uch--but not to sleep.
The consequences of his terrible act haunted him, and when morning
came he set off on his homeward journey with a fearful heart, carefully
guarding a well-sealed letter which the mysterious stranger had put into
his hand.

Without further adventure he reached Solingen, and having acquainted
Ruthard with what had transpired, he handed him the letter. But the good
old man refused to unseal it.

"You must keep this until your own son and my grandson can open it," he
said to Wilhelm, "for over his infant soul the enemy can have no power."

And so it happened. Wilhelm married Martha, and in the course of a few
years a little son was born to them, who in due time found the letter,
opened it, and mastered the Satanic secret, and from that time the
blades of Solingen have had a world-wide renown.

The Architect of Cologne Cathedral

Travellers on the Rhine usually make a halt at Cologne to see the
cathedral, and many inquire the name of its creator. Was the plan the
work of a single architect? they ask; or did the cathedral, like many
another in Europe, acquire its present form by slow degrees, being
augmented and duly embellished in divers successive ages? These
questions are perfectly reasonable and natural, yet, strange to relate,
are invariably answered in evasive fashion, the truth being that the
name of the artist in stone who planned Cologne Cathedral is unknown.
The legend concerning him, however, is of world-wide celebrity, for the
tale associated with the founding of the famous edifice is replete with
that grisly element which has always delighted the Germans, and figures
largely in their medieval literature, and more especially in the works
of their early painters--for example, Duerer, Lucas Cranach, and Albrecht
Altdoerfer.

It was about the time of the last-named master that a Bishop of Cologne,
Conrad von Hochsteden, formed the resolve of increasing the pecuniary
value of his diocese. He was already rich, but other neighbouring
bishops were richer, each of them being blest with just what Conrad
lacked--a shrine sufficiently famous to attract large numbers of wealthy
pilgrims able to make generous offerings. The result of his jealous
musing was that the crafty bishop vowed he would build a cathedral whose
like had not been seen in all Germany. By this means, he thought,
he would surely contrive to bring rich men to his diocese. His first
thought was to summon an architect from Italy, i