she hastened back to the hamlet, aroused her neighbors and friends, and had search made everywhere for her lost husband. Nothing could be heard of him that night. The next day, and the next, the whole country was scoured, but without success. Weeks passed, and Kunz returned not. Greta now fully believed that he had been slain. She mourned for him sincerely, wearing the deepest weeds, and tying a black ribbon round the hat of little Susette. All the neighborhood sympathized with her, as a lone and desolate widow.

When the year of mourning was ended, the fair Greta laid aside some of her garments of sorrow. She went once more into company, for she was of a social disposition, joined sometimes in the dance, and received visitors. It was not long before she yielded to the suit of one of her neighbors, whom we shall call Fritz, and bestowed her hand upon him.

Fritz proved himself as kind-hearted and gentle as poor Kunz had been. He bore with patience the scolding of his helpmate; or when it waxed too fierce, took his hat and staff and walked out. Sometimes he would quietly go to sleep; for, being watchman to the hamlet, he had commonly but little sleep at night. The little Susette, who grew every year more charming, was his favorite, for Dame Greta never had another child. Susette was in truth the prettiest maiden in the whole village. She was neat, industrious and obedient; devotedly attached to her parents, and sincerely pious. Life passed to her like a summer's day, and it was quite a surprise to find herself seventeen. Ah! she had cause for equal surprise, to discover that love had crept into her heart!

Franz, the young and handsome son of the rich inn-keeper, Veit, was the object of this sweet girl's first affection. He loved her sincerely in return; sought her society at every opportunity, and finally made known to his father that he could not be happy without Susette for his wife. Veit was of a different opinion. In his eyes, wealth was the great thing to be coveted; and he refused to receive a portionless maiden as his daughter. He commanded his son to desist from his visits to her, and treated her and her parents with coldness and unkindness. Dame Greta took this treatment greatly to heart, and so did the good Fritz; for he loved his step-daughter, and would have given some years of his own life to secure her happiness. He tried to reason

with old Veit; but finding him obstinate, turned his attention to consoling poor Susette. For the first time in his life he wished himself rich, and began to form plans for acquiring wealth.

He was one night walking his watchman's round up and down the village, absorbed in thought. He saw a heavy, old-fashioned, yet, as well as he could observe through the darkness, splendidly decorated carriage, drawn by six horses, drive through the street, and, at no great distance from him, stop suddenly. Fritz came nearer, with some curiosity to ascertain whose was so fine an equipage. The coachman, who wore a dress of very antique fashion, called to him, requesting assistance, as a wheel of the carriage was loose. The honest watchman promptly rendered the desired help. As the coachman again mounted his box and was ready to drive on, one of the gentlemen sitting in the carriage threw the watchman three pieces of money, saying at the same time," My friend, when you want a drink of good wine, come to the Kyffhäuser, call the housekeeper, and tell her you are the person who fastened the carriage-wheel. She will give you what you want-not for sale, but for yourself and your friends.”

The carriage then drove off rapidly.

Fritz was not a little astonished, on looking at the coins, to find they were Wildemann's thalers (dollars). He resolved not to lay them up, but to spend them for the advantage of Susette. The next holiday he told his wife and stepdaughter to dress themselves as well as possible; and having put on his own best attire, gave each an arm, and accompa nied them to Veit's inn. There he showed them into the parlor, called for refreshments and wine as if he had been a millionaire, and invited the host to drink with him. Veit accepted the invitation, curious to know how his good neighbor had become possessed of money enough to order such an entertainment.

The design of Fritz was to get the avaricious old landlord drunk, and then to obtain from him his consent to the marriage of Franz with Susette. But Veit could bear a great deal of wine; the second, the third Wildemann's dollar was spent, and, though he drank vigorous draughts, he remained, to all appearance, perfectly sober. It was not exactly so with the honest watchman. His tongue was set loose by the wine, and before the evening was over, he had related, to

per

the astonishment of all, his adventure with the people in the carriage. He ended by bidding Susette take a large pitcher and go to the Kyffhäuser, to ask wine of the housekeeper in the name of the son who had fastened the carriage-wheel. Susette hesitated, for she was frightened at the idea of undertaking such a commission; and her mother was unwilling to have her placed in danger. But when Franz declared himself ready to accompany her, the young girl did not see so many terrors in the way. Veit offered no opposition to his son's going. He was curious, above all things, to know whether Fritz had told a true story or not. So the young pair set off on the way to the mountain-Dame Greta first embracing her daughter, and making the sign of the cross upon her forehead.

