when we learn that Ducis knew no English, and read him only in the translations of La Place and Tourneur, adapting the plays to the taste of the time, as seemed good to him. For instance, the story of Ugolino is introduced into Romeo and Juliet as a barbarous piece of cruelty inflicted by Capulet on old Montague, who however escapes from the Tower of Famine, and recounts the episode to Romeo, a younger son, who had not been starved in the tower. There is, however, a fine touch here. Romeo asks if he has not taken vengeance, and the old man answers, 'He had no children!' Juliet was probably born later! Still, without adaptation, the French would not then have listened to Shakespeare, and Ducis passionately admired the plays, feeling with an independence of judgment wonderful for his time.

A NATIVE OF THE SOCIETY ISLANDS.

MAUDE is waking up with a start.

What is that sound? Oh, it must be the clock striking six. I feel very sleepy, but I must get up directly, or I shall lose my mark from the Early Rising Society; I need not hurry, as an hour is allowed for dressing.

Seven o'clock. I will take my half hour instrumental practice, as I shall be undisturbed; certainly Betsy looks very cross because I interrupt her in dusting the piano and tidying the books; however, she must, of course, give way to me. I will not practise my singing, because of the saying, 'Sing before breakfast, cry before night,' and I do not like crying; still, I do not see why we should not have a Crying Society. I daresay we could all find something to call for our tears in the day. I was almost ready to cry yesterday when papa came whilst I was drawing to ask me to sew a button on his glove; I lost my note of the time, and had to begin my half hour again. I could not tell papa I was busy, I used to be so pleased to do all those little things for him; but now I have no time. O, dear! I cannot find my music book; it is a quarter-past seven before I can begin my practising-now it is over at a quarter to eight. The breakfast bell will ring at eight, so that I have no time to do anything more; and I should have had two half hours if that tiresome Betsy had not tidied away my music book. I have nothing to do; I think there ought to be a Society for spending spare minutes. The breakfast will soon be over-with the short allowance, one cup of tea and one piece of toast; our loaves are so small, I should like a slice from a good-sized quartern loaf.

Well, it is soon over. Now what shall I do? Mamma would like me to amuse the children, and I have always enjoyed a good game with them in the garden; but now I have no time. I wish there was a Society for amusing children; but that cannot be, for many of the members have no little brothers and sisters to amuse. Ah! they

are calling me. 'You must go away, my dears, and amuse yourselves.' I am afraid they will think me cross, but it can't be helped, I have so many duties to occupy me. I will do my deep reading; it will improve my mind to spend half an hour on the conic sections. I am sorry that I chose such a thick volume, it is rather dull, but I must finish it now that I have begun-how many half hours it will take! I daresay none of the other members have chosen so learned a book. I will take this half hour for my drawing. Now for my

walk. I should like to call on Mrs. Fletcher, but I must not sit down during the half hour, or I shall lose my mark from the Walking Society. There ought to be a Visiting Society, indeed two would be desirableone for friendly visits to our neighbours, the other to the cottagers around

us.

How shall I manage the talking half hour? I have nothing more to say to Kitty; besides, it is very difficult to keep her still for so long a time. I see a school girl coming in at the gate. I will call her in; if she looks about her and does not attend it will not signify, I shall get my mark from the Talking Society. Now that is over it will be pleasant to have my silent thinking time; I will sit in this easy chair and draw down the blind so that nothing may distract my mind! Now what shall I think about? About our various societies. What a

methodical person I am becoming. Mamma will no longer have to complain of my being idle; the day is so regularly marked out in half hours that I cannot help doing right. I am thinking that I shall probably get more marks than any of the other members, because I attend so regularly to all the rules. How nice it is to have so many Societies to guide me, I have no trouble to think what I shall do-but I am thinking now. I wonder if all the other members are thinking now, and if they are thinking about our Societies. How pleasant it is to have half an hour for thinking; the chair is so comfortable and the light so soothing that it makes me feel sleepy, but I must rouse myself and think. I will look at my watch to see if I have been thinking the proper time; yes, it is just half an hour. Now I must practise my singing. I have liked that; now I will write my letter. To whom shall I write? Oh! I am in debt to Emily Pearson. Where is my desk?—that tiresome Betsy must have tidied it away. Yes, here it is-hid under the whatnot. O, this horrid pen! it will not make a stroke, and how long it will take to mend it! I must try to use steel ones. There, it will do now pretty well, but half my time is gone.

