as he had before conceived that he was riding at a gallop when Nicolaus was innocent of everything save and except the jog-trot before mentioned, so he now thought that he was enjoying a very pleasant lady-like canter, when in truth he was as immovable as his majesty of Charing Cross. After riding on for some time at the rate of no miles an hour, he fell asleep, and a little after, as an almost necessary consequence, fell from his saddle. His fall, however, was broken by a bed of nettles, which seemed to have grown there for his especial accommodation; but he was not so grateful as he should have been, for he threw away some very choice German to anathematize them. To be sure he had lost his money, a circumstance which seldom tends to sweeten a man's temper or to put him in good humour; but what then? Had he fallen direct to the ground he might have broken an arm, or leg, aye, or even his neck, whereas he was now only stung all over his face and hands, and ought to have returned thanks to the Virgin that it was no worse. Were all mankind to act upon this suggestion there would not be a single unhappy person living. The criminal sentenced to a short imprisonment would bless his stars and feel happy that it was not a long one; the convict ordered for transportation might console himself with the idea that it was better than being hanged; and the man who should be doomed "longam literam facere," or, in plain terms, who had received a promise of being hanged, might still be delighted in thinking how far preferable it is to burning. It is bad policy to fancy our own ills greater than those of others, for in proportion as we magnify the evils of life, we increase our imaginary sufferings in enduring them. But to return to Karl; he left his master's horse to amuse himself as he might think fit, placed himself under a tree, and in a minute more was fast asleep. Nicolaus, who, to do him justice, was not always insensible to the force of good example, deliberately walked to a spot opposite Karl's resting place, laid himself down, and, after a few pre

liminary nods, imitated his master to the life.

Karl had been but a short time asleep, when confused and crowded dreams of what had lately happened disturbed his repose. The dark stranger whom he met at the inn was the principal actor in the somnambulatory drama that was going on. Karl beheld and heard him with shuddering and with horror, although, when superstition was out of the case, he had little fear in his composition, as was manifested on various occasions when his high spirit seemed to take but one leap from his heart to his fist, to knock those down from whom he considered he had received an affront. He got his first rudiments, however, of supersti tious lore from his nurse, and the old cook at his master's completed his education in that particular branch. The devil was generally the hero of most of her stories, and, to speak disinterestedly, she scarcely gave him his due. Nothing was done, however diabolical, that was not immediately put down to his account; and she often found afterwards, that what she had attributed to him had been committed by persons who had passed in the world. as pious and God-fearing characters.. The ghost stories that he heard had their effect upon Karl in no ordinary degree, and imbued him with all the visionary and romantic ideas that often lead youth into error, but at the same time throw a charm over that period of life

When hearts have not a dream of sorrow,
And thought scarce ventures to the morrow,
But takes its light and tripping way.
Through all the pleasures of to-day.

He suddenly awoke from his slumbers, and found Nicolaus standing close beside him. The bright tints of day were departing, and twilight was scattering her rose-hues over the cloudless face of heaven. Tranquillity reigned the goddess of the scene, and the winds and the birds and the waters paid her their silent homage.

Karl had not rested sufficiently to maintain his equilibrium with any certainty, but he mounted his steed with a determination of proceeding as quickly

1

the light of a joke. As the stranger entered more fully into conversation, Karl's fears by degrees began to abate; but he could not help now and then giving a sly look under the black horse's belly, to see whether the other foot of the unknown rider corresponded with the one which he had a view of. But he had no opportunity of satisfying his curiosity, for if he ever slackened his pace that the other might go on before him, the stranger also pulled his rein and remained always close at his side. At length they came to a narrow pass, between two hills, where two horses could not go abreast, and Karl said to himself" Ha! ha! I have thee now, or the devil's in't !" He drew up that the stranger might pass on first, but he was too polite to take precedence, and Karl was obliged to go on. When he had gone about half-way through the narrow road, he turned to have a full view of the gentleman who had stood so much upon forms, but how great was his surprise to find that there was not a trace of him to be seen! "So, so, (cried Karl) this place did not tempt thee, thou arch-fiend! thou liked'st not to show thy cloven foot, and I give thee credit for having some shame left; though verily I am glad to be quit of thy visage!" When he came to the end of the pass, and was jogging on gaily, he nearly dropped from his saddle, at finding the dark rider, whom he fancied he had left behind, still by his side. "I mark thy surprise, (said he to Karl) but I saw when thou wert riding before me that thy horse had lost his tail, and out of compassion for the poor beast, hatred for the flies that annoy him, and respect for his rider, I went back, and by good fortune found it lying on the road. I have now (added he) great pleasure in restoring it uninjured." Saying this he presented it with a very creditable bow to Karl, who gazed on the tawny relic in utter astonishment. How Nicolaus had lost his tail he could by no means conjecture. He was, indeed, so amazed that he forgot to thank the stranger for his courtesy, at which the other appeared in no wise offended. "So, then (said Karl at

