How the Miller holds to it that 'what is written is written'; why
the Amtshauptmann pulls Fritz Sahlmann by the ear, and my uncle
Herse loses all command over himself. How too this story comes to
a happy end.
He went; and Heinrich and Fieka remained alone.--Up at the Schloss the
old Amtshauptmann sat on his chair with the white napkin round his
neck. He was peevish.
"Neiting," he said, "the string is cutting me."
"Why, Weber, how can it cut you?"
"It cuts me, Neiting; and I'm not a Turkish Pasha, trying how it feels
when you strangle yourself with a silk cord."
"Well, is it right now?"
"Hm! Yes;--but it's a very troublesome thing."
"What is, Weber?"
"About the old Gielow Miller. The old man has gone quite mad; at least
I try to think so, though his conduct savours strongly of knavery."
"What has he done?"
"Why, he has kept all the corn which people have brought him to grind,
and he's said to have sold it afterwards to Itzig.--What are you
looking at, Neiting?"
"O, I just caught sight of him coming up with Rathsherr Herse."
"With Rathsherr Herse?" cried the old Herr, also getting up and looking
out at the window. "What does Rathsherr Herse want, Neiting?"
"Why, he's talking with the Miller."
"And most busily, too, he is talking, Neiting," said the old Herr, and
his face looked bright, and a merry smile spread over it. "Thank God! I
must acquit the Miller of all knavery now; it will turn out to be some
folly, for the Rathsherr is mixed up in it."
"But surely the Rathsherr is a good honourable man?"
"He is, Neiting, but he plays pranks--sad pranks!" So saying the Herr
Amtshauptmann went into the justice-room.
At the door of the room stood Farmer Roggenbom, and Baker Witte, and
Schult Besserdich, and a dozen more, all of whom had accused the
Miller. And now when he came in amongst them with the Rathsherr, and
saw his best friends against him, his heart sank into his boots; and
when they all shrank from him, and he read his dishonour in their
faces, his courage broke down; he was obliged to hold by the Herr
Rathsherr's arm, and said in a low voice: "Herr Rathsherr, I feel very
uncomfortable."
A feeling like this is catching. My uncle Herse also began to feel
uncomfortable; for the first time in the whole course of the affair a
faint misgiving, a dim foreboding, arose in him that he had perhaps sat
down in a bed of nettles. Everything that he had meant to say for the
Miller became blurred and confused, and when Voss was called into the
Justice-room, and he went with him, everything had vanished except his
dignified appearance, and that, too, began to totter terribly when the
old Herr came upon him with a grave: "To what do I owe this honour,
Herr Rathsherr?"
My uncle Herse was very good at answers--if one gave him time. He had
always to make a great round before he came to the point. This question
was too direct for him, and the old Herr's face too stern, and he could
only stammer out something about "Notary Public" and "legal assistance
for the Miller."
"Assistance?" said the old Herr, and a curious light flickered over his
face. "Good, Herr Rathsherr, be pleased to seat yourself and listen."
So my uncle Herse sat down, and this was a piece of good luck for him;
for he could recover himself and think better when sitting. And
accordingly he recovered himself and reflected.
"Miller Voss," asked the old Herr, "have you had corn to grind from
him, and him? What say you, eh?"
"Yes, Herr Amtshauptmann."
"What have you done with it?"
"I've sold it to Itzig; but the sacks are lying at the Mill. I will
deliver them up to justice."
"Indeed! that is very kind of you; but do you also know that you have
been doing very wrong, and that it looks very much like cheating?"
"I've only done what I've a right to do, Herr Amtshauptmann," said the
Miller, and he wiped the sweat of care from his forehead, with the back
of his hand.
"Yes," said my uncle Herse, and he got up, "we are...."
"Herr Rathsherr," said the Amtshauptmann, "I have my own ways of going
on in my justice-room. I beg you will sit down and listen."
But why had my uncle got up at all? Now he was out of countenance again
and must sit down and collect himself afresh.
"What do you mean by talking about your right, Miller Voss?"
"Why, Herr, you've told me yourself: 'What is written is written,' and
in my new lease of last year it stands, that for every bushel I grind I
am to have a bushel in payment."
