re beautifully formed. Her face was like a lily
inclined towards the rising sun, and from her slender white neck, the
blue veins clung round her tender cheeks in gentle curves. Her voice
was like a distant echo, and her small head with its brown tresses
seemed but to hover over her airy form.

Refreshments were brought in, and the dances closed. The elder people
seated themselves on one side, the younger on the other.

Henry remained with Matilda. A young relative seated herself at his
left, and Klingsohr sat opposite him. If Matilda said but little, his
other neighbor, Veronika, was so much the more talkative. She
immediately played the familiar with him, and soon made him acquainted
with all present. Henry lost much of her conversation. He was still
with his partner, and wished to turn much oftener to the right.
Klingsohr made an end to their talking. He asked about the band with
the strange devices, which Henry had fastened to his coat. He told him
with much emotion of the girl from the holy land. Matilda wept; and now
Henry could scarcely hide his tears. For this reason he entered into
conversation with her. All were enjoying themselves, and Veronika joked
and laughed with her acquaintances. Matilda described Hungary, where
her father often dwelt, and the mode of life in Augsburg. The enjoyment
was at its height. The music put all restraint to flight, and all the
affections into a joyful play. Baskets of flowers in all their splendor
exhaled their odors upon the table, and the wine danced about between
the dishes and the flowers, shook its golden wings, and formed many
varied pictures between the guests and the world. Henry now understood
for the first time what was meant by a festival. A thousand happy
spirits seemed to gambol around the table, and to live in silent
sympathy with the joys of the happy people, and to intoxicate
themselves with their pleasures. The enjoyment of life stood before
him, like a tinkling tree full of golden fruits. Pain had vanished, and
it seemed impossible that ever human inclination should have turned
from this tree to the dangerous fruit of knowledge, the tree of strife.
He now learned what were wine and food. They tasted very richly to him.
A heavenly oil seasoned them for him, and from the beaker sparkled the
splendor of earthly life. Some of the maidens brought a fresh garland
to the old Swaning. He put it on, and kissing them, said, "You must
bring one also to our friend Klingsoh