THE WILD DUCK; A BOHEMIAN STORY.

"ONCE there lived in a deep dark wood a poor widow named Juta, with her daughter Adelheid, and her nephew and niece, Heinrich and Emma. The children were good and helped the old woman. Heinrich herded the sheep which were their chief support, and the little girl spun their wool.

"One evening when the rain was coming down in streams, and the lightning was flashing, a poor aged woman knocked at the door, and was welcomed. She was brought to the fire, and Emma offered to kill one of her pigeons for her supper. She would not allow her, and would take nothing but milk.

"When she was going away next morning, her appearance changed, and she was a beautiful woman with diamonds hanging from her dress. 'Dear child,' said she to Emma, 'for your good-nature to me last night, I give you this gift that every tear you weep for grief or joy shall be changed into a pearl and every hair combed from your head will become a gold wire, but you must never let a sunbeam fall on your face. When you go out or sit before the door or window always wear a thick veil on your face,' she vanished and left the family in great wonder.

The aunt wished to try the truth of the fairy's words at once. She made Emma sit down, and began to comb her hair, and just as the fairy said, every hair combed out became a gold wire. She then began to tell her a comical story, and every tear that came from her eyes with laughing was turned into a pearl. It was the same when she told her sorrowful stories; and indeed the aunt kept her poor niece too long sitting to have her hair combed, and made her shed tears too often.

"She bought a thick veil for her niece, and she sold the pearls and the gold thread, and every thing about the house became very nice. But the neighbours began to talk and annoy them, and so Juta sent her nephew into Prague to take a house for them. No one would mind the change in their circumstances there

"So Heinrich came into the city, and as he was a handsome young fellow, and had money in plenty, he got into society, and a young nobleman took a great liking to him. They drank a great deal of wine one evening together, and Heinrich blabbed out all about his sister. He praised her beauty so much that the count between that, and the gold thread, and the pearls, and the wine, fell deeply in love at once, and put Heinrich in a carriage that very evening, and started him off, and desired him to send his bride home to his castle the very next day.

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"They were all much surprised when Heinrich told his message, but it was good news, and the aunt, and her niece, and her daughter set out in the carriage next day. Heinrich had gone before to tell the prince of their consent.

"When they were driving through a wood, they heard a great clatter of arms and of horse-shoes, for a guard of honour was coming to meet them. The bride forgetting herself, flung up her veil to see the richly dressed followers, but a sunbeam fell the same moment on her face, and she was changed into a duck with golden feathers, and away she flew up over the trees.

"The poor old woman was terribly frightened, but she did not lose her wits. When the guard came up, they found her wringing her hands, and crying bitterly. 'Oh,' said she, 'my poor daughter got out of the carriage a few minutes ago to walk about, and some ruffians carried her away. Oh, will you pursue them and bring me back my dear child!'

"While they were searching about, she threw the thick veil over her daughter, and bade her answer to the name of Emma, and act as if she was the bride. The guards returned, and they all went forward, and came to the count's castle. And indeed he was very much disappointed at the sight of his bride. Her mother said it was necessary to have the rooms where she sat all kept very dark for a while, but the count was worse and worse pleased every day. His bride was not beautiful, nor could she con

verse like a lady, nor did her hair become gold thread, nor her tears pearls.

"He called on her brother and spoke angrily to him for the deception he had used towards him. Heinrich answered hot and angry, and there was a great dispute, and the count finished it by ordering his men to seize Heinrich, and confine him in the upper room of one of the towers that stood at the four angles of his castle.

"He scarcely ever came near his wife now, and she was so annoyed and sorry for the deceit, that she begged her mother to confess to the prince all that had happened. She would not be persuaded, and the poor wife then went to her husband's room to tell him every thing, but he went out by another door as she entered, and after trying three or four times to get him to listen to her, her heart broke, and he found her on her death bed when he came home one day.

"As soon as she was buried, he banished her mother to a distant part of his estate, and began to live a wild life as he formerly did.