-

'MY DEAR EMILY, I am sorry that I have not been able to write to you before; I am so busy, I belong to so many Societies, I am become so industrious—never have a minute to spare. So Ellen is going to be married. I hope she will be happy; tell her I wish her joy; but I should not like to be going to India; hope she will not be eaten up by mosquitoes. Good-bye. Love to all. Your loving cousin,

'MAUDE.'

How delightfully laconic I am become! I have scribbled sadly, but that does not signify, I shall get a mark, and I will take pains to have one from the Handwriting Society.

It is ten o'clock. Before I undress I will look over my Societies' book and put down the marks I have earned. Early Rising Society +Instrumental Music Society +-Singing do. +-Deep Reading Society + -Italian do. +-German +-French and Geological +-Drawing + Talking Silent Thinking +-Walking +-Plain Work o-Fancy Work-Crochet +-Knitting o - For Missionary and Charitable objects o Essay Writing o-Letter Writing + Moderate Eating Society + I should like to belong to an Ambulance Society, but I fear I could not bring attendance to it within a half hour. How many marks I have gained to-day! How well I employ my time; it is really surprising how industrious I am. I find a difficulty about my thinking time. The children and servants fully understand now that I am not to be disturbed when they see me busy, but when they look and find me apparently doing nothing they begin to talk and ask questions, and will not understand that I am thinking. I must try to find a retired place, not my bed-room-for I share it with Bertha, and she, of course, will come in at any time. I should have intruders in the summer-house. The only place I can think of is the closet where Betsy keeps her brushes and dust-pan; there is space enough there for a stool, and I can go there when all the things are stowed away for the day. I will try it to-morrow.

I have a difficulty also about the Moderate Eating Society; the allowance is so small-one piece of toast or bread and butter at breakfast, the same at tea; never to partake of more than one dish at dinner, and only one helping of that, with one of pastry. I wish mamma would not help me so delicately. The afternoon tea I must also give up. O! how refreshing the cups of tea look with the lumps of sugar, and delicious cream, and how tempting are the slices of bread and butter; it is almost too tantalising! Another day I had better take that time for my brush. closet, but oh! I am always hungry. I hope taking so little exercise will lessen my appetite; and the choking sensation of dust while I am thinking may help me. I must persevere, it would appear so greedy not to get a mark for the Moderate Eating Society; but, O, dear, I am feeling so very hungry. I will go to bed and try to sleep and forget it. E. K.

KÖRNER AND HIS FRIENDS.

CHAPTER I.

CHILDHOOD OF MADAME KÖRNER.

In the ancient German town of Leipsig there was a street called the Newmarket, and in that street, in the year 1765, there was a large old house adorned with the sign of a silver bear. It was not an inn, as

you might suppose, but a bookseller's establishment; one of those large warehouses stored with valuable books, new and old, which were established in some of the large towns.

Leipsig was the centre of the book trade in Germany, and publishers met there from all parts to negotiate the exchange of their publications when the great annual fair was held.

There were no book-shops in those days, and the only way in which people in the smaller towns could obtain books was by sending to one of these warehouses; so they were very important places. The proprietor of the Silver Bear was a rich man, his name was Breitkopf, and he lived in the first story above the warehouse. Above this was another story, much less commodious, which was occupied by an engraver named Stock; he was employed by Breitkopf, and he lived here with his wife, four little daughters, and a stepson.

