{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_66106/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_66106","id":"gutenberg_66106","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66106","summary":null,"tags":["Adventure stories","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Fiction"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1867 Milner and Sowerby edition by David Price.\nMany thanks to the Bodleian Library for making their copy available.\n\n                     [Picture: Graphical title page]\n\n\n\n\n\n                                  TALES\n                                  OF THE\n                         WILD AND THE WONDERFUL.\n\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n    \u201cMesser, dovete havete pigliate tante coglionerie?\u201d quoth the Reader.\n\n                                      CARDINAL IPPOLITO D\u2019ESTE TO ARIOSTO.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                           MILNER AND SOWERBY,\n                           44, PATERNOSTER ROW,\n                         AND HALIFAX, YORKSHIRE.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                  1867.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nPAUSE one moment, gentle Reader\u2014only one little moment will I detain you,\nwhile I reply to the question which I have supposed you to ask in the\ntitle-page.  Blame not me, I beseech you, if you are compelled to make\nthe usual accusation against authors, that there is nothing new in the\npages which I diffidently present to you: I am sorry for it, but I cannot\nhelp it.  Solomon asserted that all things under the sun were aged in his\ntime; and if the wisest of old gentlemen could find nothing new in that\nearly stage of his empire, what can be expected from a poor scribbler\nlike me, near three thousand years after him?  Consider too, dear Reader,\nthat this is the first time I have appeared before you in the character\nof a story-teller; and that I am a timid, nervous subject, and very\neasily discouraged.  Accept me then upon the score of wishing to amuse\nyou, and permit me to say something for my Tales, after having said so\nmuch for myself.\n\nOf the stories, \u201cDer Freisch\u00fctz,\u201d as every body knows, is from the\nGerman.  \u201cThe Fortunes of De la Pole\u201d is original; so is \u201cThe\nPrediction,\u201d and \u201cThe Yellow Dwarf,\u201d if I may be allowed that claim for\nsuch a \u201cthing of shreds and patches;\u201d it is an _olla podrida_ of odds and\nends, a snip of the garment of every fairy tale written since the days of\nKing Arthur.  The story of \u201cThe Lord of the Maelstrom\u201d is also original,\nthough, as in that of \u201cThe Yellow Dwarf,\u201d I have raised my structure upon\nan old nursery foundation; but it appeared to me an excellent vehicle for\nthe beautiful mythology of the North, and the introduction of Odin and\nhis exploits,\u2014whose history, by the way, I believe, has been extracted\nfrom the Talmud, or from the rabbinical traditions of the events previous\nto the creation, and the deeds of Moses and others.  I, moreover,\ndesigned to have given thee a little poetry for thy money, gentle Reader,\nbut the booksellers shook their heads when I mentioned my design, and\ntold me it was out of fashion; so I returned my treasures in that way to\nmy desk, there to remain, among many other excellent things, I assure\nthee, until it should again be the taste in England; and, with two other\nshort stories, in the meantime offer these Tales of _diablerie_ for your\namusement.  Entreat me kindly, gentle Reader, I beseech you, for two\nreasons;\u2014first, because it will entirely depend upon your reception of\nthis, whether I shall ever write a second volume\u2014and secondly, because\nthere has been a sad sweep lately among those who used to cater for your\ndiversion: many who were most deserving have been snatched from your\nadmiration and regard.  \u201cShelley is not\u2014Lord Byron is not\u2014and Maturin\nhave they taken away.\u201d  For myself, I am not a long-lived man, and\ntherefore advise you to make much of me while I am with you; and as an\nexample, look upon these \u201c_coglionerie_\u201d with a milder eye than their\nmerits may seem to deserve from your judgment.\n\n                     I am, dear Reader, truly yours,\n\n                                                               THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n                                                       PAGE\nTHE PREDICTION                                            9\nTHE YELLOW DWARF                                         44\nDER FREISCHUTZ                                          101\nTHE FORTUNES OF DE LA POLE                              130\nTHE LORD OF THE MAELSTROM                               179\nNOTES TO THE LORD OF THE MAELSTROM                      264\nTHE SPECTRE BARBER                                      267\nTHE SLEEPING FRIAR; OR THE STONE OF FATHER CUDDY        311\n\n\n\n\nTHE PREDICTION.\n\n\n                     \u201cLet\u2019s talk of Graves.\u201d\u2014SHAKSPEARE.\n\nON the south-west coast of the principality of Wales stands a romantic\nlittle village, inhabited chiefly by the poorer class of people,\nconsisting of small farmers and oyster dredgers, whose estates are the\nwide ocean, and whose ploughs are the small craft, in which they glide\nover its interminable fields in search of the treasures which they wring\nfrom its bosom; it is built on the very top of a hill, commanding on the\none side an immense bay, and on the other, of the peaceful green fields\nand valleys, cultivated by the greater part of its quiet inhabitants.\nThe approach to it from the nearest town was by a road, which branched\naway into lanes and wooded walks, and from the sea by a beautiful little\nbay, running up far into the land; both sides of which and indeed all the\nrest of the coast were guarded by craggy and gigantic rocks, some of them\nhollowing into caverns, into which none of the inhabitants, from motives\nof superstition, reverence, and fear, had ever dared to penetrate.  There\nwere, at the period of which we are about to treat, no better sort of\ninhabitants in the little village just described, none of those so\nemphatically distinguished as \u201cquality\u201d by the country people; they had\nneither parson, lawyer, nor doctor, among them, and of course there was a\ntolerable equality among the residents.  The farmer, who followed his own\nplough in the spring, singing the sweet wild national chaunt of the\nseason, and bound up with his own hands his sheaves in autumn, was not\nricher, greater, nor finer, than he who, bare-legged on the strand,\ngathered in the hoar weeds for the farmer in the spring, or dared the\nwild winds of autumn and the wrath of the winter in his little boat, to\nearn with his dredging net a yet harder subsistence for his family.\nDistinctions were unknown in the village, every man was the equal of his\nneighbour.\n\nBut, though rank and its polished distinctions were strange in the\nvillage of N\u2014, the superiority of talent was felt and acknowledged almost\nwithout a pause or a murmur.  There was one who was as a king amongst\nthem, by the mere force of a mightier spirit than those with whom he\nsojourned had been accustomed to feel among them: he was a dark and moody\nman, a stranger, evidently of a higher order than those around him, who\nhad a few months before settled among them: he was poor, but had no\noccupation\u2014he lived frugally, but quite alone\u2014and his sole occupation was\nto read during the day, and wander out unaccompanied into the fields or\nby the beach during the night.  Sometimes indeed he would relieve a\nsuffering child or rheumatic old man by medicinal herbs, reprove idleness\nand drunkenness in the youth, and predict to all the good and evil\nconsequences of their conduct; and his success in some cases, his\nforesight in others, and his wisdom in all, won for him a high reputation\namong the cottagers, to which his taciturn habits contributed not a\nlittle, for, with the vulgar as with the educated, no talker was ever\nseriously taken for a conjuror, though a silent man is often decided to\nbe a wise one.\n\nThere was but one person in N\u2014 at all disposed to rebel against the\ndespotic sovereignty which Rhys Meredith was silently establishing over\nthe quiet village, and that was precisely the person most likely to\neffect a revolution; she was a beautiful maiden, the glory and boast of\nthe village, who had been the favourite of, and to a certain degree\neducated by, the late lady of the lord of the manor; but she had died,\nand her pupil, with a full consciousness of her intellectual superiority,\nhad returned to her native village, where she determined to have an\nempire of her own, which no rival should dispute: she laughed at the\nmaidens who listened to the predictions of Rhys, and she refused her\nsmiles to the youths who consulted him upon their affairs and their\nprospects; and as the beautiful Ruth was generally beloved, the silent\nRhys was soon in danger of being abandoned by all, save doting men and\nparalytic women, and feeling himself an outcast in the village of N\u2014.\n\nBut to be such was not the object of Meredith; he was an idle man, and\nthe gifts of the villagers contributed to spare him from exertion; he\nknew too, that in another point of view his ascendancy was necessary to\nhis purposes; and as he had failed to establish it by wisdom and\nbenevolence, he determined to try the effect of fear.  The character of\nthe people with whom he sojourned was admirably calculated to assist his\nprojects; his predictions were now uttered more clearly, and his threats\ndenounced in sterner tones and stronger and plainer words; and when he\npredicted that old Morgan Williams, who had been stricken with the palsy,\nwould die at the turn of tide, three days from that on which he spoke,\nand that the light little boat of gay Griffy Morris, which sailed from\nthe bay in a bright winter\u2019s morning, should never again make the shore;\nand the man died, and the storm arose, even as he had said; men\u2019s hearts\ndied within them, and they bowed down before his words, as if he had been\ntheir general fate and the individual destiny of each.\n\nRuth\u2019s rosy lip grew pale for a moment as she heard of these things; in\nthe next her spirit returned, and \u201cI will make him tell my fortune,\u201d she\nsaid, as she went with a party of laughers to search out and deride the\nconjuror.  He was alone when they broke in upon him, and their mockeries\ngoaded his spirit; but his anger was deep, not loud; and while burning\nwith wrath, he yet could calmly consider the means of vengeance: he knew\nthe master spirit with which he had to contend; it was no ordinary mind,\nand would have smiled at ordinary terrors.  To have threatened her with\nsickness, misfortune, or death, would have been to call forth the\nenergies of that lofty spirit, and prepare it to endure, and it would\nhave gloried in manifesting its powers of endurance; he must humble it\ntherefore by debasement; he must ruin its confidence in itself; and to\nthis end he resolved to threaten her with crime.  His resolution was\ntaken and effected; his credit was at stake; he must daunt his enemy, or\nsurrender to her power: he foretold sorrows and joys to the listening\nthrong, not according to his passion, but his judgment, and he drew a\nblush upon the cheek of one, by revealing a secret which Ruth herself,\nand another, alone knew, and which prepared the former to doubt of her\nown judgment, as it related to this extraordinary man.\n\nRuth was the last who approached to hear the secret of her destiny.  The\nwizard paused as he looked upon her,\u2014opened his book,\u2014shut\nit,\u2014paused,\u2014and again looked sadly and fearfully upon her; she tried to\nsmile, but felt startled, she knew not why; the bright inquiring glance\nof her dark eye could not change her enemy.  Her smile could not melt,\nnor even temper, the hardness of his deep-seated malice: he again looked\nsternly upon her brow, and then coldly wrung out the slow soul-withering\nwords, \u201cMaiden, thou art doomed to be a murderer!\u201d\n\nFrom that hour Rhys Meredith became the destiny of Ruth Tudor.  At first\nshe spurned at his prediction, and alternately cursed and laughed at him\nfor the malice of his falsehood: but when she found that none laughed\nwith her, that men looked upon her with suspicious eyes, women shrunk\nfrom her society, and children shrieked at her presence, she felt that\nthese were signs of truth, and her high spirit no longer struggled\nagainst the conviction; a change came over her mind when she had known\nhow horrid it was to be alone.  Abhorring the prophet, she yet clung to\nhis footsteps, and while she sat by his side, felt as if he alone could\navert that evil destiny which he alone had foreseen.  With him only was\nshe seen to smile; elsewhere, sad, silent, stern; it seemed as if she\nwere ever occupied in nerving her mind for that which she had to do, and\nher beauty, already of the majestic cast, grew absolutely awful, as her\nperfect features assumed an expression which might have belonged to the\nangel of vengeance or death.\n\nBut there were moments when her naturally strong spirit, not yet wholly\nsubdued, struggled against her conviction, and endeavoured to find modes\nof averting her fate: it was in one of these, perhaps, that she gave her\nhand to a wooer, from a distant part of the country, a sailor, who either\nhad not heard, or did not regard the prediction of Rhys, upon condition\nthat he should remove her far from her native village to the home of his\nfamily and friends, for she sometimes felt as if the decree which had\ngone forth against her, could not be fulfilled except upon the spot where\nshe had heard it, and that her heart would be lighter if men\u2019s eyes would\nagain look upon her in kindliness, and she no longer sate beneath the\nglare of those that knew so well the secret of her soul.  Thus thinking,\nshe quitted N\u2014 with her husband; and the tormentor, who had poisoned her\nrepose, soon after her departure, left the village as secretly and as\nsuddenly as he had entered it.\n\nBut, though Ruth could depart from his corporeal presence, and look upon\nhis cruel visage no more, yet the eye of her soul was fixed upon his\nshadow, and his airy form, the creation of her sorrow, still sat by her\nside; the blight that he had breathed upon her peace had withered her\nheart, and it was in vain that she sought to forget or banish the\nrecollection from her brain.  Men and women smiled upon her as before in\nthe days of her joy, the friends of her husband welcomed her to their\nbosoms, but they could give no peace to her heart: she shrunk from their\nfriendship, she shivered equally at their neglect, she dreaded any cause\nthat might lead to that which, it had been said, she must do; nightly she\nsat alone and thought, she dwelt upon the characters of those around her,\nand shuddered that in some she saw violence and selfishness enough to\ncause injury, which she might be supposed to resent to blood.  Then she\nwept bitter tears and thought of her native village, whose inhabitants\nwere so mild, and whose previous knowledge of her hapless destiny might\ninduce them to avoid all that might hasten its completion, and sighed to\nthink she had ever left it in the mistaken hope of finding peace\nelsewhere.  Again, her sick fancy would ponder upon the modes of murder,\nand wonder how her victim would fall.  Against the use of actual violence\nshe had disabled herself; she had never struck a blow, her small hand\nwould suffer injury in the attempt; she understood not the usage of\nfire-arms, she was ignorant of what were poisons, and a knife she never\nallowed herself, even for the most necessary purposes: how then could she\nslay?  At times she took comfort from thoughts like these, and at others,\nin the blackness of her despair, she would cry, \u201cIf it must be, O let it\ncome, and these miserable anticipations cease; then I shall, at least,\ndestroy but one; now, in my incertitude, I am the murderer of many!\u201d\n\nHer husband went forth and returned upon the voyages which made up the\navocation and felicity of his life, without noticing the deep-rooted\nsorrow of his wife: he was a common man, and of a common mind; his eye\nhad not seen the awful beauty of her whom he had chosen; his spirit had\nnot felt her power; and, if he had marked, he would not have understood\nher grief; so she ministered to him as a duty.  She was a silent and\nobedient wife, but she saw him come home without joy, and witnessed his\ndeparture without regret; he neither added to nor diminished her sorrow:\nbut destiny had one solitary blessing in store for the victim of its\ndecrees,\u2014a child was born to the hapless Ruth, a lovely little girl soon\nslept upon her bosom, and, coming as it did, the one lone and lovely\nrose-bud in her desolate garden, she welcomed it with a warmer joy and\ncherished it with a kindlier hope.\n\nA few years went by unsoiled by the wretchedness which had marked the\npreceding; the joy of the mother softened the anguish of the condemned,\nand sometimes when she looked upon her daughter she ceased to despair:\nbut destiny had not forgotten her claim, and soon her hand pressed\nheavily upon her victim; the giant ocean rolled over the body of her\nhusband, poverty visited the cottage of the widow, and famine\u2019s gaunt\nfigure was visible in the distance.  Oppression came with these, for\narrears of rent were demanded, and he who asked was brutal in his anger\nand harsh in his language to the sufferers.  Ruth shuddered as she heard\nhim speak, and trembled for him and for herself; the unforgotten prophecy\narose in her mind, and she preferred even witnesses to his brutality and\nher degradation, rather than encounter his anger and her own dark\nthoughts alone.\n\nThus goaded, she saw but one thing that could save her, she fled from her\npersecutors to the home of her youth, and, leading her little Rachel by\nthe hand, threw herself into the arms of her kin: they received her with\ndistant kindness, and assured her that she should not want; in this they\nkept their promise, but it was all they did for Ruth and her daughter; a\nmiserable subsistence was given to them, and that was embittered by\ndistrust, and the knowledge that it was yielded unwillingly.\n\nAmong the villagers, although she was no longer shunned as formerly, her\nstory was not forgotten; if it had been, her terrific beauty, the awful\nflashing of her eyes, her large black curls hanging like thunder-clouds\nover her stern and stately brow and marble throat, her majestic stature,\nand solemn movements, would have recalled it to their recollections.  She\nwas a marked being, and all believed (though each would have pitied her\nhad they not been afraid) that her evil destiny was not to be averted;\nshe looked like one fated to some wonderful deed.  They saw she was not\none of them, and though they did not directly avoid her, yet they never\nthrew themselves into her way, and thus the hapless Ruth had ample\nleisure to contemplate and grieve over her fate.  One night she sat alone\nin her wretched hovel, and, with many bitter ruminations, was watching\nthe happy sleep of her child, who slumbered tranquilly on their only bed:\nmidnight had long passed, yet Ruth was not disposed to rest; she trimmed\nher dull light, and said mentally, \u201cWere I not poor, such a temptation\nmight not assail me, riches would procure me deference; but poverty, or\nthe wrongs it brings, may drive me to this evil; were I above want it\nwould be less likely to be.  O, my child, for thy sake would I avoid this\ndoom more than for mine own, for if it should bring death to me, what\nwill it not hurl on thee?\u2014infamy, agony, scorn.\u201d\n\nShe wept aloud as she spoke, and scarcely seemed to notice the\nsingularity (at that late hour) of some one without, attempting to open\nthe door; she heard, but the circumstance made little impression; she\nknew that as yet her doom was unfulfilled, and that, therefore, no danger\ncould reach her; she was no coward at any time, but now despair had made\nher brave; the door opened and a stranger entered, without either\nalarming or disturbing her, and it was not till he had stood face to face\nwith Ruth, and discovered his features to be those of Rhys Meredith, that\nshe sprung up from her seat and gazed wildly and earnestly upon him.\n\nMeredith gave her no time to question; \u201cRuth Tudor,\u201d said he, \u201cbehold the\ncruelest of thy foes comes sueing to thy pity and mercy; I have\nembittered thy existence, and doomed thee to a terrible lot; what first\nwas dictated by vengeance and malice became truth as I uttered it, for\nwhat I spoke I believed.  Yet, take comfort, some of my predictions have\nfailed, and why may not this be false?  In my own fate I have ever been\ndeceived, perhaps I may be equally so in thine; in the mean time have\npity upon him who was thy enemy, but who, when his vengeance was uttered,\ninstantly became thy friend.  I was poor, and thy scorn might have robbed\nme of subsistence in danger, and thy contempt might have given me up.\nBeggared by many disastrous events, hunted by creditors, I fled from my\nwife and son because I could no longer bear to contemplate their\nsuffering; I sought fortune all ways since we parted, and always has she\neluded my grasp till last night, when she rather tempted than smiled upon\nme.  At an idle fair I met the steward of this estate drunk and stupid,\nbut loaded with gold; he travelled towards home alone; I could not, did\nnot wrestle with the fiend that possessed me, but hastened to overtake\nhim in his lonely ride.\u2014Start not! no hair of his head was harmed by me;\nof his gold I robbed him, but not of his life, had I been the greater\nvillain, I should now be in less danger, since he saw and marked my\nperson: three hundred pounds is the meed of my daring, and I must keep it\nnow or die.  Ruth, thou too art poor and forsaken, but thou art faithful\nand kind, and will not betray me to justice; save me, and I will not\nenjoy my riches alone; thou knowest all the caves in the rocks, those\nhideous hiding-places, where no foot, save thine, has dared to tread;\nconceal me in these till the pursuit be past, and I will give thee one\nhalf my wealth, and return with the other to gladden my wife and son.\u201d\n\nThe hand of Ruth was already opened, and in imagination she grasped the\nwealth he promised; oppression and poverty had somewhat clouded the\nnobleness but not the fierceness of her spirit.  She saw that riches\nwould save her from wrath, perhaps from blood, and, as the means to\nescape so mighty an evil, she was not scrupulous respecting a lesser:\nindependently of this, she felt a great interest in the safety of Rhys;\nher own fate seemed to hang upon his; she hid the ruffian in the caves\nand supplied him with light and food.\n\nThere was a happiness now in the heart of Ruth\u2014a joy in her thoughts as\nshe sat all the long day upon the deserted settle of her wretched\nfireside, to which they had for many years been strangers.  Many times\nduring the past years of her sorrow she had thought of Rhys, and longed\nto look upon his face and sit beneath his shadow, as one whose presence\ncould preserve her from the evil fate which he himself had predicted.\nShe had long since forgiven him his prophecy; she believed he had spoken\nthe truth, and this gave her a wild confidence in his power; a confidence\nthat sometimes thought, \u201cif he can foreknow, can he not also avert?\u201d  She\nsaid mentally, without any reference to the temporal good he had promised\nher, \u201cI have a treasure in those caves; _he_ is there; he who hath\nforeseen and may oppose my destiny; he hath shadowed my days with sorrow,\nand forbidden me, like ordinary beings, to hope: yet he is now in my\npower; his life is in my hands; he says so, yet I believe him not, for I\ncannot betray him if I would; were I to lead the officers of justice to\nthe spot where he lies crouching, he would be invisible to their sight or\nto mine; or I should become speechless ere I could say, \u2018Behold him.\u2019\nNo, he cannot die by me!\u201d\n\nAnd she thought she would deserve his confidence, and support him in his\nsuffering; she had concealed him in a deep dark cave, hewn far in the\nrock, to which she alone knew the entrance from the beach; there was\nanother (if a huge aperture in the top of the rock might be so called),\nwhich, far from attempting to descend, the peasants and seekers for the\nculprit had scarcely dared to look into, so perpendicular, dark, and\nuncertain was the hideous descent into what justly appeared to them a\nbottomless abyss; they passed over his head in their search through the\nfields above, and before the mouth of his den upon the beach below, yet\nthey left him in safety, though in incertitude and fear.\n\nIt was less wonderful, the suspicionless conduct of the villagers towards\nRuth, than the calm prudence with which she conducted all the details\nrelating to her secret; her poverty was well known, yet she daily\nprocured a double portion of food, which was won by double labour; she\ntoiled in the fields for the meed of oaten cake and potatoes, or she\ndashed out in a crazy boat on the wide ocean to win with the dredgers the\nspoils of the oyster beds that lie on its bosom; the daintier fare was\nfor the unhappy guest, and daily did she wander among the rocks, when the\ntides were retiring, for the shell-fish which they had flung among the\nfissures in their retreat, which she bore, exhausted with fatigue, to her\nhome\u2014and which her lovely child, now rising into womanhood, prepared for\nthe luxurious meal; it was wonderful too, the settled prudence of the\nlittle maiden, who spoke nothing of the food which was borne from their\nfrugal board; if she suspected the secret of her mother, she respected it\ntoo much to allow others to discover that she did so.\n\nMany sad hours did Ruth pass in the robber\u2019s cave; and many times, by\nconversing with him upon the subject of her destiny, did she seek to\nalleviate the pangs its recollection gave her; but the result of such\ndiscussions were by no means favourable to her hopes; Rhys had\nacknowledged that his threat had originated in malice, and that he\nintended to alarm and subdue, but not to the extent that he had effected:\n\u201cI knew well,\u201d said he, \u201cthat disgrace alone would operate upon you as I\nwished, for I foresaw you would glory in the thought of nobly sustained\nmisfortune; I meant to degrade you with the lowest; I meant to attribute\nto you what I now painfully experience to be the vilest of the vices; I\nintended to tell you, you were destined to be a thief, but I could not\nutter the words I had arranged and I was struck with horror at those I\nheard involuntarily proceeding from my lips; I would have recalled them\nbut I could not; I would have said, \u2018Maiden, I did but jest,\u2019 but there\nwas something that seemed to withhold my speech and press upon my soul,\n\u2018so as thou hast said shall this thing be\u2019\u2014yet take comfort, my own\nfortunes have ever deceived me, and doubtlessly ever will, for I feel as\nif I should one day return to this cave and make it my final home.\u201d\n\nHe spoke solemnly and wept,\u2014but the awful eye of his companion was\nunmoved as she looked on in wonder and contempt at his grief.  \u201cThou\nknowest not how to endure,\u201d said she to him, \u201cand as soon as night shall\nagain fall upon our mountains, I will lead thee forth on thy escape; the\ndanger of pursuit is now past; at midnight be ready for thy journey,\nleave the cave, and ascend the rocks by the path I shewed thee, to the\nfield in which its mouth is situated; wait me there a few moments, and I\nwill bring thee a fleet horse, ready saddled for the journey, for which\nthy gold must pay, since I must declare to the owner that I have sold it\nat a distance, and for more than its rated value.\u201d\n\nThat midnight came, and Meredith waited with trembling anxiety for the\nhaughty step of Ruth; at length he saw her, she had ascended the rock,\nand standing on its verge, was looking around for her guest; as she was\nthus alone in the clear moonlight, standing between rock and sky, and\nscarcely seemed to touch the earth, her dark locks and loose garments\nscattered by the wind, she looked like some giant spirit of the olden\ntime, preparing to ascend into the mighty black cloud which singly hung\nfrom the empyreum, and upon which she already appeared to recline;\nMeredith beheld her and shuddered,\u2014but she approached and he recovered\nhis recollection.\n\n\u201cYou must be speedy in your movements,\u201d said she, \u201cwhen you leave me;\nyour horse waits on the other side of this field, and I would have you\nhasten lest his neighings should betray your purpose.  But, before you\ndepart, Rhys Meredith, there is an account to be settled between us: I\nhave dared danger and privations for you; that the temptations of the\npoor may not assail me, give me my reward and go.\u201d\n\nRhys pressed his leathern bag to his bosom, but answered nothing to the\nspeech of Ruth: he seemed to be studying some evasion, for he looked upon\nthe ground, and there was trouble in the working of his lip.  At length\nhe said cautiously, \u201cI have it not with me: I buried it, lest it should\nbetray me, in a field some miles distant; thither will I go, dig it up,\nand send it to thee from B\u2014, which is, as thou knowest, my first\ndestination.\u201d\n\nRuth gave him one glance of her awful eye when he had spoken; she had\ndetected his meanness, and smiled at his incapacity to deceive.  \u201cWhat\ndost thou press to thy bosom so earnestly?\u201d she demanded; \u201csurely thou\nart not the wise man I deemed thee, thus to defraud _my_ claim: the\nfriend alone thou mightest cheat, and safely; but I have been made\nwretched by thee, guilty by thee, and thy life is in my power; I could,\nas thou knowest, easily raise the village, and win half thy wealth by\ngiving thee up to justice; but I prefer reward from thy wisdom and\ngratitude; give, therefore, and be gone.\u201d\n\nBut Rhys knew too well the value of the metal of sin to yield one half of\nit to Ruth; he tried many miserable shifts and lies, and at last, baffled\nby the calm penetration of his antagonist, boldly avowed his intention of\nkeeping all the spoil he had won with so much hazard.  Ruth looked at him\nwith scorn: \u201cKeep thy gold,\u201d she said, \u201cif it thus can harden hearts, I\ncovet not its possession; but there is one thing thou must do, and that\nere thou stir one foot.  I have supported thee with hard-earned industry,\n_that_ I give thee; more proud, it should seem, in bestowing than I could\nbe, from such as thee, in receiving: but the horse that is to bear thee\nhence to-night I borrowed for a distant journey; I must return with it,\nor with its value; open thy bag, pay me for that, and go.\u201d\n\nBut Rhys seemed afraid to open his bag in the presence of her he had\nwronged.  Ruth understood his fears; but, scorning vindication of _her_\nprinciples, contented herself with entreating him to be honest.  \u201cBe more\njust to thyself and me,\u201d she persisted: \u201cthe debt of gratitude I pardon\nthee; but, I beseech thee, leave me not to encounter the consequence of\nhaving stolen from my friend the animal which is his only means of\nsubsistence: I pray thee, Rhys, not to condemn me to scorn.\u201d\n\nIt was to no avail that Ruth humbled herself to entreaties; Meredith\nanswered not, and while she was yet speaking, cast side-long looks\ntowards the gate where the horse was waiting for his service, and seemed\nmeditating, whether he should not dart from Ruth, and escape her\nentreaties and demands by dint of speed.  Her stern eye detected his\npurpose; and, indignant at his baseness, and ashamed of her own\ndegradation, she sprung suddenly towards him, made a desperate clutch at\nthe leathern bag, and tore it from the grasp of the deceiver.  Meredith\nmade an attempt to recover it, and a fierce struggle ensued, which drove\nthem both back towards the yawning mouth of the cave from which he had\njust ascended to the world.  On its very verge, on its very extreme edge,\nthe demon who had so long ruled his spirit now instigated him to\nmischief, and abandoned him to his natural brutality: he struck the\nunhappy Ruth a revengeful and tremendous blow.  At that moment a horrible\nthought glanced like lightning through her soul; he was to her no longer\nwhat he had been; he was a robber, ruffian, liar; one whom to destroy was\njustice, and perhaps it was he\u2014.  \u201cVillain!\u201d she cried, \u201cthou\u2014thou didst\npredict that I was doomed to be a murderer! art thou\u2014art thou destined to\nbe the victim?\u201d  She flung him from her with terrific force, as she stood\nclose to the abyss, and the next instant heard him dash against its\nsides, as he was whirled headlong into darkness.\n\nIt was an awful feeling, the next that passed over the soul of Ruth\nTudor, as she stood alone in the pale sorrowful-looking moonlight,\nendeavouring to remember what had chanced.  She gazed on the purse, on\nthe chasm, wiped the drops of agony from her heated brow, and then, with\na sudden pang of recollection, rushed down to the cavern.  The light was\nstill burning, as Rhys had left it, and served to shew her the wretch\nextended helplessly beneath the chasm.  Though his body was crushed, his\nbones splintered, and his blood was on the cavern\u2019s sides, he was yet\nliving, and raised his head to look upon her, as she darkened the narrow\nentrance in her passage: he glared upon her with the visage of a demon,\nand spoke like a fiend in pain.  \u201cMe hast thou murdered!\u201d he said, \u201cbut I\nshall be avenged in all thy life to come.  Deem not that thy doom is\nfulfilled, that the deed to which thou art fated is done: in my dying\nhour I know, I feel what is to come upon thee; thou art yet again to do a\ndeed of blood!\u201d  \u201cLiar!\u201d shrieked the infuriated victim.  \u201cThou art yet\ndoomed to be a murderer!\u201d  \u201cLiar!\u201d  \u201cThou art\u2014and of\u2014thine only child!\u201d\nShe rushed to him, but he was dead.\n\nRuth Tudor stood for a moment by the corpse, blind, stupefied, deaf, and\ndumb; in the next she laughed aloud, till the cavern rung with her\nghastly mirth, and many voices mingled with and answered it; but the\nnoises scared and displeased her, and in an instant she became stupidly\ngrave; she threw back her dark locks with an air of offended dignity, and\nwalked forth majestically from the cave.  She took the horse by his rein,\nand led him back to his stable: with the same unvarying calmness she\nentered her cottage, and listened to the quiet breathings of her sleeping\nchild; she longed to approach her nearer, but some new and horrid fear\nrestrained her, and held back her anxious step: suddenly remembrance and\nreason returned, and she uttered a shriek so full of agony, so loud and\nshrill, that her daughter sprung from her bed, and threw herself into her\narms.\n\nIt was in vain that the gentle Rachel supplicated her mother to find rest\nin sleep.  \u201cNot here,\u201d she muttered, \u201cit must not be here; the deep cave\nand the hard rock, these shall be my resting place; and the bed-fellow,\nlo! now, he waits my coming.\u201d  Then she would cry aloud, clasp her Rachel\nto her beating heart, and as suddenly, in horror thrust her from it.\n\nThe next midnight beheld Ruth Tudor in the cave seated upon a point of\nrock, at the head of the corpse, her chin resting upon her hands, gazing\nearnestly upon the distorted face.  Decay had already begun its work; and\nRuth sat there watching the progress of mortality, as if she intended\nthat her stern eye should quicken and facilitate its operation.  The next\nnight also beheld her there, but the current of her thoughts had changed,\nand the dismal interval which had passed appeared to be forgotten.  She\nstood with her basket of food: \u201cWilt thou not eat?\u201d she demanded; \u201carise,\nstrengthen thee for thy journey; eat, eat, thou sleeper; wilt thou never\nawaken? look, here is the meat thou lovest;\u201d and as she raised his head,\nand put the food to his lips, the frail remnant of mortality shattered at\nher touch, and again she knew that he was dead.\n\nIt was evident to all that a shadow and a change was over the senses of\nRuth; till this period she had been only wretched, but now madness was\nmingled with her grief.  It was in no instance more apparent than in her\nconduct towards her beloved child: indulgent to all her wishes,\nministering to all her wants with a liberal hand, till men wondered from\nwhence she derived the means of indulgence, she yet seized every\nopportunity to send her from her presence.  The gentle-hearted Rachel\nwept at her conduct, yet did not complain, for she believed it the effect\nof the disease, that had for so many years been preying upon her soul.\nHer nights were passed in roaming abroad, her days in the solitude of her\nhut; and even this became painful, when the step of her child broke upon\nit.  At length she signified that a relative of her husband had died and\nleft her wealth, and that it should enable her to dispose of herself as\nshe had long wished; so leaving Rachel with her relatives in N\u2014, she\nretired to a hut upon a lonely heath, where she was less wretched,\nbecause abandoned to her wretchedness.\n\nIn many of her ravings she had frequently spoken darkly of her crime, and\nher nightly visits to the cave; and more frequently still she addressed\nsome unseen thing, which she asserted was for ever at her side.  But few\nheard these horrors, and those who did, called to mind the early\nprophecy, and deemed them the workings of insanity in a fierce and\nimaginative mind.  So thought also the beloved Rachel, who hastened daily\nto embrace her mother, but not now alone as formerly; a youth of the\nvillage was her companion and protector, one who had offered her worth\nand love, and whose gentle offers were not rejected.  Ruth, with a\nhurried gladness, gave her consent, and a blessing to her child; and it\nwas remarked that she received her daughter more kindly, and detained her\nlonger at the cottage, when Evan was by her side, than when she went to\nthe gloomy heath alone.  Rachel herself soon made this observation, and\nas she could depend upon the honesty and prudence of him she loved, she\nfelt less fear at his being a frequent witness of her mother\u2019s terrific\nravings.  Thus all that human consolation was capable to afford was\noffered to the sufferer by her sympathising children.\n\nBut the delirium of Ruth Tudor appeared to increase with every nightly\nvisit to the cave of secret blood; some hideous shadow seemed to follow\nher steps in the darkness, and sit by her side in the light.  Sometimes\nshe held strange parley with this creation of her phrensy, and at others\nsmiled upon it in scornful silence; now, her language was in the tones of\nentreaty, pity, and forgiveness; anon, it was the burst of execration,\ncurses, and scorn.  To the gentle listeners her words were blasphemy;\nand, shuddering at her boldness, they deemed, in the simple holiness of\ntheir own hearts, that the evil one was besetting her, and that religion\nalone could banish him.  Possessed by this idea, Evan one day suddenly\ninterrupted her tremendous denunciations upon her fate, and him who, she\nsaid, stood over her to fulfil it, with imploring her to open the book\nwhich he held in his hand, and seek consolation from its words and\npromises.  She listened, and grew calm in a moment; with an awful smile\nshe bade him open, and read at the first place which should meet his eye:\n\u201cfrom that, the word of truth, as thou sayest, I shall know my fate; what\nis there written I will believe.\u201d  He opened the book, and read\u2014\n\n\u201c_Whither shall I go from thy spirit_, _or whither shall I flee from thy\npresence_?  _If I go up into heaven_, _thou art there_; _if I make my bed\nin hell_, _thou art there_; _If I take the wings of the morning_, _and\ndwell in the uttermost parts of the sea_, _even there shall thy hand lead\nme_, _and thy right hand shall hold me_.\u201d\n\nRuth laid her hand upon the book: \u201cit is enough; its words are truth; it\nhath said there is no hope, and I find comfort in my despair: I have\nalready spoken thus in the secrecy of my heart, and I know that he will\nbe obeyed; the unnamed sin must be\u2014.\u201d  Evan knew not how to comfort, so\nhe shut up his book and retired; and Rachel kissed the cheek of her\nmother, as she bade her a tender good night.  Another month and she was\nto be the bride of Evan, and she passed over the heath with a light step,\nfor the thought of her bridal seemed to give joy to her mother.  \u201cWe\nshall all be happy then,\u201d said the smiling girl, as the youth of her\nheart parted from her hand for the night; \u201cand heaven kindly grant that\nhappiness may last.\u201d\n\nThe time appointed for the marriage of Rachel Tudor and Evan Edwards had\nlong passed away, and winter had set in with unusual sternness even on\nthat stormy coast; when, during a land tempest, on a dark November\nafternoon, a stranger to the country, journeying on foot, lost his way in\nendeavouring to find a short route to his destination, over stubble\nfields and meadow lands, by following the footmarks of those who had\npreceded him.  The stranger was a young man, of a bright eye and hardy\nlook, and he went on buffeting the elements, and buffeted by them,\nwithout a thought of weariness, or a single expression of impatience.\nNight descended upon him as he walked, and the snow storm came down with\nunusual violence, as if to try the temper of his mind, a mind cultivated\nand enlightened, though cased in a frame accustomed to hardships, and\nveiled by a plain, nay almost rustic exterior.  The thunder roared loudly\nabove him, and the wind blowing tremendously, raised the new-fallen snow\nfrom the earth, which, mingling with the showers as they fell, raised a\nclatter about his head which bewildered and blinded the traveller, who,\nfinding himself near some leafless brambles and a few clustered bushes of\nthe mountain broom, took shelter under them to recover his senses, and\nreconnoitre his position.  \u201cOf all these ingredients for a storm,\u201d said\nhe smilingly to himself, \u201cthe lightning is the most endurable after all;\nfor if it does not kill, it may at least cure, by lighting the way out of\na labyrinth, and by its bright flashes I hope to discover where I am.\u201d\nIn this hope he was not mistaken: the brilliant and beautiful gleam\nshowed him, when the snow shower had somewhat abated, every stunted bush\nand blade of grass for some miles, and something, about the distance of\none, that looked like a white-washed cottage of some poor encloser of the\nmiserable heath upon which he was now standing.  Full of hope of a\nshelter from the storm, and, lit onwards by the magnificent torch of\nheaven, the stranger trod cheerily forwards, and in less than half an\nhour, making full allowance for his retrograding between the flashes,\narrived at his beacon the white cottage, which, from the low wall of\nloose limestones by which it was surrounded, he judged to be, as he had\nalready imagined, the humble residence of some poor tenant of the manor.\nHe opened the little gate, and was proceeding to knock at the door, when\nhis steps were arrested by a singular and unexpected sound; it was a\nchoral burst of many voices, singing slowly and solemnly that magnificent\ndirge of the church of England, the 104th psalm.  The stranger loved\nmusic, and the sombrous melody of that fine air had an instant effect\nupon his feelings; he lingered in solemn and silent admiration till the\nmajestic strain had ceased; he then knocked gently at the door, which was\ninstantly and courteously opened to his inquiry.\n\nOn entering, he found himself in a cottage of a more respectable interior\nthan from its outward appearance he had been led to expect: but he had\nlittle leisure or inclination for the survey of its effects, for his\nsenses and imagination were immediately and entirely occupied by the\nscene which presented itself on his entrance.  In the centre of the room\ninto which he had been so readily admitted, stood, on its tressels, an\nopen coffin; lights were at its head and foot, and on each side sat many\npersons of both sexes, who appeared to be engaged in the customary\nceremony of watching the corse previous to its interment in the morning.\nThere were many who appeared to the stranger to be watchers, but there\nwere but two who, in his eye, bore the appearance of mourners, and they\nhad faces of grief which spoke too plainly of the anguish that was\nmingling within: one, at the foot of the coffin, was a pale youth just\nblooming into manhood, who covered his dewy eyes with trembling fingers\nthat ill concealed the tears which trickled down his wan cheeks beneath:\nthe other\u2014; but why should we again describe that still unbowed and lofty\nform?  The awful marble brow upon which the stranger gazed, was that of\nRuth Tudor.\n\nThere was much whispering and quiet talk among the people while\nrefreshments were handed amongst them; and so little curiosity was\nexcited by the appearance of the traveller, that he naturally concluded\nthat it must be no common loss that could deaden a feeling usually so\nintense in the bosoms of Welsh peasants; he was even checked for an\nattempt to question; but one man,\u2014he who had given him admittance, and\nseemed to possess authority in the circle,\u2014told him he would answer his\nquestions when the guests should depart, but till then he must keep\nsilence.  The traveller endeavoured to obey, and sat down in quiet\ncontemplation of the figure who most interested his attention, and who\nsat at the coffin\u2019s head.  Ruth Tudor spoke nothing, nor did she appear\nto heed aught of the business that was passing around her.  Absorbed by\nreflection, her eyes were generally cast to the ground; but when they\nwere raised, the traveller looked in vain for that expression of grief\nwhich had struck him so forcibly on his entrance; there was something\nwonderful strange in the character of her perfect features: could he have\nfound words for his thought, and might have been permitted the\nexpression, he would have called it triumphant despair; so deeply\nagonised, so proudly stern, looked the mourner that sat by the dead.\n\nThe interest which the traveller took in the scene became more intense\nthe longer he gazed upon its action; unable to resist the anxiety which\nhad begun to prey upon his spirit, he arose and walked towards the\ncoffin, with the purpose of contemplating its inhabitant: a sad\nexplanation was given, by its appearance, of the grief and the anguish he\nhad witnessed; a beautiful girl was reposing in the narrow house, with a\nface as calm and lovely as if she but slept a deep and refreshing sleep,\nand the morning sun would again smile upon her awakening: salt, the\nemblem of the immortal soul, was placed upon her breast; and, in her pale\nand perishing fingers, a branch of living flowers were struggling for\nlife in the grasp of death, and diffusing their sweet and gracious\nfragrance over the cold odour of mortality.  These images, so opposite,\nyet so alike, affected the spirit of the gazer, and he almost wept as he\ncontinued looking upon them, till he was aroused from his trance by the\nstrange conduct of Ruth Tudor, who had caught a glimpse of his face as he\nbent in sorrow over the coffin.  She sprung up from her seat, and darting\nat him a terrible glance of recognition, pointed down to the corse, and\nthen with a hollow burst of frantic laughter, shouted\u2014\u201cBehold, thou\nliar!\u201d\n\nThe startled stranger was relieved from the necessity of speaking by some\none taking his arm and gently leading him to the farther end of the\ncottage; the eyes of Ruth followed him, and it was not till he had done\nviolence to himself in turning from her to his conductor, that he could\nescape their singular fascination.  When he did so he beheld a venerable\nold man, the pastor of a distant village, who had come that night to\nspeak comfort to the mourners, and perform the last sad duty to the dead\non the morrow.  \u201cBe not alarmed at what you have witnessed, my young\nfriend,\u201d said he; \u201cthese ravings are not uncommon: this unhappy woman, at\nan early period of her life, gave ear to the miserable superstitions of\nher country, and a wretched pretender to wisdom predicted that she should\nbecome a shedder of blood: madness has been the inevitable consequence in\nan ardent spirit, and in its ravings she dreams she has committed one\nsin, and is still tempted to add to it another.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou may say what you please, parson,\u201d said the old man who had given\nadmittance to the stranger, and who now, after dismissing all the guests\nsave the youth, joined the talkers, and seated himself on the settle by\ntheir sides; \u201cyou may say what you please about madness and superstition;\nbut I know Ruth Tudor was a fated woman, and the deed that was to be I\nbelieve she has done: aye, aye, her madness is conscience; and if the\ndeep sea and the jagged rocks could speak, they might tell us a tale of\nother things that: but she is judged now; her only child is gone\u2014her poor\nRachel.  Poor Evan! he was her suitor: ah, he little thought two months\nago, when he was preparing for a gay bridal, that her slight sickness\nwould end thus: _he_ does not deserve it; but for her\u2014God forgive me if I\ndo her wrong, but I think it is the hand of God, and it lies heavy, as it\nshould.\u201d  And the grey-haired old man hobbled away, satisfied that in\nthus thinking he was shewing his zeal for virtue.\n\n\u201cAlas, that so white a head should acknowledge so hard a heart!\u201d said the\npastor; \u201cRuth is condemned, according to his system, for committing that\nwhich a mightier hand compelled her to do; how harsh and misjudging is\nage!  But we must not speak so loud,\u201d continued he; \u201cfor see, the youth\nEvan is retiring for the night, and the miserable mother has thrown\nherself on the floor to sleep; the sole domestic is rocking on her stool,\nand therefore I will do the honours of this poor cottage to you.  There\nis a chamber above this, containing the only bed in the hut; thither you\nmay go and rest, for otherwise it will certainly be vacant to-night: I\nshall find a bed in the village; and Evan sleeps near you with some of\nthe guests in the barn.  But, before I go, if my question be not\nunwelcome and intrusive, tell me who you are, and whither you are bound.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was ever somewhat of a subscriber to the old man\u2019s creed of fatalism,\u201d\nsaid the stranger, smiling, \u201cand I believe I am more confirmed in it by\nthe singular events of this day.  My father was a man of a certain rank\nin society, but of selfish and disorderly habits.  A course of\nextravagance and idleness was succeeded by difficulties and distress.\nHarassed by creditors, he was pained by their demands, and his\nselfishness was unable to endure the sufferings of his wife and children.\nInstead of exertion, he had recourse to flight, and left us to face the\ndifficulties from which he shrunk.  He was absent for years, while his\nfamily toiled and struggled with success.  Suddenly we heard that he was\nconcealed in this part of the coast; the cause which made that\nconcealment necessary I forbear to mention; but he as suddenly\ndisappeared from the eyes of men, though we never could trace him beyond\nthis part of the country.  I have always believed that I should one day\nfind my father, and have lately, though with difficulty, prevailed upon\nmy mother to allow me to make my inquiries in this neighbourhood; but my\nsearch is at an end to-day,\u2014I believe that I have found my father.\nRoaming along the beach, I penetrated into several of those dark caverns\nof the rocks, which might well, by their rugged aspects, deter the idle\nand the timid from entering.  Through the fissures of one I discovered,\nin the interior, a light.  Surprised, I penetrated to its concealment,\nand discovered a man sleeping on the ground.  I advanced to awake him,\nand found but a fleshless skeleton, cased in tattered and decaying\ngarments.  He had probably met his death by accident, for exactly over\nthe corpse I observed, at a terrific distance, the daylight, as if\nstreaming down from an aperture above.  Thus the wretched man must have\nfallen, but how long since, or who had discovered his body, and left the\nlight which I beheld, I knew not, though I cannot help cherishing a\nstrong conviction that it was the body of Rhys Meredith that I saw.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho talks of Rhys Meredith,\u201d said a stern voice near the coffin, \u201cand of\nthe cave where the outcast rots?\u201d  They turned quickly at the sound, and\nbeheld Ruth Tudor standing up, as if she had been intently listening to\nthe story.  \u201cIt was I who spoke, dame,\u201d said the stranger gently, \u201cand my\nspeech was of my father, of Rhys Meredith; I am Owen his son.\u201d\n\n\u201cSon!  Owen Rhys!\u201d said the bewildered Ruth, passing her hand over her\nforehead, as if to enable her to recover the combinations of these names;\n\u201cand who art thou, that thus givest human ties to him who is no more of\nhumanity? why speakest thou of living things as pertaining to the dead?\nFather! he is father of nought save sin, and murder is his only\nbegotten!\u201d\n\nShe advanced to the traveller as she spoke, and again caught a view of\nhis face; again he saw the wild look of recognition, and an unearthly\nshriek followed the convulsive horror of her face.  \u201cThere! there!\u201d she\nsaid, \u201cI knew it must be thyself; once before to-night have I beheld\nthee, yet what can thy coming bode?  Back with thee, ruffian! for is not\nthy work done?\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us leave her,\u201d said the good pastor, \u201cto the care of her attendant;\ndo not continue to meet her gaze, your presence may increase, but cannot\nallay her malady: go up to your bed and rest.\u201d\n\nHe retired as he spoke; and Owen, in compliance with his wish, ascended\nthe ruinous stair which led to his chamber, after he had beheld Ruth\nTudor quietly place herself in her seat at the open coffin\u2019s head.  The\nroom to which he mounted was not of the most cheering aspect, yet he felt\nthat he had often slept soundly in a worse.  It was a gloomy unfinished\nchamber, and the wind was whistling coldly and drearily through the\nuncovered rafters above his head.  Like many of the cottages in that part\nof the country, it appeared to have grown old and ruinous before it had\nbeen finished; for the flooring was so crazy as scarcely to support the\nhuge wooden bedstead, and in many instances the boards were entirely\nseparated from each other, and in the centre, time, or the rot, had so\ncompletely devoured the larger half of one, that through the gaping\naperture Owen had an entire command of the room and the party below,\nlooking down immediately above the coffin.  Ruth was in the same attitude\nas when he left her, and the servant girl was dozing by her side.  Every\nthing being perfectly tranquil, Owen threw himself upon his hard couch,\nand endeavoured to compose himself to rest for the night, but this had\nbecome a task, and one of no easy nature to surmount; his thoughts still\nwandered to the events of the day, and he felt there was some strange\nconnexion between the scene he had just witnessed, and the darker one of\nthe secret cave.  He was an imaginative man, and of a quick and feverish\ntemperament, and he thought of Ruth Tudor\u2019s ravings, and the wretched\nskeleton of the rock, till he had worked out in his brain the chain of\nevents that linked one consequence with the other: he grew restless and\nwretched, and amidst the tossings of impatient anxiety, fatigue\noverpowered him, and he sunk into a perturbed and heated sleep.  His\nslumber was broken by dreams that might well be the shadows of his waking\nreveries.  He was alone (as in reality) upon his humble bed, when\nimagination brought to his ear the sound of many voices again singing the\nslow and monotonous psalm; it was interrupted by the outcries of some\nunseen things who attempted to enter his chamber, and, amid yells of fear\nand execrations of anger, bade him \u201cArise, and come forth, and aid:\u201d then\nthe coffined form which slept so quietly below, stood by his side, and in\nbeseeching accents, bade him \u201cArise, and save her.\u201d  In his sleep he\nattempted to spring up, but a horrid fear restrained him, a fear that he\nshould be too late; then he crouched like a coward beneath his coverings,\nto hide from the reproaches of the spectre, while shouts of laughter and\nshrieks of agony were poured like a tempest around him: he sprung from\nhis bed and awoke.\n\nIt was some moments ere he could recover recollection, or shake off the\nhorror which had seized upon his soul.  He listened, and with infinite\nsatisfaction observed an unbroken silence throughout the house.  He\nsmiled at his own terrors, attributed them to the events of the day, or\nthe presence of a corse, and determined not to look down into the lower\nroom till he should be summoned thither in the morning.  He walked to the\ncasement, and looked abroad to the night; the clouds were many, black,\nand lowering, and the face of the sky looked angrily at the wind, and\nglared portentously upon the earth; the _sleet_ was still falling;\ndistant thunder announced the approach or departure of a storm, and Owen\nmarked the clouds coming from afar towards him, laden with the rapid and\ndestructive lightning: he shut the casement and returned towards his bed;\nbut the light from below attracted his eye, and he could not pass the\naperture without taking one glance at the party.\n\nThey were in the same attitude in which he had left them; the servant was\nsleeping, but Ruth was earnestly gazing on the lower end of the room upon\nsomething, without the sight of Owen; his attention was next fixed upon\nthe corpse, and he thought he had never seen any living thing so lovely;\nand so calm was the aspect of her last repose, that Meredith thought it\nmore resembled a temporary suspension of the faculties, than the eternal\nstupor of death: her features were pale, but not distorted, and there was\nnone of the livid hue of death in her beautiful mouth and lips; but the\nflowers in her hand gave stronger demonstration of the presence of the\npower, before whose potency their little strength was fading; drooping\nwith a mortal sickness, they bowed down their heads in submission, as one\nby one they dropped from her pale and perishing fingers.  Owen gazed,\ntill he thought he saw the grasp of her hand relax, and a convulsive\nsmile pass over her cold and rigid features; he looked again; the\neye-lids shook and vibrated like the string of some fine-strung\ninstrument; the hair rose, and the head cloth moved: he started up\nashamed: \u201cDoes the madness of this woman affect all who would sleep\nbeneath her roof?\u201d said he; \u201cwhat is this that disturbs me\u2014or am I yet in\na dream?  Hark! what is that?\u201d  It was the voice of Ruth; she had risen\nfrom her seat, and was standing near the coffin, apparently addressing\nsome one who stood at the lower end of the room: \u201cTo what purpose is thy\ncoming now?\u201d said she, in a low and melancholy voice, \u201cand at what dost\nthou laugh and gibe? lo! you; she is here, and the sin you know of,\ncannot be; how can I take the life which another hath already withdrawn?\nGo, go, hence to thy cave of night, for this is no place of safety for\nthee.\u201d  Her thoughts now took another turn; she seemed to hide one from\nthe pursuit of others; \u201cLie still! lie still!\u201d she whispered; \u201cput out\nthy light! so, so, they pass by and mark thee not; thou art safe; good\nnight, good night! now will I home to sleep;\u201d and she seated herself in\nher chair, as if composing her senses to rest.\n\nOwen was again bewildered in the chaos of thought, but for this time he\ndetermined to subdue his imagination, and, throwing himself upon his bed,\nagain gave himself up to sleep; but the images of his former dreams still\nhaunted him, and their hideous phantasms were more powerfully renewed;\nagain he heard the solemn psalm of death, but unsung by mortals\u2014it was\npealed through earth up to the high heaven, by myriads of the viewless\nand the mighty: again he heard the execrations of millions for some\nunremembered sin, and the wrath and the hatred of a world was rushing\nupon him: \u201cCome forth! come forth!\u201d was the cry; and amid yells and howls\nthey were darting upon him, when the pale form of the beautiful dead\narose between them, and shielded him from their malice; but he heard her\nsay aloud, \u201cIt is for this, that thou wilt not save me; arise, arise, and\nhelp!\u201d\n\nHe sprung up as he was commanded; sleeping or waking he never knew; but\nhe started from his bed to look down into the chamber, as he heard the\nvoice of Ruth loud in terrific denunciation: he looked; she was standing,\nuttering yells of madness and rage, and close to her was a well-known\nform of appalling recollection\u2014his father, as he had seen him last; he\narose and darted to the door: \u201cI am mad,\u201d said he; \u201cI am surely mad, or\nthis is still a continuation of my dream:\u201d he looked again; Ruth was\nstill there, but alone.\n\nBut, though no visible form stood by the maniac, some fiend had entered\nher soul, and mastered her mighty spirit; she had armed herself with an\naxe, and shouting, \u201cLiar, liar, hence!\u201d was pursuing some imaginary foe\nto the darker side of the cottage: Owen strove hard to trace her motions,\nbut as she had retreated under the space occupied by his bed, he could no\nlonger see her, and his eyes involuntarily fastened themselves upon the\ncoffin; there a new horror met them; the dead corpse had risen, and with\nwild and glaring eyes was watching the scene before her.  Owen distrusted\nhis senses till he heard the terrific voice of Ruth, as she marked the\nmiracle he had witnessed; \u201cThe fiend, the robber!\u201d she yelled, \u201cit is he\nwho hath entered the pure body of my child.  Back to thy cave of blood,\nthou lost one! back to thine own dark hell!\u201d  Owen flew to the door; it\nwas too late; he heard the shriek\u2014the blow: he _fell_ into the room, but\nonly in time to hear the second blow, and see the cleft hand of the\nhapless Rachel fall back upon its bloody pillow; his terrible cries\nbrought in the sleepers from the barn, headed by the wretched Evan, and,\nfor a time, the thunders of heaven were drowned in the clamorous grief of\nman.  No one dared to approach the miserable Ruth, who now, in utter\nfrenzy, strode around the room, brandishing, with diabolical grandeur,\nthe bloody axe, and singing a wild song of triumph and joy.  All fell\nback as she approached, and shrunk from the infernal majesty of her\nterrific form; and the thunders of heaven rolling above their heads, and\nthe flashings of the fires of eternity in their eyes, were less terrible\nthan the savage glare and desperate wrath of the maniac:\u2014suddenly, the\nhouse rocked to its foundation; its inmates were blinded for a moment,\nand sunk, felled by a stunning blow, to the earth;\u2014slowly each man\nrecovered and arose, wondering he was yet alive;\u2014all were unhurt, save\none.  Ruth Tudor was on the earth, her blackened limbs prostrate beneath\nthe coffin of her child, and her dead cheek resting on the rent and\nbloody axe;\u2014it had been the destroyer of both.\n\n\n\n\nTHE YELLOW DWARF.\nA TALE OF THE ORANGE TREE.\n\n\n                           Oranges and Lemons.\n\nEVERY body knows, or at least ought to know, with what an uproar of\ndelight the birth of an heir to any noble family was celebrated in the\nold baronial times of fisty-cuff memory; exactly such a festival would\nwe, the humble historian of the illustrious house of Tecklenburgh,\ndescribe if we knew how to render justice to the outrageous mirth which\nshook the old castle to its very foundation, on the day of the eventful\nmorn on which the lady of the eldest son of the family had presented her\nlord, and his no less expecting father the count, with a new prop to the\nseat of their ancient dignities.  It was amid the mingled uproar of\ntrumpets, bells, soldiers, women, horses, and dogs, that the respectable\npurple-nosed dominican, who was confessor to the family, gave a blessing\nand a name to its future representative; and immediately after the\nceremony, the knights and nobles, wearied by the blows given and received\nin the jousts, retired to the dining hall with the threefold intention of\nfilling their empty stomachs with something better than the east wind,\nsolacing their spirits with the biting jests of the count\u2019s fool, and\ncuring their wounds and bruises of the morning by bathing them in flagons\nof rhenish, till the moon should look down upon the evening.\n\nBut happiness will not endure for ever, like riches, she maketh herself\nwings and fleeth away: the company, after picking the flesh of the huge\nwild boar to the bone, began to stare at each other with bleared eyes,\nask querulous questions with stuttering tongues, and reply with solemn\nand important visages; and the count of Tecklenburgh, fearing that his\nyoungest son, the handsome Sir Ludolph, would soon grow as wise as the\nrest of the party, and of course utterly unfit for business, withdrew him\nquietly from the table and conducted him to his private apartment; there,\nseating himself in his state chair and enrobing his person, with an air\nof paternal dignity he solemnly demanded of his son, if he had, according\nto his particular order, considered the subject of their last conference.\nThe young knight answered, without any hesitation, that he had not, for\nthat the subject was so disagreeable to him that he had never suffered it\nto enter his mind since; that he thought the tonsure excessively\nunbecoming, and that he had no inclination to pray every time St.\nBenedict\u2019s bells should ring; and he added moreover, that he was resolved\nto carve himself out a fortune with his sword, and for that purpose\nintended to set off immediately for the court of the injured princes of\nThuringia, whose cause was a just and honourable one, and make them an\noffer of his services: all this was said with an air of so much\ndetermination and composure, as partly to disturb, and partly to amuse\nthe gravity of the count of Tecklenburgh; but considering within himself\nfor a few moments, he thought this last project of his son was not quite\nso foolish as he had at first been willing to imagine it.  