THE BREAKING OF THE DYKES. Some years ago, a short time before the Danes possessed themselves of the German duchy of Schleswig-Holstein, and the war broke out there, I was wandering along the west coast of Schleswig, through the marshes which run northwardly from the town of Husum to Tondern.

By marshes are meant the fat, fertile lowlands, which are protected on all sides against the surges of the ocean by high dykes, between which they repose, with their rich fields covered with wheat, rapeseed, and beans, as behind the massive walls of a fortress. It was a beautiful sunny day, and a Sunday, moreover, and I joyfully walked along upon the high surface of the dykes. To the left, I looked upon the foaming sea, which sprinkled me with the spray of its tumultuous breakers: to the right lay the smooth green plain, upon which herds of oxen and cows were at pasture; around, the hills, upon which men in comfort and happiness had built their cheerful houses, among the flowers and bushes.

It was indeed a curious sight. On one side, vessels in full sail; in the briny depths, fish, sharks, porpoises, and ugly rochen, and crabs; above the waves, swarms of gulls, sea-swallows, and cormorants; upon the other side, the sunny land with its human life; and between the two, only an carthen wall, twenty to thirty feet high, and sixty to eighty thick. When one of these dykes is broken, or a storm succeeds in penetrating through it, the marsh in a few minutes becomes a wild sea, upon which the corpses of the inhabitants, and the dismembered fragments of their houses, are driven about.

While Ithus pondered, and with fear cast a look out upon the boundless sea, which, impelled by the wind and flood tide, continually swelled its waters, so that they rose twenty feet higher than the blooming, rich land on the other side, I saw an old man approaching, who gave me a friendly greeting, as we drew near to each other. He was a curious, weather-beaten figure. Thin white hair covered his head. His good-humoured face was half veiled by a handkerchief, which he had bound round his neck and chin, on account of the wind, but his clear eyes merrily beamed upon me, as if to say, 'What are you doing here? whence came you? I never saw you before.' The old man was short of

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stature, and slender. He wore high boots on his short legs, close fitting, striped summer pantaloons, a shabby hat, rather the worse for wear, with peaked crown, and a blue frock-coat, with long, narrow flaps. When he had passed about three paces, he turned round again, and stopped. He was too curious to proceed further.

'Yes,' said he, 'it is a fine day for travelling in the country.'

'A very fine day,' I replied.

'You are perhaps a stranger who has come from Husum,' asked the old man. 'I am a German, and wish to see the marshes,' I responded.

'A German, indeed!' exclaimed the inquirer, as he opened wide his blue eyes. Germany is a great and beautiful country; it is also our native land; we are all Germans, we do not wish to be Danes.' IIe extended his meagre hand, and shook mine cordially.

'Do you live here in the marsh?' I

asked.

'I reside nowhere,' replied the old man, laughing.

"Nowhere?' rejoined I, incredulously. 'I am a schoolmaster,' he resumed, with a friendly nod. You will thus understand what I mean; yet no,' he continued, 'you will not comprehend, because you do not yet know the land. Look over the marshes, and you will not see a village upon them. People everywhere live upon isolated hills, and around them lie their fields. It is so in Schleswig, as well as in Holstein, for miles along the whole coast. There is no place there for a village, for nowhere is to be found any high firm land, and since the earliest times, every family lives here alone upon an artificial hill of clay, which is called a warft. In ancient times, when there were no dykes, the warft was the only protection against the raging sea, and more than once every year the stormy billows would dash against the hill, the inhabitants of which stood in anxious expectation of being swallowed up at any moment. In the course of centuries, dykes have been built at great expense and labour, but they must be continually strengthened, to save our lives, and yet who can tell what may happen to-day or to-morrow? Now, thanks to God!" he exclaimed, 'these misfortunes cannot occur as easily as formerly; but when you observe the marshes, with their thousands of little canals, in which the waters are gathered, each warft surrounded by deep

into which the water also filtrates from the earth, and the people use it for boiling their tea-their only beverage, although it has a brackish taste, the disagreeableness of which can only be overcome by long custom. In their voyages to the mainland, they always return with a small barrel of sweet water, and in the summer droughts, they are obliged to repair frequently to the coast in quest of fresh water, for fear of perishing from thirst.

"The Halligers have thus but little joy, and much trouble. They have not even a rich fishery, for the sea being discoloured by the agitated mud, the fish | avoid it, and leave it to the exclusive enjoyment of the rochen and the seals.

But custom does everything on this earth, and so it is with these solitary men, who would not leave their islet if an easier mode of life were offered to them. At ebb tide the sea retires for miles, leaving a naked bottom of mud, which in its undulating, jagged surface represents the form of the waves that covered it a few hours before, and which will soon again overwhelm it. Innumerable small and large hollows furrow this bed of slime. The water remains in these channels and holes, in the larger of which vessels can float at ebb tide. The smaller wind round the islands and Halligen, in which the inhabitants seek crabs and rochen at ebb tide, and where they may also occasionally take a seal, that has been left high and dry by the rapid efflux of the waters. These channels and sheets of water, however, prevent the union of the islands even at the lowest ebb, with the firm land. Wo to him who, trusting too much to the shallowness of the water, attempts to gain the coast. The tide often returns before the time, bringing with it its constant companion, the fog, which as by magic, in a few moments, changes day into night, confuses the senses, and delivers its victim to certain death. The wader sees the shore of his Hallig disappear before his eyes. soon feels the tide playing around his feet. He is seized with terror, and tears his hair by the roots; in fear of death, he hurries forward, but the channels are filled with water, and close the way against him. He turns aside to go around them, and thus loses his course. He knows not whither to direct his steps and the tide continually rises higher and higher; it silently increases inch by inch,

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as if it were greedy for his life. His cries and prayers resound upon the desert of waters, but no one sees or hears him. Frantic with terror, he rushes forward, and at last he loses his footing. He struggles, falls, rises again, and half strangled, makes another effort to save himself, and then disappears. The waves rush over his corpse, for the sea is soon twenty feet deep on the spot where the footsteps of the unfortunate man were visible a little before.'

