CHAPTER IV.

THE MURDER OF EDWARD.

When little Ethelred saw his brother stabbed and bleeding, and dragged over the rough earth, he began to weep. Elfrida beat him and sent him to his chamber.What a night was that when the moon silvered the forest! One boy king mangled and dead on the cold ground, and another boy king weeping in the forest castle, and beaten and bruised for being touched at heart at the murder of his bright, innocent brother.Ethelred came to the English throne at the age of ten. He was the last of the six boy kings.The people held him in disfavor from the first on account of his bad mother, and when Dunstan put the crown on his head at Kingston, he pronounced a curse instead of a blessing. Neither the blessing nor the curse of a man likeDunstan could be of much account, and we do not believe that the latter did the little boy Ethelred any harm.Dunstan was now old and as full of craft and wickedness as he was full of years. He continued to practise jugglery, which he called performing miracles, whenever he found his influence declining, or had an important end to accomplish.In the reign of Ethelred Dunstan died. As he had used politics to help the church, he was made a saint. This was in a rude and ignorant age.Poor boy kings! Edmund was murdered; Edwy died of a broken heart; Edward was stabbed and dragged to death at his horse’s heels; and Ethelred lost his kingdom. Three of them were good and three were bad. Only one of them was happy.Edmund, eighteen years of age, reigned from 940 to 946; Edred, 946 to 955; Edwy, fifteen years of age, 955 to 958; Edgar, fifteen years of age, 958 to 975; Edward, thirteen years of age, 975 to 979; Ethelred, ten years of age, 979 to 1016.So the boy kings reigned in all seventy-six years, and governed England in their youth for nearly fifty years.

When little Ethelred saw his brother stabbed and bleeding, and dragged over the rough earth, he began to weep. Elfrida beat him and sent him to his chamber.

What a night was that when the moon silvered the forest! One boy king mangled and dead on the cold ground, and another boy king weeping in the forest castle, and beaten and bruised for being touched at heart at the murder of his bright, innocent brother.

Ethelred came to the English throne at the age of ten. He was the last of the six boy kings.

The people held him in disfavor from the first on account of his bad mother, and when Dunstan put the crown on his head at Kingston, he pronounced a curse instead of a blessing. Neither the blessing nor the curse of a man likeDunstan could be of much account, and we do not believe that the latter did the little boy Ethelred any harm.

Dunstan was now old and as full of craft and wickedness as he was full of years. He continued to practise jugglery, which he called performing miracles, whenever he found his influence declining, or had an important end to accomplish.

In the reign of Ethelred Dunstan died. As he had used politics to help the church, he was made a saint. This was in a rude and ignorant age.

Poor boy kings! Edmund was murdered; Edwy died of a broken heart; Edward was stabbed and dragged to death at his horse’s heels; and Ethelred lost his kingdom. Three of them were good and three were bad. Only one of them was happy.

Edmund, eighteen years of age, reigned from 940 to 946; Edred, 946 to 955; Edwy, fifteen years of age, 955 to 958; Edgar, fifteen years of age, 958 to 975; Edward, thirteen years of age, 975 to 979; Ethelred, ten years of age, 979 to 1016.

So the boy kings reigned in all seventy-six years, and governed England in their youth for nearly fifty years.

“I like your story, Master Toby,” said Master Lewis; “as a story, I mean. The historic facts are mainly as you have given them, but I think St. Dunstan’s intentions may have been good, after all. He lived in an age of superstition, when it was believed that any political act was right that would increase the power of the church. Christianity then was not what it had been in the early church nor what it is to-day. Men must be somewhat regarded in the light of the times in which they lived.”

The literary exercises for the evening were thus closed.

The Story of the Emperor William.—The Story of “Sneeze with Delight.”—Poem-Stories.

AT the first meeting of the Club to study the history and to relate stories of the Rhine and the North, Master Lewis was present, and, after the preliminary business had been transacted, said that he had some suggestions in mind which he wished to make.

“I notice,” he said, “that many of you have been obtaining from the Boston Public Library English translations of the works of Hauff, Hoffman, Baron de La Motte Fouqué, Grimm, Schiller, and Tieck, and I think that there is danger that story-reading and story-telling may occupy too much of your time and thought. Let me propose that a brief history of each author be given with the story at the meetings of the Club, so that you may at least obtain some knowledge of German literature.”

The suggestion met with the approval of all, and it was voted that at future meetings the biographies of authors should be given with the stories, and that only the stories of the best authors should be selected, except in the case of legends of places.

“I have another proposal to make,” said Master Lewis. “You are not very familiar with German politics. Suppose you let me give you from time to time some short talks about the German Governmentand its ministers,—King William, Count Bismarck, and Count Von Moltke.”

This kind offer was received with cheers and placed upon record with thanks.

“Perhaps you may be willing to open our exercises to-night with one of the talks you have planned,” said the President. “It would be a helpful beginning, which we would appreciate.”

“I am not as well prepared as I would like,” said the teacher; “but as I believe in making a first meeting of this kind a sort of a model in its plan and purpose, I will in a free way tell you something of

The life of the Emperor of Germany has been full of thrilling and dramatic scenes.When he was a boy, Germany—the great Germany of Charlemagne—was divided into states, each having its own ruler. His father was Frederick William III., King of Prussia, and his mother was Louise, an excellent woman; his youth was passed amid the excitements of Napoleon’s conquests. Russia and Prussia combined against Napoleon; Russia was placed at a disadvantage in two doubtful battles, when she deserted the Prussian cause, and made a treaty of peace.Napoleon then sent for the King of Prussia, to tell him what he would leave him.The lovely Queen Louise went with the unfortunate king to meet the French conqueror, hoping thereby to obtain more favorable terms. But Napoleon treated her with scorn, boasting that he was like “waxed cloth to rain.”He, however, offered the queen a rose, in a softer moment.“Yes,” said Louise, thinking of her kingdom, “but with Magdeburg.”“It isIwho give, andyouwho take,” answered Napoleon haughtily.Napoleon took away from Prussia all the lands on the Elbe and the Rhine, and, uniting these to other German states, formed a kingdom for his brother Jerome.The good Queen Louise pined away with grief and shame at her country’s losses, and died two years after of a broken heart. So the boyhood of William was very sad.It is said that children fulfil the ideals of their mothers. Poor Louise little thought that her second son would one day be crowned Emperor of all Germany in the palace of the French kings at Versailles.William was born in 1797; he ascended the throne as King of Prussia in 1861. How widely these dates stand apart!On the day of his coronation as King of Prussia, he exhibited his own character and religious faith by putting the crown on his own head. “I rule,” he said, “by the favor of God and no one else.”Under his vigorous rule Prussia grew in military power, and excited the jealousy of the French people. Napoleon III., on a slight pretext, declared war with Prussia. In this war Prussia was victorious.

