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 18 THE DANCE OF DEATH.

of the elder, still dwelt upon him with the fondest emotion, I was obliged to press our immediate departure; and, after Emanuel had once more shaken hands with the two elder sisters, and kissed the younger, we hastened away, followed by the gaze of the three sisters, who lingered:at the door.

“We spoke but little of the scene which had passed. I had enough to-do hurrying the coach- man, lest we should arrive too late for our pass- age. My friend sat silent, wrappéd in his own thoughts; and when at last we had got safely again on board, and once more spread our sails to the wind, he manifested so decided a disincli- nation to allade to the subject, that I found it necessary to adjourn toa future opportunity any conversation as to the fair Jacoba, of whom I had unfortunately obtained only a fleeting glance by daylight, as she greeted us at our departure from the window of her father’s apartment; but that glance was enough to render her the unceasing object 5f my meditations.

“We soon arrived in Lubeck. The distant sight of its stately towers restored to my friend some portion of his cheerfulness; he drew near with emotion to that city, in which, as I then learnt, his mother was either born, or had spent some years of her youth. This cheerfulness of temper, united with a. more than ordinary mild- ness, gave me the best hopes.as to the salutary effects of our prolonged tour. I was far enough from foreseeing by what chance our projected ramble was to be cut short in a single day.

“We resolved to employ the first-hours of our short stay in seeing the curiosities of the town. We soon, however, turned from the traces of civil decay into the magic province of art; and with this view we entered the church of St. Mary.

“The love for German art was then but im- perfectly developed; men seemed to have no suspicion of the existence of those treasures, which, covered with dirt and dust, and, at best, the object of passing curiosity, were here left to moulder in the vaulted aisles of this vast edifice. The remarkable clock, with the effigies of the seven electors, who, notwithstanding this defi- ciency of number, were pertinaciously set down as the twelve apostles, then constituted the chief glory of the building. 1 accompanied my friend into the open church, waiting for the striking of the hour which sets the figures in motion, and casting at the same time a hurried glance on the numerous objects which on every side presented themselves to the eye. Several young people, who perceived that we were strangers, exerted themselves as our ciceroni. One of them open- ed a small grated door at one side-of the chapel, and invited us to enter. We walked into the chapel; and here, in better preservation than the other pictures, the walls were covered with mul- tiplied representations of Death, who, in dancing attitudes, was leading off as his prey persons of every age, sex, and costume. “ That,’ said the young man, “is the celebrated Dance of Death.’

“How!’ said my friend, hastily interrupting

him, while his-eyes fixed witha lookeof horror on one compartment of the picture, in which-Death, tall and slender, was represented winding his bony arm round a young maiden, who, in a rosy coloured dress, and with the bridal garland in her hair, Was vainly struggling to emancipate herself from his embrace. Emanuel spoke not another word;—he steod with his finger pointing in the position in which it seemed to have been arrested, till, at last, pale and trembling, he clasped hold of my arm, which 1 had extended to him, and. breathed a deep sigh, as if some op- pressive weight had been suddenly removed from his bosom, —_ “« What iS the matter?’ said I, anxiously.

“I feel,’ replied he, “as if 1 had awakened —~——~ “

from a deep sleep, in which a dream had long held my reason prisoner; an evil, fateful dream, which fascinated, while it filled me with terror, but which seems, at this moment, to be about to receive a natural, though humiliating solution. Stay—one other look at the picture, and then away!’

without being able to perceive in it any thing beyond what I have already stated. “ My God!’ said I, as he drew me hastily out of the church, “what can all this mean? Let me know the fruth.’ é
 * ] looked at the picture again, as well as he,

“At another time, perhaps,’ he interrupted me, hastily— at present, [ have something else to say to you. I can travel with you no farther; I must return home, and that on the instant. By a visionary weakness, or superstitious abandon- ment of mind, we have perchance, brought upon ourselves irreparable misery, and reared up pro- digies where every thing lay within the ordinary course of nature. I must return, to avert, if possible, still more fearful evils. Enough— enough is done already.’

“¢ What mean you,’ said I,“ by a dream? do I not, then, possess your confidence?’

“You do indeed,’ he continued; “ but this is not the time for the disclosure. The man who thinks he’ has seen a spectre of the night, takes care not to speak of it, till day, with its cheerful light, breaks in upon him again; when the patient lies in the crisis of his disorder, the careful phy- sician prohibits all conversation, Besides, I can- not, if I would; I have promised silence. At present, then, I must hence. I will return when

“lean. Continue your journey alone.’

“My efforts te obtain from him some farther explanation, or to retard hissdeparture, were equally in vain. Unwilli I saw him depart; his presence and his friendshiphad fanned within my bosom a gentle hope, the éxistence of which was first rendered clear to me by our separation. I was, in truth, as deeply in love as any one could be at a single glance; but this fleeting glance had beey so brief, so incomplete, that I scarcely felt as if I could discriminate whether I was most fascinated by the portrait or the original. “My friend, said I, as we separated, “ I cannot bear to part with you, without some visible token of our hours of friendship. Leave me the picture