278 Again the Chaplain, and it was the same, "I know your features." "Yes, and yours I know; The error is He hesitated there. IX. Again restored,-0, what a restoration! To freedom, in the country of the free,- Our ragged rascal took his destin'd course, Who taught him lessons he could not forget. But not to dwell On schemes, which would exhaust a thief's vocabulary, (Ainsworth, you may consult, or Bulwer Lytton, Is scarce, and every one has fifty ways But fitting brevity will use, And beats her, when she is his wedded wife. X. Upon the exploits of a robber's hand, So, in a king, 'tis simply confiscation To steal a territory, but to thieve A purse is scandalous, as men believe; But then, it is no error in a king END OF PART THE FIRST. (To be continued.) THE FAIRIES IN NEW ENGLAND. † BY J. G. WHITTIER. FAIRY-FAITH is, we may safely say, now dead everywhere-buried, indeed, for the mad painter, Blake, saw the funeral of the last of the little people; and an irreverent English bishop has sung their requiem. It never had much hold upon the Yankee mind-our superstitions being mostly of a grimmer and less poetical kind. The Irish Presbyterians, who settled in New Hampshire about the year 1720, brought, indeed, with them, among other strange matters, potatoes and fairies, but while the former took root and flourished among us, the latter died out, after lingering a few years, in a very melancholy and disconsolate way, doubtlessly looking regretfully back on their green turf dances, moonlight revels, and cheerful nestling around the shealing-fires of Ireland. The last that has been heard of them, was some forty or fifty years ago, in a tavern-house in S, N. H. The landlord was a spiteful little man, whose sour, pinched look, was a standing libel upon the state of his larder. He made his house so uncomfortable by his moroseness that travellers even at nightfall pushed by the door, and drove to the next town. Teamsters and drovers, who, in those days, were apt to be very thirsty, learned, even be fore temperance societies were thought of, to practice total abstinence on that road, and cracked their whips, and goaded on their teams, in full view of a most tempting array of bottles and glasses, from behind which the surly little landlord glared out upon them, with a look which seemed expressive of all sorts of evil wishes, broken legs, overturned carriages, spavined horses, sprained oxon, unsavoury poultry, damaged butter, and bad markets. And if, as a matter of necessity, to "keep the cold out of his stomach," occasionally a wayfarer stopped his team, and ventured to call for "somethin' warmin'," the testy publican stirred up the beverage in such a spiteful way, that, on receiving it foaming from his hand, the poor customer was half afraid to open his mouth, lest the red-hot flip-iron should be plunged down his gullet. As a matter of course, poverty came upon the house Loose clapboards and its tenants, like an armed man. rattled in the wind; rags fluttered from the broken windows; within doors were tattered children and scanty *Howley, the late Archbishop of Canterbury, (sce The Times.) obtained the primacy, as a reward for advocating George the Fourth's integrity in the House of Lords, during the trial of Queen Caroline, on the ground that a king can do no moral wrong. +We extract the above article from Godey's Lady's Book, which is published at Philadelphia, and edited by Mrs. Hale, who is well known as a poetess of great beauty and sweetness. We have much pleasure in drawing the attention of our fair countrywomen to this excellent Magazine, especially as we see that Mr. John Chapman, Strand, is now the English publisher of it. It is an excellent specimen of American periodical literature, including as its contributors some of the first names of America, and a sufficient proof of its merit-commanding a circulation of 120,000 copies. fire. The landlord's wife was a stout, buxom woman, of Irish lineage, and what with scolding her husband, and liberally patronizing his bar in his absence, managed to keep, as she said, her "own heart whole," although the same could scarcely be said of her children's trowsers, and her own frock of homespun. She confidently predicted that "a better day was coming," being, in fact, the only thing hopeful about the premises. And it did come, sure enough. Not only all the regular travellers on the road made a point of stopping at the tavern, but guests from all the adjacent towns filled its long-deserted rooms. The secret of which was, that it had somehow got abroad that a company of fairies had taken up their abode in the hostelry, and daily held conversation with each other in the capacious parlour. I have heard those who at the time visited the tavern, say that it was literally thronged for several weeks. Small, squeaking voices spoke in a sort of Yankee-Irish dialect, in the haunted