THE REALITIES OF THE SUPER

B

NATURAL.

Y this time, we trust, our readers have satisfied themselves, from a perusal of our pages, that there is nothing so incredible or unwarrantable in a belief of the existence of spiritual influences. No one can have a more exalted notion, or a higher opinion, of the powers of the human mind than the writer, but at the same time we cannot obstinately close our eyes to the manifestations of a Superior Governing Power which has that mighty engine under its immediate care and control. We have throughout endeavoured-and, it is hoped, successfully-to show that, whether amid the busy hum of cities, or in the seclusion of solitude, the intellect is capable of entering into communion with spirits of a higher grade, whose mission seems to be the preparation of the soul for the lofty impressions which will be made in futurity. Of the exact nature of these we can only judge from analogy; but it is palpably evident that, as events to come forecast their shadows, we may, even on earth, obtain a faint glimpse of the glories that will be, when the mind, expanded and invigorated, be

[PRICE TWOPENce.

comes enabled to hold unbounded intercourse with the universe of spiritual agents. Certain modes of existence--certain laws impressed upon our future ethereal nature-certain combina. tions of the mental, material, and spiritual, with the influence of external events-of which we have at present no knowledge, and which is beyond the power of metaphysical imagination to approach, may, in that incomprehensible Hereafter, give a most marvellous impetus to our intellectual potency. In one of Pope's letters there is a passage which precisely illustrates the idea we are about to develope. The poet, after alluding to the progress which he was making with that noble production, "The Essay on Man," incidentally remarks, "I have just been taking a solitary walk by moonlight, full of reflections on the transitory nature of all human delights, and giving my thoughts a loose in the contemplation of those satisfactions which probably we may hereafter taste in the company of separate spirits, when we shall range the walks above, and gaze on this world at as vast a distance as we now do on those worlds. The pleasures we are to enjoy in that conversation must undoubtedly be of a nobler kind, and, not unlikely, may proceed from the discoveries each shall communicate to another of the Deity and of Nature, for the happiness of minds can surely be nothing but knowledge." This is exactly the train of though

LEAVES OF LEGENDARY LORE.

WARNING.

into which we have been led. It cannot be supposed for one moment that we have had appetites and affections incorporated in our being that were never intended to be gratified-desires No. VII-THE WHITE WOLF, OR THE GIPSY that were never to be realised-a principle deeply rooted and universally and powerfully prevalent without any corresponding object? That longing after immortality which animated the mind of the divine Plato does but show us the prince of philosophers, conscious of present difficulties, soaring, as by natural impulse-the law and promise of its being—after a more perfect state of existence.

These realities of the supernatural serve, like the streaks of morning twilight in the distant horizon, to show the coming sun that will irradiate all that is now plunged in gloom. There is no mind but what at times must have been conscious of these sublime speculations. Our present ignorance of these numerous worlds, of our relations to them, or their relations to one another, is no proof that we are not thus related, or that the relations we sustain are not important. These worlds we may be able to visit and explore with the same facility that we now visit the adjacent country, for we know not by

what vehicles we shall hold intercourse with the material universe. We may, perchance, speed our way with the velocity of light, which moves at the rate of twelve millions of miles in a minute; and as this will doubtless be the case in the future with ourselves, how do we know it is not positively occurring with others now? How can we be certain that those who have gone before us to this wondrous world are not at this very moment hovering around us? The drama comprising all that is great and exalted, spiritual and eternal in the universe, has yet to be exhibited. Death alone can raise the curtain, and reveal to us the glorious imagery that lies beyond. For the rest, let us, in the graceful and emphatic language of Coleidge, thus clothe our thoughts :

""Tis not merely

The human being's Pride, that peoples space
With life and mystical predominance;
Since likewise for the stricken heart of Love
This visible nature, and this common world,
Is all too narrow: yea, a deeper import
Lurks in the legend told my infant years
Than lies upon that truth, we live to learn.
For fable is Love's world, his home, his birth-place:
Delightedly dwells he 'mong fays and talismans,
And spirits; and delightedly believes

Divinities, being himself divine.

