another shaking of the hand, and the train started, carrying me toward unknown people and unknown work.

The same afternoon I arrived at the station of S. in the Thuringian Forest. The train had scarcely stopped, when a very venerable-looking tall old clergyman, with long white curly hair and kind blue eyes, opened the door of my carriage, asking if Fräulein H was in there. I said yes, and, shaking hands with me, he told me that he was the clergyman K- from Bellstädt, my foster-father for the coming year.* He told me to follow him to his carriage, which was waiting outside the station. Although I was not otherwise than pleased with the old pastor's appearance, my heart beat fast that moment; and while Mr. K-- went to inquire about my luggage, I felt such a wish to cry that, in order to restrain my tears, and regardless of the strange coachman who was standing by, I stepped up to the horses and embraced them tenderly, whispering into their sympathetic ears that I was very, very unhappy! I think the coachman, fond as he was of his horses, liked my caressing them.

He came up to me, tapped my shoulder familiarly, and asked me in his homely Thuringian dialect, not to be unhappy. "Oh," he said, my dear fräulein, about forty young girls have I fetched at this station in these last years; everyone was unhappy then, or at least pretended to be so; but oh! how much more unhappy they were when they had to leave this station! And, fräulein,' he continued," believe in my prophecy : believe in my prophecy -you do not look as if you were going to be the first to leave this place with out regret !"

I blessed that simple sincere man with all my heart; and it may be said here that to the very last day of my stay at Bellstädt he and I were good and faithful friends. After half an hour we started. The weather was splendid; and we enjoyed a delicious drive through the fascinating valleys of the Thuringian Forest, till at last our carriage, after having passed a small but pretty village, stopped before the front door of a two

storied house, overgrown with vines and ivy, which lay nestled behind old and shadowy linden-trees. A rather small but neatly kept garden, with a beautiful green grass-plot, roses and other flowers in beds, was to be seen at the right side of the house; while another bigger one, full of fruit-trees, potatoes, and all the vegetables required in the kitchen, lay behind the house. From this second garden I heard the joyful voices of girls at play, while a lady, the mistress of the house, kindly greeting me, was standing in the doorway. According to our education, and the courtesy we use toward elderly ladies, I went and kissed her hand; and she in return kissed my forehead, wishing me a most hearty welcome. Then she took me by the hand, and asked my Christian name, telling me at the same time, that all girls in her house were called by their Christian names. After this, we went to my room, where I and two other girls had to dwell. Everything was nice and comfortable, but without luxury. She'Aunt Mary," as we all had to call her

told me that I had seven companions, and that she hoped I would make friends with them. Then she helped me to unpack my luggage, making a close inspection, to be sure I had everything I wanted. And yes, it was all at hand. There were two winter and two summer dresses, made with short sleeves of dark and useful stuff; besides twelve large dark -blue aprons or pinafores for hard and dirty kitchen-work, twelve white ones for house work, and twelve nice and neat ones for serving at dinner. After having praised my useful things, Aunt Mary smiled at my pretty dresses and hats, which we were allowed to wear on Sundays, for picnics, and other occasions. You little vanity," she said, kissing me, come now, I will show you the house and introduce you to your companions."

After dinner, where two of the "Pensionairinnen," as we were called, had served, Mr. K. read out of the Bible, gave us his blessing, and we went to bed, for the next morning had to see us up early. At five, Aunt Mary came to call us; we took our bath, and then one

girl helped to comb the other's hair. This-probably because of our German nationality, but assuredly not (as the au

the custom is a nice one or not, there can be no doubt about the work it

As soon as this great wash began, we gave up all but the most important house and kitchen-work; and you might have seen us standing all eight of us round a huge tub, rubbing with soap in hot water the sheets and napkins. Certainly it was severe labor, and my hands bled fast the first evening. But while standing and washing, even if almost tired to death by work so unaccustomed, we tried to sweeten it by cheerful partsongs. When the washing was finished, Carl, the coachman, had to put the horses to the wagon. All the things, heaped up in large white baskets, were put on it, we all got in after, and off it went down to the little river. There the things were unloaded, and each of us, kneeling on a board, rinse out the linen in the clear flowing water. I dare say that this part of the wash was the most amusing one; whether it was the kneeling at the river, or the happy thought that all would be soon at an end, I am sure I don't know. But we were certainly in high spirits, and Carl, who silently watched us, often had to get out of the way of the shoots of water that we extravagant girls sent at him!

So the weeks went on, each bringing its appointed task, and yet never anything seemed to be too hard. Having once got accustomed to our work, we did it with good temper and love. This was the reason, I think, why the spirit of the house was merry and cheerful. Aunt Mary was our best friend; and in Mr. K we admired the real type of a country clergyman. I said that I never found my work too hard, but still there was one which I always did with showers of tears. That, as you can guess, was-killing poultry: ducks, geese, pigeons. I think I killed about three dozen, but I am sure that their sufferings were not half as bad as mine!

After six months' hard work I had learned enough to get a new girl under my care, and there was no roast meat, no vegetable, no pudding or cake I could not cook. Now the pleasure came; for in teaching others I saw for the first time how much I knew.

