The Progressionists, and Angela.

She seated herself upon the bench, took off her hat, smoothed down her apron, and appeared happy at seeing him eating heartily.

"Don't you find that dish refreshing, Mr. Seraphin?"

"You have done me a real act of charity," he replied. "This bread, is excellent. Who taught you how to make bread?"

"I learned from mother; but there isn't much art in making that sort of bread, Mr. Seraphin. The food which people in the country eat does not require artistic preparation. It only needs good, pure material, so that it may give strength to labor."

"I suppose you attend to the kitchen altogether, do you not?"

"Yes, Mr. Seraphin. That's not very difficult, our meals are of the plainest kind. We have meat once a week, on Sundays. When the work is unusually hard, as in harvest time, we have meat oftener. We raise our own meat and cure it."

"You have assumed household cares at quite an early age, Mechtild."

"Early? I am seventeen now, and am the oldest. Mother has a great deal of trouble with the small ones, so the housework falls chiefly to my share. It does not require any great exertion, however, to do it. Plain and saving is our motto. Mother specially recommends four things: industry, cleanliness, order, and economy. She advises me not to neglect any one of these points when once I will have a household of my own."

"Do you think you will soon set up a separate household?" asked he with some hesitation.

"Not for some time to come, Mr. Seraphin, yet it must be done one day. If my own inclination were consulted, I would prefer never to leave home. I should like things to continue as they are. But a separation must come. Death will pay us a visit as it has done to others, father and mother will pass away, and the course of events will sever us from one another."

Her head sank, the brightness of her face became obscured beneath the shadow of these sombre thoughts, and, when she again looked up, there appeared in her eyes so touching and childlike a sadness that he felt pained to the soul. And yet this revelation of tenderness pleased him, for it made known to him a new phase of her amiable nature.

For a long time he continued conversing with the artless girl. Every word she uttered, no matter how trifling, had an interest for him. Besides her charming artlessness, he had frequent occasions to admire the wisdom of her language and her admirable delicacy. The setting sun had already cast a subdued crimson over the hilltops, hours had sped away, the chickens had gone to roost, still he remained riveted to the spot by Mechtild's grace and loveliness.

"Father is just coming," she said, pointing down the road. "How glad he will be to find you here!"

His head bent forward. Holt came wearily plodding up the road. His right hand was hidden in the pocket of his pantaloons, and his head was bowed, as if beneath a heavy weight. As Mechtild's clear voice rang out, he raised his head, caught sight of his high-hearted benefactor, and smiled in joyful surprise.

"Welcome, Mr. Seraphin; a thousand times welcome!" he cried from the other side of the road. "Why, this is an honor that I had not expected!"

He stood uncovered, holding his cap in the left hand, his right hand was still concealed. Mechtild at once noticed her father's singular behavior, and her eye watched anxiously for the hidden hand.

"Your daughter has been so kind as to offer refreshments to a weary wanderer," said Gerlach, "and it has been a great pleasure for me to sit awhile. We have been chatting for several hours under this glorious tree, and may be I am to blame for keeping her from her work."

Holt's honest face beamed with satisfaction. He entirely forgot about his secret, he drew his hand out of his pocket, Mechtild turned pale, and a sharp cry escaped her lips.

"For mercy's sake, father!" And she pointed to the broken chain.

"What are you screaming for, foolish girl? Don't be alarmed, Mr. Seraphin! this chain has got on my arm in an honorable cause. I will tell you the whole story; I know you will not inform on me."

Seating himself on the bench, he related the adventures of the day.

The mock procession passed before Mechtild's imagination with the vividness of reality. The narration transformed her. Her mildness was changed to noble anger. She had heard of the vicar of Christ being insulted, of holy things being scoffed at, of the Redeemer being derided by a horde of wretches. With her arms akimbo, she drew up her lithe and graceful form to its full height, and with flashing eyes looked at her father while he related what had befallen him. Seraphin could not help wondering at the transformation. Such a display of spirit he had not been prepared to witness in a girl so gentle and beautiful. When her father had ended his account, she seized his hand passionately, pressed it warmly between her own hands, and kissed the chain.