"One night poor Heinrich heard a beautiful song in the air outside his wicket, and the voice was his sister's. He listened with delight, and when it was over, in flew the duck with golden feathers, and nestled in his bosom. Her wings and feathers were all of pure gold, and those on her neck shone like diamonds and mother of pearl. She told her brother what had happened on the journey, and now she lamented his hard fate, confined within the walls of a prison and bewailed her own, her life being exposed to danger from the snares and shots of hunters. When morning came she was obliged to fly away, but promised to come the next night.

'Night after night she came, but after a time she was seen no more, and her brother fell into great grief.

"In a day or two the intendant of the castle came for the first time into his prison, told him he was free, and conducted him to the chamber he formerly occupied. The young count soon paid him a visit, embraced him, and begged his forgiveness. For the guards had seen the beautiful bird, and heard the conversation between her and her brother, and told all to the count. He bade them set nets

to take the enchanted girl, but she escaped, and now he was consulting with Heinrich what was best to be done. He begged him the next time he would see her, to entreat her to stay with them in the castle, and perhaps the enchantress would restore her some time to her own form.

"One day as Heinrich was alone the gold-feathered duck flew once more in through the window, and complained much of the snares and nets which the count's people had set for her. Her brother entreated her to remain in the castle, but she seemed frightened at the offer, and hearing a noise in the next room she flew away in a moment. When he had considered over the matter a little, he decided on not telling the count, but he had seen her fly in, and felt vexed with Heinrich for not telling him.

"The next time she came in through the open window, the count who was on the watch from the floor just over it, shut the lower window by means of a cord, and was down the stairs and in the room in a few seconds, and had fastened the door; but she arose and was through the key-hole like a flash of lightning.

"Heinrich who then feared he would never see his dear sister again, said bitter words to the count, who was not slow in returning them; so he made up his mind at once to quit the castle, and go seek his fortune.

"He travelled and travelled far away, and at last as he was passing through a dark pine-wood a noblelooking woman came before him, the same who had lodged at the cottage one night, and had made the rich presents to his sister.

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Why have you left the castle,' said she, where you could have been of some service to your sister, of whose misfortunes you have been the cause? Go back, and tell the count to repent of his past life. He was not worthy of such a woman, for it was for the pearls and golden threads he wished first to marry. If I find him and you truly sorry, perhaps your sister may be restored, and not dread to let the sun's rays fall on her face again.' She vanished as soon as these words were spoken.

"He took her advice, and went

back to the castle. Some of the servants met him on the way. They told him they had been sent after him by the count, who was now lying sick through grief and loneli

ness.

"When he came into the sick room the count was much rejoiced to see him, and expressed his sorrow for the bad things he had done. Heinrich comforted him, and they felt again towards each other like loving brothers.

Just then the window opened, and in flew the golden duck. She lighted on the bedside, and rejoiced the hearts of both by telling them that the time of her enchantment was past. She changed before their eyes into the most beautiful young woman that the world ever saw, and there were no three happier people in Bohemia than she, and her brother, and her betrothed. Joy soon drove away the illness from the count, and a noble wedding was held in a week from that day."

consider the century between 1526 and 1620 as their golden age of letters. In 1774 the German language was ordered by an Imperial decree to be used in all schools and colleges, and many were the indignant protests made against the harsh measure. In 1818 the restriction was removed, and many valuable native MSS. were brought to light; native literature revived, and still flourishes.

Our specimen is taken from a collection of Bohemian folk's stories collected and edited by Wolfgang Adolph Gerle, Prague, 1819. Others are contained in the Abendzeitung (Evening News), 1821, and in the Bibliothek Unterhaltender Lecture (Library of entertaining Reading), Prague, 1839, by J. Maly. We have seen no translation of Die Goldene Ente (The Golden Duck) in any English collection.

SIOGA'S SON: A SHETLAND TALE.

"The crew of a boat once landed on a strand with the object of catching seals. They had great success. They stupefied them with heavy blows on the head, and then they stripped off the skins with the paws attached, and left the bodies there in a heap. As they were getting to their small ship the waves began to rise so high that there was not a moment to be lost. One unlucky man was not able to reach in time, and though his comrades wished much to save him, they were entirely unable, the wind blew so strong and the big waves were dashing with such fury on the strand.

