Funny Big Socks.

by Sarah L. Barrow.

STORM STORIES.

FIRST EVENING.

HOW it did rain, to be sure! Up the long street, and down the long street nothing was to be seen but large mud puddles, while the gutter ran like a little river, and gushed with a loud sound into the sewer mouth.

That was a rain indeed! but in the warm rooms it was comfortable enough.

Books and pretty pictures lined the walls on all sides but one, where the large window was, the recess filled with blooming flowers; they smelt so sweetly!

There, at a table that was covered with a green cloth, sat a literary man. His head was bowed upon his arms; and when he raised his face, one saw that he was so sad and pale! The poor literary man was quite unhappy.

If one could have crept into his heart (like him who owned the "Galoshes of Fortune"), one would have seen that his thoughts ran, "Ah me! how unhappy I am. I write books about the good and the beautiful, but n.o.body buys them; no one cares to read of such things. If I could but tell them a tale, now, something lively or pathetic, like the poet Baggesen or our own Hoffman, that they all like. Nay, then, what a weary life it is!"

and he leaned back in his arm chair, and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, something came hissing down the chimney into the stove. It was two or three rain drops driven in by the wind. Something else appeared to have entered with them, for there was a rustle and breeze in the chamber, and then the literary man heard a whisper quite close to his ear.

"Thou silly fellow!" cried the wind, for that it was, "to sit in thy chamber with closed doors, waiting for the story to come to thee! Nay, then, what is there in thy books half so clever or amusing as what one sees in real life? Listen, now, and I will tell thee what I saw one moonlight night as I blew over this wide German land."

THE STORY OF THE WIND.

IN summer, all the world--of Leipsic--goes out of town, to Baden or Ems.

Those who can afford it run over the Alps, to sunny Italy; but in winter--ah! then it is very different!

One is glad enough, then, to remain at home by the warm stove; or if one goes out, one must be well wrapped up in furs and cloaks.

The little boys slide and skate on the frozen river; the poorer folks go about in sledges, and the rich in splendid sleighs, with white fur robes and capering horses, which have little bells tied to their manes and tails.

Just such a sleigh as this stood, one bright moonlight night, before the door of the Burgomaster Von Geirstein, in the good town of Leipsic. The whole family were going in a body out of town, and now the hall door opened, and forth came the fat and stupid Burgomaster himself, with his fat and silly wife on his arm, followed by their pretty, blue-eyed daughter, Matilda, and her lover, Walther Von Blumenwald, a thriving young merchant. Her brother, Max, came last, a merry, good-natured young fellow, but who, certainly, was not very wise.

Max took the driver's place; the others seated themselves within the large sleigh, and tucked the warm fur robes around them, and then, with a crack of the whip, and a loud huzzah from the young men, the sleigh glided swiftly away.

About five miles from the town, in the midst of the forest, was a large inn of the better sort, which had lately become a favorite resort of the wealthy who went sleighing in the winter. b.a.l.l.s, even, were given there, and there one got the most delicious mulled wine and Westphalia hams, and all sorts of ale, "Bremen," "Prysing," "Emser ale," even "Brunswick Mumme." To this hotel, then, our party were bound.

Merrily rang the bells, swiftly flew the sleigh over the frozen snow, and as they pa.s.sed out at the city gates, the whole party broke into a joyous glee:

"Listen, listen, listen to the merry sleigh bells!

How they jingle, jingle, ever blithe and ever clear, With a tintinnabulation that so musically wells As it thrills, and it thrills upon the ear!

Every dancing little note Seems to gurgle from the throat Of a bird, that in its happy song so eloquently tells The joy it is to bound O'er the cold and frozen ground, To the ringing and the clinging of the bells!

"Listen, listen, listen to the merry sleigh bells!

How they jingle, jingle, as the horses dash along; What a story of our gladness their enticing music tells As it chimes and it rhymes with the song!

Such a rollicking delight Bubbles out upon the night As their joy-creating burthen over hill and valley swells.