The intelligible forms of ancient poets,

The fair humanities of old religion,

The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty,

That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain,

Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,

Or chasms and wat'ry depths; all these have vanish'd.'
They live no longer in the faith of reason!
But still the heart doth need a language, still
Doth the old instinct bring back the old names;
And to yon starry world they now are gone,
Spirits or gods that used to share this earth
With man as with their friend; and to the lover
Yonder they move, and from yon visible sky
Shoot influence down."

KNOWLEDGE.Pleasure is a shadow, wealth is vanity, and power is a pageant; but knowledge is ecstatic in enjoyment, perennial in fame, unlimited in space, and infinite in duration,

N our "GOSSIPINGS ABOUT GIPSIES" we have already said a good deal about this Egyptian tribe, and the power that many of them possess of foretelling events from the study of experimental astrology, to which they have more or less devoted themselves from the very earliest periods. In the pages of history there are many strange proofs to be found of their skill in this science; and we now lay before our readers the following narrative as an instance of the fact, simply observing that, of course, under the licence of authorship, a few extra details have been necessarily added, in order to heighten the interest of the main incident. But to our legend. During the short reign of the Emperor Robert of Germany, an imperial diet was convoked at Ratisbon, and, among numerous other gallant knights whose services were demanded on that occasion, one Bernhard de Wilmenstein received orders to repair with his lances and men-at-arms to the royal congress. His route lay through the Black Forest, and, as the troopers rode merrily forward, they encountered a swarthy female, fantastically attired in the eastern fashion. soldiers might have deemed her a being of the nether sphere, But for her yellow turban and crimson trousers, the startled so wild and superhuman were her looks and gestures; they were, however, acquainted with the foreign garb she wore, and regarded her with a mixture of animosity and fear. She was a gipsy belonging to a race new to Germany. The sybil offered to read the fortunes of the strangers; and many, extending their broad palms, looked and listened anxiously for predictions of their future fate. De Wilmenstein, however, interrupted this party with the Egyptian, by ordering his men to resume their march instantly, at the same time generously throwing a gaudy habiliments bespoke the habitual poverty of her race. double ducat at the feet of the gipsy, whose tattered though The dark-eyed hag surveyed the donor of this generous bequest with a half pleased, half angry air; the sum was greater than she could have expected from the united purses of the rude soldiers, but she had been deprived of the exertion of her mystic powers. A curse hovered on her lips; a second glance at the gold stayed the wrathful malediction, and then, gazing intently, though but for an instant, on the face of the donor, she cried, in a tone in which gratitude seemed to struggle with the baneful feelings of her heart, "Beware of a white wolf." Bernhard laughed incredulously, and rode on. Arriving at Ratisbon, he found the city crowded to excess; the principal inns were entirely occupied; every house was furnished with its full quota of guests, except one, which, bearing an evil name, and situated in a distant suburb, was universally shunned. It had formerly been a place of considerable resort, and owed its present desertion to a horrible circumstance which had occurred many years before-the murder of a rich guest by the landlord, who, convicted of the crime, was broken on the wheel in the street, in front of the spot where he had perpetrated so black a deed. The house still offered entertainment to the people of Ratisbon; but it was only open as a tavern during the day, no traveller ever slept under its unhospitable roof. De Wilmenstein having no choice, and being, moreover, little troubled by fears of any kind, cheerfully accepted the offered billet. Appearing before the door of his quarters, he perceived that its gloom had not been exaggerated; it was a lofty, extensive building; the windows were few and small, and set deep within the thickness of the wall, and over the portal, cut in stone, grinned the animal that gave the name to the deserted inn. The warning of the gipsy flashed strangely upon his mind; it was a white wolf. The host and hostess grumbled at the stranger's intrusion, but the royal mandate being imperative, they were compelled to admit De Wilmenstein as their guest, and they led the way in doors with a bad grace. A pale, fair girl, the only domestic visible, strove to make atonement for the incivility of her employers. She put the best apartment in order, assisted to unarm the

