In this retreat, I lived the life of a hermit, keeping out of the way of human beings, and seldom seeing any. My cottage, or rather hut, was as lonely as could well be conceived. It was situated in a small ravine between the limestone cliffs that border the shore, and a wild barren moor stretched for miles behind. Except the cry of the sea-birds, and the mournful moan of the sea as it ebbed and flowed through the black seaweedy rocks to and from the sea-line of white dazzling limestone, I could hear no sound.

I contrived to pass some weeks away in this place, my only companions being my fishing-line and fowling-piece. My mind became apathetic, and I gloomily dreamed on of living there till my life was over. But this was not to be.

It was an afternoon towards the end of autumn; I had been wandering about the limestone ridge all day long with my gun, and coming home tired, lay down among the heather to watch the sun setting behind a long bank of purple clouds edged with glowing gold.

Almost insensibly, and utterly against my inclination, my fancy travelled back to the memorable time that I spent in the north of England. I traced each event in turn, and called up in imagination the graceful and lithesome form of Clara Belford. My heart was softened,— my stubborn resolution vanished, I felt all my deep love returning,—and I could not help wishing in my heart of hearts that she was with me. Immediately afterwards, I trembled with a vague apprehension and a strange foreboding of evil. I rose up sadly, and walked homewards in my old apathetic humour, while the shadows of evening fell darker and darker about my path.

The next day the weather changed. There was a heavy gale from the south-west, and great masses of black cloud rolled overhead. The fierce wind blowing in from the Atlantic swept up the Bristol Channel, roaring as it passed up my little ravine, and then moaning far away over the waste moor-land beyond. The drenching rain seemed part of the wind and the clouds, and never ceased beating against the window and roof of my cottage.

All day long, wrapped up in my oil-skin cape, I wandered about, watching the little vessels far out at sea battling with the wind, and the great angry waves rolling in with a thundering sound, and breaking in snow-white foam among the rocks below.

Night came on, and the storm increased in violence. I retreated at last into my cottage, barred the door and window, and lighted my reading-lamp. My stock of books was very small, consisting only of a few volumes treating on the occult and mystic arts.

I had been reading for some time, raising my head at intervals to listen to the wild sough of the gale, and the dull, monotonous roar of the waves, when I thought I heard amidst the tumult a cry like that of a human voice. Whilst I was pondering whether it was only a sound of imagination or not, I distinctly heard it repeated. It seemed close at

A strange terror took

hand, nay, just at the outside of the door. sion of me, and I rose up trembling.

posses

Once more the storm dashed the rain violently against the cottage, and then I heard the wind go moaning away up the valley over the moor. There was a lull after that, and then I heard a slight rapping at the door. Slight as the sound was, it filled me with terrible apprehension. A cold sweat broke out over me, and I trembled from head to foot. As I stood there terror-stricken, I heard, or fancied I heard, my own name called from without. Great heavens! I recognised the voice, ay, even amid the raging of the storm. In an instant I staggered to the door, and opened it. Holding it open against the storm, I saw that a dark indistinct figure was crouching on the threshold. My heart told me who it was. I lifted up the fragile form, and, closing the door with the other hand, bore the dark burden into the room. Wet through and through by the driving rain, worn out and utterly overcome with long travel in the pitiless storm, I held her in my arms, and, drawing back the dark shawl from her face, I gazed once more on the pallid features of Clara Belford.

She was insensible; but oh, how changed! She was barely twenty years old when I saw her last, little more than a year ago, and now she looked old, very old, and haggard. Her cheeks were sunken, and her dark-brown hair, that I remembered so beautifully bright, hung dishevelled over her face and shoulders; it was silvery white.

I placed her in my only chair, and chafed her hands, and called her by every endearing name I could remember; until I saw her pale lips begin to move.

The storm still raged without, and I was compelled to listen with my ear close to her mouth. Every word sounded distinctly, although she only spoke in a faltering whisper.

"Faulkland, you called me yesterday,-do not start,-you called me to you as you lay on the heath at sunset. I could not choose but obey; and I am here. Once before I entreated you not to use the power that you possess over me willingly. You have done so: I was compelled to obey, and I am here. I have travelled many a weary mile. I remember now nothing of my journey; I have been drawn like a needle by the magnet. Hush! let me speak, for I feel that my strength is failing. I have somehow that faith in you, that I cannot believe that you have killed me willingly. Yet now, I must say it,-each time that our eyes have met, a fatal wish was lingering in your heart. Each wish, slight as it was, was accomplished, and each accomplished wish took with it part of my little life. Now, Faulkland, let me go in peace."

I was rendered speechless by terror, by pity, by remorse, by a hundred conflicting sensations; and as she ceased I raised her drooping head, and the wet gray hair fell over my arms and breast. I saw her heavy eye-lids raised once more-slowly, slowly; once more I gazed upon those deep, dark, violet eyes. It was fatality! What else could have prompted the thought, then and there as I gazed, that it were better for both if we

both were dead? As the fatal wish flashed across me, I felt her shudder in my arms; I saw her beautiful eyes glaze over with the opal hue of death; I felt her slight form grow heavy in my arms, and slip from me to the ground.

