MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 595 



marvellous) has his accustomed part in the plot ; for it would appear 

 that the saucy fellow is as requisite to the construction of a tale as 

 the bodily presence of the hare to the exercise of Mrs. Glass' method 

 of Cookery, and, accordingly, we find him busying himself, with all 

 his might, in the following scene : 



" Waldemar was a man of quick feelings, but he was not a puling senti- 

 mentalist ; and, therefore, instead of bowing his energies to the melancholy, 

 into which the discovery of Bertha's fickleness had thrown him, sought to 

 divert his mind in the bustle of his military duties ; but there were, never- 

 theless, intervals, in which he could not help thinking of the high hopes he 

 had once cherished, and when the anguish of his disappointment wrung from 

 his bosom many a bitter sigh. 



" The leisure, which he was wont to spend in the house of Schlaukopf, 

 was now passed, for the most part, in solitude. It occurred that he was, 

 one evening, walking thoughtfully, in a retired spot, in the vicinity of the 

 electoral residence, when the approach of steps awakened his attention ; and, 

 looking up, he beheld the form of Bertha within a few paces of him. 



'* Taken by surprise, he uttered her name in the tone of tenderness with 

 which he had been accustomed to address her : indeed, however keenly he 

 might have felt his wrongs at the moment, he could not gaze upon those 

 lovely and yet loved features, arrayed, as they were, in the expression of the 

 most bitter dejection, and have accosted her in any other than the language 

 of kindness. ' Bertha !' he repeated ; ' dear Bertha !' 



" The mention of her name, and the well-remembered tones in which it 

 was breathed, startled her : she looked up, and a momentary expression of 

 delight irradiated her countenance, but as quickly subsided; and she ex- 

 claimed, in a voice of deep melancholy, ' And is Bertha, after all that you 

 have lately seen and must have thought of her, still dear to you ? O, Wal- 

 demar ! Waldemar ! could you but read my heart?' 



" ' There was a time, Bertha,' he answered, ' when I fondly deemed I could; 

 and that I saw my name inscribed upon its stainless tablets in characters 

 which neither time, nor change, nor sorrow, could efface : but, I have been 

 deceived bitterly deceived !' 



" ' Bitterly, indeed, Waldemar,' was Bertha's reply, ' and I have been the 

 tool, because I am the slave of the deceiver ; and yet, as Heaven is my wit- 

 ness, am guiltless of the deceit.' 



" ' And Heaven knows/ rejoined Waldemar, with equal fervour, ' how 

 gladly I would believe you innocent of it, Bertha ; and, O ! were I, even now, 

 to hear from those lips that you still love me that I am not the despised, 

 rejected being I have deemed myself all that I have suffered would pass from 

 my memory as an idle dream, and I should be happy.' 



" ' Of what avail were it,' continued the gentle girl, ' to tell you that the 

 love which has been the cherished jewel of my heart hath never known 

 aught of change, since it would be but to raise hopes which I must blight by 

 the assurance that I never can be yours ?' 



" ' Not mine, Bertha ! wherefore not ?' exclaimed Waldemar. 



" ' Because,' replied the maiden, ' one, whose power it were madness and 

 ruin to resist, hath decreed me to another !' 



" ' The traitor Schwartzheim ?' asked her lover. 



" ' You have named the most hated of human beings, and yet I am his 

 destined bride/ said Bertha. 



" ' And against your will !' exclaimed Waldemar: ' never ! the villain dies 

 first!' 



" ' O, Waldemar !' cried Bertha, imploringly, ' meddle not with that fearful 

 man : you know not the extent of his malice or his power, He hates you 



