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a mortal enemy of cigars; he declares that ci-
gar-smoking spoils the taste of wine-a good

wears a long, collarless, tarry-linen coat, and
the plate on his cap is always pushed toward
the left side; this gives him a somewhat rak-pipe does far less harm.
ish appearance, but is only done to leave the
right shoulder free to bear burdens. His
figure would be much taller if he did not
walk with a slight stoop, in consequence
of the many loads he has carried, for when-
ever any thing is too difficult for others to
lift, they always say, "Call Becker." He
is always at hand, and, when he grasps an
object, it seems as if his fingers were pincers,
and woe betide him who irritates Becker to
deal him a blow with his huge fist! But he
is as good-natured as a child, and knows how
to control himself like a man, for he is afraid
of himself, of his own strength; he knows he
cannot control it if it breaks loose.

Becker has been a widower ten years.
His only son Nicola is a cooper in a wine-
store, and was married a year ago. Nann-
chen-she is only a year younger than Nic-
ola carries on business in Gartenfeld, a
tolerably profitable one, for she has kept up
the laundry her mother established. It is
said that Becker is a rich man, and able to
buy houses, but he prefers to invest his
money in mortgages; then the world knows
nothing about it, and yet it is perfectly safe.

The life led by the porters on the banks of the Rhine is a singular one. They often lie about for hours on bales of goods, handcarts, or even in sheds, and, as the saying goes, stand gaping about, and if a passer-by cracks a joke with them, or has any thing ridiculous in his appearance, sharp and witty speeches rain upon him from all sides. Becker rarely takes part in this sport; only when -our story took place in the year 1860-the Prussians are censured he joins in the abuse with a few powerful words; but usually he only nods his huge head, covered with thick, bushy hair. He is no friend of many words, and moreover knows that he is somewhat unskillful in the use of them. His special glory consists in having once won a wager. It was said that no one could carry a cannonball on his shoulder. Becker laid a wager that he could do it, and won the bet. But he does not like to hear of this feat, and almost denies it, for the witnesses who were present are already dead. Becker's handcart is made of iron, and he does not need to put any mark on it; any one else would find the cart load enough without a burden.

As has already been said, the porter's life is a strange one. Nothing to do for hours at a time, and then within ten or fifteen minutes, while the steamer remains at the landing, hard labor and such hurried toil that, when the boat moves away again, one can't help wondering what has been taken in and put out. When wine is unloaded, Becker is always there, and as careful as he is strong. In spite of his powerful grasp, he handles the wine with a certain tenderness, for what are leather, and grain, and household furniture, and all the other articles sent to and fro, in comparison to wine? They are all very well, but wine alone makes the heart glad there is music in it, as they say in the country. He often drives the low, stout wagon, drawn by strong bay horses, through the city, and, as he stands on the pole, horses, wagon, and driver, suit each other as if run in one mould-all are powerful and sturdy.

He laughs and nods, and the laugh and nod of this giant of labor produce a strange impression when one is told that he has never drunk a drop of water in his whole life. For it is true. And has not the son of the Rhine a right to drink only wine if he can get it? He believes the Rhenish proverb, "Water is not good in the shoes, and much worse in the stomach." However, Becker is

At noon- but eleven o'clock is called noon, because the men must eat before a steamer comes up the river at half-past eleven-at noon Becker always receives his dinner from Nannchen, but she rarely brings it herself, usually sending a younger girl. When Nannchen comes herself she must be ready with answers on all sides, for she is rallied by older and younger companions of her father. That is the way with the Rhinelanders, they are always joking. Nannchen understands how to pay every one in his own coin; and her father, who, meantime, is eating and drinking-he really eats very little, drinking is the main thing-nods while eating, and when he drinks makes a sign to her to keep quiet, lest he should laugh and swallow the wine the wrong way.

But one bright summer morning an odd thing happened. The green water of the Rhine flowed quietly by, glittering and flashing in the sunlight, and beyond rose the Taunus Mountains like lofty petrified waves.

Nannchen stood beside her father, who was sitting on his cart, eating his favorite dish-a fat piece of beef with horse-radish sauce-when Wendel, a comrade and distant relative of Becker, said:

"Is it true that you want to change the proverb?"

Becker made no reply in words, but raised his head, and his inquiring expression asked, "What do you mean?

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The usual saying is, 'Our daughters are going to put on the Haube'"* (cap); "but you mean to have yours put on the Pickelhaube " (helmet).

