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you think ? A baby ! A real live baby, with
practicable mouth, and eyes to work a
baby who, as soon as it was in my arms,
seized my wig and sucked my eyebrows.

" That's mine, papa ! " said Lady Lysart.

" And mine," said the baronet ; " allow
me to put in my claim to joint-proprietor-
ship."

The baby a son eight months old was
a great success ; he was good with me, but
would not go to his grandmamma a
course of conduct that enabled me to tri-
umph over Mistress Mephistopheles for a
week.

The next morning the baronet asked me
when I could leave the company I was en-
gaged in. He told me, too, that he waa
expecting a cheque from his banker's.

" If it will be of any accommodation, Sir
Percy," I said, " here is a cool two hundred
I can lend you."

I placed on the table the notes that had
been sent me.

Evadne looked at them, showed them to
her husband, and then, throwing her arms
round my neck, said, " Oh ! you dear, good,
old daddy. I thought you wouldn't use



126



THE INDIANS.



them. If you had you could have taken
a theatre."

It is probable I might.

I did not take a public farewell of the
stage, nor do I regret that I did not. The
British public has neglected me. The
British public must take the consequences.
Mv son-in-law repudiates the idea of my
taking a national theatre, and, by means of
my own performances, restoring the legiti-
mate drama to its proper home. I pro-
posed it to him, but his answer was, "he
didn't see it," nor, strange to say, did
Evadne either.

There are no actors now-a-days, nor do I
wonder at it. Though I have not made as
great a name as Garrick or Kemble, I shall
be the means of introducing to the House
of Commons those graces of oratory so long
neglected there. I am teaching my grand-
son, Master Lysart, the art of elocution, and
when he becomes a member, my declama-
tory powers will live again in him.



THE INDIANS.

[JOSEPH STORY, LL. D., an eminent American jurist,
born at Marblehead, Mass., 1779, died at Cambridge,
1846. Educated at Harvard College, Story served in
Congress one term (1808-9,) and was chosen Speaker of
the Massachusetts House of Representatives. His dis-
tinction as a legal student and writer led to his appoint-
ment as an associate justice of the Supreme Court of the
United States in 1811, a position which he held till his
death in 1846. Among his numerous treatises on juris-
prudence, the most noted are those on the " Constitution
of the United States," (1833), often reprinted, " The Con-
flict of Laws," (1834,) " Equity Jurisprudence," (1835,)
" Equity Pleading*," (1838,) " The Law of Partnership,"
(1841,) " The Law of BOU of Exchange," (1843,) and the
" Law of Promissory Notet," (1848). Besides these, his
numerous opinions in the Circuit Court and in the
Supreme Court of the United States and hia lectures
as professor of law in Harvard College marked his no-
table industry and devotion to labor. Story's "Miscel-
laneous Writings " were published in 1852, and his life
by his son, William W. Story, in 1851.]

There is, in the fate of these unfortunate
beings, much to awaken our sympathy, and
much to disturb the sobriety of our judg-
ment; much which may be urged to excuse
their own atrocities ; much in their charac-
ters, which betrays us into an involuntary
admiration. What can be more melan-
choly than their history? By a law of
their nature, they seem destined to a slow,



but sure extinction. Everywhere, at the
approach of the white man, they fade away.
We hear the rustling of their footsteps, like
that of the withered leaves of autumn, and
they are gone forever. They pass mourn-
fully by us, and they return no more. Two
centuries ago, the smoke of their wigwams
and the fires of their councils rose in every
valley, from Hudson's Bay to the farthest
Florida, from the ocean to the Mississippi
and the lakes. The shouts of victory and the
war-dance rang through the mountains and
the glades. The thick arrows and the deadly
tomahawk whistled through the forests ; and
the hunter's trace and dark encampment
startled the wild beasts in their lairs. The
warriors stood forth in their glory. The
young listened to the songs of other days.
The mothers played with their infants, and
gazed on the scene with warm hopes of the
future. The aged sat down ; but they wept
not. They should soon be at rest in fairer
regions, where the great Spirit dwelt, in a
home prepared for the brave, beyond the
western skies. Braver men never lived ;
truer men never drew the bow. They had
courage, and fortitude, and sagacity, and
perseverance, beyond most of the human
race. They shrank from no dangers, and
they feared no hardships. If they had the
vices of savage life, they had the virtues
also. They were true to their country, their
friends, and their homes. If they forgave
not injury, neither did they forget kindness.
If their vengeance was terrible, their fidelity
and generosity were unconquerable also.
Their love, like their hate, stopped not on
this side of the grave.

