fighting people, and leads them to make war on all the world! Am I wrong?"

"No, Father Christel, no; take a seat," replied Fritz. "See, Suzel, here is your chair beside me. Take one of these glasses. To the health of my fair partner!"

All the party hammered on the table, crying,

"Das soll gulden!"

And then, raising their elbows, they tossed off the bumper with a clacking of tongues like the sound of a flock of thrushes at the myrtle harvest.

Suzel only dipped her rosy lips in the foaming liquor, her large blue eyes raised towards Kobus, and said in a scarcely audible voice:

"Oh, how good it is! It is not wine, it is something far better ! "

She was as red as a cherry; and Fritz, who felt as happy as a king, drew himself up in his chair, murmuring with a smile of satisfaction, —

"Yes, yes, it isn't bad."

He would have given all the wines of France and Germany

to dance the treieleins once more with Suzel.

How a man's ideas can change in three months!

Christel, seated opposite the window, with his great felt hat resting on the back of his neck, his face beaming, his elbows on the table, and his whip between his knees, gazed at the magnificent sunshine outside, and, thinking all the time of the harvest, kept saying,

"Yes, yes, it is a good wine!"

He paid no attention to Kobus and Suzel, who smiled at each other like two children without saying a word, perfectly happy in being together. But Joseph observed them with a dreamy and thoughtful expression.

Schoultz filled the glasses afresh, exclaiming:

"You may say what you like, but Frenchmen have some good things in that country of theirs! What a pity that their Champagne, their Burgundy, and their Bordeaux are not on the right side of the Rhine!"

"Schoultz," said Haan, gravely, "you don't know what you are wishing for. Just reflect that if we had these provinces, they would come over and take them from us. It would be quite another sort of extermination from that of their liberty and equality it would be the end of the world! - for wine

is something real and tangible, and these Frenchmen, who are always talking of first principles, sublime ideas, and noble sentiments, hold fast to the real and substantial. Whilst the English are ever protecting the human race in general, and would have you believe they never cast a thought on such trifles as sugar, pepper, or cotton, the French on their side have always some line or other to rectify. Sometimes it leans too much to the right, sometimes too much to the left. They call that resuming their natural limits.

"As for the fat pasture grounds, the vineyards, the meadows, the forests that happen to lie within these lines, that is a thing they never think about; they hold merely to their ideas of justice and geometry. Heaven preserve us from having a slice of Champagne in Saxony or Mecklenburg; their natural limits would soon be found to tend in that direction! Far better to buy a few bottles of good wine from them when we want them and preserve our equilibrium. Our old Germany loves peace and quietness, and she has therefore invented the equilibrium. In Heaven's name, Schoultz, don't let us cherish rash desires!" Haan spoke with considerable warmth, and Schoultz, emptying his glass, abruptly replied:

"You speak like a pacific citizen, but I as a warrior. Every one to his taste and profession."

So saying, he knit his brow, and proceeded to uncork another bottle.

Christel, Joseph, Fritz, and Suzel paid no attention to this dialogue.

"What splendid weather!" exclaimed Christel, as if speaking to himself. "Here is now nearly a month that we have had no rain, and every evening dew in abundance. It is a real blessing from Heaven."

Joseph filled the glasses.

"Since the year '22," resumed the old farmer, "I don't remember to have seen such a fine weather for getting in the hay harvest; and that year the wine, too, was very good. It was mild, well-flavored wine. There was a good harvest and a good vintage."

"Did you enjoy yourself, Suzel?" asked Fritz.

66

Ah, yes, Mr. Kobus," said the little one; "I never enjoyed myself so much as to-day. I shall always remember it!" She looked at Fritz, whose eyes were suffused with agitation and happiness.

"Come," said he, "another glass."

In pouring it out he happened to touch her hand, and a thrill ran through his whole frame.

"Do you like the treieleins, Suzel?"

"Oh, it is the nicest dance, Mr. Kobus! How could I help liking it? And then with such music! Oh, how good the music was!"

"Do you hear, Joseph !" murmured Fritz.

"Yes, yes," replied the Bohemian, in a low voice. "I hear it, Kobus; that gives me pleasure I am content."

He looked at Fritz as if he would read to the bottom of his heart, and Kobus felt in such a state of happiness that he could not utter a word. Meanwhile the three bottles had been emptied. Fritz, turning to the innkeeper, said,

"Father Loerich, two bottles more!"

-

But at this, Christel starting from his reverie exclaimed:"Mr. Kobus! Mr. Kobus! what are you thinking of? I should be sure to overturn the wagon! No, no; it's now after five o'clock. It's full time we were on the road."

"Well, since you wish it, Father Christel, we must put it off till some other time. So you don't like this wine?"

