of the Goblinheims, all in regular order. from Baron Ulric the first, A. D. 550, down to Baron Ulric XXV, A. D. 1250, and then from Count Ulric the first down to Count Ulric XXV, A. D. 18-. The first twentyfive were all Barons down to the thirteenth century, and the next twenty-five were all Counts, down to the present incumbent, who, it is expected, would be raised to the dignity of Prince, and accumulate upon himself the title of Baron Ulric the fiftieth, Count Ulric the twenty-fifth, and Prince Ulric the first von Goblinheim-Goblinheim-after which the family would be in repose for the next twenty-five generations. "This is remarkably fine, Marcobrunner," said the Count Ulric to a gentleman with a powdered head and a breast like the spacious firmament, all studded with stars. "It has been in my family ever since the days of Ulric XVI, surnamed the Green Bearded. It was he, by the way, who first heard the singular prophecy communicated to our family by the second goblin, for, you know, we have had two." "Very respectable, Marcobrunner, indeed," said the starry gentleman; "but what is the story and what is all this about two goblins? What upon earth can any respectable family want with more than one goblin at a time?" "Look here, your excellency," (for the man with the star was a cabinet minister,) said Count Ulric, holding up his right forefinger upon which he wore a seal ring with armorial bearings, about as large and as much emblazoned as a tombstone. "You perceive that the arms of our family are two goblins rampant with a vacant space between; the motto is 'Noch nicht,' or 'not yet.' It is a singular fact that at the beginning of the sixth century, Anno Domini, an apparition was seen, at the dead of night, upon the very spot where this house now stands, by the founder of our line, Ulrichius, a Gothic soldier who had fought in Italy." "What sort of an apparition, count?" asked a gentleman sitting next to the cabinet minister, and who had hitherto appeared engaged in other conversation. "A most singular apparition, sir, for the legend goes on to relate that it bore an exact resemblance to Ulrichius himself. He was sitting at midnight in front of his tent-for he had just returned from a successful Italian foray with considerable booty-his attendants were all asleep and he was about following their example, when suddenly a vast mirror seemed to rise before him, his camp-fire at the same time threw up a lighter blaze, and he distinctly saw himself in the mirror seated cross-legged with his spear resting upon his shoulder. He started up-the figure did the same-he approached close to the mirror-his double seemed to be close upon him. Half frightened, he lifted his spear and dealt a blow sufficient to dash all the mirrors in the world into a thousand pieces, when what was his astonishment to find that there was no mirror at all, and that his blow seemed to alight upon the steel corslet of a soldier, passing through it without resistance, and stretching himself upon the ground by the violence of his own blow. | When he rose, the apparition still stood motionless and unchanged before him, the exact counterpart of himself in face, form and attire. The intrepid Goth was appalled till he trembled like a girl. "Who art thou?' he cried, with a shudder. "What the reply of the goblin was has been lost. The legend, however, goes on to say that the apparition was the forerunner of great advancement in rank and wealth to the Gothic soldier. The Roman wealth was used to reclaim the German wilderness, and we find, some centuries later, the descendants of Ulrichius ranked among the most powerful and wealthy barons of the empire." "Is that all?" asked the satirical gentleman sitting next to the minister, with a sneer just uncoiling itself from beneath his moustaches. "Not half," answered the count, apparently not relishing the interruption. "This was but the first goblin, and the legend concerning it is very dim and vague, the period to which it refers being enough to make it so; but the second goblin with the vacant space, and the origin of the motto 'Not yet'—ah, that is a story indeed-but you don't care about hearing it, I perceive." "Oh, certainly-on the contrary," said the cabinet minister. 