madam as the captain's lady, and now, when she has a right to be haughty, she is just the same as when she was called Baker's Lisbeth, and yet every one could see that she would become a somebody, there was something so noble about her.'"

"You must not praise me so to my face," said the young wife.

"Why not?" continued the talkative old woman, turning to the mother. "It would not be easy to find another who would bear, as an honest wife, what she has to bear. The husband goes to the wars and leaves the wife at home, and the husband comes back into winter quarters, and in the summer comes a child."

The younger person interposed, seriously, "Come, come, gossip, the others are far ahead of you, you will have to make haste if you do not wish to lose the sale." She rose, and broke off the conversation.

The baker's only daughter had married a young surgeon, to whom she was tenderly attached. They were both studiously inclined, and desired to break through the narrow restrictions of citizen life in those days. The young wife was fond of poetry, especially of Gellert and Klopstock, and played the harp, to which she sang. But although all this was considered improper in the baker's daughter, it was now considered only right in the captain's lady. The young husband, who had served with a Bavarian hussar regiment in the Netherlands during the War of Succession, found he could not earn a sufficient income as a private surgeon, and therefore joined the army again. He became ensign and adjutant in the Wurtemburg regiment of Prince Louis, which took the field against Frederick II. of Prussia, and eventually was promoted to a captaincy. But his wife could not be induced to live within a garrison town. Society was outraged at this deplorable period by the extravagance of the smaller courts. Bribery and purchase of appointments, carried on quite openly, and the bold overthrow of all the barriers of morality, had produced the most terrible consequences, which only the greatest caution and severity could guard against. At the fortress of the Hohen-Asperg, the oncecelebrated prima donna, Marianne Pirken, was now imprisoned. She had given information to the duchess, who had fled from her husband three years back, and was therefore confined in a gloomy cell, where it was said she had gone mad, and amused herself by forming garlands of straw. In the July of the year of which we are writing, the noble Moser had been taken to the fortress of Hohentwiel, while the unscrupulous Montmartin governed the plundered country, and the Italian singer Gardella the youthful and handsome duke. These excesses had produced a feeling of repugnance through the whole nation, but more especially among the Hence the young wife refused to accompany her husband to the new residency, where he was quartered, and he was obliged to confess her in the right.

women.

On the day when our story opens, a cousin of the captain's, an idle young student, who called himself the "everlasting Studiosus," arrived at Marbach, determined, as he could be nothing else, to become a godpapa to the hourly expected child. While waiting for dinner, he walked off to the Roman excavations just made near the town, and came back triumphantly with an altar of Vulcan he had found, which would make him renowned through the whole learned world. The old baker invited him to accompany the party to the camp, adding that as he had just come from a Roman camp, he might compare it with a Wurtemburg one. This drew a ludicrous description from the student, of what antiquarians

VOL. XLIV.

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would find hereafter in the ruins of a modern camp: there would be nothing but a broken bottle, a powder-box, a powdering cloak and torn pigtail, a waistcoat without a back, an artificial calf made of wadding, and so on-over which articles the savans of the year 2000 would cudgel their brains in vain. After dinner, the whole party, including the captain's wife, set out for Ludwigsburg, after the young woman had ordered the maid to put two bundles of straw in the back of the cart, for she knew that, on the return, her father would invite wayfarers to jump up. Off then they started to the camp, accompanied by the captain's brother, who was a miller and farmer in an outlying village. So soon as the review was over the captain joined them, and they spent a merry hour together, the student comparing the camp with ancient Troy, and calling the married couple Hector and Andromache. But their joviality came to a sudden termination, for the young wife was taken alarmingly ill, and there were grave doubts whether she could be carried home in safety. At length, however, she was lifted into the cart, and laid on the straw she had vided for a different purpose, while the captain accompanied her, having easily obtained leave from Colonel Friedrich von der Gablenz, who promised to stand as godfather if the child were a boy. The next day solved all doubts: a child was born, and, to the father's delight, it was a boy. On the following Sunday, the 11th, he was christened and received the names of John Christopher Frederick. The party was a jovial one, and many jests were made about the boy's future career. But these did not appear to suit old Kodweiss, the grandfather, for he said:

pro

"I do not know what you want of the boy. Why must he become something remarkable? His grandfathers on the father's and mother's side were bakers. That the son has become a captain is no rule: it is only right and proper that the grandson should be a baker.”

All joined heartily in the toast.

But the student would not be put off thus, and asked, "Cousin Captain, your son has so many names, what are you going to call him?"

The captain seemed somewhat surprised, his eye sparkled, but he did not dare to express his reverence for Frederick II. in the presence of so many, although his colonel shared his feelings. Without saying, then, in what direction his thoughts turned, he replied, in a loud and cheerful voice, "Frederick !"