boundless extent. This was, in all probability, the very apart ment in which the soldier's unfortunate predecessor had met his fate, and no person appeared to have occupied it since the period of the murder. Bernhard looked round, half expecting the sheeted ghost of the slain to start from one of those long vistas which his eye vainly tried to penetrate; but, shaking off these idle thoughts, he walked towards the window, and felt more disappointment than he chose to acknowledge, even to himself, on finding that it did not face the street, but looked into a large neglected yard, green with the coarse vegetation which had forced itself between the mouldering flags. The moon was partially obscured by clouds, but ever and anon threw a flickering light upon a white wolf, which, carved in stone, arose in the centre of the quadrangle. A vague presentiment of approaching peril stole over Bernhard's mind, as, gazing upon the work of a rude sculptor, the sybil's prophetic warning again seemed ringing in his ear. Suddenly the sky became too dark to permit any outward object to be visible through the dull small panes of thick glass which were latticed in the heavy stone-work of the window. The knight prepared himself for repose, but, before he could entirely disrobe, his

knight, and received the bounteous guerdon, which Bernard
pressed as the reward of her kind service, with modest grati-
tude. There was something peculiarly interesting about the
gentle Mela; it reconciled him to the dark recesses of the
mansion, the rude insolence of its owner, and to the white
wolf. The meetings of the congress terminated every evening
in a banquet and ball at the palace of the Duke of Bavaria,
and thither the soldier, after robing himself in suitable habili-
ments, repaired. Princes, nobles, brother knights, and fair
ladies, graced the festal scene. A flood of brilliant light was
thrown upon the splendid ornaments of the Gothic hall; ban-
nerols. banners, and pennons, richly emblazoned, streamed
high in the golden air, and polished lances, spears, and par-
tizans, mingled their warlike devices with the carved oaken
entablatures, the embroidered tapestry hangings, and the
wreathed garlands which decorated the walls.
Bernhard was for some time content with being a spectator
only of the amusements enjoyed by the gay groups before him;
he strove not to ingratiate himself with any of the sovereigns
of those numerous states-subjects of the Emperor of Ger-
many-who were there assembled, nor did he seek to gain the
smiles of fastidious beauty, or to join in the wild revels of gal-lamp went out.
lants devoted to the bowl. Despite of the charms of the fair
and jewelled multitude before him, his thoughts involuntarily
recurred to the pale fair girl, pining beneath the iron sway of
a harsh mistress; but at length the image of the humble Meda
was effaced by a lovely vision which swam towards him in the
graceful evolutions of the dance. She was richly but simply
attired in a flowing robe of white silk, confined round the
slender waist by a cestus of pearls; her bright luxuriant
tresses of waving gold were twined with strings of the same
chaste gems; her arms, of a dazzling whiteness, which shamed
the hue of her mantling drapery, were without any ornament.
save their own matchless beauty; her large blue eyes were
soft and melting; and as the slow movements of the music
quickened into a livelier measure, tender flushes, scarcely
deeper than the tints of the Provence rose, dyed her fair
cheek, and added new lustre to her beaming_eyes. This deli-
cate creature was ill matched in a partner-Prince Ladislaus-
whose heavy, saturnine countenance, and clumsy figure, were
certainly no recommendations to a lady's favour. His dancing
was as uncouth as his person, and it required little penetration
to perceive that he owed his acceptance to the authority of a
parent or guardian, rather than to any mental or exterior at-
traction. The Prince, in his awkward execution of a com-
plicated figure, made a wrong step, and, striving to recover
himself, sprained his ankle. Writhing with pain, he abruptly
quitted his fair partner; she was floating exactly opposite to
Bernhard when the accident occurred, and now, left alone,
seemed to ask the aid of some gay and gallant knight. The
temptation was irresistible, and stepping eagerly forward, the
warrior gracefully offered himself as a substitute for the
disabled Ladislaus, and was courteously received.

Hours flew like minutes with the enamoured Bernhard; the lady smiled sweetly upon him, and, despite of the frowns of Ladislaus, and the inquiring glances of the Baron Craussan, the father of the beautiful Adine, they continued to dance together until the company dispersed.

