certificate of expertness; and a patent of nobility would have afforded him a far less gratifying excitement.  Nor did Heaven withhold its blessing from a cause thus hallowed by filial devotion; the operation, which quickly followed his arrival at the farm, was attended with perfect success.  For some days, indeed, the old man still maintained his resistance; but when he was assured that Karl had preceded his departure for Munich by a pilgrimage to Altenoetting, and that the especial favour of the Black Lady had sanctified his undertaking, he became more passive—­the result was a perfect restoration to sight.

“And where,” I exclaimed, “is this excellent, this worthy Karl of yours at present?”

“By your side,” replied a chorus of voices; and following their indication, I turned towards a young man of sturdy appearance, who acknowledged my salute with prompt and open frankness.  He wore the common peasant costume of the country, and laughed away my honest praises as a mere exaggeration.  “I had nothing to fear from my absence,” said he, looking towards a very beautiful girl who stood beside him, “for I was secure of the good faith of my Hannchen, and I knew that the Black Lady would bless my enterprise!”

I could not presume to despise this strange union of intelligence and bigotry; nay, so intimately is the remembrance of the family of Stroer connected in my mind with that of the miraculous idol, that I must acknowledge some sort of lingering superstitious reverence towards the shrine of the Black Virgin of Altenoetting.—­New Monthly Magazine.

* * * * *

THE RIVER.

  River, River, little River,
    Bright you sparkle on your way,
  O’er the yellow pebbles dancing,
  Through the flowers and foliage glancing,
      Like a child at play.

  River, River, swelling River,
    On you rush o’er rough and smooth—­
  Louder, faster, brawling, leaping
  Over rocks, by rose-banks sweeping,
      Like impetuous youth.

  River, River, brimming River,
    Broad and deep and still as Time,
  Seeming still—­yet still in motion,
  Tending onward to the ocean,
      Just like mortal prime.

  River, River, rapid River,
    Swifter now you slip away;
  Swift and silent as an arrow,
  Through a channel dark and narrow,
      Like life’s closing day.

  River, River, headlong River,
    Down you dash into the sea;
  Sea, that line hath never sounded,
  Sea, that voyage hath never rounded,
      Like eternity.

Blackwood’s Magazine.

* * * * *

The Anecdote Gallery.

* * * * *

YOUTH OF MOZART.

Abridged from the Foreign Quarterly Review.