shall my spirit know the eternal repose of the grave. The star of my nativity is dim and pale. It will never be bright again, and the aged one will never know comfort more. Away!" he continued, motioning Reginald from his sight, "disturb not the last moments of a dying man; in three days return, and under the base of this ruin inter the corpse that you will find mouldering within. Away!" Impressed with a strange awe, Reginald could make no reply. He remained as it were entranced; and after the lapse of a few minutes rushed from the tower, and returned in a state of disquietude to the gloomy chateau of his mother. The three days had now elapsed, and, faithful to his promise, Reginald pursued his route back to the tower. He reached it at night-fall, and tremblingly entered the fatal apartment. All within was silent, but his steps returned a hollow echo as he passed. The wind sighed around the ruin, and the raven from the roofless turrets had already commenced his death-song. He entered. The Astrologer, as before, was seated by the window, apparently in profound abstraction, and the horoscope was placed by his side. Fearful of disturbing his repose, Reginald approached with caution. The old man stirred not. Emboldened by so unexpected a silence, he advanced and looked at the face of the Astrologer. It was a corpse he gazed on, the relic of what had once been life. Petrified with horror at the sight, the memory of his former promise escaped him, and he rushed in agony from the apartment. For many days the fever of his mind continued unabated. He frequently became delirious, and in the hour of his lunacy was accustomed to talk of an evil spirit that had visited him in his slumbers. His mother was shocked at such evident symptoms of derangement. She remembered the fate of her husband; and implored Reginald, as he valued her affection, to recruit the agitation of his spirits by travel. With some diffi, culty he was induced to quit the home of his infancy. The expostulations of the countess at last prevailed, and he left the Chateau Di Venoni for the sunny climes of Italy. Time rolled on; and a constant succession of novelty had produced so be neficial an effect, that scarcely any traces remained of the once mysterious and enthusiastic Venoni. Occasionally his mind was disturbed and gloomy, but a perpetual recurrence of amusement diverted the influence of past recollection, and rendered him at least as tranquil as it was in the power of his nature to permit. He continued for years abroad, during which time he wrote frequently to his mother, who still continued at the Chateau Di Venoni, and at last announced his intention of settling finally at Venice. He had remained but a few months in the city, when, at the gay period of the Carnival, he was introduced, as a foreign nobleman, to the beautiful daughter of the Doge. She was amiable, accomplished, and endowed with every requisite to ensure permanent felicity. Reginald was charmed with her beauty, and infatuated with the excelling qualities of her mind. He confessed his attachment, and was informed with a blush that the affection was mutual. Nothing, therefore, remained but application to the Doge; who was instantly addressed on the subject, and implored to consummate the felicity of the young couple. The request was attended with success, and the happiness of the lovers was complete. On the day fixed for the wedding, a brilliant assemblage of beauty thronged. the ducal palace of St. Mark. All Venice crowded to the festival; and, in the presence of the gayest noblemen of Italy, Reginald Count Di Venoni received the hand of Marcelia, the envied daughter of the Doge. In the evening, a masqued festival was given at the palace; but the young couple, anxious to be alone, escaped the scene of re velry, and hurried in their gondola to the chateau that was prepared for their reception, rits of the parent, and she expired in the act of folding him to her arms. From this moment the mind of Reginald assumed a tone of the most confirmed dejection. He followed his mother to the grave, and was observed to smile with unutterable meaning as he returned home from the funeral. The Chateau Di Venoni increased the native depression of his spirits, and the appearance of the ruined tower never failed to imprint a dark frown upon his brow. He would wander for days from his home, and when he returned, thẹ moody expression of his countenance alarmed the affection of his wife. She did all in her power to assuage his anguish, but his melancholy remained unabated. Sometimes, when the fit was on him, he would repulse her with It was a fine moonlight night. The mild beams of the planets sparkled on the silver bosom of the Adriatic, and the light tones of music, "by distance made more sweet," came wafted on the western gale. A thousand lamps, from the illuminated squares of the city, reflected their burnished hues along the wave, and the mellow chaunt of the gondolieres kept time to the gentle plashing of their oars. The hearts of the lovers were full, and the witching spirit of the hour passed with all its loveliness into their souls. On a sudden a deep groan escaped the overcharged heart of Reginald. He had looked to the western hemisphere, and the star which, at that moment, flash-fury; but, in his gentler moments, ed brightly in the horizon, reminded him of the awful scene which he had witnessed at the tower of Rudstein. His eye sparkled with delirious brilliancy; and had not a shower of tears come opportunely to his relief, the consequence might have been fatal. But the affectionate caresses of his young bride succeeded for the present in soothing his agitation, and restoring his mind to its former tranquil temperament. A few months had now elapsed from the period of his marriage, and the heart of Reginald was happy. He loved Marcelia, and was tenderly beloved in return. Nothing, therefore, remained to complete