The Sunday herald and weekly national intelligencer., 1890-04-13
THE LAUGHING SPRING.

From the French of Catulle Mendes
White, pure, and seemingly shadowless, the
spring gushed from the black heart of the rock.
Bright and sparkling, though the winters sky
was gray, cool and refreshing, though the sum-
mer's sun burned hotly, she ran, leaped, danced,
whirled down the mountain side, paused to rest
in some quiet pool beneath the shadow OF deep
rooted trees, stretched herself lazily in some
shallow, sunny space, sprang lightly down the
face of the steep rocks, calming herself, at last,
in the broad, placid stream which flowed decor
ously into the embrace of the wide, hil-girdled
lake.
But woe to the weary huntsmsn who knelt to
gaze into her sparkling face! For there was
that within to dazzle mortal eyes. Woe to him
who quaffed the cool draught from her laugh
ing lips 1t mounted to the brain like an en-
chanted wine. And woe, woe unto him who
followed whittier led her beckoning hands !!
Death, eager and covetous, lurked beneath the
white bosom of the Laughing Spring.
1t was only at night that one heard the laugh
ter, at night, and especially when the moon
Shone. Then high and clear above the voice of
the wind, signing and singing through the for
est trees, rosy crystal notes, tinkling over the
rocks, ripping among the rushes, cold,
bright, hard, moc1ing, wicked laughter! And
thepeasants below in the village, crossed them
selves in fear, and mothers, wives and sweet
hearts among them. wept bitterly, for, from
nearly every one of these, the Laughing Spring
had taken a dearly beloved.
But there was one in the village who neither
felt fear, nor crossed himself, nor shed tears.
This was the hunter Gerbert.
He was wild and fierce as the wolves in the
Black Forest, shy and free as the birds which
soar above it. With his rough hair flying over
his mighty shoulders and his dark eyes straight
before him, he passed the pretty village maidens
and knew not one of them even by her name
They might blush, or pout, or smle or sigh, or
sneer, as he swung by on his way to and from
the forest he neither saw or cared.
Yet none could say he knew not how to love.
For with the passionate fidelity of the heart
which chershes solitary affection, Gerbert
loved his comrade Johann.
This one was blue-eyed and yellow-haired
with frank smile, a fresh voice, and an honest
loyal, loving heart, and the two were all in all
to each other-brothers, friends companions in
the chase.
Johann had sweethearts in plenty among the
pretty girls Of the village, yet to lose him, the
prettiest of them all had but to frown as Ger
bert passed.
Aud of this one friend, the dearest on earth
the Laughing Spring had robbed him.
1t was at the close of long summers day
The heat was fierce and the thirst of the hunts
men great They stood together on rocky
crag, and from below came faint, sweet sount
of running water
''Only one can go down at time" sale
Johann, ''the path is steep and the water runs
swift and deep-do you take my gun" an(
slipping, sliding down the incline, he turned
once to wave his hand to his companion, thel
disappeared behind the shelving wall.
Kneeling on the narrow strip of rock whicl
formed the rim of a natural basin, he dipped hi
hands in the sparkling water, cooled his no
brow, and drank long and greedily from th
swiftly running stream.
Alone, on the rock above, Gerbert waited
The fierce sun sank, ball of fire In the west
reaching out his red fingers to scorch the land
scape. The gray rocks at Gerbert's feet wer
stained with crimson, the steel muzzles of tn
two guns resting ON his arm flashed fire into hi
eyes. He grew weary.
"Holloa Johann !"
"'loa ham !" Knocked an echo.
"La-la-lai-ou Johann!"
And again only the broken echo answere
mockingly his call-"' 'la-i-ou 'hann!'
''He plays me a trick I'll match him wit
another" laughed Gerbert, and singing bot
guns across his back, he picked his way stealthily
sure-footed as a chamois-down the face of th
rock.
On the edge of the basin he paused mute me
tionless, the laughter dying on his lips. III
was alone AT his feet lay Johann's hat, wit
its gay ribbons twisted about the soft crown
Gerbert glanced rapidly about him. Shut
by rocky walls, the stream ran away, broad an
swift, from its source beneath the great roc
down which the huntsmen had climbed. N
other outlet offered no hiding place, to tn
right nor to the left Only the water, the wall
of gray rock, the little cap at his feet
sound hoated on the stiffness Of the place
soft murmur like the faint, far ripping of tn
water--no like voice, like a song
How sweet it was. 1t flowed in on the senses
soothing, caressng, rayishing the soul with II
ineffable beauty. A song without words whic
yet seemed to say:
"Touch me / am cool and restful.