun down the road thegither, 
 they meets William, an' Geordie tells him how 
 matters stood. An' when William hears o't, he 
 shakes Geordie by the hand, an' awa he flees o'er 
 ditch an' dyke, an' is hame in nae time. An' after 
 resting himseP a minute, an' to tak breath, in he 
 gangs to the kitchen ; an' when Jeanie sees him, 
 she says, " Ye're warm-like, William, an' ye've 
 siu-ely been running." 
 
 " Is ony thing wrang wi' my father?" said 
 William. 
 
 " God forbid !" said Jeanie; " but what mak's 
 ye speer ?" 
 
 " Ou, naething ava, amaist," said he ; " but only 
 I met him waukin' unco grave-like, an' he scarcely 
 spak to me ; an' I met wi' Geordie Wilson too, 
 an' he didna say muckle either."" 
 
 " Preserve us a' !" cries Jeanie, " if ony thing 
 has happened atween the twa !" 
 
 " What could pit that nonsense in your head, 
 lassie ?"' said William. " By the by," continues
 
 186 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 he, after a pause, " Geordie's at the end o' the 
 lane, an' wishin' muckle to speak to ye." 
 
 " An' what for did ye no tell me that at first, 
 ye haverel ?" cried Jeanie ; an' out she flees. 
 An' just as she's turning the corner, she runs 
 against her father wi' a great drive. 
 
 " The lassie's in a creel, I think !" quoth the 
 miller ; " but it's the same wi' them a'." 
 
 " Jeanie ! my ain Jeanie !" whispers Geordie; 
 " an' it's a' settled for niest week, an* we'll be sae 
 happy !" 
 
 Jeanie held him at arm's length frae her, that 
 she might look him in the face. 
 
 " I see it's true ! I see it's true !" cried Jeanie, 
 an' ye're no joking me ! an' that deevlish callant 
 to gang an' gie me sic a fright ! Hegh ! I hinna 
 gotten the better o't yet !" 
 
 " An' now, Jeanie, that I hae seen ye," says 
 Geordie, " I maun run awa hame an' tell my gude 
 auld mither that it's a' fixed, for she wasna in 
 when your father cam to the Hope ; an' then I 
 maun awa to the town for things. An' what'll I 
 bring ye, Jeanie? what'll I bring?" 
 
 *' Ou, just ony thing ye like," said Jeanie ; 
 " bring back yourseP, that's a' Jeanie cares about." 
 
 An' she stands an' looks after him till he's out 
 o' sight; an' as she turns about, "Jeanie ! my ain 
 dear Jeanie !" says James, takin' her in his arms.
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. 187 
 
 " My ain gude an' aye kind brither !" said 
 Jeanie, resting her head on his shouther. 
 
 " She'll no speak to mc, nae doubt," sa3'S 
 William, his voice shaking a' wee. 
 
 " Ah, ye wicked callant!" says Jeanie, kissing 
 his cheek. " But ye mauna plague me nae mair; 
 na, ye'll no daur do't." 
 
 " No !" ci'ies William, " I'm sure I'm fit for a 
 that Geordie Wilson can do ony day, an' maybe 
 mair." 
 
 Jeanie was gaun to answer, but she got her ee 
 on the miller standing at the door. 
 
 " I maun hae /?w blessing first," she cries, " an' 
 then Jeanie's heart will be at peace." 
 
 An' when the miller saw her coming, he gaes 
 slowly back to his ain room, an' in she comes after 
 him, and " Bless me, bless your bairn, my gude 
 auld father ! you that's been father, an' mither, 
 an' a', to her since before she cou'd guide hersel' ! 
 bless your Jeanie, an' she'll hae naething mair to 
 wish for !" 
 
 " How hke she's to her mither !" said the miller, 
 in a low voice ; " but ye'll no mind her sae weel, 
 Jeanie. I mind weel, that on the night before 
 she dee't, an' when I was like yin distrackit, ' It's 
 a' the will o' Providence, John,' says she, ' an' 
 we maun a' bow till't ; but dinna ye grieve sae sair 
 for my loss, John, for young as she is yet, my 
 heart tells me that I'm leaving yin ahint me,
 
 188 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 wha'll be a blessing an' a comfort to ye when I'm 
 awa ;' and ne'er were truer words spoken," con- 
 tinued the miller, " for ne'er frae that day to this 
 was ever her father's heart wae for Jeanie; sae bless 
 ye, my bairn, an' may a' that's gude attend ye, an' 
 may ye be spared to be a comfort and an example 
 to a' around ye, lang, lang after your auld father's 
 head's laid low.'' An' as he raised her frae her 
 knees, he kissed her, an' then turned slowly frae 
 her, an' Jeanie slippit saftly awa. 
 
 On the niest Friday the twa marriages took 
 place, an' a' the folk sat down to a gude and a 
 plentifu' dinner, an' there was an unco deal o' fun 
 and laughing gaed on. And when dinner was o'er, 
 an' thanks returned, the miller cried for a' to fill a 
 fou, fou bumper. " An' now," says he, " we'll drink 
 King James's health, an' lang may he and his rule 
 o'er us." 
 
 And this led them to speak o' his coming there 
 as John Murdoch ; and some o' them that hadna 
 heard the haill story, they askit the miller to tell't. 
 
 " Wi" a' my heart," quoth the miller; " but first 
 open that cage door, Jeanie, for it's no fittin' 
 that if, wha had sae muckle a share in't, shou'd 
 be a prisoner at sic a time.'' 
 
 And the robin cam fleein' out to the miller's 
 whistle, an' lightit on the table beside him. 
 
 And when the miller was dune wi' the story, 
 " And now, friens," said he, " ye may learn this
 
 THE MILLER OF DOUNE. 189 
 
 frae't, that it's aye best to do as muckle good 
 an' as little ill as we can. But there's a time 
 for a' thing," continued the miller ; " sae here, 
 Jeanie, my dawtie, put ye bye the robin again ; 
 and now, lads, round wi' the whisky." 
 
 And they sat crackin' and laughin' thegither till 
 it was time for Geordie and his wife to be settin' 
 aff for the Hope, and the rest o' the folk gaed wi' 
 them, and a' was quiet at the mill again. 
 
 In twa year after that William was married to 
 Elie Allison. And when he was three score an' twa, 
 the miller yielded up his spirit to Him that gied 
 it ; an' when King James heard that he was dead, 
 he said publicly, that he had lost a gude subject 
 and an honest man, and that he wished there was 
 mair folk in the kintra like John Marshall. 
 
 And James succeeded to his father; an' after 
 James came James's sons, and their sons after 
 them for never sae lang ; and for aught I ken to the 
 contrair, there's a Marshall in the Mill o' Doune 
 at this day.
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT.
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT. 
 
 " The dark knight of the forest, 
 So from Lis armour nain'd and sable helm 
 Whose unbarr'd vizor mortal never saw." 
 
 Bertram — Cancelled Scenes 
 
 The Storm still raged with unabated violence, and 
 the wind, as it howled around him, dashed to and 
 fro the waving plumes upon the helmet of the 
 knight ; but he heeded it not, and continued to 
 urge his coal-black steed towards the dark and 
 gloomy forest. The wind staid its fury for a 
 space, and the moon broke suddenly between 
 two warring clouds, as if she would have calmed, 
 with her soft holy light, the furious tempest that 
 was raging around. 
 
 That momentary light gave to view the knight 
 upon his coal-black steed entering the precincts 
 of the forest. As darkness again closed, the 
 sound of approaching steeds was heard, and a deep 
 hoarse voice exclaimed, " Curses on the storm, — 
 
 N
 
 194 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 is there no place of shelter nearer than your 
 father's castle, lady ?" 
 
 " Swear not," replied a soft female voice, 
 " Swear not, Count Gondibert, lest you bring 
 down Heaven's vengeance on our heads. There 
 is no place of shelter save this forest, and I will 
 not enter it." 
 
 " Why fear you thus, fair lady?" replied the 
 other, *' am I not here to guard and to protect 
 you ? Can you fear the straggling bandits who 
 infest it ?" 
 
 " It is no human power I fear, my lord," 
 replied the soft voice, " it is a shuddering dread 
 of another kind. Hast thou forgotten the legend 
 of the forest, how a brave knight was basely mur- 
 dered there, returning to his young and lovely 
 bride, by a revengeful and disappointed rival ? I 
 cannot enter it, my lord ; I'll rather brave the fury 
 of the storm. Hark ! hark ! the sound of horses' 
 feet is beating in the forest." 
 
 Count Gondibert listened, but before he had 
 time to prepare for defence, there was a rush from 
 its dark bosom, and in a moment they were 
 surrounded by horsemen. The Lady Bertha 
 shrieked. Count Gondibert drew his sword, and 
 called on his attendants to defend themselves. 
 They quickly drew forth their fire-arms, but fear 
 or the darkness prevented their making a vigorous 
 defence against their assailants, and they began to
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT. 195 
 
 give way. One of tlie robbers laid his hand upon 
 the bridle of the lady Bertha's palfrey, while 
 Count Gondibert in vain endeavoured to defend 
 and to release her; but it was done by another 
 hand. One blow from a stranger-sword severed the 
 arm from the body, and the lady Bertha's steed 
 was released. On all sides the banditti felt the 
 power of a strong arm, but darkness prevented 
 them from distinctly seeing the form which dealt 
 these strokes of death. Unprepared for this at- 
 tack, from the feeble resistance which had at first 
 been made, terror seized the banditti, and they 
 fled before that arm of power. 
 
 The moon again shone forth. It was the 
 knight on his coal-black steed. 
 
 " It is the knight of the forest !" shrieked Ber- 
 tha, and hid her face with her trembling hands. 
 
 Count Gondibert shuddered, and laid his hand 
 on the lady's bridle to lead her away; but the 
 knight also laid his hand upon it, and it fell from 
 that of the count. Count Gondibert spoke not, 
 the Lady Bertha trembled with affright, and the 
 knight in silence led the palfrey towards the castle 
 of her father, Baron Adelbret von Edelstein. 
 They arrived at the castle gates, and paused, for 
 the horn of warning hung on the side where the 
 Black Knight rode, and no one dared to ap- 
 proach it. For a moment they were immove-
 
 196 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 able, but at last the knight raised the horn to 
 his lips. 
 
 The tones pierced Lady Bertha's heart. They 
 seemed mysteriously to awaken remembrances of 
 past scenes — feelings of mingled pleasure and of 
 pain. She felt as if the spirits of those she had 
 once loved were hovering around her, to guard her 
 from the evils of a turbulent world, from which 
 her pure spirit would gladly have fled for ever. 
 
 These feelings ovei powered her already agi- 
 tated mind, and v;hen the gates were opened, 
 she was taken in an almost insensible state from 
 her saddle. The knight un his coal-black steed 
 slowly retraced his way towards the forest, and 
 Baron Adelbret receivino- his faintinij daughter in 
 his iirms, eagerly inquired the cause of the situa- 
 tion in which he beheld her. 
 
 Count Gondibert related the adventure. The 
 baron looked disturbed, and asked whether the 
 knight wore sable armour, and rode a black horse. 
 
 " He did," replied Count Gondibert. 
 
 " Didst thou remember to utter a prayer ?" 
 asked the baron solemnly. 
 
 Count Gondibert started. 
 
 " Beware of that knight. Count Gondibert. 
 Canst thou forget the tradition, that the fate of 
 thy house depends on such a form ? Shouldst thou 
 meet him three times, and forget to utter a prayer, 
 thou art lost."
 
 TilE BLACK K NIGHT. IQ^ 
 
 The count remained in gloomy silence. 
 
 The baron now dismissed Bertha, who had 
 revived, to her chamber, and turning with a 
 smile towards the count, he inquired what pro- 
 gress lie had made in Bertha's affections during 
 the time of their residence together at the castle 
 of her uncle, whence they had just returned. 
 Count Gondibert contracted his brows, and a 
 dark fire flashed from under them, as he an- 
 swered in a haughty tone, that the lady Bertha 
 had peremptorily refused to listen to his suit, and 
 he feared he must aspire to no more than her 
 friendship : " Her love," added he, with a bitter 
 smile, " still appears to be buried in the grave of 
 the page." 
 
 The baron frowned, but smoothing his features, 
 he said, " It is nearly a year, Count Gondi- 
 bert, since the mysterious death of Albert, and 
 Bertha may surely now be won to think of a lover 
 more befitting her than an unknown boy. She 
 speaks not of him, she seems to lament him not." 
 — The baron was here interrupted by the soft 
 sound of a lute, and Bertha's voice was heard sin(>-- 
 ing, in tones of deep feeling, the following song : 
 
 This mournful heart can dream of nought but thee. 
 
 As with slow steps among these shades I move, 
 And hear the Niglitingale from tree to tree 
 Sighing, I love ! I love I
 
 198 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 This mouruful heart wakes to one thought alone, 
 
 That still our fatal parting will renew : 
 To hear that bird, when spring's last eve is gone, 
 Sighing, adieu ! adieu ! 
 
 The baron said no more, and the confer- 
 ence was broken up. 
 
 The following morning Count Gondibert 
 sought an interview with lady Bertha, and re- 
 newed his suit ; but she repulsed him with indig- 
 nation and displeasure, at his breaking through 
 the solemn promise he had made her, never to 
 resume the hated subject. The count sprung 
 on his steed and galloped from the castle, rage 
 and vengeance burning in his breast. Absorb- 
 ed in his dark reflections, he drew near the 
 forest without observing that he did so. — " She 
 shall be mine," exclaimed he aloud, " were all 
 the powers of darkness leagued against me !" 
 
 " They may assist thee !" said a deep voice 
 beside him. He looked up — the knight on his coal- 
 black steed was there — he shrunk back and mut- 
 tered a prayer, though prayer was a stranger to 
 his lips. In silence he rode, and the black knight 
 . by his side, till he arrived at his own castle gates, 
 when the knight on his coal-black steed slowly 
 retraced his way to the forest. 
 
 A superstitious terror scarcely now permitted 
 Count Gondibert to leave his castle, lest he should 
 again encounter the black knight ; but it did not
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT. 
 
 THIS MOT KNFUL HEART, 
 
 Poetry ft'oni '^Soncjs of a Stranger" 
 1)V L. S . C OS r E L L o . 
 
 " MnsicbyH.C.'-^ 
 
 
 trtr t 
 
 ^^ 
 
 =p^=is 
 
 ^ 
 
 w 
 
 ¥ I 
 
 This mournful ht-art can dream of 
 
 lano Forte or HS t>. 
 
 i 
 
 nought but thee, 
 
 As with slow 
 
 5'ii \i\ r \ 
 
 I 
 
 r^^^^ 
 
 m:ii'\imi[.[!z^ 
 
 stejjs a moiig these sh.nles I inowl 
 
 mr' n^im m 
 
 ^^J II 
 
 m 
 
 ^ 
 
 i 
 
 3 I f J.1 
 
 T'rj riit:^' ^'tit/f /ffS 
 
 Eui^. by W. H, Lizars^ Ediul^
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT, 
 
 uii } ; J' i J^^ 
 
 And hear the Nightingale from tree r* t( 
 
 ±^ i j 7-J I r • • -[ 
 
 ^ 
 
 i 
 
 f 
 
 «^ tree "l Sigh iug SighT-. iiig 
 
 m 
 
 
 J ^^ 
 
 ^^^^^^^ 
 
 heart ___ iv-akes to one thought a lone That 
 
 *'This moarufiil heartV
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT. 
 
 f*^ 
 
 .till our fa_Tal part inii; w-ill 
 
 W=^ 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 l^^ 
 
 e^* spring's last e-ve is gum- Sigh iu 
 
 "This mournful heartV
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT. 199 
 
 hinder him from laying plans for the accomplish- 
 ment of his diabolical purposes. 
 
 " My mind is sad to-day," said Bertha to her 
 attendant, " and I feel a wish to recline on the 
 banks of the dark rolling Danube ; the deep shade 
 of its trees will be in accordance with the sadness 
 of my soul." 
 
 " Ah ! my lady," replied Matilda, " I too feel 
 this heaviness upon me, as if some misfortune 
 were impending over us ; but I shrink from the 
 thoughts of that sombre spot, which, without 
 increasing our cheerfulness, must lay us open to 
 a thousand dangers. Go not to it, my lady ; 
 rather from the secure battlements of your fa- 
 ther's castle, let us look out upon the surround- 
 ing rich variety of prospect, which cannot fail to 
 cheer and revive our drooping spirits." But 
 Bertha would not listen to Matilda's remonstrances, 
 and turned her steps towards the dark stream. 
 
 Scarcely were they within the shade of the 
 forest, whose boughs waved mournfully in the 
 sighing breeze, when Bertha felt the gloom deep- 
 ening in her mind, and sad thoughts, which 
 filled her eyes with tears, came crowding fast 
 upon her. " Ah ! Matilda," said she, as they 
 proceeded, " how like is this shade to my dark- 
 ened life ! I have left the morning light of joy 
 behind, and there remains for me but the night 
 of grief!"
 
 200 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 At that moment she felt herself enveloped in a 
 close covering, which obscured her sight and 
 stifled her voice; — she heard the shriek of Matilda, 
 but she heard no more, for a powerful arm was 
 thrown around her ; she was hurried along, placed 
 on a steed before a horseman, and borne swiftly 
 away. 
 
 Long did they ride at a rapid pace, but 
 at last the horseman paused, and removing the 
 covering a little, he raised some wine to Bertha's 
 lips, — she turned her head aside and refused to 
 drink it. 
 
 " Take it," said the horseman, " it may help to 
 sustain you in what you have yet to undergo." 
 
 " Merciful heaven !" exclaimed she, " for what 
 am I doomed ? tell me, tell me, by all your hopes 
 of heaven, for what am I reserved ? Drive me not, 
 1 implore, thee to despair !" 
 
 " Innocence should never despair!" said the 
 horseman sternly, and again raised the wine to 
 her lips. 
 
 His words insensibly infused courage into the 
 bosom of Bertha, and raising her thoughts to hea- 
 ven in prayer^ she took the offered beverage, 
 to renew her fast failing strength. At length 
 they stopped, and she was taken from the steed 
 by the horseman. A horn was sounded low, and 
 she heard the clanking of the chains of a draw- 
 bridge letting down. She shuddered, but remem-
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT. 201 
 
 bering the words of the horseman, Innocence 
 should never despair^ she made no resistance, and 
 suffered herself to be led across the bridge, into 
 what she imagined to be the court-yard of a castle. 
 A door was opened, and her conductor led her 
 down a flight of steps. "Oh, Heaven !" thought she, 
 " is it to a dungeon I am to be taken ?" but she 
 spoke not. After descending some steps, they kept 
 upon level ground, then ascended a long stair- 
 case ; and her guide put a key into a door which 
 seemed to bar their further progress. He opened 
 it, and drawing Bertha within, said, " You may 
 remove the bandage ;" but before she could do so, 
 he had retreated and locked the door behind him. 
 
 In place of a dungeon, she now found herself 
 in a magnificent apartment. She gazed round her 
 in astonisLioent, but something like the truth 
 flashing upon her mind, she exclaimed, " Rather 
 to a dungeon !" She now threw herself upon a 
 couch, and endeavoured to strengthen her mind for 
 what she expected would soon follow ; but she was 
 interrupted in her reflections by the opening of 
 a door at the other end of the apartment. A 
 female entered and approached Bertha, who knew 
 not in what light to consider her, as she appeared 
 to be too elegantly attired for an attendant. 
 
 " Why am I here ?" asked Bertha, rising with 
 some haughtiness in her air j " and who dares
 
 202 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 thus to treat a daughter of the Baron von Edel- 
 stein ?" 
 
 The female made no reply to her question, 
 but surveyed Bertha with a scrutinizing glance, 
 and the result of her observations was evidently 
 not pleasure. There was something about this 
 female which made Bertha shrink, and turn 
 away from her gaze. The dark foreign look, 
 the large black eye of fire, the compressed lip, 
 for a moment alarmed Bertha ; but the dignity 
 of innocence could not forsake her, and offended 
 at the insolent survey, she turned her clear but 
 dove-like eyes upon her. The bold eye sunk 
 under that calm look. 
 
 " For what purpose am I here?" repeated 
 Bertha. 
 
 " I am appointed to attend you," replied the 
 female, " not to answer your questions. Supper 
 waits, will it please you to partake of it ?" 
 
 Bertha only waved her hand in silence, and 
 again sunk upon the sofa in tears. 
 
 " Here is your apartment when you choose to 
 retire," opening a door near to where Bertha sat. 
 
 Bertha made no reply, and with a haughty step 
 the other left the room. On entering the cham- 
 ber she examined every window and door, but 
 they were all firmly secured — there lay no hope 
 that way; and throwing herself down on the
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT. 203 
 
 couch without undressing, her weary spirit was 
 soon calmed in deep sleep. Bertha awoke not till 
 the morning was far advanced, and soon after the 
 female she had seen the preceding evening en- 
 tered, and inquired how she had rested. 
 
 " I rested well," said Bertha. 
 
 " What ! did terror and despair not keep you 
 from rest?" inquired she with a contemptuous 
 smile. 
 
 " Innocence should never despair," said Ber- 
 tha calmly. 
 
 The eyes of the female flashed fire, and she 
 looked stedfastly upon Bertha, whose serene 
 innocent countenance indicating no reproof, she 
 resumed her composure, and showed Bertha into 
 an adjoining room. 
 
 For some days she saw no one save this woman, 
 who relaxing little in her insolence of manner, 
 Bertha asked no more questions, and there was 
 an almost total silence observed on both sides. 
 One evening, however, she appeared to be sin- 
 gularly agitated, and paced the room, involun- 
 tarily clasping her hands as if bitter thoughts 
 crossed her, and occasionally gazing on Bertha 
 with a bewildered glance, who now began to be 
 alarmed. The female perceived it, and imme- 
 diately calming her emotion, she took a lute from 
 the table, and commenced tuning it. Her hand 
 trembled as she swept the chords, but it was a
 
 204 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 hand that knew to touch it well ; and she sung 
 the following song with an unsteady voice : — 
 
 The wind howls wild in the hollow oak, 
 
 Breathing its anthem drear ; 
 The raven pours, with answering croak, 
 
 The boding notes of fear ; 
 And shrieks, and sobbings of despair, 
 Are bursting through the midnight air. 
 
 The startled eagle soaring springs 
 
 High from his cliffy home ; 
 The screaming sea-fowl flaps her wings 
 
 O'er the surging billows* foam ; 
 And bursts of woe, and moanings deep, 
 Are echoing round the beetling steep. 
 
 Shrill screams, and low heart-rending moans. 
 
 Rise on the troubled gale ; 
 Oh ! Iiuman anguish swells these tones ! 
 
 'Tis a love-lorn maiden's wail : 
 And the heart heaves sick, and the blood runs chill, 
 As ye listen a wail so wild and shrill. 
 
 Still creaks and moans the hollow oak, 
 
 When the storm sweeps through the wood ; 
 
 And the raven pours his boding croak, 
 When he scents the smell of blood : 
 
 And the prey-birds scream for their dire repast, 
 
 When a warrior's form from the rocks is cast. 
 
 But the maiden's wail? — 'tis silent now ; 
 
 Her tears ?-— they are wiped away ; 
 A mantling flush laughs o'er her brow, 
 
 And there's joy in her eye's bright ray ; 
 She smiles at the tale that her new lover sighs. 
 While all forgotten the lost youth lies I
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT. 205 
 
 " Albert ! Albert !" exclaimed Bertha, wring- 
 ing her hands, and stepping before the singer. 
 " Woman," she continued, " who has persuaded 
 thee to torture a heart ah'eady almost broken with 
 grief? Who dare say that Albert is forgotten ?" 
 
 The female appeared awed for a moment. 
 Then fixing her eyes upon Bertha, " Swear to 
 me," she cried, " that he is still remembered — 
 swear to me that you will resist Count Gondibert 
 even unto death, and a way for escape may yet be 
 found !" 
 
 Indignation sparkled for a moment in Bertha's 
 eye, as if she would have said, " Wretch ! thou 
 knowest not the pure constancy of a virtuous 
 woman's love ;" but repressing her feelings, she 
 replied, " M}^ constancy is firm unto death — I 
 never will be Count Gondibert's bride." 
 
 A tear for the first time appeared in these 
 large black eyes. " Then I shall be your friend, 
 — resist and fear not ;" saying which she arose 
 precipitately, and left the apartment. 
 
 Bertha threw herself upon a sofa, and wept ; 
 but she was soon roused by a heavy footstep in 
 the chamber. She started up, and Count Gon- 
 dibert stood before her. He forcibly seized her 
 hand, which she in vain attempted to with- 
 draw. 
 
 *' I have cursed the moments that have kept me 
 from thee," said he ; " but now that I am with
 
 206 THE ODD VOJ.UME. 
 
 thee, nothing shall tear us asunder till thou art 
 mine, thou loved though scornful one." 
 
 " Base unmanly villain !" exclaimed Bertha, 
 dashing him from her, " I command thee to 
 restore me to my father ; — darest thou, in thy 
 dastard soul, ever to hope for my consent ? 
 Away, traitor ! nor dare to lay thy coward hand 
 upon me !" 
 
 " Resistance is in vain," cried the count, en- 
 raged at her contempt ; " this night sees you 
 my bride — nothing can rescue you from my power. 
 In three hours every thing will be ready; — pre- 
 pare to submit in silence to your inevitable fate." 
 
 " Monster ! no power shall make me thine 
 — Heaven will protect me." 
 
 *' Trust in Heaven then," replied he, with a 
 scornful laugh, " for no earthly aid can reach 
 you ;" saying which he left the apartment, and 
 Bertha trembled at the fate which seemed to await 
 her. 
 
 Two hours passed away in dreadful agitation, 
 and Bertha began to fear that the promised assis- 
 tance of the female attendant was vain, when at 
 last she hastily entered the apartment. Motioning 
 Bertha to keep silence, she proceeded to array 
 her in bridal garments, and threw a long white 
 veil over her. She had scarcely completed these 
 arrangements, when the door was opened, and 
 Count Gondibert appeared.
 
