Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship and Travels

“Who can describe the emotion with which she witnessed his arrival, or her agitation upon inviting him to take a seat at her side? She hesitated how to address him now that he had arrived, and found a difficulty in remembering what she had to say. He sat still and silent. At length she took courage and addressed him, not without some visible perplexity. “‘I understand, sir, that you are but lately returned to your native city; and I learn that you are universally admired as a talented and incomparable man. I am ready to bestow my utmost confidence upon you, in a matter of extraordinary importance, but which, upon reflection, would seem adapted rather for the ear of the confessor than that of the lawyer. I have been for some years married to a husband who is both rich and honorable, and who, as long as we have lived together, has never ceased to tenderly love me, and of whom I should not have a single word of complaint to utter, if an irresistible desire for travel and trade had not torn him, for some time, from my arms. “‘Being a sensible and just man, he no doubt felt conscious of the injury his absence must necessarily inflict upon me. He knew that a young wife cannot be preserved like jewellery and pearls. He knew that she resembles a garden, full of the choicest fruits, which would be lost, not only to him, but to every one else, if the door were kept locked for years. For this reason, he addressed me in serious but friendly tones before his departure, and assured me, that he knew I should not be able to live without the society of a friend, and therefore not only permitted, but made me promise, that I would, in a free and unrestrained manner, follow the inclination which I should soon find springing up within my heart.’

“She paused for a moment; but an eloquent look, which the young lawyer directed towards her, encouraged her to proceed. “‘One only condition was imposed upon me by my indulgent husband. He recommended me to use the most extreme caution, and impressed upon me strongly the necessity of choosing a steady, prudent, silent, and confidential friend. But you will excuse my continuing, - excuse the embarrassment with which I must confess how I have been attracted by your numerous accomplishments, and divine from the confidence I have reposed in you the nature of my hopes and wishes.’ “The worthy young lawyer was silent for a short time, and then replied, in a thoughtful tone, ‘I am deeply indebted for the high mark of confidence with which you both honor and delight me. I wish to convince you that I am not unworthy of your favor. But let me first answer you in a professional capacity: and I must confess my admiration for your husband, who so clearly saw the nature of the injustice he committed against you; for there can be no doubt of this, - that a husband who leaves his young wife, in order to visit distant countries, must be viewed in the light of a man who relinquishes a valuable treasure, to which, by his own conduct, he abandons all manner of claim. And as the first finder may then lawfully take possession, so I hold it to be natural and just, that a young woman, under the circumstances you describe, should bestow her affections and herself, without scruple, upon any friend who may prove worthy of her confidence.

“‘But particularly when the husband, as in this case, conscious of the injustice he himself commits, expressly allows his forsaken wife a privilege, of which he could not deprive her, it must be clear that he can suffer no wrong from an action to which he has given his own consent. “‘Wherefore if you,’ continued the young lawyer, with quite a different look and the most lively emphasis, and the most affectionate pressure of the hand, ‘if you select me for your servant, you enrich me with a happiness, of which, till now, I could have formed no conception. And be assured,’ he added, while at the same time he warmly kissed her hand, ‘that you could not have found a more true, loving, prudent, and devoted servant.’ “This declaration tranquillized the agitated feelings of our tender heroine. She at once expressed her love without reserve. She pressed his hand, drew him nearer to her, and reclined her head upon his shoulder. They had remained but a short time in this position, when he tried to disengage himself gently, and expressed himself thus, not without emotion: ‘Did ever happy mortal find himself in such embarrassment? I am compelled to leave you, and to do violence to myself in the very moment when I might surrender myself to the most divine enchantment. I cannot now partake the bliss which is prepared for me, and I earnestly pray that a temporary postponement may not altogether frustrate my fondest hopes.’

“She inquired hastily the cause of this strange speech. “‘When I was in Bologna,’ he replied, ‘and had just completed my studies, preparing to enter upon the practice of my profession, I was seized with a dangerous illness, from which it appeared, that, even if I should escape with my life, my bodily and mental faculties must sustain irreparable injury. Reduced to despair, and tortured by the pangs of disease, I made a solemn vow to the Virgin, that, should I recover, I would persist for one whole year in practising the strictest fast and abstinence from enjoyment of every description. For ten months I have already adhered to my vow: and, considering the wonderful favor I have enjoyed, the time has not passed wearily; and I have not found it difficult to abstain from many accustomed pleasures. But the two months which still remain will now seem an eternity; since, till their expiration, I am forbidden to partake a happiness whose delights are inconceivable. And, though you may think the time long, do not, I beseech you, withdraw the favor you have so bountifully bestowed upon me.’ “Not much consoled by this announcement, she felt a little more encouraged when her friend added, after a few minutes’ reflection, ‘I scarcely dare to make a proposal, and suggest a plan, which may, perhaps, release me a little earlier from my vow. If I could only find some one as firm and resolute as myself in keeping a promise, and who would divide with me the time that still remains, I should then be the sooner free;

and nothing could impede our enjoyment. Are you willing, my sweet friend, to assist in hastening our happiness by removing one-half of the obstacle which opposes us? I can only share my vow with one upon whom I can depend with full confidence. And it is severe, - nothing but bread and water twice a day, and at night a few hours’ repose on a hard bed; and, notwithstanding my incessant professional occupation, I must devote many hours to prayer. If I am obliged to attend a party, I am not thereby released from my duty; and I must avoid the enjoyment of every dainty. If you can resolve to pass one month in the observance of these rules, you will find yourself the sooner in possession of your friend’s society, which you will relish the more from the consciousness of having deserved it by your praiseworthy resolution.’

“The beautiful lady was sorry to hear of the difficulty she had to encounter; but the very presence of her beloved so increased her attachment, that no trial which would insure the possession of so valuable a prize appeared to her too difficult. She therefore assured him, in the most affectionate manner, of her readiness to share the responsibility of his vow, and addressed him thus: ‘My sweet friend! the miracle through which you have recovered your health is to me an event of so much value and importance, that it is not only my duty, but my joy, to partake the vow by which you are still bound. I am delighted to offer so strong a proof of my sincerity. I will imitate your example in the strictest manner; and, until you discharge me from my obligation, no consideration shall induce me to stray from the path you point out to me.’ “The young lawyer once more repeated the conditions under which he was willing to transfer to her the obligation of one-half of his vow, and then took his leave, with the assurance that he would soon visit her again, to inquire after her constancy and resolution. And she was then obliged to witness his departure, without receiving so much as one kiss, or pressure of the hand, and scarcely with a look of ordinary recognition. She found some degree of happy relief in the strange employment which the performance of her new duties imposed upon her, for she had much to do in the preparation for her unaccustomed course of life.

In the first place, she removed all the beautiful exotics and flowers which had been procured to grace the reception of her beloved. Then a hard mattress was substituted for her downy bed, to which she retired in the evening, after having scarcely satisfied her hunger with a frugal meal of bread and water. The following morning found her busily employed in plain work, and in making a certain amount of wearing apparel for the poor inmates of the town hospital. During this new occupation she entertained her fancy by dwelling upon the image of her dear friend, and indulging the hope of future happiness; and these thoughts reconciled her to the greatest privations and to the humblest fare.

“At the end of the first week the roses began to fade from her beautiful cheeks, her person to fall away, and her strength to become weak and languid; but a visit from her friend imparted new animation and fortitude. He encouraged her to persist in her resolution, by the example of his own perseverance, and by showing her the approaching certainty of uninterrupted happiness. His visit was brief, but he promised to return soon. “With cheerful resignation she continued her new and strict course of life, but her strength soon declined so much that the most severe illness could scarcely have reduced her to such extreme weakness. Her friend, whose visit was repeated at the end of the week, sympathized with her condition, but comforted her by an assurance that one-half the period of her trial was already over. But the severe fasting, continual praying, and incessant work, became every day more unbearable; and her excessive abstemiousness threatened to ruin the health of one who had been accustomed to a life of the greatest luxury. At length she found a difficulty in walking, and was compelled, notwithstanding the sultriness of the season, to wrap herself up in the warmest clothing, to preserve even an ordinary degree of heat; till finally she was obliged to take to her bed.

“It would be difficult to describe the course of her reflections when she reflected on her condition and on this strange occurrence, and it is impossible to imagine her distress when ten tedious days wearily passed without the appearance of the friend for whose sake she had consented to make this unheard-of sacrifice. But those hours of trouble sufficed to recall her to reason, and she formed her resolution. Her friend visited her after the lapse of some few days more; and seating himself at her bedside, upon the very sofa which he had occupied when she made her first declaration of love to him, he encouraged and implored her, in the most tender and affectionate tones, to persist for a short time longer: but she interrupted him with a sweet smile, and assured him that she needed no persuasion to continue, for a few days, the performance of a vow which she knew full well had been appointed for her advantage. ‘I am, as yet, too feeble,’ she said, ‘to express my thanks to you as I could wish. You have saved me from myself. You have restored me to myself; and I confess, that from this moment I am indebted to you for my existence. My husband was, indeed, gifted with prudence and good sense, and well knew the nature of woman’s heart. And he was, moreover, just enough not to condemn a passion which he saw might spring up within my bosom, through his own fault;

and he was generous enough to make allowance for the weakness of my nature. But you, sir, are truly virtuous and good. You have taught me that we possess within us an antidote equivalent to the force of our passions; that we are capable of renouncing luxuries to which we have been accustomed, and of suppressing our strongest inclinations. You have taught me this lesson by means of hope and of delusion. Neither is any longer necessary: you have made me acquainted with the existence of that ever-living conscience, which, in peaceful silence, dwells within our souls, and never ceases with gentle admonitions to remind us of its presence, till its sway becomes irresistibly acknowledged. And now farewell. May your influence over others be as effective as it has been over me. Do not confine your labors to the task of unravelling legal perplexities, but show mankind, by your own gentle guidance and example, that within every bosom the germ of hidden virtue lies concealed. Esteem and fame will be your reward; and, far better than any statesman or hero, you will earn the glorious title of father of your country.’”

“We must all extol the character of your young lawyer,” said the baroness, at the conclusion of the clergyman’s tale: “polished, wise, interesting, and instructive, I wish every preceptor were like him, who undertakes to restrain or recall youth from the path of error. I think such a tale is peculiarly entitled to be styled a moral anecdote. Relate some more of the same nature, and your audience will have ample reason to be thankful.” Clergyman. I am delighted that my tale has earned your approbation, but I am sorry you wish to hear more of such moral anecdotes; for, to say the truth, this is the first and last of the kind. Louisa. It certainly does not do you much credit, to say that your best collection only furnishes a single specimen. Clergyman. You have not understood me. It is not the only moral tale I can relate; but they all bear so close a resemblance, that each would seem only to repeat the original. Louisa. Really, you should give up your paradoxical style, which so much obscures your conversation, and express yourself more clearly. Clergyman. With pleasure, then. No anecdote deserves to be called moral which does not prove that man possesses within himself that power to subdue his inclinations which may be called out by the persuasion of another. My story teaches this doctrine, and no moral tale can teach otherwise.

Louisa. Then, in order to act morally, I must act contrary to my inclinations? Louisa. Even when they are good? Clergyman. No inclinations are abstractedly good, but only so as far as they effect good. Louisa. Suppose I have an inclination for benevolence? Clergyman. Then, you should subdue your inclination for benevolence if you find that it ruins your domestic happiness. Louisa. Suppose I felt an irresistible impulse to gratitude? Clergyman. It is wisely ordained that gratitude can never be an impulse. But if it were, it would be better to prove ungrateful than to commit a crime in order to oblige your benefactor. Louisa. Then, there may be a thousand moral stories? Clergyman. Yes, in your sense. But none of them would read a lesson different from the one our lawyer taught, and in this sense there can be but one story of the kind: you are right, however, if you mean that the incidents can be various. Louisa. If you had expressed your meaning more precisely at first, we should not have disagreed. Clergyman. And we should have had no conversation. Errors and misunderstandings are the springs of action, of life, and of amusement. Louisa. I cannot agree with you. Suppose a brave man saves another at the risk of his own life: is that not a moral action?

Clergyman. Not according to my mode of thinking. But, suppose a cowardly man were to overcome his fears and do the same, that would be a moral action. Baroness. I wish, my dear friend, you would give us some examples, and convince Louisa of the truth of your theory. Certainly, a mind disposed to good must delight us when we become acquainted with it. Nothing in the world can be more pleasing than a mind under the guidance of reason and conscience. If you know a tale upon such a subject, we should like to hear it. I am fond of stories which illustrate a doctrine. They give a better explanation of one’s meaning than dry words can do. Clergyman. I certainly can relate some anecdotes of that kind, for I have paid some attention to those qualities of the human mind. Louisa. I would just make one observation. I must confess I do not like stories which oblige us to travel, in imagination, to foreign lands. Why must every adventure take place in Italy, in Sicily, or in the East? Are Naples, Palermo, and Smyrna the only places where any thing interesting can happen? One may transpose the scene of our fairy-tales to Ormus and Samarcand for the purpose of perplexing the imagination; but, if you would instruct the understanding or the heart, do it by means of domestic stories, - family portraits, - in which we shall recognize our own likeness; and our hearts will more readily sympathize with sorrow.

