but greatly to the alleviation of his own passion is worthy of any sacrifice; for you sorrow. It was natural, in such circumstan- know your friend too well to believe him ces, that the young officer should console capable of any blind infatuation, and this himself sooner than poor Edward. The must suffice for the present. No one must country in which Hallberg found himself suspect what we are to each other; no one was wild and mountainous, but possessed all here or round the neighborhood must have the charms and peculiarities of "far off" the slightest clue to our plans. An awful districts-simple, hospitable manners, old- personage will soon make his appearance fashioned customs, many tales and legends among us. His violent temper, his inveterate which arise from the credulity of the moun- obstinacy (according to all that one hears of taineers, who invariably lean towards the him) are well calculated to confirm in her a marvellous, and love to people the wild soli- well-founded aversion. But family arrangetudes with invisible beings. Iments and legal contracts exist, the fulfilFerdinand had soon, without seeking for ment of which the opposing party are bent it, made acquaintance with several respecta- on enforcing. The struggle will be hardble families in the town; and, as it generally perhaps, unsuccessful; notwithstanding, I happens in such cases, he had become quite, will strain every nerve. Should I fall, you domesticated in the best country houses in must console yourself, my dear Edward, with the neighborhood; and the well-mannered, the thought, that it will be no misfortune to handsome, and agreeable youth was wel- your friend to be deprived of an existence comed everywhere. The simple, patriarchal rendered miserable by the failure of his life in these old mansions and castles-the dearest hopes, and separation from his dearcordiality of the people, the wild, picturesque est friend. Then may all the happiness scenery, nay, the very legends themselves which Heaven has denied me be vouchsafed were entirely to Hallberg's taste. He to you and her, so that my spirit may look adapted himself easily to his new mode of down contentedly from the realms of light, life, but his heart remained tranquil. This and bless and protect you both.” could not last. Before half a year had passed, | the battalion to which he belonged was ordered to another station, and he had to part with many friends. The first letter which he wrote after this change, bore the impression of impatience at the breaking up of a happy time. Edward found this natural enough; but he was surprised in the following letters to detect signs of a disturbed and desultory state of mind, wholly foreign to his friend's nature. The riddle was soon solved. Ferdinand's heart was touched for the first time, and, perhaps, because the impression had been made late, it was all the deeper. Unfavorable circumstances opposed themselves to his hopes: the young lady was of ancient family, rich, and betrothed since her childhood to a relation, who was expected shortly to arrive in order to claim her promised hand. Notwithstanding this engagement, Ferdinand and the young girl had become sincerely attached to each other, and had both resolved to dare everything with the hope of being united. They pledged their troth in secret; the darkest mystery enveloped not only their plans, but their affections; and as secrecy was necessary to the advancement of their projects, Ferdinand entreated his friend to forgive him if he did not entrust his whole secret to a sheet of paper that had at least sixty miles to travel, and which must pass through so many hands. It was impossible from his letter to guess the name of the person or the place in question. "You know that I love," he wrote, "therefore you know that the object of my secret Such was the usual tenor of the letters which Edward received during that period. His heart was full of anxiety-he read danger and distress in the mysterious communications of Ferdinand; and every argument that affection and good sense could suggest did he make use of, in his replies, to turn his friend from this path of peril which threatened to end in a deep abyss. He tried persuasion, and urged him to desist for the sake of their long-tried affection. But when did passion ever listen to the expostulations of friendship? Ferdinand only saw one aim in life-the possession of the beloved one. All else faded from before his eyes, and even his correspondence slackened; for his time was much taken up in secret excursions, arrangements of all kinds, and communications with all manner of persons; in fact every action of his present life tended to the furtherance of his plan. All of a sudden his letters ceased. Many posts passed without a sign of life. Edward was a prey to the greatest anxiety; he thought his friend had staked and lost. He imagined an elopement, a clandestine marriage, a duel with a rival, and all these casualties