Front Cover
 Title Page
 Chapter I
 Chapter II
 Chapter III
 Chapter IV
 Chapter V
 Chapter VI
 Chapter VII
 Back Cover

Group Title: Weaver of Quellbrunn, or, The roll of cloth : a story for Christian children
Title: The weaver of Quellbrunn, or, The roll of cloth
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00055324/00001
 Material Information
Title: The weaver of Quellbrunn, or, The roll of cloth a story for Christian children
Alternate Title: Roll of cloth
Physical Description: 130 p., 3 leaves of plates : ill. ; 15 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Barth, Christian Gottlob, 1799-1862
Gall & Inglis ( Publisher )
Houlston and Wright ( Publisher )
Publisher: Gall & Inglis
Houlston & Wright
Place of Publication: Edinburgh
Publication Date: [1871?]
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Weavers -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Poverty -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Abandoned children -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Theft -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Charity -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Prize books (Provenance) -- 1871   ( rbprov )
Bldn -- 1871
Genre: Prize books (Provenance)   ( rbprov )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: Scotland -- Edinburgh
England -- London
Statement of Responsibility: translated from the German of Dr. Barth.
General Note: Date from prize inscription.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00055324
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002221990
notis - ALG2223
oclc - 57510288

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
    Title Page
    Chapter I
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
    Chapter II
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
    Chapter III
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
    Chapter IV
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
    Chapter V
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
    Chapter VI
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
    Chapter VII
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
    Back Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
Full Text



The Baldwin Lirary
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"The poacher, in a contemptuous tone, thus addressed him
-' Hark ye Mr Assistant,-be advised even by such an one
as I am. Don't forget what you have to answerfor
yourself. In truth, you are no saint. "--Page 112.

9e4 redtar of rultruln;







Totatr gf Htulihnnm.


" E LIZABETH I make haste mother
is so ill!" cried old Jorgadam of
Quellbrunn to his daughter-in-law,
who was busy in the kitchen getting ready
the potatoes for dinner.
Now I must just tell my young readers,
that it is in vain to look in the map of Ger-
many for the little village of Quellbrunn,
though, if they attend to the story, they may
guess whereabouts it is; for I, who am no
youngster, and have often travelled in that
part of the country, venture to assert, that no
village with such a name is now to be found
there; so they may conclude, either that the
place has completely vanished, like the vil-
lage of Tunzhofen near Stuttgart, on the spot


where the railway enters the tunnel,-though
this is not very likely, as our story tells of
what happened in the middle of the last cen-
tury, and therefore some traces of the village
must be left, either on the surface of the
ground, or in the memories of the old people;
-or, which I think is most probable, the
worthy clergyman to whom I am indebted
for the narrative, has designedly altered the
name. However, this is a matter of no great
consequence, and so I return to my story.
Elizabeth hastened directly to her mother-
in-law, gave her a few drops of soothing cor-
dial on a lump of sugar, and then ran back to
the kitchen to make some chamomile tea, as
there was none ready, and it might soon be
But you will perhaps be curious to know
what sort of place these good folks lived in.
I will show you. On entering the sitting-
room, which was an airy apartment, with win-
dows on two sides of it, the first thing we
notice is a loom on the right hand, with a
piece of woollen cloth upon it almost finished.
On the left is a large oven, and an old-
fashioned arm-chair, in which, a year ago, the


good aged grandmother used to sit. It is
empty now. And beside the chair stands an
old chest, and the clock in a case of dark
wood, with the hour-hand pointing to nine;
and next to that, the door that leads to the
bed-chamber. Near one of the windows and
opposite the door, a bench is fixed, reaching
across as far as the loom; and in front of this
bench, in the corner, stands a table, which,
after the German fashion, has been neatly
scoured with white sand. Over the door, and
reaching from the window to the loom, is a
shelf, on which are placed books and various
household articles, such as pincushions and
workbaskets. In the bedroom, on the left,
stands an old clothes' chest, painted with blue
and red stripes; and on the right, is a large
four-post bedstead of light blue, with a green
baize curtain. At the bedside is a four-legged
stool, on which are placed a glass of water,
an empty phial, and a saucer with two or three
lumps of sugar. In the bed lies a female
about sixty years old, pale and emaciated;
and facing her, stands old Jorgadam reading
out of a prayer book. At the end of every
line he casts an anxious look or her counte-


nance, that seems getting paler every minute;
and when Elizabeth comes with the chamomile
tea, they both see, at a glance, that her
sufferings will soon be over. A few minutes
more, and she is at rest; she has passed with-
out a struggle into the other world. I will
not try to describe the deep, silent grief of the
old man for the loss of her who had been his
faithful partner for so many years; nor the
loud weeping of the daughter-in-law, and the
shock of her husband, the son of the deceased,
who had been haymaking at Wolfloch, and
the crying of the two little grandchildren,
Willy and Margaret, who were just come in
from school. The event had taken them all
by surprise; for though the poor woman had
kept her bed for several weeks, neither the old
apothecary from Wildberg, nor any of the
neighbours, thought the illness to be danger-
ous, or expected it would end fatally so soon.
When the bereaved family sat down at
noon to a large dish of potatoes, in which
Elizabeth had put a couple of sausages for
her father-in-law and her husband, not one
of them had any appetite; tears dropped every
instant on their plates, and the dish was not


haif emptied when the table was cleared.
For a while they sat without uttering a word;
at last, old Jorgadam broke silence by saying,
"Well, thank God! I have one anxiety less;
I have always been afraid that mother would
become blind; she was very nearly so. But
now comes another trouble. Where can I
get the money to give her a decent burial?
She lay ill, you know, for five months; the
little money we had is all gone for medicines;
my work has been almost at a stand still; the
doctor is not yet paid; and in this place we
may count the rich people on our fingers
without using both hands."
"Don't you think," said Elizabeth, "that
the forest-keeper would lend you as much as
we want?"-" Don't talk to me about the
forest-keeper," replied her father-in-law;
"though he wears a green jacket, he is nothing
better than a dry chip for me; he has never
been willing to do me a good turn since I
told him my mind plainly about the wood for
the carved work."
"But," said Matthew, "there's the seeds-
man."-" He would be the right man," rejoined
his father; "but I have borrowed twice of him

already, and have not paid back the money,
and, till that is done, I cannot go to him a
third time."
"Then there is old Adam."-"Whatl
who? that stingy fellow; a brook that never
runs in time of drought!"
"Or the landlord at the Lamb."-"Yes,
indeed! the man who bought yesterday a
horse of the blacksmith at Schwandorf, and
was obliged to borrow two dollars of the
gamekeeper before he could pay for it."
What must be done ?" said Elizabeth in a
tone of despair.-" I know of nothing else to
be done, but to finish the piece of cloth I have
now in hand, and you must carry it to-morrow
morning to Calw, and raise some money with
it; but I am half afraid that the company will
refuse to take it, or stamp it with a Wulle-wu,
for I must confess that the workmanship does
not do me much credit. After sitting up all
night, I have often been ready to fall asleep
at the loom, and have not seen that a thread
was snapt, till it was too late to take it up
again. But there is no choice left, and I must
let it go at half-price." And so the matter
was settled. After reading a chapter out of


the Bible, as he was wont, after every meal,
old Jorgadam sat down to his loom, and
moistened with his tears the last yard of the
piece which he had still to finish. When
done, he cut it off, brushed it clean with a
little white broom, removed here and there
a loose thread, and, carefully rolling it up,
tied it with three strings. Such a piece of
cloth they call in Germany a C-Bund, or Zeh-
Bund. *
My young readers have, by this time, I
dare say, several questions to ask me; for
most likely they never heard before of a
Wulle-wu, or a C-Bund, and may search in
vain for these strange words in a dictionary.
I must, therefore, stop short in my story, to
make room for a few explanatory remarks.
In the Black Forest of Wurttemberg, the
most considerable town, beyond all question,
is Calw, the birthplace and residence of an
ancient noble family, who, in the twelfth cen-
tury, enjoyed for some time the dignity of
Palsgrave of the Rhine; and, a hundred
years before, saw one of their lineage on the
Zeh is the German name for the letter C, and Bund means
rol, or bundle.

Papal throne; but about the middle of the
13th century they became extinct, though
other branches of the family flourished to a
later period,-the Lowensteins, for instance, in
the 15th century. In early times, moreover,
the town had been distinguished for industry;
and the first cloth manufactoryin Wurttemberg
of which we have any account, was set up at
Calw. About the year 1600, it was in such
a flourishing condition, that all the wool
grown in Wurttemberg only sufficed for a
quarter of a year,-a fact, however, which
also proves that sheep-breeding was in a poor
state there; its cloths were sent to all parts
of Germany, Bohemia, Hungary, and else-
where. The manufactory of cloth and
stockings, currying leather, turning in wood,
and other handicrafts, were very successfully
carried on by the "Calw Company,"-a society
of merchants, some of whose families are still
doing well. Every Saturday, a four-horse
waggon started with cloths of a light fabric
to Italy; for all the priests in Italy use Calw
cloth for their summer dress. On account of
its extensive commerce, Calw has sometimes
been called Little Venice,-an appellation of


which the first half, at least, tells the truth.
There is a common saying about Calw, that
the calf can never become a cow, because the
stall in which it stands is not big enough; in
plain English, the town is situated in a deep
narrow valley, where there is not room for it
to become much larger; and this is the reason
why the population, for the twenty-five years
I have known it, has always kept at the same
point. In the year 1822, there were, as there
are now, only four thousand two hundred
souls in it. The soil, too, is not favourable
for agriculture, so that the inhabitants are
forced to employ themselves in manufactures;
and as these are already overdone, most of the
young people are obliged to seek their
livelihood elsewhere. This however was not
to be regretted, until the French Revolution,
and the wars of Napoleon had done serious
injury to the traffic of this little place.
Before that time, all hands were employed;
and as the inhabitants were not able to mo-
nopolize the manufactures, their neighbours
came in for a share. Not fewer than thirteen
hundred weavers in the adjacent villages and
small towns regarded the Trading Company

at Calw as a sort of soc-mill, where ever
one took his corn to be ground. Whatever
quantity they could finish of light thin cloths,
was to be brought to the Company's ware-
house, and sold to no other parties. The
Company, on their part, agreed to purchase all
that was brought to them (and the number
of hands they thus employed was unlimited)
at a fixed price, on condition that the work
was properly finished. But if any article was
plainly faulty, they would send away the
makers to find purchasers where they could,
after stamping it with a particular mark, called
a Voulez-vous, two French words, of which the
sound is expressed in German by Wulle-wu.
One kind of these cloths for which there was
rather a large demand, (I have seen it on the
looms a hundred times,) was called C-Bund,
or Zeh-Bund. A single piece was generally
about thirty-eight ells long.
The weavers commonly delivered their work
on Saturday at Calw; there was also a
market-day, which they might use for the
same purpose; but Necessity, as the proverb
says, has no law, and Jorgadam hoped that
the Company, from a regard to his peculiar

