or mortal man. Well, what think you did this simpleton, the younger of the lads, do? Why, at the moment the demons were close upon him, he returned the cry, and hallooed right boldly to the infernal host. He had reason to repent his folly !" considered to be more especially the object of the Wild Huntman's pursuit, and the matter having thus been placed on a footing more agreeable to Rudolph's feelings, they went to bed. It was long before Rudolph could find any rest. Tired as he was, the thought "What happened to him?" asked Ru- of Hans drove sleep far away. He bit dolph. "The whole pack swept by-(awful fiery forms they were, such as his comrade never forgot to his dying day)-they swept by, horse, and man, and hound. When they had passed, there was no trace left of him who had dared to make so free with him. He was gone too, and was heard of no more." terly regretted that he had been tempted from his brother's side; he reflected on the uncertainty of the poor boy's fate, and his probable sufferings. Then the terrific idea of the Wild Huntsman would still obtrude itself; and, against his reason, he could not help connecting the mysterious disappearance of his brother with the tales he had heard of that fright "What was thought to have become of ful apparition. him?" asked Rudolph. "Some say he had to take the shape of a fiery dog, and that he is compelled to go foremost every time it pleases the Wild Huntsman to lead forth his pack." "Do you think it is true,” asked Rudolph, "that the Wild Huntsman was once a man, and that what he now does is the punishment of his wicked deeds on earth?" "Yes, that's true enough. But, as to who or what he was when in the body, it is not quite so certain. We in Saxony call him Hakelberg, and they say that such was his name on earth. Some say he was a Sabbath-breaker; but most believe him to have been a proud Saxon prince, who loved the chase so well, that he cared not what torments he inflicted on those who killed the game, or in any way transgressed the forest-law. It makes one sick to hear of his cruelties. But he has his reward; he has enough of hunting now, and I should think would be glad to be at rest again!" Although their notions of a purer faith had not entirely dispelled in Rudolph's family the proneness to superstition which was universal in their country and in their age, Casper's acquaintance with the Scriptures had given him an exalted idea of the character of God, and he had represented the Supreme Being to his children as the only object of their fear and worshiptheir infinite, all-powerful Preserver and Friend. It could not be, then, that wicked spirits were allowed to work their will on an innocent and defenseless child, and so Rudolph decided again and again; but superstitious terrors, once entertained, haunt the mind long after the understanding has proved them to be groundless. Again and again, therefore, did the image of Hakelberg present itself to his imagination while he lay awake, and again and again, in still more fearful distinctness, did it disturb his uneasy slumbers. Now the Wild Huntsman himself was glaring on him; now his fiery train hurried by, and trampled him under foot; "What does he hunt?" asked Rudolph, then, O horror! in one of the pack he trembling. "All bad things," interrupted the housewife; "witches, thieves, and murderers. He has no power over the innocent and the good." Rudolph felt relieved, for, if so, Hans could not have become the victim of the spirit. He thanked the good woman in his heart for this comfort. His eyes thanked her too, and she seemed to understand him; but as neither spoke, the honest host had no opportunity of contradicting them. He admitted that the class which his wife had named was generally recognized his unhappy brother, who looked at him as he passed, as if to reproach him with his dreadful fate. Harassed by these terrific visions, Rudolph was glad when the day dawned, and the inmates of the hut were once more awake and stirring. As soon as it was sufficiently light, he prepared to renew his search on the Kuhstall, and after thanking the kind people with whom he had passed the night for their hospitality, he would have said farewell. But they would not hear of parting so soon with their guest. "As long as he continued in the neighborhood, the roof which sheltered them should shelter him;" and it was only after a promise that he would return in the evening, that they allowed him to depart. ney yet remained to be accomplished. Every league they passed over used to be a subject for rejoicing, for it brought them nearer to the goal which they so ardently desired to reach. Now, Rudolph regarded his progress with indifference, sometimes almost with regret, for the thought would recur, that perhaps, after all, Hans might be somewhere in the neighborhood, and if so, by leaving it, he All that day he prosecuted his fruitless search. He climbed every peak, he penetrated every fissure, he made every echo ring with the name of Hans; but all in vain. Weary and dispirited, he returned at night to the hospitable hut of the char-was losing the only chance of their recoal-burner. It was not necessary to ask him how he had sped, for his dejected countenance told his tale too well. "Don't be cast down, my poor boy," said his kind-hearted hostess; "to-morrow will bring you better luck." The next day he again explored the country, and made inquiries of every one he met with in a wide circuit, but to no purpose. No one knew anything of a person answering to his description of Hans. His tale was listened to by some with indifference or incredulity; by others, with interest and sympathy. These were the more numerous, and to some of them Rudolph ventured to put the half-despairing question-What could he do? The most sensible advice which he received was, that he should proceed to Dresden, where there was a hospital for those who were accidentally injured, and where it was not improbable that some compassionate traveler might have placed the disabled boy. On this course Rudolph decided. He could do no good by lingering about the scene of his misfortune, for he now felt sure that Hans was not in the neighborhood; and besides that, he did not like to intrude longer upon his kind host and hostess, who, he