University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 https://archive.org/details/walkstalksorauntOOIady 
 
AUNT IDA AND HER NIECES. 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 
WALKS AND TALKS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 AUNT IDA’S 
 
 TALES POE YOUNG PERSONS. 
 
 BY A LADY. 
 
 312:1 itf) Illustrations, 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. 
 
 1850. 
 
GEORGE 
 
 ANGEL 
 
 LONDON .* 
 
 WOODFALL AND SON, 
 
 COURT, SKINNER STREET. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Of the twenty-two Stories composing this little Volume, it will be, 
 perhaps, sufficient to say that the first, second, third, sixth, seventh, 
 thirteenth, seventeenth, twentieth, twenty-first, and twenty-second, 
 are partly altered from the German of Geib. The tenth and seven¬ 
 teenth translated from the German. The ninth, eleventh, and six¬ 
 teenth, translated from the Swedish. The eighteenth, translated from 
 the Danish; and that the five English Stories, making Numbers five, 
 eight, twelve, fourteen, and nineteen, are from another hand. The 
 walks are all real excursions made to the places named. 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Aunt Ida and her Nieces. Frontispiece . 
 
 Junker Schott, and his Eider .Page 6 
 
 Kino Ingewall’s Daughter and the Little Grey Geese „ 68 
 
 The Lady op the Lurlei. . 175 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Walks. 
 
 I. WOLFSBRUNN. . . . 
 
 II. Bierhalterhof . . . 
 
 III. The Angel’s Meadow 
 
 IY. A Walk and Talk . 
 
 Y. Thunder Storm . . 
 
 VI. Neckar-Gemund . . 
 
 VII. Neckar-Steinach . . 
 
 VIII. Eberbach. 
 
 IX. An Evening Drive . 
 
 X. Schwetzingen . . . 
 
 XI. Friesenweg .... 
 
 XII. Handschuhshetm . . 
 
 XIII. Heiligenberg . . . 
 
 XIY. Winter. 
 
 XY. Riesenstein .... 
 XYI. The Frozen Neckar . 
 XVII. The Inundation . . 
 XVIII. The Haardt Forest . 
 
 XIX. The Stift Gardens . 
 
 XX. Weinheim .... 
 
 XXI. Mayence. 
 
 XXII. The Victoria Steamer 
 
 Talks. Page 
 
 . Junker Schott . 4 
 
 . SlEGFRID AND THE DRAGON.12 
 
 . Hilda, or the Mummel-See.21 
 
 f The Little Girl, and the Little White 
 Mouse.27 
 
 . Ruth Trusty.34 
 
 . Herman, the Charcoal-Boy of Breisgau 40 
 
 . The Lady of Stolzeneck ...... 50 
 
 / Stuart and Helen Bruce, or The Three 
 ‘ \ Friends.59 
 
 . King Ingewall’s Daughter.67 
 
 . Fettich, an Eastern Story.75 
 
 . Swedish Dragon Story.80 
 
 . Henry and Maria.88 
 
 . Duke Rupert of Bingen.96 
 
 . The Fisherman.103 
 
 . Bear-Hunting in Finland .Ill 
 
 . Alrik, the Cotter’s Son.123 
 
 . George of Frankenstein.133 
 
 . Waulundur.139 
 
 . The Two Bad Boys.149 
 
 . Sibo of Lorch.155 
 
 . Mort, the Kreuznacher.167 
 
 . The Legend of the Lurlei . . . .175 
 
WALKS AND TALKS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 AUNT IDA’S TALES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 One evening in the month of June 18—, five little English girls, 
 named Frances, Gertrude, Florence, Amy, and Susanna, who were 
 spending some time at Heidelberg, under the care of their aunt Ida, 
 were invited by some German friends, to drink tea at a very pretty 
 Swiss cottage, called “ Wolfsbrunn,” or the Wolfs Well, at a short 
 distance from the town. The road leading to this place lay along the 
 side of a hill looking down on a beautiful river, called the Neckar, 
 whose waters, in this fine weather, were of a transparent green, like 
 liquid emeralds. The children had coffee and fresh milk first; then 
 they walked down to the ponds and saw the trout fed, when Frances 
 wondered why that place which had such a beautiful clear spring, and 
 lay in such a beautiful valley, was called by so strange a name as the 
 Wolf's Well. “ Are there any wolves here ? ” she asked. 
 
 “ Not now, my dear,” answered a lady who heard her; “ but many 
 hundred years ago there used to be wolves in this forest; and it is said 
 that a beautiful maiden, who was a sorceress, lived near this well, and 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 people came to consult her in sickness, and ask her to foretell the 
 future. Every day she used to draw water from this fountain, hut one 
 evening, just as she was stooping with her pitcher, a furious wolf 
 rushed out of the thicket upon her, and devoured her ; so, in memory 
 of this event, the place has ever since been known by the name of 
 Wolfsbrunn, or the Wolfs Well.” 
 
 It was a lovely evening, and the children played a long time about 
 the spot; indeed, the sun had set, and the first stars were shining in 
 the sky, before the party was ready to leave the Wolfs Well and return 
 home. As there were about twenty people together, they came along 
 in different little parties, near each other, and our little friends, of 
 course, were walking with Aunt Ida. 
 
 Aunt Ida was a lady who was always dressed in a black gown, a 
 colour which children generally do not admire very much ; she was 
 sometimes grave or even sad, but she was very kind and very fond of 
 children. Her parents were Scotch, and, though she herself was born in 
 India, she always considered Scotland as her country, for there some 
 of her early years had been spent. She had, since then, lived both in 
 England and Sweden;, she had travelled and read a great deal, and 
 had a very pleasant way of talking of the different curious things she 
 had seen and known, so that, as she was always willing to make them 
 happy, the little girls delighted in being with her, and were seldom 
 disappointed in their frequent request— w Oh, Aunt Ida, do tell us a 
 story.” 
 
 As they were walking along, “ Do you think,” asked Amy, “ that 
 was a true story we heard to-night? And what is a sorceress, Aunt ? ” 
 
 “ Persons who were supposed to have dealings with evil spirits, my 
 dear Amy, were called sorcerers or magicians; a woman was called a 
 sorceress. I daresay, a long time ago, when most people were very 
 ignorant, many went by that name who were, in truth, only a little 
 wiser than their neighbours, but therefore able to do many things 
 which, in those days, seemed far beyond the natural power of man; 
 although we are well accustomed to them now and think them no won- 
 
 RBC 
 
 NcU 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 3 
 
 ders at all. The sorceress whom you heard of this evening may perhaps 
 have been some woman living alone, with great knowledge of the value 
 and uses of plants and herbs, by help of which she performed won¬ 
 derful cures, and this would naturally cause her to be regarded by the 
 simple people with respect and fear. For if she had been what you 
 would call ‘a real sorceress,’ such as you read of in fairy tales, I 
 think she might have been able to save herself from the wolf; do not 
 you think so ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, yes, Aunt Ida; I wish you would tell us a fairy tale now,” 
 said more than one young voice. 
 
 Aunt Ida did not answer directly, but she stood still for a minute, 
 listening to the wind that made a gentle murmur among the boughs of 
 the apple and walnut trees that overhung the road, and to the sound of 
 the river rushing below. The moon was rising over a hill on the left 
 hand, and she said, “ By daylight, children, you remember the view 
 from this road over the plain of the Rhine, and how beautifully it is 
 bounded by the Vosges Mountains. There are the ruins of many 
 castles among those mountains, especially those of the castle of Trifels, 
 in which it is said the minstrel Blondel discovered our own King, 
 Richard Coeur de Lion, after he had wandered through great part of 
 Germany looking for him. Whenever he came to a grim-looking tower, 
 he sang under the windows or loopholes, and his fidelity and love were 
 rewarded at last by the joy of hearing his song answered by his dear 
 master out of the old tower of Trifels. But you all know that pretty 
 story.” 
 
 “ Oh yes, Aunt Ida; but of the other castles; can you not tell us 
 about some of them ? ” 
 
 “ W T ell, take hands and keep all together, and I will tell you about 
 the castle of Huneberg, and its young lord. Junker Schott.” 
 
 “ Oh, what a funny name! ” cried little Susanna, as she seized Aunt 
 Ida’s hand. 
 
4 
 
 WALKS AKD TALKS; OR, 
 
 Stmktr Irjjntf. 
 
 More than seven hundred years ago, Huneberg was a stout castle, 
 planted like most others in Germany on the top of its own hill. I 
 do not know if its place could be found now; but at the time of which 
 I am speaking, it was not only habitable, but inhabited by its master, 
 the young baron, or Junker Schott. This knight was tall, handsome, 
 brave and young, he had all that heart could desire, save riches; and 
 apparently, they were as requisite then for a young lord who was to 
 make a figure in the world as they are considered now. When I tell 
 you that he had his castle, some fields and vineyards, two noble war 
 horses, a couple of beautiful hunting dogs, a fine suit of polished 
 armour, and a famous sword, you will agree with me in thinking this 
 might have been enough to satisfy him, and make him very happy ; 
 but no ! Junker Schott bad set his fancy on having a pretty wife to ride 
 his second horse, and till he had this, he thought he never could be 
 happy at all. There were plenty of beautiful young ladies living in 
 the neighbouring castles, but then their fathers were rich, and our 
 knight was too proud to try to gain any of them to share his smaller 
 fortunes, and so he spent his time hunting, and wandering alone in the 
 woods about his castle, thinking himself a very unfortunate man, until 
 one day when he met with an adventure, as you shall hear. 
 
 I should have told you that Junker Schott possessed what many a 
 rich man does not, and what all the gold and riches in the world can 
 never buy or make up for the want of; and this was a good kind heart. 
 No one ever went from his door without having experienced his charity 
 and his benevolence; and the poorer, and older, and more miserable 
 they were, the more did he delight in showing hospitality. Well, one 
 May morning, having called his dogs to his side, he went into the 
 woods, and was enjoying the beauty and freshness of the sunlight on 
 the green leaves, and looking out for some game to carry home with 
 him, when, on turning a narrow path, he suddenly came on a little man 
 
aunt jda’s tales. 
 
 5 
 
 ■who was so short lie might be called a dwarf, sitting under a tree close 
 by the foot-path. This little man carried a holly wand in his hand, 
 was dressed in a long, dark, pilgrim’s gown, and had a sort of high 
 pointed hood on his head, from under which his long gray locks fell 
 about his shoulders. Altogether he seemed weary and miserable 
 enough. 
 
 “I am hungry, noble Sir!” said he. “Cannot you spare a poor 
 wanderer a bit of bread, to break his fast?” 
 
 Schott, who used to be out from morning till evening, was provided 
 with fine white wheaten bread and goat-milk cheese in his pouch; and 
 this he most willingly shared with the old man, who, when he had 
 eaten and was satisfied, before going on his way, said to him, “ You 
 have a good heart! That is sure to meet with its reward sooner or 
 later. May you find it so.” And so they parted. 
 
 Some days after this Junker Schott was out again, and this time 
 quite alone, without even his dogs. He had been exploring the thickest 
 part of the forest, and at last, about mid-day, found himself in the midst 
 of a rocky valley, watered by a very swift-running brook. He was quite 
 weary, and had just thrown himself under a tree to enjoy the cool 
 shade, and was preparing to refresh himself with something to eat, and 
 a draught of fresh water, for he was very thirsty, when he suddenly 
 heard a cry for help somewhere in the neighbourhood. Forgetting his 
 own fatigue in an instant, he jumped up, and began running down the 
 stream in the direction whence the cries proceeded; but the further he 
 went the more distant did the voice appear. However, as he still 
 heard it in the same direction he was not discouraged, but followed it 
 for an hour, at least, till it brought him at last to a beautiful green 
 meadow traversed by the stream, and here he saw a lovely little boy 
 seated under a lime tree, weeping very bitterly. 
 
 “ Is it you, little one, who were crying for help?” said Junker 
 Schott, holding out his hand to him kindly. 
 
 “ Indeed it was, dear man! ” answered the child. “ Oh, take me 
 home! They say there are wolves in this wood, and I am so afraid! ” 
 
6 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS,* OR, 
 
 “ You do not look like a poor child,” said the kniglit; “how have 
 you got here, and where do your parents live?” 
 
 “ I have lost myself,” said the child, “ as I was picking flowers, and 
 trying to catch a beautiful bird. I will show you the way to my home ; 
 hut you must carry me, good man, for I am so tired.” 
 
 “ Willingly,” answered the good knight; and the little fellow leaped 
 on his hack in an instant as light as a feather, or as if he had had a 
 pair of wings like a bird. But, no sooner had he done this, than 
 Schott felt an irresistible impulse to run, run, run; up hill, and down 
 dale, over brook, over rock, over stock, over stone, it was all the same, 
 on and on towards the south, until, strong as he was, he felt as if he 
 had had quite enough, and would be glad to stop. 
 
 At last, as the sun was ready to sink behind the blue line of the 
 Vosges Mountains, the knight and his rider had reached a beautiful open 
 space in the wood, whence two shady avenues, one of lime and the 
 other of oak trees, led across a flowery meadow to a large old house 
 built of solid hewn stone in the midst of a clear moat surrounded by 
 emerald fields, while large snow-white swans were sailing about upon 
 the quiet water. 
 
 “ Here we are! ” cried the little one, as he leaped off the knight’s 
 back, who heard a noise as if a rock had fallen, and looking round, 
 brave as he was, could not help an inward shudder, when he saw, in¬ 
 stead of the boy whom he had been carrying, the figure of the dwarf 
 with long gray locks and pointed hood. 
 
 “ G° to that house,” said he, “ there you will find a supper, a night’s 
 lodging, and a reward for the trouble I have caused you.” 
 
 “ But who are you?” cried the half-bewildered Junker Schott. 
 
 “ answered the dwarf, “ am the spirit who dwell in the forest 
 where you have often wandered in your solitary huntings and medita¬ 
 tions. Those who are good and trust to me I favour and assist; but 
 those who are bad I teaze by throwing stones out of the bushes on 
 them by daylight, and leading them astray over swamps and morasses 
 by night. I turn away from the suspicious man, and will have 
 

 See page 6 . 
 

 H 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 7 
 
 nothing to say to him; but you are good. The other day, as I was 
 hungry and came across your path, you shared your bread with me, 
 and to-day you have carried me in the sweat of your brow when you 
 took me for a frightened child ! This narrow wooden bridge leads to 
 that house. Go, and prosper!” 
 
 With these words the little man disappeared before the knight 
 could recover from his surprise. However, he did not waste much 
 time in meditation, but, walking over the bridge with a steady and 
 quick step, he reached the door of the moated house and knocked. 
 Presently it was opened by a damsel, whom he thought the love¬ 
 liest he had ever seen. Her mother, an elderly but very handsome 
 and venerable-looking matron, followed her, and on his telling them 
 that he had lost his way in the wood, and asking if they could grant 
 him a night’s lodging, he received a very gracious welcome from the 
 elder lady, and was shown into a chamber, which he was‘’begged to 
 consider as his own. 
 
 In an hour or so, a servant came to call him to the evening meal, 
 when he introduced himself by name to both ladies, and in the course 
 of conversation the mother told him her history, and how it came to 
 pass that she and her daughter were living in this solitary w*ay. 
 
 Her husband had gone many years before to join the Crusaders 
 with the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, and had been killed in a 
 bloody battle, leaving one only child to be his heir, this lovely Bertha, 
 then but five years old. No sooner did the news of his death arrive, 
 than a neighbouring knight, one of those who used to pillage and 
 plunder wherever they thought they could find an easy prey, pounced 
 upon the castle and property of the knight of Scliwanau (the name of 
 Bertha’s father), and meeting with no opposition from the helpless 
 widow and her orphan child, had carried off all they possessed, leaving 
 them poor and needy, so that instead of continuing to reside in her 
 husband’s old castle, in pomp and state, as the widow of a brave war¬ 
 rior should, the Lady of Scliwanau had found it safer and better to 
 remove to this house in the forest, which was one of the farms of her 
 
8 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS,' OK, 
 
 former estates, where she and her daughter had now for many years 
 led a solitary life, in poverty and retirement. 
 
 Junker Schott listened to this history with the most eager attention; 
 his generous heart was full of compassion for two unprotected women, 
 who, having had the misfortune to lose husband and father, had expe¬ 
 rienced such treachery from one who had formerly professed to be a 
 friend. He burnt to revenge their wrongs, and swore to accomplish it 
 if they would only accept him for their champion. You may be sure 
 when he saw the sweet Bertha reduced to a condition little different 
 from that of a country girl, and remarked what a good daughter she 
 was, so far from thinking her degraded, as a less noble heart than his 
 might have done, he wished he had been a prince, that he might offer 
 her a situation worthy her beauty and her virtue. But though he now 
 more than ever regretted the want of riches, still he thought he could 
 love Bertha so well, and be such a friend to her, as would be better 
 than all the riches in the world; so many days did not pass before he 
 offered her his hand, and, being so handsome and so kind and so good, 
 he was accepted, and the mother also gave her full consent, for it was 
 quite natural they should like him. 
 
 When this matter was settled, of course he must return home to 
 make everything ready to receive his bride at Huneberg; so he started 
 one morning early, and, bidding them both farewell till their next 
 happy meeting set out upon his way. As he approached his own 
 woods, and could just perceive the towers of his castle at a distance, 
 who should he espy but the little gray man under a tree. Junker 
 Schott greeted him as his best friend; but the dwarf making him a 
 sign to be silent, took him into a cavern hard by, and out of its darkest 
 corner produced a beautiful box curiously ornamented and figured with 
 silver. Giving it into his hand, “ Here,” said he, “ here is the dower 
 for your bride. Bemain as good and true as you have hitherto been, 
 teach the same to your children, and you will never want any good 
 thing.” And having so spoken, again his good little friend disap¬ 
 peared. 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 9 
 
 The knight carried the heavy box home, and opening it in his own 
 chamber, found it to contain a plentiful supply of gold. Now he was 
 no longer poor but rich, and this filled him with joy for his dear 
 Bertha’s sake, to whom he could now hope to offer a home as splendid 
 as that of her childhood. He made everything ready for her reception, 
 and then riding at the head of a proper retinue of mounted attendants, 
 fetched her and her mother from the old moated house home to Hune- 
 berg, where they held a happy bridal, and feasted many days. Now 
 that Bertha and Junker Schott were once more rich and happy, you 
 must not think that they were less good to the poor than they had 
 ever been. They were kind, hospitable, and charitable as long as they 
 lived, and taught the same to their children after them, and found, 
 even in this world, the recompense of their virtue and goodness 
 —two things, my dear children,” continued Aunt Ida, “which sooner 
 or later find their reward always ; and if not exactly as Junker Schott 
 was rewarded, still in some other way as Heaven sees fit to appoint. 
 But the eleven o’clock bell is ringing, and it is high time we were all 
 in bed !” 
 
 So all the party shook hands with one another, and bid good night 
 in the street, and Frances, Gertrude, Florence, Susanna, and Amy 
 went to bed highly delighted with the day they had spent so happily 
 at Wolfsbrunn. 
 
10 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 It is a very common custom in Germany in the summer-time, when 
 it is much pleasanter to be sitting out of doors than shut up in town 
 houses which have no gardens, for people to invite their friends to 
 drink tea with them at some pretty place in the neighbouring country. 
 Therefore, not very long after they had been at Wolfsbrunn, Aunt Ida 
 and her little party were asked to spend the evening in the same way, 
 at another very pretty place, lying quite in a different direction, called 
 the Bierhalterhof. It is a sort of farm-house, and very good milk is to 
 be had there. Great was the joy of the little girls and they thought 
 summer in Germany the most delightful time possible, and Aunt Ida, 
 who knew the summer could not last for ever, was very glad to let 
 them enjoy it in so natural and pleasant a manner. So they all went; 
 and this time there were more than twenty people invited, among 
 whom were many children. One of the gentlemen had brought a gui¬ 
 tar with him, and two of the ladies sang very well; so after the whole 
 party had walked through the wood to a part of the hill which com¬ 
 mands a fine view of the plain of the Rhine, they sat down upon the 
 grass, and had quite a nice concert in the open air. After this they 
 walked back to the farm-house, where the children played at a game 
 called “ The Cat and the Mouse;” and, as some of the grown-up people 
 played with them, they were all very merry together. 
 
 The game is played in this way : a number of persons take hands in 
 a ring, and place one in the middle, who is the Mouse; the Cat is 
 placed outside, and of course he tries to break way through the ring 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 1 ] 
 
 and catch, the Mouse; hut as soon as he has got in, the people in the 
 circle let the Mouse out and then try to prevent the Cat from getting 
 out; when however he does break through, they open to let the Mouse 
 in again, for the poor persecuted Mouse is the favourite in this game. 
 So they go on until the Mouse is caught at last, and then he becomes 
 the Cat and chooses another Mouse for himself. This is a very good 
 game in the open air, and causes a great deal of laughing. 
 
 After this came supper, and after supper dancing, under a large 
 shed, the floor of which was boarded for the purpose, and then it was 
 time to go home. The road lay partly through a green wood, which 
 though very cool and cheerful in the daytime, looked very black indeed 
 now, for this night there was no moon and the sky with the sparkling 
 stars could only be seen at intervals between the waving tops of the 
 tall trees. Some children might have been frightened at such a dark 
 walk, but children who have been well taught, know that darkness 
 is in itself nothing to be afraid of, and that they are equally safe 
 in the night as in the day, under the eye of Him to whom “ darkness 
 and light are both alike.” Frances and Gertrude, Florence and Amy 
 had been so taught; and they were not afraid at all, but they could not 
 help wondering “ how rough the road had grown,” and being “quite sure 
 it was not so rough before.” The truth was they were tired, and could 
 not pick their steps so well among the stones, for it really was a rough 
 road which led through the wood, as they had been able to do in the 
 daylight. So to amuse them, and make the way appear less tedious, 
 Aunt Ida began, “ Once upon a time—” 
 
 “Ah!” cried the little girls all together, “that is nice! Oh, dear 
 Aunt Ida, do go on.” 
 
 Aunt Ida then began, and told them a story which made them quite 
 forget that they were stumbling every now and then, and lasted until 
 they got safe into the town again. 
 
WALKS AND TALKS ; OK, 
 
 12 
 
 Jmgfrifr ntiii tljB Drngnii. 
 
 There was once upon a time a king and a queen, who reigned in the 
 Netherlands, at the same time that king Arthur with his brave knights 
 of the Round Table lived in England. This king and queen had one 
 only child, a son, named Siegfrid, who from his childhood was distin¬ 
 guished for his boldness and hardihood. Nothing made him afraid, 
 nothing wearied him ; his whole delight was in sports which one would 
 have thought required the strength and courage of a man rather than 
 those of a boy. This same disposition grew up with him, and far 
 from thinking it honour sufficient to be a king’s son and heir to a king¬ 
 dom, he despised a life destitute of personal glory, and was determined 
 to make his name known before he died. 
 
 But, to accomplish his desires, it was necessary he should leave his 
 father’s court; and this, not being a bad or undutiful son, he was un¬ 
 willing to do without the consent of both his parents. For a long time 
 this was difficult to gain; if his father would hardly agree, his mother 
 would not even hear his departure spoken of, so Siegfrid was obliged to 
 content himself at first with what honour he could acquire in his own 
 country, by acting the part of a bold knight on all occasions, whose 
 duty it was to defend the weak against the strong, and to be the cham¬ 
 pion of the ladies against all oppressors. But after he had in this way 
 acquired the golden spurs of knighthood and much renown, his desire 
 to travel and see the world became so great, that his parents who loved 
 him very much, perceived it would be useless to refuse him any longer, 
 so they gave in at last, and his father proposed to give him a fine horse 
 and armour, and a suitable company of brave young companions to 
 attend him in his journeyings, as befitted a king’s son. But Siegfrid 
 rejected these offers, and said to his father that, though he was obliged 
 to him for his kind intentions, he thought that should he set off so well 
 appointed and travel like a prince as he was, he should certainly not 
 meet with the difficulties and dangers which were, above all, what he 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 13 
 
 most desired. Therefore, he was determined to take neither horse, 
 sword, nor companions; these, he said, he must gain for himself; and 
 that the only weapon he would carry should he a great club, as Hercules 
 did before him. 
 
 The king and queen again perceived that as Siegfrid was so different 
 from every one else it was vain to enter into arguments with him, 
 and seeing him so brave, and so ambitious, and so proud, they thought 
 it best to let him go into the world, and make acquaintance with it in 
 his own fashion ; so they granted him a silent consent, and, when they 
 rose one morning, they found that Siegfrid had started in the night 
 according to liis own plan. All they could therefore do was to pray 
 for him, and wait with patience till they should hear or see what should 
 happen. 
 
 Siegfrid, meanwhile, set out southwards, that is to say, he went up 
 the Rhine, which flows sometimes along vast plains, and sometimes 
 between overhanging rocks which bound it on either side. He pre¬ 
 ferred the forests and mountains to the flat country, and supported 
 himself by the game he killed with his club, which he cooked by the 
 fires he lighted in the woods. Thus he wandered for many weeks 
 without meeting with any adventure, and at last had got as far as the 
 Haardt Mountains, east of the Rhine, without imagining that he was 
 so near Worms, the town to which he meant to go when he left his 
 father’s court. Here he lost his way, and night was coming on with¬ 
 out his having found a hut to lodge in; he called and shouted, but 
 only disturbed the owls and the echoes, for no human voice was heard 
 to answer. Hungry and weary he thus wandered long in the wood, 
 until at last he perceived a bright light in the valley below, and, 
 imagining it must belong to some house where he might find shelter 
 for the night, he made for it directly. As he came to it he saw 
 through the window that it was a smithy, and the blacksmith was 
 seated with his workmen at their frugal supper. Siegfrid knocked at 
 the door. “Who’s there?” cried the smith. 
 
14 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 “ A man,” was tlie answer, “who, having lost himself in the wood, 
 demands the food and shelter which is the due of every tired wan¬ 
 derer.” 
 
 They all thought this answer very proud and haughty, so they 
 determined to keep him waiting, whoever he might be; but, on 
 Siegfrid’s presently calling out to them again, saying, “that he should 
 be sorry to use force to compel their hospitality; but he had been 
 taught better manners at his father’s house, where the door was 
 opened to the needy by day or night,” one of them got up and let 
 him in. 
 
 Mimer (for that w 7 as the name of the smith) and his workmen were 
 astonished when they saw w y hat a strong gigantic youth they had 
 admitted, who, though dressed merely in a plain blue garment bor¬ 
 dered with wnlf’s skin, and bearing a huge oaken club on his shoulder 
 as lightly as if it had been a walking stick, looked as if he could 
 master them all. Mimer asked his name and his parents’ names; but 
 Siegfrid, being not very well pleased at their having kept him waiting, 
 answered, “ If I w r ere to put forward the name of my noble parents, I 
 should not be wandering here at this hour of the night, nor wrenching 
 hospitality from such churls as you. So, first of all, make room for 
 me by the fire, for it is a cold autumn night out there.” 
 
 The smith yielded him a place by the fire, and then went on to ask 
 him how it vras that, if he were indeed of such high birth as he gave 
 them to understand, he was wandering alone at night in such a strange 
 fashion? But Siegfrid laughed at him for asking such a question, 
 saying, scornfully, “ Perhaps some of the young workmen might under¬ 
 stand a youth’s ambition to distinguish himself by deeds of strength 
 and illustrious exploits; at any rate, such was the feeling of warriors 
 and brave knights.” Mimer told him his undertaking wns a great 
 folly, and that he had a good chance to find nothing hut hard words 
 and harder blows if he proceeded as he had begun. “ But,” con¬ 
 tinued he, “ as you have chosen such a way of life, your visit comes 
 
aunt Ida’s tales. 
 
 15 
 
 very much to the purpose to-night, for we have yet a quantity of iron 
 to hammer, and if you choose to help us with it you will have earned 
 your supper.” 
 
 You may believe that when Siegfrid left his father’s court he never 
 imagined that his first adventure would be te be set to work at an 
 anvil like a common smith; however, he answered, as unconcerned as 
 before, “ Many a hero has occupied himself with trifles in the hour of 
 necessity, and a noble hand ennobles low work!” So he took up the 
 hammer, and, swinging it down upon the iron bar, instead of only 
 flattening it as the smith intended, broke it to pieces and drove the 
 anvil some feet into the ground. 
 
 The wdiole shop was in confusion. Master and men were all equally 
 furious, and one of the latter, who trusted a good deal to the strength 
 of his limbs, exclaimed, “Master! this fellow is most insupportably 
 proud and vain-glorious; let us show him that we are stout smiths; 
 were he the giant Nor himself we four will fall upon him and presently 
 be rid of his company.” No sooner said than done. They attacked 
 Siegfrid on every side; but he w T as so strong, and withal so calm, that 
 he tossed them off like balls, and sent them sprawling into every 
 corner of the hut. This done, he sat himself quietly down to his 
 supper, and, having eaten it, left the house, and walked proudly up 
 and down before it in the moonbeams which now lighted the valley. 
 
 “ This is a furious fellow,” said the smith to his workmen, as soon 
 as they had got upon their legs again. “ I feel as if all my bones were 
 broken, and I can hardly stand. Look at him parading there before 
 the house! But he shall pay for it; I will send him to Tafner the 
 dragon, and we shall see if he will find it as easy to fight with him as 
 with us.” He now went to the door, and calling Siegfrid, said to 
 him in a pacifying manner, “ Come in, friend! We were only joking, 
 and w 7 anted to try your powers; you have borne the trial very well, 
 and I think you will be of great use to me if you will stay. So come 
 and sleep to-night, and to-morrow we will speak more about it.” To 
 this Siegfrid agreed, and they passed a quiet night in the hut together. 
 
16 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 Next morning at daybreak, Mimer led his guest to the threshold of 
 his house, and said: “I am in want of hot coals for my furnace, and 
 where you see yonder yellow smoke rising among the trees, there lives 
 a charcoal-burner. Go now in that direction, right through the pine 
 forest; you cannot miss the way, get the coals from that man, and 
 come back quickly.” 
 
 Siegfrid replied: “I heard the cunning plan you made for my 
 destruction last night well enough; but I am ready to fight the 
 monster, and your project may perhaps only serve to bring me fresh 
 renown.” 
 
 So saying, he took his club and set out. The blacksmiths all stood 
 at the door looking after him. “ We have not much chance of being 
 troubled by him again,” said they. “ That was a clever thought of 
 our master.” 
 
 The dragon to whom they thus looked for vengeance on their 
 redoubtable guest was no other than Tafner, brother of Mimer, the 
 smith. By robbery and murder in the mountains he had collected an 
 immense treasure which he loved and hoarded like a miser, and over 
 which now he was compelled to watch transformed by enchantment 
 into the shape of a dragon. Many had heard of this treasure and 
 desired to gain it. Many valiant knights had longed to conquer him, 
 but all dreaded the adventure, fearing lest the enchantment should 
 prove of greater might than their force and courage; for Tafner, the 
 dragon, was a fearful foe indeed. His huge scaly body, with its long 
 coiling serpent tail, was supported by four legs, short but powerful as 
 those of a lion, and in his bristling head were set three rows of sharp 
 and shining teeth. Siegfrid knew nothing of all this, nor did he care. 
 He still pressed on determined as before. 
 
 Although Tafner scarcely ever lost sight of his treasure, being as much 
 of a miser now that he was a dragon as he had been when a man ; he went 
 every morning down to the stream in the valley to bathe and quench his 
 thirsting, thence returning to his den with all speed, the thought of his 
 gold being ever uppermost in his mind. Now, as the rising sun was 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 IT 
 
 gilding the tops of the fir forest, Siegfrid arrived in sight of the den, a 
 wide cavern under a projecting cliff, beyond which arose the yellow 
 smoke from the charcoal-burner’s dwelling. He looked about to see if 
 he could discover what he had come to seek, when suddenly there was 
 a rustling and a crashing noise, and he beheld the dragon hurrying 
 back into the cliff. Siegfrid, as yet unperceived, flew after him, and 
 reached him just time enough to deal him a heavy blow on the back of 
 the neck with his club. The dragon, hissing fearfully, coiled back and 
 threw himself on his unexpected assailant; but Siegfrid, who was as 
 strong as a giant, wrenched up a pine tree by the roots, and, flinging it 
 upon the dragon, entangled him in its branches; then while he strug¬ 
 gled vainly to get loose, tore up furiously tree after tree, till he had 
 raised such a pile over him as rendered it no easy matter at all for the 
 monster to disengage himself. Seeing his success thus far, Siegfrid 
 ran quickly as a deer to the place where he had perceived the smoke, 
 and telling the charcoal-burner that he had caught the dragon, asked 
 him for some burning brands out of his kiln. The man was only too 
 happy to grant his request, telling him the whole country would bless 
 his name, for the dragon had long been the terror of the neighbour¬ 
 hood. 
 
 With brands and burning coals Siegfrid now hastened back to the 
 place where the dragon still lay turning and twisting, and toiling to get 
 free ; he flung the brands and burning coals upon the heap of trees, and 
 presently the whole pile broke out in towering flames. Then a human 
 voice proceeded from the midst of the fire, and Siegfrid heard Tafner 
 in the agony of his death-struggle exclaim, “ Ay, the last punishment 
 has come from the avenging hand, as it was foretold—my gold and my 
 life are gone ! ” By this the knight perceived with horror that sorcery 
 was at work here, and that he had therefore so much the more cause 
 to rejoice in his victory. 
 
 When the hideous monster lay dead before him, Siegfrid, who had 
 heard of the wondrous powers of dragon’s blood, stripped off his blue 
 tunic, and smeared his whole body, except the part between the shoul- 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 clers, which he forgot, with the blood and fat, by which his body was 
 rendered invulnerable, as if it had been cased in horn, so that he was 
 known ever afterward by the name of the “Horny Siegfrid.” While he 
 was thus employed, a drop of the blood chanced to fall on his tongue, 
 and immediately to his surprise he found he could understand the lan¬ 
 guage of birds. Remembering the dying dragon’s last words, Siegfrid’s 
 next business was to enter the den, where, to his great joy, he found 
 the dazzling heap of treasure which Tafner had collected by his rob¬ 
 beries, and which he had lost his life in defending. When he came 
 out again into the daylight, he found the neighbouring trees loaded 
 with wild pigeons, jays, and other wood birds, while numbers of swal¬ 
 lows flew backwards and forwards before the mouth of the cave; and, 
 listening to their song, he learnt something most important for him to 
 know. This was what the birds sang to each other: the ravens 
 croaked— 
 
 “’Tis well, ’tis well, the Dragon fell 
 A feast for us so rare! ” 
 
 The owls hooted— 
 
 “ But the good knight, who fought the fight. 
 
 Too soon his fate will share !” 
 
 The jays chattered— 
 
 “ The news so good, throughout the wood. 
 
 The charcoal-burner spread ! ” 
 
 The swallows twittered— 
 
 “ But Mimer swore, by the spear he bore, 
 
 T’ avenge his brother dead ! ” 
 
 The doves complained— 
 
 “ Alas! before a foe, so dastard and so low, 
 
 Must valiant Siegfrid bowl” 
 
 Then they all joined together— 
 
 “ 0, might our varied speech his hero-heart but reach, 
 
 And warn him even now!” 
 
aunt Ida’s tales. 
 
 19 
 
 Siegfrid thanked the kind birds in his heart for their friendly 
 warning, and determined to be upon his guard; but, as he was going 
 through the wood, a long glittering spear flew out upon him, which, 
 though it struck him a fierce blow, glanced harmless off his horny 
 body, shielded as this was by the charm of the dragon’s blood. Look¬ 
 ing whence it came, he perceived Mimer among the bushes, preparing 
 to hurl another at him; hut, ere he could launch it, Siegfrid easily 
 with his club deprived him of the power of ever doing any mischief 
 more. Meanwhile, the friendly charcoal-burner had informed the 
 whole neighbourhood of Siegfrid’s victory, and the country people 
 came in crowds to congratulate and thank him, not only for having rid 
 them of the dragon, but of the smith, who, for his wicked and vindic¬ 
 tive temper, was no less feared and hated; and they celebrated the 
 victory by rural festivities and dances. 
 
 Siegfrid, thinking he had now fairly earned and deserved a horse and 
 sword of the best, as he had proposed doing when he left his father’s 
 court, employed a portion of the dragon’s treasure in equipping him¬ 
 self in a princely manner, and in engaging a number of valiant young 
 men as knights in his service ; after which, mounted on a splendid 
 horse, with a long train conveying the rest of his treasures, he pro¬ 
 ceeded to Worms, the city to which he was bound. What happened 
 to him there, and the rest of his adventures, forms the subject of an 
 ancient German poem, called “The Nibelungen Lied,” which you will 
 have great pleasure in reading when you are older, if you still retain 
 your youthful taste for wild incredible tales. 
 
 
20 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It was not every day that was spent in excursions such as those of 
 which we have just heard. These little girls had lessons to do like 
 other children of their age. Some things they were taught by Aunt 
 Ida herself at home, others they learnt at a school to which they went 
 for several hours every day. But Saturday was always a half-holiday; 
 the books and slates were put away, the maps rolled up, all that had 
 been in use during the week was carefully set in order; and, if the 
 weather chanced to be bad, the dolls were brought out to have new 
 dresses made, or the little girls amused themselves in any other way 
 that pleased them better. But if it were fine, then they had a longer 
 walk than usual; and of all the walks about Heidelberg, they had no 
 greater favourite than that which led by a steep and winding road up 
 the woody hills on the opposite side of the Neckar, to a beautiful green 
 open space called “The Angel’s Meadow.” 
 
 One very warm Saturday afternoon, they had all, in spite of the 
 heat, reached this favourite spot. It lay upon a slope, and was sur¬ 
 rounded on three sides by the wood; on the fourth the hill again rose 
 higher; the trees had been cut away, and the rocks looked down naked 
 and bare on the soft meadow, the grass of which was full of wild 
 flowers and ripe strawberries. 
 
 “ Here we want nothing but a lake,” said Aunt Ida, “ to have the very 
 scene of a pretty story which I lately read, and which I have kept to 
 tell you at this place, children. Come here, sit beside me, and you 
 shall hear it.” 
 
 The children were only too happy, and they were presently all 
 encamped round Aunt Ida; their broad-brimmed straw hats lying by 
 them in the grass, some of them eating the strawberries they had 
 
aunt Ida’s tales. 
 
 21 
 
 gathered, or making bunches of the pretty wild flowers they had only 
 to put out their hand to pick. 
 
 “You know there is a great forest in Germany which occupies part 
 of Wiirtemberg and Baden, in which the great river, the Danube, rises. 
 It is called the Schwarzwald, or Black Forest, because its trees, being 
 mostly pine and fir, look very dark even in the clear light of summer, 
 and still more so when they are overhung with rain-clouds, or, as in 
 winter, powdered with snow, which by contrast makes their dark green 
 look quite black at a little distance. There are many beautiful lakes 
 in the Schwarzwald, many of which lie on the flat tops of the hills, and 
 among the rest one called “ The Mummel-See,” which has long been 
 famous in song and “ Saga.” That w T ord I wish you to learn and 
 remember, for it signifies old legends and stories, such as that of 
 “ Siegfrid and the Dragon,” which I told } r ou last, and, as it is a 
 very pretty word, I may use it sometimes when I am speaking to you, 
 so do not forget it.” 
 
 lilid, nr tljr jftliutimrl-Irr. 
 
 The Schwarzwald is full of streams of the most beautiful and clear 
 water, which keep the lower sides and bottom of the valleys of the 
 loveliest green all the year round, forming a delightful contrast to the 
 dark frowning forest that hang above them. The Mummel-See was 
 one which the shepherds of early days loved for the sake of its bright 
 waters, and the fresh pasturage around it, which afforded delicious food 
 for their flocks. Besides the shepherds, it was said to be loved by the 
 water nymphs, who at early dawn, or when the quiet moonlight lay 
 upon the lake, were seen gathering water-lilies to crown their flowing 
 locks. 
 
 One day, a young and lovely shepherdess, named Hilda, drove her 
 goats to the banks of the Mummel-See, and sat weaving a basket of 
 rushes, under the shade of the willow-trees, while she watched her goats 
 as they climbed the rocks which rose rough and bold round some parts 
 
22 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 of the lake. At mid-day the heat was great, and, lying under the sha¬ 
 dow of the hushes, she refreshed her eyes with the sight of the cool 
 sparkling water, which was splashing with a soft sound towards the 
 shore, when suddenly to her surprise, she saw the waves divide, and 
 five cows more beautiful than she had ever known the richest herds¬ 
 man in those parts to possess, gently lowing, came swimming towards 
 land. They were spotted white and red, and on the foreheads of each 
 there shone a silver star as bright as the waters which w T ere dancing in 
 the sunbeams. 
 
