the headsman, and supposed to confer invincibility on him who wields it. There is a remarkable chapter, from which we gather the details of this superstition. Hannadam, the executioner, has his fortified dwelling in the suburbs of Cologne, and one evening a Lutheran officer rides up from the adjacent Swedish camp, and endeavours to induce him, by the bribe of a well-filled purse, to make him a charmed sword. From the battlements of his little fortress, Hannadam holds converse with the Swede, who complains that he has had his foot in the stirrup for twenty years, and is still a cornet, whilst his comrades of equal standing have risen to high rank. He holds it high time to look after his promotion.

"Undoubtedly it is,' said the headsman jeeringly. A forty-year old cornet cuts a poor figure. I will promote you to a majority.'

"So you shall,' replied the horseman, and I will tell you how. But first answer a question,-you are a popish idolator ?

"Infernal heretic!' shouted the executioner. 'Would you have me set my dogs at you?'

"The Swede was astounded by this burst of anger. He had intended no harm, but in the simplicity of his heart had designated the Roman Catholics by the epithet that from childhood upwards he had heard and used.

"If you are no idolator,' he replied very quietly, 'give me back my purse.'

"The headsman laughed.

"I am papist enough,' he said, 'to take example by my priests, and restore no offering.'

""Indeed,' said the cornet. 'But I begin to see what offended you. Never fear, you shall not hear the word again.'

"You will do wisely not to repeat it. And now say what you would for your money.'

"Did I not tell you I cannot get promotion?'

"Well

"Well? In the name of all the idols, I would have a charmed sword, such as only a headsman and a Romanist can make.'

"The parse fell jingling at the Swede's feet.

VOL. LXIII.-NO. CCCLXXXVIII.

"Begone!' cried the headsman. I am no sorcerer.'

"The charmed sword is a matter of white magic, seeing it is made under invocation of the holy Trinity and of the blessed cavalier, St Martin, without aid of the powers of darkness. To-night is favourable to its forgingsuch a night will not for a long time recur-for me, perhaps, never-with the like concurrence of fortunate circumstances. Do my bidding, and take the rich reward. After midnight, red Mars is in the ascendant, and in the direct aspect of Venus. That is the lucky hour to put the weapon together. The blade must be a sword that has served upon the scaffold, and severed a criminal's head from his body; the wood of the hilt must be part of the wheel upon which some poor sinner has been broken; the guard must be of the metal of chains in which a murderer has been hung. You need put it but loosely together; the armourer shall complete the work. The blade is the most important; let it be long and slender, not above two fingers broad, and with a single edge. The Tubal's-fire you of course have our executioners, also, keep that. Will you prepare the sword, master?'

"I would do so,' replied the headsman, and have all things needful;-but the fire is wanting.' "Impossible!' exclaimed the

heretic, for him to use against those he styles idolators. I will at once to work, and prepare the weapon. In our days a blade is not to be despised, from whose mere glitter the foe will fly by dozens.""

At midnight the sparks flew fast in the headsman's smithy, and the wondrous weapon was prepared. The Swede might well bave found it useful in the severe action between his countrymen and the Imperialists, which took place the following day within sound and sight of the city. The battle over, Count Philipps and Hildebrand rode up to Hannadam's dwelling; and the Count, whose vassal the headsman was, demanded admittance and lodging. Hildebrand showed some repugnance to enter the house of the executioner. "No need to fear," said the Count. "According to imperial charter, the headsman's office is honourable; and, moreover, he and his household will have sufficient sense not to touch us. His bread, his wine, his meat do not defile those partaking them, neither does his roof dishonour those it covers. But you must have the goodness to see to our horses yourself. At the worst, my nobility is good enough to shield us from stain even in the knacker's dwelling." So the count and the leech take up their quarters in the house of Hannadam, whose wife is no other than that beautiful Adelgunde, with whom Hildebrand had been deeply in love, and whom he had now long mourned as dead. She had been tried at Cologne on a charge of witchcraft, having been detected gathering mandragora at midnight beneath the gallows, and had been put to the torture; but Hannadam, to whose lot it fell to inflict it, was touched by her beauty, and handled her gently. In a conversation with Count Philipps, he explains to him how it is in the executioner's power greatly to aggravate or lighten the agony he is ordered to inflict. Finally, Hannadam marries her, in virtue of the privilege already exemplified in the story of Berthold Benz.

