w
pace, that I may listen to one who walks near by, and has a fine story
to tell; and I have taken many a person into my wagon, in bad weather,
with the understanding that he should tell me a story; and one of my
comrades I love very dearly, for the reason that he knows stories that
last for seven hours and even longer."

"That is also my case," added the young goldsmith. "I love stories as I
do my life; and my master in Wuerzburg had to forbid me books lest I
should neglect my work. So tell us something fine, compass-maker; I
know that you could tell stories from now until day-break before your
stock gave out."

The compass-maker complied by emptying his glass and beginning his
story.

THE HIRSCH-GULDEN.

In Upper-Suabia still stands the walls of a castle that was once the
stateliest of the surrounding country, Hohen-Zollern. It rose from the
summit of a round steep mountain, from whence one had a distant and
unobstructed view of the country. Farther than this castle could be
seen from the encircling horizon, was the brave race of the Zollerns
feared; and their name was known and honored in all German countries.

There lived several hundred years ago, in this castle, a Zollern, who
was by nature a singular man. One could not say that he oppressed his
subjects, or that he lived at war with his neighbors; yet no one
trusted him, on account of his sullen look, his knitted brow, and his
moody, crusty manner. There were few people, outside of the castle
servants, who had ever heard him speak properly like other people; for
when he rode through the valley, if one met him, gave him the road, and
said to him with uncovered head, "Good evening, Sir Count! It is a fine
day," he would answer, "Stupid stuff," or, "I know it already." If,
however, one had been inattentive to his wants or had neglected his
charger, or if a peasant with his cart met him on a narrow road, so
that the count could not pass him quickly enough, he broke out into a
torrent of curses. Yet it was never said of him on these occasions that
he had struck a peasant. But all through this region he was called "The
Tempest of Zollern."

The Tempest of Zollern had a wife who was a complete contrast to
himself, and as mild and pleasant as a May morning. Often by her
friendly words and her kind glance had she reconciled to her husband
people whom he, by his rude speech, had deeply insulted. To the poor
she did all the good in