which resembled perfectly the spinster, in whose honour they moved the nightly bridal-dance. Next day the whole town was filled with mourning; for all the damsels whose shadows were seen dancing with the spectres, had died suddenly. The same thing happened again the following night. The dancing skeletons turned before the houses, and wherever they had been, there was, next morning, a dead bride lying on the bier.

The citizens were determined no longer to expose their daughters and mistresses to such an imminent danger. They threatened the mayor to carry Emma away by force and to lead her to Wido, unless the mayor would permit their union to be celebrated before the beginning of the night. The choice was a difficult one, for the mayor disliked the one just as much as the other; but as he found himself in the uncommon situation, where a man may choose with perfect freedom, he, as a free being, declared freely his Emma to be Wido's bride.

Long before the spectre-hour the guests sat at the wedding-table. The first stroke of the bell sounded, and immediately the favourite tune of the well-known bridal-dance was heard. The guests, frightened to death, and fearing the spell might still continue to work, hastened to the windows, and beheld the bag-piper, followed by a long row of figures in white shrouds, moving to the wedding-house. He remained at the door and played; but the procession went on slowly, and proceeded even to the festive hall. Here the strange pale guests rubbed their eyes, and looked about them full of astonishment, like sleep walkers just awakened. The wedding guests fled behind the chairs and tables; but soon the cheeks of the phantoms began to colour, their white lips became blooming like young rose-buds; they gazed at each other full of wonder and joy, and wellknown voices called friendly names. They were soon known as revived corp

ses, now blooming in all the brightness of youth and health: and who should they be but the brides, whose sudden death had filled the whole town with mourning, and who, now recovered from their enchanted slumber, had been led by Master Willibald with his magic pipe, out of their graves to the merry wedding-feast. The wonderful old man blew a last and cheerful farewell tune, and disappeared. He was never seen again.

Wido was of opinion, the bag-piper was no other than the famous Spirit of the Silesian Mountains. The young painter met him once when he travelled through the hills, and acquired (he never knew how) his favour. He promised the youth to assist him in his love-suit, and he kept his word, although after his own jesting fashion.

Wido remained all his life-time a favourite with the Spirit of the Mountains. He grew rich, and became celebrated. His dear Emma brought him every year a handsome child, his pictures were sought after even in Italy and England; and the "Dance of the Dead," of which Basil, Antwerp, Dresden, Lubeck, and many other places boast, are only copies or imitations of Wido's original painting, which he had executed in memory of the real "Dance of the Dead at Neisse!" But, alas! this picture is lost, and no collector of paintings has yet been able to discover it, for the gratification of the cognoscenti, and the benefit of the history of the art.

The above entertaining tale we have extracted from a very clever periodical work, colled" The Literary Magnet.""

The Spirit of the Silesian Mountains, plays a great part in the German Popular Tales. He always appears full of mirth and whims. The people know him best by his nickname Rubezahl, the turnip counter. The accident which gave rise to this nickname, has been related in a masterly manner in "Musäus's German Popular Tales," which will be given in the ensuing pages of our work.

winter's hoary frost-and cheerless the bosom of him doom'd to wander along the lone path in such a night as this." “—Turn thee, pilgrim! and bend thy step to Rhuddlan's ruined walls, where thou mayst, undisturbed, waste the gloomy night, and take the morning to enjoy the road.”

"Pious hermit! knowst thou not, from dusky eve until return of morn, that tortured spirits in yon castle rove? E'en now, the blood runs chill in my veins, while I do think on what I've seen. Such groans have met my ears -such sights my eyes-and screams and riotous laughs mingled with the winds that whistled through the broken arches of the courts-e'en now, the sweat of terror dews my brow, and languid beats my heart.

"Say, didst thou penetrate the

יי: hall

"I did; and, on the hearth, light some dried leaves to warm my shrivering frame. I spread my wallet's fare upon the ground with joyful heart, began to merry make-but angry spirits broke upon my glee, and fearful noises hailed my livid cheek. Instantly I dropped upon my trembling knee, and told my beads; but the screams increased-a ray of flame shot through the room, and before me stood a warrior in complete armour clad-his casque was down, and above his brow there waved a bloodred plume. No word he spake, but looked upon me with earnestness; his eye was as the sloe, black-as the basilisk's fascinating his cheek was wan and deathlike. I wonld have fled, but my feet seemed chained to the ground, and my heart feared to beat against my bosom. At this moment I heard a female voice, that loudly sounded in the hall.

