him but an old hunting castle, a virtuous wife, and three most beautiful daughters. In this castle he lived, after the decay of his fortune, abandoned by the whole world. The countess and her three daughters attended the kitchen themselves, but, as they were ignorant of the culinary art, they could prepare nothing but potatoes. These frugal repasts did not much suit the taste of the lord of the manor; he became surly and morose, hallood and swore through the large empty building, till the bare walls re-echoed his ill humour.
One beautiful summer’s morning, impelled by spleen, he took his hunting spear, and went into the forest to kill some game to procure a dainty for his dinner. This forest was said to be haunted, many a traveller had been led astray, and some had never returned, having been strangled by wicked gnomes or torn to pieces by wild beasts. The count neither believed nor feared any thing from invisible powers; he marched stoutly over hill and dale, crept through bush and thorn, but without finding his hoped-for prey. Tired at last he sat down under a large oak tree to take his dinner, consisting of boiled potatoes and salt, the sole contents of his pouch, when, by chance lifting his eyes, he beheld—
