e
to pay much attention to discourse. "Do you know who it is you are going
to rob though?" asked the stranger, addressing the "Woodsman" directly.
"Not I," replied the latter, boldly: "but, if you were der Dyvel
himself, descend from that horse, and deliver the bags of money that you
have on you, or you shall die!" Upon this, the black rider said no more;
but dismounted quietly, although he had pistols in his holsters; and
Conrad, immediately taking the portmanteau from the horse's back, was so
eager to be sure of the contents, that he drew his knife, and cut the
fastenings on the spot. In the meantime, the traveller might have fallen
upon him unawares, and to advantage, but the "Woodsman" endeavoured to
keep an eye upon him, while he went on forcing the valise open as well
as he could. At length the straps were all cut, and the robber thrust
his hands in eagerly, making sure to find the bags which he had seen the
preceding evening, for he had distinctly felt them from the outside.
But, when he drew out his hands, there was in one only a _halter_, and
in the other a piece of brass in the shape of a _gibbet_! And, at the
same moment, a gripe was laid upon his arm; and a deep low voice, which
seemed to be close beside him, pronounced the words, "_This shall be thy
fate_!" When he turned round in horror and consternation, the horse, and
the rider, and the portmanteau, all were gone; and he found himself
within a few paces of the inn door which he had quitted in the morning,
with the halter and the brass gibbet still remaining in his hand. The
narrative states farther, that this horrible rencontre so affected
Conrad Braunsvelt, that he forthwith delivered himself up to the rangers
of the forest, and was sent to Cassel to await the pleasure of the Grand
Duke. He is now confined in an asylum for repentant criminals, desirous
of being restored to society; and his miraculous warning is noted in the
records of the institution.--_Monthly Magazine_.

* * * * *

CAMBRIAN CONVIVIALITY.

"Cloth must we wear,
Eat beef, and drink beer,
Though the dead go to bier."

_Old Ballad._

There is something refreshing, and not a little inspiriting, in the
scanty relics of those hearty customs and pastimes which imparted such a
manly tone to the character of our ancestors; but now, like the ruined
castle, or the old ivied abbey, they have become objects of admiration
rather than sources of deligh