The life of the Emperor of Germany has been full of thrilling and dramatic scenes.

When he was a boy, Germany—the great Germany of Charlemagne—was divided into states, each having its own ruler. His father was Frederick William III., King of Prussia, and his mother was Louise, an excellent woman; his youth was passed amid the excitements of Napoleon’s conquests. Russia and Prussia combined against Napoleon; Russia was placed at a disadvantage in two doubtful battles, when she deserted the Prussian cause, and made a treaty of peace.

Napoleon then sent for the King of Prussia, to tell him what he would leave him.

The lovely Queen Louise went with the unfortunate king to meet the French conqueror, hoping thereby to obtain more favorable terms. But Napoleon treated her with scorn, boasting that he was like “waxed cloth to rain.”

He, however, offered the queen a rose, in a softer moment.

“Yes,” said Louise, thinking of her kingdom, “but with Magdeburg.”

“It isIwho give, andyouwho take,” answered Napoleon haughtily.

Napoleon took away from Prussia all the lands on the Elbe and the Rhine, and, uniting these to other German states, formed a kingdom for his brother Jerome.

The good Queen Louise pined away with grief and shame at her country’s losses, and died two years after of a broken heart. So the boyhood of William was very sad.

It is said that children fulfil the ideals of their mothers. Poor Louise little thought that her second son would one day be crowned Emperor of all Germany in the palace of the French kings at Versailles.

William was born in 1797; he ascended the throne as King of Prussia in 1861. How widely these dates stand apart!

On the day of his coronation as King of Prussia, he exhibited his own character and religious faith by putting the crown on his own head. “I rule,” he said, “by the favor of God and no one else.”

Under his vigorous rule Prussia grew in military power, and excited the jealousy of the French people. Napoleon III., on a slight pretext, declared war with Prussia. In this war Prussia was victorious.

That was indeed a memorable hour in the emperor’s life when he met the fallen Emperor of the French in the Chateau Bellevue, on a hill of the Meuse overlooking Sedan. The king and the emperor had met before; they then were equals, brother rulers of two of the most powerful nations on earth. They met now as conqueror and captive, and the one held the fate of the other in his hands.“We were both moved at seeing each other again under such circumstances,” said King William. “I had seen Napoleon only three years before, at the summit of his power. What my feelings were is more than I can describe.”The king spoke first.“God has given victory to me in the war that has been declared against me.”“The war,” said Napoleon, “was not sought by me. I did not desire it. I declared it in obedience to the public sentiment of France.”“Your Majesty,” said the king, “made the war to meet public opinion; but your ministers created that public opinion.”“Your artillery, sire, won the battle. The Prussian artillery is the finest in the world.”“Has your Majesty any conditions to propose?”“None: I have no power; I am a prisoner.”“Where is the government in France with which I can treat?”“In Paris: the empress and the ministers. I am powerless.”King William, as you know, marched to Paris, and at last made conditions of peace almost as hard as Napoleon I. had made with his father. The Germanprinces in his hour of victory offered him the crown of Southern Germany, and he was crowned at Versailles, in the great hall of mirrors, Emperor of Germany.Let me now speak of the kaiser’s

“We were both moved at seeing each other again under such circumstances,” said King William. “I had seen Napoleon only three years before, at the summit of his power. What my feelings were is more than I can describe.”

The king spoke first.

“God has given victory to me in the war that has been declared against me.”

“The war,” said Napoleon, “was not sought by me. I did not desire it. I declared it in obedience to the public sentiment of France.”

“Your Majesty,” said the king, “made the war to meet public opinion; but your ministers created that public opinion.”

“Your artillery, sire, won the battle. The Prussian artillery is the finest in the world.”

“Has your Majesty any conditions to propose?”

“None: I have no power; I am a prisoner.”

“Where is the government in France with which I can treat?”

“In Paris: the empress and the ministers. I am powerless.”

King William, as you know, marched to Paris, and at last made conditions of peace almost as hard as Napoleon I. had made with his father. The Germanprinces in his hour of victory offered him the crown of Southern Germany, and he was crowned at Versailles, in the great hall of mirrors, Emperor of Germany.

Let me now speak of the kaiser’s

It is rare that men and women live to celebrate their seventy-fifth birthday. The age allotted to mortals by the Psalmist is threescore and ten.

THE EMPEROR WILLIAM AND NAPOLEON III.

But the hale old Emperor of Germany has not only recently commemorated the completion of his eighty-sixth year, but—what is still more striking—at the same time marked the seventy-sixth year of his service as an officer in the Prussian army.It is related that, on the 22d of March, 1807, on which day William was just ten years old, his father, then King of Prussia, called him into his study and said,—“My son, I appoint you an officer in my army. You will serve in Company No. 1 of the First Guard Regiment.”The little prince drew himself up, gave his father a prompt military salute, and retired. An hour later he reappeared before the king, attired in the uniform of his new rank; and, repeating the salute, announced to his royal father that “he was ready for duty.”

It is related that, on the 22d of March, 1807, on which day William was just ten years old, his father, then King of Prussia, called him into his study and said,—

“My son, I appoint you an officer in my army. You will serve in Company No. 1 of the First Guard Regiment.”

The little prince drew himself up, gave his father a prompt military salute, and retired. An hour later he reappeared before the king, attired in the uniform of his new rank; and, repeating the salute, announced to his royal father that “he was ready for duty.”

WILLIAM BEFORE HIS FATHER.

Even at so early an age, William was no fancy soldier, holding rank and title, and leaving to humbler officers the duties and hardships. He at once devoted himself to the task of a junior ensign; and from that time onward became an officer in truth, laboring zealously to master the military science, and rising step by step, not by favor, but by merit and seniority.At the age of eighteen, William was in Blucher’s army at Waterloo, taking an active part in the overthrow of Napoleon, and witnessing that mighty downfall. A little later, he was promoted to the rank of major for cool courage under heavy fire; and from that time on, for nearly half a century, William devoted himself wholly to the military profession.When he ascended the Prussian throne, there was no more unpopular man in the kingdom. He had put down the revolutionary rising in Berlin with grim and relentless hand; and the people believed that their new monarch was a cruel and haughty tyrant.It was not until after the great triumph over Austria, in 1866, that thePrussians began to discover that King William was not only a valiant soldier, but an ardent lover of his country, and a kind-hearted, whole-souled father of his people.

At the age of eighteen, William was in Blucher’s army at Waterloo, taking an active part in the overthrow of Napoleon, and witnessing that mighty downfall. A little later, he was promoted to the rank of major for cool courage under heavy fire; and from that time on, for nearly half a century, William devoted himself wholly to the military profession.

