_Clergyman._ You are engaged to be married, and I therefore pardon you.

But I am obliged to show that I also possess arrows which I know how to

use.

_Baroness._ I see your object plainly, but you must let her see it

likewise.

_Clergyman._ Then, I must repeat what I said at the beginning of this

conversation. But it seems you had not the politeness to pay attention.

_Louisa._ What is the use of attention or of much argument? Look at the

matter in any light, they will be scandalous stories, in some shape or

other, and nothing else.

_Clergyman._ Must I repeat, young lady, that a well-regulated mind only

perceives scandal when it reads of wickedness, arrogance, a desire to

injure, and an unwillingness to oblige? and from such spectacles he

should avert his eyes. He finds pleasure in the narration of trifling

faults and failings, and contemplates with satisfaction those points of

the story where good men contend with themselves, with their desires and

their intentions, where silly and conceited mortals are rebuked,

corrected, or deceived, and where hopes, wishes, and designs are

disturbed, interrupted, and frustrated, or unexpectedly fulfilled,

accomplished, and confirmed. But, on those scenes where accident

combines with human weakness and inefficiency, he dwells with the

greatest delight; and none of the heroes whose history he authenticates

has either blame to apprehend or praise to expect from him.

_Baroness._ Your introduction excites our wish to hear a specimen. We

have spent the greater part of our lifetime in one circle, and have

never experienced any thing worthy to find a place in such a collection.

_Clergyman._ Much undoubtedly depends upon the observer, and upon the

peculiar view he takes of occurrences. But I will not deny that I have

made large extracts from old books and traditions. Perhaps you will have

no objection to see some of your old friends with new faces. And this

gives me a privilege of which I must not be deprived,--that none of my

tales shall be doubted.

_Louisa._ But we are not to be prevented from recognizing our friends

and acquaintances, or, if we please, from expounding the enigma.

_Clergyman._ Certainly not. But you will allow me, under such

circumstances, to produce an old folio, to prove that the identical

occurrence happened, and was made matter of record, some centuries ago.

And I must be permitted to smile, when some narration is pronounced to

be an old fable, though it may have taken place amongst ourselves,

without our being able to recognize the characters.

_Louisa._ We shall never begin. Had we not better declare a truce for

this evening; and do you commence a story at once, by way of specimen?

_Clergyman._ Permit me, in this instance, to be guilty of disobedience.

The entertainment is intended for the whole assembled company. We must

not deprive them of it; and I must premise beforehand, that whatever I

have to say possesses no value in itself. But when my audience, after

some serious occupation, wishes for a brief repose, and, already sated

with good things, desires the addition of a light dessert, then I shall

be ready, and only hope that what I shall provide may not prove

unpalatable.

_Baroness._ In that case, we had better postpone the amusement till

to-morrow.

_Louisa._ I am beyond measure curious to know what it will be.

_Clergyman._ You must not be so, young lady; for great expectations are

seldom satisfied.

That same evening, after dinner, the baroness retired early to her

apartment; whilst the rest of the company remained together, and

discussed the many reports which were current, and the various incidents

which had happened. As is generally the case in such circumstances, few

of them knew what to doubt or what to believe.

The old clergyman had his remedy for such an emergency. “I propose,”

said he, “as the most convenient plan, that we all believe implicitly

whatever we find pleasant, and that we reject, without ceremony,

whatever we find unpleasant, and that we admit to be true what can be

so.”

It was then remarked by some one, that men generally acted in this way;

and, after some desultory conversation, they commented upon that strange

propensity of our nature to believe in the marvellous. They talked of

romances and visions: and, when the old clergyman had promised at a

future time to relate some interesting anecdotes upon these subjects,

Louisa exclaimed, “It will be extremely good of you, and you will merit

our gratitude, by telling us a story of that description now; for we are

all in the proper humor for it: we shall pay attention and be thankful.”

Without needing further entreaties, the old clergyman commenced at once,

as follows:--

“During my residence in Naples, an event happened which attracted

universal attention, and with regard to which public opinion varied

exceedingly. Some persons maintained that the circumstance had actually

occurred; whilst others asserted, that, though true in general, it was

founded upon a gross deceit. The latter class of persons were at further

variance amongst themselves: they could not agree who was the deceiver.

Others held it to be far from clear that spiritual natures were

incapable of influencing the elements and human bodies, and maintained

that we were not justified in pronouncing every marvellous occurrence to

be a fraud or a delusion. But now to the facts themselves.

“At the time I speak of, a singer named Antonelli was the favorite of

the Neapolitan public. In the bloom of youth, beauty, and talents, she

was deficient in none of those enchantments by which women can allure

and captivate, and render a certain class of their favorites happy. She

was not insensible to the charms of love and flattery; but, naturally

temperate and sensible, she knew how to enjoy the delights of both,

without losing that self-respect which was so essential to her

happiness. The young, the distinguished, and the rich, flocked to her in

crowds; but she admitted few to her friendship: and, if she pursued her

own inclination in the choice of her admirers, she evinced, upon all

occasions, so firm and resolute a character, that she attached every

person to her. I had an opportunity of observing her upon one occasion,

in consequence of my close intimacy with one of her especial favorites.

“Some years had elapsed: her friends were numerous; and amongst the

number were many foolish, simple, and fickle personages. It was her

opinion that a lover who, in a certain sense, is every thing to woman,

generally proves deficient in those very emergencies when she most needs

his assistance; as, for example, in the difficulties of life, in

domestic necessities, and upon the occurrence of sudden disasters. In

such times she maintained that his own self-love often proved absolutely

prejudicial to his mistress, and his advice became positively dangerous.

“Her former attachments were insufficient to satisfy her soul. The void

required to be filled. She wished for a friend; and scarcely had she

felt this want, when she found, amongst those who sought her favors, a

youth upon whom she bestowed her confidence, of which in every respect

he seemed worthy.

“He was a native of Genoa, and had taken up his residence in Naples, to

transact the mercantile business of a firm to which he belonged. His

natural talents had been improved by a most excellent education. His

knowledge was extensive, his mind and body were sound and active, and

his general conduct might serve as a model; and in his attention to

others he ever seemed forgetful of himself. He was imbued with the

commercial spirit for which his native town was distinguished. All his

speculations were upon a large scale. His condition, however, was none

of the happiest. The firm had entered into some unfortunate

transactions, and became entangled in ruinous law-suits. Time only

increased the difficulties; and the anxiety he endured gave him an air

of melancholy, which was not unbecoming, and made Antonelli still more

desirous of his acquaintance, from the idea that he stood in need of a

friend.

“Until now he had only seen Antonelli in public: but, at his first

request, she granted him access to her house; even urging him to visit

her, a favor which he did not fail to accept.

“She lost no time in communicating to him her confidence and her wishes.

He was no less surprised than delighted at her proposals. She implored

him earnestly to be her friend, but to make no pretensions to the

privileges of a lover. She made him acquainted with some embarrassments

in which she had become involved, and his great experience enabled him

to offer advice and assistance for her speedy release. In return for

this confidence, he unfolded to her his own situation: and, whilst she

endeavored to cheer and console him, many new plans occurred to him,

which he had not thought of before; and she thus appeared to be his

adviser: and a reciprocal friendship, founded on the highest regard and

respect, was established between them.

“Unfortunately, we do not always consider the practicability of the

obligations we incur. He had promised to be her friend, and to make no

pretensions to the privileges of a lover. But he could not deny that

those who came to see her as such were not only unwelcome to, but were

detested by, him; and it was extremely painful to him when she meant to

amuse him with the description of their various characters.

“It soon happened, fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, that her heart

was again free. This was a source of extreme delight to our young

friend, who lost no time in entreating that the vacant place might be

allotted to him. With some reluctance she listened to his proposals. ‘I

fear,’ she said, ‘that, in making this concession, I shall lose my

friend.’ Her anticipation was correct; for scarcely had he for a short

time filled this double character, when he found her temper change. As

her friend he had been content with her respect; as a lover he demanded

her affection; and, as an intelligent and accomplished man, constant

entertainment. But this was more than Antonelli expected. She was

unwilling to make an entire sacrifice of herself, and had no wish to

surrender her absolute liberty to any one. She soon adopted ingenious

expedients for curtailing the length of his visits, for avoiding his

presence, and for making him sensible that she would not consent to

forego her independence for any consideration.

“This discovery was to him a source of the greatest misery; and,

unfortunately, the calamity did not come alone. His domestic affairs

became more and more involved; and he found reason for reproaching

himself with having always considered his income as inexhaustible, and

with having neglected his business in order to engage in foreign travel,

and to make a greater figure in the world than he was entitled to do,

from the advantages of his birth and income. The law-suits, from which

he expected so much, were tardy and expensive. They took him frequently

to Palermo; and, upon the occasion of his last journey thither,

Antonelli adopted means to change the nature of her establishment, for

the purpose of becoming gradually disengaged from him. On his return he

found her in another residence, at some distance from his; and he saw

that the Marquis of S., who at that time exercised great influence in

the world of fashion, had unreserved admission to her house. He was

greatly affected by this discovery, which brought on a serious illness.

Upon hearing this sad intelligence, Antonelli hastened to him, attended

him; and, as she was fully aware that his purse was but scantily

supplied, she left a large sum of money, which supplied his necessities

for a considerable time.

“In consequence of his efforts to restrain her freedom, he had fallen

considerably in her estimation. As her attachment diminished, her

suspicions increased; and she at length began to think that a person who

had managed his own affairs so badly was not entitled to a high

character for good sense. But he was unaware of the great change which

had taken place in her feelings towards him; and he attributed her

anxiety for his recovery, and the constancy of her attentions which

induced her to spend whole days at his bedside, rather to her love for

him than to compassion for his sufferings; and he hoped, upon his

recovery, to find himself once more re-instated in her favor.

“But he was grievously mistaken. With his restoration to health and

strength, all semblance of affection disappeared; and he now seemed as

odious in her eyes as he had formerly proved agreeable. In addition to

this, his temper had unconsciously become soured and unbearable. He

attributed to others all the blame of his own misfortunes, and justified

himself fully from their evil consequences. He considered himself an

injured and persecuted invalid, and looked for a complete recompense for

all his troubles in the devoted affection of his mistress.

“With these exalted expectations he visited Antonelli immediately upon

his recovery. He would be satisfied with nothing short of her entire

affection, the dismissal of all her other friends and acquaintances, her

complete retirement from the stage, and her devoting herself to him

alone. She demonstrated the impossibility of complying with these

requests, at first in a playful, and afterwards in a more serious, tone.

At length she communicated to him the sad intelligence that their

connection must end. He left her, and never returned.

“For several years afterwards he lived in a retired manner, in the house

of a pious old lady, who had a small independence. At this period he

gained his first law-suit, and was soon afterwards successful in

another; but this change of fortune came too late: his health was

undermined, and the joy of his existence had vanished. A slight accident

brought on a relapse, and the physician announced to him his approaching

death. He heard his fate without a murmur, and merely expressed a wish

to see his beautiful friend once more. He sent his servant to her,--the

same messenger who, in happier days, had brought him many a delightful

answer. He entreated an interview: she refused. He sent a second time,

and implored her to consent: she was still inexorable. At length, at

midnight, he sent a third time. She was embarrassed, and communicated

her situation to me; as I had been invited, along with the marquis and

some other friends, to spend the evening at her house. I advised her,

indeed begged of her, to show some last attentions to her friend. She

appeared undecided at first, but, after a short reflection, made up her

mind, and dismissed the servant with a refusal. He did not return.

“After supper we were all engaged in social conversation, and general

animation and hilarity prevailed. Suddenly, a little after midnight, a

piercing shriek of bitter, painful lamentation was heard. We rose from

the table, looked at each other, and wondered what this strange event

could mean. The sound seemed to come from the middle of the room in

which we were assembled, and die away near the walls. The marquis rushed

to the window; whilst we endeavored to support Antonelli, who had

fainted. By degrees she regained consciousness. She had scarcely opened

her eyes when the jealous and passionate marquis loaded her with the

bitterest reproaches. ‘If you choose to have these mysterious

understandings with your friends,’ said he, ‘at least let them be of a

less fearful nature.’ She replied, with her wonted presence of mind,

‘that, as she had always enjoyed the right of seeing her friends

whenever she pleased, she would scarcely select such appalling sounds as

they had just heard, to indicate approaching happiness.’

“And, in truth, the cry had in it something unspeakably appalling. The

long-continued scream of anguish dwelt upon our ears, and made our very

limbs tremble. Antonelli was pale, motionless, and in a continual faint.

We sat with her for half the night, but we heard nothing further. On the

following night, the same company, who had met together not quite so

cheerful as usual, though with a reasonable supply of courage, about the

same hour of midnight heard the same identical loud and appalling

shriek.