The wild storm howled and moaned dismally without, and the breakers dashed sullenly among the surf below; whilst I, wishing for the death that would not come, stood in the flickering lamp-light with the corpse of Clara Belford at my feet cold and still.

A. G. G.

A Real German Mystery.

On the 14th of November 1853, a young woman, apparently about twentytwo years of age, was observed wandering to and fro near the village of Weisskirchen, in Hesse Darmstadt. She entered a cottage, and addressed the inmates in a jargon, of which the word "Bertha" was alone intelligible. On her being detained and examined, it appeared that she had no passport, or, except a neckerchief marked "Carolina B.," any thing calculated to assist in the discovery of her identity. She was accordingly taken care of during the night, and brought before the magistrates of the neighbouring town of Offenbach on the following day, the police-sheet describing her as follows:

"Apparently from twenty-two to twenty-four years of age; five feet four inches Rhenish in height; stout, fair-haired, forehead high and broad, eyes between green and blue, nose aquiline, countenance oval, cheek-bones prominent, complexion healthy; dressed in a striped cotton gown, a particoloured cotton apron, a gray petticoat, and two shifts, the under of coarse linen, the upper of shirting. Had a little bag concealed on her person, containing a thimble, thread, a comb, and a piece of soap."

It was long impossible to communicate with the stranger, till at last it was discovered that she could speak a very corrupt Hungarian. Enough of this could be understood to elicit a story to the effect that she had, in her fifth year, been taken away from her mother by a man called Eleazar, and confined for many years in a subterranean dwelling in a wood. Here her constant companion had been a woman named Bertha, who, rather more than three weeks before her discovery at Weisskirchen, had taken her out of her cell, carried her for many days and nights in a coach, and ultimately abandoned her in a forest. This story was not believed, and the magistrates, at a loss what to do with the foundling, solved the problem by sending her to gaol. The prison of Offenbach, it would appear, has the advantage of being paternally and maternally administered by good Christian people,-Herr Lemser, the governor, and his wife. These from the first conceived a warm interest in Caroline, whom they found the image of neatness, gentleness, and bashfulness, besides being, as the official report naively says, "although quite ignorant of religion, a very good hand at knitting." To clench the matter, she fell ill, and Madame Lemser's maternal sympathies impelled her to receive the patient into her own house. Here she was nursed tenderly for several weeks, her behaviour continuing to plead most strongly in her favour, and her gratitude to her "German mamma," as she called Madame Lemser, to distinguish her from her natural mother, apparently without bounds. After her recovery she remained in the house, knitting with amazing perseverance. She seemed quite unversed in every other kind of household employment, but displayed great aptitude in comprehending and apply

ing the instructions of Madame Lemser. Her disposition was extremely mild and obliging; but she was shy, and easily disconcerted by the curiosity of strangers. Among her peculiarities was a remarkable softness of voice, attended by an extreme horror of noise of any sort. She was an especial favourite with children, and took great delight in playing with them.

The fame of Caroline's virtues spread, and much interest for her was excited in Offenbach. On April 19th, 1854, it was determined that, until she could procure a livelihood for herself, she should be maintained at the expense of the town. It may strike the reader that this had been the case all along; but the stigma of imprisonment was removed from her; and the house of the most respectable of gaolers naturally appearing an undesirable abode for innocence and orphanhood, she was transferred to another family. This part of the arrangement afforded her little satisfaction. She testified the most decided repugnance to quit "German mamma;" but being kindly treated in her new residence, and allowed to visit her old friends as often as she pleased, she gradually became reconciled, and appeared to feel at home. Herr Eck, the public schoolmaster, was appointed to give her instruction; and, as her powers of expression increased, he was enabled to compile a narrative of her adventures, the leading points of which we proceed to detail.

She had been brought up, she said, in a large house, the arrangements of which are described with extraordinary and suspicious minuteness. The family, besides herself, consisted of her mother, her uncle, and the latter's little son, about three years older than Caroline. She speaks of her mother with great affection; not so of her uncle. Of her father she recollects nothing, beyond having seen his portrait, which, to judge from her description, must have been that of an officer in the Austrian service. One morning, when Caroline was about five years old, her mother, as had frequently been the case, quitted the house in a carriage, accompanied by her maid. A few hours later, but before noon, her uncle told her to go into the garden. She asked that Henry might accompany her, which was refused, her uncle observing that the boy must stay in and learn his lessons. She accordingly went alone, and sat down on the grass near a piece of water. Scarcely had she done so, when a tall black-bearded man, whom she had never seen before, came suddenly upon her, took her in his arms, and carried her away. She cried and struggled; he covered her face with a cloth; exhausted, she ultimately fell asleep in his arms. How long, and in what direction, she may have been carried, she has no idea. At length she was brought into a subterranean cavern in a great wood, and there given into the charge of the only inmate, a woman ap

*The Prolonged Subterranean Imprisonment of Two Children. Compiled from the oral communications of one of them, and published as a contribution and invitation towards the unveiling of this dark secret. By Friedrich Eck. (Die langjährige unterirdische Haft, &c.) Frankfort, 1856.