as it might please his pertinacious four-footed companion. He gave Nicolaus his head, who seemed to move along with no inconsiderable alacrity; indeed, at times his master was by no means too proud of his equestrian talent to prevent his occasionally resorting to the mane, which, although not perfectly jockey-like, possessed the advantage of keeping him in his saddle-no small consideration by the bye to a youth with only about onethird of his senses about him—the more so as no one was near to scrutinize his actions. Well, on he went, thinking of the pleasures that awaited him at Brunswick, and anticipating the kind welcome he should receive from his relatives and friends, when he was suddenly aroused from his waking dream by hearing the sound of a horse's hoofs close at his side. He turned his head, and was startled to find the same tall dark figure who had contrived to make him ride so much lighter, by ridding him of several supernumerary silver pieces at the inn, on a black steed, which exactly kept pace with his own animal. At the first moment, Karl thought of endeavouring to persuade Nicolaus to use his best speed, by a manful application of the whip; but when he considered the unyielding attributes of his stoical quadruped, he gave up the idea in despair. His alarm too was in some degree dissipated by the changed address of the stranger, who courteously wished him a good evening, and testified his delight at having a companion on so lonely a road. Though Karl was rather more assured, he by no means felt that the delight was mutual. "Curse the fellow! (thought the youth) it requires no great stretch of politeness to be civil to a person when you are riding with his money in your belt. I would that his raven-hided beast knew how to stumble and break the ill-favoured cheat's neck, or at least put out his collar-bone!" This charitable sentence, however, he deemed it quite as well not to give viva voce, for it struck him forcibly that it might not be considered by his fellow-traveller in

last) I am on a tailless horse! It is well that it will be dark by the time I come to my journey's end, or I should be followed through the street as if I were an imp of the dev-" he stopped short in his speech, for he perceived that he had committed himself, as his companion seemed not at all to relish the insinuation. He turned, however, with renewed good humour to Karl, and said: "Come, come, thy case is not so hopeless. Thou shalt not be on the back of an imperfect animal. Give me the tail, and pledge me thy word that thou wilt look straight forward, and not once cast thine eyes backward to make thy remarks on my proceedings, and I 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 again repaired!" Karl did as he was requested, and the tail was 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 time it occurred to him that a pipe would be no bad thing; but when he had filled it, found to his mortification that he had lost his flint, and began railing in good set terms at his own carelessness and indiscretion.

"De

spair 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 villainous smack

not

of sulphur in the only whiff that he took. He had a very certain presentiment that his companion had 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 black-art-practising fellowtraveller. 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 before-hand 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 on the next morning; but the jeweler (unbelieving 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.

A

LITTLE longer, yet a little longer let us tarry in this secluded burial-ground. The sun's golden rim touches not yet the line of that bright horizon. Not yet have the small birds betaken themselves to their leafy homes, nor the bees to their hives, nor the wild rabbits to their burrows on the heath. Not yet, sailing like a soft fleecy cloud through the grey depths of twilight, hath the lightshunning owl ventured abroad on her wide winnowing vans, nor is the bat come forth, cleaving the dewy air with his eccentric circles. Tarry a little longer, even till the moon, that pale, dull, silvery orb, shines out uneclipsed by the glories of her effulgent brother. Then, will her tender light, glancing in between those ancient oaks, sleep sweetly on the green graves, and partially illumine that south-east angle of the Church Tower, and those two long narrow windows. And then will our walk homeward be delightful-far more so than in the warm glow of sunset. For then, every bank and hedgerow will be glittering with dew in the pale silvery light, and every fern leaf will be a diamond spray, and every blade of grass a crystal spear; and sparks of living fire will tremble on them, and glance out with their emerald rays from between the broad leaves of the coltsfoot and the arum. And then the wild honeysuckles, (our hedgerows are full of them,) will exhale such sweets as I would not exchange for all the odours of the gardens of Damascus; or if we go home by the heath track, the wild thyme, and the widows-wail, will enrich the air with their aromatic fragrance. On such a night as this will be, I never unreluctantly re-enter the formal dwell

