loved so well as they did Hermann von Stahleck. He sought a refuge in the Hartz forest; and there, in the guise of a pious hermit, ended his days, it is to be hoped, in peace. His titles died with him, as he left no direct descendants.

Arnold von Seelenhofen, archbishop of Mainz, his great enemy, finished his troubled career in a much more fearful manner. Every day the hate of his subjects had increased; but it became considerably aggravated by his disgrace before the emperor and the Germanic diet. At this juncture he found, or fancied, a necessity for a journey to Rome; and to that effect he imposed an additional tax on the citizens of Mainz, which was levied under circumstances of peculiar harshness and atrocity. His ancient enemies, among whom were some of the neighbouring nobility, availed themselves of this opportunity; a conspiracy was at once formed; and every thing was speedily organised to carry it into effect. A tumultuous mob, excited by their leaders, hastened to the ecclesiastical palace and set it on fire; they then proceeded to plunder and burn the houses of all the clergy known as abettors and supporters of the archbishop; the rich treasure of the see, which was secured in the cathedral, was also seized by them, and appropriated to their own lawless purposes. This tumult was only appeased by the interposition of the emperor; who marched from Worms at the head of a powerful force ;-reinstated Arnold in his dignity; and compelled, at his solicitation, the richer citizens to make good the loss which had been sustained by the church, the clergy, and himself. The humane Barbarossa could not, however, be persuaded to punish the rioters further; though the archbishop repeatedly urged him to greater severity towards them. The heads of the conspiracy alone were banished: all the rest were spared.

But the storm only slept—it was not over. No sooner had the imperial forces vacated the city, than a fresh conspiracy was set on foot the ringleaders of the former returned from banishment; and a fierce mob was once more organised, ready for every outrage. Arnold was not altogether ignorant of these proceedings; but, with an infatuation which it is difficult to account for, he remained inactive, -nay, he affected to despise their efforts.

"Turn ye to the Lord," wrote the celebrated prophetess

Hildegard, abbess of Rupertsberg to him, in a letter yet extant; "leave the paths of the wicked; for the end of your days is at hand."

The answer of Arnold (also preserved) is characteristic at once of his firmness and his folly. He thus replied to the pious nun's really prophetic warnings:

"The people of Mainz are dogs; they bark, but don't bite. I fear them not; for I despise them."

To which the prophetess promptly rejoined in another missive, the last he ever received from her

"Yea, they are chained dogs now: but, beware- they will break their chains yet and tear you to pieces, or you heed not." Thus ended this strange correspondence.

Arnold, however, took up his abode soon after in a distant part of his archbishopric; and for a long while subsequent to the outbreak which has been just narrated, he never ventured his person within the walls of Mainz. But, overruled by his pride, and, perhaps, prompted by the secret agents of his enemies, he determined once more to make a triumphal entry into that city. Accompanied by a pompous crowd of useless followers, he approached it in state; and, to give sufficient time for preparation, took up his residence for the night in the monastery of St. Jacobsberg, then without the city walls. It was his last night on this earth. The abbot, whom he believed to be one of the trustiest of his friends, was, in reality, his bitterest foe, and a moving power at the bottom of every conspiracy that had ever existed against him; and, accordingly, the fullest information of his strength, and of all his proceedings, was at once despatched to the conspirators. The order was quickly given to their followers to assemble at various points of the city when night fell, and to be prepared with arms and munitions of war for the assault of the abbey, and the destruction of the archbishop. Thousands were at their respective posts at the hour appointed; the principal citizens of Mainz were among the number; and also many of the neighbouring knights and nobles. They marched silently to their destination; and drew up around it in such close order that no one could escape. The attack then commenced; they assailed the edifice at all quarters; and every accessible point was stormed by sanguinary

crowds thirsting for the blood of their foe. The noise, the 'tumult, the confusion of the fray-the whizzing of arrows-the hissing of fire-brands-the clash of arms and armour, aroused the archbishop from a troubled sleep. He saw, at once, his danger; and he essayed to escape: but there was no outlet through which even a mouse could pass unnoticed. The great gates of the abbey were quickly forced: every cell was filled with the infuriated populace. He was soon seized; and his death was dreadful. He was torn to pieces by the mob.

What further happened is not within the province of this work to notice.

LORCH.