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"A dark stormy night fell on the poor fisher, and he saw nothing before him but death by cold and hunger. There was a break in the clouds for a little, and he saw a number of seals coming in out of the sea. According as they landed they took off their outer skins, and appeared as sea-trows. Their first care was to waken again up to life their insensible companions. They resumed their nearly human shape, but the storm wasn't louder than their lamentations for their sealskin coats, for without them they could never again pass down into their dwellings under the waves.

"Above all they lamented the loss of the skin of Ollaritinus, son of the wise old Sioga, their chieftainess, as he must now ever remain a wanderer in the upper world. The lamentation ceased for a moment when they saw the unfortunate fisherman, who, with pale face and trembling limbs, was looking from a rock over the raging ocean.

"Scarcely did the miserable mother see him when a thought came into her mind for the delivery of her son. So she went over to him, addressed him in mild terms, and offered to take him on her back through the waves to Papa Stour, on his solemn promise to get back for her the skin of her son. He readily agreed, and she put on her sealskin coat, and was ready in a few minutes. He was so afraid of slipping off her back, that he asked leave to cut slits in the skin over her shoulders, and so great was her mother-love that she allowed him. So when he got into his place she sprung into the sea,

and went straight along its surface till she landed him at Papa Stour. Hence he went by Skeo to Hamna Voe (islet) where the booty was, and restored her son's sealskin to Sioga. She returned joyfully, and her son was enabled to dive with her to their home under the ocean."

Several of the Shetland tales turn upon the supposed virtue of the seal's very useful wrapper. We have already given in this MAGAZINE one curious legend of a Shetlander securing a beautiful trow by taking possession of her sealskin covering while she was dancing with her companions on the shore, and her proving a good wife to him for some years, till she discovered her magic wrapper. Crofton Croker furnished a similar story of a merrow taken on the coast of Kerry. In the Volundr Saga the fair one is taken captive by losing her swanskin. Perhaps the inventor of the original myth intended to impress on the beauties among his audience the danger of going outside the circle of their relatives and intimate friends. If not, the invention originally belonged to the same class with those of Anchises, Endymion, and Tithonus.

The most superstitious Shetlander does not suppose that all the seals or sea-dogs enjoy this double life. Their sea-trows, who dwell in the grots, and sport about on the meadows at the bottom of the ocean are merely obliged, when they visit the upper world, to put on the hide of some amphibious animal. Each is provided with one, which, if he or she loses in this land excursion, a dismal life, spent out of the water, is to be the result. The land-trows of the Shetlanders dwell in caverns, under green hills, like the Irish fairies. These imputed abodes must have been suggested to our early romancers and poets by the existence of such ancient remains as the subterranean building at New Grange, and those in Scotland, the Orkney Islands, and Brittany, already treated in the Archæological Papers of the UNIVERSITY for the last seven years.

THE WOLF AND THE NIGHTINGALE: A HOUSEHOLD STORY OF SWEDEN.

"THERE lived once in some kingdom or other a king and queen, as good

and as handsome a pair as could be found. They had a son and a daughter, and when the queen died the king also nearly died of grief for her loss. However he married a second wife some years after her death, and a wicked enchantress she happened to be. Aurora, the princess, was very good, and very beautiful, and was sought for by many young princes, At last came the prince of Eastland, and he pleased her, but the day before they were to be married the stepmother took Aurora and her brother to walk in a dark wood adjoining the garden, pretending that she had a curious tree to show them. They were no sooner inside than she struck each of them with her wand, and Aurora became a little gray nightingale, and her brother a wolf. She sprung up into a tree and began to sing her sorrowful song, and he ran away howling through the forest. The wicked queen ran into the palace, crying and wringing her hands, and shouting that a band of robbers had run away with the brother and sister.

"Armed men ran in every direction, but no trace of the prince or princess could be found. The king had every hill, and crag, and cleft, within several miles of the palace searched, but all in vain. He sent messengers into all the neighbouring countries, but could get no tidings, and at last he concluded that the robbers had killed his children for the sake of the gold and jewels that were on their dresses, and had then buried them. So after enduring his grief for the space of three years, he at last died of sorrow, appointing the queen to succeed him, and charging his nobles to obey her as their sovereign.

