and cramming it by handfuls into his mouth. The mother, when she saw his occupation, wept; but the father grimly smiled; that look was worse than the famine, and the miserable woman threw herself upon the bed, hiding her face, that the memory of it might pass away. Presently, she heard her boy's convulsive shriek; she started up, the violin was beside him. Then, for that her hours were numbered, her visual organs strengthened, and it was given her to see the past and the present with a clear, true sight. Her husband's rendezvous in the Black Forest appeared before her as in a picture; his unholy compact was revealed: and when, taught by such knowledge, she looked again towards her son, he was struggling with a monster, who tempted him with food, which the famished child no sooner tried to grasp than it was withdrawn; by which torture the victim being sorely vexed, the vile creature mocked him still more-holding large pieces of meat and bunches of luscious fruit close to his lips; but as often as the infant opened his mouth, greedily endeavouring to seize the viands, they melted into air. At length the enraged boy sprang up, caught the monster by the throat, and flung it back; but then, his feeble strength being utterly exhausted, he staggered and fell upon the ground a blackened corpse; upon which the fiend yelled, and jabbered, and clapped its hands, and erowed. The mother, when she beheld that sight, threw up her arms, calling aloud on Heaven for succour; then she lay awhile convulsed, and writhing in terrible agony; but when she heard her husband's horrid laugh, she laid down her head and died, for her heart was broken.

That night a tremendous crash awakened the villagers from their peaceful sleep; upon hearing which they rushed out, half attired, upon the open green. The hut of Ursenstein, the musician, had fallen. A blue flame quivered around and about it; by whose light the crowd saw a dark, imp-like form seated on the summit of the ruins, chumping at a bone, which sometimes it wielded over its head, and sometimes gnawed like a voracious dog. Ursenstein was standing near with folded arms, calmly looking on: nor moved he for the execrations of the mob, who, terrified by the composure of the bereaved man, hastily dispersed to their several homes; the mothers clasping their children, and muttering pious ejaculations; the fathers carefully closing their doors, that the foul fiend might find no entrance.

What became of Ursenstein after that night the peasants never knew. The ruins mouldered untouched over the bodies of the mother and her child; and none dared after nightfall to pass that mournful sepulchre.

Suddenly, at the court of Wirtemberg, a rumour arose that a wonderful violinist had arrived, but where he had studied, or whence he came, none knew. His name was Wolstenbach; he proclaimed himself a German by birth, but from what part of the dominions he would not tell. "He was," he said, "a musician; and that was all that was requisite to be known: he was content to submit his claims to a fair judgment."

His terms, however, were so excessive, that the professors of his art ridiculed the presumption of an unknown man; but Wolstenbach only answered that " he knew his power," and still persisted in his demand: so he was rejected. But, soon after, the neighbourhood where he lodged was filled with strange and wonderful stories; for his music was heard in the dead of the night, and crowds congregated in the street, squeezing each other to get near his habitation. It was said that he lived scantily, but ate greedily; that he had no society, and held no converse with his fellow-men; that he looked upon all who approached him with suspicion, and appeared to be a creature apart from human sympathies. His instrument was the sole depositary of his thoughts, for he was often heard talking to it, as if it could comprehend his words. Sometimes he would reproach it, calling it hard names and beating it; and when sounds came from it at each blow, he would exclaim, "Ay, fiend! cry and shriek! I owe thee something for thy luxurious feasting." Then would he clutch the instrument, playing as in a frenzy, making horrible yellings, and growlings, and shrill shrieks to issue from it, so that those who heard, stopped their ears affrighted. At other times he would frolic with it, making it laugh and giggle like a tickled child; and the hearers could not forbear laughing also, it was so oddly comical; but all men agreed that he was a lunatic. Such rumours reaching the ears of the king, it was commanded that the stranger's terms should be accepted. A night was accordingly fixed for him to play in public; and when the morning of that day came, the professors formed themselves into groups, and prepared to sneer at his rehearsal; but they were disappointed, for he would not practise with the band as others had done, but obliged them to await the evening for the gratification of their curiosity.

Night came ;-the theatre was crowded to the ceiling;—the king and the chief of his nobility were there. The higher order of professors were ranged upon the stage. They were to open with a grand overture, and all the musical talent or judgment that resided within a day's journey round the metropolis, were to be found among the audience of that evening The overture began; the spectators, for they could scarcely be called listeners, waved to and fro uneasily. The musicians played divinely, for they exerted their

best skill. At length the piece was finished, and a simultaneous movement among the auditors showed that expectation was wound up to the highest pitch. The professors saw this, and, scarcely waiting for their accustomed applause, sidled into the best seats. They formed a sort of semicircle around the spot on which Wolstenbach was to stand. Some assumed the gravity of judges; others took snuff and smiled superciliously; while others again, more sanguine in their temperament, chuckled and nodded to their friends. At last, when all were arranged, the violinist appeared; he walked with an indescribably awkward gait, straight down to the foot-lamps, and bowed. The audience rose up as by one effort; there was a stare of wonderment, then a burst of applause, though no one knew why he applauded that strange ungraceful effigy of a man, unless. indeed, his excessive ugliness was merit, in the estimation of the gaping multitude. The musicians bowed, and bowed again, but never smiled. Then he drew his bow across the strings, and music flowed like oil; he played on, and no one remembered that he was not handsome: not a word was spoken, not a movement made: even the professors forgot to be angry, until the charm was dissolved and the melody had ceased. It was then that the applause broke forth louder, longer than before, for now they knew why they were pleased. Wolstenbach received these honours without relaxing a muscle-he bowed to the audience, to the professors, lowly, lowly, humbly, but he never once looked up, for the ban was upon him, and he dared not lift his eyes to meet the glance of the bright, and the beautiful; but huddling his instrument under his arm, he shuffled away with his uncouth lanky walk, while a thousand tongues pronounced him an inspired master, an impersonation of musical genius, and there was no more mention of his reputed madness.

