LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1631, 13 May 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A QUEER SPEOTEB. [ c 'NewYorkSun."J Chapter I. The ancient castle of Weinstein, on the Upper Rhine, was, »s everybody knows, inhabited in the autumn of 1352 by the powerful Baron Jvajbsbratsn, better known in those parts as Old Twenty Flasks, a sobriquet fieri vod from his reputed daily capacity for the product of tho vineyard. The Baron had many other admirable qualities. He was a genial, whole-souled, publicspirited gentleman, and robbed, murdered, bnrned, pillaged, and drove up the steep sides of the " einstein his neighbors' cattle, wives and sisters, with a hearty bonhomie that won for him the unaffected esteem of his contemporaries. One evening the good Baron sat alone in the great hall of Weinstein, in a particularly happy mood. He had dined well, as was his habit, and t '.verity empty bottles stood before him in a row upon the table, like a train of delightful memories of the recent part. Bat the Baron had another reason to be satisfied with himself and with the world. The consciousness that he had that day become a parent iit up his counteufnee with, a tender glow that mere wine oannot impart ' What, oh ! without! Hi! Seneschal!" he presently shouted in a tone that made the tvver.ty empty bottles ring as if they were musical glasses, whde a score of suits of his ancestors' armor hanging around the wal's s;ave out in accompaniment a deep metallic bass. The Seneschal was speedily at his side. 'Seneschal,' said Old Twenty Flasks, 'you gave me to understand that the Baroness was doing finely ?' 'I am told,'replied the Seneschal, 'that her ladyship is doing as well as could be expected.' Tho Baron mused in silence for a moment, absently regarding the empty bottles, ' you also gave me to understand,' he continued, 'that there were " 'Four,' s»H the Seneschal, gravely. 'I am credibly informed that there are four, all boys.' 'That,' ex laimed the Baron, with a glow of honest pride, bringing a brawny fist down upon the table —' that, in these days, the abominable doctrines of Maltb.ua are gaining ground among the upper classes, is is wha 1 ; I call ereditaive—creditable, by Saint s hristopher, if I do say it!' His eyes rested again up n the empty bottles. ' I think, Seneschal,' he added, after a brief pause, 'that under the circumatancca we may venture —~- J ' Nothing could be more eminently proper,' rejoined the Seneschal. ' I will fetch another flask forthwith, and of the, best What says your Excellency to the vintage of 1304, the year r <i the comet V ' But,' hesitated the Baron, toyiiig with bin mnstae.be. ' I understand' you to say that there were four or 'em—four boys ?' 1 True, my lord,' replied the Seneschal, catching the id a with the readiness of a well-trained domestic; '1 will fetch four more (hsks.' Ah tho excellent retainer deposited four fresh bottles uoon the table within the radius of tho Baron's reach, he casually remarked : ' A pious old man, traveller, is in tho c«tie-yard my lord, seeking shelter and a .supper' Ho comei from beyond the Alps, and f .res toward C .Is gne.' ' 1 presume,' svA tho l'a v "ii, with an air of indifferent;-*, ' that be has been duly searched for plunder.' 'Ho passtd this morning,' replied the retainer, ' through tho domain of your well-

I born cousin, Count Conrad Fchwinkenfels. \ our lordship will readily understand that he has nothing noweaveafew beggarly Swiss coins of capper,' 'My worthy cousin Conrad!' exclaimed the Baron, affectionately 'lt is the one great misfortune of my life that I live to the leeward of Schwinkenfels. But you relieved the pious man of his copper ?' 'My lord,' said the cneschnl, with an apologetic smile, 'it was not worth the taking.' 'Now, by my soul!' roared the Baron, 'yon exasperate me. Coin, and not worth tho taking 1 Perhaps not for its intrinsic valuo, but yoa should have cleaned him out as a matter of principle, you fool!' The Seneschal hung his head and muttered an explanation. At the Bame time he opened the 21st bottle.

'Never,' continued the Baron, less violently but still severely, 'if you value my esteem and your paltry skin, suffer yourself to be swerved a hair's breadth from principle by the apparent insignificance of the loot. A conscientious attention to details is one of the fundamental elements of a prosperous career —in fact, it underlies all political economy '

The withdrawal of thn cork from the twenty, second bottle emphathised this sentiment.