 Tin; BLACK KNIGHT. 207 
 
 " All is ready," said the count ; " I come to 
 lead my bride to the altar." 
 
 " Villain ! I will not," said Bertha, grasping 
 the sofa. " Approach me not, at thy peril !" 
 
 " Carry the lady into the hall," said the count, 
 turning to his attendants. They approached the 
 terrified Bertha, and amidst her struggles and 
 cries to Heaven for succour, they bore her into 
 the hall. 
 
 The hall was hung with tapestry, and but dimly 
 lighted. A large mirror was on one side, before 
 which stood the priest who was to perform the 
 ceremony. 
 
 " If thou art a true minister of our religion," 
 cried Bertha, " I charge thee in the name of Hea- 
 ven from aiding in this most unholy design." 
 
 " Peace !" exclaimed the count, stamping 
 violently. " Proceed !" added he, addressing the 
 priest, who now opened the book. 
 
 " Stop, I command you !" again cried Bertha 
 — " Oh, aid me, Heaven !" 
 
 As she uttered these words she raised her eyes, 
 and the figure of an armed warrior met them, 
 reflected in the opposite mirror. It was that of 
 the Black Knight ; and Bertha, uttering a heart- 
 piercing shriek, fell lifeless on the floor. The 
 count grasped his sword ; but the lights were 
 suddenly extinguished, and the deep tones of a
 
 208 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 well-remembered voice near him, made his blood 
 run cold — '* Where is thy prayer, Gondibert ?" 
 it inquired ; " another time, and thy fate is 
 sealed." 
 
 Lights were soon brought by some of the terri- 
 fied attendants. All remained apparently undis- 
 turbed in the hall, save the unhappy victim, 
 who, closely enveloped in her veil, lay extended 
 on a sofa. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed the count on observing 
 her, " Bertha still here ! then I defy the powers 
 of light and darkness — she shall yet be mine. 
 Proceed — the ceremony shall now be complet- 
 ed." 
 
 Motionless she was raised from the sofa, and 
 apparently having no power to resist, the priest 
 performed his office. 
 
 The count aj>proached, and raised the veil. 
 
 " Damnation !" burst from his lips, he struck 
 the frail form to the ground, and rushed from the 
 hall. It was the mysterious female whom we 
 have formerly noticed. — Bertha was gone. 
 
 When Bertha recovered from the swoon into 
 which she had fallen, she found herself in her 
 father's castle, supported by him, and surrounded 
 by her anxious attendants. 
 
 " Heaven be praised !" said the baron, " my 
 child revives."
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT. '209 
 
 Bertha slowly raised her eyes, and looked be- 
 wildered around. 
 
 " Where am I ?" cried she. Then perceiving 
 her father, she threw her arms romid him, and 
 wept on his bosom. " Who has restored me to 
 thee, my dear father ? who has saved your child 
 from so horrid a fate ?" 
 « What fate, my child ?" 
 
 " You know it not then ? but," she added 
 wildly, " who brought me here ?" 
 
 " The Black Knight brought you to the castle 
 gate, and blew a fearful blast. He spoke not, 
 and on his coal-black steed he slowly retraced his 
 way to the forest." 
 
 " The Black Knight of the forest !" shudder- 
 ed Bertha. 
 
 She then related to the baron Count Gondi- 
 bert's cowardly baseness, and the dreadful fate 
 which had been averted. 
 
 The baron's proud eye flashed fire. 
 " Gondibert shall rue this deed ; — but tell me 
 all, my child." 
 
 Bertha began her relation, but on reaching 
 that part where the female attendant had sung, 
 her voice faltered. Again assuming courage, she 
 exclaimed with much emotion, " Oh, my father, 
 my heart is in Albert's grave. Since his disap- 
 pearance from the castle, and the dreadful death 
 
 he is said to have met with, I have known no 
 
 o
 
 ^iO THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 happiness, no peace, no rest — I can never love 
 another." 
 
 The baron's brows contracted, and his indig- 
 nation rose. " Shame on thee, Bertha ! A page 1 
 an unknown low-born boy ! Shame, shame on 
 thee to confess it !" 
 
 " Father," said she, raising herself proudly, 
 " he was no low-born boy." She paused — her 
 voice again faltered. " Why should I now conceal 
 it, since he is no more ? — he was the son of Ber- 
 thold, thy deadliest foe." 
 
 The baron started from his seat — his eye 
 flashed on the pale-cheeked maiden, who bent 
 like a lily at the threatening blast. " MydeadHest 
 foe ! — and my daughter loved him ! Where was 
 the noble blood that should have risen to revenge 
 thy father's wrongs ? I cast thee from me — thou 
 lovest not thy father, or thou wouldst have hated 
 his bitterest enemy." 
 
 *' Oh, my father !" cried Bertha, clasping her 
 hands, " Albert was not thy enemy. He knew 
 his father injured thee, and he lamented it. 
 He came to thy castle as a deserted youth to 
 seek thy kind protection, and by services of love 
 to make thee reparation for a father's faults. 
 He saw, and loved me. Father, forgive us ! I 
 am restored to thee as by a miracle — Oh ! cast 
 nic not from thy bosom, — from thy protecting 
 arms !"
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT. 211 
 
 The baron sought to subdue his emotion, but 
 casting a glance of displeasure on Bertha, he 
 hastily left the apartment, without replying to 
 her appeal. 
 
 Exasperated at the villanous conduct of Count 
 Gondibert, the baron determined to attack him 
 in his castle, and punish his unmanly attempt; 
 but the count having heard that Bertha was re- 
 stored, and conjecturing what would be the con- 
 sequences when the baron was informed of his 
 conduct, he resolved not to await the result. One 
 night, therefore, when all in the castle of the 
 baron were buried in sleep, with a strong force 
 he attempted to surprise it, and to carry off the 
 lady Bertha. The alarm was given. All flew to 
 arms, but they were taken unprepared, and their 
 numbers being greatly inferior, they gave way be- 
 fore their assailants, who had already forced the 
 gates. 
 
 " To the tower ! to the tower !" shouted Gondi- 
 bert; " seize the lady Bertha !" and he rushed to 
 the staircase, which the baron bravely defended. 
 
 Young and powerful, and instigated by double 
 motives of love and revenge, Gondibert bore 
 down all opposition ; and having cut his way to 
 the baron, he had just aimed a thrust at his breast, 
 when his arm was struck down with violence, 
 and the Black Knight stood before him. 
 
 " Again !" exclaimed the Count. " May all the
 
 212 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 powers of vengeance seize thee !" aiming a blow in 
 desperation at the sable figure. 
 
 " Thy fate is sealed," said a deep voice ; and 
 one stroke from a powerful arm laid Gondibert 
 bleeding on the ground. 
 
 " Confess thy sins before thy treacherous soul 
 takes its eternal flight," said the Black Knight, as 
 he bent over his victim. " Make reparation for 
 thy misdeeds." 
 
 The Lady Bertha rushed from the tower — " My 
 father ! my father !" she cried," I will die with thee !" 
 but on beholding the Black Knight, she sunk into 
 her father's arms. 
 
 The knight's sword still hung suspended over 
 the fallen Gondibert — " Confess !" again said his 
 deep toned voice. 
 
 Gondibert half raised himself, " Lady, I would 
 make thee reparation. Albert died not — he is 
 in the dungeons of my castle." 
 
 " Albert is here !" said the Black Knight, as 
 he raised his helmet. 
 
 Gondibert's spirit fled — Bertha shrieked, and 
 fell into the arms of an attendant. 
 
 The baron's breast heaved convulsively. He 
 stood irresolute. Albert advanced towards him 
 and sunk on his knee. 
 
 " My father injured thee — in the duty and 
 faithfulness of a son, permit me to atone for those 
 injuries. Thrice I have saved the lady Bertha
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT. 213 
 
 ' from worse than death — let the good deeds I 
 may have done thee, and my constancy and suf- 
 ferings, be repaid by her hand. Baron Adelbret 
 von Edelstein, dost thou grant my suit ?" 
 
 The baron's struggles were past — he put the 
 Lady Bertha's hand in that of the youthful 
 warrior, and turned aside to hide a starting tear.
 
 MYNHEER DODIMUS DOOLITTLE.
 
 OF AND CONCERNING 
 
 MYNHEER DODIMUS DOOLITTLE, 
 
 OF AMSTERDAM. 
 
 In the great and wealthy city of Amsterdam, 
 there Hved a worthy gentleman, named Mynheer 
 Dodimus Doolittle ; Avho, as his name importeth, 
 could boast not only of a long line of ancestors, 
 but of being nearly related to very many illustrious 
 men, in every known kingdom of the world. 
 
 Mynheer Dodimus Doolittle's family consisted, 
 besides himself, of his larger half, Vrow Dodimus 
 Doolittle, and of four little Doolittles, of which 
 (commencingwith the young fry, or, as a Dutchman 
 would say, with the small craft) it may be said, 
 that were it not for a bad nose, a bad mouth, 
 bad teeth, and a wen on her neck, Jung Vrow 
 Wilhelmina Dorothea Doolittle would have been
 
 218 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 set down as very passable ; and had not the small 
 pox seamed her face, and her eyes got the knack 
 of resting on every one but the person intended, 
 her sister, Agatha Angelina Dodimusa Doolittle, 
 would, no doubt, have been much admired. As 
 for Master Erasmus Doolittle, and his brother 
 Peter, having the same dispositions, and being of 
 the same mould, as other Dutch boys of their 
 time of life, to particularize further is evidently 
 unnecessary. Not so, however, with their ho- 
 noured mother, V row Dodimus Doolittle, a woman 
 of particularly enormous dimensions ; and of 
 whom her husband once said, in a year of scarcity, 
 that had it pleased Heaven to have made his dear 
 wife even of Gouda cheese, in place of mere flesh 
 and blood, he could have made a pretty penny of 
 her, seeing that she had not a single bone in her 
 body, but was just like a large Bologna sausage ; 
 and when his particular friend Professor Iscariot 
 Pirriewinkle, to whom he mentioned the circum- 
 stance, happened to express a doubt as to the fact, 
 he was effectually silenced by Mynheer Dodimus 
 Doolittle's " Donner and Blitzen" and who 
 should know better about such a matter than 
 Vrow Dodimus Doolittle's own husband? — This 
 intelligence, however, was given to the professor in 
 strict confidence ; and, of course. Professor Pirrie- 
 winkle told it in strict confidence to his wife ; and 
 his wife having a dear friend, to whom she could
 
 MYNHEER DODIMUS DOOLITTLE. 219 
 
 trust any thing, gave it in strict confidence to her ; 
 and she to another dear friend ; and that friend 
 to a fourth ; and so on it ran, but all in strict 
 confidence, till, throughout the whole circle in 
 which Vrow Dodinius Doolittle moved — and it was 
 necessarily a large one — she was much better 
 known by the name of " The Bologna Sausage," 
 than by her own. 
 
 But all this was perfectly unknown to Vrow 
 Dodimus Doolittle — not that the renowned city 
 of Amsterdam was without her fair proportion of 
 d n'd good-natured friends — but simply be- 
 cause none of these dear friends had ever had the 
 luck of encountering Vrow Dodimus Doolittle on 
 the further side of a five-barred gate, which was 
 reckoned an indispensable go-between in mak- 
 ing such a communication ; and therefore Vrow 
 Dodimus Doolittle, happy in her ignorance, went 
 on and prospered. 
 
 As to Mynheer Dodimus Doolittle himself, his 
 helpmate — or rather his down-draught, as he 
 facetiously called hei* — used to say of him, that he 
 was less fond of his wife than his pipe ; less fond 
 of his pipe than his tulips. For these, indeed, he 
 had a perfect mania ; and as this hobby of his 
 was pretty generally known, it would have been 
 strange indeed, if his particular friend, Professor 
 Pirriewinkle, had been ignorant of it. Some 
 folks even hinted — but in a whisper — that besides
 
 220 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 sundry good dinners from Mynheer Dodimus 
 Doolittle, the professor had contrived to turn his 
 passion for rare tulips to such good account, as to 
 enable him to build an addition to his house, and 
 to give Madame Iscariot a two-wheeled chaise : 
 but we all know that the world is censorious ; and, 
 as my Lord Chesterfield says, it is best to believe 
 only one-half of what one hears. 
 
 It was in the year of our Lord one thousand 
 eight hundred and twenty-three ; the month May ; 
 week the first ; the day Wednesday ; the hour 
 three ; that Vrow Dodimus Doolittle sat at the 
 window, watching, somewhat impatiently, for 
 the coming of her lord ; — for as she had tasted 
 nothing since breakfast, save a substantial lunch, 
 and half a hundred oysters, her inward parts, as 
 she said, and no wonder, were waxing faintish ; 
 and therefore, to prevent her thinking of this, 
 and to while away the time, Vrow Dodimus 
 Doolittle commenced beating on the sill of the 
 window, that very much admired march, called 
 " The Devil's Tattoo." 
 
 Now, though I do not pretend to explain the 
 reason, yet certain it is, that the little Doolittles 
 had got a kind of a notion, that this said march 
 soimded much more agreeable at a distance, 
 than when within arm's length of their dear 
 mamma ; and in consequence of this probably 
 mistaken notion, the whole young fry were sta-
 
 MYNHEER DODIMUS DOOLITTLE. 221 
 
 tioried in the farthest-off window, where, while 
 they watched tor the return of one parent, they 
 had, Hke dutiful children, an ear and an eye on 
 the motions of the other. 
 
 At length Mvnheer Dodimus Doolittle was seen 
 to turn the corner. 
 
 " Thank Fleaven !" ejaculated his rib. 
 
 " And there," cried the children, " comes Pro- 
 fessor Pirriewinkle." 
 
 The devil fly away with him !" murmured the 
 dame. " But run, children, and tell them to 
 send up the dinner, and that instantly, or" — and 
 she held up her fist. 
 
 Now^, besides that every thing in a Dutchman's 
 house goes on like clock-work, the servants of 
 Vrow Dodimus Doolittle had learned from expe- 
 rience, that best of teachers, to estimate the 
 weight of their gracious mistress's arm as equal to 
 a three -horse power. No wonder, therefore, that 
 as the last rap of the knocker fell, the last of the 
 dishes was set on the table ; but, to the dismay 
 and displeasure of Vrow Dodimus Doolittle, the 
 gentlemen, in place of walking into the dining- 
 room, as was expected, made the best of their 
 way up stairs into the study — assuring the lad}', 
 in answer to her angry remonstrances, that they 
 would return in a minute. Then, first carefully 
 closing the door, the Professor produced a pack- 
 age, which, he declared, contained a tulip-root
 
 222 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 the rarest in existence. But, as Vrow Dodimus 
 Doolittle's loud and angry summons to dinner 
 sounded in their ears, it was agreed to deposit the 
 precious treasure in a place of safety, and to delay 
 its examination till the afternoon. After a little 
 consultation, it was placed in an old watering- 
 can, which, from its being cracked, had been long 
 out of use, and consequently not likely, as Myn- 
 heer Dodimus Doolittle remarked, to be meddled 
 with by these devils of boys ; after which, they 
 hastened down to dinner. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, for Mynheer Dodimus 
 Doolittle's calculation, it happened that Peter had 
 just stolen some of Erasmus's gun-powder; and 
 not daring to put it any where in their own apart- 
 ment, in case it should be discovered, he had 
 carried it to the study, and hastily rolling it in 
 paper, had thrust it into the watering-can, judg- 
 ing, as his father did afterwards of his tulip, that 
 it would be safer there than any where else. 
 
 The dinner went on pleasantly enough. Myn- 
 heer Dodimus Doolittle was in high spirits, joked 
 with his wife, and stujffed the children. At length 
 Vrow Dodimus Doolittle rose and waddled away, 
 followed by the ducklings ; she to her usual 
 nap, in which it was death, at least, to interrupt 
 her ; they to their wild gambols in the green be- 
 hind the house, where, during the time it lasted, 
 none of the servants durst shew their noses.
 
 MYNHEEi; DODIMUS DOOMTTLE. 2^3 
 
 Soon after their departure, the Professor hinted 
 something about adjourning to the study ; but 
 mine host would not liear of it till they had 
 finished the other bottle ; and by that time the 
 shades of evening had come upon them, and the 
 treasure had to be examined by candle-light. 
 
 Anxious that it should not be shaken, Mynheer 
 Dodimus Doolittle gently raised the watering- 
 can, and, candle in hand, prepared softly to draw 
 out the precious parcel, when a spark falling on 
 some of the loose gi^ains of powder, it suddenly 
 exploded. The consequence was, that the nose 
 of the can was blown off, and in its flight rather 
 unceremoniously made free with the tip of Myn- 
 heer Dodimus Doolittle's left ear ; while his wig, 
 from the involuntary start, was whisked from his 
 head, and out of the window. 
 
 This was more than our philosopher, or indeed 
 any philosopher, could well stand ; and we need 
 not wonder, therefore, at Professor Pirriewinkle's 
 bursting into an immoderate horse-laugh. It was, 
 however, rather of short duration ; for Mynheer 
 Dodimus Doolittle, very naturally conceiving that 
 his friend had played him a trick, and feeling 
 somewhat nettled at being hurt, and laughed at 
 to boot, clenched his fist, and gave the philoso- 
 pher a facer, which very adroitly dislodged two of 
 his remaining grinders ; and Professor Pirriewinkle 
 considering, that, even amongst friends, no man's
 
 224 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 teeth should be abstracted, without leave first 
 asked and obtained, drew the watering-can gently 
 across the bare poll of Mynheer Dodimus Doo- 
 little, who instantly acknowledged the favour by 
 a prostration, such as would not have disgraced a 
 Mandarin of the first class, in the presence of Ce- 
 lestiality himself. 
 
 For a minute or so, our philosophor eyed his 
 fallen friend askance — no motion ; — then hemmed, 
 and took a turn in the study — no motion — so, 
 extinguishing the remaining candle, and slipping 
 down stairs, he forthwith hied him home ; not, 
 however, quite easy as to the result. 
 
 Great, as may well be believed, w^as the conster- 
 nation of Vrow Dodimus Doolittle, when, after 
 half a hundred questions, and as many conjectures, 
 as to where he could be, her very dear lord and 
 master was found lying at full length in his study, 
 apparently a successful candidate for another 
 world. Great, also, was Vrow Dodimus Doo- 
 little's joy, when, after a while, her dear good- 
 man opened his eyes; greater still, when he sat 
 bolt upright ; and greatest of. all, when he made 
 signs for his pipe, and commenced smoking. 
 
 But her happiness was nevertheless incomplete ; 
 for, in answer to all her various questions and in- 
 quiries, she could get but three words, and these 
 three were, " D — n the philosopher !" They were 
 the first which Mynheer Dodimus Doolittle ut-
 
 MYNHEER DODIMUS DOOLITTLE. 2!25 
 
 tered, after fairly coming to himself ; and they 
 were the last which he murmured when dropping 
 asleep. 
 
 But woman, fascinating woman, will always get 
 the better of the Lords of the Creation, when she 
 sets about it in earnest ; and I question whether 
 any man was ever yet able to keep a secret which 
 his wife considered worth knowinjr. We need 
 not wonder, therefore, that before the end of four- 
 and-twenty hours, Vrow Dodimus Doolittle was 
 acquainted with the whole affair ; and she, in her 
 turn, having informed her husband of something 
 which had fallen from Erasmus, about Peter's 
 steaUng his powder, and that the said Master 
 Peter had been observed occasionally chuckling 
 to himself, without any apparent why or where- 
 fore, Mynheer Dodimus Doolittle was in conse- 
 quence induced to indulge the young gentleman 
 with a private audience ; and by dint of a solemn 
 promise of forgiveness if he told the truth, and as 
 solemn a promise of a sound horse-whipping if he 
 told a lie, he soon gained an insight into the whole 
 affair. 
 
 An explanation, followed by a reconciliation, 
 forthwith took place between Mynheer Dodimus 
 Doolittle on the one hand, and Professor Iscariot 
 Pirriewinkle on the other; and as even the Stock 
 Exchange has not had any rumours lately of a 
 rupture between the parties, it may be safely con- 
 cluded that they are good friends still.
 
 THE LANTERN 
 
 IN 
 
 THE CASTLE YARD.
 
 THE LANTERN 
 
 IN 
 
 THE CASTLE YARD. 
 
 TROM TftS GERMAN OF FREDERICK BAKO^f DE LA MOTTE FOUQDE- 
 
 In a very wild and remote region of the Scottish 
 Highlands, there stood on a rocky height, an old 
 fortress. One stormy evening in harvest, its lord 
 looked from his window into the darkness, and 
 over the well guarded court of the castle, towards 
 the opposite hills, where the tops of the trees, 
 still visible, rustled and waved in the dark blue 
 heavens. The rivulet in the valley sent forth a 
 wild and strange sound, and the creaking weather- 
 cocks clattered and brawled, as if chiding the 
 storm. 
 
 The scene and the hour were congenial to the 
 mind of the lord of the castle. He was no longer
 
 230 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 the mild and indulgent master. His only daughter 
 had fled from the fortress with a handsome youth, 
 far inferior to her in birth, but a sweeter singer 
 and harp player than any inhabitant of the wide 
 Highlands ; and soon after their flight, the lover 
 was found dashed to pieces in the bottom of a 
 rocky valley, into which, in the darkness of the 
 night, he had fallen. Thereupon the daughter, by 
 an unknown pilgrim, sent a letter to her father, say- 
 ing, that night having robbed her of her lover, 
 her eyes were opened to her fault — that she had 
 retired to a convent, to do the most severe pen- 
 nance, and that her father would never see her 
 more. From this event, the lord of the castle 
 had become almost as obdurate as the surround- 
 ing rocks, and unfeeling as the stony pavement of 
 his old fortress. 
 
 As he now looked from the window, he saw in 
 the castle yard a lantern, moved backwards and 
 forwards, as if in the hand of some one, who with 
 tottering steps stole across the area. 
 
 Angrily he called out, " Who goes there?" for 
 his domestics had strict orders to admit no one 
 within the walls ; and since the flight of the young 
 lady, these commands had become so much more 
 rigid, that it seemed as if lifeless statues alone 
 dwelt within. 
 
 To the lord of the castle there came a soft voice, 
 " An old, old woman," it said, " begs some food,
 
 THE LANTERN IN THE CASTLE YARD. ^31 
 
 noble knight." But the humble demand was im~ 
 petuously refused. 
 
 " Spy ! vagrant ! witch !" were the appellations 
 showered upon the beggar ; and because she did 
 not iinmediately retire, but reiterated her petition 
 with a fervent, though weak voice, the knight, i 
 the wildness of his wrath, called on his blood 
 hounds to hunt the beggar woman away. Wild- 
 ly did the ferocious dogs rush forth, but scarcely 
 had they approached the old woman, when she 
 touched the strongest and fiercest with a slender 
 wand. The domestics who had come out ex- 
 pected that the raging dog would tear her in 
 pieces ; but howHng he returned, and the others 
 laid themselves down whining before the becrffar. 
 Again the lord of the castle urged them on ; but 
 they only howled, and moaned, and lay still, A 
 strange shuddering seized him, which redoubled 
 when the old woman raised her lantern on high, 
 and her long white hair appeared waving in the 
 storm, while with a sad and threatening voice she 
 exclaimed, " Thou in the heavens who see'st and 
 hearest !" 
 
 Trembling the knight retired from the window, 
 and ordered his people to give her what she de- 
 manded. The domestics, frightened at the appari- 
 tion, placed some food without in a basket, and 
 then secured the doors, all the while repeating 
 prayers, until they heard the strange old woman
 
 232 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 carry away the food ; and as she stepped out of the 
 castle gates, the hounds moaned mysteriously after 
 her. 
 
 From this time regularly every third evening, 
 the lantern was seen in the castle yard, and no 
 sooner did its strange twinkling begin to be visible 
 through the darkness, and the light steps heard to 
 totter softly over the pavement, than the lord of 
 the castle hastened back from the window, the 
 domestics put out the basket of food, and the 
 hounds moaned sorrowfully till the apparition 
 vanished. 
 
 One day — it was now the beginning of winter — 
 the knight followed the chase in the wildest part 
 of the mountains. Suddenly his hounds darted 
 up a steep height, and expecting a good capture, 
 at the risk of imminent danger he forced his shud- 
 dering horse over the slippery, stony ground. 
 Before a cavern in the middle of the ascent, the 
 hounds stood still ; but how felt the knight when 
 the figure of a woman stepped to the mouth of the 
 abyss, and with a stick drove back the dogs ! 
 From the long silvery locks of the woman, as well 
 as from the restless and low moanings of the 
 hounds, and his own internal feelings, he soon 
 perceived that in this drear spot the lantern-bearer 
 stood before him. 
 
 Half frantic, he turned his horse's head, buried 
 his spurs in its sides, and galloped down the
 
 The lantern in the castle yard. 233 
 
 steep, accompanied by the yelling hounds, towards 
 the castle. 
 
 Soon after this strange occurrence, the lantern 
 was no longer seen in the court of the castle. 
 They waited one day — several days : — a whole 
 week passed over, but the apparition was no longer 
 seen. If its first appearance had alarmed the 
 lord of the castle and his domestics, its disappear- 
 ance occasioned still more consternation. They 
 believed that the former indicated some dreadful 
 event, which the latter betokened to be near. 
 On the knight this anticipation had a terrible 
 effect ; he became pale and haggard, and his coun- 
 tenance assumed such a disturbed appearance, 
 the inmates of the castle were of opinion that 
 the apparition gave warning of his death. It was 
 not so. 
 
 One day, as was his custom, the knight rode to 
 the chase, and in his present distraction of mind 
 he approached unawares that part of the country 
 where the old woman with the white hair had 
 appeared to him, and which he from that time had 
 carefully avoided. 
 
