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soldier's arm, or the band on a policeman's, have any mystic reference to it.

Both the chain and bracelet are now common articles of ornament, requiring no other patent than the power to purchase, to give a right to wear them; but not the less interesting on this account, as illustrating the slow, but certain dying out of class prejudices, which even on such trifling matters set the narrow stamp of its veto; indeed, it is rather worthy of remark, with regard to the former article, that the class of persons of which it was at one period a privileged distinction, are most chary now in the display of it.

We might go on adding link to link to our subject without exhausting it, since the wearing of both these ornaments in some rude form and simple materials is as common to savage states as to the classic nations we have quoted, or

those modern ones in which the most exquisite art fashions them, and the most costly gems and metals are frequently used in their workmanship.

The cabinets in the Ethnographical room of the British Museum are rich in such barbaric ornaments. There one sees bracelets (and chains to match) of kangaroo and peccary teeth, of boars' tusks, of shells, of bits of tortoise shell, of reeds, with others made of the thigh bones of a small bird, and some again of coloured seeds, and even feathers.

Of these some are from the north-west coast of America, some from the Marquesas and Sandwich Islands, and some from New Guinea and Australia; but all attest to an universal, and it would seem purely natural taste for this species of personal adornment.

DURKHEIN:

A TALE OF THE HAARD T.

BY MRS. GRENVILLE MURRAY.

Towards the close of a sultry July day in 1848, a distingué looking traveller, mounted upon an English horse of remarkable beauty, rode listlessly over the rough pavement of a small German village-if we may so designate a little sequestered cluster of cottages, surrounded by vineyards and lofty mountains, crowned by frowning castles, the glories of old days, each having its legend, such as one only hears in Germany.

He has ridden far since the morning, perhaps sixty miles, but neither the horse nor his rider shows any signs of fatigue; and the former tosses his head as proudly as if he had only just left his stall.

The traveller stops at the principal inn, and after seeing to the steed who has borne him so well, asks for rather than orders some supper, for he knows the habits of German innkeepers in out-of-the-way places, and has been already told by one of the fraternity when a little too exacting, that he was not asked to come to his house, and might leave it when he chose. This would have been awkward in the present case, there being no other place where he could hope to get either a cup of tea or a bed sufficiently long to recline upon.

The simple repast over, the stranger strolled into the village. It was a lovely evening, and a thousand sounds peculiar to the country haunted the air. This is the time in which a traveller always finds the keenest enjoyment, when the toil, the burden, and the heat of the day being over, he can indulge those quiet glimpses into manners and customs which repay a wanderer so well for the comfort he is called upon to sacrifice; for, after all, comfort is very commonplace when one gets accustomed to it. Our tourist was just of the trempe to enter warmly

into this feeling; and as he loitered about the little streets, apparently unmindful of aught save his own handsome person, few things escaped his keen observation.

The Germans do not wait to know you, before wishing you well; and as the stranger saunters along, kindly greetings fall upon his ear at every turn, and hats doffed with something more of solemnity than the occasion requires, shew the respect which his noble bearing calls forth, and prove the veneration in which rank is still held by the German peasantry, notwithstanding the democratic outbreaks of the populace. Maids and matrons sit knitting before their doors, demurely looking down upon their work, and secretly commenting upon the Freindlings Gesicht, being so well set off by the plume and slouched hat commonly worn in Germany in 1848. Here and there sups some urchin upon schwarzes brod und rase, whilst the expectant dog of some neighbour looks beggingly on. Along the crooked street are winding a mendicant, two travelling artisans, and a few labourers returning from their work; farther on a waggon creaks and labours up a steep ascent, the cracking of the drivers' whip sounding clear and sharp through the still air. And these objects become picturesque even from their homeliness, to a poetic imagination such as our traveller possessed. The beggar and the artisan paused before the wealthier wayfarer-the one is old, the other way-worn; the stranger knows not which may be the better object of charity, he therefore divides a score of kreuzers between them, and they go merrily on their way, muttering again and again, Gott sei Dank! and invoking a thousand blessings upon

* Brown bread and cheese.

the giver, over whose thoughtful features steals a most satisfied expression, the reflit probably of charity or benevolence.