Clergyman. You shall be gratified. But there is something peculiar, too, about family stories. They bear a strong resemblance to each other; and, besides, we daily see every incident and situation of which they are capable fully worked out upon the stage. However, I am willing to make the attempt, and shall relate a story, with some of the incidents of which you are already familiar; and it will only prove interesting so far as it is an exact representation of the picture in your own minds. “We may often observe in families, that the children inherit, not only the personal appearance, but even the mental qualities, of their parents; and it sometimes happens that one child combines the dispositions of both father and mother in a peculiar and remarkable manner. “A youth, whom I may name Ferdinand, was a strong instance of this fact. In his appearance he resembled both parents, and one could distinguish in his mind the separate disposition of each. He possessed the gay, thoughtless manner of his father, in his strong desire to enjoy the present moment, and, in most cases, to prefer himself to others; but he also inherited the tranquil and reflective mind of his mother, no less than her love for honesty and justice, and a willingness, like her, perpetually to sacrifice himself for the advantage of others. To explain his contradictory conduct upon many occasions, his companions were often reduced to the necessity of believing that he had two souls. I must pass by many adventures which happened in his youth, and shall content myself with relating one anecdote, which not only explains his character fully, but forms a remarkable epoch in his life.

“His youth was passed in every species of enjoyment. His parents were affluent, and brought up their children extravagantly. If the father indulged in unreasonable expenditure, either in company, at the gaming-table, or in other dissipations, it was the habit of the mother to restrain her own, and the household expenses, so as to supply the deficiency; though she never allowed an appearance of want to be observed. Her husband was fortunate in his business; he was successful in several hazardous speculations he had undertaken: and, as he was fond of society, he had the happiness to form many pleasant and advantageous connections. “The children of a family usually copy those members of the household who seem to enjoy their lives most. They see in the example of a father who follows such a course, a model worthy of imitation; and, as they are seldom slow in obeying their inclinations, their wishes and desires often increase very much in disproportion to their means of enjoyment. Obstacles to their gratification soon arise: each new addition to the family forms a new claim upon the capabilities of the parents, who frequently surrender their own pleasures for the sake of their children; and, by common consent, a more simple and less expensive mode of living is adopted.

“Ferdinand grew up with a consciousness of the disagreeable truth, that he was often deprived of many luxuries which his more fortunate companions enjoyed. It distressed him to appear inferior to any of them in the richness of his apparel, or the liberality of his expenditure. He wished to resemble his father, whose example was daily before him, and who appeared to him a twofold model, - first, as a parent, in whose favor a son is usually prejudiced; and, secondly, as a man who led a pleasant and luxurious life, and was, therefore, apparently loved and esteemed by a numerous acquaintance. It is easy to suppose that all this occasioned great vexation to his mother; but in this way Ferdinand grew up, with his wants daily increasing, until at length, when he had attained his eighteenth year, his requirements and wishes were sadly out of proportion to his condition. “He had hitherto avoided contracting debts; for this vice his mother had impressed him with the greatest abhorrence: and, in order to win his confidence, she had, in numerous instances, exerted herself to gratify his desires, and relieve him from occasional embarrassments. But it happened, unfortunately, that she was now compelled to practise the most rigid economy in her household expenditure, and this at a time when his wants, from many causes, had increased. He had commenced to enter more generally into society, tried to win the affections of a very attractive girl, and to rival and even surpass his companions in the elegance of his attire. His mother, being unable any longer to satisfy his demands, appealed to his duty and filial affection so as to induce him to restrain his expenses. He admitted the justice of her expostulations, but, being unable to follow her advice, was soon reduced to a state of the greatest mental embarrassment.

“Without forfeiting the object of his dearest wishes, he found it impossible to change his mode of life. From his boyhood he had been addicted to his present pursuits, and could alter no iota of his habits or practices without running the risk of losing an old friend, a desirable companion, or, what was worse, abandoning the society of his dearest love. “His attachment became stronger; as the love which was bestowed upon him not only flattered his vanity, but complimented his understanding. “It was something to be preferred to a host of suitors by a handsome and agreeable girl, who was acknowledged to be the richest heiress in the city. He boasted of the preference with which he was regarded, and she also seemed proud of the delightful bondage in which she was held. It now became indispensable that he should be in constant attendance upon her, that he should devote his time and money to her service, and afford perpetual proofs of the value he set upon her affection. All these inevitable results of his attachment occasioned Ferdinand more expense than he would otherwise have incurred. His ladylove (who was named Ottilia) had been intrusted by her parents to the care of an aunt, and no exertions had been spared to introduce her to society under the most favorable circumstances. Ferdinand exhausted every resource to furnish her with the enjoyments of society, into all of which she entered with the greatest delight, and of which she herself proved one of the greatest attractions.

“No situation could certainly be more wretched than that to which Ferdinand was now reduced. His mother, whom he sincerely loved and respected, had pointed out to him the necessity of embarking in duties very different from those which he had hitherto practised: she could no longer assist him in a pecuniary way. He felt a horror at the debts which were daily becoming more burdensome to him, and he saw before him the difficult task of reconciling his impoverished condition with his anxiety to appear rich and practise generosity. No mind could be a prey to greater unhappiness. “His mind was now forcibly impressed with thoughts which had formerly only indistinctly suggested themselves to his imagination. Certain unpleasant reflections became to him the source of great unhappiness. He had once looked upon his father as a model: he now began to regard him as a rival. What the son wished to enjoy, the parent actually possessed; and the latter felt none of the anxieties or grievances wherewith the former was tortured. Ferdinand, however, was in full possession of every comfort of life; but he envied his father the luxuries which he enjoyed, and with which he thought he might very well dispense. But the latter was of a different opinion. He was one of those beings whose desires are wholly insatiable, and who, for their own gratification, subject their family and dependants to the greatest privations. His son received from him a certain pecuniary allowance, but a regular account of his expenditure was strictly exacted.

“The eye of the envious is sharpened by restrictions, and dependants are never more censorious than when the commands of superiors are at variance with their practice. Thus Ferdinand came to watch strictly the conduct of his father, particularly upon points which concerned his expenditure. He listened attentively when it was rumored that his father had lost heavily at the gambling-table, and expressed great dissatisfaction at any unwonted extravagance which he might indulge. ‘Is it not astonishing?’ he would say to himself, ‘that, whilst parents revel in every luxury that can spring from the possession of a property which they accidentally enjoy, they can debar their children of those reasonable pleasures which their season of youth most urgently requires? And by what right do they act thus? How have they acquired this privilege? Does it not arise from mere chance? and can that be a right which is the result of accident? If my grandfather, who loved me as his own son, were still alive, I should be better provided for. He would not see me in want of common necessaries, those things, I mean, which we have had from our birth. He would no more let me want, than he would approve my father’s extravagance. Had he lived longer, had he known how worthy his grandchild would prove to inherit a fortune, he would have provided in his will for my earlier independence. I have heard that his death was unexpected, that he had intended to make a will; and I am probably indebted to mere chance for the postponement of my enjoying a fortune, which, if my father continue his present course, will probably be lost to me forever.’

“With such discontented thoughts did Ferdinand often perplex himself in those hours of solitude and unhappiness, in which he was prevented, by the want of money, from joining his companions upon some agreeable party of pleasure. Then it was that he discussed those dangerous questions of right and property, and considered how far individuals are bound by laws to which they have given no consent, or whether they may lawfully burst through the restraints of society. But all these were mere pecuniary sophistries; for every article of value which he formerly possessed had gradually disappeared, and his daily wants had now far outgrown his allowance. “He soon became silent and reserved; and, at such times, even his respect for his mother disappeared, as she could afford him no assistance: and he began to entertain a hatred for his father, who, according to his sentiments, was perpetually in his way. “Just at this period he made a discovery, which increased his discontent. He learned that his father was not only an irregular, but an improvident, manager of his household. He observed that he often took money hastily from his desk, without entering it in his account-book, and that he was afterwards perplexed with private calculations, and annoyed at his inability to balance his accounts. More than once did Ferdinand notice this; and his father’s carelessness was the more galling to him, as it often occurred at times when he himself was suffering severely from the want of money.

“Whilst he was in this state of mind, an unlucky accident happened, which afforded an opportunity for the commission of a crime, to which he had long felt himself impelled by a secret and ungovernable impulse. “His father had desired him to examine and arrange a collection of old letters. One Sunday, when he was alone, he set to work in a room which contained his father’s writing-desk, and in which his money was usually kept. The box of letters was heavy; and, in the act of lifting it from the ground, he pushed unintentionally against the desk, when the latter suddenly flew open. The rolls of money lay temptingly displayed before him. Without allowing time for a moment’s reflection, he took a roll of gold from that part of the desk where he thought his father kept a supply of money for his own occasional wants. He shut the desk again, and repeated the experiment of opening it. He once more succeeded, and saw that he could now command the treasure as completely as if he had possessed the key. “He soon plunged once more into all those dissipations which he had lately been obliged to renounce. He became more constant than ever in his attentions to Ottilia, and more passionate in the pursuit of pleasure. Even his former graceful animation was converted into a species of excitement, which, though it was far from unbecoming, was deficient in that kind attention to others which is so agreeable.

“Opportunity is to passion what a spark is to gunpowder, and those desires which we gratify contrary to the dictates of conscience always rule with the most ungovernable power. Ferdinand’s own convictions loudly condemned his conduct, but he endeavored to justify himself by specious arguments; and though his manner became in appearance more free and unrestrained than before, he was in reality a captive to the influence of his evil inclinations. “Just at this time the wearing of extravagant trifles came into fashion. Ottilia was fond of personal ornaments, and Ferdinand endeavored to discover a mode of gratifying her taste without apprising her where her supply of presents came from. Her suspicions fell upon an old uncle, and Ferdinand’s gratification was indescribable at observing the satisfaction of his mistress and the course of her mistaken suspicions. But, unfortunately for his peace of mind, he was now obliged to have frequent recourse to his father’s desk, in order to gratify Ottilia’s fancy and his own inclinations; and he pursued this course now the more boldly, as he had lately observed that his father grew more and more careless about entering in his account-book the sums he himself required. “The time now arrived for Ottilia’s return to her parents. The young couple were overpowered with grief at the prospect of their separation, and one circumstance added to their sorrow. Ottilia had accidentally learned that the presents we have spoken of had come from Ferdinand: she questioned him, and he confessed the truth with feelings of evident sorrow. She insisted upon returning them, and this occasioned him the bitterest anguish. He declared his determination not to live without her, prayed that she would preserve him her attachment, and implored that she would not refuse her hand as soon as he should have provided an establishment. She loved him, was moved at his entreaties, promised what he wished, and sealed her vow with the warmest embraces and a thousand passionate kisses.

“After her departure Ferdinand was reduced to sad solitude. The company in which he had found delight pleased him no more, she being absent. From the mere force of habit he mingled with his former associates, and had recourse to his father’s desk to supply those expenses which in reality he felt but slight inclination to indulge. He was now frequently alone, and his natural good disposition began to obtain the mastery over him. In moments of calm reflection he felt astonished how he could have listened to that deceitful sophistry about justice and right, and his claim to the goods of others; and he wondered at his approval of those evil arguments by which he had been led to justify his dishonest conduct. But in the mean time, before these correct ideas of truth and uprightness produced a practical effect upon his conduct, he yielded more than once to the temptation of supplying his wants, in extreme cases, from his father’s treasury. This plan, however, was now adopted with more reluctance; and he seemed to be under the irresistible impulse of an evil spirit. “At length he took courage, and formed the resolution of rendering a repetition of the practice impossible, by informing his father of the facility with which his desk could be opened. He took his measures cautiously; and once, in the presence of his father, he carried the box of letters we have mentioned into the room, pretended to stumble accidentally against the desk, and astonished his father by causing it to spring open. They examined the lock without delay, and found that it had become almost useless from age. It was at once repaired, and Ferdinand soon enjoyed a return of his peace of mind when he saw his father’s rolls of money once more in safe custody.

“But he was not content with this. He formed the resolution of restoring the money which he had abstracted. He commenced the most economical course of life for this purpose, with a view of saving from his allowance all that could possibly be spared from the merest necessities. It is true that this was but little; but it appeared much, as it was the commencement of a system of restitution: and there will always be a wonderful difference between the last guinea borrowed and the first guinea saved. He had pursued this upright course for but a short time, when his father determined to settle him in business. His intention was to form a connection with a manufactory at some distance from his residence. The design was to establish a company in a part of the country where labor and provisions were cheap, to appoint an agent, and extend the business as widely as possible by means of money and credit. It was determined that Ferdinand should inquire into the practicability of the scheme, and forward a circumstantial report of his proceedings. His father furnished him with money for his journey, but placed a moderate limit upon his expenditure. The supply was, however, sufficient for his wants; and Ferdinand had no reason to complain of a deficiency.

