Perhaps I ought to stop at Blankenburg, having no pretensions to draw out an Itinerary of the Harz, and few adventures during my third and last day's ramble to report, which touch either Music or Manners. But it is difficult to break off in a journal full of those pleasant remembrances that light up the fogs of a wintry spring, and fill a dingy street-prospect with

A little jaded, and very unwilling to move, I was driven out of Blankenburg at half-past seven in the morning. Carl would fain have tempted me up to the platform on which the schloss is built to take a look at the prospect, and an observation of the building, whose greatest attraction, in my eyes, was its possession, beyond all doubt, of The old original White Lady, or Household Demon (cousin-german to the Irish Benshee), whose appearance denotes that a death is sure to take place. But I recollected that the Palace at Berlin has another White Lady equally authentic, and that few spirits of any colour are ever abroad in the morning air. I had seen, moreover, the best of the view on the previous evening; so I sate still, and we drove on.