pearls. He told her that he too had received a proof that they were under God's care. As he was working in the mine he had found a golden crucifix; thinking to discover the name of the former owner, he examined it closely, when, to his great surprise, he perceived his own name, and under it the words, "Christ helps the faithful."

Thus were the two persecuted ones enabled to await, full of courage and hope, the last visit of the demon lover.

At length the moment came, and when the tolling of the midnight bell was borne on the breeze, the thrilling voice of the fiend was heard calling for Katherine,—

Bride, come out; bride, come out!"

Katherine went to the window, opened it, and showed her crucifix. At this sight the evil one uttered a loud cry, and exclaimed,—

“Kate, Kate, I have no power over thee, thou art under the protection of heaven; but it is thy turn, Günzer, to go with me to hell. Come out, that I

may carry thee away!"

Günzer held aloft his golden cross, which the

demon no sooner saw than with a yell of rage he

disappeared; but not so quietly as before. A terrible storm arose; loud peals of thunder resounded through the forest; lightnings flashed across the sky, until the very heavens seemed to be on fire; the tallest trees came crashing down, and the brook rose to such a height as almost to wash away the cottage.

But when the clock struck one the hurricane was suddenly hushed, a calm, holy in its perfect stillness, pervaded all things, and a silvery moon penetrated with its translucent rays the erstwhile black and angry clouds.

Katherine, now freed for ever from her hellish suitor, gave her hand to a brave miner of Frohnau, who already had possession of her heart; and when, after some years, Günzer, upon whom time had begun to lay his heavy hand, retired from his post of overseer, his son-in-law took his place. Katherine never forgot the deadly perils she and her father had undergone together, and for the remainder of his life the old miner had a tranquil home in his daughter's house. When at last God called him away, she caused him to be buried at the foot of the rock in which dwelt the Goddess of the Mountain.

The memory of her father was dear to her, and every day she made a pilgrimage to his tomb, and prayed fervently for his soul's health. Many years passed away, and although age had made her hair white as snow, and bowed her once graceful form, she failed not in this pious duty. But once she went to the accustomed place and returned no more. Her husband and children followed in search of her. They found only her body, and as they gazed at it, weeping, the angel in the rose-coloured raiment came from the rock, and after kissing the dead Katherine on the forehead, took from her neck the diamond cross and flew with it heavenwards.

The bereaved husband, calling to his aid several of his comrades, made a grave for his wife in the great stone. As the body was being carried towards its last resting-place, two angels came flying down, lifted the coffin in their arms, and laid it inside the rock, covering afterwards the opening with a heavy block of stone; so that no one can tell where the body lies.

Since that time men have called the place where Katherine sleeps her never-ending sleep, the "Katestone!"

THE SINGING STONE OF POSTELWITZ.

N the right bank of the Elbe, not far from the ancient and picturesque town of Pirna, lies the small village of Postelwitz. Close to the village, and the river's brink, rises a high rock, whose summit commands a varied and extensive view of the valley of the Elbe, and the mountainous country towards the Bohemian frontier. On Sundays, holidays, and fine summer evenings, the young folks of the hamlet often assemble under the shadow of this rock, making it echo with their laughter and the noisy sound of merry games. But it sometimes happens that all voices are suddenly hushed, and a group, silent and attentive, gathers round the youth or maiden who tells the story of the rock, and how it came by the name of the "Singing Stone."

A long, long time ago, there was a shepherd of Pirna who every day led his sheep to pasture on the banks of the river-in the mornings he wandered with his flock up the stream, every evening he guided them downwards towards Pirna. Though young and handsome, his habits were quiet and solitary, his manner shy and distant. His love seemed to be entirely given to his sheep, whom he would sit watching under the leafy shadow of a tree, playing on his pipe the livelong day.

Once, as he lay on a bank of green turf, he saw on the other side of the river a beautiful maiden tending a flock of goats. The next day, and the next she was again there, and she looked so innocent and lovely, that at length the shepherd seized his pipe, and played to her one of his most passionate airs. She replied in the sweetest song that was ever heard. Then the youth made the maiden by gestures understand that he desired to have speech of her; she pointed to the tall rock over her head.

It was now evening, and the shepherd hastened homeward with his flock, saw them safely in the fold, and returned impatiently to the river's bank.