ASANTLY, FOR
THE MANY MARVELLOUS AND MOST ENTERTAINING MATTERS OF WHICH THE
SUCCEEDING CHAPTERS TREAT.

It was a blessed year. In the fields the corn, the wheat, and the
barley grew most gloriously. The boys waded in the grass, and the
cattle in the clover. The trees hung so full of cherries that, with
the best will in the world, the great army of the sparrows, though
determined to peck everything bare, were forced to leave half the fruit
for a future feast. Every creature filled itself full every day at the
great guest-table of nature. Above all, however, the vegetables in Herr
Dapsul von Zabelthau's kitchen-garden had turned out such a splendid
and beautiful crop that it was no wonder Fraeulein Aennchen was unable
to contain herself with joy on the subject.

We may here explain who Herr Dapsul von Zabelthau and Aennchen were.

Perhaps, dear reader, you may have at some time found yourself in that
beautiful country which is watered by the pleasant, kindly river Main.
Soft morning breezes, breathing their perfumed breath over the plain as
it shimmered in the golden splendour of the new-risen sun, you found it
impossible to sit cooped up in your stuffy carriage, and you alighted
and wandered into the little grove, through the trees of which, as you
descended towards the valley, you came in sight of a little village.
And as you were gazing, there would suddenly come towards you, through
the trees, a tall, lanky man, whose strange dress and appearance
riveted your attention. He had on a small grey felt hat on the top of a
black periwig: all his clothes were grey--coat, vest, and breeches,
grey stockings--even his walking-stick coloured grey. He would come up
to you with long strides, and staring at you with great sunken eyes,
seemingly not aware of your existence, would cry out, almost running
you down, "Good morning, sir!" And then, like one awaking from a dream,
he would add in a hollow, mournful voice, "Good morning! Oh, sir,
how thankful we ought to be that we have a good, fine morning. The
poor people at Santa Cruz just had two earthquakes, and now--at this
moment--rain falling in torrents." While you have been thinking what to
say to this strange creature, he, with an "Allow me, sir," has gently
passed his hand across your brow, and inspected the palm of your hand.
And saying, in the same hollow, melancholy accents as before, "God
bless you, sir! You have a good constellation," has gone striding on
his