work than waltzing; but a mode of retaliation ye' remained in store. She was two years older than I; and I exerted myself to believe that Ethelind must be growing an old maid. My grandmother saw how things were going. Worthy old woman! she had set her heart on the match: I know not for what reason, but doubtless it was something about my grandfather. However, she fouud consolation in her unfailing proverb, as in all household games and lotteries at Christmas-time, Shrovetide and Easter, I was sure to draw Ethelind for a partner, to my ill-concealed chagrin and her undisguised amusement. It must have been to baffle the Fates in this design that I took with great ardour to the gay Widow Wesing and her daughter Louisa. Madame Wesing's husband had been an officer. She was in Paris with the allied army, and understood ton ever after; her income being small, however, obliged the lady to live in our street, though deeply impressed with its old-fashionedness. Most people liked the widow and her daughter: they were always so gay, and had such stores of gossip, besides being up to the mode; but some said the ladies were cunningly selfish in a small way, and would do anything for their own petty interests or amusement. Each was the pattern of the other, and they were both pretty little girls. It was true, the mother was thirty-seven, and the daughter seventeen; but both sang, danced, and coquetted, no mortal man being able to espy any difference in dress or manners, except that at times the widow was rather the more childish of the two. Upon my sincerity, I cannot tell which it was that brought me under bondage; but the probabilities of the case are rather in favor of Louisa. Certain I am, that we danced a great many evenings, and sang a number of duetts together, while her mamma sent me captivating notes of invitation to her little quadrille-parties and friendly teas; and assured everybody in my hearing, that I was the exact resemblance of Alexander, emperor of all the Russias, when she saw him enter the Tuileries ball-room with the Duchesse de Berri on his arm. My grandmother and I sat at our coffee in the second parlor: a low wainscotted room, with four of Solomon's Proverbs carved in different com. partments of its ceiling, a cupboard in every corner, and a narrow glass-door opening into the garden. It was April-time: the violets were blooming on the sunny bank by the old housegable, and the buds bursting on the great walnuttree. My grandmother sat in her nut-brown gown and snow-white kerchief-the dress she always wore on common days-listening to me, good woman! giving a full and particular account of one of the said quadrille-parties which I had attended on the previous night. She heard all, from the wreath in Louisa's hair to the last ice, and then laying down her empty cup, said quietly as usual: "Fritz, I think it is time you were married." The news surprised me, and I stared my grandmother in the face; but she went on in the same calm tone: "There's Ethlind Simbert would make you a good wife; she is my own god-daughter, and I think we would all agree." "Grandmother," said I, plucking up resolution, "I will do anything else to please you; but I don't like Ethelind Simbert, and I won't marry her." "Well, Fritz," said my grandmother, neither angry nor astonished, "Ethelind Simbert is a good girl, though you don't like her; but whom you don't like, you, can't be expected to marry— so we will think no more of the matter; and I'll tell the Simberts. I'm going there at Easter; it falls on the fourteenth, you know. That will be fifty years complete since your grandfather and I spent our last Easter at Meldorf, and you-oh, I mean your mother!-a prattling child with us. Fritz, you and I will go and see the old place together, and never mind this matter. If Ethelind don't suit you, she will somebody else; and what is to be, will be." That proverb was like cheese-for nothing ever came after it; and it was settled that my grandmother and I should spend our Easter with the industrious Simberts at Meldorf. The excursion was neither grand nor fashionable, yet I felt called upon to mention it at Madame Wesing's. "Oh, how charming!" exclaimed the fair widow, "To retire, as in her most enthusiastic manner. one may say, among simple shepherds. Do you know, I hear that those people make their own cheese and linen ?" "How delightful!" chimed in Louisa. "Mamma, don't you remember that darling rustic of a schoolmaster who came to inquire after papa's papers?" "Ah, yes!" said the widow, flourishing her cambric; he was an early friend of my adored Auguste. Charming man! He and his wifea most unworldly, amiable soul-have often invited us to Meldorf; but after my irreparable loss, I never had spirits for the journey." "Indeed, mamma, we will visit them this very Easter," said Louisa. "It will be such a surprise to the darling old couple; and we both require country air." "Ha! yes; the winter has been too much for us," said the widow, with a languishing look at me. I of course sympathised; and a visit to the The charming schoolmaster was determined on. dame Wessing called to say, how delightful it following day brought further intelligence: Mawould be for us to travel in company-one carriage could be hired for us all, the widow remarked, besides, she and Louisa had no gentleman to take care of them; and both ladies looked confidence that the project was received with acclamations in my powerful protection. It is needless to say, on this side of the house, and