pose him devoid of merit ;—in that case, where are we to look for a standard ?”

"And if Wolfstein's merit is indeed worthy the universal suffrage, madam, we come to this conclusion-all we have been taught to hold sacred and honourable is a mere jest."

"But why should you be so severe, count?" said the margrave. "Some of our ecclesiastics, without scruple, lean on his arm, and laugh at his pasquinades; he will have his own way, you know, and he who would prevent him is sure to feel a touch in his side of the right Lernæan.”

"Those of your ecclesiastics, who lean on Wolfstein's arm, would lean on the arm of his infernalissimo, if it were the fashion."

"Why, bless you, count! Some of them were inquisitors!"

But it was not the prattle of Lindau that occupied the thoughts or provoked the answers of Vallenstein. He had listened to words from the lips of Louisa, which were indeed arrows dipt in the

hydra's blood, and he governed his maddened spirit with difficulty; she too looked on him with a somewhat increased expression of scorn and resentment; but at that moment his exasperation could not well be heightened: instead of deprecating her scorn, he returned and defied it; at least, at that moment he was fully persuaded that he did so.

Baron

Erdenheim joined them, reminded Vallensteïn of his promise, and invited Lindau to make one of his guests at supper. That day the Duke of Bavaria had not appeared at court; no one ventured to utter a remark on his absence, save Princess Stolberg, though every one observed it, and it combined with the Emperor's reception to render young Vallenstein an object of attention and respect.

CHAPTER X.

"Where is thy wound? Is't here?

Poo, poo, begone!

Thou can'st do nought-'tis in my head, my heart, 'Tis every where, where med'cine cannot cure.” Joanna Baillie.

Ar Baron Erdenheïm's supper, Vallensteïn found a goodly assemblage of nobles and ladies, with the addition of some of the most distinguished members of the university-a fondness for literature, or an appearance thereof, was altogether necessary at the court of Vienna, and no one cared for the feast which wanted the attic salt. Princess Stolberg was not of the party, and Vallensteïn looked around for her with disappointed expectation. Baron Erdenheïm had him fast by the button, explaining to him the characters, situations, and pretensions of the several guests; and he was very patiently under

going the detail, when he perceived that the room where they stood, and which the moment before was overflowing with company, had become nearly deserted.

"Ah!" said the Baron, " I do wrong to detain you; something more agreeable than my prosing is to be found in the next room.-Either music or dancing, no doubt."

Vallenstein availed himself of his release, and followed the stream: it was however his lot to come in only for a general buzz of bravas and bravissimas! dolces and dolcissimas! some syren having just concluded her song. He could not easily penetrate far into the room, and did not make any material effort for that purpose, but inquired of a gentleman, who had been named to him as Professor Westermann, the cause of such rapturous acclamation. The professor was a little, intelligent-looking man, with an uncommonly vivacious cast of countenance.

"The cause, sir!" echoed he. "Upon my faith, I know not:-a Circe, a mer

maid, for aught I know! Certain it is that never before, from any mortal form, have my organs been refreshed by such heavenly breathings ;-but hark!" said he, clasping his hands," Hark! Again! Oh, dolcissima!"

Vallenstein, who was at first diverted with what he deemed the exaggeration of the lively professor's fancy, was soon wrapt round in ecstasy, and all he had ever read or heard of the power of music was at that moment realized in his feelings; not a whisper, not a breath was heard, till the strain ceased, but then the tumult of applause again rushed forth. The professor, especially, exhausted every phrase which might serve as the medium of the transports of dilettanti, while Vallenstein stood in speechless emotion at his side when Westermann had relieved himself of his own oppressive delight, he had leisure to remark the silence of his neighbour.

"Where is your soul, young man? Harmony such as this might create one,