the small amount of money left by his father was exhibited, Rudolph's satisfaction was exchanged for fierce anger. He turned upon Daniel with furious looks.

"Wretched dog!" exclaimed he, grasping the old man's arm with violence all this was known to you! You were in the Baron's confidence, confess this instant-where his money is hid !"

The old castellan, terrified at Rudolph's violence, sank on his knees before him. "Oh, my lord," cried he, "why do you thus treat your old servant!"

"The Fiend's servant!" repeated the enraged Baron. "Tell us, vile wretch!-where is the money? or -," and receiving no immediate answer, he struck the old man violently in the breast with his foot. The blow stretched Daniel senseless on the ground, where he lay gasping for breath, while the blood poured from his nose and mouth,

Hubert sprang to his assistance, lifted him from the ground, and ordered the servants to carry him to his chamber, while Rudolph strode angrily to and fro, venting his fury in threats and execrations.

"I have no need to say," said Hubert, in a tone of grave displeasure, fixing his eyes on his brother, when the torrent was exhausted, "that such cruel treatment of our father's old servant is unworthy of your name and station. It is disgraceful to humanity!"

Rudolph surveyed him contemptulousy. "Belike," said he, "you are in league with the old hypocrite, to rob me of my rights!"

A flush rushed to the brow of the young man, and he mechanically grasp ed his sword; but dropping it again, answered with suppressed emotion "Rudolph, that you can hold me capable of such baseness. proves your own meanness of soul; be that consciousness your punishment! I mourn as well as you, the delusions under which our unfortunate father labored; I have lost thereby my rightful share in the inheritance; but my father's last will is sacred! Give me what belongs to me, and let me depart in peace!" With these words he left the hall.

Hubert immediately went to Daniel's apartment, where the old man lay on his bed, still suffering great pain. He

took a seat near the bed, and looked on him with compassionate sympathy. When he saw how deeply the old servant was agitated, he said tenderly"Poor Daniel, I feel for you, but do not give way to this. You shall go hence with me to-morrow, your place of castellan has been given by my brother to his chamberlain, and you would not, I know, live dependent on his bounty. My baronial inheritance will give me only, it is true, the means of purchas ing a cottage and a bit of ground, which I must till with my own hands. But what I have I will share with you to the end of your days.”

The old man raised himself, though with some difficulty, and looking at Hubert with earnest and flashing eyes, "You, and you alone," cried he," shall be lord of Runsitten!"

"Silence!" exclaimed Hubert sternly, and rising, he walked up and down the room, apparently struggling to subdue thoughts he would not suffer to dwell in his mind. "I will away"-he muttered, "this very night

"Nay-my lord-you must stay," replied Daniel, beseechingly, "you have not yet received your inheritance. Think you, your brother will fail to dig for the treasure buried with the bones of your father, in yonder tower? It belongs, in part, to you. Who knows that so many years of labor were fruitless-and that there may not be enough to purchase a baronial property, if not one so old and stately as Runsitten ?"

Hubert looked doubtfully at the speaker. After a silence of a few moments, Daniel sank back exhausted on the bed, and closed his eyes. "Was your brother's secret known to you before?" he added in a low tone, "I mean the secret of his marriage ?"

"Yes," replied the young man, "it was betrayed to me by one of his servants. I commanded the fellow to be silent, and kept his secret myself; for knew I not the power of love? I do not now repent that I did so; for I would not have gained even fortune by a piece of treachery!"

"Rudolph is like his father," continued Daniel, musingly, "but only in his outward looks. Stern and misanthropical as was my late lord the Baron, he would never have spurned his father's old servant, or driven him away like a dog, with curses. God grant he come not to as fearful an end!"

"Amen!" said Hubert cordially. Soon after he left the apartment, having given his word to the castellan, that he would not leave the castle till he had obtained all his rightful property. Going to his own chamber, he arranged his papers, and having written some letters, retired to rest, as the evening was far advanced. Not long after his departure, a heavy step was heard without; the door was rudely knocked open, and Rudolph entered. Walking up to the bed on which Daniel lay, he addressed him in a tone in which his natural ferocity was as much disguised as possible, though it betrayed itself in his fierce and haughty looks.

