At which Madame de Schlippenschlopp would shriek, and grasp her in her arms; and at which, I confess, I would myself blubber like a child, She had six darling friends at school, and every courier from Kalbsbraten carried off whole reams of her letterpaper. İn Kalbsbraten, as in every other German town, there are a vast number of literary characters, of whom our young friend quickly became the chief. They set up a literary journal, which appeared once a week, upon light-blue or primrose paper, and which, in compliment to the lovely Ottilia's maternal name, was called "The Kartoffelnkranz." Here are a couple of her ballads extracted from "The Kranz," and by far the most cheerful specimen of her style. For in her songs she never would willingly let off the heroines without a suicide or a consumption. She never would hear of such a thing as a happy marriage, and had an appetite for grief quite amazing in so young a person. As for her dying and desiring to be buried under the willowtree, of which the first ballad is the subject, though I believed the story then, I have at present some doubts about it. For, since the publication of my Memoirs, I have been thrown much into the society of literary per Soon as she saw the tree, Her step moved fleeter. No one was there- -ah me! No one to meet her! "Quick beat her heart to hear But the red sun went down And though she looked round, "Presently came the night, "Through the long darkness, "Shrill blew the morning breeze, Biting and cold, Bleak peers the gray dawn Over the wold. Bleak over moor and stream Looks the gray dawn, "Domine, Domine! Sing we a litany, sons (who admire my style hugely), Sing for poor maiden-hearts broken and and egad! though some of them are dismal enough in their works, I find them in their persons the least sentimental class that ever a gentleman fell in with. "THE WILLOW-TREE. "Know ye the willow-tree Whose gray leaves quiver, Whispering gloomily To yon pale river? Lady, at even-tide Wander not near it: They say its branches hide A sad, lost spirit! "Once to the willow-tree A maid came fearful, Paled seemed her cheek to be, Her blue eye tearful; weary; Domine, Domine! Sing we a litany, Wail we and weep we a wild Miserere!" One of the chief beauties of this ballad (for the translation of which I received some well merited compliments) is the delicate way in which the suicide of the poor young woman under the willow-tree is hinted at; for that she threw herself into the water, and became one among the lilies of the stream, is as clear as a pikestaff. Her suicide is committed some time in the darkness, when the slow hours move on tolling and tolling, and is hinted at darkly as befits the time and the deed. "Hey diddle diddlety, Maidens of England, take caution Let love and suicide And always remember to take Some people laughed at this parody, and even preferred it to the riginal; but for myself I have no patience with the individual who can turn the finest sentiments of our nature into ridicule, and make every thing sacred a subject of scorn. The next ballad is less gloomy than that of the willowtree, and in it the lovely writer expresses her longing for what has charmed us all, and, as it were, squeezes the whole spirit of the fairy tale into a few stanzas: One has brought a jewel- and one a crown of gold, And one has brought a curse is wrinkled and old. but she The gentle queen turns pale- to hear those words of sin, But the king he only laughs—and bids the dance begin. "The babe has grown to be-the fairest of the land And rides the forest green—a hawk upon her hand. An ambling palfrey white — a golden robe and crown; I've seen her in my dreams — riding up and down; And heard the ogre laugh- as she fell into his snare, At the little tender creature and tore her hair! who wept more a poor goose of a Fitz-Boodle. In the theatre, when she sat on the opposite side of the house, those big eyes used to pursue me as I sat preflöte," or to "Don Carlos," or "Egtending to listen to the "Zaubermont," and at the tender passages, especially, they would have such a winning, weeping, imploring look with them as flesh and blood could not bear. Shall I tell how I became a poet for the dear girl's sake? 'Tis surely unnecessary after the reader has perused the above versions of her poems. Shall I tell what wild follies I committed in prose as well as in verse? how I used to watch under her window of icy evenings, and with chilblainy fingers sing serenades to her on the guitar? Shall I tell how, in a sledging-party, I had the happiI've seen him in my dreams-goodness to drive her, and of the delightsooth! a gallant knight. "But ever when it seemed was at the sorest A prince in shining mailcing through the forest. her need comes pranA waving ostrich-plume -a buckler burnished bright; His lips are coral red-beneath a dark ful privilege which is, on these occasions, accorded to the driver? mustache; See how he waves his hand - and how his blue eyes flash! "Come forth, thou Paynim knight!' he shouts in accents clear. The giant and the maid - both tremble his voice to hear. Saint Mary guard him well! - he draws - his blade his falchion keen, The giant and the knight—are fighting on the green. I see them in my dreams gives stroke on stroke, The giant pants and reels - - and tumbles like an oak! 1 Any reader who has spent a winter in Germany perhaps knows it. A large party of a score or more of sledges is formed. Away they go to some pleasure-house that has been previously fixed upon, where a ball and collation are prepared, and where each man, as his partner descends, has the delicious privilege of saluting her. O heavens and earth! I may grow to be a thousand years old, but I can never forget the rapture of that salute. "The keen air has given me an ap petite," said the dear angel, as we entered the supper-room; and to say the truth, fairy as she was, she made a remarkably good meal-consuming a couple of basins of white soup, several kinds of German sausages, some dings, an anchovy-salad made with Westphalia ham, some white pudcornichons and onions, sweets innumerable, and a considerable quantity of old Steinwein and rum-punch afterwards. Then she got up and danced as brisk as a fairy; in which