In addition to\nhigh courage and many knightly acquirements, Ludolph possessed a very\nhandsome person, and this idea connecting itself with the beautiful\nsister of the princes of Thuringia, he began to think that it would be a\npity to hide that fine form under a greasy cassock; he reflected that\nshould the three sons of Albert the Depraved get their brains knocked out\nin the skirmish, (a consummation devoutly to be wished, and, from their\nwarlike character and powerful enemies, very likely to happen,) their\npossessions would descend to their sister, who might possibly fall in\nlove with his handsome son, and then possibly the margraviate of\nThuringia might finally centre in his family.  These, and many other\npossibilities working in the brain of father Tecklenburgh, worked a\nchange in his countenance also; and Ludolph seeing a smile, or something\nlike one, hovering over his iron features, judged it a favourable\nopportunity for re-enforcing his petition, which he did with all the zeal\nand eloquence he could muster\u2014eloquence which touched the heart of his\ntender father, for he assured him that if he would permit him to depart,\nhe would not draw the smallest piece of copper from his treasury to fit\nhim out for the expedition, but would make his aunt\u2019s legacy of relics\nanswer every purpose.  This last remonstrance settled the business; count\nTecklenburgh, finding it was to cost him nothing, gave his consent to the\nmeasure, and made his son happy in his own way, though, if that happiness\nhad cost him a single cruitzner, he would have held fast to the tonsure\nin spite of all the repugnance of poor Ludolph; as it was, he gave him\nhis blessing, and dismissed him with much good advice, but not a single\ncoin, and the knight was too happy in the granted permission to grieve at\nhis father\u2019s lack of liberality.  With a lightened heart he went for his\nholy legacy, which he found much heavier than he had expected; every bone\nand rag was carefully marked with the name of its original owner, and,\nafter getting the monk to read him their titles, and affix a value to\neach article, he hastened to dispose of his sanctified treasure.  He\nimagined the most likely persons to bid handsomely for his commodities\nwould be the monks, who paid such respectful and humble reverence to\ncargoes of that description; but, after visiting a convent of Dominicans\nsituated near the castle, in this instance he found himself most\ngrievously mistaken; these holy pedlars were much too wise to buy what\nthey had long found their account in selling: they had already a good\nstock on hand, and, when this should be exhausted, they could manufacture\nothers at a much cheaper rate than they could purchase them of count\nLudolph: so he carried his legacy to the nuns, who rejected it\ninstantaneously, doubting whether the articles were genuine.  From the\nnuns he went to all the orders of mendicants, who treated him and his\nrelics with great contempt, cried down his cargo, and impudently asserted\nthat the leg of St. Bridget, which he had considered the most valuable\narticle in the pious collection, was the leg of a woman who was hung some\nyears before for sorcery in Nuremburg, as they themselves had the real\noriginal limb of the saint in their possession.  Thus disappointed among\nthe shorn lambs of the fold, Ludolph determined to seek for purchasers\namong the laity, and accordingly found them in the persons of\npriest-ridden princes, crusading nobles, pilgrim knights, and\nconvent-founding ladies: the great variety of his good aunt\u2019s collection\nenabled him to gratify the tastes of all, for his box contained one\nmember or other of every saint mentioned in the monk of Treves\u2019s\nmartyrology.  St. Bridget\u2019s leg he sold at a high price to a miserable\nold noble who had grown rich by rapine, and who trusted by this measure\nto scare away the goblins and spectres who nightly kept their revels\nround his bed.  The thumb of St. Austin was purchased by a beautiful\nprincess, as the guard of her chastity amid the allurements of a court,\nand was suspended like a camphor bag around her delicate neck; while the\nillustrious mother of a reprobate young knight earnestly hoped, by\ntacking a piece of the hair shirt of St. Jerome to the shirt of her son,\nto effect a reformation in his morals, and an amendment in his manners.\nThere were always abundance of fools in the world, and in those\nunlettered times it did not require the light of a lantern to look for\nthem.  Ludolph thought so, as, with a lightened box but a heavy purse, he\nreturned to Tecklenburgh to fit out for his expedition.  Hosen, boots,\nvests, tunics, hoods, harness, and arms, were all ready in a short time;\nfor when a man has money, every thing else under the sun is very much at\nhis service.  His appointments were all of the handsomest kind; his\ndevice was a boar, and his colours were blue and scarlet.  And thus,\nhaving equipped the knight and sent him forward, let us look back for a\nlittle, to ascertain whither he is going, and for what purpose when he\nshall arrive there.\n\nThe cause of the princes of Thuringia was, as count Ludolph had truly\nstated, a just and honourable one: their father, Albert the Depraved, had\ndisinherited them, and banished their mother, in favour of a worthless\nmistress and his illegitimate son, for whom he anxiously endeavoured to\nprocure the investiture of his dominions after his decease.  Not\nsucceeding in this notable project, and bent upon the ruin of his own\nchildren, he sold his landgraviate of Misnia to the emperor Adolphus, who\ndying before he could be benefited by his purchase, bequeathed this\nright, to which he had no right at all, to his brother Philip of Nassau,\nwho, poor in character, and still poorer in purse, was now levying an\narmy, aided by the emperor Albert, to deprive the legitimate heir,\nFrederic with the Bite, and his brother Dictman, of their rights and\npossessions.  To this project they were by no means disposed to consent,\nmore especially as their mother, Margaret, daughter of Frederic the\nRedbeard, continually kept alive their resentment against their worthless\nfather and his abandoned associates.  This princess, on being years\nbefore separated from her children by her husband, had requested\npermission to take leave of them ere their departure, which being\ngranted, she, in the frenzy of rage and grief, left a singular memorial\nof her wrongs with her eldest son; she bit a piece out of his cheek, and\nthe impression remaining upon his face for ever, inflamed his indignation\nagainst the original author of this disfigurement; so that, when capable\nof bearing arms, he deposed his father and assumed his place, to thrust\nhim from which Philip of Nassau was now threatening, and to oppose whom\nhalf Germany was rising in arms to assist the cheek-bitten Frederic, and\namong many others the knight of Tecklenburgh.\n\nMargaret of Suabia, the mother of the princes, during the early part of\nher life, had been confined by her husband in the castle of Wartzburg, in\norder that she might be removed the more readily into a still smaller\nabode, whenever the proper opportunity should occur, and which he piously\ndetermined not to neglect.  She was at this period in a situation which\nmight have interested any man but such a husband, for she promised to\nincrease his illustrious family by an additional son or daughter; but as\nhe cared for no children but the son of his mistress Cunegunda, this\ncircumstance rather operated against the poor princess, who was left to\namuse herself as well as she could in superintending the infancy of her\nsons, and hunting in the haunted forest of Eisenac.  One day, while thus\ndiverting her attention from the many anxieties which oppressed her, she\nfound herself suddenly separated from her attendants; but hearing a horn\nsound to the right, she spurred on her palfrey in that direction, till,\nafter an hour\u2019s hard riding, she began to fear she was removing still\nfurther from her people, for no sound could she hear but that of the\neternal bugle, no hoof-tramp but that of her own steed.  Still the horn\nsounded, and still the princess galloped, till at length wearied by her\nexercise, and finding herself in a large open plain, she dismounted to\nreconnoitre; at the same moment she remarked the silence of the horn, and\nthe appearance of a gigantic orange tree, loaded with fine fruit, in the\ncentre of the tranquil plain.  Astonishment she certainly felt on\nbeholding so extraordinary and beautiful an object; but hunger and\nfatigue had entirely banished all notions of fear; besides, dame\nMargaret, having no small share of the curiosity of her grandmother Eve,\ncould no more resist the temptation of tasting these oranges, than the\nfirst woman did the apple; so climbing up into the tree, she regaled\nherself to her heart\u2019s content with this fine fruit of the forest.  By\nthe time she had fairly dined, and was as weary of eating as she had\npreviously been of riding, she bethought her of the boys at home, and\nwith what glee they would have marched to the sack of the orange tree;\nbut as that was not possible, she determined they should not be without\nshare of the spoil, and therefore began to fill her huge pockets with the\nripest and the largest of the fruit.  But this action displeased the\nhospitable master of the table at which she had been so plentifully\nregaled; \u201cEat, but take nothing away,\u201d had been one of his maxims, and he\nwas mortally offended to see this honest rule set at nought in the person\nof a princess, a lady who, he thought, ought to have understood better\nmanners.  Before, therefore, _she_ had laid up provisions for the march,\na little shrill voice from the tree commanded her highness \u201cnot to steal\nhis fruit,\u201d and, at the same instant, there issued from the trunk which\nopened to give him a passage, a figure which effectually satisfied the\ncuriosity of the princess of Suabia.  The animal which now quickly\nascended the tree, and placed himself _vis \u00e0 vis_ with her highness, was\na little deformed man, about three feet and a half high, with a face as\nyellow as the oranges upon which he lived, hair of the same hue hanging\ndown to his heels, and a monstrous beard, of the same bilious complexion,\ngracefully descending to his feet; if you add to this, the gaiety of his\nyellow doublet, short cloak, and hose, you will not wonder that Margaret\ndid not altogether relish the _t\u00eate \u00e0 t\u00eate_ in which she found herself so\nsuddenly and singularly placed, independent of the awkwardness of paying\na first visit in the boughs of a tree.  \u201cPrincess,\u201d said the little\nyellow devil, after staring at her some time with his two huge goggling\nyellow eyes, \u201cwhat business have you here?\u201d  \u201cI have lost my way,\u201d she\nreplied, \u201cand being fatigued, was going to gather an orange to appease my\nhunger:\u201d but he, without the least respect for his guest, or the rank of\nan emperor\u2019s daughter, rudely answered, \u201cWoman, you lie! you were\nstealing my property to carry away.\u201d  At this insolent reproach,\nMargaret, whose patience was never proverbial, felt a strong inclination\nto treat the demon as she afterwards did her son; but fearing that the\nlittle gentleman might not endure it quite so temperately, prudently\nrestrained this effort of her indignation, and only said, \u201cI did not know\nthe tree had any other owner than myself, or I would not have gathered\nany; what I have eaten I cannot restore, but here is the last I have\ntaken;\u201d and she threw it rather roughly at the Dwarf, who, irritated\nexcessively at this behaviour, told her, grinning hideously, and\nexhibiting for her admiration his monstrous overgrown yellow claws, that\nhe had a strong temptation to tear her to pieces, which nothing but his\nwish to be allied to the blood of the emperors should have prevented.\n\u201cMy oranges,\u201d said he, \u201cwhich you have stolen, I estimate above all\nprice, except that which I am going to demand: I am a powerful demon, and\nrule with unbounded sway many thousand spirits; but I am unhappy in not\nhaving a wife with whom to share my power; as Adam was not delighted in\nParadise, neither am I in my Orange Tree, without a companion.  You are\nabout to present an infant to your lord, who is utterly indifferent about\nthe matter; it will be a girl, and I demand her in marriage on the day\nshe will be twenty years old: consent to be my mother, and I will avenge\nyour injuries upon your husband, and load you with honours and riches;\nrefuse, and I will tear you in pieces this moment, and furnish my supper\ntable with your carcass.\u201d  Margaret, who had never been so terrified in\nall her life, and would not only have given her daughter, but her sons\nand husband into the bargain, to have got away, readily promised to agree\nwith the Dwarf\u2019s wishes, who now became exceedingly polite, embraced his\ndear mother, and assured her of his devotion.  He then informed her he\nwould give her notice some months before he should claim his wife, placed\nher carefully and tenderly upon her palfrey, and mounting behind, spurred\non the animal, who flew like the wind to the entrance of the forest;\nwhere again embracing his good mother, he dismounted and disappeared.\nMargaret, freed from the odious company of the Yellow Dwarf, began to\nreflect with no very pleasant feelings upon her present adventure and\nfuture prospects.  She was, indeed, safe out of the orange-coloured\nclutches of her dutiful and well-beloved son; and, vexed as she was by\nthe horrible promise she had been obliged to make, she could not help\ncongratulating herself with great sincerity upon this circumstance, and\nbegan, like all who have just escaped a present danger, to make light of\nthe evils in the distance.  The farther she cantered from the Orange\nTree, the easier her mind became; and taking a few hints from \u201cTime, the\ncomforter,\u201d she reflected that many things might occur before the\nexpiration of twenty years: it was a long period to look forward; the\nlittle yellow devil might die, (and, indeed, she could not but allow that\nhe looked most miserably ill,) or he might forget his bargain, or he\nmight be conquered and killed by some black, pea-green, or true blue\ndevil, who might be stronger or more powerful than himself; or, in case\nof the worst, she could secure her daughter in some strong castle or\nconvent, or marry her, before the expiration of the term, to some prince\ncapable of protecting her; at all events, thought Margaret, \u201csufficient\nto the day is the evil thereof;\u201d and, delighted by these soothing\nreflections, and charmed to find herself in a whole skin, she trotted\nalong with great complacency, and arrived quite comforted before the\ngates of Wartzburg.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\n    \u201cThese yellow cowslip cheeks,\n    And eyes as green as leeks.\u201d\n\nTWENTY years is indeed a long period to look forward, but a very short\none to look back, and so thought the now widowed princess, when, nineteen\nyears and some months after her adventure in the forest, she sat beside\nher lovely daughter in the palace of Erfurt, listening with earnest and\ntender attention to the plans of her warlike sons for wresting their\ndominions from the iron grasp of Albert the One-eyed and Philip of\nNassau.  It was necessary that they should give battle to their enemies;\nand as the margrave of Misnia intended to fight for his country in\nperson, this would unavoidably deprive her beloved daughter of that\npowerful protection which hitherto had been her security against the\nthreats of the Yellow Dwarf.  It now wanted but six months of the period\nwhen he had determined to claim his bride; and as he had not hitherto\ngiven any indication, according to his word, of his appearance for this\npurpose, she trusted he might have forgotten it altogether, and, quietly\nresolving not to complain of this breach of promise, forebore to mention\nthe subject to her children.\n\nOne day, during the bustle of preparation for the approaching warfare, a\nknight, splendidly attired, arrived at the palace, and demanded to be\nintroduced to the princess Margaret, who no sooner beheld him, than she\nrecognised in the colour of his arms the livery of her dear son-in-law,\nthe Dwarf of the Orange Tree.  He announced himself as the knight of the\nking of the oranges, and his embassy was to place abundance of gold at\nthe feet of the princess Margaret, and to carry away her daughter as the\nbride of his master.  Concealment was no longer possible, so sending for\nher children, she informed them of her forest adventure, and its\nunfortunate result.  Poor Brunilda fainted away; her brothers swore as\nlustily as ever queen Elizabeth did, and fairly bullied the knight\nambassador for his presumption in daring to think of their sister as a\nhelpmate for the little dirty low-lived sorcerer his master; and\nMargaret, who before their entrance had been absolutely terrified to\ndeath by his presence, now finding herself protected, suffered her tongue\nto wag at a most unconscionable rate against the poor ambassador.  She\ntold him she had a great mind to cut off his ears, for bringing her such\na message; that his master was a little conceited monster; that if, with\nall this gold and silver, he would buy a fine castle, cut off his beard,\nand live like a gentleman, he should not want her interest with one of\nthe dairy-maids, but as it was, the thing was utterly impossible, he\nwould not succeed even with the lowest scullion.  \u201cMadam,\u201d replied the\nknight, with a grim kind of gravity, which was not half relished by the\nprincess, \u201cI would have you to understand I came not hither to bandy\nwords with you, nor to listen to a catalogue of my master\u2019s perfections:\nI must, however, inform you, that he would not part from his Orange Tree,\nnor with his beard, for all the princesses in the universe, the fair\nBrunilda included.  If you do not think proper to keep your promise, he\nwill find means to oblige you: neither does he require human aid to\nobtain his betrothed bride; but his gallantry and good nature will not\nallow him to force the will of the fair princess, if he can relinquish\nhis determination with honour.  He is fully aware of your present\nrepugnance to his nuptials, and he is now whispering me to say, that if\nthe princess herself declines his vows (which he can hardly believe), he\nwill release her upon condition of her finding a champion that shall\nconquer me, and afterwards my invincible master, before the six months\nhave expired, in single combat on horseback, on foot, with lance or\nsword, according to his highness\u2019s good pleasure at the time of meeting:\nshall I say these terms are accepted?\u201d  \u201cYou may,\u201d replied the margrave,\nto whom these conditions did not appear very hard, and who thought it\nbetter to comply with than refuse them, as he was not aware of the\nstrength of the enemy to whom his mother\u2019s promise had really been given;\nand he remembered he should probably be compelled to leave his lovely\nsister unprotected, while absent on his distant wars.  The arrangements\nwere, therefore, soon made, and the yellow champion was satisfied.\n\nAnd now a splendid scene opened to view in the territories of Frederic\nwith the bitten cheek.  No sooner each day had the bells rung out the\nhour of prime, than the trumpet sounded to proclaim the challenge of the\nyellow knight, and the promise of the margrave of Misnia, that the\nsuccessful champion of the fair Brunilda should obtain her hand for his\nreward.  Day after day did some knight essay the adventure; and day after\nday did the noble Margaret enter the lists, attended by her lovely\ndaughter, who looked through her fan of peacock\u2019s feathers, as charming,\nand carried herself as \u201cdaintily,\u201d as whilom did the beauteous Esther,\nwhen she entered into the presence of the loving Ahasuerus.  But not like\nthat beautiful daughter of the scorners of pork did she obtain her\npetition; for day after day was she compelled to witness the ruin of her\nhopes in the repeated triumphs of the yellow Haman over her own black,\nbrown, or party-coloured champions: knight after knight fell beneath his\nponderous arm, and were obliged to resign their claims to the fair\nBrunilda, to her infinite regret, and their bitter mortification.\nAlready had the counts of Wartzburg, Oettingen, Henneberg, Hanau, and\nConrad of Reida, been compelled to acknowledge the superiority of his\npowerful arm, when the arrival of the handsome knight of Tecklenburgh,\nwho just came in time to hear a week\u2019s rest proclaimed, in order to gain\ntime for the approach of other knights from the most distant parts of\nGermany to the aid of the endangered princess, revived the hopes of\nBrunilda.  He came, he saw, he conquered\u2014not the sword of the yellow\nchampion, but the heart of the charming princess, which was formed of too\ntender materials to hold out against so well-looking and redoubted a\nwarrior: she fell instantly in love with him to distraction, and he, on\nhis part, was too well bred to be behind-hand.  In the extravagance of\nher fondness, she thought all things possible to her lover, and made no\ndoubt that he would be victorious in the combat.  Ludolph was precisely\nof the same opinion, and to manifest its justice, was most irritably\nimpatient for the day of combat, which was still at the distance of\nseveral halting sun-risings and sun-settings, which that long-legged old\nragamuffin Time did not carry off, in the opinion of the lovers, quite so\nrapidly as he ought to have done.\n\nBut it came at last, that day, that morning of miracles; it came, and\nbrought nothing with it to daunt the brave spirit of the knight of\nTecklenburgh.  Light as the plume in his casque, gay as the colours of\nhis harness, he entered the lists, and gallantly opposed his person\nagainst the ponderous carcase of the yellow-coloured champion.  Blow\nafter blow was freely given, and as freely received, till the spectators\nbegan to doubt whether either of the men before them was really made of\nflesh and blood.  Proof decisive, however, was soon given, for the sword\nof Ludolph cleft the helmet of his antagonist, and dashed his weapon from\nhis hand, so that, defenceless and at the mercy of his conqueror, he\nyielded up his claim to victory, and was content to beg his life.  The\nacclamations of the people proved to Ludolph the difficulty of the\nconquest he had just achieved.  The nobles were all anxious to testify\ntheir esteem and admiration, though some in their hearts were bursting\nwith envy, and felt themselves almost choked by the fine things they\nthought it necessary to utter.  Ludolph took them all in good faith with\nperfect confidence in their sincerity, for he was too happy and too\nhonest to suspect; and then turning to the poor champion, whom he hardly\nallowed time to recover breath, recommended him to return to his little\nlord, and bear his defiance, as he should quietly wait to fulfil the last\ncondition ere he received the hand of the beautiful Brunilda.  The Yellow\nChampion took the advice thus kindly offered him, and quitted the palace\nof Erfurt, leaving his conqueror busy enough in accepting those\ndisinterested professions of service which are seldom offered except to\nthose who do not want them, or from whom an adequate return may not\nunreasonably be expected.\n\nLudolph waited with great impatience the Dwarf\u2019s reply to his challenge.\nHis time was passed, meanwhile, in making love to the princess (who on\nher part was tolerably well disposed to listen to him), and laying up a\nstock of devotion, by prayer and fasting, to serve, as occasion should\nwarrant, in the approaching combat with the demon, of whose power he had\nformed other notions, since his residence in the Misnian court, than\neither thinking him so harmless or so insignificant as he had formerly\ndone.  But the days rolled on, and no dwarf appeared.  Margaret, who\nsincerely admired the valour of Ludolph, was anxious to end his suspense,\nand Brunilda\u2019s terrors, by uniting him at once to her daughter, without\nwaiting for the presence of the Lord of the Orange Tree, of whom she\ncould never think without shuddering; but the margrave, who, much as he\nloved his sister and her noble deliverer, was too much of a gentleman to\nbreak his word, even with a dwarf, determined they should stay the full\ntime allotted by the demon.  The latter was too gallant, and too much in\nlove with the princess, to forget his engagement, and accordingly one\nmorning, as the trumpets were sounding the usual summons to the lists,\nthe Dwarf himself entered them in his customary dress, mounted upon a\nyellow steed, and surrounded by a large troop of knights in his colours.\nThe nobles and ladies of the margrave\u2019s court, struck by the oddity of\nhis appearance, entirely forgot their politeness, and burst into as\nhearty and unanimous a laugh as ever was heard in our lower House at any\nof Joe H\u2014\u2019s blunders.  But it was no laughing matter to Brunilda: she\nsaw, for the first time, her intended husband, and she felt that his\nugliness even exceeded her mother\u2019s report, and heaven knows that had not\nbeen flattering.  She cast a look of tender entreaty upon Ludolph, who,\nimpatient to punish his rival and relieve her anxiety, couched his lance,\nand spurred forward to meet the demon, who, not to be behind-hand in\ncourtesy, advanced to receive him.  But the knight suddenly sprung back,\non observing the singular dress of his adversary, the extraordinary\nlightness of those accoutrements struck him with astonishment.  \u201cSir\nknight of the Orange Tree,\u201d said he, \u201cexcept the lance in your hand and\nthe sword in your belt, I see no sort of preparation for a combat;\nsheathe your person in harness, I pray you, that so at least the chances\nmay be more equal between us.\u201d  \u201cWhat is that to thee?\u201d replied the\nDwarf; \u201cit is my pleasure to fight in these garments: thief as thou art,\nconquer me in them if thou canst.  For thee, sweet lady, I am here, to\nprove my right to thy hand, to rescue it from this craven, and fear not\nbut I shall deserve it: my palace is ready, thy dowry is ready, and twice\na thousand slaves wait to obey thy wishes.\u201d  Ludolph could not endure\nthis insolence, so rushing forward as the yellow knights retired from the\nperson of their leader, he began a most furious attack upon the animal\nwho pretended to rival him in the affections of his lady.  Alas! poor\nBrunilda! if she had trembled before, during the combats with the yellow\nknight, what anxiety must not have filled her bosom now!  The lances were\nsoon shivered to pieces: the champions drew their swords, but seemed to\nmake very little impression with them.  Ludolph had not yet received a\nwound, and yellow-jacket seemed determined to make good his boast, and\nhold the knight of Tecklenburgh a tug.  Vain was all the skill and\nstrength of the latter; though he struck with all his might and main, and\nheart and soul, he could not cut through a single hair of the Dwarf\u2019s\nlong beard, which seemed to wag at him in derision.  Poor Brunilda sat as\nuneasily upon her canopied throne as if she had been upon a bed of\nnettles.  She prayed to all the saints in heaven, and St. Henry the\nLimper in particular, to assist her dear knight in this terrible combat:\nbut St. Henry the Limper was not in good humour, or was otherwise\nengaged, for he did not appear to pay the least attention to her request,\nand Ludolph was left to fight it out by himself as he could.  In truth,\nhe did not want inclination to put an end to the business.  After pegging\nand poking at every inch of the Dwarf\u2019s invulnerable carcass, he espied a\nlittle unguarded spot on the left side of his throat, exactly open to his\nright hand.  Delighted by the prospect of slicing off his ragamuffin\nhead, he aimed a mighty blow with all his force, which the little demon\nparried; he struck a second with no better success; but the third was\ntriumphant, for it sent the yellow head flying from his shoulders, and\nbounding to another part of the area.  The knight leaped from his saddle\nto seize the head and hold it up to the view of the people; but in this\nrace, to his horror, he was outstripped by the Dwarf himself, who\nlikewise, darting from his horse, flew to the head, grasped it firmly,\ngave it a shake, clapped it upon his shoulders, and fixed it again as\nfirmly and steadily as ever.  Then, ere the spectators could recover from\nthe stupor into which this unexpected contretemps had thrown them, he\nstruck the staring Ludolph to the ground, seized the princess by her\nflowing locks, swung her behind him, and bolted out of the area.  His\nknights wheeled round to follow him, but the Misnian nobles, recovering\nfrom their confusion, surrounded them with drawn swords, and began a\ndesperate battle, in which it appeared they clearly had the worst, only\nhacking and hewing each other; for the knights, squires, pages, and\nhorses of the enemy suddenly vanished from their sight, and in their\nplaces appeared a waggon load of oranges bowling and rolling about the\narea in the most amusing manner possible.  It was some time ere the\nnobles could direct their attention to the unfortunate count of\nTecklenburgh, who, stunned by the blow given to him as the parting\nblessing of the spiteful Dwarf, was lying insensible on the ground: the\nmoment he recovered, he declared his intention of pursuing the enemy, in\nwhich he was seconded by all the knights present, who, headed by Margaret\nas guide and commander, resolved to storm the Orange Tree itself, and\nliberate the captive damsel.  They set forward with great courage and in\ngood order; but they might just as effectively have stayed at home, for,\nafter wandering about the forest for three days, they returned\ncrestfallen enough, not only being unable to discover the Orange Tree,\nbut even the plain in which it stood!  Poor Ludolph, whom the princes had\nvainly endeavoured to comfort with the assurance that he had fairly\ngained the victory, though he had lost the fruit of it, did not return\nwith them.  They lost him from their company the first day of their\nsearch, and they firmly and devoutly believed the yellow devil had hooked\nhim also in his infernal claws.  Margaret gave herself up to grief, and\nher sons, finding nothing else was to be done, endeavoured to forget\ntheirs in the bustle of the approaching war.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nHa!\u2014such a pair!\n\n    _S. Dro_.  _I_, Sir, am Dromio! command him away.\n\n    _E. Dro_.  _I_, Sir, am Dromio; pray let me stay.\n\nIN the meantime Brunilda was jogging on at no easy rate behind the Yellow\nDwarf, who, when arrived at the Orange Tree, opened the trunk by a sign,\nand, dismounting, bore his lovely burden into it.  She felt herself,\nimmediately after, descending a flight of steps, which, from the duration\nof time, appeared to be endless.  They did terminate, however, at last,\nand the Dwarf, placing her roughly upon her feet, retired swiftly from\nthe place, closing the entrance at the bottom of the stairs carefully\nafter him.  It was some time after his departure ere Brunilda took\ncourage to open her eyes and look around her; when she did, she found\nherself in a subterraneous apartment as large as the bed-chamber of the\nempress Constance. {64}  Every article about it was of silver, and there\nwas a magnificence about this underground palace, which made her conclude\nit to be the castle and principal residence of her intended husband, the\nYellow Dwarf, whose company she did not covet, and who, to do him\njustice, did not appear to torment her.  Food was supplied, and every\nattention paid to her wishes by many attendants of both sexes, who,\nhowever, never exchanged one single word in her hearing.  Wearied out by\nthis continual taciturnity, she began to wish for the sound of a human\nvoice, and, thinking she might probably learn something of the Dwarf\u2019s\nintentions from himself, she one day instead of questioning her dumb\nattendants as usual about her lover, demanded some tidings of their\nmaster.  \u201cHe cannot approach your presence, madam,\u201d replied one of the\nmutes, breaking his hateful silence, \u201cunless you request his appearance.\nA mighty spirit, one of the enemies of my master\u2019s and your felicity, has\ncontrived this misfortune by his spells, but if you command it, he is\npermitted to attend you.\u201d  Brunilda, who, in giving this required\npermission, never dreamed of any thing more than making inquiries after\nher family and lover, was confounded to hear the Dwarf, with the most\nrapturous impertinence, volubly thank her for this approval of his, and\ngenerous acknowledgment of her passion.  Putting aside his long beard\nlest it should throw him down, he knelt fantastically at her feet, seized\nher white hand, and declared himself the happiest of all demon-born\nbeings.  It was in vain that Brunilda reasoned, entreated, and scolded:\nhe protested he was satisfied with the proofs she had given of her love,\nand, in order to spare her modesty the pain of appearing to yield too\nsoon, he should put a gentle restraint upon her liberty, and not suffer\nher to quit his palace till she became his wife.  At this avowal the poor\nprincess grew outrageous; she asked the little monster how he had dared\nto select a princess of her exalted rank to share his hole under ground,\nand burrow like rats in the earth? why he had not rather chosen some\nhumble cast-away maiden, who, having nothing in the world to lose, might\nbe contented out of it?  \u201cRank!\u201d replied the irritated little demon, \u201cand\nwhat is this rank of which you are so vain?  An imaginary splendour\nbestowed upon some men by the cringing servility of others,\u2014the weak\nfancy that decks one with this supremacy, gives birth to the slavish fear\nthat ensures to him its possession.  Rank!\u201d continued the atrabilious\nlittle viper, swelling into a respectable width by the overflowing of his\nangry venom, \u201crank! it is power gained by force, won by the sword, by\nfraud, by oppression!  The strongest is the noblest; and if so I am more\nthan your equal beautiful Brunilda, for, princess as you are, you are my\ncaptive and I am your master.\u201d  Brunilda wept at this insolence, and,\nlike all who know not how to controvert what they yet cannot bear to\nacknowledge, hated the Dwarf more than ever, and resolved to prove it by\nseizing every opportunity of annoying him.  With laudable intention, she\nrenewed the attack by commenting with great severity upon his frightful\nlittle person: she sneered at his long beard, short legs, and large head.\nShe demanded if he had ever looked in a mirror, and, if he had, how he\ncould presume to imagine he could captivate any woman under such a\ndetestable form?  In no age have ugly people borne to be laughed at, for,\nhowever hideous they may happen to be, they seldom find it out\nthemselves, and are in consequence, very much surprised and offended when\ninformed of it by others; and, as vanity is usually the reigning passion\nof the most disfigured, they seldom pardon an offence which is mortal.\nThe Dwarf, the ugliest animal the eyes of Brunilda had ever encountered,\ncould hardly believe this possible, and saw no joke in her mirth at his\nexpense, and, as he had his full share of that precious commodity,\nvanity, he raved, stormed, and became so insolent, that Brunilda was\ncompelled to order him out of her presence.  This command, which he was\nobliged to obey, irritated the little creature to madness, and he swore,\nthat, since he could not enter her presence without her permission, he\nwould find a mode of making her give it whenever he should condescend to\nrequire it.  This threat had more of truth in it than Brunilda imagined.\nA few days after this animated conversation, the Dwarf sent to ask leave\nto be allowed to pay his visit to the princess, which was immediately\nrefused.  This threw him into a rage, and he informed the princess by one\nof his mutes, \u201cthat her lover Ludolph of Tecklenburgh was in his power,\nand that his head should pay for the scorn with which she thought proper\nto treat her lord and husband.\u201d  Poor Brunilda hastily gave the required\npermission, upon condition that Ludolph should accompany him; and her\n\u201clord and husband,\u201d as he styled himself entered, a few moments after,\nfollowed by the knight, whom his demons had seized in the forest.\n\u201cThere, madam,\u201d said he, grinning like Grimaldi, but not so merrily, \u201cI\nfound this stranger in the neighbourhood of my Orange Tree, and I have\nbrought him hither to secure a welcome for myself.  Did I not tell you I\nwould make you glad to receive me?  Here shall this valorous knight\nremain, a hostage for your good behaviour; and never shall you receive\nhim without admitting me at the same moment.\u201d  Brunilda, who would have\nbeen delighted, in her present condition, to have seen any human being\nwhatever, was in raptures at the sight of Ludolph, who, on his part, was\ncontent with his captivity, since he shared it with her; and,\nunrestrained by the presence of the Dwarf, they so often and so tenderly\nrepeated their mutual delight to each other, that the grim jailer could\nnot endure the sight of their happiness, and rather than witness it,\nwithdrew himself and Ludolph from the company of Brunilda, which he did\nnot again seek for some time.  When attended by Ludolph, he next entered\nher apartment, his jealous tortures were increased by the renewed\nendearments of the lovers, and resolving in his own mind not to endure\nwhat he flattered himself he could easily remedy, he threw a spell over\nthe unlucky Brunilda, which he generously hoped would destroy all the\nlittle tranquillity she enjoyed.  The charm operated upon the sight of\nthe princess, who no longer beheld her lover, but a hideous negro\nadvancing towards her.  Brunilda was terrified, but, reassured by the\nexplanation of the Dwarf, who felicitated himself on her mortification,\nshe resolved to punish him in kind; so collecting all the woman in her\nsoul, and conquering her dislike of the ugly shape he presented to her,\nshe gave it a most affectionate welcome, and caressed it as her dear\nLudolph.  The Dwarf would willingly have annihilated him; but obliged to\nkeep him in existence to ensure himself admittance to Brunilda, he\nresolved to embitter that existence as much as lay in his power, and\nhaving once more recourse to his spells, the handsome Ludolph, unchanged\nto himself, appeared to the eyes of the fascinated princess a furious and\nmonstrous tiger, armed with tremendous fangs and claws.  But love\npenetrates all disguises, and the princess was now a match for the\nsorcerer.  She knew that the fangs and claws, however terrible to others,\nhad no danger for her, and she suffered him to lie at her feet, kiss her\nsnowy hand, and put his shaggy head upon her lap, without manifesting the\nslightest apprehension, to the great annoyance of the Dwarf, whose dull\nwit was sharpened by his jealousy, and he now contrived the master-piece\nof spells, to the increased misery of poor Brunilda, over whose clouded\nsenses the charm once more operating, presented her beloved Ludolph only\nunder the form of the Yellow Dwarf himself.  This transformation was\nhorrible to both the sufferers, for each of the figures maintained that\nhe was the knight, and persisted in execrating the other as the impostor,\nwhile Brunilda, wearied with gazing on their hateful countenances, dared\nnot afford the slightest notice to either, lest she should bestow the\ntenderness designed for Ludolph upon his detestable rival.  In vain did\nshe weep, threaten, and supplicate the Dwarf to give her lover \u201cany shape\nbut that.\u201d  She knew not even to which of the pair she ought to address\nher petition.  But the demon was inexorable, listened unmoved to her\nsorrows, for his heart was as hard as Pharaoh\u2019s, and even inwardly\nlaughed at her agonies.  In vain did she examine their features in the\nhope of discovering some slight difference that might point out her\nlover: both grinned the same ghastly smile,\u2014both exhibited the same\nunvarying ugliness of feature.  Alas, poor Brunilda!  Lavater himself\ncould not have assisted thee, though, hadst thou lived in our days, or\nDr. Spurzheim in thine, some professional examination of the cerebral\norganisation of the two dwarfs might have set the question at rest.\nDoubtless some bump extraordinary, some wonderful dilation of the organ\nof self-esteem in the skull of the true dwarf, or amativeness or\ncombativeness in that of the false one, might have aided thee to discover\nthe brutified soul confined in the brutified body.  But, as it was, they\nwere both brutes to Brunilda, and, as she had no wish to charm the Yellow\nDwarf, she wept her disappointment incessantly.  Nor was Ludolph less\nbusy than the princess in employing threats and prayers by turns to\nmollify the Dwarf, though one was to as little purpose as the other, in\nthe presence of the princess.  The cunning demon reiterated the same\nwhining petition, used the same arguments, and denounced the same\nvengeance as the unhappy Ludolph; and when retired from her apartment,\nlaughed at his success, and defiance.  It was in vain that Ludolph\naccused him of having broken all the laws of chivalry, held even by\ndemons so sacred.  He told him he regarded no laws, except those which he\nhad made himself.  It was to no purpose he argued his right to be set at\nliberty at least.  The Dwarf, who was a philosopher in his way, replied\nthat men had no rights, and that \u201c_might_,\u201d which he possessed, was a\nmuch better argument, and a more effective weapon.  All this was\nunluckily true, but it did not convince the Westphalian.  Zeno, the\nstoic, said, \u201cthat we had two ears, and but one tongue, that we might\nhear much and say little.\u201d  It was a wise observation, and happy are\nthose that profit thereby: our two captives might, if they had had the\ngood luck ever to have heard it; but as they had not, they acted directly\ncounter, for they so heartily used their two tongues, and so entirely\nspared their four ears, that their jailer grew outrageous, and therefore,\nexcept when he went to torment Brunilda, he resolved to free himself from\nthe society of the count of Tecklenburgh, who paid for his garrulity by\nbeing condemned to talk to himself in one of the most dreary dungeons of\nthe cavern.  Here he had full leisure to think of his misfortunes, and\nexecrate the contriver of them.  He prayed night and morning with all the\nstrength of lungs he could command, to all the saints in the calendar, to\ngive him a lift out of this purgatory.  He was too good a Christian not\nto abhor all thought of magic; but, finding how little notice was taken\nof his petition by the higher powers, he could not help thinking of the\nlower, and wishing and vowing, that if some sorcerer, witch, or even\ndevil, would but come to his assistance now, he would find time enough\nfor repentance hereafter, and heal his conscience, and propitiate Heaven\nby many good deeds to be done in perspective.  \u201cI would walk to\nJerusalem, for a penance,\u201d said he, \u201cor give the spoils I shall take in\nmy next battle to the church, or I would, when I shall be able, endow an\nabbey.  Either of these designs would be satisfactory,\u201d continued he,\n\u201cand oh that I had the good luck to be able to put them into execution!\nOh that some friendly spirit, some gnome of these caverns, or demon of\nthis forest, would but come to my assistance!\u201d  No sooner said than done:\nthe sinner trembled at the instant fulfilment of his wicked wish, and\nbegan with real alarm to suspect that he was a bit of a conjurer himself;\nfor there arose in a moment, from the bosom of the earth, a gigantic\ndusky-looking figure in the human shape, inquiring his commands.  \u201cI\ncould not come to your assistance,\u201d said the object, \u201ctill you summoned\nme, or you should not have suffered so long.  I am the mortal foe of the\nYellow Dwarf, and the legitimate prince of these mines, into which he has\nintruded himself, during my absence on a short journey I made to the\ncentre.  He has fixed himself pretty firmly in my palace by his spells,\nbut I shall contrive to dispossess him.  I will begin by assisting you;\nspeak, knight of Tecklenburgh, how can I serve you?\u201d  Ludolph, who,\nrecovered from his first fright, desired nothing better, immediately\nstruck a bargain with the friendly gnome; the first article of which was,\nthat he should liberate himself and the princess.  \u201cI can free you\ninstantly,\u201d replied the gnome, \u201cbut the spells around the princess are\ntoo powerful to be suddenly broken; nevertheless, with your help it may\nfinally be done.  We must possess ourselves of the charm in which lies\nthe power of the Dwarf, this, unfortunately, is his beard; for it will be\na work of difficulty to master it.  Could you, in your combat, have cut\noff that, instead of his head, all would have been well: but, as long as\nthat beard hangs to his chin, his body is invulnerable, for, cut him into\nfifty pieces and he will unite together again.  Notwithstanding all these\ndifficulties, observe faithfully all my directions, and, ultimately we\nmay accomplish our wishes.  Beneath those mountains of Bohemia which\nbound the marquisate of Misnia, there is a diamond mine, as yet unknown\nto the human race, whose sacrilegious hands have not there torn open the\nheart of their mother earth and disturbed the spirits who sleep in her\nbosom.  There, concealed many fathoms beneath the mountain, has been\nhidden for centuries the magic weapon which alone can conquer the Yellow\nDwarf.  It is that identical pair of scissors with which the demon Fate\ncuts asunder your mortal destinies; these, and these only, can secure our\nenemy.  It will be in vain to cut off his head so long as he retains his\nbeard, and that beard is unapproachable, except to the magic scissors of\nfate: the chief difficulty will be in obtaining possession of this\nwonderful instrument, since only a knight of unstained loyalty, pure,\nspotless, free from taint of libertinism, drunkenness, and bloodshed, can\ntake them from the hands of the statue which holds them, without\nincurring the severe penalty of instant death.  When such a knight shall\nbe found, the scissors must be put into the hands of a spotless virgin,\nfor only such can use them in cutting off the formidable beard; should\nany other woman attempt it, the inevitable consequences would be also\ndeath from the scissors themselves.\u201d  Poor Ludolph was as much depressed\nby the end of this discourse as he had been elevated by the beginning.\nSuch a knight it was indeed next to impossible to find.  He himself was\nas good and true as most; his loyalty was indeed unstained, he had not\nshed blood in murderous or treacherous manner; but he had been too\nfrequently engaged in his father\u2019s petty, and often unjustifiable wars,\nto undertake an enterprise that demanded hands free from stain.  Then as\nto drunkenness, alas! for poor Ludolph, though naturally a very sober\nman, he knew he had too often shared many a \u201ct\u2019other flask,\u201d and too\nfrequently drowned his fears of the abbot of Fulda in the big bowl of\nTecklenburgh, to permit him any chance of success in the achievement.  In\nhis own person, therefore, he gave it directly up, satisfied of his\nincapacity from the fore-mentioned weaknesses, without carrying his\nself-examination any further, but at the same time almost despairing of\nfinding a substitute.  \u201cFor the spotless virgin, friendly gnome,\u201d said\nthe honest Westphalian, \u201cthere I have better hopes, since there are\nenough at court, and I shall find this part of my task easy enough.\u201d\n\u201cNot quite so easy as you imagine, knight,\u201d replied the gnome, \u201csince\nthere is not an unmarried lady in all Thuringia who will not lay claim to\nthat honour, and you may thus be the innocent cause of the death of many;\nbut I can assist you here, and make this part of the undertaking much\nless difficult.  Here is a magic girdle; obtain permission to try it,\nwithout speaking of its virtues, upon the ladies of the margrave\u2019s court.\nShould the dame who should buckle it on be a deceiver, the girdle though\nnow appearing of large size, will shrink into the smallest compass, and\nwill not even encircle her slender waist: should the lady be the object\nof your search, it will set closely and gracefully to her form.\u201d  \u201cA\nthousand thanks,\u201d replied the honest knight; \u201cI have no fears for my\nsuccess in this point, and perhaps I may be more fortunate than I expect\nin the other.  Now then, generous friend, accomplish your kind intention,\nrelease me from this dungeon, and I will immediately hasten to Eisenac\nand seek a maiden who may assist to break these abominable enchantments.\u201d\n\u201cI will,\u201d replied the spirit, \u201cbut do not forget that to other eyes as\nwell as Brunilda\u2019s, you still wear the form of the Yellow Dwarf; this is\noccasioned by three orange-coloured hairs, from his formidable beard,\ntied round your right arm; unloose them, and you will appear to others as\nyou do to yourself and me.  Be under no alarm for the safety of the\nprincess, since I have already prevented your enemy\u2019s entering her\npresence without her permission, and will still continue to watch over\nher.\u201d  The knight again thanked the gnome for his friendly care, and\nshutting his eyes, by command of his companion, and opening them again\nthe next instant, found himself, to his infinite joy, standing near the\nOrange Tree, round which his horse was quietly grazing.  He soon sprang\nlightly into his saddle, and turned his head from the wood, determined to\nreach Eisenac ere daybreak.  With this resolution he spurred on gaily,\nthinking of the joy he should feel upon liberating his beloved Brunilda,\nwhen, in a turn of the wood, he suddenly encountered a troop of knights\nin the livery of the Yellow Dwarf.  A cold shivering seized him, for he\nexpected to be dragged back neck and heels to the Orange Tree, when, to\nhis utter astonishment, they all lowly saluted and made way for him to\npass.  He now remembered that he had not yet removed the orange-coloured\nhairs from his arm, and, feeling himself indebted to this circumstance,\nfor his safety resolved to let them remain till he should be quite out of\nthe infernal forest.  Dwelling fondly upon his hopes and brightening\nprospects, the young morning sun found him entering Eisenac, where he was\ngreeted with a loud shout by a troop of boys, who seemed to recognise an\nold acquaintance.  Soon the boy crowd was augmented by a multitude of\ncitizens, who surrounded Ludolph, yelling like fiends, seized his bridle,\npinioned his arms, and saluted him with a dreadful volley of curses.\n\u201cSorcerer, robber, demon!\u201d rung in his ears in all directions, and, while\nthe uproar raged in its greatest violence, he was dragged from his horse,\nand thrown on the ground.  At this extraordinary treatment, the count\ndemanded to be conducted to the margrave, to the princess Margaret.  He\nwas told that the court had quitted Eisenac, but they were resolved to\nburn him alive in revenge for his treatment of their beloved princess,\nand the noble count Ludolph, her destined husband.  Solomon said, that\n\u201cfear is nothing else than a betraying the succours which reason\noffereth;\u201d and, in this case, it was most truly so, for the knight\u2019s\nagitation in the first part of the attack, had made him forget in time to\nremove the orange-coloured hairs from his arm.  Their last exclamation\nhad shewn him their mistake, and his own fatal imprudence.  Now he found\nthat he was in danger of being burnt alive for the sins of the execrable\nDwarf, unless he could immediately free himself from the charm.  \u201cHear\nme, dear friends,\u201d he cried, \u201cI am truly the unhappy Ludolph, but your\neyes are bewitched by the sorceries of that abominable demon, and you see\nme only under his resemblance; release my arms for one moment, and I will\nconvince you.\u201d  At this insult to their understandings, the wise men of\nEisenac set up a most tremendous howl, and were still more anxious to\ncollect faggots for his service.  They kicked, buffeted, and reviled his\nperson till he was almost delirious with rage, and the foamings of his\nindignation confirmed them in their belief that he really was, what he\nappeared, the demon of the Orange Tree.  During one of the pauses made by\nhis guards to listen to his earnest entreaties for a moment\u2019s liberty, he\nfound means to disengage his hands from their grasp, tore open his\nsleeve, and furiously rending away the slight bandage of hair, stood\nbefore them in his own proper person.  Astonishment for a moment tied up\nthe tongues of the assembly, but quickly recovering themselves before\nLudolph could gain time to explain, they declared it a new piece of\nsorcery, and swore that the form of their gallant favourite should not\nshield the wizard who they firmly believed was his murderer.  The\nmagistrates and officers of Eisenac, aroused by the news of the seizure\nof the demon Dwarf, had assembled upon the spot, and startled by the\nwonders they now heard, trembled to think of the consequences of the\nunbridled fury of the mob, should the story told by the equivocal knight\nbe really true.  Anxious to avoid the spilling of innocent blood, they\nproposed conveying him to prison, and awaiting the decision of the\nmargrave; but the people anticipated a sight, and rather than lose so\nexcellent a joke as that of roasting a sorcerer, they would willingly\nhave run the hazard of sacrificing even Ludolph himself.  But the\nmagistrates, much to their honour, continued firm, and, through their\ninterference, poor Ludolph, who already felt the flames crackling under\nhim, with much difficulty obtained permission to say a few words to them\nin defence.  \u201cNoble magistrates and discerning judges,\u201d said the\nmob-hunted count of Tecklenburgh, \u201cI trust that you will believe that I\nam really myself as I declare to you by my knighthood I am.  As for the\nYellow Dwarf, a curse on him, I am his victim, not his ally; since it is\nfrom his infernal enchantments, and still more infernal malice, all my\nmisfortunes have arisen.  How you can for a moment imagine that I could\nbe his friend because I have been unlucky enough to appear under his\nodious form, I am at a loss to imagine, since nobody surely can possibly\nbelieve such a transformation to be a matter of choice.\u201d  The female part\nof the audience perfectly agreed with the last observation of Ludolph,\nand the magistrates, puzzled by the sincerity with which he had delivered\nhis remonstrance, determined to save him, at least from the fire and the\nfaggots.  But, as the people had expected a show, thought the wise men of\nEisenac, \u201ca show they must have,\u201d or the consequences, they knew, of\ntheir disappointment in an affair so essential to their well-being, might\nnot be entirely insignificant to their betters.  So, while acquitting\nhim, in their consciences, of being the Yellow Dwarf, and forbidding the\nanimating use of fire and faggots, they condemned him to be put to the\nban, as a nobleman, for dabbling in a little private sorcery in\nconjunction with the demon, in whose villainous shape he had just\nappeared.  No sooner was this righteous sentence pronounced against the\nunlucky Ludolph, than he was seized by the soldiers and followed by all\nthe crowd, who, anxious to join in the fun, exhibited many a practical\nwitticism at his expense, and cracked all their superfluous jokes upon\nhis unfortunate person: then stripping him of his armour and knightly\naccoutrements, and clothing him in raw and filthy goatskins, they set him\nupon a sorry mule with his face toward the tail, and led him through the\ntown, the herald proclaiming before him, \u201cWe declare thy wife, if thou\nhast one, a widow, thy children, if thou hast any, orphans, and we send\nthee, in the name of the devil, to the four corners of the earth.\u201d  Thus\nsent upon a long voyage, with such a friendly benediction, it would not\nhave been wonderful if the heart of the knight had sunk with his\ncircumstances, which any heart would have done except a Westphalian one,\nbut that was employed in swelling with indignation, and meditating the\nbest mode of returning the compliments of the Eisenac mobility.  While\nthus occupied, he heard a voice close to his ear, which whispered,\n\u201cAttend to my orders, and you are safe.\u201d  He looked earnestly in the\ndirection of the sound, and saw, to his infinite satisfaction, the dusky\nface of his friend the gnome beneath the helmet of a soldier.  \u201cLet these\npeople continue to believe you the Yellow Dwarf,\u201d continued the spirit;\n\u201cit is the only way to preserve you from suspicion in your real\ncharacter; here are the hairs which, in your haste, you threw away.\nResist not while I tie them round your arm, and leave the rest to me.\u201d\nLudolph sat silent while, under the appearance of a new insult, his\ninstructor twisted the light band round his arm, and the shrieks of the\npeople a moment after announced that the charm had taken effect upon\ntheir senses.  \u201cIt is the sorcerer,\u201d they cried, \u201cthe horrible\nDwarf\u2014seize him, tear him, burn him!\u201d  But, for this time, their kind\nintentions were completely frustrated, for the gnome, entering into the\nsorry mule which carried the prisoner, communicated to his worn-out frame\nsuch inconceivable vigour and rapidity, that a few minutes were\nsufficient to bear his rider far beyond the pursuit of his enemies, who\nremained in the market-place, staring after the beast and cursing the\nYellow Dwarf.  The representative of that malignant little demon was\nmeanwhile receiving a few drops of a powerful cordial from the hand of\nhis friend the gnome of the mine, who politely apologised for not knowing\nearlier the mischiefs into which his dear crony had fallen,\u2014owing,\nhowever, entirely to his own excessive carelessness, which he should\nnever have suspected.  \u201cAnd, in truth,\u201d continued the friendly spirit, \u201cI\nconcluded you were safe at the margrave\u2019s court which is at Weimar, and\nwhither I had intended to follow you.  Passing over Eisenac, I rested to\nknow the meaning of the tumult I witnessed, and was just in time to\nrescue you from the rage of the mob, who would not have quitted their\nprey, even after the soldiers should have set you at liberty.  Here,\u201d\ncontinued the gnome, giving him a heavy bag of coin, a most welcome\npresent to a half-naked knight errant, \u201chasten to equip yourself\naccording to your rank, and lose no time in joining the court at Weimar,\nwhere you must select a damsel to conclude the adventure ere Brunilda can\nrecover her liberty, or you be freed from the malice of the Yellow\nDwarf.\u201d  Ludolph heartily thanked his good friend, though he could not\nhelp thinking it would have been as well if his assistance had been\ntendered some few hours earlier.  But still, better late than never,\nthought the knight; and, though he received a few cuffs and many bitter\ncurses, yet hard words break no bones, and the cuffs he hoped one day to\nrepay with interest.  In the interim his honour was preserved by the\ncontrivance of the gnome, as no man in Eisenac, no, not even the sapient\nmagistrates themselves, would ever believe the creature they had pounded\nand worried so unmercifully, was any other than the Yellow Dwarf himself.\nReceiving from his hands once more the magic girdle which he had lost in\nthe confusion, he bade farewell to the gnome, who promised to meet him in\nthe forest, when he should have obtained the magic scissors, upon which\ntheir success depended; and after accoutring himself as became his\ncondition, not this time forgetting the three red hairs, he set forward\nonce more for the court of the margrave; and, he was by no means of a\nmelancholy complexion, his past misfortunes had no other effect upon his\nspirits than elevating them to a joyous pitch for glee, that he had so\nwell escaped the dangers which he believed would have ended more\ntragically.  And thus gay, and hoping much from the future, he arrived,\nwithout any further adventure, at the palace of Weimar.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\n    Ane gat a twist o\u2019 the craig,\n    Ane gat a bunch o\u2019 the wame,\n    Anither gat lam\u2019d o\u2019 a leg,\n    And syne he went bellowing hame.\n\nTHE princess Margaret was overjoyed once more to see her Brunilda\u2019s\nlover, and she welcomed him with the sincerest regard.  She listened with\nburning indignation to the account of the Dwarf\u2019s treatment of his\ncaptives, and to such other parts of his history as he thought proper to\nrelate; for he carefully suppressed, in the presence of the court, his\nadventures at Eisenac and his release by the gnome, lest the friendship\nof this good-natured spirit should again subject him to the charge of\nsorcery; and as he had already smelt fire at Eisenac, he was particularly\nanxious to avoid so warm a reception elsewhere.  He informed the good\nprincess that the girdle would only fit the damsel appointed by destiny\nto break the enchantment, and of consequence all were anxious to try it.\nThree of the most beautiful ladies in Misnia attempted, but strange to\nrelate, in vain, to fix on the magic cestus: it shrunk to nothing round\ntheir forms, and Ludolph began again to tremble for the fate of his poor\nBrunilda.  In vain did the most prudish ladies of the court present their\nslim forms to the girdle,\u2014it would not meet around them.  Several of\nthose who had been most rigid in their own conduct, and most bitterly\nvirtuous in regard to that of others, took the girdle with a devout air\nand blushing modesty, that quite revived the hope of the Westphalian\nknight.  Alas! the cestus not only refused to clasp the waists of these\nfair ones, but even flew right out of their hands the moment they touched\nit; and this circumstance so disheartened Ludolph, that he foolishly\nenough, ere above twenty ladies had made the attempt, gossiped out the\nsecret of its virtues in the delighted ear of the princess Margaret.\nThat good lady thought the joke too excellent to be confined to so few\npersons; and there being among the unlucky twenty some whose beauty\nrivalled that of her beloved Brunilda, she lost no time in publishing the\nsecret, which had the effect of making them all abhor Ludolph, and\ndefeating the plans he was so anxious to carry into effect; for now, not\na single woman acquainted with the virtue of the cestus would even try it\non, and, instead of laughing with the princess and Ludolph at the unlucky\ndiscovery made by the twenty, they made, much to their honour, common\ncause against them, and vowed to smother the mischievous knight whenever\nthey could conveniently catch hold of him.  It required all the authority\nof the margrave, who at this juncture arrived at Weimar from the camp, to\nprotect the unfortunate knight from their vengeance, who began to be as\nmuch afraid of these beautiful destroying angels as he had been of the\nfire-loving devils of Eisenac, or even the Yellow Dwarf himself.  \u201cAlas!\nI am surely the most unfortunate of men,\u201d said he to the margrave; \u201cI\nhave been transformed to the detested shape of the Yellow Dwarf, for\nwishing to deliver your sister out of his hands.  I have been near\nroasted alive for killing myself.  I have been put to the ban for\nsuffering myself to be tormented by my powerful enemy, and now I am in\ndanger of being torn to pieces by the loveliest women in the world, only\nfor being anxious to find one virgin in their company.  Ah, my poor\nBrunilda! what will become of thee?\u201d  The margrave comforted the knight\nwith the assurance that he would certainly be successful, if he could but\nprevail upon the ladies only to try on the girdle, and, in case of their\nobstinacy, he advised him to put the magic scissors into the hands of\nBrunilda herself, \u201cFor, if she be not worthy to use them,\u201d said the proud\nFrederic with the bitten cheek, \u201cshe is not worthy of liberty, nor the\ntender love you bear her.  For the other conditions, I fear we must\ndespair, since I do believe there is not a knight in my court, no not in\nall the courts of Germany, that will accept the challenge; though against\nmortal foes, they are the bravest men in the universe.\u201d  The margrave was\nright.  Each knight knew his own secret weakness too well to accept the\noffice, when the conditions were stated to them, no one being willing, as\nthey honestly avowed, to hazard an ignominious death, by disregarding the\ninjunctions of the gnome.  There was not a man among them who had not, at\nsome time or other, offended by drunkenness, licentiousness, or breaking\nheads in an unjust quarrel: indeed, with regard to the latter peccadillo:\nit was scarcely possible, in the time of which I am treating, for it to\nbe otherwise, since not only disputes of chivalry, and all injuries,\nwhether public or private, were settled by the sword, even cases of\nfelony and suits of law were arranged by the same expeditious decision;\nso that he of the strongest arm and stoutest heart infallibly gained his\ncause, whether right or wrong, as his adversary could no longer contend,\neither for reputation or property, after the dagger of mercy had been\nstruck into his heart, or drawn quietly across his throat.\n\nBut, to return to our good Westphalian and his difficulties.  After many\nobjections, disputings, hopings, and fearings, the margrave at last found\na salvo for Ludolph, and a stainless knight for the service of the king\nof the oranges.  This was his own son, a boy of ten years old, upon whom,\nfinding all other hope fail, he conferred the honour of knighthood, and\nreleased him from his martial studies, in which the gallant child spent\nall his time, and sent him to handle the shears of Atropus, and share in\nthe glory of shaving the orange-coloured beard of the execrable Dwarf.\nThe little knight Herman of Misnia was highly delighted by his admittance\nto this post of honour, and attached himself fondly to his good cousin\nLudolph, who now began making preparations for his march.  So great was\nthe terror inspired among the people by the Yellow Dwarf, that it was\nwith much difficulty he could collect troops sufficient to defend the son\nof the margrave upon this voyage of discovery, as all the nobles,\nknights, and regulars of Thuringia, were gone to the camp in daily\nexpectation of an attack from the emperor Albert, who, having just been\noverreached in his views upon Bohemia, by his good cousin Henry of\nCarinthia, was advancing in no good humour upon the troops of the\nmargrave of Misnia.  After a proclamation of some days, in which Ludolph\npuffed the vast riches of the diamond mine with almost as much skill as\nDay and Martin puff their blacking, a number of strays from all parts of\nthe empire gathered themselves together under his standard; and though he\ncould not boast of commanding many of the nobles of Misnia, yet upon the\nwhole, his troop was about as respectable as David\u2019s at the cave of\nAdullam, when only those who were in debt, or distress, or discontented,\nenrolled themselves in his service.  But great endings spring from small\nbeginnings.  