"If I dealt with you somewhat severely, old man," said he, "you have yourself to thank for it. You were trusted by my father; you must have known where his money was concealed. You should have instantly discovered this to me, the rightful heir and lord, as soon as I set foot in the castle; not to my younger brother, ungrateful wretch! But if you will now faithfully reveal all, I will pardon you, and permit you to remain in this castle for life, a pensioner on my bounty. Dare not, however, to deceive me! if you attempt it, the rack shall extort confession, and I will have you scourged like a hound from my gates."

Daniel raised himself partly up, and looked in the Baron's face. There was something appalling in that look; so cold and unshrinking were those eyes that had before flashed fire.

"You will act your pleasure with me," replied he, "but no rack can extort a confession I would not make with my own free will. It is not within my knowledge that the late Baron, my master, concealed money anywhere. It is hardly probable; for his experiments cost him large sums; and I once heard him mention that his lady the Baroness had brought him no great wealth. Perhaps information on this subject might be found among his papers. As to the family jewels and treasures, I was ordered by him to carry them to the tower the last night of his life. They are there, with the bones of your father. That is all I have to say." Rudolph stood a few moments, then without speaking a word, turned abruptly, and quitted the room. He went immediately to his father's cabinet, and carefully examined all the papers which

he thought might throw any light on the object of his search. But he found nothing. A private drawer was missing, and it occurred to him that this might have contained the papers he sought. How, if his father had taken it also with him into the tower? The more he thought over this probability, the more fully convinced he became. "I will have the tower searched to-morrow!" was his resolution. He threw himself, without undressing, upon his bed. But instead of sleep, a thousand wild thoughts crowded on his mind. What if my brother avails himself of this very night! Daniel will discover all to him! he said to himself again and again, till his brain seemed on fire. He sprang up, trembling from the excess of his eagerness; snatched the light, and grasping the bunch of keys with a nervous clutch, passed through the apartments of the castle, and ascended the steps leading to the tower.

Passing along the gallery, he reached the iron door that opened on what was now his father's tomb. With trembling hands he selected the key, placed it in the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open. The grating sound it made fell on the deep silence like a groan. A cold, earth-damp air, as from a newly opened grave, blew on his face from within. Rudolph stopped and shuddered; not that his purpose failed-for is not avarice stronger than superstition?

but he was at a loss what to do next. The castle clock struck midnight. Rudolph knelt on the threshold of the door and bent over, as if eager to devour the secrets of the abyss. In vain-the rays of the lamp could reach but a short distance down.

Just then the Baron heard a noise as of light footsteps behind him; and turning his head, saw a tall figure in a white flowing night dress. It came close to him; the features were pale and frightfully distorted; the eyes gleamed with a lurid and unnatural light.

The momentary thrill of fear Rudolph felt, was changed into rage, when he saw the intruder was only the poor old castellan. "Daniel!" he cried in a hoarse whisper-"what do you here? Villain! hound! you are come to rob me! your life shall pay for this!"

Daniel burst into a low, scornful laugh. "The hound," he said, "is dangerous sometimes!" With a sudden and violent thrust he hurled Rudolph

into the abyss. A faint cry was heard -a low groan,-and then all was silence.

The next morning search was made for the Baron Rudolph. His lamp was found still burning on the threshold of the open door leading into the tower. The bunch of keys was hanging from the lock. It was evident to all that the young lord had visited the tower in the night, had missed his footing, and found a grave among the ruins.

Hubert consulted with legal authority as to what he should do, and at their advice a letter was despatched to the widow of Baron Rudolph, informing her that, as his marriage had been contracted without the knowledge of his father or any member of his family, it could not give her son any claim to the inheritance of Runsitten. Hubert, however, offered to allow his brother's son a yearly pension sufficient for his support, on condition of his mother's written promise that he should never advance a claim to the estates. The widow was too poor to think of a lawsuit, and uncertain of the prospect of success, should it be attempted; she therefore prudently acceded to the proposition, and sent the promise required.

Hubert was now undisputed lord of Runsitten. He had the tower partially pulled down, the rubbish removed, and the bodies of his father and brother interred with solemnity and pomp. Among the ruins were found not only the family jewels, etc., but the whole of his mother's fortune in money, as well as bonds for a considerable sum.

The young Baron could never endure to live at Runsitten. The sight of the place where his father and brother had met their death in so frightful a manner, filled him with horror. Having settled his affairs and left the castle in the charge of old Daniel, he fixed his home in a distant part of Germany, where, married to the woman he loved, he rose to great honors, and a place of authority in the state.

