solemn one-with the subdued strength consonant with such a moumful theme."

"And he did so support his part, Elia, in my thinking, at least."

Aye, that he did-sincerely playful with his children; truly loving to his wife; indignant without arrogance against Cromwell and Ireton; grieved at heart for his devoted subjects dead; till, concentrating in that last long loving look at his Queen all the subdued passion of his splendid suffering, he stepped forth to the block with a spirit that was King still over the souls of those that slew him.” "Then, with me, you think him an actor?"

"A great actor."

"And the Queen?"

"Full of rich promise. She hath both passion and pathos. Aye! I could not but sob when she spoke to her children of the King's going away for 'a long, long time,' and with what a royal scorn she withered Cromwell at the last !"

"And what think you of him?"

"Too much of a foil mayhap; but I hear Mr. B is a comic actor, so we must excuse your poet for making his Cromwell look more the fool than he was."

This much of a dramatic epistle to my good old friend Sylvanus. Adieu !

LOVE AND DEATH.

RAST seen how flow'rets seem to turn

Their sweetness from the questing bee,
Who bursts with gentle force the urn
And sets the prisoned nectar free?
So I compelled her lips to learn.

The tribute that they owed to me.
Hast seen the water-lily lay

Her fair face on the river's breast,
And closing in the sun's last ray
Softly subside into her rest?
So in my arms she swooned away

With joy to hear my love confessed.

Hast heard the lark at break of light
When spirit-like from earth he sprung
And from the scarce-disperséd night
An affluence of music flung?

So, in the newness of delight,

Seemed the soft accents of her tongue.

Hast seen how Autumn's jessamine clings
With delicate paleness to her wall,
While every blast that passes brings
Some treasured blossom to its fall?
So, deeply shadowed by death's wings,
Her weakness clung to me through all.

Hast ever fancied what might be
Sweet music's saddest miracle,
That triumph of wild minstrelsy,
The dying swan's melodious spell?
So sad, so sweet, so strange to me
Came the faint tones of her farewell.

Hast seen, where snow-wreaths melt away,
How green appears the turf below?

So, should my sorrow yield one day
To mellowing time as doth the snow,
Her memory's greenness will betray
How deep the drift that made it so.

G. H. J.

THE DEAD STRANGER.

TRANSLATED from the GERMAN OF ZSCHOKKE.
BY THE REV, B. W. SAVILE, M.A.

CHAPTER IV.

HE following evening there was to be the first customary winter party at Herr Bantes' house. "Winter party" was the name given in Herbesheim for what is called in other places soirées, tea-parties, &c. The principal families of the little town took turns to invite every week a small circle of friends, and to spend the long evening cheerfully and merrily, with music, singing, and games of different kinds—but I must in passant remark that cards never formed a part of such amusements, although this is so commonly the miserable refuge of people who can find in rational and cheerful conversation no resource against slander or ennui.

But on this evening music and singing and games were out of the question: it was the first time the circle had met for the winter; there was much to talk of, and as it was only three days to Advent Sunday, it may naturally be supposed that the Dead Stranger formed the principal topic of conversation. The young ladies tossed their heads, and pretended great incredulity: several rejoiced at having no lover, when perhaps after Advent they would not have been so scornful ; in others, the heart beat quick at the thought perhaps of one to whom that heart belonged. The elder married ladies, after mature consideration, were tolerably well agreed that the story of the Dead Stranger might not be entirely without some foundation. The young men were all without exception sceptical: some wished the Dead Stranger would really come, and try their courage: two elderly gentlemen held up their finger, and warned the young boasters to beware, in which they were joined by one or two of the ladies; and the whole gave rise to many witticisms, much bantering, and much laughter.

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But," cried Herr Bantes, with a droll smile of pretended indignation, "what sort of entertainment for my company is this? Wherever I show my face I hear of nothing but the Dead Stranger; right and left, the Dead Stranger: is that a fitting amusement for my living

Give me something more lively. No corner

friends? Away, I say.
gossip, no whispering about the dead.”

