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Single
Number.

 

Copyrighted in 1877, by ADAms, Victor & Co,

ADAMS, VICTOR & CO., PUBLISHERS,

No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK.

Price,
10 Cents.

 

 

THE WATER-SPIRIT.

FROM THE GERMAN OF
FRIEDRICH DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE.

DEDICATION. |
Viston of beauty, dear Undine,
Since led by storied light, |
I found you, mystic sprite,
How soothing to my heart your voice has
been.
You press beside me, angel mild,
Soft breathing all your woes,
And winning brief repose—
A wayward, tender, timid child.

Still my guitar has caught the
tone,
And from its gate of gold
Your whispered sorrows rolled
Till through the world their sound
is flown.

And may. hearts your sweetness
ove,
Though strange your freaks
and state,
And while I sing your fate,
The wild and wondrous tale ap-
prove.

Now would they warmly, one
and all,
Your fortunes trace anew:
Then, sweet, your way pursue,
And ae enter bower and
1all,

Greet noble knights with hom-
age due;
But greet, all trusting there,
The lovely German fair:
“Welcome,” they ery, ‘‘ the mai-
den true!”

And if toward ME one dart a

glance,

Say, ‘‘ He’s a loyal knight,

Who serves you, ladies bright—
Guitar and sword—at tourney,

feast and dance.
FougvuE.
CHAPTER I.

HOW A KNIGHT CAME TO A
FISHERMAN’S COTTAGE.
ONCE ona beautiful evening,

it may now be many hun-

dred years ago, there was a

worthy old fisherman who sat

before his door mending his
nets.

Now the corner of the world
where he dwelt, was exceed-
ingly picturesque. The green
turf on which he had built his
cottage, ran far out into a
great lake; and this slip of
verdure appeared to stretch
into it as much through love
of its clear waters, blue and
bright, as the lake, moved by
a like impulse, strove to fold
the meadow, with its waving grass and flow-

 

each other, and the one to be visiting the other

as a guest.

With respect to human beings, indeed, in this |

leasant spot, excepting the fisherman and his
amily, there were few or rather none to be
met with. For in the background of the
scene, toward the west and north-west, lay
a forest of extraordinary wildness, which,
owing to its gloom and its being almost im-
passable, as well as to fear of the strange
creatures and visionary forms to be encountered
there, most people avoided entering, unless in
cases of extreme necessity. The pious old fish-
erman, however, many times passed through it
without harm, when he carried the fine fish,

| which he caught by his beautiful strip of land,

UNDINE.

to a great city lying only a short distance be-

chiefly this, because he entertained scarcely any
thoughts but such as were of a religious nature;
and ides, every time he crossed the evil-re-
ported shades, he used to sing some holy song

| with a clear voice and from a sincere heart.

Well, while he sat by his nets this evening,

| neither fearing nor devising evil, a sudden ter-
| ror seized him, as he heard a rushing in the dark-
| ness of the wood, that resembled the trampling

of a mounted steed, and the noise continued ey-

| ery instant drawing nearer his little territory.

at he had dreamed in his reveries, when

| abroad in many a stormy night, respecting the

mysteries of the forest, now flashed through his
mind in a moment; especially the figure of a

| man of gigantic stature and snow-white appear-

ance, who kept nodding his
head in a portentous manner.
Yet, when he raised his eyes
toward the wood, the form
came before him in perfect
distinctness, as he saw the
nodding man burst forth from
the mazy webwork of leaves
and branches. But he imme-
diately felt emboldened, when
he reflected that nothing to
zive him alarm had ever be-
allen him even in the forest;
and moreover that on this
open neck of land the evil spir-
it, it was likely, would be still
less daring in the exercise of
its power. At the same time,
he prayed aloud with the
most earnest sincerity of de-
votion, repeating a passage of
the Bible. This inspired him
with fresh courage; and soon
perceiving the illusion, the
strange mistake into which
his imagination had betrayed
him, he could with difficulty
refrain from laughing. The
white, nodding datefoce had
seen, became transformed in
the twinkling of an eye, to
what in reality it was, asmall
brook, long and familiarly
known to him, which ran
foaming from the forest, and
discharged itself into the lake,
But what had caused the
startling sound, was a knight,
arrayed in sumptuous appar-
el, who beneath the shadows
of the trees came riding to-
ward the cottage. His doub-
let was of dark violet, em-
broidered with gold, and his
scarlet cloak hung gracefully
over it; on his cap of burn-
ished gold waved red and
violet plumes, and in his
golden shoulder-belt flashed
a sword, richly ornamente1
and extremely beautiful. The
white barb that bore the
knight, was more slenderly
built than war-horses usually
are; and he touched the turf
with a step so light and elastic
that the green and flower-woven carpet seemed

ore and the cooling shade of the trees, in its fond
embrace. Such were the freshness and beauty
of both, that they seemed to be drawn toward

yond the extensive forest.
Now the reason he was enabled to go through
this wood with so much ease, may have been |

hardly to receive the slightest break from his
tread. The old fisherman, notwithstanding, did
not feel perfectly secure in his mind, although

 
eP

THE SUNNYSIDE LIBRARY.

 

 

hé was forced to believe, that no evil could be
feared from an appearance so pre sing ;
and therefore, as good manners dictated, he
took off his hat on the knight’s coming near, and
quietly remained by the side of his nets.

When the stranger stopped, and asked whether
he with his horse could have shelter and enter-
tainment there for the night, the fisherman re-
turned answer: ‘‘ As to your horse, fair sir, I
have no better stable for him than this shady
meadow, and no better provender than the
grass thatis growing here. But with respect to
yourself, you shall be welcome to our humble
cot , 2nd.te the best supper and lodging we
are able to give you.”

The knight was well contented with this re-
ception; and alighting from his horse, which his
host assisted him to relieve from saddle and
bridle, he let him hasten aay to the fresh pas-
ture, and thus spoke: ‘‘Even had I found you
less hospitable and kindl ee my worthy
old friend, ‘you would still, I suspect, hardly
have got rid-of me to-day; for here, I perceive,
a broad lake lies before us, and as to riding back
into that wood of wonders, with the shades of
evening deepening around me, may Heaven in
its grace preserve me from the thought!”

‘Pray, not a word of the wood, or of return-
ing into it!” said the fisherman, and took his
guest into the cottage.

There, beside the hearth, from which a frugal
fire was diffusing its light through the clean
dusky room, sat the fisherman’s aged wife in a
great chair. At the entrance of their noble
guest, she rose and gave him a courteous wel-
come, but sat down pene in her seat of honor,
not making the slightest offer of it to the
renee pon this the fisherman said with a
smile:

You must not be offended with her, young
entleman, because she has not given up to you
e best chair in the house; it is a custom amon,
poor people to look upon this as the privilege o

the a c

“Why, husband!’’ cried the old lady with a
quiet smile, ‘‘ where can your wits be wander-
ing? Our guest, to say the least of him, must
belong to a Christian country, and how is it
poe le then, that so well-bred a young man, as

appears to be, could dream of driving old
people from their chairs? Take a seat, my

oung master,” continued she, turning to the
knight; “there is still quite a snug little chair
across the room there, only be careful not to
shove it about too roughly, for one of its legs, I
fear, is nono of the firmest.”

The knight brought up the seat as carefully
as she could desire, and good-humoredly sat
down upon it; while it seemed to him for a mo-
ment, that he must be somehow related to this
little household, and have just returned home
from abroad.

These three worthy people now began to con-
verse in the most friendly and familiar manner.
In relation to the forest, indeed, concerning
which the knight occasionally made some in-
quiries, the old man chose to know but little; at
any rate he was of dea oe that slightly touch-
ing upon it, at this hour of twilight, was most
suitable and safe; but of the cares and comforts
of their home and their business abroad, the
aged couple spoke more freely, and listened also
with oer curiosity, as the knight recounted to
them travels, and how he had a castle near
one of the sources of the Danube, and that his
name was Sir Huldbrand of Ringstetten.

Already had the stranger, while they were in
the midst of their talk, been aware at times of a
splash against the little low window, as if some
one were dashing water against it. The old
man, every time he heard the noise, knit his
brows with vexation; but at last, when the
whole sweep of a shower came ae like a
torrent against the panes, and bubbling through
the decayed frame into the room, he started wu
indignant, rushed to the window, antl cri
with a threatening voice:

“Undine! will you never leave off these fool-
eries? not even to-day, when we have a stran-
ger-knight with us in the cottage?”

All without now became still, only a low titter
was just perceptible, and the fisherman said, as
he came back to his seat: “‘ You will have the
ee my honored guest, to pardon this

reak, and it may be a multitude more, but she
has no thought of evil or anything improper.
This mischievous Undine, to confess the truth,
is our adopted daughter, and she stoutly refuses
to give over this frolicksome childishness of
hers, although she has already entered her
eighteenth year. But in spite of this, as I said
before, she is at heart one of the best children
in the world.”

. “Yow may say so,” broke in the old lady,

 

shaking her head—‘‘ you can give a better ac-
count of her:than I can. When you return
home from fishing, or from selling your fish in
the city, om fee think her frolics very de-
lightful. But to have her figuring about you
the whole day long, and never, from morning
to night, to hear her speak one word of sensé;
and then, as she grows older, instead of having
any help from her in the family, to find her a
continual cause of anxiety, lest her wild hu-
mors should completely ruin us—that is quite a
different affair, and enough at last to weary
out the patience even of a saint.”

“Well, well,” replied the master of the house,
with a smile, ‘‘you have your trials with Un-
dine, and I have mine with the lake. The lake
often beats down my dams, and breaks the
meshes of my nets, but for all that I have a
strong affection for it; andso have you, in spite
of your mighty crosses and vexations, for our
nice, pretty little child. Is it not true?”

“One cannot be very angry with her,” an-
swered the old lady, as she gave her husband an
Syprovags smile.

‘hat instant the door flew open, and a girl
of slender form, almost a very miniature of wo-
man, her hair en and her complexion fair,
in one word, a blonde-like miracle of beauty,
slipped laughing in, and said: ‘‘ You have only
been making a mock of me, father; for where
now is the guest you mentioned?” <

The same moment, however, she perceived the
knight also, and continued standing before the
comely young man in fixed astonishment. Huld-
brand was charmed with her graceful figure, and
viewed her ey features with the more in-
tense interest, as he imagined it was only her
surprise that permitted him to. have the oppor-
tunity, and that she would soon turn away from
his gaze with increased bashfulness. But the
event was the very reverse of what he expected.
For after now regarding him quite a long
while, she felt more confidence, moved nearer,
knelt down before him, and, while she played
with a gold medal which he wore attached to a
rich chain on his breast, exclaimed:

“Why, you beautiful, you friendly guest!
how have a reached our poor ae at last?
Have you been obliged, for years and years, to
wander about the world, before you could catch
one glimpse of our nook? Do you come out of
that wild forest, my lovely friend?”

The old woman was so prompt in her reproof,
as to allow him no time to answer. She com-
mandedhe maiden to rise, show better man-
ners, and go to her work. But Undine, without
making any reply, drew a little footstool near
Huldbrand’s chair, sat down upon it with her
Lette y and said in a gentle tone: ‘‘I will work

ere.

The old man did as parents are apt to do with
children, to whom they have been over-indul-
— He affected to observe nothing of Un-

ine’s strange behavior, and was beginning to
talk about something else. But this was what
the little girl would not suffer him to do. She
broke in upon him: ‘‘I have asked our kind
guest, from whence he has come among us, and
e@ has not yet answered me.” ;

“T come out of the forest, you lovely little
vision,” Huldbrand returned, and she spoke
again:

“You must also tell me how you came to en-
ter that forest, so feared and shunned, and the
marvelous adventures you met with there: for
there is no escaping, I guess, without something
of this kind.”

Huldbrand felt a slight shudder, on remem-
bering what he had witnessed, and looked in-
voluntarily toward the window; for it seemed
to him, that one of the Ra shapes, which
had come upon him in the forest, must be there
grinning in through the glass; but he discerned
nothing except the deep darkness of night, which
had now enveloped the whole prospect. Upon
this, he became more collected, and was just on
the point of beginning his account, when the
old man thus interrw im!

“Not so, sir knight; this is by no means a fit
hour for such relations.” :

But Undine, in a state of high excitement,
sprung up from her little cricket, braced her
beautiful arms against her sides, and cried,
placing herself directly before the fisherman:

‘He shall not tell his wae father? he shall
not? But it is my will: he shall!—he shall, stop
him who may!” Fi

Thus speaking, she stamped her neat little
foot vehemently on the floor, but all with an air
of such comic and good-humored simplicity,
that Huldbrand now found it
withdraw his gaze from her wild emotion, as
he had before from her gentleness and beauty.
The old man, on the contrary, burst out in un-

restrained displeasure. He severely reproved
Undine for her disobedience and her unbecom-
ing carriage toward the stranger, and his good
ee wife joined him in harping on the same
string.

By these rebukes Undine was only excited the
more. “If you want to quarrel with me,” she
cried, ‘‘and will not let me hear what I so
much desire, then sleep alone in your smoky
old hut!” And swift as an arrow she shot from
the door, and vanished amid the darkness of the
night.
CHAPTER II.

IN WHAT MANNER UNDINE HAD COME TO THE
FISHERMAN.

HULDBRAND and the fisherman sprung from
their seats, and were rushing to stop the angry
a but before they could reach the cottage

oor, she had disappeared in the cloud-like o
security without, and no sound, not so much
even as that of her light footstep, betrayed the
course she had taken. Huldbrand threw a
glance of inquiry toward his host: it almost
seemed to him, as if his whole interview with a
sweet apparition, which had so suddenly
plunged again amid the night, were no other
than a continuation of the wonderful forms,
that had just played their mad pranks with him
in the forest; but the old man muttered be-
tween his teeth:

“This is not the first time she has treated us
in this manner. Now must our hearts be filled
with anxiety, and our eyes find no sleep, the
livelong night; for who can assure us, in spite
of her past escapes, that she will not some time:
or other come to harm, if she thus continue out
in the dark and alone until daylight!”

“Then pray, for God’s sake, father, let us
follow her,” cried Huldbrand, anxiously.

‘“¢ Wherefore should we?” replied the old man;
‘it would be a sin, were I to suffer you, a
alone, to search after the foolish girl amid the
lonesomeness of night; and my old limbs would
fail to carry me to this wild rover, even if I
knew to what place she has hurried off.”

“ Still we ought at least to call after her, and
beg her to return,” said Huldbrand; and he be-
gan to call in tones of earnest entreaty: ‘‘ Un-

ine! Undine! come back, pray come back!”

The old man shook his head, and said: ‘ All
your shouting, however loud and long, will be
of no avail; you know not as yet, sir knight,
what a self-willed thing the little wilding is.”
But still, even hoping against hope, he could not
himself cease c ing out every minute, amid
the gloom of night: “Undine! ah, dear Undine!
I beseech you, pray come back—only this once.”

It turned out, however, ee as the fisher-
man had said. No Undine could they hear or
see; and as the old man would on no account
consent that Huldbrand should go in quest of

he fugitive, they were both obliged at last to

eturn into the cottage. There they found the
’ fire on the hearth almost gone out, and the mis-
tress of the house, who took Undine’s flight and
danger far less to heart than her husband, had
already gone to rest. The old man blew up the
coals, put on dry wood, and by means of the
renewed flame hunted for a jug of wine, which
he brought and set between himself and his

guest.

“You, sir knight, as well as I,” said he, “are
anxious on the silly girl’s account, and it would
be better, I think, to spend part of the night in
chatting and drinking, than keep turning and
turning on our rush-mats, and trying in vain to
sleep. What is your opinion?”

Huldbrand was well pleased with the plan: the
fisherman pressed him to take the vacant seat of
honor, its worthy occupant having now left it
for her couch; and they relished their beverage
and enjoyed their chat, as two such good men
and true ever ought todo. To be sure, when-
ever the slightest thing moved before the win-
dows, or at times when just nothing at all was
moving, one of them would look up and ex-
claim, ‘‘ There she comes!”—Then would the
continue silent a few moments, and afterwar
when nothing appeared, would shake their heads,
breathe out a sigh, and go on with their talk. ©

But as they could neither of them think of
any thing except Undine, the best plan they
could devise was, that the old fisherman should
relate, and the knight should hear, in what
manner Undine had come to the cottage. So
the fisherman began as follows:

“Tt is now about fifteen years, since I one
day crossed the wild forest with fish for the city
market. My wife had remained at home, as she

 

uite as hard to | was wont to do; and at this time for a reason of

more than common interest; for although we
were beginning to feel the advances of age, G
had bestowed upon us an infant of wonderful
+>>-—— —

UNDINE.

?

 

 

beauty. It was a little girl, and we already
began to ask ourselves the question, whether we
ought not, for the advan of the new-comer,
to quit our solitude, and, the better to bring up
this precious gift of Heaven, to remove to some
more inhabited place. Poor people, to be sure,
cannot in these cases do all you may think they
ought, sir knight; but still, gracious God! we
must all do as much for our children as we pos-
sibly can.

“Well, I went on my way, and this affair
would keep running in my head. This tongue
of land was most dear to me, and I shrunk from
the thought of leaving it, when, amidst the bus-
tle and Prawis of the city, I was obliged to re-
flect in this manner by myself: ‘In a scene of
tumult like this, or at least in one not much
more quiet, I too must soon take up my abode.’
But in spite of these feelings, I was far from
murmuring against the kind providence of God;
on'the contrary, when I received this new bless-
ing, my heart breathed a prayer of thankful-
ness too deep for words to express. I should
also speak an untruth, were I to say, that an
thing befell me, either on my passage throug
the forest to the city, or on my returning home-
ward, that gave be more alarm than usual, as
at that time I had never seen any appearance
there, which could terrify or annoy me. The
Lord was ever a aa _ those awful ae

Thus speaking, he is cap reveren rom
his bald head, and continued to sit, fora con-
siderable time, in devout thought. He then
a himself again, and went on with his re-

tion:

‘‘On this side the forest, alas! it was on this
side, that woe burst upon me. My wife came
wildly to meet me, clad in mourning apparel,
and her eyes streaming with tears. ‘Gracious
cae cried with a groan; ‘ where’s our child?

peak?

‘“* With the Being on whom you have called,
dear husband,’ she answered; and we now
entered the cottage together, weeping in silence.
I looked for the little corse, almost fearing to
find what I was seeking; and then it was I first
learnt how all had happened.

““My wife had taken the little one in her
arms, and walked out to the shore of the lake.
She there sat down by its very brink; and
while she was playing with the infant, as free
from all fear as she was full of delight, it bent
forward on a sudden, as if seeing something
very beautiful in the water. My wife saw her
laugh, the dear angel, and try to catch the im-
age in her little hands; but in a moment—with
a motion swifter than sight—she sprung from
her mother’s arms, and sunk in the lake, the
watery glass into which she had been gazing. I
searched for our lost mower 4 again and again;
but it was all in vain; I could nowhere find the
least trace of her.

‘Well, we were again childless parents, and
were now, on the same me Fone together
by our cottage hearth. We no desire to
talk, even if our tears would have permitted us.
As we thus sat in mournful stillness, gazing into
the fire, all at once we heard somigthing with-
out,—a slight rustling at the door. The door

_ flew open, and we saw a little girl, three or four

ears old, and more beautiful than I am able to

ll you, standing on the threshold, richl
dressed and smiling upon us. We were struc.
dumb with astonishment, and I knew not for a
time, whether the tiny form were a real human
being, or a mere mockery of enchantment.
But £ soon perceived water dripping from her
golden hair and rich garments, and that the
pretty child had been lying in the water, and
stood in immediate need of our help.

‘* « Wife,’ said I, ‘no one has been able to save
our child for us; still we doubtless ought to do
for others, what would make ourselves the ha)
piest parents on earth, could any one do us the
same kindness.’

“We undressed the little thing, put her to
bed, and gave her something warming to drink:
at all this she spoke not a word, but only turn-
ed her eyes upon us,—eyes blue and bright as
tem sky—and continued looking at us with a
smile,

“Next morning, we had no reason to fear
that she had received any other harm than her
wetting, and I now asked her about her parents,
and how she could have come to us. But the
account she gave, was both confused and in-
credible. She must surely have been born far
fiom here, not only because I have been unable,
ior these fifteen years, to learn any thing of her
birth, but because she then said, and at times
continues to say, many things of so very singular
a nature, that we neither of us know, after all,
whether she may not have dropped among us
from the =0nt 7 Then her talk runs upon gold-

en castles, crystal domes, and Heaven knows
what extravagances beside. What of her story,
however, she related with most distinctness,
was this, that while she was once taking a sail
with her mother on the great lake, she fell out
of the boat into the water; and that when she
first recovered her senses, she was here under
our trees, where the gay scenes of the shore
filled her with delight.

“We now had another care weighing upon
our minds, and one that caused us no small per-
plexity and uneasiness. We of course very
soon determined to keep and bring up the child
we had found, in place of our own darling that
had been drowned; but who could tell us
whether she had been baptized or not? She
herself could give us no light on the subject.
‘When we asked her the question, she commonly
made answer, that she well ew she was
created for God’s praise and glory; and that as
to what might promote the praise and glory of
God, she was willing to let us determine.

“My wife and I reasoned in this way: ‘If
she has not been baptized, there can be no use
in putting off the ceremony; and if she has
been, it is more dangerous to have too little ofa
good thing than too much.’

“Taking this view of our difficulty, we now
enideavotsa to hit upon a good name for the
child, since while she remained without one, we
were often at a loss, in our familiar talk, to
know what to call her. We at length decided,
that Dorothea would be most stitable for her,
as I had somewhere heard it said, that this name
signified a Gift of God; and surely she had
been sent to us by Providence as a gift, to com-
fort us in our misery. She, on the contrary,
would not so much as hear Dorothea meutioned :
she insisted, that as she had been named Undine
ihe parents, Undine she ought still to be
cal

“Tt now occurred to me, that this was a heath-
enish name, to be found in no calendar, and I
resolved to ask the advice of a ona in the city.
He too would hear nothing of the name Undine;
and yielding to my urgent uest, he came
with me through the enchanted forest, in order
*to perform the rite of baptism here in my cot-

tage.

