MEISTER KARL S 
 
 SKETCH-BOOK. 
 
 BY 
 
 CHAELES G. LELAND. 
 
 "I truly hold it for an honour and praise to be called and reputed a Ion Gaultier 
 and a Robin Goodfellow ; for under this name am I welcome in all choice companies of 
 Pantagruelists." RABELAIS. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 PARRY & M C M I L L A N, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO A. HART, LATB CAREY ft HART. 
 
 1855. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 
 
 PARRY & McMILLAX, 
 
 in the Clerk s Office of tho District Court of the United States for the Eastern 
 District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON AND CO. 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 Printed by T K & P. G, Collins. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PREFACE 9 
 
 INTRODUCTION 11 
 
 I. Of those who Travel without knowing how 15 
 
 II. How Ladies are always Borrowing Pens and Ink 29 
 
 III. In Honour of Ladies 22 
 
 IV. Of my Travelling Companion, Wolf Short 25 
 
 V. A Lecture on Likes and Dislikes 30 
 
 VI. The Little Prophet of Boemischbroda 38 
 
 VII. The Gasthaus in Frankfort-on-the-Main 52 
 
 yill. A Masked Ball in Heidelberg 58 
 
 IX. The Sadness of Koine and of other Cities 66 
 
 X. Ferrara and Venice 70 
 
 XL Venice 76 
 
 XII. The Crucifix of Santa Maria delle Grazie 81 
 
 XIII. Alternations 85 
 
 XIV. Nuremberg 91 
 
 XV. Of Uncle Bill Dumble 105 
 
 XVI. Reminiscences of the Olden Time 115 
 
 XVII. The Valets-de-Place in Munich 123 
 
 XVIII. Window Love 13G 
 
 XIX. A Musical Duel 143 
 
 XX. The Lago d Agnano 148 
 
 XXL Spring 154 
 
 XXII. Rome 164 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 XXIII. The Carnival 176 
 
 XXIV. Legends of Flemish Art 184 
 
 XXV. Our Diligence. and Aries 221 
 
 XXVI. Lectures to the Ladies 236 
 
 XXVII. Humming and Whistling 247 
 
 XXVIII. A Story which ends as it ought.., 250 
 
 XXIX. Refrains 256 
 
 XXX. Yankee Stories 259 
 
 XXXL Ghost-Land 266 
 
 XXXII. Past and Present 274 
 
 XXXIIL Short s Philosophy 288 4) 
 
 XXXIV. Contes des Comtesses 300 
 
 XXXV. A Wreath of Ballads 317 
 
 XXXVI. Finale.... .. 334 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THE reader may have observed that in recalling expe 
 riences of life or literature we seldom follow a regular 
 plan. Our memories of individuals, as of cities or of books, 
 change with the phases of events ; so that that which once 
 attracted may seem at another time dark and repulsive. 
 But, with whatever feelings we regard the past, it is not 
 less certain that much invariably recurs as half-forgotten 
 or greatly changed which was once clearly retained. 
 Facts will seem like fancies, realities like dreams, and 
 eccentric trifles will often remain when things of real value 
 have slipped into oblivion. 
 
 Examination also convinces us that our daily trains of 
 thought, if not of conversation, are not less irregular and 
 fantastic, and that life itself is infinitely more grotesque 
 than we are wont to imagine. An accurate record of the 
 sleeping and waking thoughts of the soberest merchant in 
 the city would probably astound, by its eccentricity, even 
 a Hoffman. 
 
 In Meister Karl s " Sketch-Book, the Author will be 
 found to have followed at ease the current of his thoughts, 
 without making the slightest effort to restrain their course, 
 or to turn it in any preconceived direction. When a 
 grotesque or even an absurd fancy has struck him, he 
 has recorded it without hesitation, and given it life in 
 print without an effort at correction or revision. He has 
 not attempted to extract either from experience or read 
 ing merely that which he regarded as striking or pecu 
 liar, but has written down, as they occurred to him, 
 matters great and small, sensible or nonsensical, definite 
 or indefinite. And as the work throughout smacks more 
 of translation, extract, and quotation, than of original 
 thought, the reader may possibly excuse the following 
 
10 I-AEFACE. 
 
 citation from the preface of an " Odd Volume" written 
 many years ago, as it not inaptly illustrates the character 
 of the following chapters : 
 
 " In rummaging over a house, a room, or even an old 
 desk which has stood some dozen or twenty years in 
 his study, who has not noticed how many out-of-the-way 
 articles present themselves ? Shells, minerals, pictures, 
 seals, penknives, trinkets, strange and curious produc 
 tions from abroad, and convenient contrivances which 
 come into use once in seven years all are stowed 
 away carefully in the old pigeon-holes and drawers, and 
 present a grotesque but not a useless or uninstructive 
 medley when paraded on the table for inspection. 
 
 u Every one who has read to any extent has at least 
 one apartment in the great storehouse of memory which 
 is furnished with a medley of a similar character a col 
 lection of the odds and ends of knowledge gathered 
 from all quarters, and connected and compacted by asso 
 ciations the most fanciful or even whimsical. Out of this 
 apartment of our memory we have drawn the materials 
 of the present volume, and offer them to our readers, in . 
 the hope that they may not merely serve the purpose 
 of amusement for an idle hour, but may furnish instruc 
 tion touching interesting topics of life, society, and man 
 ners, both at home and abroad." 
 
 Meister Karl trusts that he is not one of those writers 
 who allude complacently to the early age at which their 
 works were written, since he has never been able to 
 understand why a precocious production should have the 
 slightest advantage over those of mature years. But as 
 every stage of life has its unavoidable and characteristic 
 defects, he would mention that the greater portion of the 
 " Sketch-Book" was written at intervals from his six 
 teenth to his twenty-fifth year. Much which is excusable 
 in the familiar sketches of a youth passed in universities 
 and travel would sound strangely if supposed to be written 
 by an older man. 
 
THE 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " COMME mon dessein n a ete dans mes voyages que de remarquer ce quo je 
 trouverois de plus bizarre, de plus merveilleux et de plus surprenant ; vous ne 
 devez attendre de moi que des choses surprenantes, merveilleuses et bizarres. 
 Imaginez done pour cela, que je n ay voyage que dans des pais de prodiges, 
 puisque je ne vous apprendrai que ce que j ai reinarque de prodigieux. Comme 
 vous etes de mes amis, je vous ecrirai aussi familierement que j$ vous parle, 
 je veuxdire, sans ceremonies, etsans facons, Vous lesrecevrez successivement 
 les unes apres les autres, sans que je vous fasse beaucoup attendre." Mital, on 
 Aventures Incroyables, et toute-fois et cetera : Paris, ce 30 Mars, 1708. 
 
 WELL, my friends ! are we all in our places ? Is the last 
 packet thrown in ? are your hats tied up ? your travelling 
 caps on ? coat and gown settled down ? Is the baggage snugly 
 stowed away ? have the trunks gone to sleep in loving unison 
 with the band-boxes upon the carpet bags ? Major, is your flask 
 within reach ? you may wish to refer to it. And are they all 
 there, the gentle ones, including the pretty waiting-maid outside ? 
 (Are you comfortable, ma mselle ?) And lo, here am I, your 
 courier, your friend, your guide that is to be, with my everlasting 
 green bag, portfolio, and pipe. What s all that row with the 
 horses ? Lay on the leather, driver ! all right, dem that beg 
 gar ! go a-head ! hey up there ! g lang ! 
 " Clic clac, petit postillion !" 
 
 Click clack, little postillion ! 
 
 Before thee lies the way; 
 And thou art like an eagle fleet 
 
 Upon thy gallant grey ! 
 
 Ladies and gentlemen ! I modestly set myself forward as your 
 courier or valet-de-place, for a long journey. Like many other 
 
 2 ll 
 
12 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 couriers, I stall make you travel pretty much where I please ; 
 H-like them, I shall impose upon you as little as possible. Com 
 mon couriers make you travel by land and water; I shall take 
 you under ground, if I choose; slap through the misty land 
 of gnomes, and sometimes through the gold-glancing Aerial, 
 where the pure dwellers are ; sometimes you shall be among the 
 steam and whiz and dash of the busy Nineteenth century ; and 
 sometimes the quaint old spires, and distant towers, which rise 
 darkly against the Evening Blue ; and the dream-like shadows 
 flitting around shall awaken the consciousness that our journey is 
 not of this world or age. 
 
 Nay, may I be forsworn, if the jaunt shall have any limit of 
 any sort or time. All the dramatic or itineraric unities shall be 
 disregarded ; blown away ; sent to the devil ; in poco y dismissed ; 
 and all for your sakes, dearly beloved ! 
 
 Softly and kindly, like the voices of loved ones passed away, 
 come the recollections of scenes in beautiful distant lands, to the 
 soul of the traveller. Merrily and wildly, like the ringing of 
 fairy bells heard at eve over the darkening plain, doth Fantasie 
 awaken the chimes of his spirit, when he thinks of the pranks 
 played in youth in many a quaint old city o er the sea. 
 
 But ah ! gentler than all, how softly, how strangely, how won 
 derfully, do those unborn ghosts, those embryo thoughts, the feel 
 ings, pass in sad and beautiful procession before the gate of the 
 soul ! Messengers from the Unknown, whence come ye, or 
 whither do ye flee ? Time hath not known ye, and ye dwell not 
 in space. The world esteems ye not; only to the poet who has 
 never" written, to the artist who never creates, are ye welcome 
 visitants : 
 
 "I stood upon a lofty place, 
 
 And look d out on the plain, 
 And there I saw a lovely face 
 I never saw again !" 
 
 My dearest ! every one who travels, whether he be " My 
 Lord/ with his own carriage; a commercial agent, with his 
 samples; a student with knapsack; a travelling journeyman 
 mechanic, with ditto, and an extra pair of heavy hobnailed boots ; 
 or even an adventurer, taking the provinces, should do their 
 best during a journey, to entertain all the thoughts, feelings, senti 
 ments, and emotions to which I allude; or to act and think 
 
INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 so that they may spring up in future. Travel, like youth, is 
 a period when most domestic cares are borne by others, in 
 order that we may improve our ignorant souls, and lay up glad 
 recollections, or, according to Dr. Watts, " shining ears/ 7 for 
 the time to come. Alas! alas! that with so many, these il shin 
 ing ears" should be like the golden ones of King Midas, merely 
 
 asinine 
 
 "Alas! he has made a pun! M. le Courier is this the wav 
 you conduct us ?" Ay, carry me the hangman, but it is. Travel, 
 my fair Julie, like youth, is the time of all times when Dame Fan 
 tasia hath full swing. 
 
 Pardie! my children! my own, my minnie darlings you 
 little know the treasure you possess in your old courier. He will 
 tell you the stories and sing you the songs of the lands you are 
 to travel in, for he knows them all as well as the probable colour 
 of next winter s snow. Bon Gaultier et franc compagnon, he 
 can laugh like a cup of flies, and draw corks with his handker 
 chief. Reserved and modest in his demeanour, he will allow 
 nothing in his exhibition which can offend the feelings of the 
 most fastidious ! ergo bibamusfrafercule (therefore, brother, 
 let us be temperate) and hand the ladies in ! 
 
 " Vive la Grande Route !" But I cannot satisfy everybody. 
 For you, young gentlemen, just from college, the continent is a 
 fiery ordeal, and he who gets through without scorching a few 
 feathers, may sing out in dulci jubilo. I had as lief drive pigs 
 through a corn-field, as undertake to bring you virtuously through : 
 but pay your fare; jump in, and ahem, hush! (I ll see what 
 lean do for you .) 
 
 But thrice hail you, ye joval bachelors ! come along, if any- 
 l>ody is to come. Make glad our hearts with your quips and 
 cranks, your shouts and jokes. Join with us in carolling and 
 chanting ! Roar out a merrie tol de rol, juvivallera chorus to my 
 songs, until the inn-keepers twig our approach an hour before the 
 arrival of our avant-courier. Ye shall sit with me after dinner, 
 when the ladies have retired. For your sakes the landlord shall 
 mysteriously impart in an undertone those golden scraps of in 
 formation, not meant for the slow " outsiders/ 7 I will find out 
 for you the lurking-places and rendezvous of good cigars and 
 cogniac. Black eyes, braided locks, and opera tickets shall con 
 sole you during our long, long pilgrimage. 
 
14 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Linger not, for already our horses paw the ground : MONTEZ ! 
 
 EN AVANT ! MARCHONS ! 
 
 "I m in every land at home, 
 And in every home content; 
 If I northward chance to roam, 
 Or my course be south ward bent, 
 Happy, though alone afar; 
 Vbi benc, ibi patria !" 
 
 And do you, beautiful ladies, ("and all amiable ladies are 
 beautiful/ ) smile upon us, and gladden us with your glances. 
 Be your eyes black or blue; your hair jet, golden, or chataiyne 
 foncte of dark chestnut; be ye stately queens, or dear little dar 
 lings; dames of high degree, or nice petite niignonne milliners, 
 still favour us with your presence. Open your windows, be they 
 in the second, third, fourth, or fifth stories; wave your white 
 handkerchiefs; hurrah, and cast out flowers upon our merry old 
 diligence, as it lumbers by. Meet us at the table d hote; do 
 us the distinguished honour to visit the opera under our escort ; 
 catch us accidentally in the long, dark entries of our hotels. 
 You will waltz with us in Vienna to the music of Strauss; faint 
 into our arms on the summit of Vesuvius, and go with us, well- 
 bedomino d, to the grand masked balls of the Opera, and the 
 Prado! Oh yes, you icitt ! Don t say no, for Mamma will 
 never find it out. 
 
 Hide my book in your beautiful muff. M lle P will 
 
 purchase it for her Select Library of Foreign Romance. M lles 
 Amcnaide, Andis, Coralie, Hor tense, CamiUe, Nini, Fifinc, Jo 
 sephine, and Fiddlededine will study that barragouinage Anglais, 
 that they may read it to one another, and to Milord Smith. Her 
 illustrious highness, the of , will expire under its in 
 fluence. The white-coated courier will become an historico- 
 romatic personage. After-ages will dispute whether he was a 
 man or a myth; and the great unwritten epic of the twentieth 
 century will be founded on his adventures. But I cannot stand 
 preaching here : 
 
 " Brevis oratio penetrat coelos, 
 Longa potatio evacuat scyphos." 
 
 The last crack of our whip, the last blast of our horn ; already 
 the sign of our hotel is a mote in the distance. Adieu, Reg 
 nant mon amy ! mon amy Rcgnavf ! 
 
CERTAIN TRAVELLERS DISCUSSED. 15 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST. 
 
 IN WHICH THE COURIER DISCUSSES CERTAIN TRAVELLERS OR 
 "SEREINS" WHO JOURNEY TO AND FRO WITHOUT KNOW 
 ING HOW; AND CONCLUDES BY ILLUSTRATING THE PROVERB, 
 "HE IS POOR INDEED WHO CAN PROMISE NOTHING." 
 
 " I LON T G have dwelt in Romanic, 
 And made a trip beyond the sea; 
 Have had a fever twice while there; 
 And suffered damage everywhere. 
 But all the troubles I ve withstood, 
 In Syria, Rome, by field or flood, 
 Were naught, compared to my vexations 
 From travelling flats, in foreign nations." 
 
 TIBAUT, ROY DE NAVARRE, improved. 
 
 LORD BACON hath well remarked in his essays, "He that 
 travelleth into a country, before he hath some entrance into the 
 language, goeth to school, and not to travel." Since Bacon s 
 time, matters have materially mended in this respect. Phrase- 
 books are no longer absolutely indispensable, for every head- 
 waiter on the continent receives at present such an education that 
 he might, if so minded, relinquish at any time his situation for 
 the less lucrative appointment of Professor of Modern Languages 
 in a university. And not only the head-waiters, but many 
 others, of different employments and capacities. Did not my 
 friend Leon tell me how Harry, one day, on entering an obscure 
 little shop in the dirtiest corner of the Rue Serpent, was asto 
 nished, after inquiring, with great difficulty, " Avez voo doo eaude 
 soda? to hear the trim demoiselle reply, with incredible quick 
 ness, "Yes, sir, soda watair, and very nice ginger-biere, too 
 Messed if we haven t!" Ah, my friends, this is a great age we 
 live in ! 
 
 Yes, a very great age ; nevertheless, he who travels with only 
 one language, might as well undertake to run with one leg, if 
 information or pleasure be of any moment. Of all parts of a 
 young gentleman s education, the most expensive and difficult is 
 
16 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 that of putting him up to a thing or two, which can rarely be 
 effected abroad, solely through the medium of his native tongue. 
 It has been said (by Mrs. Catnip) that the most agreeable and 
 instructive things which we hear are intended for the ears of 
 others; and you are all aware, good friends, that foreigners are 
 not, generally speaking, in the habit of expressing such remarks 
 in the English language; although I have known rare instances 
 to occur, in which the natives, stimulated by a laudable excess of 
 caution, have breathed out their heart s secrets to each other in 
 that tongue, to the infinite delight of the John Bulls in the next 
 box. 
 
 Therefore, Theodore Augustus, mind your grammar. There 
 fore, Therese Maria, attend to the lessons of madame, for great 
 will be your reward in days to come. 
 
 Beware lest your personal appearance indicate "slowness." 
 Remember that this wicked world persecutes innocence, making 
 it pay for dinners and drinks that it never ordered. " He s vus nor 
 vicked he looks green," was the reason assigned by the butcher 
 for turning his only son out of doors ; therefore study in the first 
 place to make your outward man serve as a sign to indicate the 
 immensely wide-awake soul which lodges within. Remember that 
 there are vast numbers of people who, to use the words of Mon 
 taigne, "supportent phis malaysemcnt line rolbe, qu une ame de 
 travers" If jou wear a blue silk neckerchief, occasionally 
 white-spotted, with tweedish clothes and light cap, you will be 
 taken for English. If you dress in black from head to foot, 
 (and have in your trunk a black-glazed cap, and small whisp- 
 broom, "to sweep de cloze iciz" as I heard a Prussian once say,) 
 for an American. If in square-cut green frock-coat and braided 
 cap, for a German. The first is the most comfortable, the second 
 the most respectable, and the third the most economical; for 
 a landlord would as soon think of overcharging his own son as a 
 Dentscher. 
 
 AGLIONBY RALPH DE SQUILTERS was an English gentleman 
 of good estate, and an illustrious example of those who travel 
 without knowing how. lie never spoke "the d d language." 
 He always wanted black tea, and boasted of having rung for the 
 servants forty times in one day. And he always conversed in 
 English at the table-d hote, making very particular remarks about 
 the personal appearance of those present, occasionally getting 
 
CERTAIN TRAVELLERS DISCUSSED. 17 
 
 himself into scrapes, from which all the aplomb of a graduated 
 lorette would never have extricated him. I remember once, at 
 the Erzherzog Carl in Vienna, hearing him criticise the appear 
 ance of all present, from "the old file in yellow moustaches/ 7 
 down to " the little turnip-nose, who calls herself a countess," 
 until he settled upon the spectacles of a sedate, respectable old 
 gentleman, and wondered whether they were gilt or golden. 
 Great was the astonishment of Ag. de Sq. when the old gentle 
 man handed them to him, remarking, in English, " Perhaps, sir, 
 you would like to examine for yourself." Poor Squilters could 
 only give vent to an " Oh ah !" which sounded as if he had just 
 received a kick in the abdomen; when his victim added, " And 
 perhaps, sir, considering that the majority of those present under 
 stand English, you will be pleased to make your insolent remarks 
 in a lower tone of voice." 
 
 There is the indifferent traveller, who leaves his soul for safe 
 keeping with the landlord, or valet-de-place, or any chance "com- 
 pagnon de voyage" whom destiny may provide. There is the 
 suspicious traveller poor creature ! I have heard of a man who 
 fancied that he was the only bona-fide human being in existence ; 
 that all the brave men and merry maidens who circle over this 
 green world were demons or goblins, wearing the mere sem 
 blance of humanity; winking at one another when his back was 
 turned, and playing him incessantly a ghastly, insincere game of 
 life. About as agreeable must the life of that traveller be, who 
 ever fancies that all the inn-keepers, waiters, chance foreign ac 
 quaintances, etc., are banded together to cheat, swindle, and delude 
 him. Such travellers are not to be " done" not they! They lay 
 deep counterplots against the Machiavellian devices of their land- 
 kidies, and cheat themselves out of many happy hours, days, or 
 months, in order to avoid being a little comfortably cheated by 
 others ; urged, half the time, not by mercenary motives, but by a 
 mere nervous dread of being cheated ! 
 
 Ah bah ! the deuce carry for me the fifty thousand fools who 
 are at this moment "doing the continent," and the hundred and 
 fifty thousand who intend doing it as soon as convenient ! But 
 no; they must needs tumble round like the rest, and collect bon 
 bons and bonnes-fortunes, pictures, mosaics, cameos, and roman 
 tic adventures, at the lowest market price. They must needs be 
 flea-bitten, garlicked, sauer-krauted, diligcnced, vetturino d, table- 
 
18 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 d hoted, bal-masque"d, and humbugged, as their fathers were 
 before. 
 
 Hurrah ! then, I say, for travel ! Go on as ye have begun, 
 sweet friends ! and in fifty years every other house abroad will 
 be an Hotel dcs lies Britanniques ; every shop, devoted to the 
 sale of John Murray; and the natives, forgetting their respect 
 ive German, Italian, Polish, and Hungarian mother tongues, will 
 speak no language save bad French or worse English; and so 
 ciety, changed to its very roots, will consist of only two classes 
 those who travel, and those who minister unto their wants. 
 
 Reynautmon amy, let me depart in good humour! 
 
 Yes, let me talk myself into a good humour over the golden 
 visions, the wonderful scenes which I intend to reveal to your 
 enraptured eyes. For should time permit, nor inclination fail, I 
 will bear ye afar on the fresh wings of the spirit through the 
 purple light of spring into the black-letter, legendary land, far 
 far away. 
 
 Over the fountains, 
 
 And under the Avaves; 
 Over the mountains, 
 
 And under the graves. 
 
 Describing to ye meanwhile such matters as the quarrel I had 
 with my friend Herter, a student of law, for throwing a stone at 
 Lola Montez, the art of cheating custom-house officers, patent 
 blacking, the Lake of Como, true piety, evenings with the gri- 
 settes, spring fever, head-waiters, the raise a deux temps, and, to be 
 consistently inconsistent, an occasional flight of the most esoteric 
 nonsense which ever bewildered the common sense of an idiot. 
 Yea and the Lola Montez item above alluded to, and the 
 Jesuits, (not alluded to,) reminds me that I can, if I will, answer 
 the question so unblushingly put ages ago by St. Senanus of 
 
 -Quid foeminis 
 
 Commune est cum monachis? 
 
 Or, what constitutes the peculiar affinity of ladies for young 
 clergymen? In other words, Why hath "the muslin" such an af 
 finity for "the cloth?" These be subtle mysteries. 
 
 Out of the fulness of my heart, I will even copy down the 
 names of streets, the inscriptions on cook s shops and Gothic 
 cathedrals ; print my washerwoman s bills, verb, et lit. ; kick up 
 the diabfe a quatre ; tell tales out of school, and throw ye all into 
 
THE PEN IN THE INKSTAND. 19 
 
 mirific ecstasies. Zeit bringt rosen time brings roses. Wait 
 only, and see what dainty flowers will spring up from this root 
 of an introduction. Do you think that I will not do all this, and 
 more ? Give heed, my friends, to this my motto, which I drew 
 from Master Euphues Lylie s Anatomie of Wit: u Hennes do 
 not laye egges when tliey cluck, but when they cackle ; nor men set 
 forthe bookes wlien they promise, but whenne theye perform." 
 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND. 
 
 STYLUS IN PIXIDE THE PEN IN THE INKSTAND. 
 
 Munich, May 1. 
 "YE furniture was olde and badde, 
 
 It had a mustie smelle ; 
 I thinke upon such stooles as these 
 Ye damned doe sitte in Helle. 
 
 " Yet even thys I might haue borne, 
 
 Perhaps as muche agen, 
 Had not mine hostesse come eche daye 
 Toe borrowe inke and penne !" 
 
 " ROMAUNT OF YK SPOONE." 
 
 QUOT HOMINES TOT SENTENTI^. " So many men, so many 
 minds. " Everybody will, however, agree with me in the opi 
 nion that young lovers are terribly addicted to scribbling the 
 names of their dearests, and occasionally in most inappropriate 
 places. Gentle friends! I had just laid aside a nice rough 
 sheet of paper for this chapter, and left the room for an instant 
 to light a cigar. Enter my dear friend, Leonard, takes up 
 a pen, and absent-mindedly writes " Elo ise" over it, in as many 
 varieties of cacography. I enter discover the Eloises and 
 wish him forty times an Abelard for their sakes ! 
 
 Young ladies, however, as well as gentleman, are, and have 
 been in every age, addicted to meddling with other people s pens 
 and ink. 
 
 At my right hand lies a dusky black-letter folio a theological 
 affair: Moralisationum Reductorium super totam J3ibliam," 
 printed A. Dni. 1515. On the fly-leaf is written in faded ink 
 the following sentence : 
 
SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 "f. 33j>ri)frtr jou man fcc jjlate tfjat 50 pmtcs anfc jnfeonu 55 cjont for 
 fastest fiooman $n tfjsa toorlfoc fjauc tljtm fontuns t&at to f. afcros n 
 an& nuns mo, tfjc tojtf) tooma js jalltbr Jtlsaijtf) passinu tfjat 
 
 I often muse over this old fly-leaf, and, sooth to say, have dis 
 covered, either in it or in my own mind, many little romantic 
 passages, all inspired with sweet sunny. melancholy, with quaint 
 old conceits; with smiles and tears. How did the mysterious 
 "f. Byrherd" look, when he returned and found his "pennes" 
 and "ynkorne" vanished, " among the missing/ 7 and naught to 
 console him for their loss, save the comforting assurance of that 
 arch-villain Ambrose, that the fairest woman in this world had 
 hooked them? Who were the "many more," the mysterious 
 cloud of witnesses to this nefarious transaction, or where are 
 they? Passed away like dim clouds into the evening red; like 
 music heard in dreams; like phantoms into night! And the 
 beautiful, roguish, mischievous Elizabeth ? comes there through 
 the dusty halls of long centuries no echo of the fame of one who 
 was in her day the "fayr&t?" 
 
 "Fadeth swccte flower, and beauty pales away." 
 
 It may be further remarked that some one, with the same ink, 
 and apparently the same "pennc," has scrawled, with no clerkly 
 hand, lines all over the sentence, as if to render it illegible. But 
 as the said scrawling is done in a very light, careless manner, as 
 if merely to keep up appearances, without any serious intention 
 of spoiling the affair, the reader will agree with me that it was 
 probably executed by the fair hand of Miss Elizabeth herself, 
 who wished, of course, to sport a little modesty, and yet was not 
 at heart very seriously vexed at Monsieur Ambrose s compliment. 
 O girls ! girls ! you have always been the same in every age ! 
 
 Yes, indeed, have you. By Jove ! since I wrote that last sen 
 tence, I went out of the room, and, on returning, found that Miss 
 Anna had entered, and feloniously abstracted my writing-gear. I 
 " put" after the young lady and reclaimed the property, despite the 
 
 * "FRIEND BYRHEUD, you may be glad that your pennes and inkhorne 
 is gone, for the fairest woman in this world hath them, witness thereto friend 
 AMBROSE MITCHELL, and many more, the which woman is called ELIZABETH 
 PASSUNE that gave them." 
 
THE PEN IN THE INKSTAND. 21 
 
 mollifying excuse "that she had just taken penand ink to writeafew 
 lines to Cousin Becky !" This was an illustration of iny remark 
 which I little anticipated. Was there ever a gentleman whose scrib 
 bling plunder has not been walked off with, from time to time, by 
 the feminine part of the household ? Was there ever a gentle 
 man who did not grind out "Anathema!" etc. etc. etc. (or some 
 thing like it) from between his teeth, on such joyful occasions? 
 And, finally, is there a gentleman who will not agree with me 
 that this was probably the true reason why ladies have always 
 been prohibited from entering Roman Catholic monasteries, and 
 other retreats of literary clergymen. 
 
 "Nee te, nee ullam aliam 
 Admittainus in insulam." 
 
 Which signifieth: "It s all very well, Miss Ferguson; you re a 
 good-looking young lady, but you can t come in!" The holy 
 brother, after this speech, probably added, in a low tone, "More s 
 the pity!" 
 
 But the legend says nothing about that. 
 
 I declare I have conjured up quite a little picture from that 
 old fly-leaf. I fancy that I see pretty Elsabyth bearing off in 
 triumph poor Byrherd s pens and ink; an arch smile on her co 
 quettish face, while gallant Master Ambrose detains her for an 
 instant, to scrawl in Gothic hand the annunciation. Anon she 
 becomes interested, and peers over his shoulder, with all the mer- 
 rie " wytnesses ;" and when fully aware of the meaning, grasps 
 a pen, and makes as if she would fain obliterate the saucy com 
 pliment. Then the whole gay party bound away, leaving in 
 everlasting doubt and mystery the question as to whom she gave 
 the writing apparatus for the sentence is unfinished. 
 
 "And they are gone ; ay, ages long ago, 
 These lovers fled away into the storm" 
 
 And the eyes of the fair Elsabyth have grown dim, and merry 
 master Andrew laugheth no longer amid his gibes, his gambols, 
 his songs ; and the grave Byrherd hath passed silently away with 
 his books and his inkhorn into eternity and night, and that faded 
 fly-leaf is the sole fragile record of those who were once beautiful 
 and gay. Oh didmiri! Orgia! 
 
22 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRD. 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE LADIES. 
 
 "Early and late the sex I praise, 
 And fain their praises would deserve ; 
 The man who mocks at woman s grace, 
 And from my course would make me swerve, 
 I d straight attack with bitterest song 
 I praise the worthy, lovely dames 
 Who turn our minds from wrong." 
 
 HEINRICH FRAUENLOB, A. D. 1270. 
 
 EHRET DIE FRAUEN! And in good faith, most excellent 
 friends, it is high time that a little devotion, a little exclusive at 
 tention, some courtesy and politeness, or at least a few compli 
 ments, be paid to those excellent ladies, who have so kindly, so 
 generously, put themselves under my charge, and travelled with 
 out flinching through the previous chapter. 
 
 But as I believe it impossible for a gentleman to compliment the 
 gentler sex with as much zeal, tact, earnestness, and ingenuity as 
 they themselves have already employed in this noble pursuit, I 
 shall simply translate from the Italian a little golden book, or 
 tractatus, on the nobility and superiority of the female sex not, 
 however, by Cornelius Agrippa, but by a Venetian lady, who, 
 oddly enough, masquerades in her title-page as a French 
 woman. 
 
 THE VINDICATION! 
 
 A CURIOUS AND INTERESTING WORK OP THE NINE 
 
 THOUSAND, NINE HUNDRED AND NINETY- 
 
 NINE EXCELLENCIES AND 
 
 BEAUTIES OP 
 
 IN WHICH IT IS SHOWN THAT, FOR MANY REASONS, WOMAN 
 
 IS NOBLER AND MORE EXCELLENT THAN MAN ! 
 PUBLISHED BY MADAME ADRIANELLA OP PARIS. 
 
