m
seated on a cloudy throne was a majestic being with flowing white beard,
and a crown of gold on his head. As Walter approached the throne, the
poplar leaves shook and shivered as before a thunderstorm. Then a great
wind arose, a mist rose up, the fairy procession bowed down before the
Old King--the Ruler of the Mountain. Then there was a sound like the
rumbling of thunder, and the Old King spoke. Walter had some difficulty
at first in catching the words, but by nudges, pinches, and pokes, the
company gave him to understand that they were addressed to him.

"What is your name? mortal child," said the Old King.

"Walter, please Your Majesty," said Walter with a deep bow, feeling his
courage going into his boots.

"Walter--a good old German name," said the Old King. "Doubtless you are
a poet?"

"Oh!" said our hero valiantly, "when I am a man I mean to write story
poems like Schiller and Uhland."

"That is right," said the Old King. "Real poets are rare in these days.
Even if I appear to them in all my splendour the stupid people merely
remark 'a curious cloud formation,' and think they know all about it.
You are young"--he went on--"you will forget all that you have seen
here; but the feeling will remain that the heavens are near you. Who
knows but what you may be a real poet in the future, a poet who shall
open men's eyes once more to the invisible world which lies so near
them. Remember your beautiful costume and show always the cloud with the
silver lining in your poems."

"Which do you like best, work or play?" continued His Majesty in a voice
like distant rolls of thunder.

"Play, please Your Majesty," said Walter, tremulously.

"Quite right, quite right, play play all the day--good folk say--good
folk say! Do you cry much? My children are all such cry babies, and
though I scold them and lecture them every day, they will not learn to
behave better."

Walter had no time to answer; for clouds came rolling up and almost hid
him from view.

"These are my troublesome children," said the Old King.

Some of the clouds were dear little cuddly babies, others looked like
great white poodles, others like huge black bears or crocodiles. With
outstretched arms and winged helmets strange forms rode by on swift
horses with floating manes resembling the Walkuere of old; the lightning
played across the sky as they passed. Truly they were a strange family
with much originality.

"Now, children, be off with you, and wh