In the Rhythmes against Martin MarPrelate, also, the possibility of rhyming rats to death is indicated in the lines "I am a rimer of the Irish race, And have already rimde thee staring mad; But if thou cease not thy bold jests to spread, I'll never leave till I have rimde thee dead." And again, a mention of the practice is to be found in Sir Philip Sidney's writings; and Swift, with covert humor, says, rhyming to death was a power that continued to his day. May we not add, to ours? The potency of the spell was supposed to consist in the satire, more or less pungent, conveyed in the lines. Satire has always been dreaded in Ireland; so much so, that laws were made against it at an early period. Rats, too, have been much dreaded, and not without reason; for in the newspapers of our own day, we sometimes read of infants being attacked by these predaceous animals. Many in Ireland regret that St. Patrick did not banish them with the snakes. Belief in the effect of the rhyme has held its ground even to the present century. For the National Magazine.] ALL nature seems alive to-day; The bright and happy earth doth smile; The sky like some resplendent sea The world like some enchanted isle ! Like depths of light in woman's eye! See yonder clouds !-resplendent sight! Dread, piled like Alpine rocks on high; From battlement and shining height Bright banners waving in the sky! See yonder roll the purple seas, The list'ners on this alien shore ! Look up, O man! a voice doth seem O, would that on this broken heart, As on the radiant world to-day, Yon bright and glowing orb would dart Its sweet and life-awakening ray! Like to the wreck of yon fair pine, Whose fresh and rended roots lie torn, Is this poor shatter'd heart of mineIt knows no more the breezy morn! THE HEEL OF TYRANNY-THE TER- accompanied by large drops of rain, which 66 "O, we need not stay long; and, as to a storm, it has looked dull all day: I dare say it is nothing but heat." "Well, go along, then; but we must make haste. When we get a little higher, I will look out for a cottage, where we may ask for a night's lodging, for I think we cannot reach the next village before nightfall, even if the storm should keep off for another hour or two, which does not seem very likely.” So they went up, and looked about them, and then Hans scrambled out of the track to see if he could find anything else, for he thought there must be something more than rock and wood to bring people so far as they had been told visiters came to inspect the Kuhstall. They stayed longer than they had intended; and the first thing which reminded them of their imprudence was the low, growling thunder, which announced that the storm, which had been threatening for hours, was on the point of bursting. "It is a long way off," said Hans; "perhaps we shall not have much of it." He had scarcely spoken, when there was another and louder peal, then another and another, and at last one of such terrific violence, that it seemed to shake the solid rock on which they stood. It was fell with heavy splash faster and faster around them. "It will rain in torrents directly," said Rudolph. "Is there no place of shelter we can get into? for it is vain to think of going on in a storm like this." "Look," cried Hans, "there is a hollow in the rock just above us; we can easily climb up there, and we shall be quite dry." "Up with you, then," said Rudolph; "there is no time to be lost, for I have no desire to get wet if I can help it." Hans scrambled forward with his usual agility; but either his haste made his footing insecure, or he was startled by another peal of thunder, for he slipped and fell. "O, my foot!" he cried, as he tried to rise. They were fortunately near their intended place of shelter, and Rudolph managed to drag him inside, secure from the rain, which soon poured down, as he had anticipated, in torrents. He placed Hans in a recumbent position, with his back against the rock; and, having disposed the injured limb on the ground, as carefully as he could, he hoped that in a short time the pain would abate, and that Hans would be ready to go forward as soon as the violence of the rain should cease. But, far from abating, it seemed to increase, and Rudolph anxiously examined the foot, in order to ascertain the amount of injury it had sustained. It did not appear that any bones were broken, but the foot and ankle were becoming alarmingly swollen, and there seemed little probability that Hans would be able to walk any more that night. What was to be done? This was the most perplexing dilemma in which they had ever found themselves, and at first Rudolph did not know how to act. The only plan that occurred to him was to leave his brother in the little cavern, and go himself in search of assistance. But to this Hans vehemently objected. "O, do not leave me!-pray, do not, Rudolph," he said: "we can do very well here till morning, and then I dare say my foot will be better, and I shall be able to walk again." "I am afraid not," said Rudolph; "and it will be worse from stopping in this damp place. You see the rain has beaten in already; and if it should continue to fall during the night, we should not be able to keep ourselves dry." "But it does not rain nearly so fast as it did," returned Hans. "No, but it looks still less likely to clear up, and I think the wind is rising. I am afraid it is going to be a very rough 'night." “O dear, what shall we do?" said poor Hans, beginning to cry, for his courage gave way under the pain he was enduring, combined with the unpleasant alternative before him of being left alone for some time in that desolate place, or of passing the night exposed to wet and cold. "I wish we had never come here!" "So do I," said Rudolph, "but there is no use in wishing that now. I am sure you had better let me go and look for a house. If I can find nobody, I will come back before dark. But I am almost sure to meet with some one who will come and help me to carry you to a better shelter. Do let me go." he would really suffer much from being quite alone in that desolate spot, surrounded by the darkness of night and the terrors of the storm. He would fain have returned to him now, but he had rambled