"Where's your lease!"
"Here," answered the Miller, giving it to him. The old Herr read it,
and shook his head: "Hm! hm! This is a very strange thing!" he took up
his bell and rang: "Fritz Sahlmann is to come down to me."
Fritz came.
"Come here, Fritz,--nearer!"
Fritz came nearer.
The Herr Amtshauptmann took him by the ear and led him to the table
where the lease was lying open.
"Fritz, what have I often told you? That you would do some terrible
mischief one day with your flightiness! And now it's come to pass. You
have led two old people into follies that would have cost them dear, if
I did not know that they were nothing more than follies. Take your pen
and strike out 'bushel' here and write 'pint' above."
Fritz did so. The Herr Amtshauptmann took the lease and gave it back to
the Miller: "There, Miller Voss, it's all right now."
"But, Herr Amtshauptmann...." cried the Miller.
"I will speak to your creditors," said the old Herr, "that they may
give you a week's respite; but you must get the corn or the money in
that time, else it will go ill with you."
"But, Herr Amtshauptmann...." cried my uncle Herse, getting up. The
Herr Amtshauptmann looked at him. My uncle had clearly lost command
over himself.
"Seat yourself, Herr Rathsherr, and listen to me," said the old Herr
very earnestly. "You have no children and you have got enough to live
upon. Give up your Notary Publicship, or, if you cannot, then do not
exercise it within my district. No good will ever come of your doing
so." So saying, he turned his back upon the Rathsherr, rang his bell,
and said: "Let the Miller's man, Friedrich Schult, come in."
The old Miller had gone towards the door quite broken down and humbled.
My uncle had followed him; and anyone could see that all was whirring
and buzzing inside his head. At the door, he stopped and stretched out
both arms, but said nothing. But now Friedrich came in and pushed him a
little on one side and out of the door; he threw one hasty glance at
Friedrich; the old beadle, Ferge, shut the door; and that was the last
look my uncle ever gave into law matters, for after that he hung the
Notaryship on a nail.
"Come a little nearer, my son," said the Herr Amtshauptmann to
Friedrich, "come a little nearer.--It is you who want to marry my
Hanchen, is it not?"
"No," said Friedrich.
"Eh!" said the old Herr, looking more sharply at him, "are not you in
the Miller's service then?"
"No," said Friedrich, without moving.
"What! Are not you the Miller's man, Friedrich Schult, whom I once said
I would remember? What say you, eh?"
"1 am Friedrich Schult, Herr; but I'm no longer in the Miller's
service. I've left him, and I don't wish for the girl any longer, for
she let me go. And I'm not a Miller's man any more. I enlisted about
half an hour ago."
"Well, you've chosen the right thing, I think. But, my son, I have a
rod in pickle for you. Was it not you who first took the valise from
the chasseur's horse?"
"Yes."
"And you opened it and took money out of it, and knew therefore that
there was money in it?"
"Yes, I did," said Friedrich boldly. "I don't deny it."
"Well, then, listen attentively to what I am going to say to you. The
money is now ownerless property, for the French have given it up. But
there is a fellow whom they call 'Exchequer.' He's a rapacious fellow.
He swallows everything he can lay hold of, and he's especially hard on
'treasure-trove,' and he has got all this, so to speak, in his jaws.
But sometimes he has also kind fits, when he sees a rare piece of
honesty and somebody brings it clearly before his eyes. I have done
this last with all my might, and this Mr. Exchequer has given up his
claim to the money, in your favour. And here is the rod I had in pickle
for you." And he threw back a cloth, and the Frenchman's valise
appeared. "Friedrich Schult, the valise and the money are yours!"
Friedrich stood still and looked at the Herr Amtshauptmann and at the
valise and then again at the valise and the Herr Amtshauptmann, and at
last began to scratch his head in a determined way, behind the ears.
"Well!" said the Amtshauptmann, and he laid his hand on Friedrich's
shoulder. "What say you, Friedrich, eh?"
"Hm! Yes, Herr Amtshauptmann, I thank you very much, but it doesn't
exactly suit me."
