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"I have thought of marriage," I answered, "but in vain. I have seen so much of those insipid damsels who flaunt in white tarlatan, and flirt in pretty nothings behind French fans, that I assure you, madame, 'till to-day I had lost all faith in the worth of womankind. I believed that those of whom one reads in novels-women of character-meet companions for a man who is not wholly a fool, and beings that one can admire as well as love, were all fictions of authors' brains. I have at least discovered one exception, but I know not if I shall ever find a second."

"I think you will," she replied, "and many more, if you seek them where you should. The world spoils us all; and you must confess that our weaker characters assimilate more easily with it. But dinner," she added, "is on the table-will you try the effect of a change of diet? You will find ours simple enough, and, if you can dine at so early an hour, you will at least run no risk of that demon that haunts the blaze-the gout."

And I did dine with them, on roast mutton and potatoes, and, will you believe it, I never enjoyed a dinner better. A little Norman "bonne" waited on us, and proved a pleasant variety after bustling waiters or pompous Mercuries. Mrs. Sherwood's fair hands had helped to cook the roast, and Sherwood's merry hospitality was a sauce that made venison of the "jigot."

We did not stay to sip our wine in the dining-room. The children were kissed and kissed again, and sent to bed. Beatrix slipped from the room, and returned, bearing in triumph a

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well-crusted bottle, followed by the little maid with glasses and dessert.

"This is a jovial moment, A-," said Sherwood; "an old school-fellow is dear as a prodigal son returning, and we must kill the fatted calf to celebrate the occasion. You have had but a meagre dinner, but you shall now be regaled by a bottle of a rare wine, of which you have never perhaps heard. My cellar is not large, for I live like an Arab, mostly on water; but I have three dozen of this nectar, a bottle of which I produce on every choice occasion. It is grown and made on a little strip of land where, eight years ago, I first saw Beatrix; and whether that association deludes me or not, I know not, but certes, I believe there is no bottle that could hold a candle to this."

We drew round the fire, the bottle was uncorked, the wine proved excellent, with or without its associations, and as the generous juice warmed our hearts the past flew back to us all.

"In vino veritas," I cried, after some talk; "this vintage is so good that I would fain know where it lies?"

"In the happiest corner of the earth to me," said Charles.

"The happiest, but yet once the saddest," said Beatrix.

My curiosity was excited, and I did not rest till I had drawn Sherwood out to tell me the story of his courtship.

"On one condition," he answered, "that you, Beatrix, leave us."

"Let me stay," she said, clinging to him, and looking imploringly into his face. "I, too, have never heard it. I long to hear it, Charles."

"You must promise, then, never to check me, dearest." "I will."

STORY.

honest face, and his long locks of fair hair hanging over his shoulders, crowned with a little purple cap-for he was one of the Pfälzers-as he hummed a joyous student's air.

It was that still hour when the day still lingers on, loth to take leave of earth, and all seems hushed around its death-bed. We were both in a musing humour. I was lying at the bottom of the punt, watching a few stray clouds which, as they sailed down to the west, made the blue sky more deeply blue. They were first black, then, as they

neared the sun, they grew purple, and lastly golden.

"They are like the accidents of our life," I exclaimed to Konrad, who had caught the direction of my eyes from the end of the boat. "How often a broken leg is the introduction to a charming acquaintance, which, perhaps, ends in a happy marriage."

"Nature," said Konrad, dreamily, blowing a long cloud from his meerschaum pipe, "is the very mother of types. In all there would seem to be one law, under a thousand varieties, and man's life, perfect as it is in its development and completion, is but the highest form of each thing's duration. Look at this river, beginning in a little spring, and ending in this whirling, rushing, noisy mass of waters, till it joins its existence to that of the stronger Rhine. Look at its rapids and whirlpools, with the long intervals of calm, and its little shallow waters finally lost in the great eternal ocean. Is that no type of many a life? And, oh! what a huge mind is that Creator's who can design these laws, which we, with all our phisopy, can scarcely detect!"

And he blew another cloud, and we both fell to musing again.

"Talking of rapids," said he, suddenly, "we must not forget there is a brave one a little lower down, which we shall have to shoot."

