How D.D. swaggers, M.D. rolls! I dub them both a brace of noddies; Old D.D. has the Cure of souls, And M.D. has the Care of bodies. Between them both what treatment rare Ibid. The miniature, Phyllis, you're showing us now, Proves the artist with you well acquainted, That 'tis monstrously like you we all must allow, When we see, as we do, that 'tis painted. KELLY. "Come hither, Sir John, my picture is here, What say you, my love, does it strike you?" "I can't say it does just at present, my dear, But I think it soon will, it's so like you." Anon. "You men are angels while you woo the maid, But devils when the marriage-vow is said." "The change, good wife, is easily forgiven; We find ourselves in hell, instead of heaven." HAUG.-Translated by Russel. THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM. BY WASHINGTON IRVING. On the summit of one of the heights of the Odenwald, a wild and romantic tract of Upper Germany that lies not far from the confluence of the Maine and the Rhine, there stood, many, many years since, the castle of the Baron Von Landshort. It is now quite fallen to decay, and almost buried among beech-trees and dark firs; above which, however, its old watch-tower may still be seen struggling, like the former possessor I have mentioned, to carry a high head, and look down upon the neighbouring country. The baron was a dry branch of the great family of Katzenellenbogen, and inherited the reliques of the property, and all the pride of his ancestors. Though the warlike disposition of his predecessors had much impaired the family possessions, yet the baron still endeavoured to keep up some show of former state. The times were peaceable, and the German nobles, in general, had abandoned their inconvenient old castles, perched like eagles' nests among the mountains, and had built more convenient residences in the valleys: still the baron remained proudly drawn up in his little fortress, cherishing, with hereditary inveteracy, all the old family feuds; so that he was on ill the Jews had been dispersed, and intermixed | at Cambridge, foun with other nations. I chapters is entitled On the whole, the MYSTERIES appear to have originated among the ecclesiastics; and were most probably first acted, at least with any degree of form, by the monks. This was certainly the case in the English monasteries. have already mentioned the play of St. Catherine, performed at Dunstable Abbey by the novices in the eleventh century, under the superintendence of Geoffry, a Parisian ecclesiastic; and the exhibition of the PASSION, by the mendicant friars of Coventry and other places. Instances have been given of the like practice among the French. The only persons season who could read were in the religious societies: to go and various other circumstances, peculiarly chap arising from their situation, profession, and cha institution, enabled the monks to be the sole in performers of these representations. As learn-to ing increased, and was more widely disseminated from the monasteries, by a natural and easy transition, the practice migrated to schools and universities, which were formed on the monastic plan, and in many respects resemble the ecclesiastical bodies. Hence a passage Shakspeare's Hamlet is to be explained; wh Hamlet says to Polonius, "My lord, you pl once in the university, you say." Pol answers, "That I did, my lord, and w counted a good actor.-I did enact Julius I was killed i' th' Capitol." Boulay of that it was a custom, not only still su but of very high antiquity, vetustis suetudo, to act tragedies and comed university of Paris. It is more generally known, that of acting Latin plays in the colle and Cambridge continued to Cro pation. The oldest notice I can sort of spectacle in an English in the fragment of an ancient the dissolved college of Michael bridge: in which, under the following expense is entered brusdato et pro sex larvis et be That is, For an embroider and six visors and six beard In the year 1544 a Laf PAMMACHIUS, was acted Cambridge, which was i council by Bishop Gand university, as a dan many offensive refl ceremonies yet un GAMMAR GURTON same society abon pir 2 er toilet, t every ken it of sas crevued vie.ded up Forne-rein; re tun had been thing was ready d guest with Sans rit of German hospielayed to make his ed after hour. The sun is downward rays upon the Odenwald, now just gleamed its of the mountains. The he highest tower, and strained pes of catching a distant sight of his attendants. Once he thought them; the sound of horns came om the valley, prolonged by the echoes. A number of horsemen -- far below, slowly advancing along .; but when they had nearly reached of the mountain, they suddenly struck a different direction. The last ray of shine departed-the bats began to flit by the twilight-the road grew dimmer and mmer to the view; and nothing appeared arring in it, but now and then a peasant gging homeward from his labour. When the old castle of Landshort was in this state of perplexity, a very interesting scene was transacting in a different part of the Odenwald. The young Count Von Altenburg was tranuses quilly pursuing his route in that sober jog-trot