CHAP. V.

The Prince, baffled at every attempt in his wish to acquaint himself with the true state of his political affairs, turned his attention to another matter, which promised to be equally disagreeable to our friend the minister. With out any regard to the rupture between the two states, he actually fell in love with a princess of the neighbouring principality, whom he insisted on marrying. The foresight of the minister anticipated the greatest evils from the union projected by the Prince, who, however vacillating he might have been in other things, was determined in this matter.

The flute-maker, who had retired from business, was desirous of acquiring public honours. He was chosen a member of the town council, and took every opportunity to complain of the conduct of the ininister. As he had a loud voice, a well-made figure, a vast flow of language, and a few Latin phrases to quote, he was a dangerous enemy in the town-council, where these qualities and possessions were in high repute. The flute-maker, too, had his troubles: he would have kept on business at a loss, rather than have sold his interest to Caspar: but his agent had concluded the sale past recall before he, who was at a watering-place many miles away, had even heard the name of his successor. The agent, who was a lawyer, knew very well that his conduct would displease his principal: but Caspar had the interest of Blowhardt, who was great at court, and the situation of attorney to the Prince had just fallen vacant. The lawyer sold the business, as we have seen, to Caspar, and, as a reward for his pains, failed in persuading Blowhardt to interfere on his behalf, and the vacant appointment was given away to another.

We must give a glance at Madame Caspar, who daily grew grander. She dressed in the inost magnificent costumes ever seen, and received visitors in the style of the nobility themselves. In the leading journal of the town, she was styled, "the lovely and accomplished consort of the worthy court flutemaker, and mother to the celebrated Madame Blowhardt, the flutist." Yes; now Madame Caspar was happy; she dressed from morning to night, and visited from night till morning. Balls and fetes succeeded each other in quick time, and even the palace boards were not unknown to the airy steps of this fortunate lady. "There is nothing like a friend at court," she said: "our beloved Blowhardt first saw your merits, my dear Caspar, and to his interest we

owe all."

It was a little failing of Madame Caspar (and would to heaven it were confined to her!), that she never saw merit as merit while it was

under a cloud: but let it come forth, shine, win public notice then, indeed, she too gave it the meed of her approbation. Many a time had she roughly snatched Elizabeth's flute from her hand, and bidden her cease that noise; but after the girl's performance at court, "the talents of

my daughter, who is patronized by the Prince, and the great Blowhardt," were words frequently on her lips.

But we must leave the Caspars, to see how the political affairs of the state go on; and as politics are immensely important (according to our friend the minister), we will have a new chapter.

CHAP. VI.

It is as well to show the reader a little more about the quarrel between our little nameless state and the one adjoining it. About a hundred and fifty years before Prince John fell in love, the sovereign of one state took a liking to a certain possession, a field belonging to the other; war ensued, in which peaceable peasants of the one country, who cared nothing for the field, and a great deal for the comfort of their families, were pitted against similarly disposed peasants of the other country; so they fought and killed each other, and the widows and orphans were consoled for the loss of good husbands and fathers, by the cheering thought that it was all for the country's glory; and in the victorious country, on every anniversary of the day of battle, bonfires were kindled, bells rung, and many fairs held, so that the wholesome enmity had little chance of dying out.

Prince John's subjects were famous for the good shoes they made: they had leather and labour sufficient to supply their neighbours (who were not shoemakers); but the rulers of the rival country had prohibited the importation of shoes from the Prince's dominions. In return, the Prince's people, who made no hats, and who might have got them from the adjoining state, were forbidden to import hats under any cir cumstances. So the people of the one country went half-shod, and of the other half-covered, to keep up the glory and independence of their respective nations.