Perhaps, dear reader, you have had enough of our German Cookery School,

and I see many a young lady comfortably leaning back in her arm-chair saying, "Nothing in the world would induce me to lead such a dull, hard life! Thank God that I am not a German girl!" Fiddlesticks! Noah's ark! My proud young lady, it is not quite so dull as it seems, and I am sure that after having read what follows of my story, you will understand my saying that the year in the Cookery School was one of the happiest I ever spent.

The

I said that the place I lived in was a village. It was a dear old place, and I should like to tell you a little more about it. It was situated, as I said before, in the Thuringian Forest, and was full of all the charm a place possesses that is far away from railroads. village was surrounded by splendid old fir woods, and pleasantly animated by a small, swiftly running, sun-bright river. The population was made up of middlesized folk, neither especially good nor yet bad looking, but dressed in a very pretty bright costume. The men wore light-blue trousers and a wide blue blouse; the women short red petticoats, colored apron, a black velvet bodice, and white short sleeves. Their hair, plaited in about eight tresses, was coiled about the head, with a red or blue handkerchief twisted over it.

The village contained about twentyfour houses, all (except the Squire's and parson's) with a straw-thatched roof, and on nearly every third roof a stork was nested. Those dear storks; what a pleasure they are to every German heart! It seems as if they belonged to the family, and no greater joy is ever seen on any face, be it young or old, than on the day when the stork, after a long absence, comes home to his old nest, first of all looking into it, and then, convinced that everything is in order, beginning to clatter with his bill, giving greeting to all his friends who are standing about beneath, waving their pockethandkerchiefs in welcome. have a sort of divine adoration for our storks; a stork's nest on a roof is called the greatest sign of luck. No one ever thinks of killing a stork, and if this happens, the crime is punished with from seven to ten years of imprisonment.

We

Never in my life but once have I heard of a stork being wilfully killed.

It happened in this village, and often, indeed, have I heard the event talked about. The story is so sad and strange that I should like to tell it here. It took place as follows. A young man, out of mere boyish wantonness, shot the hen-stork some days before they began their long and troublesome journey to Africa. Winter was gone; the stork's nest was again without snow, and the warm sun and mild spring air made people look forward to the arrival of the storks. At last they came. All the nests, except the one which through human cruelty had lost its mistress, were soon full of eggs, which the hen birds were busy hatching. One day, a stork which was flying alone toward the village, came to the nest upon the parsonage roof. The female stork, unmindful of approaching danger, was sitting silently in her nest alone, when the strange bird swooped passionately down, and began a furious fight with her. She defended her nest, her eggs, herself, as bravely as she could, but at last her strength failed, and the stranger stork succeeded in hacking the eggs to pieces and throwing them out of the nest. Then, but not till then, he seemed satisfied with what he had done, and with a savage rattling in his throat, he flew away. The villagers, meanwhile, stood watching this horrible scene without being able to help the injured mother bird. This story shows curiously that the feelings and passions both of men and animals are very much alike. The poor stork, pining for his mate who had been murdered, sees another in her full maternal happiness. Mad jealousy comes over him, and being himself unhappy, he wants to make others unhappy too. The wretched bird, it may be added, was never seen again after the tragedy. Most probably he put a speedy end to his own miserable life.

We had not much society in our village. There was only the squire's family, consisting of a father, mother, three grown-up sons and four young men who were being taught farming. The Sundays were our usual days for meeting. Sometimes we were all invited to the Squire's house, or else they used to call on us. The greatest pleasure for us girls was of course to go there, for then we had no work to do, and could enjoy our holiday. And oh, how well we

knew how to do that! The old people left us to ourselves, giving us full leave to do whatever we liked. The diningroom was at our disposal; and, by the by, this noble old room is worth while making acquaintance with. It was in the old part of the house, built about two hundred years ago. The walls and ceiling were panelled with wood, admirably carved. An old-fashioned chandelier that with the brightness of its lights had served at many happy and sad family occurrences, hung in the middle of the room, while the walls were decorated with magnificent horns of stags and deer, shot long ago by ancestors of the house. To this room we went; a cup board containing an old hand-organ was opened; and while one played this oftused and obedient instrument, the rest of us danced valses and galops. Sometimes we had games or acted plays; and when tired of all these, it was pleasant to sit or walk about arm-in-arm, under the moon-lighted oak-tree that from generation to generation had secretly harkened to the ever-old and ever-new whispering of young and hopeful love.

I see, dear friends, you don't trust your eyes any longer, reading about love, real poetical love in a Cooking School, where you expected that sentimentality and higher feelings would dry up in the hot atmosphere of the kitchen. Yet if you will promise not to tell about it, I may confess to you that my best friend and companion in the school, while she was there, engaged herself secretly to the Squire's eldest son, and she is now a happy wife. It must be admitted that not every love-story which began there, ended so happily. I know of one young man, who once under the oak-tree asked a certain young lady to become his wife, but she refused, pretending that long before she came there her heart had been given away irrevocably.

Again the last day of April arrived; my year was at an end. I had to leave my dear school, Aunt Mary, my companions. I did not dare to think of it.

But the day appeared, and again the carriage was waiting at the door; and, embracing them all with tears of gratitude and love in my eyes, I drove away, easily reading in my driver's good-natured smiling face, "I told you that you would not be the first to leave the place without regret !"-Cornhill Magazine.