she
did not dare to say so. One--if not two--must bear and forbear to
be happy, even on one's wedding-day.

And, when they reached their journey's end, Lazarus was no longer "the
wretched one ... miserable, poor, and blind," but was numbered amongst
the blessed Dead, and the Dog was by his grave:

"Come and live with me, now your old master is gone," said the
young man, stooping over the dog. But he made no reply.

"I think he is dead, sir," said the gravedigger.

"I don't believe it," said the young man, fretfully. "He was an
Enchanted Dog, and he promised I should have him when I could say
what I am ready to say now. He should have kept his promise." But
Aldegunda had taken the dog's cold head into her arms, and her
tears fell fast over it.

"You forget," she said; "he only promised to come to you when you
were happy, if his old master was not happier still: and perhaps--"

"I remember that you always disagree with me," said the young man,
impatiently. "You always did so. Tears on our wedding-day, too! I
suppose the truth is, that no one is happy."

Aldegunda made no answer, for it is not from those one loves that
he will willingly learn that with a selfish and imperious temper
happiness never dwells.

The "Blind Man" was inserted in the Magazine as an "Old-Fashioned
Fairy Tale," and Julie wrote another this year (1876) under the same
heading, which was called "I Won't."

She also wrote a delightfully funny Legend, "The Kyrkegrim turned
Preacher," about a Norwegian Brownie, or Niss, whose duty was "to keep
the church clean, and to scatter the marsh marigolds on the floor
before service," but, like other church-sweepers, his soul was
troubled by seeing the congregation neglect to listen to the preacher,
and fall asleep during his sermons. Then the Kyrkegrim, feeling sure
that he could make more impression on their hardened hearts than the
priest did, ascended from the floor to the pulpit, and tried to set
the world to rights; but eventually he was glad to return to his
broom, and leave "heavier responsibilities in higher hands."

She contributed "Hints for Private Theatricals. In Letters from Burnt
Cork to Rouge Pot," which were probably suggested by the private
theatricals in which she was helping at Aldershot; and she wrote four
of her best Verses for Children: "Big Smith," "House-building and
Repairs," "An Only Chil