Thus had things been in the times of the minister's ancestors, and thus should they remain, he said. "What!" he exclaimed, in a fit of patriotism, "shall we gainsay the wisdom of our fathers? Shall we have the hardihood to interfere with those principles of government which have raised our country so high in the eyes of Germany and of Europe? Shall we meddle with a people who build their churches with the altar towards the north, instead of the east? If this be determined on, I shall mourn over the approaching ruin of my country; but my conscience will satisfy me that I served you well for forty years, and that your ingratitude, not my neglect, will have precipitated the country into difficulties !" Surely a generous people would pause after such an appeal as that! Surely a young prince would reconsider his passion before he jeopardized his country! Surely he would not revoke the prohibitions, contrary to the advice of his wise counsellor ! Alas! the Prince was in love. He was determined; he proposed to

relax the laws of commerce, and to cultivate friendship with his neighbours. Was there ever such a mad scheme? Meantime Towncouncillor the ex-court flute-maker-Bernard warmly espoused the cause of the Prince against the minister. He organized public meetings, showing the distress of the country for hats, and impeached the minister for consulting private interests rather than public good. "Why," asked Town-councillor (the late court flute-maker) Bernard-"why does the minister prevent us, my friends, from importing beaver hats from our neighbours, who produce them? I can tell you, my friends: the Lord Baron has many sheep, and sells yearly a quantity of wool to the felt-hatmakers: and pray, my good friends, why should we be forced to wear felthats which are inconvenient, to support the luxury and minister to the avarice of my Lord Baron? The wisdom of our ancestors,' continued Town-councillor the ex-count flutemaker Bernard, "is doubtless a fine term; but it means only the exclusiveness which made the law for the benefit of the Lord Baron's predecessors. In these days we are a little wiser, and we deny the right of this lordly wool-merchant to sell us felt-hats against our will; while, in exchange for our surplus shoes, we might support our labouring people of the shoe-trade, and cover our heads much more agreeably."

Madame Caspar was quite pleased with the animated tone of society, and she thought herself a good politician; and at her soirées she talked to her guests about the principles of government, the rights of the subject, &c. Now we know that Madame Caspar disliked the minister, because in old days he had patronized so warmly the ex-court flute-maker: besides, the Prince disliked him too, and sought daily for an occasion to dismiss him, which he daily artfully avoided. What loyal subject could respect a man disliked by his Prince? Madame Caspar hated the minister, and wrote a pamphlet on beaver hats and the marriages of sovereigns, which created a sensation. Then she sought out the late court flute-maker; told him she admired his principles, begged that all unpleasantness might cease, and concluded by restoring him his son's commission (formerly forfeited), which she had got the Prince to give back, on her promise to obtain the aid of the town-councillor in the business of his sovereign's marriage.

Bernard and the Caspars were firm friends: thus will a common interest unite even open enemies! Young Bernard stood again in his Sovereign's presence, and the minister fell daily lower and lower.

CHAP. VII.

A solemn meeting was held in the Prince's private apartment; Bernard the town-councillor, Madame Caspar, and the leaders of the Beaverhat party were present. They were debating the best mode of hastening the Prince's wishes.

"It appears to me," said Madame Caspar, "that the time is come for old dislikes to be forgotten, and new leagues of friendship to be made. Let us interchange kindnesses with our neighbours, and we shall be the better and happier for it. I think if a trusty friend to the Prince were despatched on a secret mission to the father of his beloved one, to ascertain what are the disposition and opinions of that sovereign with regard to the matters under consideration, it would be eminently useful. I accuse none; but I have heard from credible authority that dispatches are suppressed, and the feelings of our neighbours misrepresented in the ministerial organs." The Prince bowed and said, " But whom can I entrust with a mission alike difficult and delicate? You, Madame, with your ready tact, would be just the person to sound my adored Princess on the subject; but how can we spare you, and how could I ensure you against interruption and annoyance on your long journey?"

Sire," replied Madame Caspar, patriotically, no danger is aught to me, provided I can serve my Prince and my country. I shall be proud to undertake it; and my presence at that court will perhaps excite less suspicion there than that of any man whom you could send. My health has been for some time indifferent; I shall go ostensibly for the benefit of the waters which are found near the capital of the adjoining state; and I will regularly transmit the news to you, under cover to my husband, and whose name on my foreign letters will create no suspicion, both because he is not a political man, and because I should of course be expected to write to him. If your Highness would permit Lieutenant Bernard to accompany me, I should be obliged; for my son-in-law, Blowhardt, is at this moment engaged in preparing music for your Highness's marriage, and cannot spare an hour from his labours. Lieutenant Bernard is young enough to travel as my son; and if he be willing, and we get your Highness's permission, it will be very pleasant."