Every voice must join the tune As we skim beneath the moon To the tinkling and the twinkling of the bells!"

The sleigh had now turned out of the high road, and entered the forest.

For some time the way lay plain before them, but at length came a fork, where two roads met.

"Now, then," exclaimed Max, "which way? Blumenwald, thou hast been to Ole's before--must I take the right hand or the left?"

"Upon my word, I have forgotten!" exclaimed Walther. "It was a dark night when I drove out with my cousins; but, it appears to me, upon the whole, that we took the right hand road."

"Well, we can only try," said Max; "at least, if we don't get to Ole's, we shall have had a merry sleigh ride."

He shook the reins, and the impatient horses darted off; but, my stars!

they had taken the wrong road! Deeper grew the wood; the roughness of the path momentarily increased; the trees became so thick that the moonlight no longer penetrated them, and Max at length stopped his horses once more, and gazed around him in bewilderment.

"Potstausend!" exclaimed the Burgomaster; "where has the boy taken us? I tell you what, mein sonne, thou hadst best turn back, for we shall never get to Ole's to-night."

"And thy sister will take her death of cold!" cried the Frau Von Geirstein, while Walther looked anxiously at the fair Matilda, who only smiled up at him, and drew her fur-lined hood more closely about her face.

Just as they were about to turn back, they heard a sound of sleigh-bells behind, and presently a small sleigh approached them, drawn by a spirited horse.

Max, without more ado, hailed the stranger, and begged him to set them, if he could, on the road to Ole's.

The new comer bowed courteously to the ladies, and replied, "I shall be most happy to direct you thither, my respectable friends. In short, then, you follow the road before you for a time, then turn to your right; next, pursue your way in a southeast direction for a mile; next, turn toward the northwest, and then----"

"What, sir!" interrupted Max, "do you suppose we can go to all points of the compa.s.s at once? What do you mean by your northwest and southeast?"

"Potstausend! is the fellow making fun of us?" exclaimed the Burgomaster.

"Surely the Herr Von Geirstein cannot suppose I would be guilty of so great an impertinence!" exclaimed the stranger. "It is true, the road is somewhat obscure; may I not also have the pleasure of driving you to Ole's?"

"We thank you--you are most kind," replied the mollified Burgomaster, who never doubted for a moment that his vast importance caused him to be known to all the world; "but what will become of your sledge?"

"Oh, I don't fear for the sledge--that can remain here among the underwood; and my horse can be attached in front of yours."

This arrangement was soon effected, and the stranger, who was so m.u.f.fled up in fur cap and coat, that scarcely a feature could be distinguished, mounted beside Max, and seized the reins.

Donnerwetter! how he shouted at the horses! cracking his whip, and calling them all manner of strange names. "Now, then, pig with a wooden head! Get along with you, toad of serpents! To the mischief with the whole team!" till the foam flew on all sides, the iron-clad heels of the steeds rang like hammer upon anvil on the frozen ground, and sparks scintillated in the air!

Meanwhile, however, the effect of this rapid motion on the Burgomaster's family was anything but exhilarating. Now that the bustle of setting out was at an end, they one and all began to feel afraid of their strange guide, and to think there was something more than common in their adventure.

"He's a very odd-looking man, after all," whispered the Burgomaster's wife; "how do we know what sort of a fellow he is, and if he is taking us to Ole's at all? I, for my part, believe he's in league with some robber band, and we shall all be murdered."

"Potstausend! it looks very much like it!" exclaimed the Burgomaster, who, although so big a man, was mighty chicken-hearted. "I wish Max had not been so confoundedly hasty in accepting his advice."

"I beg thy pardon there, father-in-law," returned Walther; "it was thou who bade him come in."

The Burgomaster was about to make some peppery reply, when Max suddenly broke upon the whispered conversation by exclaiming:

"Since you are so good, sir, as to drive us, perhaps you will inform us to whom we are obliged."

But the stranger, who, before this, had been the noisiest of the party, appeared to have become suddenly dumb, for he answered not a word.