The Man-Wolf and Other Tales. Erckmann-Chatrian

secret. Many innocent people were in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries burnt at the stake as wolves in human form.

      A correspondent has kindly supplied the following information:—"When in Oude in India, twenty-six years ago, we heard of several instances of native babies being carried off out of the villages by she-wolves, and placed with their whelps, and brought up wild there; there was one about when we were there, partially reclaimed, but retaining much of the savage nature imbibed with the wolf's milk, and having been accustomed to go on all-fours—i.e., knees and elbows; but I conclude these were not affected with 'Lycanthropy.'"

      With a few touches of his magic pencil the Laureate has drawn a powerful picture of such a state of things in ancient Britain, of which we can scarcely deny the literal faithfulness. It is not a poetic conception; it is historic truth:—

      "And ever and anon the wolf would steal

       The children and devour; but now and then,

       Her own brood lost or dead, lent her fierce teat

       To human sucklings; and the children, housed

       In her foul den, there at their meat would growl,

       And mock their foster-mother on four feet,

       Till, straightened, they grew up to wolf-like men,

       Worse than the wolves."

      Coming of Arthur.

      The following tale, in which the lycanthropy is far from being altogether a mere effort of the imagination, appears to be founded upon the belief in the continued existence of this rare species of madness down to our own day—or near it—for the story seems to belong to the year 1832.

      The English reader will not fail to notice the correspondence between the title and the well-known designation of the illustrious head of the noble house of Grosvenor. Whatever connection there may or may not be between that German Hugh Lupus of a thousand years ago and the truly British Hugh Lupus of our day, all the base qualities of his supposed progenitor have disappeared in him who is adorned with all the qualities which make the English nobility rank as the pride and the flower of our land.

      F. A. M.

      The Vicaraqe, Broughton-in-Furness.

THE MAN-WOLF.

       Table of Contents

CHAPTER I.

       Table of Contents

      About Christmas time in the year 18—, as I was lying fast asleep at the Cygne at Fribourg, my old friend Gideon Sperver broke abruptly into my room, crying—

      "Fritz, I have good news for you; I am going to take you to Nideck, two leagues from this place. You know Nideck, the finest baronial castle in the country, a grand monument of the glory of our forefathers?"

      Now I had not seen Sperver, who was my foster-father, for sixteen years; he had grown a full beard in that time, a huge fox-skin cap covered his head, and he was holding his lantern close under my nose. It was, therefore, only natural that I should answer—

      "In the first place let us do things in order. Tell me who you are."

      "Who I am? What! don't you remember Gideon Sperver, the Schwartzwald huntsman? You would not be so ungrateful, would you? Was it not I who taught you to set a trap, to lay wait for the foxes along the skirts of the woods, to start the dogs after the wild birds? Do you remember me now? Look at my left ear, with a frost-bite."

      "Now I know you; that left ear of yours has done it; Shake hands."

      Sperver, passing the back of his hand across his eyes, went on—

      "You know Nideck?"

      "Of course I do—by reputation; what have you to do there?"

      "I am the count's chief huntsman."

      "And who has sent you?"

      "The young Countess Odile."

      "Very good. How soon are we to start?"

      "This moment. The matter is urgent; the old count is very ill, and his daughter has begged me not to lose a moment. The horses are quite ready."

      "But, Gideon, my dear fellow, just look out at the weather; it has been snowing three days without cessation."

      "Oh, nonsense; we are not going out boar-hunting; put on your thick coat, buckle on your spurs, and let us prepare to start. I will order something to eat first." And he went out, first adding, "Be sure to put on your cape."

      I could never refuse old Gideon anything; from my childhood he could do anything with me with a nod or a sign; so I equipped myself and came into the coffee-room.

      "I knew," he said, "that you would not let me go back without you. Eat every bit of this slice of ham, and let us drink a stirrup cup, for the horses are getting impatient. I have had your portmanteau put in."

      "My portmanteau! what is that for?"

      "Yes, it will be all right; you will have to stay a few days at Nideck, that is indispensable, and I will tell you why presently."

      So we went down into the courtyard.

      At that moment two horsemen arrived, evidently tired out with riding, their horses in a perfect lather of foam. Sperver, who had always been a great admirer of a fine horse, expressed his surprise and admiration at these splendid animals.

      "What beauties! They are of the Wallachian breed, I can see, as finely formed as deer, and as swift. Nicholas, throw a cloth over them quickly, or they will take cold."

      The travellers, muffled in Siberian furs, passed close by us just as we were going to mount. I could only discern the long brown moustache of one, and his singularly bright and sparkling eyes.

      They entered the hotel.

      The groom was holding our horses by the bridle. He wished us bon voyage, removed his hand, and we were off.

      Sperver rode a pure Mecklemburg. I was mounted on a stout cob bred in the Ardennes, full of fire; we flew over the snowy ground. In ten minutes we had left Fribourg behind us.

      The sky was beginning to clear up. As far as the eye could reach we could distinguish neither road, path, nor track. Our only company were the ravens of the Black Forest spreading their hollow wings wide over the banks of snow, trying one place after another unsuccessfully for food, and croaking, "Misery! misery!"

      Gideon, with his weather-beaten countenance, his fur cloak and cap, galloped on ahead, whistling airs from the Freyschütz; sometimes as he turned I could see the sparkling drops of moisture hanging from his long moustache.

      "Well, Fritz, my boy, this is a fine winter's morning."

      "So it is, but it is rather severe; don't you think so?"

      "I am fond of a clear hard frost," he replied; "it promotes circulation. If our old minister Tobias had but the courage to start out in weather like this he would soon put an end to his rheumatic pains."

      I smiled, I am afraid, involuntarily.

      After an hour of this rapid pace Sperver slackened his speed and let me come abreast of him.

      "Fritz, I shall have to tell you the object of this journey at some time, I suppose?"

      "I was beginning to think I ought to know what I am going about."

      "A good many doctors have already been consulted."

      "Indeed!"

      "Yes, some came from Berlin in great wigs who only asked to see the patient's tongue. Others from Switzerland