‘The little maid stood before us so smart in
her finery, and with so winning an air of.graceful-
ness, that the heart of the priest softened at
once in her presence; and she a way of coax-
ing him so adroitly, and even of braving’him at
times with so merry a queerness, that he at last
remembered nothing of his many objections to
the name of Undine.

“Thus then was she baptized Undine; and
during the holy ceremony, she behaved with
great propriety and gentleness, wild and way-
ward as at other times she invariably was. For
in this my wife was quite right, when she men-
tioned what care and anxiety the child has oc-
casioned us, If I should relate to you—”

At this moment the knight interrupted the
fisherman, with a view to direct his attention to
a deep sound, as of a rushing flood, which had
caught his ear, within a few minutes, between
the words of the old man. And now the waters
came pouring on with redoubled fury before the
cottage windows. Both sprung to the door.
There they saw, by the light of the now risen
moon, the brook which issued from the wood,
rushing wildly over its banks, and whirling on-
ward with it both stones and branches of trees
in its rapid course. The storm, as if awakened
by the uproar, burst forth from the clouds,
whose immense masses of vapor coursed over
the moon with the swiftness of thought; the
lake roared beneath the wind, that swept the
foam from its waves; while the trees of this
narrow peninsula groaned from root to top-
most branch, as they bowed and swung above
the torrent. -

“Undine! in God’s name, Undine!” cried the
two men in an agony. No answer was returned ;
and now, regardless of everything else, they
hurried from the cottage, one in this direction,
the other in that, searching and calling.

CHAPTER II. .
HOW THEY FOUND UNDINE AGAIN.

Tue longer Huldbrand sought Undine beneath
the shades of night, and failed to find her, the
more anxious and confused he became. The
impression that she was a mere phantom of the
forest, gained a new ascendency over him; in-
deed, amid the howling of the waves and the
tempest, the crashing of the trees, and so entire
a change of the scene, that it bore no resem-
blance to its former calm beauty, he was tempt-
ed to view the whole peninsula, together with
the cottage and its inhabitants, as little more
than some mockery of his senses; but still he

 

 

heard, afar off, the fisherman’s anxious and in-
cessant shouting, ‘‘ UNDINE! UNDINE!” and also
his aged wife, who, with a loud voice and a
strong feeling of awe, was praying and chant-
ing hymns amid the commotion.

At length, when he drew near to the brook-

which had overflowed its banks, he perceived
by the moonlight, that it had faken its wild
course directly in front of the haunted forest,
so as to change the peninsula into an island.

“Merciful God!” he breathed to himself, “‘ if
Undine has ventured one step within that fear-
ful wood, what will become of her? Perhaps it
was all owing to her sportive and wayward
spirit, because I could give her no account of
my adventures there. d now the stream is
rolling between us, she may be weeping alone
on the other side in the midst of spectral hor-
rors!

A shuddering groan escaped him, and clam-
bering over some stones and trunks of over-
thrown pines, in order to step into the impetu-
ous current, he resolved, either by wading or
swimming, to seek the wanderer on the further
shore. He felt, it is true, all the dread and
shrinking awe aa over him, which he had
already suffered by daylight among the now
tossing and roaring branches of the forest.
More than all, a tall man in white, whom he
knew but too well, met his view, as he stood
grinning and nodding on the grass beyond the
water; but even monstrous forms, like this, only
impelled him to cross over toward them, when
the thought rushed upon him, that Undine
— be there alone, and in the agony of

leath.

He had already grasped a stout branch of a
pine, and stood supporting himself upon it in the
whirling current, against which he could with
difficulty keep himself erect; but he advanced
deeper in, with a courageous spirit. That in-
stant, a gentle voice of warning cried near him:
“Do not venture, do not venture!—that oLp
MAN, the STREAM, is too full of tricks to be
trusted!” He knew the soft tones of the voice;
and while he stood as it were entranced, be-
neath the shadows which now duskily vailed
the moon, his head swam with the swell and
rolling of the waves, as he every moment saw
them foaming and a oe above his knee.
Still he disdained the thought of giving up his

purpose,

mee you are not really there, if you are mere-
ly gamboling round me like a mist, may I too
bid farewell to life, and become a shadow like
you, dear, dear Undine!”* Thus calling aloud,

e again moved deeper into the stream. ‘‘ Look
round you—ah, pray look round you, beautiful
young stranger! why rush on death so madly!”
cried the voice a second time close by him; and
looking on one side, as the moon by ee
unvailed its light, he perceived a little island
formed by the flood, and, reclined upon its
flowery turf beneath the high branches of em-
_enriag trees, he saw the smiling and lovely

ndine.

Oh what a thrill of delight, compared with
the suspense and pause of a moment before, the
young man now plied his sturdy staff! A few
steps freed him from the flood, that was rush-
ing between himself and the maiden, and he
stood near her on the little spot of greensward,
in secret security, covered by the primeval trees
that rustled above them. Undine had partially
risen, within her tent of verdure, and she now
threw her arms around his neck, so that she
gently drew him down upon the softseat by her
side.

‘‘ Here you shall tell me your story, my hand-
some friend,” she breathed in a low whisper;
‘here the cross old — cannot disturb us.
And, besides, our roof of leaves here will make
quite as a shelter, it may be, as their poor

“Tt is heaven itself,” cried Huldbrand; and
folding her in his arms, he kissed the lovely
and affectionate girl with fervor.

The old fisherman, meantime, had come to
the margin of the stream, and he shouted across
to the young lovers: “Why, how is this, sir
knight! I received you with the welcome
which one true-hearted man gives to another, and

 

* This intensive form of expression is almost as
familiar in English as in German, and I have not
scrupled occasionally to employ it. The following
example from THauasa, is
sive in the language:

“No sound but the wild, wild wind,
And the snow crunching under his feet.”

These lines from the Ancient Mariner afford an-
other example, and one still more remarkable:

** Alone, alone, all alon
Alone ona eae wide sea.”

one of the most impres- ~
oy THE SUNNYSIDE LIBRARY.

 

 

now you sit there caressing my foster-child in
secret, while you suffer me in my anxiety to go
roaming through the night in quest of her.”

“Not until this moment did I find her my-
self, old father,” cried the knight across the
water.

“So much the better,” said the fisherman;
“but now make haste, and bring her over to me
upon firm ground.”

To this, however, Undine would by no means
consent. She declared, that-she would rather
enter the wild forest itself with the beautiful
stranger, than return to the cottage, where she
was so thwarted in her wishes, and from which
the handsome knight would soon or late £2
away. Then closely embracing Huldbrand, she
sung the following verse with the warbling
sweetness of a bird:

“A Rill would leave its misty vale,
And fortunes wild explore;
Weary at length it reached the main,
And sought its vale no more.”

The old fisherman wept bitterly at her song,
but his emotion seemed to awaken little or no
sympathy in her. She kissed and caressed her
new friend, whom she called her darling, and
who at last said to her: ‘‘ Undine, if the distress
of the old man does not touch your heart, it
ee but move mine, We ought to return to
him.

She opened her large blue eyes upon him in
perfect amazement, and spoke at last with a
slow and lingering accent: “If you think so—
it is well; all is eu to me which you think
right. But the old man over there must first
give me his promise, that he will allow you,
without objection, to relate what you saw in
the wood, and—well, other things will settle
themselves.”*

“Come, do only come!” cried the fisherman
to her, unable to utter another word. At the
same time, he stretched his arms wide over the
current toward her, and to give her assurance
that he would do what she required, nodded his
head; this motion caused his white hair to fall
strangely over his face, and Huldbrand could
not but remember the nodding white man of
the forest. Without allowing anything, how-
ever, to produce in him the least confusion, the
young knight took the beautiful girl in his arms,
and bore her across the narrow channel, which
the stream had torn away between her little
island and the solid shore. The old man fell
upon Undine’s neck, and found it impossible
either to express his joy, or to kiss her enough;
even the ancient dame came up, and embraced
the recovered girl most cordially. Every word of
censure was most carefully avoided; the more
so indeed, as even Undine, forgetting her way-
wardness, almost overwhelmed her foster-pa-
rents with caresses and the prattle of ender
ness.

When at length the excess of their joy at re-
covering their child had subsided, and they
seemed to have come to themselves, mornin;
had already dawned, oj mag to view an
brightening the waters of the lake. The tem-
pest had become hushed, and small birds sung
merrily on the moist branches.

As Undine now insisted upon hearing the re-
cital of the knight’s promised adventures, the
aged couple, Se good-humor, yielded
to her wish. Breakfast was eee out be-
neath the trees, which stood behind the cottage
toward the lake on the north, and they sat down
to it with delighted hearts—Undine lower than
the rest, (since she would by no means allow it
to be otherwise) at the knight’s feet on the grass.
These arrangements being made, Huldbrand be-
gan his story in the following manner,

 

CHAPTER IV.

OF WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO THE KNIGHT IN
THE FOREST.

“Ip is now about eight days since I rode into
the free imperial city, which lies yonder on the
further side of the forest. Soon after my arri-
val, a splendid tournament and running at the
ving took place there, and I spared neither my
horse nor ae lance in the encounters.

‘“Onee, while I was pausing at the lists, to
rest. from the brisk exercise, and was handing
back my helmet to one of my attendants, a fe-
male figure of extraordinar. auty caught my
attention, as, most magnificently attired, she
stood looking on at one. of the balconies. I
learned, on making inquiry of a person near me,
that the name of the gay young lady was Ber-
talda, and that she was a foster-daughter of one

 

* “ Undine evidently meant to have added another
tion, but then thinking it superfluous, only re-
»—‘ well, other things will settle themselves.’ ”

 
  

we

 

of the powerful dukes of this country. She too,
I observed, was gazing at me, and the conse-
quences were such as we young knights are
wont to experience: whatever success in riding I
might have had before, I was now favored with
still better fortune. That evening I was Bertal-
da’s partner in the dance, and I enjoyed the
same distinction during the remainder of the
festival.”

A sharp pein in his left hand, as it hung care-
lessly beside him, here interrupted Huldbrand’s
relation, and drew his eye to the affected.
Undine had fastened her pearly teeth, and not
without some keenness too, upon one of his fin-
gers, Soper as at the same time very gloomy
and displeased. On a sudden, however, she look-
ed up in his eyes with an expression of tender
melancholy, and whispered almost inaudibly :
“You blame me, but it was all your own fault.”*

She then covered her face, and the knight,
eoenee. embarrassed and thoughtful, went on
with his story:

“This lady Bertalda of whom I spoke, is of
a proud and wayward spirit. The second da
I saw her she pleased me by no means so _muc
as she had the first, and the third day still less.
But I continued about her, because she showed
me more favor than she did any other knight;
and it so happened, that I playfully asked her
to give me one of her gloves.

‘“¢ When you have entered the haunted forest
all alone,’ said she; ‘when you have explored
its wonders, and brought me a full account
of them, the glove is yours.’ ‘

‘* As to getting her glove, it was of no eS
ance to me whatever, but the word had a
spoken, and no honorable knight would permit
himself to be urged to such a proof of valor the
second time.” i

hit eet said Undine, interrupting him,
“that she loved you.”

“T¢ did appear so,” said Huldbrand.

“Well!” exclaimed the maiden, laughing,
“this is beyond belief; she must be yay stupid.
and heartless. To drive from her one that was
dear to her! And, worse than all, into that ill-
omened wood! The wood and its mysteries, for
all I should have cared, might have waited a
long while.”

“Yesterday morning, then,” pursued the
knight, smiling brightly upon Undine, ‘‘I set
out from the city, my enterprise before me.
The early light lay rich upon the verdant turf.
It shone so rosy on the slender boles of the trees,
and there was so merry a whispering amon,
the leaves, that in my heart I could not bu
laugh at people, who feared meeting any ehing
to eae them in a spot so delicious. ‘I shi
soon trot through the forest, and as speedily re-
turn,’ I said to myself, in the overflow of joyous
feeling; and ere I was well aware, I had entered
dee eee eS green shades, while of the plain
ee lay behind me, I was no more able to catch
a glimpse.

Then the conviction for the first time im-
pressed me, that in a forest. of so great extent I
might very easily become bewildered, and that
this perhaps might be the only danger, which was
likely to threaten those who explored its recess-
es. I made a halt, and turned myself in the
direction of the snn, which had meantime risen
somewhat higher; and while I was looking up to
observe it, iC saw something black among the
boughs of a lofty oak. My first thought was—
‘Tt isa bear!’ and I grasped my weapon of de-
fense; the object then accosted me from above
in a human voice, but in a tone most harsh and
hideous:

“<Tf I overhead here do not gnaw off these
dry branches, Sir Wiseacre, what shall we have
to roast you with, when midnight comes?

“And with that it grinned, and made such a
rattling with the branches, that my courser be-
came mad with affright, and rushed furiously
forward with me before I had time to see dis-
tinctly what sort of a devil’s beast it was.”

“You must not name it,” said the old fisher-
man, crossing himself; his wife did the same
without speaking a word; and Undine, while
her eye sparkled with glee, looked at her be-
loved knight, and said:

“The best of the story is, however, that they
have not actually roasted you yet. But pray
make haste, my handsome young friend. ong
to hear more.” baicigey

The knight then went on with his adventures:

hes horse was so wild, that he well-nigh
Fusion with me against limbs and trunks of
trees. He was dripping with sweat, through

 

*“That is, you act or speak in such a manner, as
to make me treat you rudely. Why do you say such
provoking things?—It is a kind of tender reproof, in
self defense.” C, F.

terror, heat, and the violent straining of his
muscles. Still he refused to slacken his career.
At last, altogether beyond my control, he took
his course directly up a stony steep; when sud-
denly a tall white man flashed before me, and
threw himself athwart the way my mad steed
was taking. At this apparition he shuddered
with new affright, and stopped, trembling. I took
this chance of recovering my command of him,
and now for the first time perceived that my de-
liverer, so far from being a white MAN, was
only a brook of silver brightness, foaming near
me in its descent from the hill, while it crossed
and arrested my horse’s course with its rush of
waters.”

“Thanks, thanks, dear BRooK,” cried Undine,
clapping her little hands. But the old man
shook his head, and, deeply musing, looked va-
cantly down before him.

“ Hardly had I well settled myself in my sad-
dle, and got the reins in my grasp again,” when
a wizard-like dwarf of aman was already stand-
ing at my side, diminutive and ugly beyond
conception, his complexion of a brownish yel-
low, and his nose scarcely of less magnitude
than all the rest of him. The fellow’s mouth
was slit almost from ear to ear, and he showed
his teeth with a eae smile of idiot court-
esy, while he overwhelmed me with bows and
scrapes innumerable. The farce now becoming
excessively irksome, I thanked him in the few-
est_ words I could well use, turned about my
still trembling charger, and purperes either to
seek another adventure, or, should I meet with
none, to pick my way back to the city; for the
sun, during my wild chase, had passed the meri-
dian, and was now hastening toward the west.
But this villain of a manikin sprung at the same
instant, and, with a turn as rapid as lightning,
stood before my horse again. ‘Clear the wa
there!’ I fiercely shouted; ‘the beast is wild,
and will make nothing of running over you.’

“He will, will he!’ cried the imp with a
snarl, and snorting out a laugh still more fright..
fully idiotic; ‘ pay me, first pay what you owe
me,—I stopped your fine little nag ee with-
out my help, both you and he would be now
sprawling below therein thatstony ravine. Hu!
from what a horrible plunge I’ve saved you.’

“<Well, pray don’t stretch your mouth any
wider,’ ak D ‘but take your drink-money

See, it was the kind brook there, you miserable
thing, and not you, that saved me.’ And at
the same time I dropped a piece of gold into his
wizard cap which he had taken from his head
while he was begging before me.

“T then trotted off and left him; but, to
make bad worse, he screamed after me, and on
a sudden, with inconceivable quickness, he was
close by my side. I started my horse into a gal-
lop; he galloped on with me, impossible for him
as it appeared; and with this strange move-

at the same time every limb and feature into
distortion, he kept raising the gold-piece as high
as he could stretch his arm, and screaming at
every leap: ‘Counterfeit! falsely false coin!
counterfeit!’ and such were the croaking sounds
that issued from his hollow breast, you would
have supposed, that every time he made them,
he must have tumbled upon the ground dead.
All this while, his disgusting red tongue hung
lolling far out of his mouth,

“Discomposed at the sight, I stopped and
asked him: ‘What do you mean by your
screaming? Take another piece of gold, take
two more—but leave me.’

“He then began to make his hideous salu-
tations of tab d again, and snarled out as
before: ‘Not gold, it shall not be gold, my
smart youn; gentleman; I have too much of
that trash ady, as I will show you in no-

ime.’

“At that moment, and thought itself could
not have been more instantaneous, I seemed to
have acquired new powers of sight. I could see
through the solid green plain, as if it were green
glass, and the smooth surface of the earth were
round as a globe; and within it I saw crowds of
goblins, who were pursuing their pastime, and
making themselves ere with silver and gold.
They were tumbling and rolling about, heads
up and heads down: they pelted one another in

rt with the precious metals, and with irrita-
ting malice blew gold-dust in one another’s ane
odious companion stood half within and half
without; he ordered the others to reach him up
avast quantity of some this he showed to me
with a laugh, and then flung it again ringing
and chinking down the measureless abyss.

“ After this contemptuous disregard of gold
he held up the piece I had pope him, showing i
to his brother gnomes below and they oes

 

and be off, though every word you say is false.

ment, half-ludicrous and half horrible, forcing ©

Be
UNDINE.

a SS

5

 

 

themselves half dead at a bit so worthless, and |
hissed me. At last, raising their fingers all
smutched with ore, they pointed them at me in |
scorn, and wilder and wilder, and thicker and |
thicker, and madder and madder, the crowd |
were bape in to where I sat gazing at
these wonders. en terror seized me, as it had
before seized my horse. I drove my spurs into
his sides; and how far he rushed headlong with
me through the forest, during this second of my
wild heats, it is impossible to say.

“At last, when I had now come to a dead
halt again, the cool of evening was around me.
I caught the gleam of a white footpath through
the branches of the trees; and presuming it
would lead me out of the forest toward the city,
Ifwas desirous of working my way into it; bu
a face perfectly white and indistinct, with fea-
tures forever changing, kept thrusting itself out
and peering at me between the leaves. I tried
to avoid it; but wherever I went, there too ap-
peared the unearthly face. I was maddened
with rage at this interruption, and drove my
steed at the in ull-tilt; when such a
cloud of white foam came rushing upon me and
my horse, that we were almost blinded and
glad to turn about and escape. Thus from step
to step it forced us on, and ever aside from the
footpath, leaving us, for the most part, only one
direction open. But when we advanced in this,
although it kept following close behind us, it
did not occasion the smallest harm or incon-
venience.

“At times, when I looked about me at the
form, I perceived that the white face, which
had splashed upon us its shower of foam, was
resting on a body equally white and of more
than gigantic size.. Many a time, too, I received
the impression, that the whole appearance was
nothing more than a wandering stream or tor-
rent, but respecting this I could never attain to
any certainty. e both of us, horse and rider,
became weary, as we shaped our course accord-
ing to the movements of the white man, who
continued nodding his head at us, as if he would
say, ‘Perfectly right! perfectly right!’ And
thus, at paee we came out here at the edge of
the wood, where I saw the fresh turf, the waters
of the lake, and your little cottage, and where
the tall white man disappeared.”

‘““Well, Heaven be praised that he is gone!”
cried the old fisherman; and he now fell to con-
sidering how his guest could most conveniently
return to his friends in the city. es this,
Undine an tittering to herself, but so very
low that the sound was hardly perceivable.
Huldbrand, observing it, said: I“ had hoped
you would see me remain here with pleasure;
why then do you now appear so happy, when
our talk turns upon my going away?"

“Because you cannot go away,” answered
Undine. “Pray make a single attempt; try
with a wherry, with your horse or alone, as you
een to cross that forest-stream which

urst its bounds. Or rather, make no trial at
all, for you would be dashed to pieces by the
stones and trunks of trees, which you see driven
on with such violence. And as to the lake, I am
well acquainted with that; even my father
dares not venture out with his wherry far
enough to help you.”

Huldbrand rose, smiling, in order to look
about, and observe whether the state of things
were such as Undine had represented it to be;
ie old goer Boca aie ore ve ee
m mockery, went gamboling and playing her
antics beciie them. They found ail, ie fact,
just as Undine had said, and that the knight,
whether ce or Se ts must submit to
remain on the island, so y a peninsula, until
the flood should subside.

When the three were now returning to the
cottage, after their ramble, the knight whis-
red in the ear of the little girl: ‘‘ Well, dear

ndine, how is it with you?
account of my remaining?’
“Ah,” she pettishly made answer, ‘‘not a
word of that. If I not bitten you, who

you angry on

knows what fine things you would have put into
your story about Bertalda!”
CHAPTER V.

HOW THE KNIGHT LIVED ON THE POINT OF LAND,
NOW ENCIRCLED BY THE LAKE.

AT some period of your life, my dear reader,
after being much driven to and fro in the world
you may have reached a situation where all
was well with you; that love for the calm secu-
rity of our own fireside, which we all feel as an
affection born with us, again rose within you;
yee imagined that your home would again

loom forth, as from a cherished grave, with all
the flowers of childhood, the purest and most

 

impassioned love; and that in such a spot, it

must be delightful to take up your abode, and
build your tabernacle for life. Whether you
were mistaken in this, and afterward made a
severe expiation for your error, it suits not my
purpose to inquire, and you would be unwilling

ourself, it may be, to be saddened by a recol-
Ieetion so ungrateful. But again awake within
you that foretaste of bliss, so inexpressibly
sweet, that angelic salutation of peace, and you
will be able, perchance, to understand some-
thing of the ight Huldbrand’s happiness,
while he remained on the point of land, now sur-
rounded by the lake.