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Just as Elizabeth was going by this spot, who should come
out but old Kate, the shepherd's wife, and called after her,
' Whither away so early, Elizabeth ?-' Only to Calw,' said she,
and stopped."-Page 21.


circumstances, would be willing to take his
cloth and give him the money for it, even on
a Thursday. It was a beautiful, sunshiny
day, and Elizabeth set out with the C-Bund
at early dawn, before the first rays of the sun
had risen above the Sulzer mountain. The
blackbirds and finches were carolling loudly
and merrily in the green wood behind Tril-
lishof, through which she descended into the
valley of the Nagold by a steep footpath, the
steps of which were formed by the roots of
fir-trees. At the foot of this steep height,
where a narrow bridge is thrown over the
Nagold, and the chalk hills have stripped off
their green livery, and stand bare up to their
knees, is the small hamlet of Weiler, consisting
of ten or twelve houses; while the church and
school-house belonging to them, are situated
high up in the mountains at*Altbulach. Just
as Elizabeth was going by this spot, who
should come out but old Kate, the shepherd's
wife, and called after her, "Whither away
so early, Elizabeth?"-" Only to CaIw," said
she, and stopped.
"Then take me with you," said the worthy


"And what have you to do at Calw?"-
"Why," said Kate, "I have been spinning
some worsted for the stocking manufacturer
at Entenschnabel, and want to see if I can
get any money from him, for he is not over
prompt in his payments; and then I am going
to the market at Liebenzell, to buy a couple
of young geese, which I am to take at
Martinmas to the castle at Wildberg. And
you, I see, have a Zeh-Bund; how is it that
you are bringing it to-day?"-" Because my
poor mother-in-law died yesterday, and we
want money for the funeral."
What! is good old Margaret dead? Do
you know that she and I were both from
Oberhangstett, and used to say our catechism
So they went on chatting together; one
word led to another. At last, the shepherd's
wife declared, that money was as scarce with
her as at Quellbrunn, and wished she could
only get a couple of hairs off the Waldecker
What is that you are saying, Kate, about
the Waldecker serpent? I never heard of it be-
fore."-" That is because you are not a native


of Quellbrunn, but of Liebelsberg, and so pre-
fer going to Calw by way of Bulach. But
here, in the valley, everybody knows about
the shining serpent; and I can tell you the
story of the Waldecker castle as well as any-
body between here and the Nagold. Should
you like to hear it ?"-" To be sure, I should,
if you please; though, if it were night, I
might be afraid."
The old woman forthwith began her tale:-
"The Waldecker castle, in days of yore, was
the residence of a wicked count, who used to
waylay rich people and rob them, and laid up
all his plunder in a vault in the great tower,
which was as deep under ground as it was
high above it. Unfortunately, the old house-
keeper, in a rage at her master, set fire to a
barrel of gunpowder, and blew up the castle,
with all the people who were in it. But the
hoards of gold and silver still remain in the
vaults, and are guarded by the poor young
countess, twelve hours of the day in her na-
tural form, and twelve hours in the shape of a
serpent. Whoever can manage to set her at
liberty, will get possession of all her property,-
an immense quantity of gold and silver dollars."



HE Nagold is the largest stream in
Calw, and some of the inhabitants
have never, in all their lives, seen a
larger, though any one tolerably expert in
gymnastics might, by the help of a pole,
spring over it without wetting his shoes. It
would make a famous chronicle, if it could
tell of everything it has seen for the last
twelve hundred years;-how, in the year 645,
the nun Helizena founded the first cloister in
Hirschau;-how, 800 years ago, a pope con-
secrated the little chapel which is standing to
this day on the upper bridge;-how, in the
thirty years' war, the town was burnt, and
Valentine Andrea lost all his property;-
how, in the year 1692, Melac again set the
town on fire, and so forth;-if the Nagold
could tell all this, or write it down, it would
make, as we have said, a famous chronicle.
But the Nagold which could tell all this, is
by this time a long way off, mingled with
the ocean; and the stream which is now flow-
ing under my window, can only tell of that


same narrow valley and hump-backed little
town which were reflected in the waters of
the ancient Nagold. But its telling the story
of past times or not, is of very little con-
sequence; it is more to the purpose to say,
that the Nagold, even from olden time, has
been a very industrious, active kind of person,
always ready to lend a helping-hand to his
neighbours, and very modest withal; for you
never hear him boast of all his activity in
flour-mills, oil-mills, saw-mills, and mills of
other sorts, nor of the assistance he has given
to the spinning machinery, nor of the fertility
lie has imparted to the meadow-land; he
never brags of his strength, by which he takes
not only trees, but whole vessels on his back,
and carries them down to Phorzheim, where
his two sister-streams help to carry them
farther; and if you are disposed to utter an
eulogy on his good deeds from the upper
bridge, he does not stand still a moment to
listen, but runs on unconcernedly, as if what
you were saying had no reference to himself.
Do you not think, my young friends, that we
may learn something from this ?-Certainly.
Here I cannot help noticing the wisdom of

God in making such arrangements in the
earth's structure, that while there are great
streams for great cities, there are also little
streams for little towns, as in the instance of
the Nagold and Calw. Which existed first,
the river or the town, is as easy to be decided
as whether the hen existed before the egg.
But it is equally certain, that the Trading
Company came after the town, and had their
counting-house in Leather Street, which is
situated on the left side of the Nagold, and
runs parallel to it; and thither Elizabeth had
to go to sell her roll of cloth, or Zeh-Bund.
When she had reached the top of the broad
stair-case with a wooden balustrade, she set
down her basket containing the cloth, on a
table which stood near the counting-house
door, for she wished first to inquire whether
the goods would be taken in. Fortunately,
she met at the counting-house with a kind
old gentleman, who, instead of speaking
sharply to her, as people often do when they
are busy, patiently listened to her story. At
last, taking his pen from behind his ear,
where it had remained all the time Elizabeth
was talking, he said, "Yes, certainly,. under


such peculiar circumstances, we will make an
exception. Old Jorgadam has always been a
punctual, industrious man; and I shall be
glad to see him relieved from his difficulties.
Frederic, examine whether we can make use
of this piece of goods." Upon this, Frederic,
the gentleman's son, left the counting-house
with Elizabeth to look at the cloth; but when
she raised the blue napkin that covered the
basket, she had well-nigh fallen on the floor,
for instead of the Zeh-Bund, there was an
infant, five or six months' old, wrapped in a
white linen cloth. For Heaven's sake!
what is this?" exclaimed the poor woman,
almost beside herself, wringing her hands in
agony.-" At all events, it cannot be your
basket," said the young man, who seemed
rather amused with the singular exchange.
But it is my basket," replied Elizabeth,
"for there is the name, and that is my cover-
let, and when I set down the basket I peeped
underneath to see that all was right; for
surely, never were we in such want of six
gilders as at this time." Then the old mer-
chant stepped out, for the door being ajar, he
guessed, from the tones of their voices, that

something amiss had happened. He stared,
as you may suppose, when, instead of a Zeh-
Bund, he saw a lively-looking infant in the
basket, and witnessed the undissembled alarm
expressed in the poor woman's pale face, who
seemed as if she had not a drop of blood left
in her veins. To her credit be it said, that
her first thoughts were not about her own
loss, nor the expenses of the funeral; but her
motherly heart was touched with the misfor-
tune of the infant, abandoned as she supposed
by an unfeeling parent, and left homeless.
But as she had the happy disposition of
wishing to think of others in the fairest light,
her conscience almost instantly reproached
her for having judged too harshly. The
woman, she thought, might have been impel-
led to take this desperate step by extreme
poverty. And how great must her necessity
have been! What would force me to give
up one of my children? With all my poverty,
I am still much better off." Then again she
said to herself, "No, no; the mother must
have been a wicked creature, for if she had
merely been anxious to provide for the child,
she would not have gone off with what did


not belong to her." These conflicting thoughts
and feelings passed through her mind with
the rapidity of a spinning-wheel; but when
the merchant came back, her anxiety took
another direction. Now the object of her
journey came before her-to procure some
money for her mother-in-law's funeral; she
had failed of doing this; and what would
her husband and father-in-law say, if she
came back without any money ? Her alarm
was now turned to sorrow; the tears streamed
down her face faster than she could wipe
them away with the corner of her apron.
After she had told the old gentleman-though
she could hardly speak for sobbing-what a
deplorable exchange had been made, he shook
his head very thoughtfully, took two or three
pinches of snuff, and at last said, "My good
woman, the best advice I can give you is to
go directly to our town bailiff-tell him how
this child came into your hands, and that
your property was fraudulently taken away
in its stead."-" But how will my family get
their dinner dressed, if I do not reach home
by twelve o'clock; and who will give me the
money for the funeral, if the stolen goods are

not recovered?" rejoined Elizabeth, crying
afresh. "The dinner is just now a matter
hardly worth thinking about," said the mer-
chant, taking another pinch of snuff; and if
you cannot recover the Zeh-Bund, I will lend
you the money." Saying this, he turned
back with his son to the counting-house, and
left the poor woman to her sorrowful musings.
For some time Elizabeth sobbed and wept
in the utmost perplexity; for the thought
pressed heavily upon her, that if the mother
of the child could not be found, (and she
would doubtless conceal herself, if possible,) it
must remain on her hands, and instead of
bringing relief, she would return home with a
fresh burden. But stay where she was, she
could not; she must go at once to the bailiff.
And here a new difficulty arose. How was
she to carry the infant? To take it on her
head in the basket would not do; and she
could not think of carrying it on her arm, for
everybody to see it;-what would people say
to her? How she managed, I cannot tell,
though, had I been there, I could have put
her on a good plan. Soon after, however,
we find her at the bailiff's, or burgo-master's,


a worthy, but somewhat rough old man, who
had enjoyed plenty of opportunities to gain a
knowledge of mankind; so that, at first sight,
he generally gave a shrewd guess what kind
of person he had to deal with. Elizabeth's
looks strongly impressed him in her favour.
He gave immediately the necessary orders to
the police to find out the thief, and mean-
while, Elizabeth stepped into the Rose to
take a little refreshment, and to recover from
her fright. Behind the table, in the window-
seat, was the old tinker, who made it part of
his vocation to collect the news of the town
in the morning at the Rose, and to retail it
in the evening at the Lime-tree. He paid
the closest attention to Elizabeth's strange
tale, and, when she stopped, pulled the fur cap
(which he wore all the year round) over his
left ear, with a knowing look, and exclaimed,
"My name is not Peter Jackson if I did not
this very morning see a woman go by my
house with a Zeh-Bund. Just then, a cus-
tomer came into the shop, so that I did not
notice her very particularly; but she went in
the direction of the island." While the tinker
was making this speech, a policeman stood

by the door in hopes of catching the delin-
quent at the public-house. He took the hint
from what he overheard, and made the best
of his way to the island. But he met with
no better success there than on the main
land; and some hours having elapsed, the
bailiff sent for Elizabeth, and told her, that all
inquiries had been fruitless, and nothing was
left for her to do, but to keep the child, and
take it home with her. Perhaps you imagine
that Elizabeth would have set herself against
this proposal with all her might. She might
have urged that she was poor, and had nothing
left; that she had enough to do to provide
for her own children; and, besides, what
would her father-in-law and her husband
think of adding, though only one, to the num-
ber of hungry mouths that required food every
day? and who could tell whether the child
was the offspring of respectable parents ? But
if you suppose that Elizabeth reasoned in
this way, you are very much mistaken, and
show that you do not yet know what kind of
person she was. In the course of two hours
she had time enough to think over the whole
matter quickly. Every quarter of an hour


the probability increased, that the unprin-
cipled person who had made off with her
property and secretly put the infant in its
place, must have taken successful measures
to escape detection. It appeared then a
matter of necessity to take charge of the
child. As a sensible and Christian woman,
Elizabeth endeavoured to make the best of
this unfortunate affair, and to view it in a
right light, though, to say the truth, that cost
her no little trouble. If God has put this
child in my hands (so she reasoned with her-
self) to educate it for His service, I dare not
refuse the office. The occurrence, in itself, is
an evil; but is it not written, 'Is there evil in
the city and the Lord hath not done it?' His
hand, therefore, is plainly to be seen in the
affair. And if the child thrives and improves
under careful nursing and training, instead of
being led into the paths of sin by its wretched
parents, will not this misfortune be turned
into a blessing? Who can tell? Besides,
when my two little ones get their meals,
enough will be left for this third. And the
clothes it has on will not be worn out for
some time to come."