"What! The money does not suit you!"
"O, yes, the money suits me well enough, but not just now. The girl
won't have me, and I've enlisted, and I can't take it with me."
"Hm!" said the old Herr, and he paced up and down the room with long
strides, "this is a very strange thing!" At last he stood still in
front of Friedrich, and looked at him with a peculiar look in his eyes:
"Money is very scarce just now, and I know where there is a father of a
family wringing the very skin off his fingers, and his wife and child
sit in tears."
Friedrich looked up. He looked into the Amtshauptmann's face, and it
seemed to him as if a beam of light came from it and fell warmly upon
his heart.
"Dumouriez!" he cried and he snatched up the valise and put it under
his arm.--"I know what to do with it," he said, "Good-day, Herr."
He was going. The old Herr followed him to the door--"My son," and he
took his hand, "when you come back again from the war let me see you,
and hear how things have gone with you."
The Justice-room was empty. The Herr Amtshauptmann was sitting with his
wife in her room.
"Neiting, when this Friedrich, this Miller's man, comes back again I
think I shall be better pleased than if a Princess were to come and see
us."
As the Miller and my uncle Herse went down the Schloss Hill, they did
not speak a word; but for opposite reasons: the Miller was silent
because he was wrapped up in himself, my uncle because he was quite
_out_ of himself. At last my uncle broke out:--
"And so that's what they call a court of justice! That's what they call
a verdict? The rude old fellow won't let a man bring in a single word.
We'll go further, Miller Voss; we'll go to a higher court."
"I'll go no further, Herr Rathsherr,"' said the old Miller, feebly, "I
have gone far enough already!"
"Neighbour," said old Baker Witte, who had followed them and had heard
what the Miller said, "don't let that worry you too much, things may
get better. And now come home with me; your Fieka is there."
"My Fieka!----"
But the Baker would not let him say anything more, and the old Miller
followed him into his house like a helpless child. Poverty not shame
pressed him down.
My uncle Herse did not go in with them. He walked up and down before
the door and all sorts of thoughts came into his head. My uncle had
always plenty of ideas and generally they trotted about in his brain
like pretty little blue-eyed children, and though they would often run
about and tumble over each other in play at blind-man's-buff, and do
all sorts of perverse things, yet they were always dressed in their
Sunday best, and nice and neat for him to look at; but the thoughts
which came to him at Witte's door were a parcel of ragged beggar
children who would not be driven away, but stretched out their hands as
it were, and cried with one voice: "Herr Rathsherr, Herr Rathsherr
Herse, help the Miller. You brought him into this scrape--now get him
out of it again."--"Leave me, leave me, for God's sake, leave me,"
cried my uncle. "I will help him, I will mortgage my house; but who
will take it! Where is the money to come from?" And the little beggar
children drove him so hard into a corner, that he was obliged to take
refuge inside Witte's stable to get out of their way.
Heinrich was standing there, saddling and bridling his two horses,
which were not yet sold, and, just as my uncle had found out who it was
in the red jacket and with "_war_" on his upper lip, Friedrich came in
and threw the valise into the crib so that it rang again.
"Heinrich," cried he, "the first step is always the hardest, as the
Devil said when he began to carry millstones, but----" here he became
aware of the presence of the Rathsherr and broke off--"Good morning,
Herr Rathsherr; excuse my asking you, but you could do me a great
favour. You see, the Miller hired me till Midsummer, and, by rights, I
ought to stay; but I terribly want to go; so will you tell him that if
he'll let me go, I'll lend him the Frenchman's money till I come back.
For they gave it me to-day up at the Schloss, and it's lying here in
the crib."
Away were all the little beggar boys, and back came the nicely arrayed
little children into my uncle Herse's brain-box, and jumped about and
threw somersets, and he himself nearly threw a somerset over a halter
as he sprang towards Friedrich: "Friedrich, you are a--a--you are an
angel."
"Yes, a fine old angel," said Friedrich.
"We'll put it on paper at once, Friedrich" cried my uncle
"No, Herr Rathsherr," said he, "we will not do that, there might be
another slip of the pen, and then there would be fresh misery; what is
spoken from mouth to mouth--that counts. Heinrich," he went on, turning
to the latter, "have you settled your affairs, and everything with
Fieka?"
