The Emperor Frederick Barbarossa is in a cavern in the Kyffhaüser mountain, in the old palatinate of the Saxon imperial house. There with all his knights around him, he sits to this day, leaning his head upon his arm, at a table through which his beard has grown, or round which, according to other accounts, it has grown twice. When it has thrice encircled the table he will wake up to battle. The cavern glitters with gold and jewels, and is as bright as the sunniest day. Thousands of horses stand at mangers filled with thorn bushes instead of hay, and make a prodigious noise as they stamp on the ground and rattle their chains. The old Kaiser sometimes wakes up for a moment and speaks to his visitors. He once asked a herdsman who had found his way into the Kyffhaüser, "Are the ravens (Odin's birds) still flying about the mountain?" The man replied that they were. "Then," said Barbarossa, "I must sleep a hundred years longer." The Eildon Hills, which witnessed of old the magical exploits of Michael Scott, are three in number. These were originally one: their present formation being the work of a demon, for whom the wizard, in fulfilment of some infernal contract, was obliged to find employment, and by whom the mighty task was achieved in a single night. They are nearly of the same height, changing greatly their appearance, and, as it were, their attitude, with the point of view; at one time one of them only being visible, at another time two, and again all three. They form a peculiar and romantic feature in the scenery of the Tweed: and are still to the eye of the imagination what they once were in the common belief,--wizard hills, the subjects of wild traditions and unearthly adventures. In them lay for centuries those "caverned warriors," which Thomas the Rhymer showed at night to the daring horse jockey, who went by appointment to the Lucken Hare to receive the price of the black horse which he had sold to the venerable favourite of the Fairy Queen. His money having been paid to him, in ancient coin; on the invitation of his customer to view his residence, he followed his guide in the deepest astonishment through long ranges of stalls, in each of which a horse stood motionless, while an armed warrior lay equally still at the charger's feet. "All these men," said the prophet in a whisper, "will awaken at the battle of Sheriffmuir." The small mountain lake, called Grisedale Tarn, is situated at a very considerable elevation above the surrounding vales, in a depression formed at a point where the shoulders of Helvellyn, Seat-Sandal, and Fairfield touch each other; and just below the summit of the "hause" or pass through which winds the mountain track that leads from Grasmere into Patterdale. THE BRIDALS OF DACRE.