 Hilda could scarcely believe her eyes, nor turn them from these lovely 
 cows, till being disturbed by a rustling noise near her, she looked round, 
 and saw a little man advancing towards her from among the willows ; he 
 was dressed in blue, had a garland of sedges round his head, and a crook 
 of alder in his hand. She started, but the dwarf spoke kindly to her, 
 and said, “ Be not afraid, fair maiden! for I will not harm you, nor any 
 one so simple, right-minded, and kind-hearted as you are. I am the 
 water-spirit, and live with the nymphs in the unseen gardens of this 
 bright lake. These beautiful animals, which you see coming on shore, 
 are part of the herd belonging to them, and I am their keeper. But 
 to-day I have been sent with orders to other spirits akin to us, and I 
 shall not be able to return till evening. Will you, pretty maiden, 
 while I am away look after my cows, and watch them while your goats 
 are grazing peaceably among the rocks ? You shall not repent your 
 trouble.” 
 
 “Small trouble,” answered the cheerful Hilda; “willingly will I 
 render you such service as I can.” So the little man nodded to her 
 with a friendly smile, and disappeared. 
 
 “Now look, children,” said Aunt Ida, interrupting herself, “you 
 see that part of the hill where the trees have been cut away ? It looks 
 very rough, does it not, and as if the stones had been thrown together 
 by chance? There are really such heaps in Scotland, where they are 
 called Cairns, and in Sweden and other countries, where they are 
 supposed to be burial places of great heathen chieftains or kings, 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 23 
 
 and there was just such a heap by the Mummul-See, which, from its 
 great size, was called the Giant’s Grave; I can fancy it to have been 
 something like the rough liill-top before us. 
 
 At the green foot of this, Hilda watched the stately cows, as they 
 waded through the thick grass and chose the best pasture, all day, until 
 the declining sun gilt the tree tops, and changed the deep blue of 
 the heavens into gold and red. Then, faithful to his word, she 
 perceived the little blue man she had seen some hours before making 
 his way towards her through the bushes. He came up to her, patted 
 her cheek, and called her a good child for her trouble, and then, taking 
 her by the hand, led her to the foot of the Giant’s Grave, and said— 
 
 “ When I came to you a stranger this morning, instead of being 
 afraid of me, although I am so different from any one you ever saw 
 before, you gave me a friendly greeting, and have willingly watched my 
 cows till long past your usual hour of returning home with your 
 goats. I then promised you it should not he for nothing, and now you 
 shall have your reward. Look about on these peaceful fields and 
 valleys where one would think the shepherds of your woods might live 
 undisturbed for ever—but it may not he so. War is about to break over 
 your country, and the fearful Huns will be upon you. Go not far 
 from this place; and in the hour of your need remember me, and 
 I will not forget you. All you have to do is to gather some of these 
 mossy stones from the Giant’s Grave, and only observing not to take 
 equal numbers, throw them into the lake, and I will send you help 
 that shall avail against a hundred thousand, better than lance, or sword, 
 or shield.” 
 
 Hilda was frightened, you may suppose, still she thankfully accepted 
 the dwarf’s advice, and watched him with a beating heart as he brought 
 his cows together and disappeared with them in the clear lake once 
 more. Never had she thought the place so solitary as she sounded 
 her pipe to call her goats down from the rocks, and prepared to drive 
 them home. For a long time everything seemed to he going on peace¬ 
 fully, and war was never heard of in these remote valleys. Still 
 
24 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 Hilda did not forget the good water-spirit’s words, but thought of 
 them day by day as she drove her goats to the side of the Mummel-See. 
 One day at last she observed a thick smoke rising from the valley far 
 below. The Huns were really at hand. At night she saw several fires 
 all along the course of the stream—they were burning houses and 
 villages as they advanced. The next day the inhabitants, who had 
 abandoned their dwellings in terror, came flying for refuge to those who 
 lived where Hilda did. Again she went to the Mummel-See, and this 
 day, scarcely had she reached her usual resting-place where the friendly 
 dwarf had met her, than she heard the sound of hoofs come clattering 
 up the mountain side ; and as she was flying across the meadow 
 towards the lake, she came full in sight of the fierce mounted horse¬ 
 men, who were pouring in upon the green field which crowned the hill. 
 “Stop, stop!” they cried to Hilda. “ We have you!” and scores 
 of furious Huns came galloping towards her from every side. But she 
 had reached the gigantic cairn ; exhausted and breathless, “ Help! 
 help, ye kind spirits of the waters !” she cried, and, as she spoke, she 
 threw three, then five, stones from her hand into the clear lake. 
 
 They splashed into the quiet water, and lo! a hurricane broke over 
 the face of the lake. In an instant its w’aves rose in fury and lashed 
 the shore ; black clouds rent by lightning swept across the sky ; thun¬ 
 der roared over head; hail fell like shot, or in sharp and jagged pieces 
 like knives ; all the elements at once were roused. The invaders, who 
 had been but a moment before so fierce and furious, were beaten to the 
 ground as it were by invisible enemies. Struck by the lightning, 
 wounded by the hail, or drowned in the rising waters of the lake, 
 numbers miserably perished. Such as escaped down the hill were not 
 inclined to remain in a place where they had met with such a recep¬ 
 tion ; and like a retreating torrent they swept away as hastily as they 
 had come. After this fearful scene, the sky cleared, the storm passed, 
 the lake retired within its bounds, and Hilda was seen standing safe 
 upon the Giant’s Grave, unhurt by the tempest, and untouched by the 
 elements which had warred to save her. 
 
aunt Ida’s tales. 
 
 25 
 
 So truly did the little blue man keep his word ; and so surely 
 did the good Hilda, like our kind Junker Schott, get her reward. 
 
 “ That is a beautiful story. But now, Aunt Ida, who were the 
 Huns ?” asked Florence. “ Were they real people ?” 
 
 “ Yes, they were a wild wandering people, whose name is first men¬ 
 tioned in history about the year 375, when they made a frightful 
 inroad into Europe from Asia, though from what part is not precisely 
 known. They crossed the Wolga, then the Don, and spread like 
 a bloody stream from the banks of the Danube, through Poland, Ger¬ 
 many, France, Italy, and threatened old Borne itself; and then, after 
 more than a hundred years, retired again to Asia over the Black Sea. 
 At that time the inhabitants of Germany were heathens, like the 
 ancient Britons; and these savage Huns were so ugly and so fierce 
 that they compared them to “ badly-hewn posts,” and imagined them to 
 be evil spirits in half-human shape. They had hard, sinewy, beardless 
 faces, with high cheek bones and hollow sloping eyes; they were 
 wrapped in skins from head to foot, the hairy side outwards, and 
 this, joined to their ferocity, was probably what made the people also 
 call them “ two-legged beasts.” Bows and arrows were their weapons ; 
 their food was the blood as well as the milk and raw flesh of animals. 
 They brought their wives and children with them, and took up their 
 residence in such parts of the countries which they conquered as pleased 
 them most; and they rode small horses as wild and indefatigable as 
 themselves, so you may imagine their very name was a terror.” 
 
26 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 “Where is my basket! where is my basket!” cried Florence, one 
 morning a little before eight o’clock; “ now we are going to school and 
 I cannot find it! ” 
 
 “ Oh,” said Gertrude, “ I had it last night, when we were gathering 
 bilberries. I have left it on the stone where we were sitting waiting for 
 Aunt Ida; I remember now.” 
 
 What was to be done ? the basket was not forthcoming, and Florence 
 and Gertrude were equally distressed. “ Well, never mind it for the 
 present, children,” said Aunt Ida; “ you must not wait. Florence can 
 put her books in this bag to-day; and little Susanna and I will go while 
 you are out, and see if we can find it.” 
 
 By eight o’clock the four elder children were gone; and, as they 
 would not be back again until eleven, after Aunt Ida had drank her 
 coffee and heard Susanna read her little lesson, she bid her put on her 
 bonnet, that they might go together to look for the basket; and, in half 
 an hour, they were walking along the hot dusty road that led to the 
 place where they had all been picking bilberries the evening before. 
 
 “ This is not half so pleasant as it was last night,” said the little 
 child; “ and I am so hot, Aunt Ida, I do not know what to do. I wish 
 you would tell me a story.” 
 
 “ Well, Susanna, since you and I are together alone, I will try to 
 recollect a story I used to tell to some little cousins of yours when they 
 were your age, and see how you like it. It is called, 4 The little Girl 
 and the little White Mouse.’ ” 
 
 “ That is a very nice name,” said Susanna. 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 27 
 
 €Jjt Xittlr dirl raft tire little ®5{jite fflmst 
 
 Once upon a time, there was a little girl about ten years old, who 
 lived in a large gray stone house, which had a large garden behind it, 
 of a square shape, surrounded by a high stone wall, above which nothing 
 was to be seen but the blue sky, and in the middle there was a round 
 pond of water, with a jet dCeau in the centre of it, and seats all round 
 to sit upon.” 
 
 “ What is a jet cVeau, Aunt Ida?” 
 
 “ Two French words, darling, which signify a spring or leap of water, 
 because the water is made to spring up out of the pipe, placed in the 
 centre of a basin or pond, high into the air, whence it falls again into 
 the water below, with a pattering sound like rain.” 
 
 “ Oh, then, I know, that must be one which you showed us in the 
 gardens of the castle.” 
 
 “ Yes; that is a jet cVeau, though a very little one; and there was 
 just such another in the centre of Mina’s garden. This little girl had 
 neither brothers nor sisters, nor any play-fellow nor companion in the 
 world; for her poor mamma was sick, and almost always obliged to 
 lie in bed.” 
 
 “ Poor little girl! and was she really quite alone in the great garden 
 every day by herself ? Had she no play-fellow at all ? ” 
 
 “ No play-fellow but one, Susanna; and what do you think that 
 could be ? ” 
 
 “ The little white mouse, Aunt Ida ! Am I right? ” 
 
 “ Quite right; for that little white mouse was her dear companion 
 and her play-mate, as you shall hear; and Mina loved it very much. 
 Now I must tell you, Mina used to rise at six in the morning in sum¬ 
 mer, and every day, when she was dressed, and had said her prayers, 
 she went down to the garden to gather a bunch of flowers for her poor 
 sick mamma, who liked to see the fresh flowers that Mina brought to 
 put beside her bed, or by her large arm-chair.” 
 
28 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 “ And might she pick them herself, Aunt Ida ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, Susanna dear; she was allowed to do that because she was 
 such a careful little girl, and loved flowers as much as her mamma did, 
 so that she could he trusted not to tear down the bushes, or tread down 
 the beds, or break off the branches of buds which, when once plucked, 
 would never flower in water.” 
 
 “ But, Aunt Ida, tell me about the little white mouse. Who gave it 
 to her ? ” 
 
 “ Nobody gave it to her, for the little white mouse lived, like Mina, 
 in this great garden. A broad walk led all round by the garden wall, 
 which had beautiful fruit trees, peaches, and apricots, trained against it, 
 and between the wall and the gravel path, where Mina walked, there 
 were strawberry beds. You know how strawberries grow ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, yes: I have often gathered strawberries ! They are quite red 
 when they are ripe, and have little white flowers and green leaves, 
 three joined together on one stalk.” 
 
 “ So they have; and, besides that, they stretch along the ground 
 instead of growing up into bushes like gooseberries or currants, so that 
 one strawberry plant will cover a whole garden bed. Now, one day, 
 when the sun was shining as brightly as it does at this moment, 
 Mina was walking along the gravel walk, beside the strawberry bed, 
 w 7 hen she saw something white moving among the strawberry leaves, 
 and, stooping down quite softly, she saw a sharp little nose and a couple 
 
 of bright little eyes peeping out. So w T hat could this be-? ” 
 
 “ But the little white mouse ! ” cried Susanna. 
 
 “ Indeed it was; and, instead of being frightened and running away, 
 it looked at Mina quite quietly, and when she called it, as you would 
 chirrup to your canary, and held out a strawberry, it came towards her 
 and began to nibble out of her hand. You may be sure Mina was 
 delighted; she w 7 as afraid to move lest her new favourite should run 
 away; however, she had gathered no flowers yet, and as she could not 
 stay there all day, she hoped she might see it again to-morrow; so, 
 after some time, she got up and was going aw r ay, when, turning round, 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 29 
 
 wliat was her delight to see the little white mouse running after her. 
 She stopped at a rose-bush, and the little animal stopped too, and 
 when she went on, it went on. At last she had gathered her flowers 
 as usual, and went to her shady seat by the pleasant plashing water to 
 arrange her nosegay before she carried it in to her mamma. While she 
 was doing this the little mouse sat looking at her, and when she threw 
 it a strawberry, began eating it very eagerly. This made Mina think 
 it would be nice to eat her breakfast there, so she ran in to get it to 
 share with her little friend, but when she came back, the little mouse 
 was gone. This made her very sorry, and in the afternoon, when she 
 had leave to go into the garden again, though she looked for it every¬ 
 where, she could not find it. Next morning, however, great was her 
 joy to discover the little white mouse, once more, in the very same 
 place where she had first seen it; and the little creature seemed wait¬ 
 ing for her too, for as soon as she came, it ran out, and they took their 
 walk round the garden together, till they stopped at the stone bench 
 again. This time Mina had brought her breakfast with her, and she 
 put some of her bread and milk upon a cabbage leaf, and was charmed 
 to see little mousie eat it with apparently a very good appetite. Next 
 day it had grown still more familiar, and ran up her knee when she 
 placed its breakfast for it on her lap. And so, Susanna, dear, this 
 little pair went on together the wdiole summer, and loved each other 
 better and better every day. Mina was a very gentle good little child, 
 with a tender heart for all animals and every living creature. She had 
 a soft white skin, and soft blue eyes, which could not bear to look on 
 pain or suffering; she could not have killed a fly or hurt a worm for 
 the world ; and so it was, I suppose, that the little mouse felt so safe 
 in her company.” 
 
 “ And are they living there still, Aunt Ida ?” 
 
 “ When winter came, my dear, the little mouse went back into his 
 hole, and there were no more flowers in the garden for Mina to pick; 
 so I can tell you no more about them. Did you like my story?” 
 
30 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 “ Oh, yes, dear Aunt Ida; I did not feel the heat at all, thinking of 
 Mina’s cool garden.” 
 
 “ Well, then, now we are arrived at the place where your sister was 
 waiting last night, use your sharp little eyes, and see what you can 
 
 find.” 
 
 So the little Susanna began looking about amongst the grass and 
 stones on the way, till she saw a plank lying across a dry ditch. 
 
 “ Sister was sitting out there,” she said; “ may I cross ?” 
 
 “Yes, hut go steadily!” said Aunt Ida. 
 
 So the little girl went over very carefully, and then set up a shout 
 of joy, for there, by the stone where Gertrude had sat the night before, 
 was lying a hunch of wild flowers she had gathered and thrown away, 
 and under them peeped out a corner of Florence’s pretty black and 
 white basket. 
 
 “Look, look, Aunt Ida. I have found it!” Do you think Florence 
 will give me a kiss for this ? ” 
 
 “Yes, I am sure she will, and Gertrude another.” 
 
 So the little maiden came back over the plank, and took her aunt’s 
 hand, and in the pride and pleasure of her great discovery, with the 
 hope of the kisses she was to get, trotted away home without ever 
 thinking it was hot, or that she was tired, till she had the pleasure of 
 delivering the lost treasure into her sister’s hand, getting half-a-dozen 
 kisses for one, and feeling she was a very important and useful little 
 lady into the bargain. 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 31 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 “What are you doing there, children?” said Aunt Ida, the next after¬ 
 noon, as she saw all the five little girls collected in one corner of the 
 
 room. 
 
 “ Oh, Florence and I are dressing the dolls, and Susanna is telling 
 us the story you told her yesterday,” replied Gertrude. 
 
 Aunt Ida looked, and could not help smiling as she saw Susanna, 
 as grave as a judge, with her curly brown hair hanging about her 
 round little face and into her bright brown eyes, earnestly repeating to 
 the elder group collected around her, all that Mina had said to the little 
 white mouse, which she called “ a sweet little creature,” and, in the 
 energy of her narration, all that the little -white mouse had said to 
 Mina too. She was sitting with her stool quite in the corner, and the 
 four other little girls also on footstools round her. Frances w T as tying 
 a gay pink ribbon round the neck of Amy’s doll, which was always 
 dressed like a lady, and Amy was knitting a pair of scarlet and white 
 socks for Florence’s doll, which was always dressed like a boy. Round 
 the blouse of this said doll, whose name was “ Henry Alexander,” 
 Florence was now buckling a leathern belt, while Gertrude was 
 sewing the strap on the bag which was presently to be slung over his 
 shoulders. 
 
 After Aunt Ida had looked at them all a little while, she said, 
 “Well, Susanna, do not be making too many embellishments on our 
 story, for in ten minutes it will be time to go out, and I shall expect 
 to find you all ready when I come back into the room.” 
 
 In ten minutes accordingly Aunt Ida returned, and found the chil¬ 
 dren with their bonnets on, looking out of the window, w r here she 
 
32 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 joined them. The whole day had been exceedingly sultry, and at this 
 time there was not a breath stirring; she looked down the street, and 
 saw a bank of black clouds at the end of it, rising and spreading 
 quickly over the sky. “We shall have no walk to night,” she said; 
 “ we shall have a storm instead.” 
 
 As she spoke there came a sudden gust of wind, and the children 
 laughed as they saw half-a-dozen columns of dust swiftly whirling 
 down the street, while the people who had been walking so quietly a 
 minute before were suddenly half-blinded, and surprised to find their 
 shawls and veils wrapped about their heads, and their clothes half torn 
 from their bodies. Doors and windows began to clatter, a bright flash 
 of lightning crossed the sky, a sudden roar of thunder followed, and 
 the storm coming on the wings of the wind, broke at once furiously 
 over head. A few huge drops of rain first hurried across the pave¬ 
 ment, where they were dried up in an instant on the glowing stones ; 
 but thick and pelting they followed as if chasing one another ; and it 
 was not many seconds ere the street was empty, every individual 
 having fled for cover to the first open door, while the rain descended 
 in torrents, through which the lightning flashed with wings of flame, 
 and the thunder rung out its dread accompaniment over head, some¬ 
 times like the roll of heavy artillery, and then again in quick loud 
 irregular report, as if a hundred guns had been fired from the roof. 
 In ten minutes the street was a river, and, every open channel through 
 which the water was usually carried off standing choked, a perfect lake 
 of miry foam, beaten and bubbled by the dashing rain. 
 
 There is something so solemn in the voice of a storm; it seems 
 always to children like the voice of God, and proclaims his great 
 power, and might, and majesty more than anything else to their 
 young hearts. So when Aunt Ida closed the windows, their laughter, 
 which had been so merry just before at the sight of the funny figures 
 scudding along the street where the wind first attacked them, was 
 hushed, and they said not a word, so sudden and loud was the thunder, 
 and so great the darkness which almost instantaneously followed. 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES 
 
 33 
 
 The storms in that part of Germany are often very severe, and the 
 loud echoing of the thunder among the hills makes them appear still 
 more so. The windows rattled, and the house seemed to shake to its 
 foundations as peal after peal broke over head; the children gathered 
 round their kind aunt upon the sofa, and some of them could not help 
 feeling relieved when a gradual return of daylight, and a decrease of 
 the angry pattering on the panes, seemed to announce that the storm 
 was passing away. In an hour it was tolerably fair. 
 
 “ But no chance of a walk to-night, aunt,” said Gertrude. 
 
 “No, indeed! we may consider ourselves fortunate that we were 
 within doors. How should you have liked to have been overtaken by 
 the storm on the Angel’s Meadow?” 
 
 “Oh!” said Florence, “we should have thought the Huns were 
 coming, and that it was to save us from them.” 
 
 They all laughed at this, but still could not help thinking of the 
 storm which had been so terrific, and were silent for some time; till 
 at last Frances said, “ But now, dear Aunt Ida, we cannot go out, and 
 it is too early to have tea; would you not tell us an English story like 
 that you told Susanna yesterday, which was so pretty ?” 
 
 “Well, my dears, get out your work again; and, as I cannot just 
 now remember one, I will read you a story which my aunt wrote for 
 her children many a long year ago; and, when I was a little girl, it used 
 to please me too—so I am sure you wall all like to hear it.” 
 
 “Oh that I am sure we shall!” cried all the little eager voices at 
 once. So Aunt Ida went to her writing-table, and presently returned 
 with a neat packet of written paper, which she did not open however 
 until each little girl was seated with her knitting or work ready to 
 begin ; and then she said, “ This, I think, will interest you very much 
 to-day, and it is called ‘ Faith Trusty.’ ” 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 Until '(Entstij. 
 
 Once upon a time there was a little girl, and her name was Ruth 
 Kelly; but she was better known by the name of Ruth Trusty. 
 By-and-by you will see how she came to get such a good name. 
 
 Ruth lived with her mother, a poor widow, who had no other child, 
 in a little hamlet a long way from any town. 
 
 The people of this hamlet were chiefly farmers, and Ruth and her 
 mother got their living by working for them. 
 
 Though Ruth was but eight years old, yet she was a very clever, 
 steady, and sensible child, so that the farmers all roundabout used to 
 strive who should get Ruth to take care of their sheep, weed in their 
 fields, or go errands for them when they wanted anything from the 
 nearest town; “Tor,” said they, “ Ruth Kelly is such an honest little 
 girl, we can trust her with anything she is able to carry.” 
 
 Ruth had a neat, strong but light basket which her mother had 
 made for her to carry home the things she was sent to buy. 
 
 One fine morning in the end of autumn Ruth was sent to purchase 
 some raisins and currants and spices to make puddings for a farmer’s 
 harvest-home dinner. At this season of the year the days are becoming 
 shorter, and though the mornings are often very fine, yet it frequently 
 happens that the day changes and becomes had in the afternoon; and 
 so it happened to Ruth. When she set off the light fogs were rolling 
 away before the morning sun, and the lark was singing sweetly, high 
 over her head in the clear blue sky. Ruth trotted merrily along, 
 passing through fields filled with people busy at work, laughing and 
 singing, as they were filling the last carts with the last loads for the 
 stack-yard. 
 
 Ruth did not stop to chatter with them, or loiter by the wayside to 
 pick nuts or blackberries as many little girls would have done; she 
 knew better w T hat was right than to do so. Her mother had desired 
 her to make all the haste she could, for the evenings became so quickly 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 35 
 
 dark, and the road home at night was dangerous in many places. 
 Ruth loved to obey her mother, so she went on without stopping till 
 she came to the town she was sent to; and, after buying what she 
 wanted, and resting for a short time while she ate a piece of barley- 
 bread, she set out cheerfully on her way back. 
 
 But before she had got half-way from the town the day suddenly 
 changed—the sky became overcast with heavy black clouds—the wind 
 rose in furious blasts, tearing the leaves from the trees, and driving 
 them in heaps along the road. Poor Ruth tried to quicken her pace, 
 as she thought of the long long way she had yet to go before she 
 could reach her own cottage. The road soon became wet and slippery, 
 and she began to feel the basket heavy on her small arm. She tried 
 all she could to keep the parcels in it dry by covering them with her 
 little red cloak; but the wind blew it out straight behind her, and her 
 bonnet blew off, and hung round her neck by the strings. She was in 
 trouble. The sky grew darker and darker; it became very cold, and 
 the rain, mixed with hail, beat sadly in her face. 
 
 It was now twilight, and she could scarcely see her road. She met 
 some of the people she had seen in the morning returning with their 
 carts from the fields to the town she had left; they called to her “ to 
 make haste home as there was a great storm coming!” The rooks 
 and other birds that foresee bad weather were screaming, and flying 
 fast in long trains for shelter to their nests in the woods. 
 
 Ruth began to be frightened. It was now almost dark, and she was 
 coming to the worst part of the road, where her path lay along the 
 side of a rocky precipice above a river. Poor Ruth, tired and dis¬ 
 heartened, began to think of sitting down under a ledge of the rock 
 till the rain should be over and the moon get up; “ But then,” thought 
 she to herself, “if I do this, I shall be so long out that my poor 
 mother will be quite miserable and think that I have fallen into the 
 river, and she has been so unhappy ever since father died that I must 
 get home to comfort her!” She next thought of leaving the basket, 
 because her arm was bruised with the weight, and she could walk twice 
 
 d 2 
 
36 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS j OR, 
 
 as fast without it. “ But then,” said she, “ the things in it are not 
 ours; they are for farmer Grey, who is so kind to my mother, and I 
 am determined, if the skin were to come off my arms, I will not leave 
 it behind!” 
 
 So Ruth took the basket once more on her small arm, and prayed in 
 her heart that God would give her courage, and take care of her through 
 this terrible night. The wind blew so strong that she could scarcely 
 stand; and the noise of the river rushing below, and claps of thunder 
 occasionally breaking over head, made her little heart beat with fear. 
 
 Though Ruth was brought up very hardily, and was not a silly child, 
 or easily frightened by trifles, yet this was a night that might have 
 made an older person afraid, and poor Ruth began really to think that 
 she should never see her home or her dear mother any more. 
 
 Just at this moment, when she was reeling with fatigue, she heard 
 the bark of a dog, and in a minute more she felt two paws laying hold 
 of her cloak, and a little warm tongue licking her hand. It was her 
 own dog, Help, her constant companion and play-fellow. When the 
 storm came on her mother showed Help some of her clothes, saying, 
 “Go, go, Help!” and Help had set off immediately; and, with the 
 sagacity common to dogs, had traced her steps along the road, and 
 luckily (as people say) met her just as she was upon the point of 
 sinking from fear and fatigue. 
 
 Ruth now felt cheered and happy. She gave Help the basket to 
 carry, and he took it up in his mouth and trudged away boldly by her 
 side, caring neither for wind nor rain; and Ruth kept close by him, for 
 she knew 7 he w r as such a sagacious animal that he would pick out the 
 safest path on the road—which he exactly did—and in a little time 
 longer brought her within sight of her own snug warm cottage. You 
 may guess how happy the little girl was when she saw the light in the 
 w r indow, and found herself again at the door. There she met her 
 mother, full of fear and anxiety, preparing to set out herself to look for 
 her. I cannot tell you how thankful the poor mother w T as, nor how 
 much she was pleased w r ith her child when she heard all that had 
 
aunt Ida’s tales. 
 
 37 
 
 happened; how she had made all haste as she had been told to do— 
 had striven to keep up her courage and trust in Providence, and had 
 brought the basket with all the things in it quite safe home. Her 
 mother kissed her a hundred times, called her “ her comfort—her 
 dear, good, obedient child!”—and Ruth went to bed very happy—the 
 happiest child in the world, for she felt in her heart that she had done 
 well and deserved her mother’s blessing. But first she had a comfort¬ 
 able warm supper, of which she ate heartily; and you may be sure 
 Help was not forgotten. He had a double share allowed him, and 
 received many a kindly pat upon his head as he stood wagging his tail 
 and looking up with his honest eyes into Ruth’s happy face. Almost 
 as soon as she was in bed she was asleep; and Help, jumping up, very 
 comfortably coiled himself round and lay down at his little mistress’s 
 feet, as if he also had some idea that he had done a good turn and 
 deserved some extra consideration. 
 
 But it was long before the poor mother could sleep for joy that 
 Ruth was lying beside her in safety; and her heart swelled with 
 thankfulness as she lay listening to the storm, which, though it had 
 lulled for a while, began again, after midnight, with double fury. 
 The owls screamed from the old barn; the trees in the front of the 
 cottage groaned in the wind; the sound of rushing waters mixed 
 with these, and the cottage itself shook as if it would be torn from 
 its foundations. 
 
 In the morning, when they arose, and looked out at the door, they 
 saw a sad sight. The river was so swollen in the night by the 
 torrents of rain and the streams which descended from the mountains, 
 that it had become a mighty stream, overflowing its banks, and 
 carrying away with it everything which stood in its course—branches 
 of trees, corn, sheep, cattle, tables and chairs, timber and beams, 
 were all seen tumbling down the river. It had, indeed, been a 
 fearful night; and Ruth saw now double reason to rejoice that she 
 had made haste home; else she must certainly have perished—for a 
 
38 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 great part of the road she had passed, a few hours before, was now 
 completely under water. 
 
 As they were sitting at breakfast, Farmer Grey came in, and told 
 them of much mischief done by the storm all round the country, and 
 that one place, where a whole family of had, idle, and wicked children 
 lived, was entirely swept away, and every one of them drowned. 
 
 He inquired how Ruth had got home, and if she had got home 
 before the storm began. When he heard that she had been out in a 
 great part of it, and what she had endured rather than let his things 
 be spoiled, instead of giving her a trifle, as he used to do, he made 
 her a present of a pound, to buy her a new warm cloak and bonnet; 
 and, when he went home, he sent a cheese and a side of bacon to 
 Ruth’s mother, which was a great help to her, for she was very 
 poor. 
 
 Thus it was by her courage, obedience, and fidelity, that Ruth 
 gained a good friend, and a good name also; for ever after this day 
 she was called “ Little Ruth Trusty.” 
 
 “ Oh thank you! what a beautiful story ! And have you any more 
 like it, Aunt Ida ? ” 
 
 “Yes; I have several.” 
 
 “ But will you read them to us ? ” asked Florence. 
 
 “ I will read them to you if you are good children. But now go 
 and play in the hall till tea is ready.” 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 39 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The holidays were now arrived, when the day-school was closed for 
 three weeks. Aunt Ida, therefore, determined to take the opportunity 
 to show her nieces some of the neighbouring villages and country, at 
 a little further distance from Heidelberg than they could accomplish 
 in the time allotted for their usual walks. Great was the delight 
 when they first heard of this plan; and they all declared they should 
 like nothing so much as to go on foot. Aunt Ida was well accustomed 
 to expeditions of the sort, and was a good walker; but, as it was all 
 new to the children, she said that, for this time, the excursion must 
 he very short, till she knew how they could hear the fatigue. 
 Accordingly, it was fixed that they were to set out for Eberbach, 
 a small town on the Neckar, twenty-four miles distant from 
 Heidelberg—sleeping the first night at Neckar Steinach. Susanna 
 was left under the care of the English nurse ; but, one fine afternoon 
 in August, the four others started with their aunt, accompanied by 
 Babette, a German maid, and general favourite in the family, who, 
 being a native, knew the country well. Besides the few necessaries 
 for the journey, which Babette carried, each little girl had a bag or 
 basket, and in it a large slice of the German black bread, of which 
 they were very fond, and a supply of pears and dried plums, to eat by 
 the way, if she should be hungry. 
 
 There was a pleasant wind stirring as they left the town and 
 walked along the shady road, on the left bank of the Neckar. They 
 had hardly been half an hour on the way before it began to rain 
 gently. From this, however, the thick foliage of the walnut-trees 
 sheltered them; and it was only heavy enough to lay the dust. 
 They were, at first, in high spirits; but, after an hour and a half, 
 
40 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 some of the party began to flag, though they had made out hut half 
 of that day's journey. The road and the view became less interesting 
 as they approached Neckar Germiind; so, to beguile the way, it was 
 planned between Florence and Amy, who were lagging behind, that 
 they would go and ask Aunt Ida for a story. 
 
 “ Tired already ? ” said she, when this request was made known. 
 “ Who was so sure, just before we set out, that we should never wish 
 to stop at all till we got to Neckar Steinach?” 
 
 “ Oh ! but it will shorten the way, if you will try to recollect 
 something,” said they; and, in this petition, Frances and Gertrude 
 joined. 
 
 “Ah! poor children!” said Aunt Ida laughing, “ I am afraid we 
 shall never get to the end of the journey. Well, I suppose I must 
 try what the story of “ The Charcoal-Burner of Breisgau ” will do for 
 you. But shall we turn homewards while I relate it? ” 
 
 “ Oh Aunt Ida! ” cried they all, “ how could you think of such a 
 thing ? ” 
 
 “Well, then, listen.” 
 
 Jitrntmt, tin C{tarranl-36in[ nf i'msptt. 
 
 Not far from Freiburg, in the Breisgau, there rises a lofty hill, 
 called the Hosskopf, or Horse’s Head, which looks down upon one of 
 the most beautiful valleys in Germany, called the Hollenthal. On 
 the side of the Bosskopf, where the view is closed in on every hand 
 by dark green walls of pine and fir-trees, except where, far below, a 
 gleam was caught of the mountain-stream, glittering through the 
 valley—there lived a charcoal-burner, and his family. They worked, 
 from morning to night, for a hard livelihood; and father and son were 
 thankful, when, by the toil of the day, they were able to procure food 
 sufficient, though coarse, for the poor sickly mother, and three younger 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 41 
 
 children. But worse times came ; and when two hard winters and 
 wet summers followed close upon each other, rendering their 
 neighbours almost as poor as themselves, they had no longer the 
 means of disposing of their charcoal in the usual manner: famine 
 stared them in the face; one of the younger children soon died, 
 and it appeared as if the other two must shortly follow. 
 
 I need not tell you the grief and anguish of the poor father, when 
 he saw his wife and children perishing before his eyes for want; he 
 could not leave them to die alone; his only hope was, therefore, in 
 his son Herman, now a strong tall youth of fifteen, who had ever 
 been his willing help and comforter in all his labour and affliction. 
 
 This boy he called to him one morning; and, giving him his 
 blessing, desired him to make the best of his way down into the 
 plain—sell his charcoal in the town, which they could descry on the 
 glittering river they saw from the top of their mountain, and then 
 return, with what he could get, to save them from dying of hunger. 
 
 This seemed a great enterprise in those days—when but few people 
 thought of moving from the place where they were horn—and when the 
 poor mother saw her boy depart, she felt very certain he never could 
 return in safety from such a long and dangerous journey. In a 
 week, however, he did return, and brought provisions with him; 
 but one of his little brothers had perished during his absence, and his 
 father now looked as broken-hearted as his poor mother really was. 
 Herman, however, seemed a changed being; and from a poor, half- 
 starved, country lad, he had returned a man, and a bold one. He 
 held up his head; he walked to his father’s kiln, as if the kiln were 
 an enemy he was to attack and overcome. His father looked at him 
 with surprise; for, but a week before, he had been the most patient, 
 vailing, and useful of assistants. “ Son ! son ! ” he cried, “ what is 
 the matter with you ? Are you crazy ? ” 
 
 “ No, father,” answered the young man, “ I am not crazy; but since 
 I have seen what a world this is, it makes me mad to think that we must 
 pass our days fixed to this hill side, like the trees that grow above our 
 
42 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS J OR, 
 
 heads. In that town, father, I have seen, thought, and lived more in 
 one week, than in all my life before, and I can stay here no longer 
 among these senseless rocks and stones.” 
 
 Upon this his father wanted to know what he had seen, and Her¬ 
 man was not slack to tell him. The little town to which he had been 
 sent had appeared to him like a city of palaces, after the miserable 
 huts and hovels of the charcoal-burners in the Hollenthal; but, more 
 than that, their duke had chanced to arrive the very same night that 
 Herman did, and not only had he seen him and his train make their 
 festive entry on their prancing steeds, but, together with the crowd, he 
 had pressed in to look on upon the tournament which the duke had 
 given the next day, where knights in glittering armour were assembled 
 in the lists, and ladies in jewels and gold looked down from the bal¬ 
 conies above. 
 
 “ Ah! could I be but one of the least of those I saw there ! ” sighed 
 Herman. “ My help would be worth something to you then ! ” 
 
 “My dear boy,” answered the old man sorrowfully, “not one of 
 those brave knights you saw would take a poor country lad like you 
 into his service ; so be content with the lot that Heaven has assigned 
 you. Look at the green finch and hedge-sparrow in these woods ; 
 they are satisfied year after year to make them their home, and not 
 one of them ever seeks to imitate the bolder flight of the falcon or the 
 eagle.” 
 
 Herman was silent, but not satisfied; however, after this, he did his 
 duty, and his father had no more reason to complain. It would have 
 been cruel to have thought of leaving his family at this time, for 
 neither the mother nor the younger child got any better, and the old 
 charcoal-burner, when their provisions were once more exhausted, 
 went to bed one night hungry and in despair, seeing nothing but 
 death before them. Long he tossed sleeplessly on his bed ; he heard 
 the faint moanings of the sick child, and the healthy deep breathing 
 of the strong youthful Herman. At his wife’s couch all was still, for 
 though she slept, her breathing was so faint he could not hear it at all. 
 
aunt Ida’s tales. 
 
 43 
 
 It was dark, dark, and the wind was moaning in the trees, and still he 
 could not sleep. At last slumber stole over the old man, and all at 
 once he seemed to see the door of the hut open, and the reverend 
 figure of a hermit, with a long white beard and a cowl over his head, 
 entered, and stood at the foot of the bundle of straw on which he lay. 
 Now the charcoal-burner had heard that a holy man, by description 
 exactly like the figure that stood before him, did live a solitary life 
 somewhere on a neighbouring mountain called the Feldberg, but he 
 had never been there, and never had seen him ; he knew not whether 
 he were awake or asleep, but, certain it is, that old Gutman was 
 neither afraid nor astonished. 
 
 “But here,” said Aunt Ida, interrupting herself, “ here we are at 
 Neckar Germiind, children, and Babette has got coffee ready for us.” 
 
 “ Already ! ” cried the children; “ Oh, but the story ! surely it is not 
 done ? ” 
 
 “ After coffee, and when we have crossed the river, we will finish 
 it,” said Aunt Ida. 
 
 Babette had a friend at this little village, to which she had preceded 
 the party of pedestrians ; so when they came up they found coffee 
 ready for them, with nice fresh country milk, which they immediately 
 declared tasted much better than that in town. About half-an-hour 
 afterwards they were all standing in the large flat-bottomed ferry-boat, 
 so large that it was more like a floating bridge, which ferried them 
 across the Neckar, and landed them safely on the other bank. 
 
 “ Go on now, please ! ” they cried. 
 
 “ Where did we stop ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, where the hermit came in.” 
 
 Gutman looked at the hermit very quietly, and the hermit looked 
 at him in the same way, a long time. “ What aileth thee, my son ?” 
 he said at last. 
 
 “ Look around ! ” answered Gutman ; a dying child—a dying wife— 
 bare walls—poverty—famine—despair ! that is what ails me ! ” 
 
 “ Oh, foolish man! ” answered the hermit; “ hast thou forgotten that 
 
44 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 God is great and good, and can put an end to sorrow, and will when 
 his own time comes ? ” 
 
 “ I ought not to have forgotten it,” said Gutman, “ but I did.” 
 
 “ I am come to help thee,” said the hermit. “ Come down from 
 this mountain, and cross the valley, and ascend the Feldberg where it is 
 steepest, till thou readiest a platform where seven trees grow ; amongst 
 them is one whose branches bear silver eggs.” And without another 
 word he turned and disappeared. 
 
 And now Gutman fell into a deep heavy sleep, from which he awoke 
 with a start as morning dawned. His heart heat, he was afraid he 
 had slept too long ; he hurried on his clothes, and, without waiting to 
 look around him, without awakening his son, he took a bag on his 
 shoulder, and a pickaxe in his hand, and hastened away. He rushed 
 down the hill side almost as quickly as Herman could have done. It 
 was dark in the valley below, and the mists were yet hanging on the 
 hills; but by the time he had traced the course of the stream upwards 
 till he could ford it, all the hill tops were glowing with the light of a 
 beautiful day. The sun was going down again, when, after having 
 ascended and descended hill after hill, and crossed many a stream, he 
 found himself at last at the foot of the Feldberg. Exhausted, he fell 
 on the ground, and thought himself mad to have thus abandoned his 
 home on the faith of a dream. With the first light of the next day 
 he began the toilsome ascent, keeping carefully to where the mountain 
 was steepest; and at last, what was his delight to find himself sud¬ 
 denly on a platform where seven trees stood indeed before his eyes, 
 lifting their thick entangled branches high in air above his head. 
 
 Gutman's first impulse was to throw himself upon his knees; and 
 then, with renewed hope, he began to climb the tree nearest him, to 
 seek for these precious silver eggs, which he firmly believed would be 
 found hanging on the branches like fruit. But no, his search was 
 vain ;—perhaps that was not the right tree ; he tried the second with 
 no better success—the third, fourth, fifth, sixth—still no eggs—no 
 silver, and his heart failed him. The seventh tree alone remained; 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 45 
 
 it stood rather apart ; it was the largest, thickest, and tallest. He 
 leaned against its trunk, and looked up with a longing eye into its 
 branches; but they were dark, and heavy, and matted, and he could 
 discern nothing. 
 
 “ One trial more,” he said, “and then—bread or death!” 
 
 He stretched his arms round the massive trunk as if he would pull 
 it down; its rough hark, and broken branches, however, afforded him 
 a sure footing, and he climbed, climbed, climbed, to where surely none 
 but the squirrels, or the little birds had ever been before; he examined 
 each branch, each bough, but in vain—his last hope was gone—there 
 was no silver there. 
 
 “ I will never return to see them die of hunger ! ” cried the old man; 
 and was just going to throw himself down from the very top of the 
 tree, when he heard a voice at no great distance, cry, “Hold, Gutman ! 
 no such crime ! no such folly ! ” 
 
 Astonished, he stopped, and, looking down, beheld, on a ledge of rock 
 that was like a wall on one side of this platform, and was almost on 
 a level with the centre branches of the tree on which he stood, the 
 very figure of the hermit he had seen two nights before in his sleep. 
 
