V
 

 
 

 
 WHICH IS THE WISER: 
 
 PEOPLE ABROAD. 
 
 A TALE FOR YOUTH. 
 
 13Y MARY HOW1TT, 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 ')ITan* AWD THRIVE, " "HOPE ON I HOPE EVER I" "SOWIS8 AND Ef iPlSCT 
 "WHO BHiU. BE GBEATEST," &C. &C. &C. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 
 
 443 & 445 BROADWAY. 
 
 18C3.
 
 WHICH IS THE WISER; 
 
 OR, 
 
 PEOPLE ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A GERMAN PICTURE. 
 
 There had been a deal of sorrow in the dwelling of 
 the widow Hoffmann — much sorrow and many tears; 
 there had been deaths of little children, and deaths 
 also of those growing up to man's and woman's estate; 
 there had been the destruction of all life's hopes and 
 prospects, in the death, whilst yet in the prime of 
 life, and the bright promise of fortune, of a beloved 
 and affectionate husband. Add to all this, that there 
 had been the change from plenty and prosperity, to 
 narrow economy and the privation of every costly 
 indulgence, and every one will grant that the widow 
 Hoffmann was not without cause for tears; that it 
 was not without cause either, that her once bright 
 eye was dimmed, and her once abundant black hair 
 was thin and of a silvery whiteness. Still, though 
 all this was true, the heart of the widow had ceased 
 to mourn as one without hope ; and the sorrow which 
 had passed, and which had been so overwhelming in 
 the passing, might be compared now to the back- 
 ground to a picture, serving in a great degree to 
 throw the near and the present into stronger and 
 clearer lights. 
 
 True it is, that as the year brought round its many
 
 4 A GERMAN PICTURE. 
 
 memorable anniversaries (for Mrs. Hoffmann, like all 
 Germans, religiously kept all anniversaries) — the day 
 of her betrothal, five-and-thirty years before — the day 
 of her marriage — the birthdays of her deceased hus* 
 band, or those of her numerous children — or those 
 darker days which the deaths of so many loved ones 
 had made ineffaceable in her soul — her brow wore a 
 more thoughtful, nay, almost a pensive character, 
 and she began the day with the persuasion that she 
 must sit down, and meditate, and be sad. On such 
 occasions, however, there never failed to be an unu- 
 sual mildness and kindness in her totie anfl manner, 
 and her little maid, Benedicta, otherwise Bena, who 
 had now lived with her nearly three years — a short, 
 neat, and' rosy-faced German girl- — never failed to 
 receive some mark of kindness or consideration from 
 her hands; in return for which, whenever she saw her 
 mistress unusually thoughtful, she moved about the 
 four rooms, which constituted the whole of the 
 widow's dwelling, with much more quietness than 
 might have been expected from any German maid- 
 servant whatever. 
 
 " Bena," said Mrs. Hoffmann, on a certain 6th of 
 June, in the year 1836, " you have been a good girl 
 to-day, and have remembered my orders, nor have 
 slammed the doors, as you commonly do, which was 
 very considerate; for you must have seen how bad 
 my head has been." 
 
 Bena smiled and looked pleased, and played with 
 the corner of her apron. " And therefore, my good 
 girl," continued her mistress, "you shall take some 
 of those little cakes to your lame brother ; and, if 
 your grandfather wishes for another bottle of wine, 
 he can send word. Now go, my good girl ; but you 
 must be back by half-past nine. I will get my own 
 •supper to-night ;. but be sure when yja come back
 
 A GERMAN PICTURE. 5 
 
 not to ring at all violently ; my head has been bad 
 all day, and that bell alarms me so much." 
 
 Bena was the happiest servant-maid in all Heidel- 
 berg. She took the little cakes which her mistress 
 gave her, and put them carefully into her smart 
 holiday basket : she then bestowed upon her smooth 
 brown hair an extra brushing, and pinned up again 
 the back plait with more than ordinary care ; for it 
 was, she knew, a fine warm evening, and everybody 
 would be either walking out, or looking from their 
 windows; and Bena, although only a poor maid- 
 servant, had a little female love of admiration. This 
 arrangement of her hair being made to her satisfaction, 
 she pinned about her neck a closely-plaited muslin 
 frill, over which she tied a printed pink handkerchief, 
 and then, putting on a clean buff printed apron, she 
 took the little holiday basket, with its two bows of 
 rose-coloured ribbon, on her arm, and, giving good 
 heed to shut her own bed-room door with great quiet- 
 ness, set forth towards her home, which, fortunately 
 for her, lay on exactly the other side of the city. 
 Bena was very happy that evening; she was so glad 
 that she had nothing to do but to walk through the 
 whole length of that cheerful Haupt Strasse, or High 
 Street, and that she might even look into the shop- 
 windows if she pleased, and fancy, as she stood before 
 a milliner's, how she should look in a bonnet, if she 
 were only a lady to wear one; and then, after her 
 walk was done, what a pleasure it would be to sur- 
 prise the poor lame Peter with the delicious little 
 cakes, which should be all for his own eating. Such 
 were her thoughts as she quietly closed the great 
 door of the general staircase of that large bouse, in 
 which her mistress was one of the third story inmates. 
 
 This Gth of June, then, be it understood, was cne 
 of the widow Hoffmann's anniversaries, and she was
 
 6 A GERMAN PICTURE. 
 
 willing for this evening to be alone, that she might 
 sit and meditate. She was not, however, so wholly 
 absorbed by her personal feelings, as not to listen for 
 the departure of the little maiden; and even after 
 the house-door-bell had sounded, upon her going 
 forth, she. thought for a few moments upon the patient 
 young invalid, to whose feeble appetite she had now 
 furnished a small enjoyment. From this she went 
 on to think that, since the linking fast of all family 
 ties was good for our human hearts, so should the 
 kind little Bena not fail, on many an evening of this 
 coming summer, to visit her family, and carry with 
 her small presents to her lame brother and her bed- 
 ridden grandfather. "It will be a pleasure," thought 
 she, "henceforth to do kindnesses ; for if, please God, 
 that Karl pass his examination with honour, as I am 
 sure he will, how happy shall I be! and when one is 
 happy, then is the time to make others so. I might 
 even now, reasoned she with herself, spite of all that 
 I have gone through, have done much more to make 
 those about me happy ; but, Heaven help us ! sorrow 
 is such an absorbing feeling, it makes us so selfish; 
 but if it please God that all goes on now well about 
 poor Karl, I will do my endeavour to amend!" Good 
 Mrs. Hoffmann, she did not know that these very 
 sorrows of which she spoke, had opened wide her 
 heart to every kindly sympathy, and that, if ever 
 there was a self-forgetting good Christian, it was 
 herself: nor was she at all aware that her kind, 
 tender, good-will overflowing soul never was so pene- 
 trated through and through with universal charity, as 
 on those particular days which she consecrated to hci 
 past sorrow. 
 
 The truth was, Mrs. Hoffmann reasoned about 
 nothing, and least of all would she have thought of 
 reasoning about herself; therefore she never came to
 
 A GERMAN PICTURE. 7 
 
 the true conclusion, that she was a very excellent 
 woman. Her son Karl, however, knew it well enough; 
 and, if anybody could have persuaded her of the 
 existence of many virtues, it would have been he; 
 but then, Karl did not argue with his mother about 
 anything ; and, if he had tried to persuade her that 
 she was as good as he knew her to be, she would 
 only have answered, " Thou art partial, dear Karl; 
 yet, for this I cannot blame thee. Thou and I are 
 alone in the world together, and. God knows what 
 would become of me without thy love!" 
 
 But this is the 6th of June, we must remember ; 
 and Benahas been gone these five minutes, and Mrs. 
 Hoffmann has settled herself on the sofa, and has 
 placed her knitting-basket on the tea-table before 
 her, and commenced her knitting and her thinking 
 at the same moment. 
 
 "Ah!" thought she, with a deep sigh, " five-and- 
 thirty years is it this very day since our betrothal ; 
 and, strange enough, this day combines in itself two 
 other memories — the death of my first-born, and, 
 saddest of all, fifteen years afterwards, the death of 
 that child's beloved father! — Three anniversaries in 
 one!" The widow wept, and dwelt for some time 
 with inexpressible anguish on the memory of this last 
 event, and on the consequences which it had involved. 
 But there was a golden lirjht within her own mind 
 which, unconsciously to herself, gleamed over all, and 
 made her much more willingly dwell on the good 
 things that were left, than on those that had departed 
 for ever; therefore she thought on Karl, and dried 
 her tears, and again resumed her knitting. Before 
 long, her mind had gone back five-and-thirty years, 
 and she was with her father and mother in the 
 abode of her youth; — her father, the pastor of a 
 cich village in the north of Germany, emphatically
 
 8 A GERMAN PICTURE. 
 
 the father of his flock, and her mother, the beau- 
 ideal of a good wife and mother — tender, loving, pru- 
 dent, self-forgetting, frugal, and industrious. She 
 remembered the winter-spinning, and the summer- 
 knitting; the house-presses full of linen and wearing 
 apparel ; the domestic regularity, plenty, and hospi- 
 tality ; the almost absurdly small income, yet the 
 never-experienced want; and she thought it was a 
 privilege which in her youth she had never sufficiently 
 felt, to have been the child of such parents. But as 
 her immediate business was with one particular anni- 
 versary, she recalled the first introduction of the 
 youth Hoffmann, the son of the rich Hamburgh 
 merchant, into their house as her father's pupil. How 
 vividly came back the recollection of all those times. 
 She was sitting with her mother under the lime-tree 
 in the front, shelling pease, on the first evening of his 
 arrival ; and there now came back tq> her mind the 
 very humming of the bees in the flowers of the lime- 
 tree above their head, and the song of the blackbird 
 which hung in its wicker cage on the front wall of 
 the house. Then what a golden happy time were 
 the next twelve months! — the nativity of her soul, 
 as it were; for until she had known Hoffmann, she 
 had thought of little else but household cares and 
 duties. Till then had she prided herself most on the 
 endless variety of cakes, small and great, which she 
 could manufacture ; and on the frugal yet ever-varied 
 dinners which she could cook; on the seventy-five 
 pairs of stockings which she had already knit and 
 marked, and which lay among piles of excellent 
 wearables, all duly marked likewise and numbered, 
 in her chest of drawers ; on the bed-covers she had 
 quilted, and on the two last winters' spinning, which 
 enabled her to reckon among her own personal pro- 
 perty sundry table-cloths and napkins, every thread
 
 A GERMAN PICTURE. 9 
 
 of which had passed between her own fingers. " Ah! 
 well," thought Mrs. Hoffmann, " it was a useful part 
 of my education after all — a good initiation into the 
 duties of after life — and, to my latest day, I shall 
 have cause to bless the good mother who never 
 allowed my hands to remain idle!" 
 
 For some time after this the knitting went on with 
 renewed energy, but by and by it slackened into a 
 mere mechanical movement of the fingers, as her 
 mind reverted again to that day five-and- thirty years 
 — the day of her betrothal. It was a happy house- 
 hold festival, the betrothal of an only child to a well- 
 known youth of the fairest promise. There was 
 almost more of a festival in it than in the marriage 
 itself. There were two grandfathers and one grand- 
 mother present, many aunts, and uncles, and cousins 
 near and remote ; there were garlands of flowers hung 
 on the walls ; music and dancing for the youth ; 
 plenty of wine and beer and good tobacco for the old 
 gentlemen, and tea and cakes for the ladies! The 
 moment when Mrs. Hoffmann's thoughts were thus 
 far away in North Germany, and she was living over 
 again a happy event, which lay even far more re- 
 motely in the past, she was suddenly recalled to 
 present realities by a gentle, yet so persevering a 
 tapping at her door, as made her instantly conclude 
 the knock had been repeated. Immediately, there- 
 fore, on her replying, " Herein," or walk in, the door 
 opened, and the slender, somewhat carefully dressed 
 figure of Madame Von Holzhauser presented herself. 
 Who, our readers will naturally say, was Madame 
 Von Holzhauser? We will endeavour to satisfy 
 their curiosity. 
 
 Madame Von Holzhauser, then, thirty years before; 
 was the prima donna of one season — the admired, 
 nay, almost worshipped star of musical Germany
 
 10 A GERMAN PICTURE. 
 
 Her life, from her very cradle, had been strange and 
 unhappy. In her childhood she had belonged tc 
 wretchedly poor people, who were' connected with 
 the theatre in Berlin; her parents they certainly 
 could not have been, for she was subjected by them 
 to every possible want and misery. Her earliest 
 recollection was of standing at the theatre-doors to 
 beg, and of being forbidden, on pain of severe punish- 
 ment, from returning home, unless she brought with 
 her money to above a certain amount. 
 
 She was born with extraordinary musical faculties ; 
 fortunately, however, this was not discovered by the 
 persons who had possession of her, early enough for 
 her to be exhibited as an infant prodigy : to them she 
 was useful only to beg ; but many and many a night 
 she forgot her miserable duty — forgot even the pain- 
 ful infliction which was the certain consequence of 
 such a neglect, in listening to the glorious strains of 
 some favourite singer, from the half-open doors of the 
 opera. Occasionally, also, she crept in unobserved, 
 or was permitted to enter by some good-natured, 
 music-loving door-keeper, who, sympathising in the 
 wretched child's passion for his favourite art, over- 
 looked the small, but otherwise all-important fact, of 
 her having neither money nor ticket. 
 
 But at length her musical powers made themselves 
 iuo wn to her possessors, and then, to a certain 
 degree, her state amended itself. She was apprenticed 
 to a professor of music, who undertook to give her 
 all the needful instruction, on condition of sharing 
 with her owners the product of her first three years 
 of public life. She now became to them an object 
 of the most intense interest, and the most unsparing 
 pains were taken to urge her dawning powers forward. 
 Time was hardly permitted for sleep ; day and night, 
 night and day, her one occupation went forward.
 
 A GERMAN PICTURE. 11 
 
 Now she was flattered and caressed, and promised 
 the most splendid advantages, the most brilliant and 
 triumphant career, whilst baubles and trumpery finery- 
 were heaped upon her as present rewards and as 
 earnests of what was to be ; then again, on the other 
 hand, was she threatened with unimaginable punish- 
 ments, and made even to suffer bitter cruelties, as a 
 foretaste of what her fate should be did she dare to 
 disappoint the expectations of her task-masters. But 
 the miserable, once half-starved, and even now ill- 
 used Marie, was one of God's noblest creatures, 
 endowed with the rare gift of genius; and, spite of 
 hardships and oppressions, and a moral infliction 
 which could not be called training, she grew up with 
 powers which promised to satisfy all the expectations 
 of her masters, and with qualities of heart and soul 
 which, spite of uncertainty of temper and wayward- 
 ness of will, were calculated to make social life and 
 character perfectly happy. But poor Marie belonged 
 to that class of beings who, one knows not why, 
 seem born to be unhappy— their business in this 
 world is to bear and suffer — to be encouraging ex- 
 amples to others — to teach others patience and con- 
 tentment : their reward, and their happiness assuredly, 
 however, will come, though perhaps only in the other 
 world. 
 
 She made her debut in the musical world in a new 
 opera at Vienna, and her success was instantaneous. 
 The public voice was at once loud in her praise ; 
 princes and grand dukes listened to her with rapture, 
 and showered upon her golden proofs of their ap- 
 plause ; and poets, among whom was the greatest in 
 Germany, even Goethe himself, not only sang hymns 
 in her praise, but gave her tokens of their devotion 
 also. Ammii; the very last valuables which the poor 
 Marie parted with in her after troubles, was a ring
 
 12 A GERMAN TICTURE. 
 
 set with one small but exquisite diamond, the gift of 
 this noble poet. 
 
 Marie's powers had at once become as a mine of 
 gold to her possessors, and she was watched over 
 with the most dragon-like jealousy. She lived in 
 splendour ; she appeared in public apparelled nobly ; 
 she was seen in the streets of the city seated like a 
 queen in a costly equipage, but she was For all this 
 no more free than the captive in his dungeon. It 
 was in vain that she made efforts to free herself at 
 once from her captors ; they were too artful for her, 
 and had entangled too many snares about her for her 
 readily to escape. For a whole season she reigned 
 triumphant, and there seemed outwardly no probable 
 limit to her influence and prosperity. There was, 
 however, all this time, one deep and serious cause 
 of doubt and anxiety both in her mind and in the 
 minds of her masters. The severity and hardships 
 of her earlier youth, and perhaps, also, some na- 
 tural weakness in the organs of her voice, rendered 
 the utmost care needful to preserve it, not only in 
 its full tone and power, but also to prevent her 
 losing it altogether. The least exposure to a damp 
 atmosphere occasioned temporary loss of voice ; but 
 most of all was it influenced by the state of her own 
 mind. She was often nervous and timid to a painful 
 degree, and at such times she could not make herself 
 audible; the very dread of such an occurrence in- 
 creased the cause, and the poor prima donna, in the 
 midst of the most brilliant success, was devoured by 
 a secret fear which stung her almost to madness. 
 To lose her voice was to lose at once her hold on the 
 public heart, and to lose this was to be thrown back 
 into the merciless hands of her disappointed posses- 
 sors. As it always happens that there is a party 
 against as well as for any popular person or thing, so
 
 A GERMAN PICTURE. 13 
 
 was there also in her case ; she had her opposition 
 party, who watched her not less narrowly than her 
 friends, with a prima donna elect in their hands, whom 
 they waited impatiently to elevate upon her vacant 
 throne. The fact of her uncertain voice was hruited 
 abroad, and day after day they proclaimed to the 
 public how impossible it was it could sustain itself 
 to the end of the season. But the end of the season 
 came, and Marie's voice did not fail her, and her 
 triumphant partisans clapped their hands and talked 
 loud of the brilliant certainty of the future. 
 
 Before the commencement, however, of her second 
 season, Marie, partly with the determination to be 
 free, and partly blinded by inexperience and affection, 
 married, although yet scarcely nineteen. A very 
 short time sufficed to prove that she had only diver- 
 sified her misfortunes, not by any means removed 
 them. Her husband was an unprincipled adventurer, 
 who, by the advantages of a handsome person, good 
 address, and real or skilfully assumed love of Marie's 
 art, had manoeuvred himself into her affections. Her 
 affections, however, she had given him, and, at once 
 boldly asserting herself free, she tore herself from 
 the shackles of her former possessors, and threw her- 
 self on the protection of her husband. Alas ! this 
 was only the beginning of sorrows, and from this 
 time forth her fate was sealed. 
 
 The second season came, and with it fervent ex- 
 pectation on the one hand, and more violent opposition 
 on the other. But who can tell the secret despon- 
 dency which filled her heart on the first night of 
 that fatal second season, when she became doubtful 
 of her own powers? On the second night it was 
 impossible for her to present herself, for her voice 
 was gone ; but the public received the plea of sudden 
 illness with the sincerest sympathy : there was some
 
 14 A GERMAN PICTURE. 
 
 little consolation in that: still, night after night went 
 on, and Marie could not sing. The new prima donna 
 of the opposition party was clamoured into popu- 
 larity, and poor Marie's assumed illness became real. 
 For some weeks the public solicitude kept alive its 
 interest in her; before long, however, they began to 
 suspect that the servant of their pleasure was, as 
 rumour said, no longer capable of administering to 
 it; and it became necessary that she herself should 
 give the best of all refutations, by again exhibiting 
 unabated powers before them. Full of cruel anxiety 
 and doubt, and but half recovered from sickness,. 
 Marie again made her appearance in public ; all the 
 world crowded to hear her; but the suspicion was 
 true — she could not sing; the once glorious voice 
 had lost its power. The public exhibited less of 
 sympathy with her than of disappointment; and, with 
 eyes overflowing with tears, and a heart torn with 
 bitter apprehensions, she had the mortification, as 
 she left the house, to hear her rival received in her 
 stead with thunders of applause. The career of the 
 poor, dispirited singer was at an end. 
 
 Nothing can be conceived more melancholy than 
 the reaction of mind on the loss of public favour, 
 under any circumstances ; but in the case of this un- 
 happy young creature it was doubly so. She had 
 not lost the favour of the public through any crime 
 or caprice of her own, but through an accumulation 
 of misfortunes which her friendless, unhappy condition 
 alone had brought upon her. From the brilliant 
 world of Vienna, and all her courtly and wealthy 
 admirers, she sank at once into poverty and insig- 
 nificance, and found herself thus, at the age of twenty, 
 a wife and a mother, with no earthly means of sub- 
 sistence but her own exertions. So much of her life 
 was well known to all the music-loving world of
 
 A HERMAN PICTURE. 15 
 
 thirty years ago. The unfortunate singer was a sub- 
 ject of conversation for a few months; but, as she 
 passed from the public eye, she passed also from 
 the public heart, and was forgotten. 
 
 In many circumstances of human life the very 
 force and irresistibleness of misfortune brings its own 
 remedy. So it is probable was the case with poor 
 Marie. Ten years afterwards, she was recognised by 
 a family in Leipzig who had lived formerly in Vienna. 
 She was then a teacher of singing by the hour, having 
 in great measure recovered her voice, and being 
 acknowledged one of the best teachers in the place, 
 although her large family, her indolent, sickly hus- 
 band, and her own feeble health, kept her always 
 poor. Ah! it was unknown and unimagined, in the 
 houses of the wealthy and well-fed,' when the thin, 
 anxious countenance of the poor singing-mistress 
 made its appearance, how sparely she had often 
 dined ; nor, when the well-clothed and luxurious 
 scorned her because of her long-worn and homely 
 apparel, how carefully that apparel was kept — was 
 kept, in truth, merely to go abroad in. They knew 
 nothing of the feeble attempt at self-imposition, by 
 which she tried to think that the gown really was not 
 quite so shabby when worn, as when closely inspected; 
 that such and such a fracture, which time alone had 
 made, might, with a little care, be kept out of sight; 
 or that the bonnet might do a few weeks longer, at 
 least with new strings ; and that, after all, the parents 
 thought more of the progress of the pupil than of the 
 dress of the teacher; and that, in fact, these clothes 
 must do longer, inasmuch as she could not afford to 
 buy new ones ! 
 
 Poor Marie! and thus it was, that as she became 
 shabbier in her appearance, her pupils became fewer 
 and fewer, and belonged still more and more exclu-
 
 16 A GERMAN PICTURE. 
 
 sively to the burger class ; and at last, spite of hei 
 industry and her determined integrity, poverty again 
 came upon her like an armed man ; and once more, 
 as was ever the case in her darkest times, she lost 
 her voice. 
 
 Nearly twenty years after this, about the time at 
 which this our little tale opens, Marie, then more pro- 
 perly to be called Madam, or Mrs. Von Holzhauser — 
 for her husband, however unworthy, was of a noble fa- 
 mily — had sunken into the almost old-looking woman, 
 although in truth not fifty years of age, and had then 
 been known as singing-mistress in Heidelberg for 
 about four years. She had come there on the recom- 
 mendation of some residents of influence, to whose 
 family, during their summer stay in one of the lessei 
 bathing-towns, she had given singing lessons. She 
 brought with her an extremely infirm husband; her 
 children — those at least that remained — were scattered 
 here and there, and she was, like one doomed to be 
 unhappy, wearing at that very time momming for a 
 son who had been killed in a student-duel at Giessen. 
 Poor woman ! she hardly ever could meet a student, 
 with his long hair, moustachoed lip, and folio under 
 his arm, without tears; and yet she came to live in 
 a city of students — and why? because she had an 
 ailing, helpless husband to maintain, and because, in 
 this city of students, she was promised the influence 
 of a family which might amend the prospects of her 
 future life. All that her willingly-hopeful mind 
 prayed for, however, did not immediately fall ojit; 
 she remained poor : still that occurred to her, which 
 for many years, nay, which for nearly all the years 
 of her life, had not occurred before — she found some 
 disposed to become her personal friends. External 
 show operates much less on social life in a small 
 city than in a rich and luxurious one; and thus
 
 A GERMAN PICTURE. 17 
 
 many 1 a wife and mistress of a family in Heidelberg, 
 many hundred-fold richer than the poor singing- 
 mistress ever hoped to be, might be seen walking 
 abroad very little if at all better dressed than she; 
 and, to her surprise, she found herself now and then 
 invited, not for the sake of her singing powers, but 
 out of perfect good. fellowship and kindness, to join 
 in many of those little summer excursions which the 
 good Germans are so fond of making; sometimes to 
 some favourite spot a few miles from the city, and 
 sometimes to the castle gardens, where the ladies 
 drank tea or coffee, the gentlemen wine, or perhaps 
 beer; the ladies knit and talked, and the gentlemen 
 smoked and talked also ; where they breathe the fresh 
 air, pay their few kreutzers each, and go home again 
 refreshed in body and mind, and with their hearts 
 warmed with good-will towards each other. 
 
 The simple fact of feeling herseli not excluded 
 from the more respectable part of society, produced 
 a most happy effect on the mind of the poor singing- 
 mistress. She never in the whole course of her life had 
 experienced so much self-satisfaction, so much quiet 
 and peace of mind, as during these latter years; and, 
 had it not been for still lingering anxieties about those 
 absent children of whom she said so little, and daily, 
 never-ceasing care for her peevish and hopelessly sick 
 home-companion, it is very uncertain whether she 
 would not have pronounced herself really happy. 
 
 Among the kindest and best esteemed of her friends 
 was the widow Hoffmann, whose son Karl, himself a 
 good musician, and devotedly attached to the art, had 
 first heard her giving singing-lessons in the house of 
 one of his friends, but whose more intimate know- 
 ledge of her was gained in another way. At the house 
 of the same friend, on one damp November morn- 
 ing, her voice again deserted her: he happened to 
 c 2
 
 18 . A GERMAN PICTURE. 
 
 come in at the time, and the poor singing-mktresSt 
 with tears in her eyes, explained to him the distress- 
 ing calamity which had befallen her, and which, thus 
 at the commencement of winter, filled her with inex- 
 pressible alarm. Karl was a medical student, and at 
 once, independently of his regard for her on account 
 of her musical powers, became interested in her as a 
 sufferer from disease. Cheered Dy his kindly sym- 
 pathy, the poor woman opened to him her heart ; told 
 him of her discouraging prospects, of her poverty, 
 and thus her inability to pay skilful physicians. Karl 
 gave his medical advice ; he was young and sanguine, 
 and she caught at once the happy infection of his 
 spirit, and persuaded herself that he could do her 
 good ; her heart was cheered, and in a few weeks, 
 spite of a severe January, she was able to resume hex 
 labours. 
 
 In his capacity of medical adviser, he was admitted 
 into the privacy of her two small rooms — those poor, 
 ill-furnished rooms, into which none entered but her- 
 self, her sick husband — who indeed never was absent 
 from them- — and those even poorer than themselves. 
 Karl was familiar with the dwellings of the common 
 poor, and he knew how heart-rending is their desti- 
 tution, especially in sickness; but never had he en- 
 tered an abode of even absolute want, which affected 
 him as did the simple aspect of these two rooms — the 
 room of the musician without the instrument. Mrs. 
 Von Holzhauser seemed immediately to divine his 
 thoughts. " You wonder," said she, " to see no 
 instrument ; but it is long since I had pupils at home ; 
 my husband could not bear it; I have long ceased to 
 play for my own amusement: besides, I have not 
 time, for, setting aside the daily lessons I give, I 
 copy a good deal of music," said she, turning towards 
 a small table where she had evidently but lately been
 
 A GERMAN PICTURE. 19 
 
 so employed. " It comes cheaper than the printed 
 notes, and many of i#y pupils prefer it on this 
 account." Hoffmann did not know at that time that 
 many hours were stolen from sleep, to add, by this 
 means, some little to the daily income. How much 
 patient striving against poverty and misfortune is 
 there in this world, of which the next-door neighbour 
 knows nothing! 
 
 The more Hoffmann saw of this praiseworthy woman, 
 the higher rose his esteem for her. He prescribed 
 for her ailments, and for those of her husband; he 
 talked cheerfully to the ill-tempered invalid, and 
 accomplished in his case what his wife had believed 
 totally impossible; he induced him now and then to 
 leave his room, to look more cheerfully on life, to 
 acknowledge that his wife did all that lay in her 
 power for his comfortable maintenance, and even to 
 make a half-promise that some time or other, at least 
 if he got better, he would himself copy music. 
 
 By degrees the two rooms, if they were not better 
 furnished, assumed a more cheerful aspect. A con- 
 tented countenance contributes more to the cheerful 
 aspect of a room than the finest furniture ; and thus, 
 although the large, ill-dressed person of the Herr Von 
 Holzhauser might be often seen half obtruded through 
 the small third-story window, with his long pipe in 
 his mouth, yet he was not now always looking down, 
 as though in ill-humour with all the world below. 
 
 Things evidently were mending with the Von 
 HolzhJiusers ; their health improved, more money 
 came in, and a better moral tone pervaded the mind 
 both of husband and wife ; nor did a day pass in 
 which Mrs. Von Holzhauser failed to breathe in- 
 wardly, if it was not expressed aloud, a blessing on 
 the excellent young man who, not only by the exer- 
 cise of his skill as a physician, but by the high moral
 
 20 A GERMAN PICTURE. 
 
 tone of his own nature, wrought so wholesome -yet so 
 silent a change. Her health was hetter than it had 
 been for years; and in the bright days of the June of 
 which we are now writing, she might be seen, when 
 extraordinary occasions called for so much display, 
 dressed in a real new gown, real new black silk 
 mode, and a bonnet but little the worse for wear. 
 It was thus apparelled that, after having knocked 
 twice at the widow Hoffmann's door, she entered the 
 room, interrupting, as we said a few pages before, 
 reminiscences which were likely to become somewhat 
 too gloomy. 
 
 Mrs. Von Holzhauser seated herself on the sofa by 
 her friend ; and, after many inquiries as to each other's 
 health, and mutual assurances that it gave them great 
 pleasure to know that each was so well, Mrs. Hoff- 
 mann went on with her knitting, talking cheerfully all 
 the time. When all available topics of personal in- 
 terest had been gone through, Mrs. Von Holzhauser 
 went on to say, that .she had been sent for this 
 morning by the English lady, who lived in the second 
 story, and who wished her to give singing-lessons 
 to her daughter. 
 
 " And a very pretty girl that is," said Mrs. Hoff- 
 mann; "I have met her on the stairs occasionally, 
 and have seen her frequently, these warm evenings, in 
 the balcony below. The mother I have not seen." 
 
 " She appears to be in very weak health," said 
 Mrs. Von Holzhauser; "she lay on the sofa, sup- 
 ported by cushions, and wrapped in large shawls, 
 although the weather is now so warm." 
 
 " Poor creature!" said Mrs. Hoffmann. 
 
 " She said," continued the other, " that she had 
 been at the baths last autumn, on account of her 
 health, having left England for that purpose; that 
 they had spent the winter in Mlinchen, and had
 
 A GERMAN PICTURE. 21 
 
 intended this summer to return to England, but had 
 altered their plans in consequence of some rich rela- 
 tions, or acquaintance, I forget which, who had pro- 
 mised to spend some time with them in Heidelberg, 
 if they could obtain for them sufficiently handsome 
 apartments." 
 
 " So !" remarked Mrs. Hoffmann, with very ex- 
 pressive emphasis. 
 
 " Her daughter, she says," continued Mrs Von 
 Holzhauser, " is so charmed with the neighbourhood, 
 and with the castle, that she wishes to remain here 
 six months, which she has consented to do, especially 
 as she has taken the whole suite of apartments below 
 for that time, for this great English family, who 
 spend, she assures me, their money like princes." 
 
 " I wish such English people would not come here," 
 said Mrs. Hoffmann, in a tone of undisguised disgust; 
 " they do us great mischief. We might as well have 
 an army o'f French, laying waste and despoiling our 
 houses and vineyards, as these troops of frivolous, 
 money-loving, money-wasting English. Germany, 
 dear, home-loving Germany, has more deep and grave 
 cause of fear from these smiling, flattering, yet 
 deriding visiters, than from a whole nation of French- 
 men with arms in their hands !" 
 
 " You do not like the English," quietly remarked 
 her visiter. 
 
 11 I do not like the English as we see them in 
 Germany," said Mrs. Hoffmann ; " they love dissi- 
 pation more than enjoyment; they value money not 
 for the good it will do, but for the show it will make ; 
 they think to pass here for princes, and they only 
 make themselves the laughing-stock of our people ; 
 and yet even upon those very people their moral 
 influence is bad. You are right; I do not like the 
 English!"
 
 22 . A GERMAN PICTURE. 
 
 " I cannot afford," said Mrs. Von Holzhauser, " to 
 dislike the English, whatever their faults may be, so 
 long as they pay me. It is true that I have given 
 singing-lessons but in very few English families. 
 They like, as you say, to pay high prices — they can 
 afford it; but my misfortunes," added she, with a 
 sigh, " have ever prevented me having high prices." 
 
 " Get what you can from the English," said her 
 friend, smiling, " since they are so fond of what is 
 dear ; they will like you all the better for it, and I 
 wish you a hundred such pupils!" 
 
 " But this English lady below," replied Mrs. Von 
 Holzhauser, " is not, after all, one of the class you 
 speak of. She inquired my terms strictly — appeared 
 to like them better for their moderation — made me 
 sit down and give her proof of my ability to teach. 
 I had to sing Italian, French, and German, before she 
 maue up her mind even to my moderate terms." 
 
 " Dear Heaven!" exclaimed the other, in her old 
 tone of disgust. 
 
 " There was nothing so unreasonable in that," said 
 Mrs. Von Holzhauser, with a sigh ; " the young lady 
 offered me wine, but it is too hot for wine, so I 
 accepted a glass of water. She speaks excellent 
 German ; the mother spoke French ; and, after all, I 
 came away by no means displeased; and to-morrow 
 morning from eleven to twelve I give my first lesson. 
 But now," resumed she, after a pause, " I want to 
 know something about Karl. When will this exami- 
 nation be over ; and what tidings have you from him ?" 
 
 Mrs. Hoffmann laid down her knitting, which 
 through the whole of the previous conversation she 
 had pursued with most persevering assiduity, and at 
 once began to look anxious and deeply interested. 
 " I shall have a letter to-morrow : the examination 
 will be over by that time. T shall now have him
 
 A GERMAN PICTURE. 23 
 
 back in a few days. Poor Karl, it is a mercy be has 
 kept his health." 
 
 " How happy he will be ! how happy you will be !" 
 said poor Mrs. Von Holzhauser, reverting with pain- 
 ful remembrance to her own unhappy son. At that 
 very moment the door of the room suddenly opened, 
 and the little Bena, looking very hot and happy, pre- 
 sented herself and a letter at the same moment. 
 
 " It is a letter from Carlsruhe," said she ; " I knew 
 you would like to hear it. 1 told them at home that 
 I would be back in no time ; but the letter is from 
 the Herr Karl!" 
 
 " Thou art a good girl!" said har mistress — using, 
 in the fulness of her joy in seeing her son's hand- 
 writing a day before she expected, the kindest of all 
 modes of speech to her handmaiden — " thou art a 
 good girl, Bena; now run away to thy lame brother:" 
 and the next moment, breaking the seal, she read 
 aloud — 
 
 " Dear Mother — Thou must know — for to whom will the 
 tidings be so welcome as to thee? — that my examination will be 
 over to-night. Thy son, even, is satisfied with himself. 
 
 " Von Rosenberg and Feldmann will meet me at Wiesloch. 
 To-morrow evening I shall again be with thee. Thine, ever, 
 " Hermann Karl Hoffmann." 
 
 " Your tidings are indeed happy!" said the poor 
 singing-mistress, with tears in her eyes. 
 
 There were tears also in the eyes of her friend — 
 tears- of affection and happiness. " Thank Heaven !" 
 said she, Karl's examination is over ; he will be back 
 again to-morrow: but stay," added she, looking 
 again at the letter, " he will be here to-night; this 
 letter was written yesterday ; he will be here imme- 
 diately. Tbank God, I am indeed happy !" 
 
 She spoke truly. She was at that moment really 
 and thoroughly happy. Life had then no troubles-^
 
 24 A GERMAN PICTURE- 
 
 no dark side — no mournful anniversaries! Hei son s 
 her only lemaining child — the sole object of her 
 affections and her life's cares — her pride, her glory, 
 her hope, was returning to her with honour, after a 
 severe states examination. She always expected it 
 would he so, for Karl was, as everybody knew, so 
 good, so clever, so successful in all that he did ; still 
 this certainty, this security, now all was over, seemed 
 so much beyond the joy that she imagined, that it 
 was no wonder she wiped her eyes before she was 
 able to talk about her happiness ; and then all at once 
 a world of housekeeping cares overwhelmed her. He 
 was coming back that very evening, and with him 
 his two friends ; where, then, was the fatted calf that 
 ought to have been made ready in honour of such a 
 guest? and where was that giddy little Bena, that 
 happened to be now out of the way just when she 
 was wanted? Mrs. Hoffmann, hastily giving her 
 friend a hint of her instant perplexity, projected her 
 head through the open casement, to see if, by good 
 chance, the girl had met with a gossip in the street 
 below. But no, the street was full of people, old 
 and young, students and shopkeepers, ladies and 
 children, and maid-servants in plenty, but the neat 
 little Bena, in her blue dress and pink neckerchief, 
 was nowhere to be seen; so the good woman drew 
 herself back with the wise determination, that since 
 there was nobody at home to do anything for her, 
 she must do all for herself; therefore, requesting her 
 visiter, who rose to depart, with warm congratulations 
 on her lips, to send in from the baker, as she went 
 by, a fresh supply of white and brown bread, and still 
 farther, to speed a message from the said baker's to 
 Bena, with orders for her quick return, she gave 
 herself up to the preparation of a hasty, but by nc 
 means a scanty supper.
 
 FIRST GLIMPSES. 25 
 
 Good Mrs. Hoffmann! she might have been seen 
 enveloped in a large apron, busied in her little kitchen, 
 whose stove she speedily set alight, amid a variety of 
 odd, little, old-fashioned, three-legged pots, and the 
 most grotesque earthen pipkins and p»,ns, preparing 
 those particular dishes which she knew her son most 
 enjoyed, and which, in her German housewifely 
 knowledge, she thought best suited to the occasion; 
 thinking, every now and then, with a self-reproving 
 mind, that perhaps she had dismissed poor Mrs. Von 
 Holzhauser with very little ceremony, but that she 
 must be excused for the occasion's sake, and also that 
 ample amends shoifld be made to her before long. 
 
 Whilst the kind-hearted German mother is, there- 
 fore, busied in her affectionate cares up in the third 
 story, let us descend one story lower, and make the 
 acquaintance of the English mother and daughter, of 
 whom our poor singing-mistress has already spoken. 
 We must see them, for they will be no inconsiderable 
 actors in this our little storv. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 FIRST GLIMPSES. 
 
 It was, as we have said, a fine balmy sunny evening, 
 at the beginning of June — one of the loveliest evenings 
 of an unusually lovely season. The varied tints of 
 the vernal green had not yet sobered down into the 
 monotonous hue of the later summer. The dark 
 green pine woods yet shone out conspicuously above 
 the clear green of the vineyards, and the delicate 
 green of the' birches. The Neckar, the loveliest of 
 rivers, went flowing on, making low music over its 
 waves, and, amid its half-sunken rocks, looking itself 
 like liquid emerald. The noble ruins of the castle 
 3
 
 26 FIRST GLIMPSES. 
 
 were tinted with the golden light of the declining sun, 
 and that sun itself was flooding the whole plain with 
 a dazzling glory, glittering upon the winding course 
 of the noble Rhine, and making the sweeping outline 
 of the distant Hardt mountains distinctly visible. 
 