I was ab

I scarcely heard him. sorbed in contemplating the beauty of the scene before me. The dark banks of the river rose at last to a final hill, ere they gave way to the plain and the Rhine beyond. On this hill stood the strong old castle of Lahneck, whose black walls were now purple beneath the evening sun. It was a huge feudal fortress, where once the mailed knight caroused on the produce of those stunted vines that clambered and hung on rocky shelves beneath it (the very wine we are sipping, old fellow), and where now come none but the owl and the artist. There were great streaks that the lichen had yellowed, and great patches that the rain had washed white on its thick dark walls, where the moss and the anemone grew plentifully, and through which a dwarf fir or ash thrust its careless roots. As I gazed on the beauty of the whole scene, with the Rhine hills beyond, and the contrast of the modernised Stolzenfels half-way up their sides, I could not

but feel my heart warm with enthusiasm.

Suddenly there appeared on the top of one of its turrets a white robe, and I called to Dornheim to look at the adventurous maiden who clambered intrepidly so high. Even at that distance we could see her fair face, and her bright hair floating away on the breeze, and we puzzled ourselves to account for her presence there. As the boat glided on, we turned and strained our eyes after her.

"She is the nymph of the castle," said Konrad; "some local Lorlei who still haunts its legendary walls."

"She is looking at us," I cried, " and I can swear she is

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Before I could add the epithet, I was hurled from my seat with a sudden jerk, and pitched head-foremost into the river. My eyes closed instinctively, the water rushed down my throat and into my ears, and I was rolled over and over like a porpoise. My first idea was to bid adieu to life, and give way to what seemed an irresistible current; my next to strike out, and, as I rose to the surface, to keep myself there with all my might. In a few minutes I was swimming gallantly to shore, which luckily was close at hand, for I was fearfully encumbered with my clothes, and the current was desperate. I soon perceived that we had shot the rapid a little too easily, and, as I had been standing in the stern of the boat, I was naturally jerked out, while Dornheim, who was sitting in the prow, kept his seat, and was now, after recovering from the surprise of the shock, pulling with all his strength towards me. I reached the bank quite exhausted by the force of the stream, and I shall never forget with what agony I held on by a few weeds, quite unable to climb up, and felt their roots give way beneath my hands, till Konrad came up and relieved me.

The upshot of it all was, that we resolved to give up all idea of returning to Coblentz that evening, to turn into the little inn of the village of Niederlahnstein, which was close by on the banks of the Rhine, to pass a jovial evening with the few thalers chance left in our pockets, and to visit the old castle the next morning, and discover, if possible, its interesting nymph.

"Who knows," said Konrad, "but

this accident may be like one of your clouds ?"

The evening was beautifully warm, and thus, when I arrived at the humble inn, with the loyal sign, "Zur Krone," I found no difficulty in supping with the slight covering of a blanket, while my dripping garments were being dried at the large kitchen fire of our worthy host. He was a quiet, unassuming Nassauer, whose bright days had closed with the introduction of steam on the Rhine; adversity had come upon him, and actual poverty had followed in her wake. His was a quiet and a broken spirit, and he was so unlike the rubicund hosts whom we students were accustomed to see, that my heart warmed towards him. Still, when our meal was over, I proposed to Dornheim that we should have a bowl in our bedroom, and I should fly to the more decent and certainly more comfortable refuge of "my couch."

Konrad shook his head. "Wait a moment," said he; and, thrusting his arm under that of mine host, he drew him apart, and commenced a solemn conference in an undertone, while important communications and signs of surprise and pleasure evidently passed between them.

"You must not go to bed, Karl," he said, when the interview was over; "I have a treat in store for you when your clothes are dry. You won't blame me now for neglecting the rapid; your accident will turn out like one of your clouds." And he rubbed his hands with the anticipated enjoyment.

"And end in a happy marriage?" I asked.

"Cela dépend. That depends on yourself, my dear fellow."

"And who's the nymph?" said I, beginning to be interested; "some Liebes mädchen, known to you and mine host? or, perhaps the owner of the white dress we saw fluttering flaglike on the turrets of Lahneck." "Donnerwetter!" exclaimed Konrad in reply, that's a good idea. I daresay it will turn out as you say. It never struck me before."

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I was quite mystified-a thing to which I was accustomed in Dornheim's dreamy society-and I asked for explanations.

"This is Niederlahnstein," he began, in reply.

"Well-but what of that?”

"Have you never heard of Von Ritter?" he asked.

"Of course you don't mean the man who wrote that extraordinary book?"