 “Oh foolish man!” said the hermit again; “knowest thou not a 
 tree has branches below, as well as above ground ? ” 
 
 Gutman was ashamed at his distrust of Providence ; he hastened 
 down, and kneeling before the hermit implored forgiveness, and then, 
 directed by him, laid his pick-axe to the root of the trees, and as he 
 went further and deeper, and removed the heavy stones and earth, lo! 
 he saw the shining silver about the roots—for this was a silver mine. 
 How he thanked the hermit I need not tell you ; this day he took but 
 one lump, and exchanged it for bread in the nearest village, hastened 
 back to the Bosskopf, which he reached by midnight, so eager was he 
 to impart the good news to his family and make them all happy again. 
 But the treasure was not for them : for when he came into his hut, he 
 found the lamp burning, and poor Herman weeping alone. The little 
 child was dead, and the mother was dead too. 
 
46 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 I will not make you sad by speaking of the poor old man's dismay, 
 and the sorrow that damped liis joy ; but next day, when he and Her¬ 
 man had buried the dead, he took him hy the hand and said, “ Come, 
 my son, we will go to the Feldberg, and never return to this our empty 
 home again.” 
 
 Herman asked no questions, and the father spoke not a word, until 
 at noon of the second day they stood before the hermit’s hut, who re¬ 
 ceived them with his blessing. He placed goat’s milk and black bread 
 before them, and bade them eat and be comforted. Next day he 
 showed Herman the mine, and bade him labour and be of good courage, 
 for better days were coming. So Gutman and Herman laboured dili¬ 
 gently, and dug out the ore, and refined it from all dross in a furnace 
 that they built, and laid it by in the inner cave in lumps of pure silver. 
 And thus they lived for months, and Herman toiled hard with his 
 father, and spoke no more of camps and tournaments, and only tried 
 to make him happy. 
 
 But it was not the hermit’s intention that they should hoard up the 
 treasure like misers. He had a regard for Herman, and taught him 
 to read ; and Herman confided to him the secret thoughts and wishes 
 which he had formerly entertained, but which his father had dissuaded 
 him from putting into practice. The hermit did not dissuade him, only 
 he said “the time was not come yet.” Thus the winter passed away, and 
 spring and summer came; and the silver store was by this time a shin¬ 
 ing heap increasing every day. The hermit used to leave the moun¬ 
 tain occasionally, and after passing some days, or weeks elsewhere, 
 would return to his calm retreat again. Once, after an absence of this 
 kind, he called father and son into his cell, and told them that their 
 duke had been for some time at war with a neighbouring prince ; but 
 that now his supplies of money were exhausted, and he had been 
 obliged to take refuge on the height called the Kaiserstuhl, where he 
 now was with his wife and children, and but a scanty remnant of his 
 former followers, in great distress. The hermit said no more, and 
 Herman was silent. 
 
AUNT IDA S TALES 
 
 47 
 
 “ Son! ” cried old Gutman, “ the hour you longed for is come; I 
 will no longer restrain you when our noble duke needs a brave heart, 
 and a stout arm. Though bred like the green-finch of these woods, 
 a flight like the falcon’s may now be yours ! Take the treasure to your 
 prince, and go ! ” 
 
 The duke received him as a messenger from heaven. The silver 
 which Herman brought along with him in a cart drawn by oxen, sufficed 
 for all his wants. He took Herman into his service, who, in the very 
 first battle, performed such prodigies of valour, that the duke knighted 
 him with his own hand, and raised him to places of trust and honour. 
 When the enemy was once more expelled, and peace restored, and 
 Herman had gained as much renown as his ambitious spirit could 
 desire, the duke, feeling that he owed everything to his timely and 
 generous assistance, made him his son-in-law by marrying him to one 
 of his beautiful daughters, and it is said that it was the poor charcoal- 
 burner's son who founded the castle of Zahringen, the ruins of which 
 still lie about an hour’s walk from his first home on the Rosskopf. 
 
 “But here we are at Neckar Steinach.” 
 
48 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Next morning the sun shone as brightly as the hearts of the children 
 could wish; and, refreshed by their night’s rest, they enjoyed their 
 coffee in an arbour in the garden of the little inn, which looked upon 
 the river, and the village of Dillsberg, placed on the very summit of a 
 high hill on the opposite side. After breakfast, Frances, Gertrude, and 
 Florence set out eagerly with their aunt to vidt the four castles which 
 lie along a high bank, and of which one is a mere square tower offering 
 nothing very particular; the second has been repaired, has a pretty 
 garden, and is the dwelling-house of a very numerous German family. 
 It was the fourth and most distant which delighted them most, for it 
 hangs on the declivity of the hill, and, from its position almost inacces¬ 
 sible from below, has been called the “ Schwalbenburg,” or “ swallow’s 
 nest.” 
 
 “ An old man used to show these ruins formerly,” said Aunt Ida, 
 “ who lived in them, and imagined that he had seen the spirits of their 
 last inhabitants hovering about the battlements. One of these was a 
 lady in blue, whose antique dress he used to describe ; she had once 
 beckoned to him in a friendly manner, he said, and then dropped a 
 gold ring in the grass before she disappeared. The ring he picked 
 up and sold, for he was poor. Being on the spot, this strange delusion 
 of the old man’s recurred to my memory, for I read the account of him 
 some months ago.”* 
 
 “ Oh, I wish he were here now to show us the ruins ! ” said Florence ; 
 “ but cannot you tell us something more about them. Aunt Ida? ” 
 
 “ They were inhabited in olden times by fierce robber-knights, who 
 
 * In “ Wandcrungen durch Schwaben,” by Gustav Schwab. 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 49 
 
 used to stop the boats coming down the river, and either plunder them 
 and kill those who had the charge of them, or else extort such a heavy 
 fine from the passengers, that the poor merchants lost all the profit of 
 the fair or market from which they might be returning. These robbers’ 
 nests were such a nuisance to the whole country, that they, and many 
 others in different places, were at last destroyed by the imperial orders. 
 Who could think that blood had been shed here, and fire raging in 
 these ruins, where all now looks so beautifully still and green ! ” 
 
 The party now returning towards the village, went over the only 
 castle they had not yet visited, and were delighted to find that, besides 
 the outer w r all which inclosed a considerable semi-circle of green grass, 
 filled with flowers and fruit trees, there was a second and higher, to 
 get within which they had to scramble up the bank through some 
 broken openings, and in the centre of the whole mass rose a solid 
 square tower without either door or window, giving the idea that it 
 could have served for nothing but a watch-tower. Time flew as they 
 scrambled about the ruins, and played “ hide-and-seek ” amongst the 
 tangled bushes, so that, looking through one of the broken windows of 
 the upper wall, they were surprised to see the table-cloth spread on the 
 grass below, and Amy busy helping Babette in laying out their cold 
 dinner. 
 
 Presently the little maiden was sent to call them, and they thought 
 that never had cold veal and plum tart tasted so well as they did that 
 day under the quiet shade of the old trees in the green inclosure 
 (which was doubtless once a paved court), with no roof but the bright 
 blue heavens sparkling in cloudless glory above their heads. They 
 wished Aunt Ida to tell them a story, but she promised that as a plea¬ 
 sure to enliven their afternoon walk to Hirschhorn. She bade them lie 
 still now, and sleep if they felt inclined, till she called them; and it 
 was not until they had left Neckar-Steinach and its pretty castles far 
 behind, that she indulged them with the story of “The Lady of 
 Stolzeneck and her Piaven.” 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 €\i Imuj nf itnljmrk uni 1 )u txmm. 
 
 The little town of Eberbach lies about an equal distance from two very 
 picturesque castles; that of Hirschhorn, and another called Zwingenberg, 
 further up the Neckar. Near this castle of Zwingenberg there formerly 
 stood another castle, called Stolzeneck. This, like those of Neckar- 
 Steinach, was also demolished in the course of time by the orders of 
 the emperor. But when what I am now going to tell you took place it 
 was in perfect repair, and the abode of a young and brave knight called 
 Ottmar, and his beautiful sister Williswinde, who, as he was not mar¬ 
 ried, performed the duties of mistress of his mansion; that is to say, 
 like all the German ladies of that day, she did not think it beneath her 
 to carry a bunch of keys at her side, attached to a gold or silver chain, 
 to spin fine flaxen thread with her own fair fingers, nor to superintend 
 the weaving and bleaching of the linen. Besides this, she knew how to 
 embroider, and to play on the lute; and in employments of this nature 
 the wives and daughters of many a renowned chief passed their time 
 away quietly and monotonously enough in the castles of their lords. 
 
 But Ottmar and Williswinde were young, and, as they loved each 
 other as brother and sister should, Williswinde was perfectly happy 
 when her brother was at home, and desired no greater pleasure than 
 his company. In the course of time it came to pass that Ludwig the 
 Second, then Count Palatine, or Pfalzgraf of the Rhine, being engaged 
 in a war, summoned all the knights, who held lands under him, to his 
 assistance. Ottmar was one of these, and though Williswinde could 
 not but grieve to see him depart, she knew his duty too well to seek to 
 detain him. When he was gone she confined her walks to the garden 
 which surrounded the castle, and a raven, which she had reared and 
 tamed herself, used to keep her faithful company. She was as fond of 
 the bird as it was of her, and its familiarity, as if conscious what a 
 favourite it was, many a time made her smile, and served to wile away 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 51 
 
 the lonely hours. It would peck at her gown when it wanted to 
 attract her attention or to ask for food; it would sit on her hand; and, 
 if it had flown before her into a tree, she was sure as she passed under 
 that her faithful feathered friend would, with a loud caw, spread his 
 glossy wings, and alight upon her shoulder. Thus the bird was quite a 
 companion to the solitary girl, and made her feel not utterly alone. 
 
 One beautiful evening towards the end of May, when her brother 
 had been gone several months, as she was sitting on a mossy bank in 
 the garden, looking down on the bright Neckar flowing fair below in 
 the valley, she saw Eberliard, an old trusty friend and warrior, who 
 had been their father’s companion in arms, and to whom Ottmar had 
 entrusted the care of his castle and his sister, drawing near; and 
 found that his errand was to inform her that a pilgrim was without, 
 who demanded night quarters. Hospitality was one of the virtues of 
 those days ; and although Williswinde was, so to say, alone, and these 
 were dangerous times, she could never think of refusing any person 
 asking food or shelter. She desired the gate to be opened, and received 
 the stranger in the “ Kittersaal,” as the largest apartment of every 
 old castle was called. He told her he was just returned from the 
 Holy Land, and drew a sad picture of all the misery he had seen and 
 suffered there. She could not help feeling interested in his story so 
 long as she only listened; but when she looked at him, and remarked 
 the broad square shoulders which his humble and peaceful garb could 
 not conceal, saw his thick curly heard, or caught a glance of the dark 
 cunning eye which gleamed beneath his hood, she could not resist an 
 inward shudder. However, she caused an excellent supper, with a 
 jug of wine, to be set before him, ordered a bed to be prepared, and 
 in the morning ere he departed supplied him with a sufficient sum to 
 enable him to reach his convent, which was, as he said, Eberbach, 
 near the Rhine. As soon as he had departed, and the castle gates 
 were closed after him, Eberliard, returning to the side of his young 
 mistress, watched the man till he disappeared among the windings of 
 the forest. 
 
 e % 
 
52 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 “ I like not that pilgrim,” said he ; “ I suspect he has no more 
 right to wear that frock and cowl than I have.” Williswinde half 
 thought the same, hut she said nothing; nor did she hear her faithful 
 castellan command the few men-at-arms, whom Ottmar had left with 
 him, to be upon their guard. 
 
 Some days after this the horn of the w T atchman on the tower pro¬ 
 claimed the approach of a party, and another sounding at the gate 
 announced an arrival. The drawbridge was lowered, and no sooner 
 did Eberhard cast his eyes on the gigantic figure of the knight, who, 
 accompanied by a few pages and squires, was crossing the bridge, than 
 he recognised the disguised pilgrim. While he was parleying with 
 the knight he caused this intelligence to be conveyed to his mistress, 
 and prayed her to be careful. Soon after, the clinking of spurs and 
 clang of arms on the stone pavement announced to Williswinde the 
 approach of the stranger, who boldly entered her presence, and said, 
 “ My name is Baron Bambald, the fame of my exploits is everywhere 
 known. My castle is not far from this, and my errand, noble damsel, 
 is to demand your hand.” 
 
 Poor Williswinde was so frightened, she trembled all over. At last 
 she answered that her brother was absent with the Pfalzgraf, and that, 
 without his consent, she could not marry. 
 
 “ Ay! women have no will ! ” he cried ; “ I forgot that. Farewell 
 till we meet again ! ” and, with a rude laugh to conceal his anger, he 
 threw himself on his horse, and rode off with his followers. 
 
 “ Eberhard,” cried Williswinde, you are right, “ this is a terrible 
 man; and I should be safest in the neighbouring convent, where he 
 would not dare to seek me.” 
 
 “ You are safest here with me, noble lady,” said the faithful castel¬ 
 lan ; we are but few in number it is true; hut, with the men I have, 
 I would engage that this discourteous knight shall never hurt a hair of 
 your head.” 
 
 But Williswinde now felt her solitude in a way she had never done 
 before ; and, as the lady Abbess was her aunt, determined to seek her 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 53 
 
 protection without delay. The convent was distant hut an hour’s 
 journey, and, in full daylight, she feared no harm ; so the next morn¬ 
 ing she had her palfry saddled, and, accompanied by a waiting-maid and 
 two horsemen, set out in spite of all that Eberhard could say. But 
 she had scarcely gone half-way, before she was terrified by the tramp¬ 
 ling of horses, and her little party w 7 as surrounded by men at arms ; 
 her escort fought boldly, but were soon stretched bleeding on the 
 ground; a rough hand was laid on her bridle, and, in an instant, she 
 w ? as lost sight of by her weeping and terrified maid, who could only 
 turn the head of her horse and hasten back to Stolzeneck. 
 
 How bitterly did Eberhard now lament his having permitted Willis- 
 winde to depart! He set out himself at the head of a few followers, 
 and reached the place where the w r ounded servants were yet lying 
 These he had conveyed home on a litter made of boughs; but all his 
 efforts to discover the lady were in vain. Three days he explored the 
 whole neighbourhood, but not a trace of the lost lady of Stolzeneck 
 was to be found. 
 
 Rambald, meanwhile, had carried off his prey with all the speed of 
 his well-mounted troop, to an old, solitary, and lofty tower, which had 
 long been uninhabited, and where he w r as very certain of safe conceal¬ 
 ment. Its only entrance w T as an iron-barred door, which, by a dark 
 staircase, led up to a small chamber with a grated window. The only 
 furniture of this miserable room was a hard bench and a crucifix 
 fastened to the w 7 all. Here he brought Williswinde half dead with 
 fatigue and affright; and thinking a short trial of such a horrid resi¬ 
 dence would soon make her change her mind, and consent to marry 
 him, he left her, saying, “ Consider your answer well; in three days I 
 shall come back to receive it.” 
 
 Here now sat poor Williswinde, pale as death, and almost in 
 despair; when suddenly she heard a sound at the window, and 
 looking up, fancy her joy at discovering her faithful raven, which 
 had followed her unobserved. Now her tears burst forth, and she 
 felt as if Heaven had sent her this friend in her extreme distress; 
 
54 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 and with this feeling, the confidence returned that she would never he 
 utterly forsaken. 
 
 When Williswinde had dried the first flow of her tears, she sat 
 watching her faithful bird, who, with vain flutterings, tried to break 
 through the iron grating, but it was too strong and too close; so, after 
 awhile he flew away and presently returned, bringing strawberries and 
 bilberries in his beak, and even bunches of the early cherries which 
 had ripened in the sunny vale below. This he repeated the whole day, 
 as if he knew his mistress’s life depended on his exertions. On the 
 evening of the third day, the cruel knight returned. “ Have you 
 decided ? ” he cried. 
 
 “ I have,” replied Williswinde, “ I never can be yours. Set me 
 free, or fear the punishment of Heaven ! ” 
 
 “ Free !” cried the savage; “ death shall make you free. You die 
 of hunger in this tower ! ” and with these words he disappeared. 
 
 But it seemed as if Williswinde’s raven had overheard his words, 
 and had determined that she should not die of hunger, for the next 
 morning it returned with a little loaf; another time it brought a piece 
 of meat; then again bunches of cool fresh cherries. Three more days 
 went by, a fourth, and a fifth, and still she was alone. On the morn¬ 
 ing of the sixth day, pale and thin, poor Williswinde approached the 
 narrow window; she knew this could not last long; she felt that she must 
 die if help did not presently arrive. She looked up through the close 
 grating which darkened the cloudless sky; she could only see the tops 
 of waving trees; but they were gilt with sunshine, and stirred in the 
 morning wind. The birds were all busy on the wing, the swallows 
 chasing each other through the air round her lofty dwelling; the 
 cuckoo’s single notes sounded from the wood; and joined to all this 
 melody was the honest hearty caw of her dear raven, as it brought 
 her its morning greeting. 
 
 “ How happy all things are,” cried poor Williswinde, “ and I a 
 prisoner; ” and she prayed for deliverance with her whole heart. Sud¬ 
 denly she distinguished a cheerful voice singing these words.— 
 
ATJNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 55 
 
 “ 0 merry merry is the camp, 
 
 And pastimes bold of war; 
 
 Where clarions loud, and chargers’ tramp, 
 
 Make music from afar. 
 
 But sweeter sweeter is the wood, 
 
 In all its early bloom; 
 
 And sweeter still will be the kiss 
 Which greets my welcome home ! ” 
 
 It was not her tormentor’s voice; she called as loud as her failing 
 strength would permit for succour. 
 
 “ Who complains in the tower?” was the answer. “ My arm is ever 
 ready to defend the innocent and oppressed.” 
 
 “ Ah, that blessed voice ! ” cried Williswinde. “ Brother Ottmar! ” 
 
 “ My sister here ! ” he cried. “ Whose deed is this ? ” 
 
 A few words sufficed to tell him her history. “ The villain ! ” he 
 exclaimed ; but he shall suffer for it! ” and so saying, he struck his 
 sword on his shield. 
 
 This was a signal for fight; and ere five minutes had elapsed, Barn- 
 bald, with eight followers, poured out upon him from the wood ; 
 Ottmar fought like a lion, and presently two of his opponents lay dead 
 before him ; but their numbers were too great; he was surrounded, and 
 in a moment more would have been killed or made prisoner, when the 
 sound of rushing wings was heard in the air, and a cloud seemed 
 to pass over the sun, as Williswinde’s raven, at the head of a whole 
 army of ravens, pounced on the combatants, filling them with such 
 terror and confusion that they fled in all directions, and Ottmar rushed 
 on his opponent Rambald; and after a short combat thrust his sword 
 through his heart. The villain fell, and in an instant his body was 
 lost to view, surrounded by the flapping wings of the black ravens. 
 
 At this moment Eberhard, whose efforts had been unceasing to 
 discover his dear young mistress, came up with his men ; the key of 
 the tower w T as found upon the ground, fallen from the person of the 
 robber knight; and the noble Williswinde was soon once more at liberty, 
 
56 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 and clasped in the arms of her beloved brother, who, returning from 
 the war by a shorter road than his companions, had thus fortunately 
 lighted on the place of her concealment. 
 
 With triumph and great rejoicing Ottmar and Eberhard conducted 
 her home, where the faithful raven was cherished by them all their 
 lives. And it would seem as if he were ever after held in honour by 
 their house, for very lately the figure of a raven, carved in stone, was 
 discovered on one of the fallen arches of the now ruined castle of 
 Stolzeneck. 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 57 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 At sunset, as the last story was concluded, the party came in sight of 
 the Castle of Hirschhorn, which, unlike those they had just visited, had 
 been repaired, and is now used as a prison. It stands on the ridge of a 
 hill, washed on one side by the Neckar, and on the other by a stream 
 called the Lax, which joins the Neckar near that place. They entered 
 the village by a one-arched bridge over the narrow Lax, now nearly 
 dried up by the summer heat. Here ended this days journey, and 
 when another bright morning succeeded to a night of refreshing sleep, 
 as there was nothing in Hirschhorn itself to detain them, they 
 proceeded immediately after breakfast; and when the bell of the little 
 church sounded nine, they were already following the road along the 
 bank of the Neckar, which takes so wide a sweep round the rocky hill, 
 that, after nearly an hour’s walking, they were suprised to find them¬ 
 selves only just opposite to the castle. 
 
 This early walk was very delightful; hut as the sun rose higher, and 
 the day advanced, it became very warm. The high-road was hot and 
 dusty: and, though young trees were planted all along, their heads were 
 scarcely larger than cabbages, and could afford no shade. Aunt 
 Ida and her nieces went on, hoping every minute they should find some 
 pleasanter path ; at last they came to where a road, broken up with cart 
 ruts, branched off to the left, and as Babette assured them it would not 
 lead them astray, and it looked very tempting, they determined to try it. 
 It led them continually higher and higher, until at last they lost sight 
 of their former path, and of the river altogether ; but the air was much 
 fresher, the prospect more agreeable, and every one approved of 
 the change. In about an hour they reached the top of the hill, where 
 
58 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS J OR, 
 
 the track of wheels could still be traced along the heather; most 
 probably those of carts which brought down wood from the forest, for 
 no human habitation was to be seen; nothing, indeed, but the tufts of 
 heath, among and upon which they were walking, and forest-crowned 
 hills all round. But how delightful was the air ! how it took away 
 their fatigue and renewed their spirits for the walk! 
 
 As the children were rambling on, they were suddenly surprised by 
 the whirr of wings, and, arising almost from their feet, a covey of 
 young partridges tried their first flight. Further on, as they entered 
 the skirts of a wood, which closed in their path, and seemed to continue 
 all the way down the hill-side, they saw a fox running before them, and 
 hasten away to hide himself in the wood. All this was matter of fresh 
 joy and fresh exclamations every time. At last they came to a charm¬ 
 ing spot which seemed to invite them to sit down ; there was just sun 
 enough and just shade enough—just stones enough and just moss 
 enough—just prospect enough before and just shelter enough behind. 
 
 “ Oh what a place for a story !” exclaimed Gertrude ; “ but I am sure 
 you are tired, Aunt Ida—I do not think you can tell us a story to-day.” 
 
 “ But this place, Gertrude dear,” said Aunt Ida, sitting down, “puts 
 me in mind of Scotland, my own country ; these heath and broom 
 bushes, and the eagle sailing there above our heads, and the fresh 
 reviving air of the hill-side, all put me in mind of Scotland, and 
 therefore a Scotch story you shall have to-day while we rest in 
 this delightful place and, thus speaking, Aunt Ida unbuttoned the 
 Swedish bag, called a “ vesca,” which she always wore when travelling, 
 and taking out a packet of written paper, similar to that which had 
 pleased the children so much before, said, “ I will now' let you 
 hear the story of ‘ Stuart and Helen Bruce ; or the Three Friends.’ ” 
 
 Ah!” exclaimed the children with one voice; they all drew closer, 
 while Babette sat like a sentry on a stone a little way off, and, accord¬ 
 ing to her custom whenever there was a pause, produced a stocking 
 from her basket and began to knit. 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 59 
 
 Ititnrt nnii Itlrtt 3Jnra, nr fljr Cljrrr /rititte. 
 
 The circumstances I am going to tell you happened in a little 
 hamlet, in a very wild and remote part of Scotland. 
 
 The people there have no coals for their fires as we have, nothing 
 but peat and turf, which they cut for themselves in the moors or 
 mosses, and which, being left for some time to dry in the sun and 
 wind, burn very brightly, and make a clear, warm, comfortable fire; 
 and those poor, honest, industrious people, who have never perhaps 
 seen a coal-fire, think themselves very well off when they have a good 
 store of peats and turf piled up in small stacks at the end of their 
 cottages, to serve them with fuel through the cold nights of their long 
 winter. 
 
 As soon as the harvest-work is over, the tenants, or small farmers, 
 go to the moss to cut their peats. They generally set out as soon as 
 it is daylight in the morning, taking their children with them and pro¬ 
 visions for the day, and seldom return home till dark. 
 
 John and Mary Bruce went one morning, with the other inhabitants 
 of the villages where they lived, to “ cast peats.” They took their two 
 little ones with them, Stuart and Helen, who were as fine, healthy, 
 good-humoured children as could be seen anywhere, and beloved by 
 every one for their kindness and sweetness of temper. 
 
 For some time Stuart and Helen busied themselves in helping to 
 pile up the peats, as they saw others doing, in rows placed endways to 
 dry ; but, as they were both very young, they could not be expected to 
 continue their assistance longer than was quite agreeable to themselves, 
 so when they seemed tired of this employment, their mother gave them 
 some bread and cheese, and spreading their father’s plaid on a patch of 
 heather, bid them lie down and sleep till she called them. 
 
 The day was fine and clear, and though there was a sharp 
 cold wind blowing over the moss, these hardy little creatures did 
 not feel it as children more delicately brought up would have done, 
 
60 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 They could sleep on the turf in the open air just as well as on 
 the softest bed. 
 
 Their mother strictly forbade their wandering about, telling them 
 that if they did so, they would certainly lose their way, or fall 
 into some of the pits, and be drowned in the moss-water. They 
 promised faithfully that they would mind what she said, and after con¬ 
 tentedly eating a piece of oaten cake, and drinking from a bottle 
 some cold thin milk, they both fell fast asleep in each other’s arms. 
 In the meantime their parents moved about from one place to another, 
 as their work required. 
 
 When Stuart and his sister Helen awoke, they felt quite refreshed 
 and in high spirits, and, forgetting all their promises of staying where 
 they were till their parents came, they began to ramble about in 
 search of blackberries and cranberries, of which they were very fond. 
 They continued searching for them a long time with their eyes bent 
 on the ground, and never thought of looking up and seeing how far 
 away they had strayed from all the other people. 
 
 All at once the sky became overcast with black clouds, and a heavy 
 shower of hail came rattling on over their heads. Stuart, who was 
 some little way from his sister, then started up, and, running to her, 
 caught her by the hand, begging her to make haste, and endea¬ 
 vouring, with his bonnet, to keep off the hail, which cut her little 
 cheeks. They tried to run as quickly as possible to the place where 
 their mother had left them, but the hail soon changed into broad 
 flakes of snow, which fell so thick and fast that they could not see ten 
 yards before them. 
 
 They were frightened now; it was growing dark very fast, and, 
 though they made all the speed they could, they did not know which 
 way they were going. Then they repente4 bitterly of having dis¬ 
 obeyed their mother. Their father and mother, who had been working 
 very hard, had not themselves observed the change in the weather, till 
 the hail, falling violently, attracted their attention. They immedi¬ 
 ately left off working, and ran to the spot where they had left the 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 61 
 
 children; there the plaid was lying half covered with the new-fallen 
 hailstones, but neither Stuart nor Helen were to he seen. 
 
 Their father and mother were terribly alarmed, and ran about in all 
 directions in search of them. They called, “ Stuart! Helen ! ” several 
 times as loudly as they could, hut received no answer. More and more 
 frightened, they begged all the other people to assist in the search; 
 hut the snow fell so fast, and the daylight being almost gone, they 
 could see nothing distinctly, and dared scarcely move fast for fear of 
 falling into old pits, half filled with mossy water. 
 
 After calling and searching all round, at the risk of their own lives, 
 till quite dark, they were at last obliged to return home, still hoping 
 that perhaps the children might have wandered in that direction, and 
 that they might yet find them at home before them. But no such 
 happiness awaited them. Their cottage door stood wide open, as they 
 had left it in the morning, the fire was out, and all within was silent, 
 dark, and cheerless. 
 
 Half distracted, these poor people, John and Mary Bruce, went 
 about to every house in the village, indulging a faint hope that their 
 children might have come home with some of the neighbours, who 
 had left the moss sooner than they did. But all their hopes and 
 searching were in vain ; everybody who had been at the moss that day 
 was now come home, and no one had seen anything of the children. 
 
 The poor father and mother continued to weep and lament during 
 the whole night, and, at the first glimpse of daylight, they went again 
 to the moss, and, though it was covered with thick snow, they con¬ 
 tinued their search all over it, till the night coming on once more forced 
 them to return. They were then quite miserable, and gave up all 
 hopes of ever seeing their dear children any more, being certain that, 
 if they were not drowned, they must have perished with cold and 
 hunger. The day following, as Mary Bruce was sitting all alone in 
 the house, she was startled by a loud scratching and howling at the 
 door. She opened it, and in rushed one of the shepherd’s dogs, look¬ 
 ing wild and fierce with hunger. She was not much surprised at this, 
 
62 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 for she knew the dog, and that he was neither well fed, nor well used 
 by his master. She called him kindly by his name, “ Luath,” several 
 times, hut the poor animal seemed only desirous of obtaining food. 
 She threw him a bone with some meat on it, the best she had to give, 
 for the sake of Stuart and Helen, who had often shared their porridge 
 and milk with the poor half-starved creature. 
 
 After eating a few mouthfuls of the meat in great haste, the animal 
 took up the bone in his mouth, and rushed out of the house. 
 
 When her husband came in, she told him of Luath’s extraordinary 
 visit, and that she had given him all the meat she had, because he was 
 such a favourite with the children, who had used to be so kind to him. 
 But the poor father was in such distress, after another fruitless search, 
 that he cared little about the dog, and took little notice of anything, 
 until next day, at dinner time, Luath came rushing in again, seem¬ 
 ingly more ravenous than before. He almost burned himself in 
 attempting to seize some meat in a pot just taken off the fire. Bruce 
 then threw him a large piece, saying, “Ye are welcome to my share! ” 
 when, after bolting a few morsels, as if he would choke himself, he 
 made off with the rest as speedily as before. 
 
 This conduct of the dog struck them both with w T onder, and they 
 resolved to watch, if he came again. Accordingly, the next day, at 
 the same hour, Luath returned. The father immediately threw him a 
 piece of meat, and, carrying some more to the outside of the door, 
 gave it to the dog, who, instantly snapping it up, crossed through the 
 village, and made straight for the moor. 
 
 Bruce lost no time in following him, as far as he could keep him in 
 sight, and when he lost sight of him, he traced him by his foot-marks 
 in the fresh snow. He continued to follow the print of the dog’s feet, 
 until he had passed a considerable way across the moor, and still saw 
 them clearly marked, running along under a piece of high sandy bank, 
 with some old fir trees growing upon it, wdiich skirted one side of the 
 moss. He still tracked the foot-marks, until they suddenly ceased, near 
 a projecting ledge of rock, covered with furze and bramble bushes. He 
 
aunt Ida’s tales. 
 
 63 
 
 then stopped at this spot, and began to remove the bushes with a stout 
 stick he had in his hand. He thought he heard a noise within the 
 bank, as he moved the bushes, and presently found that he was at the 
 mouth of a cave. Though the entrance to it was very low and narrow, 
 yet he crawled forwards on his hands and knees, till he got inside, and 
 there saw, with astonishment and joy, his two little lost wanderers 
 lying fast asleep on the ground, locked in each other’s arms, and the 
 faithful Luath watching close beside them. Near them lay the bones 
 of the meat, which it was evident the grateful creature had sagaciously 
 brought them for their support, and without which they must have 
 died of hunger. Their father, with clasped hands, knelt beside his 
 still sleeping children, and, with a grateful heart, gave thanks to Him 
 who could make the fowls of the air, or the beasts of the field, alike 
 do his bidding, and minister to his servants. 
 
 He then awoke them gently, and very very happy they were, you 
 may suppose, to see their own dear father beside them. He led them 
 out of the cave, and carried them alternately in bis arms, with Luath 
 wagging his curling tail, as he preceded them in a long swinging trot, 
 stopping every now and then, and looking back very sagaciously, mightily 
 pleased with himself, no doubt, for having performed his part so well. 
 
 In this manner they crossed safely over the moor, and arrived at 
 their own cottage just before dark. Luath immediately set up a loud 
 joyful bark, the poor mother came running out, and, seeing her chil¬ 
 dren with their father, clasped them to her bosom, and fainted from 
 excess of joy. 
 
 I must pass over all the joy and the kisses, and the kind words that 
 passed, as well as the account which Stuart and Helen gave of their 
 getting into the cave, where, fortunately, honest Luath met them as he 
 was searching for a stray sheep of his master’s. My story would be 
 too long were I to tell you all the account they gave their father and 
 mother of the cold, and hunger, and sorrow they had endured, in con¬ 
 sequence of disobeying their commands. I shall, therefore, only observe, 
 that, from that day forward, they never disobeyed their parents’ orders, 
 
64 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 nor did they ever cease to cherish Luath fondly as their friend and 
 preserver. 
 
 It was their own kindness to the poor, dumb, half-starved animal, 
 that first attached him to them; and their father, seeing how much 
 these three friends loved each other, prevailed on the shepherd to part 
 with Luath, which, as he was rather a selfish surly fellow, he did 
 very readily for a trifle; and Luath, having no great reason to love his 
 master, left him with as little reluctance on his part, and found, for the 
 remainder of his days, kind friends, a warm bed, and a good dinner 
 at honest Bruce’s fireside, where they all lived very happily for the 
 rest of their lives. Luath was seldom seen without the children, or the 
 children without Luath, so that they soon got the name all round the 
 country of “ The Three Friends.” 
 
 Refreshed and delighted with this story, our little party arose and went 
 on their way; they soon came to the termination of the wood, and the 
 path began to lead down hill. They followed it till they found themselves 
 drawing near two or three scattered farm-houses, where they asked 
 their way. The people obligingly showed them through their farm¬ 
 yard, and they hid them continue on the track which led rapidly down 
 the hill, and soon brought them safe again to the high road which they 
 had quitted in the morning. Here they found themselves under the 
 shade of well-grown walnut trees, and discovered the cheerful-looking 
 little town of Eberbach lying before them, at a place where the hills 
 were not nearly so high as those they had been crossing. 
 
 “ Here we are in Baden again,” said Aunt Ida. “ Neckar-Steinach 
 and Hirsclihorn are in the Grand Duchy of Hesse Darmstadt. The 
 painted posts on the road-side mark the frontier of each.” 
 
 They walked through the town of Eberbach, and were not sorry to 
 sit down to a warm dinner in a large room in the “ Crown,” overlooking 
 the bright waters of the Neekar. The children were very tired; but 
 not a little proud of their walk of twenty-four miles, though they had 
 taken three days to perform it. 
 
 “ Are you inclined to walk back?” said Aunt Ida, smiling. 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 05 
 
 “ Oh, I will, Aunt,” exclaimed Florence; “for I am not the least 
 
 tired ! ” 
 
 The other three were silent. 
 
 “ Ah, children, I am afraid we should never get to Switzerland at 
 this rate! However, nothing is so good as a trial, and now w r e have 
 made it.” 
 
 Next day the steamer from Heilbronn, which stops for passengers 
 at Eberbacli, picked up the whole party; and, in less than three hours, 
 they found themselves once more at home, without further fatigue or 
 exertion of any kind. 
 
 © 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Great was the joy of Susanna at the return of her sisters; and Aunt 
 Ida, too, was very well pleased that they were all at home again ; for 
 now the weather was very changeable, and during eight days it rained 
 almost without ceasing, but the children were very happy, notwith¬ 
 standing. For the first three days they talked almost incessantly of 
 their long w r alk, and all they had seen; and each, in her own fashion, 
 treated it as a subject for a packet of letters to their friends in Eng¬ 
 land, which the departure of some acquaintance gave them an oppor¬ 
 tunity to despatch. 
 
 At last, one Saturday morning, when the packet was made up, 
 together with divers little presents for aunts and cousins at home, and 
 when it was sealed and sent out of the house, they felt very much as 
 if they had nothing to do. In the afternoon, the sun came out in bright 
 warm gleams, but, as the roads were deep in mire, it was impossible to 
 walk, although they desired nothing so much as to go out of doors. 
 Aunt Ida, therefore, sent for an open carriage to give her little girls 
 an airing. They drove first over the bridge, and then along the side of 
 the Neckar; its bright green waters were now changed into a dirty, 
 muddy, angry stream, chafing along over the rocks, and breaking into 
 waves at every obstruction; but they thought they had never seen the 
 grand old castle of Heidelberg look half so grand, nor the sun go down 
 with such a gorgeous glow behind the blue hills beyond, showing val¬ 
 leys, and peaks, and breaks in them, which they had never dreamt 
 were there. All that they wanted to make their enjoyment complete, 
 was a little bit of dry road to run upon; but nothing was to be seen 
 but streams of reddish mud in every direction. However, it was by 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 67 
 
 this time so beautiful over head, that Aunt Ida made the coachman 
 stop that they might enjoy the air. 
 
 “ This is very nice,” remarked Amy ; “ but it is very different from 
 the place where we last sat out of doors, where you told us about The 
 Three Friends, Aunt Ida.” 
 
 “ Oh, Aunt Ida,” said little Susanna coaxingly, flinging herself on 
 her aunt’s knee from the seat on which she had been standing up to 
 look about her, you have told my sisters so many stories while you were 
 away, will you not tell me a story now ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, do, do, Auntie dear,” cried all the rest; “ it is very long since 
 we have heard a story either.” 
 
 “ Very well,” said the kind aunt; “ hut this must be Susanna’s 
 story.” 
 
 So as they were driving home she related a Swedish Saga, called 
 
 ling Sitgraall’s Ditugljbr. 
 
 Long, long ago, there lived a king, w 7 ho was called Ingewall. He 
 had one only child, a daughter, and when she was born it happened 
 that a fairy came to the palace and was shown into the room where the 
 child lay. Having been well received and magnificently treated before 
 she went away, she sang a strange song over the child, foretold much 
 good luck to it, and endowed it with many wondrous gifts. But king 
 Ingewall’s queen died, and the babe was entrusted to the care of an old 
 woman, in whose house she grew up, and became very beautiful, and 
 clever beyond her years. But this foster-mother was a wicked woman, 
 and envied the advantages which the royal child in every respect pos¬ 
 sessed over her own daughter, a girl of the same age. 
 
 Now it happened one day that the king sent a letter to his daughter, 
 desiring her and her play-fellow r to come to the country house where 
 he was then holding his court. They set out, the peasant girl carrying 
 the box in which the king’s daughter kept the letters and costly toys 
 that her father had sent her from time to time. But when they had 
 
 f 2 
 
68 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 almost reached the end of their journey, they came to a broad rapid 
 river, which they could only cross by means of a lofty narrow bridge. 
 When they were on the middle of this bridge, that naughty girl, who 
 was much stronger than the king’s daughter, seized hold of her, and 
 threatened to throw her into the river unless she would change clothes 
 with her, and make a solemn promise besides never to tell any one 
 what had taken place. 
 
 This the poor princess was obliged to do to save her life; and thus 
 disguised they reached the king’s house. The false bad girl was shown 
 into the king’s fine rooms, while the princess was carried away to the 
 kitchen among the servants. Next day the king sent orders that 
 she should go out with a little herdboy, who took care of the geese, 
 into a green meadow on the other side of the stream. 
 
 She went, and when the geese came cackling down to the water to 
 swim over it, the princess sang this song :— 
 
 “ King Ingewall’s daughter, 
 
 Over the water, 
 
 Ferry, ye little grey geese !” 
 
 The geese instantly swam so close together that their backs made a 
 sort of raft; the king’s daughter seated herself upon it, and thus she 
 was ferried over to the other side. The herdboy, on the contrary, 
 much to his displeasure, had to run round by the water’s side a long 
 way till he came to the bridge before he could get into the field. When 
 he arrived, the royal maiden was sitting on a little green bank and 
 had opened her little box out of which she had taken her father’s 
 letters and her other treasures. The herdboy thought he had now got 
 a good playfellow, and, running up to her, wanted to peep into her box; 
 but then she sang— 
 
 “ Come, little wind, blow strong and stout, 
 
 And toss the herdboy’s cap about! ” 
 
 And down came a blast, puffed it off his head, and sent it all about the 
 field, the boy chasing it in vain; for always just as he thought he had 
 
See /ta li' (S 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 69 
 
 got it, the wind carried it off again. At last, when the princess had 
 shut her box, she sang— 
 
 “ Little wind, your frolic’s past, 
 
 Let him get his cap at last.” 
 
 And in a minute all was still, and the cap very quietly permitted itself 
 to be caught. When the day was done, the two children drove the 
 geese homewards. Arrived at the river, the princess said— 
 
 “ King Ingewall’s daughter, 
 
 Over the water, 
 
 Ferry, ye little grey geese !” 
 
 An^ on the backs of the geese she was once more commodiously wafted 
 aci 6 while the lierdboy had to make his long round. On their 
 return, the king himself was standing in the court, and asked the herd- 
 boy how he liked his companion. The boy answered with anything but 
 a cheerful countenance. 
 