On the right bank of the Rhine lies Lorch, certainly one of the most ancient places on the river. It was known in the time of the Romans as Lauriacum; that people having had a strong military post there. The first red wine known on the Rhine is said to have been made in Lorch, or Lorrich as it was termed in the middle ages. The town stands at the entrance of a narrow valley, named the Wisper-Thal, or Whisper-Dale, from a little river called the Wisp, or Visp, which runs through it. The remains of the castle of Nollingen rise on the rugged hill over Lorch, at one side of it; and on the opposite side stands the precipitous miniature mountain of the Kedrich, better known by the popular appellation of "The Devil's Ladder." Lorch is, therefore, the focus of legends and traditions of the "olden times." The following are those most generally diffused in the neighbourhood.

THE WHISPER-DELL.

Behind Lorch lies a wild, lonely dell, which was once without a single inhabitant, and contains even now only a few wretched hovels. It is called the Whisper-Dell. A melancholy brook, named the Whisper, steals sadly through it, and adds considerably to the dreary aspect it always wears. In old times it was reckoned dangerous for travellers to pass through

this dell. Few escaped, it was said, without receiving injury, or annoyance of some kind or other, from the evil spirits who haunted it; and many who made the attempt were never known to return. It is now some four centuries since three youths, the sons of wealthy merchants, residing in Nürnberg, were on a journey of pleasure along the banks of the Rhine. Hearing in their inn at Lorch of the wonders of the Whisper-Dell, they resolved to visit it and explore its mysteries. They immediately set about accomplishing their resolution; and proceeded forthwith to the entrance of this gloomy dell. It was then a perfect wilderness; the bottom almost a swamp; the rugged rocks on each side overhung with shrubs, which nearly excluded the light of day; while hither and thither, lying on the earth, masses of stone, clumps of brushwood, or piles of fallen trees, nearly impeded all progress, and made advance well-nigh impracticable. These bold youths were not, however, to be deterred; and in their instance, as well as in most others, determination to conquer overcame every obstacle. For a long hour they struggled bravely at the end of that period they reached a huge, rugged, scarped rock, which stretched quite across the narrow, dark ravine where they found themselves, and put a stop to their journey further in that direction. This rock, however, was in itself a curiosity to see, well worth all the pains that they had taken. It looked like an immense castle; had towers, and bastions, and battlements; donjon, and moat, and outworks; and, to increase the resemblance still more, high above were perforated several of those pointed Gothic windows, the same as are seen in a cathedral, or in some others of the more magnificent castellated edifices of the kind which still exist. The youths gazed on the sight with astonishment and awe; and then they looked at one another as though they sought for an explanation of the wonder. While thus occupied, they were startled with a sound, still commonly used in Germany as a means of attracting attention.

"Bst, bst, bst," sibillated in rapid succession above their heads. "Bst, bst, bst."

They looked up; and lo! from one of the pointed windows peeped three of the most beautiful female faces they ever beheld. Eyes like diamonds; cheeks like roses; complexions like a lily;

and hair, glossy and black as the raven's wing, were their least attractions.

"Bst, bst, bst," again echoed sweetly from their lovely lips, while they nodded and smiled at the youths, eagerly beckoning them, at the same time, up to their bower.

"This is not so bad as we were told," said one of the young men to the others.

"They may weary of waiting for us," observed the second. "Let us lose no time, but go up to them at once," cried the third.

"Let us go up to them at once," exclaimed all together. "Bst, bst, bst," once more sibillated the sweet lips above them; and again,

"Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,"

were in active requisition.

The fascinated youths sought anxiously around for an entrance; and at length discovered one in the shape of a single narrow door, concealed in a corner of the rock. They entered. A long passage presented itself, which they traversed quickly; after pursuing their way in darkness for a few minutes, they encountered a stone staircase. This they ascended, and in due time arrived at, what seemed to their eyes, a spacious antechamber. But the darkness which filled it was so dense that it was quite impossible to distinguish any object: they could not even see one another; and they felt no small degree of alarm at the situation in which they had placed themselves. However, they set about exploring the apartment by creeping close to the walls, sounding them in the circuit they contrived to make of it in that manner. After some time spent in this operation, one of them stumbled against a door, which immediately flew open to his touch. A blaze of light gushed through the aperture; and a single glance within shewed a magnificent room, illumined by thousands of tapers, which completely dazzled their eyes to look on. They entered with some hesitation, and found themselves in a hall of the most ample dimensions. The sides of this room were formed at intervals of a combination of mirrors, reaching from the floor to the roof: the ceiling also was composed of the same brilliant materials, arranged in the same manner. Between

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