THE SWALLOWS OF ST. JURGENS. (From the German of Theodor Storm.) TH HE little town where I was born makes no pretensions to beauty; it lies on a flat and treeless sea-coast, and the houses are old and gloomy. Nevertheless I have ever considered it a pleasant place, and two birds, regarded as sacred by man, seem to share my opinion. In the height of summer storks may constantly be seen hovering over the town, having their nests in the roofs beneath, and in April the first southern breezes are certain to bear the swallows hither, and one neighbour tells another that they are come. It is even so now. In the garden, under my windows, the first violets are in blossom, and the swallow already sits on the railing, and twitters her old song "Als ich abschied nahm, als ich abschied nahm.” And, as she sings, my thoughts turn to one now long dead, to whom I owe some of the happiest hours of my childhood. In spirit I wander again up the long street, at the extreme end of which stands St. Jurgens' hospital; for, like most towns in the north of any importance, ours can boast of such an institution. The present house was built by one of our reigning dukes in the sixteenth century, and, through the generosity of the burghers, has gradually attained to a state of prosperity which renders it a most comfortable abode for those old people who, after the battle of life, still need some haven of refuge before they attain to their eternal rest. On one side of the building lies St. Jurgens' church-yard, beneath whose mighty lindens the first reformers preached; the other faces the inner court, with its ad | joining narrow strip of garden, where, in my youth, the inmates were wont to gather their Sunday nosegays. A dark gateway, surmounted by two heavy Gothic gables, leads from the street into this court, whence access is had by a row of doors to the interior of the house, to the chapel, and to the rooms of the inmates. Many a time, as a boy, have I passed through that gateway, for, since the large church of St. Mary had been pulled down, it having fallen into a state of disrepair, public worship was held, during many years, in the chapel of St. Jurgens' hospital. How often, in summer-time, before entering the chapel-door, have I lingered in the still Sunday morning in the sunny court, filled, according to the season, with the scent of wall-flower, carnations or mignonette, from the neighbouring garden. But this was not the only charm of church-going in those days; for often, particularly when I had risen an hour earlier than usual, I would stroll farther down the court and fix my eyes on a little window in the upper story, flooded with the morning sunshine, in one corner of which a pair of swallows had built their nest. One half of the lattice generally stood open, and, at the sound of my footsteps on the pavement, a woman's head, the grey hair smoothly braided beneath a snowwhite cap, would look forth with a friendly nod. "Good morning, Hansen," I then cried; for we children never called our old friend by any other than her surname ; in fact, we scarcely knew that she had besides the pleasant sounding one of Agnes, which once on a time had doubtless suited her well, when the blue eyes were yet young, and the and looked at me with its large brown eyes. fair hair unmixed with grey. "Now throw her up into the air!" cried Hansen. For many years she had been in our grandmother's service as housekeeper, and later, when I was about twelve years of age, had been admitted to the hospital as daughter of a burgher and tax-payer of the town. From that time forth, the chief attraction of our grandmother's house for us children had disappeared; for Hansen never failed at all times, and that without our being aware of it, to keep us actively and pleasantly employed. For my sister she would cut patterns for new dolls' dresses, while I, pencil in hand, copied from her design all sorts of ornamental capitals, or attempted to draw the old church from a now rare print which belonged to her. In later years it has struck me as singular that, in all our intercourse with her, she never repeated to us any of the tales or legends in which our neighbourhood is so rich; she seemed rather to discourage them as something useless or even injurious, when any one else started such subjects. And yet hers was far from being a cold or unimaginative nature. On the other hand she took great delight in all sorts of animals and birds; swallows particularly were favourites with her, and she managed to protect their nests from the all-destroying broom of our grandmother, whose almost Dutch love of cleanliness could ill tolerate the little intruders. She seemed also to have carefully studied the habits of those birds. Thus I remember once taking a black martin which I had found, apparently lifeless, on the pavement of the court. "The beautiful creature will die," I said, as I sadly stroked the shining brown-black plumage; but Hansen shook her head. "Oh, no," said she, "That is the queen of the air, and all she wants is the free heavens! She has doubtless fallen to the ground through fear of a hawk, and has not been able to use her long wings to rise again." Then we went into the garden; I with the swallow, which lay quietly in my hand And wonderingly I saw how, thrown from my hand, quick as thought the seemingly lifeless bird spread its pinions, and, with loud and joyful twitterings, shot like a feathered dart into the sunny firmament. "You should have seen them flying from the tower," said Hansen. "I mean from the tower of the old church, for that was something like a tower." Then she stroked my cheek with a sigh, and went back to the house to her usual work. "Why does Hansen sigh ?" thought I. It was many years after that I heard the answer to this question from the mouth of one then wholly unknown to me. Now she lived in peace and comfort, but her swallows had followed her, and we children, too, knew where to find her. When I entered her neat little chamber on a Sunday morning before church-time, she was always ready dressed in her best gown, and sitting with her hymn-book before her. If I then wished to seat myself beside her on the little sofa, she would say: "Eh, what! you won't see the swallows there!" Then she would lift aside a pot of geraniums or carnations from the window, and place me in her arm-chair, in the deep recess of the window. "But you must not throw your arms about that way," she would add smiling, "They are not accustomed to see such lively young folks every day." And then I would sit quietly and watch the slender birds as they darted to and fro in the sunshine, building their nests or feeding their young, while Hansen, opposite, discoursed to me of the glories of the old times; of the entertainments in my great grandfather's house; of the processions of the old companies of sharpshooters, or--and this was her favourite theme-of the paintings and altar-pieces of the old church, where she herself had stood as godmother to the last bell-ringer's little grand-daughter. Then, when the first tone of the organ rolled towards us from the chapel, she rose, and we walked together through a narrow and apparently endless corridor, dimly lighted by the scanty rays which fell through the curtained