The exulting hopes which the encouragement vouchsafed by the loveliest maiden in Ratisbon, kindled in De Wilmenstein's breast, were cruelly damped by the discovery of her near relationship to the Baron Craussan, the Emperor's aspiring favourite. This ambitious statesman, he well knew, would not hesitate to sacrifice the happiness of his child at the altar of his own interests, and Adine was, doubtless, devoted by her selfish parent to the cruel, licentious, unprincipled Ladislaus. Bernhard reflected upon the disparity of rank between him and his rival, and became exceedingly melancholy. The striking contrast afforded by the gloomy pile of building | wherein he had taken up his quarters, to the illuminated halls of the ducal palace, did not tend to raise his spirits. He was ushered, by the owner of the desolate abode, into a large ghastly-looking chamber, every article of the cumbrous furniture deepened by age to funereal blackness, and each hideous object multiplied by their reflection in vast mirrors, which seemed to stretch out the dimensions of this dreary place to a

The moon, at this moment, streamed through the breaking clouds into the casement; Bernhard took advantage of the gleam to disentangle some of the points of his dress, and glancing his eyes towards the court below, saw, with surprise not ununmingled with horror, that it was peopled with dark forms, gliding slowly and silently along-a sable multitude-each individual seeming to be enveloped from head to foot in black drapery. For an instant, he fancied that he beheld some gloomy pageant of the dead; yet, strange to say, there was one of the crowd whose heavy, limping movements reminded him of Prince Ladislaus, as he had seen him halt along the corridor of the ducal palace after his accident at the ball. The idea of the close vicinity of this man, though unaccompanied by any expectation of personal injury from his malice, was disagreeable to Bernhard; he started as if an adder had crossed his path; yet, before he could be quite certain that his eyes had not deceived him, or, indeed, that he was not altogether labouring under a mere delusion, a thick cloud involved the whole scene in impenetrable darkness; and, when the moon shone out again, it disclosed only the long grass, the broken pavement, and the glaring white wolf. De Wilmenstein, striving to believe the whole to be a vision of the distempered fancy, threw himself on his couch, and though he lay for several hours, startled by the least sound that reached his ear, he fell at length into a profound slumber, which lasted until sunrise. On the following morning he concealed the phantasy which had haunted him on the preceding night from the knowledge of his irreverend companions, who had already amused themselves by conjecturing the appearance of some unearthly visitant to scare the intruder from his couch. His wonted hilarity was soon restored by the martial exercises which engrossed the early part of the morning, and the pompous display which filled the streets of Ratisbon, as the members of the Diet repaired to the theatre of their deliberations. De Wilmenstein was deeply interested in proceedings which involved the honour and the welfare of the Emperor. Hitherto, notwithstanding the hostility expected from a violent faction who espoused the cause of the deposed Wenceslaus, the utmost unanimity had prevailed; even the Pope's legate, who had threatened the denunciations of the Church against Robert, now bent and bowed, in humble submission, to the imperial will. Bernhard gazed upon the smooth and oily priest with feelings of abhorrence, and breathed a fervent prayer, as he saw his close association with bloodthirsty and revengeful nobles, that nothing might happen to disturb the sovereignty so happily entrusted to an illustrious prince, or to prevent the projected war in Lombardy.

The evening twilight found Bernhard at the ducal banquet. He had obtained a seat next to the lovely Adine; and the malignant and hostile glances of Prince Ladislaus, who glared fiercely upon him from the opposite side of the board, were either disregarded or defied. A ball succeeded to the feast, and again De Wihnenstein triumphed over a hated rival. He led his beautiful partner to the centre of the hall, and, winding