 The next day the very same thing took place. When the geese 
 w r ere let out and came down to the river, the beautiful herdgirl sang 
 her little fairy song, and, as on the day before, the geese bore her 
 carefully on their backs to the green field. When there, she seated 
 herself among the flowers on the little green bank, and read again those 
 dear letters from her father, to whom she did not dare to discover her¬ 
 self. But when the herdboy came again to pry into her things, she 
 sang as before— 
 
 “ Come, little wind, blow strong and stout, 
 
 And toss the herdboy’s cap about! ” 
 
 And the blast came, and the boy was obliged to run after his cap till 
 the princess’s song bade the wind cease. When the evening came and 
 the boy had got his cap again and they were driving their geese home¬ 
 wards, the princess crossed the stream in the same way as before, and 
 the boy had the same long walk round by the bridge. Nor was the 
 third day different. 
 
 Now the king did not find his supposed daughter what he had 
 
70 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 expected her to be, and he could not love her; but, rather, he had 
 taken a great fancy for the little herdgirl, and wished that she were 
 his daughter. When he asked the herdboy in the evening how he 
 liked his companion, he answered that he would not go with her any 
 more. When the king demanded the reason of this, the hoy told how 
 she had sung— 
 
 “ King Ingewall’s daughter, 
 
 Over the water 
 
 Ferry, ye little grey geese !” 
 
 And how the geese had carried her on their backs while he had to run 
 round by the bridge—how she never would allow him to play with her 
 when she took out her letters and playthings on the green bank, but 
 sung out loud— 
 
 “Come, little wind, blow strong and stout, 
 
 And toss the herdboy’s cap about! ” 
 
 And how he had been obliged to run about after it and had no rest 
 until she sang— 
 
 “ Little wind, your frolic’s past, 
 
 Let him get his cap at last!” 
 
 After the king had listened to all this, he followed them secretly 
 himself the next day, and heard the little girl sing her fairy song to the 
 geese, and saw her take out her box which he knew directly to be that 
 which he had given to his own daughter, and likewise recognised his 
 own letters. Now he discovered that he had been deceived by the 
 wicked foster-sister, and, going home, forced her to confess the truth. 
 You may imagine with what joy he embraced his own real daughter, 
 and was determined to punish the wicked girl who had behaved so 
 treacherously; but the royal maiden petitioned so kindly and earnestly 
 for her that she was spared, and was only sent ever after to accompany 
 the herdboy with the geese. After this the little princess lived most 
 happily with her father: and thus ends the Saga of King Ingewall’s 
 Daughter. 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 71 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Although the holidays had now closed, and the children’s daily attend¬ 
 ance at school once more begun, yet as this was the last season they 
 were likely to spend in Germany, and as they had been very good and 
 given great satisfaction to their masters for a long time, Aunt Ida 
 determined to fulfil an old promise, and take them to see the gardens 
 of Scliwetzingen. The weather becoming settled, and many bright 
 September days having dried the roads after the late rains, a day was 
 fixed upon on which they were to start immediately after breakfast, 
 dine, and spend the whole day there, and not return till evening. It 
 came as lovely as if ordered on purpose; and at nine o’clock the merry 
 bright-faced little girls were seated in the carriage, certain of being 
 very happy. 
 
 The road to Scliwetzingen is probably by grown-up people considered 
 very dull, running as it does for full six miles in a straight line between 
 two rows of fruit trees; but Frances, Florence, Gertrude, and Amy 
 were in excellent spirits, and were continually calling out to each other 
 to look at the quantity of apples on this tree, and the loads of plums on 
 that, and the bushels of pears here, and the cart-loads of walnuts there; 
 so that they found enough to chat about the whole way, besides won¬ 
 dering what such a long road could possibly lead to, and why they saw 
 so very little at the end of it. 
 
 However, all things have a termination, and so has the long straight 
 avenue to Scliwetzingen. It terminates in a wide open space, with an 
 inn and some other buildings on the sides, and the palace, a large dull- 
 looking house, in the centre. There is an open archway through the 
 palace, and through this the children caught a glimpse of a jet dCeau 
 
72 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OK, 
 
 springing high into the air, and of the bright green trees which shaded 
 the broad walk up the centre of the garden. As they walked along this 
 gravel path, they first came to figures, much bigger than life, of two 
 stags baited by dogs; and again, further on, to the colossal reclining 
 statues of the Rhine and Danube, the two great German rivers, repre¬ 
 sented under the forms of old men. 
 
 Among those things which pleased the children most, for it would 
 he far too long to repeat here all that there is to he seen in those gar¬ 
 dens, was a miniature serpentine river, about four or five inches broad, 
 running between little banks built of pebbles, and which was intended 
 to quench the thirst of the nightingales. How they wished a nightin¬ 
 gale would sing to them! How they longed to see them drink! and 
 how pretty they thought it would be to see them hopping about the 
 banks of a streamlet which a grand duke had had made expressly for 
 them! 
 
 Then there was a small fountain resembling an altar, from the centre 
 of which the water rose in the shape of a large bell-flower, and then 
 breaking fell down into the basin below. This little water-work, Aunt 
 Ida told them, had once been illuminated by a row of lamps placed 
 round the stem of the flower, and the water, falling over the lights, had 
 a very pretty effect. Then they visited the small summer palace, 
 called the Bath House, because the prettiest room in it is the bath. 
 Here is kept the large book in which visitors write down their names; 
 and they were very much amused and pleased when, after having read 
 in it the names of several acquaintances, they each had leave to write 
 their own. 
 
 The temples of Flora and Minerva, with statues in them, did not 
 detain them long; but that of Apollo, being open and circular, and 
 standing on a small eminence, with a grotto under it, delighted them 
 all exceedingly. All they could have wished was that the water-works 
 which, when set in motion, form a cascade in the front of it, were then 
 playing. An aviary, too, attracted their attention, not by its living 
 birds, for there are none, but by some very large figures of birds in 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 73 
 
 bronze. These were ranged on the top of a high circular railing 
 inclosing a basin, into which they spouted water from their bills. 
 
 “And oh!” cried Frances, turning suddenly; “what a beautiful 
 view of the Rhine! ” and there it was, with the Vosges Hills as blue 
 as they had ever seen them. “ Let us go to that balustrade and look ! ” 
 so away they all flew along a trelliced walk, which in a minute brought 
 them to another grotto. They entered, and behold! their view turned into 
 a painted wall! How they laughed, then wondered, then thought the 
 painting very coarse and ugly, then wished they had never discovered 
 their mistake, and then ran back all together to tell it to Aunt Ida. 
 
 This was occupation enough for the forenoon, and dinner was refresh¬ 
 ing ; but soon after it was over, they were eager to make new dis¬ 
 coveries. One found out a Roman aqueduct, partly in ruins ; another 
 caught the first glimpse of the Ritterburg, or castle. 
 
 “ But it is all make believe, Aunt Ida, is it not?” asked Gertrude. 
 None of them thought it half so fine as the “ swallow’s-nest ” at Neckar- 
 Steinach, still they were very glad to find that the apparent ruin had 
 an excellent staircase leading to the very top. 
 
 “ What a curious place this garden is, Auntie! ” said little Amy. 
 “It surely is very, very large, and it seems to have the whole world 
 m it. 
 
 “ Indeed, Amy, it is very prettily and curiously laid out, and with 
 a great deal of art too ; for it certainly does appear very large, and the 
 leaves of the trees are of a brighter green than anywhere else.” 
 
 “ Oh, Aunt! ” now cried Florence, “ what is that among the trees ? 
 A piece of -water, and a building we have not yet seen ! ” 
 
 “ That is the mosque, Florence ; now we are going to Mecca.” 
 
 “ To Mecca? Oh, how do you mean ?” 
 
 “ You know who Mahomet was? Well, Mecca, his birth-place, has 
 the finest mosque in the Turkish dominions, and now we are going to 
 see the very model and counterpart of it, exact in all its proportions, 
 only seventeen times smaller.” 
 
74 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 This seemed the finest thing they had seen yet ; for they had read 
 of the great pilgrimages that are made every year, by Turks, Arabians, 
 and Mahometans of all nations, to this mosque, and they never expected 
 to find it at the end of such a short pilgrimage as theirs. The next 
 half hour was spent in exploring the centre building under the dome, 
 the walls of which are inscribed with sentences from the Koran in 
 Arabic, with a translation in German beneath. Then it was delightful 
 to wander along the colonnade which encloses a large centre court on 
 four sides, and has little painted chapels at the corners. 
 
 This last sight crowned the many enjoyments of that day, and in¬ 
 stead of wishing to look at anything more, they asked their aunt to 
 return to the edge of the little lake in front of the mosque, whence they 
 could see the dome again, rising between its two slender minarets. 
 The clear inverted reflection was spread out before them almost to their 
 feet in the quiet piece of water, and they delighted to gaze upon it as 
 they rested from all their exercise and amusement. 
 
 “ Do you not think it a very pretty building, Aunt Ida?” said 
 Frances. 
 
 “ Yes, my dear; hut it does not seem to me at home among the 
 trees of this garden. It seems to want the bright southern sky, and 
 the slender palm trees, and the call to evening prayer. It is more a 
 stranger in this land that we are ourselves, Frances. Minarets and 
 palm trees go together, do they not ? and we can hardly hear of the one, 
 without thinking of the other.” 
 
 “ You have never told us an Eastern story yet, Aunt,” said Florence ; 
 “ and you know you have been in the East—in India, at least.” 
 
 “ Well, I was just thinking I would tell you one this evening; but 
 then I am afraid you will, perhaps, not consider it a story at all.” 
 
 “ Oh yes we shall; only try, Aunt Ida.” 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 75 
 
 /tttirjr. 
 
 Long ago there lived a Caliph in Bagdad, whose name was Muta- 
 vekjil; and he had adopted a little boy who was called Fettich. This 
 child was possessed of so many good qualities, he was so gentle, mild 
 and amiable, that the Caliph loved him as his own son, and treated him 
 in every respect as such. 
 
 Now it came to pass that Fettich took a fancy to learn to swim, 
 and as soon as the Caliph heard the desire expressed, he ordered boat¬ 
 men and divers to accompany him to the river and give him lessons in 
 swimming. 
 
 Thus Fettich was taught for some time, hut being only a child, he 
 was by no means a proficient in the art. However, like many other 
 young people, he had a high idea of his own powers, and, considering 
 himself a perfect swimmer, went one day, quite alone, down to the 
 hank of the Tigris, undressed, and threw himself into the water. But 
 the stream was too strong for him ; it carried poor little Fettich away, 
 and, spite of all his efforts, he found it impossible to regain the shore. 
 In this helpless manner he was carried by the current far away from 
 the towm, and drifted toward the opposite side ; till at last, floating 
 under a tamarind tree that drooped low down the high steep hank, 
 with one vigorous effort he caught hold of a bough, and clinging to it 
 with all his remaining strength, was just able to creep into a little 
 hollow cave above the water’s edge, where he sank exhausted on the 
 ground, sighing out “ Here I am safe for the present.” 
 
 In the meantime, several persons who had seen Fettich going 
 down to the river, imagined that he was amusing himself there still. 
 But when they observed that he did not return, they hastened along 
 the bank looking for him. They found his clothes lying in the grass 
 where he had left them, but the boy was nowhere to he seen. So, with 
 great cries and lamentations, they went up to the palace, exclaiming, 
 “ Fettich is drowned ! Fettich is drowned ! ” 
 
76 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 When the Caliph heard this news, in an agony of grief he threw 
 himself from his throne upon the ground, and wept bitterly. He put 
 on mourning, and lamented for Fettich during seven whole days. At 
 last he thought that if he could only get his dead body, the very sight 
 of it even would, in some degree, calm his grief. He, therefore, sent 
 for the boatmen and the divers, and said: “ Whoever brings me the 
 body of my beloved Fettich, shall have a thousand pieces of gold.” 
 
 The boatmen immediately set out. They dragged the river with 
 their nets in all directions, but their search was fruitless; till one of 
 them, determined to leave no place unexplored, coming under the 
 tamarind tree, looked up into the hollow cave, and there sat Fettich 
 safe and well! He breathed not a word to any body, but, turning the 
 prow of his boat, hastened back to the Caliph, and said: “ 0 Com¬ 
 mander of the Faithful, thou didst promise a thousand pieces of gold 
 to him who should bring thee the body of Fettich dead, what wilt thou 
 give if he is brought to thee alive?” 
 
 “ Five thousand pieces of gold,” answered the Caliph. 
 
 The boatman went away, and soon returned with the boy. When 
 the Caliph saw Fettich alive and well, he rejoiced greatly, thanked God, 
 and gave the man what he had promised; besides which, he ordered 
 his Vizier to go and open the doors of his treasury, and distribute the 
 half of his stores in charity. Then he said, “ Cause food to be brought 
 for my Fettich, for he has fasted seven days.” 
 
 But Fettich said, “ 0 Commander of the Faithful, I am not 
 hungry.” 
 
 “ Hast thou eaten of the water of the Tigris, my son?” asked the 
 Caliph. 
 
 “No, 0 Commander of the Faithful,” answered the child; “but, 
 during the seven days that I sat in the cave, twenty little cakes of 
 bread floated to me daily in a wooden dish. These I took up, and 
 have lived upon them during that time.” 
 
 The Caliph was much astonished. “ Who can have thrown the 
 bread into the water ? ” he said. 
 
aunt Ida’s tales. 
 
 77 
 
 “Who did it, I know not; ” answered Fetticli, “but on every little 
 loaf was written, ‘ Muhammed, son of Hassan.’ ” 
 
 As soon as the Caliph heard this, he ordered a crier to go through 
 the streets of Bagdad, and proclaim that he who bore this name, 
 should present himself. A man came, accordingly, and said, “ My 
 name is Muhammed, son of Hassan.” 
 
 The Caliph asked, “ By what sign art thou to he recognised ? ” 
 
 “ My name was written on each loaf,” said Muhammed. 
 
 “Then it was thou who didst throw the bread upon the water? 
 But tell me how long hast thou done this ? ” 
 
 “ I have done it for a year,” answered Muhammed. 
 
 “ But what w r as thy intention, in so doing? ” 
 
 “ 0 Commander of the Faithful,” answered the man, “ I once 
 heard some one say, ‘ Do good ; cast thy bread upon the waters, and 
 one day thou shalt have thy reward.’ To try the truth of this, I 
 have done it, while I said to myself, “ I want to see what good can 
 come to me from the kindness I have shown to the water.” 
 
 “ 0 pious man! ” cried the Caliph, “ much good shalt thou receive 
 in return from the water.” 
 
 He then related to him how his action had been the means of 
 saving the life of the child who was so dear to him ; and after this 
 made him a present of five villages near the gates of Bagdad. The 
 necessary papers were made out—Muhammed went and established 
 himself on his new property, and was thus in one day raised from 
 poverty to riches. But prosperity did not alter his heart, for he 
 remained as simple-minded and charitable as before, and the needy 
 ever found in him a friend. 
 
 As for Fetticli, he learned prudence from the adventure which had 
 so nearly cost him his life, and as he grew up retained, and by his 
 virtues deserved, the affection which the Caliph had bestowed upon 
 him when a child.” 
 
 “ Now, is it a story, or not ? ” said Aunt Ida, getting up. 
 
 “ It is a story, and a very pretty one,” cried the children. 
 
78 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 “But I should have thought,” said Gertrude, “ that poor little 
 Fettich must have died of cold without his clothes.” 
 
 “ But then, Gertrude, you know that in those countries the climate 
 is much warmer than ours, and in summer people require very little 
 clothing.” 
 
 By this time the horses were put to; and, as they drove down the 
 long straight avenue, the children found it even prettier than in the 
 morning, gilt as it was by the bright light of the setting sun. They 
 talked over all they had seen, as the carriage rolled smoothly along 
 the level road; then rattling over the stones, set them down at their 
 own door. 
 
 “We have had a happy day! ” said they, as they alighted. 
 
 “ I am glad of it,” said Aunt Ida. 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 79 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 It was now the month of October, and the weather promised to be 
 very beautiful. For nearly the first fortnight the sun rose without a 
 cloud, and having shone warm and bright all day, sank as cloudlessly 
 to rest; the only difference was, that he rose later, and went down 
 earlier, and was every day setting further south. The green hills 
 were green no longer, the grapes had been gathered, and the leaves 
 of the vines already began to crumple up and look rusty and brown. 
 But now it was, that the forests which covered the hills, put on their 
 best attire, glowing in tints of red, and purple, and brown. Florence 
 and Gertrude and their sisters were never tired of going to the Castle 
 Gardens, and then going on, either to the “ Wolfsbrunn,” or the 
 “ Friesen-weg,” a beautiful road leading up the mountain-side, to a 
 place still called the “ Alte Schloss,” or Old Castle, and there is 
 only a projecting grassy platform, with a single stunted tree, 
 commanding an immense prospect, and some curiously shaped rocks 
 jutting out below, while not a stone remains on the spot to show 
 where a building once stood. 
 
 Here, then, the children, with their aunt, had come early one 
 afternoon. They had amused themselves during the ascent by picking 
 up the chestnuts that strewed the path, or wandering a little aside 
 into the wood in search of cranberries, which are sometimes found 
 there, though they are by no means common in this part of the 
 country. In summer, this place is generally crowded with visitors, 
 and one cannot take this road without meeting numbers of people 
 either going or coming, some on foot, others mounted on donkeys; 
 but as October comes on, it is more solitary, and this afternoon Aunt 
 
80 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 Ida thought it as good a place as any other in which to sit down 
 and indulge the children with a story, as they had not heard one since 
 they were at Schwetzingen, some weeks ago. 
 
 Seated then on a little wild bank at some distance from the path, 
 her little troop gathered around her: she said that this time she was 
 going to tell them another Swedish story as really wonderful and 
 impossible as King Ingewall’s Daughter 
 
 “ Ah, so much the better! ” exclaimed little Amy, whose especial 
 delight was fairy tales. 
 
 Ittrritisjj Srngnn itnrg. 
 
 “Once on a time,” said Aunt Ida—that is the way all proper old 
 stories begin, and the one I am going to tell you is a very old story— 
 Once on a time, a poor peasant’s son went out into the world to seek his 
 fortune. He wandered a whole day, till he was very tired and thirsty, 
 and heartily rejoiced when he at last found himself near a clear spring 
 of running water. As he approached the spring, he saw a lion, a wolf, 
 and an eagle standing by, with the carcase of a slaughtered beast 
 before them; but though they were very hungry, not one of them would 
 begin to eat. The lion spoke to the young traveller as he came up, 
 and said, ‘ It is well that thou hast come, we have been waiting for 
 thee; divide the prey between us, and if thou dost so with discretion, 
 a great reward awaits thee.’ 
 
 The youth reflected for a moment on the different nature of these 
 creatures, and then divided accordingly. To the lion he gave the best 
 and the greatest part of the flesh; to the wolf, the heart, the entrails, 
 the blood, and a portion of the flesh; and on the eagle he bestowed 
 the head and bones. They were all satisfied, and the lion said, “Go 
 now and drink; take also a supply of the water, and whenever thou 
 art in need, put a drop from this sacred spring upon thy tongue, and 
 thou shalt have power to transform thyself into a shape like mine.” 
 The wolf endowed him with a similar power; and the eagle said, “ I 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 81 
 
 enable tliee, upon taking the water into thy mouth, to assume the 
 shape of any bird thou mayest desire/’ Upon hearing this, the pea¬ 
 sant lad thanked his benefactors, knelt down and drank of the 
 delightful water of the spring, and also filled a little flask with it, 
 which he tied round his neck. Then he wished himself an eagle, and 
 immediately he spread wide wings, and flew a long, long way, until 
 he reached a large city. Arrived there, he resumed his own shape, 
 but felt at the same time that he had gained in every respect, not only 
 in outward form but in capacity; such was the virtue of the sacred 
 spring. 
 
 He entered within the gates of the city, and soon remarked to his 
 great surprise that every person he met was in deep mourning, and 
 that they all bowed to him as if he were some great lord. In every 
 house he saw the chambers hung with black; every one seemed sor¬ 
 rowful, and some were even shedding tears. He asked a man who 
 came towards him why the whole town was in such affliction ? 
 “Great cause have we to mourn,” answered the man; “for a foul 
 dragon lies before our city, and every day a young damsel must be led 
 out to him for food, otherwise we die, choked by the vapours of his 
 poisonous breath. To-day the lot has fallen upon our king’s fair 
 daughter; she is very dear to us all, and many would give their life to 
 save hers.” 
 
 At this moment there was heard the noise of a great crowd of 
 people, who came surrounding a carriage drawn by black horses, and 
 covered with black crape. In it sat the king’s daughter, bowing to the 
 weeping multitude which accompanied her. By her side was the king, 
 her father, in deep mourning, and he also bowed very kindly to the 
 stranger as the carriage passed the place where he was standing. 
 When the carriage was outside the gates, the princess descended from 
 it, bade farewell to her father and to the people, who were all pre¬ 
 sently scared away as the loud rushing of the dragon's wings was 
 heard sounding through the air. 
 
 The terror of the princess was unspeakable as she saw the dragon 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 approaching, his crest fiery reel against the sunset. She fainted 
 with fear. But instead of devouring her, he laid himself at her feet, 
 opened wide his flame-coloured wings, took her upon his back, and, 
 rising againin to the air, carried her to his enchanted castle. Here, 
 when she recovered, he bade her fear nothing, assuring her that he 
 would give her everything she could desire in the world, if she would 
 only stay with him, and love him, and he his wife ; and then he left 
 her in a splendid room with a marble floor inlaid with precious stones, 
 and the walls covered with silk and gold. 
 
 That night there sat a nightingale outside the princess's window, 
 and, in the pauses of her lamentations and her prayers, it sang so 
 sweetly that at last she opened the casement to listen to it better. 
 She remembered many of the poor to whom she had been kind, and 
 who might now be praying for her; and thought the bird a mes¬ 
 senger from heaven sent to comfort her in her trouble and distress. 
 But how surprised was she when, on its flying into the room, instead of 
 the nightingale, there stood a young and handsome knight before her. 
 He comforted her, and told her he had come to set her free if she 
 by any means could ascertain from the monster himself what would 
 have power over his life. Then, resuming the shape of a bird, he 
 perched himself in a cage, with his head under his wing as if asleep, 
 and the princess retired to bed. 
 
 About midnight she uttered a loud shriek, on which the dragon 
 came in hastily, and asked what had frightened her. She answered 
 that she considered herself fortunate in his protection, and his promise 
 to give her all she might wish for, and, therefore, was so frightened 
 when she dreamt that some one came and killed him; and she was still 
 sorrowful, she said, “because the dream might yet come true.” The 
 dragon was delighted with these words, as they seemed to imply that 
 he had already gained some portion of the princess’s affection; and, to 
 console her, answered, that it was impossible any mortal man could 
 hurt him, because the only means of shortening his days would be by 
 first conquering an immense giant who lay on a mountain many thou- 
 
aunt ida's tales. 
 
 83 
 
 sand miles off. In the head of that giant sat a dove, and in the head 
 
 o 
 
 of that dove lay a little stone, and with that stone alone could he be 
 killed. “Therefore sleep quietly,” said the dragon in conclusion, 
 “ and fear nothing for me and with these words he went away. 
 
 On the following day an eagle, with a flask of water hound round 
 his neck, flew out of the princess's window far away over villages, 
 towns, and many kingdoms till he came near a great mountain. 
 Then the eagle became a young knight, and walked towards a little 
 hut which he saw lying at the foot of the mountain. In this hut lived 
 a poor widow with her daughter, who told him that a giant dwelt on 
 the top of the mountain, and that all the people of that country had 
 been turned by him into stone except themselves, who had been 
 spared merely for the purpose of bringing him water daily from the 
 fountain. He had had such power over the land because it was 
 heathen. 
 
 Then the knight took out his flask, and bid the girl drop a little on 
 his tongue, but not be terrified when she saw him by this means 
 transformed into a fierce animal. She promised indeed; but the next 
 moment, when she saw a great lion standing by her, she ran away in 
 alarm. But the lion lay still, and waited until her terror had passed 
 away, and she recollected that she had promised to drop more water 
 on his tongue: she did so, and he was changed into a wolf; she did 
 the same the third time, and he became an eagle. 
 
 When the young girl had become accustomed to the sight of these 
 transformations, the knight took her one day up the mountain, and 
 placed her where the giant could not see her. Then he gave the bottle 
 into her hands, received a drop of water on his tongue, and, in the shape 
 of a huge lion, bounded up the rocks towards the giant, who instantly 
 transformed himself into a lion likewise, and a hard struggle began 
 between the two. They fought until they were both exhausted, and 
 neither prevailed. The transformed knight ran to the young girl, 
 received another drop of the holy water on his tongue, and, changed 
 into a wolf, rushed towards the giant, who by this time had become 
 
 g 2 
 
84 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 a wolf also. Again they fought long and fiercely, and neither gave 
 way; but presently the wolves disappeared, and two mighty eagles 
 were seen fighting in the air together, until they both, bleeding and 
 weary, sank upon the ground. Seeing this, the young girl ran up to 
 them, and refreshed one of the eagles with a draught of the wondrous 
 water, which so revived him, that he renewed the strife, and gained 
 the victory over the other, which, faltering and fluttering, fell dead 
 upon the earth. A little dove then flew out of his head, but this the 
 conquering eagle soon pounced upon and destroyed; and in its head 
 the knight, resuming his own shape, found the stone which had power 
 to slay the dragon. 
 
 Now as the young girl was hastening once more to strengthen him 
 with the refreshing w r ater, she happened to spill a drop upon a stone, 
 and it suddenly became a man. When the knight saw this, he per¬ 
 ceived that the enchanted people, through the rare virtue of the 
 water of that holy spring, could be restored from senseless stones to 
 living men again. So he sprinkled all that remained on every rock 
 and pebble, and, casting the last drop into the air, it expanded into mist, 
 and fell like the morning dew, till at last a great kingdom, with towns, 
 villages, castles, and gardens, arose as if from the bosom of the earth. 
 The whole nation thanked the young knight for their deliverance, and 
 embraced the Christian religion, which he taught them, and took him 
 for their king. 
 
 Again a nightingale’s song was heard outside the princess’s window, 
 and it is easy to imagine how glad she was, for she recognised the 
 presence of her champion. She opened the casement and he came in; 
 and, giving her the wonderful stone which had power over the dragon’s 
 life, desired her to awake him as before, and when he should appear 
 to cast it at him. She uttered a loud scream, and the dragon again 
 rushed in, asking what alarmed her. “ I was only dreaming,” said 
 she, “ that you were killed !” 
 
 “ That is impossible !” replied the dragon; “ no one has power over 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 85 
 
 “ Heaven has given me the power!” said the princess, and at the 
 same moment casting the stone full at the forehead of the monster he 
 fell dead with a hideous outcry at her feet. 
 
 The former peasant-boy was now a rich and powerful king, and, 
 splendidly attired in jewels and gold, he rode by the side of the lovely 
 princess to the city where her father and all the people w'ere mourning 
 her as dead. Great was the joy in the palace and the town at their 
 happy and unexpected return; and, after the young king had gone to 
 seek his old mother in the wood, and brought her in a splendid chariot 
 to the pleasure-house in which she was to pass the rest of her days, 
 the marriage of the young pair was celebrated with pomp and great 
 rejoicing. 
 
 “ You have told us everything hut his name, Aunt Ida! ” 
 
 “ His name was that of your little darling brother, Frances, his 
 name was George ; but in Swedish he is called Goran*. Do you not 
 see it is one of the many shapes in which that favourite story of St. 
 George and the Dragon has travelled round the world ? ” 
 
 “ And now,” continued Aunt Ida, “ Nil skickar jag min saga pa en 
 sticlca, till den som bdttre kan dikta /” and she threw a little bit of wood 
 she had been holding in her hand across to Florence, the only one who 
 understood f. 
 
 “ Oh, tell us what this means!” cried the others. 
 
 “ A great secret!” answered Aunt Ida, opening her eyes wide on the 
 little curious company; and, getting up, she walked away. 
 
 * Pronounced as if it began with a Y. 
 
 + In Sweden, as in Germany, it used to be customary to relate or invent Sagas such 
 as these in the evening meetings between the young people of both sexes. Every one 
 who was known to have the least talent in this line was bound to tell a tale when his 
 turn came, which was fixed by a little stick being thrown to him by the person who had 
 last spoken, whence the custom has come down even to our days of finishing every child’s 
 story with these words, “ So now I send my story on a stick to one who can relate better.” 
 
80 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS | OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 “We are going to Handschuhslieim to-day, Amy!” said Florence, on 
 the morning of the 25th of October. “ I heard the carriage ordered, 
 and Babette is making a basket ready, and I saw Auntie take out one 
 of the written stories from her desk.” 
 
 “ Oh, how pleasant that will be!” exclaimed Amy. 
 
 “Come here, Florence,” said Aunt Ida, after the morning lessons 
 were done, “ I want to speak to you in my room.” 
 
 “ What can it be for ? ” said Gertrude; but nobody made any answer, 
 for they all guessed that it was about some pleasure for Gertrude, this 
 being her birthday, which she seemed to have forgotten. 
 
 In about half an hour, Aunt Ida reappeared, saying, “ It is time to 
 go out now, but I can only take Frances and Gertrude with me to-day ; 
 Florence, Amy, and Susanna must go with Babette.” Frances and 
 Gertrude wondered that their sisters did not seem sorry, but, as they 
 were told not to delay, they soon put their bonnets on, and set out with 
 their aunt, so much pleased themselves to be her companions that they 
 did not even think of asking where she was going. They walked through 
 the town, and then turned down to the Neckar, and, after waiting a little 
 while for a boat which they saw coming, got in, and were floated on 
 towards the village of Neunheim. The sunbeams were shining like 
 diamonds on the water, the hills above their heads were looking bright 
 and cheerful, and it was all so soft and pleasant that Gertrude could 
 not help saying how much she wished her sisters were there too. But 
 Aunt Ida did not seem to hear, for she presently bade her notice the 
 rich colours of the brown and yellow leaves upon the trees, now ren¬ 
 dered still richer by the warm light of the autumnal sun. Soon after 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 87 
 
 this they reached the landing-place, and resumed their walk, when 
 Aunt Ida pointed out an old ruinous house, in which it is said Luther 
 passed one night as he was proceeding to the celebrated Diet of Worms 
 to appear before the Emperor, Charles V., and the assembled States of 
 Germany, in behalf of the Reformation. 
 
 Half an hour’s easy walk brought them to Handscliuhsheim, and 
 Aunt Ida led the way into a large garden planted with fruit trees. 
 Here, to their infinite surprise, the three sisters, whom they had left 
 at home, ran up to Gertrude, each with a bouquet or wreath of flowers 
 in her hand, kissing her over and over again, and crying out, “ Many 
 happy returns of the day ! many happy returns of the day!” Florence 
 then placed the wreath she carried upon Gertrude’s head, and Amy and 
 Susanna, each taking a hand, led her into an arbour, where was a table 
 covered with a white cloth, and decorated with green garlands all round, 
 and a bunch of flowers at every corner, and on it a birthday cake, orna¬ 
 mented with flowers and fruit, and the words, “ Vivat Gertrude,” in the 
 centre, all made in sugar, and many little presents besides, which they 
 had all prepared on purpose. Gertrude was so enchanted with this 
 unexpected surprise, and the presents, and the number of beautiful 
 flowers, dahlias, china-asters, geraniums, and roses, that she did not know 
 what to do first, or what to look at most. She kissed her aunt and 
 sisters, and then ran up and kissed Babette, too, who had been standing 
 a little apart, with her hands folded, and a very happy smile on her 
 good-natured face. She also wished the “ liebes Fraulein”* much joy, 
 and then said that dinner was ready in a large low room that looked 
 upon the garden. 
 
 Thither, then, they all repaired, and after dinner x\unt Ida took them 
 to the village church, and showed them several monuments of ancient 
 warriors in their coats of mail, and ladies with their long robes and 
 stiff frills ; among these, is the figure, in stone, of the last descendant 
 of the house of Handscliuhsheim, with a lion at his feet. “ He was 
 
 * 
 
 Dear young lady. 
 
88 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 murdered on the market-place of Heidelberg by the lord of Hirsch- 
 horn,” said Aunt Ida, “ and died the last of his bouse, in the last 
 hour of the last day of the last month of the last year of the century 
 before the last. Who can tell me the date ?” 
 
 “ Twelve o’clock at night of the 31st December, 1699 !” cried two 
 or three little voices at once. 
 
 “ So it was, and since then there has been no lord of Handschuhsheim. 
 See, here is his coat of arms,—a silver glove (handshuh), in a blue 
 field.” 
 
 Then they went on to visit the ruins of the Castle of Helmstadt. 
 It is more than 400 years old, and seems to have been a large square 
 building, but not one tower now remains standing. Aunt Ida pointed out 
 a space like a doorway in the lower part of the wall, and told them that 
 when this was broken open by the late proprietor some years before, to 
 his horror he had discovered the skeleton of a knight in full armour, 
 who had been evidently walled up, and left there to die of hunger ; but 
 whether it was an act of revenge, or done as a punishment for some 
 great crime, remains unknown. “ The armour,” she said, “ is now pre¬ 
 served in one of the museums of Munich.” 
 
 “ But come, now, my little girls,” continued she, “ we will return to 
 the arbour; and when we have had coffee, and Gertrude has divided 
 her cake, we will see if we cannot find a gayer story with which to 
 conclude the day.” 
 
 “ Thank you, thank you,” dear Aunt Ida,” said Gertrude ; “ a story 
 will crown all. What a delightful birthday, I shall never forget it!” 
 
 So they sat in the cool, green, shady arbour, and enjoyed the cake ; 
 and Aunt Ida, in honour of Gertrude, read to them the story of 
 
 33ritnj nttir 3J1 nriit. 
 
 Not long ago, there lived a little boy and girl, called Henry and 
 Maria, in a large old house in the country. There was a fine large 
 farmyard behind the house, with a capital poultry-yard, and a dove-cot 
 
aunt Ida’s tales. 
 
 89 
 
 close by it. Maria had some very pretty chickens, which she used to 
 feed every morning, when she first got up, out of a nice little basket 
 which the gardener had made for her; for I must tell you, that Henry 
 and Maria were both so kind, and well-bred, and so civil to all the 
 servants, that the servants were always happy to oblige them. They 
 never ran about in the flower-beds, trampling them under foot (as I 
 have known some children do), nor did they ever touch a bit of fruit 
 without first asking the old gardener’s leave, and, therefore, he was 
 very fond of them both, and gave them a nice plot of ground to them¬ 
 selves to make a little garden, and some seeds, and slips from his best 
 flowers to plant in it, when they had their mamma’s leave to play. 
 
 In the long winter nights, when the gardener had little else to do, 
 he made a nice wheelbarrow for Henry, and a light spade, with a hoe 
 and rake for Maria; and this little boy and girl were the happiest 
 children in the world when they had said all their lessons well, and 
 had obtained their mamma’s leave to dig and plant in their garden. 
 They fenced it all round with twigs from the wood, and built a green 
 seat in it, and it was the prettiest little spot you ever saw. There 
 were snowdrops, and crocuses, and violets in it in the spring ; and 
 roses, carnations, pinks, and jonquils in the summer, with mignionette, 
 and sweet-briar, which perfumed the air all around. This charming 
 little garden lay in a snug warm corner of the grounds, well sheltered 
 behind by a thick grove of trees, which kept off the cold north and 
 easterly winds; in front it opened to some beautiful meadows, and had 
 all the sweet beams of the afternoon sun shining upon it. 
 
 The country they lived in was extremely beautiful, full of noble 
 mountains that seemed almost to touch the clouds. Between these 
 mountains there were pretty little wooden dells, covered with oak, ash, 
 and birch-trees and hazel-bushes which in autumn were loaded with 
 large clusters of the finest nuts. 
 
 The greatest treat that Henry and Maria could have from their 
 mamma, was her permission to go out nutting; and sometimes, when 
 they had behaved perfectly well for a whole week, she would give them 
 
90 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 leave, on a Saturday afternoon, to go to the nut-wood. Then they 
 tripped away with joyful hearts to change their things. Maria put on 
 a straw cottage bonnet, a stuff frock, which w'ould not easily catch on 
 the bushes, and thick shoes ; and her brother equipped himself in a 
 little jacket, without skirts, and coarse trowsers. The old gardener’s 
 son was usually sent with them to take care of them. Ronald w r as his 
 name; he was a tall, stout, clever boy, a good deal older than Henry, 
 and knew perfectly well all the paths through the mountains, and all 
 the sunny spots where the ripest nuts grew, and the largest black¬ 
 berries were to be found. 
 
 If you could have seen these sweet, good-tempered children coming 
 home from the wood, with their little baskets full of nuts on their arms, 
 and their nut-hooks in their hands, you would never forget them; 
 their cheeks fresh and rosy with exercise, and their bright eyes spark¬ 
 ling with joy, particularly when they could prevail upon every one in 
 the house to take some of the fruit they had gathered. 
 
 I have known some silly children who would have been afraid of 
 going into a wood, and would have screamed terribly if they had seen 
 a frog hopping in their path, or a wasp or dragon-fly near them; but 
 these children had more sense. Henry was a fine, open-hearted, brave 
 boy, and as courageous as his sister was mild and gentle. 
 
 One fine day, in the month of September, when Henry and Maria, 
 with Ronald, were returning from one of these expeditions to the nut¬ 
 wood, as they were crossing the high road, they heard a feeble bleating 
 under the hedge. They ran to the spot, to see what it came from, and 
 there was a poor little lamb lying on its side, with one of its hind legs 
 broken. They saw, by the marks on the road, that a great flock of 
 sheep and cattle had passed by, and Ronald told them that the lamb 
 must have been left by the cattle drovers, who very often, with a hasty 
 stroke, lame a poor animal, and then, when it cannot keep up with the 
 rest, cruelly leave it by the road-side to die. 
 
 Henry asked Ronald to take it up in his arms, and carry it home. 
 When they got in, they showed their mamma the lamb, and said 
 
aunt Ida’s tales. 
 
 91 
 
 sorrowfully that, if the drover returned, they supposed they must give 
 it him hack again, as they had no right to keep it. Their mamma, 
 however, bade them not be unhappy, for that, if the drover should 
 return, she would pay him the full price for the lamb, and that she had 
 no doubt but he would he satisfied. 
 
 She then hound up the poor lamb’s leg very tenderly, and gave it 
 some bread and milk, which it ate eagerly, for it seemed to be 
 very hungry. Maria took the greatest care of it, and in a short time 
 she had the pleasure to see it going about, and nipping the grass for 
 itself. It used to follow them about wherever they w r ent, and would 
 eat out of their hands. It was washed frequently, and looked as white 
 as snow, and they were the more fond of it, because it was a poor 
 little creature whose life they themselves had saved. 
 
 One fine summer day in June, their mamma had given them a holi¬ 
 day, as it was Maria’s birthday. They went first into their garden to 
 play, and when they were tired there, they went down into the mea¬ 
 dows, and were sitting among the hay, with the lamb feeding near 
 them, while Maria was making a garland of harebells, cornbottles, and 
 buttercups to hang about its neck. All at once, the lamb gave a cry of 
 distress, and ran to the children, as if for protection from something it 
 was afraid of. They looked all around, but could see nothing to 
 alarm it; at last, Maria looked up, and there she saw 7 a large eagle, 
 with outstretched wings, hovering in the air over their heads, and 
 seeming just ready to pounce upon the lamb. 
 
 Maria was frightened, but Henry (who, I told you before, was a 
 brave boy) bid her not to be afraid, but run into the garden, and tell 
 the gardener to come directly with his gun, whole he would stand over 
 the lamb, and keep back the eagle with his stick. Luckily, at that 
 moment they saw the gardener running towards them as fast as he 
 could, with his gun in his hand. 
 
 He had first became aw 7 are of what was going on by the noise the 
 poultry were making in the yard at the sight of their common enemy, 
 
92 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 whom they well knew. In an instant, the whole poultry-yard was in 
 an uproar; they cackled, and screamed, and flew about in all direc¬ 
 tions ; the hens and ducks ran tumbling over one another, the pigeons 
 on the dove-cot, who had been twisting their green necks in the sun, 
 disappeared, and in two minutes there was not a bird to be seen. 
 Henry and Maria caught up the lamb, and ran in among the birch 
 trees, while the gardener hid himself behind a bush, and waited till 
 the eagle came flying slowly near, when, lifting his gun with a steady 
 aim, he, with one shot, brought him to the ground. 
 
 Henry and Maria then came from their hiding-place, and saw the 
 noble bird, the king of birds, as he is called, lying on his back, 
 beating the ground with his wings, and even attempting to bite them, 
 though he was dying. 
 
 The eagle had his eyrie (or nest) in the mountains somewhere near, 
 and had been seen before, carrying off a favourite rabbit of Henry’s, so 
 that they were not very sorry for his fate. The gardener carried him 
 home, and, to please the children, he stuffed him, and put glass eyes 
 in his head, and placed him on a piece of rock, with a little leveret in 
 his talons. It was so well done, and looked so natural, that their 
 mamma had it put in a glass case, to keep it from dust, and it w T as 
 placed in the hall, that it might be seen and admired by every person 
 who came to the house. 
 