 PRAISED be the ETERNAL ARCHITECT and CREATOR of all 
 Things, that I was born a Woman, and not a Man, and I am 
 always thankful for the noble Title of Woman, w^ich hath been 
 
DEDICATED TO THE LADIES. 23 
 
 granted unto me; albeit that Men have often asserted their Su 
 periority, and with false reasoning blasphemed the Female Sex. 
 And such do I compare to Vipers, who immediately after Birth 
 seek with poisonous Teeth to slay their Mother. For even so 
 doth that Man, who, after being conceived and nourished by his 
 Mother, shows his Gratitude by speaking lightly of the Female 
 Sex. 
 
 Now will I prove that "Woman is far nobler than Man, and 
 put to silence, perhaps the Blush, those who have dared to find 
 Fault with so noble a Creature as Woman. 
 
 " Or vedi se tu sei Pazzo insensate 
 Se partorito Donna non t avesse 
 Dimmi, saresti tu al mondo nato ?" 
 
 And see what an insensate fool thou art ! 
 For had not Woman borne thee in her womb, 
 Wouldst thou have ever entered in the world ? 
 
 Aristotle, in his seventh Book on Animals, having philoso 
 phized on the internal Structure of Man and of Woman, finds 
 that the latter is more inclined to Pity and Compassion, and 
 therefore more merciful than Man. Now Compassion and Mercy 
 being the highest attributes of our Nature, we may well say that 
 Woman is far nobler than Man. 
 
 Solomon hath said (7 Prov.) that Man should receive Conso 
 lation from Woman. Now the Consoler is greater than the Con 
 soled; therefore is Woman superior to Man. 
 
 Nature itself hath established the superiority of the Female 
 Sex, by giving them smooth Faces, free from Hair, by which 
 they are distinguished from the BRUTE CREATION. But Man 
 hath not this distinction, and I therefore assert that Woman is 
 nobler tnan Man ! 
 
 We may not deny that the Thing moved is inferior to the 
 Mover. The Sun is superior to the Vapours which it attracts, the 
 Magnet to the Iron, the Amber to the Straws. But far more 
 excellent is Woman than the Hearts which she draws unto her, 
 even from distant Lands. Be silent, therefore, Man! thou 
 that art, most justly, the Servant and Slave of Woman. 
 
 If we speak of Names, it cannot be denied that feminine Ap 
 pellations are nobler than masculine; and if anyone should assert 
 that there is no nobler Name than that of Heaven, which in our 
 
24 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Italian Tongue is masculine, I reply that the Intelligence by 
 which the Heaven is governe d hath the true Superiority, and the 
 word Intelligence (La Intelligenza) is feminine. 
 
 This Excellence extends even unto the Names of Birds, for 
 the Phoenix, (La Fenice, ) of which, as the Egyptians have writ 
 ten, but One exists, and the Eagle, (VAquila,} which is Queen of 
 all, are both feminine in their Appellation. But all ferocious and 
 poisonous Animals have naturally masculine Names, such as the 
 Basilisk, which slays us with his Glance alone, not to mention 
 the Wolf, Bear, Dragon, Serpent, and Lion, which are all mas 
 culine. Be silent, therefore, Man ! for even the brute Beasts 
 do accuse thee, and not AVonaan, of having a vile Nature. 
 
 But if we look to feminine Names, we find that they are all 
 good. For Brevity s sake I will only mention a few, such as 
 Justice, Temperance, Fortitude, Chastity, Charity, Honesty, Holi 
 ness, Health, Religion, Reputation, Life, Peace, Glory, Mercy, 
 Beauty, Wealth, Humility, Fortune, Reason, Conco*d enough 
 to prove that Man is far inferior to Woman. Or look to the 
 Names of Cities, if we would establish yet another point in our 
 Favour. For we find : 
 
 L antica Roma, . . Rome the ancient. 
 
 La ricca Venezia, . . Venice the wealthy. 
 
 La gentil Partenope, . . Naples the agreeable. 
 
 La Superba Geneva, . . Genoa the proud. 
 
 La dotta Perugia, . . Perugia the learned. 
 
 La nobile Ferrara, . . Ferrara the noble. 
 
 LA LOQUACE SIENA, . . *. SIENNA THE TALKATIVE ! 
 
 La grassa Bologna, . . Bologna the fertile. 
 
 La forte Padova, . . Padua "] 
 
 La forte Mantoa, . . Mantua I 
 
 La forte Verona, [_ . . Veroni \^ stron S 
 
 La forte Malta, . . Malta J 
 
 La bella Fiorenza, . . Florence the beautiful. 
 All the Countries in the World have feminine Names: Italia, 
 Spagna, Francia, Turchia, Fiandra, (Flanders,) Grecia, Alemag- 
 na, (Germany,) Africa, India, Morca, Terra Santa, (Palestine,) 
 Lombardia, La Toscaua, La Marca, Puglia, and Calabria.* 
 Also all Islands and Fortresses. 
 
 * "And America." WOLF SHORT. 
 
WOLF SHORT. 25 
 
 Learning and wisdom also declare for the Nome donneschi, or 
 feminine Names, as La Filosofia, La Geometria, La Strologtd, 
 La Matimatica, La Fisica, La Chiruryia, (Surgery,) and La 
 nolilissima Musica, the most noble Art of Music. 
 
 Dost thou assert that Woman is deprived of Liberty, and not 
 Man ? I reply that precious Stones and rich Treasures are justly 
 locked up, and kept safe; sweet fruit Trees are surrounded by 
 lofty Walls, and of course Woman should be thus guarded, since 
 she is truly the richest Gem, the most inestimable of Treasures, 
 and delicious of Plants. 
 
 . CHAPTER THE FOURTH. 
 
 OP MY TRAVELLING COMPANION WOLF SHORT, AND WHERE 
 AND HOW I FIRST BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH HIM. 
 
 " EIN Genie ist uberall, 
 In Lapland und Amerika; 
 Sogar in Portugal, 
 In China und Siberien 
 Von jedem Menschen gern geseh n." 
 
 GERMAN COURIER S SONG. 
 
 "EL SENOR SHORT has been for the last week here at the 
 hotel, but left this morning for the Havana." 
 
 "The devil he did!" 
 
 Was there ever any thing so confoundedly vexatious ? To be 
 in Gibraltar alone was bad enough; but to know that a man of 
 sense, talent, and information had been within an ace of becom 
 ing my companion; and to know that if he had fraternized, all 
 ennui would have vanished like uncorked ether; and finally to 
 know that he had fairly escaped me, was enough to make a saint 
 swear. 
 
 And being no saint .... 
 
 I HAD heard of WOLF SHORT once before. While in New 
 York, I had been referred to him, as the only person who could 
 supply my elderly friend, Miss , with certain authentic ma 
 terials for her "GRAND COMPREHENSIVE SURVEY OF THE 
 
26 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, METSTER KARL. 
 
 AFRICAN RACE, AS IT NOW EXISTS IN DIFFERENT PARTS OF 
 THE WORLD." At her urgent entreaty, and supplied with a 
 letter of introduction, obtained HEAVEN knows from whom I 
 called at his hotel. He had departed no one knew whither. 
 Our proceeding had been conducted with all imaginary secresy, 
 but Short was too old a bird to be thus caught. He had taken 
 the alarm, and fled. On his table lay a card, on which was 
 written in round, deliberate-looking letters, the following shock 
 ingly unphilanthropic message : 
 
 " Devil take the African Race. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " WOLF SHORT." 
 
 The men who remain at a table d hote, after the dessert are not 
 unfrequently of an original and decided cast of mind. The la 
 dies, being lightest, (I mean most aerial,) are naturally blown 
 away by the first puff of a cigar. Then the young gentlemen 
 depart, on their evening visits, and are speedily followed by the 
 sober married men, leaving the field in possession of the old 
 bachelors and philosophers. 
 
 I was thus seated after dinner in the long salle-ci-manger of the 
 Hotel de V Europe in Venice. The broad windows admitted the 
 cool evening breeze, and at the same time afforded a magnificent 
 view of the city, which, in the rays of the setting sun, seemed 
 steeped in a golden-crimson bath. Beneath lay the Grand Canal, 
 already crowded witt gondolas, whose occupants were hastening 
 to the opera. Caring nothing for the new piece of Verdi s an 
 nounced for that evening, I had remained quietly smoking in my 
 chair. As this is a favorite conversation-hour, I began to scan 
 the faces of my fellow-boarders, seeking for one in which infor 
 mation and urbanity were combined. 
 
 At the head of the table were half a dozen of those " jolly 
 dogs," who in every hotel seem to draw together by intuitive 
 attraction ; men who dice with the landlord for champagne, talk, 
 swear, and sing in many languages, and make more noise than 
 all the rest of the company together. At my right hand sat a 
 fat old Austrian colonel, conversing earnestly with an unfortunate- 
 looking young gentleman from Vienna, who had made himself 
 conspicuous during dinner by describing, in a loud tone, the pro- 
 
WOLF SHORT. 27 
 
 cess of picking and packing oranges, as performed in Sicily. 
 None of these individuals (save indeed the jolly dogs) seemed 
 worth knowing. * 
 
 Directly opposite sat a quiet, unobtrusive-looking man, in brown 
 moustaches. So remarkably silent had he been, that I had 
 during dinner hardly noticed his presence. He might have been 
 any thing a diplomatist or a chef de police an author or a bag 
 man. But one could readily perceive by the expression of his 
 dark eyes that he was no fool. 
 
 Master Euphues Lyly, in his Anatomic of Witte, expressly 
 cautions travellers in Italy against chance-acquaintances. " Be 
 ware V saith he. "It is nature of that country to sifte stran 
 gers; every one that shaketh thee by the hand is not joyed to see 
 thee in heart." 
 
 Had I followed the advice of sweet Master Lyly on this occa 
 sion, the world would have been a loser. All the wit, poetry, 
 and philosophy latent in the soul and writings of that transcend 
 ent genius Wolf, (to be published immediately after the next 
 great revolution in Timbuctoo, caused by the rise in pearl- 
 powder,) would have remained to the present day sub rosa under 
 a tea-kettle; I myself would have missed making a friend, and 
 the evening would have gone to the 
 
 For the short gentleman in brown moustaches was no other 
 than WOLF SHORT himself ! 
 
 " Ich that mich zu ihrn setzen ich sah ihm in s Gesicht, 
 Das schien mir gar befreundet und dennoch kannt ich s nicht. 
 
 " Da sah auch mir in s Auge der fremde Wandersmann, 
 Und fiillte meinen Becher, und sah mich freundlich an. 
 
 "Hei ! was die Becher klangen, wie brannte Hand in Hand. 
 Es lebe die Liebste, deine Herzbriider, im Vaterland. " 
 
 W. MUELLER. 
 
 I AM indebted to Wieland s Abderites for the idea developed 
 in the following sentence : 
 
 There are certain men in this world, who have the happy fa 
 culty of knowing and understanding each other, and of becoming 
 friends, as soon as they meet. Let the one be of Anglo-Saxon 
 and the other of Chinese blood, the chances are ten to one that, 
 in five minutes conversation, they will have remembered to have 
 
28 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 heard of each other at least have found out twenty acquaint 
 ances in common. There is more true warmth in their first 
 meeting than many men show to their best friends; ?nd yet, if 
 they meet again at intervals of years, the reunion is like that of 
 friends who have but recently parted. 
 
 A man of this description is termed by Rabelais, " Bon Gaul- 
 tier et Ion compagnon." In German-student slang he is known 
 as a " kreutz fiddcr Kcrl, und wackrer Kumpan" I should call 
 him, myself, a Jolly Good Fellow, which expression, correctly ren 
 dered, means a gentleman, a scholar, and a man of the world. 
 
 JOLLY GOOD FELLOWS form the only true republicans in 
 existence. For they know and recognise at a glance each other s 
 peculiarities and excellences, whatever be their rank in this 
 world. I have met with two or three who were princes; several, 
 police agents; six or eight, commercial travellers ; many more, 
 military men; a sprinkling of students; one pirate; and any 
 cfuantity of Catholic priests, more particularly Jesuits. 
 
 Of course I admit modifications and variations from the rule. 
 Many are obliged, in the way of business, to deviate very con 
 siderably from those principles of courtesy and gentleness which 
 form the mainspring of good fellowship. But I need not preach. 
 Until a man becomes Bon Gaultier himself, he will never under 
 stand the term, and when he does, there will be no need of ex 
 plaining it to him. For a poetical example, the reader of Byron 
 may recall Don Juan s companion in slavery : 
 
 "Who wept upon his first wife s dying clay, 
 And also when the second ran away." 
 
 "BiBAMtis, FRATERCULE!" cried the Wolf, as the cork from 
 the third bottle of champagne shot upward like a meteor against 
 the under lip of the fresco Venus on the ceiling above, leaving 
 thereon a fashionable imperial u Bilamus, fratercide!" The 
 bright stars are flashing through the dark midnight, like the eyes 
 of a Signora through her Carnival -mask ; the evening breeze 
 comes cool and pleasant from the Lido, yet bears on its wings no 
 sound save the ripple of the waters, and the faint cry of the dis 
 tant gondolier. Lo, we sit above all, alone with the night; and 
 therefore drink ! Is not this hour sacred to Bacchus ? 
 
 The cold foam-wine leaped from its flask, like a brook bursting 
 from the icy bonds of Winter. 
 
WOLF SHORT. 
 
 29 
 
 " He was right," cried the Wolf, " who found in the Ionic, the 
 Corinthian, and the Doric, symbols of the girl, the matron, and 
 the man. With as much reason do I find in drinking-glasses a 
 similar typification. The mighty German Pokal, which has kept 
 its form unchanged from the Middle Ages, is a giant knight, who 
 looks down on all. The Hock glass is a quaint and most vene 
 rable matron, of the same period. But thou, Champagne I" 
 he continued, apostrophizing his brimming beaker " in thy glass 
 do I clearly discern the form of a slim and graceful maiden. And 
 like the Elixir of Love in thy human archetype, dost thou foam 
 in thy crystal prison I" 
 
 "Villanous Wolf !" I cried, "wilt thou linger splashing and 
 puddling on the margin of the stream of poesie ? Spring boldly 
 in, and give a song !" - 
 
 "Am I a wolf," he replied; "and do I not therefore remember 
 the fate of a classical lupus who once attempted to sing? I have.^ 
 not forgotten .^Esop !" 
 
 "Howl, then, Bisdaveret! Garwal, Wehr Wulf, Man 
 Wolf, or Loup Garou but let the song be forthcoming!" 
 
 Thus adjured, the Wolf seated himself at the piano, and sang, 
 to an inspiriting, row-dowdy, Low Dutch air, the following verses : 
 
 THE SONG OF GOOD FELLOWS. 
 
 I SING of Good Fellows 
 
 Of every degree: 
 By land or by water, 
 
 On shore or at sea ; 
 In dress-coats or petticoats, 
 
 Bonnets or hats, 
 In h aicks, or in sheep-skins, 
 
 In blankets or mats : 
 Who ever in all things 
 
 Right bravely agree ; 
 For such are good fellows, 
 
 Wherever they be. 
 
 I sing of good fellows, 
 
 Whatever their lives, 
 As monks or as milliners, 
 
 Captains or wives ; 
 Of the good and true-hearted 
 
 Who laugh at the world, 
 Yet are happy, wherever 
 
 By destiny hurled ; 
 
 Who enjoy all its folly, 
 
 Yet from it are free ; 
 And such are good fellows, 
 
 Wherever they be. 
 
 I sing of good fellows, 
 
 And this is their sign ; 
 They rail not at laughter, 
 
 Love, music, or wine; 
 And fear not lest pleasure 
 
 Should swamp them below, 
 Or that those who are merry 
 
 Must overboard go ; 
 Yet who moderate in all things 
 
 And temperate we see ; 
 And such are good fellows 
 
 Wherever they be. 
 
 I sing of good fellows 
 Who hold to their word, 
 
 Who are true as the sabre, 
 And fast as the cord; 
 
30 
 
 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME ; MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Who think what they speak, 
 
 Speak not all that they think, 
 And will stare at the Devil 
 
 Or Death, till he wink ; 
 Who from lying or trembling 
 
 Or shifting are free ; 
 And such are good fellows, 
 
 Wherever they be. 
 
 I sing of good fellows : 
 
 Kind-hearted are they; 
 Not spiteful or cruel, 
 
 Or wounding " in play ;" 
 But, regarding the feelings 
 
 Of all as their own, 
 Ne er draw from the soul-chords 
 
 A dissonant tone; 
 Who are gentle and courteous, 
 
 While gallant and free; 
 And such are good fellows, 
 
 Wherever they be. 
 
 I sing of good fellows : 
 GOD send us some more ! 
 
 The Earth hath not many, 
 
 Though Heaven hath store; 
 Stout-hearted companions, 
 
 Well buckled in pride, 
 Who flinch at no trifles, 
 
 Whatever betide ; 
 Who twixt honour and goodnes 
 
 No difference can see; 
 And such are good fellows, 
 
 Wherever they be. 
 
 I sing of good fellows : 
 
 Ohj could there be found 
 A land of delight, 
 
 Where good fellows abound; 
 A gentleman s heaven 
 
 Below or above, 
 And governed by Courtesy, 
 
 Honour and Love ; 
 To Elysium or Eden 
 
 I never would flee, 
 But the Land of Good Fellows, 
 
 Wherever it be. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTH. 
 
 IN WHICH THE AUTHOR DISCOURSES WILDLY OF LIKES, DIS 
 LIKES, LADIES, ALLEGORIES, METAPHYSICS, AND OLD GEN 
 TLEMEN; IN WHICH, LAYING ASIDE THE PEN, HE MOUNTETH 
 THE TABLE AND LECTURETH. 
 
 ALLAH! IL ALLAH! Bismillah, Caftan, Kibob al Squibob, 
 Salaam Aleikoom ! Go it, in the name of the Prophet ! Has 
 san Oglou is on, Hassan Oglou is on, the infidel dies in the breath 
 of his nostrils. My steam is up, and I am down upon the Giaours 
 and children of Satanai like a thousand of brick. Terror spreads 
 majestically around me, like the roar of a lion over the darken 
 ing desert ! 
 
 ALLAH ! IL ALLAH ! In the name of the Prophet ! figs ! 
 For once I have sharpened up my sabre, poisoned its sdge, and 
 put rusty copper slugs in my pistols. Hurrah ! en avant I Brim 
 stone, aquafortis, and red pepper ! The Berserker fit is on me. 
 
THE AUTHOR LECTURETH. 31 
 
 I am more spiteful than an old wild-cat, and a tan-yard grin shall 
 be the mildest glance I ll wear. Hoo-oo-oui ! Clear the track ! 
 fa na balla! 
 
 My Friends : I have determined to lecture you to-day on the 
 persons that I hate. The thermometer is at 103 Fahrenheit in 
 the shade, with indications of a speedy rise. Flocks of flies and 
 myriads of mosquitos are dancing lovingly around. My gold 
 pen has just spun out of the window into a crowd ! The one I 
 am using is VILE. Yes "things are working!" 
 
 I HATE, I HATE my friends, I hate essentially a man of that 
 kind known in French as a "fat." A pudding-brained piece of 
 humanity living only for his own sweet self, utterly unconscious 
 of the fact that other hearts, better and gentler than his own, are 
 beating around, yet whose vanity is not without a certain n diveti 
 which would be amusing or half-attractive, were it not for his 
 utter impregnability to the true, spirit of noble thoughts and 
 deeds of high emprise. Such a man gets comfortably through 
 life, though all the higher sources of pleasure are closed to him. 
 He is fortunate with the women, for, as La Bruyere remarks, 
 women like men of this description, because they take care of 
 themselves ! He is not vain of his conquests, because he con 
 siders them as naturally his due as his salary or rents. He thinks 
 over them, without thinking much about them, and without the 
 slightest spark of gratitude to any woman for giving him her 
 heart. For verily, I tell you, friends, that Pity may be allied to 
 Love, but Gratitude is an essential part thereof. A man may 
 have had his scores or hundreds of bonnes fortunes ; he may 
 have quarrelled with, or run away from, or jilted, or have been 
 jilted by them all ; but if he has one single spark of high-toned 
 gentleness or cavalier feeling in him, he will never recall a single 
 lady-love without a sincere thrill of gratitude for the early gift 
 of her heart. 
 
 I HATE, I HATE yes, my friends, I hate with a crimson-plush 
 hatred of twenty-four carats and fifth-proof, those persons who, 
 without a tinge of education or accomplishment, and lacking in 
 refinement, obstinately revile the noblesse of society for not giving 
 them a place in their ranks; and, blindly ignoring or stupidly 
 making but very little account of these all-important attributes, 
 resolve at every risk to push onward and upward; supposing, for 
 sooth, with a second-rate fool s knowledge of the world, that in 
 
32 SKETCH-BOOK OF. ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 every salon the staple of conversation consists of trivialities, per 
 sonalities, and scandal ! On they go, ever mumbling to them 
 selves, "Are we not as good as anybody?" "Free and equal by 
 birth !" and similar platitudes. They stop before a statue to talk 
 of Mrs. Grundy, and, having seen it, think that they know as 
 much thereof as the artist who created it. They presume well-edu 
 cated persons to be exceptions to the general rule to be merely 
 occasional moral curiosities, more wonderful than useful. Children 
 of Eblis ! may the black wind of the desert blow ye all from be 
 fore my path into Vam pyre-Land ; and may the burning belt of 
 an envenomed malediction pin you by the skirts to the red gate 
 of the House of Wrath, there to remain till a week after never, 
 when dinner has been forgotten, and consequently no crumb left ! 
 Be ye Anathema Maranatha in secula scculonim! i 
 
 I HATE, I HATE worse than salt in my coffee do I hate a lady 
 who sustains the reputation of being sarcastic, less by wit than by 
 rudeness. Still more do I hate her, when, having at last met 
 with a vigorous and unexpected repulse * 
 
 Pretty talk this, I must say ! Pretty goings-on these ! Pretty 
 language this, to my fellow-beings ! What, I- Karl railing at, 
 abusing, and reviling people with all the villainous vituperation 
 of an old polemic or a furious cabman! I hate, do I? And 
 pray, worthy Meister, who, in the name of Herr Urian, gave thee 
 leave to hate ? Show your ticket ! Pasquin and Marforio, what 
 a man ! And to make confusion worse confounded, thou Karl 
 wert beginning to ; hate a lady ! ! ! I 
 
 Now during the interval above noted there sprung up a cool 
 breeze, and John brought me something with a straw in it. And 
 the imperial cramoisi vengeance of the downward-careering and 
 madly-murdering Grand Turk Tchassan Oglou, Esquire, sweetly 
 and mellifluously melted into the gentle Norman Folko de Mont- 
 faucon vein, in which may I live and die ! JVow, I feel as ami 
 able as Longfellow s prose as trim as Willis s Letters. 
 
 Enough of thyself Basta proceed ! 
 
 I LIKE (ah, here we have it !) I like to recall a 
 lady acquaintance; par exemple, such a one as I made yesterday 
 evening. Made, I say, for though we have known each other for 
 a long time, it was but yesterday that I understood her. Amiyos 
 
THE AUTHOR LECTURETH. 33 
 
 friends ! How often it happens that in this world of disguises 
 we walk among angels and know them not, till some chance word 
 or sign throws open the whole spiritual Freemasonry of our souls. 
 Oh, blessings on those looks and tones 
 
 which dart 
 
 An instant sunshine through the heart I" 
 
 Blessings on the dimly-glowing twilight hours when they took 
 place! Blessings on the perfumed memories of the time and 
 place ! Blessings on all things and everybody, from the hyssop 
 which groweth on the wall to the cedar which shingleth the top 
 most roof of lofty palaces ! Blessings on you and yours ! 
 
 " And thus spake he : 
 
 It was an hundred years ago, 
 
 I tell the tale as it was told to me, 
 
 Many are going and many will go, 
 
 But they for evermore passed on : 
 
 An hundred years ago. 
 
 Many are going many will go ; 
 
 But whither, oh whither, who shall know ?" 
 
 Crede experto Roberto ! And the ladye saide to the graye Friar, 
 (< Dieu vous garde!" 
 
 Reader, are you giddy ? Does your head swim ? . Do you know 
 where you are ? Go gently over the stones ! In the last few 
 sentences, owing to the etherealizing nature of the souvenir of 
 that young lady, we have been lifted or elevated from the land 
 of Thought into that of pure Feeling, or ABSTRACT SENTIMENT. 
 We have risen from Ideas to the Ideal, and have altogether 
 quitted Common Sense for Inspiration, and Roast Beef for Am 
 brosia. We are in the third sphere of heat and dryness, whose 
 Lord is Arael of the Sephiroth ! Of course it is now immaterial 
 whether I write English or Russian; of but little importance 
 whether you comprehend me, and not the slightest consequence 
 whether I comprehend myself. Let me therefore, while in the 
 vein, shoot for a while like a fiery rocket transcendentally upward, 
 never heeding though I should in time dart dcscendentally down 
 ward, like unto the stick ! And now, while thus inspired, per 
 mit me to mention to those who, like myself, have been unable 
 to fathom the drift, meaning, or object of this lecture or chapter, 
 that it is in reality an allegory ! 
 
 Yes, an Allegory. Regnant! reader my friend, if thou 
 art not a dweller in that land of spirits known to theosophical 
 
34 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Demiurgists as Fiddler s Green, to little purpose have I mata- 
 grabolized this chapter, if thou hast not therein detected divers 
 mirifical mysteries, quintuply titillating thy psychological auri 
 cular! mysteries which smack more richly than strawberry 
 juleps or old Mocha ! mysteries equal to ripe kisses at the con 
 clusion of a break-down Polka, a tearing Schottisch, or a d table 
 of a deux temps embalmed in Bouquet de Caroline, and conse 
 crated by white kids and camellias ; mysteries elaborated from 
 all the combined and collectively-conglutinated wisdom of Hermes 
 Trismegistus, Jacob Behmen, Basilides, Bardesanes, Valentinus, 
 and George Sand, not forgetting the venerable chief of this school, 
 known in Germany as Sir Urian, or Der Tciifel! mysteries 
 dimly touched upon in Campanclla, Thomas Moras, Telesius, 
 Fourier, Cabet, Lady Agnes Bury, and the girl in the red cap. 
 
 Also who smoked in the omnibus ? Who struck Billy Pat 
 terson ? "Who wore the white hat, or the claret-coloured coat ? 
 Who throw dat last brick? Who was the Man in the Iron 
 Mask, or the unknown Student of Bohemia ? Who first ate an 
 oyster? Who wrote the Book De Tribus Impostor ibus, if Bern- 
 hardus Ochinus did not ? Or did anybody ever write it at all ? 
 
 Yet all of these questions, including much more important 
 matters , are answered in this chapter, albeit as through a glass 
 darkly, and in a manner which is but very little more difficult 
 to comprehend than the " Mystcrium Magnum." They are here. 
 
 Lanner s Ankunft, the Concert Polka, and Yosef Yung l s 
 " Sounds from Home". Laplace s Mecanique Celeste, "The 
 Celestial Vision," and LA BELLE DES BELLES. Ulpian, Fearne 
 on Remainders, and Fleta. St. Rosalie and Moss-roses. Mile. 
 Augusta and St. Augustine. The moral of all which is, that 
 man is to pursue his own true and substantial happiness, or 
 strive not after mere simulacra, eidolas, or phantoms; ergo, fear 
 GOD and honour thy lady-love, putting the greater first, and the last, 
 not least, as the French Troubadour and gallant gentleman did, 
 when he inscribed on his shield, "Notre Dame et ma Dame!" 
 
 I LIKE By-the-way, reader, talking of likes, did you ever 
 meet before with a person with a disposition so much like your 
 own? It has been evident from the beginning, " There are two 
 of us" as THE LITTLE MASTER said to his horns. Nevertheless, 
 it is barely possible that we may not agree. 
 
 There be two varieties of discriminating readers ! 
 
THE AUTHOR LECTURETH. 35 
 
 First Those who would fain distinguish between the good 
 and the bad. 
 
 Secondly Those who would willingly distinguish between the 
 real and the sham, or between what they like, and what they 
 think had better have been left unwritten. 
 
 If there be any who pretend to belong to the first class, and 
 also to find fault with me, I shall liken their piety unto the wings 
 of the ostrich, which serve, not to exalt him to heaven, but to 
 skim more readily along the surface of the earth. 
 
 And I intend taking such measures, that those of the second 
 class who condemn me, shall find like a tiger inveigled into a 
 trap by his reflection in a mirror that they are not only caught 
 themselves, but have cut their paws into the bargain! 
 
 Great words, if thou canst only make them good ! 
 
 I LIKE, par exemple, my friends, that bold and beautiful 
 theory of a German geologist, who, in a "grete l>oke," attempted 
 to prove that the pyramids of Egypt were enormous crystals or 
 natural excrescences of the earth. Not so absurd after all, if we 
 start with Goethe s Time-spirit speech as the secret of Nature ! 
 
 " In Being s flood in Action s storm, 
 I work and weave above beneath ! 
 
 Work and weave 
 
 In endless motion, 
 
 Birth and Death, 
 
 And infinite ocean, 
 
 A seizing and giving 
 
 The Fire of the Living : 
 Tis thus at the roaring loom of Time I ply, 
 And weave for GOD the garment thou seest him by !" 
 
 For the spirit, moving in curves and infinitely varied tones 
 among the many-hued elements, brought forth in time and place 
 crystals, winds, trees, fishes, clouds, paving-stones, and raisins. 
 And the spirit took up one new element that of humanity 
 and moved in the brains and arms of MAN as Thought and Force, 
 and behold, new crystals, winds, clouds, fishes, and paving-stones 
 were developed or generated. Ha, Beau Sire ! Ha, Belle Gorye ! 
 Lovest thou Oken and Schelling, and a Natur- Philosophic ? 
 
 Hence, thou accursed phantom or rather thou Hell-Hebe 
 with a poisoned opium-chalice of Pantheistic philosophy and 
 Teutonic metaphysics ! Away to thine infernal Nifelheim or 
 Cloud-Goblin-Land ! Sink who may in its be-devilled swamps, I 
 
 4 
 
36 
 
 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 at least will be clean ! There is blood on thy hand, and a Death- 
 in-Hell behind thy mask. I fear and hate thee! "Abi a me 
 mala bestiaqusemeperdidisti!" as Agrippa said to his devil-dog 
 APAGE ! 
 
 Has she passed away -gone? No! the fascinatress is still 
 there by me white, witch-like, and beautiful in the moon-rays. 
 Ai ail loveliness unutterable ! agony and despair ! 
 
 " Bright, beautiful Devil, 
 
 Pass pass from me now ! 
 For the damp dew of Death 
 
 Gathers thick on my brow ! 
 And bind up thy bosom, 
 
 Nor beauties disclose, 
 More dazzliugly white 
 
 Than the wreath-drifted snows. 
 And away with thy kisses; 
 
 My heart waxes sick, 
 As thy red lips like worms 
 
 Travel over my cheek ! 
 
 "Ha! press mo no more with 
 
 That passionless hand ! 
 Tis whiter than milk, or 
 
 The foam on the strand ; 
 Tis softer than down, or 
 
 The silken-leafed flower; 
 But colder than ice thrills 
 
 Each touch at this hour ; 
 Like the finger of DEATH, 
 
 From cerements unrolled, 
 Thy hand on my heart falls 
 
 Dull, clammy, and cold. 
 