Suddenly three locomotives shrieked at once the one on the Taunus line, the one going to Darmstadt, and the one on the way to Worms. It was impossible to hear in the din.

'Nannchen turned away and gazed at the Rhine, and Becker, who was just about putting a large piece of meat in his mouth, pushed it back into the dish, nudged Nannchen, handed her the plate, and wiped his lips.

"Didn't you understand?" asked Wendel, when the shrill whistles had died away. "Of course we understand you," replied Nannchen; "but, take care, the Pickelhaube pricks."

"Go home now, Nannchen,” said Becker, and, picking up a sack which he used to carry coal, laid it on the cart, and put his head

"Putting on the cap" signifies to marry ; there is no English synonym for the play upon words.

upon it. He did not need to answer his cousin; he wanted no assistance, he would settle the matter himself.

Nannchen went away, and her father did not turn to gaze after her.

Becker sighed, and looked at his hands. He had raised them yesterday to strike his daughter, but was glad he had not done so,. and secretly vowed he never would; but it was a bad business; and yet Nannchen was kind to bring the dinner herself to-day when there was so much ironing to be done. She evidently saw it was foolish and impossible she had always been a good child, and would remain so. The matter was settled.

If he had seen two pair of eyes, and heard a few words exchanged a short distance from the cathedral, between a soldier on guard and Nannchen, he might have thought differently. The soldier-a tall, fair man, with thick, wavy, light hair-said to Nannchen as she passed:

"How do matters stand, sweetheart?"

"So surely as you keep your oath of service I will keep my promise," replied Nannchen, quickly, scarcely looking up, and passed

on.

On the bank of the Rhine her father was thinking of what had occurred the day be-fore.

Weeks ago Nicola had told him that Nannchen had a Prussian lover. Becker laughed at it. "Perhaps he is in love with her. That will do no harm, she is clever and sensible-it'll take a very different sort of man to turn her head."

But an incident had happened the evening before. When he came home, Nannchen was not in-she was in the great dryingplace. He followed, and who stood there helping her take in the clothes? Who lifted the great basket on one side while she held the other? A Prussian!

How the man looked he really did not know he only saw the Prussian uniform. He went up to the pair and shouted-he really did not mean to speak so loud, but he could not help it:

"We want no assistance. The Prussian can go; and you, Nannchen, walk before me."

He took the heavy basket in both hands and carried it into the house as if it were a knitting-bag. Once he looked back: the Prussian put on his helmet and buckled his sword, then went away in the opposite direction.

On entering the house Becker asked: "What sort of buffoonery were you carrying on there?"

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After a time-even his pipe did not taste well to-night-Becker returned to the room, muttering, "The Prussian sha'n't spoil my supper, too."

He began to eat.

back-room were singing over their ironing; | 'I wish you good luck. That's a well-matched but Nannchen's voice was silent. pair.' We both started so that the boat rocked, and, as we came out into the Rhine, the sun was setting, and we floated over bright, golden waves, and he said: 'If all this were pure gold and my own, I would marry no other woman in the world than the one who now sits beside me,' and then he took my hand for the first time, and I let him, and we rowed across without speaking another word. Then we got out of the boat and walked through the city. I took his arm, and when we reached the garden-fence I gave him the first kiss, and I'll never kiss any other man except you, father, if you say 'Yes' and Amen.'"

Nannchen came in, and asked, "Father, sha'n't I warm your supper a little?"

"No, it may be cold; you may soon have me cold, too."

Nannchen stood beside him, forcing back her tears.

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May I tell you about it now?" she asked.

"Bring a light," replied Becker.
Nannchen obeyed.

"Can you look me in the eye with a clear conscience?" asked the father.

"Yes."

"Then go on."

"Father-I haven't much to tell." "The less the better."

But go on

"Father, it is now three weeks since I went to see my aunt at Kostheim." "I might have thought so. go on! " "Uncle had just gone on his first trip as helmsman on the Schiller, and, as we sat together, a Prussian came in, and said he had a message from his uncle, the overseer of the foundery at Neuwied, with whom my aunt formerly lived. My aunt knows the soldier; she had seen him before when he was a little boy. She went down into the cellar to get some wine-"

"I'll pay her for the wine," interrupted Becker; and Nannchen continued:

"As we were alone in the room, the soldier said, in a trembling voice: 'It is a piece of good fortune sent by Heaven that I have met you here, Fräulein Nannchen.' 'How do you know my name?' I asked. Then he said, politely: 'Allow me to take off my cap,' and he did so, and his face was so handsome and kind and honest - you saw him, too, father."

