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come into him at her words, and the spirit disappeared whiles ivir he looked on Mary; for ye see her innocence and goodness druv it off the ground for the time-it was next to having the priest himself to the fore-and so Tom tould her, and, says he :

"Only give me hope, Mary, that if ivir I get quit of the spirit, you'll look on me as you do now, and spake to me as you do now, and I'll dare anything to plase you.'

Mary didn't say nothing to that, for she wouldn't make him down-hearted by denyin' him the hope; so she only smiled very kind and gentle, and her smile soothed him more nor all she had said, and he tuk the black-handled knife and tould her he was ready that minit to do whatever she'd bid him, if 'twas to kill twinty spirits, let alone one. So thin Mary counselled him to go that very night to the ould Abbey, where the monks used to be long ago, for av coorse that would be holy ground; and she bid him get as nigh as he could to the stone crass, that was standin' there may be a thousand years or more, and to keep a strong heart agin the spirit, and nivir to heed its timptins or tormentins; and so she parted Tom Malloy, wishing him all manner of luck, and her heart's blessin' on his endeevior.

Well, the minit she left the place, back comes the spirit upon Tom wid more spite nor ivir, and he thought it would go near to kill him wid its ragins; thin it amost broke his heart wid its sneers and its scoffins, strivin' to set him agin Mary, and hissin' in his ear just like a snake, that 'twas makin' game of him she was, and putting all manner of doubts and misgivins into his mind; but he nivir answered a word, only struv to keep to the thoughts of Mary's sweet face and kind words until nightfall, and thin he wint off just as she had tould him to the ould Abbey. Och, thin, all that the spirit had ivir done agin Tom afore, was light compared wid the scourgins it guv him all the way there; but he kep up his courage by thinking of Mary, and he felt himself get stronger and stronger the more he resisted the spirit. So at last he kem to the Abbey, and walked right into it, nivir mind all that the spirit did to hinder him. And he kem up as close as ivir he could to the ould stone crass; the light of the moon kem thro' where

the roof used to be-for it was all fallin' to decay-and showed him the spot, just as plain as day-light itself; so whinivir he got there, he bid the spirit, with a strong voice, get down forenenst him. And sure enough, down wint the ugly thing right afore his face, lookin' up at him wid a look might have frightened a saint, not to mintion a poor sinful man. Troth, 'twould be past all invintion to describe the horrid sights the spirit put upon Tom, to distract his mind and divart the stroke from the right spot; but Tom nivir tuk his eyes off him for a minit, and he lifted up the knife wid all his strength, and druv it right down into the middle of the black heart of the spirit, that was dartin' out flames and serpents and stings.

"Strike me agin, Tom Malloy !" said the spirit wid a screech might have riz the dead.

"Faith, ould divil, you don't come over me that way!" said Tom, for if he had struck him agin, ye know, the spirit would have had power to come back to life, and be a hauntin' of Tom for ivir.

"Och! bad manners to you, Tom Malloy, you've did for me now!" screeched out the spirit agin; and wid that there riz up a storm beyant anything Tom had ivir seen before-sure he dreaded that the ould Abbey would fall down wid the shakin' it got ;-and thin such horrid screechin' and groanin' begun, that Tom just stopped up his ears and shut his eyes tight, to wait till it would be over. Thin it wasn't long he had to wait-may be not more nor a minit had gone, whin he felt the soft wind of summer passin' acrass him, coolin' his burnin' head; and whin he opened his eyes, there was the bright moon shining down on him, lightin' up the ould ruins, wid the ivy creepin' about 'em, and makin' 'em look a dale purtier than the big new church down in the town, nate as it is.

Well, Tom Malloy was happy as a king. He was quit of the spirit, and he felt more light-hearted nor a bird, and so before he wint out of the Abbey, he looked all round to see was there any sign of the spirit in it; but nothin' at all could he see, only just one drop of black blood on the spot where the thing had stud. So Tom wint out of the Abbey wid a grateful heart—and whin he passed the door, what should he see just a step or two beyant, but a figure kneelin' wid her hands clasped; and

the moonbeams that wor shinin' full on her beautiful face, showed him 'twas none other than Mary Delany herself, and whinivir she seen Tom comin' out, she riz up to meet him, but her heart was too full to spake. Well, may be he didn't step forrard in no time to comfort her wid the good news, and a pleasant walk they had home together by the light of the bright moon. And more nor that kem of it, for tho' Mary wouldn't promise to be his wife thinfor she wasn't the girl to give her father

a heart-scald by doin' what wouldn't be plasin' to him-such a change come over Tom, and he grew to be such a dacent, sober boy, that there wasn't the laste fault to find wid him; and not many months afther that time, ould Murtough Delany giv' his consint and his blissin', and Tom Malloy married Mary. And sure it aint many a one's luck to be happier nor he was all his life afther, for if it was a bad spirit he had killed afore, it was a good angel he had won to be his wife.