 "Now mountain and valley, 
 
 Frith, forest, and river, 
 Are mingling with shadows 
 
 Are lost to me ever ! 
 The sunlight is fading, 
 
 Small birds seek their nest, 
 And happy souls, flower-like, 
 
 Sink sinless to rest. 
 But 7 tis no matter; 
 
 Kiss, kiss cheek and chin, 
 Kiss kiss thou hast won me, 
 
 Bright, beautiful Sin !" 
 
 RABELAIS AND DIEDRICII KNICKERBOCKER! what a night 
 mare I ve had! What a fearful dream! I thought pah? it 
 
THE AUTHOR LECTURETH. 37 
 
 sickens me ! that I was turning Transcendentalist, and that the 
 fiend of German metaphysics, disguised as a black-eyed Sophia, 
 had grahbed my soul! Ergo bibamus! and oh, gentlemen, if you 
 lo^e me, give me a cigar, (au diable with the meerschaum now !) 
 and talk about the Opera. 
 
 (SINGS CHEERILY.) 
 
 " Oh, Life, my dear, at best or worst, 
 
 Is but a fancy-ball ; 
 Its greatest joy a wild galop, 
 
 Where madness governs all ! 
 And should they turn its gas-light off, 
 
 And never leave a spark, 
 Still I d find my way to Heaven or 
 
 Thy lips, love, in the dark ! 
 
 " Tol de rol tol de rol ! demme rol de rido ! 
 
 V Hast thou ever been in Paris ? 
 
 Dost thou know the Upper Ten ? 
 Canst thou flirt it with the ladies, 
 
 And champagne it with the men ? 
 Art thou posted up on Polkas ? 
 Wilt thou" 
 
 All right now, my friends : pardon the digression ! 
 
 I LIKE that is to say, I like to travel about the world and see, 
 feel, and experience all that there is therein most quiet or strange, 
 usual or marvellous, bizarre or beautiful. Chiefly do I like the 
 hum of new cities, and the constant intercourse with every variety 
 of human nature ; the commercial traveller and the diplomatist, 
 the officer and the artist, the noble and the peasant, the delicate 
 countess, the fat old dowager, and the beautiful, sparkling gri- 
 sette. Chiefly do I like the society of the stout, solid, grave, 
 respectable, middle-aged citizens, who hold their own, and have 
 in their time known the world, with its manifold changes and 
 troubles ; men who have had losses. My friends, there is an in 
 finite vein of rich, glorious romance in the stout old bourgeoisie 
 and retired citizens, of which I will venture to say you have not 
 the faintest inkling. Many a man among them has in his foam 
 ing, rushing youth experienced emotions, seen adventures, of 
 which no one now dreams, and which, closely bottled up in the 
 demijohn of memory, now influence him in sober, profitable 
 reflections, such as you, mes gaillards my merry blades will 
 not have the privilege of enjoying for many a long year to come. 
 
38 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 The spiritual majority take my word and that of the Suabiana 
 for it is at forty ! But two nights since I spoke with such an 
 one, with beard of formal cut, and fair round belly with good 
 capon lined, and said unto myself, " That man has in his time 
 written poetry, and since done better tkuiys." To you, young 
 ladies and gentlemen, who are still incapable of comprehending 
 the romance of respectability latent in your worthy papas and 
 uncles be they merchant-princes, merchant-packers, or merchant- 
 pedlars I would say, that a faint gleam thereof may be disco 
 vered in attentively studying the paintings of Rembrandt : who, 
 by far the most romantic and dreamy of artists, consequently 
 comprehended better than any man the true aristocracy and glory 
 of the bourgeoisie. Those things, dearly beloved, Hike and 
 shall like, now and ever, till death do us part ! ADIEU ! 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTH. 
 
 THE OLD BOOK, OR THE LITTLE PROPHET OF BOEMISCHBRODA. 
 
 ONE morning, while rambling with some friends on the Pont 
 Neuf, the attention of Meister Karl was drawn to a curious pile 
 of ancient works on one of the numerous second-hand bookstands 
 which there abound, and which were favourably mentioned by 
 Voltaire. The proprietor was an old friend of the Wolf, and 
 smilingly assured him in a torrent of broken English that he had 
 just received a terrible number of interesting works of great an 
 tiquity. "Ah sare, Meestare Short, I ave got one such col-lec 
 tion of bookes, zat you will be fri-ten-ed ! Every sing ees new, 
 and zey air all ve-ry old! Ah, messieurs soche dam bookes 
 you nevare did see. Zere is politique, theologie, facetiae, and all 
 ze ees. Zere is one bundil which was stolen from the Enfer of 
 the Bibliotheque Roy Nat I mean Imperiale, ze oder day, and 
 which you shall buy by Gar, you shall buy whethare you will or 
 not for almost not-ting!" 
 
 There was no resisting such an appeal, and we accordingly 
 proceeded to examine the praised assortment. Suddenly the 
 Count d Egerlyn exclaimed 
 
 "Here is an eccentric little work which I read some twenty 
 
THE LITTLE PROPHET OF BOEHMISCHBRODA. 39 
 
 years ago, and, strangely enough, in this very copy. As it is 
 really curious, I will read it aloud to you this afternoon. But 
 how odd that I should find it here I" 
 
 " There is something," replied Yon Schwartz, "very grateful 
 in thus meeting with relics of our by-gone days. It is like un 
 expectedly finding an old friend in some distant country, and 
 seems a special admonition to cherish the memory of scenes and 
 times which we should never forget." 
 
 The work was of course purchased, and not only read, but also 
 translated, as appears by the following chapters. Some one once 
 told me the name of its author, but I have forgotten it, and it 
 does not occur in Brunet or Kaisar. All that I know of it is 
 that it was written in 1757. 
 
 THE LITTLE PROPHET OF BOEHMISCHBRODA. 
 
 (FROM THE FRENCH.) 
 
 HERE are written the thirteen chapters of the prophecy of GABRIEL JOHANNES 
 NEPOMUCENUS FRANCISCUS DE PAULA WALDSTORCH, known as WALD- 
 STORCHEL, native of Boehmischbroda, in Bohemia, Philosoph. et Theolog. 
 Moral. Studio in Colleg. Mai. R. R., P. P., Societ. Jes., son of a discreet and 
 honourable person, EUSTACHIUS JOSEPHUS WOLFGANGUS WALDSTORCH, master- 
 maker of musical instruments, and dealer in violins, dwelling in the Juden- 
 gasse of the Alt Stadt in Prague, near the Cannes, at the sign of the red violin ; 
 and he hath written them with his hand, and he hath called them his vision. 
 
 CANTICUM CYGNI BOIIEMICL 
 
 CHAPTER FIRST. 
 THE THREE MINUETS. 
 
 AND I was in my garret, which I call my chamber, and it was 
 cold, and I had no fire in my stove, for wood was dear. 
 
 And I was wrapped in my cloak, which was once blue, and is 
 now become white, since it hath been much worn. 
 
 And I practised on my violin to warm my fingers, and I fore 
 saw that the carnival of the coming year would be long. 
 
 And the Demon of Ambition whispered in my soul, and I said 
 to myself 
 
 "Come, let us compose minuets for the Redoubt of Prague; 
 let my glory fly from mouth to mouth, and let it be known 
 throughout the world and all over Bohemia. 
 
 4* 
 
40 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 "And let the world point me out, terming me the Composer 
 of Minuets, xar s^nyr^, which is to say, par excellence. 
 
 11 And let the beauty of my minuets be everywhere spoken of, 
 both by those who shall dance and those who shall play them, 
 and let them be performed during the fair of the Jubilate at 
 Leipsic, in all the taverns, and let the world exclaim 
 
 " l Behold the beautiful minuets of the Carnival of Prague; be 
 hold the minuets of Gabriel Johannes Nepomucenus Franciscus 
 de Paula Waldstorch, student of philosophy; behold the minuets 
 of the GREAT COMPOSER ! Behold them ! " 
 
 And I abandoned myself to all the chimeras of pride, and I 
 intoxicated myself with the vapour of vanity, and cocked my 
 hat. 
 
 And I folded my arms and marched with dignity up and down 
 the garret, which I call my chamber, and said in the drunken 
 ness of my ambitious projects 
 
 " How happy will my father be to have an illustrious son ! 
 My mother will bless the belly which hath borne me, and the 
 breasts which gave me suck S" 
 
 And I continued to delight myself in the bewilderment of my 
 ideas, and held up my head, which by nature is not remarkably 
 high. 
 
 And I was heated by ambition, although there was no wood 
 in the stove, and I said 
 
 " How admirable is it to have an elevated soul, and what great 
 things are developed by the love of glory!" 
 
 And I put on my cloak, which was once blue, and is now 
 white, since it hath been much worn, and I took my violin, and 
 I composed on the spot three minuets in succession, and the se 
 cond was in minor. 
 
 And I played them upon the violin, and they pleased me much ; 
 and I played them again, and they pleased me more; and I said 
 "But it s a fine thing to be an author!" 
 
 CHAPTER SECOND. 
 THE VOICE. 
 
 AND suddenly my chamber (which is only a garret) was illu 
 minated with a great light, although there was only a farthing 
 candle upon the table. 
 
 (For I burn a candle when I study music, for then I am gay; 
 
THE LITTLE PROPHET OF EOEHMISCIIBRODA. 41 
 
 And I burn cheap oil when I study philosophy, for then I am 
 sad.) 
 
 And I heard a voice as of one roaring with laughter, and the 
 laugh was louder than the sound of my violin. 
 
 And I was irritated at being mocked, (for I am naturally averse 
 to mockery.) 
 
 And the voice, which I did not see, said to me 
 
 "Be angry no longer, for I laugh at and mock thy rage; and 
 thou art naturally averse to mockery. 
 
 " Lay aside thy wrath immediately, and renounce thy glorious 
 projects, for I have annihilated them, because they are contrary 
 to mine. 
 
 "And another shall compose minuets for the Carnival of 
 Prague, and thine will not be played at the Fair of Leipsic, for 
 thou wilt not have written them ! 
 
 "For I have chosen and elected thee from among thy com 
 panions to announce hard truths to a frivolous and stiff-necked 
 people, who will mock thee, (although thou art naturally averse 
 to mockery,) because they are indocile and trifling, and they will 
 not believe in thee, because thou wilt have spoken the truth. 
 
 "And I have chosen thee for that, because I do what seems 
 good to me, and give no account of it to anybody. 
 
 "And thou wilt not have composed the minuets, for it is / 
 who tell thee so." 
 
 CHAPTER THIRD. 
 THE PUPPETS. 
 
 AND a hand seized me by the queue of my hair, and I felt 
 myself transported through the air, and I was thus carried from 
 Thursday to Friday, wrapped all the while in my cloak, which 
 was once blue, and is now white, since it is much worn. 
 
 And I arrived in a city of which I had never before heard 
 speak even to that day; and its name was PARIS; and I saw 
 that it was very great and very dirty. 
 
 And it was in the evening, about the fifth hour of the day, 
 that I found myself in an exhibition-room, where crowds were 
 entering. 
 
 And my heart throbbed with joy, for I love fine shows, 
 and, although not rich, do not mind the expense when I go to see 
 them. 
 
42 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 And I said to myself, (for I love to talk to myself when I have 
 time ) 
 
 " Without doubt they will in this place play Tamerlane and 
 Bajazet, with great puppets ;" for I found the hall too splendid 
 for a mere Punchinello show. 
 
 And I heard the tuning of violins, and I said " Doubtless 
 they will have the serenade, and make the little puppets dance, 
 when the great ones have said their say." 
 
 For I found the theatre quite large enough for that ; and also 
 that there would .be some difficulty in making the puppets go in 
 and out between the scenes, which were very close together; and 
 also that there was plenty of room on the stage to dance at least 
 six puppets, which would be a very fine sight. 
 
 And although I had seen many puppet-shows in my life, never 
 had I beheld one like this, for the decorations were superb, and the 
 boxes richly gilt ; every thing in great taste and remarkably clean. 
 
 And in all the travelling theatres of the German comedy I had 
 never seen any thing which could approach it, although they have 
 men to act in them, and not puppets. 
 
 But, although the decorations which we have are brighter than 
 these, (for they are varnished with varnish and without regard to 
 expense,) I found that these would have been much finer than 
 ours, had they been varnished in the same manner. 
 
 CHAPTER FOURTH. 
 THE WOOD-CUTTER. 
 
 AND while I thus spoke to myself, (for I love to speak to my 
 self when I have time,) I found that the orchestra had begun 
 playing, before I was aware, and that they played something which 
 they called an overture. 
 
 And I saw a man who held a stick, and I supposed that it was 
 to chastise the bad violinists, many of whom I heard among the 
 good players, (the latter being few in number.) 
 
 And he made a noise as if he were splitting wood, and I was 
 astonished that he did not dislocate his shoulder, and the strength 
 of his arm terrified me. 
 
 And I reflected, (for I love to reflect when I have time,) and I 
 said to myself 
 
 " Oh, how talents are misplaced in this world ! and yet how 
 genius will still show itself, put it where you will!" 
 
THE LITTLE PROPHET OF BOEIIMISCIIBRODA. 43 
 
 And I said " Had this man been born in the house of my 
 father, which is a quarter of a league distant from the forest of 
 Boehmischbroda in Bohemia, he would earn as much as thirty 
 pence a day; his family would be wealthy and honoured, and his 
 children would live in abundance. 
 
 " And the world would say ( Behold the wood-cutter of Boeh 
 mischbroda! behold him! But his talent, I dare say, avails 
 him very little in this shop, where he can hardly earn bread to 
 eat and water to drink/ 
 
 And I heard that this was called beating time; but although it 
 was very powerfully beaten, the musicians did not play together. 
 
 And I began to sigh for the serenades which we, the students 
 of the Jesuits, used to perform at night in the streets of Prague, 
 for we kept time, although we had no stick. 
 
 And the curtain rose, and I saw cords at the bottom of the 
 theatre which were cast out. 
 
 And I said to myself " Certainly they will be attached to the 
 head of Tamerlane, and there will be a great procession of pup 
 pets after him, (for there were many cords,) and they will open 
 the scene in this manner, and the sight will be magnificent." * 
 
 And I thought it stupid that they had not tied the cords to 
 the heads of the puppets before raising the curtain, as we do, 
 for I have a good judgment. 
 
 CHAPTER FIFTH. 
 THE BLACK EYES. 
 
 NOT at all! And I saw a shepherd arrive, and the people 
 cried " Behold the God of Song ! behold him !" And then I 
 knew that I was in the French Opera. 
 
 And his voice nattered my ears, and his plaints touched me, 
 and he expressed with art all that he would; and although he sang 
 slowly he did not weary me, for he had soul and taste. 
 
 And I saw his shepherdess arrive, and she had great black eyes, 
 to which she gave a gentle expression to console him, as was 
 necessary, (for he told her so.) 
 
 And she had a light and brilliant voice which rang like silver, 
 and it was pure as the gold which runs from the furnace, and she 
 sang well songs which were not well, and her windpipe gave shape 
 and form to things which were flat. 
 
44 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTEB KARL. 
 
 And although the music was vile and poor, it did not seem so 
 when she sang; and I said "Ah, thou deceitful one I" for she 
 was full of art, and her skill deluded me. 
 
 And I said to myself, (for I love to speak to myself when I 
 have time ) 
 
 "No doubt this shepherd and shepherdess have enemies, who 
 compel them to sing in puppet-show shops, in order to spoil their 
 voices and injure their lungs. " 
 
 For I smelt a smell of oil and tallow which almost poisoned 
 me, born though I be in the forests of Boehrnischbroda in 
 Bohemia, where the air is thick; although I have made all my 
 studies with the aid of a lamp whose oil is not good, for it is 
 only eight-penny oil; and I have studied to advantage, (for I am 
 learned.) 
 
 And in the sincerity of my heart I began to curse the enemies 
 of the shepherd and shepherdess, for their voice and song pleased 
 me, although the music troubled me ; and I began to pity their 
 unhappy lot, and to grow sentimental, and continued to curse, 
 (for I am wicked when angry.) 
 
 CHAPTER SIXTH. 
 LA MAGICIENNE. 
 
 AND when my shepherdess, whom I call mine because she 
 pleased me, had consoled my shepherd, whom I call mine because 
 he gave me pleasure, and when they had mutually caressed each 
 other to their hearts content, and had nothing more to say, they 
 went away. 
 
 And I saw a woman come, and she took great steps, and came 
 to the edge of the stage and frowned, and I inferred that she was 
 in a bad humour. 
 
 And she seemed to threaten, which irritated me, for I am of a 
 quick disposition, and dislike menaces; and one who sat by me 
 said " She means me;" and his neighbour said "No, she means . 
 me!" 
 
 And I tried to imagine what reason she could have for being 
 angry, for her entire part was a sad one, and I perceived that it 
 was impossible to guess ! 
 
 And she held in her hand a wand, which was mysterious, (for 
 80 the poet had said,) and by means of this wand she knew every 
 
THE LITTLE PROPHET OP BOEHMISCHBRODA. 45 
 
 thing, and could do every thing, except stuff, which she could 
 not do, although she thought she could. 
 
 And I heard her give horrible cries, and her veins swelled, 
 and her face became red as Tyrian purple, and her eyes stuck 
 out of her head, and she frightened me. 
 
 And I thought that those who sing at the Eagle of Saint 
 Apollonia von Wischerade, even when well foddered and soaked, 
 could never strive with their lungs against the lungs of the sor 
 ceress ; and I said 
 
 " Oh that they were only here to listen to her, that they might 
 have their pride lowered ! and when we students touch the hat 
 to them, they would salute us more politely in return/ 
 
 And she raised the dead by the sound of her voice, although 
 she made the living flee for their lives. And I said to myself 
 "No doubt that those who are dead and buried in this shop have 
 all naturally a false ear for music. " 
 
 And an old man came on the stage, whom the woman with the 
 wand called young, (for so the poet had made him,) although he 
 was more than sixty years old. And he gargled in his throat 
 before all the audience, while pretending to sing. 
 
 And I found that very disrespectful; and his gargling con 
 tinued, and his part was finished; and I said "Does this man 
 then require so much preparation in order to sing? One would 
 do well to say to him Speak thy part without singing, for thou 
 wouldst speak it well/ " (for I have good judgment, and can ad 
 vise well.) 
 
 And his gargling made me laugh; but when I was about to 
 ridicule him, he affected me by his action, and I saw that he was 
 a venerable man, for he was dignified and noble, and gesticulated 
 as never man gesticulated. 
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTH. 
 LA CHACONNE. 
 
 AND I saw a man who did better than he, and the audience 
 cried: "LA CHACONNE! LA CHACONNE!" And he did not 
 speak, and I admired him, for he showed his body, and his arms, 
 and his legs, on every side, and he was fine-looking; and when he 
 turned round he was still fine-looking, and his name was Dupre. 
 
 And I saw a peasant arrive with his company, and I supposed 
 that these were musicians in disguise, as they evidently were, foi 
 
46 SKETCH-LOOK OF ME, MEISTEE KARL. 
 
 they wrote upon the stage the air which they played; and by 
 their steps I counted the notes of every measure, and the reckon 
 ing was just; and I admired their dance, for I understand music; 
 and their name was Lany. 
 
 And I saw dancers and leapers without number and without 
 end; and they called it a festival, although it was none, for there 
 was no joy there; and they would not cease; and I inferred that 
 these people were never weary of jumping, although they had an 
 air of weariness, and wearied me and the rest. 
 
 And their dances troubled the actors at every instant; and 
 when they were in the best part of the dialogue, on came the 
 jumpers, and the actors were obliged to hurry into a corner and 
 make room for them, although the festival had been gotten up 
 expressly on account of the actors, (for so the poet had said;) 
 and when they had any thing to say, they were permitted to ad 
 vance and say it, but always under the condition of being sent 
 back again into their corner when they had concluded. 
 
 And I thought that we do the thing better, for our actors have 
 nothing in common with the dancing-girls, and always conclude 
 before the latter arrive. (I say what I think.) 
 
 And I determined that the poet had sufficient reason for being 
 angry with the dancing-girls, who came to interrupt the conversa 
 tion of his actors, without assigning any reason for said interruption. 
 
 And I thought it very good-natured of him to make the actors 
 call the dancing-girls, when they had nothing to do with them ; 
 and although he said that they had something to do, I believed 
 not a word of it, for they actually had nothing to do. 
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTH. 
 LE RECUEIL. 
 
 AND I wearied myself for two hours and a half listening to a 
 collection of minuets and airs which they called javottes, and 
 others which they termed rigadoons, and tambourins, and contre- 
 danses, the whole intermingled with fragments of song such as 
 we hear in our vespers, even unto this day, with several songs, 
 the tunes of which I have heard played in the different quarters 
 of Prague, and particularly at the sign of the White Cross, and 
 at that of the Archduke Joseph. 
 
 And I remarked that this was what in France they called an 
 opera, and I noted it down in my tablets in order to remember it. 
 
THE LITTLE PROPHET OF BOEHMISCIIBRODA. 47 
 
 CHAPTER NINTH. 
 LA HAUTE CONTRE. 
 
 AND I was glad to see the curtain fall, and said in my heart 
 "Let me never see thee raised again I" 
 
 And the voice which was my guide began to laugh, and I felt 
 that it was laughing at me, which irritated me, for I am natu 
 rally averse to mockery. 
 
 And it said "Thou shalt not yet return to the Redoubt of 
 Prague, and thou shalt not yet return, for I do not will it. 
 
 " And thou shalt pass the night here in writing what I will 
 dictate to thee, that which is to be announced to this race 
 which I once loved, and which is now become odious to me on 
 account of its numerous weaknesses. 
 
 "And thou shalt publish them, if thou canst find a publisher 
 who will undertake it; for the spirit of falsehood hath seized 
 upon the printing-offices, and truth is no longer printed with ap 
 probation and privilege." 
 
 And I obeyed the voice, because my mother has often said to 
 me "Be docile." And I said to the voice which addressed 
 me "I submit to thy will; but if thou hast pity on me, and if 
 thou dost not desire to punish me in the excess of thy rigour, 
 
 "Only hinder them from singing while I write, and deliver me 
 from the fear of seeing that thing which they call an opera begin 
 again : for their songs have afflicted me ; their sports have troubled 
 my spirit; their sadness is mawkishness, and when they are gay, 
 they weary me." 
 
 And the voice said in its kindness " Calm thyself, for thou 
 art my son, and I cherished thee before thou hadst composed the 
 three minuets for the carnival of Prague, of which the second is 
 in minor. 
 
 "And they will sing no more, and thine ear shall be in peace, 
 for they are very weary; and the actors, and the wood-cutter, and 
 the violinists of the orchestra have need of repose, for the next 
 representation is at hand." 
 
 And I judged that for the benefit of the lungs it were better 
 to blow a horn in the forest of Boehmischbroda, from the rising 
 of the sun even unto the going down of the same, than to sing 
 the haute contre three times a week in the opera-shop. 
 
 5 
 
48 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 CHAPTER TENTH. 
 THE CORNER. 
 
 AND the voice quieted me, and ordered me to sit in a cor 
 ner which is called the corner of the queen s side, since it is 
 under the box of the queen, even unto this day : 
 
 And although very dark, was yet occupied by very enlightened 
 men, for there the philosophers, and wits, and the elect of the 
 nation assemble even unto this day; and the reproved shall not 
 enter there, for they are excluded. 
 
 And good and bad is spoken there; the word and the thing. 
 And there the word is heard which breaks the heart of the bad 
 poet, and the thing which terrifies the bad musician. 
 
 And it is never dull there, for they listen but little and speak 
 much, although the sentinel frequently says "Messieurs, aycz 
 la l>onti de laisscr la voix !" "Silence, gentlemen, if you 
 please !" 
 
 And they pay no attention to the sentinel, for they love better 
 to speak than listen to the stuff called singing. 
 
 And when everybody had left the theatre, and many bad 
 things had been said of that which they termed an opera, I drew 
 my tablets from my pocket and said to the voice 
 
 " Speak, that I may write thy will, and that I may announce 
 it to the people whom thou callest light and fanciful, although 
 their songs are heavy and stupid ; and whom thou callest gay 
 and lively, although their opera is sad and dreary." 
 
 And the voice which had spoken to me, became powerful, vehe 
 ment, and pathetic ; and I wrote : 
 
 CHAPTER ELEVE^ T TH. 
 HERE THE REVELATION BEGINS. 
 
 " WALLS, which I have raised with my hand as a monument 
 of my glory ! O walls, formerly inhabited by a people whom I 
 called mine, since I had elected them from the beginning to make 
 them the first nation in Europe, and to bear their glory and 
 renown beyond the limits which I have laid down to the uni 
 verse : 
 
 " city! thou that callest thyself great because thou art large, 
 
THE LITTLE PROPHET OF BOEHMISCHBRODA. 49 
 
 and glorious because I have covered thee with my wings ! listen 
 to me, for I am about to speak. 
 
 " frivolous and trifling race ! people inclined to defects, 
 delivered to the madness of thy pride and vanity ! 
 
 " Draw nigh, that I may square accounts with thee I, that 
 can, if I will, count thee as nothing; draw nigh, that I may 
 confound thee in thine own eyes, that I may write thy contemp 
 tible folly upon thine arrogant forehead in every European lan 
 guage." 
 
 CHAPTER TWELFTH. 
 THE TRANSMIGRATION. 
 
 <l THOU didst stick in the mire of ignorance and barbarism; 
 thou didst fumble round in the darkness of superstition and stu 
 pidity y. thy philosophers wanted sense, and thy professors were 
 idiots. In thy schools they spoke a barbarous jargon, and Gothic 
 mysteries were played in thy theatres. 
 
 " And I pitied thee from my heart, and I said to myself 
 This is an agreeable race; I love its fanciful spirit and gentle 
 manners, and will make it my people, because I choose to do so ; 
 and it shall be the first, neither shall there be another nation so 
 nice as it. 
 
 u And its neighbours shall see its glory, and shall not be able to 
 approach it. And it will amuse me when I shall have formed it 
 according to my will, for it is naturally pleasant and agreeable, 
 and I love to be amused/ 
 
 " So I drew forth thy fathers from the abyss where they were, 
 and I dissipated the darkness which covered thee, and I bade 
 the day draw near to enlighten thee ; and I have placed in thy 
 bosom the torch of science, literature, and art. 
 
 "And I opened the gates of thine understanding, that thou 
 mightest comprehend that which was hidden; and I formed and 
 filled thy soul, and gifted thee with all gifts, and gave thee taste, 
 and sentiment, and finesse for thy inheritance. 
 
 "And when I might have enlightened with my torch the 
 Briton, and the Spaniard, and the German, and the native of the 
 North, (since nothing is impossible to me,) I nevertheless did not 
 do it. 
 
 " And when I might have left the arts and letters in their 
 
50 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 own country, where I had caused them to be revived, I neverthe 
 less did not so : 
 
 "For I said unto them, Arise, and go forth out of Italy unto 
 the people whom I have chosen in the abundance of my kind 
 ness, and into the country where I shall in future dwell, and 
 to whom in my mercy I have said < Thou shalt be the land of 
 all talent. " 
 
 "And I have given thee all the crowd of philosophers, from 
 Descartes and the philosophers of the Encyclopaedia down to 
 him to whom I have said * Create Natural History ! 
 
 "And the numberless multitude of poets, wits, and artists. 
 
 "And I assembled them all into an age, and they call it the 
 Age of Louis the Fourteenth, even to this day, in remembrance 
 of all the great men whom I have given thee, from Moliere and 
 Corneille, who are called Great, to Fare and Chaulieu, who are 
 called Neglected. 
 
 " And although the age be passed, I pretended not to perceive 
 it, and have perpetuated in thy midst a race of great men and 
 extraordinary talents. 
 
 " And I have given thee poets, and wits, and painters, and 
 sculptors of great ability, and numberless artists, and men ex 
 celling in every thing, from the great even unto the small. 
 
 " And I have given thee celebrated philosophers, and opened 
 their eyes that they might see that which thou couldst not see j 
 and they saw well, for they explained those things which were 
 not clear, even unto themselves. 
 
 " And I have created a man expressly for thee, in whom I 
 have assembled all talents and all gifts, for he was endowed as 
 man had never been before. 
 
 " And I created yet another man of profound understanding 
 and sublime conception, and said to him, See; and he saw; 
 and I inspired him, and gave him the Spirit of Laws, (Esprit 
 dcs Lois,) and he gave them to thee, and made thee see that 
 which thou wouldst never have seen in the littleness of thy sight 
 and the weakness of thine eye. 
 
 "And his glory is remembered by thy neighbours even unto 
 this day." 
 
THE LITTLE PROPHET OF BOEHMISCHBRODA. 51 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. 
 LE SOUFFLET. 
 
 "BUT since my benefits have caused in thee defection and 
 disobedience ; since they have made thee proud, and thy vanity 
 and presumption have risen to their height; 
 
 "And since thou hast abandoned common sense and sound 
 judgment; and since thou hast cast thyself into frivolity and 
 into the dissipation of ideas, which are void of sense ; 
 
 And since thou dost every day decide about things on which 
 thou hast never reflected ; 
 
 " Although in my mercy I have hitherto laughed at thy inso 
 lence, and have seen thy impertinences with the eye of patience; 
 
 "And I have hidden thy shame and thy decay from thy neigh 
 bours, and have inspired them with respect and admiration for 
 thee as if, forsooth, thou hadst not lost all taste for the great 
 and the beautiful ; 
 
 "And have hindered them from seeing thee rampant in the 
 littleness of thy ideas ; 
 
 "Yet mind what I say: I will revenge myself of thy strange 
 blindness, and thy measure shall be full. 
 
 " And I will harden thine ear until it shall be like unto the 
 horn of the buffalo; and in thy quarrels thou shalt be like the 
 wild ass of the desert. 
 
 "And the Italian Farce shall inspire the spirit of thy politics, 
 thine art, and thy literature. Thou shalt witness gross farces 
 hundreds of nights in succession, and the worse things become, 
 the more delight wilt thou find therein, for thou wilt be stupid. 
 
 "And indecency and blackguardism will not choke thee, 
 and manners will be openly outraged in thee, (for thou wilt have 
 none,) and thou wilt not know good from evil. 
 
 "Philosophers shall no longer enlighten thee, and thou shalt 
 be in all good things, generally speaking, below par. 
 
 "And no respectable man will dwell in thee, for I will desert 
 thee." 
 
 And the voice was silent, and I, Gabriel Johannes Nepomu- 
 cenus Franciscus de Paula "Waldstorch, called Waldstorchel, 
 Philosoph. et Theolog. Moral, in Coll. Mai. RR, PP, Soc. Jes 
 Studios, native of Boehmischbroda in Bohemia I wept over 
 the lot of this people, for I have naturally a tender heart. 
 
52 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME ; MEISTER KARL. 
 
 And I would fain have interceded for them, because I am 
 good and was tired of writing, for I had written a long time. 
 
 And I was wrong, for the voice was angry, and I received a 
 box on the ear, and my head bumped against the pillar of the 
 corner, which is, for aught I know, called the queen s corner 
 even unto this day. 
 
 And I awoke turning a summerset, and found myself in my 
 garret, which I call my chamber, and found my three minuets, 
 of which the second is in minor. 
 