my grandmother We went accordingly; but, readers, of the travellhoped that Providence would take care of us all. It was more tedious in those days than at present; ing time I beg leave to say as little as possible. and doubtless my grandmother was justified in avering that we were well over it, when, on a sunny April afternoon, we saw the gray churchspire and clustering roofs of Meldorf, rising in the midst of a great plain, which looked like one wellcultivated farm. Meldorf was as old as the Teutonic conquest. It had been fortified against the Sclavonic pagans, and dismantled by a prince of the Hohenstaufen War had not come near it for centuries; commerce had forgotten it; and a more rural, country-like spot, to be called a town I never saw. line. There were lanes of old cottages, with woodbine-in dignity to the Simberts-a series of entertaincovered porches, and swallows by hundreds build- ments, in honor of us and the festive season, ing in their eaves. There were snug farmhouses, commenced at the old bishop's mansion, and with all their appendages, standing in the shadow circled round the little town, with no lack of of the Gothic church, and a great old hostel, or savoury cakes, cream-cheese, and all manner of inn, clothed with ivy from foundation to chimney-country good things; besides Pace-eggs, Eastertop. In the very centre there was a green, with a games, and dances for the young people. At these huge oak, under which they said St. Olaf sat, and merry-maki gs, Madame Wesing and Louisa a deep draw-well in it. The Simberts' house were in high request. They took such an interest looked out on that green. It had been fortified iu country affairs, were so delighted with everyand inhabited by a bishop in its day, but was now thing, and dispensed so much intelligence of the a substantial farmhouse, with an arched doorway, great world, always so dazzling to rustic minds, very small windows, and a yard enclosed by high that almost from their first appearance, the widow walls, from which a ponderous timber-gate, with and her daughter's popularity was immense with Episcopal arms upon it, opened into a green lane, even the Simberts. I, indeed, perceived that leading through a spacious orchard to a mill among though always civil to them, Ethelind loved not the meadows. Hard by lived the "delightful the ladies; and I cherished the conviction that schoolmaster," Herr Rusburg, in what had been she was envious and spiteful, which, kind reader, a chapter-house before the Reformation, and had was a species of consolation; for, since my arrival, still a Latin inscription over the entrance. Its the busy girl paid me, if possible, less attention great garden was separated only by a shallow than ever. stream from the Simberts' orchard. I know not if the good man had any warning of the invasion; but as our carriage stopped-by the way, every inhabitant had come out to gaze and wonder as it passed-forth came widowed aunt, maiden sister, deserted cousin, and all, with Ethelind's father and mother, looking soberly glad to see us; and Ethelind herself up from the spinning-wheel, in her russet petticoat, crimson jacket, and smooth chestnut hair. Forth also, in high glee at the unwonted sight, poured a crowd of boys and girls from the school, under the parting surveillance of Herr Rusburg and his helpmate, a lean, grayhaired, but patient and good-natured-looking pair, on whom Madame Wesing and her daughter laid hold immediately; and the last words I heard, as the respective doors closed, were something concerning the adored Auguste, and the want of health and spirits. If there was work, there was also abundant comfort in the Simbert's house. Their great kitchen-it had been the bishop's banquet-hall, wherein he once feasted Christian I. of Denmarkwas rich in the odor of hot cakes, and radiant with scoured flagons. The oak parlor, which opened from it, shone, walls, floor, and furniture with perfect polishing: green boughs, full of the first leaves, filled up its ample fire-place; and its low windows, wreathed with the climbing rose, looked out on the orchard, now in a wealth of blossoms. Moreover, the Simberts were, to my amazement, great people in Meldorf: and, according to the etiquette established in that primitive town, their neighbours, as soon as the day's work was fairly over, came to greet us as the newly-arrived, and congratulate them on our advent. By that sensible regulation, I got at once introduced to a number of blithe and handsome girls, not to speak of their fathers, mothers, brothers, uncles, and aunts, of whom my recollections are now somewhat less interesting; but I remember that the women, young and old, were knitting as if for dear life; that the men came in their everyday trim, fresh from field and workshop; and one honest blacksmith, who was also the burgomaster, paid his compliments in a leather-apron. The rank and fashion of Meldorf having visited our neighbour and his guests with similar solemnities for the schoolmaster was esteemed next What did a young man of my figure and accomplishments care for that? Ethelind had no sensibility, but was not I astonishing the sons of Meldorf, and making deep impressions on the hearts of its fair daughters? Sooth to say, that country visit was too much for my faith and constancy to either Louisa or the widow. To the eternal prettinesses of those ladies, the frank, merry girls, rustic, robust, and rosy as they were, presented a most agreeable contrast. Of course, they admired me