"Father, dear father," she exclaimed in a burst of feeling, "I thank you from my heart for acting as you did! Those wretches were scoffing at our holy religion, but you behaved bravely in defence of the faith. For this they put chains on you, as the heathen did to S. Peter and S. Paul."

Once more she kissed the chain, then, turning quickly, hastened across the yard to the house.

"Mechtild isn't like the rest of us," said Holt, smiling. "There's a great deal of spirit in her. I have often noticed it. But I am not astonished at her being roused at the mock procession-I was roused myself. I declare, Mr. Seraphin, it is a shame, a crying shame, that persons are permitted to rail at doctrines and things which we revere as holy. One would almost believe Satan himself was in some people, they take so fanatical a delight in scoffing at a religion which is holy and enjoins nothing but what is good."

"It is incontestable that infidelity hates and opposes God and religion," replied Gerlach. "The boasted culture of those who find a pleasure in grossly wounding the most sacred feelings of their neighbors, is wicked and stupid."

Mechtild returned with a file in her hand.

"Right, my child! I was just thinking of the file myself. Here, cut the catches of the lock."

He laid his arm across the table. A few strokes of the file caused the lock and remnant of chain to fall from his wrist.

"We will keep this as a precious memento," said she. "Only think, father, that wicked official ordered you to be manacled, and he is the representative of authority. How can one respect or even pray for authorities when they allow religion to be ridiculed?"

"Pray for your enemies," answered the countryman gravely.

"I will do so because God commands me; but I shall never again be able to respect the official!"

Her anger had fled; she appeared again all light and loveliness. He did not fail to observe a searching look which she directed upon him, but its meaning became clear to him only when, as he was taking leave, she said in a tone of humility: "Pardon my vehemence, Mr. Seraphin! Don't think me a bad girl."

"There is nothing to be forgiven, Mechtild. You were indignant against godless wretches, and they who are not indignant against evil cannot themselves be good."

"We are most heartily thankful for this visit," spoke Holt. "I need not say that we will consider it a great happiness as often as you will be pleased to come."

"Good-night!" returned the young man, and he walked away.

Deeply immersed in his thoughts, Seraphin went back to town. What he was thinking about, his diary does not record. But the excitement under which he had rushed forth was gone-dispelled by the magic of a rural sorceress. He walked on quietly like a man who seems filled with confidence in his own future. The recent painful impressions seemed to his mind to lie far back in the past; their place was taken up by beautiful anticipations which, like the aurora, shed soft and pleasing light upon his path. He halted frequently in a dream-like reverie to indulge the happiness with which his soul was flooded. The full moon, just peering over the hills, shed around him a mystic brightness that harmonized perfectly with the indefinable contentment of his heart, and seemed to be gazing quizzingly into the countenance of the young man, who almost feared to confess to himself that he had found an invaluable treasure.

As he stopped before the Palais Greifmann, all the bright spirits that had hovered round about him on the way back from the little whitewashed cottage, fled. He awoke from his dream, and, ascending the stairs with a feeling of discomfort, he entered his apartment, where his father sat awaiting him.

"At last," spoke Mr. Conrad, looking up from a book. "You have kept me waiting a long time, my son."

"I was in need of a good long walk, father, to get over what I witnessed this morning. The country air has dispelled all those horrible impressions. There is only one thing more required to make me feel perfectly well, dear father, which is that you will not insist on my allying myself to people who are utterly opposed to my way of thinking and feeling."

"I understand and approve of your request, Seraphin. The impressions made on me, too, are exceedingly disagreeable. The advancement of which this town boasts is stupid, immoral, detestable. How this state of society has come about, is inexplicable to me who live secluded in the country. Society is diseased, fatally diseased. Many of the new views professed are sheer superstition, and their morality is a mere cloak for their corruption and wickedness. All the powers of progress so-called are actively at work to subvert all the safeguards of society. And what your diary reports of Louise, I have found fully confirmed. Though it cost the sacrifice of a long cherished plan, a son of mine shall never become the husband of a progressionist woman."