Young Bernard used to hate Madame Caspar when she was poor, and he heard the scoldings Elizabeth received; but she was a person whom prosperity rendered much more agreeable, and since she had got him back his commission, he had been on the best terms with her; so he agreed at once, and thought once or twice, "What a pity Elizabeth married! I myself might have had her now!"

Behold then, Madame Caspar arrived, after a prosperous journey, at the court of Prince Maximilian. As she travelled privately, no grand reception was given; but after she had had one successful interview with the Prince, the nobility began to make entertainments for her, most liberally. How proud she felt, as she sat at her desk writing this, her first letter to her sovereign!

Maximilian the day before yesterday; he received "SIRE, I had my first interview with Prince me in the most flattering manner, and said all sorts of kind things regarding my dear sovereiga. To your offers of commerce he will be only too willing

to accede, for the hatters here are distressed for want of employment; and the new minister at this

court has several times hinted at a relaxation of the

existing laws relating to trade. The people are desirous of extending their trade, and a proclamation was well received the other evening, which would have been resisted had not a good feeling toward our nation prevailed. The Prince issued a command that, on next Monday, the anniversary of the battle between the states, instead of bonfires, fairs, and bell-ringings, to perpetuate the enmity, there shall be service in the churches and special prayers for peace and amity; after which the customary festivities may go on-not as a sign of unextinguished hate, but as a token of good-will, and

to mark the commencement of a new era. Thus

far, Sire, all will go well; and the Prince has promised you, by me, that in three months from the present our shoes may come into this state, and their hats go out of it.

"And now for the more delicate affair. The Prince received your overtures for the hand of his daughter with manifest pleasure; he said he had every reason to respect you; and that, provided the young Princess were willing, he should at once consent to your proposals. I then, with his permission, sought the Princess, to whom I presented your portrait according to your wish. Her blushes convinced me at once that her thoughts of you were not thoughts of indifference; and, kissing her hand, I ventured to salute her as my future sovereign. She burst into tears and thanked me heartily for my expressions of kindness; and, before I left her, I succeeded in getting from her a consent, rather timid than reluctant. Every one will, I am sure, echo the choice of his prince. The Princess is the loveliest creature I ever looked upon! Her manners are so modest, so dignified! And her voice is music itself! I presented to her, yesterday morning, a pair of the embroidered shoes, for which our capital is famous; and, in honour of my visit, she is graciously pleased to say she will wear them on Monday, the festival

day, when she will go to church in state, to join in

the prayers for peace and amity.

"Prince Maximilian assures me that the dislike between the countries has been fermented during many years by-but no! I will not poison the ear of my prince with a tale of black treachery; the deceiver is already lowered in the public opinion, and the day of retribution will come.

"The formal acceptation of your highness's proposals is forwarded by Count Diedrich, a worthy and accomplished man, who will start on Tuesday next for your capital.

"With the most profound reverence, Sire,
"I have the honour to be
"Your highness's most humble servant,
"CAROLINE CASPAR."

CHAP. VIII.

friendly to Maximilian's country might give place to one whose sentiments were different. The minister, hearing of his approaching dismissal, wisely resigned, and with some remarks about a Sabine farm, retired to the country, having a pension settled on him in consideration of the services he had rendered his sovereign. Nobody cared when he left the town: they did not even miss him, they were so busy trying to persuade Town-Councillor Bernard to accept the Prince's invitation to form a new cabinet.

The modest Bernard, like Cæsar, thrice refused, and still, like Cæsar, finally consented. For my part, I look on such refusals as upon marriage, which is certainly literally no, but a young lady's "no" to her lover's first offer of

means,

Yes."

"If you ask me again, I shall say

The minister Bernard! (for he did accept at last.) His speeches in the States' Assembly were the most lucid, the most magnificent things ever read. He was a man of the people; he would act towards his order with consideration and justice; the Prince could rely on his honesty; the state now had a chance of progression!

As for his honesty, he had formerly had dealings with the old minister, which were not distinguished for that quality; and I have heard it hinted that Madame Caspar's friendly services at the other court, in getting one minister dismissed, while she knew very well who stood the next chance, procured for her the situation she so long and honourably filled-that of Grand Stocking Darner to the Prince's wife, with a salary of a great many crowns yearly, and nothing to do in return.