 To have seen that evening, in the little city and 
 its immediate environs, the crowds of people who 
 were leisurely passing along in all directions, it might 
 have been supposed that all its inhabitants, moved by 
 one impulse, were abroad; but the sound of music, 
 which issued from many an open casement, or from 
 behind the closed Venetian shutters of many a window 
 upon which the sun yet shone, told that still some 
 remained at home, and that, probably, youth and even 
 beauty might be found within four walls, even on an 
 evening like this. Such was the case, as many a one 
 that evening passed the house of which the English 
 lady and daughter were inmates. Their rooms, of 
 course — they being English — were on the second or 
 principal floor. Their sitting-room opened into a 
 balcony, into which, within the last few weeks, a 
 quantity of well-grown oleanders, roses, and myrtles, 
 had been placed, giving an air of taste and elegance 
 both to within and without. The windows were 
 diaperied and curtained with white muslin, the case- 
 ments were thrown wide, and the passer-by, if he 
 were not arrested for a second or two, at least relaxed 
 in his speed as he went by, to listen to a voice of 
 unusual power and sweetness, which was heard within 
 singing, to the accompaniment of a harp, some of the 
 most popular German songs. 
 
 " It is the young Englanderin," said the passers 
 by ; " she and her mother have been here a few 
 weeks; she is very handsome." 
 
 " So ! " exclaimed the other German — man or 
 woman, whichever it might be — hoping that the same
 
 FIRST GLIMPSES. 27 
 
 rich voice and sweet music might thus greet them in 
 the words of their favourite songs, as they returned. 
 Within this airy and pleasant room, which withal 
 had an airiness and pleasantness very un-English in 
 its character, sate the two ladies, who could not for 
 half a second have been mistaken for anything but 
 English, although the younger had been singing Ger- 
 man songs for the last hour, and the elder had made 
 all the passing observations during that time in French. 
 These two were a Mrs. Palmer and her daughter 
 Caroline, or, as she was mostly called by her mother, 
 Lina. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, a middle-aged, slenderly-formed lady, 
 was reclining still on the sofa, still supported by 
 cushions, and still enveloped in large shawls, as when 
 Mrs. Von Holzhauser had seen her. She had the air 
 of one suffering between indolence and indisposition. 
 An open letter was in her hand, at which she glanced 
 from time to time, although she knew very perfectly 
 every word it contained. 
 
 " Well, love," said she to her daughter, " I think 
 you have practised enough for once. I am sorry to 
 keep you in on such a fine evening, but, spite of this 
 agreeable letter, I am not able to walk to-night." 
 
 " You are not worse, I hope, dear mother," said 
 Caroline. 
 
 " So love, no," replied she, •' but the letter excited 
 me, and I always suffer from excitement." 
 
 M But they are really coming now," said her 
 daughter; *' and, as it is all so comfortably arranged 
 about the rooms, there need be no more vexation 
 about it. Seven rooms all upon this floor, and three 
 of them so handsome — they must be satisfied; and, 
 even if they are expensive, that matters nothing." 
 
 " Certainly not," replied the mother, turning again 
 to the letter, " the Wilkinsons never think of mono/
 
 28 FIRST GLIMPSES. 
 
 tnese are her own words, ' We must have from seven 
 to ten rooms' — now, there are seven rooms here, and 
 very good sized too — ' the style and rent of which we 
 leave entirely to you. You know, however, what we 
 have always been used to. Mr. W. cannot bear a 
 low room, and I love one in which my friends can be 
 seen to advantage.'" 
 
 " I can fancy I hear Mrs. Wilkinson saying that," 
 said Caroline, interrupting her mother, and smiling. 
 
 "'This is of more importance,'" continued Mrs. 
 Palmer, still reading from the letter, " ' than the value 
 of a few pounds. A few hundreds more or less make 
 but little difference at the year's end.' She always 
 was so generous !" exclaimed Mrs. Palmer, with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " The truth is, mamma," said Caroline, laughing, 
 " she never knew the want of money." 
 
 " ' But,' " continued the mother, reading again from 
 the letter, " ' one thing is indispensable — our lodgings 
 must be near yours. I wish you to be with us every 
 day, and all day long. We are tired of the gaieties 
 of this place, and we want to ruralize in good com- 
 pany. Arthur Burnett, as I think I told you in my 
 last, joins us in Switzerland, so that he will be with 
 us during our entire stay in Germany, and will make 
 us much better worth entertaining while with you. 
 I hear great things of Caroline's beauty. Yo#must 
 take care that, her complexion is not ruined by the 
 horrid German ,stoves. A German winter, in fact, is 
 the destruction of female beauty.' I wonder whether 
 that is true," said Mrs. Palmer, abruptly laying down 
 • the letter, and raising herself on hercushion — "it is 
 a shocking thing if it be ; and, now I think of it, it 
 may be so, for one never sees a handsome woman of 
 thirty in Germany, while in England, on the con- 
 trary, women improve every year, often till they are
 
 FIRST GLIMPSES. 29 
 
 forty — at least if they grow stout at that age. • I 
 shall begin to hate Germany!" 
 
 " Well, at all events, dear mother," said her 
 daughter, " it is not -winter now, and I will endea- 
 vour, I promise you, to look my very best when the 
 Wilkinsons are here, if that will only keep you in 
 good humour with Germany." 
 
 " O yes, love," replied the mother; " so that yots 
 really do not suffer by these terrible stoves, I am 
 satisfied. Germany suits me, in many respects, better 
 than England; and if we can remain in this place, 
 which is moderately cheap, and contrive to have a 
 little gaiety while the Wilkinsons are here, which I 
 am sure we may, for they love it dearly, never think 
 of expense, but do everything so nobly ! and if you 
 can only go on with your music here, why, then, I 
 say Germany suits me infinitely better than England. 
 In England we could make no figure with our income ; 
 and as the Wilkinsons are so much on the continent, 
 that is another reason; and one must confess that we 
 have everywhere associated with the most distin- 
 guished English. You have been always very for- 
 tunate. You remember all the kindness of Sir James 
 and Lady Ashburn, and how gay we might have been 
 all the time at Baden; and all that cost no more 
 than a handsome dress, which is no more than one 
 owes to one's self. No, dear girl, you need not fear 
 my being dissatisfied with Germany ; all I want is to 
 economize for the next six months. I care nothing 
 for these middling people : and then wc will go for the 
 next twelve, at all events for the winter, to Dresden 
 or Vienna." 
 
 " And perhaps," suggested Caroline, " we can per- 
 suade the Wilkinsons to go there too." 
 
 " Let me see," said her mother, turning again to 
 the letter; "what do they say about this rich Mr 
 Burnett ?"
 
 30 FIRST GLIMPSES. 
 
 " That he joins them in Switzerland," said the 
 daughter, to whom the letter had already heen twice 
 read, " and that he will help to entertain us all here." 
 
 " That he will remain with them during their entire 
 stay in Germany," said the mother ; " if, therefore, 
 ■we," continued she, " find him as agreeable as he 
 ought to be with his good income, I give you leave 
 to use all your influence to persuade them to pass the 
 winter where we do — or rather," said .she, speaking 
 out the real truth, " we will be guided in our futuie 
 movements by theirs." 
 
 Tea was now brought in by their rosy-faced, stout, 
 German maid; for, although Mrs. Palmer wished, 
 unquestionably, to pass for an Englishwoman of 
 some consideration, and as yet held in contempt the 
 widow Hoffmann, whose rooms, in the third floor, 
 were directly over her head, she also kept no more 
 than one servant, and that one not a smart-dressed, 
 capped and bonnetted, and expensive English ser- 
 vant, but a hard-working, strong-built, and hard- 
 handed German girl, who submitted to be scolded by 
 her mistress in bad German, on consideration of six 
 pounds a year wages. As to the dinners which Mrs. 
 Palmer and her daughter eat, it must not be supposed 
 for a moment that they satisfied themselves with thin 
 soup, lean beef and sour krout, and noodles, 01 
 dumplings of half a dozen different kinds — in the pre- 
 paring of which consisted the^sole cooking skill of 
 Gretchen, their maid; no, the ladies were duly and 
 daily supplied with the very best which the best 
 table d'hote of the place afforded. " This," said Mrs. 
 Palmer, many a time, " reconciles me to Germany; 
 how otherwise could an English lady exist here ? 
 Their common dishes are an abomination to me : the 
 Germans want refinement, everybody must confess ; 
 think only of their undisguised, barbarous names for
 
 FIRST GLIMPSES. 31 
 
 things — for the very meat which one eats— to talk 
 of eating Jteshf No, indeed, unless I could have 
 French or English cooking I must leave Germany !" 
 Gretchen, therefore, found, after all, her place not 
 to he despised. She, like every German girl, was 
 skilled in plaiting and arranging the hair, and this 
 was the sole duty she Vad to perform for her young 
 mistress, " die Fraulein Lina," for whose heauty and 
 excellent German she had the highest admiration ; 
 ana many and many were the five minutes which she 
 and the little Bena, from the third floor, gossiped 
 together over the goings on of the two families, anil 
 in comparing the respective particulars in which Eng- 
 lish and German ladies resembled and differed from 
 each other. But, as we said before, tea being brought 
 in, Caroline sat down to the tea-table, which" stood 
 before the sofa on which her mother reclined. 
 
 " And now, Lina, dear," her mother began — whose 
 thoughts had all this time been busied on important 
 matters of economy and display — " you must wear 
 your older dresses, for the present; at least, I mean 
 till the Wilkinsons come, which will not be long ; 
 and keep your new Paris bonnet till then ; you will 
 go out a great deal in the carriage with Mrs. Wilkin- 
 son, and you must be well dressed. I am glad we 
 got these singing lessons so cheap — and really how 
 charmingly she sings !" 
 
 " Poor lady !" said Caroline, with a sigh; " I know 
 not what it was, but there was something to me quite 
 affecting about her." 
 
 " She looks in bad health," said the mother ; " on 
 the stage she would be rouged, and dressed up, and 
 look quite differently : those sort of people always 
 look haggard and miserable." 
 
 " She does not sing in public now," said Caroline , 
 " she has not sung in public for these five-and-twenty 
 vears "
 
 32 FIRST GLIMPSES. 
 
 "My deai child!" remonstrated the mother, "did 
 I not ask her about what we heard of Goethe's 
 admiration of her — and the diamond ring?" 
 
 "Yes," said the daughter, "and did you not 
 observe the painful expression of her countenance? 
 I am sure it is painful for her to remember those 
 times. J was sorry you spoke of it : but what a 
 beautiful voice she has ! I must sing that sweet song 
 from Otello with her to-morrow ! — I never heard a 
 sweeter voice in my life !" 
 
 " Well, love," replied her mother, "I hope you 
 will profit by it. You may have three lessons a week, 
 if you like it, for they are cheap enough — at least till 
 the Wilkinsons come. And I am sure," continued 
 she, after a pause, "we ought to think it a great 
 compliment to us, that the Wilkinsons come here, to 
 a little quiet, stupid place like this, when they might 
 live in any city whatever in Germany, or Italy, or in 
 Paris itself; for money is nothing to them." 
 
 " But," said Caroline, " they are tired, they say, 
 of gaiety, and wish to ruralize ; and I am sure 
 nothing can be more charming for those who would 
 enjoy beautiful scenery, and quiet country excursions, 
 than this lovely neighbourhood ; and the Wilkinsons, 
 you must remember, have never been here: every 
 scene will be new to them. But there is one thing 
 which I must confess astonishes me, how an active, 
 scheming, money-making man, whose head is always 
 occupied by joint-stock banks, and joint-stock min- 
 ing companies, should think not merely of coming to 
 a place like this, but of stopping here six whole 
 months !" 
 
 " 1 dare say he will not be here all the time," said 
 the mother; " he is here, and there, and everywhere, 
 in no time. Don't you remember his travelling post 
 from Rome at a minute's warning, and again, only
 
 FIRST GLIMPSES. 33 
 
 this very "spring, from Florence ? and now, you see, 
 he is with them again ; and yet I should not at all 
 wonder if urgent business do not carry him off to 
 England before they get here." 
 
 " And then," said Caroline, " their coming here 
 will be again deferred." 
 
 41 Oh, no ! I should think not," returned her 
 mother; " Mr. Burnett joins them in Switzerland ; and 
 it is my opinion that this time they will really come." 
 
 " At all events, the rooms are ready for them," said 
 the daughter. 
 
 " But, dear me ! what carriage is that that has this 
 moment stopped ?" exclaimed the mother ; " surely 
 it cannot be they; look out Lina, dear." 
 
 She rose to the window, and, quietly closing the 
 easement, that her observation might be less obvious 
 from without, replied, turning quietly again from the 
 window, " Oh, no, certainly ! only some students — 
 three young men ; two of them I met on the stairs 
 the other day; they look perfectly wild — perfectly 
 overflowing with animal spirits, and are giving a most 
 cordial cheer to somebody at the window above;" 
 and, feeling hei*self liable to observation, she withdrew 
 quite from the window, and sat down again by the 
 tea-table. 
 
 " Blesf me, what a noisy set !" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Palmer, as she heard the three mount up the general 
 staircase, two steps at a time, and, with loud laughter 
 and merry voices, pass the very door of the room 
 where she and her daughter were sitting. Up stairs 
 went the six noisy feet, and into the very room over 
 Mrs. Palmer's head. The room in which she was 
 sitting was a lofty one, and the house was well built; 
 but the entrance of Kait Hoffmann and his two friends 
 into the widow's uncarpetted room, made itself dis- 
 tinctly audible to those who were below.
 
 34 FIRST GLIMI J SES. 
 
 ' " Surely students do not lodge in this house !" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Palmer, " for that is what neither I 
 nor Mrs. Wilkinson could endure!" 
 
 " No," said Caroline, " it is only the son of a Mrs. 
 Hoffmann, who lives on the third floor, returned from 
 his examination. Gretchen, who dearly loves to tell 
 all the news, told me to-day, while dressing my hair, 
 that he was coming in a day or two. According to her 
 account he is wonderfully handsome, and so clever, and 
 excellent, that I have a vast curiosity about him." 
 
 " They are a sad noisy set," remarked the mother, 
 as again sounds, by no means gentle, were heard 
 above. " One might as well have the old woman 
 spinning overhead, like poor Mrs. Barrow, at Miin- 
 chen, as all this riot." 
 
 " By the bye," said Caroline laughing, " Gretchen 
 says a great deal about Mrs. Hoffmann's spinning ; 
 she spins all winter, and knits all summer." 
 
 " Again !" exclaimed Mrs. Palmer, who was getting 
 very nervous. "I never heard such a disturbance; 
 what in the world are they doing ?" 
 
 Cai'oline laughed aloud. " They are all drawing 
 their chairs to the table ; one hears everything so 
 plainly on the bare floor. I am sure they are happier 
 than common mortals to-night ! The mother is a 
 widow; she and I always exchange greetings on the 
 staircase ; she is a thorough German, though, and this 
 son, Gretchen says, is everything that a widow's son 
 ought to be. I cannot help being interested in his 
 arrival. Don't you remember that sweet poem of 
 Chamisso's ?" and she repeated, in the original Ger- 
 man, what we will give in English. 
 
 " See, father, see ! — a letter ! The student days are done ; 
 They have created doctor, with high applause, thy son ! 
 By the next post, so writes he, he will be here to dines 
 Fetoh, mother, from the cellar, the latest flask of wine ! "
 
 FIRST GMMTSES. .55 
 
 " And now he is come," said she, with heightened 
 colour, and glistening eyes ; " and how gladly would I 
 sit down with that proud and happy mother, up stairs, 
 even to a supper of sliced sausage, brown bread, and 
 potato salad, could I only witness the pleasure beam- 
 ing in their faces, and which, after all, is but a faint 
 image of the pleasure of their hearts !" 
 
 " What a silly girl you are !" said the mother, 
 smiling nevertheless; for the earnestness and sincerity 
 with which her daughter spoke made her look really 
 beautiful. "But I assure you, that" however enthu- 
 siastic you may be about the poetry of German life, 
 as you call it, brown bread, sliced sausage, and 
 potato salad, would be very unpalatable to you. 
 The want of refinement in German manners makes 
 them perfectly repulsive to me. No English gentle- 
 woman, I am convinced, could ever be reconciled to 
 the habits of German women — say nothing of German 
 men." 
 
 " I am not quite sure, dearest mamma," said Caro- 
 line, " whether, supposing it possible for one to 
 become reconciled to those little peculiarities, one 
 should not find some real refinement of feeling — more 
 genuine, unwearying, unselfish kindness of heart 
 among the Germans, than among the English of the 
 corresponding class in society." 
 
 "How in the world can you make that out?" 
 asked the mother. 
 
 " I think," said she — " but then I do not pretend to 
 any great experience in life — that the English with 
 limited incomes, those at least who have an appear- 
 ance to keep up in the world, have too much necessity 
 to care for themselves, to have much thought and 
 feeling to expend on others, excepting inasmuch as 
 they think and care for what others say and think 
 about them. For instance now, Madame Von Yohn-
 
 36 FIRST GLIMPSES. 
 
 ing, in Stuttgart, if she had heen an English lady, 
 could she have afforded, out of her small, miserably 
 small income, to expend all that world of love and 
 benevolence which lay in her heart, upon everybody 
 about her? She would have had too much need to 
 have spent all her love upon herself; she would have 
 had not a single florin to spare from caps and gowns, 
 for all those little elegant presents she bestowed upon 
 all her friends !" 
 
 " But then," replied Mrs. Palmer, " only think of 
 her — a woman noble by birth, noble too by marriage, 
 living as she did! spinning and knitting, too, ever- 
 lastingly! wearing herself those coarse, black knitted 
 stockings ! Oh, it is all very well, Lina, in old- 
 fashioned, unrefined Germany, but such things would 
 not do in England !" 
 
 " Certainly they would not," replied she ; " but I 
 am almost inclined to think, that this very simplicity 
 of life, so long as it excludes none of the higher attri- 
 butes and accomplishments of mind — and, was not 
 Madame Von Vohning highly accomplished, and her 
 mind of a very Iw'gh order too? — superior to all the 
 artificialness of social life in England." 
 
 " You are talking about what you do not under- 
 stand," said her mother; " you were a mere school- 
 girl when we left England ; you have been in Ger- 
 many fourteen months, and yet you draw comparisons 
 and pass judgments just as if you had the experience 
 of a life. Now let me ask you a simple question. 
 Do you think young men of education in England 
 would go rioting up stairs as those three did just now? 
 or would drag their chairs along an uncarpetted room 
 as they are at this moment doing, to the disturbance 
 of a whole house? — that is not so very unselfish, I 
 think! Would educated young Englishmen do so?" 
 
 " Perhaps not, dear mother," said she ; " but then
 
 FIRST GLIMPSES. 37 
 
 you must take into account that these very young men, 
 if they were English, although they might enter a house 
 with much more propriety, and lift a chair quietly across 
 a room, especially if it were unearpetted, would pro- 
 bably at the same time have so little reverence or 
 respect for their mother as not to take supper with her 
 at all, and most certainly not one so humble and un- 
 expensive as a poor German widow would be able to 
 provide. Do you remember young Venables, and his 
 Westminster and Cambridge life ? — and yet every bodv 
 said what a fine gentleman he was!" 
 
 " Yes, but," replied Mrs. Palmer, " he was a tho- 
 roughly dissipated, heartless young man!" 
 
 M Poor Mrs. Venables!" said Caroline, " and she 
 sunk her very annuity to save him from debt and 
 disgrace, and yet he hardly showed her common gra- 
 titude!" 
 
 " He is an extreme case," said her mother, " quite 
 an extreme case ; he was always a good-for-nothing 
 youth. I remember him quite a boy, and as a boy he 
 was spoiled by his poor mother : if his father had lived 
 he would probably have been very different. He was 
 not of a disposition to succeed under a woman's train- 
 ing. Yours is a very extreme case, Lina." 
 
 " It may be so," replied Caroline. " I suppose there 
 may be such as he in Germany ; but still I cannot help 
 fancying, so long as a handsome, wonderfully accom- 
 plished young man — such, for instance, as that young 
 Eichholz whostudiedat Bonn — will consent, at one-and- 
 twenty, to wear a coat which has been turned, because 
 his parents were not rich, and he had many brothers 
 and sisters who also had to be clothed and provided 
 for, that there must be more social virtue, more reaj 
 stamina for unselfish character here, than with us, where 
 so much is sacrificed to show." 
 
 " Nonsense! child," returned her mother; "you take 
 4
 
 38 FIRST GLIMPSES. 
 
 up such foolish theories ! How is it possible 
 that you can form any decided judgment on either 
 side?" 
 
 " I am very much of a chameleon, dear mamma," 
 said Caroline; " I take my colouring from the influ- 
 ences that surroundme. I remember when I first came 
 to Germany, feeling the utmost disgust to hundreds of 
 things which I am now reconciled to. I was then as 
 proudly patriotic as you, and should have thought young 
 Eichholz and his old coat ridiculous ; but, someway, one 
 changes in feeling and opinion, one knows not how. 
 Excellent Madame Von Vohning, with all her quiet, 
 sterling virtues, influenced me more than any person I 
 ever knew; she seemed the personification of every 
 social virtue — so simple, so true-hearted, so refined; she 
 made even economy fascinating; and, for me to love 
 economy, who have had more grave lectures from you 
 on extravagance than on anv other subject, is, I think, 
 something gained." 
 
 " Very true, my dear," replied her mother ; " and this 
 I will say, that you have been much more thoughtful,, 
 in many ways, of late ; but I beseech of you not to adopt 
 any extreme opinions. However, this I can tell you, 
 England is the only true and fitting home for a gen- 
 tlewoman ; and I shall not be pleased with your adopting 
 any prejudices whatever. I grant, that nothing is more 
 disgusting than that John-Bullish spirit which asserts 
 all foreigners to be fools : they are not so : but as to 
 my comparison between German and English social 
 life and virtue, the case is this — England is the rich 
 family, Germany the poor one; the advantage that 
 the German has is, that he is contented with his 
 poverty, and makes the best of it — that is his bless- 
 ing, his philosophy, or what you will. The English, 
 as a nation, may live freely and spend freely ; the 
 same sacrifices, the same self-denial is not required
 
 FIRST GLIMPSES. 39 
 
 from them : in them it would he parsimony. Li- 
 berality and magnificence are their virtues! Oh, they 
 are a fine people, the English ! and I am proud to 
 think that the Wilkinsons are as good a specimen of the 
 nation as one would wish to see out of the four seas ! 
 I am proud of my nation, Lina!" added Mrs. Palmer, 
 feeling very patriotic, " and so ought you to be ! and 
 I shall be very much disappointed, and it will be 
 very much against my wishes, if you form any con- 
 nexions but with your own country ! I am English 
 in all my feelings and prepossessions — so was your 
 father : it was his boast that there was not a drop of 
 foreign blood in his veins: he was of a good old 
 Saxon stock, and I am sure he would have been as 
 much distressed as I should be, that you should con- 
 nect yourself with foreigners." 
 
 11 Dearest mamma!" remonstrated Caroline, " you 
 are indeed jumping to a veiy bold aonclusion. But 
 see, what a splendid sunset!" said she, rising from 
 the tea-table; " will you not stand a few moments in 
 the balcony? the air is so pleasant, and the plants 
 make such a perfect screen from below." 
 
 Mrs. Palmer declined, saying that she would write 
 the answer to Mrs. Wilkinson, now that all was so 
 agreeably settled, that the letter might leave by the 
 morning's post. Caroline drew on her gloves, and, 
 opening her small parasol, took her stand among the 
 flowers in the balcony. 
 
 The widow Hoffmann's three guests had by this time 
 finished their evening meal, and, ir. a most German- 
 like fashion, Karl's two friends leaned out from the 
 open casements, enjoying the freshness of the sunset 
 air, whilst Karl, seated by his mother on the sofa, 
 related to her all the details of the long and arduous 
 examination, which had, however, now terminated so 
 happily ; and hecause it had terminated happily, both 
 he and she could talk over its anxieties, and he could
 
 40 FIRST GLIMPSta. 
 
 tell her all the nervous excitement through which he 
 had passed; the days of mental exertion which left 
 him for some time without appetite, and without the 
 power of sleep; and yet how his acquired knowledge, 
 and the internal force of his own mind, had borne 
 him up above all trial and all difficulty, and he had 
 now returned to her with honour and applause, and 
 with every chance of success in life bright before him. 
 
 " Thank God!" exclaimed the widow, wiping her 
 eyes, and kissing her son's forehead. 
 
 So sat they at the very moment when Caroline rose 
 up from the tea-lable, and invited her mother to look 
 out on the sunset; but soon after she had taken her 
 stand alone in the balcony, hidden almost by the tall 
 oleanders and myrtles, from the passers-by below, 
 Karl Hoffmann also had joined his friends at the 
 window. The windows of his mother's room looked 
 directly down on the balcony, and the three young 
 men were presently aware of the presence of the " fair 
 Englanderin," who, quite unconscious of the eyes 
 which were upon her, stood under the slanting screen 
 of her parasol, thinking over the conversation she 
 had just had with her mother, and feeling not at all 
 disposed to alter her opinions. Much longer, per- 
 haps, she might have pursued the subject, had not 
 she been made aware of those above her, by three 
 German words spoken by a deep, manly voice, and 
 which evidently were applied to herself. 
 
 "A beautiful head!" said the speaker, presuming, 
 we may suppose, that the fair English maiden did 
 not understand the language. Caroline, without even 
 glancing upward, withdrew from the balcony, and, 
 standing still at the open window, enjoyed, for a full 
 half hour, the charm and freshness of the evening. 
 She heard nothing more spoken from the window 
 above, but, from some cause or other, she did not 
 forget the little compliment, but actually, the first
 
 FIRST GLIMPSES. 41 
 
 time she passed the mirror, glanced in it to see if the 
 speaker had shown good taste in his observation. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Palmer! if she had known that the 
 foolish Caroline listened even now with greater in- 
 terest to the bustling feet above stairs — which were 
 heard in no silent motion, but which she was too 
 much occupied by her letter-writing then to notice — 
 she would indeed have grown angry, more especially 
 as towards ten o'clock, when her letter was finished, 
 they descended the echoing staircase in what she 
 pronounced a most tumultuous and ungentleman-like 
 manner. But had she really known that her daughter 
 rose to the window to see if she could then discover, 
 through the summer twilight, the forms of the depart- 
 ing young men — noisy, smoking Germans! she would 
 have been ready to give up her lodgings at once, 
 although she had just engaged seven rooms under the 
 same roof, for her dear English friends the Wilkinsons ! 
 
 Caroline saw that only two left the house ; and from 
 this she concluded that the widow Hoffmann's son 
 lived with his mother; and of this she was presently 
 after convinced, by hearing a firm, manly step pacing 
 the .chamber above, and soon after, the sound of a 
 piano accompanying the rich voice of a very fine 
 singer. Karl Hoffmann was, perhaps, singing to his 
 mother's playing, or, what was much more likely, 
 was accompanying himself. He was, indeed, a good 
 musician : she knew the air so well, she herself sang 
 and played often ; she thought of young Venables, 
 and his heart-broken mother ; she thought of her own 
 English cousins ; and then she thought of that ex- 
 cellent young Eichholz of Bonn, who condescended 
 to wear a coat which had been turned : and, while 
 she kissed her mother with deep affection that night, 
 in retiring to rest, she thought that she should hardly 
 become a con vert to her prejudices against the Germans*
 
 42 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 
 
 Days passed on, and weeks ; and, though Mrs. Palme* 
 received duly an answer to her letter fi^om Mrs. 
 Wilkinson, dated Miinchen, to which city they now, 
 accompanied by the rich Mr. Burnett, had advanced 
 on their route from Italy, through Switzerland, avow- 
 ing still " their impatience to leave gaiety and dissipa- 
 tion, and settle down in rural quiet amid the far- 
 famed beauties of Heidelberg," still they came not. 
 Mrs. Palmer, therefore, grew very nervous on the 
 subject, and, to her daughter's alarm, seemed threat- 
 ened by one of those low, nervous fevers, from which 
 she had already suffered so much. 
 
 It was with painful anxiety that Caroline awaited, 
 every returning day, the coming in of letters. At 
 length a second letter came. Mr. Wilkinson had 
 been summoned, on most urgent and important busi- 
 ness, to Paris ; he could not return to them for many 
 weeks, as, probably, he must visit Petersburg and 
 Vienna — his affairs were so extensive, so weighty, said 
 his wife ; and really when, as one might say, the fate 
 almost of empires depended on a stroke of his pen, it- 
 was wonderful that he could spare any time for 
 pleasure-taking, especially in so quiet a place as 
 Heidelburg. She feared after all, that perhaps he might 
 not be able to return to them, and that, perhaps, she 
 must resign so great an indulgence as seeing her dear 
 friends in Heidelberg, as, if Mr. W. found it necessary 
 to go direct to Vienna, she should prefer joining him 
 there; but, at all events, she should wait for letters 
 from him from Paris, and be guided by them. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Palmer grew a great deal worse on read- 
 ing this epistle. " Mr. Wilkinson," said she, " is
 
 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 43 
 
 uritjucestionably a great man, and has wonderfully 
 extensive concerns of a money kind. He is a great 
 banker, or something of the kind, and advances money, 
 like the Rothschilds, to all the courts of Europe 
 almost; hut then, clear Mrs. Wilkinson ought not to 
 let me engage expensive lodgings for them, the rent 
 of which is now going on. Surely they will not let 
 me he responsible for the rent!" 
 
 " Certainly not," said her daughter. 
 
 " But I assure you, dear Lina," replied Mrs. 
 Palmer, our landlord considers me responsible; and 
 his manners were very unpleasant to me the other 
 day. He did not like, he said, the rooms remaining 
 unoccupied so long; that seven applicants had been 
 about them ; and, altogether, I felt as if he wanted his 
 money. I told him he was quite sure of his rent; 
 and. perhaps, after all, it was only fancy. But I do 
 not like the man ; and it will be very unpleasant to 
 have to pay a quarter's rent for those great rooms out 
 of my own pocket, if not a whole half year's — very 
 unpleasant, indeed! And Mrs. Wilkinson — I must 
 say it — seems to show very little consideration for us, 
 through the whole affair. Not one word does she 
 say now about the rent!" 
 
 It was in vain that Caroline assured her mother, 
 that their friends understood these things, and would 
 not allow them to be sufferers. Poor Mrs. Palmer 
 was nervous and out of humour, and full of suspi- 
 cions ; and, now Jhat her mind was wrought up to it, 
 she confessed to her daughter many little peculiarities 
 in dear Mrs. Wilkinson, which proved how utterly 
 thoughtless she was about money-matters. She was 
 always used to so much herself, that she could not 
 conceive other people's being short of it; and she 
 quite believed, that if they didnotcome to Heidelberg, 
 they never would think again about the lodgings,
 
 44 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 
 
 though they had heen engaged by their orders; and, 
 as to reminding them of it, it was out of the question. 
 She had already, received handsome presents both 
 from Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson — so had her daughtei 
 — and therefore they must stand to the responsibility, 
 vexatious as it was. 
 
 The more Mrs. Palmer thought on the subject, the 
 more nervous and irritable she became, till at length 
 she appeared seriously indisposed. 
 
 " Do call in a physician for your mother," pleaded 
 the poor singing-mistress, who now, having given 
 Caroline three lessons a-week for several weeks, had 
 become sufficiently familiar to venture on giving 
 advice. " Oh, how I wish the Herr Dr. Hoffmann 
 could see your mamma ! Although he has only just 
 taken his degree, he is so clever!" And then the good 
 lady told over again the cases in which Karl's skill, 
 even before he had arrived at the dignity of a doctor's 
 degree, had wrought such miraculous cures. 
 
 Caroline sighed, and said that if her mother would 
 but consent, a physician should be sent for ; but that 
 it must not be one young, and without experience — 
 it must be the first physician of the place. 
 
 It was long, however — although Mrs. Palmer was 
 decidedly a nervous patient — before she would consent 
 to a physician being called in, and that only through 
 the interference of a third, and very unlooked for party. 
 
 Madame Von Holzhiiuser had, as we have said, 
 given now some week's lessons to Caroline, and had 
 in the meantime become greatly interested in her. 
 She had so much apparent simplicity of character, 
 seemed so natural and amiable, sung so sweetly, and 
 had such fine talents for music, and withall so 
 strong, or rather so willing, an admiration for the 
 German character, and listened with such pleased 
 curiosity to all the good lady's praise of her friends
 
 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 45 
 
 in the third story, that she declared to them, that there 
 never was an English girl so worthy to have been, 
 born a German as Caroline Palmer. 
 
 The English lady and her daughter, as yet, had no 
 acquaintance in the city; they were, in fact, scarcely 
 known in it; for Mrs. Palmer, ever since she had 
 had heard of the Wilkinsons' intentions to join them, 
 reserved all her going abroad for their carriage, or in 
 company with people of so much consequence as they. 
 Caroline, too, since her mother's indisposition, had 
 hardly left her room, so that, excepting to those who 
 inhabited the same house — and they were but few — the 
 young English girl was comparatively unknown. She 
 could not help feeling her situation melancholy and 
 forlorn; she thought, though she did not venture to 
 say it to her mother, that Mrs. Wilkinson's conduct^ 
 was heartless, or, to say the least, inconsiderate ; and 
 she did not wonder at her anxiety. How often did 
 she wish to act on Mrs. Von Holzhauser's suggestion, 
 and ask advice and consolation, or at least the friendly 
 notice, of the warm-hearted German widow in the 
 third story. Her eyes filled with tears when she told 
 her mother how kindly Mrs. Hoffmann had stopped 
 her on the stairs, to inquire after her health. 
 
 " I am sure," said she, " it would do you good to 
 see her. I wish she would bring her knitting, and 
 sit with us." 
 
 Mrs. Palmer grew almost angry with her daughter; 
 reproached and sighed over her dilatory, inconsiderate 
 friend ; reckoned up, for the fiftieth time, how much it 
 must deduct from their half-year's income, if they 
 had all this expensive suite of apartments to pay for; 
 rang for the maid, to inquire if the postman had been 
 to the house, only to learn that he had, but had 
 brought no letter either for her or for her daughter; 
 and then, half with vexation, and half from bodily
 
 46 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 
 
 indisposition, had a fit of crying, which left her with 
 violent headache and low spirits all the rest of the day. 
 
 However much Caroline Palmer might at this 
 time desire the friendly accpiaintance of the widow 
 Hoffmann, they, on their part, also felt towards her 
 the most friendly sentiment. Karl, for instance, 
 seldom went to the window without glancing 
 down into the balcony to see if the same beau- 
 tiful head, whose dark, glossy hair, he knew so 
 well, was there among the flowers; and many a time 
 he listened to her voice, as it rose to his ear in the 
 melody often of his own favourite songs, through the 
 open windows of the two floors. Mrs. Hoffmann, how- 
 ever, had a barrier to overleap before she could admit 
 any active interest for the young stranger, and that was 
 the fact of her being English. Many an argument was 
 begun and left unfinished on national character and 
 national prejudices ; and, so determined was the good 
 German mother against all English people whatsoever,, 
 that, had there not been another plea than that of mere 
 beauty and general amiability — an appeal to her 
 sympathy — Caroline might have lived seven years 
 under the same roof, without having been vouchsafed 
 even one word. But no sooner was the kind-hearted 
 widow informed that the mother of the young foreigner 
 was ill — was suffering from a nervous attack — a fret- 
 ful, irritable invalid, and that as yet they had no 
 friend in the city to whom the poor girl could look 
 for comfort or assistance — that they had not even a 
 physician — she forgot, at once, that she was English 
 ■ — forgot, in short, that she was other than one of the 
 great Christian family, of which all men are brothers, 
 whose duty it is to love one another; and she made 
 up her mind to waive all ceremony, and introduce 
 herself. 
 
 " I don't mind in this case ; it is a very peculiar
 
 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 47 
 
 one," said she to her friend, the singing-mistress; " I 
 will go down and see if I can be of any service to 
 them. The daughter, you say, speaks German — that 
 is right — for I neither speak French nor English. I 
 like neither one nation nor the other!" said she, with 
 a smile so full of benevolence as almost to contradict 
 her words, which, however, were the genuine senti- 
 ments of her heart. " There need be no further 
 intimacy; but if one can be of any little service 
 while the mother is ill, it is no more than one's duty." 
 
 Accordingly, five minutes after Mrs. Von Holz- 
 hauser was gone, Mrs. Hoffmann put on her better 
 gown and her visiting cap, and descended the stairs, 
 pausing, however, a full half minute before she 
 knocked at her fellow-inmate's door, to consider 
 with herself whether she should not afterwards repent 
 of what she was doing. " It is but a common neigh- 
 bour's duty," said she to herself, recollecting the last 
 Sunday's sermon on the parable of the man who fell 
 among thieves ; so she knocked, and the next moment 
 was received by the young English girl, with such a 
 cordial, grateful welcome, as at once set her at ease, 
 and made her feel that she was indeed a good 
 Samaritan. 
 
 When Karl returned home this evening at near ten 
 o'clock, at the very moment he passed the door of 
 Mrs. Palmer's apartments, it was opened by Caroline, 
 who, with happy smiles, and assurances of gratitude 
 and kindness, was taking leave of his mother. He 
 paused for half a second and bowed ; and his mother, 
 with an instinctive feeling of pride, which evei rose to 
 her heart at sight of him, remarked to Caroline that 
 he was her son. 
 
 " So you have been calling on the invalid lady 
 below," said Karl, as they both entered their sitting- 
 room together. Mrs. Hoffmann believed it necessary,
 
 48 SKETCH KS OF CHARACTER. 
 
 in the first place, to convince her son of the propriety 
 of the visit she had made, taking it for granted that 
 he must have the same scruples to English acquaint- 
 ance as herself; nor did she proceed to give him any 
 details of her call, till he had three times assured her 
 he thought she had done quite right* She then toirl 
 him that the mother really was ill — that is, out of 
 spirits, and frightfully nervous and irritahle; she 
 pitied, she said, the poor girl extremely, who seemed 
 amiahle and modest, and well educated; tl.at she 
 had talked a great deal with them both, and even had 
 persuaded the mother to let a physician be imme- 
 diately sent for; that he had come while she was 
 there ; and that, altogether, she thought her visit had 
 done them good. The physician, she said, had told . 
 her privately, that Mrs. Palmer would soon be better 
 if she would not irritate and excite herself; that he 
 had prescribed going out almost daily in a carriage ; 
 and that, altogether, she was pleased she had been 
 down; although she, for her part, was determined not 
 to begin any intimacy, for she did not admire the 
 mother, certainly; and when these great English 
 friends came, for whom the suite of apartments below 
 had so long been taken, they would, evidently, be 
 altogether too grand for her acquaintance. 
 
 The next morning Caroline made a call on Mrs 
 Hoffmann, not only to thank her for her neighbourly 
 attentions the night before, but also to give her the 
 agreeable intelligence that her mother was much better 
 this morning; which the grateful girl was quite willing 
 to attribute to the cheerful hours she had spent the 
 evening before. 
 
 Day after day went on, and Caroline lost no 
 opportunity of improving an acquaintance so happily 
 begun. Madame Hoffmann seemed to her as a 
 second Madame Von Vohning ; and not a day passed
 
 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 49 
 
 without intercourse of one kind or other. Often she 
 took her work and sat with her ; often Karl would 
 bring a hook and read to her and her mother foi 
 hours. It was a calm and a happy time ! One day 
 Caroline was sitting alone with Mrs. Hoffmann, and 
 they began to speak of the English friends they were 
 expecting, and of whom every inmate in the house 
 had already heard many rumours, although nobody, 
 as yet, could tell anything positive about them. 
 " They are your relations, I suppose," said Mrs. 
 Hoffmann, who, like most other people, had some 
 curiosity even when she was not particularly interested. 
 