When he ascended the Prussian throne, there was no more unpopular man in the kingdom. He had put down the revolutionary rising in Berlin with grim and relentless hand; and the people believed that their new monarch was a cruel and haughty tyrant.

It was not until after the great triumph over Austria, in 1866, that thePrussians began to discover that King William was not only a valiant soldier, but an ardent lover of his country, and a kind-hearted, whole-souled father of his people.

For the last sixteen years, no sovereign in Europe has been more devotedly beloved and revered by his subjects. Although William is autocratic, and believes in his “divine right” to rule as sturdily as did his mediæval ancestors, and has not a little contempt for popular clamors and popular rights, his reign has been on the whole brilliantly wise and successful. While this has been in a great measure due to the presence of a group of great men around him,—notably of Bismarck and Von Moltke,—the emperor himself has had no small share in promoting the power and towering fortunes of Germany.His paternal ways with his people, his military knowledge, his fine, frank, hearty, chivalrous nature, his sound sense in the choice of his advisers, and his perception of the wisdom of their counsels, have much aided in raising Prussia and Germany to their present height in Europe.

His paternal ways with his people, his military knowledge, his fine, frank, hearty, chivalrous nature, his sound sense in the choice of his advisers, and his perception of the wisdom of their counsels, have much aided in raising Prussia and Germany to their present height in Europe.

An old helmet sits on various papers on a desk

KING WILLIAM’S HELMET.

Beneath his commanding and rugged exterior there beats a very kindly heart. Many incidents have been related to show the simple good-nature of his character. In his study, on the table at which he writes, there has long remained a rusty old cavalry helmet, the relic of some military association of the emperor.Whenever the death-warrant of a condemned criminal is brought to him to sign, the emperor looks at it, and then slyly slips the fatal document under the helmet. Sometimes his ministers, anxious that the warrants should be signed, take occasion, in his absence from the study, to pull the papers out from beneath the helmet, just enough to catch their master’s eye.Most often, however William, on perceiving them, quietly pushes them back again, without a word. So great is his repugnance to dooming even a hardened criminal to death, by a mere scratch of his pen.At eighty-six, the stalwart old kaiser cannot hope to dwell much longer among his people; but it will be very long before his fine qualities, soldierly courage, and affectionate nature will grow dim in the memory of the fatherland.

Whenever the death-warrant of a condemned criminal is brought to him to sign, the emperor looks at it, and then slyly slips the fatal document under the helmet. Sometimes his ministers, anxious that the warrants should be signed, take occasion, in his absence from the study, to pull the papers out from beneath the helmet, just enough to catch their master’s eye.

Most often, however William, on perceiving them, quietly pushes them back again, without a word. So great is his repugnance to dooming even a hardened criminal to death, by a mere scratch of his pen.

At eighty-six, the stalwart old kaiser cannot hope to dwell much longer among his people; but it will be very long before his fine qualities, soldierly courage, and affectionate nature will grow dim in the memory of the fatherland.

The stories related at this meeting were largely from Grimm and Fouqué, and are to be found in American books.

The most pleasing of the stories, told by Herman Reed, is not so well known, and we give it here.

Many, many years ago there lived in an old German town a good cobbler and his wife. They had one child, Jamie, a handsome boy of some eight years. They were poor people; and the good wife, to help her husband, had a stall in the great market, where she sold fruit and herbs.One day the cobbler’s wife was at the market as usual, and her little boy was with her, when a strange old woman entered the stalls.The woman hardly seemed human. She had red eyes, a wizened, pinched-up face, and her nose was sharp and hooked, and almost reached to her chin. Her dress was made up of rags and tatters. Never before had there entered the market such a repulsive-looking person.“Are you Hannah the herb-woman?” she asked, bobbing her head to and fro. “Eh?”“Yes.”“Let me see, let me see; you may have some herbs I want.”She thrust her skinny hands into the herbs, took them up and smelled of them, crushing them as she did so.Having mauled them to her heart’s content, she shook her head, saying,—“Bad stuff; rubbish; nothing I want; rubbish, rubbish,—eh?”“You are an impudent old hag,” said the cobbler’s boy, Jamie; “you have crushed our herbs, held them under your ugly nose, and now condemn them.”“Aha, my son, you do not like my nose,—eh? You shall have one, too, to pay for this,—eh?”“If you want to buy anything, pray do so at once,” said the cobbler’s wife; “you are keeping other customers away.”“Iwillbuy something,” said the hag viciously; “Iwillbuy. I will takethese six cabbages. Six? That is more than I can carry, as I have to lean upon my stick. You must let your boy take them home for me.”This was but a reasonable request, and the cobbler’s wife consented.Jamie did as he was bid, and followed the hag to her home. It was a long distance there. At last the beldam stopped in an out-of-the-way part of the town, before a strange-looking house. She touched a rusty key to the door, which flew open, and, as the two entered, a most astonishing sight was revealed to Jamie’s eyes.The interior of the house was like a throne-room in a palace, the ceilings were of marble and gold, and the furniture was jewelled ebony.The old woman took a silver whistle and blew it. Little animals—guinea pigs and squirrels—answered the call. They were dressed like children, and walked on two legs; they could talk and understand what was said to them. Was the beldam an enchantress, and were these little animals children, whom she had stolen and made victims of her enchantments?

One day the cobbler’s wife was at the market as usual, and her little boy was with her, when a strange old woman entered the stalls.

The woman hardly seemed human. She had red eyes, a wizened, pinched-up face, and her nose was sharp and hooked, and almost reached to her chin. Her dress was made up of rags and tatters. Never before had there entered the market such a repulsive-looking person.

“Are you Hannah the herb-woman?” she asked, bobbing her head to and fro. “Eh?”

“Yes.”

“Let me see, let me see; you may have some herbs I want.”

She thrust her skinny hands into the herbs, took them up and smelled of them, crushing them as she did so.

Having mauled them to her heart’s content, she shook her head, saying,—

“Bad stuff; rubbish; nothing I want; rubbish, rubbish,—eh?”

“You are an impudent old hag,” said the cobbler’s boy, Jamie; “you have crushed our herbs, held them under your ugly nose, and now condemn them.”

“Aha, my son, you do not like my nose,—eh? You shall have one, too, to pay for this,—eh?”

“If you want to buy anything, pray do so at once,” said the cobbler’s wife; “you are keeping other customers away.”

“Iwillbuy something,” said the hag viciously; “Iwillbuy. I will takethese six cabbages. Six? That is more than I can carry, as I have to lean upon my stick. You must let your boy take them home for me.”

This was but a reasonable request, and the cobbler’s wife consented.