But where are they? Where are the
villagers, and warriors, and youth ; the sa-
chems and the tribes ; the hunters and
their families ? They have perished. They
are consumed. The wasting pestilence has
not alone done the mighty work. No,
nor famine, nor war. There has been a
mightier power, a moral canker, which has
eaten into their heart-cores a plague, which
the touch of the white man communicated
a poison, which betrayed them into a linger-
ing ruin. The winds of the Atlantic fan not
a single region, which they may now call
their own. Already the last feeble remnants
of the race are preparing for their journey
beyond the Mississippi. I see them leave
their miserable homes, the aged, the help-
less, the women, and the warriors, " few and
faint, yet fearless still." The ashes are cold
on their native hearths. The smoke no



THE NIBELUNGEN-LIED.



127



longer curls round their lowly cabins. They
move on with a slow, unsteady step. The
white man is upon their heels, for terror or
despatch ; but they heed him not. They
turn to take a last look of their deserted
villages. They cast a last glance upon the
graves of their fathers. They shed no tears ;
they utter no cries ; they have no groans.
There is something in their hearts which
passes speech. There is something in their
looks, not of vengeance or submission ; but
of hard necessity, which stifles both; which
chokes all utterance ; which has no aim or
method. It is a courage absorbed in de-
spair. They linger but for a moment.
Their look is onward. They have passed
the fatal stream. It shall never be re-
passed by them, no, never. Yet there
lies not between us and them an im-
passable gulf. They know and feel that
there is for them still one remove farther,
not distant, nor unseen. It is to the general
burial-ground of their race.

Reason as we may, it is impossible not to
read in such a fate much that we know not
how to interpret ; much of provocation to
cruel deeds and deep resentments ; much of
apology for wrong and perfidy ; much of
pity mingling with indignation ; much of
doubt and misgiving as to the past ; much
of painful recollections ; much of dark fore-
bodings.



THE NIBELUNGEN-LIED.

[The Song of the Nibelungen is a legendary poem of
the Germans, author unknown, and its time of compo-
sition is variously conjectured to have been from the
tenth to the close of the twelfth century. Founded
upon traditions which were current in Scandinavia a
thousand years ago, it tells in heroic verse of the con-
flicts between the warriors of the Rhine, and the
marvellous exploits of Siegfried, the Dragon-slayer.
This great chieftain woos the beautiful Chrimhild, sister
of King Gunther, who reigned in Worms, where Sieg-
fried is welcomed, and after vanquishing all the
knights who dare to meet him, wins the heart of the
queenly Chrimhild by his bravery. Meanwhile King
Gunther hears of the wonderful beauty Brunehild,
Queen of Isenland, and resolves to woo her. The hard
condition is that he shall contest with her in three
combats, and if vanquished be put to death, but if suc-
cessful, win her for his bride. Siegfried journeys with
him, and being rendered invisible, assists Gunther in
vanquishing the beautiful amazon, and receives for his
reward the hand of Chrimhild, the double marriage



being celebrated with great pomp and rejoicing. Dis-
sensions follow between the ladies, Siegfried is slain by
stratagem, after which Chrimhild lives alone at Worms
for thirteen years, until Etzel (who is Attila, king of
the Huns,) seeks her in marriage. She consents, in
order to avenge the death of Siegfried. The poem
describes many battles between the Huns and the
Burgundians, and a bloody war of extermination puts
an end to all the heroes on both sides, until only Gunther
and Hagen remain, who are delivered bound to Chrim-
hild, who beheads Hagen with the sword of Siegfried,
only to be elain in her turn by Hildebrand, a warrior of
the Huns.

The action of the poem extends over thirty years, and
there are many descriptive passages of great beauty.
The authorship of this epic has been ascribed by differ-
ent German critics to more than twelve different writers ;
but not one of the critics has been able to prove his
opinion correct.

The following extracts from the Nibelungen-Lied are
from the version of Weber.]

In ancient song and story marvels high are told
Of knights of high emprise and adventures manifold;
Of joy and merry feasting, of lamenting, woe and fear,
Of champions' bloody battles, many marvels shall ye
hear.

A noble maid, and fair, grew up in Burgundy ;

In all the land about fairer none might be :

She became a queen full high; Chrimhild was she hight;

But for her matchless beauty fell many a blade of might.

For love and for delight was framed that lady gay ;
Many a champion bold sighed for the gentle May ;
Full beauteous was her form, beauteous -without com-
pare;
The virgin's virtues might adorn many a lady fair.

Three kings of might and power had the maiden in

their care,
King Gunther and King Ghernot (champions bold they

were),

And Ghiseler the young, a chosen, peerless blade :
The lady was their sister, and much they loved the maid.