Heinrich was standing behind one of the horses, looking over it, with
both his arms across the saddle; he nodded his head, for he could not
speak.
"Well, then, let us be off," cried Friedrich, and he took hold of the
bridle of the lame horse.
Heinrich snatched it from him, sprang into the saddle, and threw him
the bridle of the beautiful brown gelding: "The best one is not good
enough for you, comrade," he said.
"But the Miller and Fieka," cried my uncle "won't you say good-bye then
and----"
"It's all right," cried Friedrich. "Good-bye, Herr Rathsherr." And off
they rode out at the Brandenburg Gate.
We children stood at the gate and watched them. "Those are no
Frenchmen," said Hans Bank.
"They are our people," said Fritz Risch, and it seemed as if a pride in
ourselves had suddenly sprung up.
"God grant they may come back again!" said old Father Richart.
* * *
They did come back again. In a year and a day, and again a year and a
day, a spring had burst forth for Germany. Battles had been fought,
blood had flowed on hill and dale; but the rain had washed it away, and
the sun had dried it up and the earth had let grass grow over it, and
the wounds of the human heart were bound up by Hope with a balm called
"Freedom." Many of the wounds broke open afterwards. It was perhaps not
the real Heaven-sent balm. But, in this beautiful springtime, nobody
was thinking of that future, and in my little native-town the gardens
and fields were green and blooming, and men's anxious hearts heaved
with the breath of relief, for over the world lay peace.
My uncle Herse's corps of sharp shooters had laid their twenty-one
fowling pieces on the shelf, and he had turned them into a corps of
musicians, and his having taught them in time of war all to fire off at
once, came to be of great use now, for they struck up with their
fiddles and flutes, and clarionettes exactly together quite naturally.
In the evenings, they used to serenade us, and I can hum the tune to
this day, for they always played the same piece, and my uncle told me
afterwards that it was variations upon the beautiful air: "Cousin
Michael was here last night."
When the battle of Leipzig was won, bonfires were lighted on the Owl
Hill and the Windmill Hill, and the town was lighted up. There was no
firing, it is true; for we had no cannon, but we had as much noise as
if we had had a whole battery, for the Rathsherr Herse's adjutant,
Hanning Heinz, and old Metz hit upon a splendid idea; they laid some
hundred-weights of stone on a cart, and shot them with all their might
against gouty old Kasper's gateway, so that they got a thunder as of
real cannon, and the gateway lay in pieces.
And what joy and delight it was, when one mother could tell another:
"Neighbour, my Joe was there too, and he's written that he got off
safe."
Heinrich had written, and Friedrich had sent greetings to everyone, and
when this was known in Stemhagen, it passed from mouth to mouth: "Ay,
our old Friedrich! Just think of it! He's a brave fellow." Everybody
talked about Friedrich, and so it happened that the story gradually got
about in Stemhagen that the corporal, Friedrich Schult, had really won
the battle of Leipzig: he had told his Colonel, Warburg, how the thing
ought to be done, and the Colonel had told it to old Bluecher's
Adjutant, and old Bluecher's Adjutant had told it to old Bluecher, and
old Bluecher had said "Friedrich Schult is right."
But this time, full of jubilee, full of doubt, full of fear, and full
of hope, had passed away, and the beautiful spring which I have before
mentioned had come, when, one day, a handsome coach drove up to the
Schloss. People said there were grand doings there, and one day Fritz
Sahlmann came down, and told us that it would soon be all over with
Mamsell Westphalen, for, if things went on at the present rate for a
week longer, she would be nothing but skin and bone; and the guests, he
said, were going to stop another week. The next day he came down again,
and told us that the Herr Amtshauptmann had got up as the clock struck
nine, and had opened his window, and had sung--had sung with his own,
natural voice!--and the Frau Amtshauptmann had stood behind him, and
had clapped her hands over her head, and he, Fritz Sahlmann, was to
present their compliments to my father and my mother, and would they
come, if possible, to dinner. The third day, I was nicely dressed and
sent up to the Schloss; my father's and mother's compliments to the
Herr Amtshauptmann and to the Frau Amtshauptmann and the strange lady
and gentlemen, and would they come to tea and supper, and Mamsell
Westphalen too; and my mother duly impressed upon me that I was always
to say to the lady--"Your Ladyship."