All was now arranged happily. Madame Caspar remained to conduct the Princess to the court of her bridegrom; and young Bernard received the appointment of Chevalier of the Mustard Pot from the hands of Prince Maximilian before he left the country.

On a certain day the cavalcade set out. The Princess bade adieu to her parents and the friends of her childhood, and set her face towards a new country and untried connexions.

It would be vain to attempt to describe the marriage festivities; it will suffice to say that fireworks went off, and eating and drinking went on for a whole month without intermission.

Perhaps the proudest day of Madame Caspar's life, was that of the baptism of her little grandson. The Prince stood sponsor; the child was named John Maximilian; a grand fete was given, at which all the nobility, including the Prince and Princess, assisted, and at which young Bernard, in the Order of the Mustard Pot, was an object of great admiration and envy to all the young ladies present.

BY MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND.

Welcome, purest Pearl of Spring!
Fairest little dainty thing,
Pendant from thy emerald stem,
As one holds apart a gem
For our own admiring gaze,
Or a friend's approving praise :
Pearl, a thousand times more dear

Than the one which-shrined in storySwung from Cleopatra's ear,

For her shame, and not her glory!

Jewel on the breast of Earth,
Why hast thou such priceless worth?
'Tis because a fairy spell

Doth within the Snow-Drop dwell.
If Pearls that rest in Ocean's caves
Have learned the secrets of the waves,
And when set on beauty's brow

(Faint with envy at its hue), They could hidden marvels show, Thou canst tell us tales as true!

Down I stoop my head to listen,
And I see thy leaflets glisten;
I have caught thy trick of speech,
And its meaning I can reach ;
Speak, sweet Herald of the Spring,
Speak, thou dainty fairy thing!
Have flower-roots in converse met?
Are the violets waking yet?
Oh, beneath their humble manner
Have they not a folded banner,
Ready to unfurl on high,

And flaunt their merits to the sky?
Crocuses are surely stirring,
Without drowsy vain demurring?
And the gentle primrose pale?
And the lily of the vale?

Through the long-long winter's night
Hidden from our mortal sight,
Did you sleep, you little flowers,
Dreaming of the summer hours?
Or was it yours, like slaves, to keep
Watch upon the slumbers deep
Of the garden's rival queens?
Or, among the forest scenes,
Did you list the heavy breathing,
Where the giant fibres wreathing,
Told of kingly oaks and elms,

And the woodland's sovereign realms,
Birch and beech, and chestnut fine,
Sycamore and slender pine?

I have bent my head to listen,
I have seen thy leaflets glisten;

I thy trick of speech have caught,
And thank thee for the lesson taught;
And I vow a vow to-day
Which Summer shall not charm away.
When the rose with her compeers
In her regal pomp appears-
When the graceful fuchsia stoops,
And beneath her riches droops,
(Ruby flowers with sapphire hearts)—
When the gentle Zephyr parts
Leaves aside, from blossoms bright,
As they were the tresses light
That veiled a beauty's starry eyes
Which glad us with a sweet surprise ;-
When beneath the sheltering trees
Gratefully I take my ease,
Pleased to note the quivering shade
By their waving branches made,
Finding voices in the sound
Of the rustling leaves around-
In that hour of summer glee
My vow is to remember Thee!
Purest Pearl on Earth's dark breast

First to wake from winter's rest,
First to sound with clarion voice
A song whose echo is "Rejoice!"
That song the flowers take up in turn,
If we but attentive learn,
Listening for their mystic speech,
And its meaning strive to reach.

Questions may be written here,
But no answer can appear,
For to every separate ear
Comes a separate response,
Like a music heard but once.
But in grateful meinory,

Through the hours of summer glec,
I will still remember Thee,
Fairest little dainty thing,
Herald of the Coming Spring!

Feb. 12th, 1850.

LEGENDS OF ROBIN HOOD. BY GEORGE J. O. ALLMANN. No. 1.-THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR. A barefooted Friar, one fine summer's eve, Through merry Sherwood took his way; He carried a stout oaken staff, I believe, And carolled a blithe roundelay;

When out of a covert sprung bold ROBIN HOOD!
Quoth he, "Stand, Sir Monk!-by the rood
None pass through my kingdom who pay not the
toll!"