"So be it, then!" the student exclaimed. "And my toast is, 'Long live Frederick the Great of Schwaben!" "

In Treuwendt's Almanack we find a capital story about old Fritz, whom Mr. Carlyle has so recently made us acquainted with. We may add, by the way, that had the author of "Frederick the Great" had the same opportunities as ourselves of reading the German Almanacks (which he probably thought beneath his notice), he might have filled up his sketch of old Fritz with much local colouring, and rendered him even more interesting than he now stands out from his canvas. We could refer him to half a dozen stories, especially in W. Alexis's Almanack, which give a most startling picture of the Tabak's Collegium and the high freaks carried on there. One we can call to mind, when the king played a trick on his court fool by introducing a grenadier, dressed up as an innocent milkmaid, bearing a monkey in swaddling-clothes, which he or she insisted

was the result of her acquaintance with that arch deceiver. And when the poor baron was compelled to take the animal in his arms, and it returned his affection by clawing his face, great was the glee of the old king, until the monkey, attempting to escape, perched on the royal periwig, and sent the powder flying in all directions. Several more such anecdotes we can remember, which, although not aspiring to the dignity of history, throw a vivid light upon the court amusements of that day. For the truth of the anecdote we are now about to tell we cannot vouch, although we believe we have met it before, though in a different shape.

It is well known how fond Fritz was of tall soldiers, and that he was never particular where he obtained them from. He had his crimps out in every direction, and tallness was a perfect curse to a man, for he never knew when he might be hauled off from his wife and family and forced into the Grenadiers. Desertion was not of the slightest use, for height only set a swarm of pursuers on the track, and the man's last state would be worse than the first. Unfortunately, too, the king did not pay his sons of Anak very liberally. They had tried various petitions in vain, and at length determined on taking the king's charity by storm. With this purpose they one day marched to head-quarters, and brought their petition to the knowledge of his serenity much in the same way as the pious Gellert tells us of the beggar with the drawn sword. The king, himself a soldier, and having his heart in the right place, would not stand any intimidation. He rose from his seat and walked up to the petitioners. His eyes flashed fire as he drew his sword and angrily commanded, "Halt! attention! twos about! right face! march!" They obeyed like lambs, and marched out of the palace without a word. Much pleased at the result, the king determined on taking a ride, and started off only accompanied by one adjutant. While crossing the sandy plain that begirds Berlin, his eye fell on a young peasant girl, who was busily engaged in picking weeds. She was a magnificent specimen of a woman -a regular six-footer-and the king regarded her with a longing eye. A few such women as that would save him money in recruiting. He rode up to her, then, and asked if she were married. She replied in the negative, which increased the king's delight. He then asked her if she could read writing, and was so pleased at her inability that he hurriedly scrawled a note, which he gave her with a dollar, bidding her deliver it to the captain on guard at the palace. Having thus done a good morning's work, the king rode off in high glee.

In the mean while the peasant girl cogitated in vain as to the officer's motive, and she had no particular wish to go into the city, for she would thus miss a meeting with her young man, Christian, a private in the Grenadiers, who evinced no dissatisfaction at her height. Still, she felt she must not disobey the officer, so she set off rather unwillingly, but, meeting an old grey-haired woman from her village on the road, she offered her half a florin to carry the note for her. Mother Pinkin gladly obeyed, and in due time reached the palace, where the note was duly handed to the captain. He read it and re-read it, then stared at the old woman, and began swearing after the fashion of our army in Flanders. But it was all of no use, the king's orders must be obeyed: he was ordered to marry the bearer of the note to the tallest of the grenadiers; and though he might think the king's wits had gone wool-gathering, that

was no business of his. With a heavy heart, then, he ordered the sergeant to pick out the tallest man. There was no difficulty about this all agreed that Private Hennisch was the tallest man in the guard-house, and he was soon ordered out to hear of his good fortune. It was all of no use for the poor fellow to say that he was already engaged to be married, and was only waiting for permission, the king's will must be obeyed. Besides, as the captain cleverly suggested to him, he had no right to be so particular, for were not kings and other potentates forced to marry women whom they had never seen? He was better off than they, for he had the prospect before him of his old torment soon dying.

As a last resource, the soldier appealed to the old woman, for, at any rate, she could not be forced into a marriage against her will. But Mother Pinkin said, with a smile, that she had been six-and-twenty years a widow, and was much too faithful a subject to disobey the commands of her king. There was no help for it, and the chaplain was summoned. Just at this moment, who should make his appearance in the distance but Christian, who was a good inch taller than Hennisch! He was soon dragged into the guard-house, and, despite his protestations, married to the old woman. Our readers must bear in mind that this story occurred at least fifty years before the outbreak of the French Revolution, and that the monarch possessed a will of iron, while soldiers were not supposed to have any will of their own. Poor Christian received a thaler from the captain to enjoy himself on his wedding-day, after a hint had been offered that there would not be the slightest harm in his getting rid of the old witch in any way he thought proper.