Sam here drew a breath, and said, in melancholy tone, 'Many, many human beings have been lost in this manner. It is a sad and miserable life upon these islets. Death stands always at the door, and yet they fear it not. There is also many a little, neat house on the warfts there, as fresh and bright as are anywhere to be found among the Frieslanders. The walls are white, and the floors laid with painted bricks, the ceiling coloured blue, and the chairs and tables so perfectly stainless and pure as to excite the surprise of the stranger. It is warm and comfortable there by the fireside. When the storm howls without, and the billows roar, no one regards it much; there the boldest seamen in the world are born, and the best captains and pilots come from the islands and the Halligen. The Hollanders formerly took no others for their great India merchantmen, and many of them, at the present day, navigate the finest vessels on the ocean; many of them are rich, but there is rarely any one who in his old age does not wish to return to his home, to pass the remainder of his days.

'People thus sometimes perish before they think of it, for a single false step is sufficient to lose life. The sea occasionally forces its way up to the houses, and vessels have frequently sailed over a Hallig in the darkness, and the crew suddenly gazing into a bright-lit room, have believed themselves entranced in the midst of the wild waters. But, when the waves break through the walls, when they mount to the roof, and the piles totter to and fro, and nothing can be heard or seen but the roar of the sea, and thick darkness, then sinks the courage of the stoutest heart.'

'And have you witnessed such a scene?' asked I.

The old man nodded affirmatively. 'No human tongue,' he murmured, in a pensive mood, 'can describe the misery

of such a night. Whither could any one flee? Around is the foaming and raging sea. It is necessary to remain within, for without you would be swept away. Nothing is to be heard but the howl of the wind, the creaking of the house, and the thunder of the sea, which beats against the threshold. You must patiently wait in the midst of the wild uproar of the elements, until the walls give way, and the piles that support the roof are thrown down, and an end is put to a troubled life. When the north-west storms drive the spring tides into the bays of the Friesland Islands, the sea sometimes swells forty feet above its usual level; all the Halligen, and all the open plains of the Frieslanders, are then covered with water. The birds fly far into the interior for safety; the most timid creatures are then seen to seek shelter among men, and wild, screaming swarms of gulls cling to the edges of the naked downs, in apprehension for their nests. The house on the warft trembles, the beds move, the ground gives forth a hollow sound at the beating of the surges, and seems to shake, and the poor Halliger looks out, with an anxious eye, upon the tumultuous scene without. He falls upon his knees, with his wife and children, and prays to God, who alone can save them, to have mercy on them; he carefully secures his sheep and most precious property, when the water penetrates the chinks and crevices of the walls. He who has never before prayed will, on such a night, humble himself before God. A king would then give his crown, and the wealthiest his riches, and the proudest his titles and decorations, to be saved from such fearful peril.

'The night of the 3d and 4th of February, 1825, was just such a night,' re- | sumed Sam, after a pause. 'I had, at that time, been for some weeks on the Sudoe Hallig, at the house of a friend, Jens Detlew, as brave a fellow as ever lived. I wished to leave every day, but no one could reach the mainland, for the north storm did not cease, and no boat could live on the sea. Ebb and flood tide came and went, out of all order and rule, and every flood ran higher on the Hallig. Yet what caused the most apprehension to the stranger was a source of the least anxiety to the Halligers. At evening, we sat down in good spirits around the table by the hearth, on which the tea-kettle was smoking, and amid

the hum of spinning-wheels we related stories of severe storms and great dangers. Jens had been far away, to Italy and America, so we laughed, and feared not. Our conversation was only now and then interrupted by the increasing roar of the storm without, or when a tremendous surge broke with such force on the warft, that the earth seemed to groan beneath us. Then one looked at the other, and the threads fell from the hands of the women; but the alarm passed away, in a moment more. The house was new and tight, its posts deep sunken, and the warft broad and strong.

Thus sat we together on the 3d of February, in a more joyous mood than ever. On the next morning, Jens wished at every hazard to carry me to the mainland, and if any one would do it it was he, for there was no braver fellow or better sailor than him. He had brewed a bowl of punch for the parting: the rum and lemons he had received from an English brig, which he had some time before piloted through the Lyster Channel; the captains make such extra gifts when all has gone well. We drank to good weather, and enjoyed ourselves to the top of our bent. There was yet occasionally some fearful gusts of wind, but the sky had become clear, the stars shone with silvery lustre, and when I last went to the door, the moon poured its full light over the vast sea.

'Jens barred up the door, closed the shutters, and said, "To-morrow we shall have better weather, for there is now a prospect of a change. Drink a bumper, old Sam, and let us be merry; no one can tell how long he has yet to live." God knows how that expression came into his mouth! We had mutton and good bread, ate heartily, and we might have been full two hours at table, when all of a sudden we were startled by a cry from the children's room. A little girl of seven years came running to us in her shirt, as the poor thing had awoke from her sleep, embraced her mother with both arms around the knee, and could not be quieted.