“Ferdinand used the utmost economy also upon his journey, and found upon the closest calculation that he could live upon one-third of his allowance, by practising strict restraint. He was now anxious to find means of gradually saving a certain sum, and it soon presented itself; for opportunity comes indifferently to the good and to the bad, and favors all parties alike. In the neighborhood which he designed to visit, he found things more to his advantage than had been expected. No new habits of expense had as yet been introduced. A moderate capital alone had been invested in business, and the manufacturers were satisfied with small profits. Ferdinand soon saw, that with a large capital, and the advantages of a new system, by purchasing the raw material by wholesale, and erecting machinery under the guidance of experienced workmen, large and solid advantages might be secured. “The prospect of a life of activity gave him the greatest delight. The image of his beloved Ottilia was ever before him; and the charming and picturesque character of the country made him anxiously wish that his father might be induced to establish him in this spot, commit the conduct of the new manufactory to him, and thus afford him the means of attaining independence. His attention to business was secured by the demands of his own personal interests. He now found an opportunity, for the first time in his life, for the exercise of his understanding and judgment, and for exerting his other mental powers. Not only the beautiful neighborhood, but his business and occupation, were full of attractions for him: they acted as balm and cordial to his wounded heart, whenever he recalled the painful remembrance of his father’s house, in which, influenced by a species of insanity, he had acted in a manner which now seemed to him in the highest degree criminal.

“His constant companion was a friend of his family, - a person of strong mind, but delicate health, who had first conceived the project of founding this establishment. He instructed Ferdinand in all his own views and projects, and seemed to take great pleasure in the thorough harmony of mind which existed between them. This latter personage led a simple and retired life, partly from choice, and partly because his health required it. He had no family of his own. His household establishment was conducted by a niece, who he intended should inherit his fortune; and it was his wish to see her united to a person of active and enterprising disposition, who, by means of capital and persevering industry, might carry on the business which his infirm health and want of means disqualified him from conducting. His first interview with Ferdinand suggested that he had found the man he wanted; and he was the more strongly confirmed in this opinion, upon observing his fondness for business, and his attachment to the place. His niece became aware of his intentions, and seemed to approve of them. She was a young and interesting girl, of sweet and engaging disposition. Her care of her uncle’s establishment had imparted to her mind the valuable qualities of activity and decision, whilst her attention to his health had softened down these traits by a proper union of gentleness and affection. It would have been difficult to find a person better calculated to make a husband happy.

“But Ferdinand’s mind was engrossed with the thoughts of Ottilia’s love: he saw no attractions in the charms of this country beauty; or, at least, his admiration was circumscribed by the wish, that, if ever Ottilia settled down as his wife in this part of the country, she might have such a person for her assistant and housekeeper. But he was free and unrestrained in his intercourse with the young lady, he valued her more as he came to know her better, and his conduct became more respectful and attentive; and both she and her uncle soon put their own interpretations upon his behavior. “Ferdinand had in the mean time made all the requisite inquiries about his father’s business. The uncle’s suggestions had enabled him to form certain projects which, with his usual thoughtlessness, he made the subject of conversation. He had more than once uttered certain gallant speeches when conversing with the niece, until her uncle and herself fancied that he actually indulged intentions which gave them both unfeigned satisfaction. To Ferdinand’s great joy, he had learned that he could not only derive great advantage from his father’s plan, but that another favorable project would enable him to make restitution of the money he had withdrawn, and the recollection of which pressed like a heavy burden upon his conscience. He communicated his intentions to his friend, who tendered, not only his cordial congratulations, but every possible assistance to carry out his views. He even proposed to furnish his young friend with the necessary merchandise upon credit, a part of which offer was thankfully accepted; some portion of the goods being paid for with what money Ferdinand had saved from his travelling expenses, and a short credit being taken for the remainder.

“It would be difficult to describe the joy with which Ferdinand prepared for his return home. There can be no greater delight than is experienced by a man who, by his own unaided resources, frees himself from the consequences of error. Heaven looks down with satisfaction upon such a spectacle; and we cannot deny the force of the seeming paradox which assures us that there is more joy before God over one returning sinner, than over ninety-nine just. “But, unfortunately, neither the good resolutions nor the repentance and improvement of Ferdinand could remove the evil consequences of his crime, which were destined once more to disturb and agitate his mind with the most painful reflections. The storm had gathered during his absence, and it was destined to burst over his head upon his return. “We have already had occasion to observe, that Ferdinand’s father was most irregular in his habits; but his business was under the superintendence of a clever manager. He had not himself missed the money which had been abstracted by his son, with the exception of one roll of foreign money, which he had won from a stranger at play. This he had missed, and the circumstance seemed to him unaccountable. He was afterwards somewhat surprised to perceive that several rolls of ducats could not be found, money which he had some time before lent to a friend, but which he knew had been repaid. He was aware of the previous insecurity of his desk, and felt, therefore, convinced that he had been robbed.

This feeling rendered him extremely unhappy. His suspicions fell upon every one. In anger and exasperation, he related the circumstance to his wife. The entire household was thereupon strictly examined, and neither servants nor children were allowed to escape. The good wife exerted herself to tranquillize her husband: she represented the discredit which a mere report of this circumstance would bring upon the family; that no one would sympathize in their misfortune, further than to humiliate them with their compassion; that neither he nor she could expect to escape the tongue of scandal; that strange observations would be made if the thief should remain undiscovered; and she suggested, that perhaps, if they continued silent, they might recover their lost money without reducing the wretched criminal to a state of misery for life. In this manner she prevailed upon her husband to remain quiet, and to investigate the affair in silence.

“But the discovery was unfortunately soon made. Ottilia’s aunt had, of course, been informed of the engagement of the young couple. She had heard of the presents her niece had received. The attachment was not approved by her, and she had only maintained silence in consequence of her niece’s absence. She would have consented to her marrying Ferdinand, but she did not like uncertainty on such a subject; and as she knew that he was shortly to return, and her niece was expected daily, she determined to inform the parents of the state of things, to inquire their opinion, to ask whether Ferdinand was to have a settlement, and if they would consent to the marriage. “The mother was not a little astonished at this information, and she was shocked at hearing of the presents which Ferdinand had made to Ottilia. But she concealed her surprise; and, requesting the aunt to allow her some time to confer with her husband, she expressed her own concurrence in the intended marriage, and her expectation that her son would be advantageously provided for. “The aunt took her leave, but Ferdinand’s mother did not deem it advisable to communicate the circumstance to her husband. She now had to undertake the sad duty of discovering whether Ferdinand had purchased Ottilia’s presents with the stolen money. She went straight to the shopkeeper who dealt in such goods, made some general inquiries, and said at last, ‘that he ought not to overcharge her, particularly as her son, who had bought some similar articles, had procured them from him at a more reasonable charge.’ This the tradesman denied, producing the account, and further observing that he had even added something for the exchange;

as Ferdinand had paid for the goods partly in foreign money. He specified the exact nature of the coin; and, to her inexpressible grief, it was the very same which had been stolen from her husband. She left the shop with sorrowful heart. Ferdinand’s crime was but too evident. The sum her husband had lost was large, and she saw in all its force the extent of the crime and its evil results. But she had prudence enough to conceal her discovery. She waited for the return of her son, with feelings of mingled fear and anxiety. Although she wished for an explanation, she dreaded the consequences of a further inquiry.

“At length he arrived in the highest spirits. He expected the greatest praise from the manner in which he transacted his business, and was the bearer of a sum of money sufficient to make compensation for what he had criminally abstracted. His father heard his statement with pleasure, but did not manifest so much delight as the son expected. His late losses had irritated his temper; and he was the more distressed, because he had some large payments to make at the moment. Ferdinand felt hurt at his father’s depression of mind, and his own peace was further disturbed by the sight of every thing around him: the very room in which he was, the furniture, and the sight of the fatal desk, those silent witnesses of his crime, spoke loudly to his guilty conscience. His satisfaction was at an end. He shrunk within himself, and felt like a culprit. “After a few days’ delay he was about to distract his attention from these thoughts by examining the merchandise he had ordered, when his mother, finding him alone, reproached him with his fault in a tone of affectionate earnestness, which did not allow the smallest opportunity for prevarication. He was overcome with grief. He threw himself at her feet, imploring her forgiveness, acknowledging his crime, and protesting that nothing but his affection for Ottilia had misled him: he assured her, in conclusion, that it was the only offence of the kind of which he had ever been guilty. He related the circumstances of his bitter repentance, of his having acquainted his father with the insecurity of his desk, and finally informed her how, by personal privations and a fortunate speculation, he was in a condition to make restitution.

“His mother heard him calmly, but insisted on knowing how he had disposed of so much money; as the presents would account but for a small part of the sum that was missing. She produced, to his dismay, an account of what his father had missed; but he denied having taken, even so much silver: the missing gold he solemnly protested he had never touched. His mother became exasperated at this denial. She rebuked him his attempting to deceive her, and that at a moment when he laid claim to the virtue of repentance; asserting that if he could be guilty in one respect, she must doubt his innocence in another. She suggested that he might perhaps have accomplices amongst his dissipated companions, that perhaps the business he had carried on was transacted with the stolen money, and that probably he would have confessed nothing if his crime had not been accidentally discovered. She threatened him with the anger of his father, with judicial punishment, with her highest displeasure; but nothing affected him more than his learning that his projected marriage with Ottilia had been already spoken of. She left him in the most wretched condition. His real crime had been discovered, and he was suspected of even greater guilt. How could he ever persuade his parents that he had not stolen the gold? He dreaded the public exposure which was likely to result from his father’s irritable temper, and he now had time to compare his present wretched condition with the happiness he might have attained. All his prospects of an active life and of a marriage with Ottilia were at an end. He saw his utter wretchedness, abandoned, a fugitive in foreign lands, exposed to every species of misfortune.

“But these reflections were not the worst evil he had to encounter; though they bewildered his mind, wounded his pride, and crushed his affections. His most severe pangs arose from the thought, that his honest resolution, his noble intention to repair the past, was suspected, repudiated, and denied. And, even if these thoughts gave birth to a feeling resembling despair, he could not deny that he had deserved his fate; and to this conviction must be added his knowledge of the fatal truth, that one crime is sufficient to destroy the character forever. Such meditations, and the apprehension that his firmest resolutions of amendment might be looked upon as insincere, made life itself a burden. “In this moment of abandonment he appealed to Heaven for assistance. He sank upon his knees, and, moistening the ground with tears of contrition, implored help from his divine Maker. His prayer was worthy of being heard. Man, throwing off his load of crimes, has a claim upon Heaven. He who has exhausted every effort of his own may, as a last resource, appeal to God. He was for some time engaged in earnest prayer, when the door opened, and some one entered his apartment. It was his mother, who approached him with a cheerful look, saw his agitation, and addressed him with consoling words. ‘How happy I am,’ she said, ‘to find that I may credit your assertions, and regard your sorrow as sincere! The missing sum of gold has been found: your father, when he received it from his friend, handed it to his secretary, who forgot the circumstance amid the numerous transactions of the day. And, with respect to the silver, you are also right; as the amount taken is less than I had supposed. Unable to conceal my joy, I promised your father to replace the missing sum if he would consent to forbear making any further inquiry.’

“Ferdinand’s joy was indescribable. He completed at once his business arrangements, gave his mother the promised money, and in addition replaced the amount which his father had lost through his own irregularity. He became gradually more cheerful and happy, but the whole circumstance produced a serious impression upon his mind. He became convinced that every man has power to accomplish good, and that our divine Maker will infallibly extend to him his assistance in the hour of trial, - a truth which he himself had learned from late experience. He now unfolded to his father his plan of establishing himself in the neighborhood from which he had lately returned. He fully explained the nature of the intended business. His father consented to his proposals, and his mother at a proper time related to her husband the attachment of Ferdinand to Ottilia. He was delighted at the prospect of having so charming a daughter-in-law, and felt additional pleasure at the idea of being able to establish his son without the necessity of incurring much expense.” “I like this story,” said Louisa, when the old clergyman had finished his tale; “and though the incidents are taken from low life, yet the tone is sufficiently elevated to prove agreeable. And it seems to me, that if we examine ourselves, or observe others, we shall find that men are seldom influenced by their own reflections, either to pursue or to abandon a certain course, but are generally impelled by extraneous circumstances.”

