ng to say on the subject.
How now, Carl, what ails thee, man? Why so sad and silent?"

The painter who, at the commencement of the evening, had entered
frankly and willingly into the joyous humour of his friends, had
become totally changed since the commencement of this discussion on
the number _Thirteen_. He sat silent and thoughtful in his chair, and
left his glass untasted before him, while his thoughts were evidently
occupied by some unpleasant subject. His companions pressed him for
the cause of this change, and after for some time evading their
questions, he at last confessed that the turn the conversation had
taken had brought painful recollections to his mind.

"It is a matter I love not to speak about," said he; "but it is no
secret, and least of all could I have any wish to conceal it from you,
my good and kind friends. We have yet an hour before the arrival of
the mail, and if you are disposed to listen, I will relate to you the
strange incidents, the recollection of which has saddened me."

The painter's offer was eagerly accepted; the young men drew their
chairs round the table, and Solling commenced as follows:--

"I am a native of the small town of Geyer, in Saxony, of the tin mines
of which place my father was inspector. I was the twelfth child of my
parents and half an hour after I saw the light my mother give birth to
a Thirteenth, also a boy. Death, however, was busy in this numerous
family. Several had died while yet infants, and there now survive only
three besides myself, and perhaps my twin brother.

"The latter, who was christened Bernard, gave indications at a very
early age of an eccentric and violent disposition. Precocious in
growth and strength, wild as a young foal, headstrong and passionate,
full of spiteful tricks and breakneck pranks, he was the terror of the
family and the neighbours. In spite of his unamiable qualities, he was
the pet of his father, who pardoned or laughed at all his mischief,
and the consequence was, that he became an object of fear and hatred
to his brothers and sisters. Our hatred, however, was unjust; for
Bernard's heart was good, and he would have gone through fire and
water for any of us. But he was rough and violent in whatever he did,
and we dreaded the fits of affection he sometimes took for us, almost
as much as his less amiable humours.

"As far back as I can remember, Bernard received not only from his
brothers, but also from all our playfellows, the