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THE MINSTREL'S CURSE.-ROBERT TILNEY.

FROM THE GERMAN OF LUDWIG UHLAND.

In olden times a castle stood, so high and stately, too-
Far over all the land it gleamed, and e'en to ocean blue,
Around it ran a blooming wreath of fragrant gardens raie
And, decked in rainbow splendor, sprang fresh fountains in
the air.

There sat a proud and haughty king, in lands and conquests great

All pale and gloomy on his throne he sat in fearful state;— For what he thought was terrible; of rage, each glance a

flood;

And what he spoke was bitter scourge, and what he wrote was blood.

Once journeyed to that castle high a noble minstrel pair: The one bright golden tresses wore, but gray the other's hair;

And with his harp a handsome horse the elder minstrel rode,

While by his side, with nimble steps, his younger comrade strode.

The old man to the younger said: "Now be prepared, my

son!

Remember our most moving songs; break forth in fullest tone;

Now all thy wond'rous power exert, to joy and pain impart, For our great aim to-day must be to move the king's hard heart."

Within the lofty, columned hall soon stood the minstrel pair;

There sat upon the royal throne the king and consort fair: The king in fearful splendor, like the blood-red northern light;

The queen, so sweet and soft and mild, as shines the full moon bright.

And soon the old man struck the harp with wondrous skill, and clear,

And richer, ever richer, swelled the sound upon the ear; Then did the younger minstrel's voice with heavenly clearness flow

The old man's tones accompanied, like spirit-chorus, low.

They sang of spring, they sang of love, and golden times that bless;

Of freedom and of manly worth, of truth and holiness;

They sang of all the sweet delights that thrilled the human breast;

They sang of all the higher aims that human hearts impressed.

The courtier throng surrounding them forgot to scoff and jeer;

The king's defiant warriors bowed themselves to God in fear; With feelings deep of joy and grief, the queen, too, sore oppressed,

Threw down before the minstrels' feet the rose from off her breast.

"You have misled my people, would you now allure my wife?"

Thus raged the king, and while he spoke his body shook with strife.

He drew his sword, which, flashing, the young man's breast pierced through,

From whence, instead of golden songs, a stream of red blood flew.

Then fled the list'ning throng as though 'twere scattered by

a storm.

The youthful minstrel breathed his last upon his master's arm;

He wrapped him in his mantle, and then raised him on his horse,

And, firmly binding him erect, he homeward shaped his

course;

But halting at the lofty gates, the gray-haired minstrel threw

Against a marble column high his matchless harp. It flew To pieces there, and with a voice that echoed far and wide, Through castle and through garden, too, the maddened minstrel cried:

“O, woe to you, ye lofty halls! may no sweet notes resound, Nor harp nor song your chambers through shall e'er again be found;

Nay! nought but sighs and groans, and slaves that tread their timid way,

Till you the avenging fury crush to ruin and decay!

"And woe, ye fragrant gardens, in May-light soft and fair! I show to you the ghastly face of that dead minstrel there That you inay wither at the sight, your crystal springs grow dry,

That the future days of gloom all withered may you lie! "And woe, thou godless murderer, thou curse of minstrelsy! The strifes for wreaths of bloody fame are all in vain to thee!

Thy name shall be forgotten when in endless night 'tis tossed,

As e'en, forever, dying groans in empty air are lost!"

The old man thus invoked, and lo! the heavens' dread answer falls:

The walls are lying low in dust, demolished are the halls; Not one high column witness bears of all that vanished pride

E'en these, once lying shattered, now in deep oblivion hide.

Instead of fragrant gardens see a desolate, barren landNo tree dispensing shadow there, no spring bursts through the sand;

No songs nor books of brave exploits that king's name now rehearse

All are vanished and forgotten. Behold the minstrel's curse!

GOIN' SOMEWHERE.-M. QUAD.

He had been to town-meeting, had once voyaged a hun dred miles on a steamboat, and had a brother who had made the overland trip to California.

She had been to quiltings, funerals, and a circus or two; and she knew a woman who thought nothing of setting out on a railroad journey where she had to wait fifteen minutes at a junction, and change cars at a depot.