“I wish for my part,” said Charles, “that we were not obliged to deny ourselves any thing, and that we had no knowledge of those blessings which we are not allowed to possess. But unfortunately we walk in an orchard where, though all the trees are loaded with fruit, we are compelled to leave them untouched, to satisfy ourselves with the enjoyment of the shade, and forego the greatest indulgence.” “Now,” said Louisa to the clergyman, “let us hear the rest of the story.” Clergyman. It is finished. Louisa. The dénoûment may be finished, but we should like to hear the end. Clergyman. Your distinction is just; and, since you seem interested in the fate of my friend, I will tell you briefly what happened to him. “Relieved from the oppressive weight of so dreadful a crime, and enjoying some degree of satisfaction at his own conduct, his thoughts were now directed to his future happiness; and he expected with anxiety the return of Ottilia, that he might explain his position, and perform the promise he had given her. She came, accompanied by her parents. He hastened to meet her, and found her more beautiful than ever. He waited with impatience for an opportunity of speaking to her alone, and of unfolding all his future projects. The moment arrived; and with a heart full of tenderness and love he spoke of his hopes, of his expectations of happiness, and of his wish to share it with her. But what was his surprise and astonishment when he found that she heard his announcement with indifference and even with contempt, and indulged in unpleasant jokes about the hermitage prepared for their reception, and the interest they would excite by enacting the characters of shepherd and shepherdess in a pastoral abode.

“Her behavior occasioned bitter reflections. He was hurt and grieved at her indifference. She had been unjust to him, and he now began to observe faults in her conduct which had previously escaped his attention. In addition, it required no very keen perception to remark that a cousin, who had accompanied her, had made an impression upon her, and won a large portion of her affections. “But Ferdinand soon perceived the necessity of struggling with this new source of sorrow; and, as victory had attended his exertions in one instance, he hoped to be successful upon a second occasion. He saw Ottilia frequently, and determined to observe her closely. His conduct towards her was attentive and affectionate, and her deportment was of a similar nature; but her attractions had become diminished for him: he soon found that her professions were not cordial or sincere, and that she could be affectionate and cold, attractive and repulsive, charming and disagreeable, according to the mere whim of the moment. He gradually became indifferent to her, and at length resolved to break the last link of their connection. “But this was more difficult than he had anticipated. He found her one day alone, and took courage to remind her of their engagement, and of those happy moments in which, under the influence of the most delightful feelings, they had discoursed with joyful anticipations of their future happiness. She was in a tender mood, and he began to hope that he might perhaps have been deceived in the estimate he had lately formed of her.

He thereupon began to describe his worldly prospects, and the probable success of his intended establishment. She expressed her satisfaction, accompanied, however, with regret that their union must on this account be postponed still longer. She gave him to understand that she had not the least wish to leave the pleasures of a city life, but expressed her hopes that he might be able, after some years’ active industry in the country, to return home, and become a citizen of consequence. She gave him, moreover, to understand that she expected he would play a more respectable and honest part in life than his father.

“Ferdinand saw plainly that he could expect no happiness from such a union, and yet he felt the difficulty of wholly disengaging himself. In this state of mind he would probably have parted from her in uncertainty about the future, had he not been finally influenced by the conduct of Ottilia’s cousin, towards whom he thought she displayed too much tenderness. Ferdinand, thereupon, wrote a letter assuring her that it was still in her power to make him happy, but that it could not be advisable to encourage indefinite hopes, or to enter into engagements for an uncertain future. “He trusted that this letter would produce a favorable answer; but he received a reply which his heart deplored, but which his judgment approved. She released him from his promise, without rejecting his love, and adverted to her own feelings in the same ambiguous manner. She was still bound by the sense of her letter, but free by its literal meaning. But why should I delay communicating the inevitable result? Ferdinand hastened back to the peaceful abode he had left, and formed his determination at once. He became attentive and diligent in business, and was encouraged in this course by the affections of the kind being of whom we have already spoken, and the exertions of her uncle to employ every means in his power to render them happy. I knew him afterwards, when he was surrounded by a numerous and prosperous family.

He related his own story to me himself; and, as it often happens with individuals whose early life has been marked by some uncommon accident, his own adventures had become so indelibly impressed upon his mind, that they exerted a deep influence on his conduct. Even as a man and as a father, he constantly denied himself the enjoyment of many gratifications in order not to forget the practice of self-restraint; and the whole course of his children’s education was founded upon this principle, that they must accustom themselves to a frequent denial of their most ardent desires.

“I once had an opportunity of witnessing an instance of the system he adopted. One of his children was about to eat something at table, of which he was particularly fond. His father forbade it, apparently without reason. To my astonishment, the child obeyed with the utmost cheerfulness; and dinner proceeded as if nothing had occurred. And, in this manner, even the eldest members of the family often allowed a tempting dish of fruit or some other dainty to pass them untasted. But, notwithstanding this, a general freedom reigned in his house; and there was at times a sufficient display, both of good and bad conduct. But Ferdinand was for the most part indifferent to what occurred, and allowed an almost unrestrained license. At times, however, when a certain week came about, orders were given for precise punctuality, the clocks were regulated to the second, every member of the family received his orders for the day, business and pleasure had their turn, and no one dared to be a single second in arrear. I could detain you for hours in describing his conversation and remarks on this extraordinary system of education. He was accustomed to jest with me upon my vows as a Catholic priest, and maintained that every man should make a vow to practise self-restraint, as well as to require obedience from others; but he observed that the exercise of these vows, in place of being perpetually demanded, was suitable only for certain occasions.”

The baroness observed, that she thought Ferdinand was perfectly right; and she compared the authority of a parent to the executive power in a kingdom, which being weak, the legislative authority can be of little avail. At this moment Louisa rushed hastily to the window, having heard Frederick ride past. She ran to meet him, and accompanied him into the parlor. He seemed cheerful, notwithstanding his just having come from a scene of trouble and distress. In place of entering into a detailed description of the fire which had seized the house of his aunt, he assured the company that he had established beyond doubt the fact that the desk there had been burned at the very same time when theirs had been split asunder in so strange a manner. He stated, that, when the fire approached the room where the desk was, one of the servants saved a clock which stood upon it; that, in carrying it out, some accident had happened to the works, and it had stopped at half-past eleven; and thus the coincidence of time was placed beyond all question. The baroness smiled; and the tutor observed, that, although two things might agree in some particulars, we were not therefore justified in inferring their mutual dependence. But Louisa took pleasure in believing the connection of these two circumstances, particularly as she had received intelligence that her intended was quite well; and, as to the rest of the company, they gave full scope to the flight of their imagination.

Charles inquired of the clergyman whether he knew a fairy-tale. “The imagination,” he observed, “is a divine gift; but I do not like to see it employed about the actualities of life. The airy forms to which it gives birth are delightful to contemplate, if we view them as beings of a peculiar order; but, connected with truth, they become prodigies, and are disapproved by our reason and judgment. The imagination,” he continued, “should not deal in facts, nor be employed to establish facts. Its proper province is art; and there its influence should be like that of music, which awakens our emotions, and makes us forget the cause by which they are called forth.” “Continue,” said the old clergyman, “and explain still further your view of the proper attributes of imaginative works. Another property is essential to their enjoyment, - that the exercise of imagination should be voluntary. It can effect nothing by compulsion: it must wait for the moment of inspiration. Without design, and without any settled course, it soars aloft upon its own pinions, and, as it is borne forward, leaves a trace of its wonderful and devious course. But you must allow me to take my accustomed walk, that I may awaken in my soul the sweet fancies which, in former years, were accustomed to enchant me. I promise to relate a fairy-tale this evening that will amuse you all.”

They at once consented, particularly as they all hoped in the mean time to hear the news of which Frederick was the bearer. Wearied with the labors of the day, an old Ferryman lay asleep in his hut, on the bank of a wide river, which the late heavy rains had swollen to an unprecedented height. In the middle of the night he was awakened by a loud cry: he listened; it was the call of some travellers who wished to be ferried over. Upon opening the door, he was surprised to see two Will-o’-the-wisps dancing round his boat, which was still secured to its moorings. Speaking with human voices, they assured him that they were in the greatest possible hurry, and wished to be carried instantly to the other side of the river. Without losing a moment, the old Ferryman pushed off, and rowed across with his usual dexterity. During the passage the strangers whispered together in an unknown language, and several times burst into loud laughter; whilst they amused themselves with dancing upon the sides and seats of the boat, and cutting fantastic capers at the bottom. “The boat reels,” cried the old man; “and, if you continue so restless, it may upset. Sit down, you Will-o’-the-wisps.”

They burst into loud laughter at this command, ridiculed the boatman, and became more troublesome than ever. But he bore their annoyance patiently, and they soon reached the opposite bank of the river. “Here is something for your trouble,” said the passengers, shaking themselves, when a number of glittering gold pieces fell into the boat. “What are you doing?” cried the old man: “some misfortune will happen should a single piece of gold fall into the water. The river, which has a strong antipathy to gold, would become fearfully agitated, and swallow both me and my boat. Who can say even what might happen to yourselves? I pray you take back your gold.” “We can take nothing back which we have once shaken from our persons,” answered one of them. “Then, I shall be compelled,” replied the old boatman, as he stooped, and collected the gold in his cap, “to take it to the shore and bury it.” The Will-o’-the-wisps had in the mean time leaped out of the boat, upon which the old man cried, “Pay me my fare.” “The man who refuses gold must work for nothing,” answered the Will-o’-the-wisps. “My payment must consist of fruits of the earth,” rejoined the Ferryman.

“Fruits of the earth? We despise them: they are not food for us.” “But you shall not depart,” replied the Ferryman, “till you have given me three cauliflowers, three artichokes, and three large onions.” The Will-o’-the-wisps were in the act of running away, with a laugh, when they felt themselves in some inexplicable manner fixed to the earth: they had never experienced so strange a sensation. They then promised to pay the demand without delay, upon which the Ferryman released them, and instantly pushed off with his boat. He was already far away, when they called after him, “Old man! listen: we have forgotten something important;” but he heard them not, and continued his course. When he had reached a point lower down, on the same side of the river, he came to some rocks which the water was unable to reach, and proceeded to bury the dangerous gold. Observing a deep cleft which opened between two rocks, he threw the gold into it, and returned to his dwelling. This cleft was inhabited by a beautiful green Dragon, who was awakened from her sleep by the sound of the falling money. At the very first appearance of the glittering pieces, she devoured them greedily, then searched about carefully in hopes of finding such other coins as might have fallen accidentally amongst the briers, or between the fissures of the rocks.

The Dragon immediately felt overpowered with the most delightful sensations, and perceived with joy that she became suddenly shining and transparent. She had been long aware that this change was possible; but, entertaining some doubt whether the brilliance would continue, she felt impelled by curiosity to leave her dwelling, and ascertain, if possible, to whom she was indebted for the beautiful gold. She found no one; but she became lost in admiration of herself, and of the brilliant light which illumined her path through the thick underwood, and shed its rays over the surrounding green. The leaves of the trees glittered like emeralds, and the flowers shone with glorious hues. In vain did she penetrate the solitary wilderness; but hope dawned when she reached the plains, and observed at a distance a light resembling her own. “Have I at last discovered my fellow?” she exclaimed, and hastened to the spot. She found no obstacle from bog or morass; for though the dry meadow and the high rock were her dearest habitations, and though she loved to feed upon the spicy root, and to quench her thirst with the crystal dew, and with fresh water from the spring, yet, for the sake of her beloved gold and of her glorious light, she was willing to encounter every privation.

Wearied and exhausted, she reached at length the confines of a wide morass, where our two Will-o’-the-wisps were amusing themselves in playing fantastic antics. She made towards them, and, saluting them, expressed her delight at being able to claim relationship with such charming personages. The lights played around her, skipped from side to side, and laughed about in their own peculiar fashion. “Dear aunt!” they exclaimed, “what does it signify, even though you are of horizontal form? we are related at least through brilliancy. But look how well a tall, slender figure becomes us gentry of the vertical shape;” and, so saying, both the lights compressed their breadth together, and shot up into a thin and pointed line. “Do not be offended, dear friend,” they continued; “but what family can boast of a privilege like ours? Since the first Will-o’-the-wisp was created, none of our race have ever been obliged to sit down or to take repose.” But all this time the feelings of the Dragon in the presence of her relations were any thing but pleasant: for, exalt her head as high as she would, she was compelled to stoop to earth again when she wished to advance; and, though she was proud of the brilliancy which she shed round her own dark abode, she felt her light gradually diminish in the presence of her relatives, and began to fear that it might finally be extinguished.

