Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship and Travels

And with this she tripped away down hill. Lucidor followed her in deep thought: she was sitting on a pleasant seat; it was Lucinda’s little spot. She invited him to sit by her. Julia. So now we are sitting here, and one is nothing to the other. Thus it was destined to be. The little Quicksilver would not suit you. Love it you could not: it was hateful to you. Julia. But Lucinda, indeed! She is the paragon of all perfections, and the pretty sister was once for all cast out. I see it: the question hovers on your lips, Who has told us all so accurately? Lucidor. There is treachery in it! Julia. Yes, truly! There has been a traitor at work in the matter. Julia. He is soon unmasked: You! You have the praiseworthy or blameworthy custom of talking to yourself; and now, in the name of all, I must confess that in turn we have overheard you. Lucidor (starting up). A sorry piece of hospitality, to lay snares for a stranger in this way! Julia. By no means. We thought not of watching you more than any other. But you know your bed stands in the recess of the wall: on the opposite side is another alcove, commonly employed for laying up household articles. Hither, some days before, we had shifted our old man’s bed, being anxious about him in his remote hermitage; and here, the first night, you started some such passionate soliloquy, which he next morning took his opportunity of rehearsing.

Lucidor had not the heart to interrupt her. He withdrew. Julia (rising and following him). What a service this discovery did us all! For I will confess, if you were not positively disagreeable, the situation which awaited me was not by any means to my mind. To be Frau Oberamtmannin, - what a dreadful state! To have a brave, gallant husband, who is to pass judgment on the people, and, for sheer judgment, cannot get to justice; who can please neither high nor low, and, what is worst, not even himself. I know what my poor mother suffered from the incorruptibility, the inflexibility, of my father. At last, indeed, but not till her death, a certain meekness took possession of him: he seemed to suit himself to the world, to make a truce with those evils which till then he had vainly striven to conquer. Lucidor (stopping short, extremely discontented with the incident, vexed at this light mode of treating it). For the sport of an evening this might pass, but to practise such a disgracing mystification day and night against an unsuspicious stranger is not pardonable. Julia. We are all equally deep in the crime, we all hearkened you; yet I alone pay the penalty of eavesdropping.

Lucidor. All! So much the more unpardonable. And how could you look at me, throughout the day, without blushing, whom at night you were so contemptuously overreaching? But I see clearly with a glance that your arrangements by day were planned to make mockery of me. A fine family! And where was your father’s love of justice all this while? - And Lucinda - Julia. And Lucinda! What a tone was that! You meant to say, did not you, how deeply it grieved your heart to think ill of Lucinda, to rank her in a class with the rest of us? Lucidor. I cannot understand Lucinda. Julia. In other words, this pure, noble soul; this peacefully composed nature, benevolence, goodness itself; this woman as she should be, - unites with a light-minded company, with a freakish sister, a spoiled brother, and certain mysterious persons. That is incomprehensible! Lucidor. Yes, indeed, it is incomprehensible! Julia. Comprehend it, then! Lucinda, like the rest of us, had her hands bound. Could you have seen her perplexity, how fain she would have told you all, how often she was on the very eve of doing it, you would now love her doubly and trebly, if, indeed, true love were not always tenfold and hundred-fold of itself. I can assure you, moreover, that all of us at length thought the joke too long.

Lucidor. Why did you not end it, then? Julia. That, too, I must explain. No sooner had my father got intelligence of your first monologue, and seen, as was easy to do, that none of his children would object to such an exchange, than he determined on visiting your father. The importance of the business gave him much anxiety. A father alone can feel the respect which is due to a father. “He must be informed of it in the first place,” said mine, “that he may not in the end, when we are all agreed, be reduced to give a forced and displeased consent. I know him well: I know how any thought, any wish, any purpose, cleaves to him; and I have my own fears about the issue. Julia, his maps and pictures, he has long viewed as one thing; he has it in his eye to transport all this hither, when the young pair are once settled here, and his old pupil cannot change her abode so readily: on us he is to bestow his holidays; and who knows what other kind, friendly things he has projected? He must forthwith be informed what a trick Nature has played us, while yet nothing is declared, nothing is determined.” And, with this, he exacted from us all the most solemn promise that we should observe you, and, come what might, retain you here till his return. How this return has been protracted; what art, toil, and perseverance it has cost to gain your father’s consent, - he himself will inform you. In short, the business is adjusted: Lucinda is yours.

And thus had the two promenaders, sharply removing from their first resting-place, then pausing by the way, then speaking, and walking slowly through the green fields, at last reached the height, where another well-levelled road received them. The carriage came whirling up: Julia in the mean while turned her friend’s attention to a strange sight. The whole machinery, of which her gay brother had bragged so much, was now alive and in motion: the wheels were already heaving up and down a multitude of people; the seesaws were flying; maypoles had their climbers; and many a bold, artful swing and spring over the heads of an innumerable multitude you might see ventured. The younker had set all a-going, that so the guests, after dinner, might have a gay spectacle awaiting them. “Thou wilt drive through the Nether Hamlet,” cried Julia: “the people wish me well, and they shall see how well I am off.” The hamlet was empty: the young people had all run to the swings and seesaws; old men and women, roused by the driver’s horn, appeared at doors and windows; every one gave salutations and blessings, exclaiming, “Oh, what a lovely pair!” Julia. There, do you hear? We should have suited well enough together after all: you may rue it yet.

Lucidor. But now, dear sister - Julia. Ha! Now dear, when you are rid of me! Lucidor. One single word. On you rests a heavy accusation: what did you mean by that squeeze of the hand, when you knew and felt my dreadful situation? A thing so radically wicked I have never met with in my life before. Julia. Thank Heaven, we are now quits; now all is pardoned: I had no mind for you, that is certain; but that you had utterly and absolutely no mind for me, this was a thing which no young woman could forgive: and the squeeze of the hand, observe you, was for the rogue. I do confess it was almost too roguish: and I forgive myself, because I forgive you; and so let all be forgotten and forgiven! Here is my hand. He took it: she cried, “Here we are again! In our park again; and so, in a trice, we whirl through the wide world, and back too: we shall meet again.” They had reached the garden-hall; it seemed empty: the company, tired of waiting, had gone out to walk. Antoni, however, and Lucinda, came forth. Julia, stepping from the carriage, flew to her friend: she thanked him in a cordial embrace, and restrained not the most joyful tears. The brave man’s cheeks reddened, his features looked forth unfolded; his eye glanced moist; and a fair, imposing youth shone through the veil.

And so both pairs moved off to join the company, with feelings which the finest dream could not have given them. “Thus, my friends,” said Lenardo, after a short preamble, “if we survey the most populous provinces and kingdoms of the firm earth, we observe on all sides, that wherever an available soil appears, it is cultivated, planted, shaped, beautified, and, in the same proportion, coveted, taken into possession, fortified, and defended. Hereby we bring home to our conceptions the high worth of property in land, and are obliged to consider it as the first and best acquirement that can be allotted to man. And if, on closer inspection, we find parental and filial love, the union of countrymen and townsmen, and therefore the universal feeling of patriotism, founded immediately on this same interest in the soil, we cannot but regard that seizing and retaining of space, in the great or the small scale, as a thing still more important and venerable. Yes, Nature herself has so ordered it! A man born on the glebe comes by habit to belong to it: the two grow together, and the fairest ties are spun from their union. Who is there, then, that would spitefully disturb this foundation-stone of all existence; that would blindly deny the worth and dignity of such precious and peculiar gifts of Heaven?

“And yet we may assert, that if what man possesses is of great worth, what he does and accomplishes must be of still greater. In a wide view of things, therefore, we must look on property in land as one small part of the possessions that have been given us. Of these the greatest and the most precious part consists especially in what is movable, and in what is gained by a moving life. “Towards this quarter we younger men are peculiarly constrained to turn; for, though we had inherited from our fathers the desire of abiding and continuing, we find ourselves called by a thousand causes nowise to shut our eyes against a wider out-look and survey. Let us hasten, then, to the shore of the ocean, and convince ourselves what boundless spaces are still lying open to activity, and confess, that, by the bare thought of this, we are roused to new vigor. “Yet, not to lose ourselves in these vast expanses, let us direct our attention to the long and large surface of so many countries and kingdoms combined together on the face of the earth. Here we behold great tracts of land tenanted by Nomades, whose towns are movable, whose life-supporting household goods can be transferred from place to place. We see them in the middle of the deserts, on wide green pasturages, lying, as it were, at anchor in their desired haven. Such movement, such wandering, becomes a habit with them, a necessity: in the end they grow to regard the surface of the world as if it were not bulwarked by mountains, were not cut asunder by streams. Have we not seen the North-east flow towards the South-west; one people driving another before it, and lordship and property altogether changed?

“From over-populous countries, a similar calamity may again, in the great circle of vicissitudes, occur more than once. What we have to dread from foreigners, it may be difficult to say; but it is curious enough, that, by our own over-population, we ourselves are thronging one another in our own domains, and, without waiting to be driven, are driving one another forth, passing sentence of banishment each against his fellow. “Here now is the place and season for giving scope in our bosoms, without spleen or anger, to a love of movement; for unfettering that impatient wish which excites us to change our abode. Yet whatever we may purpose and intend, let it be accomplished, not from passion, or from any other influence of force, but from a conviction corresponding to the wisest judgment and deliberation. “It has been said, and over again said, Where I am well is my country! But this consolatory saw were better worded, Where I am useful is my country! At home you may be useless, and the fact not instantly observed: abroad in the world, the useless man is speedily convicted. And now, if I say, Let each endeavor everywhere to be of use to himself and others, this is not a precept or a counsel, but the utterance of life itself.

“Cast a glance over the terrestrial ball, and for the present leave the ocean out of sight: let not its hurrying fleets distract your thoughts, but fix your eye on the firm earth, and be amazed to see how it is overflowed with a swarming ant-tribe, jostling and crossing, and running to and fro forever! So was it ordained of the Lord himself, when, obstructing the Tower of Babel, he scattered the human race abroad into all the world. Let us praise his name on this account, for the blessing has extended to all generations. “Observe now, and cheerfully, how the young, on every side, instantly get into movement. As instruction is not offered them within doors, and knocks not at their gates, they hasten forthwith to those countries and cities whither the call of science and wisdom allures them. Here, no sooner have they gained a rapid and scanty training, than they feel themselves impelled to look round in the world, whether here and there some profitable experience, applicable to their objects, may not be met with and appropriated. Let these try their fortune! We turn from them to those completed and distinguished men, those noble inquirers into nature, who wittingly encounter every difficulty, every peril, that to the world they may lay the world open, and, through the most impassable, pave easy roads.

“But observe also, on beaten highways, how dust on dust, in long, cloudy trains, mounts up, betokening the track of commodious, top-laden carriages, in which the rich, the noble, and so many others, are whirled along; whose varying purposes and dispositions Yorick has most daintily explained to us. “These the stout craftsman, on foot, may cheerily gaze after; for whom his country has made it a duty to appropriate foreign skill, and not, till this has been accomplished, to revisit his paternal hearth. In still greater numbers do traffickers and dealers meet us on our road: the little trader must not neglect, from time to time, to forsake his shop, that he may visit fairs and markets, may approach the great merchant, and increase his own small profit, by example and participation of the boundless. But yet more restlessly do we descry cruising on horseback, singly, on all high and by ways, that multitude of persons whose business it is, in lawful wise, to make forcible pretension to our purses. Samples of all sorts, prize catalogues, invitations to purchase, pursue us into town-houses and country-houses, and wherever we may seek refuge: diligently they assault us and surprise us; themselves offering the opportunity, which it would have entered no man’s mind to seek. And what shall I say of that people which, before all others, arrogates to itself the blessing of perpetual wandering, and, by its movable activity, contrives to overreach the resting and to overstep the walking? Of them we must say neither ill nor good, - no good, because our League stands on its guard against them; no ill, because the wanderer, mindful of reciprocal advantage, is bound to treat with friendliness whomsoever he may meet.