thought, could ill afford their generous hospitality. Accordingly, the next morning he took his leave, followed by the good wishes of the honest charcoal-burner and his wife, who promised to keep him in remembrance, and to do their best to succor Hans, if chance should ever throw him in their way. CHAPTER VIII. No one can tell how desolate Rudolph felt when thus, for the first time, he set out on his journey quite alone. It was at such times that Hans and he had been accustomed to congratulate each other, and to calculate how much of their jour union. He never thought of pursuing the journey alone-of joining his parents without his brother. His mission now was to seek Hans, and the complete uncertainty he was in as to how to begin the task made his young heart sink within him. He had walked a long way, when he entered a village, and began to think of rest and refreshment. His mind was so much occupied, that he paid little attention to his bodily wants, and thought little of husbanding his strength, an object which he had always kept in view when he had Hans to take care of as well as himself. But now he felt so indifferent about everything, that it was only from the excessive fatigue which he experienced that he became conscious of having prolonged his march beyond its accustomed length. Sounds of merry music greeted him as he walked sadly and slowly up the little street, and he soon encountered a procession, so gay with its holyday dresses and bunches of flowers, that he knew it at once to be a wedding. But he did not look for the bride and bridegroom among the gay assembly. His attention was completely engrossed by the music, for he had immediately recognized the tune to be one which Conrad Birnstein had taught him more than a year ago. It was a particular favorite with Conrad, who always said it should be played on his weddingday; and it was an old promise that Rudolph should bear his part in the performance. All this, and much more, came into his mind at the sound of the well-known air, for what awakens old thoughts and feelings like a familiar strain of music? These recollections contrasted painfully with his present desolate situation. One moment he felt as if he could cry; then he had a strange disposition to laugh; and, as the band came near, prompted by a sudden impulse, he put his instrument to his mouth, and joined in the melody. The musicians nodded, and signed to him to take his place among them. He complied; but they had not proceeded far, when the bridegroom, stepping out of his place in the procession, approached the boy, and, | laying his hand on his shoulder, said, in a hurried voice, "In the name of Heaven, who are you?" Rudolph looked round, and as soon as he saw the person that addressed him, the flute dropped from his hands, and he threw | himself passionately into the young man's arms, exclaiming, "O, Conrad, Conrad, is it indeed you!" "Rudolph Wolfganger!" cried Conrad, who scarcely knew whether to be pleased or terrified at the sudden appearance of his young friend among the bridal train, "where have you come from, and how did you get here?" These questions would have taken some time to answer, even had Rudolph been sufficiently composed to reply coherently. But this was neither the time nor the place for confidential communications, as they both remembered, when the first surprise was over. Strange to say, Rudolph was the first to recover himself. He broke from Conrad and Grete, for the latter was almost as much affected by the sight of him as her husband, and saying, “You know, Conrad, you always said I was to play at your wedding," he took his place among the musicians, and the march was resumed in the same order as before this unexpected interruption. "This is strange, Grete, is it not?" said Conrad, as he walked by the side of his bride. "We had just been talking about Berchtesgaden, and thinking of those who would have been around us if we had all been at our old home. This boy came into my mind with the rest, and when I saw him walking just before us, and playing the very tune I myself taught him, I almost thought it must be his ghost, or some false spirit that had taken his likeness." "And it is neither the one nor the other," answered Grete, "but himself in his own person. I long to know his history, how he came here, and where he is going. Poor fellow! he looks ill; I am afraid he has a tale of sorrow to relate!" "Most likely," said Conrad, sadly; "we hear little but tales of sorrow from our unhappy countrymen." "But we may be able to do him some good," said Grete, cheerfully; “and if so, it will be pleasant to have one Berchtesgaden face near us on our wedding-day; will it not, Conrad ?" Conrad agreed that it would. He rejoiced to see Rudolph, he said, and he would rejoice still more if he could be of any service to him, for indeed it was too probable that he stood in need of assistance. (To be continued.) A MUEZZIN-SONG. BY CALDER CAMPBELL. NooN is coming: brightly gleaming Up and work! for rich and poor, Calls for "labor" evermore! Up! Night's slumbers, which have bound us, Twilight cometh: birds are winging But, pale Evening, too, hath duties, Night is coming: upward gazing, And the Night will pass: in shadow Which thou mayst give them. Then as- To help the helpless! Lo, thy neighbor "THE SCHOOL OF REFORM, WESTBOROUGH, MASSACHUSETTS. "HERE are few things more hopeful | dren must these be! in the present aspect of the times than the multiplication and extension of Houses of Refuge and Reformation for Children and Youth. Those who have observed with much care the various processes by which a depraved character is built up, can appreciate, in some degree, the importance of any means to interrupt them. But it is only those who have seen and known the incorrigibility of a finished rogue, that can put a proper estimate on early reformatory influences."