My wish is to reach Berlin; but if I find a resting place before I get there-to that I am bound, for I am a-weary." "I should think you must have a twohour's walk before you," was the unsatisfactory remark that followed. A COUSIN IN NEED. ON Na dreary autumn day, more than a hundred years ago, a heavy travelingcarriage was slowly lumbering along the muddy road from Potsdam to Berlin. Within it was one person only, who took no heed of the slowness of the traveling; but, leaning back in a corner, was arranging a multiplicity of papers contained in a small portfolio, and making notes in a pocket-book. Since he was dressed in a plain dark military uniform, it was fair to suppose that this gentleman belonged to the Prussian army, but to which grade of it nobody could determine, as all tokens of ra had been avoided. A dreary November evening was closing in; and, though the rain had for a time ceased, yet dark masses of clouds, flying through the sky, gave warning that a "weeping darkness" was at hand. The road grew heavier and heavier-at least so it should have seemed to a foot-traveler who was plowing his way through its mire; and so, doubtless, it did seem to the carriagehorses, who at last floundered along so slowly that the pedestrian whom they had overtaken kept easily by the side of the coach-though at a respectful distance, certainly, after the first bucketful of mud that it splashed over him. The gentleman inside the coach, when he could see no longer, shut up his portfolio, and returned the pocket-book to its place in the breast lining of his coat. He then roused himself to look out of the window, and judge, from the mud and darkness, how far it might be to Berlin. For the first time, he perceived that a muddy young man was walking at a little distance from his horses. Though more than reasonably travel-stained, he trudged on as if his limbs were strong and his heart light. Through the drizzle and the darkness, all that could be seen of his face was sensible and good-tempered. He had just finished a pipe as he attracted the traveler's attention, and was in the act of shaking out the ashes and replacing the pipe in a wallet slung over his back, when he heard himself addressed in the manner following, and in rather an authoritative tone of voice : The questioner-who should have been an American colonel-looked amused and astonished as he suggested "Surely there must be some other motive for your going to Berlin, or what could have put this idea into your head?" "Why," replied Heinrich, "I have just become a clergyman, without the smallest chance of getting anything to do in my own neighborhood; I have no relative to help me, and not quite money enough to find me in necessaries." 66 But," said the Prussian, "what on earth has this to do with cousins in Berlin ?" "Well, now, who knows? Many of my fellow-students have got good appointments, and whenever I asked them to let me know how it was done, the answer always was-'A cousin gave it to ine,' or, I got it through the interest of a cousin, who lives at Berlin.' Now, as I find none of these useful cousins live in the "Halloo! young man, whither are you country, I must go without their help, or bound this stormy-looking night?" else hunt for them in Berlin." "That is more than I can tell you, not being at home in this part of the world. This was all said in a comical, dry way, so that his listener could not refrain from laughing, but he made no comment. However, he pulled out a piece of paper, and began to write upon it. When he had finished, he turned round to Heinrich, saying that he observed he had been smoking, and that he felt inclined to do the same, but had forgotten to bring tinder with him. Could Herr Meyer oblige him with a light? "Certainly, with great pleasure," was the prompt reply; and Heinrich, taking a tinder-box out of his wallet, immediately began to strike a light. Now, it has been said that the evening was damp,-it was so damp that there seemed little enough prospect of the tinder's lighting; moreover, the wind blew the sparks out almost before they fell. "Well, if your cousins are not more easily to be got at than your light is, I pity you, young sir," was the sole remark to which the stranger condescended, as he watched Heinrich's laborious endeavors. "Nil desperandum is my motto," answered the young man; and when the words were scarcely uttered, the light had been struck. In his delight at succeeding, Heinrich jumped up on the carriagestep, and, leaning through the window, thrust the tinder eagerly in the direction of the gentleman's face. Hurra, sir, puff away!" 66 After a short pause, during which time the stranger had been puffing at his pipe, he removed it from his mouth, and addressed Heinrich in this way : "I have been thinking over what you have been telling me; and perhaps, in a humble way, I might be able to assist you, and thus act the part of the cousin you are seeking. At all events, when you get to Berlin, take this note," handing him the slip of paper on which he had been writing" take this note to Marshal Grumbkow, who is somewhat of a friend of mine, and who will, I think, be glad to oblige me. But mind! do exactly as he bids you, and abide strictly by his advice. If he says he will help you, rely upon it he will keep his word; but he is rather eccentric, and the way he sets about doing a kindness may perhaps seem strange to you. And now," he continued, as the road is improved, I must hurry on the horses, and so bid you good evening, hoping you will prosper in your new career." 