so far from the beaten track, that it would have taken him a long time to find it again; he therefore determined to pursue his original design, and, if possible, reach the fire, feeling tolerably certain that he should meet with assistance. Buffeting the wind, and bending his head before the pelting rain, he struggled forward, and at last gained the light, which had gleamed at such a distance, and which he now found to proceed from a charcoal kiln, close to which stood a rude hut, constructed of the boughs of fir-trees, the solitary dwelling of the charcoal-burner. The door of this simple edifice opened readily at Rudolph's cry for admittance, and he found himself hurried into the hut before he had time to explain the object of his visit. "Come in, whoever you are," was the first greeting from a rough voice; "it is not fit for a dog to be abroad on such a night as this. Come under shelter!" After a time, Hans gave a reluctant consent, and Rudolph rapidly descended the rock, carefully observing, however, the turns which he took, and, for additional But shelter was not what Rudolph security, marking some of the trees on the wanted, though he looked as if he needed way, that he might be certain of finding it. Pale with fatigue and anxiety, and the spot again. He was soon in the road drenched with rain, he presented a wretchthrough the valley, and walked on, looked spectacle to the eyes of the charcoaling anxiously around for some trace of burner and his wife. But he did not human habitation. He walked without think of himself. His whole soul was inseeing any sign of a house, till he dared tent on Hans, and his anxiety and terror go no further, and was preparing, with a on his account had by this time risen to heavy heart to retrace his steps to the a most painful height. In a few hurried cavern, when he observed a light, appa- but moving words, he explained his brothrently at no great distance, among the er's situation, and concluded by begging dark pine-trees. It seemed not yet dark the charcoal-burner to accompany him enough to light a candle in a cottage, and back to the Kuhstall, and assist him in Rudolph was a little puzzled to determine conveying the poor boy to a place of sewhat this might be. Nevertheless, the curity and shelter. But, at this request, sight of fire was an indication of the the man shook his head with an expresneighborhood of man, and, without hesi- sion of mysterious terror on his countetation, he directed his steps toward the nance, which Rudolph found it impossible spot whence the light proceeded. to understand. The rain again fell fast, and the wind blew with terrific violence, hindering him not a little. This delay and his ignorance of the road, caused his progress to be so slow, that it grew nearly dark while the light yet glimmered at a distance. He began to feel seriously uneasy when he reflected on the uncomfortable situation of poor Hans in his solitary cavern. He knew how timid his brother was, and that "Poor lad," he answered, "I am sorry for him. But go out to-night, I cannot, and dare not. Stay here till morning, and then I will go with you to fetch him.” "Morning!" cried Rudolph. "O, he will die with pain and fright before morning. If you have any pity, go with me now, before he quite despairs of my return; the storm will not harm us." "It is not the storm, boy, it is those who ride on it, that we have to fear," was the answer. "It is a gale like this"—and the speaker lowered his voice, as if afraid of being overheard-" that brings out the wild hunt, and Hakelberg has little mercy on those who cross his path, when it pleases him to lead the chase." "For pity's sake, come with me!" cried Rudolph; "and, trust me, good angels will keep you from all that is evil, while you are engaged in a work of mercy." "Listen to him, husband," said the woman; "he is right. Nothing can harm you while you are doing a good deed, and it is a good deed to help yonder poor child." But the husband only shook his head, and Rudolph, in despair, turned to leave the cottage alone. Stay !" !" exclaimed the woman, rising, and offering her husband the baby she held in her arms. "Take the child, and I will go with the boy, and do all I can to help him!" The man pushed the child away with an impatient gesture:-"If nothing else will serve, I must go," he said; "but remember, youngster, I shall not be to blame, if you and I find cause to wish that we had never undertaken this adventure." Rudolph took no notice of this speech; he was too happy at having obtained assistance, and returned as cordial thanks as if it had been rendered with the best grace in the world. Once on the road, it was not long before they reached the Kuhstall, from which the kiln was not far distant. Rudolph had been so long in reaching it, because, in consequence of his complete ignorance of the country, he had taken a very circuitous road. Arrived at the rock, they ascended by the path which Rudolph well remembered, and then he looked anxiously for the spot where they had first diverged from it. "Here it is, I am sure," cried he; "this is the old stunted oak that I marked: it was the last-but it is so dark, that I cannot see the notch I made in the bark." One of the pine torches they had brought with them was lighted, and the mark was found. They then pressed onward, and reached another tree, which Rudolph recognized, and now he was sure he could not be very far from his brother's place of shelter. He shouted "Hans!" but the gusts of wind, which were still violent, would have been sufficient to pre vent the sound of his voice from being heard in the cavern, even if it had been much nearer than it really was. They continued to ascend until they saw by the torch-light the mouth of the little hollow. Rudolph scrambled joyfully up, calling his brother's name, and speaking words of comfort. His companion followed with the torch; but, just as Rudolph reached the entrance to the cavern, the light was extinguished by a sudden blast. "Never mind, Hans; we shall have another light in a moment," cried Rudolph. "How tired you must be of waiting! But you shall be taken from this dismal place directly." No answer was returned. The inside of the