With such considerations, the kind-hearted
woman tried to keep up her spirits, and when
other thoughts entered her head, such as the
long faces of the good men at home, or the
talk of the village gossips, she chased them
away as a farmer's boy would so many geese
when they come to pilfer the corn at thrash-
ing time. And so, at last, without more ado,
she could say to the bailiff, when he gave
his decision, Yes, please your worship, I
see that nothing else can be done; we must
make the best of it." The bailiff commended
her excellent resolution, and kindly expressing
his good wishes, sent her away.
Still she had a difficult task to perform,-
.lamely, to go to the old merchant who had
promised her a loan; and yet she dared not
to return home penniless. But he gave her
two gilders very kindly and willingly; so, at
last, she set out on her return. She intended
to go by way of Neubulach, but scarcely had
she got past Kentheim, when her late fellow-
traveller, the shepherd's wife, came in sight,
carrying on her head a basket with a couple
of geese. You would have smiled to see the
creatures, with their long white necks, sitting


as stately as if they were going in a tri-
umphal procession. The old woman caught
the sound of footsteps behind her, and turned
round directly; for, having walked alone for
some distance, her tongue was tired of its long
holiday, and she felt quite fidgetty. How
now, Elizabeth!" said she, where do you
come from at this time of day? I thought
that you had long ago trotted back to Quell-
brunn. Bless me I what have you got on your
arm ? Well, I really believe, that, like me, you
have exchanged a lifeless burden for a living
one! How came you by that little one?"
Elizabeth was not well pleased to fall in with
this gossipping dame at any time, but least
of all when she wished to reach home un-
observed. Yet what was to be done? To tell
an untruth she dared not; so nothing remained
but to give a straightforward account, without
troubling herself how it would be taken. She
went over all the particulars, and wished to
make it appear that she could do no other
than take the child; but in this point she
"What!" said her companion, "do you
mean to tax your house-keeping with this


bantling ? Are not your own two young-
sters enough, when you know there's room
in my thimble for all your cash? I promise
you, his worship should have had a different
kind of answer from me! If his policemen
cannot do their duty better, but let the rogues
go at large, he ought to suffer for it, and
maintain the child himself. I should go out
of my senses, before I would be plagued with
such a burden." Whatever Elizabeth could
say, there was always a retort ready; and her
talkative acquaintance made her so miserable,
in thinking of the reception she would meet
with at home, that she found it the hardest
work in the world to keep up her courage.
Gladly would she have gone by the upper
bridge on the right, that leads to the Deinacher
Valley, in order to get rid of the talkative
dame, but it was now too late to think of
that. The gossip gave her no rest till she
had gone with her as far as Waldecker Castle.
But it is a comfort that all roads have an end
somewhere, not excepting that into the upper
Seizenthal; and how glad was Elizabeth,
when she could pursue her journey alone to
Quellbrunn! She tried to drive away the


wasps her companion-had teazed her with,-
those harassing doubts, I mean, whether she
had done right in taking charge of the child.
She lifted up her heart to God in prayer, that
she might be strengthened, when the time
came, to meet the observations of her husband
and her father-in-law, which were of far more
consequence to her, than anything the shep-
herd's wife could say. Her first anxiety was
to pass through the village unnoticed, as her
house lay at the other end of it; and in this
she succeeded, though she had to go by the
village fountain, and it was about the time
when people came to water their cattle. As
she went up the steps outside that led to the
house-door, it seemed as if leaden weights
were tied to her feet; but, fortunately, she
found the house shut up, for the two men
were gone with the children a-haymaking in
the Wolfloch meadows; so she had time to
compose herself. She knew where to look for
the key, in a hole above the threshold; she
went in, laid the child, that had fallen asleep,
on the bed in the chamber-for the corpse was
already brought into another room near the
kitchen,--and then began to get the supper


ready. Shortly after, the men came in with
the children. "Why, Elizabeth! where have
you been all this while ?"-" Only sit down,"
she said, "and I will tell you everything."
Then' she began and told them, word for
word, what had passed at the counting-house
between her and the old merchant, and how
she was shocked at the sight of the unex-
pected present.
"But surely you have not brought the
child with you?" said her husband, before
she had well finished her story. Jorgadam,
however, said at once, "And why not? What
else could she do? I question whether any-
body in Calw would wish to take it from her."
This was a word of comfort. Elizabeth
took fresh heart, and went on,-" It is true,
as father says, I could do nothing else. I
must have left the poor little creature to
perish, and that could not be right. In Calw
there are plenty of little children; and the
magistrate thought, that if God was pleased
to give it, one ought not to neglect it."-
" Yes," said her husband, "if God has given
it to us; but its parents must have been bad
sort of people."

Softly," replied old Jorgadam ; we must
not talk in that way. When God has some-
thing to say to us, He does not always send
the angel Gabriel. Many a time, mortals
like ourselves, and some of them, perhaps,
none of the best, deliver His messages. He
has made one place empty in our bed and
board, and why should we murmur if He is
pleased to fill it up again, even though with
a little creature, who, for some time to come,
will be more a burden than a help to us ?
But what have you done with the child,
Elizabeth?"-"It is lying on the bed, asleep."
On hearing that, they were all eager-the
youngsters especially-to see it. It had just
opened its eyes, and smiled sweetly upon them.
" Thou poor little innocent," said Jorgadam,
as he took the child in his arms, "how soon
thou art cast among strangers Can a woman
forget her sucking child, that she should not
have compassion on the fruit of her womb?
Oh! what a heart of stone thy mother's must
have been! But, Elizabeth, you must make
haste, and get some food for it, or the bright,
blue sky will be overcast, and we shall have
a cry, instead of a smile."

While Elizabeth was gone into the kitchen,
Margaret nursed the little stranger. But
Matthew, Elizabeth's husband, looked very
grave, and was evidently far from being satis-
fied. He broke silence by saying, "One does
not know what to call the brat; if, indeed, it
has ever been christened."-" True," said the
old man, we must send for the clergyman.
However, that can be settled to-morrow, at
the funeral."
When Elizabeth came with the food for the
infant, Jorgadam asked her, "Did you find
nothing about the child, by which you might
learn who its parents were, or what was its
name ?"-" Nothing but the linen cloth in
which it was wrapped," replied Elizabeth,
"which has the letters 'E. P.' in one corner;
but this might have been stolen."
"Well, however that may be, we must take
care of it; it may serve some day to find out
the child's parentage."
Next day the clergyman came to the house,
to attend the funeral. An obscure iumour had
already reached him, that an infant, belonging
nobody knew to whom, had been brought to
old Jorgadam's, and he was somewhat curious


to learn the exact truth of the matter. the
worthy man was always gratified when he
heard of a deed of kindness, or charity per-
formed by any of his flock. Elizabeth gave
him an account of all the incidents, though
he often interrupted her with a question, in
order to clear up what appeared strange to
him. Last of all, he expressed a wish to see
the child; he looked very seriously at it for
an instant, and then turning to Jorgadam,
spoke in a very kind tone about its being
christened. When he reached home, he told
his wife what he had heard, but added, I
fear the good people will get into some trouble
with that bantling, for rogue seems written
on his forehead; most likely, he is the child
of some vagabond gipsies, and their bad
qualities generally descend to their offspring."



E must now leave Quellbrunn for a
/ while, and travel eastward till we
come to a village in Bohemia. If
ever I pay a visit to that country, I would
rather go in time of peace; but our story has
no anxiety on that point, but takes us there
in the time of the Seven Years' War.
"Hark!" said the Baron of Lucowiza to
his lady, the report of the artillery is getting
nearer! If at last it should come here "
-" Let us be prepared for the worst," replied
the resolute, high-spirited woman. "What
has happened to others, may happen to us;
and what others have endured, we also may
endure; and if others are brought low, we are
not too good to escape similar misfortunes.
But God is powerful enough to deliver us, if
it seems meet to His wisdom; and let us pray
to Him, not only to spare us, but to give us
designed hearts that will put unbounded con-
fidence in Him, and unconditionally repose
on His faithful, fatherly care."
It was evening. The cannonading had


ceased, and the din of war seemed withdrawn
to another quarter. They ventured to retire
to rest, for they had kept anxious watch on
several preceding nights. But at midnight
the inhabitants of the village were startled
out of their deep sleep by the discharge of
artillery; and before they had left their beds,
part of the village was in flames, which were
carried by a violent east wind from one
thatched roof to another. The fire had broke
out in the neighbourhood of the castle; it
soon caught the out-buildings, and when the
Baron woke out of sleep, he could not tell
whether his rest had been broken by the
noise of cannon, or by the flames which
glared upon his chamber windows. While
putting on a few clothes, the danger became
so great that he could not hope to do more
than escape with his life from the burning
castle. "Have you got the child?" cried
the baroness to the nurse, whom she saw
running out of the house.-" Yes, I have it,"
she answered; only make haste !"
The parents hurried through the garden-
walks after the maid; but she was soon out
of sight. and though they called after her, the


sound of their voices was lost amidst the
report of musketry, the cries of distress, and
the crash of falling buildings. Urged for-
ward by the fugitives from the village, they
hastened to the adjacent wood for safety, and
strained every nerve to get beyond the reach
of the cannon, and the tumult of war. The
nurse, they thought, could have taken no
other way, and would be found again in the
morning. Day came, as it surely will after
the longest and most troubled night. They
had left the wood behind them, and had
reached the clear, open country. Here and
there might be seen a little band of fugitives;
some with a bundle, small or large, on their
backs; others with only a scanty supply of
clothing, which they had hastily put on. Oh!
how earnestly and inquisitively did the
afflicted parents cast their eyes around after
their lost child! They hastened breathless
from one group to another, in order to find
their precious treasure with the nurse; and
every moment the quickness of their pulse,
and the anguish of their hearts increased, as
each inquiry in succession ended in dis-
appointment. They did not give up all hope