In her perplexity she hastily inquired whether the gentlemen could inform her whence the shining gold had come, which had lately fallen into the cleft of the rocks hard by; as in her opinion it was a precious shower from heaven. The Will-o’-the-wisps immediately shook themselves (at the same time laughing loudly), and a deluge of gold pieces at once flowed around. The Dragon devoured them greedily. “We hope you like them, dear aunt,” shouted the shining Will-o’-the-wisps; “we can supply you with any quantity:” and they shook themselves with such copious effect, that the Dragon found it difficult to swallow the bright dainties with sufficient speed. Her brilliancy increased as the gold disappeared, till at length she shone with inconceivable radiance; while in the same proportion the Will-o’-the-wisps grew thin and tapering, without, however, losing the smallest iota of their cheerful humor. “I am under eternal obligations to you,” said the Dragon, pausing to breathe from her voracious meal: “ask of me what you please; I will give you any thing you demand.” “A bargain!” answered the Will-o’-the-wisp: “tell us, then, where the beautiful Lily dwells. Lead us to her palace and gardens without delay: we die of impatience to cast ourselves at her feet.”

“You ask a favor,” replied the Dragon, with a deep sigh, “which it is not in my power so quickly to bestow. The beautiful Lily lives, unfortunately, on the opposite bank of the river. We cannot cross over on this stormy night.” “Cruel river, which separates us from the object of our desires! But cannot we call back the old Ferryman?” said they. “Your wish is vain,” answered the Dragon: “for, even were you to meet him on this bank, he would refuse to take you; as, though he can convey passengers to this side of the stream, he can carry no one back.” “Bad news, indeed! but are there no other means of crossing the river?” “There are, but not at this moment: I myself can take you over at mid-day.” “That is an hour,” replied the Will-o’-the-wisps, “when we do not usually travel.” “Then, you had better postpone your intention till evening, when you may cross in the Giant’s shadow.” “How is that managed?” they inquired. “The Giant,” replied the Dragon, “who lives hard by, is powerless with his body: his hands are incapable of raising even a straw, his shoulders can bear no burden; but his shadow accomplishes all for him. For this reason he is most powerful at sunrise and at sunset. At the hour of evening the Giant will approach the river softly; and, if you place yourself upon his shadow, it will carry you over. Meet me at mid-day, at the corner of the wood, where the trees hang over the river, when I myself will take you across, and introduce you to the beautiful Lily. Should you, however, shrink from the noonday heat, your only alternative is to apply to the Giant, when evening casts its shadows around; and he will no doubt prove obliging.”

With a graceful salutation the young gentlemen took their leave; and the Dragon rejoiced at their departure, partly that she might indulge her feelings of pleasure at her own light, and partly that she might satisfy a curiosity by which she had long been tormented. In the clefts of the rocks where she dwelt, she had lately made a wonderful discovery; for, although she had been obliged to crawl through these chasms in darkness, she had learned to distinguish every object by feeling. The productions of Nature, which she was accustomed everywhere to encounter, were all of an irregular kind. At one time she wound her way amongst the points of enormous crystals, at another she was for a moment impeded by the veins of solid silver, and many were the precious stones which her light discovered to her. But, to her great astonishment, she had encountered in a rock, which was securely closed on all sides, objects which betrayed the plastic hand of man. Smooth walls, which she was unable to ascend; sharp, regular angles, tapering columns; and, what was even more wonderful, human figures, round which she had often entwined herself, and which appeared to her to be formed of brass or of polished marble. She was now anxious to behold all these objects with her eyes, and to confirm, by her own observation, what she had hitherto but suspected. She now thought herself capable of illumining with her own light these wonderful subterranean caverns, and indulged the hope of becoming thoroughly acquainted with these astonishing mysteries. She delayed not, and quickly found the opening through which she was accustomed to penetrate into the sanctuary.

Arrived at the place, she looked round with wonder; and though her brilliancy was unable to light the entire cavern, yet many of the objects were sufficiently distinct. With astonishment and awe, she raised her eyes to an illumined niche, in which stood the statue of a venerable King, of pure gold. In size the statue was colossal, but the figure was rather that of a little than of a great man. His well-turned limbs were covered with a simple robe, and his head was encircled by an oaken garland. Scarcely had the Dragon beheld this venerable form, when the King found utterance, and said, “How comest thou hither?” “Through the cleft,” answered the Dragon, “in which the gold abides.” “What is nobler than gold?” asked the King. “Light,” replied the Dragon. “And what is more vivid than light?” continued the Monarch. “Speech,” said the Serpent. During this conversation the Dragon had looked stealthily around, and observed another noble statue in an adjoining niche. A silver King sat there enthroned, of figure tall and slender: his limbs were enveloped in an embroidered mantle; his crown and sceptre were adorned with precious stones; his countenance wore the serene dignity of pride; and he seemed about to speak, when a dark vein, which ran through the marble of the wall, suddenly became brilliant, and cast a soft light through the whole temple. This light discovered a third King, whose mighty form was cast in brass: he leaned upon a massive club, his head was crowned with laurels; and his proportions resembled a rock rather than a human being.

The Dragon felt a desire to approach a fourth King, who stood before her at a distance; but the wall suddenly opened, the illumined vein flashed like lightning, and became as suddenly extinguished. A man of middle stature now approached. He was clad in the garb of a peasant: in his hand he bore a lamp, the flame of which it was delightful to behold, and which lightened the entire dwelling, without leaving the trace of a shadow. “Why dost thou come, since we have already light?” asked the Golden King. “You know that I can shed no ray on what is dark,” replied the old man. “Will my kingdom end?” inquired the Silver Monarch. “Late or never,” answered the other. The Brazen King then asked, with voice of thunder, “When shall I arise?” “Soon,” was the reply. “With whom shall I be united?” continued the former. “With thine elder brother,” answered the latter. “And what will become of the youngest?” “I am not weary,” interrupted the fourth King, with a deep but faltering voice. During this conversation the Dragon had wound her way softly through the temple, surveyed every thing which it contained, and approached the niche in which the fourth King stood. He leaned against a pillar, and his handsome countenance bore traces of melancholy. It was difficult to distinguish the metal of which the statue was composed. It resembled a mixture of the three metals of which his brothers were formed, but it seemed as if the materials had not thoroughly blended; as the veins of gold and silver crossed each other irregularly through the brazen mass, and destroyed the effect of the whole.

The Golden King now asked, “How many secrets dost thou know?” “Three,” was the reply. “And which is the most important?” inquired the Silver King. “The revealed,” answered the old man. “Wilt thou explain it to us?” asked the Brazen King. “When I have learned the fourth,” was the response. “I care not,” murmured he of the strange compound. “I know the fourth,” interrupted the Dragon, approaching the old man, and whispering in his ear. “The time is come,” exclaimed the latter, with tremendous voice. The sounds echoed through the temple; the statues rang again: and in the same instant the old man disappeared towards the west, and the Dragon towards the east; and both pierced instantly through the impediments of the rock. Every passage through which the old man bent his course became immediately filled with gold; for the lamp which he carried possessed the wonderful property of converting stones into gold, wood into silver, and dead animals into jewels. But, in order to produce this effect, it was necessary that no other light should be near. In the presence of another light the lamp merely emitted a soft illumination, which, however, gave joy to every living thing. The old man returned to his hut on the brow of the hill, and found his wife in the greatest sorrow. She was seated at the fire, her eyes filled with tears; and she refused all consolation.

“What a misfortune,” she exclaimed, “that I allowed you to leave home to-day!” “What has happened?” answered the old man, very quietly. “You were scarcely gone,” replied she with sobs, “before two rude travellers came to the door: unfortunately I admitted them; as they seemed good, worthy people. They were attired like flames, and might have passed for Will-o’-the-wisps; but they had scarcely entered the house before they commenced their flatteries, and became at length so importunate that I blush to recollect their conduct.” “Well,” said the old man, smiling, “the gentlemen were only amusing themselves; and, at your age, you should have considered it as the display of ordinary politeness.” “My age!” rejoined the old woman. “Will you forever remind me of my age? how old am I, then? And ordinary politeness! But I can tell you something: look round at the walls of our hut: you will now be able to see the old stones, which have been concealed for more than a hundred years. These visitors extracted all the gold more quickly than I can tell you, and they assured me that it was of capital flavor. When they had completely cleared the walls, they grew cheerful; and, in a few minutes, their persons became tall, broad, and shining. They thereupon again commenced their tricks, and repeated their flatteries, calling me a queen. They shook themselves, and immediately a profusion of gold pieces fell on all sides. You may see some of them still glittering on the floor; but a calamity soon occurred. Our dog Mops swallowed some of them; and, see! he lies dead in the chimney-corner. Poor animal! his death afflicts me. I did not observe it till they had departed, otherwise I should not have promised to pay the Ferryman the debt they owed him.”

“How much do they owe?” inquired the old man. “Three cauliflowers,” answered his wife, “three artichokes, and three onions. I have promised to take them to the river at break of day.” “You had better oblige them,” said the old man, “and they may perhaps serve us in time of need.” “I know not if they will keep their word,” said she, “but they promised and vowed to serve us.” The fire had, in the mean time, died away; but the old man covered the cinders with ashes, put away the shining gold pieces, and lighted his lamp afresh. In the glorious illumination the walls became covered with gold, and Mops was transformed into the most beautiful onyx that was ever beheld. The variety of color which glittered through the costly gem produced a splendid effect. “Take your basket,” said the old man, “and place the onyx in it. Then collect the three cauliflowers, the three artichokes, and the three onions, lay them together, and carry them to the river. The Dragon will bear you across at mid-day: then visit the beautiful Lily; her touch will give life to the onyx, as her touch gives death to every living thing; and it will be to her an affectionate friend. Tell her not to mourn; that her deliverance is nigh; that she must consider a great misfortune as her greatest blessing, for the time is come.”

The old woman prepared her basket, and set forth at break of day. The rising sun shone brightly over the river, which gleamed in the far distance. The old woman journeyed slowly on, for the weight of the basket oppressed her; but it did not arise from the onyx. Nothing lifeless proved a burden; for, when the basket contained dead things, it rose aloft, and floated over her head. But a fresh vegetable, or the smallest living creature, induced fatigue. She had toiled along for some distance, when she started, and suddenly stood still; for she had nearly placed her foot upon the shadow of the Giant, which was advancing towards her from the plain. Her eye now perceived his monstrous bulk: he had just bathed in the river, and was coming out of the water. She knew not how to avoid him. He saw her, saluted her jestingly, and thrust the hand of his shadow into her basket. With dexterity he stole a cauliflower, an artichoke, and an onion, and raised them to his mouth. He then proceeded on his course up the stream, and left the woman alone. She considered whether it would not be better to return, and supply the missing vegetables from her own garden; and, lost in these reflections, she went on her way until she arrived at the bank of the river. She sat down, and awaited for a long time the arrival of the Ferryman. He appeared at length, having in his boat a traveller whose air was mysterious. A handsome youth, of noble aspect, stepped on shore.

“What have you brought with you?” said the old man. “The vegetables,” replied the woman, “which the Will-o’-the-wisps owe you;” pointing to the contents of her basket. But when he found that there were but two of each kind, he became angry, and refused to take them. The woman implored him to relent, assuring him that she could not then return home; as she had found her burden heavy, and she had still a long way to go. But he was obstinate, maintaining that the decision did not depend upon him. “I am obliged to collect my gains for nine hours,” said he, “and I can keep nothing for myself till I have paid a third part to the river.” At length, after much contention, he told her there was still a remedy. “If you give security to the river, and acknowledge your debt, I will take the six articles; though such a course is not devoid of danger. “But, if I keep my word, I incur no risk,” she said earnestly. “Not the least,” he replied. “Thrust your hand into the river, and promise that within four and twenty hours you will pay the debt.” The old woman complied, but shuddered as she observed that her hand, on drawing it out of the water, had become as black as a coal. She scolded angrily; exclaiming that her hands had always been most beautiful, and that, notwithstanding her hard work, she had ever kept them white and delicate. She gazed at her hand with the greatest alarm, and exclaimed, “This is still worse: it has shrunk, and is already much smaller than the other!”

“It only appears so now,” said the Ferryman; “but, if you break your word, it will be so in reality. Your hand will in that case grow smaller, and finally disappear; though you will still preserve the use of it.” “I would rather,” she replied, “lose it altogether, and that my misfortune should be concealed. But no matter, I will keep my word, to escape this black disgrace, and avoid so much anxiety.” Whereupon she took her basket, which rose aloft, and floated freely over her head. She hastened after the youth, who was walking thoughtfully along the bank. His noble figure and peculiar attire had made a deep impression upon her mind. His breast was covered with a shining cuirass, whose transparency permitted the motions of his graceful form to be seen. From his shoulders hung a purple mantle, and his auburn locks waved in beautiful curls round his uncovered head. His noble countenance and his well-turned feet were exposed to the burning rays of the sun. Thus did he journey patiently over the hot sand, which, “true to one sorrow, he trod without feeling.” The garrulous old woman sought to engage him in conversation; but he heeded her not, or answered briefly, until, notwithstanding his beauty, she became weary, and took leave of him, saying, “You are too slow for me, sir; and I cannot lose my time, as I am anxious to cross the river, with the assistance of the Green Dragon, and to present the beautiful Lily with my husband’s handsome present.” So saying, she left him speedily, upon which the youth took heart, and followed her without delay.