room, to the astonishment and admiration of hundreds. The inn, of course, was blessed by this fairy visitation; the clap-boards ceased their racket, clear panes took the place of rags in the sashes, and the little till under the bar, grew daily heavy with coin. The magical influence extended even farther; for it was observable that the landlord wore a good-natured face, and that the landlady's visits to the gin bottle were less and less frequent. But the thing could not, in the nature of the case, continue long. It was too late in the day, and on the wrong side of the water. As the novelty wore off, people began to doubt and reason about it. Had the place been traversed by a ghost or disturbed by a witch, they could have acquiesced in it very quietly, but this outlandish belief in fairies was altogether an overtask for Yankee credulity. As might have been expected, the little strangers, unable to breathe in an atmosphere of doubt and suspicion, soon took their leave, shaking off the dust of their elfin feet as a testimony against an unbelieving generation. It was, indeed, said that certain rude fellows from the Bay State, pulled away a board from the ceiling, and disclosed to view the fairies in the shape of the landlady's three slatternly daughters. But the reader who has any degree of that "charity which thinketh no evil," will rather credit the statement of the fairies themselves, as reported by the mistress of the house," that they were tired of the new country, and had no pace of their lives among the Yankees, and were going back to ould Ireland." It is a curious fact that the Indians had some notion of a race of beings corresponding in many respects to the English fairies. Schoolcraft describes them as small creatures in human shape, inhabiting rocks, crags, and romantic dells, and delighting especially in points of land jutting into lakes and rivers, and which were covered with pine trees. They were called Puckweedjinees-little vanishers. It is to be regretted that our Puritan ancestors did not think it worth their while to hand down to us more of the simple and beautiful traditions and beliefs of the "heathen round about" them. Some hints of them we glean from the writings of the missionary Mayhew, and the curious little book of Roger Williams. Especially would one like to know more of that domestic demon, Wetuomanit, who presided over household affairs, assisted the young squaw in her first essay at wigwamkeeping, gave timely note of danger, and kept evil spirits at a distance-a kind of New-World Brownie, gentle and useful, a belief in whom does not really appear to us, as it did to the painful old Fathers of New England orthodoxy, "nefandous and very devilish." Very beautiful, too, is the story of Pumoolah—a mighty spirit, whose home is on the great Katahdin mountain, sitting there, with his earthly bride (a beautiful daughter of the Penobscots, transformed into an immortal by her love), in serenest sunshine above the storm which crouches and growls at his feet. None but the perfectly pure and good can reach his abode. Many have from time to time attempted it in vain; some, after almost reaching the summit, have been driven back by thunder-bolts or sleety whirlwinds. Brainard, who truly deserves the name of an American poet, has left behind him a ballad on the Indian legend of the Black Fox, which haunted Salmon river, a tributary of the Connecticut. Its wild and picturesque beauty causes us to regret that more of the still lingering traditions of the Red Men have not been made the themes of his verse. THE BLACK FOX. How cold, how beautiful, how bright The winds are up while mortals sleep; With silent step and listening ear, With bow and arrow, dog and gun, We'll mark his track-his prowl we hearNow is our time !-Come on, come on! O'er many a fence, through many a wood, Following the dog's bewildered scent, In anxious haste and earnest mood, The white man and the Indian went. The gun is cocked, the bow is bent, The dog stands with uplifted paw; And ball and arrow both are sent, Aimed at the prowler's very jaw. The ball to kill that Fox is run, Not in a mould by mortals made; The arrow which that Fox should shun Was never shaped from earthly reed. The Indian Druids of the wood Know where the fatal arrows grow; Why cowers the dog, whose snuffing nose For once they see his fearful den ; "Tis a dark cloud that slowly moves By night around the homes of men, By day along the stream it loves. Again the dog is on the track, The hunters chase o'er dale and hill; Onward they go, and never turn, The famished dog alone returns; By the lost wanderers of the night. And there the little country girls Will stop to whisper, listen and look, And tell, while dressing their sunny curls, Of the Black Fox of Salmon Brook! GERMAN STUDENT LIFE, AND ITS INFLUENCE with him till justice is done, or the time prescribed