* "I have seen enough of the poor and desolate," says the Hon. Theodore Lyman, "to be long ago convinced, that many of the persons that go to jails, houses of correction, and state prisons, are originally led there in consequence of the ignorance, or the poverty, or the neglect, or the dissolute habits of parents, or from the want of proper guardians in their youth; in other words, from being exposed in some way to a temptation, that they had either not knowledge enough, or resolution enough to resist." Who can look into the faces of these little street merchants and vagrants without feeling a keen pang and an inward conviction that there has been unpardonable neglect somewhere. Scarcely a characteristic mark of childhood is to be seen; the buoyant step, the ingenuous look, the plump cheek, the ringing laugh, have given place to the long, measured tread of a man, the broad stare of the knave, the emaciated and precociously mature face of one familiar with fasting, toil, and disease, and the coarse shout of the street. This is one of the class so quaintly and truly called On the other hand, there is no sight on earth more pitiful than that presented by a large class of the children, especially the boys, of our cities and more considerable towns-with ignorant, vicious, and wretched parents; ever engaged in a running fight with hunger; with miserable sleeping places, even if they have a home; with little or no education; breathing from the first a corrupting atmosphere; taught and often forced to lie and steal; the moral nature, in addition to its own proclivity, always urged in the wrong direction, and the gentle affections and higher aspirations of susceptible childhood" anybody's child-a little fiend, a social crushed down under the oppression of cruelty and crime. What manner of chil curse, a hypocrite, a liar, a thief." "If," says the author of the above sentence, "the state had long ago made somebody The Pennsylvania Journal of Prison Discip- accountable for the child, and taken upon line for April, 1854. itself the duties of the parent, anybody's noblest monument, and his memory among the boys will ever be "like ointment poured forth." General Lyman had felt the importance of this state movement for the reform of juvenile offenders, from his active participation in the Farm School, of which corporation he was, for a number of years, the president. This institution, an illustration of which has been provided for us, by Moses Grant, Esq., the vice-president and energetic patron of the school, is a private charity, receiving no aid from the state or city, and established by generous individuals, at first in the city itself, and afterward removed to Thompson's island, in Boston harbor, the whole of which is owned by the corporation. Its object is to secure the education and reformation of boys, who from the loss of their parents, or from other causes, are exposed to extraordinary temptations, and liable to become vicious, dangerous or useless members of society. In this institution manual labor is coupled with careful mental and moral instruction; and from the fact of the isolated position of the island, the restraint and discipline of the boys is easily secured, without severity, and more indulgence in recreation can be allowed than if upon the main land. From 1835 to 1852 there were seven hundred and thirty admissions, an average of about fifty a year. These boys are indented to farmers or mechanics in the country, where their advancement in education and improvement in moral character justify their removal. The number of inmates is now limited to one hundred. The success of this experiment in the unmistaken reformation of many of the youths, and their heartfelt gratitude when, in mature life, they could appreciate the kindness that saved them from destruction, necessary buildings, and to elaborate a system of government and discipline. In their report to the next legislature, they set forth this noble object as the leading idea of the school: "to take those who might otherwise be subjected to the degradation of prison discipline, and separate them from vicious influences; to teach them their duty to God and their fellow-beings; prepare them to earn an honest livelihood by honorable industry, in some trade or agricultural employment; and to give them such an intellectual education as will fit them properly to discharge the common business of life." During the session of this commission they received from a gentleman-who with a modesty equaled only by his munificence, withheld his name from the public-ten thousand dollars for the promotion of the interests of the new institution, and a proposition to bestow ten thousand more if the state would grant an equal amount, an offer that was at once responded to by her representatives. But this was not the limit of this extraordinary anonymous endowment. It being thought desirable at a later date to annex an adjoining farm, the twenty-five hundred dollars required for its purchase came from the open hand of the same donor, who had vailed his face from the public acclamation, and the sincere gratitude and admiration of the community. And even this was not all. In the month of July, 1849, the Hon. Theodore Lyman died at his residence in Brookline, Mass., honored and lamented by all that knew him, leaving in his will the princely sum of fifty thousand dollars, in addition to all his former donations, as a legacy to the school. Thus from one truly Christian gentleman, the state received the ample sum of over seventytwo thousand dollars, for the purpose of reforming the wretched and tempted chil-prepared General Lyman's mind for a dren of the commonwealth. A gift so unostentatious, so noble, and so well-distributed, is rarely recorded in the annals of our charities. It is not within the province of the human mind to measure the good that will be accomplished by this benevolent act, or to number the benedictions, from the lips of those ready to perish, upon the memory of this philanthropic man. A simple bust in the beautiful chapel of the institution is the only visible representative of the donor; but the whole massive pile of buildings is his wider field of effort, and he at once seized upon the occasion offered by the inquiry on the part of the state to accomplish this object. In his anonymous letter accompanying the offer of the second ten thousand dollars, he says, "I put a great value on the State Manual-Labor School, and am exceedingly desirous not only that it should begin well, but that it should meet with undoubted success, and deserve and secure the approbation and support of the community. For I do not think that a measure, costing an equal |