"I didn't see him."

"Then you probably will to-morrow." "We'll see. Go on."

"Then he told me that he had known me by sight a long time, but had not been bold enough to speak to me. And I told him he did quite right, for he would have had the worst of it. Then we both laughed, I don't know why, but we could not stop laughing. My aunt came up with the wine, we touched glasses, and he told me he had asked where we live and what my name was, and he knew you, too, father, by sight."

"He sha'n't know me in any other way. But go on."

"I've almost finished my story. My aunt arged us to take more wine, but Wilhelm scarcely drank half a glass, and said he thought he wouldn't want any thing more to eat or drink all his life, and he talked very sensibly and pleasantly, and told us he was a joiner-but they call it cabinet-maker-and when I went away, he asked permission to go with me. So we walked side by side. When we came to the train, he asked, 'Will you allow me to take a boat?' I made no objection, and, as we got in, the boatman said:

"Do you know what sort of an amen I'll say?" shouted the father, raising his clinched hands over the young girl's head. "That's the way I'll say amen, you-”

"Don't do that, father! you would repent it all your life if you strack me," replied Nannchen.

Becker's hands fell, he walked silently out of the house, sat down on the bench, and smoked till midnight. The stars sparkled over his head, the nightingales sang in the shrubbery, in the distance from the Rhine he heard the snorting of a steam-tug, as if some monster were approaching, and the sentinels on the walls shouted from post to post: "Comrade, are you there?"

"Comrade, are you there?" cried a voice to Becker, also. He felt angry with himself for sitting up so long, when he must go to the Rhine at three o'clock to unload a ship from the Netherlands. He did not go to bed, but walked straight to the river-bank, and slept for a few hours on some coffee-bags stored in a shed.

Becker was now thinking of all this, and he felt anxious about the end of the matter. Nothing can be conquered by force, and he knew of no other means, unless Nannchen came to her senses of her own accord. Today, for the first time, he failed to hear the landing - bell, and was waked just as the steamer was making a dainty, graceful curve, to come up to the wharf. Becker was quickly at his post.

II.

WHEN the time for rest came again, and Becker sat idle, a burden far heavier than any he had dragged in and out fell upon him.

Yes, his wife, he thought, looking at his broad, strong hands-yes, when a wife dies and leaves husband and children, it is as if they had lost an eye or a hand. He covered his eyes for a time, and then, following his former train of thought, murmured: "If she were alive this wouldn't have happened, and you wouldn't be sitting here worrying about what is going on at home. To take care of a girl! Ah, if she doesn't take care of herself, bolts and bars are useless. I needn't fear, Nannchen is good and proud, she won't do any thing wrong. But who knows what an artful Prussian-for they are artful—”

Becker sat still a long time, now opening his eyes, now resolutely closing them; if he saw the world around him he was dissatisfied; and if he shut his eyes and saw nothing, he grew more and more anxious. He was angry with himself, for he could not help confessing

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that he was not fit to manage such matters.

Suddenly he rose and went up to a beggar, who sat on the bridge not far from the landing, with his crutches beside him. Becker hastily stooped and gave him money.

80.

The man had sat there for years, and Becker had scarcely noticed him, far less thought of giving him alms. To-day he did And I can tell why, for Becker has explained it-he was angry with himself. On looking up once, he had suddenly wished he was the lame beggar, who had nobody in the world but himself; then, hastily reflecting that this was a sin, he went up to the man and gave him some money, as if to atone for the wicked thought.

Becker returned home that evening later than usual, but ate and drank first at the "Ship"-for, in the first place, he did not want to let Nannchen get his supper; and, secondly, he felt that something might happen which would deprive him of it altogether. If the Prussian were there again-he didn't know what he would do; he'd give him a dig in the ribs !"

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He pursued his way in a very sullen mood. He was angry that something was being cooked at home, which must be eaten, though he was neither hungry nor thirsty.

As he passed, the guard at the cathedral, a tall, curly-headed soldier, was standing idly by a pillar. Something about him attracted his attention, and the soldier took the cigar out of his mouth, made a military salute, and said:

"A fine evening, Herr Becker."

Becker started, looked indignant, clinched his fist, and walked on.

"A fine evening!" he muttered. "A fine evening! Deuce take him with his fine evening! What sort of talk is that?"