"I come, Erilda," cried the redplumed knight; and instantly vanished. Again were the screams repeated; and showers of blood fell upon the marble flooring on which I stood.-My veins were filled with icicles from my heart; but, rendered desperate by fear, in the midst of the most horrible howlings, I

flew; and the expiring embers of my fire casting a faint light, guided me along the courts, through which I darted with the rapidity of lightning. Venerable hermit, again I dare not trust myself in Rhuddlan's walls. I have opposed my bosom to the Saxon's sword, and never trembled; I have braved dangers for my country, and was never known to tremble;-but I dare not face the spirits of the angry Clwyd." The hermit smiled.

"Thou seest yon rock, which, threatening, hangs above the riverwhich, slowly rippling along, now laves against its broken sides. In the bosom of that rock, I dwell. Peace is its inmate. My cell is humble, but hospitable; and in its lap the weary pilgrim has often found repose. Rest thou with me this night to share it, friend, and eke my frugal meal."

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Holy father with joy I follow you; hunger and fatigue sore oppress me; and my wearied limbs almost refuse their wonted office."

The venerable hermit conducted the wearied pilgrim to his cell, which was clean-his meal was wholesome. The pilgrim ate of the frugal repast; and a chrystal water, springing from the rock, was the beverage on which the man of piety regaled. This was proffered in a rudely carved wooden bowl to his guest, who drank, and felt relieved. He now drew his stool near the hearth, on which the faggot blazed; and the hermit, to beguile the moments, and remove the fear which occupied his companion's breast, thus related of the Knight of the Blood-red Plume and the fair Erilda.

High on the walls of Rhuddlan waved the black flag of death-loud the bell of the neighbouring priory tolled the solemn knell, which every vale re-echoed round, and the sad response floated to the ear through every passing gale.The monks, in solemn voice, sung a mass for the everlasting repose of the deceased—a thousand tapers illumined the chapel-and bounteously was the dole distributed to the surrounding poor.

The evening blast was keen-the grey mist circled the mountain's craggy brow -and thin flakes of snow beat in the traveller's face, while cold and shivering airs wafted his cloak aside. Sir Rhyswick the Hardy heard, as he advanced, the echo of the distant bell; and spurring his mettled steed, with heart harbouring many fears, pursued his course fleetly through the forest.

"Use speed, Sir Knight!" cried a voice in his ear. "Egberta dies!" Rhyswiek turned pale.

"Egberta's bosom's cold;" continued the voice," and vain will be your sighs."

The Knight in dismay checked his horse, and inclined his head to whence he thought the sound proceeded; but nothing met his eye; all was vacant before him, and only the quivering bough, fanned by the breeze, was heard. Rather alarmed, he set spurs to the sides of his steed-still the snow was drifted in his face. Night was now ushered to the heavens, and it was with difficulty he could maintain the path that branched through the forest. The web-winged bat brushed by his ear in her circular flight; and the ominous screech-owl, straining her throat, proclaimed the dissolution of the deceased.

Sir Rhyswick heaved a sigh; a melancholy thought, stole across his brain, and, arriving at the banks of the Clwyd, he beheld, with trembling, the many tapers in the priory of Rhuddlan, and heard more distinctly the solemn bell.

"Egberta is no more," cried the voice that had before accosted him; "Egberta is in Heaven.”

The Knight turned round; but, beholding no one, and agonized by the prediction, again he roused his steed, and flew, pale and breathless to the castle. He blew the loud horn suspended at the gate of Twr Silod, the strong tower which stands upon the banks of the river: and the loud blast echoing in the courts, aroused the ominous bird that had alighted on its battlements, who, flapping her heavy wings, resumed her

flight, uttering a wild, discordant scream, The portal was opened to receive him ; and Sir Rhyswick entered through a long range of vassals, habited in mournful weeds.

"Is the prediction true, then?" he exclaimed: and, rushing to the apartment of Egberta, found her cold and breathless. The colour that once adorned her cheek was faded-her eyes were shrouded-and her lips became more pale, from which the last breath had so lately issued. A serene smile mantled her countenance-her locks were carefully bound in rose-bands-her corpse was prepared for the earth-and two monks sat on each side of her, offering up their holy prayers for her repose. Sir Rhyswick, overcome by this unexpected sight, with a groan, fainted upon the couch. Some servants that had attended him from the hall, conveyed him in a state of insensibility to his chamber; and, the next day, the virtuous Egberta was deposited in the chapel of the castle. Maidens strewed the path with flowers, along which their sainted lady was borne; and some monks from the neighbouring priory sung a solemn dirge over her— bare-headed and with their arms crossed upon their bosoms. The fair Erilda with her own hands decked the person of her mother with flowers; and those flowers were moist with a daughter's tears. A requiem, chaunted by the monks, and in which the maiden joined, closed the ceremony; and Erilda, with oppressed heart, returned to the castle.