“But now, above all, we must mention with peculiar affection the whole race of artists; for they, too, are thoroughly involved in this universal movement. Does not the painter wander, with palette and easel, from face to face? and are not his kindred laborers summoned now this way, now that, because in all places there is something to be built and to be fashioned? More briskly, however, paces the musician on his way: for he peculiarly it is that for a new ear has provided new surprise, for a fresh mind fresh astonishment. Players, too, though they now despise the cart of Thespis, still rove about in little choirs; and their moving world, wherever they appear, is speedily enough built up. So likewise, individually, renouncing serious, profitable engagements, these men delight to change place with place, according as rising talents, combined with rising wants, furnish pretext and occasion. For this success they commonly prepare themselves by leaving no important stage in their native land untrodden. “Nor let us forget to cast a glance over the professorial class: these, too, you find in continual motion, occupying and forsaking one chair after the other, to scatter richly abroad on every side the seeds of a hasty culture. More assiduous, however, and of wider aim, are those pious souls who disperse themselves through all quarters of the world to bring salvation to their brethren. Others, on the contrary, are pilgriming to seek salvation for themselves: they march in hosts to consecrated, wonder-working places, there to ask and receive what was denied their souls at home.

“And if all these sorts of men surprise us less by their wandering, as, for most part, without wandering, the business of their life were impossible, of those, again, who dedicate their diligence to the soil, we should certainly expect that they, at least, were fixed. By no means! Even without possession, occupation is conceivable; and we behold the eager farmer forsaking the ground which for years had yielded him profit and enjoyment: impatiently he searches after similar or greater profit, be it far or near. Nay, the owner himself will abandon his new-grubbed clearage so soon as, by his cultivation, he has rendered it commodious for a less enterprising husbandman: once more he presses into the wilderness, again makes space for himself in the forests, - in recompense of that first toiling a double and treble space; on which also, it may be, he thinks not to continue. “There we shall leave him, bickering with bears and other monsters, and turn back into the polished world, where we find the state of things no whit more stationary. Do but view any great and regulated kingdom: the ablest man is also the man who moves the oftenest; at the beck of his prince, at the order of his minister, the Serviceable is transferred from place to place. To him also our precept will apply, Everywhere endeavor to be useful, everywhere you are at home. Yet if we observe important statesmen leaving, though reluctantly, their high stations, we have reason to deplore their fate; for we can neither recognize them as emigrators, nor as migrators, - not as emigrators, because they forego a covetable situation without any prospect of a better even seeming to open; not as migrators, because to be useful in other places is a fortune seldom granted them.

“For the soldier, again, a life of peculiar wandering is appointed: even in peace, now this, now that, post is intrusted to him; to fight, at hand or afar off, for his native country, he must keep himself perpetually in motion, or readiness to move; and not for immediate defence alone, but also to fulfil the remote purposes of nations and rulers, he turns his steps towards all quarters of the world; and to few of his craft is it given to find any resting-place. And as in the soldier courage is his first and highest quality, so this must always be considered as united with fidelity; and, accordingly, we find certain nations famous for trustworthiness, called forth from their home, and serving spiritual or temporal regents as body-guards. “Another class of persons indispensable to governments, and also of extreme mobility, we see in those negotiators who, despatched from court to court, beleaguer princes and ministers, and overnet the whole inhabited world with their invisible threads. Of these men, also, no one is certain of his place for a moment. In peace, the ablest of them are sent from country to country; in war, they march behind the army when victorious, prepare the way for it when fugitive: and thus are they appointed still to be changing place for place; on which account, indeed, they at all times carry with them a stock of farewell cards.

“If hitherto at every step we have contrived to do ourselves some honor, declaring, as we have done, the most distinguished portion of active men to be our mates and fellows in destiny, there now remains for you, my beloved friends, by way of termination, a glory higher than all the rest, seeing you find yourselves united in brotherhood with princes, kings, and emperors. Think first, with blessings and reverence, of the imperial wanderer Hadrian, who on foot, at the head of his army, paced out the circle of the world which was subject to him, and thus in very deed took possession of it. Think then with horror of the Conqueror, that armed wanderer, against whom no resistance availed, no wall or bulwark could shelter armed nations. In fine, accompany with honest sympathy those hapless exiled princes who, descending from the summit of the height, cannot even be received into the modest guild of active wanderers. “And now, while we call forth and illustrate all this to one another, no narrow despondency, no passionate perversion, can rule over us. The time is past when people rushed forth at random into the wide world: by the labors of scientific travellers, describing wisely and copying like artists, we have become sufficiently acquainted with the earth to know moderately well what is to be looked for everywhere.

“Yet, for obtaining perfect information, an individual will not suffice. Our society is founded on the principle that each in his degree, for his purposes, be thoroughly informed. Has any one of us some country in his eye, towards which his wishes are tending, we endeavor to make clear to him, in special detail, what was hovering before his imagination as a whole: to afford each other a survey of the inhabited and inhabitable world is a most pleasant and most profitable kind of conversation. “Under this aspect we can look upon ourselves as members of a Union belonging to the world. Simple and grand is the thought, easy is its execution by understanding and strength. Unity is all-powerful; no division, therefore, no contention, among us! Let a man learn, we say, to figure himself as without permanent external relation: let him seek consistency and sequence, not in circumstances, but in himself; there will he find it; there let him cherish and nourish it. He who devotes himself to the most needful will, in all cases, advance to his purpose with greatest certainty: others, again, aiming at the higher, the more delicate, require greater prudence even, in the choice of their path. But let a man be attempting or treating what he will, he is not, as an individual, sufficient for himself; and, to an honest mind, society remains the highest want. All serviceable persons ought to be related with each other; as the building proprietor looks out for an architect, and the architect for masons and carpenters.

“How and on what principle this Union of ours has been fixed and founded is known to all. There is no man among us who at any moment could not to proper purpose employ his faculty of action, who is not assured that in all places whither chance, inclination, or even passion may conduct him, he will be received, employed, assisted, - nay, in adverse accidents, as far as possible, refitted and indemnified. “Two duties we have most rigorously undertaken, - first, to honor every species of religious worship; for all of them are comprehended more or less directly in the Creed: secondly, in like manner to respect all forms of government, and, since every one of them induces and promotes a calculated activity, to labor according to the wish and will of constituted authorities, in whatever place it may be our lot to sojourn, and for whatever time. Finally, we reckon it our duty, without pedantry or rigor, to practise and forward decorum of manners and morals, as required by that reverence for ourselves which arises from the three reverences, whereto we universally profess our adherence; having all had the joy and good fortune, some of us from youth upwards, to be initiated likewise in the higher general wisdom taught in certain cases by those venerable men. All this, in the solemn hour of parting, we have thought good once more to recount, to unfold, to hear and acknowledge, as also to seal with a trustful farewell.

“Keep not standing, fixed and rooted, Briskly venture, briskly roam: Head and hand, where’er thou foot it, And stout heart, are still at home. In each land the sun does visit: We are gay whate’er betide. To give space for wand’ring is it That the world was made so wide.” At that unhappy period, so fruitful in disasters to Germany, to Europe, and, indeed, to the whole world, when the French army overran the Continent, a family of distinction was compelled to forsake their property on the first invasion, and to flee across the Rhine. They sought to escape those calamities to which persons of noble birth were inevitably exposed, in whom it was considered criminal to be descended from an honorable line of ancestors, and to inherit those privileges and possessions which the virtues or the valor of their forefathers had bequeathed to them. The Baroness of C - , a widow lady of middle age, distinguished for every domestic virtue which could promote the comfort or independence of her family, evinced, upon the occasion of this unforeseen calamity, the most noble spirit of activity and resolute determination. Brought up amidst a wide circle of acquaintances, and, to some extent, already experienced in the reverses of life, she was considered perfect in her private and domestic character, and was remarkable for the real delight she ever felt in the active employment of her faculties. Indeed, the great purpose of her life seemed to consist in rendering services to others;

and it is easy to suppose that her numerous friends never failed to provide her with employment. She was summoned, at the time we speak of, to take the lead of a little band of emigrants. Even for this duty she was prepared; and the same solicitous though cheerful temper, which had invariably distinguished her at home, did not forsake her in this hour of general terror and distress. But cheerfulness was not an entire stranger to our band of fugitives: many an unexpected incident and strange event afforded occasion for the indulgence of mirth and laughter, of which their easily excited minds readily took advantage. The very flight itself was a circumstance well calculated to call out each individual’s peculiar character in a remarkable manner. The mind of one, for instance, was distracted by vain fear and terror; another fell a prey to idle apprehensions; and the extravagances and deficiencies, the weakness, irresolution, or impetuosity, which were displayed on all sides, produced so many instances of vexation and bad temper, that the real trouble of the whole party afforded more mirth than an actual pleasure trip could possibly have occasioned.

As we may sometimes preserve our composure, even during the performance of a farce, without smiling at the most positive drolleries; though we find it impossible to restrain our laughter when any thing absurd occurs in the representation of a tragedy, - so in this real world, the generality of accidents of a serious nature are accompanied by circumstances either ridiculous at the moment, or infallibly productive of subsequent mirth. We must observe that the baroness’s eldest daughter, Louisa, a cheerful, lively, and, at the time of their prosperity, an imperious young lady, had to endure an unusual degree of suffering. She is said to have been quite overwhelmed with terror at the first alarm, and, in her distraction and absence of mind, to have packed together the most useless things with the greatest seriousness, and actually to have made an offer of marriage to one of the old servants of the establishment. She defended herself for this step with much obstinacy, and would not allow her intended to be made a subject of ridicule. In her opinion she suffered enough from her daily fear of the allied army, and from the apprehension that her wished-for marriage might be delayed, or even frustrated, by a general engagement.

Her elder brother, Frederick, who was a youth of decisive character, executed his mother’s orders with precision and exactitude, accompanied the procession on horseback, and discharged at times the various duties of courier, conductor, and guide. The tutor of the baroness’s younger son, who was a well-educated young man, accompanied her in her carriage; whilst uncle Charles, and an elderly clergyman, who had long been an indispensable friend of the family, followed in another vehicle, which was also occupied by two female relations, one young, the other somewhat advanced in years. The servants followed in an open carriage; and the procession was closed by a heavily packed wagon, which occasionally loitered behind. The whole party, as may easily be supposed, had abandoned their dwellings with great reluctance; but uncle Charles had forsaken his residence on this side of the Rhine even more unwillingly than the others, not that he had left his mistress behind, as one might, perhaps, have conjectured from his youth, his figure, and the warmth of his nature: he had rather been seduced by the brilliant phantom, which, under the denomination of freedom, had secured so many adherents, first in secret, then in public, and which, notwithstanding that she was to some a harsh mistress, was all the more devotedly honored by the others.

Just as lovers are generally blinded by their passion, it did happen in the case of uncle Charles. They pant for the possession of a single happiness, and fancy that for this they can endure the privation of every other blessing. Position, fortune, and all advantages, vanish into nothing, compared with the one benefit which is to supply their place. Parents, relatives, and friends are now looked upon as strangers. One desire fills and absorbs their whole being, to which every thing else is to give way. Uncle Charles abandoned himself to the intensity of his passion, and did not conceal it in his conversation. He thought he might express his conviction the more freely, because he was of noble birth, and, although the second son, yet the presumptive heir to a noble fortune. Even this fortune, which was to be his future inheritance, was at present in the enemy’s hands, by whom it had been shamefully wasted. But, in spite of all this, Charles could not hate a nation which promised such advantages to the world at large, and whose principles he approved, according to his own admission, and the evidence of some of his associates. He constantly disturbed the peace of the little community (seldom as they enjoyed such a blessing) by an indiscriminate praise of every thing, good or bad, which happened amongst the French, and by his noisy delight at their success. By this means he irritated his companions, who felt their own grievances doubly aggravated by the malicious triumphs of their friend and relation.

Frederick had already been engaged in frequent disputes with him, and latterly they had ceased to hold communication with each other. But the baroness, by her prudent management, had secured his moderation, at least for a time. Louisa gave him the greatest trouble, for she often used the most unfair methods to cast a slur upon his character and judgment. The tutor silently pronounced him right, the clergyman silently pronounced him wrong: and the female attendants, who were charmed with his figure and with his liberality, heard him with delight; because, whilst they listened to his lectures, they could honorably fix on him those loving eyes, which, until that time, had ever been modestly bent upon the ground. Their daily necessities, the obstacles of the journey, and their disagreeable quarters, generally led the whole company to a consideration of their immediate interests; and the great number of French and German fugitives whom they constantly met, and whose conduct and fortunes were various, often made them consider how much occasion existed at such times for the practice of every virtue, but particularly of liberality and forbearance. The baroness, on one occasion, observed aloud, that nothing could show more clearly the deficiencies of men in these virtues than the opportunity afforded for their exercise, by occasions of general confusion and distress. Our whole constitution, she maintained, resembled a ship chartered in a season of tempest, to convey a countless crowd of men, old and young, healthy and infirm, across a stormy sea; but only in the hour of shipwreck could the capabilities of the crew be displayed, - an emergency when even the good swimmer often perished.