hastily; that, a mother's heart could not do,
but its feeble props broke down, one after
another, so that at last it entirely sunk and
was lost. In the nearest villages all their
inquiries were fruitless; and they could not
go back, for war and all its horrors were every
moment coming nearer; they were forced to
go forwards, and in doing so, probably went
further from the direction their servant had
taken; but no choice was left. We must
now leave them, commending them to that
Almighty Comforter who is "rich in mercy
to all that call upon Him," while we return
to Lucowiza.
On what a slender thread, to human eyes,
often hangs a human life! That infant in
the ark of bulrushes, on the banks of the
Nile, to how many accidents was he exposed!
and yet, to what a glorious career was he
destined! That little child, who alone of all
his family was forgotten when the house was
on fire, and then was suddenly rescued by his
father, and became a distinguished and suc-
cessful labourer in the service of Christ,-on
what a mere hair did his life hang! But
along with these fine threads and hairs, are


interwoven other invisible ones, of heavenly
texture and divinely strong. Holy angels are
employed in protecting and rescuing those
little ones on whose service they are sent
forth; and hence it comes to pass that their
lives are so often preserved in the most won-
derful manner, over whom the Keeper of
Israel and His hosts hold watch. You have
noticed the incidents I have told you, but
how they came about, you cannot even guess;
listen, then, while I proceed.
A mile from Lucowiza, farther inland, lies
a village, the name of which I do not know;
but what would the name of a Bohemian
village signify to you? This village also
had been visited by the calamities of war;
part of it was burnt; the houses that were
left standing, had been plundered; and the
fields around lay desolate. Unfortunately, it
was just harvest-time, the corn was cut, the
sheaves were standing bound in the fields;
but ere the reapers had time to fetch them
home, another reaper came, who, with an
invisible sickle, cut down the reapers them-
selves, and many more besides. I need not
tell you his name. But you will perhaps be

-- -2-2 "

"A few sheaves were still standing but looking between
them, he saw, to his great astonishment, what he had neither

asleep."-Page 47.


reminded of the words of the Psalmist, In
the morning they are like grass which grow-
eth up. In the morning it flourisheth and
growth up; in the evening it is cut down
and withereth."
The hostile bands came rushing on, and
where yesterday dwelt peace, prosperity, and
hope, was to be seen to-day the grim form
of desolation, which the few who survived
beheld with terror and dismay. On the
following morning, when the black cloud of
war had rolled over the borders, a country-
man, whose cottage had escaped the flames,
went out into his corn-fields to see whether
he could find a sheaf or two to carry home.
A few were still standing; but looking be-
tween them, he saw, to his great astonish-
ment, what he had neither sought for nor
expected,-a child about two years old fast
asleep. It seemed as if an angel had laid it
there, for such a happy smile played over the
features of the little sleeper, that you might
imagine it was dreaming Jacob's dream over
again. The good countryman could not take
his eyes off that little smiling face; he was
unwilling to wake it; but at last it awoke of


itself. Now, indeed, as you might expect, the
happy smile was gone; for the child no long-
er saw an angel, but a strange, unknown, old
man; over its head was the wide-spread blue
vault of the sky, and near it, instead of the
white pillow of its cradle, the rough ground,
with long stubble and a few sheaves. It
called for its mother and Theresa; and when
neither of them appeared, a little cloud began
to gather on its brow, and the drops trickled
down its rosy cheeks. The man took it up
in his arms, stroking and soothing it as well
as he knew how; then, leaving the sheaves
for which he had come thither, carried the
child home. On the way, a doubt arose in
his mind whether his wife would feel as
kindly towards the little one as he did him-
self; but "No," he said, "it has long been a
source of sorrow to her that we have had no
more children since those whose bed death
has made in the churchyard. She will be
glad to have our loss made up in this way."
And so it proved. The news that some
sheaves still remained, gave her joy; but she
was more rejoiced at the living present that
God's hand had bestowed and when the good


woman fetched from their back-garden a
handful of strawberries, the cloud on the
little weeper's brow soon dispersed; and
though it often called for father, mother, and
Theresa, yet by degrees it became attached
to its foster-parents, who, with tender love,
sought to make up the loss of its home to
the best of their power. How the child
came among the sheaves; whether its faith-
ful nurse had been shot, and her forlorn little
charge had wandered by itself into the corn-
fields; or by what other means it was brought
there, they could not tell. The inhabitants of
Lucowiza had left the place, and the greater
part of them never returned.
The Seven Years' War had just begun,
and, of course, for some time, the communica-
tion between one place and another was ren-
dered very difficult, and often quite impracti-
cable. It is true, that as soon as the Baron of
Lucowiza had found a resting-place in a
neighboring country, he sent a trusty mes-
senger, with orders to search the place and
country all round, if, perchance, some trace
might be found of the lost child; but when
the man reached the borders of Saxony, he
fell ill of typhus fever, and died in the hospital


of a small town, without having fulfilled his
errand. The child itself was too young to
give any information; it only knew that it
was called Theodore. Theodore's foster-
parents were not originally poor; they once
possessed beautiful fields and meadows; but
their cattle had been taken away-their house
had been plundered-the fruits of their fields
destroyed-and their barns contained no pro-
vision for the winter. It cost them much
trouble to procure a few cattle again, and even
to get daily bread; for though they would
gladly have sold part of their land in order to
get some money, they could find no purchaser
in these troublous times. Yet they did not
let the little one want for anything. If they
had only a single morsel, they would cheerfully
go supperless to bed, rather than that their
foster-child should suffer hunger. The little
creature throve fast; and the love that was
bestowed upon him, was not wasted; he soon
gave signs of such grateful attachment, and
was so attentive and obedient, that they were
often ready to imagine that the child was
really their own, and never for a moment
repented having taken it in.
Six years long they had nourished and


protected the stranger-child, and tended it
with heartfelt, parental love, when they
were both taken off by an epidemic, which
was one of the many sad consequences of
the war. The disease, even in an early
stage of it, deprived the sufferers of their
senses. Theodore, who was only eight years
old, knew not what to do, and called in a
poor neighbour, a widow, who, as no medical
man was at hand, did what she could, accord-
ing to the best of her knowledge; but she was
as little able as the weeping child to render
efficient aid. At last, a physician came, as
there were several other people ill in the
village; but he saw at once that it was too
late to save them. A few days more, and the
poor boy was standing by the side of two
Then followed the funeral, and the division
of the property among the relations of the
deceased. One took the house; another the
arable land; a third the pasture land; a fourth
the moveable goods; but no one was eager
to take the orphan. He had already been
a thorn in their eyes; for they were afraid
that he had been adopted by the man and his


wife, and would deprive them of the inherit-
ance. Fortunately, the good people had two
Bibles-one in their house, the other in their
hearts; and out of both they had conscien-
tiously and diligently instructed their foster-
child; and in so doing, had bequeathed him a.
treasure, which formed no part of the property
to be divided, and to which the greedy heirs
could make no claim, even had they been
disposed. Now, in this hour of difficulty, he
recollected the expression, When my father
and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will
take me up," (Psalm xxvii. 10.) This was his
staff when about to leave his present home-
the staff of his right hand, when he was forced
to grasp a beggar's staff with the other.
By this time the war was over; but its effects
were still severely felt by the inhabitants of
the country. The corn fields were lying waste
-the dwelling houses, for the greater part,
were pillaged or burnt-and on all sides the
greatest distress prevailed. For a whole
twelvemonth, Theodore was obliged to wander
about as a poor beggar boy. He went from
place to place, and sought for shelter; but
everywhere he was repulsed, for he could not


tell his birthplace. Even the police could not
lay hold of him, and send him back to his
parish, for no one knew where it was situated.
Here and there, he met with kind people, who
gave him some broken victuals; but more
frequently he was obliged to content himself
with a piece of dry bread. His lodging for
the night was commonly a hovel on some hay,
or a wood-house; and in winter, perhaps a
warm stable, unless he was allowed to lie on
a bench in the kitchen. His clothes, which
soon were worn to rags, would now and then
be replaced by a torn jacket, or a patched
pair of trousers, big enough for a youth of
eighteen; so that he looked in them, for all the
world, like a scarecrow. The luxury of an
ordinary pair of shoes, he had long been a
stranger to,-in summer, he went barefoot; in
winter, he wrapped his feet in old rags, and
stuck them in large shoes, which some charit-
able peoplehad givenhim. Yet heneverwanted
bread; and, strictly speaking, did not suffer
hunger; for it was not easy to withhold relief
from such a good-looking, cleanly, modest boy.
He took care to wash himself every morning
at a spring, and to comb out his long black


hair; he kept his clothes as clean and as tidy
as was possible. When he was taken into
a house for the night, the first thing he asked
for was a Bible; or if one was not at hand, for
some good book, in which he read the whole
of the evening, sometimes aloud, if it were
wished. Had not the people with whom he
became acquainted in this way, been generally
of the poorer class, he would soon have found
regular employment; but by the rich and
wealthy, he was not allowed to come across
the threshold; so that they had no means of
becoming acquainted with his good qualities.
At last, after wandering about for a long
while, he found a poor family, who gave him
shelter, and with whom he shared the victuals
that had been given him in the course of the
day, and of which he had always some left in
the evening. He took his daily round about
the village where these poor folks lived, but
went no greater distance than would allow
of his coming back at night to his bed, which
was only a sack of straw.
One evening, however, long after harvest-
time, when the open ground, with the starry
ceiling above it, no longer served for a bed-


chamber, poor Theodore loitered too long on
his way home; he could not see the path
through the dark forest, nor the glimmer of
the village lights. He hastened on and on;
walked all night anxiously through forest and
field,-sometimes he fancied that he was in
a well-known district; and then again was
quite bewildered. As his anxiety increased,
he quickened his pace. That beautiful Psalm,
the twenty-third, came unto his mind,-" The
Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. .
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou
art with me; thy rod and thy staff they com-
fort me." "Ah!" said he to himself, "how
true that is! That is a better staff than the
beggar's; and as long as I have it, why should
I fear?" Immediately all the anxiety of his
heart vanished, and he resolved to goon quietly
and leisurely, till the Good Shepherd, of whom
he had been thinking, should shew him a way.
Upon this, he soon came to a beaten foot-
path, and went on with comfort; for he said,
"This must surely bring me to some place.
On the left, something glimmers through the
trees; it is certainly a light; there must be a


