in the middle of it a table with a rich cover on it, bearing the
three caskets.

One was of shining gold, with a circle of glittering ducats on its lid,
and the inscription inside them--

"Who chooseth me doth gain that which he much desires."

The second was of silver, richly chased. On its lid were many words and
letters of foreign languages, encircling this inscription--

"Who chooseth me doth find more than he hopes."

The third, plainly carved of ivory, was inscribed--

"Who chooseth me doth gain his dreamed-of bliss."

Albertine took her place on a chair behind the table, her father by her
side. Manasseh and the Goldsmith drew away into the background.

The lots were drawn, and, Tussmann having the first choice, the Baron
and Edmund had to go into the other room.

The Clerk of the Privy Chancery went carefully and considerately up to
the table, looked at the caskets with much minuteness of observation,
read the inscriptions on them one after another. Soon he found himself
irresistibly attracted by the beautiful characters of foreign languages
so charmingly intertwined on the cover of the silver casket.

"Good heavens!" he cried, "what beautiful lettering, with what skill
those Arabic characters are brought in amongst the Roman letters, and
'Who chooseth me doth gain more than he hopes.' Now have I gone on
cherishing the slightest hope that Miss Albertine would be so gracious
as to honour me with her hand? wasn't I going to throw myself into the
basin? Evidently here is comfort, here is good fortune.
Commissionsrath! Miss Albertine! I choose the silver one."

Albertine rose and handed him a little key, with which he opened the
casket. Great was his consternation to find, not Albertine's portrait,
but a little book bound in parchment, which, when he opened it,
appeared to consist of blank white pages. Beside it lay a little scrap
of paper, with the words--

"Thy choice was, in a way, amiss,
But those few words do tell thee this--
What thou hast won will never alter,
To use it thou needs't never falter.
What 'tis as yet thou dost not see,
An endless source of joy 'twill be.
_Ignorantiam_ 'twill enlighten,
_Sapientiam_ further brighten."

"Good heavens!" cried Tussmann, "it's a book. Yet, no, it's not a book,
and there's nothing in the shape of a portrait. It's merely a lot of
paper bound up t