by ON POPULAR MOVEMENT. BY WILLIAM HOWITT. (Concluded from page 266.) THESE Chores, or Unions of Students, have their regular laws, constitutions, tribunals, customs, and officers, all established on the basis of practical experience, and carried out with an exactness amidst all their appearance of fun and jollity, equal to the administration of the affairs of the most despotic empire. There is their Senior Convent, or Assembly of Elders, which is the highest tribunal for the settlement of the claims and fitness of all aspirants to membership, and also for the decision of all affairs arising amongst themselves. The members elect these, who consist of their leaders. The Senior, the Consenior or Second Officer, and the Dritte Chargirte or Third Officer. They have their ChoreConvent, or official meeting of the Chore, where all these higher officers meet the Chore-Burschen, and their general meetings of the Chore, or Kneip, at which besides the Chore-Burschen, assemble the Renoncen, or Fags of the Chore, and the Mit-Kneipanten, or boon companions, who are students who do not enter a Chore as members, but only as friends to join in their songs and convivialities. Every officer takes rank according to his fame for prowess. Their laws are enrolled in a book called the Allgemeine Convent, or general code, and the Convents of Seniors meeting from different chores, put these laws in force, not only against members but against the public. They can order a Marching Forth when the heads of the University on any occasion persist in an infraction of the Academic Freedom, and order any student to quit the place, which must and will be obeyed, the whole body of students marching forth in solemn procession, and deserting the university and town till the offence is withdrawn. They also hurl the terrors of the Bann-strahl, or power of excommunication against individuals or large bodies. When a citizen, whose trade derives benefit from the students-for example an innkeeper, or shop-keeper-treats a student harshly or unjustly, and is found guilty by the Senior Convent, that man is put under Verruf or proscription, and every student deserts his house or shop, and ceases all dealings the Convent expires. If an innkeeper under the ban has a ball in his house, the officers of the Chores attend to see if any student be present, and any such offender, be he member of a Chore or not, is also put under the ban, and not a member of any Chore will hold any communication with him. If a member, he will also be called on to answer it in the duel. There remains nothing for him but to quit the University, where all intercourse would be closed against him, and where he would be shunned by all. Whole cities have been laid under the ban, and even the proudest authorities, government themselves, have been compelled to submit to this exercise of the Academic Freedom, or the University and town would be ruined for ever. Into these singular, despotic, yet highly honourable associations, which conduct their affairs on the strictest principles of law, charter, and right, every young man of spirit is eager to enter. This entrance, as well as most of the practice of the chore life is clothed in a garb of fun and frolic, which to a sober foreigner would appear almost childish. These practices are, no doubt, intended to throw off the ordinary gravity and formality of existence, and to serve as entire relaxations. Every young man then coming as a Freshman to a University comes as a Camel. Into this state he has already migrated from that of a Mule, the intermediate state between a Camel and a Frog, or student at the gymnasium, or state grammar school. He now aspires to enter a chore, and becomes a Fox, running joyfully into the new Burschen life. During the first Semester or half-year, he is a Gold Fox, which means that he has foxes or rich gold in plenty yet; or he is a Crass Fuchs, or Fat-Fox, meaning that he swells or puffs himself up with gold. In the second half-year he becomes a Brand Fuchs,or Burnt Fox, after the foxes of Sampson. The fox year is then over, and they wash the eyes of the new baked Young Bursche, since during the fox-year he was held to be blind, the fox not being endued with reason. From Young Bursche he advances with time to Old Bursche, and finally to Old House, or Bemossed Head, or Mossy Head, the highest state of honour to which man, in the opinion of students, can attain. The entrance to this privileged life, and to this course of honours is at a Commers, a social meeting of the chores at the Kneip-room, or club-room of one of the chores where all the chores meet, and all the foxes, burnt-foxes, and young burschen, who present themselves are initiated. This is done by what is called the Fox-ride. The president of the presiding chore sits at the head of the long kneip-table with his drawn sword before him, and all the other