THE NEW WIFE AND THE OLD.

BY J. G. WHITTIER.

[Hampton, N. H., is one of the oldest settlements in New England. It has perhaps more than its share of marvellous anecdote, in which the celebrated Gen. M.-a Yankee Faust-is a celebrated character. The legend versified below was related to me when a child, by a venerable family visi tant.]

HAMPTON'S Woods are still to-night,
As yon spire which breaks the light
Of the half-faced moon. No breeze
Bears the murmur of the seas
From the long white beach, or waves
Elm leaves o'er the village graves.

From the brief dream of a bride,
She hath wakened at his side,
With half-uttered shriek and start-
Feels she not his beating heart?
And the pressure of his arm,

And his breathing near and warm?

Lightly from the bridal bed
Springs that fair dishevelled head;
And, a feeling new, intense,
Half of shame, half innocence,
Maiden fear and wonder, speaks
Through her parted lip and cheeks.

From the oaken mantle glowing
Faintest light the lamp is throwing,
On the mirror's antique mould,
High-backed chair, and wainscot old,
And, through faded curtains stealing,
His dark sleeping face revealing.

Listless lies the strong man there,
Silver-streaked his careless hair;
Lips of love have left no trace
On that hard and haughty face.

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"DIE GEDANKEN SIND FREY."

A LEAF FROM A TRAVELLER'S NOTE-BOOK.

THE WEDDING PARTY.

THERE is no country on the European continent, where a traveller is admitted to the intimacy and knowledge of domestic life, so much as in Germany. The general kindliness of the people, the absence of pretension, the Teutonic warmth of hospitality, open hearts as well as houses to strangers; and unconscious of necessity for disguise, and undoubting reciprocal interest in their private affairs, the minor circumstances of the ménage, as well as the more important, the expectations, the prospects the wishes, of themselves and those dearest to them, are frankly and freely exhibited and detailed to any respectably introduced traveller who may have gained their regard. And very disagreeable indeed must that traveller be, with quintuple portion of either English reserve and hauteur, or other persons' (I say not whose) presumption and impudence, who cannot obtain, even on transient acquaintance, a place in the honest German's liking, as well as a seat among the happy family at his ta

ble.

Having arrived late one autumnal evening in Strasburg, which, though a frontier town, distinctly preserves its German characteristics in its German population, I had occasion next day to call on the Bankers, Heiligthal and Brothers; so taking a look at a map of the city in one of the rooms of the hotel where I slept, I set off about ten o'clock, choosing my way by the famous Cathedral; whence, while I paused for a moment to admire the Gothic grandeur of its proportions, issued a gay wedding party, soon distributed into some splendid carriages in waiting, which swept rapidly away, allowing me scarce a glimpse of a very beautiful woman whom I conjectured to be the bride.

I was about an hour finding the house of Messrs. Heiligthal, and on entering the close, dim rooms of the counting house, was accosted by a civil youthful looking clerk, sitting alone and unoccupied by a window to the street, with a

polite inquiry as to my wishes. He replied to my question by saying "the Messrs. Heiligthal are not in, sir." "Could you inform me where, or how soon I can see them?" said I. "My business is very pressing, I should like to leave Strasburg to-night." "The gentlemen have gone to the Cathedral this morning, sir. Mademoiselle Heiligthat is to be married there to the great Rosenfeld of Milan," returned the clerk, with a slight air of reflected consequence.

"Indeed," said I, "I think I saw the wedding party;-probably Messrs. Heiligthal will not be here to-day."

"They will, sir, I believe, but the family live in the country two or three miles from town, and perhaps―"

The "perhaps" of the clerk was arrested by the sound of doors opening, and feet, stout heavy steps, tramping cheerily up the staircase, loud joyous laughs, and voices, whose full honest tones spoke well-earned, well-deserved happiness, and the portly brother bankers and two principal and favorite clerks entered the apartment in which I was standing. Without waiting for more than my name, all and each warmly shook my hand, inquired in what manner they could serve me, and after looking at the letters of credit I presented, the elder Heiligthal asked if had engaged lodgings for any length of time, strongly dissuaded me from my intentions of so suddenly departing, and finally insisted I should accompany himself and brothers to his villa to dinner, to remain all night at least, if not for a few days. The heartiness and warm sincerity of their manners attracted me exceedingly; it was almost impossible to refuse; besides a lurking desire to see more of the fair bride determined me; and promising to be ready when their carriage should call at my hotel, I left the hospitable strangers, delighted with so favorable a commencement of German acquaintance.

The villa was substantially elegant, the glimpses of river views exquisite,

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