“We had, in the mean time, wearied our imaginations in framing

conjectures as to the cause of the cry, and whence it could proceed. But

why should I weary you? Whenever Antonelli supped at home, at the

self-same hour the same shriek was heard, sometimes louder and sometimes

fainter. It was spoken of all over Naples. The mystery excited universal

attention. The police were called out. Spies were placed in every

direction, to detect the cause of the mystery. To persons in the street,

the shriek appeared to come from the open air; whilst in the house it

seemed to proceed from the very room in which Antonelli was sitting.

When she supped abroad nothing whatsoever occurred; but, as often as she

supped at home, the horrid shriek was invariably heard.

“But her absence from home did not upon all occasions protect her from

this fearful visitation. Her many personal recommendations secured her a

welcome reception in the most distinguished families. Being a pleasant

companion, she was everywhere well received; and it had lately become

her custom, in order to escape the fearful visitation we have described,

to spend her evenings from home.

“One evening a gentleman of great respectability, owing to his age and

position, accompanied her to her house in his carriage. When she was

taking leave of him at the door, a loud shriek was heard, which seemed

to come from between them; and the gentleman, who, like many others, had

often heard of this mysterious occurrence, was lifted into his carriage

more like a corpse than a living person.

“Upon another occasion a young singer, to whom she was partial, drove

through the town with her in the evening, to visit a friend. He likewise

had frequently heard of the wonderful phenomenon we have related, and,

with the spirits of a light-hearted youth, had expressed his doubts of

its reality. They spoke of the circumstance. ‘I wish extremely,’ said

he, ‘that I could hear the voice of your invisible companion; call

him,--perhaps he will come: we are two, and need not fear him.’ From

thoughtlessness, or indifference to danger, I know not which, she called

the spirit: and instantly the piercing shriek issued, as it were, from

the middle of the carriage; three times it was heard, and then died away

gradually. Arrived at the house of their friend, both were found

insensible in the carriage: with difficulty they recovered their senses

sufficiently to relate what had happened.

“It was some time before Antonelli completely recovered. Her health

became impaired by the constantly recurring fright she sustained: but

when, at length, her fearful visitor appeared to intend that she should

enjoy some repose, she began to hope for a complete cessation of this

annoyance; but this expectation was premature.

“At the end of the carnival, accompanied by a young female acquaintance

and a servant, she set out upon an excursion of pleasure. It was her

intention to visit a friend in the country. Night came on before she

reached her destination: an accident happened to the carriage; and she

was necessitated to take refuge in a small country inn, and to put up

with the indifferent accommodation it afforded.

“Her companion had already gone to bed; and the servant, having arranged

the night-light, was about to retire, when her mistress observed

jestingly, ‘I think we are at the end of the world: it is a dreadful

night; I wonder whether he can find us out?’ That very instant the

shriek was heard more piercing and louder than ever. Her companion was

terrified beyond expression, sprang from her bed, rushed down-stairs,

and alarmed the whole house. No one that night closed an eye. It was,

however, the last time the shriek was heard. But the unwelcome visitor

soon found another more frightful mode of indicating his presence.

“He was quiet for a short time, when one evening, at the accustomed

hour, as Antonelli sat with her companions at table, a shot from a gun,

or from a heavily loaded pistol, was fired in at the window. Every one

heard the report, every one saw the flash; but, upon the closest

inspection, the window was found not to have sustained the slightest

injury. But the circumstance seemed to every one of the most alarming

importance, and all thought that an attempt had been made upon

Antonelli’s life. The police were called, and the neighboring house was

searched; but, as nothing suspicious was found, guards were placed in it

next day from top to bottom. Her own dwelling was carefully examined,

and spies were even dispersed about the streets.

“But all this precaution was useless. For three months in succession, at

the very same hour, the shot was fired through the same window, without

the slightest injury to the glass; and, what was especially remarkable,

this always took place exactly one hour before midnight: although in

Naples time is counted after the Italian fashion, and the term midnight

is never used.

“But custom at length reconciled all parties to this occurrence, as it

had done to the previous one; and the ghost began to lose credit by

reason of his very harmless tricks. The shot ceased to alarm the

company, or even to interrupt their conversation.

“One sultry evening, the day having been very hot, Antonelli opened the

window, without thinking of the hour, and went with the marquis out upon

the balcony. They had scarcely been in the air a couple of minutes when

the shot exploded between them, and drove them back into the house,

where for some time they lay apparently lifeless on the floor. When they

recovered, each felt the pain of a violent blow upon the cheek, one on

the right side, the other on the left; but, as no further injury was

apparent, the singularity of the circumstance was merely the occasion of

a few jocular observations.

“From this time the shot was not repeated in the house; and Antonelli

thought she was at last completely delivered from her invisible

tormentor, when one evening, upon making a little excursion with a

friend, she was terrified beyond measure by a most unexpected incident.

Her way lay through the Chiaja, where her Genoese friend had formerly

lived. It was bright moonlight. A lady who sat near her asked, ‘Is not

that the house in which Signor ---- died?’--‘As well as I can recollect,

it is one of those two,’ answered Antonelli. The words were scarcely

uttered when the shot was fired from one of the two houses, and

penetrated the carriage. The driver thought he was wounded, and drove

forward with all possible speed. Arrived at their destination, the two

ladies were lifted from the carriage, as though they were dead.

“But this was the last alarm of that kind. The unseen foe now changed

his plan; and one evening, shortly afterwards, a loud clapping of hands

was heard before the window. As a popular singer and favorite actress,

she was more familiar with sounds of this description. They did not

inspire terror, and might have proceeded, perhaps, from one of her

numerous admirers. She paid no attention to them. Her friends, however,

were more watchful, and distributed their guards as before. They

continued to hear the noise, but saw nobody, and began to indulge a hope

that the unaccountable mystery would soon completely end.

“After a short time it became changed in character, and assumed the form

of agreeable sounds. They were not, strictly speaking, melodious, but

exceedingly sweet and pleasing. To an accurate observer they seemed to

proceed from the corner of the street, to float about in the empty space

before Antonelli’s window, and there to die away in the most soft and

delightful manner. It seemed as if some heavenly spirit wished, by means

of a beautiful prelude, to draw attention to a lovely melody which he

designed to play. But these sounds also ceased at length, and were heard

no more after this wonderful occurrence had lasted for about a year and

a half.”

The clergyman pausing for a few moments, the entire company began to

express their opinions, and their doubts about the truth of the tale.

The narrator answered that the story had to be true, if it were to be

interesting, as a manufactured tale could possess but little merit. Some

one here observed that he thought it singular no one had inquired about

Antonelli’s deceased friend, or the circumstances of his death; as

perhaps some light might by this means have been thrown upon the whole

affair.

“But this was done,” replied the clergyman: “I was myself curious

enough, immediately after the first mysterious occurrence, to go to the

house under the pretext of visiting the lady who had attended him in his

last moments with a mother’s care. She informed me that the deceased had

been passionately attached to Antonelli; that, during the last hours of

his existence, he had spoken of nothing but her; that at one time he

addressed her as an adorable angel, and at another as little better than

a demon.

“When his sickness became desperate, his whole thoughts were fixed on

seeing her once more before his death, perhaps in the hope of obtaining

from her an expression of affection, of pity, of attachment, or of love.

Her unwillingness to see him afflicted him exceedingly, and her last

decisive refusal hastened his death. In despair he cried out, ‘No! it

shall not avail her. She avoids me; but, after my death, she shall have

no rest from me.’ In a paroxysm of this kind he expired; and only too

late do we learn, that the dead can keep their word on the other side of

the grave.”

The company began once more to express their opinions about the story.

At length Fritz observed, “I have a suspicion; but I shall not tell it

till I have thought over all the circumstances again, and put my

combinations to the proof.”

Being somewhat strongly pressed, he endeavored to avoid giving an

answer, by requesting that he might be allowed to relate an anecdote,

which, though it might not equal the preceding one in interest, was of

the same character, inasmuch as it could not be explained with any

certainty.

“A gallant nobleman,” he commenced, “who inhabited an ancient castle,

and was the father of a large family, had taken into his protection an

orphan girl, who, when she attained the age of fourteen years, was

employed in attending the mistress of the house in duties immediately

about her person. She gave complete satisfaction, and her whole ambition

seemed to consist in a wish to evince her gratitude to her benefactor by

attention and fidelity. She possessed various charms, both of mind and

person, and was not without suitors. But none of these proposals seemed

likely to conduce to her happiness, and the girl herself did not show

the least inclination to change her condition.

“On a sudden it happened, that as she went through the house, intent

upon her various duties, she heard sounds of knocking, which came from

about and beneath her. At first this seemed accidental; but as the

knocking never ceased, and beat almost in unison with her footsteps, she

became alarmed, and scarcely left the room of her mistress, where alone

she found she could enjoy security.

“These sounds were heard by every one who accompanied her or who stood

near her. At first the subject was treated as a jest, but at length it

was regarded in a more serious light. The master of the house, who was

of a cheerful disposition, now took the matter in hand. The knocking was

never heard when the maiden remained motionless, and, when she walked,

was perceived, not so evidently when she put her foot to the ground as

when she raised it to advance another step. But the sounds were often

irregular, and they were observed to be more than usually loud when the

maiden went transversely across a certain large apartment in the castle.

“The old nobleman, one day having workmen in the house, caused the

flooring to be suddenly raised behind the maiden, when the knocking

sounds were at the loudest. Nothing, however, was found but a couple of

rats, who, disturbed by the search, gave occasion to a chase, and to

considerable uproar in the house.

“Provoked by this circumstance and by the disappointment, the nobleman

determined upon adopting strong measures. He took down his large whip

from the wall, and swore that he would flog the maiden to death if he

heard the knocking any more. From this time forth she could go through

the house without the slightest molestation, and the knocking was never

heard again.”

“Whereby,” observed Louisa sagaciously, “we may conclude that the young

maiden was her own ghost, and practised this joke, and played the fool

with the family, to indulge some whim of her own.”

“Not at all,” answered Fritz; “for those who ascribed the mysterious

occurrence to a ghost, believed that the maiden’s guardian angel wished

her to leave the house, but was anxious also to protect her from injury.

Others took another view, and maintained that one of the girl’s lovers

had the cleverness to occasion these sounds in order to drive her out of

the house into his arms. But, be this as it may, the poor child became

quite ill in consequence, and was reduced to a melancholy spectre;

though she had formerly been the most cheerful and lively and merry

person in the whole establishment. But such a change in personal

appearance can be explained in more ways than one.

“It is a pity,” observed Fritz, “that these occurrences are not always

more particularly examined, and that, in judging of events which so much

interest us, we are obliged to hesitate between different appearances,

because the circumstances under which they happen have not all been

observed.”

“True,” replied the old clergyman; “but it is so extremely difficult to

make this examination at the very moment when any thing of the kind

happens, and to take every precaution that nothing shall escape in which

deceit or fraud may be concealed. Can we, for example, detect a conjurer

so easily, though we are perfectly conscious that he is deluding us?”

He had scarcely finished this observation, when a loud report was

suddenly heard in one corner of the apartment. Every one leaped up;

whilst Charles said jokingly, “Surely the noise does not proceed from

some dying lover.”

He would willingly have recalled the expression; for Louisa became

suddenly pale, and stammered forth that she felt apprehension about the

safety of her intended.

Fritz, to divert her attention, took up the light, and went towards a

reading-desk which stood in a corner of the apartment. The semicircular

top of the desk was split through; this, then, was the cause of the

report they had heard: but it immediately occurred to them, that the

reading-desk was of the best workmanship, and had occupied the very same

spot for years; and therefore they were all astonished that it should be

so suddenly split asunder. It had even been praised more than once as a

very model piece of furniture; and how, therefore, could this accident

have occurred, without even the slightest change having taken place in

the temperature?

“Quick!” said Charles, “let us settle this point at once by examining

the barometer.” The quicksilver maintained the same point it had held

for some days. And even the thermometer had not fallen more than could

be reconciled with the difference of the temperature between day and

night. “It is a pity that we have not an hygrometer at hand,” he

exclaimed, “the very instrument that would be most serviceable!”

“It seems,” said the old clergyman, “that the most valuable instrument

always fails when we are engaged in supernatural inquiries.” They were

interrupted in their reflections by the entry of a servant, who

announced that a great fire was visible in the heavens; though no one

could say whether it were raging in the town or in the neighborhood.

The circumstances we have just related made the whole party more

susceptible of terror, and they were therefore much agitated by the

news. Fritz hastened up to the belvedere of the house; where a map of

the adjacent country was suspended, by means of which he was enabled,

even at night, to point out with tolerable accuracy the various

positions of the surrounding places. The rest of the party remained

together, not without some fear and anxiety.

Fritz announced, upon his return, that he had no good news to tell. “The

fire does not seem to be in the town, but upon the property of our aunt.

I am well acquainted,” said he, “with the locality, and believe I am not

mistaken.” Each one lamented the destruction of the fine building, and

calculated the loss. “A strange thought has just occurred to me,” said

Fritz, “which may quiet our minds as to the mystery of the reading-desk.

Consider how long it is since we heard the report.” They counted the

minutes, and thought it had occurred about half-past twelve.