were the more painful to conjecture, since his entire ignorance of the real state of things gave his fancy full range to conjure up all sorts of misfortunes. length, after many more posts had come in without a line to pacify Edward's fears, without a word in reply to his earnest entreaties for some news, he determined on At taking a step which he had meditated before, and only relinquished out of consideration for his friend's wishes. He wrote to the officer commanding the regiment, and made inquiries respecting the health and abode of Lieutenant von Hallberg, whose friends in the capital had remained for nearly two months without news of him, he who had hitherto proved a regular and frequent correspondent. grief subsided into a deep but calm regret; it was as if a mist had spread itself over every object which presented itself before him, robbing them indeed of half their charms, yet leaving them visible, and in their real relation to himself. During this mental change the autumn arrived, and with it the long-expected commission. It did not indeed occasion the joy which it might have done in former days, when it would have led to a meeting with Ferdinand, or at all events to a better chance of meeting, but it released him from the thraldom of college, and it opened to him a welcome sphere of activity. Now it so happened that his appointment led him accidentally into the very neighborhood where Ferdinand had formerly resided, only with this difference, that Edward's squadron was quartered in the lowlands, about a short day's journey from the town and woodland environs in question. Another fortnight dragged heavily on, and at length the announcement came in an official form. Lieutenant von Hallberg had been invited to the castle of a nobleman, whom he was in the custom of visiting, in order to be present at the wedding of a lady; that he was indisposed at the time, that he grew worse, and on the third morning had been found dead in his bed, having expired during the night from an attack of apoplexy. Edward could not finish the letter-it fell from his trembling hand. To see his worst He proceeded to his quarters, and found an fears realized so suddenly, overwhelmed him agreeable occupation in the exercise of his at first. His youth withstood the bodily ill-new duties. ness which would have assailed a weaker He had no wish to make acquaintances, constitution, and perhaps mitigated the an- yet he did not refuse the invitations that guish of his grief. He was not dangerously ill, but they feared many days for his reason; and it required all the kind solicitude of the director of the college, combined with the most skilful medical aid, to stem the torrent of his sorrow, and to turn it gradually into a calmer channel, until by degrees the mourner recovered both health and reason. His youthful spirits, however, had received a blow from which they never rebounded, and one thought lay heavy on his mind which he was unwilling to share with any other person, and which on that account, grew more and more painful. It was the memory of that holy promise which had been mutually contracted, that the survivor was to receive some token of his friend's remembrance of him after death. Now two months had already passed since Ferdinand's earthly career had been arrested; his spirit was free, why no sign? In the moment of death Edward had had no intimation, no message from the passing spirit, and this apparent neglect, so to speak, was another deep wound in Edward's breast. Do the affections cease with life? Was it contrary to the will of the Almighty that the mourner should taste this consolation? Did individuality lose itself in death, and with it memory? Or did one stroke destroy spirit, and body? These anxious doubts, which have before now agitated many who reflect on such subjects, exercised their power over Edward's mind with an intensity that none can imagine save one whose position is in any degree similar. Time gradually deadened the intensity of his affliction. The violent paroxysms of were pressed upon him, lest he should be accused of eccentricity and rudeness; and so he found himself soon entangled in all sorts of engagements with the neighboring gentry and nobility. If these so-called gayeties gave him no particular pleasure, at least for the time they diverted his thoughts; and, with this view, he accepted an invitation (for the new year and carnival were near at hand) to a great shooting match which was to be held in the mountains-a spot which it was possible to reach in one day, with favorable weather, and the roads in a good state. The day was appointed, the air tolerably clear; a mild frost had made the roads safe and even, and Edward had every expectation of being able to reach Blumenberg in his sledge before night, as on the following morning the match was to take place. But as soon as he got near the mountains, where the sun retires so early to rest, snow-clouds drove from all