Sir Rhyswick, whose grief would not permit him to attend the funeral rites, pressed the affectionate girl to his bosom; and they sought mutual consolation in each other.

Rhyswick the Hardy was the friena and favourite of his prince; he had fought in all the wars of his country, since the first moment he could hurl the spear-victory had always attended his arms; but now, his beard was silvered with age-peace was restored to the land, and he had hoped, at Rhuddlan, in the bosom of his Eg

berta, to pass away his few remaining years. Bliddyn ap Cynvyn had united in himself by conquest, the sovereignty of Gwynedd, or North Wales, with Powys and thus had terminated a war that had long threatened destruction to either nation. With pleasure did Wales observe her implacable enemy, the English, struggling to overcome a foreign foe-bloody were the battles fought with William of Normandy, surnamed the Bastard; and, with secret satisfaction, did Bliddyn ap Cynvyn, a silent spectator, see either army reduced and weakened in the sanguinary contest. Sir Rhyswick had by his beloved Egberta, (from whose fond arms the war had often torn him, and who, in his last absence, being attacked by a sudden and violent illness, in a few days expired,) one only daughter. To Erilda he now looked forward for future happiness. She was beautiful as the morn-roseate health sat upon her smiling cheek-meekness and charity in her lustre-beaming eye-her teeth were as so many snow-drops, regularly even-her breath, like the dewed rose-bud, of glowing fragrance-A dimple revelled playfully near her mouth and the rich ringlets of her yellow hair floated carelessly on her fine curved shoulders. Upon her snowy breasts she wore a ruby cross, suspended by a gold chain-and down her taper limbs the dazzling folds of her white garments flowed. Erilda was not more beautiful in person than in mind; for, as lovely a bosom as ever nature formed, encased a heart enriched with every virtue. She was the subject of universal admiration; all tongues were lavish in her praise, and many suitors came to ask her hand: but, though extremely sensitive, no one, as yet, claimed an interest in her heart: the warm shaft of love had not pierced her glowing veins; and gay and affable to all-reserved to few-she preserved that freedom which the lover cannot retain. The loss of her mother imparted a melancholy to her cheek, that rendered her far more lovely. Sir Rhys

wick indulged in grief, and the castle was one scene of mourning. On the brow of the rock, that o'erlooks the angry Clwyd, which rolls beneath, the poorer vassals and dependents of Rhuddlan, every evening came to receive the bounty of their young mistress. It was these excavations in the rock that echoed the soft plaintive notes of her melodious harp.-On this rock she sung, and the spirits of the murmuring river were charmed, as they lay in their oozy bed, with the soft pleasing strains -the billows ceased to roll in admiration, and Zephyrus drew back his head, in mute attention to the rapturous lay.

Once, when the return of twilight was announced in the heavens, by the rich crimson streaks and blushing gold that occupied the vast expanse of sky, and Erilda accompanied with her voice the trembling harp, a warrior Knight, mounted on a barbed steed, in sable armour clad, with a Blood-red Plume waving on his brow, approached the spot from whene the sound proceeded. Erilda, on hearing the advance of horses' feet, turned hastily around; and, with modest courtesy, welcomed the Knight, who had thus obtruded on her privacy. There was a something in his gait and appearance that struck her with awe: and the unknown, dismounting from his steed, occupied a seat beside her. Again she struck upon the trembling chords, with fearful hand. The stranger sighed, as he gazed upon her; and, when her eye met his, she withdrew it, blushing, on the ground. The shade of night approached, and misty fogs obscured the starry sky.

"Sir Knight," she cried, with a courteous smile, while an unusual palpitation thrilled through her heart, of admiration mingled with fear, "Rhuddlan's hospitable walls are ready to receive you; and no warrior passes her warlike towers, without partaking and acknowledging the munificence of Rhyswick the Hardy."

"Fair lady!" replied the unknown, "the hospitality of the gallant chief