 Again the dogs sprung up the height, howling 
 and looking fearfully into the cavern. The 
 affrighted baron in vain called them back. They 
 stood as if fascinated on the dreadful spot ; but on 
 tliis occasion no one appeared to chase them away. 
 They then crept into the cavern, and from its
 
 234) THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 dark bosom the knight still heard their moanings 
 and cries. At last summoning resolution, he 
 sprung from his horse, and with determined courage 
 clambered up the steep height. 
 
 On stepping into the cavern, he beheld the 
 hounds crouched round a wretched mossy couch, 
 on which the dead body of a woman lay stretched 
 out. On drawing near her, he recognised the white 
 hair of the formidable lantern-bearer. The little 
 horn lantern stood near her on the ground, and 
 the features were those of his only child ! More 
 slowly than the faithful hounds, who from the 
 beginning had known their young mistress, did 
 the unhappy knight become aware who he saw 
 before him ; but to dissipate every doubt, there lay 
 on the breast of the dead body a billet, oji which 
 her hand had traced the following words : — 
 
 " In three nights the wanderer's hair became 
 white, through grief for the death of her lover. 
 She saw it in the brook. Her hair he had often 
 called a net in which his life was entangled. Net 
 and life were both by one stroke destroyed. She 
 then thought of those holy ones of the church, who 
 in humility had lived unknown and despised 
 beneath the paternal roof; and as a penance, she 
 Drought alms from her father's castle, and lived 
 among the rocks from which her lover fell. But 
 her penance draws near its end, the crimson 
 stream fails. Ah ! fath — ."
 
 THE LANTERN IN THE CASTLE YARD. 235 
 
 She would have written " father," but the source 
 of her thoughts was exhausted, and with unspeak- 
 able sorrow the knight perceived a deep wound 
 on her left arm. 
 
 He was found by his servants near the corpse 
 in silent prayer, his hounds moaning beside him. 
 
 He buried his daughter in the cavern, from 
 which he never afterwards came out. The un- 
 happy hermit forced every one from him — his 
 faithful dogs alone he could not drive away, and 
 mournfully they watched together by the grave of 
 their young mistress, and beside their sorrowing 
 lord ; and when he also died, their sad bowlings 
 first made it known to the surrounding country.
 
 UGGERO THE DANE.
 
 UGGERO THE DANE. 
 
 FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 Uggero son of Godfrey, King of Denmark, was 
 one of the most renowned warriors of the days of 
 Charlemagne. Under Duke Namo of Bavaria, 
 he had studied the art of war, and the first battle 
 in which he was engaged, though quite a youth, 
 he gave the most astonishing proofs of courage 
 and intrepidity. He now resided at the Danish 
 court, sighing to hear once more the clash of 
 arms. 
 
 Soon was the wish of the heroic Dane gratified. 
 He was called into Italy by Charles the Great, 
 who had advanced with a numerous army towards 
 Rome, to defend it from the Saracens. In a 
 former battle these infidels had taken from the 
 Christians their ancient and sacred banner, which
 
 240 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 our hero now determined to recover. Therefore 
 throwing himself into the midst of the enemy, he 
 seized and carried off the oriflamme in triumph. 
 
 Commanded by two such brave warriors, the 
 Christians soon put the infidels to flight, and amid 
 the acclamations of his people, Charles the Great 
 returned victorious to his capitol. 
 
 The Emperor's son Charles served in the cam- 
 paigne along with Uggero ; but in every respect 
 this young man was unlike his brave and noble 
 father. Being cowardly, base, envious, and 
 malignant, the fame and glory of Uggero, far from 
 inspiring him with generous emulation, served only 
 to kindle his envy ; and every heroic action of the 
 Dane increased the hatred and dislike which he 
 felt towards him. He allowed no opportunity to 
 escape of disparaging our hero, and when in battle, 
 always endeavoured to have him placed in the 
 most dangerous situations, hoping by these means 
 to get rid of his rival in arms ; but the Danish 
 warrior always escaped uninjured and victorious. 
 
 Uggero had left behind him a son, of whom he 
 formed the highest expectations. The young 
 Baldwin had already given promise of one day 
 surpassing his father in the practice of arms, 
 when he received a mandate from the latter 
 to quit the Danish court, and repair to that of 
 France, there to benefit by his own instructions. 
 
 Under such a master, the noble youth made the 
 most rapid progress. To a handsome person, he
 
 UGGERO THE DANE. 24ti 
 
 united courage, magnanimity, and genei'osity ; in a 
 word, he was all that a father could desire. Here 
 was another rival to Charles. If he hated the fa- 
 ther, he still more detested the son, and only wait- 
 ed an opportunity of venting his fury against him. 
 That opportunity was, alas! too speedily found. En- 
 countering the young Baldwin one day in the sub- 
 urbs of Paris, he so grossly insulted him, that the 
 hand of the Dane was instantly upon his sword, but, 
 ere he could draw it from its scabbard, the coward- 
 ly villain laid him dead at his feet. 
 
 When the body of his murdered son, with the 
 sword still reeking with his blood, was brought be- 
 fore the father, horror and amazement rendered him 
 for some time speechless. To this unnatural calm- 
 ness there succeeded the most dreadful fury. Fire 
 flashing from his eyes, he grasped the sword, madly 
 rushed towards the palace, and furiously entered the 
 hall, vowing vengeance against the murderer of 
 his son. On observing Charles, who, pale and trem- 
 bling, had taken refuge behind the emperor, he 
 sprung upon him, and, grasping him with one hand, 
 with the other he held the sword before his eyes, 
 and exclaimed, " Wretch, behold the blood of 
 my son, — it calls for vengeance." Brandishing it 
 high in the air, he was about to strike the fatal blow, 
 when the Duke of Bavaria suddenly rushed upon 
 him, wrenched the sword from his hand, forced him 
 
 Q
 
 242 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 to quit his victim, and, while the emperor thunder- 
 ed, " Away with him to prison,'' he dragged him 
 from the chamber. On hearing the emperor's dread 
 command, the attendant knights, afraid for the life 
 of the hero, threw themselves at the monarch's feet, 
 imploring his pardon ; but, highly incensed at the 
 insult he had received, Charlemagne imperiously 
 commanded them to rise and quit his presence, and 
 never again to mention Uggero's name before him ; 
 then turning from them the haughty monarch left 
 the hall. 
 
 The knights now exclaimed, " Uggero is lost !" 
 
 But no . On learning how basely the young 
 
 Baldwin had been murdered by his son, Charlemagne 
 had too much justice and generosity to take the fa- 
 ther's life, but, to mark his high displeasure, he ba- 
 nished him the kingdom ; and the wretched parent 
 returned to the Danish court, bitterly deploring the 
 death of a beloved and only son. 
 
 Under the command of Bruiero, one of their 
 bravest generals, the Saracens now renewed the war ; 
 and Charlemagne learned, with astonishment, that 
 they were rapidly advancing towards his capital. 
 He instantly summoned his forces to Paris ; but 
 having no such warrior as the Danish hero, and 
 being at this time deprived also of his bravest troops, 
 Charles the Great was seen to tremble. 
 
 All eyes were now turned to the Danish court,
 
 UGGERO THE DANE. 243 
 
 and one and all deeply deplored the absence of the 
 undaunted leader, who had so often led them to 
 battle against these barbarians ; but no one had cou- 
 rage to utter the name of the banished Uggero. 
 At last the Duke of Bavaria, throwing himself at 
 the feet of the monarch, with tears and supplica- 
 tions urged his recal. But tears and entreaties 
 alike proved vain. The emperor's determination 
 remained unshaken ; and the duke, who loved 
 Uggero as his son, retired from the royal presence 
 overwhelmed with sorrow. 
 
 The gloomy and sullen looks of the knights at 
 length forced the monarch to recal their idol ; and 
 the Duke of Bavaria was dispatched to the Danish 
 court to urge his return. On being made acquaint- 
 ed with the emperor's request, Uggero stood for 
 some moments lost in deep thought, then throwing 
 himself upon his knees, he remained some time in 
 prayer. Rising from this act of devotion, he ex- 
 claimed, " Yes, Namo, go tell the emperor that 
 Uggero returns, but returns on one condition only, 
 that if he obtains a victory over the infidels, the 
 murderer of his son becomes his prisoner ; and this," 
 thundered Uggero, " the emperor must seal with 
 an oath." 
 
 When the duke again ajipearcd before Charle- 
 magne, and informed him of the hero's stipulation, 
 the monarch indignantly exclaimed, " What ! a fa-
 
 244 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 ther give up a son as prisoner to his mortal ene- 
 my ! No, never, Uggero shall remain at the Court 
 of Denmark."" But the approach of a powerful ene- 
 my to the very gates of his capital, and the fear of 
 a mutiny among his troops, at length forced the 
 haughty monarch to yield, and the banished Ug- 
 gero was recalled. 
 
 When the warrior again appeared in tlie camp, 
 he was greeted with loud acclamations, and the 
 emperor instantly conferred upon him the su- 
 preme command. Christians and infidels being now 
 prepared for battle, they only waited for the signal 
 of attack, when Uggero, to spare the effusion of hu- 
 man blood, nobly oflered to terminate the contest 
 by single combat with the Saracen general, a pro- 
 posal which the infidel had the temerity to accept. 
 In dreadful suspense the contending armies awaited 
 the issue of the combat. The signal being given by 
 the emperor, these two lions of war rushed furious- 
 ly upon each other. The scimitar of the Saracen 
 was opposed to the battle-axe of the Dane, and it 
 required all our hero's address to cope with his rival 
 in arms. But at last a well-directed stroke from 
 the weapon of Uggero felled his opponent to the 
 ground, and the infidel rolled at the feet of the 
 warrior. xV cry of horror burst from the camp of 
 the Saracens, whilst a shout of joy resounded from 
 that of the Christians.
 
 UGGERO THE DANE. JM<5 
 
 Uggero was now borne in triumph to the Royal 
 Pavilion, where, bending the knee, he laid the sci- 
 mitar of his enemy at the feet of the monarch. 
 
 But soon the hero sprung from the ground, and 
 drawing his sword, exclaimed, " Sire, Remember 
 your oath I'' and instantly the ghastly, trembling, 
 and terrified victim stood before him. Uggero look- 
 ed fiercely upon him, while again brandishing his 
 sword, he exclaimed, " Now is the time for ven- 
 geance ! — instantly shall thou suffer the reward of 
 thy crimes." And with these words, he rushed fu- 
 riously towards the fainting Charles, who, overcome 
 with terror, fell senseless to the ground. 
 
 A cry of horror burst from the emperor. But 
 Uggero disdaining to take the life of the assassin, 
 threw the weapon from him, and prostrating him- 
 self before the monarch, exclaimed, " You feel for 
 me, Sire, as a father ; I restore to thee thy son, — 
 he who so cruelly deprived me of mine."" 
 
 At this act of tenderness and generosity, loud ac- 
 clamations rent the air, and the emperor, tears 
 filling his eyes, fell upon the neck of Uggero, and 
 fervently embraced him.
 
 THE HUSSAR'S SADDLE.
 
 THE HUSSAR'S SADDLE. 
 
 Can the bracelet of union be lomposed of unequal gems ? 
 
 Tales of a Parrot. 
 
 Old Ludovic Hartz always regarded his Saddle 
 with the deepest veneration, and yet there appeared 
 nothing about it capable of exciting his idolatry. It 
 was a Turkish saddle, old, and deeply stained with 
 blood, yet to the brave Ludovic it recalled a tale of 
 other days, when he, young, ardent, enthusiastic, in 
 defence of his country, first drew his sword against 
 its enemies. 
 
 He had been opposed in battle to the hostile 
 invaders of his native Hungary, and many a mis- 
 believing dog had his good sabre smitten to the
 
 250 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 earth. Various had been the fortune of the war, 
 and too frequently was the glory of the Holy Cross 
 dimmed by the lustre of the triumphant Crescent. 
 Such sad disasters were seldom alluded to by the 
 brave Hussar, but he loved to dwell on the success- 
 ful actions in which he had been engaged. 
 
 It was in one of these fierce combats that, cut off 
 suddenly from his party, he found himself surround- 
 ed by four infuriated Turks ; " But the recollection 
 of you and your angel mother," would Ludovic say 
 to his daughter, " nerved my arm. I was assailed 
 by all my opponents. How three fell I knew not ; 
 but severe and long was the conflict with the last of 
 my foes, whose powerful arm was raised against me. 
 Already I saw my wife a mournful widow, and my 
 child fatherless, and these dreadful thoughts infus- 
 ing fresh vigour into my arm ; I smote the infidel 
 dog to death, hurled him from his steed, and rifled 
 him as he lay. At this moment several of the ene- 
 my appeared in sight, but I was too much exhaust- 
 ed to renew the perilous conflict. My gallant horse 
 lay wounded, and in the agonies of death. I threw 
 myself on the Turkish courser, and forced him on 
 at his utmost speed, until I regained my squadron. 
 The saddle was steeped in the blood of my foe, and 
 mine mingled with it. 
 
 When a cessation of hostilities permitted the
 
 THE hussar's saddle. 251 
 
 troops to rest for a space from the horrors of war, 
 I hastened with the treasure which, during the cam- 
 paign, I had acquired, to my home — purchased these 
 fertile fields around my dwelling, and forgot for a 
 season the miseries of war." 
 
 The good Ludovic would here pause. He still 
 retained a lively recollection of his lost wife, and he 
 could not bear to narrate the circumstances of her 
 illness and death. After that sad event his home 
 became hateful to him, and he resolved again to en- 
 gage in the arduous duties of a soldier. The little 
 Theresa was kindly adopted into the family of his 
 only brother, and there, after a lapse of some years, 
 our good Huasar found her blooming in youthful 
 beauty. 
 
 Ludovic arrived only in time to close his bro- 
 ther's eyes, who, on his death-bed, entreated him 
 to bestow Theresa on his only son when they should 
 have attained a proper age. Grateful for his al- 
 most parental care of his child, and moved by the 
 situation of his brother, whose whole heart seemed 
 to be bent on this union, Ludovic promised that, 
 when his daughter should have attained the age of 
 eighteen, she wovdd become the wife of Karl, pro- 
 vided Karl himself desired the connection at that 
 time, and, satisfied with this promise, the old man 
 died in peace.
 
 252 THE ODD VOLUMK. 
 
 This engagement was concealed from Theresa, 
 but it was known to Karl, who exulted in the 
 thought that this rich prize would one day be 
 his. With low habits, and a coarse turn of mind, 
 the delicate graces of Theresa had no charms 
 for him ; he loved her not, but he loved the wealth 
 which would one day be hers, and which he looked 
 on with a greedy eye. The thousand soft and name- 
 less feelings which accompany a generous and ten- 
 der passion were unknown to Karl. It was a hard 
 task to him to attend his gentle mistress ; nor did he 
 ever appear disposed to play the part of a lover, ex- 
 cept when some other seemed inclined to supply his 
 place. 
 
 It was at a rural fete given by Ludovic to his 
 neighbours at the termination of an abundant har- 
 vest, that Karl first chose openly to assert his right. 
 He had taken it for granted that he should open 
 the dance with Theresa. What then was his in- 
 dignation, when, on entering the apartment where 
 the guests were assembled, he saw Theresa, her 
 slender waist encircled by the arm of a Young Hus- 
 sar, moving in the graceful Waltz to the following 
 music :
 
 THE HUSSAR'S SADDLE. 
 
 WALTZ from the story of the Hussar's Saddleiu 
 
 "The 0,1.1 VoIniDf*' 
 Bv H . C . 
 
 ^^M\rn \l7 )\ ^^ 
 
 '•|* ! <|l#i*i< M » — • — k- 
 
 I r I r i 
 
 ^ 4^j^!i|. 3 I I 
 
 - 11 1 r D.c. 
 
 k 
 
 7^i> fixcp j:Mi4^c 2^1i 
 
 Eug'.^ by W. H. Lizars, EdinT
 
 THE HUSSAK's SADULl-;. 253 
 
 The evident superiority of his rival, whose well- 
 knit limbs, firm step, free and martial air, formed a 
 striking contrast to his own clownish figure and awk- 
 ward gait, only increased his ire, and in violent wrath 
 he advanced to Theresa, insisting on his right to open 
 the dance with her. Theresa pleaded her engage- 
 ment — he persisted — she refused his request, and 
 laughed at his anger. He became violent and rude. 
 The Hussar interfered, and the quarrel rose so high 
 as to draw I^udovic to the spot. 
 
 Karl in a voice almost choked with passion laid 
 his grievances before him. Theresa, in a tone of 
 indignation, complained to her father of his inso- 
 lence, and appealed to him whether she were not at 
 liberty to select any partner for the dance she thought 
 proper. " You have no such liberty," thundered 
 forth Karl ; " you are my betrothed wife, and as 
 such belong to me alone." 
 
 Theresa cast on him a smile full of scorn and 
 contempt, but it faded as she looked to her father ; 
 and a deadly paleness overspread her countenance 
 as she inquired, " Father, does this man speak 
 truth r 
 
 " He does, my child," was the reply ; and she 
 dropped insensible at his feet. 
 
 The young Hussar now knelt down beside her, 
 passionately kissed her fair forehead, and raising 
 her in his arms, bore her to an adjoining apartment.
 
 254 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 followed by the father and Karl. Theresa slowly 
 revived. At first she saw no one, and breathing a 
 deep sigh, she murmured, " It was all a horrid 
 dream ;"" an anguished groan startled her into per- 
 ception and agony. She looked up and saw her 
 father standing before her with folded arms, and a 
 countenance clouded with grief; Karl also stood 
 near with an exulting smile; and the Hussar knelt 
 beside her, but his face was buried in his hands. 
 She then found it was no dream. She looked to 
 her father. 
 
 " Father, is there no hope .'''" 
 
 " None, my honour is pledged !" 
 
 She turned to the Hussar, and placed for a mo- 
 ment her cold hands in his, then rising suddenly, 
 she threw herself at the feet of Karl. 
 
 " Oh Karl, have mercy ! I love another — you do 
 not love me — have pity on us V 
 
 " By all the powers of heaven and hell you shall 
 be mine, Theresa !" 
 
 " I appeal to my father." 
 
 ." Will your father violate his promise to the 
 dead 'r 
 
 " I will no#," said Ludovic with solemnity. 
 
 " Then, Theresa,"" exclaimed Karl, with fiend- 
 like exultation, " no power on earth shall save you 
 from being mine!" and saying thus he left the house.
 
 THE HUSSAll's SADDLE. 255 
 
 Theresa rose from her knees and threw herself 
 into the arms of her lover. The presence of her 
 father was no restraint on her pure tenderness. Her 
 tears fell fast on his manly countenance, but his 
 agony was too great for that relief Ludovic was 
 deeply moved. He approached them, and endea- 
 voured to calm their affliction, and he related under 
 what circumstances this promise had been given ; 
 but his concluding words, " That he must hold it 
 sacred," threw them into a new paroxysm of grief. 
 
 " We must part then, Arnhold," said the weep- 
 ing Theresa, " we must part, — ah ! can we survive 
 this cruel blow ?" 
 
 " No — said Arnhold, no — I cannot live without 
 you, let us once more entreat your father to have 
 pity on us ;"" and the youthful lovers threw them- 
 selves at his feet. 
 
 " Arnhold," said Ludovic sternly, " thou a sol- 
 dier, and ask me to tarnish my honour !" 
 
 Arnhold felt the appeal ; he started up, raised 
 the weeping Theresa, cut off with his sabre one 
 long bright tress, embraced and kissed her, placed 
 her in the arms of her father, and fled. 
 
 Every passing day carried with it some portion 
 of the fortitude of Theresa, as she saw the near ap- 
 proach of the period which was to consign her to a 
 fate so dreadful. Three little weeks were all that 
 lay between her and misery. Ludovic endeavoured
 
 256 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 to soothe her, but she would not be comforted. Even 
 had her affections been disengaged, Karl would have 
 been distasteful to her, but, with affections placed 
 on another, the idea of a union with him appeared 
 insupportable. 
 
 " My dear child," would Ludovic say, interrupt- 
 ing a passionate burst of grief, " by what magic has 
 Arnhold gained possession of your heart ?" 
 
 " He is a Hussar," replied Theresa. 
 
 There was something in this reply which moved 
 Ludovic. He recollected that he himself had em- 
 bued the mind of his daughter with sentiments of 
 respect and esteem for the character of a good soldier; 
 and conscience reminded him that he had too often 
 exalted the profession of arms over the peaceful and 
 unobtrusive occupations of the husbandman. Was 
 it wonderful, then, that Theresa should have im- 
 bibed something of this spirit, or that she should 
 have yielded her heart to one who possessed courage 
 to defend her, and tenderness to soothe her under 
 the afflictions of life. Arnhold dwelt near them, 
 he had been the early playmate of Theresa, and to- 
 gether they had often, with glowing cheeks and 
 sparkling eyes, listened to the warlike exploits which 
 the good Ludovic delighted to narrate to them ; and 
 to these conversations may be attributed the pas- 
 sionate desire of Arnhold to adopt the profession of 
 arms. Accustomed to see them play together as
 
 THE hussak's saddle. 257 
 
 children, and liking the society of tile generous and 
 spirited boy, Ludovic forgot the danger, when their 
 childhood passed away, of their affection assuming 
 a totally different character. It was so, and Ludo- 
 vic now saw, with deep grief, that his daughter was 
 unalterably attached to the youthful soldier. 
 
 If Theresa was unhappy, her father was scarcely 
 less so. He blamed his own imprudence ; and, on 
 contrasting the characters of the two youths, a vio- 
 lent conflict between his feelings and his duty arose 
 in his breast — but the stern honour of the soldier 
 triumpiied, and he deemed himself bound to com- 
 plete the sacrifice. Unable, however, to endure the 
 sight of her grief, he carried her to the abode of a 
 youthful female friend, who formerly resided near 
 them, but on her marriage had removed to a vil- 
 lage distant about sixty miles from the dwelling of 
 Ludovic. There he left Theresa, after receiving 
 her solemn promise that she would return with him 
 the day before that on which she should complete 
 her eighteenth year. " Father," said she, with 
 streaming eyes, '•' I have never deceived you. If I 
 live, T will return — but do not grieve too deeply, 
 should my heart break in this fearful struggle.'' The 
 old Hussar dashed away a tear which strayed down 
 his scarred and sun- burnt cheek, embraced his child, 
 and departed. 
 
 Time wore gradually away, and at last the day
 
 258 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 arrived which was to seal Theresa's fate. It found 
 her in a state of torpid despair. Exliausted by her 
 previous struggles, all feeling seemed to be dead, 
 but her mind was awakened to new suffering. A 
 friend arrived to conduct her to her father. The 
 good Ludovic apparently lay on the bed of death, 
 and, with breathless impatience, Theresa pursued 
 her journey. 
 
 On her arrival, her father's sick-room was not so- 
 litary. The detested Karl was there, and there, 
 too, was the youthful Hussar. 
 
 " My child," said Ludovic, " ray days are number- 
 ed ; my fate must soon be decided, and, alas ! yours 
 also. To my dying brother 1 solemnly promised, 
 that on this day I would offer you to his son for his 
 bride. Without fulfilhng my engagement, I could 
 not die in peace, — even the grave would afford no 
 rest. Can you sacrifice yourself for my future re- 
 pose ?" 
 
 " I can — I will — cried the unfortunate Theresa, 
 sinking on her knees, so help me Heaven." 
 
 *' Heaven will bless a dutiful child !" said Ludo- 
 vic with fervour. " Karl, draw near." 
 
 Karl obeyed — Theresa shuddered. 
 
 " Karl," said Ludovic, "you say you love my 
 child ; cherish her, I conjure you, as you hope for 
 future happiness. In her you will possess a ti'easure
 
 THE HlTS5!All''s SADDLE. 259 
 
 — but I must warn you, she will bring you but one 
 portion of my possessions " 
 
 Karl started, and retreated a few steps. 
 
 " That, however," continued Ludovic, " which 
 I look upon as my greatest earthly treasure, I give 
 you with my daughter. You, Karl, beheve me to 
 have some virtues. Alas ! alas ! you know not the 
 secret sins which have sullied my life — the rapine — 
 the murder — but enoug-h of this. I have confessed 
 to my ghostly father, and have obtained absolution 
 for the dark catalogue, but on the condition that I 
 leave all my wealth to the church, as an atonement 
 for my transgressions. I could not forget I was a 
 father — I pleaded the destitute state of my child, I 
 implored, I entreated, — at length I wrung from the 
 pious father his consent that I should retain my 
 greatest treasure for my Theresa. I chose my Sad- 
 dle. Keep it, dear child, in remembrance of an af- 
 fectionate father. And you, Karl, are you satisfied 
 to relinquish worldly good for my soul's health ? — 
 Are you content to take my daughter with this por- 
 tion .?" 
 
 " Fool V exclaimed Karl ; — " doting idiot ! how 
 dare you purchase exemption from pvmishment at 
 my expence ? Your wealth is mine — your posses- 
 sions should be the portion of my bride. I Avill re- 
 claim them from those avaricious monks, and tear 
 them from the altar !'''
 
 260 THE ODD VOLUME, 
 
 " You cannot — you dare not !" replied Ludovic, 
 raising his voice in anger ; " my agreement with 
 your father had reference to my daughter only — 
 my wealth formed no part of it." 
 
 " Driveller — dotard !" vociferated Karl, — " think 
 you that I will accept of a portionless bride ? you 
 must seek some other fool for your purpose — I re- 
 nounce her." 
 
 " Give her to me, father," cried Arnhold ; " I 
 swear to cherish and protect her while life is in ray 
 body ! Give her to me, dear father ; and when she 
 shall be the loved wife of my bosom, T will live for 
 her — aye, and die for her !" 
 
 Karl laughed in mockery. " You value life but 
 little," said he, " when you talk of sacrificing it for 
 a woman ; I never knew one worth the trouble of 
 winning, and least of all Theresa." 
 
