causing which you have not yet made any apology, Monsieur le vrai Anglais." "Indeed!" I exclaimed, confused, "I did not know I had had the honour of tripping up the Comtesse Von Dornheim." "Nor did I," she replied, "but you had the misfortune, or, perhaps, I may say, the unpoliteness, to cause myself and my partner a heavy fall, and you disappeared without stopping to say a single word of excuse." "The fact is," I blundered out, "that I imagined I was dancing with the Comtessa herself, and as my partner, whoever she was, was at that very moment making the most extraordinary disclosures to me, I am ashamed to say I was too much interested to remember what politeness required of me." "Never mind politeness," said the Comtesse, giving up in despair her attempt at incognito, "but tell me who or what that pink domino conceals. She has been telling me strange things about my-my nephew. She says he is here and that I have been dancing with him, and--and that -no that was all; but is it not strange ?" "Von Dornheim here!" I exclaimed. "I should much like to discover him. How can we manage it ?" "I am sure I don't know. I have only danced three times-once with a man who was much too short, then with another who was much too tall, and lastly with one who was much too disagreeable." "The last is the most probable," said I; "nephews don't always treat their aunts with the respect they would claim." As I spoke, I spied the pink wand; I rushed after it for some distance, but I was suddenly stopped by a rude arm. "Sherwood," said a deep gruff voice, "it's useless to chase that willo'-the-wisp. There is a demon beneath that pink disguise who will do you only more harm than good. Stay, tell me who is the blue domino you have just been talking to?" I looked at my questioner: it was the same tall black figure that I had seen talking to the pink incognita. "And why do you want to know?" said I. "Because I believe her to be a relation of mine." "Indeed! perhaps your aunt ?" said I, thinking of Von Dornheim. "No, my mother." "Then you must be mistaken, that lady has no children." "None that you know of, perhaps," replied the stranger. "It is not common to publish the birth of-of an illegitimate offspring." There was a strange bitterness in the tone which struck me, as the stranger spoke. "Look you here," he continued. "There is no wrong so great as the wrong of one's birth. There is no cruelty, no villany, so great as the scorn with which the world oppresses those whose birth is their only fault. Would you blame a man, who, spurned as a bastard, turns again, and curses the immorality of the age which has laid him under that ban ? Would you blame him if he sought to reform that immorality, and infuse a better spirit through the age? This country is the scum of Europe. Its nobility is ignorant, proud, and licentious as that of the middle ages. Its vices are encouraged by the example of a polluted court, and the proffered absolution of a pampered and vicious priesthood. The people, the real strength, the real vigour of the nation, of which the aristocracy is merely the useless blossom, are oppressed and strained. Its igno rance and superstition, worse here than anywhere, are encouraged and preserved by a cowardly hierarchy. Progress can only come through the people, and if Bavaria will rise from the slough in which she has sunk, it must be through the people alone. What then? Because I go among them because I teach them their own value, and point out their duty-because I tell them a time will soon come, when they, their own governors by nature, and not the slaves of an idiot despôt and the false laws he may coin, will be called upon to act, and prepare themselves for self-government and self-improvement-because I do this, a price is set upon my head, and I am cursed as a revolutionist and a lover of disorder " He spoke very low, as he continued. "The blow must come ere long. France, as she has done before, will lead the way. Corruption cannot secure peace; it will only breed nausea; then their weapon will recoil on their own head. The monarchy and the nobility of Bavaria will share the common lot, and those now around us will be left to regret their licentiousness and blindness. I would fain avert this blow. I am not Von Ritter's only pupil. Ten other fellow-workers are in this room beside myself, and each has his complete disguise, for our end will not sanction foolhardiness. We labour to avert this blow; we do our utmost to awaken the people, and for this our names are cursed and our lives are in jeopardy. I tell you this that you may know me, and appreciate what other men will cry down. In the eyes of the law I have no father, but I have a country, which I love the more, because I am, as it were, an orphan, and worse than an orphan. I can speak to you thus because you are an Englishman, and my friend. Go now after the little pink sorceress, and remember never to betray Von Dornheim." "Von Dornheim!" I exclaimed, my own friend." But he had torn away from me, and I followed him in vain. Von Dornheim the son of the Countess ! How many doubts this explained. And who, then, was his father? I sank upon a bench, stupified by these two strangest of revelations. Dornheim a child of shame-and Beatrix-ah! but that could not be true! And Konrad in the condemned path of patriotism. Alas, for patriots! if true patriots there are any-in the nineteenth century. There is but one road to success for them, and that is-Power. If they do not begin with money and selfishness, they can never end in raising or reforming their beloved country. There is but one key to all good beyond one's narrow circle in this age, and that is of gold. Without this the patriot will be an adventurer, a place-hunter, or a revolutionist in the eyes of the people he desires to save. I sat long brooding on this quaint subject, till I again remembered my interest about the strange pink domino. I got up and hunted throughout the place for her, but as uselessly as before. I could find no trace of her. The crowd was already thinning, and as it was very late, there was soon a continuous stream towards the great exit. Luckily there was but one door through which the crowd could leave, at least, as far as I knew. I instantly bethought me that by placing myself there I should be sure to see her pass out, if she were not already