house, perhaps a village, where I can find a
bed." With these thoughts, he went in the
direction of the light, and left the path which
possibly might be from a village, instead of
leading to one. For a long time, he could see
the light distinctly; then it vanished again
behind the trees. But on turning in another
direction, the light was entirely gone; probably
it was lost behind a hill. He now went on at
hap-hazard towards the quarter in which he
believed that he first saw the light, till morning
dawn arose behind him, and, very soon after,
the first rays of a September sun gilded the
tops of the fir-trees. Ile came out of the
forest on an open height. And what golden
bird is that which seems to float aloft in the
air? Is it not a weather-cock? and under-
neath is a golden cross on the lofty tower of a
cathedral? It is even so! Yes! the boy
stands at last in sight of a city, miles distant
from his last home-and yet it is in the right
way. For the first time in his life, Theodore
beheld a city, and that a large one. He
enters the streets; he feels as if in a new
world. There are magnificent mansions, large
churches, splendid shops, gentlemen and ladies


finely dressed; and, strange to say, amidst it
all, there are beggar boys like himself! How
is it possible (he thought) that in such a beau-
tiful, rich city, there can be any poor people!
But as he was looking at these boys, with
their touselled hair and dirty faces, he recol-
lected that he had not washed himself that
morning. From the high ground where he
first caught sight of the city, he had noticed
that a tolerably broad river flowed through
it; so he went to wash himself in it. His
clothes consisted, at this time, of a large black
jacket, which had been a frock-coat before
the skirts were cut off; a pair of old patched
trousers of Manchester manufacture, which
had belonged to a brewer's drayman; blue
stockings, and a pair of cast-off women's
shoes. He had no shirt, nor any covering for
his head. But his thick black hair, which he
now combed out neatly, hung in glossy locks
on his shoulders; and if his white skin had not
been tanned by the sun, he might have been
taken for a gipsy with a Circassian-formed
head. But what cared he just then for
either Circassian or gipsy 1 He was as
hungry as both together, and went from one


street to another, in the hopes that one or
other of those finely dressed people would give
him something to eat. But this hope failing,
he ventured at last to ask for a loaf at a
baker's, where he saw many in the window;
but was roughly refused. "How is this?"
thought he; "is it a custom in this city never
to relieve a beggar ? Then I would rather go
back again to my village; for a villager has
never refused me a piece of bread I Yet how
do the beggar-boys live, whom I see here, in
the market-place, if nobody gives them any-
thing? Perhaps I went to the wrong door."
He went, accordingly, to another house, and
asked the people who lived on the ground-floor
for a morsel of bread, as he had eaten nothing
since the evening before. As they did not
know he had been walking all night, they
thought he was imposing upon them, and
showed him the door. Theodore was almost
driven out of his senses by such inhumanity,
but resolved to make one more attempt; and
if that failed, to seek out his former home,-
the beggar's lodging and the bed of straw.
But it just struck him, that he had a piece of
money in his pocket, which a tradesman pass-


ing by had given him, and he thought, "Now
I need not want; I can buy some bread." Un-
fortunately, the coin was a foreign one, and
the baker would not take it; but as he saw the
lad was hungry, he gave him a piece of bread.
On the other side of the street was a hand-
some house, with a court in front. Theodore
crossed over, sat down on the pavement, and
eat the bread, with thankfulness to God, who
had fulfilled the promise, He maketh me to
lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me
beside the still waters;" and while he was
musing on the relief afforded him by the
twenty-third Psalm during his wanderings in
the night, he was overcome by drowsiness,
and in a few minutes was in a deep sleep.
It was about the hour when the gentry
were accustomed to take their morning air-
ing. A carriage drove up to the mansion in
front of which Theodore was lying. A gen-
tleman alighted from it, with a lady in
mourning. They could not help noticing the
lad, for he was lying not far from the door;
and having once seen him, they could not
take their eyes off, but gazed at him with
deep attention. It was not owing so much


to the strange attire in which he was clad, or
his long black hair, which touched the pave-
ment; but over his features might be again
seen that sweet gentle smile which played
apon them when he lay, a little one, as we
have described, in the corn-field. Perhaps
he saw again, in a dream, the angels ascend-
ing and descending on Jacob's ladder. The
sorrowful eye of the lady was fixed on the
sleeping youth, and could not withdraw
itself. Soon also the gentleman became
equally interested. How is this ?" he said
to his wife; would not our Theodore, if he
were still alive, be about the size of this
lad ?" But the female- Oh holy mother's
love, who can fathom thee ?-Only that Being
who gave thee the eye that instantaneously
saw the image of her own lost child, with
the liveliest distinctness, embodied before
her in that sleeping beggar-boy!
When Theodore awoke, and could use his
eyes and lips, question followed question;
and by every fresh answer, the conviction
was increased, that they had before them
their lost child. But in such a case not
mere probability, but certainty, is longed


for; and this could only be obtained by
inquiries on the spot. They resolved, there-
fore, to set out for Lucowiza the next morn-
ing; meanwhile, Theodore was brought into
the house, and suitably clothed; yet he could
not, all at once, adapt himself to his altered
circumstances. On waking the next morning,
he said, Mother, to-day is a fine one for me,
no rain, no snow, no storm; capital begging
weather this My poor child!" replied his
mother, while her tears flowed apace, "there
is now an end of thy begging. I have
mourned for thee ever since we lost thee, and
constantly dressed in black. To-day I shall
put on white; and from this hour thy life of
toil is at an end; but thy begging-wallet,
which thou broughtest home so empty, we
will keep as a memorial, that thou mayest
continue humble and grateful to the Good
Shepherd, who has guarded His wandering
sheep, and brought it back uninjured to the
Next day they travelled all together to
Lucowiza, which its former proprietor had
tong before sold. Some of the former inhabit-
ants had fixed themselves on the same snot


again; but no one could give any account of
the lost child. From Lucowiza they pro-
ceeded to the village where Theodore had
passed six happy years. The poor widow,
whom I mentioned before, was still living,
and was delighted to see the boy once more.
From her his parents learned enough to
satisfy them that Theodore was their son.
But the particulars of this I must reserve for
the sequel.



S' E must now go back to Quellbrunn,
The little boy whom we first saw in
Sthe basket had been christened; but
instead of any such nickname as "Tom
Foundling," or "Timothy Changeling," he
was called, by old Jorgadam's express desire,
Adam Zeh-bund, (I need not explain to my
readers for what reason ;) and by this name
he was entered in the Parish Register at
Quellbrunn. But I must here observe, that
it is of far more importance under what name
he is entered in the Register of Heaven-
in the Book of Life ;"-whether he there
stands in the list of God's chosen ones.
What may be our hopes on this head for the
poor boy, will be seen hereafter. For the
present, all we can say is, that the prospect
is not a very bright one. In his earliest
years the child was lively, contented, and
merry, and gave much amusement to both
eld and yqung. But the clergyman always
shook his head whenever he saw him, and
said to himself, as before, That boy has


rogue stamped on his forehead 1" That would
not have much signified, if it had not been
stamped on his heart. But, according to a
German proverb, the organ of roguery is
placed somewhere else than on the forehead;
for of a rogue it is said, He is as thick as
a fist behind the ears." Still it must be
allowed, that though the minister of Quell-
brunn saw only the forehead, his judgment
was correct. No sooner could little Adam
run about, and play with children of his own
age, than complaints were made of his tricks.
The first day he went to school, the master
declared, that he must have his eye upon him,
or he would be indulging his propensity for
mischief; either boring a hole in the desk
with a rusty nail, or pricking the boy who
sat before him with a slate-pencil, tickling
another with a feather, or pulling a hair out
of a third. He could not sit still. His eyes
were constantly in motion; and he was always
shifting his position, leaning first on one
elbow, then on the other. With his lessons
he did not show quite so much activity. His
eyes, instead of being fixed on his book, were
occupied in watching the sparrows on the


cherry trees. As to his foster-mother, Eliza-
beth, his frolics placed her almost in the
predicament of a hen with a brood of young
ducks, when she sees them, in utter disregard
of all her maternal clucking, take to the
water; or that of a Jenny Wren, who has
unfortunately hatched a young Cuckoo, when
the stranger begins to maltreat the rightful
nestlings. Sometimes a neighbour stepped
in to complain that Adam had worried a
fowl to death ; or a person who had been set
lo watch an orchard, declared that Adam had
been pelting stones at the fruit. At another
time, the little humpbacked tailor threatened
to beat him black and blue, for squirting
water into his garret. Nor was this all. If
any trick was played off by some unknown
hand, Adam was taxed with it; so that more
was charged upon him than he really de-
served. It must be admitted, that he was
not the only rogue in Quellbrunn; but when
the publican's or wheelwright's son wished to
make a disturbance, they had only to take
care to conceal their share in it, and it might
be reckoned upon, that it would be laid at
Adam's door; so that he had often to suffer

for misdemeanours of which he was guilt-
less. But correction and good advice seemed
equally thrown away upon him. Whenever
Elizabeth complained to the clergyman, his
usual answer was, Yes; the first time I set
my eyes on the boy, I saw rogue on his
forehead, and my wife said the same thing.
In short, my good woman, I have no doubt
he comes of some gipsy family, although
his complexion is not quite so dark. Evil
qualities go deep into flesh and blood, and it
is no easy matter to root them out." This
was poor comfort, and yet Elizabeth could
say nothing against it. But old Jorgadam,
when she told him of it, had no patience with
such senseless twaddle," as he called it.
"Is that," he said, "not encouraging people
to repent of having done a good work ? Just
for this reason, God has brought the poor
fellow to our door, that he may be cured of
his bad propensities, which would have had
no check in his former situation. And if the
pastor himself doubts whether the Word of
God and prayer can cure such depravity,
what is to become of the rest of us? 'The
whole need not a physician, but they that


are sick, our Saviour tells us; and if the
Heavenly Physician is not to be trusted, as
having a remedy for the most desperate
diseases, why should any man become a
minister ?"
When the clergyman came again to the
weaver's, and the conversation turned, as
might be expected, on young Adam, and
the power of the "old Adam" within him,
Jorgadam did not conceal what he thought,
but spoke out very plainly. Quite right,"
said the minister; but when it stands so
plainly written on a person's forehead-
when God, who knows the heart before a
man is born, puts such a mark on his fore-
head, like Cain's, it is evidently for the pur-
pose of putting people on their guard; and
while the countenance remains the same, we
have little reason to hope for any great altera-
tion in the character."
Reverend Sir," said old Jorgadam, 1
cannot argue the point with you; but I
think, if a man can be converted from the
original sin which we have derived from our
first father, he can also be converted from
the particular evil propensities which he


derives from his nearest relatives; and it is
my humble opinion, that a sign on the fore-
head, and a roguish eye, may be effaced by
Now, I am sure," said the clergyman,
taking his hat in his hand, I would not say
one word against your treating little Adam
according to your view of his case. I do not
hold his improvement to be impossible, but it
is very improbable." Saying this, he with-
drew. Old Jorgadam did not live to see
whether his opinion or the minister's was
right; for, shortly after, he fell from a barn,
as he was carrying in the sheaves, and died
in a few hours.
Meanwhile the two children belonging to
the house had finished their schooling.
Margaret went to her grandmother at Lie-
belsberg, who had no children at home, and
needed a nurse in her old age. Willy was
apprenticed to a wheelwright at Nagold; for
the old wheelwright at Quellbrunn, Bent-
wood, was dead, and there was no likelihood
of a successor in the village. Matthew and
Elizabeth had now only little Adam at home,
and could nav him so much the more attention.

