confinement he again rose, he had no longer the vigour of youth in his limbs; he gloomily brooded over his loss, and visibly pined away. Deep melancholy had taken the place of despair, and a still sorrow hallowed every recollection of his beloved. He had left Josephina's room in the same situation in which it was before her death. Upon the table still lay the materials of her work; and the harp stood silent and unmoved in the corner. Every evening Sellner entered this sanctuary of his love, took his flute, and breathed in melancholy tones his longing after his dear loved shade. Once he stood thus, lost in the dreams of fancy in Josephina's chamber. A clear moon-light night wooed him to the open window, and from the neighbouring Castle-tower the watchman called the ninth hour; when all of a sudden, the harp, as if moved by the soft breath of a spirit sounded in unison with his tones. Deeply affected he laid down his flute, and the harp also ceased to sound. He now commenced with a trembling frame Josephina's favourite air, and louder and more powerful the harp sounded its notes, uniting its tones in the most perfect unison with his. He sank down in joyful ecstacy upon the ground, stretched forth his arms to embrace the beloved shadow, and instantly he felt himself as if breathed upon by the warm breath of spring, whilst a pale glimmering light floated around him. Deeply inspired he cried out, "I know thee
