een for ten years the marvel of Germany,--the clock which was
made by the cunningest artificers who followed Dumiger's model, has
stopped. No one can arrange it; the model was broken up as a jealous
precaution. There is but one who understands it--who can regulate the
wondrous movement; that is he who constructed it.

Yes. the Council will go to Dumiger. They seek his house; they repent
of the fearful crime they committed.

"Dumiger, come forth!" they exclaim. "Forgive us our offense. Greatest
of citizens, all honors and rewards shall be heaped upon you. Regulate
this great work, prized above all others in this city, for which
we contended for five years with Hamburg. Stand forth in glory and
honor!"

And a man, young in years, but decrepit in suffering, appears,
supported by two friends. The partner of his hopes and fears is long
since dead. The streets ring with applause as he appears, and many
kneel to kiss his hand--ay, some his feet. But all he asks is to be
led first to Marguerite's grave. There, in the presence of thousands,
he prays for strength; and then he desires them to conduct him to the
clock-tower.

When he appears outside, the air is rent with shouts. "Dumiger,
Dumiger, the first of the citizens!" Oh, popular feeling, at once base
and baseless!

He seems to see the works again; he climbs up and touches every part
of the wonderful construction--his hand has found the secret of the
movement, again it is in order, and the pride of Dantzic is saved.

He stands still for some minutes. A god could not have been more
worshiped, or a prophet looked grander. Again his hand is on the
movement--crash, crash,--the slight spring on which the whole
machinery depended is rent asunder by his own hand; the clock falls
to pieces, never to be repaired. At the same moment there is a fall, a
fearful groan, and Dumiger lies on the pavement a bleeding corpse. The
clock and its maker have ceased to exist.

Such is the legend, and from that day there has been no clock in the
Dom of Dantzic.

* * * * *

THE SHIP "EXTRAVAGANCE."

Oh, Extravagance saileth in climes bright and warm.
She is built for the sunlight and not for the storm;
Her anchor is gold, and her mainmast is pride--
Every sheet in the wind doth she dashingly ride!
But _Content_ is a vessel not built for display,
Though she's ready and steady--come storm when it may.
So give us Content as life's channel we st