 " Not relations," said Caroline, " but very old and 
 dear friends of mamma's — Mrs.' Wilkinson, at least; 
 she and mamma were school-fellows and school- 
 friends nearly thirty years ago, and they have been 
 friends ever since, though it has so happened that 
 they have not frequently met. A very kind inter- 
 course has, however, always been kept up between 
 them ; and, now that there is a prospect of our spend- 
 ing three months at least with them, perhaps more, 
 mamma naturally thinks of it with great pleasure." 
 
 " They come here from Italy," remarked Mrs. 
 Hoffmann. 
 
 " They spent the last winter in Italy," said Caro- 
 line, " and come here by way of Switzerland. The^ 
 are now in Miinchen. The continent is very familiar 
 to them, for they have resided mostly abroad, and 
 mostly in the large cities. Mr. Wilkinson is im- 
 mensely rich, and they have the greatest possible 
 pleasure in spending money — as much, mamma says, 
 as he has in accumulating; and, though he has vast 
 concerns all the world over, I have heard it said that 
 he never made an unfortunate speculation in his life." 
 
 Mrs. Hoffmann replied by that wonderfully ex- 
 pressive German monosyllable, " So !"
 
 50 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 
 
 Caroline thought with herself, that perhaps she 
 had said quite enough of these unknown strangers, 
 whom, it was not to be expected, could be interesting 
 to Mrs. Hoffmann ; but that good lady's curiosity, 
 perhaps, was not quite satisfied, or, perhaps, out of 
 mere courtesy, she renewed the subject, by remarking, 
 " And Mrs. Wilkinson, I suppose, is about your mam- 
 ma's age? And a very agreeable person she must be, 
 from what your mamma has said." , 
 
 " I am sure," replied Caroline, pleased with the 
 apparent interest the other took in their expected 
 friends, " that you will be quite charmed with Mrs. 
 Wilkinson. Mamma thinks her one of the most de- 
 lightful persons she knows. It is three years now 
 since they met. They spent a summer together at 
 Cheltenham. I was not with them. That summer I 
 spent with my godmother in Ireland ; and, strange as 
 it may seem, I have seen her but twice — but how 
 well I remember that twice! Once my nurse-maid 
 dressed for me a very smart lady-doll, which she called 
 Mrs. Wilkinson — for Mrs. Wilkinson's name was 
 quite a household word; it meant whatever was mu- 
 nificent and generous, because, as long as I can 
 remember, she sent me vast quantities of beautiful 
 toys and fine presents. Of this doll 1 knew nothing; 
 so when it was dressed the maid came running to me, 
 tellins; me that Mrs. Wilkinson was in the drawinjj- 
 room, and wanted to see me. I ran in, but when I 
 found only the doll, my disappointment was extreme, 
 and, I am ashamed to say, I actually tore off its 
 clothes, and dashed the doll, which' was of wax, and 
 thus soon spoiled, on the floor. At that very moment, 
 by some strange chance or other, the true Mrs. 
 Wilkinson actually came in, and, poor dear lady, was 
 so pleased and flattered by what had happened, that 
 she gave the maid and me each a guinea, and sent
 
 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 51 
 
 us off in licr carriage, she to buy a new gown, and I 
 a new doll. You will confess that I, a little child, 
 had reason to remember her. The next time I saw 
 her was equally memorable to me. But I fear I 
 I shall weary you," said Caroline ; " it cannot interest 
 you to know anything about so complete a stranger 
 as Mrs. Wilkinson." 
 
 " No; I pray you to go on!" said Mrs. Hoffmann, 
 most kindly, " I am interested — extremely interested, 
 I assure you." 
 
 " The next time, then, that I saw Mrs. Wilkinson,' 
 continued Caroline, " was, as I said, equally me- 
 morable. I, being an only child, was destined to 
 learn all that it was thought needful for me to 
 know, from teachers at home. My godmother, a 
 most old-fashioned lady, who approved of no modern 
 innovations, and who, in her youth, had gone te 
 school, and learned all kinds of needlework, and who 
 knew, by heart, all the Psalms of David, the Collects 
 of the Church of England — to say nothing of the 
 Church of England Catechism — by the time she was 
 twelve years of age, was greatly shocked at the mode of 
 education pursued by mamma, and insisted upon my 
 going to school. Mamma remonstrated; I cried; but, 
 as the godmother was rich, and was expected to endow 
 me with some of her worldly goods, it was thought 
 best and wisest to acquiesce, and to school I was sent. 
 The choice of the school could not have been judi- 
 cious, or perhaps I, by my former mode of education, 
 was unfitted for school. However that might be, I 
 tvas very unhappy. I had always hitherto lived with 
 those older than myself, in an intimacy, and confi- 
 dence, and consideration among them — of the wisdom 
 of which I say nothing — but which certainly had 
 made my childhood a very happy one. At school I 
 was ^t once thrown among girls, many, as I remembej
 
 52 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 
 
 them, very coarse-minded, and all of them full of 
 reckless gaiety, which made me timid, and, ignorant 
 of school-life as I was, the butt of their never-ending 
 ridicule and mischief. The school teachers, who them- 
 selves must have been women of very ordinary minds, 
 and who certainly, and perhaps naturally, estimated 
 a pupil by her showy accomplishments more than by 
 her moral qualities, soon pronounced me both ill- 
 tempered and stupid ; and, as you may easily believe, 
 I was very wretched." 
 
 " I can believe it, my dear young friend," said 
 Mrs. Hoffmann, laying down her knitting, and giving 
 her hand to Caroline, " I can believe it. Grown 
 people often ridicule the sorrows of children; they 
 will not believe that children can have sorrows. God 
 knows how many a young heart aches, and how many 
 a bitter tear young eyes shed in secret! I am no 
 disbeliever in the griefs of children. I believe you 
 were wretched; and, for my part, I never see a school 
 of young ladies, even here, without a sentiment ol 
 commiseration, without my own heart being troubled. 
 I believe that even here many a school-girl is un- 
 happy; and how much more — pardon me for saying 
 it — how much more must it be the case among you, 
 where life is so much more artificial!" 
 
 Caroline's heart felt as if it were knitted to that ol 
 the widow Hoffmann, and, with tears in her eyes, 
 she exclaimed, " I always knew, dear Mrs. Hoffmann, 
 that you and 1 should be friends!" 
 
 Mrs. Hoffmann smiled, gave Caroline her hand, 
 and remarked, " So Mrs. Wilkinson, then, relieved 
 you from this school-bondage?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed she did," replied she; " and I shall 
 always love her on that account. Dear me ! how that 
 melancholy six months lives in my memory ! I had 
 always been used to go out long walks with my
 
 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 53 
 
 toverness; half a day's ramble was so common to me, 
 that it never seemed like an indulgence. The very 
 week after I first went to school, what a rejoicing and 
 exultation there was — for the whole school was to go 
 out a long walk! Not a walk through the town, two 
 and two, beginning with the tall ones and ending 
 with the little ones, all paired like a regiment o! 
 soldiers, and where, because she is nearest to you in 
 height, you allvays chance to walk with some girl you 
 dislike ; but a real ramble into green lanes and 
 flowery meadows, where you might run about, or 
 choose your own companion ; in short, it was a day 
 of liberty. I was the only one that did not jump 
 about for joy : they thought me so odd and so stupid, 
 and I thought them so rude and so silly, to make such 
 a fuss about a walk. Alas ! before that day six 
 months, I had learnt what a source of real joy was a 
 country ramble to a school-girl ; a pleasure which 
 came only twice a year; a peep, as it were, into the 
 world which lay beyond our narrow bounds, and our 
 yet narrower experience ; a change from the irksome 
 sameness of school routine. Good Heaven ! how 
 thankful I used to be if the governesses only changed 
 their seats, or wore a new gown — my mind was so 
 wearied with the monotony of everything about me ; 
 therefore, though in a much quieter way than the 
 others, did I rejoice equally with the wildest, when the 
 day came for our country ramble. Yet, even in the 
 midst of that much-enjoyed indulgence, I went mop- 
 ing alons: in a silent sentimental state — in a melan- 
 choly day-dream — thinking how different a walk twice 
 a-year was, to one taken every day, and dwelling 
 ■with morbid recollection on my pleasant country 
 home, my mother, my governess, even my lessons at 
 home. We were in a woody green lane; the school 
 party were a long way behind, gathering nuts, or
 
 54 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 
 
 making garlands of autumn flowers, when I came 
 suddenly upon a gay pic-nic party which was seated 
 in a wide, green, and shady place. What a charm- 
 ing, yet melancholy spectacle, -was this to my eyes! 
 I too had often gone out with my mother and her 
 friends on such excursions. I knew exactly how one 
 felt when seated on the grass, the horses tied to 
 the trees around, and the gay carriages drawn up 
 behind ; it filled my young imagination with ideas of 
 halting caravans in the desert. I easily converted 
 horses into dromedaries; and the bright-coloured 
 shawls, and the servants in smart liveries, gave a 
 colouring to the picture, which was altogether oriental. 
 How I wished I were one of the children seated 
 there ! nay, even that I was a servant to wait upon 
 them — anything rather th#n a school-girl ! ' I screened 
 myself behind a tree, and looked on for some time, as 
 I thought unobserved; when, all at once, a merry- 
 faced boy, of about my own age, but a great deal 
 stronger, sprang upon me, and, seizing one o*f my 
 hands, attempted to drag me forward. I was ashamed 
 and half frightened, whilst he, laughing, called to his 
 sister to help him, for that I should not go until I 
 had eaten some strawberry cream and biscuits. Straw- 
 berry cream and biscuits! what a sound it was for a 
 school-girl! I began to cry; yes, Mrs. Hoffmann, 
 although I was thirteen years of age, I began to cry ! 
 but whether it was at the idea of my favourite straw- 
 berry cream, or whether for shame, or fear, or envy 
 of those happy people, I know not. By this time, 
 however, all eyes were upon me ; the ladies — several 
 of them at least — rose from the grass and came to- 
 wards me, inquiring with the utmost gentleness 
 whence I came, and who I was; I mentioned my 
 name, when, judge of my surprise at the exclamation 
 of ' Good heavens! Caroline Palmer! my own little
 
 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 53 
 
 pet Lina!' and the next moment I was kissed on 
 forehead, cheek, and lips, by kind, dear Mrs. Wilkin- 
 son. She seemed like an angel from heaven! My 
 tears, which now flowed in torrents, from surprise 
 and excitement, were wiped away by her delicately 
 perfumed and embroidered handkerchief; and the 
 next moment I was seated beside her on cushions 
 which seemed as soft as an eastern divan, and eating 
 strawberry cream! She began almost immediately 
 to speak of my school-life; she said she disapproved of 
 it altogether; that she had written many letters on 
 the subject to my mother; and bade me tell her, was 
 I happy? I opened all my heart; I told her all my 
 troubles, great and small, and all the gay pic-nic party 
 joined in saying that I was an ill-used and much-to- 
 be-pitied child. Oh, how I loved them all!" 
 
 "But," interrupted Mrs. Hoffmann, "where were 
 your school-companions all this time, and your gover- 
 ness? Surely you were sought after, inquired after." 
 
 " Yes, indeed T was," returned Caroline; "scarcely • 
 had I finished my history, and won for myself the 
 sympathy of all my new friends, when a peasant came 
 up and inquired if such a young lady as I had been 
 seen ; and, whilst he was being assured of my safety, 
 the lady of the school herself, looking hot and anxious, 
 ind very angry, came also. I had been missed, but 
 not certainly for some time after I left the school-party. 
 They were then halting at a cottage scarcely a quarter 
 of a mile off, where tea was ready ; but my absence, 
 I am sorry to say, had spoiled their pleasure. Some 
 said that I had run away ; some that I was lost ; and 
 others, that I had drowned myself. A long parley 
 ensued between the mistress of the school and Mrs. 
 Wilkinson. I do not pretend to say what would 
 have been the most proper course to have been pur- 
 sued; the one declared I should return with her to
 
 66 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. 
 
 the school, and thence he dismissed to my mother, as 
 a hopeless delinquent; the other claimed me as the 
 child of her best friend, and declared that I never 
 again should set foot over the school threshold. 
 
 " Mrs. Wilkinson, who never in her life has heen 
 accustomed to fail in her object, of course carried the 
 day triumphant. I went in her beautiful carriage 
 that night to the cottage she had taken for the summer 
 months, ten miles off, in a gay little watering-place. 
 She wrote to my mother that very night. I had her 
 consent to remain a month as Mrs. Wilkinson's guest. 
 How they managed to pacify the old-fashioned god- 
 mother, I know not; my clothes were fetched from 
 the school ; and so ended my school-days ! 
 
 " I had the honour of giving a children's ball during 
 the month of my gay visit. I had a pony to ride, 
 when I accompanied Mrs. Wilkinson on horseback ; 
 or I sat with her in her handsome carriage, when she 
 made excursions into the neighbourhood, made morn- 
 ing calls, or went shopping ; and one day — oh it was 
 very wrong! — she actually drove to the town where I 
 had gone to school, and went to a shop — a confec- 
 tioner's shop — just opposite the school, where the car- 
 riage stood half-an-hour, on purpose that they might 
 see how grand and how happy I was. It made me 
 quite melancholy to look up to that school-room 
 window, and to see the faces I knew so well, looking 
 out. They saw me, but if they thought I exulted, 
 they were mistaken. I was very glad when we drove 
 away." 
 
 " Your feeling certainly was right," remarked Mrs. 
 Hoffmann ; " I respect you for it. But has Mrs. Wil- 
 kinson herself no family?" — for she was greatly in- 
 terested in Caroline's sketch of character. 
 
 " They have an adopted son, or nephew — for that, I 
 think, is the relationship they give him the benefit of,"
 
 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 57 
 
 replied she, " who is to them both more than common 
 son or daughter. Relation he certainly is not, though 
 closely connected with the family by marriage. Mr. 
 Wilkinson's sister married a gentleman who had one 
 son by a former wife ; he inherited a large property 
 from his uncle, a merchant of Bristol; and, after his 
 father's and his step-mother's death, while he was yet 
 a boy, Mr. Wilkinson, Avho was, I believe, his guar- 
 dian, took him to his house, and spared no expense 
 of tutors, or anything else upon him. He was brought 
 up at one of our great universities, and has been on the 
 continent for the last two years. He joined them in 
 Switzerland, and remains with them during their stay 
 in Germany. I have not yet seen him, nor has 
 mamma for several years. Mrs. Wilkinson, however, 
 writes wonderful things about him." 
 
 " I hope you may find him agreeable," said Mrs. 
 Hoffmann. 
 
 " I hope so too," said Caroline ; "for, as we are to 
 be inmates of the same house for three -months, it 
 certainly is worth hoping for, on my part." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 It is astonishing what an intimacy sprang up between 
 the two small households in a short time. Karl and 
 his mother were speaking about the Palmers one 
 morning at breakfast, and he was expressing the 
 greatest pleasure in their acquaintance — the first 
 English people that he had had an opportunity of 
 knowing at all intimately. 
 
 " I must confess that I do not augur much good 
 from this intimacy," said Mrs. Hoffmann, who, spite 
 of the interest she felt in Caroline, was yet beset with
 
 58 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 misgivings and jealousies as to how the acquaintance 
 might in the end turn out. 
 
 " You need fear no harm from it," said Karl : " 1 
 myself am leaving you in a few weeks ; and, even 
 before that time, their English friends will he with 
 them, when, if they do not need your acquaintance, 
 you can so naturally drop theirs. But whilst the 
 mother confesses herself so much cheered by your 
 little attentions, and you yourself acknowledge the 
 daughter to be so amiable and natural, nay, so alto- 
 gether charming, I cannot see any reason for your 
 being dissatisfied with what you have done." 
 
 " I think the mother worldly," said Mrs. Hoffmann, 
 " very worldly. She often, it is true, has the skill to 
 conceal it; but I am sure that, however much she 
 may say about gratitude to me for my neighbourliness, 
 and all that, she would be ashamed of my acquaint- 
 ance before those whom she considered either her 
 equals or superiors; and therefore I will pursue the 
 acquaintance no farther. Why should I? Why should 
 I prepare any needless vexations for myself? That 
 you are going away very soon, I know, and for that 
 very reason I will enjoy the few weeks of your stay 
 in unbroken comfort. I will not be intimate with 
 these people, for I foresee, as plain as may be, that 
 one way or another it will end in trouble. I have a 
 foreboding in my mind against it." 
 
 Karl laughed. "A woman's argument, my dear 
 mother," said he, " is always one of feeling, not of 
 reason. You have many prejudices against all fo- 
 reigners — against the English in particular: in this 
 instance your natural kind-heartedness has prevailed 
 over them; but, now that the exercise of benevolence 
 is no longer called for, you fall back upon your pre- 
 judices, and persuade yourself that they are founded 
 on reason. The truth is, that your acquaintance with
 
 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 59 
 
 these amiable foreigners has endangered your pre- 
 judices, and now they all rise up in array, and call a 
 host of forebodings, equally false with themselves, to- 
 their aid. No, no; be guided by me: do not cast off 
 your new friends so abruptly; wait and see, first of 
 all, whether they are unworthy: if, when their rich 
 relations come, they no longer seek your acquaintance, 
 you have nothing to do but quietly to stay in your 
 own rooms, and let them enjoy their grandeur to 
 themselves ; but if, as I believe, you find them 
 increasingly agreeable, increasingly friendly, why 
 should you withdraw thus voluntarily? — nay, give 
 them cause to think you uncertain in your disposi- 
 tion, even when yourself, only the last evening, ac- 
 knowledged how much you enjoyed their society — 
 how much you were charmed with the freshness, 
 simplicity, and sincerity of character of the* younger 
 lady, to say nothing of her beauty and her accom- 
 plishments." 
 
 " Yes," said his mother, " all that I acknowledge; 
 but they placed me under the fascination of a spell, 
 as it were ; my eyes are now open, and I am in- 
 fluenced by my reason. As long as I could do any 
 good, or be of any service — while, for instance, the 
 mother was an invalid — it was so different; but, now 
 I am not wanted, I cannot longer be useful to them." 
 
 " Depend upon it," said Karl, " if you wish to do 
 good, you ought by no means to drop their acquaint- 
 ance, for the daughter at least, if not the mother, 
 will be benefited by you. If I am not greatly mis- 
 taken, Miss Palmer is of a noble nature, with great 
 truthfulness of character — exactly such a one as will 
 take a life-long impression from the beauty and 
 nobility of virtue, especially when presented to her 
 chrough the imagination ; now her imagination is 
 enlisted on the side of our Gemnan virtues, do not
 
 60 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 let her be repulsed by a noble-hearted German 
 woman whose friendship she solicits!" 
 
 " Oh, if I were young, Karl," said his mother, " it 
 might be all very well; I might then make new 
 acquaintances, or new friendships, but at my time of 
 life it is out of the question ; I cannot promise even 
 to oblige you by keeping up this intimacy : and why, 
 indeed, should it oblige you? After a very few weeks 
 you, in all probability, will never see them again, and 
 when you are gone, this interchanging of visits, this 
 intercourse with people whose feelings, and views, 
 and objects in life are so different to mine, will be 
 irksome and unpleasant to me, and therefoie I beg 
 you to urge me no further." 
 
 This little conversation had been more immediately 
 occasioned by a wish on Karl's part, that the English 
 mother and daughter might be invited to join a party 
 which, in a day or two, was going to spend the after- 
 noon among the old castles of Neckarsteinach, a place 
 of favourite resort, a few miles up the valley of the 
 Neckar. Nothing can be imagined more charming 
 than this place: the noble sweep of the river; the fine 
 outline of the hills ; the picturesque ruins of the 
 castles, the ancient strongholds of robber-knights, so 
 renowned and so terrible as to have acquired the 
 expressive surname of Landschaden, or Bane-of-the- 
 land; the more modern castle, still inhabited, and 
 which, with its tall towers, and picturesque gables 
 and galleries, its modern flower-garden, and modern 
 glass windows, seemed so beautifully to ally the rude, 
 strong grandeur of the middle ages with the elegance 
 and comfort of modern days and manners — the 
 singular old walled city of Diilsberg, on the opposite 
 hill, sending back the imagination to the fenced cities 
 of the Philistines, in the days of Joshua and the 
 Judges of Israel ; together with the old, but beauti ■
 
 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 61 
 
 fully clean church, in which lie buried the Land- 
 schaden of far-gone generations, with effigy and 
 memorial stones, commemorating, in rude verse, their 
 proud alliances, their desperate valour, and their many 
 virtues: all these combined make Neckarsteinach not 
 only an object of interest to strangers, but of never- 
 ending delight to residents of the neighbourhood. 
 
 Karl Hoffmann had described the place to Caroline 
 and her mother the evening before ; and they, who, 
 following the physician's advice, had driven out almost 
 every day, declared, after what they had heard, that 
 they immediately would visit so charming a place, 
 and not leave it, as they had hitherto intended, till 
 their friends the Wilkinsons would go with them. A 
 party of the Hoffmanns' friends were going there in 
 a day or two ; the Hoffmanns were going with them, 
 and Karl's wish now was, that Mrs. Palmer and her 
 daughter should be invited to take half their carriage, 
 and thus to join what Caroline had repeatedly ex- 
 pressed a wish for — a real German party into the 
 country. 
 
 Mrs. Hoffmann, however, had got up this morning, 
 as we have seen, with, as she said, " her eyes 
 opened," and therefore she would not consent to 
 her son's proposition, and was furthermore bent upon 
 dropping the Palmers' acquaintance altogether. . But 
 how very little can people make sure of their own 
 actions! Even Mrs. Hoffmann, with all her preju- 
 dices, was a proof of this. 
 
 That afternoon a lively tap at her door, and the 
 customary " Herein," from herself, brought in Caro- 
 line Palmer, who, with a countenance beaming with 
 pleasure, came in, in the first place she said, know- 
 ing the kind interest Mrs. Hoffmann took about them, 
 to tell her that they that morning had received a letter 
 from Mrs. "Wilkinson, announcing their positive arrival 
 6
 
 62 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 in a very fev^days. " A charming letter it is," said Ca- 
 roline. " It has made poor mamma quite well; and 
 she is now btasy giving orders to two women about 
 the Wilkinsons' rooms being made quite ready. It 
 is the third time mamma has had them prepared, but 
 this time, I think, it will not be in vain. I feel sure 
 they will come — mamma thinks about Monday, as Mrs. 
 "Wilkinson generally travels on a Sunday; she says 
 the country is on that day so much more lively, so 
 much more full of peasants, or rather the peasants so 
 much more visible — all smart and bright, in their 
 holiday dresses. Yes, I really think they will come 
 this time." 
 
 Mrs. Hoffmann expressed sympathy with Caroline's 
 hope, and she did it with sincerity ; for, spite of all 
 she had said in the morning, the very tone of her 
 voice, the truthful expression of her eyes, when she 
 gave Mrs. Hoffmann credit for taking part in their 
 happiness, brought back at once all the kind senti- 
 ment she had ever felt towards her. 
 
 " And now, dear Mrs. Hoffmann," said Caroline, 
 " after having told you of the expected pleasure, I am 
 to present mamma's best compliments, and to prefer 
 a request in which I sincerely join. Will you and 
 Mr. Karl give us your company to Neckarsteinacii 
 to-morrow afternoon ? After what he said of that 
 sweet place, we can no longer delay a visit to it ; the 
 carriage is already ordered; and, having thus seen it, 
 we shall only be the better cicerones for our friends ; 
 but perhaps we are unreasonable; we want the 
 pleasure to-morrow to be made doubly great, by the 
 charm of agreeable companions ; we want, in short, 
 you to go with us. Surely you will not refuse 
 us!" said she, laying her hand on Mrs. Hoffmann's, 
 in whose eye she fancied she saw the shadow of s 
 refusal.
 
 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. G3 
 
 Poor Mrs. Hoffmann ! she knew not what to do. 
 Two opposite feelings were at work in her mind — the 
 will to oblige Caroline, towards whom her heart 
 always softened, and the desire to keep up an appear- 
 ance of consistency with what she had that very 
 morning expressed to her son ; but Caroline's gentle, 
 beseeching eyes were still fixed upon her, and the 
 acquiescence of her reply went even beyond what she 
 herself intended. 
 
 " It is rather singular, Miss Palmer," said she, 
 " but I and my son have had some conversation 
 about an excursion to Neckarsteinach, but a few hours 
 ago." 
 
 Caroline's eyes brightened. 
 
 " But I must express a little difficulty to you, ' 
 continued Mrs. Hoffmann, to whom it had instantly 
 occurred, that perhaps Mrs. Palmer herself might 
 object to join a German party, and that she and her 
 son being already engaged to such a one, might thus 
 easily hold themselves excused; "a small party of 
 our friends have for some weeks planned an excursion 
 to Neckarsteinach in which we have promised to join. 
 They have fixed upon the day after to-morrow — 
 Saturday; now, I am sorry for it, but two days suc- 
 cessively at Neckarsteinach would be too much for 
 me. My son proposed asking you and your mother 
 to join the party, but all are strangers to you, ex- 
 cepting ourselves — all Germans ; two of them young 
 men, friends of my son's ; and such a party would 
 hardly be agreeable to you — certainly not to Mrs. 
 Palmer." 
 
 "Am I to understand," asked Caroline, " that sup- 
 posing mamma liked to join your party, that you give 
 us an invitation to do so ?" 
 
 " Certainly," returned Mrs. Hoffmann, a little per- 
 plexed by Caroline's zeal ; " but I must warn you
 
 64 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 that all are Germans — and not grand people, by any 
 means," added she, with a very peculiar smile. 
 
 " If you will allow me," said Caroline, " I will 
 mention it to mamma, and return immediately with 
 her answer." Mrs. Hoffmann, of course, appeared 
 most anxious that she should do so. 
 
 " I certainly," said Mrs. Palmer to her daughter, 
 when she had heard of Mrs. Hoffmann's proposal, 
 " should not like to go with such a party — queerly 
 dressed German women, and smoking German men — 
 all coarse, ill-dressed, and odd-looking as these Ger- 
 mans are, if the Wilkinsons were here ; but as it is, 
 and I feel pretty sure that they will not come till 
 about Monday or Tuesday, and you wish for it so 
 much, I don't mind; only recollect this, that I pay 
 for the carriage, and that nobody goes with us but 
 the Hoffmanns : I invite them to two seats in it, and 
 thus we shall be secure. But you must send Gretchen 
 and postpone the order for the carriage till the day 
 after to-morrow, unless Mrs. Hoffmann can get the 
 party arranged for to-morrow, which would be much 
 better, in case the Wilkinsons should come on the 
 Saturday; do, love, try and get it so arranged; I dare 
 say it will not matter to any one its being a day 
 earlier, and it is of consequence to me." 
 
 When Caroline returned to ' the third floor, she 
 found Karl with his mother; she put Mrs. Palmer's 
 proposition in the politest and most agreeable form. 
 Mrs. Hoffmann said nothing; she went on with her 
 knitting, smiling to herself; but Karl was full of 
 enthusiasm. He was sure the party would be every 
 way charming; he greatly approved of the alteration 
 in the day; a pleasure was always the greater, taken 
 on the spur of the moment ; he could answer for the 
 willingness of all his friends to go a day earlier ; cne 
 only people to whom it might be inconvenient wo»e
 
 A TARTY OF PLEASURE. 65 
 
 the only people, he said, who with advantage might 
 be dropped from the party. lie would undertake the 
 whole arrangement; and, as the weather was so 
 splendid, just hot enough, just bright enough, and 
 not dusty, after last night's rain, it was sure to be 
 a most charming and most successful excursion ! It 
 was always a pleasure to him, he said, to go to 
 Neckarsteinach with people of taste and feeling — 
 especially with such people for the first time. So, 
 taking his hat, he said he would go instantly and 
 arrange everything, and, with Miss Palmer's per- 
 mission, look in for five minutes in the evening, and 
 tell her what he had done. 
 
 The five minutes in the evening lengthened them- 
 selves to two hours. Karl had, of course, arranged 
 everything for the morrow most happily. He was in 
 the most buoyant spirits. Caroline played and sang 
 — Karl sang also, and Mrs. Palmer went into raptures 
 at finding a resemblance between his singing and 
 that of the favourite of her younger years, " the never- 
 to-be-excelled Braham." She quite forgot that she 
 had so lately been an invalid ; she was charmed with 
 Karl, she was charmed with all the world; for the 
 Wilkinsons were coming ; and many and many a 
 little anecdote she told, to convince her visiter that 
 the most munificent, the most princely nation under 
 the sun were the English, and that, of all the English, 
 the Wilkinsons were the most princely afid munificent. 
 
 There was rain on the morning of the next day— 
 down-pouring rain, that from six till nine o'clock fell 
 upon the broad June leaves, with a sough that was 
 heard within doors. Many and many were the 
 anxious looks which both Karl and Caroline cast 
 from their windows, both up to the sky and down to 
 the ecrth ; and, if it rained in this way all day, there 
 was certainly an end to the Neckarsteinach expedition ;
 
 66 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 and, once being put off, perhaps it might never be 
 made at all. How all-important does an afternoon's 
 excursion seem to the young! As to Mrs. Palmer, 
 she was in bed taking her breakfast very comfort- 
 ably, and with great equanimity, and replied to her 
 daughter's anxiety, " Well, love, and even if it do 
 rain, I do not very much care. I have no great fancy 
 for this German party. I should have liked it much 
 better if we had gone alone, or, at all events, only the 
 Hoffmanns with us. I am only so far anxious about 
 the weather, as that it should be fine when the Wil- 
 kinsons arrive; the pleasantest places in the world 
 always look cheerless in wet weather; and as people 
 say it always rains at Heidelberg, I must confess, on 
 account of our friends' first impressions, I hope it 
 may be fine — at least on the day when they come." 
 
 It was much in the same spirit that good Mrs. 
 Hoffmann, above stairs, spoke of the rain to her son 
 during breakfast. " Never trouble yourself about the 
 weather, Karl," said she; "it will be fine most likely 
 long before noon ; and even if it be not, it is not of 
 any great consequence. I never like altering days, 
 even of so unimportant a thing as a party of pleasure ; 
 and I think it such a pity that poor Mrs. Von Holz- 
 hauser cannot now go, so seldom as she has a day of 
 pleasure !" 
 
 Karl said he was sorry too, but he hoped it was 
 not so very great a disappointment to her. 
 
 " She took care that you should not see it," said 
 his mother, " for I am sure she thought much of this 
 little excursion — perhaps the only excursion that may 
 be offered her this summer — and she had made her 
 arrangements, you see, to be at liberty to-morrow. 
 She -cannot alter, and then alter again with her pupils, 
 poor woman! It is a thousand pities that she must 
 be disappointed; but this all comes of making these
 
 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 67 
 
 English people a party with us. I am very much 
 vexed that they are going; and if it rain all day, it is 
 of no great consequence!" 
 
 However, it did not rain all day. After nine o'clock 
 the clouds grew thinner and thinner; glimpses ot 
 blue sky were seen, and faint shadows of the window- 
 frames, cast slantingly along the floor, gave certain 
 intimation that the sun was in the sky, and was very 
 much disposed to shine. By eleven every cloud, and 
 every trace of a cloud, was gone ; and already, in the 
 warm splendour of the advancing noon, the streets 
 were dried, the trees also were dried, and only the 
 bright green of the leaves, the bright hues of the 
 flowers, and the deep colour of the earth, told that 
 rain had fallen that morning. Every one of the party- 
 expectant foreboded a wonderfully fine and pleasant 
 afternoon ; and good Mrs. Von Holzhauser, the only 
 elderly person who had looked forward to the excur- 
 sion with anything like impatience — for to her a 
 pleasure and a holiday came but seldom — rejoiced, 
 for the sake of the young people, that the day would 
 not prove a disappointment. 
 
 At two o'clock the party set out, every one appa- 
 rently in the best of humour. There were three 
 carriages — six worthy souls, young and old, in two 
 of them — and four, the Palmers and the Hoffmanns, 
 in the other. 
 
 " I have not the pleasure of knowing any of these 
 good people," said Mrs. Palmer to Mrs. Hoffmann, 
 as immediately they passed the Carl's Thor. The 
 other two carriages relaxed their speed, in order that 
 Mrs. Palmer might take the lead; and the gentlemen 
 all, of course, bowed, and the ladies smiled with the 
 utmost good humour. 
 
 " Many of them are familiar faces to me," said 
 Caroline; " the two old ladies in the second carriage,
 
 68 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 the stout gentleman, the pretty girl in the pink bonnet, 
 and the two young men in the last carriage that Ave 
 passed, are all old acquaintance of mine. I have 
 often seen them call on you, Mrs. Hoffmann," said 
 she ; " the old gentleman has such a noble, benevo- 
 lent head, and the old ladies look so German, and sc 
 kind!" 
 
 " The old gentleman," said Karl, " is one of our 
 best-known professors, in his particular branch ; his 
 name is familiar through Europe ; one of the o.d 
 lad'jes is his wife ; the other is the widow of a professor 
 who, in his day, was not less renowned than the one 
 I have just spoken of; the young girl in the pink 
 bonnet is niece to the professor's widow : her mother 
 is not living, and her father is a Herr Geheimerath, or 
 privy councillor ; and, as he is a good deal at Carlsruhe, 
 she spends much of her time with her aunt." 
 
 " Or rather," interrupted Mrs. Hoffmann, " the 
 aunt spends much of her time with her ; for there are 
 no less than seven children, of which this young grr 
 is the eldest : she is an excellent creature!" 
 
 " A most amiable girl," said Karl, with some en 
 thusiasm, " and as well educated as she is amiable!" 
 
 Caroline wondered whether Karl Hoffmann had 
 any particular reason for praising the young lady in 
 the pink bonnet so warmly ; but as she could not ask, 
 and he seemed not inclined to continue the subject, it 
 dropped. " And the two young men in the same 
 carriage," said she smiling; "I think they are friends 
 of yours, Mr. Hoffmann; I think they are the 
 same who were with you the evening you returned 
 after your examination. How very German they 
 look ! — at least according to all my notions of young 
 Germans ; the long hair and the moustache is sc 
 becoming to some faces ! I think one of your friends 
 —he without the moustache — worthy to be a head ol
 
 A PARTY OF 1'LEASURE. G9 
 
 Raphael's. Suppose his portrait the head of a young 
 painter — suppose it the ideal head of an Athenian 
 artist in the days of Pericles — how fine, how spiritual, 
 we should say it was!" 
 
 " True," said Karl ; " he is Von Rosenberg, one of 
 my best friends. He is a noble-hearted fellow, of an 
 old family, and is devoted to music. His history ig 
 a most interesting one. He has maintained himself 
 ever since he was eighteen. He is a fine fellow 
 every way." 
 
 "And the other," asked Caroline, "what is his 
 name? for, in the first place, I am always curious 
 about names. I have a little theory that names 
 always resemble the persons who bear them — Von 
 Rosenberg suits your friend admirably." 
 
 " His name is no way remarkable," said Karl; "it 
 is Feldmann. He is my oldest friend; we were play- 
 fellows together when boys; we were gymnasium 
 scholars together; we have been fellow-students; 
 what more was needed to make us friends? Feldmann 
 is a very different character to Von Rosenberg; he is 
 the most buoyant, happy being that ever lived ; he is 
 one born to be fortunate ; all that he plans succeeds ; 
 all that he undertakes he carries through. The ship 
 could not be wrecked in which Feldmann was! Poor 
 Von Rosenberg ! even as a boy, he knew many hard- 
 ships and sorrows ; he has already known grave dis- 
 appointments ; unfortunately he distrusts himself too 
 much to be successful. If he had more confidence in 
 himself, he would be one of the finest and most 
 original of our modern composers. Poor fellow!" 
 6aid Karl, in somewhat a lower voice, " whether he 
 shall be the most happy or the most miserable of 
 men, wavers now in, I fear, an uncertain balance. 
 If the scale fall in his favour, I would venture to 
 foretell for him the most splendid career; success.
 
 70 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 which ruins so many men, would be the making of 
 him : if it fall against him, he is doubly unfortunate ; 
 but come what will, he has one of the noblest hearts 
 that ever beat in a human bosom!" 
 
 " You interest me greatly for this young man," 
 said she. 
 
 "He deserves it," replied Hoffmann; "and my 
 light-hearted Feldmann deserves it no less." 
 
 "You are fortunate," said she, "to have such 
 friends." < 
 
 " Come, come, young people," said Mrs. Palmer, 
 "if you are to be talking sentiment all the time, what 
 will you see of the beauties of the country? and I 
 must warn you, Mr. Hoffmann, that if you indulge 
 Lina in sketching every character you know, you 
 may never have done. It is Lina's favourite topic of 
 conversation." 
 
 Caroline blushed, for she remembered sketching Mrs. 
 Wilkinson's character, at least in slight outline, as far 
 as she knew it, to Mrs. Hoffmann, and Mrs. Hoffmann 
 smiled likewise, for she remembered the same tiling. 
 
 " In Heaven's name, where are we going?" screamed 
 Mrs. Palmer, clinging to the side of the carriage, with 
 a countenance of the utmost alarm, as the carriage, 
 having passed through the small city, or rather village 
 of Neckargemiind, made a sudden turn, and rapid 
 descent, to the ferry over the river. " Here I cannot, 
 will not go," screamed the terrified lady ; "stop the 
 driver instantly, Mr. Hoffmann, for it is as much as 
 my life is worth to venture over this horrid place!" 
 
 With great difficulty the driver stopped his horses, 
 and drew aside to allow the other carriages to take 
 the advance in the ferry-boat, 
 
 " Is there no other way of getting to Neckarsteinach, 
 but over this frightful ferry?" asked she. She was 
 assured there was not for a carriage, but that there
 
 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 1 L 
 
 was not the slightest danger. " I was once overset 
 in a ferry-boat," said she; "I as near lost my lite 
 as possible; and I have never ventured over in one 
 since, nor will I. Leave me behind if you will, but 
 over it I will not go !" 
 
 " Let the carriage go first," said Mrs. Hoffmann, 
 "and we will come over afterwards alone." 
 
 " No, no," still persisted the positive Mrs. Palmer, 
 " I dare not venture." 
 
 " The other carriages are both safe over, dearest 
 mamma; do let us venture," remonstrated Caroline. 
 Karl also assured her that they should get over equally 
 safe, but it was of no avail. 
 
 "Does Neckarsteinach lie on the river?" asked 
 Caroline. She was answered that it did. " Would 
 you not venture up in a boat?" inquired she, quite 
 disconcerted by this unfortunate delay which her 
 mother occasioned ; " only think of all our charming 
 boating-parties in England! Could we not get a 
 boat?" asked she of Hoffmann. 
 
 " Nonsense! child," said her mother; " let me stay 
 behind ; nobody will miss me ; the sight of this ferry 
 has taken away all my desire to go. Is there no inn 
 or house where I can stay till your return?" 
 
 Karl, with the utmost good temper, said h- was 
 impossible that Mrs. Palmer could be left behind; 
 that if she would go in a boat, he would immediately 
 obtain one. Mrs. Hoffmann said that she should not 
 wish to go in a boat so far; that perhaps one of the 
 gentlemen in one of the other carriages would give 
 her his place, and go with them in the boat; and that, 
 for her part, she thought there was more danger in 
 the boat than on the ferry. Caroline again remon- 
 strated and persuaded, but to no purpose. Mrs. 
 Palmer's fears, however foolifh, were sincere ; and at 
 last, tired with her daughter's remonstrances, she grew
 
 72 A PARTY OF PLEASURE 
 
 angry, and protested " that she was sorry to cause 
 annoyance to anybody ; that she ought to have been 
 told of the ferry, for, in that case, she would not have 
 come!" 
 