He frequently observed, and no doubt with
heartfelt satisfaction, that the forest-stream
continued every day to swell and roll on witha
more impetuous sweep; that, by tearing away
the earth, it scooped out a broader and broader
channel; and that the time of his seclusion on
the island became, in consequence, more and
more extended. Part of the day he wandered
about with an old cross-bow, which he found in
acorner of the cottage, and had repaired, in
order to shoot the water-fowl that flew over;
and all that he was lucky enough to hit, he
brought home for a good roast in the kitchen.
When he came in with his booty, Undine seldom
failed to greet him with a scolding, because he
had cruelly deprived her dear merry friends of
life, as they were sporting above in the blue
ocean of the air; nay, more, she often wept bit-
terly, when she viewed the water-fowl dead in
his hand. But at other times, when he returned
without having shot any, she gave him a scold-
ing equally serious, since, owing to his indolent
strolling and awkward handling of the bow, they
must now put up with a dinner of pickerel and
crawfish. Her playful taunts ever touched his
heart with delight; the more so, as she after-
ward strove to make up for her pretended ill-
humor with the most endearing of caresses.

In this familiarity of the young people, their
a friends saw a resemblance to the feelings
of their youth; they appeared to look upon them
as betrothed, or even as a young married pair,
that lived with them in their age, to afford them
assistance on their island, now torn off from the
mainland. The loneliness of his situation strong-
ly impressed also young Huldbrand with the
feeling, that he was already Undine’s bride-
groom. It seemed to him, as if, beyond those
encom ing floods, there were no other world
in existence, or at any rate assif .he could never
cross them, and again associate with the world
of other men; and when at times his grazing
steed raised his head and neighed to him, seem-
ingly inquiring after his knightly achievements,
and reminding him of them, or when his coat of

‘arms sternly shone upon him from the embroid-

ery of his saddle, and the caparisons of his horse,
or when “his sword happened to fall from the
nail on which it was hanging in the cottage, and
flashed on his eye as it slipped from the scab-
bard in its fall, he quie the doubts of his
mind by saying to bimself:

“Undine cannot be a fisherman’s daughter;
she is, in all probability, a native of some re-
mote region, and a member of some illustrious
family.’

There was one thing, indeed, to which he had
a strong aversion: this was to hear the old dame
reproving Undine. The wild girl, it is true,
commonly laughed at the reproof, making no
attempt to conceal the extravagance of her
mirth; but it appeared to him like touching his
own honor; and still he found it impossible to
blame the aged wife of the fisherman, since Un-
dine always deserved at least ten times asman
en as she received: so he continued to feel
in his heart an affectionate tenderness for them
all, even for the ancient mistress of the house,
and his whole life flowed on in the calm stream
of contentment.

There came, however, an interruption at last.
The fisherman and the knight had been accus-
tomed at dinner, and also in the evening, when
the wind roared without, as it rarely failed to
do toward night, to enjoy together a flask of
wine. But now their whole stock, which the
fisherman had from time to time brought with
him from the city, was at last exhausted, and
they were both quite out of humor at the cir-
cumstance. That day Undine laughed at them
excessively, but they were not disposed to join
in her jests with the same gayery asusual. To-
ward evening she went out of the cottage, to es-
cape, as she said, the sight of two such long and
tiresome Lager 5 eat

While it was yet twilight, some appearances
of a tempest seemed to be again mustering in
the sky, and the waves already rushed and roar-
ed around them: the knight and the fisherman
sprung to the door in terror, to bring home the
maiden, remembering the anguish of that night,

 

when Huldbrand had first entered the cottage.
But Undine met them at the same moment,
clapping her little hands in high glee.

‘What will you give me,” she cried, “‘ to pro-
vide you with wine? or rather, you need not
give me any thing,” she continued; ‘for Iam
already satisfied, if you look more cheerful, and
are in better spirits, than throughout this last
most wearisome day. Do only come with me
one minute; the forest-stream has driven eshere
a cask; and I will be condemned to sleep a whole
week, if it is not a wine-cask.”

The men followed her, and actually fornd, in
a bushy cove of the shore, a cask, which in-
spired them with as much joy as if they were
sure it contained the generous old wine, fer
which they were thirsting. They first of all.
and with as much expedition as possible rolled
it toward the cottage; for heavy clouds were
again rising in the west, and they could Ciscern
the waves of the lake, in the fading liglt, lift-
ing their white foaming heads, as if looking cut
for the rain, which threatened every instent to
pour upon them. Undine helped the men as
much as she was able; and as the showe r, with
a roar of wind, came suddenly sweeping cn in
rapid pursuit, she raised her finger with a merry
menace toward the dark mass of clouds, and
cried: ‘‘ You cloud, you cloud, have a care!—
beware how you wet us; we are some way from
shelter yet.”

The old man reproved her for thissally, as a sin-
ful presumption; but she laughed to herself with
a low tittering, and no mischief came frcm her
wild behavior. Nay more, what was beyond their
expectation, they all three reached their cem-
fortable hearth unwet, with their prize secured;
but the moment the cask had been breached,
and proved to contain wine of a remarkably
fine flavor, then the rain first poured unrest: ain-
ed from the black cloud, the tempest 12aved
through the tops of the trees, and swept far over
the billows of the deep.

Having immediately filled several bottles from
the large cask, which promised them a <typly
for a long time, they drew round the gluowmg
hearth; and comfortably secured from the vio-
lence of the storm, they sat tasting the flavcr of
their wine, and bandying their quips and pieas-
antries.

As reflection returned upon him, the old fsh-
erman all at once became very grave, ané ssid:
“ Ah, great God! here we sit, rejoicing over this
rich gift, while he to whom it first belonged,

and from whom it was wrested by the fury of ~

the stream, must there also, it is more than
probable, have lost his life.”

“ His fate, I trust, was not quite so melancholy
as that,” said Undine, while, smiling, she filled
the knight’s cup to the brim.

But he exclaimed: “By my unsullied honor,
old father, if [knew where to find and rescue him,
no fear of exposure to the night, nor any peril,
should deter me from making the attempt. But
I give you all the assurance I am able to give,
that if I ever reach an inhabited country a¢ain,
I will find out the owner of this wine or his
heirs, and make double and triple reimLxse-
ment.”

The old man was gratified with this assurance;
he gave the knight a nod of approbation, and
now drained his cup with an easier conscicnce
and more relish.

Undine, however, said to Huldbrand: “ As to
the repayment of your gold, you may do what-
ever you like. But what you said about your
venturing out, and searching, and expesing
yourself to danger, appears to me far from
wise. Ishould cry my very eyes out, should
you perish there on such a wild jaunt; and is it
not true that you would prefer staying here
with me and the good wine?”

“Most assuredly,” answered Huldbrand, sril-

ing.

“Well, then,” replied Undine, ‘“‘you see you
spoke unwisely. For charity begins at home;
our neighbor ought not to be our first thought;
and whatever is a calamity to him, woula be
one in our own case also.”

The mistress of the house turned away from
her, sighing and shaking her head, while tho
fisherman forgot his wonted indulgence toward
the graceful little girl, and thus reproved her:

“That sounds as if you had been brought up
by heathens and Turks;” and he finished his re-
proof by adding: “‘ May God forgive both me
and_you—unfeeling child!”

“Well, say what you will, this is what J think
and feel,” replied Undine, ‘‘ whoever brought
ae Tegan how can a thousand of your werds

elp i

a Silence!” exclaimed the fisherman in a voice
of stern rebuke; and she, who with all her wild
spirit was at the same time extremely alive to

—

SREP SNE
6 THE SUNNYSIDE LIBRARY.

 

fear, shrunk from him, moved close up to Huld-
brand, trembling, and said very softly:

“ Are you also angry, dear friend?

The knight pressed her soft hand, and ten-
derly stroked her locks. He was unable to utter
a word; for his vexation, arising from the old
man’s severity toward Undine, closed his lips;
and thus the two couple sat opposite each other
a once heated with anger and in embarrassed
suence,

 

CHAPTER VI.
A WEDDING.

In the midst of this painful stillness, a low
Imocking was heard at the door, which struck
all in the cottage with dismay; for there are
times when a slight circumstance, coming unex-
pectedly upon us, startles us like something su-
pernatural, But here it was a further source of
alarm, that the enchanted forest lay so near
them, and that their place of abode seemed at
Eo inaccessible to.the visit of any human

eing. While they were looking upon one an-
other in doubt, the knocking was ae heard,
accompanied with a deep groan. The knight
sprung to seize his sword. But the old man said
in a low whisper: ‘

“Tf it be what I fear it is, no weapon of yours
can protect us.”

Undine, in the mean while, went to the door,
and cried with the firm voice of fearless dis-
pleasure: ‘Spirits of the earth, if mischief be
your aim, Kuhlborn shall teach you better man-
mers.”

The terror of the rest was increased by this
-wild speech; they looked fearfully at the girl,
and Huldbrand was just recovering presence of
mind enough to ask what she meant, when a
voice reached them from without:

“Tam no spirit of the earth, though a spirit
still in its earthly body. You that are‘within
the cottage there, if you fear God and would
afford me assistance, open your door to me.”

By the time these words were spoken Undine
had already opened it; and the lamp throwing
a strong light upon the stormy night, ey. per-
ceived an aged priest without, who stepped back
in terror when his eye fell on the unexpected
sight of a little damsel of such exquisite beauty.
Well might he think there must be a magic in
the wind, and witchcraft at work where a form
of such surpassing loveliness Spree at_ the
door of so humble a dwelling. So he lifted up
his voice in prayer:

‘Tet all good spirits praise the Lord God!”

“Tam no specter,” said Undine with a smile.
“Do you think, indeed, I look so very fright-
ful? And more—you cannot but bear me wit-
ness Pa! that I am far from shrinking ter-
rified at your holy words. . I too have knowl-
edge of God, and understand the duty of prais-
ing him; every one, to be sure, has his own way
of doing this, and this periees. he meant we
should enjoy, when he gave us being. Walkin,
ne you will find none but worthy people

ere.

The holy man came bowing in, and cast round
aglance of scrutiny, wearing at the same time
a very placid and venerable air. But water
was dropping from every fold of his dark gar-
ments, from his long white beard, and the white
locks of his hair. The fisherman and the knight
took him to another apartment, and ished
him with a change of raiment, while they hand-
ed his own clothes into the room they had left for
the females to dry. The aged stranger thanked
them in a manner the most humble and courte-
ous, but on the knight’s offering him his splendid
cloak to wrap round him, he could not eS per-
suaded to take it, but chose instead an old gray
overcoat that belonged to the fisherman.

They then returned to the common apart-
ment. The mistress of the house immediately
offered her great chair to the priest, and con-
tinued urging it upon him, till she saw him fair-
ly in possession of it. ‘You are old and ex-
hausted,” said she, ‘‘and are moreover a man of

Undine shoved under the stranger’s feet her
little cricket, on which at other times she used
to sit near to Huldbrand, and showed herself, in
thus promoting the comfort of the worthy old
man, inthe highest degree gentle and amiable.
On her pa: him these little attentions, Huld-
brand whispered some raillery in her ear, but
she replied gravely:

. “He is a minister of that Sein Wie created
us all, and holy things are not be treated
with lightness.’ ;

The knight and the fisherman now refreshed
the priest with food and wine; and when he had
somewhat recovered his stre: and spirits, he

to relate how he had the Fey glee set
out from his cloister, which was situated afar

 

off beyond the great lake, in order to visit the
bishop, and acquaint him with the distress into
which the cloister and its tributary villages had
fallen, owing to the extraordinary floods. After
a long and wearisome wandering, on account of
the same rise of the waters, he had been this
day compelled toward evening to procure the
aid of a oe of stout boatmen, and cross over
an arm of the lake which had burst its usual
bapngery

“But hardly,” continued he, ‘had our small
ferry-boat touched the waves, when that furi-
ous tempest burst forth, which is still saath
over our heads. It seemed as if the billows aa
been waiting our eee only to rush upon
us with a madness the more wild. The oars
were wrested from the grasp of my men in an
instant; and shivered y the resistless force,
they drove further and further out before us
upon the waves. Unable to direct our course.
we yielded to the blind power of nature, and
seemed to fly over the surges toward your re-
mote shore, which we already saw looming
through the mist and foam of the deep, Then
it was at last, that our boat turned short from
its course, and rocked with a motion that be-
came more and more wild and dizzy: I know
not, whether it. was overset, or the violence of
the‘motion threw me overboard. In my agon
and struggle at the thought of a near and terri-
ble death, the waves bore me onward, till one of
them cast me ashore here beneath the trees of
your island.”

“Yes, an island!” cried the fisherman. ‘A
short time ago it was only a point of land. But

now, since the forest-stream and lake have be-
come all but mad, it appears to be entirely
changed.”

“T observed something of it,” replied the
priest, ‘‘as I stole along the shore in the obscur-
vs and hearing nothing around me but a sort
of wild uproar, I perceived at last, that the
noise came from a point, exactly where a beaten
footpath disappeared. I now caught the light
in your cottage, and ventured hither, where I
cannot sufficiently thank my Father in heaven,
that, after preserving me from the waters, he
has also conducted me to such ee eople as
you are; and the moreso, as it is difficult to say,
whether I shall ever behold any other persons
in this world except you four.”

‘What mean you by those words?” asked the
fisherman.

“Can you tell me, then, how long this com-
motion of the elements will last?’ returned the
man, ‘And the years of my pilgrimage are
many. The stream of my life may easily sink
into the ground and vanish, before the overflow-
ae of that forest-stream shall subside. Indeed,
taking a general view of Eee, it is not im
sible, that more and more of the foaming waters
may rush in between you and yonder forest,
until you are so far removed from the rest of
the world, that your small fishing-canoe may
be incapable of passing over, and the inhabitants
of the continent entirely forget you in your old
age amid the dissipation and diversions of life.”

At this melancholy foreboding, the old lady
shrunk back with a feeling of alarm, crossed
herself, and cried: ‘‘ May God forbid!”

But the fisherman looked upon her with a
smile, and said: ‘‘What a strange being is
man! Suppose the worst to happen: our state
would not be different, at any rate your own
would not, dear wife, from what itis at present.
For have you, these many years, been further
from home than the border of the forest? And
have you seen a single human being besides
Undine and myself?—It is now only a short
time since the coming of the knight and the

riest. They will remain with us, even if we
do become a toreece island; so after all you
will derive the best advantage from the disaster.”

“Tknow not,” replied the ancient dame, ‘it
is a dismal thought, when brought fairly home
to the mind, that we are forever separated
from mankind, even though, in fact, we never
do know nor see them.”

“Then you will remain with us, then you will
remain with us!” whispered Undine in a voice
scarcely audible and half singing, while with
the intense fervor of the heart she nestled more
and more closely to Huldbrand’s side. But he
was absorbed in deep and strange ee of
his own mind. The soe on the other side of
the forest-river, seemed, since the last words of
the Dae to have been ba get Sar further
and her, in dim perspective, from his view;
and the blooming island on which he lived,
grew fae and smiled more freshly before the
eye of his mind. His bride glowed like the
fairest rose—not of this obscure nook only, but
even of the whole wide world, and the priest
was now present.

 

Besides these hopes and reveries of love, an-
other circumstance influenced him; the mistress
of the family was directing an angry glance at
the fair girl, because, even in the presence of
the priest, she was leaning so fondly on her dar-
ling knight; and it seemed as if she was on the
point of breaking out in harsh reproof. Then
was the resolution of Huldbrand taken; his
heart and mouth were opened, and turning to-
ward the priest, he said, ‘Father, you here see
before you an affianced pair, and if this maiden
and these woney peple of the island have no
objection, you shall unite us this very evening.”

he aged couple were both exceedingly sur-
prised. They had often, it is true, thought of
this, but as yet they had never mentioned it;
and now when the knight made the attachment
known, it came upon them like something
wholly new and unexpected. Undine became
suddenly grave, and cast her eyes upon the
floor in a deep reverie, while the priest made in-
quiries respecting the circumstances of their ac-
uaintance, and asked the old people whether
they gave their consent to the union. After a
great number of questions and answers, the
affair was arranged to the satisfaction of all;
and the mistress of the house went to prepare
the bridal apartment for the young couple, and
also, with a view to grace the nuptial solemnity,
to seek for two consecrated tapers, which she
had for a long time kept by her for this occa-
sion.

The knight in the meanwhile busied himself
about his gold chain, for the purpose of disen-
gaging two of its links, that he might make an
exchange of rings with his bride. But when
she saw his object, she started from her trance
of musing, and exclaimed:

“Not so! my parents were far from sending
me into the world so poe destitute; on the
contrary, they must have foreseen, even at so
early a period, that such a night as this would
come.”

Thus speaking, she was out of the room in a
moment, and a moment after returned with
two costly rings, of which she gave one to her
ea and kept the other for herself.
The old fisherman. was beyond measure aston-
ished at this; and his wife, who was just re-
entering the room, was even more surprised
than he, that neither of them had ever seen
these jewels in the child’s possession.

“My parents,” said Undine, ‘‘made me sew
these Ydabats to that beautiful raiment, which
I wore the very day Icame to you. They also
charged me on no account whatever to mention
them to any one before the evening I should be
married. At the time of my coming, therefore,
I took them off in secret, and have kept them
concealed to the present hour.”

The paces now cut short all further question-
ing and wondering, while he lighted the conse-
crated tapers, placed them on a table, and or-
dered the bridal pair to stand directly before
him. He then pronounced the few solemn
words of the ceremony, and made them one;
the elder couple gave the younger their bless-
ing; and the bride, ae trembling and
thoughtful, leaned upon the knight.

The priest then spoke plainly and at once:
“You are strange people, after all; for why did

ou tell me you were the only inhabitants of
he island? So far is this from being true, I
have seen, the whole time I have been perform-
ae the ceremony, a tall, stately man, in a
white mantle, stand opposite to me, looking in
at the window. He must be still waiting be-
fore the door, if peradventure you would invite
him to come in.”

“God forbid!” cried the old lady, shrinking
back; the fisherman shook his head without
opening his lips, and Huldbrand pes to the
window. It appeared to him, that he could
still discern some vestige of a form, white and
indistinct as a vapor, but it soon wholly disap-

eared in the gloom. He convinced the priest
Frat he must have been quite mistaken in his
ression; and now, inspired with the freedom
familiarity of perfect confidence, they all
sat down together round a bright and comforta-
ble hearth.

im:
an

 

CHAPTER VII.
WHAT FURTHER HAPPENED ON THE EVENING’
OF THE WEDDING.
Brrore the or ceremony, and during its
rformance, Undine had shown a modest gen-
leness and maidenly reserve; but it now seemed.
as if all the wayward. freaks that effervesced
within her, were foaming and bursting forth
with an extravagance only the more bold and
unrestrained. e teased her bridegroom, her
foster-parents, and even the priest, whom she
had just now revered so highly, with all sorts of

 
UNDINE.

 

 

childish tricks and vagaries; and when the an-
cient dame was about to reprove her too frolick-
some spirit, the knight, by a few serious and ex-
pressive words, imposed silence upon her by
calling Undine his wife. ;

The knight was himself, indeed, just as little
pleased with Undine’s childish behavior as the
rest; but still, all his winking, hemming, and ex-
pressions of censure were to no p se. It is
true, whenever the bride observed the dissatis-
faction of her husband—and this occasionally
happened—she became more quiet, placed her-
self beside him, stroked his face with caressing
fondness, whispered something smilingly in his
ear, and in this manner smoothed the wrinkles
that were gathering on his brow. But the mo-
ment after, some wild whim would make her re-
sume her antic movements, and all went worse
than before. ;

The priest then spoke ina kind, though serious
tone:

“My pleasant young friend, surely no one
can witness your playful spirit without being
diverted ; ne remember betimes so to attune

your soul, that it may produce a harmony ever
in accordance with the soul of your wedded
bridegroom.”

““Souu!” cried Undine, with a laugh, nearly
allied to one of derision; ‘‘ what you say has a
remarkably pretty sound, and for most people,
too, it may be a very instructive rule and profit-
able caution. But when a person has no soul
at all, how, I pray you, can such attuning be
possible? And this In truth is just my condi-
tion. ;

The priest was much hurt, but continued si-
lent in sped displeasure, and turned away his
face from the maiden in sorrow. She, however,
went up to him with the most winning sweet-
ness, and said:

2 Nay, I entreat you, first listen to some par-
ticulars, before you frown upon mein anger; for
your frown of anger is painful to me, and you
ought not to give pain to a creature, that has
itself done nothing injurious to you. Only have
patience with me, and I will explain to you
every word of what I meant.”

She had come to the resolution, it was evident,
to give a full account of herself, when she sud-
denly faltered, as if seized with an inward shud-
dering, and burst into a passion of tears. They
were none of them able to understand the in-
tenseness of her feelings, and with mingled emo-
tions of fear and anxiety, they gazed on her in
silence. Then reps away her tears, and look-
ing earnestly at the priest, she at last said:

“There must be something lovely, but at the
same time something most awful about a SOUL.
In the name of God, holy man, were it not bet-
ter a we never shared a gift so mysteri-
ous

Again she paused and restrained her tears, as
if waiting for an answer, Allin the cottage had
risen from their seats, and stepped back from
her with horror. She, however, seemed to have
cyes for no one but the holy man; a fearful cu-
rlosity was painted on her features, and this
made her emotion appear terrible to the oth-
ers.

“Heavily must the soul weigh down its Nee
sessor,” she pursued, when no one returned her
any answer, ‘‘very heavily! for already its ap-
proaching image overshadows me with anguish
and mourning. And, alas! I have till now been
so merry and light-hearted!”

And she burst into another flood of tears, and
covered her face with her vail.

The priest, going up to her with a solemn
look, now addressed himself to her, and con-
jured her in the name of God most holy, if any
evil or spirit of evil pos ed her, to remove the
light covering from her face. But she sunk be-
fore him on her knees, and repeated after him
every sacred expression he uttered, giving praise
to God, and protesting that she wished well to
the whole world.