Fugitives, for the most part, carry their faults and ridiculous peculiarities along with them; and we wonder at this circumstance. But as the English traveller never leaves his teakettle behind in any quarter of the globe; so are the generality of mankind invariably accompanied by their stock of proud pretensions, vanity, intolerance, impatience, obstinacy, prejudices, and envy. Thus, the thoughtless enjoyed this flight as they would have enjoyed a party of pleasure; and the discontented required, even now in their moments of abject poverty, that their every want should be supplied. How rare is the display of that pure virtue which incites us to live and sacrifice ourselves for others! In the mean time, whilst numerous acquaintances were formed, which gave occasion to reflections of this nature, the season of winter was brought to a close. Fortune once more smiled on the German arms, the French were again driven across the Rhine, Frankfort was relieved, and Mainz was invested. Trusting to the farther advance of our victorious troops, and anxious to take possession of a part of their recovered property, the family we speak of set out for an estate situated in one of the most beautiful parts of the country, on the right bank of the Rhine. We can ill describe the rapture with which they once more beheld the silver stream flowing beneath their windows, the joy with which they took possession of every part of their house, and hailed the sight of their well-known furniture, their old family pictures, and of every trifle they had long given up as totally lost; and they indulged the fondest anticipations of finding every thing flourishing as heretofore on their side of the Rhine.

The arrival of the baroness had scarcely been announced in the village, when all her former acquaintances, friends, and dependants hastened to welcome her, to recount the various vicissitudes of the last few months, and, in more than one instance, to implore her advice and assistance. In the midst of these interviews, she was most agreeably surprised by a visit from the Privy Councillor S. and his family, a man who, from his earliest youth, had followed business as a pursuit of pleasure, and who had both merited and acquired the confidence of his sovereign. His principles were firm, and he indulged his own peculiar notions upon many subjects. He was precise, both in his conversation and conduct, and required others to be so too. A dignified deportment was, in his opinion, the highest virtue a man could possess. His sovereign, his country, and himself had suffered much from the invasion of the French. He had experienced the despotic character of that nation who were perpetually boasting of justice, and had felt the tyranny of men who always had the cry of freedom on their lips. We had observed, however, the general consistency of character which prevailed, and had marked how many persons witnessed, with feelings of angry disappointment, the substitution of mere words for practice, and of empty appearance for reality. The consequences to be expected from an unfortunate campaign did not escape his acute penetration any more than the results of the general maxims and opinions we have quoted, though it must be admitted his views upon all subjects were neither cheerful nor dispassionate.

His wife, who had been an early friend of the baroness, after the experience of so much adversity found a perfect paradise in the arms of her former companion. They had grown up together, had been educated together, and had always shared each other’s confidence. The early inclinations of their youth, their more important matrimonial interests, their joys and cares and domestic anxieties, had always been communicated, either personally or by correspondence, as they had for years maintained an uninterrupted intimacy with each other; but this was at length broken by the general troubles of the eventful times. Their present intercourse was, for this reason, the more affectionate, and their interviews the more frequent; and the baroness observed with pleasure, that the intimacy of Louisa with the daughters of her friend was daily increasing. Unfortunately the complete enjoyment of that delightful part of the country was often disturbed by the roar of cannon, which was heard in the distance, sometimes loudly and sometimes indistinctly, according to the point of the wind. Moreover, it was impossible to avoid conversations upon political subjects, which were introduced by the perpetual rumors of the day, and which generally disturbed the temporary tranquillity of society; as the various ideas and opinions of all parties were usually propounded without reserve.

And as intemperate men seldom refrain from wine or injurious food on account of their experience of the evil consequences which such enjoyments occasion; so, in this instance, the several members of the society we speak of, in place of imposing restraint upon their conversation, abandoned themselves to the irresistible impulse of vexing each other, and thus eventually opened a channel of most disagreeable reflections. We can readily suppose that the privy councillor adopted the opinions of those who advocated the old régime, and that Charles took the opposite side, in expectation that the approaching changes would heal and re-animate the old, shattered constitution of the country. The conversation was carried on at first with some degree of moderation, particularly as the baroness sought, by her well-timed and graceful interruptions, to maintain the balance equal between both parties; but when the important crisis of the conversation arrived, and the investment of Mainz was about to change to an actual siege, and the fears of all increased for that beautiful city and its abandoned inhabitants, both sides asserted their opinions with unrestrained violence. The members of the clubs who had remained in the town were particularly discussed; and each expressed his hope of their liberation or punishment, according as he approved or condemned their conduct.

Amongst the latter class was the privy councillor, whose observations were especially displeasing to Charles; as he assailed the sound judgment of those people, and charged them with a thorough ignorance of the world and of themselves. “What blind dolts they must be!” he exclaimed one afternoon when the discussion became warm, “to think that a great nation, employed in an effort to suppress its own internal commotions, and which, in sober moments, has no other object than its own prosperity, can look down upon them with any sort of sympathy. Used as temporary tools, they will at last be thrown away or utterly neglected. How grossly they err in thinking that they will ever be admitted into the ranks of the French nation! “Nothing seems more ridiculous to the strong and powerful than weakness and inefficiency setting up its pretensions to equality, wrapped in the obscurity of its own fancies, and in the ignorance of itself, its powers, and its qualities. And can you suppose that the great nation, with that good fortune with which it has been hitherto favored, will be less haughty and overbearing than any other royal conqueror? “Many a person, who now struts about in his municipal robes and gaudy attire, will heartily curse the masquerade when, after having helped to oppress his countrymen, by a new and disadvantageous change of things he finds himself at last, in his new character, despised by those in whom he wholly confided. Indeed, it is my firm opinion, that upon the surrender of the town, which must soon take place, those people will be abandoned or given up to us. I hope they will then receive their reward in that punishment they so richly deserve, according to my opinion, which is as unprejudiced as possible.”

“Unprejudiced!” exclaimed Charles with vehemence: “I beg I may never hear that word again. How can we so unequivocally condemn these men? Have they not actually devoted their whole lives to the old pursuit of serving the more favored classes of mankind? Have they not occupied the few habitable rooms of the old mansion, and toiled diligently therein? or, rather, have they not felt the inconvenience of the deserted part of your state palace, by the obligation of living there in a state of misery and oppression? Uncorrupted by frivolous pursuits, they do not consider their own occupation to be alone noble; but in silence they deplore the prejudice, the irregularity, the indolence and ignorance upon which your statesmen build their foolish claims to reverence, and in silence they pray for a more equal division of labor and enjoyment. And who can deny that their ranks contain at least some such men of intelligence and virtue, who, if they cannot now realize universal good, can fortunately aid in modifying evil and in preparing for a happy future? and, if there be such noble beings amongst them, should we not deplore the approach of that evil hour which must destroy, perhaps forever, their fondest anticipations?”

The privy councillor, upon this, sneered with some degree of bitterness at certain youths who were in the habit of idealizing upon practical subjects; whilst Charles was equally severe upon men whose thoughts were merely formed upon antiquated precedents, and who never adopted any but compulsory reforms. By reciprocal contradictions of this nature, the dispute became gradually more violent; and every topic was introduced which has for so many years tended to dismember society. In vain did the baroness endeavor to establish a truce, if not to make peace, between the contending parties; and the wife of the privy councillor, who from her estimable qualities had acquired some influence over Charles’s disposition, interposed also to no effect, more particularly as her husband continued to launch his poisoned shafts against youth and inexperience, and enlarged upon the especial aptitude of children to play with fire, a dangerous element which they were wholly unable to control. Charles, forgetting prudence in his anger, now declared openly that he wished every success to the French arms, and called upon all his countrymen to aid in putting an end to their general slavery; expressing his conviction that their so-called enemies would protect every noble German who should join them, would regard them and treat them as their own countrymen, and crown them with honors, fortune, and rewards, in place of sacrificing or leaving them in misery.

But the councillor maintained it was ridiculous to suppose that the French would bestow a thought upon them, whether they capitulated or not; that they would probably fall into the hands of the allies, by whom he hoped they would all be hanged. Charles was provoked by this speech, and expressed his wish that the guillotine might find a rich harvest in Germany, and that no guilty head might escape. He added some cutting observations which were aimed at the councillor personally, and were in every sense offensive. “I shall take leave of a society,” interrupted the latter, “in which every thing is now slighted which once seemed worthy of respect. I lament that I should be for the second time expelled, and now by a fellow-countryman; but I am well aware that less pity may be expected from this new foe than from the French themselves: and I find here a confirmation of the old proverb, that it is better to fall into the hands of the Turks than of renegades.” So saying, he rose, and left the apartment. He was followed by his wife, and a general silence ensued. The baroness expressed her displeasure in a few words of strong import. Charles walked up and down the room. The councillor’s wife returned in tears, and stated that her husband had given directions for leaving, and had actually ordered the carriage. The baroness went to pacify him; whilst the young ladies wept, and kissed each other, distressed beyond measure that they were compelled so suddenly and so unexpectedly to separate. The baroness returned without succeeding in her wishes. Gradually all those troubles approached which it is ever the lot of strangers to encounter. The sad moments of separation and departure were bitter beyond expression. Hope vanished with the appearance of the post-horses, and the general sorrow was redoubled.

The carriage drove off. The baroness followed it with her eyes full of tears. She left the window, and sat down to her embroidery-frame. The silence, and even despair, was universal. Charles showed his sorrow by sitting in a corner, and intently turning over the leaves of a book, directing at intervals a melancholy look towards his aunt. At length he rose, and took his hat, as if about to depart, but turned round on reaching the door, and approaching his aunt he exclaimed, with a countenance truly noble, “I have offended you, my dear aunt, I have distressed you; but pardon my thoughtlessness: I acknowledge my fault, and am deeply sensible of its sad consequences.” “I forgive you,” replied the baroness: “I entertain no ill-feeling towards you, - you are a good and noble being, but you can never repair the injury you have done. Your error has deprived me of a friend to whom, after a long separation, I had been restored by the accident of our joint misfortunes, and in whose society I have forgotten much of the misery which has pursued and threatens us. She herself, driven from her home under most painful circumstances, and long a fugitive, after a short repose in the society of old and beloved friends, in this delightful spot and comfortable dwelling, is again compelled to wander forth; and we lose the company of her husband, who, in spite of some peculiarities, is a man of noble integrity, possessing an inexhaustible knowledge of society and of the world, of facts and experiences which he is ever ready to communicate with the most cheerful and delightful willingness. Of all these enjoyments we have been deprived by your fault, and how can you restore what we have lost?”

Charles. Spare me, my dear aunt. I feel deeply the weight of my fault: cease to explain to me its evident consequences. Baroness. Rather contemplate them as closely as possible. Talk not of sparing you: only inquire how your mind may be corrected. It is not the first time you have thus erred, nor will it be the last. Ye inexplicable men! Cannot even misery, which brings you together under one roof, and confines you in one narrow dwelling, induce you to practise forbearance towards each other? Do you need any additional calamities besides those which are perpetually bursting upon you? Consider your condition, and act sensibly and justly towards those who, in truth, would deprive you of nothing. Restrain your tempers from working and fermenting blindly, like some storm or other natural phenomenon which disturbs the world. Charles made no reply. The tutor advanced from the window, where he had been standing, towards the baroness, and said his pupil would improve; that this event would act as a warning, that he should test his progress daily, that he would remember the distress the baroness had endured, and would afford convincing evidence of the self-restraint he could practice. Baroness. How easily men deceive themselves, especially in this particular. Authority is so delightful a word, and it sounds so noble to promise to control ourselves. Men speak of it with pleasure, and would persuade us that they can seriously practise the virtue. I wish I had ever known a man capable of subduing himself in the smallest particular. In indifferent matters they affect resolution, as if the loss occasioned actual suffering; whilst their real desires are considered as supremely essential, unavoidable, and indispensable. I have never known a man capable of enduring the smallest privation.