Jamie did as he was bid, and followed the hag to her home. It was a long distance there. At last the beldam stopped in an out-of-the-way part of the town, before a strange-looking house. She touched a rusty key to the door, which flew open, and, as the two entered, a most astonishing sight was revealed to Jamie’s eyes.

The interior of the house was like a throne-room in a palace, the ceilings were of marble and gold, and the furniture was jewelled ebony.

The old woman took a silver whistle and blew it. Little animals—guinea pigs and squirrels—answered the call. They were dressed like children, and walked on two legs; they could talk and understand what was said to them. Was the beldam an enchantress, and were these little animals children, whom she had stolen and made victims of her enchantments?

Jamie at the strange-looking house

“Sit down, child,” said the old woman, in a soft voice, “sit down; you have had a heavy load to carry. Sit down, and I will make you a delicious soup; one that you will remember as long as you live. It will contain some of the herb for which I was looking in the market and did not find. Sit down.”The beldam hurried hither and thither, and with the help of the guinea pigs and squirrels quickly made the soup.“There, my child, eat that. It contains the magic herb I could not find inthe market. Why did your mother not have it? Whoever eats that will become a magic cook.”Jamie had never tasted such delicious soup. It seemed to intoxicate him. It produced a stupor. He felt a great change coming over him. He seemed to become one of the family of guinea pigs and squirrels, and, like them, to serve their mistress. Delightful little people they were,—he came to regard them as brothers; and time flew by.Years flew by, and other years, when one day the dame took her crutch and went out. She left her herb-room open, and he went in. In one of the secret cupboards he discovered an herb that had the same scent as the soup he had eaten years before. He examined it. The leaves were blue and the blossoms crimson. He smelt of it.He began to sneeze,—such a delightful sneeze! He smelt, and sneezed again. Suddenly he seemed to awake, as from a dream,—as though some strange enchantment had been broken.“I must go home,” he said. “How mother will laugh when I tell her my dream! I ought not to have gone to sleep in a strange house.”He went out into the street. The children and idlers began to follow him.“Oho, oho! look, what a strange dwarf! Look at his nose! Never the like was seen before.”Jamie tried to discover the dwarf, but could not see him.He reached the market. His mother was there, a sad old woman, in the same place. She seemed altered; looked many years older than when he left her. She leaned her head wearily on her hand.“What is the matter, mother dear?” he asked.She started up.“What do you want of me, you poor dwarf? Do not mock me. I have had sorrow, and cannot endure jokes.”“But, mother, what has happened?”He rushed towards her to embrace her, but she leaped into the air.The market-women came to her and drove him away.He went to his father’s cobbler’s shop. His father was there, but he looked like an old man.“Good gracious! what is that?” said he wildly, as Jamie appeared.“How are you getting on, master?” asked Jamie.“Poorly enough. I’m getting old, and have no one to help me.”“Have you no son?”“Ihadone, years ago.”

The beldam hurried hither and thither, and with the help of the guinea pigs and squirrels quickly made the soup.

“There, my child, eat that. It contains the magic herb I could not find inthe market. Why did your mother not have it? Whoever eats that will become a magic cook.”

Jamie had never tasted such delicious soup. It seemed to intoxicate him. It produced a stupor. He felt a great change coming over him. He seemed to become one of the family of guinea pigs and squirrels, and, like them, to serve their mistress. Delightful little people they were,—he came to regard them as brothers; and time flew by.

Years flew by, and other years, when one day the dame took her crutch and went out. She left her herb-room open, and he went in. In one of the secret cupboards he discovered an herb that had the same scent as the soup he had eaten years before. He examined it. The leaves were blue and the blossoms crimson. He smelt of it.

He began to sneeze,—such a delightful sneeze! He smelt, and sneezed again. Suddenly he seemed to awake, as from a dream,—as though some strange enchantment had been broken.

“I must go home,” he said. “How mother will laugh when I tell her my dream! I ought not to have gone to sleep in a strange house.”

He went out into the street. The children and idlers began to follow him.

“Oho, oho! look, what a strange dwarf! Look at his nose! Never the like was seen before.”

Jamie tried to discover the dwarf, but could not see him.

He reached the market. His mother was there, a sad old woman, in the same place. She seemed altered; looked many years older than when he left her. She leaned her head wearily on her hand.

“What is the matter, mother dear?” he asked.

She started up.

“What do you want of me, you poor dwarf? Do not mock me. I have had sorrow, and cannot endure jokes.”

“But, mother, what has happened?”

He rushed towards her to embrace her, but she leaped into the air.

The market-women came to her and drove him away.

He went to his father’s cobbler’s shop. His father was there, but he looked like an old man.

“Good gracious! what is that?” said he wildly, as Jamie appeared.

“How are you getting on, master?” asked Jamie.

“Poorly enough. I’m getting old, and have no one to help me.”

“Have you no son?”

“Ihadone, years ago.”

MOUNTAIN SCENE IN GERMANY.

“Where is he now?”“Heaven only knows. He was kidnapped one market-day, seven years ago.”“Seven years ago!”Jamie turned away. The people on the street stared at him, and the ill-bred children followed him. He chanced to pass a barber’s shop, where was a looking-glass in the window. He stopped and saw himself.The sight filled him with terror. He was a dwarf,with a nose like that of the strange old woman.What should he do?He remembered that the old woman had said that the eating of the magic soup that contained the magic herb would make him a magic cook.He went to the palace of the duke and inquired for the major domo. He was kindly received, as dwarfs are in such places, and he asked to be employed in the kitchen, and allowed to show his skill in preparing some of the rare dishes for the table.No one in the ducal palace was able to produce such food as he. He was made chief cook in a little time, and enjoyed the duke’s favor for two years. He grew fat, was honored at the great feasts, and became the wonder of the town.Now happened the strangest thing of his strange life.(Ye that have eyes, prepare to open them now.)

“Where is he now?”

“Heaven only knows. He was kidnapped one market-day, seven years ago.”

“Seven years ago!”

Jamie turned away. The people on the street stared at him, and the ill-bred children followed him. He chanced to pass a barber’s shop, where was a looking-glass in the window. He stopped and saw himself.

The sight filled him with terror. He was a dwarf,with a nose like that of the strange old woman.

What should he do?

He remembered that the old woman had said that the eating of the magic soup that contained the magic herb would make him a magic cook.

He went to the palace of the duke and inquired for the major domo. He was kindly received, as dwarfs are in such places, and he asked to be employed in the kitchen, and allowed to show his skill in preparing some of the rare dishes for the table.

No one in the ducal palace was able to produce such food as he. He was made chief cook in a little time, and enjoyed the duke’s favor for two years. He grew fat, was honored at the great feasts, and became the wonder of the town.

Now happened the strangest thing of his strange life.

(Ye that have eyes, prepare to open them now.)