The priest _then spoke to the knight: “ Sir
bridegroom, I leave you alone with her, whom
I have united to youin marriage. So far as I
can discover, there is nothing of evil in her, but
of a truth much that is wonderful. What I
recommend to you in domestic life, is prudence,
TRAE ee lath the apek nana wid x

us ing, he le ea ent, an e
fisherman writh, his wife followed him, crossing
themselves.

Undine had sunk upon her knees; she uncov-
ered her face and exclaimed, while she looked
fearfully round upon Huldbrand: “Alas, you
will now refuse to look upon me as your own;
and still I have done nothing evil, poor unhappy
child that Iam!” She spoke these words with a
look so infinitely sweet and touching, that her
bridegroom forgot both the confession that had

observed the

 

shocked, and the mystery that had perplexed

im; and hastening to her, he raised her in his
arms. She smiled through her tears, and that
smile was like the rosy morning-light playing
upon a small stream. ‘ You cannot desert me!”
she whispered with a confiding assurance, and
stroked the knight’s cheeks with her little soft
hands. He was thus in some degree withdrawn
from those terrible apprehensions, that still lay
lurking in the recesses of his soul, and were per-
suading him that he had been married to a fairy,
or some spiteful and mischievous being of the
spirit-world; but, after all, only this single ques-
pon and that almost unawares, escaped from

ips: 4

‘* Dearest Undine, pray tell me this one thing;
what was it you meant by ‘spirits of the earth’
and ‘Kuhleborn,’ when the priest stood knock-
ing at the door?” :

‘Mere fictions! mere tales of children!” an-
swered Undine, laughing, now quite restored to
her wonted gayety. ‘‘TI first awoke your anx-
iety with them, and you finally awoke mine,
This is the end of the story and of our nuptial
evening.”

“Nay, not exactly that,” replied the enam-
ored knight, extinguishing the tapers, and a
thousand times kissing his beautiful and béloved
bride, while, lighted by the moon that shone
brightly through the windows, he bore her into
their bridal apartment. f

CHAPTER, VIII.
THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING.

Tux fresh light of morning awoke the young
married pair. Undine bashfully hid -her face
beneath their covering, and Huldbrand lay lost
in silent reflection. Whenever during the night
he had fallen asleep, strange and horrible dreams
of specters had disturbed him; and these shapes,
grinning at him by stealth, strove to disguise
themselves as beautiful females; and from beau-
tiful females they all at once assumed the ap-
pearance of dragons. And when he started up,
aroused by the intrusion of these hideous forms,
the moonlight shone pale and cold before the
windows without: he looked affrighted at Un-
dine, in whose arms he had fallen asleep, and
she was reposing in unaltered beauty and sweet-
nes; beside him, Then pressing her rosy lips
with a light kiss, he again fell into a slumber,
ony to be awakened by new terrors.

When he had now perfectly awoke, and well
considered all the circumstances of this connec-
tion, he reproached. himself for any doubt, that
could lead him into error in regard to his lovely
wife. He also earnestly begged her to pardon
the injustice he had done her, but she only gave
him her fair hand, heaved a sigh from the depth
of her heart, and remained silent. Yet a glance
of fervent tenderness, an expression of the soul
beeagne in her eyes, such as he had never wit-
nessed there before, left him in undoubting as-
surance, that Undine was innocent of any evil
against him whatever.

e then rose with a serene mind, and leaving
her, went to the common apartment, where the
inmates of the house had already met. The
three were sitting round the hearth with an air
of anxiety about them, as if they feared trust-
ing themselves to raise their voice above a low
apprehensive undertone. The priest appeared
to be praying in his inmost spirit, with a view
to avert some fatal calamity. But when they

; OURe, husband come forth so
cheerful, a brighter hope rose within them, and
dispelled the cloudy traces thot remained upon
their brows; yes, the old f: man began to be
facetious with the knight, ».v in a manner so
perfectly becoming, that his aged wife herself
could not help smiling with great good hu-
mor.

Undine had in the meantime got ready, and
now entered the door, when they were all on
the point of rushing to meet her, and yet all re-
mained fixed in perfect admiration, so changed
and at the same time so familiar was the youn,
woman’s appearance, The priest, with paterna
affection beaming from his countenance, first
went up to her, and as he raised his hand to
Propane a blessing, the beautiful bride, trem-

ling with religious awe, sunk on her knees be-
fore him; she begged his pardon, in terms both
respectful and submissive, for any foolish things
she might have uttered the evening before, and
entreated him, in a very pathetic tone, to pray
for the welfare of her soul. She then rose,
kissed her foster-parents, and, after thanking
them for all the kindness they had shown her,
said; ‘Oh, I now feel in my inmost heart, how
great, how infinitely great, is what you have

 

done for me, you dear, dear friends of my
childhood!”

At first she was wholly unable to tear herself
away from their affectionate caresses; but the
moment she saw the good old mother busy in
getting breakfast, she went to the hearth, ap-
plied herself to cooking the food and putting it
on the table, and would not suffer her to take
the least share in the work.

She continued in this frame of spirit the
whole day; calm, kind, attentive—at the same
time a little mistress of a family, and a tender
modest young woman. The three, who had
been longest acquainted with her, expected
every instant to see her capricious spirit break
out In some whimsical change or sportive va-

ary. But their fears were quite unnecessary.

ndine continued as mild and gentle as an an-
gel. The priest found it all but impossible to
remove his eyes from her, and he often said to
the bridegroom:

“The bounty of heaven, sir, through me its
unworthy instrument, intrusted to you last
evening, an invaluable treasure; regard and
cherish tt as you ought to do, and it will pro-
mote your temporal and eternal welfare.”

Toward evening, Undise was banging upon
the knight’s arm with lowly tenderness, while
shedrew him gently out before the door, where
the setting sun shone richly over the fresh
grass, and upon the high, slender boles of the
trees. Her emotion was visible: the dew of sad-
ness and love swam in‘her eyes, while a tender
and fearful secret seemed to hover upon her
lips; but sighs, and those scarcely perceptible,
were all that made known the wish of her
heart, She led her husband further and further
onward without speaking. When he asked her
questions she replied only with looks, in which,
it is true, there appeared to be no immediate
answer to his inquiries, but yet a whole heaven
of love and timid attachment. Thus they
reached the margin of the swollen forest-stream
and the knight was astonished to see it gliding
away with so gentle a murmuring of its waves,
that no vestige of its former swell and wildness
was now discernible. =f

“By morning it will be wholly drained off,”
said the beautiful woman, almost weeping,
“‘and you will then be able to travel, with-
i to hinder you, whithersoever you
W

“Not without you, dear Undine,” replied the
knight, laughing; ‘“‘for pray remember, even

‘were I disposed to leave you, both the church

and the eee powers, the emperor and the
laws of the realm, would require the fugitive
to be seized and restored to you.”

“All this cepends on poe ae depends on
you,” whispered his little companion, half
weeping and half smiling. ‘But I still feel
sure that you will not leave me; I love you too
deeply to fear that misery. Now bear me over
to that little island which lies before us. There
shall the decision be made, I could easily, in-

deed, glide through that mere rippling of the

water without your aid, but it is so grateful to
rest in your arms; and should you determine to
put me away, I shall have sweetly rested in them
once more, . . . for the last time.”

Huldbrand was so full of strange anxiety and
emotion, that he knew not what answer to make
her. He took her in his arms and carried her
over, now first realizing the fact that this was
the same little island from which he had borne
her back to the old fisherman the first night of
his arrival. On the further side he placed her
upon the soft grass and was throwing himself
lovingly near his beautiful burden; but she said
to him, “Not here, but there, opposite to me.
I shall read my doom in your eyes, even before

aoa lips pronounce it; now listen very atten-

A to what I shall relate to you.” id she
n:

‘You must know, my own love, that there

are beings in the elements which bear the
strongest resemblance to the human race, and
which, at the same time, but seldom become vis-
ible to you. The wonderful salamanders sparkle
and sport amid the flames; deep in the earth
the meager and malicious gnomes pursue their
revels; the forest-spirits belong to the air, and
wander in the w ; while in the seas, rivers,
and streams live the wide-spread race of water-
spirits. These last, beneath resounding domes of

‘crystal, through which the sky appears with

sun and stars, inhabit a region of light and
beauty; lofty coral trees glow with blue and
crimson fruits in their gardens; they walk over
the pure sand of the sea, among infinitely vari-
ee shells, and amid whatever of beauty the
old Wome such as the present is no
more w thy to enjoy; creations which the
floods covered with their secret vails of silver:

 

 
8

 

and now these noble monuments glimmer be-

jow* stately and solemn, and bedewed by the

water which loves them, and calls forth from
their crevices exquisite moss-flowers and en-
wreathing tufts of sedge.

“Now the nation. that dwell there, are very
fair and ively to behold, for the most part
more beautiful than human beings. Many a
fisherman has been so fortunate, as to catch a
view of a delicate maiden of the waters, while
she was floating and singing upon the deep.
He then spread to remotest shores the fame of
her beauty; and to such wonderful females men
are wont to give the name of Undines. But
what need of saying more? You, my dear hus-
band, now actually behold an Undine before

ou.”

The knight would have persuaded himself,
that his lovely wife was under the influence of
one of her odd whims, and that she was only
amusing herself and him with her extravagant
inventions. He wished it might be so. But
with whatever power of words he said this to
himself, he still could not credit the hope for a
moment; a strange shivering shot through his
soul; unable to utter a word, he gazed upon the
sweet speaker with a fixed eye. She shook her
head in distress, heaved a sigh from her full

heart, and then proceeded in the following man-
ner:

“In respect to the circumstances of our life,
we should be far superior to yourselves, who
are another race of the human family,—for we
also call ourselves human beings, as w9 resem-
ble them in form-and features—had we not one

at evil peculiar to ourselves. Both we, and
he beings I have mentioned as inhabiting the
other elements, vanish into air at death, and go
out of existence, spirit and body, so that no
vestige of us remains; and when you hereafter
awake toa pniet state of being, we shall remain
where sand, and sparks, and wind, and waves
remain. We of course have no souls; the ele-
ment moves us, and, again, is obedient to our
will, while we live, though it scatters us like
dust, when we die; and as we have nothing to
trouble us, we are as merry as nightingales,
little goldfishes, and other pretty children of
nature.

“But all beings aspire to rise in the scale of
existence higher than they are. It was there-
fore the wish of my Sather, who is a powerful
ea in the Mediterranean Sea, that his

only daughter should become ssed of a
soul, although she should have to endure many
of the sufferings of those who share that gift.

“‘Now the race to which I belong, have no
other means of obtaining a soul, than by form-
ing with an :ndividual of your own the most in-
timate union of love. I am now possessed of a
soul, and I, the very soul itself, thank you, dear
Huldbrand, with a warmth of heart beyond ex-
pression, and never shall I cease to thank you,
unless you render my whole future life misera-
ble. For what will become of me, if you avoid
and reject me? Still I would not keep you as
my own by artifice. And should you decide to
cast me off, then do it now, . . . leave me here,
and return to the shore alone. Iwill plunge in-
to this brook, where my uncle will receive me;
my uncle, who here in the forest, far removed
from his other friends, passes his strange and
solitary existence. But he is powerful, as well
as revered and beloved by many great rivers;
and as he brought me hither to our friends o:
the lake, a light-hearted and laughing child, he
will also restore me to the home of my parents,
awoman, gifted with a soul, full of affection,
and heir to suffering.”

She was about to add something more, when
Huldbrand, with most heartfelt tenderness and
Jove, clasped her in his arms, and again bore
her back to the shore. There, amid tears and
kisses, he first swore never to forsake his affec-
tionate wife, and esteemed himself even more
happy than the Grecian sculptor, Presi,
for whom Venus gave life to his beautiful statue,
and thus changed it into a beloved wife. Sup-
ported by his arm, and in the sweet confidence
of affection, Undine returned to the cottage;
and now she first realized with her whole heart,
hhow little cause she had for regretting what she
Pe left, the crystal palaces of her mysterious

er.

 

*No reader of aesee. poetry need be reminded of
Southey’s admirable description of the submarine
City of Baly in his Curse of Kehama:

“Tn sunlight and sea-green,
The thousand palaces were seen
Of that proud city, whose superb abodes
Seemed reared by giants for the immortal gods.
How silent and how beautiful they stand,
Like things of nature.”

 

CHAPTER IX.
HOW THE KNIGHT TOOK HIS YOUNG WIFE
WITH HIM.

Next morning, when Huldbrand awoke from
slumber, and perceived that his beautiful wife
was not by his side, be began to give way ms
to his wild imaginations: these ie to
him his marriage, and even the charming Un-
dine herself, as only a shadow without sub-
stance, a mere illusion of enchantment. But
she entered the door at the same moment, kissed
an seated herself on the bed by his side, and
said: \

““T have been out somewhat early this morn-
ing, to see whether my uncle keeps his word. He
has already restored the waters of the flood to
his own calm channel, and he now flows through
the forest, a rivulet as before, in a lonely and
dreamlike current. His friends too, both of the
water and the air, have resumed their usual

peaceful tenor; all in this region will again pro- |

ceed with order and tranquillity; and you can
travel homeward without fear of the flood,
whenever you choose.”

It seemed to the mind of Huldbrand, that he
must be wrapt in some reverie or waking dream,
so little ren hi able to understand the nature of
his wife’s strange relative. Notwithstandin;
this, he made no remark upon what she hai
told him, and the infinite charm of her beauty,
gentleness, and affection soon lulled every mis-
giving to rest.

Some time afterward, while he was standing
with her before the door, and surveying the
verdant point of land with its boundary of
bright waters, such a feeling of bliss came over
him in this cradle of his love, that he exclaimed:

‘Shall we then, so early as to-day, begin our
journey? Why should we? It is probab e, that
abroad in the world we shall find no days more
delightful, than those we have spent in this little
green isle, so secret and so secure. Let us re-
main here, and see the sun go down two or three
times more,”

“Just as my lord shall command,” replied
Undine meekly. ‘‘Only we must remember,
that our aged friends will, at all events, see me
depart with pain; and should they now, for the
first time, discover the true soul in me, and how
fervently I can now love and honor them, their
feeble eyes would surely become blind with
weeping. As yet, they consider el Sr calm
and exemplary conduct as of no better promise
than my former occasional quietness—merely
the calm of the lake—just while the air remains
tranquil—and they will soon learn to cherish a
little tree or flower, as they have cherished me.
Let me not, then, make known to them this
newly bestowed, this love-inspired heart, at the
very moment they must lose it for this world;
and how could I conceal what I have gained, if
we continued longer together?”

Huldbrand yielded to her representation, and °

went to the aged couple to confer with them
respecting his journey, on which he proposed to
set out that very hour. The priest offered him-
self as a companion of the young married
fo and, after their taking a short farewell

‘e held the bridle, while the knight lifted
his beautiful wife upon his. horse; and with
rapid step they crossed the dry channel
with her toward the forest. Undine wept
in silent but intense emotion; the old people, as
she moved away, were more clamorous in the
expression of their ee They appeared to
feel, at the moment of separation, all that they
were losing in their affectionate foster-daughter.

The three travelers reached the thickest shades
of the forest without interchanging a word. It
must have been a pict ue sight, in that hall
of apt verdure, to see this lovely woman’s
form sitting on the noble and richly ornamented
steed; on her right hand the venerable priest in
the white garb of his order, on her left the
blooming young knight, clad in_ splendid
raiment of scarlet, gold, and violet, girt with’a
sword that flashed in the sun, and attentively
walking beside her. Huldbrand had no eyes
but for his fair wife; Undine, who had dried
her tears of tenderness, had no eyes but for him;
and they soon entered into the still and voice-
less converse of looks and gestures, from which
after some time they were awakened by the low
discourse, which the priest was holding with a
fourth traveler, who had meanwhile joined
them unobserved.

He wore a white gown, resembling in form
the dress of the priest’s order, except that his
hood hung very low over his face, and that the
whole drapery floated in such wide folds around
him, as obliged him every moment to gather it
up and throw it over his arm, or by some man-
agement of this sort to get it out of his way,

UNNYSIDE LIBRARY.

 

 

 

 

and still it did not seem in the least to impede
his movement. When the young people became
aware of his presence, he was saying:

“ And go, venerable sir, many as have been
the years I have dwelt here in this forest, I have
never received the name of hermit in your sense
of the word. For, as I said before, I know
nothing of penance, and I think, too, that I
have no particular need of it. Do you ask me
why I am so attached to the forest? It is be-
cause its scenery is so peculiarly picturesque,
and affords me so much pastime, when, in my
floating white garments, I aa through its
world of leaves and dusky shadows—and then a

| sweet sunbeam Sore down upon me, at times,

before I think of it.”

“You are a very singular man,” replied the
priest, “and I should like to have a more inti-
mate acquaintance with you.”

“And who then may you be yourself, to pass
from one thing to another?’ inquired the
stranger.

“T am called father Heilmann,” answered the
holy ‘man, ‘‘and I am from the cloister of our
of the Salutation, beyond the lake.”

“Well, well,” replied the stranger, “my name
is Kuhleborn, and ‘were I a stickler for the nice
distinctions of rank, I might with equal propri-
ety require Wi to give me the title of noble
lord of Kuhieborn, or free lord of Kuhleborn,*
for I am as free as a bird in the forest, and, it
may be, a trifle more so. For ean I now
have something to tell that young lady there.”
And before they were aware of his purpose, he
was on the other side of the priest, close to Un-
dine, and stretching himself high into the air,
in order to whisper something in herear. Bu
she shrunk from him in terror, and exclaimed;

“T have nothing more to do with you.”

“Ho, ho,” cried the stranger, with a laugh,
“you have made a grand marriage, indeed,
since you no longer know your own relations!
Have you no recollection of your uncle Kuhle-
born, who so faithfully bore you on his back to
this region?”

“ However that may be,” replied Undine, “I
entreat a never to appear in my presence
again. I am now afraid of you; and will not
my husband fear and forsake me, if he sees me
associate with such strange company and kin-
dred?”

“You must not forget, my little niece,” said
Kuhleborn, “that I am with you here as a
guide; otherwise those madcap spirits of the
earth, the gnomes that haunt this forest, would
play you some of their mischievous pranks.

# me therefore still accompany you in peace;
even the old priest there had a better recollec-
tion of me than you ope to have; for he just
now assured me, that I seemed to be very fami-
liar to him, and that I must have been with him
in the ferryboat, out of which he tumbled into
the waves. He certainly did see me there, for
Iwas no other than the water-spout that tore
him out of it, and kept him from Pera while
I safely wafted him ashore to your wed, ng.”

Undine and the knight turned their eyes upon
father Heilmann; but he ay eee to be moving
forward, just as if he were dreaming or walking
in his sleep, and no longer to be conscious of a
word that was spoken. Undine then said to
Kuhleborn: ‘I already see yonder the end of
the forest. We have no further need of your
assistance, and nothing now gives us alarm but
ye I therefore ibeasod you by our mu-

ual love and good-will, to vanish and allow us
to proceed in peace.” .
uhleborn seemed to be transported with fury

at this: he darted a frightful look at Undine.
and eae fiercely upon her. She shrieked
aloud, and called her husband to protect her.
The knight sprung round the horse as quick as
lightning, and, brandishing his sword, struck at
uhleborn’s head. But, instead of severing it
from his body, the sword merely flashed through
a torrent, which rushed foaming near them
from a lofty cliff; and with a splash, which
much resembled in sound a burst of laughter,
the stream all once poured upon them, and gave
them a thorough wetting. The priest, as if sud-
denly awaking from a trance, coolly observed:

“This is what I have been some time expect-
ing, because the brook has descended from the
steep so close beside us—though at first sight
indeed, it appeared to look just like a man, an
to possess the power of speech.”

s the waterfall came rushing from its crag,
it distinctly uttered these words in Huldbrand’s

ear:
“Rash knight! valiant knight! Iam notangry

 

* “Freiherr,” baron. There is ee peculiar-
y whimsical in this quiet humor of ‘ Jord or baron
ubleborn.”
nn

UNDINE.

9

 

 

oo

with you; I have no quarrel with yan onl
continue to defend your charming little wife
with the same spirit, you bold knight! you rash
blade!”

_ After advancing a few steps further, the tray-

elers came out an openground. The imperial~

city lay bright before them; and the evening
sun, which gilded its towers with gold, kindly
dried their garments that had been so completely
drenched.

 

CHAPTER X.
HOW THEY LIVED IN THE CITY.

THE sudden disappearance of the young
knight, Huldbrand, of Ringstetten, had occa-
sioned much remark in the imperial city, and no
small concern among those of the people, who,
as well on account of his expertness in tourney
and dance as of his mild and amiable manners,
had become greatly attached to him. His at-
tendants were unwilling to quit the place with-
out their master, although not a soul of them
had been courageous enough to follow him into
the fearful recesses of the forest. They re-
mained therefore at their public house, idly hop-
ing, as men are wont to do, and, by the expres-
sion of their fears, keeping the fate of their lost
lord fresh in remembrance.

Now when the violent storms and floods
had been observed, immediately after his
departure, the destruction of the handsome
stranger became all but certain: even Bertalda
had quite openly discovered her sorrow, and de-
tested herself for having induced him to take
that fatal excursion into theforest. Her foster-
parents, the duke and duchess, had meanwhile
come to take heraway, but Bertalda persuaded
them to remain with her untilsome certain news
of Huldbrand should be obtained, whether he
were living or dead. She endeavored also to
prevail upon several young knights, who were
assiduous in courting her favor, to go in quest
of the noble adventurer in the forest. But she
refused to pledge her hand as the reward of the
enterprise, because she still cherished, it might
be, a hope of being claimed by the returning
knight; and no one would consent, for a glove,
a ribbon, or even a kiss, to expose his life to
bring back so very dangerous a rival.

When Huldbrand now made his sudden and
unexpected appearance, his attendants, the in-
habitants of the city, and almost every one re-
joiced: we must acknowledge, indeed, that this
was not the case with Bertalda; for although it
might be quite a welcome event to others, that
he brought with him a wife of such exquisite

_loveliness, and father Heilmann as a witness of

their marriage, Bertalda could not but view the
affair with grief and vexation. She had in
truth become attached to the young knight
with her whole soul, and then her mourning for
his absence, or sw as death, had shown this
more than she could now have wished.

