Produced by Sam W. and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net THE ORIENTAL STORY BOOK. A COLLECTION OF TALES. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF WILHELM HAUFF, BY G. P. QUACKENBOS. ILLUSTRATED BY J. W. ORR. NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 346 & 348 BROADWAY. 1855. [Illustration] OF NEW ORLEANS IN REMEMBRANCE OF A LONG FRIENDSHIP, AND MANY HAPPY HOURS SPENT WITH HIM OVER THE GERMAN CLASSICS, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. THE CARAVAN. INTRODUCTION. In a beautiful distant kingdom, of which there is a saying, that the sun on its everlasting green gardens never goes down, ruled, from the beginning of time even to the present day, Queen Phantasie. With full hands, she used to distribute for many hundred years, the abundance of her blessings among her subjects, and was beloved and respected by all who knew her. The heart of the Queen, however, was too great to allow her to stop at her own land with her charities; she herself, in the royal attire of her everlasting youth and beauty, descended upon the earth; for she had heard that there men lived, who passed their lives in sorrowful seriousness, in the midst of care and toil. Unto these she had sent the finest gifts out of her kingdom, and ever since the beauteous Queen came through the fields of earth, men were merry at their labor, and happy in their seriousness. Her children, moreover, not less fair and lovely than their royal mother, she had sent forth to bring happiness to men. One day Maerchen[A], the eldest daughter of the Queen, came back in haste from the earth. The mother observed that Maerchen was sorrowful; yes, at times it would seem to her as if her eyes would be consumed by weeping. "What is the matter with thee, beloved Maerchen?" said the Queen to her. "Ever since thy journey, thou art so sorrowful and dejected; wilt thou not confide to thy mother what ails thee?" "Ah! dear mother," answered Maerchen, "I would have kept silence, had I not known that my sorrow is thine also." "Speak, my daughter!" entreated the fair Queen. "Grief is a stone, which presses down him who bears it alone, but two draw it lightly out of the way." "Thou wishest it," rejoined Maerchen, "so listen. Thou knowest how gladly I associate with men, how cheerfully I sit down before the huts of the poor, to while away a little hour for them after their labor; formerly, when I came, they used to ask me kindly for my hand to salute, and looked upon me afterwards, when I went away, smiling and contented; but in these days, it is so no longer!" "Poor Maerchen!" said the Queen as she caressed her cheek, which was wet with a tear. "But, perhaps, thou only fanciest all this."