had not forgotten her.

Years rolled on, and the mother and son had never met again; when one
summer evening of the year 1438, a traveller, who had that morning
arrived in the town of Mainz, passed out of it towards the little
village of Steinheim. He was weary and way-worn; his clothes soiled and
dusty with long travel, and his cheeks tanned from long exposure to the
sun. Upon his back he bore a knapsack, and under his arm he carried a
large and carefully wrapped packet. As he reached the little hill at the
foot of which the village lay, he paused to look around him; and he
looked not as one who beholds for the first time a beautiful view,
taking in at a glance the whole picture which was spread before him; but
seeking out rather each well remembered object that was connected with
the past years of youth and childhood. Stretching from the north, and
far away to the west, was a long and wavy chain of hills, behind which
the sun was setting in a bright blaze of gold and red. How often had the
traveller seen such a sunset behind the blue summits of those hills
before! Flowing yet nearer to him was the noble river Rhine, winding
onward to the north, and bearing on its bosom many a little skiff which
scudded quickly before the evening breeze, or raft of timber which
floated slowly down its stream. How often had the stranger sailed in
such little barks upon its surface, or bathed and fished in its waters!
At his feet lay the little cluster of cottages which formed the village
of Steinheim; and amid its clustering trees and vineyards, it was not
fancy, perhaps, that led the traveller to think that he could
distinguish one roof from all the rest, and one patch of vines from out
the other larger vineyards. He passed on with quickened steps; but as he
approached the cottages, he found--not like the distant mountains or the
wide river--that much was new and changed. Houses and cottages had
sprung up where fields of barley and flax had grown, and a new church
stood where once a barn had been. He sought out the little cottage that
once he had known so well. Alas! it was strangely changed. A stone wall
supplied the place of the old briar-hedge, and shrubs had grown up into
trees, shadowing the door and window, whilst moss and ivy covered the
walls and roof. With a trembling hand he knocked at the lowly door. The
lattice was opened, and a strange face came to answer his inquiries.

"Does not the Frau Gensfleisch live here?" asked the