"O father! how deeply do I thank you!" cried the youth, carried away by his feelings.

"I must decline being thanked, for I have not merited it," spoke Mr. Conrad earnestly. "A father's duty determines very clearly what my decision upon the matter of your marriage with Louise, ought to be. But I am under obligations to you, my son, which justice compels me to acknowledge. Your discernment and moral sense have prevented a great deal of discord and unhappiness in our family. Continue good and true, my Seraphin!"

He pressed his son to his bosom and imprinted a kiss on his forehead.

"To-morrow we shall start for home by the first train. Fortunately your prudent behavior makes it easy for us to get away, and the final breaking off of this engagement I will myself arrange with Louise's father."

SERAPHIN GERLACH TO THE AUTHOR

Dear Sir: Two years ago, I took the liberty of sending you my diary, with the request that you would be pleased to publish such portions of its contents as might be useful, in the form of a tale illustrative of the times. I made the request because I consider it the duty of a writer who delineates the condition of society, to transmit to posterity a faithful picture of the present social status, and I am vain enough to believe that my jottings will be a modest contribution towards such a tableau.

The meagre account given by the diary of my intercourse with Mechtild, will probably have enabled you to perceive the germ of a pure and true relation likely to develop itself further. I shall add but a few items to complete the account of the diary, knowing that poets, painters, and artists have rigorously determined bounds, and that a twilight cannot be represented when the sun is at the zenith. I am emboldened to use this illustration because your unbounded admiration of pure womanhood is well known to me, and because the brightness of Mechtild's character, were it further described, would no more be compatible with the sombre colorings in which a true picture of modern progress would have to be exhibited, than the noonday sun with the shadows of evening.

My memoranda concerning Mechtild, which, despite studied soberness, betrayed a considerable degree of admiration, made known to my parents, naturally enough, the secret of my heart. Hence it came that a quiet smile passed over my father's face every time I commenced to speak of Mechtild. Holt's manly deed at the mock procession had already gained for him my father's esteem, and, as I spoke a great deal about Holt's thoroughness as a cultivator, my father began to look upon him as a very desirable man to employ.

"We want an experienced man on the 'green farm,'" said father, one day. "Offer the situation to Holt, and tell him to come to see me about it. I want to talk with him."

"Give the good man my compliments," said mother; "tell him I would be much pleased to become acquainted with Mechtild, who sympathized with you so kindly on that memorable day!"

I wrote without delay. Holt came, and so did Mechtild. But few moments were necessary to enable mother to detect the girl's fine qualities. Father, too, was delightfully surprised at her modesty, the beauty of her form, and grace of her manner. He visited the farm accompanied by Holt. The cultivator's extraordinary knowledge, his practical manner of viewing things, and the shrewdness of his counsels in regard to the improvement of worn-out land and the cultivation of poor soil, completely charmed my father. A contract containing very favorable conditions for Holt was entered into, and three weeks later the family took charge of the "green farm."

Upon mother's suggestion, Mechtild was sent to an educational institution, where she acquired in ten months' time the learning and culture necessary for associating with cultivated people.

Father and mother had received her on her return like a daughter. This reception was given her not only in consideration of Holt's skilful and faithful management of business, but also on account of Mechtild's own splendid womanly character-perhaps, too, partly on account of my unbounded admiration for the rare girl.

"The girl is an ornament to her sex," lauded my father. "Her polished manner and ease in company do not suffer one to suspect ever so remotely that she at any time plied the reaping-hook, and came out of a stubblefield to regale a weary wanderer with brown bread and bonnyclabber. I am quite in harmony with, your secret wishes, my dear Seraphin! At the same time, I am of opinion that a step promising so much happiness ought not to be longer deferred. I think, then, you should ask the father for his daughter without delay, so that I may soon have the pleasure of giving you my blessing."

