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Teutons, which had been thought to be for ever lost," seems, however, rather a questionable position. They quote Sir Walter Scott's remarks in his notes to the Lady of the Lake: A work of great interest might be compiled upon the origin of popular fiction, and the transmission of similar tales from age to age, and from country to country. The mythology of one period would then appear to pass into the romance of the next century, and that into the nursery-tales of the subsequent ages.” With all deference, every new light on Northern romance (or mythology, if we are so to call it) seems to give a different order to the process. If there once were “a pure and primitive mythology" of the German tribes, it seems to us to have been most probably one far above the poetic vagaries to which these stories have relation. In them, and in the other members of the Northern Cyclus of Scandinavian or Teutonic romance, the process seems every where to begin with the poetic elevation of popular heroes, and thence in due course to their mythological enrolment. How far the ancient Germans went in building up a system like that which was erected out of the same materials by Scandinavian fancy seems very doubtful. But even if it should be true that the same process took place in both countries, we very much hesitate in believing that this poetic creation was ever a popular mythology, or any thing approaching to a system of current belief. Almost all the striking coincidences pointed out by M, M. Grimm in their tales, are, with the heroes of the Teutonic Cyclus of romance, the adventures of Siegfried, Brynhild, &c. ; but all this will hardly be said to throw light, except negatively, on the "pure and primitive mythology" of the German tribes.

As far as any thing like religious principles are concerned, the only great and leading ones that we perceive, are those of a constant recognition of a city of Glory, the reward of the virtuous and brave, and the conflict of good and evil spirits perpetually warring, but always with superiority to the former; and these point to a sufficiently remote and primitive origin.

Independently, however, of any testimony of this sort, M. M. Grimm's tales are certainly of great literary curiosity and value, and furnish strong additional evidence that the tales of northern enterprise, which the poets of the Minnesinger age put into a new dress, were no new inventions, but of ancient popular currency.

In corroboration of the Editor's belief in the antiquity and Teutonic origin of most of their stories, it may be observed that though strongly resembling many of those which are to be found even in southern countries, they generally bear a deeper and more religious character, a more antique cast, than is to be seen under the gayer dress which has been elsewhere thrown around them. The story of Cinderella, or, as the Germans call her, “ Aschen-puttel,” is an instance of this. The introduction of the spirit of a deceased friend or parent watching over a destitute survivor, and hovering around in the form of a bird, is common to many of the stories.

The northern tale opens with Aschen-puttel's receiving the blessing of her dying mother, and her promise to look down from heaven upon, and watch over her, if she continue to deserve it. The child goes every day to weep over her mother's grave. The snow falls and covers it; but the sun comes again; and when the green sod once more appears, her father takes another wife. Two other daughters are born who put their sister to the most menial offices, from which, of course, she has her name.

The father sets out upon a journey, and asks his daughters what gifts he shall bring them on his return. The younger daughters ask for fine clothes and jewels, while Aschen-puttel desires only the first twig that crosses him on his return. The several presents are duly brought, and Aschen-puttel takes her's with her while performing her daily task of mourning at her mother's grave. There she plants her twig, and waters it with her tears, till it grows to a beautiful tree. Two white doves take up their abode in its branches, and become her friends and protectors.

The king's feast comes. The two younger sisters prepare for it, and when Aschen-puttel also desires to go, her step-mother sets her an apparently endless task of picking up a measure of scattered seeds. The maiden goes to the garden, and cries to her favourite birds, who bring assistance that quickly completes the task. The same friendly aid provides her splendid apparel. The ball-scene follows, and after it the escape of Aschen-puitel. The visit is repeated, and the prince is opposed in his pursuit by a tree, which suddenly rises (like Jack's bean-stalk), and waves its lofty branches to impede his progress. At the third night the golden slipper is left behind, and the prince determines to make the wearer his bride.

The two younger sisters, by rather a barbarous contrivance of their mother, successively manage to get the slipper on, but are discovered by the warning song of the doves from their tree. At length the true owner is discovered. The doves congratulate the royal pair with a passing song, and accompany their protegée to the palace, the one seated on her right, the other on her left shoulder.

