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promise without loss of time to affix the fly-flapping appendage once more to the hinder part of thy steed."

Karl, although he strongly doubted the possibility of such a manoeuvre, willingly pledged his word, and in a moment afterwards heard the stranger mutter something which was unintelligible to him, but which he made no question was some spell used in the ceremony of tail-fixing. "Turn," said the stranger, who was now again beside him, " thy horse is repaired!" Karl did as he was requested, and the tail became manifest; but Nicolaus betrayed as little joy at the recovery of it, as he had evinced sorrow for its loss. Karl could not help suspecting that the stranger had made him promise to look straight forward, not so much out of fear that he should be a spy upon his operations, as that he dreaded an exposure of the cloven-foot; nevertheless he thanked him for his good offices, and kept on his way. After a short time it occurred to him that a pipe would be no bad thing; but when he had filled it, he found to his mortification that he had lost his flint, and began railing in good terms at his own carelessness and indiscretion. 66 Despair not while I am near thee," said the stranger; "hold thy pipe towards me!" No sooner was this done than he breathed upon it, and the tobacco was ignited. Karl felt now convinced that he was travelling with Satan; for the herb burnt rather blue than otherwise, and there was a villanous smack of sulphur in the only whiff that he took. He had a very certain presentiment that his companion had not brought the fire which he had just given him from the same place where Prometheus had obtained his. The pipe dropped from his lips, and he trembled from head to foot. He now began to devise means of ridding himself of his blackart-practising fellow-traveller. He had observed on their journey that when they came near any of the crosses, which are common to this day in Catholic countries, his companion vanished,

and did not rejoin him until they were out of sight of those devil's eye-sores, He now resolved to make the best use of his observation, and happening to espy a small cross at a little distance, and seeing that his good friend had left him as usual, he rode up to it, dismounted, and easily drew it from the ground. It's an ill procession, they say, when the devil carries the cross," cried Karl, "so I'll e'en be beforehand with him." He threw it across his shoulders, vaulted into his saddle, and trotted forward, until he came to a town which he supposed to be the place of his destination. Nicolaus made a sudden halt and neighed loudly; and lashes and caresses were alike ineffectual to induce him to proceed. A door was opened, and the old cook who knew the voice of Nicolaus too well to be mistaken, welcomed the young apprentice home again to his master's house, at Magdeburg. The truth is, that Nicolaus, liking better a dirty stable than a clean road, had taken care to turn his head homeward, when his rider awoke from his slumber under the tree, and Karl was obliged to defer his visit to Brunswick until a better opportunity should occur. He told his master the whole story the next morning; but the jeweller (unbeliever as he was!) attributed every thing to his superstition and state of intoxication; but the old cook was fully persuaded that he had actually been in the society of the devil, and was not satisfied that he was entirely out of his, the said devil's power, until he had confessed to the priest of the family, and purified himself with an additional sprinkling of holy water. His master had the cross burned, and warned Karl not to mention the circumstance of his having sacrilegiously carried it off, as he might incur the displeasure of the holy church. Karl did as he was desired, and on the following day the removal of the cross was discovered, and considered as a miracle by the good people of Lower Saxony in the seventeenth century.

PETER OF STAUFFENBURG.

From the German.

PETER DIRMINGER, who resided at his town of Stauffen, in the Ortenau, and was called from it the Lord of Stauffen, was returning from the chace one day at sunset, and when he reached the village of Nussbach he was dying with thirst and exhausted by fatigue. He therefore dismounted at a spring, which flowed by the road side, and was shaded by beautiful oaks. There he found seated a beautiful maiden, who modestly greeted him, and addressed him by his name. The astonished knight requested to know who she was, and whence she came. "I live just by here," said she, "and have often seen you and your huntsmen, when you stopped to drink at this fountain, and it was by this means that I learned your name."

Stauffen, who was young and disengaged, was enchanted by the graceful maiden and her prudent converse, and love took possession of his heart.