'Well, well," said the count, pacified, particularly when he saw his satirical friend urging him to continue by a supplicatory gesture. "Well, well, then, the legend of the second goblin is much more definite. My family is not so insignificant, I take it, but that some of you may have heard of Count Ulric the crusader?" "Oh, all of us-all of us!" exclaimed all his listeners. "Well, Count Ulric was the first of the line who was made a count, and by him as well as by Ulrichius, the first who became a nobleman at all, an apparition was seen, and that too upon the eve of his advancement. He was sitting alone in the hall very late one night, and upon this very spot-for you know the old castle was so large that it extended over the whole site of the modern mansion, having its hall in exactly the same place as the one in which we are sittingand had taken up a light to move up to the turret in which his private apartments were situated. Passing by a large mirror, placed opposite the hall windows, he happened to glance into it, at the same time holding his torch so as to throw as great a light as possible upon it. He was startled by perceiving that the reflection of his own person, which of course was visible in the mirror, seemed to move of its own accord. Strange to say, too, the reflected figure held no light as he did, but lifted up its right hand and beckoned to him in a solemn manner. The baron was a bold man, but, as you may suppose, a little startled by this independent action of his own image, and stood spell-bound while the figure still beckoned. "Who art thou?' cried my ancestor at last, plucking up a heart. "Thyself!' returned the figure, in a hollow voice. "I wont acknowledge you, by the holy cross! cried the baron. "The figure began rapidly to disappear-the mirror seemed dim, as if something had breathed upon it. "Stay, stay,' shouted the baron, for the legend of Ulrichius and the consequence of his vision flashed across his mind. 'Stay, in the name of all the fiends and goblins in creation!' a third goblin has appeared as the herald of still greater dignity and power." "And what became of the count-is he buried in your family tomb?" asked the diplomatist. "No," said the count; "singular to relate, the first Ulrichius and Count Ulric the first are the only two of the line, the place and time of whose deaths are uncertain. Their deaths were in fact supposititious, "The figure grew bright again as rapidly as it had for they both disappeared mysteriously, and nobody faded. "Who art thou?' cried the baron again, in a peremptory tone, for he thought the apparition was making game of him. "Thyself!' repeated the figure. 'Are you a coward?' "Sir!' cried the baron, fiercely, and laying hold of his sword, for he forgot he was talking to an apparition. "Poh! poh! said the spectre, contemptuously. 'However, I am answered-and so are you.' "No, no,' cried the baron, ''tis no answer at all, -nor shall you leave this place all night, till I learn more from you than this-and if I stand before the glass all night, hang me if I see how my reflection can retire from it; so make the best of it, old Doublegoer!' "Ask me a third time,' said the goblin. "What an old formalist! Well, who are you, then?' ever knew any thing about the matter." "And are you sure they are really dead?" asked the diplomatist, in a very hollow voice. The count, surprised at the extraordinary question and at the tone of the voice, turned to look at his interrogator before he answered. As he did so, his jaw dropped, his eyes glared fixedly at the questioner, his face grew white as wax-and if his hair did not stand on end, it was because he wore a wig, which nobody ever knew before, and which they all discovered at that moment. Every body at table stared also at the stranger, who seemed so inquisitive and whose odd question seemed to agitate the count so much-and that puts me in mind that I have not yet formally presented you to the rest of the company. The Count and Countess von Goblinheim-Goblinheim presided at each end of the table; next to the count was the Princess of Schwartzwald, and opposite to her the Prince. Very near the countess sat "To this question the figure replied in a solemn her young daughter, the Fraulein Margaret, a lovely manner as follows: 666 Thyself-yet half thyself alone- "So saying, the figure opened his arms and beckoned to the baron to embrace him. For a moment he shuddered and a chill ran through him, as if a pailful of little fishes had been poured down his back; but he was a bold man, as I said before, and, after a moment's hesitation, he rushed into his Double's arms. The light fell upon the floor and was extinguished, every body in the castle felt a shock like that of an earthquake, and the next morning the baron was missing." young creature of seventeen, with a face as full of heaven as that of the Madonna in the red petticoat, which you have all seen in the Tribune at Florence, and with just such fair hair smoothed across her forehead in two folds, like angel's wings, but with a roguish smile lurking in each corner of her mouth, in spite of her Madonna look. She was a sweet little creature, that Lady Margaret-as demure as the Albert Dürer over the mantle-piece in her mother's drawing-room was her character apparently, but as full of the real old Teutonic tone and