pale olive; lips full and voluptuous; the nose was straight, and the ears of that small, delicate beauty, seldom seen apart from gentle blood; the forehead broad and high, redeemed the sen suality of the mouth, and gave even a noble character to the face. Her figure was about the middle height, and although it promised at a later period to run into rather too much luxuriance, was now confined within those bounds of symmetry which charm both the sensualist and the poet. Her dress, more French than German, was neat and elegant, having that peculiar piquant propriety of arrangement about the neck, seldom seen in any other than Frenchwomen; in fact, she only resembled a German in the simple and elegant arrangement of her hair. It was the girl with whom the stranger had danced at the "River Lust," or garden, the night before; and when she saw that he smiled at the recognition, she smiled too, and shewed teeth white and even as a row of pearls. She was a striking example of that strange difference sometimes seen in families, and for which it is The inn where the traveller had taken up his so difficult to account. Brought up amidst all abode, was by no means a favourable specimen sorts of bad examples and contamination, she of its class; and though mentioned in guide- had remained pure as a flower. The scenes books as the best in the place, had that slo-around her, so well calculated to mar all femivenly, comfortless air which betokens bad management. The house was in bad repair, and seemingly uncared for; the garden overgrown with weeds, and the little gate which led to it broken off its hinges. Yet in the lattice front of one little window of that desolate house bloomed flowers-the rose, sweet jasmine, pinks, and mignonette; and there was visible in the general order and arrangement of the little chamber a neatness and freshness ever the evidence of a healthy mind. As the stranger's eye from without wandered over this little apartment, he wondered what could have brought the inn to its present state of ruin. The riddle was soon solved, for at this moment a dissolute looking man, who turned out to be the landlord, came in, staggering under the influence of potent potations, accompanied by half-a-dozen illlooking fellows as slovenly as himself. He passed his guest without other remark than an oath, and looking at him from head to foot, said something to his companions, at which they laughed heartily. A woman, gentle locking, but unneat, welcomed him; and she was his wife.

At the turning of a corner the sounds of music are heard in the gardens of a little gosthaus; the stranger enters, and a glass of apfel wein, as brisk as champagne, and far more wholesome, an hour's dance with a modest girl, the belle of the village, terminate his day as many before have ended in his wanderings.

Why then goes he back so pensive to the inn, forgetting even the Black Sultan-such was the name he had given to his steed-who neighs out loudly, saying, as plainly as possible, "My good Lord, you have forgotten my supper"? Et tu, Brute? For, long as they had been companions, such an instance of absence of mind on the part of his master had never occurred before. But thou may'st neigh, and scatter the straw about thy stall impatiently, Black Sultan; thou must sleep supperless to-night, for thy Lord wanders idly beneath the summer moon, dreaming not of his faithful steed.

On the day after his arrival, our traveller dismissed his dinner discontentedly, and called for some coffee, regretting a thousand times that he had not stopped at the pretty little town of Edenkoken, a mile or two distant. Absent and absorbed in thought he had not heeded the maiden who served him, or his regrets might have been fewer but when the coffee came, he looked up from a map, over which he was bending, and before him smiled the sweetest vision which a traveller would care to look upon. It was a girl about nineteen. Unlike most Germans, she was as dark as an Arab maid, and had that deep-set shaded eye, generally a type of strong passion; a southern complexion of

nine delicacy of mind, appeared only to have refined and elevated hers. Some instruction, too, had she given herself: she spoke French, a little English, too; and her cousin, a German student lately from Heidelberg, had taught her music, she having a voice of thrilling sweetness. The stranger called her the Rose of the Wilderness, and from that time they were often toge ther; he listened entranced to her songs, she to his stories of other lands. He even went away and returned, though he acknowledged not to himself the reason; it was perhaps the beauty of the scenery around the Roman ruin which he wished to examine more curiously- the old abbey, or the hoary forest near! It never occurred to him that it might be the Rose of the Wilderness who wooed his return; for the stranger was heir to broad lands, and the blood of kings flowed in his veins: what then to him was the village maiden? But often on the silent summer evenings, as they walked together in the garden, their conversation would insensibly turn to stirring stories of the strange things which the wanderer had seen in lands far away; and the maiden would listen to the eloquent tale of her companion, till she forgot quite how silent and sad sat her cousin and once lover, Karl Yugel, in the old deserted dining-room, cursing the stranger in his heart, and forming wild plans of vengeance, such as conceive the thoughtful Germans when their passions are strongly excited by real or feigned wrong. So the story got abroad that the handsome Englishnan, whose advent had caused such excitement in the village, was wooing the fair daughter of the innkeeper; and many were the maids, widows, and, alas! wives, who strove to win him from her, for sweet to woman is triumph.

It was amusing to hear the current statements concerning the wealth and rank of the traveller;

and the whole female population was astir as his beautiful horse went champing its bit down the street with its o'er stately rider.