“Now, you will probably laugh,” continued Fritz, “when I tell you my

conjecture. You know that our mother, a good many years ago, made our

aunt a present of a reading-desk, in every respect similar to this one.

They were both finished with the greatest care, by the same workman, at

the same time, and cut out of one piece of wood. Both have lasted well

until now: and I will lay a wager, that, at this very instant, the

second reading-desk is actually burning at the house of my aunt; and its

twin brother here is afflicted at the disaster. To-morrow I will set out

and investigate this singular fact as thoroughly as I am able.”

Whether Frederick really entertained the above opinion, or whether his

wish to tranquillize his sister suggested the idea, we are unable to

decide: they, however, seized the opportunity to speak of many

undeniable sympathies, and ended by discovering that a sympathy actually

existed between pieces of timber formed from one tree, and pronounced it

probable that the same sympathy subsisted between pieces of work

completed by the same hand. They agreed that these things resembled

natural phenomena fully as much as other things which were often

adduced, and which although quite evident, are incapable of explanation.

“And, in my opinion,” added Charles, “every phenomenon, as well as every

fact, is peculiarly interesting for its own sake. Whoever explains it,

or connects it with other circumstances, only makes a jest of it, or

deludes us: this is done, for example, by the natural philosopher and

the historian. But an unconnected fact or event is interesting, not

because it is explicable or probable, but because it is true. When at

midnight the flames consumed your aunt’s reading-desk, the extraordinary

splitting of ours, at the very same time, was a palpable fact, however

explicable or connected with other things it may be.”

Though night was by this time far advanced, none of the company felt any

inclination to retire; and Charles, in his turn, asked permission to

tell a story, which, though equally interesting, might seem perhaps more

natural and explicable than the previous ones. “Marshal Bassompierre,”

he said, “relates it in his Memoirs; and I may be permitted to tell it

in his name.

“I had remarked for five or six months, that, whenever I crossed the

little bridge (for at that time the Pont Neuf had not been built), a

very handsome shopkeeper, over the door of whose establishment was

painted the sign of ‘The Two Angels,’ always saluted me with a low and

respectful bow, and followed me with her eyes as far as she could see

me. This conduct surprised me extremely; but I always directed my looks

to her, and saluted her in return. I rode on one occasion from

Fontainebleau to Paris; and, when I had arrived at the little bridge,

she appeared at the door of her shop, and said, ‘Your servant, sir!’ I

returned the salute; and, as I looked back from time to time, I observed

that she was, as usual, leaning forward, to keep me in view as long as

possible.

“My servant was following with a postilion, as I wished to send some

letters back to some ladies in Fontainebleau the same day. I ordered the

servant to alight, to go to the pretty shopkeeper, and to tell her from

me, that I had noticed her wish to speak to me, and that, if she desired

my acquaintance, I would visit her whenever she wished. She answered

that I could have sent her no more delightful news, that she would meet

me whenever I should appoint, on condition that she might be allowed to

pass a night under the same roof with me. I accepted the proposal, and

asked the servant to find a place where I might appoint an assignation.

He said he would lead me to a friend’s house, but advised me, as fever

was then very prevalent, to provide myself with my own house-linen. When

evening came, I went to the appointed house, where I found a very

beautiful young woman awaiting my arrival. She was attired in a charming

head-dress, and wore the finest linens. Her tiny feet were adorned with

slippers, worked in gold and silk; and her person was covered with a

loose mantle of the softest satin texture. Suffice it to say, that I

never saw a more charming person. In the morning I asked when I could

see her again; as it was then Thursday night, and it was not my

intention to leave the town before the following Sunday.

“She replied that she was more anxious for a fresh appointment than I

could be, but that it would be impracticable unless I could postpone my

departure; as I could only see her on Sunday night. To this I made some

difficulty, which caused her to complain that I was tired of her, and

therefore wished to set out on Sunday; ‘but,’ she added, ‘you will soon

think of me again, and will be glad to forfeit a day in order to pass a

night with me.’

“I was easily persuaded. I promised to stay during Sunday, and to meet

her in the evening at the same place. She answered me as follows: ‘I am

quite aware, that on your account I have come to a house of ill-repute;

but I have done this in obedience to an irresistible desire to enjoy

your society. But so great an indiscretion cannot be repeated. I shall

excite the jealousy of my husband, though one might risk even that for

the satisfaction of an irresistible passion. For your sake I have come

to this house, which has been made respectable by your presence. But, if

you desire to see me again, you must meet me at the residence of my

aunt.’

“She described the house with great particularity, and then added, ‘I

shall expect you at ten o’clock. From that time till midnight the door

shall be open. You will find a small entrance, through which you must

advance; as my aunt’s door is at the farther end. You will then see a

flight of stairs opposite to you. They lead to the first floor, and

there I shall be expecting you with open arms.’

“I made all my arrangements. I sent away my things, dismissed my

servants, and waited impatiently the arrival of Sunday night, when I was

to see my charming companion once more. At ten o’clock I was at the

appointed place. I found the door she had described, close shut, and

observed lights in the house, which seemed every now and then to blaze

up into a flame. I knocked impatiently in order to announce my arrival,

and was immediately saluted by the hoarse voice of a man inquiring what

I wanted. I retired disappointed, and paced restlessly up and down the

street. At length I returned to the house, and found the door then wide

open. I hurried through the passage, and ascended the stairs. Judge of

my astonishment at finding the room occupied by two men, who were

employed in burning a mattress and some bed-clothes; while I saw before

me two naked corpses stretched upon the floor. I hastened away

instantly, and, in rushing down stairs, knocked against two men carrying

a coffin, who asked me angrily what I wanted. I drew my sword to protect

myself, and finally reached my home in a state of the greatest

excitement. I swallowed half a dozen glasses of wine, as a preservative

against the fever, and on the following day continued my journey.

“All the inquiries I afterwards instituted to discover who this woman

was were in vain. I even visited the shop where ‘The Two Angels’ were

painted, but the new-comers could not inform who their predecessors had

been. The chief character in this adventure was doubtless a person from

the lower orders; but I can assure you, that, but for the disagreeable

_finale_, it would have proved one of the most delightful incidents that

has ever happened to me, and that I never think of my charming heroine

without feelings of the warmest affection.”

Charles observed, upon the conclusion of the anecdote, that the mystery

which enveloped the story was not easily explained. The woman might

either have died of the fever, or have kept away from the house on

account of the infection.

“But, if she were alive,” answered Charles, “she would have met her

lover in the street; as no fear could, under the circumstances, have

kept her from him. I fear,” he added, “that her corpse was stretched on

the floor.”

“Oh! no more of this,” said Louisa: “this story is too frightful. What a

night we shall pass, if we retire with our imaginations full of these

pictures!”

“I recollect an anecdote,” interrupted Charles, “which is of a more

cheerful description, and which the same Bassompierre relates of some of

his ancestors.

“A very beautiful woman, who loved one of her relations passionately,

visited him every Monday at his country-house, where they spent much

time together; his wife believing in the mean while that her husband was

engaged on a hunting-party. Two years uninterruptedly had passed in this

way, when, the wife’s suspicions being roused, she stole one morning to

the country-house, and found her husband asleep with his companion.

Being unwilling or afraid to disturb them, she untied her veil, threw it

over the feet of the sleeping couple, and retired. When the lady awoke,

and observed the veil, she uttered a piercing cry, and with loud

lamentations complained that she would now never be able to see her

lover again. She then took leave of him, having first given him three

presents,--a small fruit-basket, a ring, and a goblet, being a present

for each of his three daughters, and desired him to take great care of

them. They were accepted with thanks, and the children of these three

daughters believe that they are indebted to their respective gifts for

whatever good fortune has attended them.”

“This somewhat resembles the story of the beautiful Melusina, and

such-like fairy-tales,” observed Louisa.

“But there is just such a tradition in our family,” said Frederick, “and

we have possession of a similar talisman.”

“What do you mean?” asked Charles.

“That is a secret,” replied the former. “It can be told to no one but

the eldest son, and that during the lifetime of his father; and he is

then to hold the charm.”

“Are you the present possessor?” inquired Louisa.

“I have told too much already,” answered Frederick, as he lighted his

candle, previous to retiring.

The family had assembled for breakfast according to their usual custom,

and the baroness afterwards took her seat at her embroidery-frame. After

a short silence the clergyman observed, with a slight smile, “It is

seldom indeed that singers, poets, or story-tellers, who enter into an

agreement to amuse a company, do it at the right time: they often

require pressing, when they should begin voluntarily; whilst, on the

other hand, they are frequently eager and urgent to commence at a time

when the entertainment could be dispensed with. I hope, however, to

prove an exception to this custom; and I shall be glad to know whether

it will prove agreeable to you that I should relate a story.”

“Particularly so,” answered the baroness; “and I feel sure that I

express the general opinion. But, if it is your intention to relate an

anecdote as a specimen, I will tell you for what sort of story I have no

inclination.

“I take no pleasure in stories which, like the Arabian Nights, connect

one tale with another, and so confound the interest of both; where the

narrator finds himself compelled to excite our attention by

interruptions, and, instead of satisfying us by detailing a course of

consecutive adventures, seeks to attract us by rare and often unworthy

artifices. I cannot but censure the attempt of converting stories, which

should possess the unity of a poem, into unmeaning puzzles, which only

have the effect of vitiating our taste. I leave you to choose your own

subjects; but I hope you will pay a little attention to the style, since

it must be remembered that we are members of good society. Commence with

some narrative in which but few persons are concerned or few events

described, in which the plot is good and natural, though possessing as

much action and contrivance as is necessary, which shall not prove dull,

nor be confined to one spot, but in which the action shall not progress

too rapidly. Let your characters be pleasing, and, if not perfect, at

least good,--not extravagant, but interesting and amiable. Let your

story be amusing in the narration, in order, that, when concluded, we

may remember it with pleasure.”

“If I were not well acquainted with you, gracious lady,” said the

clergyman, “I should be of opinion that it is your wish, by thus

explaining how much you require of me, to bring my wares into disrepute

before I have exposed them for sale. I see how difficult it will be to

reach your standard of excellence. Even now,” he continued, after a

short pause, “you compel me to postpone the tale I had intended to

relate till another time; and I fear I shall commit a mistake in

extemporizing an anecdote for which I have always felt some

partiality:--

“In a seacoast town in Italy once lived a merchant, who from his youth

had been distinguished for activity and industry. He was, in addition, a

first-rate sailor, and had amassed considerable wealth by trading to

Alexandria, where he was accustomed to purchase or exchange merchandise,

which he afterwards either brought home or forwarded to the northern

parts of Europe. His fortune increased from year to year. Business was

his greatest pleasure, and he found no time for the indulgence of

extravagant dissipation.

“His life was employed in active pursuits of this nature till he was

fifty years old; and he had been, during all this time, a total stranger

to those social pleasures with which luxurious citizens are accustomed

to diversify their lives. Even the charms of the fair sex had never

excited his attention, notwithstanding the attractions of his

countrywomen. His knowledge of them was confined to their love for

ornaments and jewellery, a taste of which he never failed to take proper

advantage.

“He was surprised, therefore, at the change which took place in his

disposition, when, after a long voyage, his richly laden ship entered

the port of his native town, upon the occurrence of a great festival in

which the children of the place took a prominent part. The youths and

maidens had attended the church in their gayest attire, and had joined

in the sacred processions. They afterwards mingled through the town in

separate companies, or dispersed through the country in search of

amusements; or they assembled in the large square, engaging in various

active pursuits, and exhibiting feats of skill and dexterity, for which

small prizes were bestowed.

“The merchant was much pleased with all he saw. But after he had for

some time observed the happiness of the children, and the delight of

their parents, and witnessed so many persons in the full enjoyment of

present bliss and the indulgence of the fondest hopes, he could not help

reflecting upon the wretchedness of his own condition. His own solitary

home began for the first time to be to him a cause of distress, and he

thus gave vent to his melancholy thoughts:--

“‘Unhappy being that I am! Why are my eyes opened so late? Why, in my

old age, do I first become acquainted with those blessings which alone

can insure the happiness of mankind? What toil have I endured! What

labors I have borne! And what have they done for me? ’Tis true my

cellars are filled with merchandise, my chests with valuable metals, and

my caskets with jewellery and precious stones; but these treasures can

neither console nor satisfy my heart. The more I have the more I want:

one coin requires another, and one diamond wishes for its fellow. I am

not the master of my riches: they command me in imperious tone. ‘Go and

get more!’ they exclaim. Gold delights in gold, and jewels in their

fellows. They have ruled me all my life; and now I find, too late, that

they possess no real value. Now, when age approaches, I begin for the

first time to reflect, and to complain that I enjoy none of the

treasures I possess, and that no one will enjoy them after me. Have I

ever used them to adorn the person of a beloved wife, to provide a

marriage-portion for a daughter? Have I ever by their means enabled a

son to win and to dower the maiden of his heart? Never! None of these

treasures have ever enriched me or mine; and what I have collected with

so much toil some stranger, after my death, will thoughtlessly

dissipate.

