a profound contemplation of the first composer; there is something in it of divinity more than the ear discovers : it is an hieroglyphical and shadowed lesson of the whole world and creatures of God --such a melody to the ear as the whole world, well understood, would afford the understanding. In brief, it is a sensible fit of that harmony which intellectually sounds in the ears of God.

SIR THOMAS BROWN.

There be in music certain figures or tropes, almost agreeing with the figures. of rhetoric and with the affections of the mind and other senses. First, the division and quavering, which please so much in music, have an agreement with the glittering of light; as the moon-beams playing upon a wave. Again, the falling from a discord to a concord, which maketh great sweetness in music, hath an agreement with the affections, which are reintegrated to the better after some dislikes; it agreeth also with the taste, which is soon glutted with that which is sweet alone. The sliding from the close or cadence hath an agreement with the figure in rhetoric which they call Præter expectatum; for there is a pleasure even in being deceived. The reports and fugues have an agreement with the figures in rhetoric of repetition and traduction. The triplas and changing of times, have an agreement with the changes of motions; as when galliard time and measure time are in the medley

of one dance.

Tones are not so apt altogether to procure sleep as some other sounds; as the wind, the purling of water, humming of bees, a sweet voice of one that readeth, &c. The cause whereof is, for that tones, because they are equal and slide not, do more strike and erect the sense than the other. LORD BACON.

POETRY AND MUSIC.

Poetry and music serve to revive and animate the dead calm of poor or idle lives, and to allay or divert the violent passions and perturbations of the greatest and the busiest men; and both these effects are of equal use to human life. I know very well that many who pretend to be wise by the forms of being grave, are apt to despise both poetry and music as toys or trifles too light for the use or entertainment of serious men. But whoever find themselves wholly insensible to these charms, would, I think, do well to keep their own counsel, for fear of reproaching their tempers and bringing the goodness of their under

standings, if not of their natures, into question; for some of the fathers went so far as to esteem the love of music a sign of predestination, as a thing divine, and reserved for the felicities of heaven itself. While this world lasts, I doubt not but the pleasure and requests of these two entertainments will do so too; and happy those that content themselves with these, or any other so easy and so innocent, and do not trouble the world or other men, because they cannot be quiet themselves, though nobody hurts them.

SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE.

STORY-TELLING.

I

There is one kind of conversation which every one aims at, and every one almost fails in; it is that of story-telling. know not any thing which engages our attention with more delight, when a person has a sufficient stock of talents necessary for it, such as good sense, true humour, a clear head, a ready command of language, and a variety of proper gesture to give life and spirit to what he says. If any of these be wanting, the listeners, instead of being diverted, are disobliged; but, if the person be utterly void of them all, as is very often the case, he becomes a nuisance to the company, and they are so long upon the rack as he speaks. has sometimes fallen to my lot that a man whom I never offended has laid me under the persecution of a long story, and compelled me to hear what neither concerned himself, nor me, nor, indeed, anybody else; and, at the same time,

It

he was as much in earnest as if both our

lives and fortunes, and the felicity of the whole kingdom, depended upon what

he said.

OPPRESSION.

SWIFT.

wide extent at the base of its ivy covered

the cloistered halls and towering spires of an extensive monastery.

Perhaps the most beautiful description of the Rhinish scenery, is contained in the following lines.

"The castled crag of Drachenfels

Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells,

Between the banks which bear the vine,
And bills all rich with blossomed trees,-
And fields which promise corn and wine,
And scattered cities crowning these,

Whose far white walls along them shine;
With double joy wert thou with me.
Have strewn a scene which I should see,

•

The river nobly foams and flows,

The charm of this enchanted ground, And all its thousand twines disclose

Some fresher beauty varying round; The haughtiest breast its wish might bound, Through life to dwell delighted here:

Nor could on earth a spot be found, To nature and to me so dear, Could thy dear eyes in following mine, Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine." Byron's Childe Harold.

At the time to which this story relates, the laws enacted for the restraining society within the limits of modera

tion, were badly framed, and in a worse manner applied, for seldom could a man, requiring justice of his fellow, obtain redress, save when he demanded it with a few score of armed retainers at his back.

Among the many abuses, attending such a state of affairs, the attacks of might and strength were formidably frequent against right, and the ruined castles of the vanquished nobles afforded fit strongholds for numerous bands of robbers through the country, from which it was a matter of no small difficulty to dislodge them; and whence they made frequent descents on the surrounding country, pillaging and destroying whereever they came.

One of the most dreaded of these hordes, was commanded by a man, whose inhuman ferocity and savage manners, had procured for him the soubriquet of "The Wolf," and from his residence, he was commonly called the "Wolf of Ehrenbreitstein;" a name, with which bloody deeds and acts of cruelty were coupled, and which inspired the neighbouring inhabitants with such dread, that the village matrons used to frighten refractory children into obedience by mentioning it in fine no one was safe from the daring incursions of those remorseless bands, but those powerful nobles who could secure themselves from attack by betaking them to their strongly fortified castles.