Christian

While Christian was brooding over his wrongs, and his new wife had gone to expend the thaler in sausages and schnapps, who should make her appearance but his tall young woman, to whose neglect his present misery was owing! Reproaches and excuses, tears, prayers, consolation, and abuse followed each other so soon as the truth came out. attacked Rose because she had not, herself, executed the monarch's will, while the girl alleged that, had she done so, perhaps Hennisch would have had no objection to marry her. At length, they joined in abusing the old woman for not telling the truth, until she drank all the spirits, and was unable to utter a word in self-defence. Thus a wretched night passed, and in the morning the king ordered the young couple to appear before him. Great was the autocrat's indignation when he found how he had been cheated, and he insisted on the marriage being annulled and the right couple coming together. This was soon accomplished, and Christian and Rose were rendered happy. So soon as the ceremony was concluded, the king said: "I will stand godfather to your first boy, and appoint him my grenadier, while still in the cradle, as I do not doubt but that he, like all the brothers who follow him, will not be inferior in height to his father and mother. Here is the bounty money for my future godson, which you can spend as you please." The only person dissatisfied in the transaction was old Mother Pinkin, who had been a wife so short a time.

In Weber's Almanack we find much that is interesting to the general reader, probably the best article being one called "A Hundred Years Ago," when Frederick the Great was in the thick of his victories and defeats. Our readers, however, will probably prefer a few extracts from the

"Life of a Christian Soldier," to which we have alluded already in terms of commendation. Here is a sketch of Havelock's early life:

It is not long after the capture of Rangoon in the year 1824. The last beams of India's glowing sun are gilding the oscillating palm-trees, and the domes of the pagodas of the various gods to whom altars are raised by the blind pagans of Burmah. Above all glistens the splendid Shor Dagong, doubtlessly the finest Buddha temple in the country, the pride of Rangoon; the great bell of the pagoda, the tower, with its golden crown three hundred feet in height, have fallen into the hands of the infidels, who, arrived from distant countries, have shattered the fortresses of Burmah with the thunder of their guns, and dared to treat his "golden-footed majesty" as their equal. And now these foreign interlopers were lounging through the narrow, crooked streets, or rowing about the canals, as if they were at home, and, worse than all, their orders must be obeyed without a murmur. On this evening, too, a band of young "red-coated barbarians" were going up the street laughing and chatting, or stopping for a moment to admire the dazzling splendour of the Shor Dagong, which was the more striking as it is surrounded by poor bamboo huts. The eye is still revelling in the changing play of colour, when the sharp ear of one of the officers detects the solemn strain of English psalms emanating from behind the thick walls of the pagoda. "What is the matter here?-we must inquire into this." And they hasten to the portal with eager steps. After a rapid search they find out what they are looking after, and seem much surprised. "Oh, it's old Phlos with his saints!" "What! pious Harry comes here every evening? That's the explanation of the riddle then. We might have guessed that. Oh! the old woman!" Well, let us see what the "old woman" is about, while the lieutenants of the 13th Regiment retire much more serious, despite their smiles of contempt, than when they entered. A pious congregation is seated in a lofty, spacious room. All wear the soldier's coat, and many a solemn countenance reveals the powerful effect of the words of a young man, manifestly speaking from his heart, who is expounding to them the 115th Psalm with the earnestness of a minister of God. Only the well-known uniform of the 13th Regiment reveals the fact that a lieutenant is announcing the message of salvation to his company. Around the walls hang numerous lamps, pouring a mild light upon the gloomy images which surround the hall. What a strange contrast! A man devoted to the service of the sword, penetrating with the two-edged sword of God's word through the thick crusts which a lengthened war of desolation has attempted to lay over human hearts. And now a word of hearty warning to respect the brother even in the pagan, a warm supplication for the enlightenment of the poor beings who are without Christ; and the men depart, many wiping away a tear, a band devoted to death beneath the banner of the Cross. And Havelock-for such is the name of this man with the truthful eye, the noble brow, the splendidly-formed head, full of mighty thoughts, and heart full of sacred feelings-reads once again the words of his blessed Redeemer, then closes the book, and gives himself up to his thoughts for while. A long course of years passes before his mental eye; he sees himself the young schoolboy, trotting merrily to school. Then he enters the Charter House: here it was where his parents' Christian life, their careful teaching and warnings, made such a deep imprint on his soul; here it was that his soul, panting for salvation, first broke through the barriers of a silent and retired nature, so that, although so merry a playfellow, he inexorably demanded a Christian's life from all who were his friends, and though branded as "Methodist" and "hypocrite," wrestled for his Saviour with all his youthful strength. Possibly, too, many a gloomy picture of the past may rise before him: the fall of his paternal home, the unwelcome study of the law, and then the long, long years he had spent as a soldier in India, far away from all he held dear. Yet, whenever clouds collect on his brow, the sunlight of internal peace soon forces its way through. In all he has experienced and endured he recognises piously One whose hand watches