his felicity but the presence of his mother, the Countess. He wrote accordingly to intreat that she would come and reside with him at Venice, but was informed by her confessor in reply, that she was dangerously ill, and requested the immediate attendance of her son. On the receipt of this afflicting intelligence he hurried with Marcelia to the Chateau Di Venoni. The countess was still alive when he entered, and received him with an affectionate embrace. But the exertion of so unexpected an interview with her son, was too great for the agitated spi would gaze on her as on a sweet vision of vanished happiness. He was one evening wandering with her through the village, when his conversation assumed a more dejected tone than usual. The sun was slowly setting, and their route back to the chateau lay through the churchyard where the ashes of the countess reposed. Reginald seated himself with Marcelia by the grave, and plucking a few wild flowers from the turf, exclaimed, "Are you not anxious to join my mother, sweet girl? She has gone to the land of the blest-to the land of love and sunshine! If we are happy in this world, what will be our state of happiness in the next? Let us fly to unite our bliss with her's, and the measure of our joy will be full." As he uttered these words his eye glared with delirium, and his hand seemed searching for a weapon. Mar celia, alarmed at his appearance, hurried him from the spot, and clasping his hand in her's, drew him gently onward. The sun in the meantime had sunk, and the stars of evening came out in their glory. Brilliant above all shone the fatal western planet, the star of Reginald's nativity. He observed it with horror, and pointed it out to the notice of Marcelia. "The hand of heaven is in it!" he mentally exclaimed, and the proud fortunes of Venoni hasten to a close." At this instant the ruined tower of Rudstein appeared in sight, with the moon shining full upon it. "It is the place," resumed the maniac, "where a deed of blood must be done, and I am he that must perpetrate it! But fear not, my poor girl," he added, in a milder tone, while the tears sprang to his eyes, "thy Reginald cannot harm thee; he may be wretched, but he never shall be guilty!" With these words he reached the chateau, and threw himself on his couch in restless anxiety of mind. Night waned, morning dawned on the upland hills of the scenery, and with it came a renewal of Reginald's disorder. The day was stormy, and in unison with the troubled feeling of his spirit. He had been absent from Marcelia since day break, and had given her no promise of return. But as she was seated at twilight near the lattice, playing on her harp a favourite Venetian canzonet, the folding doors flew open, and Reginald made his appearance. His eye was red, with the deepest-the deadliest madness, and his whole frame seemed unusually convulsed. "'Twas not a dream," he exclaimed, "I have seen her and she has beckoned us to follow." "Seen her, seen who?" said Marcelia, alarmed at his phrenzy. "My mother," replied the maniac. "Listen while I repeat the horrid narrative. Methought as I was wandering in the forest, a sylph of heaven approached, and revealed the countenance of my mother, I flew to join her but was withheld by a sage who pointed to the western star. On a sudden loud shrieks were heard, and the sylph assumed the guise of a demon. Her figure towered to an awful height, and she pointed in scornful derision to thee; yes, to thee, my Marcelia. With rage she drew thee towards me. I seizedI murdered thee; and hollow groans broke on the midnight gale. The voice of the fiendish Astrologer was heard shouting as from a charnel house, The destiny is accomplished, and the victim may retire with honour.' Then, methought, the fair front of heaven was obscured, and thick gouts of clotted clammy blood showered down in torrents from the blackened clouds of the west. The star shot through the air, and-the phantom of my mother again beckoned me to follow." The maniac ceased, and rushed in agony from the apartment. Marcelia followed and discovered him leaning in a trance against the wainscot of the library. With gentlest motion she drew his hand in her's, and led him into the open air. They rambled on, heedless of the gathering storm, until they discovered themselves at the base of the tower of Rudstein. Suddenly the maniac paused. A horrid thought seemed flashing across his brain, as with giant grasp he seized Marcelia in his arms, and bore her to the fatal apartment. In vain she shrieked for help, for pity. "Dear Reginald, it is Marcelia who speaks, you cannot surely harm her.” He heard he heeded not, nor once staid his steps, till he reached the room of death. On a sudden his countenance lost its wildness, and assumed a more fearful, but composed look of determined madness. He advanced to the window, and gazed on the stormy face of heaven. Dark clouds flitted across the horizon, and the hollow thunder echoed awfully in distance. To the west the fatal star was still visible, but shone with sickly lustre. At this instant a flash of lightning reillumined the whole apartment, and threw a broad red glare upon a skeleton that mouldered upon the floor. Reginald observed it with affright, and remembered the unburied Astrologer. He advanced to Marcelia, and pointing to the rising moon. "A dark cloud is sailing by," he shudderingly exclaimed, "but ere the full orb again shines forth, thou shalt die, I will accompany thee in death, and hand in hand will we pass into the presence of our mother." The poor girl shrieked for pity, but her voice was lost in the angry ravings of the storm. The cloud in the meantime sailed on,-it approached-the moon was dimmed, darkened, and finally buried in its gloom. The maniac marked the hour, and rushed with a fearful cry towards his victim. With murderous resolution he grasped her throat, while the helpless hand and half strangled