panes in the doors of the small apartments on either side. Here and there one of those doors would open, and in the gleam which, for a few moments, dispelled the twilight, I saw quaintly-dressed old men and women hobbling along, the most of whom had doubtless dwelt here from before the time of my birth. Many a question would be upon my lips; but, on the way to church, I knew I could expect no answer from Hansen; and so we proceeded, in silence, to the end of the passage, where Hansen, with the rest of the aged company, took their places in the pews reserved for the inmates of the hospital, while I went up to the choir. Here I sat, dreamily watching the revolving chime of the organ, and when the pastor ascended the pulpit, I must confess the words of his (doubtless) excellent sermon fell on my ear like the monotonous murmur of far-off waves, for there hung on the opposite wall the life-sized portrait of an old pastor, with long curling black hair and strangely cut moustache, which never failed to absorb my whole attention. The melancholy black eyes seemed to look forth into the new time, as from a dark world of witchcraft and superstition, and to me were eloquent of by-gone days whose history is still to be found in the old chronicles of our town, down to the wicked huntsman whose last misdeed is recorded in the epitaph of his murdered victim in the old church. Then, when all at once the organ began to peal forth the dismissal, I would take myself off quietly to the open air, for it was no joke to undergo an examination on the sermon at the hands of my old friend. Hansen seldom spoke of her own past life; it was not till I had been a student for several years that, during a vacation visit to my home, she, for the first time, told me something of her history. It was in April, on her sixty-fifth birthday. I had to-day, as in former years, brought her the customary two ducats from my grandmother, and some small gifts from our family, and had been treated to a glass of Malaga, which she kept in her little cupboard for such occasions. After we had chatted for a short time I begged her to shew me the state-hall, where for centuries the directors of the hospital had held their banquet, after the settlement of the yearly accounts. To this Hansen agreed, and we went together along the gloomy corridor; for the hall lay beyond the chapel, at the other extremity of the building. In descending the back stairs my foot slipped, and as I stumbled down the last few steps, a door in the passage below me was jerked open, and an old man of ninety thrust forth his bald and ghastly head. He muttered indistinctly some angry words, and then stared after us with his glassy eyes until we entered the chapel-door. I knew him well. The inmates of the hospital called him the "ghost seer," for they maintained that he was gifted with second sight. "His eyes are enough to frighten one," said I to Hansen, as we passed through the chapel. "He does not see you at all," she replied; "he can now only look backward upon his own foolish and sinful life.” "But," I continued jestingly," he can see the open coffins standing in the corner there, while those in them still wander about among the living." "These are but shadows, my child; he can do no more evil." "But," she added, "he has no right to be in the hospital, and only managed to slip into a vacancy which was in the bailiff's gift; for we others must shew proof of our character as burghers before we are admitted here." Meanwhile we had obtained the key from the housekeeper, and now ascended the staircase to the banquet-hall. It was only a moderately large, low-roofed apartment. At the one end stood an antique time-piece, the legacy of a deceased inmate, while on that opposite the life-sized portrait of a man in a scarlet doublet was hung. These were the only ornaments the room possessed. "That is the good Duke, the founder of the hospital," said Hansen; "but people enjoy his gifts and never think of him, though he must have wished to be remembered when he was gone." and honest folks were ruined. And my father was an honourable man! He took his good name with him to the grave,” she continued, after a short pause. "I can still remember how once, when we were walking through the streets together, he showed me an old house which has long since been destroyed. Mark that,' said he to me, that is where the pious merchant, Mericke, gravely lived in the year 1549, when the great fire broke out on the third Sunday after Easter. When the flames came near he rushed into the street with measure and balance, and "But you, at any rate, think of him, Han- prayed to God that if he had ever wittingly sen." She looked at me with her soft eyes. "Ay, my child," she said, "that lies some how in my nature; I cannot easily forget." On both sides of the room was a row of windows, looking to the street and to the churchyard; the small panes were set in a leaden frame, and in almost every one a name was engraved in black colour, chiefly out of well-known burgher families; and beneath: "Manager here, Anno -," and then followed the respective dates. 'Look, that is your great grandfather," said Hansen, pointing to one of these panes; "I shall never forget him either; it was with him my father learned his business, and afterwards he often got both advice and help from him; only when the hardest times came, his eyes were already closed." I read another name: "Liborius Michael Hansen, Manager here, Anno 1799." "That was my father," said Hansen. "Your father? Then how was it?" "That I spent half my life in service when my family were people of some position ?" "I mean what was it that brought misfortune on your family?" Hansen had seated herself on one of the old leathern chairs. "It was no uncommon thing, my child," she said. "It was in the year '7, the time the continental ports were closed; in those days the rogues flourished But injured his neighbour by so much as one grain, his house might not be spared. the flames passed over it, while all around fell in ashes. 'See, my child,' added my father, lifting up his hands, 'I, too, could say the same, and the Lord would leave our house unscathed.'" Hansen looked at me. "We should never boast," she then said. "You are old enough to hear it now; you must know, too, about me when I am no longer here. My good father had one weakness; he was superstitious. In the time of his greatest misfortune, this weakness led him to do that which soon broke his heart; for he could never again tell the story of the pious merchant. "Next door to us there lived a master carpenter. When he and his young wife both died, the son they left was put under my father's care. Harry for that was the boy's name-was a great reader, and had soon got as far as the third class in our grammar school; but he had not the means to study, and so he took to his father's trade. Then, afterwards, when he was a journeyman, he travelled two years, and came back again to work with his master, and soon he came to be known for his great skill in all the finer kinds of work. We two had grown up together; when he was still an apprentice he often read to me out of the books he borrowed from his old schoolfellows. You know we lived at the Market Place, in the |