“You are going to the beautiful Lily!” he exclaimed: “if so, our way lies together. What present are you taking her?” “Sir,” answered the woman, “it is not fair that you should so earnestly inquire after my secrets, when you paid so little attention to my questions. But, if you will relate your history to me, I will tell you all about my present.” They made the bargain: the woman told her story, including the account of the dog, and allowed him to view the beautiful onyx. He lifted the beautiful precious stone from the basket, and took Mops, who seemed to slumber softly, in his arms. “Fortunate animal!” he exclaimed: “you will be touched by her soft hands, and restored to life, in place of fleeing from her contact, like all other living things, to escape an evil doom. But, alas! what words are these? Is it not a sadder and more fearful fate to be annihilated by her presence than to die by her hand? Behold me, thus young, what a melancholy destiny is mine! This armor, which I have borne with glory in the battle-broil; this purple, which I have earned by the wisdom of my government, - have been converted by Fate, the one into an unceasing burden, the other into an empty honor. Crown, sceptre, and sword are worthless. I am now as naked and destitute as every other son of clay. For such is the spell of her beautiful blue eyes, that they waste the vigor of every living creature; and those whom the contact of her hand does not destroy are reduced to the condition of breathing shadows.”

Thus he lamented long, but without satisfying the curiosity of the old woman, who sought information respecting both his mental and his bodily sufferings. She learned neither the name of his father nor his kingdom. He stroked the rigid Mops, to whom the beams of the sun and the caresses of the youth had imparted warmth. He inquired earnestly about the man with the lamp, about the effect of the mysterious light, and seemed to expect thence great relief from his deep sorrow. So discoursing, they observed at a distance the majestic arch of the bridge, which stretched from one bank of the river to the other, and shone splendidly in the beams of the sun. Both were astonished at the sight, as they had never before seen it so resplendent. “What!” cried the Prince, “was it not sufficiently beautiful before, with its decorations of jasper and opal? Can we now dare to pass over it, constructed as it is of emerald and chrysolite of varied beauty?” Neither had any idea of the change which the Dragon had undergone; for in truth it was the Dragon, whose custom it was at mid-day to arch her form across the stream, and assume the appearance of a beauteous bridge, which travellers crossed with silent reverence.

Scarcely had they reached the opposite bank, when the bridge began to sway from side to side, and gradually sank to the level of the water; while the Green Dragon assumed her accustomed shape, and followed the travellers to the shore. The latter thanked her for her condescension in allowing them a passage across the stream; observing, at the same time, that there were evidently more persons present than were actually visible. They heard a light whispering, which the Dragon answered with a similar sound. They listened, and heard the following words: “We will first make our observations unperceived in the park of the beautiful Lily, and look for you, when the shadows of evening fall, to introduce us to such perfect beauty. You will find us on the bank of the great lake.” “Agreed,” answered the Dragon; and a hissing sound died away in the air. Our three travellers further consulted with what regard to precedence they should appear before the beautiful Lily; for, let her visitors be never so numerous, they must enter and depart singly if they wished to escape bitter suffering. The woman, carrying in the basket the transformed dog, came first to the garden, and sought an interview with her benefactress. She was easily found, as she was then singing to the accompaniment of her harp. The sweet tones showed themselves first in the form of circles upon the bosom of the calm lake; and then, like a soft breeze, they imparted motion to the grass and to the tremulous leaves.

She was seated in a secluded nook beneath the shade of trees, and at the first glance enchanted the eyes, the ear, and the heart of the old woman, who advanced towards her with rapture, and protested that since their last meeting she had become more beautiful than ever. Even from a distance she saluted the charming maiden in these words: “What joy to be in your presence! What a heaven surrounds you! What a spell proceeds from your lyre, which, encircled by your soft arms, and influenced by the pressure of your gentle bosom and slender fingers, utters such entrancing melody! Thrice happy the blessed youth who could claim so great a favor!”

So saying, she approached nearer. The beautiful Lily raised her eyes, let her hands drop, and said, “Do not distress me with your untimely praise: it makes me feel even more unhappy. And see! here is my beautiful canary dead at my feet, which used to accompany my songs so sweetly: he was accustomed to sit upon my harp, and was carefully instructed to avoid my touch. This morning, when, refreshed by sleep, I tuned a pleasant melody, the little warbler sang with increased harmony, when suddenly a hawk soared above us. My little bird sought refuge in my bosom, and at that instant I felt the last gasp of his expiring breath. It is true that the hawk, struck by my instantaneous glance, fell lifeless into the stream; but what avails this penalty to me? - my darling is dead, and his grave will but add to the number of the weeping willows in my garden.” “Take courage, beautiful Lily,” interrupted the old woman, whilst at the same moment she wiped away a tear which the narration of the sorrowful maiden had brought to her eye, - “take courage, and learn from my experience to moderate your grief. Great misfortune is often the harbinger of intense joy. For the time approaches: but in truth,” continued she, “‘the web of life is of a mingled yarn.’ See my hand, how black it has grown; and, in truth, it has become much diminished in size: I must be speedy, before it be reduced to nothing. Why did I promise favors to the Will-o’-the-wisps, or meet the Giant, or dip my hand into the river? Can you oblige me with a cauliflower, an artichoke, or an onion? I shall take them to the river, and then my hand will become so white that it will almost equal the lustre of your own.”

“Cauliflowers and onions abound, but artichokes cannot be procured. My garden produces neither flowers nor fruit; but every twig I plant upon the grave of any thing I love bursts into leaf at once, and grows a goodly tree. Thus, beneath my eye, alas! have grown these clustering trees and copses. These tall pines, these shadowing cypresses, these mighty oaks, these overhanging beeches, were once small twigs planted by my hand, as sad memorials, in an ungenial soil.” The old woman paid but little attention to this speech, but was employed in watching her hand, which in the presence of the beautiful Lily became every instant of a darker hue, and grew gradually less. She was about to take her basket and depart, when she felt that she had forgotten the most important of her duties. She took the transformed dog in her arms, and laid him upon the grass, not far from the beautiful Lily. “My husband,” she said, “sends you this present. You know that your touch can impart life to this precious stone. The good and faithful animal will be a joy to you, and the grief his loss causes me will be alleviated by the thought that he is yours.”

The beautiful Lily looked at the pretty creature with delight, and rapture beamed from her eyes. “Many things combine to inspire me with hope; but, alas! is it not a delusion of our nature to expect that joy is near when grief is at the worst?” “Ah! what avail these omens all so fair? My sweet bird’s death, my friend’s hands blackly dyed, And Mops transformed into a jewel rare, Sent by the Lamp our faltering steps to guide. Far from mankind and every joy I prize, To grief and sorrow I am still allied: When from the river will the temple rise? When will the bridge span it from side to side?” The old woman waited with impatience for the conclusion of the song, which the beautiful Lily had accompanied with her harp, entrancing the ears of every listener. She was about to say farewell, when the arrival of the Dragon compelled her to remain. She had heard the last words of the song, and on this account spoke words of encouragement to the beautiful Lily. “The prophecy of the bridge is fulfilled!” she exclaimed: “this good woman will bear witness how splendidly the arch now appears. Formerly of untransparent jasper, which only reflected the light upon the sides, it is now converted into precious jewels of transparent hue. No beryl is so bright, and no emerald so splendid.”

“I congratulate you thereupon,” said the Lily, “but pardon me if I doubt whether the prediction is fulfilled. Only foot-passengers can as yet cross the arch of your bridge; and it has been foretold that horses and carriages, travellers of all descriptions, shall pass and repass in mingled multitudes. Is prediction silent with respect to the mighty pillars which are to ascend from the river?” The old woman, whose eyes were fixed immovably upon her hand, interrupted this speech, and bade farewell. “Wait for one moment,” said the beautiful Lily, “and take my poor canary-bird with you. Implore the Lamp to convert him into a topaz; and I will then re-animate him with my touch, and he and your good Mops will then be my greatest consolation. But make what speed you can; for with sunset decay will have commenced its withering influence, marring the beauty of its delicate form.” The old woman enveloped the little corpse in some soft young leaves, placed it in the basket, and hastened from the spot. “Notwithstanding what you say,” continued the Dragon, resuming the interrupted conversation, “the temple is built.” “But it does not yet stand upon the river,” replied the beautiful Lily.

“It rests still in the bowels of the earth,” continued the Dragon. “I have seen the Kings, and spoken to them.” “And when will they awake?” inquired the Lily. The Dragon answered, “I heard the mighty voice resound through the temple, announcing that the hour was come.” A ray of joy beamed from the countenance of the beautiful Lily as she exclaimed, “Do I hear those words for the second time to-day? When will the hour arrive in which I shall hear them for the third time?” She rose, and immediately a beautiful maiden came from the wood, and relieved her of her harp. She was followed by another, who took the ivory chair upon which the beautiful Lily had been seated, folded it together, and carried it away, together with the silver-tissued cushion. The third maiden, who bore in her hand a fan inlaid with pearls, approached to tender her services if they should be needed. These three maidens were lovely beyond description, though they were compelled to acknowledge that their charms fell far short of those of their beautiful mistress. The beautiful Lily had, in the mean time, surveyed the marvellous Mops with a look of pleasure. She leaned over him, and touched him. He instantly leaped up, looked round joyously, bounded with delight, hastened to his benefactress, and caressed her tenderly. She took him in her arms, and pressed him to her bosom. “Cold though thou art,” she said, “and endued with only half a life, yet art thou welcome to me. I will love thee fondly, play with thee sportively, kiss thee softly, and press thee to my heart.” She let him go a little from her, called him back, chased him away again, and played with him so joyously and innocently, that no one could help sympathizing in her delight and taking part in her pleasure, as they had before shared her sorrow and her woe.

But this happiness and this pleasant pastime were interrupted by the arrival of the melancholy youth. His walk and appearance were as we have before described; but he seemed overcome by the heat of the day, and the presence of his beloved had rendered him perceptibly paler. He bore the hawk upon his wrist, where it sat with drooping wing as tranquil as a dove. “It is not well,” exclaimed the Lily, “that you should vex my eyes with that odious bird, which has only this day murdered my little favorite.” “Blame not the luckless bird,” exclaimed the youth: “rather condemn yourself and fate, and let me find an associate in this companion of my grief.” Mops, in the mean time, was incessant in his caresses; and the Lily responded to his affection with the most gentle tokens of love. She clapped her hands to drive him away, and then sportively pursued to win him back. She caught him in her arms as he tried to escape, and chased him from her when he sought to nestle in her lap. The youth looked on in silence and in sorrow; but when at length she took him in her arms, and pressed him to her snowy breast, and kissed him with her heavenly lips, he lost all patience, and exclaimed in the depth of his despair, “And must I, whom a sad destiny compels to live in your presence, and yet to be separated from you, perhaps forever, - must I, who for you have forfeited every thing, even my own being, - must I look on and behold this ‘defect of nature’ gain your notice, win your love, and enjoy the paradise of your embrace?

Must I continue to wander and measure my solitary way along the banks of this stream? No! a spark of my former spirit still burns within my bosom. Oh that it would for the last time mount into a flame! If stones may repose within your bosom, then let me be converted to a stone; and, if your touch can kill, I am content to receive my death at your hands.”

He became violently excited; the hawk flew from his wrist; he rushed towards the beautiful Lily; she extended her arms to forbid his approach, and touched him undesignedly. His consciousness immediately forsook him, and with dismay she felt the beautiful burden lean for support upon her breast. She started back with a scream, and the fair youth sank lifeless from her arms to the earth. The deed was done. The sweet Lily stood motionless, and gazed intently on the breathless corpse. Her heart ceased to beat, and her eyes were bedewed with tears. In vain did Mops seek to win her attention: the whole world had died out with her lost friend. Her dumb despair sought no help, for help was now in vain. But the Dragon became immediately more active. Her mind seemed occupied with thoughts of rescue; and, in truth, her mysterious movements prevented the immediate consequence of this dire misfortune. She wound her serpentine form in a wide circle round the spot where the body lay, seized the end of her tail between her teeth, and remained motionless. In a few moments one of the servants of the beautiful Lily approached, carrying the ivory chair, and with friendly entreaties compelled her mistress to be seated. Then came a second, bearing a flame-colored veil, with which she rather adorned than covered the head of the Lily. A third maiden offered her the harp; and scarcely had she struck the chords, and awakened their delicious tones, when the first maiden returned, having in her hands a circular mirror of lustrous brightness, placed herself opposite the Lily, intercepted her looks, and reflected the most enchanting countenance which nature could fashion. Her sorrow added lustre to her beauty, the veil heightened her charms, the harp lent her a new grace; and, though it was impossible not to hope that her sad fate might soon undergo a change, one could almost wish that that lovely and enchanting vision might last forever.

