me now! Let me look upon thy face, from the deception that the Prince had before I curse my God and die!" A cold hand was laid upon his temples: the pressure, though slight, sent an icy dart through his brain: he raised his eyes with a desperate effort from the earth. A female figure stood before him, her flowing white garments glistening like silver in the moon-beams: a glorious halo encircled her head; but her countenance, though exquisitely beautiful, was pale as the marble pillar against which she seemed to lean, and was marked by the deep traces of earthly passion, and earthly sorrow. Her large, lustrous, dark eyes gleamed with unnatural brilliancy, and were fixed with a triumphant expression on the horror-stricken features of her unhappy son. Ernest threw himself at her feet, and would have clasped her knees; but-the vision was unsubstantial air! A dark cloud floated before the moon, and the scene was involved in impenetrable dark- || ness. "The freshness of the coming morning calls me hence," said the voice, which now floated towards him from a distance, and seemed in the air above him. "I must obey the summons, and return to that place of woe whence thy arm alone can liberate me. Farewell, my son! Remember thy oath! Be firmwe shall meet again to-morrow!" 66 Stay! in mercy, stay!" cried the youth, rushing forward; but the sullen echoes of the vaulted pile alone answered him. The moon again burst förth: he gazed wildly round him-the beautiful vision had vanished, and the chapel appeared to swarm with demoniac spirits, who grinned upon him, and repeated, amidst shouts of laughter and hideous blasphemies, the horrible oath by which he had bound his soul. A dark mist floated before his eyes, as a dreadful consciousness of his awful situation rushed over his mind. He struggled for a few minutes with the ghastly dream; then, uttering a deep groan, he sank senseless on the stone that covered the earthly remains of his friend. * Their young favourite's exaltation was matter of public rejoicing to his father's vassals; and though the old domestics shook their heads, and augured no good practised against his lawful heir, that the son of the woman he had so madly loved might fill his place, yet every face wore a smile, and all hoped for the best.—Frederica Arnheim alone was sad. The sudden elevation of her lover had thrown an insurmountable barrier between them; and though she endeavoured to rejoice in his good fortune, her tears flowed unceasingly. She had not seen the Prince since the death of Father Augustine. He had not even sent her a line to bid her participate in his joy, and hope sickened under the withering influence of anxiety. It was towards the close of the day after the funeral, that the wretched girl, her mind oppressed with gloom, and full of dark forebodings, took her seat in the porch, and fixed her tearful eyes on the path that led to the castle, and which had often echoed to the bounding step of her lover. She had not long indulged in melancholy reflections, when the being who engrossed her thoughts suddenly stood before her. His cheek was deadly pale-his hair dishevelled—his eyes were bloodshot, and sunk in his head, yet constantly wandering from side to side, as in quest of some dreadful object. The wildness of delirium was in his unsettled glance; and, when it encountered the trembling and terrified Frederica, he burst into a phrenzied laugh. She shuddered, and turned from the frightful vehemence with which he regarded her. "Frederica!" he said, in a voice that seemed to echo from a sepulchre, " dost thou love me?" "Why that question, Ernest? Canst thou doubt the sincerity of my affection? Thou wast the rock on which I built all my hopes.-Oh, let me not find that I have founded them on sand !” "We raised them on a verdant plain covered with flowers," he whispered, in the same frightful tone; "but hell yawned beneath: the flowers lie died: the grass is withered; and we are both plunged into perdition!" "Ernest, thou art ill. The death of thy friend presses upon thy heart. I read it in thy countenance. Be of good cheer, my love! He is gone to a better world." 66 "I am too well, Frederica. My heart is pulseless, and my brain burns; but I am not mad. Look at me stedfastly!" "Alas! what meanest thou?" from its parent branch, and made the I Kiss me, dearest ! Nay, shrink not sport of every wind. I shall go hence from me. Am I already loathsome to like a shadow, and those who saw me in thee? Give me one more.-Another.- || my strength will rejoice in my fall.” Oh, I am happy now!" he exclaimed, sinking upon her bosom. "The die is cast-my fate is accomplished." "Ernest, thou frightenest me," returned the terrified girl-" sorrow has disordered thy reason. Thine eyes roll wildly-com- || pose thyself to sleep, my love! Hist!lie down on the couch within. I will sit beside thee, and sing thee to sleep." "Sleep, Frederica !—I cannot sleep.