WOMAN.

BY GRENVILLE MELLEN.

THE world has had its mysteries-but none
More strange than this sweet riddle. From the hour
When she broke on the bowers of Paradise,
All lustre and all loveliness, the earth
Has had at once its wonder and its wo!
Nature assum'd new beauty when she came,
And through Creation's garden there went forth
A crowning creature 'mid its countless flowers.

To Man, the monarch of the earth he trod,
Great, yet disconsolate, amid his home,
She came like Mercy, robed beyond all dreams,
In such unvision'd mastery of form-

With brow so pregnant with divinity

With eye so lumin'd from its god-like fount

With tongue so angel-toned, and voiced like lyres

In everything, so chisel'd like the work

Of some Heav'n-guided sculptor, that she sat,
At once the guardian and the joy of man,

Bound to his leaping heart!

The years went on.

She met temptation mid her home of bloom.
She listen'd-and she fell! A wilderness
Seem'd closing round them in great shadow.
Was lost in discord-and a poisonous breath
Went up from the black weeds that crush'd the flowers!

Song

Then Time went hand in hand with Trial. Death,
Commission'd on black pinion, by each door

Swoop'd with his midnight wing. No summons there Was left unanswer'd-but with faint white lip,

The passing victims whisper'd-'We are here!'

A change went o'er the world-and Man was chang'd. His monarchy was lost-his sceptre gone

His empire, that of old he sway'd alone,

Thenceforth divided with the thing he spurn'd.

Reason, that erst in him confess'd her throne,
Found new abiding-place, and Man beheld
Matter triumphant rival of the Mind.

Yet Woman fell not, like some stricken star,

For ever from her sphere. She travel'd yet
On the same pilgrimage, and shared with Man
His greatness and his curse. She 'bode with him
In beautiful fidelity, though once

To her own soul unfaithful. She abode,
With Beauty yet like morning on her brow,
And joyance on her lips. With Mercy yet,
She walked beneath the roofs of weary men,
Smooth'd the low couch of sickness-and unbow'd,

Clos'd on the reeking path of pestilence,
With step unfaltering, where he who once
Rode as creation's lord earth's battle-field,
And launched on seas of blood for victory,

Had paled with fear-or stretched with quiv'ring hand
The drug he dared extend to misery!

How the years sped, and what dim centuries
Left like a seal on Woman's destiny,

Grey history tells. The mem'ry of young days,
When in unsham'd dependency she sat,
At once the grace and glory of his bower,
Close to the heart of man, now pass'd away
Before new aspirations. Crown and throne
No longer closed the vista of her dreams,
But both were hers. She heard deep voices call,
And saw hands beckon her to royalty;
And she became the ruler of great lands,
And saw men bow to her, as to old kings
That she had heard of-till she felt a power
Was in her that she knew not till that time:
And with the consciousness came a new hope,
And a new struggle-and she turned from tears,
And all that made her beautiful, to try

A rivalry with Man in all that made
Man aught but an immortal! She would dare
To dally with those sterner elements,
In which the Tyrant oft has sunk the man,
Or Man, like idiot, disgraced his power.

She rul'd-and empires trembled. Her command
Was louder than the world had thought to hear,
From one whose voice was fashion'd to the tones
Of Nature's melting melodies. It rose

Till its sound startled like the trumpet-blast,

And the heart quak'd to hear. She could command Like despot, when his spirit is unrein'd,

And every light of Mercy has gone out

That should shine o'er his people.

Other lands

Beheld her in yet sterner vassalage
To passion and its power. Ambition rode,
A victor, through the vast world of her heart,
Strangling each blessed fountain at its head,
Or dashing streams with poison as they flow'd,
And giving to dim waste that wondrous soil,
So beautiful in fruitage and in bloom.

She gather'd, as a banner, beneath helm,
The locks that were her glory, and with plume
Tossing with charger's mane to the battle-wind,
Led on to victory, in the thundering van

Of great o'ershadowing armies. The red sword
Wav'd in the mail'd white hand, that scarce could grasp
Its pondrous hilt, as some wild meteor blade,

Swung by the warrior through his murky field.
Men follow'd her, as a great captain, forth-
Not on some errand, where the heart led on,
But where the spirit, black as demon's urg'd
On hellish mission to its grave of blood!

And such was Woman, as she left the sky!
And such did she become. The veil that rose,
As the years swept it, from the struggling mind,
Betray'd to her her sorrow and her power!

Yet did she see idolatry. The spell
Was round her like an atmosphere-and Man
Could not but worship, though the idol, then,
Had pass'd from its first loveliness. But still,
The charm was not unearthly. There were gems
From no Golconda of the spirit-but

A baser jewelry that lighted her,

And drew Man to his bondage. The quick fire
Of an unnatural beauty, and the flash
Of passion, in some splendid rivalry-
The fascination of a light, whose blaze
Is born of fashion, and with fashion dies,
Then made, and make Man's worship.

O, if now

Woman would lift the noble wand she bore,
Once so transcendent-and which still she wears,
Half-hidden, though not powerless-and again
Wave in its magic power o'er pilgrim Man,
How would she win him from apostasy,
Lure back the world from its dim path to wo,
And open a new Eden on our years!

CIRCUMSTANTIAL TESTIMONY.

