that it was their custom to bind the captured women and maidens with
their own long hair as fetters, and drive them, thus bound, in flocks
to Hungary.

We may conclude with a touching story told of these unquiet and
misery-haunted times. Ulrich, Count of Linzgau, was, so the story goes,
taken prisoner by the Magyars, and long held captive in their hands.
Wendelgarde, his beautiful wife, after waiting long in sorrow for his
return, believed him to be dead, and resolved to devote the remainder of
her life to charity and devotion. Crowds of beggars came to her castle
gates, to whom she daily distributed alms. One day, while she was thus
engaged, one of the beggars suddenly threw his arms around her neck and
kissed her. Her attendants angrily interposed, but the stranger waved
them aside with a smile, and said,--

"Forbear, I have endured blows and misery enough during my imprisonment
without needing more from you; I am Ulrich, your lord."

Truly, in this instance, charity brought its reward.




_THE MISFORTUNES OF DUKE ERNST._


In the reign of Conrad II., Emperor of Germany, took place the event
which we have now to tell, one of those interesting examples of romance
which give vitality to history. On the death of Henry II., the last of
the great house of the Othos, a vast assembly from all the states of the