-|| Methinks I shall never sleep again! I have sworn an oath which I must seal with blood. Ha! ha! she comes-dost thou not see her? She would glide in between us--but I hold thee fast. Hark! dost thou not hear her whisper-Vengeance ?" His head sank over the knees of the agitated Frederica: his dark locks hid his face from her view; in their rich masses her tears hung like dew-drops on the bosom of night. For awhile no sound broke the silence round them, but her passionate weeping. Exhausted with the conflict of feeling, sleep was already descending upon the weary brow of the unhappy Prince, when a voice whispered near him, "Awake! The hour of vengeance draws nigh!" He started up-no object met his inquiring glance, but the tearful eyes of Frederica. "Didst thou not hear a voice call me ?" "No! no! my Ernest, thou wast dreaming!" "I thought I dreamt last night—but it was true that horrible vision floats still before me my brain maddens when I recal it. Frederica," he continued, with wild solemnity, "we must part for ever!" Oh, woe is me!" exclaimed the weeping girl, burying her face in her hands, “and can all thy vows of eternal love end in this? But why should I blame thee? I know thy present exalted station forbids thee to mate with an untitled and portionless girl like me." "Alas, Frederica! I am one whom an unrelenting destiny has early marked out for misery. This earth is no abiding place for me. Weep for me, my gentle girl, for I am like a leaf torn untimely "Thou speakest in riddles, Ernest; I cannot comprehend thee. Some dreadful secret presses on thy heart, and disturbs thy reason. Unburthen thy soul to me, || and we will gather consolation from each other." After a desperate mental struggle, the Prince revealed to his astonished and horror-stricken auditor the events of the preceding night. "Thou art labouring under some dreadful illusion," she said, when he had concluded his narration. "Thou must elude the strong temptation by which thou art assailed, by leaving, for a time, this spot." "But whither shall I go? all my hopes -all my apprehensions-centre here; without thee, life would be burthensome. I cannot leave Saxony !" "I will be the partner of thy flight-in some lonely and sequestered spot we will forget our past miseries, and live only for each other." "Repeat those blessed words!" exclaimed the Prince, starting up and seizing both her hands; "tell me that in spite of my birth of shame-my present forlorn condition-thou wilt indeed be mine-mine for ever!" "I will." "And when shall we fly?" "Meet me by the ruins of the old church on the hill by day-break. Under the great yew that shades the chancel window sleep the earthly remains of thy unhappy mother. Oh, believe not, Ernest, that she, who was all meekness whilst a sojourner here, would tempt thee to a deed like this! Some demon has assumed her form to lure thee to destruction." "But my oath?" replied the Prince, recoiling as though he had been stung by a serpent. "Is registered in heaven against thee !" said a voice near them. Frederica uttered an involuntary scream, and, bursting from the arms of her lover, proceeded, with desperate eagerness, to search the neighbouring thickets; but no living creature was visible. A sudden panic took possession of her senses: she turned her tearless and expanded eyes on the wan and convulsed countenance of her lover, but lofty brow, that was partially shaded by spoke not. "This is no illusion," he said; " that which I have sworn I must perform." "No! I charge thee, no!" exclaimed the agonised girl, kneeling franticly at his feet. "Leave this accursed spot to-morrow; and let the penalty of thy broken faith be visited on me!" "May the horrible doom I have invoked descend speedily on my head, if I suffer the vengeance of heaven to fall upon thee!" "I fear it not-my trust is in a merciful God, through whose aid I will fearlessly bid defiance to the powers of darkness. Let thy father live to repent, and fly tomorrow with me. It will be moonlight till six o'clock. We must not let the day break on our path till we are far from Saxe-Naurmburg." "My guardian angel! thou shalt guide me hence," cried the Prince, as a ray of hope once more darted through his breast. "Farewell! I will be punctual." She threw herself into his arms: he held her a moment to his heart, then tore himself away. clustering masses of raven hair, bore the impress of passions, whose fires, though extinguished, had left their indelible traces written there. He remembered his vow, and shrank from the arms that were opened to receive him. Leopold regarded him with an air of surprise. He had injured him; but still, from Father Augustine's report, he had anticipated that the youth would easily forget his wrongs in his present unexpected good fortune. "My son!" he exclaimed, " is it thus we meet? Hast thou no word of welcome to greet thy father?" "I am no hypocrite!" returned the youth sternly. "I owe you no affection, and cannot express emotions which I do not feel." A dark shade passed over the brow of his father, but it was more of sorrow than of anger, as, turning to a shrouded figure who sat leaning against the table, and who had escaped the observation of Ernest, he said-" Ladislaus! how much of his mother's spirit was in that speech!" The monk smiled sarcastically beneath his cowl. "It inhabits his father's body, then, your Highness. Methinks I behold || your youth renewed in this stripling." The