chief. They set up a literary journal, which appeared once a week, upon
light-blue or primrose paper, and which, in compliment to the lovely
Ottilia's maternal name, was called the Kartoffelnkranz. Here are a
couple of her ballads extracted from the Kranz, and by far the most
cheerful specimen of her style. For in her songs she never would
willingly let off the heroines without a suicide or a consumption.
She never would hear of such a thing as a happy marriage, and had an
appetite for grief quite amazing in so young a person. As for her dying
and desiring to be buried under the willow-tree, of which the first
ballad is the subject, though I believed the story then, I have at
present some doubts about it. For, since the publication of my Memoirs,
I have been thrown much into the society of literary persons (who admire
my style hugely), and egad! though some of them are dismal enough in
their works, I find them in their persons the least sentimental class
that ever a gentleman fell in with.

"THE WILLOW-TREE.


"Know ye the willow-tree
Whose gray leaves quiver,
Whispering gloomily
To yon pale river?
Lady, at even-tide
Wander not near it,
They say its branches hide
A sad, lost spirit!

"Once to the willow-tree
A maid came fearful,