 And I took my violin, and I played them, and they pleased 
 me; and I played them again, and they pleased me more; and I 
 said "Let me be quick with the rest, for two dozen are neces 
 sary !" But I no longer felt in me the force of genius, for the 
 thing which they called an opera, with its damnable humming 
 and scraping, kept running in my head; and I made many notes, 
 but no minuets; and I cried in the bitterness of my heart " Oh 
 that I had finished the two dozen before the vision!"* 
 
 CHAPTEK THE SEVENTH. 
 
 THE GAST-HAUS IN PRANKFORT-ON-TIIE-MAIN. 
 
 "Op do reyse moet men doen als de bien, en niet als de spinne-coppen." 
 
 FLEMISH PROVERB. 
 ["Travellers should act like bees, and not like spiders."] 
 
 "To what hotel, sir?" 
 
 "To the first." 
 
 Midnight in Frankfort at the beginning of the annual fair ! 
 I knew that all the hotels would be crowded, and applica 
 tion to at least a dozen would be necessary ere a room could be 
 secured; as it indeed proved, for the "Roman Emperor" was 
 full; the "English" and "Russian Courts" fuller; and the 
 " Schwa n" and " Weideiibusch" fairly overflowing. The land 
 lords were in high feather, charging double prices, and happy as 
 angels; while the waiters and police ran around busy as devils. 
 Dim visions of hiring the Lohnkutscher s vehicle as a temporary 
 
 * Since translating "The Little Prophet," I have ascertained that it was 
 written by Grimm. NOTK BY MKISTER KARL. 
 
THE GAST-HAUS IN FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAIN. 53 
 
 residence, and eating wherever it might please Destiny, flitted 
 past the gate of my soul; but the coachman drove them away 
 with the remark, "If the Herr would not mind roughing it for 
 the night, I could take him to a quiet little tavern near by : to 
 morrow may bring better things/ 7 
 
 On we went, up one street and down another, through court, 
 lane, and alley, until I thought that the Cretan Labyrinth had 
 come again. After cliassiing all over the city, we stopped at 
 the low door of a house whose overhanging stories and old- 
 fashioned carvings indicated, if not respectability, at least age; 
 while the double tin triangles which swung and creaked over the 
 door, gave the usual German intimation of beer and schnapps. 
 
 " Du licler Gott!" swore the stout little landlord, bustling to 
 the door, casting a wink of recognition to my driver. "I have 
 but one room left. Lieschen, see to the gentleman s trunk/ 7 
 
 A good-looking, black-eyed girl appeared, and shouldering my 
 baggage, led me through a long, low-arched passage, across a 
 court-yard, into the most singular-looking apartment I had seen 
 for many a day. On three sides of the room boxes of cigars were 
 evenly piled, so that not an inch of wall, and but one window was 
 visible. On the fourth or door-side stood a heavy little table, 
 with two intensely-polished, black-brown oaken chairs, as sup 
 porters. Their high backs were formed like shields, in whose 
 midst was the inscription, I. v B. ANNO UDMPT. 1540; an im 
 mensely high Flemish beer-tankard, its top surmounted by two 
 affectionate angels, and its sides incrusted with all manner of 
 Low-Country ornaments and hieroglyphs, stood upon the table, 
 with three coffee-cups and as many gilt liqueur-glasses kneel 
 ing in adoration at its feet. Add to this a very German bed, 
 with an ordinary mirror, and some highly-coloured devotional 
 prints hung against the wall, and you have my long-sought 
 room. 
 
 Yv T ith some little difficulty I found my way into the large 
 spcise saale, or eating-room of the establishment, in which at a 
 long table sat a party of solid-looking Burgers, with their glasses 
 and pipes. I assumed a chair among them, and began, as the 
 Germans say, to " orient tr en," or conjecture the character of my 
 new neighbours. They were all men of nearly the same caste 
 Frankforters and citizens. A fresh-looking, elderly gentleman, 
 with purple cap and long gray locks, who was frequently addressed 
 
54 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 as " Herr Professor" seemed to be the don of the party. But 
 my researches were quickly stopped by a lively, " What would 
 the gentleman be pleased to have?" from the landlord. 
 
 " Beef-steak, potato-salad, a bottle of Forster-Traminer, and 
 hold a cigar. Don t say you haven t any, for I know the con 
 trary." 
 
 This allusion to my room called forth roars of laughter from 
 the company, and a thousand apologies from the landlord, with a 
 promise of speedy removal to a better. 
 
 " Ei, was!" cried my vis-a-vis. "The landlord, it seems to 
 me, most honourable sir, has paid you a high compliment in thus 
 embalming you, like a noble and costly vanilla-bean, in his to 
 bacco-box, as we call the room." 
 
 This was evidently an old joke of the establishment, but I had 
 been a Turk not to laugh. 
 
 "Permit me to wish you a very good appetite," said my 
 neighbours, bowing politely, as the supper and wine appeared. 
 
 The steak was good; the wine superb. 
 
 "Permit me to wish you a very good digestion," exclaimed my 
 friends, bowing as before, when Lieschen disappeared with the 
 fragments. 
 
 This intensity of politeness served as oil to the wheels of con 
 versation, which now revolved with wonderful celerity. The 
 assembly was too gloriously and genially German to render a 
 cigar advisable. Ordering another flask of Traminer, I hauled 
 forth a mighty meerschaum, and in a few minutes was running 
 high tides with the rest. Gluck, gurgle, and puff. New sup 
 plies of beer, wine, and tobacco continually made their appear 
 ance, while the increasing rattle of conversation, and an occa 
 sional couplet sung in no sober tones, clearly indicated their in 
 fluence. "Hurra! hurra! juclici! juvivallerala!" shouted one 
 who seemed to have attained the very acme of excitement of 
 which a German is capable. " Meine Ilcrrcn, ich bin bin be- 
 soffen ! Gentlemen, I confess intoxication ; but let Herr Johann 
 take his guitar, and strike up !" The landlord bowed, and taking 
 down an old instrument from the wall, burst into a Low-Dutch 
 camp-song, with which, however, the whole party seemed fa 
 miliar, roaring out the refrain, and banging and clattering upon 
 the table with their pipes and glasses, as if breakage was of no 
 consequence. The song was as follows : 
 
THE GAST-IIAUS IN FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAIN. 55 
 
 WEL, ANNE MARIE KEN, waer gaet gy naer toe toe ? 
 
 Wei, ANNE MARIEKEN, waer gaet gy naer toe? 
 
 Ik gane naer buiten al by de soldaten. 
 
 Hopsasa, falhala ANNE MARIE. 
 
 Wei, ANNE MARIEKEN, wat gaet gy daer doen doen ? 
 
 Wei, ANNE MARIEKEN, wat gaet gy daer doen? 
 
 Haspen en spinnen soldatjes beininnen. 
 
 Hopsasa, falhala ANNIE MARIE ! 
 
 Wei, ANNE MARIEKEN, hebt gy er geen man man ? 
 
 Wei, ANNE MARIEKEN, hebt gy er geen man ? 
 
 Heb ik geen man ! ik kryge geen slagen. 
 
 Hopsasa, falhala ANNE MARIE ! 
 
 Wei, ANNE MARIEKEN, hebt gy er geen kind kind? 
 
 Wei, ANNE MARIEKEN, hebt gy er geen kind? 
 
 Heb ik geen kind ! ik moete niet zorgen. 
 
 Hopsasa, falhala ANNE MARIE ! 
 
 ENGLISH. 
 
 AND where are you going to, ANNE MARIE RIE? 
 
 And where are you going to, ANNE MARIE ? 
 
 I m off on the tramp to where soldiers encamp. 
 
 Hopsasa, falhala ANNE MARIE. 
 
 And what will you do there, my ANNE MARIE RIE? 
 
 And what will you do there, my ANNE MARIE ? 
 
 I ll knit and I ll spin, a lover I ll win ! 
 
 Hopsasa, falhala ANNE MARIE! 
 
 And seek you a husband, my ANNE MARIE RIE ? 
 And seek you a husband, my ANNE MARIE ? 
 Husband ! oh, no ! he might give me a blow. 
 Hopsasa, falhala ANNE MARIE ! 
 Well, have you an infant, sweet ANNE MARIE RIE ? 
 Well, have you an infant, my ANNE MARIE ? 
 Infant I ve none I m better alone. 
 Hopsasa, falhala ANNE MARIE !* 
 
 Ending the song with a loud hei hurraJi, the worshipful com 
 pany clasped hands and danced madly around the landlord, who 
 continued to beat his guitar and roar out the hopsasa falhala cho 
 rus. Staggering to their chairs, they resumed their places, calling 
 loudly on a certain Herr Becker for the soldier s funeral oration ! 
 
 Herr Becker, a quizzical-looking genius of forty, with his 
 broad-brimmed hat cocked keenly down over his left eye, inti 
 mated his acquiescence by taking the head of the table ; a pro- 
 
 * Arthur O Leary very correctly points out the incorrectness of Sir Walter 
 Scott s putting a German song into the mouth of the Dutch smuggler Dirk 
 Hatteraick. But I am describing not composing. 
 
56 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 ceeding greeted by such a thunder-storm of approval, that I feared 
 lest my ears might give way. Nor was it until the ceremonies had 
 fairly begun, that I ascertained their reason. On a distant settee 
 lay one of the reverend signers, very decidedly dead drunk, and 
 the survivor- were now about to honour his memory with a funeral. 
 
 Captain Becker for the funeral was to be done en militaire 
 with the largest carving-knife the house afforded, held sword-wise 
 in his hand, now gave the word of march. Rat-tat-too, rat-tat-too, 
 the feet of the companions beat a death-march under the table, 
 rapping meanwhile upon it with their fists. The Ilerr Professor 
 trumpeted through his closed hand, while the Wirth performed 
 something like military music upon his guitar. Not a smile was to 
 be seen; all was done with an earnest and most German gravity. 
 
 li Halt!" roared the captain. " Make ready! present! fire!" 
 With the first word the company were silent; with the second, 
 all their chairs were tilted back on the hind-logs; and withyzre, 
 all came smacking together on the floor with a crash which af 
 forded no bad imitation of a discharge of musketry. 
 
 " Alle Teufel! Who s that firing out of time?" roared the 
 captain, as one of the privates toppled heavily backward, and 
 went down, chair and all, with a thump which shook the 
 house to its foundations. 
 
 " Potz donner wetter und sappcrme?it !" roared the recumbent; 
 out of time! why, my gun s burst, and I m maimed for life. 
 Help, all good Christians help !" 
 
 For the worthy man, wishing to produce an extra report, had 
 indeed overloaded his piece by leaning too far backward. But he 
 was speedily righted, and his wounds healed with a fearful 
 draught of beer. 
 
 Then the captain, who had in his time made two sessions at 
 Heidelberg as a student of economie, arose, and with great dig 
 nity harangued his company : 
 
 "Silence there, gentlemen and fellow-sinners! In dulci Ju- 
 bilo, I cry aloud : let the sight of yonder corpse stimulate you, 
 if not to decency, at least to silence." 
 
 Here the worthy man made a false step, and had nearly fallen; 
 recovering himself, he cried 
 
 " Gressus mcos dirigc oh, direct my foot-steps ! Let us not 
 go astray, as yonder sinner went. Parce servo tuo. But a few 
 hours since, and he sat here sound as a sausage ! Ach, du lieber 
 
THE GAST-HAUS IN FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAIN. 57 
 
 Gott, der war alter ein kreutz fideler Kerl! (Oh Lord! but lie was 
 a glorious fellow !) and now er ist nicht mchr, (he is or eats no 
 more,) and drinks no more !" 
 
 Here the captain evidently became bewildered, and lost him 
 self in a perfect chaos of slang and blasphemy, bursting at last 
 into scraps of song, in the vain hope of starting a new train of 
 ideas 
 
 "Vinum bonum et suave, 
 Bonis bonum, pravis prave, 
 Cunctis dulcis sapor, ave, 
 Mundana Isetitia." 
 
 " Wohl auf ihr gesellen in die tavern ! 
 
 Aurora luce rutilat, 
 Ach lieben gesellen, ich trink so gern 
 Sicut cervus desiderat." 
 
 Understood by no one in the room save myself and the professor, 
 who continually hammered the most frantic approbation on the 
 table 
 
 " Deus in adjtttorium meum intende e, 
 Spoke a pretty little nun oh, she was fair to see : 
 Inclinate capita vestra ! 
 It happened in the carnival; flectamus genue !" 
 
 With these words he dashed a quart of beer over the face of 
 the defunct, who thereupon sprung to his feet in a tremendous 
 rage. A terrible confusidn ensued, and the climax of all noise 
 seemed to be attained. Not caring to see more, and in truth 
 slightly apprehensive that the same obsequies might, if I re 
 mained, be ere long performed over me ; I seized a candle and de 
 parted to my cigar- walled room. 
 
58 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. 
 
 A MASKED BALL IN HEIDELBERG. 
 
 " THUS run the giddy hours away, 
 
 Till morning s light is beaming, 
 And we awake to dream by day 
 What we to-night are dreaming. 
 
 " To smile, to sigh, to love, to change : 
 
 Oh ! in our heart s recesses, 
 We dress in fancies quite as strange 
 As these, our fancy dresses !" HORACE SOTTH. 
 
 " IN VINO VERITAS." Truth in wine. The more a man 
 disguises himself, so much the more does he appear in his true 
 colours; which maxim is even better illustrated in masquerades 
 than by the influence of wine. Strange that a fancy dress should 
 have the power to open the gates of the soul and let out its pri 
 soned fancies ! " I am ambitious for a motley coat," said the 
 melancholy Jacques, when desirous of speaking freely and truly 
 to the " infected world. " Perhaps the hour at which masked 
 balls are held has something to do with the matter. Before 
 breakfast, people are prone to tell what they would like to be. 
 In the retrospective twilight hour, they review the past and 
 think of what they were. Only after dinner, or more accurately 
 after supper, do they show what they are. 
 
 I was startled one pleasant afternoon in Heidelberg by the ap 
 parition of a friend, with the announcement that a grand masked 
 ball would that evening "go los;" or come off, and further, that 
 if I designed taking part in the fun, not an instant was to be lost 
 in making due preparation. Not caring to go disguised, I re 
 solved to enter simply "enpekin" as the French term the dress 
 ing in citizen s clothes. To be sure, the ball regulations insisted 
 that every one in the room should wear a fancy dress; but this 
 was allowed such a latitude of interpretation, that a false nose or 
 a feather could be received as the fullest sort of full dress. The 
 usual method, however, of evading this rule, was to attach to the 
 left lappel of the coat a little fancy mask or masks, the size of a 
 
A MASKED BALL IN HEIDELBERG. 59 
 
 half-dollar, which were to be found in great variety at the differ 
 ent shops. We immediately went for this purpose to the maga- 
 sin des modes, kept by two pretty young Jewesses in the Haupt- 
 strasse. 
 
 We found the establishment full of upper-class Burschen, 
 busy in hiring dresses, pulling over fancy wares, and poussiring 
 or talking soft nonsense to the two amiable proprietors. Fraulein 
 
 H received us graciously; conversed trimly and prettily in 
 
 German-English, to the great astonishment of all bystanders 
 ignorant of her philological attainments ; and concluded by ex 
 hibiting several dozens of the articles we were in quest of. Our 
 selections made, and the knbpfe or buttons (as the students 
 term money) delivered, we wended our way to the scene of action, 
 and obtained tickets. 
 
 The thoroughness of German genius is admirably manifested 
 in the interminable length of their balls. Before eight o clock, 
 Herr Ludwig Zimmer, Professor of Dancing at the University of 
 Heidelberg, (his name is enrolled on its catalogue as one of the 
 faculty,) was leading off the Polonaise, or grand commencing 
 march, in all its glory. Up the middle and down the sides ; in, 
 out, and about, went Herr Zirnmer, leading his grotesquely-at 
 tired army at will where they least expected to turn. At last the 
 music ceased, the maskers scattered, and a clatter of tongues like 
 the discharge of musketry ensued. 
 
 " And where do you come from, my little dear ?" 
 
 " From the Land of Fools, sir, to inform you that your family 
 are all well !" 
 
 " Pretty girl with the black mask, will you marry me ?" 
 
 "Yes, if you ll quit drinking." 
 
 " Oh, the devil ! you know me, do you ?" 
 
 " Oh, Kitty, Kitty ! I know you." 
 
 " Then you are acquainted with your betters." 
 
 "Are you the Grand Duke of Thunder and Lightning?" 
 whispered a musical young-lady voice. 
 
 "Are you the Countess Sweetcake?" replied a gentleman 
 bandit. 
 
 This was evidently a preconcerted signal, for the pair glided 
 off affectionately, arm-in-arm. 
 
 "I know you, sir ! I know you !" squealed a disguised voice 
 to my friend Wolf Short. 
 
60 SKETCH BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 " Every fool knows me," replied that amiable gentleman, un 
 consciously adopting the celebrated mot of Professor M.* 
 
 " Are you my true love ?" asks Brown-coat. 
 
 "No; 1 just left her kissing the coachman," replies Queen 
 Mary. 
 
 And so the jargon and chatter continue. Old friends treat 
 each other like strangers, and strangers are accosted as old friends. 
 Every one speaks freely and saucily to his neighbour, constantly 
 employing the familiar "thou," instead of the more reserved 
 "you." The ladies are all provided with little fancy boxes, con 
 taining a great variety of sugar-plums made in the form of divers 
 implements, each of which symbolizes a sentiment, a wish, an ac 
 cusation, or intimation. These are freely bestowed upon the 
 gentlemen, who are thus not unfrequently startled and mystified. 
 A graceful female figure, in black mask and domino, approached 
 my friend " the Wolf." He anxiously inquired if her grand 
 mother were dead, that she had donned mourning? No answer 
 being made, my friend intimated that her ill-natured silence im 
 plied a heart as black as her face. Her finger was now held 
 warningly up ; and producing something from her box, she pressed 
 it into his hand, whispered a few words in his ear, and vanished 
 in th,e crowd. 
 
 " THE devil !" growled my friend, gazing alternately at her 
 retiring figure and the parting gift, which was a tolerably fair 
 imitation of a dark lantern. " Well, I could have sworn that 
 nobody knew that." 
 
 " What said the mask ?" 
 
 " She said confound her impudence ! that since I had taken 
 to coming home at four in the morning, I might find a lantern 
 convenient !" 
 
 Leaving him to his lantern, I strolled through the crowd. A 
 trim little Swiss peasant-girl bustled up and presented me with a 
 boat from her stores. 
 
 " When you return to America and cross the ocean," she said, 
 " this will carry you." 
 
 Another presented me with a little sugar knapsack, to use 
 
 * "Jede Dime kennt micli" was the vulgar and biting reply of a celebrated 
 professor at Heidelberg to a party of ladies, who having at a masquerade pene 
 trated his incognito, were loudly declaring it. 
 
A MASKED BALL IN HEIDELBERG. 61 
 
 during my return tour, evidently supposing in her ignorance that 
 the journey would be by land. A pocket-book and card from 
 other incognitas quickly followed, while a roguish belle, with 
 powdered hair and half-mask, in whom I at once recognised a 
 pretty Strasbourg demoiselle of my acquaintance, gravely pre 
 sented me with a butterfly, to the immense delight of a bevy 
 of young girls, who happened unfortunately to be gathered 
 around. 
 
 A waltz now struck up, and clasping the waist of my pretty 
 tormentor, I was quickly whirling away through the mysteries 
 of the deux temps. At its conclusion I again rejoined "the 
 "Wolf," who, with a highly-contented air, was escorting a young 
 lady in a crimson and orange silk domino, whom I at once re 
 cognised. 
 
 " Confound it !" exclaimed my friend ; u you don t know what 
 I ve suffered since you saw me. Only think of that stupid Clara 
 making a captive of me and dragging me all over the room, 
 screaming out her broken English, till I fairly wished her, with 
 her black domino, to the devil ! But luck has smiled upon me 
 at last. Permit me to introduce to you my new friend, who 
 speaks better English, is a hundred times more agreeable, and I 
 dare say a thousand times prettier than Clara !" 
 
 "With these words he presented his new flame, who, however, 
 seemed any thing but gratified by the compliments paid her ; and 
 no wonder, for it was no other than Miss Clara herself, who had 
 during the waltz simply retired, and changing her domino, suc 
 ceeded in passing herself off on the Wolf as an entirely new and 
 different article. As the gentleman still continued his maledic 
 tions, she began to evince unmistakable symptoms of chagrin and 
 vexation. 
 
 " You most not talk so ! Oh, how jfery varm eet is !" 
 
 We were standing in an icy draught from the door, but I bowed 
 an assent to her remark. 
 
 " I don t feel it," answered Wolf; " but I suppose Clara struck 
 a chill to my soul." 
 
 The young lady thus referred to now cried, in a tone of real 
 distress 
 
 " Oh, it is sofery varm ; come, let oos valk!" 
 
 Struck by the voice, Wolf glanced at her, and in an instant 
 divined the mystery. As if seized with sorrow for his remarks, 
 
62 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 he at once folded his arm in hers, while she ejaculated in grievous 
 tones, to which her foreign pronunciation gave a tinge of the 
 ludicrous 
 
 " Oh, sir, you shold not apuse me so !" 
 
 Leaving the Wolf to arrange matters with Clara, I again* 
 plunged into the crowd. More than one little mystery, more 
 than one queer adventure, developed itself ere I had completed 
 the tour of the room. Suddenly the music struck up a polka, 
 and at the same instant a cry of astonishment from those near the 
 door heralded the approach of a singular spectacle. A party of 
 maskers, oddly arrayed as nine-pins, entered the hall, commanded 
 by a centre pin, or king, and followed by two harlequins, each 
 bearing a bowling ball at least three feet in diameter, made of 
 canvas, painted, and stretched on a frame. Amid the shouts of 
 the assembly, a long space was cleared ; the pins arranged them 
 selves, and the two harlequins began their game. As the music 
 pealed up, on went a ball, and down went the foremost pin. 
 Then his adversary rolled in turn, with still better success. 
 Every one touched by the ball was obliged, by a preconcerted 
 arrangement, to fall. Finally, one harlequin made an "alle 
 neune," or nine-stroke; so down went all the pins, en masse, 
 forming a remarkable assortment of dead-wood I should say, 
 tableau vivant! 
 
 The nine-pins speedily recovered and walked off, the harlequins 
 rolling their balls after them. A lively Schottisch was now played, 
 and the maskers pairing off, were soon jigging round the hall 
 in double-quick time. At this, as at most balls, small ball- 
 books, in the shape of a card, with a lead-pencil, were sup 
 plied to all entering. On these were engraved the name of the 
 association, with the words, "Tanz-Folge" or order of dancing, 
 and "Ouverture." The dances as noted, with a blank space left 
 opposite each for the ladies and gentlemen to record the names 
 of their partners, were, first, one Polonaise, one waltz, one "Ga- 
 lopade," one "Schottisch," one " Franjaise," (quadrille,) two 
 waltzes, and then a long pause, succeeded by two "Galopades," 
 two " Franchises," two " Schottische," three "Galopades," and a 
 cotillon; the latter resembling anything in the world but the 
 dance known by the same name in America. 
 
 The two following rules were printed on the back : 
 
A MASKED BALL IN HEIDELBERG. 63 
 
 1. " All previous engagements for free dances are strictly for 
 bidden." 
 
 . (A free dance, or "free turn," let me remark, is one called 
 out impromptu, by the master of ceremonies, during the pause 
 ensuing between all the regular dances.) 
 
 2. " Hospitiren is allowed to no one, except the regular ball- 
 directors/ 
 
 (NOTE. To koqritiren, is to borrow from a gentleman his 
 partner, for a single tour around the room. This term, as well 
 as schiessen, to shoot, is also applied by German students to un 
 paid attendance on the University lectures.) 
 
 Another pause was now heralded by a grand blast of trumpets, 
 and, tramping slowly along, in marched another procession, con 
 sisting of characters taken from German history. There was 
 Arminius, or Herrman, with his eagle-winged helmet and long 
 haired attendants, with Heaven knows how many other partners in 
 his toils. But this procession, though earnestly gazed at, evidently 
 failed to excite the same interest as the nine-pins. As these 
 maskers in their turn disappeared, a great number of the au 
 dience, ascertaining that the " grand pause" had at length ar 
 rived, deemed it wise to follow, for a time, their example. 
 
 I speedily found myself, with a select party of friends, seated 
 in the eating-room of the "Court of Baden," as the neighbour 
 ing hotel is termed. The reader who has witnessed a battle or 
 an earthquake may form some faint idea of the confusion which 
 the hall presented on this grand occasion. Overloaded servants 
 were tearing frantically about, confused by an infinite variety of 
 orders, distributing every thing in the wrong place, giving Rhine 
 wine to those who had ordered potato-salad, and hastily pitching 
 down roast-goose to some one demanding lemonade. 
 
 " We shall get our supper some time after breakfast," growled 
 the "Wolf, who had secured a scat opposite me. 
 
 Scarcely had he spoken, when a waiter, bearing three plates of 
 venison and one of beef-steak, with potatoes and Rhine wine, (evi 
 dently intended for other persons,) stopped and delivered them, 
 exclaiming hurriedly 
 
 "Venison, three portions: here it is, gentlemen; fried pota 
 toes : Rhine wine, three bottles ;" and holding out the remaining 
 plate to Wolf, said, "You want a beef-steak, don t you, sir?" 
 
 "Faith, I ve wanted it this two hours and a quarter," said 
 c* 
 
64 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, METSTER KARL. 
 
 Wolf, sticking liis fork into the article. " A very good guess, 
 waiter ! I wonder what party has been done by this blunder ?" 
 
 In an instant the kdlner came rushing back, declaring that he 
 had made a mistake. Fixing his eye sternly upon him, as he 
 poured out his first glass, the Wolf theatrically exclaimed 
 "My friend, it is too late!" 
 
 A glorious, good-natured krcutz-fidcler, German student, 
 known as Herr Otto, now joined us, and assumed a seat by me. 
 From the merry twinkle of his eye, the unsteadiness of his step, 
 and the determined twist which our friend occasionally gave to 
 the long beard sticking out from the point of his chin, I inferred 
 that he had by no means deferred taking refreshments until 
 supper-time. Scarcely was he seated, ere he cried to the 
 Wolf 
 
 "Herr Short, there comes to you a whole one!" (id est } I drink 
 you full measure.) 
 
 To this the Wolf, in the formula prescribed by German-student 
 custom, replied 
 
 " Es ist recht savf!" (It is right drink.) 
 "But I go you a whole bottle! 7 exclaimed Herr Otto, who 
 was evidently bent on doing the extensive. 
 
 "A whole dozen a whole vintage the whole Rhine crop, 
 including the Moselle and Neckar all the brandy in France, 
 and all the beer in Bavaria, and devil take the hindmost \" cried 
 Wolf, rising in all his glory, and stretching out his arms as if 
 about to swim into imaginary seas of drmk. 
 
 With one bottle, Herr Otto was done for. Rising, he found 
 his way to the door, and vanished. All the next day his friends 
 searched for him in vain. Inquiries were made in every beer 
 house, coffee-house, club, hotel, and billiard-room. That he had 
 not found his way into one of the University prisons, we were 
 well assured. One or two enterprising individuals even went so 
 far as to look for him around the University itself, deeming that 
 he might, in an absent moment, have found his way into a 
 lecture-room. At last, two students, remembering that liquor 
 was sold in the castle, and perhaps stimulated by the reflection, 
 resolved to clamber up and ascertain. But the quest was use 
 less. Near the castle is a high terrace commanding a view of 
 the whole town, with the valley of the Neckar. By this stood a 
 summer-house, filled with a vast quantity of dry leaves, used in 
 
A MASKED BALL IN HEIDELBERG. 65 
 
 Germany as litter for cattle. As the two friends passed by, it 
 seemed as if they heard a peculiar grunt, with an indistinct 
 reference to "more beer." 
 
 "Das ist Otto," said the first. 
 
 " Nein" said his friend, peering in on the leaves, "there is 
 no Otto here !" 
 
 "Mem Gott!" exclaimed the first, pointing to two shiny black 
 objects sticking up out of the leaves, and glittering in the dusk 
 like the eyes of a fiend; "Mein Gott! what is that?" 
 
 Advancing cautiously, the pair set up a hurrah of joy. It 
 was, indeed, the tips of Otto s patent-leathers manifesting them 
 selves. By dint of hauling, a pair of black pantaloons and a 
 white Marseilles vest became visible. Otto had slept nearly 
 fourteen hours in the leaves, and was, even then, with great diffi 
 culty, induced to rise and travel homeward. 
 
 As for the ball, it passed off for Heidelberg quietly and 
 pleasantly. Not more than fifty love-affairs ensued; and the 
 number of challenges given on the occasion, and subsequently 
 fought out at Neuriheim, over the river, was estimated at the 
 remarkably low figure of twenty-three. On taking, with my 
 three friends, account of the presents received at the ball, we 
 found the following : 
 3 sugar hearts. 
 2 " babies in wrappings. 
 
 1 " baby in cradle. 
 5 " storks. 
 
 7 " kreutzer orders of nobility. 
 
 2 " old women. 
 2 " candles. 
 
 1 " lantern. 
 
 1 " boat. 
 
 2 " knapsacks. 
 
 3 " pocket-books. 
 1 " butterfly. 
 
 4 " baskets, (equivalent, in German, to mittens.} 
 17 " Cupids. 
 
 4 " Hymens. 
 
 Not to mention two bows, a red ribbon, a white glove, a silken 
 Iwni soil bracelet, and an empty purse. 
 
66 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 CHAPTER THE NINTH. 
 
 THE SADNESS OF ROME AND OF OTHER CITIES. 
 (WRITTEN IN THE GARDENS OF THE VILLA BORGHESE.) 
 
 " Most musical, most melancholy." 
 
 " Ich weiss nicht was soil es bedeuten 
 Das ich so traurig bin." HEINE. 
 
 AND now, by Sanct Benoist, and on the faith of a traveller, 
 I would fain know whence comes this most delicious melancholy 
 this development of all the harmonies and dissolution of all 
 the discords of the soul, which hath so bewitched me here in 
 Rome ? 
 
 The Spirit of the Dragon, say the Adepts, must be changed 
 ere we attain the Great Secret; and verily it seemeth that some 
 potent sorcerer is changing soul and spirit into a golden aura 
 and refining life into a mystical elixir of delight. 
 
 Whence comes it, oh Regnault, mon amy, whence comes it ? 
 I have met with many who have resided long in Rome, but never 
 with one who, enjoying a single spark of soul, did not speak 
 with the deepest feeling of its strange, sad attraction. We know 
 not what it meaneth, that our souls incline to tears, while legends 
 of the olden time seem ringing in our ears. 
 
 My best one ! the business of thy life here, is simply to seek 
 the Beautiful in Art and to admire. And what is there which so 
 elevates, tranquillizes, and refines the soul as this contemplation 
 of the Infinite made Finite ? In other lands in other cities 
 these impressions arc worn away by counter-currents of thought 
 and event ; but here every influence of society, scene, or occupa 
 tion tends solely to one great end the cultivation and apprecia 
 tion, of ART. 
 
 The Chevalier entered Rome thinking of Caesar, and Juvenal, 
 and Horace, and Petronius, and left it dreaming of Raphael and 
 Renaissance, palaces and endless galleries, and picturesque ruins, 
 which appeal far more powerfully to the artistic sense than to 
 antique erudition. In a month after his arrival, it was no longer 
 
THE SADNESS OF ROME AND OF OTHER CITIES. 67 
 
 Rome B.C. that lie inhabited, but Rome of the fifteenth and 
 sixteenth centuries. Seen through the purple mist of the Middle 
 Ages and the golden light of the Revival of Art and Letters, 
 even Classic associations were for him idealized and transfigured 
 into romantic dreams. 
 
