him in her arms. "Why didst thou run from me, dear heart?" said she, drawing a long breath, "I could scarce overtake thee." Heinrich wept. He pressed her to his bosom.-"Where is the river?" he exclaimed with tears. "Seest thou not its blue waves above us?" He looked up, and the blue river was flowing gently above their heads. "Where are we, dear Mathilde?" "With our parents." "Shall we remain together?" "Forever," she replied, while she pressed her lips to his, and so clasped him that she could not be separated from him again. She whispered a strange mysterious word into his mouth, which vibrated through his whole being. He wished to repeat it, when his grandfather called and he awoke. He would have given his life to remember that word. FRAGMENTS. WHERE no gods are, ghosts rule. The greatest of miracles is a virtuous act. The more sinful man feels himself the more Christian he is. Prayer is to religion what thinking is to philosophy. To pray is to make religion. The history of Christ is as surely poetry as it is history. And, in general, only that history is history which might also be fable. Sin is indeed the real evil in the world. All calamity proceeds from that. He who understands sin, understands virtue and Christianity, himself and the world. The Bible begins gloriously with Paradise, the symbol of youth, and ends with the everlasting kingdom, with the holy city. The history of every man should be a Bible. A time will come, and that soon, when all men will be convinced, that there can be no king without a republic, and no republic without a king; that both are as inseparable as body and soul. The true king will be a republic, the true republic a king. LUDWIG TIECK. AMONG the German Romanticists, Ludwig Tieck is the most prominent figure. He was born at Berlin in 1773, and studied at the University of Halle. He early became an admirer of Shakespeare, a student of fairy tales, and a lover of medieval art. After making adaptations of children's stories, such as "Blue Beard," he achieved success in his dreamy, tragical "Fair Eckbert." His love of the stage led him to translate some plays from Spanish and English, and to produce the romantic drama, "Genoveva," and the more powerful "Emperor Octavian." He changed his residence several times, and in 1805 went to Italy for the sake of his health. His new environment had the effect of drawing him from mysticism to direct criticism of life. With his descriptions and narrative comment, often ironical, was ingeniously blended. One of his striking characters is the talented painter Eulenböck, who is driven by his dissipated habits to become a forger of old masters. Shakespeare is the hero of "A Poet's Life," and the story of Camoëns is rehearsed in "A Poet's Death." In "Vittoria Accorambona" Tieck makes a notable approach to the later French style. In 1819 Tieck settled at Dresden and took charge of the royal theatre. The German translation of Shakespeare, left incomplete by Schlegel, was assigned to Tieck, but the part which bears his name was actually done by his daughter and others. He did, however, translate the plays of other Elizabethan dramatists. At the age of seventy he was called to Berlin to conduct dramatic and musical representations, but soon retired from active life. He died in 1853 The peculiar genius of Tieck is said to have combined his father's matter-of-fact and sarcasm with his mother's pious mysticism. Though he produced the most striking work of the romantic school, he was self-distrustful, and was drawn by the suggestions of others to spend time on work apart from his natural bent. THE CHRISTMAS FESTIVAL. IN that part of the city where the trades predominated, where merchants, mechanics and citizens diffused a busy life, there was a street which led from the Kölln district to the castle, that a considerable time before saw the erection of the common booths, which were adorned with every kind of brilliant knick-knack as the proper gift for the Christmas feast. Fourteen days before the feast the erection of these booths began. On New-Year's day the fair was closed; and the week before Christmas Eve was properly the time in which the city pressed itself into this narrow space with the liveliest spirit and the crowd was at its greatest. Even rain and snow, bad and disagreeable weather, with the most biting cold, did not suffice to banish altogether the old any more than the young. But if at this time the winter days were fresh and pleasant, at all hours the rendezvous was gladdened by people of all ages, who desired only to be gay and to enjoy things; for nowhere else in Germany or in Italy have I seen anything so bright and hearty as was at that time the celebration of the Christmas festival in Berlin. Most beautiful was it when snow had shortly before fallen, with moderate frost, and clear weather had for a time prevailed. Then through the ceaseless steps of innumerable wanderers the common plaster of the streets and places had been transformed into a marble pavement. About the