By the light of the moon he saw the maiden standing high on the rock. A bold swimmer, he plunged into the stream, and, breasting its rushing waters, was quickly by the side of his shepherdess. Their mutual love, already expressed in music and song, was now acknowledged in words, and it was midnight ere the lovers separated, and the youth returned to his home. On the following night, and every night that the friendly moonbeams lighted his way over the dark river, the shepherd failed not in his visits to the rock, and when the ruler of night had waxed and waned three times, he had agreed with the maiden that on the next Sunday he would cross the river, and beg her parents to sanction their love, and bestow on him her hand.

At the appointed time she again stood on the rock and waited for her lover; but he came not. In the morning, as she tended her flock, and looked over the Elbe, she saw that the sheep were indeed there, as of yore, but they were watched by another shepherd. And she feared some ill had happened to him she loved. When evening came, she once more sought the great stone, and as the bright moon illumined craggy peak, and flowing stream,

sang her sweetest songs. But still her dear youth came not, and she went away full of sadness and sorrow. For the third time, she returned to the old trysting-place, and bending her earnest gaze into the rushing waters beneath, she threw her whole soul into her voice, sang again her lover's favourite songs, and begged, in tenderest accents, that her dear shepherd would meet her yet once more. The hour of midnight approached, the full moon shed his yellow and ghostly light over the scene, when, rising slowly through the fog that enshrouded the river, the unhappy maiden could see a tall white figure, which floated higher and higher until it stood by her side.

Terror paralyzed her limbs, and sealed her lips.

"Fear not," said the phantom, "I am thy betrothed. As I sped homeward through the river, after our last meeting, the deities of the stream drew me beneath the water. I belong no more to earth. Sing me now thy last song, it shall be my death-song."

She sang it, and as with the vanishing tones of her voice the figure of her lover faded from sight and mingled with the moonbeams, she sank un

conscious on the rock. She slept there her deathsleep; and even yet sometimes at midnight, when the silvery sheen of the full moon lights up the rock, may the singing of a sorrowful voice be heard; therefore is it called the "singing-stone," and every year, on the "death-day" of the bride, angels hover over the rock, and strew it with roses and lilies.

THE NIXY OF ROSSENDORF MERE.

MONGST the hills on the right bank of the Elbe, and close to the DresdenBautzen road, is a somewhat diminu

tive lake, known as Rossendorf Mere

(Teich), the source of the Priesnitz brook, whose waters, once greatly renowned for their curative qualities, join the Elbe near the baths of Luik. There is at present, in the centre of the mere, an islet and a forester's hut. In former times, when the lake was much more extensive than now, the islet was a lofty island, and, instead of a forester's hut, contained a chapel and an altar dedicated to the holy Barbara.

The place bore-for the site of a Christian temple-the rather inappropriate name of "Nixy's Hill." It is said that many hundreds of years since,

when heathens still ruled in the land, and the rivers and glens of Old Saxony were still haunted by sprites and fairies, a colony of Christians, wandering in search of a home, pitched their tents in the forest and founded the village of Eschdorf. These Christians belonged to no morose or gloomy sect, but, delighted to make merry and enjoy themselves, were particularly fond of music and song, and on summer evenings, when work was done, it was the wont of the lads and lasses to assemble on the village green and laugh, and joke, and dance right lustily to the sound of tabor and fife. On these festive occasions there scarcely ever failed to be present an unknown maiden of strange and striking beauty. She danced with wonderful grace, was always richly clad; but it was noticed that the edge of her robe was always wet, as if she had walked across damp or dewy meadows. No one knew whence she came or whither she went. The rustic gallants of the hamlet were on fire with curiosity and admiration, and many were the attempts made to trace the mysterious stranger to her home in the forest, if home she had; but all were in vain-she evaded pursuit as easily as if she had been a zephyr or a sunbeam.