The fortress possessed by this outlaw, though partly in ruins, was enriched by all that could make it picturesque and beautiful, and withal strongly defended; it belonged to one of the most noble families in the province, who were forced to fly before the present occupier. Yet report whispered that the lady of the murdered lord, together with his infant son, were remaining, but so closely confined that nothing transpired beyond the immediate, attendants.

This magnificent castle was boldly perched on the summit of a gigantic and pinnacled rock, which throws a darkened shadow over the blue waters beneath; trees and shrubs springing out the shelving benches, fringe its gloomy ba base with bright overhanging boughs, and the rock was so steep, that on three sides it was inaccessible, and so artfully defended on the other, that it could not be approached except by one path. This avenue or pass was guarded by a vigilant sentinel, who being on an elevated situation, could descry any one at a great dis tance, and if an enemy, summon the garrison to its defence.

On the Crag of Drachenfels, commanding an extensive view of the Rhine, and of the delightful country through which it winds its rapid course, is still to be seen the ruined walls once forming part of the proud baronial castle of Count Hugo d'Arnstein; after a brief but active campaign he had retired from the bustle and fatigue of war, to spend his days in the bosom of his family, which consisted of a beloved wife and the survivor of four daughters.

Adela d'Arnstein was at that time in her ninth year; her fair flaxen hair fell in natural ringlets over a neck of snowy whiteness, her large blue eyes sparkled with vivacity peculiar to her years, and with her rosy cheeks and dimpled chin, annexed to a certain gaieté de coeur, obvious in every feature, presented one of the most engaging countenances it is possible to conceive; her disposition was remarkable for sweetness, and she repaid the fondness of her parents with the love of an affectionate heart.

Years rolled on, and the child of yesterday had ripened into womanhood; the infantine graces which had embellished her childhood, were now matured by the bloom of youth: she was standing in the lovely vale of the Drachenfels, accompanied by one, in whom were centred all the graces of manly beauty.

He was young, fine expressive features; and an athletic yet symmetrical form, his glossy hair hung in luxuriant curls from beneath the folds of his high Hun garian cap, over his shoulders was flung his quiver, while the bright steel barbs and the hilt of his sword glittered in the rays of the setting sun: in one hand he was holding his curved bow, and the other supported Adela.c

And each clasped by an arm, Yielded to fair sunset's lovely charm.' The valley around them was in the form of an amphitheatre, in the misty distance were seen the cloud-capt Alps towering aloft, while the Hartz Forest threw a gloomy shade from its vast extent, and the mouldering battlements of an ancient castle blackening in the shade, were cowering on the rock immediately above them on vLAND To selbe

As the last rosy tints of the expiring day had faded from the heavens, the glorious moon arose, streaking each gentle hill and slight ascent with a bar of silvery light; the whole scene was in perfect harmony with the lovely beings who beheld it, and occasionally swelling on the ear, like the pealing tones of a rich organ, the convent bells were

wafted on the breeze. As the bells were heard, Adela as if struck with the lateness of the hour, gently withdrew her arm from her companion, saying,

"Farewell Ernest, the sun has sunk behind the western hills, 't is time I should depart."

"Oh! Adela," the youth exclaimed, with a sigh, "would that the time was come, when we might meet to part no more; but surely I may see thee to thy father's domain, wouldst thou deny me that pleasure?"

"No Ernest," was the reply," but why not demand from my father his daughter in marriage, methinks you have some elaim on his kindness."

"I am not my own master," said the youth," would that I was; but (added he as they walked through the paths of the forest to the castle of Count d'Arnstein), for the sake of one dear to me, I am as yet in a state of dependence, and as such could not expect to obtain thy hand."

When within sight of the postern gate Adela would not suffer him to proceed further, and after again bidding adieu, with a promise of a speedy meeting, tripped lightly forward; the youth retired into the recesses of the wood, and they were soon concealed from each other's sight.

Let us go back two months.

Count Hugo d'Arnstein, accompanied by a party of friends, some old brothers in arms, went to chase the wild boar in the Hartz Forest; it was usual in those days for ladies to take a prominent part in every display of manly sport.

Among those who presided at sylvan duties on that day, none was so conspicuous, either from the beauty of her countenance, heightened by the flush of expectation when engaged in the peril ous sport, or the unrivalled elegance of her form, and the grace with which she reined her pawing courser, as Adela d'Arnstein. She was the first to throw her light javelin at the boar as he sluggishly rose from his leafy den, and it was to her that the successful cavalier in triumph presented the bristly head, having succeeded in destroying him.

They had now penetrated far into the wild forest, having deprived many of its native burghers of life, and began to think of returning, when the barking of the dogs announced a fresh opponent. They all made for the cover whence the noise proceeded, and beheld a monster that made the stoutest heart tremble.

