Ludwig and Sigfrid were fellow-students at a university in the south of Germany. The former, nobly born and wealthy, devoted himself to the mathematical sciences, the better to qualify himself for the army: the latter, who was humbler in birth and in fortune, gave his whole attention to the fine arts. Though their pursuits were thus widely different, they were both alike in amiability of temper, and soon became intimate friends. The seriousness and steadiness of Ludwig softened down the more mercurial spirits of Sigfrid; while the latter, by his volatile cheerfulness, conjured away, as it were, his companion's soberness. The more they associated, the stronger became the links which bound them in friendship, until an unhappy mischance broke the chain asunder.

As the two friends had both come to the university from the splendid metropolis of northern Germany, they found all in the little town dull and wearisome, even despite the great beauties of the neighbouring country. To while away time, they usually, every Sunday afternoon, walked to an inn beautifully situated at the entrance of a forest, and not above half-a-mile from the city walls. Thither were wont to repair all seekers after recreation, and there might be seen, in an open pent-house, students joining with burghers, artizans, and villagers, and their wives and families, in the waltz and the dance, to the sound of a single violin. The magnates of the university and the town, with their spouses, sat gravely at wooden tables; the gentlemen smoking their pipes and sipping their wine, the ladies eating pastry and drinking milk or lemonade.

On one of these gay evenings the friends became acquainted with Professor Treumann. Their manners, as far removed from impertinent intrusiveness as from stupid embarrassment, delighted him; and though they did not suspect that a magnet at his side, more powerful than his learning, attracted them, they took every pains to gain his esteem. They introduced themselves to him by entering into a long discussion about the ancient sports and holidays of the country, during which, as if by mere chance, they occasionally glanced at the large blue eyes and the chestnut hair of the beautiful Mathilda Treumann, who sat just opposite them, with her mother and her younger sister.

These agreeable discussions were renewed every Sunday evening, and not unfrequently one or other of the young men, when the Professor

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looked another way, hazarded a word or two with Mathilda; and as neither she nor they wanted wit and information, they very soon formed a personal acquaintance.

Ere long (how could it be otherwise?) the two friends fell deeply in love. Their former anxiety of being always together changed into a dread of meeting: they avoided each other as much as possible; and when they chanced to come together, they spoke of Mathilda with feigned indifference. Each walked alone to enjoy his thoughts undisturbed, and by a sort of tacit agreement, they always called on Treumann at different hours of the day: still, though their rivalry prevented their being intimate, their hearts yearned for friendship, and each selected a student as his constant companion and adviser. Alas! these new counsellors were among the most roistering bullies of the whole university. They both felt that the love of one only could be returned by Mathilda, and opportunity gave Sigfrid the greater chance of successfully competing for the maiden's heart. His art it was which first brought him into a familiar acquaintance with her; for, as she was embroidering a work-bag for a birthday present to a friend who dwelt far from her, he proposed to paint her portrait in miniature, so that she could place it in the bag, and thus agreeably surprise her absent friend by sending the giver's picture in the gift itself. Mathilda gladly assented.

Sigfrid had now access at any hour of the day to the beautiful maiden, and absolute power to arrange her shawls, bonnets, and gloves to his taste, and to bring her flowing hair into control with the massive tortoiseshell comb.

In the meanwhile Ludwig, who feared lest his position and fortune might give rise to mistrust in Mathilda's mind, had carefully concealed from her both the nobility of his race and the greatness of his wealth. Ludwig was rich, and his father so dearly loved him, that he would never thwart the affections of his son's heart; so he rested in security. Treumann, on his part, thought the marriage between Ludwig and his daughter most desirable, and hastened to speak to her on the subject. He met her in the garden, and thought it not very improbable that she had been seeking him there for a similar purpose. "Well, daughter," said he, "these are two fine young fellows that we have lately got acquainted with-that they are, both of them; still I own I have a preference." Mathilda might have echoed her father's words, but

his friend, whom the sad circumstances under which they had parted doubly endeared to him. Three years he passed in the active occupations of his profession, during all which time his researches after Sigfrid were continued with unabated zeal, but with equal want of success. Often, often had he wished to return to seek him personally; but political disturbances rendered it utterly impossible for him to absent himself from his regiment; and the death of his father just at this time increased his misery. Ere he had well recovered the effects of the two shocks he had sustained, an opportunity of again visiting the university offered itself, and most eagerly did he avail himself of it, to pay one more visit to the Treumann family. As soon as he reached their house, he at once went