gone. I remained watching each motley figure till the theatre was empty. When I reentered it, the huge chandeliers were being let down, and the lights put out, while the whole of the gay scene was converted to one of double desolation. I went into every nook and recess, and dived stealthily into every sidechamber, ere I gave up the search. Then, at last, with a heavy heart, I loitered reluctantly away, and finding that the doors were being closed, I issued into the dark night. A number of carriages were still taking up their human burdens, and a number of small groups dispersing across the open square. In vain I sought through the dark night for the object of my interest, till at length I gave up the hunt, and took the direction of my home at a sharp pace. I had not gone far, however, before I heard angry voices proceeding from a narrow street, or rather alley, the entrance to which I was now passing. I was far from being in a humour to mingle in a brawl, and was quickening my pace, when I heard a loud cry for help. I could not pass by without answering this appeal, the more so that it seemed to be in a woman's voice. I turned down the dark and gloomy lane, little dreaming where I was going to, and seeing scarcely a yard before me. The noise was increasing, and I could hear struggling footsteps on the rough stones a few feet before me. The next moment I could perceive a tall stout figure, dragging a woman across the road by the arm, and evidently making for an open door hard by. Without a moment's reflection, I collared the man, and, as he was taken by surprise, I had no difficulty in throwing him down. "Drag him into the house, and shut the door on him," said the woman who was thus released. I had little difficulty in doing so, and the door closed on him. The woman locked it by turning a key which was sticking in it, and calling out, "Follow me," disappeared down the dark lane. I did so, and soon overtook her. "I cannot thank you," said she, hastening on, in the same voice which had been tormenting me all the evening, "for you have done me as much harm by putting me under an obligation to you, as you have done me good by rescuing me.' "You are then the little pink domino!" I exclaimed, astonished at the change of dress which she had undergone, for she was now in complete black. "Look," said she, turning up the corner of her cloak, as we issued into a broader street, and showing me its pink lining. "Then the least you can do, in return for my services, is to explain to me the meaning of your strange conduct." "I am not altogether sorry we have met," she said, "though I wish it had been under other circumstances." "And I am delighted I have overtaken you, for I am determined you shall explain the calumny you have uttered against Beatrix Von Ritter." "I wish to heaven it were calumny," she replied. Then musing a moment, she added, "you have seen Von Dornheim, and he has told you everything?" “How can you know that ?" I asked in amazement. "No matter; I have no time to explain mysteries, suffice that I know all that you can. Dornheim has told you of his parentage, and though his account is strange, you believe him. Why not believe what I say of Beatrix? And what motive do you think I could have in such a revelation? Do you imagine that I could be interested in maligning a young innocent creature? I must be a demon indeed to do that." A HANDFUL OF JACOBITE SONGS. BY G. W. THORNBURY. THE CALVE'S HEAD CLUB.' (CHARLES THE SECOND'S REIGN.) WITH calve's head on a stately dish A bitter smile crept round the board, Then wine from the cobwebb'd cellar, And the man who sat at the table end With cautious step the chairman rose, Slipp'd softly over the floor; With a silver nail that hung from his neck He clamp'd the oaken door. But first they brought a roasted pike, With a gudgeon in his jaw Type of the way that nations lie, Torn in a tyrant's maw. Then a second door they surely locked, Threw the key in the red-hot fire. But they spoke in murmurs soft and low, Scarce than a whisper higher. "Twas the thirty-first of the month, at night, In a tavern near Whitehall, That a man in a mask, on a pale calve's head, A red wine-stream let fall. * A Nonconformist society, at whose dinners a calve's head was the well-understood sneer at Charles the Second's execution. The man of the mask, with a solemn air, Hewed in parts, with a strong broad knife, They had scarcely drank three cups of wine There was fighting at the table end, Loud cries of" Zion! sword of God! And fire the cuckold town!" The man in the mask flung down a bench Flung a heavy flask at the foremost men, And blew a silver call. There were blood-pools mingled with the wine, Gay feathers wet, in brave men's gore, And that day week, at Tyburn-tree, Ten" calves' heads " drain`d a flask ; But they never touch'd, with villain rope, The neck of the man in the mask. For him they built a scaffold On the old blood-mantled hill: And, flinging some gold to the rolling mob, THE WHITE ROSE OVER THE WATER. (EDINBURGH. 1744.) THE old men sat with hats pulled down, The tavern lamps shone o'er them, As a brimming bowl, with crystal fill'd, Then all leap'd up, and join'd their hands "A health," they cried, "to the witching eyes Of Kate the landlord's daughter! But don't forget the white, white rose Each others' cups they touch'd all round, Then with a cry that warm'd the blood, "Then hats flew up and swords sprang out, Never," they cried, "while Scots are Scots, As they toast the landlord's daughter, A poet cried, "Our thistle's brave, But bumpers round, for what are these They dash'd the glasses at the wall, That smash'd against the rafter; THE FIGHT IN THE HAWKING FIELD. PIPES blowing, drums beating, colours flying, cries and laughter, Hawks whistling, scarves blowing, horns blasting, hither, thither, Cloud-piercing, wind-scorning, lightning-pinioned, flew the falcon, White against the dark sky, all a-smother with grey clouds, Drums beating, pipes blowing, trumpet-banners, all a-flutter, Now above the tallest poplar, now above the last red cloud,- "Ill-doing!" "cruel!" "knavish!" "foul-playing!" cry a dozen, "Fall upon them!" "this a wager ?" "draw !"" don't let the villain cozen!" "Scurvy practice!" "hear me !" "fell him!" "listen!" "tap the cuckold's blood!" So cried the rabble, undulating, like a spring-tide at the flood. |