“‘Oh! with what different feelings will those happy parents whom I see

around me assemble their children this evening, praise their address,

and encourage them to virtue! What joy have I beheld beaming from their

eyes, and what hopes from the happiness of their beloved offspring! And

must I ever be a stranger to hope? Am I grown gray? Is it not enough to

see my error before the final evening of my days arrives? No: in my ripe

years it is not foolish to dream of love. I will enrich a fair maiden

with my wealth, and make her happy. And, should my house ever become

blessed with children, those late fruits will render me happy, instead

of proving a plague and a torment; as they often do to those who too

early receive such gifts from Heaven.’

“Thus communing with himself he silently formed his determination. He

then called two of his intimate companions, and opened his mind to them.

They were ever ready to aid him in all emergencies, and were not wanting

upon the present occasion. They hastened, therefore, into the town, to

make inquiries after the fairest and most beautiful maidens; for they

knew their master was a man who, whatever goods he might wish to

acquire, would never be satisfied with any but the best. He was himself

active, went about, inquired, saw, and listened, and soon found what he

sought in the person of a young maiden about sixteen years of age,

accomplished and well educated. Her person and disposition pleased him,

and gave him every hope of happiness. In fact, at this time no maiden in

the whole town was more admired for her beauty.

“After a short delay, during which the most perfect independence of his

intended bride, not only during his own life, but after his decease, was

secured, the nuptial ceremony was performed with great pomp and triumph;

and from that day the merchant felt himself, for the first time in his

life, in actual possession and enjoyment of his riches. His rarest and

most costly silks were devoted to the adornment of his bride, and his

diamonds gleamed more brilliantly upon the neck and amid the tresses of

his love than they had ever shone in his caskets; and his rings acquired

an inexpressible value from the beauty of the hand by which they were

adorned. And thus he felt that he was not only as wealthy as before, but

even wealthier; and all he possessed acquired a new value from being

shared with her he loved. The happy couple spent a year together in the

most perfect contentment, and he seemed to experience a real joy in

having exchanged his active and wandering course of life, for the calm

content of domestic bliss. But he could not so easily divest himself of

his nature, and found that a habit acquired in early youth, though it

may for a time be interrupted, can never be completely laid aside.

“After some time the sight of some of his old companions, when they had

safely brought their ships into harbor after a long and perilous voyage,

excited anew the love of his former pursuits; and he began now, even in

the company of his bride, to experience sensations of restlessness and

discontent. These feelings increased daily, and were gradually converted

into so intense a longing for his old course of life, that at last he

became positively miserable; and a serious illness was the result.

“‘What will now become of me?’ he asked himself. ‘I learn too late the

folly of entering in old age upon a new system of life. How can we

separate ourselves from our thoughts and our habits? What have I done?

Once I possessed the perfect freedom which a bird enjoys in open air,

and now I am imprisoned in a dwelling with all my wealth and jewels and

my beauteous wife. I thought thus to win contentment and enjoy my

riches, but I feel that I lose every thing so long as I cannot increase

my stores. Unjustly are men considered fools who add to their wealth by

ceaseless activity, for activity itself is happiness; and riches

themselves are valueless in comparison with the delight of the toil by

which they are acquired. I am wretched from idleness, sick from

inactivity; and, if I do not determine upon some other course, I may

soon bid farewell to life.

“‘I know, however, how much I risk in separating from a young and lovely

wife. I know how unjust it is to win the affections of a charming

maiden, and, after a brief possession, to abandon her to the wearisome

society of her own desires and emotions. I know, even now, how many vain

and frivolous youths display their conceited persons before my windows.

I know that in church, and in the public promenades, they seek to

attract the notice and engage the attention of my wife. What may not

take place, then, if I absent myself? Can I hope for the intervention of

some miracle to save her from her almost inevitable fate? It were vain

to expect that at her age and with her warm affections she can withstand

the seductions of love. If I depart, I know that upon my return I shall

have lost the attachment of my wife, and that she will have forfeited

her fidelity, and tarnished the honor of my house.’

“These reflections and doubts, to which he for some time had become a

prey, embittered his condition tenfold. His wife, no less than his

relations and friends, sympathized deeply with him, without being able

to comprehend the cause of his illness. At length he sought relief from

his own thoughts, and thus communed with himself: ‘Fool! to distress

myself so much about the protection of a wife whom, if my illness

continues, I must leave behind me for the enjoyment of another. Is it

not better to preserve my life, even though in the effort I risk the

loss of the greatest treasure a woman can possess? How many find their

very presence ineffectual to preserve this treasure, and patiently

endure a privation they cannot prevent! Why cannot you summon up courage

to be independent of so precarious a blessing, since upon this

resolution your very existence depends?’

“He felt invigorated by these thoughts, and forthwith summoned together

his former crew. He instructed them to charter a vessel without delay,

to load it, and hold themselves ready to set sail with the first

favorable wind. He then unburdened himself to his wife in the following

terms:--

“‘Be not astonished at any commotion you may shortly observe in our

house, but conclude thence that I am making preparations for a journey.

Be not overcome with grief when I inform you that I am once more bent

upon a sea-voyage. The love I bear you is still unchanged, and will

doubtless remain so during my life. I am sensible of the bliss I have

enjoyed in your society, and should feel it still more powerfully, but

for the silent censures of idleness and inactivity with which my

conscience reproves me. My old disposition returns, and my former habits

are still alive. Let me once more visit the markets of Alexandria, to

which I shall repair with the greater joy, because I can there procure

for you the richest merchandise and most valuable treasures. I leave you

in possession of all my fortune and of all my goods: make use of them

without restraint, and enjoy yourself in the company of your relatives

and friends. The period of our separation will pass by, and we shall

meet again with joy.’

“Dissolved in tears, his loving wife assured him, with the most tender

endearments, that during his absence she would never be able to enjoy

one happy moment, and entreated him, since she wished neither to control

nor to detain him, that she might, at least, share his affectionate

thoughts during the sad time of their separation.

“He then gave some general directions on business and household matters,

and added, after a short pause, ‘I have something to say, which lies

like a burden upon my heart; and you must permit me to utter it: I only

implore you earnestly not to misinterpret my meaning, but in my anxiety

for you to discern my love.’

“‘I can guess your thoughts,’ interrupted his wife: ‘you are suspicious

of me, I know; and, after the fashion of men, you always rail at the

universal weakness of our sex. I am, it is true, young, and of a

cheerful disposition; and you fear lest, in your absence, I be found

inconstant and unfaithful. I do not find fault with your suspicions; it

is the habit of your sex: but if I know my own heart, I may assure you

that I am not so susceptible of impressions as to be induced lightly to

stray from the paths of love and duty, through which I have hitherto

journeyed. Fear not: you shall find your wife as true and faithful on

your return as you have ever found her hitherto, when you have come to

her arms at evening after a short absence.’

“‘I believe the truth of the sentiments you utter,’ added the husband,

‘and I beseech you to be constant to them. But let us conceive the

possibility of the worst. Why should we shrink from it? You know

yourself how the beauty of your person attracts the admiration of all

our young fellow-citizens. During my absence they will be more attentive

to you than ever. They will redouble their efforts to attract and please

you. The image of your husband will not prove as effective as his

presence in banishing them from my doors and from your heart. I know you

are a noble being; but the blandishments of love are powerful, and

oftentimes overcome the firmest resolutions. Interrupt me not. Your very

thoughts of me during my absence may inflame your passions. I may, for

some time, continue to be the object of your dearest wishes; but who can

foretell what opportunities may occur, and allow a stranger to enjoy

those privileges which were destined for me? Be not impatient, I beseech

you, but hear me out.

“‘Should that time arrive, the possibility of which you deny, and which

I am by no means anxious to hasten, in which you feel that you need

society, and can no longer defer the requirements of love, then make me

one promise. Permit no thoughtless youth to supplant me, whatever may be

the attractions of his person; for such lovers are more dangerous to the

honor than to the virtue of a woman. Incited rather by vanity than by

love, they seek the general favors of the sex, and are ever ready to

transfer their transitory affections. If you wish for the society of a

friend, look out for one who is worthy of the name, whose modesty and

discretion understands the art of exalting the joys of love by the

virtue of secrecy.’

“His beautiful wife could suppress her agony no longer, and the tears

which she had till now restrained flowed in copious torrents from her

eyes. ‘Whatever may be your opinion of me,’ she cried, after a

passionate embrace, ‘nothing can be at this hour farther from my

thoughts than the crime you seem to consider, as it were, inevitable. If

such an idea ever suggests itself to my imagination, may the earth in

that instant open, and swallow me up, and forever vanish all hope of

that joy which promises a blessed immortality! Banish this mistrust from

your bosom, and let me enjoy the full and delightful hope of seeing you

again return to these arms.’

“Having left untried no effort to comfort and console his wife, he set

sail the next day. His voyage was prosperous, and he soon arrived in

Alexandria.

“In the mean time our heroine lived in the tranquil enjoyment of a large

fortune, in possession of every luxury; though, with the exception of

her relatives and immediate friends, no person was admitted to her

society. The business of her absent husband was discharged by

trustworthy servants; and she inhabited a large mansion, in whose

splendid rooms she was able to enjoy the daily pleasure of recalling the

remembrance of his love.

“But, notwithstanding her quiet and retired mode of life, the young

gallants of the town did not long remain inactive. They frequented the

street, passed incessantly before her windows, and in the evening sought

to attract her attention by means of music and serenades. The pretty

prisoner, although she at first found these attentions troublesome and

annoying, gradually became reconciled to the vexation; and, when the

long evenings arrived, she began to consider the serenades in the light

of an agreeable entertainment, and could scarcely suppress an occasional

sigh, which, strictly speaking, belonged to her absent husband.

“But her unknown admirers, instead of gradually wearying in their

attentions, as she had once expected, became more assiduous in their

devotion. She began, at last, to recognize the oft-repeated instruments

and voices, to grow familiar with the melodies, and to feel curious to

know the names of her most constant serenaders. She might innocently

indulge so harmless a curiosity. She now peeped occasionally through her

curtains and half-closed shutters, to notice the pedestrians, and to

observe more particularly the youths whose eyes were constantly directed

towards her windows. They were invariably handsome, and fashionably

dressed; but their manner and whole deportment were unmistakably marked

by frivolity and vanity. They seemed more desirous of making themselves

remarkable by directing their attention to the house of so beautiful a

woman, than of displaying towards her a feeling of peculiar respect.

“‘Really,’ the lady would sometimes say to herself in a tone of

raillery, ‘really my husband showed a deal of penetration. The condition

under which he allowed me to enjoy the privilege of a lover excludes all

those who care in the least for me, or to whom I am likely to take a

fancy. He seems to have well understood that prudence, modesty, and

silence are qualities which belong to demure old age, when men can value

the understanding, but are incapable of awakening the fancy or exciting

the desires. I am pretty sure, at least, that, amongst the youths who

lay perpetual siege to my mansion, there is not one entitled to my

confidence; and those who might lay some claim to that virtue fall

lamentably short in other attractions.’

“Supported by these reflections, she allowed herself to take daily more

and more pleasure in the music and in the attentions of her young

admirers; till at length, unperceived by herself, there gradually sprung

up in her bosom a restless desire, which she struggled to resist when it

was already too late. Solitude and idleness, combined with comfort and

luxury, gave birth to an unruly passion long before its thoughtless

victim had any suspicion of her danger.

“Amongst the numerous endowments of her husband, she now saw ample

reason to admire his profound knowledge of the world and of mankind, and

his thorough acquaintance with woman’s heart. She now perceived that

that had occurred, the possibility of which she had formerly so

strenuously denied, and acknowledged his wisdom in preaching the

necessity of prudence and caution. But what could these virtues avail,

where pitiless chance seemed to be in conspiracy with her own

unaccountable passions? How could she select one from a crowd of

strangers? and was she permitted, in case of disappointment, to make a

second choice?

“Innumerable thoughts of this nature increased the perplexity of our

solitary heroine. In vain she sought recreation, and tried to forget

herself. Her mind was perpetually excited by agreeable objects, and her

imagination thus became impressed with the most delightful pictures of

fancied happiness.

“In this state of mind, she was informed one day by a relation, amongst

other pieces of news, that a young lawyer who had just finished his

studies at Bologna had lately arrived in his native town. His talents

were the topic of general admiration and encomium. His universal

knowledge was accompanied by a modesty and reserve very uncommon in

youth, and his personal attractions were of a high order. In his office

of procurator he had already won, not only the confidence of the public,

but the respect of the judges. He had daily business to transact at the

court-house, so great was the increase of his professional practice.