Henceforward he was watched rather more
strictly; fewer opportunities were allowed
him for playing off his mischievous pranks,
and, in consequence, fewer complaints were
made against him. But, after a while, he,
too, had finished his schooling; and now
they were anxious to apprentice him in a
well regulated Christian family; for they
wished him to be something superior to a
mere country labourer. "Manufacture has
a golden soil," old Jorgadam used to say,
and, for this reason, he added weaving to
the cultivation of land; and so did his son,
who had, besides, for several years, held the
office of Sacristan. Little Adam, when asked
what he would like to be, used to say, "A
gamekeeper." His voice, however, had little
weight in determining the question. While
they were deliberating, in came the shoe-
maker from Rohrbrunn, who had heard that
the Sacristan had a fine bullock in the stall
to dispose of, and wished to purchase it.
Good morning to you, cousin," said
Elizabeth; "we are glad to see you once
more. You have not been near us for a year
and a day."-" Aye; it is, indeed, a long


time. I have not been across the brook since
your mother's funeral. Ever since they have
made my lads soldiers, and sent them against
old Frederick, under whom I myself served
in the first Silesian war, I have been so out
of humour, that I have not stirred from
Well I but come in and warm yourself; I
will go to the cellar and draw a jug of cider."
So saying, she left him, and the shoemaker
went into the sitting-room, where the Sacris-
tan was weaving. He told his errand, and,
before the cider was brought in, learned that
the beast was not for sale, and that he had
been misinformed. But I have another
article for you," said the Sacristan; "an
apprentice, if you can employ him."-" Yes,"
said the shoemaker, I have room and work
for him; for I have to make shoes, all the
year round, for the gentry in Nagold, as you
well know; so that I can teach him some-
thing. But I cannot take him without a
premium; for I can have as many lads as I
could put nails in a shoe-heel."
I know that quite well, and am ready to
pay what is fair and reasonable."-" But let


me seel Your Willy has been some time
apprenticed to the wheelwright at Nagold,
and you don't mean surely to saddle me with
that young good-for-nought, whose tricks are
talked of all over Oberamt!"
"Why, in truth, it is no other than he,"
said Elizabeth, who was just come in with
the bread and cider; "but he is not so bad
as he was formerly, and if you keep a tight
rein over him, you will find him very manage-
able."-" There shall be no lack of strict-
ness, I promise you," said their guest, as he
helped himself to another slice of the loaf;
" yet, I think, another trade would be better
for him. I fear he has not steadiness enough
to sit all day on the stool, and would rather
wear out a pair of shoes than make them."
"Just for that reason," said the Sacristan,
" I should prefer his being with you, that he
may learn how to sit still; and as you are an
old soldier, you know how to maintain disci-
pline."-" As for myself, I am not afraid of
him; but I do not like to take a youth who
will do me no credit."
"If you will take him I will pay a fair
premium, and give you the beast into the

bargain. You may, at least, take him on
After a good many words on either side,
they came at last to terms, and the shoe-
maker promised to take Adam as an appren-
tice till midsummer.




%9 7E have already gone far into the
i 7 century, and must now turn our loco-
S motive, in order to go back to the
day when we made our first acquaintance with
Adam Zeh-bund.
At the spot where the road from Merklin-
gen and Weilerstadt branches off from the road
to Leonberg, in the direction of Tiefenbrunn
and Pforzheim, there stands a small turnpike
house, where the toll is taken either for the
road or the bridge,-I do not know for which
exactly, for when I paid it, I never asked the
question. Facing the house is a small open
space between two large, beautiful lime-trees,
which stand on each side of the road. From
days of yore down to the present time, gipsies,
knife-grinders, and such sort of people, have
made this place their rendezvous, and taken
up their lodgings for the night in the ruins of
the old chapel that stands hard by. Not far
off, flows the river Wiirm, (in English Worm,)
which gives its name to the valley, and is
so called from its strangely crooked course,

resembling the wrigglings of a worm. It runs
from south-east to north-west. Towards the
west, there is a little valley, which you may
pass through in half an hour; it is shut in
on the back-ground by a semi-circle of hills.
In the distance lies the little village of
Miinklingen. Before it, on the right, stands
Kapellenberg, (that is, Chapel-hill,) a little
eminence, on which formerly stood a castle or
a chapel, and which joins the range of hills
behind it. Between it and the forest of
Hocheben, runs the so-called Swedish en-
trenchment down to Lehningen, which is
perhaps of still more ancient date than its
name implies. The district is not remarkable
for natural beauties; but for a native of
Germany, it has associations which render it
classic ground. Weilerstadt was the residence of
two eminent men,-John Brenz the Reformer,
and Kepler the great astronomer. Where
the Wiirm empties itself into the Nagold at
Pforzheim, John Reuchlin, Luther's contem-
porary, was born; and not far off, at Bretten,
Philip Melanchthon; and on the other side,
to the right, the philosopher Schelling. But
I venture to say, that the man who is now


standing there; under one of the lime-trees,
and looking so intently towards Kapellenberg,
feels no special interest about any of these
noted persons;-his thoughts are directed to
quite different objects. At the time I am
speaking of, the sun was just setting over
Kapellenberg; the man therefore shaded his
eyes with his hand, to prevent their being
dazzled by its rays. In the back-ground of
the valley, slight wreathes of smoke arose
from the cottage chimneys, showing that at
this busy season of field labour, the suppers of
the villagers were preparing rather later than
usual. Kapellenberg cast a long shadow down
the valley, which gradually stretched deeper
into the country, and, as it were, swallowed
up the sunshine. A corn waggon, and three
persons in it, entered the little village; another
waggon with flour sacks went to the mill. The
man scarcely noticed them; his eyes rested
on a single point on the top of the hill, as if
he had been watching an eruption of Mount
Vesuvius. He looked about fifty years old,
was more than six feet high-a thin, bony
figure, with the complexion of a gipsy. Of
his forehead nothing could be seen, for a cap


of otter's skin covered it down to his shaggy
eyebrows, which shaded the piercing glance
of his deep set eyes, and made them look still
more strange. Under an aquiline nose, a pair
of large moustachios covered his mouth, and
joined his bushy whiskers, so that of the whole
countenance nothing was to be seen but the
cheek-bones and chin. His shirt, which had
not been washed for a week at least, was open
about the neck and chest. Waistcoat and
neckcloth were wanting as much as leaves to
meadow saffron when in flower. The jacket
and short trousers were made of Manchester
striped stuff, a good deal worn; the stockings
were grey, and the half-boots laced. By his
side stood a younger man, scarce five feet and
a-half high, but broad and thick set, inclining
to corpulency. He had on a Tyrolese hat,
with a peacock's feather; about his neck was
loosely twisted a red neckcloth, with yellow
dots; he had no waistcoat, and his clothes
were of grey cloth. His face, which was not
covered with hair like the other's, bore the
marks of good-humoured carelessness and
roguish levity. A two-wheeled covered cart,
laden with stone pitchers, stood near the old


chapel; and an ass, the single animal employed
to draw it, was unharnessed, and nibbling
thistles on the common. Behind the cart
were two children,-one eight, the other ten
years old, lying on the turf, and playing
with the small shells they had picked up on
the road. Their clothes could be no burden to
them in hot weather, for they were rags; and
as for their feet, they could not complain that
their shoes were too tight, for they had none.
But while we are watching this curious
group the sun has set behind the fir-forest,
and the man with the otter's-skin cap has
directed his looks a little on the left towards
the road that leads from Simmozheim to
Merklinzen. He is evidently expecting some
one, and after looking awhile that way, he
turns to the shorter man and says, "Rudi, I
cannot tell why the woman is so long a-com-
ing; she has had the whole day."-" Old
fellow," replied Rudi, with a hearty laugh,
"your eyes, I think, must be growing dim.
They used to be sharp as a lynx's. Don't
you see her there, just on the edge of the
Forchenwald. She's coming, lam sure, at a
good pace."


You are right," said his companion; I
was dazzled by the sun, and besides, was
looking too much to the left. Now I see her
plainly; but it seems as if she had not got
rid of the brat, for she is carrying something
on her arm."-" Well, now," rejoined Rudi,
to tell you my mind, I have been more than
half sorry that I ever gave my consent."
What! why sorry? What could we do
with that young squaller while we are at the
work we have in hand? I cannot spare my
old woman, and the lasses are too young for
After talking together for some time, they
saw the woman coming up from the bridge.
"What in the world can she be carrying?"
exclaimed Rudi; "no child, I am sure, for she
shoulders it like a musket."-" Say rather,
like a piece of artillery, for it's big enough,"
said the other.
"What have you got there, Bridget?"-
"Why, call it changeling, or what you please,
it's what I have brought instead of the child;"
and so saying, she threw her bundle on the
"Tired enough, are you not?" said the


elder man, (whom we will call Conrad.)-
Pretty well for that," replied Bridget; "how-
ever, I have relieved the woman to whom it
belonged, for she could not have carried both
"Tell us, how did you get on ?"-" Oh
well enough. From Pforzheim I took the
road over Huchenfeld and Reichenbach; there
I had some bread and milk at a fisherman's;
then I went over Liebenzell and Huschan to
Calw. I got there in good time; and as I
was going up the street, a countrywoman
met me with a basket on her head. I turned
round and followed her close behind; for,
thought I, she is going to the Company's to
sell some cloth. Going softly behind her up
the steps, I heard her set the basket down
and go into the counting-house. 'Ha!' said
I to myself, now's the time.' I seized the
cloth, put the little creature in the basket; I
was ready to cry, it looked so sweetly at me;
but not a moment was to be lost; I was off
again over the bridge, and hid myself in a
hovel till late in the afternoon,-frightened
enough, for I felt sure the police would be
after me. About fiv o'clock, as all seemed


quiet, I went on again; and here I am, tired
and hungry as a gipsy."-" But," said Rudi,
" do you know who has the child ? for if our
business turns out well, I will have it again."
"You might be sure," answered Bridget,
"I would not leave Calw without knowing
that. Yet I learned it quite accidentally. Two
women were going over the bridge, and as
they passed by the hovel, I heard one of them
say to the other, So the woman must keep
the child?'-'Yes, indeed,' said the other; 'and
she's Jorgadam's daughter-in-law of Quell-
brunn.' That was enough for me, and I
could do without any further inquiries."
The men now turned to the package, opened
it, and examined the Zeh-Bund. "A good
article," said Conrad; "it will make some
warm smocks for the winter."-" Yes," added
Bridget, "and cloaks for the two girls."
They then made haste to light a fire.
Rudi, who had gone a little way further,
found a hare asleep; he seized it by the ears,
killed it with a stone, and in a short time
skinned and dressed it. Some pieces of
bread which the children had begged in Pfor-
zheim still lay in the basket, and the brandj-


flask was not quite empty. They made up
their beds in the chapel.
On the following morning the two men
went to Miinklingen, and inquired for the
bailiffs house. Before starting, they had put
themselves in as decent trim as their scanty
wardrobe would allow, that they might not
fail of their object by making an unfavourable
impression at first sight. They began with
saying that they had something to communi-
cate in confidence, and therefore begged to see
the magistrate alone. The bailiff had a room-
full of children and domestics, just taking
their breakfast, and having no other apart-
ment in his house at liberty, desired them to
walk with him to the council-house. When
they were seated, he waited with eagerness
to hear their business. Conrad, who took the
lead, and assumed a very important look,
began,-" Please your worship, we have re-
ceived confidential information, that in the
vault of the old castle which once stood
on Kapellenberg, there is concealed a vast
treasure of gold and silver coins, and jewels;
and we are come to ask your permission to dig
for this treasure, as we have been instructed
how to get at it."