One day, as Mina sat with the stranger, and listened to a story which he told of some hairbreadth escape from mountain robbers, in which his life had been jeoparded in a quixotic effort to save a fellow-traveller, at the moment when the interest of the narration, heightened by the art of the tale-teller, became very deep, the maiden started and turned pale; then her face crimsoned as she exclaimed with German simplicity and strong feeling: "Thou wert the brave stranger! Lion-Heart! Heaven be praised that you escaped!" And she looked at him with eyes in which glistened tears of admiration; for though the tale was modestly told, feigning another name, the eye of love pierced

the veil.

Then entered into the soul of the stranger the sweet essence of gratified vanity, mingled with the fire of lawless passion; for he knew that he was loved, and as his bright full eyes fell upon the poor girl, she turned, embarrassed, away, to avoid his too ardent gaze.

"She shall be mine!" said he, tossing his hat upon the bed on retiring to his own room, and then sat down to pass the night in studies which he hoped might one day make his name renowned; such varied elements do we sometimes find blended in one nature. "Yes, she must be mine," he continued, laughing scornfully as the thought of woman's frailty darted across his mind; but forgetting the guilt of man which makes her frail. It was midnight; the student still bent over the charmed page, and stored the chambers of his brain with the golden harvest which thought gleans from the labours of genius; for, though young, he had already solved the enigma of life: that power, and the great prizes which the world has to offer, must be won by the sternest labour, without which they may sigh for them till the end of time. This close study had already continued some hours, when he rose, and throwing open the long casement, gazed thoughtfully upon the starry heavens. He had remained thus some time drinking in the pure balmy air, musing over his fortunes, and connecting them perchance with the coming destinies of empires, when lo! a man, hitherto concealed by the deep shadow of a tree against which he leaned, strode out into the moonlight. It was Karl Yugel.

"Good even, Karl," said the stranger; but the German replied not, and walking up to within an arm's length of the casement, seemed by his attitude and air of stormy excitement to menace him. Calmly smiled the wanderer, as may smile a man conscious of no common physical strength; and fresh from the softening influence of study, which the Roman hath well said, suffers not men's manners to become brutal, without anger then smiled he.

"Hark you!" said the German, breaking silence, and speaking with the violent gesticulation and harsh voice of his countrymen when much moved, "You came here unknown, mys

teriously; you went away and returned. Why? No one can know but yourself. Yet one thing is certain, that during your stay here you have robbed me of what I prized dearer than life, the love of one whom I wrong you much if you seek not to betray. But mark me, proud Englishman, if to Karl Yugel comes ever the knowledge, nay even the faintest whisper, that you have harmed that innocent girl, he would slay you in cold blood, and brave the scaffold rather than leave her unavenged." And then his voice softened as he added, "I have watched over that child as a sister; in this infectious den I have kept her pure, and dreamed that hereafter, when Time and Fortune should smile upon me and enable me to offer her a home, that she might become my bride. Since you came these hopes have been crushed!"

"For your threats, my good friend," replied the stranger, "I care little; but for your manly sorrow much. Threats! and to me," he continued, with a disdainful laugh and a slight elevation of the eye-brows; still I would rather serve than wrong you."

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The German heeded not his remarks, but continued, "A little gold, oh, how little, but a few weeks since had spared so much misery, and might have saved her from the gulph which now yawns for her. Heaven is as unjust as the world, giving wealth to the sinner who but uses it to ruin the peace of others, and denying it to the virtuous, who ask it for good only."

"Blaspheme not, my good friend; there is justice and mercy in Heaven still; they only who do not properly appreciate the wise dispensation of Providence talk thus. But what is this gold you covet, and why?"

"Covet! I covet not the vile dross," interrupted the German bitterly; "but when I reflect that the sums you squandered yesterday at the fair might have paid the debts which chain me here, and taken me to Munich, where I have the offer of a professor's chair, why I cannot help deploring the hard lesson which the poor have to learn."

The stranger looked earnestly at the German, and the scoffing expression was gone from the Englishman's face, upon which gleamed noble thoughts and generous resolves, and frank and cordial was the smile with which he stretched out his hand, and said, as his companion turned away, Nay, take it, man; I never gave my hand to one I loved not, nor betrayed the friendship it implies.'

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So, you will not that we should be friends," he continued, as Karl still kept aloof. Well, I like you not the worse for it; some day, perhaps, you may think better of me."

Without replying, Karl Yugel walked moodily away, and the student sought his couch only as the morning was dawning.

The iron frame and constitution of youth set fatigue and vigil at defiance; and so, yet early in the morning, the Englishman was abroad, so early that Mina had not left her chamber, although the sot was already at his beer, and the scold at his elbow. The stranger walked

and down, concealed by a low hedge of fruittrees, and though no eaves-dropper, he lent a willing ear to the conversation which was going on, as he in part formed the subject of it.