 The young Hussar laid his hand on his sabre. 
 Theresa threw herself between them. At the same 
 moment Ludovic sprung from his couch — tore the 
 covering from his head — snatched his saddle from 
 the wall where it hung — seized his sabre — with one 
 stroke laid it open, and a stream of golden bezants, 
 oriental pearls, and sparkling jewels, fell on the 
 ground. " Wretch ! worm ! vile clod of the earth ! 
 art thou not justly punished ? Hence, reptile ! fly 
 before I forget that thou art of my blood !" Ludo- 
 vic raised his sabre, and tlic dastardly Karl fled, 
 
 4
 
 THE hussar's SADDLK. 5^61 
 
 without daring to give utterance to the imprecation 
 which hung on his colourless lips. 
 
 Trampling under foot the costly jewels which lay 
 strewed around, Theresa rushed forward and em- 
 braced her father, exclaiming, — " Is not this a 
 dream ? — are you indeed restored to me ? — can this 
 bliss be real ?" 
 
 " Forgive me, my child," exclaimed Ludovic, 
 *' the pain I have been obliged to give your gentle 
 heart. My effort to make that wretch resign his 
 claim to your hand has beeen successful. Grudge 
 not that a part of our store has been appropriated 
 to Holy Church ; not to purchase forgiveness of 
 the sins I enumerated, and of which, thank Hea- 
 ven, I am guiltless, but to be the blessed means of 
 saving you from a miserable fate. Kneel down, my 
 children — aye, support her, Arnhold — lay her in- 
 nocent head on your bosom, and receive the fervent 
 benediction of an old Hussar."
 
 THE DEVIL'S OWN.
 
 THE DEVIL'S OWN. 
 
 Aus dtn Tasclienbuch fiir vaterlandische Maalien. 
 
 Among the multitudes who daily pass along the 
 great square at Presburg, thoughtless or full of 
 care, merry, busy, or sad, or in that agreeable state 
 of listlessness, the furmente of the Italians, proba- 
 bly few among the number have remarked the ani- 
 mated Fresco painting which stands over the door 
 of the senate-house of the city. The structure it- 
 self is traced as far back as the native dynasty of 
 the Arpades, and that it has, since the year 1388, 
 been the senate and council-house of this second 
 capital of the Hungarian kingdom, is clearly authen- 
 ticated. During the reign of Ferdinand the First, 
 in 1647, there were many improvements and altera- 
 tions made on the building ; in particular, he added 
 a few vaulted chambers and the entrance-hall, which 
 still remain in their original form. To this period,
 
 266 THE ODi) VOLUME. 
 
 also, belong the small arched Gothic windows which 
 run along the whole front, two of which jut out 
 over the door, and form a projection. Close to the 
 right of these twinlike windows, and opposite the ob- 
 server, there leans the figure of an old man painted 
 to the life, in long black garments and with a snow- 
 white beard which reaches to his girdle, who ap- 
 pears deeply absorbed in the contents of a book 
 which lies open before him. The figure is as large 
 as life, bvit the upper half alone is visible ; his back 
 is turned towards the little side window of the pro- 
 jection. But, in truth, he did not always turn his 
 back when he was among the living, and when the 
 measure of his iniquity was not yet full. 
 
 He often looked down from this window upon the 
 crowded city, as a spider from its web upon the flies 
 which it watches to ensnare. This figure, which 
 has bid defiance to the power of time, is the repre- 
 sentation of a citizen and senator of Presburg, which 
 the artful and deluding destroyer of mankind had 
 in an instant painted upon the wall. 
 
 Abovit the conckision of the 16th century, and in 
 the turbulent days of King Rodolph, there lived a 
 man in Presburg, who never allowed either the pub- 
 lic or private transactions of the citizens to escape 
 him. 
 
 They neither loved nor respected, but, on the 
 
 contrary, feared and abhorred him. It was impos- 
 
 11
 
 THK DEVlj/s OWN. 267 
 
 sible to discover in his dark and austere countenance 
 what was passing within, and his voice was low, 
 hollow, and almost sepulchral ; yet there were 
 times when lightning glances shot forth from under 
 his bushy eye-brows, illuminating, in a fearful man- 
 ner, the dark and stormy tempest of his countenance. 
 As a poor boy this dreaded one came to Presburg, 
 but whence no one knew. In the course of a few years 
 he raised himself to the first employments in the 
 city ; but how, or by what means, seemed an in- 
 explicable enigma, for he had neither friends nor re- 
 lations, and, at the commencement of his career, ap- 
 parently no resources save within himself. What- 
 ever was entrusted to him prospered, whatever was 
 opposed to him fell to the ground. 
 
 All yielded to him. Opposition to his will he ne- 
 ver forgave. The destruction of those who opposed 
 him became a warning to others, and he ruled with 
 undisputed sway. All sought, but all feared him. 
 He lived in solitude and apparent indigence. He 
 heaped up riches, and no one knew for whom, for 
 his whole household consisted of but one cross old 
 woman. Many curses, and many tears hung upon 
 his accumulated mammon, but this brother hardly 
 dared to whisper to brother, so much was this power- 
 ful being dreaded. The philosopher's stone, the 
 course of the stars, and the secret powers of nature 
 were supposed to occupy those hours, which the
 
 268 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 duties of the city did not require. He was general- 
 ly supposed to be a conjuror and a confederate of the 
 destroyer's, to whom the gray-haired sinner, for the 
 goods of this world, had sold his immortal soul. 
 
 Once on a time, when the council of the city had 
 assembled to administer justice to the oppressed, 
 and to hold arbitrary abuses within the iron limits 
 of the law, a poor woman, with loud complaints, 
 threw herself into the hall of justice. Miserably 
 had she and her husband, (this was the purport of 
 her complaint,) struggled with innumerable misfor- 
 tunes and persecutions, to support themselves by 
 the labour of their hands, and the produce of a 
 small piece of ground, which bordered the posses- 
 sions of a wealthy citizen. Some days since, after 
 a long illness, her husband had been taken from her 
 by death, and her rich neighbour had seized upon 
 the little field to add to his own possessions. She 
 called upon God and the fathers of the city for pro- 
 tection against this crying injustice ; but, alas ! tlie 
 robber sat in the midst of their honourable circle. 
 He was the dreaded senator. Consternation soon 
 became general, and the most opposite resolutions 
 alternately agitated the assembly. The accused 
 alone retained his usual immobility. His voice, his 
 countenance, his manner altered not. Without 
 looking up, he drew a roll of parchment from his 
 bosom, which testified, that niany years since this
 
 THE DUVIi.'s 0\VS'. 2C9. 
 
 piece of ground had been lawfully acquired by him, 
 but that for some service rendered him by the de- 
 ceased, it had been made over to him during his 
 life, and now that the man was dead, he had, ac- 
 cording to custom and right, which no one could 
 prevent or object to, taken back his property again. 
 " Impossible, inconceivable V exclaimed the com- 
 plainant. She asserted that it was known to the 
 whole city that this piece of ground had not only 
 belonged to her husband from his youth, but had 
 also belonged to his fiither and grandfather, and if 
 the document asserted otherwise, it was a base for- 
 gery. Contrary to custom, a difference of opinion 
 divided the assembly, and doubts arose upon the 
 authenticity of the deed ; but, at length, the greater 
 number took part with the oppressor. Then the 
 poor woman, wringing her hands, insisted upon his 
 making good his claim by oath ; and, were he able, 
 with an undisturbed conscience, to assert his right 
 in the face of Heaven, then the field might remain 
 with him, and with her only the mercy of God. 
 Slowly, but determinately, the enigmatical being 
 arose, and walked with a firm step to the end of a 
 table, and stood with downcast eyes before a cruci- 
 fix — opened the book of the law, and read, with his 
 sepulchral voice, the fearful words of the oath ; he 
 ended, and raised his right-hand to swear. Then 
 there burst a clap of thunder which sliook the very
 
 270 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 earth. The tower seemed to bend, and all present 
 grew stiff and cold, as bodies risen from the grave. 
 The tempest rushed howling through the crevices, 
 and tore and rent the windows ; and fearful screams 
 appeared to issue from the thick walls. 
 
 When recollection was restored to the assembly, 
 the senator had vanished. A large opening in a side 
 window marked the place where the deceiver had 
 carried away the criminal to everlasting perdition ; 
 and, as a warning to perjurers, his image, which 
 makes one shudder to look at it, was left behind, 
 and still baffles the various attempts which have 
 been made to efface the representation.
 
 THE OUTPOST.
 
 THE OUTPOST. 
 
 Tlie tale that I unfold to-day 
 Ko fiction is, but from the records pure 
 Of truth has been obtained. 
 
 Rinaldo—Thi Visionary. 
 
 A SHOUT time after the bloody field of Waterloo, 
 a detachment of a regiment, bearing on its colours 
 Talavera, Fuentes d'Onor, Ciudad Rodrigo, Sala- 
 manca, Toulouse, and Waterloo, marched one even- 
 ing into a village in a remote part of Ireland. The 
 officer who commanded the detachment was still 
 in the prime of life ; but his sun-burnt countenance 
 and empty sleeve showed that he, too, amidst dan- 
 ger, toil, and blood, had gathered, on distant plains, 
 the deathless laurel. 
 
 Let us sketch a short period of his life. 
 
 The Irish have at all times been celebrated for 
 their bravery ; and this characteristic of his coun-
 
 274 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 trymen was possessed in no common degree by Ge- 
 rald Ffrench. His parents, who had no other child, 
 would have rejoiced had his inclination led him to 
 devote the energies of his fine mind to the improve- 
 ment of the extensive estates to which he was heir, 
 and to ameliorate the condition of a numerous and 
 ignorant peasantry. But finding this could not be, 
 they consented that he should indulge his passion- 
 ate desire to be ranked one of the defenders of his 
 country ; and as his ambition was not confined to 
 sporting an elegant military dress, he chose to enter 
 a regiment then on the point of embarking for ac- 
 tive service on the Continent. On the evening pre- 
 ceding his departure, our young soldier strolled out 
 to survey, perhaps for the last time, his favourite 
 haunts. He stood on a rising ground which com- 
 manded a view of his wide possessions, and now, for 
 the first time, there arose in his mind a doubt as to 
 the propriety of his embracing the profession of arms. 
 He had thought it his duty to bleed for his country ; 
 but was it not more obviously his duty to remain 
 among the people whose master he was — to suc- 
 cour, reform, instruct them. But then his parents 
 would do all this. True, but who would comfort 
 them if he were laid in a foreign grave. " I was 
 wrong to leave them,"" said the young soldier. " I 
 trust my absence may be brief; but why do I not
 
 TITK. OUTPOST. 275 
 
 spend with them every moment which yet remains 
 to me ;" — and Gerald hurried down the hill. 
 
 He was hastily passing through the wood, when 
 his attention was arrested by sounds of distress ; 
 he listened, and heard his foster-brother, Philip 
 ©""Neil, comforting some one who was weeping bit- 
 terly. 
 
 " If you would but ask any thing else, Mary 
 dear,'' said Philip, in a broken voice — " any thing 
 in the wide world, I'd do it for ye." 
 
 " Well, Phil," answered a gentle and pensive 
 voice, " this is just the way with you all ; but I 
 know, that if you go to the wars with our young 
 master, you will never see me again — but do not 
 let me be stopping you, dear," — and the speaker 
 turned away. 
 
 " Oh ! Mary, and would ye have me let my own 
 master's son go to the wars alone ; and who would 
 tend him if he were sick or maybe dying ? If I 
 didn't follow him all the world over for his kindness 
 to me and mine, the very stones would cry out 
 against me. So don't hinder me Mary dear, btit 
 promise you will stop for me, your own true lad, 
 and not be taking up with Billy Farrel ; and mind 
 to tend my old mother, and keep a good heart, dear- 
 est, and never fear but that Master Gerald and I 
 will be back afore long. So give over grieving, 
 Mary dear, for I will never love any but you, my
 
 i:>76 TlIF OnO VOl.l'ME. 
 
 darling, and Fll see the priest afore I go, and ask 
 his blessing. Only promise to be true to me, 
 Mary." 
 
 Gerald Ffrench did not wait to hear Mary's pro- 
 mises repeated. He stepped softly on to his home, 
 and after spending some hours with his parents, re- 
 paired to his apartment, where he found Philip 
 waiting for him, and who endeavoured to conceal 
 his sorrow and agitation, by affecting great activity 
 in packing and cording the trunks and luggage. 
 Gerald appearing not to have observed any thing 
 unusual in his attendant, dismissed him, and then 
 sat down and wrote him a kind letter, enclosing a 
 handsome sum, enjoining him to remain at home, 
 and marry his pretty Mary. 
 
 Gerald had desired Philip to call him at an early 
 hour, buthaving made previous arrangements with his 
 grooms, who were enjoined secrecy, by three o'clock 
 in the morning he left his home, and before five he 
 was on the quay of , superintending the ope- 
 ration of stowing away the luggage in the transport. 
 Half an hour saw this completed, and he was just 
 stepping on board, when a slight and youthful figure 
 was seen running down the hill with frantic speed. 
 A single glance served to convince Gerald that this 
 was his attached foster-brother, who, bare-headed 
 and covered with dust, panting and breathless, rush- 
 ed forward, and precipitated himself into the trans-
 
 T]IE OUTPOST. 277 
 
 port. Clinging to the mast, he poured forth alter- 
 nately reproaches on his master for leaving him, and 
 entreaties for permission to follow him, ending with 
 frantic protestations that they might hew him in 
 pieces, but he would not leave the ship. Few can re- 
 sist the eloquence of deep feeling, and certainly Ge- 
 rald Ffrench was not one of those. The desired per- 
 mission was quickly granted, and the absurdities 
 Philip committed in the extravagance of his joy rais- 
 ed a degree of merriment which effectually put to 
 flight the emotions occasioned by his distress. But 
 the merry days of our two young soldiers were quick- 
 ly at an end, and they soon were forced to exchange 
 their bright delusions for the ugly realities of life. 
 
 It suits not with our purpose to detail the par- 
 ticulars of the last convulsive struggle of expiring 
 war. No Briton can be ignorant of the prodigies 
 of valour performed by his countrymen, and amidst 
 an host of distinguished names, few shone more 
 brightly than that of Gerald Ffrench. 
 
 After an absence of five years he was now again 
 in his native country, and he waited but to see the 
 troops under his command placed in their quarters, 
 when he set out to revisit his home, distant only a 
 day's journey from the hamlet, where, as an Out- 
 post, his detachment was stationed. His only at- 
 tendant was the faithful Philip CNeil, who now 
 gave vent to his joy by a thousand indescribable
 
 278 THK ODD VOLUME. 
 
 extravagances, which none but a real Irishman could 
 have performed. Few had more cause for joy. 
 He had, just before leaving the Continent, heard 
 that his old mother was well, though she had near- 
 ly lost her sight, — that his Mary was faithful, and 
 counted the hours till his return, — and he knew that 
 his young master was to give him a farm, where he 
 and his pretty Mary were to lead a life of uninter- 
 rupted happiness. 
 
 Such were the visions which flitted before him, 
 and so engrossed was he in their contemplation, 
 it was some time before he observed that their pro- 
 gress was obstructed by a iiumber of men who were 
 engaged in a regular fighting bout. There is cer- 
 tainly something very attractive in the sight of a 
 shillelah when dexterously handled, for, in an in- 
 stant, Philip dismounting, dashed in among the 
 combatants, quite ready to assist the weaker party, 
 whether right or wrong. In his eagerness to get 
 on, he stumbled and fell over a coffin, and now, for 
 the first time, he understood that the two parties 
 disputed which should have the honour of carrying 
 the corpse to interment. 
 
 Gerald Ffrench rode into the midst of the com- 
 batants, exhorting them to cease their impious con- 
 flict. He was unheeded, nor had the more weighty 
 argument enforced by Philip's riding-whip any great- 
 er effect. The infuriated multitude shouted but
 
 THE OUTPOST. 279 
 
 the more vociferously. As quickly as one party got 
 possession of the coffin, it was wrested from them 
 by the other, and oaths and execrations completed 
 the confusion of the scene. In this horrid struggle 
 the coffin was at last torn into a thousand pieces, 
 and the body in its dismal clothing fell heavily to 
 the ground. 
 
 On beholding this awful sight, the ferocious mul- 
 titude shuddered, and there was a sudden pause; but 
 when one party attempted to get possession of the 
 body, the fury of their opponents redoubled, and 
 the battle was instantly renewed. Curses and oaths 
 were poured forth. The heavy bludgeons were 
 stained with blood, and more than one wretch, des- 
 perately wounded, fell on the dead body, imparting 
 horrid motion to the blood-besprinkled corpse. 
 
 Such profanation roused every good feeling in 
 Philip"'s heart, and, rushing onward, he tore the body 
 from the combatants, and, lifting it up in his arms, 
 endeavoured to make his way to his master, who 
 hemmed in, was in some danger from the fury of 
 the combatants. As he raised the body in his arms, 
 the clothes became discomposed. The cold cheek 
 of the corpse touched his, and a profusion of long 
 fair hair fell on his shoulder. " And its a woman, 
 is it, that you're using this way ? Bad luck to your 
 black hearts ; but Fll see the creature have Chris- 
 tian burial, or my name is not Phil O'Neil." In
 
 280 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 an instant every weapon was lowered. Every ap- 
 pearance of fury was quenched, and the men stood 
 in small parties, whispering to each other. 
 
 " Who spoke of Philip O'Neil ?'''' cried an old 
 blind woman, who sat by the road side, weeping bit- 
 terly. 
 
 Philip still bearing the corpse, staggered for- 
 ward ; " Mother, what do ye here ?" 
 
 " Oh, Phil my darling, are yovi come at last to 
 your poor mother .^" 
 
 " Mother, where's Mary ?'" 
 
 " Oh woe the day ! the innocent creaturis in her 
 coffin ; aye here, my darling, in the very coffin be- 
 side us !""' 
 
 Philip tore open the grave-clothes, gave one look 
 at the pale countenance, — one groan that told of a 
 broken heart was heard, and he fell senseless on the 
 ground ! 
 
 Gerald Ffrench hurried to the dismal scene, and, 
 assisted by some of the people, disengaged Philip 
 from the corpse of his Mary, and carried him to the 
 nearest house ; but his cares were vain. Life indeed 
 was preserved for a short time, but he never re- 
 gained his consciousness, and died, almost without 
 a sigh, in the arms of his young master, — by whose 
 order the lovers were buried in one grave.
 
 THE VOW.
 
 THE VOW, 
 
 A NORTHERN TALE. 
 
 From the German of Frederick Baron de la Motte Foiiqiii. 
 
 In the ancient heathen times of the Saxons, there 
 happened once a great war with the Danes. Adal- 
 bero, Duke of Saxony, who had counselled it, now, 
 in the hour of earnest conflict, stood at the head of 
 his people. There flew the arrows and the jave- 
 lins ; there glanced many valiant blades on both 
 sides ; and there shone many bright gold shields 
 through the dark fight. But the Saxons, at every 
 attack, were repulsed, and were already so far driv- 
 en back, that only the storming of a steep height 
 could deliver the army and the country, disperse 
 the enemy, and change a ruinous and destructive 
 flight into a decisive victory. 
 
 Adalbcro conducted the attack. But in vain he 
 forced his fiery charger before the squadron ; in
 
 284 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 vain he shouted through the field, the sacred words, 
 " Freedom and Fatherland !" in vain streamed his 
 own warm blood, and the blood of the foe, over his 
 resplendent armour. The ponderous mass gave 
 way ; and the enemy, secure on the height, rejoiced 
 in their decided victory. Again rushed Adalbero 
 on with a few gallant warriors ; again the faint- 
 hearted fell behind ; and again the enemy rejoiced. 
 
 " It is yet time,"" said Adalbero ; and again he 
 shouted, " Forward 1 and if we conquer, I vow to 
 the gods, to set fire to the four corners of my castle, 
 and it shall blaze forth one bright fvmeral-pile, in 
 honour of our victory and of our deliverance.'*' 
 
 Again was the attack renewed, but again the Sax- 
 ons fled, and the enemy sent forth shouts of joy. 
 
 Then cried Adalbero aloud before the whole ar- 
 my, " If we return victorious from this charge, ye 
 gods, I devote myself to you as a solemn sacri- 
 fice !'' 
 
 Shuddering, the warriors hastened after him, — 
 but fortune was still against them : the boldest fell 
 — the bravest fled. Then Adalbero, in deep afflic- 
 tion, rallied the scattered band, and all that remain- 
 ed of the great and noble collected round him, and 
 spoke thus : — 
 
 " Thou art our ruin ; for thou hast counselled 
 this war.'' 
 
 Adalbero replied " My castle and myself I have
 
 Till". VOW. J285 
 
 devoted to the gods for victory, and what can I 
 move ?'''' 
 
 The sad multitude called only the more to him, 
 " Thou art our ruin ; for thou hast counselled this 
 war." 
 
 Then Adalbero tore open his bosom, and implor- 
 ed the Mighty God of Thunder to pierce it with a 
 thunder-bolt, or to give the victory to his army. 
 But there came no bolt from Heaven ; and the squa- 
 dron stood timid, and followed not the call. 
 
 In boundless despair, Adalbero at last said, 
 " There remains only that which is most dear to 
 me. Wife and child I offer to thee, thou God of 
 armies, for victory. My beautiful blooming wife, — ^ 
 my only heart-loved child, — they belong to thee. 
 Great Ruler in Asgard ; with my own hand will I 
 sacrifice them to thee ; but I implore thee, give me 
 the victory !" 
 
 Scarcely were these words uttered, when fearful 
 thunderings rolled over the field of battle, and 
 clouds gathered around the combatants ; and the 
 Saxons, with fearful cries, shouted, as with one voice, 
 " The gods are with us !"" With invincible cou- 
 rage forward rushed the host ; — the height was car- 
 ried by storm, and Adalbero, with sudden shudder, 
 saw the enemy flying through the field. 
 
 The conqueror returned home in triumph ; and 
 in all parts of delivered Saxony, came wives and
 
 286 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 children forth, and, with outstretched arms, greeted 
 their husbands and fathers. But Adalbero knew 
 what awaited him ; and every smile of an affection- 
 ate wife, and every shout of a blooming child, pierc- 
 ed, as with a poisoned dart, his anguished heart. 
 At last they came before his magnificent castle. 
 He was not able to look up, as the beautiful Similde 
 met iiim at the gate, with her daughter in her 
 hand, while the little one always leaped and cried, 
 " Father, father ! beloved father !" 
 
 Adalbero looked round on his people, in order to 
 strengthen himself; even there he met quivering 
 eyelids and bitter tears ; for among his warriors, 
 many had heard his horrible vow. He dismissed 
 them to their families, feeling what happy men, he. 
 the most unhappy, was sending to their homes ; 
 then rode into the castle, and sending the domes- 
 tics away, under various pretences, sprung from his 
 horse, closed the gates with thundering sound, se- 
 cured them carefully, and pressed his beloved wife 
 and child to his heart, shedding over them a tor- 
 rent of tears. 
 
 " What is the matter, husband .'*"" said the as- 
 tonished Similde. 
 
 " Why do you weep, father ?"" stammered the 
 little one. 
 
 " We will first prepare an offering to the gods,"
 
 THE VOW. 287 
 
 replied Adalbero ; " and then I shall relate every 
 thing to you. Come to me soon, to the hearth."" 
 
 " I will kindle the flame, and fetch, in the mean- 
 time, the implements for sacrifice,'" said the sweet 
 Similde ; and the little one cried out, clapping her 
 hands, 
 
 " I also will help ; I also will be there ;*" and 
 skipped away with her mother. 
 
 These words, " I also will help ; I also will be 
 there," the hero repeated, as, dissolved in grief, he 
 stood by the flaming pile, with his drawn sword in 
 his trembling hand. He lamented aloud over the 
 joyful innocent child, and the graceful obedient 
 wife, who brought the bowl and pitcher, perfuraing- 
 pan and taper, used in sacrifices. Then it passed 
 through his mind, that his vow could not be valid ; 
 for such sorrow could not find a place in the heart of 
 man. But the answer was given in dreadful peals 
 of thunder down from the heavens. 
 
 " I know," said he, sighing heavily, " your thun- 
 der has assisted us, and now your thunder calls on 
 your devoted believer for the performance of his 
 vow." 
 
 Similde began to tremble as the frightful truth 
 burst upon her ; and, with soft tears, she said, "Ah ! 
 hast thou made a vow ? Ah ! husband, I see no 
 victim ! — shall human blood ! " 
 
 Adalbero covered his eyes with both his hands.
 
 288 THE ODJ) VOLUME. 
 
 and sobbed so terribly that it echoed through the 
 hall, and the little one, terrified, shrunk together. 
 
 Similde knew well of such vows, in ancient times. 
 She looked entreatingly to her lord, and said, " Re- 
 move the child.'' 
 
 " Both, both ! — I must !'"' then murmured Adal- 
 bero ; and Similde, with a violent effort, forcing 
 back her tears, said to the little one, " Quick, child, 
 and bind this handkerchief on thine eyes : thy fa- 
 ther has brought a present for thee, and will now 
 give it thee." 
 
 " My father looks not as if he would give me a 
 present," sighed the child. 
 
 " Thou shalt see ; thou shalt see, presently," said 
 Similde hurriedly ; and as she placed the bandage 
 over the eyes of the child, she could no longer re- 
 strain her tears, but they fell so softly, that the 
 little one knew it not. 
 
 The affectionate mother now tore the drapery 
 from her snow-white bosom, and kneeling before the 
 sacrificer, beckoned that she might be the first vic- 
 tim. 
 
 " Quick, only quick," whispered she softly to the 
 lingerer ; " else will the poor child be so terri- 
 fied !" 
 
 Adalbero raised the dreadful steel — Then roared 
 the thunder, and flashed the lightning through the 
 building. Speechless sank the three to the earth.
 
 THE VOW. ^Hi) 
 
 As the evening breeze rushed through the bro- 
 ken windows, the little one raised her head, from 
 which the bandage had fallen, and said, " Mother, 
 what present has my father brought to me ?" The 
 sweet voice awakened both the parents. All lived, 
 and nothing was destroyed but Adalbero"'s sword, 
 which was melted by the avenging flash of Heaven. 
 