"The man who wrote Eutopia,"" said Konrad, drawing himself up with mock gravity, "the first philosopher of Germany, sir."

"But what of him ?"
"He is here."

"Well, but I can't marry him," said I, more and more puzzled.

"You would, if you could," said Dornheim, enthusiastically. "You shall know him and love him, as I loved him once, and still do."

"That's all serene," I replied. "Provided he takes no snuff and smokes only five-and-twenty pipes aday, and changes his shirt at least once in three weeks, I am prepared to regard him with any amount of philosophic affection, for he will be an exception to the general rule of your professors, my good friend; but I can't see how this is to end in a happy marriage."

Konrad laid his hand on mine, and looked as if about to read me a severe

sermon.

"You don't know," he said slowly, "that Professor Von Ritter was once the greatest dandy in Munich-a capital famous for its cooks, its coats, and You don't know that the Electress of Bavaria ——” "What did she do to him ?" I asked, finding that he hesitated. "Did she admire the pattern of his waistcoats, or have a cast taken of his leg?"

"She did," he replied, dreamily. Then brightening up, he added" We were great friends at Munich, as far as a boy of eighteen could be the friend of a man of eight-and-forty; and I think his acquaintance would be a real source of pleasure to you. I, at least, must see him to-night. It is two years since I saw him, and I did not know he was here till I heard mine host mention his name. You may as well come with me."

"If the alternative be to sip my liebfrauenmilch alone, or, at best, in the company of our sombre host and his sombre reminiscences, I had better go with you. So here goes."

And I began to don the now dry garments, which had been steaming for a couple of hours under the nose of the melancholy innkeeper, as if un

feelingly to annoy him with the remembrance of that steam which had ruined him.

“I am not much in trim for paying visits," said I, as I arranged my cravat before one of those old-fashioned oval glasses which give such an undue proportion to the prominent feature of the face, as to make a man endowed with anything but the very flattest 'pug' feel horrified at his likeness to the vignettes of the Charivari; "but, then, an old philosopher is sure not to be particular even if he be not as blind as Homer."

Konrad smiled mysteriously, in a manner which I conld not comprehend, as it seemed to say, "You don't know whom you're going to see;" and we at length sallied forth.

Niederlahnstein is one of those quaint old villages along the Rhine which belong entirely to the middle agesone of those little communities which sprang up beneath the protecting shade of some feudal castle, and flourished on the trade of that great watery thoroughfare. Its picturesque old houses are built of a dark stone, interspersed with carved rafters of a yet darker wood, and roofed, to all appearance, with a complete thatch of moss and wallflower. It has but a single street, running parallel to the river; but, though simple, it is very picturesque. There is a pleasantness about its very simplicity which is materially enhanced by the honest faces of its rustic denizens peering beneath the low-arched doorways.

We followed the directions given by our host, and turned a little from the street to a small garden, enclosed by a low wall. An old-fashioned house of two stories, completely hidden by the creeping roses that clung in bunches to its walls, stood back, and we now saw a light in one of the windows. The shadow of a coming event was upon me, and I felt a sensation of pleasure which I could not understand as I watched for a moment the yellow light from the window falling on the white roses without. We passed through the little garden, found the house-door open, and, without any announcement of our presence, proceeded quietly to mount a dark, low stone staircase. Dornheim went first, and I soon caught sight of the light streaming through an open door, and managed by means of it to follow him along a narrow passage. Though our steps

made some noise, we were evidently unheard, for we caught the sound of an old man's voice reading the beautiful saying of Him whose words shall never pass away-"Be ye therefore perfect, even as your father in heaven is perfect." The next moment we stood at the door unperceived. The room was poorly furnished, and surrounded with bookshelves, while the floor, the table, and even the chairs, were covered with huge dusty volumes. On the table was a large lamp, and almost behind it, on an old chair with a high, pointed, and carved back, sat a man, whose handsome face might have been modelled for a bust of Antinous. The high brow asserted command, the large temples were broad with thought, the chiselled nostrils spoke of taste, and the large, soft, brown eyes were fraught with feeling, warmth, enthusiasm, and heart. There was but one defect, and that was a grave one-the mouth, though the lips were beautifully bowed, was spoiled by a projecting chin. This, while it destroyed the beauty, added greatly to the character of the face, and threw light on that of its owner. In that one defect lay all of grossness, all of earthliness and sensuality, all, too, of weakness, that deformed the spiritual perfection of his face and his Without it, he might have been a god, with it he was a man, and even a little lower than a man. As to the rest, sorrow had left its footprints on his cheeks, and laid its silver on his head. There was a slight, a very slight, sinking of the lower lids of his eyes, which gave him the appearance of a man consumed by his sorrows, and yet there was a serenity about his mouth which destroyed that impression. He certainly looked nearer sixty than fifty.

nature.