On the following days he went to the fountain at the same hour, but the unknown was never there. In the evening of the fourth day, as, wrapped in grief, he sat leaning against an oak, he heard a voice of heavenly sweetness that seemed to come from the bottom of the water. He started up, and with impatient curiosity looked on all sides, but could perceive nobody, nor did he any longer hear the voice. He was going to reseat himself under the oak, in the hope that he should again hear the accents of the invisible, when all at once he saw the unknown sitting upon the stone from whence he had just arisen. She seemed to be in a charming temper, for to all the questions that he put to her she replied only by pleasantries, instead of direct answers; and by this the knight was not a little embarrassed. But, nevertheless, all she said was engaging, and at length she did not scruple to open her heart, and to avow tender sentiments in his favour. She then became pensive, and ended

by promising to meet him the next morning, in the same place. The knight was there before the stars had faded from the sky. At break of day the maiden appeared from the copse, and so graceful was she, and so lovely, that the knight thought he saw an angel descended from heaven. The ringlets of her fine flaxen hair seemed to be dewed by the tears of Aurora, and were set off by a wreath of vividly coloured blue-bells; two rose-buds were placed on her beautiful bosom. She fixed on the astonished and silent knight her eyes, which were full of innocence and vivacity. At length he ventured to take her hand, and to speak to her of his passion. She made him sit down, and then said to him "I am not one of the children of the human race; the waves give me birth. I am a nymph, a water fairy, or whatever you please to call me. We grant our hand but with

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our love, and our love but with our hand. But think well of what you do, Sir Knight. If you pledge your faith to me, you must keep it as pure as this limpid spring, and as firm as the steel of your sword. A single act of infidelity will be the cause of your death and of my eternal sorrow. For our love and our grief have no end."

The knight attested by a solemn vow that it was as impossible for him to live without her as it was for him ever to be faithless to her. The nymph then gave him a precious ring. He pressed her tenderly to his heart, and spoke to her of the delightful situation of his castle, and how she should live there in peace, and amidst a circle of perpetual pleasures. They fixed the day on which he should conduct her to it as his bride. The morning of that day had scarcely dawned when the knight passing from his couch to the hall, saw on the table three elegantly ornamented baskets, the one full of gold, the other of silver, and the third

full of precious stones of all kinds. It was the portion of the bride. She soon appeared with a numerous train, and the lovers were united. Previously to the ceremony, however, the nymph desired to speak to the knight in private; she led him into a room, and said to him, "Think well once on what you are about to do; if ever your heart should grow cold towards me, or should glow for another, you are a lost man, and will have a sign of your approaching death: that sign will be your not being able to see more of my person than this right foot which I now shew you."

The knight renewed his vows in all the warmth of a first and violent love. They were wedded. Many days passed away in pleasures and serenity. Before a year was expired, she added to the happiness of the knight by giving him a son.

Soon after this event, a terrible war took place on the French frontier. Peter was brave and fond of glory. By the side of love, ambition held a place in his heart. The countess did not think it proper to oppose these noble feelings; but she did not let him depart without

duke shook his head and declared that the wicked spirit had had to do with the business, that the knight was not bound to keep his word with visionary beings, and that, for the good of his soul, he wished to see him released from such a dangerous connection. The chaplain was consulted on the subject, and he assured them that, as soon as ever the knight should receive the benediction of the church, this magical illusion would vanish. Peter was willing enough to be persuaded, and they were accordingly betrothed. The wedding day was put off for a fortnight. On the eve of that day one of his followers arrived from Stauffenburgh, with intelligence that his wife and child had disappeared from that place. On enquiring into the circumstances, Peter found that this had occurred precisely at the instant of betrothing. This confirmed him in the suspicion of magic, which had been instilled into him, and he went with a light heart to celebrate the nuptials at a country house in the neighbourhood. While the guests were seated at table, and the knight was in

bathing him with her tears, and intreat-high spirits, he chanced to cast his eyes

ing him neither to forget his wife nor the only pledge of their tenderness.