Silently gazing upon the mirror, she drew melting tones of music from her harp; but her sorrow appeared to increase, and the chords responded to her melancholy mood. Once or twice she opened her lips to sing, but her voice refused utterance; whereupon her grief found refuge in tears. Her two attendants supported her in their arms, and the harp fell from her hands; but the watchful attention of her handmaid caught it, and laid it aside. “Who will fetch the man with the lamp?” whispered the Dragon in low but audible voice. The maidens looked at each other, and the Lily’s tears fell faster. At this instant the old woman with the basket returned breathless with agitation. “I am lost and crippled for life!” she exclaimed. “Look! my hand is nearly withered. Neither the Ferryman nor the Giant would set me across the river, because I am indebted to the stream. In vain did I tempt them with a hundred cauliflowers and a hundred onions: they insist upon the stipulated three, and not an artichoke can be found in this neighborhood.” “Forget your distress,” said the Dragon, “and give your assistance here: perhaps you will be relieved at the same time. Hasten, and find out the Will-o’-the-wisps; for, though you cannot see them by daylight, you may, perhaps, hear their laughter and their motions. If you make good speed, the Giant may yet transport you across the river, and you may find the man with the lamp and send him hither.”

The old woman made as much haste as possible, and the Dragon showed as much impatience for her return as the Lily. But, sad to say, the golden rays of the setting sun were shedding their last beams upon the highest tops of the trees, and lengthening the mountain shadows over lake and meadow. The motions of the Dragon showed increased impatience, and the Lily was dissolved in tears. In this moment of distress the Dragon looked anxiously round: she feared every instant that the sun would set, and that decay would penetrate within the magic circle, and exert its fell influence upon the corpse of the beautiful youth. She looked into the heavens, and caught sight of the purple wings and breast of the hawk, which were illumined by the last rays of the sun. Her restlessness betrayed her joy at the good omen; and she was not deceived, for instantly afterwards she saw the man with the lamp sliding across the lake as if he had skates on his feet. The Dragon did not alter her position; but the Lily, rising from her seat, exclaimed, “What good spirit has sent you thus opportunely when you are so much longed for and required?”

“The Spirit of my Lamp impels me,” replied the old man, “and the hawk conducts me hither. The lamp flickers when I am needed; and I immediately look to the heavens for a sign, when some bird or meteor points the way I should go. Be tranquil, beautiful maiden: I know not if I can help you; one alone can do but little, but he can avail who in the proper hour unites his strength with others. We must wait and hope.” Then turning to the Dragon, he said, “Keep your circle closed;” and, seating himself upon a hillock at his side, he shed a light upon the corpse of the youth. “Now bring the little canary-bird,” he continued, “and lay it also within the circle.” The maiden took the little creature from the basket, and followed the directions of the old man. The sun had set in the mean time; and, as the shades of evening closed around, not only the Dragon and the Lamp cast their customary light, but the veil of the Lily was illumined with a soft brilliancy, and caused her pale cheeks and her white robe to beam like the dawn of morning, and clothed her with inexpressible grace. They gazed at each other with silent emotions: anxiety and sorrow were softened by hope of approaching happiness.

To the delight of all, the old woman appeared with the lively Will-o’-the-wisps, who must have led a prodigal life of late, for they looked wonderfully thin, but behaved all the more politely to the princess and the other young ladies. With an air of confidence, and much force of expression, they discoursed upon ordinary topics, and were much struck by the charm which the shining veil shed over the beautiful Lily and her companions. The young ladies cast down their eyes with modest looks, and their beauty was heightened by the praise it called forth. Every one was happy and contented, not excepting even the old woman. Notwithstanding the assurance of her husband that her hand would not continue to wither whilst the Lamp shone upon it, she continued to assert, that, if things went on thus, it would disappear entirely before midnight. The old man with the lamp had listened attentively to the speech of the Will-o’-the-wisps, and was charmed to observe that the beautiful Lily was pleased and flattered with their compliments. Midnight had actually come before they were aware. The old man looked up to the stars, and spoke thus: “We are met at a fortunate hour: let each fulfil his office, let each discharge his duty; and a general happiness will alleviate one individual trouble, as a universal sorrow destroys particular joys.”

After these observations a mysterious murmur arose; for every one present spoke for himself, and mentioned what he had to do: the three maidens alone were silent. One had fallen asleep near the harp, the other beside the fan, and the third leaning against the ivory chair: and no one could blame them; for, in truth, it was late. The Will-o’-the-wisps, after paying some trivial compliments to the other ladies, including even the attendants, attached themselves finally to the Lily, by whose beauty they were attracted. “Take the mirror,” said the old man to the hawk, “and illumine the fair sleepers with the first beams of the sun, and rouse them from their slumbers by the light reflected from heaven.” The Dragon now began to move: she broke up the circle, and in long windings moved slowly to the river. The Will-o’-the-wisps followed her in solemn procession, and they might have been mistaken for the most serious personages. The old woman and her husband took up the basket, the soft light of which had hitherto been scarcely observed; but it now became clearer and more brilliant. They laid the body of the youth within it, with the canary-bird reposing upon his breast, upon which the basket raised itself into the air, and floated over the head of the old woman; and she followed the steps of the Will-o’-the-wisps. The beautiful Lily, taking Mops in her arms, walked after the old woman; and the man with the lamp closed the procession.

The whole neighborhood was brilliantly illuminated with all these various lights. They all observed with astonishment, on approaching the river, that it was spanned by a majestic arch, whereby the benevolent Dragon had prepared them a lustrous passage across. The transparent jewels of which the bridge was composed were objects of no less astonishment by day than was their wondrous brilliancy by night. The clear arch above cut sharply against the dark sky; whilst vivid rays of light beneath shone against the key-stone, revealing the firm pliability of the structure. The procession moved slowly over; and the Ferryman, who witnessed the proceeding from his hut, surveyed the brilliant arch with awe, no less than the wondrous lights as they journeyed across it. As soon as they had reached the opposite bank, the bridge began to contract as usual, and sink to the surface of the water. The Dragon made her way to the shore, and the basket descended to the ground. The Dragon now once more assumed a circular shape; and the old man, bowing before her, asked what she had determined to do. “To sacrifice myself before I am made a sacrifice: only promise me that you will leave no stone on the land.”

The old man promised, and then addressed the beautiful Lily thus: “Touch the Dragon with your left hand, and your lover with your right.” The beautiful Lily knelt down, and laid her hands upon the Dragon and the corpse. In an instant the latter became endued with life: he moved, and then sat upright. The Lily wished to embrace him; but the old man held her back, and assisted the youth whilst he led him beyond the limits of the circle. The youth stood erect, the little canary fluttered upon his shoulder, but his mind was not yet restored. His eyes were open; but he saw, at least he appeared to look on, every thing with indifference. Scarcely was the wonder at this circumstance appeased, when the change which the Dragon had undergone excited attention. Her beautiful and slender form was converted into thousands and thousands of precious stones. The old woman, in the effort to seize her basket, had struck unintentionally against her, after which nothing more was seen of the figure of the Dragon. Only a heap of brilliant jewels lay in the grass. The old man immediately set to work to collect them into his basket, a task in which he was assisted by his wife. They both then carried the basket to an elevated spot on the bank, when he cast the entire contents into the stream, not, however, without the opposition of his wife and of the beautiful Lily, who would willingly have appropriated a portion of the treasure to themselves. The jewels gleamed in the rippling waters like brilliant stars, and were carried away by the stream; and none can say whether they disappeared in the distance or sank to the bottom.

“Young gentlemen,” then said the old man respectfully to the Will-o’-the-wisps, “I will now point out your path, and lead the way; and you will render us the greatest service by opening the doors of the temple through which we must enter, and which you alone can unlock.” The Will-o’-the-wisps bowed politely, and took their post in the rear. The man with the lamp advanced first into the rocks, which opened of their own accord; the youth followed with apparent indifference; with silent uncertainty the beautiful Lily lingered slowly behind; the old woman, unwilling to be left alone, followed after, stretching out her hand that it might receive the rays of her husband’s lamp; the procession was closed by the Will-o’-the-wisps, and their bright flames nodded and blended with each other as if they were engaged in active conversation. They had not gone far before they came to a large brazen gate which was fastened by a golden lock. The old man thereupon sought the assistance of the Will-o’-the-wisps, who did not want to be entreated, but at once introduced their pointed flames into the lock, when the wards yielded to their influence. The brass resounded as the doors flew wide asunder, and displayed the venerable statues of the kings illuminated by the advancing lights. Each individual in turn bowed to the reverend potentates with respect, and the Will-o’-the-wisps were prodigal of their lambent salutations.

After a short pause the Golden King asked, “Whence do you come?” “From the world,” answered the old man. “And whither are you going?” inquired the Silver King. “Back to the world,” was the answer. “And what do you wish with us?” asked the Brazen King. “To accompany you,” responded the old man. The fourth king was about to speak, when the golden statue thus addressed the Will-o’-the-wisps, who had advanced towards him: “Depart from me. My gold is not for you.” They then turned towards the Silver King, and his apparel assumed the golden hue of their yellow flames. “You are welcome,” he said, “but I cannot feed you. Satisfy yourselves elsewhere, and then bring me your light.” They departed; and, stealing unobserved past the Brazen King, they attached themselves to the King composed of various metals. “Who will rule the world?” inquired the latter in inarticulate tones. “He who stands erect,” answered the old man. “That is I,” replied the King. “Then it will be revealed,” said the old man, “for the time is come.” The beautiful Lily fell upon his neck, and kissed him tenderly. “Kind father,” she said, “a thousand thanks for allowing me to hear this comforting word for the third time:” and, so saying, she felt compelled to grasp the old man’s arm; for the earth began to tremble beneath them: the old woman and the youth clung to each other, whilst the pliant Will-o’-the-wisps felt not the slightest inconvenience.

It was evident that the whole temple was in motion; and, like a ship which pursues its quiet way from the harbor when the anchor is raised, the depths of the earth seemed to open before it, whilst it clove its way through. It encountered no obstacle, no rock opposed its progress. Presently a very fine rain penetrated through the cupola. The old man continued to support the beautiful Lily, and whispered, “We are now under the river, and shall soon attain the goal.” Presently they thought the motion ceased; but they were deceived, the temple still moved onwards. A strange sound was now heard above them: beams and broken rafters burst in disjointed fragments through the opening of the cupola. The Lily and the old woman retreated in alarm: the man with the lamp stood by the youth, and encouraged him to remain. The Ferryman’s little hut had been ploughed from the ground by the advance of the temple, and, in its gradual fall, buried the youth and the old man. The women screamed in alarm, and the temple shook like a vessel which strikes upon a hidden rock. Anxiously the women wandered round the hut in darkness: the doors were shut, and no one answered their knocking. They continued to knock more loudly, when at last the wood began to ring with sounds: the magic power of the lamp, which was enclosed within the hut, changed it into silver, and presently its very form was altered; for the noble metal, refusing to assume the form of planks, posts, and rafters, was converted into a glorious building of artistic workmanship: it seemed as if a smaller temple had grown up within the large one, or at least an altar worthy of its beauty.

The noble youth ascended a staircase in the interior, whilst the man with the lamp shed light upon his way; and another figure lent him support, clad in a short white garment, and holding in his hand a silver rudder: it was easy to recognize the Ferryman, the former inhabitant of the transformed hut. The beautiful Lily ascended the outward steps which led from the temple to the altar, but was compelled to remain separated from her lover. The old woman, whose hand continued to grow smaller whilst the light of the lamp was obscured, exclaimed, “Am I still doomed to be unhappy amid so many miracles? will no miracle restore my hand?” Her husband pointed to the open door, exclaiming, “See, the day dawns! hasten, and bathe in the river!” “What advice!” she answered: “shall I not become wholly black, and dissolve into nothing? for I have not yet discharged my debt.” “Be silent,” said the old man, “and follow me: all debts are wiped away.” The old woman obeyed, and in the same instant the light of the rising sun shone upon the circle of the cupola. Then the old man, advancing between the youth and the maiden, exclaimed with a loud voice, “Three things have sway upon the earth, - Wisdom, Appearance, and Power.”

At the sound of the first word the Golden King arose; at the sound of the second, the Silver King; and the Brazen King had risen at the sound of the third, when the fourth suddenly sunk awkwardly to the earth. The Will-o’-the-wisps, who had been busily employed upon him till this moment, now retreated: though paled by the light of the morning, they seemed in good condition, and sufficiently brilliant; for they had with much dexterity extracted the gold from the veins of the colossal statue with their sharp-pointed tongues. The irregular spaces which were thus displayed remained for some time exposed, and the figure preserved its previous form; but when at length the most secret veins of gold had been extracted, the statue suddenly fell with a crash, and formed a mass of shapeless ruins. The man with the lamp conducted the youth, whose eye was still fixed upon vacancy, from the altar towards the Brazen King. At the foot of the mighty monarch lay a sword in a brazen sheath. The youth bound it to his side. “Take the weapon in your left hand, and keep the right hand free,” exclaimed the King. They then advanced to the Silver Monarch, who bent his sceptre towards the youth; the latter seized it with his left hand: and the King addressed him in soft accents, “Feed my sheep.”