quarters, a cutting wind came roaring through the ravines, and a heavy fall of snow began. Twice the driver lost his way, and daylight was gone before he had well recovered it; darkness came on sooner than in other places, walled in as they were by dark mountains, with dark clouds above their heads. It was out of the question to dream of reaching Blumenberg that night; but in this hospitable land, where every householder welcomes the passing traveller, Edward was under no anxiety as to shelter. He only wished, before the night quite set in, to reach some country-house or castle; and now that the storm had abated in some degree, that the heavens were a little clearer, and that a few stars peeped out, a large valley opened before them, whose bold outline Edward could distinguish, even in the uncertain light. The well-defined roofs of a neat village were perceptible, and behind these, half-way up the mountain that crowned the plain, Edward thought he could discern a large building which glimmered with more than one light. The road led straight into the village. Edward stopped and inquired. That building was, indeed, a castle; the village belonged to it, and both were the property of the Baron Friedenberg. "Friedenberg!" repeated Edward: the name sounded familiar to him, yet he could not call to mind when and where he had heard it. He inquired if the family were at home, hired a guide, and arrived at length, by a rugged path which wound itself round steep rocks, to the summit of them, and finally to the castle, which was perched there like an eagle's nest. The tinkling of the bells on Edward's sledge attracted the attention of the inmates; the door was opened with prompt hospitality-servants appeared with torches; Edward was assisted to emerge from under the frozen apron of his carriage, out of his heavy pelisse, stiff with hoar frost, and up a comfortable staircase into a long saloon of simple construction, where a genial warmth appeared to welcome him from a spacious stove in the corner. The servants here placed two large burning candles in massive silver sconces, and went out to announce the stranger. The fitting up of the room, or rather saloon, was perfectly simple. Family portraits, in heavy frames, hung round the walls, diversified by some maps. Magnificent stags' horns were arranged between; and the taste of the master of the house was easily detected in the hunting-knives, powder-flasks, carbines, smoking-bags, and sportsmen's pouches, which were arranged, not without taste, as trophies of the chase. The ceiling was supported by large beams, dingy with smoke and age; and on the sides of the room were long benches, covered and padded with dark cloth, and studded with large brass nails; while round the dinner-table were placed several arm-chairs, also of an ancient date. All bore the aspect of the "good old times," of a simple patriarchal life with affluence. Edward felt as if there were a kind welcome in the inanimate objects which surrounded him, when the inner door opened, and the master of the house entered, preceded by a servant, and welcomed his guest with courteous cordiality. Some apologies, which Edward offered on account of his intrusion, was silenced in a moment. "I must introduce you to my family. You are not such a stranger to us as you fancy." With these words he took Edward by the arm, and, lighted by the servant, they passed through several lofty rooms, which were very handsomely furnished, although in an old-fashioned style, with faded Flemish carpets, large chandeliers, and high-backed chairs; everything in keeping with what the youth had already seen in the castle. Here were the ladies of the house. At the other end of the room, by the side of an immense stove, ornamented with a large shield of the family arms, richly emblazoned, and crowned by a gigantic Turk, in a most comfortable attitude of repose, sat the lady of the house, an elderly matron of tolerable circumference, in a gown of dark red satin, with a black mantle and a snow-white lace cap. She appeared to be playing cards with the chaplain, who sat opposite to her at the table, and the Baron Friedenberg to have made the third hand at ombre, till he was called away to welcome his guest. On the other side of the room were two young ladies, an elder person, who might be a governess, and a couple of children, very much engrossed by a game at lotto. As Edward entered, the ladies rose to greet him; a chair was placed for him near the mistress of the house, and very soon a cup of chocolate and a bottle of tokay were served on a rich silver salver, to restore the traveller after the cold and discomfort of his drive; in fact, it was easy for him to feel that these "far-away" people were by no means displeased at his arrival. An agreeable conversation soon began among all parties. His travels, the shooting-match, the neighborhood, agriculture, all afforded subjects, and in a quarter of an hour Edward felt as if