 Karl had already ordered a boat; so, assisting his 
 mother to dismount, he accompanied her across the 
 ferry; and, whilst poor Caroline was hoping that iheh 
 companions did not think her mother altogether unrea- 
 sonable and troublesome, and poor Mrs. Palmer, in a 
 self-deprecating tone of voice, was relating the adven- 
 ture on the ferry-boat, twenty years before, which 
 would haunt her, she said, with fears to the very day 
 of her death, Karl was making excuses, and offering 
 palliatives for Mrs. Palmer's childish apprehensions, 
 both to himself and all the rest of the party. 
 
 There was a deal of talking on the other side of the 
 river, and a long delay ; at least, so it seemed both to 
 Caroline and her mother; but at length Karl returned 
 with not only ane of his friends, but with both, and 
 with the pretty young lady in the pink bonnet also; 
 all three declaring, with the most perfect good humour, 
 that nothing in the world would charm them so much 
 as a row up the river ; and, being received very gra- 
 ciously by Mrs. Palmer, and by Caroline with more 
 than her common cdrdiality — for she felt as if she had 
 a double duty of agreeableness and friendship to per- 
 form to everybody, after what had happened — all 
 took their seats in the boat, and the carriage being 
 ordered to await their return, they sailed pleasantly 
 up the river. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, however, had been flurried and 
 excited ; and, though she seemed in high spiribs, there 
 was an under-current of vexation and ill-humour 
 ready at any untoward occurrence to break out: if 
 none of the others were aware of this, her daughter 
 was, -and it kept her painfully watchful and anxious
 
 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 73 
 
 But Hoffmann and his two friends, and the Herr 
 Geheimrath's daughter, all seemed in such perfect 
 good humour — so unannuyed by vexations, either past 
 or to come — that she determined, if possible, to imitate 
 their example, and enjoy the present moment at least. 
 
 How beautifully burst the scene upon them as they 
 made the turn of the river at the foot of Diilsberg! 
 There stood the castles hi their varied degrees of anti- 
 quity, lying partly in broad light, and partly in deep 
 shadow, crowning the rocks and bosomed in wood — 
 the swallow's nest, the raven's castle, and the beau- 
 tiful modernized castle of the Baron Von Dort, with 
 its nameless ruins beyond ! Caroline was delighted : 
 it required, at that moment, no effort to forget all the 
 late vexation; even Mrs. Hoffmann's countenance, 
 glancing at her son a look of disgust and annoyance, 
 as he helped her to dismount, the circumstance, per- 
 haps, of all others, that had most disconcerted her — 
 was forgotten. The party Ijowever, which was wait- 
 ing for them at their place of landing, recalled her to 
 the past, and convinced her, at the first glance, that 
 the spirit of discontent was active among them. They 
 were received almost without question or welcome; 
 and, no sooner had they landed, than all turned and 
 began immediately to ascend to the castles. 
 
 "I am sure they have been waiting a long time," 
 said Caroline to her mother. 
 
 "Well, my dear, they need not have waited," was 
 her mother's somewhat uncourteous reply. 
 
 " I fear you have waited long for us," said Caroline to 
 Mrs. Hoffmann, in a very gentle and deprecating tone. 
 
 " Not quite an hour," replied she coolly; " the 
 river is much farther than the road; parties do not 
 commonly divide in this way!" 
 
 How reproved poor Caroline felt! she thought at 
 the moment that it was unkind of Mrs. Hoffmann to 
 7
 
 74 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 speak thus to her, who truly was not to blame; so, 
 withdrawing again to her mother's side, they walked 
 on in silence. 
 
 Karl seemed happy enough — so did his friends — ■ 
 so did the young lady in the pink bonnet. The old 
 ladies, the old gentleman, and Mrs. Hoffmann, went 
 on sometimes together, and sometimes singly, and 
 sometimes they joined Caroline and her mother, and 
 talked with them. How was it, Caroline questioned 
 with herself, that she was unsatisfied and uneasy? 
 that a feeling as of disappointment and repulse lay at 
 the bottom of her heart ? She thought the fault must 
 be in herself; so she talked to every one, and laughed, 
 and gathered wild berries and wild flowers, and sin- 
 cerely admired the beauty of the place — the deep, 
 secluded, old-world vallies that lie northward, the pic- 
 turesqueness of every ruin — and listened with interest 
 to every legend of the place which Karl Hoffmann or 
 any one else of the party related. But oh, what a 
 difference is there between trying to be pleased, and 
 being pleased without an effort ! She still was haunted 
 by Mrs. Hoffmann's countenance, and by the few 
 words she had spoken so coldly ; — nay, even it seemed 
 to her that Karl's gaiety was assumed — was greater 
 than the occasion called for, and it really was only 
 worn to set her at ease, or to hide his own vexation ; 
 and thus, spite of her sincerest wish to be happy, she 
 remained ill at ease. 
 
 They all took coffee, and eat fruit at Neckarsteinach, 
 and then prepared to return. Mrs. Palmer, and the 
 same party who had attended her before, of course by 
 water ; but as, this time, they set off earlier than their 
 friends, and went down with the current, they arrived 
 at the ferry before them, and hoped to be in their car- 
 riage ready to drive along with them without any delay. 
 But it was destined, altogether, to be a day of unlooked-
 
 A PARTY OF PLEASURE. 75 
 
 for occurrences. From the ferry they intended to 
 walk to the inn, but a great bustle in the street pre- 
 vented their advance. A travelling carriage stood 
 there with all the villagers crowded about it ; evidently 
 some disaster had occurred. The men-servants had 
 dismounted, so, had a gentleman from the inside; one 
 of the four horses had suddenly died, and was being 
 removed. A lady, the sole occupant of the carriage, 
 was leaning back, evidently wishing to see nothing ot 
 what went forward, her face concealed by a large tra- 
 velling-bonnet. Presently a carriage with other ser- 
 vants and luggage came up ; it drew up for a moment, 
 received orders from the gentleman, and from the lady 
 also, and then drove on rapidly. There was some 
 difficulty about another horse to supply the place of 
 the one which was wanting, and so much bustle and 
 confusion, that Karl, after several ineffectual efforts to 
 gain attention, drew back to his party, thinking it 
 better to wait till the strangers were satisfied and gone. 
 Then suddenly, as if an idea had struck him, he turned 
 to Caroline, and inquired the name of their English 
 friends. "Wilkinson," was her reply. 
 
 "These, then, are they," said Karl; "the lady was 
 addressed by that name." 
 
 "What is that you say?" eagerly inquired Mrs. 
 Palmer, who caught at the idea at once, " the Wil- 
 kinsons here! Do inquire!" 
 
 Karl inquired ; he was right. 
 
 "Take my card," said Mrs. Palmer, "and give it 
 to the lady in the carriage ; there is such a crowd, I 
 cannot go myself!" 
 
 Hoffmann did as he was requested ; and, the moment 
 the lady read the card, she raised herself suddenly in 
 the carriage, exclaiming, "Where — where is dear 
 Mrs. Palmer?" 
 
 The crowd gave way before Mrs. Palmer and hei
 
 76 KIND HEARTS. 
 
 daughter ; the carriage door was opened, the steps let 
 down, and the two ladies, as if by instinct, hurried 
 in, the hand of each grasped eagerly and warmly by 
 the lady as they entered. The gentleman who had 
 dismounted sprang in, the door was closed, the ser- 
 vants took their seats, and away all drove, leaving the 
 dead horse on the side of the street, an object of 
 curiosity to the people, now that the carriage was 
 gone, and leaving Karl both vexed and surprised. 
 
 Mrs. Hoffmann, Karl, and his two friends, and the 
 young lady in the pink bonnet, occupied the Palmers' 
 carriage from Neckargemiind. Mrs. Hoffmann said 
 very little on their homeward drive, nor did her son. 
 
 They needed not to have seen the Wilkinsons' 
 arrival at Neckargemund, to have assured them of the 
 fact as they arrived at home. The carriage with lug- 
 gage, from which the horses were taken, still stood at 
 the door; servants were carrying in, and up stairs, 
 large travelling-cases; there was a bustle and a stir, 
 and an agitation through the whole of the house, that 
 gave abundant evidence of the great people's arrival. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 KIND HEARTS. 
 
 The next morning, Karl Hoffmann argued with his 
 mother at the breakfast table, to prove — and that not 
 quite against his own conviction — that the mere fact of 
 Mrs. Palmer and her daughter returning from Neck- 
 argemiind with their friends, was neither uncourteous 
 nor strange. 
 
 " It was but natural," said he ; "I should have done 
 the same thing myself most likely. Everybody pre- 
 fers old friends to new ones." 
 
 "But if you treated your new friends with discour-
 
 KIND HEARTS. 77 
 
 tesy —to say nothing of absolute rudeness, Karl — they 
 would be greatly wanting in self-respect, if they ever 
 gave you a second opportunity to do so; and thus 
 my argument merely ends where it began — I have 
 done with these English people." 
 
 Fortunately for Karl, his friend Von Rosenberg at 
 that moment came in, to invite him to a long day's 
 ramble into the hills. There was a gravity and ear- 
 nestness in his countenance, which told Karl there 
 was something of deep moment on his mind; Mrs. 
 Hoffmann saw nothing of this, and, though Von Rosen- 
 berg declined to sit down, because Karl was imme- 
 diately ready to accompany him, and both young men 
 stood with their hats and their sticks in their hands, 
 she insisted upon knowing, before they went, what 
 was Von Rosenberg's opinion of the English ladies 
 the last afternoon. He shrugged his shoulders; but 
 a secret intelligence must have passed between him 
 and his friend, for he immediately replied by taking 
 Karl's view of the case, and argued for five minutes, 
 even more strenuously than he himself had done, to 
 prove that they had done not only what was reason- 
 able, but what was right also. 
 
 "Away with you, for two wrong-headed philoso- 
 phers !" exclaimed Mrs. Hoffmann, smiling in perfect 
 good humour; "when I want special pleading, I'll 
 come to you ; but when I want only the plain com- 
 mon sense of a question, I'll reason for myself." 
 
 The young men smiled, bowed, and withdrew; and 
 she, with a smile still on her lips — for she was thinking 
 with affection on her son and his friend — busied her- 
 self in putting aside the breakfast things. Von Rosen- 
 berg linked his arm into Karl's the moment they were 
 out of the door, and both walked on slowly, as ii 
 falling at once into deep and confidential communing, 
 quite unaware of the observation of Caroline Palmer,
 
 78 KIND HEARTS. 
 
 who was in the balcony above watering her flowers, 
 which, in the bustle and excitement of the evening 
 before, had been quite forgotten. 
 
 The afternoon's excursion had been altogether unsa- 
 tisfactory to her ; she was sure that her mother's need- 
 less apprehensions would appear childish, if not ridi- 
 culous, to their German friends; and then, to crown 
 all, that hurrying away at last, without apology or 
 explanation, with their English friends, though in 
 itself perhaps neither unnatural nor blameable, still, 
 occurring on the heels of the other cause of dissatis- 
 faction, was greatly to be regretted. Caroline had 
 wept the last night in her own chamber, for mortifica- 
 tion ; but what good did that do? it convinced no 
 kind German heart whatever, how unwilling she must 
 ever be to displease or to slight them; so she dried 
 her tears, and had awoke this morning with some 
 unpleasant consciousness still remaining, but with a 
 half-hope that she could soon prove to the Hoffmanns 
 that she was as kindly disposed to them as ever. She 
 determined, therefore, as soon as possible after break- 
 fast, to make a call on the mother; with the anxious 
 hope, however, that Karl might be present, for she 
 not only knew him much more reasonable, much more 
 unprejudiced than his mother, but she had long since 
 seen also that her wishes were almost a law with him — 
 which was gratifying to her vanity and self-love, if 
 not to any deeper and nobler sentiment. She made 
 sure, therefore, that with a little skill on her part, she 
 would still maintain this intimacy, which had hitherto 
 been not only so agreeable, but so improving to her. 
 
 It was therefore with no slight regret, if not morti- 
 fication, that she saw him go out thus early with his 
 friend, and in that peculiarly confidential manner, 
 too ! — not as they commonly did, looking gaily about 
 them, as if with unburdened hearts, but with linked
 
 KIND HEARTS. 79 
 
 arms, and grave, earnest countenances. It seemed at 
 once to her, as if they were talking on unpleasant 
 subjects , and, filled as her mind was with but one 
 unpleasant subject, it is no wonder that she troubled 
 herself with the fear that their conference might be on 
 that. She wished she had not seen them thus go out; 
 she was ashamed to confess to herself, that this little 
 circumstance would annoy her all the day ; add to 
 which, she had now no longer confidence as to the 
 effect of her call on Mrs. Hoffmann. Poor Caroline! 
 about an hour afterwards she saw Mrs. Hoffmann also 
 go out; so she went up stairs, and made a call in her 
 absence, taking with her a beautiful bouquet, which 
 she gave to the little Bena, with strict injunctions 
 to put it in water, and set it on Mrs. Hoffmann's 
 table, and to give her love, and say that she had called 
 to inquire after Mrs. Hoffmann's health, and that she 
 was extremely sorry not to find her in, as she had a 
 great deal to say to her. Bena promised to remember 
 every word, and to put the flowers in a very pretty 
 glass of water ; and, thinking to herself, that the " Eng- 
 lish Fraulein" was a great deal lovelier even than 
 these lovely flowers, she watched her down the stairs, 
 and then went to perform her promise. 
 
 Karl Hoffmann ancj his friend had indeed a long and 
 very deep communing that morning, on a very impor- 
 tant and interesting topic. On they went farther and 
 farther among the wooded hills, till they came to the 
 lonely village of Wilhelm Fells, whence, after making, 
 in the humble wirthshaus there, a most rustic dinner, 
 they again walked home, taking less heed that day than 
 they had ever done before, to the singularly wild and 
 beautiful ramble they had chosen. 
 
 Although Caroline Palmer had feared — perhaps not 
 unnaturally — that she and her mother might make part, 
 if not the whole, of this day's conversation between the
 
 80 KIND HEARTS. , 
 
 two friends, it is not for us to say whether she would 
 have been gratified or displeased had the truth been 
 made known to her, trfat only very incidentally, through 
 that day, were their names mentioned by them. It was 
 another name that was most on their lips, and who was 
 the sole cause of this day's ramble and this confiden- 
 tial communing — it was the name of the pretty young 
 lady in the pink bonnet, the Herr Geheimerath, or 
 privy councillor's daughter! the gentle and true- 
 hearted Pauline Damian. 
 
 The handsome English carriage, looking bright and 
 clean, as if new, even after its journey out of Italy, with 
 four horses and two attendants seated on the box, in 
 livery somewhat too showy for good taste, having taken 
 Mrs. Wilkinson, Arthur Burnett, and the two Palmers 
 for a morning-drive to Weinheim, was dashing over the 
 bridge of the Neckar at a rate which terrified the quiet 
 citizens, about four o'clock in the afternoon, as Karl 
 and his friend, still walking arm in arm, were leisurely 
 returning home from their ramble. Caroline's heart 
 suddenly beat quicker, with a thrill of pleasure. The 
 young men bowed, but with countenances of the 
 utmost gravity. 
 
 " How ridiculously solemn a German looks when 
 he bows to you !" exclaimed Mrs. Wilkinson, laughing. 
 
 Arthur Burnett turned round to Caroline, and bowed 
 a la German. 
 
 " That is exactly the face of that young Hoffmann !" 
 said Mrs. Palmer; " I shall absolutely be afraid of your 
 Mr. Burnett!" added she. 
 
 " Oh, he is a terrible mimic," said Mrs. Wilkinson. 
 "Arthur, you must give us the family of the Jenkinses 
 after dinner — it is so beautifully absurd ! We saw it 
 ourselves — they were Birmingham tradespeople — a 
 whole family at Florence, just arrived, who could speak 
 a word neither of French nor Italian!"
 
 KIND HEARTS. 81 
 
 Caroline wondered with herself whether Karl Hoff- 
 mann would appear to advantage among her English 
 friends: she feared not; he had 'seen so much less of 
 the world, and was naturally so much less assuming. 
 
 Karl's ramble with his friend that day ended in his 
 spending the evening with him in the house of the 
 Geheimerath, who, however, was absent in Carlsruhe. 
 Still the good aunt was at home; and there was 
 Pauline, looking so kind and so happy ; and all the 
 six brothers and sisters — a family of love — so good- 
 tempered, and healthy, and amiable. Yon Rosenberg 
 had sent his violoncello there that afternoon, and Pauline 
 now accompanied him on the piano. Karl played at 
 chess with the second sister, and then at the favourite 
 game of the-bell-and hammer with the younger children, 
 while the good aunt sate on the sofa knitting, like all 
 German women enteringinto everybody's pleasure, and 
 looking the very image of tiniversal benevolence. 
 
 After the younger children were gone to bed, and 
 Von Rosenberg and Pauline were practising together a 
 new piece of music, the aunt invited Karl to a seat beside 
 heron the sofa, for a little confidential conversation; the 
 sum and substance of which was, that although she 
 had sanctioned the young people's being together that 
 evening, because she had reason to believe that her 
 brother had the highest esteem for Von Rosenberg, and 
 had, all the winter, allowed him the most friendly in- 
 tercourse with the family, and, she did not doubt, would 
 put no impediment in the way of his and Pauline's 
 wishes, yet still, after this evening, until her brother 
 had been made acquainted with what had taken place, 
 she would never again allow Von Rosenberg to enter 
 the house. 
 
 Karl said he would go with his friend the very next 
 day to Carlsruhe ; the old lady expressed herself quite 
 satisfied, and then rolled up her knitting; and, order-
 
 82 KrND HEARTS. 
 
 ing the maid to bring in supper, busied herself in 
 preparing the table for the meal. Karl looked on 
 his friend's countenance that evening, beaming as it 
 was with affectionate happiness, and he thought, if 
 Caroline Palmer could bat have seen it then, how 
 much more would she have been struck with its 
 spirituality, and high tone of beauty. 
 
 The Herr Geheimerath, or Privy Councillor Damian, 
 was sitting the next afternoon in his schlaf-rock, or 
 morning-coat and slippers, smoking from a very long 
 and handsome pipe, in the little room which he called 
 his study, in his small lodgings at Carlsruhe. There 
 was a great quantity of newspapers lying on the table 
 before him, a great many bundles of written papers, 
 and books, in the utmost disorder, neither in modern 
 nor in handsome bindings, occupied a set of shelves 
 on one side of the room ; on the opposite side, a great 
 many pipes, of every variety of size and fashion, were 
 displayed, in the midst of which, however, hung a 
 large gilt-framed and glazed engraved portrait of the 
 present Grand Duke of Baden, evidently the most 
 esteemed ornament of the room ; a smoking-cap, 
 however, hung upon the hook which sustained the 
 picture, from which, perhaps, no very false inference 
 might be drawn, that with the Geheimerath, loyalty 
 and love of tobacco were about equally strong passions. 
 
 Altogether the room had a very slovenly and dis- 
 orderly appearance ; the floor, of course, was un- 
 carpeted, but it was, besides this, not remarkably 
 clean ; the chairs had that day been but very partially 
 dusted, and the muslin curtains of the three large 
 windows might, with some advantage, have been 
 washed at least a month before. But the worthy 
 occupant of the room troubled himself about none of 
 these things. He knew that the excellent grand 
 duke not only had great esteem for his judgment and
 
 KIND HEARTS. 83 
 
 abilities, but respected him as a man ; and in his own 
 heart and conscience he was at ease with himself; so 
 he took no thought either ahout his dingy curtains 
 or his dirty chairs ; and, so far as concerned either his 
 pride or his comfort, his rooms might have been the 
 best in the palace itself. On this particular afternoon, 
 having dined as usual at one o'clock, although he had 
 taken up the Algemelne Zeitung, as was his custom, 
 to read it, it remained quietly on his knee unread ; 
 and, seated in his old cushioned chair, he gave him- 
 self up to the pleasure of that very long and very 
 handsome pipe. Perhaps the tobacco that afternoon 
 was particularly good, for he had just opened a new 
 packet of superfine cnaster; most likely it was so, 
 for he thought with himself he never had smoked so 
 excellent a pipe — never one which had relished so 
 much, and he was meditating with himself whether 
 he should not re-fill his pipe and smoke a second, 
 when a knock at his door announced an interruption, 
 and, in answer to his permission to enter, Von Rosen- 
 berg presented himself. The kind-hearted old man 
 bade him cordially welcome, internally rejoicing over 
 himself, that now he could smoke a second pipe in 
 company with his visiter. But the visiter declined, 
 although the handsomest pipe from the collection on 
 the wall was offered him, and after having been in- 
 vited to test the new-opened cnaster by scent. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the good Geheimerath, laughing, 
 " young men, now-a-days, cannot smoke out of a 
 schlaf-rock ; and there is some reason in it. Now, if I 
 were at home I could accommodate you in this respect ; 
 and even here, until yesterday, I had two, but I un- 
 fortunately tore one of them last week on the door 
 handle ; it was but an old one, to be sure, but I sent it 
 away to a poor sick fellow yesterday, or it might have 
 done to wear on an occasion, or to save a better coat."
 
 84 KIND HEARTS. 
 
 We need not give the precise words in which Von 
 Rosenberg made known to the Geheimerath the 
 object of his visit. The Herr Geheimerath smoked 
 his fresh pipe, and said so very little, that poor Von 
 Rosenberg remained half an hour afterwards in a 
 most wretched, state of uncertainty. He had not 
 another word to say; and he thought he never had 
 spoken so ill, never had looked so foolish in all his 
 life before ; still the Geheimerath smoked on, and said 
 nothing. Every minute seemed five ; the old gentle- 
 man took up the Algemeine Zeitung, and seemed as 
 if he were going to read it through; and then, with- 
 out laying down the paper, and with the pipe between 
 his lips, and looking over his spectacles, inquired if 
 Von Rosenberg had come to Carlsruhe alone ? He 
 replied that Karl Hoffmann was with him. 
 
 " You can both come and eat some supper with 
 me, at eight o'clock," said the Herr Geheimerath; "I 
 have some good Johannisberg, and then we can talk 
 over this foolish affair of yours together." 
 
 " Your father and I were each other's best friend 
 at the University of Berlin," said the kind old man 
 to Von Rosenberg, as they and Hoffmann sat 
 together over the supper-table, each with a sparkling 
 glass of that noble Rhine wine in their hands ; " let 
 us drink to his memory !" said he, winking his eye- 
 lids close, and giving a very peculiar expression to 
 his countenance, so as to prevent a tear from falling. 
 " To the memory of Ludwig Von Rosenberg, the 
 truest and kindest friend that ever man had!" 
 
 The three glasses were filled to the brim, and, being 
 all angestossen, or clinked together, were emptied at 
 a draught. The old man set his glass down with a 
 violence that shivered it to pieces. " It is right," 
 said he ; " it shall never be polluted by being drank 
 from to a less worthy man's memory !" and then,
 
 KIND HEARTS- 85 
 
 filling another glass, he drank it in silence to his own 
 thoughts. 
 
 " And so your uncle is married 1" said he, turning 
 abruptly to Von Rosenberg. 
 
 " He has been married," replied he, " for many 
 years." 
 
 " There is no hope of inheritance from him, then V 
 said the other. 
 
 " None whatever," replied he. 
 
 "And," said the Geheimerath — "for we may as 
 well come to plain speaking at first — your father died 
 poor.'' 
 
 Von Rosenberg felt as if upon the rack, but he 
 replied, with apparent coolness, that his father had 
 left but very little property behind him. " He died 
 suddenly," said he ; " a state letter, containing a much 
 higher appointment, arrived the very day after his 
 death. He left five children, of whom I was the 
 eldest." * 
 
 " I know, I know," interrupted the Geheimerath, 
 giving him his hand ; " I know what you have already 
 done ; nor can I praise you higher than in saying 
 that you are a worthy son of Ludwig Von Rosenberg. 
 But you studied political economy in Tubingen, 
 and passed your examination most creditably; why 
 abandon this, your true vocation?" 
 
 "I shrunk," replied the young man, with the most 
 perfect candour, " from the prospect which that voca- 
 tion presented me in life. To vegetate in a small 
 city, where my sole associates must be peasants; 
 where the only two educated, beside myself — the 
 doctor, and the pastor — had sunk down into little 
 better than peasants themselves. I shrunk from this, 
 perhaps the more especially, because I have laid out 
 for myself a very different, and, as it seemed to me, 
 a far nobler course in life."
 
 86 ^IND HEARTS. 
 
 "As a composer of music?" said the Geheimerath, 
 
 " The same," replied Von Rosenberg. 
 
 " All very well," said the other, cooly, " did I 
 not know that many an imaginative young man runs 
 away from duty, after anything that looks, for the 
 time, more alluring, and thus brings ruin on himself 
 and friends." 
 
 " Only let me be assured," said Von Rosenbenr, 
 with an earnestness that made his countenance almost 
 colourless, " that the one dear wish of my heart may 
 be accomplished, and 1 will then soon prove that I 
 have been led by no ignis-fatuus ! Try for jears, if 
 you will," continued he, seeing that the other 
 remained silent; "put me to what test you will, 
 only do not take from me hope !" 
 
 The Geheimerath smiled, and then looked very 
 grave. 
 
 "Were not * * * and * * * poor?" con- 
 tinued Von Rosenberg, " and where, throughout the 
 whole world now, are there more honourable names ?" 
 
 "And were not many of the most celebrated men 
 of the present day," remarked Hoffmann, " in every 
 department of science and philosophy, poor also? — 
 there, for instance, is the Herr Geheimerath's own 
 friend." 
 
 "It is a fine school, that same much dreaded 
 poverty," replied the Geheimerath, " both morally 
 and intellectually, for the mind that is strong enough 
 to overcome it; but I am not objecting to your wani 
 of money my dear young friend," said he, most 
 kindly, and laying his hand on Von Rosenberg's arm, 
 but I want to be assured yet that you have sufficient 
 original power in music to make it prudent to abandon 
 every other prospect in life for it." 
 
 " I have given as yet but little evidence of my 
 power," said Von Rosenberg, overcoming an emotion
 
 KIND HEARTS. 87 
 
 which for the instant filled his eyes with tears, hut I 
 have hitherto struggled only with difficulties — with 
 uncertainties. Some minds are stimulated hy diffi- 
 culty and impediment; the very existence of opposi- 
 tion creates the power to overcome it; these are minds 
 of the highest order — mine is of a different character; 
 the prospect of success — the belief in the ultimate 
 accomplishment of a hope — I care not how remote 
 that accomplishment lies — has ever enabled me to 
 succeed. As I have been candid in confessing my 
 ■weakness," added he, " believe me also when I tell 
 you in what my strength lies. I have courage for 
 every hardship ; I have perseverance for every diffi- 
 culty; but I must have hope! Have confidence in 
 me, my friend, my father's friend," said he, his noble 
 countenance kindling with a light as of inspiration, 
 " and neither you nor Pauline shall be disappointed. 
 I know how great is the reward for which I am asking, 
 but I know also, that in the certain prospect of this 
 reward, I am able to deserve it. Pauline loves me," 
 added he, with a proud earnestness; "this surely 
 might have been stimulus enough — why have I sought 
 for more?" 
 
 " Because," said the Geheimerath, " Ludwig Von 
 Rosenberg's son could not have done less. Thou hasfc 
 done right, and thou shalt have thy wish! Give me 
 thy hand, son of my old friend, and may God 
 Almighty bless thee!" 
 
 Their hands were fast locked together; the Geheime- 
 rath again winked his eyes, and wrinkled his face into 
 a very comical expression ; and poor Von Rosenberg, 
 bowing his head to the table, wept vehemently. 
 
 " Come, come," said the old man, " this is only fit 
 for women and children ; fill thy glass, Karl Hoffmann, 
 and fill Von Rosenberg's also." Von Rosenberg could 
 not speak ; he rose from the table and went to the
 
 88 KIND HEARTS. 
 
 window, from which, for the next five minutes, he 
 looked oat, or seemed to look out, into the summer 
 moonlight; but he that while had vowed himself to 
 the highest efforts of his art — had registered a vow in 
 heaven, to spend all the fervour of his soul in becoming 
 worthy of that good old man's daughter. 
 
 The Gcheimerath Damian returned with the two 
 young men to Heidelberg. Pauline knew instantly, 
 when the carriage stopped at the door that Sunday 
 afternoon, bringing her father so unexpectedly back, 
 that the lover's journey had been a happy one, and, 
 kissing him with the warmest affection and gratitude, 
 she bade him kindly welcome. 
 
 It was soon noised abroad through all the little 
 city, that the fair Pauline Damian was the betrothed 
 bride of Von Rosenberg. The bride and bridegroom, 
 according to custom, made calls on all their acquaint- 
 ance, and received congratulations. 
 
 " I must return in two days to Carlsruhe," said 
 the Geheimerath, after he had been about a week with 
 his family ; " let us have all our friends invited for 
 to-morrow evening, that I may drink with them to 
 the happiness of the young people, and then Von 
 Rosenberg must prepare for his journey." 
 
 How busy the good aunt was all that day, and what 
 invitations were sent out, which everybody accepted! 
 
 It would indeed have reconciled a misanthrope to the 
 human race, to have taken supper that next night at 
 the Herr Geheimerath Damian' s. There was such cor- 
 diality, such unceremonious politeness, such universal 
 good understanding among them all; such glowing 
 friendships among the young, such proved friendships 
 among the old — not to speak about the good eating 
 and drinking, nor the merry conversation, the flashes 
 of wit, nor the deep philosophy ! It was no wonder 
 that, when they rose to depart, they were amazed to
 
 KIND HEARTS. 89 
 
 find it past midnight. Although it was late when the 
 company left the Geheimerath's door, Von Rosenberg 
 and his friend did not separate. 
 
 Von Rosenberg opened all his plans of life to his 
 friend. He opened to him his whole soul, even as he 
 had never before done, for he could now look his 
 doubts and despondencies in the face, and think them 
 chimeras; and all his aspirings and dreams of distinc- 
 tion, which before had seemed so baseless and futile, 
 appeared now only like the foreshadowings of his 
 future celebrity. 
 
 His mind was of a devotional cast, and his 
 favourite, and hitherto his most successful m^sic, had 
 been* of a religious character. When a boy, he had 
 strolled over many parts of Catholic Germany, from 
 cathedral to cathedral, from convent to convent, 
 delighting himself with, and in some degree studying, 
 the music of processions, of dirges, and masses. His 
 determination now was to begin afresh the same study 
 in the same way ; to place himself in the very sanc- 
 tuaries of this holy and peculiar music, and give 
 expression to the emotions of his own soul to cathe- 
 dral organs, and the chanting of lonely monks. He 
 would take, he said, his knapsack on his back, and 
 travel, even like a common handwerksbursche,or wan- 
 dering journeyman, from city to city, through Germany, 
 France, and Italy, and create himself a name in this 
 glorious yet unhacknied path of music. 
 
 Karl strengthened his determination, sympathised 
 with him in all his glowing hopes, and so they parted — 
 Karl to spend the night partly in dreams of his friend, 
 and partly in dreams, not sleeping but waking, which 
 nearly concerned himself, but in which the reader, as 
 yet, has nothing to do; and Von Rosenberg to com- 
 pose — an earnest of his future honour — a magnificent 
 piece of music, which very soon thrilled through and
 
 90 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT. 
 
 through the music-loving heart of Germany, and 
 which almost immediately established his name as 
 one of her most favourite modern composers. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT. 
 
 More than a week passed, and the Palmers and the 
 Hoffmanns saw nothing of each other. By degrees 
 the vexatious memory of the afternoon at Neckar- 
 steinach had faded away from Caroline's mind; the 
 time for apologies and explanations was gone by ; and 
 it seemed to her as if she had magnified mere trifles 
 into vast importance. Besides this, she began to 
 fancy that she, perhaps, had given to these new 
 German acquaintance an influence and a control, as 
 it were, over her feelings and her conduct, which was 
 very absurd. She was always, she said, so guided 
 by her imagination; she had invested all quiet, old- 
 fashioned Germans, ever since she had known that 
 good Mrs. Von Vbhning, with such a panoply of 
 virtues; and, really after all — turning again to the 
 Neckarsteinach afternoon — Mrs. Hoffmann had been 
 uncourteous, and even unjust to her. Then there was 
 something in the dashing, off-hand, uncounting-of- 
 cost, and decided manner and style of the new English 
 associates, which was captivating. Her reason told 
 her, that here again her imagination was caught, and 
 that there was far more danger in her admiring these 
 new characteristics, than by imagining even that every 
 social virtue was German. She was in an uncom- 
 fortable state of indecision between two opinions, and 
 she began most earnestly to wish she could bring not 
 national, but individual character, side by side, as it 
 were into close comparison, and discover the truth.
 
 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT 91 
 
 Thus she persuaded herself that it was merely fof 
 the solution of a moral problem, that one day, when 
 wearied both by Arthur Burnett's mimicry and flat- 
 tery, she began sincerely to wish that Karl Hoffmann, 
 with his love of music, and his quiet good sense, 
 would come down to spend the evening with them, 
 as he used so often to do before the Wilkinsons came ; 
 and, full of this idea, she determined at once to go 
 and call upon his mother. 
 
 Karl had his hat in his hand when she entered the 
 room, but he immediately laid it down, and took a 
 seat. Both she and Mrs. Hoffmann seemed con- 
 strained; the old lady evidently was not cordial, and 
 Caroline at once determined to spare no pains to win 
 her back into perfect friendship. Mrs. Hoffmann, on 
 her side, who, for the last ten days, had rejoiced in 
 the cessation of all intercourse, was acting now on 
 that mode of conduct she had avowed to her son — 
 she would no longer have any intimacy with these 
 English people. Caroline's wish to please made her 
 really pleasing; but the mother had made up her 
 mind not to be won, and, though she smiled almost 
 graciously, she was as cool as possible in her manner. 
 Karl had never appeared so friendly, so agreeable 
 before, for he, knowing his mother's true sentiments, 
 perhaps thought it needful to show civility for them 
 both. 
 
 At length Caroline rose to depart, when Karl, 
 taking up a little roll of music which he had laid 
 down with his hat, said that he was intending to have 
 left it at her door when he passed ; that Von Rosen- 
 berg had copied it out for her at his request. It was. 
 he said, his friend's last composition, and had been 
 composed under the happiest circumstances, and he 
 doubted not but she would be delighted with it.
 
 92 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT. 
 
 Caroline smiled her grateful thanks, and glanced at 
 the title — The Betrothal. 
 
 " Indeed!" exclaimed she, the joyful truth at once 
 flashing to her mind, " then your friend is happy! 
 Allow me to say how much, how sincerely I rejoice!" 
 Karl took a small card from a number of others which 
 were wedged round the looking-glass frame, and pre- 
 sented it to her. It was small, with a gold border, 
 and elegantly engraved, " Ludwig Max Von Rosen- 
 berg — Pauline lsabelle Marie Damian, verlobt Sep- 
 tember 12, 183 — ." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed she, "the lovely girl who went 
 with us to Neckarsteinach ! I am delighted! Poor 
 Mr. Von Rosenberg!" 
 
 " He does not need any one's pity," said Mr. 
 Hoffmann. 
 
 " I did not mean to pity him," replied Caroline, 
 " but, from my soul, I sympathise in his happiness. 
 Congratulations, of course, are proper on such events. 
 I can have no opportunity of offering mine either to 
 him or her; let me, therefore, congratulate you as 
 his friend; and," added she, though somewhat in a 
 lower voice, " this joyful event makes something you 
 said the other day perfectly intelligible. I am, 
 indeed, delighted;" and, glancing again at the card, 
 with eyes full of kindness and pleasure, she laid it 
 upon the table. 
 
 "Von Rosenberg," said Karl, "leaves Heidelberg 
 almost immediately — perhaps not to return for years." 
 
 "That is strange!" replied Caroline. 
 
 " He will not marry," said Karl, " till he has 
 acquired for himself reputation, if not fortune. He 
 sets out now on his year or years of learning. 1 also 
 shall do the same," added he. " We shall set off like 
 two handwerksburschen, or travelling journeymen, 
 with knapsacks on our backs."
 
 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT. 93 
 
 "With a respectable show of old shoes and boots 
 strapped on the outside," said Caroline, laughing, 
 upon whose mind, however, this intimation of Karl's 
 early departure came like a sudden cloud, " and with 
 * a little pair of wheels on which to draw your knap- 
 sacks when you are weary. We shall have you 
 begging at our carriage steps — ' A few kreutzers — be 
 so good — to pay for our night's lodgings!'" 
 
 " Certainly," said Karl. 
 
 " But," continued Caroline, " your friend, with 
 his beautiful hair, and glorious countenance, will get 
 far more kreutzers than you. One always bestows 
 one's money among the handsome beggars." 
 
 " But," replied Karl, " I shall be the bold hand- 
 werksbursche, Von Rosenberg will sit twirling his stick 
 on the bench by the road-side, and I shall beg." 
 
 "And are they really going?" asked Caroline, 
 turning to Mrs. Hoffmann. 
 
 "Yes," replied she, "as soon as their things are 
 ready." 
 
 " I always think," said Caroline, trying to look 
 unconcerned, " a handwerksbursche has a pleasant 
 life of it while the fine weather lasts; but, methinks 
 you are setting off somewhat late in the season. No 
 doubt, however, you'll get hired to some master, in a 
 cheerful city, for the winter." 
 
 " Certainly," returned Karl, with the most imper- 
 turbable gravity. 
 
 The seven rooms which Mrs. Palmer had hired for 
 her friends, were found to be too few for them, and 
 some of the servants had to be lodged out. Caroline's 
 bed-room, which, unfortunately for her, adjoined that 
 of Mrs. Wilkinson, was begged from her for that 
 lady's French maid, and Caroline was removed into a 
 little inconvenient chamber beyond their own sitting- 
 room ; but anything and everything must be done to 
 accommodate and satisfy dear Mrs. Wilkinson.
 
 94 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT. 
 
 " I am sorry, dearest Caroline," said that lady, 
 " to inconvenience you, but I cannot do without 
 Mademoiselle Rosalie close at hand." 
 
 "We are all like one family," said Mrs. Palmer; 
 " I am sure Lina's greatest pleasure is to oblige you." i 
 
 Caroline said that she found the change rather a 
 convenience, as she thus could rise early in a morn- 
 ing to practise, without passing through her mother's 
 chamber, as she had hitherto done, and thus disturb- 
 ing her. Before long another alteration was proposed. 
 Mrs. Palmer's sitting-room — that pleasant room that 
 opened into the balcony, and that Caroline, she hardly 
 knew why, liked so very much — was found to be nearer 
 to Mrs. Wilkinson's kitchen than the one which had 
 been first fixed upon for her dining-room, so Mrs. 
 Palmer was solicited to allow it to become the dining- 
 room ; " because," said Mrs. Wilkinson, "you must 
 always dine with us. It is a miserable way sending 
 out for your dinner — nothing hot nor as it should 
 be ; and my cook is quite an artist. We must all 
 dine together. My sitting-room is yours, and only 
 very little further from your bed-rooms ; Lina's harp 
 shall be carried in ; and, now I have hired the new 
 tables, and those handsome rugs, it looks quite Eng- 
 lish. I shall, however, have still some brackets put 
 in the walls, and arrange on them, and about the 
 room, some of those vases, and things I brought from 
 Italy — for I hate these unfurnished German apart- 
 ments ; and, when Lina and her harp are in it, it will 
 look quite charming. And do you know, Mrs. Palmer," 
 said she, in a very confidential tone, " Arthur says 
 that Lina is the most graceful English girl he ever 
 saw. She reminds us both of Lady Charlotte Hay, 
 that I told you everybody in Florence was in love 
 with — only I think, and so he thinks, that Lina is 
 etill handsomer."
 
