full with patriotism and metaphysics. When he left for the army he had given Wilhelmine his portrait and Wilhelmine had given him hers, which he wore constantly upon his heart. That sort of thing is practiced quite extensively in Germany.
On the 13th of September, 1813, at about five o'clock in the afternoon, Wilhelmine was at Cassel, in a salon with her mother and sister-in-law, busy with her knitting. Without interrupting her work she would frequently glance at the portrait of her betrothed, which she had laid upon a small work-table that stood in front of her. All at once she uttered a fearful shriek, carried her hand to her heart, and fainted. It was with the greatest difficulty that they succeeded in bringing her to, and as soon as she could speak:
"Julius is dead!" she exclaimed. "Julius has been killed!"
She declared, and the horror that was depicted on all her lineaments was sufficient proof of the earnestness of her conviction, that she had seen the portrait close its eyes, and that at the same moment she had suffered an unspeakable pang, as if a red-hot iron had been thrust into her heart.
Every one strove, to no purpose, to make it clear to her that her vision could have no connexion with reality and that she should attach no importance to it. The poor child was inconsolable; she passed the night in tears and next day insisted on putting on mourning, as if already assured of the misfortune that had been revealed to her.
Two days after that the news came of the bloody battle of Leipzic. Julius sent his betrothed a note dated the 13th, at three o'clock in the afternoon.
