come to me, and, to my very great surprise, entered, at once, into the wretched management and inabilities of the Duke of Newcastle." The plot thickens against the doomed Duke: all the malcontents are combining against him, and all the talents. Bubb is in communication now with Halifax, now with Hillsborough; to-day with Pitt, to-morrow with Fox. One very curious interview he has with Pitt-very curious as reported by himself-at which, after agreeing that "the Duke of Newcastle was a very great liar," as a trite political postulate, which nobody can deny, Mr. Pitt goes on to "express himself strangely [the italics are of Bubb's underscoring] as to me that he thought me of the greatest consequence; no man in this country would be more listened to, both in and out of the House, &c. &c.-that he [Pitt] was most desirous to connect and unite himself with me [Bubb] in the strictest manner-he ever had the highest regard for my abilities-we had always acted upon the same principles: he had the honour of being married into my relations; everything invited him to it. He added a great deal more, that surprised me very much, considering the treatment I have met with, for years past, both from him and those relations. It surprised me so much, that all I said was, that I was much obliged to him, but that he might depend upon it, that I would not accept of his friendship, or of any mark of his confidence, without meeting him more than half way." terrible cornet of horse might trust Bubb for that. The Well, the very next page of the Diary records Mr. Dodington's acceptance of office under that very great liar whom we have just heard him abusing. "I went, by desire, to Newcastle House. His Grace, with many assurances of confidential friendship, told me, that he had the King's permission to offer me the Treasury of the Navy, which I accepted." What will Leicester House say? Never mind: officials must not be too thin-skinned. Bubb waits upon the Princess to acquaint her with what has passed-" but her Royal Highness received me very coolly."§ That is all the Diary has room for the next entry demanding a good line to itself: "I kissed the King's hand as Treasurer of the Navy." Such a kiss makes amends for a deal of dudgeon at Leicester House. But before very many months are over, the Duke of Newcastle is out. Busy contrivances among his colleagues-designs, devices, plans, projects, shifts, and arrangements of divers and diverse kinds. Bubb declines being Chancellor of the Exchequer, but, if Lord Halifax accepts the Admiralty, will agree to accept the Board of Trade. Alas, my Lord Halifax is a traitor-in private negotiating with Newcastle, and so frustrating the hopes of our schemers. Mr. Dodington's consternation at such dissembling baseness is beautiful-as beautiful as the denunciation of the Bridgewater wretches. "What makes this the more surprising is, that always before, at that very time, and ever since, he [Halifax] has spoken of the Duke of Newcastle to me and others, as a knave and a fool, in the strongest terms." Of course Mr. Dodington had never so spoken of his Grace-or he could not possibly have felt surprise. But enough of the Diary. It extends over a few more years, but scarcely adds to our insight into its writer's character, which is already patent enough to all observers. * Diary, July 27. § Ibid., Dec. 19. Ibid., Sept. 3, 1755. Ibid., Dec. 17. ¶ Ibid., March 9, 1757. THE CURSE OF WOLFHEIMBERG. A TALE OF GERMANY." BY MRS. BUSHBY. PART I. TRAVELLING in Germany was very different a few years ago from what it is at the present day. Railroads, now so plentiful, and so well conducted, were by no means in extensive operation then, and the reign of Schnellposts was in full vigour. Disagreeable as these slow conveyances were, tourists were obliged to put up with them; and there were occasions when they might have been too glad to have obtained some of the numbered seats in these uncomfortable vehicles, for it was not always possible, especially in out-of-the-way places, to procure carriages and post-horses on hire. Even now difficulties may be encountered in those parts of the country which are not in the habitual track of travellers, and at the period to which we refer it certainly was not always easy to get on as fast as might have been desired. The Germans are a very clever people, but they are not quick; and he who goes among their more primitive localities must learn to "possess his soul in patience." A gentleman a thorough John Bull-his wife and daughter, a young and very beautiful girl, were travelling, some twelve or fourteen years ago, in the north of Germany. They had been in Ludwigslust, in Mecklenburg-Schwerin, where is situated the principal residence of the grandduke, a fine old palace, with spacious parks and beautiful gardens, and they had proceeded from thence to the old town of Luneburg. What a tedious journey that was! The horses crawled along the sandy road as if they were merely parts of some sluggish machinery, and the driver was at least a dozen times awoke by the ladies screaming to him, in their best German, to know if he were asleep. At last, when the English party were thoroughly worn out, and the beams of the setting sun were gilding the venerable spires and towers, the coachman cast off his lethargy, and went rattling over the drawbridge and the unmacadamised streets of the ancient city. Luneburg is a curious old place; the architecture appears to be that of the middle ages; everything there speaks of time long past. It is