vastly. No. wonder, poor things, after seeing nothing in their whole lives but men who ploughed and sowed, hewed and hammered! What conquests I made among them, and how many fine things I said and did! At times, my conscience told me it was not right. Might not Katharine's, Gretchen's, or Cristine's affections be hopelessly and for ever engaged? Nay, might not a similar misfortune happen to some half-dozenof the simple souls? and then, in the utmost extent of my Christian charity, I couldn't marry them all! As for Louisa, I had an inward persuasion she would not break her heart, and the widow looked on with amazing complacency. Often in what they called our "charming strolls" through green meadows, and by blossomed orchards, did both ladies rally me on my brilliant successes; and the kind widow invariably wound up with warnings against rustic rivals, and the envy of those country boors, which she assured me was cruel as the grave, and rapidly rising against myself. After those revealings, I naturally felt inclined to hurl defiance at the foe by still more determined flirtations, though, in all sincerity, I cannot recollect that ever one of the honest, good-natured, laborious men of Meldorf noticed my triumphs with the smallest displeasure. The Easter festivities had been over for some time, but my grandmother still lingered, having taken mightily to the Simberts' dairy; while Madame Wesing declared that the country air was doing her and Louisa good, and they could not think of leaving their delightful old friends. The widow must have meant her young friends also, for she was growing positively confidential with the girls of Meldorf, occasionally giving me to understand, in her most playful manner, that their familiar communications somehow concerned myself. There was evidently a general interest in my proceedings, and I felt particularly impressed with that fact when the 1st of May arrived. Like most old German towns, the day was held in festive reverence at Meldorf, and celebrated in the fashion of primitive times. Its forenoon was given to work, as usual, but the children gathered wild-flowers and green branches, with which they decorated every door, receiving a donation of cakes for their pains. In the afternoon, a temporary pavillion was erected, by help of all the young men, under St. Olaf's Oak, to which supplies were sent according to the wealth or liberality of each householder; and within, there was made a general distribution of all known delicacies, from hot coffee to curds and cream, while May-games, and all sorts of dancing went forward on the green. Ethelind was unanimously elected mistress of the bower, a dignity which, in hard-working Holstein, is equivalent to the Mayqueen of other lands, and bestowed only on the most esteemed girl in the parish, who, in right of her office, presides over the said distribution. The election was regarded as no small honour, and certainly Etheliad had no sinecure; besides, it was my opinion that I rather astonished her that evening in my embroidered vest and cornelian buttons. I danced with every girl on the green, paid particular attentions to three rustic belles in turn, made an extraordinary number of jokes at the expense of some of the chief magnates-for even Meldorf had such-and returned home with all our company, tired, but in a most satisfactory humour, two hours after sunset. I was almost too late for the Simberts' first breakfast next morning. Some of the cider had been strong, and there were queer sounds of steps and tittering in the night under my window. It was low, and looked out on the path skirting the green by which Herr Rusburg's many scholars passed. I thought there was unusual noise among the gathering juveniles; and scarcely had I reached the breakfast-table, when it rose to a perfect clamour of shouts, laughter, and calls for somebody to come out and take in his present. if possible, for every little wretch there had up his finger and his tongue out; but catching sight of Herr Rusburg, who came out, staff in hand, followed by his kindly helpmate, doubtless to prevent mischief, my courage and sense both forsook me; I slammed to the door, and fled through the house, out of the yard, down the green lane, and far into the meadows. How far, readers, it is not exactly in my power to say. The walk, or rather run, was a long one, and the path must have been circuitous. I remembered jumping over ditches, scrambling through hedges, wondering at my own stupidity for ever coming to such a place, or condescending to associate with its boorish inhabitants; and at length having formed desperate but vague resolutions of being revenged on all Meldorf, and fighting everybody who heard or spoke of the transaction, I found myself at a bank of young willows, which grew so tall and thick that the sun could scarcely pierce the shadow. I heard voices beyond, and my own name mentioned. Under the circumstances, who wouldn't have played the eaves-dropper? I crept among the willows, and cautiously peeped in. It was a sort of common bleach-green, lying at the foot of the Simberts' orchard and Rusburg's garden. There were Gretchen, Katharine, and Cristine, the trio for whose peace of mind I had trembled, spreading out linen, and laughing as if their sides would crack; while Louisa and the widow, with looks of high and spiteful glee, leaned over the schoolmaster's fence; and Ethelind, looking by no means pleased, heaped her washing in a tub. "I'll never be able to see him without laughing," said