From my father's arms, into which. I had thrown myself in thankfulness, I hastened away to the "green farm," where Mechtild with maidenly blushes, and Holt in speechless astonishment, heard and granted my petition.

I am now four months married. I am the blest husband of a wife whose lovely qualities are daily showing themselves to greater advantage. Mechtild presides over Chateau Hallberg like an angel of peace. Towards my father and mother she conducts herself with filial reverence and never-ceasing delicate attentions. Mother loves her unspeakably, and no access of ill humor in father can withstand her charming smile and prudent mirth. Concerning the banking-house of Greifmann, I have only sad things to tell. Carl's father had entered into very considerable speculations which failed and drove him into bankruptcy. Carl saw the blow coming, and saved himself in a disgraceful manner. There was a savings institution connected with the bank in which poor people and servants deposited the savings of their hard labor. Carl appropriated this fund and made off a short time before the failure of the house. Thousands of poor persons were robbed of the little sums which they were saving for old age, by denying themselves many even of the necessaries of life.

The maledictions and curses of these unfortunate people followed across the ocean the thief whose modern culture and progressive humanity did not hinder him from committing a crime which no Christian can be guilty of without losing his claim to the title. Carl, however, still continues to pass for a man of culture and humanity notwithstanding his deed. And why should he not, since without faith in the Deity moral obligations do not exist, and consequently every species of crime is allowable? The old gentleman Greifmann died shortly after his ruin; Louise lost her mind.

My father felt the misfortune of the Greifmanns deeply, without, however, regretting in the smallest degree the wise determination which their godless principles and actions had driven him to. Formerly he could never find time to take part in the elections. But now he is constantly speaking about the duty of every respectable man to oppose the infernal machinations and plans of would-be progress. He intends at the next election to use all his influence for the election of conscientious deputies, so that the evil may be put an end to which consists in trying to undermine the foundations of society.

Accept, dear sir, the assurance of the esteem with which I have the honor to be

Your most obedient servant,Seraphin Gerlach.

Chateau Hallberg, Jan. 4, 1872.

ANGELA.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN

CHAPTER I.

CRINOLINE

An express train was just on the eve of leaving the railway station in Munich. Two fashionably dressed gentlemen stood at the open door of a railway carriage, in conversation with a third, who sat within. These two young men bore on their features the marks of youthful dissipation, indicating that they had not been sparing of pleasures. The one in the carriage had a handsome, florid countenance, two clear, expressive eyes, and thick locks of hair, which he now and then stroked back from his fine forehead. He scarcely observed the conversation of the two friends, who spoke of balls, dogs, horses, theatres, and ballet-girls.

In the same carriage sat another traveller, evidently the father of the young man. He was reading the newspaper-that is the report of the money market-while his fleshy left hand dallied with the heavy gold rings of his watch-chain. He had paid no attention to the conversation till an observation of his son brought him to serious reflection.

"By the bye," said one of the young men quickly, "I was nearly forgetting to tell you the news, Richard! Do you know that Baron Linden is engaged?"

"Engaged? To whom?" said Richard carelessly.

"To Bertha von Harburg. I received a card this morning, and immediately wrote a famous letter of congratulation."

Richard looked down earnestly, and shook his head.

"I commiserate the genial baron," said he. "What could he be thinking of, to rush headlong into this misfortune?"

The father looked in surprise at his son; the hand holding the paper sank on his knee.

"Permit me, gentlemen," said the conductor; the doors were closed, the friends nodded good-by, and the train moved off.

"Your observation about Linden's marriage astonishes me, Richard. But perhaps you were only jesting."

"By no means," said Richard. "Never more earnest in my life. I expressed my conviction, and my conviction is the result of careful observation and mature reflection."

The father's astonishment increased.

"Observation-reflection-fudge!" said the father impatiently, as he folded the paper and shoved it into his pocket. "How can a young man of twenty-two talk of experience and observation! Enthusiastic nonsense! Marriage is a necessity of human life. And you will yet submit to this necessity."