towards the garden, the well-known stage on which such painful scenes had been acted. He hastened to the sitting-room, and as he passed through it to reach the summer-house, he saw Mathilda reclining on the grass bank, and reading, as she so frequently did in days gone by. Beautiful and blooming she looked; and Ludwig could feel amazement only at her apparent health and loveliness. Care had left no trace on her fine features: there was no sign of past sorrow to be detected there. "Does she, then, mourn no longer for Sigfrid?" said Ludwig, half aloud. "Is he, too, even so soon forgotten?"

66

The reclining beauty slowly raised her fine (To be continued.)

head.

It is perhaps unnecessary to inform my reader that the drink called toddy," one of the strongest and most intoxicating liquors in the East, is nothing more nor less than the sap of the cocoa-tree. The process of obtaining it is most simple. The toddy-gatherer leaves his dwelling after sunset, and seeking the thickest cocoa woods, climbs up, and cuts notches in the bark of such trees as seem likely to yield the most juice. Under each notch he affixes a small jar to receive the liquid, which if drank instantly, is one of the mildest and most wholesome beverages possible; but if left during a few days to ferment in the sun, becomes the most ardent spirit known.

The toddy-gatherer of whom I am about to speak, had left his cottage (which was situated in a cinnamon grove in the island of Ceylon) little more than half an hour, when a native pedlar called there, to exhibit his tempting wares, and solicit a lodging for the night. The gatherer's wife, whose whole soul was wrapped up in the idea of finery, was delighted to let him in. Her bangles and joys, which had hitherto been the pride of her life, were now eclipsed, and she sighed with envy as she saw all her former notions of grandeur fade before the contents of the wanderer's pack. Having, however, no money, yet still hoping her husband might be induced to become a purchaser, she so far yielded to his requests, as to allow him to rest on a bench, which was placed beneath the porch, (an ornament common to all the cottages in Ceylon,)

there to doze till her husband's return.

After depositing his valuable knapsack under his head, the pedlar fell into a slumber, from which he was aroused by hearing a door creak; his sleep being like that of most of his tribe, so light that the slightest noise was calculated to disturb it. On opening his eyes he beheld his hostess with her head protruding through the

cottage door, apparently watching to see whether her guest was awake or not. On seeing him stir, she made a short apology for thus waking him, and retired. The itinerant vendor, however, was of a suspicious, an unconfiding nature, and took it into his head that all was not right; so after a short time he affected to sleep again, indulging in one of those dozes, when outward objects are visible, though indistinctly seen by the wary watcher. In about an hour more, by the strong shadow afforded by an unclouded moon, the man saw some object approaching cautiously from the opposite direction. He therefore believed it was the gatherer returning to his home, and looked up quietly; when, to his dismay, he perceived the woman stealthily approaching him with a long cocoa-knife in her hand.

In an instant he was on his legs to confront her. She appeared somewhat startled, but declared she had been in the woods seeking her husband, and that the knife she held was for the purpose of cutting down some jars left by him in the vicinity; but as she had not brought these articles with her, the suspicious pedlar much doubted her story. Affecting, however, to be lieve it, he saw her quietly re-enter the cottage, and shut the door after her. No sooner was she well in, than, misdoubting her intentions, the traveller instantly climbed up a tall tree, and took up his abode amidst the branches.

Here he had been seated about half an hour, when he beheld the toddy-gatherer calmly returning home, loaded with his utensils, which he carried in a small sack over his shoulder. Worn out apparently with his exertions, and tempted by the beauty of the night, when he came to his door he paused for a short time, and sitting down on the bench lately occupied by the native merchant, he seemed to fall into a train of deep thought. Presently, as if disinclined to enter the house, he made a sort of pillow of his

well-filled bag, and covering his face, as is usual | throughout the East, with his cummerbund, fell fast asleep.

In less than another hour, the door of the cottage was noiselessly opened, and the woman again appeared. She approached her husband, listened for a few moments to ascertain that he slept, then stepping back a pace, she raised her arm, and with her whole force, at one blow, drove the knife right through her wretched partner's heart. For an instant only she seemed shocked at what she had done; then recovering herself, she attempted to withdraw the knife, which having gone completely through her victim, had buried its sharp and fine point in the bench. After a severe exertion she succeeded, but not without breaking off the point of the cocoa splitter, which remained in the wood.