 As for Wolf Short, the Invincible, he turned from Niehbuhr 
 to Winckelmann, and made himself humble before Kugler and 
 Vasari, that he might walk in great glory and renown before the 
 illiterati. In which he succeeded, as do many, by eventually and 
 greatly astonishing even himself. 
 
 " ITALIA! ITALIA!" quoth Mr. Henri Blaze. "This was 
 formerly a cry of the German Emperors; to-day it is the cry of 
 poets. Strange inspiration ! Singular pilgrimage, where we are 
 astonished to see poets follow unweariedly statuaries and painters !" 
 
 Si Monsieur Blaze true for you! In "this Nineteenth 
 Century," the true Poet recognises in the true Artist a brother 
 poet, and not unfrequently a superior. 
 
 But how I wander! There is an herb in Brittany named 
 I Egare, and when the foot of the traveller hath once touched it, 
 he returneth not home again, but wandereth off into Night and 
 Darkness, among fairies, hobgoblins, will-o -the-wisps, elves, 
 willies, ghosts, hop-and-go-fetch-its, moss-men, grim Jemmies, 
 and similar beings. And there are certain subjects, benevo 
 lent reader, on which when the pen of the writer touches, it 
 goeth off whizzling and twizzling into more fancy curves and 
 dots and flourishes than are to be found in a Turkey carpet; and 
 never would it find its way home again to the subject, were 
 it not for a fierce magic influence, which a salutary fear of the 
 reading public exerts. 
 
 A fear from which (St. Scriblia of the Blessed Ink-Pot be 
 watchful over us !) Meister Karl seems to be this morning singu 
 larly exempt. 
 
 I began this paper with remarking that Ronm was blessed with 
 a sad, sweet melancholy. I went on to say thf^lt came from the 
 study the feeling of the Artistically Beautiful which, like a 
 magic essence, doth permeate the soul. 
 
 And I was going on to say that every city hath 
 
 for me its peculiar attractive sadness. There is the Neapolitan, 
 which is that of the dolce far niente, or soft and silky idleness, 
 extracted from fine weather, mellowed with the mjgical murmur 
 
 nuMcal 
 
 -, 
 
68 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 of the Mediterranean, and perfumed with orange-blossoms the 
 bride who walks on the castle of Indolence by the sea. Fairest 
 daughter of Parthenope, niayst thou live forever ! 
 
 There is the Venetian, which is historico-romantic, blended 
 with mystery, and is creamily aristocratic. I see it in the semi- 
 oriental portraits of senators and doges, and in the proud, volup 
 tuous beauty of their exquisite women. In Venice, more than in 
 Rome, do we live in the social past ; its beauty is less abstract, 
 and consequently more palpably melancholy.. We know that the 
 scenes around us have witnessed lordly festivals, glorious proces 
 sions, and kingly merry-makings. We know that in these gon 
 dolas, in the olden time, gallant cavaliers serenaded fair ladies, 
 who cast flowers to them from the windows of those palaces. We 
 know that there were once in Venice brave times, which will never 
 come again, and we are sad, for the memory of sunny hours which 
 return no more is among the delicatest and daintiest of melan 
 cholies. Venczia, Venezia I is there no sorcerer who can call 
 once more from the graves of buried centuries those days of mad 
 mirth and sweet melancholy? 
 
 " Sadness and mirth ! ye were mingled there, 
 
 With the sound of the lute in the scented air; 
 As the cloud and the sunlight are blent on high, 
 Ye mixed in the gorgeous revelry." 
 
 And there is the Munich sadness, which is not unlike the 
 Roman, with a flavour of metaphysics and the addition of beer 
 and pipes. But the melancholy of Munich is a cheerful disorder, 
 bearing by no means heavily on the soul, and readily yielding, 
 under the influence of its soft-hearted maidens, to a sort of solemn 
 jollity and dignified deviltry. 
 
 There is the Berlin sadness, which is philosophico-soire e-aes- 
 thetic, mingled with occasional faint misgivings as to whether 
 the capital of Prussia is really and immeasurably superior in every 
 imaginable respect to all other cities, past, present, and future. 
 And also tinged with doubts whether the Prussians, despite their 
 endless and boundless vanity, might not acquire a few valuable 
 ideas, were they so minded, from the French, English, and 
 Yankees ! 
 
 There is the Heidelberg sadness, which is composed of seven 
 parts of German renaissance-in-ruins to two of Gothic ditto, inter 
 mingled with wavering souvenirs of Walks by Moonlight, Many 
 
THE SADNESS OF ROME AND OF OTHER CIIIES. 69 
 
 Drinking Bouts, Duels at Neunheim, Literary and Legal Lec 
 tures with Note-Books, Balls, and Billiards at the Museum, 
 Pleasant Ladies and Ascents to the Castle, the "dem d total" 
 being covered with a flood of Rhine wine. 
 
 There is the Florentine, which is a compound of the Roman 
 and Venetian, strongly scented with violets. And it is one of 
 the sweetest. 
 
 There is the Hamburg sadness, which is that of jerked beef; 
 and that of Bologna, which arises from walking through endless 
 arcades and from lunching on great sausages. 
 
 There is the Ferrarese, which is the very darkness of desola- 
 lation where if you called on the last man, he would certainly be 
 out. Also the Parisian sadness, which is that of satiety and re 
 action; and the Viennese, which is that of Strauss. 
 
 There is the Bostonian, which is commercio-literary ; and the 
 New Yorkian, which is faro-commercial, inspired with or <e Sass 
 and Brass," and steamed up with enterprise, deviltry, fun, hum 
 bug, and go-aheaditiveness ; and the Philadelphian, which ad- 
 vanceth also, but with a more measured tread which is peculiar 
 in being without a peculiarity, which moveth silently, divineth 
 unutterable things within itself, and behaveth decently a very 
 comme-il-faut sort of sadness, which presenteth many solid points 
 of social comfort. 
 
 These are the varieties of sadness pertaining to each city. I 
 say nothing against any of them, for I have felt them all, and 
 read Burton s Anatomie, when I was a Freshman. I am not the 
 one to decry the least of them for I upset no man s apple-cart 
 
 Je ne vueil pas resembler ecus, 
 Qui sont garjon por tout destruire.* 
 
 Au contraire, I say that he who has inhabited a city, always 
 in excitement and pleasure, but never in silence and reverie 
 always pitching and staving about, but never silent and sombre 
 in short, who has never had a touch of sweet, sunny melancholy, 
 may know the town inwardly and outwardly, even as Panurge 
 knew Paris, unto the lanes, alleys, houses, rooms, closets, and 
 corners but the Grand Idea, the poetic sentiment of the place, 
 will be forever vailed from him. He may have seen the fleece, 
 
 * I am not one resembling those 
 Who are the boys to destroy every thing. 
 
 LAI DEL DESIREE, XII. CENTURY. 
 
70 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 but he has not eaten the mutton ; he may have gazed upon the 
 flower, but has not scented the perfume ; and have seen the golden 
 lyre, but has remained deaf, stone deaf, to its ineffable harmonies 
 and celestial chords. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TENTH. 
 
 FERRARA: VENICE. 
 
 " FERRARA ! in thy wide and grass-grown streets, 
 
 Whose symmetry was not for solitude, 
 There seems, as twere, a curse upon the seats 
 
 Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood 
 Of Este." CHILDE HAROLD, CANTO iv. xxxv. 
 
 I SAY it, not because Byron said it before me, but out of my 
 own bitter experience, that the city of Ferrara is the most in 
 tensely dull place ever inhabited. 
 
 Dulness in other localities is merely apathetic, negatively bad ; 
 but in Ferrara the blue devils assail you with a spite, a virulence, 
 a malignity which might perhaps be appreciated by those who 
 have suffered solitary durance-vile on a rainy Sabbath, but which 
 certainly has not its parallel in the ordinary course of human 
 events. 
 
 I pity the man who, in any other city, cannot drum up agree 
 able companions, pretty faces, or something to pass time on. But 
 Ferrara ! 
 
 My excellent friend, as I now write alone, and as the recollec 
 tion of the sickening solitude of that town comes over me, I feel 
 half disposed to rush out and join the first human being I meet. 
 Ah, thank Heaven, there is somebody walking by ! 
 
 It strikes me, that according to my own and others experience, 
 it would be absolutely profane, improper, incorrect, a sin, in fact, 
 against the genius of the place, (if there be one,) to even attempt 
 to be merry in such a God-and-man-forsaken hole. 
 
 What do you think, reader, of such jolly, comfortable, soul-in 
 spiring sentiments as the following, taken from a journal dated 
 
 April the first, on which day my young C , the author of said 
 
 diary, had most appropriately entered Ferrara ? 
 
 " FERRARA is a silent, mournful city. An inhabited solitude 
 
FERRARA : VENICE. 71 
 
 sounds strangely,* but such it is. Sad and desolate, the stranger 
 feels as if he had, by some mistake, been thrown out of time. 
 How I long for the busy, bustling world ! How gladly would I 
 welcome any face that I have ever seen before ! But no, here I 
 am alone. A-a-a-ah-h me ! how forlorn and dull ! 
 
 " As I sit in my room this evening, at dusk, I feel as wretch 
 edly alone as any human being can. I am in the first hotel of 
 the town, and the only soul in it, except the landlord and servants. 
 Oh, dreariness! 
 
 " ( Ah me ! I am aweary, aweary, 
 I would I were abed ! " 
 
 Reader, I will give you one or two of my own observations in 
 Ferrara. I was tramping along one morning through the town, 
 with a villainous old valet-de-place for a guide, when my attention 
 was arrested by seeing an important-looking personage in uniform 
 blowing a trumpet. On concluding his music, he cried, in a 
 loud voice, a sentence, the only word of which I could catch 
 
 Was " XL GONFALONIERE." 
 
 I asked the valet-de-place what the trumpeter had said; but 
 the old rascal, despite his dishonesty, was intensely proud of his 
 native city, and evaded the question. Being closely pressed, ho 
 at length gave it : ii l Q ummon you all, in the name of tlic Gon- 
 falonierc, to come forth and weed the streets!" It is well known 
 that many of the streets of Ferrara are overgrown with grass. 
 This has become such a reproach (or inconvenience) to the in 
 habitants, that means have been taken to remove it. Accord 
 ingly, as we went along, I saw numbers of old women and chil 
 dren come forth with baskets and knives for that purpose. 
 
 Those curious in such items may refer to John Murray for a, 
 description of Ariosto s house and ink-stand, or his manuscripts, 
 with those of Tasso, in the library. But one souvenir "of the 
 past touched my soul on the raw. The custode, who showed me 
 the ancient Palace d Este, finally found his way to a room, which 
 he called Parisina s. 
 
 "Very good; nothing more likely!" thought I, with an ex 
 pression of intense gratification, looking around, meanwhile, at 
 the walls with that vividly curious air with which we generally 
 
 * Not at all, friend C . " Enter the KING solus, with two fiddlers," is 
 
 an old precedent. NOTE BY THE MEISTER. 
 
 7 
 
72 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 regard the masonry of any place where a remarkably interesting 
 event has occurred. But I was right in this instance; for, on 
 second thoughts, I took a squint at the ceiling ! 
 
 "And HERE/ continued the guide, pointing to a very common, 
 tawdry-looking, gilt Chinese secretary, full of looking-glasses, 
 "here is Parisina s secretary; and/ sinking his voice to an awful 
 whisper, while glancing darkly and mysteriously around, "and 
 here, in these very secret drawers, her correspondence with Ugo 
 was concealed!" 
 
 Shade of Byron ! 
 
 With which 1 recur to my diary : 
 
 " APRIL 3 Ketired early; rose ditto; got my coffee; paid a 
 scandalously exorbitant bill; and found my way to the diligence. 
 
 " Company consisted of a lively Italian lady, rather passee, 
 whose entire information on the subject of America was con 
 tained in a knowledge of the fact that FANNY ELLSLER (or 
 Lesler, as they call her here in Italy) had been there. She had 
 with her a remarkably stupid husband. Before long we reached 
 the Po, and, while crossing it in a ferry-boat, our passports were 
 examined. In walking about, I soon became aware that I was 
 an object of great curiosity. All my movements were scanned 
 with that I-wonder-what-he 11-do-next sort of air, which was 
 to me quite incomprehensible. To dissipate any nervous per 
 plexities which might arise, I took out my pipe. Immediately 
 the eyes of all present were fixed upon it, as though the calumet 
 of the great Nantucket fog-giant himself had appeared. I 
 wanted a light : immediately half a dozen matches were tendered 
 me by as many men. My choice made, I could at once observe 
 that the fortunate individual thus honoured at once became himself 
 a lien, of lesser magnitude, and had a knot collected around him, 
 to whom he seemed to be confidentially narrating something, ever 
 and anon mysteriously exhibiting his match-case, which was 
 turned over and examined by all with intense interest. 
 
 "When I walked along the boat, every one respectfully made 
 way for me, and kept silence until I had passed. But what it 
 all meant I could not guess. When I approached the horse, (for 
 it was a wheel-boat, worked by a one-horse power,) the engineer 
 (I mean the man who fed and whipped the animal) looked as if 
 he would have given all he knew to have me speak a word to 
 him. Only one man on board seemed to put on a nil-admirari 
 
FERRARA: VENICE. 73 
 
 air, and affect to care nothing for the stranger. For this man I 
 at once naturally conceived a deep antipathy, which immediately 
 subsided into intense contempt. I had no doubt, that if he 
 would only uncover his head, instead of a bump of veneration, I 
 should behold a cavity in which a hen might hide herself. Soon 
 a keen-eyed, gentlemanly, man-of-the-world-looking officer in 
 mufti came up, and, addressing me in French, said 
 
 " l Excuse me; but you may not be aware that you are quite a 
 lion at present/ 
 
 " Indeed! quoth I, innocently, and attempting to come the 
 air generally assigned on the stage to emperors in disguise; i in 
 deed ! and why V 
 
 f{f Because they have found out, by the passport, that you are 
 an American; and one may well believe that they all see an 
 American now for the first time/ 
 
 " My new friend did not belie his appearance. In five minutes 
 we had slidden into an intimacy, the good effects of which were 
 manifested immediately after at the office of the ( J)ogana > on 
 the other side, where, amid all the searching of trunks and 
 boxes, he imperatively laid his hand on my baggage, and signi 
 fied to the officials that they need not trouble me. 
 
 " But/ said I, my pockets are loaded with tobacco; what if 
 they should take a look at them V 
 
 " Parbleu! quoth he, laughing, so are mine / 
 
 " With these words, he took out a bag full of the article, and 
 shook it laughingly at the douanier, who grinned wistfully at 
 the prohibited commodity. 
 
 "We breakfasted at Rovigo, and arrived in Padua that after 
 noon. My officer went directly on to Venice in the railroad cars, 
 while I, who, owing to the joint lies of the head- waiter and land 
 lord, had unwittingly taken a diligence ticket through, had to 
 wait an hour for the vehicle which was to convey me, which hour 
 I spent in the Cafe Pedrocchi. 
 
 " THE CAFE PEDROCCHI/ says the Guide Book, is really a 
 species of national monument, from its splendour. The exterior 
 is of marble; the style, Italian-Gothic, and remarkably good. 
 It is curious to see the pattern of an ancient palazzo revived for 
 such a purpose. While the building was in progress, Pedrocchi 
 was present every evening, and paid all the workmen ready 
 money, and always in old Venetian gold. He had been left in poor 
 
74 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 circumstances, and lived in a ruinous little old house upon the 
 site of the present Fairy Palace, which, falling into decay, he 
 was compelled to pull down. Suddenly he abounded in riches 
 as many stories are now afloat concerning hidden treasures, and 
 yet more awful things, as would furnish materials for a legend 
 and thus was the present magnificent structure raised. During 
 the building, portions of an ancient Roman edifice were disco 
 vered, and the marbles so found have been employed in the slabs 
 and pavements of the salone. 
 
 "At last the diligence started, with me for the only passenger; 
 and such a glorious, stout, silent, gruff old Hungarian giant for 
 conducteur. Wishing to enjoy the scenery, I sat with him on the 
 box outside. He smoked his straw cigar for some time, and then 
 came out with 
 
 " l Kommen sic von weitem licr T (Do you come from a distance ?) 
 
 " Jc/, quoth I; from America. 
 
 " And America is in England, is it not? he asked, in a tone 
 indicating some little complacency at the extent of his own in 
 formation. 
 
 " Ncin, I replied; three thousand miles distant. 
 
 " This was a poser for the old fellow, and he smoked over it 
 at least ten minutes. 
 
 " And of what religion are the people in your country? 
 
 "I was (mca culpa) strongly tempted to reply, Oh, heathens, 
 of course ! but contented myself with explaining that we had a 
 great variety. 
 
 "We had crossed the Po and the Adige that morning, and 
 now rode along -the banks of the Brcnta, stopping at Dolo. 
 
 " At last I went inside. How glorious ! A diligence all to 
 myself! Why, it was a high-pressure luxury! No fat old gen 
 tleman punching his elbows into you ; nobody opposite to cross 
 legs with, or beg pardon of for treading on his corns. No soul 
 to keep you from smoking. Oh, lordly ! I lay out, d la Ameri 
 can, so as to take up as much room as possible; shut the win 
 dows, lighted my meerschaum, and smoked till the interior 
 was like an opal or cairngorm. I amused myself by imagining 
 the vehicle full of travellers of the most tobacco-hating de 
 scription conceivable. Then I opened the window; puff went the 
 smoke! and self, and ease, and all was forgotten in the calm 
 scenery of the banks of the Brenta. 
 
FERRARA: VENICE. 75 
 
 " Night caine, and at last our diligence stopped. I paid the 
 postilions, and was conducted to a long, covered boat. The 
 Hungarian, who had constituted himself my guide, guardian, 
 uncle, and protector for the time being, saw to every thing for 
 me; packed me away comfortably on a seat, with one of his big 
 shaggy coats; scolded me, got me a cigar, jumped in himself, 
 and we started. 
 
 "On, on, on, for an hour, and not a sight save the twinkling 
 of many lights far in the distance, and few sounds save the 
 plashing of our oars. I could understand nothing of what the 
 boatmen said; it was a new dialect, Venetian; nor my Hunga 
 rian, who conversed earnestly for a long time with another con- 
 ducteur in the same patois. He seemed, as far as I could make 
 out, to be angry at having had the charge of ma tratti i forcs- 
 tieri id cst, abusing foreigners put forward as an accusation 
 against him. We stopped at the dogana } where I gave up niy 
 passport, and then rowed on. 
 
 " And now we are entering the city/ said the Hungarian. 
 
 "I looked out. Yes; there it was. Star-ray and moon-beam 
 shone over spire and palace, over bridge and gondola. City of 
 mystery and beauty, for which my soul had longed since early 
 childhood, thou wert before me ! ay, even as I had seen thee in 
 my dreams. Yes, it was a reality now; the dreams were ful 
 filled; I saw thee, Queen of the Adriatic, fair city of waters. 
 With what a throbbing earnestness I drew within myself, and 
 said, Now thou art really in Venice ; this can no one take from 
 thee, that thou hast seen thy dream-city ! And the Hungarian 
 still growled on in his patois; the boatmen sang loudly and mer 
 rily; our boat darted like a swallow into the Grand Canal, and, 
 with a glad heart, I entered that great city, though no friend or 
 acquaintance awaited my arrival, and no soul save the hotel- 
 keepers cared for my coming. 
 
 " Now the Rialto-bridge is at hand/ quoth the Hungarian. 
 I looked out. There it was, right before me ! the Rialto! 
 Dear Lord! quoth I. The boat darted on; another second, 
 and the bridge was arching darkly over our heads. Shade of 
 Shylock, it was a fact ! And Shakspeare must be true, every 
 word ! 
 
 "And on, on, on! This was Venice. Palace and spire faded 
 by, one after the other. We stopped at the Post. 
 
76 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 " Will you take a yoiuMa to go to your hotel? said the Hun 
 garian. 
 
 " "WON T I? quoth I. Only try me! 
 
 "The Hungarian smiled grimly. He had been young once, 
 and stepping out, ordered a two-oared gondola, at two zwanzigers. 
 
 " There it floated in all its glory, filling the air around with 
 beauty: a real black gondola jet-black, ink-black, lamp-black, 
 looking for all the world like a hearse afloat. So in I tumbled. 
 Sink or swim, live or die, thought I, I will at least have 
 one glide/ Look you, sir traveller, wear strange suits, or 
 people will scarcely think that you have swum in a gondola. 
 That doesn t apply to me now, thought I, solemnly; I ve 
 Icen and done it. 
 
 " Oil pescator doll onda Fitlolin. 
 Oh pescator dell onda Fidolin. 
 Vieni pescar in qua 
 Colla bella sua barcha, 
 Colla barcha se no va Fidolin ! " 
 
 CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. 
 
 VENICE. 
 
 "VIDEUAT Iladriacis Venetam Neptunus in Undis 
 
 Stare urbem et toto ponere jura mari : 
 Nunc mihi Tarpeias quantumuis Jupiter arceis 
 
 Objice, et ilia tui moenia Martis, ait : 
 Si pelago Tybrim pracfers, urbem aspice utramque, 
 Illara homines dices, hanc posuisse DEOS." 
 
 JAC. SANNAZAR, EPIGR. LIB. I. 
 "Venus and Venise are of like degree, 
 
 Venus is Qucciie of Love Venise of policie." 
 
 HOWELL S LETTERS. 
 
 WHETHER all the friends whom I there met experienced the 
 same rapturous emotions as myself, in first beholding Venice, 
 swimming in gondolas or flaneeing about St. Mark s and the 
 Ptialto, I know not; nor whether they were equally delighted 
 
VENICE. 77 
 
 with myself in reaching a land of good cigars, prime coffee, su 
 perb Kirschwasser, and an admirable opera. But, to judge 
 from appearances, I should say that they were fully disposed to 
 do average justice to all such items, particularly the latter. 
 
 Venice is not a city to live and die by; though one can pass 
 weeks or even months in it wi^iout experiencing ennui or dis 
 satisfaction. I could never yet rid myself of the feeling which is 
 said to have haunted an old sea-captain while there : id est, an 
 irrepressible longing to go on shore. True, there is a vague re 
 port or theory that every house in the city may be approached by 
 land ; but we all soon experienced such difficulty in our attempts 
 at practical solutions of portions of this puzzle, that we generally, 
 at the first perplexity, cut the Gordian by ordering the best 
 gondola within hail. This perpetual intermixture and inter 
 ference of aquatics with the ordinary interests of life, naturally 
 produces on new-comers a singular effect. Miss was al 
 most afraid to go from one apartment to another, for fear of step 
 ping into the Grand Canal; and opened every door with as much 
 caution as if she expected, like the sorceress in the Arabian 
 Nights, to behold a river flowing across the room. Nearly all 
 our party declared that their dreams turned upon flowing water, 
 plashing wavelets, and walls with iron rings, ever wet by the 
 restless flood. The Wolf inquired of the company one day, at 
 dessert, whether a Venetian had, as things exist, more than half 
 a right to boast of his Father-ZomcZ; while a fat old gentleman in 
 the corner (a stranger to us) suggested as postscript that he could 
 imagine nothing of which a regular native could have a firmer 
 terror than terra firma. Which outrageous squawk at once 
 brought down on his head the wrath of the entire assembly, who 
 unanimously declared that the perpetrator of such villainy de 
 served to be thrown at once into the canal. To which the old 
 gentleman declared that "he d like to see them try it." To 
 which young C. retorted, in an under-tone, that he would do 
 it directly, were he not afraid of spoiling the fish. At which 
 the venerable man cried, "Hold!" acknowledged the corn, and 
 begged leave to stand half a dozen of Montebello. 
 
 "I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, 
 
 With MURRAY S red-bound guide-book in my hand; 
 When lo ! an Englishman before me, cries, 
 < That ore s the Bridge of SIZE well ! I ll bo d d ! " 
 
78 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Well, reader, I know not whether it be as strictly forbidden at 
 present to go upon the Bridge of Sighs as it was when I was 
 there; but if such should be the case, I would advise you to pre 
 sent an Austrian officer, as I did, with a zwanziger, which will 
 obtain for you instant admission i.e. if you care to go; which 
 I certainly should have neglected to do, had not a gentleman, in 
 vested with some little diplomatic authority, assured me that 
 as he had never been able to effect an entrance, ergo, I need 
 not try. Great is the folly of this world ! nor was mine the 
 least. 
 
 From the Bridge of Sighs we pass naturally to the Galleries of 
 the Doge s Palace. And there, near what was once a "Lion s 
 mouth," (the lion is gone, and only the aperture remains,) the 
 traveller may observe fixed in the wall several tablets, bearing 
 inscriptions. It was usual, in ancient Venice, when a state- 
 officer had been guilty of any great offence against the common 
 wealth, to expose to public view a short statement of his crime, 
 for the edification of other functionaries, and the particular grati 
 fication, we may presume, of his family and friends. Of such a 
 nature are these tablets. The reader may observe that the two 
 following commemorate the faux pas of a couple of il de 
 faulters:" 
 
 "MDCCXVIII. 
 
 "Gio. GIACOMO CAPRA FU CONTADOR NELLA CASA GRANDE DEL MAGISTRATO 
 ALLE CIAVE CANDITO DALL ECCSO; CONS: DiiXcc: Li: 6: SKTTEMBRE COME 
 MINISTRO INFEDELE E REO DI GRAVE INTACEO FATTO NELLA CASSA MEDEMA." 
 
 "VETTUNA MAFETTI DEI BRAZO QU GIACOMO GIA NODARA IN QUESTO MAGIS 
 TRATO DELLE ClAVE FU* CAPITA LAMENTS CANDITO A XXX* MAGGIO MDCCXXX 
 MI DALL ECCELSO CONSIGLIO DI DIECI PER ENORME INTACCO DI PEGNI ASCEN- 
 DENTE A RIGUARDE VOLE SUMMA El DENARO A GRAVE PREGUDIZIO DELLE PUB- 
 BLICA CASSA." 
 
 But of all rich inscriptions, gentle reader, the one posted up 
 in the Chamber of the Council of the Ten was probably the rich 
 est. Whether it was placed there as an intensely spicy joke by 
 some Pantagruelistic statesman, I could never learn. But that 
 it was fearfully inappropriate, considering the general course of 
 Venetian diplomacy, no one will deny : 
 
 "PRIMUM SEMPER ANTE OMNIA DILIGENTE INQUIRITE : UT CUM JUSTITIA ET 
 1HAR1TATE DIFFIXIATIS : NEMINEM CONDEMNETIS ANTE VERUM ET JUSTUM JUDJ- 
 CIUM : NULLUM JUDICKT1S SUSl ITIOXIS ARBITRIO SED PRIMUM PROBATE ET POSTEA 
 
VENICE. 79 
 
 CHARITATIVAM SENTENTIAM PROFERTE ET QUOD VOBIS NO VULTIS FIERI ALTERI 
 FACERE NOLITE." 
 
 "BEFORE all things, search diligently into every matter, that ye may discern 
 justly and charitably; that ye may condemn none except by a true and right 
 eous judgment; that ye may judge none by arbitrary suspicion; but first 
 thoroughly examine, and then render a charitable opinion, and what you would 
 not do to yourself, be unwilling to do to another." 
 
 I originally intended that this chapter should be something 
 better than a mere collection of odds and ends, snippings and 
 snappings, slippings and stoppings, chippings and choppings. 
 But he is a fortunate man who knows how his wife will turn out; 
 or rather she is a doubly fortunate woman who finds in her hus 
 band all that she expected; and three or four times blessed is 
 that writer who can form an accurate idea as to the manner in 
 which a chapter must inevitably conclude. But since I am fairly 
 in for the desultory, here goes for a few more items, pepper- 
 boxically distributed. 
 
 In Venice, as in other European cities, every shop has its pe 
 culiar name, like the hotels and restaurants in our own country. 
 And this is indicated either by a picture or an inscription. 
 Among the latter I observed a cheese-monger s establishment, 
 whose sign was, " Alia Divina Providenza" To DIVINE PROVI 
 DENCE; a brandy-shop dedicated to the MOST HOLY TRINITY; a 
 cafe, to the HOLY REDEEMER; and a tallow-chandler s, simply to 
 the REDEEMER, without an adjective. 
 
 There are in Venice large gondolas, termed Omnibuses, which 
 take up and let down passengers at any points on the Grand Canal 
 which they may designate, for a trifling fare. I took a ride in 
 Number xni., and found it infinitely the best bus in a vehicular 
 sense that I ever tried. Vehicular ! even yet I may be mis 
 understood ; for are we not transported by busses, be they of what 
 description they may? 
 
 The CA D ORO, or Golden House, though not the largest, is 
 undoubtedly, to a romantic taste, by far the most striking and 
 beautiful among the Venetian palaces. It had begun to decay, 
 but has been purchased, I am told, and completely restored, by 
 Taglioni, la Danseuse. A more appropriate tenant for such a 
 building would be difficult to conceive. For who, I ask, ouglit 
 to live in palaces, if not great artists, the teachers of the beauti 
 ful ? And I pity that man who confounds the bright particular 
 
80 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 stars of the ballet with chorus-dancers and performers in Lcs 
 Poses Piastiqucs, as much as I do the spiteful ignoramus who 
 condemned the painter for his impiety in painting CHRIST and 
 Juda* with pigments "all out of the same pot." Those who 
 affect to condemn the ballet, yet pretend to appreciate the beau 
 tiful in art and nature, will do well to look at the compliment 
 paid by the grave Professor Thiersch, in his Acsthctik, to the 
 talent of Ellsler and Taglioni. 
 
 Italian wit, or even insolence, is sometimes over-matched. An 
 Austrian having business with some Venetian officials, and being 
 unacquainted with their language, addressed the principal in his 
 native tongue ; "I am not a wild ass, to bray in German," 
 politely replied, in French, the individual addressed. " Strange/ 
 answered the Austrian, looking contemptuously round at the 
 assembly, "that the slaves have not yet learned the language 
 which their master speaks." An interpreter was at once offered. 
 
 I have not unfrequently remarked in Venice small placards 
 on the walls, bearing the name of one or the other clergyman, 
 accompanied by a highly commendatory sentence, the formula 
 being as follows: "In segno d esulfazione pel nostro Vicar io 
 Sebastian Valier ;" "In sign of exultation for our vicar Sebas 
 tian Valier." Of the nature of the services rendered by the 
 worthy gentleman which entitled him to this extraordinary 
 eulogium, I am not informed. 
 
 I was sailing along the Grand Canal one fine morning in a 
 gondola with a New York friend, when we espied, for the first time, 
 the black porter of the Leone Bianco Hotel, basking in the sun. 
 Up rose my friend, and cried out, " I say, Buck, how did you get 
 there?" Great was the darkey s joy, as he replied, on the 
 broad grin, "Lord bless me, mas , is you American?" "Well, 
 I am," was the reply; "what do you do here?" With a still 
 intenser grin, shutting up both eyes and chuckling, Ebony re 
 plied, "Dey puts me out here in front for a bait to trap de 
 Americans wid !" 
 