 " The Gods have spoken !" cried the pardoned 
 father ; and, with a gush of unutterable love, the 
 three delivered ones wept in each other's arms. 
 
 Far distant, over the southern mountains, roared 
 the tempest, where many years afterwards St Boni- 
 face converted unbelievers to the true faith.
 
 THE WIDOW'S NUPTIALS.
 
 Master of mortal bosoms, Love, — O Love ! ' 
 
 Thou art the essence of the universe ! 
 
 Soul of the visible world ! and canst create 
 
 Hope, joy, pain, passion, madness, or despair, 
 
 As suiteth thy high will ! To some thou bringest 
 
 A balm, a lenitive for every wound 
 
 The unkind world inflicts on them ! To others 
 
 Thy breath but breathes destruction, and thy smile 
 
 Scathes like the lightning ! Now a star of peace 
 
 Heralding sweet evening to our stormy day ; 
 
 And now a meteor, with far-scattering fire. 
 
 Shedding red ruin on our flowers of life !— 
 
 InaU— 
 
 Whether arrayed in hues of deep repose. 
 
 Of armed with burning vengeance to consume 
 
 Our yielding hearts, — alike Omnipotent. 
 
 Alahic a. Watts.
 
 THE WIDOW'S NUPTIALS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Adieu to thee again ! a vain adieu ! 
 There can be no farewell. 
 
 Childe Harold. 
 
 The night was fearful. Loud gusts of wind swept, 
 at intervals, the streets of the town of Manheim ; 
 and, bursting open the doors of many dwellings, rav- 
 ed through with a terrific violence, which, to the 
 affrighted inhabitants, seemed to announce the 
 coming of the Genius of the Storm. The hail beat 
 furiously on the casements ; and, at intervals, when 
 the tempest was suspended for a moment, only to 
 be renewed with additional force, the large oaks of 
 the neighbouring forest sent forth a moaning sound ; 
 and as the storm increased, they were heard crash- 
 ing and falling before the mighty power of the war- 
 ring elements.
 
 294' THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 " You mu8t not leave us to-night," said Wil- 
 helm to his friend Ruprecht. " Indeed, you must 
 not," said the beautiful Isabella; " what would 
 your good mother say were she to hear that we had 
 allowed you to depart on such a night?" and she 
 pressed her own blooming boy to her truly maternal 
 heart. 
 
 " I am too happy here," replied Count Ruprecht; 
 " but " 
 
 " Nay," interrupted Isabella playfully, " we 
 must have no objection." 
 
 " Holy mother," she continued, moving towards 
 the window, " what a night it is !" Her husband 
 and Count Ruprecht followed her. " Could you 
 not imagine," placing her arm within that of her 
 husband, and bending her head so near him, that 
 her luxuriant fair hair floated on his shoulder — 
 " Could you not imagine that some deed of villainy 
 was now transacting, from which nature shrinks af- 
 frighted and convulsed ? See those deep black 
 clouds hurrying towards the moon, as if driven on 
 by demons, to obscure her splendour, and produce 
 the darkness congenial to their turbulent and ma- 
 lignant souls !" 
 
 " What sound is that ?" exclaimed Wilhclm. 
 " It resembles the roll of a heavy carriage. Yes, 
 surely that is the trampling of horses feet ? Hea- 
 ven help the traveller !"
 
 THK widow's nuptials. 296 
 
 " It stops hereP' said Isabella in alarm ; " who? 
 what ?" 
 
 " Be calm, my clearest love," said Wilhelm ; 
 " there is probably some mistake." 
 
 " It is no mistake," cried Isabella; " as a figure 
 in a rich travelling dress descended from the carriage." 
 
 " It is Berthold," exclaimed the Count; and in 
 another moment he was clasped in his arms. 
 
 " You alarm us, Count Berthold," said Isabella ; 
 " I hope nothing disastrovis has occasioned this sud- 
 den journey ?" 
 
 " By letters which I received lately," replied 
 Count Berthold ; " I am informed that a very dear 
 friend is in extreme danger, and I was miserable 
 till I found myself on the way to him. Heaven 
 grant I may not be too late !" 
 
 " I grieve to hear this," rejoined Isabella ; " and 
 trust his sickness may not be unto death." 
 
 " His malady," said Count Berthold, fixing his 
 eyes kindly on Ruprecht, " is, I fear, very deeply 
 seated ; but, with divine assistance, I trust I shall 
 be enabled to work his cure. He loves me, and 
 may thence consent to use what remedies I pre- 
 scribe, even were it the plucking out an eye, or 
 the cutting off a hand." 
 
 " Unhappy man," said Isabella in a soft tone ; 
 " how I pity him." 
 
 " Pity me rather," replied Count Berthold ; " he
 
 Ud6 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 is dearer to me than my own soul, and yet I must 
 torture to save him." 
 
 " You have my sincerest sympathy," replied Isa- 
 bella ; " and, what is of much more value, you will 
 have the assistance of our amiable friend Count Ru- 
 precht in your mournful task."" 
 
 " It is that alone which supports me ;" replied 
 Count Berthold. 
 
 " You have not seen him, I presume, since your 
 arrival .?" asked Wilhelm. 
 
 " On my arrival," said the Count, waving a direct 
 reply, " I proceeded to Count Ruprecht — his do- 
 mestics directed me here — and now," continued he, 
 rising, " as the storm has somewhat abated we 
 must leave you." 
 
 " Indeed you shall not," said Isabella, with kind 
 earnestness. " Nay," continued she, observing that 
 the count showed no sign of altering his resolution — 
 " Nay, stay at least till this dreadful blast is over, 
 and do allow me to order your carriage to be driven 
 into the court, where the poor animals will be shel- 
 tered ; and pray permit your people to have some 
 refreshment. They arc not, like you, too full of 
 anxiety, to be insensible to cold and fatigue. Ah ! 
 you consent ? Well, then, seat yourself, and tell 
 me all about this dear friend." 
 
 " I am myself ignorant of many particulars, but
 
 THE widow's nuptials. 297 
 
 I shall soon know all — pardon my impatience to 
 leave you. Kuprecht, shall we go now p" 
 
 " As you please," replied Ruprecht, with an un- 
 steady voice. 
 
 " Good night, then,"" said Count Bcrthold. 
 
 *' Good night,'' replied Isabella, " but first kiss 
 my little boy ;'" and as she spoke, she lifted him in 
 her arms, and held him to Count Ruprecht. The 
 spirited child, now about three years old, and beau- 
 tiful as the dawn, suddenly twined one arm around 
 his mother, and the other around the count, and, 
 before cither was aware of his intention, he drew 
 them so close together that their cheeks met. Isa- 
 bella coloured shghtly, and drew back hastily, but 
 recovered her dignity and self-possession in an in- 
 stant. There was no evil thought within, but how 
 was it with Count Ruprecht ? A cold shiver came 
 over him. Pale as death he fixed his eyes on the 
 ground, and grasped the back of the couch. A 
 sudden light burst on the mind of Count Berthold. 
 He started, and scrutinized the downcast and agi- 
 tated countenance of his friend. Yes, it must be 
 so — he was master of his secret. He was still lost 
 in painful reflection, when Isabella approached him 
 leading the little Albert. 
 
 " My son wishes to say good night to you also. 
 — You will pray for this gentleman's sick friend, 
 my dear child ^■'"'
 
 298 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 *' Yes,"" replied the boy ; " is that he ?" pointing 
 to Count Rupreeht. 
 
 " He does, indeed, appear to be much indis- 
 posed," said Isabella to Count Berthold. " You 
 ought not to expose him to the storm."" 
 
 " He has encountered more severe storms than 
 this. Good night, — but we should rather say fare- 
 well, for, in all probability, we shall leave town to- 
 morrow — better medical assistance will be found at 
 Stutgard. Farewell." 
 
 " Heaven help him, and may he be enabled to 
 bear up under his affliction." 
 
 " He will bear his trial like a man and a Christ- 
 ian ;" and, taking the arm of his friend, Count Ber- 
 thold led him towards the door of the apartment. 
 
 " Farewell, my friends," said Isabella. 
 
 Count Rupreeht threw one glance on her, and 
 rushed out to meet a storm, only less dreadful than 
 that which raged in his own breast. 
 
 " Did you remark how vmhappy and agitated 
 Rupreeht appeared to-night," said Wilhelm, as he 
 passed his arm round the waist of his beautiful wife, 
 and drew her kindly towards him. 
 
 " My attention," replied Isabella, " was so wholly 
 engrossed by the sudden appearance and strange 
 discomposvire of Count Berthold, I did not no- 
 tice the indisposition of Rupreeht, till he was just 
 about to leave us. There must be something on his
 
 THE widow's nuptials. 299 
 
 mind. He appears always to be struggling to sub- 
 due some powerful feeling, the expression of which 
 is often on his lips, but forced back. Would that 
 he could be prevailed on to confide in us. It is 
 probably some attachment, and from his apparent 
 dejection, an unsuccessful one. How I pity him! 
 Ah ! if fate had forbid our union, how should we 
 have borne it ?"" 
 
 " Not well, I believe," replied Wilhelm, kissing 
 her fair and open forehead, — " not well. Where a 
 powerful and virtuous attachment is deeply felt, it 
 is never eradicated without tearing up along with it 
 some of the best feelings of our nature. To disap- 
 pointed affection may be traced many of the errors 
 of our wildest youths, and to that also the death of 
 many of the loveliest and best of your softer sex." 
 
 " You speak truly, my beloved ; the loss of the 
 dear object of our affections is perhaps often at- 
 tended with consequences which religion must con- 
 demn, and humanity deplore, — but blessed as I am 
 in being united to the only man who ever touched 
 my heart, I can still feel for those to whom such 
 happiness is not permitted. Poor Count Ruprecht ! 
 I fear indeed that something of this nature presses 
 on his heart. Shall we not try, love, to win his se- 
 cret from him ? — perhaps there may be some misun- 
 derstanding which a judicious friend could remove." 
 
 " You forget that he leaves this to-morrow."
 
 300 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 " Oh true ! — how unfortunate ! — but what is 
 that ?" exclaimed she ; as a confused murmur in the 
 entrance-hall reached their ears, " Bring him this 
 way !" — Count Berthold was heard to say, " there, 
 lay him on that couch, — stand back and let me 
 bind up his wound !" 
 
 In amazement Wilhelm and Isabella gazed for a 
 moment on each other, and then with quick and 
 agitated steps hastened into the hall. 
 
 On a couch lay the youthful Count Ruprecht, 
 pale and motionless as a marble statue ! From a 
 deep wound in his temple the blood flowed impe- 
 tuously over his death-like countenance. One arm 
 lay folded across his breast, while the other, much 
 lacerated, hung lifelessly over the side of the couch. 
 
 *' Merciful Heaven !" cried Isabella, precipitating 
 herself towards him ; " What is all this ?'''' 
 
 " We were overturned,'^ replied Count Berthold, 
 in almost breathless anxiety ; " and I fear we must 
 trespass on your hospitality, — but that perhaps may 
 not be long," continued he ; and as he gazed on the 
 pallid countenance of his youthful friend, the tears, 
 which trembled in his eyes, fell fast on his manly 
 cheek. 
 
 Isabella was the first to recover her self-posses- 
 sion, and to feel the necessity of instant exertion. 
 " Fly," said she to a domestic, " to Dr Achenwahl, 
 and beg him for the love of Heaven to come here in-
 
 THE widow's nuptials. 301 
 
 stantly ; and now, Wilhelm, bear him into this 
 chamber. Count Berthold, assist my husband, — 
 lay him in bed. Ah ! keep off his wovmded arm !" 
 
 The count was laid in bed, but life seemed ut- 
 terly extinguished. Isabella placed her hand on his 
 heart, — a slight motion was perceptible. With 
 trembling hands she raised his head, and support- 
 ing it with pillows, and gently cutting away his coal 
 black hair, she staunched and bound up the wound. 
 She then laid bare his arm, but on viewing its bruis- 
 ed and lacerated state she became sick and faint, — 
 a deadly paleness overspread her countenance, and 
 she caught hold of the curtains. Wilhelm sprung 
 forward, and, supporting her in his arms, endeavour- 
 ed to lead her away, saying, " This is no sight for 
 you, my love, pray, retire."" 
 
 " Do not ask me to leave him," replied she, gent- 
 ly disengaging her husband's hands ; " do not ask 
 me, — you see I am of use, since his friend is inca- 
 pable of every exertion ;" pointing to Count Berth- 
 old, who, covered with blood, stood at the foot of the 
 bed, gazing on Ruprecht in a stupor of despair. 
 
 But Isabella's tender cares were fruitless ; and 
 Count Ruprecht still lay in a state of insensibility, 
 when the good Dr Achenwahl entered the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " This is no sight for you, lady," quoth the wor- 
 thy man, as he led Isabella to a couch at the far-
 
 302 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 ther end of the chamber ; then drawing the curtaui 
 between her and the sufferer, he proceeded to exa- 
 mine into the injuries he had sustained. 
 
 The wound on the head was pronounced to be 
 severe — not dangerous ; but the shattered state of 
 the arm he viewed with evident alarm. He hesi- 
 tated a moment whether he should not instantly 
 amputate it, but, on a more careful examination, he 
 decided on running even some risk to preserve it. 
 The excruciating pain occasioned by setting the 
 fractures restored the count to life, of which an an- 
 guished groan gave the first indication. This 
 mournful sound drew Isabella once more towards 
 him, and as he, for the first time, raised his languid 
 eyes, he beheld her hanging over him in deepest 
 sympathy, and chafing his cold hands. He spoke 
 not, but gazed on her with such an intensity of feel- 
 ing that Count Berthold, alarmed lest his dreadful 
 secret would be revealed, advanced to Isabella, and 
 saying, " Let me assist you ;" took from her the es- 
 scence with which she was bathing the hands of Ru- 
 precht, and begged she would retire. 
 
 But Count Ruprecht seizing her hand, said to 
 Berthold, " I am dying, — my bitterest enemy would 
 not at this time increase my torments, and will you, 
 my best, my dearest friend, cruelly disturb my last 
 moments .'' — nay, look not on me with so much an- 
 guish ; — thus supported, death is more welcome to
 
 THK widow's nuptials, 303 
 
 me than life." Isabella cast a look of alarm on 
 Count Berthold, and, by a motion, intimated that 
 she thought his mind wandered. 
 
 Before his departure, Dr Achenwahl took Wil- 
 helm and Berthold aside, and enjoined them strict- 
 ly to indulge the sufferer in whatever he might de- 
 sire ; and, if they wished to preserve him from fe- 
 ver, on which alone depended his chance of reco- 
 very, to refrain from every thing tending to agitate 
 hismind. Totally unconscious of the nature of Count 
 Ruprecht's feelings, Wilhelm promised the most 
 implicit obedience to this injunction, and next day, 
 when Ruprecht prayed Isabella to soothe him with 
 a song, he brought a guitar to her, and, placing it 
 in her trembling hands, entreated her to indulge the 
 wayward invalid. 
 
 " And what shall I sing to you.?" said Isabella 
 softly. 
 
 " Ah !" replied Count Ruprecht, " sing me that 
 beautiful serenade with which you have so often en- 
 chanted me ;" and, gazing on her, he began to re- 
 peat the verses : 
 
 " Horch liese liorch Geliebte, horcli." 
 
 Isabella, after striking a few chords, commenced 
 this lovely air. Her voice, at all times sweet and 
 expressive, was now peculiarly plaintive, and what 
 she lost in energy, through emotions which shook
 
 S04 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 her frame, was amply compensated by the thrilling 
 expression which breathed in her exquisite tones- 
 
 The scene was one which might have aiforded 
 high delight to a painter, but it would have made 
 the good man sigh. The chamber was lofty and 
 but dimly lighted, save when at intervals the deep 
 clouds separating, disclosed the fair and radiant 
 moon, whose beams fell on the interesting group. 
 Close to the bed on which the count reclined, sat 
 Isabella, her fair hair hanging in beautiful disorder 
 over a cheek whose varying hue spoke the agita- 
 tion of her mind, while her husband, with words 
 and looks of the tenderest love, cheered her in her 
 melancholy task — for the well-ordered mind of Isa- 
 bella was deeply shocked that such should be her 
 employment in the chamber, perhaps of death. 
 Count Berthold, with the deepest grief, contem- 
 plated his youthful friend, whose eyes, sparkling 
 with an unholy lustre, were fixed on the innocent 
 and virtuous Isabella, who, unconscious of his pas- 
 sion, was adding fuel to the fire which consumed 
 him. 
 
 With the view of leading his thoughts to subjects 
 more suited to his awful situation, Isabella began 
 the celebrated Sword-song of Korner, commencing 
 with 
 
 " Vater ich rufe dich," 
 
 when she was stopped by a groan of the deepest 
 
 11
 
 THE widow's nuptials. 305 
 
 anguish. " Ah ! not that song, — not that song V 
 exclaimed Count Ruprecht, for he, too, had sung it 
 on the battle-field, when about to combat for his 
 fatherland, and for glory — the first passions of a 
 heart which was then unpolluted by guilty thoughts. 
 He feared not then to meet death — nay, to seek 
 him in the thickest of the fight — why now was his 
 approach so awful ? Too well did his writhing 
 conscience reply to the question, and he could not 
 stifie her voice. Tears, salutary tears fell from his 
 eyes ; and his emotions were increased on observing 
 the deeep distress which was marked on the coun- 
 tenance of his friend. 
 
 He beckoned Count Berthold to him — " Let all 
 leave me but you ;" and as soon as Wilhelm and 
 Isabella had retired, he threw himself into the arms 
 of his friend, saying, " Pray with me, pray for me, 
 that I may be enabled to root out this guilty passion 
 from my heart. — I will conquer it or perish." 
 
 " Now, may Heaven aid you," replied Count 
 Berthold, straining him to his breast ; " I shall yet 
 see my beloved friend rescued from a state worse 
 than death ; but calm your emotion, lest I lose you 
 at a moment when my heart is so deeply penetrated 
 with affection for you." 
 
 Count Ruprecht was too much exhausted to re- 
 ply- He pressed the hand which so kindly held 
 his, and then lay so motionless, that, but for the 
 
 u 
 
 /
 
 306 THE ODU VOLUME. 
 
 sighs which broke from him, Count Berthold would 
 have been apprehensive of the worst. Gradually, 
 however, even the sighs ceased, and Count Ber- 
 thold, to his extreme joy, saw him buried in pro- 
 found repose. All violent passion seemed to be at 
 rest. His new-born and virtuous resolutions had 
 apparently imparted a holy calm to a heart which 
 had been the victim of a turbulent and overwhelm- 
 ing passion. And breathing an ardent prayer that 
 his beloved friend might prove the victor in a com- 
 bat wherein to be vanquished was eternal death, 
 Count Berthold softly closed the curtains, and seat- 
 ed himself near the window, there to reflect how 
 trifling are the storms of the natural world, when 
 compared to those mental tempests, which in a mo- 
 ment lay waste the fairest virtues of the soul.
 
 THE \VII)0\v''s XUPTIALS. 307 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree 
 I planted, — they have torn me, — and I bleed ; 
 I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. 
 
 Childc Harold. 
 
 For several days Count Ruprecht continued in a 
 state of extreme languor and exhaustion ; but at last 
 health and strength seemed gradually to return, 
 and, by the termination of the second week after his 
 accident, he was permitted to leave his apartment, 
 and to repose on a couch in an adjoining chamber. 
 Count Berthold was indefatigable in his endeavours 
 to keep from him the dangerous society of Isabella, 
 whose tender and amiable disposition prompted her 
 to lavish her cares upon the interesting invalid. 
 When she brought her guitar and offered him his 
 favourite amusement, Count Berthold invariably 
 found that his friend required repose, and his hand 
 alone could arrange his pillow, and hold the re- 
 freshing beverage to his parched and feverish lips. 
 To this kind severity Count Ruprecht submitted
 
 308 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 without a murmur, but, though he writhed inter- 
 nally, not by words did he express his sufferings, — 
 they were betrayed only by the pensive eyes, so often 
 filled with tears ; by the anguish which, in spite of 
 all his efforts, was but too evidently pourtrayed in 
 his expressive countenance ; by his convulsive start, 
 when the sound of Isabella's voice orfootstep reached 
 his ear ; and by a deeply-rooted melancholy, which, 
 destroying all energy, and sapping the springs of 
 life seemed to hasten that early termination to his 
 career which he so ardently desired. 
 
 The heart of Count Berthold bled for his young 
 friend, yet he would not permit any indulgences to 
 his fatal passion, aware that such would only in- 
 crease the difficulty and pain of ultimately freeing 
 him from its dominion. He relied much on the 
 power of absence and change of scene, to obliterate 
 or at least deaden impressions wliich at that time 
 were so forcible ; but as Dr Achenwahl positively 
 forbade his removal until more fully recovered, the 
 Count was forced to limit his exertions to keeping 
 from his view the lovely and innocent Isabella. 
 It is true, that in this he did not always succeed. 
 Isabella saw that Count Ruprecht had pleasure in 
 her society, and, believing that the extreme degree 
 of quiet to which Count Berthold wished to con- 
 demn him was injurious to his health, she would 
 sometimes playfully insist on the privilege of a sis-
 
 THE widow's nuptials. 309 
 
 ter, and sit kindly by his couch reading to him, or 
 caressing her beautiful boy. On one of these 
 occasions, as Isabella sat beside him, she was 
 more than usually struck with his sadness and de- 
 jection, and, impressed with the conviction that it 
 arose from an unfortunate attachment, she, in the 
 hope of being able to advise, or at least to comfort 
 him, resolved on attempting to draw his secret from 
 him, — and too well did she succeed. To her en- 
 treaties that he would confide in her the cause of 
 his grief, he listened for some time in profound si- 
 lence ; but the compressed lips, the pale and agitated 
 countenance bore witness to the conflict of contend- 
 ing passions. At length the torrent burst its way, 
 — in a moment of frenzy and despair, he fell at 
 her feet, and dared to avow his love. Surprise and 
 indignation for an instant rooted Isabella to the 
 spot, — then tearing her robe from his grasp, as if 
 contamination were in his touch, she rushed out of 
 the room. 
 
 On the return of Count Berthold to the apart- 
 ment of his friend, he found him suffering all the 
 tortures of repentance and self-condemnation, the 
 cause of v/hich he did not attempt to conceal. 
 Grieved as the Count was at this occurrence, he 
 did not upbraid Ruprecht, as he saw the sincerity 
 of his regret ; and believing that his presence was a 
 restraint on his feelings, he repaired to the saloon,
 
 310 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 where he found Wilhehn, whose unsuspecting kind- 
 ness and friendly inquiries for the invalid cut him 
 to tlie heart, as he reflected how unworthy Count 
 Ruprecht was of the esteem and affection which was 
 lavished on him. He however endeavoured to con- 
 ceal the disorder of his mind, and to call up suffi- 
 cient courage to meet the eye of the indignant Isa- 
 bella. But, for the present, Isabella did not ap- 
 pear, and when Count Berthold retired for the night, 
 he found on his dressing-table the following billet : — 
 
 " So long as the state of his health renders it ne- 
 cessary for your friend to remain in my house, he 
 will use it as his own ; but the moment in which he 
 may be removed with safety, I command him to leave 
 it." 
 
 " Isabella."*' 
 
 To which Berthold replied. 
 
 "I scarcely know in what terms to address you. 
 Believe me, my anxiety to relieve you from the pain 
 of beholding an object who must excite your highest 
 indignation is equal to your own ; but having been 
 unremitting in my endeavours to hide from your 
 pure eyes a passion which I knew you would deeply 
 resent and condemn, for myself I claim your con- 
 tinued friendship. Even for my friend I dare to
 
 THE widow's nuptials. JJH 
 
 ask your pity and compassion, for he has sworn to 
 conquer his attachment or perish, ^^'^e leave you, 
 and for ever. Farewell." 
 
 Next morning, when Count Berthold entered the 
 apartment of his friend, he found him seated at a 
 window with a book in his hand, in which he seemed 
 deeply absorbed. The profound melancholy of his 
 countenance greatly affected Count Berthold. He 
 approached him gently. It was the " Werther" 
 of Goethe ; and laying his hand on his shoulder, 
 " Is it right," said he, " my dear Ruprecht, thus 
 to excite your feelings ?'''' 
 
 " No, no, it is wrong, very wrong ; and I dread 
 my own weakness. Here, take the book, I shall ne- 
 ver look on it again." 
 
 *' Well then,'' replied Count Berthold, " as you 
 acknowledge you have erred you must submit to do 
 penance. Dr Achenwahl recommends a little ex- 
 cursion — and as all is ready you must follow me." 
 
 " Ask it not," said Count Ruprecht; " It tortures 
 me to view the busy crowd — the laugh of careless 
 gaiety pierces my very soul." 
 
 " I must not be denied — I cannot permit you to 
 
 waste your fine mind in useless regrets. I feel I 
 
 am assured, that the exertion willbe beneficial to you." 
 
 " Do with me then as you list," replied Count 
 Ruprecht ; and arm in arm the two friends de-
 
 312 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 scended to the court, where a carriage with four fleet 
 horses stood in waiting. They stepped into it and 
 were driven rapidly away. 
 
 It was a lovely day, but the bright and vivid 
 beauties of nature were unnoticed by the friends, who 
 kept a mournful silence. Count Ruprecht reclined 
 in a corner of the carriage, and hid his pale face 
 with his travelling-cloak, as if desirous to shut out 
 the light of the glorious sun. Count Berthold, too, 
 was oppressed with a secret melancholy, and his 
 countenance betrayed uneasiness and apprehension. 
 In this manner did an hour pass in unbroken silence, 
 when Count Ruprecht said, " I feel fatigued ; will 
 you desire the postilion to return." 
 
 Count Berthold did not reply. 
 