ings of man, or resign myself to obliv ious slumbers. Methinks, how exquisite it would be, to revel like a creature of the elements the long night through in the broad flood of moonshine! To pass from space to space with the fleetness of thought, "putting a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes," or to skim silently along, on the stealthy moonbeams, to lonely places, where wells of water gush up in secret, where the wild deer come fearlessly to drink, where the halycon rears her young, and the water lily floats like a fairy ship, unseen by human eye-and so, admitted to nature's sanctuary, blending as it were in essence with its pervading soul of rapturous repose-to be abstracted for a while from dull realities, the thoughts and cares of earth, that clog the unextinguishable spirit with their dense vapours, and intercept its higher aspirations-what living soul, conscious of its divine origin, and of its immortal destination, but must at times feel weary of this probationary state, impatient of the conditions of its human nature, and of bondage in its earthly tabernacle! What living soul that has proved the vanity of all sublunary things, but has at times aspirated with the royal Psalmist, "O that I had wings like a dove, for then would I flee away and be at rest!"

Hark!--there's a stir near us-a stir of footsteps, and of human voices. It proceeds from within the Church, and see, the porch doors are ajar, and also that low-arched door-way opening into the belfry. Those steps are ascending its dark narrow stair, and then

hark again! from within, a low dull creaking sound, and then-one long, deep startling toll-another, ere the

echoes of the first have died away over the distant woods. That sound is the summons of the grave. Some neighbouring peasant is borne to-night to his long home, and see, as we turn this angle of the church, there beside that broad old maple, is a fresh-opened grave. The dark cavity is covered in by two boards laid loosely over, but it will not be long untenanted. Let us look abroad for the approaching funeral, for by the tolling of the bell, it must be already within sight. It comes not up that shady lane-no, nor by the broad heath road, from the further hamlet-nor from the direction of the Grange Farm-but there-ah !—there it is, and close at hand, emerging from that little shrubby hollow, through which the road dips to the near village of Down. Is it not a beautiful thing to gaze on, in this lovely secluded spot, by the light of that yellow sunset, the mellow hue of which falls with such a rich yet tempered brightness on the white draperies of those foremost in the procession?

It is a maiden's funeral, that probably, of some young person; for see, the pall is borne by six girls, each shrouded like a nun in her long white flowing hood, and in lieu of the black pall, a white sheet is flung over the coffin. The lower classes are very tenacious of those distinctive observances, and many a young creature I have known, whose delight it seemed, during the last stages of some lingering malady, to arrange everything for her own burial. The fashion of her shroud, and the flowers they should strew over her in the coffin-the friends who should follow her to the grave, and the six of her young companions to be selected for her pall-bearers. Almost the very poorest contrive, on such occasions, what they call a creditable burying"- -even to the coarse refreshments distributed among the funeral guests. Poor souls!-long and sorely do they pinch for it, in their own few comforts, and in their scanty meals but the self-inflicted privation is unrepiningly endured, and who would take upon him, if it were possible, to restrain that holy and natural impulse, to honour the memory of the dead? See!

-the train lengthens into sight as it winds up the ascent from that wild dingle. The bearers and their insensible burthen are already near, and there follow the female mourners foremost. Ah! I know now for whom that bell tolls-for whom that grave is prepared-whose remains are there borne along to their last resting-place. Close behind the coffin comes a solitary mourner-solitary in her grief, and yet she bears in her arms a helpless innocent, whose loss is even more deplorable than hers. That poor old woman is the widowed mother of Rachel Maythorne, whose corpse she is following to the grave, and that unconscious baby who stretches out its little hands with laughing glee towards the white drapery of the coffin, is the desolate orphan of her only childAlas! of its unwedded mother.-A dark and foul offence lies at his door, who seduced that simple creature from the paths of innocence! A few words will tell her story, but let us stop till the funeral train has passed on into the church, from which the minister now advances to meet it. That poor childless mother! with what rapid strides have age and infirmities overtaken her, since we saw her this time twelve. month, holding open that very gate for the farmer's prosperous family, and following them into church with contented humility, accompanied by her duteous Rachel. Then, she was still a comely matron, looking cheerful in her poverty, and strong to labour. Now, how bent down with age and feebleness does that poor frame appear! The burthen of the little infant is one she can ill sustain, but to whom would she resign the precious charge? She has contrived a black frock for the little creature-probably from her own old gown-her widow's gown, for she herself has on no mourning garment, only an old rusty black willow bonnet, with a little crape about it of still browner hue, and a large black cotton shawl, with which she has covered over, as nearly as possible, that dark linen gown. She holds up no handkerchief to her eyes, with the idle parade of ceremonial woe, but her face is bent down over the baby's bosom,