operation I of course did not follow her, but had the honor, at the close of the even ing's amusement, once more to have | Nights," is absurd and unnatural; her by my side in the sledge, as we swept in the moonlight over the snow. Kalbsbraten is a very hospitable place as far as tea-parties are concerned, but I never was in one where dinners were so scarce. At the palace they occurred twice or thrice in a month; but on these occasions spinsters were not invited, and I seldom had the opportunity of seeing my Ottilia except at evening-parties. Nor are these, if the truth must be told, very much to my taste. Dancing I have forsworn, whist is too severe a study for me, and I do not like to play écarté with old ladies, who are sure to cheat you in the course of an evening's play. But to have an occasional glance at Ottilia was enough; and many and many a napoleon did I lose to her mamma, Madame de Schlippenschlopp, for the blest privilege of looking at her daughter. Many is the tea-party I went to, shivering into cold clothes after dinner (which is my abomination) in order to have one little look at the lady of my soul. At these parties there were generally refreshments of a nature more substantial than mere tea-punch, both milk and rum, hot wine, consommé, and a peculiar and exceedingly disagreeable sandwich made of a mixture of cold white puddings and garlic, of which I have forgotten the name, and always detested the savor. Gradually a conviction came upon me that Ottilia ate a great deal. I do not dislike to see a woman eat comfortably. I even think that an agreeable woman ought to be friande, and should love certain little dishes and knicknacks. I know that though at dinner they commonly take nothing, they have had roastmutton with the children at two, and laugh at their pretensions to starvation. No! a woman who eats a grain of rice, like Amina, in "The Arabian but there is a modus in rebus: there is no reason why she should be a ghoul, a monster, an ogress, a horrid gormandizeress-faugh! It was, then, with a rage amounting almost to agony, that I found Ottilia ate too much at every meal. She was always eating, and always eating too much. If I went there in the morning, there was the horrid familiar odor of those oniony sandwiches; if in the afternoon, dinner had been just removed, and I was choked by reeking reminiscences of roast meat. Tea we have spoken of. She gobbled up more cakes than any six people present; then came the supper and the sandwiches again, and the egg-flip and the horrible rum-punch. She was as thin as ever- paler if possible than ever:- but, by heavens! her nose began to red! grow Mon Dieu! how I used to watch and watch it! Some days it was purple, some days had more of the vermilion - I could take an affidavit that after a heavy night's supper it was more swollen, more red than before. I recollect one night when we were playing a round game (I had been looking at her nose very eagerly and sadly for some time), she of herself brought up the conversation about eating, and confessed that she had five meals a day. "That accounts for it!" says I, flinging down the cards, and springing up and rushing like a madman out of the room. I rushed away into the night, and wrestled with my passion. "What! Marry,” said Ỉ, 'a woman who eats meat twenty-one times in a week, besides breakfast and tea? Marry a sarcophagus, a cannibal, a butcher's shop? - - Away!" I strove and strove. I drank, I groaned, I wrestled and fought with my love - but it overcame me: one look of those eyes brought me to her feet again. I yielded myself up like a slave; I fawned and whined for her; Things came to this pitch that I sounded his Highness's Minister to know whether he would give me service in the Duchy; I thought of purchasing an estate there. I was given to understand that I should get a chamberlain's key and some post of honor did I choose to remain, and I even wrote home to my brother Tom in England, hinting a change in my condition. At this juncture, the town of Hamburg sent his Highness the Grand Duke (apropos of a commercial union which was pending between the two States) a singular present: no less than a certain number of barrels of oysters, which are considered extreme luxuries in Germany, especially in the inland parts of the country, where they are almost unknown. In honor of the oysters and the new commercial treaty (which arrived in fourgons despatched for the purpose), his Highness announced a grand supper and ball, and invited all the quality of all the principalities round about. It was a splendid affair: the grand saloon brilliant with hundreds of uniforms and brilliant toilets - not the least beautiful among them, I need not say, was Ottilia. At midnight the supper-rooms were thrown open, and we formed into little parties of six, each having a table, nobly served with plate, a lackey in attendance, and a gratifying ice-pail or two of champagne to égayer the supper. It was no small cost to serve five hundred people on silver, and the repast was certainly a princely and magnificent one. I had, of course, arranged with Mademoiselle Schlippenschlopp. Captains Frumpel and Fridelberger of the Duke's Guard, Mesdames de Butterbrod and Bopp, formed our little party. The first course, of course, consisted of the oysters. Ottilia's eyes gleamed with double brilliancy as the lackey opened them. There were nine apiece for us - how well I recollect the number! I never was much of an oystereater, nor can I relish them in naturalibus as some do, but require a quantity of sauces, lemons, cayenne peppers, bread and butter, and so forth, to render them palatable. By the time I had made my preparations, Ottilia, the Captains, and the two ladies, had well-nigh finished theirs. Indeed Ottilia had gobbled up all hers, and there were only my nine left in the dish. I took one-IT WAS BAD. The scent of it was enough, they were all bad. Ottilia had eaten nine bad oysters. I put down the horrid shell. Her eyes glistened more and more; she could not take them off the tray. "Dear Herr George," she said, "will you give me your oysters? She had them all down beforeI could say - Jack- Robinson ! I left Kalbsbraten that night, and have never been there since. 22 |