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238 madame, must not forget that you are living under the spell of the famous Alvensleben ring; if you were to lose it, who knows what might happen.’

‘Alter schützt vonvor [sic] Thorheit nicht’ (age is no preservative against folly) ‘I see,’ answered the beauty, pertly tossing her head. ‘Do you think I am such an idiot as really to believe in this silly story of the ring? I thought my sentiments were better known, and to prove to you how free from superstition I am’ she ran into the room through the open folding doors, hastily unlocked a casket with a small golden key which hung from her neck chain, and swiftly returning, made a comical low curtsey to the circle of gentlemen, and, with a graceful movement, flung what she had in her hand down into the rushing river at her feet:—‘There,’ she cried, exultingly, ‘there goes the token of old superstition, which has too long been treasured in our family; there goes the famous ring, and may the Alvenslebens evermore depend upon themselves for their good luck and prosperity.’

“The act was greeted with bravoes, and warm expressions of admiration at the strength of mind she had exhibited, by the young officers, whose only wish was to flatter and please the star of the day: yet some in their hearts disapproved, others felt as if a blank had fallen on their spirits, and though outwardly merry, the party separated with far less jovial feelings than they had ever before experienced within the walls of Randau.

“Six weeks afterwards, this laughing, scoffing beauty was bent low in sadness and sorrow. She had in that short period lost her husband and her three sons, all of whom were suddenly carried off by a virulent fever. It is not known whether she connected this sad bereavement with her imprudent act, but probably her haughty scepticism received a shock, for she renounced the world, and ever after led a life of sorrow and seclusion. Thus ended the Red line of the Alvenslebens.

“The members of the Black line, shocked by this sad occurrence, and fearful lest some accident might cause the loss of so small an object as the third part of a ring, had it melted among other gold and moulded into a goblet or ‘Pokal,’ which the sole survivors of that line still possess. Their star, however, has fallen, and from the prosperous and numerous family which then flourished, and was in possession of nearly half the province of Magdeburg, but two descendants in middling circumstances now exist. The last member of importance of that line, was the highly esteemed Minister of State under Frederic Wilhelm III., Count Albert Alvensleben, who died at so late a period as 1858.

“The members of the White line have been the wisest of the three; they still carefully preserve among the family archives in their Castle of Erxleben, near Magdeburg, their precious share of the little dwarf’s present. This family is amongst the most highly esteemed and beloved of the old noblesse of Prussia: highly favoured and truly loved by their monarch, many of them still hold important offices in the army and state, and the White line still counts thirty or forty members.”

It was not without regret that we broke up the circle round the coffee-table: these and other tales had made us forget the flight of time, and if they have for a moment amused my readers, I am richly repaid for the slight trouble of transcribing them.

.—The monogram on the sacred standard of Constantine became for a long time conspicuous on Christian monuments in the East and West, and is now carved on most of the sepulchral tablets of modern Italy. Yet there is a mystery about what it really means, without a pretence of anything miraculous as to the way in which it came to be used. It is doubtful whether anyone besides the Emperor himself can have known whether he took its upper part to represent the Latin letter P, or the Greek one for R. The great comparative prominence of the said upper part on early monuments, joined to Constantine’s ignorance of Greek, inclines us to the former opinion, and perhaps Eusebius as an enthusiastic Oriental gave rise to the latter. There is some evidence that the Roman Emperor Probus brought the monogram, or something like it, from Egypt in the third century. His name and virtues perhaps suggested the appropriation of a sign which had long before been attached to representations of the more popular members of the Ptolemaic dynasty.

not live, thy loving thrall; Dread queen, I quit thy wondrous hall; Soft dreamy days, time’s perfumed fall, Farewell, for aye farewell! Yon trembling star, that gems the west, Shakes o’er the land where I must rest; The great gods beckon, their behest Is “onward e’en through hell!” Stay me not; raise, dread queen, thine eyes; Lo! crimson floods eve’s amber skies! Pearl-dropped, thy soft-fringed eye-lash lies In shade upon my face. Call me not cruel! curse my fate, Tis that which leaves thee desolate; The gods are stern; the galleys wait, Good rowers, take your place! Ah, loose thy clinging arms! their sheath Rusts the bold heart—and yet, thy breath Ambrosial soothes my neck—oh, death! Dost thou not spare too long? Is life a boon, if I must part From love like Circe’s? Faithless heart, Better death’s pang than live’s long smart! True wife I do thee wrong! Yield me my mates, my frolic crew; The palm-leaves cloud with glistening dew; Tis late! Bright-hair’d one, ah! too few The working hours of life! Dear Ithaca, my rocky home, Remembered more, the more I roam, I hold thee e’en through leagues of foam, Lov’d isle, sweet son, true wife! List, glittering Circe! wedded love Burns stronger than yon orbs which move To greet their crescent queen above, Fair stars, that blind the day! By magic wiles made once thine own, Uncharm’d, my weakness stands like stone; The gods draw back their lingering loan, Farewell! my crew give way! W.