 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT. 95 
 
 Mrs. Palmer after this could say nothing against 
 giving up the dining-room. "And as to your maid," 
 continued the munificent Mrs. Wilkinson, " she must 
 always dine with our servants; and you must let 
 Rosalie give her a lesson or two in hair-dressing; 
 she has a very nice notion, but she will be the better 
 for Rosalie's teaching." 
 
 In a fortnight's time, therefore, a very considerable 
 change had taken place in Mrs. Palmer's little 
 establishment. Caroline passed most of her time in 
 Mrs. Wilkinson's sitting-room; but it was vain at- 
 tempting to get up early now to practise, for Arthur 
 Burnett also rose early in a morning to train his New- 
 foundland dog, which he always did in the sitting- 
 room ; and, now that their own room was given up for 
 dining, it was no longer sacred from the entrance of 
 the Wilkinsons' servants, who soon found it con- 
 venient to set out Mr. Arthur's breakfast there ; or 
 it had to be prepared for an early luncheon; or to be 
 cleaned ; or a missing spoon or fork had to be searched 
 for : there was no longer any privacy in it. Caroline 
 thought to herself, that she was, after all, very much 
 incommoded, but she took it all patiently; and Mrs. 
 Palmer, who never left her bed-room till eleven 
 o'clock, and therefore was no way annoyed, and who 
 only remarked, if her daughter chanced to complain, 
 " Oh, love, I am sure you are glad to oblige Mrs. 
 Wilkinson !" and who infinitely preferred the better 
 furnished sitting-room, and better furnished table of 
 her friend, therefore found herself very happy. 
 
 The large case containing the beautiful casts and 
 marbles which had been brought from Italy, sorely to 
 their damage, had been unpacked, and such as were 
 thought most appropriate and ornamental were taken 
 out, " that some marks of mind," said Mrs. Wilkin- 
 son, " miadit be visible in these inelegant German
 
 96 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT. 
 
 rooms. Two antiques of great beauty were placed 
 upon the public staircase, in two large niches, which 
 seemed very invitingly to want filling; a pair of 
 richly-wrought vases were placed upon the brackets in 
 the sitting-room ; a Laocoon stood upon a little side- 
 table which was hired for the purpose ; while a Hebe 
 and a Magdalen of Canova stood upon black marble 
 pedestals; and various little Cupids throwing balls, 
 selecting arrows, and engaged in other such pastimes, 
 with intaglios of great beauty, vases of terra-cotta, 
 and a variety of curiosities from Pompeii, ornamented 
 what-nots, and tables, were arranged in elegant 
 disorder, according to the most approved English 
 mode. 
 
 "It is hardly worth while to have been at all this 
 trouble for so short a stay, perhaps," said Mrs. Wil- 
 kinson; "but as Caroline wished to see them, and 
 one had need try to find some amusement in this dull 
 place, it is of no consequence. We can have a man 
 from Mannheim to pack them all again." So every- 
 thing was spread abroad and examined, and such as 
 were not wanted were given to Mademoiselle Rosalie 
 and Arthur Burnett's valet, to put back into the case 
 
 Caroline one morning was standing with a small 
 vase in her hand, studying, with great attention, 
 its beautiful design, whilst her mother and Mrs. 
 Wilkinson were reclining on the sofas. "Well, I 
 must confess," said the latter lady, with a most ex- 
 pressive yawn, " that I am greatly disappointed in 
 this Heidelberg. The castle is only an unshapely mass 
 of red stone, and walls looking patchy with old white- 
 wash." Caroline turned round suddenly, and stood 
 with the vase still in her hand. " Yes, you may look, 
 Lina," said she, " but 1 have seen all the splendid 
 ruins in Italy, and all thosts in England; and, let Mrs,
 
 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT. 97 
 
 Jameson say what she will, the Coliseum, even without 
 moonlight, is infinitely before this castle; nay, even 
 in my mind, Bolton Abbey, or Fintun or Fountains, 
 standing, as they do, in their paradisaical vales, and 
 bosomed in their magnificent trees, are, any one of 
 them — not so large, I grant — but more picturesque 
 and beautiful." 
 
 " I have only seen Bolton Abbey," said Caroline, 
 setting down the vase; " but ch! if" seems like treason 
 to compare it even with this glorious castle — this 
 mass of palaces — any one of which, nay even a single 
 tower of which, would be a splendid ruin. Then look 
 at its stupendous walls, as if built by Titans — not 
 crumbled away by time, but rent and shattered by 
 violence — every corner tower gone, and the abrupt, 
 sharp angles of broken walls left like rocks torn 
 asunder by earthquakes! Look at that Gesprengte 
 Thurm, does it not remind one of the wars of giants ? 
 Look again at that magnificent palace of Otto Heinrich, 
 with its arabesques and graceful sculptures, any one 
 figure of which is worthy to be by a pupil of Raphael !" 
 
 " You are so enthusiastic," said Mrs. Wilkinson 
 laughing; " you look so much at the detail of a thing 
 — think so much of its poetry — I take a thing in its 
 whole; and, I say again, that tourists make a great 
 riot about nothing, when they say so much about 
 Heidelberg! What say you, Mrs. Palmer?" 
 
 " I take a middle course," said that politic lady 
 
 " Then, as to the mountains," continued Mrs. 
 Wilkinson; " good Heavens! to call them mountains! 
 — round-backed hills, and nothing else! Go to Swit- 
 zerland for mountains, or to the Apennines, nay, 
 even to our own Wales or Cumberland!" 
 
 " I have seen neither the Alps nor the Apennines," 
 said Caroline, " but I know perfectly almost every 
 sheep-track up Skiddaw and Helvellyn, Cader Idris and
 
 98 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT. 
 
 Snowdon — but I should never think of comparing them 
 with these hills. These dear, round-backed green hills 
 — for we will not call them mountains — suit the cha- 
 racter of this scenery, with its vineyards and scattered 
 villages, its deep old-world valleys, where children herd 
 goats, and women spread out the linen which they 
 have spun in the winter to bleach, and where a couple 
 of yoked cows slowly drag along the old-fashioned 
 waggon, and evei-ything seems so stil. and so simple, so 
 full of that spirit of quiet and contentment, which has 
 so entirely left the home of the English poor. Oh, 
 I love this old-fashioned primitive land of Germany!" 
 
 "I always told you you were German-mad!" said 
 her mother. 
 
 " Take care Arthur does not hear you talk in this 
 strain," said Mrs. Wilkinson, " or you will never hear 
 the last of it." 
 
 Caroline took up the little vase again, and thought 
 that if Arthur Burnett ridiculed her, she should very 
 much dislike him. 
 
 "But to return to what I was saying," said Mrs. 
 Wilkinson, "I do think Heidelberg prodigiously 
 stupid: — no concerts — no promenades — no public 
 rooms — no opera! What, in the world, is there'/ 
 Are there no people worth knowing?" 
 
 " I have some letters of introduction," said Mrs. 
 Palmer, "but they are all to professors." 
 
 " Heaven defend me from professors !" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Wilkinson; " they know nothing but their own 
 particular branch of science or philosophy, and their 
 wives know nothing but household economy. I once 
 was betrayed into making the acquaintance of a pro- 
 fesscr at Berlin ; we were invited there to supper, 
 And our supper consisted of two sorts of sausages, two 
 sorts of salad, and two sorts of wine, each sour as 
 t inegar ! I must get Arthur to read you the epigram
 
 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT 99 
 
 he -wrote on that memorable supper !" and again 
 Mrs. Wilkinson yawned. " But come, Lina," said 
 6he, raising herself up on the sofa, " I was so sleepy 
 last night, that I confess I heard not a single note of 
 what you played. I am tired even now, but I want 
 to hear the new piano; so sit down, and I promise 
 you not to sleep again." 
 
 Caroline sate down to the grand piano which had 
 been hired from Mannheim, and began to play the 
 piece which Karl Hoffmann had given her. 
 
 "Oh, but this is really superb! This is most splen- 
 did music !" said Mrs. Wilkinson — who had naturally 
 a fine taste in music — rising from the sofa when Caro- 
 line had finished; "whose is it, dear?" 
 
 Caroline's eyes were full of tears. There was 
 something in that music which touched her deeply. 
 She thought of the beautiful head and countenance of 
 its composer — of his early misfortunes — his timid, 
 uncertain love — the influence, for happiness or misery, 
 which that love would have upon his life — all which 
 Karl Hoffmann had told her, and which this music 
 spoke so plainly; and then the sudden change in its 
 tone and spirit — the lover was accepted! a colouring 
 like the morning was cast over everything — the earth, 
 the sky, man and woman, the present and the future — 
 all was bright, all was full of a new glory! — then 
 there was a change, and all breathed of domestic 
 peace, and confidence, and love ; the accepted bride- 
 groom was received into the bosom of a new family; 
 new chains of affection were linked about him ; there 
 was a holy calm over everything, as if a father's bless- 
 ing, and a mother's tears, and loving angels in heaven, 
 had hallowed it! Then followed a burst ljke that of 
 joyful hearts speaking aloud — as of the laughter of 
 young brothers and sisters, the clinking of glasses, 
 the drinking to the happiness ot the betrothed : a
 
 100 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT. 
 
 low symphony closed it — the friends were gone; the 
 bride and the bridegroom had parted, and blessed 
 dreams, like the fluttering of angels' wings, gathered 
 round the pillow of each. It was more intelligible 
 than words to Caroline, and, burying her face, in her 
 hands, she- wept. 
 
 "It is glorious music!" said Mrs. Wilkinson, tak- 
 ing it from the instrument; "but this is manuscript!" 
 
 Caroline wiped her eyes. " I am very foolish," 
 she said, "but this music affects me strangely. It 
 was composed only a few days ago by one of Mr. Hoff- 
 mann's friends, on his own betrothal, I believe." 
 
 "He is quite a genius!" said Mrs. "Wilkinson; "we 
 must know him; he can, perhaps, help to amuse us — 
 who is he?" 
 
 " A Mr. Von Rosenberg," replied Caroline ; " you 
 remember him, mamma, with the long, beautiful hair ; 
 he went with us in the boat to Neckarsteinach. He 
 has since then been betrothed to Miss Damian — that 
 pretty girl in the pink bonnet. He calls this won- 
 derful music, very properly, The Betrothal. ' Its deep 
 sentiment, its truthful domestic character, its holy, 
 affectionate spirit, make it perfectly glorious," said she. 
 
 " I should think you might ask Mr. Hoffmann to 
 bring him some evening," said Mrs. Palmer; "and, 
 now I think of it — how long it is since that young man 
 was here! — he sings admirably." 
 
 " Come, come !" said Mrs. Wilkinson, looking quite 
 animated, " with a composer like tnis — what's his 
 name? — Yon Rosentein — your singing Mr. Hoffmann, 
 yourself, Lina, and your singing-mistress, I declare we 
 might get up a little concert. Unfortunately Arthur 
 cares nothing for music — but I really must manage 
 it ; that dining-room of yours, Lina, we might fit up 
 so sweetly, with an awning over the balcony. We 
 must do it!"
 
 SEEKING AFTER AMUSEMENT. 101 
 
 "Will you call with me on Mrs. Hoffmann?" said 
 Caroline, to Mrs. Wilkinson ; " you know here the 
 strangers must make the first advance." 
 
 "But why need to call in Mrs. Hoffmann at all? 
 we only want the son," replied Mrs. Wilkinson. 
 
 "I don't exactly know," replied she, "hut he 
 eeems to have such respect and reverence for his 
 mother — I think it is rather characteristic of a German 
 — that, as we have had the misfortune to offend her, 
 we must, in the first place, get her. into good humour, 
 and then the son will he at our service." She then 
 related what had happened at Neckarsteinach. " You, 
 see," said Mrs. Palmer, " I was so taken hy surprise 
 — I had expected you so long and so earnestly, that 
 at the moment I forgot all ahout those people, and I 
 am not sure that I either made apology or excuse for 
 leaving them." 
 
 " We can soon get over that little difficulty)" said 
 Mrs. Wilkinson; "I never yet met with foreigners 
 who were not flattered by the civilities of the rich 
 English; and besides that, I am never without a little 
 ' soft sawder,' as Slam Slick says." 
 
 " Sam Slick has clipped many of my angels' 
 wings," said Caroline laughing. " I used so happily 
 to believe all the fine things people said either to me 
 or to mamma, till I read Sam Slick." 
 
 " She uses too much soft sawder herself, not to 
 know what is soft sawder in other people's mouths," 
 said Mrs. Wilkinson to Caroline's mother. " Is not 
 that true?" 
 
 " I never flatter," said Caroline, eagerly. 
 
 " Then I am sure, Lina," returned her mother, 
 " you have no business to court this Mrs. Hoffmann, 
 for she is both cold, and proud, and homely, and old- 
 fashioned." 
 
 " She is a dear old ladv for all that," said Caroline.
 
 102 AMUSEMENT FOUND UNEASY DOUBTS. 
 
 " Well, let you and I go and see what we can 
 make of her, Lina," said Mrs. Wilkinson, taking her 
 card-case from the table, and drawing Caroline's 
 arm within her's. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AMUSEMENT FOUND UNEASY DOUBTS. 
 
 They were summoned to the dinner-tahle the moment 
 they came down from their call on Mrs. Hoffmann. 
 Arthur Burnett also then came in ; he was just re- 
 turned from Mannheim, and was in the highest spirits; 
 he had met with the Ponsonbys there; Bell was now 
 handsomer than ever, and Tom seemed a nice sort 
 of fellow. Mrs. Wilkinson's countenance expressed 
 such unqualified pleasure, that Mrs. Palmer was sure 
 they must be worth knowing. 
 
 " What branch of the Ponsonbys are they ?" asked 
 she. 
 
 " The Warwickshire branch," replied her friend. 
 V Colonel Ponsonby is the brother of Sir John ; we 
 knew them in Paris three years ago, very dashing 
 people." And then she went on to tell of their 
 soirees and morning concerts, and blessed herself in 
 the discovery she had just made of a musical genius, 
 for she could thus in some degree equal her friend, 
 who always had some protege or other. " It was 
 lucky, however," she said, " that they did not live in 
 the same place ; Colonel Ponsonby was a desperate 
 gambler ; a run of ill luck had driven him from 
 Paris, and, in so small a town as Heidelberg, they 
 might have found their acquaintance inconvenient, 
 as it was now, nothing could be more charming; she 
 would therefore drive over the next morning, and 
 make her call." She then told Burnett of the musical
 
 AMUSEMENT FOUiSD UNEASY DOUBTS. 103 
 
 genius she had just discovered ; that she was going 
 to give a little concert ; and, now that the Ponsonbys 
 were come, she would invite them, and some of their 
 Mannheim friends also. 
 
 " Then you found the old lady up stairs not im- 
 placable ?" said Mrs. Palmer. 
 
 Mrs. Wilkinson shrugged her shoulders, and said 
 that, like all Germans she had ever known, she was 
 extremely cautious — was very much afraid every 
 English or French person meant to take her in. 
 Caroline said Mrs. Wilkinson had been perfectly and 
 irresistibly charming; that she herself could have been 
 deceived into the notion of her having the utmost 
 reverence and esteem for her. 
 
 11 I shall send her," said Mrs. Wilkinson, " a pair 
 of alabaster vases — we have far more than I know 
 what to do with. I knew, when I bought them, I 
 should give them away before I got them to England; 
 and really the old ladv admired the figures on the 
 stairs very properly." 
 
 " She has very good taste, and a vast deal of infor- 
 mation — nay, actually solid knowledge," said Caroline, 
 " that only makes itself known by accident." 
 
 " You can look her out a pretty pair of vases, 
 Lina," said her munificent friend. 
 
 " I shall never forget," said Caroline laughing, and 
 turning to Burnett, " how amiably delightful Mrs. 
 Wilkinson was! I thought of all I had told Mrs. 
 Hoffmann about her, and I was sure she would think 
 that I had not spoken without reason." 
 
 " She is an adept in flattery and persuasion," said 
 he, looking archly at his adopted aunt; "and I shall 
 never forget a certain Mrs. Abigail Finch, who lived 
 somewhere in Holborn, to whom we used to pay visits : 
 —but, by the bye," said he, suddenly interrupting him- 
 self, and feeling in his side-pocket, " here is a letter
 
 104 AMUSEMENT FOUND UNEASY DOUBTS. 
 
 for you from Paris." Mrs. Wilkinson took the 
 letter, and, while she was deeply engrossed by the 
 contents, he went on: "Well, this old lady was pro- 
 digiously rich, and had all her money out on mort- 
 gages ; and there was a certain Quito, or Amazonian, 
 or Brazilian Joint-Stock Mining Company, that was 
 rather short in its finances, and thought, naturally 
 enough, that this old lady's money could be employed 
 to far better advantage by them, pay her tenfold 
 interest, and help them out of their difficulties. 
 Not a week passed but the most tempting circulars 
 went to her, telling her of gold, and 'silver, and dia- 
 mond mines, and cent, per cent, returns on all money 
 invested, but the old lady was proof against them all; 
 nothing would move her, though a live member of 
 parliament went to her. At last they thought of 
 sending Mrs. Wilkinson to her, and I had the honour 
 of attending her. Many and many were the visits we 
 paid her, and many the bottles of ginger-wine and 
 the plates of gingerbread we emptied ; for with these 
 dainties the good old soul always regaled us." 
 
 " And did she give up her mortgages ?" asked Mrs. 
 Palmer, with the greatest apparent interest. 
 
 " To be sure she did ! How could she do other- 
 wise?" replied he. " She died, however, poor old 
 lady, just before the mines exploded, and proved to 
 be only moonshine, and left in her will half the 
 expected profits to an orphan house, or something of 
 the kind ; the other half to a world of poor relations ; 
 and the principal, munificent old soul, to no other 
 than my eloquent aunt, together with her clothes, 
 and fifteen excellent feather beds ; which, of course, 
 were all that ever she got, for the money was gone 
 over and over again!" 
 
 Arthur Burnett laughed heartily ; Caroline smiled, 
 but she thought, though she did not say it, that such
 
 AMUSEMENT FOUND UNEASY DOUBTS. 105 
 
 a story, if true, was not to the Wilkinsons' credit; 
 whilst her mother looked very grave. 
 
 " What are you laughing at?" asked Mrs. Wilkin- 
 son, folding together the letter. " I was telling," 
 said Arthur Burnett, " of Mrs. Abigail Finch's 
 legacy !" 
 
 " Poor old creature !" said Mrs. Wilkinson, with 
 the utmost indifference, and then added, " Mr. Wil- 
 kinson is in Paris still; he has, however, heen to 
 Petersburg. He writes in excellent spirits, and hopes 
 to he here in a few weeks, w l.«JI1 he proposes that we 
 should go to Vienna for the winter, unless we prefet 
 staying here. He says he has received a diamond ring 
 from some Russian prince — I can't make out his 
 name — which he intends for Caroline." 
 
 " How kind! how r good of him!" exclaimed Caro- 
 line, thinking there never were such generous people 
 as the Wilkinsons. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer said that dear Mr. Wilkinson was too 
 generous ; but, complaining of violent headache, said 
 she would go to her own room and lie down. 
 
 As soon as dinner was over, Caroline went to 
 choose a pair of vases; she was divided in her opinion 
 between two, the one from an antique, the other 
 modern ; they were standing on the drawing-room 
 table before her when Karl Hoffmann and Von Rosen- 
 berg came in to accept Mrs. Wilkinson's invitation. 
 Caroline solicited their judgment ; Von Rosenberg 
 preferred the modern — it was, to his taste, more light 
 and elegant; Hoffmann found more beauty in the 
 purely classical outline and chaste ornament of the 
 antique; Caroline said she should be guided by his 
 judgment. Von Rosenberg looked as if he had 
 received the highest possible compliment, in the pre- 
 ference given to his friend, and Hoffmann bowed. 
 
 Mrs. Wilkinson was delighted with the young
 
 106 AMUSEMENT FOUND UNEASY DOUBTS. 
 
 musician ; to her mind he was the heau-ideal of a 
 genius: the fine contour of his countenance, the 
 picturesque effect of his rich flowing hair, the enthu- 
 siasm and ardour with which he spoke of his art* 
 all filled her with rapture; but when he sat down 
 to the instrument and played his own music, her 
 admiration was without bounds ; she clasped her 
 hands, she wept, she nodded time to the livelier 
 measures, and foretold for him the most brilliant 
 career. "We must have you in England," said she; 
 ''genius reaps such a golden harrest there!" She 
 herself, she said, would return to England for one 
 season, to patronise him; she had the power of mak- 
 ing anything a fashion ; she would take a princely 
 house in one of the best parts of London, and intro- 
 duce him to everybody. Her husband, she said, 
 had unheard-of influence among the richest people 
 in the land; and, if he would only promise to come 
 to London, she would ensure for him not only a 
 splendid musical reputation, but a noble fortune 
 also ! 
 
 Von Rosenberg, dazzled by all the lavish promises 
 of the enthusiastic lady, felt indeed as if the day of 
 his prosperity was dawning apace, and, full of grati- 
 tude, entered into the scheme of the projected little 
 concert with a zeal equal to her own. How happily 
 and gaily the evening wore away ! Von Rosenberg 
 played unwearyingly ; Hoffmann and Caroline sang 
 together as they had done in the days of their earlier 
 acquaintance; Mrs. Wilkinson applauded, and ar- 
 ranged in her own mind the plan of her concert, and 
 interrupted them perpetually, to communicate any 
 new idea as it suggested itself, or to call upon them 
 to decide between two rival ones ; whilst Arthur 
 Burnett played with his dog, leaned out of the win- 
 dow to quiz those who were without, and then threw
 
 AMUSEMENT FOUND UNEASY DOUBTS. 107 
 
 himself on the sofa, to quiz those who were within ; and 
 thought that, spite of the enthusiasm of everybody, 
 the evening was — to English a most expressive Ger- 
 man word — very long-whilish. 
 
 All this time there were two discontented persons 
 belonging to this associate household — Mrs. Hoff- 
 mann, and Mrs. Palmer. Poor Mrs. Palmer had 
 thrown herself upon her bed in serious agitation and 
 anxiety of mind, occasioned by the little anecdote 
 Arthur Burnett had related of poor Mrs. Abigail 
 Finch ; but to her daughter she would not for the 
 world have said one word of the true cause. " I 
 think it is the heat of the weather, dear, that has 
 overdone me," said she to Caroline, who, in the course 
 of the evening, went to inquire after her; " you can 
 send me a cup of strong tea; but one thing, Lina, I 
 must impress upon you — do not be quite absorbed 
 by this young Hoffmann ; he is a very excellent 
 young man, I do not doubt, but how is it that you 
 always laugh so much more with Arthur Burnett 
 than with him? You seem like a giddy thoughtless 
 girl with the one, but like the earnest woman with 
 the other; how is it?" 
 
 A slight blush passed over Caroline's face as she 
 answered, " The characters of the two are so different; 
 I find nothing to laugh at with Mr. Hoffmann — he 
 makes me think ; with him I always seem conscious 
 of mind, and, like Undine, I suppose this very con- 
 sciousness makes me grave and thoughtful." 
 
 " Caroline," said her mother, raising herself up in 
 her bed, " you are unaware, perhaps, what your com- 
 parison implied; Undine loved when she became 
 thoughtful ; that is what I fear, that is what I warn 
 you against; whilst you laugh, and are giddy as a 
 child, I know your heart is unentangled : now, of these 
 two — though nothing could be more improper than
 
 108 AMUSEMENT FOUND UNEASY DOUBTS. 
 
 a young lady bestowing her affections unsolicited — 
 how much is Arthur Burnett preferable to the other! 
 look at the style of the two; look at the fortunes of 
 the two — at their prospects in life — " 
 
 " But," said Caroline, interrupting her mother, " I 
 should hate marrying merely for worldly prospects; 
 why should I ? " 
 
 " "Why should you !" exclaimed her mother, grow- 
 ing warm and angry, " because it is your duty to 
 advance your own fortunes in life as much as possible. 
 For what have I lived abroad, out of my own land, 
 where all my affections are centered, but to give 
 you advantages which our small income would not 
 give you at home? You are handsome, Lina," added 
 she, intending to touch her by an appeal to her 
 vanity, " and have the style of a thorough-bred 
 gentlewoman. I have spared nothing in your educa- 
 tion, as you well know ; and it surely is but a small 
 request that I make, that you will not go and throw 
 away your affections on a pennyless foreigner!" 
 
 " My dear mother !" exclaimed Caroline, " have 
 no anxiety about me. I am beginning to be worldly- 
 minded, and, since our friends have been with us, 
 have acquired a very sufficient love of money, and of 
 the pleasure of spending it too!" 
 
 " Well, well, my dear," said her mother, pursuing 
 the subject of her warning ; " and remember it is 
 often as bad to seem guilty, as to be guilty. How 
 absurd must you appear to the Wilkinsons — to Mr. 
 Burnett — if they suspected you of any penchant for 
 Mr. Hoffmann! how they would laugh at you! I 
 am sorry, for my part, that Mrs. Wilkinson has got 
 this musical mania on her, and 1 am sorry that I said 
 anything about Mr. Hoffmann's singing — it -will bring 
 him here so much." 
 
 " Oh!" said Caroline smiling, "pray, mamma, let
 
 AMUSEMENT FOUND UNEASY DOUBTS. 109 
 
 not that trouble you ; he and his friend leave Heidel- 
 berg immediately, and then we must depend upon 
 Mr. Burnett for amusement; and dull enough, I doubt, 
 we shall find it." 
 
 " Nonsense! child," replied her mother, " for you 
 seem to find him always amusing; but go now, my 
 head is worse for all this talking; send me a cup of 
 strong tea, and remember what I have said." 
 
 ■When Gretchen took her mistress' tea she received 
 orders to request Mrs. Wilkinson, unobserved by her 
 daughter, to come to her for five minutes. Mrs.* 
 Wilkinson, in her enthusiasm about the proposed con- 
 cert, forgot the request till near eleven o'clock, when 
 the young men were gone, and Caroline offered her 
 hand to say adieu, adding that she must visit her 
 mother before she went to rest. " I ought myself to 
 have gone to her," said Mrs. Wilkinson ; " stay here, 
 Lina, till I return ; I have a little device for the con- 
 cert room, which I want to consult you about; now" 
 amuse her, Arthur, while I am gone." 
 
 Burnett, therefore, who was by no means unaware 
 of her enthusiasm for her German friends, and who, 
 moreover, had been piqued by the preference she had 
 given to Hoffmann over himself, began most remorse- 
 lessly to caricature both him and his friend. He was 
 irresistibly comic, and Caroline laughed extremely. 
 Arthur thought her always lovely; he thought she 
 looked lovelier than usual to-night; he was quite 
 divided in his opinion as to whether she or Bell 
 Ponsonby were the handsomer. Bell Ponsonby 
 looked splendid on horseback; if Caroline looked 
 as well on horseback, she was the handsomer, 
 for Bell did not at all times look equally well in a 
 room. He asked Caroline if she rode? She said 
 she did ; she had ridden a great deal in England, and 
 liked it much. Burnett said he was delighted; he 
 
 10
 
 110 AMUSEMENT FOUND UNEASY DOUBTS. 
 
 had bought a horse for himself; his aunt wished for 
 one also, as she was fond of riding; he cared nothing 
 for riding out with her, and therefore he had said he 
 could not find a horse fit for her; there were plenty 
 of horses, however; and, now that Caroline rode, he 
 would go the next day and find one, and thus they 
 would have charming rides together; Bell Ponsonby 
 rode, and her brother had a most valuable horse; they 
 would make altogether a fine cavalcade, and astonish 
 everybody ; he should not have cared much for riding 
 'with the Ponsonbys, but with her, he assured her, it 
 was quite a different thing. 
 
 Caroline thought she had never seen Burnett more 
 agreeable than he was this evening; if he were not 
 positively handsome, he was one of the most gentle- 
 manly persons she had ever seen. There was some- 
 thing perfectly fascinating, to her fancy, in this un- 
 sparing indulgence of pleasure, unregardful' of cost; 
 ft was as if the lamp of Aladdin were in possession 
 of the Wilkinson family. She thought how glorious 
 it must be, through the whole of one's life, never to 
 know the want of money ; she asked Burnett if he 
 ever had deprived himself of a pleasure because of its 
 cost? and, while he is relating some of his most me- 
 morable extravagances, let us inquire what passed 
 between Mrs. Palmer and Mrs. Wilkinson. The 
 former lady was just about dispatching Gretchen with 
 a second request to her friend, when she made her 
 appearance, with overwhelming apologies on her lips. 
 " Really, Lina had been playing and singing so 
 gloriously, that there was no leaving the room ; she 
 must confess having forgotten, but she hoped dear 
 Mrs. Palmer was not ill."- 
 
 " Sit down," said Mrs. Palmer; " for, though it is 
 late, I must have some conversation with you on a 
 subject of ^e most painful importance to me."
 
 AMUSEMENT FOUND — UNEASY DOUBTS. Ill 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, what do you mean?" asked 
 the other. 
 
 M Perhaps you did not hear the anecdote which Mr. 
 Burnett told at dinner, of a certain Mrs. Abigail 
 Finch ?" said Mrs. Palmer. 
 
 " About her legacy ? Oh yes," replied the other, 
 smiling. 
 
 " About her being over-persuaded — I think those 
 were his own words," said Mrs. Palmer, " to invest 
 all her property in some wild mining scheme or 
 other." 
 
 •' I believe she did so," said Mrs. Wilkinson ; <,; but 
 what of that? it is years ago ; hundreds of people lost 
 by the same bubble bursting; surely," added she, 
 " you were not one of the poor old lady's disappointed 
 heirs ! " 
 
 " My dear friend," said Mrs. Palmer gravely, " I 
 cannot laugh. Burnett said you were the means of 
 this poor lady's calling in all her money, and so em- 
 ploying it. Now do not interrupt me," said she, 
 seeing Mrs. Wilkinson eager to speak. 
 
 M I must!" said Mrs. Wilkinson, with angry de- 
 cision ; " Arthur is a foolish prating fellow ! what 
 does he know about this affair ?" 
 
 " Nay, do not be angry," remonstrated Mrs. Palmer, 
 who was one of those who always got the worst of an 
 argument. 
 
 " I will tell you how it was," continued her friend, 
 in the same overbearing tone of voice. " Mrs. Finch 
 was one of those weak-minded women who are unfit 
 to manage their own affairs; she was very rich, but 
 was always playing with her money, as a child with 
 his toys ; now she would have it in mortgage, now in 
 the funds, now in a banker's hands — she never was 
 satisfied; and at last she heard of this mining scheme, 
 and took it into her head to invest there."
 
 112 AMUSEMENT FOUND UNEASY DOUBTS. 
 
 " But pardon me," said Mrs. Palmer; " the mining 
 scheme was Mr. Wilkinson's." 
 
 " No more his," returned the other, " than a hun- 
 dred other people's. It was, like many another such 
 scheme, unlucky ; but what in the world has all this 
 to do either with you or me?" 
 
 " Do not be impatient," again pleaded poor Mrs. 
 Palmer; "and, if I am unjustly suspicious, pardon 
 me; for oh!" said she, putting her handkerchief to her 
 eyes, " I am anxious beyond what you can conceive! 
 Heaven knows, but 1 have perhaps done as madly as 
 poor Mrs. Finch!" 
 
 " You !" exclaimed Mrs. Wilkinson. 
 
 " I will tell you," said she, laying her hand on her 
 friend's arm ; " and oh, if you can give me assurance 
 and consolation, do! Three years ago, when Mr. 
 Wilkinson was in London, he was greatly interested 
 about an Australian Land Company — of course you 
 heard of it." 
 
 " Certainly, I heard a deal about it," said Mrs. 
 Wilkinson. 
 
 " Immense estates of bankrupt settlers," continued 
 she, "were bought up. It was a splendid scheme; 
 the maps were laid before me, and even the company's 
 books ; I always was very exact in the management 
 of my own income ; I kept a debtor and creditor 
 account with myself, and put down every farthing, so 
 that I understood something of those things. I never 
 saw clearer accounts than those that were shown me ; 
 fifty per cent, was the calculated return on all money 
 so invested, after the first three years. It was a 
 tempting thing. My daughter was growing up; 
 expenses in England, as you know, are fearful; my 
 property was funded, and my income, though certain, 
 was but small ; the temptation was great, and, God help 
 me if I have been deceived — I sold out of the funds."
 
 AMUSEMENT FOUND UNEASY DOUBTS. 113 
 
 " Surely you did not!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilkinson, 
 surprised out of her own discretion. 
 
 " At least," continued Mrs. Palmer, " Mr. Wilkin- 
 son, on whose judgment I -placed the greatest reli- 
 ance, managed all for me. I wished Lin a to know 
 nothing about it, nor does she. I have thought 
 always what a pleasure it would be to surprise hei 
 some day with the news of our good fortune. Mr. 
 Wilkinson for the first two years sent me quarterly 
 statements of accounts, all clear and satisfactory ; foi 
 the last year I have had none. I was insured, for three 
 years certain, for four per cent, on my money, which 
 has been paid duly. I am in my last half-year. Judge 
 then of my anxiety ! I have the utmost confidence, 
 however, in Mr. Wilkinson. I do not think he would 
 willingly have let me be deceived; but this history of 
 poor Mrs. Finch has affected me greatly. God help 
 me, if this Australian Land Company should prove a 
 bubble !" 
 
 "Do not be anxious, dear Mrs. Palmer," said her 
 friend, in the most soothing tone; " do not have any 
 uneasiness ; Wilkinson is a man who never engages 
 himself in a doubtful concern ; he is lucky beyond 
 example; nor would he counsel you, for whom he 
 has had always so high an esteem, to invest even a 
 sixpence to disadvantage. As to poor Mrs. Finch, 
 if you knew what a fool she was about money, you 
 would only wonder that at her death she had any to 
 lose; but, pray cheer up; Wilkinson will soon be 
 here, and then we will have it all talked over." 
 
 " Hint not one word of this to Lina," said Mrs. 
 Palmer; " 1 am wretched when I think that perhaps 
 ( have destroyed all her prospects in life! I assure 
 you, there are times when I think I shall lose my 
 reason!"
 
 114 AMUSEMENT FOUND- — UNEASY DOUBTS. 
 
 " But Lina's fortune is not involved also, I hope?" 
 asked Mrs. Wilkinson. 
 
 " Why do you say hope?'" asked Mrs. Palmer, with 
 eager suspicion. Her friend replied, that she had no 
 reason to hqpe or fear on the subject ; it was merely 
 a passing question ; she supposed Lina's fortune was 
 independent of her mother." 
 
 " Fortune!" exclaimed Mrs. Palmer, betrayed into 
 a confession she had not contemplated, ' Lina's for- 
 tune amounts merely to one thousand pounds, at four 
 per cent, interest — what is that? it merely buys her 
 clothes." 
 
 It was very little, Mrs. Wilkinson said. " Seven 
 per cent, interest on six thousand pounds," continued 
 Mrs. Palmer, " I have, as was stipulated, received from 
 Mr. Wilkinson ; we manage to live very well on that 
 abroad ; and I have spared no cost nor pains to com- 
 plete poor Lina's education. I hoped to take her 
 back to England better educated, more highly accom- 
 plished than most girls' and able to do justice to the. 
 splendid fortune I had insured for her." 
 
 " Whatever Wilkinson recommended," remarked 
 his wife, " you may consider safe. I assure you 
 people bring their money to him, in preference to 
 putting it in the Bank of England." 
 
 " I will try to be satisfied," replied Mrs. Palmer — 
 " I will try to feel secure — but oh ! I assure you I 
 have never known a day's nor a night's perfect rest, 
 since I signed my name to those papers. People 
 don't know what they do when they persuade others 
 to embark their all on an uncertainty! Now, tell me 
 candidly, as if you were on your solemn oath, know 
 you anything of this Australian Company?" 
 
 " I cannot say," replied Mrs. Wilkinson, " that 1 
 never heard of it ; but as to what it was or is, or whai
 
 DOUBTS IN ANOTHER QUARTER. 115 
 
 it has turned out, I know nothing. Upon my word, 
 I know nothing. I never trouble myself about such 
 things; but when Wilkinson comes, of course you 
 must know all about it. I 'myself think he ought not 
 to have counselled your risking all your property ; but, 
 as he has done so, you may depend upon it the scheme 
 is sure;. and I think, besides, had any scheme in 
 which you had an interest been unlucky, he would 
 have mentioned it. As it is done with his advice, be 
 easy; all will be well — I am sure it will; nay," said 
 she laughing, " who knows but he brings you tidings 
 of this golden egg having hatched!" 
 
 "I pray Heaven that he may do so!" said Mrs. 
 Palmer. 
 
 "And now, good night! Make yourself easy," 
 said Mrs. "Wilkinson, giving her hand; "good night, 
 I must go now and look after our young ptople, whom 
 I left to amuse one another; I declare I have been 
 sitting here a whole hour!" So_ saying, in a voice as 
 cheerful as if there was no anxiety about money, 
 or anything else in this world, Mrs. Wilkinson went 
 out, to reprove her thoughtless, adopted nephew for 
 having talked so unadvisedly, under any circum- 
 stances, but, as it happened, so unfortunately, on the 
 subject of Mrs. Abigail Finch. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 DOUBTS IN ANOTHER QUARTER. 
 
 Mrs. Hoffmann had been busy for the last several 
 days, not only in overseeing, but in assisting also in 
 the getting up, of a large German wash. All this 
 day she had been busied with two women, accom- 
 plished laundresses, in ironing her son's shirts, which, 
 under her own eye, and with
 
 116 DOUBTS IN ANOTHER QUARTER 
 
 the utmost exactness, was done this time with more 
 care than common, because this was the linen which 
 had to be packed for his journey, for his, at least 
 two year's absence in the universities of Vienna, 
 Berlin, and Paris. 
 
 Karl having seen his friend to his own door, en- 
 tered the room in which his mother was sittung, not a 
 little surprised to see her up so late, for it was an hour 
 after her usual bed-time. " Sit down a few minutes 
 with me, Karl," said she, pointing to the vacant seat 
 beside her on the sofa. He knew his mother was 
 low-spirited at parting with him for the fir«t time, 
 and for so long, and his manners were particularly 
 kind. " See there," said she, pointing to a pair of 
 vases standing on a commode, " a present I have had 
 this afternoon." 
 
 Karl ros^and looked at them near; they ■were the 
 same vases on which Caroline had asked his judg- 
 ment. 
 
 " They are a present to me from Mrs. Wilkinson," 
 said she ; " I see no reason why she should make pre- 
 sents to me." 
 
 Karl said that they were beautiful; that they were 
 copies of a celebrated antique. " I say nothing 
 against their beauty," replied his mother. " I only 
 wish they had not been sent to me ; I would much 
 rather retm-n them." 
 
 " Impossible!" said he, "quite impossible; it would 
 not only be ungracious, but ungrateful also." 
 