From the captain of half-starved ragamuffins David became a\nking; and Ludolph hoped that his regiment of black-guards would finally\nconduct him to the feet of a princess.  With this notion he set forward,\nfull of expectation, with the youthful knight committed to his charge.\nOn the road, fearful of any other delays, he inspired his companions by\ndwelling, with affected rapture, upon the spoils of the diamonds, which\nwere so soon to be at their service, in the sack of the mine.  These\nobservations acted like electricity upon his respectable warriors, and\nsent them galloping toward the confines so rapidly, that before he had\neither hoped or expected it, they had arrived at the foot of the mystic\nmountain, where the whole troop made a halt, to await the return of\nLudolph, who, with his young companion, was to descend first into the\ncaves, seize the scissors, and then leave the coast clear for the\nplunderers to attack the mine.  Matters were soon settled.  The two\nknights found the entrance with some difficulty, and boldly descended\ninto these dismal abodes, the residence of the infernal spirits who were\nin the pay of the Yellow Dwarf.  After traversing many dreary caverns,\nthey entered the last, where, elevated on a golden pedestal, stood the\ngigantic statue which held the scissors of fate, and was the guardian of\nthe life of the Yellow Dwarf.  Forgetting, in his joy at the sight, the\ncaution of the gnome, he was advancing towards the statue, when a\ntremendous box on the ear from the marble fist, taught him to know his\ndistance.  He fell back accordingly, and, young Herman of Misnia\napproaching, the statue grinned as hideously at his prot\u00e9g\u00e9, but made no\nattempt to injure the boy, as fearlessly he climbed the pedestal, and,\nwithout any regard to the rights of property, grasped the magic scissors,\nand brought them back in triumph.  Ludolph received them from his hands\nwith the wildest sensation of delight; but, prudence conquering his\nemotions, he took his young preserver in his arms and retraced his way to\ndaylight.  Here he was greeted with shouts of applause by the soldiers,\nwho, in spite of all the entreaties of Ludolph, persisted to ransack the\ncaves, pursuant to their original agreement.  In vain did he assure them\nthe margrave\u2019s enemies would furnish more spoils for them than the\nvaults, and that his share should be divided among them.  Vainly did he\ndescribe the threatening looks of the statue, and assure them he still\nfelt the tingling of the marble thump in his ear, with which he had\ncomplimented him.  It was talking to the winds, or, as old Baker quaintly\nsaith, \u201cto as little purpose as if he had gone about to call back\nyesterday.\u201d  Down they all dashed together, neck and heels, with\ntremendous outcries, into the diamond caverns.  Their return was silent\nand orderly enough.  The cave of Trophonius could not have effected a\nbetter or more expeditious change.  They were all as grave as judges, and\nevery man appeared with his mouth twisted exactly under his left ear.\nLudolph could gain but little information as to what had befallen them;\nall he understood was, that they had seen the statue, who had given the\nfirst man such a thundering slap of the face that its shock was felt by\nall the rest of his companions, and left the consequences which he now\nbeheld, and which they had such good reasons to deplore.  But, while the\nknights of the scissors and their wry-mouthed confederates are pursuing\ntheir road to Weimar, let us pop our heads under ground and see what has\nbecome of Brunilda.\n\nThe poor princess, much disconcerted by the diabolical contrivance of the\nYellow Dwarf, gave way, when alone, to that indulgence of grief which she\nresolutely suppressed in his presence.  She had encouraged the visits of\nthe two Dwarfs, in the tender hope that, though they afforded no\nconsolation to herself, they might yield some satisfaction to the bosom\nof her tormented lover.  This being the real state of her feelings, she\nwas deeply distressed when, the day after Ludolph\u2019s release by the gnome,\nthey neglected to pay her the customary visit, and therefore sent to\nrequest the presence of her tyrant.  He came, and in no very good humour,\nfor he had just failed in the effect of a spell, which he hoped would\ndiscover the runaway.  He told her, even more brutally than usual, that\nLudolph had escaped, that he was endeavouring to discover him, and that\nin case he succeeded, of which he had no doubt, he would immediately hang\nhim, unless the princess would save his life by giving her hand to his\nrival.  Delighted by the escape of the knight, Brunilda could not keep\nher joy to herself, but expressed it so imprudently, and with such\nheartfelt glee at the Dwarf\u2019s vexation, that it irritated all the bile in\nhis little yellow body, and provoked him to have recourse to his most\npowerful spells to discover the abode of Ludolph.  It was, luckily for\nthe knight, a work of time and difficulty, since the gnome of the mine\nwas at hand to unravel all his charms as fast as the other wrought them;\nand he was, by this means, obliged to desist, in order to find the\ninvisible enemy who thus thwarted his plans and protected his victim.\nThe indefatigable gnome was still at his elbow, and poor yellow-beard\ncontinued as much in the dark at the end of his spells, as he had been at\nthe beginning.  All this gave the knight time, which was what the gnome\nwanted, and the Dwarf remained in ignorance of his movements, till the\nspirits, who were the guardians of his talisman in the mountain caves,\ninformed him of his danger and the seizure of the magic scissors.  Such a\ncontrivance as that of knighting a child the demon never contemplated,\nbut finding one half of the adventure accomplished, he determined, as far\nas in him lay, to prevent the achievement of the other.  Learning by his\nfiends, that he was threatened with danger from Brunilda, he made it his\nprincipal care that the magic scissors should not be wielded by her, and\naccordingly penned her up more closely than ever, surrounding her by\nspells, not only inaccessible to mortals, but even to his own attendant\nspirits, whom he would not trust too far, lest his tyranny should have\ninspired them with hatred to his person, and laxity in his service.\nAmong his equals in the demon world he well knew, and feared the\nindignation of the gnome of the silver mines, whose territories he had\ninvaded, and before whose power, if joined to that of other enemies, he\nwould have good reasons to tremble.  These considerations determined his\nconduct, and, to prevent Brunilda from handling the scissors, and the\nscissors from approaching his beard, he devised a spell so potent, that\nhe fondly hoped and believed he was safe from the attacks of, and might\nbid defiance to, all sorts of enemies, natural and supernatural.\n\nIn the mean time, Ludolph and his companions had arrived at the court of\nWeimar, to the great joy of the margrave and his mother, who, looking\nupon the adventure as nearly finished, entreated Ludolph to lose no time\nin joining his friend the gnome in the enchanted forest.  He himself had\nno wish to delay the business, and, after making one more unsuccessful\nattempt to prevail upon the ladies of Misnia to try on the girdle, he set\noff to present it to his lovely Brunilda: and, arriving near the Orange\nTree, was met by the friendly gnome.  \u201cIt is not yet in my power to\nintroduce you to the presence of the princess,\u201d said he to the count, \u201cas\nI have not yet conquered the spells by which our enemy has surrounded\nher: the cavern is inaccessible at present to any human foot, but it is\nnot in the power of the demon to limit my steps in the territory of which\nI am the legitimate lord.  His spirits are as powerful as mine, and thus\nI am obliged to have recourse to artifice to conquer him, which I should\nnot be able to effect, if he had not, by obtruding into my dominions,\nplaced the secret in my power.  Unlike the free spirits who have existed\nfrom the beginning of the world, and who will probably survive its\ndemolition, the Dwarf is mortal born, though, by magic spells, he has\nlengthened his life many hundred years; but his birth subjects him to\ndeath, which will be inevitable, should the infernal power by which he\nhas accomplished his purposes be defeated.  To prevent this catastrophe,\nhe has placed his life in a talisman, which he believes unconquerable,\nbut which, I trust, we shall overthrow.  Caution is, however, necessary,\nfor his spells are mighty, and the spirits subjected to his command are\nmany.  In the interim you shall rest here, and I will provide for your\nnecessities till I shall be able to conduct you to Brunilda, to whom you\nmust explain the virtues of the scissors of fate, for, by an immutable\ndecree which no spirit dares violate, I am restrained from appearing\nbefore her till she herself shall summon me.\u201d  The gnome then raised a\ncomfortable tent for Ludolph, loaded it with provisions, drew a line of\nprotection about it, and vanished.\n\nThree days passed tranquilly enough with Ludolph, while patiently\nawaiting the re-appearance of his friend the gnome, but the fourth was\nbeginning to hang heavy, when the spirit entered the tent in the middle\nof the night.  \u201cI triumph,\u201d said he; \u201cI have unloosed the spell that kept\nyou from the presence of Brunilda.  The Dwarf, being mortal born, is\nsubject to mortal necessities, and at this hour he sleeps; rise and throw\nyourself at the feet of the princess; give me your hand, and close your\neyes.\u201d  Ludolph obeyed, and the next moment found himself in the\napartment of Brunilda.  As I, the honest chronicler of the loves of the\nWestphalian knight and Misnian princess, am no great dealer in sentiment,\nI shall omit all the particulars of the meeting, and only say how truly\nhappy Brunilda was to receive him, and how grateful she felt towards the\nobliging gnome, whom she gladly summoned to her presence.  To the great\nrelief of Ludolph, who trembled and doubted grievously while making the\nproposal, she had not the slightest objection, even after she was made\nacquainted with its virtues, to try on the enchanted girdle, which fitted\nher graceful form as if it had been purposely made for her: her lover\ncould not help commending the taste of the Yellow Dwarf, and was as much\noverjoyed at this earnest of success as if he held the demon\u2019s beard in\nhis hand.  The gnome then gave Brunilda the fatal scissors, and telling\nthem that the spirits of their enemy could not perceive them, from the\npowerful spells by which they are surrounded, desired them to follow his\nfootsteps fearlessly to the inner caverns, where slept the demon, and\nwhom sleep would probably render defenceless.  Stretching out their necks\nand stepping on tiptoe, the lovers followed the gnome to the private\napartment of the Dwarf, whom Brunilda anxiously hoped to serve in quality\nof barber extraordinary.  With beating hearts they beheld their guide\nthrow open the door of his chamber, and desire the princess to advance,\nat the same time approaching the couch of the demon, and drawing back his\ncurtain.  Brunilda obeyed; mustering all her courage, and collecting a\nlittle army of disagreeable remembrances to her aid, she found herself so\nstrengthened that, like Judith, she resolved to finish the business with\na single snip.  But the Holofernes of Germany had had more wit than his\ndrunken predecessor, and had taken much better care of his shaggy head;\nfor the Judith of Misnia looked in vain for the yellow beard that was to\nfall beneath the fatal scissors.  That _that_ had disappeared was not\nwonderful, since the face to which it formed such a remarkable appendage\nhad entirely vanished from the body.  There lay the carcase of the Dwarf,\nsleeping, it may be, but his head was dozing in some other place, for the\nbody was very quietly reposing without it.  Poor Brunilda shed tears of\nvexation, and the gnome looked silly enough to find himself thus\ncompletely outwitted; but knowing that he could find no remedy for the\ndisappointment by standing gaping at the demon\u2019s trunk, he drew the\nlovers from the chamber, conducted Ludolph back to his tent, and again\nhad recourse to his spells, which told him that the Dwarf, fearful of\nsurprise while disarmed by sleep, took off his head every night, and\nconcealed it in some place of safety, but where he could not discover.\nThis was a vexatious incident; but \u201c_ruse contre ruse_,\u201d thought the\ngnome, and to work he went with a fresh resolution to outspell the yellow\nconjuror and liberate the lovers.  In the mean time the demon awoke from\nhis invigorating slumber, and hastened to replace his ugly head upon his\nshoulders, and then, head and tail once more united, sat down to consider\nthe possibility of recapturing the knight of Tecklenburgh, in whose\nhands, notwithstanding the success of his spells, he did not like to\nleave the magic scissors.  Brunilda, it is true, was safe enough; but the\nDwarf knew (though Ludolph could not discover them) that there were more\nvirgins than one in the Misnian court; and that the count wanted neither\neloquence to persuade such to assist him, nor resolution to attack his\nenemy, when that difficulty should be conquered.  In the midst of these\ncogitations he was aroused by a summons from the princess, who had not\npermitted him to approach her since the day after Ludolph\u2019s departure:\nthe little coxcomb was enchanted by the message, and hastened to arrange\nhis look in the most becoming manner possible, ere he presented himself\nbefore the eyes of his lovely captive.  Brunilda was in tears when he\nentered her apartment, and no sooner did she behold him than she poured\nupon him such a torrent of reproach and abuse, that the Dwarf, though in\ngeneral tolerably well skilled in the use of that cutting weapon the\ntongue, stood utterly confounded, and knew not what to reply.  She\naccused him vehemently of the murder of her lover, her dear Ludolph,\nwhich secret she said, had been revealed to her in a dream by her patron\nsaint that very night, and she had therefore sent to him to accuse him to\nhis guilty face.  The Dwarf listened in surprise; but this time far from\nretorting with the usual bitterness upon Brunilda, he was hugging himself\nin the notion that the patron saint might have told the truth, and that\nLudolph, whom all his arts had failed to discover, might really be no\nlonger an inhabitant of the earth, in which case he flattered himself he\nmight possibly succeed him in the affections of the fair Brunilda, whose\nhand he coveted no less than her brother\u2019s lands, of which he resolved to\ndispossess him whenever he should become the husband of his sister.  Full\nof these agreeable hopes and ideas, he soothed the weeping princess as\nwell as the ruggedness of his nature would permit, and assured her, that\nthough her lover was dead, (a circumstance of which he averred he was\nwell aware, though compassion had hitherto prevented his informing her,)\nyet he had no hand in his death, and would endeavour by every mark of\ntenderness and attention to reconcile her to this inevitable loss.\nBrunilda suffered herself to be comforted, and even allowed his yellow\nlips to press her fair hand, which so delighted the lover, that he\nreleased her from her severe confinement, and permitted her to roam at\nlarge through the caverns, and occupy her former apartment, where he\ncontinued to visit her daily, and daily quitted her with the flattering\nhope that he had at length discovered the mode of making himself\nagreeable.  Brunilda encouraged this delightful dream by her changed\nmethod of conduct; she ceased, after the first two interviews, entirely\nto reproach the Dwarf, and permitting his devotions, she gradually\nappeared to desire them, and even frequently condescended to rally him\nupon the oddity of his dress, and the old-fashioned cut of his hood: he\nimmediately adopted another to gratify her taste, and was exceedingly\nvain of the notice she took of him.  She admired his flowing hair, and\neven his long beard had ceased to be an object of disgust to her: every\nthing became beautiful by custom, she said; and she now discovered, what\nher indignation before had prevented her from observing, that the colour\nof his beard was the same as that of her great grandfather the emperor\nFrederic II., who was universally accounted a very handsome man.  The\nDwarf smirked, bridled, and was equally delighted with Brunilda and\nhimself, since he now hoped no further opposition on her part would be\noffered to his proposals: he grew excessively fond of, and very indulgent\nto the princess, suffering her to command in his caverns, and taking\ngreat delight in exhibiting to her the riches of which she was so soon to\nbe mistress.  In all ages, among all nations, flattery has ever been the\nshortest and surest road to the human heart; and men, however they may\naffect to smile at this weakness in the gentler sex, are not, whether\ngiants, middle-sized men, or dwarfs, one whit less subject to this poor\nhuman frailty than the ladies themselves, in whom it is so pardonable.\n\nIf Eve yielded to the compliments of the serpent, Sampson was subdued by\nthe witching coaxing of Delilah; the sage Solomon drank flattery from the\nlips of seven hundred wives (Heaven pardon the old monopoliser!) and\nconcubines; Holofernes lost his head for listening to the seducing tongue\nof Judith; and the mighty Nebuchadnezzar was not sent to grass for any\nother reason than swallowing down too plentiful a dose of this bewitching\nopiate: of all these gentlefolks, Eve was certainly least blameable; for\nit required diabolical power to turn her from the path of right, but the\nmen sunk their virtue before the lustre of black eyes or the gorgeousness\nof costly attire.  As for profane story\u2014O the tens and the fifties that\nmight be enumerated!\u2014but as this is not our present business, let us\nleave them to see what effect this pleasant medicine, so gently\nadministered, had upon the little Dwarf.  He was, in truth, the happiest\nof all yellow men; for, deceived by the tranquillity of his life and the\nstrength of his spells, he believed his enemy had given up the task of\nconquering him, and left him to wear his beard in quiet.  Brunilda still\ncontinued amiable, and heard him frequently, without any marks of\nindignation, express his hope that, when the time of her sorrowful\nmourning for the count of Tecklenburgh should be over, she would listen\nwith compassion to a truer lover.  She neither checked nor encouraged\nthese expectations; and the happy demon determined not to forfeit her\naffections by any precipitation on his part.  All this amiable conduct,\nhowever, on the part of Brunilda, was in fact but a contrivance of the\nfriendly gnome, who thus hoped to extort by her means the secret of his\nnightly pillow from himself.  According to the plan agreed upon by the\nallies, the gnome, at this period of his enemy\u2019s courtship, began again\nto disturb and puzzle him by his enchantments; and he succeeded in\ndiscomposing the harmony of his feelings so much, that he was obliged to\nhave recourse to Brunilda, and (secure of her attachment to his person)\nvent all his complaints and vexations in her compassionating bosom.\n_She_ was all astonishment at the cruel designs projected against her\nDwarf by his ungenerous enemies; she implored him pathetically to take\ncare of his head, (a request with which he graciously promised to comply,\nmore for her sake than his own,) and exhibited such anxiety to know if\nhis precautions were sufficient, that the Dwarf almost betrayed his\nsecret, overcome by the excessive vanity her conduct was so well\ncalculated to inspire.  Relaxing from his habitual caution, he was about\nto inform her of some arrangements of his spells, when Brunilda,\noveracting the part assigned to her, entreated him, if he valued her\nhappiness, to commit his precious head every night to her keeping,\npromising to guard it with the utmost tenderness and care.  At this\nimprudent request, all his suspicions returned; he eyed Brunilda askance,\nand gravely told her that, even were she his bride, he could not grant\nher desire, as it had always been his opinion that the less wives were\ntrusted with the care of their husbands\u2019 heads the better.  He left her\nsurlily: he had himself told her of his headless rest, but he did not\nexpect such a request would follow his information; and Brunilda, alarmed\nby the consequences of her ill-timed petition, summoned the gnome of the\nmine to her presence.  He chid her precipitation, but gave her a small\nvial containing a delicious cordial, which should repair the mischief.\n\u201cYou may have observed,\u201d said he, \u201cthat the Dwarf neither eats nor drinks\nof your food: prevail upon him once to sup at your table, and pour a few\ndrops of this cordial into his drink: he must take it willingly, or it\nwill have no effect.  In the sleep which follows the enchanted draught,\nhe will be partly in my power, and compelled to answer any question you\nmay propose to him.  I need not direct you what to ask; but should he\nreply according to our wishes, summon me to your side, and the business\nis done.\u201d  The gnome gave her the potion, and vanished; while Brunilda\ndiligently applied herself to remove the suspicions of the Dwarf.  In a\nfew days she completely succeeded; and the flattered demon, on hearing\nher frequently complain of the insipidity of supping alone, requested\npermission to attend her at table during her supper.  This request was\nreadily granted, and the visit constantly repeated by the Dwarf, who at\nlength, at her earnest entreaty, consented to partake of her repast.\nThis was continued till all suspicion was removed from the mind of the\nDwarf; and in one of his happiest moods she insisted upon his pledging\nher in wine: he obeyed, and, with the contents of the bowl, swallowed the\nmagic cordial.  With what anxiety did Brunilda count the hours till she\ndeemed the Dwarf had retired to rest; how she trembled as she quitted her\nchamber for that of her tyrant, whose beard, ere day-break, she hoped,\nwould be the reward of her courage!  With a beating heart she entered his\napartment, and stepping up to him, demanded in a trembling voice\u2014\u201cDwarf\nof the Orange Tree where hast thou hidden thy head?\u201d  The stubborn\ncarcase made no reply to this straight-forward question; and Brunilda\nshivered from head to foot as she considered the possibility of his not\nyet being asleep, and both hearing and understanding her question.\n\u201cShould it be so, I am indeed utterly undone,\u201d said poor Brunilda; \u201cfor\nhow shall I be able to deceive him again, since he must now be aware of\nmy motives.\u201d  Another reflection brought more comfort: she recollected,\nthat as the head only can hear, so the head only can answer questions;\nand she determined to walk quietly through all the caverns, and repeat\nthe question in each.  She had but a short time allowed her for action,\nas the Dwarf was an early riser, and she lost none in putting her scheme\ninto execution.  Away she sallied, quick as anxiety would allow her;\nunwearied she pursued her task, but ranged through every apartment of the\nsubterranean palace without obtaining an answer.  She almost thought the\nDwarf had removed his head further off, when, passing through a\ndismal-looking hole in which were two iron pillars, she paused to repeat\nthe charm\u2014\u201cDwarf of the Orange Tree, where hast thou hidden thy head?\u201d\n\u201cHere,\u201d replied a well-known voice; \u201chere, in the pillar on your left\nhand.\u201d  Brunilda started at the sound, but quickly recovered her spirits,\nand turning to the east, summoned, as agreed upon, her coadjutors to her\nassistance\u2014\u201cGnome of this mine, I call thee hither: bring with thee my\nlover, and the magic scissors of fate.\u201d  In the next instant her friends\nwere at her side, and the scissors glittered in her hand.  She explained\nin few words the happy result of her enterprise; the gnome struck the\npillar with his mace, the massy substance divided, and the ugly head of\nher detested jailer rolled at the feet of the delighted Brunilda, who,\nwithout any apology, seized it and began most nimbly to ply the magic\nscissors.  At that moment, the Dwarf, awakened by the near approach of\nmorning, flew to replace his head upon his shoulders, and discovered,\nwith the utmost rage and alarm, the intruders upon his premises.  The\nopened eyes of the head now directed the motions of the body, which\nrushed forward and bounced upon them so suddenly, that Brunilda shrieked\nand dropped the head, only retaining a grasp of the beard.  The Dwarf as\nnimbly caught it, and endeavoured to wrest it from her; but the princess,\ninvigorated by despair and the exclamations of her friends, kept fast\nhold of it, and struggled stoutly with the demon.  The gnome lent her his\nassistance, in holding the head for her scissors, while Ludolph kept\nshoving, thrusting, and hacking with his sword at the invulnerable demon,\nin the hope of obliging him to loosen his grasp of his head.  The\nstruggle continued some minutes, the Dwarf pulling, Ludolph shoving, and\nBrunilda, utterly regardless of the scratches he was liberally bestowing\nupon her lover, cutting away at the yellow beard with all her might and\nmain.  At length she observed, that the longer she cut the weaker grew\nthe resistance of the demon, and this gave new force to her delicate\nfingers; she snipped on till the last hair was separated from the chin,\nand the yellow head and deformed body both fell senseless together upon\nthe ground.  Brunilda was quietly looking upon her fallen enemy, when the\nmagic instrument of her success suddenly sprung from her hand, and she\nbeheld the scissors of fate gliding away rapidly through the air, as if\nborne off by an invisible spirit.  The friendly gnome then conducted the\nlovers to the margrave\u2019s court, (after demanding from Brunilda the magic\nbelt, which he said would be too dangerous a weapon in the hand of a\nlady,) and a few weeks after the battle of Luckow, in which the margrave\nwas successful, they were united, to the great joy of all parties, but\nmore particularly of those who expected to be invited to the wedding\ndinner.  But that dinner!  O that dinner! why what a glory of gastronomy\nwere the dishes!  There was the porpoise stewed in his own oil; beeves\nroasted whole; and proudly pre-eminent, even among them, the noble wild\nboar, the standard dish of Germany, showed his grinning tusks, now no\nlonger formidable; roasted cranes, standing upon their long legs, seemed\njust stepping out of their platters, making a \u201cpretty drollery;\u201d there\nwas the knightly peacock, the bird of chivalry, dressed out in his\nbrilliant feathers; the stately swan, sailing about in his golden dish;\nwhile herons, turkeys, geese, and such small fry graced the magnificent\nboard in quality of side dishes.  In short, as the newspapers said,\n\u201cthere were all the delicacies of the season,\u201d which the nobles washed\ndown with floods of Rhenish, until they did not know what they were\nswallowing.  The day was happier than it was long, for all thought its\nfelicity was too short-lived, except Ludolph and his princess, who had\nmany still brighter; as long years of happiness was the reward of the few\nmonths of suffering.  The gnome of the mine returned to his recovered\nterritories, and, as he had now no farther occasion for their services,\nnever since that time interfered in the concerns of mortals.  The\nprincess Margaret lived to a good old age, and died at last in the odour\nof sanctity, eschewing evil, Satan, sin, and the yellow Demon of the\nOrange Tree.\n\n\n\n\nDER FREISCHUTZ:\nOR,\nTHE MAGIC BALLS.\n\n\n                       FROM THE GERMAN OF A. APEL.\n\n    Black spirits and white,\n    Blue spirits and grey,\n    Mingle, mingle, mingle,\n    You that mingle may.\n\n\u201cLISTEN, dear wife,\u201d said Bertram, the forester of Lindenhayn, to his\ngood and faithful Anne; \u201clisten, I beseech you, one moment.  You know I\nhave ever done my utmost to make you happy, and will still continue to do\nso; but this project is out of the question.  I entreat you, do not\nencourage the girl any farther in the notion; settle the matter decidedly\nat once, and she will only drop a few silent tears, and then resign\nherself to my wishes; but by these silly delays nothing rational can be\neffected.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, dearest husband,\u201d objected the coaxing wife, \u201cmay not Catherine be\nas happy with William the clerk as with Robert the gamekeeper?  Indeed\nyou do not know him: he is so clever, so good, so kind\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cBut no marksman,\u201d interrupted the forester.  \u201cThe situation which I hold\nhere has been possessed by my family for more than two hundred years, and\nhas always descended down in a straight line from father to son.  If,\ninstead of this girl, Anne, you had brought me a boy, all would have been\nwell; and the wench, if she had been in existence, might have chosen for\nher bridegroom him whom she loved best; now the thing is impossible.  My\nson-in-law must also be my successor, and must therefore be a marksman.\nI shall have, in the first place, some trouble to obtain the trial for\nhim; and in the second, if he should not succeed, truly, I shall have\nthrown my girl away: so a clever huntsman she shall have.  But observe,\nif you do not like him, I do not exactly insist upon Robert: find another\nactive clever fellow for the girl, I will resign my situation to him, and\nwe shall pass the rest of our lives free from anxiety and happily with\nour children.  But hush!\u2014not another word!\u2014I beseech you let me hear no\nmore of the steward\u2019s clerk.\u201d\n\nMother Anne was silenced; she would fain have said a few more words in\nfavour of poor William, but the forester, who was too well acquainted\nwith the power of female persuasion, gave her no further opportunity; he\ntook down his gun, whistled his dog, and strode away to the forest.  The\nnext moment, the fair curled head of Catherine, her face radiant with\nsmiles, was popped in at the door\u2014\u201cIs all right, dear mother?\u201d said she.\n\u201cAlas! no, my child; do not rejoice too soon;\u201d replied the sorrowing\nAnne.  \u201cYour father speaks kindly, but he has determined to give you to\nnobody but a huntsman; and I know he will not change his mind.\u201d\nCatherine wept, and declared she would sooner die than wed any other than\nher own William.  Her mother wept, fretted, and scolded by turns; till at\nlength it was finally determined to make another grand attack upon the\ntough heart of old Bertram; and in the midst of a deliberation respecting\nthe manner in which this was to be effected, the rejected lover entered\nthe apartment.\n\nWhen William had heard the cause of the forester\u2019s objection,\u2014\u201cIs that\nall, my Catherine,\u201d said he, pressing the weeping girl to his bosom;\n\u201cthen keep up your spirits, dearest, for I will myself become a forester.\nI am not unacquainted with woodcraft, for I was, when a boy, placed under\nthe care of my uncle, the chief forester Finsterbuch, in order to learn\nit, and only at the earnest request of my uncle the steward, I exchanged\nthe shooting-pouch for the writing-desk.  Of what use,\u201d continued the\nlover, \u201cwould his situation and fine house be to me, if I cannot carry my\nCatherine there as the mistress of it?  If you are not more ambitious\nthan your mother, dearest, and William the gamekeeper will be as dear to\nyou as William the steward, I will become a woodsman directly; for the\nmerry life of a forester is more delightful to me than the constrained\nhabits of the town.\u201d\n\n\u201cO dear, dear William,\u201d said Catherine,\u2014all the dark clouds of sorrow\nsweeping rapidly over her countenance, and leaving only a few drops of\nglittering sunny rain, sparkling in her sweet blue eyes,\u2014\u201cO beloved\nWilliam! if you will indeed do this, all may be well: hasten to the\nforest, seek my father, and speak to him ere he have time to pass his\nword to Robert.\u201d  \u201cAway,\u201d replied William, \u201cto the forest; I will seek\nhim out, and offer my services as gamekeeper: fear nothing, Catherine;\ngive me a gun, and now for the huntsman\u2019s salute.\u201d\n\nWhat success he had in his undertaking was soon visible to the anxious\neye of Catherine, on her father\u2019s return with him from the forest.  \u201cA\nclever lad, that William,\u201d said the old man; \u201cwho would have expected\nsuch a shot in a townsman?  I\u2019ll speak to the steward myself to-morrow;\nit would be a thousand pities such a marksman should not stick to the\nnoble huntsman craft.  Ha! ha! he will become a second Kuno.  But do you\nknow who Kuno was?\u201d demanded he of William.\n\nThe latter replied in the negative.\n\n\u201cLook you there now!\u201d ejaculated Bertram; \u201cI thought I had told you long\nsince.  He was my ancestor, the first who possessed this situation.  He\nwas originally a poor horseboy in the train of the knight of Wippach; but\nhe was clever, obliging, grew a favourite, and attended his master every\nwhere, to tournaments and hunting parties.  Once his knight accompanied\nthe duke on a grand hunting match, at which all the nobles attended.  The\nhounds chased a huge stag towards them, upon whose back, to their great\nastonishment, sat tied a human being, shrieking aloud in a most frightful\nmanner.  There existed at that period, among the feudal lords, an inhuman\ncustom of tying unhappy wretches who incurred their displeasure (perhaps\nby slight transgressions against the hunting laws) upon stags, and then\ndriving them into the forest to perish miserably by hunger, or at least\nto be torn to pieces by the brambles.  The duke was excessively enraged\nat this sight, and offered immense rewards to any one who would shoot the\nstag; but clogged his benefactions with death to the marksman, should his\nerring bullet touch the victim, whose life he was desirous to preserve,\nin order to ascertain the nature of his offence.  Startled by the\nconditions, not one of the train attempted the rescue of the poor wretch,\ntill Kuno, pitying his fate, stepped forward and boldly offered his\nservices.  The duke having accepted them he took his rifle, loaded it in\nGod\u2019s name, and earnestly recommending the ball to all the saints and\nangels in heaven, fired steadily into the bush in which he believed the\nstag had taken refuge.  His aim was true; the animal instantly sprung\nout, plunged to the earth, and expired; but the poor culprit escaped\nunhurt, except that his hands and face were miserably torn by the briers.\nThe duke kept his word well, and gave to Kuno and his descendants for\never this situation of forester.  But envy naturally follows merit, and\nmy good ancestor was not long in making the discovery.  There were many\nof the duke\u2019s people who had an eye to this situation, either for\nthemselves or some cousin or dear friend, and these persuaded their\nmasters that Kuno\u2019s wonderful success was entirely owing to sorcery; upon\nwhich, though they could not turn him out of his post, they obtained an\norder that every one of his descendants should undergo a trial of his\nskill before he could be accepted; but which, however, the chief forester\nof the district, before whom the essay is made, can render as easy or\ndifficult as he pleases.  I was obliged to shoot a ring out of the beak\nof a wooden bird, which was swung backwards and forwards; but I did not\nfail, any more than my forefathers; and he who intends to succeed me, and\nwed my Catherine, must be at least as good a marksman.\u201d\n\nWilliam, who had listened very attentively, was delighted with this piece\nof family history; he seized the old man\u2019s hand, and joyously promised to\nbecome, under his direction, the very first of marksmen; such as even\ngrandfather Kuno himself should have no cause to blush for.\n\nScarcely had fourteen happy days passed over his head, ere William was\nsettled as gamekeeper in the forester\u2019s house; and Bertram, who became\nfonder of him every day, gave his formal consent to his engagement with\nCatherine.  It was, however, agreed that their betrothment should be kept\nsecret until the day of the marksman\u2019s trial, when the forester expected\nto give a greater degree of splendour to his family festival by the\npresence of the duke\u2019s commissary.  The bridegroom swam in an ocean of\ndelight, and so entirely forgot himself and the whole world in the sweet\nopening heaven of love, that Bertram frequently insisted, that he had not\nbeen able to hit a single mark since he had aimed so successfully at\nCatherine.\n\nAnd so it really was.  From the day of his happy betrothment, William had\nencountered nothing but disasters while shooting.  At one time his gun\nmissed fire; at another, when he aimed at a deer, he lodged the contents\nof his rifle in the trunk of a tree: when he came home, and emptied his\nshooting-pouch, instead of partridges, rooks and crows, and in lieu of\nhares, dead cats.  The forester at length grew seriously angry, and\nreproved him harshly for his carelessness: even Catherine began to\ntremble for the success of the master-shot.\n\nWilliam redoubled his diligence, but to no purpose; the nearer the\napproach of the important day, the more alarming grew his misfortunes;\nevery shot missed.  At length he was almost afraid to fire a gun, lest he\nshould do some mischief; for he had already lamed a cow and almost killed\nthe cowherd.\n\n\u201cI insist upon it,\u201d said the gamekeeper Rudolph, one evening, to the\nparty, \u201cI insist upon it that some wizard has bewitched William, for such\nthings could not happen naturally; therefore let us endeavour to loosen\nthe charm.\u201d\u2014\u201cSuperstitious stuff!\u201d interrupted Bertram, angrily; \u201can\nhonest woodsman should not even think of such trash.  Do you forget the\nthree things which a forester ought to have, and with which he will\nalways be successful, in spite of sorcery?  Come, to your wits, answer my\nquery.\u201d  \u201cThat can I truly,\u201d answered Rudolph; \u201che should have great\nskill, a keen dog, and a good gun.\u201d  \u201cEnough,\u201d said Bertram; \u201cwith these\nthree things every charm may be loosened, or the owner of them is a dunce\nand no shot.\u201d\n\n\u201cUnder favour, father Bertram,\u201d said William, \u201chere is my gun; what have\nyou to object against it? and as for my skill, I do not like to praise\nmyself, but I think I am as fair a sportsman as any in the country;\nnevertheless, it seems as if all my balls went crooked, or as if the wind\nblew them away from the barrel of my gun.  Only tell me what I shall do.\nI am willing to do any thing.\u201d  \u201cIt is singular,\u201d muttered the forester,\nwho did not know what else to say.\n\n\u201cBelieve me, William,\u201d again began Rudolph, \u201cit is nothing but what I\nhave said.  Try only once: go on a Friday, at midnight, to a cross road,\nand make a circle round you with the ramrod, or with a bloody sword,\nwhich must be blessed three times, in the name of Sammiel.\u201d\u2014\u201cSilence!\u201d\ninterrupted Bertram, angrily: \u201cknow ye whose name that is? he is one of\nthe fiend\u2019s dark legion.  God protect us and every Christian from him!\u201d\nWilliam crossed himself devoutly, and would hear nothing further, though\nRudolph still maintained his opinion.  He passed the night in cleaning\nhis gun, and examining minutely every screw, resolving, at dawn of day\nonce more to sally forth, and try his fortune in the forest.  He did so,\nbut, alas! in vain.  Mischiefs thickened round him: at ten paces distance\nhe fired three times at a deer; twice his gun missed fire, and although\nit went off the third time, yet the stag bounded away unhurt into the\nmidst of the forest.  Full of vexation, he threw himself under a tree,\nand cursed his fate, when suddenly a rustling was heard among the bushes,\nand a queer-looking soldier with a wooden leg came hopping out from among\nthem.\n\n\u201cHolloa! huntsman,\u201d he began, laughing at the disconsolate-looking\nWilliam, \u201cwhat is the matter with you?  Are you in love, or is your purse\nempty, or has any body charmed your gun?  Come, don\u2019t look so blank; give\nme a pipe of tobacco, and we\u2019ll have a chat together.\u201d\n\nWilliam sullenly gave him what he asked, and the soldier threw himself\ndown in the grass by the side of him.  The conversation naturally turned\nupon woodcraft, and William related his misfortunes to him.  \u201cLet me see\nyour gun,\u201d said the soldier.  William gave it.  \u201cIt is assuredly\nbewitched,\u201d said he of the wooden leg, the moment he had taken it in his\nhand; \u201cyou will not be able to fire a single shot with it; and if they\nhave done it according to rule, it will be the same with every gun you\nshall take into your hands.\u201d\n\nWilliam was startled; he endeavoured to raise objections against the\nstranger\u2019s belief in witches, but the latter offered to give him a proof\nof the justice of his opinions.  \u201cTo us soldiers,\u201d said he, \u201cthere is\nnothing strange; and I could tell you many wonderful things, but which\nwould detain us here till night.  But look here, for instance: this is a\nball which is sure of hitting its mark, because it possesses some\nparticular virtue: try it; you won\u2019t miss.\u201d  William loaded his gun, and\nlooked around for an object to aim at.  A large bird of prey hovered high\nabove the forest, like a moving dot;\u2014\u201cShoot that kite,\u201d said the\none-legged companion.  William laughed at his absurdity, for the bird was\nhovering at a height which the eye itself could scarcely reach.  \u201cLaugh\nnot, but fire,\u201d said the other, grimly; \u201cI will lay my wooden leg that it\nfalls.\u201d  William fired, the black dot sunk, and a huge kite fell bleeding\nto the ground.  \u201cYou would not be surprised at that,\u201d said he of the\nwooden leg to the huntsman, who was speechless and staring with\nastonishment; \u201cyou would not, I repeat, be surprised at that, if you were\nbetter acquainted with the wonders of your craft.  Even the casting such\nballs as these is one of the least important things in it; it merely\nrequires dexterity and courage, because it must be done in the night.  I\nwill teach you for nothing when we meet again; now I must away, for the\nbell has told seven.  In the mean time\u2014here, try a few of my balls; still\nyou look incredulous\u2014well\u2014till we meet again.\u201d\u2014\n\nThe soldier gave William a handful of balls, and departed.  Full of\nastonishment, and still distrusting the evidence of his senses, the\nlatter tried another of the balls, and again struck an almost\nunattainable object: he loaded his gun in the usual manner, and again\nmissed the easiest!  He darted forward to follow the crippled soldier,\nbut the latter was no longer in the forest; and William was obliged to\nremain satisfied with the promise which he had given of meeting him again\nhereafter.\n\nGreat joy it gave to the honest forester when William returned, as\nbefore, loaded with game from the forest.  He was now called upon to\nexplain the circumstance; but not being prepared to give a reason, and\nabove all, dreading to say any thing upon the subject of his infallible\nballs, he attributed his ill luck to a fault in his gun, which he had\nonly, he pretended, last night discovered and rectified.  \u201cDid I not tell\nyou so, wife,\u201d said Bertram, laughing.  \u201cYour demon was lodged in the\nbarrel; and the goblin which threw down father Kuno this morning, sat\ngrinning, on the rusty nail.\u201d  \u201cWhat say you of a goblin,\u201d demanded\nWilliam; \u201cand what has happened to father Kuno?\u201d  \u201cSimply this,\u201d replied\nBertram: \u201chis portrait fell of itself from the wall this morning, just as\nthe bell tolled seven; and the silly woman settled it that a goblin must\nbe at the bottom of the mischief, and that we are haunted accordingly.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt seven,\u201d repeated William, \u201cat seven!\u201d and he thought, with a strange\nfeeling of affright, of the soldier who parted from him exactly at that\nmoment.  \u201cYes, seven,\u201d continued Bertram, still laughing.  \u201cI do not\nwonder at your surprise; it is not a usual ghostly hour, but Anne would\nhave it so.\u201d  The latter shook her head doubtfully, and prayed that all\nmight end well; while William shivered from head to foot, and would\nsecretly have vowed not to use the magic balls, but that the thought of\nhis ill luck haunted him.  \u201cOnly one of them,\u201d said he, internally; \u201conly\none of them for the master-shot, and then I have done with them for\never.\u201d  But the forester urged him the next instant to accompany him into\nthe forest; and he dared not excite fresh suspicions of his want of\nskill, nor offend the old man by refusing, he was again compelled to make\nuse of his wondrous balls; and in the course of a few days he had so\naccustomed himself to the use of them, and so entirely reconciled his\nconscience to their doubtful origin, that he saw nothing sinful or even\nobjectionable in the business.  He constantly traversed the forest, in\nthe hope of meeting the strange giver of the balls; for the handful had\ndecreased to two, and if he wished to make sure of the master-shot, the\nutmost economy was necessary.  One day he even refused to accompany\nBertram, for the next was to be the day of trial, and the chief forester\nwas expected; it was possible he might require other proofs than the mere\nformal essay, and William thus felt himself secure.  But in the evening,\ninstead of the commissary, came a messenger from the duke, with an order\nfor a large delivery of game, and to announce that the visit of the chief\nforester would be postponed for eight days longer.\n\nWilliam felt as if he could have sunk into the bosom of the earth, as he\nlistened to the message, and his excessive alarm would have excited\nstrange suspicions, if all present had not been ready to ascribe it to\nthe delay of his expected nuptials.  He was now obliged to sacrifice at\nleast one of his balls, but he solemnly swore nothing should rob him of\nthe other but the forester\u2019s master-shot.\n\nBertram was outrageously angry when William returned from the forest with\nonly one stag; for the delivery order was considerable.  He was still\nmore angry the next day at noon, when Rudolph returned loaded with an\nimmense quantity of game, and William returned with none; he threatened\nto dismiss him, and retract his promise respecting Catherine, if he did\nnot bring down at least two deer on the following day.  Catherine was in\nthe greatest consternation, and earnestly besought him to make use of his\nutmost skill, and not let a thought of her interrupt his duties while\noccupied in the forest.  He departed\u2014his heart loaded with despair.\nCatherine, he saw too plainly, was lost to him for ever; and nothing\nremained but the choice of the manner in which he should destroy his\nhappiness.  Whilst he stood lost in the agonising anticipation of his\nimpending doom, a herd of deer approached close to him.  Mechanically he\nfelt for his last ball; it felt tremendously heavy in his hand: he was on\nthe point of dropping it back, resolving to preserve his treasure at\nevery hazard, when suddenly he saw\u2014O sight of joy!\u2014the one-legged soldier\napproaching.  Delightedly he let the ball drop into the barrel, fired,\nbrought down a brace of deer, and hastened forward to meet his friend;\nbut he was gone!  William could not discover him in the forest.\n\n\u201cHark ye, William!\u201d said the forester to him in the evening, rousing him\nfrom the torpor of grief into which he had fallen; \u201cyou must resent this\naffront as earnestly as myself: nobody shall dare utter falsehoods of our\nancestor Kuno, nor accuse him as Rudolph is now doing.  I insist,\u201d\ncontinued he, turning again to the latter, \u201cif good angels helped him,\n(which was very likely, for in the Old Testament we frequently read of\ninstances of their protection,) we ought to be grateful, and praise the\nwonderful goodness of God.  But nobody shall accuse Kuno of practising\nthe black art.  He died happily\u2014ay, and holily, in his bed, surrounded by\nchildren and grandchildren,\u2014which he who carries on a correspondence with\nthe evil one never does.  I saw a terrible example of that myself, when I\nwas a forester\u2019s boy in Bohemia.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us hear how it happened, good Bertram,\u201d said all the listeners; and\nthe forester nodded gravely, and continued.\n\n\u201cI shiver when I think of it; but I will tell you nevertheless.  When a\nyoung man practising with other youths under the chief foresters, there\nused frequently to join us a town lad, a fine daring fellow, who, being a\ngreat lover of field sports, came out to us as often as he could.  He\nwould have made a good marksman, but was too flighty and thoughtless, so\nthat he frequently missed his mark.  Once, when we ridiculed his\nawkwardness, we provoked him into a rage, and he swore by all that was\nholy that he would fire with a more certain aim than any gamekeeper in\nthe country, and that no animal should escape him, either in the air or\non the earth.  But he kept his light oath badly.  A few days afterward an\nunknown huntsman roused us early, and told us that a man was lying in the\nroad and dying without assistance.  It was poor Schmid.  He was covered\nwith wounds and blood, as if he had been torn by wild beasts: he could\nnot speak, for he was quite senseless, with scarcely any appearance of\nlife.  He was conveyed to Prague, and just before his death declared,\nthat he had been out with an old mountain huntsman to the cross road, in\norder to cast the magic balls, which are sure of hitting their mark; but\nthat making some fault or omission, the demon had treated him so roughly\nthat it would cost him his life.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid he not explain?\u201d asked William, shuddering.\n\n\u201cSurely,\u201d replied the forester.  \u201cHe declared before a court of justice,\nthat he went out to the cross road with the old gamekeeper; that they\nmade a circle with a bloody sword, and afterwards set it round with\nskulls and bones.  The mountain hunter then gave his directions to Schmid\nas to what he was to do: he was to begin when the clock struck eleven to\ncast the balls, and neither to cast more nor fewer than sixty-three; one\neither above or under this number would, when the bell tolled midnight,\nbe the cause of his destruction: neither was he to speak a single word\nduring his work, nor move from the circle whatever might happen, above,\nbelow, or around him.  Fulfilling these conditions sixty balls would be\nsure of hitting, and the remaining three only would miss.  Schmid had\nactually begun casting the balls when, according to what we could gather\nfrom him, he saw such cruel and dreadful apparitions, that he at length\nshrieked and sprung out of the circle, falling senseless to the ground;\nfrom which trance he did not recover till under the hands of the\nphysician in Prague.\u201d\n\n\u201cHeaven preserve us!\u201d said the forester\u2019s wife, crossing herself.  \u201cIt is\na very deadly sin undoubtedly,\u201d pursued Bertram, \u201cand a true woodsman\nwould scorn such a practice.  He needs nothing but skill, and a good gun,\nas you have lately experienced, William.  I would not, for my own part,\nfire off such balls for any price; I should always fear the fiend would,\nat some time or other, conduct the ball to his own mark instead of to\nmine.\u201d\n\nNight drew round them with the conclusion of the forester\u2019s story.  _He_\nwent to his quiet bed, but William remained in restless agony.  It was in\nvain that he attempted to compose himself.  Sleep fled entirely from his\nspirit.  Strange objects flitted past him, and hovered like dark omens\nover his pillow.  The strange soldier of the forest, Schmid, Catherine,\nthe duke\u2019s commissary, all rushed before his eyes, and his fevered\nimagination converted them into the most dreadful groups.  Now, the\nmiserable Schmid stood warningly before him, and hollowly pointed to his\nnewly bleeding wounds; then the dark distorted face faded to the pallid\nfeatures of Catherine wrestling with the strength of death; while the\nwild soldier of the forest stood mocking his agony with a hellish laugh\nof scorn.  The scene then changed to his mind, and he stood in the forest\nbefore the commissary, preparing for the master-shot.  He\naimed\u2014fired\u2014missed.  Catherine sunk down on the earth.  Bertram drove him\naway; while the one-legged soldier, now again a friend, brought him fresh\nballs; but too late\u2014the trial was over, and he was lost.\n\nIn this manner wore away the agonised night, and with the earliest dawn\nhe sought the forest, hoping to meet with the soldier; the clear morning\nair chased away the dark images of sleep from his brow, and ennerved his\ndrooping spirit.  \u201cFool!\u201d said he to himself, \u201cbecause I cannot\nunderstand what is mysterious, must the mystery therefore be a sin?  Is\nwhat I seek so contrary to nature that it requires the aid of spirits to\nobtain it?  Does not man govern the mighty instinct of animals, and make\nthem move according to the will of their master?  Why then should we not\nbe able, by natural means, to command the course of inanimate metal which\nreceives force and motion only through him?  Nature is rich in wonders\nwhich we do not comprehend, and shall I forfeit my happiness for an\nignorant prejudice only?  No!  Spirits I will not call upon, but nature\nand her hidden powers I will challenge and use, even though unable to\nexplain its mystery.  I will seek the soldier, and, if I cannot find him,\nI will at least be bolder than Schmid, for I have a better cause.  He was\nurged by presumption, I by love and honour.\u201d\n\nBut the soldier appeared not, however earnestly William sought him;\nneither could any of those of whom he inquired give the slightest\ninformation respecting him, and two days were wasted in these anxious and\nfruitless inquiries.\n\n\u201cThen be it so,\u201d exclaimed the unhappy young man; and in a fit of despair\nhe resolved to cast the magic balls in the forest.  \u201cMy days,\u201d he added,\n\u201care numbered to me; this night will I seek the cross road.  Into its\nsilent and solitary recess no one will dare to intrude; and the terrible\ncircle will I not leave till the fearful work shall be done.\u201d\n\nBut when the shadows of evening fell upon the earth, and after William\nhad provided lead, bullet-mould, and coals, for his nocturnal occupation,\nhe was gently detained by Bertram, who felt, he said, so severe an\noppression, that he entreated him to remain in his chamber during the\nnight.  Catherine offered her services, but they were, to her\nastonishment, declined.  \u201cAt any other time,\u201d said her father, \u201cI should\nhave preferred you, but to-night it must be William.  I shall be happier\nif he will remain with me.\u201d\n\nWilliam hesitated.  He grew sick in his inmost heart.  He would have\nobjected, but Catherine\u2019s entreaties were so irresistible, that he had\nnothing to oppose against her wishes.  He remained in the chamber, and in\nthe morning Bertram\u2019s dark fears had faded, and he laughed at his own\nabsurdity.  He proposed going to the forest, but William, who intended to\ndevote the day to his search for the soldier, dissuaded him, and departed\nalone.  He went, but returned disappointed, and once more resolved to\nseek the forest at night.  As he approached the house, Catherine met him.\n\u201cBeloved William,\u201d said she, \u201cyou have a visitor, and a dear one, but you\nmust guess who it is.\u201d\n\nWilliam was not at all disposed to guess, and still less to receive\nvisits; for at that time the dearest friend would have been the most\nunwelcome intruder.  He answered peevishly, and was thinking of a pretext\nto turn back, when the door of the house opened, and the pale moon threw\nher soft ray upon a venerable old man, in the garb of a huntsman, who\nextended his arms towards him; and \u201cWilliam!\u201d said a well-known voice,\nand the next instant the young forester found himself folded to the bosom\nof his beloved uncle.\n\nAh! magic of early ties, dear recollections, and filial gratitude!\nWilliam felt them all; his heart was full of joy, and all other thoughts\nwere forgotten.  Suddenly spoke the warning voice to the tranquil happy\ndreamer.  The midnight hour struck, and William, with a shudder,\nremembered what he had lost.  \u201cBut one night more remains to me,\u201d said\nhe; \u201cto-morrow, or never.\u201d  His violent agony did not escape the eye of\nhis uncle, but he ascribed it to fatigue, and excused himself for\ndetaining him from his needful rest, on account of his own departure,\nwhich he could not delay beyond the following day.  \u201cYet grieve not,\nWilliam,\u201d said the old man as he retired to rest; \u201cgrieve not for this\nshort hour thus spent, you will only sleep the sounder for it.\u201d  William\nshivered, for to his ear these words conveyed a deeper meaning.  There\nwas a dark foreboding in his heart, that the execution of his plan would\nfor ever banish the quiet of sleep from his soul.\n\nBut day dawned\u2014passed\u2014and evening descended.  \u201cIt must be now or never,\u201d\nthought William, \u201cfor to-morrow will be the day of trial.\u201d  The females\nhad been busied in preparations for the wedding and the reception of\ntheir distinguished guest.  Anne embraced William when he returned, and,\nfor the first time, saluted him with the dear name of son.  The tender\njoy of a young and happy bride glittered in the sweet eyes of Catherine.\nThe supper-table was covered with flowers, good food, and large bottles\nof long-hoarded wine from the stores of Bertram.  \u201cChildren,\u201d said the\nold man, \u201cthis is our own festival; let us, therefore, be happy:\nto-morrow we shall not be alone, though you may perhaps be happier.  I\nhave invited the priest, dear William, and when the trial is over.\u201d\u2014A\nloud shriek from Catherine interrupted the forester.  Kuno\u2019s picture had\nagain fallen from its place, and had struck her severely on the forehead.\nBertram grew angry.  \u201cI cannot conceive,\u201d said he, \u201cwhy this picture is\nnot hung properly; this is the second time it has given us a fright: are\nyou hurt, Catherine?\u201d  \u201cIt is of no consequence,\u201d replied the maiden,\ngently wiping away the blood from her bright curls; \u201cI am less hurt than\nfrightened.\u201d\n\nWilliam grew sick when he beheld her pale face, and forehead bathed in\nblood.  So he had seen her in his distempered dreams on that dreadful\nnight: and this reality conjured up all those fearful fantasies anew.\nHis determination of proceeding in his plan was shaken; but the wine,\nwhich he drank in greater quantities than usual, filled him with a wild\ncourage, and ennerved him to undertake its execution.  The clock struck\nnine.  Love and valour must combat with danger, thought William.  But he\nsought in vain for a decent pretence to leave his Catherine.  How could\nhe quit her on her bridal eve?  Time flew with the rapidity of an arrow,\nand he suffered agonies even in the soft arms of rewarding love.  Ten\no\u2019clock struck: the decisive moment was come.  Without taking leave,\nWilliam started from his bride, and left the house to range in the\nforest.  \u201cWhither go you, William?\u201d said her mother, following him,\nalarmed.  \u201cI have shot a deer, which I had forgotten,\u201d answered the\nyouth.  She still entreated, and Catherine looked terrified, for she felt\nthat there was something (though she knew not what) to fear, from his\ndistracted manner.  But their supplications were unheeded.  William\nsprung from them both, and hastened into the forest.\n\nThe moon was on the wane, and gleamed a dark red light above the horizon.\nGrey clouds flew rapidly past, and sometimes darkened the surrounding\ncountry, which was soon relighted up by the wild and glittering\nmoonlight.  The birch and aspen trees nodded like spectres in the shade;\nand to William the silver poplar was a white shadowy figure, which\nsolemnly waved, and beckoned him to return.  He started, and felt as if\nthe two extraordinary interpositions to his plan, and the repeated falls\nof the picture, were the last admonitions of his departing angel, who\nthus warned him against the commission of an unblessed deed.  Once more\nhe wavered in his intention.  Now he had even determined to return, when\na voice whispered close to him, \u201cFool! hast thou not already used the\nmagic balls, and dost thou only dread the toil of labouring for them?\u201d\nHe paused.  The moon shone brilliantly out from a dark cloud, and lighted\nup the tranquil roof of the forester\u2019s humble dwelling.  William saw\nCatherine\u2019s window shine in the silvery ray, and he stretched out his\narms towards it, and again directed his steps towards his home.  Then the\nvoice rose whisperingly again around him, and, \u201cHence!\u2014to thy\nwork!\u2014away!\u201d it murmured; while a strong gust of wind brought to his ear\nthe stroke of the second quarter.  \u201cTo my work,\u201d he repeated; \u201cay; it is\ncowardly to return half way\u2014foolish to give up the great object when, for\na lesser, I have already perhaps risked my salvation.  I will finish.\u201d\n\nHe strode rapidly forward.  The wind drove the fugitive clouds over the\nmoon, and William entered the deep darkness of the forest.  Now he stood\nupon the cross road; the magic circle was drawn; the skulls and bones of\nthe dead laid in order around it; the moon buried herself deeper in the\ncloudy mass, and left the glimmering coals at intervals fanned into a\nblaze by the fitful gusts of wind, alone to lighten the midnight deed,\nwith a wild and melancholy glare.  Remotely the third quarter sounded\nfrom a dull and heavy tower clock.  William put the casting ladle upon\nthe coals, and threw the lead into it, together with three balls, which\nhad already hit their mark, according to the huntsman\u2019s usage: then the\nforest began to be in motion; the night ravens, owls, and bats, fluttered\nup and down, blinded by the glare of light.  They fell from their boughs,\nand placed themselves among the bones around the circle, where, with\nhollow croakings and wild jabberings, they held an unintelligible\nconversation with the skulls.  Momentarily their numbers increased, and\namong and above them hovered pale cloudy forms, some shaped like animals,\nsome like human beings.  The gusts of wind sported frightfully with their\ndusky vapoury forms, scattering and reuniting them like the dews of the\nevening shades.  One form alone stood motionless and unchanged near the\ncircle, gazing with fixed and woful looks at William; once it lifted up\nits pale hands in sorrow, and seemed to sigh.  The fire burned gloomily\nat the moment; but a large grey owl flapped its wings, and fanned the\ndying embers into light.  William turned shivering away; for the\ncountenance of his dead mother gazed mournfully at him from the dark and\ndusky figure.\n\nThe bell tolled eleven; the pale figure vanished with a groan; the owls\nand night ravens flew screeching up into the air, and the skulls and\nbones clattered beneath their wings.  William knelt down by his hearth of\ncoals.  He began steadily to cast, and, with the last sound of the bell,\nthe first ball fell from the mould.\n\nThe owls and the skulls were quiet: but along the road an old woman, bent\ndown with the weight of age, advanced towards the circle.  She was hung\nround with wooden spoons, ladles, and other kitchen utensils, which made\na frightful clattering.  The owls screeched at her approach, and caressed\nher with their wings.  Arrived at the circle, she stooped down to seize\nthe bones and the skulls; but the coals hissed flames at her, and she\ndrew back her withered hands from the fire.  Then she paced round the\ncircle, and grinning and chattering, held up her wares towards William.\n\u201cGive me the skulls,\u201d she gabbled; \u201cgive me the skulls, and I will give\nthee my treasures; give me the skulls, the skulls; what canst thou want\nwith the trash?  Thou art mine\u2014mine, dear bridegroom; none can help thee:\nthou canst not escape me; thou must lead with me in the bridal dance.\nCome away, thou bridegroom mine!\u201d\n\nWilliam\u2019s breast throbbed; but he remained silent, and hastened on with\nhis work.  The old woman was not a stranger to him.  A mad beggar had\noften haunted the neighbourhood, until she found an asylum in the\nmad-house.  Now, he knew not whether her appearance was reality or a\ndelusion.  In a short time she grew enraged, threw down her stick, and\nchattered anew at William.  \u201cTake these for our nuptial night,\u201d she\ncried: \u201cthe bridal bed is ready, and to-morrow, when evening cometh, thou\nwilt be wedded to me.  Come soon, my love; delay not, my bridegroom; come\nsoon.\u201d  And she hobbled slowly away into the forest.\n\nSuddenly there arose a rattling like the noise of wheels, mingled with\nthe cracking of whips and shouting of men.  A carriage came headlong,\nwith six horses and outriders.  \u201cWhat is the meaning of all this in the\nroad?\u201d cried the foremost horseman.  \u201cRoom there!\u201d  William looked up.\nFire sprung from the hoofs of the horses, and round the wheels of the\ncarriage: it shone like the glimmering of phosphorus.  He suspected a\nmagical delusion, and remained quiet.  \u201cOn, on, upon it!\u2014over it!\u2014down!\ndown!\u201d cried the horseman; and in a moment the whole troop stormed in\nheadlong upon the circle.  William plunged down to the earth, and the\nhorses reared furiously above his head; but the airy cavalry whirled high\nin the air with the carriage, and, after turning several times round the\nmagic circle, disappeared in a storm of wind, which tore the tops of the\nmightiest trees, and scattered their branches to a distance.\n\nSome time elapsed ere William could recover from his terror.  At length\nhe compelled his trembling fingers to be steady, and cast a few balls\nwithout farther interruption.  Again the well-known tower clock struck,\nand to him in the dreadful solitary circle, consoling as the voice of\nhumanity, rose the sound from the habitations of men, but the clock\nstruck the quarter thrice.  He shuddered at the lightning-like flight of\ntime; for a third part of his work was hardly done.  Again the clock\nstruck, for the fourth time!\u2014Horror!\u2014his strength was annihilated, every\nlimb was palsied, and the mould fell out of his trembling hand.  He\nlistened, in the quiet resignation of despair, for the stroke of the\nfull, the terrible, midnight hour.  The sound hesitated\u2014delayed\u2014was\nsilent.  To palter with the awful midnight was too daring and too\ndangerous even to the dreadful powers of darkness.  