When they reached the statue of the Golden King, with paternal benediction the latter pressed the oaken garland on the head of the youth, and said, “Acknowledge the highest.” The old man had, during this proceeding, watched the youth attentively. After he had girded on the sword, his breast heaved, his arm was firmer, and his step more erect; and, after he had touched the sceptre, his sense of power appeared to soften, and at the same time, by an inexpressible charm, to become more mighty; but, when his waving locks were adorned with the oaken garland, his countenance became animated, his soul beamed from his eye; and the first word he uttered was “Lily!” “Dear Lily!” he exclaimed, as he hastened to ascend the silver stairs, for she had observed his progress from the altar where she stood, - “dear Lily, what can man desire more blessed than the innocence and the sweet affection which your love brings me? O my friend!” he continued, turning to the old man, and pointing to the three sacred statues, “secure and glorious is the kingdom of our fathers; but you have forgotten to enumerate that fourth power, which exercises an earlier, more universal, and certain rule over the world, - the power of love.”

With these words he flung his arms round the neck of the beautiful maiden: she had cast aside her veil, and her cheeks were tinged with a blush of the sweetest and most inexpressible beauty. The old man now observed, with a smile, “Love does not rule, but controls; and that is better.” During all this delight and enchantment, no one had observed that the sun was now high in heaven; and through the open gates of the temple most unexpected objects were perceived. An empty space, of large dimensions, was surrounded by pillars, and terminated by a long and splendid bridge, whose many arches stretched across the river. On each side was a footpath, wide and convenient for passengers, of whom many thousands were busily employed in crossing over: the wide road in the centre was crowded with flocks and herds, and horsemen and carriages; and all streamed over without impeding each other’s progress. All were in raptures at the union of convenience and beauty; and the new king and his spouse were as much charmed with the animation and activity of this great concourse as they were with their own reciprocal love. “Honor the Dragon,” said the man with the lamp: “to her you are indebted for life, and your people for the bridge whereby these neighboring shores are animated and connected. Those shining precious stones which still float by are the remains of her self-sacrifice, and form the foundation-stones of this glorious bridge, upon which she has erected herself to subsist forever.”

The approach of four beautiful maidens, who advanced to the door of the temple, prevented any inquiry into this wonderful mystery. Three of them were recognized as the attendants of the beautiful Lily, by the harp, the fan, and the ivory chair; but the fourth, though more beautiful than the other three, was a stranger. She, however, played with the others with sisterly sportiveness, ran with them through the temple, and ascended the silver stairs. “Thou dearest of creatures!” said the man with the lamp, addressing the beautiful Lily, “you will surely believe me for the future. Happy for thee, and every other creature, who shall bathe this morning in the waters of the river!” The old woman, who had been transformed into a beautiful young girl, and of whose former appearance no trace remained, embraced the man with the lamp with tender caresses, which he returned with affection. “If I am too old for you,” he said with a smile, “you may to-day select another bridegroom; for no tie can henceforth be considered binding which is not this day renewed.” “But are you not aware that you also have become young?” she inquired. “I am delighted to hear it,” he replied. “If I appear to you to be a gallant youth, I take your hand anew, and hope for a thousand years of happiness.”

The Queen welcomed her new friend, and advanced with her and the rest of her companions to the altar: whilst the King, supported by the two men, pointed to the bridge, and surveyed with wonder the crowd of passengers; but his joy was soon overshadowed by observing an object which gave him pain. The Giant, who had just awakened from his morning sleep, stumbled over the bridge, and gave rise to the greatest confusion. He was, as usual, but half awake, and had risen with the intention of bathing in the neighboring cove; but he stumbled instead upon firm land, and found himself feeling his way upon the broad highway of the bridge. And, whilst he went clumsily along in the midst of men and animals, his presence, though a matter of astonishment to all, was felt by none; but when the sun shone in his eyes, and he raised his hand to shade them, the shadow of his enormous fist fell amongst the crowd with such careless violence, that both men and animals huddled together in promiscuous confusion, and either sustained personal injury, or ran the risk of being driven into the water. The King, observing this calamity, with an involuntary movement placed his hand upon his sword, but, upon reflection, turned his eyes on his sceptre, and then on the lamp and the rudder of his companions.

“I guess your thought,” said the man with the lamp, “but we are powerless against this monster: be tranquil; he injures for the last time, and happily his shadow is turned from us.” In the mean time the Giant had approached, and, overpowered with astonishment at what he saw, let his hands sink down: he became powerless for injury, and, gazing with surprise, entered the court-yard. He was moving straight towards the door of the temple, when he felt himself suddenly held fast to the earth. He stood like a colossal pillar constructed of red, shining stones; and his shadow indicated the hours, which were marked in a circle on the ground, not, however, in figures, but in noble and significant effigies. The King was not a little delighted to see the shadow of the monster rendered harmless; and the Queen was not less astonished, as she advanced from the altar with her maidens, all adorned with the greatest magnificence, to observe the strange wonder which almost covered the whole prospect from the temple to the bridge. In the mean time the people had crowded after the Giant, and, surrounding him as he stood still, had observed his transformation with the utmost awe. They thence bent their steps towards the temple, of the existence of which they now seemed to be for the first time aware, and thronged the doorways.

The hawk was now observed aloft, towering over the building, and carrying the mirror, with which he caught the light of the sun, and turned the rays upon the multifarious group which stood around the altar. The King, the Queen, and their attendants, illumined by heavenly light, appeared beneath the dim arches of the temple: their subjects fell prostrate before them. When they had recovered, and risen again, the King and his attendants had descended to the altar, in order to reach his palace by a less obstructed path; and the people dispersed through the temple to satisfy their curiosity. They beheld with astonishment the three kings, who stood erect, and were all the more anxious to know what could be concealed behind the curtain in the fourth niche; since, whatever kindness might have prompted the deed, a thoughtful discretion had extended a costly covering over the ruins of the fallen king, which no eye cared to penetrate, and no profane hand dared to uplift. There was no end to the astonishment and wonder of the people, and the dense throng would have been crushed in the temple if their attention had not been attracted once more to the court without.

To their great surprise, a shower of gold pieces fell as if from the air, resounding upon the marble pavement, and caused a contest and commotion amongst the passers-by. Several times this wonder was repeated in different places, at some distance from each other. It is not difficult to infer that this feat was the work of the retreating Will-o’-the-wisps, who, having extracted the gold from the limbs of the mutilated King, dispersed it abroad in this joyous manner. The covetous crowd continued their contentions for some time longer, pressing hither and thither, and inflicting wounds upon each other, till the shower of gold pieces ceased to fall. The multitude at length dispersed gradually, each one pursuing his own course; and the bridge, to this day, continues to swarm with travellers; and the temple is the most frequented in the world. [Illustration: line drawing of a book] Comprising two hundred and fifty titles of standard works, embracing fiction, essays, poetry, history, travel, etc., selected from the world’s best literature, written by authors of world-wide reputation. Printed from large type, on good paper, and bound in handsome cloth binding, uniform with this volume, Price, 75 cents per copy. =Adam Bede.= By George Eliot.

“Will be found useful by all who wish to obtain instruction on matters relating to social usage and society.” - Demorest’s Magazine. =A Handy Dictionary of Synonyms=, with which are combined the words opposite in meaning. For the use of those who would speak or write the English language fluently and correctly. By H. C. FAULKNER. Cloth, 16mo, price 50 cents. “Will be found of great value to those who are not experienced in speech or with pen.” - Brooklyn Eagle. =Talks With Homely Girls on Health and Beauty.= Their Preservation and Cultivation. By FRANCES M. SMITH. Cloth, 16mo, price 50 cents. “She recommends no practices which are not in accord with hygienic laws, so that her book is really a valuable little guide.” - Peterson’s Magazine. =A Handy Classical and Mythological Dictionary.= For popular use, with 70 illustrations. By H. C. FAULKNER. Cloth, 16mo, price 50 cents. “It is often convenient to have a small book at hand in order to find out the meaning of the classical allusions of the day, when it is troublesome and cumbersome to consult a larger work. This tasteful volume fills the desired purpose. It explains the allusions, pronounces the hard names, and pictures many of the mythological heroes.” - Providence Journal.

=Letters and Monograms.= For marking on Silk, Linen and other fabrics, for individuals and household use. Edited by JENNY JUNE. 1,000 illustrations. Paper cover, price 50 cents. “I am greatly pleased with the Manuals of Art Needle-Work so charmingly edited by Mrs. Croly [Jenny June]. Mrs. Croly’s manuals will reveal treasures to many a woman who distrusts herself, but soon the worker will take courage as her perceptions are cultivated, and with patience and holding fast to the truths in nature, ‘patterns’ will come of themselves to fit the uses intended. Embroidery, however, is a real enjoyment to me, and I am glad to aid all efforts to popularize such work.” - Mrs. Gen. Fremont. _For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent post-paid on receipt of price, by the publisher, =A. L. BURT, 66 Reade Street, New York=._ This file uses underscores to indicate italic text and =equals signs= to indicate boldface text. New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain. Itemized changes from the original text: • p. 9: Changed “iuquire” to “inquire” in phrase “caused him to inquire concerning objects which, but for this, he would have passed without notice.” • p. 9: Added comma after phrase “Felix still never shut the door behind him.” • p. 26: Added semicolon after phrase “A love for you, my friend, was already keen and powerful in her little heart.” • p. 43: Added comma before phrase “Well, my friend, how it is with you?” • p.

43: Added period after phrase “upon the sofa, where he had first found Natalia.” • p. 62: Added period after phrase “now appeared to him another piece of artifice.” • p. 78: Changed “herelf” to “herself” in phrase “begging of her to be careful of herself and of her child.” • p. 78: Added period after phrase “as a sort of sin against nature, as a sort of incest.” • p. 93: Changed “clappling” to “clapping” in phrase “clapping both his hands upon his eyes.” • p. 98: Changed “answerd” to “answered” in phrase “I know not the worth of a kingdom, answered Wilhelm.” • p. 110: Added period after phrase “So she, too, is Mary! said Wilhelm inwardly.” • p. 144: Changed “loing” to “lying” in phrase “all at once she was lying at my feet, had seized my hand, kissed it, and was looking up to me.” • p. 145: Changed “imporunate” to “importunate” in phrase “their presence effaced the image of my importunate petitioner.” • p. 146: Added period after phrase “at last he became silent altogether.” • p. 155: Added period after phrase “Wilhelm admired the figure and its strange combination.” • p. 159: Changed “measurement sand” to “measurements and” in phrase “by copying precise measurements and accurately settled numbers.” • p. 176: Changed “harpischord” to “harpsichord” in phrase “in the evening, after supper, Hilaria returned to her harpsichord.” • p. 201: Removed closing quotation mark after phrase “a perilous employment to the wild-hay-men.” • p.

209: Moved comma from before to after “music” in phrase “As, among the instrumental music, singing was now introduced.” • p. 210: Changed “moveover” to “moreover” in phrase “Our wanderer was struck, moreover, by the earnestness.” • p. 241: Added opening quotation mark before phrase “Next morning, in high spirits and full of love.” • p. 262: Changed “afterward sthe” to “afterwards the” in phrase “directly afterwards the two ladies went out.” • p. 265: Removed comma in phrase “But as the longest day at last bends down to evening.” • p. 266: Added closing quotation mark after phrase “Antoni is gone to hunt; we will do the same.” • p. 281: Changed “women” to “woman” in phrase “this was a thing which no young woman could forgive.” • p. 298: Added period after phrase “they pray for a more equal division of labor and enjoyment.” • p. 298: Added closing quotation mark after phrase “that evil hour which must destroy, perhaps forever, their fondest anticipations.” • p. 357: Changed “hopd” to “hoped” in phrase “he hoped to be successful upon a second occasion.” • p. 309: Added closing quotation mark after phrase “we shall pay attention and be thankful.” • p. 360: Added closing quotation mark after phrase “I promise to relate a fairy-tale this evening that will amuse you all.” • p. 367: Added period after phrase “answered the old man, very quietly.” • p. 382: Added closing quotation mark after phrase “allowing me to hear this comforting word for the third time.” • p. 382: Changed “though” to “through” in phrase “beams and broken rafters burst in disjointed fragments through the opening of the cupola.” • Advertisements: Changed “Willliam” to “William” in listing for “The Virginians.” • Advertisements: Changed “Nicarauga” to “Nicaragua” in listing for “The Treasure-Finders.”

A number of missing periods, commas and decimal points were also supplied in the advertisements at the back of the book.