Thirty years had passed away; Baron Hubert of Runsitten, who had been long a widower, died, leaving no children. In his last will he recognized his brother's son as his rightful heir, and gave directions where he was to be found with his mother, who was yet living.

It was a day of jubilee at the long deserted castle, when the young baron, named Rudolph, after his father, arrived, accompanied by his mother, and his wife, the fair Alma, whose sweet smile and gentle manners won the hearts of all who looked upon her. Nor was the Baron less popular; his frankness, cordiality, and kindness to his dependents, with his cheerful spirits, made him everywhere welcome. They were received with unbounded enthusiasm. Bonfires, illuminations, dances and feasts attested the delight of the peasantry and retainers, who came in crowds to proffer their homage to the new lord, and to the Baroness, whom all pronounced an angel of beauty and condescension.

Among the household servants, who first appeared in the presence of their new master, the white-haired castellan, then ninety years of age, and tottering as he walked, came to deliver up the keys, and the account-books. As he extended his tremulous hands with the instruments of office, he gazed earnestly on the young Baron. "How like his father!" he murmured with a sigh; "and yet not like-he is so mild—”

"Should I not be mild towards you, my aged friend?" asked Rudolph, kindly.

Again the old man sighed deeply, and begged permission to withdraw. He was evidently exhausted. The Baron dismissed him, and then asked if there were any others among the people who had served his father. The old gamekeeper, the only survivor, presented himself. He was questioned, and told many anecdotes of the late Baron.

"You must remain near my person," said Rudolph, "and you shall have an addition to your salary. Now, as we have finished our business, you may show me the castle."

Highly honored was old Kurt at this request. Taking the keys, he conducted his master from room to room, giving a brief history of each, and of those who had been the occupants in former years.

"And these stairs?" asked Rudolph, opening a door upon a steep flight of steps, "whither do they lead ?"

"We have never used this part of the castle, since the departure of our late lord, the Baron Hubert," answered Kurt. "But if it please you, we will ascend."

They entered a long gallery, at the

end of which was an iron plated door, now walled up. The game-keeper stopped before this door, and silently nodded, with a significant look at his master. Rudolph examined it more closely. There were streaks of blood on the wall.

"What does this mean?" inquired he. Kurt looked, and started back in equal surprise, when he saw the crimson stains.

"Saint Michel keep us!" exclaimed he, looking fearfully about him. "I know not whence come these streaks of blood, if not from the spirit that haunts this place?"

"A spirit ?" repeated the Baron.

Yes-my lord. For many years this part of the castle has been haunted. Since Baron Hubert left us, the castellan has kept it carefully locked up, and no one has ever entered the gallery. He always chided us for saying it was haunted. But could we not hear with our ears? The servants' hall is just under this; and often, late at night, we could hear the spirit walking up and down the gallery, groaning, and scratching on the wall."

Rudolph smiled incredulously; but after a few moments another train of thought seemed awakened, and he looked very grave. "Hear me, Kurt,” -at length he said. "I am determined to unravel this mystery, and shall need your assistance. Say not a word to any person, but have ready my sword and pistols in my chamber to-night."

The old man was proud of the confidence, and promised obedience and silence. They then left the gallery.

Evening came. After supper the Baron retired to his apartment, on the plea of having some business to transact, and found the game-keeper had fulfilled his orders, and was in waiting. By eleven all was silence throughout the castle. The Baron and his attendant went softly up the stairs into the gallery-and entered a closet opening into it, which contained a few wormeaten books and papers. Kurt carried a dark lanthorn. They seated themselves here, and pushing open the door, awaited the appearance of the expected spirit.

It struck midnight, and yet all was still as death. The old man grew impatient. "It is past the hour," he whispered to his lord; "perhaps the

ghost may not walk to-night." Rudolph made a sign that he should be silent.

Just then a light rustling was heard. Both were at the door of the cabinet. The moon shone brightly through the arched window of the gallery, and threw a line of silver light upon the floor. The door by which they had entered stood open. A figure was slowly advancing. As it approached, Kurt opened his lanthorn. The light fell full on his face, and both instantly recognized Daniel, the aged castellan.

