still left is indeed painful enough, and may not last long,—yet, sad as my condition is, it is yet tenfold better than to die."

The young man then sat down weeping beside her, and she explained to him how she was the daughter of a magician, on the other side of the mountain, who had sent her out in the shape of a wolf to collect plants from places which, in her own proper form, she could not have reached. It was but in terror that she had made that violent spring, which the youth had mistaken for an attack on him, when her only wish had been to pass him by. "But you directly broke my right arm," said she, 66 though I had no evil design against you." How she had now regained her proper shape she could not imagine; but to the youth it was quite clear, that the picture of St. George and the dragon had broken the spell by which the poor girl had been transformed.

While the son was thus occupied, the old man returned home, and soon learned all that had occurred, perceiving, at the same time, that if the young pagan wanderer had been released from the spells by which she had been bound, the youth was, in his turn, enchanted and spell-bound by her beauty and amiable behaviour.

From that moment he exerted himself to the utmost for the welfare of her soul, and endeavouring to convert her to Christianity, while his son attended to the cure of her wounds; and, as their endeavours were on both sides successful, it was resolved among them, that the lovers should be united in holy bonds of matrimony, for the youth had not yet restricted himself by any monastic vows.

The magician's daughter was now restored to perfect health; a day had been appointed for her baptism and marriage,

before which it happened that the bride and bridegroom went to take a pleasure-walk one evening through the woods. The sun was yet high in the west, and shone so fervently through the beech-trees on the green turf, that they could never resolve on returning home, but always came deeper and deeper into the forest. Then the bride told him stories of her early life; and sang old songs, which she had learned when a child, and which sounded beautifully amid the woodland solitude. Though the words were such that they could not be agreeable to the youth's ears, (for she had learned them among her pagan and wicked relations,) yet he could not interrupt her; first, because he loved her so dearly; and secondly, because she sung in a voice so clear and sweet, that the whole forest seemed to rejoice in her music. At last, however, the pointed heads of the pine-trees again became visible, and the youth wished to turn back, in order that he might not come again too near the accursed Finland frontier. His bride, however, said to him, "Dearest Conrad, (for that was his name,) why should we not walk on a little farther? I would gladly see the very place where you wounded me so cruelly on the head and arm, and made me a prisoner; all which has, in the end, only contributed to my happiness. Methinks we are now very near the spot."

Accordingly they sought about here and there, till at last the twilight fell dim and heavily on the dense woods. The sun had long since set; the moon had risen, however, and as her light broke forth the lovers stood on the Finland frontier, or rather, they must have gone already some distance beyond it, for the bridegroom was exceedingly terrified when he found cap lifted from his head, as if by human hand, though he

his

saw only the branch of a fir-tree. Immediately thereafter the whole air around them was filled with strange and supernatural beings,-witches, devils, dwarfs, horned-owls, fire-eyed cats, and a thousand other wretches that could not be named or described, whirled around them as if dancing to rapid music; at which, when the bride had looked on for awhile, she broke out into loud laughter, and at last began to dance furiously along with them. The poor bridegroom might shout and pray as much and as earnestly as he would, for she never attended to him, but at last transformed herself in a manner so extraordinary, that he could not distinguish her from the other dancers in that abominable waltz. He thought, however, that he had kept his eyes upon her, and seized on one of the dancers; but, alas! it was only a horrible spectre who held him fast, and threw her wide-waving shroud around him, so that he could not make his escape; while, at the same time, some of the subterraneous black demons pulled at his legs, and wanted to tear him down along with them into their bottomless caves.

Fortunately he happened at that moment to cross himself, and call on the name of our Saviour; upon which the whole of this vile assembly fell into confusion. They howled aloud, and ran off in all directions; while, in the meantime, he saved himself by recrossing the frontiers, and getting under the protection of the Swedish copsewood. His beautiful bride, however, was completely lost; and by no endeavours could he ever obtain her again, though he often came to the Finland border, called out her name aloud, wept and prayed; but all in vain. Many times, it is true, he saw her floating about through the pine-trees, as if in chase, but she was always

accompanied by a train of frightful creatures, and she herself also looked wild and disfigured. For the most part, she never noticed Conrad; but, if she could not help fixing her eyes on him, she laughed so immoderately, and in a mood of merriment so strange and unnatural, that he was terrified, and made the sign of the cross; whereupon she always fled away howling into the thickets.

He fell more and more into melancholy abstraction, hardly ever spoke, and though he had given over his vain walks into the forest, yet, if one asked him a question, the only answer he returned was, "Ay, she is gone away beyond the mountains!" so little did he know or remember of any other object in the world but the lost beauty.

At last he died of grief; and, according to a request which he had once made, his father prepared a grave for him on the place where the bride was found and lost; though, during the fulfilment of this duty, he had enough to do;-one while, in contending with his crucifix against evil spirits, and at another, with his sword against wild beasts, which were no doubt sent thither by the magicians to attack and annoy him. At length, however, he brought his task to an end; and thereafter it seemed as if the bride mourned for the youth's untimely death; for there was heard often a sound of howling and lamentation at the grave. For the most part, indeed, this noise is like the voices of wolves, yet, at the same time, human accents are to be distinguished; and I myself have often listened thereto on dark winter nights.

Alas! that the poor maiden should have ventured again so near the accursed paths which she had once renounced! A few steps in the backward course, and all is lost.

93

KING CROOKED-CHIN.

A GREAT king had a daughter who was very beautiful, but so haughty, that none of the suitors who came to ask her hand in marriage were good enough for her, and she only rejected them, and made game of them.

Once upon a time the king held a great feast, and asked thither all her wooers; and they sat in a row according to their rank,-kings and princes and dukes and earls. Then the princess came in and saw them all, but she had some objection to every one. The first was too fat: "He's as round as a beer-barrel," said she. The next was too tall: "What a maypole!" said she. The next was too short: "What a dumpling!" said she. The fourth was too pale, and she called him "White-face." The fifth was too red, so she called him "Coxcomb." The sixth was not straight enough, so she said he was like a green stick that had been laid to dry over a baker's oven. And thus she had some joke to crack upon every one but she laughed more than all at a good king who was there, and whose chin was none of the handsomest. "Look at him," said she, "he has a chin, and so has a thrush." So the king got the nick-name of Crooked-Chin.

But the old king was very angry when he saw that his daughter did nothing but laugh at all his guests, and despise all the suitors that had been invited to the feast, and he vowed that she should marry the first beggar that came to the door.

Two days after there came by a travelling musician, who began to sing under the window, and to beg an alms and