When I got there and delivered my message, the Herr Amtshauptmann was
sitting on the sofa, and, by him, an old gentleman who looked very
grave; and the Amtshauptmann said to him: "This, my friend, is my
little godson, the Burmeister's Fritz. What say you, eh?"
The strange gentleman looked more friendly, and I had to "shake hands
with him," and then he asked me about this and that. And while I was
still standing talking to him, the door opened and in came--the Herr
Colonel Von Toll, and on his arm a beautiful young lady--that was her
Ladyship.
I looked at the Colonel, and it seemed to me that I had seen him
before. Now, people, when in doubt do not make the most sensible faces
in the world, and it is probable that mine looked rather puzzled, for
they both laughed, and when I had stammered out my message from my
father and mother, they said they would come, and the strange lady
patted me on the head, and said I had stubborn hair, I must have a
stubborn character, and the Herr Amtshauptmann said: "You are right
there, my friend; he has; and what his hard head is guilty of, his back
has to suffer for."
That evening was a merry one at the Rathhaus, though not so merry as
the one when my uncle Herse was Julius Caesar; there was no punch this
time, but Marie Wienken had to bring out the Langkork, which was then
considered the best wine; for, in those days no one had heard of
Chateau Margaux and Champagne. The men talked about the late war, and
the women about the wedding which was to take place the next day at the
Gielow Mill; and when the guests were going away, the Colonel turned to
my father and said: "But, Herr Burmeister, everybody must be at the
wedding who took part in the 'conspiracy.'"
My father promised. The next day the wheels of the Amtshauptmann's
scythe-chariot were greased, and he and his old friend, Renatus Von
Toll, set off in it, and went out at the Malchin Gate.--"There they
both sat in the chaise, Frau Meister, looking as good and innocent as a
pair of new-born twins," said Mamsell Westphalen, afterwards: "And in
the foreign glass-coach her ladyship Von Toll, and the Frau
Amtshauptmann, and the Frau Burmeister, and I, had the honour to ride,
and the Frau Burmeister had taken her boy, Fritz, with her, and the
young rascal sat on my knee the whole time, and gave me pins and
needles in my feet, and if it had not been for the corporal of Hussars,
Friedrich Schult, I should have fallen off the step in getting out.
That comes from having children, and I say it."
And baker Witte and Struewingken, and Luth, and Hanchen, and Fritz
Sahlmann, and Droz went to the wedding in a large hay-cart, and at the
back lay a heap of arms and legs that, on inspection, proved to be Herr
Droi's little French children. My Father and the Colonel rode on
horseback.
"But where's the Rathsherr?" asked the Colonel.
"He's coming," said my father, "but how and when Heaven only knows,
for, when he promised me he would come, he winked and put on a look of
his I well know, and that I call his 'secret' look."
When the Herr Amtshauptmann arrived, the Miller stood at the door with
a black velvet cap on his head, and his wife stood by his side in a new
black dress, and he bowed and she curtsied, and the Herr Amtshauptmann
said: "Well, Miller Voss, how are you to-day?"
"Quite well, thank you, Herr," said the Miller, letting the step down.
The old Herr leant over to his friend and said: "The Miller is all
right again; he has grown wiser, and has resigned the management of his
affairs, and given it into Fieka's hands."
Now came the coach. The ladies got out, and Friedrich carried my mother
into the room: he had often to carry her afterwards.
The hay-cart pulled up. Everybody jumped down and entered, I amongst
them; but the little Droi's ran into the garden first, and fell at once
upon the unripe gooseberries.
