prince of fiction, which cannot fail to strike the reader of his memoirs as rather remarkable. Left an orphan at the early age of five, by the death of his father, who held a valuable station under government, Wilhelm Hauff became the especial charge of a good mother, who, although unconscious of his natural bias, was ever willing to lend an ear to the numerous childish fancies and vagaries which already found birth in his tender mind, for, like Scott, he was early distinguished for his achievements as a tale-teller. Along with an elder brother, he was sent to the public school of Tübingen, but frequent attacks of sickness, a naturally feeble constitution, and a distaste for the study of the classics, made him appear to little advantage in his class; and it was not until he was allowed to roam at large in the green valley of Blaubeuren, which lies along the picturesque stream of Blaufüsschen, (the blue foot,) that he fully enjoyed his existence. In those beautiful and solitary environs, his imagination drunk deep from that most healthful of all sources, evervarying Nature, and in the romantic stillness of its poplar groves, and breathing of the blue air, which God had made for all, that wand of fancy was first wielded, which not until death was thrown aside; and while his elder brother distinguished himself in Latin verse, the happy Wilhelm made free use of his full, rich, though homely mother-tongue, and poured out sheet on sheet of ephemeral stanzas.

A rich source of enjoyment, as with Scott, opened itself to him, at this period, in the crowded and diversified library of his grandfather, a learned jurist, where, among rows of costly folios, the two brothers discovered many a volume of history and romance, and the German classics of the last century, the translated works of Smollett, Fielding and Goldsmith, along with the never-tiring literature of Schiller and Goëthe, were all greedily devoured before Wilhelm had reached his fourteenth year. Hauff's mind, like Scott's, must have possessed a healthy constitution to bear the wear-and-tear of such miscellaneous reading; and in that large gothic room, he delighted to search every nook for volumes of legends and antiquities, and actually revelled over their copper-plate engravings of the mailed knights of the feudal ages, surrounded by their numerous lance-bearers, pages and vassals, and armed for adventure against castle and field. Gotz, Egmont and Wallenstein were his familiar friends, and many a battle was fought by himself and brother, in that quiet library, with

the huge worm-eaten tomes as implements with which to build castle and bulwarks, while the harangues which Wilhelm addressed to his pasteboard heroes, as he arranged them in battle array, would probably, if preserved, have shown the strong bias of his mind. Blest with an uncommonly tenacious memory, the youth could repeat whole pages from the German poets, before he fully understood their meaning; and although we are not advisers of this desultory sort of education, yet certain it is, that the younger Hauff entered the University with a richly-stored mind in general literature, if not a better philologist, than any of his class. Feeble health still prevented him from taking a prominent part in the manly exercises of the University, but he was ever regarded with warm affection and respect by his classmates, who delighted in the sprightly mind, replete with gentle satire, which was ever oftener directed against his own weaknesses than those of others.

On leaving the University, in 1824, Hauff became tutor in the family of the secretary of war at Stuttgard, and amid that polished household two years passed rapidly by, during which his first publication, consisting of several volumes of tales, appeared. These, although not widely known, will afford the uncriticising reader full gratification, for no where among his later works do we find a freer play of fancy, or purer sentiment, than in the above-mentioned tales, (Mahrchen.) Next followed "Selections from the Memoirs of Satan," (published at Stuttgard, 1828,) a more fragmentary work than the tales, but yet replete with those charming vagaries and graphic descriptions, which constitute his chief talent, and for which the student life, from which he had just escaped, afforded him abundant matter. "The Man in the Moon," a romance written in imitation of the graceful frivolities of the sentimental Clauren, controversial essays on the same, and several other volumes of tales, preceded his longest work, "Lichenstein." Although often deficient in plot, and wearisome through its minute detail, yet this, his first attempt at an historical romance, presents a lively picture of the state of south-western Germany, when the Duke of Wurtemburg, with his few valiant adherents, sought to hold ground against the encroachments of the Emperor Maximilian, who attempted to overturn the constitution of that kingdom, and to bring Wurtemburg under the yoke of Austria. The scene opens with a gay picture of the capital

of Ulm, as it appeared in March, 1519, when the leaders of the Suabian league marched in warlike array from Augsburg, where they had formed themselves into a body to assist the Emperor, and stopped to rest and to receive new followers, within the hospitable walls of that friendly free city.

We will not attempt a description of the crowded street, the throng of persons, both on foot and in vehicles, the firing of cannon, the ringing of the old Minster bells, and the processions of different trades, all which our author has sketched out in vivid lines, but will beg our readers to find a place with us at yonder window, fronting the principal street, in the house of Hans von Besserer, where he may form acquaintance with two pretty German maidens, the dark-eyed Marie von Lichenstein, and the blonde Bertha von Besserer, and will also obtain a passing glance at George von Sturmfeder, the hero of the tale.

"They are coming, Marie,-they are almost here!' exclaimed the light-haired maiden, as, throwing her arm around her cousin's waist, she drew her closer to the window, from which the show could be distinctly seen.

And now the noise of tymbals, cornets and braying trumpets pealed on the ear, and a splendid train of cavaliers appeared to the eyes that were weary with watching. First rode a tall and powerful knight, whose ruddy complexion contrasted strangely with his heavy brows and gray hair and beard. He wore a three-cornered hat, topped with a bunch of plumes; a rich breast-plate over his crimson vest; leathern hose slashed with silk, and heavy boots that reached his knees, completed his costume. His only weapon was an enormous sword, with a long hilt, without scabbard; and a golden chain, twisted several times round his neck, and bearing honorary medals, formed his sole ornament.