cavern was perfectly dark, so that no object could be distinguished within; but if Hans were there, how strange that he did not speak! Could he be asleep, amidst all the roaring of the storm? Rudolph did not hear him breathe, but it might be that the noise of the wind was sufficient to account for that circumstance. In his feeling of vague apprehension, Rudolph's hands trembled so much, that he let the torch fall, and it was a second time extinguished. His companion again struck a light, and rekindled it. Then he hastened into the cavern, and discovered, with such a feeling of disappointment and dismay as he had never before experienced, that it was quite empty. One hope still remained; this might not, after all, be the same spot in which Hans had been left. No doubt, there were many similar fissures in the rock, and, in the darkness, it was very easy to mistake one for the other. This certainly was very like the one Rudolph had lately left, and it had every appearance of having been recently occupied, for there were still traces of footsteps on the loose sand which had blown into the chasm. There was one way to clear up all doubts: Rudolph remembered that, as he went out, he had marked a stump, which stood at the mouth of the cavern, with a large notch. He ran to look, and there indeed he found it! He threw himself on the ground in a paroxysm of despair and grief. The charcoal-burner shook his head: he had little doubt as to what had become of the lost one. He felt as sure that Hans now made one of the train of the Wild Huntsman, as if he had with his own eyes seen the fiery troop pass by and carry him off. How could it be otherwise, exposed on such a night, and in such a place, the very haunt of those terrific spirits! Strange to say, the honest man did not feel so much oppressed by his fears, now that he had, as he thought, such excellent reason for believing them well-founded. Perhaps he took the disappearance of the boy as a proof that the fiend had already visited this spot, so that there was little danger of his returning that night; or he had become excited and interested in the search, and was moved to compassion by the distress of Rudolph. At any rate, he recovered his self-possession, and exerted himself kindly in the boy's behalf. He roused him from his posture of despair, and again they examined the rock, and again called out the name of Hans. But it was with little hope, for Rudolph was tolerably certain that this was the right cavern, and he knew that Hans was too lame to leave it without assistance. Even supposing such assistance to have been at hand, it was extremely improbable that he would have availed himself of it, as he knew that his only chance of again meeting with Rudolph lay in remaining where he had been left, as his brother would surely return to seek him there. After some time spent in this useless labor, his new friend persuaded Rudolph to go home with him for the night, and to defer further search until the morning. The storm having considerably abated, and the fears of the charcoal-burner having subsided in a corresponding degree, he became more talkative, and could not help giving his companion broad hints of what he conceived to be the fate of his unfortunate brother. When he saw the effect which these hints produced, (for Rudolph had his share of the superstition of his country,) he tried to counteract it, by supposing causes for his disappearance so unlikely, that they only made the previous supposition seem more probable. On their return, they found the good woman watching anxiously for them, and, when she heard the issue of the expedition, she felt almost as much distressed as if the missing one had been a friend or relative of her own. She had made ready a bed for the lame boy, and mixed a lotion prepared from herbs, which she considered an infallible remedy for sprains and bruises. But all her labor had been vain; so she consoled herself by comforting Rudolph to the best of her power, and by endeavoring to find some cheering probability to account for the disappearance of his brother. He could not be far off, she said; no doubt he had fallen into the hands of some kind person, who would take care of him, and apply a remedy to his hurt. They could not fail to have tidings of him | in a day or two. All this her husband answered by shak- ̈ ing his head ominously, but nevertheless it gave Rudolph courage, and made him feel more hopeful. Still he could not help recurring to the subject of the Wild Huntsman as soon as they were seated at supper, for there is a kind of fascination in anything that fills us with distress and horror, which prompts us to make it a subject of thought and conversation. Rudolph shuddered when he thought of Hakelberg, and of the possibility that Hans might have been carried off by him; yet he could not desist from putting all kinds of questions concerning the manner of the goblin's appearance, his power and his achievements. Now that his host was under the shelter of his own roof, and no longer disturbed by the noise of the storm, he was less unwilling to be communicative than when they were abroad on the Kuhstall. "Did I tell you what happened to two young fellows in the wood hard by ?" asked he of his anxious listener. Rudolph thought not; what was it? "Why, you see, they were two bold young fellows, especially the younger, and they were accustomed to pass through the wood every evening to meet their sweethearts. Neither storm nor tempest hindered them, though the neighbors often cautioned them, that, when the wind blew and the thunder rolled, the Wild Huntsman was abroad; and it is dangerous to cross his path, as all the world knows well enough. But the lads only scoffed at this good advice; and one night-I should think, from what they say, much such a night as this-they set out as usual. When they were in the midst of the forest, they heard strange sounds, at first distant, and high in the air. These sounds approached gradually, and, when near enough to be distinguished, the cry of hounds in full chase was heard, accompanied every now and then by the halloo of the huntsman; but such a cry and such a halloo were never heard from earthly dog |