But notwithstanding all this, she conducted
herself like a prudent woman in circumstances
of such delicacy, and lived on the most friendly
terms with Undine, whom the whole city looked
upon as a princess, that Huldbrand had rescued
in the forest from some evil enchantment.
‘Whenever any one questioned either herself or
her husband relative to surmises of this nature,
they had wisdom enough to remain silent, or
wit enough to evade the inquiries. The lips of
father Heilmann had been sealed in regard to
idle gossip of every kind; and besides, on Huld-
brand’s arrival, he had immediately returned to
his cloister: so that people were obliged to rest
contented with their own wild conjectures, and
even Bertalda herself ascertained nothing more
of the truth than others.

For the rest, Undine daily regarded this fair
ou with increasing fondness. ‘‘ We must have

n heretofore acquainted with each other,”
she often used to say to her, ‘‘ or else there must
be some mysterious connection between us; for
it is incredible that any one so perfectly with-
out cause—I mean without some deep and secret
cause—should be so fondly attached to another,
as Ihave been to you from the first moment o
our meeting.”

Even Bertalda could not deny that she felt a
confiding impulse, an attraction of tenderness,
toward Undine, much as she deemed this fortu-
nate rival the cause of her bitterest disappoint-
ment. Under the influence of this mutual re-
gard, they found means to persuade, the one

er foster-parents, and the other her husband,

_ to defer the day of separation to a eee more

and more remote; nay more, they already
begun to talk of a plan for Bertalda’s some time
accompanying ass to Castle Ringstetten,
near one of the sources of the Danube.

Once on a fine evening, while they were prom-
enading the city by starlight, they happened to

 

be talking over their scheme just as the
the high trees, that bordered the public walk.
The young married pair, though it was some-
what late, had called upon Bertalda to invite her
to share their enjoyment; and all three now pro-
ceeded familiarly up and down beneath the
dark-blue heaven, not seldom interrupted in
their converse by the admiration, which they
could not but Baste upon the magnificent foun-
tain in the middle of the square, and upon the
wonderful rush and shooting upward of_ its
water. All was sweet and soothing to their
minds; among the shadows of the trees stole in
glimmerings of light from the adjacent houses;
a low murniur as of children at play, and of
other persons who were enjoying their walk,
floated round them; they were so alone, and yet
sharing so much of social happiness in the bright
and stirring world, that whatever had appeared
difficult by day, now became smooth and easy
of its own accord, and the three friends could
no longer see the slightest cause for hesitation in
regard to Bertalda’s taking the ae

At that instant, just as they were fixing the
day of their departure, a tail man approached
them from the middle of the square, bowed re-
spectfully to the company, and spoke somethin,
in the young bride’s ear. Though displeas
with the interruption and its cause, she walked
aside a few steps with the stranger, and ,both
began to whisper, as it seemed, in a forei;
tongue. Huldbrand thought he recognized the
strange man of the forest; and he gazed upon
him so fixedly, that he neither heard nor an-
swered the astonished inquiries of Bertalda. All
at once Undine clapped her hands with delight,
and turned back from the stranger, laughing:
he, frequently shaking his head, retired with a
hasty step and discontented air, and descended
into the fountain. Huldbrand now felt perfect-
ly certain that his conjecture was correct. But
Bertalda asked: ‘And what, my dear Undine,
did the master of the fountain wish to say to
you?”

The young wife laughed within herself and
made answer: “The day after to-morrow, my
dear child, when the anniversary of your name-
day* returns, you shall be informed.” And this
was all she could be prevailed upon to disclose.
She merely asked Bertalda to dinner*on the ap-

ointed day, and requested her to invite her
foeep-enerhe and soon afterward they sepa-
rated, :

‘‘Kuhleborn?’ said Huldbrand to his lovely
wife with an inward shudder, when they had
taken leave of Bertalda, and were now going
home through the darkening streets.

“Yes, it was he,” answered Undine, “‘and he
would have wearied me with foolish warnings
without end. But in the midst of them, quite
contrary to his intention, he eed me with
a most welcome piece of news. If you, my dear
lord and husband, wish me to acquaint you with
it now, you need only command me, and I will
freely, and from my heart, tell you all without
reserve. But would you confer upon your Un-
dine a very, very great pleasure, only wait till
the. day aiter to-morrow, and you shall have
your share of the surprise. __ :

‘The knight was quite willing to gratify his
wife, in regard to what she had asked with so
beautiful a spirit; and this spirit she discovered
yet more, for while she was that wight falling
asleep, she murmured to herself with a smile:
“How she will rejoice and be astonished at
what her master of the fountain has told me—
the dear, happy Bertalda!”

CHAPTER XI.
FESTIVAL OF BERTALDA’S NAME-DAY.

THE company were sitting at dinner; Bertal-
da, adorned with jewels and flowers without
number, the presents of her foster-parents and
friends, looking like some goddess of Spring.
sat beside Undine and Huldbrand at the head of
the table.. When the sumptuous repast was
ended, and the dessert was placed before them,
een was given that the doors should be
eft open: this was in accordance with the good
old custom in Germany, that the common Peed
might see and rejoice in the festivity of their
superiors. Among these spectators the servants
carried round cake and wine.

Huldbrand and Bertalda waited with secret
impatience for the promised explanation, and

 

 

* Or saint’s day. A literary friend, from whose
kindness I have derived the best aid in revising and
ee, version, informs me that this term “‘ re-
fers to a German custom of celebrating, not only the
birthday, but also the name-day, that is, the day
which in the almanac bears the person’s Christian
name. The old almanacs contained a name for each
day in the year, being either the name of a saint, or
some other remarkable personage in history.”

passed |
| moved their eyes from

never, except when they could not help it,
ndine. But she still
continued silent, and merely smiled to herself
with secret and heartfelt satisfaction. All who
were made acquainted with the promise she had
given, could perceive that she was every mo-
ment on the point of revealing a happy secret;
and yet, as children sometimes delay tasting
their choicest dainties, she still withheld the
communication, with a denial that made it the
more desired. Bertalda and Huldbrand shared
the same delightful feeling, while in anxious
hope they were expecting the unknown disclo-
sure which they were to receive from the lips of
their friend.

At this moment several of the company pressed
Undine to give thema song. This appeared to
her to be quite a well-timed request, and imme-
diately ordering her lute to be brought, she
sung the following words:

“Morning so bright.*
Wild-flowers so gay,
Where high grass so dewy
Crowns the wavy lake’s border.

“On the meadow’s verdant bosom,
What glimmers there so white?
Have wreaths of snowy blossoms,
Soft-floating, fallen from heaven?

“Ah, see! atender infant !—
It plays with flowers, unwitting;
It strives to grasp morn’s golden beams,—
Oh where, sweet stranger, where’s your home?
Afar from unknown sho!
The waves have wafted hither
This helpless little one.

“Nay, clasp not, tender darling,

With tiny hand the flowers;

No hand returns the pressure,

The flowers are strange and mute.

They clothe themselves in beauty

They breathe a rich perfume,

But cannot fold around yo :,

A mother’s loving arms;—

Far, far away that mother’s fond embrace.
“ Life’s early dawn just opening faint,

Your eye yet beaming Heaven’s own smile,

So soon your first, best guardians gone;—

Severe, poor child, your fate—

All, all to you unknown.

‘‘A noble duke has cross’d the mead,

And near you check’d his steed’s career:

Wonder and pity touch his heart;

With knowledge high and manners pure

He rears you—makes his castle home your own.
“ How great, how infinite, your gain!

Of all the land you bloom the loveliest,

Yet, ah! that first, best blessing,

The bliss of parents’ fondness,

You left on strands unknown.”

Undine let fall her lute and paused with a
melancholy smile; the eyes of Bertalda’s noble
foster-parents were filled with tears.

“Ah yes, it was so—such was the morning
on which I found you, poor orphan,” cried the
duke with deep emotion; ‘‘the beautiful singer
is certainly right; still

‘That first, best blessing, <<
The bliss of parents’ fondness,’

wer to give you.”
ear also, what happened to
e struck

it was beyond our

“But we must
the r parents,” said Undine, as
the chords, and sung:

“Through her chambers roams the mother,
ne everywhere;
Seeks, and knows not what, with yearning,
Childless home still finding there.

“Childless home !—Oh sound of anguish,
She alone the anguish knows,
There by day who led her dear one,
There who rock’d its night repose.

 

*In reading some of the verses of Fouque, we can-
not but remember the question of Hamlet to the
player,—‘Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?’
As one example, among many, we may take the ori-
ginal of his miniature picture here:

“Morgen so hell,
Blumen so bunt,
Graser so duftig und hoch
An wallenden See’s Gestade.”’

These four little lines, descriptive of the scene of
Undine’s song, simple as they are, cost me more
trouble. in trying to mold them into a fit English
form, than I well like to acknowledge. I made
several attempts, without much success, to translate
them to my mind. Among these versions, the fol-
lowing had the merit of not being the worst:

“The morning beams in glory,
Where wild-flowers gayly bloom,

Where dewy grass is waving
; _ The lake's Seah marge along;”’
but after all, the more verbal rendering, as it noe
stands, seemed to be preferable.

 

 

 

lea itacntiinninnd i
410

THE SUNNYSIDE | LIBRARY.

 

“Beechen buds again are swelling.*
Sunshine warms again the shore
Ah, fond mother, cease your searching,
Comes the loved and lost no more.

*“‘Then when airs of eve are fresh’ning,
Home the father wends bis way,
While with smiles his woe he’s vailing,
Gushing tears his heart betray.

‘Well he knows, within his dwelling,
Still as death he’ll find the gloom,
Only hear the mother moaning— ‘
No sweet babe to smile him home.”

‘Oh, tell me, in the name of Heaven, tell me,
Undine, where are my parents?” cried the weep-
ing Bertalda. ‘‘ You certainly know; you must
have discovered them, all wonderful as you are,
for otherwise you would never have thus torn
es heart. Can they be already here? May I
believe it possible?”

Her eye glanced rapidly over the brilliant
company, and rested upon a lady of high rank,
who was sitting next to her foster-father.

Then, inclining her head, Undine beckoned
toward the door, while her eyes overflowed
with the sweetest emotion. ‘Where are
the poor parents waiting?’ she asked; and
the old fisherman, diffident and hesitating
advanced with’ his wife from the crowd
of spectators. Swift as the rush of hope within
them they threw a look of inquiry, now at Un-
dine, and now at the beautiful lady, who was
said to be their daughter.

“Tt is she! it is she there before you!” ex-
claimed the restorer of their child, her voice half
choked with rapture; and both the aged parents
embraced their recovered daughter, weeping

aloud and praising God.
nt, Bertalda tore her-

But, shocked and indi

self from their arms. Such a discovery was too
much for her proud spirit to bear—especially at
the moment when she had doubtless expected to
see her former splendor increased, and when
hope was picturing to her nothing less brilliant
than a royal canopy and a crown. It seemed to
her as if her rival had contrived all this, and
with the special view to humble her before
Huldbrand and the whole world. She re-
proached Undine; she reviled the old people;
and even such offensive words as “ deceiver,
bribed and perjured impostors,” burst from her

ips.
The aged wife of the fisherman then said to
herself, but in a very low voice: ‘‘ Ah, my God!
what a wicked vixen of a woman she has
grown! and yet I feel in my heart that she is
aa child.”

he old fisherman, however, had meanwhile
folded his hands, and offered up a silent prayer
that she might not be his daughter. .

Undine, faint and pale as death, turned from
the varents to Bertalda, from Bertalda to the

renés; she was suddenly east down from all
jhat heaven of happiness, of which she had been
dreaming, and plunged into an agony of terror
and disappointment, which she had never known
even in dreams.

“Have you a soul? Can you really have a
soul, Bertalda?” she cried again and again to
her angry friend, as if with vehement effort
she would rouse her from a sudden delirium
or some distracting dream, and restore. her
to recollection.

But when Bertalda became erary moment
only more and more enraged, as the disappoint-
ed parents began to weep aloud, and the com-
pany with much warmth of dispute, were es-
pousing opposite sides, she begged with such
earnestness and dignity, for the liberty of speak-
ing in this her husband’s dining-hall, that all
around her were in an instant hushed to silence.
She then advanced to the upper end of the ta-
ble, where, both humbled and_ haughty, Ber-
talda had seated herself, and, while every eye
was fastened upon her, spoke in the following
manner:

“ My friends, you appear dissatisfied and dis-
taivbedk: and you are interrupting with your
strife a festivity, that I had a would brin
ioe, both to you and myself! Ah, my God,

ew nothing of these your heartless maxims.
these your unnatural ways of thinking, an
never so long as I live, I fear, shall I become re-
conciled to them. The disclosure I have made,
it seems, is unwelcome to you; but I am not to
blame for such a result. Believe me, little as
you may imagine this to be the case, it is wholly
owing to yourselves, One word more, there-
fore, is all I have to add, but this is one that
must be spoken—I have uttered nothing but

 

*For the epithet ‘‘swelling” I should prefer to
read ‘‘greening,” as ‘‘grunen’’ is the more pic-
turesque expression of the original, had I found any
authority to justify me in its use.

 

truth. Of the certainty of the fact I give you |

the strongest assurance; no other proof can I or
will I produce; but this I will affirm in the
presence of God. The person who gave me this
information, was the very same who decoyed
the infant Bertalda into the water, and who
after thus taking her from her parents, placed
her on the green grass of the meadow, where he
knew the duke was to pass.”

‘She is an enchantress,” cried Bertalda, “‘a
witch, that has intercourse with evil spirits.
This she acknowledges herself.”

“Never! I deny it,” replied Undine, while a
whole heaven of innocence and truth beamed
from her eyes. ‘‘IJ am no witch; look upon me,
and say if I am.”

“Then she utters both falsehood and folly,”
cried Bertalda, ‘‘and she is unable to prove
that I am the child of these low people. My
noble parents, I entreat you to take me from
this company, and out of this city, where they
do nothing but expose me to shame.”

But the aged duke, a man of honorable feel-
ing, remained unmoved, and his lady remarked:
“We must thoroughly examine into this mat-
ter. God forbid that we should move a step
from this hail before we do so.”

Encouraged by this kind word, the aged wife
of the fisherman drew near, made a low obei-
sance to the duchess, and said: ‘‘ Exalted and
pious lady, you have opened my heart. Permit
me to tell you, that if this evil-disposed maiden
is my daughter, she has a mark, like a violet,
between her shoulders, and another of the same
kind on the instep of her left foot. If she will
only consent to go out of tho hall with me—”

‘*T will not consent to uncover myself before
the peasant woman,” interrupted Bertalda,
hau a. turning her back upon her.

“But before me you certainly will,” replied
the duchess, gravely. “You will follow me
into that room, young woman, and the worthy
old lady shall go with us.”

The three disappeared, and the rest continued
where they were, in the hush of breathless ex-
pectation. In a few minutes the females re-
turned, Bertalda pale ee death, and the duchess
said: ‘Justice must done; I therefore de-
clare, that our lady hostess has spoken the exact
truth. Bertalda is the fisherman’s daughter;
no further proof is required; and this is all, of
which on the present occasion you need to be
informed.”

The princely, pair went out with their adopted
daughter; the fisherman, at a sign from the
duke, followed them with his wife. The other
guests retired in silence, or but half suppressing
their murmurs, while Undine, weeping as if her
on would break, sunk into the arms of Huld-

rand,

 

CHAPTER XII.

HOW THEY DEPARTED FROM THE CITY.

THE lord of Ringstetten would certainly have
been more gratified had the events of this day
been different; but even such as they now were,
he could by no means look upon them as unwel-
come, since his’ fair wife had discovered so
much natural feeling, kindness of spirit, and
cordial affection.

“Tf I have ey oe her a soul,” he could not
help saying to himself, ‘‘T have assuredly given
her a better one than my own;” and now what
chiefly occupied his mind, was to soothe and
comfort his weeping wife, and even so early as
the morrow to remove her from a place, which,
after this cross accident, could not fail to be
distasteful to her. Yet it is certain that. tho
pec of the public concerning her was not
changed. As something extraordinary
long before been expected of her, the mysteri-
ous discovery of Bertalda’s parentage had oc-
casioned little or no surprise; and every one
who became acquainted with Bertalda’s story.
and with theviolence of her behavior on that
occasion, was only disgusted and set against
her. Of this stete of things, however, the
knight and his lady were as yet ignorant; be-
sides, whether the public condemned Bertalda
or herself, the one view of the affair would have
been as distressing to Undine as the other; and
thus they came to the conclusion that the wisest
course they could take was to leave behind
them the walls of the old city with all the speed
in their power.

With the earliest beams of morning a bril-
liant carriage, for Undine, drove up to the door
of the inn; the horses of Huldbrand and his at-
tendants stood near stamping the pavement,
impatient to proceed. The knight was leading
his beautiful wife from the door, when a fisher-
girl came up and met them in the way.

“We have no occasion for your fish,” said

 

——_. ‘

Huldbrand, accosting her, ‘‘ we are this moment;
setting out on a ae

Upon this the fisher-girl began to weep bitter-
ly, and then it was that the young couple first:
knew her to be Bertalda. ey immediately
returned with her to their apartment, where she:
informed them, that, owing to her unfeeling
and violent conduct of the preceding day, the
duke and duchess had been so displeased with
her as to entirely withdraw from her their pro-
tection, though not before giving her a generous
ponies The fisherman, too, had received a

andsome gift, and had, the evening before, set
out with his wife for their peninsula.

“T would have gone with them,” she pursued,
“but the old fisherman, who is said to be my
father—”

“He certainly is your father, Bertalda,”
said Undine, interrupting her. ‘‘ Pray consider
what I tell you: the stranger, whom you took
for the master of the water-works, gave me all
the particulars. He wished to dissuade me
from taking you with me to Castle Ringstetten,
and therefore disclosed to me the whole mys-

te’ As

Well, then,” continued Bertalda, ‘‘my fa-
ther—if it must needs be so—my father said:
‘T will not take you with me until you are
changed. If you will leave your home here in
the city, and venture to come to us alone through
the ill-omened forest, that shall be a proof of
your having some regard for us. But come not
tome as alady; come merely as a fisher-girl.’
I will do, therefore, just what he commanded
me; for since I am abandoned by all the world
I will live and die in solitude, a poor fisher-girl
with parents equally poor. .The forest, indeed,
appears very terrible tome. Horrible specters
make it their haunt, and Iam so timorous. But
how can I help it?—I have only come here at
this early hour, to beg the noble lady of Ring-
stetten to pardon my unbecoming behavior of
yesterday: Dear madam, I have the fullest
peanaie that you meant to do me a kindness.

ut you were not aware how severely you would
wound and injure me; and this was the reason
that, in my agony and surprise, so many rash
and frantic expressions burst from my lips.—
Forgive me, ah, forgive me! I am in truth so
unhappy already. Do but consider what I was
only yesterday morning, what I was even at
the beginning of your yesterday’s festival, and
what I am at the present moment!”—

Her words now became inarticulate, lost in a
passionate flow of tears, while Undine, bitter]
weeping with her, fell upon her neck. Oo

werful was her emotion, that it was a lon

ime before she could utter a word. But aj
length she said:

‘“You shall still go with us to Ringstetten; all
shall remain just as we lately arranged it; only,
in speaking to me, pray continue to use the
familiar and affectionate terms,* that we have
been wont to use, and do not be me with the
sound of ‘madam’ and ‘noble ady,’ any more.
Consider, we were changed for each other,when
we were children; even then we were united by a
like fate, and we will strengthen this union with
such close affection, as no human power shall
dissolve. Only first of all you must go with us
to Ringstetten. In what manner we shall share
out sisterly enjoyments there, we will leave to
be talked over after we arrive.”

Bertalda_ looked up to Huldbrend with timid
inquiry. He pitied the fair girl in her affliction,
took her hand, and begged her, tenderly, to in-
trust herself to him and his wife.

“We will send a message to your parents,”
continued he, “‘ giving them the reason why you
have not come;”—and he would have added
much more about his worthy friends of the pen-
insula, when, perceiving that Bertalda shrunk
in distress at the mention of them, he refrained.
Then taking her under the arm, as they left the
room, he lifted her first into the carriage, after
her Undine, and was soon riding blithely be-
side them; so persevering was he, too, in urging
forward their driver, that in a short time they
had left behind them the limits of the city, and
with these a crowd of painful recollections; and
now the ladies experienced a satisfaction, more
and more exquisite, as their carriage rolled on
through the picturesque scenes, which their pro-
gress was continually presenting.

After a journey of some days, they arrived,

 

*The words of the original are, “nur nenne mich
wieder Dv,” only do cll me THOv again.” The use of
the personal pronouns, thou and ‘hee, so familiar and
endearing in the German idiom, gives an entirely
different impression in English. In the conversations
of this tale, examples of this peculiarity occur on
almost every page. The translator has of course
avoided a mode of expression, which most of his

readers would feel to be stiff, strange, and unsuitable,

 
ae

talda in

UNDINE.

44

 

 

=

on a fine evening, at Castle Ringstetten. The
young knight being much engaged with the
overseers and menials of his establishment, Un-
dine and Bertalda were left alone. Eager for
novelty, they took a walk upon the high ram-
part of the fortress, and were charmed with the
delightful landscape, which fertile Suabia spread
around them. While they were viewing the

‘scene, a tall man drew near, who greeted them

with respectful civility, and who seemed to
Bertalda much to resemble the director of the
city fountain. Still less was the resemblance to
be mistaken, when Undine, indignant at his in-
trusion, waved him off with an air of menace;
while he, shaking his head, retreated with rapid
strides, as he {had formeriy done, then glided
among the trees of a neighboring grove, and
disappeared.

