American Republican and Baltimore daily clipper. [volume] (Baltimore, Md.) 1844-1846, 1846-04-01

long been used to no better fare. The man
drew his seat in silence to the table, and ate,
glancing now and then at the door, as if he ex-
pected some one.
"Where is Roswtha?" he asked at length,
peevishlY. "Why comes she mott"
81 will call her presently" answered the
dame. "She was spinning but now-and, be-
like, hath not yet finished her task"
When the meal was ended the dame went
out to seek her daughter. A few PAGES from
the house, in natural arbor, formed by wild
vines clustering over myrtle trees, a young girl
was seated. Her spinning-wheel was before
her, but she had ceased work; her hands were
folded in her lap; her face was uplifted as if in
thoughtfulness or prayer. So exquisitely beau
tful was it, and so fail in the moonlight that
poured into the arbor, it might have seemed
the face of an angel. Its expression was that
OF sadness. and tear trembled in the soft blue
eyes, without escaping from the fringe Of their
lids.
"Roswitha!" said the mother gently,
The young girl started, and passed her hand
over her brow.
at is late, my daughter, and thy father has
asked for thee"
81 will come presently, my mother"
"Thou hast been weeping, Roswitha?'
"Nay-"
"Thou art wont to sing all day like bird
on the mountains. And now | mark, thy cheek
is pale. Hath evil CHANGED to thee, Roswitha?
1t would break thy mothers heart"
The young girl pressed her lips to the hand
of her parent, and answered, after pause-"I
have nothing to grieve me, dearest mother,
save the thought that thou and my father
who were once rich and honored-must now
toll like born peasants. And my father has no
wine to cheer him when he is faint, | heed
not poverty-but it is bitter to him."
at is our lot, and we must submit" said the
dame, mournfully.
MADAME Perota, the rich lady in the ham
let, wishes young girl, like me, for an atten-
dant; if | might 60, and earn money for you
and my father'
"Speak not if it, Roswitha; thou wouldst
find the great DANES humors harder than labor;
and couldst thou leave ue? No-no-we will
bear penury together. Better days have been,
and may come again.
So saying the dame wiped her eyes, and re-
turned towards the cottage, followed by her
daughter. Roswltha had not told all her
thoughts. She SAID not how the old tale she
had heard so oft in childhood, of treasure bu-
ried in the mountain of Schalkstein, had of
late dwet upon her mind. She told not how
she had dreamed twice of walking on the
mountain, and finding the mysterious flower,
and the treasure; and how happy it made her
parents. Nor how she had watched for the
Eve of st. John, and prayed all day to St. Ag-
mes, till her heart was strong within her, and
she was resolved to face every danger for the
sake of those to whom she owed life. All this,
and her resolution, Roswtha kept within her
own heart She smiled as she babe her father
good eve, and meekly bore his petulant child
ing for lingering so late, and assisted her moth
or in household work, talking cheerfully the
while, until her parents, after evening prayer,
retired to their rest. Her own little chamber
was next to theirs. She seated herself by the
easement. leaning her head on her fair hand,
and watched the glorious moon going up the
sky, till the orb hung like a crown Of silver
over the mountain. Then Roswtha softly O.
pened the door, and went forth The whole
valley was light as day. She walked rapidly,
without looking round her, till she reached
the mountain of the Schakstein. The woods
here was not dense; the moonlight streamed
through the foliage to the ground; and bending
forward as she walked, the maiden sought the
strange flower. There were pale marigolds in
abundance, and blue bells, and the golden but
tercups, and st. Johns wort, and the lowly
daisy, and phlox, and the wild violet; but all
these were familiar. In vain she sought one
wandered for hours on the mountain. At last
the bleached, bare rock of the Schalkstein rose
full before her, while in the moonlight. All
was still as death; and as the utter loneliness
of her situation, miles from home, occurred
for the first time to Roswitha, she felt her
heart sink within her. The spot was banned
by spirits-it was the hour of their sway
What did she, wandering alone in their do
main, seeking treasure over which they alone
had power! Or might not evil men be lurking
at midnight, in these lonely woods How could
helpless girl, if she CHANGED upon robbers, es-
cape or fly? Then her paTents-should they
wake and call to her-what would be their a.
larm when she answered not, and they found
her chamber solitary? Poor girl! her courage
had departed; she only wished to reach home
in safety. Walking as fast as possible, she
} took the nearest way homewards; but bewil-
dered and frightened she lost herself in the
woods After wandering about some time in
} uncertainty, she sat down, utterly exhausted,
and weeping bitterly, at the foot of tree
Nature soon yielded to fatigue and sorrow, and
she fell into profound slumber.
The moon was Just descending behind the
mountain opposite, when dark figure, wrap
= ped in cloak, entered the wood. 1t was a
stranger from the hamlet He too had been
wandering around the Schalkstein, in his phil
osopher's search. Beguiled by the beauty Of
the night, and the romantic views that presen-
, ted themselves at almost every turn, he had
roamed farther than he intended. The sight
} of a white object at little distance caused
. him to quicken his pace. Beneath the shelter
of tree young and beautiful girl lay sleep
ing, Her cheek rested on the dark moss; her
loosened hair, in long light curls, lay on her
fair neck and bosom. Tears still hung on the
silken eye lashes, and now aud then--though
r her slumber was deep as an infant's-a sigh
e heaved her breast, as even in sleeping she had
a not forgotten grief. Never had so exquisite q
: picture Of youth and grace and loyeIikkss, met