geway, in which a man travels towards matri may when his friends have taken all the thol trouble and uncertainty of courtship off his hands, and a bride is waiting for him, as The certainly as a dinner at the end of his journey. alled He had encountered, at Wurtzburg, a youthadually ful companion in arms, with whom he had his briseen some service on the frontiers-Herman thom him. Yon Starkenfaust, one of the stoutest hands, antally and worthiest hearts of German chivalry, who e when was now returning from the army. His father's castle was not far distant from the old fortress Coto of Landshort, although an hereditary feud The hit beendered the families hostile, and strangers to each other. In the warm-hearted moment of recognition, the young friends related all their past adventures and fortunes, and the count gave the whole history of his intended nuptials with a young lady whom he had never seen, but of whose charms he had received the most enrapturing descriptions. As the route of the friends lay in the same direction, they agreed to perform the rest of their journey together; and that they might do it the more leisurely, set off from Wurtzburg at an early hour, the count having given directions for his retinue to follow and overtake him. They beguiled their wayfaring with recollections of their military scenes and adventures; but the count was apt to be a little tedious, now and then, about the reputed charms of his bride, and the felicity that awaited him. In this way they had entered among the mountains of the Odenwald, and were traversing one of its most lonely and thickly wooded passes. It is well known that the forests of Germany have always been as much infested by robbers as its castles by spectres; and, at this time, the former were particularly numerous, from the hordes of disbanded soldiers wandering about the country. It will not appear extraordinary, therefore, that the cavaliers were attacked by a gang of these stragglers in the depth of the forest. They defended themselves with bravery, but were nearly overpowered when the count's retinue arrived to their assistance. At sight of them the robbers fled, but not until the count had received a mortal wound. He was slowly and carefully conveyed back to the city of Wurtzburg, and a friar summoned from a neighbouring convent, who was famous for his skill in administering to both soul and body; but half of his skill was superfluous; the moments of the unfortunate count were numbered. With his dying breath he entreated his friend to repair instantly to the castle of Landshort, and explain the fatal cause of his not keeping his appointment with his bride. Though not the most ardent of lovers, he was one of the most punctilious of men, and appeared earnestly solicitous that this mission should be speedily and courteously executed. "Unless this is done," said he, "I shall not sleep quietly in my grave!" He repeated these last words with peculiar solemnity. A request, at a moment so impressive, admitted no hesitation. Starkenfaust endeavoured to soothe him to calmness, promised faithfully to execute his wish, and gave him his hand in solemn pledge. The dying man pressed it in acknowledgement, but soon lapsed into delirium— raved about his bride-his engagement-his plighted word; ordered his horse, that he might ride to the castle of Landshort; and expired in the fancied act of vaulting into the saddle. Starkenfaust bestowed a sigh, and a soldier's tear, on the untimely fate of his comrade; and then pondered on the awkward mission he had undertaken. His heart was heavy and his head perplexed; for he was to present himself an unbidden guest among hostile people, and to damp their festivity with tidings fatal to their hopes. Still there were certain whisperings of curiosity in his bosom to see this farfamed beauty of Katzenellenbogen, so cautiously shut up from the world; for he was a passionate admirer of the sex, and there was a dash of eccentricity and enterprise in his character that made him fond of all singular adventure. Previous to his departure he made all due arrangements with the holy fraternity of the convent for the funeral solemnities of his friend, who was to be buried in the cathedral of Wurtzburg, near some of his illustrious relatives; and the mourning retinue of the count took charge of his remains. It is now high time we should return to the ancient family of Katzenellenbogen, who were impatient for their guest, and still more for their dinner; and to the worthy little baron whom we left airing himself on the watchtower. Night closed in, but still no guest arrived. The baron descended from the tower in despair. The banquet, which had been delayed from hour to hour, could no longer be postponed. The meats were already overdone; the cook in an agony; and the whole household had the look of a garrison that had been reduced by famine. The baron was obliged reluctantly to give orders for the feast without the presence of the guest. All were seated at table, and just on the point of commencing, when the sound of a horn from without the gate gave notice of the approach of a stranger. Another long blast filled the old