those who were present, was throbbing in sympathy with that ancient man's natural emotions. Even the president, the proud prelate himself, seemed touched at the scene. Order was, however, soon restored. The principal parties were again placed in the same relative positions towards each other; and the business of Court thus proceeded.

"Freyherr von Feyermahl, spake the Archbishop once more, and his tones grew deeper and deeper still, as he said the words. "You have been guilty of robbing and slaying my harmless people; you have been guilty of destroying the peace of my dominions; and you have been guilty of sacrilege, in despoiling the abode of one whose life is consecrated to the service of God, and whose property and person are under the protection of the holy church. What have you to say why the judgment of this Court should not go forth against you?

"I am a free baron of the empire," replied the accused; "I claim to be judged by my peers in the Diet: I deny your right to try me."

"Freyherr von Feyermabl," pursued the prelate, in the same cold, unchanging, passionless tone; "you are condemned, by this tribunal, to die; your moments are numbered; the confessor awaits you; the headsman is ready. May the Lord have mercy on your soul!"

At these words, and a slight sign which accompanied them, the executioner advanced from one side of the hall, where he had, as already related, been lounging carelessly against a massive pillar, and took up his place beside the

block, handling the heavy axe the while, to ascertain that its edge was in order; from the other glided forth a priest in full canonicals, with breviary and cross in hand, and approached the culprit, for the purpose of shriving his departing soul. But his proffered aid was unaccepted; the prisoner obstinately refused to confess; confining his dying words entirely to insult of the Court, and denial of its authority. "I'll none of your mummeries, quoth he; "a free baron have I lived, and a free baron shall I die,—if die I must. But my fellows, I hope, will avenge my fall. I appeal to the Germanic Diet."

At another sign from the Archbishop, he was seized and laid prostrate on the earth;-his head on the block. The headsman's axe was upraised; it glittered in the dim light of the apartment; it quivered to fall on his neck.

"My husband! my husband!" skrieked his bride. "Save him! save him! the father of my babe! save him!"

"Save him! save him!" exclaimed the aged priest. "Mercy! mercy!"

Both attempted to rush to the archbishop's seat to fall at his knees,-to beg the ruthless robber's life; but the powerful grasp of the officials withheld them, and pinioned them immovably to the spot. In the same instant the bright axe of the executioner crashed heavily on the culprit's neck, cutting through flesh, and bone, and beard; and the dissevered head rolled on the sanded floor, convulsed and contorted in the most fearful manner. The aged priest and his

niece fainted. at once; the former only recollected that the lights were on a sudden extinguished, and that the scene, in a single moment, was involved

The latter lost all consciousness

in total darkness.

It was noon the next day when the old man awoke from his trance. The occurrences of the past night flitted before his mind, as the remembrance of a dream, or the creations of a fevered fancy. He could not believe in their authenticity. How could he?-he was in his own bed, in his own lonely cottage, in the village of Kommern. He hears an unwonted noise without.

"It's but Hans coming home from the field," he said to himself. "Ah! I should not be here!" He hears a voice; it is a voice familar to his ear, though long unheard.

"What may this mean?" he soliloquised aloud. The door of his chamber creaks on its hinges as of yore, and a light foot fall approaches his bedside. The curtains are gently drawn aside; a pale face, with long dark hair banging dishevelled on each side of it, bends fondly and gently over him.

"My child! my child!" he exclaims.

"Father-my father!" was the answer.

It was his long-lost niece again restored to his arms.

The certainty of the past was soon made apparent to him by a journey to Bonn. In the Münster, close by the high altar, on a newly

raised monument, he read, within a week after this occurrence, the following inscription:

To the Memory

OF

THE FREYHERR VON FEYERMAHL.

BY

THE VEHMGERICHT.

A.D. 1250.

This monument has been long since destroyed, if ever it existed. Ages agone were all the descendants of this ancient house extinct. Thus ends the story.

POPPELSDORF.
CLEMENSRUHE.

in

The archiepiscopal palace of Clemensruhe, the adjoining hamlet of Poppelsdorf, or, more properly speaking, suburb, for it is strictly a suburb of Bonn, has been some time converted into a museum. Our Bishop Burnet tells an incredible story in connexion with the palace. These are his words:

"The elector has a great many gold medals,

"Some Letters, containing an Account of what seemed most remarkable in Switzerland, Italy, &c. Written by G. Burnet, D.D. to T.H.R.B., at Rotterdam. Printed by Abraham Acher, bookseller by the Exchange, 1686." A curious but somewhat credulous book.

which will give me occasion to tell you one of the extravagantest pieces of forgery that perhaps ever was, which happened to be found out at the last siege of Bonn; for, while they were clearing the ground for planting a battery, they discovered a vault, in which there was an iron chest, that was full of medals of gold, to the value of a hundred thousand crowns; and of which I was told that the elector bought to the value of thirty thousand crowns. They are huge, big, one weighed hundred ducats, and the gold was of fineness of ducat gold; but though they bore the impressions of Roman medals, or rather medallions, they were all counterfeit; and the imitation was so coarsely done, that one must be extreme ignorant in medals to be deceived by them. Some few that seemed true were of the late Greek emperors. Now it is very unaccountable, what could induce a man to make a forgery upon such metal, and in so vast a quantity, and then to bury all this under ground, especially in an age in which gold was ten times the value of what it is at present; for it is judged to have been done about four or five hundred years ago." All that can be said of this story is, that it is most wonderful, if true.

THE KREUZBERG.

Among the curiosities of the vicinity of Bonn, the Kreuzberg ranks foremost. It is a hill, on which now stands a splendid church, formerly attached to a monastery of Servite monks. Though