* However,' the Baron went on, somewhat mollified ' this is not a day on which I can consistently make a fuss over a t-ifle. Pour, and all boys! This is a glorious day for Weinstein. Open the two remaining flasks, Seneschal, and show the pious stranger in. I fain would amuse myself with him.' Chapter 11. Vieved through the Baron's twenty odd bottles, the stranger appeared to be an aged man—eighty years, if a day. He wore a shabby, gray cloak, and carried a palmer's staff, and seemed an innocuous old fellow, cast in too commonplace a mould to furnish even a few minutes' diversion. The Baron regretted sending for him, but being a person of unfailing politeness, when not upon the rampage, he bade his guest be seated, and filled him a beaker of the comet wine. _ After an obeisance, profound yet not servile, the pilgrim took the glass and critically tasted the wine. He held the beaker up athwait the light, with trembling hand, and then tasted again. The trial seemed to afford him great satisfaction, and he stroked his long white beard. ' Perhaps you are a connoisseur. It pleases yoir pala'e, eh?' said tho Baron, winking at the full-length portrait of one of his ancestors. ' Proper well,' replied the pilgrim, ' though it is a trillo syrupy from too long keeping. By tho banquet and the tint I should pronounce it of the vintage of 1304, grown on the steep slope south southeast of the castle, in the fork of the two pathways that lead to under the hill The sun's rays reflected from the turret give a peculiar excellence to the growth at that particular spot. But your rascally varlets have shelved the bottle on the wrong side of the cellar. It should have been put on the dry side, near whe*e your doughty grandsire, Sigismund von Weinstein, the hairy handed, walled up his third wife in preparation for a fourth.

The Baron regarded his guest with a look of amazement 'Upon my life,' said he. ' but you appear to be familiar with the ins and outs of this establishment.'

'lf I do,' rejoined the stranger, composedly sipping his wine, «'tis no more than natural, for I lived more than sixty years under this roof and know its every leak. I happen to be a Von Weinateia myself.'

The Baron crossed himself, and puller} his chair a little further away from the bottles and the stranger. ' O no !' said the pilgrim, laughing ; 'quiet your fears. lam aware that every wellregulated castle has an ancestral ghost, but my flesh and blood are honest. I was lord of Weinstein till I went, twelve years ago, to Rtudy metaphysics in the Arabic schools, and the cursed scriveners wrote me out of the estate. Why, I know this hall from infancy ! Yonder is the fire-place at which I used to warm my bady toes. There is the identical suit of armour into which * crawled when a boy of six and hid till my sainted mother—Heaven rest her!—nigh died of fright. It seems but yesterday. There on the wall hangs the sharp two-handed sword of our ancestor, Franz, the one eared, with which I cut off the mustaohes of my tipsy tire as he sat muddled over his twentieth bottle. There is the very casque—but perhaps these reminiscences weary you. You must pardon the garrulity of an old man who has come to re-visit the home of his childhood and prime ' The Baron passed hla hand to his forehead. ' I have lived in this castle myself for half a century,' said he, 'and am tolerably familiar with the history of my immediate progenitors. But I can't say that I ever had the pleasure of your acquaintance. However, permit me to fill your glass.' 'lt is good wine,' said the pilgrim, holding out his glaes. ' Except, perhrtns, the vintage of 1392, when the grapes ' The Baron started at his guest. 'The grapes of 1392,'said he drily, "lack forty years of ripening. You are aged, my friend, and your mind wanders.* ' Excuse worthy host,' calmly replied the pilgrim. ' The vintage of 1391 has been has been forty years cellared. You have no memory for dates.' ' What call you this year V demanded the Baron.

'By the almanacs, and the stars, and precedent, and common consent, it is the year of grace fourteen hundred three and thirty.'

'By my soul and hope of salvation,' ejaculated the Baron, ' it is the year of grace thirteen hundred two and fifty.' ' There is evidently a misunderstanding somewhere,' remarked the venerable stranger. ' I was born here in the yea the year tho Turks invaded Europe." ' No Turk has invaded Europe, thanks be to Heavi n,' replied Old Twenty Flasks, recovering his self control. 'You are either a magician or an impostor. In either osse, I shall order you to be drawn and quartered as soon as we have finished this bottle. Pray proceed with your very interasting reminiscences, and do not spare the wine, (1 o be Continued.)