JUNG-FRAU MALEEN.
In a small village upon the shore of the German Ocean lived a man whose wife had golden tresses so long and heavy that when they were unbound they covered her like a cloak of sunbeams, and reached to her feet. Her complexion was so fair, and her eyes so beautiful, that her equal was not to be found in all the Fatherland.
At last she fell sick and died, leaving her husband all alone in the world, except one wee baby, who lay sleeping in the cradle. At first the father was heart-broken, and noticed nothing, but after a time all his love turned to the helpless infant, who every day grew more lovely, and at last became as fair as her mother, with the same wealth of golden hair and soft violet eyes, and all the Fatherland, from far and near, was filled with the story of her great beauty.
When she was only a little maid, she would go down to the sea-shore and dance upon the sand, until her light straw hat would drop from her head, and her waving tresses fall about her like a shower of pure gold, and her violet eyes beam with the brightness of stars, while the flush upon her cheeks rivaled the soft, fresh bloom of the peach.
The maiden was called the fair Jung-frau Maleen, as she grew older and every day added to her charms, till half the young men in the country were ready to lay down their life for her; but though her ways were winning, and she had a pleasant smile for all, no one could be familiar with her. In her guileless innocence and beauty she seemed a great way out of their reach, yet she danced with them, talked and laughed with them, till her clear, sweet voice rang out upon the air like the soft notes of a silver bell, but when she turned away, they felt that she had gone from them forever.
Among her lovers was a bashful student named Handsel, who worshiped the Jung-frau Maleen with all the devotion of his great noble heart, but ever at a distance.
He seldom spoke to her.
Even the rustle of her dress as she passed along would set his heart to beating wildly, and the sound of her voice, or one glance of her violet eye would send the hot blood rushing through his veins, dyeing his face and neck a deep crimson. Poor Handsel!
He would say to his heart, "Down, fool, the star of heaven is not for you, look for some lovely flower of earth," but in all the Fatherland he knew there was not another maiden who could satisfy the hunger of his heart.