‘Do not be terrified, dear Bertalda,” said Un-
dine; ‘‘ the hateful master of the fountain shall
do you no harm this time.” And then she rela-
ted to her the particulars of her history, and
who she was herself—how Bertalda had been
taken away from the people of the peninsula,
and Undine left in her place. This relation, at
first, filled the young maiden with amazement
and alarm; she imagined her friend must be
seized with a sudden madness. But, from the
consistency of her story, she became more and
more convinced that all was true, it so well
agreed with former occurrences, and still more
convinced from that inward feeling, with which
truth never fails to make itself known to us.
She could not but view it as an extraordinary
circumstance, that she was herself now living,
as it were, in the midst of one of those wild fic-
tions of romance, which she had formerly heard
related for mere amusement. She gazed upon
Undine with awe, but could not avoid feeling a
shudder; which seemed to separate her from her
friend; and she could not but wonder when the
knight, at their evening repast, showed himself
so kind and full of love toward a being, who ap-

eared, after the discoveries just made, more
ike a phantom of the spirit-world than one of
the human race.

CHAPTER XTII.
HOW THEY LIVED AT CASTLE RINGSTETTEN,

Tue writer of this history, because it moves
his own heart, and he wishes it may equally
move the hearts of others, begs you, dear reader,
to grant |ina single favor. Excuse him, if he
now passes over a considerable period of time,
and gives you only a general account of its
events. He is well aware that, perfectly con-
forming to the rules of art and step by ae he
might delineate the process by which d-
brand’s warmth of attachment for Undine ‘be-
gan to decline, and to be transferred to Bertal-

a; how Bertalda gradually became more and
more attached, and met the young man’s glance
with the ot of love; how they both seemed
rather to fear the poor wife, as a being of an-
other species, than to sympathize with her; how
Undine wept, and her tears produced remorse
in the knight’s heart, yet without awakenin
his former tenderness, so that his treatment o:
her would discover occasional impulses of kind-
ness, but a cold shuddering would soon drive
him from her side, and he would hasten to the
society of Bertalda, as a more congenial being
of his own race; all this, the writer is aware, he
could describe with the minute touches of truth,
and perhaps this is the course that he ought to
pursue, But his heart would feel the task to be

 

» too melancholy; for, having suffered calamities

of this nature, he is impressed with terror even
at the remembrance of their shadows.

You have prebaP | experienced a similar
feeling yourself, my dear reader, for such is the
inevitable allotment of mortal man. Happy are
you, if you have rather endured than inflicted
this misery, since, in matters of this kind,
more blessed is he that receives than he that
gives. For when you have been the suffering

arty, and such remembrances come over
tas mind, only a soft pensiveness steals into the
soul, and perhaps a tender tear trickles down
your cheek, while you regret the fading of the
flowers, in which you once took a delight so ex-
quisite. But of this no more; we would not
linger over the evil, and pierce our hearts with
pangs a thousand-fold repeated, but just briefly

int the course of events, as I said before,

Poor Undine was extremely distressed, and
the other two were far from ete happy; Ber-

L rticular, whenever she was in the
slightest degree opposed in her wishes, attrib-
uted the cause to a0 jealousy and oppression of
the injured wife. In’consequence of this suspi-
cious temper she was daily in the habit of dis-

\

covering a haughty and imperious demeanor, to

 

which Undine submitted in sad and painful self-
denial; and, such was the blind delusion of
Huldbrand, he usually supported the impropri-
ety in the most decisive terms.
hat disturbed the inmates of the castle still
more, was the endless variety of wonderful _ap-
aritions, which assailed Huldbrand and Ber-
da in the vaulted passages of the building,
and of which nothing had ever been heard be-
fore within the memory of man. The tall white
man, in whom Huldbrand but too well recog-
nized Undine’s uncle Kuhleborn, and Bertalda
the spectral master of the water-works, often
passed before them with threatening aspect and
gestures; more especially, however, hefore Ber-
talda, so that she had already several times
fainted or fallen ill through terror, and had in
consequence frequently Hue of ce the
castle. But pay owing to her excessive fond-
ness for Huldbrand, as well as to a reliance on
what she termed her innocence, since no decla-
ration of mutual attachment had ever been dis-
tinctly made, and partly also because she knew
not whither to direct her steps, she lingered
where she was. ;

The old fisherman, on receiving the message
from the lord of Ringstetten, that Bertalda was
his guest, returned answer in some lines almost
too illegible to be deciphered, but still the best
his advanced life and long disuse of writing per-
mitted him to form. ‘

“T have now become,” he wrote, ‘‘a poor old
widower, for my beloved and faithful wife is
dead. But lonely as I now sit in my cottage, I

refer Bertalda’s remaining where she is, to her
iving with me. Only let her do nothing to
hurt my dear Undine—otherwise she will have
my. curse.”
he last words of this letter Bertalda flung to
the winds; but the permission to remain from
home, which her father had granted her, she re-
membered and clung to, just as we are all of us
wont to do in like circumstances.

One day, a few moments after Huldbrand
had ridden out, Undine called together the do-
mestics of the family, and ordered them to
bring a large stone, and carefully to cover with
it a magnificent fountain, that was situated in
the middle of the castle court. The servants
ventured to hint as an objection, that it would
oblige them to bring their water from the val-
ley below, which was at an inconvenient  dis-
tance. Undine smiled with an expression of

melancholy.

“Tam sorry, dear children,” replied she, ‘to
increase your labor; I would rather bring up
the water-vessels myself; but this fountain must
indeed be closed. Believe me when I say, that
it must be done, and that only by doing it can
we ayoid a greater evil.”

The domestics were all rejoiced to gratify
their gentle mistress; and making no further
inquiry, they seized the enormous stone. While
they were raising it in their hands, and were
now on the point of adjusting it over the foun-
tain, Bertalda came running to the place, and
cried with an air of command, that they must
stop; that the water she used, so improving to
her complexion, she was wont to have brought
from this fountain, and that she would by no
means allow it to be closed.

This time, however, while Undine showed her

“usual gentleness, she showed more than her

usual resolution, and remained firm to her pur-
pose: she said it belonged to her, as mistress of
the castle, to direct the regulations of the house-
hold according to her own best judgment, and
that she was accountable in this to no one but
her lord and husband.

““See, oh pray, see!” exclaimed the dissatisfied
and indignant Bertalda, “how the beautiful
water is curling and curving, winding and wav-
ing there, as if disturbed at being shut out from
the bright sunshine, and from the cheerful view
of the human countenance, for whose mirror it
was created.”

In truth, the water of the fountain was agi-
tated, and foaming and _ hissing in a surprising
manner; it seemed as if there were something
within, possessing life and will, that was strug-
gling to free itself from confinement. But Un-

ine only the more earnestly urged_on the ac-
complishment of her commands. This earnest-
ness was scarcely required. The servants of the
castle were as happy in obeying their sweet-
tempered lady, asin opposing the aughty spirit
of Bertalda; and with whatever rudeness the
latter mulehe scold and threaten, still the stone
was in a few minutes lying firm over the open-
ing of the fountain, Undine leaned thought-
fully over it, and wrote with her beautiful
fingers on the flat surface. She must, however,
have had something very acrid and corrosive in
her hand; for when she retired, and the domes-

 

tics went up to examine the stone, they discov-
ered various strange characters upon it, which
none of them had seen there before.

When the knight returned home toward even-
ing, Bertalda received him with tears and com-

laints of Undine’s conduct. He threw a severe
ook at his poor wife, and she cast down her
eyes in distress. Still she spoke with great
firmness: ‘‘My lord and husband, you never
reproye even a bond-slave before you hear
his defense—how much less then your wedded
wife!”

“Speak, what moved you to this singular
conduct?” said the knight, with a gloomy coun-
tenance.

**T could wish to tell you when we are entire-
ly alone,” said Undine, with a sigh.

“You can tell me equally well in the presence
of Bertalda,” he replied.

“Ves, if you command me,” said Undine;
“but do not command me, Pray, pray, do
not!

She looked so humble, affectionate and obe-
dient, that the heart of the knight was touched
and softened, as if he felt the influence of a ray
from better times. He kindly took her arm
within his, and led her to his apartment, where
she spoke as follows:

“You already know something, my beloved
lord, of Kuhleborn, my evil-disposed uncle, and
have often felt displeasure at meeting him in
the passages of this castle. Several times has
he terrified Bertalda even to swooning. He
does this, because he possesses no soul, being a
mere elementary mirror of the outward world,
while of the world within he can give no reflec-
tion. Then, too, he sometimes observes that
you are displeased with me, that in my childish
weakness I weep at this, and that Bertalda, it
may be, is laughing at the same moment.
Hence it is, that he conceives every sort of
wrong and unkindness to exist, and in various
ways mixes with our circle unbidden. What
do I gain by reproving him? by showing dis-

leasure, and sending him away? He does not

elieve a word I say. His poor imperfect na-
ture affords him no conception, that the pains
and pleasures of love have so mysterious a re-
semblance and are so intimately connected, that
no power on earth is able to separate them.
Even in the midst of tears, a smile is dawning
on the cheek, and smiles call forth tears from
their secret recesses.”

She looked up at Huldbrand, smiling and
weeping; and he again felt within his heart all
the magic of his former love. She perceived it,
and pressed him more tenderly to her, while
with tears of joy she went on thus:

“When the disturber of our peace would not
be dismissed with words, I was obliged to shut
the door upon him; and the only entrance by
which he has access to us is that fountain. His
connection with the other water spirits here in
this region is shut off by the valleys which border
oon us, and his kingdom first commences fur-
ther off on the Danube,in whose tributary streams
some of his d friends have their abode. For
this reason I caused the stone to be placed over:
the opening of the fountain, and inscribed char-
acters upon it, which baffle all the efforts of my
suspicious and passionate uncle, so that he now
has no power of intruding either upon you, or
me, or Bertalda. Human beings, it is true, not-
withstanding the characters I have inscribed
there, are able to raise the stone without any
extraordinary trouble; there is nothing to pre-
vent them. If you choose, therefore, remove
it according to Bertalda’s desire, but she as-
suredly knows not what she asks, The rude
Kuhleborn looks with peculiar ill-will upon her;
and should much come to pass that he has im-
et predicted to me, and which may well

anpen without your meaning any evil—I
fear, I fear, my dear husband, that you your-
self would be exposed to peril.”

Huldbrand felt the generosity of his amiable
wife in the depth of his heart, since she had
been so active in confining her formidable de-
fender, and even at the very moment she was
reproached for it by Bertalda. Influenced by
this feeling, he pressed her in his arms with the
tenderest Affection, and said with emotion:
‘The stone shall remain unmoved; all remains
and ever shall remain, just_as you choose to
have it, my dear, very dear Undine!”

At these long-withheld expressions of tender-
ness, she returned his caresses with lowly de-
light, and at length said: ae dearest hus-

d, since you are so very kind and indulgent
to-day, may I venture to ask a favor of you?
Pray observe, it is with you as with summer.
Even amid its highest splendor, summer puts on
the ome thundering crown of glorious
tempests, in which it strongly resembles a king

 

oe ae

 
12

 

THE SUNNY6iDE LIBRARY.

 

 

and god onearth. You too are sometimes ter-
rible in your rebukes; aoe eyes flash lightning,
while thunder resounds in your voice; and a

bees this ee be quite becoming to you, I in
my folly cannot but sometimes weep at it. But
never, | entreat you, behave thus toward me on
ariver, or even when we are near a piece of
water. For if you should, pray consider what
the consequences will be: my relations would
acquire aright to exercise authority over me.

They would tear me from you in their fury
with inexorable force, because they would con-
ceive that one of their race was injured; and I
should be compelled, as long as I lived, to dwell
below in the crystal palaces, and never dare
ascend to you again, or should they send me up
to you—oh God! that would be infinitely more
deplorable still. No, no, my beloved husband,
let it not come to that, if your poor Undine is
dear to you.”

He solemnly promised to do as she desired,
and, inexpressibly happy and full of affection,
the married pair returned from the apartment.
At this very moment Bertalda came with some
work-people, whom she had meanwhile ordered
to attend her, and said with a fretful air, which
she had assumed of late: -

“Well, now the secret consultation is at an
end, it is to be hoped the stone may come down.
Go out, workmen, and execute your business.”

The knight, however, highly resenting her im-

rtinence, said in brief and very decisive terms:

‘The stone remains where it is.” He reproved
Bertalda also for the vehemence that she had
shown toward his wife. Whereupon the work-
men, smiling with secret satisfaction, withdrew ;
while Bertalda, pale with rage, hurried away”
to her room.

When the hour of supper came Bertalda was
waited for in vain. They sent for her; but the
domestic found her apartments empty, and
brought back with him only a sealed billet, ad-
dressed to the knight. Trembling with alarm,
he tore it open and read:

“T feel with shame that I am only the daughter
of a poor fisherman. That I for one moment for-
got this, I will make expiation in the miserable hut
of ine parents. Farewell to you and your beautiful
wite

Undine was troubled at heart. Most earnestly
she entreated Huldbrand to hasten after their
friend who had flown, and bring her back with
him. Alas! she had no occasion to urge him.
His passion for Bertalda again burst forth
with vehemence. He hurried round the castle,
inquiring whether any one had seen which way
the fair fugitive had gone. He could gain
no information, and was already in the court
on his horse, determining to take at_a venture
the road by which he had conducted Bertalda
to the castle; when there appeared a shield-boy,
who assured him that he had met the lady on
the ere to the Black Valley. Swiftas an arrow
the knight sprung through the gate in the direc-
tion pointed out, without hearing Undine’s voice
of agony, as she cried after him from the win-

dow:

“To the Black Valley? Oh not there! Huld-
brand, not there! or if you will go, for Heaven’s
sake take me with you!”

But when she perceived that all her calling
was of no avail, she ordered her white palfrey
to be instantly saddled, and followed the knight
without permitting a single servant to accom-

pany her,

 

CHAPTER XIV.
HOW BERTALDA RETURNED WITH THE KNIGHT,

Tur Black Valley lies secluded far among the
mountains, What its present name may be, I
am ees say. ee Soe of, cok I a
8 ing, the country-people gave it this appel-
iation front the deep obscurity produced by the
shadows of lofty trees, more especially by a
crowded growth of firs, that covered this region
of moorland. Even the brook, which gushed
out among the crags, and wound its way down
a ravine into the valley, assumed there the same
dark hue, and showed nothing of that cheerful
aspect which streams are wont to wear, that
have the blue sky immediately over them.

Tt was now the dusk of evening and the view
between the hights had become extremely wild
and gloomy. he knight, in great anxiety,
skirted the border of the brook; he was at one
time fearful, that by delay he should allow the
fugitive to advance too far before him; and then
again, in histoo eager rapidity, he was afraid
he might somewhere overlook and pass by her,
should she be desirous of concealing herself from
his search. He had in the meantime penetrated
ee far into the valley, and might hope soon

overtake the maiden, provided he were pur-

 

suing the right track. The fear, indeed, that he
eet not as yet have gained this track, made
his heart beat with more and more anxiety. In
the stormy night, which was now bee ree
and which always hovered more fearfully
over this valley, where would the delicate
Bertalda shelter herself, should he fail to find
her? At last, while these thoughts were
darting across his mind, he saw something
white glimmer through the branches on the
ascent of the mountain. He felt quite certain
that the object he discerned was Bertalda’s robe,
and he directed his course toward it. But his
horse refused to go forward; he reared with a
fury so uncontrollable, and his master was so
art to lose a moment, that (especially as
he saw the thickets were altogether impassable
on horseback) he dismounted, and, having fast-
ened his snorting steed to an elm, worked his
way with ‘caution through the matted under-
wood. The branches, moistened by the cold
re of the evening dew, keenly smote his
forehead and cheeks; thunder muttered remote-
ly from the further side of the mountains; and
every thing put on so strange and eas an 9
pearance, that he began to feel a dread of the
white figure, which now lay only a short dis-
tance from him upon the ground. Still he could
see with perfect clearness, that it was a female,
either asleep or in a swoon, and dressed in long
white garments, such as Bertalda had worn the
past day. Approaching quite near to her, he
made a rustling with the branches and a ringing
with his sword—but she did not move.
“Bertalda!” he cried; at first low, then louder
and louder; still she heard him not. At last,
when he uttered the dear name with an ener;
yet more powerful, a hollow echo, from the
mountain-summits around the valley, returned
the deadened sound, ‘‘BrerTALpA!” Still the
sleeper continued insensible. He stooped low
with a view to examine her countenance, but
the duskiness of the valley and the obscurity of
twilight would not allow him to distinguish her
features. While with painful uncertainty he
was bending over her, a flash of lightning sud-
denly shot across the valley. By this stream of
light, he saw a frightfully distorted visage close
to his own, and a hoarse voice struck him with
startling abruptness: ‘You enamored shep-
herd, pie me a kiss!” .
Huldbrand sprung upon his feet with a cry of
horror, and the hideous figure rose with him.
“Home!” it cried with a deep murmur; “ the
fiends are abroad. Home! or I have you;”
And it stretched toward him its long white

arms.

‘Malicious Kuhleborn,” exclaimed the knight
with restored energy, ‘if Kuhleborn you are,
what business have you here?—what’s your will,

ou Soci caatnare take your kiss!”—And in
ury he flashed his sword at the form. But the
form vanished like vapor; and a rush of water,
ee the knight as gooda drenching as wetting

i the skin could make it, left him in no
doubt with what foe he had been engaged.

“He wishes to frighten me back from my

ursuit of Bertalda,” said he to himself; ‘he
imagines, that I shall be terrified at his senseless
enchantments, and resign the poor distressed
girl to his power, so that he can wreak his ven-
geance upon her at will. But, impotent spirit
of the flood! he shall find himself mistaken.
What the heart of man can do, when it exerts
the full force of its will, the strong energy of its
noblest powers, of this the feeble enchanter has
no comprehension.” *

He felt the truth of his words, and that, in
thus giving utterance to his thoughts, he had
inspired his heart with fresh courage. For-
tune too appeared to favor him; for, before
reaching his fastened steed, he distinctly heard
the voice of Bertalda, where she was now wee
ing and now moaning not far before him, amid
the roar of the thunder and the tempest, which
every moment increased. He flew swiftly to-
ward the sound, and found the tremblin,
maiden, just as she was attempting to clim
the steep, and striving, to the extent of her
power, to escape from the dreadful darkness of
this valley. He stepped before her, while he
spoke in tones of the most soothing tenderness;
and bold and proud as her resolution had so lately
been, she now felt nothing but the liveliest joy,
that the man, whom she so passionately loved,
would rescue her from this frightful solitude,
and extending to her his arms of welcome,
would still cast a brightness over her existence
in their reunion at the castle. She followed
almost unresisting, but so spent with fatigue,
that the knight was glad to support her to his
horse, which he now hastily unfastened from
the elm: his intention was to lift the fair wan-
derer upon him, and then to lead him carefully

 

chief and witcheries of this sort.

 

 

by the reins through the uncertain shades of
this lowland tract.

But, owing to the mad appearance of Kuhle-
born, the horse had become altogether unman-
ageable. Rearing and wildly snorting as he
was, the knight must have used uncommon
effort to mount the beast himself; to place the
trembling Bertalda upon him was impossible.
They were compelled, therefore, to return home
on foot. While with one hand the knight drew
the steed after him by the bridle, he supported
the tottering Bertalda with the other. e ex-
erted all the strength she had remaining, in
order to escape from this vale of terrors as
speedily as possible; but weariness weighed her

own like lead, and a universal trembling seized
her limbs, partly in consequence of what she
had suffered from the extreme harassment
with which Kuhleborn had pursued her, and in
part from her continual fear, arising from the
roar of the tempest and thunder amid the
mountain forest.

At last she slid from the arm of her conduc-
tor, and, sinking upon the moss, she said: ‘‘I
can no more; let me lie here, my noble lord. I
suffer the punishment due to my folly, and
nothing can save me now; I must perish here
through faintness and dismay.”

“Never, my sweet friend, will I leave you,”
cried Huldbrand, vainly trying to restrain the
furious animal he was leading; for the horse
was all in a foam, and began to chafe more un-
governably than before, till the knight was glad
merely to keep him at such a distance from the
exhausted maiden as would secure her from
still greater fear and alarm. But hardly had
he withdrawn five steps with the frantic steed
when she began to call after him in the mos
sorrowful accents, fearful that he would actu-
ally leave her in this horrible wilderness. He
was wholly at a loss what course to take.
Gladly would he have given the enraged beast
his liberty—he would have let him rush away
amid the night, and exhaust his fury—had he
not shuddered at the thought that, in this nar-
row defile, his iron-shod hoofs might come
trampling and thundering over the very spot
where Bertalda lay.

While he was in this extreme peril and em-
barrassment, a scene of delight, not to be ex-
pressed, shot through him, when he heard the
rumbling wheels of a wagon, as it came slowl
descending the stony slope behind them. He
called out for help; answer was returned in the
deep voice of a man, bidding them have ‘pa-
tience, but promising assistance; and two horses
of Eo white soon after shone through the
bushes, and near them their driver in the white
frock of a carter; and next ap ed a great
sheet of white linen, with which the he
seemed to be conveying, were covered. The
whitish grays, in obedience to a shout from
their master, stood still. He came up to the
knight, and aided him in checking the fury of
the foaming charger.

“T know well enough,” said he, ‘‘ what is the
matter with the brute. The first time I traveled
this way my horses were just as willful and
headstrong as yours. The reason is, there isa
water-spirit haunts this valley, and a wicked
wight they say he is, who takes delight in mis-

ut I have
learned a charm; and if you will let me whisper
it in your horse’s ear, he will stand just as quiet
as my silver grays there.”

« ay your luck, then, and help us as quick as
possible!” said the impatient knight.

uae this the wagoner drew down the head
of the rearing courser close to his own, and
spoke some half-dozen words in his ear. The
animal instantly stood still and subdued; only
his quick panting and smoking sweat showed
his recent violence.

Huldbrand had little time to inquire by what
means this had been effected. He agreed with
the man, that he should take Bertalda in his
wagon, where, as he said, a quantity of soft
cotton was stowed, and he might in this way con-
vey her to Castle Rin, tten; the knight could
accompany them on horseback. But the horse
appeared to be too much exhausted to carry his
master so far. Seeing this, the man advised
him to mount the wagon with Bertalda, The
horse could be tied to it behind.

