e it rises,
This thought so full of woe;
But a tale of times departed
Haunts me, and will not go.

The air is cool, and it darkens,
And calmly flows the Rhine;
The mountain-peaks are sparkling
In the sunny evening-shine.

And yonder sits a maiden,
The fairest of the fair;
With gold is her garment glittering,
And she combs her golden hair:

With a golden comb she combs it;
And a wild song singeth she,
That melts the heart with a wondrous
And powerful melody.

The boatman feels his bosom
With a nameless longing move;
He sees not the gulfs before him,
His gaze is fixed above,

Till over boat and boatman
The Rhine's deep waters run:
And this, with her magic singing,
The Lorelei has done!

Among the pleasing stories related on this evening was "Little Mook,"
by Hauff, and a poetic account of a "Queer Old Lady who went to
College."

LITTLE MOOK.

There once lived a dwarf in the town of Niceu, whom the people
called Little Mook. He lived alone, and was thought to be rich. He
had a very small body and a very large head, and he wore an enormous
turban.

He seldom went into the streets, for the reason that ill-bred
children there followed and annoyed him. They used to cry after
him,--

"Little Mook, O Little Mook,
Turn, oh, turn about and look!
Once a month you leave your room,
With your head like a balloon:
Try to catch us, if you can;
Turn and look, my little man."

[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO HEIDELBERG CASTLE.]

I will tell you his history.

His father was a hard-hearted man, and treated him unkindly because
he was deformed. The old man at last died, and his relatives drove
the dwarf away from his home.

He wandered into the strange world with a cheerful spirit, for the
strange world was more kind to him than his kin had been.

He came at last to a strange town, and looked around for some face
that should seem pitiful and friendly. He saw an old house, into
whose door a great number of cats were passing. "If the people here
are so good to cats, they may be kind to me," he thought, and so he
followed them. He was met by an old woman, who asked him what he
wanted.

He told his sad story.

"I don't cook any but for my darling pussy cats," said the beldame;
"but I pity your hard lot, and you may make your h