His face had struck me so much, that I had time to study it before I perceived that there was another near itmore pleasing, if scarcely as interesting. Behind the chair, leaning her face on her hand, and reading over her father's shoulder, stood a girl of fifteen or sixteen, though tall, and somehow with an expression too advanced for her years. The face struck me as pretty, but, as I then saw it, certainly not as beautiful. The abundant masses of almost golden hair, so fine and silky by nature that it seemed as if the brush of civilisation had scarcely touched it,

struck me chiefly; beneath these was a fresh face of rather irregular features, with a very lovely complexion and large blue eyes. The mouth had borrowed in the slightest degree possible the turning of her father's. The lips were thick and pouting, and, though the chin was quite en régle, the under lip projected just enough to give a strange expression to an otherwise pleasing face.

It took me scarce three minutes to examine these two faces, though it has taken long to describe them; and before the investigation was completed Konrad had knocked at the open door, and the two heads raised their eyes in astonishment. I could perceive that the colour left the cheek of the man, and, on the other hand, came into that of the maiden, whose careless youth was not yet the slave of nervous fears.

The next minute, the recognition had taken place, and, with ejaculations of astonishment, the old man had embraced Konrad, more Germanico.

"My best friend," said Konrad, placing my hand in that of Von Rit

ter.

Yet

"He would be mine," said the other, "even if he were your worst. how," he continued, still holding my hands, "how much is that sacred name abused. How much is expected of a friend, and how little is accomplished. If you are an honest man, and take unto you some apparently devoted Pylades, who is all eager to serve you to the last drop of his blood, how soon you find the tables are turned. It is first a little affair of a duel, where the friend whose humanity you respected, aims at his adversary's heart and kills him. You are merely obliged to seek an honourable exile, and your 'friend' scarcely thanks you. Then it is to put your name to a little bill, quite secure,' he tells you, and when the day comes, you are there and he is off, and you are ruined for your 'friend.' Or it is security for appearance, and your good-hearted friend prefers his own security to yours, and your purse is emptied for him. You may say that a well-chosen friend will generally do as much for you, as you for him; but how many times it is the honester man who suf fers, duped by the abuse of that sacred epithet. How natural for the less scrupulous to get out of your scrapes, when you have real need of him, by a

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polite but stiff note, ending with those often repeated words, After duly considering the matter, it would seem more advisable that our acquaintance should cease.' Yes, the word friendship, abused so often before, can there be no longer employed, and your faithful Achates discovers, at the right moment, that you have never been ' on terms of intimacy.' I have known what it is to have friends, and I assure you the experience has made me very Christian, for I can safely say I love my enemies a great deal better."

There was a tone of deep bitterness about these words which I could not then understand, but which lent a deep interest to him. He had all the manner, the tone, and even the dress, though without its freshness, of a man of the world, and, after expecting to find a great deal of beard and philosophy, I was both agreeably and disagreeably disappointed-sorry for the loss of the philosophic aspect, and rejoiced at the sight of a clean shirt. I could not understand how this man, whose face bore more traces of deep feeling than of profound thought, could have been the author of a work which had originated a new school throughout Germany, and had found readers throughout the world.

Meanwhile, it had not escaped me that a more than common greeting was going forward between Konrad and the philosopher's daughter; and the whole matter was decided in my mind before her father had finished his sermon on the old adage of a "friend in need." It was clear that Konrad had here a deeper interest than the mere affection for an old friend; his anxiety to come was now explained, and he had brought me, partly out of goodnature, and partly to keep the papa engaged while he flirted with the damsel. I saw it all, and was too fond of my old Pylades to thwart his plans.

When, therefore, the old man led me up, and joining our hands with the old-fashioned courtesy of the South of Germany, said, "My daughter, Beatrix, has two good reasons for liking you, even before she knows you Firstly, because you are the friend of her "he hesitated a moment, "her-very old companion; and, secondly, because you are an Englishman. She admires your country and yourselves far more than Ger

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