 Count Ruprecht tore the muffling from his face, 
 and, on beholding the rapidity of their motion, like 
 a flash of lightning the truth burst upon him, and 
 wrenching open the door, he attempted to spring 
 out, but Count Berthold caught him in his arms. 
 
 Count Ruprecht struggled violently — " One look, 
 one farewell is all I ask !"" 
 
 " You must not ! Destruction is in the wish." 
 
 " Cruel, barbarous friend, you sport with my mi- 
 sery !" 
 
 " When this paroxysm is past, you will do me 
 more justice." 
 
 " Release me— let me go— I will not be thus
 
 THE \VIJ)0W''S NUPTIALS. 313 
 
 schooled r cried he, half frantic at the thoughts of 
 being thus rudely torn from tlie woman he adored. 
 
 " Go then," said Count Berthold ; " go court ruin 
 — rush upon destruction, but think not that I shall 
 remain to witness it — we part here.'' 
 
 " No, no," replied Count Kuprecht, " bear with 
 me, bear with, and save me from myself !" and the 
 two friends wept in each others arms. 
 
 From this period. Count Berthold devoted him- 
 self to the task of restoring the mind of his friend 
 to virtue and tranquillity. He carried him to his 
 princely domain near the Black Forest, in whose 
 deep recesses Count Ruprecht loved to wander. 
 The savage sublimity, the deep solitude of the 
 scene, was congenial to the dark tenor of his 
 thoughts, which loved to dwell among images of 
 gloom and horror. Here, seated among trees, the 
 growth of centuries, he would for hours meditate on 
 life — its hopes, its fears, and alas ! its disappoint- 
 ments — worthless all, if viewed in reference to this 
 world only, but of immeasurable importance when 
 considered with reference to the world to come. 
 Never before, perhaps, had he felt how slight is the 
 hold which human beings have of life ; in how 
 many ways they are liable to be cut off, in the midst 
 even of the most prosperous career ; how much of 
 that life was spent in folly, wasted in vice ; and yet, 
 on the employment of that most precious of our pos-
 
 S14 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 sessions — time, depended an eternity of happiness or 
 misery. Here, where no other voice was heard, 
 conscience spoke aloud. She recalled to him his 
 first steps in the path of vice. He could now trace 
 clearly his deviations from virtue. He could recol- 
 lect when an innocent admiration ripened into a wish 
 that he had known this lovely creature before her 
 fate was fixed — and when sinful thoughts crept in- 
 to his mind and were not rejected. Vice had in- 
 deed glided into his heart concealed amidst sv^eets 
 and flowers, but soon it raised its crested head and 
 poisoned all Avithin. 
 
 A month passed over before Count Berthold could 
 get his affairs so arranged as to admit of his absence 
 for two years, the term they mutually agreed to de- 
 vote to visiting foreign countries. At last all was 
 completed, and with mixed feelings of pleasure and 
 pain they left their fatherland. But half the period 
 of their proposed absence had not elapsed, when, in 
 the splendid theatre at Milan, Count Ruprecht 
 heard intelligence which put his soul in tumults. 
 A countryman whom he met there, and who was 
 not aware of the interest his tale excited, inciden- 
 tally mentioned Isabella as the beautifid widow for 
 whose hand all that was noble and estimable in her 
 native town were contending. It was with extreme 
 difficulty that Covint Ruprecht could command him- 
 self to speak with any degree of calmness, and to
 
 THE WIDOW S NUPTIALS. 315 
 
 listen with apparent composure to the circumstances 
 the gentleman related ; by which it appeared that 
 almost immediately after the friends had left Man- 
 heim, Wilhelm alsohad been called away tothedeath- 
 bed of an only and favourite sister, who resided in 
 Italy ; — but there he never arrived. How he had 
 perished was never ascertained, but too certainly he 
 was lost to his family for ever. Isabella had now 
 been a widow nearly a year, but her grief was una- 
 bated. She lived in total solitude, and devoted her- 
 self entirely to the care of her blooming boy. 
 
 Almost stupified with this intelligence, it was 
 with some difficulty that Count Kuprecht made his 
 way to his friend, who was on the other side of the 
 theatre. Count Berthold was surprised and alarm- 
 ed at his agitated manner, but a motion from him, 
 entreating silence, was attended to, and they in- 
 stantly proceeded to their hotel. On reaching their 
 apartment Count Ruprecht pressed his friend in his 
 arms, exclaiming " She is mine ! she is mine !" 
 
 " Explain yourself, for Heaven"'s sake,"" said his 
 friend. 
 
 " She is free ! — Isabella is mine V 
 
 A considerable time elapsed before Count Ber- 
 thold could obtain any thing but broken exclama- 
 tions of rapture, but at length he discovered the 
 cause of all this ecstasy, and he heard it with min- 
 gled sensations. He felt deep regret for the un-
 
 31G THE ODD volump:. 
 
 timely fate of Wilhelm, thus suddenly torn from 
 life and happiness ; and he could not reflect without 
 a pang on the agonies of the attached wife, be- 
 reaved of him who was her best supporter and guide. 
 These thoughts also saddened, momentarily, the 
 mind of Count Ruprecht ; but in spite of his better 
 feelings, joy predominated, and he drew a vivid 
 picture of the bliss he would feel when restored to 
 the society of his adored Isabella. Count Ber- 
 thold had many misgivings on this subject. He 
 knew intimately the steadiness of her character, and 
 the strength of her affection for her husband, and 
 he doubted much whether she could ever feel a se- 
 cond attachment. However, the attempt must be 
 made, and, compassionating the impatience and anxie- 
 ty of his friend, he hastened their arrangements, 
 and by break of day they were travelling rapidly 
 homewards.
 
 THE widow's nuptials. 317 
 
 CHAFTER III. 
 
 Her white and delicate fingers now by his 
 
 Were held, and not withdrawn ; and, with a kiss 
 
 He thank'd her, yet with idle question tried 
 
 To cheat away the grief she coidd not hide. 
 
 He felt that he had planted in her heart 
 
 The seeds of grief. 
 
 Marcian Coloniia. 
 
 As they gradually approached their destmation, 
 the hopes of Count Ruprecht became less strong. 
 All the fears and timidity attendant on a true pas- 
 sion assailed him, and he so magnified the virtues 
 of Isabella, and his own unworthiness to possess 
 such a treasure, that, by the time they reached 
 Manheim, he was in a state of despair. This was 
 increased on finding that Isabella invariably denied 
 access to every one — that their request to be per- 
 mitted to pay their respects to her was refused, and 
 with a gentle firmness which deprived them of every 
 hope. The solcitations of Count Ruprecht, at first 
 distantly respectful, gradually assumed the tone of 
 ardent passion, the only effect of which was a com-
 
 318 THK ODD VOLUME. 
 
 mand from Isabella, not to disturb her sorrows, and 
 embitter her existence by marks of an affection 
 which she could not return, and to which she was 
 resolved never to listen. She thanked him for his 
 regard, but declared her unalterable resolution to 
 devote herself wholly to her child, and concluded 
 by prohibiting the count from again addressing her 
 on this most painful subject. 
 
 This declaration threw him into despair. He 
 loathed the light of the sun, and during the day, 
 shut himself up in his own apartment, from which 
 he often excluded his friend, giving himself up 
 without a struggle to misery and grief. But, in 
 the silence of the night, he wandered around the 
 dwelling of Isabella, and, scaling the high wall of 
 the garden, penetrated to the plot of shrubs and 
 flowers which skirted the terrace on which the win- 
 dows of the saloon opened. For several evenings, 
 the only reward of his dangerous attempt was the 
 pleasure of contemplating the apartment in which 
 he knew she generally spent much of her time. 
 Sometimes the child's hat on a couch, or a book 
 left open on the table, showed him tliat the room 
 had been lately occupied ; and he gazed even at these 
 objects with intense interest, for they liad been 
 touched by the hand of Isabella. 
 
 At length she came — but was this really Isa- 
 bella ? Has grief then such mighty power ? Her
 
 THE WIDOw"'s NUPTIALS. 319 
 
 look of chastened joy fulness was gone. Those eyes, 
 once beaming with love, were cast on the ground, 
 and even when raised, were full of heaviness and 
 languor. Enveloped in a garb of the deepest 
 mourning, she moved slowly across the room, and 
 seated herself close to the open window. With 
 breathless attention the Count watched her every 
 movement. A few steps only separated them, and 
 a thousand times he was tempted to break from his 
 concealment, and, kneeling before her, implore her 
 mercy ; but the dread of being deprived even of 
 this indulgence restrained him ; and, stifling his 
 anguish, he gazed in silence on the unconscious 
 mourner. Isabella took a book from the table and 
 attempted to read ; but her thoughts were far away, 
 and, falling into a deep reverie, the book dropped 
 from her hand. 
 
 She replaced it on the table, and, breathing a 
 sigh, drew her harp towards her and sung, to a low 
 and plaintive melody, a hymn to the Virgin. 
 
 Her exquisite voice retained all its sweetness, 
 but it was mingled with an expression of pensive- 
 ness, which sensibly touched the heart of the count. 
 As she proceeded in the hymn, her voice became 
 gradually more powerful, the sadness of her 
 countenance gave way to an expression of piety and 
 resignation, and she swept the chords with a firmer
 
 320 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 hand. She was still bending over the harp, when 
 her boy came to receive the evening kiss. 
 
 Snatching him up in her arms, she pressed him 
 eagerly to her heart, as if to fill the painful void 
 there, and covered his cherub face with kisses and 
 tears. ' 
 
 " May Heaven bless the slumbers of my dear 
 child !" ejaculated the tender mother, as she led him 
 out of the apartment, and the bright vision disap- 
 peared from the view of the adoring lover. 
 
 For many weeks the count continued this silent 
 and secret homage. No severity of weather com- 
 pelled him to forego the precious enjoyment of con- 
 templating the woman he adored ; and while she, 
 from his silence, believed he had desisted from his 
 suit, he was risking health, nay life itself, in the in- 
 dulgence of a hopeless passion. 
 
 In vain did his friend urge him to fly from the 
 fatal spot. In vain did he press upon him the sin- 
 fulness of this idolatry, and the criminality of wil- 
 fully shortening his days by giving himself up to grief 
 and despair. In vain did Count Berthold remind 
 him that his being was given him to be a blessing 
 to himself and others, and not to be wasted in list- 
 less inactivity. All energy was gone — he had but 
 one enjoyment — one occupation on the earth — and 
 that was gazing upon Isabella. Violent emotion of 
 
 the mind cannot be long sustained without injury, 
 
 4
 
 THE widow's nuptials. 321 
 
 and the health of Count Ruprecht rapidly declined. 
 In excessive grief at the catastrophe which appear- 
 ed to be fast approaching, Count Berthold addres- 
 sed a moving letter to Isabella, in which he painted 
 all the sufferings of his friend — his deeply rooted 
 passion and his declining health, — and implored her 
 to afford him a ray of hope that her love might be 
 won. The reply of Isabella extinguished all such 
 expectation. She had, she said, not only an in- 
 superable aversion to form new ties, but Count Ru- 
 precht, of all men living, had the least chance of 
 inducing her to change her determination, from the 
 circumstance of his having dared to love her while 
 the wife of another. She looked upon such an union 
 with horror — as an insult to the memory of her hus- 
 band. Such an unhallowed marriage could not be 
 blessed; and she concluded, by entreating Count 
 Berthold to respect her grief, and never more to 
 distract with his entreaties, a mind almost worn out 
 by suffering and affliction. 
 
 In the hope of prevailing on his friend to leave 
 a place so injurious to his peace of mind. Count 
 Berthold informed him of his letter to Isabella, and 
 her reply ; but the only effect of this communica- 
 tion was to throw him into fresh paroxysms of de- 
 spair, and he continued as before, his secret visits to 
 the shrine of his idol. 
 
 On repairing one evening to the garden, Count 
 
 X
 
 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 Ruprecht watched, but in vain, for the appearance of 
 Isabella. She came not. Hour after hour passed 
 away ; and although he knew that there was no pos- 
 sibility of seeing her, it being long past midnight, he 
 could not tear himself away. He yet lingered, till, 
 exhausted by long watching, he threw himself on the 
 grass, and sunk into a state of stupor, from which 
 he was aroused by a piercing cry of distress. 
 
 Surely it was IsabeUa's voice ? 
 
 He sprung up, and the first object which struck 
 his sight was the mansion enveloped in flames. He 
 rushed towards it — burst open a window of the sa- 
 loon, and, guided by the shrieks of the domestics, 
 reached the hall, where he found Isabella struggling 
 with the servants, who opposed her efforts to rush 
 up the burning staircase to rescue her child. Her 
 attached domestics replied only to her commands, 
 her cries, her entreaties, by bursts of grief and la- 
 mentation ; but in vain she strove to break from their 
 grasp. 
 
 " Count,"" she cried, in a frantic tone, " release 
 me from these barbarians ! Oh ! heavens, they 
 wish my child to perish — I will save him or die !" 
 and extricating herself with one desperate effort, 
 she sprung toward the staircase. 
 
 The count caught her in his arms — the domes- 
 tics crowded round them. " I commit her to your 
 care ! — I will save him or perish ! Farewell Isabel-
 
 THE widow's nuptials, 323 
 
 la ;■" — and, bounding over the blazing fragments, he 
 was quickly lost to their view. The flames now 
 raged with increasing violence. To return this 
 way was impossible, part of the staircase having 
 fallen with a hideous crash. 
 
 " They may yet escape by the window," cried the 
 servants, and Isabella rushed to the terrace. She 
 looked up wildly to the chamber where her babe 
 slept, and, by the horrid light of the yellow flames, 
 she saw Count Iluprecht enter it. A large portion 
 of the floor, between him and the bed of the child, 
 had given way. He paused but an instant, then, 
 springing with all his force, cleared the space, and 
 snatched the boy in his arms. Having enveloped 
 it in the bed-clothes, he again prepared to leap 
 over the abyss which yawned at his feet, sending 
 up volumes of smoke and flames, when another piece 
 of burning rafter fell with a tremendous crash. 
 Another instant, and they were lost ! At this aw- 
 ful sight, Isabella sunk on her knees, and, cover- 
 ing her eyes, remained motionless, waiting the 
 shriek of death. Suddenly from above she heard 
 the voice of the count saying, " Receive your child, 
 Isabella!" She started up, and extended her arms — 
 her boy dropped into them, and both mother and 
 son fell to the earth. 
 
 Shortly afterwards assistance was procured, and 
 in a few hours the fire, which had been confined en~
 
 324 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 tirely to one wing of the building, was extinguish- 
 ed. But deep and successive swoons rendered Isa- 
 bella insensible to every thing around her, and many 
 hours elapsed before the cares of her domestics, 
 and the caresses of her child, restored her to recol- 
 lection. Her gratitude for the preservation of her 
 boy was embittered by grief for what she conceived 
 to be the inevitable fate of the count ; and it was 
 therefore with transports of joy that she heard how 
 he also had been saved by throwing himself from 
 the window. He had broken his arm by the fall, 
 and now lay in an adjoining apartment, attended by 
 his friend. 
 
 The meeting between Isabella and the count 
 was affecting in the extreme. Her lively gratitude 
 was equalled only by his joy at having been the 
 means of preserving to her the sole consolation of 
 her widowed heart. Every caress which she be- 
 stowed on her boy imparted to him the purest satis- 
 faction ; for he felt that to him she was indebted 
 for her happiness, and to promote the happiness of 
 Isabella was a blessing he would have purchased 
 with life itself. 
 
 On examination, it was found that the arm which 
 was broken was also dreadfully burnt. The good 
 Dr Achenwahl looked very grave, ordered every ap- 
 plication likely to give him relief, and remained with 
 him. By night the fever rose to an alarming height,
 
 THE widow's nuptials. 325 
 
 and the wounded arm resumed such an appearance 
 as convinced the worthy doctor that amputation was 
 necessary to save his life. This he communicated to 
 Isabella and Count Berthold, and begged that the 
 latter would prepare his friend to submit instantly 
 to the operation. He was by no means sanguine 
 that even this would save him, but it was his only 
 chance for life, and he requested Count Berthold 
 to hasten to him, while he made the necessary pre- 
 parations. 
 
 Count Berthold repaired to the apartment of his 
 friend, leaving Isabella alone to indulge her grief 
 Her tears fell fast as she thought of what was like- 
 ly to be the fate of the youthful and ardent count, 
 drawn on him by his love for her ; — a passion which 
 to him had produced only evil, and which would 
 probably end in death. After a short absence. 
 Count Berthold returned. In hurried accents, he 
 told Isabella that his unhappy friend would not 
 consent to the operation, and that he entreated to 
 see her, while yet he was sensible to the blessing of 
 her presence. 
 
 Isabella hastened to him. At sight of his loved 
 idol, his eyes, already lighted by fever, shone with 
 a double brilliancy, and the paleness of his cheek 
 gave way to a hectic glow. She approached him, 
 and, gently taking his burning hand in hers, said, 
 in a tremulous voice, " Ah ! count, what is this I
 
 326 THE ODD VOLUME, 
 
 hear ? you refuse to preserve your life. You wish, 
 then, to pierce me with grief, — to embitter my fu- 
 ture days, — to poison the happiness I feel at the 
 preservation of my child, by the recollection that 
 it was purchased by the life of a dear friend." 
 
 The count looked on her, but spoke not. Isa- 
 bella covered her face with her hands, and wept bit- 
 terly. 
 
 At length she resumed her entreaties, but in a 
 voice broken with sobs. " Must I then implore 
 you in vain ? wiU you not deign to listen to my 
 entreaties? ah, count, will you add to my afflic- 
 tions .?" 
 
 " Isabella,"" replied the count ; '* I feel that my 
 last hour is fast approaching, and I hail it with joy. 
 — That I have loved you, you know, but how lov- 
 ed, your gentle heart and mild nature can never 
 comprehend. — Since I may not live for you, at least 
 deny me not the happiness of dying for you." 
 
 The agitation of Isabella increased. She trem- 
 bled, and endeavoured to speak, but the words died 
 away on her pale lips. At length, by a violent ef- 
 fort, she subdued, in part, her emotion, and said 
 in faltering accents, " No, count, you must not die, 
 — you must live for me," — and rushed from the 
 apartment. 
 
 But although Isabella deprived Count Ruprecht 
 of her presence, she could not take from him the
 
 THE widow's nuptials. 327 
 
 sweet hope which had sprung up in his heart. Life 
 now became dear to him, and, with unshrinking for- 
 titude, and an unaltered countenance, he submitted 
 to the painful operation, and a few weeks saw him 
 restored to tranquillity and strength. 
 
 In proportion, however, as the health of the 
 count improved, that of Isabella declined. Hers 
 was a heart which could love but once. In yield- 
 ing to the count, she had made a sacrifice to gra- 
 titude, and that it was a sacrifice, her pale cheek 
 and languid step but too plainly testified. With 
 true generosity, however, she endeavoured to con- 
 ceal her extreme reluctance to their union, and did 
 not oppose the preparations for the marriage, which, 
 with all the ardour of a lover, the count hurried 
 on. Her obvious indisposition she attributed to the 
 agony she had so lately endured, and she even forced 
 a faint smile when the count drew vivid pictures 
 of the happiness which awaited them. 
 
 The time fixed for their union was fast approach- 
 ing, and yet, strange to say, the count was not 
 happy. He was at times wildly gay, but these feel- 
 ings were often succeeded by fits of gloomy ab- 
 straction, during which he shunned all converse, and, 
 burying himself in the neighbouring forests, would 
 spend days in its dark recesses. Count Berthold at 
 length drew from him his secret. He acknowledg- 
 ed he was unhappy, — that the most gloomy fore-
 
 328 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 bodings filled his mind. He felt that he had erred, 
 — he knew that he had merited, and would receive 
 punishment, — he feared to involve the innocent Isa- 
 bella in his sutferings, and yet he could not resolve 
 to resign her. He was haunted continually by a 
 dread of some disaster, of some fatal event which 
 would snatch her from him. 
 
 The few days preceding that fixed for the mar- 
 riage were passed by the count in indescribable 
 misery ; but on the morning of the nuptial day he 
 had disappeared. Isabella, dreading every moment 
 some fatal intelligence, sat the image of consterna- 
 tion, while Count Berthold, after despatching people 
 in every direction, hurried to the forest, and in one 
 of its most savage spots found the object of their 
 search, in a state of mind bordering on distraction. 
 His diseased imagination represented to him that 
 the period of his punishment was now arrived, and 
 that some fatal catastrophe was about to take place. 
 With great difficulty did Count Berthold prevail on 
 him to return to the house, where the joyful exclama- 
 tion of Isabella on seeing him, dissipated half his 
 fears, and in another hour she was saluted a bride.
 
 THE widow's NUl'TIALS. 3^9 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 What a shriek — 
 A shrill and soul-appalling shriek peals forth, 
 When the full truth hath rusli'd upon her brain ! 
 Who may describe the rigidness of frame, — 
 The stony look of anguish and despair. 
 With which she bends o'er that unmoving clay ? 
 
 Alaric a. Watts. 
 
 It had been the earnest request of Isabella, that, 
 immediately after their marriage, they should leave 
 the country for a time, and the count promised com- 
 pliance with her wishes. To Italy then he resolved 
 to bear his drooping bride, in the fond hope that the 
 soft breezes of that enchanting clime would impart 
 the hue of health to her pale cheek. As Isabella 
 would not be separated from her boy, it was arrang- 
 ed that he should accompany her. Count Berthold 
 also, complying with the entreaties of his friends, 
 agreed to travel with them, and so soon as the ne- 
 cessary arrangements were made, our travellers com- 
 menced their journey.
 
 330 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 Entering Suabia they followed the course of the 
 Kinsig and penetrated the depths of the celebrat- 
 ed Black Forest. As they ascended, the country 
 became at every step wilder and more romantic. On 
 each side rose stupendous mountains, whose summits 
 were covered with almost impenetrable forests. Pic- 
 turesque cottages were scattered all round, and the 
 beauty of the scene was heightened by several small 
 streams which, falling in cascades down the sides of 
 the mountains, united their waters with the rapidly 
 flowing Kinsig. 
 
 At Doneschingen, in the court of the palace of 
 the Prince of Furstenberg, our travellers beheld a 
 small basin of clear water from which issued a little 
 brook, the source of the mighty Danube, whose waves 
 wash a thousand cities in its splendid course ; and 
 then proceeded onwards to view the magnificent falls 
 of the Rhine. On abalcony erected closeto the bound- 
 ing torrent, Isabella stood and gazed in silent rap- 
 ture on the glorious scene. The broken and unequal 
 rocks which opposed the torrents headlong course 
 served only to multiply its falls. The cataract rush- 
 ed wildly on, sending up clouds of foam. Isabella 
 and Count Berthold had no eyes, no thoughts for 
 any thing but the scene before them ; but Count Ru- 
 precht, amidst all the magnificence of nature, saw 
 Isabella only, and observing that the spray was fast 
 falling on her, he entreated her so anxiously to leave 
 
 4
 
 THE widow's nuptials. 331 
 
 her dangerous station that she could not resist his 
 wishes. 
 
 " How glad I am," said Isabella, as the party left 
 Zurich ; " how glad I am to leave that dismal 
 town. The gloomy stillness which reigns over it is 
 quite appalling. The place appears once to have 
 enjoyed some splendour which is now gone for ever, 
 the recollection of which must add pungency to its 
 present desolation." A deep sigh followed these 
 words. 
 
 " Is it not possible,*" said Count Ruprecht, 
 " that other sources of happiness may arise to re- 
 place those which have been lost ?^'' 
 
 " You are right, my love," replied Isabella, look- 
 ing kindly on him ; " you are right. New bles- 
 sings may be granted to the unhappy. It would be 
 criminal in them to shut their hearts to every joy, 
 becavise the idol they worshipped, perhaps too fond- 
 ly, is taken from them. I feel this now, and you, 
 perhaps, at no distant period may be doomed to feel 
 it also." 
 
 " Speak not thus, my Isabella, I implore you ; 
 oh, rack not my heart with such dismal forebod- 
 ings ! I know I have not deserved your love, yet I 
 live only in the hope of seeing happiness beam 
 again in these mild eyes." 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied Isabella ; " doubt not that I 
 shall again smile gaily ;" — but even while she spoke,
 
 332 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 her eyes filled with tears, and, anxious to conceal her 
 emotion, she complained of the bright sunshine, and 
 drew her veil over her face, nor did she raise it un- 
 til they reached their destination for the night, when, 
 pleading fatigue, she immediately retired to her 
 chamber. Depressed in consequence of the fore- 
 going conversation, restless and unhappy. Count 
 Ruprecht left the auberge, and wandered out alone. 
 He was followed by Count Berthold, who found him 
 stretched on the turf beneath a spreading oak, and 
 gazing at the spangled firmament. 
 
 " What ! not happy yet .?" exclaimed Count 
 Berthold ; " whence this dejection ? How comes it, 
 that, possessed as you now are of the blessing you so 
 earnestly coveted, you are still desponding, still 
 miserable ?''"' 
 
 " Do not," replied Count Ruprecht, " imagine 
 me insensible to my happiness. Ah ! how far would 
 that supposition be from the truth. No ! — Isabella 
 is a thousand times more dear to me than ever. I 
 live but in her presence, and would willingly shed 
 my blood to spare her a single sigh ; but the very ex- 
 cess of my attachment forms my misery. I feel as if 
 I were about to lose her, — an indistinct presentiment 
 of evil continually haunts me. I never pass near a 
 precipice, without dreading that she is to fall over 
 it. I never contemplate a mountain torrent, with- 
 out fancying that I see her struggling against its 
 
 U
 
 THE Widow's Nuptials. 333 
 
 violence. Nay, do not attempt to argue with me. I 
 feel that this fatal journey is to consummate my 
 misery, and remonstrance and consolation will be 
 alike unavailing."" 
 
 A kind request from Isabella, who now approach- 
 ed, that he would no longer expose himself to the 
 night air, had more effect in removing Count Ru- 
 precht's dejection, than all the endeavours of his 
 friend, and in a more cheerful frame of mind he 
 returned to the house. 
 