Tutor. You are seldom unjust, and I have never seen you so overpowered by anger and disappointment as at present. Baroness. Well, I need not be ashamed of my anger. When I think of my friend, who is now pursuing her journey in discomfort, weeping, probably, at the recollection of our inhospitality, my heart burns with indignation. Tutor. In your greatest trouble, I have never seen you so agitated and exasperated as now. Baroness. A small evil, which follows closely upon a greater, can fill the cup; though, in truth, it is no small evil to lose a friend. Tutor. Be comforted, and rely upon our improvement, and that we will do all in our power to content you. Baroness. No: I shall rely upon none of you. But, for the future, I will demand obedience from all. I will command in my own house. “Command, certainly!” exclaimed Charles; “and you shall not have to complain of our disobedience.” “My severity will scarcely be very harsh,” rejoined the baroness, with a smile, as she recovered herself: “I am not fond of commanding, particularly democrats; but I will give you some advice, and make one request.” Tutor. Both shall we consider as laws to be strictly observed.

Baroness. It would be ridiculous, if I thought to impair the interest you all take in the great events of the world, - events, the victims of which we ourselves have become. I cannot change the opinions which exist and are established in the mind of each of you, according to his peculiar disposition; and it would be no less harsh than foolish to require of you to suppress them. But I can demand this, at least, from the circle in which I live, that those of similar sentiments shall associate peaceably together, and converse in harmony. In your private apartments, during your walks, and wherever else you meet, you may communicate together at will, support your respective opinions, and enjoy the gratification of an ardent conviction. But, my dear friends, let us not forget how much we were accustomed to sacrifice of our own individual opinions, for the sake of general harmony, long before these new topics became the fashion; and, as long as the world lasts, we must all, for the general benefit, practise some outward self-control. It is not, therefore, for the sake of virtue, but in the name of common politeness, that I implore you now to concede to me a favor which I think I may safely say you have always granted to the veriest stranger.

It seems to me strange, continued the baroness, that we should have so far forgotten ourselves. What has become of our politeness? It used to be the custom in society to avoid topics disagreeable to others. Protestants, in the company of Catholics, never asserted that church ceremonies were ridiculous; and the most bigoted Catholic never maintained, before a Protestant, that the old religion afforded the only chance of salvation. In the presence of a mother who had lost her son, no one displayed the deep delight he took in his children; and an inappropriate word occasioned general embarrassment. It seemed the duty of each to repair the accidental evil, but now the very reverse of all this seems to be the rule. We appear to seek the opportunity of introducing subjects calculated to give pain. Oh, my dear friends, let us try and restore the old system! We have much to endure already; and who knows how soon the smoke of the day, or the flames of the night, may announce the destruction of our dwellings and of our most valued possessions? Let us, at least, forbear to announce this intelligence with triumph: let us cease, by our own bitter observations, to impress our souls with calamities which it is painful enough to endure in silence.

When your father died, was it your habit to renew my grief upon every opportunity by a reference to the sad subject? Did you not rather avoid all improper allusion to his memory, and seek by your love, your silent sympathy, and your incessant attentions, to soften my sorrow and relieve my pain? Should not we now practise the same kind forbearance, which often brings more consolation than the offices of active friendship, more particularly at this time, when ours is not the grief of an individual in the midst of a happy multitude, where sorrow disappears amid the general content, but the grief of thousands, where but few indeed are capable of experiencing an accidental or artificial consolation? Charles. My dear aunt, you have sufficiently humiliated us: may we take your hand in token of reconciliation? Baroness. Here it is, on condition that you will obey its guidance. We proclaim a general amnesty, which it is now barely possible to resolve upon with sufficient speed. The young ladies, who had all been dissolved in tears since the event we have related, now made their appearance, but could not be persuaded to be reconciled to Charles. “You are welcome, children,” said the baroness, addressing them. “We have just had a serious conversation, which, I trust, will establish peace and harmony amongst us: perhaps it was never more important that we should be friends, and enjoy even one brief portion of the day.

Let us make this resolution, to banish from our conversation all reference to the mere events of the time. How long have we been deprived of all instruction and entertaining intercourse! How long it seems, dear Charles, since you have amused us with accounts of distant lands, with whose productions, inhabitants, manners, and customs, you are so well acquainted! And you,” continued the baroness, addressing the tutor, “you have not lately instructed us in history, ancient or modern, in the comparison of centuries or of remarkable men. And you, young ladies! where are the pretty poems you used to bring forth from their hiding-places for the delight of your friends? what has become of all your free philosophic observations? Have you no more ambition to surprise us with some wonderful mineral specimen, some unknown plant, or remarkable insect, brought home from your walks, and affording occasion for pleasing speculations on the mysterious connection of all the productions of nature? Let us restore all those charming amusements by an agreement, a resolution, a rule, to be useful, instructive, and, above all things, companionable, towards each other; for all these advantages we can enjoy, even in the most extreme adversity. You promise, children.”

They promised eagerly. “And now I dismiss you,” added the baroness: “the evening is fine, amuse yourselves as you please; and at supper-time let us enjoy a friendly communion together, after so long an interruption.” The company separated. Louisa alone remained with her mother. She could not so easily forget the misfortune of losing her companion, and allowed Charles, whom she had invited to accompany her upon a walk, to set out alone. For some time the baroness and her daughter remained together, when the clergyman entered, after a long absence, entirely ignorant of what had, in the mean time, happened. Laying by his hat and stick, he took a seat, and was about to narrate something, when Louisa, pretending to continue a conversation with her mother, cut short his intention with the following observations: - “Some of our company will, I think, find the arrangement we have come to rather disagreeable. When we lived in the country, it is true, we were sometimes at a loss for conversation; for it did not happen so often, as in town, that a girl could be slandered, or a young man traduced: but still we had an alternative in describing the follies of two great nations, in finding the Germans as absurd as the French, and in representing first one, and then the other, as Jacobins and Radicals. But, if these topics are forbidden, some of our society will be rendered stupid.”

“Is this attack aimed at me, young lady?” asked the old clergyman with a smile. “You know how ready I am to be sacrificed for the benefit of the company. For though upon all occasions you do credit to your instructors, and every one finds your society both amiable and delightful, yet there is a certain little malicious spirit within you, which, notwithstanding all your efforts, you cannot entirely subdue, and which prompts you to take your revenge at my expense. Tell me, gracious lady,” he continued, turning towards the baroness, “what has occurred during my absence, and what topics have been excluded from our society?” The baroness informed him of all that had taken place. He listened attentively, and then observed that “this regulation would probably enable many persons to entertain the company better than others.” “We shall be able to endure it,” said Louisa. “Such an arrangement,” he added, “will not be grievous to those who have been accustomed to rely upon their own resources: on the contrary, they will find it pleasant; since they can amuse the company with such pursuits as they have followed in private. And do not be offended, young lady, if I attribute to society the very existence of all newsmongers, spies, and slanderers. For my part, I never see persons so lively and so animated, either at a learned meeting or at a public lecture convened for general instruction, as in a society where some piece of scandal is introduced which reflects on the character of a neighbor.

Ask yourself, or ask others, what invests a piece of news with its greatest charm? Not its importance, nor its influence, but its mere novelty. Nothing old is cared for: novelty by itself excites our surprise, awakens the imagination, gently agitates the feelings, and requires no exertion of the reasoning powers. Every man can take the most lively interest in a piece of news with the least trouble to himself: indeed, since a succession of new events carries us rapidly from one circumstance to another, nothing is more welcome to the generality of mankind than this inducement to constant diversion, and this opportunity of venting their spleen and malice in an agreeable and varied manner.”

“Well!” exclaimed Louisa, “you show some skill at explanation: just now you censured individuals, at present you condemn mankind in general.” “I do not require,” he answered, “that you should render me justice: but this I must say, we who depend upon society must act according to its rules; and it would be safer to provoke its resentment than its ennui, by requiring it to think or reflect. We must avoid every thing that would tend to this result, and pursue by ourselves in private whatever would prove unpalatable to the public.” “By yourselves in private,” said Louisa, “many a bottle of wine will, I suppose, be drunk, and many a nap taken in the daytime.” “I have never,” continued the old clergyman, “set much value upon my own actions; for I know how little I have done for others: I am, however, in possession of something which may, perhaps, afford agreeable relaxation to this society, circumstanced as it is at present.” “To what do you allude?” inquired the baroness. “Rely upon it,” interrupted Louisa, “he has made some marvellous collection of scandals.” “You are mistaken,” replied the clergyman. “We shall see,” answered Louisa. “Let him continue, my dear,” said the baroness: “and do not accustom yourself to act in a hard and unfriendly manner towards others, even in jest; as they may take it ill. We have no need to increase our evil habits by practising them for entertainment. Tell me, my dear friend, of what does your collection consist? Will it conduce to our amusement? Have you been long employed about it? Why have you never mentioned it before?”

“I will give you an account of the whole matter,” rejoined the old clergyman. “I have lived long in the world, and have paid much attention to public occurrences. I have neither talent nor inclination for chronicling great actions, and worldly affairs in general are troublesome to me; but amongst the many private histories, true and false, which sometimes happen in public or are related in private, there are some which possess a greater attraction than the charm of mere novelty, some which are calculated to improve us by their moral application, some which display at a glance the secret springs of human nature, and others, again, whose very absurdities are amusing. Amongst the multitude of occurrences which attract our attention and our malice in ordinary life, and which are as common as the individuals to whom they relate, I have noted down a few on account of their peculiar character, because they engaged and excited my attention and feelings; and the very recollection of them has never failed to produce a momentary sensation of pure and tranquil pleasure.” “I am curious to hear,” said the baroness, “the nature of your anecdotes, and to learn their peculiar character.” “You may easily suppose,” replied the clergyman, “that they are not about disputes or family matters. Such things have little interest except for those who are engaged in them.”

Louisa. And what are yours about? Clergyman. Why, for the most part, they treat of those emotions by which friends become attached or disunited, happy or miserable, and by which they are more frequently entangled than improved. Louisa. Indeed! I suppose you will produce a collection of merry adventures for our instruction and improvement. Excuse me for making this observation, dear mamma; it seems so evident: and it is, of course, allowable to speak the truth. Clergyman. I suspect that you will not find any thing in the whole collection which may be styled merry. Louisa. - And what would you consider of that description? Clergyman. Scandalous dialogues or situations are my abhorrence. I object equally that common adventures, which are unworthy of engaging our attention, should be told with exaggerated importance: they excite our expectations unduly, in place of giving real pleasure to the mind. They make a mystery of that which should be wholly unveiled, or from which we should altogether turn our eyes. Louisa. I do not understand you. You will, however, relate your stories with some degree of elegance. I hope our ears will not be offended by any coarse adventures. You must consider us in the light of a ladies’ seminary, and look for our thanks as your recompense.

Clergyman. Nothing of the sort. But, in truth, you will hear nothing new, particularly as I have, for some time back, observed that you never miss the perusal of certain criticisms in some of the learned reviews. Louisa. You are really too bad. Clergyman. You are engaged to be married, and I therefore pardon you. But I am obliged to show that I also possess arrows which I know how to use. Baroness. I see your object plainly, but you must let her see it likewise. Clergyman. Then, I must repeat what I said at the beginning of this conversation. But it seems you had not the politeness to pay attention. Louisa. What is the use of attention or of much argument? Look at the matter in any light, they will be scandalous stories, in some shape or other, and nothing else. Clergyman. Must I repeat, young lady, that a well-regulated mind only perceives scandal when it reads of wickedness, arrogance, a desire to injure, and an unwillingness to oblige? and from such spectacles he should avert his eyes. He finds pleasure in the narration of trifling faults and failings, and contemplates with satisfaction those points of the story where good men contend with themselves, with their desires and their intentions, where silly and conceited mortals are rebuked, corrected, or deceived, and where hopes, wishes, and designs are disturbed, interrupted, and frustrated, or unexpectedly fulfilled, accomplished, and confirmed. But, on those scenes where accident combines with human weakness and inefficiency, he dwells with the greatest delight; and none of the heroes whose history he authenticates has either blame to apprehend or praise to expect from him.

Baroness. Your introduction excites our wish to hear a specimen. We have spent the greater part of our lifetime in one circle, and have never experienced any thing worthy to find a place in such a collection. Clergyman. Much undoubtedly depends upon the observer, and upon the peculiar view he takes of occurrences. But I will not deny that I have made large extracts from old books and traditions. Perhaps you will have no objection to see some of your old friends with new faces. And this gives me a privilege of which I must not be deprived, - that none of my tales shall be doubted. Louisa. But we are not to be prevented from recognizing our friends and acquaintances, or, if we please, from expounding the enigma. Clergyman. Certainly not. But you will allow me, under such circumstances, to produce an old folio, to prove that the identical occurrence happened, and was made matter of record, some centuries ago. And I must be permitted to smile, when some narration is pronounced to be an old fable, though it may have taken place amongst ourselves, without our being able to recognize the characters. Louisa. We shall never begin. Had we not better declare a truce for this evening; and do you commence a story at once, by way of specimen?

