Tales . s, Philip? she said. Andwhen he answered no, she cried : Rose, kin-dle the fire, put over the water, and make somecoffee for all of us. She then wrapped herselfin her little woollen shawl and left the house. But Rose lay on Philips breast, and forgotall about the wood and water. And there sheyet lay when Mother Bittner returned with oldGottlieb and Mother Katherine. They sur-rounded their children and blessed Bittner saw if she wanted coffee, shewould be obliged to cook it herself. Philip lost his situation as watchman. Rosebecame his wife in two weeks ; their parentswent w
Tales . s, Philip? she said. Andwhen he answered no, she cried : Rose, kin-dle the fire, put over the water, and make somecoffee for all of us. She then wrapped herselfin her little woollen shawl and left the house. But Rose lay on Philips breast, and forgotall about the wood and water. And there sheyet lay when Mother Bittner returned with oldGottlieb and Mother Katherine. They sur-rounded their children and blessed Bittner saw if she wanted coffee, shewould be obliged to cook it herself. Philip lost his situation as watchman. Rosebecame his wife in two weeks ; their parentswent with them to ; but this does not be-long to the adventures of a New Years Eve, anight more ruinous to the Minister of Financethan any one else ; neither have we heard ofany more pranks by the wild Prince Julian.* * I11 some parts of this translation the editor has beenassisted by a very spirited, but quite imperfect versionof it, which appeared in Blackwoods Magazine severalyears since. THE BROKEN PITCHER. THE BROKEN PITCHER.* MARIETTA. NAPOUIvE, it is true, is only a very littleplace on the Bay of Cannes ; yet it ispretty well known through all Provence. Itlies in the shade of lofty evergreen palms anddarker orange-trees ; but that alone would notmake it renowned. Still they say that thereare grown the most luscious grapes, the sweet-est roses, and the handsomest girls. I dont * There is extant, under this name, a short piece bythe author of Little Kate of Heilbionn. That and thetale which here follows originated in an incident whichtook place at Bern in the year 1802. Henry Von Kleist,and Ludwig Wieland, the son of the poet, were bothfriends of the writer, in whose chamber hung an en-graving called I,a Cruche Cassee, the persons and con-tents of which resembled the scene set forth below underthe head of The Tribunal. The drawing, which wasfull of expression, gave great delight to those who sawit, and led to many conjectures as to its meaning. Thethree friends agreed, in sport,
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