Katharine. I had all but assured her my heart was gone for ever the evening before. "We never would have known his tricks if you hadn't told us," said Cristine, addressing the widow. "Ah! you would have soon found them cut," replied that amiable lady. "I hope this will teach him not to have quite so high an opinion of himself" 66 Mamma," interrupted Louisa, "Ethelind does not seem at all amused." "Not a bit. I can see no fun in affronting a young man in a strange town, though he might be a little vain. City folks have ways of their own," said Ethelind, with a meaning look at Madame Wesing and her daughter. "Besides, Fritz Cohnert is our guest, and it is not civil of our neighbours to insult him," added the girl, as, taking up her tub, she walked away. "What can be the matter with those boys?" said my grandmother; and "What can be the matter?" said all the Simberts. Good people! they seldom looked on; but as another burst came, Ethelind rose, and so did I. It was my own name they were shouting: and all unwise and unwarned, I was at the street-door in an instant. The entire contents of Herr Rusburg's school were assembled under my bedroom window; numbers of young men were looking on from a distance; and fair faces, convulsed with laughter, I did not stay to hear what was said on her ·looked out of neighbouring houses; the cause of departure; a sudden resolve took possession of all being an enormous basket, or rather pannier, me. It was a good one, but some feeling of hastily made up of green osiers, crammed full of vengeance on the whole female community of nettles, thistles, and every description of weed Meldorf mingled with it, and in another minute I popularly connected with contempt or worthless-stood beside Ethelind, tub and all, in the orchard ness, with a huge card fastened on the top, on which some ingenious pen had written in large and legible characters: "The girls of Meldorf give this basket to Herr Fritz Cohnert, with a unanimous No." The last word was in still larger letters; and what Holsteiner does not know, that giving a man the basket signifies refusal in its most emphatic form? The affront was terrible, as it had been unexpected. At first, I was about to rush on both boys and basket, and demolish them, lane. "Ethelind," said I, looking extremely foolish I am certain, "will you forgive me?" "You never did any harm to me, Fritz," said Ethelind, resting her tub on the fence. "But, Ethelind, will you have-that is, will you marry me?" sputtered I. "I'll think of it," said Ethelind; "if you don't change your mind till next Christmas. Will you help me home with this tub of sheets?" I helped Ethelind home with the tub, and learned long afterwards that she had brought in the basket of scorn with her own trusty hands, and made away with it quietly in the yard; while Herr Rusburg, with the help of his wife and stick, gathered in his flock to the fold of knowledge. All the Simberts appeared, moreover, to have lost their memories as regarded that morning; none of them ever after mentioned it to me. My grandmother and I went home next day, but not in company with the Wesings, whose acquaintance we henceforth dropped, in spite of great efforts at condolence and compliment. Ethelind, and every Simbert in Meldorf, were fervently invited to Alsterstrauss, at my particular request. Readers, it is long ago. My grandmother said: "What is to be, will be," for the last time, seven years after our wedding, and my story is an old one now. The embroidered vest and the cornelian buttons have lain for many a winter at the bottom of Ethelind's lumber-drawer. I must soon begin to think of marrying my daughters, and settling my sons in business, but even yet I never care to hear people talk much of baskets. HUMAN PRIDE. How strange is human pride! I tell thee that those viewless beings Think, feel and live like man; That rule yon rolling orbs.-Shelley. MDLLE. EMILIE VANDERMEEBSCII. THIS "Enchantress," as she has frequently been termed, and whose great personal beauty must confirm this impression, was born at Toulouse, of most respectable parents. From a very tender age she exhibited a great love for the feathered bipeds. At the age of seven she passed entire hours sitting on the same spot, and observing very attentively the swallows building their nests and searching for their little ones. She always expressed to her parents the desire she had to train a little bird, as she was certain that birds were endowed with great intelligence and would learn anything. Ilaving, at last, obtained the permission of her parents, she set about training one of those little creatures, and succeeded, after great trouble and patience, in teaching a little verdier (a greenfinch) to distinguish a red from a black bit of ribbon. Her parents seeing the great love and patience she showed in tutoring the little creature, opposed her no longer, and allowed her not only to spend many of her hours of recreation in the society of these innocent creatures, but encouraged and surrounded her with a whole tribe. From that time she devoted the whole of her time to teaching her feathered family the letters of the alphabet; and after seven years of the most trying patience, perseverance, and-we must add-love for her birds, she succeeded, at last, in making them distinguish letters and colours-as well as subtractions, additions, and other most astonishing feats, which must be seen to be believed, and are a puzzle for the naturalist-nay, such must confess himself beaten. Mind