Now he had some definite object of anger, he could not bear the Prussian's High-Ger

man accent.

"But he is a fine-looking fellow. He might well take a young girl's eye, and he has a lawyer's gift of the gab; all Prussians have that, they can talk till a man would think he was the stupidest mortal in the world, and they had swallowed all the wisdom. Wait, I'll settle your business. And the impudence of speaking to me on the cathedral square, as if we had been friends all our lives!"

Becker went home feeling very much relieved; the Prussian was on guard that day, and the house in Gartenfeld was safe from him for four-and-twenty hours.

When the old man reached home, he found his son Nicola and his daughter-in-law awaiting him. He spoke more mildly than he had intended to Nannchen, who was setting the table, and told her she might clear away the things, he had eaten his supper. His daughter-in-law should see nothing of what was going on in the house. He sat down on the bench outside the door; Nicola joined him, and said he had heard what had happened, and his father probably believed him now.

"I'll tell you what," said Becker, rubbing both hands over his knees, which felt unusually weak, "don't meddle in this busi

ness. Nannchen and I will settle it together."

So the evening passed quietly away.

When Becker had gone to bed, Nannchen entered his room, saying:

"Father, I want you to have a good night's rest, so I will tell you that I won't say another word to Wilhelm until you've spoken to him yourself. Good-night."

"A fine evening," replied Becker, turning over on the other side, and muttering, "Then you can wait a long time."

The next morning, when he rose before daylight, Nannchen was up as usual; neither said a word about the main subject that was occupying their thoughts, and Becker went to his work.

Day after day elapsed, as if nothing had happened.

At last, on the second Sunday, Nannchen said:

"Father, Wilhelm has written me a let

ter."

"Ah! So he can write too?"

"Yes, he writes beautifully, he is well educated."

"Yes-yes, all the Prussians can write and chatter. What does he write?"..

"I won't leave you, father."
"Very well."

Becker went to attend to his work on the Rhine, but took some better clothes in a bundle, in order to change his dress in one of the sheds after the business of the day was

over.

Nannchen sat at home keeping the books, though her eyes often filled with tears; but she had no patience with weakness, and, after finishing her work, went to her own room, where she washed and dressed herself thoroughly. Then she went out into the garden. The two watch-dogs came to meet her, and pressed close to her side, but she read Wilhelm's letter over and over again; then went back to her room and looked at the fine shirts she had washed for him.

"He belongs to a respectable family, one can see that by the shirts," she thought, and, when her sister-in-law came to see her, was as merry as usual.

III.

BECKER had never been much accustomed to walking, and, as he crossed the bridge today, he moved as if he were pushing an invisible cart; he was indeed heavily laden, and moreover thought all the people must 'No, you know I can't manage writing ask-or, no, they really had no need to ask, very well-read it aloud."

"Read the letter yourself."

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Nannchen read:

"DEAREST LOVE: '

they might have read in his face-the reason
why he had left the landing that day. He
gazed in astonishment at the buildings which
had been newly erected beyond the railway-

Becker nodded-that was a good begin- station. For years he had only been to the
station with loads of freight, and gone no
farther.

ning.

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"I am dying of grief because I can no longer see and hear you, or hold your dear hand. I have just been discharged from the guard-house, where I was kept twenty-four hours on bread - and water because I neg. lected to challenge the major when he was on his rounds. I can no longer see or hear any thing; I am fairly out of my head. If you don't want me to put a bullet through my brains-'"

"Fie!" interrupted Becker. -"find some way that I can speak to your father. I shall go to your aunt at Kostheim at noon to-morrow. He can meet me there if you won't let me call at the house. I implore you, by your mother's memory and your love for me, not to keep me in suspense any longer! Yours until death,

"WILHELM BECKER." "

Nannchen paused. Her father sat in silence for a long time, with his clinched hands resting on the table, without uttering a word. "What will you do?" asked Nannchen, at last.

"Zounds! The Prussian shall know me and your aunt too," replied her father.

"You will do nothing unjust," answered Nannchen. "I can depend upon you, as you can upon me. And, father, settle the matter. You surely can't want me to be untrue to you."

"Indeed! So you now pride yourself on not having been untrue to me. I have remained unmarried for your sake, but I now see I should have done better to take a wife, then one creature in the world would have staid with me."

The helmsman did not like to drink alone, so a guest who could talk pleasantly was all the more welcome. He scarcely answered, only whistled noiselessly to himself, as he was in the habit of doing when he stood on the high deck of the steamer and turned the wheel.