These lords were mild and gentle, born of the noblest

blood;
Unmatched for power and strength were the heroe*

good:

Their realm was Burgundy, a realm of mickle might ;
Since then, in the land of Etzel, dauntless did they fight.

At Worms, upon the Bhine, dwelt they with their meiny

bold;

Many champions served them, of countries manifold,
With praise and honor nobly, even to their latest day,
When, by the hate of two noble dames, dead on the

ground they lay.

Bold were the kings, and noble, as I before have said ;
Of virtues high and matchless, and served by many ft
blade;



128



SIEGFRIED AT THE FOUNTAIN.



By the best of all the champions whose deeds were ever

sung;
Of trust and truth withouten fail ; hardy, bold, and

strong.

There was Hagen of Tronek, and Dankwart, Hagen's
brother

(For swiftness was he famed), with heroes many other;

Ortwin of Metz, with Eckewart and Ghere, two mar-
graves they ;

And Folker of Alsace ; no braver was in his day.

Bumolt wag caterer to the king ; a chosen knight was

he;

Sir Sindold and Sir Hunold bore them full manfully ;
In court and in the presence they served the princes

three,
With many other knights ; bolder none might be.

Dankwart was the marshal ; his nephew Ortewin
Was sewer to the king ; much honor did he wia :
Sindold held the cup the royal prince before :
Chamberlain was Hunold: braver knights ne'er hauberk
bore.

Of the court's gay splendor, of all the champions free,
Of their high and knightly worth, and of the chivalry,
Which still they held in honor to their latest day,
No minstrel, in his song, could rightly sing or say.

One night the Queen Chrimhild dreamed her, as she lay,
How she had trained and nourished a falcon wild and

gay,

When suddenly two eagles fierce the gentle hawk have

slain :
Never, in this world, felt she such bitter pain.

To her mother, Dame Ute, she told her dream with fear :
Full mournfully she answered to what the maid did

spier :

"The falcon whom you nourished, a noble knight is he;
God take him to hia ward ! thou must lose him suddenly."

"What speak you of the knight? dearest mother, say :
Without the love of champion, to my dying day,
Ever thus fair will I remain, nor take a wedded fere,
To gain such pain and sorrow, though the knight were
without peer."

" Speak thou not too rashly," her mother spake again ;
" If ever In this world thou heartfelt joy wilt gain,
Maiden must thou be no more ; leman must thou have
God will grant thee for thy mate some gentle knight,
and brave."

"0, leave thy words, lady mother, nor speak of wedded

matel

Full many a gentle maiden has found the truth too late;
Still has their fondest love ended with woe and pain :
Virgin will I ever be, nor the love of leman gain."



In virtues high and noble that gentle maiden dwelt
Full many a night and day, nor love for leman felt ;
To never a knight or champion would she plight her

truth,
Till she was gained for wedded fere by a right noble

youth.

That youth he was the falcon she in her dream beheld,
Who by the two fierce eagles dead to the ground was

felled:
But since right dreadful vengeance she took upon hia

foen;
For the death of that bold hero died full many a mother'*

son.



CHRIMHILD.

AND now the beauteous lady, like the rosy morn,
Dispersed the misty clouds; and he, who long had borne
In his heart the maiden, banished pain and care,
As now before his eyes stood the glorious maiden fair.

From her broidered garment glittered many a gem,
And upon her lovely cheek the rosy red did gleam :
Whoever in his glowing soul had imaged lady 'bright
Confessed that fairer maiden never stood before hit
sight.

And as the moon, at night, stands high the stars among,
And moves the murky clouds above, with lustre bright

and strong ;

So stood before her maidens the maid without compare :
Higher swelled the courage of many a champion there.

And full of love and beauty stood the child of Siegelind,
As if upon the parchment by master's hand designed :
He gained the prize of beauty from all the knightly

train ;
They swore that lady never a lovelier mate could gain.



SIEGFRIED AT THE FOUNTAIN.

IN gorgeous guise the hero did to the fountain ride :

Down unto his spurs his sword hung by hie side ;

His weighty spear was broad, of mighty length, and

strong ;
A horn, of the gold so red, o'er the champion's shoulder

hung.

Of fairer hunting garments ne'er heard I say before:
A coat of the- black velvet the noble hero wore ;
His hut was of the sable, full richly was it dight;
Ho, with what gorgeous telts was hung his quiver
bright!

A fleece of the panther wild about the shafts was rolled;
A bow of weight and strength bore the huntsman bold ;
No hero on this middle earth, but Sir Siegfried I avow,
Without some engine quaint, could draw the mighty
bow.



HAGEN AT THE DANUBE.