The lovers found the road very pleasant with their conversation. The distance was traversed even too soon, and Susette's heart beat as they came to the Kyffhäuser. They sought for the door of rock; but though it was broad moonlight, they could not succeed in finding it. At length Franz, pressing the maiden's hand, said to her, "It seems, dear Susette, that chance has thrown in our way too good an opportunity to make ourselves happy, that we should lose it. We love each other-I cannot live without you; yet my father refuses his consent to our marriage, and the priest will not unite us without it. Susette, set down the pitcher, and let us fly together. We shall be safe from blame, for everybody will say we were swallowed up in the Kyffhäuser. Come, beloved, let us go. You shall be mine, and we will seek our fortune in the great world!"

But the fair maiden drew her arm from his, and answered reproachfully, "No, Franz, much as I love you-I would never do, such a thing. What! leave my mother and break her heart! and my kind stepfather! And could you serve your father thus, stern as he is? No let us be still dutiful and obedient, and God will reward us at last."

The young man continued to entreat, but Susette remained firm; and to put an end to his solicitations-lifted her trembling voice, and called, as she had been directed, on the housekeeper, in the watchman's name. For a minute after there was a deep silence; then a distant rumbling was heard, and a fissure, wide enough to admit a person, opened just above them in the mountain. The maiden

went boldly into it with her pitcher. Franz was terrified when he saw it close upon her before he had time to follow. In an agony of alarm he could only fall on his knees and pray for her preservation. His distress lasted not long; before many moments had elapsed, the fissure opened again, and the young girl came forth, her face radiant with joy, accompanied by an old woman.

"It is to thee, sweet maiden," said the housekeeper, for it was she, "I owe my release. Three hundred years I have waited in vain. I was doomed to serve as housekeeper in the Kyffhäuser till the hour when an innocent maiden, who had withstood sore temptation, should come for wine to the mountain. Mayest thou live happy! and fear not to ask for wine; though I shall be here no longer, the butler will bring it thee."

Susette would have asked after the emperor Frederic, but the old woman suddenly vanished; and with an exclamation of surprise, the young lovers set out on their homeward path.

All was wonder and delight when they returned to the parlor of the inn. Veit, who was an excellent judge of wine, pronounced it of the best and costliest kind. He applied himself diligently and frequently to the pitcher, with evidence of the profoundest satisfaction; but for all the good cheer, the watchman could not beguile him of a consent to the marriage. He saw the attempt would be frustrated, and not a little disappointed returned soon after, with his wife and daughter, to his own house.

As to Veit, he had no other desire than to provide himself with abundance of the rare and costly wine, Fritz had treated him with. A pitcher he thought quite too small a measure; so he took an immense empty cask, and on the next night rolled it with considerable labor to the mountain. He then shouted at the top of his voice. Amidst the echoes that resounded on every side, he fancied he heard the words; "Who is there?" and instantly replied that he had come for wine, in the name of him who mended the carriage-wheel.

He heard, indeed, a sonorous voice in reply, that seemed to come from the very depths of the Kyffhäuser. It said: "Mind my cellar there, boys!" and presently Veit felt himself pinched by invisible hands, and so severely beaten, that he was fain to run homeward with cries of pain, as fast as his legs could carry him. He arrived at the inn out of breath, and

in a great rage-having been forced, besides getting no wine, to leave his cask behind him. He dared not think of going back for it, but he vented his fury at the disappointment on the head of poor Fritz, who he was convinced had played him a trick, and placed temptation in his way with no friendly intent. He swore roundly and louder than ever-knowing that he could thus revenge himself-that his son should never marry the little Susette.

Within the Kyffhäuser, a man just awaking from a deep sleep, raised himself slowly, and looked around with an expression of bewildered surprise. This man was no other than Kunz, the first husband of Dame Greta. This was his first awaking from the slumber into which he had fallen after the game of nine-pins. As recollection by degrees returned to him, he saw that everything was exactly as when he had fallen asleep. There stood the table; there sat the knights around it drinking to each other; and only the old housekeeper was missing. But his own person was somewhat changed. His beard had grown amazingly long; his hair also; and he saw that streaks of white mingled with its raven color. Passing his hand over his forehead, he could not help feeling that it was strangely wrinkled. He rose in some embarrassment to leave the vault. Just then, one of the servants who waited on the table chanced to pass near.

"How long have I been sleepingboy?" asked Kunz, in a drowsy tone. "Seventeen years," was the reply. "Seven" the herdsman opened his eyes wide but convinced that the fellow was joking with him, turned courteously to one of the knights, and repeated his question.

"Seventeen years," answered the knight; and an old man with long beard, who sat in a recess on one side, seeing the blank astonishment of the poor peasant, said, "It is true, my friend, you have slept seventeen years."

Kunz heard no more; a horror came over him; he rushed out as quickly as possible, and hastened with all his speed away from the mountains. The fresh air and sunshine were very pleasant to him, again; but he was stupefied to see how everything was altered. He hardly knew the woods again; and it seemed as if houses had sprung up by magic. When he came in sight of the village, and saw it grown almost out of his recollection, he began to

weep bitterly. "It is too true!" he cried, "I have lost seventeen years of my life! And wherefore? Because I must needs, like a fool, search into things I had no business to concern myself about."