Was the Prussian sitting with his brother-in-law? But what was there to consider about? Becker entered, and the young man, in a black-cloth coat and white vest, who had been sitting with the helmsman and now rose, flushed scarlet. Becker, too, felt something of the kind; but, according to his habit when perplexed, took hold of his big nose as if he wanted to guide himself.

"How are you, brother-in-law?" said the helmsman." I suppose you already know Herr Becker," he added, turning to the young

man.

Becker, still holding fast to his nose, looked up at the youth, who was at least half a head taller than he, because he stood so straight.

"So this is he," was the thought that flashed through his mind.-He nodded, saying, "I only want to speak a few words to your wife."

"She'll be in directly; sit down."

"I have often seen you before," said the young man "you passed me yesterday when I was on guard."

Becker found it very convenient to make no reply that said plainly enough, "We have nothing to do with each other." But it was extremely unpleasant for him to find his brother-in-law at home. He had plenty of hard words in store, and wanted to tell the Prussian he would break his neck if he spoke another word to Nannchen, or even cast a

A strange Sunday afternoon brightness
illumined the village of Kostheim. The
church services were over, dinner had been
eaten, and now there were several hours dur-glance at her.
ing which people could do as they chose.

Now every thing was changed.

Becker was greeted by many families of "I have been consulting with Herr Beckacquaintances, who were out walking together," said the helmsman, "and you can help

er, and his first thought was: "It is your own fault that your child has committed this piece of folly you have always let her wander about alone, especially over here to visit her aunt." He resolved if Nannchen gave up the Prussian to go with her in future every Sunday wherever she wished, then she would meet the sons of respectable citizens, and who knew what might come of it?

When he reached his brother-in-law's house, he looked through the window on the ground-floor, and saw two men sitting at a table.

Before them stood a blue pitcher and two pint glasses.

It is hard to find a more contented man than a Rhenish sailor at home on Sunday af ternoon. Perhaps, of all who labor on rivers or at sea, the Rhenish sailor is the only one of his class who drinks wine. The helmsman was the very picture of comfort. He sat in his room in a loose calico jacket, on which red flowers twined here and there over a green ground, with his feet thrust into a pair of embroidered slippers - a present from Nannchen. The bird perched on the blossoming pear-tree, whose song floated in through the open window, cannot be so merry as the man; for it can only whistle, and not drink wine, especially with a companion.

us more than any one."

"I shall consider it a great honor, if you will be kind enough to do so," added the young man.

He had a pleasant voice, but spoke with such a marked Prussian accent that the porter's righteous indignation again overpowered him. But he was silent, and his brother-inlaw continued:

"Yes, this is the business on hand: Herr Becker has obtained leave of absence for three weeks, and wants to work at his trade."

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Yes," added the young man, though I must acknowledge that I like a soldier's life, I prefer my own trade. To be sure, I always feel a longing for my mother and my relatives, but still more for my trade; so, during my furlough, I want to feel at home by working at it, and taking plane, saw, and chisel, in my hand again."

"Yes, Prussians have the gift of the gab," thought Becker; but he did not say so, only muttered: "What have I to do with this, to be sure? What silly expressions the Prussians have!" he grumbled, under his breath.

"I advised Herr Becker," continued the helmsman, "to get a place with old Knussman-he does beautiful work. You went to school with old Knussman, and often carry

him loads of wood. You must recommend | Herr Becker to him."

"The Prussian has never been recommended to me, and I don't believe he will be; I can't give what I don't have.-Where is your wife?"

"I don't know-probably standing by some garden-fence gossiping. Can't you tell me your errand?"

"For aught I care. I merely want to tell the Prussian that I'll have nothing to do with him, and my Nannchen will have nothing to do with him either."

"I must ask to have Nannchen tell me so herself."

"I didn't know that he," said Becker, speaking to his brother-in-law over his shoulder, "had any right to ask any thing."

Fortunately, just at this moment the aunt entered, and was overjoyed to see the three men sitting so comfortably together.

"I'm going, now," said the porter; "we have done with each other. And I only want to tell you that you ought to be ashamed of yourself to help on such a thing. As your husband is here, I'll say no more."

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"You've said too much already!" claimed his brother-in-law, rising. His face flushed, and the red flowers on his jacket seemed to grow redder and twine in and out as if in anger, as he folded his arms and continued: "Yes, look at me, I'm not afraid of your huge fists. I'm sorry you are so unreasonable. You're taking the best way to make your child deceive you! Did you ask your parents before you spoke to your wife?"