66 As Heinrich began to express his thanks for the good wishes of his unknown friend, the signal was given to increase the speed of the horses, and, before he had time to make any acknowledgments, he found himself alone again. The young man was no little astonished at what had taken place; and as he gazed on the slip of paper, could not help wondering whether any good would come of it. These were the only words written on it: "DEAR MARSHAL,-If you can forward the views of the bearer, Heinrich Meyer, you will oblige your friend, F. "Let me know the result of your interview with him." "Time will prove this, as it does all other things," thought Heinrich, as he proceeded on his way. Somehow or other the road appeared less wearisome, and he felt less tired and footsore since receiving the mysterious bit of paper. Hope was stronger within him than she had been for many a day; and on her wings he was carried pleasantly along, so that he reached Berlin by nightfall. The noise and bustle of the capital was new to him; and he found some little difficulty in making his way to the Gasthaus, to which he had been recommended by the pastor of his parish. The pastor having been once in Berlin, was considered, in his part of the world, an oracle in all matters connected with town-life. The inn was, however, found at last, and after a frugal supper and a good night's rest our friend arose, ready to hope and believe everything from the mysterious note, which he started forth to deliver immediately after breakfast. Obliged to ask his way to Marshal Grumbkow's, he was amused and surprised at the astonishment depicted on the countenances of those persons of whom he made the inquiry; as if they would say, "What business can you have with the Marshal Grumbkow?" The house was, however, at last gained, and having delivered his missive to a servant, Heinrich awaited the result in the hall. In a few minutes the servant returned, and requested him, in the most respectful manner, to follow him to the marshal's presence. Arrived there, he was received most courteously; and the marshal made many inquiries as to his past life and future prospects; requested to be told the name of the village or town opinions. I have now to beg of you to follow me to a friend's house." in which he had been last residing; the school in which he had been educated; at what inn he was living in Berlin; and so forth. But still, no allusion was made either to the note or the writer of it. The interview lasted about twenty minutes, at the end of which time the marshal dismissed him, desiring that he would call again that day fortnight. The marshal descended a private staircase leading to the court-yard, crossing which he passed through a gate in the wall into a narrow side-street, down which he conducted Heinrich, till they arrived at a private entrance to the palace. Heinrich began to get exceedingly nervous; the conviction that his idea was not a mere trick of the imagination became stronger and stronger. Could he have had his own wish, Heinrich Meyer would at that moment have been forty miles from Berlin. As last as he found himself following Grumbkow even into the palace, he could not refrain from exclaiming, "Indeed, Herr Marshal, there must be some mistake!" Heinrich employed the interval in visiting the lions of the town. There was a grand review of the troops on the king's birth-day; and, like a loyal subject, our friend went to have a reverent stare at his majesty, whom he had never seen. At one point of the review the king stopped almost opposite to Heinrich; and then was suggested to him, as the reader probably suspects, that, after all, he must have seen that face somewhere before. Was it the friend who hailed him in the muddy road? Impossible! How should a king be traveling at that time of the day? At any rate, it vexed him to think that he had not treated the gentleman in the coach in a very ceremonious manner. He had thrust tinder at his nose, and cried to him "Puff away!" | At last the time appointed for his second visit to the marshal arrived. His reception was again most favorable. The marshal begged him to be seated at the table at which he was writing, and proceeded at the same time to business. Unlocking a drawer, and bringing forth a small bundle of papers, he asked Heinrich, as he drew them forth, one by one, if he knew in whose handwriting the various superscriptions were? Heinrich answered, that to the best of his belief one was that of Herr Mudel, his former schoolmaster; another, that of Doctor Von Hummer, the principal of such a college, and so on. "Quite right," remarked the marshal, "and perhaps it may not surprise you to hear that I have written to these different gentlemen to inquire your character, that I may know with whom I have to deal, and not be working in the dark." As he said these words the marshal fixed his eyes on Heinrich to see what effect they had, but the young man's countenance was unabashed he evidently feared no evil report. "I feel bound," continued the marshal, "to tell you that all that they say of you is most favorable, and I am equally bound to believe and act upon their No answer was vouchsafed, as the marshal continued to lead him through various galleries and apartments until at last they reached the door of one situated in a corner of a wing of the palace, where the marshal's knock was answered by a short "come in." As the door opened, one glance sufficed to convince Heinrich that his friend in the mud, and his king, were one and the same person. The poor cousin-seeker, greatly confused, knelt before Frederick William, and began faltering out contrite apologies. 66 Rise, young man," said the king, "you have not committed treason. How on earth could you guess who I was? I should not travel quietly if I meant to be everywhere recognized." After reassuring Heinrich, the king told him that he was prepared to do what he could to push him forward in the profession he had chosen. "But first," he said, "I must hear how you preach. On Sunday next, therefore, you shall preach before me; but mind I shall choose the text. You may retire." By the time Heinrich Meyer reached his own room in the inn, he had fixed in his mind the fact that he was to preach to the king. The fact was only too clear, and all he could do was to set about his sermon as soon as he should have been furnished with the text. For the remainder of that day he never stirred out; every step on the stair was to his ears that of the bearer of the text. Nevertheless, evening and night passed, and the next day was far advanced, but still no text What was to be done? There were only two days before Sunday! He must go and consult the marshal; but the latter could give him no further information-all he could do was to promise that if the king sent the text through him, it should be forwarded with the utmost dispatch. That day and the next passed, and yet Heinrich heard nothing from either king or marshal. Only an official intimation had been sent, as was customary, that he had been selected as the preacher on the following Sunday at the chapel royal. If it had not been that Heinrich knew himself to possess no mean powers of oratory, and that he could even extemporize in case of emergency, he would have certainly run away