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KONRAD WALLENROD.
has hatred to the world, afflicting thy youthful soul, made the bid farewell for ever to the sun and to nature's smiling countenance? From the time she had shut herself up in her tomb, no one had seen her approach the window to inhale the wind's refreshing breath—to look in heaven's cheerful face, and at the sweet flowers upon the enamelled plain,—or—what is a thousand times sweeter—at the features of her fellow-beings. It was only known that she was still alive, for sometimes a pilgrim saint, straying amid the shades of night, was arrested by melodious strains—probably those of some pious song. And when the children, gathered from neighbouring Prussian villages, were