not so much, however, the spirit of decay that pervades the place as the spirit of listlessness, if such an expression may be used. You walk, or at least you walked, through the dreary streets, and you saw a few people loitering about in a state of apparent torpor; you strolled along the ramparts, with their broad grassy walks, and you met here and there a solitary individual pacing slowly by; there were no gay groups of young men and women, no frolicking children to be seen. Was human nature asleep there? or were they "all dead?" as a lady once said of the inhabitants of a small town in the north of Scotland, where the free church was exceedingly strict, and where there happened to be little commerce * Founded on fact. and less society. Our travellers were very glad to have seen this excellent specimen of German antiquity, and the ladies amused themselves extremely well in sketching some of the quaint old buildings; perhaps they (the ladies) might not have grumbled at remaining two or three days there, but the head of the family became extremely bored with so dull a place, where he could not even get an English newspaper wherewith to console himself; so he was determined on moving on at once, if possible. But how to effect this? The Schnellpost, or Eilwagen, only went out twice a week, and all the places in it were engaged for its next journey. Of course he would have much preferred hiring a carriage and horses, but the inns at Luneburg were not well provided in these luxuries or necessaries. The landlord of the hotel feared that he had no conveyance fit to offer his English guests, for the Germans in those remote places have an overwhelming idea of the fastidiousness of the English people. His open calèche had not returned from Hamburg, whither it had been sent with one or two German artists, who had come from Brunswick, after a sojourn among the Hartz Mountains, and the grander carriage was half engaged by two gentlemen who were going south. The English travellers were also going towards the south, therefore, after much cogitation on the part of the perplexed landlord, he suggested that the two parties should go on together in his roomy coach. The Germans were not unwilling to agree to this arrangement when they heard that one of their proposed companions was a beautiful English girl; but when the offer was made to the Englishman, and he was told that one of the gentlemen was Freiherr H., he stoutly refused to accept of it. "No; tiresome as Luneburg was, he would rather wait there than be shut up in a close carriage for so many hours with a fat friar; he had seen too many of that gentry in Belgium, and he did not like them." The worthy John Bull was certainly anything but liberal in his sentiments, and would not have made an orthodox Puseyite. He wondered what these priests were always travelling about for, and who paid their expenses. The poor hotel-keeper, though not very strong in his English, caught the words paying expenses, and forthwith assured the Herr Englander that the Herr Graf and the Herr Baron would pay for themselves. This appeared to mollify him; but the fact was that his daughter had just convinced him that "Freiherr" and "Roman Catholic priest" were not synonymous terms. The next stumbling-block was the hour fixed for the commencement of the journey. The Germans were obliged to start at eleven o'clock at night, because they had to be at Hanover early the following day. Now, though the Englishman always preferred travelling by night in England, he was contumacious enough to object to it in Germany; but the ladies again interposed, and all was satisfactorily arranged. At about ten minutes before eleven o'clock the door of the salon occupied by the English people was thrown open, and the hotel-keeper appeared waiting outside of it, holding a massive silver candlestick in either hand, in each of which was a tall wax candle, lighted. Bearing these lights, he marched pompously before the English party, marshalling them down the wide staircase, with its old-fashioned carved banisters, and through a long passage which was lined on both sides with all the inmates of the hotel-its staff of servants, and its various retainers, all stationed there, partly to do honour to the foreign travellers, partly to gratify their curiosity by the sight of English ladies, who were, at that period, very rarely to be seen in the good town of Luneburg. Out into the streetfor there was no court-yard in the front of the hotel at least-marched the landlord, carrying aloft the candles, and followed by the laughing travellers, who were much amused at the strange proceeding, the candles in question being quite unnecessary, as the grand staircase, the passage, and the street near the hotel, were otherwise well lighted. Arrived at the door of the lumbering old vehicle, two very handsome gentlemanly young men were seen standing by it, whom the landlord, with a flourish of his silver candlesticks, introduced as the Herr Graf and the Herr Baron, while he named our John Bull friend to them as the Herr Englander. The due courtesies were forthwith exchanged, and the carriage soon set off with the two sets of travellers, the Herr Baron having secured the seat opposite to the pretty girl, much to the annoyance, apparently, of his friend the count, who had destined that place for himself. At first, after a few common-place observations, there was rather an awkward silence, but the two young men and the ladies were all frank and willing to become acquainted with each