 I have always been a reader of "flying leaves," popular songs, 
 afld ha penny literature generally. Nor do the "last dying 
 speeches and confessions" of England; the "Marseillaise," 
 "Bon roi Dagobert," and "Chant du Depart" of France, or the 
 VoUcsliicher of Germany, afford a more certain indication of the 
 
THE MIRACULOUS IMAGE. 81 
 
 respective national temperaments and tendencies of the people 
 of those countries, than the corresponding class of compositions 
 in Italy of that which interests its own multitude. In Home and 
 Naples, with the exception of many popular songs, the vulgar lite 
 rature is exclusively religious. With that of Florence I am not 
 acquainted. In Venice, a new element develops itself ; at least 
 one-half of such leaves or pamphlets consisting of accounts of 
 noted criminals, or historical, supernatural, or humorous sketches 
 and legends. In Bologna and Milan, a coarse, vulgar humour 
 predominates. The titles of my own bundles would form a 
 chapter interesting enough to the D Israelis of literature. 
 
 I design these remarks as an introduction to the translation 
 of a little pamphlet of six pages, which I bought in the Piazza 
 di San Marco, and which may be taken as a characteristic speci 
 men of those old-time legends which even yet exert such an in 
 fluence in the Catholic Church. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. 
 
 HISTORICAL RECORD OF THE MIRACULOUS IMAGE OF SANCTIS- 
 SIMA MARIA DELLE GRAZIE, WHICH MAY BE SEEN IN THE 
 PAROCHIAL CHURCH OF SAN MARZIALE, IN VENICE. 
 
 MANY have been the instances of love, of partiality, and pro 
 tection, which the city of Venice has experienced from the most 
 holy MARY; among which is particularly distinguished that which 
 happened in the year 1186, as an ancient and authentic tradition 
 relates. During the pontificate of Nicolas IV., in the territory of 
 Rimini lived a simple shepherd, named RUSTICO, devoted to the 
 VIRGIN MARY, who, having one day conducted his sheep to pas 
 ture, while resting in the shade of a wood, noticed the trunk of a 
 tree in which nature had, as it were jestingly, roughly expressed a 
 feminine configuration. Thinking that this might easily be made 
 to represent the holy image of MARY, he began to carve, and in 
 a few days had brought the work nearly to perfection, when sud- 
 
82 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 denly he found the whole spoiled; and the good man, not know 
 ing how this could have happened, stood in grief and trouble, 
 almost on the point of desisting from the undertaking, when 
 there suddenly appeared before him two youths, who at once 
 showed him a method by which he might still complete the work 
 designed. Rustico, not recognising them at first, smiled at their 
 words, but finally, out of good nature, permitted them to work 
 upon it, which they accordingly did, and, in a short time, per 
 fected the majestic and much-to-be-venerated image. Then he 
 well knew that they could not be other than two angels sent 
 from heaven, who at once enjoined upon him that he should carry 
 the image to the bishop of the city and the governor, and tell 
 them the will of the VIRGIN in this matter, which was, that it 
 be placed in a boat without rudder, and left to swim at the dispo 
 sition of PROVIDENCE. Of which the bishop being informed, 
 he ordered a solemn procession, but strove to evade the command, 
 being desirous of retaining the holy image and placing it in the 
 cathedral of his city ; when wonderful prodigy ! the statue 
 became so heavy and immovable that they were obliged to desist 
 from the resolution taken, and, placing it in a little boat, left it 
 alone for out at sea, on which, with a prosperous gale, and ac 
 companied by many vessels from Rimini filled with those desirous 
 of witnessing the result, it floated to the borders of our lagune ; 
 passing which, through the canal called Sacca dclla Mitericordia, 
 it bent its course to the bank of the church of San Marziale, 
 where it stopped. Upon which stood a poor blind man, with his 
 son, who was dumb from his birth; and the pair begged alms 
 from those passing by. But, as the bark drew near which held 
 the miraculous image, the tongue of the son was loosened, and 
 he bade his father prostrate himself before the adorable MARY, 
 from whom he would receive sight. At which* miracle those 
 present were greatly astonished; and the parish priest (il Paroco) 
 being informed thereof, communicated the news to Bartolomeo 
 Querini, the then bishop, who ordered them to bear the holy 
 imajre in the boat to the cathedral, which the Paroco and several 
 priests essayed to do, but were hindered by a renewal of the same 
 miracle which had taken place in Rimini. Of which the prelate 
 being informed, and the will of MARY recognised, the sacred 
 image was raised by the united eiforts of Giovanni Dandolo, then 
 3ogc, and many other noblemen, and placed in tho church of 
 
THE MIRACULOUS IMAGE. 83 
 
 San Marziale, to receive great honour. Many were the acclama 
 tions and the thanks rendered up by all the people for the bene 
 fits received by them, every day on which they assembled to 
 honour the sacred image, which dispensed benefits and favours to 
 such a degree as to become celebrated throughout Venice; and 
 whoever desired a blessing of MARY, sought this church to 
 obtain it. And the high pontiffs, moved by the extraordinary 
 prodigies effected by GOD, at the intercession of the MOST HOLY 
 MARY, enriched the said church with various indulgences; 
 among which, Clement XIV. granted plenary indulgence in the 
 year 1773, beginning on the day of the twenty-fifth of June, un 
 til the ninth of July, applicable also to the defunct. 
 
 Nor would the partiality or the beneficence of MARY have 
 diminished since those times, had the eagerness of the faithful to 
 honour her, and celebrate her name, been greater than it now is. 
 
 The clergyman of said church, therefore, desired to make 
 known the history of that miraculous image, and thus inspire the 
 Venetian people to reverence it. Do not cease, devotees of 
 MARY, to show yourselves such to her; honouring her with 
 your devotion, obtaining with your offerings the greater worship 
 of her altar; thus exhibiting by your piety that devotion which 
 has so much distinguished you from other people. 
 
 N.B. All our ancient chroniclers speak of the said image, and 
 the celebrated Flaminio Corner, in his learned Illustrations of the 
 Venetian Churches, narrates its history. There are, also, yet 
 in our church authentic pictures of the Roman school of the 
 sixteenth century, which represent the event as narrated; and 
 there is, also, a picture of the same age of the Venetian school, 
 which records its arrival. 
 
 As late as the year 1839, several persons, moved by tender 
 devotion for the Most Holy VIRGIN, whose undoubted patronage 
 they had experienced, had recourse to that holy image; and also 
 an entire typographical institute has, under the glorious title of 
 S a Maria delle Grazie, selected her as protectress. 
 
 PRAYER TO THE VIRGIN MARIA DELLE GRAZIE. 
 
 "HOLY MARY, Mother of GOD, and always Virgin, who, in visiting ELISA 
 BETH, didst sanctify the Baptist by the blessed fruit of thy womb, JESUS; grant 
 that, despising earthly things, I may be enabled to choose thee for my pro 
 tectress and advocate, and may my mind be thus sanctified by thy presence. I 
 intend faithfully to serve thee, and through thy protection to love and honour 
 
84 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 thee, as thou dost love and honour thy divine Sox. I pray thee to receive me 
 into the number of thy servants, to aid me in all my actions to do the will of 
 GOD, and not to abandon me in the hour of my death. May it thus be !" 
 
 I HAD hoped to finish the sheet and the evening with the 
 above prayer, but, being disappointed, will briefly inform you, 
 Reader, on the bit remaining, that the gondoliers of Venice are 
 divided into two factions, termed Castelli and Nicoletti ; that 
 they are still the confidants of half the love intrigues, and con 
 sequently of nearly all the rascality of the place ; that Venice, 
 instead of rotting into its canals, is a bright, lively city, doing a 
 good business, with as many inhabitants as it ever had; that 
 Saint Mark s Place is infinitely more romantic and picturesque 
 by gas-light than during the day ; and that in the City of Doges 
 I saw fewer pretty women than in any other town in Italy. In 
 confirmation of all which, permit me to sing you the following 
 ditty, which I find accidentally scribbled on the last page of this 
 sheet, and which was doubtless interpolated by Destiny for some 
 good purpose, as it exactly fills the leaf. 
 
 " Come over the bourne, BESSY, to me ! 
 Her boat hath a leak, 
 And she may not speak ; 
 Oh, she dare not come over to thee !" 
 
 Kip-hurrah, and slopsasa! 
 
 Through mud and -water, thick and thin, 
 
 Go roll a full-grown hogshead in. 
 
 One, two, three, for luck I rap it : 
 
 Who will be the first to tap it? 
 
 He was glorious down went he ! 
 
 Thou art glorious, that I see; 
 
 I am not, but soon shall be. 
 
 And as he knocked around the bung, 
 
 They found, alack ! a stave was sprung. 
 
 Sacramento ! DOMINE ! 
 
 Now who will save my wine and me ? 
 
 Out came the liquor with a run, 
 
 And drowned the brethren every one, 
 
 Who, floating light as any feather, 
 
 Went bobbing round, like corks, together. 
 
ALTERNATIONS. 85 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 ALTERNATIONS. 
 
 I CANNOT tear myself loose from Venice. My head still wavers 
 with its waters. Time and tide permitting, I should in this 
 chapter, after lying among the pots of the world, have silvered 
 up a little ; like a duck, have taken unto myself the wings of the 
 morning, and flown to the outside-edge of the Impossible. Al 
 ready my soul hovered, like a golden star, between the glowing 
 morning-land of the Past and the dim evening-land of the Future. 
 From afar rung the voices of the rosy hours. I was within an 
 ace of the beatified vision 
 
 " Fully justified, I 
 Did ride through the sky, 
 
 Nor envied ELIJAH his seat; 
 Then my soul mounted higher 
 In a chariot of fire, 
 
 And the moon it was under my feet !" 
 
 (" Can you look me in the face and say -tlie sa-ame, Jean- 
 not?") In fact, I was about, in a Plotinian ecstasy, to lose my 
 self in the mystery of unintelligibility, and what George Sand 
 calls the divinity of madness. ("Moonlit hours were made for 
 love.") But fortunately, hearing from this super-terrestrial ele 
 vation the voice of the printer s messenger demanding "copy," 
 my soul at once drew together like a collapsed bladder, ("/ 
 come from Alabama, with my banjo on my knee,") folded her 
 wings about her, and slode down to earth as sheepishly ( Carlotta 
 Grisi Polka) as if her mistress had caught her coquetting with 
 a chimney-sweep. ("Thou, thou reignst in this bosom") 
 
 
 False love, and hast thou played me thus, 
 
 In summer among the flowers ? 
 I will repay thee back again 
 
 In winter, among the showers : 
 Unless again again, my love, 
 
 Unless you turn again : 
 As you with other maidens rove, 
 
 I ll rove with other men. 
 
6 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 " Ala eggamr lou yslyny 
 Borzouh ana ma aslah." 
 
 Sae wantonlie, sae dantonlie, 
 
 Sae rantonly gaed he, 
 He played a spring and danced a round 
 
 Beneath the gallows-tree; 
 lo te voglio bene asaai, 
 E tu non pienz a me : 
 Last nighte the queene had four MARIES, 
 
 To-nighte she ll have but three: 
 There was MARY SETOUN, MARY BEATOUN, 
 
 MARIE CAR-MICHAEL, and me. 
 And three merry men, and three merry men, 
 And three merry men were we." 
 
 "/ te speravi 
 Vous la voyez-vous 1 entendez, 
 
 Vous vous croyez bien avec ellc; 
 Mais pas de tout parcoque tout a coup, 
 
 Elle vous fait la rebelle." C EST MA NINI. 
 
 Deuce take that fellow with his Organ ! You comprehend, 
 do you, that since I have, this morning, held pen in hand, 
 there has been a beggarly Savoyard beneath the window, grinding 
 out all manner of popular airs, and inspiring me, associatively, 
 with all manner of scrap verses, until I hardly know what my 
 paper speaks. Even as a merrie maiden, borne down and con 
 quered by sleep, ever essayeth to talk intelligibly, and still uttereth 
 the holy sleep-inspired mystery, profanely termed nonsense, so 
 have I striven, but all in vain, against the benumbing influence 
 of this organic fiend. The mischief take him, with his brethren ! 
 In France they call them Orgucs de Barbarie, from the barbarous 
 manner in which they torment gentlemen trying to write. Well, 
 as I was saying, ("Allans, enfans de la Patrie!") things will 
 turn out in this chapter, probably better than I expected. 
 
 "The LORD be praised ! 
 I m much amazed 
 
 To see how things have mended; 
 Short-cakes and tea 
 For supper you ll see, 
 Where froth and gas were intended." 
 
 How one train of thought alternates with another ! 
 
 One evening, after a glorious pic-nic to the Armenian convent, 
 and a glance at the old monk who had been Byron s preceptor 
 in Oriental tongues, our party in gondolas were gliding silently 
 among the canals, and past the churches and palaces of the city, 
 
ALTERNATIONS. 87 
 
 and, as the moon shone, the oars plashed, the water surged, 
 while cloudlets went floating by in the blue heavens, we were all 
 very happy and sentimental. The Wolf had just narrated his 
 favourite and terrific Venetian legend of Professor Nordenholm 
 and the enchanted elephant. Young C. was giving Miss Coralie 
 a brief abstract of Schiller s Ghost-seer, while the Russian gentle 
 man and his cousine conversed Jin a low tone, rapidly and 
 earnestly, in their native tongue; the subject of their communica 
 tions being, undoubtedly, either that of early scenes of love, 
 night, and beauty in their own distant land, or the last card-party 
 at Marchesa C/s. At last, pretty Miss L., fairly melting with 
 romance, let her small, white hand, sparkling with diamonds, 
 trail in the water, while, sinking back, she sighed forth from 
 Moore 
 
 " On such a blessed night as this, 
 
 I often think, if friends were near, 
 
 How we should feel and gaze with bliss 
 
 Upon the moonlight scenery here." 
 
 At this the fat old gentleman became evidently deeply affected; 
 I could see a tear of sentiment steal down his cheek, as, gazing 
 at the moon, he quoted from Dr. Johnson 
 
 " The Queen of Night 
 
 Bound us pours a lambent light; 
 Light that seems but just to show 
 Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow." 
 
 " Vogue la Galere" whispered C., as the Chevalier replied, from 
 the Siege of Corinth 
 
 " Tis midnight: o er the distant town, 
 The cold, round moon shines deeply down : 
 Blue roll the waters ; blue the sky 
 Spreads like an ocean hung on high, 
 Bespangled with those isles of light, 
 So wildly, spiritually bright." 
 
 We are all moon-struck, thought I, as Mrs. C. s gentle, beautiful 
 voice came in from Leigh Hunt, with 
 
 "And the clear moon, with meek o erlifted face, 
 come to look into the silvering place !" 
 
 "Ha! have we all taken lodgings in the Rue de la Lune!" 
 cried Coralie, laughing, and then carolling 
 
 Au clair de la Lune ! 
 
 8* 
 
88 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Just then our gondolas swept past the house inhabited by our 
 banker. Extending his hands, the Wolf exclaimed, with touch 
 ing pathos, from Shakspeare 
 
 "How sweet the moonlight rests upon the BANK !" 
 
 " Chut !" cried Coralie. " Zanetta caret mia" she continued, 
 addressing her beautiful and silent Venetian friend, " can you 
 not give us a song of the Laguncs?" Without coughing or apo 
 logizing, the Siora took the guitar (every pic-nic has a guitar) and 
 sang with a sweet, expressive voice, in Venetian 
 
 "Amor si xe un putelo, 
 Ma siestu maledeto; 
 
 Un gran birbon ti xe : 
 Mi povero gramma za, 
 Tropo mi son fidada : 
 E ti ma la ficada, 
 
 Come che va a la fe". 
 
 " Ma questo xe un castigo, 
 Lo vedo schieto 6 neto, 
 Equesto xe un efeto, 
 De la mia crudelta; 
 
 " Caveme de sto intrigo, 
 Caro el mio caro orbeto; 
 Faro mi te prometo, 
 Quelo che ti vora." 
 
 As her voice died away into the rustling wavelets, it seemed to 
 me that life had never before seemed so bright and gentle love, 
 music, and flowers ! 
 
 Suddenly two gondolas shot round the corner, and from the 
 one pealed forth, with hip-hurrah, yells, and cries 
 
 " G-g-go it while you re young. 
 
 F-f-for when you get old you ca-can t; 
 Let Scandal hold her t-tongue, 
 And bid dull Care avaunt! 
 
 " Last night I was out late, 
 
 The truth I m-must declare; 
 This morn n, I don t know how, 
 
 I was up before the Mayor; 
 Says he, Sir, you ve had your fun, 
 
 And now you must pay for t! 
 Says I, Very well, Mister Mayor, 
 
 But then you know you ought 
 To ^ 
 
 Chorus by the entire company as Mayor, in Lasso 
 
ALTERNATIONS. 89 
 
 " Orter icot ! " 
 
 " Ought to go it while you re young, 
 
 For when yer git old ye can t; 
 Let Scandal hold her tongue, 
 And bid dull Care avaunt ! " 
 
 While from the other came a mixed accompaniment of "Row 
 gently here, my Gondolier," and the venerable if not respectable 
 air of 
 
 " We won t go home till morning, 
 Till daylight doth appear !" 
 
 " This is infamous, perfectly infamous," cried our fat little old 
 gentleman, thus rudely awakened from his sweet reverie, and 
 poking out his head at them. 
 
 "Got a cigar, old fellow?" screamed one of the convivialists. 
 
 " You deserve to be hung," retorted the little man, in a great 
 fury. To which the party in full chorus replied by continuing 
 their song 
 
 " Old men couldn t go it, 
 
 Were they to be swung ; 
 Their looks and actions show it : 
 So go it while you re young !" 
 
 " What are those animals ?" inquired the Chevalier, eyeing 
 the departing gondolas through his lorgnon. 
 
 " A mixed party of Gaiters and Universals from the two hotels," 
 replied C. 
 
 " Of what ?" 
 
 " Of second-rate English and Americans," answered the Wolf. 
 "Yes let them abuse each other when at home as much as 
 they will, abroad they flourish in merry fraternity and most cor 
 dially unite against the enemy be he French, Dutch, or Italian. 
 Bless your hearts, children ! you may fight and scratch occasion 
 ally, but ye are brothers after all, and a malediction on him who 
 would estrange your hearts! But it s a pity that yonder f rowdy 
 party should be the representatives of such a number of the 
 youthful travellers of both nations \" 
 
 " They appear to be very merry," exclaimed Coralie, with 
 French thoughtlessness. "Je n aime pas mot, la tristesse ! And 
 if I were a gentleman, I would be among them." 
 
 " If they were gentlemen, they would be in company with 
 Mademoiselle Coralie," gallantly replied the Chevalier. 
 
 "Dieu! que vous etes gentil" replied the Parisienne. "What 
 
90 SKETCH BOOK OP ME, METSTER KARL. , 
 
 an ornament you are to a gondola ! Is it necessary to embroider 
 a smoking-cap, knit you a purse, work you slippers, or paint you 
 a brigand ?" 
 
 " I will accept the first full of cigars, the second of bank-bills, 
 the third with your feet in them, and have the fourth painted as 
 myself stealing a heart." 
 
 " What a delightful creature it is !" replied Coralie, as in a 
 soliloquy j " always merry, playful, innocent, and light-hearted. 
 Oh, monsieur, were you educated in the salons of Paris, or 
 brought up in a nursery with your younger sisters, that you are 
 at the same time so naif and so rusee? Don t you know that 
 with the second alone you can always obtain" 
 
 "What? the other three?" asked the Chevalier. 
 
 11 Oh no ! their equivalents." 
 
 " Any thing equal to Miss Coralie does not exist," was the 
 reply. 
 
 And he turned within himself (like an early Quaker) and found 
 bitterness and despair. For though but little had been spoken, 
 much had been meant and understood. 
 
 "Is it possible? nothing equal to poor, small me! Far 
 ceur va!" 
 
 And muffling her neck and chin in her velvet cloak, she drew 
 back on her seat. But just at this critical instant her eye glanced 
 upward at the Chevalier. 
 
 It was but a little glance a mere fractional glimpse a snap 
 a gleam. But in its arch deviltry, its merry spiciness, its ultra 
 intensity of smothered laughter, and lastly, not leastly, in its 
 friendliness and sympathy, the Chevalier saw whole floods of radiant 
 light an endless apocalypse of golden love. Like a true French 
 girl, Coralie had vexed him with persiflage and indifference until 
 he was fairly desperate, and then then came the delicious re 
 vulsion ! 
 
 Cowering and shrinking up in her cloak like a frightened 
 pigeon glancing out at him over its upper hem like an eagle, 
 yet so lovingly, so confidingly, so gently withal, and convincing 
 him, even in the instant in which she yielded, of her ability to 
 wield and sway the heart, and to soar at will over all the little 
 ordinary emotions of life, or dash boldly away from such influ 
 ences at the very instant in which she seemed to yield to their 
 power. 
 
NUREMBERG. 91 
 
 Reader did you ever see such a glance ? or such a French 
 girl, curiously compounded of beauty, dress, tact, good heart, and 
 finesse ? NO ? 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 NUREMBERG. 
 
 NORINBERGA Orbi regna. 
 
 STUDIOSUS JOVIALIS, 1751. 
 
 " Oh Niirnberg du edler Fleck ! 
 Deiner Ehrcn Bolz steckt am zweck. 
 Den hat die Weisheit daran geschlossen, 
 Die Wahrheit ist in dir entsprossen !" 
 
 PATER ROSENBLUTH. 
 Niirnberg s Hand, 
 Geht durch jeden Land. 
 Nuremberg s hand 
 Goes through every land. 
 
 OLD GERMAN PROVERB. 
 
 " THERE is much to be done, my friends/ said I to my tra 
 velling companions, as we approached that " Pompeii of the Mid 
 dle Ages," Nuremberg. 
 
 " And little enough time to do it in," replied THE WOLF, 
 snapping the lid of his meerschaum like a pistol lock, " even if 
 we pass a year in yonder colossal old curiosity-shop. By the ghost 
 of Albert Diirer ! I begin, even from this distance, to feel as the 
 Spanish adventurer did, when he landed on the ancient Atlantis 
 Land of Saint Brandon, where every thing was exactly five cen 
 turies behind time, clocks included. They say that all the sour- 
 crout in Nuremberg was made three hundred years ago !" 
 
 The reader who remembers the feelings of Contarini Fleming 
 when he approached Venice, may form some idea of my own sen 
 sations on arriving at the quaint old Gothic city of Nuremberg; 
 Gothic, I say, though that learned antiquarian, Hippolyte Fortoul, 
 has written a formidable chapter to prove that it has nothing 
 Ogival about it, but is, on the contrary, altogether Romanesque. 
 For to all who have studied the history and philosophy of plastic 
 and literary art in the galleries, libraries, and lecture-rooms of 
 
92 
 
 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, ME1STER KARL. 
 
 the continent, until Du rer becomes elevated in their eyes to a 
 German Raphael, and till the honourable names of Hans Sachs, 
 Veit Stoss, Peter Vischer, Pancras Labenwolf, and Willibald 
 Pirkheimer are familiar to their ears as household words, Nu 
 remberg will always be romantic pointed-arched and very 
 reverend. 
 
 I had recently qualified myself for this visit by a tolerably 
 thorough course of Hoffman, Tieck, Scheffer, and other romance 
 writers, who have done their best to set forth the intense queerity 
 and remarkable romanticism of this city. So that in the first 
 strokes of a hammer which met my ears, I at once naturally re 
 cognised the blows of the giant apprentice of MEISTER MARTIN ; 
 the first notes of a song resounding from a beer-house were in 
 the sword-cut- measure of that sweet poet, OLD HOLLENFEUER; 
 and the first jeweller s shop which I beheld at once occurred to 
 me as the veritable establishment of that far-renowned worker 
 in "orfeverie," WENZEL JAMNISTER. 
 
 I expected much and found more. Of a verity, I was not dis 
 appointed. My geese and ugly ducks all turned out to be swans, 
 my swans, birds of Paradise, and my birds of Paradise, phoenixes. 
 But I regret and shame myself to say, that the first lion visited 
 was neither the exquisite Gothic church of Saint Sebaldus, nor 
 the fairy-like Schoenlrunnen, or " beautiful fountain," but simply 
 a venerable and highly respectable ale-house. For that incorri 
 gible beer-hen, my friend and ally, WOLF SHORT, having learned 
 on the road, from a travelling student, that there was in Nurem 
 berg a remarkably curious Malt Institute, which no true member 
 of the ancient and honourable Order of Good Fellows could neglect 
 without risking loss of reputation, at once determined on looking 
 it up, after we had found a hotel and taken dinner. Nor was 
 the place, indeed, without interest, it having been, according to 
 our informant s account, the rendezvous for innumerable centu 
 ries, if not aeons, of all jovial studios and artists, in passing 
 through the city. In which it corresponded to 
 
 The Cafe del Greco, in Rome, 
 
 The Wagner Brei, in Munich, 
 
 The Cafe s, Rotonde and Procope, in Paris, 
 
 Auerbach s Cellar, in Leipzig, 
 
 Gast Haus zum Ritter, in Heidelberg, 
 
 Oestreichische Brauerei, in the same city, 
 
NUREMBERG. 93 
 
 Trattorie del Capelli, in Venice, 
 
 The Cafe Doney, in Florence, 
 
 And many more, which, as Panurge said, when he spoke high 
 German, would weary me to repeat, and yourself to listen to. 
 But this beer-house, to which the Wolf insisted on taking me, 
 was called the JAMMER-THAL, or Yale of Misery, a highly 
 promising and cheerfully encouraging title or sign for any house 
 of entertainment whatever. But it derives its name from the 
 fact that the original public room of the establishment, in which 
 the guests were wont to make merry, is so remarkably small, that 
 it is with difficulty that more than four persons can find room 
 around the little table in its centre. Of late years, owing to a 
 greatly increased run of custom, attracted by the superior quality 
 of his brew, the proprietor has enlarged his ideas, and now re 
 ceives guests in an adjoining room, capable of holding about 
 two hundred. A similar establishment, differing, however, in 
 the size of its rooms, and which, for some unknown reason, must 
 also be visited, bears the name of HIMMELS-LEITER, or Jacob s 
 Ladder. 
 
 Having performed these important duties, I had time to cast 
 my eyes about me and learn something of the town. I know not 
 how often I have had occasion during my life, when speaking of 
 Romanesque or Gothic objects, to employ such adjectives as 
 "odd," " quaint," " weird," "strange/ "wild," "freakish," 
 "antique," and "irregular;" but I am very certain that if they 
 could, according to my good old friend JUSTINUS KERNER S idea 
 of experiences, be concentrated or monogrammatized into a single 
 word, it would be exactly the one needed to describe the rare old 
 town of Nuremberg. There is a picturesque disorder a lyrical 
 confusion about the entire place, which is perfectly irresistible. 
 Turrets shoot up in all sorts of ways, on all sorts of occasions, 
 upon all sorts of houses ; and little boxes, with delicate Gothic 
 windows, cling to their sides and to one another like barnacles to 
 a ship ; while the houses themselves are turned around and about 
 in so many positions, that you wonder that a few are not upside 
 down, or lying on their sides, by way of completing the original 
 arrangement of no arrangement at all. It always seemed to me 
 as if the buildings in Nuremberg had, like the furniture in, Ir 
 ving s tale, been indulging over night in a very irregular dance, 
 and suddenly stopped in the most complicated part of a confusion 
 
94 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTEIl KARL. 
 
 worse confounded. Galleries, quaint staircases, and towers, with 
 projecting upper stories, as well as eccentric chimneys, demented 
 doorways, insane weather-vanes, and highly original steeples, form 
 the most commonplace materials in building; and it has more 
 than once occurred to me, that the architects of this city, even at 
 the present day, must have imbibed their principles, not from the 
 lecture-room, or the works of Vitruvius, Hope, Whewell, Berty, 
 Hiibsch, or Baumgartner, but from the most remarkable inspira 
 tions of some romantic scene-painter. During the last two cen 
 turies, men appear to have striven, with a most uncommendable zeal, 
 all over Christendom, to root out and extirpate every trace of the 
 Gothic. In Nuremberg alone, they have religiously preserved 
 what little they originally had in domestic architecture, and added to 
 it (of late years especially) with so much earnestness, that Monsieur 
 Fortoul, after declaring that the private houses of this city ex 
 hibit few or no traces of ancient Gothicism, adds " But, recently, 
 they scatter pointed arches in their fagadcs, and put them even 
 into dormer windows, to such an extent that, if you should chance 
 to visit Nuremberg ten years hence, you will find the Gothic 
 everywhere, and perhaps feel inclined to accuse me of indulging 
 in false assertions/ 
 
 One of the most exquisite artistic features which greets the 
 eye of the stranger in Nuremberg is the profusion of statues, 
 and, indeed, of sculptured ornament of every description, which is 
 lavished with unsparing hand, often in the oddest and most un 
 expected situations. Among the former, we must cite ninny 
 beautiful Madonnas of the Middle Ages. Throughout Southern 
 Germany and Italy, there is indeed no work of Art which more 
 frequently attracts our attention, but there are few places where 
 we so frequently behold it developed in such grace and purity as 
 in Nuremberg. "The superior workmanship of these figures," 
 says Mrs. Jameson, in an article on "The Nuremberg Ma 
 donnas," "show the influence of that excellent school of 
 Art which flourished at Nuremberg during the fourteenth, 
 fifteenth, and down to the middle of the sixteenth century; 
 the period in which Schonhofer, Peter Vischer, Beham, Burg- 
 maier, Adam Kraft, Albert Diirer, and many admirable artists 
 with less celebrated names, lived and worked, and gave to 
 this particular school that strong impress of individuality, truth 
 fulness, and deep feeling, which make amends for the want 
 
NUREMBERG. 95 
 
 of knowledge in some instances, and the want of grace in 
 others." 
 
 But I leave to Mrs. Jameson the task of setting forth the ar 
 tistic merits of these exquisite productions. What / propose to 
 narrate regarding one of them savours rather of legendary Art. 
 I will preach criticism and aesthetics, friend reader, with any one ; 
 but let me once get scent of a legend or an old ballad, and I bolt 
 at once from the track, and, until the game is fairly run down, can 
 only be found careering over the cloudy fields of Fantasie. 
 
 "Long, long ago, it was proposed by the Council of the goodly 
 city of Nuremberg to erect a statue to Our Lady, which, by its 
 superior beauty, should bring great honour to them, and raise in 
 all hearts great wonder and love. Thereto, they bade it be pro 
 claimed that, on a certain day, inspection would be held of such 
 images or carved effigies of OUR LADY, the Mother of God, as 
 might be brought before them, the artist, in every case, to re 
 ceive from the public treasury befitting reward and aidauce. 
 The said effigies to be made, at the carver s good- will, from 
 stone, ivory, metal, or woods reliquary and consecrated, (ex lignis 
 tnirabilibusJ) 
 
 "Now there was lately deceased in sleep, in the city of Nurem 
 berg, a maiden of rarest beauty, named LIDA VON VELDENSTEIN, 
 well known for her great love to all things holy, and especially 
 for her constant and loving service to the Sweet Mother of God, 
 ever affirming that the only wish of her heart, and the only 
 thought of her life, was in some degree to resemble that Most 
 Serene Soul and Pure Sea of Sanctity, OUR LADY, deemfng all 
 time lost not spent in her gentle service, and desiring only by 
 her death to promote her glory on earth, having often affirmed 
 to her friends that it had been revealed to her that, even after 
 her departure from life, she would on earth effect pious works 
 among men. 
 