and matter are shown divisible, divided; but suffice it to say that affection, not cruelty, is here the mainspring of action. In Paris, where, for the first time she exhibited her birds in public, she created an immense sensation. The whole of the Parisian Press resounded in praise of the fair Enchantress and her wonderful birds. The most aristocratic saloons were thrown open to them. The President of the French Republic, and also several crowned heads of the Continent, had given her testimonials of their satisfaction. In our own country, Malle. Vandermeebsch has had the honour of exhibiting her birds before her Most Gracious Majesty, Prince Albert and the Royal Family, and in the saloons of the aristocracy. Her Majesty was pleased to express her pleasure in very flattering terms to Mulle. Vandermeebsch. Reverse of fortune alone caused this young lady to exhibit in public what she intended to be her penchant and her private recreation. Mille. Vandermeebsch is the only support of her parents and family-once very affluent.-Lady's Newspaper. VEGETABLE SOAP.-The vegetable soap, a new plant, was introduced by Mr. Shelton, of California. It is called the Amole, or soap-plant, and is indigenous to California and other places. The gentleman stated that the plants also grew in Mexico and Texas, in the neighborhood of hot Isprings and streams. It will also grow in cold. climates and in dry soil, but the bulb attains a larger and better growth in ground a little moist. In Mexico and California the natives repair to the spring and gather the bulb, using it as a soap to wash their clothes with. Several specimens were exhibited; they were dry and of a dark yellow. When just pulled or dug up they are very green, and give off a larger amount of mucilage. It is not cultivated but grows wild in sufficient quantities for use. It produces a lilaceous flower, giving a black seed like an onion. The seed stalks are not like those of the onion, but rather resemble those of the asparagus, being bunchy. The bulb is divisible like garlic into. cloves, and will reproduce from offsets. Mr. Shelton stated that he had used it with beneficial effects upon sores. The greater the sorrow you hide, the greater yourself. All affectation is the attempt of poverty to appear rich. GAIN.-Losing life to win money. PHYSIOGNOMY.-The character written upon the face by the hand of God or of the Devil. OLD MAID.--One of the favored subjects for exercising the courage of the coward and the wit of the witless. THE EDITOR'S SHANTY. THE LAIRD.-And whatna' like is this said speerit story that ye hae been yammering aboot for the past aught days? THE DOCTOR.-A very pleasing sketch, 'parts of which I am to submit to-night to the consideration of our revered master. THE MAJOR.-Silence! Read: "Tis near midnight; a few moments more and another year is gone. The year now grown old must soon expire, and at its dying moment give birth to another. Pause yet awhile-one second more. Hark! the clock in yonder distant turret knells forth the hour! That sound conveys to the listener at once the mournful dirge of a departed year and intimates the presence of the old one's youthful son. Even now, as the hour is being made known to man, the recording angels are hurrying to the throne of their Lord and Master, bearing to his presence the thoughts, the words, and deeds of mortals. The records of the past year are finished, and their work accomplished. But again they must go forth; and again sum up the coming year. Among the numerous host is one fair spirit who feels reluctant to yield up her account of man. "And wherefore is it, Aristindeen, that you thus stand back?' "0, merciful Lord,' cried Aristindeen, falling on her knee before the throne, her hands clasped beseechingly, I pray you change my lot; my record is blotted with my tears, I cannot write the sins of man.' | THE MAJOR.-Hold! That will never do. Such familiar colloquialities can not be permitted. What Byron attempted in his Cain and failed in, and what even Milton but partially succeeded in loing, it is not for us, poor pigmies, to essay. THE LAIRD.-Ye're just richt, auld chap, sic like familiarities are a thocht irreverent. THE DOCTOR.-But how can you possibly understand the story? THE MAJOR.-Give us the substance in your own words. THE DOCTOR.-Aristendeen, then, laments her lot, and prays to have one spirit committed to her special care; the boon is granted, and she wings her way to our world to commence her new course of duty. I think, however, the objectionable passages, so far, are ended, and I will again resume the manuscript: "The recording angels, with fresh, unsullied tablets, wing their way to earth again to renew their melancholy tasks; but Aristindeen joyfully descends. "The old church clock is now on the last stroke of twelve; now chime forth the merry bells, a joyous peal; below, the church is filled with many people, and now the choristers chant a hymn in welcome to the new born year: this too, is finished; but entering the church comes forward a strange group. Behold a man bearing in his arms a child, beside him walks the mother, they are followed by their friends. They approach the altar, requesting that their child may be bap tized; the good clergyman accedes to their request, the ceremony is performed, the child is taken in his arms, he, crossing it, calls it by the name of Mary. The child suddenly starts, then claps her hands and laughs, then holds forth her arms as if to be embraced by one of them unseen." |