Clergyman. Permit me, in this instance, to be guilty of disobedience. The entertainment is intended for the whole assembled company. We must not deprive them of it; and I must premise beforehand, that whatever I have to say possesses no value in itself. But when my audience, after some serious occupation, wishes for a brief repose, and, already sated with good things, desires the addition of a light dessert, then I shall be ready, and only hope that what I shall provide may not prove unpalatable. Baroness. In that case, we had better postpone the amusement till to-morrow. Louisa. I am beyond measure curious to know what it will be. Clergyman. You must not be so, young lady; for great expectations are seldom satisfied. That same evening, after dinner, the baroness retired early to her apartment; whilst the rest of the company remained together, and discussed the many reports which were current, and the various incidents which had happened. As is generally the case in such circumstances, few of them knew what to doubt or what to believe. The old clergyman had his remedy for such an emergency. “I propose,” said he, “as the most convenient plan, that we all believe implicitly whatever we find pleasant, and that we reject, without ceremony, whatever we find unpleasant, and that we admit to be true what can be so.”

It was then remarked by some one, that men generally acted in this way; and, after some desultory conversation, they commented upon that strange propensity of our nature to believe in the marvellous. They talked of romances and visions: and, when the old clergyman had promised at a future time to relate some interesting anecdotes upon these subjects, Louisa exclaimed, “It will be extremely good of you, and you will merit our gratitude, by telling us a story of that description now; for we are all in the proper humor for it: we shall pay attention and be thankful.” Without needing further entreaties, the old clergyman commenced at once, as follows: - “During my residence in Naples, an event happened which attracted universal attention, and with regard to which public opinion varied exceedingly. Some persons maintained that the circumstance had actually occurred; whilst others asserted, that, though true in general, it was founded upon a gross deceit. The latter class of persons were at further variance amongst themselves: they could not agree who was the deceiver. Others held it to be far from clear that spiritual natures were incapable of influencing the elements and human bodies, and maintained that we were not justified in pronouncing every marvellous occurrence to be a fraud or a delusion. But now to the facts themselves.

“At the time I speak of, a singer named Antonelli was the favorite of the Neapolitan public. In the bloom of youth, beauty, and talents, she was deficient in none of those enchantments by which women can allure and captivate, and render a certain class of their favorites happy. She was not insensible to the charms of love and flattery; but, naturally temperate and sensible, she knew how to enjoy the delights of both, without losing that self-respect which was so essential to her happiness. The young, the distinguished, and the rich, flocked to her in crowds; but she admitted few to her friendship: and, if she pursued her own inclination in the choice of her admirers, she evinced, upon all occasions, so firm and resolute a character, that she attached every person to her. I had an opportunity of observing her upon one occasion, in consequence of my close intimacy with one of her especial favorites. “Some years had elapsed: her friends were numerous; and amongst the number were many foolish, simple, and fickle personages. It was her opinion that a lover who, in a certain sense, is every thing to woman, generally proves deficient in those very emergencies when she most needs his assistance; as, for example, in the difficulties of life, in domestic necessities, and upon the occurrence of sudden disasters. In such times she maintained that his own self-love often proved absolutely prejudicial to his mistress, and his advice became positively dangerous.

“Her former attachments were insufficient to satisfy her soul. The void required to be filled. She wished for a friend; and scarcely had she felt this want, when she found, amongst those who sought her favors, a youth upon whom she bestowed her confidence, of which in every respect he seemed worthy. “He was a native of Genoa, and had taken up his residence in Naples, to transact the mercantile business of a firm to which he belonged. His natural talents had been improved by a most excellent education. His knowledge was extensive, his mind and body were sound and active, and his general conduct might serve as a model; and in his attention to others he ever seemed forgetful of himself. He was imbued with the commercial spirit for which his native town was distinguished. All his speculations were upon a large scale. His condition, however, was none of the happiest. The firm had entered into some unfortunate transactions, and became entangled in ruinous law-suits. Time only increased the difficulties; and the anxiety he endured gave him an air of melancholy, which was not unbecoming, and made Antonelli still more desirous of his acquaintance, from the idea that he stood in need of a friend.

“Until now he had only seen Antonelli in public: but, at his first request, she granted him access to her house; even urging him to visit her, a favor which he did not fail to accept. “She lost no time in communicating to him her confidence and her wishes. He was no less surprised than delighted at her proposals. She implored him earnestly to be her friend, but to make no pretensions to the privileges of a lover. She made him acquainted with some embarrassments in which she had become involved, and his great experience enabled him to offer advice and assistance for her speedy release. In return for this confidence, he unfolded to her his own situation: and, whilst she endeavored to cheer and console him, many new plans occurred to him, which he had not thought of before; and she thus appeared to be his adviser: and a reciprocal friendship, founded on the highest regard and respect, was established between them. “Unfortunately, we do not always consider the practicability of the obligations we incur. He had promised to be her friend, and to make no pretensions to the privileges of a lover. But he could not deny that those who came to see her as such were not only unwelcome to, but were detested by, him; and it was extremely painful to him when she meant to amuse him with the description of their various characters.

“It soon happened, fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, that her heart was again free. This was a source of extreme delight to our young friend, who lost no time in entreating that the vacant place might be allotted to him. With some reluctance she listened to his proposals. ‘I fear,’ she said, ‘that, in making this concession, I shall lose my friend.’ Her anticipation was correct; for scarcely had he for a short time filled this double character, when he found her temper change. As her friend he had been content with her respect; as a lover he demanded her affection; and, as an intelligent and accomplished man, constant entertainment. But this was more than Antonelli expected. She was unwilling to make an entire sacrifice of herself, and had no wish to surrender her absolute liberty to any one. She soon adopted ingenious expedients for curtailing the length of his visits, for avoiding his presence, and for making him sensible that she would not consent to forego her independence for any consideration. “This discovery was to him a source of the greatest misery; and, unfortunately, the calamity did not come alone. His domestic affairs became more and more involved; and he found reason for reproaching himself with having always considered his income as inexhaustible, and with having neglected his business in order to engage in foreign travel, and to make a greater figure in the world than he was entitled to do, from the advantages of his birth and income.

The law-suits, from which he expected so much, were tardy and expensive. They took him frequently to Palermo; and, upon the occasion of his last journey thither, Antonelli adopted means to change the nature of her establishment, for the purpose of becoming gradually disengaged from him. On his return he found her in another residence, at some distance from his; and he saw that the Marquis of S., who at that time exercised great influence in the world of fashion, had unreserved admission to her house. He was greatly affected by this discovery, which brought on a serious illness. Upon hearing this sad intelligence, Antonelli hastened to him, attended him; and, as she was fully aware that his purse was but scantily supplied, she left a large sum of money, which supplied his necessities for a considerable time.

“In consequence of his efforts to restrain her freedom, he had fallen considerably in her estimation. As her attachment diminished, her suspicions increased; and she at length began to think that a person who had managed his own affairs so badly was not entitled to a high character for good sense. But he was unaware of the great change which had taken place in her feelings towards him; and he attributed her anxiety for his recovery, and the constancy of her attentions which induced her to spend whole days at his bedside, rather to her love for him than to compassion for his sufferings; and he hoped, upon his recovery, to find himself once more re-instated in her favor. “But he was grievously mistaken. With his restoration to health and strength, all semblance of affection disappeared; and he now seemed as odious in her eyes as he had formerly proved agreeable. In addition to this, his temper had unconsciously become soured and unbearable. He attributed to others all the blame of his own misfortunes, and justified himself fully from their evil consequences. He considered himself an injured and persecuted invalid, and looked for a complete recompense for all his troubles in the devoted affection of his mistress.

“With these exalted expectations he visited Antonelli immediately upon his recovery. He would be satisfied with nothing short of her entire affection, the dismissal of all her other friends and acquaintances, her complete retirement from the stage, and her devoting herself to him alone. She demonstrated the impossibility of complying with these requests, at first in a playful, and afterwards in a more serious, tone. At length she communicated to him the sad intelligence that their connection must end. He left her, and never returned. “For several years afterwards he lived in a retired manner, in the house of a pious old lady, who had a small independence. At this period he gained his first law-suit, and was soon afterwards successful in another; but this change of fortune came too late: his health was undermined, and the joy of his existence had vanished. A slight accident brought on a relapse, and the physician announced to him his approaching death. He heard his fate without a murmur, and merely expressed a wish to see his beautiful friend once more. He sent his servant to her, - the same messenger who, in happier days, had brought him many a delightful answer. He entreated an interview: she refused. He sent a second time, and implored her to consent: she was still inexorable. At length, at midnight, he sent a third time. She was embarrassed, and communicated her situation to me; as I had been invited, along with the marquis and some other friends, to spend the evening at her house. I advised her, indeed begged of her, to show some last attentions to her friend. She appeared undecided at first, but, after a short reflection, made up her mind, and dismissed the servant with a refusal. He did not return.

“After supper we were all engaged in social conversation, and general animation and hilarity prevailed. Suddenly, a little after midnight, a piercing shriek of bitter, painful lamentation was heard. We rose from the table, looked at each other, and wondered what this strange event could mean. The sound seemed to come from the middle of the room in which we were assembled, and die away near the walls. The marquis rushed to the window; whilst we endeavored to support Antonelli, who had fainted. By degrees she regained consciousness. She had scarcely opened her eyes when the jealous and passionate marquis loaded her with the bitterest reproaches. ‘If you choose to have these mysterious understandings with your friends,’ said he, ‘at least let them be of a less fearful nature.’ She replied, with her wonted presence of mind, ‘that, as she had always enjoyed the right of seeing her friends whenever she pleased, she would scarcely select such appalling sounds as they had just heard, to indicate approaching happiness.’ “And, in truth, the cry had in it something unspeakably appalling. The long-continued scream of anguish dwelt upon our ears, and made our very limbs tremble. Antonelli was pale, motionless, and in a continual faint. We sat with her for half the night, but we heard nothing further. On the following night, the same company, who had met together not quite so cheerful as usual, though with a reasonable supply of courage, about the same hour of midnight heard the same identical loud and appalling shriek.

“We had, in the mean time, wearied our imaginations in framing conjectures as to the cause of the cry, and whence it could proceed. But why should I weary you? Whenever Antonelli supped at home, at the self-same hour the same shriek was heard, sometimes louder and sometimes fainter. It was spoken of all over Naples. The mystery excited universal attention. The police were called out. Spies were placed in every direction, to detect the cause of the mystery. To persons in the street, the shriek appeared to come from the open air; whilst in the house it seemed to proceed from the very room in which Antonelli was sitting. When she supped abroad nothing whatsoever occurred; but, as often as she supped at home, the horrid shriek was invariably heard. “But her absence from home did not upon all occasions protect her from this fearful visitation. Her many personal recommendations secured her a welcome reception in the most distinguished families. Being a pleasant companion, she was everywhere well received; and it had lately become her custom, in order to escape the fearful visitation we have described, to spend her evenings from home. “One evening a gentleman of great respectability, owing to his age and position, accompanied her to her house in his carriage. When she was taking leave of him at the door, a loud shriek was heard, which seemed to come from between them; and the gentleman, who, like many others, had often heard of this mysterious occurrence, was lifted into his carriage more like a corpse than a living person.

“Upon another occasion a young singer, to whom she was partial, drove through the town with her in the evening, to visit a friend. He likewise had frequently heard of the wonderful phenomenon we have related, and, with the spirits of a light-hearted youth, had expressed his doubts of its reality. They spoke of the circumstance. ‘I wish extremely,’ said he, ‘that I could hear the voice of your invisible companion; call him, - perhaps he will come: we are two, and need not fear him.’ From thoughtlessness, or indifference to danger, I know not which, she called the spirit: and instantly the piercing shriek issued, as it were, from the middle of the carriage; three times it was heard, and then died away gradually. Arrived at the house of their friend, both were found insensible in the carriage: with difficulty they recovered their senses sufficiently to relate what had happened. “It was some time before Antonelli completely recovered. Her health became impaired by the constantly recurring fright she sustained: but when, at length, her fearful visitor appeared to intend that she should enjoy some repose, she began to hope for a complete cessation of this annoyance; but this expectation was premature.

