ings burst forth in tears. It is in
solitude one knows his own wishes and his helplessness. I found no place
of repose for my struggling heart; and, tired with weeping, I at length
fell asleep. Have you ever fallen asleep worn out with weeping? But men
do not weep. You have never wept so that the sobs shook your breast even
in your sleep? Sobbing in my dreams, I heard my name. It was dark. By the
faint glimmer of the street lamps, I perceive a man near me, in a foreign
military uniform, sabre, sabretash--dark hair. I should have thought it
was Black Fred, (Stadion's name among his intimates.)

"No--it is no mistake; it is indeed Black Fred, come to take his leave.

"'My carriage is at the door--I am going--as a soldier--to the Austrian
army; and with regard to your Tyrolese friends, you shall have nothing to
reproach me with, or you never see me more; for I give you my word of
honour I will not consent to their being betrayed. I have this moment been
with the Crown-prince. He drank with me the health of the Tyrolese, and a
'_pereat_' to Napoleon. He took me by the hand, and said--'Remember that,
in the year nine, in April, during the Tyrolese rebellion, the
Crown-prince of Bavaria opposes Napoleon.' And so saying, he clanged his
glass on mine so, that he broke the foot of it off.'

"I said to Stadion--'Now then I am all alone, and have no friend left.'

"He smiled, and said--'You write to Goethe. Write him from me that the
Catholic priest will gather laurels on the Tyrolese battle-field.'

"I said--'I shall not soon hear a mass again.'

"'And I shall not soon read one,' he answered.

"He then took up his weapons, and reached me his hand to say good-by. I am
sure I shall never see him again.

"Scarcely was he gone, when a knock came to the door, and old Bopp came
in. It was still dark in the room, but I knew by his voice he was in
good-humour. He held out a broken glass to me; with great solemnity, and
said--'The Crown-prince sends you this, and bids me tell you that he drank
the health of those you take under your protection out of it; and here he
sends you his cockade, as a pledge of honour that he will keep his word to
you, and prevent all cruelty and injustice.'"

The fate of Hofer comes unfortunately to our memory to mar the
pleasantness of this little dramatic incident; but the whole story gives a
favourable impression of the Crown-prince, who is now the poetical Louis
of Bavaria--the dullest and stupidest