he horses are too slow!"

And yet the horses were running along the turnpike, swiftly passing
towns and villages, fields and meadows. The queen, in her impatience,
counted the relays. "We are already at Gransee; the next town will be on
Mecklenburg soil. The frontier of my father's state is between Gransee
and Fuerstenberg. Forward! home! home!"

"Queen, here we are on the frontier! Here is Mecklenburg!" exclaimed
Madame von Berg.

"Mecklenburg!" said the queen, smiling. "Hail my native country!" And
she kissed her hands to the landscape spread out before her in all its
summer beauty. "I greet and kiss thee, my Mecklenburg! I return with a
faithful heart!"

Why did the queen start up so suddenly, and press her hands so anxiously
against her heart? "Oh, Caroline," she whispered, "the death-worm, the
death-worm! Could it not be still at this moment? Could it not let me
enjoy the bliss of this hour? Oh, how it tortures my heart!"

"O queen, why such gloomy thoughts now? Look at the sky, how bright it
is!--how mild and pleasant the air--the air of Mecklenburg!"

"The air of my native country is fanning my face, but the death-worm is
at work in my heart. The gates of my home above will soon be thrown open
for me! But hush! Why put this drop of wormwood into the cup of joy? I
will not drink it, I will not listen to my palpitating heart! Let us see
whether I am stronger than my pain. I will laugh and be happy!"

And the queen, leaning forward with smiling countenance, said: "I greet
thee, my Mecklenburg, with thy waving wheat-fields and fragrant meadows,
thy transparent lakes and forest oaks, and, above all, thy ruddy sons
and daughters! Look, Caroline, what sunny waves are passing over those
ripening fields, bringing to the farmer the fruits of his labor. Look at
that pretty scene yonder! At the door of the lonely cottage, in the
middle of the rye-field, sits a peasant's wife; her babe is resting on
her breast, and three flaxen-haired children are playing at her feet.
She does not see us; she sees nothing but her children, and sings to
them. Stop, that I may hear the song of the good young mother!" The
carriage halted. The wind swept across the plain, and played with the
white veil of the queen, who listened with bated breath to the lullaby
of the peasant's wife:

"Oh, schlop, mihn lewes, luettes Kind,
Oh, schlop un droehm recht schoen!
Denn alle Engel bi di suend
Un Gott, de het di sehn.
Leev G