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"Well," said the drunkard," what thinkest thou then of our daughter and the Englanderthou sayest they be o'ermuch together?" "Nay, nought," replied the wife, I hope no harm will come on it.” “What harm can come?" said the sot; "if he marry the girl, there will be an end, and perhaps he may pay Gensfleich the vintner and Rudemacher the cooper their long bills, for I cannot."

"True; but and he marry her not?" "Then what needs to talk of it?" "Why, thou wouldst not see harm befall our child, my husband! and the rich stranger might take her from us, only to betray the poor child."

"And then-then-there would be one mouth the less to feed, woman; eight children are enough methinks to prevent a man getting on in the world."

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Say nought against the children, Andreas," said the woman, with glistening eyes, they do not pull us down in the world; but tell me, wouldst thou not be glad if Karl Yugel's uncle, Gensfleich, would let him have money enough to go to Munich, and to marry our daughter Mina?"

""Twere well enough," replied he; "but Karl's uncle will not give him the money, or perhaps he might talk the old man over to forgive us that debt too."

"Ah! there it is," said the woman, querulously. "Well, well, I am sure if evil befall our child, it will not be my fault; I have done all I could to prevent it; still, if Karl's uncle will do nothing"

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naciously, whilst Mina pouted like a spoiled child.

The stranger, who knew the character of the French-vain as brave, and covetous of applause did not despair of sending away the intruder by drawing his attention to the dancers. "How graceful!" said he, as if lost in admiration; "did you mark the figure of her who sat down just now, how exquisitely she waltzed with that officer?"

Mina saw the stranger's aim, and joined in his praises.

"Mademoiselle ne danse plus?" asked the Frenchman, gallantly.

"Merci!" was the reply and looking nervously round to see that no one had carried off the prize, he hastened to ask the hand of the fair one whose grace had been extolled; and Mina and the stranger were left alone.

Fierce flashed the eye of Karl Yugel, as he watched from afar the expression of the maiden's face; and he muttered a thousand curses on the false Islander.

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Mina," said the stranger, "I have another story to tell you; will you leave the dance awhile to listen to it? The night is lovely, let us walk beneath yon trees, where, fanned by the balmy breeze, with the gentle goddess of night smiling upon us through the foliage, and the delicious music falling softly upon the ear, we shall find all the advantages which a tale-teller could desire, and which will lend an interest to my little story that it might not otherwise possess.'

Gratified, yet trembling, Mina rose, and taking the Englishman's arm, they wandered forth together.

Karl Yugel, with indignant anguish, seeing them leave the room, thought fit to follow them, and beard his rival with his treachery. But then he thought again of his own impotence to How long this dialogue might have conti-shield his beloved from the misery which threatnued, it is difficult to say, had not the Englishman's impatience made him quicken his steps marvellously, as he paced up and down, and thus disturb the speakers.

The next day there was one of those village fêtes which make Germany a residence so delightful for a foreigner, even if he be alone. An excellent band, and a large room ornamented with wreaths and garlands, and thronged by fair girls, some graceful, few lovely, but all gay and good tempered; and the dance and the music continue half the night. Never had Mina, the Rose of the Wilderness, looked so enchanting; never had her bright eyes so often sought the place where he, whom she had learned to love and admire, usually stood, looking gravely on, for he never joined the dance, but he thought to music." Often during the evening she cast a bright glance at him, as she passed in the graceful windings of the dance; but his broad brow was graver than usual, his eyes more cold; and the maiden knew that there was some change, but could not discern what it was. At last he drew near to her; but though Karl Yugel kept proudly away from the girl he loved so well, a Frenchinan kept the post most perti

ened her; and burying his face in his hands, he wept in despair. Meanwhile the stranger turned gravely to his companion, and said, "The scene of my story lies amongst your own mountains, gentle Mina, and is called in your mother tongue, Der Kampf mit dem Bose,' which, for the convenience of the tale-teller, has been translated into his own language, and runs thus: The Struggle with Evil.'

