e excited cousin.

"And I fear, too, that his earnings are but small. At first I sent him a
few trifles to which he is accustomed, such as tea and cigars, but in
his last letter he told me he was going to be economical, and to leave
them off. He must have very little money," continued Baumann, shaking
his head; "not more than two hundred dollars."

"He is in want," cried the cousin; "actually he is. Poor Wohlfart! When
you next write, we will send him a chest of the Pekoe tea, and a couple
of our hams."

"Hams to the country! I fancy there are more swine there than any thing
else."

"But they don't belong to him," cried she. "Listen to me, Mr. Baumann;
it is your Christian duty to write to him at once, and tell him to
return. The business wants him. I have the best reasons to know how much
my cousin Schroeter is silently feeling the loss of his best coadjutors,
and how much he would rejoice to see Wohlfart back again."

This was a pious fraud of the good lady's.

"It does not appear so to me," interpolated Baumann.

"It was only to-day that my cousin Sabine said to her brother how dear
Wohlfart had been to us all, and how great a loss he was. If he has
duties yonder, he has duties here too, and these are the oldest."

"I will write to him," said Mr. Baumann; "but I fear, honored lady, that
it will be to no purpose, for, now that he himself is a loser by it, he
will never look back from the plow to which, for the sake of others, he
has put his hand."

"He does not belong to the plow, but to the pen," cried the cousin,
irritably, "and his place lies here. And because he gets a good name
here, and drinks his tea comfortably, he does his duty none the less.
And I tell you, too, Mr. Baumann, that I beg never to hear again of your
African notions."

Baumann smiled proudly. However, as soon as the cousin had left the
room, he obediently sat down and wrote off the whole conversation to
Anton.

The snow had melted away from the Polish estate; the brook had swollen
to a flood, the landscape still lay silent and colorless, but the sap
began to circulate in the branches, and the buds on the bushes to
appear. The ruinous bridge had been carried away by the winter torrents,
and Anton was now superintending the building of a new one. Lenore sat
opposite him, and watched his measurements. "The winter is over," cried
she; "spring is coming. I can already picture to myself green grass and
trees, and even the gloomy castle w