He met several individuals on the way, and inquired of them if they knew Kunz, the herdsman. Most of them answered they knew no such person; but one old woman said she had formerly known him, but that he had been dead seventeen years. Kunz asked, in a choking voice, if his wife was yet living; the old woman replied she was-that she had married Fritz, the watchman-and lived in a house, which she pointed out. It was not Kunz's old home.

Not knowing whither to go-he bent his steps toward the house occupied by his wife and daughter. He entered, without knocking, the room on the lower floor. The family were seated at table. There sat Dame Greta, much altered, indeed, yet not so much but that he recognized her immediately. Opposite her was Fritz, the watchman, and beside her a blooming girl, whom Kunz did not know.

They looked up in surprise at the unannounced visiter. Kunz made an effort to control his emotion so far as to ask if they knew him. They shook their heads. Just then the aged, half-blind dog crept out from under the table, and came wagging his tail, and whining with joy, to fawn upon his former master.

"Ah! Munter, is that you?" cried Kunz, "you are alive yet; you know your old master ?"

Dame Greta, at these words, uttered a half shriek, and looked at Fritz; but Susette rose at once, and going to her father, embraced and welcomed him home again. While her mother still stood embarrassed, Kunz pointed to the watchman, and asked "Is that your husband?" The Dame nodded in reply. "Be not afraid, then ;" said the herdsman, "I am not come to disturb your happiness; I know well I have forfeited all claim on my wife I shall not remain in the village; it is a melancholy place for me! I am going forth into the world, to seek my own fortune. But I should like first to see my child happily settled."

Here Fritz came forward, and informed him of the affair with Veit's son, and how avaricious the old man had shown himself.

"Ah!" cried Kunz, "how I wish now I had brought with me some of the treasure buried in the Kyffhäuser! I might

have made my daughter happy!" But he checked himself instantly, knowing what he had already suffered by seeking to gratify unlawful wishes.

The knights gave me," said he, "only these two balls, which I brought away in my pocket."

But when they looked at the balls, all were not a little astonished to see they were of solid gold. Kunz expressed the greatest joy, as he would now be enabled to give his daughter a handsome portion.

The next day he went into the nearest city and sold the two balls, for a sum of money that seemed to him immense. This he gave to Susette.

When Veit heard that the maiden had become rich, he not only consented to the marriage, but himself solicited her hand for his son. Kunz left the village, as he had said, not to return. Fritz and Greta lived many years afterwards—and were witnesses of the happiness of the fortunate Susette.

We have seldom perused the journal of a traveler with more pleasure and with a deeper sense of gratification, than the volume before us. It is not an ordinary book. The results of much patient and industrious examination into the physical features of the United States and the British Provinces, it is full of valuable scientific information, as the repository of thousands of interesting facts. What is more from a visitor to this country, with the judicious views of an accurate thinker, it exhibits from page to page the possession on the author's part, of a genial and noble spirit.

Foreign tourists in the United States, viewing American institutions, as well as the people who have erected them for the development and advancement of human society, with a deeply prejudicial feeling, have, with one or two exceptions, not been able to detect in the present condition of the Americans as contrasted with their past history-or even in the elements of their society-any of the evidences of national greatness, or moral and intellectual force of character. The creation of a yesterday-in comparison with which, to use a technical figure, a newer Pliocene, or even the latest diluvium, becomes a hypogene in antiquity—with a territory embracing twenty-four degrees of latitude and fifty-six degrees of longitude, with a soil and climate sufficient to produce all the necessaries, and almost all the luxuries, of the most refined civiliza

tion, and with natural resources as unlimited as the perfectibility of science and art, American institutions are an object of jealousy to the elevated classes of society in the old world. We sprung into existence by the impulsive force of a newer birth of freedom in the soul. We have been constantly inspirited, energized, by the fresh natural influences that surround us, and the mighty prospect that lies before us, while filling up the shores, and valleys, and immense plains of an unoccupied continent with an intelligent and vigorous population. We have thus not only grown to a sudden strength and importance, but manifested a consciousness of our position, that could not fail to offend the "fixed order of things" among the nations of Europe. There is no reason why any one should wonder that in the ever watchfulness of iron-nerved and nightchilled Feudal conservatism, an attempt should be made to cast a broad shadow of distrust or a heavy load of disparagement upon the hopes, the energies, the determination of a people born for a newer era and a newer destiny.

We care not to rhapsodize. But it has been so long our misfortune to have trollopes and fiddlers, itching, for aught we know, to put their names on the title page of a book, make their advent to our shores, and then return after a most rapid and indecorous flight from one city to another, to eke out their inane babblings and worse than superficial observations to

1845.