 From Zug, our travellers proceeded to Lucerne, 
 and, crossing the beautiful lake and canton, went on 
 to Berne, thence to Friburg, where they remained 
 a few days, as Isabella appeared to suffer much from 
 fatigue attending the long and tedious journey. It 
 was with some reluctance that Isabella left this se- 
 cond Tivoli, but the count appeared so anxious to 
 reach Italy, she yielded her wishes to his, and, pro- 
 ceeding onwards, they reached Martigny in safety. 
 
 Leaving Martigny, they now pursued their route 
 among rocks piled on rocks, where the mountain- 
 torrent, bursting its bounds, rushed downwards with 
 deafening roar. Passing through St Branchier, 
 Ossiers, and Liddes, they at length reached St 
 Pierre, the last village on the route to St Bernard, 
 where they rested a considerable time to gain 
 strength for the fatiguing ascent. 
 
 When sufficiently refreshed, they again set for-
 
 334 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 ward, and entered on a scene of desolate sublimity. 
 Not a habitation was to be seen, — the pine and the 
 larch disappeared, — and huge barren mountains hem- 
 med them in, and seemed to oppose their farther 
 progress. 
 
 While they slowly traversed this region of eter- 
 nal snow, a profound silence reigned, interrupted 
 only by the exclamations of Count Ruprecht, as he 
 watched every footfall of Isabella's mule. 
 
 " Why did I bring you here ?"" he exclaimed, in 
 an agony of apprehension ; " you know not the tor- 
 tures I endure, on seeing you exposed to such 
 perils r 
 
 " I shall chide you for this folly," replied Isa- 
 bella ; " can any harm reach me while you are at my 
 side ? What is it you fear ? Calm, I conjure you, 
 these needless apprehensions." 
 
 " Ah ! Isabella, you know not what it is to 
 love." 
 
 " You, then, shall teach me ; but see, there is 
 the convent of St Bernard. Let us hasten on." 
 
 A few paces from the convent, they were met by 
 a lay-brother, who welcomed the weary travellers 
 with mild courtesy. By him they were carried to 
 the refectory, where they were received with warm 
 hospitality by the venerable prior. Isabella could 
 with difficulty persuade herself that she was really 
 an inhabitant of that dwelling, which, like the ark
 
 THE widow's kuptials. 335 
 
 of the deluge, is devoted to the preservation of hu- 
 man Hfe. 
 
 Several of the brotherhood now entered, and has- 
 tened to offer every assistance to the travellers. The 
 night had closed in, and the flickering lamp, sus- 
 pended from the roof of the apartment, threw a 
 softened shade on the countenances of the benevo- 
 lent monks, who busied themselves in heaping piles 
 of wood on the hearth. One of the brotherhood 
 took the sleeping Albert from the arms of his mo- 
 ther, and laid him gently on a pallet at his side, 
 while a large dog stretched himself close by the 
 child, as if to guard its slumbers. Refreshments 
 were now placed before the travellers, and after they 
 had partaken of them, the whole party arranged 
 themselves round the blazing hearth. Although 
 these benevolent men had long since left the busy 
 scenes of life, they yet retained a lively interest in 
 the transactions of the period, and they listened 
 with eagerness to the information which their guests 
 willingly imparted ; in return, the prior gave them 
 a brief account of the first founder of this noble 
 establishment, its revenues, and many other parti- 
 culars connected with the convent. The good 
 prior''s hearers became deeply interested, when he 
 went on to describe their mode of life, and the perils 
 they so frequently encountered, to save the adven- 
 turous traveller from destruction.
 
 3B6 tHE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 " One stormy evening in winter," said he, *' as 
 we were about to retire to rest, we fancied that faint 
 cries mingled with the howlings of the blast. The 
 alarm was instantly given, the brotherhood assem- 
 bled, and several of them, accompanied by myself 
 and our faithful dogs, sallied forth. But the cries 
 had ceased, and no traces of the sufferers could be 
 found. Suddenly one of the dogs bounded for- 
 ward, howled fearfully, and began to dig the snow 
 with his feet. We then knew that some human 
 being lay buried. We hurried on, and guided by 
 the moans of the dog, soon arrived at the fatal 
 spot. We set instantly to work. A moment lost 
 might render unavailing all our efforts, and in 
 breathless anxiety, we removed the masses of snow. 
 Nothing was to be seen, and we were about to dis- 
 continue our operations and leave the spot, when 
 the dog redoubled his howlings, and endeavoured 
 again to tear up the snow. We persevered yet 
 longer, and in a short time discovered the body of 
 the unfortunate traveller. He was borne quickly 
 into the convent, and a slight pulsation being per- 
 ceptible, every means were used for his recovery. 
 After a lapse of some hours, he opened his eyes, 
 and gazed once around him. I supported him in 
 my arms, — he looked up as if about to speak to me. 
 His pale lips moved as if in prayer. ' My wife, my 
 child,' were the only words I caught, and turning
 
 THE widow's nuptials. 337 
 
 his face from me, he breathed his last. Yes, he 
 expired on that pallet on which the child is now re- 
 posing, and we lamented over him as if he had been 
 our brother, for there was something in the expres- 
 sion of his noble countenance which won all our 
 hearts." 
 
 *' Too surely," said Isabella, " too surely, the 
 loss of the husband and father would be wept with 
 bitter tears. Knew you from whence he came ?''"' 
 
 '* Of his name and country," replied the prior, 
 " I am ignorant. There were no papers or letters 
 on his person to afford any clue to his history. His 
 guide we supposed to have also perished, for no 
 trace of him has ever been discovered." 
 
 The great bell of the convent now tolled, and the 
 venerable prior courteously intimating that it was 
 time to retire, conducted his guests to their separate 
 dormitories, and left them to their repose. 
 
 On meeting her friends at the morning repast, 
 the pale countenance and heavy eyes of Isabella 
 were instantly observed. 
 
 " Our keen mountain breezes have stolen the 
 colour from yovu* lady's cheek," said the good prior. 
 
 " They have indeed robbed her of all her 
 bloom," replied Count Ruprecht ; " but I trust the 
 warm gales of the south will restore it." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Isabella, " I am sure I shall 
 soon be better."
 
 338 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 a 
 
 You must rest here awhile," rejoined the 
 prior ; " your strength is evidently impaired by 
 your long journey. But see, the sun has burst 
 forth in glowing brilliancy. Follow me, and I 
 shall show you the wonders of this region." 
 
 Isabella, leaning on her husband's arm, and hold- 
 ing her son by the hand, followed the steps of the 
 prior and Count Berthold, until they came to a 
 building, through whose grated windows the moun- 
 tain breeze rushed wildly. It was the mountain 
 Receptacle of the Dead, where, by the chill purity 
 of the atmosphere, are preserved in undecaying 
 freshness, the bodies of those unfortunate indivi- 
 duals who, from time to time, have been dug from 
 amongst the snow. They entered, but started 
 back with horror as their eyes fell on the ghast- 
 ly countenances, ranged upright, side by side, in 
 mournfiil silence. Features, forms, unchanged— 
 the lips half parted, they appeared like marble sta- 
 tues just bursting into life. 
 
 " Nay, fear not this silent company," said the 
 prior to Isabella ; who, horror-struck, was turning to 
 leave the scene. " Look once on the subject of 
 my tale last night. His calm smile still lingers 
 there." Isabella glanced around, and then a 
 shriek, long and wild, broke from her ashy lips. 
 The child quitted her hand, and, running to the 
 figure with outstretched arms, clasped its knees, 
 
 11
 
 THE widow's nuptials. 339 
 
 crying out, " Ah ! why do you stay in this cold 
 place, father, and not come home ? Come away with 
 us." Isabella rushed forward, and the body, moved 
 by Albert from its support bent towards her. She 
 opened her arms, and wife, husband, and child, 
 were hurled to the earth. 
 
 Fixed, immoveable, as the dead around him, 
 Count Ruprecht gazed on the scene. The prior 
 and Count Berthold raised the unfortunate Isabella, 
 who burst from their grasp, and throwing herself on 
 her knees beside Wilhelm, she wildly kissed his 
 marble forehead and icy lips ; then clasping her 
 arms around him, she cried out, " Forgive me, 
 dearest and only beloved, forgive me. I loved him 
 not. No — no — never — it was gratitude alone — 
 gratitude for the preservation of my child, whose 
 dearest claim on my heart was, that he was your 
 child also. Will you not forgive your Isabella ? 
 
 What ! Not one little word '^ Then, as if from 
 
 the depths of a broken heart, there came one long 
 fearful cry ; and the dead lay upon the dead.
 
 BEWARE OF WHAT YOU SAY 
 BEFORE CHILDREN.
 
 BEWARE OF WHAT YOU SAY 
 BEFORE CHILDREN. 
 
 I HAVE a story to tell relative to what happened 
 to Sir George and Lady Beaumont, the excellent 
 and beloved proprietors of the Hermitage, in a 
 neighbouring county. At the period of which I 
 speak, their family consisted of five children, three 
 sons and two daughters, and their eldest, a daugh- 
 ter called Charlotte, was then nine years of age. 
 She was a remarkably clever child, and a great fa- 
 vourite of her parents ; but her mother used to re- 
 mark that her vivacity required checking, and, not- 
 withstanding her partiality for her, she never failed 
 to exercise it when it became necessary. It would 
 have been well had others acted equally judiciously. 
 It happened one day, as the family were go- 
 ing to sit down to dinner, that Charlotte did not 
 make her appearance. The maid was sent up to
 
 344 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 liev room, but she was not there. The dinner-bell 
 was ordered to be rung again, and a servant was at 
 the same time despatched to the garden, and this 
 having been done, Sir George and his lady pro- 
 ceeded with the other youngsters to the dining- 
 room, not doubting but Charlotte would be home im- 
 mediately. The soup, however, was finished with- 
 out any tidings of her, when, Lady Beavimont seem- 
 ing a little uneasy, Sir George assured her there 
 was no cause for alarm, as Charlotte would proba- 
 bly be found under her favourite gooseberry-bush. 
 Lady Beaumont seemed to acquiesce in this, and 
 appeared tolerably composed, till the servant who 
 had been sent to the garden, came back to say that 
 she was not there. Sir George insisted that the 
 man had probably passed her without seeing her, 
 the garden being so large ; but the servant averred 
 that he had been through the whole of it, and had 
 shouted repeatedly Miss Charlotte's name. " Oh !" 
 exclaimed Sir George, " she has pretended not to 
 hear you, Robert, and, I dare say, will be back im- 
 mediately, now that she has succeeded in giving you 
 a race round the garden ; however,'"' added he, 
 " you may go back again, and take Samuel and 
 Thomas with you, and if you do not find her hid- 
 ing herself in the garden, you may take a peep in- 
 to the shrubbery, as she may slip into that on see- 
 ing you returning ; and as you go along you may
 
 BEWARE OF WHAT YOU SAY UEFOllE CHILDREN. 345 
 
 call to her, and say that dinner waits, and that 
 Lady Beaumont is much displeased with her being- 
 out at this time of the day. And now my love,"" 
 continued Sir George to his lady, "just let us pro- 
 ceed with dinner, and compose yourself." Lady 
 Beaumont forced a smile, and busied herself in at- 
 tending to her young ones ; but her own plate was 
 neglected, and her eyes were continually turned 
 upon the window which looked upon the lawn. 
 
 " What can keep Robert, papa ?"" said Charles to 
 his father. 
 
 " Indeed, my boy," said Sir George, " I do not 
 know ; Charlotte," continued he to Lady Beaumont, 
 do you see any thing ?" 
 
 " They are all coming back," exclaimed Lady 
 Beaumont, " and alone !" and she rose hastily from 
 her chair. 
 
 Robert and the other men now entered, and re- 
 ported that they had searched every spot in the 
 garden and the shrubbery, but without finding any 
 trace of her ; and the people who had been working 
 there all day had seen nothing of her. Lady Beau- 
 mont now became excessively alarmed, and Sir 
 George himself was far from easy, though he ap- 
 peared before his lady to treat the matter lightly. 
 
 " She'll have gone up to the cottages to see her 
 god-brother," said Sir George, " or perhaps have 
 wandered over to the mill."
 
 346 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 " And if she has fallen into the stream !" ejacu- 
 lated Lady Beaumont. 
 
 " Now, dear Charlotte, do not needlessly alarm 
 yourself; there's no fears but we shall soon find 
 her." 
 
 " God grant it !" said Lady Beaumont, " but 
 my mind misgives me sadly." 
 
 Messengers were now despatched to the cottages, 
 and to the mill, and in various other directions 
 around the Hermitage, but all came back without 
 having obtained any tidings of the missing child. 
 Sir George, now very seriously alarmed, gave pri- 
 vate directions for having the fish-pond, and the 
 stream which ran at the bottom of the garden, care- 
 fully dragged. It was done, but nothing found. 
 The whole household was now in motion, and as 
 the story spread, the tenants and neighbours came 
 pouring from all quarters, with offers to search the 
 country round in every direction ; so much was Sir 
 George esteemed and beloved by all classes. Their 
 offers were thankfully accepted of, and after choos- 
 ing their ground, and dividing themselves into dif- 
 ferent parties, they set out from the Hermitage, re- 
 solved, as they said, to find the little one, if she was 
 above ground. Sir George and his lady went out 
 as the parties went off in their different directions, 
 and continued walking up and down the avenue, 
 that they might the sooner perceive the approach
 
 BEWARE OF WHAT YOU SAY BEFORE CHILD HEN. 347 
 
 of those bringing intelligence ; but hour after hour 
 elapsed, and no one came. Sir George then propos- 
 ed that Lady Beaumont should go home and see the 
 young ones put to bed. She did so, but soon re- 
 turned again. 
 
 " I know/' said she, answering Sir George's look, 
 " that you wished me to remain at home and rest my- 
 self ; but what rest can there be for me, till we have 
 some intelligence of " and her voice faltered. 
 
 " Well, well, then," said Sir George, pressing 
 her arm in his, " let us take a few more turns — 
 surely we must hear something soon." 
 
 The people now began to come dropping in from 
 different quarters, but all had the same melancholy 
 answer — no one had seen or heard of her. The 
 hearts of the poor parents were sadly depressed, for 
 day-light was fast closing in, and almost all those 
 who had set off on the search had now returned, 
 and amongst them their faithful servant Robert, 
 principally from anxiety to learn if any intelligence 
 had been obtained of his favourite. But when he 
 found that all had returned unsuccessful, he declar- 
 ed his determination to continue the search during 
 the night; and he, and a good many others who join- 
 ed him, set off soon afterwards, being supplied with 
 torches and lanterns of various descriptions. 
 
 This determination gave new hopes to the in- 
 mates of the Hermitage, and Lady Beaumont en-
 
 348 THE ODD VOLUMK. 
 
 deavoured to rally her spirits ; but when at length, 
 as day-light broke, Robert and his party returned 
 alone and without intelligence, nature exhausted gave 
 way, and she fell senseless in her husband''s arms. 
 
 In the morning Robert tapped at Sir George's 
 door, and communicated quietly to him, his recol- 
 lecting to have seen a rather suspicious-looking wo- 
 man near the Hermitage the previous day, and that 
 he had just heard from a neighbour, that a woman of 
 that description, with a child in her arms, had been 
 seen passing to the eastward. Orders were imme- 
 diately given for a pursuit on horseback ; — Sir 
 George giving directions to bring in every one 
 whom they suspected ; saying, that he would com- 
 pensate those who had reason to complain of being 
 used in this way. But, though many were brought 
 to the Hermitage, and large rewards were offered, yet 
 week after week passed over without bringing them 
 the smallest intelligence of their lost little one. 
 
 Some months had now elapsed since their child 
 had disappeared, and the minds of the parents had be- 
 come comparatively composed, when their attention 
 was one evening attracted by the appearance of an 
 unusual number of people in the grounds below the 
 terrace, and whose motions it seemed difficult to 
 understand. 
 
 " What can have brought so many people there ?" 
 asked Lady Beaumont, " and what are they doing ?""
 
 BEWARE OF WHAT YOU SAY BEFORE CHILDREN. 349 
 
 *' Indeed, my love, I do not know," said Sir 
 George, " but there's Robert passing down the 
 walk, and he will tell us ;" and he called to Robert, 
 who, however, seemed rather not to wish to hear ; 
 but Sir George called again, and so loudly, that 
 Robert was obliged to stop. " Robert," said Sir 
 George, " what do these people seek in the low 
 grounds there ?'''' 
 
 " They are looking for of Widow Watt's, 
 
 your honour," said Robert. 
 
 " Did you hear what it was my dear .^" said Sir 
 George to his lady. 
 
 " No," said Lady Beaumont, " but probably 
 her pet lamb, or more likely her cow, has strayed.""" 
 
 " Is it her cow that's amissing, Robert .p" called 
 Sir George. 
 
 " No, your honour," said Robert. 
 
 " Her lamb then, or some other beast .^" asked 
 Sir George. 
 
 " Naething o' the kind, your honour," answered 
 Robert. 
 
 " What then .?" demanded Sir George, in a tone 
 that showed he would be answered. 
 
 " Why, your honour, they say that wee Leezie 
 Watt's no come hame, and the folk are gaungin' to 
 seek for her — and nae doubt they'll soon find her," 
 added Robert, stepping hastily away to join them. 
 
 Sir George had felt Lady Beaumont's convulsive
 
 350 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 grasp of his arm, and gently led her to a seat, where 
 after a while she became more composed, and was 
 able to walk to the Hermitage. "And now,'"' said she, 
 on reaching the door, " think no more of me, but 
 give all your thoughts to the most likely means of 
 restoring the poor child to its widowed parent."" 
 
 " Spoken like yourself,*" said Sir George pres- 
 sing her hand ; and he immediately flew to give di- 
 rections for making the most thorough and effectual 
 search. But this search, alas ! proved equally un- 
 availing as the former one, and no trace whatever 
 could be found of the widow's child. 
 
 The story, joined to the disappearance of Sir 
 George's daughter, made a great noise, and created 
 considerable alarm in that part of the country ; and 
 this alarm was increased fourfold, when, in three 
 weeks afterwards, another child was lost. The whole 
 population now turned out, and people were station- 
 ed to watch in different places by night and by day. 
 But no discovery was made ; and, to add to their 
 horror, child after child disappeared, till the num- 
 ber of the lost little ones amounted to seven. Pa- 
 rents no longer durst trust their children for a mo- 
 ment out of their sight. They went with them 
 to school, and also went to bring them back again ; 
 and these precautions had the best effect, many 
 weeks having elapsed without any thing unplea- 
 sant happening. The neighbours now began to con-
 
 BEWARE OF WHAT YOU SAY BEFORE CHILDREN. 351 
 
 gratulate each other on the probability, or rather cer- 
 tainty, that those who had inflicted so much misery 
 in that quarter of the country, had gone somewhere 
 else, and that they would now be able to live in 
 some kind of peace and comfort. But this peaceful 
 state was not destined to continue. One of Sir 
 George's best tenants, David Williams, had been 
 busily engaged in ploughing the whole day, and 
 was thinking of unyoking and going home, when 
 his wife looked over the dike and asked him how 
 he was coming on ; " But wliar," continued she " is 
 the bairns ? are they at the t'ither end o' the field .?" 
 
 " The bairns," said David, " I liaena seen them ; 
 but is't time for their being back frae the school .?" 
 
 " Time,''"' exclaimed his wife, " muckle m air than 
 time, they should hae been hame an hour syne, and 
 that brought me out to see gif they were wi' you, as 
 you said ye wad may be lowse and gang to meet 
 them !" 
 
 " Odd, I was unco keen," said David, " to fi- 
 nish this bit lea, and had nae notion it was sae far 
 in the day."" 
 
 " Preserve us," exclaimed Matty, " gif anything 
 has happened to them !" 
 
 " Nonsense," cried David, " when there's three 
 o' them thegither ; but, here says he, tak' ye the 
 beasts hame, and I'se be off for them, and will soon 
 be back wi' them, sae dinna gang to vex yourser."
 
 352 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 " I hope it may be sae," said Matty, " but my 
 heart misgie"'s me sair — however, dinna wait to speak 
 about it.'"' 
 
 David Williams was not long of reaching the 
 school, where he learned from the mistress, that his 
 children had remained a good while after the rest, 
 expecting him to come for them ; but that they had 
 at length set out to meet him, as she understood, 
 and that they had been gone above an hour, and 
 she thought they would have been home long ago. 
 " But perhaps," continued she, '* they may have 
 called in at their aunt's, for I heard them speak- 
 ing of her to-day." David took a hasty leave, and 
 posted away to his sister's, but the children had 
 not been there, nor had any one seen them. His 
 brother-in-law, John Maxwell, seeing his distress, 
 proposed taking one road, while David took the 
 other, towards home, and to meet at the corner of 
 the planting near his house. They did so, and ar- 
 rived nearly at the same time, and each without 
 having heard or seen anything of the children. 
 David Williams was now in a perfect agony, and 
 the perspiration ran like water from his forehead. 
 
 " Maybe they're hame already," said his brother- 
 in-law ; " I daurna gang up myself to speer, but 
 we'll send yon herd laddie ;" 
 
 John went, and gave the boy his directions, to 
 ask, first, if David Williams was at hame ? and then
 
 BEWARK OF WHAT YOU SAY liEFoHK OHILDUKN. 353 
 
 to ask, cannie-like, if the weans were in ? And he 
 then went and sat down beside David, keeping his 
 eye on the cottage, when he sees Matty come flee- 
 ing out like one distracted. 
 
 " Down David ! down wi' yir head man," cried 
 John, " that she mayna see us." But Matty had 
 got a glimpse of them, and came right down on 
 them as fast as she could run. 
 
 " Where's my bairns David," cried she, " where"'s 
 our bonnie bairns ? I kent weel, whenever the callant 
 askit if they were come hame, what was the mean- 
 ing o't. They"'re lost ! they're lost !" continued the 
 poor woman, wringing her hands, " and what'll be- 
 come o' me .''"' 
 
 " Now Matty, Matty, my ain Matty," cried 
 David, " dinna gang on at that gate, and hurt yir- 
 sel; naebody but John and me hae been looking 
 for them, and we've come straught hame, and 
 there's a heap o' other ways, ye ken, that they may 
 hae gaen by." 
 
 " Aye, o'er monie, o'er monie ways, I'm doubt- 
 ing," said Matty, mournfully, shaking her head; 
 " but dinna let us put aff time this gate : Rin ye 
 John and David, and alarm a' the neebors, and I'll 
 awa' to the Hermitage, where we're sure to get 
 help ; and God grant it mayna end wi"* mine as it 
 did wi' others !" 
 
 ^' By Heavens," exclaimed Sir George, while the
 
 354 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 blood mounted to his forehead ; " but this is infa- 
 mous. Ring the alarm bell," continued he, " and 
 let all my tenants and domestics turn out on foot 
 or on horseback, and form as large a circle round 
 the place as possible ; and let them bring out all 
 their dogs, in case this horrid business is caused by 
 some wild animal or another, which may have bro- 
 ken from its keeper ; and Robert,'" continued Sir 
 George, " see that no stranger is allowed to pass 
 the circle, on any pretence whatever, without my 
 having seen and examined them." 
 
 These orders were immediately obeyed, and the 
 alarm having spread far and near, an immense body 
 of people were quickly assembled, and commenced 
 a most determined and active search, gradually 
 narrowing their circle as they advanced. 
 
 Lady Beaumont ascending to the top of the Her- 
 mitage, which commanded a view of the whole sur- 
 rounding country, watched their proceedings with 
 the most intense interest ; trusting that the result 
 would be not only the restoration of David Wil- 
 liams's children, but the discovery also of the others 
 who had disappeared, and of her own little one 
 amongst the number. At times single horsemen 
 would dash from the circle at a gallop, and present- 
 ly return with some man or woman for Sir George's 
 examination ; and while that lasted Lady Beau- 
 mont's heart beat fast and thick ; but the dismissfil
 
 BEWARE OF WHAT YOU SAY BEFORE CHILDREN. 355 
 
 of the people, and the recommencement of the 
 search, painfully convinced her that no discovery 
 had yet been made ; and, sighing deeply^ she again 
 turned her eyes on the searchers. At other times the 
 furious barking of the dogs, and the running of the 
 people on foot towards the spot, seemed to promise 
 some discovery ; bu:t the bursting out from the 
 plantation of some unfortunate calf or sheep, show- 
 ed that the people had been merely hastening to 
 protect them from the unruly animals which had 
 been brought together, and who, having straggled 
 away from their masters, were under no command. 
 
 The day was now fast closing in, and the circle 
 had become greatly diminished in extent ; and 
 when, in a short time afterwards, it had advanced 
 dn all sides from the plantations, and nothing but 
 a small open space divided the people from each 
 other, Sir George directed them to halt, and, af- 
 ter thanking them for what they had done, he re- 
 quested them to rest themselves on the grass till 
 refreshments could be brought from the Hermitage, 
 after partaking of which, they had best move 
 homewards, as it seemed in vain to attempt any- 
 thing more till next day. He then took leave of 
 them, and hurried home to the Hermitage, from 
 whence a number of people were soon seen return- 
 ing with the promised refreshments. 
 
 Having finished what was set before them, and
 
 356 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 sufficiently rested themselves, most of them depart- 
 ed, having first declared their readiness to turn out 
 the moment they were wanted ; but when his friends 
 proposed to David Williams his returning home, 
 he resolutely refused, declaring his determination 
 to continue the search the whole night ; and the 
 poor man's distress seemed so great, that a number 
 of the people agreed to accompany him. Robert, 
 on being applied to, furnished them, from the Her- 
 mitage, with a quantity of torches and lanterns ; 
 and the people themselves having got others from 
 the cottages in the neighbourhood, divided into 
 bands, and, fixing on John Maxwell's house for 
 inteUigence to be sent to, they parted different ways 
 on their search. 
 