"Pray, don't shout so; speak gently," said the aunt.

"Yes, pleasantly, quietly!" jeered the porter.

"Let me speak," pleaded the soldier. "I don't wish to bring trouble into a family and reproaches on this good woman's head. I will leave the house and never come here again."

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Yes, but you are a German, too! I shall never forget how you looked when you bore the great German banner in the year '48."

"Yes, and who tore down the German cockade and trampled it under foot? The Prussians!" cried Becker, dashing his clinched fist on the table; he was glad to have some pretext to give vent to his rage.

"Not I," said the young man, “I wasn't here, and who knows whether any one else did it?"

"Yes," cried Becker, with trembling lips," it was a Prussian who snatched off my Nicola's black and gold cap-he was a schoolboy, then-and flung it into the Rhine. If I had been there, the Prussian would have gone after it! And before I-"

"Let that pass," interrupted the helmsman, a great deal of water has flowed down the Rhine since then. Are we not all a pack of fools?" he added, laughing. "What does this concern us now? There stands Herr Becker in his civilian's dress, and tomorrow he'll put on his uniform again, as every one must. You've lived on the shore of the Rhine all your life, brother-in-law, and don't know that there are other people in the world."

"You are not my teacher. It is probably the new fashion that a father passes for nothing with his daughter's suitor."

"He passes for as much as he is worth and makes himself," replied the brother-inlaw, while the soldier extended his hand, say. ing:

"I have every respect for you, Herr Becker; you are a man of honor."

The two women left the room, but stood outside the door like a guard, to prevent any violent outbreak, and ere half an hour had passed the helmsman called them in again.

Nannchen sought her father's eyes; he would not look at her, and Wilhelm's gaze was also fixed on the floor. Her uncle alone seemed cheerful and said:

Yes, we have stirred up all the old stories again. I shall never forget it-I steered the ship that brought the embassadors of the German Reichstag from Frankfort to Co

He opened the door, but met Nannchen logne, whence they went to Berlin to give on the thresheld.

"What! You here?" the father shouted. "Didn't you promise me you would never meet him again without my knowledge?"

"I'm not doing it without your knowledge,” replied Nannchen. "You are here."

All laughed, and even Becker could not help joining, though he felt more like swearing.

Nannchen drew him into the room again, and he was obliged to sit down.

A long pause ensued. At last Nannchen began:

"Father, I know your grudge against Wilhelm. You want to have nothing to do with him, because he is a Prussian."

"Of course."

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the King of Prussia the imperial crown. Oh, what splendid-looking men they were! Where are they now? Most of them underground, or scattered over the wide world. If I should live to be a hundred years old, I shall never forget what a trip that was; there will never be such another. Nothing but rejoicing on all sides, and people thought all trouble was over. Yet here we sit quarreling about the emperor's beard,* and haven't even an emperor, much less one that has a beard."

All laughed, and the helmsman, who prided himself on his political knowledge, continued:

"What's the use? Things have turned out differently from what we wanted, but what's the use of worrying? It'll all come right in the end.—Nannchen, don't be anxious, your affairs will come out right, too."

* A German saying, signifying to dispute over trifles.

Not

This really seemed to be the case. another angry word was spoken, and the porter drank the wine set before him, but did not touch glasses with the Prussian; he retired into passive resistance, for he saw that he could not carry out his wishes here, there were too many against him; to be sure he was stronger than all of them put together, but bodily strength was of no use. So he did nothing at all, but applied himself to the wine.

[CONCLUSION NEXT WEEK.]

SEVEN BRILLIANT

THERE

SUNSETS.

HERE are more people in these degenerate times who see sunsets than sunrises; and there is no doubt but that the former are, to the majority of the human race, much more agreeable ephemera. One requires three things to perfect a sunset: you must have the natural phenomenon (if there is such a thing), then the person to see it, then the mood of mind to enjoy and appreciate it. These three things do not always come together.

Seven times in my experience have these three things come to be united. I have seen extraordinary sunsets, no doubt, without seeing them; the clouds, the colors, the majestic pomp of celestial heraldry, were there, but my appreciative sense was not there. The better part of me went not forth to greet Nature's most gorgeous hospitality. My mind had no wedding-garment; it staid at home, in its poverty and obscurity. But there were moments when both guest and host were in a festive mood, and then the sunset was not thrown away.