“At the end of the carnival, accompanied by a young female acquaintance and a servant, she set out upon an excursion of pleasure. It was her intention to visit a friend in the country. Night came on before she reached her destination: an accident happened to the carriage; and she was necessitated to take refuge in a small country inn, and to put up with the indifferent accommodation it afforded. “Her companion had already gone to bed; and the servant, having arranged the night-light, was about to retire, when her mistress observed jestingly, ‘I think we are at the end of the world: it is a dreadful night; I wonder whether he can find us out?’ That very instant the shriek was heard more piercing and louder than ever. Her companion was terrified beyond expression, sprang from her bed, rushed down-stairs, and alarmed the whole house. No one that night closed an eye. It was, however, the last time the shriek was heard. But the unwelcome visitor soon found another more frightful mode of indicating his presence. “He was quiet for a short time, when one evening, at the accustomed hour, as Antonelli sat with her companions at table, a shot from a gun, or from a heavily loaded pistol, was fired in at the window. Every one heard the report, every one saw the flash; but, upon the closest inspection, the window was found not to have sustained the slightest injury. But the circumstance seemed to every one of the most alarming importance, and all thought that an attempt had been made upon Antonelli’s life. The police were called, and the neighboring house was searched; but, as nothing suspicious was found, guards were placed in it next day from top to bottom. Her own dwelling was carefully examined, and spies were even dispersed about the streets.

“But all this precaution was useless. For three months in succession, at the very same hour, the shot was fired through the same window, without the slightest injury to the glass; and, what was especially remarkable, this always took place exactly one hour before midnight: although in Naples time is counted after the Italian fashion, and the term midnight is never used. “But custom at length reconciled all parties to this occurrence, as it had done to the previous one; and the ghost began to lose credit by reason of his very harmless tricks. The shot ceased to alarm the company, or even to interrupt their conversation. “One sultry evening, the day having been very hot, Antonelli opened the window, without thinking of the hour, and went with the marquis out upon the balcony. They had scarcely been in the air a couple of minutes when the shot exploded between them, and drove them back into the house, where for some time they lay apparently lifeless on the floor. When they recovered, each felt the pain of a violent blow upon the cheek, one on the right side, the other on the left; but, as no further injury was apparent, the singularity of the circumstance was merely the occasion of a few jocular observations.

“From this time the shot was not repeated in the house; and Antonelli thought she was at last completely delivered from her invisible tormentor, when one evening, upon making a little excursion with a friend, she was terrified beyond measure by a most unexpected incident. Her way lay through the Chiaja, where her Genoese friend had formerly lived. It was bright moonlight. A lady who sat near her asked, ‘Is not that the house in which Signor - died?’ - ‘As well as I can recollect, it is one of those two,’ answered Antonelli. The words were scarcely uttered when the shot was fired from one of the two houses, and penetrated the carriage. The driver thought he was wounded, and drove forward with all possible speed. Arrived at their destination, the two ladies were lifted from the carriage, as though they were dead. “But this was the last alarm of that kind. The unseen foe now changed his plan; and one evening, shortly afterwards, a loud clapping of hands was heard before the window. As a popular singer and favorite actress, she was more familiar with sounds of this description. They did not inspire terror, and might have proceeded, perhaps, from one of her numerous admirers. She paid no attention to them. Her friends, however, were more watchful, and distributed their guards as before. They continued to hear the noise, but saw nobody, and began to indulge a hope that the unaccountable mystery would soon completely end.

“After a short time it became changed in character, and assumed the form of agreeable sounds. They were not, strictly speaking, melodious, but exceedingly sweet and pleasing. To an accurate observer they seemed to proceed from the corner of the street, to float about in the empty space before Antonelli’s window, and there to die away in the most soft and delightful manner. It seemed as if some heavenly spirit wished, by means of a beautiful prelude, to draw attention to a lovely melody which he designed to play. But these sounds also ceased at length, and were heard no more after this wonderful occurrence had lasted for about a year and a half.” The clergyman pausing for a few moments, the entire company began to express their opinions, and their doubts about the truth of the tale. The narrator answered that the story had to be true, if it were to be interesting, as a manufactured tale could possess but little merit. Some one here observed that he thought it singular no one had inquired about Antonelli’s deceased friend, or the circumstances of his death; as perhaps some light might by this means have been thrown upon the whole affair.

“But this was done,” replied the clergyman: “I was myself curious enough, immediately after the first mysterious occurrence, to go to the house under the pretext of visiting the lady who had attended him in his last moments with a mother’s care. She informed me that the deceased had been passionately attached to Antonelli; that, during the last hours of his existence, he had spoken of nothing but her; that at one time he addressed her as an adorable angel, and at another as little better than a demon. “When his sickness became desperate, his whole thoughts were fixed on seeing her once more before his death, perhaps in the hope of obtaining from her an expression of affection, of pity, of attachment, or of love. Her unwillingness to see him afflicted him exceedingly, and her last decisive refusal hastened his death. In despair he cried out, ‘No! it shall not avail her. She avoids me; but, after my death, she shall have no rest from me.’ In a paroxysm of this kind he expired; and only too late do we learn, that the dead can keep their word on the other side of the grave.” The company began once more to express their opinions about the story. At length Fritz observed, “I have a suspicion; but I shall not tell it till I have thought over all the circumstances again, and put my combinations to the proof.”

Being somewhat strongly pressed, he endeavored to avoid giving an answer, by requesting that he might be allowed to relate an anecdote, which, though it might not equal the preceding one in interest, was of the same character, inasmuch as it could not be explained with any certainty. “A gallant nobleman,” he commenced, “who inhabited an ancient castle, and was the father of a large family, had taken into his protection an orphan girl, who, when she attained the age of fourteen years, was employed in attending the mistress of the house in duties immediately about her person. She gave complete satisfaction, and her whole ambition seemed to consist in a wish to evince her gratitude to her benefactor by attention and fidelity. She possessed various charms, both of mind and person, and was not without suitors. But none of these proposals seemed likely to conduce to her happiness, and the girl herself did not show the least inclination to change her condition. “On a sudden it happened, that as she went through the house, intent upon her various duties, she heard sounds of knocking, which came from about and beneath her. At first this seemed accidental; but as the knocking never ceased, and beat almost in unison with her footsteps, she became alarmed, and scarcely left the room of her mistress, where alone she found she could enjoy security.

“These sounds were heard by every one who accompanied her or who stood near her. At first the subject was treated as a jest, but at length it was regarded in a more serious light. The master of the house, who was of a cheerful disposition, now took the matter in hand. The knocking was never heard when the maiden remained motionless, and, when she walked, was perceived, not so evidently when she put her foot to the ground as when she raised it to advance another step. But the sounds were often irregular, and they were observed to be more than usually loud when the maiden went transversely across a certain large apartment in the castle. “The old nobleman, one day having workmen in the house, caused the flooring to be suddenly raised behind the maiden, when the knocking sounds were at the loudest. Nothing, however, was found but a couple of rats, who, disturbed by the search, gave occasion to a chase, and to considerable uproar in the house. “Provoked by this circumstance and by the disappointment, the nobleman determined upon adopting strong measures. He took down his large whip from the wall, and swore that he would flog the maiden to death if he heard the knocking any more. From this time forth she could go through the house without the slightest molestation, and the knocking was never heard again.”

“Whereby,” observed Louisa sagaciously, “we may conclude that the young maiden was her own ghost, and practised this joke, and played the fool with the family, to indulge some whim of her own.” “Not at all,” answered Fritz; “for those who ascribed the mysterious occurrence to a ghost, believed that the maiden’s guardian angel wished her to leave the house, but was anxious also to protect her from injury. Others took another view, and maintained that one of the girl’s lovers had the cleverness to occasion these sounds in order to drive her out of the house into his arms. But, be this as it may, the poor child became quite ill in consequence, and was reduced to a melancholy spectre; though she had formerly been the most cheerful and lively and merry person in the whole establishment. But such a change in personal appearance can be explained in more ways than one. “It is a pity,” observed Fritz, “that these occurrences are not always more particularly examined, and that, in judging of events which so much interest us, we are obliged to hesitate between different appearances, because the circumstances under which they happen have not all been observed.” “True,” replied the old clergyman; “but it is so extremely difficult to make this examination at the very moment when any thing of the kind happens, and to take every precaution that nothing shall escape in which deceit or fraud may be concealed. Can we, for example, detect a conjurer so easily, though we are perfectly conscious that he is deluding us?”

He had scarcely finished this observation, when a loud report was suddenly heard in one corner of the apartment. Every one leaped up; whilst Charles said jokingly, “Surely the noise does not proceed from some dying lover.” He would willingly have recalled the expression; for Louisa became suddenly pale, and stammered forth that she felt apprehension about the safety of her intended. Fritz, to divert her attention, took up the light, and went towards a reading-desk which stood in a corner of the apartment. The semicircular top of the desk was split through; this, then, was the cause of the report they had heard: but it immediately occurred to them, that the reading-desk was of the best workmanship, and had occupied the very same spot for years; and therefore they were all astonished that it should be so suddenly split asunder. It had even been praised more than once as a very model piece of furniture; and how, therefore, could this accident have occurred, without even the slightest change having taken place in the temperature? “Quick!” said Charles, “let us settle this point at once by examining the barometer.” The quicksilver maintained the same point it had held for some days. And even the thermometer had not fallen more than could be reconciled with the difference of the temperature between day and night. “It is a pity that we have not an hygrometer at hand,” he exclaimed, “the very instrument that would be most serviceable!”

“It seems,” said the old clergyman, “that the most valuable instrument always fails when we are engaged in supernatural inquiries.” They were interrupted in their reflections by the entry of a servant, who announced that a great fire was visible in the heavens; though no one could say whether it were raging in the town or in the neighborhood. The circumstances we have just related made the whole party more susceptible of terror, and they were therefore much agitated by the news. Fritz hastened up to the belvedere of the house; where a map of the adjacent country was suspended, by means of which he was enabled, even at night, to point out with tolerable accuracy the various positions of the surrounding places. The rest of the party remained together, not without some fear and anxiety. Fritz announced, upon his return, that he had no good news to tell. “The fire does not seem to be in the town, but upon the property of our aunt. I am well acquainted,” said he, “with the locality, and believe I am not mistaken.” Each one lamented the destruction of the fine building, and calculated the loss. “A strange thought has just occurred to me,” said Fritz, “which may quiet our minds as to the mystery of the reading-desk. Consider how long it is since we heard the report.” They counted the minutes, and thought it had occurred about half-past twelve.

“Now, you will probably laugh,” continued Fritz, “when I tell you my conjecture. You know that our mother, a good many years ago, made our aunt a present of a reading-desk, in every respect similar to this one. They were both finished with the greatest care, by the same workman, at the same time, and cut out of one piece of wood. Both have lasted well until now: and I will lay a wager, that, at this very instant, the second reading-desk is actually burning at the house of my aunt; and its twin brother here is afflicted at the disaster. To-morrow I will set out and investigate this singular fact as thoroughly as I am able.” Whether Frederick really entertained the above opinion, or whether his wish to tranquillize his sister suggested the idea, we are unable to decide: they, however, seized the opportunity to speak of many undeniable sympathies, and ended by discovering that a sympathy actually existed between pieces of timber formed from one tree, and pronounced it probable that the same sympathy subsisted between pieces of work completed by the same hand. They agreed that these things resembled natural phenomena fully as much as other things which were often adduced, and which although quite evident, are incapable of explanation. “And, in my opinion,” added Charles, “every phenomenon, as well as every fact, is peculiarly interesting for its own sake. Whoever explains it, or connects it with other circumstances, only makes a jest of it, or deludes us: this is done, for example, by the natural philosopher and the historian. But an unconnected fact or event is interesting, not because it is explicable or probable, but because it is true. When at midnight the flames consumed your aunt’s reading-desk, the extraordinary splitting of ours, at the very same time, was a palpable fact, however explicable or connected with other things it may be.”

Though night was by this time far advanced, none of the company felt any inclination to retire; and Charles, in his turn, asked permission to tell a story, which, though equally interesting, might seem perhaps more natural and explicable than the previous ones. “Marshal Bassompierre,” he said, “relates it in his Memoirs; and I may be permitted to tell it in his name. “I had remarked for five or six months, that, whenever I crossed the little bridge (for at that time the Pont Neuf had not been built), a very handsome shopkeeper, over the door of whose establishment was painted the sign of ‘The Two Angels,’ always saluted me with a low and respectful bow, and followed me with her eyes as far as she could see me. This conduct surprised me extremely; but I always directed my looks to her, and saluted her in return. I rode on one occasion from Fontainebleau to Paris; and, when I had arrived at the little bridge, she appeared at the door of her shop, and said, ‘Your servant, sir!’ I returned the salute; and, as I looked back from time to time, I observed that she was, as usual, leaning forward, to keep me in view as long as possible.