Hope again raised the\nsunk heart of William; he hastily drew out his watch, and beheld it\npointing to the second quarter of the hour.  He looked gratefully up\ntowards heaven, and a feeling of piety moderated the transport, which,\ncontrary to the laws of the dark world, would otherwise have burst forth\nin loud and joyous exclamations.\n\nStrengthened, by the experience of the last half-hour, against any new\ndelusion, William now went boldly on with his work.  Every thing was\nsilent around him, except that the owls snored in their uneasy sleep, and\nat intervals struck their beaks against the bones of the dead.  Suddenly\nit was broken by a crackling among the bushes.  The sound was familiar to\nthe sportsman, and, as he expected, a huge wild boar broke through the\nbriers, and came foaming towards the circle.  Believing this to be a\nreality, he sprung hastily on his feet, seized his gun, and attempted to\nfire.  Not a single spark came from the flint.  Startled at his danger,\nhe drew his hunting-knife to attack it,\u2014when the bristly savage, like the\ncarriage and the horses, ascended high above his head, and vanished into\nthe silent fields of air.\n\nThe anxious lover worked on steadily to regain the time he had so\nunhappily lost.  Sixty balls were cast.  He looked joyfully upwards; the\nclouds were dispersing, and the moon again threw her bright rays upon the\nsurrounding country; he was rejoicing in the approaching end of his\nlabours, when an agonised voice, in the tones of Catherine, shrieked out\nthe name of \u201cWilliam!\u201d  In the next moment, he beheld his beloved dart\nfrom among the bushes, and gaze fearfully around her.  Following her\ndistracted steps, and panting closely behind her, trod the mad beggar\nwoman, extending her withered arms towards the fugitive, whose light\ndress, fluttering in the wind, she repeatedly attempted to grasp.\nCatherine collected her expiring strength in one desperate effort to\nescape, when the long-sought soldier of the forest planted himself before\nher and delayed her flight.  The hesitation of the moment gained time for\nthe mad woman, who sprung wildly upon Catherine, and grasped her in her\nlong and fleshless hands.  William could endure it no longer, he dashed\nthe last ball from his hand, and was on the point of springing from the\ncircle, when the bell tolled midnight, and the delusion vanished.  The\nowls knocked the skulls and bones cluttering against each other, and flew\nup again to their hiding-places; the coals were suddenly extinguished;\nand William sunk, exhausted with fatigue, to the earth; but there was no\nrest for him in the forest; he was again disturbed by the slow and sullen\napproach of a stranger, mounted upon a huge coal-black steed: he stopped\nbefore the demolished magic circle, and, addressing the huntsman,\u2014\u201cYou\nhave stood the trial well,\u201d said he; \u201cwhat do you require of me?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf you, stranger, nothing,\u201d replied William; \u201cof that of which I had\nneed, I have prepared for myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut with my assistance,\u201d continued the stranger; \u201ctherefore a share of\nit belongs to me.\u201d  \u201cCertainly not,\u201d replied the huntsman; \u201cI have\nneither hired you nor called upon you.\u201d\n\nThe horseman smiled.  \u201cYou are bolder than your equals are wont to be,\u201d\nsaid he.  \u201cTake then the balls which you have cast: sixty for you, three\nfor me.  The first hit, the second miss.  When we meet again you will\nunderstand me.\u201d\n\nWilliam turned away.  \u201cI will not meet you again; I will never see you\nmore,\u201d he cried, trembling.  \u201cWhy do you turn from me?\u201d demanded the\nstranger, with a horrible laugh: \u201cdo you know me?\u201d  \u201cNo; no,\u201d said the\nhuntsman, shuddering; \u201cI know you not; I will not even look upon you.\nWhoever you may be, leave me.\u201d\n\nThe black horseman turned his steed.  \u201cThe rising hairs of your head,\u201d\ncried he with gloomy gravity, \u201cdeclare that you do know me.  You are\nright; I am he whom you name in the secrecy of your soul, and shudder to\nthink you have done so.\u201d  At these words he disappeared, and the trees\nunder which he had stood let their withered branches sink helpless and\ndead to the earth.\n\n\u201cMerciful Heaven! William,\u201d said Catherine, on remarking his pale and\ndistracted look on his return after midnight; \u201cwhat has happened to you?\nyou look as if you had just risen from the grave.\u201d  \u201cIt is the night\nair,\u201d he replied; \u201cand I am not well.\u201d  \u201cBut, William,\u201d said the\nforester, who had just entered, \u201cwhy then would you go to the forest:\nsomething has happened to you there.  Boy, you cannot thus blind me.\u201d\n\nWilliam was startled; the sad solemnity of Bertram\u2019s manner struck him.\n\u201cYes, something has occurred,\u201d said he; \u201cbut have patience for a few\ndays, and all shall be explained to your satisfaction.\u201d  \u201cWillingly, dear\nson,\u201d interrupted the forester; \u201cquestion him no further, Catherine.  Go\nto your needful rest, William, and indulge in hope of the future.  He who\ngoes on in his occupation openly and honestly, never can be harmed by the\nevil spirits of the night.\u201d\n\nWilliam had need of all his dissimulation; for the old man\u2019s observations\nso nearly meeting the truth, his forbearing love, and unshaken confidence\nin William\u2019s honesty, altogether distracted his mind: he hastened to his\nroom, determined to destroy the magical preparation.  \u201cBut one ball\u2014only\none will I use,\u201d exclaimed he, weeping aloud, with his folded hands held\nup to heaven; \u201cand surely this determination will efface the sin of the\ndeed I have committed.  With a thousand acts of penitence I will make\natonement for what is past, for I cannot now step back without betraying\nmy happiness, my honour, and my love.\u201d  And with this resolution he\ncalmed the tumult of his spirits, and met the rays of the morning sun\nwith more tranquillity than he had dared to hope.\n\nThe commissary of the duke arrived; he proposed a shooting party in the\nforest, before the trial of skill took place.  \u201cFor, though we must\ncertainly retain the old form,\u201d said he, \u201cof the essay shot, yet the\nskill of the huntsman is, after all, best proved in the forest: so come,\nyoung marksman, to the woods.\u201d\n\nWilliam\u2019s cheek grew pale, and he earnestly tried to excuse himself from\naccompanying them.  But, when this was refused by the chief forester, he\nentreated at least to be allowed to fire his trial shot before their\ndeparture.  Old Bertram shook his head, doubtingly: \u201cWilliam,\u201d said he,\n\u201cshould my suspicion of yesterday be just\u201d\u2014\u201cFather!\u201d replied the youth;\nand no longer daring to hesitate, he departed with them to the forest.\n\nBertram had in vain endeavoured to suppress his forebodings and assume a\ncheerful countenance.  Catherine too was dejected, and it was not until\nthe arrival of the priest that she recollected her nuptial garland: her\nmother had locked it up, and, in her haste to open the chest, broke the\nlock, and was obliged to send into the village for another wreath, as too\nmuch time had been wasted in endeavouring to recover the first.  \u201cLet\nthem give you the handsomest,\u201d said Anne to the little messenger, \u201cthe\nvery handsomest they have.\u201d  The boy accordingly chose the most\nglittering, and the seller, who misunderstood him gave him a death\ngarland, composed of myrtle and rosemary, intermingled with silver.  The\nmother and daughter beheld and recognized the mysterious intimation of\nfate; they embraced each other in silence, and endeavoured to smile away\ntheir terror, in imputing it to the boy\u2019s mistake.  Again the broken lock\nwas tried; it opened easily now; the wreaths were changed, and the bridal\ngarland was twined around Catherine\u2019s brilliant locks.\n\nThe sportsmen returned from the forest.  The commissary was inexhaustible\non the subject of William\u2019s wondrous skill.  \u201cIt almost appears\nridiculous,\u201d said he, \u201cafter such proofs, to require any further trial;\nyet, in honour of the old custom, we must perform what appears\nsuperfluous; we will therefore finish the business as quickly as\npossible.  There upon that pillar, sits a dove, shoot it.\u201d  \u201cFor God\u2019s\nsake,\u201d said Catherine, hastily approaching, \u201cdo not shoot that dove.\nAlas! in my sleep last night I was myself a dove, and my mother, while\nfastening a ring round my neck, on your approaching us, became covered\nwith blood.\u201d\n\nWilliam drew back his gun; but the chief forester smiled.  \u201cSo timid,\nlittle maiden!\u201d said he, \u201cthat will never do for a huntsman\u2019s bride:\ncome, courage! courage!\u2014or is the dove a favourite, perhaps?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, no,\u201d she replied; \u201cit is but fear.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell then,\u201d replied the commissary, \u201chave courage; and now, William,\nfire!\u201d\n\nWilliam fired, and, in the same moment, Catherine sunk, with a loud\nscream, to the earth.  \u201cSilly girl,\u201d exclaimed the commissary, lifting\nher up: but a stream of blood flowed over her face, her forehead was\nshattered, for the ball of the rifle was lodged in the wound.  William\nturned on hearing loud shrieks behind him, and beheld his Catherine pale,\nweltering in her own blood, and by her side the soldier of the forest,\nwho, with a fiendish laugh of scorn, pointed to his dying victim, and\ncried aloud to William, \u201cSixty hit, three miss!\u201d\n\n\u201cAccursed fiend!\u201d shrieked the wretched youth, striking at the detested\nform with his sword, \u201chast thou thus deceived me?\u201d  His agony permitted\nno further expression, for he sunk senseless to the earth by the side of\nthe victim bride.  The commissary and priest in vain endeavoured to\nconsole the childless, heart-broken parents.  The mother had scarcely\nlaid the prophetic garland of death upon the bosom of the bridal corpse,\nwhen her sorrow and life expired with her last-shed tear: the solitary\nfather soon followed her, and the miserable William closed his life in\nthe mad-house.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FORTUNES OF DE LA POLE.\n\n\n    In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on\n    men;\n    Fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to shake.\n    Then a spirit passed before my face, the hair of my head stood up.\n\n                                                           _Job_ chap. iv.\n\nEARLY in the seventeenth century, on a very cold November morning, a\ngentleman of Winchester was returning to his home, by a road which then\nled by the borders of the New Forest.  He was conversing gaily with his\nattendants, when his dogs arrested the mirth of the party, by darting\nsuddenly into the mazes of the forest, and signifying their discovery of\nsome unusual object by loud and continued howls.  Sir Bernard Courtenay\ninstantly followed their track, and was startled by discovering, amid the\ntangled bushes, the corpse of a man, frightfully mangled, and which\nappeared to have lain some time in its concealment.  Little observation\nwas necessary to point out the identity of the sufferer,\u2014Sir Bernard\nCourtenay almost instantly recognized an intimate friend; and, with deep\nand painful commiseration, prepared to assist his attendants to convey\nthe body to its home.\n\nMany conjectures were immediately afloat, as to the cause and perpetrator\nof this dreadful act, and, as is ever usual in such cases, many more\nabsurd and irrational than just:\u2014there was no apparent possibility of\ntracing the fact; it appeared to mock all the art and all the power of\njustice.  He had not been robbed\u2014murder alone had been intended, and had\nalone been perpetrated; so that one fact at least was clear, that this\ndeed had been the work of an enemy: no common one, it was presumed, if\nthe appearance of the corpse might weigh any thing in evidence; it was\nmangled fearfully, and the frightful distension of the muscles, the grim\nand rigid expression of the features, the many deep and bloody wounds\nupon the body, and the firm and powerful grasp with which the strained\nfingers of one hand clenched a dark lock of human hair, while those of\nthe other as firmly closed over the hilt of a broken dagger, gave tokens\nthat a fierce and terrible struggle had preceded his unexpected\ndestruction.  It was hoped, that some corresponding token of wounds and\nfierce exertion might lead to a discovery of the murderer; for none\ndeemed, after beholding the body, and calling to mind the noble courage\nof the victim when in life, that the destroyer could pass from that gripe\nunharmed.\n\nHe who had thus fallen, was one for whom every eye had a tear and every\nheart a genuine sigh; he had been the friend of all, the enemy of none;\nhe was young, beautiful, and brave; and his native town had looked up to\nhim as one who was to add new glory to her venerable name, and new lustre\nto his own princely blood; and cut off in the beginning of his career,\nthe very high day of his happiness and beauty, and so cut off\u2014who was\nthere that did not lament for John de la Pole?  But, though all\nWinchester, and the county in whose bosom it lies, sorrowed over the\ncorpse of John de la Pole, the agony borne from his death was to be found\nin his family alone; there he had been adored, and there most truly and\ndeeply was his sad destiny accused.  His young and lovely wife, scarce\npast her bridal year,\u2014she who had, long before his marriage, been the\nsecret object of his ardent love, and who, upon the death of his father,\nbecame the object of his choice\u2014of her grief it was scarcely possible to\nthink without affright; for, in that convulsion of soul into which, in\nthe first horror of eternal separation from all we love, we invariably\nfall, she had withdrawn herself from all consolation of her friends\u2014all\nsuccour of her attendants; and report whispered that she was using means,\nthough quietly, (in order to avoid public shame,) to shorten a life which\nwas now become odious and burthensome.  To this cruel resolution she had\nbeen driven by a terrible incident; on the morning of the discovery of\nthe body, she had, believing him to be on his road towards his home,\nascended her carriage in order to meet him, and was driving cheerfully\nthrough the town, when her progress was arrested by the appearance of the\ncrowd bearing the corpse of her husband.  She recognized it at a glance,\nand, before they were aware of their imprudence, a piercing shriek\nannounced to the people that she did so.  She took another searching,\ndistracted look at the body, and shrunk into the arms of her attendants,\ninsensible and silent.  _They_ thought she was dead\u2014it would not have\nbeen wonderful if she had been; the husband of her soul was lying before\nher, a deep gash across his throat, another had disfigured his snowy\nbrow, and almost divided his once lofty head, while the bosom upon which\nshe had been accustomed to repose was mangled and rent by stabs and blows\ntoo many to number\u2014what an object for a young and loving wife!\nRemembrance was terrible to her, and the inability of justice to discover\nthe murderer added despair to her grief, and thus compelled her to seek\nfor consolation only in the prospect of death.\n\nAs bitter a grief, though perhaps not so deep or desperate, had fastened\nupon the heart of the only survivor of his family, a youth of twenty, of\na beauty and virtue equal to his lamented brother, and who had indeed\nample reason for his regrets.  John de la Pole had been as a father to\nhis youth, and loved him with a warmth far surpassing the kindness of\nordinary brotherhood.  Eustace had never been taught to remember that he\nwas the younger, for the fortunes of his house were open to him, and the\npurse of the elder was common to both.  On the marriage of the latter\nwith his beloved Agatha, the younger had timidly hinted at his fears of\nan interruption to their friendship; but John had remedied this, by\ngenerously providing for his brother, and entreating his Agatha to allow\nhim still a home at the castle: which being granted, Eustace, though\nstill fearful of the influence of his lovely sister, continued to reside\nat home.\n\nBut the influence he so much dreaded during his life, became singularly\napparent after the death of his beloved John.  The will of the latter had\nindeed left an independence to Eustace, but nothing to support the\nsplendour of that princely house of which he was now sole representative.\nAll was assigned to Agatha,\u2014she was the sole heir of her husband,\u2014the\nbeing for whose sake alone he appeared to glory in the possession of\nwealth.  Eustace indeed might still enjoy it, but it was upon a condition\nwhich drew the blood from the young man\u2019s cheek as he read, and palsied\nthe warm throbbings of the heart in his bosom; it was, that if John de la\nPole should die childless before he had attained the age of thirty,\nEustace should espouse the widow.  His brother even _entreated_ this\nsacrifice of him: he said, he knew his heart had been sensible of other\ncharms, but he implored him to yield up this transient gratification to\nhis eternal happiness.  He could not endure, he said, the thought of\naverting from Eustace the fortune of his house; yet still less could he\nendure to know that Agatha would fill a subordinate state in his family\nto that in which he had placed her.  He shuddered at the thought of her\nbeing driven, by this circumstance, to become the wife of another\u2014of one\nwho would love her, and whom she could also love.  He besought Eustace\ntherefore, if he valued his repose, to wed her, as no attachment\nsubsisted between them, and he was satisfied to believe that by him she\nwould be treated with gentleness.  Agatha he entreated to comply with his\nlast wishes, and accept the hand of Eustace within two months after his\ndeath, or be content to resign, with her present rank, the estates to the\nnext of kin.  Such was the will of John de la Pole.  Eustace, full of\ngrief, instantly retired from the castle of his sister, whom he believed\nas little inclined to fulfil the conditions of the will as himself, and\nresigned his spirit for some days to despair; but his friends rallied\nround him, and represented how much depended upon his calm decision.  The\nnext of kin had appeared too, a greedy rapacious man, the son of his\nfather\u2019s sister, who seemed to be sure of his inheritance, and who John,\n(it was conjectured,) had purposely named, to stimulate his brother to\nfulfil his dying injunctions.  Hugh de Broke was insolent and brutal, had\nnever been on kindly terms with his cousins, and had once nearly been\nmurdered by the peasantry for wounding John in a quarrel which occurred a\nfew years before.  The inhabitants saw him return with disgust; his early\nbrutalities were remembered; and when he boasted, in his drink, that he\nknew his cousin before his death intended to make a will in his favour,\nall Hampshire was ready to accuse him of the murder, and many of its\ngentlemen would have given half their estates to have been able to\nsubstantiate the charge.  From earnest desire to action there is but one\nstep: the thought was scarcely uttered by one, ere many endeavoured to\nprove it a fact, and Hugh de Broke became, from an object of mere\ndislike, one of abhorrence and suspicion.  He was not told of the murmurs\nafloat respecting him; and he was too much accustomed to signs of\ndislike, to observe any thing new in their conduct.  The eyes that glared\nupon him had nothing in them peculiarly ferocious to him now; nor did the\ndeep mutterings and suppressed curses as he passed, startle him at this\nperiod from his path; he remembered the hatred of other days, and if he\n_did_ observe any increase of this ill feeling towards him, he attributed\ntheir malignity less towards himself in his own person, than against the\nauthority he would be enabled to hold over their actions as the fortunate\nheir of John de la Pole.  At all events, he fortified himself against\ntheir inflictions, by resorting in some cases to the exercise of his\nnative brutality, in others to a loud and bitter scorn, which only served\nto increase their abhorrence and his own unsuspected danger.\n\nThe accusers were wary in their proceedings, and silently went on\ncollecting proofs and accumulating evidence, until they believed they had\ntruly in the ruffian kinsman, discovered the murderer of their popular\nfavourite.  It was remembered, that after three years\u2019 absence, he had\nappeared in Hampshire about a month previous to the murder of John, and\nthen had suddenly disappeared, to re-appear as suddenly in Winchester\nafter the contents of the extraordinary will were made public.  He had\nboasted a previous knowledge of this document, and he had taken into his\nservice the man who attended John in his fatal journey, and who, by\ndelaying to follow his master, had given courage to the assassin to make\nthe attack.  This man had been dismissed by Eustace with a bitter\nreproof, and had immediately repaired to De Broke.  Fear, or too much\nsecurity, (it was affirmed,) had dictated the measure of his adoption,\nafter a dismissal which ought to have rendered his services every where\nsuspicious.  John, it was urged, had been absent nearly a month, on a\nvisit to a distant friend; he had set out on foot on his return,\nunaccompanied; for this man, according to his own statement, was\ncommanded by his master to follow him with the horses, one of which (De\nla Pole\u2019s) had been injured by an accident a few days before; but he had\nloitered long after, in order to keep an appointment which he had made\nwith a damsel in the establishment of his master\u2019s friend.  He was for\nthis loudly accused of treachery; and De Broke ferociously became his\nchampion, with a violence that only defeated the object he had in view.\nThe lock of hair found in the gripe of the corpse was remembered and\nproduced; it was a bunch of thick and clustering curls, and had been\nforcibly torn from the head of the assassin.  The hair of the servant was\npale, but it was remarked that Hugh\u2019s was dark and curling, and they\nsought an opportunity to compare them together.  De Broke drove the party\nfrom his presence with every mark of contempt, and hardly deigned to\nassent to the repeated asseverations of his servants, that his hair was\nmuch darker, and altogether of a different texture from that produced as\ntaken from the corpse.  His conduct was resented warmly.  By degrees all\nthe gentry assumed the opinions of the mob; and when, in a violent attack\nupon his person, it was discovered that his hair had lately been polled\nin order to facilitate the cure of a wound, and which had hitherto been\nconcealed by the (then) extraordinary contrivance of a peruke, the\nmagistrates made open cause with the people, and Hugh was conducted to\nprison.  There his conduct was sullen and brutal; he would give no\nexplanation, save that the wound in his head arose from a fall from his\nhorse.  He was unusually ferocious; and considerably aggravated his case,\nby his constant threats of deep and deadly vengeance against Eustace de\nla Pole, who, he insisted, had conspired to cheat him of his estate, in\nconjunction with his other enemies.  Many new proofs appeared against\nhim, and the whole county awaited, in trembling suspense, the event of\nhis anticipated trial.\n\nBut these anticipations were not to be gratified: a few nights before the\narrival of the judges, Hugh had contrived to escape from his prison, and\nelude the vigilance of his enemies, by the aid, it was supposed, of his\nservant, for he also fled the country; and neither master nor man again\nfell into the hands of justice.\n\nIn the mean time, the interval months, the short period of time allowed\nfor most important considerations, were fast wearing away; the two\npersons most interested in their progress had come to no decision; and\nthough Hugh de Broke had for the present withdrawn his claim, yet he had\nheirs, who neither more delicate nor more generous than himself, might\nendeavour to prove his incapacity, and substantiate their own in place of\nhis.  At all events, delays were dangerous, and the fortunes of De la\nPole were too considerable to be put to hazard.  Eustace loved another,\nand Agatha could not forget her husband; yet a compliance with the terms\nof the will became an absolute necessity.  Though with averted hearts,\nthey joined hands at the earnest entreaty of friends and relatives; nor\nwould it have been possible to have refused, since even royal majesty\nevinced a solicitude, that the great fortunes and powerful political\ninterest of the family should not pass into any other hands than those of\nthat loyal and princely blood which had hitherto held them so nobly.\nAgatha and Eustace became man and wife, and vowed to cherish and love\neach other till death.\n\nBut it was soon evident to all, that this was not either in the power or\ninclination of the new wedded pair: a deeper sorrow had sunk into their\nminds, and their calm grief was supplanted by looks and feelings of\nhorror and despair.  They spent much of their time together; but their\nconferences seemed rather to heighten than to soothe their mutual\nsuffering.  It was at length remarked, that Eustace never passed his\nnights in the chamber of his wife, but sometimes in deep groans and\nanguish in the seclusion of his own apartment, or in wandering wildly\nthrough the gloomy mazes of the forest.  At such times a stupor would\novershadow the spirit of Agatha,\u2014a silent and uncomplaining madness that\nseemed to render her insensible to suffering; and only upon his return\ndid she vent her keen anguish in words, or dissipate her torture by\nshrieks as piercing as they were fearful.\n\nThose about them saw no other cause for this mental hell, than the grief\nthat had seized upon them, by constantly contemplating their eternal\nseparation from the being they most loved.  It was anticipated that time\nwould effect, if not a cure, at least some amelioration of its\nbitterness; but time rolled on, and their agonies did not decrease.  Nor\ndid the prospect of an heir to their disastrous union afford any pleasure\nor consolation to their minds; they went through the usual routine of\npreparation, because, as it appeared, it _was_ usual; there was no joyous\nanticipation on the part of Eustace,\u2014no tender, trembling hope on the\nside of Agatha; there was no anxiety, no care; it was a thing unspoken\nof, unnoted; and when the bustle of the house, the importance of the\nattendants, and the entrance of the friend (who, unsummoned, save by the\nservants, yet judged it necessary to be near her,) told Eustace of the\nnear approaching throes of Agatha, he threw himself upon the ground in\nthe chamber adjoining her, and buried his face in his hands.\n\nEustace, young, beautiful, and of a gallant spirit, was adored by his\nhousehold, _all_ the members of which fondly contemplated the birth of an\nheir, as an event well calculated to calm their mutual suffering, and\nendear them to each other: and though the maternal anguish of Agatha took\nplace before the usual and expected time, the hopes so affectionately\ncherished were not shaken by the event; but the conduct of their master\ngave a wound to their generous devotion.  Sad and singular as it was,\nthat of Agatha was scarcely less inexplicable: no groans, no tokens of\npain accompanied her physical suffering; and it was apparent that some\nkeener pang of the mind, some woe too deep for utterance, had deadened\nall sense to merely corporal pain.  Her eyes were generally closed,\nexcept when some louder noise, or the nearer approach of an attendant\ntowards the couch, forced her to open them, and gaze around her for an\ninstant; but, when her senses were thus for a moment awakened, it was\nevident the object which had aroused them had no share in their\nattention.  Heedless of all that was passing, she took a shuddering rapid\nglance around the chamber, as if in earnest search of one whom she yet\nfeared to encounter, and then closed them in evident affright, and sunk\nanew into stupor and silence;\u2014it was amidst this stupor and silence that\nher first-born son entered the world.\n\nEustace had not long remained absorbed in his own painful meditations,\nere a mighty shriek from the chamber of Agatha broke upon his ear, and\nmade him partly raise his head from the hard pillow to which he had\nconsigned it.  But his soul was dead within him;\u2014he thought no further\nagony could reach him now\u2014no keener pang could inflict a wound in his\nalready crushed heart; and though the scream was one of horror and\ndismay, a sound of many voices in grief and consternation, it passed over\nhis senses without further notice, and he again dropped his head to the\nground, and, grovelling to earth, seemed as he would bury himself from\nhis anguish in the kindly bosom of his only parent\u2014his last\u2014his truest\nfriend.\n\nBut repose was not for him\u2014no, not even the repose of despair\u2014he was\nagain to wake, to feel, to suffer; there was an undreamed-of agony near\u2014a\nsting that was to penetrate his palsied bosom, and awake his crushed soul\nfrom the dead; to die would have been bliss, but that was a bliss denied\nhim.\n\nThe unhappy young man arose;\u2014a footstep was heard hastily rushing towards\nhis chamber\u2014the wife of Courtenay approached him with a look of\ncommiserating regard, and took his arm to draw him to the apartment of\nAgatha.  She did not speak, but Eustace read in the expression of her\nfeatures that there was yet more to encounter and to endure.  He entered\nthe apartment of his wife\u2014_she_ was lying speechless and insensible upon\nher couch, utterly incapable of any observation of what was passing\naround her; and by her side lay a deformed and distorted infant, plunged\nin the still deeper silence of death.\n\nIn the first moment of sorrow, the friend who had so hastily sought the\npresence of Eustace, had done so under the compelling influence of the\ncircumstance and the time; but a few moments had scarcely elapsed, ere\nCourtenay recovered sufficient recollection to decide that his wife had\njudged unwisely in so rapidly flying from the chamber of the poor Agatha,\nand bursting into that of her husband, dreading the influence the sudden\ngrief might probably acquire over the already racked brain of the latter.\nWith this feeling, Courtenay raised his eyes from the dead child to\nobserve the countenance of Eustace, and if possible, form a judgment as\nto how he was likely to support this shock: but here his fears gave place\nto a new feeling, and his grief was overpowered by astonishment at the\nsingular deportment of Eustace: the childless father advanced slowly\ntowards the corse of his infant, and gazed upon it intently for a moment;\na spasm of agony passed over his countenance, but there was no surprise\nmingled with its expression.  \u201cAnd is it indeed _thus_!\u201d he murmured in a\nlow and agonised tone of voice; \u201cand _so_ must my punishment begin!\u2014yet\nbetter is it even thus, than that thou, poor distorted thing! shouldst\nlive to reproach thy father, and, by thy sufferings, be an accusing\nwitness against him.\u201d  A convulsive shivering seized upon his frame, and\nhe seemed to be struggling with some difficult and awful resolve.  At\nthat moment a similar convulsion appeared to extend itself to the body of\nthe infant; its eyes rolled, and one arm suddenly stretched itself out\nwith a convulsive kind of movement, and remained extended, pointing\ntowards Eustace.  The struggle was at an end in an instant; the change\nfrom distracted to subdued sorrow was the work of a moment.  He grew\nperfectly calm; and turning his looks again towards the infant, and\naddressing it in a low steady voice, \u201cI thank thee,\u201d he said, \u201cfor this\nwarning; thou too shalt not have cause to reproach me; I have hesitated\ntoo long; but his will and thine shall be done.\u201d  Saying thus, his head\ndrooped upon his bosom as in deep thought, and the extended arm of the\nchild a moment after fell quietly down by its side.\n\nCourtenay, the friend of Eustace, and the near relative of Agatha, now\njudged that in this moment of calmness he might venture some expressions\nof consolation.  He deeply regretted that he should have mistaken the\nsleep of the infant for the last slumber of death, and he urged to\nEustace the possibility that the union of medical skill and paternal care\nmight relieve his child from its afflictions, and restore it, in natural\nbeauty, to his love.  He continued to dwell some time longer upon well\nintended topics of consolation, until he perceived that Eustace no longer\nheard his observations, or even remembered his presence.  Suddenly, a new\nthought appeared to awaken the dormant faculties of the latter.  \u201cHas\nAgatha seen her child?\u201d he demanded.  \u201cNo,\u201d replied the wife of\nCourtenay; \u201cshe was insensible at the time of its birth, and I instantly\nrushed from the chamber to seek counsel of my husband: he could give\nnone; but, terrified as myself, followed me hither.  Now, I deem, that as\nthe child has uttered no sound since it came into the world, it were\nbetter she were told of its death; it will be but an anticipation of what\nmust happen; for surely such an unhappy object cannot long exist.\u201d  \u201cI\nknow not that,\u201d observed Eustace, sadly; \u201cbut at least do as thou hast\nsaid, and remove the child from the castle.\u201d  Courtenay retired from the\napartment; and the wish of De la Pole was speedily obeyed.\n\nBut it seemed as if this unmeasured sorrow had brought calmness to him\nwhom they feared it would annihilate: he sought not the apartment of his\nwife, but retired tranquilly to his own; and there was a stillness in it\nthroughout the night, wholly unlike the restless pacings and disturbed\ngroans which had hitherto been heard to issue from it.  In the morning he\nwent to Agatha; their conference was long and sad, for traces of tears\nwere on her countenance when they parted; but the shrieks and agonies\nwhich had formerly distinguished their interviews were no more; she had\ncaught consolation and fortitude from him, and her mind, it appeared, had\nnow grown as resigned and tranquil as his own.\n\nEustace made a journey to a distant part of the country: he spoke nothing\nof his intention previous to his setting out, nor of its object on his\nreturn; that it had been of importance, could only be collected from the\ncare with which he had concealed it, and the continual occupations which\nfollowed his arrival at Winchester.  He was constantly employed in\nwriting, and once or twice had had earnest conversations with Courtenay.\nIt was during one of these that he received an unexpected interruption in\nthe person of Agatha, who entered calmly the apartment of her husband,\nand demanded his attention.  Courtenay arose, and was preparing to\nretire, when Agatha arrested his steps.  \u201cThat which I have to say is for\nthy ear also,\u201d she remarked; \u201cstay, therefore, and answer me.  Sleeping\non my couch in the midday heat the voice of my damsels in discourse broke\nupon my ear, and the sound they uttered gave me to know that my infant\nboy yet lives; wherefore is it that it is not in the bosom of its mother?\nand why was it ever banished from her care?\u201d  There was a dead silence at\nthe conclusion of this speech.  Eustace replied not, and the lip of\nCourtenay trembled.  \u201cEustace fears to reply,\u201d observed Agatha; \u201che\ntrembles to accumulate more sorrow upon this drooping head; he may, in\ntenderness, deceive; but thou, Courtenay, knowest not to lie, and from\nthy lips must the bitter truth come; wherefore is my infant not here?\u201d\n\u201cWe feared it would die,\u201d answered Courtenay; \u201cand, therefore, in thy\nalready terrible agony, wished to spare thee the spectacle of its\ndissolution.\u201d  \u201cBut it did not die,\u201d pertinaciously resumed Agatha; \u201cwhy\nwas it not restored? it might have brought peace and consolation to the\nbosom of its mother.\u201d  \u201cNo, madam,\u201d returned the shuddering speaker;\n\u201cthat child would have brought sorrow and dismay, but no joy to the heart\nof its unhappy parent.  We removed it to a distance, fearing the effect\nof its appearance upon your mind; it is most fearfully disfigured.\u201d\n\u201cDisfigured!\u201d repeated Agatha, with a thrilling start.  A long pause\nensued.  \u201cLet her behold the boy,\u201d said Eustace, calmly.  \u201cYes! let me\nbehold my boy,\u201d said the mother, while tears of sorrow heightened the\nlustre of those splendid eyes; \u201clet me behold my boy; I shall not shrink\nfrom his sight, even though he be an eternal remembrancer of\u2014\u201d  She\npaused, and sadly turned her eyes towards her husband.  \u201cWell, then, thou\nhast anticipated aright,\u201d said Eustace; \u201che _will_ be to thee an eternal\nremembrancer; to me\u2014that ghastly face\u2014that pointing hand\u2014I will not\nbehold them; yet do I rejoice in thy resolve, for such is thy painful\nduty, and thus wilt thou share my sacrifice without enduring my\nsuffering.\u201d  He retired as he spoke; and soon after, conducted by\nCourtenay, in silence and secrecy, the hapless mother folded the ghastly\nboy to her breast.\n\nIt is rare that the human mind can dwell upon more than one wonder at a\nperiod.  The neighbourhood, roused by the idle gossiping of the castle\ndamsels, had begun to be astonished at the disappearance of the heir of\nDe la Pole, who was said not to be dead, but deprived of his mother\u2019s\ntenderness and his father\u2019s succession; and, offended that there should\nbe a secret, they determined that rendering justice to the injured child\nshould be the apology for their own ungenerous curiosity.  From this they\nwere diverted by a singular incident.\n\nA meeting of the gentlemen of the county had been called for some public\npurpose foreign to this narrative.  In the midst of this discussion, it\nwas observed that Eustace de la Pole was absent: this, to many who had\nknown of his recent griefs and habits, was nothing singular; but those\nwho resided more remote from the sphere of his influence, felt authorised\nto demand his presence and attention in a matter which was supposed\ndeeply to interest the class to which he belonged.  A messenger was\ndespatched to request his attendance, and was told that he was preparing\nto wait upon them; and he who was charged with the embassy had scarcely\nreturned to his employers, ere Eustace de la Pole entered the\ncouncil-chamber, leading by the hand a tall and graceful youth, whom he\nplaced at the table of the council, and behind whose chair he stood while\nhe spoke.  His words were few; but their stunning import threw horror and\nastonishment over the noble assembly.  \u201cI present to you this young man,\u201d\ncalmly said he; \u201cand I have assigned to him his appointed place; mine it\nmust be no longer; he is the son of Hugh de Broke, who is lately dead,\nand who, a few months since, was accused of the murder of John de la\nPole.  I come to render him a late, though, I trust, not useless justice,\nand restore the honour of his house.  This youth is not only the heir of\nthe fortunes of De la Pole, but of his father\u2019s innocence, since I only\nwas the murderer of my brother.\u201d\n\nIt would not be possible to paint all the feelings of the audience who\nlistened to this singular declaration, nor the contrariety of opinions\nthat pervaded the minds of men upon its disclosure.  Some asserted that\nderangement had fastened upon the mind of Eustace, and that he only\nimagined the fact; others, that grief had wearied him of existence, and\nthat, preferring to die by other hands than his own, he had chosen this\nmethod of escaping from life and its convulsions; but the far greater\npart (as is ever the case in human judgments) decided for the darker side\nof the question, and concluded the self-accusation to be just, and were\nonly now interested in analysing his motive.  The will of the victim too\nbecame a subject of infinite wonder; and when, to every interrogatory\n(save those which implied the participation of Agatha, which he instantly\nand earnestly denied,) Eustace remained mute, indignation supplied the\nplace of pity; and among those who had been his intimates and friends,\nhad eaten of his bread and drank of his cup, there were not wanting some,\nwho, baffled in their eager pursuit of the marvellous, and offended that\na secret was denied to them, even hinted at the torture, as a means of\ncompelling a discovery of his motives and accomplices.\n\nThere are many whose sickly existences find health only in the\ncontemplation of the severer agonies of others; many who, without either\nhatred or malignity, yet love to feed their unnatural and craving\nappetites for singularities and horrors; and would rather cherish them\nwith the blood of a dear friend, than suffer them to famish for want of\nsustenance.  In small communities and country places, this inclination in\nthe inhabitants is most apparent: here it was cruelly visible.  John de\nla Pole had always been a popular man, and his destiny had afforded them\na feast of blood, for which they felt grateful to his memory; from his\nmurderer they could exact it, and they would: the loudest for justice\nappealed to the king for the application of the torture, and those who\npitied the sufferer did not oppose the petition, as curious to behold the\nresult.\n\nThe weak and inquisitive prince who then filled the English throne, saw\nsomething singular and mysterious in the conduct of the young De la Pole,\nand therefore unhesitatingly gave his assent to the sentence of his\njudges.  The torture was borne by Eustace without a groan, though a close\nimprisonment of some weeks might have weakened his spirit and exhausted\nhis bodily strength.  He walked calmly and unsupported to the scene of\nsuffering, conversing steadily with Courtenay, who never for an instant\nforsook him.  From any outward tokens of anticipated agony or terror, it\nwould have been difficult to distinguish the criminal from the spectator:\nhe even smiled as he recognised his acquaintances in the crowd assembled\nto gaze upon his sufferings.  There was only one action remarkable in his\nbearing at this trying juncture; on ascending the scaffold, and while\nthey were binding his arms, his attention was arrested apparently by some\nobject near him, though no one could be seen by the crowd, and during the\nwhole period of the infliction of the \u201cpeine forte et dure,\u201d the victim\nkept his eyes still fastened upon this spot, but without articulating a\nword.  When the accumulated weights pressed so heavily on his sinking\nbreast as to threaten dissolution, he raised his head to look upon his\nmangled limbs, and surveyed them in silent attention; he then turned his\neyes to the spot which had so long occupied their regards, and, pointing\nwith a slow and solemn motion to the load upon his breast, said, in a\nclear and steady tone, \u201cThou see\u2019st!\u201d\n\nEustace was remanded to prison; his friends, his enemies, those who were\nneither, all besought him with equal earnestness not to die with this\nsecret sin upon his heart; he smiled at their anxiety, but answered\nnothing to their queries;\u2014they doubted his guilt, ascribed his conduct to\nmadness, to despair;\u2014he replied by throwing off his cap and showing the\nscar in his head, from which his brother, in the last agonising grasp of\ndeath, had torn the dark and bloody lock which had once so nearly\ncondemned the unfortunate De Broke,\u2014and they were silenced.  He continued\nsteadfast to his purpose\u2014silent, sorrowful, but calm.\n\nAnd where was Agatha during these scenes of insult and endurance?  Had\nshe too forsaken the dungeon of her husband, and given up her soul to\nexultation in his captivity and anguish?  She had once, and only once,\ndemanded admittance to his prison; she had remained with him many hours,\nand retired, like himself, tranquillised from the interview.  Soon after,\nshe formally resigned the castle and its dependencies to him whom Eustace\nhad named as the lawful heir: her own son and his claims, were now no\nlonger remembered, since the crime of his father had deprived him of the\nsuccession, which had been awarded by the king to the son of the injured\nDe Broke.  After these arrangements, which were performed in silence and\ncelerity, and with only the casual assistance of Courtenay, Agatha\nwithdrew from her native town, and concealed her person and her sorrow\nfor ever from the eyes of the world.\n\nBut her desertion of her husband at the tremendous juncture when he so\nmuch needed her help and consolation, was not regarded with indignation\nby the many who considered the circumstances under which she stood:\n_that_ husband was a murderer, and of whom?  The terrible question needed\nno reply, and Agatha was speedily acquitted! her absence too was a\ntrivial circumstance compared with that of her husband\u2019s situation.  All\neyes were turned to the prison at Winchester.\n\nAt length Eustace de la Pole was led out to die.  It was a splendid day\nin the season of autumn, on which his mortal career was to terminate.\nConsideration for the princely blood which flowed in his veins, had\nforbidden, in his case, the strangulation by the degrading cord, and the\naxe and the block had been substituted in its room.  The novelty of the\ncircumstance drew many thousands round the scaffold, who awaited, in\nfeverish and almost angry impatience, the arrival of him who was to\nfurnish forth the spectacle of the day.  He came,\u2014not indeed as before,\nwith an erect and unassisted step, for his limbs had been crushed, and\nhis physical strength destroyed; but his pale countenance was composed,\nand his soft rich voice was steady and clear, as he conversed at\nintervals with Courtenay, the priest, and the executioner, who received\nhim courteously, as, led by the two former, he ascended the steps of the\nscaffold.  Of the crowd around he took no heed, but with calm and silent\ncelerity prepared himself for the block.  At sight of the noble young\nman, bare-headed and disrobed for the sad and ignominious death, there\nwere many who could no longer restrain their tears; and hard-hearted\ngrey-headed men who, hating his crime, believed they could find pleasure\nin his sorrow, and went thither to feast upon his suffering, now wept\nloudly for him whom, in their first feeling of horror, they had cursed.\nHe appeared unconscious of this change of temper, and seemed rather\ndisposed to hasten than to retard the preparations, for he laid his head\ndown upon his last pillow before the executioner had entirely completed\nthem.  He had himself promised to give the signal for the fall of the\naxe; and while the multitude were anxiously awaiting this movement, they\nbeheld him suddenly raise his head from the block, and gaze intently upon\none particular spot upon the scaffold; all eyes were instantly directed\ntowards it, but to them at least no object was visible.  He gazed for a\nfew moments with intense earnestness, then calmly replacing his head upon\nthe block, exclaimed in solemn but eager accents, \u201cThou see\u2019st!\u201d and gave\nthe signal for his death.  The axe fell\u2014heavily, rapidly\u2014it was\nover\u2014swifter than thought.  The executioner held up the gory head to the\npeople; the features were calm, the eyes closed; but before he could\nutter the customary sentence, they had once more opened and fixed\nthemselves upon the same spot which had attracted the last of their\nliving regards; they appeared slowly to follow the movement of some\nunseen object round the scaffold, till they reached the opposite side;\nthen they withdrew their gaze, quivered for an instant, dropped, dark and\nimmoveable, for ever.\n\nThis, as many strange scenes, was however doomed to be forgotten, like\nother things.  Ten years passed away, and ten other wonders had, during\nthat period, interested or frightened the people of Winchester and its\nsurrounding country.  John and Eustace de la Pole were no more\nremembered, or their story only casually mentioned as belonging to the\nodd things that were; Courtenay had glided into middle age, and the youth\nfor whom Eustace had done so much, had long since written man.\u2014Ten years!\nHow many and how striking may be the changes of ten years!  Courtenay had\nlong pondered over the destiny of Agatha, and sighed to think whither her\nunhappy fate might have conducted her; but the long interval which passed\nhad almost swept her from his mind, when a letter, in her unforgotten\ncharacter, was one day put into his hand.  It was couched in brief and\nanxious terms, and conveyed a request that he would immediately proceed\nto her dwelling.  Courtenay was no laggard in the cause of humanity; he\ndid not pause to speculate upon this address, or even to wonder at its\nabruptness, but he set forward instantly, and the morning of the\nfollowing day saw him knock at a lonely cottage on the coast of\nDorsetshire, in the neighbourhood of Corfe Castle.  The door was opened\nby Agatha herself, who habited in the black robes which she had worn\nsince the sad death of the last of her husbands, received him with\ncourteous sadness.  Years had not dimmed the beauty of her matchless\nface, but sorrow had been busy with its expression; the same lovely\nfeatures were there, but their once bright character was gone.\n\nTheir meeting was tenderly sorrowful: Agatha said little in explanation\nuntil she had conducted her guest into an adjoining chamber, and pointed\nout one object for his observation.  Stretched upon a couch, grown to\nboyhood, covered with wounds, and unchanged in person, save that his\ndeformities had now grown more manifest, lay extended the ghastly boy,\nthe only child of Agatha and the helpless Eustace.  Courtenay trembled as\nhe gazed; but the mother\u2019s looks were calm.  \u201cHe is dead,\u201d she said, on\nobserving the emotion of her guest; \u201cwhat Heaven and Nature with so much\ndifficulty spared, the brutality of man has destroyed; he was my joy and\nsorrow, and many a weary hour have I watched to snatch him from the\nyawning grave: for ten years he has been my sole care; and for the\ninsults and scorn heaped upon his deformed and idiotic existence, he\nfound compensation in the tenderness of his mother.  The small pittance\nwhich I derived from my father was sufficient for our wants; and never\nshould I have called upon any former friend, but for the cruel deed of\nyesterday; robbers from the waters broke into my dwelling, and pillaged\nthence my property.  I knew not how it was; I had gone to a distance to\nbuy food, and on my return found the poor idiot thus.  My only attendant,\nan old woman, had been wounded in his defence; and from her I with\ndifficulty learned, that the convulsive movements of the boy, and his\npointing hand, as his menacing eye followed their actions, had drawn upon\nhim their wrath and its brutal consequences.  I am averse from again\nappearing in the scenes which I have once and for ever abandoned, and\ntherefore I sent for thee, Courtenay, to spare myself the sad task of\ninterring the pale corpse of my boy, and drawing wondering and\ninquisitive eyes upon my person and history.\u201d\n\nCourtenay was pleased with the confidence reposed in his friendship.  A\nbrother\u2019s love might have done less for Agatha; it could not have\neffected more.  Her wishes were immediately performed; and he was\npreparing, with unintrusive delicacy, to return to his home, when Agatha\nfor a few moments detained him; \u201cYou have deserved unlimited confidence\nat my hands,\u201d said she, \u201cand you shall obtain it: he who is now numbered\nwith the ignominious dead desired it should be so, and I withhold it no\nlonger.  You, in common with all the world, were ignorant of the motives\nwhich impelled the unhappy Eustace to the deed which he perpetrated; but\nyou did not, in common with all the world, forsake him in his utmost\nneed: for you he drew up the story of his sorrows, and placed it in my\nhands to be given to you only when I saw the fitting time; that time hath\narrived.  The child of sorrow is dead, and I shall still more completely\nretire from a world where insignificance and poverty are no protection\nfrom cruelty and avarice; a convent will shortly receive me, and, if I\ncontinue to live, a newer and better existence will be mine: if not, I\nshall have done wisely in thus obeying the last command of Eustace.\u201d\n\nCourtenay received the packet and retired; he lingered not a moment to\nrelieve the recluse of his presence, but returned to Winchester, after\nreceiving her commands to see her again in three days: he then hastened\nto his apartment, and, with trembling avidity, read, in the confessions\nof Eustace, the secret story of the fortunes of De la Pole.\n\n\u201cI know that thou despisest me, Courtenay; I know that thou deemest me no\nless a fool than a coward; thou didst bring me the means of an honourable\ndeath, gavest into mine hands the dagger and the drug, and I have\nrejected both: we disputed, differed, parted, met again, and again\nrenewed the subject; thou didst even deign to persuade the coward (so\nthou thoughtest him) to act like a man; but thy entreaties were unheeded\nand thy counsel rejected: he will die like a thief and a criminal\u2014he will\nbe hooted out of life; and curses will be the torches to give light to\nhis memory, that it sink not into darkness and oblivion.\n\n\u201cSaid I not that I was a sacrifice? that my punishment was a propitiatory\noffering?  Now again I say to thee the same thing.  Death would have few\nhorrors for me (for it is a thing I covet) without the ignominy of a\npublic execution; to offer my life for my wrong would be nothing, but to\noffer it up thus!\u2014This alone can satisfy immortal justice; this alone can\nsatisfy the spirit of the murdered man.  Read and behold the meaning.\n\n\u201cThou knowest how fondly, contrary to his father\u2019s hope, John de la Pole\nloved the beautiful daughter of Philip Forester, thy kinsman; but thou\nknowest not how much more fervently she was adored by the wretched\nEustace, and how tenderly the gentle Agatha returned that love.  Hope\nthere was none; for what had I to bribe the greedy father of my love,\nwhen John de la Pole could hereafter lay the fortunes of his house at her\nfeet?  Philip suspected the state of his daughter\u2019s heart, and had looked\ndeeper than I imagined into mine: he determined that a younger brother\nwas not deserving of his Agatha\u2019s beauty, and, by cold civilities and\nhints of my father\u2019s and brother\u2019s disapprobation, banished me from his\nhouse.  One thing alone gave consolation to my blighted heart, the\nsteadiness with which my father resolved against the marriage of John\nwith the object of our mutual passion.  In one of the sad conferences\nwhich I occasionally, though now but seldom, held with my beloved Agatha,\nit occurred to my imagination, that though my father had resolved to\ndispose differently of the heir of his house, he might not object to my\nunion with the object of my choice; and I received permission of my\nbeloved to make the attempt upon his feelings.  I did so immediately,\nand, with a rapture which I dare not now dwell upon, received his\npermission, and his solemn promise to purchase the approbation of the\nselfish Forester, by bestowing upon me one-fourth of his more than\nprincely fortune.  He arranged to see Forester upon the following day:\nthe same evening I flew to Agatha.  O Courtenay! didst thou ever love?\nThose few blessed hours were the most happy of my life, and the last that\nwere so.  We parted; Agatha radiant with happiness; I, to think, to hope,\nto anticipate, to wish all things could share my transports, to love\ncreation, to love God.  In the morning my father was found dead on his\ncouch; and the following month Agatha became the wife of my brother!\nCourtenay! didst thou ever love?\n\n\u201cThou wilt ask, where was Eustace when his beloved was thus sacrificed?\nAlas! sent to a distance, to execute some commands of that brother upon\nwhom I was so utterly dependent.  He had discovered my love, and thus,\nwithout my suspecting his intentions, prevented its consequences: he\nhastened to Agatha, represented the ruin she would bring upon me, and his\ndetermination to abandon me for ever, unless she became his wife;\nForester, who was his ally, threatened her with his curse; I know not all\nthe artifices used,\u2014I never could listen to the detail.  She became the\nwife of the man she could not love, and I was suffered to wither beneath\nhis roof, while, with calm hypocrisy, he told his own tale,\nostentatiously enriched his younger brother, and declared he could not\nlive happy without him.  Fool that he was!\u2014stupid, uncalculating idiot!\nHe had torn asunder two burning hearts, and expected to smother their\nfires; he had separated two devoted beings, compelled them to live in\neach other\u2019s presence, and yet expected them to forget.  Agatha abhorred\nhis sight\u2014his very aspect was loathsome to her.  I saw her agonies,\u2014I saw\nher daily shudderings at every demonstration of his love; and cold dews\nof death spread over my own heart when I beheld her submitting to his\nfondness.  I implored to be banished from the castle; I entreated to be\nallowed the sad privilege of beholding Agatha no more: he could not trust\nme from him, he said; and I was obliged to remain.  Merciless idiot!\nblind looker into the human heart!  Had he consented, all might then have\nbeen well; but how did he dare thus selfishly sport with torture?  He\nwent on a journey for a few weeks; he commanded me to a distant part of\nthe country on business of importance to his interests: I went, but\nreturned ere half the allotted time for his absence had expired\u2014to be\nalone with Agatha\u2014to see her unrestrained\u2014to mingle my tears with hers: I\ncould not resist this one sad bliss, and I hastened back to enjoy it.\n\n\u201cWe met, the lover and the beloved, in grief\u2014in madness\u2014in despair!  Oh,\nwonder not, that when we parted guilt should be added to the burthen of\nour sorrows; but the terrible consciousness of crime changed at once our\nnatures and our deeds.  Agatha\u2019s horror of her husband increased: and,\nnow that she was mine, I determined she should no more be his\u2014to fly, and\nrob the castle for the means of sustenance.  Alas! I feared to expose her\nto scorn, should we be unable to evade the pursuit of justice; and, even\nif in this we should succeed, what means had I of subsistence when that\nslender source should fail, proscribed, as we should be, in every part of\nour native land?  To live on, as I had lately done, was still more\nimpossible; since Agatha herself had armed her bosom with a knife to be\nturned against her heart rather than again endure the horrors of her\nhusband\u2019s love.  Again and again we met in passionate, though gloomy\nconference; and thus continued to waste the time in fruitless debate\nuntil his messenger announced his approaching return.  Despair gave wings\nto my thought; Agatha\u2019s eye glanced on mine; she drew the dagger from her\nbreast, and I snatched it from her hand.  Our thoughts had spoken\u2014there\nwas no need of words\u2014we had understood each other without them.\n\n\u201cI hastened to conceal myself in the New Forest, near the road through\nwhich he must pass on his return.  He had taken his confidential servant\nwith him, and, rather than expose myself to observation, I had determined\nto fire at him through the trees, calculating and believing that the\nservant would mistake the attack for that of concealed robbers, and fly,\nleaving his master to his fate.  But I had scarcely arranged my mode of\nattack ere I heard a footstep in the road; I looked out, and beheld him\nslowly advancing, with his eyes steadfastly directed towards the towers\nof his castle, as if he sought out the apartment of his wife.  At the\nsight of him all prudence vanished\u2014all recollection of the calm attack\nwhich I had meditated passed away from my mind; I did not even observe\nthat he was alone: hatred and rage filled my heart, and I rushed upon him\nlike a wild beast, tearing him to the earth by the bare strength of\nsinew, and inflicting many mortal stabs upon his breast: he grappled\nfiercely with me, struggled hard to rise, and even drew his dagger, which\nI broke in his grasp before he could strike one blow.  He tore a lock of\nhair from my head, but, during the terrible contest he had not uttered a\nsingle word, till a deep and home-directed stroke upon his brow threw him\npowerless on the sod, then he spoke gaspingly to his brother: \u2018Have mercy\nupon me,\u2019 he said, \u2018have mercy; I have wronged thee, but that is not the\nheaviest of my crimes; I would live to repent: to expiate one, the\ndeepest, darkest, let me live; I dare not die.  My father!\u2014I overheard\nhis arrangements with thee\u2014I could not bear to lose\u2014he was found dead on\nhis couch\u2014I smothered him in the night.  Mercy, mercy!  O Eustace! let me\nlive,\u2014I am not fit to die!\u2019  But his words raised a wilder fiend in my\nsoul, that scared away the spirit of mercy.  He then had been the\nmonster\u2014he!\u2014I raved aloud, \u2018Murderer! thou art not fit to live\u2014hell gapes\nfor thee\u2014begone!\u2019  I drew my dagger across his throat; the blood gushed\nupon my face, upon my hands; he grinned, scowled, gibbered as he sunk,\nbut he spoke and struggled no more.\n\n\u201cI hastened home,\u2014but I saw not Agatha, neither did I seek her during the\nlong and terrible night that followed the sunset crime: I dared not tell\nher what I had done; I could not have borne to hear her speak of the sin\nwhich I had committed.  Towards the morning I grew calm; my fears and\nhorror subsided; I thought of the atrocious act of the guilty dead, and,\nby degrees, persuaded myself that I had done an act of justice; I began\nto calculate upon the consequences, and seriously consider whether, by\nthis deed, I had really achieved the consummation of my wishes\u2014the\npossession of my adored Agatha; she was my sister, the widow of my\nbrother; could I legally become her husband?  And, allowing the\npossibility, was it probable that I should be permitted to do so?  These\nconsiderations gave birth to the action which followed; I forged the\nextraordinary will which gave the succession to me, but only with the\nhand of Agatha; and it appeared the more natural, as, during the period\nof her wedlock, she had borne no child to her husband.  That night and\nsucceeding day was thus intently occupied.  On the following morning the\ncorpse was discovered by you.  I had not seen Agatha, but, on hearing of\nher meeting the body, hastened to calm her mind, and prepare her for the\nwill, which was opened after the interment.  I made use of the pretext of\nanother love, to appear repugnant to the wishes of my brother, and\nquitted the castle to appease the inquietudes of Agatha, who entreated me\nnot to see her again until I could make her my wife.\n\n\u201cYou remember the reading of that will; you remember the arrival of De\nBroke; poor wretch! his drunken falsehoods, his silly boasts, and above\nall, his ungoverned insolence, has cost him fatally dear.  I was not\nconcerned at the suspicion which fell upon him; on the contrary, I\nrejoiced it had found such an object; but I trembled with horror when I\nbeheld him conducted to a dungeon, and reflected on the probability of\nhis paying the penalty of my crime.  Guilty enough already, this\naccumulation of sin appalled me, and I determined that innocent blood at\nleast should not cry out from earth against me.  In the night previous to\nthe day fixed for his trial, which I dreaded equally, whether he should\nbe condemned or acquitted, I sought his prison, and, by an exaggerated\naccount of the popular rage against him, prevailed upon him to accept the\nmeans of escape; his servant who attended him, terrified by the picture I\ndrew of his master\u2019s danger, united his entreaties to mine.  Hugh\u2019s\ncourage and fortitude gave way to our solicitations; he fled, and\npreserved his life at the expense of his honour and his peace.\n\n\u201cI cannot express to you how deep was the pang the ruin of this man\u2019s\ncharacter gave me, nor how I sunk from the eyes lifted to mine in\ncommiseration, whenever his name was mentioned before me; even now, now\nthat I have rendered back such severe justice, my heart sickens as I\nrecall the curses which I heard heaped upon his head as the murderer of\nJohn de la Pole.  I should have suffered less had they branded the\ncriminal unknown, but to hear an innocent man thus accused for me\u2014O\nCourtenay! thou knowest not, mayest thou never know, remorse.\n\n\u201cI reasoned much even then upon the folly of this conduct; I said, I am a\ncowardly villain, a sneaking murderer, who fears the consequences of the\ncrime he yet feared not to commit.  Why should I be careful of this man\u2019s\nlife? what is his safety to me? his death might be my security, at least\nwould prevent suspicion from falling elsewhere; are not his manners\nbrutal, his heart selfish, avaricious, and cruel? who will miss him from\nthe earth? and by whom will his loss be mourned?  But it is my crime for\nwhich he will suffer, and the curse of innocent blood will lie upon my\nhead: neither has he injured me, that I should doom him so hardly: I\ncannot even taste the luxury of revenge.  These thoughts disquieted me,\nand, recurring more frequently than I could bear, influenced my conduct\nin regard to the prisoner.  \u2018The means of escape shall be offered to\nhim,\u2019 I said; \u2018if, innocent as he knows himself to be, he be coward\nenough to accept them, he is worthy of the opprobrium which will cling to\nhim, and I ought not to grieve for that ruin of character which he\nhimself alone will effect.\u2019\n\n\u201cWith this wretched sophistry I endeavoured to reconcile my conscience,\nand, strange to say, I succeeded; care and regret departed from my bosom,\nand I looked forward to the day of my approaching union with Agatha with\nan impatience which I found it difficult to control: it came at length,\nand under happy auspices, for all our friends were assembled around us,\nand I saw in my beloved\u2019s tranquil smile the scarce concealed joy of her\nheart.\n\n\u201cYou remember that day, Courtenay\u2014you remember the brilliant assemblage\nand the gay festival of night\u2014you remember how brightly sparkled the\njest, how sweetly sounded the song, and how every creature present seemed\nwrapped in the delicious intoxication of the hour\u2014you remember my parting\ncommands after Agatha had retired, to carouse till the day-break, and\nmake the young sun a witness of your felicity: you did so; it was a scene\nof joy and splendour.  Alas! there was another, and a widely different,\npassing in a more retired part of the castle.