substance and vigor and color. She is the heroine of this simple tale; but, as she was a girl and unmarried, she was, by an elegant fiction, common in Europe, supposed to be invisible. Nobody looked at her, nobody thought of her, people talked to each other across her face as "And was that the last of him?" asked the satirical coolly as if they really did not see her; and there she gentleman. "Not at all; he came back in a week and stated that he had been at the emperor's court, that he had just been elevated to the dignity of count, had been advanced to a generalship in the army, and had received a manor twice as large as his own and contiguous to it-all as a reward for the valor he had displayed in the Holy Land." "Potz-Sacrament!" said the cabinet minister; "and the vacant space on your shield, and the motto 'Noch nicht,' what do these mean?" "Their meaning seems obvious," returned the count. "The legend, however, states explicitly that the vacant space is for a third goblin, and the motto, 'Noch nicht,' means that the destiny of the house of Goblinheim is not yet accomplished, nor will be until sat with her eyes upon her plate, appearing to drink in every word her father said, although she had heard it forty times before, and in reality thinking of matters very different. On the right of Madame de Goblinheim sat a lady who was certainly visible. She had been in one unbroken perigee for half a century. No social astronomer remembered her first advent. No chronicle went back to the time when she had not been shining with a steady, planetary light upon the society of Bergenheim. She was a fixed star, if ever there was one. It was Madame the Criminal, Judicial and State Counselloress von Blenheim-that is to say, her husband filled the imposing office indicated by that title, the duties of which, by the way, were to have the said title engraved upon his card, and to see that all his servants addressed him and his wife correctly | matist; the former being placed next the countess with it every time they spoke to him, in recompense for which weighty service to the state he received a nominal salary of fifteen rix-dollars. and the stranger near the count. We have described the cabinet minister already; he had powder on his head and a star on his breast, and took snuff every five minutes, particulaly when anybody asked him a question-just like all cabinet ministers. The stranger was rather a handsome man, with a dark complextion and something of a Jewish set of features. His eyes were black and glittering, and his raven hair hung down on both sides of his face in long heavy curls. It was a face every one would have observed, and yet you hardly knew whether to admire or to distrust it, there was something so unaccountably winning and yet repulsive in that basilisk eye and that snake-like smile. He was a stranger to the count, and had been invited in company with Mr. and Madame von Blenheim, with the latter of whom he is intimately acquainted. He was a Hungarian, and was introduced as the Chevalier de Sataniski. "And are you sure they are really dead?" repeated the chevalier. The count continued to glare at him as if at the Gorgon's head, so stony was his gaze. Every body else stared rather at the count, for although there was something odd in the Hungarian's question, yet there seemed nothing adequate to produce the extraordinary look with which the count had answered it. To the rest of the company the chevalier seemed just the same, and appeared to be questioning and listening with the same nonchalant air which had distinguished his whole share in the conversation. What was there then in the look of the Hungarian to freeze the current of speech upon the very lip of the count, glue his tongue to the roof She was an admirably preserved old person-a living monument of industry and ingenuity. When she got up, she was a skeleton in yellow kid, and when she emerged from her dressing-room, she was, as I have stated, a reigning star. She was, then, all ringlets, and feathers, and flounces-had rather more than the natural quantity of very white teeth in her anxiety to be correct upon that point; her cheek, that wilderness of the morning, had been made to blossom like the rose, while the yellow neck of daybreak shone like alabaster in the evening-a triumph of stucco. And why not? Are we all to subside into mummies without a struggle? Nay, do not the very mummies hold out an example worthy of emulation? With an Egyptian lady before her eyes in a cage, (which she had whenever she went to the Royal Museum,) whom cosmetics had embalmed and preserved for more than three thousand years, and who wanted nothing but a living soul to appear with credit at any European conversazione, why should Madame von Blenheim, who had a living soul and was the