Jamie rushing towards his mother

One morning he went to the goose market to buy some nice fat geese, such as he knew the duke would relish. He purchased a cage of three geese, but he noticed that one of the geese did not quack and gabble like the others.“The poor thing must be sick,” he said; “I will make haste to kill her.”To his great astonishment, the goose made answer:—“Stop my breath,And I will cause your early death.”Then he knew that the goose was some enchanted being, and he resolved to spare her life.“You have not always had feathers on you, as now?” said the dwarf.“No; I am Mimi, daughter of Waterbrook the Great.”“Prithee be calm; I will be your friend; I know how to pity you. I was once a squirrel myself.”Now the duke made a great feast, and invited the prince. The prince was highly pleased with the ducal dishes, and praised the cook.“But there is one dish that you have not provided,” said the prince.“What is that?” asked the duke.“Pâté Suzerain.”The duke ordered the dwarf to make the rare dish for the next banquet.The dwarf obeyed.When the prince had tasted, he pushed it aside, and said,—“There is one thing lacking,—one peculiar herb. It is not like that which is provided for my own table.”The duke, in a towering passion, sent for the dwarf.“If you do not prepare this dish rightly for the next banquet,” he said, “you shall lose your head.”Now the dwarf was in great distress, and he went to consult with the goose.“I know what is wanting,” said the goose; “it is an herb called Sneeze with Delight. I will help you find it.”

“The poor thing must be sick,” he said; “I will make haste to kill her.”

To his great astonishment, the goose made answer:—

“Stop my breath,And I will cause your early death.”

Then he knew that the goose was some enchanted being, and he resolved to spare her life.

“You have not always had feathers on you, as now?” said the dwarf.

“No; I am Mimi, daughter of Waterbrook the Great.”

“Prithee be calm; I will be your friend; I know how to pity you. I was once a squirrel myself.”

Now the duke made a great feast, and invited the prince. The prince was highly pleased with the ducal dishes, and praised the cook.

“But there is one dish that you have not provided,” said the prince.

“What is that?” asked the duke.

“Pâté Suzerain.”

The duke ordered the dwarf to make the rare dish for the next banquet.

The dwarf obeyed.

When the prince had tasted, he pushed it aside, and said,—

“There is one thing lacking,—one peculiar herb. It is not like that which is provided for my own table.”

The duke, in a towering passion, sent for the dwarf.

“If you do not prepare this dish rightly for the next banquet,” he said, “you shall lose your head.”

Now the dwarf was in great distress, and he went to consult with the goose.

“I know what is wanting,” said the goose; “it is an herb called Sneeze with Delight. I will help you find it.”

The dwarf and the goose

The dwarf took the goose under his arm, and asked of the guard, who had been placed over him until he should prepare the dish, permission to go into the garden.They were allowed to go. They searched in vain for a long time; but at last the goose spied the magic leaf across the lake, and swam across, and returned with it in her bill.“’Tis the magic herb the old woman used in the soup,” said the dwarf. “Thank the Fates! we may now be delivered from our enchantment.”He took a long, deep sniff of the herb. He then sneezed with delight, and lo! he began to grow, and his nose began to shrink, and he was transformed to the handsomest young man in all the land.He took the goose under his arm, and walked out of the palace yard. He carried her to a great magician, who delivered her from her enchantment, and she sneezed three sneezes, and became the handsomest lady in all the kingdom.Now, Mimi’s father was very rich, and he loaded Jamie with presents, which were worth a great fortune.Then handsome Jamie married the lovely Mimi; and he brought his old father and mother to live with them in a palace, and they were all exceedingly happy.

The dwarf took the goose under his arm, and asked of the guard, who had been placed over him until he should prepare the dish, permission to go into the garden.

They were allowed to go. They searched in vain for a long time; but at last the goose spied the magic leaf across the lake, and swam across, and returned with it in her bill.

“’Tis the magic herb the old woman used in the soup,” said the dwarf. “Thank the Fates! we may now be delivered from our enchantment.”

He took a long, deep sniff of the herb. He then sneezed with delight, and lo! he began to grow, and his nose began to shrink, and he was transformed to the handsomest young man in all the land.

He took the goose under his arm, and walked out of the palace yard. He carried her to a great magician, who delivered her from her enchantment, and she sneezed three sneezes, and became the handsomest lady in all the kingdom.

Now, Mimi’s father was very rich, and he loaded Jamie with presents, which were worth a great fortune.

Then handsome Jamie married the lovely Mimi; and he brought his old father and mother to live with them in a palace, and they were all exceedingly happy.

“What is the moral of such a tale as that?” asked one of the Club.

“If you have any crookedness, to find the magic herb,” said Charlie.

Charlie Leland, the President, closed the exercises with some translations of his own, which he called “Stories in Verse.” We give two of them here; each relates an incident of Eberhard, the good count, whom German poets have often remembered in song.

In a stately hall in the city of Worms,A festive table was laid;The lamps a softened radiance shed,And sweet the music played.Then the Saxon prince, and Bavaria’s lord,And the Palsgrave of the Rhine,And Würtemberg’s monarch, Eberhard,Came into that hall to dine.Said the Saxon prince, with pride elate,“My lords, I have wealth untold:There are gems in my mountain gorges great;In my valleys are mines of gold.”“Thou hast boasted well,” said Bavaria’s lord,“But mine is a nobler land:I have famous cities, and castled towns,And convents old and grand.”“And better still is my own fair land,”Said the Palsgrave of the Rhine:“There are sunny vineyards upon the hills;In the valleys are presses of wine.”Then bearded Eberhard gently said,“My lords, I have neither gold,Nor famous cities, nor castled towns,Nor convents grand and old.“I have no vineyards upon the hills,In the valleys no presses of wine;But God has given a treasure to meAs noble as any of thine.

In a stately hall in the city of Worms,A festive table was laid;The lamps a softened radiance shed,And sweet the music played.

Then the Saxon prince, and Bavaria’s lord,And the Palsgrave of the Rhine,And Würtemberg’s monarch, Eberhard,Came into that hall to dine.

Said the Saxon prince, with pride elate,“My lords, I have wealth untold:There are gems in my mountain gorges great;In my valleys are mines of gold.”

“Thou hast boasted well,” said Bavaria’s lord,“But mine is a nobler land:I have famous cities, and castled towns,And convents old and grand.”

“And better still is my own fair land,”Said the Palsgrave of the Rhine:“There are sunny vineyards upon the hills;In the valleys are presses of wine.”

Then bearded Eberhard gently said,“My lords, I have neither gold,Nor famous cities, nor castled towns,Nor convents grand and old.

“I have no vineyards upon the hills,In the valleys no presses of wine;But God has given a treasure to meAs noble as any of thine.