“Tt is down hill,” said he, ‘‘ and the load for
my grays will therefore be light.”

he knight accepted his offer, and entered the
wagon with Bertalda; the horse followed quiet-
ly after, while the wagoner, sturdy and atten-
tive, walked beside them.

Amid the silence and deepening obscurity of
the night, the tem became more and more
remote and hushed; in the comfortable feeling
of their security and their commodious passage,

~

>
 

UNDINE.

418

 

 

a confidential conversation arose between Huld-
brand and Bertalda. He reproved her in the
most gentle and affectionate terms for her re-
sentful flight; she excused herself with humility
and feeling; and from every tone of her voice
it was evident—just as a lamp guides a lover
amid the secrecy of night to his waiting mis-
tress—that she still cherished his former affec-
tion for him. The knight felt the sense of what
she said far more than the words themselves,
and he answered simply to this sense—to the
feeling and not the confession of love.

In the midst of this interchange of murmured
feelings, the wagoner suddenly shouted with a
startling voice: “‘ Up, my grays, up with your
feet! Hey, my hearts, now together, show your
spirit! Do it handsomely! remember who you
are!

The knight bent over the side of the wagon,
and saw that the horses had dashed into the
midst of a foaming stream, and were, indeed,
almost swimming, while the wheels of the
ie were rushing round and flashing like
mill-wheels, and the teamster had got on before
to avoid the swell of the flood.

“What sort of a road is this? It leads into
toa es of the stream!” cried Huldbrand to

is guide.

“Not at all, sir,” returned he, with a laugh,
‘it is just the contrary. The stream is runnin;
in the middle of our road. Only look abou
you, and see how all is overflowed.”

The whole valley, in fact, was covered and in
commotion, as the waters, suddenly raised and
visibly rising, swept over it.

“Tt is Kuhleborn, that devil of a water-spirit,
who wishes to drown us!” exclaimed the knight.
‘Have you no charm of protection against him,
companion?”

“Charm! to be sure I have one,” answered
the wagoner, ‘‘ but I cannot and must not make
use of it, before you know who I am.”

“Ts this a time for riddles?” cried the knight.
“The flood is every moment rising higher and

‘higher, and what does it concern me to know

who you are?”

“But mayhap it does concern you, though,”
said the guide, “ for I mM KUHLEBORN.”

Thus speaking, he thrust his face into the
wagon, and laughed with every feature distort-
ed; but the wagon remained a wagon no longer,
the grayish white horses were horses no longer;
all was transformed to foam—all sunk into the
waves that rushed and hissed around them—
while the wagoner himself, rising in the form of
a gigantic surge, dragged the vainly struggling
courser under the waters, then rose again huge
as a liquid tower, burst over the heads of the
floating pair, and was on the point of burying
them irrecoverably beneath it.

At that instant, the soft voice of Undine was
heard through the uproar; the moon emerged
through the clouds, and by its light Undine
came visible on the hights above the valley.
She rebuked, she threatened the flood below
her; the menacing and tower-like billow van-
ished, muttering and murmuring; the waters
gently flowed away under the ‘beaaiie of the
moon; while Undine, like a hovering white
dove, came sweeping down from the hill, raised
the knight and Bertalda, and supported them to
a green spot of turf, where, by her earnest ef-
forts, she soon restored them, and dispelled
their terrors. She then assisted Bertalda to
mount the white palfrey, on which she had her-
self been borne to the valley, and thus all three
returned homeward to Castle Ringstetten.

CHAPTER XV.
PASSAGE DOWN THE DANUBE TO VIENNA.

AFTER this last adventure they lived at the
castle undisturbed and in peaceful enjoyment.
The knight was more and more impressed with
the heavenly goodness of his wife, which she
had so nobly shown by her instant pursuit, and
by the rescue she had effected in the Black Val-
ley, where the power of Kubleborn again com-
menced. Undine herself felt that e and se-
curity which the mind never fails to experience
so long as it has the consciousness of being in
the path of rectitude; and she had this addition-
al comfort, that, in the newly awakened love
and-regard of her husband, Hope and Joy were
rising upon her with their myriad beams of
promise,

Bertalda, on the other hand, showed herself
very grateful, humble, and timid, without tak-
ing to herself any merit for so doing. When-
ever Huldbrand or Undine began to explain to
her their reason for oe fountain, or
their adventures in the Black Valley, she would
earnestly entreat them to spare her the recital,

 

 

shame, and the Black Valley too much terror,
to be made topics of conversation. With re-
spect to these, therefore, she learned nothing
further from either of them; and why was it
necessary that she should be informed? Peace
and Happiness had visibly taken up their abode
at Castle Ringstetten. :
ent blessings in perfect security; and in relation
to the future, they now imagined it impos-

sible that life could produce anything but pleas- |

ant flowers and fruits.

In this grateful union of friendship and affec-
tion, winter came and away; and spring,
with its foliage of tender green and its heaven
of softest blue, succeeded _to gladden the hearts
of the inmates of the castle. The season was in
harmony with their minds, and their minds im-
Pegs eir own hue and tone to the season.

hat wonder, then, that its storks and swallows
inspired them also with a disposition to travel!
On a bright morning, while they were taking a
walk down to one of the sources of the Damube,
Huldbrand spoke of the magnificence of this
noble stream, how it continued swelling as it
flowed through countries enriched by its waters,
with what splendor Vienna rose and sparkled on
its banks, and how it grew lovelier and more
imposing almost the whole of its progress.

“Tt must be glorious to trace its course down
to Vienna!” Bertalda exclaimed with warmth;
but, immediately resuming the humble, and
modest demeanor she had recently shown, she
paused and blushed in silence.

This slight circumstance was extremely touch-
ing to Undine; and with the liveliest wish to
gratify her friend, she said: ‘‘ And who or what
shall prevent our taking this little voyage?”

Bertalda leaped up with delight, and the two
females the same moment began painting this
enchanting trip on the Danube in the most bril-
liant colors. Huldbrand, too, agreed to the
project with pleasure; only he once whis-

red with something of alarm in Undine’s ear:
‘But, at that distance, Ku hleborn becomes

of his power again!”

“Let him come, let him come,” she answered
with a laugh; ‘‘I shall be there, and he dares do
none of his mischief in my presence.”

Thus was the last conten a removed; they
prepared for the e ition, and soon set out
en it with lively spirits and the brightest

opes.

e not surprised, oh man, if events almost al-
ways aeehes a differently from what you
expect. at ign power, which lies in am-
bush for our destruction, delights to lull its
chosen victim asleep with sweet songs and gold-
en delusions; while, on the other hand, the mes-
senger of Heaven, sent to rescue us from peril,
often thunders at our door with the violence of
Sports the fest days of th d

uring the first days o: eir passage down
the Danube ma were unusually gratified. The
further they advanced upon the waters of this
proud river the views became more and more
picturesque and attractive. But here, amid
scenes otherwise most delicious, and from
which they had promised themselves the purest
delight, here again the stubborn Kuhleborn,
dropping all disguise, began to show his power
of annoying them. He had no other means of
doing this, indeed, than mere tricks and illu-
sions, for Undine often rebuked the swelling
waves or the contrary winds, and then the inso-
lence of the enemy was instantly humbled and
subdued; but his attacks were renewed, and Un-
dine’s reproofs es became necessary; so that
the eh of this little water-party was com-
pletely destroyed. The boatmen, too, were con-
tinually whispering to one another in dismay,
and eying their three superiors with distrust;
while even the servants began more and more
to form dismal surmises, and to watch their
master and mistress with looks of suspicion.

Huldbrand often said to himself, in the silence
of his soul: ‘‘ This comes to pass when like mar-
ries not like—when a man forms an unnatural
union with a female of the sea.” Still, excusing
himself, as we are most of us so fond of doing,
he eee, pursued a train of thought like
this: “I did not in fact know that she was a
maid of the sea. It is my misfortune that all

my steps are haunted and disturbed by the wild |

humors of her kindred, but it is not my crime.”
Making reflections like these, he felt himself in
some measure strengthened; but, on the other

hand, he only the more entertained a feeling of |
ill-humor against Undine, almost ee, to |
ret-

malevolence. He cast upon her glances of
fulness and ill-nature, and the unhappy wife but
too well understood their meaning.

One day, grieved by this unkindness, as well
as exhausted by her continual exertions to foil

since the fountain had occasioned her too much | the artifices of Kuhleborn, while rocked and
{

soothed by the

hey enjoyed their pres-

 

entle motion of the bark, she
toward evening fell into a deep slumber. But
hardly had she closed her eyes when every per-
son in the boat, in whatever direction he might
look upon the water, saw the head of a man, be-
yond imagination frightful: each head rose out
of the waves, not like that of a person swim-
ming, but quite perpendicular, as if firmly fas-
tened to the watery mirror, and yet moving on
with the bark. Every one wished to show to
his companion what terrified himself, and each
ae the same expression of horror on the
ace of the other, only his hand and eye were
directed to a different quarter, as if to a point
where the monster, half laughing and half
threatening, rose opposite to himself.

When, however, they wished to make one an-
other understand the sight, and all cried out,
“Look there!” ‘‘ No, there!” the frightful heads
all became visible to each, and the whole river
around the boat swarmed with the most horri-
ble faces, All raised a scream of terror at the
sight, and Undine started from sleep. The mo-
ment she opened her eyes upon the mad group
the deformed vi disappeared. But Huld-
brand was made furious by so many hideous
visions. He would have burst out in wild im-
precations had not Undine, with the most sub-

| missive air, and in the gentlest tones of suppli-

cation, thus entreated him:
“For God’s sake, my husband, do not express
ie against me here—we are on the wa-
r,

The knight was silent and sat down, absorbed
in deep thought. Undine whispered in his ear:
“Would it not be better, my love, to give up
this foolish voyage and return to Castle Ring-
stetten in peace?

But Huldbrand murmured wrathfully: ‘‘SoI
must become a prisoner in my own castle? and
not be allowed to breathe a moment but while
the fountain is covered? Would to heaven that
your cursed kindred—”

At these fatal words Undine pressed her fair
hand on his lips with the most touching tender-
ness. He said no more, but sevens an air of
composure, pondered on all that Undine had
lately warned him to avoid.

Bertalda, meanwhile, had given herself up to
a crowd of wild and wandering thoughts. Of
Undine’s origin she knew a good deal, but not
the whole; and the terrible Kuhleborn especial-
ly remained to her an awful, an impenetrable
mystery; never, indeed, had she once heard his
name, en upon this series of wonders, she
unclasped, without being aly conecions of what
she was doing, a gold necklace, which Huld-
brand, on one of the preceding days of their
passage, had bought for her of a traveling
trader; and she was now letting it swing in
sport just over the surface of the stream, while,
in her dreamy mood, she enjoyed the bright re-
flection it threw on the water, so clear beneath
the glow of evening. That instant, a huge hand
flashed suddenly up from the Danube, seized the
necklace inits grasp, and vanished with it be-
so Sead aaa pues ieee
a laugh of mockery and contempt came g
up from the depth of the river.*

The knight could now restrain his wrath no
longer, e started up, gazed fiercely upon the
deep, poured forth a torrent of reproaches,
heaped curses upon all who interfered with his
friends or troubled his life, and dared them all,
water-spirits or mermaids, to come within the
sweep of his sword. ’

Bertalda, meantime, wept for the loss of the
ornament so very dear to her heart, and her
tears were to Huldbrand as oil poured upon the
flame of his fury; while Undine held her hand
over the side of the boat, dipping it in the waves,
softly murmuring to herself, and only at times

 

* This fine passage of Fouque bears a strong re-
ee to a finer one in Southey’s 7'hala! 5 Bik

“ And he drew off Abdaldar’s ring,
And cast it in the gulf.
A skinny hand came up,
And caught it as it fell,
And peals of devilish laughter shook the cave.”

The reader, if he take any interest in the coinci-
dences of genius, may like to compare with these
een the following verse from King Arthur’s

eath in Percy’s Reliques:

“ A hande and an arme did meet the sworde,
» And flourish’d three times in the air;
Then sunke beneathe the renninge streme,
And of the duke was seene noe mair,”’

See also this same incident of the Hanp very
strongly pictured in Tennyson’s Morte D Arthur.
The whole poem, indeed, is so full of power, beauty,
and tenderness, that we hope the author take a
hint from it, as a suggestion of his good genius, rela~
tive to his talent in this style of composition.

 
44

THE SUNNYSIDE LIBRARY.

 

 

interrupting her strange mysterious whisper,
when she addressed her husband in a voice of
entreaty: ‘‘Do not reprove me here, beloved;
blame all others, as you will, but here, do not
reprove me here. Coen imow the reason!”
And, in truth, though he was trembling with
excess of passion, he with oan effort kept
himself from uttering a single word against her.

She then beet up in her wet hand, which
she had been holding under the wayes, a coral
necklace of such exquisite beauty, such sparklin;
brilliancy, as dazzled the eyes of all who behel
it. ‘Take this,” said she, holding it out kindl
to Bertalda; “T have ordered it to be brought,
to make some amends for your loss, and do not,
dear heart, be troubled any more.”

But the knight rushed between them, and,
snatching the beautiful ornament out of Un-
dine’s hand, hurled it back into the flood, and in
a flame of rage, exclaimed: ‘‘So, then, you have
a connection with them forever? In the name
of all witches and enchanters, go and remain
among them with your presents, you sorceress,
and leave all us human beings in peace!”

But poor Undine, with a look of mute amaze-
ment and eyes streaming with tears, gazed on
him, her hand still stretched out, just as it was
when she had so lovingly offered ‘her brilliant
gift to Bertalda. She then began to weep more
and more, as if her heart would break, like a
tender, innocent child, very bitterly grieved.
At last, all wearied out, she said:

* Alas, dearest, all is over now—farewell!
They shall do you no harm; cay. remain true,
that I may have power to keep them from you.
But I, alas, must go away, I must foes even
in this early dawn of youth and bliss. Oh woe,
woe, what have you done! Ob woe, woe!”

And she vanished over the side of the boat.
Whether she plunged into the stream, or
whether, like water melting into water, she
flowed away with it, they knew not, her disap-
pearance so much resembled both united, and
neither by itself. But she was gone, gliding on
with the Danube, instantly and completely ;
only little waves were yet whispering and so!
bing around the boat,* and they seemed almost
ene to say, “Oh, woe, woe! Ah, remain
true! Oh, woe!”

But Huldbrand, in a passion of burning tears,
threw himself upon the deck of the bark, and a
free swoon soon wrapped the wretched man in
a blessed forgetfulness of misery.

 

CHAPTER XVI.
WHAT FURTHER HAPPENED TO HULDBRAND,

THE brief period of our mourning—ought we
to view it as a misfortune or as a blessing? I
mean that deep mourning of the heart, which
gushes up from the very well-springs of our be-
ing; that mourning which becomes so perfectly
one with the lost object of our affection, that
this even ceases to be a lost thing to the sorrow-
ing heart; and which desires to make the whole
life a holy office dedicated to the image of the
departed, until we too pass that bourne which
separates it from our view.

me men there are, indeed, who have this
profound tenderness of spirit, and who thus
consecrate their affections to the memory of the
departed; but still their mourning softens into
an emotion of gentle melancholy, having none
of the intenseness of the first agony of separa-
tion. Other and foreign images intervene, and
impress themselves upon the mind; we learn at
last the transitory nature of everything earth-
ly, even from that of our affliction; and I can-
not therefore but view it as a misfortune, that
the recta of our mourning is so brief.

The lord of Ringstetten learned the truth! of
this by experience; but whether he derived any
advantage from the knowledge, we shall discover
in the sequel of this history. At first he could do
nothing but weep, weep as bitterly as the poor
amiable Undine had wept, when he snatched out
of her hand that brilliant ornament, with which
she so beautifully wished to make amends
for Bertalda’s loss. And then he stretched his
hand out as she had done, and wept again like
her with renewed violence. He cherished a
secret hope, that even the springs of life would
at last become exhausted by weeping; and
when we have been severely afilicted, has not a
similar thought passed through the minds of
many of us with a painful pleasure? Bertalda
wept with him; and they lived together a long

 

* The ee of this clause is, “nur flusterten
noch kleine Wellchen schluchzend um den Kahn,”
if the translator may be allowed to express his ad-
miration, without being considered intrusive, he
would say that nothing could have been more ex-
quisitely conceived than this circumstance,

 

while at Castle Ringstetten in undisturbed | past, she has appeared to me in a dream, stand-

quiet, honoring the nents of Undine, and
having almost wholly forgotten their former at-
tachment.

Owing to this tender remembrance of Huld-
brand, and to encourage him in conduct so ex-
emplary, the good Undine, about this time,
often visited his dreams; she soothed him with
soft and affectionate caresses, and then went
away again, weeping in silence; so that when
he awoke, he sometimes knew not how his cheeks
came to be so wet—whether it was caused by
her tears, or only by his own.

But as time advanced, these visions became
less frequent, and the severity of the knight’s
sorrow was softened; still he might never while
he lived, it may be, have entertained any other
wish than thus to think of Undine in silence,
and to speak of her in conversation, had not the
old fisherman arrived unexpectedly at the
castle, and earnestly insisted on Bertalda’s re-
turning with him as his child. He had received
information of Undine’s disappearance, and he
was not willing to allow Bertalda to continue
longer at the castle with the now unmarried
knight. ‘‘For,” said he, ‘‘ whether my daugh-
ter loves me or not, is at present what I care
not to know; but her good name is at stake,
and where that commands or forbids, not a
word more need be said.”

This resolution of the old fisherman, and the
fearful solitude that, on Bertalda’s departure.
threatened to cons the knight in every hall
and passage of the deserted castle, brought a
circumstance into distinct consciousness, which,
owing to his sorrow for Undine, had of late
been slumbering and completely forgotten—I
mean his attachment to the fair Bertalda; and
this he made known to her father.

The fisherman had many objections to make
to the ee marriage. The old man had
loved Undine with exceeding tenderness, and it
was doubtful to his mind, whether the mere
disappearance of his beloved child could be
properly viewed as her death. But were it
even granted, that her corse were lying stiff
and cold at the bottom of the Danube, or swept
away by the current to the ocean. still Bertalda
would not be guiltless in her death; and it was
unfitting for her to step into the place of the

or banished wife. The fisherman, however,

ad felt a strong regard also for the knight:
this, and the entreaties of his daughter, who
had become much more gentle and respectful
as well as her tears for Undine, exer
their influence; and he must at last have been
forced to the up his opposition, for he remained
at the castle without 0 mecteD, and a courier
was sent off express to Father Heilmann, who
in former and happier days had united Undine
and Huldbrand, requesting him to come and
perform the ceremony at the knight’s second
marriage.

But hardly had the holy man read through
the letter from the lord of Ringstetten, ere he
set out upon the journey, and made much

eater dispatch on his way to the «castle than
the messenger ffm there had made in reaching
him. Whenever his breath failed him in his
rapid progress, or his old limbs ached with fa-
tigue, he would say to himself: ‘‘ Perhaps I ma
still be in season to prevent a sin; then sink not,
weak and withered 'y, before 1 arrive at the
end of my journey!” And with renewed vigor
he pressed forward, ee eenty on without rest
or repose, until, late one evening, he entered the
embowered court-yard of Castle Ringstetten.

The betrothed pair were sitting arm-in-arm
under the trees, and the aged fisherman in a
thoughtful mood sat near them. The moment
they saw Father Heilmann, they rose with a
spring of joy, and pressed round him with
eager welcome. But he, in a few words, urged
the bridegroom* to accompany him into the
castle; aon: when Huldbrand stood mute with
surprise, and delayed complying with his ear-
nest .request, the pious priest said to him:

‘Why do I then defer speaking, my lord of
Ringstetten, until I can address you in private?
There is no occasion for the delay of a moment.
What I have to say, as much concerns Bertalda
and the fisherman as yourself; and what we
cannot avoid hearing at some time, it is best to
hear as soon as hi le. Are you then so ban,
certain, knight Huldbrand, that your first wife
is actually dead? It hardly appears soto me. I
will say nothing, indeed, of the mysterious state
in which she ane be now existing; in truth, I
know nothing of it with certainty, But that
she was a most devoted and faithful wife, so much
is beyond all dispute. And for fourteen nights

 

* The betrothed are called bride and bridegroom in
Germany.

 

 

ing at my bedside, wringing her slender hands
in anguish, and imploring me with deep sighs:
‘Ah, prevent him, dear father! I am still liy-
ing! Ah! save his life! ah! save his soul!’

‘What. this vision of the night could mean, I
was at first unable to divine; then came your
messenger, and I have now hastened hither, not
to unite, but, as I hope, to separate, what ought
not to be joined together. Leave her, Huld-
brand! Leave him, Bertalda! He still belongs
to another; and do you not see on his pale cheek
the traces of that grief, w hich the disappearance
of his wife has produced there? That is not the
look of a bridegroom, and the spirit breathes the
presage on my soul: ‘If you do not leave him,
you will never, never be happy.’ ”

The three felt in their inmost hearts, that father
Heilmann spoke the truth; but still they affected
not to believe him, or they strove rather to re-
sist their conviction. Even the old fisherman
had become so infatuated, that he conceived the
marriage to be now indispensable, as they had
so often, during the time he had been with them,
mutually agreed to the arrangement. They all,
therefore, with a determined and gloomy eager-
ness, struggled against the representations and
warnings of the holy man, until, shaking his
head and oppressed with sorrow, he finally quit-
ted the castle, not choosing to accept their offer-
ed shelter even for a single night, or indeed so
much as to taste a morsel of the refreshment
they brought him. Huldbrand persuaded him-
self, however, that the priest was a mere vision-
ary, and sent at daybreak to a monk of the
nearest ores who, without scruple, prom-
ised to perform the ceremony in a few days.

CHAPTER XVII.
THE KNIGHT'S DREAM.