"Ha! ha!" laughed the Friar, "thou'rt bold, o' my soul!"

Sing hey trollilee, ho trollilee,
Under the greenwood tree.

He flourished his quarterstaff over his head,
Bold ROBIN shook his in the air-
Their blows fell as thick and as heavy as lead;
Good lack! what a clatter was there!
"Gramercy!" at last cried bold Robin, "enough!
By the mass, but your sinews are tough;
You may pass through my kingdom WITHOUT
paying toll."

Quoth the Friar, "I've PAID it-I have, o' my

soul!"

Sing hey trollilee, ho trollilee,

Under the greenwood tree.

MOORE.

"Mother," said a little child, as they walked together one still sabbath morning over the green fields to church, "I was just thinking how glad the bells must feel when Sunday comes again."

A celebrated living authoress, writing in the same child-like spirit of a little wayside chapel, the bells of which were only tolled when a funeral went past, pitied them for "being condemned all their life long to utter nothing but melancholy music."

What histories may be heard in the ringing of the church bells, if we will only listen for them; how the past comes back at the sound; what memories they recall; what love they awaken-the love of church, and country, and home, and kindred, the living and the dead!

A poor woman, rapidly sinking under the effects of typhus fever, was removed by the advice of her kind and judicious physician-himself defraying the expenses-to her native village. It was the evening of the sabbath-day when she arrived. During the journey she had appeared perfectly insensible, and her aged parents stood around the bed, and wept because she knew them not. Presently the church-bell began to ring for evening service. A change came over the woman's face at the sound; her features relaxed, and she opened her eyes and smiled. "Father! Mother! Home!" exclaimed the wanderer, stretching out her arms towards them. She was saved, and the good physician went back rejoicing.

We remember hearing once of an unfortunate individual who was tempted, in an evil moment, to forsake the worship of his forefathers and embrace a false creed: the day arrived on which he was to make a public renunciation of his childhood's faith, and be admitted into the community whose views he had so erroneously adopted. Far away from his native land, with none to counsel or advise him, he stood alone with his own restless and misguided heart: the people listened for his words, his recantation, his confession; but none came, and after a moments' pause he sat down and burst into tears. They crowded round him; they questioned him, wonderingly, pityingly; but he heard only the sound that had saved him-the ringing of the church bells in his far-off home. A long illness followed, and with health of body there returned health of mind. After all, the

few

ringing of the bells might have been only a fever-dream; anyhow, it preserved him from a fearful apostacy.

Church bells are said to have been first employed for the purposes of Christian devotion about the year of our Lord 400, by Paulinus, Bishop of Nola, a city of Campania. In Britain, they were applied to church purposes towards the close of the seventh century, and were therefore used from the first erection of parish churches. "There is something very affecting," writes a modern author, “in the thought, that, among all the changes and chances of so many centuries, religious as well as civil, the same sounds in each successive age have summoned the members of Christ's church, each succeeding sabbath, to the worship of God." How many generations have lived, and loved, and died, who have listened to those very bells which are even now sounding in our ears!

By its bells the church mixes and blends religion audibly, as it were, with all the affairs of human life-its joys, its sorrows, and its duties: it makes itself heard above the busy hum of the world, reminding us of heaven; it mingles its divine harmony with the music of every-day life, and modulates it. Schiller, in his well known 'Song of the Bell,” says—

"Heartless itself, nor form'd to feel,
It follows life's mixed scenes among
Each turn of Fortune's fickle wheel,
And, as its echo on the gale

Dies off, though long and loud, the tone
Shall teach that all on earth must fail,
All pass away-save GOD alone."

Many and changeful are the voices of the bells. Now they chime, and now they toll. On a day of national rejoicing how merry they seem; how they answer one another from belfry to belfry, and blend together in one cheerful thanksgiving! What music, on such occasions, is like the music of the bells, ringing out their joyous anthems overhead?—

"Coming and going, as by the air
The strain is wafted here and there
Along the silent ground.

To me, they ever seem to bear

A blessing in their sound!"

Then there is the prayer-bell-the bell which, sabbath after sabbath, maybe, ever since we were