Hopper. So remarkable, indeed, were the exploits of the latter, that he was called Dare-Devil Hans; and it was confidently whispered in the cosy coteries that assembled under the patriarchal roof of mine Host of the Green Flagon, that the youthful Hopper was more than a match for the Evil One himself. Hans was aware of the distinction he had gained, and to such a pitch was he inflated thereby, that I verily believe he would have faced a cannon's mouth to sustain his reputation especially if the deadly engine were unloaded.

Hans had something of a travelled reputation too, for he had more than once passed the low barrier of hills that sheltered the village on one side, and brought news from the fair regions that spread in boundless luxuriance beyond them. Mounted on his fiery colt, he made semi-annual excursions to Oyster-Bay, and once crossed the perilous stream of the East River, and penetrated to Bloomingdael, an exploit which is yet talked of by the gossips of his township. In pleasant summer weather he would trot his horse upon the shining beach of Coney Island, and fairly win the money of the gentlemen jockeys who ran their steeds against him. A couple of months he devoted to the ungrateful task of tilling his paternal acres; but that once over, he idled away the remaining portion of the year. He was lazy enough to be a poet, but his exploits in literature were confined to the perusal of an odd volume of the Turf Register, and a well-thumbed copy of Degrafton's Farriery.

It was not long before the cash his father left him disappeared; and, forced to take up some employment, he became a jockey, and passed his time in breeding, training, swapping, and selling horses. He was a constant attendant at the Union Course, and sometimes came off a great winner. But the money thus acquired was always spent in vulgar dissipation at the tavern or the cockpit; and DareDevil Hans, with all his magic power over horses, had much a do to support his own smart bit of blood.'

At length he became quite desperate; being deprived of the means of keeping up a figure, and revolved the expediency of parting with a favorite horse, which he still kept, notwithstanding the decline of his fortunes. One night, returning homeward rather late, he entered, in a gloomy mood, the piece of woodland which commences on the decline of Flatbush hill, between that and the pretty village of I latbush. The axe has somewhat thinned this little forest, but at the time of which I write it was luxuriant and dense. Hans patted the neck of his favorite steed, and sighed at the thought of parting with him. No Arab of the desert was ever more affectionately attached to the animal that carried him. "My poor Selim," said he, "I'm sorry to part with thee, lad, for thou art, in truth, the horse of my heart. But poverty parts good company-They call me Dare-Devil Hans-'Egad! I

wish I could only get the speech of the Old One, I fancy we could strike a bargain in the strapping of a saddle-girth."

The words had no sooner passed his lips than he "became aware" of a gentlemanly stranger, clad in black, and mounted on a powerful charger of the same sable hue. It did not strike Hans that he had called a spirit from the vasty deep, and he accordingly saluted his companion.

as

"A fine evening for riding—rather coolish though.”

"Cool!" returned the stranger in surprise: "I call it as hot -" 'twas a lapsus lingua, and he checked himself. "Hot!" cried Hans-"'Egad, Sir, you must come from a cold climate."

"The contrary, I assure you," replied the other. They rode on awhile in silence.

"I say," said Hans, with another effort at conversation; "You've a nice horse under you. Suppose you try paces with me." The stranger, nothing loth, consented. Each spoke cheerfully to his horse and touched him with the spur. The two horses, fired with emulation, launched at once into the rapid fury of the race. They warm apace, their joints become suppler, their action freer, they toss their manes upon the night-breeze, and snort with joyous enthusiasm. The riders are as men insane the steeds are as mad as their masters. They stretch like greyhounds in their headlong progress; the night-breeze alone outstrips them. The flints of Flatbush sparkle for a moment under foot, and then the spire of its hoary church is left away behind. Victory hovered for a moment, and then the black steed shot ahead.

"Pull up! pull up!" cried Hans, reining in his reeking nag. "You've distanced the best horse on the island, and you must be the very d―l."

"At your service," replied the other, bowing very gracefully.

Hans was overjoyed — he shook hands with Eblis, and invited him to honor his humble dwelling with his presence. The invitation was accepted, and over a strong jug of Hollands a compact was agreed upon. The old gentleman promised Hans to be his banker for three years, during which he was to enjoy unlimited health and credit; but at the expiration of that term his Satanic Majesty was to call for the devoted Dutchman. The bargain once concluded, the two allies smoked pipes innumerable, and it was not until the shrill crowing of chanticleer proclaimed the near approach of morning that the gentleman in sables mounted his black horse and vanished in a very equivocal manner.

Hans went to bed, and awoke about ten o'clock in a very happy state of mind. He eat his breakfast, and then sauntered down to his usual haunt, the bar-room of the tavern, where he surprised some of

his phlegmatic townsmen into an ejaculation by displaying a handful of gold coins. It was soon rumored about that Hans had come into possession of a handsome legacy; and all who had previously shunned him, crowded eagerly to make his acquaintance. Foremost among the herd of flatterers were those whose hen-roosts had been oftenest visited by the youthful Hopper-but they forgot all in the enthusiasm of the moment.

Hans was now able to hold up his head among the best, and kept company with celebrated training grooms and famous jockeys, the magnates of the land. He bought a full-blooded Virginia mare, and became a member of the Jockey Club. All his speculations on the turf were fortunate, and all his drafts upon his secret banker duly honored. In fact, his affairs were soon so prosperous that he refunded to his ally all the money he had loaned him with a handsome interest, and refused any longer to receive his aid. The Devil waxed exceedingly wroth at this, and became as impatient for the time when he might claim his due as Hans was reluctant to have that time approach.