"She knew she was not at all well liked by nobles or people. So, with the late king's treasures, she hired soldiers from foreign countries to come and be her standing army. She kept her people in terror of her, but great discontent spread among them, and much ill was spoken of her in every quarter.

"The poor prince was in a hard case. He was obliged to hunt smaller beasts for his food, and often to endure hunger and cold. He had lost man's understanding, but however hungry he would never taste human

flesh. He shivered without knowing why, whenever he came near the spot where he was transformed, but always kept in the forests surrounding the castle, and particularly loved to be near an oak tree on the bank of the river. The queen got all sorts of snares and traps laid for wolves, and had them hunted daily, but the prince-wolf still escaped.

"The poor princess-nightingale had a clearer understanding than her brother. Her song was so sweet though so sad that the trees waved their branches, the budding flowers blew out, and the stones would have danced only their hearts were so cold. But the wicked queen fell sick in appearance, and declared that the songs of all birds gave her a terrible headache; so fowlers with guns and with nets were employed for miles round the palace, catching and killing every song-bird. And at last no one would take a walk in summer or spring through fields or woods, it was so dismal to be without hearing the cheerful noises of the poor little feathered things. Still the princess escaped.

"A favourite resort of hers was the thick-branched tree which grew upon the bank of the river. The wolf was brought to the same spot by some dim feeling of his former state, and he would be there for hours, listening to her sweet song. She sung on to please him, and often pitied his hard fortune that he could not fly from bough to bough, and had not thick feathers to keep out the winter's cold.

"Every year, the prince of Eastland, who was to have been her bridegroom, came to the same place for a fortnight. He was as delighted in listening to her as the poor wolf, but still not one of the three knew who the others were. This prince, at a particular season of the year, felt himself obliged to leave his palace in a kind of waking dream, and ride to the meadow where the thickbranched oak-tree grew, and there he stayed for fourteen days and fourteen nights, sleeping in a thicket in the day, and listening to the nightingale in the night. As long as the nightingale sung he was wrapped in a pleasing melancholy, and she seemed to enjoy his presence very much for these fourteen nights, and to sing more sweetly then than at any other time. When the prince arrived at VOL. LXXI.-NO. CCCCXXIII.

his father's court, many hundred miles away, and had taken a sleep, all that had passed in the fourteen days at the thick oak tree was completely vanished from his mind, and remained so till he set out again.

"The wicked queen thought the nightingale had perished among the other song-birds. So she now determined that she would put an end to the wolf. A strong feeling of fright always kept her away from the meadow where the large oak tree stood. But now she collected all the great hunters about her court, and ordered all her captains and great soldiers to put on their full suits of armour to attend. She sat in a high carriage with her armed warriors all around, and she laughed, and chatted, with those about her though a shivering would come on her every now and then.

"The chase began, and bears and lions were killed, and everyone was quite eager about the sport. At last they were near the meadow and the oak tree when the cold of death came on the queen's heart, for she heard great outcries on the outside of the guards. Immediately after she shrieked out for the horrible howl of a wolf was heard, and she saw her people falling away this side and that side, as she caught sight of the terrible beast rushing directly towards her carriage. The armed men seemed deprived of all sense and courage, for they neither struck at him with their swords, nor flung nor levelled their spears at him. Instantly he was near the carriage, and with one high bound he was up in it, and the throat of the queen between his jaws, and both rolled out of it and down on the ground. Those at hand now collected their courage, and rushed to rescue the queen, but she was lifeless and a noble looking young man standing where the wolf was a moment before. They recognised their rightful prince at once, and came round, and fell on their knees before him, and kissed his hands. He stood all dazed and astonished, and asked those about him what all this meant. For the last thing on his mind was the walk with his sister and his stepmother seven years before. He soon learned what had taken place, and was grateful for his rescue, and returned to the palace, where as soon as could be he was anointed and crowned.

"In the middle of this joy felt by

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