“My servant was following with a postilion, as I wished to send some letters back to some ladies in Fontainebleau the same day. I ordered the servant to alight, to go to the pretty shopkeeper, and to tell her from me, that I had noticed her wish to speak to me, and that, if she desired my acquaintance, I would visit her whenever she wished. She answered that I could have sent her no more delightful news, that she would meet me whenever I should appoint, on condition that she might be allowed to pass a night under the same roof with me. I accepted the proposal, and asked the servant to find a place where I might appoint an assignation. He said he would lead me to a friend’s house, but advised me, as fever was then very prevalent, to provide myself with my own house-linen. When evening came, I went to the appointed house, where I found a very beautiful young woman awaiting my arrival. She was attired in a charming head-dress, and wore the finest linens. Her tiny feet were adorned with slippers, worked in gold and silk; and her person was covered with a loose mantle of the softest satin texture. Suffice it to say, that I never saw a more charming person. In the morning I asked when I could see her again; as it was then Thursday night, and it was not my intention to leave the town before the following Sunday.

“She replied that she was more anxious for a fresh appointment than I could be, but that it would be impracticable unless I could postpone my departure; as I could only see her on Sunday night. To this I made some difficulty, which caused her to complain that I was tired of her, and therefore wished to set out on Sunday; ‘but,’ she added, ‘you will soon think of me again, and will be glad to forfeit a day in order to pass a night with me.’ “I was easily persuaded. I promised to stay during Sunday, and to meet her in the evening at the same place. She answered me as follows: ‘I am quite aware, that on your account I have come to a house of ill-repute; but I have done this in obedience to an irresistible desire to enjoy your society. But so great an indiscretion cannot be repeated. I shall excite the jealousy of my husband, though one might risk even that for the satisfaction of an irresistible passion. For your sake I have come to this house, which has been made respectable by your presence. But, if you desire to see me again, you must meet me at the residence of my aunt.’

“She described the house with great particularity, and then added, ‘I shall expect you at ten o’clock. From that time till midnight the door shall be open. You will find a small entrance, through which you must advance; as my aunt’s door is at the farther end. You will then see a flight of stairs opposite to you. They lead to the first floor, and there I shall be expecting you with open arms.’ “I made all my arrangements. I sent away my things, dismissed my servants, and waited impatiently the arrival of Sunday night, when I was to see my charming companion once more. At ten o’clock I was at the appointed place. I found the door she had described, close shut, and observed lights in the house, which seemed every now and then to blaze up into a flame. I knocked impatiently in order to announce my arrival, and was immediately saluted by the hoarse voice of a man inquiring what I wanted. I retired disappointed, and paced restlessly up and down the street. At length I returned to the house, and found the door then wide open. I hurried through the passage, and ascended the stairs. Judge of my astonishment at finding the room occupied by two men, who were employed in burning a mattress and some bed-clothes; while I saw before me two naked corpses stretched upon the floor. I hastened away instantly, and, in rushing down stairs, knocked against two men carrying a coffin, who asked me angrily what I wanted. I drew my sword to protect myself, and finally reached my home in a state of the greatest excitement. I swallowed half a dozen glasses of wine, as a preservative against the fever, and on the following day continued my journey.

“All the inquiries I afterwards instituted to discover who this woman was were in vain. I even visited the shop where ‘The Two Angels’ were painted, but the new-comers could not inform who their predecessors had been. The chief character in this adventure was doubtless a person from the lower orders; but I can assure you, that, but for the disagreeable finale, it would have proved one of the most delightful incidents that has ever happened to me, and that I never think of my charming heroine without feelings of the warmest affection.” Charles observed, upon the conclusion of the anecdote, that the mystery which enveloped the story was not easily explained. The woman might either have died of the fever, or have kept away from the house on account of the infection. “But, if she were alive,” answered Charles, “she would have met her lover in the street; as no fear could, under the circumstances, have kept her from him. I fear,” he added, “that her corpse was stretched on the floor.” “Oh! no more of this,” said Louisa: “this story is too frightful. What a night we shall pass, if we retire with our imaginations full of these pictures!”

“I recollect an anecdote,” interrupted Charles, “which is of a more cheerful description, and which the same Bassompierre relates of some of his ancestors. “A very beautiful woman, who loved one of her relations passionately, visited him every Monday at his country-house, where they spent much time together; his wife believing in the mean while that her husband was engaged on a hunting-party. Two years uninterruptedly had passed in this way, when, the wife’s suspicions being roused, she stole one morning to the country-house, and found her husband asleep with his companion. Being unwilling or afraid to disturb them, she untied her veil, threw it over the feet of the sleeping couple, and retired. When the lady awoke, and observed the veil, she uttered a piercing cry, and with loud lamentations complained that she would now never be able to see her lover again. She then took leave of him, having first given him three presents, - a small fruit-basket, a ring, and a goblet, being a present for each of his three daughters, and desired him to take great care of them. They were accepted with thanks, and the children of these three daughters believe that they are indebted to their respective gifts for whatever good fortune has attended them.”

“This somewhat resembles the story of the beautiful Melusina, and such-like fairy-tales,” observed Louisa. “But there is just such a tradition in our family,” said Frederick, “and we have possession of a similar talisman.” “What do you mean?” asked Charles. “That is a secret,” replied the former. “It can be told to no one but the eldest son, and that during the lifetime of his father; and he is then to hold the charm.” “Are you the present possessor?” inquired Louisa. “I have told too much already,” answered Frederick, as he lighted his candle, previous to retiring. The family had assembled for breakfast according to their usual custom, and the baroness afterwards took her seat at her embroidery-frame. After a short silence the clergyman observed, with a slight smile, “It is seldom indeed that singers, poets, or story-tellers, who enter into an agreement to amuse a company, do it at the right time: they often require pressing, when they should begin voluntarily; whilst, on the other hand, they are frequently eager and urgent to commence at a time when the entertainment could be dispensed with. I hope, however, to prove an exception to this custom; and I shall be glad to know whether it will prove agreeable to you that I should relate a story.”

“Particularly so,” answered the baroness; “and I feel sure that I express the general opinion. But, if it is your intention to relate an anecdote as a specimen, I will tell you for what sort of story I have no inclination. “I take no pleasure in stories which, like the Arabian Nights, connect one tale with another, and so confound the interest of both; where the narrator finds himself compelled to excite our attention by interruptions, and, instead of satisfying us by detailing a course of consecutive adventures, seeks to attract us by rare and often unworthy artifices. I cannot but censure the attempt of converting stories, which should possess the unity of a poem, into unmeaning puzzles, which only have the effect of vitiating our taste. I leave you to choose your own subjects; but I hope you will pay a little attention to the style, since it must be remembered that we are members of good society. Commence with some narrative in which but few persons are concerned or few events described, in which the plot is good and natural, though possessing as much action and contrivance as is necessary, which shall not prove dull, nor be confined to one spot, but in which the action shall not progress too rapidly. Let your characters be pleasing, and, if not perfect, at least good, - not extravagant, but interesting and amiable. Let your story be amusing in the narration, in order, that, when concluded, we may remember it with pleasure.”

“If I were not well acquainted with you, gracious lady,” said the clergyman, “I should be of opinion that it is your wish, by thus explaining how much you require of me, to bring my wares into disrepute before I have exposed them for sale. I see how difficult it will be to reach your standard of excellence. Even now,” he continued, after a short pause, “you compel me to postpone the tale I had intended to relate till another time; and I fear I shall commit a mistake in extemporizing an anecdote for which I have always felt some partiality: - “In a seacoast town in Italy once lived a merchant, who from his youth had been distinguished for activity and industry. He was, in addition, a first-rate sailor, and had amassed considerable wealth by trading to Alexandria, where he was accustomed to purchase or exchange merchandise, which he afterwards either brought home or forwarded to the northern parts of Europe. His fortune increased from year to year. Business was his greatest pleasure, and he found no time for the indulgence of extravagant dissipation. “His life was employed in active pursuits of this nature till he was fifty years old; and he had been, during all this time, a total stranger to those social pleasures with which luxurious citizens are accustomed to diversify their lives. Even the charms of the fair sex had never excited his attention, notwithstanding the attractions of his countrywomen. His knowledge of them was confined to their love for ornaments and jewellery, a taste of which he never failed to take proper advantage.

“He was surprised, therefore, at the change which took place in his disposition, when, after a long voyage, his richly laden ship entered the port of his native town, upon the occurrence of a great festival in which the children of the place took a prominent part. The youths and maidens had attended the church in their gayest attire, and had joined in the sacred processions. They afterwards mingled through the town in separate companies, or dispersed through the country in search of amusements; or they assembled in the large square, engaging in various active pursuits, and exhibiting feats of skill and dexterity, for which small prizes were bestowed. “The merchant was much pleased with all he saw. But after he had for some time observed the happiness of the children, and the delight of their parents, and witnessed so many persons in the full enjoyment of present bliss and the indulgence of the fondest hopes, he could not help reflecting upon the wretchedness of his own condition. His own solitary home began for the first time to be to him a cause of distress, and he thus gave vent to his melancholy thoughts: - “‘Unhappy being that I am! Why are my eyes opened so late? Why, in my old age, do I first become acquainted with those blessings which alone can insure the happiness of mankind? What toil have I endured! What labors I have borne! And what have they done for me?

’Tis true my cellars are filled with merchandise, my chests with valuable metals, and my caskets with jewellery and precious stones; but these treasures can neither console nor satisfy my heart. The more I have the more I want: one coin requires another, and one diamond wishes for its fellow. I am not the master of my riches: they command me in imperious tone. ‘Go and get more!’ they exclaim. Gold delights in gold, and jewels in their fellows. They have ruled me all my life; and now I find, too late, that they possess no real value. Now, when age approaches, I begin for the first time to reflect, and to complain that I enjoy none of the treasures I possess, and that no one will enjoy them after me. Have I ever used them to adorn the person of a beloved wife, to provide a marriage-portion for a daughter? Have I ever by their means enabled a son to win and to dower the maiden of his heart? Never! None of these treasures have ever enriched me or mine; and what I have collected with so much toil some stranger, after my death, will thoughtlessly dissipate.

“‘Oh! with what different feelings will those happy parents whom I see around me assemble their children this evening, praise their address, and encourage them to virtue! What joy have I beheld beaming from their eyes, and what hopes from the happiness of their beloved offspring! And must I ever be a stranger to hope? Am I grown gray? Is it not enough to see my error before the final evening of my days arrives? No: in my ripe years it is not foolish to dream of love. I will enrich a fair maiden with my wealth, and make her happy. And, should my house ever become blessed with children, those late fruits will render me happy, instead of proving a plague and a torment; as they often do to those who too early receive such gifts from Heaven.’ “Thus communing with himself he silently formed his determination. He then called two of his intimate companions, and opened his mind to them. They were ever ready to aid him in all emergencies, and were not wanting upon the present occasion. They hastened, therefore, into the town, to make inquiries after the fairest and most beautiful maidens; for they knew their master was a man who, whatever goods he might wish to acquire, would never be satisfied with any but the best. He was himself active, went about, inquired, saw, and listened, and soon found what he sought in the person of a young maiden about sixteen years of age, accomplished and well educated. Her person and disposition pleased him, and gave him every hope of happiness. In fact, at this time no maiden in the whole town was more admired for her beauty.

“After a short delay, during which the most perfect independence of his intended bride, not only during his own life, but after his decease, was secured, the nuptial ceremony was performed with great pomp and triumph; and from that day the merchant felt himself, for the first time in his life, in actual possession and enjoyment of his riches. His rarest and most costly silks were devoted to the adornment of his bride, and his diamonds gleamed more brilliantly upon the neck and amid the tresses of his love than they had ever shone in his caskets; and his rings acquired an inexpressible value from the beauty of the hand by which they were adorned. And thus he felt that he was not only as wealthy as before, but even wealthier; and all he possessed acquired a new value from being shared with her he loved. The happy couple spent a year together in the most perfect contentment, and he seemed to experience a real joy in having exchanged his active and wandering course of life, for the calm content of domestic bliss. But he could not so easily divest himself of his nature, and found that a habit acquired in early youth, though it may for a time be interrupted, can never be completely laid aside.