\n\n\u201cI must pause in my narrative here for a few moments; all that has as yet\nbeen detailed has been plain and simple fact, subject to no doubts,\nliable to no misconstructions; hitherto all has been clear; that which\nwill follow is wild, strange, and improbable\u2014mysterious, incomprehensible\nindeed, yet not less true than that which I have hitherto written.  How\nshall I make you understand what I have to present to your mind?  In what\nwords shall I clothe a narrative so extraordinary as to prevent its\nstamping me with the opprobrium of folly or madness?  Even now, in my\ndying hour, on the very steps of the scaffold, I hesitate at the thought\nof being lightly esteemed by thee, or my sacrifice regarded as the result\nof a weakened intellect or a disordered brain: it is more easy to die as\na knave than be lamented as a fool.\n\n\u201cAgatha had withdrawn from the hall with her damsels, and I hastened to\nfollow her; she had retired to an apartment adjoining her bridal chamber,\nand thither, wearied of the noise and mirth of the rioters below, I also\nhastened.  I longed for a delight I had not lately experienced, an\nunreserved conversation with my wife, and to be allowed to dismiss the\ncoldness which, during the day, I had been obliged to feign towards her.\nThe damsels retired, and we were left to pour out our hearts to each\nother in the unbounded confidence of our new relation, when we were\nstartled by hearing a slow and heavy foot steadily ascending the stairs;\nas these were private, leading only to our apartments, Agatha was\nsurprised and offended.  \u2018Who would intrude at this hour?\u2019 she demanded,\nwhile her eyes turned anxiously towards the door.  For me, a thrill of\nhorror shot through my inmost heart; I said, relinquishing the hand I had\ntill then so fondly clasped in mine, \u2018_That is the step of my brother_!\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd it was so, Courtenay: a moment more and the door slowly opened of\nitself to give entrance to its master; John de la Pole entered the room\nand stood between Agatha and me; his face was as in his dying hour,\nghastly and menacing, and every gash of the murderous knife upon his body\nas frightfully distinct as on the night they were inflicted.  In one hand\nhe held a lock of dark hair; the other was extended threateningly towards\nme; and thus he stood between us, drawn from another world by the crime I\nmeditated against his bed, and an everlasting barrier before me.\n\n\u201cMy first emotion was astonishment\u2014a boundless and stupefied\nsurprise\u2014then a vague and horrid notion that my brother was not really\ndead, that he had escaped alive from my hands, and was now come to accuse\nand surrender me up to scorn.  The interval which had passed since his\ndeath was obliterated from my mind, and I felt as if that night had been\nthe season of the deed.  I spoke in extenuation of my crime, accused his\nselfishness, cursed his calculating cruelty; I implored his mercy, folded\nmy hands in supplication, and knelt before him in humble debasement.  No\nmuscle of his countenance moved, and not a sound escaped through his\nbruised and blackened lips; he did not even look upon me, but continued\nto fasten his stony eyes upon the face of Agatha, who stood silent and\nmotionless as himself, gazing like a fascinated thing upon this aspect of\nhorror.  I arose from my knees\u2014shut my eyes\u2014tossed my arms abroad to the\nair\u2014endeavoured to think I was in sleep, in drunkenness, in delirium: no,\n_he was still there_!\u2014I thought of the agony of tempestuous feeling I had\nendured on the night following the commission of the crime, and,\nbelieving that my jaded mind was suffering under the same infliction,\nresolved to seek my couch, to restore my exhausted spirits by rest and\nsleep.  I made an effort to move from my place; I knew that motion might\nrecall my scattered senses; and I exerted myself to enter the chamber of\nAgatha.  Wilt thou believe me, Courtenay? the stern shadow anticipated my\nmovement, and, menacing me back, strode silently towards my bridal\nchamber.  At the door its menacing attitude towards me was changed for\none of command to Agatha; one bloody finger was raised to beckon her to\nfollow: she did so.  Still stupidly insensible, gazing fixedly upon his\nform, she followed the direction of his hand, and passed after him into\nthe chamber: the door closed upon them without a sound.\n\n\u201cNow I began to think more calmly: the dead, cold thing was gone, and\nthere was life and air in the apartment; the feelings of this world came\nupon me, and I became sensible of fear.  I was safe; but where was\nAgatha?\u2014_he_ had beckoned her forth\u2014was it reality?\u2014she was gone\u2014had it\nbeen the work of imagination, she had still been there\u2014but she might have\nretired to her chamber alone.  This was to be ascertained.  I attempted\nto enter\u2014the door was fast; I called upon Agatha\u2014there was no sound in\nreply; I reviewed the last scene, considered the incidents of the past,\nweighed the appearances of the present, and came at length to the\nterrible conclusion that a spirit of the damned had stood before me, and\nthat Agatha was still in his grasp!  You will not wonder that temporary\ninsanity followed this hideous idea: I grew wild at the thoughts of her\ndanger; I shrieked aloud for mercy; I tore my hair in agony, and beat at\nthe closed door with the utmost exertion of strength.  I wonder even now\nthat none heard the uproar I made; but my cries remained unanswered\u2014no\nsound issued from the bridal chamber of the dead, and I continued to rave\nuntil nature, exhausted, sunk speechless and senseless to the earth.\n\n\u201cMorning had broken over the apartment when I awoke, and I was some\nmoments in recovering recollection of my state and circumstances; slowly\nthe truth came before me.  I was lying extended on the bare ground, the\nlights had burned out, and there was no trace of visitors having been\nnear me in my sleep.  I arose and listened for some sound that might\ndirect my first movements, for now I knew not what to think nor to do.  A\nlow sobbing from the chamber of Agatha rivetted my attention; I sprung\ntowards the door, and, to my astonishment, it yielded to the slightest\ntouch: I entered; Agatha was there, seated upon the bed, and gazing\naround her with a look of agonising affright; she saw me on the instant,\nand rushed into my arms.  \u2018Thou art here! thou art safe!\u2019 she cried in\ndelirious transport; \u2018and for this I am at least grateful; I deemed he\nhad destroyed thee.  But thou didst leave me, Eustace.  O quit me not, I\nbeseech thee! save me from him, Eustace, for thou alone canst!\u2019  I\nendeavoured to soothe her anguish, and, after some time, succeeded in\nrestoring her to tranquillity and composure enough to be made acquainted\nwith the real state of our circumstances; and I implored her to inform me\nwhither the ghastly phantom had led her, on their retiring from the\nchamber.  She shuddered at the question, and a wild and strange\nexpression passed over her countenance ere she spoke.  \u2018I will tell\nthee,\u2019 she said; \u2018yet it is but little that I have to say.  To this room\nwe came, and our footsteps wandered no further.  Without a word he gave\nhis commands to me, and without a word I obeyed him.  I ascended my\nbridal bed, he had willed it so, and he continued to gaze upon me till my\nhead sunk upon the pillow; then the ghastly thing sat down by my side,\nand though I closed mine eyes hard that I might not behold him, yet I\nfelt that the shadow of his unearthly face was upon me.  Once I looked up\nin the hope that he was gone; beholding him I shrunk, and would have\ncalled upon thee, but the stony eye of the spectre grew larger, and a\nfiendish pang passed over the immoveable face; then I hid mine in my\nmantle that I might look upon him no more: insensibility succeeded, and I\nslept; in the morning I awoke, and he was gone!\u2019\n\n               [Picture: Agatha, Eustace, and the Spectre]\n\n\u201cThis was the tale of Agatha! thou wilt doubt its truth, nor can I wonder\nat thy most natural incredulity: yet I would now give my few short hours\nof life, precious as they may be, that thou hadst been present and _seen_\nher tell this story; I can give thee her words, her form of expression,\nbut what language of mine can portray her looks as she spoke, or describe\nthe harrowing tones of her voice as she cried to me for protection?  I\ndoubted not; for these powerful witnesses would have carried conviction\nto my mind, had I not already beheld the shadowy thing she spoke of.\n\n\u201cWhat could I offer in consolation?  We wept bitter tears together, and\nmingled our tender grief.  If we indulged a momentary hope that it was\nbut an illusion of the brain, and would return no more, we were quickly\nundeceived at the approach of night.  Again came the ghastly shadow, and\nagain was the spirit of Agatha chained by the sleep of death in his\npresence.  Nor were his visitations confined to the dark and silent hour\nof night; when we met in the morning, to lament our fate and weep from\nour stuffed bosoms the weight that pressed upon our hearts, then, with a\nhideous familiarity, he would stand between us, mocking, with his\nmenacing grin and uplifted finger, the agony his presence created.\n\n\u201c_Another_ night came; we sat alone, solitary, speechless, motionless;\nhour after hour passed, and we moved not, except to cast stern regards\ntowards the door, or listen with repressed impatience to every sound in\nthe castle.  Slowly, at last, came the step of the dead, heavily\nascending the stairs;\u2014he entered\u2014I rushed to meet him, and the long pent\nup agony of my soul burst forth in madness uncontrolled.\n\u2018Monster!\u2014murderer!\u2014destroyer of thy father and thy brother! why comest\nthou thus to torture and not kill? why is thy bloody hand for ever\nraised, and yet forbearing to fall?  If thine aim be vengeance,\nstrike\u2014strike\u2014strike\u2014thou blood-bespotted horror! and rend from hope and\nfrom life those who dared to make thee what thou art!\u2014Strike, thou\nsilent, sullen thing! that we may be as thou art, and learn to fear thee\nnot!\u2019\n\n\u201cI darted towards him, but was arrested by some invisible barrier ere I\nhad traversed half the distance between us; I could not reach him, but\nsunk, as if felled by an unseen blow, helpless and almost senseless, to\nthe ground: _he_ did not even look upon me, but again sternly summoned\nAgatha from the chamber, as nightly he had done before.  I\u2014but wherefore\ndwell upon these agonies?  Suffice it to say, that these accumulated\nhorrors at length drove me from the side of Agatha to solitude and\nreflection: sorrow came upon my soul\u2014a sorrow less for my crime than for\nits fatal consequences.  \u2018Alas!\u2019 I said, \u2018perhaps the tormentor is\nhimself more keenly punished by these hauntings than either of his\nshrinking victims: said he not, in the hour of death, that he too was a\nmurderer? and did he not pray for time in which to expiate the sin?\nSurely, surely, these visitations must be the hell of the parricide.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd a feeling of remorse arose in my mind, as I deemed it possible that\nthese unnatural hauntings might be involuntary.  I had stabbed at the\nlife of my brother, and plunged his unprepared spirit into the hell which\nawaited it; and surely a more bitter one than looking again upon the\nsecret deeds of the survivors, could not well be imagined.  Agatha, too,\nno longer wept over her separation from me, but hourly called upon Heaven\nfor pity and for pardon; madness and anguish passed away from her heart,\nand sorrow and repentance entered it.\n\n\u201cI could not repent; at least I could not feel self-condemnation to that\ndegree which I had been early taught was so necessary\u2014that perfect sorrow\nwhich abhorred the crime and the criminal, and which, they say, is alone\nthe gift of Heaven\u2014_that_ I did not feel: still, still did my inmost soul\nworship the thought of Agatha, and abhor the treachery of John de la\nPole.  I could not regret that I had avenged my wrong\u2014I could not repent\nthat I had attempted to make her mine; I knew that were the deed again to\ndo\u2014again should I dare, and perform it.\n\n\u201cRepentance then was not mine; but I despaired of peace, and knew how to\npunish crime: I was not yet weary of life; and though tears of remorse\ndid not fill my eyes for my brother\u2019s early doom, yet his unnatural\ntortures now, and Agatha\u2019s suffering, seemed to call for something like\njustice from my hand.  \u2018Perhaps, in the stern mood in which I am,\u2019 I\nsaid, \u2018the sacrifice will be greater than if repentance struck; and\nbelieving myself sure of forgiveness, I hastened to make my peace with\nHeaven.  Yes; I will die\u2014I will inflict death upon myself as I would upon\nanother, and expiate crime with blood!\u2019\n\n\u201cBut I hesitated still; death, contemplated so near, in any shape, was\nhorrible; but, dealt by the hand of the executioner\u2014I shrunk from the\nthought, and could not bear the shadow of a stain upon the honour of my\nhouse; so I went on from day to day, dreaming of justice but rendering\nnone, till the birth of Agatha\u2019s son.  Thou wast surprised, I believe, at\nthe little emotion I betrayed at its sight: alas! I had long been\nprepared for some object of horror, and now it was before me.  Thou didst\nbehold the action of the ghastly child; thou sawest the menacing finger\nupraised towards my head, and the calm determination with which I met\nthis image: its presence had banished my indecision.  I believed now that\nAgatha was lost to me for ever,\u2014that Eternal Justice by this sign spoke\nagainst me, and, in punishment of my hardness of heart, had thus\nperpetuated the remembrance of my crime.  Now, then, I _resolved_ to die:\nI communicated my purpose to Agatha, and earthly feelings once more\ngained the mastery over my subdued spirit, and burst forth in words of\ngrief and reproach, on observing that she evinced no horror at my\napproaching fate, and scarcely attempted to dissuade me from my purpose!\nAgatha, for whom I had dared and suffered so much\u2014even she had become\nindifferent to my destiny: it was indeed time to die!  But I did her\nwrong; sorrow had broken her heart, and repeated scenes of horror had\nsubdued and weakened her spirit.  With the feeling common to her sex, she\nsought consolation only in religion, and thought that to reconcile\nherself with Heaven was all that was left her now: love had fled with\nevery other human passion, and far from regarding death as an evil, she\nlooked upon it as a passport to bliss, and was more ready to rejoice at\nthan deprecate my fate.  Her conduct assisted my resolution.  Now, then,\nthe first step was to be made\u2014the most difficult and appalling\u2014the rest\nwould be consequential and easy.  It was necessary to begin, and I knew\nof no better mode than that of rendering justice to the living.  Hugh de\nBroke had been ruined by me, and it was now incumbent upon me to restore\nhim to honour and to happiness: I set out for the distant and humble\ndwelling in which, since his escape, he had been obliged to conceal his\nname and dignity: he was stretched upon a sick-bed\u2014a heart-broken and a\ndying man: it was no physical disease of which he was expiring,\u2014but\ndisgrace had poisoned the fountain of his blood, and shame had eaten its\nway like a canker-worm to his heart.  When he saw me, he shook off his\ndying listlessness, and sprung upright in his bed.  \u2018What more wouldst\nthou have, thou blaster of mine honour!\u2019 he said, \u2018of a ruined and dying\nman?  To thy pernicious counsel I owe the shame no after-conduct can\nefface: cursed, cursed coward that I was! why did I heed or believe thy\nmurderous mercy?  Begone, wretch! and let me die.  I cannot shake off\nthis load of shame, but I shall sink under its burthen, and bequeath its\nremorse to thee; go, wretch! and let me die.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe was submissively attended by his wife and son, who were earnest with\nme to relieve him of my presence.  Sorrow, and the near approach of\ndeath, had softened his heart and chastised the natural brutality of his\nmanners; he looked and spoke more mildly to them, though, with all his\nfailing strength, he continued to heap maledictions upon me.  My\nhumiliations were now to begin; I kneeled down by his side, detailed my\ncrime without any palliation, asked his forgiveness for the injury I had\ndone him, and finished by avowing my resolution to deliver myself into\nthe hands of justice, and restore his fame and happiness.\n\n\u201cI was astonished, that during this confession no word had been uttered\nby him whom it so deeply concerned.  I looked up to behold its effect; he\nwas staring wildly at me, the strong energies of his spirit struggling\nwith the grasp of death to gain time to hear its termination; he strove\nhard to articulate something; and finally whether he conquered for some\nfew moments the mighty power that was wrestling with him, or that that\npower had now incorporated itself with his victim, and given him of its\npotency, I knew not, but he suddenly grew calm and passionless, pain and\nconvulsion left him, his features assumed a pale rigidity, and his voice\nthe solemn earnestness of the grave, as he spoke.  \u2018I have no time for\nquestion,\u2019 he said; \u2018but I pray that the truth may be upon thy lips:\nsoon, very soon, shall we meet again; and my pardon shall be truly thine\nwhen thou shalt tell me that my boy sits with honour in the halls of his\nfathers.\u2019  He paused, placed the hand of his son in mine, and expired\nwithout a groan.\n\n\u201cWhat followed, I need not tell thee; the son of Hugh was restored, and\nEustace consigned to a dungeon.  The attempts of the people to force from\nme my secret, you know how I resisted; calmly and even proudly I went to\nmy prison and prepared myself to die.  I had humbled myself to De Broke,\nfor to him I had done deep and particular injury; but to these men I owed\nno other reparation than what my life would pay: what right had they to\ndemand further humiliation of me, or attempt to rend from my bosom the\nmystery of its secret purpose?  I would die unaccusing, save myself; I\nwould die, shrouded in gloomy dignity,\u2014a man to be wondered at and\nfeared, rather than pitied and scorned.  I will willingly furnish their\ngreedy eyes with the awful feast of death, but not their vulgar souls\nwith the struggles and humiliations of mine; my body is the law\u2019s\u2014is\ntheirs; my spirit is beyond their judgment.  John de la Pole shall sleep\non, embalmed in good opinions; I will not raise up his pall to show them\nwhat corruption festers beneath it; I would not tell them what he _was_,\nthough it should even lessen in their thought the horror of what I _am_.\nGrand and silent death\u2014majestic in thy obscurity\u2014I wait to bid thee\nwelcome!\n\n\u201cThus far had I written, and thought that my story in the book of life\nhad come to its close, but other events have crowded upon me; and before\nmy death, (which will be on the morrow,) I would tell thee the incidents\nof the last few days.  Thou knowest how calmly I beheld thee depart from\nmy prison, and how little emotion I manifested at my fate; but when thou\nwert gone, when I was alone, in chains, degraded, the enthusiasm of the\nmoment past, and my spirit inactive, I wept bitter tears at the\nwaywardness of my early fate; yet I relaxed not in my determination; I\ncame hither to die, and nothing was left me but to finish my purpose\nnobly.  It is my will to doom a murderer, and I am he so doomed.  I wept,\nyet persisted; cursed the cruelty which had destroyed me, and yet prayed\nto my brother for pardon.  Of the future I had as yet scarcely thought;\nhitherto I had been solely employed about the method of quitting this\nworld, without much considering the terms of my admission to another; now\nI pondered long, with anxiety, but not with fear.  Creeds puzzled me\u2014I\nmade not my own heart\u2014I cannot be answerable for its opinions.  I have\ncommitted a deadly sin\u2014I am about to expiate it with my blood\u2014I cannot do\nmore; and is not this sacrifice greater than the cant of sorrow and the\nwhinings of prayer from one who never prayed before?  The one is from\nmyself, the child of my resolution\u2014the other the offspring of fear\u2014But I\nwas distracted still, and bewildered.  It was in this disturbed state\nthat I was startled by a light sound in my prison\u2014I listened\u2014a soft\nvoice, for the second time, pronounced in kindly accents, \u2018My brother!\u2019\nI started up and gazed around me; on the opposite side of my dungeon\nstood the form of John de la Pole, but not as I had seen him last, pale,\nmenacing, and bloody, but with that mild aspect and gentle look that had\ndistinguished his early brotherhood, ere Agatha\u2019s fatal beauty cut\nasunder the knot that bound our souls together.  \u2018Thou hast done well,\u2019\nsaid the gentle spirit, \u2018thus to render up thy life for thy crime; thy\nsevere justice hath merited and obtained thy pardon; my sufferings, too,\nthe punishment for unrepented sin, thy firmness hath terminated; and the\nday of Agatha shall henceforth flow more peaceful.  Soon shalt thou be\nwith me, O brother! and the kiss of immortality shall be given to thee by\nmy lips: weep not\u2014doubt not\u2014but bear all things steadfastly; in thine\nhour of agony I will stand by thy side.\u2019\n\n\u201cA tender grief overpowered my spirit as he spoke, and tears fell from my\neyes.  I extended my arms as if I would have embraced him, but the\nbarrier between the living and the dead could not as yet be passed, and\nthe shadow receded from my touch.  But this visitation had brought joy to\nmy heart and tranquillity to my spirit, and the arrival of Agatha at the\nprison still further reconciled me to my doom.  \u2018Thy sacrifice is\nhallowed,\u2019 she said; \u2018thou wilt die, but I must live to expiate my crime,\nas the slave of thy ghastly son, till Heaven shall call him to itself.\n_He_ stood by my couch last night; smilingly he looked upon me, as in the\ndays of his early love, and bade me live and hope: in this world I shall\nbehold him no more! but thou, my beloved! thou art for the distant land,\nand the abode whither he is gone before thee.  Oh that I might share thy\ndoom, as I have already partaken thy guilt!\u2019\n\n\u201cWe parted\u2014let me not dwell upon that\u2014we parted for ever; for me there\nremained a mighty duty to fulfil, and from which I did not shrink\u2014no, not\neven when those who had been my friends sought to wring my secret from my\nheart by the infliction of the torture: I pitied _them_, but not myself.\n\n\u201cThe day of torture came; thou wert by my side, and didst urge a\nvoluntary death to rescue me from agony and the stare of burning eyes\neagerly watching my pangs.  I rejected thy counsel; yet didst thou not\nforsake me, but marched to the scene of my infamy by my side.  All\naround, as I went thither, did I look for the promised appearance of my\nbrother, and trembled lest I should not behold him.  \u2018Surely this is mine\nhour of agony,\u2019 I said, as I ascended the steps of the scaffold;\n\u2018wherefore is he not by my side?\u2019  And the guest from the other world,\u2014he\nbeneath whose scowl my heart had for months been withering,\u2014was desired\nwith more impatience than ever I had felt for the presence of earthly\nfriends.  I had not long to fear or to doubt\u2014he was there before me; on\nreaching the scaffold, I beheld him standing by the block, and calmly and\nsilently smiling a welcome to his brother.  Thou didst behold my\nfirmness, and the multitude saw my composure with wonder; but they beheld\nnot the cause; they saw not that _he_ was looking on, and that I drew in\nresolution from his smile, and firmness from his awful brow.\n\n\u201cThe ineffectual agony was past\u2014curiosity was silenced\u2014and I was\ncondemned to die; and to-morrow I _shall_ die,\u2014from all that I have loved\nhated, or valued, I shall be torn to-morrow.  The last sunset is falling\nupon my paper, is gilding my pen as I write; to-morrow it will sparkle\nupon the edge of the axe, and illuminate a brow from which the inward\nlight will have departed for ever; to-morrow will be the scene of my last\nhumiliation: but _he_ will be there to witness it, and convert it by his\npresence into a triumph; and, when all shall be over, when the last\nmortal throb shall be past, what then shall be my destiny?  \u2018Thou art\npardoned,\u2019 he said; \u2018and an immortality is before thee!\u2019  Oh, then let me\nhope for an immortality of peace!  Now, then, I will go sleep\u2014exhausted\nnature must be recruited for her great labour to-morrow\u2014for these broken\nlimbs, these strained sinews, and this bruised flesh, must needs want\nrepose, ere they can encounter the task of fresh exertion.  Serve me\nwell, ye mangled limbs, but to-morrow, and I shall require your service\nno more.\u2014Courtenay, good night.\u201d\n\nSuch was the tale of the fratricide, and of him who was his victim: of\nher who survived the deaths of both, no more was heard; for upon\nCourtenay\u2019s going to the cottage at the period she had appointed to\nreceive her last commands, he learned she had quitted it two days\nprevious, but had left a small parcel to be given to him: it contained a\nfew remembrances of herself and Eustace, and the following letter:\u2014\n\n    \u201cCOURTENAY\u2014\n\n    \u201cIn giving thee the papers containing our story, I have obeyed the\n    last wish of him whose lightest word was a law to me; but I cannot\n    look on thee again after this communication.  Grieve not for me, for\n    my lot will not be wretched; the death of my child has released me\n    from the world, and I hasten to withdraw myself from it: I had\n    arranged all things for the purpose before I sent to request thy\n    presence.  Endeavour not to discover me; such search would be\n    fruitless and vain.  I retire from the kingdom; and in a convent of\n    Clairs, beneath the habits and rules of the order, and under another\n    name, conceal for ever, from the eyes of the world, the person, the\n    crime, and the sorrow of\n\n                                                      \u201cAGATHA DE LA POLE.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE LORD OF THE MAELSTROM.\n\n\nPART I.\nTHE RAVEN.\n\n\n    \u2014Hell is empty,\n    And all the Devils are here.\n\n                                                              SHAKESPEARE.\n\nSOMEWHERE about the year 112, in winter or summer\u2014we are not exactly\nprepared to say which\u2014died Olave the Second, one of the early kings of\nDenmark; he was a \u201cfellow of no reckoning,\u201d for he took no account of any\nthing that occurred during his reign, except the making of strong drink,\nand the number of butts in his cellar.  His majesty, it must be avowed,\nwas in the presumptuous habit of forestalling the joys of heaven, (we\nmean Odin\u2019s,) that is to say, he impiously got drunk every day of his\nlife, before the regular allowance of fighting, the customary number of\nenemies\u2019 broken heads, and his own orderly death upon the field of\nbattle, bore testimony that he was properly qualified for such supreme\nenjoyment.  Olave in his life was a happy fellow; for, never having been\nsober during one hour of it, he had not the misfortune to hear all the\nill-natured things that his courtiers and subjects said of his\nenormities, behind his back, or when he was asleep.  It must, however, be\nacknowledged that, even among the unscrupulous Danes, who were not at\nthat period remarkable for their practice of sobriety, Olave was a filthy\nfellow: to this hour he is held up as a monument of brutality and\nstupidity, and the memory of Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, who made Israel\nto sin, was not more devoted to execration among the Jews, than that of\nking Olave the Second among the Danes.  On his death-bed, however, when\nhe could no longer swallow his usual enlivening potations, blue devils\nbeset his nights, and conscience twitted him with his ill-spent days.  He\nhad never broken a head in his life, except by proxy; and how could he\nmake his appearance in Valhalla without a skull to drink out of?\u2014to knock\nat the gates of Valasciolf without a goblet in his hand?\u2014The thing was\nimpossible; it was clear he would be kicked through Asgard, and sent to\nfret in Nifthiem, where the burning claws of Lok would set fire to the\ngood liquor incorporated with his being, and reduce him to the condition\nof an eternal, thinking cinder!\u2014Miserable anticipations! he tried to\nweep; but water, which he had hitherto scorned, now scorned him, and\nabsolutely refused to come at his desire: he shed tears of mead, which he\ncaught in his mouth as fast as they fell, partly from fear lest Odin\nshould remark them, and partly because he could not endure to see good\nliquor wasted.\n\nBut all things have an end\u2014in this world at least\u2014and so it was with the\nlife and repentance of king Olave the Second; he died without the\ndrinking-cup he had regretted so deeply, and before he had time to frame\na decent apology to Odin for venturing into Valhalla without one.  There\nwas a world of business now to be done at the palace of Sandaal: a dead\nking to be buried, and two living kings to be crowned; for such was the\nwill of the lamented Olave, that both his sons should succeed him.  They\nwere princes of very different characters, yet their father, it should\nseem, loved them equally, as he divided his dominions very fairly between\nthem, to the no small disgust of the elder prince, Frotho, who, like the\nimperial Octavius, some years before, could not bear a divided throne.\nThis worthy in character resembled, in no slight degree, his excellent\nfather, of dozy memory, for he loved to drink much and fight little,\u2014more\nespecially as his younger brother Harold had a decided vocation for the\nlatter employment, and none at all for the former: to him, therefore, he\nleft the charge of the glory of the Danish crown, while he, for the\npresent, contented himself with drinking to his successes.  This good\nunderstanding, however, between the princes could not last for ever.\nFrotho was, after all, only half a drunkard, and therefore extremely\nsulky in his cups\u2014more especially when his queen Helga seated herself at\nhis elbow to twit his courage with the heroic deeds of his brother.\nQueen consorts should not meddle with politics, they never do anything\nbut mischief\u2014and so it proved in this instance; for Frotho grew\nabsolutely delirious, kept himself entirely sober for three whole days,\nbuckled on his wooden target, put himself at the head of his troops, and,\nswearing to be revenged upon his brother, marched on an expedition to\nJutland.  The expedition neither answered his intentions nor\nexpectations; the men of Jutland were too many for king Frotho, for,\nheaded by Feggo, (the murderous uncle of the philosophic Hamlet, whose\nfather was prince only of this part of Denmark,) they drove Frotho \u201chome\nwithout boots, and in foul weather too,\u201d as Glendwr did, long afterwards,\nking Harry Bolingbroke.  Frotho could not stomach this affront\u2014the\nbeating was hard of digestion: his subjects made mouths at him too, and\nmimicked a race whenever he appeared in public.  So he sent his brother,\nking Harold, who was a fighter to the back-bone, to chastise the\nJutlanders, which when he had done most effectually, Frotho grew more\nangry still; he detested his brother, dreaded his popularity, feared his\nwisdom, and quivered at his anger,\u2014so he began to consider seriously how\nhe might cleverly and quietly put him out of the way.\n\nKing Frotho had two counsellors, neither of whom ever agreed with the\nother in the advice they gave his majesty: the reason was tolerably\nobvious, for the one was an honest man, the other a rogue, and, like the\nTopaz and Ebene of Voltaire, they bewildered the unhappy monarch with the\ndiversity of their opinions and advice.  On this occasion, however, king\nFrotho troubled only the rogue for his advice, which he was pretty\ncertain beforehand would not differ very widely from his own.  Eric Swen\nwas an unprincipled ragamuffin, who hated Harold, because he had\ndiscovered that Harold hated his vices; and, as that prince had two sons\nwho were rising into manhood, he shuddered at the prospect of two or\nthree strict warrior reigns, which would certainly bring virtue into\nfashion: the prince had refused him, too, the hand of his sister, which,\nto make the refusal more bitter, he had bestowed upon his rival in the\ncouncil and camp, Frotho\u2019s general, Haquin.  All these offences were\ncarefully summoned up, to inflame his ire against Harold, by the devil,\nin the shape of Frotho, who promised him\u2014Heaven knows what\u2014both on earth\nand in Valhalla, if he would only push king Harold from his share of the\nstool, and leave both halves of it to Frotho.\n\nNotwithstanding all the provocations on both sides, the confederates were\ntwo or three whole years before they could \u201cscrew their courage to the\nsticking place,\u201d that is, to the pitch necessary for the murder of king\nHarold.  They had sent fifty inconsiderable nobles, whom they had found\ntroublesome, to Asgard, without ceremony; but Harold was a king and a\nwarrior, and required a good deal.  \u201cIf we could but pour poison into his\near,\u201d said Eric; \u201cOr into his cup,\u201d replied Frotho; \u201cOr stab him in his\nsleep,\u201d said Eric; \u201cOr coax him out hunting with us,\u201d replied the\nbrother, \u201cand give it to him quietly in the forest.\u201d  But none of these\nsafe plans would answer;\u2014so Frotho, accompanied by his sole and trusty\ncounsellor, rode off for the forest, to find the cave where, tradition\nsaid, had resided, from the days of the \u201cAvate\u201d of Odin, his enemy\nBiorno, the descendant of Lok, grand nephew of Surter, and first cousin\nto the Wolf Fenris and Serpent Midgard.  Frotho, however well disposed to\nbeg the aid and advice of the sorcerer, by no means felt at ease when he\nconsidered the family to which he belonged: the wolf and the eternal\nearth-circling snake were known to bear no very great partiality to the\nrace of Odin,\u2014and Frotho, they knew, if they knew any thing, was a true\nson of their enemy.  Still the Danish monarch trotted on with his squire\ntill they reached the centre of the forest.\n\n\u201cAfter all, Eric,\u201d said his majesty, as they trotted on cosily together;\n\u201cafter all\u201d\u2014but, as an historian, I must make one observation here: you\nare aware, dear reader, that the Scandinavians of the year 112, and some\ntime after, did not use the same simple, plain, common-place sort of\nstyle which they have adopted to express their meaning now-a-days.  If we\nmay believe their own writers, they were always in alt, gave their\ncommands in a kind of heroic prose, and carried on dialogues in a sort of\nrambling blank verse.  It must therefore be obvious to you, dear reader,\nthat I spare you their language, and only give you their sentiments,\nwhich, to the best of my humble ability I will translate for you into\ndecent colloquial English, the better to carry your patience through the\nlong-winded history which I am preparing as a trial for it.  But to\nreturn to Frotho the fifth of Denmark.  \u201cAfter all, Eric,\u201d said he, \u201cI\nhave perhaps no great reason to fear these ugly immortals: as I am going\nto consult their kinsman, and am withal very well disposed to put an end\nto the race of Odin, (that part of it at least most devoted to him,) I\nthink they may be civil to me.  My own son Sevald is the only member of\nthe family I wish to preserve, and I may soon mould him to my own\nopinions.  If the sorcerer will only dispose of Harold for me, or tell me\nhow I may safely dispose of him, I shall not haggle on the terms of\nassistance; I will do any thing to serve him or his, which may not\ninterfere with my own safety, or rob me of the diadem I am so anxious to\nwear alone.\u201d  Eric was about to reply to his magnanimous master, but\npaused, half afraid, as he discovered they were really in the sorcerer\u2019s\nneighbourhood, for the yawning mouth of the cave was actually staring\nthem in the face.  Frotho, as became him, now took the lead, and marched\ndauntlessly forward, though not without a glance backward now and then to\nsee if Eric was close behind him, and as any sound struck upon his ear\nthat bore any resemblance to a hiss or a howl.  At length, after many\nturnings and windings, he found himself in a cavern of large dimensions,\nbroadly lighted by a huge iron lamp, suspended from the upper part of it.\nHe turned round to make some remark to his patient tail-piece, but was\npetrified to observe that he had fallen to the earth stiff and insensible\nto every thing around him.  The Danish monarch\u2019s cheeks waxed pale, and\nhis knees began to smite each other; nevertheless he grasped the hilt of\nhis falchion, as a slight noise on the opposite side withdrew his\nattention from the insensible Eric Swen; there stood an old man of\nreverend aspect, mildly but steadily gazing upon the king: \u201cArt thou he\nwhom I have been so long taught to expect?\u201d said the sorcerer; \u201cart thou\nthe king of the race of Odin, alone chosen by his invincible foe to\nrender a service to the son of Lok, and deserve the everlasting gratitude\nof his children?  If indeed thou art the appointed, I bid thee highest\nwelcome, for the task decreed to thee hath been denied to the immortals,\nabove whom the grateful Lok will raise thee.\u201d\n\nFrotho recovered his spirits at this address; half his business was\nalready done, for his wishes were anticipated.  He had been so little\naccustomed to receive compliments from his subjects, that his opinion of\nhis own endowments had not been particularly high; but now he began to\nthink he had mistaken himself, and was really a much greater man than he\nhad suspected.  He readily promised obedience to the sorcerer, upon\ncertain terms, and assured him of his assistance when and wherever it\nmight be demanded.  The magician then proceeded to inform him that he was\nhimself a descendant of Lok, and an ally of the spirits of fire, those\ndaring beings who had for so many thousand years waged war with various\nsuccess against Odin and his warriors, and which warfare would not cease\ntill the end of the world; when, during a night which was to last a year,\nthere would be a general battle, in which Earth, Niftheim, and Asgard,\nwould go to wreck, and the conquering party be elevated to a newer and\nmore beautiful heaven in Gimle,\u2014while Nastrande, a still gloomier hell,\nwould be made out of the fragments of the old one, for the accommodation\nof the party conquered.  \u201cBalder!\u201d exclaimed Frotho, starting at this\npart of the story,\u2014for he never liked to hear any thing of the old hell,\nwhich he thought quite bad enough without the spirits troubling\nthemselves about the creation of another; \u201cbut I thought, sir sorcerer,\nthat the wicked alone would be punished in Nastrande after the long night\nand battle of the gods; I thought\u201d\u2014\u201cExactly so, my son,\u201d interrupted the\nsorcerer; \u201cthe wicked certainly; for the conquered _will_ be the\nwicked\u2014that is beyond dispute; but _who_ will conquer is not so certain;\nperhaps Lok, perhaps Odin\u2014each, as far as I see, have an equal chance;\ntake part then with us, and share our danger and glories in the next\nworld, and our certain assistance in this.\u201d  To this world, then, (as\nking Frotho had at present more business in it,) he limited his wishes,\nand gave Biorno his steady attention as he proceeded in his narrative,\n\u201cOdin,\u201d the magician continued to observe, \u201cthough utterly unable to\nchain entirely the powers of Lok, had just now decidedly the advantage;\nfor he had a few hundred years before seized upon his eldest son, the\nunwary Surter, whom he had caught out of his own territories, and wedged\nhim, in the shape of a raven, into an iron cage, there to remain till one\nof his own race, a kingly son of his blood, should release him:\u201d\u2014a\ncondition from Odin probably implying an eternal punishment,\u2014as that\ndivinity, who does not appear to have been as omniscient as he ought,\nnever imagined any member of his house would have been found silly enough\nto fulfil it.  \u201cNow then,\u201d continued the magician, \u201cI have consulted the\neternal powers, and find that thou, Frotho of Denmark, art the king\ndestined to this wondrous deed, and its following union with the\nimmortals.\u201d  Frotho gave his assent to all and any thing proposed; and\nthe sorcerer immediately began his operations; he raised his ebon wand\nabove his head, with many magical flourishes\u2014turned himself rapidly\nround\u2014then more slowly, pausing at each of the cardinal points, and\ncalling north, south, east, and west, upon the tremendous name of Lok.\nAt that sound, so terrible even to the ears of spirits, the thunder began\nto rumble and the fires of Niftheim flash through the gloomy cavern;\nsomething like music was heard, and, though the concert was hardly better\nthan those performed by king Frotho\u2019s own band during his drinking\norgies, yet as the voices (and they were many) solely employed their\npowers in singing his praises, and the approaching deliverance of the god\nby his means, his majesty was pleased to think nothing in heaven could be\nhalf so fine.  Presently the earth shook, and the sides of the cavern\nrocked; Biorno pointed to the bottom of the cave,\u2014and Frotho beheld it,\nafter a few violent convulsions, suddenly open, and disclose to his view\nan enormous raven, in a gigantic iron cage.  \u201cBehold,\u201d said the magician\nto him, \u201cthe prison of the immortal prince of fire!\u2014in that shape he must\nremain a hundred thousand years, unless a kingly hand of the line of Odin\nshall restore him (by breaking the bars of his iron cage) to power and to\nliberty.  Monarch of Denmark! go,\u2014and success attend thee.\u201d  Frotho\nobeyed immediately; he made a desperate attack upon the iron cage, but\nfailed in his intention of rending away its bars; he made many earnest\nefforts, but all in vain,\u2014the bars remained unbroken.  The Dane paused in\nvexation\u2014he was frightened and mortified\u2014and, by the howls and groans\nwhich resounded on all sides of the cavern, it was evident the anxious\nspirits of Niftheim sympathised in his distress: Biorno too, afflicted\nbeyond measure at the ill success of the enterprise, threw himself upon\nthe earth, tore off his magical cap, plucked up his hair by the roots,\nand howled as loudly as the noisiest of them.  This dismal sight drove\nFrotho desperate; he collected all his energies for one mighty pull,\nrushed upon the cage, grappled with the bars, and, in an instant, threw\nthem at the sorcerer\u2019s feet, who sprung up like an elk to receive them.\nFrotho stood majestically silent, while an uproar, such as no human ear\nhas ever heard since, began its diversions in the cavern; a thick black\nmist quickly filled its whole space, so that Frotho could but\nindistinctly distinguish the figures who made up the ball; millions of\nshadows were flitting about, and millions of voices were laughing,\nsinging, shouting, groaning, and cursing.  Midgard raised his glittering\nsnaky head above the darkness and the shadows, and greeted the monarch\nwith a cordial and complimentary hiss; wolf Fenris tried hard for a\ngood-natured howl; and the grim Hela, their sister, the queen of death,\ntortured her ghastly face into a smile, as she capered nimbly backwards\nand forwards in the festival, animated by the thought of the many meals\nFrotho would furnish for her famished maw.  But, at length, the immortals\ngrew weary of their own noises\u2014the infernal jollification came to an\nend\u2014the mist cleared off\u2014the fires went out\u2014the uproar died away,\u2014and\nFrotho\u2019s courage returned to its half-bewildered master, who took heart\nonce again to look about him.  He was alone (to his great joy) with\nBiorno, except that, in place of the raven and his cage, there sat,\nreposing upon a light cloud, his beautiful brow diademed with his native\nelement, the triumphant prince of fire, in all the pride of beauty and\nvictory.  \u201cFrotho, son of Olave,\u201d said the sweet voice of the spirit;\n\u201cbravest among the brave, and wisest of the sons of Odin,\u2014what is thy\nwill with me?  Tax my gratitude, preserver; ask, and obtain thy wishes.\u201d\nFrotho waited for no further encouragement, but directly stated his\nwishes to reign alone in Denmark, and sweep off all the collaterals of\nhis house, who were such bars to his glory.  \u201cThy brother\u2019s life I give\nthee,\u201d said the spirit; \u201cdestroy him when thou wilt, but be cautious to\nkeep it secret: his elder son shall in vain endeavour to oppose thee\u2014I\nwill baffle his claim, and proclaim thee sole monarch in Denmark; but\ntouch not the life of Haldane; he has offended Lok, and the god demands\nthe victim, whom he will receive from no mortal hand: for Harold the\nyounger, do with him as thou wilt, but, if thou spare his life, he shall\nhave no power to harm thee; go\u2014reign\u2014prosper;\u2014nothing shall do thee wrong\ntill thyself shall fulfil a decree which is gone forth respecting thee;\nthou shall prosper till thy hand shall unite thy own blood to that of thy\ndeadliest foe: beware of this, and triumph.\u201d  \u201cPrince of the powers of\nNiftheim,\u201d said Frotho, \u201csurely Harold, my brother, is my deadliest foe,\nand he has no daughter to whom I can give my son; but I will be mindful\nof thy words, and remember thy warning.\u201d  The spirit then desired him,\nshould any event disturb his tranquillity, to come to the cavern and\nstrike thrice upon the side where stood the iron cage: \u201cBiorno shall meet\nthee,\u201d continued he, \u201cand yield thee, in my name, such help as thou\nmayest require;\u201d then, slowly and silently encircling himself in the\nclouds which surrounded him, he gradually disappeared from the sight of\nFrotho, leaving the cavern illuminated only by the light of the iron lamp\nwhich hung from its centre.  Biorno, too, had vanished, leaving him alone\nwith Eric Swen, who, now easily awakened from his trance, prepared to\nfollow his master home, who simply informed his confidant that he had\nconsulted the magician, who had advised the murder of Harold, and\npromised him success in its performance.  This was readily undertaken by\nthe profligate Eric, who, watching, with a lynx-like assiduity, his\nopportunity, plunged his sword in the heart of the unhappy Harold with\nsuch right good will and judgment, that the prince died before he knew he\nwas wounded: nor was Frotho behind his confederate in the good management\nof a difficult affair, and skill in getting out of a dilemma; and this\nwas especially proved, when the body of Eric Swen, transfixed by a\nwell-aimed javelin, was found stark and stiff by the side of king Harold,\nand Frotho ordered every body to believe that these enemies had fallen in\nsingle combat with each other.\n\nThere was one Dane in the court of king Frotho who took the liberty of\nbelieving contrarily to the royal orders; this was the brave Haquin, the\nbrother-in-law of the two kings, and their favourite general and\nminister; he knew Frotho, and he suspected foul play.  He secured the\npersons of his murdered master\u2019s two sons, and, giving out that Haldane\nshould challenge his father\u2019s crown against Frotho, in an assembly of the\nstates, retired from the court to his own towers, till the nobles should\nbe pleased to appoint a day for hearing the claim of his ward.  In the\nmean time, Haldane himself had not been idle; he employed a good number\nof his vacant hours in making tender love to his beautiful cousin, the\nyoung Ildegarda, and laying at her feet the crown which he _was_ to have,\nand which Ildegarda accepted, as a thing of course; for she already\nconsidered herself the queen of Denmark.  Haldane was tenderly beloved,\nand they each looked forward to the day on which he was to claim his\nfather\u2019s crown from the ambitious Frotho, as that which was to seal their\nlove and their happiness.\n\nThat day at length arrived; the states, the nobles, the warriors, and a\ngreat part of the troops, were assembled in an open plain, where Frotho,\non his throne, awaited the arrival of his kinsman.  His majesty had\narrayed himself with peculiar splendour for this solemn occasion; his\nlong hair, now slightly tinged with grey, floated down his back, while\nall his face was clean shaven, except his upper lip, which exhibited a\nmost magnanimous moustache; his breast, arms, and legs were painted in\nthe brightest blue, and the most fashionable pattern in Denmark; a short\npetticoat of lynx skin, fastened round his waist by the paws of the\nanimal, descended to his knees; and from his shoulders to his heels,\nsecured round his neck by claws of gold, fell the robe of royal\nmagnificence, the mantle made of the skins of many ermines; his feet were\ndefended by shoes of the sable of the black fox; his neck was ornamented\nby a chain of gold, and the regal circle of the same precious metal shone\nthrough his locks around his temples; on his left arm was a target of\nleather, studded with brass nails of unusual brightness and immense\nvalue; in his right hand he held the sceptre; he sat upon a throne\ncovered with the hides of wolves, and over his head floated, in proud\nsublimity, the standard of Denmark, the raven.\n\nPeople may talk as long as they please about innate dignity and the\nmajesty of mind, but the majesty of fine clothes has a much greater\ninfluence upon popular opinion,\u2014else wherefore that elderly proverb which\nsayeth that \u201cfine feathers make fine birds?\u201d  Every body knows that king\nHerod\u2019s silver petticoat made the stupid mob of Judea mistake him for a\ngod; and on this day, so important to Haldane, Frotho\u2019s amazing\nmagnificence made _his_ people mistake him for a hero.  So strong ran the\ntide of popular opinion, that when Haldane, simply habited, mounted on\nhis snow-white steed, and only attended by Haquin and a few of his\nfather\u2019s friends, rode up the area, they scarcely deigned (though he was\nrich in all the pride of youth and graceful beauty) to consider him worth\nlooking at; all eyes were turned to Frotho\u2019s painted waistcoat and superb\nermine cloak; and Haldane also beheld, with extreme disgust, that all his\nown friends, and the warriors favourable to his claims, who had fought by\nhis side under his father\u2019s banner, had been carefully excluded from the\ncouncil, which he beheld supplied by the creatures of his uncle; he saw\nthat his cause was lost before he could say a word: he was not daunted\nnevertheless; he demanded his right from Frotho, who, refusing to admit\nhis claim, was challenged by the youth to decide the quarrel on the spot.\n\u201cThe states and the troops are present,\u201d said the prince; \u201clet them be\nwitnesses of this combat, which thy ungenerous ambition must render\nmortal: if thou desirest a double crown, shew that thou knowest how to\ndefend it; descend from thy throne, meet me fairly, and let Denmark be\nthe reward of the conqueror.\u201d  Slowly, very slowly, king Frotho rose from\nhis throne, for he saw that something was expected of him: although not\nprecisely a coward, he had no mind to encounter his nephew, whose feats\nof arms he well knew: and earnestly and anxiously he put up a prayer to\nSurter to remember his promise, and baffle his kinsman in this trying\nemergency.  Surter was not deaf; for scarcely had the monarch put forth\none leg for the purpose of descending from his throne, ere a wonder\nattracted the attention of the whole assembly; the sound of rushing wings\nwas heard from a distance, and slowly, sailing steadily through the clear\nair towards his point, appeared a gigantic raven: black as the shining\nlocks of Odin was the magnificent and stately bird, who, tranquilly\npassing over the multitude, suspended himself in air over the head of\nFrotho, and, hovering steadily above him, clapped his enormous pinions in\ntriumph.  Haldane suspected a trick\u2014Haquin was startled\u2014but the multitude\nbeheld a miracle, and the will of Odin clearly expressed by his own\nparticular messenger: the bird hovered in the air a few moments, to\nwitness the general acknowledgment of Frotho, then, amidst the deafening\nshouts of the people, ascended slowly upwards, cleaved through the\nclouds, and vanished.\n\nHaldane stood apart, during the scene, in proud contempt of the\ningratitude of his people; and the multitude were making too terrific an\nuproar to allow his few friends one word in his favour.  Frotho, pleased\nby the timely aid of Surter, was grateful for the first time in his life;\nand, remembering the commands of the spirit, abstained from taking what\nhe yet scarcely knew how to spare, the hated life of Haldane.  Assuming\nan air of paternal interest and kindness, he bade the young prince retire\nfrom his presence and kingdom, without fear of molestation.  \u201cSon of my\nbrother,\u201d said he, \u201cseek another kingdom for thy rule, this the gods have\ngiven to Frotho; retire peaceably, and take with thee what part of my\ntreasure thou wilt.\u201d  \u201cThe crown, then,\u201d boldly replied the prince; \u201cfor\nwhat is there, traitor! in thy power to bestow, that is not already mine\nby right?  No! mean-souled coward!  I scorn thy courtesy, and I defy thy\nanger.\u201d  But this gallant resistance availed nothing in a lost cause; his\nown party counselled him, for the present, to get out of the reach of\nFrotho\u2019s javelin; and, too wise to disdain advice alike given by friends\nand enemies, he obeyed their wishes, and, after taking a tender leave of\nhis betrothed Ildegarda, and promising to claim her as a king, withdrew\nto Sweden to solicit aid from its warlike monarch in defence of his\ntitle,\u2014aid which he did not receive; for king Frotho soon after received\nnotice that he had been murdered on that inhospitable coast soon after\nhis landing, and, as it could never be ascertained by whom, Frotho\nsilently congratulated himself upon the sure and ready vengeance of his\nally and divinity, Surter.  Haquin, alarmed by this circumstance, and\nmore than ever suspecting the honesty of king Frotho, withdrew from court\nwith the young Harold, now the sole surviving son of his murdered master,\nand, proclaiming him lawful king of Denmark, set up his standard in the\nheart of the country.  Many powerful nobles, disgusted by the cruel\nbrutality of his uncle, immediately joined him; and Frotho, frightened by\ndanger into valour, and relying upon the promises of Surter, put himself\nat the head of his troops, and prepared for a civil war.\n\nMany skirmishes took place between the hostile powers, though nothing\nvery decisive occurred; but the troops of Frotho had generally the\nadvantage, and always when the king commanded in person.  Joy of this\ndiscovery nearly upset his majesty; he began to think himself a great\ngeneral as well as a gallant warrior: he got exceedingly drunk with some\nof his old cronies who had made the discovery, and, during the deep sleep\nwhich followed this little extravagance, Haquin attacked his camp, beat\nhis generals, carried off his son Sevald a prisoner, and nearly seized\nupon his sacred majesty himself, who knew nothing at all of the matter.\nPoor Sevald was marched off for the camp of the enemy, in a transport of\nsorrow and despair.\n\n\u201cBe not offended, prince,\u201d said the good Haquin to him when he was\nbrought before him in his tent,\u2014\u201cbe not offended that the chance of war\nhas placed thy person in my custody for a season; it is no dishonour to\nbe the prisoner of Haquin.  Our war is with thy father, not with thee;\nand should Harold succeed, even to the slaying of his uncle, he will\nnever wrong thee, but yield thee thy just right, a second throne in\nDenmark: be not disturbed therefore at the slight accident of this war.\u201d\nThis was kindly meant, but it entirely failed in its purpose, and Sevald\nwould have still continued to grieve if he had not discovered that fair\nprincesses are better comforters than old soldiers.  He learned that his\nlovely cousin Ildegarda was in the camp of her father, and he concluded\nthat things were not quite so bad as they might have been.  Sevald\nadmired his fair kinswoman extremely, and, as Haldane\u2019s death had set her\nfree, he worked out the prettiest little romantic scheme possible for\nputting an end to the horrors of civil war and restoring peace to\nDenmark: he determined to entreat his father to give him Ildegarda for\nhis bride, to adopt Harold as his partner, and thus to reconcile all\nparties to his ascendancy; but, unhappily for poor Sevald\u2019s delightful\nscheme, all the persons concerned in it were, though for different\nreasons, materially against it.  Ildegarda, true to the memory of\nHaldane, would listen to no second love,\u2014Haquin, faithful to the cause he\nhad adopted, would rather have consigned his daughter to the grave than\nto the arms of a son of Frotho,\u2014and the Danish monarch would entirely\nhave lost the little wit he possessed, at the bare possibility of such a\ndestructive union as that of his own blood with that of his deadliest\nfoe, for such now had the father of Ildegarda become to him.  When he did\nhear it, he grew absolutely wild with terror and rage; he imprecated the\nmost deadly curses upon his son, should he venture to espouse his cousin;\nand flew off like a madman to the cave of Biorno in the forest, to\nconsult him in this most desperate emergency.  He found the sorcerer at\nhome, and willing to assist him, which he civilly did by the best advice\nin his power; he desired him to return to his camp and attack the troops\nof Haquin, promising to commit that leader, his daughter, and prince\nSevald, safely into his custody; at the same time hinting that, as Surter\nhad done as much for his friend as could decently be expected, he need\nnot call upon him for further assistance, which, unless from his own\nimprudence, he would not need, and Lok had prohibited them from\nsupplying.  Frotho thanked him for past favours and present services,\nand, promising to demand nothing more for the future, they parted good\nfriends, though not to meet again in this world at least, whatever might\nhappen in the other.  Frotho had no sooner reached his camp, than he\nhastened to profit by his friend\u2019s advice, and instantly experienced its\nsalutary effects; he defeated his antagonists in a pitched battle,\nrecovered his son Sevald, and, to his infinite joy, possessed himself of\nthe persons of Haquin and his daughter, though Harold escaped in the\nbattle, and hid himself securely from the pursuit of his enemy.  Had\nFrotho followed the suggestions of his own cruel heart, he would have\ndecided Haquin\u2019s destiny at once by taking off his head; but, fearful of\nhis nobles, who held the chief in high esteem, and having likewise no\nhope of discovering Harold, except through his friend, he resolved to\nspare his existence, but to keep him in close imprisonment with his\ndaughter, whose influence over Sevald he still dreaded, and whom, as the\ndaughter of his sister, he dared not injure farther.  The poor prince\nwept bitterly over his ruined hopes, and Frotho rejoiced at the\ndelightful consummation of his: he enjoyed himself in his own way,\nkilling and drinking by turns,\u2014till, in a fit of madness and\nextravagance, he impiously declared that he had a Valhalla of his own,\nwhich he would not change for Odin\u2019s, upon any terms that divinity could\noffer.  Every thing was happiness in the palace, and Frotho was the most\nmischievous and merry of kings.\n\n\n\nPART II.\nTHE ISLE OF THE MAELSTROM.\n\n\n    What have we here? a Man or a Fish?\u2014Legged like a Man, and his fins\n    like arms.  SHAKESPEARE.\n\n\u201cEVERY sweet hath its sour,\u201d saith a very respectable old ballad,\u2014and\ntruly there is wisdom in the saying.  King Frotho\u2019s sanctity, as a\ncrowned prince of the holy race of Odin, became at this period, for the\nfirst time, somewhat of an inconvenience to him.  In the midst of his\nfestivities, howls and cries penetrated to his palace, and reached his\nears, though surrounded by buzzing flatterers, and rendered dizzy by\nstrong potations.  His people of Norway were unhappy, and they called\nupon their common father to relieve their misery.  A pest had arisen\namong them which no one could conquer, for no one knew how to attack: the\nfrightful whirlpool of the Maelstrom had a guest, and the desolate island\nof Moskoe an inhabitant; it was neither man, beast, bird, nor fish, that\nhad taken up his residence in this part of his Danish majesty\u2019s\ndominions, but a most extraordinary compound monster, possessing all the\nfaculties of each of these several creations.  As he had his little\nisland entirely to himself, the want of society suggested to him an\nexpedient by way of amusement, and also of remedying this evil\u2014he\nemployed his leisure in making descents upon the Norwegian coast, and\ncarrying off the grown inhabitants, four or five at a time, and the\nlittle children by dozens, whom he devoured with as little remorse as he\nwould young rabbits or dried herrings.  The people were terrified, and\nthe nobles began to bestir themselves; they sent out armed men in\nwell-built boats, headed by an able leader, and desired them to bring in\nthe monster prisoner; but the lord of the Maelstrom, so far from being\nbrought to consent to this arrangement, exactly reversed the orders of\nthe Norwegian ministry, for he sunk all their boats, and carried their\ncrews prisoners to his island.  Frotho heard this pitiful tale with much\nindifference, till they besought him to go in person against their enemy,\nwell knowing that no magic or infernal power could succeed against the\nrace of Odin;\u2014then he sprung up in alarm, and declining, in his own\nperson, all pretensions to superior sanctity, sent one of his best\ngenerals with a band of his own chosen troops, in two gallant vessels, to\nseize or destroy the monster.  All Norway assembled on the coast to\nwitness their successes; they saw the ships sail gallantly on, and, on\nthe opposite coast, the giant monster rush into the waves to meet them.\nWith a strength against which they could not contend, he seized the\nluckless vessels, drew them coolly and steadily on to the frightful gulf\nof the Maelstrom, and then, swimming back to his island, left the noble\nships to be sucked into the frightful bosom of the gulf.\u2014The waves swept\nover them, and the tale of their deeds was told.\n\nFrotho was frightened into sobriety when this news reached him; Denmark\nbecame as clamorous as Norway in the matter, and he was compelled to\npromise that he would exert his sanctity, and go in person to the attack\nof the monster: but he delayed as long as he possibly could, and, under\npretence of making preparations, gave the fiend of the Maelstrom time to\neat half the children in Norway.  At length \u201cdelays became dangerous\u201d\neven to Frotho himself; he was obliged to depart, and, well armed, well\nguarded, and well attended by a resolute band of the bravest of his\nnobles and chiefs, set sail, on a fine sunny day, for the desolate isle\nof the Maelstrom.  His magnanimous majesty could not, however, help\nshivering at the first glance of the island; but he took courage, on\nremarking that the beast did not come out to meet him, nor advance to the\nattack as in the former instance; so he landed in good spirits on the\nisland, promising himself immortal glory in his conquest.  A sufficient\nband was left in charge of the vessels, and Frotho, with his chiefs, went\nboldly forward into the island.\n\nIn the first few miles there was nothing to astonish them; rugged rocks,\na roaring sea, and desolate naked heaths, were all that greeted the\ntravellers: they had expected nothing else, for the Moskoe was well known\nto most of the party, and had never been suspected of sheltering a\nparadise in its bosom.  Such, however, to their boundless astonishment,\nthe heroes now found to be the case.  A beautiful country arose amidst\nthe desolate isle; and, after the first five miles, hills, dales, fertile\nvalleys, richly wooded groves, and sparkling rivers, said a thousand\nsmiling good-morrows to the travellers.  The scene was too charming to\nterrify, else the total absence of anything like human inhabitants might\nhave been sufficient to startle king Frotho, and make him doubt whether\nall was as it should be in this particular part of his dominion.  There\nwas a total silence around them, unbroken, save by the sweet warblings of\nbirds, or now and then the light foot of the flying deer, as, scared by\nthe clatter of their arms, they fled from them into the forests.  Thus\nthey proceeded till they arrived before the gates of a majestic palace of\nblack marble, whose open portals courteously invited them to enter.\nFrotho paused\u2014so did his nobles; it was finer than any thing in Denmark;\ninfinitely larger, grander, bolder, blacker, than the palace of Sandaal,\nthe royal residence of king Frotho himself,\u2014so that it was clear no human\nhands had reared it: but whose hands had?\u2014a puzzling question, which king\nFrotho would not take upon himself to answer.\n\nBut the portals stood invitingly wide open, and king Frotho was waxing\nweary; so, without any further debate or permission demanded, they\nmarched into a stately hall, where invisible cooks had made successful\npreparation for a magnificent supper; Frotho looked and longed.  There\nwas venison, noble venison of the flesh of the elk, roasted wild boar,\nand a cistern of excellent fish delicately stewed in whale fat; there was\na bowl of hydromel, in which king Frotho might have been drowned, and\nanother of milk, that might have served him for a bath:\u2014in short, the\ntemptation was too great for the tempted; and though king Frotho well\nknew the danger incurred, even by a son of Odin, in tasting enchanted\nfood, yet he could not resist the whale fat and the hydromel.  \u201cThe\nmonster certainly expected me,\u201d said he to his attendants.  \u201cHe is\nwilling to make his peace with you,\u201d said they to the king.  \u201cIt would be\nuncivil not to taste his good cheer,\u201d said the master.  \u201cLet us shew that\nwe accept his submission,\u201d replied the servants.  So they all sat down\nwith one accord to the feast, and ate, and drank, and were merry.\n\nThe bowl of hydromel was empty\u2014Frotho was looking into it disconsolately\nwith one eye (for the other was asleep), and growing angry with his\nnobles, who had assisted him too heartily, and been over-zealous in\nobeying his commands to pledge him to the health of their entertainer.