Eberhard asleep under a tree, his head pillowed on the lap of another man

EBERHARD.

“I wind my horn on the rocky steep,In the heart of the greenwood free,And I safely lay me down and sleepOn any subject’s knee.”Oh, then the princes were touched at heart,And they said, in that stately hall,“Thou art richer than we, Count Eberhard;Thy treasure is greater than all.”

“I wind my horn on the rocky steep,In the heart of the greenwood free,And I safely lay me down and sleepOn any subject’s knee.”

Oh, then the princes were touched at heart,And they said, in that stately hall,“Thou art richer than we, Count Eberhard;Thy treasure is greater than all.”

The banners waved, the bugles rung,The fight was hot and hard;Beneath the walls of Doffingen,Fast fell the ranks of Suabian menLed on by Eberhard.Count Ulric was a valiant youth,The son of Eberhard;The banners waved, the bugles rung,His spearmen on the foe he flung,And pressed them sore and hard.“Ulric is slain!” the nobles cried,—The bugles ceased to blow;But soon the monarch’s order ran:“My son is as another man,Press boldly on the foe!”And fiercer now the fight began,And harder fell each blow;But still the monarch’s order ran:“My son is as another man,Press, press upon the foe!”Oh, many fell at DoffingenBefore the day was done;But victory blessed the Suabian men,And happy bugles played again,At setting of the sun.

The banners waved, the bugles rung,The fight was hot and hard;Beneath the walls of Doffingen,Fast fell the ranks of Suabian menLed on by Eberhard.

Count Ulric was a valiant youth,The son of Eberhard;The banners waved, the bugles rung,His spearmen on the foe he flung,And pressed them sore and hard.

“Ulric is slain!” the nobles cried,—The bugles ceased to blow;But soon the monarch’s order ran:“My son is as another man,Press boldly on the foe!”

And fiercer now the fight began,And harder fell each blow;But still the monarch’s order ran:“My son is as another man,Press, press upon the foe!”

Oh, many fell at DoffingenBefore the day was done;But victory blessed the Suabian men,And happy bugles played again,At setting of the sun.

Constance.—The Story of Huss.—Bismarck and the German Government.—The Story of the Heart of Stone.—Poem.—Seven Nights on the Rhine: Night First.

THE second meeting of the Club was opened by Mr. Beal with an account of Constance, and of the great Council that convened there in 1414.

“Via Mala!So the old Romans called the road near the source of the Rhine. It passed over and through dark and awful chasms, that the river, as it came down from the Alps, had been tunnelling for thousands of years.

“The Rhine is the gift of the Alps, as Egypt is the gift of the Nile. From its source amid the peaks of the clouds to its first great reservoir, the Lake of Constance, it passes through one of the wildest and most picturesque regions in the world. It is not strange that the Romans should have called their old Swiss roadVia Mala.

“Lake Constance! How our heads bent and our feelings kindled and glowed when we beheld it! It is the most beautiful lake that Germany possesses. It is walled by snow-capped mountains, whose tops seem like islands in the blue lakes of the skies. Quaint towns are nestled among the groves of the shore; towers, with bells ringing soft and melodious in the still air. The water is like emerald. Afar, zigzagging sails flap mechanically in the almost pulseless air.

“There is color everywhere, of all hues: high, rich tones of color;low tones. Piles of gems on the mountains, gloomy shadows in the groves; a deep cerulean sky above, that the sunlight fills like a golden sea. At sunset the lake seems indeed like the vision that John saw,—‘a sea of glass, mingled with fire.’

A bridge spans a steep-sided gorge

BRIDGE IN THE VIA MALA.

“The town of Constance, once a great city, is as old as the period of Constantine. When Charlemagne went to Rome to receive the imperial crown, he rested here. Here a long line of German kings left the associations of great festivities; here those kings passed their Christmases and Easters. Here convened brilliant regal assemblies.Here the ambassadors from Milan appeared before Barbarossa, and delivered to him the golden key of the Italian states.

“But these events are of comparatively small importance in comparison with the so-called Holy Council of Constance, in 1414. It was a time of spiritual dearth in the world. Arrogance governed the Church, and immorality flourished in it. There were three popes, each at war with the others,—John XXIII., Benedict XII., and Gregory XII.

“The Council was called to choose a pope, and to reform the Church. The town for four years became the centre of European history. Hither came kings and princes; the court of the world was here.

“The town filled, and filled. It was like a great fair. Delegates came from the North and the South, the East and the West. There were splendid fêtes; luxury and vainglory. At one time there were present a hundred thousand men.

“The Council accomplished nothing by way of reform, except to induce the three rival popes to relinquish their claims to a fourth; but it stained its outward glory with a crime that will never be forgotten.

“When we were in Florence,—beautiful Florence!—the tragedy of Savonarola rose before us like a spectre in the history of the past. Savonarola tried to reform the conduct of the clergy and to maintain the purity of the Church, but failed. He made the republic of Florence a model Christian commonwealth. Debauchery was suppressed, gambling was prohibited, the licentious factions of the times were there publicly destroyed. He arraigned Rome for her sins. The Roman party turned against him and accused him of heresy, the punishment of which was death. He declared his innocence, and desired to test it with his accusers by walking through a field of living fire. He believed God would protect him from the flames, like the worthies of old. His enemies were unwilling to go with him into the fiery ordeal. He was condemned and executed. The martyr of Florence in after years became one of its saints.

“At Constance a like tragedy haunted us. Constance has been called ‘the city of Huss.’

“Among the mighty ones who wended their way to the city of the lake, to attend the great Council, was a pale, thin man, in mean attire. He had been invited to the Council by the Emperor Sigismund, who promised to protect his person and his life. He was a Bohemian reformer; a follower of Wycliffe. He was graciously received, but was soon after thrown into prison on the charge of heresy.

“They led him in chains before the Council, which assembled in an old hall, which is still shown. The emperor sat upon the throne as president.

“He confessed to having read and disseminated the writings of Wycliffe.

JOHN HUSS.

“He was required to denounce the English reformer as one of the souls of the lost.

“‘If he be lost, then I could wish my soul were with his,’ he said firmly.

“This was pronounced to be heresy.

“The emperor declared that he was not obliged to keep his word toheretics, and that his promise to protect the life of the Bohemian was no longer binding.

“He was condemned to death. He was stripped of his priestly robes, and the cup of the sacrament was taken from his hands with a curse.

“‘I trust I shall drink of it this day in the kingdom of heaven,’ he said.

“‘We devote thy soul to the devils in hell,’ was the answer of the prelates.

“He was led away, guarded by eight hundred horsemen, to a meadow without the gates. Here he was burned alive, and triumphed in soul amid the flames.