“After some time the sight of some of his old companions, when they had safely brought their ships into harbor after a long and perilous voyage, excited anew the love of his former pursuits; and he began now, even in the company of his bride, to experience sensations of restlessness and discontent. These feelings increased daily, and were gradually converted into so intense a longing for his old course of life, that at last he became positively miserable; and a serious illness was the result. “‘What will now become of me?’ he asked himself. ‘I learn too late the folly of entering in old age upon a new system of life. How can we separate ourselves from our thoughts and our habits? What have I done? Once I possessed the perfect freedom which a bird enjoys in open air, and now I am imprisoned in a dwelling with all my wealth and jewels and my beauteous wife. I thought thus to win contentment and enjoy my riches, but I feel that I lose every thing so long as I cannot increase my stores. Unjustly are men considered fools who add to their wealth by ceaseless activity, for activity itself is happiness; and riches themselves are valueless in comparison with the delight of the toil by which they are acquired. I am wretched from idleness, sick from inactivity; and, if I do not determine upon some other course, I may soon bid farewell to life.

“‘I know, however, how much I risk in separating from a young and lovely wife. I know how unjust it is to win the affections of a charming maiden, and, after a brief possession, to abandon her to the wearisome society of her own desires and emotions. I know, even now, how many vain and frivolous youths display their conceited persons before my windows. I know that in church, and in the public promenades, they seek to attract the notice and engage the attention of my wife. What may not take place, then, if I absent myself? Can I hope for the intervention of some miracle to save her from her almost inevitable fate? It were vain to expect that at her age and with her warm affections she can withstand the seductions of love. If I depart, I know that upon my return I shall have lost the attachment of my wife, and that she will have forfeited her fidelity, and tarnished the honor of my house.’ “These reflections and doubts, to which he for some time had become a prey, embittered his condition tenfold. His wife, no less than his relations and friends, sympathized deeply with him, without being able to comprehend the cause of his illness. At length he sought relief from his own thoughts, and thus communed with himself: ‘Fool! to distress myself so much about the protection of a wife whom, if my illness continues, I must leave behind me for the enjoyment of another. Is it not better to preserve my life, even though in the effort I risk the loss of the greatest treasure a woman can possess? How many find their very presence ineffectual to preserve this treasure, and patiently endure a privation they cannot prevent! Why cannot you summon up courage to be independent of so precarious a blessing, since upon this resolution your very existence depends?’

“He felt invigorated by these thoughts, and forthwith summoned together his former crew. He instructed them to charter a vessel without delay, to load it, and hold themselves ready to set sail with the first favorable wind. He then unburdened himself to his wife in the following terms: - “‘Be not astonished at any commotion you may shortly observe in our house, but conclude thence that I am making preparations for a journey. Be not overcome with grief when I inform you that I am once more bent upon a sea-voyage. The love I bear you is still unchanged, and will doubtless remain so during my life. I am sensible of the bliss I have enjoyed in your society, and should feel it still more powerfully, but for the silent censures of idleness and inactivity with which my conscience reproves me. My old disposition returns, and my former habits are still alive. Let me once more visit the markets of Alexandria, to which I shall repair with the greater joy, because I can there procure for you the richest merchandise and most valuable treasures. I leave you in possession of all my fortune and of all my goods: make use of them without restraint, and enjoy yourself in the company of your relatives and friends. The period of our separation will pass by, and we shall meet again with joy.’

“Dissolved in tears, his loving wife assured him, with the most tender endearments, that during his absence she would never be able to enjoy one happy moment, and entreated him, since she wished neither to control nor to detain him, that she might, at least, share his affectionate thoughts during the sad time of their separation. “He then gave some general directions on business and household matters, and added, after a short pause, ‘I have something to say, which lies like a burden upon my heart; and you must permit me to utter it: I only implore you earnestly not to misinterpret my meaning, but in my anxiety for you to discern my love.’ “‘I can guess your thoughts,’ interrupted his wife: ‘you are suspicious of me, I know; and, after the fashion of men, you always rail at the universal weakness of our sex. I am, it is true, young, and of a cheerful disposition; and you fear lest, in your absence, I be found inconstant and unfaithful. I do not find fault with your suspicions; it is the habit of your sex: but if I know my own heart, I may assure you that I am not so susceptible of impressions as to be induced lightly to stray from the paths of love and duty, through which I have hitherto journeyed. Fear not: you shall find your wife as true and faithful on your return as you have ever found her hitherto, when you have come to her arms at evening after a short absence.’

“‘I believe the truth of the sentiments you utter,’ added the husband, ‘and I beseech you to be constant to them. But let us conceive the possibility of the worst. Why should we shrink from it? You know yourself how the beauty of your person attracts the admiration of all our young fellow-citizens. During my absence they will be more attentive to you than ever. They will redouble their efforts to attract and please you. The image of your husband will not prove as effective as his presence in banishing them from my doors and from your heart. I know you are a noble being; but the blandishments of love are powerful, and oftentimes overcome the firmest resolutions. Interrupt me not. Your very thoughts of me during my absence may inflame your passions. I may, for some time, continue to be the object of your dearest wishes; but who can foretell what opportunities may occur, and allow a stranger to enjoy those privileges which were destined for me? Be not impatient, I beseech you, but hear me out. “‘Should that time arrive, the possibility of which you deny, and which I am by no means anxious to hasten, in which you feel that you need society, and can no longer defer the requirements of love, then make me one promise. Permit no thoughtless youth to supplant me, whatever may be the attractions of his person; for such lovers are more dangerous to the honor than to the virtue of a woman. Incited rather by vanity than by love, they seek the general favors of the sex, and are ever ready to transfer their transitory affections. If you wish for the society of a friend, look out for one who is worthy of the name, whose modesty and discretion understands the art of exalting the joys of love by the virtue of secrecy.’

“His beautiful wife could suppress her agony no longer, and the tears which she had till now restrained flowed in copious torrents from her eyes. ‘Whatever may be your opinion of me,’ she cried, after a passionate embrace, ‘nothing can be at this hour farther from my thoughts than the crime you seem to consider, as it were, inevitable. If such an idea ever suggests itself to my imagination, may the earth in that instant open, and swallow me up, and forever vanish all hope of that joy which promises a blessed immortality! Banish this mistrust from your bosom, and let me enjoy the full and delightful hope of seeing you again return to these arms.’ “Having left untried no effort to comfort and console his wife, he set sail the next day. His voyage was prosperous, and he soon arrived in Alexandria. “In the mean time our heroine lived in the tranquil enjoyment of a large fortune, in possession of every luxury; though, with the exception of her relatives and immediate friends, no person was admitted to her society. The business of her absent husband was discharged by trustworthy servants; and she inhabited a large mansion, in whose splendid rooms she was able to enjoy the daily pleasure of recalling the remembrance of his love.

“But, notwithstanding her quiet and retired mode of life, the young gallants of the town did not long remain inactive. They frequented the street, passed incessantly before her windows, and in the evening sought to attract her attention by means of music and serenades. The pretty prisoner, although she at first found these attentions troublesome and annoying, gradually became reconciled to the vexation; and, when the long evenings arrived, she began to consider the serenades in the light of an agreeable entertainment, and could scarcely suppress an occasional sigh, which, strictly speaking, belonged to her absent husband. “But her unknown admirers, instead of gradually wearying in their attentions, as she had once expected, became more assiduous in their devotion. She began, at last, to recognize the oft-repeated instruments and voices, to grow familiar with the melodies, and to feel curious to know the names of her most constant serenaders. She might innocently indulge so harmless a curiosity. She now peeped occasionally through her curtains and half-closed shutters, to notice the pedestrians, and to observe more particularly the youths whose eyes were constantly directed towards her windows. They were invariably handsome, and fashionably dressed; but their manner and whole deportment were unmistakably marked by frivolity and vanity. They seemed more desirous of making themselves remarkable by directing their attention to the house of so beautiful a woman, than of displaying towards her a feeling of peculiar respect.

“‘Really,’ the lady would sometimes say to herself in a tone of raillery, ‘really my husband showed a deal of penetration. The condition under which he allowed me to enjoy the privilege of a lover excludes all those who care in the least for me, or to whom I am likely to take a fancy. He seems to have well understood that prudence, modesty, and silence are qualities which belong to demure old age, when men can value the understanding, but are incapable of awakening the fancy or exciting the desires. I am pretty sure, at least, that, amongst the youths who lay perpetual siege to my mansion, there is not one entitled to my confidence; and those who might lay some claim to that virtue fall lamentably short in other attractions.’ “Supported by these reflections, she allowed herself to take daily more and more pleasure in the music and in the attentions of her young admirers; till at length, unperceived by herself, there gradually sprung up in her bosom a restless desire, which she struggled to resist when it was already too late. Solitude and idleness, combined with comfort and luxury, gave birth to an unruly passion long before its thoughtless victim had any suspicion of her danger.

“Amongst the numerous endowments of her husband, she now saw ample reason to admire his profound knowledge of the world and of mankind, and his thorough acquaintance with woman’s heart. She now perceived that that had occurred, the possibility of which she had formerly so strenuously denied, and acknowledged his wisdom in preaching the necessity of prudence and caution. But what could these virtues avail, where pitiless chance seemed to be in conspiracy with her own unaccountable passions? How could she select one from a crowd of strangers? and was she permitted, in case of disappointment, to make a second choice? “Innumerable thoughts of this nature increased the perplexity of our solitary heroine. In vain she sought recreation, and tried to forget herself. Her mind was perpetually excited by agreeable objects, and her imagination thus became impressed with the most delightful pictures of fancied happiness. “In this state of mind, she was informed one day by a relation, amongst other pieces of news, that a young lawyer who had just finished his studies at Bologna had lately arrived in his native town. His talents were the topic of general admiration and encomium. His universal knowledge was accompanied by a modesty and reserve very uncommon in youth, and his personal attractions were of a high order. In his office of procurator he had already won, not only the confidence of the public, but the respect of the judges. He had daily business to transact at the court-house, so great was the increase of his professional practice.

“Our heroine could not hear the talents of this youth so generally extolled, without feeling a wish to become acquainted with him, accompanied by a secret hope that he might prove a person upon whom, in conformity with the permission of her husband, she might bestow her heart. She soon learned that he passed her dwelling daily, on his way to the court-house; and she carefully watched for the hour when the lawyers were accustomed to assemble for the discharge of business. With beating heart she at length saw him pass; and if his handsome figure and youthful attractions, on the one hand, excited her admiration, his apparent reserve and modesty, on the other, gave her much reason for doubt and anxiety. For several days she watched him silently, till at length she was no longer able to resist her desire to attract his attention. She dressed with care, went out upon the balcony, and marked his approach with feelings of suspense. But she grew troubled, and, indeed, felt ashamed, when she saw him pass, in contemplative mood, with thoughtful steps and downcast eyes, pursuing his quiet way, without deigning to bestow the slightest notice upon her. Vainly did she endeavor thus to win his attention for several successive days. In the same undeviating course he continued to pass by, without raising his eyes, or looking to the right or to the left. But, the more she observed him, the more did he appear to be the very one she needed.

Her wish to know him now grew stronger, and at length became irresistible. What! she thought within herself: when my noble, sensible husband actually foresaw the extremity to which his absence would reduce me, when his keen perception knew that I could not live without a friend, must I droop and pine away at the very time when fortune provides me with one whom not only my own heart, but even my husband, would choose, and in whose society I should be able to enjoy the delights of love in inviolable secrecy? Fool should I be, to miss such an opportunity; fool, to resist the powerful impulses of love!

“With such reflections did she endeavor to decide upon some fixed course, and she did not long remain a prey to uncertainty. It happened with her, as it usually does with every one who is conquered by a passion, that she looked without apprehension upon all such trifling objections as shame, fear, timidity, and duty, and came at length to the bold resolution of sending her servant-maid to the young lawyer at any risk, and inviting him to visit her. “The servant found him in the company of several friends, and delivered her message punctually in the terms in which she had been instructed. The procurator was not at all surprised at the invitation. He had known the merchant previously, was aware of his absence at present, and presumed that the lady required the aid of his professional services about some important matter of business. He promised the servant, therefore, that he would wait upon her mistress without delay. The latter heard with unspeakable joy, that she would soon be allowed an opportunity of seeing and speaking to her beloved. She prepared carefully for his reception, and had her rooms arranged with the utmost elegance. Orange-leaves and flowers were strewn around in profusion, and the most costly furniture was displayed for the occasion. And thus the brief intervening time hastened by, which would otherwise have been unbearable.