members are seated or stand around provided with beer and pipes. The doors of the hall open, and an old Bursche, seated on a chair with its back before him, rides in. He is clad in white leathern breeches and jack boots, and wears also the hat of a postilion. He is commonly clad in a Polonaise, and at his left side hangs the postilion's horn; in his right hand he carries his sword. Sometimes, as a variety, he rides in a high gala dress, in frock and huge shirt collar, carrying also his highly polished and glittering sword in his hand. With solemn assumption of grotesque, well-acted dignity, he thus leads up the procession of assembled foxes, who, also in leathern breeches and jack-boots, ride on chairs in the same style, after the Old House. The moment that the train appears, the whole assembly breaks out singing the old and invariable song of Der Fuchsritt, the Fox-ride. Nothing can give a more thorough idea of the solemn burlesque in which the students indulge than a few of the opening stanzas of this song: The Chore sings. The Foxes sing. Good evening, gentlemen; The Chore. What doth the Herr Papa? What doth the Herr Papa? He reads in Kikero; He reads in Kikero.* This goes on with enquiries after the mother, the sister, and the brother-and the answers are equally ludicrous-that the mother mends the father's stockings, the sister makes his hasty-pudding, and the brother oxes, or labours prodigiously at his studies, in order to get to the University. At the close of the song the pipe of friendship is handed to each of the foxes, and other ceremonies follow, such as making Burnt-foxes by pursuing them with lighted spills, and the like, and the whole concludes by singing in chorus a song-most comtouching their What comes there from the height? Si, sa, leathern-a height; What comes there from the height? glasses at the end of each strophe. From this day forward the life of the Chore rolls on through all its movements, and its more solemn exercises. It meets every evening at its kneip-house for singing and festivity. It has its Commerses or Feasts; its combats; if a student dies it celebrates with all the rest of the chores, his funeral with impressive ceremonies: if a professor or a stranger of distinction is to be honoured, it joins in the torch-train, the great mark of respect. If a student quits before the vacation, he is accompanied a part of the way on horseback, and in carriages, and they part with a feast. This is a Com mität. Cicero, humourously thus pronounced, because a party amongst the classics insist that it was anciently so pronounced. We presented a view of a Comität, under the title of "The Student's Departure," at the head of our last article. We may now give a pleasant burlesque of it-two students accompanying a friend who has run through his finances, and is conveying, in a dilapidated wheelbarrow, all his effects from the Student's Heaven, or University life, into Philistria, or the World. It would demand too much of our space to follow them through all these customs. Their Commerses, however, are too striking to be altogether passed over. These take place at the opening and close of each Semester or term. A General Commers consists of the assembled Chores, and is opened with the singing of certain songs, and is closed with that of the Land'sfather, during the singing of which they run their swords through each other's caps. The hole that is bored in the cap is at once a symbol of the death of the Fatherland, and a memorial of Commers pleasures enjoyed in companionship with those of many names and places. In conclusion all sing Rest thee from the Burschen feast rites barge is hung with garlands and festoons, pennons stream from the masts; the sons of the Muses, as the students term themselves, in their many-coloured costume, are picturesquely grouped, and some of them are singing in the overflowing of their spirits to the sound of jocund music! The inhabitants see gladly these guests arrive in the place, as the Burschen in one day make a greater expenditure, or in common parlance, moult more feathers than as many humble inhabitants of the little place do in a year. On this account their approach is first announced by the firing of small cannon from Dielsberg, a hamlet opposite, situated on a lofty conical hill, and shewing, with its old high enclosing wall and antique towers, like some city of ancient Palestine in old Bible pictures. The barge comes up, and the garden of the inn and banks now swarm with the lively Burschen, who here play off all sorts of pranks and whims. Servants But within the whole house is in a bustle. and waiters run to and fro. Above, in the great hall is a long table covered. The windows are all adorned with green and flowery garlands and festoons, and at that end of the hall where the seat of honour is placed, there is emblazoned on the wall the great painted