mummy's junior by twenty-nine hundred and I wont be particular how many more years-why should Madame von Blenheim despair? The Egyptian pyramids are not a more durable monument to the power of human perseverance, and what other moral they have I know not, than an Egyptian mummyand is not a fine lady a more inspiring monument because a living one? Can you conceive any thing more sublime than this constant and untiring struggle between art and nature-between undying youth-of his mouth, to fix his eyes as in a death stare, and ful variety in the heart, and sternly advancing, inexcusable old age in the body? But I beg your pardon, let me introduce you to the male species of this singular Zoological variety. Opposite to her sits her husband, Mr. von Blenheim. He is made up with less ingenuity and upon a less daring scale, and looks consequently-as in duty bound-about ten years older than his wife, although in reality about five younger. What a master stroke of genius on the part of Madame! He wears a brown wig, coat, waistcoat and breeches--a diamond in his shirt-ruffle, several orders in his button-hole, and carries a cane in his right hand with much adroitness. The habits of the creature are simple and inoffensive. He takes his coffee every morning at twelve, and dines every day at seven; at home if necessary, but his habits are slightly migratory and gregarious, and he prefers to seek his food abroad. Next to Mr. von Blenheim sits a great professor, next him a great painter and next him a great author. As each is a representative of a class and has little individuality about him, we will leave them out of the inventory. They were only invited to fill up the table and make jokes, and nobody ever knew what their names were. The party was completed by the cabinet minister and the stranger whom we have called the diplo to change him almost to marble as he sat there at the banquet? While the rest of the company saw only the stranger looking precisely as he had done ever since he first entered the room, the Count of Goblinheim, looking straight into the face of the Hungarian, saw-himself! After glaring at him for a few seconds longer, like one entranced, the count dropped heavily from his chair and fainted. The cabinet minister took a pinch of snuff and offered his box to the Hungarian who took another. Both shrugged their shoulders in diplomatic style. The minister knew nothing at all about the matter, but it was his trade never to be astonished. The chevalier was better instructed, but he could keep a secret. The rest of the company started from the table in dismay. Madame de Goblinheim of course fainted at her end of the table, to keep up the harmony of the occasion; she was assisted by Madame von Blenheim. Mr. De Sataniski assisted to restore the count, while the Lady Margaret rang for the family physician. The rest of the company retired at once. The old castle clock struck one just as the count fairly recovered. Seeing his host likely to be restored, the Hungarian hastily threw his cloak around him and took his leave, overwhelmed by the thanks of the whole family. [To be continued. THE DREAM OF A LIFE. FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF A STUDENT OF MEDICINE. BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY. Soul watching soul within. Bulwer. THEY tell me I am dying; I know it; I feel that life is fast fading away. They tell me I am dying of disappointed love; it is false! I spurn the weakness. I would not crush the impulses of a soul which God has breathed into me; I would not paralyze the energies of a body which was given to me as ministrant to the immortal spirit, at the bidding of an idle passion. No! it is false. They judge but by their own base conceptions; they know not that I have given to another that which myself has lost; they know not that in imparting light and life to an inert soul, I have been compelled to borrow from my own the Promethean fire. I am dying; but not vain and selfish desire has worn my life away. I am dying; but it is from exhaustion of the soul, not from a yearning fever of the heart. I will not be thus misunderstood; I will record my strange and painful experience-not as a warning to others, for my fate is too peculiar to be thus useful-but rather to redeem my memory from so degrading a charge. then stamped itself upon my memory. Seated upon a rustic bench, with a single ray of sunshine piercing the deep shade, and resting like a halo upon her bright hair, was a young girl, so fair, so pale, so ethereal in the delicate proportions of her figure, that I almost feared the image was an illusion of fancy. Her large blue eyes were wandering restlessly around while she sung, and ere I had time to retreat I met their full glance. Instead of being alarmed at my