94 THE MONK. 



the mind gained strength and knowledge, her person was matured 

 into perfect symmetry. During this time, her hand had been often 

 sought by the wealthy and noble, but she had refused all her suitors 

 with indifference or contempt ; and it seemed that the heart of the 

 proud beauty was not to be won. 



" Rudolph Willenheim was the son of a neighbouring gentleman, 

 who had but little rank or fortune to boast of. His lineage was 

 pure and noble, and the domains of his sires had, in times gone by, 

 furnished their swelling train of vassals and dependents. But cir- 

 cumstances had deprived succeeding generations of a portion of their 

 honours and their lands, and the present Baron Willenheim resided 

 in comparative poverty and retirement. It was about the time 

 Paulina had entered her twentieth year that Rudolf returned from 

 the university, and took his place in the home of his father. From 

 a child, he had exhibited strong indications of an impetuous and 

 sensitive temperament. During his education, the visionary notions 

 he had early imbibed were fostered rather than checked. He de- 

 voured with avidity all the imaginative works of romance, with 

 which the German school of literature abounds. He fed upon 

 them ; they formed part of his existence. He delighted to dwell on 

 their wild speculations, and to plunge deep into the abstruse mazes 

 of conjecture and mystery. Though he had lived in the busy world, 

 and had associated with men, he knew little of their passions or ha- 

 bits, their vacillations and their malevolence. His world was in his 

 own breast. There, everything was clothed with sunshine ; every 

 object was surrounded by a bright halo, that shed upon it one pecu- 

 liar colour. The lens through which he contemplated the future 

 was a deceptive one ; it showed him things as he wished them to 

 be, not as they really are. For some time after his return to his 

 native valley, he loved alone to climb the rocky steeps of the neigh- 

 bouring mountains, and to gaze over their wide and magnificent 

 prospects ; or to watch the sparkling waterfall, as it leaped from 

 crag to crag down the rugged dell. He loved to wander by the 

 rippling stream, and mark its limpid waters flow murmuring on. 

 He loved to recline beneath the shade of some oak or dark embower- 

 ing pine, to tell the parting day, and then to hold communion in 

 thought with strange creatures not of earth — elves and fairies. It 

 was on these occasions that he could indulge, undisturbed, the wan- 

 dering visions of his fevered imagination. From the chimeras of his 

 heated fancy, he could people the silent solitudes with ideal beings, 

 and make every tree and shrub instinct with life. He could create 

 himself their king, and summon with a beck the presiding genii of 