\nAfter grumbling and growling for some time over the huge and now\ndismal-looking bowl, his majesty took it into his head to be displeased\nwith the inattention of his host, who had failed to remark and replenish,\nas he ought to have done, the empty bowl of departed hydromel.  \u201cLord\nbeast of the island,\u201d said his majesty, at length, having thought till\nhis thirst grew intolerable; \u201clord beast of the island, I will permit\nthee to be viceroy in Moskoe, but thou must not spare thy hydromel when\nthy master deigns to visit thee.  For thy good cheer, I thank thee; thy\nmeat is of the best, and abundant, but, by the burning wheel on Balder\u2019s\nbreast, thy drink was scanty; and I command thee hither to supply me with\nmore.\u201d  A rumbling of thunder and a long terrific howl was the answer to\nthe speech of the monarch.  Frotho shivered with affright, for he thought\nhe recognised, amid the uproar, the voices of his old acquaintances the\nillustrious snake and wolf, cousins of his sorcerer friend Biorno; and,\nas he was a little diffident of their conduct, notwithstanding his\nservices to Surter, he did not altogether relish the meeting, under\npresent circumstances; so, ensconcing himself in the centre of his\ngallant little band of valiant warriors, he patiently awaited what was to\nbe the second part of his entertainment.  This was settled in an instant;\nneither Fenris nor Midgard broke upon the supper party of the monarch,\nbut a being more horrible than either, and infinitely more hideous than\nhis or any imagination had already conceived of the monster of the\nMaelstrom gulf.  A stern gigantic shape entered the hall, and stood\nsteadily face to face with king Frotho and his nobles: his features were\nfrightfully flat, and two sunken fiery eyes shot terrific glances from a\nvisage almost entirely covered with dark and grisly hair; long black elf\nlocks hung down upon his shoulders, huge teeth grinned through his grisly\nbeard, and his fingers and feet were furnished with claws which were\nworthy of Nebuchadnezzar himself; his enormous body was covered with\nblack bear-skins, so disposed as to serve him for a whole suit; and his\nhuge hand grasped a monstrous club, which seemed very desirous of a\nnearer acquaintance with his majesty of Denmark\u2019s brains.  The monster\ncontemplated the group for a moment in silence; he suffered them even to\ndraw their swords and advance exactly one step towards him, when he\nsuddenly lifted his terrible club, and, without striking a single blow,\nlaid them all prostrate at his feet.  He then approached king Frotho; the\nson of Olave shrunk from the uplifted club, and bellowed out, in terror\nand haste, that he was the king of Denmark.  \u201cAnd thy errand?\u201d said the\nmonster.  King Frotho was silent.  \u201cI know it,\u201d observed the spectre;\n\u201cand for its presumption, but for one thing which I expect of thee, would\nbind thy trembling feet for ever to the spot where thou standest staring\nat me.  Hark thee! thou fool of Surter\u2019s making! who hopest to overcome\nthe invincible by human arms,\u2014hear, and obey what I shall command thee.\nI do not hate thee, and would not harm thee, for thou art the friend of\nLok; but my wrath against the kingdoms must be appeased, and my divinity\nacknowledged.  I demand thy daughter.  A spotless virgin of royal blood\nmust come voluntarily hither to be sacrificed on this island, and thou\nmust conduct her: do this, and henceforth I too am thy friend; neglect\nit, and my thunders shall shake thy palace of Sandaal, and this club dash\nout thy brains and scatter them over thy sovereign throne.\u201d\n\nKing Frotho looked aghast\u2014not at the condition of his safety, but his\nutter inability to fulfil it\u2014there was no cheating such an enemy as\nthis\u2014so he told him the plain truth, that he had no daughter, and humbly\napologised for the want of one.  The monster yelled at him, and again\nlifted up his club.  Frotho, in agony, besought him to have pity, and\nthen suddenly recollected that he had a niece who was his prisoner, and\nwhom he very readily offered to his disposal.  The monster hesitated;\u2014at\nlength, in reply to Frotho\u2019s earnest entreaties, he consented to spare\nhis life, upon condition that, in the space of twenty days, he should\nland the princess on the island, and deliver her safely into his hands,\nto be sacrificed by his own high priest in his palace; and promising,\nshould Frotho fail in his engagement, on the very next day, to shake\nSandaal about his ears, and dish up his carcass as a meal for Midgard.\nFrotho sealed his promise with a solemn oath, and the monster dismissed\nhim with a kick on the throne-honouring part of his person, which sent\nhim not only through the palace gates, but one mile forward in his\njourney to the coast, which long before he had gained, his panting train\novertook him, being driven out by the lord beast, to wait upon and\nconsole their disgraced and afflicted master.\n\nKing Frotho had no intention, rogue as he was, to cozen the Moskoe\nmonster; on the contrary, he was desirous to obtain his friendship and\nforbearance towards his subjects and the little Norwegian children for\nwhom he had evinced such cannibal prepossessions.  He was not sorry,\neither, so effectually to dispose of Ildegarda, whose union with his son\nhe had such good reason to fear.  The difficulty would be to persuade the\nprincess to go voluntarily to be eaten.  He was ingenious\nhowever\u2014naturally fertile in expedients\u2014and he soon hit upon a method of\npersuasion which he deemed infallible: he told the poor princess that the\nmonster demanded her or her father as prisoners; that he allowed her to\nchoose, and if she thought proper to decline, he should ship off old\nHaquin immediately, to be stewed in whale fat, and served up for supper\nwith milk sauce, according to the pleasure of the monster, in the marble\npalace of Moskoe: for his own part, in relation to herself, he pretended\nhe did not clearly understand to what the lord of the island had destined\nher, but he hoped nothing so terrible as a roast or a hash.  Ildegarda\nwept, but came into the scheme quicker than Frotho had anticipated.\nHaldane was dead, and her father\u2019s life in danger; by the sacrifice of\nher own, which was now really become indifferent to her, she could at\nleast preserve the last of these beloved beings, and therefore she did\nnot hesitate.  Making Frotho swear a tremendous oath (which she knew no\nDane dared break), to release her father on his return from Moskoe, she\nprepared to accompany the king, and, in less than twenty days, Frotho and\nhis beautiful victim landed on the island, and prepared to march to the\nblack palace alone.\n\nThey had not proceeded far on their journey, when their progress was\narrested by the appearance of a singular cavalcade coming to meet them;\nthis consisted of a magnificently painted chariot, drawn by four\nsnow-white rein-deer, each of whom, to the astonishment of Ildegarda, had\nfeet of pure gold: behind it came the monster-man himself, mounted upon a\ncoal-black steed of extraordinary size and beauty, who pawed the earth\nimpatiently, and, snorting and foaming as he reared, threw his\nmagnificent mane from side to side, as if weary of the slight restraint\nwhich his rider appeared to impose upon him;\u2014the latter had now a\nbear-skin cap upon his head, on the top of which sat a monstrous raven,\ndecorating it by way of crest; and another on his wrist, with infinite\ngrace and gravity, seemed ready to serve him in quality of falcon\nextraordinary.  The cavalcade paused on remarking the strangers; and the\ngrim monster, advancing to Frotho, sternly demanded, \u201cComes the maid\nwillingly?\u201d  \u201cShe does,\u201d replied Frotho; \u201cand\u201d\u2014But the monster no longer\ngave him any attention: he did not even look at Ildegarda, but, bending\nhis head down, towards his horse\u2019s ears, gravely and mildly asked, \u201cSteed\nof heaven, art thou weary?\u201d  \u201cNo,\u201d replied the horse; \u201cbut I have to-day\nbeen so long upon the earth, that its gross air is beginning to affect\nme\u2014the sod is heavy to my feet, and somewhat checks my swiftness: let me\nrelieve my legs, I pray thee.\u201d  The strange monster nodded his grisly\nhead in reply, and Frotho beheld the courser slowly and deliberately draw\nup his four black legs, and let down three white ones in their places.\nThe king began now to guess his company; \u201cIt is the wondrous steed of\nOdin,\u201d said he in a whisper to Ildegarda; \u201cthe immortal eight-legged\nSleipner: but what is he who rides him?\u201d  The princess had no time to\nanswer this question, even had she been able, for the monster seemed\ndetermined to have all the conversation to himself.  He spoke to the\nraven on his head: \u201cHugo,\u201d said he, \u201ctake the reins, guide my rein-deer\nsmoothly, and conduct the lady to the palace: and you, Mumin,\u201d added he\nto the bird on his wrist, \u201chasten homewards, and see that all be prepared\nfor the victim.\u201d  At these terrible words, the tears of Ildegarda began\nto flow, and Frotho prepared himself to make a speech.  The monster\nheeded neither the one nor the other, but nodded to Ildegarda to ascend\nthe chariot, which when she had done, he turned round to Frotho, lifted\nup his terrible club, and exclaimed, in a voice of thunder, \u201cGo!\u201d  It was\nbut one word, but the tone and the action weighed more than five hundred\nwith Frotho, who, fearing to hear it repeated, darted from the party, and\nset sail for Denmark without once looking behind him.\n\nIn the mean time, Ildegarda was conducted by her ill-looking escort to\nthe marble palace, and left by him in the same hall in which Frotho had\nrested on his first arrival: here, too, she found a supper prepared for\nher, though in a somewhat different taste from the former; but the\nprincess had no inclination to eat\u2014indeed she felt determined not to be\nfattened before killing, and threw herself upon the earth in a paroxysm\nof grief and despair.  Suddenly, soft and sweet music broke upon her ear,\nand the beautiful voice of some holy unseen thing thus sung soothingly to\nher sorrow:\u2014\n\n   When the thunder-bolt cleaveth\n      The trembling sky\u2014\n   When the mad ocean heaveth\n      His wild waves on high\u2014\n   When the coiling snake waketh\n      From the heaving earth curled\n   And upreareth and shaketh\n      An agonised world\u2014\n\n   When his coil thrice he foldeth\n      Around the night-born,\n   Till the gazer beholdeth\n      Red blood fill her horn\u2014\n   When Valkyries scatter\n      The clouds which they tear,\n   And their steed hoof\u2019s loud clatter\n      Is heard in the air\u2014\n\n   When on oak tops the trampling\n      Of their hoofs echo loud,\n   While their snorting and champing\n      Is lost in the cloud\u2014\n   When wizards are breaking\n      The sleep of the dead,\n   And the shadows are waking\n      From each gory bed\u2014\n\n   When the dog of hell howleth,\n      As the sheeted dead glide\n   Where the queen of death scowleth,\n      Grim Fenris beside\u2014\n   When Surter assembleth\n      The lost round his throne\u2014\n   Then the murderer trembleth,\n      And the murderer alone.\n\n   But then, guiltless beauty,\n      What hast thou to fear?\n   All owe thee their duty,\n      All homage thee here:\n   The life thou hast given\n      The immortals will claim;\n   And Rinda in heaven\n      Stamps thy star-written name.\n\nThe princess listened in breathless astonishment, and, when the sweet\nsounds died away, spoke in cheerful tones to the friendly singer.\n\u201cThanks, gentle magician,\u201d said she aloud; \u201cI submit to the pleasure of\nOdin, and will not be ungrateful for thy anxiety; see, I will partake of\nthy hospitality, and then retire to rest confident in thy gracious\nprotection.\u201d  Ildegarda then ate something of the repast, and the moment\nshe had concluded, the dishes and bowls retired of themselves from the\ntable, without any assistance, through the doors and windows of the\npalace.  While she was lost in astonishment at this singular attendance,\nthe doors on the opposite side of the hall opened of themselves, and she,\nsupposing it a summons for her attention, immediately passed through\nthem, and heard them close behind her.  She traversed several stately\nrooms, till at length she stood in one more magnificent than the rest,\nand which, from the circumstance of the doors closing when she entered\nit, she concluded was designed by her host for her chamber.  Grateful for\nhis indulgence, she determined to accept his courtesy, and threw herself\ndown upon her couch to sleep: satisfied, she reviewed the events of the\nday, and found she had little reason to complain.  \u201cI could even be\nhappy,\u201d said Ildegarda, \u201cif I were assured of the safety of my father.\u201d\nThe wish was instantly gratified; a large curtain on the opposite side\nwas suddenly withdrawn, and, represented on a magic mirror, the princess\nbeheld her father in his own palace, conversing earnestly with his\nattendants.  The vision lasted but a few moments\u2014the curtain fell again\nbefore the mirror, and Ildegarda, in a transport of gratitude, thanked\naloud the courteous monster, who thus sought, as he had promised, to\noffer her the homage most pleasing to her feelings.\n\nIldegarda now tried to compose her spirits to sleep,\u2014the pale moon had\nrisen over the island, and was pouring a flood of calm cold light into\neach apartment of the palace,\u2014suddenly, her beams were eclipsed by a\nlight so glorious that the senses of the princess ached as she\ncontemplated the wonder; she looked up to discover the cause, but\nmortality drooped under its excess of glory, and she bent downwards\ntowards the earth; a soft voice called upon her name, but the princess\ncould not reply; then the beautiful being, who was resting upon the\nlight, beheld the embarrassment of her beloved, and, dismissing part of\nthe effulgence by which she was surrounded, stood visible to the mortal\nsight, and Ildegarda beheld her beloved goddess, the guardian of her\nyouth, the divine object of her innocent worship, the radiant Rinda, the\ndaughter of the sun, the beloved of Odin and Freya.\n\nIldegarda bent her brow still lower to the earth, and kissed the fringe\nof the mantle of her goddess; then the most lovely of those lovely\nbeings, who float on their ether thrones round the domes of Valasciolf,\nspoke tenderly to the fairest of her worshippers.  \u201cThou hast done well\nand wisely,\u201d said the daughter of heaven to the child of earth, \u201cin thus\noffering thy life for thy father and thy country, and thou hast not\ndisappointed my hope; I carried up the perfume of the holy deed to the\nfoot of the throne of Odin; pleased, he took it from my hand, clothed it\nin light, and placing it on a branch of Hydrasil, the tree of heaven,\nbade it blow and expand into an immortal flower, to commemorate thy\nvirtue, and remind him of thy deserving.  Child of my love\u2014hope all\u2014fear\nnothing\u2014endure with patience\u2014and thy reward shall be most glorious.\u201d  The\ngoddess then recalled around her the extended beams of light, and,\nconcentrating their brightness round her person, again became\ninsupportably effulgent to human vision; in the next instant she was\ngone, and the glory she had left died away when unfed by her presence.\n\nHow sweet was the sleep of Ildegarda that night, and how blessed was her\nawakening on the morrow!  Morning, the gay bride of Balder, beheld her\ndescend joyfully to the hall, after adorning her lovely person with an\nelegant dress, selected from many, which the unseen hands of her watchful\nattendants had placed in her apartment for that purpose.  Arrived in the\nhall, she expressed a wish to breakfast; and instantly the courteous\ndishes glided in from doors and windows to the table, attended by a\ngrave-looking bowl of milk, which steadily sailed on till it placed\nitself in the centre, where it remained till the princess, by rising from\ntable, dismissed its services for the present.  She then roamed through\nthe vast gardens of this beautiful place, and talked to the birds and the\ndeer, fondly hoping and expecting that they were enchanted princes and\nprincesses, and, like the black horse whom she beheld on her arrival,\nendowed with the faculty of speech; but, after much conversation on her\nown part, she was compelled to resign this pleasing illusion, and believe\nthat they were merely real birds and real deer, who could only sing and\nleap.  She then returned to the palace, wandered over its spacious\napartments, and amused herself by counting the passages and doors.  Still\nthe day went off heavily, even with the aid of these time-killing\npastimes; and when the hour of supper arrived, the princess welcomed it\nas sincerely as if hunger had been the instigator of the pleasure her\ncountenance expressed; she seated herself at the table, and was earnestly\nand anxiously employed in coaxing the birds to partake of it,\u2014when a loud\nclap of thunder shook the palace to its foundation, and terrified all\nappetite from the poor princess.  She had hardly time to think of its\ncause, ere it became apparent, for the monster-man himself entered the\nhall, and clad in his customary dress, stood still in the middle of the\napartment.  Although his appearance was as usual, yet his manner was\nentirely different, for his step was slow and irresolute, and his voice\nmild and timid; he scarcely ventured to look up as he asked, in a humble\nand supplicating manner, if the princess would permit him to pay his duty\nwhile she supped.  Ildegarda, somewhat re-assured by his gentleness,\nrequested him to use his pleasure in a place where unquestionably all\nthings were at his disposal.  \u201cNot so, gracious lady,\u201d replied the\ncourteous monster; \u201cI will not stay in your presence, but with your\nexpress permission: my power I cede to your beauty and virtue, and am\ncontent myself to be the first subject of so lovely a sovereign.\u201d  This\ngallant speech was made with so much humility and respect, that Ildegarda\nwas not alarmed by its tenderness; and the monster, to shew (after she\nhad granted permission) how highly he valued this trifling favour, and\nhow little he was disposed to encroachment, declined the seat which,\nafter a struggle, she offered him, and seated himself upon the ground, at\na considerable distance from her.  Touched by this humble homage and\ngenerous delicacy of a being so powerful, and at whose mercy she so\nentirely was, the princess so far conquered her abhorrence, as to present\nhim with food and drink; the former he declined, but he took the\nagain-summoned bowl of milk from her snowy hand, and, with a gesture of\nrespectful gratitude, tasted the balmy liquor, as if to indulge her wish.\nAt length, after a long silence, he asked her if she could be happy in\nthe island? \u201cI hope so,\u201d replied the princess; \u201cBut will you tell me, sir\nsorcerer, what has thus singularly changed my destiny?  I came hither to\ndie\u2014yet I live,\u2014and anxiety is even manifested by my enemy for my\nhappiness.  How am I to understand these contradictions?\u201d  \u201cCall me not\nyour enemy, beautiful Ildegarda,\u201d replied the monster, \u201cfor that I have\nnot been; destiny had decreed you to be a victim, though not of death; I\nam but its instrument to work out its intentions; the sacrifice of your\nliberty only was demanded, and your generous resignation of life itself\nhas impelled me to love your worth, and lighten, as far as my power will,\nthe burthen of your sorrows.  I cannot release you from this rock, but I\ncan surround you with pleasures, and render your bondage supportable.\u201d\nIldegarda was pleased with this explanation, and, after thanking her host\nfor his generous intentions, withdrew to her chamber, though not till she\nhad accorded to Brandomann (for that he had told her was his name)\npermission to attend her on the next evening to supper: this was an\nhonour she would gladly have declined,\u2014but she felt it would be\nungracious, and that he had some right to calculate upon her\ncomplaisance.  The next night came, and Brandomann was\npunctual\u2014conducting himself in the same timid manner\u2014though, observing\nthe dislike of Ildegarda towards him, he put an end to the interview\nearlier than usual, and quitted her presence in sorrow.  The princess was\nsad that she had inflicted pain, yet she could not but hope that the\nhideous being would not again seek her society.  In this she was\ndisappointed;\u2014he came at night, as before, and seated himself silent and\nsorrowfully at her feet; he spoke not, and scarcely ventured to look at\nher, till she, affected by his grief, offered him the bowl and bade him\ndrink; he took it with a smile\u2014the poor monster intended it so, but the\nfrightful grin which distorted his features was so odious, that Ildegarda\nsickened with affright, and heartily repented her condescension.\nBrandomann understood her disgust.  \u201cIldegarda,\u201d he said mournfully, \u201cI\ntoo well know how justly I must be an object of abhorrence to the eye of\nbeauty; I will not give you pain therefore\u2014though it will destroy the\nonly happiness I have ever enjoyed, I will intrude no more into your\npresence,\u2014I will not destroy the little felicity which fate has left\nyou.\u201d  He arose to retire; but the generosity of the princess overcame\nher reluctance,\u2014she was not proof against his noble self-denial,\u2014and,\nrising hastily from her seat, she requested, entreated,\u2014nay, commanded\nhim to continue his visits.  Brandomann was but too happy to obey; and he\nretired comforted from her presence.  The next night Brandomann was not\nso silent\u2014he exerted himself to amuse and interest his lovely prisoner;\nand he succeeded admirably when he spoke of the present state of\nDenmark\u2014the disorders of the king\u2014the disappearance of both the princes,\nsons of Harold\u2014and the courage and integrity of her noble father; upon\nthis theme he discoursed till tears of pleasure filled the eyes of the\nprincess, whom he repeatedly assured of Haquin\u2019s safety.  \u201cShould you\nwish a confirmation of the intelligence which I give you,\u201d continued\nBrandomann, \u201con the first day of every month examine the magic mirror in\nyour chamber; it will satisfy your curiosity, by representing your father\nand his employments; but only at that time must you consult it.\u201d  Still\nBrandomann continued to talk, and Ildegarda to listen, till she forgot to\nwish for the hour of separation, and even suffered the monster to retire\nfirst; the next day she grew weary ere evening, and waited with something\nlike impatience for the supper hour: it came at last, and Brandomann with\nit, who perceived, by the reception she gave him, that he was no longer\nso unwelcome a guest as formerly.  Animated by this belief, he again\nexerted all his powers to interest the princess; he related to her the\nearly history of her country, and the exploits of the greatest heroes,\nher ancestors of the race of Odin; he then went on to discourse of the\nScaldres, their singular union, their mystic occupations, and their\nmagnificent poems; he himself, he remarked to her, was of this privileged\norder, and, without wearying her attention, recited some of his own\ncomposition and those of his noble brethren.  Ildegarda was charmed by\nhis discourses.  Balder had touched his lips with eloquence, and Brage\nhad rendered his voice melodious, and many words flowed over his lips,\nsweet, yet powerful, as a torrent of silvery waters.  The princess was\npleased while she only listened,\u2014when she looked, the spell was broken.\n\n\n\nPART III.\nTHE GUESTS.\n\n\n    Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.\n\n                                                     SHAKSPEARE\u2014_Tempest_.\n\nDAY after day thus glided on without much variation, though not so\nheavily as formerly.  One evening Brandomann said to her, \u201cYour mornings\nmust still be wearisome to you; perhaps it might give you pleasure to\ntravel around this little island; when such shall be your wish, summon\naloud your carriage, with the snow-white deer, (that which brought you\nhither,) and it will instantly attend your command.\u201d  The princess was\nimpatient, till the next morning gave her an opportunity of indulging\nthis new pleasure;\u2014for when our pleasures are few, every little variation\nis hailed as a new one;\u2014she sprung lightly from her couch, and, with\nbeaming eyes and a throbbing heart, ascended her chariot, which, at her\nwish, waited at the gates of the marble palace.  For some hours she was\ndelighted to be borne swiftly by the coursers of light through flowery\nvales and blooming gardens; but at length grew weary of the silence and\nmonotony which every where surrounded her, and the inability to utter or\nreply to an observation.  The deer looked at her with their intelligent\neyes, and seemed to understand her feelings.  \u201cYes, turn then, my lovely\ndeer,\u201d she replied in answer to their silent interrogatory; \u201cbear me\nagain to my home.\u201d  She entered the marble hall.  It was many days since\nshe no longer startled at the clap of thunder which announced the\napproach of Brandomann, and now she heard it with pleasure.  \u201cYou have\nbeen amused to-day,\u201d said he to her as he entered.  \u201cNot much,\u201d she\nreplied; \u201calthough I blush to say so; I would be happy if I could, yet I\ncannot help feeling that solitude is melancholy.\u201d  \u201cAlas! yes,\u201d replied\nthe lord of the Maelstrom; \u201cbut there are companions to whom it is\npreferable.  If I did not fear offending by my presumption.\u201d\u2014He was\neagerly interrupted by Ildegarda, who accepted the embryo offer with\ndelight; and her manner had such an effect upon the monster, that again\nthe princess repented her condescension.  He made ample amends for his\nhideous joy, however, on the following day, when attending Ildegarda on\nher journey, by his timid and gentle modesty.  Mounted on his coal-black\nsteed, he respectfully followed her brilliant chariot, and never, except\nin answer to her summons, ventured to approach her side.  The princess\nwas naturally generous, and this conduct secured her confidence.  She now\nencouraged him to converse, called him frequently to her side, and took\npleasure in calling forth and listening to his observations.  On their\nreturn to the palace, a huge raven flew down from a tree upon the\nshoulder of Brandomann, and whispered something in his ear; the latter\nimmediately turned to Ildegarda: \u201cPrincess,\u201d he said, \u201cthe only friends\nwho ever enliven this solitude by visiting me, are now on the island;\nwill you permit them to attend you at supper?\u201d  Ildegarda consented\njoyfully: the thought of once more seeing human beings filled her spirit\nwith rapture; and, hastening to her apartment, she spent the intervening\ntime in dressing her lovely person to the utmost advantage, not only for\nher own sake, but also to do honour to the taste and generosity of\nBrandomann, who had been most lavish in his preparations for her toilet.\nAt length she descended, and, with a palpitating heart, entered the hall.\nAt the door she was met by Brandomann himself, who courteously led her\nforward to present her to his guests\u2014they rose to receive her\u2014but imagine\nthe astonishment of Ildegarda!\u2014No words can do justice to her surprise,\nas she surveyed the assembled party: neither knight nor lady, spirit nor\nfiend, greeted her entrance,\u2014but on one side stood an enormous wild\nboar\u2014on the other a beautiful white she-goat\u2014in front stood the\neight-legged steed of Odin\u2014and the two ravens, whom she had seen on her\nlanding on the island, had perched themselves with infinite gravity upon\nBrandomann\u2019s club.  The princess turned to her friend, and was about to\ndemand an explanation, when she was prevented by the beautiful goat, who,\nwith an air at once kind and dignified, welcomed her to the island, which\nshe said was happy under the government of the good Brandomann, the\nfavourite of Odin, and whom all good spirits loved: the boar made her his\nbest bow\u2014Sleipner assured her of his devotion\u2014the ravens were happy in\nthe honour of her acquaintance\u2014and Ildegarda, after replying to each of\nthese extraordinary visitors, recovered something of her composure, and\nsmilingly sat down to supper with her company.  She was about to\napologise for the want of proper fare, when she beheld them supplied with\ntheir own particular dishes by the same unseen attendants who so\nassiduously waited upon her.  Oats and hay, in a silver manger, were\nplaced before Sleipner\u2014a huge tray of nuts and acorns sallied in, and\nstood stationary at the tusks of the boar\u2014a salad was the supper of the\nwhite goat\u2014and a raw beef-steak was provided for the accommodation of the\nravens.  The princess began to be amused with her situation and company,\nand listened to their conversation with considerable interest: Mumin and\nHugo, the raven messengers of Odin, were talking over some of the\ndivinities of Asgard; and Sleipner mentioned a journey which Thor the\nThunderer intended shortly to take upon his back, to correct the impious\ninhabitants of Jutland, who, since the ascension of the murderer Feggo to\nhis brother\u2019s throne, had totally neglected his worship.  \u201cIs the\nmurdered prince in Asgard?\u201d demanded Brandomann.  \u201cHe has a magnificent\npalace in Valasciolf,\u201d replied the huge boar, \u201cwhere he resides among the\nother heroes and the divine family and ministers of Odin, and with them\nusually spends his nights at the banquet in Valhalla; but he is not a\nfavourite warrior there: if he was no more amiable on earth than he is in\nheaven, I am not surprised at his wife\u2019s wishing to get rid of him.\nHamlet is also there, and almost as unpopular as his father.  Can you\nimagine it possible, he spends all his time with Forsete at Glitner, and\nhas grown so wise and disputacious, that he is continually instructing\nOdin himself; nay, the other morning, just before the sounding for the\ncombat, he spoke so learnedly to that blind Horror, whom we dare not name\nout of heaven, and who is already sufficiently inclined to mischief, that\nThor, provoked, lifted up his mallet to knock out the shadow of his\nbrains,\u2014but Balder interfered, and his eloquence and Lofna\u2019s smile\nrestored peace to heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how go on the happy Scaldres;\u201d demanded Brandomann; \u201cwhat is become\nof the unlucky Hiarn, whose skill in singing gained him a crown?\u201d  \u201cHe is\nsinger-in-chief in Valhalla,\u201d replied Sleipner; \u201cand indeed his strains\nwell deserve this distinction.  But see,\u201d he continued; \u201cthe princess\nlooks to you for an explanation: take your harp, Brandomann, and let it\ntell the story of Hiarn.\u201d  \u201cI obey you,\u201d replied the lord of the\nMaelstrom; and caught up his harp and sung\u2014\n\n                           THE LEGEND OF HIARN.\n\n   The heart of the monarch was savage and wild,\n      And his red hand with life-blood was gory;\n   He spared not the matron, he spared not the child,\n      Proud youth, nor the head that was hoary.\n\n   Then Hiarn arose\u2014and his melody\u2019s voice,\n      As over the wild harp it swept,\n   Brought relief to the land, bade its nobles rejoice,\n      For the dark monarch listened\u2014and wept!\n\n   And his sorrow was holy, for into his heart\n      Those tones tender pity had flung\u2014\n   And Fate whisper\u2019d, \u201cThy soul shall with music depart\u201d\u2014\n      So he died, while the sweet harper sung.\n\n   Then Hiarn was king\u2014for the fierce nobles came\n      Subdued by his powers alone,\n   They crowned his bright brow, proclaimed his great name,\n      And lowlily knelt at his throne.\n\n   Then Hiarn was king, and\u2014\n\n\u201cAlackaday!\u201d said the boar, who did not appear to have any very great\ntaste for music, and who was beginning besides to be weary of\nBrandomann\u2019s dismal ditty; \u201calas! for the poor harper; it is a pity,\nafter such a glorious opening, the close of his history should have been\nso dismal.\u201d  \u201cWhat was it?\u201d demanded Ildegarda; \u201ctell me, I pray you,\nwhat was the fate of Hiarn?\u201d  \u201cA prince of the blood,\u201d replied the\ncourteous boar, \u201cthe warrior Fridleff, who did not understand music,\nchallenged the crown from Hiarn: he was too good a musician to make any\nthing but a contemptible soldier, so, as might have been expected, he\nsunk under the first blow of Fridleff.  But, grieve not for him, charming\nprincess, he is well rewarded for his short period of suffering; a throne\nin Asgard\u2014a palace dome in Valasciolf\u2014are surely higher blessings than\neven reigning in Denmark\u201d\u2014\u201cSerimnor!\u201d said the white goat, interrupting\nthe conversation, and pointing with her horns to the stars, which were\nnow rapidly gemming the heavens; \u201csee, the lights in the palaces of\nAsgard are lit\u2014the deities and heroes are on their way to Valhalla\u2014let us\nnot keep them waiting, but hasten to supper, lest we should offend the\nHighest by our presumption.\u201d  Thus saying, she departed, after a friendly\ngood-night to the princess, and a promise to spend many evenings with her\nin the island.  Serimnor, deeply engaged at that moment in a dispute with\nBrandomann about the politics of Jutland, did not remark her departure,\nbut was reminded of it, to the no small astonishment of Ildegarda, in a\nvery extraordinary manner; a gigantic pair of hands, the right\nbrandishing an enormous carving knife, coolly entered the folding doors,\nand, seizing the throat of the luckless Serimnor, without any sort of\nnotice or preparation, cut it from one side to the other, just as he was\npronouncing the names of Harwendil and Feggo, which, from the suddenness\nof this man\u0153uvre, burst through the gaping orifice in his throat, instead\nof by the usual channel of communication\u2014the mouth.  The terror of\nIldegarda, who had begun to esteem the polite and obliging Serimnor, was\ngreatly increased by the extraordinary coolness of Brandomann, who stood\nlooking on as if nothing particular had happened, and only discontinued\nhis speech when the body of the poor boar was dragged from the apartment\nby the murderous pair of hands.  It seemed as if the whole party had been\nin a conspiracy to frighten the timid Ildegarda; for, on the\ndisappearance of the boar, Sleipner started up, and, snorting till fire\ndarted from his nostrils and eyes, sprung up into the air, and pawing,\nand dashing, and foaming, ascended up to the clouds through the roof of\nthe palace, which parted to give him passage,\u2014while the two ravens flew\nscreaming out of the window.  Brandomann had disappeared in the bustle,\nand, as he did not attend her on the following morning, she waited with\nmuch uneasy impatience for an explanation in the evening: this was given\nby the good-natured boar himself, who had marked her anxiety, and hurried\nfirst to the palace in order to relieve it.  He thanked her for the\ninterest she took in what appeared to be his suffering; \u201cBut grieve not,\nloveliest of maidens,\u201d said the gallant beast, \u201cat an event which is to\nme but the consummation of my glory: every night thus I die without pain,\nand my flesh is served up to the banquet of the gods,\u2014while my spirit\nenjoys a blissful sleep, from which it awakes in the morning to animate\nthe same form in which it was clothed the day before.  The beautiful goat\nwhom you saw, is the immortal Heidruna, whose milk is the hydromel served\nup to the table of Odin.  She alone, last night, was punctual to her\nengagement, while the rest of the party, enchanted by your beauty, forgot\nthe hour, and had some difficulty to reach Valhalla in time to avoid the\nreproach of Odin.\u201d  Scarcely was this explanation given, ere Heidruna\nherself entered, attended by the ravens and Sleipner, who apologised for\ntheir hasty departure the evening before; and a moment after, the clap of\nthunder announced the approach of Brandomann.  The whole party now sat\ncontentedly down to supper, infinitely pleased with themselves and each\nother; and perhaps it would have been difficult to find one more happy,\nor its members bearing more sincere good will towards each other.  The\nnext day was the first of the month, and the princess hastened to avail\nherself of the magic gift of Brandomann.  With intense anxiety she raised\nthe curtain, and her heart throbbed with delight to behold her father in\nhealth and spirits, well armed, and travelling, attended by a band of\ngallant warriors, who appeared to be anxious for his safety.  Ildegarda\nlooked at him with rapture, and new feelings of gratitude to Brandomann\ngave the evening which followed this happy morning, fresh charms in her\neyes, and made her confinement in the desolate island, with none but the\nugliest of orangutangs for a constant companion, no longer either gloomy\nor dreadful.\n\nOne morning, while surveying together the beauties of the island in a\nsentimental walk, Brandomann asked the princess if she had now entirely\nresigned herself to the lot of total seclusion in the island of the\nMaelstrom.  \u201cI may, and do sometimes regret the halls of my fathers,\u201d\nreplied the tender Ildegarda.  \u201cBut when I reflect from what miseries my\ndevotion has preserved my beloved country, and still more beloved father,\nI feel that I ought not to complain.  Neither am I insensible of what I\nowe to you; and I acknowledge that, without any other motive, your\ngenerous protection of me and care of my happiness deserves the sacrifice\neven of these regrets: I am willing to make it, and should even rejoice\nin an opportunity that would allow me to convince you of my sincerity.\u201d\n\u201cYou have, then, (and permit me to say I hope it,) banished from your\nheart the remembrance of Haldane?\u201d said the monster.  \u201cAlas! no,\u201d replied\nIldegarda, bursting into tears of tenderness at his recollection; \u201cthat\ncan I never do; and it is the certainty of his loss that enables me so\nwell to support this destiny: but do not let this disturb you\u2014the\nrecollection of Haldane will never interrupt my gratitude to you.\u201d  \u201cAnd\nyou could resolve upon fresh sacrifices if they were demanded of you?\u201d\ninquired Brandomann.  \u201cI could,\u201d replied the princess.  Brandomann\npaused\u2014he looked sadly and earnestly, at Ildegarda, and then, as with a\nviolent effort, flung himself at her feet, and tremblingly demanded,\n\u201cPrincess, will you become my wife?\u201d  A shriek of horror, and a look of\nunmeasured abhorrence, was the only reply of the hapless Ildegarda; and\ntoo plainly these tokens spoke to the unfortunate Brandomann.  He calmed\nhis agitation\u2014arose from her feet, and spoke kindly and steadily to\ntranquillise her.  \u201cDo not hate me, beautiful sovereign of my destiny,\u201d\nsaid he, \u201cthat thus I am compelled to add to your inquietudes.  Yet be\nnot alarmed needlessly; I adore you, but no force shall be put upon your\ninclinations: forgive me, if, impelled by a power I dare not disobey, I\nam sometimes obliged to give you pain by this question.  But fear not\u2014my\nwishes shall be sacrificed to yours\u2014I would not receive that hand, dear\nas it would be, unless voluntarily presented by yourself.\u201d\n\nThe princess took courage at this declaration of her hideous lover.  She\nknew he was a monster of his word; and she thought if he would not\nreceive her hand till she presented it, she should be safe from the\ninfliction of such a husband.  Assuring him, therefore, that she was far\nfrom hating him, and expressing with warmth the sentiments she really\nfelt for her grim admirer, the poor monster was somewhat comforted, which\nIldegarda was not sorry to remark; for if Brandomann was ugly when he was\ngay, he was ten thousand times more so when in sorrow.  They returned to\nthe palace in tolerable spirits, and in the evening Ildegarda took an\nopportunity of depositing her perplexities in the bosom of the\nrespectable white goat, for whom she began to experience something of\nfilial affection.  Heidruna consoled the princess by her unqualified\npraises of the honour and sincerity of Brandomann, and her firm\nconviction that Ildegarda would never be molested by his fondness;\nalthough Heidruna thought, and could not help telling her young friend,\nthat in the world she might have matched herself with many a greater\nbeast than Brandomann: but, as this was entirely a matter of opinion, she\nrather soothed the princess than contradicted her.  The good Serimnor\ninterrupted the _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_, and fully seconded the opinion of\nHeidruna, both as to the honour and goodness of the lord monster of\nMoskoe.  \u201cYou observe,\u201d said he to Ildegarda, \u201cthat he has been admitted\namong the Scaldres, an order which generally requires perfection from its\naspirants; and great must his virtues be, when the unbounded ugliness of\nhis person could not outweigh them, nor conceal the richness and beauty\nof his mind.  He is also, as we are, the descendant of Odin, and\npeculiarly favoured by the mightiest of the gods, and his son Thor, the\nthunderbolt: he enjoys extensive power, and many prerogatives not granted\nto the more beautiful children of nature, to compensate for the\nimprisonment of such a spirit in so hideous and detestable a frame.  Were\nit possible to overcome your natural repugnance, you would have no reason\nto regret the change; but should your aversion be invincible, you will\nhave nothing to fear, since he will continue to you the tenderest and\nhumblest of lovers, and we shall always remain your friends.\u201d\n\nThe princess thanked the friendly boar for his kind assurance, and they\nseparated for the night in increased good will towards each other.  In a\nfew days after this conversation, Brandomann sought the princess in her\nchamber.  \u201cA storm is gathering above the whirlpool,\u201d said he; \u201cits\neffects will be terrific\u2014our friends are collected to watch its\nprogress\u2014shall we follow them to the coast?  If it will interest you, I\nwill raise my magic tent upon the top of the highest rock, and, sheltered\neven from the slightest drops of rain, you shall see the storm in its\nterrors, and the fiends unseen of mortal eyes, who increase its horrors\nand sport in its bosom.\u201d  Ildegarda accepted the invitation, and the\nrein-deer swiftly bore their light and lovely burthen to the rocks,\naccompanied by Brandomann, whose eight-legged steed would far have\noutstripped the nimble coursers of the princess, but for the frequent\nchecks of his rider.  Arrived at the point of rock, they beheld the\nwaters raging around them, (for the island was seated in the midst of the\ngulf,) but with less violence than Ildegarda had expected: she remarked\nthis to her attendant.  \u201cThe waters are now at their height,\u201d replied\nBrandomann; \u201cand for one quarter of an hour it will be tolerably calm,\nbut the power of the storm will be tremendous when that short interval\nshall be past: many, deceived by the calm, venture out while it lasts,\nand encounter certain destruction at its close.\u201d  Ildegarda continued\nwatching for the termination of the delusive calm, when her meditations\nwere interrupted by the arrival of Heidruna, Serimnor, and the ravens:\nthey arranged themselves round the chariot of the princess, and,\nprotected from the storm by the magic tent of Brandomann, stood watching\nits progress in silent anxiety.  The deceitful calm, as the lord of the\nisland had predicted, was of no long duration.  In a few minutes the\nbrightness of Balder was entirely obscured; the wind chorus began, and\nswept low and sullenly over the waters, which now rose upwards, gently\nmurmuring, as if they were the echoes of the distant song.  \u201cListen,\nIldegarda,\u201d said Brandomann; \u201cto you it is given to hear the secrets and\nwonders of the earth, in recompense for being thus shut out from its more\nsocial intercourse: listen, and you will hear the unknown song of the\nwinds: hark! how it rises from an immeasurable distance, and yet you can\ndistinguish their voices, and the words they utter.  Now they come\nnearer\u2014hush!\u201d\n\n                          THE SONG OF THE WINDS.\n\n   From the couch of the billows\n      The hollow bed\n   Where ocean pillows\n      His giant head\u2014\n\n   From secret caves,\n      Where ancient Night\n   Sleeps secure\n      From staring light\u2014\n   From the breast\n\n      Of the trembling earth,\n   Scorning rest,\n      We have our birth.\n   Up, up, upward, murmuringly,\n   Up, up, upward, still go we.\n\n   From wild Hecla\u2019s burning cells,\n   Where the giant mother dwells,\n   Who to Lok, in days of yore,\n   Sin and death and horror bore\u2014\n   From the Geyser\u2019s boiling springs,\n   We soar, upborne on rushing wings,\n   Singing louder as we go,\n   Blow, ye wild winds, louder blow!\n   Up from the Dolstein still rise we,\n   Where about us rolled the sea,\n   And beneath, for ever whirled,\n   The master spirit of the world\u2014\n   From the raging Dofrefeld,\n   Where green Niord\u2019s feast is held\u2014\n   From the land of eternal snow,\n   Blow, ye wild winds, louder blow!\n\n   We come, we come! the forests wave,\n   As above their tops we rave.\n   Blow winds, blow! the crashing tree\n   Of our might shall the witness be;\n   The staggering ship, and the broken mast,\n   Heaving, rended, sinking last;\n   And the crash of falling towers,\n   Speak our presence, and our powers.\n   Blow winds, blow! to heaven ascending,\n   Clashing, crashing, crushing, rending,\n   Wrath on earth and ocean pouring,\n   O\u2019er the scared world, raging, roaring.\n\n\u201cThe storm is indeed terrific now,\u201d said Ildegarda; \u201cI can almost see it\nin the air, as it scatters the clouds before it: look how the waters rise\nto meet it, roaring with the fury and force of the cataract!\u201d  Amid the\nuproar, she thought she distinguished other noises than those of the\ntempest\u2014a sound like the howls and shrieks of pain: she noticed the\ncircumstance to Brandomann.  \u201cYou are right,\u201d he replied; \u201clook yonder,\nwhere a desperate battle is waging, in despite of this scene of tempest.\nA bear has swum from this mountain territory of Hilseggen to prey upon\nthe flocks of Suarven, one of the few islands in this gulf which is\ninhabited; a single gallant shepherd has attacked him, but I fear the\nbear has the mastery: see! the shepherd has lost his staff, and the\nmonster grapples with him closely\u2014he hugs him fiercely!\u2014Is there no way\nby which I can save him?  What, ho! shepherd!\u2014what, ho!\u2014loosen yourself\nfrom the grasp of your enemy and fly\u2014stand on the very edge of the rock,\nand let him spring against you!\u2014So, so\u2014the fellow fears me no less than\nthe bear, yet he obeys\u2014he is crouching\u2014his enemy runs\u2014plunges\u2014ah! ah!\u2014he\nhas lost his balance and dashes headlong into the stream\u2014well, run,\nshepherd!\u2014He stays not to sing the death-song for his foe.\u2014Good night,\nfriend bear, you will sup with the fish of the Maelstrom to-night!\u201d\nWhile they looked on, they beheld the savage animal struggling for his\nlife against the dreadful current, but in vain; borne onward, despite of\nhis roarings, he was soon over the terrible pool, and then whirled\nrapidly round, till he was sucked down into the bosom of the dismal gulf,\nwhich, sages have written, penetrates the globe.  Ildegarda pitied the\npoor bear, whose love of mutton had occasioned him so miserable a fate;\nbut a new wonder now claimed her attention and diverted her thoughts from\nhis sorrows: this was another island, slowly arising from the bottom of\nthe lake, and covered with sea-weeds, becoming stationary at no great\ndistance from Moskoe.  Before Ildegarda could point it out to her\ncompanions, Serimnor advanced hastily towards Brandomann.  \u201cThere is\nmischief abroad, dear brother,\u201d said he; \u201cthis storm is not of Niord\u2019s\nraising.  Some friend beloved of Odin, and abhorred of Lok, is certainly\nin danger; for look who are sporting in the tempest.\u201d  He pointed to the\nbosom of the gulf and to the rocky shore of Otterholm.  In the centre of\nthe one, Ildegarda beheld the head of a monstrous serpent reared above\nthe waves, and surveying with fiery eyes the distant sea; and on the\nother a hideous wolf, with his attention fixed in the same direction, and\nhowling in concert with the storm.  The princess shuddered, and, for the\nfirst time in her life, drew nearer to Brandomann for protection.  \u201cYou\nhave nothing to fear, dearest,\u201d said he, \u201cfrom these monsters whom you\nbehold; they are indeed your foes and mine, for they are the children of\nLok, and the enemies of Odin; but they have no power over you, and mine,\nby the gift of their conqueror, is greater than their own.  He whom you\nsee in the waters is the giant snake, whose folds of sin encircle the\nguilty earth, and who now, from its centre, is bidding defiance to some\nnoble foe of his evil father.  Fenris, the wolf-dog, guard of hell,\nappears only when mischief is in the air, to increase, by his cries and\nthe horror of his form, the fears and the danger of his victim.  I deem\nsome hapless vessel has approached too near this coast during the calm,\nand now the storm will drag it to destruction.  But let us watch\u2014Hugo and\nMumin, stretch out your pinions\u2014fly over the waters, and tell me what you\ndescry.\u201d  The messengers of Odin obeyed\u2014they flew over the bosom of the\nlake\u2014then out towards the boundless and ungirt ocean: suddenly they\nreturned.  \u201cA sail! a sail!\u201d said Hugo.  \u201cA gallant ship!\u201d cried Mumin;\n\u201cthe whirl has surely caught her, she comes on so rapidly.\u201d  Soon, very\nsoon, she neared, and drove onwards, visible to all.  Brandomann grasped\nhis club: \u201cSome bold adventurers,\u201d said he, \u201cdoubtless, who seek to land\nupon this island in defiance of the will of Odin; if so, they are lost\nindeed, for the king of Valhalla has resigned them to the power of the\ninfernals.\u201d  It was frightful to mark the force with which the ship drove\non.  \u201cThey make for the island which has just risen from the lake,\u201d said\nthe princess.  \u201cDeath will too surely greet them there,\u201d replied\nBrandomann; \u201cfor that is no land, but the snare of fiends to beguile; it\nis the dreadful Kraken, that monster of the deep, who, when the vessel\ntouches him, will sink, and draw it with him.\u201d\u2014And the vessel was near\nthe monster, when a piercing shriek from Ildegarda arrested the thoughts\nof Brandomann.  \u201cIt is my father!\u201d she cried\u2014\u201cit is my father!\u2014I know his\nbanner\u2014he seeks me on this island\u2014have mercy, Odin!\u2014Oh, Brandomann, if\nthou lovest me\u201d\u2014\u201cIf I love thee!\u2014lo! now I disobey the will of Odin for\nthee!\u2014judge, then, how dear thou art!\u201d  He started from her side, sprung\nupon Sleipner, darted from the rock, and the next instant Ildegarda\nbeheld his giant form stemming the torrent with a power equal to its own.\nThe wolf beheld him and ran howling away, while a single blow from his\nmighty club drove the grim serpent beneath the waves, to howl his\ndisappointment in Niftheim.  Ildegarda heard none of the consoling\nspeeches addressed to her by her friends; her ear\u2014her eye\u2014her heart, were\nall with Brandomann: she shrieked aloud.  \u201cHe will not reach it ere it\ntouches the Kraken,\u201d she cried, \u201cand then all help will be in vain.\u201d\n\u201cNot so, dear princess,\u201d replied Serimnor; \u201che acts with the power of\nOdin, and will save your father; and then what will not his generosity\ndeserve?\u201d  \u201cMy life\u2014my love!\u201d distractedly replied the wretched\nIldegarda, totally incapable of accepting any consolation, and only alive\nto the danger of her father.  \u201cOh, Odin! save him!\u201d she cried; \u201cand thou,\nthou the nameless!\u2014the mighty in strength\u2014the blind invincible\u2014preserve\nthe faithful Brandomann!\u201d  At this instant the Kraken sunk\u2014the hoof of\nSleipner had touched him\u2014and Brandomann sternly approached the vessel: a\nband of warriors, headed by her father, prepared to oppose him, and\nIldegarda beheld their bright weapons gleaming above his head.  At this\nsight, \u201cHarm him not,\u201d she exclaimed; \u201cye know not whom ye strike!\u201d  But\nthe next instant shewed her the folly of her fear and the mighty power of\nher lover.  Heedless of the flashing swords, Sleipner sprung among the\nwarriors, whose arms were now useless in their deadened hands, and\nBrandomann stood upon the deck, sternly reproving their presumption, and\ncommanding the gallant ship to return home to Denmark.  The vessel\nobeyed\u2014the warriors knew the eight-legged steed of Odin, and were silent;\nbut Haquin accused aloud the murderer of his daughter, for he judged he\nbeheld the lord of the Maelstrom.  \u201cThy daughter lives,\u201d replied the\nterrible Brandomann; \u201cbut she is mine: at her entreaty I have saved thy\nforfeited life\u2014but approach no more the island forbidden by Odin to\nmortal foot, else will I resign thee to the fate thy presumption will\nincur, and which, but for thy daughter\u2019s tears, thou wouldest ere now\nhave tasted.  Hence, Haquin, and learn submission!\u201d\n\nSleipner plunged into the waters, and the vessel, now removed beyond the\npower of the whirlpool, sailed back to Denmark, while Brandomann returned\nto Ildegarda, by whom he was received with a welcome far surpassing his\nhopes or expectations.  He said nothing, however, of the important\nservice he had just rendered her; and his delicate conduct, which did not\npass unobserved by the princess, created for him an advocate in her bosom\nstronger than his own entreaties, or those of all his friends united,\ncould have done.  She saw how tenderly Brandomann loved her, but she saw\nalso that he was resolved not to give her pain; and, to say the truth,\nshe could not help being pleased by this circumstance; for gratitude,\ngreat as it certainly was, was yet not sufficiently powerful to make so\ncruel a sacrifice to his happiness.  By the time he had landed, the storm\nhad passed from the face of heaven, and all was calm upon the bosom of\nthe waters as if the fiends of Niftheim had not been raging within it a\nfew moments before; the party returned to sup in the palace, and all\nthings went on pleasingly as usual.  Days, weeks, passed away, but\nIldegarda, no longer wretched in submitting to the sentence she had once\nthought so cruel, took little heed of time, except to notice the first\nday of the month, which presented to her anxious eyes the person and\noccupations of her father.  Twice, successively, she had seen him in his\ntent, surrounded by heroes, amid preparations for war; he was cheerful,\nand appeared to be encouraging the spirits of a young man, whom Ildegarda\nknew to be prince Harold, and who, with a gentle, downcast look, was\nlistening to his observations: this was confirmed to her by the accounts\nof Brandomann, whose cares to lighten her anxieties and anticipate her\nwishes sensibly affected the generous daughter of Haquin.  She took\nincreased delight in his conversation; and he, from whose presence she\nwas at first so anxious to fly, was now frequently summoned to relieve\nsolitude by his cheering conversation.  She was herself surprised at the\nchange; and could she have shut from her bosom the thought of her early\nand beautiful love.  Brandomann, even in person, would not have been\ndisgusting.  As it was, he daily grew less odious, and daily grew the\nprincess more contented with her lot; the happy society of the marble\npalace met nightly, and mirth, and song, and tale, gave wings to the\ncheerful hours.\n\n\n\nPART IV.\nTHE RETURN.\n\n\n    Wilt thou begone?\n\n                                                               SHAKSPEARE.\n\nONE night when the conversation particularly turned upon the exploits of\nthe ancestors of Ildegarda, Sleipner, who possessed a natural love of\nnoble actions, inquired of the boar whether king Uffon was constant in\nhis attendance upon the nightly festival of the hall of Odin?  \u201cHe is so,\nfrequently,\u201d replied Serimnor; \u201cbut he takes more delight in the combat\nof the morning\u2014from that he is never absent:\u2014but what an extraordinary\nhistory is his!\u201d continued the boar; \u201cit is necessary that he should be\nin Asgard, for its inhabitants to believe it.\u201d  Ildegarda\u2019s attention was\naroused; she had never heard of her ancestor, and she entreated\nBrandomann to indulge her curiosity.  He took up his harp immediately\u2014for\nhe appeared to have no occupation so delightful as to obey her slightest\nwish\u2014and thus related to her the legend of Uffon the Merciful:\u2014\n\n                             LEGEND OF UFFON.\n\n                                     I.\n\n   There was a halo round\n   The golden crown which shone on Vermund\u2019s brow,\n   The light of many noble deeds\u2014\n   Some deathless flowers\n   From heaven\u2019s immortal tree,\n   (The abode of changeless destiny,)\n   Were wreathed\n   Around his conquering sword:\n   But years rolled on, and age\n   Silvered his golden locks\u2014\n   And darkness fell\n   Heavily on him,\n   Veiling the beauty of his latter day\u2014\n   For Lok in hate,\n   Or envy, breathed on him a withering curse\u2014\n   And he grew blind!\n\n                                     II.\n\n   He was a childless man,\n   And to the gods he prayed\n   That his own royal diadem might fall\n   Upon a kindred brow.\n   He asked a son\u2014\n   And Odin granted to his agony\n   The son he craved.\n   Again the evil one\n   Blighted the bud of joy\u2014\n   He laid his dark hand on the infant\u2019s head,\n   And left its evil shadow on his brain,\n   He grew an idiot boy!\n\n                                    III.\n\n   The Saxon king,\n   A wild, fierce warrior, heard of Vermund\u2019s grief,\n   And he did rage to snatch, with greedy hand,\n   The sceptre of the blind.\n   Madly he poured\n   His thousands o\u2019er the land;\n   The red steel clashed\u2014\n   The curling fire ran\u2014\n   The ravens fed\n   On beauty, and the eagles gorged on strength,\n   The blind prince trembling heard\n   His people\u2019s dying groan!\n\n                                     IV.\n\n   The Saxon king\n   Rode, like the thunderbolt, his mighty steed\n   To the sad Danish camp.\n   He mocked the king\u2014\n   And to his peers, with haughty action, said\n   \u201cDoth it become\n   The noble sons of Odin thus to bend\n   The knee before a blind man, and a fool?\u201d\n\n                                     V.\n\n   \u201cOut on thee, wretch!\u201d\n   The sightless prince exclaimed;\n   \u201cIt more becomes the warrior to protect\n   Than scorn the weak and aged!\u2014\n   Mighty!\u2014to thee\u2014\n   Thee! whom we fear to name\u2014\n   Thee! strongest pillar of Odin\u2019s great throne\u2014\n   Thee! dark, but terrible!\u2014whose woe I bear\u2014\n   Thee! whose most awful name\n   The reckless echo dares not repeat, and we\n   Shudder as we pronounce!\n   HODER!\u2014I call on thee!\u2014\n   Be thou the judge\n   Between this wretch and me!\u201d\n\n                                     VI.\n\n   The Saxon heard\n   And shrunk at that dread name\u2014\n   The nobles groaned\u2014\n   The father wept, and clasped,\n   To his chilled heart, his dumb and idiot boy.\n   When, lo! a wonder!\u2014\n   His sacred tears fell on the youthful brow\n   Like holy rain upon the scorched up earth,\n   And upward to the sun of glory sprung\n   The buried seeds of intellect\u2014\n   He spoke!\u2014\n\n                                    VII.\n\n   \u201cHa! scoffer!\u201d said the boy, \u201cdidst thou not know\n   The blind and weak are sacred?\u201d\u2014\n   His eye shone\n   With a miraculous light\u2014\n   \u201cHark!  Saxon churl!\n   I summon thee unto the field of death\u2014\n   _I_, the dumb idiot\u2014_I_ will meet thee there,\n   And on thy craven bosom write a truth,\n   That Vermund hath a son\u2014Denmark a prince,\n   Who _will_ protect their glories!\u201d\n\n                                    VIII.\n\n   The day came\u2014\n   And Uffon\u2019s fiery chariot bore him forth\n   Unto the battle field\u2014\n   Less bright\u2014less beautiful\n   Is Balder when, from Lidscialf\u2019s diamond steps,\n   He rises to illuminate the worlds\n   Which wheel caressingly around him\u2014and\n   Gallantly rode the Saxon.\n   But the king\u2014\n   The blind\u2014the father\u2014where is he?  He sits\n   On yonder rock, high o\u2019er the foaming sea,\n   There to await the battle.\n   Should _he_ fall\u2014\n   His own\u2014his only one\u2014\n   Ocean will catch his form,\n   And hide his griefs for ever.\n\n                                     IX.\n\n   It was a deadly fight\n   Between the Saxon and the Dane;\n   And once\n   There was a scream, as if the inspired boy\n   Was lost, for he had sunk upon his knee\u2014\n   But he beheld his father\u2019s sightless eye\n   Upturned in agony\u2014\n   And he arose\u2014and then\n   Another sound was heard\u2014a mighty shout\u2014\n   The scorner of the blind was slain!\n\n                                     X.\n\n   The son\u2014he flew,\n   A bounding reindeer to his father\u2019s arms\u2014\n   He paused\u2014\n   _They_ were upraised,\n   In attitude of thankfulness\n   His lips\n   Were pale, and still, and smiling\u2014\n   But\u2014his heart\n   Had broke in that fierce struggle\u2014\n   He was gone\u2014\n   Heimdaller\u2019s wings were shadowing him, as o\u2019er\n   The wonderous bridge he trod;\n   Valkyries bore\n   His spirit to the foot of Odin\u2019s throne,\n   To tell of Uffon\u2019s glory.\n\n                                     XI.\n\n   Nameless one!\n   This justice was thy deed\u2014\n   We worship thee,\n   Although we love thee not!\n\n\u201cNo, truly,\u201d said Serimnor, on the conclusion of the legend; \u201cthat would\nbe quite impossible either for heaven or earth; but glory to the good\nUffon\u2014few warriors in Valhalla are more esteemed than he.  The skull of\nthe impious Saxon is now his drinking cup; and his father, restored to\nsight, beholds the pledge of victory with undying felicity: and, in the\ncombats and martial sports of the morning, the battle between his noble\nson and the Saxon is daily renewed, to gladden him with the sound of\nconquest and triumph over his shadowy foe.\u201d  \u201cLook, Serimnor,\u201d said the\nhorse of Odin, interrupting him impatiently, as a bright flash of\nlightning darted into the hall and played against his head for a moment;\n\u201cLook, we are again outstaying our time\u2014the son of Rinda is shooting his\nbrilliant arrows, and one has already touched you: let us obey the\nsummons, and not provoke him to make his fatal shafts unerring.\u201d  \u201cAway,\nthen!\u201d cried Heidruna.  The ravens flapped their wings\u2014Brandomann\nrose\u2014and the hall was cleared in a moment.\n\nIldegarda had hitherto been happy in the reports of the magic mirror, and\nsatisfied with its assurances of her father\u2019s safety.  On the first of\nthe tenth month of her residence on the island, she again withdrew the\ncurtain,\u2014but a different spectacle awaited her; Haquin was lying wounded\nupon his couch, pale and insensible, while his attendants were anxiously\nendeavouring to stanch the blood which flowed from his injured side.  The\nprincess became wild with apprehension; instantly she sought her faithful\nBrandomann, to pour into his bosom the grief which distracted hers.  He\nlistened with tender sympathy.  \u201cThere has been a battle between your\nfather and Frotho, no doubt,\u201d he replied; \u201cbut though I am not informed\nof all the particulars, I know that Haquin will not die of this wound:\ntake comfort from this assurance, for when did I ever deceive you?\u201d  But\nIldegarda refused all consolation, and persisted in thinking and making\nherself the most miserable of all human beings.  Her father was\nill\u2014wounded\u2014in need of her assistance\u2014and she herself uncertain of his\nfate for a whole month at least.  Her anxiety hourly increased, and her\ngrief, too powerful to be concealed from Brandomann, affected him no less\npainfully than herself.  It was in vain he exerted his talents to divert\nher anguish; she was grateful for his kindness, but did not shed one tear\nthe less: his conversation had lost its charms, his tales and songs their\ninterest.  Brandomann discovered this, and, after a terrible struggle,\nhis generous nature overmastered every selfish and interested feeling.\n\u201cI cannot,\u201d said he at length to the weeping princess; \u201cI cannot bear to\nwitness your sorrow, and know that I am the cause.  For your sake I will\nagain disobey the command of Odin, which had decreed your captivity to be\nperpetual; you shall go to your father: promise me that you will return\nhither, and you shall be swiftly conveyed to his tent\u2014and remain with him\nseven days; at the close of that period you must return, or my life will\npay the forfeit of my fault, and be demanded to appease the anger of\nOdin.  Go, then, beloved princess,\u2014but sometimes think of Brandomann, and\nwhat he will suffer for your sake.\u201d  The princess could scarcely believe\nwhat she heard: in a rapture of joy she accepted the offer, and was most\nfervent in her promises to return at the expiration of seven days.\nBrandomann sighed heavily, but made no reply to her frequent\nprotestations of their soon meeting again.  \u201cYou shall be with your\nfather to-morrow morning,\u201d said he: \u201cmerely take this ring\u2014put it upon\nyour finger when you go to rest to-night, and do the same thing when you\nwish to return to me; but do not wear it at any other time.\u201d  The\nprincess joyfully accepted the gift\u2014took an affectionate leave of her\nadmired monster\u2014and retired to rest full of hope and\nexpectation\u2014expectations which were fully realised on her awaking in the\nmorning; for she found her couch in her father\u2019s tent, and he himself\ngazing upon her with tender anxiety and wonder.\n\nThe joy of Haquin, at again folding his beloved child to his bosom, was\nconsiderably damped by the narrative of her adventures, and the promise\nwhich she had given to Brandomann to return.  As he did not deem it\npossible that she intended to keep her word, he was not a little\nastonished at her declaration, when she assured him she could remain with\nhim only during the seven days.  He argued strongly against her\nintention; and she at present, unwilling to distress him, ceased to\noppose his opinions, and occupied herself entirely with the care of his\nhealth, knowing that it would always be in her power to return whenever\nshe felt the inclination.  