jumped up with a bound and sprang into
the thicket like one possessed.

Pale as death he reached the castle; a man was hanging in the "Jew's
Beech-tree"; he had seen his limbs suspended directly above his face.
"And you did not cut him down, you fool?" cried the Baron.

"Sir," gasped Brandes, "if Your Honor had been there you would have
realized that the man is no longer alive. At first I thought it was the
mushrooms!" Nevertheless Herr von S. urged the greatest haste, and went
out there himself.

They had arrived beneath the beech. "I see nothing," said Herr von S.
"You must step over there, right here on this spot!" Yes, it was true;
the Baron recognized his own old shoes. "God, it is John! Prop up the
ladder!--so--now down--gently, gently! Don't let him fall! Good heaven,
the worms are at him already! But loose the knot anyway, and his
necktie!" A broad scar was visible; the Baron drew back. "Good God!" he
said; he bent over the body again, examined the scar with great care,
and in his intense agitation was silent for some time. Then he turned to
the foresters. "It is not right that the innocent should suffer for the
guilty; just tell everybody this man here"--he pointed to the dead
body--"was Frederick Mergel."

The body was buried in the potter's field.

As far as all main events are concerned, this actually happened during
the month of September in the year 1789.

The Hebrew inscription on the tree read: "When thou comest near this
spot, thou wilt suffer what thou didst to me."

* * * * *

FERDINAND FREILIGRATH

THE DURATION OF LOVE[39] (1831)

Oh! love while Love is left to thee;
Oh! love while Love is yet thine own;
The hour will come when bitterly
Thou'lt mourn by silent graves, alone!

And let thy breast with kindness glow,
And gentle thoughts within thee move,
While yet a heart, through weal and woe,
Beats to thine own in faithful love.

And who to thee his heart doth bare,
Take heed thou fondly cherish him;
And gladden thou his every hour,
And not an hour with sorrow dim!

And guard thy lips and keep them still;
Too soon escapes an angry word.
"O God! I did not mean it ill!"
But yet he sorrowed as he heard.

Oh! love while Love is left to thee;
Oh! love while Love is yet thine own;
The hour will come when bitterly
Thou'lt mourn by silent graves, alone.

Unheard, unheeded then, alas!