as bowed upon his arms; and when he raised his face, one
saw that he was so sad and pale! The poor literary man was quite
unhappy.

If one could have crept into his heart (like him who owned the "Galoshes
of Fortune"), one would have seen that his thoughts ran, "Ah me! how
unhappy I am. I write books about the good and the beautiful, but nobody
buys them; no one cares to read of such things. If I could but tell them
a tale, now, something lively or pathetic, like the poet Baggesen or our
own Hoffman, that they all like. Nay, then, what a weary life it is!"
and he leaned back in his arm chair, and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, something came hissing down the chimney into the stove. It was
two or three rain drops driven in by the wind. Something else appeared
to have entered with them, for there was a rustle and breeze in the
chamber, and then the literary man heard a whisper quite close to his
ear.

"Thou silly fellow!" cried the wind, for that it was, "to sit in thy
chamber with closed doors, waiting for the story to come to thee! Nay,
then, what is there in thy books half so clever or amusing as what one
sees in real life? Listen, now, and I will tell thee what I saw one
moonlight night as I blew over this wide German land."

THE STORY OF THE WIND.

IN summer, all the world--of Leipsic--goes out of town, to Baden or Ems.
Those who can afford it run over the Alps, to sunny Italy; but in
winter--ah! then it is very different!

One is glad enough, then, to remain at home by the warm stove; or if one
goes out, one must be well wrapped up in furs and cloaks.

The little boys slide and skate on the frozen river; the poorer folks go
about in sledges, and the rich in splendid sleighs, with white fur robes
and capering horses, which have little bells tied to their manes and
tails.

Just such a sleigh as this stood, one bright moonlight night, before the
door of the Burgomaster Von Geirstein, in the good town of Leipsic. The
whole family were going in a body out of town, and now the hall door
opened, and forth came the fat and stupid Burgomaster himself, with his
fat and silly wife on his arm, followed by their pretty, blue-eyed
daughter, Matilda, and her lover, Walther Von Blumenwald, a thriving
young merchant. Her brother, Max, came last, a merry, good-natured young
fellow, but who, certainly, was not very wise.

Max took the driver's place; the others seated themselves within the
large sleigh, and tucked the warm f