Ir was at the earliest moment of dawn, when
night begins faintly to brighten into morning
twilight, that Huldbrand was lying on_his
couch, half waking and half sleeping. When-
ever he attempted to compose himself to sleep,
he was seized with an undefined terror, that
made him shrink back from the enjoyment, as
if his slumber were crowded with specters. But
whenever he made an effort to rouse himself.
the wings of a swan seemed to be waving around.
him, and soothing him with the music of their
motion, and thus in a soft delusion of the senses
he sunk back into his state of imperfect repose.

At last, however, he must have fallen perfect-
ly asleep; for, while the sound of the swan-

wings was murmuring around him, he seemed’

to be lifted by their re; strokes, and to be
wafted far away over d and sea, and still
their music swelled on his ear most sweetly.
“The music of the swan! the song of the swan!”
he could not but repeat to himself every mo-
ment; ‘‘is it not a sure foreboding of death?”
ee: however, it had yet another mean-
ing. 1 at once he seemed to be hovering over
the Mediterranean Sea. A swan with her loud
melody sung in his ear, that this was the Medi-
terranean ; and while he was looking down
upon the waves, they became transparent as
crystal, so that he could see through them to the
very bottom.

At this a thrill of delight shot through him,
for he could see Undine, where she was sitting
beneath the clear domes of crystal. It is true,
she was weeping very bitterly, and such was the
excess of her grief, that she bore only a faint
resemblance to the bright and joyous being she
had been, during those happy days they had
lived together at Castle Ringstetten, both on
their arrival there and afterward, a short time
before they set out upon their fatal passage
down the Danube. The knight could not avoid
dwelling upon all this with deep emotion, but it
did not appear that Undine was aware of his
presence. ;

Kuhleborn had meanwhile approached her,
and was about to reprove her for weeping,
when she assumed the boldness of superiority,
and looked upon him with an air so majestic an
Cone that he was well-nigh terrified and
confounded by it.

“ Although I too now dwell here beneath the
waters,” said she, ‘‘ yet I have brought my soul
with me; and therefore I may well be allowed
to weep, little as you may conceive the mean-

ing of such tears. They are even a blessed privi- —

lege, as every thing is such a privilege, to one
gifted with the true soul.”

He shook his head with disbelief of what she
said, and, after musing a moment or two, re-

lied: ‘And yet, niece, you are subject to our
Lae of the element, as a being of the same na-
ture with ourselves; and, should HE prove un-
faithful to you and marry again, you are
obliged to take away his life.”

 

 

 

a

 

I
\
4
|
 

 

 

 

UNDINE.

15

 

. ize the fact that she was sittin

‘‘He remains a widower to this very hour,” re-
plied Undine, ‘‘and he still loves me with the
passion of a sorrowful heart.” r 5

“ He is, however, a bridegroom withal,” said
Kuhleborn, with a chuckle of scorn; “and let
only a few days wear away, and anon comes the
priest with his nuptial blessing, and then you
must go up and execute your share of the busi-
ness, Ee eath of the husband with two wives.”
“J have not the power,” returned Undine,
with a smile. ‘‘Do you not remember? I have
sealed up the fountain securely, not only against
myself but all of the same race.” i

‘* Still, should he leave his castle,” said Kuble-
born, ‘or should he once allow the fountain to
be uncovered, what then? for doubtless he
thinks there is no great murder in such trifles.””*

‘For that very reason,” said Undine, still
smiling amid her tears, “for that very reason
he is this moment hovering in spirit here over
the Mediterranean Sea, and dreaming of this
voice of warning which our conversation affords
him. With a view to give him this warning, I
have studiously di d the whole vision.”

That instant, Kuhleborn, inflamed with rage.
looked up at the knight, wrathfully threaten
him, stamped upon the ground, and then, swift
as the passion that possessed him, sprung up
from beneath the waves. He seemed to swell in
his fury to the size of a whale. Again the swans
began to sing, to wave their wings, to fly; the

knight seemed to be soaring away over moun-
tains and streams, and at last to ‘ht at Castle
Ringstetten, where he awoke upon his couch.

Upon his couch he actually did awake, and his
attendant, entering at the same moment, in-
formed him that father Heilman was still lin-
gering in the neighborhood; that he had, the
evening before, met with him in the forest,
where Ta was sheltering himself under a booth,
which he had formed by interweaving the
branches of trees and covering them with moss
and fine brush-wood; and that to the question,
“What he was doing there, since he had so
firmly refused to perform the nuptial cere-
mony?” his answer was:

“There are yet other ceremonies to perform
beside those at the altar of marriage; and
though I did not come to officiate at the wed-
ding, I can still officiate at a very different so-
lemnity. All things have their season, and we
must be ready for them all. Besides, marrying
and mourning are by no means very far from
each other, as every one not willfully blinded
must know full well.”

In consequence of these words and of his
dream the knight made a variety of reflections,
some wild and some not unmixed with alarm.
But a man is apt to consider it very disagreea-
ble to give over an affair which he has once set-
tled in his mind as certain, and therefore all
went on just according to the old arrangement.

CHAPTER XVIII.

HOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND SOLEMNIZED
HIS MARRIAGE.

SHOvLD I relate to you the events of the mar-
riage-festival at Castle Ringstetten, it would
seem as if you were viewing a crowded assem-
blage of bright and joyous things, but all over-
spread with black eee crape, through
whose darkening vail the whole splendor ap-
peared less to Sane than a mockery
of the nothingness of all earthly joys.

It was not that any spectral visitation dis-
turbed the scene of festivity; for the castle, as
we well know, had been secured against the mis-
chief and menaces of water-spirits. But the
knight, the fisherman, and all the guests were
unable to banish the feeling that the chief per-
sonage of the feast was still wanting, and that
this chief personage could be no other than the
amiable Undine, so dear to them all.

Whenever a door was heard to open, all eyes
were involuntarily turned in that direction;
and if it was nothing but the steward with new
dishes, or the cup-bearer with a supply of wine
of higher flavor than the last, they again looked
down in sadness and disappointment; while the
flashes of wit and merriment that had been
passing at times from one to another, ceased,
and were succeeded by tears of mournful re-
membrance.

‘The bride was the least thoughtful of the
company, and therefore the most happy; but
even she, occasionally, found it difficult to real-
at the head of
the table, wearing a green garland and gold-

 

 

*“Denn er denkt gewiss toed, an alle diese
Dinge.”’ ‘‘ For he surely thinks very little of all these
oe ae temptati = A! in Hse lish os

ulwen y some equivalent phrase was
& whim $30 strong to be resisted, ,

 

embroidered garments, while Undine was Wing
& CO! , stiff and cold, at the bottom of the
Danube, or carried out by the current into the

ocean. For, ever since her father suggested
something of this sort, his words were continu-
ally sounding in her ear; and this day, in par-
ticular, they would neither fade from her mem-
ory nor yield to other thoughts.

geting had scarcely arrived, when the com-
pany returned to their homes; not dismissed by
the impatience of the bridegroom, as oe
parties are sometimes broken up, but constraine
solely by painful associations, joyless melan-
choly, and forebodings of evil. rtalda re-
tired with her maidens, and the knight with his
attendants, to undress; but these young bride-
maids and bridemen, such was the gloomy tenor
of this festival, made no attempt to amuse bride
or bridegroom with the usual pleasantry and
frolicsome good-humor of the occasion. ¥

Bertalda wished to awake a livelier spirit; she
ordered them to spread before her a brilliant set of
jewels, a present from Huldbrand, together with
rich apparel and vails, that she might select
from among them the brightest and most beau-
tiful for her dress in the morning. The attend-
ants rejoiced at this opportunity of pouring
forth good wishes and promises of happiness to
their young mistress, and failed not to extol the
Sea ane bride with their liveliest eloquence.
They @ more and more absorbed in this
admiration and flattery, until Bertalda, At last,
looking in a mirror, said with a sigh:

‘ Ah, but do you not see plainly how freckled
Iam growing? Look here on the side of my
neck.’

They looked at the place, and found the
freckles, indeed, as their fair mistress had said;
but they called them mere beauty spots, the
faintest touches of the sun, such as would only
highten the whiteness of her delicate complexion.
Bertalda shook her head, and still viewed them
as a blemish.

“ And Icould remove them,” she said at last,
sighing. ‘But the castle-fountain is covered,
from which I formerly used to have that pre-
cious water, oe to theskin. Oh, had I
this evening o: iy a single flagon of it!”

“Ts that all?’ cried an alert waiting-maid,
laughing, as she glided out of the a ment.

“She will not be so frantic,” said ertalda, in
a voice of inquiry and agreeably surprised, ‘‘ as
to cause the stone cover of the fountain to be
taken off this very evening?’

That instant they heard the tread of men al-
oe passing along the Seng fe and could
see from the window where the officious girl
was leading them directly up to_ the fountain,
and that they carried levers and other instru-
ments on their shoulders.

“Tt is certainly my will,” said Bertalda, with
asmile, ‘if it does not take them too long.”
And, pleased with the thought that the merest
hint from her was now sufficient to accomplish
what had formerly been refused with a painful
reproof, she looked down upon their operations
in the bright moonlight of the castle court.

The men seized the enormousstone, as if they
must exert all their strength in raising it; some
one of their number indeed would occasionally
sigh, when he recollected they were destroying
the work of their former beloved mistress. Their
labor, however, was much lighter than they had
expected. It seemed as if some power, from
within the fountain itself, aided them in raising
the stone.

“Tt certainly appears,” said the workmen to
one another in astonishment, “as if the con-
— water were become a jet or spouting foun-

in.

And the stone rose more and more, and, al-
most without the assistance of the work- le,
rolled slowly away upon the pavement with a
hollow sound. But an appearance, from the
opening of the fountain, filled them with awe,
as it rose likea white-column of water; at first
they imagined it to be a spouting fountain in
— earnest, until they perceived the rising

orm to be a pale female vailed in white.
She wept bitterly, raised her hands above her
head, and wrung them with anguish, as with
slow and solemn step she moved toward the cas-
tle. The servants shrunk back, and fled from
the fountain; while the bride, pale and motion-
less with horror, stood with her maidens at the
window from which she had been viewing what
passed without. When the figure had now come
close beneath their room, it looked up to them
and uttered the low moaning of misery, and
Bertalda thought she recognized ienetigis tis vail
the pale features of Undine, But the mourning
form passed on, as sad, reluctant, and lingering,
as if going to the place of execution. Bertalda
screamed her maids to call the knight: not

 

one of them dared to stir from her place; and
even the bride herself became again mute, as if
trembling at the sound of her own voice.

While they continued standing at the window,
overpowered with terror and motionless as
statues, the mysterious wanderer entered the
castle, ascended the well-known stairs, and tra-
versed the well-known halls, her tears ever flow-
ing in silent woe. Alas, with what different
emotions had she once passed through these
rooms! é

The knight had in the mean time dismissed his
attendants. Half undressed and in deep dejec-
tion, he was eT aes a large mirror; a
wax taper burned dimly beside him. At this
moment he heard a low tapping at his door, the
least perceptible touch of a finger. Undine had
formerly tapped in this way, when she wished
to amuse him with her endearing sportiveness.

“Tt is all illusion! a mere freak of fancy!”
said he to himself. ‘‘I must to my nuptial bed.”

“You must, indeed, but to a cold one!” he
heard a voice, choked with sobs, repeat from
without; and then he saw in the mirror, that the
door of his room wasslowly, slowly opened, and
the white wanderer entered, and gently secured
it behind her.

‘They have opened the fountain,” said she in
= low tone, “and now I am here and you must

ie.

He felt in the shock and death-pause of his
heart, that this must indeed be his doom; but,
covering his eyes with his hands, he cried: “‘Do
not, in my death-hour, do not drive me to dis-
traction with terror. If you have a visage of
horror behind that vail, do not lift it! Take my
life, but let me not see you.”

“Alas!” replied the wanderer, ‘‘ will you not
then look upon me once more? I am as beauti-
EN ah as when you wooed me on the peninsu-

a!

“Oh would to God it were so!” sighed Huld-
re “and that I might die by a kiss from
you

“Most willingly do I grant your wish, m
dearest love,” said she. And as she threw bac
her vail, her dear face met his view, smili
with celestial beauty. Trembling with seadand
the awe of approaching death, the knight stoo
to give and receive theembrace. She kissed him
with the holy kiss of Heaven; butche relaxed
not her hold, pressing him more passionately in
her arms, and weeping as if she would wee
away her soul. Tears rushed into the knight’s
eyes, while a thrill both of bliss and agony* shot
through his heart, until he at last expired, sink-
ing softly back from her fair arms, and resting
upon the pillow of his couch, a corse.

“T have wept him to death!” said she tosome
domestics, who met her in the antechamber;
and passing ae the terrified group, she
went slowly out and disappeared in the fountain.

 

CHAPTER XIX.
HOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND WAS BURIED.

FATHER HEILMANN had returned to the cas-
tle, as soon as the death of the lord of Ringstet-
ten was made known in the neighborhood; and
he arrived at the very hour when the monk,
who had married the unfortunate couple, was
ues from the door, overcome with dismay
and horror.

When father Heilmann was informed of this,
he replied: “It is all well; and now come the
duties of my office, in which I have no need of
an assistant.”

He then began to console the bride, now be-
come a widow, small as was the advantage her
worldly and light-minded spirit derived from
his kindness.

The old fisherman, on the other hand, though
severely afflicted, was far more resigned in re-
gard to the fate of his son-in-law and tho calam-
ity of his daughter; and while Bertalda could
not refrain from accusing Undine as a murder-
ess. and sorceress, the old man calmly said:
“The event, after all, could not have bape
otherwise. I see nothing in it but the judgment
of God; and no one, I am sure, could have his
heart more pierced by the death of Huldbrand
than she who was obliged to accomplish his
doom, the poor forsaken Undine!”

He then assisted in arranging the funeral so-
lemnities, as suited the rank of the deceased.
The knight was to be interred in a village

*The expression of the original is, ‘‘lieblichen
Wehe,” a blissful agony, or pang. This union of op-

osite qualities, however bold the conception pro-

ucing it, and however suited to express the death-
pang under such circumstances, forms a curious f li-
city, rather too violent to be often admitted in Eng-
lish, Phrases of this kind are more familiar in Ger-
man,

 
 

THE SUNNYSIDE LIBRARY.

 

aS

 

church-yard, in whose consecrated ground were
the graves of his ancestors: a place which they,
as well as himself, had endowed with rich priv-
ileges and gifts. His shield and helmet lay upon
his coffin, ready to be lowered with it into the

ave, for lord Huldbrand of Ringstetten had

ied the last of his race; the mourners began

their sorrowful march, lifting the melancholy |

wail of their dirges amid the calm unclouded
heaven; father Heilmann preceded the proces-
sion, bearing a lofty crucifix, while Bertalda
followed in her misery, supported by her aged
father.

While proceeding in this manner, they sud-
denly saw, in the midst of the dark-habited
mourning females in the widow’s train, a snow-
white figure, closely vailed, and Srineng its
hands in the wild vehemence of sorrow. ose
next to whom it moved, seized with a secret
dread, started back or on one side; and owing
to their movements, the others, next to whom
the white stranger now came, were terrified still
more, so as to produce almost a complete disar-
rangement of the funeral train. Some of the
military escort ventured to address the figure,
and attempt to remove it from the procession,
but it seemed to vanish from under their hands,
and yet was immediately seen advancing again,
with slow and solemn step, among the followers
of the body. At last, in consequence of the
shrinkin, any, Of the attendants, it came close
behind Bertalda. It now moved so slowly, that
the widow was not aware of its presence, and it
walked meekly on behind, neither suffering nor
creating disturbance.

This continued until they came to the church-
yard, where the procession formed a circle
round the open grave. Then it was that Ber-
talda perceived her unbidden companion, and
prompted half by anger and half by terror, she
commanded her to depart from the knight’s
pe of final rest. But the vailed female, shak-

g her head with a gentle refusal, raised her
hands toward Bertalda, in lowly supplication,
by which she was greatly moved, and could not
but remember with tears, how Undine had
shown such sweetness of spirit on the Danube,
when she held out to her the coral necklace.

Father Heilmann now motioned with his hand,
and gave order for all to observe perfect still-
ness, that over the body, whose mound was
well-nigh formed, they might breathe a prayer
of silent devotion. Bertalda knelt without
speaking; and all knelt, even the grave-diggers
who had now finished their work. But when
they rose from this breathing of the heart, the
white stranger had SE ee cee On the spot
where she had kneeled, a little spring, of silver
brightness, was gushing out from the green turf,
and it kept swelling and flowing onward with a
low murmur, till it almost encircled the mound
of the knight’s grave; it then continued its
course, and emptied itself into a calm lake,
which lay by the side of the consecrated ground.
Even to this day, the inhabitants of the village
point out the spring: and they cannot but cher-
ish the belief, that it is the poor deserted Undine
who in this manner still fondly encircles her be-
loved in her arms.

THE END.

 

 

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What is dest in POPULAR READING, that the
paper always has; hence for HOME, SHOP, LI-
ARY and GENERAL READER it is without a ri-
ae and hence its great and steadilyincreasing circu-
ation,

The Saturpay Journau is sold everywhere by
newsdealers; price siv cents per number; or to sub-
scribers, po t-paid, at the following cheap rates, viz.:

Four months, one dollar; one year, three dollars; or,
two copies, five dollars.

Address BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers,
98 William street, New York.

 

The Sunnyside Library Series.

1—Lalla Rookh. By Thomas Moore. 10c.
2—Don Juan. By Lord Byron....... 20e.
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5—Lucile. By Owen Meredith....... 10c.
6—Undine, or, Tam Warer-Sririt. From
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BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers,
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BEADLE & ADAMS’

STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIONS.

Speakers.

BEADLE AND ADAMS have now on their lists the fol-
lowing highly desirable and attractive text-books,
prepared expressly for schools, families, ete. Each
volume contains 100 large pages, printed from clear,
open type, comprising the best collection of Dia-
logues, Dramas and Recitations, (burlesque, comic
and otherwise.) The Dime Speakers for the season
of 1877—as far as now issued—embraces eighteen
volumes, viz.:

1, American Speaker, 11. Dime Debater.

. National Speaker. 12, Exhibition Speaker,

. Patriotic Speaker. 13. School Speaker,

. Comic Speaker.

. Elocutionist. 15,

2

3

‘ 14, Ludicrous Speaker,
e Humorous Speaker. 16.
id

9

Komikal Speaker,
Youth’s Speaker.
Eloquent hie ore
Hail Columbia Speak-
. Juvenile Speaker. er.
10. Spread-Eagle Speaker | 19. Serio-Comic Speaker.
These books are arapiete with choice pieces for the
School-room, the ibition, for Homes, etc. They
are drawn from FRESH sources, and contain some of
the choicest oratory of the times. 75 to 100 Declama-
tions and Recitations in each book.

Standard Speaker. Le
. Stump Speaker. 18.

Dialogues.

The Dime Dialogues, each volume 100 pages em-
brace eighteen books, viz.:

Dialogues No. One,
Dialogues No, Two,
Dialogues No. Three.
Dialogues No, Four.
Dialogues No, Five.
Dialogues No. Six.
Seven.

Dialogues No.
Dialogues No, Eight. Dialogues No.
Dialogues No. Nine. Dialogues No,
Dialogues No. Nineteen.
15 to 25 Dialogues and Dramas in each book,

These volumes have been prepared with especial
reference to their availability in all school-rooms,
They are adapted to schools with or without the fur-
niture of a stage, and introduce a range of charac-
ters suited to scholars of every grade, both male and
female. It is fair to assume that no volumes yet
offered to schools, at any price, contain so many
available and useful dialogues and dramas, serious
and comic.

A NEW BOOK OF POPULAR

Dramas and Readings.

164 12mo Pages. 20 Cents.

For Schools, Parlors, Entertainments and the Am-
ateur Stage, ee Original Minor Dramas,
Comedy, Farce, Dress Pieces, Humorous Dialogue
and Burlesque, by noted writers; and Recitations
and areca new and standard, of the greatest
celebrity and interest. Edited by Prof. A. M. Russell,

Ten.
Eleven,
Twelve,
Thirteen,
Fourteen,
Fifteen,
Sixteen.
Seventeen,
Highteen,

Dialogues No.
Dialogues No,
Dialogues No,
Dialogues No,
Dialogues No.
Dialogues No.
Dialogues No.

DIME HAND-BOOKS.
¥ oung People’s Series.

Brapi4’s Dime Hanp-Books For Youne Prope
cover a wide range of subjects, and are especially
adapted to their end. They constitute at once the
cheapest and most useful works yet put into the
market for popular circulation.

Ladies’ Letter-Writer, Book of Games,

Gents’ Letter-Writer. Fortune-Teller,

Book of Etiquette. Lovers’ Casket.

Book of Verses. - | Ball-room Companion,
Book of Dreams, Book of Beauty,

Hand-Books of Games.

© Brapiy’s Dime Hanp-Books of GAMES AND PopULAR.
Hanp-Booxs cover a variety of subjects, and are es-
pecially adapted to their end.

Base-Ball Player for 1877. | Guide to Swimming.
Book of Croquet. Yachting and Rowing,
Chess Instructor. _ Riding and Driving.
Cricket and Football. Book of Pedestrianism,

Manuals for Housewives.

Beapir’s Dime Famity Serres aims to supply a
class of text-books and manuals fitted for every per-
son’s use—the old and the young, the learned and
the unlearned. They are of conceded value.

1, Cook Book. 4, Family Physician.
2, Recipe Book. 5. Dressmaking and Mil-
8, Housekeeper’s Guide. linery.

Lives of Great Americans,

I.—George Washington. | VII.—David Crockett,

II.—John Paul Jones. VIII.—Israel Putnam.
TIl.—Mad AnthonyWayne | IX.—Kit Carson.
IV.—Ethan Allen. X.—Tecumseh.

V.—Marquis de Lafay-| XI.—Abraham Lincoln,

ette, XII.—Pontiac,
VI.—Daniel Boone.
The above publications for sale by all newsdealers,

or will be sent, post-paid, on receipt of price, by
BEADLE & ‘ADAMS, d8 Wim gn, NY