he had long been domesticated with these simple but truly well-informed people. Two hours flew swiftly by, and then a bell sounded for supper: the servants returned with lights, announced that the supper was on the table, and lighted the company into the dining-room-the same into which Edward had first been ushered. Here, in the background, some other characters appeared on the scene-the agent, a couple of his subalterns, and the physician. The guests ranged themselves round the table. Edward's place was between the baron and his wife. The chaplain said a short grace, when the baroness, with an uneasy look, glanced at her husband over Edward's shoulder, and said, in a low whisper— 66 My love, we are thirteen-that will never do." The baron smiled, beckoned to the youngest of the clerks, and whispered to him. The "Come, now, lieutenant," said the baron, youth bowed, and withdrew. The servant took the cover away, and served his supper in the next room. My wife," said Friedenberg, "is superstitious, as all mountaineers are. She thinks it unlucky to dine thirteen. It certainly has happened twice (whether from chance or not, who can tell?) that we have had to mourn the death of an acquaintance who had, a short time before, made the thirteenth at our table." "This idea is not confined to the mountains. I know many people in the capital who think with the baroness," said Edward. Although in a town such ideas, which belong more especially to the olden time, are more likely to be lost in the whirl and bustle which usually silence everything that is not essentially matter of fact." "Ah, yes, lieutenant," replied the baron smiling good-humoredly, "we keep up old customs better in the mountains. You see that by our furniture. People in the capital would call this sadly old-fashioned." "That which is really good and beautiful can never appear out of date," rejoined Edward courteously; "and here, if I mistake not, presides a spirit that is ever striving after both. I must confess, baron, that when I first entered your house, it was this very aspect of the olden time that enchanted me beyond measure." That is always the effect which simplicity has on every unspoiled mind," answered Friedenberg; "but townspeople have seldom a taste for such things." "I was partly educated on my father's estate," said Edward, "which was situated in the Highlands; and it appeared to me as if, when I entered your house, I were visiting a neighbor of my father's, for the general aspect is quite the same here as with us." "Yes," said the chaplain, “mountainous districts have all a family likeness; the same necessities, the same struggles with nature, the same seclusion, all produce the same way of life among mountaineers." "On that account the prejudice against the number thirteen was especially familiar to me," replied Edward. "We also dislike it; and we retain a consideration for many supernatural, or at least, inexplicable, things, which I have met with again in this neighborhood." "Yes, here, almost more than anywhere else," continued the chaplain, "I think we excel all other mountaineers in the number and variety of our legends and ghost stories. I assure you that there is not a cave or a church, or, above all, a castle, for miles round about, of which we could not relate something supernatural.❤ Yes, this part which we live in,” answered the baron; but it consists of only a few apartments sufficient for my family and these gentlemen; the other portion of the building is half in ruins, and dates from the period when men established themselves on the mountains for greater safety." "There are some who maintain," said the physician, "that a part of the walls of the eastern tower itself are of Roman origin; but that would surely be difficult to prove." 66 But, gentleman," observed the baroness, "you are losing yourselves in learned descriptions as to the erection of the castle, and our guest is kept in ignorance of what he is anxious to hear." "Indeed, madam," replied the chaplain, "this is not entirely foreign to the subject, since in the most ancient part of the building lies the chamber in question." "Where apparitions have been seen?" inquired Edward eagerly. "Not exactly," replied the baroness; "there is nothing fearful to be seen." 66 Come, let us tell him at once," interrupted the baron. "The fact is, that every guest who sleeps for the first time in this room, (and it has fallen to the lot of many, in turn, to do so,) is visited by some important, significant dream or vision, or whatever I ought to call it, in which some future event is prefigured to him, or some past mystery cleared up, which he had vainly striven to comprehend before.” "Then," interposed Edward, "it must be something like what is known in the Highlands, under the name of second sight-a privilege, as some consider it, which several persons and several families enjoy." "Just so," said the physician, "the cases are very similar; yet the most