there, come down for some trifles this evening, and took him back with her to carry the parcel. It’s time he was back, though, and more nor time. ’Twasn’t bigger neither nor a farthing bun, but ’twas too big for her. Isn’t it a getting the season for you to think of a new gownd, Mrs. Peckaby?” resumed Mother Duff, returning to business. “I have got some beautiful winter stuffs in.”
“I hope the only new gownd as I shall want till I gets to New Jerusalem, is the purple one I’ve got prepared for it,” replied Mrs. Peckaby. “I don’t think the journey’s far off. I had a dream last night as I saw a great crowd o’ people dressed in white, a coming out to meet me. I look upon it as it’s a token that I shall soon be there.”
“I wouldn’t go out to that there New Jerusalem if ten white donkeys come to fetch me!” cried Polly Dawson, tossing her head with scorn. “It is a nice place, by all that I have heard! Them saints—”
A most appalling interruption. Snorting, moaning, sobbing, his breath coming in gasps, his hair standing up on end, his eyes starting, and his face ghastly, there burst in upon them Master Dan Duff. That he was in the very height of terror, there could be no mistaking. To add to the confusion, he flung his arras out as he came in, and his hand caught one of the side panes of glass in the bow window and shattered it, the pieces falling amongst the displayed wares. Dan leaped in, caught hold of his mother with a spasmodic howl, and fell down on some bundles in a corner of the small shop.
Mrs. Duff was dragged down with him. She soon extricated herself, and stared at the boy in very astonishment. However inclined to play tricks, out of doors, Mr. Dan never ventured to do it, in. Polly Dawson stared. Susan Peckaby, forgetting New Jerusalem for once, sprang off her stool and stared. But that his terror was genuine, and Mrs. Duff saw that it was, Dan had certainly been treated then to that bugbear of his domestic life—a “basting.”
“What has took you now?” sharply demanded Mrs. Duff, partly in curiosity, partly in wrath.
“I see’d a dead man,” responded Dan, and he forthwith fell into convulsions.
They shook him, they pulled him, they pinched him. One laid hold of his head, another of his feet; but, make nothing of him, could they. The boy’s face was white, his hands and arms were twitching, and froth was gathering on his lips. By this time the shop was full.
“Run across, one of you,” cried the mother, turning her face to the crowd, “and see if you can find Mr. Jan Verner.”
CASTLES OF THE TAUNUS.
PART III.
The tall tower of Eppstein has somewhat the aspect of one of the Irish round towers. The castle itself stands on a rock of its own, separated on one side by a deep ravine from the hill which hangs over it. The dell below could be flooded formerly by means of sluices—so tradition says—though, in that case, it is difficult to know what became of the village, whose houses bear the signs of a high antiquity.
The name Eppstein has been derived from the ivy which covers the ruin or the rock, so that it was originally Epheustein; but this derivation is more picturesque than accurate.
The other derivation from Eppo—a man who built the castle—is much more according to analogy, as we find Eppenhain at a short distance, and it is connected with an old legend. Once a knight named Eppo lost his way while hunting, and was resting from his fatigue at the foot of a rock, when he was startled by a female voice in tones of stifled lamentation, behind a neighbouring thicket. He made his way according to the direction of the sounds, and saw at the mouth of a cave a beautiful damsel in chains. She told him that she was kept in durance and watched by a giant who slept on the rock above. Those were the days when game was driven into nets. Eppo was provided with a hunting-net, whose meshes could hold a struggling wild boar, or even on occasion a struggling giant. He approached the monster warily, who, overcome with Rhine-wine, was sleeping heavily, and completely invested him. The rock was to the giant on the scale of a German bed to the sleeper, and like a German bed, too short for him, and with a considerable slope. The giant, in his struggles to get free, rolled off and broke his neck. Eppo, of course, married the young lady,—built a castle to commemorate the event, and hung a rib of the giant over the principal entrance, where it was to be seen some time ago; how long ago we are not informed.
Certain it is, that the Mouse-tower was no more originally than a Mauth or toll-tower, built for the purpose of collecting toll for the robber-knights of the Rhine. First the name was corrupted in the mouths of the people, then the primeval legend was adapted to account for it, the name of Bishop Hatto being added, who had probably made himself unpopular by fleecing his flock.
All that appears certain about the castle of Eppstein is that it was standing at the beginning of the twelfth century. There is an old story that the site of the building was originally intended to be at Walderstein, near Lorsbach, in the valley below, but that Eppstein was found more convenient, probably as commanding the roads which converged from four valleys. There is also an ancient account, but one of doubtful authority, that between 1111 and 1137, one Count Udalovich presented the two castles of Etichenstein and Eppstein to the archiepiscopal see of Mainz in the time of Archbishop Adalbert. Certainly, in 1122, a man of this name lived, calling himself Count of Etichenstein and Eppstein. Oue Gottfried or Godfrey, in 1173, is the first positive historical ancestor of the Eppstein family. This family gave five archbishops to Mainz and a patriarch to Jerusalem, and continued to hold the castle of Eppstein till 1522, as well as other widely extended possessions. Its fates were as changeful, perplexing, and uninteresting to the general reader, as those of most of the other castles of the middle ages. It often belonged to more than one owner at a time; and, at one time was held in pawn by the free