 Thus you see how many rewards this little boy and girl gained by 
 their kind and polite behaviour to others. The old gardener would 
 never have given them a garden, and tools, and nice flowers, nor 
 stuffed the eagle for them, if they had been rude, ill-natured, trouble¬ 
 some, and conceited children. 
 
 “ Oh, thank you, Aunt Ida! I like that story so much, because it is 
 such a cheerful one all through,” said Gertrude. 
 
 “ And I like it, because Maria was so like Gertrude,” said Florence. 
 
 “I thought that story would please you,” replied Aunt Ida. “But 
 now, see, it is already evening, and we must go home before it becomes 
 
93 
 
 AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 chilly. If we have another fine day this week, we will visit the ruins 
 which you see on the top of that hill, and that, I suspect, will he our 
 last expedition for a very long time.” 
 
 This time the party did not separate; and when the remains of the 
 birthday cake and all the other things had been safely packed up and 
 stowed away in the large carriage, and Babette mounted on the coach¬ 
 box, Aunt Ida and the five little girls got in and drove home, talking 
 all the way of the delightful day they had spent, and of all they had 
 seen and heard. 
 
94 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 “ It seems to me that Saturday is always fine, Auntie,’' said Amy, as, 
 according to the promise Aunt Ida had made on Gertrude’s birthday, 
 the little people were walking across the bridge on their way to 
 the Heiligen Berg (or holy mountain). 
 
 “ And do you know, Aunt Ida,” added Florence, “ that Babette says 
 Providence gives Saturday to the poor people to wash their clothes?” 
 
 Aunt Ida smiled; “ It is pleasant, Florence dear, to think that no 
 good thing comes by chance, and that people thank Providence for all; 
 and I shall never again see the clothes hanging out to dry near some 
 little cottage, without recollecting that the poor mother, perhaps, has 
 thanked Heaven in her heart, when she saw the sunshine which helped 
 her to make her children neat and clean for Sunday.” 
 
 The hill, up which they had to go, rises very steep, but the 
 ascent has been made practicable and even easy, by a zigzag path 
 through the vineyards, called the “ Schlangenweg,” where flights 
 of steps lead up the steepest places, and as it is the shortest way by 
 which to ascend the Heiligen Berg, Aunt Ida chose it for the children. 
 Their light feet soon carried them up the steps to a path running 
 along the side of the hill, called the “ Philosopher’s Walk,” and, after 
 stopping a moment to regain breath, and enjoy the view of the town 
 which lay stretched below, the little party followed a road which led up 
 the mountain through a wood the whole way. 
 
 Frances and Gertrude were delighted to see the trees which they had 
 admired so much when they were in the boat a few days before, nearer 
 at hand. They found that the birches, which are the earliest to come 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 95 
 
 into leaf, were already some almost bare, others quite faded and 
 shabby; the beeches had turned brown; the hornbeam quite yellow; 
 the mountain-ash shone with its bright scarlet berries ; the oaks, which 
 come out latest, were still, here and there, quite green, but the foliage 
 of others w r as withered and rust-coloured ; and in this condition it 
 would remain until displaced by the young leaves in the spring. 
 When they had surmounted the first part of the ascent, the children 
 expected to find themselves close upon the ruins which they had seen 
 from below, but they found they had to go a good way further yet 
 along a high flat piece of ground, which joined two mountains, and it 
 w T as not until they had ascended the next summit that they reached the 
 remains of what was once a convent. But one corner of a wall alone 
 is still standing, and it is to be feared this will not stand very long, for 
 a similar fragment fell some few years ago, and lies upon the ground 
 a heap of stones. 
 
 From this place they enjoyed a delightful and far-stretching prospect, 
 which rewarded all the trouble of the ascent. Now on an equal ele¬ 
 vation with the hills which had looked so lofty from below T , and nothing 
 overhead but the bright sunny sky, far, far beneath them, to the right 
 they could trace the Neckar winding towards Mannheim, and on the 
 left distinguish the Cathedral of Spires. The autumn mists concealed 
 the Vosges Hills, and the sun’s rays striking on the mighty Rhine as it 
 flowed through the plain, made it look as if it were pouring out of 
 heaven. 
 
 When their surprise and curiosity had in some degree abated, they 
 seated themselves on the broken stones of the old ruin. Each took out 
 her roll of white bread, and two rosy-cheeked apples, and, while they 
 were eating them, and resting, Aunt Ida said, “ When we are going 
 down the Rhine to England next year, my dear children, you will have 
 so much to look at, that there will be no leisure there for hearing 
 stories; and almost all those old castles on that river have legends 
 belonging to them. To-day, therefore, I shall tell you the legend of 
 Duke Rupert of Bingen. Who can tell me where Bingen lies?” 
 
96 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 “Where the river Nalie falls into the Rhine,” said Florence, 
 who was always ready to answer a geographical question. 
 
 “ Right, Florence, and it is one of the most beautiful spots on 
 that beautiful river. My story commences as far back as the time of 
 Charlemagne.” 
 
 Ink t Ivitptrt nf 
 
 “ About a thousand years ago, when there were yet heathens in 
 this country, the Duke of Bingen had married his only daughter, 
 Bertha, to a renowned heathen warrior, in the hopes that, by her beauty, 
 gentleness, and piety, she might be the means of converting him 
 to the faith of Christ. But this proved but a vain expectation ; for 
 though Roland was a brave prince, and had appeared to love Bertha at 
 first, he soon grew weary of her, and, being of a rough and haughty 
 temper, detested the very mention of a religion which would put a 
 check to his will in any way. His pleasures, when not engaged in war, 
 were hunting all day, and drinking and rioting all night. You may 
 fancy how very unhappy poor Bertha was to find all her efforts fruitless. 
 Her husband soon sent her away to a castle he possessed on the banks 
 of the Nahe, that he might be left in peace, as he said; but, as he per¬ 
 mitted her to take their son, the little Rupert, with her, because he was 
 only three months old, Bertha soon found herself much happier than 
 she had ever been with her cruel and imperious lord. 
 
 Thus four years passed away, in which she saw Roland but seldom ; 
 her whole time was devoted to her boy, who from the very first showed 
 a gentle and loving disposition like his mother, the joy of whose heart 
 he was. In the few visits which Roland paid to his wife, he never 
 tried to gain the affection or confidence of his son; it seemed rather 
 his pleasure to speak roughly to him, and frighten him, than to behave 
 like a kind father ; therefore the boy was terrified at his approach, and 
 instead of flying to meet him, as is so natural to a child even after a 
 short separation from a parent, he would cling to his mother’s skirts and 
 seek to hide his face in her clothes. 
 
07 
 
 AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 Thus, then, in utter solitude the little Rupert and his mother lived, 
 and were all in all to each other ; so you may imagine poor Bertha’s con¬ 
 sternation, when, after an absence of some months, her husband one 
 day unexpectedly arrived, and declared he had come to cany off the boy, 
 for she was ruining him, and bringing him up just like a girl. This 
 seemed the greatest misfortune she had yet known. She threw her¬ 
 self at her husband’s feet, and besought him not to separate her from 
 her child. The only concession which, after the most earnest entreaty, 
 she could gain was, that the boy should remain with her until he was 
 six years old : “Then he shall live with me,” said the heathen chief, 
 “ and I will make a man of him.” 
 
 But it w r as not the will of Heaven that Bertha should be robbed of 
 her child, or that the little Rupert should be brought up a heathen ; 
 for soon after this Roland went forth once more to battle, and, fighting 
 with his usual valour, pressed in among the enemy so far that he w 7 as 
 separated from his own people—overpowered by superior numbers—■ 
 the only way in which he could have been overcome—and cut down. 
 After the battle his body was found covered with wounds, and was buried 
 with all the pomp that beseemed the funeral of so great a warrior as he 
 had been. 
 
 Though Roland had been such a hard-hearted and unkind husband, 
 Bertha shed many a tear at the news of this event; and, according to 
 her own creed, had prayers offered up for his soul. Her father, the 
 old duke, on the contrary, greatly rejoiced at the death of his unworthy 
 son-in-law, which would once more enable him to enjoy his daughter’s 
 company, of which he had been so long deprived. She willingly left 
 the solitary Castle of Laubenheim, on the Nalie, wdiere she had suffered 
 so much, and, with her dear Rupert, came to Bingen, where she was 
 received in the ducal palace, the home of her childhood. .There she 
 led a life almost as retired as before, dedicating her time exclusively 
 to the care of the poor, and the education of her son. 
 
 One of the most striking features in the character of this child, as it 
 developed itself day by day, was his desire to do good to poor children. 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 He would collect a number of poor boys of his own age, and, leading 
 them to Bertha, say : “ Mother ! mother! here are your children I am 
 bringing you!” Bejoiced to see in him such a gracious spirit, she 
 would embrace him, saying : “Yes, my Bupert! thou art right; they 
 are thy brothers ! ” and then would do for them all that he desired. 
 
 So he grew up ; and though he was taught the use of arms, as an in¬ 
 dispensable accomplishment for his high rank, yet it was evident such 
 exercises gave him no pleasure, and he considered this part of his edu¬ 
 cation as very secondary to those duties he had long before imposed upon 
 himself. It is easy to imagine the influence these mild virtues of the 
 young prince produced on a people accustomed to the cruel and servile 
 treatment which his father had inflicted on all over whom he held rule. 
 The poor whom he succoured blessed him, and he was considered 
 among them almost as an angel sent to alleviate their miseries; but 
 the knights and young nobles of the land were of another opinion. 
 Many deplored, others openly blamed his pursuits, which they con¬ 
 sidered unbefitting his age and rank, and he became an object of ridicule 
 to his equals, when they found that he turned a deaf ear to their en¬ 
 treaties to join in their sports. Seeing that they could not make him 
 become their companion, either in the field, or in the pleasures of the 
 table, they laughed at him for preferring, as they said, the company of 
 beggar boys, to that of the first nobles of the land, and prophesied he 
 would one day certainly rule with a distaff instead of a sceptre. But 
 neither taunts nor persuasions could tempt Bupert to abandon the 
 course of love, peace, and beneficence which he had chosen. As he 
 did not labour for the applause of men, it could not grieve him that he 
 not only did not obtain it, but incurred their blame and contemj^t in¬ 
 stead. His name ascended to heaven in the prayers of the poor; those 
 who had perhaps no friend but himself, looked happier as he ap¬ 
 proached ; his heart swelled with gratitude to his heavenly Father for 
 permitting him to be a humble means of spreading joy instead of sor¬ 
 row on the earth, and this was enough for him. 
 
 One beautiful spring day, as the first rays of the sun were gilding 
 
99 
 
 AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 the tops of the forest which overhang the Rhine, near his native city, 
 Rupert was wandering along the shady bank, where the last notes of 
 the nightingale sounded from among the dark bushes, and mingled 
 with the rolling noise of the waters. Pious sentiments joined in his 
 soul to the pleasure afforded by the sight of a scene so peaceful and so 
 fair. To enjoy it fully, he seated himself on a mossy stone, and a 
 gentle slumber stole over him, and, as he slept, he dreamt that he saw 
 a reverend-looking old man, dressed in a long white robe edged with 
 purple, standing not far from him on the banks of the Rhine. Around 
 him a number of happy-looking boys were playing with one another, 
 and in their mirth they would run into the river, dive for a moment, 
 and then reappear. The old man held a silken cloth in his hand, with 
 which he wiped the body of each child as it came out of the water, and 
 when he had done this, they looked far more beautiful than before; 
 Rupert gazed meanwhile with surprise and delight, and suddenly he 
 saw a large and lovely island arise out of the stream. Emerald fields, 
 j adorned with countless flowers, dark shady groves and trees of every 
 kind, some gleaming with red or white blossoms, others hung with 
 the most delicious fruits, crystal fountains which sprung high in the 
 air, or fell in murmurs over the rocks, all combined to form a scene of 
 enchantment such as he had never witnessed. Variegated birds, 
 yellow, red, and green, flitted among the branches; others sent their 
 sweetest notes from the very heart of the bushes which surrounded 
 the island like a garland, and the air was perfumed with the scent of 
 a thousand flowers. But what formed the chief beauty of this ravish¬ 
 ing landscape was the rose-coloured light which clothed it all, and 
 made it different from anything that Rupert had ever seen—it was to 
 him like Paradise. 
 
 In his dream he now saw the old man collect the boys into a beauti¬ 
 ful boat; and, as they were leaving the shore, an irresistible impulse 
 drew Rupert towards them, he entered, and sailed with them across 
 the river to that bright island. The old man then hung a snow-white 
 robe on the shoulders of each boy, and let them hasten away to the 
 
 h 2 
 
100 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 meadows, to rejoice themselves among the flowers. Rupert turned to¬ 
 wards him, and prayed him to let him also remain for ever with the 
 children on that island ; hut the old man, looking at him kindly, said, 
 in a soft and solemn voice, “ A better place is prepared for thee, my 
 son,” and, almost before he had ceased speaking, a wonderful rainbow 
 shone over the island, making an arch from heaven to earth. In the 
 brightness of its hues all other beauty and light were lost, and on its 
 glorious path Rupert beheld innumerable angels hovering with golden 
 wings, who beckoned him to come. All thought of the children and 
 of the lovely island vanished from his mind at the sight; he stretched 
 out his arms towards them—and so awoke. He found himself lying 
 on the rock by the swift-flowing Rhine, and beside him there knelt a 
 poor boy whom he had clothed some days before, returning him thanks 
 with grateful tears. 
 
 He returned to his mother, and, full of joy at the vision he had seen, 
 related it all to her. She treasured it in her heart, and loved her 
 pious child the more. From this day, however, Rupert’s whole mind 
 was bent upon going to Rome, to visit the graves of the holy Apostles, 
 and consecrate his whole life to religioii; but, when one evening he told 
 his mother this desire, she wept so bitterly, imploring him not to leave 
 her, and at his tender years expose himself to the dangers of so long 
 a journey, that he gave w’ay to her tears, and promised to speak of it no 
 more. 
 
 Thus some years passed on, and the only change in Rupert was 
 that every day he became more zealous in the performance of those 
 works and labours of love which had been the pleasure of his whole 
 life. But he was now grown up, and with his powers of body, the 
 long-repressed desire of a pilgrimage to Rome had gathered strength; 
 so that when he once more urgently requested his mother’s leave to de¬ 
 part, she could no longer refuse, but, weeping, gave her consent. Rupert 
 then laid aside his princely mantle and his gold-hilted sword; clad 
 himself in a simple pilgrim’s gown, and, instead of knightly arms, 
 carried only a long staff in his hand. Thus he wandered over the 
 
101 
 
 AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 mighty Alps on foot, and through the bright fields of Italy, to Rome. 
 Here he visited the tombs of the Apostles, and the sacred shrines of 
 what was to him the Holy City, before which he offered up his solemn 
 vows to heaven to consecrate himself to a religious life, give up his 
 birthright, and divide his goods among the poor. This done, he 
 wandered back as he had come, the same long way on foot, and his 
 mother had once more the joy of clasping him in her arms. 
 
 Rupert faithfully kept the promise he had made. He foreswore all 
 earthly pomp, consecrated himself to the service of the church, built 
 new houses and hospitals for the poor and sick, in the care of which he 
 himself took part. Thus he lived some little time longer, but the 
 fatigues of so long a journey, the daily privations and want of rest to 
 which he subjected himself, undermined his health and strength, and, 
 ere twenty years had passed over his head, death took him away from 
 a world, whose best things he had never loved, to that better one for 
 which he had from childhood longed. He was buried in the church at 
 Bingen, and his mother did not long survive him. He was reckoned 
 among the saints; and the simple robe in which he had wandered was, 
 not long since, to be seen in the convent of Eubingen, folded in a regal 
 mantle of purple. 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
102 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 As Aunt Ida had prophesied, the walk to the ruin on the Heiligen Berg 
 proved the last expedition the children were able to make with her 
 that year. The weather, which had been fine until unusually late in 
 the season, broke up at last; heavy rains fell for more than a week 
 together, accompanied by stormy winds, so that, when the children 
 next caught a sight of the hills around them, they were colourless and 
 bare. But they were happy in the remembrance of the long summer 
 they had so fully enjoyed; and now that the days were short, they 
 thought the candle-light hours, from four o’clock to bed-time, almost as 
 pleasant as the long walks which used, at the very same hour, to give 
 them so much delight. Each little girl was busy now in making ready 
 presents for her sisters against Christmas; and, as there were so many 
 of them, each in turn had long consultations with their aunt as to 
 what it would be best to do. Slippers, purses, collars, mats, com¬ 
 forters, mittens, &c., occupied the greater part of their time when their 
 lessons were finished, and they had taken such exercise as they could 
 out of doors or in, according to the weather; and Aunt Ida generally 
 read to them for a couple of hours every evening, while they were 
 working, out of some instructive book. 
 
 One evening in the week before Christmas, when Frances, Florence, 
 Gertrude, and Amy had nearly finished their intended presents, and 
 found they had a little time to rest, just as the usual hour for lighting 
 the lamp arrived, they suddenly with one voice, according to some little 
 preconcerted plot of their own, cried—“ Oh, Aunt Ida! tell us a story 
 to-night sitting in the dark.” 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 103 
 
 “ We have been so busy working, our fingers are quite tired!” said 
 Frances. 
 
 “ You know you finished the volume about elephants last night, and 
 said you would not begin another until after Christmas,” said Florence. 
 
 “ Oh, do Auntie!” said Amy. “ May I shut the shutters and let 
 down the curtains?” 
 
 Leave being given, the little company found themselves quite in the 
 dark, except a bright glow which came through a small opening, three 
 inches wide, in the middle of the door of the stove. 
 
 “ Oh!” said Gertrude, “ if we had only a nice English fire burning 
 in the grate, how pleasant that would be!” 
 
 “ Since we cannot have that,” said Aunt Ida, “we can, at least, open 
 the whole door to see the flame, and fancy we are in England as much 
 as possible.” 
 
 This was a great improvement. It was a bitterly cold night without, 
 and a loud whistling wind was beating the frozen snow against the 
 windows; but the warm carpet and the bright fire-light within, and 
 the circle of good and happy children sitting on their low stools eagerly 
 waiting for what Aunt Ida was going to tell them, looked very com¬ 
 fortable. 
 
 “ I am going to carry you off in imagination to Orkney to-night,’ 
 she said, “ and tell you a story called 
 
 €\)i ,#i slur mm 
 
 Some time ago there lived in Walls, one of the most southern of 
 the Orkney Islands, a little boy and girl, called Walter and Jane. 
 Their father was a poor fisherman, who lived in a small hut upon the 
 sea-shore. It was a very wild country all round about them; no trees 
 were to be seen anywhere, and not many bushes, except a few wild-rose 
 and gooseberry bushes which grew in their little garden. The garden 
 was only a bit of ground just big enough to supply them with some 
 cabbages and potatoes; and a few daisies and violets were all the 
 
1 04 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 flowers which adorned it. These were planted by Jane; and Walter 
 had built a seat of green turf at the cottage door, upon which his mother 
 used to sit in fine weather and make nets in the sun. While she was 
 making or mending the nets that were used in fishing, Jane and Walter 
 employed themselves in going down at low water to gather limpets, 
 muscles, and crabs amongst the rocks which were left nearly dry when 
 the tide was out. 
 
 At other times, Jane used to pick up the feathers of the eider- 
 duck (which are very valuable) and other birds along the shore; while 
 Walter, who was a bold hardy boy, would fearlessly climb the cliff's 
 and bring away their eggs. The high cliffs here were full of the nests 
 of all kinds of sea-fowl. 
 
 The fisherman and his wife were very good people, and, though 
 they were very poor, they were very honest. They brought up their 
 children with piety and great care, and taught them to avoid idleness, 
 falsehood; and all sorts of bad and cunning tricks. They had nothing 
 to live upon but what they gained by fishing, and selling their fish; 
 they always worked very hard, and often fared very badly, particularly 
 in the winter season, yet they were contented and happy; and when 
 they went to the parish church on Sunday, though their clothes were 
 very coarse, they were always clean and decent. 
 
 One fine summer morning the fisherman, with two other men, went 
 out in their boat to fish. The weather was so calm that they ventured 
 a long way out to sea, much farther than usual, and were at length 
 entirely out of sight of land. 
 
 Jane and her brother went down as usual to search for crabs, which 
 they were very expert in catching before they could bury themselves 
 in the sand, or sidle away and hide themselves under the masses of 
 sea-weed which hung from the rocks. 
 
 About four o’clock in the afternoon as their mother was at home, 
 busy baking oat-cake for her husband’s supper when he should return 
 weary at night, Jane came running in quite out of breath, crying, 
 “ Oh, mother! mother! come out and look at the sky ! it is growing 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 105 
 
 all over as black as night!” and before she had done speaking, Walter 
 came in saying, “ Dear mother, I am afraid there is a terrible tempest 
 coming on! The sea is rolling in great waves without any wind, and 
 the birds are flying round and round screaming and making such 
 a noise, and they are all coming in from the sea to land.” 
 
 Their mother knew but too well that these were the certain signs of 
 a storm, which in a few minutes afterwards began with uncommon 
 violence. The wind rose to a hurricane, a thick mist covered the sea, 
 and loud peals of thunder following instantly upon the blue streams 
 of forked lightning, made it still more dreadful. The coast all round 
 was very bold and dangerous, from the high headlands and the number 
 of sunken rocks that lay out in the shallow water. 
 
 They all three hurried down to the shore, and stood as long as they 
 were able, straining their eyes toward the angry sea, and trembling 
 with fear and anxiety; but no boat appeared ; and when the evening 
 began to close in, and still there was no sign of their father’s return, 
 they grew quite miserable. Their mother lighted a great pile of peats 
 on the earth just opposite the cottage window, and kept it burning all 
 night to serve as a guide to the landing-place; then Jane and Walter 
 went down upon their knees beside her, and prayed earnestly to God 
 that he would hear them, and preserve their dear father. 
 
 Between the peals of thunder they could hear the sound of guns 
 fired from the sea. They knew that must be a signal from a large 
 ship in distress. It was very sad for those who heard them, and 
 could give no relief; yet the surf was so heavy, beating against the 
 rocks, that no boat could venture to give assistance. 
 
 Jane and Walter sat up with their mother all that long night; and, 
 as soon as the day dawned, they all hurried down to the beach again, 
 and sat down upon the rocks with their eyes fixed upon the ocean, still 
 trembling and lashing the shore. As the tide fell they could see near 
 them the masts of a vessel above the water, which had been wrecked 
 there many years before. It was quite black from being so long under 
 
10G 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 water, and looked very melancholy. Their mother recollected the 
 wreck on just such a night as the last, when all on board had perished. 
 
 As the morning advanced and grew lighter, they thought they saw 
 something dark like a boat at a distance coming towards them. It was 
 a boat, but, alas! with the keel upwards. It was borne onwards by 
 the waves, and presently dashed against a rock, and broken into a hun¬ 
 dred pieces. 
 
 They all ran to the spot where some of the fragments came ashore 
 to see if they could discover its name, for their fathers boat was called 
 after the children, and had “Walter and Jane” painted upon the 
 stern; but the stern-planks were washed back again by the receding 
 waves, so that they could not tell whether it were their father’s boat 
 or not. The poor children hung crying about their mother, and some 
 of their kind neighbours came down to comfort them, and try to bring 
 them home. While they were yet speaking, a hat was washed ashore; 
 it had their father’s name marked in the lining. The poor mother on 
 seeing this fell insensible to the ground; her neighbours carried her 
 home, and for many hours she lay in that state, and continued so ill 
 that they thought she must die. 
 
 Two days afterwards, as she was beginning to recover a little, and 
 Walter was trying to make her eat something, and Jane with her little 
 kind hands was rubbing her temples with vinegar, they heard the hur¬ 
 rying of footsteps through the garden; presently the door flew open, and 
 in came their father! His poor wife gave a faint scream of joy, and the 
 children ran and clung around his neck. They kissed him a thousand 
 times over; and when they felt quite sure that they saw him once 
 more alive and safe, they began to inquire how he had escaped from 
 such a tempest. 
 
 He told them that he had hardly ever expected to see them again ; 
 that he had never before been out in such a storm ; that the sea ran 
 mountains high, and that for many hours he and his companions 
 expected every wave to swallow them up. They were sinking with 
 
107 
 
 AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 fatigue and cold, and the night beginning to close, when they heard 
 a gun fired, and saw a large ship at a little distance. They tied a 
 white handkerchief to an oar, and held it up as a signal; the people 
 on hoard the ship fortunately observed it, and sent out a boat to help 
 them. Just as they quitted their own boat, an immense wave came 
 rolling towards it, and turned it keel uppermost. With much diffi¬ 
 culty they all got safely on board the large ship, and found that her 
 crew were in great distress from being strangers to the Pentland 
 Firth, and having no pilot. These poor fishermen, therefore, were 
 exactly what they wanted. They knew every part of the coast per¬ 
 fectly well, and guided the ship so carefully, that they were the means 
 of preserving her from shipwreck. As soon as the sea became calmer, 
 the captain ordered out his own boat to take them ashore; and to each 
 of them he gave several pieces of gold as a reward for their skill in 
 preserving the ship and her rich cargo from being dashed to pieces on 
 the rocks. 
 
 “ Thus you see, my dearest children, that Heaven watches over and 
 protects good people. The fisherman bought a new boat with the 
 money he had received from the captain, and sent Jane and Walter to 
 school to learn to read and write, which he had never been able to 
 afford before; and they both lived to grow up good and industrious, 
 and to take care of their father and mother in their old age, and so 
 inherit the blessing promised to such children.” 
 
108 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS J OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 “ The snow falls everywhere in the same manner,” said the children 
 to each other, as they were looking out of the window one doleful 
 afternoon in January. 
 
 There was not a hreath of wind, and the flakes came sailing down 
 as if they were fast asleep. Susanna could hardly believe that what 
 looked like little black spots in the air, could really be the same white 
 down that was covering the house-tops with a table-cloth, as she 
 expressed it. That little girl had come lately from India, and was 
 now seeing snow for the first time. She wanted to catch it, and 
 Aunt Ida opened the window for her to put out her little hand; she 
 caught a large flake or two which she shut up close in her palm, 
 but when she opened it her treasure was gone, and, to her astonish¬ 
 ment, only a drop of water remained on her rosy little fingers. 
 
 Amy began wondering how the snow ever got to the ground at all. 
 “ For just look, Gertrude,” she said, “ at that large flake ! You 
 would think it was coming down in real earnest, but now see where 
 it has gone up in the air again; and now it seems to be chasing 
 two or three little flakes, which are all in such a hurry to get out 
 of the way.” 
 
 “ I do think,” said Frances, “ snow is the very idlest thing in 
 the world ; it goes so very leisurely about its business ! ” 
 
 “ It knows what it is about all the same,” said Florence ; “ it is 
 not so very slow covering the pavement,” as she pointed down to 
 where men were at work all along the street, shovelling it off into 
 great heaps on either side of the way, leaving just space enough 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 109 
 
 in the middle for carriages to pass, but which space very soon grew 
 white aejain. 
 
 While the little girls were thus meditating, they were delighted to 
 hear the merry tinkling of bells approaching, and presently a long 
 train of sledges, forty or fifty in number, unmindful of the snow still 
 falling, dashed past the window. It was still prettier after dark, to 
 see these sledges returning, with two or three torches in each, when 
 the loud cracking of whips, the jingling of a thousand little bells 
 on the collars of the horses, and the flashing of the red light on the 
 ceiling, brought them all to the window again. Frances and Ger¬ 
 trude thought it was worth while coming to Germany alone to see 
 a regular sledge party such as they never could see in England. 
 
 A few days after this the sun shone out clear again, the sky was 
 quite blue, and the air clear and calm, so that the children, who 
 w r ere quite weary of the house, or of only walking on level roads 
 when they could get out, were quite delighted when Aunt Ida told 
 them she would take them to the “ Riesenstein.” She thought by 
 this time the snow would be sufficiently trodden down by the poor 
 people who are continually going over the hills to bring home wood ; 
 and, as the little party proceeded, they soon met numbers of men and 
 women bending under the weight of the large bundles of wood they 
 carried on their heads. Some of these bundles were so large and 
 long as to sweep the ground, and thus clear the snow away behind 
 those who bore them. 
 
 The children had taken this walk often before, but they thought 
 they had never seen it look so beautiful as on this day, w T hen every 
 tree was loaded with such a thick mantle of snow, that it seemed 
 covered with both leaves and flowers at once. Not a little bird that 
 hopped among the branches but shook down a shower of soft flakes; 
 and as for the smaller pines, they were so shrouded and muffled, they 
 looked like white bears standing on their hind legs, ready to jump 
 down upon them. The “ Riesenstein,” or Giant’s Rock, is a large 
 
no 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 loose flat stone, lying on the face of the hill, as if it had slipped down 
 from a quarry above, though it would be difficult now to point out any 
 spot whence it could have come. 
 
 “ This stone looks as if it had dropped from the clouds ! ” said 
 Frances. “ See, Aunt Ida, it rests upon two others like a roof.” 
 
 “If we were in Sweden, Frances dear, there would he a story 
 attached to it; we should he told that it was thrown by a giant, 
 because he could not hear to hear the sound of the Sabbath-bell in 
 the church below, and bid to look for the impression of his five 
 huge fingers still visible upon it somewhere. But (the story would 
 continue) the stone was too heavy for him, and it fell short of the 
 mark, and so the church is standing there still.” 
 
 The Biesenstein is half-way up the hill opposite to the Heiligen Berg, 
 and the road from it leads by a grove of regularly planted chestnut- 
 trees which hang on the steepest part of the hill. These were 
 beautiful in summer with their bright green leaves, and they were 
 beautiful now with their mantle of heavy snow, which formed a 
 canopy almost as complete. Skirting the edge of this wood, Aunt 
 Ida and the four little girls passed slowly on, with the sparkling 
 snow crisping beneath their feet, and the cloudless blue sky above 
 their heads, and Aunt Ida could not help remarking how much the 
 whole scene put her in mind of Sweden, where she had spent so 
 many years, though the trees of the forest were not so large, nor the 
 snow so deep, as in that really northern country. 
 
 “ But are there not wild beasts, bears and wolves, in those forests, 
 Aunt Ida?” inquired Amy. “I should not like to walk about there 
 as we do here.” 
 
 “ Yes, indeed, there are both hears and wolves, and terrible accidents 
 often occur. But then both the peasants and the nobles join in hunting 
 them; and, while I think of it, I will tell you an account of a bear- 
 hunt in Finland, which I had from one of those who w^ere engaged in it. 
 But perhaps you may not care for it as it is not a fairy tale ? ” 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 Ill 
 
 “ 0 yes, we shall, Auntie ! ” said Gertrude, speaking for all. “ Pray 
 tell it. It will be a nice variety.” 
 
 So Aunt Ida began. 
 
 36citr-Ifanting in /inlnnit. 
 
 In the year 1824 a young Englishman travelling in the north of 
 Europe consented, on the pressing invitation of his friend Eric 
 Ulfvenklon, to accompany him to his estate in Finland, in order to see 
 and judge for himself of the terror and the beauty of a northern winter, 
 and to join in the sport peculiar to the country—that of bear-hunting. 
 
 It was late in autumn as the friends journeyed together, and 
 their hearts often beat high in anticipations while traversing the 
 vast forests, as they heard the crashing footsteps of some she-bear 
 and her cubs, in search of winter-quarters, resound amid the windings 
 of the wood. It is astonishing how the long and intricate vaults 
 formed by the thick pendant boughs of the pine convey the slightest 
 sound; a whistle makes a whole w r ood ring, while the song of the 
 black-cock in spring is heard at half a Swedish mile’s distance. 
 
 Winter had set in before they reached their journey’s end, and they 
 were yet at a little distance from Ulfvenborg, when, one evening, they 
 came upon a huge hear, ploughing his way into the forest through the deep 
 and new-fallen snow, with but little of his rough and shaggy hide visible 
 above it. Having watched this grisly monster till he disappeared, whom, 
 as night was falling, and they were but slightly armed, they did not care 
 to pursue, they hurried on to a torp, or peasant’s cottage, belonging to 
 Ulfvenklon, and desired Magnus, its owner, the most famous hunter of 
 the district, who had received the surname of Bjorn (the Bear) on account 
 of his prowess, to ring the bear which they had seen; that is to say— 
 beginning at the point where his footmarks could he traced inwards, to 
 make a large circuit within the wood, and observe if anywhere they 
 came upon the same track issuing from it. If, on returning to the 
 
112 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS J OR, 
 
 place of starting, none such had been met with, it would then he cer¬ 
 tain that the bear had taken up his winter quarters within the space 
 thus marked out. The forests are so thick that being free from drifts, 
 though more snow should fall, there is no danger of losing the trail, 
 which often remains distinct throughout the winter. This process of ring¬ 
 ing the bear is one which takes time, and it was not till they had been 
 a fortnight at Ulfvenborg that old Bjorn arrived, saying it was accom¬ 
 plished, and that part of the circuit lay in the woods of Baron 
 Nordenfalk, upon whose land he suspected the animal to be. 
 
 “ That does not matter,” said Ulfvenklon to his guest; I will ask 
 Nordenfalk to be of our party. I should like you to see him, for he is 
 a capital bear-hunter, and, besides, the most agreeable companion pos¬ 
 sible by the fire when the hunt is over, for he has stories of every kind 
 to wile away the time, and nobody tells them better.” 
 
 “ Ulfvenklon then desired Magnus to have all in order for ten days 
 from that time, when he and his friend should come and sleep at his 
 house, in order to be ready to start at break of day.” The time passed 
 merrily away, Nordenfalk promised to join them in the forest; and at 
 four o’clock, the evening before the intended hunt, when it was quite 
 dusk, Ulfvenklon and the Englishman presented themselves at Bjorn’s 
 house; with the customary greeting, “Good day to you, Bjorn,” 
 receiving the simple answer, “ God grant it, gracious sir.” 
 
 Few cottages are so picturesque as that of this Finnish peasant. It 
 was built of large beams of wood, thatched and painted red, which, 
 strange as this colour may appear to unaccustomed eyes, has, never¬ 
 theless, a very pleasing effect amidst the dark masses of the pine and 
 fir forest. The walls of the large kitchen, in which Eric and his 
 friend were received by Bjorn’s wife and daughter, were made of wood, 
 plaited like basket work, the floor was composed of large rough blocks, 
 the ceiling of small and finely shaped beams, curiously jointed together, 
 the interstices being filled up with moss, and from it there hung the 
 store of hard winter cakes, strung together by a stick passing through 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 113 
 
 a hole in the centre of each. The table was laid with the whitest 
 linen; smoked bear’s flesh, memma served in birch bark *, salt butter, 
 black bread, cheese and eggs, together with the customary dram of 
 potato brandy, formed the repast, which they ate from wooden 
 trenchers. A large and beautifully formed wooden cup of ale foamed 
 in the centre of the table, and mead in a silver goblet was also pro¬ 
 duced, in honour of his guests, by Magnus, who did not, however, think 
 of seating himself at the table, until desired by his master to do so, 
 his wife serving meanwhile. 
 
 When the meal was ended and grace said, all assembled round the 
 fire, together with the peasant’s family and servants. The women 
 were busy spinning and weaving, while the young men were sharpening 
 the points of their bear spears, or trimming the shaft and adapting it to 
 their hands. A large fir torch stuck into its place beside the great chim¬ 
 ney cast a ruddy glow over their honest countenances, weather-beaten 
 and shaded by long bleached hair, but wearing that open, confident, and 
 sagacious expression general amongst a hardy and virtuous peasantry. 
 As for Bjorn himself, he bore many a mark of the animal by whose 
 name he was distinguished, and Ulfvenklon, turning the conversation 
 on the subject of the morrow’s chase, led him to relate some of his 
 numerous encounters and adventures. 
 
 “ Were a bear to put forth the strength of his paw against man as 
 he does against animals,” said old Bjorn, “ we should have no chance 
 with him. One day, when I was a lad, I remember as though it 
 were only yesterday, as I was coming home alone from the forest, 
 where I had been hewing winter wood for my father, with no other 
 weapon than my axe on my shoulder and my clasp-knife in my pocket, 
 I came upon a bear who was snuffing the carcase of an ox he had slain 
 probably two or three days before. I thought it best, as I was unper¬ 
 ceived, to make off as fast as I could, and scrambled up into a tree, 
 whence I saw him turn over the ox with one stroke of his paw as 
 
 * 
 
 A dish of baked malt, peculiar to Finland. 
 
 I 
 
114 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 easily as I should handle a hare. No, no. thank Heaven ! with us he 
 uses his teeth, and though they do tear and bite deep, a tough fellow 
 like me generally gets off without broken bones. Though we have 
 bears enough in these woods, and still more further up, I have never 
 heard that either famine or anything else would force them, of their 
 own accord, to be the aggressors. But, unless you are fully armed and 
 prepared for a mortal fight, never attack a bear; for, once wounded, 
 he will stand out to the last, and nothing will turn him from his 
 object. He is a brave animal and a noble enemy; but as for those 
 cowardly, dastardly wolves-” 
 
 Here Bjorn’s voice sank, and he seemed muttering something to 
 himself. 
 
 “ A sad story,” whispered TJlfvenklon to his friend ; “ see how he 
 is carving away at his shaft. He had once a little daughter, his young¬ 
 est child, born long after the rest. She was a lovely little creature, 
 the delight of his eyes and the very joy of his heart. One day, in the 
 end of December, as they were just finishing dinner here, in this very 
 room, she went out into the yard to play with a little boy of four years 
 old, who happened to he here that day. The children had scarce been 
 absent five minutes, and no one was thinking about them, when a child’s 
 scream was heard. Every one rushed out, and, seeing the cow-house 
 door open, entered that first, and found the little boy alone, half 
 hidden among the hay, crying in such an agony of fear as to he unable 
 to speak. Presently, the distracted mother found her little daughter’s 
 shoe without, just behind the gable-end of the cow-house, with some 
 drops of blood and the foot-prints of a wolf, which Magnus and his 
 son, snatching up their guns, lost not a moment in following. They 
 followed,—they followed, tracing the huge foot and the blood still on 
 the snow as they went, till they came to where they found fragments 
 of the poor little girl’s dress and bones, and some locks of her golden 
 hair. You cannot think how nobly Magnus’s wife supported her hus¬ 
 band in this great affliction, for we all thought, though to look at him 
 you would say he is made of iron, that he would have lost his senses. 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 ] 15 
 
 Only a month before, this same wolf had carried off 1 a little boy 
 almost four years* old whose dead body was found at a very short 
 distance, but the wolf himself had disappeared. And a month after, a 
 girl of eighteen was carried off, and three other children were attacked, 
 always, as it was believed, by the same wolf. He fell, lmwever, at last, 
 by Magnus’s ow 7 n hand, whose gun was never from his side till he had 
 revenged himself on “the demon,” as he called him, and as I really 
 think he half believed him to be who had robbed him of his child. 
 He, and his man Lars, whom you see on the other side of the fireplace, 
 then a lad of eighteen, were one day, in the middle of April, some way 
 out in the forest, cutting -wood for a fence, when, as Lars was stooping 
 over the block he w T as hewing, his axe uplifted, the wolf, who had 
 approached unperceived by either, suddenly sprang upon him, and 
 threw him headlong, But Magnus’s gun was levelled in an instant, and 
 before the animal could inflict any further injury, true to his aim, he 
 brought him down at once.” 
 
 “ But how did they know,” asked the Englishman, “ that it was 
 always the same wolf?” 
 
 “ In that winter,” replied Ulfvenklon, “ there were very few wolves 
 seen in the neighbourhood, and when a wolf has once tasted human 
 flesh he prefers it to any other food. He is a cowardly animal, 
 and easily frightened away by noise, and it is not his nature to attack 
 openly a full-grown man ; w r ere it, he is so strong and swift, that few 
 animals w T ould be more dangerous. In all these stories you may 
 observe the attacks were by stealth on the helpless.”* 
 
 While this conversation had been going on in a half whisper, Magnus 
 was still hard at work, and his wife’s wheel turning with its whirring 
 sound without intermission, but at length stopping it, she said :— 
 
 “Our forefathers believed, and some still believe, that wolves and 
 serpents, and such like, are the children of an evil spirit, who has sent 
 them to punish and torment the children of men. And, in my young 
 
 * These events took place, as here mentioned, in Sweden, in the winter of 1820-21. 
 
 i 2 
 
116 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 days, I used to hear of an old woman who sits far to the east in the 
 iron-wood, nursing the wolves, and sheltering them in her hut when 
 they are hunted. If that be true, T had an enemy once when I was 
 young, he was once a friend and then became a foe—the worst sort of 
 foe,” she continued, musingly, and then added, after a pause, “ I have 
 likewise heard that men can he, and have been, changed into beasts, by 
 the power of the evil one ; and I am inclined to believe it, because I 
 do not think any beast can he half so cruel as a stony-hearted man, 
 whose hate descends from father to son, and from mother to child; 
 and when one wolf shews an evil nature above the rest of his species, 
 what can we think but that he is, indeed, something worse in a wolfs 
 shape ?” 
 
