MISCELLANY.

THE DUKE OF ALVA'S BREAKFAST.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.

IN reading an old chronicle of the sixteenth century, says Schiller, I met with the following anecdote, which, for many reasons, deserves to be preserved. I have since found it confirmed from other sources. A German lady, descended from a family which was always famous for heroic spirit, and had seen one of its sons on the imperial throne, once made the dreaded Duke of Alva tremble by a display of masculine resolution. In the year 1547, when Charles V. was passing with his army through Thuringia, Catherine, widow of the Earl of Schwartzburg, by birth princess of Henneberg, obtained from him a letter of protection for her subjects, forbidding the Spanish forces to do them any injury. In return, she bound herself to furnish bread, beer, and other necessaries of life, at a reasonable rate, to the troops, at the place where they crossed the river Saal. She had the prudence, however, to remove the bridges which stood near the town, and erect others at a distance, for fear the neighbourhood of wealth might tempt too strongly the soldiers' appetite for plunder. She sent orders, likewise, to the inhabitants of the villages in the army's line of march, to bring their most valuable effects to her own castle of Rudolstadt.

In the mean time the Spanish general approached the town, accompanied by Duke Henry of Brunswick with his sons, and sent a message to the lady, expressing his wish to breakfast in her castle. Such a request, from a man with an army at his back, could not well be refused. He should be welcome, was the answer, if his excellency could be satisfied with what the house afforded. At the same time he was reminded of the letter of protection, and requested to observe it scrupulously.

A friendly greeting, and a well furnished table, saluted the duke on his arrival. He must confess, he said, that the ladies of Thuringia understood the management of a kitchen and the duties of hospitality. The company had not yet sat down to table, when a messenger called the lady out of the room, and informed her,

that, in certain villages, the Spanish soldiers had violently driven off the cattle of the peasants. Catherine was the mother of her subjects, and felt a wrong done to the meanest among them as a personal injury. Greatly irritated at this breach of faith, but still retaining her presence of mind, she ordered all her vassels to arm themselves quietly and speedily, and bar the gates of the castle. Meanwhile she herself returned into the parlor, where her guests were seated at table, and complained, in the most moving terms, of the wrong which had been done her, and of the contempt with which the plighted faith of the emperor was treated. She was answered with laughter. She was told that it was one of the usages of war, one of the little accidents which always attend the march of an army, and could not be prevented. "That we will see," exclaimed she, glowing with indignation; "my poor subjects shall have their property restored, or by heaven, princes' blood shall pay for oxen's blood." This said, she left the apartment, which, in a few moments, was filled with armed men, who placed themselves, sword in hand, but with respectful looks, behind the chairs of the nobles, ready to wait on them during their meal. At the entrance of this martial troop, the Duke of Alva changed color, and his companions looked at each other in mute astonishment. Cut off from his army, surrounded by a superior force of determined men, what remained for him but patiently to submit to any terms which the offended dame might impose. Henry of Brunswick first resumed his courage, and broke out into a loud laugh. He adopted the judicious course of treating the whole scene as a joke, and pronounced a panegyric upon the lady for her maternal care of her subjects, and the resolute spirit which she had manifested. He begged her not to trouble herself at what had happened, and undertook to obtain the Duke of Alva's consent to any thing which justice required. The duke, agreeably to his request, immediately sent orders to his camp to have the cattle restored without delay. As soon as the lady learned that the order had been obeyed, she thanked her guests in the most obliging terms, and they with great show of courtesy took their leave.

