disgusting countenance, clothed in a suit of yellow leather, cut so as to fit the exact form of his body; a single feather in his hat, and a long rapier, completed the habiliments of this singular personage, whose large mouth, extended by laughter, did not add any beauty to his unprepossessing appearance. He did not notice the approach of Theodore, who addressed him thus:-" Stranger, whoe'er thou art, do not refuse an unfortunate wretch a shelter under your roof, whilst the rain continues; but" he added, seeing the stranger made no answer, "if my presence pleases thee not, I will depart." The little man made no response, except by a long and hoarse laugh. Theodore's cheeks were flushed with anger, but, checking himself, he again addressed the stranger, who still continued laughing," Judging by your humour that you will not refuse my boon, I remain, and, by the same reason, may I request to know the cause of your mirth." He of the yellow coat and long sword, again laughed, when Theodore, not able to contain any longer his temper at this fresh insult, drew his sword.

"This will check thy untimely mirth," he said, making a pass at the little man, who now rose from his seat, and exhaling his long rapier, parried in that style which plainly showed that he was perfect master of fence. The combat was not long, for Von Lindenstein, blinded by rage, partly occasioned by his recent loss at the gaming table, as well as the insults of the stranger, was no match for the cool intrepidity of his antagonist, who, parrying a thrust made at him by Theodore, hit his sword out of his hand with such force, that the weapon striking against the wall, bounded out of the window.

The man in yellow now swelled to an enormous size, whilst, in a loud voice, he shouted, Thou art in my power,-but go-thy time is not yet come; remember the words you uttered as you parted from the students at the gaming houseremember!" He had scarcely finished these mysterious words, when the house was filled with a noxious vapour, in which the stranger vanished. Theodore, now conscious that his late antagonist was the arch fiend himself, rushed with all the wildness of a maniac from the house, which instantly fell to the ground, and proceeded to his lodging.

The night following, Theodore was seen walking in the di

‣rection of the rendezvous of the gamblers ;-he stopped before the door in hesitation. "Was it a dream," said he-" the working of my imagination, or a reality?" Thou art in my #power; remember the words you uttered as you left the students.' Thus it spoke-could it be a shadow?" At this & moment he was interrupted by the approach of two of the students, who were of the last night's party. * Ah, Theodore," said one, "thou hast lost thy usual luck-had heavy losses last night; but cheer up, man, by another throw, you may recover all ;" and, taking the unwilling Theodore by the arm, with the assistance of his companion, hurried him to the house.

The night was far advanced, when Theodore, by a succession of lucky throws, had more than regained that which he had lost the night preceding. In the hilarity occasioned by his fortune, he had forgot his vow, never to play again, when the great bell of the university tolled the hour of midnight ; suddenly a loud knocking at the door announced a visitor, and a man of a small stature, enveloped in a dark cloak, was ushered into the room where they were still playing: he spake not a word, but, to the astonishment of the gamblers, his form, which had before been remarkably small, now dilated to a superhuman and unnatural size. A universal shudder overcame the company, who had till then been all noise and rioting silence reigned throughout-none could account for the mysterious visit of the still more mysterious stranger. Theodore, however, knew, him, and his mission. The demon, -for he it was-approached Theodore, and said, Theodore Von Lindenstein, thou art mine-mine for ever."His victim, conscious of his inevitable fate, and overcome with the horrors of his situation, sunk, exhausted into the arms of the fiend, who bore him from the house.

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66

From that night Theodore Von Lindenstein was never seen or heard of. G.S -N SH.

THE ALPINE ROBBER.

The mountain lifted in the noontide air-
Its summit, like a helm, bold, bright, and fair ;
Beneath it wound the wreath of forest oak;
Down its rent side a sparkling torrent broke,

That, winding in a silvery, serpent trail,

Gush'd through the heath and wild flowers, to the vale;
There lay at rest, its wild brief travel done,
Pure as a sheet of steel, beneath the sun.

Beside the pool, beneath the thicket's shade,
Were flung a bow, a lance, a Turkish blade,
And round and round a female seem'd to creep,
Like the sad watcher of some outlaw's sleep,
Then pause, fling back the tresses of her hair,
And strain, as if in agony, to hear.