Her tender attention was fully appreciated by\nHaquin, but she herself was far from being at ease in the midst of a\ntumultuous camp, where her wishes were not anticipated with the swift and\ndelighted obedience of her island attendants: she had no change of dress\neither: a circumstance peculiarly vexatious, as she was daily surrounded\nby admiring warriors, who constantly paid homage to her charms,\u2014and among\nwhom prince Harold was not the least fervent in his expressions of\ndevotion to her beauty.  Awakening one morning after many regrets upon\nthis subject to herself overnight, she was surprised to see the chest\nwhich ornamented her chamber at Moskoe, and which contained her superb\nwardrobe, standing by the side of her couch: she opened it hastily:\n\u201cKind, generous Brandomann, always alike solicitous for my happiness and\npleasure,\u201d she exclaimed; \u201chow much do I not owe thee!\u201d  She immediately\ndecorated her lovely person and returned to her father, who, cheered by\nher presence and renovated by her care, was quickly recovering from the\neffects of his wound: he now informed her that Haldane was universally\nsaid to have been murdered by his uncle; and that, in consequence of\ntheir disgust at this act of cruelty, many noble Danes had resorted to\nthe standard of Harold, whom they unanimously called to the throne,\nthough they held not the gentle boy in the same estimation as his more\nvaliant brother.  To this he added, that as the young king had declared a\npassion for Ildegarda, he had determined to unite them despite of the\nwrath of Frotho, and thus repay her long captivity by placing her upon a\nthrone.  His daughter had many objections to this arrangement, but her\nfather\u2019s heart appeared to joy so deeply in its contemplation that\nIldegarda had not the courage to undeceive him: the tenderness of Haquin,\nthe novelty of again seeing human faces, and the pleasure of listening to\nthe gallant praises of the noble Danes, at length rendered Ildegarda\nforgetful of her promise, and not only seven days, but twice that number\nslipped away, ere she called to mind the probable anxiety of Brandomann.\nShe now determined to repair her fault and hasten back to the island, but\nwhen, upon retiring to rest, she sought her ring to place it upon her\nfinger, the talisman was nowhere to be found.  In great distress she\nhastened to her father, expecting him perhaps to sympathise in her\nmisfortune, but, unlike the gentle monster of the Maelstrom, he laughed\nat her anxiety, and congratulated her upon her loss; he bade her be under\nno apprehension respecting her ring, since it was safe in his\npossession\u2014he had stolen it on being informed of its virtue, in order to\nsecure her company,\u2014\u201cwhich,\u201d he continued, \u201cit appears, without this\nprecaution I should have lost.\u201d  He observed that he could not permit\nsuch a preposterous union between beauty and a beast, who, instead of\nbeing a descendant of Odin, was doubtless a member of the infernal royal\nfamily of Lok, and consequently some diabolical sorcerer, who had thus\nbought her, body and soul, of Frotho: he would give her, he remarked, a\nhusband better suited to her rank and beauty, and commanded her to\nprepare to espouse the royal cousin Harold, within at least ten days.\nIldegarda was much startled by this conversation; and she who in the\ndesolate island had mourned over the idea of perpetual captivity, now\nwept with more bitterness her recovered liberty, and the prospect of\nnever more returning to her prison; she thought of the tender obedience\nof Brandomann to her lightest wish, and his generous self-denial upon all\noccasions respecting her.  She lamented the kind-hearted Serimnor, the\nchivalrous horse, the affectionate goat, and even the ravens and reindeer\nreceived the tribute of her tears; but the idea of the probable suffering\nof Brandomann for his devotion to her, and disobedience in her favour,\nfilled her heart with the most poignant regret; she hated Harold, and she\nesteemed her Maelstrom friend, and not a day passed without the severest\nsearch for the ring that was to convey her back to his territories.  At\nlength Rinda, in pity, heard her prayers.  In her father\u2019s bosom, during\nhis sleep, she found her glittering ring, which she hastily secured as\nher dearest treasure, and instantly retired to rest; and when morning\nagain looked upon her, it was in her chamber of the desolate isle.\n\nIldegarda scarce waited fully to throw off the fetters of sleep ere she\ndescended to the marble hall, and instantly gave the signal which used to\nsummon Brandomann to her presence, and which he had never neglected; now\nit was unheeded.  Alarmed, she repeated it more strongly\u2014Brandomann\nreplied not to the call; half-distracted she hurried through the palace\nand harrowed her own feelings by recalling to mind his mournful\nprediction of the fate which awaited him, should she exceed her allotted\ntime.  She shuddered to reflect how long that time had elapsed.  From the\npalace she traversed the gardens, running wildly with an aching heart and\nburning brow to every quarter, and asking every object she met for\ntidings of her lamented Brandomann: the birds and the echoes alone\nreplied to her mournful queries, and disconsolate and despairing she\nthrew herself upon the sod to give vent to the bitterness of her sorrow,\nand lament undisturbed her affliction.  \u201cBrandomann!\u201d she exclaimed;\n\u201cBrandomann! where art thou? friend of my soul, art thou yet in\nexistence, or hath my ingratitude destroyed thee?  Oh, if thou hearest,\nif thou beholdest these tears, have pity on thy wretched Ildegarda, and\nhasten to relieve her agony, and pardon her involuntary crime.\u201d  She\nstarted up in a sudden ecstasy, for a low groan at no great distance from\nher seemed to be an answer to her question; she rushed forward in that\ndirection, and soon beheld the hapless Brandomann stretched upon the\nearth, and apparently in the agonies of death; but her beloved voice, the\ntouch of her gentle hand, the glance of her worshipped eye, either of\nthese would have recalled him to life, and now all were lavishly employed\nto restore him: he looked up for a moment.  Mournfully he said, \u201cBeloved,\nthou art come to see me die!\u201d and then relapsed into stupor and\nforgetfulness.  Ildegarda wept in agony\u2014she was hanging over him in\nlistless sorrow, when her thoughts were aroused by the appearance of\nHeidruna.  \u201cBrandomann is dying,\u201d said the white goat, \u201cand from grief at\nyour neglect; but you have returned, and, in compassion to your\nsufferings, I am permitted to restore him to you: take the bowl you see\nyonder, draw forth a portion of my milk, and give it to his lips; the\nhydromel of heaven will call him back to life.\u201d  Ildegarda obeyed\u2014she\ngave the miraculous draught to Brandomann, who as instantly recovered his\nreason and his strength; with tears of joy she expressed her gratitude to\nHeidruna; and the Moskoe chief observing her delight, and too happy once\nmore to behold her, readily forgave her all he had suffered in her\nabsence.  There was much happiness that night in the marble palace;\nSleipner bowed down his arched neck to receive a pat from her snowy hand;\nSerimnor grinned till his huge tusks were completely visible; the ravens\npresented her the tips of their wings, and flew screaming about, as if\n_they_ had been drinking the hydromel of Valhalla.  Ildegarda was happy,\nand Brandomann dared not trust his feelings to words.  Sunny walks and\nmoonlight musings were now the pursuits of the imprisoned pair; for\ninstead of retiring to rest, as formerly, when the Valhalla people went\nto their party, they roamed over the island, contemplating the stars, and\ntalking tenderly of course, for when were love and moonshine separated?\nIt is true, in this instance, the tenderness was all on one side; for\nthough Ildegarda permitted it, since she saw the happiness it gave to\nBrandomann, she yet could not prevail upon herself to return it, or say\nthe words he wished to hear from her lips.  One evening, as thus, in the\ntranquil moonlight, they sat alone in the summery isle, Ildegarda was\nastonished, by the appearance of a wonder she had never yet remarked in\nthe island; the moon was suddenly eclipsed by a light so glorious, yet so\nsoft, that every object around her was visible in the brightness of\nbeaming gold, yet without giving pain to the sense.  Brandomann remarked\nher admiration.  \u201cThis beauteous light,\u201d said he, \u201cis a mark of the\napprobation of the father of the gods, at some virtuous action of a\nfavourite of heaven; it is Odin\u2019s fire, dear Ildegarda, the light of his\nglorious smile; and shining now as it does upon thee, and our lonely\nisle, it comes to tell thee he is satisfied with thy past conduct, and\napproves thy present.\u201d  Scarcely was this explanation given, ere the\nbeauteous light died away from the mountains and the palace, and night\nwore again her solemn robe of darkness.  As they prepared to return, the\nstar-studded sky, the jewel-paved floor of the palaces of Asgard,\nsparkling with its unnumbered lights, and shining in its soft blue glory,\nstruck on their souls with delight; and, while they were gazing in\nrapture, a large and brilliant star shot from its place in the heaven and\nvanished rapidly from their sight.  \u201cSome noble warrior or virtuous sage\nhas closed his eyes upon this mortal scene,\u201d said Brandomann, tenderly:\n\u201cthat was the star of his destiny; it fell from its seat in the heaven\nwhen he quitted his on the earth: this is the sign that tells to the\nsurvivors his fate, if it is fulfilled in the night; by day it is the\nvision of the rainbow bridge, the sacred arch that connects this earth\nwith heaven, and over which the spirits of the just must pass.\u201d  \u201cI have\nheard that it is only visible to mortal sight, when the peculiarly brave\nand virtuous ascend its brilliant road,\u201d said Ildegarda.  \u201cAnd you have\nheard aright, dearest,\u201d replied Brandomann; \u201cit is only then that the\nguardian spirit of the bridge, Heimdaller of the radiant brow, descends\nfrom his abode on its top to meet and welcome the traveller; then it is,\nthat the light from his rushing wings, and the gems which compose his\njewelled crown, shine so strongly on the arch, as to render it visible to\nmortal sight, clad in the reflected glories of its guardian\u2019s diadem.\u201d\n\nOn the morrow Brandomann relieved her anxiety, which had been awakened by\nthe sight of the falling star, lest her father\u2019s should no more have a\nseat in the heavens, nor himself a name on the earth.  \u201cA mild and\ngracious being hath left us,\u201d said he, \u201cfor the happier scenes of Asgard;\nSevald is dead\u2014the virtuous son of the abandoned Frotho is no more\u2014he\nfell, as became his race, in the battle-field, contending against your\nvictorious father and his kinsman Harold, against whom the tyrant rages\nand vows destruction, as now the only rival he has to fear.\u201d  The\nprincess was satisfied by this explanation, the more especially as the\nfirst day of the month again presented the person of her father, though\nsurrounded by the bustle of war.\n\n\n\nPART V.\nODIN.\n\n\n    He hath borne all things well.\n\n                                                     SHAKSPEARE\u2014_Macbeth_.\n\n\u201cWHENCE is it, Brandomann,\u201d said Sleipner one evening to the Scaldre,\n\u201cthat among those of the heroes whose virtues and glories you are nightly\ncelebrating, I never heard the actions of Odin; why, while thus honouring\nhis friends, are you neglectful of the great father of our race?  Surely\nhe, from whom all inspiration flows, deserves the best, ay, and the\nfinest fruits of your genius!\u201d  \u201cIt was only because I feared my feeble\nstrains would not do justice to the lofty subject,\u201d replied Brandomann;\n\u201cthe glory of the father of gods and men requires a mightier hand than\nmine to celebrate it; Brage alone should strike the golden chord to his\nhonour\u2014alone should sing of deeds beyond the feeble thought of mortality;\nthat which I can, I will; I dare not wake the voice of song, but I will\nspeak of his wondrous deeds, that to-night, in Valhalla, thou mayest tell\nbright Asgard\u2019s king that I have instructed this lovely maiden what\nhonours and love are due to the first of her race, and the friend of her\nfather.  Will it please thee, Ildegarda, to listen to the legend of\nSigge?\u201d  \u201cBeyond all other things,\u201d replied the princess, pleasedly: and\nBrandomann, smiling, began\u2014\n\nFrom his high and everlasting throne in Valhalla, had Odin, the dispenser\nof good, poured forth, with unsparing hand, innumerable benefits upon his\nattendant spirits.  In the burning benevolence of his heart he forgot, or\nhe disregarded, that to some essences obligation is pain, and gratitude a\ntoil; so high did he raise some of those bright creations that stood\nnearest to his throne, that they became too great for obedience, and\nimpatient of the most gentle restraint.  Lok, the most glorious of these\nglorious things, seated on the lowest step of the throne of light, saw\nbut one between him and the highest; and once on that, what should\nrestrain from him the throne of the universe?  Thus he thought, and thus\nhe did: by his eloquence he seduced the higher spirits from their duty\u2014by\nhis beauty and promises the lower.  The worlds of Asgard sent their\ngoverning spirits forth to fight under his banner, and Surter brought\nmyriads to his side.  For the first time since the creation, the\nstandards of revolt flew in the cities of Asgard, and the proud Lok drove\nback, with contempt, the interceding ministers of Odin, who came to\nremonstrate upon his madness.  Confident in his power, the giant spirit\nentered Valasciolf, the city of the king, and dared even advance to\nValhalla: the immortal beings who surround the diamond throne shuddered\nat his presumption, and, veiling their bright heads from the terrible\nglances of Odin, wept the approaching destiny of companions once so\nbeloved, which they read in the eye of their master: the sovereign of the\nuniverse gave no command to his people\u2014he uttered no reproach\u2014he suffered\nhis faithful spirits to fly before the sword of Lok and the devouring\nfires of Surter\u2014he even permitted the lost ones to approach the steps of\nhis eternal throne\u2014then, when with proud exultation they advanced to\nseize upon him whose power they believed departed, he calmly arose from\nhis seat and stretched out his right hand, armed with its invincible\nfalchion, towards his enemies: at that tremendous signal Niord let loose\nthe oceans of heaven, and, in terrific grandeur they came rolling down\nupon the revolted; the winds from all the worlds were summoned up to\nheaven to aid their master, and rend and scatter his offenders.  Balder\ndeserted his throne in the orb of day,\u2014and the mad and governless globe\nflew up into Asgard, and burst its destructive flames upon the rebels.\nThor, the first-born of Odin, threw by his star-formed diadem, girded his\nbrow with the thunder, and, wielding the red bolt of vengeance, rushed\nupon them.  The sightless horror rose in his terrible strength, and the\narrows of Vile, unerring as the lance of Hela, flew among the foes: all\nwas confusion, terror, and despair\u2014cries of anguish polluted the happy\ncity\u2014Odin recalled his warriors, and plunged their enemies in the burning\nlake, bidding the proud Lok and the ambitious Surter obtain their wish\nand seat themselves on thrones.\n\nBut though the power of the infernal spirits was thus curbed, it was not\ndestroyed; and, still invincible in malice, they resolved to wound Odin\nthrough his favourite, man.  Lok gave birth to the snaky sin, whose folds\nencircle the earth, and bade him breathe from his poisonous jaws upon her\nsurface the blast of contention and hate: he obeyed; and man, no longer\nbeneficent and kind, rose up against his brother; with bitter words he\npoured curses on the father who called him into life, and smote on the\nbosom that had nourished him in helplessness.  The father of evil beheld\nand smiled\u2014his work was half accomplished\u2014and he called into existence\ndeath, to finish the deeds begun: the pale shadow stalked over the earth\nand drank the crimson blood till she grew wanton in her mirth, and\nbesought her father for a companion: he heard, and sent Fenris up to\nfollow her steps, and exult in her multiplied victims.  The fiends in\nhell heard the sounds of their triumph, and shouted responsive, when the\nshivering spirits of the slain were hurled weeping into Niftheim.  At\nlength their cruel joy was heard in Asgard, at the same moment that\nsounds of sorrow ascended from the earth, from the few who still\nremembered his name.  It was from Scythia the plaining voice arose, and\nthe monarch, looking down from his throne, beheld the last remnant of his\npeople sinking beneath the power of the Roman.  Now then he determined to\ndescend to the earth, not only to lead them to conquest, but teach them\nwisdom and virtue.  Frea, the mother of the gods, resolved to partake the\ntoils of her husband; and Thor, the eldest born of Odin, the ruler of the\nair, forsook his palace of nine hundred and forty halls, laid by his\nterrific thunderbolt, and his diadem of twelve stars, and, debasing his\ngiant frame to the standard of humanity, descended with his father to the\nearth.  Cased in the armour of Scythians, they joined the troops of that\nbeloved people, and the father god bidding them contend no longer against\nthe power of the Romans, to whom Odin had given their country, promised\nto lead them to other fields, and give them other lands for their\ninheritance.  The fierce Scythians yielded to the persuasive voice of him\nwhom they only knew as the warrior Sigge, and, rather than submit to the\nslavery they abhorred, they forsook the tombs of their fathers, and\nsought an empire in the north.\n\nIn vain the inhabitants of these regions sought to oppose the\nestablishment of the heaven-conducted Scythians; in every battle they\nwere defeated and driven with loss from their cities: the arrows of Frea\ncarried destruction to the enemy\u2014the mallet of Thor crushed thousands\u2014and\nOdin, raging through their ranks, now as a warrior, now as a ferocious\nlion, spread devastation through their armies, and drove them from the\nfield.  The Scythians saw these wonders, and secretly acknowledged\nValhalla\u2019s lord beneath the form of Sigge.  When the rage of battle was\npast, he lulled the wounded to repose, and arrested the parting spirits\nof the dying with the celestial strains of his harp; the wounds of his\npeople were cured, and their strength restored by his celestial power,\nwhile, from the same cause, his enemies were bereft of courage and of\nvigour.  Sweden and Norway yielded to the matchless warrior, and received\nwith joy the unknown Sigge for their king, but the Danes refused to\nacknowledge the leader of armies; and Mimer, their prince, an enchanter,\nand the friend of Lok, opposed himself against the victorious prince of\nScythia.  Before the assembled Danes he contended with the stranger in\neloquence and poetry, and in these his own people were compelled, by the\nsevere laws of truth, to yield the palm to his rival.  Mimer was wise,\neloquent, and brave; the strains of his harp were only inferior to those\nof Sigge, and he felt deeply the injury which he had sustained by the\ndecision against him.  Determined to recover, with his sword, the glory\nhe had lost, he called his armies together, and bade defiance to the\nScythians: the opposing bands drew near; furious was the contest, for\nnow, like a tiger sprung Mimer on his foes\u2014now as a fiery serpent stung\ntheir hearts, or crushed them in his mighty folds.  As terrible raged\nOdin in various forms, carrying dismay around him, and thinning the ranks\nof the valiant Danes.  At length the monarchs met\u2014in human form stood\nMimer\u2014in human form, prepared to oppose him, stood Valhalla\u2019s mighty\nking: but momentary was the contest, the terrible blow of the Scythian\nbrought the head of the Dane to his feet, as its faltering tongue\npronounced the name of Odin.  The foe fled to the camp, while the father\nof men again raised to life his beloved Scythians who had fallen in this,\nthe greatest of his fields.  At length, wishing to give peace to the\nweary land, he summoned the Danish chiefs to meet him in conference.\nSeated on a throne, he received the warriors: in one hand he held the\nsceptre of his power, the other rested on a golden dish, in which, now\nrichly embalmed, and adorned with a crown of gold, lay the head of the\nwretched Mimer.  The chiefs gazed in silence\u2014a silence unbroken by human\nsounds, but disturbed by the voice of the dead, for the ghastly head\nopened its closed lips, fixed its eyes, and bade, in hollow but\nauthoritative tones, its countrymen no longer oppose the will of the\ngods, but receive for their prince and lawgiver him who was master of the\nworld!  Again it sunk into silence, and the astonished Danes, obeying its\ndictates, fell at the feet of the conqueror of Mimer.  And now, seated in\npeace on the thrones of the north, more brightly shone the unmatched\nvirtues of Sigge.  He taught his subjects husbandry\u2014he taught them to\nplough the waters\u2014he opened to them the riches of commerce\u2014and he dug\nfrom the earth the treasures which ages had concealed in her bosom;\u2014he\npunished vice with severity\u2014he rewarded virtue with munificence\u2014he taught\nthem letters, instructed them in the mysteries of the Runic\u2014and obliged\nthem to cultivate the milder graces of music and verse;\u2014he allured men to\nobey by the charms of his eloquence and the splendour of his glory; and\nhe spoke to their reason by his divine Hovamaal, which he gave them as\nhis best gift\u2014his richest legacy.  In this he bade them do no wrong to\neach other\u2014to honour the eternal gods\u2014and to render up life at the\ncommand of their country.  When he beheld the good effect of his\nregulations, and saw his people firmly attached to his laws, he called\naround him his children, born of his mortal wives, of the daughters of\nScythia, and, dividing his dominions among them, taught them to govern\naccording to his ordinances and example.  Satisfied with his work, he\ncalled Frea and Thor to his side, and, blessing once more his mortal\nchildren, ascended with them into the regions of light.  Then loudly the\nDanes acknowledged Odin, and paid their homage to his glory; to his race\nthey have ever been faithful, for they still fill the earthly thrones of\ntheir father, who, from his abode in Asgard, looks down upon his\nchildren, and crowns their lives with prosperity: and thus shall he do\ntill the long night which is to witness the last battle of the gods\u2014the\nlast attack of Lok and his allies, and which for ages they have been\npreparing\u2014against Odin and the happy spirits of Asgard.  In the dreadful\nconflict, men and demons, oceans, earths, Niftheim, nay, even Asgard\nitself, shall be involved in one general wreck\u2014one entire and\nundistinguished ruin; the infernal spirits shall fall in the\nconvulsions\u2014evil shall be no more\u2014and from the ashes of the universe\nshall arise a brighter heaven\u2014a gloomier hell, than those which have\npassed away.  To the glorious seats of Gimle, the city of burnished\ngold\u2014to its diamond-studded palaces and star-paved courts\u2014shall the\nspirits of the just ascend, with Odin and his triumphant sons, to the\nenjoyment of one endless festival; while the cowards and wicked of the\nearth shall sink with their infernal allies\u2014the revolted of heaven\u2014into\nthe caves of Nastronde, an abode more horrible than Niftheim\u2014a den built\nup of the carcasses of snakes, and illuminated by devouring flames, where\never-enduring sorrow shall be the punishment of the lost, from which they\nshall have no power to escape, again to disturb the repose of the just.\n\nHonour and praise to Frea\u2014victory to Thor\u2014glory to Odin, the greatest,\nand the best\u2014hail to the master of gods and men!\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nHappily for his hearers, it was here, at length, that the merciless\nBrandomann terminated his long-winded history.  Sleipner had for some\ntime been his only auditor\u2014Ildegarda had been nodding repeatedly\u2014Heidruna\nfidgetily trotting backwards and forwards to the portal, watching the\nclouds\u2014Serimnor had given two or three most portentous yawns\u2014while the\ntwo ravens who did every thing in concert, had tucked their heads under\ntheir wings, and gone fairly to sleep:\u2014but they all started up when the\nhum of his voice had ceased, and thanked the good Brandomann as sincerely\nas if they had been excessively delighted, for they were grateful that he\nhad finished at last, and were besides too well bred not to be charmed\nwith what had been done entirely for their amusement.\n\nOn the following day, during their usual rambles about the island, the\nprincess looked so unusually depressed, and said so little in reply to\nthe observations of her companion, that his attention, ever on the watch,\nwas aroused by her sadness; tenderly he inquired the cause.  \u201cI will tell\nyou,\u201d replied Ildegarda: \u201cwhen absent from you, and believing your life\nin danger, my only anxiety was to return; now, when that difficulty has\npassed away, I confess I am wretched respecting my father\u2019s feelings and\nconduct, when he shall discover that I have quitted him for ever; neither\nis my heart without a pang when I reflect that I shall see him no more.\nOh that I knew what is to come!\u2014that I could look into the future, and\nbehold my destiny and his!\u201d  \u201cI know not that it is in my power\naltogether to fulfil your wishes,\u201d answered Brandomann; \u201cbut I can give\nyou a glance into the future, so as to discover its general complexion,\nbut not to enable you to read exactly the very page of destiny.  That\nwhich I can, to gratify your curiosity, I will do,\u2014I will arrest for a\nfew minutes the flight of the triune deity Time, and, by her appearance,\nwe shall be able to judge of what is to come.\u2014Urda, Werandi, Skulda!\u201d\ncontinued Brandomann, raising his powerful voice to its utmost pitch,\n\u201cobey the command of the lord of the Maelstrom, the mighty delegate of\nOdin\u2014pause in your flight for a moment, and stand visibly before him!\u201d\nScarcely was the peremptory order uttered, ere a light cloud was seen\nadvancing towards them from the sea, and when it became stationary\nIldegarda beheld a female form slowly and gracefully emerging from its\ncentre; her features were indistinctly visible, and upon the floating\nmisty robe that enveloped her figure, many changing objects were, some\nfaintly, some powerfully, represented.  \u201cIt is Urda the Past,\u201d said\nBrandomann to Ildegarda; \u201cthe events written upon her breast and brow are\npartially concealed in her garment of oblivion and doubt; and when this\nis penetrated by mortal sight, they are still seen through the mists of\npassion and prejudice, by which she is ever surrounded: look now upon her\nbreast and brow\u2014what objects do they represent to you?\u201d  \u201cI see a\ncriminal,\u201d said the princess, \u201cabout to suffer the sentence of\njustice\u2014the executioner is preparing to strike.\u201d  \u201cTo my view the\nrepresentation is different,\u201d replied Brandomann; \u201cI see a crowned king\nfalling beneath the murderous swords of his rebellious subjects.\u201d  \u201cI\nobserve a dying parent,\u201d continued Ildegarda, \u201cwho consigns his child to\na noble warrior who weeps by his couch, but presses the babe to his\nheart.\u201d  \u201cI also see the dying father,\u201d said Brandomann, \u201cbut he resigns\nhis infant to a demon in form, and worse than a demon in heart, for he\ninstantly plunges a dagger in its throat: what else do you remark?\u201d\n\u201cMany other objects,\u201d continued the princess, \u201cbut nothing clearly; the\ngoddess herself is retiring slowly from my gaze, and to whom does she\ngive place?\u201d  \u201cTo Werandi the Present,\u201d answered Brandomann, \u201cin\nsnow-white robe, with her unveiled face and open brow and eye\u2014how clear\nshe looks upon us!\u2014and her garments will shew us our actions of this\nmoment:\u2014but she retires, and Skulda the Future supplies her place; clad\nin a robe of darkness, she exhibits nothing to our eyes, and the veil\nwhich covers her person conceals also her face from our observation: she\nshall withdraw it, and her smile or frown will shadow forth your\ndestiny.\u201d  The goddess gently withdrew her veil, and the soft enchanting\nsmile which she beamed upon the princess banished anxiety from her bosom,\nand graced the departure of the triune spirit with the sweet attribute of\nbenevolence.\n\nA few days after the prophetic smile of the deity of Time had given such\nhope to the heart of Ildegarda, they were wandering about the gardens of\nthe palace, astonished by the roaring of thunders which announced a\ndistant storm: they were surprised by the sudden change from daylight to\ndarkness, and were puzzling each other respecting its cause, when the\nstorm died rapidly away, the clouds fell down in a gentle shower, and the\nrainbow bridge stood out in faint splendour from the heavens.  \u201cLook,\ndearest,\u201d said Brandomann; \u201cthe spirit of the bow has lowered his\nbeautiful bridge\u2014some of the lesser warriors are ascending to Valhalla\u2014I\nwill address the guardian of it, and bid him render the road and its\npassengers visible to your sight.\u2014All hail Heimdaller of the coloured\ncrown!\u201d continued Brandomann, \u201cthe friend of Odin speaks to thee;\nbeautiful spirit of the rushing wings and eyes of tender glory, let us\nlook upon thy face, and the road which leads to thy dwelling!\u201d  The\nsilvery voice of the spirit answered him, giving an immediate assent to\nhis desire, and in a moment the road and its travellers became visible to\nIldegarda.  Slowly, and with feeble steps, the wounded warriors dragged\nthemselves on till they reached the summit of the bridge, when the gates\nof light flew open, and the spirit, in giving them his hand bestowed upon\nthem strength and beauty, and thus prepared them for the presence of Odin\nand the glories of the Valhalla.\n\nWhile Ildegarda with intense interest was watching the solemn procession\nof the dead, her eyes were suddenly dazzled by a brilliant light thrown\nupon the bridge, which now shone out in tenfold splendour, colouring the\nmountains of the island with tints of its beautiful hues.  She looked up,\nand beheld the spirit of the bow descending, glorious in his youthful\nbeauty; his diadem of many-coloured gems was on his lofty brow, and, in\nthe ineffable loveliness of his sunny smile, there was a sweetness that\nmade Ildegarda weep.  \u201cHe goes to welcome one of the greatest of mortal\nheroes,\u201d said Brandomann\u2014\u201cone of the favourites of Odin; his presence\nthrows this glory round him, and at this moment the beings of earth, who\ngaze upon the bridge, behold its colours at the brightest: but see\u2014at the\nfoot of the arch there is one ascending to meet the spirit!\u2014his wounds\nare terrible\u2014his bosom is fearfully gored\u2014and his steps are feeble and\nslow\u2014but he has the brow and the port of a hero; as yet I know him not.\u201d\n\u201cBut _I_ do!\u201d shrieked the hapless Ildegarda\u2014\u201cO Brandomann, I know him\nwell!\u201d  The lord of the Maelstrom looked up again, and painfully\nrecognised the shadow\u2014it was indeed her father;\u2014the pale inhabitant of\nanother world, whom she saw ascending slowly to meet the welcome smile of\nthe angel of light, was once the noble Haquin, the last friend of Harold\nand his sons.  Brandomann gazed in grief and terror, and the sorrow he\nfelt for the death of the warrior was scarcely mitigated by the change\nwrought in his wearied frame by the touch of the radiant Heimdaller.\n\u201cIldegarda!\u201d he cried in a voice of tenderness and pity; \u201cIldegarda,\nthink not that thou art alone in the world, or that all that loved thee\nhave left it; look up, my dear one!\u2014look on the happiness of thy noble\nfather, and cease to regret his fate; what could thy love offer him in\nexchange for this?\u201d  Ildegarda mournfully assented as she saw his glory,\nand her grief became more resigned and gentle.  She returned to the\npalace with Brandomann, who, far from attempting to console, wept with\nher the loss she had sustained.  In the evening her friends did not as\nusual visit the island, but they explained the cause of their absence on\nthe next.  It was in honour of Haquin they had been detained at Valhalla,\nas Odin had commanded the feast earlier, in order to compliment this\nnoble warrior,\u2014\u201cwho now,\u201d continued Sleipner, \u201csits highest in the hall,\nand nearest to Odin\u2019s self.\u201d\n\nTime reconciled the princess to her father\u2019s death, and to her hopeless\nimprisonment in Moskoe.  The generous Brandomann, now that she had lost\nin the world all that was dear to her, and was most entirely in his\npower, never spoke to her of the love which it was but too plain he bore\nher.  She saw and rewarded his virtue.\n\n\u201cBrandomann!\u201d she said to him one day as they wandered through the\ngardens of the desolate isle; \u201cBrandomann, friend of my heart, in the\nworld, where my father walks no longer, I have no interest, and can never\nwish to return; yet I feel that I could love and render some deserving\nbeing more happy than a lonely destiny could make him; thou alone art\nworthy of this heart, and of the duty which I will pay thee; I cannot\nlove thee as I once loved Haldane\u2014as I fear I should love him still\u2014that\nfeeling it is not in thy power to inspire; but I honour thy virtue, and\nam grateful for its exercise.  Wilt thou accept this hand\u2014this heart?  If\nso, take me, Brandomann, for I am thine!\u201d\n\nShe threw herself as she spoke, into the arms which opened transportedly\nto receive her, and bowed her head upon his breast.  She could not\ndistinguish his reply, for a sudden peal of thunder rolled above their\nheads, and the earth was shaken to its foundation\u2014a frightful darkness\ncovered the island, and shrieks and howlings rung in their ears, mingled\nwith shouts of triumph and the cheering blasts of the trumpet.  Ildegarda\nclung closer to her lover for protection, when a gentle, well-known voice\nreassured her spirits and relieved her terrors.  \u201cLook on me, my\nbeloved,\u201d it said; \u201clook on me, and receive the reward of thy virtue, and\nthe approbation of Heaven on thy choice.\u201d  The princess raised her eyes\nto the face of her lover, and beheld\u2014not Brandomann, but Haldane\u2014the one,\nthe only beloved, the first choice of her innocent heart; it was on his\nbosom she leaned\u2014it was his arm that supported her slender form: she\ntrembled with painful emotion.  \u201cBut Brandomann?\u201d she demanded\u2014\u201cIs at thy\nfeet, my beloved,\u201d replied the graceful warrior: \u201cbeneath that hideous\nform, Lok, in revenge for an ancient scorn, had condemned me to wear out\nmy life, unless I could inspire a royal virgin with sufficient love to\nbecome my wife.  Odin, in compassion to my sufferings, confined me to\nthis island, and endowed me with sufficient power to fulfil the\ncondition, and deceive and baffle the evil spirits themselves, by the\nmeans of their wretched agent, the detestable Frotho.  Around thee stand\nthe gallant chiefs and the Norwegian captives, who were sent against the\nmonster of the Maelstrom, and who seemed to be destroyed by my vengeance;\nthey are now my friends, and wait to conduct us to Denmark, where Haldane\nwill lay his crown at thy feet.\u201d  The chiefs paid their homage to the\nprincess, and immediately after, there arrived, to offer their sincere\ncongratulations, her tender friends of many moons, the eight-legged,\nfour-legged, and two-legged animals of Valhalla.  Ildegarda, even on the\nbosom of Haldane, wept at the parting; for she knew she should behold\nthem no more.  They attended her to the shore, and beheld her embark in\nthe gallant ship which Niord, at the command of Odin, had preserved for\nthem in one of the ocean caves.  Soon they were wafted to Denmark, and\nHaldane burst upon the usurper so suddenly, that he had no time even to\narm his household guards for his defence.  He was presiding at a festival\nwhen Haldane entered his presence; some of his nobles humbly acknowledged\ntheir prince, and the others, not caring to attack him, made the best of\ntheir way out of the palace, leaving the miserable Frotho in the power of\nhis nephew, who, without giving him time to make his will, threw him\nheadlong into the cistern of mead before which he was sitting.\n\nWhether Haldane, in his natural shape, was as amiable and complaisant as\nhe had been under his assumed one, is a question which the historian of\nhis life cannot answer\u2014nor whether Ildegarda, on her throne in Denmark,\nfound as true friends and faithful servants as she had in the gulf of the\nMaelstrom: certain it is, she lived to a great age with her glorious\nhusband, (who was the greatest prince of the race of Dan that ever swayed\nthe sceptre of the north,) and that once or twice during their lives they\nhad together visited the desolate isle; and the princess, to the great\nscandal of the ladies and gentlemen of the court, and surprise of her\nhusband, wept bitterly on finding that the marble palace and its\nbeautiful gardens had disappeared, the Moskoe isle had resumed its\nancient appearance, and nothing remained to mark it out as the scene of\nsuch wonders as had passed in it.  It has much the same character at this\nhour; and it would be very difficult to persuade its inhabitants, or the\nstranger who may visit its shores, that it once was a paradise only\nsecond to the bowers of Valasciolf\u2019s own.  You, gentle reader, know\nbetter; and complimenting you on the patience by which you have acquired\nthis knowledge, I bid you, for the present, farewell.\n\n\n\nNOTES\nTO THE\nLORD OF THE MAELSTROM.\n\n\nPART I.\n\n\n_Olave the Second_\u2014one of the early kings of Denmark, of the race of Dan.\nThese princes believed themselves descended from Odin.  Olave was a\nworthless, profligate prince, who left two sons, who succeeded him; the\nelder, Frotho the Fifth, murdered his brother Harold, and afterwards the\nassassin who, by his own order, had stabbed him.  He endeavoured to\nsecure the persons of the princes his nephews; but a nobleman, friend to\ntheir father, conveyed them out of his reach, and concealed them in a\ncave till they were of an age to revenge these injuries.\n\n_Asgard_\u2014the country of the gods; the Olympus of the north.\n\nValasciolf\u2014its chief city, in which the principal divinities and more\nillustrious dead resided in magnificent palaces.\n\n_Valhalla_\u2014the chief palace of Valasciolf, the regal residence of Odin.\n\n_Niftheim_\u2014Hell.  A territory of devouring flames typifying eternal\nremorse; the abode of the evil principle and his attendant spirits.\n\n_Feggo_\u2014the brother of Harwendil, king of Jutland, and uncle to Hamlet.\nThe latter prince feigned madness after the murder of his father, but\nkilled Feggo at a festival.  He succeeded to the crown, which he wore\nwith honour till killed in battle by Viglet, king of Denmark.\n\n_Lok_\u2014the evil principle.  He gave birth to Midgard (sin), the snake\nwhose folds encircle the earth\u2014Hela (death)\u2014and the wolf Fenris, the\nguardian of the gate of hell; these were the evil progeny of Lok,\nbegotten for the destruction of the human race.\n\n_Surter_\u2014the evil divinity of fire\u2014the next in rank to Lok.  The\nScythians represented him as a beautiful youth; the Saxons as an old man,\nto whose honour they dedicated the seventh day of the week.\n\n_Balder_\u2014son of Odin, god of eloquence and poetry, and ruler of the\nsun\u2014the Scandinavian Apollo.  He was represented as a youth with a\nburning wheel upon his breast; his face resembled the sun.\n\n_Nastronde_\u2014According to the Scandinavian mythology, at the end of the\nworld, during a night which was to last a year, a tremendous battle was\nto be fought between the good and evil spirits, in which the former were\nto conquer and reign in Gimle, a more glorious heaven than Asgard; while\nthe wicked were to be banished to Nastronde, a new hell, made purposely\nfor them.\n\n\nPART II.\n\n\n_Maelstrom_, _Malestrom_, or _Moskoestrom_\u2014a tremendous whirlpool on the\nNorwegian coast, very dangerous, and often fatal to navigators venturing\ntoo near it.  Moskoe is an island situated in the gulf: there are also\nseveral others.\n\n_Sleipner_\u2014the warrior horse of Odin.  He had four black legs and four\nwhite ones: he generally travelled through the air.\n\n_Rinda_\u2014daughter of Balder, and mother of Vile, by Odin.  The favourite\ngoddess of the Scandinavian women.\n\n_Hydrasil_\u2014the tree of heaven, standing in the garden of Odin.  It was\nthe abode of the disposer of man\u2019s destiny.\n\n\nPART III.\n\n\n_Heidruna_\u2014the immortal goat, whose milk was the hydromel served up\nnightly at the festivals of Valhalla.\n\n_Serimnor_\u2014the wild boar, whose flesh served them for food.\n\n_Hugo_ and _Mumin_\u2014the raven messengers of Odin.\n\n_Thor_\u2014the warrior god\u2014the eldest son of Odin, who, in his journey over\nthe world, defeated Midgard, and loosened his folds from the earth; he is\ntypical of divine justice and vengeance.  In the beautiful fables of the\nScalds, he is represented as a stern warrior, armed with an enormous\nmallet, and wearing a crown of twelve stars.  He lived in a palace of\nValasciolf, of five hundred and forty halls, and was the ruler and\nwielder of the thunderbolt.\n\n_Forsete_\u2014divinity of controversy.  I believe this deity is peculiar to\nthe Scandinavians.  He lived in a palace called Glitner.\n\n_Blind horror_\u2014Hoder\u2014whose name was never pronounced by the Scythians\nwithout fear and immediate expiation\u2014son of Odin, and born blind\u2014the\ndeity of strength.  He was abhorred in heaven, because, from envy, he\nattacked Balder, threw him from his throne, and put out the sun.  Odin\ninterfered, and punished Hoder by the arrows of Vile (lightning), and\nafterwards restored the sun.  It was thus, in their beautiful and\nfanciful mythology, like the Greeks, and I think no less elegantly, that\nthe Scalds described natural, but not understood events.  This story\ndescribes an eclipse of the sun, the strong and blind Hoder signifying\ndarkness.\n\n_Lofna_\u2014goddess of reconciliation.  I believe this deity is also peculiar\nto the Scythians; they have deified her with great propriety.  Her post\ncould not have been a sinecure in a paradise where happiness consisted in\ndrinking and fighting.\n\n_Hiarn_\u2014his story is strictly historical.  It was Eric the Third who was\nso maddened by music as to commit murder for no other cause.\n\n_Geysers_\u2014boiling spouting springs in Iceland: they are near to Skalholt\nand Hecla; they spout water to a tremendous and incredible height.\n\n_Dofrefeld_\u2014a mighty range of Norwegian mountains, intersected by rivers\nand cataracts.\n\n_Dolsteen_\u2014a wonderful cavern beneath the Dofrefeld mountains.\n\n_Niord_\u2014the Scandinavian Neptune.\n\n\nPART IV.\n\n\n_Uffon_\u2014this story is also historical.  Shakspeare, who read Danish\nhistory, borrowed the circumstance of Vermund\u2019s death for that of Gloster\nin King Lear.\n\n_Lidscialf_\u2014the throne of Odin.\n\n_Heimdaller_\u2014guardian of the bridge Bifrost, or the rainbow, by which the\nhappy dead ascended into Asgard.  He received the souls who were selected\nby the Valkyries, and conducted them to Odin.\n\n_Vile_\u2014god of archery; son of Odin and Rinda.\n\n\nPART V.\n\n\n_Brage_\u2014god of music and song.\n\n_Hovamaal_\u2014bible of Odin.\n\n_Odin_\u2014a wise and virtuous warrior, whose beneficence procured him among\nthe early Scythians, deification.  As a divinity, the father of gods and\nmen, he is the husband of Frea (the earth), and from the union of divine\nlove and the earth, spring light, heat, the elements, the seasons,\nstrength, and genius, typified by Balder, Thor, Frey, Hoder, and Balder\nagain, as orator and poet.  Odin, mounted upon his horse Sleipner,\nrepresents active benevolence.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPECTRE BARBER.\n\n\n    Sir Ryence of North Gales greeteth well thee,\n    And bids thy beard anon to him send,\n    Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend.\u2014_Percy_.\n\nTHERE formerly lived at Bremen, a wealthy merchant named Melchior, of\nwhom it was remarked that he invariably stroked his chin with complacency\nwhenever the subject of the sermon was the rich man in the Gospel; who,\nby-the-bye, in comparison with him, was only a petty retail dealer.  This\nsaid Melchior possessed such great riches, that he had caused the floor\nof his dining-room to be paved with crown-pieces, which ridiculous luxury\ngave great offence to his fellow-citizens and relations.  They attributed\nit to vanity and ostentation, but did not guess its true motive; however,\nit perfectly answered the end Melchior designed by it; for, by their\nconstantly expressing their disapprobation of this ostentatious species\nof vanity, they spread abroad the report of their neighbour\u2019s immense\nriches, and thereby augmented his credit in a most astonishing degree.\n\nAt length Melchior died suddenly, while at a corporation dinner, and\nconsequently had not time to make a disposition of his property by will;\nso that his only son Francis, who was just of age, came into possession\nof the whole.  This young man was particularly favoured by fortune, both\nwith respect to his personal advantages and his goodness of heart; but\nhis immense inheritance caused his ruin.  He had no sooner got into the\npossession of so considerable a fortune, than he squandered it, as if it\nhad been a burthen to him; ran into every possible extravagance, and\nneglected his concerns.  Two or three years passed over without his\nperceiving that, owing to his dissipations, his funds were considerably\nreduced; but at length his coffers were emptied: and one day, when\nFrancis had drawn a draft to a very considerable amount on his banker,\nwho had no funds to meet it, it was returned to him protested.  This\ndisappointment greatly vexed our prodigal, but only as it caused a\ntemporary check to his wishes; for he did not even then give himself the\ntrouble to inquire into the reason of it.  After swearing and blustering\nfor some time, he gave his steward a positive but laconic order to _get\nmoney_.\n\nAll the brokers, money-changers, and usurers, were put in requisition,\nand the empty coffers were soon filled; for the dining-room floor was in\nthe eyes of the lenders a sufficient security.\n\nThis paliative had its effect for a time; but all at once a report was\nspread abroad in the city that the celebrated silver floor had been taken\nup: the consequence of which was, that the lenders insisted on examining\ninto and proving the fact, and then became urgent for payment; but as\nFrancis had not the means to meet their demands, they seized on all his\ngoods and chattels; every thing was sold by auction, and he had nothing\nleft excepting a few jewels, which had formed part of his heritage, and\nwhich might for a short time keep him from starving.\n\nHe now took up his abode in a small street in one of the most remote\nquarters of the city, where he lived on his straitened means.  He,\nhowever, accommodated himself to his situation; but the only resource\nthat he found against the _ennui_ which overpowered him was to play on\nthe lute; and when fatigued by this exercise, he used to stand at his\nwindow and make observations on the weather; and his intelligent mind was\nnot long in discovering an object which soon entirely engrossed all his\nthoughts.\n\nOpposite his window there lived a respectable woman, who was at her\nspinning wheel from morning till night, and by her industry earned a\nsubsistence for herself and her daughter.  Meta was a young girl of great\nbeauty and attraction: she had known happier times: for her father had\nbeen the proprietor of a vessel freighted by himself, in which he\nannually made trading voyages to Antwerp; but he, as well as the ship and\nall its cargo, was lost in a violent storm.  His widow sustained this\ndouble loss with resignation and firmness, and resolved to support\nherself and her daughter by her own industry.  She made over the house\nand furniture to the creditors of her husband, and took up her abode in\nthe little bye street where Francis lodged, where, by her assiduity she\nacquired a subsistence without laying herself under an obligation to any\none.  She brought up her daughter to spinning and other works, and lived\nwith so much economy, that by her savings she was enabled to set up a\nlittle trade in linen.\n\nMother Bridget (which was the appellation given to our widow,) did not,\nhowever, calculate on terminating her existence in this penurious\nsituation; and the hope of better prospects sustained her courage.  The\nbeauty and excellent qualities of her daughter, whom she brought up with\nevery possible care and attention, led her to think that some\nadvantageous offer would one day present itself.  Meta lived tranquilly\nand lonely with her mother, was never seen in any of the public walks,\nand indeed never went out but to mass once a day.\n\nOne day, while Francis was making his metrological observations at the\nwindow, he saw the beautiful Meta, who, under her mother\u2019s watchful eye,\nwas returning from church.  The heart of Francis was as yet quite free:\nfor the boisterous pleasures of his past life did not leave him leisure\nfor a true affection; but at this time, when all his senses were calm,\nthe appearance of one of the most enchanting female forms he had ever\nseen, ravished him, and he henceforth thought solely of the adorable\nobject which his eyes had thus discovered.  He questioned his landlord\nrespecting the two females who lived in the opposite house, and from him\nlearned the particulars we have just related.\n\nHe now regretted his want of economy, since his present miserable state\nprevented him from making an offer to the charming Meta.  He was,\nhowever, constantly at the window, in hopes of seeing her; and in that\nconsisted his greatest delight.  The mother very soon discovered the\nfrequent appearance of her new neighbour at his window, and attributed it\nto its right cause.  In consequence, she rigorously enjoined her daughter\nnot to show herself at the windows, which were now kept constantly shut.\n\nFrancis was not much versed in the arts of finesse, but love awakened all\nthe energies of his soul.  He soon discovered that if he appeared much at\nthe window, his views would be suspected; and he resolved therefore\nstudiously to refrain from coming near it.  He determined, however, to\ncontinue his observation of what occurred in the opposite dwelling\nwithout being perceived.  He accordingly purchased a large mirror, and\nfixed it in his chamber in such a position that it distinctly presented\nto his view what passed in the abode of his opposite neighbour.  Francis\nnot being seen at the window, the old lady relaxed in her rigour, and\nMeta\u2019s windows were once more opened.  Love, more than ever, reigned\ntriumphant in the bosom of Francis; but how was he to make known his\nattachment to its object? he could neither speak nor write to her.  Love,\nhowever, soon suggested a mode of communication which succeeded.  Our\nprodigal took his lute, and drew from it tones the best adapted to\nexpress the subject of his passion: and by perseverance, in less than a\nmonth he made a wonderful progress.  He soon had the gratification of\nseeing the fair hand of Meta open the little casement, when he began to\ntune his instrument.  When she made her appearance, he testified his joy\nby an air lively and gay; but if she did not show herself, the melancholy\nsoftness of his tones discovered the disappointment he experienced.\n\nIn the course of a short time, he created a great interest in the bosom\nof his fair neighbour; and soon had reason to be convinced that Meta\nshared a mutual attachment.  She now endeavoured to justify him, when her\nmother with acrimony spoke of his prodigality and past misconduct, by\nattributing his ruin to the effect of bad example.  But in so doing, she\ncautiously avoided exciting the suspicions of the old lady; and seemed\nless anxious to excuse him, than to take a part in the conversation that\nwas going on.\n\nCircumstances, which our limits will not allow us to relate, rendered the\nsituation of Francis more and more difficult to be supported; his funds\nhad now nearly failed him; and an offer of marriage from a wealthy\nbrewer, who was called in the neighbourhood the \u201cKing of Hops,\u201d but which\nMeta, much to her mother\u2019s disappointment, refused, excited still more\nthe apprehensions of poor Francis, lest some more fortunate suitor might\nyet be received and blast his hopes for ever.\n\nWhen he received the information that this opulent lover had been\nrejected for his sake, with what bitterness did he lament his past\nfollies.\n\n\u201cGenerous girl,\u201d said he, \u201cyou sacrifice yourself for a miserable\ncreature, who has nothing but a heart fondly attached to you, and which\nis riven with despair that its possessor cannot offer you the happiness\nyou so truly merit.\u201d\n\nThe King of Hops soon found another female, who listened more kindly to\nhis vows, and whom he wedded with great splendour.\n\nLove, however, did not leave his work incomplete; for its influence\ncreated in the mind of Francis a desire of exerting his faculties and\nactively employing himself, in order, if possible, to emerge from the\nstate of nothingness into which he was at present plunged; and it\ninspired him also with courage to prosecute his good intention.  Among\nvarious projects which he formed, the most rational appeared that of\noverlooking his father\u2019s books, taking an account of the claimable debts,\nand from that source to get all he possibly could.  The produce of this\nprocedure would, he thought, furnish him with the means of beginning in\nsome small way of business; and his imagination led him to extend this to\nthe most remote corners of the earth.  In order to equip himself for the\nprosecution of his plans, he sold all the remainder of his father\u2019s\neffects, and with the money purchased a horse to begin his travels.\n\nThe idea of a separation from Meta was almost more than he could endure.\n\u201cWhat will she think,\u201d said he, \u201cof this sudden disappearance, when she\nno longer meets me in her way to church?  Will she not think me\nperfidious, and banish me from her heart?\u201d  Such ideas as these caused\nhim infinite pain; and for a long while he could not devise any means of\nacquainting Meta with his plans; but at length the fertile genius of love\nfurnished him with the following idea:\u2014Francis went to the curate of the\nchurch which his mistress daily frequented, and requested him, before the\nsermon and during mass, to put up prayers for a happy issue to the\naffairs of a young traveller; and these prayers were to be continued till\nthe moment of his return, when they were to be changed into those of\nthanks.\n\nEvery thing being arranged for his departure, he mounted his steed, and\npassed close under Meta\u2019s window.  He saluted her with a very significant\nair, and with much less caution than heretofore.  The young girl blushed\ndeeply; and mother Bridget took this opportunity of loudly expressing her\ndislike to this bold adventurer, whose impertinence and foppery induced\nhim to form designs on her daughter.\n\nFrom this period the eyes of Meta in vain searched for Francis.  She\nconstantly heard the prayer which was put up for him; but was so entirely\nabsorbed by grief at no longer perceiving the object of her affection,\nthat she paid no attention to the words of the priest.  In no way could\nshe account for his disappearing.  Some months afterwards, her grief\nbeing somewhat ameliorated and her mind more tranquillized, when she was\none day thinking of the last time she had seen Francis, the prayer\narrested her attention; she reflected for an instant, and quickly divined\nfor whom it was said; she naturally joined in it with great fervour, and\nstrongly recommended the young traveller to the protection of her\nguardian angel.\n\nMeanwhile Francis continued his journey, and had travelled the whole of a\nvery sultry day, over one of the desert cantons of Westphalia without\nmeeting with a single house.  As night approached, a violent storm came\non: the rain fell in torrents; and poor Francis was soaked to the very\nskin.  In this miserable situation he anxiously looked around, and\nfortunately discovered in the distance a light, towards which he directed\nhis horse\u2019s steps; but as he drew near, he beheld a miserable cottage,\nwhich did not promise him much succour, for it more resembled a stable\nthan the habitation of a human being.  The unfeeling wretch who inhabited\nit, refused him fire or water, as if he had been a banished man\u2014he was\njust about to extend himself on the straw in the midst of the cattle, and\nhis indolence prevented his lighting a fire for the stranger.  Francis\nvainly endeavoured to move the peasant to pity: the latter was\ninexorable, and blew out his candle with the greatest nonchalance\npossible, without bestowing a thought on Francis.  However, as the\ntraveller hindered him from sleeping, by his incessant lamentations and\nprayers, he was anxious to get rid of him.\n\n\u201cFriend,\u201d said he to him, \u201cif you wish to be accommodated, I promise you\nit will not be here; but ride through the little wood to your left hand,\nand you will find the castle belonging to the chevalier Eberhard\nBronkhorst, who is very hospitable to travellers; but he has a singular\nmania, which is, to flagellate all whom he entertains: therefore decide\naccordingly.\u201d\n\nFrancis, after considering for some minutes, resolved on hazarding the\nadventure.  \u201cIn good faith,\u201d said he, \u201cthere is no great difference\nbetween having one\u2019s back broken by the miserable accommodation of a\npeasant, or by the chevalier Bronkhorst: friction disperses fever;\npossibly its effects may prove beneficial to me, if I am compelled to\nkeep on my wet garments.\u201d\n\nAccordingly he put spurs to his horse, and very shortly found himself\nbefore a gothic castle, at the iron gate of which he loudly knocked, and\nwas answered from within by\u2014\u201cWho\u2019s there?\u201d  But ere he was allowed time\nto reply, the gate was opened.  However, in the first court he was\ncompelled to wait with patience, till they could learn whether it was the\nlord of the castle\u2019s pleasure to flagellate a traveller, or send him out\nto pass the night under the canopy of heaven.\n\nThe lord of the castle had from his earliest infancy served in the\nImperial army, under the command of George of Funsberg, and had himself\nled a company of infantry against the Venetians.  At length, however,\nfatigued with warfare, he had retired to his own territory, where, in\norder to expiate the crimes he had committed during the several campaigns\nhe had been in, he did all the good and charitable acts in his power.\nBut his manner still retained all the roughness of his former profession.\nThe newly-arrived guest, although disposed to submit to the usages of the\nhouse, for the sake of the good fare, could not help feeling a certain\ntrembling of fear as he heard the bolts grating, ere the doors were\nopened to him; and which, by their groaning noise, seemed to presage the\ncatastrophe which awaited him.  A cold perspiration came over him as he\npassed the last door; but finding that he received the utmost attention,\nhis fears a little abated.  The servants assisted him in getting off his\nhorse, and unfastened his cloak-bag; some of them led his horse to the\nstable, whilst others preceding him with flambeaux, conducted him to\ntheir master, who awaited his arrival in a room magnificently lighted up.\n\nPoor Francis was seized with a universal tremor, when he beheld the\nmartial air and athletic form of the lord of the castle, who came up to\nhim and shook him by the hand with so much force as nearly to make him\ncry out, and in a thundering voice, enough to stun him, told him he was\nwelcome.  Francis trembled like an aspen leaf in every part of his body.\n\n\u201cWhat ails you, my young comrade?\u201d cried the chevalier Bronkhorst; \u201cwhat\nmakes you thus tremble, and render you as pale as if death had actually\nseized you in the throat?\u201d\n\nFrancis recovered himself; and knowing that his shoulders would pay his\nreckoning, his fears gave place to a species of audacity.\n\n\u201cMy lord,\u201d answered he with confidence, \u201cyou see that I am so soaked with\nrain that one might suppose I had swam through the Wezer; order me\ntherefore some dry clothes instead of these I have on, and let us then\ndrink a cup of hot wine, that I may, if possible, prevent the fever,\nwhich otherwise may probably seize me.  It will comfort my heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cAdmirable!\u201d replied the chevalier; \u201cask for whatever you want, and\nconsider yourself here as at home.\u201d\n\nAccordingly Francis gave his orders like a baron of high degree: he sent\naway the wet clothes, made choice of others, and, in fine, made himself\nquite at his ease.  The chevalier, so far from expressing any\ndissatisfaction at his free and easy manners, commanded his people to\nexecute whatever he ordered with promptitude, and condemned some of them\nas blockheads, who did not appear to know how to wait on a stranger.  As\nsoon as the table was spread, the chevalier seated himself at it with his\nguest; and they drank a cup of hot wine together.\n\n\u201cDo you wish for any thing to eat?\u201d demanded the lord.\n\nFrancis desired he would order up what his house afforded, that he might\nsee whether his kitchen was good.\n\nNo sooner had he said this, than the steward made his appearance, and\nfurnished up a most delicious repast, Francis did not wait for his being\nrequested to partake of it: but after having made a hearty meal, he said\nto the lord of the castle, \u201cYour kitchen is by no means despicable; if\nyour cellar is correspondent, I cannot but say you treat your guests\nnobly.\u201d\n\nThe chevalier made a sign to his butler, who brought up some inferior\nwine, and filled a large glass to his master, who drank to his guest.\nFrancis instantly returned the compliment.\n\n\u201cWell, young man, what say you to my wine?\u201d asked the chevalier.\n\n\u201c\u2018Faith,\u201d replied Francis, \u201cI say it is bad, if it is the best you have\nin your cellar; but if you have none worse, I do not condemn it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are a connoisseur;\u201d answered the chevalier.  \u201cButler, bring us a\nflask of older wine.\u201d\n\nHis orders being instantly attended to, Francis tasted it.  \u201cThis is\nindeed some good old wine, and we will stick to it if you please.\u201d\n\nThe servants brought in a great pitcher of it, and the chevalier, being\nin high good-humour, drank freely with his guest; and then launched out\ninto a long history of his several feats of prowess in the war against\nthe Venetians.  He became so overheated by the recital, that in his\nenthusiasm he overturned the bottles and glasses, and flourishing his\nknife as if it were a sword, passed it so near the nose and ears of\nFrancis, that he dreaded he should lose them in the action.\n\nThough the night wore away, the chevalier did not manifest any desire to\nsleep; for he was quite in his elements, whenever he got on the topic of\nthe Venetian war.  Each succeeding glass added to the heat of his\nimagination as he proceeded in his narration, till at length Francis\nbegan to apprehend that it was the prologue to the tragedy in which he\nwas to play the principal part; and feeling anxious to learn whether he\nwas to pass the night in the castle, or be turned out, he asked for a\nlast glass of wine to enable him to sleep well.  He feared that they\nwould commence by filling him with wine, and that if he did not consent\nto continue drinking, a pretext would be laid hold of for driving him out\nof the castle with the usual chastisement.\n\nHowever, contrary to his expectation, the lord of the castle broke the\nthread of his narration, and said to him:\u2014\u201cGood friend, every thing in\nits place; to-morrow we will resume our discourse.\u201d\n\n\u201cExcuse me, sir knight,\u201d replied Francis; \u201cto-morrow, before sun-rise, I\nshall be on my road.  The distance from hence to Brabant is very\nconsiderable, and I cannot tarry here longer, therefore permit me to take\nleave of you now, that I may not disturb you in the morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cJust as you please about that; but you will not leave the castle before\nI am up; we will breakfast together, and I shall accompany you to the\nouter gate, and take leave of you according to my usual custom.\u201d\n\nFrancis needed no comment to render these words intelligible.  Most\nwillingly would he have dispensed with the chevalier\u2019s company to the\ngate; but the latter did not appear at all inclined to deviate from his\nestablished usage.  He ordered his servant to assist the stranger in\nundressing, and to take care of him till he was in bed.\n\nFrancis found his bed an excellent one; and ere he went to sleep, he\nowned that so handsome a reception could not be dearly bought at the\nexpense of a trifling beating.  The most delightful dreams (in which Meta\nbore the sway) occupied him the whole night; and he would have gone on\n(thus dreaming) till mid-day, if the sonorous voice of the chevalier and\nthe clanking of the spurs had not disturbed him.\n\nIt needed all Francis\u2019s efforts to quit this delightful bed, in which he\nwas so comfortable, and where he knew himself to be in safety; he turned\nfrom side to side; but the chevalier\u2019s tremendous voice was like a\ndeath-stroke to him, and at length he resolved to get up.  Several\nservants assisted him in dressing, and the chevalier waited for him at a\nsmall, but well-served table; but Francis, knowing the moment of trial\nwas at hand, had no great inclination to feast.  The chevalier tried to\npersuade him to eat, telling him it was the best thing to keep out the\nfog and the damp of the morning.\n\n\u201cSir knight,\u201d replied Francis, \u201cmy stomach is still loaded from your\nexcellent supper of last evening; but my pockets are empty, and I should\nmuch like to fill them, in order to provide against future wants.\u201d\n\nThe chevalier evinced his pleasure at his frankness by filling his\npockets with as much as they could contain.  As soon as they brought him\nhis horse, which he discovered had been well groomed and fed, he drank\nthe last glass of wine to say Adieu, expecting that at that signal the\nchevalier would take him by the collar and make him pay his welcome.