129



Ills garment fair was made of the savage lynx's hide ;
With gold the fur was sprinkled richly on every side ;
There many a golden leaf glittered right gorgeously,
And shone with brightest splendor round the huntsman
bold and free.

And by his side hung Balmung, that sword of mickle

might ;
When in the field Sir Siegfried struck on the helmets

bright.

Not the truest metal the noble blade withstood:
Thus right gloriously rode the huntsman good.

If right I shall arede the champion's hunting guise,
Well was stored his quiver with shafts of wondrous size ;
More than a span in breadth were the heads of might

and main :
Whom with those arrows sharp he pierced, quickly was

ha slain.



HAGEN AT THE DANUBE.

HAQEN of Tronek rode before the noble host,

Guiding the Niblung knights, their leader and their

boast:
Now from his horse the champion leaped upon the

ground ;
Full soon unto an oak the courser has he bound.

The ferryman he sought by the river far and wide :
He heard the water bullering closely by his side :
In a fountain fair, sago women he espied,
Their lovely bodies bathing all in the cooling tide.

And when he saw the mermaids, he sped him silently ;
But soon they heard his footsteps, and quickly did they

hie,
Glad and joyful in their hearts, that they 'scaped the

hero's arm :
From the ground he took their garments, did them none

other harm.

Up and spake a mermaid, Hildburg was she hight:
" Noble hero Hagen, your fate will I rede aright,
At King Etzel's court what adventures ye shall have,
If back thou give our garments, thou champion bold
and brave."

Like birds they flew before him upon the watery flood,
And as they flew the mermaid's form thought him so

fair and good,

That he believed full well what of his fate she spoke ;
But for the hero's boldness she thought to be awroke.

" Well may ye ride," she said, " to the rich King Etzel's

court;

I pledge my head in troth, that In more royal sort
Heroes never wore received in countries far and near,
Nor with greater honors ; then hie ye without fear."

Glad of their speech was Hagen, right joyous in his
heart:
82



He gave them back their garments, and sped him to
depart:

But when their bodies they had dight in that full won-
drous guise,

Rightly the journey to the Huns told the women wise.

Then spake the other mermaid, Sighlind was her name
" I will warn thee, son of Aldrian, Hagen, thou knight

of fame ;

For the garments fair, my sister, loudly did she lie ;
Foully must ye all be shent, if to the Huns ye hie.

" Turn thee back, Sir Hagen, back unto the Rhine,
Nor ride ye to the Huns with those bold feres of thine ;
Te are trained unto your death into king Etzel's land :
All who ride to Hungary their death may they not
withstand."

Up and spake Sir Hagen, " Foully dost thou lie :
How might it come to pass, when to the Huns we hie,
That I, and all our champions bold, should to the death

be dight ?"
The Niblung knights' adventures they told unto tha

knight

Lady Hildburg spoke : " Turn ye back to Burgundy :
None will return from Etzel, of all your knights so free ;
None but the chaplain of the king ; your cruel fate to

tell,
Back to Lady Brunhild comes he safe and well."

Fiercely spake Sir Hagen to that prophetic maid,
" Never to King Gunther your tidings shall be said,
How he and all his champions must die at Etzel's court.
How may we pass the Danube ? ladies sage, report."

" If yet thou wilt not turn back to Burgundy,

Speed ye up the river's edge, where thou a house wilt

see;

There dwells a ferryman bold ; no other may 'st thou find :
But speak him fair and courteously, and bear my saw

in mind.

" He will not bring ye over, for savage is his mood,
If angrily ye call him, with wrathful words, and lewd :
Give him the gold and silver, if he guides you o'er the

flood:
Ghelfrat of Bavaria serves the champion good.

" If he will not pass the river, call o'er the flood aloud
That your name is Amelrich : he was a hero proud,
Who for wrath and enmity left Bavaria's land :
Soon will he ferry ever from the further strand."

Hagen then dissped him from the mermaids wise :
The champion gaid no more, but bowed in courteous

guise :

He hied him down the river, and on the further side
The house of that proud ferryman quickly has he spied.

Loud and oft Sir Hagen shouted o'er the flood :

'* Now fetch me over speedily," so spake the hero good:



130



DEATH OF GUNTHER, HAGEN, AND CHRIMHILD.



* A bracelet of the rich red gold will I give thee to thy

meed:
To cross the swelling Danube full mickle have I need."

Rich and right proud of mood was that ferryman bold ;
Full seldom would he serve for silver or for gold:
His servants and his hinds haughty of mind they were.
Alone the knight of Tronek stood in wrath and care.