mysterious part of this affair is, that it does not appear to originate with the individual, or his organization, or his sympathy with beings of the invisible world; no, the individual has nothing to say to it-the locality does it all. Every one who sleeps in that room has his mysterious dream, and the result proves its truth." The baroness, who perceived the turn which the conversation was likely to take, i "At least, in most instances," continued the baron, "when we have had an opportunity of hearing the cases confirmed. I remember once in particular. You may recollect, lieutenant, that when you first came in, I had the honor of telling you you were not quite a stranger to me." "Certainly, baron; and I have been wishing for a long time to ask an explanation of these words." "We have often heard your name mentioned by a particular friend of yours-one who could never pronounce it without emotion." "Ah!” cried Edward, who now saw clearly why the baron's name had sounded familiar to him also-"ah! you speak of my friend Hallberg; truly do you say, we were indeed dear to each other." "Were!" echoed the baron, in a faltering tone, as he observed the sudden change in Edward's voice and countenance; "can the blooming, vigorous youth be "Dead!" exclaimed Edward; and the baron deeply regretted that he had touched so tender a chord, as he saw the young offcer's eyes fill with tears, and a dark cloud pass over his animated features. "Forgive me," he continued, while he leaned forward and pressed his companion's hand; "I grieve that a thoughtless word should have awakened such deep sorrow. I had no idea of his death; we all loved the handsome young man, and by his description of you were already much interested in you before we had ever seen you." The conversation now turned entirely on Hallberg. Edward related the particulars of his death. Every one present had something to say in his praise; and although this sudden allusion to his dearest friend had agitated Edward in no slight degree, yet it was a consolation to him to listen to the tribute these worthy people paid to the memory of Ferdinand, and to see how genuine was their regret at the tidings of his death. The time passed swiftly away in conversation of much interest, and the whole family were surprised to hear ten o'clock strike, an unusually late hour for this quiet, regular family. The chaplain read prayers, in which Edward devoutly joined, and then he kissed the matron's hand, and felt almost as if he were in his father's house. The baron offered to show his guest to his room, and the servant preceded them with lights. The way led past the staircase, and then on one side into a long gallery, which communicated with another wing of the castle. The high-vaulted ceilings, the curious carving on the ponderous door-ways, the pointed Gothic windows, through many broken panes of which a sharp nightwind whistled, proved to Edward that he was in "Then, if that be the case," said the baron, we will return. The room was already prepared for you, being the most comfortable, and the best in the whole wing; only I fancied, after our conversation 66 Oh, certainly not," exclaimed Edward; "I could only long for such dreams." During this discourse they had arrived at the door of the famous room. They went in. They found themselves in a lofty and spacious apartment, so large that the two candles which the servant carried only shed a glimmering twilight over it, which did not penetrate to the furthest corner. A highcanopied bed, hung with costly but oldfashioned damask, of a dark green, in which were swelling pillows of snowy whiteness, tied with green bows, and a silk coverlet of the same color, looked very inviting to the tired traveller. Sofa and chairs of faded needlework, a carved oak commode and table, a looking-glass in heavy framework, a priedieu and crucifix above it, constituted the furniture of the room, where, above all things, cleanliness and comfort preponderated, while a good deal of silver plate was spread out on the toilet-table. Edward looked round. "A beautiful room!" he said. "Answer me one question, baron, if you please. Did he ever sleep here ?" "Certainly," replied Friedenberg; "it was his usual room when he was here, and he had a most curious dream in that bed, which, as he assured us, made a great impression on him." "And what was it?" inquired Edward, eagerly. He never told us, for, as you well know, he was reserved by nature; but we gathered, from some words that he let slip, that an early and sudden death was foretold. Alas! your narrative has confirmed the truth of the prediction." "Wonderful! He always had a similar foreboding, and many a time has he grieved me by alluding to it," said Edward; "yet it never made him gloomy or discontented. He went on his way firmly and calmly, and looked forward with joy, I might almost say, to another life." "He was a superior man," answered the baron, "whose memory will ever be dear to |