charges being that he had negotiated with Gustavus, and that he "not only employed Protestants in his army, but allowed them free exercise of their religion and estates this last true! Though historians even German his torians, until Doctor Förster a century ago obtained access to the archives of Vienna-swallowed this official concoction without query, the House of Austria knew its weakness, and sought to bury the affair in oblivion. When Frederick the Great asked Joseph II., "How it really was with that story of Wallenstein," the Emperor cryptically replied that "he could not possibly doubt the honour and integrity of his ancestor."

But what were the exact plans maturing in that gigantic brain, is and must remain one of the unfathomable problems of history. Oxenstierna, even, perhaps the best-informed man and ablest judge of character of the time, declared long after that he could never comprehend the object Wallenstein really had in view.

In the whole of history no parallel exists to the strange career, and stranger mentality, of this many-sided genius, compound of Julius Cæsar, Bismarck, and x-an unknown quantity. Wallenstein unique.

is

surrounding this man "whose character," in Schiller's words, "obscured by faction's hatred and applause, still floats, unfixed and stationless in history," suffice it that we can trace a spirit of toleration solitary in the welter of the world's bitterest religious and fratricidal struggle, akin rather perhaps to the twentieth century than to the nineteenth century spirit; a striving after the national unity which was to be realised two and a half centuries later; a grasp of the grand strategical truth that military success is not an end in itself, that force is but one instrument of war policy, and that the true objective is to ensure a progressive and prosperous continuance of one's peace-time policy in after years. Germany turns ever to Wallenstein as she turns to no other leader of the Thirty Years' War . . . such faithfulness is not without reason. Wallenstein's wildest schemes were always built upon the foundation of Germany's unity. In the way in which he walked that unity was doubtless unobtainable. . . . But during the long dreary years of confusion which were to follow, it was something to think of the last supremely able man whose life had been spent in battling against the great evils of the land, against the spirit of religious intolerance, and the

66

...

THE children came down to breakfast without looking at the sideboard; parcels had long ago passed into the domain of "fish-ponds." We were telling the Brebis how badly Uncle Bliss had behaved at the Potters', and they listened open-mouthed to the neglect of their porridge. "Did he bring his own flask?" Val asked. Glances of covert delight passed between him and Irene. They, too, were of the pro Bliss party. Ghost of Cuckoo Lane, their hero had become something of a dragonslayer!

The Brebis was horrified. "My dear, I do hope he will not come here. I don't think I could bear it."

of knives that would not cut, knots that refused to be untied. We knew better than to offer to help them. Irene had hers open first, Val being handicapped with the butter-knife.

Two square collector's boxes, of beautifully grained white deal, light as cardboard, smelling of camphor, cork-lined inside. The Goliath beetle almost completely filled the first, a fearsome hammer-headed insect, but exquisitely streaked about the head with chocolate and cream. I have seen smaller birds. But the papilio was bigger still, nine inches between wing-tips. And how it shone ! Poor purple emperor! There was just room between the tails-which re

tionate length of Uncle Bliss' dress-suit-for the blue birdwinged butterfly and the deadleaf insect.

In their excitement they quite forgot the other box. "Quick, Val! It's the antelope's horn. How clumsy! Take care, or you'll break it. I'll fetch Mummy's scissors."

Irene was off like the flash of a kingfisher to the drawingroom. But Val, with a mighty wrench, tugged the string round the end of the parcel, and slipped it off, scattering the

cloth with wood shavings. He had it out before Irene returned, and held it up in triumph. It was the antelope's horn.

Irene flew to it. She and Val kept turning it round and trying to look into it at the same time, searching for the shadow. "Can you see it? "Yes, there it is." "Hold it still." "Look, it has gone." Apparently it came and went like other shadows. “Can you see it, Daddy?" I picked it up. "Yes, the shadow's there all right. It seems to be moving."

Angela thought she could see a white shadow.

Then Aunt Hudson examined it, but could see nothing, only darkness. "It seems all shadow," she said. "I must look at it in a good light with my glasses."

Val handed it to Jessie. "Can you see a shadow inside?" he asked.

Jessie could not. It was rather a test whether one could see that shadow.

"I hope it won't get out," I said. "We don't want a witch-doctor in the house upsetting things."

"Upsetting things?" The Brebis was mystified.

"Turning the milk sour, breaking the crockery, setting the chimneys on fire, scaring the maids."

Angela suggested a cork. "But why?" asked the bewildered Brebis.

She had not heard Marjorie's story of Chimbashi, was it?

VOL. CCXVIII.-NO. MCCCXVII.

They had forgotten the witch. doctor's name. However, the horn was Chimbashi now. The children explained how it had belonged to a wizard who, by putting his shadow into it, obtained everything he desired and became a great king.

"How tremendously interesting!" said the Brebis.

It was rather interesting, when you came to think of it, this translation of Chimbashi from witch-bound Africa to quiet Homersfield, where nothing more predatory invaded our life than a rabbit in the kitchen garden.

"It gave him great power over his enemies,' Val continued.

"He tortured and burnt them, and when they were dead he jumped on their corpses," added Irene.

"My dear!" protested the Brebis.

The children had been reading adventure books. Heaven knows what visions of sorcery and midnight incantations Chimbashi conjured up, alarms, ambushes, massacres, tribal revolutions, superstitious dread!

Irene concluded, "And the chief put his captives to the most hideous forms of death. Some he disembowelled while they were still living."

"My dear, please do not tell me any more. Who ever can have put these dreadful ideas into your head."

"But it is all right now," Irene added soothingly, to allay the Brebis's fears. "The shadow can't do anything now

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