She is a somnambulist, and having seen her former lover enter the house, (although her husband does all in his power to keep her from sight of him, and even confines her in her room,) she gets up in the night, and by a most perilous path across the roof of the house, reaches Hildebrand's chamber, bearing with her the sword of her husband's manufacture, which she gives to her lover, bidding him use and conquer with it. Taking little heed of the supposed power attributed to the weapon, Hildebrand nevertheless girds it on, and the next day joins Colonel Madelon's regiment of cuirassiers. Distracted at finding Adelgunde the wife of another man, he covets death, and resolves to seek it in action. The count unwillingly parts with him, on condition of his returning that evening to his post. But evening comes, the fight is over, the wounded count looks anxiously for his leech, and Hildebrand appears not. The cuirassiers are far away, pursuing the beaten foe.

Time passes the exact period is not defined and we again meet the warlike physician, who is brought before us in a very remarkable chapter, detailing the punishment and degradation, at the headsman's hands, of an entire regiment that has disgraced itself in action. At that period the affairs of the Imperialists were in any thing but a flourishing state. At Leipsig-on the same ground where, eleven years previously, Gustavus Adolphus had beaten Tilly -the Swedes, under the gallant Torstenson, had gained a signal victory over the Archduke Leopold-William; a victory shameful to the German name from the cowardice and want of discipline of a portion of the troops engaged. The remnant of the beaten army rallied near Prague, whose gates, some time after the fight, a regiment of cavalry was seen to approach, its ranks thinned less by hostile sword than by scandalous desertion. Deep shame sat upon the bearded countenances of the horsemen, and their hearts were

oppressed by apprehension of punishment; for rumour said that the corps was ordered to Prague to answer for its misconduct. The officers were even more cast down than the men; they spoke in whispers, consulting each other how they might best justify themselves, and proposing to throw all the blame on their subordinates. On the other hand, the private soldiers did not scruple to say above their breath, that "a sensible housekeeper begins to sweep his stairs from the top." The regiment was close to the town, ordering its ranks previous to entrance, when a young officer came up at full gallop, saluted the colonel courteously but coldly, and said:

"I am the bearer of an unpleasant order."

"Duty is duty, Sir," replied the commanding officer; "be good enough to deliver your message."

This was to the effect that the men should dismount, lead their horses into the town with lowered colours and without trumpet-sound, and then, so soon as the beasts were put up, repair to the market-place with swords at side, officers as well as men. This reception was ominous of even worse things than had been anticipated; and many a soldier regretted he had not followed an example abundantly supplied him, and deserted immediately after the battle. In two hours time, however, the regiment arrived with downcast eyes at the appointed place of muster. They marched two and two, with long intervals between the files. At the entrance of the narrow streets were pickets of dismounted dragoons, four deep, their musketoons on their arms, their drawn swords hanging from their wrists; the doors and windows of the houses were lined with carabineers, their weapons at the recover. A major and a provostmarshal were there on horseback, the latter attended by his men, who stood round a couple of carts. As each rank of the cuirassiers reached the square, the major commanded them to halt, and then gave the word "Draw swords!" followed by "Ground arms!" Whereupon every man, without distinction, had to lay his naked sword upon the ground,

before he was allowed to move forwards. The cornets did the same with their colours, and the provost's men took up swords and standards and put them in the carts. The disarmed soldiers formed up as prisoners in the square, and their hearts misgave them when they saw it arranged as for an approaching execution. True, there was neither scaffold nor gallows, but in the centre stood the gloomy man in the red cloak, his assistants behind him, between an iron vice and a pile of brushwood. A hedge of halberds surrounded the whole square. On one side a crowd of military officials of high rank sat upon their horses, to try the offenders, if indeed trial could be said to await men manifestly already condemned. Hard upon the circle of military pressed the populace; windows, roofs, and balconies were thronged with curious spectators; but it was as much as the nearest of them could do to catch a few words of what passed, when the disarmed regiment appeared before the court-martial.