Bluebeard is a story well known in almost every country: the confiding of the keys under injunctions against the use of some one in particular, frequently occurs in the German tales. The cry of the sady to her brothers has here a supernatural power, and is heard by them as they sit afar off“ drinking the cool wine." A similar plot occurs in the fine old German ballad of “ Ulrich and Annie,” translated by Mr. Jamieson, in the “Illustrations of Northern Antiquities.”

" It's out rade Ulrich to tak the air,

And he to dear Annie's bower can fare,
• Dear Annie, wi' me to the greenwood gang,
And I'll lear you the sma birds' sang.'
The tane wi' the tither they out are gane,
The copse o' hazel they've reekit alane ;
And bit and bit they gaed farther on,

Till they a green meadow cam upon." She finds she is to be sacrificed to the same fate as several predecessors had suffered, and only craves leave to

cry three cries."
“ And the thirden cry she cried sae shrill,
Her youngest brither she cried until.
Her brither sat at the cule red wine,

cry it cam thro' his window hyne ;
“Oh hear ye, hear ye, my brethren a',
How my sister cries thereout i'the shaw?'

But poor Annie suffers, though justice overtakes her faithless lover ;

It's deep in the great dear Annie was laid;
Fause Ulrich was high on the wheel display'd :
O'er Annie the cherubim sweetly sung,

O'er Ulrich croak'd the ravens young.
In another story,

“ The Jew in the bush," the connexion is with the old English ballad of “The Frere and the Boy," which was first “imprynted by Wynkyn de Worde," and re-published by Ritson. It turns upon the ancient legend of the dance-inspiring pipe, horn, or fiddle.

A youth having bestowed all he had upon a dwarfish imp in charity, receives from him in return a wonderful bow, and a fiddle that inspires a dancing mania in all who hear it. He tries the bow by shooting a bird, and selects an old Jew on whom to try the fiddle, by sending him to pick the bird out of the bush into which it had fallen, and then commencing his tune. The poor Jew's dancing faculties are thus put in requisition in a most inconvenient position for their exercise, and the unfortunate wretch is almost torn to pieces by the penance, from which he is only released on payment of a heavy price. The judge is complained to, the urchin brought for trial, and sentence pronounced. As a last request he begs for leave to play a jig on his way to execution; which, being thought reasonable, is granted, under protest from the Jew, who takes care to have himself tied to a post. The consequences are easily foreseen : Judge, Court, audience, and finally the whole crowd, join in the dance. The Jew breaks his precautionary bonds, and all are finally glad to release a troublesome prisoner.

The English ballad sends forth the hero,“ a sturdy ladde,” to tend his father's cattle, where he relieves an old man's hunger, and receives in return, first,

A Bowe

Byrdes for to shute ;
Secondly, a pipe of such power that

Shall not themselfe stere,

But laugh and lepe aboute. The third gift (which it is not meet we should here detail) was for the special annoyance of the lad's stepmother. The Frere undertakes the urchin's discipline, but is, like the Jew, inveigled into the

All that may

pype here,


He hopped wondrous hye,
At the last he held up his honde,
And sayd, I have danc'd so longe

That I'am like to dye. For his pranks Jack is taken before the “Offycyall,” who is incredulous, and requires evidence of his

powers. He soon, however, hears enough, and

Cryed unto the chylde

pype no more within this place.
The introductory essays of M. M. Grimm shew many

coincidences in the traditions, songs, and diversions of German children, with those which still keep their ground among us. We were pleased to see Robin Redbreast preserve his friendly relations towards man.


kind offices towards “the Babes in the Wood," is explained by the German tradition that this little bird cannot endure the sight of a corpse, but immediately hastens to provide it with the simple covering within its reach. Many coincidences in the songs of the two countries might be pointed out: we will merely give as a specimen the pretty little address to the Lady-bird (Marien-wurmchen), of which we have in England preserved only the second verse. The whole ditty may be thus translated.

