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VOLUN PRICE FOUR CENTS.
LS
Po
{Drawn and engraved expressly for The Weekly Novelette.],
[Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Clerk’s Office of
the District Court of Massachusetts.)
THE VENETIAN BUCCANEER:
The Prophet of the Bobmer’ Wald.
A TALE OF THE TIME OF JOSEPH II.
BY SYLVANUS COBB, Jr.
CHAPTER f.
THE OLD BARON, AND WIS CASTLE.
Tne Bohmer Wald is a dense mountain forest, form-
ing the south-western boundary of Bohemia, and at the
time of which we write, 1780, it was the theatre of
many of those scenes of blood and terror that form so
many conspicuous pages in the history of the German
Empire. Besides the actual horrors of this forest,
thousands of imaginary evils were treasured up in the
belief of the people residing in that section of country,
so that the Bohmer Wald occupied as prominent a po-
sition in the mysteries of the magic world as did the
far-famed Black Forest. It was also the extensive
rendezvous of a most powerful horde of banditti, who
not only plundered the travellers among the moun-
tains, but even carried their depredations to all the
surrounding country, and were the terror of all the
towns and cities along the banks of the Danube.
Let not the reader suppose that the following pages
are filled with blood and horror; but, like all pictures
of real life, much of villany and deceit will be found in
the neighborhood of virtue and truth, and it is this very
juxtaposition of cpposite qualities which introduces the
contrast that shows the ugliness of one and the beauty
of the other. The pages of the world’s history are
dotted all over with the lives of villains, both great and
small, and much good. may be done by the careful in-
vestigation ot the course of those lives that are steeped
THE LOVERS SURPRISED.
in the gall of crime. Let no man suppose that sin can
afford a moment’s happiness. It may for a time min-
ister to the gratification of evil passions, and give tem-
porary power ; but, believe me, no real happiness ever
resulted from sin. Those ministers who teach that the
leasures of this world are sinful, or are ever likely to
lead to sin, are greatly mistaken ; and we speak the
truth when we say, that these very teachings lead many
people to believe that there is pleasure to be found in
the path of sin. It should be the aim of every teacher
to show that the pleasures of life must be the result of
virtue—that the seat of happiness is in the heart, and
that the human heart cannot be perfectly happy be-
neath the load of guilt.
We shall certainly introduce some repulsive charac-
ters—some scenes that would shock the great heart of
humanity; but we trust that it will be the means of
adding a still darker shade, if possible, to vice, and
raising still higher the glory and beauty of virtue.
n the outskirts of the small town of Deckendorf,
stood the stout castle of the Baron Ludolph Walstein,
situated on the edge of the Bohmer Wald, and com-
manding a full view of the whole section of country
between that and the river Danube. The baron was
well advanced in years, but still he held a firm posses-
sion of that iron nerve and courage which had marked
his prime, and as yet the marauding banditti of the
forest had never risked an encounter with the owner of
the old castle—whether it was the result of fear, or
whether the restraining influence took its rise from
some other source, was not apparent. His first-born
was a son, but while he was absent, nearly twenty
yours before, in the service of Maria Theresa and
rancis, he received the sad intelligence of his son’s
death, then only two years of age; and when, at the
peace of Hubertsburg, he returned home, he found his
little daughter, Theresa, just beginning to prattle, and
in her his love found a darling object around which to
cling. When Theresa was ten years of age, her good
mother was taken from her by death, and she was left
alone to be the solace and comfort of her father. The
baron gave a home to an elderly, widowed sister,
named Ulrica, whose husband died shortly before the
baroness, and these three composed the present com-
pany at the castle. Ulrica had a son, Gaspard, who
[See page 1¥4.]
was at that time absent in the service of the emperor
He visited the castle occasionally, but his stay was
generally short; and he could be hardly said to com-
pose a member of the family, though he was in all
probability, to succeed the baron in much of his power.
A pleasant spring day was just drawing to a close,
when, far up the road which follows along the banks of
the Danube, a party of some twenty horsemen was seen
approaching the castle. A thick cloud of dust rolled
up from their track, and when they entered the large
court their appearance betokened a long and tedious
ride. The old baron came out, and as his cye fell upon
the youthful leader, he grasped him by the hand, ex-
claiming : :
“ow now, Gaspard? I thought you were with
the army.
“So I have beon, good uncle,” replied the young
soldier, as he handed his rein to a servant, and care-
lessly brushed the dust from his boots, “ but Ihave
managed to get a leave of absence, and I thought I
could not do better than to pay you and my dear
mother a visit.”
“Jt ia strange,” answered the baron, looking some-
what doubtfully upon his nephew, “that at this time
they should grant furloughs to the officers ”
The young man’s countenanee fell a little, but he
quickly answered :
“0O) 1 have been suffering from a severe wound in
the thigh, and am hardly fit for duty.” .
The baron was satisfied with this explanation, and
the party proceeded ‘at once to the castle.
“How is it, nephew,” asked the old man, as they
entered the large hall; “does the general allow a
wounded officer such a retinue as this?” and he cast
his eyes around upon the stout men-at-arms who stood
armed from top to toe.
“These are men who have joined me since I lett,
and they will enter the service when I return.”
‘At that moment, Theresa entered the hall, and her
cheek turned a shade. paler as she observed her cousin
Gaspard, and she would at once have retreated had not
her father called her back.
“Here, my daughter, come and welcome your
cousin.” .
“Yes, fair lady, our coming would bo cheerless. in-