 " I shall not send them back, Karl," said his 
 mother; "but as to gratitude, I feel none. Mrs. 
 Wilkinson is, it strikes me, not generous, but lavish; 
 there is little merit in her giving, because I believe 
 her to be one who feeds her vanity by buying many 
 tu;n;_ i, ami then feeds it again by giving them away: 
 such a character would be unnatural in Germany,
 
 DOUBTS IN ANOTHER QUARTER. 117 
 
 but it is the growth of English extravagance. Such 
 would give away whatever had lost its novelty, not 
 from generosity, but weariness of possession ; the 
 receiver merely relieves them of a burden ; there 
 therefore can be little call for gratitude. Mrs. Palmer 
 and her daughter speaks of her as so wonderfully 
 generous, because she gives them so much. She 
 • would give as much to her waiting-maid." 
 
 Karl knew she was right, though he did not choose 
 to confess it; so he laughed at her prejudice against 
 the English, and brought one of the vases to the 
 lamp, the better to observe it. " I am quite charmed 
 with them," said he, " and will be grateful to Mrs 
 "Wilkinson, if you will not. You remember what 
 Goethe says: ' One should, at least every day, hear a 
 little song, read a good poem, look upon some excel- 
 lent picture, and, if it be possible, speak a few sensible 
 words!'" said he, placing the vases on the slab of a 
 low book-case, on which they looked extremely well ; 
 " there you may have daily before your eyes a design 
 of great classic beauty, which Goethe himself would 
 admire. As for sensible words," said he, smiling, 
 " you always speak them, except when you speak of 
 our English friends." 
 
 " I have now your things almost ready," said his 
 mother, thinking it of no use to talk further about the 
 vases ; " when you have made your calls of adieu, and 
 such little preparations as you need for yourself, and 
 your passports come, I think all will be quite ready." 
 
 " Are you impatient for me to go?" asked he. 
 
 "How could I?" she replied. "There is very 
 little pleasure to me in the thought of being alone ; 
 but why have I busied myself so much, and even 
 this day sat up so late, but that I believed you your- 
 self impatient to set out? When does Max Von 
 uosenber": "o?"
 
 118 DOUBTS IN ANOTHER QUARTER. 
 
 "Not for two weeks," replied Karl; "he has 
 promised to arrange a little concert for Mrs. Wilkin- 
 son: of course I cannot go without him." 
 
 " I wish I was quite sure," said his mother gravely, 
 " that there is not a secret influence, though perhaps 
 you may deny it to yourself, which makes you reluc- 
 tant to leave these English acquaintance of yours." 
 
 Karl blushed — yes, blushed — for a young German- 
 may blush without being ridiculous. "Mcther," 
 said he, with a kindness of tone which at once went 
 to her heart, " take it not unkind that I ask you 
 neither to- suspect my motives, nor to pry into the 
 causes of my conduct; and, as you have found me 
 hitherto capable of judging for myself, confide in my 
 judgment at least a little longer." 
 
 " I would not have spoken on this subject now," 
 said she, " did I not believe you incapable of judging 
 for yourself. Fly, my dear son, whilst you yet are, 
 in some degree, 'a free agent! An English wife, 
 Karl," said she, growing at once, as it were, des- 
 perate, " and a wife brought up in all the follies and 
 extravagancies of the worst class of English society, 
 is not fit for a German who has his own path in life 
 to make. Dear Heaven! Karl, 1 am angry when I 
 think of it! Such a wife as this would make a home 
 miserable, were you otherwise the most successful 
 man in Germany!" 
 
 " Your prejudices are so strong," said Karl, taking 
 up his night-candle, "it is vain reasoning with you. 
 I pray you to leave me to make my own acquaintance, 
 and to guide my own actions, as I have hitherto done ! " 
 
 " When 1 see you madly running on destruction," 
 said she, " I will warn you. You have been more 
 headstrong about these English people than about 
 anything else ! My eyes are open, and I can see. 
 You are in danger, and I will warn you ; and I will
 
 DOUBTS IN ANOTHER QUARTER. 119 
 
 endeavour to interpose between you and certain 
 misery. Upon that you may depend," said she, in 
 a tone of almost angry decision. 
 
 Karl set down his candle again. " Do not let 
 there be strife betwixt us," said he, in a lone which 
 was calm, but betrayed emotion; "I pray you, by 
 all the affection you have for me, not to urge me 
 further on this subject. I am not a boy, to be turned 
 about merely by another's opinion ; this, perhaps, is 
 the only subject of importance on which we think 
 differently. 1, on my part, promise not to be misled 
 by mere fancy } you, on yours, must leave me to my 
 own judgment — must put a little confidence in me. 
 If I have not hitherto gone very far wrong, grant me 
 yet this same liberty a little longer ; ask me not any 
 questions, suspect me not, but leave me with an 
 unembarrassed mind, to be influenced alone by my 
 calmest reason." 
 
 "Alas!" said she, "my fears were just — you love 
 this English girl; but I will neither reproach nor 
 remonstrate — I will only pray that Heaven may pre- 
 serve you from the evil consequences that I foresee, 
 and have foreseen all along!" 
 
 Karl shook his mother's hand, and smiled on her 
 affectionately. "But I have one more request to 
 make, which you must grant:" she withdrew her 
 hand hastily, and asked what further he wanted. 
 " That you behave not only with civility, but kind- 
 ness, not only to Miss Palmer and her mother, but to 
 Mrs. Wilkinson also," said he. 
 
 "No, Karl," said she hastily, and angrily; "you 
 ask what I neither can nor will grant. Here I 
 will stop; with these people I will have nothing to 
 do; my intimacy with them is ended. I said so a 
 week ago ; I am doubly decided, now that 1 know what 
 your sentiments are towards them. You must run
 
 120 NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 into wKd.t extravagant lengths you please, but me 
 you shall not drag along with you; I have done with 
 your English friends — I will neither show them civi- 
 lity not kindness!" 
 
 Karl again took up his candle, and, without offer- 
 in his mother his hand, bade her good night. There 
 was nothing very extraordinary in it — he had done so 
 before ; but at that moment she thought it unkind. 
 She looked at the carefully prepared pile of linen 
 which stood before her; she thought how she had 
 tired herself with working for him all day, and now 
 that she had pleaded with him, for what she believed 
 his life's happiness, he was angry! She lighted her 
 own bed-candle, extinguished the lamp, and went to 
 her own chamber, quite out of spirits. 
 
 Next day, Hoffmann and his friends made one of 
 their long favourite strolls into the hills; on his 
 return home, he found his mother busied in trimming 
 a cap, which she said she was preparing for a party 
 on the morrow, at the same time glancing to an open 
 note which lay on the table. 
 
 It was a note from Mrs. Wilkinson, inviting her to 
 drink tea with them the next day : her son and Von 
 Rosenberg had had their invitations the day before. 
 Karl asked no questions as to his mother's so sud- 
 denly altering her intentions ; he merely smiled, and 
 said he was glad she was going. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 The next evening, about seven o'clock, Mrs. Hoff- 
 mann, dressed in her best, and with her knitting in 
 her black silk bag, made 'her appearance in Mrs. 
 Wilkinson's room. Mrs. Palmer was, as usual, reclin-
 
 NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 121 
 
 ing on a sofa, and apologized for remaining in that 
 position, on the plea of being unwell. Mrs. Wilkin- 
 son, her daughter, and Mr. Burnett, she said, had 
 driven over to Mannheim, and she wondered that they 
 had not already returned, as they had promised to he 
 back for dinner at five; no doubt they had stayed 
 and dined there, but that certainly they would be 
 back directly, as she knew Mrs. Wilkinson wished to 
 consult Mr. Von Rosenberg about her concert. It 
 was very strange, she said, that they were so long, 
 but as they had some old and very charming acquaint- 
 ance at Mannheim, no doubt they had been kept to 
 dinner. Mr. Burnett, she said, was gone about a 
 horse which he wished to purchase for his aunt; but, 
 for her part, she did not believe, when it came, she 
 would ride; however, it was all very well, as Caro- 
 line could make use of it, and could thus practise 
 riding again, of which she was very fond. Mrs. 
 Hoffmann said, that in a university town ladies did 
 not ride on horseback much. 
 
 "Certainly my daughter would' not," said Mrs. 
 Palmer, "unless she were properly attended. In 
 England," continued she, "she was always noticed 
 for her good riding — even in London, where may be 
 found the finest horse-women in the world." In the 
 midst of such conversation as this, Karl and Von 
 Rosenberg entered. "It was very awkward, very 
 vexatious, Mrs. Palmer siid, that they did not come; 
 they talked of the weather; they talked of the pro- 
 jected concert; and then Mrs. Palmer rose from the 
 sofa, and walked to the window. " Oh, here they 
 are," she exclaimed, "and with them a young lady- 
 Miss Ponsonby, I suppose ; a very fine English girl, 
 I hear!" 
 
 Mrs. Wilkinson, in her bonnet and shawl, entered, 
 declaring that it was impossible they could be for- 
 
 11
 
 122 KEW ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 given; that the Ponsonbys had promised Bell should 
 accompany them, and remain a few days with them, 
 if they would dine with them. Dinner was to have 
 been ready at three o'clock — instead of that, it was four; 
 then the Colonel loved the table so much, and time 
 really went so fast, that she was shocked to find it 
 six before they rose from the table. She had not, 
 she protested, a word to say in her defence; she only 
 trusted to the mercy of her friends, &c. &c. Caroline 
 and Miss Ponsonby then entered, and presently after- 
 wards, Arthur Burnett. Bell Ponsonby was, as every- 
 body said, very handsome — a proud, although a 
 blonde beauty. They all three seemed in the most 
 triumphant spirits, and there was a great deal of loud 
 laughing and loud talking among the English part of 
 the little company, whilst the three Germans sate 
 silent and constrained. The subject of all this ani- 
 mated talk was the pleasure to be experienced in 
 their projected horseback excursions, Mrs. Wilkin- 
 son having deputed Caroline, as was expected, to ride 
 her new horse. Bell and her brother were to accom- 
 pany them, and the whole country, even into the 
 Odenwald, was to be scoured ; and, in spite of the 
 Germans who were present, Bell and Arthur Burnett 
 ridiculed the ladies of their nation, for their inexpe- 
 rience on horseback. 
 
 After tea, Von Rosenberg sate down to the piano, 
 and Caroline to the harp; but, through the whole of 
 this unfortunate evening, had she studiously resolved to 
 grieve her German friends, she could not have been 
 more successful. The truth was, she had been jeered 
 that very clay by the Wilkinsons, for her German 
 tastes and feelings. Bell Ponsonby prided herself on 
 her Paris education and experience of life! and Caro- 
 line, afraid of being ridiculed, was ashamed to be 
 natural; besides which, the warning her mother had
 
 NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 123 
 
 given her not to be so grave in her conversations with 
 Karl, left her not at case with him ; towards him, 
 therefore, she assumed new manners — the manners 
 least pleasing of all in Germany — those of a lively 
 coquette. She was glad, however, when the evening 
 was over; so was Karl, who now, seeing that poor 
 Caroline had appeared to so little advantage, was 
 sorry he had pressed his mother to renew her inti- 
 macy; whilst she, too generous to taunt him, thought 
 quietly with herself, surely a few such evenings as 
 these would make him willing to leave his English 
 friends without regret. 
 
 The next day the new horse was brought home — 
 a beautiful creature, and Caroline grew quite impa- 
 tient to ride it. In the course of the next week, all 
 the good villagers of the neighbourhood were familiar 
 with the English cavalcade. Rich and poor all 
 talked of the dashing English, who frightened both 
 men and women with their spirited horsemanship. It 
 became quite a fashion for groups of students to 
 assemble to see them go by; whilst everywhere it 
 was a question which was the lovelier, the dark or 
 the fair beauty. During all this time, the projected 
 concert was a subject of almost hourly talk in the 
 "Wilkinsons' drawing-room ; a little programme was 
 drawn up by Von Rosenberg, which promised to be 
 delightful; Caroline, Hoffmann, and Madame Von 
 Holzhauser, all had favourite pieces allotted them; 
 and almost every evening was devoted either to par- 
 ticular or general rehearsal. 
 
 The greatest possible intimacy subsisted now 
 between the Wilkinsons and the Ponsonbys ; there 
 was such perpetual going to and fro between Heidel- 
 berg and Mannheim; such scheming of parties of 
 pleasure ; such balls and concerts, projected both for 
 immediate enjoyment, and for the winter, if, as Mrs
 
 124 NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 Ponsonby hoped — for she had an immediate eye to 
 Arthur Burnett, with his seven thousand a year — she 
 could only prevail on them to stay in Heidelberg for 
 the winter ; or why not in Mannheim ? The Wilkinson 
 party had been introduced to the grand duchess, and 
 been graciously received, and were now, together 
 with the Ponsonbys, looking forward to a great 
 autumn ball which she was about to give, and to 
 which they had already received invitations. 
 
 Bell Ponsonby had been now ten days at the "Wil- 
 kinsons' ; Caroline and she were always together, and 
 people said they were the best friends in the world. 
 Caroline was sitting one evening in her own room, 
 looking over a quantity of beautiful purchases which 
 she had just made, in expectation of the grand 
 duchess's ball. She looked anxious, if not unhappy: 
 her thoughts -were by no means connected, nor was 
 the state of her feelings very intelligible even to her- 
 self; and, had she soliloquised, it would, perhaps, have 
 been somewhat in this style. — " It is strange what an 
 alteration there is in the objects of my pursuit now, 
 and a few weeks ago! how much less I read — how 
 much less I think — how much more regardful I have 
 become of what people say and think of me ! I am 
 disturbed by the Hoffmanns' coolness, yet, what do I 
 to deserve their esteem? I shrink from the Wilkin- 
 sons' and Bell Ponsonby's ridicule and railing, and 
 do and say as they do, and seem to be guided by the 
 very principles I despise! How ridiculous it would 
 be to talk to them as I have talked to Madame Hoff- 
 mann! the worldly, domineering spirit of these peo- 
 ple, would sneer down even the strong principles of 
 Madame Von Vohning! It is very strange what an 
 unhappy, unsatisfactory influence Bell Ponsonby has 
 upon me ; she is clever, witty, sarcastic, and beauti- 
 ful; 1 dislike her, and I fear her: I dislike her spirit
 
 NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 125 
 
 and manners; and yet, because I fear her ridicule, I 
 appear to have adopted the same manners, and to be 
 influenced by the same spirit. Both she and her 
 mother are bent upon making a conquest of Arthur 
 Burnett. Arthur Burnett, never till now, was of any 
 consequence to me; but I cannot let her triumph 
 over me: I care nothing for winning his affection, but 
 I do care for mortifying her! I must, I will win 
 him! I will make her confess, that a simple country 
 girl, such as she thinks me, who have never been 
 either in Paris or Vienna, can win him easily, whom 
 she wishes to win, and cannot! I despise myself for 
 all this; but it will do her good to humble her!" So 
 reasoned poor Caroline, turning over the white lace 
 and gold tissue gloves, and embroidered pocket hand- 
 kerchiefs, without bestowing a single thought upon 
 any of them. 
 
 "I did not think," said her mother to her, the next 
 day, "that Mrs. Wilkinson meant to make such a 
 great affair of this, which she has always called her 
 'little concert.' I see she has been at work in the 
 dining-room, and she has ordered two thousand green- 
 house plants — I can't conceive where she'll put them ; 
 she has invited, she tells me, no less than thirty peo- 
 ple from Mannheim, beside the Ponsonbys; and she 
 has engaged from the opera there, to sing." 
 
 " I don't think Mr. Von Rosenberg will like it," 
 said Caroline ; " he knows nothing of it yet — it was 
 quite a sudden thought of Mrs. "Wilkinson's yester- 
 day; but it makes him such a second-rate person; 
 and as the Herr Geheimerath's family will be there, it 
 will be quite a pity. 'She has altogether re-arranged 
 her plan ; Mr. Hoffmann and I are dispensed with 
 entirely. * 
 
 " I am glad of that," said Mrs. Palmer, " very glad 
 indeed ; it made you quite too uublic ; and, as Mr.
 
 126 NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 Burnett took no part in it, nor cares much for musics 
 I never liked it. We must, however, dress much 
 more than I intended, and that I am sorry for, espe- 
 cially as we shall want something quite superb for the 
 grand duchess's ball. I am sorry indeed about this 
 little concert requiring so much," said she ; for she had 
 her own secret reasons for wishing to be economical. 
 Caroline, of course, knowing nothing of these 
 reasons, rang the bell, and ordered Gretchen to bring 
 in the large packet of purchases which she had made 
 the day before. 
 
 *" I doubt you will think me extravagant," said 
 she, " but really when one sees people like Mrs. 
 Wilkinson buying so liberally, one is ashamed not to 
 do the same. I spent four times the sum I intended, 
 and, of course, as I could not pay for all, I paid for 
 nothing ; so now I have the agreeable knowledge of 
 owing twenty pounds in Mannheim." 
 
 " Well, I think after Mrs. Wilkinson had persuaded 
 you to buy these things, she ought to have laid down 
 the money for them ; it is such a thing to let a young 
 person run into debt! It's what I never did, Lina, 
 when I was your age, and I beg you will never do it 
 again; you ought rather to have gone without!" 
 
 "What could I do?" said Caroline; "there was 
 Bell buying the most exquisite lace, and embroidered 
 handkerchiefs, without any remorse whatever. I 
 know that both she and her mother think it shabby 
 that I dress so plainly, and I cannot bear that they — 
 that she, of all people — should make remarks on my 
 wardrobe !" 
 
 Mrs. Palmer fell into a reverie ; she often did so ; 
 and her daughter busied herself by putting smoothly 
 together the things, which, beautiful as tftey were, 
 gave her but little pleasure. 
 
 " I am greatly pleased," at length began Mrs.
 
 KUtr ACQUAINTANCE. 127 
 
 Palmer, speaking on a subject which occupied her 
 thoughts a great deal, " by what I have seen of 
 Arthur Burnett; he is a fine young man, very much 
 a gentleman, and rather singularly amiable, I think. 
 I would be the last person in the world, Lina," said 
 she, " to suggest that you should be at any pains to 
 win a lover; a girl like you, go where you- may, will 
 never lack admirers; but one like Mr. Burnett — 
 handsome, rich, and amiable — is not to be met with 
 every day ; you must be at some little pains to secure 
 him." 
 
 " I am sure," said Caroline laughing, " both Bell 
 and I make ourselves very agreeable to him. Mr. 
 Burnett ought to be most grateful to us." 
 
 " I know," said Mrs. Palmer, " what is the secret 
 spring of all the Ponsonbys' politeness and attention ; 
 one thing you may depend upon, Lina — all the family 
 would be glad to have you and me out of the way — 
 that makes them wish to get the Wilkinsons to them- 
 selves at Mannheim; but you must not let that girl 
 outwit you. Sit down beside me, dear," said she, 
 with almost tearful eyes, " and let me talk to you 
 seriously. I have reasons which I cannot explain to 
 you now, why I wish to see you prosperously married, 
 at least with a certain prospect of being so. My 
 health is bad, my spirits are weak, and the one wish 
 and prayer of my heart is to see you happily settled. 
 I have known the Wilkinsons for years ; I esteem them 
 highly, as you know; and I am sure that a young 
 man brought up under their eye must be excellent; 
 and then think, dear, only of his fortune, of the 
 inheritance he will have at the Wilkinsons' death — it 
 is quite a princely thing!" 
 
 Whilst her mother was thus admonishing, many 
 thoughts were passing through Caroline's mind, which 
 summed themselves up in this way. Hundreds of
 
 128 EVENING ADVENTURES. 
 
 mothers, besides hers, would naturally wish to win 
 such a husband as Arthur Burnett for their daughters; 
 Mrs. Ponsonby did; but she had already made up her 
 mind to be Bell Ponsonby's successful rival. Sup- 
 pose, now, she were to marry him, what would be hei 
 prospects -in life? She saw at once splendid city 
 residences, all the world smiling upon her, servants 
 at command, carriages, horses, handsome clothes in 
 abundance, no anxiety about money, a Kfe of splen- 
 dour and pleasure; suppose, on the contrary, she 
 married Karl Hoffmann, what then? She preferred 
 his mind and his manners infinitely to Burnett's; she 
 thought him much handsomer also; but with him 
 she could only expect the ridicule of all these her 
 English friends, with no chance of forgiveness from 
 her mother ; and she herself must sink down into the 
 manager of a frugal German family, dressing plainly, 
 and counting the cost of everything. The prospect 
 was not inviting, and she could not help thinking that 
 her mother counselled not without reason. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 EVENING ADVENTURES. 
 
 When Mrs. Wilkinson had extended her " little 
 concert" into as " brilliant an affair as possible," and, 
 
 on the impulse of the moment, had engaged , of 
 
 the Mannheim opera, and a whole orchestra of musi- 
 cians and singers besides, she felt herself in a dilemma 
 regarding Von Rosenberg and his friend. She feared 
 they would be* offended; but, as she had told every- 
 body of " her protege" — a wonderful musical genius 
 whom she had discovered, and whom she would bring 
 forward not only here, but in London — she still had 
 a wish to include him in her new arrangements,
 
 EVENING ADVENTURES. 129 
 
 although she entirely dispensed with his friend. She 
 sent for them both, and, with a world of polite speeches, 
 unfolded her new plans; first, as if asking their advice, 
 and then, when that advice seemed adverse to her 
 wishes, she said she must frankly avow having been 
 dragged, as it were, into an engagement with these 
 Mannheim people, and could now only solicit their 
 sanction of her new programme, in which Von Rosen- 
 berg was merely retained to play on the piano his 
 piece of music called The Betrothal. To her surprise 
 they appeared quite satisfied; Hoffmann said that, as 
 far as himself was concerned, it was much better; he 
 had wished before to decline his part in the concert, 
 but had felt delicacy in so doing; that, as he was 
 leaving now so soon, it would be a convenience to 
 him to he at liberty; he thought that neither he nor 
 his mother would be at the concert, as this would be 
 his last evening with her, as he and his friend pro- 
 posed setting oiF the next morning; they waited now 
 merely their passports, which were expected daily. 
 One thing, however, both he and Von Rosenberg 
 objected to — the entire omission of Madame Von 
 Holzhauser's name; she had been engaged for the 
 night; she had made all the rehearsals with them; 
 it was an object to her to be favourably known, 
 though she did not sing in public. With some diffi- 
 culty, and not without Von Rosenberg threatening 
 to take no part whatever in it, Mrs. Wilkinson pro- 
 mised that she should be included, as usual ; for, after 
 
 all, she said she liked her singing quite as well as 's, 
 
 and that, as Mrs. Von Holzhauser must, of course, be 
 paid whether she sung or no't, she should sing, as had 
 been at first intended. 
 
 These difficulties all got over, Mrs. Wilkinson was 
 in better spirits than ever, and the preparations went 
 on with renewed zeal. It was now the day before
 
 130 EVENING ADVENTURES. 
 
 that on which the concert was to be given. The 
 dining-room was fitted up in the most tasteful manner 
 for the occasion; there had been, for several days, a 
 sound of workmen hammering and sawing ; and there 
 was now a great carrying in of benches and chairs, 
 and a nailing up of scarlet and blue cloth. Cuttings 
 of gold lace had been swept out into the street, to- 
 gether with many a shred and triangular piece of bright- 
 coloured cloth and paper, greatly to the enriching of 
 such wild-haired and barefooted children as amused 
 themselves with hunting for street-treasures. The 
 most gracious invitations had been issued to tie 
 Geheimerath's family, and been accepted ; and they 
 and the Hoffmanns were not only permitted, but 
 requested also, to extend invitations to their particular 
 friends. Mrs. Wilkinson had made calls on four or 
 five families who were considered the elite of the place, 
 to whom also tickets were presented ; " for what is 
 the use of an entertainment," said she, " if one has 
 not plenty of people at it?" Garlands of flowers were 
 ordered for the walls, and the two thousand green- 
 house plants were disposed about on the stairs, in the 
 refreshment-rooms, and in the balcony, over which 
 was hung an awning of striped linen, and which was 
 to be illuminated with coloured lamps. 
 
 Nothing could be more satisfactory. The servants 
 of the house told of it to servants out of the house; 
 Mrs. Hoffmann's little Bena stole down many times 
 in the day, to get a glimpse of it; and she never failed, 
 when she went to the market or to the grocer's, to 
 report of what was going on. The families who had 
 received invitations, talked of it to those who had 
 received none ; and, one way and another, it filled 
 the little city with speculation and wonder. 
 
 On the morning of this day Mrs. Hoffmann and her 
 son had been sitting much longer than usual after
 
 EVENING ADVENTURES. 131 
 
 their breakfast, in deep discussion, which l.ecamc so, 
 earnest, and lasted so long, as almost to threaten the 
 total forgetting- of all usual preparation for the one 
 o'clock dinner. 
 
 Karl looked ill and anxious, and as if he had passed 
 a sleepless night. His mother imagined the cause, but 
 Caroline's name was not mentioned by either of them. 
 They talked, however, of the concert, and how that 
 the Geheimerath's family were offended at the slight 
 put on Von Rosenberg, and would now absent them- 
 selves. ■ He said that he himself thought not of going. 
 The truth was, he had now, after a painful struggle 
 with himself, resigned all hope of Caroline; he not 
 only thought that she preferred the young English- 
 man, but that he had mistaken her character. Such 
 as she then appeared, such as she had appeared for 
 the last month, and as she seemed studiously to wish 
 to appear, could never make him happy — ought not, 
 in fact, to have been chosen by him. The decision 
 he had come to had cost him too much to be again 
 risked. But on this subject they spoke not. They 
 talked of the future and of the past ; of friends whom 
 they had known and loved, and who were now dead: 
 they talked on subjects of affection and sorrow, which, 
 suiting the state of both their feelings, seemed tacitly 
 to ally their hearts in closer union. After this, he 
 set about arranging his own small possessions — his 
 books, and engravings, and music — as they were to 
 remain, probably for some years; and then, leaving his 
 mother to pack his clothes for his journey, went to 
 assist his friend Von Rosenberg, who, by no means 
 so methodical as himself, would, he knew, be no little 
 obliged for his assistance. 
 
 "What a confusion there was in Von Rosenberg's 
 room ! Clothes, books, papers, music, musical instru- 
 ments, engravings, boots, pipes, lying about in the 
 t
 
 132 EVENING ADVENTURES. 
 
 most hopeless disorder, whilst his dog, which he had 
 threatened many a time to introduce to Mrs. Wilkin- 
 son, as a musical genius, because he had been taught 
 by his master to bark to the musical scale, sat in the 
 midst of all, with the most rueful countenance, as if 
 he were fully aware, as no doubt he was, that he was 
 about to be parted from his belo.ved master 
 
 " You are not badly off for shirts," said Karl, 
 arranging smoothly and tidily into the bottom of the 
 portmanteau a dozen of those useful articles of ap- 
 parel. " Those same shirts," said he, " came into 
 my room, a week ago, in a most mysterious manner. 
 I thought the washerwoman had brought them to me 
 by mistake. I told her so : they had then laid there 
 several days : she said no, and opened one of diem 
 in my presence; it was marked with my name! 
 Excellent shirts they are, and beautiful linen — I 
 never had such in my life before. It looked rather 
 absurd," continued Von Rosenberg, "to wonder before 
 one's washerwoman how one became possessed of a 
 dozen new shirts; so 1 said, very gravely, that I 
 supposed they were my new shirts come home from 
 making ; that I wondered how I could forget having 
 ordered them." 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Karl, smiling significantly, " I 
 understand." 
 
 " And yet," said Von Rosenberg, " they pretend 
 to know nothing about it. Pauline says she has 
 been quite too busy to work for me ; but it's her own 
 sewing; nobody else could sew so neatly;" and he 
 very roughly drew forth another, to make his friend 
 bear testimony to the truth of his words. 
 
 " I am no judge of such things, indeed," said 
 Karl; " and, besides, it's no joke folding them neatly 
 again." 
 
 " However," continued the other, " Franz said that
 
 EVENING ADVVNTURES. 133 
 
 both his aunt and his sister had been making shirts, 
 and that he was sure she never took such pains foi 
 his father; — the dear girl! I wish you would look 
 only at a wristband!" 
 
 " I cannot indeed, my good fellow!" returned Karl. 
 Von Rosenberg said no more, for he had forgotten till 
 that moment how much less happy his friend was than 
 himself. 
 
 There was presently afterwards a rattling tramp of 
 horses along the rude, hard pavement of the street. 
 Karl was standing by the window and looked down. 
 It was Caroline, Bell Ponsonby, and Arthur Burnett, 
 followed by their groom, taking their afternoon ride. 
 Caroline looked proud and happy as a queen on the 
 day of a victory; she was triumphing over her rival. 
 Burnett was close at her side, and was saying some- 
 thing to her which called a heightened colour to her 
 cheek, whilst her bright laughing eyes avoided his 
 glance; she looked upwards at the houses opposite, 
 and through the open casement saw Hoffmann. They 
 had not seen each other for several days. Whatever 
 might be the expression of his countenance, a change 
 instantly came over hers — an expression of surprise, 
 and of deep and painful interest; it was at once as if 
 the true-hearted, gentle Caroline Palmer had passed 
 before him, such as she had seemed in the days of 
 their earlier acquaintance, as she had won his love, 
 and as she still remained, the beloved of his heart. 
 Poor Karl! he had been firm as a rock till then, but 
 that momentary expression unmanned him, and, no 
 way ashamed that his friend should witness his weak- 
 ness, he covered his face with his hand, and wept 
 bitterly. 
 
 Caroline rode on, forgetting for a moment the gay 
 flattery of Burnett, and her triumph over Bell Pon 
 sonby. She wished she had not seen Karl, for sha 
 
 12
 
 134 EVENING ADVENTURES. 
 
 thought his pale, sad countenance would haunt her fol 
 days ; she dropped her veil over her riding-hat, that 
 the tears, which were filling her eyes, might not he 
 seen, when, all at once, Bell, who had heen rallying her 
 on her sudden gravity, without receiving an answer, 
 either intentionally or accidentally touched her horse 
 with her riding- whip, and the creature set off on a 
 brisk gallop. Caroline was an expert horsewoman^ 
 and kept her seat; but Burnett, who was terrified for 
 her, sprang after her ; Bell would not be out-done in 
 riding, and they both dashed through the Mannheim 
 gate furiously and abreast. At once there was a shriek, 
 and a rush of people after them; but the groom only, 
 who had not yet passed the gate, was stopped. A 
 mob of indignant people at once rushed together; a 
 boy, they said, had been knocked down and ridden 
 over; some said that he was killed, others that his leg 
 was broken, and all said that it was long expected 
 that these mad English would do some mischief with 
 their wild riding. It happened, fortunately, that the 
 groom was by no means of a violent temper, and' 
 spoke German also ; he said they were only riding to 
 Mannheim, and would return that same way in a few 
 nours ; that his master was well known, and very rich, 
 and would do all that a gentleman could do ; but that 
 now he must follow his master, and would explain 
 to him what had happened. The people let him go, 
 seeing he was so reasonable, and was unquestion- 
 ably not to blame. 
 
 The poor child was carried away by one crowd, in 
 which were more women than men; whilst another 
 crowd, in which were more men than women, collected 
 round the gate, intending to lay forcible hands on the 
 English party when they returned, and conduct them 
 to the Amthaus. Both Arthur Burnett and Bell 
 knew that some misclaie*f had been done in passing
 
 EVENING ADVENTURES. 135 
 
 through the gate, but they stayed not in their riding 
 for all that — Burnett believing that Caroline's horse 
 had run away with her, and Bell being determined 
 not to be out-ridden. 
 
 The brisk exercise and animation of this spirited 
 Tide had restored, in great measure, Caroline's gaiety; 
 and her first feeling, on being overtaken, was plea- 
 sure in Bell Ponsonby's witnessing Burnett's anxiety 
 about her. They had ridden to Mannheim merely 
 for a bracelet of Bell's, which she wanted for the next 
 evening, and, being ready to return, Burnett gave his 
 purse, containing a considerable amount of florins, to 
 his groom, telling him to return direct to Heidelberg, 
 and distribute what was needful, on account of the 
 accident, for that, as the evening was fine, he and the 
 
 ladies would cross the Neckar at , and return 
 
 home by Ladenburg, which place they all had a desire 
 to see. 
 
 The little Bena was busied in Mrs. Hoffmann's 
 kitchen, washing and preparing a very nice salad, 
 which would be needed for the evening meal, whilst 
 her mistress was whipping up a rich raspberry cream, 
 which, with a variety of cold meats, cakes, and tarts 
 of various kinds, were to constitute a little supper, 
 which Karl was to eat with his two friends, this being the 
 last evening they all could sup together, as the mor- 
 row was the Wilkinsons' concert, when Von Rosen- 
 berg would be engaged. All at once, a violent ringing 
 was heard at the Wilkinsons' bell ; and presently, a 
 peal not much less violent sounded also on Mrs. 
 Hoffmann's bell. The widow started, and Bena ran 
 fo the stair-head and pulled the spring-latch, waiting 
 the while to see who was coming. There was a loud 
 talking on the Wilkinsons' stair-landing — all the ser- 
 vants were standing grouped together, and among 
 them, sure enough, stood a 'gendarme, seeming very
 
 136 EVENING ADVENTURES. 
 
 vehement in his discourse. Whilst she was making 
 these hasty observations, a little wild-looking woman, 
 with her hair almost shaken down with running, and 
 quite out of hreath, came panting up the long stairs. 
 
 "The poor lame Peter," said the woman, "has got 
 his arm or his leg broken, or both ; those random 
 English people have ridden over him :" 
 
 Bena began sobbing violently, whilst the messen- 
 ger of evil tidings proceeded into the kitchen, where 
 she met Mrs. Hoffmann. " Those random English 
 people," repeated she, "have ridden over the lame 
 Peter ! Poor creature, as it was a warm afternoon, and 
 he had been sitting all day by the grandfather, a 
 neighbour's daughter drew him out in a child's chaise, 
 and, just as they were going through the Mannheim 
 gate, the English, who were coming down the street, 
 began to gallop, and dashed through the gate, never 
 heeding who was passing at the time; the girl that 
 was drawing him attempted to get out of the way, but 
 some way the chaise got overturned — some said was 
 knocked over — and there lay poor Peter under the 
 horses' ifbn shoes, all covered with blood, and lying 
 as if dead. Now you must let Bena come home for 
 this night, for the mother is well nigh out of her senses." 
 
 Bena should go, to be sure, said Mrs. Hoffmann j 
 and then, giving her half a florin for her mother, she 
 bade her haste away at her best speed, and compose 
 herself as much as she could, for that, after all, it 
 might not be so bad as she feared. The wild-looking 
 woman saw her go, and, being tired by the haste she 
 had made, took the liberty of remaining a little while 
 to rest. She then went on to tell how poor lame 
 Peter sate at home all day propped in his chair, 
 close by grandfather's bed, and reached him, now 
 and then, sups of wine and water, the only thing that 
 eueered the old man; and how he would read to him
 
 EVENING ADVENTURES* 137 
 
 for hours — for Peter was a good scholar, and so was 
 the old man; and then, when the poor old soul was 
 tired or wanted to sleep, how lame Peter would amuse 
 himself with drawing; and oh! he drew heautifully, 
 only he rubbed out everything when he drew on a 
 slate, for they could not afford to buy paper; but that 
 sometimes the gentlefolks sent him paper, and then he 
 was happy! Mrs. Hoffmann knew that, for she often 
 sent him both paper and pencils herself. There were 
 some ucntlemen, she said, who were wishing to get 
 him into a drawing-school where he could learn to 
 maintain himself. Mrs. Hoffmann knew that also, 
 for it was her son's scheme, and was just about being 
 accomplished, The woman said that he had opened 
 his eyes while they were carrying him away from the 
 gate, and had prayed so fervently not to go to the 
 hospital, that they had carried him home, and laid 
 him on his bed. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 EVENING ADVENTURES CONTINUED. 
 
 The news of this unfortunate accident, as it was 
 communicated by the gendarme, with an order 
 from the Amthaus requiring the immediate appear- 
 ance of the English cavalcade to answer for it, made 
 no little sensation in the Wilkinsons' household. Mrs. 
 Palmer, poor lady, was building up, as usual, a 
 splendid vision of her daughter, as the rich Mrs. 
 Burnett, figuring away in some great European capital, 
 whilst her friend was busy devising an arabesque pat- 
 tern to cut in gold paper, for some ornament of the 
 concert-room, when the door was suddenly opened, and 
 the valet and the French maid entered together, with 
 the news that " somebody had been thrown down by
 
 138 EVENING ADVENTURES. 
 
 somebody's horse, and here was a policeman very 
 violent about it! What was to be done?" Mrs. 
 Wilkinson said she doubted not but that the man 
 wanted money; the valet, therefore, might give him 
 those six florins, and send him about his business; 
 what further was needful, Mr. Burnett would do 
 when he returned. 
 
 The valet came into the room again, balancing the 
 money on his hand, and venturing upon a smile in 
 the presence of his lady; the man, he said, had 
 refused the money. " Send him to me!" said she. 
 The gendarme entered. She was sorry — extremely 
 sorry, she said, for what had happened — the horses 
 were so spirited — but she hoped the poor child was not 
 so much hurt; she would send a servant with money 
 and wine immediately ; that they would pay all need- 
 ful expenses; and when Mr. Burnett returned, which 
 would be in an hour or two, he would certainly attend 
 at the Amthaus, for that this accident would dis- 
 tress him extremely. So spake Mrs. Wilkinson, and 
 offered him again the six florins. The man looked 
 for a moment at the offered money, as if ashamed to 
 accept what was, doubtless, intended as a bribe ; and 
 then, perhaps recollecting that a bribe could be of no 
 manner of use, closed his hand tightly upon it, and 
 went out, neither looking pleased nor displeased. 
 
 " What a vexatious affair it is!" said Mrs. Wilkin- 
 son ; " Arthur is always getting into trouble of this 
 kind He rode over a woman in London — a fortunate 
 thing for her, however. She was a poor dressmaker ; 
 her arm was broken, and someway badly set; and I 
 assure you he has to pay her ten shillings a-week. 
 At Naples he rode over a lazzaroni; the man was 
 very old and ill at the time ; I dare say he would not 
 have lived long, poor soul, but, however, he died; 
 and, as all his brother beggars laid his death at the
 
 EVENING ADVENTURES. 139 
 
 young Englishman's door, it became quite dangerous 
 for Arthur t> go out; 1 thought they certainly would 
 murder him!" 
 
 " The horrid wretches !" exclaimed Mrs. Palmer. 
 
 " But there's a wonderful charm in English money," 
 continued the other; " we distributed it freely, and 
 presently, instead of our carriage being beset by a 
 mob, cursing furiously, we were followed by shout* 
 and blessings ! I am sorry, however, that it has 
 again happened, for it always brings vexation and 
 trouble." 
 
 Towards seven o'clock, when it was getting quite 
 dusk, the crowd assembled at the Mannheim gate were 
 surprised to see the English groom returning alone. 
 "Where are the others?" demanded they angrily, 
 imagining that they were eluding justice. The man 
 said that they had gone round by Laden burg, and 
 would thus return by the bridge; they grew suddenly 
 angry, and began to swear desperate German oaths. 
 The groom drew up at a wirthshaus just within the 
 city, and called for wine. His master, he said, was 
 the richest Englishman that ever came into Heidel- 
 berg, and that, if twenty arms and legs were broken, 
 he could pay for them all; and that anybody who 
 now chose, might drink a pint of wine at his expense. 
 A deal of wine was drank, and then they escorted the 
 groom along the street, insisting on his going down 
 to the bridge, to wait for his master and the ladies. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake! Mr. Burnett, what means 
 this?" asked Caroline, as they were received on 
 the bridge by a crowd of people, who were talking 
 of the Amthaus; "and why are we to go to the 
 Amthaus?" 
 