'Say, uncle, who is yonder portly man, who becomes his gray hairs so well?' asked the blue-eyed Bertha, as she slightly turned to a noble-looking man who stood behind her.

"That is George von Frondsberg, commander-in-chief of the confederates; a brave man, if he only served in a better cause ;' replied the Count von Lichenstein.

'No such insinuations, if you would not provoke my anger,' rejoined the laughing girl, as she shook her finger in playful threatening; 'remember that the daughters of Ulm are all good confederates.'

6

'Yonder one,' continued her uncle, 'on the fine grey is Walburg, field lieutenant, and behind him comes a long troop of the leaders of the league. By heaven! they all look like wolves seeking after prey. 'Weather-beaten faces!' exclaimed Bertha; they were not worth the trouble of dressing for. Ah! but see, uncle! who is this dark knight on the sorrel, with pale face and fiery black eyes,—and what a noble motto on his shield, I dare!'

'That is Ulrich von Hutten, and God forgive him, since he is a brave man, although the worst enemy of our Duke. Now, look out, girls, here is Franz von Sichingen, with the blue breast-plate and the crimson plumes, who, they say, brings a thousand knights into the field.' Many others passed in rapid succession, but Bertha could not but remark that Marie appeared utterly indifferent to the gay concourse; till suddenly, as she was about leaving her station, some sudden confusion was occasioned by a powerful steed, which pranced wildly as it reached the window, probably alarmed by the waving flags, which decorated every mansion. The rider's face was completely concealed by the tossed up head of his steed; but every one remarked the perfect skill and dextrous grace with which he controlled the wayward animal; till, when the wind blew back his wavy brown hair, as, with upraised features, he gazed earnestly and then bowed to the ladies, Marie's face became crimson and then deadly pale.

'Now, here is really a handsome youth,' whispered Bertha, as if afraid of being heard by the object of her admiration; 'uncle,' said she, addressing Lichenstein, who had turned on his heel, 'who is this in a uniform of azure and silver?'

'I know nothing of him; but probably he is some greedy adventurer, who has taken arms against our Duke.'

'How is it,' said the girl, peevishly, that you recognized those ugly old knights, a hundred yards off, but when a handsome cavalier appears, declare that he is a stranger to you; and Marie, too, looks as pale and sad, as if she had witnessed a monkish procession. I'll warrant me, she did not even notice yonder polite youth, in her admiration of the grey-headed Frondsberg.'

The procession had now reached the state-house, and the half-satisfied Bertha turned to her cousin, saying, 'He was really handsome. Bright auburn hair, loving hazel eyes, a complexion slightly brown, a well-cut moustache. But, how you blush! one would really imagine it some harm, when two lonely maidens talk over a handsome youth; and no doubt, with your old aunt at Tübingen, or with your grave father in the old castle of Lichenstein, you learned to think so.""

But let us leave the fair girl to dream over this most unexpected meeting with him, who was no other than her secret lover, George von Sturmfeder. Descended from a poor but ancient French family, he was left an orphan at an early age, and eager to distinguish himself in some military exploit, and yet more desirous of winning the hand of Marie of Lichenstein, whose heart he had already secretly touched, during his visits, as a student of the University, at the house of her aunt at Tübingen, he had, with his uncle's approval, relinquished his studies, and without being inclined to either party, was induced to offer his services to the imperial confederacy; for no other reason, than because he learned that the Count of Lichenstein, along with his daughter, had has

tened to Ulm; thus flattering himself that the father of his beloved was about to unite himself to the same party with himself.

At the public dinner given by the citizens of Ulm to the confederates, our hero was taken under the especial charge of one of the good burgomasters, who, after some deliberation, chose for him what he considered an eligible seat at table, not because of its vicinity to the great men of the nation, but because it placed him in convenient juxta-position with some of the most delicate dishes; for we find him thus addressing our hero:

"Now look around, and own that we have an excellent seat. Directly in front of us is this smoking boar's head, with a lemon in its mouth; to the right, that lordly trout, that coils in the dish as though he were sporting with his own tail; to the left, as fat and tender a haunch of venison as can well be desired.”

Our hero's chief cause for gratitude, however, was, that he was thus accidentally thrown into companionship with a young secretary of the council, and one of those wealthy attractions after which anxious mamas are said to sigh, Dietrich von Kraft, who proved to be cousin-germain to the pretty Bertha; and whose accessible manners afforded George fair opportunity of inquiring after her companion, Marie von Lichenstein. He quite draws on him the reproach of the red-visaged Schepens, who, after the fashion of the times, paced continually around the table, calling out in blustering tones, "Why do you not eat? Why do you not drink?" (Warum essen sie nicht? Warum trinken sie nicht?) an invitation which was hardly necessary to the company at large; who, when George took his leave, (for he willingly accepted the invitation of his new friend, to share his domicil for the night,) were stil slacking their thirst from the huge silver and pewter cans, filled with generous wine. Before his departure, Sturmfeder finds an introduction to George von Frondsberg, leader of the league, who must have possessed gigantic strength, since the narrative informs us that, with a single finger, he was able to overthrow a vigorous man; and whose demeanor was better calculated to win adherents, than that of Truches von Walberg, the field-lieutenant, as one may judge from the following scene:

h

"Whom bring you to us, Hans,' asked Frondsberg, as he regarded with interest that tall and handsome youth, who now stood before