\nBut, to his no small surprise, the chevalier contented himself with\nheartily shaking him by the hand as on his arrival; and as soon as the\ngate was opened, Francis rode off safe and sound.\n\nIn no way could our traveller account for his host permitting him thus to\ndepart without paying the usual score.  At length he began to imagine\nthat the peasant had simply told him the story to frighten him; and\nfeeling a curiosity to know whether or not it had any foundation in fact,\nhe rode back to the castle.  The chevalier had not yet quitted the gate,\nand was conversing with the servants on the pace of Francis\u2019s horse, who\nappeared to trot very roughly; and seeing the traveller return, he\nsupposed that he had forgotten something, and by his looks seemed to\naccuse his servants of negligence.\n\n\u201cWhat do you want, young man?\u201d demanded he: \u201cWhy do you, who were so much\npressed for time, return?\u201d\n\n\u201cAllow me, most noble sir,\u201d replied Francis, \u201cto ask you one question: It\nis said, that, after having hospitably received and entertained\nstrangers, you make them at their departure feel the weight of your arm.\nAnd although I gave credence to this rumour, I have omitted nothing which\nmight have entitled me to this mark of your favour.  But, strange to say,\nyou have permitted me to depart in peace, without even the slightest mark\nof your strength.  You see my surprise; therefore do pray inform me\nwhether there is any foundation to the report, or whether I shall\nchastise the impudent story-teller who related the false tale to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYoung man,\u201d replied Bronkhorst, \u201cyou have heard nothing but the truth;\nbut it needs some explanations.  I open my door hospitably to every\nstranger, and in Christian charity I give them a place at my table; but I\nam a man who hates form or disguise: I say all I think, and only wish in\nreturn that my guests would openly and undisguisedly ask for all they\nwant.  There are unfortunately, however, a tribe of people, who fatigue\nby their mean complaisance and ceremony, who wear me out by their\ndissimulation, and stun me by propositions devoid of sense, or who do not\nconduct themselves with decency during the feast.  Gracious heavens! I\nlose all patience when they carry their fooleries to such excess, and I\nexert my right as master of the castle, by taking hold of their collars,\nand giving them a tolerably severe chastisement ere I turn them out of my\ngates.\u2014But a man of your sort, my young friend, will ever be welcome\nunder my roof; for you boldly and openly ask for what you require, and\nsay what you think; and such are the persons I admire.  If in your way\nback you pass through this canton, promise me you will pay me another\nvisit.  Good bye.  Let me caution you never to place implicit confidence\nin any thing you hear; believe only that there may be a single grain of\ntruth in the whole story; be always frank, and you will succeed through\nlife.\u2014Heaven\u2019s blessings attend you.\u201d\n\nFrancis continued his journey towards Anvers most gaily, wishing as he\nwent, that he might every where meet with as good a reception as at the\nchevalier Bronkhorst\u2019s.\n\nNothing remarkable occurred during the rest of his journey, and he\nentered the city full of the most sanguine hopes and expectations.  In\nevery street his fancied riches stared him in the face.  \u201cIt appears to\nme,\u201d said he, \u201cthat some of my father\u2019s debtors must have succeeded in\nbusiness, and that they will only require my presence, to repay their\ndebts with honour.\u201d\n\nAfter having rested from the fatigue of his journey, he made himself\nacquainted with every particular relative to the debtors, and learnt that\nthe greater part had become rich, and were doing extremely well.  This\nintelligence re-animated his hopes; he arranged his papers, and paid a\nvisit to each of the persons who owed him any thing.  But his success was\nby no means equal to what he had expected; some of the debtors pretended\nthat they had paid every thing; others that they had never heard mention\nof Melchior of Bremen; and the rest produced accounts precisely\ncontradictory to those he had, and which tended to prove they were\ncreditors instead of debtors.  In fine, ere three days had elapsed,\nFrancis found himself in the debtor\u2019s prison, from whence he stood no\nchance of being released till he had paid the uttermost farthing of his\nfather\u2019s debts.\n\nHow pitiable was this young man\u2019s condition!  Even the horrors of the\nprison were augmented by the remembrance of Meta:\u2014nay, to such a pitch of\ndesperation was he carried, that he resolved to starve himself.\nFortunately, however, at twenty-seven years of age such determinations\nare more easily formed, than practised.\n\nThe intention of those who put him into confinement was not merely with a\nview of exacting payment of his pretended debts, but to avoid paying him\nhis due; so, whether the prayers put up for poor Francis at Bremeu were\neffectual, or that the pretended creditors were not disposed to maintain\nhim during his life, I know not; but after a detention of three months,\nthey liberated Francis from prison, with a particular injunction to quit\nthe territories of Anvers within four-and-twenty hours, and never to set\nhis foot within that city again:\u2014They gave him at the same time five\nflorins to defray his expenses on the road.  As one may well imagine his\nhorse and baggage had been sold to defray the costs incident to the\nproceedings.\n\nWith a heart overloaded with grief he quitted Anvers, in a very different\nframe of mind to what he experienced at entering it.  Discouraged and\nirresolute, he mechanically followed the road which chance directed; he\npaid no attention to the various travellers, nor indeed to any object on\nthe road, till hunger or thirst caused him to lift up his eyes to\ndiscover a steeple or some other token announcing the habitation of human\nbeings.  In this state of mind did he continue journeying on for several\ndays incessantly; nevertheless, a secret instinct impelled him to take\nthe road leading to his own country.\n\nAll on a sudden he roused, as if from a profound sleep, and recollected\nthe place in which he was: he stopped an instant to consider whether he\nshould continue the road he was then in, or return: \u201cFor,\u201d said he, \u201cwhat\na shame to return to my native city a beggar!\u201d  How could he thus return\nto that city in which he formerly felt equal to the richest of its\ninhabitants?  How could he as a beggar present himself before Meta,\nwithout causing her to blush for the choice she had made?  He did not\nallow time for his imagination to complete this miserable picture, for he\ninstantly turned back, as if already he had found himself before the\ngates of Bremen, followed by the shouts of the children.  His mind was\nsoon made up as to what he should do; he resolved to go to one of the\nports of the Low Countries, there to engage himself as a sailor on board\nof a Spanish vessel, to go to the newly-discovered world; and not to\nreturn to his native country till he had amassed as much wealth as he had\nformerly so thoughtlessly squandered.  In the whole of this project, Meta\nwas only thought of at an immeasurable distance; but Francis contented\nhimself with connecting her in idea with his future plans, and walked, or\nrather strode along, as if by hurrying his pace he should sooner gain\npossession of her.\n\nHaving thus attained the frontiers of the Low Countries, he arrived at\nsun-set in a village situated near Rheinburg; but since entirely\ndestroyed in the thirty years\u2019 war.  A caravan of carriers from Liege\nfilled the inn so entirely, that the landlord told Francis he could not\ngive him a lodging; adding, that at the adjoining village he would find\naccommodations.\u2014Possibly he was actuated to this refusal by Francis\u2019s\nappearance, who certainly, in point of garb, might well be mistaken for a\nvagabond.\n\nThe landlord took him for a spy to a band of thieves, sent probably to\nrob carriers; so that poor Francis, in spite of his extreme lassitude,\nwas compelled, with his wallet at his back, to proceed on his road; and\nhaving at his departure, muttered through his teeth some maledictions\nagainst the cruel and unfeeling landlord, the latter appeared touched\nwith compassion for the stranger, and from the door of the inn called\nafter him: \u201cYoung man\u2014a word with you!  If you resolve on passing the\nnight here, I will procure you a lodging in that castle you now see on\nthe hill; there you will find rooms in abundance, provided you are not\nafraid of being alone, for it is uninhabited.  See, here are the keys\nbelonging to it.\u201d\n\nFrancis joyfully accepted the landlord\u2019s proposition, and thanked him for\nit as if it had been an act of great charity.\n\n\u201cIt is to me a matter of little moment where I pass the night, provided I\nam at my ease, and have something to eat.\u201d  But the landlord was an\nill-tempered fellow, and wishing to revenge the invectives Francis had\npoured forth against him, he sent him to the castle, in order that he\nmight be tormented by the spirits which were said to frequent it.\n\nThis castle was situated on a steep rock, and was only separated from the\nvillage by the high road and a little rivulet.  Its delightful prospects\ncaused it to be kept in good repair, and to be well furnished, as its\nowner made use of it as a hunting seat; quitting it, however, every\nnight, in order to avoid the apparitions and ghosts which haunted it.\n\nWhen it was quite dark, Francis, with a lantern in his hand, proceeded\ntowards the castle.  The landlord accompanied him, and carried a little\nbasket of provisions, to which he added a bottle of wine (which he said\nwould stand the test,) as well as two candles and two wax-tapers for the\nnight.  Francis, not thinking he should require so many things, and being\napprehensive he should have to pay for them, asked why they were all\nbrought.\n\n\u201cThe light from my lantern,\u201d said he, \u201cwill suffice me till the time of\nmy getting into bed; and ere I shall get out of it, the sun will have\nrisen, for I am worn out with fatigue.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will not endeavour to conceal from you,\u201d replied the landlord, \u201cthat\naccording to the current reports, this castle is haunted by evil spirits;\nbut do not let that frighten you; you see I live sufficiently near, that,\nin case any thing extraordinary should happen to you, I shall hear you\ncall, and shall be in readiness with my people to render you any\nassistance.  At my house there is somebody stirring all night, and there\nis also some one constantly on the watch.  I have lived on this spot for\nthirty years, and cannot say that I have seen any thing to alarm me;\nindeed I believe that you may with safety attribute any noises you hear\nduring the night in this castle, to cats and weasels, with which the\ngranaries are overrun.  I have only provided you with the means of\nkeeping up a light in a case of need, for, at best, night is but a gloomy\nseason; and, in addition, these candles are consecrated, and their light\nwill undoubtedly keep off any evil spirits, should there be such in the\ncastle.\u201d\n\nThe landlord spoke only the truth, when he said he never had the courage\nto set his foot within its doors after dark; and though he now spoke so\ncourageously, the rogue would not have ventured on any account to enter.\nAfter having opened the door, he gave the basket to Francis, pointed out\nthe way he was to turn, and wished him good night; while the latter,\nfully satisfied that the story of ghosts must be fabulous, gaily entered.\nHe recollected all that had been told him to the prejudice of the\nChevalier Bronkhorst, but unfortunately forgot what that brave Castelian\nhad recommended to him at parting, \u201calways to believe there was some\ntruth in what he might hear.\u201d\n\nConformably to the landlord\u2019s instructions, he went up stairs, and came\nto a door, which the key in his possession soon unlocked; it opened into\na long dark gallery, where his very steps re-echoed; the gallery led to a\nlarge hall, from which issued a suite of apartments, furnished in a\ncostly manner: he surveyed them all, and made choice of one in which to\npass the night, that appeared more lively than the rest.  The windows\nlooked to the high road, and every thing that passed in front of the inn\ncould be distinctly heard.  He lighted two candles, spread the cloth, ate\nvery heartily, and felt completely at his ease, so long as he was thus\nemployed; for while eating, no thought or apprehension of spirits\nmolested him; but he no sooner arose from the table, than he began to\nfeel a sensation strongly resembling fear.\n\nIn order to render himself more secure, he locked the door, drew the\nbolts, and then looked out from each window.  Every thing along the high\nroad and in front of the inn was tranquil, where, contrary to the\nlandlord\u2019s assertions, not a single light was discernible.  The sound of\nthe horn belonging to the night-guard was the only thing that interrupted\nthe silence which universally prevailed.\n\nFrancis closed the windows, once looked round the room, and after\nsnuffing the candles, that they might burn the better, he threw himself\non the bed, which he found good and comfortable; but although greatly\nfatigued, he could not get to sleep so soon as he had hoped.  A slight\npalpitation of the heart, which he attributed to the agitation produced\nby the heat of his fatiguing journey, kept him awake for a considerable\ntime, till at length sleep came to his aid.  After having, as he\nimagined, been asleep somewhat above an hour, he awoke and started up in\na state of horror, possibly not unusual to a person whose blood is\nover-heated; this idea in some degree allayed his apprehensions, and he\nlistened attentively, but could hear nothing excepting the clock, which\nstruck the hour of midnight.  Again he listened for an instant, and\nturning on his side, he was just going off to sleep, when he thought he\nheard a distant door grinding on its hinges, and then shut with a heavy\nnoise.  In an instant the idea of the ghost approaching caused him no\nlittle fear; but he speedily got the better of his alarm, by fancying it\nwas only the wind; however, he could not comfort himself long with this\nbelief, for the sound approached nearer and nearer, and resembled the\nclanking of chains, or the rattling of a bunch of keys.\n\nThe terror which Francis experienced was beyond all description, and he\nput his head under the clothes.  The doors continued to open with a\nfrightful noise, and at last he heard some one trying different keys at\nthe door of his room; one of them seemed perfectly to fit the lock, but\nthe bolts kept the door fast, however, a violent shock like a clap of\nthunder caused them to give way, and in stalked a tall thin figure, with\na black beard, whose appearance was indicative of chagrin and melancholy.\nHe was habited in the antique style, and on his left shoulder wore a red\ncloak or mantle, while his head was covered with a high-crowned hat.\nThree times with slow and measured steps he walked round the room,\nexamined the consecrated candles and snuffed them: he then threw off his\ncloak, unfolded a shaving apparatus, and took from it the razors, which\nhe sharpened on a large leather strap hanging to the belt.\n\nNo powers are adequate to describe the agonies Francis endured: he\nrecommended himself to the Virgin Mary, and endeavoured, as well as his\nfears would permit, to form an idea of the spectre\u2019s designs on him.\nWhether he purposed to cut his throat, or only take off his beard, he was\nat a loss to determine.  The poor traveller was a little more composed,\nwhen he saw the spectre take out a silver shaving pot, and in a bason of\nthe same metal put some water; after which he made a lather, and placed a\nchair.  But a cold perspiration came over Francis, when the spectre with\na grave air, made signs for him to sit in that chair.\n\nHe knew it was useless to resist this mandate, which was but too plainly\ngiven; and thinking it most prudent to make a virtue of necessity, and to\nput a good face on the matter, Francis obeyed the order, jumped nimbly\nout of bed, and seated himself as directed.\n\nThe spirit placed the shaving-bib round his neck; then taking a comb and\nscissors, cut off his hair and whiskers; after which he lathered,\naccording to rule, his beard, his eye-brows, and head, and shaved them\nall off completely from his chin to the nape of his neck.  This operation\nended, he washed his head, wiped and dried it very nicely, made him a low\nbow, folded up his case, put his cloak on his shoulder, and made towards\nthe door to go away.\n\nThe consecrated candles had burnt most brilliantly during this operation;\nand by their clear light Francis discovered, on looking into the glass,\nthat he had not a single hair remaining on his head.  Most bitterly did\nhe deplore the loss of his beautiful brown hair; but he regained courage\non remarking, that, however great the sacrifice, all was now over, and\nthat the spirit had no more power over him.\n\nIn effect, the ghost walked towards the door with as grave an air as he\nhad entered; but after going a few steps, he stopped, looked at Francis,\nwith a mournful air, and stroked his beard.  He three times repeated this\naction; and was on the point of quitting the room, when Francis imagined\nhe wanted something.  With great quickness of thought he imagined it\nmight be that he wished him to perform a like service for him to that\nwhich he had just been executing on himself.\n\nAs the spectre, spite of his woe-begone aspect, appeared more inclined to\nraillery than gravity, and as his proceedings towards Francis appeared\nmore of a species of frolic than absolute ill-treatment, the latter no\nlonger appeared to entertain any apprehension of him; and in consequence\ndetermined to hazard the adventure.  He therefore beckoned the phantom to\nseat himself in the chair.  It instantly returned and obeyed; taking off\nits cloak, and unfolding the case, placed it on the table, and seated\nitself in the chair, in the attitude of one about to be shaved.  Francis\nimitated precisely all he had seen it do: he cut off its hair and\nwhiskers, and then lathered its head.  The spirit did not move an inch.\nOur barber\u2019s apprentice did not handle the razor very dexterously; so\nthat having taken hold of the ghost\u2019s beard against the grain, the latter\nmade a horrible grimace.  Francis did not feel much assured by this\naction; however, he got through the job as well as he could, and rendered\nthe ghost\u2019s head as bald as his own.\n\nHitherto the scene between the two performers had passed in profound\nsilence: but on a sudden it was interrupted by the ghost exclaiming, with\na smiling countenance\u2014\u201cStranger, I heartily thank you for the eminent\nservice you have rendered me; for to you I am indebted for deliverance\nfrom my long captivity.  During the space of three hundred years I have\nbeen immersed within these walls, and my soul has been condemned to\nsubmit to this chastisement as a punishment for my crimes, until some\nliving being had the courage to exercise retaliation on me, by doing to\nme what I have done by others during my life.\n\n\u201cCount Hartmann formerly resided in this castle; he was a man who\nrecognised no law nor superior; was of an arrogant and overbearing\ndisposition; committed every species of wickedness, and violated the most\nsacred rights of hospitality; he played all sorts of malicious tricks to\nstrangers who sought refuge under his roof, and to the poor who solicited\nhis charity.  I was his barber, and did every thing to please him.  No\nsooner did I perceive a pious pilgrim, than in an endearing tone I urged\nhim to come into the castle, and prepared a bath for him; and while he\nwas enjoying the idea of being taken care of, I shaved his beard and head\nquite close, and then turned him out of the bye door with raillery and\nridicule.  All this was seen by Count Hartmann from his window with a\nsort of devilish pleasure, while the children would assemble round the\nabused stranger and pursue him with cries of derision.\n\n\u201cOne day there came a holy man from a far distant country: he wore a\nplenipotentiary cross at his back, and his devotion had imprinted scars\non his feet, hands, and sides; his head was shaved, excepting a circle of\nhair, left to resemble the crown of thorns worn by our Saviour.  He asked\nfor some water to wash his feet as he passed by, and some bread to eat.\nI instantly put him into the bath; but did not respect even his venerable\nhead.  Upon which the pilgrim pronounced this terrible curse on\nme.\u2014\u2018Depraved wretch,\u2019 said he, \u2018know that at your death, the formidable\ngates of heaven, of hell, and of purgatory, will alike be closed against\nyour sinful soul, which shall wander through this castle, in the form of\na ghost, until some man, without being invited or constrained, shall do\nto you, what you have so long done to others.\u2019\n\n\u201cFrom that moment the marrow in my bones dried up, and I became a perfect\nshadow; my soul quitted my emaciated body, which remained wandering\nwithin these walls, according to the prediction of the holy man.  In vain\ndid I look and hope for release from the painful ties which held me to\nearth; for know that no sooner is the soul separated from the body, than\nit aspires to the blissful regions of peace, and the ardour of its wishes\ncauses years to appear as long as centuries, while it languishes in a\nstrange element.  As a punishment, I was compelled to continue the trade\nI had exercised during my life; but, alas! my nocturnal appearance soon\nrendered this castle deserted.  Now and then a poor pilgrim entered to\npass the night here: when they did, however, I treated them all as I have\ndone you; but not one has understood me, or rendered me the only service\nwhich would deliver my soul from this sad servitude; henceforth, no\nspirit will haunt this castle, for I shall now enjoy that repose of which\nI have been so long in search.  Once again let me thank you, gallant\nyouth; and believe, that had I power over the hidden treasures of the\nglobe, I would give them all to you, but unfortunately, during my life\nriches did not fall to my lot, and this castle contains no store;\nhowever, listen to the advice I am about to give you.\n\n\u201cRemain here till your hair is grown again; then return to your own\ncountry; and at that period of the year when the days and nights are of\nequal length, go on the bridge which crosses the Weser, and there remain\ntill a friend, whom you shall there meet, shall tell you what you ought\nto do to get possession of terrestrial wealth.  When you are rolling in\nriches and prosperity, remember me; and on every anniversary of the day\non which you released me from the heavy maledictions which overwhelmed\nme, cause a mass to be said for the repose of my soul.  Adieu!  I must\nnow leave you.\u201d\n\nThus saying, the phantom vanished, and left his liberator perfectly\nastonished at the strange history he had just related.  For a\nconsiderable time Francis remained immoveable, and reasoned within\nhimself as to the reality of what he had seen; for he could not help\nfancying still that it was only a dream; but his closely shaved head soon\nconvinced him that the event had actually taken place.  He got into bed\nagain, and slept soundly until mid-day.\n\nThe malicious inn-keeper had been on the watch from the dawn of day for\nthe appearance of the traveller, in order that he might enjoy a laugh at\nhis expense, and express his surprise at the night\u2019s adventure.  But\nafter waiting till his patience was nearly exhausted, and finding it\napproached to noon, he began to apprehend that the spirit had either\nstrangled the stranger, or that he had died of fright.  He therefore\ncalled his servants together, and ran with them to the castle, passing\nthrough every room till they reached the one in which he had observed the\nlight the over-night; there he found a strange key in the door, which was\nstill bolted; for Francis had drawn the bolts after the ghost had\nvanished.  The landlord, who was all anxiety, knocked loudly; and Francis\non waking, at first thought that it was the phantom come to pay him\nanother visit; but at length recognising the landlord\u2019s voice, he got up\nand opened the door.\n\nThe landlord, affecting the utmost possible astonishment, clasped his\nhands, and exclaimed, \u201cGreat God and all the saints! then the red cloak\nhas actually been here and shaved you completely?  I now see that the\nstory is but too well founded.  But pray relate to me all the\nparticulars; tell me what the spirit was like; how he came thus to shave\nyou; and what he said to you?\u201d\n\nFrancis, having sense enough to discover his roguery, answered him by\nsaying: \u201cThe spirit resembled a man wearing a red cloak; you know full\nwell how he performed the operation; and his conversation I perfectly\nremember;\u2014listen attentively:\u2014\u2018Stranger,\u2019 said he to me, \u2018do not trust to\na certain inn-keeper, who has a figure of malice for his sign; the rogue\nwell knew what would happen to you.\u2014Adieu! I now quit this abode, as my\ntime is come; and in future no spirit will make its appearance here.  I\nam now to be transformed into a night-mare, and shall constantly torment\nand haunt this said inn-keeper, unless he does penance for his villainy,\nby lodging, feeding, and furnishing you with every thing needful, till\nyour hair shall grow again, and fall in ringlets over your shoulders.\u201d\n\nAt these words, the landlord was seized with a violent trembling: he\ncrossed himself and vowed to the Virgin Mary, that he would take care of\nthe young stranger, lodge him, and give him every thing he required free\nof cost.  He then conducted him to his house, and faithfully fulfilled\nwhat he promised.\n\nThe spirit being no longer heard or seen, Francis was naturally looked on\nas a conjurer.  He several times passed a night in the castle; and one\nevening a courageous villager accompanied him, and returned without\nhaving lost his hair.  The lord of the castle, hearing that the\nformidable Red Cloak was no longer to be seen, was quite delighted; and\ngave orders that the stranger who had delivered him from this spirit\nshould be well taken care of.\n\nEarly in the month of September, Francis\u2019s hair began to form into\nringlets, and he prepared to depart; for all his thoughts were directed\ntowards the bridge over the Weser, where he hoped, according to the\nbarber\u2019s predictions, to find the friend who would point out to him the\nway to make his fortune.\n\nWhen Francis took leave of the landlord, the latter presented him with a\nhandsome horse well appointed, and loaded with a large cloak-bag on the\nback of the saddle, and gave him at the same time a sufficient sum of\nmoney to complete his journey.  This was a present from the lord of the\ncastle, expressive of his thanks for having his castle again rendered\nhabitable.\n\nFrancis arrived at his native place in high spirits.  He returned to his\nlodging in the little street, where he lived very retired, contenting\nhimself for the present with secret information respecting Meta.  All the\ntidings he thus gained were of a satisfactory nature; but he would\nneither visit her, nor make her acquainted with his return, till his fate\nwas decided.\n\nHe waited with the utmost impatience for the equinox; till which, time\nseemed immeasurably long.  The night preceding the eventful day, he could\nnot close his eyes to sleep; and that he might be sure of not missing the\nfriend with whom he was as yet unacquainted, he took his station ere\nsun-rise on the bridge, where no human being but himself was to be\ndiscovered.  Replete with hopes of future good fortune, he formed a\nthousand projects in what way he should spend his money.\n\nAlready had he during the space of an hour, traversed the bridge alone,\ngiving full scope to his imagination; when on a sudden the bridge\npresented a moving scene, and amongst others, many beggars took their\nseveral stations on it, to levy contributions on the passengers.  The\nfirst of this tribe who asked charity of Francis was a poor vagabond with\na wooden leg, who, being a pretty good physiognomist, judged from the gay\nand contented air of the young man, that his request would be crowned\nwith success; and his conjecture was not erroneous, for he threw a\ndemi-florin into his hat.\n\nFrancis, meanwhile, feeling persuaded that the friend he expected must\nbelong to the highest class of society, felt no surprise at not seeing\nhim at so early an hour, and waited therefore with patience.  But as the\nhour for visiting the Exchange and Courts of Justice drew near, his eyes\nwere in constant motion.  He discovered at an immense distance every\nwell-dressed person who came on the bridge, and his blood was in a\nperfect ferment as each approached him, for in some one of them did he\nhope to discover the author of his good fortune; but in vain he looked\npeople in the face, no one paid attention to him.  The beggars, who at\nnoon were seated on the ground eating their dinner, remarking that the\nyoung man they had seen from the first of the morning, was the only\nperson remaining with them on the bridge, and that he had not spoken to\nany one, or appeared to have any employment, took him for a lazy\nvagabond; and although they had received marks of his beneficence, they\nbegan to make game of him, and in derision called him the provost of the\nbridge.  The physiognomist with the wooden leg observed, that his air was\nno longer so gay as in the morning, and that having drawn his hat over\nhis face, he appeared entirely lost in thought, for he walked slowly\nalong, nibbling an apple, with an abstracted air.  The observer,\nresolving to benefit by what he had remarked, went to the further\nextremity of the bridge, and after well examining the visionary, came up\nto him as a stranger, asked his charity, and succeeded to his utmost\nwish; for Francis, without turning round his head, gave him another\ndemi-florin.\n\nIn the afternoon, a crowd of new faces presented themselves to Francis\u2019s\nobservation, while he became quite weary at his friend\u2019s tardiness; but\nhope still kept up his attention.  However, the fast declining sun gave\nnotice of the approach of night, and yet scarcely any of the passers-by\nhad noticed Francis.  Some few, perhaps, had returned his salutation, but\nnot one had, as he expected and hoped, embraced him.  At length, the day\nso visibly declined, that the bridge became nearly deserted; for even the\nbeggars went away.  A profound melancholy seized the heart of poor\nFrancis, when he found his hopes thus deceived; and giving way to\ndespair, he would have precipitated himself into the Weser, had not the\nrecollection of Meta deterred him.  He felt anxious, ere he terminated\nhis days in so tragical a manner, to see her once again as she went to\nmass, and feast on the contemplation of her features.\n\nHe was preparing to quit the bridge, when the beggar with the wooden leg\naccosted him, for he had in vain puzzled his brain to discover what could\npossibly have caused the young man to remain on the bridge from morning\ntill night.  The poor cripple had waited longer than usual on account of\nFrancis, in order to see when he went; but as he remained longer than he\nwished, curiosity at length induced him openly to address him, in order\nto learn what he so ardently desired to know.\n\n\u201cPray excuse me, worthy sir,\u201d said he: \u201cand permit me to ask you a\nquestion.\u201d\n\nFrancis, who was by no means in a mood to talk, and who now heard from\nthe mouth of a beggar the words which he had so anxiously expected from a\nfriend, answered him in rather an angry tone: \u201cWell then, what is it you\nwant to know, old man?\u201d\n\n\u201cSir, you and I were the first persons on this bridge to-day; and here we\nare still the only remaining two.  As for me and my companions, it is\npretty clear that we only came to ask alms; but it is equally evident you\ndo not belong to our profession, and yet you have not quitted the bridge\nthe whole day.  My dear sir, for the love of God, if it is no secret,\ntell me, I entreat you, for what purpose you came, and what is the grief\nthat rends your heart?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat can it concern you, old dotard, to know where the shoe pinches me,\nor what afflictions I am labouring under?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy good sir, I wish you well: you have twice bestowed your charity on\nme, which I hope the Almighty will return to you with interest.  I could\nnot but observe, however, this evening your countenance no longer looked\ngay and happy as in the morning; and, believe me, I was sorry to see the\nchange.\u201d\n\nThe unaffected interest evinced by the old man pleased Francis.  \u201cWell,\u201d\nreplied he, \u201csince you attach so much importance to the knowledge of the\nreason I have for remaining the whole day here plaguing myself, I will\ninform you that I came here in search of a friend who appointed to meet\nme on this bridge, but whom I have expected in vain.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith your permission I should say your friend was a rogue, to play the\nfool with you in this manner.  If he had so served me, I should make him\nfeel the weight of my crutch whenever I met him; for if he has been\nprevented from keeping his word by any unseen obstacle, he ought at least\nto have sent to you, and not have kept you here on your feet a whole\nday.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet I have no reason to complain of his not coming, for he promised\nme nothing.  In fact it was only a dream that I was told I should meet a\nfriend here.\u201d\n\nFrancis spoke of it as a dream, because the history of the ghost was too\nlong to relate.\n\n\u201cThat alters the case,\u201d replied the old man.  \u201cSince you rest your hopes\non dreams, I am not astonished at your being deceived.  I have also had\nmany dreams in my life; but I was never fool enough to pay attention to\nthem.  If I had all the treasures that have been promised me in dreams, I\ncould purchase the whole city of Bremen; but I have never put faith in\ndreams, and have not taken a single step to prove whether they were true\nor false; for I know full well, it would be useless trouble; and I am\nastonished that you should have lost so fine a day, which you might have\nemployed so much more usefully, merely on the strength of a dream, which\nappears to me so wholly devoid of sense or meaning.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe event proves the justness of your remark, old father; and that\ndreams generally are deceitful.  But it is rather more than three months\nsince I had a very circumstantial dream relative to my meeting a friend\non this particular day, here on this bridge; and it was so clearly\nindicated that he should communicate things of the utmost importance,\nthat I thought it worth while to ascertain whether this dream had any\nfoundation in truth.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, sir, no one has had clearer dreams than myself; and one of them I\nshall never forget.  I dreamt, several years since, that my good angel\nstood at the foot of my bed, in the form of a young man, and addressed me\nas follows:\u2014\u2018Berthold, listen attentively to my words, and do not lose\nany part of what I am about to say.  A treasure is allotted to you; go\nand secure it, that you may be enabled to live happily the rest of your\ndays.  To-morrow evening, when the sun is setting, take a pick-axe and\nspade over your shoulder, and go out of the city by the gate leading to\nHamburgh; when you arrive facing the convent of St. Nicholas, you will\nsee a garden, the entrance to which is ornamented by two pillars; conceal\nyourself behind one of these until the moon rises; then push the door\nhard, and it will yield to your efforts; go without fear into the garden,\nfollow a walk covered by a treillage of vines, and to the left you will\nsee a great apple-tree; place yourself at the foot of the tree, with your\nface turned towards the moon, and you will perceive at fifteen feet\ndistance, two bushy rose-trees; search between these two shrubs, and at\nthe depth of about six feet you will discover a great flag-stone, which\ncovers the treasure enclosed within an iron chest; and although it is\nheavy and difficult to handle, do not regret the labour it will occasion\nyou to remove it from the hole where it now is.  You will be well\nrewarded for your pains and trouble, if you look for the key which is\nunder the box.\u2019\u201d\n\nFrancis remained like one stupified at this recital; and certainly would\nhave been unable to conceal his astonishment, if the darkness of the\nnight had not favoured him.  The various particulars pointed out by the\nbeggar brought to his recollection a little garden which he had inherited\nfrom his father, and which garden was the favourite spot of that good\nman; but possibly for that very reason it was not held in estimation by\nthe son.  Melchior had caused it to be laid out according to his own\ntaste, and his son in the height of his extravagance had sold it at a\nvery low price.\n\nThe beggar with his wooden leg was become a very interesting personage to\nFrancis, who perceived that he was the friend alluded to by the ghost in\nthe castle of Rummelsbourg.  The first impulse of joy would have led him\nto embrace the mendicant; but he restrained his feelings, thinking it\nbest not to communicate the result of his intelligence to him.\n\n\u201cWell, my good man,\u201d said he, \u201cwhat did you when you awoke? did you not\nattend to the advice given by your good angel!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should I undertake a hopeless labour?  It was only a vague dream;\nand if my good angel was anxious to appear to me, he might choose a night\nwhen I am not sleeping, which occurs but too frequently; but he has not\ntroubled his head much about me; for if he had, I should not have been\nreduced, as I am now, to his shame, to beg my bread.\u201d\n\nFrancis took from his pocket another piece of money, and gave it to the\nold man, saying, \u201cTake this to procure half a pint of wine, and drink it\nere you retire to rest.  Your conversation has dispelled my sorrowful\nthoughts; do not fail to come regularly to this bridge, where I hope we\nshall meet again.\u201d\n\nThe old lame man, not having for a long while made so good a day\u2019s work,\noverwhelmed Francis with his grateful benedictions.  They separated, and\neach went his way.  Francis, whose joy was at its height from the near\nprospect of his hopes being realised, very speedily reached his lodging\nin the bye street.\n\nThe following day he ran to the purchaser of the little garden, and\nproposed to re-purchase it.  The latter, to whom this property was of no\nparticular value, and who, indeed, began to be tired of it, willingly\nconsented to part with it.  They very soon agreed as to the conditions of\nthe purchase, and went immediately to sign the contract: with the money\nhe had found in his bag, as a gift from the lord of Rummelsbourg, Francis\npaid down half the price: he then procured the necessary tools for\ndigging a hole in the earth, conveyed them to the garden, waited till the\nmoon was up, strictly adhered to the instructions given him by the old\nbeggar, set to work, and without any unlucky adventure he obtained the\nhidden treasure.\n\nHis father, as a precaution against necessity, had buried this money,\nwithout any intention to deprive his son of this considerable portion of\nhis inheritance; but dying suddenly, he had carried the secret to his\ngrave, and nothing but a happy combination of circumstances, could have\nrestored this lost treasure to its rightful owner.\n\nThe chest, filled with gold pieces, was too heavy for Francis to remove\nto his lodging without employing some person to assist him; and feeling\nunwilling to become a topic of general conversation, he preferred\nconcealing it in the summer-house belonging to the garden, and fetching\nit at several times.  On the third day the whole was safely conveyed to\nhis lodging in the back street.\n\nFrancis dressed himself in the best possible style, and went to church to\nrequest that the priest would substitute for the prayers which had been\npreviously offered up, a thanksgiving for the safe return of a traveller\nto his native country, after having happily terminated his business.  He\nconcealed himself in a corner, where, unseen, he could observe Meta.  The\nsight of her gave him inexpressible delight, especially when he saw the\nbeautiful blush which overspread her cheeks, and the brilliancy of her\neyes, when the priest offered up the thanksgiving.  A secret meeting took\nplace, as had been formerly arranged: and so much was Meta affected by\nit, that any indifferent person might have divined the cause.  Francis\nrepaired to the Exchange, set up again in business, and in a very short\ntime had enough to do; his fortune each succeeding day becoming better\nknown, his neighbours judged that he had had greater luck than sense in\nhis journey to collect his father\u2019s debts.  He hired a large house in the\nbest part of the town, engaged clerks, and continued his business with\nlaudable and indefatigable assiduity: he conducted himself with the\nutmost propriety and sagacity, and abstained from the foolish\nextravagances which had formerly been his ruin.\n\nThe re-establishment of Francis\u2019s fortune formed the general topic of\nconversation.  Every one was astonished at the success of his foreign\nvoyage: but in proportion to the spreading fame of his riches, did Meta\u2019s\ntranquillity and happiness diminish; for it appeared that the silent\nlover was now in a condition to declare himself, and yet he remained\ndumb, and only manifested his love by the usual rencontre on coming out\nof church; and even this species of rendezvous became less frequent,\nwhich appeared to evince a diminution of his affection.\n\nPoor Meta\u2019s heart was now torn by jealousy; for she imagined that the\ninconstant Francis was offering up his vows to some other beauty.  She\nhad experienced secret transports of delight on learning the change of\nfortune of the man she loved, not from interested motives and the wish to\nparticipate in his better fortune herself, but from affection to her\nmother, who, since the failure of the match with the rich brewer,\nabsolutely seemed to despair of every enjoying happiness or comfort in\nthis world.  When she thought Francis faithless, she wished that the\nprayers put up for him in the church had not been heard, and that his\njourney had not been attended with such success; for had he been reduced\nto means merely sufficient to procure the necessaries of life, in all\nprobability he would have shared them with her.\n\nMother Bridget failed not to perceive her daughter\u2019s uneasiness, and\neasily guessed the cause; for she had heard of her old neighbour\u2019s\nsurprising return, and she knew he was now considered an industrious,\nintelligent merchant: therefore she thought if his love for her daughter\nwas what it ought to be, he would not be thus tardy in declaring it; for\nshe well knew Meta\u2019s sentiments towards him.  However, feeling anxious to\navoid the probability of wounding her daughter\u2019s feelings, she avoided\nmentioning the subject to her; but the latter, no longer able to confine\nher grief to her own bosom, disclosed it to her mother, and confided the\nwhole to her.\n\nMother Bridget did not reproach her daughter for her past conduct, but\nemployed all her eloquence to console her, and entreat her to bear up\nwith courage under the loss of all her hopes.  \u201cYou must resign him,\u201d\nsaid she: \u201cyou scorned at the happiness which presented itself to your\nacceptance, therefore you must now endeavour to be resigned at its\ndeparture.  Experience has taught me that those hopes which appear to be\nthe best founded are frequently the most delusive; follow my example, and\nnever again deliver up your heart.  Do not reckon on any amelioration of\nyour condition, and you will be contented with your lot.  Honour this\nspinning-wheel, which produces the means of your subsistence, and then\nfortune and riches will be immaterial to you: you may do without them.\u201d\n\nThus saying, mother Bridget turned the wheel round with redoubled\nvelocity, in order to make up for the time lost in conversation.  She\nspoke nothing but the truth to her daughter; for, since the opportunity\nwas gone by when she hoped it was possible to have regained her lost\ncomforts, she had in such a manner simplified her present wants and\nprojects of future life, that it was not in the power of destiny to\nproduce any considerable derangement in them.  But as yet Meta was not so\ngreat a philosopher; so that her mother\u2019s exhortations, consolations, and\ndoctrines, produced a precisely different effect on her from what they\nwere intended.  Meta looked on herself as the destroyer of the flattering\nhopes her mother had entertained.  Although she did not formally accept\nthe offer of marriage proposed to her, and even then could not have\nreckoned on possessing beyond the common necessaries of life; yet, since\nshe had heard the tidings of the great fortune obtained by the man of her\nheart, her views had become enlarged, and she anticipated with pleasure\nthat by her choice she might realise her mother\u2019s wishes.\n\nNow, however, this golden dream had vanished: Francis would not come\nagain; and, indeed, they even began to talk of an alliance about to take\nplace between him and a very rich young lady of Anvers.  The news was a\ndeath-blow to poor Meta: she vowed she would banish him from her\nthoughts; but still she shed very many tears.\n\nContrary, however, to her vow, she was one day thinking of the faithless\none; for whenever she filled her spinning-wheel, she thought of the\nfollowing distich, which her mother had frequently repeated to her to\nencourage her in her work.\u2014\n\n   \u201cSpin the thread well, spin, spin it more,\n   For see your intended is now at the door.\u201d\n\nSome one did in reality knock gently at the door: and mother Bridget went\nto see who it was.  Francis entered, attired as for the celebration of a\nwedding.  Surprise for a while suspended mother Bridget\u2019s faculties of\nspeech.  Meta blushed deeply, and trembling, arose from her seat, but was\nequally unable with her mother to say a word.  Francis was the only one\nof the three who could speak; and he candidly declared his love, and\ndemanded of Bridget the hand of her daughter.  The good mother ever\nattentive to forms, asked eight days to consider the matter, although the\ntears of joy which she shed, plainly evinced her ready and prompt\nacquiescence; but Francis, all impatience, would hear of no delay:\nfinding which, she, conformable to her duty as a mother, willing to\nsatisfy Francis\u2019s ardour, adopted a midway, and left the decision to her\ndaughter.  The latter, obeying the dictates of her own heart, placed\nherself by the side of the object of her tenderest affection; and\nFrancis, transported with joy, thanked her with a kiss.\n\nThe two lovers then entertained themselves with talking over the delights\nof the time when they so well communicated their sentiments by signs.\nFrancis had great difficulty in tearing himself away from Meta, and such\n\u201cconverse sweet,\u201d but he had an important duty to fulfil.\n\nHe directed his steps towards the bridge over the Weser, where he hoped\nto find his old friend with the wooden leg, whom he had by no means\nforgotten, although he had delayed making the promised visit.  The latter\ninstantly recognised Francis; and no sooner saw him at the foot of the\nbridge, than he came to meet him, and showed evident marks of pleasure at\nthe sight of him.  \u201cCan you, my friend,\u201d said Francis to him, after\nreturning his salutation, \u201ccome with me into the new town and execute a\ncommission? you will be well rewarded for your trouble.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not?\u2014with my wooden leg I walk about just as well as other people;\nand, indeed, have an advantage over them, for it is never fatigued.  I\nbeg you, however, my good sir, to have the kindness to wait till the man\nwith the grey greatcoat arrives.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat has this man with the grey great-coat to do with you?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe every day comes as evening approaches and gives me a demi-florin; I\nknow not from whom.  It is not, indeed, always proper to learn all\nthings; so I do not breathe a word.  I am sometimes tempted to believe,\nthat it is the devil who is anxious to buy my soul; but it matters\nlittle, I have not consented to the bargain, therefore it cannot be\nvalid.\u201d\n\n\u201cI verily believe that grey surtout has some malice in his head: so\nfollow me; and you shall have a quarter-florin over and above the\nbargain.\u201d\n\nFrancis conducted the old man to a distant corner, near the ramparts of\nthe city, stopped before a newly-built house, and knocked at the door.\nAs soon as the door was opened, he thus addressed the old beggar:\u2014\u201cYou\nhave procured a very agreeable evening for me in the course of my life;\nit is but just, therefore, that I should shed some comfort and joy over\nyour declining days.  This house and every thing appertaining thereto\nbelongs to you.  The kitchen and cellar are both well stocked; there is a\nperson to take care of you, and every day at dinner you will find a\nquarter-florin under your plate.  It is now time for you to know that the\nman in the grey surtout is my servant, whom I every day sent with my alms\ntill this house was ready to receive you.  You may, if you please,\nconsider me as your guardian angel, since your good angel did not acquit\nhimself uprightly in return for your gratitude.\u201d\n\nSaying this, he made the old man go into the house, where the latter\nfound every thing he could possibly desire or want.  The table was\nspread; and the old man was so much astonished at his unexpected good\nfortune, that he thought it must be a dream; for he could in no way\nimagine why a rich man should feel so much interest for a miserable\nbeggar.  Francis having again assured him that every thing he saw was his\nown, a torrent of tears expressed his thanks; and before he could\nsufficiently recover to express his gratitude by words, Francis had\nvanished.\n\nThe following day, mother Bridget\u2019s house was filled with merchants and\nshopkeepers of all descriptions, whom Francis had sent to Meta, in order\nthat she might purchase and get ready every thing she required for her\nappearance in the world with suitable \u00e9clat.  Three weeks afterwards he\nconducted her to the altar.  The splendour of the wedding far exceeded\nthat of the King of Hops.  Mother Bridget enjoyed the satisfaction of\nadorning her daughter\u2019s forehead with the nuptial crown, and thereby\nobtained the accomplishment of all her desires, and was recompensed for\nher virtuous and active life.  She witnessed her daughter\u2019s happiness\nwith delight, and proved the very best of grandmothers to her daughter\u2019s\nchildren.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SLEEPING FRIAR;\nOR,\nTHE STONE OF FATHER CUDDY.\n\n\nABOVE all the islands in the Lakes of Killarney, give me\nInnisfallen\u2014\u201csweet Innisfallen,\u201d as the melodious Moore calls it.  It is\nin truth a fairy isle, although I have no fairy story to tell you about\nit; and if I had these are such unbelieving times, and people of late\nhave grown so sceptical, that they only smile at my stones and doubt\nthem.\n\nHowever none will doubt that a monastery stood once upon Innisfallen\nIsland, for its ruins may still be seen; neither, that within its walls\ndwelt certain pious and learned persons called monks.  A very pleasant\nset of fellows they were, I make not the least doubt; and I am sure of\nthis, that they had a very pleasant spot to enjoy themselves in after\ndinner:\u2014the proper time, believe me, and I am no bad judge of such\nmatters, for the enjoyment of a fine prospect.\n\nOut of all the monks you could not pick a better fellow nor a merrier\nsoul than Father Cuddy;\u2014he sang a good song, he told a good story, and\nhad a jolly, comfortable-looking paunch of his own that was a credit to\nany refectory table.  He was distinguished by the name of \u201cthe fat\nFather.\u201d  Now there are many that will take huff at a name: but Father\nCuddy had no nonsense of that kind about him; he laughed at it, and well\nable he was to laugh, for his mouth nearly reached from one ear to the\nother,\u2014his might in truth be called an open countenance.  As his paunch\nwas no disgrace to his food, neither was his nose to his drink.  \u2019Tis a\nquestion to me if there were not more carbuncles upon it than ever were\nseen at the bottom of the lake, which is said to be full of them.  His\neyes had a right merry twinkle in them, like moonshine dancing on the\nwater, and his cheeks had the roundness and crimson glow of ripe arbutus\nberries.\n\n   He ate, and drank, and prayed, and slept,\u2014what then?\n   He ate, and drank, and prayed, and slept again!\n\nSuch was the tenor of his simple life; but when he prayed a certain\ndrowsiness would come upon him, which it must be confessed never occurred\nwhen a well filled \u2018black-jack\u2019 stood before him.  Hence his prayers were\nshort, and his draughts were long.  The world loved him, and he saw no\nreason why he should not in return love its venison and its usquebaugh.\nBut, as times went, he must have been a pious man, or else what befell\nhim never would have happened.\n\nSpiritual affairs\u2014for it was respecting the importation of a tun of wine\ninto the inland monastery\u2014demanded the presence of one of the brotherhood\nof Innisfallen at the abbey of Irelagh, now called Muckruss.  The\nsuperintendence of this important matter was confided to Father Cuddy,\nwho felt too deeply interested in the future welfare of any community of\nwhich he was a member to neglect or delay such a mission.  With the\nmorning\u2019s light he was seen guiding his shallop across the crimson waters\nof the lake towards the peninsula of Muckruss, and having moored his\nlittle bark in safety beneath the shelter of a wave-worn rock, he\nadvanced with becoming dignity towards the abbey.\n\nThe stillness of the bright and balmy hour was broken by the heavy\nfootsteps of the zealous father:\u2014at the sound the startled deer, shaking\nthe dew from their sides, sprang up from their lair, and as they bounded\noff\u2014\u201cHah,\u201d exclaimed Cuddy, \u201cwhat a noble haunch goes there!\u2014how\ndelicious it would look smoking upon a goodly platter.\u201d\n\nAs he proceeded, the mountain bee hummed his tune of gladness around the\nholy man, save when buried in the foxglove bell, or revelling upon a\nfragrant bunch of thyme,\u2014and even then, the little voice murmured out\nhappiness in low and broken tones of voluptuous delight.  Father Cuddy\nderived no small comfort at the sound, for it presaged a good metheglin\nseason; and metheglin he considered no bad liquor, particularly when\nthere was no stint of usquebaugh in the brewing.\n\nArrived within the abbey gate, he was received with due respect by the\nbrethren of Irelagh, and arrangements for the embarkation of the wine\nwere completed to his entire satisfaction.\u2014\u201cWelcome, Father Cuddy!\u201d said\nthe prior, \u201cgrace be on you.\u201d\n\n\u201cGrace before meat then,\u201d said Cuddy, \u201cfor a long walk always makes me\nhungry, and I am certain I have not walked less than half a mile this\nmorning, to say nothing of crossing the water.\u201d\n\nA pasty of choice flavour felt the truth of this assertion as regarded\nFather Cuddy\u2019s appetite.  After such consoling repast, it would have been\na reflection on monastic hospitality to have departed without partaking\nof the grace-cup:\u2014moreover Father Cuddy had a particular respect for the\nantiquity of that custom.  He liked the taste of the grace-cup well;\u2014he\ntried another,\u2014it was no less excellent; and when he had swallowed the\nthird he found his heart expand, and put forth its fibres, as willing to\nembrace all mankind!\u2014Surely then there is christian love and charity in\nwine!\n\nI said he sung a good song.  Now though psalms are good songs, and in\naccordance with his vocation, I did not mean to imply that he was a mere\npsalm-singer.  It was well known to the brethren, that wherever Father\nCuddy was, mirth and melody were with him.  Mirth in his eye, and melody\non his tongue; and these, from experience, are equally well known to be\nthirsty commodities; but he took good care never to let them run dry.  To\nplease the brotherhood, whose excellent wine pleased him, he sung, and as\n\u201cin vino veritas,\u201d his song will well become this veritable history, I\ngive it.\n\n       O \u2019tis eggs are a treat\n       When so white and so sweet\n    From under the manger they\u2019re taken:\n       And by fair Margery,\n       Och! \u2019tis she\u2019s full of glee,\n    They are fried with fat rashers of bacon.\n\n       Just like daisies all spread\n       O\u2019er a broad sunny mead\n    In the sun-beams so beauteously shining,\n       Are fried eggs well displayed\n       On a dish, when we\u2019ve laid\n    The cloth, and are thinking of dining.\n\nSuch was his song.  Father Cuddy smacked his lips at the recollection of\nMargery\u2019s delicious fried eggs, which always imparted a peculiar relish\nto his liquor.  The very idea caused Cuddy to raise the cup to his mouth,\nand, with one hearty pull thereat, he finished its contents.\n\nThis is, and ever was, a censorious world, often construing what is only\na fair allowance into an excess;\u2014but I scorn to reckon on any man\u2019s drink\nlike an unrelenting host; therefore I cannot tell how many brimming\ndraughts of wine, bedecked with the venerable Bead, Father Cuddy emptied\ninto his \u201csoul-case,\u201d\u2014so he figuratively termed the body.\n\nHis respects for the goodly company of the monks of Irelagh detained him\nuntil their adjournment to vespers, when he set forward on his return to\nInnisfallen.  Whether his mind was occupied in philosophic contemplation\nor wrapped in pious musings, I cannot declare; but the honest Father\nwandered on in a different direction from that in which his shallop lay.\nFar be it from me to insinuate that the good liquor, which he had so\ncommended, had caused him to forget his road, or that his track was\nirregular and unsteady.  Oh no! he carried his drink bravely, as became a\ndecent man and a good christian; yet somehow, he thought he could\ndistinguish two moons.  \u201cBless my eyes,\u201d said Father Cuddy, \u201ceverything\nis changed now-a-days!\u2014the very stars are not in the same places they\nused to be;\u2014I think Camc\u00e9achta (the plough) is driving on at a rate I\nnever saw it before to-night, but suppose the driver is drunk, for there\nare blackguards everywhere.\u201d\n\nCuddy had scarcely uttered these words, when he saw, or fancied he saw,\nthe form of a young woman; who, holding up a bottle, beckoned him towards\nher.  The night was extremely beautiful, and the white dress of the girl\nfloated gracefully in the moonlight, as with gay step she tripped on\nbefore the worthy Father, archly looking back upon him over her shoulder.\n\u201cAh, Margery,\u2014merry Margery!\u201d cried Cuddy, \u201cyou tempting little\nrogue\u2014\u2018_Et a Margery bella_\u2014_Qu\u00e6 festiva puella_.\u2019\u2014I see you\u2014I see you\nand the bottle!\u2014let me but catch you, Margery _bella_.\u201d  And on he\nfollowed, panting and smiling, after this alluring apparition.\n\nAt length his feet grew weary, and his breath failed, which obliged him\nto give up the chase; yet such was his piety, that unwilling to rest in\nany attitude but that of prayer, down dropped Father Cuddy on his knees.\nSleep as usual stole upon his devotions, and the morning was far advanced\nwhen he awoke from dreams, in which tables groaned beneath their load of\nviands, and wine poured itself free and sparkling as the mountain spring.\n\nRubbing his eyes, he looked about him, and the more he looked the more he\nwondered at the alterations which appeared in the face of the country.\n\u201cBless my soul and body,\u201d said the good Father, \u201cI saw the stars changing\nlast night, but here is a change!\u201d  Doubting his senses he looked again.\nThe hills bore the same majestic outline as on the preceding day, and the\nlake spread itself beneath his view in the same tranquil beauty, and was\nstudded with the same number of islands; but every smaller feature in the\nlandscape was strangely altered;\u2014naked rocks were now clothed with holly\nand arbutus.  Whole woods had disappeared, and waste places had become\ncultivated fields; and to complete the work of enchantment the very\nseason itself seemed changed.  In the rosy dawn of a summer\u2019s morning he\nhad left the monastery of Innisfallen, and he now felt in every sight and\nsound the dreariness of winter; the hard ground was covered with withered\nleaves;\u2014icicles depended from leafless branches; he heard the sweet low\nnote of the robin who familiarly approached him, and he felt his fingers\nnumbed by the nipping frost.  Father Cuddy found it rather difficult to\naccount for such sudden transformations, and to convince himself it was\nnot the illusion of a dream he was about to arise; when lo! he discovered\nthat both his knees were buried at least six inches in the solid stone:\nfor notwithstanding all these changes, he had never altered his devout\nposition.\n\nCuddy was now wide awake, and felt, when he got up, his joints sadly\ncramped, which it was only natural they should be, considering the hard\ntexture of the stone, and the depth his knees had sunk into it.  The\ngreat difficulty was, to explain how, in one night, summer had become\nwinter\u2014whole woods had been cut down, and well-grown trees had sprouted\nup.  The miracle, nothing else could he conclude it to be, urged him to\nhasten his return to Innisfallen, where he might learn some explanation\nof these marvellous events.\n\nSeeing a boat moored within reach of the shore, he delayed not, in the\nmidst of such wonders, to seek his own bark, but, seizing the oars,\npulled stoutly towards the island; and here new wonders awaited him.\n\nFather Cuddy waddled, as fast as cramped limbs could carry his rotund\ncorporation, to the gate of the monastery, where he loudly demanded\nadmittance.\n\n\u201cHolloa! whence come you, master monk, and what\u2019s your business?\u201d\ndemanded a stranger who occupied the porter\u2019s place.\n\n\u201cBusiness\u2014my business!\u201d repeated the confounded Cuddy, \u201cwhy do you not\nknow me?  Has the wine arrived safely?\u201d\n\n\u201cHence, fellow,\u201d said the porter\u2019s representative, in a surly tone, \u201cnor\nthink to impose on me with your monkish tales.\u201d\n\n\u201cFellow!\u201d exclaimed the Father, \u201cmercy upon us that I should be so spoken\nto at the gate of my own house!\u2014Scoundrel!\u201d cried Cuddy, raising his\nvoice, \u201cdo you see my garb\u2014my holy garb?\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, fellow,\u201d replied he of the keys, \u201cthe garb of laziness and filthy\ndebauchery, which has long been expelled from out these walls.  Know you\nnot, lazy knave, of the suppression of this nest of superstition, and\nthat the abbey lands and possessions were granted in August last to\nMaster Robert Collan, by our Lady Elizabeth, sovereign queen of England,\nand paragon of all beauty, whom God preserve!\u201d\n\n\u201cQueen of England,\u201d said Cuddy; \u201cthere never was a sovereign queen of\nEngland;\u2014this is but a piece with the rest.  I saw how it was going with\nthe stars last night\u2014the world\u2019s turned upside down.  But surely this is\nInnisfallen Island, and I am the Father Cuddy who yesterday morning went\nover to the Abbey of Irelagh respecting the tun of wine.  Do you know me\nnow?\u201d\n\n\u201cKnow you! how should I know you?\u201d said the keeper of the abbey\u2014\u201cyet true\nit is, that I have heard my grandmother, whose mother remembered the man,\noften speak of the fat Father Cuddy of Innisfallen, who made a profane\nand godless ballad in praise of fried eggs, of which he and his vile crew\nknew more than they did of the word of God, and who, being drunk, it was\nsaid, tumbled into the lake one night and was drowned; but that must have\nbeen a hundred\u2014ay, more than a hundred years since.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Twas I who composed that song, in praise of Margery\u2019s fried eggs, which\nis no profane and godless ballad.  No other Father Cuddy than myself ever\nbelonged to Innisfallen,\u201d earnestly exclaimed the holy man.  \u201cA hundred\nyears!  What was your great grandmother\u2019s name?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe was a Mahony of Dunlow, Margaret ni Mahony; and my grandmother\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, merry Margery of Dunlow your great grandmother!\u201d shouted Cuddy;\n\u201cSt. Brandon help me! the wicked wench, with that tempting bottle\u2014why\n\u2019twas only last night\u2014a hundred years\u2014your great grandmother said you?\nMercy on us, there has been a strange torpor over me, I must have slept\nall this time!\u201d\n\nThat Father Cuddy had done so, I think is sufficiently proved by the\nchanges which occurred during his nap.  A reformation, and a serious one\nit was for him, had taken place.  Eggs fried by the pretty Margery were\nno longer to be had in Innisfallen, and, with heart as heavy as his\nfootsteps, the worthy man directed his course towards Dingle, where he\nembarked in a vessel on the point of sailing for Malaga.  The rich wine\nof that place had of old impressed him with a high respect for its\nmonastic establishments, in one of which he quietly wore out the remnant\nof his days.\n\nThe stone impressed with the mark of Father Cuddy\u2019s knees may be seen to\nthis day.  Should any incredulous persons doubt my story, I request them\nto go to Killarney, where Clough na Cuddy\u2014so is the stone called, remains\nin Lord Kenmare\u2019s park, an indubitable evidence of the fact: and\nSpillane, the bugle man, will be able to point it out to them, as he did\nto me.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 THE END.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                  MILNER AND SOWERBY, PRINTERS, HALIFAX.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTE.\n\n\n{64}  An open field, in which, to satisfy the doubts of the nobles, the\nEmperor Frederic II., her son, was born.","title":"Tales of the Wild and the Wonderful [1867]","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":91234}