Bailif.-How have you come to a know-
ledge of the fact?
Conrad.-On that point we cannot give
any farther information.
Bailif-Are you sure of the fact? and
what pledge can you give me of its truth ?
Conrad.-We are quite sure; and for a
pledge, we promise to hand over one-half of
the treasure so found to the public chest.
Bailiff.-But you know that, legally, we
could claim the whole.
Conrad.-Certainly, if you found it; but
you might seek for years, and find nothing;
for, excepting our two selves, nobody knows
on which side to dig, in order to get at this
hidden treasure. However, if your worship
does not think proper to grant our request, we
can keep our secret to ourselves; that is all.
Bailiff.-No; I do not mean that; I only
wish you to understand, that it is no more
than fair to give us at least one-half. But if
you intend to employ any superstitious means,
which are sometimes used for such purposes,
-conjurations, incantations, fumigations, and
the like,-I protest to you, beforehand, I will
have nothing to do with it.
Conrad.-No nonsense of that sort, I assure


your worship, could serve our purpose. Real
gold and silver coins lie in the chests, guarded
by no black poodle dog with fiery eyes. We
have nothing to do with incantations. A
good mattock, a crowbar, and a two-pronged
fork, are all the instruments we shall need.
In this business, hard labour will be the best
Bailif.-All very well, so far; but only
think what an upstir it will make in the whole
neighbourhood if it should come out! Why,
my superiors would inform the Government,
and I should smart for it!
Rudi.-There's one way to prevent that,-
we shall work by pight, and tell nobody; but
then you, too, must keep your mouth shut.
Bailif.-Of course; but how much treasure
is there ?
Conrad.-That we do not know exactly;
but we shall not quarrel about a capful more
or less. At all events, it's more than you
have ever seen in all your life.
Bailiff-And where will you keep your-
selves in the daytime ?
Conrad.-Down at the mill; and the miller
must be let into the secret, or it cannot be done.


Bailiff.-But if nothing comes of it, I shall
be his butt as long as I live. He is, more-
over, a rogue.
Conrad.-Leave all that to us. We have
no wish to labour for nothing.
Bailiff.-When will you begin ?
Conrad.-Perhaps to-night. We must be
ready before the moon rises, or there will be
no security.
After some further conference between the
parties, the two men went and made the
needful arrangements with the miller; they
then returned to the chapel, and took away
their caravan. The miller made room for
them in an old stable which was not in use.
It was large enough for old and young,
ass and cart;-not much like the stable at
Bethlehem, however, as far as the present
occupants were concerned. As to the younger
girl, she was to lie all day on a heap of straw,
with a cloth tied round her head, as if she
were ill. This was to serve as a blind if
people asked why the gipsy party stayed so
long at the mill. Here truth requires me to
state, that they were not really gipsies. I
cannot say much about them; but this I


know, that the last place they came from was
Alsatia,-that on the way Rudi's wife died,
and left an infant behind her. Bridget did
not like to be troubled with it, and to have it
always in her arms while they were going from
place to place; they could not put it in the
cart; and neither of the girls was old enough
to take charge of it; so it was planned be-
tween Bridget and her husband that it must
be got rid of; for it would have been quite
a hinderance in their present undertaking,
as Bridget must help to dig. Rudi, with his
easy good nature, allowed himself to be talked
over; yet with the provision, that the child
should be brought back if their hopes of
getting the treasure were realized, of which
they had no doubt, for one of their comrades
had entrusted the secret to them on his death-
bed. He averred, that he had actually seen
the chests, and had guessed from their weight
how valuable the contents must be. There
was also in the village a current tradition of
long standing, that a great treasure lay hid
in the vaults of the tower.
Now, I should like to know, my young
readers, what you think of this affair; whether

you wish that the people may find the trea-
sure, or would be better pleased if they were
disappointed? But as I cannot have your
answer, for none of you know that I am
writing this story, I will pay a visit with you
to the stable at the mill. You can see nobody,
for it is night. Rudi, Bridget, and Conrad
are hard at work in the Kapellenberg, and
the two girls lie side by side on the straw,
but cannot sleep, because they slept so much
in the day-time, when their seniors also
rested. Happily, they were not at this time,
as was often the case, suffering from hunger.
The miller had given them plenty of bread
and milk, as he hoped to have a share of the
Ho! Rachel, are you awake ?" cried
Alice.-" Yes, indeed," was the answer;
" this straw makes a good bed, but I have
already slept more than enough in the day-
time." You must be ill,-you must not
sleep so much; or people will not believe that
there is anything the matter with you."-
" Well! let them believe just what they like,
I shall sleep when I please. But hark ye,
Alice, what are our folks doing on the hill?"


"What are they doing ?-why, digging for
gold !"
"Where does the gold come from ?"
How should I know ?-father will spend
it in drink, as he always does when he has
any money; and then we get beaten, and
mother too, if she takes our part. Oh!
many a time he beats us, when he can hardly
stand on his legs. However, if they find a
great deal, we shall have some of it."
"And what shall we get then ?"-" Oh!
shoes and stockings, and a red cloak, and a
pair of earrings apiece, hanging down to our
shoulders, like little Salome's, whose father
got the grand prize in the lottery."
"And what good will all that do us ?"-
" How can you ask such a question ? Would
you not rather walk in shoes, than go bare-
foot; and wear beautiful clothes, rather than
such rags, that make people think we are
young gipsies ? Good master Jackass might
then find a living with somebody else, and
we could ride in a coach." And is that all
you can tell me? I know of something much
better;-listen, Rachel, and I will tell you.
I should like to learn to read like the children


in the city, for then I should not be so weary
of having nothing to do, and I should under-
stand much more than I do now; yes, I
should understand more than father, and
mother, and Rudi. Then I could run away
and they could not find me."
"And so you would leave me behind,
would you, Alice ?"
Could not you run away too? Besides,
as soon as I understood things, I would help
you through."
But how would you get a living? Do
you think I should like to beg all my life
long? Oh I how can you talk such nonsense.
If they find a great deal of gold, we shall
have some of it, and can buy everything we
want."-" You may be sure they will give you
none of it; they will put it out of the way."
" But if I am cleverer than they are, I will
find it out, though they may try to hide it."-
" Oh yes, if you are-- Come, let us go to
sleep, and dream what we can of being rich,
and of learning to read, and of running away;
and if we dream of anything bad, why, you
know, it's not true when we wake."
Alice, almost before she had finished speak-


ing, had lain down, and in a few minutes was
sound asleep. Rachel followed her example.
When they awoke, it was broad day-light,
and the working-party were already taking
rest by their side. After hearing the conver-
sation of the two children, you are better able
to judge whether you can wish them to find
the treasure. At the same time, we hope you
will be inclined to thank our Father in
Heaven that He has not given you such
parents, and that you have enjoyed the bless-
ing of a Christian education, in consequence
of which you are so much better off than
these poor, rude, neglected children. It can-
not be because you deserved such privi-



vIHALL we let the elder folks dig and
try again? Yes; let them make one
more attempt, whether they succeed or
not. Meanwhile, let us look after Theodore,
whom, for a time, we have quite lost sight of.
If he knew that we took so lively an interest
in him, (though he cannot know it, for he has
been dead many years,) he would be quite
put to the blush, as perhaps the man would
whom I have just been observing. The per-
son to whom I refer went up the hill-side,
early this morning, all alone, in still, deep
solitude, not a living soul near. A little bit
of gravel got into his stocking, and though
only the size of a glazier's diamond, it was
big enough to occasion great inconvenience,
and make a hole in the stocking. He sat
down, therefore, on a hillock, pulls off his
boot and then his stocking, and turns it up-
side down that he may get out the little bit
of gravel, which is no diamond. He looks all
round to see if any one is watching him, but
does not know, that at that very instant, I


am standing on the roof of a house in Infir-
mary Street, and looking through a telescope,
in which the man gazing round so carefully
comes before me, and that I am so overcuri-
ous as to watch till he goes away. He is a
stranger to me; but if I met him in the street
to-day, I should know him again. Now, if
this man had been aware that I was observ-
ing him so attentively and minutely, how un-
easy he would have been, though he was doing
nothing improper. But how strange it is,
that neither children nor grown-up people,
when they suppose that they are quite alone,
and are seen by no human eye, if they do
something unlawful-if they commit some
act of injustice, violence, deceit, or licentious-
ness,-how strange, I say, it is, that they.
never recollect that they are under the eye
and inspection of the all-seeing God, who
requires no such aids as we, His finite crea-
tures, make use of; but to whom the whole
universe of things, from systems of worlds
down to the least particle, is equally naked
and open;" to say nothing of His holy angels
who accompany and guard children, and make
report of them in heaven, (Matth. xviii. 10.)


And if the angels in heaven know when a
sinner repents, (Luke xv. 10,)-for otherwise
they could not rejoice at such an event,-they
must also know when a sinner does evil.
And the disgrace of being thus exposed before
the angels in heaven, if men would but ponder
it well, is far greater than to have their mis-
deeds published to the world in a news-
But I am going to tell you about Theodore.
We shall turn our spyglass in vain towards
Lucowiza, or any other Bohemian village.
He is no longer there. We must shift our
telescope till the golden bird again comes
before our eyes, and the cross beneath it.
There we find him no longer as a beggar-boy
in a man's jacket, when the same question
might have been put to him which was once
put by a Turk to a French lady in a hoop-
petticoat,-" Are you all that?" but as a
pupil in the gymnasium, who indeed had
much lost time to make up, but by his supe-
rior talents and conscientious industry was
soon on a level with his seniors, to the great
delight of his teachers; while he made an
ample return to his parents for the mournful

day when they lost him, by his devoted love,
gratitude, and obedience. He was particu-
larly distinguished above all his school-fel-
lows by his knowledge of the Scriptures,
which he had gained in the long winter
evenings of his beggar's life. When, in the
hours set apart to religious instruction, the
teacher wished to refer to any passage in the
Bible, he needed only to ask Theodore, and
felt certain that the right answer would be
forthcoming. It is true, that mere knowledge
is of no avail, and no man will be saved for
his good memory as little as for his want of
one; but Theodore had not only a fertile soil
in his head, but a field of corn in his heart;
and like a wise husbandman, he made use of
the early years of his youth to cultivate this
field. Of his prayers, I have no direct
evidence, for when he prayed, it was in
the retirement of his chamber; and he never
sounded a trumpet before him, either among
his comrades or elsewhere,-not because he
was ashamed of prayer, (for whoever is
ashamed to pray, is ashamed to have God
for his friend,) but because our -Lord and
Master said, Pray to thy Father in secret."