courts of the castle with its echoes, and was answered by the warder from the walls. The baron hastened to receive his future son-in-law. The drawbridge had been let down, and the stranger was before the gate. He was a tall gallant cavalier, mounted on a black steed. His countenance was pale, but he had a beaming, romantic eye, and an air of stately melancholy. The baron was a little mortified that he should have come in this simple, soli tary style. His dignity for a moment was ruffled, and he felt disposed to consider it a want of proper respect for the important occasion, and the important family with which he was to be connected. He, however, pacified himself with the conclusion, that it must have been youthful impatience which had induced him thus to spur on sooner than his attendants. "I am sorry," said the stranger, "to break in upon you thus unseasonably-" Here the baron interrupted him with a world of compliments and greetings; for, to tell the truth, he prided himself upon his courtesy and his eloquence. The stranger attempted, once or twice, to stem the torrent of words, but in vain, so he bowed his head and suffered it to flow on. By the time the baron had come to a pause, they had reached the inner court of the castle; and the stranger was again about to speak, when he was once more interrupted by the appearance of the female part of the family, leading forth the shrinking and blushing bride. He gazed on her for a moment as one entranced; it seemed as if his whole soul beamed forth in the gaze, and rested upon that lovely form. One of the maiden aunts whispered something in her ear; she made an effort to speak; her moist blue eye was timidly raised; gave a shy glance of inquiry on the stranger; and was cast again to the ground. The words died away; but there was a sweet smile playing about her lips, and a soft dimpling of the cheek, that showed her glance had not been unsatisfactory. It was impossible for a girl of the fond age of eighteen, highly predisposed for love and matrimony, not to be pleased with so gallant a cavalier. The late hour at which the guest had arrived left no time for parley. The baron was peremptory, and deferred all particular conversation until the morning, and led the way to the untasted banquet. It was served up in the great hall of the castle. Around the walls hung the hard favoured portraits of the heroes of the house of Katzenellenbogen, and the trophies which they had gained in the field and in the chase. Hacked corslets, splintered jousting-spears, and tattered banners were mingled with the spoils of sylvan warfare; the jaws of the wolf, and the tusks of the boar, grinned horribly among cross-bows and battle-axes, and a huge pair of antlers branched accidentally over the head of the youthful bridegroom. The cavalier took but little notice of the company or the entertainment. He scarcely tasted the banquet, but seemed absorbed in admiration of his bride. He conversed in a | low tone that could not be overheard-for the language of love is never loud; but where is the female ear so dull that it cannot catch the softest whisper of the lover? There was a mingled tenderness and gravity in his manner, that appeared to have a powerful effect upon the young lady. Her colour came and went as she listened with deep attention. Now and then she made some blushing reply, and when his eye was turned away, she would steal a side-long glance at his romantic countenance, and heave a gentle sigh of tender happiness. It was evident that the young couple were completely enamoured. The aunts, who were deeply versed in the mysteries of the heart, declared that they had fallen in love with each other at first sight. The feast went on merrily, or at least noisily, for the guests were all blest with those keen appetites that attend upon light purses and mountain air. The baron told his best and longest stories, and never had he told them so well, or with such great effect. If there was anything marvellous, his auditors were lost in astonishment; and if anything facetious, they were sure to laugh exactly in the right place. The baron, it is true, like most great men, was too dignified to utter any joke but a dull one; it was always enforced, however, by a bumper of excellent Hochheimer; and even a dull joke, at one's own table, served up with jolly old wine, is irresistible. Many good things were said by poorer and keener wits, that would not bear repeating, except on similar occasions; many sly speeches whispered in ladies' ears, that almost convulsed them with suppressed laughter; and a song or two roared out by a poor but merry and broad-faced cousin of the baron, that absolutely made the maiden aunts hold up their fans. Amidst all this revelry, the stranger guest maintained a most singular and unseasonable gravity. His countenance assumed a deeper cast of dejection as the evening advanced; and, strange as it may appear, even the baron's jokes seemed only to render him the more melancholy. At times he was lost in thought, and at times there was a perturbed and restless wandering of the eye that bespoke a mind but ill at ease. His conversations with the bride became