Meantime our hero, feeling the growing responsibility of a monied man, determined to reform his evil habits, ceased to frequent the barroom of the Green Flagon, and assumed a serious demeanor. He repaired the venerable mansion of his fathers, and having placed his household affairs in the strictest order, led to the hymeneal altar the daughter of a wealthy farmer of Jamaica, a young and blooming girl. In less than a year after he was assured that his possessions would not pass out of the family for want of an heir. But in the midst of all this happiness poor Hans often shuddered when he reflected how rapidly the time was passing, and how soon his infernal creditor would come to claim his dues.

As the fatal night drew near, his spirits seemed to forsake him. He was often absent and moody, and would sometimes sit by the hour together gazing on his wife and child with tearful eyes, and shaking his head mournfully if any question was asked him. The green hues of summer had brightened into the hectic tints of autumn; the evenings were bleak and desolate; and Hans, as if sympathizing with universal nature, shuddered as he drew his chair closer to the fire. He now seldom stirred abroad except to exercise his horses. He frequented no races, went to no merry makings, and seemed a sadly altered man. One night his wife had gone to bed betimes, and he was left sitting up alone. It was the fatal night, and the hour was approaching. Poor Hans sat gazing at the dial-plate of the old clock, and counting every tick with feverish solicitude. At length the clock struck twelve. Hans started up, and listened. Directly after there was a thundering knock at the back door, and he hastened to open it. Though the night was dark, he recognized his fiendish creditor by the fiery glare of his eye

balls, and the ruddy glow that issued from his mouth; while his barbed tail, that verified the portraits in the picture books, was whisking restlessly to and fro, and describing arcs of circles on the frozen ground. "Come!" cried his Majesty," you're wanted."

A thought, so vivid and instantaneous, that it seemed providential, flashed across the mind of Hans. He knocked the hat from the head of his fiendish visiter, and ere the latter could recover himself, he seized one of his horns with both hands and dragged him to a range of pegs on which he hung his harness. Before the astounded demon could recover himself, Hans snatched a formidable cowskin, and thrust a severe bit into the mouth of the arch enemy. He then began beating him with might and main. The tortured fiend fell upon his hands and knees. In an instant Dare-Devil Hans sprung upon his back and inflicted the severest discipline. The fiend bolted and leaped from the house, but Hans was as firmly seated as the old man of the mountain on the back of Sinbad. His degraded majesty roared beneath the lash, reared, plunged, and used every mischievous exertion of which his tremendous strength was capable, to unseat his rider, but in vain. At length, when he was totally obedient, Hans vaulted lightly to the ground and let him go. The liberated demon fled like a bolt from a bow, leaving behind a long trail of fiery light that shone like the track of a comet in the evening air. Hans breathed freely he was free — but this was not all; for on going into his front yard he discovered the Devil's horse tied firmly to the palings. He endeavored to lead the animal to his stable; but the beast proving refractory, he vaulted lightly on his back, and applied to him the same discipline which had subdued his master with the same success. From that time horse and man were friends. The creature (named Beelzebub in commemoration of his former owner) was a valuable acquisition, for he won many a plate and sweepstakes for his master, and introduced a breed of colts into the island of extraordinary strength and fire. Hans is yet alive, and from his own lips I learned his story. He concluded his narration in the following words: "That black horse was a jewel — and there was but one bad thing about him when he was taken sick, brimstone wouldn't physic him.”

THE ABBEY OF ETHAL.

THE Benedictine Abbey of Ethal, in the bishopric of Freysingen in Bavaria, was founded by the emperor Ludovic IV. One of the principal stipulations of its charter was, that twelve impoverished Counts of the Empire, and their Countesses, (if so many applied for admission)

should there be maintained and provided for at the expense of the Abbey; and there are on record instances where this privilege of "free commons" was claimed and granted. In later times the Abbey was converted into a seminary of learning for the education of youth. Afterwards it was again organized as a monastery; but finally fell into ruins. On the wall of one of the yet remaining galleries the following inscription is written with charcoal :

"--I venerate these mouldering ruins!

Here, at each step, the wanderer's foot treads on
Memorials frail of ancient days and deeds!

--

- In these deserted, solitary courts,

That to the storms of heaven now lie expos'd,

Full many a sainted worm was sepulchred,

Who, with his lov'd, hard-earn'd, long-hoarded wealth,
Chapel and cloister lavishly endow'd,

And dying, deem'd his relics well assur'd

Of care and reverence till the Judgment Day!
Fallacious hope -- nought earthly can endure!
Chapels and cities waste away like man;
What marvel, if, like man, they also die!"

A SHORT ACCOUNT OF YOUSSOUF BEY.

THIS much talked of youth, now attached to the French army, is the hero of a very remarkable story. He is about twenty-five years of age; short, slight, but beautifully proportioned. His face is uncommonly handsome and expressive, denoting a great deal of energy and decision not unmixed with pride. He is a remarkably good horseman, even among that nation of equestrians, the Arabs. He is endowed with most prodigious strength; but his most predominant quality is his rare courage, to which fact the story we are about to translate from a French periodical will bear witness.

"Youssouf Bey is of French origin, and was, in his childhood, carried off from the coast of Provence by pirates. He was at that time only five years of age, and therefore retains no recollection whatever of his native country, nor even of his family; but distinctly remembers his capture, and the kindness with which he was treated on board the Algerine vessel, for which kindness he was probably indebted to his own surpassing beauty, even at that early age. A few days brought them into the magnificent bay of Tunis, and the pirates pointed out the fine castle overlooking the bay to their youthful