The path which the most celebrated novelists of our days generally
tread, in their relation of events of ancient and modern times, may be
found without the aid of any beacon, and has a direct and fixed
limit:--it is the journey of a hero going to a wedding. Let the road be
ever so rugged, let him even venture to loiter his time improvidently
and inconsistently on his way, he will be induced in the end to hasten
his steps so much more rapidly to redeem the lost ground; and so, when
an author has at length conducted his reader to the bridal chamber,
after having made his hero undergo all the necessary fatigues of his
journey with becoming fortitude and resolution, he shuts the door in
your face, and closes the book. We might in the same way have ended our
story with the gay doings in the castle of Stuttgardt, or included the
reader in the torchlight procession of the bridegroom, and conducted
him out of our book; but the higher claims of truth and history,
together with the interest we have taken in some of the leading
characters, compel us to request the reader's patience to accompany us
a few steps further, beyond the limit of the bridal-chamber. He will
have to bewail with us the destiny of one, who, having begun his career
in the midst of misfortune, progressively advanced towards the
completion of his best wishes by the energy of his noble mind, until at
length his impetuous spirit hurled him again into the depths of misery.
His headstrong obstinacy had well nigh involved all his friends in his
own sad fate: one alone of them, whose sense of gratitude had
indissolubly attached him to the fortunes of his benefactor, preferred
rather to risk his life in his service than to desert him in the hour
of distress.

Nature's warning voice, which teaches us to be prepared against a
reverse of fortune in our happiest days, runs through the world's
history. It is acknowledged by the many, unheeded by the majority, and
followed by the few. In all times a troubled spirit has pervaded the
habitations of our earth; and, though its influence has been often
felt, man has vainly thought to deaden it in the noise of mirth.
Ulerich von Wuertemberg had heard this warning voice many a night, when
he lay on his couch sleepless from a troubled mind. Often times he had
started up, thinking he heard the noise of armed men, or the heavy
tread of an army approaching nearer and nearer the spot; and, though he
convinced himself it was but the nig