So I found them, a cozy-looking old couple, sitting up very straight in their seats, and trying to act like old railroad travelers. A shadow of anxiety suddenly crossed her face: she became uneasy, and directly she asked,—

"Philetus, I act'lly b'leeve we've went and taken the wrong train!"

"It can't be, nohow," he replied, seeming a little startled. "Didn't I ask the conductor, and he said we was right?"

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'Yaas, he did; but look out the window, and make sure. He might have been lyin' to us.”

The old man looked out of the window at the flitting fences, the galloping telegraph-poles, and the unfamiliar fields, as if expecting to catch sight of some landmark, and forgetting for a moment that he was a thousand miles from home.

"I guess we're all right, Mary," he said, as he drew in his head.

"Ask somebody-ask that man there," she whispered.

"This is the train for Chicago, hain't it?" inquired the old man, of the passenger in the next seat behind. "This is the train," replied the man.

"There! didn't I say so?" clucked the old gent.

"It may be it may be!" she replied, dubiously; "but if we are carried wrong, it won't be my fault. I say that we are wrong, and when we've been led into some pirate's cave, and butchered for our money, ye'll wish ye had heeded my words!"

He looked out of the window again, opened his mouth as if to make some inquiry of a boy sitting on the fence, and then leaned back in his seat, and sighed heavily. She shut her teeth together, as if saying that she could stand it if he could, and the train sped along for several miles. He final ly said,

"Looks like rain, over thar in the west. I hope the boys have got them oats in."

"That makes me think of the umbereller!" diving her hands among the parcels at their feet.

She hunted around two or three minutes, growing red in the face, and then straightened up and hoarsely whispered,

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It's gone!"

"W-what?" he gasped.

"That umbereller!"

"No!"

“Gone, hide and hair!" so she went on," that sky-blu umbereller, which I've had ever since Martha died!” He searched around, but it was not to be found. "Waal, that's queer," he mused, as he straightened up. "Queer! not a bit. I've talked to ye and talked to ye, but it does no good. Ye come from a heedless fam❜ly; forget to put on yer boots, 'f I didn't tell ye to." "None of the Harrisons was ever in the poorhouse," he replied, in a cutting tone.

and ye'd

"Philetus! Philetus H. Harrison!" she continued, laying her hand on his arm, “don't you dare twit me of that again! I've lived with ye nigh on to forty years, and waited on ye when ye had biles and the toothache and the colic, and

when ye fell and broke yer leg; but don't push me up to the wall!"

He looked out of the window, feeling that she had the advantage of him, and she wiped her eyes, settled her glasses on her nose, and used up the next fifteen minutes in thinking of the past. Feeling thirsty, she reached down among the bundles, searched around, and her face was as pale as death as she straightened back and whispered,—

"And that's gone, too!"

"What now?" he asked.'

"It's been stole!" she exclaimed, looking around the car, as if expecting to see some one with the bottle to his lips. "Fust the umbereller-then the bottle!" she gasped.

'I couldn't have left it, could I?"

"Don't ask me! That bottle has been in our family twenty years, ever since mother died; and now it's gone! Land only knows what I'll do for a camfire bottle when we git home, if we ever do!"

"I'll buy one."

"Yes, I know ye are always ready to buy; and if it wasn't for me to restrain ye, the money'd fly like feathers in the wind."

"Waal, I didn't have to mortgage my farm," he replied, giving her a knowing look.

"Twitting agin? It isn't enough that you've lost a good ambereller and a camfire bottle; but you must twit me o' this and that."

Her nose grew red and tears came to her eyes; but, as he was looking out of the window, she said nothing further. Ten or fifteen minutes passed; and, growing restless, he called out to a man across the aisle,

"What's the sile around here?"

"Philetus! Philetus H. Harrison! stop your noise!" she whispered, poking him with her elbow.

"I just asked a question," he replied, resuming his old position.

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"What'd your brother Joab tell ye, the last thing afore we left hum?" she asked. 'Didn't he say somebody'd swindle ye on the string game, the confidence game, or some other game? Didn't he warn ye agin rascals?”

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