th the white dove to his coat of arms." "What was that?"
cried the baron, running to the window to listen.

"That is military music, and if I am not mistaken Swedish," said
Talander.

"The Swedes are entering the village," shouted the servants, and
Tugendreich flew to the turret with a palpitating heart to view the
passing heroes. The march came nearer and nearer, and behind the
trumpeters of a regiment of dragoons rode its colonel, a young noble
hero, in splendid armour, while his standard-bearer, whose uniform was
adorned by the golden lion on blue ground, carried before him the
rescued Saxon standard, which now received the laurel crown as it
dropped down from Tugendreich's hands.

"That must be Colonel Gueldenloewe," cried Talander, who came panting
behind the baron to the turret.

"Heavens! it is Axel," cried the Fraeulein, as the colonel looked up,
and she fell senseless into her tutor's arms. When she recovered she
found herself in Axel's arms, and on looking up her eye met his
penetrating glance.

"Well have you stood this trial, lovely girl," cried Axel in raptures.
"I had vowed to wed only that girl who could love in me the man and not
the count, whose love should be more powerful than any other
consideration of her tender sex. You have stood your trial, and mine
now begins, to show through my life that I am worthy of such a heart."

The beautiful Fraeulein sank blushing on her lover's breast. With tears
of joy in his eyes the old baron embraced his faithful Talander, and
the trumpeters below sounded a slow and solemn "Now God be praised."

C. A. F.

[1] _Du_ in German would here imply more familiarity from a long
acquaintance; _Ihr_ would be more distant and cold.

[2] The name Tugendreich means "rich in virtue."

[3] From a long poem, printed at Leipzig in the seventeenth century,
and called "The learned nobility." (Der gelehrte Adel.)

[4] Referring to General Tilly.

THE SANDMAN.

BY E. T. W. HOFFMANN.

NATHANIEL TO LOTHAIRE.

Certainly you must all be uneasy that I have not written for so
long--so very long. My mother, I am sure, is angry, and Clara will
believe that I am passing my time in dissipation, entirely forgetful of
the fair angel-image that is so deeply imprinted in my heart and mind.
Such, however, is not the case. Daily and hourly I think of you all,
and in my sweet dreams the kindly form of my lovely Clara passes before
me, and smiles upon me with her bri