With wondrous force he shouted, that, with the dread-
ful sound,

Up and down the river did the waves and rocks rebound:
" Fetch ye over Sir Amelrich, soon and speedily,
Who left Bavaria's land for wrath and enmity."

A weighty bracelet on his sword the hero held full soon,
That to the sun the gold so red fair and brightly shone :
He bade him bring him over to the noble Ghelfrat's

land:
Speedily the ferryman took the rudder in his hand.

O'er the swelling Danube rowed he speedily ;
But when his uncle Amelrich in the boat he did not see,
Fearful grew his wrath, to Hagen loud he spake,
" Leave the boat, thou champion, or thy boldness will I
wreak."

Up he heaved the rudder, broad, and of mickle weight,
And on the hero Hagen he struck with main and might;
In the ship he felled him down upon his knee :
Never such fierce ferryman did the knight of Tronek see.

He seized a sturdy oar, right wrathful vras his mood ;
Upon the glittering helmet he struck the champion goodi
That o'er his head he broke the oar with all his might :
But for that blow the ferryman soon to the death was
dight.

Tip started hero Hagen, unsheathed his trusty blade,
Grasped it strongly in his hand, and off he struck his

head.

Loudly did he shout as he threw it on the ground :
Glad were the knights of Burgundy when they heard

his voice resound.



HAGEN AND VOLKER THE FIDDLER.
T WAS then the hero Hagen across his lap ho laid,
Glittering to the sun, a broad and weighty blade ;
In the hilt a jasper stone, greener than the grass
Well kaw the Lady Chrimhild that Siegfried's sword

it was.

When she behe'id sword Balmung, woe and sorrow did

she feel :
The bilt was of the precious gold, the blade of shining

steel:

It minded her of all her woes : Chrimhild to weep began :
Well, I ween, Sir Hagen in her scorn the sword had

drawn.

Volker, knight of courage bold, by his side sat he
A sharp and mighty fiddlestick held the hero free ;



Much like a glittering sword it was ; sharp, and broad

and long :
Fierce, without all fear, sat there the champions strong

Before the palaee door Volker sat him on a stone :
Bolder and more knight-like fiddler ne'er shone the sun

upon :

Sweetly from his strings resounded many a lay ;
And many thanks the heroes to the knight of fame did

say.

At first his tones resounded loudly the hall around ;
The champion's strength and art was heard in every

sound :

But sweeter lays, and softer, the hero now began,
That gently closed his eyes full many a way-tired man.



DEATH OF GUNTHER, HAGEN, AND CHRIMHILD.

" THEN I'll bring it to an end," spake the noble Sieg-
fried's wife ;

Grimly she bade her meiny take King Gunther's life.
Off they struck his head ; she grasped it by the hair :
To the woful kemp of Tronek the bloody head she bare.

When the sorrowing hero his master's head did see,

Thus to lady Chrimhild spake he wrathfully :

" Thou hast brought it to an end, and quenched thy

bloody thirst ;
All thy savage murders I prophesied at first.

"The noble king of Burgundy lies weltering in his

blood,

With Ghiseler and Volker, Dankwart and Ghernot good.
Where was sunk the Niblung treasure knows none but

God and I :
Neverj thou fiend-like woman, that treasure shalt thou

nigh."

" Foully hast thou spoken," thus she spake with eager

word;
"But btill I hold in my right hand Balmung, that noble

sword,
That bore my Siegfried dear, when by your treacherous

deed
Basely he was murdered ; nor shall you the better speed.

From out the sheath she drew that blade so good and

true-,
She meant the noble champion with his life the deed

should rue :

Up she heaved the falchion, and off she struck his h iad:
Loudly mourned King Etzel, when he saw the hero<i3ad.

He wept and mourned aloud : " 0, woe I by woman's

hand

Lies low the boldest champion, the noblest in tha land,
Who ever shield and trusty sword to the bloody combat

bore I
Though he was my fiercest foe, I shall mourn him ever

moro!



KORNER'S MY FATHERLAND.



131



Up and spake old Ilildebrand, "Thus she shall not

speed ;
She has dared to strike the champion dead, and it's I

will 'quite the deed :
Full oft he wrought me wrong, oft I felt his direful

wrath ;
But bloody vengeance will I have for the noble hero's

death."

WrathfullySir Hildebrand to Queen Chrimhild he hied :
Grimly he struck his falchion all through the lady's side :
In sooth she etood aghast, when she viewed the hero's

blade :
What might her cries avail her? On the ground the

queen fell dead.

There bleJ full many a champion, slaughtered on that

day;

Among them Lady Chrimhild, cut in pieces lay.
Dietrich and King Eteel began to weep and mourn



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