Lady-bird ! Lady-bird! pretty one, stay,
Come sit on my finger, so happy and gay,

With me shall no mischief betide thee;
No harm would I do thee, no foeman is here,
I only would gaze on thy beauties so dear,

Those beautiful winglets beside thee.
Lady-bird ! Lady-bird ! fly away home,
Your house is on fire, your children will roam,
List! list! to their cry

and bewailing!
The pitiless spider is weaving their doom,
Then Lady-bird, Lady-bird, fly away home,

Hark! hark! to thy children's bewailing!
fly back again, back again, Lady-bird dear;
Thy neighbours will merrily welcome thee here,

With them shall no peril attend thee;
They'll guard thee so safely from danger or care,
They'll gaze on thy beautiful winglets so fair,

They'll love thee, and ever befriend thee. As we must deny ourselves the gratification of giving one of the beautiful beast stories, which, with their good-natured frolic honesty, are in the highest degree entertaining and edifying, we can only assure our young readers that they lose a great treat, many choice "passages” in the careers of their friends the wolf and the fox; and that the loss of such recreation is no way compensated by the substitute offered, we observe, at the corner of St. Paul's Church-yard, in “ The Adventures of Cato, a Dog of sentiment."

“ Inter spem, curamque, timores inter et iras,

Omnem crede diem tibi diluxisse supremum,
Grata superveniet, quæ non sperabitur hora.
A SPIRIT, Lady, pure as thine,

Must ne'er like sinful souls be sad :
Delight was meant for things divine,

And woe should only wound the bad.
Ah! who would dream that care had prest

Her seal upon so sweet a brow?
Who would not weep to see distrest,

So bright, so pure a saint as thou?
The path is not a path of sweets,

That leads us onward to the tomb;
Full many a briar the traveller meets,

Where only roses seem'd to bloom.
Yet Hope will whisper, mortal sorrow

Is but the darkness of a day;
What joys, what grieves us now-to-morrow

Rolls with the tide of time away.

ON TALKERS. THERE are as many varieties of talkers as there are of tulips; to classify them would require the nice discernment and patient perseverance of an ethical Linnæus; and when done, it would be an useless classification, unless, indeed, Taste could be brought to have a love for the cultivation of them, with an ulterior view to the improvement of the several classes, by marrying a common female scold of the last class, with a refined male babbler of the first; and thus effect, by artificial methods, what wisdom, with all her old endeavours, could never work by any meansman improvement of talkers generally.

There is, however, a pleasure in holding up a few of the first classes of talkers to attentive notice, somewhat similar to that which a Dutch tulip-fancier feels, when he displays to the curious, wondering eyes of one not in the fancy, (who had perceived, on being shewn a bed of them, that they were all tulips, but did not discern the nicer streaks of difference between them,)

“ Some faultless tulip which the Dutch ne'er saw.” The first, and most common class of talkers, is composed of common babblers. There are several varieties of these ; but the most disagreeable is the long-tongued babbler. One of them is sufficient to set a whole village at war, or disturb the peace and sacredness of virtuous privacy. Rather than be silent, he will wound his dearest friend, with a tongue, which, like Laertes' foil, poisons wherever it touches; and sometimes even him who first used it. From this sort of talker you learn the origin of Miss Jones's finery, and Miss Jenkins's faux pas ; the state of Mr. Tomkins's embarrassment, &c. &c. Or if you

fear what the world thinks of your own character for virtue or folly, you may have your misgivings confirmed to your entire dissatisfaction. He publishes a pernicious piece of truth or scandal in the morning, and follows the sound of his own rumour, as a wether-mutton follows his own bell. Another variety is the dull, or harmless babbler. He talks in his turn and out of his turn, in season and out of season, and yet has nothing to say. You may, perhaps, learn from him that it rained yesterday; and backed by the boldness of bis fears, you may get some credit for weather wisdom, if you doubt whether it will not rain to-morrow.

He is Francis Moore's counterpart. The second class are the small talkers. These are tea-table appendages, and sometimes hang by the dexter bend of ladies elbows; and are usually “prim, puss-gentlemen," all prettiness and pettiness. Ceaseless tonguers of “words of no tone,” they lisp, or cultivate some delicate mispronunciation of one of the four-and-twenty letters, or of a few well-selected syllables. They have a chicken's perseverance in picking up the smallest grain or chaff of tea-table intelligence, yet are not greedy in the possession of it: you may have their second-hand nothings at less than the cost trouble. Their wit is as an island in a vast sea of three months' sail ; you may steer round it, and by it, and never make it: or if you think you descry it in the offing, you may tack for it, and hope to drift to its shore; but when you really see it under your bow, you may coast round it, and cast out your grappleanchor' to hold by it: but you might as soon tie your hose or your

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