all the pain of recollection; but do you think she escaped as much pain as pleasure? Were you never to go to your home again should you wish to forget it?

On a fine day Undine seemed to be sportive as a fawn. When out of the hut, as she could do little harm, it was very pleasant to look at her, running on the shores, and chasing the water fowls, or climbing the rocks and gathering flowers, and in the morning and evening imitating the song of the birds. But if it was cold, cloudy, or rainy, there was no light in the firmament of Undine's soul. Her countenance would be sad, she would be irritable to the kindest expression of her friends; she would weep, or torment the flies and the grasshoppers. The thought of yesterday's sunshine did not come to paint a rainbow on the cloud. Her pleasures once tasted, were gone for ever.

She had one habit which was very distressing to the good fisherman and his wife. She would go off into the woods and stay whole days with her uncle Kuhleborn, and the little rivulets, her

cousins. Her good foster parents did not know of this extraordinary relationship, and wondered at her taste; but she would give no explanations, going and coming when she pleased. Neither would she be called Mary; and she was so violent they ceased to oppose her.

You may think what a sad time the fisherman and his wife had with the soulless Undine.

And

they had the worse time because they did not know she was soulless; and they were troubled that God should see her behave so. But God was not displeased with Undine, for she neglected no powers, she smothered no conscience. He had given her no soul, and he was no more displeased with her for doing harm, than he is with the winds when they do harm. A real child who should show such disregard of friends, such forgetfulness of everything but sport, such absorption in the present, such passionate anger, such freakishness, such caprice, would displease God, for she would disobey her soul or neglect to ask its advice. For the human soul has affections which, if attended to and acted upon, will

grow more tender, power of anticipation, which may be cultivated into sagacity; can control passion by reflection and love, can be absorbed in other people instead of itself; and it is because real children can have virtues that they ought to have them, and that God expects them.

I have seen children act like Undine altogether, never having waked up their souls and used them; and I very often see children do, or leave undone particular things, neglecting some of their powers, as would only be excusable in Undine. Poor Undine's want of virtue is to be pitied; but where there is a soul, must we not blame its indolence?

But provoking, and teasing, and troublesome, as she was, these good people, who had souls, would not send her away. They could not trust her, or respect her; but still they looked upon her with a kindly feeling; for human souls, if they are good, look abroad for something to be interested in, and which they will endeavor to love.

Years rolled away; and though Undine did

not improve or alter in character, in body she grew more beautiful. Her hair clustered dark and shining, and she confined it with the brilliants that were hung round her neck, when first she came to the peninsula; and her eyes had grown dark and brilliant, like a midnight tarn in which the stars are reflected sparkling.

Her uncle Kuhleborn and the water-spirits that were with him began to think that it was time for their promises to Undine's father to be accomplished; and they watched for some traveller that should go through the woods. Soon, there happened to pass a large party, and Kuhleborn and the Rivulets began to swell so rapidly that the travellers were very much alarmed, and in their confusion, one young knight was separated from the rest. Kuhleborn, determined he should not escape, encircled him with his waves, cutting him off from the rest by pouring himself along the road which they had passed; and the knight turned first down one path and then another, till he became quite bewildered. But at the moment he was about to

despair, he spied a light, and going in the direction of it, found himself at the door of a hut in a

little open space.

He knocked, and our fisherman opened the door, and seeing him in such a sad plight from the storm, invited him in. The knight, whose name was Hildebrand, asked the old man to direct him to the great road of the forest; but the fisherman told him he could not pass the forest in such a storm; and then he consented to stay till morning. So he went in, and threw off his cloak, and lifted his beaver, which had concealed his face. Undine watched all his movements unobserved and quietly, but when he was disrobed of his riding dress, and presented the manly and elegant form of an accomplished young soldier, she started from her seat, and flying up to him with the same eagerness she would have shown had a new and brilliant flower caught her eye-" Beautiful!" she exclaimed;

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are you a man?" The knight was speechless with astonishment: the brilliancy of her figure, her eyes so dark and clear, her transparent fore