The woman's anxiety now to obtain the spoil, for which she had thus perilled body and soul, appeared almost infernal. She seemed to grin in ecstacy at the deed she had done, and pant for the ill-gotten gain she had thus made her own. Exultingly she dragged what she conceived to be the pack of jewels from beneath the head of the corpse, when the movement drew from her victim's face the cloth that had covered it, and the savage murderess beheld the wellknown lineaments of her own husband. She gave a sudden scream, and bounding off, threw down the sack, and with frantic cries rushed through the woods.

The horror-stricken witness feared to move. If he descended, he might meet the murderess, who would doubtless revenge her dreadful mistake on the unarmed man: or by possibility he might become mixed up in the business; so he determined not to leave his place of refuge till morning, and kept his position, staring, in spite of himself, at the horrid object beneath him, in a sort of waking dream, till he was suddenly aroused by seeing the woman, accompanied by several persons, (evidently officers of justice,) approach the hut.

They examined the corpse, searched the house, and began to take down their notes in writing, when the pedlar, anxious to seek their protection, by a sudden stir of the branches succeeded in attracting their attention.

In another moment a gun was pointed at him, and he was commanded to descend on peril of being shot. The poor man desired no better, and instantly clambered down, when to his horror and surprise he was immediately seized and bound, as the woman, rushing from the cottage with frantic gestures, declared she recognized in him the assassin of her adored husband.

The wretched prisoner was instantly brought to trial, and, despite his declarations of innocence, condemned to death. The woman's statement was clear and probable. She declared that the pedlar had come to their house and sought shelter for the night, a boon her husband had unhesitatingly accorded; that the two men had a severe dispute about the price of some trinkets, when in a fit of passion her husband thrust the itinerant merchant out of the house, who it

seemed had not gone far, for soon after the toddy-gatherer, feeling warm and uncomfortable from the debate he had held, and the liquor he had drunk, had gone out to lie down. A slight noise, however, awoke his wife, who saw the wicked traveller, distinctly saw him stab her husband through the heart. She went on to state that then, without uttering any cry, for fear of instant annihilation herself, she stole from the back door, and rushed into the town for assistance, and had happily succeeded in arresting the assassin before he had time to escape.

This account seemed so plausible, that scarcely any one in the court for a moment doubted the prisoner's guilt. In the first place, what motive could the wretched widow, who was well known to have been warmly attached to her husband, have to invent a falsehood? How came the accused to climb up a tree instead of flying? In a word, a thousand arguments were brought forward to satisfy the jury of the guilt of the unhappy pedlar.

One only person present doubted the whole story, and that, fortunately for the innocent man, was the enlightened judge before whom the case was tried. He felt assured of the truth of the defendant's statement, yet how to upset the strong testimony of the woman he could not devise. He was bound to charge the jury ac cording to evidence. This he did, and received their verdict of "Guilty" without a moment's hesitation. But still the judge was not satisfied, and afterwards declared that one of the most awful moments of his life was that, when he found himself compelled to pass sentence of death on the wretched prisoner. He, however, had one power, that of reprieve, and he exercised it by delaying the execution of the culprit for fifteen days.

The very instant that he left the court, a sudden thought struck him. He directly sent for the bench on which the murder was said to have taken place, had it closely examined, and discovered that the point of a sharp instru ment was lodged in it. This he had carefully extracted, and found it to be the end of a cocoanut-knife, with which the toddy-gatherer pierces the bark to get at the juice. This of course still further strengthened his suspicions, and he sent a fresh reprieve to the prisoner. He then caused the road leading from the cottage of the deceased to the town to be closely searched and ransacked. His efforts happily succeeded. Close to the edge of a half-dried tank the weapon was found. It was rusted with blood, had lost its point, and bore on its handle the name of the murdered

man!

The woman, without receiving any previous notice, was suddenly seized, and without accusation or other address, the knife was produced before her. She fell on her knees, confessed the whole, declared the temptation had been too great for her, that evidently Providence had determined to have her condemned, since he had brought up the knife from the bottom of the pond in which she had thrown it; and all she prayed for was instant death.

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