than beauty; but he had a peculiar enthusiasm about him, in which, as
his tutor, Father Theophilus, often said, lay his destiny. "In all other
respects, he is only," said the father, "a nobler youth than common;
but in this singular endowment he has something supernatural to man.
He is without fear--he knows not what it is; and, with a dexterity
inconceivable, accomplishes the most abstruse and difficult purposes.
In his lessons, such is his aptitude, that he learns as if he had
brought knowledge with him into the world; and in field-sports, the
chase, and all exercises, he possesses an ardour and courage by which
he outstrips every competitor. His generosity is equally unbounded; and
whatever he undertakes is pursued with an indefatigable eagerness that
knows not impediment; but amidst this unexampled energy in purpose there
is cause for fear. It matters not to him, when once interested, whether
his object be good or bad; and in this fatal inability to discriminate
the value of his aims lies his danger."

(We are compelled considerably to abridge this story to suit our
limits.--The mystical portion of it, or "the story of the Demon," as the
narrator, a Pole, calls it, is thus told to an English tourist:)--


"When I was on the eve of my departure from the castle of Baileskow,
my paternal inheritance, and the residence of my mother, to make a
tour through Germany and Italy, the carriage being at the gate, and the
servants with torches around--for it was then before the dawn of day--as
I crossed the court from the hall-door to embark, an old man met me.
He had the air of a priest, but not exactly the garb, and his eyes,
I thought--or it might be an after fancy--were luminous.

"'Valodimir Mavrovitch,' said the stranger, 'THINK!'--I would have