On the summit of a hill near Muhlbach, a small town of Rhenish Prussia, there is a chapel dedicated to St. Joseph. Being a place of pilgrimage, this chapel is on festival days visited by many of the inhabitants of the surrounding country; but on other days of the year it seldom happens that the sound of a human footstep disturbs the sacred solitude.

Very early on the morning of the 19th of July, 1818, a peasant proceeding to work, was wending his way along a narrow path at the foot of the hill. His dog was running before him. Suddenly the animal stopped short, and in another moment darted off rapidly in the direction of the chapel. The dog soon returned to his master, howling piteously, and betraying unequivocal signs of terror. The peasant quickened his pace, and turned directly into the path leading up to the chapel. On coming within sight of the portal of the little edifice, he was horrorstruck to behold, stretched on the steps, the lifeless body of a young man.

The terrified peasant hurried to a neighboring village with tidings of what he had seen. The news spread with the swiftness of lightning, and in a very short space of tiine the magistrate

of the district, accompanied by the village doctor and schoolmaster, and followed by a crowd of country people, were ascending the hill in the direction of the chapel.

The body was found precisely on the spot and in the position described by the peasant. It was the corpse of a very handsome young man; part of the clothing, viz., the coat and waistcoat, had been taken off, and beneath the shirt there was found a piece of cloth of a bright red color, apparently the fragment of a shawl. This piece of cloth was laid in several folds over the region of the heart. It was fastened by a band of fine lawn or cambric, which was rolled round the body, and the whole was firmly fixed by a mass of congealed blood.

On the careful removal of these bandages, there was discovered a deep wound, which had divided the carotid artery. The deceased wore light colored pantaloons, boots with spurs, and on one of the fingers was a massive gold signet-ring. The ground round the spot where the body lay exhibited no trace of any struggle; but prints of footsteps, partially obliterated, were perceptible. These marks were traced to a neighboring wood, and in the direction of an eminence which towered above the trees, and whose summit was crowned by the ruins of the old castle of Ottenberg-a place which the neighboring country people believed to be haunted.

Whilst the doctor and others were engaged in examining the body, some of the rustic crowd mustered courage to trace the foot-prints, which apparently led to the ruined castle-their su perstitious fears being doubtless lulled by the conviction that ghosts are not prone to wander in the bright sunshine of a July morning. One of the party was soon seen running back to the chapel in breathless haste, announcing that the scene of the crime was discovered. The magistrate proceeded to the ruins of the castle, and what he saw left no room to doubt that the murder had actually been committed there. The floor of the spacious area (once the banqueting hall of the castle) was stained with blood. The walls, the table, and the seats, also presented similar stains. On the table were the remains of a repast which had evidently been partaken of at no very distant date, for there were fragments of bread and fruit, and a broken bottle in which some wine still remained.

On further examination, deep prints of footsteps were perceived leading from the ruins of Ottenberg to the high road of Beking, in the direction quite opposite to that of the chapel. A little farther on in the same track, was found a piece of red cloth; and on comparison, it was ascertained to belong to the same shawl, a fragment of which had been used to stanch the wound of the victim. At the foot of a tree lay a lady's glove, nearly

new, but stained with blood. Nothing more was discovered, and in the evening the body was interred in the village churchyard, after being throughout the day exposed to the public gaze. On the following day, an innkeeper presented himself to the magistrate of the district. He had recognized in the murdered man a traveller who slept in his house on the night of the 15th of July, and who left early on the following morning. He knew neither the name nor the condition of the stranger; nor had he heard from whence he came, or whither he was going. The innkeeper observed that he had a gold watch and chain, a red morocco pocket-book, and a green silk purse; moreover, that he wore two rings, one of which he had recognized on the dead body.

An active inquiry was set on foot; but no circumstance of importance was brought to light, until about six weeks afterwards. The police then ascertained that a gentleman named Von Bergfeldt, who had been residing for some time at Coblentz, had suddenly disappeared. He came from Frankfort, and to all appearance possessed plenty of money. He had made several excursions to various parts of the adjacent country, and his journeys had extended as far as the mountains of the Vosges. An old soldier, who had been his servant, and the proprietor of a house he had hired, came to the Muhlbach; both had a perfect recollection of the watch and the two rings remarked by the innkeeper; the servant positively affirmed that the boots found on the dead body belonged to his master.

Several months elapsed, and public interest, which had been powerfully excited by the mysterious event, was gradually subsiding, when a gentleman of rank, travelling to the waters of Podewil, happened to pass through Muhlbach. Hearing of the murder, he was struck by the name of the victim-Bergfeldt being the name of one of the most ancient and noble families in Silesia. He knew their armorial bearings, and he expressed a wish to see the signet-ring which had been found on the body. The engraved coat-of-arms was identical with that of the Silesian Bergfeldts: viz., quarterly sable and azure, on a Chief Or, a serpent between two bees.

The ober-procurator of Muhlbach lost no time in addressing a letter to the authorities of Breslau.

An answer was speedily returned enclosing a letter signed Ferdinand von Bergfeldt, the writer of which described himself as being the second son of the old Baron Franz von Bergfeldt. He stated that his elder brother had, about two years previously, left home to make a tour in various parts of Europe, and that the family had received no intelligence of him for a very considerable time.