The heads of accusation were tolerably well known, and resolved themselves into the one undeniable fact that the regiment, at first victorious, but afterwards repulsed, had fled in shameful haste and confusion, communicating its panic to the rest of the cavalry, leaving the infantry exposed, and causing the loss of the already half-won fight. These circumstances were too notorious to need proof; and the chief question was, whether the soldiers had fled in spite of every exertion of their officers, or whether the latter had been, by their pusillanimity, the chief causes of the disaster. This question it probably was that was debated for nearly two hours, and produced such violent dissensions amongst the prisoners, that the intervention of the guard was required to keep them from coming to blows. The bystanders could not distinguish words, but only a confused clamour of voices, which suddenly ceased at the blast of a trumpet. The prisoners, drew back; the judges consulted together for a moment; and then there was an abrupt and uneasy movement, amongst, behind, and in front of them, the motive of which immediately became apparent. The

spectators knew not whither first to turn their eyes. Here policemen bound the officers' hands behind their backs; in another place the provost's men separated the soldiers by tens, something in the way in which a tithe-owner counts the sheaves in a field. Drums were placed on end, with dice upon their heads: yonder the brushwood blazed up in bright flames, which the headsman's helpers fed with the colours and decorations of the regiment, whilst their master snapped sword-blade after swordblade in his iron vice. With mournful eyes the officers saw their flags consumed and their weapons broken at the hangman's hands. The most painful death would have been sweet and welcome compared to this moral agony. Despondingly they sank their heads, and those esteemed themselves fortunate whose hair was long enough to hide their shame-stricken countenances.

Whilst the officers endured the curious or spiteful gaze of the throng, the men threw dice for their lives upon the sheepskin tables. He of each ten who threw the lowest, was immediately seized by the execu tioners, who bound his hands and placed him with the group of officers. And the closing act of this terrible ceremony was performed by the public crier, who proclaimed the whole regiment, from the lieutenant-colonel down to the last dragoon, as "Schelme" or infamous knaves. After which the mob dispersed, streaming through lanes and alleys to the place where the officers and tenth men were to be hanged. The remainder of the regiment were conveyed to a place of security, till such time as they could be sent to dig fortifications in Hungary, or to labour on the wharves of a seaport.

Hildebrand Pfeiffer is amongst those saved from death to undergo slavery; but he contrives to escape his doom, and is next seen dwelling, a pious ascetic and penitent, in a mountain hermitage, under the name of Father

Gregorius. Enthusiastic in whatever he does, he passes his time prostrate before a crucifix, lacerating his shoulders with many stripes. His despair arises partly from grief at the loss of Adelgunde, and partly from shame at having been branded as a dastard with the rest of Madelon's cuirassiers. His old friend and patron, Count Philipps, finds him out, reasons with and consoles him, and makes him his chaplain. But after he has long been esteemed for his piety and eloquence, he offends the Count by a diatribe against the prevalent belief in witchcraft, whose absurdity his good sense and early education enable him to recognise. There is an extraordinary scene at a convent, where Adelgunde, who deserted her husband's house on the night of her interview with Hildebrand, has taken refuge. She falls into a manner of ecstasy, repeats Solomon's Song in Latin, and commits other extravagancies, greatly to the scandal of the sisterhood, and of Father Bonaventura, the convent chaplain. Finally, both Hildebrand and Adelgunde are burnt for sorcery. There is a vein of interest in the tale to the very end, although the book, in an artistical sense, is roughly done. The style is crabbed, and the dialogue quaint, but often effective. The final volume of the Malefizbuch, under the agreeable title of "Galgenvögel, " (Gallowsbirds) contains four tales of very middling merit, and is altogether the worst. It differs from the other two as saying little concerning the headsman and his functions, further than that he steps in at the close of each tale, to execute the sentence of the law on the criminals whose offences and adventures it narrates. M. Chézy announces his store of materials to be by no means expended, and promises a further series should this one find favour. If it does so, he must attribute the success to the interest inseparable from the subject, not unlikely to attract readers in spite of the editor's negligence, and of the book's manifold deficiencies.