coat of arms of the Verbindung, or Chore, embellished with ribbons and flowers. The musicians now take their places in the orchestra above; the sons of the Muses appear in the hall, and the feast is opened. After the cloth is drawn, the proceedings at table are such as we have described in the General Commers, except that at this Commers no beer is drunk, but wine, and you soon hear the report of out-flying champagne corks as the toasts of the Chore are given, or the health of the LandPrince, when the feast is held on his birthday. The Special Commers is the feast of the particular Chore, and is held at the commencement and close of each college term. These Commerses are generally held out in the country. We see a jocund train issuing forth from one of the city gates. A troop goes before on As they do not return from such a Commers, at the horseback, who, in earlier times were still more distin-earliest, till the noon or evening of the next day, all guished by their peculiar style, but who still may some-kinds of mad-cap frolics and playfulness are resorted to times be seen in full costume, that is, buckskins and to make the time pass merrily. They act and sing the huge jack-boots, Polonaise frocks; on their heads their Prince of Fools; and the next day they sally forth and Cerevis or Chore caps; over their breasts, wearing the engage in all kinds of youthful merriment amongst the broad Chore-band, while they carry in their right hands hills and valleys round, and their songs resound over the their naked swords. The rest follow them in carriages whole country. Their gambols and outbreaks of youthdrawn by two or four horses; or the Senior precedes in ful spirits, full of life, strength, and enjoyment, and a four or six horse equipage, and the rest follow in two-ready to overleap all bounds in the excitement of leavhorse ones. In their customary negligent student dress, they lounge at their ease in their carriages smoking their long pipes. The foxes shew themselves especially consequential, since it is the first time that they have been privileged to present themselves to the eyes of the astonished world in such a procession. The Pawk-doctor, that is, the surgeon who regularly attends them at their duels, is invited to this festivity, and frequently honours the Chore with his presence; and they have generally some devoted and often eccentric follower like the Red Fisherman at Heidelberg, who, arrayed in the oddest style, is posted as servant behind the last carriage. Be sure that the jocund students are bound to the most delightful spot in the neighbourhood, there to enjoy themselves. From Heidelberg, where we have so often witnessed these extraordinary processions, they ascend the beautiful valley of the Neckar for about six miles to Neckarsteinach, a village situated in a most lovely scene with the ruins of several castles peeping from the hill-tops. If the reader were on such a day already at Neckarsteinach, so might he, from the little pavilion in the garden of the Harp Inn, right commodiously observe the approach of such a train, as it emerges from the windings of the road which follows the serpentine course of the Neckar, and permits him even from afar, to see the flashing of the drawn swords, and the shimmering of the coloured caps and chore-bands. Or he sees the new guests approaching in a large barge which they have mounted at Neckargemünd, the next village where they cross the Neckar by the ferry; and where they have left their horses and carriages. The ing behind for a day or so all study, and giving themselves up to fine weather and beautiful scenery, have always characterized the students, and an old ballad of 1650, shews us that they were the same then, with far less refinement than at the present time. Queer chaps are these students, say folks everywhere, The frolics being ended, the songs sung, and thus the Commers concluded, they generally, if on the banks of a river, return to the city by a boat. If this is in the evening the barge is illuminated, and when they approach the city fireworks are played off. As they land they proceed to their kneip, and so wind up the feast. As we have said, the students march in long processions, bearing each a torch to do honour to their professors on some popular occasion, or to distinguished strangers. On New Year's Eve they go round with torches, and guns which they fire off, and shout vivas, beneath the windows of the favourite professors. Now and then they are called upon to engage in a great "Marching Forth," but this can be only rare-and the departure of some of their comrades gives opportunity for a farewell procession or Commität; but by far the most poetical and impressive of their ceremonies is the celebration of the funeral of one of their number. We more than once saw this in Heidelberg. A numerous band of music came at the head of the |