not a tear escaped the hapless Luitgardis. Her father and aunt pressed round her. I dropt down on my knee before her, kissed her hand, and begged her not to cry. My childish fears were superfluous. With a serene mildness she looked up to Heaven, an object of surprise to all who beheld her. And thus she continued, collected, placid and resigned. But never did the roses again blossom on her cheeks. From that hour they were supplanted by the pallid hues of death. The blast of desolation had for ever nipped the fairest flower of our land. When, a fortnight afterwards, an invitation was sent to the castle, requesting the attendance of the noble family at the solemn requiem, to be celebrated for the souls of the fallen warriors, Lady Luitgardis insisted upon being present at the mournful ceremony. "The principal church of B- - is an immense structure, piled up in the main square, and built in the mixed Gothic and Italian style. In the middle of this colossal edifice was raised the imposing catafall, hung with black, decorated with the colours and insignia of the regiment, and surrounded and studded with four hundred lighted wax tapers, the number of the departed brave. "My native country is a land of music. The town, in which the regiment was stationed, was proud to have given birth to some distinguished composers. On this occasion the musicians came from afar to offer their assistance at the solemnity. They had procured the greatest composer's last and greatest work, his Re * Mozart. quiem, and it was to be performed for the first time in these parts. "You have heard, my noble friends, often and repeatedly, this divine achievement of musical genius, which teaches us in so moving a language, that every thing beneath the sun is mortal, and that man is to bloom again in a future state. I was then a child, my mind could not appreciate the beauties of the music. The swelling sound of the organ, the melancholy tones of the serpent, the muffled blasts of the horn, passed unheeded by me and by the assembled auditory. The minds of the latter were too deeply absorbed in the bereavement they had sustained. But when the trumpets sounded the Resurrection-when the voices of fifty singers broke out into the final chorus, that most awful of all death songs; when the dies iræ dies illa burst forth from a hundred lips, and swung up into the lofty vault of the temple, then the whole multitude was aroused, and looked around terror-struck, and turned toward the choir, whence rushed that terrible tide of sound. "I felt my lips quiver; a shudder ran over me, and catching the hand of Lady Luitgardis, I asked what this was. 6 "Thus,' said she, the angel of the resurrection will awaken us on, and for, the day of judgment. “I listened again, and the voice of my earthly angel, which poured forth glory to God and goodwill to his creatures, united to the countless precepts that I derived from the pure-minded maiden, worked them selves in my heart with such tenacity, as ever afterwards to rise spontaneously to arrest the wanderings of a proud and wayward spirit. "My mind has since become matured my views have grown more distinct. I have dissected the human body, have speculated on the seat of the human soul, have attempted the quadrature of the circle, have read Spinoza and the Materialists, have graduated in philosophy and mathematics, in medicine and surgery; but if there be an internal voice, an unseen monitor to reprove and direct us-the impressions derived from the holy ministering of a virtuous and resigned maiden, despite the subtleties of metaphysicians, the coldness of mathematicians, the earthly expositions of anatomists, and more than all, the vain suggestions of my own imagination, have kept me unshaken in my belief of the great doctrines of the Christian faith." "And Lady Luitgardis?" inquired the Countess Z -y, in a tone scarcely audible. "She, the author of what I am," was the answer, "was three months afterwards united with her Rudolph. A cenotaph marks the spot where they had vowed each other eternal fidelity, and tells their mournful tale.” The young man paused; his eye fixed in deep reverie on the setting sun, then shedding its last glorious beams over the magnificent landscape, on which vernal nature had just laid her earliest colouring. The vineyards on the sweep of hills, the thousands of clustering cherrytrees, glittered like immense masses of fluid gold. To the left arose the royal castle of P—g in bold relief, with its shining towers and battlements; and far away to the west the mountains of benighted Austria. The curfew bells from the neighbouring villages pealed their Ave Maria toll, and the measured song of the boatmen on the Danube chimed in with the serene evening hour. The company had been sitting for a long while without speaking a single word; at last the Countess P-y arose, approached the doctor, and pressing his hand warmly, said, "I thank you for this story-for the insight it has given into the human heart. I thank you for having strengthened my deep persuasion of the certainty and fitness of all that has been revealed, to guide the soul in its aspirations after another and a better world." And whither hath he gone who told this tale of his experience? He was indeed good and noble-too good for a sphere like this. He had, in his twenty-second year, become one of the chief ornaments of two celebrated universities, and was yet simple and innocent as prattling childhood. Unhappily, while in his native country, and in the house of his friend and protector, Count Zy, he had joined the Polish association. His extraordinary powers of mind had pointed him out as a dangerous enemy. He had become a mark to the suspicions of a tyrant. Assassins followed him to the Austrian capital. On the 19th of June, 18-, three weeks after his return from the castle of he was found murdered in one of the sequestered walks of the Prater of Vienna, and breathed his last in the arms of a friend. 136 THE SPY. A Tale of the Siege of Dresden, in 1813. To pay the measure of their country's wrong, LAMBERT. It was my painful lot to pass the memorable year of 1813 in Dresden, and to behold all the calamities which that ill-fated city experienced from the arrival of Davoust with 12,000 men, on the 12th of March, to the capitulation of Gouvion St. Cyr with 30,000 men on the 11th of November. I was a native of Dresden, and still a young man ; but had travelled much, and for some years practised surgery at St. Petersburg. Disliking, however, the climate and the people, I quitted Russia in the autumn of 1812, determined to pass the remainder of my days in that most delightful of all German cities, the Saxon capital; a spot endeared to me by a thousand pleasant associations and recollections of its sunny climate and picturesque environs; its majestic river and noble bridge of sixteen arches; its splendid palaces and gardens; its |