What sleeps beneath the rock? The matted hair
Shows the gaunt face of famine and despair;
He sleeps, but though his leaden eyelids close,
His is the slumber that is not repose.
Better the wildest waking agony,

Than that deep groan, that struggling stifled cry;
And she, that by him drags her life away,
Stands at his bidding, to be slain or slay.
Alike, the fellow outcasts, crime and doom,
That spot alike of both the den and tomb.
Again she treads the robber's pillow round,
Listens again-the world gives back no sound;
She gazes on the sleeper with a smile,
But is that flush the hue of love, or guile?
She pauses-draws a poignard from her robe-
Shall it her own, or that dark bosom probe?
She lifts the knife-But see, a sudden flash;

Shot comes on shot; two bloodhounds downwards dash;
Loud winds the horn-not such the sounds that cheer
The gallant chasers of the mountain deer;

Their chase is man, the bloodhounds stand at bay,
Through copse and fen the hunters burst their way;
They reach the lake-the cave; what find they there?
Ashes and blood, the human tiger's lair,
The wreck of ancient spoil, the broken sword,
The corslet that the robber's bullet bored.
All else is gone, and, hark, upon the hill
A shout, a laugh, that makes the senses thrill,
There stands the robber at their utmost ken,
Taunting their toils-their worthless prize his den!

POLLIO.

Unpriz' are her sons till they've learned to betray;
Undistinguished they live if they shame not their gires;
And the torch that should light them through dignity's way,
Must be caught from the pile where their country expires.

Moore

On the banks of the clear yet rapid river Lee, in the midst of scenery truly sublime,-of craggy mountains, whose lofty summits cleave the skies in a thousand different, and, at the same time, beautiful shapes,-of rocky cliffs, whose immense height strikes the beholder with awe,-of mountain lakes, whose calm and unruffled surfaces are blackened by the shade of the surrounding craggs,-of scenery, in fine, which unites all that is grand and sublime with all that is picturesque and beautiful, stands the ancient castle of Carrigafoile. It has now fallen to ruin through neglect; but still bears evident marks of having been inhabited at no distant period. The situation of the building is strikingly beautiful: it stands upon a peninsula formed by a bend of the river, whose impetuous current nearly surrounds it, leaving only a small isthmus which connects it with the main land, and which appears to have been strongly fortified. The banks of the river, to a consi

derable distance on both sides, are crowned with woods of luxuriant growth, and the towering mountains form a grand back-ground to the picture. Such a scene cannot fail of arresting the gaze of the stranger who approaches it, and of recalling to his memory the days of yore, when the ruined building before him, now hushed in still serenity, re-echoed to the sounds of mirth and festivity; such, at least, were the effects it produced on my mind, when it burst upon my view

from the summit of a distant hill.

Anxious to know who had been the possessors of the building before me, and how it had come to its present ruinous condition, I sought the intelligence from some peasants who were at work in a field hard by.. They informed me that it had belonged to a branch of the O'Brien family, and that it had been deserted since the death of Donald O'Brien, the last possessor. The name struck me immediately; I knew that I had heard of him before, but where, I did not remember. On making some further inquiries, I was favored with his history; and, as it may prove interesting to some readers, I give it," without note or comment," as the circumstances were detailed to me.

"Descended from a noble family, which traced its origin from the illustrious Boru,- -a man equally famous as a conquerer and as a lawgiver,-Donald O'Brien came into the possession of his property at an early age, by the death of his father, who was killed by a fall from his horse, leaving him an only son. His family had always preserved the creed and the customs of their forefathers, in spite of the severity of persecution, and notwithstanding the loss of a considerable portion of their hereditary property. Still they retained the possession of a large tract of country, the inhabitants of which looked up to them as their only earthly support, and which enabled them to keep up the old Irish customs in all their primitive simplicity; and nowhere was the genuine Hibernian hospitality more eminently conspicuous than at the castle of Carrigafoile.

"Donald O'Brien did not discontinue these customs; bred up among Irishmen, he early conceived a strong affection for his country, and a predilection for her ancient usages; he hated her enemies, and eagerly wished to serve her; and it grieved him to think that those arbitrary and cruel laws, which, for his conscientious adherence to the religion of his ancestors,