 Burnett told her that somebody had been knocked 
 down in the Mannheim gate — somebody drunk, most 
 likely — that was all; that she need not alarm herself,
 
 140 EVENING ADVENTURES. 
 
 for there was no danger. The little city was all 
 alive; crowds were everywhere assembled to see them 
 go by, as if they were some wonderful spectacle. 
 Students stood in close groups together, with their 
 long pipes in their hands, and their dogs at their 
 heels, to get a closer survey of the two English 
 beauties, who were this time compelled to go at a foot's 
 pace. The Amthaus was lighted up, and there was a 
 crowd assembled about the door, which, in the uncer- 
 tain dusk, looked greater than it really was. Caroline 
 thought everybody looked sullen and angry. The 
 gendarmes, who were walking about, drew up before 
 the door as they approached ; they were ordered to 
 alight, to walk in, and answer for themselves. There 
 was a deal of uncertainty, for some time, as to whether 
 Burnett's horse or Bell Ponsonby's had injured the 
 boy. Arthur said he would allow no lady to be in 
 fault; and at length it was decided that all blame 
 should rest upon him. It was one Peter Heiliger, 
 they were then informed, who had been ridden over; 
 he was overturned from a little carriage, which the 
 girl who drew him attempted, but in vain, to remove 
 out of the way ; the child lay upon the pavement at 
 the moment the horses entered the gateway, but no 
 attempt had been made, on the part of the riders, to 
 pull up, or to slacken their pace ; the horses, also, 
 were put into a gallop at the moment before they 
 entered the gate. Several persons swore to having 
 felt in jeopardy of their lives — they had started aside 
 just in time to save themselves; an old person, or one 
 infirm, could not do so; and this cripple had been 
 ridden over, his life endangered, his leg broken, and 
 his arm seriously bruised. Medical men testified to 
 these facts. 
 
 Arthur Burnett, on his part, said that Miss Palmer's 
 horse had taken fright — that it was apt to run away;
 
 EVENING ADVENTURES. 141 
 
 and, seeing this, and being alarmed for the lady, he had 
 put spurs to his horse to follow her; and that Miss Pon- 
 sonby, supposing merely that he wished them to have a 
 brisk ride, had urged forward her horse at the same 
 moment; that he was sorry for what had happened; 
 but that he thought ladies ought not to have been 
 met by a rude crowd, such as had met them on the 
 bridge; that English ladies were not used to it, 
 whatever Germans might be; that it was altogether 
 an accident; that he would pay anything that was 
 necessary, either to the child, or the parents, or 
 doctor, or town, or anything," said he, growing angry, 
 and only not swearing, because he thought it impolite 
 to do so in the presence of ladies. The Amtmann told 
 him that all that was necessary for him at present 
 was, not to leave Heidelberg without permission ; in 
 fact, that no passport would be granted him, till the 
 consequences of this accident were further known. 
 
 That evening, as Caroline, about half-an-hour after 
 her return, was walking along the passage on the 
 way to her own bedroom, she saw Bena, who had been 
 sent by her mother, for an hour, to put away the 
 supper things, as her mistress had company. She 
 was looking, of course, very sorrowful, and her coun- 
 tenance bore evident marks of weeping. 
 
 " What is amiss, my poor Bena?" asked Caroline, 
 who was always in the habit of noticing her kindly. 
 At this question Bena began sobbing violently. 
 " What is amiss?" asked Caroline again ; " can I do 
 anything to comfort you?" 
 
 "The poor lame Peter! the poor lame Peter!" 
 sobbed the girl, holding her apron to her face. " Is 
 he ill ? " asked Caroline. " Oh, Fraulein '" exclaimed 
 Bena, as if reproachfully — for she had no idea but 
 that Caroline knew it was he who had been ridden over. 
 At once the truth suggested itself to her; a sicken-
 
 142 EVENING ADVENTURES. 
 
 ing sense of misery came over her — the poor lame 
 Peter Heiliger was Bena's brother. " And is it indeed 
 your brother, then?" asked she, with tears in her own 
 eyes, " who has been hurt to-night? How grieved I 
 am! Will you let me go and see him to-morrow ? I 
 will do anything for you; indeed I will, Bena!" 
 Bena thought the English Fraulein was very good to 
 speak so kindly, and she felt as if she loved her. " I 
 am going now," she said, "to sit up all night with 
 
 him, and we live in Gassfi ; and, if you are 
 
 so very kind as to come and see him, I shall be there 
 in the morning." Caroline said that she would not 
 fail, and, bidding the girl a kind good night, went 
 sorrowfully to her own chamber. 
 
 The long expected passports arrived this evening. 
 Karl opened them during supper, and, to their infinite 
 mortification and annoyance, found them incorrectly 
 made out; and now they could not set off for at least 
 ten days! 
 
 Everybody knows how unpleasant it is, when one's 
 clothes are all packed, all one's adieus made, and 
 one's mind wrought up into the proper mood for a 
 departure, to have one's journey deferred, whether it 
 be by losing our place by coach, eilwagon, or steam- 
 boat, or by having one's passport incorrectly made 
 out, as in this case. It is a very unpleasant thing 
 when one knows that one's friends and acquaintance, 
 on some particular morning, have said, " So and so 
 has a nice day for his journey ; he must be just now 
 setting off ; well, he is a good sort of fellow, a merry 
 fellow; — were sorry to part with him." It is very 
 disagreeable to meet these same friends in a day or 
 two, and be saluted with, "And so you are not 
 gone, after all!" One feels as if they thought they 
 had wasted sympathy over one. One cannot expect 
 eve one's dearest friends to weep at a second parting,
 
 RENEWED HOPE. 148 
 
 although it be the real one. After" this, one can only 
 slink away as quietly as possible, without a farewell 
 from anybody ! 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 RENEW E D HOP E. 
 
 The next morning Caroline rose early, and, ordering 
 Gretchen to bring coffee to her own room, and to 
 excuse her breakfasting with the Wilkinsons, set out 
 on her visit to the lame Peter. When she reached 
 
 Gasse, she met Bena returning to her mistress; 
 
 the girl said she would go back and show her the way ; 
 — that it was a poor place, though the mother always 
 kept it clean. It was a wretched upper-room into 
 which Bena led her; there were two beds in it, partly 
 concealed by curtains -hung from the ceiling. It was 
 clean certainly, but close, and filled, like all houses 
 of the German poor, by a compound of strong un- 
 pleasant smells. Caroline, however, was in no 
 humour to make difficulties; she entered cheerfully, 
 and looked round; the curtains of one bed had been 
 partly undrawn, and revealed the form of a very old 
 man, who, but for the glance of his large hollow grey 
 eyes, might have been mistaken for a corpse laid out. 
 He was propped in his bed, and lay stiff and still, 
 with his large bony hands spread out, feeble and 
 heavy, upon the coarse home-spun sheet, which 
 was turned deeply down over his bed-cover. He 
 had evidently just been laid straight for the day; 
 the hands, the head, had been laid there for him ; he 
 was' too infirm to raise even his hands to his head. 
 The eye, however, fixed inquiringly on Bena. " It 
 is a right good English young lady!" said she; he 
 was not at all deaf, for she spoke rather low, and tho
 
 144 RENEWED HOrE. 
 
 intelligence of his eye showed that 'his intellect was 
 clear. " Will she not sit down?" said he, in a 
 low, hollow, and husky voice, which sounded almost 
 sepulchral ; but Caroline was then talking with Bena's 
 mother, who, poor woman, overwhelmed with troubles, 
 and harassed and weary, was in no humour to re- 
 ceive consolation. The lame Peter lay in the other 
 bed, the curtains of which his mother had just drawn, 
 in the hope that he might sleep; but his groans and 
 his pitiful voice asking for water to drink, proved 
 that he slept not. " Thou must go now, Bena," said 
 the mother; "dear Heaven! what will become of 
 me?" " Give me the cup, Bena," said Caroline; " I 
 will sit by your brother a little while. Bena gave 
 her the cup, and, at her mother's bidding, after kiss- 
 ing the poor Peter, and bidding the old man good- 
 by, left the room. "Poor fellow!" said Caroline, 
 persisting that she would still sit by his bed ; " he and I 
 are old acquaintance; if he could speak, he would tell 
 you so." The boy understood every word she said, 
 and, spite of his agony, smiled. " He and I," con- 
 tinued Caroline, " have known each other long. I 
 have had a deal of talk with him, poor fellow, when 
 he used to sit in the warm summer days, on one of 
 the seats in the Anlagen." He lay with his large 
 eyes fixed upon her face, and looked pleased. The 
 mother was mollified, and said that the fraulein was 
 very good, but that she had more upon her then than 
 she could well bear. 
 
 Two or three neighbours then came in, One had 
 promised to sit by the two invalids whilst the mother 
 took home some washing, which she was now unable 
 to do. Caroline said she would sit by the boy till her 
 return, which would not be long, and the neighbour 
 busied nerself in some domestic work, in a little 
 adjoining chamber, looking in every now and then to
 
 RENEWED HOPE. 145 
 
 sett that nothing was wanted, but not venturing to 
 talk much to the young English lady. 
 
 Little did Caroline think that the pale, hut interest- 
 ing young cripple, that, very soon after her arrival in 
 Heidelberg, she had noticed, was the brother of Mrs- 
 Hoffmann's maid, much less that she should be in- 
 strumental in his suffering thus. Poor boy ! it was 
 that pleading expression of countenance, which la 
 so peculiar to the suffering and the deformed, which 
 in him had first excited her attention. She had sat 
 down beside him on the bench, and talked with him ; 
 she had found him wonderfully intelligent; they had 
 become friends,, as it were, and had always, when 
 they met, exchanged smiles, if nothing more. Of 
 late, however, she had not seen him — had almost 
 forgotten him, in fact. She did not know, how- 
 ever, how much he had missed her; how he had 
 sat, and waited, and watched, in the hope that some 
 of the handsome young ladies that went by might 
 prove to be she. But no! Many looked kindly on 
 him, but she came not! Poor Peter! h^ forgot his 
 pain, almost, when he saw her sitting unexpectedly 
 beside him ; and, whilst she was thinking with herself, 
 the lids closed over his heavy eyes, and he dropped 
 quietly asleep. 
 
 Caroline let down the curtain softly, and then, cross- 
 ing the room with noiseless steps, began to talk to the 
 old man. He lay there immovable and corpse-like, 
 yet with his pale and hollow eye full of intelligence. 
 It was almost a surprise to hear him speak. In reply 
 to her question of his age, he said he was not old — ho 
 was only seventy -eight ; that he had been confined to 
 his bed, and thus helpless, for seven years; that his 
 daughter was very good to him, but that he was a sore 
 burden to her — he knew it well ; he wished thai it had 
 
 13
 
 146 RENEWED HOPE. 
 
 pleased God that this affliction might have fallen on 
 himself, instead of on the poor lame Peter; it always 
 went so hardly with a cripple, he said, and Peter was 
 never strong. The old man was much affected, and 
 ibr some time he could not speak ; at length he became 
 more composed. "Poor Peter," he said, "was so 
 clever, he might he able, cripple as he was, to do 
 something for his own living, and help his mother. He 
 drew very well; did the Fraulein see the pictures on 
 the walls ? — they were all Peter's doing." Caroline was 
 astonished ; for they were bold and very correct draw- 
 ings. " There was a gentleman," continued he, " in the 
 city, who had always taken a deal of notice of Peter; 
 he had given him instructions in drawing himself, and 
 had made many people kind to him, and now had got 
 him into an institution, where he would have been 
 well cared for, and made quite an artist of. It was 
 a long way off where he was going, but the gentleman, 
 who was leaving Heidelberg himself, had friends there, 
 and had promised to go and see him — it would have 
 been a capital thing for him." Caroline said that the 
 gentleman was very kind, and that she hoped, after all, 
 poor Peter could go. "Never, never," said the old 
 man; "I shall see him carried from that bed to his 
 grave:" and again, unable to speak, he paused for 
 some time. "He was to have gone the next week," at 
 length continued he ; " the mother worked hard, and 
 saved a few florins. Some ladies sent him a shirt or 
 two, and stockings, and Madame Hoffmann" — Caro- 
 line started at the name — "a good lady is that! had 
 him measured, and all at her own expense, and an old 
 suit of Mr. Karl's — it was he, Heaven bless him ! that 
 got him into the institution and did so much for him — 
 made up for him. Oh, fraulein, it would have touched 
 your heart to have seen the poor fellow in his new
 
 UENEWED HOPE. 147 
 
 clothes— so proud as he was! and there they all are in 
 that old trunk there;, and there they may lie, for 
 what need he will have of them !" 
 
 A few moments afterwards, Caroline was startled 
 hy the sound of Hoffmann's voice speaking to some 
 one outside. She rose at his entrance; he saw 
 that she had heen weeping; he saw her confusion; 
 nor was the effect of this unexpected meeting less 
 evident in him than her. Few words, and those 
 constrained and embarrassed, passed between them. 
 She did not tell him what the old man had re- 
 lated of his goodness ; she did not tell him, though 
 she wished he knew it, how much she honoured his 
 benevolence — how much she coveted his esteem ; she 
 said, however, and that with an emotion which she 
 could not conceal, that one reflection made her 
 wretched — that she had brought unhappiness under 
 Mrs. Hoffmann's roof. She meant, at the moment, to 
 little Bena; but she felt instantly, that her words 
 applied with equal truth to others; she would not 
 have recalled them, however, at the moment, for the 
 world. Karl's countenance underwent an instant 
 change He looked at her for half a second, and said 
 nothing, but she understood what he felt — her words 
 nad given hope and happiness to his heart. He was 
 glad that the passports were wrong; he resolved 
 instantly to go to Mrs. Wilkinson's concert that night, 
 and not, like a coward, to forego any chance of regain- 
 ing her, if there were only left the shadow of hope; 
 and Caroline returned home, determining to be worthy 
 of Hoffmann, were it only for the quiet of her own 
 conscience, and wishing devoutly that the Wilkinsons 
 had never come, and that she had never known the 
 Ponsonbys. 
 
 The moment she entered the house, she found 
 everybody almost angry that she had gone out at all.
 
 148 RENEWED HOPE. 
 
 She was informed that Mr. Wilkinson had arrived; 
 that he had travelled post all the way from Berlin, 
 bur was now gone to bed, and would not get up till 
 the hour for dressing in the evening; that he was 
 going to set off to Strasburg the next morning, on 
 important business, which would occupy him a few 
 days, and then that he would remain here for some 
 weeks. Her mother informed her that Mr. Wilkinson 
 had not only brought her the diamond ring, but diamond 
 ear-rings also ; and that these, and the diamond cross 
 which she would lend her, would be superb for the 
 grand duchess's ball; and that Mrs. Wilkinson wanted 
 her to look at the concert-room, and to try on a new 
 dress, which she meant to have the pleasure of giving 
 her, and which the dress-maker had been waiting to 
 try on for hours. 
 
 Caroline ran to the concert-room, and found it 
 perfect; she kissed Mrs. Wilkinson for her husband's 
 eostly presents; she kissed her again for the beau- 
 tiful white satin dress — the very dress which she had 
 wished for, but had been refused by her mother. 
 She surveyed herself in the large mirror, in Mrs. 
 Wilkinson's dressing-room, where it was tried on ; 
 and thought, for the first time in her life, she was 
 satisfied by her appearance, and felt half sorry to 
 think that Bell Ponsonby would not look half so 
 well. What was her surprise, however, the next 
 moment, to see Bell come gliding in, in precisely the 
 same dress! — Mrs. Wilkinson had given a similar one 
 to each. Bell looked wonderfully well that day. She 
 was a blonde beauty of the most perfect character, 
 with large blue eyes, hair like tinted silver, so long, 
 and thick, and soft, and a complexion of a marble white- 
 ness, upon which the blush of roses seemed to be 
 thrown. She was strikingly lovely when animated; 
 she never looked more animated than to-day. Mrs
 
 RENEWED HOrE. 149 
 
 Wilkinson said so; Arthur Burnett said so; for he was 
 vexed that Caroline refused to ride. Caroline glanced 
 at herself again in the mirror, and thought how hag- 
 gard, and worn-out, and anxious she looked. 
 
 " You must look better than this to-night, Lina, M 
 said Mrs. "Wilkinson, as they were sitting together 
 after an early dinner: and, "bless me, child, how 
 shockingly ill you look !" said her mother, as Caroline 
 came into the room to dress, her chamber being wanted 
 for a refreshment-room. " I shall look better, dear 
 mother," said she, " when I am dressed." 
 
 " I hope so, indeed," said her mother, " or Bell 
 will exult. I never in my life saw a girl so unblush- 
 ingly bent upon gaining a lover as she is. I declare, 
 it is quite disgraceful. Now, I look upon Burnett as 
 all but your declared lover, and I think her behaviour 
 abominable!" 
 
 Caroline never in her life bestowed more pains in 
 dressing; her hair, which was not less abundant nor 
 beautiful than Bell's, but of the very opposite colour, 
 was, as usual, braided tightly upon her classically- 
 formed head. She thought of the very first words 
 she had heard Hoffmann speak, and she sighed as she 
 thought he would not see it that night; for she had 
 heard from Mrs. Wilkinson, that neither he nor his 
 mother would be there. The toilet was completed, 
 and Mrs. Palmer declared herself satisfied with the 
 result; but still her injunction, again and again 
 repeated, was, that her daughter should beware of the 
 art of Bell Ponsonby. 
 
 The whole house was lighted up; sounds of music 
 were already heard in the concert-room ; people 
 began to arrive; the drawing-room was full of the 
 Ponsonbys and their friends ; Caroline and Bell had 
 each received a bouquet of rose and myrtle from 
 Arthur Burnett, when Mr. Wilkinson entered. He
 
 150 RENEWED HOPE. 
 
 was tall and thin, of remarkably suave and gentle- 
 manly aspect. His high bald forehead gave him the 
 look of benevolence, but there was an expression 
 about his half-closed eyes, and the thousand wrinkles 
 that had gathered at their angles, and about his 
 closely-compressed thin lips, that gave the idea of 
 one who never missed his own advantage, nor nevei 
 let another gain an advantage over him. You might 
 ask a favour from him, but, the next moment, you 
 would be sorry you had done it. He was muni- 
 ficent, like his wife, but he always had his motives 
 for being so. He lived magnificently, and travelled 
 en wince; but this was because he loved the homage 
 it brought him. 
 
 There was a murmur of applause when he entered ; 
 those who knew him pressed forward to greet him, 
 and others were to be introduced. Mrs. Palmer was 
 charmed with his reception of Caroline ; he gave hei 
 his arm, and then, suddenly recollecting himself, con- 
 signed her to Arthur Burnett, saying that was fai 
 better, and that he himself would have the pleasure 
 of conducting her mother to the concert-room. " It 
 is an understood thing I" said Mrs. Palmer to herself; 
 " I cannot have lost all, like poor Mrs. Abigail Finch ; 
 or, if I have, it is thus they would make me amends." 
 She attended far less that evening to the music, than 
 to her daughter, and, as she hoped, her bridegroom 
 elect, who, to her great delight, seemed far more 
 devoted to her than to the gay Bell Ponsonby, who 
 sat on his other hand. She was proud to think that 
 others than herself might imagine it a settled thing 
 She looked round the room, and there was not, she 
 thought, a gentleman to compare with him ; there wag 
 Tom Ponsonby, who looked like a groom in his 
 master's clothes ; there was a dashing Captain Jones, 
 and a Baron Von Elfinstun, whom many reckoned
 
 RENEWED IIOrE. 151 > 
 
 handsome; but she thought otherwise. There was 
 that Von Rosenberg, about whom Caroline said so 
 much, with his long hair and Raphael-like face, 
 leaning now on the music-desk, as if he took no in- 
 terest whatever in the performance ; and there was 
 that young Hoffmann, whom Caroline at first had 
 thought so clever, standing in one of the recesses ot 
 the windows, with his arms folded, and looking so 
 intently upon something — she knew not what or 
 whom, he stood so much in the shade; but what was 
 any one of them, in comparison with Arthur Burnett, 
 with seven thousand a-year, and such an inheritance 
 in prospect ! 
 
 In the interval between the two parts of the con- 
 cert, refreshments were handed round, acquaintance 
 recognised acquaintance, and many changed their 
 seats. Hoffmann took the opportunity of exchanging 
 a few words with Caroline, and, at the commencement 
 of the second part, he was seated beside her. " Why, 
 that actually is young Hoffmann sitting beside her, and 
 to whom she is now talking so earnestly," secretly 
 ejaculated the observant Mrs. Palmer. " What a 
 fool the girl is!" 
 
 " Your daughter is the belle of the room," said 
 Mr. Wilkinson, after he had leisurely gone the 
 round of the apartment, and criticised every lady 
 through his eye-glass ; " upon my word she is !" Mrs. 
 Palmer bowed, and was happy he thought so; it 
 almost compensated to her for Caroline's talking to 
 Karl. The compliment, however, was quite spoiled 
 the moment afterwards, when she heard the same 
 thing said to Mrs. Ponsonby — "Your daughter, 
 ma'am, is unquestionably the finest girl in the room: 
 I protest she is!" "Hush!" said Mrs. Wilkinson, 
 
 coming between them, " is going to sing his 
 
 last song: be sure, Wilkinson, that you encore it."
 
 152 RENEWED HOPE. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Palmer! she attended neither to '3 
 
 last song, nor yet to the encore, she was so mortified 
 by the words of the false Mr. Wilkinson. She 
 wished she had not heard them. " One knows," said 
 she to herself, "what a false world it is; but how 
 much better to be deceived, than to know its false- 
 ness! Heaven help me! I begin to think that I 
 may have been taken in, like that poor Mrs. Abigail 
 Finch !" 
 
 It was a charming evening, everybody said — a most 
 charming evening! Mrs. Ponsonby said she had not 
 seen the arrangements of any private concert more 
 perfect, even in Paris; she was, in fact, just in the 
 humour to worship the Wilkinsons, so charmed was 
 she with them — so charmed was she with Arthur Bur- 
 nett, who, all the latter part of the evening, had 
 devoted himself to Bell. In proportion as the Pon- 
 sonbys were triumphant, was poor Mrs. Palmer an- 
 xious and dispirited. 
 
 " What did Caroline mean by being taken by that 
 young Hoffmann to supper? What did she mean by 
 looking so pale and grave?" It was more than the 
 good lady could bear. 
 
 " Have you and Mr. Burnett quarrelled?" asked 
 she of her daughter, who, that night, the house being 
 full, was to sleep in her mother's room. 
 
 " No certainly," said Caroline. "Why?" 
 
 " Because," replied her mother, " I could only 
 imagine him turned over to Bell Ponsonby in some 
 little lover's pique. Mind, Lina, what you are about 
 — the Ponsonbys are artful, scheming people. You 
 really have less spirit than any girl I ever saw! In 
 a room like that, with the eyes of everybody upon 
 you, and with your rival at your side, to give up 
 voluntarily to her the best man in the room — the 
 only gentleman whose attention conferred any dis-
 
 RENEWED HOPE. 153 
 
 tinction, for a paltry nameless German, positively 
 provokes me! — and when you know how much my 
 heart is set on this connexion!" 
 
 Caroline sat in her beautiful dress, as she had come 
 out of the concert-room, with her hands clasped 
 together on her knee, pale almost as the satin, and 
 said nothing. 
 
 "Are you a fool, Lina?" exclaimed her mother, 
 " or what, in Heaven's name, is come to you?" 
 
 " Let me confess the truth — let me open my heart 
 to you, dearest, dearest mother !" said she, bursting 
 into tears, and falling on her mother's neck. 
 
 " Nay, child, at least take off your dress before we 
 have any scenes," said her mother, in a tone of ex- 
 treme irritation ; and, as she had dismissed Gretchen, 
 that she might have this conversation with her 
 daughter, she unhooked her dress, and hung it up 
 for her. 
 
 Caroline did not again fall on her mother's neck ; 
 she clasped her hands tightly together, and said 
 calmly, " I do not love Mr. Burnett — I hardly eoteem 
 him!" More she would have said — she would have 
 confessed her love for Karl Hoffmann ; it was the 
 confession she meant to have made before, but her 
 mother prevented her. 
 
 "Child!" exclaimed she, "what sudden folly has 
 seized you? — Not like him! you that have seemed so 
 charmed by his attentions — so jealous of Bell Pon- 
 sonby — that have made your preference of him visible 
 to everybody! — Not love him, not esteem him, even! 
 what in Heaven's name do you mean? — certainly you 
 will drive me mad!" 
 
 " Good Heavens !" exclaimed Caroline, confounded 
 by her mother's words — for she doubted not but her 
 mother spoke as others would speak also. A feeling 
 almost of despair came ov<;r her; she wanted some
 
 154 RENEWED HOPE- 
 
 strong-minded, high-principled friend to counsel with ; 
 she was hopeless of her mother; and, clasping her 
 hands together, she stood silent. 
 
 " Caroline," said her mother, hurried into a confes- 
 sion which she had never thought of voluntarily 
 making, and saying now what she devoutly hoped was 
 not true — "Listen, and then tell me whether you can 
 conscientiously trifle with the devotions of Mr. Bur- 
 nett. I am pennyless ! I have lost every farthing that 
 I am worth!" 
 
 Caroline stared at her mother in amazement. 
 
 "Yes, child!" she continued, "three years ago, I 
 was over-persuaded by Mr. Wilkinson, like that pool 
 Mrs. Abigail Finch, to embark my money in an 
 Australian Land Company. I, like her. have lost all 
 — only," added she, with a bitterness of voice, "I am 
 unfortunately alive to learn the miseries of poverty!" 
 
 Her mother's words were intelligible to Caroline, 
 but it seemed to her as if she were raving. Mrs. Pal- 
 mer, after looking on her daughter for a moment, burst 
 into a flood of tears ; Caroline soothed her, and prayed 
 for an explanation, forgetting her own troubles in 
 these new and unlooked-for ones. 
 
 By degrees her mother explained to her the whole 
 transaction, excusing herself by her wish to create a 
 fortune for her daughter. Caroline at first was indig- 
 nant against Mr. Wilkinson for allowing her mother 
 to be thus imposed upon ; and then adopted the wil- 
 ling hope that, after all, their surmises might be unjust, 
 and their money safe. She however besought her 
 mother to inquire from Mr. Wilkinson what their 
 true prospects were ; which she promised to do the 
 next morning, before he left for Strasburg; though, 
 poor lady, in her own mind, she thought she would not, 
 as shewasall alongbentuponBurnettmaking proposals 
 to her daughter, before she ventured on the subject.
 
 RENEWED HOPE. 155 
 
 "The Wilkinsons know our circumstances, Lina," 
 said her mother, " and my belief is, that they are here 
 purposely for Arthur to choose you ; I am sure they 
 wish him to do so — nay, I almost have it from Mrs. 
 Wilkinson's own mouth. They are generous people, 
 Lina, and knowing, perhaps, that they have been instru- 
 mental in my misfortunes, this is the return they would 
 make. Oh, Lina, if you knew how I have watched 
 you two — how I have prayed for this union to take 
 place — what sleepless nights it has cost me — what 
 anxious days — you would not let any foolish fancies 
 rise up as impediments* you must not, you ought not 
 — nay, you shall not," said she, increasing in energy 
 with every word she spoke ; "for, if ever it was a girl's 
 duty to obey her mother, it is that you obey me now ! 
 Think of the disgrace of poverty! Oh, Heaven! I 
 surely could not survive it!" 
 
 There never was a merrier breakfast-party than that 
 which surrounded the table as Caroline entered next 
 morning. All the Ponsonbys were in such high 
 spirits, looking so bright and unfatigued — the Wil- 
 kinsons, and Arthur Burnett also. All laughingly 
 rallied her on her looks of katzenjammer, or cats' 
 grief — for so the Germans call the weariness which 
 succeeds a night of dissipation — which all said would, 
 however, be cured by a new scheme of Mrs. Wilkinson, 
 which was, that they all should accompany her hus- 
 band as far as Anweiler, at the foot of the Haardt 
 mountains, across the Rhine plain, the first day's jour- 
 ney to Strasburg — explore the scenery of the Trifels, 
 the place of Coeur de Lion's captivity, and all the 
 glorious country thereabout, down to Durkheim, where 
 is the Heiden Mauer, and a great deal to see besides ; 
 and thus spend the time of Mr. Wilkinson's absence 
 most agreeably, and be joined by him at Spires again, 
 on his return. The Ponsonbys, of course, were to bs
 
 15ti RENEWED kt.PE. 
 
 of the party, all except the colonel, who preferred 
 returning to Mannheim. Everybody declared it was 
 charming — even Caroline was pleased, for she would 
 have felt any change, anything which removed her 
 thoughts from herself, a relief. It was just the excur- 
 sion everybody had wished to make ; and everybody 
 said they were delighted. Mrs. Palmer, however, 
 wished the Ponsonbys were, not going, because Mr. 
 Wilkinson seemed so wonderfully taken with Bell, 
 and Bell really looked so provokingly happy; and 
 Mrs. Ponsonby wished that the Palmers were not 
 going, because, however doleful and unhappy Caro- 
 line looked, Mr. Burnett was engrossed by her; she 
 began really to think there must be something serious 
 in his attentions to her. So away they went that 
 splendid autumn day; two carriages and four — Mr. 
 and Mrs. Wilkinson, Mrs. Palmer and Mrs. Ponsonby 
 in the first, and the four young people in the second. 
 
 The party stayed to dine at Landau, and then Mrs. 
 Wilkinson announced to the young people, that they 
 had arranged a very charming scheme — quite a new 
 kind of pleasure — which they must enjoy the very 
 moment of Mr. Wilkinson's return; and that was a 
 musical breakfast at the Kaiser Stuhl. Mr. Wilkin- 
 son had noticed the tower on the hill, on leaving 
 Heidelberg; they would go up there, and have a rural 
 breakfast, and music. She would engage, she said, 
 a band of musicians, and take that poor Madame Von 
 Holzhauser, who had been so disappointed in not 
 singing at\ier concert; they would have Von Rosen- 
 berg also, and Hoffmann ; and it would altogether be 
 quite a snug delightful little affair. Everybody agreed 
 that it would be so; and Mrs. Ponsonby declared that 
 Mrs. Wilkinson had the finest taste in the world for 
 getting up things of this kind. 
 
 It was with the greatest regret that Karl saw the
 
 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 157 
 
 tvto carriages drive away, and understood that they 
 were to he absent for a week. He had intended that 
 day to have opened his heart to Caroline ; he believed 
 he was loved by her; he thought that, from their lit- 
 tle intercourse the last happy evening, he had judged 
 her harshly ; and, with a sentiment peculiar to gene- 
 rous minds who have been unjust, blamed himself 
 for his judgment, and longed to make the amplest 
 amends even for an unkind thought. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 
 
 The party returned from the mountains delighted 
 with their excursion, and impatient for the breakfast 
 at the Kaiser Stuhl, which now had taken entire 
 possession of Mrs. Wilkinson's mind, as the concert 
 had done ten days before. 
 
 "Well, love," said Mrs. Palmer to her daughter, 
 as they were alone together on their return, "I think 
 the Ponsonbys must be convinced by this time, that 
 Arthur Burnett has no thoughts of Bell. I never was 
 better pleased in my life ; I only wish you would 
 look a little more cheerful, although I must confess 
 that that air of melancholy suits you admirably!" 
 
 Caroline sighed, and said she felt sure she was doing 
 wrong, but that she had not strength to do right. 
 Her mother did not understand what she meant, nor 
 did she ask her to explain herself, and she continued. 
 " I am like some one before whom two roads lay — the 
 one right, the other wrong; difficulties, great, untold 
 difficulties, lay at the entrance of the right road; I 
 have shrunk from encountering them ; I have taken 
 the other, though I know it to be wrong, as well as I 
 
 H
 
 158 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 
 
 know darkness from light; and, please God that I 
 may only not know the misery my choice has occa- 
 sioned another ! I must be content: I have shut my 
 eyes and gone wilfully wrong! Oh how this thought 
 haunts me day and night!" 
 
 "Child! Lina, de'ar!" exclaimed her mother, 
 
 " I have made up my mind," continued she,. " quite, 
 quite; and, come what will, I will bear it!" and, so 
 saying, she threw herself on the bed and wept. She 
 did not tell her mother what she knew, however, 
 would give her pleasure, that she*had indeed accepted 
 Arthur Burnett's addresses. Gretchen came uo say 
 that Mrs. Hoffmann had called on them, and that, as 
 Mrs. Wilkinson was out, she wished to see her, but 
 would detain her only a few minutes. Mrs. Palmer 
 went out to her. 
 
 Good Mrs. Hoffmann ! she was come on an errand 
 of her son's. Her son and his friend, she said, were 
 setting off either on the morrow or the day after, and, 
 as Mrs. Wilkinson had often expressed a wish for tea 
 in the castle gardens, she wished to invite them to 
 coffee there that afternoon. Nothing could be more 
 delightful than the afternoons then were ; the sunsets 
 too were so fine; and there was a moon now, which 
 strangers almost admired as much as the gardens ; and 
 her son, she said, proposed also a stroll on the hills 
 afterwards, if it were agreeable to the young people : 
 there were some walks on the hills which he thought 
 they had not seen. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, with the utmost politeness — for she 
 was in good humour with all the world — said she would 
 nention it to Mrs. Wilkinson ; but she knew not what 
 to say, as they themselves proposed breakfasting at 
 the Kaiser Stuhl the next morning. A musical 
 breakfast it was to be; music in the open air was 
 always charming, and Mrs. Wilkinson got up those
 
 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 1 .09 
 
 things so well; she was then gone out ahoiit it, and 
 the Ponsonbys also, most likely, as nobody was at 
 home; that she expected an invitation had already 
 been sent to Mr. Hoffmann, and Mr. Von Rosenberg 
 also; but as it had not, she would venture to give it 
 now, and to Mrs. Hoffmann also, whose company she 
 Was sure would give them all pleasure. Mrs. Hoff- 
 mann said that, for herself, she must quite decline ; it 
 was too great an undertaking for her. " But you do 
 not decline, I hope, foryour son," said Mrs. Palmer; 
 "though, added she, "I doubt he might find some 
 of the young people rather too much occupied with 
 each other to be verygopd company." t 
 
 "May 1 inquire, then," said Mrs. Hoffmann, "if the 
 reports we hear of your daughter being promised to 
 Mr. Burnett are true?" 
 
 " Certainly they are true," said Mrs. Palmer, who 
 made herself quite easy on the subject now. " But, 
 my dear Mrs. Hoffmann, remember one thing — an 
 engagement of this kind is not publicly bruited abroad 
 among the English, as among the Germans." 
 
 A change passed over Mrs. Hoffmann's counte- 
 nance, and she rose suddenly to depart. Mrs. Palmer 
 smiled to herself, for she thought she was displeased 
 by what she had said of German betrothals. 
 
 Mrs. Wilkinson returned just before dinner. She 
 had put everything, she said, in the right train. Arthur 
 was gone about the carriages and horses ; she ex- 
 pected him back every moment. He came, and his 
 part of the commission was right also. She had 
 issued, she said, a general order about provisions; 
 and that, having met Mr. Hoffmann and Von Rosen- 
 berg, she had engaged them ; that she never saw 
 anybody more zealous than they were; that she was 
 quite charmed with them; they had been with her to 
 the musicians, and arranged with them much better
 
 160 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 
 
 than she could. Poor Mrs. Holzhauser, however, 
 made some little demur; her husband was ill again; 
 she had lessons to give, and the mornings were cold. 
 " However," said she, " as I should like to have her 
 this time — for her voice will be wanted — I have 
 offered her such a sum as I think she will not resist. 
 'All so far has gone right, but now comes the other 
 side of the question: the wind has changed, and 
 people foretell rain; and that child that has been 
 ridden over is so much worse, that they say he must 
 have his leg taken off. Oh, it is quite shocking! I 
 never shall forgive you, Arthur. I heaid it talked of 
 in a shop, and it made me quite ill. I have sent 
 Rosalie to inquire after him, and to offer them money, 
 or wine, or anything else that we can give. I expect 
 there will be a pension there, if nothing worse!" 
 
 Whilst they were sitting over their dessert, a note 
 was handed to Caroline. Her colour changed as she 
 glanced at its contents. Her mother, thinking it was 
 a dressmaker's bill, and that she was annoyed, per- 
 haps, at its amount, because her own finances were 
 drained, told her where to find the keys of her 
 desk, and if she wanted a few florins she might take 
 them. Caroline hastened to her own room, and read 
 again, with a heart beating violently, the words she had 
 glanced over before : — 
 
 " For Heaven's sake tell me, are you irdeed the promised 
 bride of Mr. Burnett? Deal candidly with me. I have lived on 
 uncertainties and hopes too long. I had given up hope till that 
 evening of the concert. Why did you awake it again ? But I will 
 not reproach you. May you never know the misery I must 
 endure ! 
 
 " If what I am told be true, I ask not for an answer. It will 
 be hard to bear, but, for my mother's sake, I will bear it. One 
 request only I make to you — make my excuses to Mrs. Wilkin- 
 son, and Von Rosenberg's also. We shall leave this place to« 
 night.— K. H." 

 
 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 161 
 
 Poor Caroline! she stood like one stuplfied, without 
 a tear in her eye, and the open letter in her hand. She 
 stood for a long time, as if pressed down with a blank 
 sense of misery and error. It was too late to 
 retrieve now, even if she knew how. " I forsesaw 
 something of this," said she, " but I said I would 
 shut my eyes, and go wilfully wrong;" and, falling 
 down on her knees, though she uttered not one word 
 of prayer, she buried her face in her hands, and wept. 
 With even thoughts of prayer come a calming in- 
 fluence ; and Caroline woke up, as it were, from that 
 stupor of anguish. " Some way or other," said she, 
 " light will break in ; this tempesting of. mind, this 
 self-abhorrence, this dark uncertainty, cannot indure 
 for ever." Whilst she thus thought, the regular 
 pacing of footsteps in the room above caught her 
 attention. " It is poor Karl" thought she; " he awaits 
 my answer, or he knows now certainly that none 
 will come !" She looked at her watch, as if to ques- 
 tion how long it was since the note came ; but she had 
 not looked at it then ; she knew nothing of time. " Oh 
 my God!" exclaimed she, clasping her hands on her 
 forehead, " this pacing to and fro will drive me 
 mad! • I have made him wretched, without the pos- 
 sibility of making another happy!" She rose from 
 ner knees, and, with a sense of misery which had no 
 words, threw herself on her bed. 
 
 That night Gretchen was not to be found when she 
 was wanted. At length she made her appearance, 
 and, in answer to the questions of her absence, said 
 she had only been for a minute or two with Mrs. 
 Hoffmann's Bena; that Mr. Karl and Mr. Von 
 Rosenberg were gone off all in a hurry that evening, 
 and she had just run into Bena's kitchen, to have a 
 little talk with her, for that Mrs. Hoffmann was very 
 poorly herself, and was gone to bed. Caroline said
 
 162 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 
 
 her head ached, and that she was fatigued and would 
 go to rest; that Gretchen must offer apologies in the 
 drawing-room for her, and must tell Mrs. Wilkinson 
 also, that Mr. Hoffmann and his friend were suddenly 
 gone, and hegged her to excuse them on the morrow. 
 