“Such was the end of John Huss, the Savonarola of Constance.

“We made an excursion upon the lake. The appearance of the old city from the water is one of the most beautiful that can meet the eye. It seems more like an artist’s dream than a reality,—floating towers in a crystal atmosphere.

“‘Girt round with rugged mountains,The fair Lake Constance lies.’

“The lake is walled with mountains, and wears a chain of castle-like towns, like a necklace.

“It would be delightful to spend a summer there. Excursions on the steamers can be made at almost any time of the day. One can visit in this way five different old countries,—Baden, Würtemberg, Bavaria, Austria, and Switzerland.”

Mr. Beal’s succinct account of the old city led to a discussion of the gains of civilization from martyrdoms for principle and progress. He was followed by Master Lewis, who gave the Class some account of

In the eyes of the multitude, Bismarck is a great but unscrupulous statesman, intent upon uniting Germany and making it the leading nation of Europe.As a man, he seems hard-headed, self-willed, and iron-handed. As a ruler, he is looked upon as the incarnation of the despotic spirit,—a believer in force, an infidel as to moral suasion.Many persons who sympathize with his policy censure the means by which he executes it. They do not consider that so long as that policy is threatened from within and without, the Chancellor must trust in force; nor do they read the lesson of the centuries,—Forcemust rule untilRightreigns.The fact is not apprehended by the unthinking multitude, that the work of grafting a statesman’s policy into the life of a nation requires, like grafting a fruit-tree, excision, incision, pressure, and time.But it is not of Bismarck’s policy I would first speak, but of that which few credit him with possessing,—his moral convictions. Strange as it may seem to those who know only the Chancellor, Bismarck is not only a religious man, but his religion is the foundation of his policy.Dr. Busch, one of the statesman’s secretaries, in a recent book, “Bismarck in the Franco-German War,” narrates incidents and reports private conversations which justify this assertion.On the eve of his leaving Berlin to join the army, the Chancellor partook of the Lord’s Supper. The solemn rite was celebrated in his own room, that it might not appear as an exhibition of official piety.

Many persons who sympathize with his policy censure the means by which he executes it. They do not consider that so long as that policy is threatened from within and without, the Chancellor must trust in force; nor do they read the lesson of the centuries,—Forcemust rule untilRightreigns.

The fact is not apprehended by the unthinking multitude, that the work of grafting a statesman’s policy into the life of a nation requires, like grafting a fruit-tree, excision, incision, pressure, and time.

But it is not of Bismarck’s policy I would first speak, but of that which few credit him with possessing,—his moral convictions. Strange as it may seem to those who know only the Chancellor, Bismarck is not only a religious man, but his religion is the foundation of his policy.

Dr. Busch, one of the statesman’s secretaries, in a recent book, “Bismarck in the Franco-German War,” narrates incidents and reports private conversations which justify this assertion.

On the eve of his leaving Berlin to join the army, the Chancellor partook of the Lord’s Supper. The solemn rite was celebrated in his own room, that it might not appear as an exhibition of official piety.

BISMARCK.

One morning Bismarck was called suddenly from his bed to see a French general. Dr. Busch, on entering the bedroom just after the chief had left it,found everything in disorder. On the floor was a book of devotion, “Daily Watchwords and Texts of the Moravian Brethren for 1870.” On the table by the bed was another, “Daily Refreshment for Believing Christians.”“The Chancellor reads in them every night,” said Bismarck’s valet to Dr. Busch, seeing his surprise.One day, while dining with his staff, several of whom were “free-thinkers,” Bismarck turned the conversation into a serious vein. A secretary had spoken of the feeling of duty which pervaded the German army, from the private to the general.Bismarck caught the idea and tossed it still higher. “The feeling of duty,” he said, “in a man who submits to be shot dead on his post, alone, in the dark, is due to what is left of belief in our people. He knows that there is Some One who sees him when the lieutenant does not see him.”“Do you believe, Your Excellency,” asked a secretary, “that they really reflect on this?”“Reflect? no: it is a feeling, a tone, an instinct. If they reflect they lose it. Then they talk themselves out of it.“How,” Bismarck continued, “without faith in a revealed religion, in a God who wills what is good, in a Supreme Judge, and in a future life, men can live together harmoniously, each doing his duty and letting every one else do his, I do not understand.”There was a pause in the conversation, and the Chancellor then gave expression to his faith.“If I were no longer a Christian,” he said, “I would not remain for an hour at my post. If I could not count upon my God, assuredly I should not do so on earthly masters.“Why should I,” he continued, “disturb myself and work unceasingly in this world, exposing myself to all sorts of vexations, if I had not the feeling that I must do my duty for God’s sake? If I did not believe in a Divine order, which has destined this German nation for something good and great, I would at once give up the business of a diplomatist. Orders and titles have no charm for me.”There was another pause, for the staff were silent before this revelation of their chief’s inner life. He continued to lay bare the foundations of his statesmanship.“I owe the firmness which I have shown for ten years against all possible absurdities only to my decided faith. Take from me this faith, and you take from me my fatherland. If I were not a believing Christian, if I had not the supernatural basis of religion, you would not have had such a Chancellor.“I delight in country life, in the woods, and in nature,” he said, in the courseof the conversation. “Take from me my relation to God, and I am the man who will pack up to-morrow and be off to Varzin [his farm] to grow my oats.”The surprise with which these revelations of a statesman’s inner life are read is due to their singularity. Neither history nor biography is so full of instances of statesmen confessing their faith in God and in Christianity, at a dinner-table surrounded by “free-thinkers,” as to prevent the reading of these revelations from being both interesting and stimulating.“I live among heathen,” said the Chancellor, as he concluded this acknowledgment that his religion was the basis of his statesmanship. “I don’t seek to make proselytes, but I am obliged to confess my faith.”Prince von Bismarck was born in 1813. His political history is similar to Emperor William’s, which I related at our last meeting. The Emperor and his Chancellor, in matters of state, have been as one man. Each has aimed to secure the unity of the German empire. Each has sought to disarm, on the one hand, that branch of the Catholic party who give their allegiance to Rome rather than the government, the so-called Ultramontanes; and the Socialists, on the other hand, who would overthrow the monarchy. The two strong men have ruled with a firm hand, but with much wisdom. Germany could hardly have a more liberal government, unless she became a republic.

“The Chancellor reads in them every night,” said Bismarck’s valet to Dr. Busch, seeing his surprise.

One day, while dining with his staff, several of whom were “free-thinkers,” Bismarck turned the conversation into a serious vein. A secretary had spoken of the feeling of duty which pervaded the German army, from the private to the general.

