The spectre continued. She had been
innocent of the charge preferred against
her, and when she died her husband had
not acknowledged his cruelty and injustice.
However, though they were both dead now,
a reconciliation could still be effected
between them, and Duke Christian had been
selected to perform that pious office. She
herself was abiding in a state of comparative
though not perfect bliss, while Duke
Casimir was dwelling in cold and darkness,
not without a hope of ultimate delivery.

The duke was about to make some
objection, but the spectre motioned him to
silence, and, having promised to reappear
at the end of a week and learn his decision,
vanished through the door as it had come.
After making due inquiries of his guard,
ascertaining that no one had been seen to
enter, and consulting a reverend gentleman
as to the propriety of acting as a peacemaker
between two ghosts, he resolved to
comply with the Duchess Anna's request,
provided no unholy rites were required,
and acquainted her with his resolution,
when, according to promise, she reappeared
at the week's end. Pleased with his
assurance, she now told him that she would
return with her husband on the midnight
of the morrow, and vanished as before.

Duke Christian, who seems on this
occasion to have been less credulous than
usual, doubled his guard as the eventful
hour approached. Nevertheless, the spectral
duchess appeared, accompanied by her
husband, who looked remarkably white and
ghostly, and asked Duke Christian to
decide between them. Hereupon, Christian
reproved the spectre Casimir, whose cold
hand he placed in the warm hand of Anna,
and pronounced a blessing on them both.
All three then joined in a hymn, and the
ceremony ended with the disappearance of
the spectres, the lady having first expressed
her fervent gratitude.

This romantic incident occurred less
than a year before Duke Christian's death,
and he looked upon it with so much satisfaction
and pride that he had a semi-transparent
picture of the Duchess Anna painted
in her spectral shape, which, illuminated by
a lamp hung behind it, was suspended in
his chamber, where it is said to remain
even now. But pretty as the story is, and
admirable as were the poor duke's intentions,
we regret to add that, after his death,
certain secret passages were discovered, by
which the spectres had obviously entered
his room. With all their pious talk, Casimir
and his duchess turn out to have been no
better company than the King of Waldeck
and Poppo of the Vale.

To console ourselves for the deceit
practised directly upon Duke Christian, and
indirectly upon ourselves by these pretended
ghosts, let us turn to the so-called
Schortenthal, in the neighbourhood of Eisenberg,
for there good honest ghosts were once to
be found—nay, the ghost of a whole village.
A poor young girl, who, to avoid persecution,
had settled in Eisenberg as a Protestant
refugee, and lived with some benevolent
people, who commiserated her forlorn
condition, went out one evening to collect
fodder for the cattle. Fearlessly she worked
her way through a dark rustling wood
towards the meadow in the Schortenthal,
which she had often visited for a similar
purpose. But, to her great surprise, instead
of the meadow, she found an old-fashioned
village, which she had never seen before,
and from the houses in which lights were
cheerfully glimmering. After a little passing
fright she took courage, tapped at one
of the windows, asked where she was, and
likewise solicited a morsel of bread and a
drop of water. An aged gentleman, with
a venerable white beard, and in the dress
of a time long past, peeped out, and civilly
requested her to enter the house. She
accepted, not very willingly, the invitation,
and, crossing the threshold, found herself
in the presence of a merry wedding-party.
Politely entreated to take a seat, she was
served by the old gentleman with something
much better than bread and water. Every
object that met her gaze, tables, chairs,
dishes, plates, goblets, belonged to a remote
period, and the dresses of the guests were
all adorned with that combination of slash
and puff which is totally foreign to modern
costume. The bride seemed to be out of
the fashion even of her own day, inasmuch
as she was attired like a nun, and thus
contrasted strangely with the bridegroom,
who wore a coat heavily embroidered,
carried a sword by his side, and had a
heavy gold chain round his neck.

The kindly greybeard questioned the
girl as to her condition, and seeming highly
satisfied with her answers, apparently
reported them in an unknown tongue to the
knightly bridegroom, who, approaching her
with a joyous countenance, thanked her in
the name of the company for restoring
peace and repose to all assembled. She
did not understand what she had done to
earn so much gratitude, but she was still
more astonished when the dancing began,
for she heard music and saw figures of a