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While his experiments were still under way, a rival, David Schwartz, who had begun, without completing, an airship in St. Petersburg, secured in some way aid from the German Government, which was at the moment coldly repulsing Zeppelin. He planned and built an aluminum airship but died before its completion. His widow continued the work amidst constant opposition from the builders.
Herr postmaster Schwartz ah! he came to talk to my mistress and to bring letters to her from her brave husband, and I was sewing, or busy in the room, and heard all as he would stay in the kitchen on his way out and tell us all about it Bertha and me; and once he handed me a letter.
The Black Stone. Poor little Gluck waited very anxiously alone in the house for Hans's return. Finding he did not come back, he was terribly frightened, and went and told Schwartz in the prison all that had happened. Then Schwartz was very much pleased, and said that Hans must certainly have been turned into a black stone, and he should have all the gold to himself.
So he took some more of Gluck's money, and went to a bad man, who gave him some holy water very readily for it. Then Schwartz was sure it was all quite right. So Schwartz got up early in the morning before the sun rose, and took some bread and wine, in a basket, and put his holy water in a flask, and set off for the mountains.
Schwartz the cooper's wife was telling you that day when we went into her house out of the rain after our long walk from Fernside." "What! has that pretty, fair, round rosy-cheeked German woman a romance in her life?" asked Annie Bowers. "I declare I've often thought there must have been some kind of sentimental recollection in those great dreamy blue eyes.
It is generally asserted that gunpowder was invented in the fourteenth century by the monk Schwartz, who paid for his grand discovery with his life. It is, however, pretty well proved that this story ought to be ranked among the legends of the middle ages. Gunpowder was not invented by any one; it was the lineal successor of the Greek fire, which, like itself, was composed of sulfur and saltpeter.
Like Hans, too, he decided to drink a little of the water. As he raised it to his lips, he suddenly saw the same fair child that Hans had seen. "Water!" said the child. "Water! I am dying." "I have not enough for myself," said Schwartz, and passed on. A low bank of black cloud rose out of the west.
On his way out of the town he had to pass the prison, and as he looked in at the windows, whom should he see but Schwartz himself peeping out of the bars and looking very disconsolate. "Good morning, brother," said Hans; "have you any message for the King of the Golden River?"
"Are you turning me over to him?" No reply. Peter was pacing the floor. "Peter!" "Yes, dear?" "Do you remember the night in Anna's room at the Schwartz when you proposed to me?" No reply. Peter found another pin. "And that night in the old lodge when you proposed to me again?" Peter turned and looked at her, at her slender, swaying young figure, her luminous eyes, her parted, childish lips.
In his twentieth year, Schwartz entered at Halle, but lodged at the orphan house, where he became teacher to the Latin classes, and was put in charge of the evening devotions of the household.
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