through the mazes of the dance together, to the soft breathings of delicious music, their hearts seemed to expand in unison with each other; and many a blush and many a sigh told the delighted lover a tale which averted eyes and lips sweetly false would fain have rendered doubtful. The moments winged their flight with distressing rapidity, and Bernhard was compelled to utter his last adieus. He lingered till the folding doors closed upon the snowy drapery of his beloved, as she followed slowly, and perhaps reluctantly, in the train of the Empress, and then turned towards his cheerless home. Mela, whom the knight had not seen since the first hours of his arrival, was waiting for him, and sprung to the portal at his earliest summons. While in the act of withdrawing the ponderous bolt, the dark hand of her master grasped her arm, and he surlily commanded her to retire, muttering something about the unseemliness of a damsel's attendance upon fine young gentlemen. The poor girl seemed inexpressibly disappointed, and attempted to make a sign to Bernhard; but, encountering the stern eye of Von Gratze, rushed from the hall before Bern hard could interpose, or inquire the meaning of her looks and gestures. He fancied that he could see the flutter of her garments before him, as he trod the long passages which led to his apartment; and so anxious did she appear to address him, that he expected to find her concealed in some remote corner. He looked round vainly; there was no living creature to be seen. De Wilmenstein had become familiarised with the spectral appearance of the chamber, and he felt a sensation of shame at the nervous state of his mind-the tendency to magnify even trifling occurrences into something strange and ominous. Determined not to be disturbed by phantasies which had nearly destroyed his last night's repose, he hastily threw off his clothes and approached the bed. Upon the pillow lay a rusty dagger, evidently placed there since the morning, and again the blood rushed in a tide of emotion to his heart. He felt a strong conviction that some unseen danger hovered near, and, obey ing the first impulse, resolved to seek his host. He placed his hand upon the door of his apartment, and discovered that it was fastened on the outside; it resisted all his efforts, and he found himself a prisoner. Suspicion now became certainty; nothing remained but to await the attack of which he had thus been mysteriously warned, and to sell his life dearly. His armour was not in the chamber; it had been taken away to be cleaned, and he arrayed himself in the dress which had been selected for his attendance upon the Emperor at a solemn mass to be performed on the ensuing morning at the cathedral, and, thus attired, stretched himself on his couch.

a

had no difficulty in recognising the dark phantoms who had filled the inn yard on the previous night. Bernhard, bending forward, vainly tried to make himself master of the whispered communication of this mysterious council; but he caught their import from the gestures of the members, and the words death" and "the Emperor" blended together, which reached his ears. A narrow staircase led from the gallery where the knight stood to the hall below. He descended, and, to his great surprise, found, on looking through a chink in the door, that the assembly had vanished; every apparent outlet was made fast, and, after an unsuccessful search for the means of regress from the building, he returned to his chamber. The door still refused to yield to his efforts; day had now broken, and he almost despaired of being liberated from his irksome confinement. Hour after hour passed slowly away; the Emperor was, probably, even now moving in procession to the cathedral, whence, perchance, he might never return alive. Exhausted by unavailing efforts to break a passage through his prison, Bernhard sat down; his quick ear detected a light in the adjoining corridor; a bolt fell, and Mela appeared. A single moment only was given to explanation and to thanks-it was she who had placed the dagger on his pillow, to warn him of his danger. She further informed him that Ladislaus had prompted the assassin's hand. Hurriedly following his gentle guide, he reached the street by a private way, and sped swiftly towards the church. The imperial train had already passed the portal, and were advancing to the high altar. Bernhard looked around for the conspirators; they were at a distance, and, from their daggers, no immediate danger seemed probable; but, in pronouncing the warning so necessary for the safety of the sovereign of Germany the delay of a moment might be fatal, and the knight rushed on, casting eager glances in all directions. A slight movement, a cobweb flashing through the golden motes which marked the descent of the sunbeams across the aisle, directed his attention to the roof. He fixed his eyes upon it, and observed that in the centre of the church the cumbrous archwork of each slanting rafter concealed a man, armed with some heavy missile. A few more of the procession's measured paces would bring Robert under the ambuscade. "Treason! treason!" Bernhard pressed, with irresistible force, through the crowd, and, grasping the Emperor's hand, drew him back at the instant that a ponderous bar of iron fell, ringing, on the pavement at his feet. All was uproar and confusion; the Emperor's friends drew their swords, and, rallying round, conveyed him in haste to the ducal palace. Some of the principals of the confederacy were promptly arrested, and many escaped. Prince Ladislaus was not among the number whom a timely flight preserved from the penalty of his crime, but while the host of the White Wolf, Gratze, and the other instruments of his daring faction, perished on the scaffold, he received the milder doom of imprisonment in the dungeons of the state.