Peter crossed the Rhine at the head of a chosen band, and went to fight under the banners of one of the dukes of the Franks. In the very first battle he manifested the strength of his arm, and his skill in leading the brave. The duke estimated properly his worth, and, in a severe contest, it was to the knight that he was indebted for the preservation of his life. It was also the valour of the knight that decided the victory, and occasioned the speedy conclusion of a peace. Full of gratitude, the duke thought it not too much to offer him the hand of his youngest and handsomest daughter. Peter was, in fact, not insensible to her charms; he was still less so to the honour of an alliance with an illustrious house. But he was not yet depraved enough to conceal his marriage. He candidly recounted the whole of what had taken place. The

towards the wall, and saw, as if it were coming out of it, the handsome foot of a female. He rubbed his eyes, but still clearly and continually saw this fatal herald. He was excessively disturbed, and drank glass after glass to dissipate the melancholy forebodings, in which he partly succeeded. In the evening they returned to the castle. There was a bridge to pass, but Peter preferred riding through the ford. He had hardly reached the middle of the stream before the water became agitated, and foamed as if it were lashed by a tempest: the waves rose like walls; the horse grew frightened, he plunged, threw off the knight, and gained the bank. For a moment the storm increased, then every thing became calm, as though an invisible hand had appeased it, and the water recovered its clearness and peaceable flow. The knight, however, had disappeared, and his body was never more seen.

THE SPRITE OF THE GLEN.

A Swedish Legend.

The clock it struck twelve, clear and calm was the night,
Bright beam'd from the heavens the moon's paly light;
No sentinel watch'd on steep Karlofelt's wall,

Scarce a breath shook the banners that waved in the ball,
While through the wide courts silent echo reposed,
And in sleep every eye in the castle was closed.

All, all but poor Bertha's! there tears flow'd amain,
And hope in her breast held its wavering reign;
Full sore she lamented her lover's delay,

"Twas the hour when he promised to bear her away;
Her eyes o'er the mountains she wistfully cast,

And her heart quicker throbb’d at each sigh of the blast.
"Haste! haste! my Geraldus, time urges," she said,
""Twill be dawn-light ere far we've from Karlofelt fled;
"O'er the mountains of Sevo fast spur on your steed,
"Let the impulse of love give new wings to your speed;
"Haste, haste, to your Bertha, and hush her alarms,
"For no danger she'll fear when she's lock'd in your arms!"-
She spake; when her lamp's trembling glimmer display'd
Full many a form on the arras portray'd;

Gloomy thoughts on her ill boding fancy arose,
When her eyes met the stories of true lovers' woes;
When depicted she saw, in his wide-yawning den,
The blaster of love, the grim" Sprite of the Glen!"

"Great God!" she exclaimed, "Oh! preserve me this night,
"From the deep-lurking snares of this mischievous sprite,
"For tradition declares, that when young he oft tried,
"From the damsels of Sevo, to bring home a bride;
"But refused, he revengeful now strives by his charms
"To tear the fond maid from her true lover's arms."-

As she gazed on the picture, all sad and dismay'd,
His dark-scowling visage new terrors array'd;
She saw in the face indignation arise,

And the fire of revenge brightly flash'd in his eyes;
No longer the moon on the battlements beam'd,
Aud the owl, at her window, ill-ominous scream'd!
Bewilder'd by fancy, and conquer'd by dread,
The terror-struck maiden now sunk on her bed;
O'er her woe-begone bosom, while fear held its sway,
She sigh'd a sad sigh, and then motionless lay;
Nor again with new life did her languid pulse move
E'er she heard, in low whispers, the voice of her love.
"Descend now, my Bertha, and banish affright,

"The winds they all sleep, and the moon-beams shine bright,
"My courser awaits thee, sweet Bertha," he said,
"Ere dawn we shall far have from Karlofelt fled."
Quick Bertha descended, and hush'd her alarms,
For no danger she fear'd when fast lock'd in his arms.

