A Night on the Borders of the Black Forest. Amelia Ann Blanford Edwards

outlying spurs and patches of the old legendary Schwarzwald—now dwindling year by year. Hark! the dogs have found us out already!"

      As he spoke, a dog barked loudly in the direction of the farm; and then another, and another. Bergheim answered them with a shout. Suddenly a bright light flashed across the darkness—flitted vaguely for a moment to and fro, and then came steadily towards us; resolving itself presently into a lanthorn carried by a man.

      We hurried eagerly to meet him—at all, square-built, heavy-browed peasant, about forty years of age.

      "Who goes there?" he said, holding the lanthorn high above his head, and shading his eyes with his hand.

      "Travellers," replied my companion. "Travellers wanting food and shelter for the night."

      The man looked at us for a moment in silence.

      "You travel late," he said, at length.

      "Ay—and we must have gone on still later, if we had not come upon your house. We were bound for Rotheskirche. Can you take us in."

      "Yes," he said sullenly. "I suppose so. This way."

      And, swinging the lanthorn as he went, he turned on his heel abruptly, and led the way back to the house.

      "A boorish fellow enough!" said I, as we followed.

      "Nay—a mere peasant!" replied Bergheim. "A mere peasant—rough, but kindly."

      As we drew near the house, two large mastiff pups came rushing out from a yard somewhere at the back, and a huge, tawny dog chained up in an open shed close by, strained at his collar and yelled savagely.

      "Down, Caspar! Down, Schwartz!" growled our conductor, with an oath.

      And immediately the pups slunk back into the yard, and the dog in the shed dropped into a low snarl, eyeing us fiercely as we passed.

      The house-door opened straight upon a large, low, raftered kitchen, with a cavernous fire-place at the further end, flanked on each side by a high-backed settle. The settles, the long table in the middle of the room, the stools and chairs ranged round the walls, the heavy beams overhead, from which hung strings of dried herbs, ropes of onions, hams, and the like, were all of old, dark oak. The ceiling was black with the smoke of at least a century. An oak dresser laden with rough blue and grey ware and rows of metal-lidded drinking mugs; an old blunderbuss and a horn-handled riding-whip over the chimney-piece; a couple of hatchets, a spade, and a fishing-rod behind the door; and a Swiss clock in the corner, completed the furniture of the room. A couple of half-charred logs smouldered on the hearth. An oil-lamp flared upon the middle of the table, at one corner of which sat two men with a stone jug and a couple of beer-mugs between them, playing at cards, and a third man looking on. The third man rose as we entered, and came forward. He was so like the one who had come out to meet us, that I saw at once they must be brothers.

      "Two travellers," said our conductor, setting down his lanthorn, and shutting the door behind us.

      The players laid down their greasy cards to stare at us. The second brother, a trifle more civil than the first, asked if we wished for anything before going to bed.

      Bergheim unslung his wallet, flung himself wearily into a corner of the settle, and said:—

      "Heavens and earth! yes. We are almost starving. We have been on the road all day, and have had no regular dinner. Is this a farmhouse or an inn?"

      "Both."

      "What have you in the house?"

      "Ham—eggs—voorst—cheese—wine—beer—coffee."

      "Then bring us the best you have, and plenty of it, and as fast as you can. We'll begin on the voorst and a bottle of your best wine, while the ham and eggs are frying; and we'll have the coffee to finish."

      The man nodded; went to a door at the other end of the room—repeated the order to some one out of sight; and came back again, his hands in his pockets. The first brother, meanwhile, was lounging against the table, looking on at the players.

      "It's a long game," he said.

      "Ay—but it's just ended," replied one of the men, putting down his card with an air of triumph.

      His adversary pondered, threw down his hand, and, with a round oath, owned himself beaten.

      Then they divided the remaining contents of the stone jug, drained their mugs, and rose to go. The loser pulled out a handful of small coin, and paid the reckoning for both.

      "We've sat late," said he, with a glance at the clock. "Good night, Karl—good night, Friedrich."

      The first brother, whom I judged to be Karl, nodded sulkily. The second muttered a gruff sort of good night. The countrymen lit their pipes, took another long stare at Bergheim and myself, touched their hats, and went away.

      The first brother, Karl, who was evidently the master, went out with them, shutting the door with a tremendous bang. The younger, Friedrich, cleared the board, opened a cupboard under the dresser, brought out a loaf of black bread, a lump of voorst, and part of a goat's milk cheese, and then went to fetch the wine. Meanwhile we each drew a chair to the table, and fell to vigorously. When Friedrich returned with the wine, a pleasant smell of broiling ham came in with him through the door.

      "You are hungry," he said, looking down at us from under his black brows.

      "Ay, and thirsty," replied Gustav, reaching out his hand for the bottle. "Is your wine good?"

      The man shrugged his shoulders.

      "Drink and judge for yourself," he answered. "It's the best we have."

      "Then drink with us," said my companion, good-humouredly, filling a glass and pushing it towards him across the table.

      But he shook his head with an ungracious "Nein, nein," and again left the room. The next moment we heard his heavy footfall going to and fro overhead.

      "He is preparing our beds," I said. "Are there no women, I wonder, about the place?"

      "Well, yes—this looks like one," laughed Bergheim, as the door leading to the inner kitchen again opened, and a big stolid-looking peasant girl came in with a smoking dish of ham and eggs, which she set down before us on the table. "Stop! stop!" he exclaimed, as she turned away. "Don't be in such a hurry, my girl. What is your name?"

      She stopped with a bewildered look, but said nothing. Bergheim repeated the question.

      "My—my name?" she stammered. "Annchen."

      "Good. Then, Annchen" (filling a bumper and draining it at a draught), "I drink to thy health. Wilt thou drink to mine?" And he pointed to the glass poured out for the landlord's brother.

      But she only looked at him in the same scared, stupid way, and kept edging away towards the door.

      "Let her go," I said. "She is evidently half an idiot."

      "She's no idiot to refuse that wine," replied Bergheim, as the door closed after her. "It's the most abominable mixture I ever put inside my lips. Have you tasted it?"

      I had not tasted it as yet, and now I would not; so, the elder brother coming back just at that moment, we called for beer.

      "Don't you like the wine?" he said, scowling.

      "No," replied Bergheim. "Do you? If so you're welcome to the rest of it."

      The landlord took up the bottle and held it between his eyes and the lamp.

      "Bad as it is," he said, "you've drunk half of it."

      "Not I—only one glass, thanks be to Bacchus! There stands the other. Let us have a Schoppen of your best beer—and I hope it will be better than your best wine."

      The landlord looked from Bergheim to the glass—from the glass to the bottle. He seemed to be measuring with his eye how much had really been drunk. Then he went to the inner door; called to Friedrich