“Our heroine could not hear the talents of this youth so generally

extolled, without feeling a wish to become acquainted with him,

accompanied by a secret hope that he might prove a person upon whom, in

conformity with the permission of her husband, she might bestow her

heart. She soon learned that he passed her dwelling daily, on his way to

the court-house; and she carefully watched for the hour when the lawyers

were accustomed to assemble for the discharge of business. With beating

heart she at length saw him pass; and if his handsome figure and

youthful attractions, on the one hand, excited her admiration, his

apparent reserve and modesty, on the other, gave her much reason for

doubt and anxiety. For several days she watched him silently, till at

length she was no longer able to resist her desire to attract his

attention. She dressed with care, went out upon the balcony, and marked

his approach with feelings of suspense. But she grew troubled, and,

indeed, felt ashamed, when she saw him pass, in contemplative mood, with

thoughtful steps and downcast eyes, pursuing his quiet way, without

deigning to bestow the slightest notice upon her. Vainly did she

endeavor thus to win his attention for several successive days. In the

same undeviating course he continued to pass by, without raising his

eyes, or looking to the right or to the left. But, the more she observed

him, the more did he appear to be the very one she needed. Her wish to

know him now grew stronger, and at length became irresistible. What! she

thought within herself: when my noble, sensible husband actually foresaw

the extremity to which his absence would reduce me, when his keen

perception knew that I could not live without a friend, must I droop and

pine away at the very time when fortune provides me with one whom not

only my own heart, but even my husband, would choose, and in whose

society I should be able to enjoy the delights of love in inviolable

secrecy? Fool should I be, to miss such an opportunity; fool, to resist

the powerful impulses of love!

“With such reflections did she endeavor to decide upon some fixed

course, and she did not long remain a prey to uncertainty. It happened

with her, as it usually does with every one who is conquered by a

passion, that she looked without apprehension upon all such trifling

objections as shame, fear, timidity, and duty, and came at length to the

bold resolution of sending her servant-maid to the young lawyer at any

risk, and inviting him to visit her.

“The servant found him in the company of several friends, and delivered

her message punctually in the terms in which she had been instructed.

The procurator was not at all surprised at the invitation. He had known

the merchant previously, was aware of his absence at present, and

presumed that the lady required the aid of his professional services

about some important matter of business. He promised the servant,

therefore, that he would wait upon her mistress without delay. The

latter heard with unspeakable joy, that she would soon be allowed an

opportunity of seeing and speaking to her beloved. She prepared

carefully for his reception, and had her rooms arranged with the utmost

elegance. Orange-leaves and flowers were strewn around in profusion, and

the most costly furniture was displayed for the occasion. And thus the

brief intervening time hastened by, which would otherwise have been

unbearable.

“Who can describe the emotion with which she witnessed his arrival, or

her agitation upon inviting him to take a seat at her side? She

hesitated how to address him now that he had arrived, and found a

difficulty in remembering what she had to say. He sat still and silent.

At length she took courage and addressed him, not without some visible

perplexity.

“‘I understand, sir, that you are but lately returned to your native

city; and I learn that you are universally admired as a talented and

incomparable man. I am ready to bestow my utmost confidence upon you, in

a matter of extraordinary importance, but which, upon reflection, would

seem adapted rather for the ear of the confessor than that of the

lawyer. I have been for some years married to a husband who is both rich

and honorable, and who, as long as we have lived together, has never

ceased to tenderly love me, and of whom I should not have a single word

of complaint to utter, if an irresistible desire for travel and trade

had not torn him, for some time, from my arms.

“‘Being a sensible and just man, he no doubt felt conscious of the

injury his absence must necessarily inflict upon me. He knew that a

young wife cannot be preserved like jewellery and pearls. He knew that

she resembles a garden, full of the choicest fruits, which would be

lost, not only to him, but to every one else, if the door were kept

locked for years. For this reason, he addressed me in serious but

friendly tones before his departure, and assured me, that he knew I

should not be able to live without the society of a friend, and

therefore not only permitted, but made me promise, that I would, in a

free and unrestrained manner, follow the inclination which I should soon

find springing up within my heart.’

“She paused for a moment; but an eloquent look, which the young lawyer

directed towards her, encouraged her to proceed.

“‘One only condition was imposed upon me by my indulgent husband. He

recommended me to use the most extreme caution, and impressed upon me

strongly the necessity of choosing a steady, prudent, silent, and

confidential friend. But you will excuse my continuing,--excuse the

embarrassment with which I must confess how I have been attracted by

your numerous accomplishments, and divine from the confidence I have

reposed in you the nature of my hopes and wishes.’

“The worthy young lawyer was silent for a short time, and then replied,

in a thoughtful tone, ‘I am deeply indebted for the high mark of

confidence with which you both honor and delight me. I wish to convince

you that I am not unworthy of your favor. But let me first answer you in

a professional capacity: and I must confess my admiration for your

husband, who so clearly saw the nature of the injustice he committed

against you; for there can be no doubt of this,--that a husband who

leaves his young wife, in order to visit distant countries, must be

viewed in the light of a man who relinquishes a valuable treasure, to

which, by his own conduct, he abandons all manner of claim. And as the

first finder may then lawfully take possession, so I hold it to be

natural and just, that a young woman, under the circumstances you

describe, should bestow her affections and herself, without scruple,

upon any friend who may prove worthy of her confidence.

“‘But particularly when the husband, as in this case, conscious of the

injustice he himself commits, expressly allows his forsaken wife a

privilege, of which he could not deprive her, it must be clear that he

can suffer no wrong from an action to which he has given his own

consent.

“‘Wherefore if you,’ continued the young lawyer, with quite a different

look and the most lively emphasis, and the most affectionate pressure of

the hand, ‘if you select me for your servant, you enrich me with a

happiness, of which, till now, I could have formed no conception. And be

assured,’ he added, while at the same time he warmly kissed her hand,

‘that you could not have found a more true, loving, prudent, and devoted

servant.’

“This declaration tranquillized the agitated feelings of our tender

heroine. She at once expressed her love without reserve. She pressed his

hand, drew him nearer to her, and reclined her head upon his shoulder.

They had remained but a short time in this position, when he tried to

disengage himself gently, and expressed himself thus, not without

emotion: ‘Did ever happy mortal find himself in such embarrassment? I am

compelled to leave you, and to do violence to myself in the very moment

when I might surrender myself to the most divine enchantment. I cannot

now partake the bliss which is prepared for me, and I earnestly pray

that a temporary postponement may not altogether frustrate my fondest

hopes.’

“She inquired hastily the cause of this strange speech.

“‘When I was in Bologna,’ he replied, ‘and had just completed my

studies, preparing to enter upon the practice of my profession, I was

seized with a dangerous illness, from which it appeared, that, even if I

should escape with my life, my bodily and mental faculties must sustain

irreparable injury. Reduced to despair, and tortured by the pangs of

disease, I made a solemn vow to the Virgin, that, should I recover, I

would persist for one whole year in practising the strictest fast and

abstinence from enjoyment of every description. For ten months I have

already adhered to my vow: and, considering the wonderful favor I have

enjoyed, the time has not passed wearily; and I have not found it

difficult to abstain from many accustomed pleasures. But the two months

which still remain will now seem an eternity; since, till their

expiration, I am forbidden to partake a happiness whose delights are

inconceivable. And, though you may think the time long, do not, I

beseech you, withdraw the favor you have so bountifully bestowed upon

me.’

“Not much consoled by this announcement, she felt a little more

encouraged when her friend added, after a few minutes’ reflection, ‘I

scarcely dare to make a proposal, and suggest a plan, which may,

perhaps, release me a little earlier from my vow. If I could only find

some one as firm and resolute as myself in keeping a promise, and who

would divide with me the time that still remains, I should then be the

sooner free; and nothing could impede our enjoyment. Are you willing, my

sweet friend, to assist in hastening our happiness by removing one-half

of the obstacle which opposes us? I can only share my vow with one upon

whom I can depend with full confidence. And it is severe,--nothing but

bread and water twice a day, and at night a few hours’ repose on a hard

bed; and, notwithstanding my incessant professional occupation, I must

devote many hours to prayer. If I am obliged to attend a party, I am not

thereby released from my duty; and I must avoid the enjoyment of every

dainty. If you can resolve to pass one month in the observance of these

rules, you will find yourself the sooner in possession of your friend’s

society, which you will relish the more from the consciousness of having

deserved it by your praiseworthy resolution.’

“The beautiful lady was sorry to hear of the difficulty she had to

encounter; but the very presence of her beloved so increased her

attachment, that no trial which would insure the possession of so

valuable a prize appeared to her too difficult. She therefore assured

him, in the most affectionate manner, of her readiness to share the

responsibility of his vow, and addressed him thus: ‘My sweet friend! the

miracle through which you have recovered your health is to me an event

of so much value and importance, that it is not only my duty, but my

joy, to partake the vow by which you are still bound. I am delighted to

offer so strong a proof of my sincerity. I will imitate your example in

the strictest manner; and, until you discharge me from my obligation, no

consideration shall induce me to stray from the path you point out to

me.’

“The young lawyer once more repeated the conditions under which he was

willing to transfer to her the obligation of one-half of his vow, and

then took his leave, with the assurance that he would soon visit her

again, to inquire after her constancy and resolution. And she was then

obliged to witness his departure, without receiving so much as one kiss,

or pressure of the hand, and scarcely with a look of ordinary

recognition. She found some degree of happy relief in the strange

employment which the performance of her new duties imposed upon her, for

she had much to do in the preparation for her unaccustomed course of

life. In the first place, she removed all the beautiful exotics and

flowers which had been procured to grace the reception of her beloved.

Then a hard mattress was substituted for her downy bed, to which she

retired in the evening, after having scarcely satisfied her hunger with

a frugal meal of bread and water. The following morning found her busily

employed in plain work, and in making a certain amount of wearing

apparel for the poor inmates of the town hospital. During this new

occupation she entertained her fancy by dwelling upon the image of her

dear friend, and indulging the hope of future happiness; and these

thoughts reconciled her to the greatest privations and to the humblest

fare.

“At the end of the first week the roses began to fade from her beautiful

cheeks, her person to fall away, and her strength to become weak and

languid; but a visit from her friend imparted new animation and

fortitude. He encouraged her to persist in her resolution, by the

example of his own perseverance, and by showing her the approaching

certainty of uninterrupted happiness. His visit was brief, but he

promised to return soon.

“With cheerful resignation she continued her new and strict course of

life, but her strength soon declined so much that the most severe

illness could scarcely have reduced her to such extreme weakness. Her

friend, whose visit was repeated at the end of the week, sympathized

with her condition, but comforted her by an assurance that one-half the

period of her trial was already over. But the severe fasting, continual

praying, and incessant work, became every day more unbearable; and her

excessive abstemiousness threatened to ruin the health of one who had

been accustomed to a life of the greatest luxury. At length she found a

difficulty in walking, and was compelled, notwithstanding the sultriness

of the season, to wrap herself up in the warmest clothing, to preserve

even an ordinary degree of heat; till finally she was obliged to take to

her bed.

“It would be difficult to describe the course of her reflections when

she reflected on her condition and on this strange occurrence, and it is

impossible to imagine her distress when ten tedious days wearily passed

without the appearance of the friend for whose sake she had consented to

make this unheard-of sacrifice. But those hours of trouble sufficed to

recall her to reason, and she formed her resolution. Her friend visited

her after the lapse of some few days more; and seating himself at her

bedside, upon the very sofa which he had occupied when she made her

first declaration of love to him, he encouraged and implored her, in the

most tender and affectionate tones, to persist for a short time longer:

but she interrupted him with a sweet smile, and assured him that she

needed no persuasion to continue, for a few days, the performance of a

vow which she knew full well had been appointed for her advantage. ‘I

am, as yet, too feeble,’ she said, ‘to express my thanks to you as I

could wish. You have saved me from myself. You have restored me to

myself; and I confess, that from this moment I am indebted to you for my

existence. My husband was, indeed, gifted with prudence and good sense,

and well knew the nature of woman’s heart. And he was, moreover, just

enough not to condemn a passion which he saw might spring up within my

bosom, through his own fault; and he was generous enough to make

allowance for the weakness of my nature. But you, sir, are truly

virtuous and good. You have taught me that we possess within us an

antidote equivalent to the force of our passions; that we are capable of

renouncing luxuries to which we have been accustomed, and of suppressing

our strongest inclinations. You have taught me this lesson by means of

hope and of delusion. Neither is any longer necessary: you have made me

acquainted with the existence of that ever-living conscience, which, in

peaceful silence, dwells within our souls, and never ceases with gentle

admonitions to remind us of its presence, till its sway becomes

irresistibly acknowledged. And now farewell. May your influence over

others be as effective as it has been over me. Do not confine your

labors to the task of unravelling legal perplexities, but show mankind,

by your own gentle guidance and example, that within every bosom the

germ of hidden virtue lies concealed. Esteem and fame will be your

reward; and, far better than any statesman or hero, you will earn the

glorious title of father of your country.’”

“We must all extol the character of your young lawyer,” said the

baroness, at the conclusion of the clergyman’s tale: “polished, wise,

interesting, and instructive, I wish every preceptor were like him, who

undertakes to restrain or recall youth from the path of error. I think

such a tale is peculiarly entitled to be styled a moral anecdote. Relate

some more of the same nature, and your audience will have ample reason

to be thankful.”