He had the aspect of a sleep-walker, and it was evident that his senses were closed to any external impression. He did not observe the light from the lanthorn, nor the two persons, who, in the eagerness of curiosity, had pressed close to him. His eyes were wide open and fixed rigidly, but there was no look of intelligence or consciousness. His whole appearance-with his livid paleness, his scattered white hairs, his tremulous, faltering motion-all denoting too plainly that this feeble old man, trembling on the verge of human existence, was the prey of some recollection horrible enough to overcome physical weakness-was scarcely less appalling than a spectral apparition, to those who beheld him.

With slow and faltering steps, he traversed the gallery, and cowered down by the walled up door. The Baron and Kurt followed.

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Rudolph!" said the old castellan, in low and plaintive tones: "Thy son is heir of Runsitten! Rudolph, it is old Daniel, who brings thee the tidings! Give answer, Rudolph!" He listened a moment, applying his ear to the wall! -"Alas! he cannot answer!" groaned he. "They have built up the door; I cannot go to him!" And with a moan of anguish, he began to scratch on the wall. The blood streamed from his fingers, but he seemed unconscious of pain, and continued to scratch, as if he hoped to tear asunder the iron plates of the door.

"We must rouse him!" cried the young Baron, and shouted to the Castellan-" Daniel!--Daniel! what do you here!"

The aged man sprang to his feet, and uttered a shriek that rang through the vaulted gallery. At the same instant, stretching out his arms towards the sound, he fell forward heavily upon the

floor. They lifted him up; he was speechless; his eyes rolled widely, and in a few moments he had breathed his last.

Among the old castellan's papers was found a written confession of his crime, and something like a picture of the horrible remorse that had tortured him for so many years.

Thus ended the tradition, which added but another brief chapter to the record of woes that spring from the evil passions of men. The fable of the rockbound sufferer, fed upon continually by "Heaven's winged hound," is but emblematic of the punishment of the criminal, successful in eluding human justice.

My unfortunate friend P. has lost the thread of his life, by the interposition of long intervals of partially disordered reason. The past and present are jumbled together in his mind, in a manner often productive of curious results; and which will be better under stood after a perusal of the following letter, than from any description that I could give. The poor fellow, without once stirring from the little white-washed, iron-grated room, to which he alludes in his first paragraph, is never theless a great traveller, and meets, in his wanderings, a variety of personages who have long ceased to be visible to any eye save his own. In my opinion, all this is not so much a delusion, as a partly wilful and partly involuntary sport of the imagination, to which his disease has imparted such morbid energy that he beholds these spectral scenes and characters with no less distinctness than a play upon the stage, and with somewhat more of illusive credence. Many of his letters are in my possession, some based upon the same vagary as the present one, and others upon hypotheses not a whit short of it in absurdity. The whole form a series of correspondence, which. should fate seasonably remove my poor friend from what is to him a world of moonshine, I promise myself a pious pleasure in editing for the public eye. P. had always a hankering after literary reputation, and has made more than one unsuccessful effort to achieve it. It would not be a little odd, if, after missing his object while seeking it by the light of reason, he should prove to have stumbled upon

it in his misty excursions beyond the limits of sanity.

LONDON, February 29, 1845.

MY DEAR FRIEND:

Old associations cling to the mind with astonishing tenacity. Daily custom grows up about us like a stone-wall, and consolidates itself into almost as material an entity as mankind's strongest architecture. It is sometimes a serious question with me, whether ideas be not really visible and tangible, and endowed with all the other qualities of matter. Sitting as I do, at this moment, in my hired apartment, writing beside the hearth, over which hangs a print of Queen Victoria-listening to the muffled roar of the world's metropolis, and with a window at but five paces distant, through which, whenever I please, I can gaze out on actual London-with all this positive certainty, as to my whereabouts, what kind of notion, do you think, is just now perplexing my brain? Why-would you believe it?—that, all this time, I am still an inhabitant of that wearisome little chamber,-that whitewashed little chamber-that little chamber with its one small window, across which, for some inscrutable reason of taste or convenience, my landlord had placed a row of iron bars-that same little chamber, in short, whither your kindness has so often brought you to visit me! Will no length of time, or breadth of space, enfranchise me from that unlovely abode? I travel, but it seems to be like the snail, with my house upon my head. Ah, well! I am verging, I suppose, on that period of