handed from one brother to another as unceremoniously as if I had been a basket or a bundle! Marian would have been horrified at such want of propriety, if no one else would. But by degrees it came to be understood that my fate was to be the Major instead of the Ensign; and by the time the engagement was announced, Charlie was on his way to Japan, and Dalton was making arrangements for retiring from the service; so that there was less excitement than I had feared over my change of destiny.

Did Charlie wear the willow for ever and ever? By no means-he married a sweet young English girl, only a year or two after his brother had filled up the measure of his folly (in the estimation of the Fairville matrons) by marrying me.

Marian and her worthy husband flourish. Dalton and I? We are very happy, and his favourite song is still, "Beware! beware!" his favourite season that of the gold and crimson Autumn Leaves. Need I say more?

FEW

as

EW nations, perhaps none, have so rich a treasury of legends and ballads the German. Every ruin, nay, almost every mountain, is surrounded with a mysterious, romantic veil, which can be lifted by the gifted hand of a "Sountagskind "* only, at midnight, when the moon stands highest.

It is a predominant trait in the German character, this love for the romantic supernatural. One would think they had imbibed it from their earliest infancy; and it is not to be wondered at, for if you step into the Spinnstube, on a winter's evening, you will be sure to hear the grandmother, behind the great stove, relate to her breathless audience of spinning village-beauties, tales of good Count Otto, and how the people prospered under him, until he left for the Holy Land, where, valiant knight as he was, he greatly distinguished himself, while his steward oppressed the people, and spreading the report that Count Otto had been slain, endeavoured to gain his mistress's favour. Or when you meet the miner coming from his work, it does not require much persuasion to induce him to tell you legends of dwarfs and monks, who assist the diligent, sober miners in their work, or fill their lamps with oil that will never be exhausted, but who

Sountagskind (Sunday-child), a child born on a Sunday, or as it is termed, the Lord's Day, and supposed from that circumstance to be endowed with peculiar faculties.

note down every profane word uttered in the shaft, until a day of reckoning.

But an endless number of tales is at the command of the mountain shepherd; and no one relates them with so much reverence and awe, as he. Nothing used to give me greater delight in my college-days, which were spent in the Hartz Mountains, than taking my knapsack, mountain-staff, and that constant companion of the Germans, the pipe, and sallying forth up the mountains, to hunt up my Arcadian friends. Receiving from them a couch on the soft, fragrant grass, a piece of bread and cheese, and a glass of milk, with a well-related tale of yonder castle, I was set at rest with all the world, from Euclid and Cæsar down to the principal and masters of our college.

Occasionally I met a shepherd, who required to be drawn out; but a pipe of tobacco generally worked wonders; if, however, this proved unavailing, I took refuge in my last, never-failing resource, namely, ridiculing their stories, calling them superstitious nonsense, and the old mountaineer would not be one of his tribe, if he would not warn me not to talk about things which no man has yet ridiculed with impunity; and after a number of examples had been brought forward to illustrate how rash it is to doubt the existence of ghosts and goblins, it was no difficult matter to lead the old man to the cause of the destruction of Castle

Hohenstein Ilsenburg, and the ghost which nightly haunted the place.

Most numerous are the legends of the Kyffhauser, and none I found more interesting, because they illustrated to me the strong love of my countrymen for a united Germany, which for centuries has been burning, sometimes almost extinct, sometimes shooting forth in bloody flames in the hearts of the Germans.

The legends of the good Emperor Frederick Barbarossa have been handed down from generation to generation, showing that the memory of the good dwells with the people, for to this day, the mountain-shepherd will tell the weary traveller, who demands his hospitality, of the prosperity of Germany under "Friedrich der Rothbart," as he was called on account of his red beard; how justice was administered, and foreign countries were compelled to do homage; how the arts and commerce were protected, and feudalisin weakened. No proud baron dare to oppose his humble subjects; in short it was the golden age of the empire which found its termination when Friedrich, in a war of the holy cross, was drowned, while crossing a river in full armour.

was

Every one who has buried a friend will understand the feeling which prompted the Germans to say that Barbarossa not dead, but had returned to the Kyffhauser, his favourite place of resort during his lifetime, to sleep there in a vault, and arise some day in great state to make Germany again a great country, united under his powerful sway. But although he is waiting for so lofty a mission, he still deigns to take notice of the griefs of the humblest peasant, and condescends to assist them, if deserving help, but makes every oppressor of the poor tremble, for the Emperor is sure to punish insolence committed against the defenceless. The following story which was related to me by an old shepherd, strongly illustrates the regard in which the great Emperor is held:

"In a village on the foot of the mountain on whose summit the Kyffhauser is built, or rather is decaying, lived an orphan, a Sunday-child, who, on account of her beauty, kindness, and industry, had won everybody's good will. Although hers was no easy lot, she was gay and joyous as a lark, rising as early as the birds to spin and weave till dark night; and, indeed, she might well

be happy; for was she not betrothed to Hans, the shepherd on the neighbouring estate, the handsomest and best fellow on this side the mountain? And had not the Herr Amtmann promised to give them a cottage in the spring, that they might get married? What did it matter then if she had to work a little hard; in spring Hans would be hers, and how he would open his eyes when he would see the stock of linen she had been able to lay up for herself! How slowly the winter dragged by! But spring came at last, and with it—not the pealing of the wedding bells and a happy and contented lot-but a time of misery and sorrow for poor Gretchen. The yunge Herr, the son of Herr Amtmann had returned to his father's estate, and pursued Gretchen with an attention which was degrading and dishonourable. Since Gretchen would not listen to him, he had Hans discharged, and all hopes of the lovers ever being united were forever

blighted.