other, therefore they soon fell into conversation, speaking principally French, while the elder gentleman rolled himself up in his warm cloak and went comfortably to sleep. The conversation was first about Luneburg, its picturesque old buildings, and its history-how it was founded by Henry the Lion, to whom also Lubeck and Munich owed their origin; then about the Hartz Mountains, the spectre of the Brocken, the witches' sabbath on the eve of May-day. Then it passed on to German superstitions and traditions in general, to the wild old legends attached to the ruined castles on the Rhine, and other now mouldering structures, which in ancient times had been seats of barbarian power, and scenes of many lawless deeds. "But there were not so many robber-nests and strongholds here, amidst these northern plains, as there were among the more hilly parts of the country, I think," said the elder lady. "The Black Forest, for instance," she continued, "what a blessing that region has been to novelists of all nations! What fierce combats, mysterious murders, midnight ghosts, have not been palmed upon that poor Black Forest, until its name has become a terror to the world!" "Yes," said the count, "the Black Forest certainly does take precedence in horrors; but do not suppose that these wide plains, which extend to the shores of the Baltic, are altogether devoid of them. The annals of this part of the country are not quite so Arcadian." "No, indeed," exclaimed the baron; we shall by-and-by pass the scene of some very dreadful events. The moon is rising, and I think I shall be able to point out, by its fantastic light, the grey towers of the fatal castle." The ladies were immediately on the qui vive, and the young beautyimpressed with a sort of vague feeling of terror-gazed often anxiously through the window at the surrounding landscape. "Is there a ghost story connected with the castle we are to see?" she at length ventured to ask. "The castle is said to be haunted, certainly," replied the baron; "and ghosts are said to be seen there, at the dead hour of night, when spectres are permitted to visit this material world-if they ever do visit it-but the legend, or rather the history to which I allude, does not relate to supernatural beings. It is a tale of hereditary crime and misery." "Hereditary madness rather, let us hope," said the young count, looking very grave. "Do you not then believe that good or bad dispositions are in some degree hereditary ?" asked the elder lady. Yes, I cannot doubt that they are; but that one particular crime, that murder should be committed by generation after generation, seems to be unusual in the history of human nature." "Murder!" exclaimed the lovely girl, while her cheek turned pale, and her deep blue eyes glanced with horror under their long dark fringes. "Let us speak of other matters," said the baron, observing the change in her countenance; 66 we shall all get the blue devils,' as you English say, if we dwell on such lugubrious subjects." But it was not easy to pass to gayer themes, however lively the two young men might have been had they met their beautiful companion in a ball-room, or at a table d'hôte—moreover, the hour, a little past midnight, was imposing, and the deep silence that reigned around, interrupted only by the sighing of the wind through the clumps of trees that every here and there cast their dark shadows on the lonely fields—all tended to banish any attempt at merriment. Insensibly the conversation resumed its gloomy tone, and before long the baron had consented to gratify the ladies' curiosity respecting the dreary castle, for which they were looking out with a sort of fearful interest. "The Castle of Wulfheimberg," he commenced, can boast of great antiquity, and its ancient lords often led their faithful vassals to the wars which so needlessly devastated the kingdoms, principalities, and duchies of Germany, exciting the evil passions of high and low, and retarding the progress of civilisation. The castle had even stood more than one siege in these days of wild warfare, but probably in such lawless times not much was known or heeded respecting the private lives of its chiefs. It began at length, however, to be whispered abroad that many a tragedy was enacted within its massive walls, and curiosity became aroused at the strange disappearance of one or more of the young barons; either the heir apparent or the one next in succession to him, when they were grown up, or growing into young men, having invariably, generation after generation, vanished in some mysterious manner. Those who were given to superstition, hinted darkly at evil spirits who haunted the gloomy pile, and wiled away its youthful heirs to some solitary scene of inevitable destruction among the lonely recesses of the adjacent Hartz. Others thought that the young men, tired of the dreary solitude of Wulfheimberg, had secretly escaped to the resorts of the dissipated and reckless youths of the day, and had fallen in some licentious brawl, or been robbed and slain by ruffian outlaws. But these conjectures were all wrong. An evil spirit, indeed, haunted that dismal castle; but it was the fiend jealousy that there, from time to time, first stole, with stealthy steps, along its vaulted corridors and loopholed battlements; then scowled in its baronial halls; then prompted deeds of horror in its silent turretchambers. How often had not the walls of these remote apartments echoed the clash of weapons, the frantic murderer's blow, the groans of |