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The first of these gorgeous ceremonials was one spring-day many years ago in New York, when Mrs. Kemble had been reading Macbeth." She had given especial prominence to the character of Shakespeare's great spiritualist, that dreamer of dreams and seer of visions, the most imaginative and poetic of all Shakespeare's characters, except Hamlet. I remember that she gave me the idea that he was a small and dark man, very beautiful in form and feature. I seem to see him now, majestic in spite of a delicate figure, the most perfect of Nature's noblemen, loving his wife intensely, and perfectly dominated by that morbid brain of his, which saw witches on the heath and daggers in the air. Never before had I cared for the male Macbeth. It was the so-called female Macbeth who had ruled my fancy, that superb tigress with a man's heart under her woman's breast. But the genius of that extraordinary woman, Shakespeare's great interpreter, gave unusual interest to the thrice-called thane. Nothing could be more beautiful than his smile as he says sweet chuck"-that dear familiarity of love which Shakespeare throws as a gleam across this dark and lurid picture. So great was the glamour that Mrs. Kemble disappeared, and Macbeth appeared in her place. All through the play Lady Macbeth, even with traditions of Mrs. Siddons behind her, seemed less prominent in Mrs. Kemble's reading than

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Macbeth. It has made me apprehensive of stage Macbeths ever since. Such a delicate fibre; such a refined "precious porcelain of human clay;" such a poet-so piteous a sacrifice-such a groan of blasted conscience as her Macbeth, never crossed my vision before or since! How few men could have made it at once so manly, so weak, so strong, and so terrible, as she did!

No actor but one of great physical as well as mental refinement should ever attempt Macbeth. Her Lady Macbeth was, of course, a prodigiously fine thing; but it was not so inspired, so poetical, as her Macbeth.

When I came out of that room which genius had filled with ghosts-that atmosphere in which intellect seemed to float in radiant particles-I saw the sun just setting, a round, red orb against the palest green. If sunsets and atmosphere could not do any thing, I should say that it was impossible for so red a sun to be defined against so pure a green without intermediate tints of crimson; but there it was, and to the north floated three hazy clouds as like the dreadful sisters of the caldron as if an artist's hand had shaped them. Many persons saw and noted them. Had Mrs. Kemble's genius called them from the subtile gases of the atmosphere ? Had her wand, which she might have stolen from Prospero, again summoned them to the vision of mankind? Then, as we looked, the green became incarnadined, the whole western sky was as red as Lady Macbeth's hand; blood, blood everywhere-"I could not have believed there was so much blood in him "—and slowly and solemnly the three sisters took on the crimson hue, and then dissolved, and faded away into night and mystery, where they live and have their being.

The

The second remarkable sunset that I remember was in that tropical sea which embraces the Antilles. One must pardon much to the soft enchantment which wraps the imaginative traveler as he first enters the gentle delights of the tropics. It is "a land in which it is always afternoon," and one floats delicately and naturally toward sunset. neighborhood of the sea is always favorable to beautiful effects of sunset. The god of day dies as the dolphin with innumerable tints of color. We had floated like Ulysses on those smooth and dreamy waters for days, and we talked of Columbus as we approached the Virgin Islands. How frail was that bark; how ignominiously small and poor the entourage of the greatest and most courageous of dreamers and poets! Columbus, taking the undiscovered sea into the hollow of his hand, was the greatest of visionaries. When he sailed to meet that floating sea-weed he took a leap in the dark which no human being has paralleled. Who wrote that fine verse?

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as we sailed!" The trade-winds, spicy and delusive, may have intoxicated our senses; but, as the sun went down in gold and crimson and aqua-marine, we saw three little ships sailing in the heavens.

"The mirage," said the practical captain. Mirage, indeed! We knew better. Had we had a good glass or better eyes, we should have read "Isabella of Castile " on that royal standard. We should have seen the wasted figure of Columbus on the deck. We should have seen his discontented crewthat crew which always surrounds the man who is greater than his age! Nothing is so possible as the impossible-nothing so real as delusion. Which would we resign, our real lives or our dreams? In that sunset we saw the triumph of dreaming, the conquest of the impossible:

"What you can do, or dream you can, begin it; Courage hath genius and power and magic in it."

The third remarkable sunset occurred in the second year of our war, and was seen from Long Branch-a place noted for beautiful sunsets.