If we could have looked into the long room at the top of the house some morning we might have seen the father seated at a broad table in front of the window, hard at work engraving. The mother, a comely matron a few years older than her husband, spinning busily near the stove, the baby asleep in the cradle, and the little girls at play (but very quietly, lest they should disturb father), while a large hound is couched at the engraver's feet. Presently a step is heard ascending the long stair.

'Is that the magister?' says Maria, the second child; 'surely he comes early, it is not yet eleven.'

'No,' replies Doris, the eldest. That is Herr Wolfgang's step. Look only at Joli, he is never pleased to see the magister.'

'No more are we,' says Mienchen, as the little Maria was called, and she laughs merrily.

The dog has risen, and stands with his head on one side, listening; then, as the door opens and a young man enters with rapid step, it springs to him with delight, performing all those antics by which dogs express their pleasure in re-union after the shortest absence.

The new comer is a youth of striking appearance, with long beautiful hair, tied at the back of his neck with a ribbon. He makes a profound bow to the mother, and greets the children with a nod, as he takes his place at the table beside the father, where he is evidently at home. Presently he turns round with a roguish look to the children, and begins to fumble in his pocket.

'Take no notice,' whispers Doris to her sister; but the little Mienchen cannot withdraw her eyes as Herr Wolfgang draws from the depths of his student's coat a sugared cake, and regards it with a contemplative air.

'Sweetmeats are not good for little girls,' he remarks; they spoil their nice white teeth. Come hither, Joli;' and in an instant the dog has devoured the tempting morsel.

Doris tries to look unconscious, but her heightened colour betrays her; and Mienchen's eyes fill with tears.

'Ah, Herr Wolfgang,' says the mother, 'how you always tease!' But the young man only laughs, and I am sorry to say the father joins in his merriment.

It was this little Mienchen who was afterwards the mother of Theodor Körner; and the young man was the great poet, Wolfgang von Goethe, then a student at Leipsig University, and about seventeen years of age.

He was a constant visitor in the simple household of the Stocks, and the children loved him, although his teasing gave them much annoyance. Seventy years afterwards Madame Körner remembered what she had endured in seeing the preference always given to the dog, as the grievance of her childhood.

Goethe had considerable taste for drawing, and the process of engraving interested him. Sometimes he would try to do a little himself, and succeeded pretty well; but he had not sufficient patience for the tedious work. Stock was a very industrious man, and when he had set himself a certain task, nothing would induce him to leave it unfinished; but sometimes Goethe, who enjoyed his society, would persuade him to put away his work and join some students' party, or accompany him to the celebrated Auerbach's cellar, where he was already making studies for his great poem, Faust. Then Madame Stock used to weep, and remonstrate with Goethe for inducing a married man to waste his time among thoughtless boys; but he had always some joke with which to turn away her reproaches, and though she sometimes parted from him in wrath, he was sure of forgiveness the next time he came.

Stock had married when he was only nineteen, too young to understand the responsibilities of a father. He was very fond of his children, and if he had been older I think he would not have encouraged Goethe in his teasing propensities, nor enjoyed making fun of his little girls, for most parents know that there is nothing children find so hard to bear as being laughed at.

This fun, as it was considered, came to a climax one Christmas time. It was Christmas Eve, when all little children in Germany expect to be very happy, and Doris and Maria, and their brother and sisters, were full of glad expectation, for was there not a real Christmas-tree in preparation? On a table adorned with evergreens were spread cakes and sweetmeats, and in the centre stood the small tree, brilliant with coloured tapers. Herr Wolfgang and the father were busy lighting the tapers, and the children's breath came quickly, and their eyes sparkled; surely the joyful moment had come. But, alas, Herr Wolfgang, leaving the room as the last taper was lit, presently returned, bringing with him the dog Joli! Walking on its hind legs, the dog was led up to the table, and solemnly introduced to its own Christmas-tree, when no doubt it soon made an end of the eatables, while the poor children had to content themselves with the plain spice cake their careful mother had provided for the occasion. Poor