To his bosom he press'd her, so white and so wan,
And kiss'd off the tears that slow trickling ran;
To his bosom he press'd her, and oft as she sigh'd,
Her fears he'd in accents of tenderness chide.
Full quickly they sped o'er the reed-skirted fen,
And enter'd the shades of Duvranno's dark glen!
On each side of the dell a rude precipice frown'd,
Whose craggs were with deep-tangled thickets embrown'd;
O'er the dale a chill horror the pine-branches shed,
Night blacken'd the steep, all was darkness and dread!

Oft was heard from its eyrie the hawk's piercing scream,
While o'er the loose pebbles hourse-babbled the stream.
This prospect so frightful poor Bertha alarm'd,

And fear froze the bosom which love lately warmed.
"Oh, stop thee, my true love! my spirits now fail,

"Must we pass through the shades of Duvranno's dark dale?" "Oh! hush thee, sweet-heart, nor thus shrink with dismay, "In this glen waits my coarser to bear thee away.”—

Now onward they hasten'd, all drear was the view, To their nests sped the night-birds, and croak'd as they flew ; "See, my love," said the knight, "near yon far spreading pine, "My courser awaits thee, now Bertha is mine!"

"Yes, I'm thine !" cried the maiden "with you will I flee, "For Bertha's fond bosom beats only for thee!"—

"Then perish, thou false one! let death be thy doom!"—
Cried a youth, as he sprang from a thicket's dark gloom;
"This drinks thy life-blood!"-with a shriek fell the maid,
As deep in her bosom he struck the cold blade!

But, O God! what a pang rent her breast when she found,
"Twas the steel of Geraldus inflicted the wound!
"Nor," frantic, he cried, " is my vengeance complete,
"Till thou too, cursed rival, shall bleed at my feet!"-
His sword then he brandish'd and rush'd on his foe,
In vain on the helmet resounded the blow,
When again did he eager the breast-plate assail,
His steel shiver'd short on the well-twisted mail !
But how started Geraldus with fear and affright,
When sudden the armour fell off from the knight!
On the ground rung his hauberk, his vizor unclosed,
And a face fraught with grim exultation exposed;
A shriek from poor Bertha her horror express'd,
For before her the Sprite of the Glen stood confess'd!
On his form so gigantic, all reeking with gore,
A rough shaggy mantle of bear-skin he wore,
Malignity scowl'd in his features so ghast,

His broad sable pinions he waved in the blast:

"Mine's the conquest!" he cried, “ for my spells and my charms, "Have torn a fond maid from her true-lover's arms!"

"Look up," cried Geraldus, “look up my pale love,
"For us this deep snare hath the wily fiend wove!
"He prompted the blow, yet forgive me, sweet heart,
"Oh! my Bertha, one look ere for ever we part!"
Poor Bertha look'd up, and full sadly she sigh'd,
Gave a smile of forgiveness, faint murmur'd, and died.
"Stop, my love," he exclaim'd, “ for together we'll flee,
"And the grave, the cold grave, shall our bridal-bed be;"
Thrice in agony speechless he gazed on her form,
Thrice he kiss'd her pale lips that with life still were warm,
Thrice he plunged in his bosom the blade wet with gore,
Then clasp'd his poor Bertha, to clasp her no more.

Like the crash of an earthquake the fiend's hideous yell
Fill'd each wood and each vale as the true lover's fell;

The forest-clad mountains, convulsed at the sound,

Shook the pines from their summits, and burled them around;
Each cavern's dark spirit, aroused by the cry,

Burst forth in a hollow-toned echo of joy!

Oft the fond wakeful maid wets her pillow with tears,

When at midnight these heart-freezing murmurs she hears;
Full oft too, at eve, when she bids him " farewell,"
Her soul's horror and dread to her lover she'll tell,
Who will spur on his steed o'er the rush-cover'd fen,
Lest he meet, in the twilight, the "Sprite of the Glen!"

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