 “Peace, mother!” said Magnus, “and if it were even so,” with a 
 significant glance at his gun, which lay between his knees, “this 
 settled all scores, both new and old, if, indeed, there were old scores to 
 settle.” 
 
 “Magnus and Sigrid,” said Ulfvenklon, solemnly, “you forget you 
 are baptized Christians on whom the light of the gospel has risen to 
 dispel the mists of superstition and darkness in which our forefathers 
 lived. Take from the Lord’s hand what He sees fit to send, for ‘ He 
 giveth not His power to another;’ and ‘shallnot the Judge of all the 
 earth do right?’ ” 
 
 Sigrid wiped away some few tears, while Magnus turned a moistened 
 glance at the speaker. There was something in Ulfvenklon’s deep, 
 manly, and kind voice as he said this, which went to both their hearts, 
 and sufficed to turn their grieved, perhaps their angry feelings, into a 
 better and more healthful channel. 
 
 The following morning they rose with the earliest light of dawn, and, 
 accompanied by Bjorn, with his two sons and his man, Lars, all fine 
 active young men, armed with their guns, bear spears, and long knives, 
 and carrying a small supply of provisions, as they had little chance of 
 returning home that day, set out on their expedition. The sky was 
 clear, the air calm, the rising sun, shining without a cloud, shed a rosy 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 117 
 
 hue on the spotless snow which lay full and soft on every object around, 
 and bowed down the pine and fir, hardy children of the forest, with 
 the weight of its sparkling mantle. They soon dived into the depths 
 of the forest on the track already made, clearly traceable in the snow, 
 which, frozen as firm as ice several feet thick, raised the path so high 
 from the ground as to bring their heads continually in contact with the 
 large branches of the pines, and render walking at times extremely 
 difficult. Bjorn led the van of the party, and desired them to advance 
 as silently as possible, for he was not very certain of the exact spot 
 where the bear of which they were in pursuit might be; and, as the 
 animal is quick of ear, should he be disturbed, and break from his lair 
 before they came up, it would cost three or four days toil to find him 
 again. They followed his injunctions implicitly, and about noon were 
 joined by Baron Nordenfalk, who said he thought the bear would be 
 found considerably further in the wood, as there was a rising ground 
 where the trees grew very thick, which, almost every winter, was the 
 resort of some one or other of their tribe. 
 
 Towards three o’clock, when the daylight was nearly over, Bjorn 
 gave signals that they were near the place, judging by the marks in the 
 neighbourhood, and made them disperse in different directions, to be 
 ready to fire on the bear when he should burst from his concealment, 
 it being very uncertain what path he might take. They followed these 
 directions, when Bjorn carefully advanced, skirting the eminence which 
 they had now reached, till they beheld him standing on the summit, at 
 a height sufficient to command the neighbouring ground, when suddenly 
 the snow gave way under his feet, and in an instant he disappeared; 
 while, at the same moment, the shaggy monster, thus suddenly dis¬ 
 turbed from his rest, was seen bursting from the snowy cave in which 
 he had been entombed, and standing upright for one second shaking 
 the snow-flakes from his bristly hide, the next went rushing down the 
 height, direct on the place where Ulfvenklon was stationed. 
 
 A shout burst from their lips as they closed in pursuit, in which 
 they were joined by the hardy Magnus, who, nothing daunted by his 
 
118 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 unexpected fall, rose in wrath not unlike the animal who had just 
 preceded him, emerging from the same hole, and scattering the snow 
 from off his rough garments, and with the long knife in his hand, which 
 he had unsheathed when he expected to come into nearer contact with 
 the bear, sprang on his traces. But he was already distant, when a 
 report was heard, and, uttering a terrible growl, he was seen to dash 
 off in the direction whence the smoke proceeded. 
 
 “ To the rescue of your noble master !” shouted Nordenfalk, as they 
 all hurried forward, and found behind the immense trunk of a huge 
 pine that a desperate struggle already had commenced. Ulfvenklon’s 
 shot had pierced the shoulder of the bear, hut the hall had flattened 
 against the bone, so that no way disabled he was but exasperated to 
 fury. Seeing what the consequence was likely to he, Eric had taken 
 his post against the tree, and dealt a stout blow on the bear’s head with 
 the butt end of his gun. This was speedily wrenched from his grasp, 
 and the bleeding eye and furious growls of the wounded monster, 
 showed that the combat was for life and death. Eric Ulfvenklon 
 might well be said to be as strong as the bears of his native forests, 
 and before the animal, having fixed his paws on his shoulders, could 
 begin to tear his arms, he clasped him in a strong embrace, and the 
 snow in which they were struggling was already crimson with their 
 blood. In a moment they both rose again ; and Nordenfalk, notwith¬ 
 standing the risk to his friend, seizing the opportunity, fired; the ball 
 passed through the body of the bear, but after his long fast this was 
 no mortal wound, and undisturbed by this fresh attack, he renewed 
 the combat with his first opponent. Their bodies were now so closely 
 entwined, and such were the efforts of Ulfvenklon to strangle the bear, 
 that any shot at the latter had certainly proved fatal to him. The short 
 moments appeared like hours, as each man repeatedly raised and low¬ 
 ered the muzzle of his piece, one instant hoping to reach the body of 
 the infuriated animal, the next, seeing it replaced by the straining 
 limbs of Ulfvenklon. 
 
 The young men now prepared to make a rush with their spears; but 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 119 
 
 at this crisis the welcome footsteps of Bjorn were heard, who ran up, 
 his bear-knife full two feet long glittering in his right hand, his gun 
 held in his left. He stopped one minute, while his experienced eye 
 took in the danger of his master’s position and the difficulty of the part 
 he had to perform. But it was hut for an instant. He saw the 
 relaxing hold of Ulfvenklon nearly overpowered by his mighty exer¬ 
 tions, and, marking the head of the bear turned to one side as he began 
 to gnaw the left arm of the young man, he sprang forward, and plunged 
 his knife to the hilt through the white spot on his throat—the fatally 
 vulnerable point which Nature has marked out—direct into his heart. 
 
 All hurried towards Ulfvenklon, who had fallen backwards exhausted. 
 He was alive, but wounded in his arms and legs, and squeezed to such 
 a degree that it seemed he never could recover the use of his limbs. 
 The Englishman was for having him carried back immediately to the 
 house of Magnus Bjorn. “ Quite impossible, brother!” said he. “ Do 
 you not see the night has fallen?” And certainly the wood was dark 
 as midnight, and the ground here and there reflecting in patches of 
 glaring white the last tints of daylight lingering in the sky. 
 
 “ This is the first bear hunt you have seen,” said the Baron, address¬ 
 ing the young Englishman; “ and it has nearly proved the last our 
 friend here could ever take part in.” 
 
 “ Not so!” answered Ulfvenklon. “ If you, my brave boys,” speaking 
 to the peasants, “ will light a fire, you shall see I can do honour yet to 
 the feast your father has prepared.” 
 
 A litter was soon made for the wounded hero. Bjorn, well skilled 
 in such surgery, bound his wounds to keep them from the sharp night 
 air; and, when the crackling of the dry wood of which the fire was 
 prepared called the party to assemble round it, he was placed in as 
 comfortable a bed as they could make out of the mossy lining of the 
 bear’s den, which they discovered under the roots of a tree that had 
 been blown down—roots of such a size that large stones embedded 
 among them had been lifted into the air when the fall of the trunk 
 tore them from their natural resting-place. It was a wild-looking 
 
120 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 object, according well with the surrounding scenery, and many a hermit 
 has had a worse cell. After the conversation of the previous evening 
 and the closing scene of this day’s chase, the English stranger no 
 longer wondered at the prominent figure that bears and wolves make 
 in the mythological Sagas of their country, nor that illustrious heroes 
 have chosen to bear their name, and have been believed to fight under 
 their form. 
 
 The provisions were produced, and, as Ulfvenklon was not only in 
 good spirits but seemed free from pain, they made a most jovial repast 
 in the old w r ood, and scared the wolves away as much by the sound of 
 their laughter as by the light of their fire. 
 
 / 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 121 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The frost continued so severely, that after a time, the Neckar, the 
 banks of which had long been edged with ice strong enough to permit 
 the hoys of the town to skait, gradually froze completely over. It pre¬ 
 sented a busy scene one afternoon rather late when Aunt Ida and her 
 young party came down to see it. In one place, a fire was lighted on 
 the ice, near to which a game of nine-pins was going on; in another, 
 an old woman had set up a booth for the sale of roasted chestnuts, 
 withered apples, penny sausages, &c., &c.; and men and boys were 
 flying about on skaits in all directions. But what attracted the atten¬ 
 tion of the little sisters most w T as the sight of a number of ladies, com¬ 
 fortably wrapped up in cloaks and veils, sitting in chairs that were 
 pushed along by skaiters as fast as the best of them. 
 
 They were looking on at this merry scene, and thinking in particular 
 how very nice the ladies must find it, when some gentlemen of their 
 acquaintance came skaiting up, most invitingly pushing empty chairs 
 before them, and asking them to take a seat. There were also men 
 plying in the same way for money; so, in a few minutes, with their 
 aunt’s permission, Frances, Gertrude, Florence, and Amy were seated 
 and whisked off and away from each other in different directions, 
 according to the fancy of those who guided them, now crossing each 
 other’s path, now going smoothly side by side, and now for a time 
 losing sight of one another altogether. 
 
 There had been thick mists for several days before, and these having 
 cleared away had left the upper part of the surrounding hills dazzling 
 white with hoar-frost, while the lower portion, divided as by an exact 
 line, looked bare and black indeed as the sun sank and left them dark 
 
122 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 and cold, while the castle, which is built of reddish stone, glowed like 
 a ruby on its own gray hill. All this they had full time and opportu¬ 
 nity to remark during their swift and easy progress; they thought they 
 had never enjo}^ed anything so delightful. The sky was of a deep blue 
 above their heads, the ice of a still deeper blue beneath their feet, 
 except one bright spot on which the sun’s last rays struck as on a 
 mirror; the Vosges Hills, in the extreme distance, were also blue, and 
 the sky all along the west was stained with deep orange and crimson. 
 The air was fresh on their faces and their feet, but they felt the cold 
 nowhere else, and would willingly have continued whisking about until 
 night, had not the sun going dowrn behind the hills, w r arned their con¬ 
 ductors it was time to bring them all back to the starting point again, 
 where their kind aunt was keeping herself warm walking up and down 
 while waiting for them. 
 
 “ Were you not afraid at all ?” said she as they were walking home. 
 
 “Oh no, we could have gone on till to-morrow!” cried they all. 
 
 “ There never was anything so pleasant.” 
 
 “ But if the ice had broken ?” 
 
 “ Ah! but, Aunt Ida, if there had been any danger of that, you 
 would not have let us go on it!” said Frances. 
 
 “ And then there were so many people far heavier than we are on 
 the ice !” said Florence. 
 
 “ But suppose the ice should break,” said Gertrude ; “ I cannot fancy 
 anything more horrid than that would be! I have heard of people 
 going down in bogs, but this would be almost worse I think—the 
 water would be so miserably cold.” 
 
 “ And yet, Gertrude, you would hardly believe it I dare say, but it 
 happens every year in Sweden; for there the peasants are so fond 
 of making short cuts to their homes over the frozen sea or the inland 
 lakes, that they continue driving over the ice long after it has ceased to 
 be safe, nor will they give up until some accident occurs.” 
 
 Thus they continued talking until they reached the house, and then, 
 to finish a day of great enjoyment, after tea, seated by the stove, Aunt 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 123 
 
 Ida heard the usual request, and replied to it in the usual manner, 
 by telling them a story. 
 
 alrik, tju (tnttir’s Inn. 
 
 “ Once on a time, deep in a forest, there lived a poor widow with 
 her son. At the time of his birth, an old woman, bent and shrivelled, 
 who carried along staff in her hand and seemed perishing with cold and 
 hunger, came to the door and asked for a night’s lodging. She was 
 cheerfully admitted, and entertained with the best they had to offer. 
 The next morning she got up early, and as she sat rocking the cradle 
 of the new-born infant she looked kindly around, and the people 
 of the house fancied she seemed quite different from what she had been 
 the night before. After she had wished the boy all health and pros¬ 
 perity for the future, she went away with such a light and airy step, 
 that they all knew she must be a fairy. 
 
 Soon after this the mother became a widow, but the boy, who was 
 called Alrik, grew up, and showed a manly and sensible disposition at 
 a very early age. It happened one day, as he was tending his mother’s 
 goats in the forest, that the good fairy appeared to him and said, it was 
 now time for him to begin his travels. “ Henceforth,” continued she, 
 “your lot will be different from that of herding goats.” 
 
 “ But tell me then,” he asked, “ what my walk of life will be, and 
 where; for, from what you say, I suspect my time with my mother in 
 our hut is nearly at an end.” 
 
 The fairy replied, “ Meet me here next Holy Thursday and I will 
 instruct you, and reward the readiness of your parents to warm and 
 feed a poor wandering woman, though they themselves were poor.” 
 
 On this the boy looked at her and saw that her countenance was 
 fairer than any he had ever seen, and that her eyes were very mild and 
 friendly, and her whole look and manner inspired him with confidence. 
 Thus they parted for that time; he drove his goats home and did not 
 speak much that evening. The next morning his mother said to him, 
 
124 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 that she had observed a change in his behaviour, and when Alrik 
 related to her the meeting he had had in the wood on the previous 
 evening, she recalled to mind the extraordinary visitor they had 
 received the day the boy was horn, and the good wishes the woman had 
 expressed for the child, when she had thanked them for her food and 
 lodging. Added to this, his mother remembered how, from his earliest 
 childhood, Alrik’s appearance, words, and actions, had so little resembled 
 those of other children, so that, when the Holy Thursday came, 
 she said to him, “Now you must go to your appointment in the 
 wood, and I shall not expect you back again so soon, for it is probable 
 the stranger at this time may intend to reward you for her hospitable 
 reception in our cottage; and I counsel you, never to turn away from 
 the poor man who begs food or lodging, or from any one whom you 
 can aid, for such kindness brings blessings upon children and grand¬ 
 children.” 
 
 Thus the son parted from mother and home, and set out on his wan¬ 
 derings to seek his fortune in the world, At the appointed place he 
 met the fairy, who immediately bade him follow her as she turned to 
 go still deeper into the wood. He obeyed, but remarking that they 
 were walking on one of those little paths which the ants make, he stepped 
 on one side as much as he could that he might not tread on them. 
 Then the fairy turned round and smiled, but said nothing. At last 
 they arrived at a spring where they stopped, and there he saw a little 
 ant which had fallen into the water, and could not help itself out, 
 but was struggling for life; at sight of the poor little creature, Alrik 
 remembered his mother’s advice, so he took a dry leaf, helped it out, and 
 then set it gently down in the path among the other ants. Then his 
 guide said to him : “ When I saw how you avoided the ants in the wood, 
 taking care not to trample upon them, I perceived that you had a heart 
 worthy to be a king; and in reward for this action, your assisting a 
 poor helpless creature in its need, I will bestow on you the power 
 of changing yourself into an ant whenever you please. But now drink 
 of the water of this spring, for a holy man’s blood has been shed in it, 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 125 
 
 and your arm will never fail you in any combat, be it against evil spirits, 
 or any other enemy.” 
 
 So she made him drink three times from the well, then showed him 
 the narrow path he was to follow, and disappeared. 
 
 Strangely altered after that draught did Alrik appear to himself, both 
 in mind and body. Many ideas arose in his mind which he had never 
 had before, but he thought most of what the fairy had last foretold 
 him. In this manner he wandered on for some days, until he came to 
 another kingdom. He asked the first man he met what news was 
 stirring in the land ? They answered that there was no news but old 
 news, for nothing had been talked of for ever so long but the pining 
 melancholy which had come upon their king, a malady which seemed to 
 be hopeless, for nothing could be found able to cheer or make him 
 happy. 
 
 Alrik next inquired, “Whether it were easy to get at the king so as 
 to speak to him ?” They answered, “ No, because all access was 
 barred by a treacherous lord who hoped to succeed to the crown after 
 the king’s death.” 
 
 On this he parted from these men, and proceeded straight to the 
 king’s palace, where no one, however, was permitted to come near the 
 king, because the treacherous counsellor caused a strong guard to be 
 kept all round the doors. But, towards evening, a little ant crept, 
 unseen by all the sentries, up the stairs and through the key-hole of 
 the room in which the king lay moody and silent on his couch. Then, 
 unexpectedly, a young man stood before him, and saluting him respect¬ 
 fully, asked if he might inquire what could be the cause of his deep 
 melancholy, for perhaps a cure might be found for it. 
 
 The king gazed long at the stranger; at last he said, “Well may I 
 sorrow; my spring has dried up, my best tree bears fruit no longer, 
 and my only daughter is carried away into the mountain by the Great 
 River.” 
 
 “ What recompense dost thou award, 0 king, to him who shall 
 
126 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 help thee in this distress, and take the young princess out of the 
 mountain ? ” 
 
 “ My daughter to wife, and my kingdom into the bargain,” replied 
 the king, after which he bowed down his head, and seemed neither to 
 hear nor to see anything more. But a little ant crept through the 
 key-hole, and down the stairs, unseen by the sentries; and then along 
 the highway there walked a young man, who asked the road to the 
 Great Paver. 
 
 On the third day of his wandering, Alrik came to a ferry, where an 
 old man, with a long snow-white heard, was sitting on the withered 
 stump of an old tree. It was the ferryman, and Alrik begged him to 
 ferry him across the river. 
 
 “ Many a one have I ferried over the river,” said the old man, “ hut 
 none have ever come hack.” 
 
 “ How long,” asked Alrik, “ have you rowed this ferry-boat ? You 
 appear very old.” * 
 
 “ Three hundred years have I toiled here,” answered the old man, 
 “and my sin deserved even a greater punishment.” 
 
 “ Wherein have you so grievously offended? and is there no deliver¬ 
 ance for you ? ” 
 
 V 
 
 “ No,” replied the old man, “ I have cursed father and mother, 
 and sooner shall this old stump grow green, and put forth leaves again 
 than I be released.” 
 
 And, having said this, he rowed across the ferry in silence. 
 
 Soon after, a little ant crept up the mountain, and sought its way 
 among the rocks and stones, until it found the entrance of the giant’s 
 hall. He was not within, but a most lovely princess w 7 as sitting there. 
 When she saw Alric, she was very happy, and when he had imparted 
 his errand, she hid him carefully, that the giant, when he came home, 
 might not kill him instantly. Plardly had she seated herself again, 
 when the giant returned, and scarce had he entered the hall, ere he 
 grew pale with fury, and cried out, “ I smell Christian blood! ” 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 127 
 
 The king’s daughter replied, “ A raven flew by with a man’s leg in 
 its bill, and three drops of blood fell down.” 
 
 Satisfied with this, the giant laid himself on his bed, for he was 
 sleepy and tired with his journey, and desired the princess to lull him 
 to sleep. She came and sat on his pillow, and with her little fingers 
 began to play with his great curls ; however, she presently pretended 
 to fall asleep, and pulled a few hairs out of his head. On this he 
 awoke, and asked, “ What was that ? ” 
 
 “ Oh,” said the princess, “ I was dreaming and had such a strange 
 dream.” 
 
 “ What did you dream ? ” asked the giant. 
 
 “ I dreamed,” she replied, “ that I was in my father’s palace, and 
 that the clear spring was dried up, and no one could find a spring or 
 foun tain anywh ere.” 
 
 “ I cast a rock into that spring,” said the giant, “ when your father 
 built a church there, and the rock sank far under ground, and stopped 
 up all the water-courses.” And thus saying he fell asleep again. 
 
 Again the princess started and pulled his hair so that he awoke ; 
 and she once more excused herself by saying she was dreaming. 
 
 “ What did you dream now ? ” asked he. 
 
 “I dreamed,” she answered, “ that I was in my father’s palace, and 
 that he mourned because his good tree would bear no more fruit.” 
 
 “ That was the work of your father’s wicked counsellor,” replied the 
 giant, “ when he caused your young brother to be murdered and 
 buried under that tree, and said that the wild beasts had devoured him 
 when out hunting. Were that crime punished, and the bones of the 
 murdered child taken up, the tree would soon bear fruit again.” 
 
 The giant fell asleep once more, but was awakened in the same 
 manner. “What are you dreaming of now, that you disturb my sleep 
 so ? ” cried he, angrily. 
 
 “ Oh, I dreamed that the old ferryman at the Great River asked 
 me if his sin could ever be forgiven, and he be released from the ferry.” 
 
 “ On the wall, beside my sword, there hangs a little bottle with 
 
128 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 living water; if the old oak stump were watered with that, the old 
 man would be free.” 
 
 After that the giant slept awhile, until the princess uttered a loud 
 scream, which once more awoke him. “ What is the matter with you, 
 that you disturb my sleep in this way ? ” cried he, “ or have you been 
 dreaming again ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, I dreamed that a man came into the mountain and killed 
 you, and I very much fear my dream may yet prove true ! ” 
 
 “No fear for that! ” answered the giant; “ for I can only be killed 
 with my own sword, and he alone can wield that who has drunk of 
 water in which the blood of a holy man has been shed. But now I 
 cannot endure your dreams any longer, so you had better lie down and 
 sleep.” Upon which he fell sound asleep himself, and snored so that 
 the whole mountain shook. 
 
 Now Alrik, who had been hid till then, came out of his corner 
 where he had heard everything that had been said, took down the 
 giant’s sword from the wall, and, finding that he could wield it easily, 
 stepped forward to the rocky couch whereon the giant lay, and dealt 
 him such a blow, that his head parted from the body with a terrible 
 noise, and the huge trunk fell on the ground, weltering in its blood. 
 The young princess was terrified at this horrible sight, but thanked all 
 the saints for her deliverance. Her young deliverer meanwhile, who 
 had bound the good sword with its golden belt around his waist, 
 pleased her not a little, and she made an inward vow that she would 
 pledge him her faith, even were he only a cotter’s son. 
 
 After they had refreshed themselves with meat and wine, Alrik and 
 the princess examined all the treasures and valuables in precious 
 stones, pearls, and gold which were in the mountain, took with them 
 as much as they could carry, and left the rest for a more convenient 
 opportunity. After this, they commenced their journey home, and 
 were very glad to find themselves once more under the open sky ; 
 and as they walked on and took counsel together, as to what plan it 
 were best to pursue, their liking and friendship increased apace. 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 129 
 
 When they had got across the Great River to the old ferryman’s 
 cottage, they did not forget to water the old oak stump out of the 
 giant’s flask, and, behold ! in an instant it began to be covered with 
 green leaves and tender shoots. The old man came out meanwhile, 
 and rejoiced greatly when he recognised the young traveller whom he 
 had so lately ferried over the river. Alrik took him by the hand, and, 
 leading him to the old stump, said, “ See, the old stump has grown 
 green! ” 
 
 The old man looked on the lovely verdure of the once dead root, 
 clasped his withered hands, and lifted his eyes to heaven. The hour 
 of his deliverance was come. He fell into dust, as if he had been 
 dead two hundred years, and the young couple shed tears of joy that 
 the old man had gone to his rest. 
 
 It was late one evening when they came to the king’s palace. The 
 princess knocked at the door of a faithful servant, and was received 
 with great joy. The king's loyal subjects were summoned to join the 
 princess and her deliverer, and, ere the day dawned, the rock which 
 had stopped the well-springs was removed, the body of the murdered 
 prince taken up from beneath the roots of the good tree, and the false 
 traitor cast into prison. 
 
 In the morning, when it was daylight, there stood a servant before 
 the king, with a bottle of water in his hand, saying, “ The clear foun¬ 
 tain flows once more, and is full of water, and fruit is on the good tree 
 as in former times.” 
 
 The king, glad and surprised, rushed out himself to see the won¬ 
 ders which had taken place. He found all as he had been told, but at 
 the foot of the tree the greatest joy was still awaiting him, for there 
 was his young daughter, who, on seeing him, ran forward, and threw 
 herself into his arms, while her deliverer advancing, said, “Behold 
 now, 0 king ! the clear fountain flows, the good tree bears fruit, and 
 thine only daughter is restored—what wilt thou give to me ? ” 
 
 “All that I promised,” said the king. 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 So there was great joy in the palace, and the marriage feast was 
 held, and lasted many days. 
 
 Meanwhile, the poor widow, Alrik’s mother, sat day after day with 
 her goats in the forest. One after the other she had killed for food, and 
 now had nothing more to live upon. Suddenly a great noise of wheels 
 and horses was heard, and a golden car drove up to her door, out of 
 which stepped a lord and lady magnificently dressed. They entered 
 the cottage, and the old widow wondered much what could be the 
 cause of such a visit. At last Alrik asked his mother if she did not 
 recognise him. She was doubtful at first, hut ere long clasped her 
 long lost son delighted in her arms, and, after a short preparation, 
 sat herself in the carriage by the young queen. And so they returned 
 to the king’s palace, and lived in peace and happiness until their 
 death. 
 
 Much loved by his people, and renowned far and wide throughout 
 the world, did that young king become, who in his childhood would 
 not kill an ant, and who now could not endure wrong or oppression 
 to be inflicted on the least of the subjects of that happy land which 
 was governed by his wisdom; and the young queen never regretted 
 that she had given her hand to the son of the poor widow in the 
 forest. 
 
131 
 
 AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Weeks passed away—still the winter continued, and still the Neckar 
 was frozen. The ice however was no longer so beautiful as at first; 
 snow had fallen upon it, then there had been partial thaws which had 
 opened it where the current underneath was strongest; then it had 
 frozen over again, and the new ice looked like a patch' in the old, 
 and had a rough broken edge standing up all round it. The children 
 began wondering when they should see open water again. At last, one 
 evening, as they -were walking along the river side, they saw a great stir 
 among the boatmen of the villages, and overheard them say, “ The ice 
 will go in the night!” Oh, how they wished they could see it break 
 up and come hurrying down on the swollen current, as they had 
 often heard it described; but, though they begged very hard for leave 
 to go out, of course that was out of the question; and all that Aunt Ida 
 could grant w r as permission to get up as early as they pleased next 
 morning, and go there with Babette to see if it had broken up or not. 
 
 By seven o’clock in the morning the little girls were ready, and, when 
 arrived at the bridge, how great w r as their astonishment to see the 
 whole Neckar one moving mass of floating ice. Some pieces were 
 large and sailed for awhile smoothly enough; others w r ere tumbling 
 over and over, and would knock against each other, and then come 
 grinding against the piers of the bridge. The river was broader, 
 swifter, dirtier than they had ever seen it, and it almost made them 
 giddy to watch the continual motion of so many floating objects. By 
 the middle of the day the greater part of the ice had disappeared, hut 
 the w T ater continued rising, rising, and rushing in great waves like the 
 sea, until the arches of the bridge were nearly choked up. All the 
 
 k 2 
 
132 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 cellars of the houses nearest to the river were filled with water, which 
 also overflowed the streets in the lower part of the town, where the 
 people were going about in boats. As for the higher streets they were 
 muddy and miry beyond description. The sky was all one dingy gray, 
 the wind was blowing fitfully, and every now and then driving cold 
 showers of sleet before it. No one talked of anything but the water 
 and the mischief it would do if it went on increasing; and such was the 
 state of things for three or four days, until one morning there was 
 found to be a decrease of water in the streets, and before night the 
 river had returned almost into its usual channel. 
 
 That day happened to be Amy’s birthday, and the little girl had 
 been accustomed to have garlands of evergreens and a bunch of snow¬ 
 drops or other early spring flowers, but this year there were no wild 
 flowers yet come out, and the weather had been so bad that nobody had 
 been able to climb up to the old castle to gather ivy; but still at night 
 there was a table set out with presents, among which were two beautiful 
 hyacinths in full bloom, one white and the other pink, whose perfume 
 filled the whole room, and a pretty cake for her to divide, with nine 
 bright little tapers twinkling around it, one for each year that the little 
 girl’s age had numbered. So much time was spent in admiring and 
 enjoying all these different things that the evening drew on unper¬ 
 ceived, and it was already later than their usual hour of separating for 
 the night before Amy even recollected the privilege especially granted 
 to birthdays, and cried out, “ Oh, Aunt Ida! Aunt Ida!—indeed you 
 must—please, a story ! ” 
 
 “But it is so late ”- 
 
 “ A little one, please, Auntie; you know it is my birthday.” 
 
 “ Very well, then, a little one as you say. And as you like wild 
 stories, Amy, here is another about a dragon:— 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 133 
 
 #mgt nf /nntltrttstriit. 
 
 The highest hill of the Bergstrasse is called the Mellibocus ; on the 
 summit is built a tower which commands an extensive prospect; it is 
 seen plainly from the PJiine when one is going down to Mayence, and 
 the scene of this story lies in the neighbourhood of it. 
 
 Long ago, in a valley near the foot of that mountain, an enormous 
 dragon lived, to the terror of the whole neighbourhood. If a shepherd 
 were tending his sheep on the green banks of the little stream which 
 murmured through the valley, this monster would shoot out from lrs 
 cave among the rocks and devour them before his eyes. If a child 
 were sitting playing among the flowers, fearing no harm, it was sure to 
 fall an easy prey and never ag§in be seen by its sorrowing parents; 
 and even if an armed horseman passed in that direction unconscious of 
 his danger, himself and his horse soon fell victims to the fury of the 
 same tremendous enemy; in fact, the place became a desert; those 
 who had once barely escaped with their lives never ventured there again; 
 and this terrible dragon was considered as a visitation of Providence. 
 The report of him flew far and near; but mairy a brave knight, who 
 would have been eager to distinguish himself in combat with a human 
 foe, dreaded such an unequal antagonist, and, instead of seeking, avoided 
 the encounter. 
 
 Not so George of Frankenstein, whose castle lay on the Bergstrasse 
 not far off. He had but lately returned from war when the news of 
 the dragon met him on his arrival from everv mouth. He had a brave 
 heart and a firm hand; but, more than this, he had a kind compas¬ 
 sionate disposition, which could not bear to think of the sufferings of 
 the helpless women and children who lived in constant dread in the 
 neighbourhood of this monster, to say nothing of the losses to which 
 the poor peasants were exposed. He therefore did not let many days 
 elapse, ere, clothed in complete armour, he mounted his horse, and, 
 descending from his own rock-built abode, rode towards the entrance of 
 the valley of the Modau, where the dragon dwelt, and, seeing a crowd 
 
134 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 of weeping women and terrified men assembled, recounting to each 
 other some new misfortune, he advanced into the midst of them, and 
 said, “ I have fought and conquered in many a righteous cause, and 
 to-day I swear to consecrate my arm to your service, my fellow country¬ 
 men! Show me where your enemy is to be found, and, if it please 
 Heaven to grant me the victory, you shall live in dread no longer.” 
 
 The women blessed his bold undertaking, and invoked the protection 
 of Heaven on his head ; as, accompanied by some of the bravest men of 
 the village to show him the way, he rode onwards down the valley. 
 He soon perceived the dragon as it lay basking in the sun beside the 
 stream, coil after coil of its snake-like body glittering among the 
 long waving grass. He dismounted, and leaving his horse in charge 
 of a squire, with no other weapon than a sword and a hammer he ad- 
 advanced alone. But the dragon, though still, was not asleep; its 
 watchful eye soon discovered the knight’s approach, and like an arrow 
 from a bow it was upon him in an instant. But George of Franken¬ 
 stein, expert in all manly exercises, was not taken by surprise; he 
 leaped aside, and a thrust of his heavy sword inflicted a broad gash in 
 the body of the monster, from which a stream of blood gushed forth. 
 But though the sword had pierced its body and could not be withdrawn, 
 it still fought fiercely. It reared itself up as if to throw itself upon 
 the knight, gnashing with its teeth, hissing, and breathing out volumes 
 of rank vapour. But the hero dealt it three heavy blows with his 
 hammer and struck it to the ground, where with his iron heel he trod 
 on and crushed its neck. 
 
 The dragon lay dead, and Frankenstein’s squire with the other ter¬ 
 rified spectators of this combat, now came running up to pour forth 
 their thanks to Heaven and their deliverer. He, meanwhile, unclasped 
 his helmet, and seated himself on the grass to rest; but suddenly a 
 deadly paleness overspread his countenance, and everything grew black 
 before his eyes. Joy was now changed into mourning; they hastened 
 to take off his armour, but it was of no avail. George von Franken¬ 
 stein was dying, poisoned by the dragon’s breath. 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 135 
 
 “ Farewell! ” he said, in a failing voice; “ I have bought your lives 
 with my own, and die as becomes a Christian knight. I am going 
 where that glorious angel dwells who erewhile gained the victory over 
 the great dragon, that old serpent, man’s worst foe. May but a palm 
 await me there ! ” And thus saying he breathed his last. 
 
 “ To die for the good of others is indeed a glorious death, is it not?” 
 continued Aunt Ida. “ His monument is still to be seen near the 
 church-door in the village of Nieder-Beerbach, where he is represented 
 as he stood on the neck of his vanquished foe, like that brave saint 
 whose name he was worthy to bear. So ends the short sad tale of 
 George of Frankenstein.” 
 
136 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 In the course of the ensuing year the whole family was to return to 
 England, and leave Germany, perhaps for ever. Aunt Ida, therefore, 
 desired to let them see as much of the neighbourhood as possible, and 
 to take them to some of the places they had not yet visited, especially 
 to the Haardt Forest, which lies along the Rhine between Mannheim 
 and Carlsruhe, where they had never been. This excursion, which 
 would occupy the greater part of the day in the open air, was much 
 talked of and anticipated with delight, but they had to wait long for 
 the weather to he sufficiently settled. At last the stormy March 
 winds had blown themselves tired, and had dried the fields. The 
 farmer was rejoicing as he sowed his seed, and the children too rejoiced 
 as they saw the sun riding high in heaven and gaining power daily, 
 and making the whole world look cheerful. It is true there were as 
 yet no young leaves upon the trees, but as those were chiefly firs, the 
 want of leaves would not be so much felt, and there were new flowers 
 springing everywhere among the grass. So a day was fixed on; 
 and one morning near the end of the month the carriage was at the 
 door, the cloaks, and a basket containing their cold dinner, were 
 put in, and, thus provided, the whole party started once again in the 
 direction of Schwetzingen; but, instead of following that road, they 
 took one running south through a country completely flat, continuing 
 for many miles bordered with fruit trees, which, though beautiful in 
 summer, look dreary and unpromising in their winter state. But the 
 Bergstrasse Hills formed a pretty variety to the prospect on the left 
 side; and after a couple of hours they reached a straggling village with 
 
137 
 
 AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 a broad street and white-washed houses, called Sandhofen, apparently 
 from the nature of the soil, which is very sandy. 
 
 Here they left the carriage and walked towards the forest, which 
 they could now clearly see. It was a delight to the children to find 
 themselves once more at liberty and in the open air; no fear of mud, 
 or snow, or rain. Soft spring clouds were sailing over the sky with 
 large blue spaces between, and the wind was mild and delightful, only 
 swaying the trees above their heads, while out of its immediate influ¬ 
 ence the air felt quite warm. As they proceeded, they discovered a 
 branch of misseltoe, which usually grows on the oak or on old apple- 
 trees, hanging on a fir, but it was far too high above their heads for 
 them to reach it. Thus the forenoon passed away in rambling about, 
 until they came to a wide opening in the wood; at one side there ran 
 a sort of dry trench, and this served them for a seat; Babette opened 
 her basket, a table-cloth was spread, and the cold provisions produced 
 and enjoyed with excellent appetite. 
 
 The place they were in might have been a hundred miles from any 
 town. Nothing was to be seen but the red trunks of the fir-trees, 
 rising like straight columns, supporting the evergreen roof. After 
 dinner the children set themselves with the greatest energy to look 
 for dry branches, and in a very short time they had collected a great 
 pile ; to this Babette set fire, and presently a tall bright flame arose, 
 and the sparks went flying up through the curling smoke. In a few 
 minutes water was boiled, and coffee was made, for the basket con¬ 
 tained more treasures than the children were aware of. It was still 
 too early to think of returning; they had wandered about sufficiently 
 for one day, and now gathered around Aunt Ida, and began talking 
 of the Museum at Mannheim, which they had visited the day before. 
 Florence had been especially delighted with some few specimens of old 
 German arms and antiquities she had seen there, and this led to a con¬ 
 versation on the subject. 
 
 “ But, Aunt Ida,” said Frances, “ do you really think the arms and 
 
138 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 ornaments talked about in old stories were so much more beautiful 
 than what we see made now?” 
 
 “As to the ornaments, my dear Frances, our forefathers seem to 
 have admired heavier and more massive jewels of gold than we gene¬ 
 rally see now, and certainly some of them are of very elegant design. 
 We admire them still, even if they are not so, because of their anti¬ 
 quity, and because they are the work of what we consider a barbarous 
 age. We have many specimens of arms and weapons preserved in dif¬ 
 ferent museums, and perhaps the most perfect and interesting collection 
 of the kind is to be found at Copenhagen. There we see the weapons 
 of stone which were first in use; then those of copper, a proof that that 
 metal was known earlier, in the north at least, than iron; and then 
 those of iron and steel, beautifully wrought.” 
 
 “ But, Aunt Ida, I have always heard that no steel can compare 
 with the English.” 
 
 “The Swedes now, Gertrude, sell their iron to England, and buy 
 back English steel, but it was not so in the olden time; for, as you 
 have heard of the blades of Damascus, so in the old heathen days 
 were the swords of Scandinavia extolled all over Europe; nor did one 
 of the early German emperors despise such a present from the bands 
 of certain Swedish ambassadors, when he found that he could bend 
 the blade even to the hilt, and that on letting it go it sprang back as 
 straight as before.” 
 
 “ But there seems to have been no difference between blacksmiths 
 and jewellers in those days, Aunt Ida?” 
 
 “No, my dear; because the most skilful blacksmiths were the most 
 skilful jewellers also ; and of all trades it has been, perhaps, the 
 most respected in ancient times, as one requiring both skill and 
 strength and activity of body. Besides, in a religion like that of 
 Odin, which taught that heaven itself was to be gained by courage and 
 skill in war, this admiration for weapons, and respect for those who 
 forged them, was most natural.” 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 139 
 
 “Oh, Aunt!’’ said Florence, “tell us a story about those dwarfs 
 whom the old Swedes and Norwegians used to believe in, whom they 
 always represented as working at forges and making arms for Odin 
 and Thor.” 
 
 “ I do not recollect any story about dwarfs just now, Florence ; but 
 I will try to tell you part of the story of Waulundur, in connection 
 with what we have been speaking of. He was the most celebrated 
 smith of whom the northern legends have any record, and no less cele¬ 
 brated for his misfortunes than for his skill.” 
 
 “Oh let us hear!” said the children. “ This will be quite a new 
 sort of story.” 
 
 ID n it l unit it r. 
 
 Waulundur the smith was a native of Finland, but he left that 
 country, and went to dwell in the north of Sweden. He and his two 
 brothers had been happily married to three lovely maidens, whom they 
 had found one day sitting spinning by the sea-side. “ Seven years,” 
 says the song, “ they lived happily together, but the eighth they began 
 to pine, and the ninth Fate parted them from their husbands.” The 
 two brothers set out to look for their wives, but Waulundur preferred 
 remaining in his cave at Ulfsdala, where, while he daily worked at 
 his forge, ‘ twining the red gold round precious stones,’ he thought 
 surely she whom he loved so much would one day return to him. 
 
 “At that time a king of the name of Niduhr reigned in Sweden; 
 he was a short thin man, with a pale face and deep sunken eyes, and 
 was celebrated over the whole land for his grudging and envious spirit. 
 Nothing went more to his heart than when he heard that any of his 
 neighbours had distinguished themselves for generosity or by great 
 undertakings. He had killed three famous bards with his own hand, 
 because they had freely told him that he composed bad verses; for 
 though Niduhr was without manliness and strength, or one good 
 quality, and was withal a most insignificant person, his heart was so 
 
140 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 weak and vain that he wished to pass for a magnificent and sensible 
 prince. 
 
 No sooner had this king received news of Waulundur’s great riches 
 and skill than his colour mounted, then he became pale, and shook all 
 over. He immediately resolved to deprive the smith of all his pro¬ 
 perty; but, as he was likewise a great coward, the very thought of 
 accomplishing this villany filled him with dread and alarm. 
 
 His first emotions having subsided, he called one of his warriors, 
 and said, “ I have been informed that a man called Waulundur has 
 taken up his residence in my kingdom, and that he has become 
 renowned far and wide for his great riches in gold and silver. I have 
 likewise heard that he surpasses all others in the making of arms and 
 other treasures; now, as I very well know, that he came to my land 
 as a poor mountain Finn, I am very certain that he has attained these 
 riches either by robbery or by such sorcery as the Finns are famous 
 for; and therefore it is my pleasure, that you desire the stoutest of 
 my men-at-arms to clothe themselves in their coats of iron, that in 
 the stillness of the night we may ride to Waulundur’s place, and, not 
 only get possession of his goods, but seize himself.” 
 