"In a village remote from any of the main streams of commerce and travel, known by those only to whom the charms of nature are more inviting than the marvels of art, there once lived a maiden and a youth; the one was of rare beauty and gentleness, the other of high talent, much learning, and an honest heart. And the youth, seeing that the maiden was sur rounded by the worthless and the low, exposed to temptation and bad examples, and much that in time would debase the purity of her mind and thus destroy her greatest charm, sought her, for she was of his kindred, though distant; and taking up his abode there, strove, by carefully watching over her youth, to shield it from the contamination of the scenes in which she was obliged to dwell. And being of a grave

and

thoughtful nature, he taught her the advantages to be derived from learning, and gave her the clue to a cultivated intellect, within whose charmed precincts nothing base or mean can enter; and they lived together in an atmosphere of poetry and song, which he had gathered round them, and both felt themselves superior to the gross spirits amongst whom they moved, and were happy only in the presence of each other.

"Of this sweet communion a love might have been born, against which time, absence, or circumstance had been powerless. The youth loved already, and wished to make the maiden his bride but he was poor. A stranger came-but nought of him."

"And did the stranger also love the maiden?" interrupted Mina, from whose eyes shone out all the earnestness which her heart threw into the question.

The stranger felt that he could no more meet those eyes with his than Vice can look at Virtue; and his pale cheek coloured as he replied, "He loved her, but thought not to make her his bride."

The girl started as if stung by an adder, and the olive cheek grew crimson with shame, while the stranger continued-" He loved her then, but not as she was worthy to be loved, as did the youth, her kinsman; and he thought of the many barriers between them, such as true love mocks, and he counted basely upon her affection-upon her weakness."

"Weakness indeed!" echoed a faint voice, the keen sorrows of whose tone pierced his heart, and he continued.

"Oh, maiden, he who dares to speak of woman's frailty, could tell you also of her power; but to my story. So Karl-for such was the name of the youth-sought the stranger, and with a stern and terrible effort commanding the wild tumult of his heart, he said-'I come, not to mar your happiness, or to stand in the way of your love: wed the maiden if she love you, and if you feel for her that affection of which she is worthy. I had fondly hoped one day to call her my own-but-but-if you love her as I have loved'-and then his brow darkened, and strong passion shook him violently, as he added, 'Heed ine well: my devotion, though wasted, shall watch over her still; and should even one wrong thought enter your heart towards her, more deadly than words can tell shall be my vengeance. But I would not that my poor affection should rob her of the flowery life your rank and wealth might offer-no, perish so selfish a thought! And now overcome by his emotions, the strong man sobbed like a child."

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spirit of passion within his heart, and when he had conquered it-I will not say how fierce was the combat-and felt that he could look with calm eyes upon the maiden, he drew near to her and prayed, repentant and in grief, that she would forgive him, and strive to think of him, not with love, but with indulgence; for if the sin of his heart had been great, so was now his remorse."

"Sir! began the poor girl, turning indignantly from the Englishman, who knelt before her; but then bending in passionate sorrow, she added, I am bitterly punished; you have awakened me from a vain dream."

Once more did the rebellious spirit of evil rise in the heart of the stranger, as, seizing her hand, he said, "Yet hear me one moment !"

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'Nay, insult me not, said the maiden, repulsing him, "with words whose value you have made me so cruelly understand."

The stranger felt the rebuke, and repentance sent an arrow through his heart; for what is so touching as the humiliation we have caused to others?

"Let not my struggle, resumed the stranger, have been in vain; but may I bear away with me the consciousness that my sacrifice lies not upon the altar unconsumed, and that you will yet be happy with the youth who loves you so well. See, yonder goes he, sad and thoughtful; shall I bring him to your side?"

"Not now! no, not now!" replied Mina with choked utterance.

Again would the stranger have pleaded, but the words died upon his lips, so troubled, so mournful was the expression upon the girl's face; and without raising her eyes, she turned and left him.

Report saith, that after this conversation the stranger sought the dwelling of Hans Gensfleich, Karl's miser uncle, and so potent were the arguments which he used, that not only did the old vintner consent to the marriage of Karl and Mina, but gave the former sufficient money to pay his debts, and to take him to Munich. Much marvelled Karl that the money was in English bank-notes, till he bethought him that his uncle might have sold a hogshead of wine to a wealthy milord of that distant country, who for some time had resided at Manheim, and so the matter ended.

On the morning of the marriage, the horse of the stranger stood pawing the ground before the door of the inn, and the rider, booted and spurred, took his last farewell of the " Rose of the Wilderness" and her husband. "You will scarcely be jealous of me now, friend Karl," said he, as, taking from his bosom a small case of simple, but tasteful ornaments, he gave them to the bride, and then pressed her hand to his lips. "Farewell, sweet maid," he added; "long will the stranger think of thee, amongst the loveliest of his memories, and farewell, Karl Yugel; be happy and distinguished, as your talents may well make you. You will give me your hand now," he added, smiling, as they shook hands heartily. "Farewell, we shall meet no more!"

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