 Next morning was damp and dull. " Only one of 
 those regular autumn mornings, which turn out, the 
 most beautiful of days," said everybody; and, " Did 
 I not say so?" and "Did I not prophesy so?" asked 
 everybody exultingly, at ten o'clock, when the sun 
 looked through the misty clouds, and seemed half 
 disposed to disperse them. It is true that they were 
 to have been at the Kaiser Stuhl by half-past ten; 
 the musicians, perhaps, might be on their way there; 
 but that was of no consequence : the eatables and ser- 
 vants also had long been gone, and, now that all looked 
 promising, they would lose no time in setting out; 
 and, spite of Mr. Hoffmann and Von Rosenberg setting 
 off in that unhandsome way, Mrs. Wilkinson said 
 they would all enjoy themselves. 
 
 The carriages were brought to the door, and Ca- 
 roline vainly besought them to let her stay at home, 
 on the plea of headache and former fatigue ; but O 
 no! who could go without her? Arthur was peremp- 
 tory; he would stay if she did; so he took his seat 
 beside her, and away they drove. 
 
 As they approached the top of the hills, the air 
 began to feel damp and raw. Mrs. Wilkinson looked 
 at her watch ; it actually was nearly twelve ; had they 
 been, indeed, so long? and should they at last have 
 rain? But, however, they must not be faint-hearted: 
 everything was ready; everybody was waiting for 
 them ; and, as they came in sight, a peal of music 
 burst forth to welcome them. There was something 
 animating in it on the wild hill-top, although the wind 
 did blow coldly, and the troops of half- wild, half-
 
 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. . 168 
 
 savage-looking children, which had come up not only 
 from Gaiberg, the Kohl-hof, and all regions about, 
 looked starved; yet there was something quite in- 
 spiriting in that music, and in the servants bustling 
 about, and the shed covered with green boughs, like 
 a summer lodge in the wilderness wreathed with 
 flowers, under which the repast was set out. 
 
 " And where is Mrs. Von Holzhauser ?" asked Mrs. 
 Wilkinson, when they alighted, looking round for her 
 in vain. A servant said that she had left a message, 
 and was gone. " She was there at ten o'clock," he 
 said; " that the damp of the hills had taken hold of 
 her; her voice was gone; she could not speak above a 
 whisper; she seemed very much cut down, and he won- 
 dered they had not met her." Mr. Wilkinson proposed 
 that they should ascend the tower, and see the view; 
 the man was there with his telescope. Mrs. Wilkinson 
 said they would have some refreshment first; so all 
 seated themselves at the table. It was really cold, 
 and nobody looked merry, although the musicians 
 played Strauss's waltzes and gallopades with all 
 their might. It was a sumptuous breakfast, or rather 
 luncheon, and, spite of the dreariness, ?mple justice 
 was done to it; the gentlemen laughed loudly, and 
 the ladies laughed too ; the servants bustled about, 
 the music played, the wild-looking children were 
 regaled with far more than fragments; and so an hour 
 went by, and by that time a thick, drizzling rain had 
 set in, which left not, to the most sanguine, the 
 remotest hope of a change. 
 
 It was, after all, the dullest party, the most complete 
 failure of a pleasure party, that ever met at the foot of 
 the Kaiser Stuhl. To ascend this imperial chair was 
 now quite out of the question ; the poor keeper of the 
 tower stood at the door, balancing his telescope on 
 his arm, but he did not even ask them to use it.
 
 164 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 
 
 At three o'clock the carriages were drawn up again 
 for their return; the drenched and discomfited mu- 
 sicians had gone half-an-hour before ; and, leaving 
 the fragments of the feast as booty to the keeper of 
 the tower and his children, they took their seats as 
 they came, and in rain, which threatened now to be a 
 deluge, began to descend, everybody silent and out 
 of humour. After they had dined, the Ponsonbys 
 returned home, and, tired and dispirited, everybody 
 retired early to their own rooms. 
 
 The next morning, Mademoiselle Rosalie brought 
 a message to Caroline. Mr. Wilkinson and Mr. Bur- 
 nett were engaged together on business; Mrs. Wil- 
 kinson took breakfast in her own room — perhaps Miss 
 Palmer would do the same. There seemed nothing 
 extraordinary in all this; it was natural they should 
 wish to have some privacy, who had been so long 
 separated ; but she felt now, as indeed she had often 
 done before, the inconvenience of this union of house- 
 holds. She was a prisoner in her own chamber, where 
 she had neither books, nor work, nor music; she 
 could not sit with her mother, who never rose till 
 late. She put on her bonnet and shawl, therefore, and 
 went to inquire, not only after the lame Peter, but 
 after poor Madame Von Holzhauser also. 
 
 Peter had been removed to the hospital, she found, 
 for some days ; he was now better, said the old man, 
 who was alone in the house; his daughter, he said, 
 was gone to the hospital with something for Peter. 
 It was a blessing he might keep his limb; it would 
 have been the death of him, so weakly as he was, to 
 lose it. " Bena tells me," said the old man, " that, you 
 all live in the same house; you know Mr. Karl, then- 
 he's gone! It's much he did not come to say good- 
 by; but he knew that our good wishes went with 
 him, go where he would ! I remember him," continued
 
 V 
 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 165 
 
 he, "when he was a little hoy; I gave him his first 
 music lessons — I was a music-master then. Dear 
 Heaven ! what a loss it was to me when I could not 
 play on my piano ! I wish it had r leased God to 
 have given the poor Peter an ear for music ! — And so 
 Mr. Karl is gone! he is a good heart — he is -a right 
 good heart!" repeated the old man, in his weak, husky 
 voice. Caroline could hear it no longer: she wiped 
 away her tears, and bade him good day. 
 
 In reply to her knock at Madame Von Holzhuuser's 
 door, she was bade to enter in a voice the very oppo- 
 site of the old man's — so harsh, so strong, so repul- 
 sive. It was Mr. Von Holzhauser himself, who, 
 wrapped in a dirty cotton schlafrock, with a greasy 
 smoking-cap on his head, and his feet thrust into old 
 faded needle-worked slippers, was puffing forth, from 
 a coarse pipe, clouds of ill-scented tobacco. Caroline 
 started back at the vision which thus presented itself 
 as she entered the room : she thought she had made 
 a mistake, and she said so. ' 
 
 "No, no," replied the stout smoker, who was evi- 
 dently in ill humour, "this was Madame Von Holz- 
 hauser' s ; that she had been such a fool the day before 
 as to go up to the Kaiser Stuhl with some English 
 people, who had more money than sense, and that she 
 had lost her voice ; and, now that Hoffmann was gone, 
 who had been such a friend to her, what was she to 
 do? He was gone off at last in such a hurry, he had 
 forgotten to give her the recipe which did her so much 
 good; and how could she afford to go to Dr. ?" 
 
 The next moment a chamber door opened, and 
 the poor lady herself, wrapped in a flannel dressing- 
 gown, and with flannels on her throat and head 
 came softly and timidly forth. 
 
 " May I sit down with you for two minutes in youi 
 chamber?" asked Caroline.
 
 166 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 
 
 Madame Von Holzhauser assented, and the door 
 was closed against the unamiable occupant of the first 
 room. The moment they were alone she burst into 
 tears. Caroline said everything to soothe her and 
 give her hope; to all the poor woman shook her head, 
 or spoke only what was inaudible. What could Caro- 
 line do more? she could do nothing — nothing effectual 
 at least: she ordered a quantity of manuscript music; 
 said she would call sometimes ; expressed the kindest 
 sympathy and wishes, and departed with a heavier 
 heart even than she had come. 
 
 Whilst she was taking off her bonnet in her own 
 room, she heard a rap at the door, and Mrs. Wilidn- 
 son entered : her manner was constrained and peculiar : 
 she sate down, and asked if she could have some pri- 
 vate conversation with her. 
 
 "Certainly," said Caroline, her heart beating vio- 
 lently, for Mrs. Wilkinson's manner terrified her. * 
 
 "My dear Caroline," said she, "it grieves me more 
 than I can express, or than you can conceive — it is 
 most painful, I assure you." The beating of Caro- 
 line's heart sounded into her brain, but she said 
 nothing ; and Mrs. Wilkinson, wanting a reply to help 
 her onward, yet finding none, proceeded. 
 
 "I do not know, my dear girl, how to tell you — but 
 perhaps your mother may have mentioned it." Caro- 
 line clasped her hands and leant earnestly forward. 
 " Nay, do not- look in that way," said she, or how 
 can I tell you? Your poor dear mother embarked, 
 some years ago, her fortune in a foreign Land Company 
 — it has been unsuccessful." 
 
 "My dear, dear mother!" exclaimed Caroline, 
 throwing herself into a chair, and bursting into tears. 
 
 " It is a most unhappy affair," said Mrs. Wilkinson ; 
 " but who would have thought of embarking their aU 
 in such a scheme ?"
 
 ft 
 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 1G7 
 
 "Oh! why," said Caroline, "did Mr. Wilkinson 
 allow it ? He should not, indeed — indeed he should 
 not; he should have discouraged it — he should have 
 prevented it — he ought to have done so. Pardon 
 me, Mrs. Wilkinson ; hut he, who knew so much of 
 all money schemes, ought to have shown her how 
 such a* this Land Company, whoever may he the 
 originators or supporters of them, are little hetter than 
 public robbers. Her all! Oh my God! How can 
 she bear poverty!" 
 
 " "Who could have imagined it her all?" asked Mrs. 
 Wilkinson, half vexed at Caroline's reproach on her 
 husband. " He could not have imagined that she — 
 that any one — would have risked their all thus." 
 
 " My poor mother has feared this," said Caroline ; 
 "these anxieties have preyed upon her health, and 
 this blow will kill her, or deprive her of reason !" 
 
 "I am sure," said Mrs. Wilkinson, "I never was 
 so shocked, so grieved, so miserable in all my life! 
 I did not dare to go to her; it is the most distressing 
 thing I ever knew. But bless me, Lina, who would 
 have thought that your mother, who always made 
 such a handsome appearance, and has educated you 
 so well, was only worth six thousand pounds? — how 
 did she manage?" 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Wilkinson," said Caroline, " this has 
 been unkind indeed, to persuade her to risk her all — 
 her all, which was but so little — that little, which she 
 made go so far!" 
 
 " You are sure to feel it," said Mrs. Wilkinson, in 
 a voice which was meant to be full of charity ; " I 
 can forgive you being unjust; but, my dear girl, you 
 nust remember that your poor mother, and nobody 
 else, is to blame. It is just as if she had taken her 
 money to the gaming-table : people that do so, must 
 abide the consequences. Why did she not tell Wil-
 
 108 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 
 
 kinson that six thousand pounds was all she had in 
 the world?" 
 
 " I must go to my mother now," said Caroline, 
 rising. 
 
 " Yet a moment," said Mrs. Wilkinson ; " a few 
 more words you must allow me. Caroline took her 
 seat again, and she continued. " I am sure, dear 
 Lina, I am distressed to be the bearer of unpleasant 
 tidings, or to have to communicate what must be 
 painful for you to hear; but I have a duty to perform, 
 which, however distressing, I must not -hrink from. 
 You knew, Caroline, though we did not, what were 
 your circumstances — your prospects in life. You must 
 have known this, and you should not have formed 
 any connexion with Arthur, and have kept it secret 
 thus." 
 
 " Mr. Burnett," said Caroline, looking both hurt 
 and offended, " was old enough to choose for himself, 
 and was, as I understood, independent of any person 
 — even of a guardian." 
 
 " Unquestionably so," replied Mrs. "Wilkinson; 
 "he is very rich, but Mr. Wilkinson, fiom whom you 
 know he has great expectations, has views of his own 
 for him. I am very sorry, my dear Lina," said she, 
 in the kindest tone, " for I never met with a girl that 
 I admired and loved so much as you; but I must 
 confess that I wish you had mentioned it to me." 
 
 " I have not mentioned it even to my own mother," 
 said Caroline. 
 
 " So much the better," replied Mrs. Wilkinson ; 
 " and let me beseech of you, dear girl, not to do it. 
 And now, Lina, I appeal to you — to your own good 
 sense and knowledge of what is customary in society. 
 I am grieved to hurt your feelings, by speaking so 
 plainly; but knowing no*w, I say, that you must 
 become dependent, one way or another, should you 

 
 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 169 
 
 have accepted Arthur's addresses, without his ob- 
 taining his uncle's sanction, from whom, you know, 
 he has such expectations ?" 
 
 " I told him," said Caroline, at the time he made 
 fiis declaration, " how doubtful our circumstances were 
 — that I was probably almost penniless; he will not 
 deny that. I believed you and Mr. Wilkinson capable 
 of an act of generosity; I imagined you were willing 
 to repay my mother's losses by this connexion : I was 
 mistaken." 
 
 "Good Heavens!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilkinson, in 
 a tone that seemed to express that the idea was pre- 
 posterous ; " tben you know, love, I must speak plain, 
 painful as it is," said she, assuming at once her most 
 amiable manner, as if to cover the unkindness of her 
 remarks; " if you had but connexions of influence, 
 the want of money would go for nothing; family con- 
 nexions, you know dear, are often better than fortune. 
 Mr. Wilkinson — I am ashamed to say it — is very 
 ambitious." 
 
 " I understand you, then," said Caroline : " you wish 
 me to break off the connexion." 
 
 " I know you to be high-minded and reasonable," 
 returned she, " and capable of the most generous and 
 disinterested actions ; I love you so well, that I would: 
 spare you all unpleasantness— Wilkinson is decided 
 about it. I put it to your generosity ; release Arthur 
 at once, and spare him any breach with his uncle. 
 Mr. Wilkinson believes — I will be candid with you, 
 Lina — that Arthur has been inveigled into this con- 
 nexion ; he has had it from the Ponsonbys, I know; 
 J am sure of it — they have been jealous all along 
 and have said, I doubt not, very unhandsome things. 
 But pray do not let it annoy you," said she, seeing 
 the colour mount to Caroline's brow; for, poor girl, 
 she remembered, with shame, many little arts of her 
 
 15
 
 170 HOPE DISAPPOINTED. 
 
 own, and many of her mother's manoeuvres, to mortify 
 Bell, if not to attract Burnett. " I know how much 
 I ask from you," continued she ; " But Caroline, you 
 are generous and disinterested; and, if you have any 
 regard for poor Arthur, and would spare him a rupture 
 with his uncle — and Wilkinson, when he is once 
 offended, never forgives — let the engagement be broken 
 by your own wish; as a woman, I counsel you Caroline, 
 it is far better you should do it than he." 
 
 " Let Mr. Burnett," said Caroline haughtily, of- 
 fended by the heartless pride of these people, " ask 
 me himself to redeem him from this engagement, and 
 it shall be done. God knows," said she, " how en- 
 tirely I acted against my own conscience in accepting 
 him ; but I have accepted him : it is the sordid spirit 
 of worldly pride which makes you ashamed of our 
 engagement ; if it be so, let him ask me to release him, 
 and 1 will do it ! And now have I heard all you have 
 to say ; for it is time that my poor mother was un- 
 deceived as to the friends in whom she has so long 
 and so blindly confided." 
 
 " Really, Caroline!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilkinson. 
 
 Caroline paused a moment, and then asked again 
 if Mrs. Wilkinson had anything more to say. She 
 coldly replied no ; and they left the room together. 
 
 When Caroline entered, her mother was looking 
 over some papers which Mr. Wilkinson had sent in — 
 a hasty statement of the affairs of the Australian Land 
 Company. He wished, a note said which accom- 
 panied them, to have an interview with her some time- 
 in the course of the next day. 
 
 " I can neither make head nor tail of these accounts 
 which Mr. Wilkinson has sent," said she; " frightful 
 sums of money seem to have gone out ; but, Heaven 
 help me ! as far as I can understand them, there seeins 
 to be none coming back!"
 
 171 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A RETROSPECT. 
 
 We must anvance on for four months, and, on one 
 cold, intensely cold afternoon in January, look into 
 a small, neat, warm room in a third story in the 
 Neckar Strasse, or Neckar Street, Stuttgart; and there 
 we shall find poor Mrs. Palmer reclining on the sofa, 
 wrapped, as when we first saw her, in large shawls. 
 The tea-things were placed upon the table, and Bena, 
 Mrs. Hoffmann's little maid, had just brought in the 
 lighted lamp. 
 
 " The Fraulein is not yet come," said Mrs. 
 Palmer, as Bena set the lamp on the table. 
 
 " She comes this moment," replied she ; and, as 
 those words were spoken, Caroline in her warm 
 winter bonnet and shawl entered. 
 
 <: It is very cold ! very cold indeed ! " said she. 
 
 " Let Bena take your things, dear," said her mother. 
 
 The kind little Bena placed the warm slippers 
 before her young mistress, unlaced her boots, and 
 carried away the bonnet and shawl, with a smiling, 
 happy countenance. The mother and daughter placed 
 themselves at the tea-table. 
 
 " How much better you look to-night, mamma !'' 
 said Caroline. 
 
 " I am better, dear," replied she ; " and now you 
 must tell me, as you have so long promised, the whole 
 history of all those horrid affairs, in which I was too 
 ill to take part, as I ought to have done." 
 
 " I think you can bear to hear it now," said her 
 daughter; "but you must spare my going into detail, 
 for it is too painful for me to dwell upon. You 
 remember," said she, after a pause of a few moments, 
 " that terrible morning when Mr. Burnett's note
 
 172 A RETROSPECT. v 
 
 name in, and his uncle followed to second it : — oh 
 Heavens ! what a dreadful morning it was ! I did not 
 think then, that worldly pride could have been so 
 undisguised ! " 
 
 •' Yes indeed," replied Mrs. Palmer, " I remember 
 it; and that evening it was when I was taken so ill. 
 I remember what seemed to me the roar of thunder, 
 and they said it was the Wilkinsons' carriages driving 
 away." 
 
 " Poor Mrs. Wilkinson!" said Caroline, " she wrote 
 to me from Mannheim, where and at Baden-Baden, 
 on account of the lame Peter's accident, they were 
 compelled to remain some weeks, till a passport could 
 be granted to Mr. Burnett; and then he bought his 
 liberty for a hundred pounds — twelve hundred florins. 
 It was, as Mrs. Wilkinson would have said, a good 
 thing for him that he was ridden over. But I was going 
 to tell you, that she wrote to me from Mannheim : 
 the letter certainly was kind, and I am sure her in- 
 tention in sending it was so. She had heard of your 
 illness, and offered me whatever money I needed, not 
 as a loan, but as a gift; she offered to get me a situa- 
 tion in London — in fact she did all she could do. The 
 letter enclosed two fifty pound bills. Oh how sorely 
 tempted was I to take them! I knew not what to do! 
 God help me ! — I had' that twenty pounds to pay in 
 Mannheim, for what I had so foolishly bought for the 
 grand duchess's ball ; there were dressmakers' bills, 
 and bonnet-makers' bills, and bills for many a folly 
 which I had been led into, by a spirit of rivalry and 
 expense, whilst the Wilkinsons and Bell Ponsonby 
 were here. I wished the money had been offered by 
 any one but her!" 
 
 " My dear girl," said her mother, " that and much 
 more you might have taken with an easy conscience: 
 my money went to enrich, I make no doubt, Mr
 
 A RETROSPECT. 173 
 
 Wilkinson and such as he, with their wicked Land 
 Companies ! " 
 
 " I reasoned so," said Caroline, " but I could not 
 bear to receive what was given as a favour in our 
 poverty. I returned it to her; I said that we could 
 not receive alms from any one; that I would maintain 
 both you and myself honourably and independently; 
 and so I will!" said she, a glow of honest pride 
 lighting up her countenance. "No, my dear mother, 
 I thank Heaven that we need not live by charity ! — 
 I sent the bills back," continued she, " and took the 
 diamond ring and ear-rings to Mannheim, and offered 
 them to a jeweller there; for with these I said I will 
 discharge all my debts. Good Heavens ! I stood in 
 the jewelkr's shop bargaining about these things, at 
 the very moment people were all going to the grand 
 duchess's ball — to that very ball to which we were to 
 have gone, and at which I was to have worn those very 
 jewels ; I saw the Wilkinsons' carriage drive past — 
 they were going there ! 
 
 " The jeweller confessed them to be of considerable 
 value ; he would not purchase them himself, he said, 
 but he offered to present them at the palace, as, pro- 
 bably, they would be purchased by the grand duchess, 
 or one of her daughters. In three weeks I heard 
 from him; they were sold, I believe, to some lady in 
 the train of the Empress of Russia; perhaps that ring 
 might find its way back to that very prince from whom 
 Mr. Wilkinson received it. I paid the jeweller his com- 
 mission, and received nearly a hundred pounds; and 
 that made me rich indeed. I went then to pay the 
 debts I owed — ^n the first place, the twenty pounds:-— 
 it was already paid! I was astonished, and inquired 
 by whom '( By the lady, I was told, who was with me 
 when I made the purchases — the rich English lady 
 who had just left for Baden-Baden. I found it the
 
 174 A RETROSPECT. 
 
 same at the milliner's, and at every shop where we had 
 gone together — I owed nothing ! 
 
 " Gretchen left us just then; she had heen quite 
 spoiled by those English servants ; and she went to 
 Mannheim, to the Ponsonbys, I believe. Poor Madame 
 Von Holzhauser, cold as it was, and unwell as she was 
 herself, came every day to see you. She was in a 
 world of distress herself, for she could not give 
 singing lessons for many weeks; however, she was 
 my kindest and best friend; she sate up with you two 
 nights — oh, how good she was ! Careful as I was not to 
 spend money, 1 bought from her a deal of manuscript 
 music. I thought it was the only way I could return her 
 kindness: but I carefully kept from her all my money 
 anxieties; for I am sure had she known them, poor 
 and suffering as she was, her generous heart would have 
 refused the money. Just at the time when Gretchen 
 behaved so ill, and left me at a day's warning, poor 
 Madame Von Holzhauser came saying, that in one 
 way she could bring me good news — that I might 
 then engage the little Bena, who had been such an 
 excellent servant so long with Madame Hoffmann; that 
 MadameHoffmann had had a letter fromVon Rosenberg, 
 informing her of the illness of her son ; he had been ill 
 many weeks; Von Rosenberg had nursed him in Nu- 
 remberg, where they still were. Madame Hoffmann 
 packed up her things in haste, sent the little Benahome, 
 locked her doors, and set off for the winter to her son." 
 
 "Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Palmer, "such a 
 healthy young man as he seemed ! — But what is amiss, 
 Lina?" asked she, as her daughter seemed sunk into 
 a fit of abstraction, and looked deathly pale. 
 
 Caroline started, as if woke from a reverie. " It 
 .was a gloomy time," continued she; "an awfully 
 gloomy time! I feared that I might become ill 
 myself. Mrs. Holzhauser and Bena were both as
 
 *A RETROSl'ECT. 175 
 
 kind as possible — so was Dr. ; but I wanted 
 
 a, counsellor; J bud too much on my mind; 1 even 
 feared for my reason. 1 wrote then to Madame Von 
 Vobning; it was tbe impulse of. a moment, but it was 
 right. In a week's time that dear good lady was 
 with us. 1 candidly told her what our circumstances 
 were, and besougbt her advice. I bad myself formed 
 the idea of leaving Heidelberg. I could not bear to 
 become tbe talk of that little city, in our humble cir- 
 cumstances; as it was, no one knew that they were 
 different to what they ever had been. I thought, if 
 we removed to some larger city, I might teach English 
 and French, and give lessons on the harp. Madame 
 Von Vobning thought so too. When, therefore, you 
 were able, to travel, we came here. I brought Bena 
 with us, regardless of the small additional expense, 
 because she is so good and kind, and 1 have, perhaps, 
 somewhat of a foolish attachment to the girl. She is 
 connected, in my mind, with the happy part of our 
 residence inHeidelberg, and she will talk unwearyingly 
 of good Madame Hoffmann, which I like. 
 
 " There is thus, you see, dear mother," said Ca- 
 roline, " not much to tell you — all the rest you know. 
 In the spring, if you still prefer going to England, 
 
 Count goes there as ambassador with his family. 
 
 They wish to engage me as governess to their children : 
 the situation is such as I should like; to be governess 
 in a German family, is to be received as a friend. My 
 only fear is, that you cannot live comfortably in Eng- 
 land, on the very small income which we can raise."- 
 
 " I would much rather," said poor Mrs. Palmer, 
 who, uneasy in her own mind, fancied there must be 
 virtue in change, " live on bread and water in Eng- 
 land, than sumptuously in Germany; and, if it be no 
 very great sacrifice to you, dear, 1 should like you to 
 engage with the Countess."
 
 176 ALL'S WELL THAT ENIiS WELL. 
 
 " It shall lie done." said Caroline, with a deep 
 sigh, which, however, her mother did not observe. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 all's well that ends well. 
 
 Three years have now passed between the ending or 
 the last chapter, and the beginning of this, during 
 whicn time Caroline has had a deal of experience of 
 the life of a governess in England. The good Count 
 
 and Countess , the friends of Madame Von 
 
 Vohning, returned to their own country in about tvf elve 
 months, and Mrs. Palmer, worn out in health and 
 spirits, and too feeble to travel, would not consent to 
 her daughter's returning with them. She took, there- 
 fore, other situations, and, for some time, acted as 
 daily governess. 
 
 We must see her now sitting in the room appro- 
 priated for her use, in the house of a certain very 
 rich Mr. Paget Browne, in whose family, as governess 
 to his only daughter, a great heiress, she had lived 
 now for about six months. The house was a very 
 large one, in the Regent's Park, and was, on the 
 night to which we particularly refer, prepared to 
 receive a large party. Everybody visited the Paget 
 Brownes. On this particular evening, among others 
 were expected Millionaire Wilkinson, as he was called, 
 and his nephew Arthur Burnett, with his bride, the 
 Lady Maria, sister of Lord Somebody; but the great 
 star of this evening would be, it was hoped, the new 
 German musician, about whom all the London world 
 was mad, and who, it was whispered, had only that 
 very week refused — and in a very peculiar manner 
 too — an ^lvitation from the lady of the Millionaire 
 herself. it was just like these upstart
 
 all's well that ends well. 177 
 
 foreigners, who come here as poor as beggars, and 
 make fortunes like princes ; but, however, it made the 
 musician doubly the rage, and where he had had one, 
 he had now three invitations for a night. 
 
 Mrs. Paget Browne, before she went to dress, 
 looked into the room where Caroline and her daughter 
 were sitting. " I have just had a note from Von 
 Rosenberg," said she; "he says he will come to me 
 to-niffht. I am quite charmed!" 
 
 " I did not know that he was in England," said 
 Caroline, changing colour. 
 
 " For ten days at least," said Mrs. Paget Browne, 
 not noticing her emotion; "did I not send you the 
 paper, with the account of his presentation at court. 
 and his concert, on Monday, at the Hanover-square 
 rooms?" 
 
 " The real Von Rosenberg, mamma ?" said Jier 
 daughter, starting up in great delight — " Von Rosen- 
 berg, whose music we love so much ?" 
 
 " Yes love," said her mother; " and I think, Miss 
 Palmer, you must let Constance hear him. You will 
 not object to accompany her into the drawing-room. 
 It is not as if you were going in public," said she, 
 not understanding Caroline's silence; "I wo\ild not 
 ask it, only T wish Constance to hear good music." 
 
 "I do not object, indeed," said Caroline. "I was 
 not thinking of my dress," added she, glancing down 
 at the bombazine and crape which, poor girl, she had 
 now been wearing about four weeks for her mother. 
 
 The great suite of drawing-rooms was filled with 
 gay people. Caroline compelled herself to be calm, 
 and stood in a recess of the room, with her fair young 
 pupil leaning on her arm. She heard people talking 
 near her; they said that the Wilkinsons would not be 
 there that night. One gentleman said he wQuld lay a 
 wager upon it, because Von Rosenberg was coming,
 
 178 all's well that ends well. 
 
 that Von Rosenberg had cut them three or four time», 
 that, though the pride of these foreigners was unbear- 
 able, still they were glad that the Wilkinsons had 
 Deen so mortified ; and that Mr. Arthur Burnett would 
 not come either, for that he was not particularly 
 proud of his bride ; that he had married her mereLy 
 f 'or her brother's interest, and now he was busy about 
 securing his election, which, after all, he would lose, 
 
 for that his brother-in-law, Lord , was not as 
 
 strong in that quarter as they imagined. 
 
 But now, hush! Mrs. Paget Browne was crossing 
 the room with the famous composer and violoncello- 
 player, Von Rosenberg. All eyes were upon them; 
 everybody said he was so handsome, and had such a 
 gloriously intellectual head, and such beautiful hair. 
 
 "I must introduce my daughter to you," said Mrs. 
 Paget Browne ; " you have no greater admirer than 
 she in London ; she must dream of your music, for 
 she thinks of nothing else all day !" 
 
 He bowed both to the beautiful girl and her mother. 
 " Stay, Mr. Von Rosenberg," said the young Con- 
 stance, who was full of generous impulses, and feared 
 no one ; " this is my governess, Miss Palmer, who 
 knew you in Germany, and has told me a deal about 
 you!" 
 
 He turned suddenly round — all eyes were fixed 
 upon Caroline, who was pale as death. He remem- 
 bered the Lmglish custom, which he and Hoffmann 
 had liked so much, and offered her his hand. With 
 a violent effort she commanded her feelings, and 
 returned his greeting with composure. Amongst the 
 gay and the titled, the poor governess, who but for 
 the notice of the great popular favourite, nobody* 
 would have cared for, became at once an object of 
 interest. She was questioned on all sides as to her 
 acquaintance with him — his early life — his connex*
 
 all's well that ends well. 179 
 
 ions — anything that she could tell. It was qui'e 
 relief when silence was commanded, for that he was 
 going to play. 
 
 He played, and everybody went into raptures — those 
 who understood the merit of his performance, and 
 those who did not — for it was the reigning fashion to 
 be enraptured by Von Rosenberg's music. 
 
 "Do ask him to play the Betrothal!" said some- 
 body; "for, though it is not new, it is so glorious!" 
 
 "He has been asked," said another; "I heard him 
 asked by three several persons, and he said that to- 
 night he could not play it!" 
 
 "How odd!" said a third. 
 
 It made quite a sensation in the house the next day, 
 when Von Rosenberg called, not only on Mrs. Pag t 
 Browne, but on the poor governess also. They talked 
 about old times; about Pauline, and the good okl 
 Geheimerath, who, Von Rosenberg said, had invited 
 him to return for the Christmas Eve ; and of course 
 he should do so — 4ns lehre-jahre would then, he 
 hoped, be completed ; but he knew not — the Geheime- 
 rath was a stern task-master. They talked about 
 Madame Hoffmann — Von Rosenberg talked of Karl — 
 Caroline felt as if she could not mention his name ; 
 he told of his illness in Nuremberg, and of the winter 
 they spent there. Madame Hoffmann, he said, was 
 now living just as she used to do, in her old dwelling 
 in Heidelberg; he doubted not but even that little 
 Bena was with her. Karl, he said, had just been there, 
 but that he was now gone to live at Berlin, being 
 especially invited there by the young king, who was 
 bent upon gathering around him the most celebrated 
 and promising minds of Germany. He himself, he 
 said, had an invitation also to reside there, but Pau- 
 line must decide for him. Hoffmann, he said, it was 
 probable would before long come over to England :
 
 180 all's well jhat ends well. 
 
 he had, he said, written to him that very morning, 
 urging him to come whilst he was there. 
 
 How busy everybody is before Christmas-Eve m 
 Germany! All the land through, from the palace of 
 the Kaiser, down to the cottage of the poorest pea- 
 sant, every one, old and young, is preparing a gift, 
 the best he can make, the one which he thinks will be 
 liked best, for each one that he loves. Walk through 
 any town or city of Germany, from one end of the 
 land to the other, and on Christmas-Eve in every 
 home is rejoicing. Through the unshuttered windows 
 you see the rooms lighted up, as if for a general illu- 
 mination — it is the Christ-tree, bearing its thousand 
 tapers, and shining out, a vision of beauty, casting 
 down light and splendour upon the gifts which lie 
 spread abroad below. From every house is heard 
 sounds of gladness — the bursting laugh of delighted 
 and astonished children — whilst parents and friends 
 stand by with tearful eyes, and hearts overflowing 
 with love. 
 
 It is a blessed night — it is the one night throughout 
 the year, in which, most emphatically, the broad wings 
 of universal love overshadow all things! They say 
 that the angelic Christ-child is gone forth with his 
 shining wings, the emblem of the great Christian spirit, 
 diffusing peace and joy, and good-will, and showering 
 down gifts upon all! They have said truly; their 
 hearts have received him with all the simplicity and 
 faith fif little children; they have brought the great 
 spirit of love down to their own firesides, and, the 
 whole year through, they experience the blessing of it! 
 
 "What busy preparation then was there in the dwell- 
 ing of the Geheimerath Dainian, for many days before 
 the Chtistmas-Eve of 1840! 
 
 The Herr Geheimerath and his sister called one day
 
 all's well that ends well. 181 
 
 on Mrs. Hoffmann. "You must hold your Christ- 
 mas-Eve with us," said he ; you must come to us with 
 all your gifts and your rejoicings; our young people 
 are all very busy ; Von Rosenberg comes, as you 
 know, but Pauline knows nothing of it." 
 
 The aunt said that she had bought the tree — a tree 
 of unusual dimensions, because she expected it had 
 that year to overshadow extraordinary gifts. Bena. 
 she said, must come and help to ornament it; that the 
 lame Peter, who was come home for his Christmas, 
 and was wonderfully improved every way, was to he 
 there; he had, she said, gifts of his own to present, 
 especially to Karl's young wife, for whom he had great 
 affection ; she had seen the poor fellow's gifts, she said, 
 but of course she could say no more ; that he had also 
 various little devices for the tree, which charmed her 
 much, and he was to come and help for several days. 
 
 Mrs. Hoffmann received a letter three days before 
 Christmas-Eve, written from Aix-la-Cbapelle : it was 
 from Karl. He said that he and his wife, and Von 
 Rosenberg, had travelled thus far on their journey, 
 and, spite of the season, all had been pleasant and 
 prosperous ; that assuredly, on the day before Christ- 
 mas-Eve, they would present themselves, but not 
 before, as the Herr Geheimerath had forbidden it. 
 They should take their time, and arrive unfatigued by 
 travelling, that they might all enjoy the Christmas- 
 Eve thoroughly. Caroline added something to the 
 letter, which pleased the good lady no little; for the 
 German in which it was expressed, was pure as that oi 
 a native; the calligraphy too was German, and the 
 sentiments those of the most cordial affection — worthy, 
 said the kind mother-in-law, of the warmest Ger- 
 man heart. 
 
 "Well," said she, to Madame Von Holzhauser, 
 with whom things were once more going on tolerably 
 
 16
 
 182 all's well that ends well. 
 
 smoothly, "he said he would enrich me this Christmas 
 with a nohle gift; he will do so indeed, it this my 
 new daughter be only half what he and Von Rosen- 
 berg tell me : but you are invited to the Herr Geheime- 
 rath's," said she. 
 
 Madame Von Holzhauser wiped her eyes, and said 
 it made her weep to think what the Frau Doctorin's 
 (Mrs. Karl's) feelings would be, on returning thus 
 to all her old acquaintance; but, as to her going to the 
 Herr Geheimerath's, that could not be; she always 
 kept a little Christmas at home ; her husband she said, 
 would expect it — it was one of the few things which 
 put him in really good humour; and she did not know 
 exactly, but she thought he had been making some 
 little preparation of his own for it. 
 
 Mrs. Hoffmann gave her her hand, and said how 
 much pleased she was to hear it. 
 
 On the evening of the 23rd of December, a carriage 
 drove into Heidelberg, through the Mannheim gate. 
 It was cold, bitterly cold, that evening, as everybody 
 may remember. The postilion came on blowing his 
 horn, which sounded loud and shrill in the clear, 
 frosty air. The carriage passed the house of the 
 Herr Geheimeivith, and up the street, drawing up at 
 last before the door of the house where Madame Hoff- 
 mann was still a dweller. Happy Caroline! Did 
 she think of that summer evening, when she first saw 
 Karl and his friends arrive at that very door? Per- 
 haps she did. Bena stood on the stairs with a candle, 
 and Mrs. Hoffmann, dressed so nicely, came out to 
 meet them at her sitting-room door. 
 
 " Welcome, my daughter," said she, kissing her 
 most affectionately. 
 
 Caroline returned the kiss, but her heart was too 
 full to speak. " 
 
 About an hour afterwards, when all their travelling
 
 all's well that ends well. 183 
 
 things were taken off, and they were sitting happily 
 together at tea, the good Geheimerath walked in. 
 " 1 am not come to stay," said he, " only to bid you 
 welcome, and to know that you are all well. Feld- 
 mann is at the door," said he, " but he will not com 
 in." Yon Rosenberg went out and compelled theii 
 merry-hearted friend to enter. "Only one quarter ot 
 in hour," said the good old man, taking out his 
 .vatch, "will we stay with you." 
 
 The great drawing-room, or saloon as it was called, 
 in the Herr Geheimerath's house, was closed, as il 
 with seven seals and twice seven locks, excepting to 
 two persons — the lame Pete-r, who had the ordering 
 of all the lesser arrangements, and the good aunt, to 
 whom the Geheimerath himself, and all the rest of 
 the family, committed gifts and important secrets. 
 
 About four o'clock, when it was getting dusk, she 
 and Peter were observed to come out of the saloon 
 with very self-satisfied faces, as if all their work was 
 done. 
 
 " Is all ready?" inquired the younger voices. 
 
 " No, no ; to be sure, not till it is quite dark," 
 said the elder ones. 
 
 At last it grew dark, and then Peter and the aunt 
 went in again with lighted candles. Tho family, all 
 dressed in their best, were assembled in the adjoining 
 room, which opened into the saloon. Madame Hoff- 
 mann was there, and kindly welcomed by all. There 
 stood Karl and his English wife. Von Rosenberg 
 was not there ; none of the Hoffmanns had seen him 
 for all the afternoon ; they wondered where he was, 
 but they did not ask, for they had the Geheimerath's 
 injunction of silence. 
 
 The children declared that the Christ-child must 
 have entered, for that light shone through the cracks 
 ol the door. Their father quietly extinguished th«
 
 184 all's well that ends well. 
 
 ..amp in the room where they were, and then, ifitieed, 
 bright lines of light were visible. 
 
 " Hush!" said the Geheimerath, and the two large 
 folding-doors slowly opened and revealed the dazzling 
 temple of the Christ-child. Aloft stood the blazing 
 tree, shining with its hundreds of lights, and bearing 
 its glittering fruit of sugar-work. Hundreds of little 
 tapers flamed from among the green moss which edged 
 the tables on which the gifts of so many loving hearts 
 were displayed. Nobody was forgotten — neither 
 Madame Von Holzhauser, though she was not there, 
 nor the bed-ridden grandfather, nor the little Bena ; and 
 Peter saw, though he had no idea of it before, that the 
 good aunt had her little corner of mystery also covered 
 up with a cloth. 
 
 Caroline leaned on the arm ot her husband, and 
 smiled with tearful eyes, blessing in her soul this 
 warm-hearted German land, which, with all its wis- 
 dom and philosophy, has preserved so much child- 
 like simplicity in its heart. 
 
 The Herr Geheimerath came forward ; there was a 
 smile on his face of the most affectionate happiness 
 He took Pauline by the hand, and led her towards the 
 Christ-tree, behind which hung a long crimson curtain 
 
 " Lift that curtain," said he, " and there thou will 
 fi'nd my gift to thee." 
 
 • She lifted it, or rather, it was lifted at the samp 
 moment, and Von Rosenberg clasped her in his arms 
 
 "Thy year of probation is ended!" said the good 
 father; "receive thy wife! Pauline, my blessing b« 
 jn thee! receive thy husband!" 
 
 THK END.
 
 
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