 To this the warrior replied, “ I find no fault, King Niduhr, in your 
 wishing to seize a wizard or a robber; but it seems strange to lead a 
 whole force against one single person; for if he has no supernatural 
 powers, one of your men will suffice to overcome him; and if he has, 
 we can accomplish nothing against him, be we ever so numerous. 
 
 To this King Niduhr could make no reply, but became very indig¬ 
 nant, and seizing his sword with both hands, struck at the speaker’s 
 forehead; but, as his arm was weak, the blow descended without inflict¬ 
 ing any serious injury. Upon this he seized his spear and ran the 
 man through the body, and then calling his soldiers, and pointing to the 
 dead body to let them see what any one had to expect who opposed his 
 will, told them his intentions. This produced the desired effect, and 
 they loudly vowed to stand by him to the last drop of their blood. 
 
 So when the sun was set, they clad themselves in steel, saddled 
 
141 
 
 AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 their horses, took their sharp lances in their hands, and rode slowly 
 up to Waulundur’s farm at Ulfsdala. King Nidulir was very uneasy 
 all the way, for it was moonshine, and every time a straggling ray of 
 light struck on the armour of his men, his heart trembled with dread 
 lest his approach should he betrayed. They thus reached Waulundur’s 
 door, which stood open, and they crept quietly into the house, but 
 found it empty and deserted. The king’s eyes were dazzled by the 
 quantity of gold he saw around him. Seven hundred jewelled rings 
 were strung upon a rope along the ceiling. These he made one of his 
 men take down, and selecting the handsomest put it on his finger, his 
 eyes sparkling with delight; then, causing the rope to be replaced, 
 ordered every one to hide themselves, awaiting Waulundur’s return, 
 and not to stir on peril of their lives. They had not waited very long 
 before they heard a man approaching with heavy strides, and Waulundur 
 entered the hut with a bear on his back, and a spear in his hand, from 
 which the blood was yet dripping. He had been hunting the whole 
 day, and was now returning at midnight, hungry and weary, to dress 
 his supper. 
 
 When he had skinned the bear, he blew up the coals in his forge, 
 laying on them juniper branches and dry sticks, so that ere long a 
 bright flickering flame arose. He then took a gold cup filled with the 
 bear’s blood which he cast on the fire as a libation to Odin and Thor, 
 and taking the garland of birch leaves interwoven with bright red cones 
 from his helmet, laid it also on the fire, as an offering to Freija*. This 
 done, he cut off large slices from the hind quarters of the bear, which he 
 spitted on his spear, and roasted till they were fit to eat. Then he 
 went for a jug of mead, and having drank to the memory of his brothers, 
 as was his custom, he ate his supper. After he had finished, he stretched 
 the bear’s hide out with wooden pegs to dry in the wind; and not till 
 all this was done did he take the rope down from the ceiling and count 
 the rings. When he found one of these missing, and that the best of 
 them all, Waulundur was astonished ; for he lived in a wild, solitary 
 * In the Scandinavian Mythology Freija is the Goddess of Love. 
 
142 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 place among the mountains, and robbers, he thought, would have taken 
 them all. “ Is Alvild, my wife, returned,” he said, “ and has she 
 made it known by this token, that I may not die of joy ?” With these 
 ideas he stretched himself on his couch, hut, as nothing moved, he 
 said, “ Till Freija sends me her messenger of joy, I will wait with 
 patience and with these thoughts he turned himself on his bed, and 
 calmly fell asleep. 
 
 When King Niduhr perceived that Waulundur slept soundly, he 
 crept out with his men from their hiding place, and hade them chain 
 him with heavy chains, so that he could not move. When he awoke, 
 Waulundur was filled with surprise on finding how he had been treated, 
 and seeing himself surrounded by so many armed men, he took them 
 for robbers, and exclaimed, “ Are you come to take my costly things ? 
 Take them, then, freely, and let me loose again. I promise you in no 
 w 7 ay to resist your violence, which, indeed, would help me but little, 
 seeing that you are so many, and I am one.” 
 
 King Niduhr answered, “Loke, in Jotunlieim, gave great promises 
 and fine words, but he ended by deceiving the gods at last. I am 
 neither thief nor robber, but Niduhr, your king and lord.” 
 
 Waulundur replied, “ Great honour and distinction doth my hut re¬ 
 ceive from so noble a guest, my lord ! But why have you laid me in 
 chains and fetters like an evil doer ? ” 
 
 “I know thee full well, Waulundur!” replied the king; “thou 
 earnest from the deserts of Finland a poor man into my kingdom, and 
 now thou art possessor of drinking horns and treasures, costlier than 
 those of Niduhr in his hall. How is that ?” 
 
 Then said Waulundur, “ If it were proved that I were guilty of 
 either robbery or misdeeds, then with justice might I be bound and 
 cast in a tower, but if not, why dost thou maltreat me ? ” 
 
 “ Biches come not of themselves. If you have not stolen your 
 goods, you are a wizard,” cried the avaricious king, lashing himself to 
 fury, “ whom Providence warns me to have a careful eye upon.” 
 
 “Were I a wizard, it would be an easy thing for me speedily to 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 143 
 
 break away these chains. I know not that I have done harm to any 
 one, but if I have I am willing to restore it tenfold; and I entreat, 
 0 king! that thou wilt set me free, and let me buy my freedom, at 
 whatever rate thou shalt choose to value it.” 
 
 Niduhr turned to his men, and said, “ I will no longer listen to his 
 cunning and presumptuous w 7 ords ! Carry him away ! ” 
 
 He was instantly obeyed ; Waulundur quietly submitted to his fate 
 when he saw that resistance was of no avail. They carried away, also, 
 all the gold and precious stones, which the king commanded to be 
 brought before the queen, his wife. But he caused Waulundur to be 
 cast into a dungeon full fifteen fathoms under ground. 
 
 The queen was no less delighted than the king had been at the sight 
 of these great riches, and the lustre of the manifold precious stones. 
 The king gave her many ornaments and costly presents ; and to his 
 daughter he gave the hrst ring which he had taken off the rope. For 
 himself, he rejoiced greatly in the possession of Waulundur s splendid 
 sword, the hilt of which w T as inlaid with many lustrous precious stones 
 of a blue colour. 
 
 One day towards evening as the queen was sitting in her chamber 
 playing on her harp, the king came in and asked her what she thought 
 it would be best to do with Waulundur, for he did not want to kill 
 him, but considered it more advisable to employ him in the craft for 
 which he was so famous. She gave him in answer, singing to her harp, 
 the cruel advice to cut the sinews of Waulundur’s feet and set him to 
 work at Savers tad. 
 
 Saverstad was an island in a bay not very far from shore, on which 
 there stood a lofty old red tower covered with moss and lichens. The 
 king approved of the suggestion, and to this tower poor Waulundur 
 w T as conveyed after he had been first maimed in the cruel manner the 
 queen had devised. Here his anvil and tools were given to him, and 
 the chests of gold that were found among his stores, and he was obliged, 
 from morning to night, to forge costly drinking vessels, helmets, &c., 
 for the king. None but the king was ever allowed to cross over to 
 
144 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 him, for Niduhr feared that others might get possession of some part 
 of the treasures if any one but himself had access to the prison. 
 
 Here, then, sat Waulundur, labouring without intermission during a 
 whole year, for only while at work could he forget the sorrow and 
 despondency that consumed his heart. King Niduhr had commanded 
 him, within a given time, to make him a suit of armour of pure gold; 
 and as he was one day sitting working on the shield on which were 
 represented events in the lives of the divinities, Odin, Thor, &e., and 
 now had come in turn to Freija, having in her face and form faithfully 
 depicted the features of his own dear wife Alvild, the tears suddenly 
 burst from his eyes so that he no longer could see to work, and casting 
 aside his tools, he cried with a loud voice—“ Oh! my lovely and dearly- 
 beloved Alvild! Shall I, if not before, meet thee in Freija’s halls 
 above ? Ah ! if thou couldst see me now, wouldst thou love me still ? 
 No, no; that would be impossible! For from the strong and noble 
 warrior that once I was I am transformed into a maimed and wretched 
 slave! Here I sit, black with coal and cinders, my eyes red with 
 smoke, my arms weary with work, linked to a stone and lame! My 
 brothers have perished miserably, and I must see that villain, King 
 Niduhr, proud of my riches and vain-glorious through the bitter sweat 
 of my brow. Nothing but the hope of revenge has hitherto sustained 
 my life; but, little by little, that hope is fading, and why not make an 
 end of it at once ? ” 
 
 As he said these words, he seized a sword he had lately finished and 
 laid the point of it to his broad chest. Just at that moment he heard 
 a bird sing with a sweet and melodious voice outside the bars of his 
 window. The summer evening was cool and still, and the sun, which 
 was going down, cast a farewell glow through the opening in the thick 
 wall of Waulundur’s prison. He thought he should like once more to 
 contemplate the face of Nature before his death, and rising, he climbed 
 with difficulty upon the stone to which he was fettered. In this 
 manner he was able to look out of the window, from which he had a 
 wide prospect over the sea which bathed the foot of the tower. He 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 145 
 
 saw a tongue of land with a cottage upon it, before the door of which a 
 peasant was sitting with his wife and children. Beyond, the sun was 
 sinking in the sea, and its last red rays shed a warm glow upon the 
 cold waters. Meanwhile the bird continued its sweet song, and Wau- 
 lundur was in a strange mood. It was the same enchanting song 
 that had enticed him from the cold colourless Finland, and thus been 
 the innocent cause of his own and his brothers’ ruin. 
 
 With his head sunk on his arms he leaned for a long time, speech¬ 
 less and thoughtful, gazing out over the sea. He had many con¬ 
 fused thoughts. When he came again to himself it was as if his 
 soul had made a long and strange journey of which he had forgotten 
 the greater part. He looked out again upon the sea whose w r aves were 
 no longer red but silvered, for the moon now shone high in the heavens. 
 Far away, where the sea was brightest, he saw something moving—it 
 came swimming nearer and nearer. When it came quite near, he saw 
 that it was a mermaid. Her waving long black hair was woven with 
 green sedges, and her eyes were as blue as the sea. In her white 
 hands she held a harp on which she played. It blended strangely with 
 the murmur of the waves, with the moonshine, and the song of the 
 bird. When she came close under his window she stopped, lifted up 
 her voice, and sang a song about summer and happiness. 
 
 When the mermaid had sung this song, she looked up to Waulun- 
 dur, smiled kindly on him, and then floated away again like a swan 
 along the surface of the water playing on her harp all the while. 
 Some little way off she dived and disappeared, the bird flew away from 
 the window, and the moon sank behind the hill. Waulundur then laid 
 himself to rest, his spirit strengthened by the mermaid’s song. 
 
 “ Oh, but go on, Aunt Ida!” said Gertrude, after a considerable 
 i pause. “ I am sure it is not done !” 
 
 “ There is more of the story, certainly, Gertrude; but I cannot tell 
 you any more.” 
 
 “ This story is quite different from the German stories,” said 
 Frances. 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 “ Tt is, Frances dear, and belongs to an entirely different country. 
 The Sagas of every country suit their scenery and inhabitants, and this 
 is altogether Swedish. I could never have told it to you from the old 
 castle, for instance, where we look over such a splendid luxuriant land¬ 
 scape ; and it was only this uniform fir wood growing out of the sand, 
 the ceaseless swaying in the branches over head, and the bright flames 
 and eddying smoke of the fire, which brought it to my mind.” 
 
 They now set about dividing the brands of the fire, which had burnt 
 low, before leaving it; and Babette having packed her basket, they 
 walked back to Sandhofen to rejoin the carriage; and thus ended a day 
 in the open air, pleasanter than any one, without a trial, could have be¬ 
 lieved possible in the month of March. 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 147 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 One day not long after the excursion to the Haardt Forest, Aunt Ida 
 and the children were walking towards the Stift Nenburg; it lies on 
 the sunny side of the Neckar, and flowers are sometimes found there, 
 while the snow may still be seen in patches on the opposite bank. 
 The almond trees were just going out of blossom, they had been late 
 in flowering this year on account of the cold, for in a fine season 
 they bloom in February ; and now the plums and cherries were breaking 
 into their beautiful white clusters of flowers ; and the gooseberry and 
 other bushes along the road, were putting on their green dress, which 
 is so delightful to look at after a long winter. 
 
 Amy, Gertrude, and Susanna were walking with Aunt Ida, Frances 
 and Florence having gone on a long way before. They were passing 
 under the fruit trees, when Amy exclaimed, “ Oh, Gertrude ! do you 
 remember that day last autumn when we were coming along here ? 
 I shall never forget it!” 
 
 “What happened?” said her aunt. 
 
 “ You were walking before with Florence, and Frances, Auntie, and 
 we three were some way behind, when a woman came up to us, and 
 gave Susanna an apple ; then she looked all round to see if anybody 
 was near, and began to shake an apple tree, and to pick up the apples, 
 and put them into her basket, and then she gave me one, and Gertrude 
 one, but Gertrude would not take it; but she pressed them on us, and 
 on little Susanna,—in fact she tempted us, Aunt. First I looked round 
 to see if anybody was coming, for I felt as if the woman knew she 
 was doing wrong, and wanted to make us take part in it, too. I could 
 not see anybody, and yet I was never so frightened in all my life. 
 
 l 2 
 
148 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OK, 
 
 Gertrude told Susanna and me to throw down the apples; so we did, 
 and then came running up to you as fast as we could, and I was so glad 
 we had not eaten any. But it was temptation, Auntie, was it not ? 
 I have often thought of it since, and I cannot make out why the woman 
 did it.” 
 
 “ I am glad, dear Amy, that you did not eat any, and that Gertrude 
 was there to tell you not to take them. What the woman meant by 
 her conduct I do not know, but I know why you were frightened.” 
 
 “ Because I saw she was doing wrong, Aunt; and because I felt as 
 if she were putting a bad wish in my head that was not there before.” 
 
 “ And that is temptation, as you rightly named it. A great part of 
 our happiness here, even that of such little girls as you are, depends on 
 resisting temptation to do wrong; for I am sure you must feel to-day, 
 Amy, when you are recalling the circumstance, that the taste of the 
 stolen apples would have been long since forgotten, whereas the 
 remembrance of having given way to the temptation to do wrong would 
 always have recurred to you at this spot, if at no other, and made this 
 walk disagreeable to you.” 
 
 “ And that it is not, Aunt, I am very glad to say,” said Amy ; “ and 
 I am very much obliged to Gertrude, who helped me to do what was 
 right.” 
 
 Thus conversing, they entered the Stift gardens, and were met by 
 Frances and Florence, who both came running to meet them with a 
 handful of bright blue flowers. One had a bunch of the beautiful peri¬ 
 winkle, the other of wild hyacinth or blue bell, of which the grass was 
 now full. There was a little stream babbling through the grounds, and 
 on the edge of this they found the crow’s-foot, and the large marsh 
 mallow just coming up, and violets along the sheltered bank. Every¬ 
 thing and every place, every flower and green leaf, seemed as glad and 
 happy to be released from the dark long winter as were the children 
 themselves. 
 
 Two hours passed quickly away. By this time they had ascended a 
 sunny bank beyond the garden, which commands a pretty view of the 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 149 
 
 Stift, which is now a very nice dwelling-house, hut it was once a con¬ 
 vent, with a chapel annexed; benches were standing in convenient 
 spots, and on one of these they sat down to arrange their bouquets 
 before returning home along the hill. 
 
 “ Can you tell us a story to-day, Aunt Ida?” asked Gertrude. 
 
 “ We were speaking about resisting temptation as we were coming 
 here, and that has put me in mind of a story I heard when I was a 
 little girl, of two boys who yielded to it, and the punishment that over¬ 
 took them for so doing. Should you like to hear it, Amy ?” 
 
 “ Oh yes, Aunt!” said Amy. 
 
 “ And so should I like to hear it, Aunt Ida,” said little Susanna. 
 
 “ Well, then, you shallit is called 
 
 38 it ft 38ntjs. 
 
 One cold evening in the end of autumn, two little boys came begging 
 at the door of a farm-house. They were hungry and ragged, and the 
 farmer’s dog which was chained in the yard, barked and growled so 
 furiously that the farmer came out from his supper to see what was the 
 matter with Growler. Growler was leaping and bouncing about in his 
 chain, and would have torn them to pieces if he could have got loose. 
 Dogs in general have a great dislike to people in ragged clothes, though 
 I cannot tell you why. 
 
 The two little boys said they had travelled a long way; that they 
 were very cold, hungry, and weary, and that they would be very glad 
 to get anything to eat, even a bit of dry bread. The farmer took pity 
 on them, and bid them come into his kitchen, where he gave them some 
 bread and cheese and bacon, and allowed them to warm themselves, and 
 gave them some beer before they went away. 
 
 As they were going along at a little distance from the house they 
 passed under the wall of the farmer’s orchard, and the eldest boy bade 
 the other look up and see what fine ripe apples and pears hung upon 
 the trees. “ How I should like to have some !” said he. 
 
150 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 Just at that moment a most wicked thought came into this bad boy’s 
 head, that he would rob the good farmer’s orchard. So as they were 
 going on their way home, he told his brother that he had found out a 
 way to get some of the farmer’s nice ruddy apples without anybody’s 
 knowing anything about the matter. And this wicked boy, who was 
 the oldest, and ought to have known better, proposed to his brother 
 that the next night, after every person was in bed, they would steal 
 out softly, and take a bag with them to carry away the apples. 
 
 So, the following evening these bad boys stole out late, and as the 
 moon was shining very bright the biggest boy said that he knew a short 
 cut through the wood that would soon bring them to the farmer’s, and 
 that they could get into the orchard on the side next the wood without 
 any person seeing or hearing them. Wicked and foolish boy ! he forgot 
 that there was One who saw everything he thought and did, though he 
 should hide it from all the world! 
 
 They skulked along till they came to the wood, which they immedi¬ 
 ately entered; and when they had got about half way through it, the 
 moon all at once sank under a cloud, and left them in darkness. They 
 groped on as well as they could, though the path was narrow, and full of 
 bushes and briars which grew about the roots of the tall forest trees. 
 In a little while they saw a light a short way before them. “ There,” 
 said the wicked boy; “ there is a light in the farmer’s window, we shall 
 soon be there now ; we shall be very merry in his apple trees, when he 
 is fast enough asleep. He little thinks who is so near him!” 
 
 “ I wish, brother, we had not come,” said the little bov; “ I wish 
 you would go back; the farmer was so very good to us last night, I do 
 not like to steal his apples. I wish you would go back ! ” 
 
 “Pooh! pooh!” said the big boy; “nevermind that! he will not 
 know that we did it, and so you know it does not signify.” 
 
 They walked on as quickly as they were able to the spot where they 
 thought the light came from, but it had moved, and they saw it on 
 their right hand. They followed it awhile, and then it appeared again 
 to be on their left. It was not the light of a candle which these bad 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 151 
 
 boys saw, but of a vapour called ignis fatuus, which appears frequently 
 over marshy ground. The country people in England call it “ Jack-o’- 
 Lanthorn,” and in Scotland “ Will-o’-the-Wisp.” It looks exactly like 
 a light at a distance, and moves about from place to place. These 
 wretched children followed it about for some time, till suddenly the 
 little boy cried out, “ Oh, brother! brother! help me ! I am sinking 
 into the ground.” 
 
 He called loudly several times, but received no answer. All was 
 silent and dark, and he heard not the least sound, except the noise of 
 the wind in the tops of the trees over his head. He tried to pull him¬ 
 self out, but felt unable to move, and there he continued to cry and 
 bemoan himself and lament that he had agreed to come, for the whole 
 of the long dark night, thinking that his brother had had the cruelty to 
 go on without him, and leave him there to die. 
 
 As soon as the day dawned, some woodcutters came into that part of 
 the wood. They thought they heard a faint cry, like the voice of a 
 child in distress. They searched about everywhere, till they came to 
 the quagmire in the middle of the wood, when the first thing they 
 saw was the little boy, sunk up to his breast, and half dead with fear 
 and cold. A few yards further on, they saw where the ground had 
 almost entirely swallowed up his brother; his hands alone, which he 
 had vainly stretched out to Heaven for help, were all that could be 
 seen of him. 
 
 The woodcutters threw a rope to the little boy and drew him out; 
 they put him into one of their carts, and, as the farmer’s house was the 
 nearest, they brought him there. 
 
 When this unhappy boy saw the farmer he fell upon his knees, and 
 confessed the whole truth with many tears and deep sorrow for the bad 
 return they were going to make for all his kindness. This good-hearted 
 man was moved with his tears, and taking pity on his youth, he said 
 to him, “ That as it was his brother, who ought to have known better, 
 who was most in fault, if he would promise to mend his ways that he 
 would try to serve him once more.’' 
 
152 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 The little boy promised most sincerely that he would; so the farmer 
 took him into his service; and ever after that day he w r as never known 
 to tell the slightest falsehood, nor would he have taken the least 
 thing that belonged to another person, even though he had been 
 starving with hunger. The farmer sent some of his men who dug out 
 the body of his unfortunate brother, and buried him under a tree, close 
 to the spot where he had so miserably perished—an example and a 
 warning to all other children not to do wrong, though they may think 
 nobody sees them. 
 
aunt ida’s tales 
 
 L53 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The first of May was fixed for the journey to England down the Rhine, 
 and there only remained time for one more excursion, and that was to the 
 ruin at Weinheim, a pretty little town on the Rergstrasse, which is 
 seen to greatest advantage at the season when the fruit trees are in 
 bloom. It was a beautiful bright morning when the five little girls and 
 Aunt Ida set out on this expedition, and what a different scene did the 
 hills then present to that which they had so long displayed! Every 
 tree was green, not that dark green which foliage assumes in July and 
 August, but the fresh bright living hue of the early spring, among 
 which the fruit trees in full blossom looked like beautiful bunches of 
 fresh flowers. The sky was so blue, the sun so bright, the air so mild, 
 it made them almost regret they should soon see so lovely a country no 
 more. 
 
 The road to Weinheim leads through Handschuhsheim, then passes 
 through a village called Schriesheim, which also has its ruined castle 
 on a hill; but this is only a round tower joined to a high straight wall, 
 and presents nothing very remarkable. The small town of Weinheim 
 lies a good way further on; and when they had reached it after a two 
 hours’ drive, leaving the carriage at the inn, they immediately took the 
 road to the ruin, which is at some little distance. The name of this 
 ruin is Windseck*. And certainly it is a windy corner enough, 
 crowning as it does the summit of a detached and conical hill; 
 but the beauty of the view well repays the trouble of the ascent. Just 
 below is seen the town of Weinheim, with its towers and old walls, 
 interspersed with gardens, lying on a gently sloping hill; beyond, the 
 plain stretches to the Rhine, like one wide field of flowers, bounded 
 
 * Windy corner. 
 
154 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 by the blue Vosges Mountains; and behind are the green Bergstrasse 
 Hills, with fruit trees and corn fields, as far as the eye can reach. 
 
 The ruin consists of one tall tower, standing like a sentry at the 
 corner of a square inclosure of considerable size. In some places the 
 walls are level with the ground; but on one side there are two rows of 
 arches, which support a staircase leading half way up the tower on the 
 outside. In the middle of the court is a mysterious looking doorway, 
 which proves to he the entrance to a dark cave, the roof of which is 
 supported by low columns, and may have been a chapel or a wine 
 cellar. 
 
 “ Come here,” said Florence, calling all her little companions 
 about her, “ and I will tell you something about this castle that will 
 make you laugh. Who do you think its last inhabitants were ? ” 
 
 “ A lady who was shut up in that tower to die of hunger, ” said 
 Gertrude. 
 
 “ A knight who was killed by a dragon,” said Frances. 
 
 “ A bat, and an owl, and a crow with his quill, 
 
 And if they ’re not gone, they must live there still! ” 
 
 said Amy. 
 
 “ All wrong ! all wrong!” cried Florence. “ There lived there, let 
 me tell you, two misers, and their only companion was a poor little 
 titmouse, which they had caught and kept in a wooden cage, and fed 
 with one single nut every day. But one fine morning one of these 
 misers discovered that the poor little titmouse cost them no less than 
 three hundred and sixty-five real good valuable nuts, such as they could 
 themselves eat, in one year; and so they opened its cage and let it fly, 
 to get rid of such an enormous expense. Was it not lucky they did 
 not think of eating it instead?” 
 
 “ Happy bird to get rid of such company ! ” cried Frances. 
 
 “ Where did you get that story ? ” said Gertrude. 
 
 “ Out of one of Grimm’s books, who wrote those pretty fairy tales 
 we like so much; so you may be sure it is true! ” said Florence, 
 laughing. 
 
155 
 
 AUNT TDA’S TALES. 
 
 When the children had examined the old walls inside and out in 
 every possible direction they returned to where their aunt was seated 
 in the shade, looking through a breach in the walls at the wide land¬ 
 scape stretched beneath her feet. They placed themselves on the grass 
 about her without speaking, but now and then looking at one another 
 with a little suppressed laugh. Still, Aunt Ida, who knew very well 
 what it all meant, would not turn her head. At last, their patience 
 quite exhausted, Gertrude said, “ Aunt Ida, you promised us a story in 
 the carriage, you know.” 
 
 “ Oh, are you all there? Did I promise you a story? Well, I will 
 tell you a real German story which I have just been thinking of.” 
 
 “ Oh, so much the better ! We like Germany more and more every 
 day the nearer the time comes for us to leave it.” 
 
 liiin of Innjj. 
 
 Not far from Asmannshausen, on the Rhine, there lived, along while 
 ago, a knight known by the name of Sibo of Lorcli. He had once 
 been a happy and a cheerful man, and his castle the seat of hospitality 
 and mirth; but his wife, whom he loved dearly, died suddenly, and 
 from that day Sibo seemed to care for nothing he had ever loved before, 
 except his only child, Garlinda, at this time about twelve years old, on 
 w'hom he doted. 
 
 Once on a time, in the early spring, when days were mild and nights 
 were often cold, Sibo, having parted with Garlinda for the night, was 
 sitting sad and solitary in his gloomy hall lighted by one single lamp. 
 He was leaning on the window, listening to the rushing of the Rhine 
 below the rock on which his castle stood, when one of his followers 
 entered and told him that a strange-looking old man was standing at 
 the door begging for a night’s lodging. Instead of granting a ready 
 assent as he would have done in his better days, Sibo threw open the 
 window, and, looking out, discovered by the feeble moonlight a dwarfish 
 figure standing on the other side of the fosse. The little man wore a 
 
156 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OK, 
 
 gray coat bound by a dark red sash round his waist, and carried a white 
 staff in his hand. 
 
 “ Who’s there so late?” cried Sibo, in a loud rough tone. 
 
 “ Will you, brave knight,” answered the dwarf, in a deep but gentle 
 voice, “ grant a poor wanderer shelter for one night from this cold 
 inclement air? I will spread your praises far and wide among my kith 
 and kin.” 
 
 “ As if I cared for your praises!” answered the knight of Lorch con¬ 
 temptuously. “ I know very well what sort of people you belong to, 
 and wdiat thanks I should get from you and your whole set. No, no; 
 you may seek a lodging where you please, but certainly you shall not 
 find it here.” With this he closed the window 7 , and bestowed not 
 another thought on the poor old man whose humble petition he had so 
 rudely rejected. 
 
 “ Well, well!” mumbled the dwarf to himself as he turned away. 
 “ I have given you a fair trial. You won’t even grant me so small a 
 favour. Bide awhile, Sibo, and see if you shall not pay for this!” So 
 saying, he was soon lost among the rocks. 
 
 Next morning, Sibo, who had forgotten all that had occurred, rose 
 as was his custom with the earliest rays of the sun. He breakfasted 
 as usual with his dear Garlinda, and, after this, took his solitary ride 
 among the hills until the heat of the mid-day sun drove him home. 
 The summons to dinner was sounding through the hall as he approached, 
 and he thought with joy of seeing his child again, as he always did, even 
 after the shortest absence. The repast was laid out as usual, but no 
 Garlinda appeared. They sought her in her own room, in the garden, 
 under her favourite oak on the hill where she used often to take her 
 distaff and sit and spin; but all in vain. At last, some one ventured to 
 say that she had gone into the valley early in the morning and had not 
 since returned. Sibo ordered out his horsemen and sent some of them 
 to scour the country round, charging them to bring him back his 
 child, while at the head of another party, he himself rode down the 
 steep hill on which his castle was built, and took his w T ay towards a 
 
aunt tda’s tales. 
 
 157 
 
 neighbouring dell, always a favourite resort of his lost daughter. It was 
 a sweet spot, with grass of the loveliest green kept bright and fresh by 
 the little stream which meandered through it. Above it rose the 
 frowning heights of the Kedrich, the loftiest and most inaccessible hill 
 in those parts. Garlinda was not there ; but, under a willow Sibo 
 descried a shepherd-boy, who was occupied in shaping a staff, with his 
 good dog beside him keeping a watchful eye upon the sheep as they 
 were scattered around nibbling the grass and flowers. Sibo rode straight 
 up to him and called out, “ Say, boy! have you seen nothing of my 
 daughter? The young lady of the castle has been missed since this 
 morning. Did she come to this valley?” 
 
 “ Noble Sir,” answered the lad, “ I had scarcely driven my sheep 
 to the banks of this stream this morning, when I saw a lovely little 
 girl, about eleven or twelve years old, coming this way and gathering 
 the primroses, cowslips, and violets as she came. All at once I heard 
 a noise like thunder, and, to my horror, perceived three gray dwarfs 
 come rushing down yonder mountain’s side. They surrounded the little 
 girl, and, swifter than deer, carried her off. A heavy mist rolled down 
 the hill, and when it had cleared away all was lonely as before. But 
 you know, noble Sir, the Kedrich has from time immemorial been the 
 residence of black and gray dwarfs. They are mostly mischievous 
 spirits, easily incited to anger, and have been often seen in the early- 
 morning or late twilight wandering here beneath the willows of this 
 valley.” 
 
 Pale and trembling Sibo received this intelligence. “ Oh, G arlinda, 
 Garlinda, my child!” he cried, “where art thou?” And, looking up 
 towards the summit of the mountain, he descried his little girl, who, 
 with outstretched arms, seemed to implore him to rescue her. But no 
 mortal foot but her’s had ever trod the inaccessible summit of the 
 Kedrich, and gloomy tales were told of the fantastic spirits whose abode 
 it was. Still Sibo would not despair. 
 
 “Follow me!” he called to his men, and throwing themselves 
 from their horses they rushed towards the rocks as if they would 
 
158 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS J OR, 
 
 take them by assault. But all in vain. They had scarcely clambered 
 a few feet from the ground ere they lost both hold and footing, and 
 rolled back into the valley again. 
 
 “ Then we must cut a path !” cried the enraged Sibo. “ Get work¬ 
 men from the castle that we may deliver my child!” His orders were 
 speedily executed, and a body of men, with pickaxes and spades, com¬ 
 menced the bold undertaking of hewing a way up the precipice; but 
 thev had scarce laid their hand to the work ere an avalanche of stones 
 rolled down upon them from above, so that they had to fly to save their 
 lives, and out of the heart of the mountain a deep voice resounded, 
 “ The reward for the hospitality of Lorch !” 
 
 Now for the first time the event of the last night rushed into Sibo’s 
 mind, and, together with the recollection of it, that of all the harshness 
 and hardness he had shown to every creature with whom he had ever 
 had to do since his wife’s death, his daughter alone excepted. In 
 silence and despair he rode back to his empty halls, meditating on this 
 heavy punishment which almost bowed him to the ground. But this 
 lesson was enough, and from that day Sibo was an altered man. By 
 abandoning his morose habits, and changing his churlish manners, by 
 being as generous and hospitable as he had lately been the reverse, he 
 hoped to propitiate the angry spirits of the Kedrich, and win them to 
 give him back his child. From morning to night he bestirred himself 
 in works of love and mercy, his door stood ever open to receive and 
 shelter the houseless wanderer, his table was spread to relieve their 
 wants, but all was fruitless. Year after year rolled away, and Sibo was 
 still alone. One comfort was granted him, that of knowing his child 
 to be alive and well; for, as he wandered like a restless spirit around 
 the base of the Kedrich, his eye fixed on its unattainable summit, he 
 sometimes could behold her beckoning to him from above, and even at 
 that distance he felt how willingly she would come back to him were 
 she but allowed. 
 
 But, though she longed to return to him, Garlinda was not unhappy 
 with the dwarfs who thus kept her from her father. They did not 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 159 
 
 revenge his churlishness on her, and she soon became the especial 
 favourite of their whole fraternity. They did not force her to live 
 underground with them, far away from the cheerful sunlight, but gave 
 her a beautiful grotto for her dwelling-place, which was hung with 
 glittering crystals, and lined with many coloured shells. The female 
 dwarfs wove her a gown of silk so delicate and silvery that no human 
 hand could have produced anything to be compared with it; they hung 
 strings of jewels round her neck, and would sing their wondrous songs, 
 and wile away many an hour in relating to her the strange histories of 
 Fairyland. She had a garden to wander in full of gorgeous fruit and 
 the sweetest flowers, and could she have forgotten her poor father 
 might have been very happy. But that she could not do, and many 
 a time the tears came into her eyes as she thought of him, so forlorn 
 and solitary without her. Then one of the little old women, who had 
 from the beginning made Garlinda her especial care, would console 
 her, saying, “ Weep not, my daughter, better days are coming, I am 
 gathering a dower for thee, such as an Emperor’s daughter never had!” 
 Then Garlinda dried her eyes and felt happier, though she could not 
 tell why. 
 
 Thus the fourth year of her captivity fleeted away, and her sorrowful 
 father had lost all hopes of ever again embracing her. Neither the 
 chase, nor the visits of friends whom he now 7 admitted, nor even all his 
 works of charity, could comfort him. He roamed through and around 
 his deserted castle, or in the neighbourhood of the fatal mountain, and 
 felt he should never be happy again. One evening when he was even 
 more sad and dispirited than usual, a guest was announced, who proved 
 to be the son of a former friend. Sibo had not seen him since he was 
 a boy, and was surprised when Conrad (for such was his name) told 
 him that, just returned from a victorious campaign with the Emperor 
 in Hungary, he had heard of the strange misfortune that had befallen 
 him, and had vowed to deliver his fair daughter from the dwarfs, if it 
 were in the power of mortal arm to do so, and it was to undertake this 
 adventure he had now arrived. 
 
ICO 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 Sibo, who had long since felt certain that every effort he himself might 
 make would ever prove fruitless, took fresh courage at this unexpected 
 offer, and, ere another hour had passed, Conrad had left the castle on 
 his arduous undertaking, accompanied by the father’s blessing and 
 anxious prayers. 
 
 Conrad, who had apparently only heard of the Kedrich, and never 
 seen it, rode on in the twilight, quite convinced that he had only to 
 attempt in order to succeed, and that though every one else had failed 
 he never would. He never once thought that had it been practicable 
 for mere human energy to accomplish her deliverance, Garlinda’s 
 father would never have returned unsuccessful. He examined the base 
 of the cliff on every side, as Sibo and his men had done, leaped off his 
 horse, and began to climb the steep ascent upon his hands and feet; 
 but he had hardly got twice his own height from the ground than he 
 lost his hold, and came rattling down again, as the others had done 
 before. He was trying in the moonlight to discover some less rugged 
 spot, when he heard a sudden rustling amongst the bushes, and turning 
 round was somewhat startled by the sight of a little gray dwarf, girt 
 with a red scarf round the waist, who, stepping out from under the 
 shadow of the dark pines, addressed him thus : “ No doubt, Sir Knight, 
 you are here on account of the fair Garlinda, my dear adopted daughter. 
 She lives in a grotto on this mountain, and if you have a mind to earn 
 a bride you have only to ascend and carry her off!” 
 
 Conrad considering this great encouragement, seized the little man’s 
 hand, and made him repeat his promise. “ I am but a dwarf,” answered 
 the goblin, “ but my word is a giant! You have only to try hands and 
 feet, and if it is not too hard for you to reach the summit I will willingly 
 make the damsel over to you. She is worth all your trouble, I assure 
 you, for her match in beauty, worth, and goodness, is not easily to be 
 found in all our Rhenish provinces. So good luck to your undertaking ; 
 and much good may the fresh evening air do you !” and thus saying, 
 laughing loud and shrill, he disappeared whence he had come. 
 
 The knight looked once more up the frowning precipice. “Ah!” 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 161 
 
 sighed he, as he perceived the dwarf’s meaning for the first time, “ I 
 think the good man was mocking me. Without an eagle's wings who 
 can get to the top of such a place as this ?” 
 
 “ Perhaps you may succeed without wings!” said a little voice behind 
 him ; and looking round he discovered a strange-looking old woman, 
 who was in fact none other than Garlinda’s friend and protectress. In 
 a few words she explained to Conrad that, having overheard her brother’s 
 promise she was determined to find means for its fulfilment; for,” 
 said she, “ our word is as firm as these rocks, and as certain as your 
 sword. Garlinda’s father offended my brother sorely, hut he has borne 
 a heavy punishment these four years, and done his best, besides, to 
 make up for his fault. As for Garlinda herself, a kinder heart never 
 heat; I am sure her home will be ever open to the homeless, and I 
 am determined the poor child shall return to her kind, nor can I 
 wish her under the care of a braver knight than you. So listen to 
 me now.” 
 
 She then produced a little silver bell, and desired Conrad to proceed 
 to the Wisperthal, one of the narrow valleys near Lorch, and having 
 found the entrance of a deserted mine, which he would easily recognise 
 by a pole planted near it, besides its being shaded by a pine and an 
 oak tree, to enter the dark passage and ring the silver bell three times. 
 “My youngest brother lives in there,” she said, “and when he appears 
 you must beg him humbly to furnish you with a ladder as high as 
 the Kedrich. If you succeed in pleasing him, no fear but all will 
 go well.” 
 
 Conrad returned his hearty thanks to his new friend for this un¬ 
 looked-for kindness, and then lost no time in galloping towards the 
 Wisperthal, where, tying his horse to the pine, he presently entered 
 the cavernous passage of the mine, and three times rang the silver hell. 
 As the last echo died away, a dwarf, holding a lantern in his hand, and 
 dressed in every respect like the first that he had seen, presented 
 himself, but looked, as Conrad thought, very little pleased to he 
 disturbed so late at night. However, hearing himself politely, and 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 even respectfully, accosted by such a tall and handsome knight, he was 
 soon mollified, and not only promised that Conrad should have his 
 request by the break of day, when he desired him to be at the foot of 
 the Kedrich once again, but, to show he was in earnest, immediately 
 sounded a loud call on a whistle which hung by his side, which brought 
 scores of little goblins swarming around him, carrying saws, axes, and 
 hammers in their hands; and, as Conrad rode away, he saw them 
 flitting about like bats in the moonlight, and heard the valley echo 
 with the sound of falling trees, a sign that these little beings were not 
 slow to obey their master’s orders. 
 
 Conrad s heart was now too full of hope to permit him to return 
 to Sibo’s castle until he should know the end of his adventure, so 
 he passed the night with a neighbouring charcoal-burner, to whom 
 he entrusted the care of his noble steed ; and scarce had the faintest 
 ray of light begun to tinge the horizon, and the stars to grow pale 
 above, ere he once more directed his steps to the foot of the dark 
 frowning rocky hill, which at a distance seemed as hopelessly steep and 
 inaccessible as ever. But on approaching, what was his delight to find 
 a ladder placed against its side, the top of which he could not discern, 
 but which, notwithstanding, he began to mount, with bright expectations 
 of success almost amounting to certainty. Nor was he deceived ; his 
 unknown friends had been true to him ; the firm though slender stairs 
 ceased not until, with the first rays of the morning sun, dizzy, dazzled, 
 breathless, but happy beyond expression, Conrad trod the solid earth 
 once more, and found himself in Garlinda's fairy garden, where no 
 mortal foot but hers ever before had been. 
 
 Garlinda was now a little girl no longer, but a tall and lovely maiden 
 of sixteen, and when Conrad presented himself before her astonished 
 eyes, and told her he had seen her father and was come to restore her 
 to him, her joy was boundless, and she felt as if she had known Conrad 
 all her life, and was ready to accompany him anywhere. 
 
 As they were discoursing, the elder dwarf arrived and began to cast 
 very menacing glances upon Conrad; but his sister was not far behind, 
 
aunt Ida’s tales. 
 
 163 
 
 and when she showed him the ladder and recalled his promise so faith¬ 
 fully given, he w 7 as obliged to clear his brow and declare that though 
 he was loath to part with his adopted child, as he called Garlinda, 
 he would he true to his word. “ So, depart my children,” he said. 
 “ Live happily with one another, but be more hospitable than was 
 Sibo.” 
 
