stole it. So he received a great reward
from all parties, and became a very famous man.

THE WHITE MAIDEN.

It is now centuries since a young noble of the neighbourhood was
hunting in the valleys which lie behind the hills that skirt the Rhine
opposite the ancient town of St. Goar. In the heat of the pursuit he
followed the game to the foot of the acclivity on which are seated the
ruins of Thurnberg, and there it disappeared all at once from his
view. It was the noon of a midsummer day, and the sun shone down on
him with all its strength. Despairing of being able to find the object
of his pursuit, he determined to clamber up the steep hillside, and
seek shelter and repose in the shadow of the old castle, or, mayhap,
in one of its many crumbling chambers. With much labour he succeeded
in reaching the summit, and there, fatigued with his toil, and parched
with a burning thirst, he flung himself on the ground beneath one of
the huge towers, some of whose remains still rear their heads on high,
and stretched out his tired limbs in the full enjoyment of rest.

"Now," said he, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow,--"now
could I be happy indeed, if some kind being would bring me a beaker of
the cool wine, which, they say, is ages old, down there in the cellars
of this castle."

He had scarce spoken the words when a most beautiful maiden stepped
forth from a cleft in the ivy-covered ruin, bearing in one hand a huge
silver beaker of an antique form, full to the very brim of foaming
wine. In her other hand she held a large bunch of keys of all sizes.
She was clad in white from head to foot, her hair was flaxen, her skin
was like a lily, and she had such loving eyes that they at once won
the heart of the young noble.

"Here," said she, handing him the beaker, "thy wish is granted. Drink
and be satisfied."

His heart leaped within him with joy at her condescension, and he
emptied the contents of the goblet at a single draught. All the while
she looked at him in such a manner as to intoxicate his very soul, so
kindly and confidential were her glances. The wine coursed through his
veins like liquid fire, his heart soon burned with love for the
maiden, and the fever of his blood was by no means appeased by the
furtive looks which ever and anon she cast upon him. She apparently
read his state of mind, and when his passion was at its highest pitch,
and all restraint seemed put an end to by the potent effects of lov