 "And on the day appointed there appeared, among other com 
 petitors, a stranger of noble bearing, who submitted to the 
 Council a stone image of the HOLY MOTHER of such rare and 
 exquisite beauty that no question was held of its superiority. 
 Thereon they, the Councillors, thanking God, bade the artist re 
 ceive his reward; which he did there refuse, bidding them be 
 stow it, for the honour of OUR LADY, on the poor. And then 
 forthwith departed. 
 
96 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 *<Nor had he been long gone, ere it was strangely reported 
 that the statue in all its features was identical with the lately- 
 departed maiden, Lida von Veldenstein; differing in no wise 
 cither in face or figure, save that indeed a beauty of sanctity now 
 rested on all, which no earthly form hath ever retained. And 
 search being made in the tomb, the body of Lida von Velden- 
 stein was indeed wanting, there remaining only the death-gar 
 ment in which it had been enfolded. But around the statue 
 was a mantle in no wise the same. 
 
 "From that day forth it hath been commonly reported that 
 this image of THE MOTHER or GOD was of a truth none other 
 than the body of the maiden LIDA, who, for her great goodness, 
 had been indeed transformed to the likeness of HER whom she 
 so loved to imitate, and whom by her beauty, given of God, she 
 now honoured even after death. And this statue is the same 
 which now stands upon the house of that upright man, JOHANNES 
 VON ROHRBACH, who dwellcth in the Binder-Gasse of the an 
 cient and notable city of Nuremberg." 
 
 NUREMBERG, like Avignon, is one of the very few cities 
 which have retained in an almost perfect state the feudal walls 
 and turrets with which they were invested by the Middle Ages. 
 At regular intervals along these walls occur little towers, for 
 their defence, reminding one of beads strung on a rosary ; the 
 great watch-tower at the gate, with its projecting machicolation, 
 forming the pendant cross, the whole serving to guard the town 
 within from the dangers of war, even as the rosary protects the 
 city of Mansoul from the attacks and strategies of Sin and Death 
 though, sooth to say, since the invention of gunpowder and 
 the Reformation, both the one and the other appear to have lost 
 much of their former efficacy. Directly through the centre of 
 the town runs a small stream, called the Pegnitz, " dividing the 
 town into two nearly equal halves, named after the two great 
 churches situated within them ; the northern being termed Saint 
 Sebald s, and the southern, St. Laurence s side." 
 
 In the northern part of the division of Saint Sebaldus rises a 
 high hill, formed at the summit of vast rocks, on which is situ 
 ated the ancient Reichsveste, or Imperial Castle, whose origin 
 is fairly lost in the dark old days of Heathenesse. From it the 
 traveller can obtain an admirable view of the romantic town be- 
 
NUREMBERG. 97 
 
 low. In regarding it, I was irresistibly reminded of the remark 
 able resemblance existing between most of its buildings and the 
 children s toys manufactured by the ingenious artisans of Nurem 
 berg and its vicinity. In one squab little mansion, capped with 
 peaked tower and eye-like windows, I distinctly recognised the 
 original model of a fascinating little vermilion-coloured edifice 
 which had, long years ago, well-nigh thrown me into a convulsion 
 of delight when first extracted one Christmas morning from the 
 Krisskingle stocking; while a circular building of modern date, 
 with a primrose roof, had evidently been formed after the same 
 model as a certain "round tower of other days" with which I 
 had whilom delighted my juvenile optics. Well do I remember 
 that "jolly round house/ 7 whose door on opening displayed to 
 the astonished vision a wooden young lady with a very short 
 waist, holding over her bonnetless head, with commendable per 
 pendicularity, an opened parasol; while by her side an aged, but 
 (to judge from a red feather which grew from the centre of her 
 head) apparently respectable female, was busily engaged in roast 
 ing a goose at a fire, consisting of three glowing strips of tinsel. 
 It was a mooted question with Lady Bulwer, as to whether Shak- 
 speare was born to write for Charles Kean, or Charles Kean to 
 act Shakspeare; and I for my part am unable to decide whether 
 the Dutch toy-makers of Nuremberg obtain their designs from 
 its architects, or whether the architects copy after their toys. 
 
 One of the most striking portions of the Imperial Castle is the 
 Heidenthurm, or Heathen Tower, so called from several very 
 singular carved figures upon it, which served as idols previous to 
 the introduction of Christianity.* This tower contains two re 
 markably interesting old chapels, in the Romanesque or transition 
 style of architecture, one of which, called the Chapel of Saint 
 Margaret, dates from the ninth or tenth century. Its massy 
 columns, short and bulky, readily bring us back to the time when 
 the heavy force of the Dark Ages was not as yet lost in the more 
 romantic grace of a subsequent era. There is something in 
 credible, mysterious, and Cyclopean in every part of this castle. 
 They may tell us, if they will, that Conrad the First, the last 
 emperor of the blood of Charlemagne, founded the pile; but 
 
 * For a more accurate description of these "idols," vide Heideloff s " Orna 
 ments of the Middle Ages." 
 
98 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTEtt KARL. 
 
 there is a fearful, giant-like air in the immense stones of which 
 it is formed, "seeming to rival the rocks upon which they are 
 placed," which gives the lie to history when it asserts them to be 
 the erections of ordinary mortals. Like the fearful caves of the 
 antique Cimmerians, which the traveller beholds about Naples, 
 they whisper of far-off busy races long since passed away in the 
 early morning-time, when there were giants in the world. The 
 images of the grim old idols on the Heathen Tower contribute 
 not a little to the feeling of antiquity and mystery which the 
 place inspires. Relics of a long-forgotten and wild religion, what 
 deities or demons do ye represent? Are ye TSCIIERNOBOG, the 
 God of Death and Sin, or BJELBOG, the Divinity of Light and 
 Joy? Or Zslotababa, the Golden Wife, or Makosch or Woloss 
 "Bog chranitel skota u drevnih slavyan" "the protector of 
 domestic animals among the antique Sclavi?"* Or Daschba, 
 the God of Wealth, or the sweetly named Dshidshislado, the 
 gentle Goddess of Love ! Or Gonda, or Korscha, or Gordoaitis, 
 or Ligitschios, or Goniglidewos, or Koljada, or Rodomuessl, or 
 Rugewith, or Swantevnd, the highest of all ? Perhaps, old Idol, 
 I aim too high. Wert thou Simeryla, the mild Goddess of 
 Spring, or Krodo, the Sclavonic Saturn? What, lower still! 
 Confound you, then, were you Kremara, the Lithuanian God of 
 Swine? No answer the oracles are dumb, and Baal refuseth 
 to answer. Interrogate the past, traveller, and see what you ll 
 get by it ! As much as nothing. " I walked through the gloomy 
 halls of my ancestors they were shabby and desolate. I cried 
 aloud, The friends of my youth, where are they? and echo an 
 swered and said Really, I don t know!" 
 
 The chapel of the castle is highly interesting, being probably 
 one of the earliest specimens of Romanesque Art in Germany. 
 It has the square form of the first churches which the Greeks 
 constructed on the model of the Pagan temples. Four columns, 
 of great height, placed in the centre of the hall, divide it into 
 three parts, and support the bases of nine arches, without mould 
 ings; while the choir, placed at the extremity of the plan of the 
 chapel, forms out of it a square projection equal to the space 
 
 * The reader learned in Mythology will excuse the liberties I have taken. 
 The influence of the Sclavic Mythology was, however, very great in this region 
 (par ex. Tschernobog, or Zerneboch) though not to the extent here imagined. 
 
NUREMBERG. 99 
 
 comprised between the four columns ; and a very irregular tri 
 bune, supported by two enormous pillars, opens in the face of the 
 choir to the interior apartments. For many of the ornaments in 
 these chapels, as well as in other parts of Nuremberg, the reader 
 may consult Heideloff s Architectural Ornaments of the Middle 
 Ages one of the most exquisite works in existence. A church, 
 precisely similar in every respect to this chapel, is said to exist 
 on the Bohemian frontier, in the little town of Egra, where 
 Charles the Fifth, and subsequently Wallenstein, once encamped. 
 
 But, reader mine, ere we leave this Castle Chapel, let me first 
 narrate a gossiping old legend of the Middle Ages, which has 
 floated and hummed around it for many a century. There are 
 many strange old stories extant in Nuremberg, and this is one of 
 them. But ere I tell my legend, let me first beg of you to 
 glance at those four slender pillars, and observe on one of them 
 an iron ring. Good ! you see it ? And now, over the arch be 
 fore the altar you see carved in the stone a human head. And 
 thereby hangs a tale. 
 
 When the castle was building, far back in the days of King 
 Conrad, says my chronicler, there came the Devil to inspect 
 the work, and do what harm he could. And he nosed and 
 poked around (sit verbo venial*) until he saw the fat and jolly 
 priest who was, for the time, Castle Chaplain. And with 
 the sight came a vehement and inexpressible longing for the 
 soul of that clergyman. It was a case of incurable love at 
 first sight. 
 
 "Have thee I must," thought SIR URIAN. Now Sir Urian 
 is The Old Scratch; and The Old Scratch, as you all know, is 
 the Devil. So, without more ado, he went at once to the chap 
 lain, and, with an irresistible leer, smoothing his hand over his 
 chin, declared, with a pleasing naivete, that he would fain have 
 his soul or, at least, the refusal of it. 
 
 Now the chaplain was a man of singular piety very singular, 
 indeed, if we may believe the legend; for, instead of fleeing the 
 Evil One, he at once resolved, if possible, to flay him or, at 
 least, "draw the wool over his eyes." So, without fear, he 
 replied 
 
 "Salve, Sathanas! Nothing for nothing is goodly wisdom. 
 Give thee my soul I may not, sell it I will not. But, behold, 
 there are yet wanting four columns to this most admirable chapel; 
 
 9* 
 
100 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, METSTER KARL. 
 
 and if thou canst hew, cut, shape, and duly set in place those 
 four columns ere I have finished reading a mass, then I am thine, 
 even to the soles of my last year s sandals. " 
 
 The one who rejoiced at hearing this speech was the Devil. 
 "Monsieur cst lien Ion," quoth he. "Let us begin. Midnight 
 is at hand." 
 
 "Quickly stood the first column in its place," says the chro 
 nicle. "At the Credo, lo! there was the second, and, at the 
 JEvangelium, the third. But while the Enemy was coming up, 
 bringing the fourth under his arm, the priest roared out, giving 
 the desk a most orthodox thump 
 
 "!TE MISSA EST!" 
 
 These are the concluding words of tbe Roman mass, and 
 signify, "Get along with you!" And Satan did get along. Out 
 he thundered, amid smoke and yells, white fire, the rattling of 
 copper sheets, and the roar of Chinese gongs, the clanking of 
 trace-chains, and the shouts of supernumeraries, as he has been 
 accustomed to do from time immemorial. And while departing, 
 in his rage he dashed down the pillar, which broke in twain 
 with a mighty and solemn clang. But the priest had it mended. 
 
 That jovial head, carved on the arch, is an excellent likeness 
 of the fearless chaplain; and the iron ring indicates the spot 
 where the broken pillar was joined together. 
 
 In another part of the castle there is a suite of rooms, em 
 ployed as a picture-gallery. Here, in place of the original, the 
 visitor may see the copy of the portrait of ALBERT DURER, so 
 singularly stolen, not many years ago, by an artist-thief. While 
 in Munich, I had frequently admired, in its Royal Gallery, the 
 beautiful, Christ-like portrait of Diirer, painted by himself on 
 panel. This picture was originally in the Castle of Nuremberg; 
 but a certain scamp (though a first-rate artist withal) named 
 KUFFER (or Cooper) having obtained permission to copy it, did 
 the thing so neatly, that the most practised eye could scarcely 
 have detected any difference "between his portrait or th origi 
 nal." Which done, Herr Kiiffer, acting on the principle of 
 exchange being no robbery, sawed out, on the sly, the " genuine 
 Albert," and, neatly inserting his own copy, went off with the 
 original to Munich, and sold it to King Louis (the Lola Moiitttz 
 
NUREMBERG. 101 
 
 monarch) for five hundred and fifty florins, or two hundred and 
 twenty dollars a cheap enough price, even for stolen goods. 
 
 In this gallery are many curious old German paintings, flip 
 pantly described by that most treacherous of all guide-books for 
 the true scholar, John Murray, as "a heap of rubbish;" but 
 which the learned and keen-witted KUGLER finds remarkably 
 curious, as illustrating in many instances the sharp and formal 
 design of the early Norimbergian school, and wonders "that 
 these documents , which are of such importance in the history 
 of the development of Art, (Entivicklungsgeschichte der Kunst^) 
 should have attracted so little attention among the learned in 
 Nuremberg." Among others we may notice an exquisite Cruci 
 fixion, by ALBRECHT ALTDORFER, an artist of whom it has been 
 truly said, that " he blended the wild and fantastic element of 
 his own time with the richest and loveliest spirit of Poesy, 
 developing both in a bloom of Romance, the like of which can 
 be found in no other artist." Those who are acquainted with 
 the genius of this artist, though only from his copper-plate en 
 gravings, will bear witness that this tribute to his genius is not 
 exaggerated. 
 
 The stiff and harsh, but at times fantastic paintings of HANS 
 BURKMAYER the friend, and, it is said, pupil of Diirer which 
 abound in this gallery, are also not without interest. A certain 
 solemn dignity in his countenances not unfrequently elevates us, 
 in contemplating them, to a lofty and romantic state of mind. I 
 also noted works by Hans Holbein, Wohlgemuth, and Joachim 
 von Sandrart, which well repaid attention and study. 
 
 In the courtyard of the castle are two curiosities worth notice, 
 the one being a lime-tree, said to be planted by Queen Kune- 
 gonda, and which, at four feet from the ground, measures fifteen 
 feet in circumference j and the other, an ancient well, three hun 
 dred and eighteen feet in depth. 
 
 In descending from the Burg or Castle, " where the Art of 
 the Middle Ages is mingled with ancient Greek and Roman 
 forms," the traveller should stop at St. Sebaldus. This church 
 has been keenly abused by more than one architectural critic; 
 yet, notwithstanding their antiquarian fury, the traveller, whose 
 eye is trained rather to picturesque effect than architectural 
 purism, will, with his guide-book, be quite willing to pronounce 
 it "an extremely beautiful Gothic edifice, exhibiting great ele- 
 
102 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 gance, externally and internally, especially in the choir." Reader 
 mine, how little would there be to enjoy in this world, if we 
 limited our admiration solely to that which is perfectly and abso 
 lutely correct. But whatever defects there may be in the building 
 of this church, they are all amply atoned for by the exquisite 
 ornaments with which it is profusely decorated, its principal at 
 traction being the celebrated, I might say world-renowned, Taber 
 nacle or Shrine of Saint Sebaldus, which stands in the centre of 
 the church albeit, the congregation is now no longer Catholic 
 but Lutheran. "It is the masterpiece of the distinguished 
 artist, PETER VISCHER, (b. 1460, d. 1529,) who was assisted in 
 its construction by his five sons ; he employed upon it thirteen 
 years of labour, and finished it in 1519." 
 
 But the traveller who would behold a crowning glory of this 
 variety of Gothic art should repair to the Church of Saint Lau 
 rence, and, after admiring its exquisite many-hued windows, 
 said to be among the finest in the world, study its chief attrac 
 tion, also a shrine, but of stone instead of bronze, by the world- 
 renowned ADAM KRAFT. A similar work by the same artist 
 had long since delighted me in the Cathedral of Ulm, but this 
 far transcends it in purity of style and incredible fertility of 
 ornament. For the Shrine of St. Sebaldus, Peter Vischer, we 
 are told, was "miserably paid;" and the maker of this wonderful 
 triumph of Art died in his native town in a hospital ! 
 
 Throughout Europe there are but few monuments of Gothic 
 Art which can be compared to this wonderful Sacraments- 
 HamUin, or repository for the Sacred Wafer. In all the bold 
 ness of beauty, it soars before us to a height of sixty-four feet 
 
 " Like the foamy sheaf of fountains rising through the painted air." 
 
 So wonderful is the skill displayed in this " sanctuary," and 
 so elaborate its finish, that it has been said to be executed with 
 a minuteness more commonly bestowed on ivory than on stone. 
 And so lithely and gracefully do its joints and little buttresses 
 bend and wind, and so light and plastic are all its ornaments, 
 "that many have doubted whether it really is stone, supposing it 
 to be formed of plaster moulded } which, however, is clearly 
 ascertained not to be the case." 
 
 "This Tabernacle," says a French tourist, "less resembles a 
 work of Art than a wild, luxuriant, climbing plant, which, 
 
NUREMBERG. 103 
 
 taking root in the pavement, and accidentally meeting a support, 
 rises to the roof; casting out in. its flight the most capricious 
 and beautifully-fantastic forms. The entire monument, in its 
 elaborate beauty, is like an immense piece of splendid Old- 
 German jewelry." 
 
 "But oh, my fancie, whither wilte thou goe?" Reader, where 
 shall we next wander in Nuremberg, among its wealth of Gothic 
 imagery ? Wouldst see the SCHOENER BRUNNEN, or Beautiful 
 Fountain ? 
 
 "Everywhere thou seest around thee rise the wondrous world of Art 
 Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common mart I" 
 
 There are many statues around this fountain, all of rare beauty; 
 but of chiefest perfectness is that of Alexander. The exquisite 
 beauty of his countenance transcends all style, whether Gothic 
 or Classic; nor could the keenest critic assign to it an age or 
 school. 
 
 Thou mayest remember, reader, that we begun our observations 
 in Nuremberg in a beer-house. For this let the country and its 
 manners be our excuse ! The city, with its Gothic buildings, 
 has preserved a vast number of very Gothic customs, odd say 
 ings, quaint proverbs, antique rhymes, venerable jokes, ancient 
 puns, and other curious capabilities not herein recorded, but 
 which are daily developed in the dim atmosphere of the Kneipe, 
 or ale-houses, of this merry, old, hard-drinking town. "The 
 Heaven s Ladder and the Vale of Misery!" exclaims that narra 
 tor of Nuremberg marvels, DR. FRIEDERICH MAYER; "what 
 man ever came as a stranger to Nuremberg, and asked not after 
 both these beer-purses ? in the courts of which, during the hot 
 days of summer, he can enjoy, beneath the cool shadow of green 
 acacias, many an exquisite beaker of that foaming brew invented 
 by King Cambrinus for the refreshment of all thirsty souls." 
 
 Therefore, reader, I make no further excuse for concluding 
 this my Nuremberg magic-lantern series, with another hostelrie 
 slide. See you yon open square with a bronze fountain in the 
 midst? a peasant bearing two geese spouting water from their 
 mouths. An exquisitely quaint work of Art, cast long ago by 
 ancient Mas ter PANCRAS LABENWOLF. That is the GOOSE- 
 MARKET. Now cast your eyes to the near corner. You see an 
 
104 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 old tavern. That tavern, gentle reader, was whiloin the house 
 where HANS SACHS sung and laughed "in huge folios." 
 
 "For his home is now an ale-house, with a nicely-sanded floor, 
 And a garland in the window, and his face above the door; 
 
 "Painted by some humble artist, as in ADAM PUSCHMANN S song, 
 As the old man gray and dovelikc, with his great beard white and long.* 
 
 "And at night the swart mechanic comes down to drown his cark and care, 
 Quaffing ale from pewter tankards, in the Master s antique chair." 
 
 I have sat long, reader mine, alone in that old house*, with my 
 meerschaum and a glass of "Haycrisches" before me, poring 
 over the quaint plays and poetic fables of the antique Master of 
 Song. And yet not all alone. For far back in the early morning 
 of the Soul, and against the blue heaven of Memory and Thought, 
 rose the crimson and golden cloud-forms of the beautiful in 
 spirit, long passed away. There came, in brave array, the noble, 
 gentle ghosts of all who have left to earth as a heritage new 
 forms of loveliness in poesy or Art. And among them wert 
 thou, old master, "gray and dove-like," with a smile for all who 
 have learned to love thee. And this I saw of silent mornings in 
 the house of Hans Sachs, and in the quiet old town of NUREM 
 BERG. 
 
 "Am selben sass 
 Ein alt Mann, was 
 
 Grau und weiss, wie ein Taub dermass, 
 Der h att ein n grossen Bart fiirbass, 
 In ein m schb nen grossen Buch lass, 
 Mit Gold bescklagen schb n." 
 
 ADAM PUSCHMANX. 
 
OF UNCLE BILL BUMBLE. 105 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 OF UNCLE BILL DUMBLE. 
 
 "I HAVE another dear friend, who is a sexagenary bachelor. The heyday of 
 life is over with him, but his old age is still sunny and chirping. He is a pro 
 fessed squire of dames ; the rustle of a silk gown is music in his ears. ... In 
 his devotions to the fair sex the muslin, as he calls it he is the gentle flower 
 of chivalry. He loves to bask in the sunshine of a smile ; when he can breathe 
 the sweet atmosphere of kid gloves and cambric handkerchiefs, his soul is in 
 its element; and his supreme delight is to pass the morning, to use his own 
 quaint language, in making dodging calls, and wiggling round among the 
 ladies. " HYPERION. 
 
 ONE glorious autumnal afternoon, our entire party had the luck 
 to find themselves comfortably quartered in a handsome old- 
 fashioned suite of apartments in Vienna. Dropping into the 
 Wolf s room, I found it tenanted for the nonce by nearly all the 
 gentlemen of our company, who certainly appeared quite as much 
 at home as if all right and title to its occupancy had devolved 
 upon them. An intense atmosphere of fragrant tobacco-smoke, 
 mingled with the fumes of coffee and liqueurs, and the digagfa 
 air of the visitors at once evinced that Wolf was the man (and 
 there is always one such in every establishment) in whose room 
 every one felt perfectly at liberty to " loaf," drop in, or stay a 
 week, without the slightest fear of causing annoyance. 
 
 Extended on a sofa lay fast asleep the fat, testy, sentimental 
 little old gentleman already introduced to the reader at Venice. 
 A most unlikely person he seemed, at first sight, to ever win his 
 way to the affections of our company; but he had done it irrevo 
 cably and was now fixed, fast as a nail, in the hearts of every 
 one, more particularly in those of the ladies, who would all, to a 
 man, have rather burnt their fans than send him adrift. 
 
 In good faith, Mr. William Dumlle, (or Uncle Bill, as young 
 C. insisted on calling him,) though what the French call a "FAT," 
 id est, a man of impenetrable self-conceit and obstinacy, was 
 bristled all over with as many good points as a candy pyramid or 
 
106 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 the Confession of Faith. Irritable as an old mud-wasp, he still 
 continually showed himself brave as a lion, and that far ofteuer 
 for his friends than himself. But though so chivalric, peppery, 
 and fiery, the little old gentleman had a soft heart very soft 
 softer than Charlotte Russe and could be melted almost to tears 
 by any moving tale of love, distress, or sentiment. He was in 
 fact not a little credulous, but it was that creditable variety 
 of credulity which originates not so much in a want of knowledge 
 of the world, as from a continued association with that better 
 class of mortals who give us but little reason for distrust. And 
 that there are many such far more than we at first ever sus 
 pected is generally the last and truest lesson of life learned by the 
 citizen of the world or rout. But Uncle Bill s forte was the 
 ladies, to whom he devoted himself with that honourable assiduity 
 manifested by an industrious hen toward a brood of remarkably 
 promising chickens. And as there were, fortunately for him, 
 none among the latter at all disposed to ridicule his weak points, 
 or overtask for the sake of jest his ever-ready services, it may be 
 imagined with what zeal this gallant squire gave himself up in 
 all honour and respect to the dames and demoiselles. 
 
 But I must return to the Wolf s room. There lay Uncle Bill, 
 fast asleep, still holding in his hand Moore s Loves of the Angels. 
 On the bed, one up, the other with his head toward the feet, 
 were young C. and Adrian the artist, each puffing away for dear 
 life at a mighty meerschaum, and varying its uniformity by a pull at 
 their coffee or the Mareschino ; while at the table, encumbered by 
 guide-books, maps, cigar-cases, whips, weapons, and foils, sat the 
 Chevalier, deep in dominoes with Count de Egerlyn. Von Schwartz 
 was mildly strumming a guitar and humming airs from "Lucia;" 
 while in one corner were picturesquely grouped several gentlemen 
 seated on chairs, trunks, and the window-sill, earnestly occupied 
 in debating the relative advantages which would accrue from a 
 visit that evening either to Sperl s Garden or the Opera. 
 
 " Is this a cafe or estaminet ?" said I, struck with delight at the 
 after-dinner paradise of tobacco and liqueurs so unexpectedly 
 revealed to me. 
 
 "No, old fellow, it wasn t born one, but it s a devilish good 
 substitute," cried C., thinking of New York. " Come in, take 
 a cigar, and don t be proud, but help yourself to coffee and 
 fixiiis." 
 
OF UNCLE BILL BUMBLE. 107 
 
 I was just about to comply with the invitation, when a burst 
 of laughter lady laughter from the adjoining parlour caused 
 me to start, and inquire, "Who s there?" 
 
 "Le Loup dans la bergerie the Wolf in the sheep-cote/ 
 replied Count Egerlyn, laughing. 
 
 Quitting the cafe, I quietly entered the parlour. 
 
 Reader, did you ever see a pretty French engraving entitled, 
 " How girls pick up their wit" ? It is an illustration of the 
 scene I beheld. Seated at the table was Wolf, while around him 
 were assembled the ladies, all apparently in the best humour in 
 the world with him, themselves, and each other. You see them 
 in the picture: Coralie, Mrs. C., the Countess Egerlyn, Julie, 
 Gertrude Du Val, and Bel. There was LA CAMPEADOR with 
 her talking eyes, and her sister with her black ones, not to men 
 tion others omitted by the artist on account of his inability to do 
 justice to their charms. And there, directly in the midst, sat 
 Wolf, snug as a bug in a rug, and happy as a young pumpkin in 
 the sun. He was evidently in his old element of yarn-spinning, 
 flirting, and "oontant fleurettes," or saying pretty things; and, 
 to judge by the intense happiness and fun that prevailed, the 
 ladies were " quite of a piece" with him. 
 
 "And that, I suppose, Mr. Wolf, is also true?" cried Coralie, 
 as I entered. 
 
 "Fact true as a lover s vow, every word of it. But talking 
 of the instinct of animals, its nothing to what occured within 
 the experience of an intimate friend of mine, an officer in an 
 American vessel. One day, while in the East, on coming up 
 after a noon-day nap, he was astonished to find that an enormous 
 tiger had been brought in a cage on board; and accordingly 
 seated himself not far from the animal and began observing it. 
 Now it happened that at the same time three young monkeys had 
 also been received and sent for the nonce down below; and the 
 said monkeys, beginning to feel themselves more at home, had 
 resolved on a promenade tour of inspection round their new 
 domicile, and accordingly ascended the companion-way, arm-in 
 arm, in an elegant leisurely manner." 
 
 "Arm-in-arm?" cried the ladies. 
 
 "Yes, arm-in-arm, the outside monkeys swinging their tails 
 gracefully for canes. So well, indeed, did one conduct himself, 
 that my friend began to fear that the sailors had by mistake 
 
 10 
 
108 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 brought off some native of rank. Well, no sooner had they fairly 
 ascended, than they found themselves directly before the cage of 
 their natural enemy, the tiger. Struck with terror, each uttered 
 a piercing scream, and in a touching attitude of despair fell 
 fainting on the deck. 7 
 
 " Dreadful I" exclaimed Coralie. 
 
 "How awfully the tiger must have felt," said Julie, "to think 
 of the suffering he had caused. I wouldn t have had his feelings 
 for an acre of Cashmere shawls." 
 
 " And what became of the poor young gentlem I mean 
 
 monkeys?" asked the Countess Egerlyn. 
 
 "The youngest was the first to recover and endeavour to arouse 
 his friends, by pinching and shaking, to a sense of their condi 
 tion. But all such exertions were in vain. Finally, observing 
 not far off a very large wooden bowl full of water, near which lay 
 two pewter spoons, he carried his friends thither, and by dint of 
 splashing and pouring water with a spoon into their mouths, re 
 stored them to consciousness." 
 
 "Noble creature !" cried Coralie. 
 
 "No sooner had they fairly recovered, when, apparently by 
 the advice of the one whom my friend took for a native, they at 
 once rolled the bowl overboard, and springing into it, rowed them 
 selves ashore with the spoons, evidently preferring the risk of a 
 watery grave to the recurral of such shocks to their nerves as 
 that which they had just experienced." 
 
 "But," said Bel, "it don t seem to me natural that a creature 
 which had acted so much like a fool in coming up stairs should 
 have shown so much sense when his friends fainted." 
 
 "Both monkeys and elephants," replied Wolf, "have intelli 
 gence enough to supply their sick or wounded companions with 
 water. Even cats lick their dead kittens. Besides," continued 
 Short, sinking his voice to a confidential whisper, "my friend in 
 formed me that he believed that this last monkey was the lady 
 of the party !" 
 
 Here a general burst of laughter took place, broken by Ger 
 trude Du Val s remarking 
 
 " Your friend, I presume, was thinking of the remark 
 made in Marmion, when Clare brings water to the wounded 
 knight : 
 
OF UNCLE BILL DUMBLE. 109 
 
 " woman ! in our hours of ease, 
 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please; 
 When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
 A ministering angel thou ! " 
 
 "Oh, undoubtedly," rejoined Wolf. "But talking of mon 
 keys, these creatures are sometimes incredibly intelligent. Seve 
 ral years ago, an old friend of my father s took with him to Paris 
 an ourang-outang, who manifested immediately on his arrival a 
 remarkable quickness of what might almost be termed intellect. 
 On the third evening he stole ten francs, and made his escape 
 through the window to a masked ball held on the Boulevard 
 Italien. Being naturally taken for a gentleman in disguise, he 
 had no difficulty in obtaining admission, and of course still less 
 in conforming to the usages and etiquette (or rather want of it) 
 which there prevailed. Having performed with ease the feat so 
 much admired by the disciples of Chicard, of gallopeing around 
 the hall with his partner on his back, and afterward climbing 
 with a grisette in his arms up to the fourth tier, he became of 
 course immensely popular ; and being from his taciturnity taken 
 for a stranger, (probably English,) was much courted and ca 
 ressed (about supper-time) by the ladies present." 
 
 "They might have known," said Coralie, "from his conduct, 
 that he was not bete enough to be English." 
 
 "But having unthinkingly snatched from one of his admirers 
 a stick of sucre de pomme, or apple-sugar, he was arrested by a 
 gendarme, whom he at once pommelled a. la Kentuck, and then 
 took to flight, after biting off the ear of the unfortunate soldier, 
 bearing with him the musket of his vanquished foe !" 
 
 "Bravo!" exclaimed the ladies. 
 
 "For some time after this, he prudently remained at home, 
 restraining his antics to kissing his paws from the window to 
 Jadies passing by." 
 
 "Who, of course," replied Coralie, "mistook the monkey for 
 a lion, in the Parisian sense of the word." 
 
 "But on the fourth evening, my gentleman found his monkey 
 again missing. He had absconded, bearing with him several 
 bank-notes, ail of my friend s eye-glasses and kid-gloves, the best 
 of his clothes and linen, a pot of rouge, some hair-dye, and seve 
 ral excellent works on etiquette, conduct, and politeness, not to 
 mention a set of Faublas." 
 
110 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 "It strikes me," said Mrs. C., "that this last theft did not 
 indicate such a very remarkable degree of good sense." 
 