The eminent service performed by Bernhard de Wilmenstein introduced him to the Emperor's notice, and he rose rapidly to court favour. Before the Diet broke up, he presented the gentle Mela with a wedding portion, and saw her happily established in a cheerful home. The laurels which he gained at Brescia, in Robert's spirited though unfortunate campaign against the Milanese, and the honours lavished upon him by his partial sovereign softened the proud heart of the Baron Craussan, and Bernhard became the happy husband of Adine. In commemoration of the warning which had thus been mysteriously given, and which led to such a happy result, the escutcheon of De Wilmenstein ever afterwards bore, among its other emblazonry, the figure of a WHITE WOLF.

At that instant the quivering flame of the lamp which he had left burning on the table expired, and be was left to the light of an unclouded moon, which illuminated a portion of the chamber. Two hours moved heavily away, and all was still profoundly tranquil. There was, however, little temptation for repose, and De Wilmenstein's vigilance did not relax. Startled by a faint noise, he arose silently and stood with his back against the wall, watching the chamber door, screened from the immediate sight of those who might seek an entrance there by a tall chair which he placed before him. While thus upon the alert, a large mirror close beside him, suddenly, and without noise, flew open at the touch of some person behind it. The heavy framework of this antique ornament rested against the chair, and completed Bernhard's concealment, who, in a large glass placed exactly opposite, saw a muffled figure bearing Tong dagger and a lamp steal cautiously forward. This suspicious visitant approached the bed, and raised his weapon in the act to strike; and, satisfied that he had only to contend with a single adversary, Bernhard rushed from his hiding-place and sprang upon the enemy. A brief and desperate struggle ensued. Nearly overpowered, Bernhard, by a violent effort, wrested the dagger from his opponent's hand, and, plunging it into the assassin's heart, he fell dead upon the floor. De Wil-made the circumnavigation of the voyage of life-we have fulmenstein seized the lamp, and left the chamber by the concealed entrance, which still remained open. It led him through a winding passage to a vestibule or gallery, which looked into a spacious hall; and there, seated round a table, in close debate, their black cloaks thrown partially aside, he saw the Pope's legate at the head of those malcontent nobles, whose enmity to the Emperor had been formerly manifested, and in whom he

DEATH.-Death is the last stage of our existence. We have

filled the end of our being-have experienced calms and storms, and encountered fierce enemies, and struck on hidden rocks, and overcome all those perils but to lay our bones on earth; and the phenomena of life extinct, the aggregation of matter, enfranchised from the bondage of organisation, resolves itsel into its primitive elements, the salts of the body are restored to the earth, and the soul returns to God!

HIS is a state of lethargy carried to the seventh degree-a state of apoplexy sufficient to deceive people, the most skilful and best informed; and so much the more distressing is it, as, in the ordinary way of life, we are in haste to disengage ourselves, as soon as possible, from the sight of The heroine of this event was named Retchmuth Adoleh. a dead body. In consequence of this She was the wife of a consul of Cologne, and was reputed to dispatch, how many persons have have died of a plague that destroyed the greatest part of the been, and still continue daily to be, inhabitants of that city. She was consequently interred in the the wretched victims of this barba-year 1571, and a ring of great value was suffered to remain on rious practice. Amidst the multi- her finger, which tempted the cupidity of the grave-digger. tude of examples which we could The night was the time that he pitched upon for his plunder. produce of this kind of apparent At the very moment of his attempt the lady came to herself, death, we shall select the most and lived to be the mother of three children, who all became striking: The desire of being useful to humanity, and of in- ecclesiastics. After her decease she was buried near the door spiring a distrust of our own judgment with respect to persons of the same church, in a monument which is thus superficially to all appearance dead, we shall instance, under this article, a described. A large tablet was erected over the sepulchre, few incontestible facts concerning persons who have been where the fact is pourtrayed by the chisel of the artist, and actually alive. depicted likewise in German verse.