communion with that of nature. A few scattered stars glimmered in the heavens, but the lake refused to yield them a reflection; not a breeze swept over the water, not a sound broke upon the earth. Sternheim stood with his arms folded upon his breast, and his eyes fixed upon the lake: "Yes, it is even so," he thought, "I am the next victim; the doom is written on my brain, it is branded on my brow, it is seared into my spirit! My fellows look on me with dread and wonder; nature, when she smiles, sickens, and when she frowns, sympathizes with me; daylight and the bright sun are for other and happier men. I am a doomed man; and the mark is on me. How know I that my hour is not near at hand; nay, that it is not even now arrived!" Startled by his own thoughts, Sternheim raised his head, and looked around him a dozen paces from the spot on which he stood he saw another figure. Terror and a conviction that he had reasoned rightly quickened his fixed gaze; and he distinguished, ere many seconds had elapsed, its form and features. It was an old man leaning heavily upon a staff of ebony, over which his white beard flowed loosely to the wind, his eyes were large, keen, and fiery. On such eyes Sternheim felt that man could look but once during existence; his garb was dark and coarse, and he wore a two-edged dagger in his girdle: he was one

who, even amid the world's throng, would have been singled out and shrunk from. Sternheim gasped for breath, but he did not stir a limb.

What seek you here, Everard Sternheim?" demanded the stranger, 66 'why do you disturb me in my solitude? deem you that when your hour is noted it will not come? the sand runs out quickly, and there be enough by to turn the glass."

"What know you of me or mine?" demanded the student, with a boldness which grew out of the peril of his situation.

"I know of thee that thou art the son of one to whom many offer homage, and that thou art his only one-the child of his gray hairs: and I know of thee that thy heart has bowed beneath the power of the GREAT HAND, and that its fingers are even now closed over thy spirit."

'Away, tempt me-not;" said the youth as he receded, “I acknowledge not thy power!"

66

Tempt thee!" echoed the old man; and Sternheim recognised, in his unholy mirth, the wild laughter, to which he had so often listened. "Is there temptation in withered limbs and blanched hair for a youth like thee? and what reckest thou of my power? Speak to me not in the words of hatred, for I tell thee, proud boy, that thou hast awaited me here long and wearily; ay, from thy spirit's depths

hast thou called me, and, behold, I answer the cry."

1

"It is false, old man!" shouted Sternheim, "I know thee not, I seek thee not, I desire no communion with thee."

"Hearken to me," said the stranger, as he extended towards the student his right arm, from which the hand had been severed at the wrist, "thou art in the toils; thou hast thought of me, looked on me, listened to me,-thou art mine! the GREAT HAND is at thy bidding; man's might shall avail nought against thee hadst thou mocked at my power, I had sunk beneath thy scorn; but thou hast pondered, reasoned, resolved, and awaited me and I am here! Go forth, the might of my hand is with thee but mark the forfeit-." The old man advanced heavily to the side of the student, whispered a few words into his ear, and Sternheim fell senseless to the earth.

After a night of unconsciousness Sternheim rose, and turned slowly towards the university: he passed rapidly through the thronging burschen who were collected about the entrance, ascended with the speed of lightning the stairs which led to his apartment, hastily closed the door, and bolted it after him. Ere the day was spent groans and shrieks issued from his room: there was a sound as of two in a death struggle, a long, loud, demoniacal laugh and a

wild shout. They forced the door: in the centre of the floor stood Sternheim, his long hair torn and scattered, his fine lips slightly parted, his teeth forcibly clenched, and a white foam hanging about his mouth; he had lived through months of illusion and dementation, through hours of passion and frenzy, and every heart felt the truth at once-Sternheim was a madman!

A SONG.

Aн, deem not that my heart is vain,
Or that it cannot feel,

Because no tears of burning pain

Beneath my eyelids steal.

The world may think my

spirits gay,

My feelings light and free ;

But why to it should I betray

What I would hide from thee?

Ah, think not that my heart is light, Because the eye may shine; Although the diamond sparkles bright, How dark the diamond mine.

The cowards steeled armour wear,
Yet quake their souls beneath :

The nightshade blossoms mild and fair,
And yet its fruit is death.

Ah, no! the sinking heart may own

In secret its distress;

Or to one other heart alone

Its miseries confess.