The minister was in the room waiting to perform the marriage ceremony,
and close to him stood Heinrich and Fieka. How pretty Fieka was! How
pretty a bride looks! The minister read the service, and his best
address; he knew three, each one better than the other, and the price
was arranged accordingly. The "Crown" address was the finest and the
dearest, it cost one thaler sixteen groschen; then came the "Ivy
Wreath," it cost one thaler; and lastly the "Periwinkle Wreath," which
was for the poor, and cost only eight groschen. To-day he read the
"Crown" address, for the Miller would have it so. "My Fieka," he had
said, "wishes to have a quiet wedding and she shall have her way; but
we must have everything of the best that is proper for a wedding." And
so it was. And when the address was over, the beautiful lady went up to
Fieka, and gave her a kiss, and threw a gold chain round her neck with
a locket hanging from it, and on the locket was engraved the day when
Fieka had begged the Colonel to set her father free.
The Colonel had gone up to Heinrich, and when he pressed the
bridegroom's hand, his father's eyes rested upon him so affectionately
that the Herr Amtshauptmann took his old friend's hand and said: "Eh,
my friend, what say you?" He probably knew more of what had happened
than we did.
The feast now began. Struewingken helped the soup, and Luth the roasts;
Hanchen and the Miller's two maid-servants waited. Scarcely had the
Miller swallowed his first plate of chicken broth, when he got up, and
made an impressive speech to the company, but looking all the time only
at the Herr Amtshauptmann. "He had, he said, asked the company in a
homely way to a wedding without music; his Fieka had wished it so, and
he hoped the ladies and gentlemen would not take it amiss, but although
they had not got any music----"
Here his speech was suddenly brought to an end for all at once there
burst forth outside "Cousin Michael was here last night, was here last
night, was here last night"--and when the door was opened, there stood
uncle Herse with his band; he had got the Miller's walking stick, and
was beating time with it on a sack of flour, so that they all looked
like a band of angels fiddling and piping and trumpeting behind a
beautiful white summer cloud.
The Colonel jumped up and greeted my uncle, and made him sit by his
side, and the Herr Amtshauptmann whispered in his friend Renatus's ear,
loud enough for the whole table to hear: "That's the Rathsherr, of whom
I told you that story about the lease this morning; he's otherwise a
good pleasant fellow."
The Miller brought the whole band into the room, and St. Cecilia was
put in the corner, and was relieved by chicken broth; and then Cousin
Michael came again, and was relieved by roast meat, and so it went on
alternately. And, when evening came, my uncle Herse had got another
secret. He and his Adjutant, Hanning Heinz, worked and busied
themselves in the garden in the dark, and at last we were all told
to come out--a firework was going off. It might have been very
beautiful--but alas! alas!--Something was too weak, they must blow at
it; that was too strong; it flew into the air, and it was a mercy
Friedrich happened to be in the barnyard, when it began to burn, or it
might have been serious.
But my uncle Herse was bent on carrying the plan through, and he had
got a fresh firework nearly ready, when the Amtshauptmann went up to
him, and said there had been enough now, and it had been very fine, and
he thanked him very much for it. The next day however the old Herr sent
a sheriff's officer through the whole district of Stemhagen to say that
whoever ventured to let off fireworks there would be punished.
* * *
Thus ended the day, and thus, too, ends my story. The day was merry,
and everyone was pleased. May my story be equally fortunate.
* * *
EPILOGUE.
But where are they all now, all the merry simple-hearted people who
have played in this story? They are all dead! All dead! They have all
said Farewell; they sleep the long sleep. Baker Witte was the first,
and Luth was the last.--And who have remained? Well, we two boys, Fritz
Sahlmann and I, and Hanchen Besserdich. Hanchen married Freier's
flaxen-headed boy, and is now well off. She lives at Guelzow, in the
first house on your left hand. Fritz Sahlmann has grown a fine fellow,
and we have always been very good friends, and, should he take it ill
that I have told all these tales about him, I will hold out my hand to
him and say: "My friend, what is written is written. It cannot be
undone now. But you won't be angry with me for it? What say you, eh?"
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: The Burmeister is the chief magistrate or mayor of a town,
while the Amtshauptmann is the chief magistrate of a bailiwick or whole
district.]
[Footnote 2: The Schult (Bailiff) is in a village what the Burmeister,
or Mayor, is in a town.]