intrusion, a sweet smile parted her soft lips, and raising her finger she beckoned me to approach. "You have waited long, beloved, but you have come at last;" she murmured in low and broken tones, as she drew me to a seat beside her; then clasping my hand in hers, she fixed her gaze on my face, with a look so full of solemn and earnest tenderness, that my very soul thrilled beneath it. I soon found that the fair girl's reason was entirely obscured, and her insanity seemed to me to have assumed the almost hopeless form of imbecility. But her pure and beautiful instincts were as fresh and powerful as if intellect were still their guide. She was tender, gentle, and full of that confiding innocence which knows no evil, and suspects no guile. Childlike in her frankness, womanly in her sweet tenderness, and withal evincing by every look the From my boyhood I have been a theorist, and my soul wandered over the vague ocean of speculative philosophy, seeking rest, but finding none, until wearied with psychological researches, I determined to seek amid physiological demonstrations for the minute links which bind the material to the spiritual. My fortune placed me above the necessity of adopt-intuitive modesty and delicacy which so characterize ing a profession, but I became, from choice, a student of medicine, and it was during the year which I spent in Dublin, while in attendance on public lectures, that the circumstance occurred which has thus robbed me of myself. It was my habit to pass much of my time in the hospital, where the effect of different diseases upon the various phases of human character, as well as upon the diverse physical constitutions, afforded me an interesting subject of speculation. I was one day passing through one of the sheltered walks in the garden, when I heard a sweet and plaintive voice singing what appeared to me to be snatches of old ballads. The sounds came from a shrubbery in the grounds appropriated to the lunatic patients, and separated from the rest of the garden by a high wall. Prompted by a feeling which I can now scarcely understand, I climbed to the top of the wall, and finding that the thick foliage prevented me from discerning the singer, I leaped over the enclosure and entered the shrubbery. I shall never forget the picture which the pure-minded, she seemed the very personification of all that was lovely in her sex. The very wanderings of her imagination were "like sunshine on the rill,Though turned aside 't was sunshine still." The beauty, the tenderness, the helplessness of this young creature interested me exceedingly. My sympathies were aroused to a degree positively painful; and yet, as I listened to her incoherent but sweet words, uttered by the rosiest lips that ever Love had kissed, I felt that had her soul been awakened while her heart was thus gushing forth, earth could have held for me no higher bliss. When we parted, which we did with a mutual promise of again meeting, I retired to my lodging in a state of excitement such as I had rarely known, and my first care was to learn something of her history. I found that she had been from childhood dull and inert of intellect; that it had been only with exceeding labor she had been taught the elements of knowledge; and that her mind seemed to become more obtuse as she grew older, until a severe fit of sickness, which befell her ere she attained her fifteenth year, had completely obscured her reason. Upon further inquiry I learned that she had been an affectionate and depending creature, always looking for love in every one, and, as far as I could learn, never finding it. Her family were cold, phlegmatic and commonplace. The strict discipline of reason was all they could exercise, and the child had grown stupid in proportion as these means had been exerted upon her. She had been for three years in this state of imbecility, and they had now lost all hope of her recovery. The next day I again found her in the shrubbery, where she was allowed to pass much of her time, as the absence of all close constraint and vigilance had been found decidedly beneficial. Her joy at seeing me was unbounded, and throwing herself on the turf at my feet, she leaned her arms upon my knee, and resting her head upon them, in attitude of childlike repose, remained gazing with speechless tenderness up into my face. She said little, but I could perceive that she was filled with tumultuous emotion, and as I beheld the workings of her heart the idea flashed through my brain that her soul might yet be awakened. I remembered the story of her yearning tenderness in childhood, and of its unsatisfied thirst; I fancied I could see wherein she had been misunderstood, and I could not but think that where cold reason had failed, affection might be found more efficacious. She