 At first all were extremely active, and no place 
 the least suspicious was passed by ; but, as the 
 night advanced, their exertions evidently flagged, 
 and many of them began to whisper to each other 
 that it was in vain to expect doing any good in 
 the midst of darkness ; and, as this idea gained 
 ground, the people gradually separated from each 
 other, and returned to their homes, promising to be 
 ready early in the morning to renew the search. 
 
 " An' now, David," said John Maxwell, " let's 
 be ganging on." 
 
 <' No to my house," cried David, " no to my
 
 BEWAHli OF WHAT YOU SAY BEIORE ClllLDKEN. 35T 
 
 ain house ; I canna face Matty, and them no found 
 
 yet;' 
 
 " Aweel, then," said John, " suppose ye gang 
 hame wi' me, an' fling yoursel' doun for a wee ; 
 an' then we'll be ready to start again at grey day- 
 light." 
 
 " An' what will Matty think in the meantime," 
 said David; " but gang on, gang on, however," 
 continued he, " an' I'se follow ye." 
 
 John Maxwell, glad that he had got him this 
 length, now led the way, occasionally making a 
 remark to David, which was very briefly answer- 
 ed, so that John, seeing him in that mood, gave 
 up speaking to him, till, coming at length to a 
 bad step, and warning David of it, to which he got 
 no answer, he hastily turned round, and found that 
 he was alone. He immediately went back, calling 
 on David as loud as he could, but all to no pur- 
 pose. It then occurred to him that David had pro- 
 bably changed his mind, and had gone homewards ; 
 and, at any rate, if he had taken another direction, 
 that it was in vain for him to attempt following 
 him, the light he carried being now nearly burnt 
 out ; he therefore made the best of his way to his 
 own house. 
 
 In the meantime, poor David Williams, who 
 covdd neither endure the thoughts of going to his 
 own house, or to his brother's-in-law, and had pur-
 
 358 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 posely given him the slip, continued to wander up 
 and down without well knowing where he was, or 
 where he was going to, when he suddenly found 
 himself, on coming out of the wood, close to the 
 cottage inhabited by a widow named Elie Ander- 
 son. 
 
 " I wad gie the world for a drink o"" water," said 
 he to himself; " but the puir creature will hae lain 
 doun lang syne, an' I'm sweer't to disturb her ;" 
 and as he said this he listened at the door, and 
 tried to see in at the window, but he could neither 
 see nor hear any thing, and was turning to go away, 
 when he thought he saw something like the reflec- 
 tion of a light from a hole in the wall, on a tree 
 which was opposite. It was too high up for him 
 to get at it without something to stand upon ; but 
 after searching about, he got part of an old hen- 
 coop, and, placing it to the side of the house, he 
 mounted quietly on it. He now applied his eye to 
 the hole where the light came through, and the first 
 sight which met his horrified gaze was the dead 
 body of his eldest daughter, lying on a table quite 
 dead, — a large incision down her breast, and ano- 
 ther across it ! 
 
 David Williams could never say how he forced 
 his way into the house ; but he remembered bolts 
 and bars crashing before him, — his seizing Elie An- 
 derson, and dashing her from him with all his might ;
 
 UEWARE OF WHAT YOU SAY BEFORE CHILDREN. 359 
 
 and that he was standing gazing on his murdered 
 child when the two young ones put out their heads 
 from beneath the bed clothes. 
 
 " There's faither," says the one. 
 
 " Oh faither, faither," says the other, " but I'm 
 glad ye're come, for Nanny's been crying sair, sair, 
 an' she's a' bluidin' !" 
 
 David pressed them to his heart in a perfect 
 agony, then catching them up in his arms, he rush- 
 ed like a maniac from the place, and soon after- 
 wards burst into John Maxwell's cottage, his face 
 pale, his eye wild, and gasping for breath. 
 
 " God be praised," cried John Maxwell, " the 
 bairns are found ! but where's Nanny ?''"' 
 
 Poor David tried to speak, but could not articu- 
 late a word. 
 
 " May be ye coudna carry them a' ?"" said John ; 
 " but tell me where Nanny is, and I'se set out for 
 her momently." 
 
 " Ye needna, John, ye needna," said David ; 
 " it's o'er late ! it's o'er late !" 
 
 " How sae ? how sae .'"' cried John ; " surely nae- 
 thing mischancy has happened to the lassie ?" 
 
 " John," said David, grasping his hand, " she's 
 murdered ! my bairn's murdered, John !" 
 
 " God preserve us a' !" cried John, *' an' wha's 
 done't?" 
 
 " Elie Anderson," cried David ; " the poor in-
 
 360 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 nocent lies yonder a' cut to bits ;" — and the poor 
 man broke into a passion of tears. 
 
 John Maxwell darted off to Saunders Wilson's. 
 " Rise, Saunders r cried he, thundering at the door ; 
 *' haste ye an"" rise !" 
 
 " What's the matter now ?" said Saunders. 
 
 " Elie Anderson's murdered David's Nanny, sae 
 haste ye, rise ! and yoke yir cart, that we may tak 
 her to the tubuith." 
 
 Up jumped Saunders Wilson, and up jumped his 
 wife and his weans, and in a few minutes the story 
 was spread like wildfire. Many a man had lain 
 down so weary with the long search they had made, 
 that nothing they thought would have tempted 
 them to rise again ; but now they and their fami- 
 lies sprung from their beds, and hurried, many of 
 them only half-dressed, to John Maxwell's, scarce- 
 ly believing that the story could be true. Amongst 
 the first came Geordie Turnbull, who proposed 
 that a part of them should set off immediately, with- 
 out waiting till Saunders Wilson was ready, as Elie 
 Anderson might be off in the meantime ; and away 
 he went, followed by about a dozen of the most 
 active. They soon reached her habitation, where 
 they found the door open, and a light burning. 
 
 " Aye, aye," says Geordie, " she's aff nae doubt, 
 but we'll get her yet. Na, faith," cries he, enter- 
 ing, " she's here still ; but, god's-sake, what a
 
 BEWARE OF WHAT YOU SAY BEFORE CHILDREN. 361 
 
 sight's this !" continued he, gazing on the slaughter- 
 ed child. The others now entered, and seemed 
 filled with horror at what they saw. 
 
 " Haste ye," cries Geordie, " and fling a sheet, or 
 something o'er her, that we mayna lose our wits a' 
 thegither ; and now ye wretch," says he, turning 
 to Elie Anderson, " your life shall answer for this 
 infernal deed. Here," continued Geordie, " bring 
 ropes and tie her, and whenever Saunders comes 
 up, we'll off wi' her to the tubuith." 
 
 Ropes were soon got, and she was tied roughly 
 enough, and then thrown carelessly into the cart ; 
 but notwithstanding the pain occasioned by her 
 thigh-bone being broken by the force with which 
 David Williams dashed her to the ground, she an- 
 swered not one word to all their threats and re- 
 proaches, till the cart coming on some very uneven 
 grovind, occasioned her such exquisite pain, that, los- 
 ing all command over herself, she broke out into 
 such a torrent of abuse against those who sur- 
 rounded her, that Geordie TurnbuU would have 
 killed her on the spot had they not prevented him 
 by main force. 
 
 Shortly afterwards they arrived at the prison ; 
 ^d having delivered her to the jailor with many 
 strict charges to keep her safe, they immediately 
 returned to assist in the search for the bodies of
 
 362 
 
 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 the other children, who, they had no doubt, would 
 be found in or about her house. 
 
 When they arrived there, they found an im- 
 mense crowd assembled, for the story had spread 
 every where ; and all who had lost children, accom- 
 panied by their friends and neighbours, and ac- 
 quaintances, had repaired to the spot, and had al- 
 ready commenced digging and searching all round. 
 After working in this way for a long while, without 
 any discovery being made, it was at length propos- 
 ed to give up the search and return home, when 
 Robin Gait, who was a mason, and who had been 
 repeatedly pacing the ground from the kitchen to 
 the pig-stye, and from the pig-stye to the kitchen, 
 said, " Freens, I've been considering, an' I canna 
 help thinking, that there maun be a space not dis- 
 covered atween the stye an' the kitchen, an' I'm 
 unco fond to hae that ascerteened." 
 
 " Well sune settle that," says Geordie TurnbulL 
 " An' wherabouts should it be .'"' 
 
 " Just there, I think," says Robin. 
 
 And Geordie immediately drove a stone or two 
 out, so that he could get his hand in. 
 
 " Does ony body see my han' frae the kitchen .?" 
 says he. 
 
 " No a bit o't," was the answer. 
 
 " Nor frae the stye 't""
 
 BEWARE OF AVHAT YOU SAY BEl'OUE CHILDREN. 303 
 
 " No, frae that naetherins."" 
 
 " Then there maun be a space, sure enough,'"' 
 cries Geordie, drawing out one stone after another, 
 till he had made a large hole in the wall. " An' 
 now,'"' says he, " gie me a light ;"'"' and he shoved 
 in a lantern, and looked into the place. " The 
 Lord preserve us a"* !" cried he, starting back. 
 
 " What is"'t ? — what is't ?''' cried the people, 
 pressing forward on all sides. 
 
 " Look an' see ! — look an' see !" cried he ; 
 " they're a' there — a' the murdered weans are there 
 lying in a raw."" 
 
 The wall was torn down in a moment ; and, as 
 he had said, the bodies of the poor innocents were 
 found laid side by side together. Those who en- 
 tered first gazed on the horrid scene without speak- 
 ing, and then proceeded to carry out the bodies, 
 and to lay them on the green before the house. It 
 was then that the grief of the unhappy parents 
 broke forth ; and their cries and lamentations, as 
 they recognised their murdered little ones, roused 
 the passions of the crowd to absolute frenzy. 
 
 " Hanging's o'er gude for her," cried one. 
 
 " Let's rive her to coopens," cried another. 
 
 A universal shout was the answer; and imme- 
 diately the greater part of them set off for the pri- 
 son, their number increasing as they ran, and all
 
 364 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 burning with fury against the unhappy author of 
 so much misery. 
 
 The wretched woman was at this moment sitting 
 with an old crony who had been admitted to see 
 her, and to whom she was confessing what had in- 
 fluenced her in acting as she had done. 
 
 " Ye ken," said she, " I haena just been myseP 
 since a rascal, that had a grudge at me, put about a 
 story of my having made away wi' John Anderson, 
 by the help of arsenic. I was ta'en up and examin- 
 ed about it, and afterwards tried for it, and though 
 I was acquitted, the neighbours aye looked on me 
 with an evil eye, and avoided me. This drove 
 me to drinking, and other bad courses, and it 
 ended in my leaving that part of the kintry, 
 and coming here. But the thing rankled in my 
 mind, and many a time hae I sat thinking on it, 
 till I scarcely kent where I was, or what I was 
 doing. Weel, yae day, as I was sitting at the road- 
 side, near the Hermitage, and very low about it, I 
 heard a voice say, ' Are you thinking on John An- 
 derson, Elie ? — Aye, woman,' continued Charlotte 
 Beaumont, for it was her ; ' what a shame in you to 
 poison your own gudeman ;' and she pointed her 
 finger, and hissed at me. When I heard that," 
 continued Elie, " the whole blood in my body 
 seemed to flee up to my face, an' my verra een 
 were like to start frae my head; and I believe I
 
 BEWAKE OF WHAT YOU SAY BEFORE CHII.DHEN. 365 
 
 wad hae killed her on the spot, hadna' ane o' Sir 
 George's servants come up at the time; sae I sat my- 
 seF down again, and, after a lang while, I reason- 
 ed mysel', as I thought, into the notion, that I 
 shouldna' mind what a bairn said ; but I hadna' 
 forgotten't for a' that. Sae yae day that I met 
 wi' her near the wood, I telFt her that it was- 
 na' right in her to speak yon gate, and didna' mean 
 to say any mair, hadna' the lassie gaen on ten times 
 waur nor she had done before ; and sae angered 
 me, that I gied her a we bit shake ; and then she 
 threatened me wi' what her faither wad do, and 
 misca'ed me sae sair, that I struck her, and my pas- 
 sion being ance up, I gaed on striking her, till I had 
 killed her outright. I didna' ken for a while that 
 she was dead ; but when I fand that it was really 
 sae, I had sense enough left to row her in my apron, 
 an' to tak' her hame wi' me ; an' when I had barred 
 the door, I laid her body on a chair, and sat down 
 on my knees beside it, an' grat an' wrung my hands 
 a' night lang. Then I began to think what would 
 be done to me if it was found out ; an' thought o' 
 pitting her into a cunning place, which the man, who 
 had the house afore me, and was a great poacher, had 
 contrived to hide his game in ; and when that was 
 dune, I was a thought easier, though I couldna 
 forgi'e mysel' for what I had done, till it cam' into 
 my head that it had been the means o' saving her
 
 366 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 frae sin, and frae haeing niuckle to answer for, an' 
 this thought made me unco happy. At last I began 
 to think that it would be right to save mair o' them, 
 and that it would atone for a"* my former sins ; an' 
 this took sic a hold o' me, that I was aye on the 
 watch to get some ane or ither o' them by them- 
 selves, to dedicate them to their Maker, by mark- 
 ing their bodies wi' the Holy Cross ; but, oh !"" 
 she groaned, " if I hae been wrang in a' this !" 
 
 The sound of the people rushing towards the pri- 
 son was now distinctly heard; and both at once 
 seemed to apprehend their object. 
 
 " Is there no way to escape, Elie?" cried her friend, 
 wringing her hands. 
 
 Elie pointed to her broken thigh, and shook her 
 head ; " besides," said she, " I know my hour is 
 come." 
 
 The mob had now reached the prison, and im- 
 mediately burst open the doors. Ascending to the 
 room where Elie was confined, they seized her by 
 the hair, and dragged her furiously down stairs, 
 her broken limb striking against each step in the 
 descent. They then hurried her to the river, and 
 with the bitterest curses plunged her into the 
 stream ; but their intention was not so soon ac- 
 complished as they had expected ; and one of the par- 
 ty having exclaimed that a witch would not drown, 
 it was suggested, and unanimously agreed to, to 
 
 4
 
 BEWARE OF WHAT YOU SAY BEFOBE CHILDREN. 3G7 
 
 burn her. A fire was instantly lighted by the water- 
 side, and when they thought it was sufficiently 
 kindled, they threw her into the midst of it. For 
 some time her wet clothes protected her, but when 
 the fire began to scorch her, she made a sudden ex- 
 ertion, and rolled herself off. She was immediately 
 seized, and thrown on again, but having again suc- 
 ceeded in throwing herself off, the mob became fu- 
 rious, and called for more wood for the fire ; and by 
 stirring it on all hands, they raised it into a tre- 
 mendous blaze. Some of the most active now has- 
 tened to lay hold of the poor wretch, and to toss 
 her into it ; but in their hurry one of them having 
 trod on her broken limb, caused her such excessive 
 pain, that when Geordie Turnbull stooped to assist 
 in lifting her head, she suddenly caught him by the 
 thvunb with her teeth, and held him so fast, that he 
 found it impossible to extricate it. She was there- 
 fore laid down again, and many ways tried to force 
 open her mouth, but without other effect than in- 
 creasing Geordie's agony ; till at length one of them 
 seizing a pointed stick from the fire, and thrusting 
 it into an aperture occasioned by the loss of some of 
 her teeth, the pressure of its sharp point against the 
 roof of her mouth, and the smoke setting her a cough- 
 ing, forced her to relax her hold, when the man's 
 thumb was got out of her grasp, terribly lacerated. 
 Immediately thereafter she was tossed into the midst
 
 368 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 of the flames, and forcibly held there by means of 
 long prongs ; and the fire soon reaching the vital 
 parts, the poor wretch's screams and imprecations 
 became so horrifying, that one of the byestanders, 
 unable to bear it any longer, threw a large stone at 
 her head, which, hitting her on the temple, deprived 
 her of sense and motion. 
 
 Their vengeance satisfied, the people immediate- 
 ly dispersed, having first pledged themselves to the 
 strictest secrecy. Most of them returned home, but 
 a few went back to Elie Anderson's, whose house, 
 and every thing belonging to her, had been set on 
 fire by the furious multitude. They then retired, 
 leaving a few men to watch the remains of the chil- 
 dren, till coffins could be procured for them ; — 
 " And never in a' my days," said John Maxwell, 
 when speaking of it afterwards, " did I ever weary 
 for day-light as T did that night. — When the smoke 
 smothered the fire, and it was quite dark, we didna 
 mind it sae muckle ; but when a rafter or a bit o' 
 the roof fell in, and a bleeze raise, then the fire- 
 light shining on the ghastly faces o' the poor wee 
 innocents a' laid in a row, it was mair than we could 
 weel stand ; an"* mony a day or I was my ainsel 
 again." 
 
 Next morning the parents met, and it being agreed 
 that all their little ones should be interred in one 
 grave, and that the funerals should take place on
 
 BEWARE OF WHAT YOU SAY BEl'OllE CIIILDREX. 369 
 
 the following day, the necessary preparations were 
 accordingly made. In the meantime Matty went 
 over to her brother John Maxwell, to tell him, if 
 possible, to persuade David Williams not to attend 
 the funeral, as she was sure he could not stand it. 
 " He hadna' closed his e'e, she said, since that ter- 
 rible night, and had neither eat nor drank, but had 
 just wandered up and down between the house and 
 the fields moaning as if his heart wad brcak.'^ John 
 Maxwell promised to speak to David, but when he 
 did so, he found him so determined on attending, it 
 was needless to say any more on the subject. 
 
 On the morning of the funeral, David Williams 
 appeared very composed ; and John Maxwell was 
 saying to some of the neighbours that he thought 
 he would be quite able to attend, when word was 
 brought that Geordie Turnbull had died that 
 morning of a lock-jaw, brought on, it was supposed, 
 as much from the idea of his having been bitten by 
 a witch, or one that wasna' canny, as from the in- 
 jury done to him. 
 
 This news made an evident impression on David 
 AVilliams, and he became so restless and uneasy, 
 and felt himself so unwell, that he at one time de- 
 clared he would not go to the funeral ; but, get- 
 ting afterwards somewhat more composed, he joined 
 the melancholy procession, and conducted himself 
 with firmness and propriety from the time of their 
 
 A a
 
 370 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 setting out till all the coffins were lowered into the 
 grave. 
 
 But the first spadeful of earth was scarcely 
 thrown in, when the people were startled by his 
 breaking into a long and loud laugh : — 
 
 " There she's ! — there she's !" he exclaimed ; and, 
 darting through the astonished multitude, he made 
 with all his speed to the gate of the church-yard. 
 
 " Oh ! stop him, will naebody stop him V cried 
 his distracted wife ; and immediately a number of 
 his friends and acquaintances set off after him, the 
 remainder of the people crowding to the church- 
 yard wall, whence there was an extensive view over 
 the surrounding country. But quickly as those ran 
 who followed him, David Williams kept far ahead 
 of them, terror lending him wings, — till at length, 
 on slackening his pace, William Russell, who was 
 the only one near, gained on him, and endeavoured, 
 by calling in a kind and soothing manner, to pre- 
 vail on him to return. This only made him in- 
 crease his speed, and William would have been 
 thrown behind farther than ever had he not taken a 
 short cut, which brought him very near him. 
 
 " Thank God, he will get him now !" cried the 
 people in the church-yard ; when David Williams, 
 turning suddenly to the right, made with the utmost 
 speed towards a rising ground, at the end of which, 
 was a freestone quarry of great depth. At this sight, a
 
 BKWAKK OF WHAT YOU SAY BEFOKE CHILDREN, 371 
 
 cry of horror arose from the crowd, and most fervent- 
 ly did they pray that he might yet be overtaken ; 
 and great was their joy when they saw, that, by the 
 most wonderful exertion, William Russell had got 
 up so near, as to stretch out his arm to catch him ; 
 but at that instant his foot slipped, and ere he could 
 recover himself, the imhappy man, who had now 
 gained the summit, loudly sliouting, sprung into 
 the air."" 
 
 " God preserve us !" cried the people, covering 
 their eyes that they might not see a fellow-creature 
 dashed in pieces ; " it is all over !" 
 
 " Then help me to lift his poor wife !" exclaimed 
 Isabel Lawson ; " and now stan' back an' gie her 
 air that she may draw her breath." 
 
 " She's drawn her last breath already, Tm 
 doubting," — said Janet Ogilvie, an old skilful wo- 
 man ; and her fears were found to be but too true. 
 
 " An' what will become o' the poor orphans .^" said 
 Isabel. 
 
 She had scarcely spoken, when Sir George Beau- 
 mont advanced, and, taking one of the children in 
 each hand, he motioned the people to return towards 
 the grave. 
 
 " The poor bairns are provided for now," whis- 
 pered one to another, " as they followed to wit- 
 ness the completion of the mournful ceremony. It 
 was hastily finished in silence, and Sir George hav-
 
 372 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 ing said a few words to his steward, and committed 
 the orphans to his care, set out on his way to the 
 Hermitage, the assembled multitude all standing un- 
 covered as he passed, to mark their respect for his 
 goodness and huiTianity." 
 
 As might have been expected, the late unhappy 
 occurrences greatly affected Lady Beaumont's 
 health, and Sir George determined to quit the Her- 
 mitage for a time ; and directions were accordingly 
 given to prepare for their immediate removal. 
 While this was doing, the friend who had been 
 with Elie Anderson in the prison, happened to call 
 at the Hermitage, and the servants crowded about 
 her, eager to learn what had induced Elie to com- 
 mit such crimes. When she had repeated what 
 Elie had said, a young woman, one of the servants, 
 exclaimed, " I know who's been the cause of this ; 
 for if Bet," and she suddenly checked herself 
 
 " That must mean Betsey Pringle," said Ro- 
 bert, who was her sweetheart, and indeed engaged 
 to her ; " so you will please to let us hear what you 
 have to say against her, or own that you're a slan- 
 derer." 
 
 " I have no wish to make mischief," said the ser- 
 vant ; " and as what I said came out without much 
 thought, I would rather say no more ; but I'll not 
 be called a slanderer, neither." 
 
 1
 
 BEWAllK OF WHAT YOU SAY BEFORK OHII.DRKN. 373 
 
 " Then say what you have to say,""' cried tto- 
 Ijert ; *' it's the only way to settle the matter /'' 
 
 " Well then,'" said she, " since I must do it, I 
 shall. Soon after I came here, I was one day walk- 
 ing with the bairns and Betsey Pringle, when we met 
 a woman rather oddly dressed, and who had some- 
 thing queer in her manner ; and when she had left 
 us, I asked Betsey who it was ? " Why," said 
 Betsey, " I don't know a great deal about her, as 
 she comes from another part of the country ; but, 
 if what a friend of mine told me lately is true, this 
 Elie Anderson, as they call her, should have been 
 hanged," 
 
 *' Hanged,'' cried Miss Charlotte ; " and why 
 should she be hanged, Betsey ?" 
 
 " Never you mind, Miss Charlotte," said Bet- 
 sey ; " I'm speaking to Fanny here." 
 
 " You can tell me some other time," said I. 
 
 " Nonsense," cried Betsey ; " what can a bairn 
 know about it ? Weel," continued she, " it was be- 
 lieved that she had made away with John Ander- 
 son, her gudeman." 
 
 " What's a gudeman, Betsey ?" asked Miss Char- 
 lotte. 
 
 " A husband," answered she. 
 
 '•' And what's making away with him, Betsey ?" 
 
 *' What need you care," said Betsey. 
 
 " You may just as well tell me," said Miss Char-
 
 374 THE ODD VOLUME. 
 
 lotte ; " or I'll ask Elie Anderson herself all about 
 it the first time I meet her." 
 
 " That would be a good joke," cried Betsey, 
 laughing; " and I wonder how Elie Anderson would 
 look to hear a bairn like you speaking about a gude- 
 man, and making away with him ;" however, con- 
 tinued she, " that means killing him." 
 
 " Killing him !" exclaimed Miss Charlotte, " oh, 
 the wretch ; and how did she kill him, Betsey ?" 
 
 " You must ask no more questions, miss," said 
 Betsey, and the subject dropt. 
 
 " Betsey," said I to her afterwards, " you should 
 not have mentioned these things before the chil- 
 dren ; do you forget how noticing they are .''" 
 
 • " Oh ! so they are," said Betsey, " but only for 
 the moment ; and I'll wager Miss Charlotte has for- 
 gotten it all already ?" 
 
 " But, poor thing," continued Fanny, " she re- 
 membered it but too well." 
 
 " I'll not believe this," cried Robert. 
 
 " Let Betsey be called, then," said the house- 
 keeper, " and we'll soon get at the truth." Bet- 
 sey came, — was questioned by the housekeeper, and 
 acknowledged the fact. 
 
 " Then," exclaimed Robert, " you have murder- 
 ed my master's daughter, and you and I can ne- 
 ver be more to one another than we are at this mo- 
 ment ;" and he hastily left the room.
 
 BEWARE OF WHAT YOU SAY HEFORE CHtI,DRKN. 375 
 
 Betsey gazed after him for an instant, and then 
 fell on the floor. She was immediately raised up 
 and conveyed to bed, but recovering soon after, and 
 expressing a wish to sleep, her attendant left her. 
 The unhappy woman, feeling herself unable to face 
 her mistress after what had happened, immediataly 
 got up, and jumping from the window, fled from 
 the Hermitage ; and the first accounts they had of 
 her, were contained in a letter from herself to Lady 
 Beaumont, written on her death-bed, wherein she 
 described the miserable life she had led since quit- 
 ting the Hermitage, and entreating her ladyship's 
 forgiveness for the unhappiness which she had oc- 
 casioned. 
 
 " Let what has happened,'*'' said Lady Beau- 
 mont, " be a warning to those who have the charge 
 of them, to hew are of what they say before chil- 
 dren f a sentiment which Sir George considered as 
 so just and important, that he had it engraven on 
 the stone which covered the little innocents, that 
 their fate, and its cause, might be had in everlasting 
 remembrance. 
 
 THE EKI). 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 PUINTED BY JOHN STAllK.
 
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