"True, if marriage be a necessity, then I suppose I must bow to the yoke of destiny. But, father, this necessity does not exist. There are intelligent men enough who do not bind themselves to woman's caprices."

"Oh! certainly, there are some strange screech-owls in the world-some enthusiasts. But certainly you do not wish to be one of them. You, who have such great expectations. You, the only son of a wealthy house. You, who have a yearly income of thousands to spend."

"The income can be enjoyed more pleasantly, free and single, father."

"Free and single-and enjoyed! Zounds! you almost tempt me to think ill of you. Happily, I know you well. I know your strict morality, your solidity, your moderate pretensions. All these amiable qualities please me. But this view of marriage I did not expect; you must put away this sickly notion."

The young man made no answer, but leaned back in his seat with a disdainful smile.

Herr Frank gazed thoughtfully through the window. He reflected on the determined character of his son, whose disposition, even when a child, shut him out from the world, and who led an interior, meditative life. Strict regularity and exact employment of time were natural to him. At school, he held the first place in all branches. His ambition and effort were to excel all others in knowledge. His singular questions, which indicated a keen observation and capacity, had often excited the surprise of his father. And while the companions of the youth hailed with delight the time which released them from the benches of the school and from their studies, Richard cheerfully bound himself to his accustomed task, to appease his longing for knowledge. Approaching manhood had not changed him in this regard. He was punctual to the hours of business, and labored with zeal and interest, to the great joy of his father. He recreated himself with music and, painting, or by a walk in the open country, for whose beauties he had a keen appreciation. The few shades of his character were, a proud haughtiness, an unyielding perseverance in his determinations, and a strength of conviction difficult to overcome. But perhaps these shades were, after all, great qualities, which were to brighten up and polish his maturity. This obstinacy the father was now considering, and, in reference to his singular view of marriage, it filled him with great anxiety.

"But, Richard," began Herr Frank again, "how did you come to this singular conclusion?"

"By observation, and reflection-and also by experience, although you deny my years this right."

"What have you experienced and observed?"

"I have observed woman as she is, and found that such a creature would only make me miserable. What occupies their minds? Fineries, pleasures; and trifles. The pivot of their existence turns on dress, ornaments, balls, and the like. We live in an age of crinoline, and you know how I abominate that dress; I admit my aversion is abnormal, perhaps exaggerated, but I cannot overcome it. When I see a woman going through the streets with swelling hoops, the most whimsical fancies come into my mind. It reminds me of an inflated balloon, whose clumsy swell disfigures the most beautiful form. It reminds me of a drunken gawk, who swaggers along and carries the foolish gewgaw for a show. The costume is indeed expressive. It reveals the interior disposition. Crinoline is to me the type of the woman of our day-an empty, vain, inflated something. And this type repels me."

"Then you believe our women to be vain, pleasure-seeking, and destitute of true womanhood, because they wear crinoline?"

"No, the reverse. An overweening propensity to show and frivolity characterizes our women, and therefore they wear crinoline in spite of the protestations of the men."

"Bah! Nonsense; you lay too much stress on fashion. I know many women myself who complain of this fashion."

"And afterward follow it. This precisely confirms my opinion. Women have no longer sufficient moral force to disregard a disagreeable restraint. Their vanity is still stronger than their inclinations to a natural enjoyment of life."

"Do you want a wife who would be sparing and saving; who, by her frugality, would increase your wealth; who, by her social seclusion, would not molest your cash-box?"

"No; I want no wife," answered the young man, somewhat pettishly. "And I am not alone in this. The young men are beginning to awaken. A sound, natural feeling revolts against the vitiated taste of the women. Alliances are forming everywhere. The last paper announced that, at Marseilles, six thousand young men have, with joined hands, vowed never to marry until the women renounce their ruinous costumes and costly idleness, and return to a plain style of dress and frugal habits. I object to this propensity to ease and pleasure-this desire of our women for finery and the gratification of vanity. Not because this inclination is expensive, but because it is objectionable. Every creature has an object. But, if we consider the women of our day, we might well ask, for what are they here?