With sad hearts the two lovers walked one Sunday afternoon, hand in hand, from the village, trying to console each other, and not heeding their way, found themselves, at the setting of the sun, in the neighbourhood of the Kyffhäuser. At the foot of the mountain was a great door, which Hans had never seen before, wide open, and a beautiful Princess, with blue eyes and long golden tresses, inquired what brought them to the mountain.

Gretchen, trembling, related their sorrowful tale, which was occasionally interrupted by Hans, when it was necessary to put the baseness of the yunge Herr in the proper light. The Princess deeply sympathized with them, and invited them into the mountain, promising to lay their case before the Emperor.

Fearlessly they followed her (for a sad heart knows when it meets real sympathy) through a long passage, dimly lighted, until they reached a large hall. Around a marble table sat the Emperor, with his vassals, all sleeping. Having been called by the Princess, the Emperor kindly nodded, and asked the usual question, whether the ravens were still flying around the mountain; having been answered by Hans in the affirmative, he sighed: "Then I have still to sleep another hundred years." When the Princess had laid the case of Hans and Gretchen, with Herr Amtmann, before him, he ordered

a dwarf to light a fire and brew a storm; but the Princess he requested to prepare a banquet for the whole of the subterranean household, for Gretchen's wedding should take place that very day, the Emperor taking it upon himself to give her away in marriage. They consequently were led into a large hall. Innumerable lights gave a festive appearance to the gorgeously decorated room; gentle voices, accompanied by soft music, chanted the marriage chorus; and an aged monk, with long silvery white locks, performed the service as prescribed by Holy Church, the Emperor himself giving away Gretchen to Hans. After they had partaken of the bounties of the banquet, they were led by the Princess into another room, where they were lulled to sleep by heavenly music. The next morning the Princess, having in vain urged them to stay altogether, led them through the passage, by which they had entered, out of the mountain; but told them that in case they should like to return, the door would be open till sunset; then taking a fond farewell, she handed each a large gift of money, and went back into the

mountain.

Hans and his young wife were so taken up with their good fortune, that they had no time to perceive the change which had taken place in the country since yesterday. New houses had sprung up, none but strangers met them, as they approached the village, and everybody looked astonished to see

them, and, indeed, quite a large number had collected around them before they knew it. At last, since nobody could give them satisfactory answers to their numerous questions, they were brought to the aged minister of the parish. Here they were informed that they had been this very day a hundred years in the mountain, and that they were recorded as dead, the writer of the village chronicle presuming that they had sought death by committing suicide in a fit of despair. All this was faithfully entered in the chronicle, along with the fact that on the same day they had disappeared, a terrible storm had consumed the whole estate of the Herr Amtmann, in which the yunge Herr found his death.

Hans and Gretchen then told their story to the old minister, who duly wrote down every word in the chronicle, where it can be read to the present day by any one who doubts the veracity of this tale. Then, seeing that they had nothing in common with the present generation, they determined to return to their friends in the mountain.

Many an old shepherd has seen Hans playing in the long summer evenings on the flute, his faithful Gretchen sitting beside him. Some day they will come in the train of Emperor Frederick Barbarossa down to the valley. But that will be a long while yet, for still the black birds of misfortune are flying around the Kyffhäuser.

Mr. Drummond, in the May number of THE CANADIAN MONTHLY, seems to have given expression to the answer which the majority of sober men in the country give to the first part of the question. Leave well alone, is the truest, as it is the easiest policy for us to pursue at present. But as there are nearly always two ways of interpreting every rule, so there are two ways of letting well alone. There is the old, lazy, stupid policy of laissez faire; the policy of assuming that things will go on indefinitely in the future as they have done in the past, or, that if they do not, it will be time enough to consider change when it is imminent. On the other hand, there is the policy of letting alone till we are ready to carry out a desired, or at least inevitable, change for which we shall have had full time to make our preparations in such a manner that the revolution, when it comes, will take place with the least possible disturbance, and will afford the greatest prospect of lasting gain.

The former interpretation is generally that of the Party Politician, of the so-called practical man, and of the pessimist; the latter that of the statesman, the thinker, and the optimist. This is the reading which it is for us to adopt.

Probably the simplest method of indicating what kind of change is desirable or inevitable, and how we are to prepare for it, is to show why any immediate change would be fraught with danger to the republic.

There are three courses which can be conceived as not impossible for Canada to enter on at once or at a very early date; the tightening in some direction of our connec

Apart from the fact that there are still too many Canadians, who are first British and then Canadians, and who would successfully oppose any such action, there are generally two answers given. The most obvious and general is that of Mr. Mathews, who argues that we should be a new example of the old story of the wolf and the lamb, or, to use a more appropriate metaphor, Canada would be a veritable dove, which the American eagle would, on the slightest pretext, seize in her remorseless talons and devour. The second answer is more vague, and probably often includes the first ; it is, in general terms, that we are too helpless to stand alone. This might be interpreted to mean that, as Mr. Mathews says, we should be overpowered by external force, or that our inherent weakness is too great for us to stand without strong support, or perhaps from both causes combined. In the one case we might be likened to a tree planted in such a position that, whatever its vigour, it would be blown down by inevitable gales; in the second to a sapling not sufficiently rooted to stand without the support of a stake; or, possibly we might be in the unfortunate position of a rootless sapling in a fatally exposed situation. Taking these answers in their order, let us examine their validity.

Mr. Mathews argues, very strongly, that