 However, he would insist on Conrad’s returning by the way that he 
 had come, saying he would find an easier path for his Garlinda, 
 and that, at the western foot of the mountain, they should meet again. 
 Conrad was not slow to obey. He could not have said by what means 
 he got down again, but he did get down safely; and, conducting his 
 horse to the place of meeting, he had some hours after the happiness 
 of seeing Garlinda appear from the narrow entrance of a dark cavern, 
 accompanied by both her adopted parents. Here they delivered her 
 into Conrad’s care, charging him to value her as much as they them¬ 
 selves had done. The friendly old woman then delivered a heavy 
 casket ornamented with embossed figures in gold and silver, into 
 Garlinda’s hands, saying “ Take this, my child, it is the wedding pre¬ 
 sent I have long been collecting for thee ! ” and with mutual tears they 
 embraced and parted. 
 
 “ And now children-” here broke off Aunt Ida, “ I leave the rest 
 
 to be filled up by yourselves : I will only give you the sketch and you 
 must finish the picture. A stately white horse, with a flowing tail and 
 mane, and crimson trappings, on his back a lovely maiden with golden 
 hair and flowing gown, holding a quaint casket in her hand. Leading 
 the charger by the bridle-rein, a noble knight, his sword-hilt just 
 gleaming from under his green cloak, and one long feather curling over 
 his shoulder as all the w 7 ay he turns to cheer and encourage his com¬ 
 panion, while the full splendour of the mid-day sun shines upon them 
 both. An old castle, with doors standing open and drawbridge down, 
 an old gray-headed man, clad in mourning, with a heavy eye and 
 sunken cheek, standing at the gate, now he hears the horses’ hoofs, 
 
 m 2 
 
164 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OK, 
 
 lie advances, they enter the dark portal; we cannot see them any 
 more, but they have met and we know that they are very happy. Now 
 rise, my dear children, let us go ; and may we soon enjoy as happy a 
 meeting with those we love! ” 
 
aunt ida's tales. 
 
 165 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning when Aunt Ida and the whole family began 
 their voyage homewards down the Rhine. The river was full to the hrim, 
 and the ripples sparkled like diamonds as the sunbeams flashed proudly 
 upon it, and the rapid steamboat going down with the stream, whizzed, 
 and smoked, and rattled, and shook, and brought them to the end of 
 their first day’s journey at Mayence in four hours after they had started 
 from Mannheim. 
 
 The afternoon was very fine, and, as soon as the heat was tolerably 
 past, Aunt Ida took the little girls out to show them the town. What 
 interested them most was the cathedral, which is a large and fine 
 building, and the great monumental statues in it, which stand about 
 the pillars and line the aisles. These, wdiich are carved in stone and 
 many of them painted, chiefly represent the old bishops of Mayence, 
 with their mitres on their heads, their stately embroidered robes flow¬ 
 ing to their feet, and their crosiers in their hand. 
 
 “ But do tell me,” said Gertrude, “ what is the meaning of those 
 figures of little children that stand by the bishops, Aunt Ida? See, 
 here is a bishop with his hand upon two children who have crowns on 
 their heads; and there is another with three children standing by 
 him.” 
 
 “ These little figures, Gertrude, are not intended for those of chil¬ 
 dren ; on the contrary, they represent the German or Roman Emperors, 
 as they were called, who were crowned by the bishop on whose monu¬ 
 ment they are carved. This was the privilege of the bishop, or more pro¬ 
 perly archbishop, of Mayence, who was likewise Elector, that is to say, 
 one of the seven German princes by whom the Emperor was elected. 
 
166 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 Thus, you see, they were very mighty men in their day, and sovereign 
 rulers of the city in which we now are, and of many, many miles of 
 surrounding country. 
 
 “ One singular thing in this church, you may observe, is its having 
 two high altars, one at each end; but by far the most beautiful part is 
 the cloister hard by, in which is the grave and monument of Frauen- 
 lob, the German troubadour, so named from his having made the praise 
 of woman the continual subject of his song.” 
 
 When they were standing looking at this marble monument, Aunt 
 Ida continued, “ I must tell you about his funeral, although he died 
 so long ago as 1317. His real name was Heinrich von Meissen, and 
 Mayence was, if not his native town, at least his residence. In the early 
 morning of the day on which he was to be buried, all the bells began to 
 toll, while throngs of people lined the street awaiting the procession, 
 which, contrary to the usual custom, consisted mostly of ladies, the 
 wives and daughters of the nobles as well as citizens of Mayence, who, 
 robed and veiled in black, walked two and two after the coffin, on 
 which was laid three garlands, one of roses, one of myrtle, and one of 
 lilies, and which was borne by eight ladies, distinguished among the rest 
 for their superior beauty. The cathedral, which is older than even the 
 remote days of Frauenlob, was hung with alternate banners of black 
 and white, and lighted entirely by torches. The coffin was interred 
 while the organ sounded solemnly, and the ladies sang a chorus in 
 honour of their bard, the eight who had been the corpse-bearers mean¬ 
 while scattering roses, myrtle, and vine leaves into the vault, while 
 others advanced and, from golden cups, poured the golden Rhenish 
 wine over the pavement until it flowed along the aisles. They then 
 attended high mass in the body of the church, and parted from each 
 other in silence and tears. The old monument raised at that time, 
 representing his bust and coffin, was broken about a hundred years 
 ago, and this, in which you see the eight ladies carrying his 
 bier, is by Schwanthaler, and has been erected by subscription 
 among the ladies of Mayence of the present day, very nearly on the 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 1G7 
 
 spot occupied by the first. Thus you see, because Heinrich von Meis¬ 
 sen was good and pure, and loved and sang of what is good and pure, 
 taking the Blessed Virgin Mary as his type and ideal of female excel¬ 
 lence, his memory has survived five hundred years, and, while May- 
 ence itself exists, will never perish.” 
 
 From the cathedral the children accompanied their aunt to the 
 Anlage, or New Gardens, which are in a pretty situation over¬ 
 hanging the river, and commanding a view of the Maine, as it flows 
 down from Frankfort, and falls into the Rhine. One of the military 
 bands was playing, and the gardens were filled with gay company 
 drinking coffee, or eating ices in groups at different little tables 
 arranged about the door of the saloon, and on the terrace overlook¬ 
 ing the river. However, Aunt Ida and her little party much pre¬ 
 ferred being alone, and so they walked away to an unfrequented part, 
 where they sat on the grass under the shade of the trees, and where 
 they could just catch a glimpse of the red dome of the cathedral and 
 the Taunus Hills behind it; and then Aunt Ida told them the follow¬ 
 ing story about Mort the Kreuznacher, to give them some idea of the 
 proud prelates whose monuments they had just visited. 
 
 Jttnrt tilt Irntjtinrjitr. 
 
 My story goes as far back as the year 1277, when the town of 
 Kreuznach, on the Nahe, and a castle called Bockelheim, were in pos¬ 
 session of two brothers, Johan and Heinrich von Spannheim, of a very 
 ancient German family. They were both brave knights, but while 
 Johan, the eldest, joined every other knightly virtue of honour and 
 courtesy to his bravery, Heinrich was an extravagant, disloyal charac¬ 
 ter, entirely devoid of right feelings and principles. Without con¬ 
 sulting his brother, or even hinting the matter to him, he sold not 
 only his own share, but the whole and entire possession of the castle 
 of Bockelheim to Werner, the then Archbishop, and Electoral Prince 
 of Mayence. 
 
168 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OR, 
 
 Though fully aware that no man could sell what was the property of 
 another, the archbishop, whose character was imperious and unjust, 
 would not lend an ear to Johan’s protestations, or even to his proposals 
 of accommodation, but preferred to go to war about it, which was at 
 last the only thing that Johan could do, if he ever wished to recover 
 his property. 
 
 Johan von Spannheim had been married not long before to a very 
 beautiful lady. Among his followers was a man named Michael Mort, 
 who had accompanied him in all his wars, but who, having been born in 
 the town of Kreuznach was more commonly known as Mort the Kreuz- 
 nacher; by which name his fame was spread among all Spannheim’s 
 comrades and allies, and had even reached the ears of his fair 
 •‘ountess. 
 
 Now, on the morning that Johan von Spannheim and his cousins, 
 the counts of Sayn and Leiningen, set out with their united forces, the 
 countess, after having parted with her lord, stepped into the balcony 
 overhanging the castle yard to take one farewell look. There she 
 perceived Michael Mort among the rest, and knowing her husband’s 
 impetuous disposition, called the faithful retainer by his name, and 
 said to him, “ Mort! have an eye to your lord !” Looking up with an 
 expression which showed how well he understood her, he laid his 
 hand on his sword and, in the words of the oath taken by the allies 
 on the preceding evening, shouted, “ Hurrah for the right of Spann¬ 
 heim! Not one jot nor one tittle will we yield!” The whole band 
 took up the cry, and the court of the castle of Kreuznach rang again 
 with, “ Hurrah for Spannheim’s rights !” 
 
 The two parties met on a plain on the banks of the Nahe, and 
 as Johan von Spannheim saw Archbishop Werner leading on his troops 
 in person, he and two of his kinsmen dashed forward, shouting out 
 aloud, “Archbishop! on thy head be the innocent blood which will 
 to-day be spilt. For we swear once more, to yield neither jot nor tittle 
 of Spannheim’s right!” 
 
 But Werner answered as solemnly as if he were before the altar and 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 169 
 
 his cause were just. “ Nay, on your own heads, ye traitors ! let it fall. 
 Have I not bought my right, and dearly bought it too ? Bockelheim 
 is mine, and mine it shall remain !” 
 
 This being his reply, at a sign from Johan his banner was unfurled, 
 and the fight began. 
 
 At first the day seemed to go against the archbishop, and Spannheim 
 thought the victory secure, when a body of Mainzers, who had lain in 
 ambush, suddenly rushed out, and changed, in a moment, the aspect of 
 affairs. Michael Mort by the side of his beloved master had been 
 performing prodigies of valour, when they were separated in the 
 confusion of this fresh assault. As he strove to regain his post, 
 his voice could be still heard above the confusion of the conflict, now 
 urging the fugitives of his own party to return, now shouting, “Hurrah 
 for Spannheim’s right! Defend him ! save him or let us die !” 
 
 Meantime, Spannheim himself might be seen everywhere cheering 
 the failing hearts of his men, and putting those who would have fled to 
 shame. But, continual reinforcements pouring in to aid the Mainzers, 
 it seemed after all as if he and his must yield. At length the fate of 
 battle brought Johan von Spannheim and Archbishop Werner face to 
 face. 
 
 “Victory! victory!” shouted the proud archbishop. “On! brave 
 Mainzers! One effort more, and Spannheim is in our dungeons !” 
 
 Spannheim, who saw one half of the field strewed with his dead or 
 dying men, the other covered with his broken squadrons flying before 
 the foe, sprang like a lion upon the archbishop at these w 7 ords, and at 
 the first blow shivered the sword from bis grasp, and seized him by 
 the throat. The archbishop, disarmed as he was, tried in vain to disen¬ 
 gage himself; he was already a prisoner, when a standard-bearer gal¬ 
 loping up wounded Spannheim with a lance, whilst at the same time, 
 an arrow piercing his horse to the heart, brought the gallant animal, 
 his rider, and the archbishop, whom Johan still held fast, rolling toge¬ 
 ther on the ground. 
 
 “ I will not die in your dungeon! Rather shall you perish here 
 
170 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS J OR, 
 
 with me !” cried Spannheim, furiously tightening his hold, and pressing 
 his knee upon his chest. All was the work of a moment; the contest 
 was so short and violent, that before any one could interfere the arch¬ 
 bishop was at his last gasp, and already black in the face; but at this 
 instant the standard-bearer and his company tore him from Spann- 
 heim’s grasp, and, while some bore him from the field, the others 
 seized and bound his conqueror hand and foot. 
 
 Mort, all this while on foot with but five followers, was bravely 
 doing his best to rejoin his lord, when he saw from a distance the 
 short struggle between him and the archbishop, but could not succeed 
 in reaching the spot till Spannheim was already a prisoner. There 
 was no time for deliberation, he and his companions charged upon the 
 Mainzers, and, by the rapidity of their attack, threw the whole into 
 confusion. Mort striking down the man across whose horse the 
 apparently lifeless body of his master was thrown, cut the thongs that 
 bound him, and, lifting him on his own strong shoulders, bore him off 
 in triumph, while his companions crowded around and kept off the 
 pursuers. But their numbers were too few, and Mort’s only hope 
 was to reach the bank of the Nahe, where some boat yet might save 
 them. 
 
 He was still far from the river, and no less distant from the wood, 
 where he knew that the Count of Leiningen by this time had rallied 
 the scattered fugitives, when he could go no further. He was hotly 
 pursued, and his little party, vainly endeavouring to cover his retreat, 
 was cut off to a man. Breathless and tottering under the great 
 weight of his lord in complete armour, this faithful vassal contrived to 
 reach a low sandhill, in a hollow of which he deposited his precious 
 burden, resolved to defend it to the last drop of his blood. In a mo¬ 
 ment the horsemen were upon him. He struck down the foremost, 
 leaped into the empty saddle, and kept his enemies at bay. But now 
 the archers had come up; the arrows rattled against his armour, and 
 all at once his horse fell under him pierced with a mortal wound. 
 Mort, however, extricated himself in a moment, and the fallen animal 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 171 
 
 serving as a sort of rampart both to his master’s body and himself, 
 held on as stoutly as before. The horsemen were embarrassed, and 
 those on foot shared the confusion, when in the midst was heard the 
 voice of the archbishop raging with his wounds and his defeat. 
 “ Down with him! Will none cut the caitiff down !” Another flight 
 of arrows followed, one of which piercing the joint of his armour, 
 brought the brave Mort upon his knee. Still brandishing his tre¬ 
 mendous sword he kept his ground; but his wounds, though slight, 
 were many, and the blood flowed fast. His arm slackened, and his 
 sight grew dim ; when on a sudden he started at the sound of horses 
 galloping, and caught the welcome voice of Leiningen as he shouted, 
 “ Hold on, brave Mort! Rescue is at hand !” He had barely strength 
 to cry faintly, “Quick, quick!” as his assailants pressed upon him. 
 With redoubled fury he swung round his sword with one last effort, 
 and a Mainzer sank beneath the blow. The weapon remained in the 
 wound, for Mort fell lifeless upon his master, protecting him even in 
 death. The dastards had barely time to pierce his helpless body with 
 their spears, when the arrival of Leiningen and the Pfalzers put them 
 to flight. The archbishop escaped with difficulty, baffled utterly by 
 the staunch loyalty of this one brave man. 
 
 Johan von Spannlieim still showed signs of life when the brave 
 Mort’s dead body was removed. They brought him to his castle, 
 where, under the care of his lady, who bound and anointed his wounds 
 with salves of her own making, he soon recovered. They shed many 
 a tear together over the memory of the faithful Mort, who received an 
 honourable interment; and they richly provided for the family of him 
 who had made his own children fatherless and his wife a widow for his 
 beloved master’s sake. 
 
 “ And what became of Bockelheim for which so much blood had 
 been spilt?” asked Frances at the conclusion of the story. 
 
 “ Rudolph of Hapsburg, who had become Emperor, principally 
 through Archbishop Werner’s influence, bestowed two-tliirds of it 
 upon him; with the command, however, that compensation should be 
 
172 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS J OR, 
 
 made to Johan von Spannheim for the loss. But afterwards the see 
 of Mayence obtained entire possession of the castle until two hundred 
 years later, when it passed into other hands. And now, children, that 
 you have heard this story, I think you will be glad that we do not live 
 in times when might makes right, nor will you soon forget Archbishop 
 Werner of Mayence.” 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 173 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 The next day was a happy one for the children. Since they had lived 
 in Germany, and had learnt its language, and knew something of its 
 history, besides the many pleasant associations they had with the 
 Rhine its very name had become dear to them ; and they looked on 
 the river now, as its waters were hurrying them back towards their 
 native land, with much more affection than when they had made the 
 same journey upwards of a twelvemonth before. They had now some idea 
 of the legends attached to the old castles which looked down upon them 
 from the rocks above, not cold and sternly as when they first saw them, 
 but with a more friendly and familiar air, as if they would bid the little 
 travellers a kind “ good-bye ” as they passed. 
 
 They embarked at Mayence at six in the morning, on board the 
 steamer Victoria, on which they passed a very happy day; for the 
 conductor, seeing so many little English girls, soon made acquaintance 
 with them, after he had gone the round of the passengers and collected 
 their tickets. He took them into his little cabin and showed them his 
 collection of canaries and bullfinches, which go steaming up and down 
 the Rhine with him all the summer, his gold fish swimming round 
 and round in their glass basin, his wonderful tumblers which he had 
 made himself and dressed like Chinamen, that made somersets head 
 over heels to a vast distance from their starting point, and his still 
 more wonderful camera obscura, through which they looked at the 
 landscape. He asked, “ Can you see it?” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
174 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 Then thrusting his arm before the glass, “ Can you see it now ?” 
 
 “ No, of course !” said Florence, who was not looking through. 
 
 “ Yes, yes, I see it all the same!” exclaimed Gertrude, who was 
 looking through. 
 
 “ How is that? How do you manage it?” cried they all. 
 
 “Tell us, tell us, pray tell us !” 
 
 “ Dat is my great secret!” said the conductor. “ I not tell you dat! 
 You must find dat out!” 
 
 Thus he continued to amuse them, naming the places which they 
 passed, and they all declared he was “ such a nice man !” and “ such a 
 kind man!” and “ such a funny man !” and if they ever came on the 
 Rhine again they would be sure to come on board his boat. 
 
 From Mayence to Bingen the Rhine runs westward, hut there it 
 makes a sharp turn, and afterwards pursues a northerly course towards 
 Holland, where the grand old German river loses both its beauty and 
 its name. It divides into two branches, which the Dutch have thought 
 proper to call the Wahl and the Leek, while to an insignificant stream 
 alone, which is last seen as a canal at Leyden, until, a few miles further 
 on, it dies in the German Ocean, they have left the legendary name of 
 Alter Pihein —Old Rhine. 
 
 But the children were not thinking of this to-day, when, as the 
 steamer lay-to before Bingen, they heard the Rhine sweeping in its 
 glory under Ehrenfels, the first of the ruined castles. And they had 
 plenty of leisure to look at this beautiful scene as the steamboat stopped 
 some time, its head turned up the rapid stream, while it took in more 
 than a hundred poor peasants with their families and household stuff, 
 emigrants bound for America going over the Atlantic, and far away 
 from the land of the vine and the Rhine. 
 
 This gave their good friend the conductor a great deal to do; how¬ 
 ever he despatched it all like a man accustomed to business, and 
 did not forget, some time after, when they had passed Lorch and the 
 Wisperthal which runs down behind it, and Bacharach, with its beauti- 
 
See page 175 , 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 175 
 
 ful ruin of St. Werner’s Chapel, and Caub, with that extraordinary 
 building called the Pfalz, rising out of the centre of the river, which, 
 small as it looks, contains thirty-two rooms, to tell them they were ap¬ 
 proaching the Lurlei Fels, and pointed out to them a gigantic profile 
 against the sky, which some of them thought they could make out, and 
 some could not and wished they could, but which he declared he could 
 see distinctly; and as they came hurrying under the precipice, he had 
 the cannon fired for them and roused the fifteen echoes of the moun¬ 
 tain, but these they lost, for the noise a steamboat makes is far too 
 great to admit of much else being heard on board. 
 
 There are many legends about the Lurlei Fels, or Rock, one of 
 which Aunt Ida offered to let her little party hear at St. Goar, their 
 next stopping place. “ It will be our last story for the present, dear 
 children,” she said, “and though there are many and many more be¬ 
 longing to the scenes among which we still are, we must pass them over 
 in silence, till we may some day, perhaps, be here once more together; 
 unless then, indeed, you should have grown too old to care for such 
 fantastic and old-world tales. If so, you will not resemble your Aunt 
 Ida.” 
 
 “ Oh no, we shall never be tired of them or like them less than we do 
 now,” said more than one of her eager listeners. “ Do tell us about 
 the Lurlei?” 
 
 €ljr Xtguiir nf il it Iitriri. 
 
 In days so far back that we know no date for them, it is said that 
 when the moon was shining on this sparkling stream, and gleaming in 
 uncertain light on the broken surface of the Lurlei Fels, the fishermen 
 upon the river would often hear a voice like an angel's sounding through 
 the silence; and some favoured few might even descry a dasmel more 
 beautiful than the most lively fancy could imagine, plaiting her golden 
 hair in the moonshine ; but no sooner was she seen than she disap¬ 
 peared, and the uncautious fisherman who should try to follow where 
 
176 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS; OR, 
 
 her voice was next heard would be lured onwards to his ruin, amid the 
 dangers that beset that portion of the river. 
 
 A young fisherman with his wife, a good, industrious, and affectionate 
 couple, once lived not far from the shadow of the Lurlei Fels. One 
 evening, after sunset, being out upon the river, as they were gathering 
 their nets to return home, they were surprised and startled by the 
 sudden apparition of the Maiden of the Rock. But her voice and her 
 smile were equally sweet as she beckoned to them. They followed 
 where she led floating along the water ; then pointing to a particular 
 spot, “ Fish here,” she said, and vanished. They threw in their nets, 
 and never before that day had their toil been recompensed as it thence¬ 
 forward was. 
 
 The fame of this extraordinary vision soon spread far and near, and 
 never was the queen of the fairies described so beautiful as she who 
 had appeared to this favoured pair. In hut and castle, in cot and 
 palace, she was spoken of, and in the Pfalz too, where in those days 
 there lived a count called Albrecht, who had one only son of the same 
 name, a youth whose greatest happiness had been riding and hunting, 
 until the unlucky day when he first heard of the Lady of the Lurlei. 
 His whole heart was now bent on seeing her also, and judging for 
 himself if such a wondrous report were true. It occupied his waking 
 and his sleeping thoughts. 
 
 At last the young Count Albrecht could resist his desire no longer. 
 He set out with a few of his father’s chosen followers, and rode along 
 the banks of the river until they reached the rapids above the Lurlei. 
 Here, as evening fell, they got into a boat, and just as the first stars 
 were glimmering in the sky, the sweet unearthly voice came floating 
 down the wind, and the boatmen all exclaimed, “ See! see, there she 
 sits on the summit of the rock! ” 
 
 Albrecht looked up, and there indeed, on the very edge of the preci¬ 
 pice, sat the Lady of the Lurlei, weaving a crown of water-lilies, her 
 white garments and her golden hair gleaming in the moonbeams as she 
 sang. The men, almost breathless with fear and admiration, speaking 
 
aunt ida’s tales. 
 
 177 
 
 under their voice, said all they could to hinder their young master’s 
 nearer approach. 
 
 But Albrecht was heedless of their words—he only ordered them the 
 more imperiously to make for the shore and bind fast the boat. They 
 had not even time to accomplish his command, when, still looking up¬ 
 wards, he sprang from the skiff to land the speedier; but, misjudging 
 his distance, the quick eddying stream received him, and he was lost to 
 sight, and hurried far away ere the boatmen could do anything to save 
 him. After much and ineffectual search, it only remained for them to 
 return to the Pfalz, bearing the sad tidings to his father. 
 
 After his first bitter grief was past, the father’s rage turned against 
 the Lady of the Lurlei, the witch, the sorceress, as he called her, the 
 cause of all this sorrow. “ Bring her to me, dead or alive ! ” he cried; 
 and despatched a fresh and more numerous body of men to accomplish 
 this purpose. 
 
 Taught by the late disaster, these landed both above and below the 
 Lurlei, at safer points than where young Albrecht had attempted and 
 failed. Having encircled the rock on the land side, leaving its preci¬ 
 pitate front open towards the river, the leader of the band and two of 
 his companions ascended it. In the rosy twilight of the dawn they 
 saw the lady sitting as before upon the verge of the precipice, but in¬ 
 stead of a garland, she held a string of amber beads in her hand. Ere 
 they had reached her she addressed them in her melodious voice, 
 saying, 
 
 “ Men of the Bliine ! what want ye here ?” 
 
 “ To fling thee from the rock, thou cursed sorceress, who hast 
 caused our young count’s death! ” 
 
 “ Nay, let the water fetch me,” replied the lady, with a smile, and, 
 flinging her amber-beads into the stream below, she sang, in a voice that 
 made her hearers tremble, 
 
 “ Thy steeds obedient send to me, 
 
 From out our own loved water, 
 
 By storm or tempest speedily, 
 
 0 father, save thy daughter.” 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 WALKS AND TALKS ; OK, 
 
 In an instant dark clouds covered the whole sky; the wind howled, 
 the rain descended in torrents, the river boiled and foamed. At the 
 same time two monstrous waves, conspicuous above the rest, rolled 
 surging on, and, swelling suddenly to the height of the rock, enveloped 
 it in one white mass of foam and spray. Blinded and stunned, the men 
 fell upon the ground, and when they ventured to look up again all had 
 subsided, the storm had passed away, the calm river flowed silent as 
 before, but the Lady of the Lurlei was nowhere to he seen. 
 
 They returned hack to the castle of the Pfalz, and there a second 
 wonder awaited them; for, lo! the living Albrecht had returned to 
 bless his father’s sight. He never disclosed what had happened to him 
 since his disappearance, neither did he attempt again to explore the 
 secrets of the Lurlei Fels, or seek the presence of its mysterious lady. 
 
 “ Thank you, Aunt Ida! That was a very pretty story indeed. We 
 will neither forget it nor any of the others you have told us.” 
 
 “ And now look at Boppard ! ” 
 
 “ Now look at St. Johannis Kirche! Ah, one of the towers have 
 fallen since we were here last! ” 
 
 “ And now look at Coblentz ! ” 
 
 “ And there is Ehrenbreitstein ! ” 
 
 Thus they went on, as the rapid passage of the steamer brought each 
 place in succession before their eyes; and so they passed Drachenfels, 
 and Nonnenwirth, and in the evening they reached Cologne. 
 
 As they were drawing near that city, and while their baggage was 
 being collected, their good friend the conductor hid the little girls good- 
 by, hoping they had got all their cloaks and shawls. “ You be five 
 children,” he said, “ and you better dan de five ladies who come vid 
 me ! I say when dey go on shore, ‘ Ladies, have you all your tings ? ’ 
 ‘ Oh yes,’ say de five ladies. Five days after dat, I get five letters from 
 de five ladies—de five ladies want deir five cloaks! Me laugh very 
 mush, and send five ladies five cloaks ! but my five children here better 
 travellers ! Dey got deir five cloaks on!” 
 
 And now the steamboat swung round, and the steam was let off. 
 
AUNT IDAS TALES. 
 
 179 
 
 and the five children, and the trunks, and the servants, and Aunt Ida, 
 were landed on the quay of Cologne, whence they were to proceed to 
 Ostend, and there embark for England, while the steamer, Victoria, 
 pursued her way to Diisseldorf, 
 
 n 2 
 

 ■. r 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
A LIST OF 
 
 WORKS OF ENTERTAINMENT AND INSTRUCTION, 
 
 FOR YOUNG PERSONS. 
 
 i. 
 
 HISTORY OF ENGLAND. From the 
 
 First Invasion by the Romans, to the Reign of 
 Queen Victoria. By Mrs. Markham. 48 th j 
 Thousand. Woodcuts. 12mo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 II. 
 
 HISTORY OF FRANCE. From the 
 
 Conquest by the Gauls, to the reign of Louis- 
 Philippe. By Mrs. Markham. 20 th Thousand. 
 Woodcuts, 12mo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 III. 
 
 HISTORY OF GERMANY. From 
 
 the Invasion by Marius, to the Battle of Leipsic. 
 By Mrs. Markham. 3rd Thousand. Woodcuts. 
 12mo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 “Mrs. Markham’s Histories are constructed 
 on a plan which we think well chosen, and we are 
 glad to find that they are so popular, for they 
 cannot be too strongly recommended, as adapted 
 for youth .”—Journal of Education. 
 
 IV. 
 
 SERMONS FOR CHILDREN. By 
 
 Mrs. Markham. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo, 3s. 
 
 V. 
 
 BERTHA’S JOURNAL DURING A 
 
 VISIT IN ENGLAND. With a variety of en¬ 
 tertaining and instructive information. 101/t 
 Edition. 12mo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 “ I am reading ‘ Bertha ’ with the utmost 
 avidity. I can scarcely take my attention from 
 this, the best of all juvenile compilations.”— Rev. 
 I George Crabbe. 
 
 “ An excellent little work.”— Capt. Basil Hall. 
 
 THE HEIRESS IN HER MINO- 
 
 ! RITY; or, The Progress of Character. 
 
 ; By the Author of “ Bertha’s Journal.” 2 vols. 
 12mo, 18s. 
 
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 j ing pages, to trace the steps by which the power 
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 young and ardent mind when brought under the 
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 to show how materially the happiness of the indi¬ 
 vidual is enlarged by turning it from the selfish 
 indolence of pride to the active and habitual exer¬ 
 cise of the faculties in endeavouring to acquire 
 useful and varied knowledge.”— Preface. 
 
 VII. 
 
 GLEANINGS IN NATURAL HIS¬ 
 TORY. With Anecdotes of the Sagacity and 
 Instinct of Animals. By Edward Jesse Seventh 
 Edition. Fcap. 8vo, 6s. 6d. 
 
LIST OF WORKS FOR YOUNG PERSONS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 .ESOP’S FABLES. A new Version 
 
 translated from the Original, and adapted for 
 Youth. By Rev. Thomas James. With 100 
 Woodcuts. Post 8vo, 16s. 
 
 “ Mr. James has made a judicious selection of 
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 taken as his text; his translation is at once close 
 and free; the wood engravings are among the 
 triumphs of art.”— Spectator. 
 
 IX. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY IN SPORT MADE 
 
 SCIENCE IN EARNEST; or, Natural Philo¬ 
 sophy inculcated by the Toys and Sports of 
 Youth. Sixth Edition. Woodcuts. Fcap. 8vo, 8s. 
 
 “ We know of no other book which so charm¬ 
 ingly blends amusement with instruction. No 
 juvenile book has been published in our time 
 more entitled to praise.”— Examiner. 
 
 X. 
 
 LITTLE ARTHUR’S HISTORY OF 
 
 ENGLAND. By Lady Callcott. 33 rd Thou¬ 
 sand. 18mo, 2s. Gd. 
 
 “ Lady Callcott’s style is of the right kind; 
 earnest and simple.”—Examiner. 
 
 XI. 
 
 STORIES FOR CHILDREN FROM 
 
 THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By Mr. 
 Croker. 33rd Thousand. Woodcuts. 16mo, 
 5s. 
 
 “ This skilful performance of Mr. Croker’s 
 suggested the plan of Sir Walter Scott’s * Tales of 
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 CHILDREN. By Mr. Croker. loth Thousand. 
 18mo, Is. 6d. 
 
 “ The best elementary book on the subject.” 
 
 Quarterly Review. 
 
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 THE INVISIBLE WORLD RE- 
 
 VEALED BY THE MICROSCOPE. By G. 
 A. Mantell, D.C.L. Second Edition, with Co¬ 
 loured Plates. 16mo, 6s. 
 
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 sented a vast deal of information on the most in¬ 
 teresting genera and species of infusoria, and 
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 suasive eloquence, with which he has been ever 
 wont to impart knowledge.”— Westminster Review. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 GOSPEL STORIES FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 An attempt to render the Chief Events of the 
 Life of Our Saviour intelligible and profitable. 
 Second Edition. 18mo, 3s. Gd. 
 
 XV. 
 
 ELEMENTS OF GEOMETRY AND 
 
 ALGEBRA. By Rev. George Fisher. 18mo, 
 3s. each. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 SENTENCES FROM THE PRO- 
 
 VERBS. In English, French, Italian, and Ger¬ 
 man. For Daily Use. By A Lady. 16mo, 3s. Gd. 
 
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 Atlas. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 MY KNITTING BOOK. By Miss 
 
 Lambert. 55th Thousand. Woodcuts. 2 Parts* 
 16mo, 3s. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 PRACTICAL HINTS ON DECORA¬ 
 TIVE NEEDLEWORK, containing minute di¬ 
 rections as to the choice of materials, and the best 
 methods of employing them for Canvas or Ta¬ 
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 16mo, Is. 6d. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 MY CROCHET SAMPLER. By 
 
 Miss Lambert. 18t& Thousand. Woodcuts. 
 2 Parts. 16mo, 4s. 
 
LIST OF WORKS FOR YOUNG PERSONS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE LATE WAR; 
 
 with Sketches of Nelson, Wellington, and Na¬ 
 poleon. By J. G. Lockhart. 18mo, 2*. 6d. 
 
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 of Little and Grown Children. By Otto 
 Speckter. With Illustrations. 16mo, 5*. 
 
 “ Complete pictures, and tell the story with 
 dramatic force.”— Spectator. 
 
 XXII. 
 
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 Little Brother and Sister. By Otto 
 Speckter. With Illustrations. lGmo, 5$. 
 
 “ Designs full of excellent humour.” 
 
 Examiner. 
 
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 THE FAIRY RING; a Collection 
 
 of Tales and Stories for Young Persons. 
 With Illustrations by Richard Doyle. Second 
 Edition. 8vo, 7*. (id. 
 
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 Richard Doyle, who has lived a long time in 
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 “ Three dozen legends, many among them 
 pointed with that humorous wisdom which none 
 appreciate better than children, make up a 
 month’s entertainment of charming quality.” 
 
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 THE ARABIAN NIGHTS: Illustrated 
 
 with 600 Woodcuts, and arranged for Family 
 Reading, with the Old Spelling restored. A New 
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 Poetry, The Drama, Etc. 
 
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 POETS. By Thomas Campbell. One Volume. 
 Royal 8vo, 15*. 
 
 “ Rich in exquisite examples of English poetry, 
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 WORKS. Including the Fall of Jerusalem— 
 Samor, Martyr of Antioch, &c. Second Edition. 
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 AND SONGS. 24mo, 2*. 6d. 
 
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 XXX. 
 
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 HOME AND COLONIAL LIBRARY. 
 
 [Complete in 37 Volumes .] 
 
 This Series of attractive and useful works, by approved authors, was 
 designed to furnish the Highest Literature of the day, at the lowest possible 
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 British Parliament for the protection of Copyright, and the rights of British 
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 as romances, but conveying, at the same time, sound information. 
 
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 THE BIBLE IN SPAIN. By George 
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 “ There is no taking leave of a book like this.” 
 
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 Vols. 2—3. 
 
 JOURNALS IN INDIA. By the late 
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 guage .”—Quarterly Review. 
 
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 LIFE OF SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 
 
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 MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF 
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 Lewis. 
 
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 Vol. 9. 
 
 SKETCHES OF PERSIA. By Sir 
 
 John Malcolm. 
 
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 Hajii Baba .”—Quarterly Review. 
 
 Vol. 10. 
 
 THE FRENCH IN ALGIERS,- 
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 HISTORY OF THE FALL OF THE 
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 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. By Wash¬ 
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 Vol. 12. 
 
 VOYAGE OF A NATURALIST. 
 
 By Charles Darwin. 
 
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 LIFE OF LOUIS PRINCE OF CONDE. 
 
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MURRAY’S HOME AND COLONIAL LIBRARY. 
 
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 THE MARQUESAS ISLANDS. By 
 
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 LIYONIAN TALES. By Author of 
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 THE MISSIONARY IN CANADA. 
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 Vol. 18. 
 
 WILD SPORTS OF THE HIGH¬ 
 LANDS. By Charles St. John. 
 
 “We would not desire a more pleasant com¬ 
 panion.”— Morning Post. , 
 
 Vol. 19. 
 
 JOURNEYS ACROSS THE PAMPAS. 
 By Sir Francis B. Head. 
 
 “Has all the interest of a novel .”—Eclectic Reviexc. 
 
 THE SIEGES OF VIENNA BY THE 
 TURKS. By Lord Ellesmere. 
 
 “ A valuable collection to history.”— Athenaeum. 
 Yol. 20. 
 
 GATHERINGS FROM SPAIN. By 
 
 Richard Ford. 
 
 “ The best book on Spain that has ever ap¬ 
 peared.” —Quarterly Review. 
 
 Yol. 21. 
 
 SKETCHES OF GERMAN LIFE. 
 By Sir Alexander Gordon. 
 
 “ A work deserving much attention. ’’—Athenaeum. 
 
 Vol. 22. 
 
 THE SOUTH SEA ISLANDERS. By 
 
 Hermann Melville. 
 
 “ A companion after our own hearts.”— Times. 
 
 Vol. 23. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. By 
 
 Rev. G. R. Gleig. 
 
 “ This account is instinct with spirit.” 
 
 Literary Gazette. 
 
MURRAY'S HOME AND COLONIAL LIBRARY. 
 
 Yol. 24. 
 
 VOYAGE UP THE AMAZON. By 
 
 William Edwards. 
 
 “ This book is full of novelty.”— Athenceum. 
 
 WAYSIDE CROSS. By Captain Mil- 
 man. 
 
 “ A spirited and interesting little story.” 
 
 Athenceum. 
 
 Yol. 25. 
 
 MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF 
 INDIA. By Rev. Charles Acland. 
 
 “ Must interest all who have friends in India.” 
 
 Theologian. 
 
 CAMPAIGNS AT WASHINGTON. 
 
 By Rev. G. R. Gleig. 
 
 “ The personal narrative of an eye-witness.” 
 
 Times. 
 
 Yol. 26. 
 
 ADVENTURES IN MEXICO. By 
 George F. Ruxton. 
 
 “ Full of interest and adventure.”— Athenceum. 
 
 Vol. 27. 
 
 PORTUGAL AND GALLICIA. By 
 
 Lord Carnarvon. 
 
 < < a very remarkable work."— Quarterly Review. 
 
 Vol. 28. 
 
 LIFE OF LORD CLIVE. By Rev. 
 G. R. Gleig. 
 
 “ One of the best popular biographies. ’’—Spectator. 
 
 Vol. 29. 
 
 BUSH LIFE IN AUSTRALIA. By 
 H. W. Haygarth. 
 
 “A lively and graphic description.”— Spectator. 
 
 ADVENTURES ON THE ROAD TO 
 PARIS. By Henry Steffens. 
 
 “Amusing in its style and conduct.’’— Literary 
 Gazette. 
 
 Vol. 80. 
 
 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. By 
 
 Washington Irving. 
 
 “ Furnishes food for delectable entertainment.” 
 
 Literary Gazette. 
 
 Vol. 31. 
 
 ESSAY ON ENGLISH POETRY. By 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 “ The rise and advance of English poetry.”— Sun. 
 
 Vol. 32. 
 
 HISTORICAL ESSAYS. By Lord 
 Mahon. 
 
 “ Selected from his contributions to the”— 
 
 Quarterly Retrieve. 
 
 Vol. 33. 
 
 THE RAILROAD AND ELECTRIC 
 TELEGRAPH. By Sir F. B. Head. 
 
 “Very clever, rapid and graphic sketches.” 
 
 Examiner. 
 
 ADVENTURES IN THE LYBIAN 
 DESERT. By Bayle St. John. 
 
 “ Described in the most picturesque and agree¬ 
 able manner.”— Morning Herald. 
 
MURRAY’S HOME AND COLONIAL LIBRARY. 
 
 Yol. 34. 
 
 A RESIDENCE IN SIERRA LEONE. 
 By a Lady. Edited by Mrs. Norton. 
 
 “ A most animated and sprightly picture.”— 
 John Bull. 
 
 Yol. 35. 
 
 LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MUNRO. 
 By Rev. G. R. Gleig. 
 
 Yol. 36. Price 8s. 6d. 
 
 SIR T. FOWELL BUXTON’S 
 MEMOIRS. By His Son. 
 
 “ A most thoroughly well-written biography.” 
 
 —Evangelical Magazine. 
 
 Vol. 37. 
 
 LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. By 
 
 Washington Irving. 
 
 “ This excellent and very entertaining life.” 
 
 Morning Herald. 
 
 The “ Home and Colonial Library” having been sustained during a 
 period of six years with unabated success, Mr. Murray, anxious to guard 
 against the objection of overloading the subscribers with too large and cum¬ 
 brous a series of books of one size, has decided on concluding the work with 
 its thirty-seventh volume. He is thus enabled to offer to the public a com¬ 
 pact and portable work, the bulk of which does not exceed the compass of a 
 single shelf, or of one trunk, suited for all classes and all climates—of which 
 the interest, value, and popularity is not likely to be impaired by lapse of 
 time. 
 
 At the same time, the large circulation of the “ Home and Colonial 
 Library,” and the continued demand for back Numbers, convince him that 
 there is an unabated desire on the part of the public for reading, at once 
 cheap, popular, and instructive ; he is, therefore, preparing speedily to put 
 forth a New Library, which, though equally portable, shall be even more 
 elegant in typography than the last, and shall surpass, or at least maintain, 
 its literary value and general attraction. 
 
 January , 1850. 
 
 Uniform with the above Series, 
 
 HUMBOLDT’S COSMOS. ( Sabine's Edition.) Post 8vo, 5s. 
 
 HUMBOLDT’S ASPECTS OF NATURE. (Sabine’s Edition.) Post 8vo, 5s. 
 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. 
 

RARE BOOK 
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 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 Murray 
 5090