_Clergyman._ I am delighted that my tale has earned your approbation,

but I am sorry you wish to hear more of such moral anecdotes; for, to

say the truth, this is the first and last of the kind.

_Louisa._ It certainly does not do you much credit, to say that your

best collection only furnishes a single specimen.

_Clergyman._ You have not understood me. It is not the only moral tale I

can relate; but they all bear so close a resemblance, that each would

seem only to repeat the original.

_Louisa._ Really, you should give up your paradoxical style, which so

much obscures your conversation, and express yourself more clearly.

_Clergyman._ With pleasure, then. No anecdote deserves to be called

moral which does not prove that man possesses within himself that power

to subdue his inclinations which may be called out by the persuasion of

another. My story teaches this doctrine, and no moral tale can teach

otherwise.

_Louisa._ Then, in order to act morally, I must act contrary to my

inclinations?

_Clergyman._ Undoubtedly.

_Louisa._ Even when they are good?

_Clergyman._ No inclinations are abstractedly good, but only so as far

as they effect good.

_Louisa._ Suppose I have an inclination for benevolence?

_Clergyman._ Then, you should subdue your inclination for benevolence if

you find that it ruins your domestic happiness.

_Louisa._ Suppose I felt an irresistible impulse to gratitude?

_Clergyman._ It is wisely ordained that gratitude can never be an

impulse. But if it were, it would be better to prove ungrateful than to

commit a crime in order to oblige your benefactor.

_Louisa._ Then, there may be a thousand moral stories?

_Clergyman._ Yes, in your sense. But none of them would read a lesson

different from the one our lawyer taught, and in this sense there can be

but one story of the kind: you are right, however, if you mean that the

incidents can be various.

_Louisa._ If you had expressed your meaning more precisely at first, we

should not have disagreed.

_Clergyman._ And we should have had no conversation. Errors and

misunderstandings are the springs of action, of life, and of amusement.

_Louisa._ I cannot agree with you. Suppose a brave man saves another at

the risk of his own life: is that not a moral action?

_Clergyman._ Not according to my mode of thinking. But, suppose a

cowardly man were to overcome his fears and do the same, that would be a

moral action.

_Baroness._ I wish, my dear friend, you would give us some examples, and

convince Louisa of the truth of your theory. Certainly, a mind disposed

to good must delight us when we become acquainted with it. Nothing in

the world can be more pleasing than a mind under the guidance of reason

and conscience. If you know a tale upon such a subject, we should like

to hear it. I am fond of stories which illustrate a doctrine. They give

a better explanation of one’s meaning than dry words can do.

_Clergyman._ I certainly can relate some anecdotes of that kind, for I

have paid some attention to those qualities of the human mind.

_Louisa._ I would just make one observation. I must confess I do not

like stories which oblige us to travel, in imagination, to foreign

lands. Why must every adventure take place in Italy, in Sicily, or in

the East? Are Naples, Palermo, and Smyrna the only places where any

thing interesting can happen? One may transpose the scene of our

fairy-tales to Ormus and Samarcand for the purpose of perplexing the

imagination; but, if you would instruct the understanding or the heart,

do it by means of domestic stories,--family portraits,--in which we

shall recognize our own likeness; and our hearts will more readily

sympathize with sorrow.

_Clergyman._ You shall be gratified. But there is something peculiar,

too, about family stories. They bear a strong resemblance to each other;

and, besides, we daily see every incident and situation of which they

are capable fully worked out upon the stage. However, I am willing to

make the attempt, and shall relate a story, with some of the incidents

of which you are already familiar; and it will only prove interesting so

far as it is an exact representation of the picture in your own minds.

“We may often observe in families, that the children inherit, not only

the personal appearance, but even the mental qualities, of their

parents; and it sometimes happens that one child combines the

dispositions of both father and mother in a peculiar and remarkable

manner.

“A youth, whom I may name Ferdinand, was a strong instance of this fact.

In his appearance he resembled both parents, and one could distinguish

in his mind the separate disposition of each. He possessed the gay,

thoughtless manner of his father, in his strong desire to enjoy the

present moment, and, in most cases, to prefer himself to others; but he

also inherited the tranquil and reflective mind of his mother, no less

than her love for honesty and justice, and a willingness, like her,

perpetually to sacrifice himself for the advantage of others. To explain

his contradictory conduct upon many occasions, his companions were often

reduced to the necessity of believing that he had two souls. I must pass

by many adventures which happened in his youth, and shall content myself

with relating one anecdote, which not only explains his character fully,

but forms a remarkable epoch in his life.

“His youth was passed in every species of enjoyment. His parents were

affluent, and brought up their children extravagantly. If the father

indulged in unreasonable expenditure, either in company, at the

gaming-table, or in other dissipations, it was the habit of the mother

to restrain her own, and the household expenses, so as to supply the

deficiency; though she never allowed an appearance of want to be

observed. Her husband was fortunate in his business; he was successful

in several hazardous speculations he had undertaken: and, as he was fond

of society, he had the happiness to form many pleasant and advantageous

connections.

“The children of a family usually copy those members of the household

who seem to enjoy their lives most. They see in the example of a father

who follows such a course, a model worthy of imitation; and, as they are

seldom slow in obeying their inclinations, their wishes and desires

often increase very much in disproportion to their means of enjoyment.

Obstacles to their gratification soon arise: each new addition to the

family forms a new claim upon the capabilities of the parents, who

frequently surrender their own pleasures for the sake of their children;

and, by common consent, a more simple and less expensive mode of living

is adopted.

“Ferdinand grew up with a consciousness of the disagreeable truth, that

he was often deprived of many luxuries which his more fortunate

companions enjoyed. It distressed him to appear inferior to any of them

in the richness of his apparel, or the liberality of his expenditure. He

wished to resemble his father, whose example was daily before him, and

who appeared to him a twofold model,--first, as a parent, in whose favor

a son is usually prejudiced; and, secondly, as a man who led a pleasant

and luxurious life, and was, therefore, apparently loved and esteemed by

a numerous acquaintance. It is easy to suppose that all this occasioned

great vexation to his mother; but in this way Ferdinand grew up, with

his wants daily increasing, until at length, when he had attained his

eighteenth year, his requirements and wishes were sadly out of

proportion to his condition.

“He had hitherto avoided contracting debts; for this vice his mother had

impressed him with the greatest abhorrence: and, in order to win his

confidence, she had, in numerous instances, exerted herself to gratify

his desires, and relieve him from occasional embarrassments. But it

happened, unfortunately, that she was now compelled to practise the most

rigid economy in her household expenditure, and this at a time when his

wants, from many causes, had increased. He had commenced to enter more

generally into society, tried to win the affections of a very attractive

girl, and to rival and even surpass his companions in the elegance of

his attire. His mother, being unable any longer to satisfy his demands,

appealed to his duty and filial affection so as to induce him to

restrain his expenses. He admitted the justice of her expostulations,

but, being unable to follow her advice, was soon reduced to a state of

the greatest mental embarrassment.

“Without forfeiting the object of his dearest wishes, he found it

impossible to change his mode of life. From his boyhood he had been

addicted to his present pursuits, and could alter no iota of his habits

or practices without running the risk of losing an old friend, a

desirable companion, or, what was worse, abandoning the society of his

dearest love.

“His attachment became stronger; as the love which was bestowed upon him

not only flattered his vanity, but complimented his understanding.

“It was something to be preferred to a host of suitors by a handsome and

agreeable girl, who was acknowledged to be the richest heiress in the

city. He boasted of the preference with which he was regarded, and she

also seemed proud of the delightful bondage in which she was held. It

now became indispensable that he should be in constant attendance upon

her, that he should devote his time and money to her service, and afford

perpetual proofs of the value he set upon her affection. All these

inevitable results of his attachment occasioned Ferdinand more expense

than he would otherwise have incurred. His ladylove (who was named

Ottilia) had been intrusted by her parents to the care of an aunt, and

no exertions had been spared to introduce her to society under the most

favorable circumstances. Ferdinand exhausted every resource to furnish

her with the enjoyments of society, into all of which she entered with

the greatest delight, and of which she herself proved one of the

greatest attractions.

“No situation could certainly be more wretched than that to which

Ferdinand was now reduced. His mother, whom he sincerely loved and

respected, had pointed out to him the necessity of embarking in duties

very different from those which he had hitherto practised: she could no

longer assist him in a pecuniary way. He felt a horror at the debts

which were daily becoming more burdensome to him, and he saw before him

the difficult task of reconciling his impoverished condition with his

anxiety to appear rich and practise generosity. No mind could be a prey

to greater unhappiness.

“His mind was now forcibly impressed with thoughts which had formerly

only indistinctly suggested themselves to his imagination. Certain

unpleasant reflections became to him the source of great unhappiness. He

had once looked upon his father as a model: he now began to regard him

as a rival. What the son wished to enjoy, the parent actually possessed;

and the latter felt none of the anxieties or grievances wherewith the

former was tortured. Ferdinand, however, was in full possession of every

comfort of life; but he envied his father the luxuries which he enjoyed,

and with which he thought he might very well dispense. But the latter

was of a different opinion. He was one of those beings whose desires are

wholly insatiable, and who, for their own gratification, subject their

family and dependants to the greatest privations. His son received from

him a certain pecuniary allowance, but a regular account of his

expenditure was strictly exacted.

“The eye of the envious is sharpened by restrictions, and dependants are

never more censorious than when the commands of superiors are at

variance with their practice. Thus Ferdinand came to watch strictly the

conduct of his father, particularly upon points which concerned his

expenditure. He listened attentively when it was rumored that his father

had lost heavily at the gambling-table, and expressed great

dissatisfaction at any unwonted extravagance which he might indulge. ‘Is

it not astonishing?’ he would say to himself, ‘that, whilst parents

revel in every luxury that can spring from the possession of a property

which they accidentally enjoy, they can debar their children of those

reasonable pleasures which their season of youth most urgently requires?

And by what right do they act thus? How have they acquired this

privilege? Does it not arise from mere chance? and can that be a right

which is the result of accident? If my grandfather, who loved me as his

own son, were still alive, I should be better provided for. He would not

see me in want of common necessaries, those things, I mean, which we

have had from our birth. He would no more let me want, than he would

approve my father’s extravagance. Had he lived longer, had he known how

worthy his grandchild would prove to inherit a fortune, he would have

provided in his will for my earlier independence. I have heard that his

death was unexpected, that he had intended to make a will; and I am

probably indebted to mere chance for the postponement of my enjoying a

fortune, which, if my father continue his present course, will probably

be lost to me forever.’

“With such discontented thoughts did Ferdinand often perplex himself in

those hours of solitude and unhappiness, in which he was prevented, by

the want of money, from joining his companions upon some agreeable party

of pleasure. Then it was that he discussed those dangerous questions of

right and property, and considered how far individuals are bound by laws

to which they have given no consent, or whether they may lawfully burst

through the restraints of society. But all these were mere pecuniary

sophistries; for every article of value which he formerly possessed had

gradually disappeared, and his daily wants had now far outgrown his

allowance.

“He soon became silent and reserved; and, at such times, even his

respect for his mother disappeared, as she could afford him no

assistance: and he began to entertain a hatred for his father, who,

according to his sentiments, was perpetually in his way.

“Just at this period he made a discovery, which increased his

discontent. He learned that his father was not only an irregular, but an

improvident, manager of his household. He observed that he often took

money hastily from his desk, without entering it in his account-book,

and that he was afterwards perplexed with private calculations, and

annoyed at his inability to balance his accounts. More than once did

Ferdinand notice this; and his father’s carelessness was the more

galling to him, as it often occurred at times when he himself was

suffering severely from the want of money.

“Whilst he was in this state of mind, an unlucky accident happened,

which afforded an opportunity for the commission of a crime, to which he

had long felt himself impelled by a secret and ungovernable impulse.

“His father had desired him to examine and arrange a collection of old

letters. One Sunday, when he was alone, he set to work in a room which

contained his father’s writing-desk, and in which his money was usually

kept. The box of letters was heavy; and, in the act of lifting it from

the ground, he pushed unintentionally against the desk, when the latter

suddenly flew open. The rolls of money lay temptingly displayed before

him. Without allowing time for a moment’s reflection, he took a roll of

gold from that part of the desk where he thought his father kept a

supply of money for his own occasional wants. He shut the desk again,

and repeated the experiment of opening it. He once more succeeded, and

saw that he could now command the treasure as completely as if he had

possessed the key.

“He soon plunged once more into all those dissipations which he had

lately been obliged to renounce. He became more constant than ever in

his attentions to Ottilia, and more passionate in the pursuit of

pleasure. Even his former graceful animation was converted into a

species of excitement, which, though it was far from unbecoming, was

deficient in that kind attention to others which is so agreeable.

“Opportunity is to passion what a spark is to gunpowder, and those

desires which we gratify contrary to the dictates of conscience always

rule with the most ungovernable power. Ferdinand’s own convictions

loudly condemned his conduct, but he endeavored to justify himself by

specious arguments; and though his manner became in appearance more free

and unrestrained than before, he was in reality a captive to the

influence of his evil inclinations.