Bismarck caught the idea and tossed it still higher. “The feeling of duty,” he said, “in a man who submits to be shot dead on his post, alone, in the dark, is due to what is left of belief in our people. He knows that there is Some One who sees him when the lieutenant does not see him.”

“Do you believe, Your Excellency,” asked a secretary, “that they really reflect on this?”

“Reflect? no: it is a feeling, a tone, an instinct. If they reflect they lose it. Then they talk themselves out of it.

“How,” Bismarck continued, “without faith in a revealed religion, in a God who wills what is good, in a Supreme Judge, and in a future life, men can live together harmoniously, each doing his duty and letting every one else do his, I do not understand.”

There was a pause in the conversation, and the Chancellor then gave expression to his faith.

“If I were no longer a Christian,” he said, “I would not remain for an hour at my post. If I could not count upon my God, assuredly I should not do so on earthly masters.

“Why should I,” he continued, “disturb myself and work unceasingly in this world, exposing myself to all sorts of vexations, if I had not the feeling that I must do my duty for God’s sake? If I did not believe in a Divine order, which has destined this German nation for something good and great, I would at once give up the business of a diplomatist. Orders and titles have no charm for me.”

There was another pause, for the staff were silent before this revelation of their chief’s inner life. He continued to lay bare the foundations of his statesmanship.

“I owe the firmness which I have shown for ten years against all possible absurdities only to my decided faith. Take from me this faith, and you take from me my fatherland. If I were not a believing Christian, if I had not the supernatural basis of religion, you would not have had such a Chancellor.

“I delight in country life, in the woods, and in nature,” he said, in the courseof the conversation. “Take from me my relation to God, and I am the man who will pack up to-morrow and be off to Varzin [his farm] to grow my oats.”

The surprise with which these revelations of a statesman’s inner life are read is due to their singularity. Neither history nor biography is so full of instances of statesmen confessing their faith in God and in Christianity, at a dinner-table surrounded by “free-thinkers,” as to prevent the reading of these revelations from being both interesting and stimulating.

“I live among heathen,” said the Chancellor, as he concluded this acknowledgment that his religion was the basis of his statesmanship. “I don’t seek to make proselytes, but I am obliged to confess my faith.”

Prince von Bismarck was born in 1813. His political history is similar to Emperor William’s, which I related at our last meeting. The Emperor and his Chancellor, in matters of state, have been as one man. Each has aimed to secure the unity of the German empire. Each has sought to disarm, on the one hand, that branch of the Catholic party who give their allegiance to Rome rather than the government, the so-called Ultramontanes; and the Socialists, on the other hand, who would overthrow the monarchy. The two strong men have ruled with a firm hand, but with much wisdom. Germany could hardly have a more liberal government, unless she became a republic.

The stories of the evening were chiefly selected from Hoffman. They were too long and terrible to be given here. Among them were “The Painter” and “The Elementary Spirit.” In introducing these stories, Mr. Beal related some touching and strange incidents of their author.

Hoffman died in Berlin. His career as a musical artist had been associated with the Prussian-Polish provinces, where he seems to have acquired habits of dissipation in brilliant but gay musical society.Hoffman had exquisite refinement of taste, and sensitiveness to the beautiful in nature and art, but the exhilaration of the wine-cup was to him a fatal knowledge. It made him in the end a poor, despised, inferior man.As he lost his self-mastery, he also seemed to lose his self-respect. He mingled with the depraved, and carried the consciousness of his inferiority into all his associations with better society.“I once saw Hoffman,” says one, “in one of his night carouses. He wassitting in his glory at the head of the table, not stupidly drunk, but warmed with wine, which made him madly eloquent. There, in full tide of witty discourse, or, if silent, his hawk eye flashing beneath his matted hair, sat this unfortunate genius until the day began to dawn; then he found his way homeward.“At such hours he used to write his wild, fantastic tales. To his excited fancy everything around him had a spectral look. The shadows of fevered thought stalked like ghosts through his soul.”This stimulated life came to a speedy conclusion. He was struck with a most strange paralysis at the age of forty-six.His disease first paralyzed his hands and feet, then his arms and legs, then his whole body, except his brain and vital organs.In this condition it was remarked in his presence that death was not the worst of evils. He stared wildly and exclaimed,—“Life, life, only life,—on any condition whatsoever!”His whole hope was centred in the gay world which had already become to him as a picture of the past.But the hour came at last when he knew he must die. He asked his wife to fold his useless hands on his breast, and, looking at her pitifully, he said, “And we must think of God also.”Religion, in his gay years, as a provincial musician, and as a poet in the thoughtless society of the capital, had seldom occupied his thoughts.His last thought was given to the subject which should have claimed the earliest and best efforts of his life.“God also!” It was his farewell to the world. The demons had done their work. Life’s opportunities were ended.The words of his afterthought echo after him, and, like his own weird stories, have their lesson.

Hoffman had exquisite refinement of taste, and sensitiveness to the beautiful in nature and art, but the exhilaration of the wine-cup was to him a fatal knowledge. It made him in the end a poor, despised, inferior man.

As he lost his self-mastery, he also seemed to lose his self-respect. He mingled with the depraved, and carried the consciousness of his inferiority into all his associations with better society.

“I once saw Hoffman,” says one, “in one of his night carouses. He wassitting in his glory at the head of the table, not stupidly drunk, but warmed with wine, which made him madly eloquent. There, in full tide of witty discourse, or, if silent, his hawk eye flashing beneath his matted hair, sat this unfortunate genius until the day began to dawn; then he found his way homeward.

“At such hours he used to write his wild, fantastic tales. To his excited fancy everything around him had a spectral look. The shadows of fevered thought stalked like ghosts through his soul.”

This stimulated life came to a speedy conclusion. He was struck with a most strange paralysis at the age of forty-six.

His disease first paralyzed his hands and feet, then his arms and legs, then his whole body, except his brain and vital organs.

In this condition it was remarked in his presence that death was not the worst of evils. He stared wildly and exclaimed,—

“Life, life, only life,—on any condition whatsoever!”

His whole hope was centred in the gay world which had already become to him as a picture of the past.

But the hour came at last when he knew he must die. He asked his wife to fold his useless hands on his breast, and, looking at her pitifully, he said, “And we must think of God also.”

Religion, in his gay years, as a provincial musician, and as a poet in the thoughtless society of the capital, had seldom occupied his thoughts.

His last thought was given to the subject which should have claimed the earliest and best efforts of his life.

“God also!” It was his farewell to the world. The demons had done their work. Life’s opportunities were ended.

The words of his afterthought echo after him, and, like his own weird stories, have their lesson.

Herman Reed presented a story from a more careful writer. It is a story with an aim, and left an impressive lesson on the minds of all. If it be somewhat of an allegory, it is one whose meaning it is not hard to comprehend.

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