and the cattle out of the stalls, and your
Burbary courser's gone, and the hay is all
mould in the manger, and the litter's rotten,
and all the fruit's gone off the trees, and the trees
are dead, and the grass and every bit of the
country round is withered up—only look out
of the window, miss—and the servants have
all gone, and oh if you please, miss, I am
going." Swanhilda went out and found that
all was true; the fairies had really consumed
all her substance. "I won't be forced into
marrying," she said, " and I won't fish. I
don't care. I know what I'll do. I'll starve
myself." She kept to this resolution for three
days; but then starvation became so
uncomfortable, that she went out to look for food.

Everything was dry and barren, but there
was the castle lake; and when she came to
that it was a surprise to see how full of fish
it was, and how they leaped and swam
together at the surface. There was a fishing-rod
close by her, with a hook at the end of the
line, and a worm already fixed upon it. She
dipped it into the lake, and a fish bit instantly.
She threw the line down, and was carrying
home the fish for dinner, when it began
suddenly to smell so detestably that she was
forced to throw it away.

"Ha ha," chuckled the little cellarer, who
was lounging upon a moss rose close by, and
drinking the maddest draughts out of a small
cup borrowed from heath blossom. "We
know how to tame you. Now fish."

Swanhilda picked up the fishing-rod, and
struck at the impertinent elf with all her
might. "Infamous imp!" she cried. She
knocked the rose to pieces, but the fairy had
leapt off and fixed himself upon her nose.
"You have a remarkably soft nose, you
vixen," he observed. " Now fish! Do, my
dear Swanhilda, take the rod, and while you
are fishing I will play you the most charming
music." Swanhilda dashed at him with her
fingers, but he bit them. It was of no use to
be obstinate; she was obliged to fish, and
while she fished he sat astride upon her nose,
and, beating time upon it with his heels,
played half-a-dozen instruments, and sang a
song at the same time. In his song he bade
her put the fish she caught into a basket that
lay at her feet wreathed about with flowers.
It was soon full, and then she was forced to
carry it to market.

But if she was to go to town and sell fish
before all the world, she determined that she
would at least disguise herself. So she went
first into the castle to look for some common
clothes. But the cupboards and presses were
all empty. No garment was left her but the
one she wore, the grand velvet riding-habit
in which she had been used to go a hunting.
She was obliged, therefore, to set out in that,
and was promised a hot sop for supper upon
her return. The fairies made her labour
light for her. She sold her fish; and, when
she came home, found a little water running
from the spring, a fire alight in the court-yard,
and a piece of bread beside it. She made
some water hot, crumbled the bread into it,
ate her hot sop and fell asleep.

Next morning she awoke very thirsty, but
there was no water. The little cellarer
was at her elbow to remind her that she
must go fishing and marketing before she
breakfasted. She fell at once into a great
rage. "I wish," she thought to herself, "I
wish you were—where the pepper grows."
At once she felt the elf upon her nose, where
he began to punish her with a thick bristle,
beating her cheeks and tickling her nostrils
so that she half killed herself with sneezing.

"Wait a bit, madam," he cried. " I'll
teach you politeness. Where the pepper
grows, indeed! I'll pepper you."

Swanhilda fished and went to market,
where two of her rejected suitors saw her,
and came up at once, to buy some of her fish
and to mock her. So the year and the next
year passed; the suitors came one after
another, jeering at Swanhilda. She took every
day to market a basketful of the finest fish,
and in exchange carried home every day, so
much money, that she was after all a little
comforted. But she was compelled to put the
money by, and live on the spare diet that the
cellarer provided. And while she was
thus humbled, Swanhilda saw that among all
the old suitors who mocked at her in her
day of disgrace, there came one who
approached her always as of old, with blushing
reverence, and honoured her as much as ever,
though she was reduced to the condition of a
fish-wife. Her heart then softened, and she
understood the worth of love. Therefore,
at the end of three years, she consented to
marry this young knight. The produce of
her marketing, in which the fairies had
always helped her to success, amounted by
that time to a vast sum, so that she had no
difficulty in obeying the rest of the directions
of the little cellarer, who had been made her
major-domo by the fairy queen. To every
one of her old suitors, rude as they had lately
been, in recognition of her own former rudeness,
she sent many fair words and costly
gifts. Blushing with maidenly humility and
modesty, she was led to the altar by the
suitor who had loved her with a true devotion,
and to the friendly fairies who attended
at her wedding she made her last promise,
which she kept faithfully. It was never to
ride any more Barbary horses, but to amble
on a palfrey as a gentle lady should.

It is instructive to compare the grace and
delicacy of this legend of the Taming of a
Shrew with the apparent roughness of the
people among whom it is current. But of
course there are less pleasant phantoms than
the fairies haunting the wild solitudes of
Oberlansitz. The most popular of them,
a local Mephistopheles, is Dr. Horn, who
walks over the whole land on one leg, and
is to be met with, not at night only, but also
in the hottest blaze of noon. In these days