[Footnote 3: Levy en masse.]
[Footnote 4: In Mecklenburg there are no bakers in the villages; but
each village has one or two ovens where the whole community can do
their baking. These ovens stand by themselves out in the open fields,
and look at a little distance like small hillocks. They are covered
with grass, and are lined inside with large stones. They are so large
that a man can get in at the mouth with ease, and lie there in hiding.
As there is no chimney, the heat naturally remains in them a long
while.--_Translator_.]
[Footnote 5: Been under fire.--_Transl_.]
FINIS.
* * * * *
PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.
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GERMAN AUTHORS TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
The object of this undertaking is to introduce to the English-speaking
nations, by means of careful and readable translations, the
Masterpieces of German literature, both of recent date and of the
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On the Heights by _B. Auerbach_. Translated by F. E. Bunnett. Second
Authorized Edition, thoroughly revised. 3 vols.
In the Year '13 by _Fritz Reuter_. Translated from the Platt-Deutsch by
Charles Lee Lewes, 1 vol.
Faust by _Goethe_. From the German by John Anster, LL. D. 1 vol.
Undine, Sintram and other Tales by _Fouque_. Translated by F. E.
Bunnett. 1 vol.
L'Arrabiata and other Tales by _Paul Heyse_. From the German by Mary
Wilson, 1 vol.
The Princess of Brunswick-Wolfenbuettel and other Tales by _H.
Zschokke_. From the German by M. A. Faber. 1 vol.
Nathan the Wise and Emilia Galotti by _G. E. Lessing_. The former
translated by W. Taylor, the latter by Charles Lee Lewes, 1 vol.
Behind the Counter [Handel und Wandel] by _F. W. Hacklaender_. From the
German by M. Howitt. 1 vol.
Three Tales by _W. Hauff_. From the German by M. A. Faber. 1 vol.
Joachim von Kamern and Diary of a poor young Lady by _Maria Nathusius_.
From the German by Miss Thompson. 1 vol.
Poems from the German of _F. Freiligrath_. Edited by his Daughter.
Second Copyright Ed., enlarged. 1 vol.
Gabriel, a Story of the Jews in Prague by _S. Kohn_. From the German by
Arthur Milman, M.A. 1 vol.
The Dead Lake and other Tales by _Paul Heyse_. From the German by Mary
Wilson, 1 vol.
Through Night to Light by _Karl Gutzkow_. From the German by M. A.
Faber. 1 vol.
An Egyptian Princess by _G. Ebers_, Translated by E. Grove. 2 vols.
Flower, Fruit and Thorn Pieces [Firmian Stanislaus Siebenkaes] by _Jean
Paul Friederich Richter_. From the German by Noel. 2 vols.
Ekkehard, a Tale of the tenth Century by _J. V. Scheffel_. Transl. from
the German by S. Delffs. 2 v.
The Princess of the Moor [Das Haideprinzesschen] by _E. Marlitt_. 2
vols.
Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship by _Goethe_. From the German by
Eleanor Grove. 2 vols.
Barbarossa and other Tales by _Paul Heyse_. 1 vol.
Prince Bismarck. A Biographical Sketch by _W. Goerlach_. From the German
by Miss M. E. v. Glehn. With Portrait. 1 vol.
The Vulture Maiden [Die Geier-Wally] by _W. v. Hillern_. From the
German by C. Bell & F. Poynter. 1 v.
Uarda. A Romance of ancient Egypt by _Georg Ebers_. 2 vols.
Homo Sum. A Novel by _G. Ebers_. From the German by C. Bell. 2 vols.
An old Story of my Farming Days [Ut Mine Stromtid] by _Fritz Reuter_.
From the German by M. W. Macdowall. 3 vols.
The Hour will come [Und sie kommt doch!] by _W. v. Hillern_. From the
German by C. Bell. 2 vols.
The Sisters. A Romance by _G. Ebers_. From the German by C. Bell. 2
vols.
Brigitta. A Tale by _B. Auerbach_. From the German by C. Bell, 1 vol.
_Any volume may be had separately, price M 1,60 stitched_.
* * * * *
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ, LEIPZIG,
AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.