fiery gulf. 'Tis possible the arch hell-hound may
not relish this breakfast, yet, nolens volens, he must swallow it. You
promised him certainly a soul, but whose was not decidedly specified."

The monk's plan was plausible, and the magistrates determined to put the
cunning trick into execution. The day of consecration arrived. Orders
were given to bring the wolf to the principal entrance of the cathedral,
and just as the bells began to ring, the trap-door of the cage was
opened and the savage beast darted out into the nave of the
empty church. Master Urian from his lurking-place beheld this
consecration-offering with the utmost fury; burning with choler at
being thus deceived, he raged like a tempest, and finally rushed forth,
slamming the brass gate so violently after him that the ring cracked in
twain.

This fissure commemorates the priest's victory over the devices of the
Devil, and is still exhibited to travellers who visit the cathedral.

A Legend of Bonn

The city of Bonn is one of the most beautiful of all those situated on
the banks of the Rhine, and being the birthplace of no less celebrated
a composer than Beethoven, it naturally attracts a goodly number of
pilgrims every year, these coming from many distant lands to do homage
at the shrine of genius. But Bonn and its neighbourhood have older
associations than this--associations which carry the mind of the
traveller far into the Middle Ages--for hard by the town is Rolandseck;
while a feature of the district is the Siebengebirge (Seven Mountains),
a fine serried range of peaks which present a very imposing appearance
when viewed from any of the heights overlooking Bonn itself, and which
recall a justly famous legend.

This story tells that in the thirteenth century there lived at a castle
in the heart of these mountains a nobleman called Wolfram Herzog von
Bergendorf; and being no freebooter like most of the other German barons
of the time, but a man of very pious disposition, he was moved during
the prime of his life to forsake his home and join a body of crusaders.
Reaching Palestine after a protracted journey, these remained there for
a long time, Wolfram fighting gallantly in every fray and making his
name a terror to the Saracens. But the brave crusader was wounded
eventually, and now he set out for Germany, thirsting all the way for
a sight of his beloved Siebengebirge, and dreaming of the wind-swept
schloss which was his home. As he drew nearer to