“Just at this time the wearing of extravagant trifles came into fashion.

Ottilia was fond of personal ornaments, and Ferdinand endeavored to

discover a mode of gratifying her taste without apprising her where her

supply of presents came from. Her suspicions fell upon an old uncle, and

Ferdinand’s gratification was indescribable at observing the

satisfaction of his mistress and the course of her mistaken suspicions.

But, unfortunately for his peace of mind, he was now obliged to have

frequent recourse to his father’s desk, in order to gratify Ottilia’s

fancy and his own inclinations; and he pursued this course now the more

boldly, as he had lately observed that his father grew more and more

careless about entering in his account-book the sums he himself

required.

“The time now arrived for Ottilia’s return to her parents. The young

couple were overpowered with grief at the prospect of their separation,

and one circumstance added to their sorrow. Ottilia had accidentally

learned that the presents we have spoken of had come from Ferdinand: she

questioned him, and he confessed the truth with feelings of evident

sorrow. She insisted upon returning them, and this occasioned him the

bitterest anguish. He declared his determination not to live without

her, prayed that she would preserve him her attachment, and implored

that she would not refuse her hand as soon as he should have provided an

establishment. She loved him, was moved at his entreaties, promised what

he wished, and sealed her vow with the warmest embraces and a thousand

passionate kisses.

“After her departure Ferdinand was reduced to sad solitude. The company

in which he had found delight pleased him no more, she being absent.

From the mere force of habit he mingled with his former associates, and

had recourse to his father’s desk to supply those expenses which in

reality he felt but slight inclination to indulge. He was now frequently

alone, and his natural good disposition began to obtain the mastery over

him. In moments of calm reflection he felt astonished how he could have

listened to that deceitful sophistry about justice and right, and his

claim to the goods of others; and he wondered at his approval of those

evil arguments by which he had been led to justify his dishonest

conduct. But in the mean time, before these correct ideas of truth and

uprightness produced a practical effect upon his conduct, he yielded

more than once to the temptation of supplying his wants, in extreme

cases, from his father’s treasury. This plan, however, was now adopted

with more reluctance; and he seemed to be under the irresistible impulse

of an evil spirit.

“At length he took courage, and formed the resolution of rendering a

repetition of the practice impossible, by informing his father of the

facility with which his desk could be opened. He took his measures

cautiously; and once, in the presence of his father, he carried the box

of letters we have mentioned into the room, pretended to stumble

accidentally against the desk, and astonished his father by causing it

to spring open. They examined the lock without delay, and found that it

had become almost useless from age. It was at once repaired, and

Ferdinand soon enjoyed a return of his peace of mind when he saw his

father’s rolls of money once more in safe custody.

“But he was not content with this. He formed the resolution of restoring

the money which he had abstracted. He commenced the most economical

course of life for this purpose, with a view of saving from his

allowance all that could possibly be spared from the merest necessities.

It is true that this was but little; but it appeared much, as it was the

commencement of a system of restitution: and there will always be a

wonderful difference between the last guinea borrowed and the first

guinea saved. He had pursued this upright course for but a short time,

when his father determined to settle him in business. His intention was

to form a connection with a manufactory at some distance from his

residence. The design was to establish a company in a part of the

country where labor and provisions were cheap, to appoint an agent, and

extend the business as widely as possible by means of money and credit.

It was determined that Ferdinand should inquire into the practicability

of the scheme, and forward a circumstantial report of his proceedings.

His father furnished him with money for his journey, but placed a

moderate limit upon his expenditure. The supply was, however, sufficient

for his wants; and Ferdinand had no reason to complain of a deficiency.

“Ferdinand used the utmost economy also upon his journey, and found upon

the closest calculation that he could live upon one-third of his

allowance, by practising strict restraint. He was now anxious to find

means of gradually saving a certain sum, and it soon presented itself;

for opportunity comes indifferently to the good and to the bad, and

favors all parties alike. In the neighborhood which he designed to

visit, he found things more to his advantage than had been expected. No

new habits of expense had as yet been introduced. A moderate capital

alone had been invested in business, and the manufacturers were

satisfied with small profits. Ferdinand soon saw, that with a large

capital, and the advantages of a new system, by purchasing the raw

material by wholesale, and erecting machinery under the guidance of

experienced workmen, large and solid advantages might be secured.

“The prospect of a life of activity gave him the greatest delight. The

image of his beloved Ottilia was ever before him; and the charming and

picturesque character of the country made him anxiously wish that his

father might be induced to establish him in this spot, commit the

conduct of the new manufactory to him, and thus afford him the means of

attaining independence. His attention to business was secured by the

demands of his own personal interests. He now found an opportunity, for

the first time in his life, for the exercise of his understanding and

judgment, and for exerting his other mental powers. Not only the

beautiful neighborhood, but his business and occupation, were full of

attractions for him: they acted as balm and cordial to his wounded

heart, whenever he recalled the painful remembrance of his father’s

house, in which, influenced by a species of insanity, he had acted in a

manner which now seemed to him in the highest degree criminal.

“His constant companion was a friend of his family,--a person of strong

mind, but delicate health, who had first conceived the project of

founding this establishment. He instructed Ferdinand in all his own

views and projects, and seemed to take great pleasure in the thorough

harmony of mind which existed between them. This latter personage led a

simple and retired life, partly from choice, and partly because his

health required it. He had no family of his own. His household

establishment was conducted by a niece, who he intended should inherit

his fortune; and it was his wish to see her united to a person of active

and enterprising disposition, who, by means of capital and persevering

industry, might carry on the business which his infirm health and want

of means disqualified him from conducting. His first interview with

Ferdinand suggested that he had found the man he wanted; and he was the

more strongly confirmed in this opinion, upon observing his fondness for

business, and his attachment to the place. His niece became aware of his

intentions, and seemed to approve of them. She was a young and

interesting girl, of sweet and engaging disposition. Her care of her

uncle’s establishment had imparted to her mind the valuable qualities of

activity and decision, whilst her attention to his health had softened

down these traits by a proper union of gentleness and affection. It

would have been difficult to find a person better calculated to make a

husband happy.

“But Ferdinand’s mind was engrossed with the thoughts of Ottilia’s love:

he saw no attractions in the charms of this country beauty; or, at

least, his admiration was circumscribed by the wish, that, if ever

Ottilia settled down as his wife in this part of the country, she might

have such a person for her assistant and housekeeper. But he was free

and unrestrained in his intercourse with the young lady, he valued her

more as he came to know her better, and his conduct became more

respectful and attentive; and both she and her uncle soon put their own

interpretations upon his behavior.

“Ferdinand had in the mean time made all the requisite inquiries about

his father’s business. The uncle’s suggestions had enabled him to form

certain projects which, with his usual thoughtlessness, he made the

subject of conversation. He had more than once uttered certain gallant

speeches when conversing with the niece, until her uncle and herself

fancied that he actually indulged intentions which gave them both

unfeigned satisfaction. To Ferdinand’s great joy, he had learned that he

could not only derive great advantage from his father’s plan, but that

another favorable project would enable him to make restitution of the

money he had withdrawn, and the recollection of which pressed like a

heavy burden upon his conscience. He communicated his intentions to his

friend, who tendered, not only his cordial congratulations, but every

possible assistance to carry out his views. He even proposed to furnish

his young friend with the necessary merchandise upon credit, a part of

which offer was thankfully accepted; some portion of the goods being

paid for with what money Ferdinand had saved from his travelling

expenses, and a short credit being taken for the remainder.

“It would be difficult to describe the joy with which Ferdinand prepared

for his return home. There can be no greater delight than is experienced

by a man who, by his own unaided resources, frees himself from the

consequences of error. Heaven looks down with satisfaction upon such a

spectacle; and we cannot deny the force of the seeming paradox which

assures us that there is more joy before God over one returning sinner,

than over ninety-nine just.

“But, unfortunately, neither the good resolutions nor the repentance and

improvement of Ferdinand could remove the evil consequences of his

crime, which were destined once more to disturb and agitate his mind

with the most painful reflections. The storm had gathered during his

absence, and it was destined to burst over his head upon his return.

“We have already had occasion to observe, that Ferdinand’s father was

most irregular in his habits; but his business was under the

superintendence of a clever manager. He had not himself missed the money

which had been abstracted by his son, with the exception of one roll of

foreign money, which he had won from a stranger at play. This he had

missed, and the circumstance seemed to him unaccountable. He was

afterwards somewhat surprised to perceive that several rolls of ducats

could not be found, money which he had some time before lent to a

friend, but which he knew had been repaid. He was aware of the previous

insecurity of his desk, and felt, therefore, convinced that he had been

robbed. This feeling rendered him extremely unhappy. His suspicions fell

upon every one. In anger and exasperation, he related the circumstance

to his wife. The entire household was thereupon strictly examined, and

neither servants nor children were allowed to escape. The good wife

exerted herself to tranquillize her husband: she represented the

discredit which a mere report of this circumstance would bring upon the

family; that no one would sympathize in their misfortune, further than

to humiliate them with their compassion; that neither he nor she could

expect to escape the tongue of scandal; that strange observations would

be made if the thief should remain undiscovered; and she suggested, that

perhaps, if they continued silent, they might recover their lost money

without reducing the wretched criminal to a state of misery for life. In

this manner she prevailed upon her husband to remain quiet, and to

investigate the affair in silence.

“But the discovery was unfortunately soon made. Ottilia’s aunt had, of

course, been informed of the engagement of the young couple. She had

heard of the presents her niece had received. The attachment was not

approved by her, and she had only maintained silence in consequence of

her niece’s absence. She would have consented to her marrying Ferdinand,

but she did not like uncertainty on such a subject; and as she knew that

he was shortly to return, and her niece was expected daily, she

determined to inform the parents of the state of things, to inquire

their opinion, to ask whether Ferdinand was to have a settlement, and if

they would consent to the marriage.

“The mother was not a little astonished at this information, and she was

shocked at hearing of the presents which Ferdinand had made to Ottilia.

But she concealed her surprise; and, requesting the aunt to allow her

some time to confer with her husband, she expressed her own concurrence

in the intended marriage, and her expectation that her son would be

advantageously provided for.

“The aunt took her leave, but Ferdinand’s mother did not deem it

advisable to communicate the circumstance to her husband. She now had to

undertake the sad duty of discovering whether Ferdinand had purchased

Ottilia’s presents with the stolen money. She went straight to the

shopkeeper who dealt in such goods, made some general inquiries, and

said at last, ‘that he ought not to overcharge her, particularly as her

son, who had bought some similar articles, had procured them from him at

a more reasonable charge.’ This the tradesman denied, producing the

account, and further observing that he had even added something for the

exchange; as Ferdinand had paid for the goods partly in foreign money.

He specified the exact nature of the coin; and, to her inexpressible

grief, it was the very same which had been stolen from her husband. She

left the shop with sorrowful heart. Ferdinand’s crime was but too

evident. The sum her husband had lost was large, and she saw in all its

force the extent of the crime and its evil results. But she had prudence

enough to conceal her discovery. She waited for the return of her son,

with feelings of mingled fear and anxiety. Although she wished for an

explanation, she dreaded the consequences of a further inquiry.

“At length he arrived in the highest spirits. He expected the greatest

praise from the manner in which he transacted his business, and was the

bearer of a sum of money sufficient to make compensation for what he had

criminally abstracted. His father heard his statement with pleasure, but

did not manifest so much delight as the son expected. His late losses

had irritated his temper; and he was the more distressed, because he had

some large payments to make at the moment. Ferdinand felt hurt at his

father’s depression of mind, and his own peace was further disturbed by

the sight of every thing around him: the very room in which he was, the

furniture, and the sight of the fatal desk, those silent witnesses of

his crime, spoke loudly to his guilty conscience. His satisfaction was

at an end. He shrunk within himself, and felt like a culprit.

“After a few days’ delay he was about to distract his attention from

these thoughts by examining the merchandise he had ordered, when his

mother, finding him alone, reproached him with his fault in a tone of

affectionate earnestness, which did not allow the smallest opportunity

for prevarication. He was overcome with grief. He threw himself at her

feet, imploring her forgiveness, acknowledging his crime, and protesting

that nothing but his affection for Ottilia had misled him: he assured

her, in conclusion, that it was the only offence of the kind of which he

had ever been guilty. He related the circumstances of his bitter

repentance, of his having acquainted his father with the insecurity of

his desk, and finally informed her how, by personal privations and a

fortunate speculation, he was in a condition to make restitution.