"On the contrary, Mr. Kobus, I like it greatly, but although mild to the taste it's terribly strong. I might miss my way if I took any more-he! he he! Come, Suzel, we must go!"

Suzel rose from her seat, quite agitated, and Fritz, holding her by the arm, stuffed the dessert into the pockets of her apron macaroons, almonds in short, everything.

"Oh, Mr. Kobus," said she, in her little soft voice, "that's enough."

"Eat these to please me," said he; "you have pretty little teeth, Suzel, just made for eating nice things; and we must some day or other drink some more of this small white wine together, since you say you like it."

"Oh good gracious, how should I drink such wine - it's so dear!" said she.

"Never mind, never mind-I know what I am saying," murmured he; "you shall see we will drink some more of it together."

And Father Christel, who was slightly elevated, looked at them, saying to himself:

"What a good-hearted man Mr. Kobus is! Ah! the Lord

does well to shower down His blessings on such men — it's like the dew of heaven, every one gets his share.'

At last all the party rose to go. Fritz gave his arm to Suzel and led the way, saying,

"I must certainly see my partner off."

When they reached the wagon he caught Suzel under the arms, and crying, "Jump, Suzel!" he lifted her like a feather and placed her on the straw, which he pulled up about her carefully.

"Push your little feet well into it," said he; "the evenings are getting cool now."

Then, without waiting for any answer, he went straight up to Father Christel, and shook him heartily by the hand.

"A pleasant journey to you, Father Christel," said he, "and safe home!"

"I wish you a very pleasant evening, gentlemen," replied the old farmer, seating himself beside the shaft and taking the reins.

Suzel had turned quite pale. Fritz took her hand, and raising his forefinger,

"Remember! we are to drink some more of the little white wine together!" said he, which made her smile.

Christel gave a smart cut of the whip to his horses, which set off at a gallop. Haan and Schoultz had returned into the auberge. Fritz and Joseph remained standing on the threshold, looking after the vehicle; Fritz, especially, never took his eyes off it. It was just about to disappear round the corner when Suzel turned her head quickly.

Then Kobus, throwing his two arms about Joseph, gave him a hearty hug, the tears standing in his eyes.

"Yes, yes," said the Bohemian, in a deep, soft voice, "it is a good thing to embrace an old friend! But her whom you love, and who loves you-ah, Fritz, that is another thing!"

Kobus saw that Joseph had guessed everything. He felt as if he could burst into tears; but all at once, seizing the Bohemian by the hand, he began to jump about, exclaiming :

"Come along, old fellow, come along; let's have some fun and enjoy ourselves. Now for the Madame Hütte. What a glorious evening! What a lovely sun!"

MILLER VOSS AND THE AMTSHAUPTMANN.

BY FRITZ REUTER.

(From "In the Year '13": translated by Charles L. Lewes.)

[FRITZ REUTER, German dialect poet and novelist, was born in Stavenhagen, Mecklenburg-Schwerin, November 7, 1810. While finishing his law studies at Jena, he joined a secret society. He was arrested for high treason in 1833, condemned to death in 1834, and, his sentence being commuted to thirty years' imprisonment, was confined in several fortresses, but was amnestied in 1840. Being too old to resume the study of law, he engaged in several enterprises, lost his property, and became a private tutor in a little town in Pomerania. There he composed "Läuschen un Rimels" ("Melodies and Rhymes") in Low German (1853), which at once placed him in the first rank of popular poets. He also wrote novels, stories, etc., among the best being "In the Time of the French " and "In the Time of my Imprisonment." He died June 12, 1874.]

I was baptized, and had godfathers: four of them. And, if my godfathers were still alive, and walked through the streets with me, people would stop and say: "Look, what fine fellows! you won't see many such." They were indeed godfathers! And one of them was a head taller than the others, and towered above them as Saul did above his brethren. This was the old Amtshauptmann Weber. He used to wear a well-brushed blue coat, yellowish trousers, and well-blacked boots, and his face was so marked by the smallpox that it looked as if the Devil had been threshing his peas on it, or as if he had sat down upon his face on a cane-bottomed chair. On his broad forehead there stood written, and in his eyes too you could read, "Not the fear of Man but the fear of God." And he was the right man in the right place.

About eleven o'clock in the morning he might be seen sitting in an armchair in the middle of the room, whilst his wife fastened a napkin under his chin, put the powder on his hair, tied it behind and twisted it into a neat pigtail.

When the old gentleman walked up and down under the shade of the chestnut trees at noon, his little rogue of a pigtail wagged merrily, and nodded over the collar of his blue coat as if it wanted to say to any one who would listen: "Yes, look, old fellow! What do you think of me? I am only the tip of his hair, and if I can wag so comically out here, you may fancy how merry it must be inside his head."

When I took him a message from my father, and managed