"I am of the same opinion," said the Commissioner of Excise. "Rather let us have the commonest game of forfeits! If Herbesheim had no more to fear from living strangers than from the centenary visit of this Dead Stranger, we might be pretty sure the heads of our young beauties would never be turned."

know how this absurd story first "The tradition is as fleshless as a

"I must say I should like to originated," said a young lawyer. skeleton; no more circumstantial details are known of it than might be collected out of an old song or ballad for which, by the bye, it is just fitted."

"Quite the contrary," said Waldrich. "The tradition of the Dead Stranger, as it was formerly known, and as I have heard it narrated by an old huntsman in my childhood, is only too long and too wearisome for our days: and that is the reason it has been forgotten, and rightly so."

"How! do you know the story?" was the eager query from several. of the company.

"I have an obscure recollection of it," replied Waldrich.

"Oh! you must tell us," cried all the young ladies, and pressed round him with urgent entreaties. "Pray, pray tell us."

Excuses, resistance, were all in vain. The gentlemen seconded the ladies' petition. The chairs were formed into a circle. Waldrich, willingly or unwillingly, was obliged to conform, and give the details of the story, as he had received them from the old huntsman. He put the story together, to afford the party some amusement, in the best manner he could on the spur of the moment, and thus began the tale of

THE DEAD VISITANT OF HERBESHEIM.

It is upwards of two hundred years ago that "The Thirty Years' War" commenced, and that the Elector Palatine Frederick placed on his head the kingly crown of Bohemia. However, the Emperor and the Elector of Bavaria, at the head of all the Catholics in Germany, put themselves in motion to reconquer the crown. The great and decisive battle at the White Mountain, close to Prague, was fought. The Elector Frederick lost both battle and crown. The news flew from mouth to mouth throughout Germany with the rapidity of lightning. All the Roman Catholic States exulted at the overthrow of the unfortunate Frederick, who had been only a few months in possession of his throne, and who for that reason was called in derision "The Winter

King." It was known that he had fied from Prague in disguise, accompanied by a very small suite.

All this was well known to our ancestors in Herbesheim two hundred years ago. They delighted in gossip and newsmongering then just as much as we, their worthy descendants, do now; they were, moreover, I dare not say more religious, but more fanatical and superstitious. Their joy at the defeat and flight of the Winter King was as extravagant and even more uproarious than our rejoicing some years ago over the fall and flight of the Emperor Napoleon.

About that time three fair damsels were sitting together, and talking over the history of the Winter King. They were all three dear friends, and all three had an affianced bridegroom-that is to say, each had her own peculiar lover otherwise they would not long have been friends. The first was Francesca, the third Cecilia.

called Veronica, the second

"This heretic King ought not to be suffered to escape from Germany!" said Veronica; "as long as he lives the monster of Lutheranism will live, and not cease to pour forth ruin and misery."

"Aye, indeed," cried Francesca; "and whoever gives him his death-blow may justly consider himself entitled to a noble reward from the Emperor, the Elector of Bavaria, the Holy Church, and the Pope; nay, more, may deem himself sure of heaven."

"I do wish," suggested Cecilia, "that he would come into our town. Oh! how I wish it! he should surely perish by the hand of my Adolf, who would at least receive an earldom as his recompense.”

"It may become a question," said Veronica, "whether your Adolf could ever make you a countess, for he has scarce courage enough for such an heroic deed; but if I did but give him the slightest hint, my Kaspar would take sword in hand and strike the Winter King to the heart. And where would be your earldom then?”

"Let neither of you boast so proudly," said Francesca; "my Ernst is the best man of the three. Has he not already served in the wars as captain? and if I did but order him to cut down the Great Turk on his throne he would make the attempt. Let neither of you set your hearts too much on the title of countess."

While these young girls were thus squabbling for the imaginary title, there was heard a violent tramping of horses, galloping from the gate through the street. All three flew to the window. But the weather without was dreadful, the rain poured down in torrents from every roof and every shoot into the street, a storm of wind was blowing, and driving the floods of rain against the houses and windows.