LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2246, 14 June 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THE WOLF'3 DEN. ( Concluded.} ' It wrei I who was so romantic' said she ; ' I was the French companion who induced your mother, my lovely Roumanian schoolmate, to run off with the gallant Austrian officer, your father. Ah ! dear, dear ! It lad to sad trouble. I am wiser now, and I have mad jp- couch better, much better arrangement for my Lucille. Yet she droops, she droops. It was so kind of you take her as a visitor when we were so disturbed here last summer. Her father (you know, Erlody, I meant Count Zichy) was a coußin, twice removed, of your dear, dead mother —yes, you have her golden hnir, your mother's, though you are a Wolf, yes a Wolf, as to your fa-e.' ' He is not one at heart,' said Lucille. There was in my luggage a roll of canvas, and in my care a consignment of wine from tho hillside vineyard, a letter from Frere Franz and one from the wine merchant at Poath. It was not flong before the widow Zichy was convinced that Lucille would never marry the gentleman whom she had picked oat for her, and that her daughter's health required a change of air. it was not long before Ludwig'a pictures wore sold, and some of his wine had been tested in Paris, that market of the world, and had been pronounced of choice variety. With my pockets full of gold, I turned my face towards Vienna. One more act to bo done, and tbon —and then I The story, which my father had never told me, was fully told me by the mother of Lucille. He had baen imprudent, but not guilty. He had been deeply wronged. It was possible that the cashiered officer might be restored to his place in society ; that was my errand to Vienna. Part 111. It was spring when the Wolves met again, and Ludwig was sitting by the window, looking at a young larch tree, fnll of blue birds, which made him think of the blue cloth dress which Lucille had worn when aha first came to the castle. Be was pale and weak from suffering, and even Ernst was less ruddy than of yore. The old Baron, with one hand paralysed, sat by the fire, which still glowed In the broad old-fashioned chimney place. Heaven had struck down the hitherto untamable, bitter, aggrieved, and violent man. It was a sad spectacle. I had been too late with my message from Vienna, He could never again go to salute his sovereign, to olaim again those trappings which he had forfeited. His sixteen qnarierings could now do him no good in this world. Would they in the next ? Frere Franz sat by his chair, and talked and read to him, and led him to pray to be forgiven for his injustice to his sons; to pray that the cruel recklessness of youth and the bitter severity of age might be atoned for. And who is this who drives up the long, winding road to the castle, with three Hungarian horses, hung with bells, in a light carriage ? A lady in a blue cloth drees, and a hat with a long feather. By her sits an elderly lady. I see them coming; and again, wish our noble wolf hounds, Csrilagy and Maros, Igo down to meet them. As I paos a great mirror in the hall I sse myself, a young Parisian, In modern clothes. I remember the savage in aheepkin, with long golden curia -that I was last year; a sharp a word cuts to my heart, aa 1 wish that 1 were again there—that young barbarian. The knowledge of the world had not brought to me happiness. Alas! when did it ever ?

Igo up with dear Lucille, and see Ludwlg extend hia arms to her, I see her fall upon hia breast aa he beads over to kiss her.

I hear faintly their thanks, their blessings, aa I have heard all things, in a dream. *****

I have two dear sisters and many nephews and nieces, for my Ludwig and Ernst are both married. The old Baron died long ago. I come to them once a year from my convent in the neighborhood of the Ermeltek. For -when yon look for the name of the Frere 'Franz of today, as you visit my old convent, where I spent my boyhood, and to which I came after the world ceased to be my home—this spot where I hid the sorrows of childhood, and where I have soothed with prayer the heartbreak of manhood—you will see that when the old one died the Bishop gaVe that title to the young neophyte •who had been Count Erlody Wolfgang von Wolf.—Tronslated from the German by M, B. W. S. in " Boston Traveller."