more and more earnest and mysterious, Lowering clouds began to steal over the fair serenity of her brow, and tremors to run through her tender frame. All this could not escape the notice of the company. Their gaiety was chilled by the unaccountable gloom of the bridegroom; their spirits were infected; whispers and glances were interchanged, accompanied by shrugs and dubious shakes of the head. The song and the laugh grew less and less frequent; there were dreary pauses in the conversation, which were at length succeeded by wild tales and supernatural legends. One dismal story produced another still more dismal, and the baron nearly frightened some of the ladies into hysterics with the history of the goblin horseman that carried away the fair Leonora; a dreadful, but true story, which has since been put into excellent verse, and is read and believed by all the world. The bridegroom listened to this tale with profound attention. He kept his eyes steadily fixed on the baron, and, as the story drew to a close, began gradually to rise from his seat, growing taller and taller, until, in the baron's entranced eye, he seemed almost to tower into a giant. The moment the tale was finished, he heaved a deep sigh, and took a solemn farewell of the company. The baron was perfectly thunderstruck. They were all amazement. "What! going to leave the castle at midnight? why, everything was prepared for his reception: a chamber was ready for him if he wished to retire." The stranger shook his head mournfully and mysteriously; "I must lay my head in a different chamber to-night?" There was something in this reply, and the tone in which it was uttered, that made the baron's heart misgive him; but he rallied his forces and repeated his hospitable entreaties. The stranger shook his head silently, but positively, at every offer; and, waving his farewell to the company, stalked slowly out of the hall. The maiden aunts were absolutely petrified the bride hung her head, and a tear stole to her eye. The baron followed the stranger to the great court of the castle, where the black charger stood pawing the earth, and snorting with impatience. When they had reached the portal, whose deep archway was dimly lighted by a cresset, the stranger paused and addressed the baron in a hollow tone of voice, which the vaulted roof rendered still more sepulchral. "Now that we are alone," said he, "I will impart to you the reason of my going. I have a solemn, an indispensable engagement-" "Why," said the baron, "cannot you send some one in your place?" "It admits of no substitute-I must attend it in person-I must away to Wurtzburg Cathedral-" "Ay," said the baron, plucking up spirit, "but not until to-morrow-to-morrow you shall take your bride there." "No! no!" replied the stranger, with tenfold solemnity, "my engagement is with no bride-the worms! the worms expect me! I am a dead man-I have been slain by robbers -my body lies at Wurtzburg-at midnight I am to be buried—the grave is waiting for me -I must keep my appointment!" He sprang on his black charger, dashed over the draw-bridge, and the clattering of his horse's hoofs were lost in the whistling of the night blast. The baron returned to the hall in the utmost consternation, and related what had passed. Two ladies fainted outright, others sickened at the idea of having banqueted with a spectre. It was the opinion of some that this might be the wild huntsman famous in German legend. Some talked of mountain sprites, of wood-demons, and of other supernatural beings, with which the good people of Germany have been so grievously harassed since time immemorial. One of the poor relations ventured to suggest that it might be some sportive evasion of the young cavalier, and that the very gloominess of the caprice seemed to accord with so melancholy a personage. This, however, drew on him the indignation of the whole company, and especially of the baron, who looked upon him as little better than an infidel; so that he was fain to abjure his heresy as speedily as possible, and come into the faith of the true believers. But, whatever may have been the doubts entertained, they were completely put to an end by the arrival, next day, of regular missives, confirming the intelligence of the young count's murder, and his interment in Wurtzburg Cathedral. The dismay at the castle may well be imagined. The baron shut himself up in his chamber. The guests, who had come to rejoice with him, could not think of abandoning him in his distress. They wandered about the courts, or collected in groups in the hall, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders at the troubles of so good a man; and sat longer than ever at table, and ate and drank more stoutly than ever, by way of keeping up their spirits. But the situation of the widowed bride was the most pitiable. To have lost a husband before she had even embraced him-and such a husband! If the very spectre could be so gracious and noble, what must have been the living man! She filled the house with lamentations. On the night of the second day of her widowhood she had retired to her chamber, accompanied by one of her aunts, who insisted on |