He was a wild boar of immense size

and fierceness, his tusks were projecting out of his enormous jaws like the flukes of an anchor, several of the best dogs were crushed beneath the weight of his huge carcass, and the rest of the boar hounds yelped fearfully at a distance; no one had the temerity to cast his spear, and all were literally at bay, when the horse of Adela, impatient at being restrained, bounded forward, bearing her within a few yards of the beast, who instantly made a rush, and the horse with its rider rolled on the ground: happily she escaped the fall, but it was only to be torn asunder, as the boar was preparing for a fresh attack, when the Count in the eagerness of parental affection, ran on foot to his daughter's succour. He succeeded in transfixing him with his spear, but only roused his fierceness; rushing from his fallen prey, he made towards the Count, who alone stood to brave the rage of the infuriated animal, without the slightest aid from any of the terrified hunters; their attention was now too absorbed in the frightful position of the father and child, to be able to render the slightest assistance to either, and both would have inevitably perished (as the boar was now within less than ten yards of his victim), had not a young man rushed from a neighbouring thicket, and with the rapidity of lightning threw himself between the person of the Count and the advancing beast, then dropping on one knee, holding his bright boar spear firmly forward, awaited in that position the nearer approach of the animal.

With the weight of a falling mountain, the savage monster rolled on the plain, his broad forehead being, through his own impetuosity, completely perforated by the opposing weapon, while Count d'Arnstein falling on his knees, prayed aloud to heaven, blessing the preserver of his own life, and far dearer to him, the life of his daughter: the first impulse of the stranger youth, after defeating the wild boar, was to disentangle the fallen Adela from her horse.

Bearing his lovely burthen to the arms of her father, who after repeatedly thanking for his timely assistance, invited him to return to his castle, where in a more suitable manner than mere words, he would shew his gratitude.

Adela, who in speechless sorrow had witnessed the almost certain death of her father, full of joy for his deliverance, joined her entreaties: the stranger politely declined the invitation, and retired.

From that eventful day, the graceful

demeanour, and unflinching courage of the stranger youth, were the principal topics of conversation at the castle of the Drachenfels; and whoever spoke of these, was sure to find an ardent listener in the youthful Adela; they were the theme of her tongue by day, and the subject of her nightly dreams: the better to dwell alone on these thoughts, she used to take solitary walks in that immediate part of the Hartz Forest skirting the village, to which one of the gates directly communicated.

One evening she had pursued her walk longer than usual, she was alarmed at hearing two voices, talking in one of the paths of the wood, which after a short distance, diverged on that which she occupied, so that she could distinctly hear the following conversation.

"When will he be home?" "That, my lord, is hard to tell, but I pray thee don't delay."

"I shall not delay," was the reply, and one of the party retired.

'Twas with a cry of joy that Adela greeted her deliverer when he met her sight. The stranger anxiously inquired whether her health had not suffered from her fright, and also how her father was?

She replied that both were well, and wished much for the pleasure of his society.

He silently shook his head, and they walked through the wood in the direction of the Drachenfels.

When passing through its beauteous vale, both for an instant paused to view its splendid scenery.

"This is really a charming place," said Adela, "I will come here often."

"I think so too; when do you purpose being here?" timidly inquired the youth.

"If possible to-morrow, at sunset,' answered Adela. They proceeded to the verge of the forest, and were going to separate.

"If not presuming too much, Adela de Arnstein would wish much to know the name of her deliverer."

"Lady," said he, "what interest could one so noble as you take in the name of a stranger, whom accident has destined worthy to serve you; nevertheless I will not refuse-my name is Ernest."

"Receive this then from me Ernest," said she (as she placed in his hand a small chain of her own hair, entwined with gold ;) "and with it believe me accompanies the prayers of him, and her, you nobly succoured,"

The young man knelt down and pressed to his lips the outstretched hand, and receiving the proffered gift, exclaimed,

"I thank you lady, and I shall consider it the brightest day of my life, that on which I went to hunt in the gloomy shades of the Hartz Forest."

They met repeatedly thenceforward. I resume my broken narrative. Shortly after Adela and Ernest had separated, the one to proceed to her father's domain, the other to retrace his steps through the Hartz Forest, Adela became alarmed by the clatter of horses approaching at a quick pace, and before she could reach the gate she was roughly seized by one of the horsemen, who with the greatest ease lifted her up before him on the horse, saying,

"Ho! ho! my pretty mistress, you have been enjoying the moonlight I perceive; come along, you shall have more night than day I warrant ye;" and off they galloped to the towers of Ehrenbreitstein.

Adela was taken off her horse more dead than alive, and lifted into the courtyard by the person who had seized her, from whence she was taken into a damp noisome dungeon, where she was left for the remainder of the night.

The morning rose heavily; Adela was still stretched on the cold floor, bereft of motion, when the door creaked on its hinges, and in stalked the Wolf of Ehrenbreitstein.

He was a tall, ruffianly looking man, immense black whiskers, and moustachios; his little eyes burned fiercely, and a large scar on his forehead gave a hideous expression to his savage appearance; Adela was roused at his sight, and retreated to the most distant part of the dungeon, where to prevent herself from falling, she was forced to lean against its dreary wall.

The robber at length asked her how she liked her lodging, adding, that he knew well who she was, and in order to recompense her father for having slain one of his best men, he made up his mind if ever he got her in his power to marry her, which he said was his intention on the fourth day, when he expected to return laden with booty for the marriage feast. With this comfortable assurance, he left her stupefied by this unexpected calamity, (for she supposed she would have been held to ransom) and knew not what to do; her thoughts recurred from her parents, who would be overpowered by grief at the loss of