Again and again he appeared, each time with added fame; riches poured on him like rain, but he abated nothing of his stern parsimony, nor of his desire for gain, because the vulture of avarice was ever gnawing in his bosom, as the famine had eaten into that of his boy. He travelled far, spreading his name from one kingdom to another; but the thought of his wife and his son never left him: for though he knew that they were to die by his compact, he knew not that they were to die so fearfully. He had not felt sorrow for them then, but it was the only human feeling that clung to him after; for he despised the whole race of mankind, and while he greedily sought their admiration, he looked down upon them from his crime-won pinnacle, and hated them all. The familiar, by whose aid he excelled, and whom he was doomed ever to carry in his bosom, was no less an object of his disgust. He could not forgive the past; and he resented the tauntings which the demon heaped

upon him in private, for it was then that the vile creature had power to torture him. But when the musician's grasp was upon the strings of that magic violin, it became helpless in his hands, and he failed not to wreak upon it the vengeance of his moody humour. In the face of assembled crowds, when the hour of triumph was come, he fretted, and beat, and belaboured the fiend, whose shrieks and cries were but so many subjects of admiration to the wondering auditory.

Thus went Wolstenbach and his grim companion from court to court, every where received as the sovereign of his art ;-his superhuman appearance every where engendering awful terror;-his ceaseless avarice, disgust ;-his unrivalled skill compelling admiration:-envied by professors, protected by princes, lauded and supported by nobles and fair dames, who guessed not whence came the harmony which so much delighted, nor dreamt that they followed as a popular idol-a DEMON MUSICIAN.

TO MONT BLANC.

O HEAVEN and earth! how awful is thy form,
Most mighty Blanc, where nature's hands dispense,
Thou altar of her rude magnificence!

Her elements most pure-off'rings of light and storm.

Altar of nature! comes her glory down

Now on thy head, that scorns, save to aspire

To yon red orb, that stains thy snows with fire,

And burns a thousand clouds to glory for thy crown.

When shall yon eagle reach the heaven that fills

With rosy floods the circles of thy head ?-
There are thy glaciers, too, where hues are shed,
Like stone-drops of all tints upon the Indian hills.

And every sky with highest figures shines
Round thee: the white unsteady clouds that stream
From off thy forehead most ethereal seem;

And the pale moon that high glazes thy savage pines.

Thine, waters great and small of purest wave ;-
From out thy side, the frozen-bearded spring

Looks with clear eye, like hermit's, glittering,

Touch'd by the moon's cold wand: below great torrents rave.

And who shall dare upon thy skirts to tread,
When in the tempest-robe thy form retires,

Wrought with dark thunder and embroider'd fires?

And O star-figur'd night is brightest o'er thy head!

O! not in vain hath God built up thy height,

Thou type to man of many vision'd forms—

Abstractions of the mind-shap'd from thy storms,

Thy converse with high heaven,-thy hues of changing light.

Lives there the man, might dare unto thy crown

Of chastest snows, where never sun that shone,
Hurt the blue chair of winter's icy throne,

Bear thought impure, as men may dare in thronging town?

His lesson are thy rocks that never blanch :-
Black horror nods upon thy piny steep ;-

And danger, like a giant half asleep,

And falling, leans upon thy falling avalanche.—

Yon eagle hath not reach'd thy summit hoar,
High towering Blanc! with upward steady wing.-
I leave thy presence, but in wandering,

I'll see thee oft afar o'er sea and circling shore.

THOMAS AIRD.

IFS.

OH! if the winds could whisper what they hear,
When murmuring round at sunset through the grove:
If words were written on the streamlet clear,

So often spoken fearlessly above:

If tell-tale stars, descending from on high,
Could image forth the thoughts of all that gaze,
Entranced upon that deep cerulean sky,
And count how few think only of their rays!

If the lulled heaving ocean could disclose
All that has passed upon her golden sand,
When the moon-lighted waves triumphant rose,
And dashed their spray upon the echoing strand:
If dews could tell how many tears have mixed
With the bright gem-like drops that nature weeps;
If night could say how many eyes are fixed
On her dark shadows, while creation sleeps!

If echo, rising from her magic throne,
Repeated with her melody of voice
Each timid sigh-each whispered word and tone,
Which made the hearer's listening heart rejoice:
If nature could, unchecked, repeat aloud

All she hath heard and seen-must hear and see-
Where would the whispering, vowing, sighing crowd
Of lovers, and their blushing partners, be?

HON. MRS NORTON.