tricians, who waited on him for the purpose of inducing him to withdraw his resolution respecting their monetary privileges. He was, however, inflexible. He would hear nothing against his favourite project; but loaded the deputies with reproaches, and dismissed them with contempt.

The archbishop was a brave and a bold, as well as an obstinate and an obdurate man; and he was, moreover, sufficient of a politician to be perfectly well aware of the advantage of activity in all matters of opposition. No sooner, therefore, had he received intelligence of the revolt, than he concentrated all his available forces at Bonn; and, secretly embarking them in every kind of vessel fit for the purpose, he dropped down the river, with the view of taking Cologne by surprise. The embarkation took place within a few hours of the dawning of an early autumn morning. He wished to reach that city before sunrise; and calculated that the walls might be possessed ere the inhabitants had awoke from their slumbers. But the promoters of the insurrection had timely information of the project; and they had provided for the emergency in a most effectual manner. It was resolved by them, in a hasty council called for the purpose, that the flotilla of the archbishop should not be permitted to near the city; and that the battle which was to decide the fate of their liberties should be fought as distant from its precincts as possible. Accordingly, every vessel lying in the port of Cologne was put into immediate requisition, and filled with town's folk eager for the onslaught. They were then towed up the stream to meet the descending armament of the archbishop. By cause of some of those delays which can never be calculated on, the latter were longer on the voyage than it was designed they should be; and day had broken for some time before they came in sight of the towers of Cologne. Another view of a much more disagreeable aspect, however, awaited them. Just as they swept round the head-land, which abuts from the village of Godorf, and embraces that of Sürdt, on the opposite bank of the Rhine, they beheld, ranged in several deep files across the stream, so as completely to obstruct its further navigation, the fleet of the rebel burghers, consisting of craft of all kinds, with a great proportion of the large, strong vessels of the low countries among them. They

were moored in triple lines, and connected both shores, from Westhofen, on the one side, to Rodenkirchen, on the other. The larger vessels were moored in mid-current; the smaller filled up every unoccupied spot on the surface of the stream. On each bank of the river was drawn up a considerable body of armed men, flanked by a countless crowd of on-lookers, who hovered on their skirts like ravens over a field of carnage. The little island of Rodenkirchen was occupied with a strong force of citizens; and the houses in the respective villages of Rodenkirchen and Westhofen were all converted into temporary fortifications. Such was the appearance of the scene when the archbishop's flotilla hove in sight.

officers would have dissuaded him from encountering such fearful odds; representing to him that defeat was inevitable, inasmuch as his opponents were ten to one against him; and urging him to return to Bonn while yet a hope remained of making good his retreat. But Conrad was not to be dissuaded; the flotilla held on its course; and even as this argument proceeded, they were borne abreast of the enemy's line by the force of the current. Nothing now remained for them but to sell their lives as dearly as possible; victory on their side was seen at once to be quite out of the question. To it they accordingly went, the archbishop's bark leading the van; and a river fight ensued, which is still memorable in the annals of the Rhine, as one of the most sanguinary ever decided on its

waters.

The battle lasted the whole day long. Both parties combated with a bravery worthy of the brightest era of German valour. Conrad was ever foremost in the fight; and every weapon in the ranks of the rebels was directed against him during the continuance of the action. Yet, by some unaccountable interposition of Providence, he remained unhurt through the entire affray, though hundreds of his best and boldest, friends and followers, fell around him. Night only put an end to the engagament.

The archbishop drew off in the darkness, and reached Bonn by daylight the following morning, dispirited, disheartened, defeated, at the very same moment that the rebels returned to Cologne in triumph, greeted by the deafening shouts of a population frantic with joy, drunken with victory, and wild with the certainty of freedom.

This was the first open attempt upon the rights of the citizens, and the privileges of the city of Cologne, by the Archbishop Conrad von Hochstetten. A temporary peace was concluded between the parties shortly afterwards.

The further history of this ambitious prelate has been already treated of at some length; only once again shall a necessity arise to allude to him more.

ZÜNDORF.

THE WATER-SPIRIT.

Every river, every stream, every brook, every brooklet, and every fountain in Germany, is patronised by its own particular spirit; can it be imagined then, for a moment, that old father Rhine alone is without any such progeny? Yet, strange to say, this famous river partakes less of the marvellous in that respect than most others in that land of legend: and no water spirits, except the Lurley, or Undine, of whom more hereafter, and the Waterman, of whom anon, have found celebrity, and a permanent abode on its shores, or in its waters. The subsequent traditions

are all that can be gleaned on the subject of the latter.

About the middle of the sixteenth century, when Zündorf was no larger than it is at present, there lived at the end of the village, hard by the church, one of that useful class of women termed midwives. She was an honest, industrious creature; and what with ushering the new-born into life, and then assisting to cover their nakedness, by making garments for them subsequently, she contrived to creep through the world in comfort, if not in complete happiness.

The summer had been one of unusual drought, and the winter, of a necessity, one of uncommon scarcity: so that when the spring arrived there was consequently less to do in her line than there had been at any period for the preceding seven years. In fact, she was totally unemployed. As she mused one night, lying a-bed, on the matter, and prayed that the future might be plenty of provisions, which she wisely knew would cause a plenty in the embryo population-for she was a sensible woman in her way she was startled from an incipient doze by a sharp, quick knock at the door of her cottage. She hesitated for a moment to answer the call, but the knocking was repeated with more violence than before. This caused her to spring out of her bed without more delay, and hasten to ascertain the wish of her impatient visitor. She opened the door in the twinkling of an eye; and, behold! a man, tall of stature, enveloped in a large dark cloak, stood before her.

"My wife is in need of thee," he said to her abruptly: "her time is come-follow me!"

"Nay, but the night is dark, sir," replied she; "whither do you desire me to follow?"

"Close at hand," he answered, as abruptly as before. "Boune ye quick, and follow me."

"I will but light my lamp and place it in the lantern," said she. "It will not cost me more than a moment's delay." "It needs not—it needs not," repeated the stranger rapidly; "the spot is close by. I know every foot of the ground. Follow follow!"

There was something so imperative, and at the same time so irresistible, in the manner of the man, that she said not another word; but, drawing her warm cloak about her head, she followed him at once. Not a word was spoken by either. Ere she was aware of the course he had taken, however, so dark was the night, and so wrapped up was she in her cloak and her own meditations, she found herself on the bank of the river, just opposite the low, fertile islet, which bears the same name as the village, and lies at a little distance from the shore.

"How is this, good sir?" she exclaimed, in a tone of surprise and alarm. "You have missed the path-you have left

your road. Here is no outlet to go further."

"Silence, and follow," were the only words he spoke in reply; but they were uttered in such a manner as shewed her at once that her best course was obedience.

They were now at the edge of the mighty stream; the rushing waters washed their feet. The poor woman would fain

have drawn back; but she could not for the life of her: such was the preternatural power exercised over her by the mere presence of her companion.

"Fear not follow!" he spake again, in a kinder tone to her, as the current kissed the hem of her garments.

He took the lead of her. The waters opened to receive him. A wall of crystal seemed built up on each side the vista. He plunged into its depths; she followed. The wild wave gurgled over them; they were walking along the shiny pebbles and glittering sands which strewed the bed of the river.

And now a change came over her indeed. She had left all