"Still the boar held on his way Careless through what toils it lay, Down deep in the tangled dell— Or o'er the steep rock's pinnacle. Staunch the steed, and bold the knight That would follow such a flight!"

The night was fast closing in, and the last retiring beams of the sun shed a mournful light over an extensive tract of forest bordering upon the district of the Hartz, just as (but I must not forget the date, somewhere about the year 1547,) the Baron Rudolf found himself in the very disagreeable predicament of having totally lost his companions and his way, amidst an almost interminable region of forest and brushwood. "Hans," addressing himself to his noble steed, "my old veteran, I must trust to thee, since thy master's wit is at a stand, to extricate us from this dilemma."

The animal finding his head free, moved forward as fast as bush and brake would permit him. They had proceeded in this way for half an hour longer, when the Baron at last bethought himself of his bugle, and wound a long and powerful blast; but the echo was the only answer he received. He repeated the sound with the like effect. Again the Baron lost his patience, and "Der terefel—" when all at once his steed made a dead stop, and pricked up his ears as at some well known sound. The Baron listened attentively, and distinctly heard the blast he had sounded ten minutes before, responded by one so exactly similar, though apparently at a great distance, that he could scarcely believe the "evidence" of his ears. "By the mass but that must be the work of Mynheer von Heidelberger himself, for no one in my own broad barony can wind that blast save Rudolf Wurtzheim." He shrunk within himself at the very thought; for to any one it was rather appalling to meet this being at such a place and hour. The recollection of an adventure in these wilds which occurred on this very eve, twelve-months previous, now rushed vividly to his mind. The concurrence in the date was startling. In short, on reflection, he began to think there was witchcraft throughout the affair.

He had lost his companions of the chase in rather a singular manner; on this afternoon, being unusually unsuccessful, the Baron, while hunting a brace of favourite stag-hounds in a dell apart from the rest of the field, suddenly struck upon a boar of remarkable size; attracted by the cries of the dogs, the Baron spurred Hans to the pursuit, and did not reflect that he was pursuing a route apart from the other hunters; and trusting to his knowledge of the wilds he so often traversed, he bore on with undiminished speed. The boar seemed to have a pair of wings in addition to his legs. Suffice it to say, that though Hans chased him in gallant style, yet the Baron eventually lost his way in the pursuit, partly owing to the doubling of the animal, till both dogs and boar completely disappeared from sight.

Entangled in the forest, the evening rapidly approached, a general hush prevailed, and all endeavours to recover his track seemed fruitless.

The sun had now gone down for a considerable time, and a mist was arising that obscured the little light which the luminary of night afforded.

"Mein Gott," exclaimed the Baron, "mortal or devil, he has involved me in a very disagreeable predicament, and to avoid him is, I fear, impossible." He once more sounded a long blast; again the blast was re-echoed after a short lapse of time, though seemingly at an extreme distance. "Ah, there it comes again! what if my ears should deceive me, and this should be the answering bugle of my faithful Wildstein." The thought infused some fresh vigour into him; the low night wind murmuring through the trees, reminded him of the importance of every moment, Hans and his master pushed onwards through brake and dell.

It will be necessary, however, that we should leave the Baron for awhile, and detail some occurrences germane to our tale, and which are necessary for its developement. And now as Mark Antony says, "Lend me your ear."

Some years before the preceding events took place, there dwelt in a spot of the most romantic description, a personage known by the designation of Mynheer von Heidelberger. No one had either heard or could recollect when or whence he came. Strange rumours were afloat respecting this person, and the peasantry crossed themselves with fright if they were led near the spot where his dwelling was said to be; and if his name was casually mentioned in the circle round the winter's hearth, all involuntarily drew their seats into a closer space. Impelled by adventurous curiosity, many individuals were said to have visited him, for the purpose of obtaining some insight into futurity; for his knowledge of the future, and the "things that none may name," was reputed to be great. It was also rumoured that some of his visitants had never returned.

About this time, by the sudden death of her father, the Baron Ernest, who was killed, it was believed, by a fall from his horse while hunting, Agatha von Keilermann was left sole and undisputed heiress of his vast domains. A prize so great, united to a fair person, caused many suitors to be on the alert; but they all met with ill success, being generally dismissed rather summarily.

Ambition was always the ruling passion of Rudolf Wurtzheim, whose domains adjoined those of the Baron Ernest, and before the death of the latter it had also been allied to jealousy of his great power and wealth. Not daunted by the ill success of his predecessors, he became a suitor of the fair Agatha. He met with a summary repulse. Burning with rage and mortified ambition, the Baron bethought himself of Mynheer von Heidelberger, of whose fame he had sometimes heard.

At the close of a day far advanced in autumn, he set off to visit this being. The howling of the wind as it came in fitful gusts through the openings of the forest, formed no bad accompaniment to his thoughts; while the indistinct twilight received little aid from the moon, which waded through heavy masses of clouds. The Baron, however, was a man of daring spirit. He had often been led past the spot, whilst engaged in the chase, near which the solitaire was said to dwell:—

"Vague mystery hangs on all these desert places! The fear which hath no name hath wrought a spell, Strength, courage, wrath, have been, and left no traces! They came—and fled; but whither? who can tell!"

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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 12, No. 338, November 1, 1828

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Deal. REGINALD AUGUSTINE

THE NOVELIST

A LEGEND OF THE HARTZ

(For the Mirror.)

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