had passed the threshold of girlhood; the instincts of a womanly nature had asserted their rights; the fancies of her erratic mind had assumed a shape, and the anticipation of the coming of one who would rescue her from loneliness and thraldom, had taken the place of her former vague dreams. This would account for her warm welcome of me, and a thrill of joy pervaded my whole being when the thought suggested itself that it might be my destiny to rescue a soul from darkness. From that moment I determined to make the attempt, and without dreaming of selfish passion, without one spark of unholy love, I vowed to devote all the energies of my nature to the noble task of enlightening a clouded spirit. Carefully did I begin the work, and tenderly did I guard from dangerous excitement the heart which I sought to influence. She was a child, a sweet and lovely child to me, and I cherished her as if she had been my own sinless sister. Never did one tumultuous throb stir my heart when her head rested on my bosom. The awful responsibility I had incurred, the oppressive sense of duty, the dread of failure in my godlike enterprise, seemed to elevate me above all earthly feelings. I cannot now note all the details of my success. I cannot trace all the delicate links of that chain which conducted my soul into hers, through the medium of her affections. I watched the liftings of the cloud from off her spirit, and I saw clear but brief glimpses of sunshine; again the shadow would settle with deeper gloom, and again gleams would break forth, giving sweet promise of a brighter day. Heavens! what joy it was to see those blue eyes light up with intelligence, to hear those soft lips utter coherent words, and to mark the elastic grace of a form which but lately moved with all the listlessness of imbecility! But the officious interference of those who could not comprehend either Alice or myself checked all this growing good. Our frequent meetings were discovered, and we were of course separated. Alice was taken home by her family, and I was denied all access to her presence. For a month, a long and dreary month, I never saw her, and by my impatient longing to behold her, I learned how much my soul had gone out from myself. At length I heard that Alice was much worse-that she was now a raving maniac, whose ungoverned frenzy could only be controlled by personal violence. I could not bear this: I went to her father, I explained to him my hopes and begged to be permitted to see her for a single hour. He was a cold, practical, reasonable man, and while he gave me full credence for a disinterested desire to benefit his daughter, he evidently had little faith in my anticipations of success. However, he was willing to try the experiment, and, accompanied by him, I was admitted to see Alice. She was frightfully changed. Her eyes glared wildly, her hair, tangled and disheveled from her incessant restlessness, hung in masses about her face, and her appearance was that of one whom loss of reason had almost brutalized. I could have cursed the blind recklessness which had so thwarted me. At first she did not recognize me, but my voice seemed to awaken the vibration of some chord whose music was familiar. She became calmer, her ravings ceased, she approached me, and, at length, seated herself on a low stool at my feet with the quietude of a loving child. It was the first time she had been so calm since we were parted. Even the cold beings around her perceived the beneficial effect of my presence, and from that moment I was allowed to pursue my plan without molestation. I now neglected all things else, and devoted myself exclusively to the noble task of revivifying a human soul. I adopted no fixed and settled system of enlightenment, but, carefully observing her moods of mind, governed them by adaptation. I watched the current of her thoughts, and when I found them broken and confused, I sought to turn them into some deeper channel, where they might flow more smoothly. I cultivated her affectionateness of disposition, while at the same time I checked all exciting sentiment. The tie between us I knew must be one of adhesiveness, of attachment, not of passion. Beautiful was the slow development of her childlike intellect beneath the influence of her womanly tenderness, and, oh! how exquisite was the enjoyment which I found in thus looking into a perfectly pure nature, as into the depths of a crystal lake. It seemed to me that I had been set apart for a bliss beyond that accorded to my fellow-men, when I was thus permitted to fill with light the darkened chambers of a human soul. A proud feeling of power, a consciousness of my high duty was ever present with me, and life wore to me a nobler aspect when I had found so noble a task to fulfill. Yet even then did I |