from Berlin and abjured his discovered cousin. As it was, he abided the course of events, and fortified himself by prayer and philosophy for the momentous hour. Sunday morning arrived, but no text! Heinrich went to the church appointed, and was conducted to the seat always set apart for the preacher of the day. The king, with the royal family, occupied their accustomed places. The service commenced, but no text!the prayers were ended, and while the organ pealed forth its solemn sounds, the preacher was led to the pulpit. The congregation were astonished, not only at his youthfulness, but at his being an utter stranger. The pulpit-steps were gained, and the thought flashed across Heinrich's mind that possibly he should find the text placed for him on the desk. But, as he was on the point of mounting the stairs, an officer of the royal household delivered to him a folded piece of paper, saying, "His majesty sends you the text." After having recited the preliminary prayers, the preacher opened the paper, and lo!-it was blank-not a word was written on it. What was to be done? Heinrich deliberately examined the white sheet, and, after a short pause, held it up before the congregation, saying, "His majesty has furnished the text for my But you may perceive that nothing whatever is upon this sheet of paper. 'Out of nothing God created the world;' I shall, therefore, take the creation for the subject of my discourse this morning." sermon. In accordance with this decision, the preacher went through the whole of the first chapter of Genesis in a masterly way, his style being forcible and clear, and his fluency of language remarkable. His audience, accustomed to the king's eccentricities, were far more astonished at the dexterity with which the preacher had extricated himself from the difficulty, than at the dilemma in which he had been placed. At last the sermon was ended, the congregation dismissed, and Heinrich found himself in the sacristy receiving the congratulations of several dignitaries of the church, who all prophesied for him a brilliant future. Heinrich ventured to express his amazement at the singular proceeding of the king, but was told that he could only have arrived recently from the provinces, if he did not know that such vagaries were quite common to his majesty. In the midst of the conversation a messenger arrived to conduct him to the royal presence. Being totally unaware what impression his sermon might have made upon the king, the cousin-seeker rather dreaded the approaching audience. But Heinrich had scarcely crossed the threshhold of the king's room when his majesty jumped up, and thrust a roll of paper into the young preacher's hand, exclaiming, "Hurrah, sir!-puff away! - take this for the light you gave me!" Then, throwing himself back in a chair, he laughed heartily at the young preacher's look of surprise and confusion. The latter scarcely knew what reply to make or what to do, but just as he had got as far as "Your majesty" the king interrupted him, saying, "Make no fine speeches; go home quietly, and examine the contents of the paper. You came to Berlin to seek a cousin; you have found one, who, if you go on steadily, will not neglect you." 99 It is hardly necessary to add, that the roll of paper contained a good appointment at the University of Berlin, and made Heinrich Meyer one of the royal preachers. THE HEARTH is childhood's seminary. It is here the important duties of life are learned. The dreariest cot in all the land has its sacred hearth. The maxims here inculcated become woven with the woof and web of after life, and give it color, texture, and form. the regularity of such of its details as meet crime when committed against the public collectively; it is lenient even to jocoseness in its treatment of other delinquen owns. statute-book give a very unpolite name. All these, however, refer to the more important operations of the Unwritten Law, which are comparatively few in number; but in a general view, the thing most worthy of remark is the myriad of minute threads with which it binds us hand and foot, as Gulliver was chained to the earth by the individual hairs of his This idea would be confirmed by a view of the interior of the town, and the forms of its society. A colony of beavers is a curious and instructive sight from the regularity of its industrial and political operations; but the harmony of a congregation of men-all differing in tastes and powers, in capacities and will-presents a much more extraordinary spectacle. We do not allude to the government, or the public laws, or the municipal regulations, for all these might seem nothing more than so many self-imposed restrictions on a consciously evil or erratic disposition, and might therefore indicate not a tendency toward order, but a conviction of its necessity. What we mean is the Unwrit-head. The law of the land answers to ten Law which binds society together, which regulates the actions and observances, and traditionally even the thoughts and feelings of men; which extends its authority even to the minutest incidents of life, and which is not unwillingly submitted to like a burden, but implicitly obeyed like an instinct. This law, so far from having anything to do either with the law of the land or the law of revealed religion, is in many cases opposed to both. It throws its shield, for instance, over the duelist, whom the one dooms to the death of a felon, and the other to a still more terrible fate: it apologizes for the smuggler, who is condemned by both; affirming but without giving any reason for the faith that is in it—that a fraud is not exactly a the innate law of the beavers, or the traditional law of human beings in a savage state, directing and controlling them in the ordinary operations of life; but this law is a system of universal surveillance, occasionally coinciding in judgment with the other, but sometimes opposing or eluding it, and always seizing upon a thousand minutia which escape its coarser meshes. Why should a whole people follow implicitly certain rules, proceeding they know not whence, to which they are bound by no penalty, and which are often opposed to their convenience or inclination? This rule is not written down, it presents no authority for reference, it is inconsistent in itself, and it is subject to perpetual change. Yet its revolutions are felt and accepted by the entire country, over which |