articulation, implored his compassion. After one final struggle the hollow death rattle announced that life was extinct, and that the murderer held a corpse in his arms. An interval of reason now occurred, and on the partial restoration of his mind, Reginald discovered himself the unconscious murderer of Marcelia. Madness deepest madness again took possession of his faculties. He laughed he shouted aloud with the unearthly yellings of a fiend, and in the raging violence of his delirium, hurled himself headlong from the summit of the tower. In the morning the bodies of the young couple were discovered, and buried in the same tomb. The fatal ruin of Rudstein still exists; but is now commonly avoided as the residence of the spirits of the departed. Day by day it slowly crumbles to earth, and affords a shelter for the night raven, or the wild brutes of the forests. Superstition has consecrated it to herself, and the tradition of the country has invested it with all the awful appendages of a charnel house. The wanderer who passes at night-fall, shudders while he surveys its utter desolation, and exclaims as he journies on "Surely this is a spot where guilt may thrive in safety, or bigotry weave a spell to enthrall her misguided votaries." THE WATER-LADY. An Austrian Tradition. There is a mystery in these sombre shades, A secret horror in this dark, deep flood: +4 "T seems as if beings of another race Here lurk invisible, except what time Eve's dusky hour, and night's congenial gloom, Permit them to show themselves in human guise.Men say that fays, and elves, and water spirits, Affect such haunts and this is surely one. On the banks of one of the streams falling into the Inn, a river that runs into the Danube near Passau, are the remains of an old castle, not far from a narrow defile or glen, where the waters, being hemmed in, rush with impetuosity through fragments of rock impeding their course. Of these, the following legend is related : The last possessor of the castle, which had not been inhabited for several centuries, was Count Albert, a youthful nobleman, descended from an illustrious ancestry; daring, enthusiastic, and addicted to study; but his studies were of such a nature that they incurred for him, among his credulous dependants, the imputation of holding unhallowed intercourse with supernatural beings. Independently, however, of the censures his conduct occasioned in this respect, he was admired by all for possessing in an eminent degree, personal courage and prowess, qualities so necessary, and therefore so highly prized in those ages. Yet even those who were most forward, to commend his undauntedness could not forbear blaming the indiscretions of his curiosity, which led him to venture into scenes that would, by the fancied horror attached to them, have appalled the bravest of his followers. During the most stormy weather, when the spirits of the air were supposed to be wreaking their fury on the elementsin the depth of night, at that hour when the souls of the departed were supposed to re-visit the earth, and forms obscure and horrible to appear to the unfortunate traveller who should be bewildered on his way, even at such seasons would Al bert venture into the recesses of the woods, enjoy the conflicts of nature on the blasted heath, and explore the wildest solitudes around his domain. Such practices occasioned much conjecture and rumour-and many prophesied, that some terrible visitation would overtake the man, who, if not actually leagued with the powers of darkness, delighted in all that was horrific and appalling; nor did the less scrupulous or the more imaginative hesitate to relate, with particular circumstance and detail, the dreadful mysteries he was reported, at such times, to have witnessed. In the defile, which, as has been stated, was in the immediate vicinity of the castle, it was said, that a fairy, or spirit, named by the peasantry the Water Lady, had been heard by night, singing within a cave hollowed in the rock, just above the most dangerous part of the current. Albert was determined to ascertain the truth, and, if possible, obtain an interview with the supernatural inhabitant of the Black Water Vault. Such a daring project excited the horror of all who heard it: since many were the tales respecting persons having been enticed to listen to the strains of the spirit, and afterwards perishing in the foaming waters; for she was said to delight in attracting the unwary, and the curious. But though the design of the young Count appeared so fraught with danger, and obstinate temerity, nothing could induce him to abandon the enterprize; neither the entreaties of his friends nor those of Bertha, his betrothed bride, whom he was shortly to conduct to the altar; it rather seemed as if all obstacles and dissuasives did but irritate his unhallowed curiosity. One evening, the third of the new moon, the Count, attended by two companions, whom he had prevailed upon to assist him in rowing his boat, and steering it among the eddies of the torrent, departed for the scene of research.They proceeded in silence, for Albert was buried in thought, the others were mute from apprehension. No sooner did they approach the narrow pass where the foaming and congregated waters dash furiously through the contracted channel, than was heard the voice of one within the cavern. The music was so strongly sweet and fascinating, that, although struck with awe at the supernatural sounds, they were induced to advance. A form was soon dimly descried: it was that of a female arrayed in floating drapery, but her features they might not discern, as she wore a thick veil. They continued to approach the spot so as to be able to catch distinctly the following words, which were chaunted in a tone of solemn adjuration. By the treasures of my cave, Then enter thon, nor fear. By this time they had arrived opposite to the cave: Albert motioned to |