midday hours the better classes came out and walked up and down, examining and buying, followed by their servants, who were burdened with the gifts that had been bought; or they came together in groups, as though in a hall, to converse with each other and interchange their news. But the place was at its brightest in the evening hours, when, at both sides, the broad street was illuminated by the many thousands of lanterns on the booths that spread around a light as clear as daylight, which only here and there, owing to the dense crowd of people, seemed darkened, and played in deep shadows. All classes then mingled gayly, and with with loud talk,-in a word, surged through each other. Here an aged burgher carried his child on his arm, and showed and explained all the wonders to his loud-jubilating son. A mother lifted up her little daughter that the child might be near enough to see the waxen hands and faces of the brilliant dolls, which, in their red and white, came so closely after nature. A courtier drew along his gayly-dressed lady; the man of business was compelled to admit himself deafened by the din and confusion, and to leave his accounts and to join in it; yea, even the beggars, old and young, openly and publicly rejoiced in the masquerade accessible to everybody. And they saw without envy the treasures of the season, and sympathized with the joy and pleasure of the children, sharing the lively hope that for each little one something would be borne from this great treasure-chamber into the little play-room. So the thousands moved about, joking over their plans to buy, counting up their money, laughing and crying after the sweet-scented manifold-moulded confections, in some of which were fruits in graceful imitations, figures of all kinds, beasts and men, all shining in clear colors, smiling with lustre. Here, truly, is a bewildering exhibition of fruits,-apricots, peaches, cherries, pears, and apples,-all most artistically formed out of wax. There, in a great booth, are thousands of playthings formed in all shapes out of wood,-men and women, laborers and priests, kings and beggars, sledges and coaches, maidens, ladies, nuns, horses with bells and shining harness, whole suits of furniture, or hunters with hart and hounds; whatever thought could suggest for play is here represented; and the children, servants and parents were all excited about choosing and buying. Yonder glances a stall overflowing with bright tin (for then it was still customary to make plates and dishes of this metal), but next to it, polished and shining implements glanced and shone in red and green, and gold and blue, an innumerable multitude regularly ranged, and representing soldiers, Englishmen, Prussians and Croats, Pandours and Turks, prettily-clothed Pachas on richly-caparisoned chargers, also harnessed knights, and peasants, and forests in spring glory, huntsmen, stags, and bears, and hounds in the wild. If one was not already absolutely deafened and bewildered with all this confusion of playthings, the lights, and the manifold surging multitude, augmented by the loud shrill cries of the itinerant venders of wares, who would not attach themselves to one particular spot, then one might have squeezed through the thickest press, with its screaming, shouting, laughing and whistling, into a part a little more open, where the pressure was of a less oppressive kind, if still the gold could easily be spent. Here are young students, who, incapable of fatigue, ceaselessly swing about a big polygon of pasteboard, which is fastened to a staff with horsehair, a strange loud humming being produced, and at which the rogues loudly shout and cry. Now comes slowly forward a great coach with many servants. It contains the young princes and princesses of the royal house, who also will take part in the children's joy of the people. Now the citizens rejoice with a double pleasure at being so near to their sovereigns; the children are overflowing, and all draw, with new eagerness, round the now motionless carriage. J. H. D. ZSCHOKKE. ZSCHOKKE, though born in Prussia in 1771, spent most of his mature life in Switzerland, and devoted his labors to the interests of his adopted country. His earliest literary attempts were extravagant plays, but his later works were chiefly historical and philosophical, in which the modern views of politics and religion were supported. Yet his reputation rests rather on his lighter writings, "Pictures of the Swiss," and his romantic tales, "The Creole," "Meister Jordan." THE NEW YEAR'S GIFT. THE following extract is taken from "The Journal of a Poor Vicar in Wiltshire." The story, though told in the form of a diary, has a close resemblance to Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield." The translation is by the Rev. W. H. Furness, D.D. New Year's Day, 1765, A.M.-A wonderful and sad affair opens the year. Here follows its history. Early, about six o'clock, as I lay in bed thinking over my sermon, I heard a knocking at the front door. Polly was up |