It was this transaction, undoubtedly, which obtained for Catherine of Schwartzburg the name of the heroic. She is renowned also for her persevering efforts to advance the cause of the Reformation in her territories, already introduced there by her husband Henry, to abolish the monasteries, and improve education. Many Protestant preachers persecuted for religion's sake, she protected and upheld. Among these was Caspar Aquila, pastor

of Saalfeld, who in his youth accompanied the army of the emperor into the Netherlands as chaplain, and because he refused to baptize a cannon ball, was thrust by the licentious soldiers into a mortar, in order to be shot into the air, a fate which he escaped only because the powder would not kindle. A second time he was in danger of his life, and a reward of five thousand florins offered for his head, because the emperor was enraged against him for contemptuously tearing the Interim in his pulpit. Catherine allowed him, at the request of the people of Saalfeld, to conceal himself in her castle, where she supported him for many months with the greatest kindness, until he could appear abroad without danger. She died universally honored and lamented, in the fifty-eighth year of her life, and the twenty-ninth of her government. Her remains lie in the church of Rudolstadt.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE BUTTERFLY.

FROM THE FRENCH OF DE LA MARTINE.

BORN with the Spring, and with the roses dying,
Through the clear sky on Zephyr's pinion sailing,
On the young floweret's opening bosom lying,
Perfume and light and the blue air inhaling,
Shaking the thin dust from its wings and fleeing,
And fading like a breath in boundless heaven,-
Such is the butterfly's enchanted being;

How like desire, to which no rest is given,

Which still uneasy, rifling every treasure,

Returns at last above to seek for purer pleasure.

S.

*An order by which the emperor suspended some privileges granted to the

Protestant states of Germany.

THE POOR SCHOLAR.

I SAW him starting in his new career;

The hue of health was on his cheek-his eye-
Flashed with the fire of genius, while no fear

Cast its dark cloud o'er his aspirings high.
And o'er his brow, fluttering like light and shade,
A thousand bright and glorious fancies played.

And he did seem like one who lightly deemed
Of chance and peril that encircle fame,
One who, where'er the wave-tost jewel gleamed,
Would urge right on with ardor nought could tame;
Ay, one who loved it better, that it lay
Where the vext ocean flung its troubled spray.

Like a young eagle on the mountain height,
Pluming the vigorous wing to fly, he stood
Fearless, though lonely. Beautiful and bright,

Outstretched before him, the wide world he viewed,
And though, from 'midst it ways, the sound of strife
Rose loud, it spoke of energy and life.

Again I saw him-then his cheek was pale,

And bent his form, and dimmed his lightning eye,
His strength had gone, as the tree fades when fail
The freshening streams, and blighting winds go by;
Gone, too, the generous pride, the fixt intent,

With which to the world's cirque like gallant steed he bent.

But, though he struggled on against the tide,

The goal of promise still did fleet away, And still did mock him, till his last hope died.

None cried, "God bless him," on his weary way, Looked kind, or stretched a timely hand to save; What marvel then,-the green turf decks his grave.

Yea, death fell on him, for his ills were sore;
Nor was it to his heart ungrateful boon.

As a light billow on the level shore,

Or lamp expiring in the ardent noon, He died unheeded, save by one, and she Had been the mother of his infancy.

E. P.

TO THE MISSISSIPPI.

RIVER of current rapid, wide, and deep!
Sublime, but never beautiful, that throws
Into the Mexic Gulf, the streams which leap
From far-off hills charged with the winter's snows.
They come to greet thee from the leafless woods
And mossy fountains of the Northern Pole,
From mountains which o'erlook the gentle floods
Of the Pacific. Why not bidden roll

Thy waves through vales more cheerful! I would see
Thy banks all flourishing,-the busy mart,

The cultured glebe, the nectarine-loaded tree,

The temple set for sacred use apart,

All these my fettered wish would plant; but, no,

God doomed thy banks to wrath,-flow, mighty river, flow.

J.

CHANGES.

AFTER a troubled life, I trace again

The woodland mazes, in whose secret paths
My childhood days, like happy dreams, pass'd on.
Beautiful scenes! the wild and joyous boy,

That wandered from your dim and quiet haunts
In hope, and strength, and gladness, hath come back
A weary and heart-broken man. His hope!
Alas, the grave hath swallowed it! his strength!
"T was broken in the distant battle-field-
His gladness hath given place to bitter tears.