would hardly exchange a word even with his mother. He was continually wandering about the cliff and the shore alone.

One day, when he had thrown himself upon the very spot where, as we related in the beginning, he had intruded upon the slumbers of the maniac-revolving the cause which now utterly absorbed his mind and soul, and lost to external consciousness-he was startled by something falling upon his face. He looked up, and saw the loved one hanging over him. The tear-drop stood trembling upon his lid— the light of reason beamed from her eye. She pronounced his name, talked to him of her father's death, informed him that she believed his murderer had suffered the penalty of his crime, but knew not when, or by what means. He drew her softly toward him-encouraged her to speak on-questioned her-found of all that had passed since her wits had gone astray, the only circumstance which had left an impression upon her memory, was the fate of Black Norris. He now endeavoured to ascertain the state of her heart with respect to him. An eye at once cast down-a burning cheek-lips that made soundless motion, confirmed the dearest hopes, and crowned the most ardent wishes of his soul. Reason was perfectly reinstated-love had never lost its seat. He urged the soft confession-and her face was buried in his bosom. In a week she was his wife, and along with his mother, accompanied him to a distant part of the country, lest old and painful recollections might be recalled by the presence of scenes, alas! but too familiar.

THE DANCE OF THE DEAD!

From the German.

MANY a century back, if the old German Chronicle may be credited, an aged wandering bag-piper settled at Neisse, a small town in Silesia. He lived quietly and honestly, and at first played his tunes in secret for his own amusement; but it was not long (as his neighbours delighted in listening to him, and would often in the calm of a warm midsummer evening gather round his door, whilst he called forth the cheering sounds of harmony) before Master Willibald became acquainted both with old and young, was flattered and caressed, and lived in content and prosperity.

The gallant beaux of the place, who had near his door first beheld those lovely creatures, for whose sake they had written so much bad poetry, and lost so much more valuable time, were his constant customers for melting songs, while they drowned the softer passages with the depth of their sighs. The old citizens invited him at their solemn dinnerparties; and no bride would have deemed her wedding-feast to be completely celebrated, had not Master Willibald played the bridal dance of his own composition. For this very purpose he had invented a most tender melody, which united gaiety and gravity, playful ideas and melancholy feelings, forming a true emblem of matrimonial life. A feeble trace of this tune is still to be found in what is called the old German " Grandfather's Dance," which, as far down as the time of our parents, was an important requisite of a wedding-feast, and is even heard now and then in our days. As often as Master Willibald played this tune, the prudest spinster would not refuse to dance, the stooping matron moved again her time-stiffened joints, and the grey-haired grand

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father danced it merrily with the blooming offspring of his children. This dance seemed really to restore youth to the old, and this was the cause of its being called, at first, in jest, and afterwards generally, the "Grandfather's Dance."

A young painter, of the name of Wido, lived with Master Willibald; he was thought to be the son, or the foster-son, of the musician. The effect of the old man's art on this youth was lost. He remained silent and mournful at the most mirth-inspiring tunes Willibald played to him; and at the balls, to which he was often invited, he rarely mingled with the gay but would retire into a corner, and fix his eyes on the loveliest fair one that graced the room, neither daring to address, nor to offer her his hand. Her father, the mayor of the town, was a proud and haughty man, who would have thought his dignity lessened, had an unknown limner cast his eye upon his daughter. But the beautiful Emma was not of her father's opinion: for the young girl loved with all the ardour of a first and secret passion, the backward, though handsome youth. Often when she perceived the expressive eyes of Wido endeavouring to catch unobservedly her glances, she would abate her liveliness, and allow the youth of her heart to have the undisturbed view of her beautiful and variable features. She easily read afterwards, in his brightening face, the eloquent gratitude of his heart; and although she turned blushingly away, the fire on her cheeks, and the sparkling in her eyes, kindled new flames of love and hope in her lover's bosom.

Master Willibald had for a long time promised to assist the love-sick youth in obtaining his soul's dearest object. Sometimes he intended, like the wizards of yore, to torment the mayor with an enchanted dance, and compel him by exhaustion to grant every thing; sometimes, like a second Orpheus, he proposed to carry away, by the power of his harmony, the sweet bride from the Tartarian abode of

her father. But Wido always had objections: he never would allow the parent of his fair one to be harmed by the slightest offence, and hoped to win him by perseverance and complacency.

Willibald told him, “ Thou art an idiot, if thou hopest to win, by an open and honourable sentiment, like thy love, the approbation of a rich and proud old fool. He will not surrender without some of the plagues of Egypt are put in force against him. When once Emma is thine, and he no more can change what has happened, then thou wilt find him friendly and kind. I blame myself for having promised to do nothing against thy will, but death acquits every debt, and still I shall help thee in my own way."

Poor Wido was not the only one on the path of whose life the mayor strewed thorns and briars. The whole town had very little affection for their chief, and delighted to oppose him at every opportunity; for he was harsh and cruel, and punished severely the citizens for trifling and innocent mirth, unless they purchased pardon by the means of heavy penalties and bribes.

After the yearly wine-fair in the month of January, he was in the habit of obliging them to pay all their earnings into his treasury, to make amends for their past merriments. One day the tyrant of Neisse had put their patience to too hard a trial, and broken the last tie of obedience from his oppressed townsmen. The malcontents had created a riot, and filled their persecutor with deadly fear; for they threatened nothing less than to set fire to his house, and to burn him, together with all the riches he had gathered by oppressing them.

At this critical moment Wido went to Master Willibald, and said to him, "Now, my old friend, is the time when you may help me with your art, as you frequently have offered to do. If your music be really so powerful as you

say it is, go then and deliver the mayor, by softening the enraged mob. As a reward he certainly will grant you any thing you may request. Speak then a word for me and my love, and demand my beloved Emma as the price of your assistance." The bag-piper laughed at this speech, and replied, "we must satisfy the follies of children, in order to prevent them crying." And so he took his bagpipe and walked slowly down to the town-house-square, where the rioters, armed with pikes, lances, and lighted torches, were laying waste the mansion of the worshipful head of the town.

Master Willibald placed himself near a pillar, and began to play his "Grandfather's Dance." Scarcely were the first notes of this favourite tune heard, when the rage-distorted countenances became smiling and cheerful, the frowning brows lost their dark expression, pikes and torches fell out of the threatening fists, and the enraged assailants moved about marking with their steps the measure of the music. At last, the whole multitude began to dance, and the square, that was lately the scene of riot and confusion, bore now the appearance of a gay dancing assembly. The piper, with his magic bag-pipe, led on through the streets; all the people danced behind him; and each citizen returned jumping to his home, which shortly before he had left with very different feelings.

The mayor, saved from this imminent danger, knew not how to express his gratitude; he promised to Master Willibald every thing he might demand, even were it half his property. But the bag-piper replied, smiling, saying his expectations were not so lofty, and that for himself he wanted no temporal goods whatever; but since his lordship, the mayor, had pledged his word to grant to him every thing he might demand, so he beseeched him, with due respect, to grant fair Emma's hand for his Wido. But the