But when a field in which seed has been
cast bears fruit, I have a right to conclude
that it has been rained upon; and the rain
does not fall unless the vapours have previ-
ously risen, and the blessing and thriving in
the field of the heart prove that prayers have
ascended to Heaven. And the testimony of
pious persons is not wanting to prove that
greater progress is made even in branches of
general knowledge when prayer precedes and
follows. In a short time, Theodore was the
best informed among his associates, and yet
envied by no one, for he was also the most
modest and unpretending. The favour of
God was with him, and therefore he found
favour with men. If any of my young
readers imagine that a pious person, whether
young or old, must have a narrow mind or
small abilities, let me tell them they are
greatly mistaken. Theodore was an example
of the contrary. He studied the mathema-
tics with great enthusiasm, and before leaving
the gymnasium, solved a most difficult pro-
blem,-a prize question which had been pro-
posed to the students at the University. He
did not compete for the prize, nor send in his


solution, but merely performed it as an
exercise of his powers. When he went to
the University of Leipzig, his parents accom-
panied him, for they could not bear to be so
long separated from their only child. By
thus living in the bosom of his family, Theo-
dore was preserved from many indiscretions
and errors which so frequently occur at that
period of life. Owing to the ample means of
his parents, he was not obliged to cultivate
any special branch of study as a means of his
future maintenance, so that he could devote
himself, without reserve, to his favourite pur-
suits of mathematics and chemistry. After
he had spent four years at Leipzig, his pa-
rents purchased an estate in Oberlausitz, of
which Theodore undertook the management.
On this estate were extensive forests, which
required an able keeper. The person who
had hitherto held the office, was an old man,
without any family, who, owing to the infir-
mities of age, could no longer attend properly
to his business. Theodore could not bear the
thought of dismissing him, and then depriving
him of a livelihood, but wished to procure an
assistant, who might perform the laborious


parts of his office, while the old forester
would still be secure of a maintenance.
After having in vain sought for such a
person privately, he advertised in the public
Not long after, one evening, about dusk, a
young man applied for the situation, who pro-
duced excellent testimonials both to his gene-
ral character and his special qualifications as
a forester. Theodore happened to be from
home, and the young man was quartered till
the next morning at the forester's. When
Theodore returned late at night from inspect-
ing a small farm at a distance, his father said
to him, A young man has been applying for
the situation of assistant-forester. His testi-
monials are good, but his looks do not please
me. Rogue seems written on his forehead."
What is his name ?" said Theodore.-" I
have forgotten it," replied his father; only I
remember that he was born in Suabia."
But how comes he here, so far away ?"-
" Why, he says that he is quite homeless; he
knows nothing of his parents, and therefore is
at home wherever he can find employment
and subsistence." "That is a little suspi-


cious," remarked Theodore; however we
will see him in the morning." He then sat
down to supper, for moving about all the
afternoon had given him a sharp appetite.
Very early the next morning, almost before
Theodore was up, the old forester came and
wished to speak with him. He was admitted
immediately. Your honour, I trust," he
said, "will pardon me for disturbing you so
early. But I wished to see you before the
young man who applied for the situation
yesterday evening was stirring, and I really
could not sleep any longer. I examined the
lad last evening till quite late, and catechized
him closely, and I do assure you that he is a
remarkably fine fellow, whom we must not let
slip. He is perfectly acquainted with every-
thing relating to forests and game; and if he
is as clever in practice as in theory, we have
found a real jewel."
What is his name?" said Theodore.
" Adam Zeh-bund, please your honour,-
stands six feet two inches-is affable and
well-behaved*-contented and obliging."
I will see him at once; send him here as
soon as he has breakfasted ;-or wait for me.


I will come down to you about eight o'clock,
and we will take a walk with him through the
fir plantation."
Theodore, as he had engaged, called at the
forester'slodge. He scannedAdam Zeh-bund's
features very attentively, that he might be
able either to confirm or to render doubtful
his father's judgment. IHe was forced to
allow that the young man's eyes had a very
roguish cast; at the same time there was a
strong expression of good-nature about his
mouth, and the youth conducted himself with
so much propriety and intelligence, as almost
to efface any unfavourable impression. In
their ramble through the woods, he not only
showed himself acquainted with the different
kinds of trees, but pointed out and named the
smaller shrubs and plants; he conversed so
intelligently about making new plantations,
and bringing waste lands into cultivation,
and proved himself such an excellent shot in
using a fowling-piece which the forester car-
ried with him, that the balance in his favour
was constantly increasing; and ere it was
noon, Theodore had made up his mind that
no one else should have the assistant's place,


at the same time resolving to watch him
narrowly. At dinner, he reported what had
passed to his father. I offer no opposition,"
said the latter, "to your making trial of him,
and leave the matter to your free choice; but
keep your eye upon him, for I do but half
trust the man."-" I will keep strict watch
over him, and so will the forester," replied
My young readers will be curious to know
how Adam Zeh-bund came into Oberlausitz;
for he is no other than that young good-for-
nought whom we left apprenticed to the shoe-
maker at Rohrbrunn, as you have already been
told. In that place, his reputation was soon
gone. To sit all day on a three-legged stool,
was more than he could endure. As often as
a passing horse struck its shoe on a flint
stone, Adam's eyes were turned to the window,
and the awl dropped out of his hand. Our
lively apprentice must also need listen to the
gossip of the women at the fountain, which,
unfortunately, stood exactly opposite the shoe-
maker's; in consequence, the instructions of
his master, or of his elder fellow-workmen,
were frequently misunderstood or forgotten.

No wonder that these idle habits often cost
him a blow or a box on the ear, or a touch
not the gentlest, with the knee-straps, or even
that a heavy piece of leather was sometimes
thrown at his head. Some of his pleasantest
hours were on a Sunday morning, when he
had to carry a pair of ne~:-ho:es to the town-
clerk's, or to the merchant's near the upper
fountain, or to the apothecary's lower down
in the town. He enjoyed these opportunities,
not for the sake of getting a gratuity, for
what he gained in that way was deposited in
his master's hands; nor because, when once
away from the house, he could take longer
excursions, for his master insisted on his
returning in time for going to church; but
because he had then a couple of hours un-
disturbed, during which he could watch the
birds among the fir-trees, and throw stones
at the squirrels, and now and then take a
bird's nest, without having his labour repaid
by thumps on the head. But these hours
came only once a-week, and then for six days
he was forced to handle cobbler's wax, and
hammer shoe soles for other people, instead of
wearing out his own in such pleasant excur-


sions. This was a life past all endurance;
so, after submitting to it for three months,
Adam made up his mind, without consulting
any one, to effect his escape on the first
favourable opportunity. This soon offered
itself. One Sunday he had a great quantity
of newly finished work to take into the town.
It was the first Sunday in October. He
delivered the shoes, pocketed the gratuities,
and kept back one pair of shoes which exactly
fitted his own feet; these he put on in a coppice
near the town, where he left the old ones;
then, without stopping, he took the road to
Iselshausen, Hochdorf, Bildechingen, and
Horb. At the last place he bought some
rolls; but went on, without stopping, to Det-
tingen and Dornhan, where he passed the
night at a nailer's, on whom he palmed a
false account of his journey. On the follow-
ing morning, he proceeded farther into the
Black Forest, till he came to a gamekeeper's
lodge, where he asked for something to eat.
He had been brought up, he said, among the
gipsies; knew not who his parents were; but
was certain that he had been stolen; for his
red hair was a proof that he did belong by birth


to that tribe. As the gipsies wanted him to
steal, he ran away, for he could not bring his
conscience to commit such wickedness. He
was now looking out for a home and an
occupation; he was most anxious to be a
gamekeeper, for which he had always a great
liking from a child. The keeper, who lived
alone, was glad of an assistant and com-
panion in his solitude, and promised to main-
tain him if he behaved well. This person
was acquainted with all kind of plants, and
had a number of botanical works. He also
made medical decoctions of particular herbs,
which were in great request among the sur-
founding peasantry, and by their sale made
no small addition to his regular wages.
Although Adam had little taste for poring
over books, and liked far better to roam
through forest and field with a fowling-piece
on his shoulder, yet on the long winter even-
ings, when nothing was to be done in the
woods, he was pleased to learn from his em-
ployer as much as he could teach him. In a
short time, he had looked through all the
books, though without studying them very
deeply. He never enjoyed himself so much


as when he lighted on a badger's nole, or a
fox's cover, or when a hare, a doe, a brace of
partridges, or a capercailie, came within reach
of his gun, in the use of which he soon ex-
celled his master. All this time the weeds
in his heart were growing apace, though,
owing to circumstances, casual observers
might not be aware of their existence.
The keeper led a very s~eaied life, and
never went into society unless he was obliged.
This privacy was not to Adam's taste; and
when he had leave to go on a Sunday to the
nearest village, he gave his inclinations full
swing. Drinking, gaming, quarrelling, and
playing the buffoon, were his delight. The
money he wanted for these indulgences, he
managed to get from his master's box, which
he had discovered, and learned to open.
When the complaints of the villagers, on
account of Adam's irregularities, reached the
forester's ears, (of the fraud practised on
himself he was not aware,) he was certainly
not sparing in threats and remonstrances, but
to very little purpose. You know, that when
an ink-spot has run through to the other side
of the paper, scraping with a penknife is of


no use. Nothing more can be done by
mechanical means applied to the surface.
Some chemical agent, that will act internally,
must be made use of. So with this lawless
youth. Outward admonitions and restraints
were vain. He needed an internal change of
heart and disposition. Becoming weary of
reproof, he took advantage of his master's
absence, (who had to deliver some venison
to the prince's cook,) and emptied the money-
box, which had lately been well filled by the
sale of medical herbs. Having done this, he
decamped, not stopping till he had passed the
borders of Switzerland. In point of know-
ledge, he was quite competent to offer his
services as a forester or gamekeeper; but
from the want of written testimonials, people
were not disposed to trust him, so that he
could not get any situation in Switzerland.
Without a passport, he could proceed no
further, excepting by stealth, and through
by-ways. At last he entered into a forest-
er's service in Bohemia; and now, in order
to make a purse, he devoted himself privately
to preparing diet-drinks, as he had been
taught by his employer in the Black Forest.

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