“His mother heard him calmly, but insisted on knowing how he had

disposed of so much money; as the presents would account but for a small

part of the sum that was missing. She produced, to his dismay, an

account of what his father had missed; but he denied having taken, even

so much silver: the missing gold he solemnly protested he had never

touched. His mother became exasperated at this denial. She rebuked him

his attempting to deceive her, and that at a moment when he laid claim

to the virtue of repentance; asserting that if he could be guilty in one

respect, she must doubt his innocence in another. She suggested that he

might perhaps have accomplices amongst his dissipated companions, that

perhaps the business he had carried on was transacted with the stolen

money, and that probably he would have confessed nothing if his crime

had not been accidentally discovered. She threatened him with the anger

of his father, with judicial punishment, with her highest displeasure;

but nothing affected him more than his learning that his projected

marriage with Ottilia had been already spoken of. She left him in the

most wretched condition. His real crime had been discovered, and he was

suspected of even greater guilt. How could he ever persuade his parents

that he had not stolen the gold? He dreaded the public exposure which

was likely to result from his father’s irritable temper, and he now had

time to compare his present wretched condition with the happiness he

might have attained. All his prospects of an active life and of a

marriage with Ottilia were at an end. He saw his utter wretchedness,

abandoned, a fugitive in foreign lands, exposed to every species of

misfortune.

“But these reflections were not the worst evil he had to encounter;

though they bewildered his mind, wounded his pride, and crushed his

affections. His most severe pangs arose from the thought, that his

honest resolution, his noble intention to repair the past, was

suspected, repudiated, and denied. And, even if these thoughts gave

birth to a feeling resembling despair, he could not deny that he had

deserved his fate; and to this conviction must be added his knowledge of

the fatal truth, that one crime is sufficient to destroy the character

forever. Such meditations, and the apprehension that his firmest

resolutions of amendment might be looked upon as insincere, made life

itself a burden.

“In this moment of abandonment he appealed to Heaven for assistance. He

sank upon his knees, and, moistening the ground with tears of

contrition, implored help from his divine Maker. His prayer was worthy

of being heard. Man, throwing off his load of crimes, has a claim upon

Heaven. He who has exhausted every effort of his own may, as a last

resource, appeal to God. He was for some time engaged in earnest prayer,

when the door opened, and some one entered his apartment. It was his

mother, who approached him with a cheerful look, saw his agitation, and

addressed him with consoling words. ‘How happy I am,’ she said, ‘to find

that I may credit your assertions, and regard your sorrow as sincere!

The missing sum of gold has been found: your father, when he received it

from his friend, handed it to his secretary, who forgot the circumstance

amid the numerous transactions of the day. And, with respect to the

silver, you are also right; as the amount taken is less than I had

supposed. Unable to conceal my joy, I promised your father to replace

the missing sum if he would consent to forbear making any further

inquiry.’

“Ferdinand’s joy was indescribable. He completed at once his business

arrangements, gave his mother the promised money, and in addition

replaced the amount which his father had lost through his own

irregularity. He became gradually more cheerful and happy, but the whole

circumstance produced a serious impression upon his mind. He became

convinced that every man has power to accomplish good, and that our

divine Maker will infallibly extend to him his assistance in the hour of

trial,--a truth which he himself had learned from late experience. He

now unfolded to his father his plan of establishing himself in the

neighborhood from which he had lately returned. He fully explained the

nature of the intended business. His father consented to his proposals,

and his mother at a proper time related to her husband the attachment of

Ferdinand to Ottilia. He was delighted at the prospect of having so

charming a daughter-in-law, and felt additional pleasure at the idea of

being able to establish his son without the necessity of incurring much

expense.”

“I like this story,” said Louisa, when the old clergyman had finished

his tale; “and though the incidents are taken from low life, yet the

tone is sufficiently elevated to prove agreeable. And it seems to me,

that if we examine ourselves, or observe others, we shall find that men

are seldom influenced by their own reflections, either to pursue or to

abandon a certain course, but are generally impelled by extraneous

circumstances.”

“I wish for my part,” said Charles, “that we were not obliged to deny

ourselves any thing, and that we had no knowledge of those blessings

which we are not allowed to possess. But unfortunately we walk in an

orchard where, though all the trees are loaded with fruit, we are

compelled to leave them untouched, to satisfy ourselves with the

enjoyment of the shade, and forego the greatest indulgence.”

“Now,” said Louisa to the clergyman, “let us hear the rest of the

story.”

_Clergyman._ It is finished.

_Louisa._ The _dénoûment_ may be finished, but we should like to hear

the end.

_Clergyman._ Your distinction is just; and, since you seem interested in

the fate of my friend, I will tell you briefly what happened to him.

“Relieved from the oppressive weight of so dreadful a crime, and

enjoying some degree of satisfaction at his own conduct, his thoughts

were now directed to his future happiness; and he expected with anxiety

the return of Ottilia, that he might explain his position, and perform

the promise he had given her. She came, accompanied by her parents. He

hastened to meet her, and found her more beautiful than ever. He waited

with impatience for an opportunity of speaking to her alone, and of

unfolding all his future projects. The moment arrived; and with a heart

full of tenderness and love he spoke of his hopes, of his expectations

of happiness, and of his wish to share it with her. But what was his

surprise and astonishment when he found that she heard his announcement

with indifference and even with contempt, and indulged in unpleasant

jokes about the hermitage prepared for their reception, and the interest

they would excite by enacting the characters of shepherd and shepherdess

in a pastoral abode.

“Her behavior occasioned bitter reflections. He was hurt and grieved at

her indifference. She had been unjust to him, and he now began to

observe faults in her conduct which had previously escaped his

attention. In addition, it required no very keen perception to remark

that a cousin, who had accompanied her, had made an impression upon her,

and won a large portion of her affections.

“But Ferdinand soon perceived the necessity of struggling with this new

source of sorrow; and, as victory had attended his exertions in one

instance, he hoped to be successful upon a second occasion. He saw

Ottilia frequently, and determined to observe her closely. His conduct

towards her was attentive and affectionate, and her deportment was of a

similar nature; but her attractions had become diminished for him: he

soon found that her professions were not cordial or sincere, and that

she could be affectionate and cold, attractive and repulsive, charming

and disagreeable, according to the mere whim of the moment. He gradually

became indifferent to her, and at length resolved to break the last link

of their connection.

“But this was more difficult than he had anticipated. He found her one

day alone, and took courage to remind her of their engagement, and of

those happy moments in which, under the influence of the most delightful

feelings, they had discoursed with joyful anticipations of their future

happiness. She was in a tender mood, and he began to hope that he might

perhaps have been deceived in the estimate he had lately formed of her.

He thereupon began to describe his worldly prospects, and the probable

success of his intended establishment. She expressed her satisfaction,

accompanied, however, with regret that their union must on this account

be postponed still longer. She gave him to understand that she had not

the least wish to leave the pleasures of a city life, but expressed her

hopes that he might be able, after some years’ active industry in the

country, to return home, and become a citizen of consequence. She gave

him, moreover, to understand that she expected he would play a more

respectable and honest part in life than his father.

“Ferdinand saw plainly that he could expect no happiness from such a

union, and yet he felt the difficulty of wholly disengaging himself. In

this state of mind he would probably have parted from her in uncertainty

about the future, had he not been finally influenced by the conduct of

Ottilia’s cousin, towards whom he thought she displayed too much

tenderness. Ferdinand, thereupon, wrote a letter assuring her that it

was still in her power to make him happy, but that it could not be

advisable to encourage indefinite hopes, or to enter into engagements

for an uncertain future.

“He trusted that this letter would produce a favorable answer; but he

received a reply which his heart deplored, but which his judgment

approved. She released him from his promise, without rejecting his love,

and adverted to her own feelings in the same ambiguous manner. She was

still bound by the sense of her letter, but free by its literal meaning.

But why should I delay communicating the inevitable result? Ferdinand

hastened back to the peaceful abode he had left, and formed his

determination at once. He became attentive and diligent in business, and

was encouraged in this course by the affections of the kind being of

whom we have already spoken, and the exertions of her uncle to employ

every means in his power to render them happy. I knew him afterwards,

when he was surrounded by a numerous and prosperous family. He related

his own story to me himself; and, as it often happens with individuals

whose early life has been marked by some uncommon accident, his own

adventures had become so indelibly impressed upon his mind, that they

exerted a deep influence on his conduct. Even as a man and as a father,

he constantly denied himself the enjoyment of many gratifications in

order not to forget the practice of self-restraint; and the whole course

of his children’s education was founded upon this principle, that they

must accustom themselves to a frequent denial of their most ardent

desires.

“I once had an opportunity of witnessing an instance of the system he

adopted. One of his children was about to eat something at table, of

which he was particularly fond. His father forbade it, apparently

without reason. To my astonishment, the child obeyed with the utmost

cheerfulness; and dinner proceeded as if nothing had occurred. And, in

this manner, even the eldest members of the family often allowed a

tempting dish of fruit or some other dainty to pass them untasted. But,

notwithstanding this, a general freedom reigned in his house; and there

was at times a sufficient display, both of good and bad conduct. But

Ferdinand was for the most part indifferent to what occurred, and

allowed an almost unrestrained license. At times, however, when a

certain week came about, orders were given for precise punctuality, the

clocks were regulated to the second, every member of the family received

his orders for the day, business and pleasure had their turn, and no one

dared to be a single second in arrear. I could detain you for hours in

describing his conversation and remarks on this extraordinary system of

education. He was accustomed to jest with me upon my vows as a Catholic

priest, and maintained that every man should make a vow to practise

self-restraint, as well as to require obedience from others; but he

observed that the exercise of these vows, in place of being perpetually

demanded, was suitable only for certain occasions.”

The baroness observed, that she thought Ferdinand was perfectly right;

and she compared the authority of a parent to the executive power in a

kingdom, which being weak, the legislative authority can be of little

avail.

At this moment Louisa rushed hastily to the window, having heard

Frederick ride past. She ran to meet him, and accompanied him into the

parlor. He seemed cheerful, notwithstanding his just having come from a

scene of trouble and distress. In place of entering into a detailed

description of the fire which had seized the house of his aunt, he

assured the company that he had established beyond doubt the fact that

the desk there had been burned at the very same time when theirs had

been split asunder in so strange a manner.

He stated, that, when the fire approached the room where the desk was,

one of the servants saved a clock which stood upon it; that, in carrying

it out, some accident had happened to the works, and it had stopped at

half-past eleven; and thus the coincidence of time was placed beyond all

question. The baroness smiled; and the tutor observed, that, although

two things might agree in some particulars, we were not therefore

justified in inferring their mutual dependence. But Louisa took pleasure

in believing the connection of these two circumstances, particularly as

she had received intelligence that her intended was quite well; and, as

to the rest of the company, they gave full scope to the flight of their

imagination.

Charles inquired of the clergyman whether he knew a fairy-tale. “The

imagination,” he observed, “is a divine gift; but I do not like to see

it employed about the actualities of life. The airy forms to which it

gives birth are delightful to contemplate, if we view them as beings of

a peculiar order; but, connected with truth, they become prodigies, and

are disapproved by our reason and judgment. The imagination,” he

continued, “should not deal in facts, nor be employed to establish

facts. Its proper province is art; and there its influence should be

like that of music, which awakens our emotions, and makes us forget the

cause by which they are called forth.”

“Continue,” said the old clergyman, “and explain still further your view

of the proper attributes of imaginative works. Another property is

essential to their enjoyment,--that the exercise of imagination should

be voluntary. It can effect nothing by compulsion: it must wait for the

moment of inspiration. Without design, and without any settled course,

it soars aloft upon its own pinions, and, as it is borne forward, leaves

a trace of its wonderful and devious course. But you must allow me to

take my accustomed walk, that I may awaken in my soul the sweet fancies

which, in former years, were accustomed to enchant me. I promise to

relate a fairy-tale this evening that will amuse you all.”

They at once consented, particularly as they all hoped in the mean time

to hear the news of which Frederick was the bearer.

---------------------------------------

A FAIRY TALE.

Wearied with the labors of the day, an old Ferryman lay asleep in his

hut, on the bank of a wide river, which the late heavy rains had swollen

to an unprecedented height. In the middle of the night he was awakened

by a loud cry: he listened; it was the call of some travellers who

wished to be ferried over.

Upon opening the door, he was surprised to see two Will-o’-the-wisps

dancing round his boat, which was still secured to its moorings.

Speaking with human voices, they assured him that they were in the

greatest possible hurry, and wished to be carried instantly to the other

side of the river. Without losing a moment, the old Ferryman pushed off,

and rowed across with his usual dexterity. During the passage the

strangers whispered together in an unknown language, and several times

burst into loud laughter; whilst they amused themselves with dancing

upon the sides and seats of the boat, and cutting fantastic capers at

the bottom.

“The boat reels,” cried the old man; “and, if you continue so restless,

it may upset. Sit down, you Will-o’-the-wisps.”

They burst into loud laughter at this command, ridiculed the boatman,

and became more troublesome than ever. But he bore their annoyance

patiently, and they soon reached the opposite bank of the river.

“Here is something for your trouble,” said the passengers, shaking

themselves, when a number of glittering gold pieces fell into the boat.

“What are you doing?” cried the old man: “some misfortune will happen

should a single piece of gold fall into the water. The river, which has

a strong antipathy to gold, would become fearfully agitated, and swallow

both me and my boat. Who can say even what might happen to yourselves? I

pray you take back your gold.”