It was a desperately unhappy time. I need not recapitulate its horrors. Every one at that gay watering-place was watching for the echo of defeat. The sea was brilliant, beautiful, and unsympathetic-a siren, as she always is, treacherous and enticing. One got a little courage by bathing in the morning, and by watching her blue and silver as she decked herself in the sunbeams. Naught but the murmur in her vacant shells told of the sorrows she locked in her secret caverns. From the land came the wail of the dead and dying. Wives were listening to the readers of the news, with hands clasped over their ears, dreading and hoping. Daughters, sisters, lovers-all, all were in that sickening agony of suspense which is worse than the sober certainty of woe, when there came a bulletin of bad news. One little wife whom we all loved, whose husband, a captain, was at the front, had paced the beach, with her long hair floating over her cloak, for many a sunset hour. One evening she called us out to see a gorgeous sunset. It was one of the opal effects, the crimson behind the pale green, the fire hidden, lambent, flashing, for a moment, then gliding behind the cloud, when up from the sea came a hideous black procession of dark vapors-an army with banners, horses, and horsemen, and a long black line in which our prophetic and excited souls saw hearses, coffins, and the panoply of death. That night came dreadful newsa battle had been fought, the carnage had been terrible, and our captain was killed, and his little wife lay insensible, with her long hair about her, a mourning veil.

The fourth sunset was in Florence-dear Italian city, famous also for its sunsets. Whether that long line of the high Carrara Mountains helps this desirable consummation, whether the civic glories and romantic histories have floated upward, whether the cold breezes from the Alps meet half-way the softer airs of the Apennines, I know not. There is no apparent reason for the beauty of Florentine sunsets, but they have "that best excuse for being "-they are most beautiful.

Well, we had spent the morning in the Uffizi Gallery, we had wandered into the Pitti Gallery, we had looked over Benvenuto Cellini's goblets, and had gone to the tomb of the Medici. Somehow or some way we had gotten hold of Bande Neri, or he had gotten hold of us. He was a dashing, fascinating hero, this Bande Neri. When he did take hold of one it was with a strong grip, and he held us that day in mortmain. Dying at twenty-seven, like most of the Medici, who were singularly short-lived, he left a history and a career which many a man of sixty might have been proud to achieve-if, indeed, deeds of conquest, stormy and warlike proceedings, are achievements. Bande Neri, or Black Band, was the Duke Giovanni de Medici, who married his cousin Maria Salviati, thus uniting his branch of the house with that of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and his son Cosmo I. assumed the title of grand-duke. His statue stands in front of the Uffizi Gallery, and his memory fills an important epoch in the history of Florence.

That evening, as we drove on the Cascine, we saw the most glorious crimson sunset I have ever seen. Every variety and shade of that enchanting color filled the sky. It was the color of the giglio, or famous lily of Florentine heraldry, and from east to west was a black band of cloud-so black that it was almost inky. We could not help feeling that it was an atmospheric compliment to our historical researches. This black band of cloud on such a superb crimson produced a curious, weird, and unnatural effect. Thousands of the gay pleasure-seekers on the Cascine saw and admired it; few besides ourselves associated it with the stormy and romantic hero who had made his Black Band so famous.

Thus it will be seen that sunsets, like beauty, live in the eye of the gazer. It is a pleasant coincidence when your own mind can go forth to profit by the miracles of the sunset, as well as by all the other gratuitous miracles of Nature.

The fifth gorgeous sunset was over the castle at Edinburgh. It was after Holyrood, after a day spent in seeing that wonderful town which Walter Scott so loved, after a week's enjoyment of the Frith of Forth, Arthur's Seat, Salisbury Crags, the old Castle of Craigmillar, and the dear delights of Melrose, "Roslyn Chapel fair," Abbotsford, and Dryburgh Abbey. I suppose Edinburgh is perhaps the most picturesque town in the world. Nuremberg and Venice have strong claims to the title, but Edinburgh, with its new and old town, its hills and hollows, its wildness and finish, palace and precipice, its giant rock and old feudal castle in the midst of the city, is certainly preeminent. This sunset, with so many memories behind it, was sure to be remarkable; it was tranquil, the new moon hung over it; the sky was pale-blue, and gold, and green, with dogs' heads in white clouds toward the south, indicating possible rain on the morrow, when up came one little red shape, a heart-was it the Heart of Mid-Lothian ?

The many significant sunsets described by travelers are all distanced by Mr. Whymper's remarkable story of the cross which he saw in the heavens at sunset after the terri

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