CHAPTER XXII.
"No one has my form but the I." Schoppe, in JEAN PAUL'S Titan.
"Joy's a subtil elf.
I think man's happiest when he forgets himself." CYRIL TOURNEUR, The Revenger's Tragedy.
On the third day of my journey, I was riding gently along a road, apparently little frequented, to judge from the grass that grew upon it.

I was approaching a forest.

Everywhere in Fairy Land forests are the places where one may most certainly expect adventures.

As I drew near, a youth, unarmed, gentle, and beautiful, who had just cut a branch from a yew growing on the skirts of the wood, evidently to make himself a bow, met me, and thus accosted me: "Sir knight, be careful as thou ridest through this forest; for it is said to be strangely enchanted, in a sort which even those who have been witnesses of its enchantment can hardly describe." I thanked him for his advice, which I promised to follow, and rode on.
But the moment I entered the wood, it seemed to me that, if enchantment there was, it must be of a good kind; for the Shadow, which had been more than usually dark and distressing, since I had set out on this journey, suddenly disappeared.

I felt a wonderful elevation of spirits, and began to reflect on my past life, and especially on my combat with the giants, with such satisfaction, that I had actually to remind myself, that I had only killed one of them; and that, but for the brothers, I should never have had the idea of attacking them, not to mention the smallest power of standing to it.