Prince sighed heavily, and, turning towards his son, who was leaning against the wall with his arms folded, and his As he approached the castle, his mind seemed more at ease, and the heavy load that had burthened his spirit was removed. As he passed into the spacious hall, the old grey-headed seneschal would have detained him: but he rushed hastily past him, and entered the room which he gene-eyes bent on the ground, he said, “Ernest, rally had occupied with Father Augustine. It contained a noble library, and was adorned with many fine pictures of the Flemish school, and the portraits of his ancestors. The apartment was lighted up with unusual brilliancy, and a tall and majestic figure advanced to receive him. His gorgeous breastplate, gold chain, and crimson scarf richly embroidered, bespoke his high rank; and Ernest drew back as the conviction darted into his brain, that he stood before his father. There was such dignity in his deportment, and so much princely grandeur in his whole demeanour, that the youth, in despite of himself, felt a reverential awe fill his heart. He raised his eyes, and for a moment contemplated the noble features of the warrior's manly and energetic || countenance. Grief had subdued the fire of his dark and piercing eye; and the I have injured you! and it is with bitterness of spirit that I acknowledge my guilt. || God has heavily visited my transgression, by removing the innocent cause of it. Heaven has deprived me of one sonlet not your indignation render me childless." "Were I indeed your legitimate son," returned the youth fiercely, as the colour rushed in a burning flush to his hithertopale cheek, "as by this base subterfuge you would have me believe, I would scorn to acknowledge a father who for so many years deemed me unworthy to be his son. As the offspring of that unhappy lady who fell a victim to your base and heartless passion, I can behold with contempt the titles which you cannot lawfully offer me. For the life you gave me, I thank you not. Did I feel towards you the affection of a son, I should become a sharer in my mother's shame, and exalt myself upon my father's infamy." He turned away, and before the Prince into a chair, and covering his face with his hands, "this is the just reward of my evil deeds! Oh, Conscience! Conscience! could bar his passage, had left the apart-thou art roused at last. My son! my ment. "Fly, Ladislaus! overtake him! Tell him he labours under a frightful error! Convince him that I am, indeed, his father! by every sacred, by every holy tie! Oh God!" he continued, sinking son! I cannot, will not, lose my son!" The monk gazed on the consciencestricken Prince with a glance of cold contempt; then slowly left the apartment to execute his mandate. S. S. THE MARGRAVINE OF ANSPAC H.* Her mode of life at Anspach was generally regulated by the clock. The court assembled before dinner; they dined at three; at six the company retired till eight, when cards or conversation engaged || the time till supper was announced at ten. The Margravine, though her health did || not allow her to take exercise, or to enjoy amusements, always dressed for dinner. At this time, the first objects of the Margrave's delights were his magnificent studs of horses. On the death of the Margrave's father, about fifty cows, of a remarkably fine breed, fell into his possession; and Lady Elizabeth, at the Margrave's request, sent over to England to obtain recipes for the making of cheese of every sort. However, as the innovation did not happen to fall in with the taste of the people, the only advantage derived was that the Margrave had good cheese at his own table. Lady Elizabeth's penchant for theatricals now obtained full scope. An old and useless manége was speedily converted into a theatre; and, with the court orchestra, the performers of which were excellent, and the young nobility she selected to act, to sing, and to dance, with the assistance of the best machinist in Europe, the representations became lively and splendid, and afforded such pleasure to the Margravine, that she never missed a performance. Lady Elizabeth was chief manager; profound secrecy was observed; and thus, every new piece constituted an agreeable surprise. Every Thursday, she went to the theatre at ten, and at two the Margrave proceeded thither to take her away to return to Triesdorf to dine. • Vide page 114. In conjunction with the Margrave, and assisted by M. Mercier, brother of the author of the Tableau de Paris, Lady Elizabeth succeeded in forming, at Triesdorf, a little society for the encouragement of arts and sciences. She also attempted, but, through the prejudices and obstinacy of the people, without success, to establish a seminary and place of refuge for children of all classes. Triesdorf is about three leagues from Anspach. There, Lady Elizabeth formed an English garden, and joined it to the garden of the palace by a lake in the park. She never failed to dine with the Margravine, and to play with her, her favourite game of cribbage. She wrote two petites pièces for the court theatre: one called La Folie du Jour, the other Abdoul et Nourjad. She also translated the comedy of She would and she would not, into French. Further, to gratify the Margrave, she followed the stag-hounds with him, an exercise which she much disliked. Notwithstanding all this, she could not satisfy the suspicious temper of the Germans. Her remarks on this point are worthy of notice. "When I reflect on the position in which I was placed," she observes, "I find that it has been a negative, which has given me the con sideration in which I have been held. I have been, like other women, flattered with the brilliancy of my talents, my figure, and all those things, to which my successes in the world are attributed; but these only raised malice and envy against me: the real causes are negatives. I never utter a falsehood-I never detract--I talk as little as I can-I never suffer sorrow or wrong to approach me without a nega tive; that is without endeavouring to oppose them-I get out of the way, and let others alone to do as they please." Lady Elizabeth's income, though only £1,500 a-year, made her appear a rich person in Germany. She constantly refused presents, and grants of land, and never would allow either Austrians, Prussians, or Franconians, to enter into politics with her. She never permitted any one to ask her to interfere with the Margrave or the Margravine, and never condescended to solicit a favour. Yet the stubborn stupidity of some, far from being quieted by her conduct, attributed this to the perfection of art. Her mother's seal was counterfeited, but in so clumsy and coarse a manner, that she soon detected it, and found that all her letters had been opened and read. Lady Elizabeth's friendship for the Margrave, at this time, excited furious jealousy in the bosom of Mddle. Clairon, the celebrated French actress, in whose train of admirers he had some time been. The lady at length made a virtue of necessity, and relinquished her claim. We are told by her Ladyship, that most of the Germans are born with excellent ears for music, but with no taste for the fine arts-that they appear to be always above or below human nature; and thus she illustrates her positions: :-" I remember, when I was obliged to have a Spanish male dress made for me, the court tailor brought the clothes for me to try: the waistcoat was at least four inches too long for me; my breeches were not long enough; and when I pointed out to him repeatedly that it would be impossible for me to wear them, he said, Ca, il fait rien - Comment?' said I, with great emphasis: he replied, Si la culotte est trop courte, la veste est trop longue, et cela revient à la même chose ;' and as I knew nothing could drive it out of his head, I sent him away, gave my suit of clothes to another performer, and had quite a new one made for me." 6 During Lady Craven's residence at Anspach, for five years, the Margrave made two journeys into Italy. In the winter following her arrival at Anspach, taking her youngest son, Keppel, with her, she accompanied him to Naples. Here she experienced much attention, || and even friendship, from the Queen, with whom she passed most of her evenings, tête-à-tête. In the mornings, she frequently accompanied the King in his hunting or shooting parties; and her adroitness in the killing of game, her skill in riding on horseback, and the indifference she showed about her person in rain, in wind, or whatever might be the fatigue, endeared her much to his Majesty. At that time the King of Naples had never seen a side-saddle, consequently was much amused with it, and extremely jocose, on seeing that method of riding. From Sir William Hamilton her Ladyship also received great attention. Lady Craven's taste for the arts was eminently gratified at Naples. She had executed many busts herself: amongst others, one of the Margrave, which was allowed to be an excellent likeness. It was the intention of her Ladyship and the Margrave to remain at Naples till the month of April or May; but an unexpected circumstance-something like a plot in the state of Anspach-induced the Margrave to adopt the determination of going to Berlin, incog. On their return to Anspach, it was ascertained, that some of the conspirators had been persuaded by Mr. Schmidt, the Margrave's secretary, that Lady Craven's object, in remaining at Anspach, was to place Englishmen in every branch of the Margrave's service. She was convinced that it was the unjust suspicions which had been raised against her, that induced the Margrave to resolve to cede his dominions to the King of Prussia; a resolution she earnestly combated. In the summer of the year to which these incidents refer, the Margrave went to Berlin to pass the Carnival there with the Royal Family; and her Ladyship accompanied him, by invitation "as the King's adopted sister." Previously to her departure, she took leave of the Margravine at her country residence some miles from Anspach. Her Serene Highness appeared in better health and spirits than ever; yet, from various little circumstances, it would seem as though she had entertained a presentiment that that was to be their last parting. "It was usual with her," observes Lady Craven, "when I took leave of her at night, to make a curtsey to me, and to every body around |