 "My friend heard only once of him after this. The monkey, 
 owing to his extravagance, was soon reduced to earn his liveli 
 hood by taking part in an exhibition of industrious well-trained 
 animals, (like himself, no longer sauvage,} held, I believe, in the 
 Rue de Clery." 
 
 "Poor creature!" sighed Coralie. "Poverty makes us ac 
 quainted with strange companions. And what became of him 
 then?" 
 
 "His latter fate is involved in mystery," replied Wolf. "But 
 not long after, a nigger gentleman, hitherto unknown to fame 
 and fortune, made a striking debut in the literary and social 
 world of Paris. From the extravagant feats narrated of this lion, 
 my friend always insisted that the successful darkey could be no 
 other than his long-lost monkey !" 
 
 "You should have brought your tiger into this story, Mr. 
 Wolf," exclaimed Coralie. "As it is, according to Voltaire, you 
 have only made half & Frenchman of him." 
 
 "Voltaire spoke of the men," replied Wolf, "and, indeed, 
 only of the worse part of them. As for the ladies, they are half 
 dove " . 
 
 "And half devil," rejoined Coralie, rising. "Mr. Wolf, let 
 us have the pleasure of your company this evening to the opera. 
 Come, Bel, my angel, let us vanish! Mr. Courier, excuse us." 
 
 With these words our lady friends departed, and I took with 
 Wolf the back track to his room and its fragrant attractions; but 
 M lle Coralie, lingering an instant behind, cried after us 
 
 " Monsieur Wolf, are you sure the monkey did not afterward 
 take a trip to your country?" 
 
 " Va tu m emletcs!"* was the equivocal and intensely-refined 
 reply of my friend, in a low tone, heard only by myself and the_ 
 gay Parisienne. "And as for being a monkey," he continued to 
 me, in a mild growl, "I doubt very much whether I or any other 
 man would lose ground in the esteem of Miss Coralie and her 
 fellow French, even if I had been the hero of my last tale a dozen 
 times over. Vive la Grande Nation! I like them; I do!" 
 
 * " You make an animal of me" id eat, you weary and annoy me ; a coarse 
 French expression. 
 
OF UNCLE BILL BUMBLE. Ill 
 
 AFTER-PIECE. 
 
 " AND Mr. PRYNNE solemnly declared to me, that he would rather lose his 
 life than disguise -himself as a woman." 
 
 CALAMITIES OF AUTHORS. 
 
 THAT evening, after our return from the opera, while seated 
 in Wolf s room, I was astonished to hear an unusual rustling, 
 bustling, and whispering in the parlour. The ladies were evidently 
 about something, which (as young C. was therein involved, to 
 judge by his laugh) was evidently mischief. 
 
 Softly opening the door we joined the party, and beheld an 
 unexpected apparition. There in the midst stood young C., dis 
 guised as a lady, in all the glory of flowing tresses and rosy 
 cheeks. 7/a//"-disguised, I should have said, for his silk dress 
 lay on the table beside him, and Coralie, convulsed with laughter, 
 was busy in lacing his corset. 
 
 "Walk in, gentlemen," he exclaimed, as we entered, "and 
 don t be shocked to find me in skirtibus. Though hovering 
 around the airy confines of delicacy, I have not as yet stepped 
 beyond the borders." 
 
 With these words he modestly raised the hem of his garments, 
 as if stepping through mud, to convince us that, like many other 
 ladies, he had not as yet relinquished the pantaloon; which 
 movement somewhat disconcerted the occupation of Coralie. 
 
 "Ft done! be still, you naughty boy! Remember that mo 
 desty is now your greatest jewel. There, now you re improved." 
 
 With these words she drew back to contemplate his figure, 
 and complacently pronounced it not so bad. The robe was then 
 donned; a simple camellia twisted into his wig; his white kids 
 drawn on, and a cashmere laid over his shoulders. Bel and 
 Mrs. C. proposed one or two small alterations, but ultimately 
 yielded, as usual, to Coralie s superior French taste in all such 
 matters. 
 
 "Hadn t we better take off the moustache?" said Wolf mali 
 ciously, referring to an almost imperceptible down which shaded 
 the upper lip of C. f a remark which caused that young hero to 
 draw up in intense indignation and anxiety. 
 
 " Oh, not at all," cried Coralie, who had, from their mutual 
 spirit of recklessness and fun, rather an affection for young C.; 
 "a lady is always the more piquant for a light moustache." 
 
 10* 
 
112 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 "Indeed?" replied Wolf; "that sounds French. But politics 
 apart, what (Joes all this mean, now that Carnival is over and 
 masked balls out of date?" 
 
 "Why," said young C., "Uncle Bill, you know " 
 
 "Yes, replied Wolf, "I expected as much. A rig on Uncle 
 Bill, of course. That forms a part of the daily devotion of your 
 self and Coralie." 
 
 "Well, Uncle Bill showed symptoms of mutiny and disobe 
 dience this evening at the opera. Quite unbearable, wasn t he ?" 
 said C., appealing to the ladies. 
 
 "Oh, terrible!" cried Coralie, who appeared to have made up 
 her mind to swear to any thing. 
 
 " On the frivolous pretence that I had taken a seat which he 
 wanted, he refused to summon an ice-cream for me !" 
 
 "Yes, indeed the monster!" quoth Coralie. 
 
 "Refused to apologize, and like a Coriolanus called me ( I>oy! " 
 
 "Abominable!" chimed Coralie. 
 
 " For which oifence, knowing his rosy modesty and ungovern 
 able morality, I propose rousing him out of his slumbers and 
 scaring him to death with this disguise !" 
 
 " Well, Luck be with you/ as Falkenberg said to the devil, re 
 plied Wolf. " But if Uncle Bill murders you, I shan t blame him." 
 
 "Stop a minute, my daughter," cried Coralie. "Let me first 
 embellish your charms a little !" 
 
 With these words she took a match, and having reduced one 
 end to a coal, proceeded to draw a faint black line beneath each 
 of the under eye-lashes, which gave, as she said, a more interest 
 ing expression to his glances. Then with the same she made 
 two or three black dots on his delicately-rouged complexion, 
 pressing them with the tips of her delicate fingers, so as to give 
 the appearance of slight moles or freckles. 
 
 "When the complexion is good," said she, "little defects like 
 these remove the suspicion of its being artificial ; that is, when 
 they are well placed. Besides, they add, like the moustache, 
 to the general piquancy of expression." 
 
 With a little ultramarine from the ground of a rouge-paper, she 
 then drew across the top of his nose a faint blue vein. 
 
 "And now," said she, "you are perfect. Go, my daughter, 
 end remember that beauty without modesty is like a potato 
 without peel the first dust sullies its purity." 
 
OF UNCLE BILL DUMBLE. 113 
 
 Fortified with this injunction, C. took his way to Uncle Bill s 
 nest, which opened into the parlour, and after a terrible series of 
 raps, boldly entered, leaving the door a quarter of an inch ajar. 
 
 " Who s that?" growled Uncle Bill, awakened from his nap. 
 
 "Are you Mr. William Duinble ?" inquired C., in as soft a 
 tone as he could assume. 
 
 " Ye e s," replied Uncle Bill, turning over in bed and star 
 ing at his visitor, who was barely visible in the faint light admit 
 ted from the parlour. "Who are you, ma am, I ask who are 
 your 
 
 "One who has lived for years in the hope of at length behold 
 ing your loved countenance, and receiving from you those embraces 
 and that pecuniary patronage which every child is entitled to ex 
 pect from its parent. Yes, my father ! arise and behold in me 
 your long-lost daughter, SABINA BRANDYBUG !" 
 
 Great was the wrath of Uncle Bill at this speech. Stammer 
 ing with confusion and rage, he cried, "Begone, you infamous 
 hussy get out ! Why, I was never married in all my life I" 
 
 " Oh yes, you were, my father/ replied C. in a voice broken 
 with sobs, "though you were so tipsy at the time that you knew 
 nothing about it. I have the certificate here in my waistcoat 
 1 mean my my hat." 
 
 "You wretched creature, begone this instant!" cried Uncle 
 Bill, not noticing in his rage C. s slight inaccuracy. "Bless me," 
 cried he in despair, observing that his exordium produced not 
 the slightest effect, and gasping with terror at a new thought, 
 " what if the ladies should hear of this !" 
 
 "Ladies! LADIES!!" cried C.; "oh, then, if there be ladie.i 
 here, I will seek from their feminine souls that sympathy which 
 my barbarous father denies. To them will I unfold the story of 
 my wrongs, and in their company bind up the broken sorrows of 
 a burning heart." 
 
 " WOMAN !" exclaimed Uncle Bill, evidently frightened into a 
 compromise, "what do you really require?" 
 
 "That you mention me politely in your will; acknowledge ni3 
 as your daughter; give me a handsome cheque on your banker, 
 and make me a present of those two boxes of prime Havanas 
 which you bought yesterday morning." 
 
 Here C., who could no longer restrain his laughter, made a 
 rapid escape through the door just in time to avoid the candle- 
 
114 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 stick and boot-jack which came thundering after him. A general 
 roar from such of the company as were assembled in the parlour 
 completed the climax of Uncle Bill s wrath. 
 
 "This will cause trouble/ said I, gravely, after a minute s 
 pause. 
 
 "Shouldn t wonder/ replied C., as if he thought that to be 
 the best of the business. 
 
 Scarcely had he uttered these words, when Uncle Bill, hastily 
 but completely dressed, bolted out, his round face red-hot with 
 rage. 
 
 "This is infamous!" he exclaimed; "yes, sir, infamous! 
 (Ladies, I beg your pardon.) Mr. C., there is my card!" 
 
 With these words he extended to C. a card, at which the latter 
 glanced, and then burst into an uncontrollable laugh. 
 
 "Why, what now?" said Wolf; "what s on the card?" 
 
 "< MARIA Nuzzi/ (oh, you old reprobate!) l ue<j leave inform 
 the english american nobility that she wash and whiten beaut i- 
 fullt/ their linen, at elegant price, and in the cheapest manner. 
 
 " N. B. MARIA Nuzzi speak enylish french. 
 
 "Oh, Uncle Bill!" continued C., "I always knew that you 
 fell in love with our washerwoman at Venice, but little thought 
 that you carried her card about as a souvenir." 
 
 To this last Uncle Bill made no reply, but shot back into his 
 room, slamming the door after him like a thunder-clap. 
 
 "We have all acted very imprudently, I fear," said Mrs. C., 
 with her sweet voice. "It is but just that we offer Mr. Dumble 
 an apology for such a trick. Cousin, you, with M lle Coralie, 
 must be more careful in future." 
 
 At this reproof, the two young rogues, whom I verily believe 
 nothing else would move, began to look extremely grave. But 
 recovering herself, Coralie said 
 
 "C est bien fdcheux ; but I will bet my best point-lace collar 
 and cuffs, that our good uncle is laughing now as heartily at the 
 joke as any of us." 
 
 How Mrs. C. brought the reconciliation about I never exactly 
 knew. But one fact recorded in Uncle Bill s history is, that he 
 and young C. made the next day, in loving company, a long ex 
 cursion to the Esterhazy Gallery and the Prater, and that after 
 dinner he actually presented Miss Sabina Brandybug with one 
 of the much-coveted boxes of regalias, previously solicited. I 
 
REMINISCENCES OF THE OLDEN TIME. 115 
 
 am not quite certain but that the old gentleman, who, like most 
 sound old bachelors, liked to ; be bantered for his love-scrapes, 
 was rather pleased at an incident which had brought him out so 
 strongly as a mauvais sujet, and one who could tell, if he liked. 
 Nor do I doubt but that Coralie and C., who thoroughly knew his 
 weak points, afterward availed themselves to the last degree of this 
 penchant, and trotted him out in the most astonishing manner, 
 until they were more than re-established in his good graces. But 
 one thing I know : that they ever after treated him with such 
 kindness and attention, that I consider the chances of their being 
 mentioned in his will as by no means doubtful; trusting only 
 that a century may elapse before this mark of esteem may be of 
 any advantage to them. 
 
 " Who is it that hath writ this tale, 
 
 Hath told it and so on ? 
 That in Vienna, in Austria, 
 Hath KARL the Meister done." 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH. 
 
 IN WHICH THE MEISTER INDULGES IN REMINISCENCES OF THE 
 OLDEN TIME. 
 
 " OH DEAR, tis a tale of the olden time." 
 Sequari vestigia reruni." WATSON S ANNALS : MOTTO. 
 
 IT was Meister Karl s fortune to pass as studiosus philosophise 
 some time at the University of Munich, and at the time when the 
 eccentric Lola Montez was lady-paramount in the German 
 Athens. Much of that lady s life, like Samuel Weller s, is 
 written "in hist ry;" but there are numerous little nourishes in 
 her private career which will probably escape the Marquis de 
 Papon, or even the magazines. Biographies, like events, repeat 
 themselves ; and the general reader is never at a loss for a pre 
 cedent to any startling human phenomenon. A suggestion that 
 Lola bore a marked likeness to the beautiful and capricious Im- 
 peria, so well known to the readers of the Contes Droslatiques, 
 
116 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 produced the following chapter, of which you, my friends, may 
 believe as much or as little as you> please. 
 
 Talking of good fellows, reader, some people call Lola Montez 
 one. She always was a trump, they say the veritable Queen of 
 Hearts, /said so once, more than four hundred years ago. It 
 was at the great Council of Constance, where she then shone a 
 bright, particular star, known to the world as the FAIR IMPERIA. 
 I was myself, at that time, confidential secretary to His Excel 
 lency Bishop Matteis, a worthy man and great scholar. 
 
 Now one day, while awaiting in that lady s ante-chamber the 
 opportunity to speak a few words with a certain cardinal, whom 
 I erroneously supposed at the time to be in confab with her, and 
 being weary of delay, I began to sing, in baritono prof undo, a 
 song of my own composition, which had recently become im 
 mensely popular among the lords spiritual and temporal, the 
 bishops, archbishops, cardinals, priests, and laymen in attendance 
 on the council; and the words were 
 
 " Constance lies on the Boden Boden See, 
 Just take a look and convinced you ll be ; 
 Constance lies on the Boden Boden See, 
 Just take a look and convinced you ll be : 
 Convinced you ll be vinced you ll be, 
 That Constance lies on the Boden Boden See. 
 
 Constance lies on the Boden Boden See, 
 Just take a look and convinced you ll be, 
 Be, be, be, be, be, be, be-e-c, 
 That Constance lies on the Boden Boden See. 
 Constance lies on the Boden Boden See, 
 Just take a look and convinced you ll be : 
 Boden Boden See, Boden Boden See, 
 Boden Boden See, Boden Boden See ; 
 Constance lies on the Boden Boden See. 
 Just take a look and convinced you ll be !" 
 
 I had proceeded thus far, when a musical voice at my elbow 
 cried out, Bravo!" I turned and beheld the Fair Imperia. 
 
 " That is a sweet lay, Sir Secretary. Are the words your own ?" 
 
 I bowed assent, with conscious pride. Of all affectation, 
 reader, the most contemptible is that of pretending to underrate 
 your own poetry when you know that it is good. 
 
 "I love poets," continued Imperia. "Will you come and 
 take supper with me this evening?" 
 
REMINISCENCES OF THE OLDEN TIME. 117 
 
 "A thousand pardons, fair lady/ I replied; "but my lord 
 bishop requires my attendance." 
 
 " Oh, never mind your bishop ; you can run home and poison 
 him, you know, long before dinner ! Ha ! I have in my cabinet 
 some exquisite Milanese Assa Porci, which will settle him di 
 rectly. Or, if you prefer it, one of my esquires shall go imme 
 diately and stab him." 
 
 Overcome by this excess of kindness, I could only thank 
 Imperia, and assure her that these intensities of politeness were 
 quite needless ; that for once I would venture to play the truant, 
 and become her guest. 
 
 "Then why, in the name of all the devils and the red fire of 
 hell, couldn t you say so at once ?" quoth the lady. 
 
 Reader, I did take supper with her at the risk of getting my 
 head broken. She flung both her cats out of the window; set 
 her dog at a primate who came to make an evening call; fired 
 the curtains, and quenched it with three dozen of Burgundy; 
 cursed the cook for not putting point-lace around the handle of 
 the joint of venison; and concluded with an abortive attempt to 
 assassinate her dressing-maid for sneezing during prayers. 
 
 A good deed always meets with its reward. More than four 
 hundred years afterwards id est, one sunny afternoon in Munich, 
 on or about the twenty-fifth of April, A.D. 1847 I found my 
 self in company with half the town in general, and the Swiss 
 corps of students in particular, seated in a beer-hall just without 
 the walls. And you must know, my friend, that it is an old 
 custom to sell in that particular place, from the twentieth of 
 April until the first of May, a strong beer known as "Salvator" 
 to all applying. But from the latter date until the first of June 
 another variety, termed "J3ok } " is sold at another place not far 
 from the Residenz or Palace. 
 
 Now the honest and virtuous citizens of Munich were making 
 merry after their own hearts over the Salvator beer. Some were 
 abusing the king, and others disputing whether the electric tele 
 graph wire, which passed through the Neu Strass, were a 
 lightning-rod or a patent clothes-line. Some were swearing by 
 Donner wetter and Parapluie, and others screaming out, " Sep- 
 perl," to the beer-maid. Finally, a jovial student of law, named 
 Sturzenegger, (ultimately turned out of the University for his 
 political liberalism,) proposed that we should sing, " On yonder 
 
118 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 rock reclining." But a slight difficulty interposed; for of the 
 singers present very few knew it in the same tongue. Each, 
 therefore, started on his own hook: 
 
 A. sang in Italian. 
 
 B. in German. 
 
 C. in Romansch. 
 
 D. in French. 
 
 E. in Bavarian patois. 
 
 F. in Chechisch. 
 
 G. in Magyar. 
 H. in Illyrian. 
 
 And I (your friend) in English. 
 
 So we were all as happy as clams at high tide. And with my 
 meerschaum rolling volumes of smoke out of my mouth, with a 
 mighty "Mass* I" of Salvator before me, I mused over the wise 
 things which Professor Beckers had said that morning in his 
 lecture on Schelling; over the profundities which Schubert had 
 that afternoon evolved in Natural History, and the excellent 
 arguments which Goerres would to-morrow develop ; and just as 
 I was losing myself in Thiersch s ^Esthetics and Neumann s 
 Modern History, I heard a row outside 
 
 . . . An accurate row ; a well-defined row ; a devil of a row. 
 For the Fair Imperia that was, the lovely Lola that is, having 
 learned (probably from her particular friend Mr. Meyer, alias His 
 Majesty King Louis) that her ancient enemies, the people of 
 Munich, were all off on a bender in the Salvator Kneip, resolved 
 to beard the lions in their den, and take a drink herself; and 
 had actually descended from her carriage, whip in hand, for the 
 purpose 
 
 When being recognised by some of the natives, they at 
 
 once arose and greeted her with a pereat. With hoots, yells, 
 and screams, the multitude drove her back to the vehicle, pelted 
 it, smashed the glasses, and cursed like Russians. Hearing a 
 muttered " Sacrament !" beside me, I turned and beheld my 
 particular friend H., student of law, holding a mighty paving- 
 stone, with which he was about to annihilate Lola, kill the coach 
 man, and very probably injure the horses and carriage which 
 stone I incontinently twitched out of his hands. 
 
 And so I paid for my supper. 
 
REMINISCENCES OF THE OLDEN TIME. 119 
 
 FRANQOYS VILLON, the madcap poet who flourished during 
 the reigns of Charles the VII. and Louis the XI., was an inti 
 mate friend of mine. Once or twice in every century I always 
 make a point of reading through his "Testaments." And I 
 would advise you, friend-reader, to do the same ; if not several 
 times at different ages, at least once during the century in which 
 you live. For never was there yet so good a poet so little read. 
 
 " Villon sut le premier, dans ces siecles grossiers, 
 Debrouiller 1 art confus de nos vieux romanciers." 
 
 So said Boileau, with reason. 
 
 VILLON, I am sorry to say, was "a hard boy." Reckless, wild, 
 and eccentric, his whole life was one continued scrape. A genu 
 ine student of Paris, his money and time went, as he ex 
 pressed it 
 
 " Tout aux tavernes, et aux filles." 
 
 No class of men have changed so little during the course of 
 centuries as these same students. It is written in the folio of 
 Johannes de Mercuria 
 
 1st. "PECCATUM MAGIS BONUM EST QUAM MALUM." "Sin 
 is rather a good than an evil thing." 
 
 2dly. "CONSENTIENS TEMPTATIONE, CUI RESISTERE NON 
 
 POTEST, NON PECCAT." "The man who yields to temptation 
 when no longer able to resist, does not sin." 
 
 For these dicta John was very properly condemned in 1347 
 by the University of Paris. Pity, isn t it, reader, that after so 
 many centuries we should still find the students of that very 
 University exemplifying by their lives the fullest faith in such 
 improper, unexemplary, heretical, and obsolete doctrines ? But 
 so the world goes ! 
 
 There is a little poem of Villon s, which always pleased me. 
 The poor devil wrote it when laid neck and heels in prison, and 
 introduced it, at my suggestion, into his " Grand Testament" 
 Here it is 
 
 $8 Mantes &u 
 
 (1461.) 
 
 " Say, is there left on earth a traco 
 
 Of FLORA, once the fairest fair ? 
 Or ARCHIPIADA, or THAIS, 
 That bright, unrivall d, queenly pair? 
 11 
 
120 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Echo will fling the question back, 
 
 O er silent lake and streamlet lone, 
 Where doth all earthly beauty flee ? 
 
 Where have the snows of winter gone ? 
 
 "Where is the learned HKLOISE, 
 
 For whom the amorous scholar sigh d ? 
 Ah, happy had they never met ! 
 
 Love ill becomes scholastic pride. 
 Or where the proud and stately queen, 
 
 By whose command DE BURIDAN 
 Was thrown at midnight in the Seine ? 
 
 Where have the snows of winter gone? 
 
 " Where is that queen, our fleur de lys, 
 
 Whose gentle voice could banish pain ? 
 Fair BERTHA, BEATRICE, ALYS, 
 
 And HAREMBOURG, who held La Mayne ? 
 And good JOANNA of Lorraine, 
 
 Burnt by the English at Rouen ? 
 Where are they all Saint MARY speak? 
 
 Where have the snows of winter gone ? 
 
 " Gentles, these questions all are vain ; 
 
 Ask not of things forever flown : 
 With this refrain, I answer plain, 
 
 Where have the snows of winter gone ?" 
 
 BONAVENTURE DES TERRIERS was also a particular friend 
 of mine. If I had time, I would translate liis " Cymlalum 
 Mundi," which is a witty book, as you well know, although 
 sadly abused by the learned. For Stephanus calls it " detestable;" 
 La Croix du Mayne and Bayle, "impious;" and Estienne 
 Pasquier, " a book deserving to be burnt with its author." The 
 thick-headed Philistine, Theophilus Spizelius, assures his readers 
 that it is very infamous, extremely wicked, and execrable; while 
 a certain manuscript commentator (or small potato) appended to 
 it, as critique, tl Dixit insipiens in corde suo, Non est Deus. " 
 Of all these gentlemen, with the exception of one, none bad 
 ever read a line of it; and he (the exception) declares it to be 
 quite as vile a book as the work " De Tribus Impostoribus," (with 
 which he had no doubt carefully compared it.) And this of the 
 very man who aided Calvin and Olivctan to translate the Bible 
 into French!! Horrible, most horrible!! But Bonaventure 
 was a spiritual brother of Rabelais; ergo, if his sins, et cetera. 
 You know the catch 
 
REMINISCENCES OF THE OLDEN TIME. 121 
 
 " Sing jig my jole the pudding-bowl, 
 
 The table and the frame : 
 
 My master he did cudgel me 
 
 For kissing of my dame." 
 
 I shall always cherish with lively emotions of gratitude the 
 recollection of my poor friend Bonaventtire. For it was through 
 him I first became acquainted with that sweetest, gentlest, noblest, 
 and fairest of ladies, Marguerite de Valois, Queen of Navarre ; 
 
 "Who introduced me to Clement Marot; 
 
 Who introduced me to Etienne Dolet ; 
 
 Who introduced me to Pelletier ; 
 
 Who introduced me to Denisot ; 
 
 Who introduced me to Boiaistuau, 
 
 Whom I knew already. 
 
 Ah ! life was a golden dream for me then ! On the stream 
 of time swam roses and lilies. Beautiful melodies rang forth 
 from the lute of love, and the treble of glad hopes in a happy 
 future bore the accompaniment of pleasant memories of a delight 
 ful past. niy soul ! 
 
 "Bringe us in goode ale, brynge us in goode ale ! 
 For our blissed Lady s sake, bring us in goode ale ! 
 For yf that I 
 Maye have trewly 
 Goode ale a firkin full ; 
 I shal looke like one, 
 By swete Saint JOHN, 
 Well shorn against ye wolle ! 
 Tho I goe bare, 
 Take ye no care ; 
 Inothynge am a colde; 
 I am so wrapped 
 And thoroghlie lapped, 
 In joly goode ale and olde. 
 CEREVLSIA BIBUNT HOMINES 
 ANIMALIA CETERA FONTES !" 
 
 It has been deeply regretted by the French lifres-lofres, or 
 literary loafers of the present day, that so little is known of the pri 
 vate life and adventures of Des Perriers. Now, if they will make 
 it worth the while, I will undertake to supply the deficiency. I 
 will tell you how he first obtained a copy of Aristophanes, availing 
 himself of the occasion to kiss the bookseller s daughter ; how he 
 quarrelled with Cardanus about the souls of the stars, and visited 
 Cornelius Agrippa for the purpose of interpolating an anecdote into 
 
122 
 
 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 a little work on which the latter was then engaged ; said work 
 being entitled "Of the Badaults and Gulllcmettes of Paris;" 
 which visit gave occasion to a certain chapter in Eabelais 
 
 " Panurge consults Her Trippa, 
 Believest THOU, King AGUIPPA !"* 
 
 "Dicam quod mirandum verum" as Drunken Barnaby hath it. 
 All of these fine things, not less wonderful than true, will I do 
 out of philanthropy and a love for letters ; ID EST for a con 
 sideration. For what, in this money-getting generation, would 
 the public think of me, if I were to do it for nothing ? 
 
 "My readers they would me despise, 
 Turn me over, and damn my eyes." 
 
 " Literary Public, shouldst thou relish this preamble, en avanf, 
 there s more sour-krout for thee, and luon pro vi faccia." But 
 for this present reading, let the following choice old Flemish 
 ballad suffice : 
 
 .VAN 
 
 SCHRYVERTJE. 
 
 ICK hoorde een waterje ruiselen, 
 My docht het was de Ryu ; 
 
 Ick heb er te nacht gheslapen, 
 By een bruin maechdelyn." 
 
 n. 
 Ilebt ghy te nacht gheslapen 
 
 By een bruin maechdelyn? 
 Dats morghen suit ghy hanghen 
 
 Al aen een galle ghelyn." 
 
 in. 
 Waerom so son de ick hanghen ? 
 
 Ick ben voorwaer geen dief ; 
 Het hertje van myn jonc leven 
 
 Haeft schone joncvroutjes lief." 
 
 rv. 
 Ende dat verhoorde een vroutje 
 
 So rijken lantsheer syn wyf ; 
 Sy liet haer paerdeken sadelen, 
 
 T was om den schryver syn lyf. 
 
 V. 
 
 Doe dat paert ghesadelt was, 
 De spore was aengedaen, 
 
 Doe most dat lose schryvertje 
 Tor galgo opwaert gaen. 
 
 OP THE SCHOLAR. 
 
 i. 
 
 " I HEARD the water rippling by, 
 I thought it was the Rhine ; 
 I sat last night till morning shone, 
 By that true love of mine." 
 
 n. 
 " And didst thou sit till morning shone, 
 
 A lovely lady by ? 
 
 Then thou shalt hang to-morrow noon 
 Upon a gallows high." 
 
 in. 
 " Oh, why should I on gallows high 
 
 Hang like a thief in air? 
 
 No other sin is on my soul 
 
 Save love for ladies fair." 
 
 IV. 
 
 That heard a dame of high degree, 
 The wealthy Landgrave s wife: 
 
 She bade them saddle her palfrey good, 
 And all for the scholar his life. 
 
 v. 
 And when they had saddled that palfrey 
 
 Her spurs well bound below, [good, 
 So must the gallant scholar in haste 
 
 To the gallows upward go. 
 
 Pippa Passes. 
 
MEISTER KARL DISCUSSES VALETS-DE-PLACE. 
 
 123 
 
 n. 
 
 Maer doen hy op de leder clam, 
 
 Al op de derde trap, 
 Hy keec so dickmaels omme 
 
 Offer niemant voor hem bat. 
 
 vn. 
 " Myn heren," sei sy, " myn heren, 
 
 Wilt doch een wort verstaen, 
 Of daer een goelick vroutje 
 Quam Toor uw beddeken staen ?" 
 
 vift. 
 
 " Dat daer een goelick vrouwetje 
 
 Quam voor myn betje staen ? 
 
 Ick souse so heimelick kussen, 
 
 In myn blanc arm ontfae"n." 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Sout ghise so heimelick cussen, 
 
 In uw blanc arm ontfaen ? 
 
 So heeft dat lose schryvertje 
 
 Ooc anders niet misdaen." 
 
 x. 
 " Com af, com af, loos schryvertje, 
 
 Behouden is uw lyf ; 
 Dat heft gedaen een vroutje, 
 So riken lantsheer syn wyf." 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Heeft dat gedaen een vroutje, 
 So riken lantsheer syn wyf? 
 Behouden moet si haer eertje, 
 Ende ick myn jonghe lyf." 
 
 And as he up the ladder went, 
 And stood beneath the limb, 
 
 So oft looked he around to see 
 If no one prayed for him. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " My lords," said she, " my noble lords, 
 
 Oh, will ye list to me? 
 What would you do if a fair lady 
 Should choose you her love to be?" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " What would I do if a fair lady 
 
 Should yield to me her charms ? 
 I would kiss her, I ween, a thousand times, 
 And fold her in my arms." 
 
 IX. 
 
 " And would you kiss her a thousand times 
 
 When you her love had won ? 
 That scholar on the gallows tree 
 The selfsame thing hath done." 
 
 x. 
 
 "Come down, come down, thou reckless 
 A lady hath saved thy life; [blade, 
 A fair lady of high degree, 
 The wealthy Landgrave s wife." 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Hath that a lady done for me, 
 
 The wealthy Landgrave s wife ? 
 May she for aye her honour keep, 
 And I in peace my life." 
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 IN WHICH MEISTER KARL DISCUSSES VALETS-DE-PLACE IN 
 GENERAL, AND THOSE OP MUNICH IN PARTICULAR. 
 
 " Wouldn t you like to take a look round town this evening, sir ? I know 
 the ropes as well as any man, and where the buffers are. I ll take care that 
 nobody RINGS INTO YOU." BEAU HICKMAN. 
 
 THERE is a curious variety of literature, which, as it is found 
 in every country, will bear, and consequently merits, examina 
 tion and classification : I mean those vida tunantesca, hop-and- 
 
 11* 
 
124 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 go-dirty, tag-rag and bob-tail, outside romances and biographies, 
 which so generally hold a sort of slovenly immortality in the red 
 republic of letters. Such, for example, is the life of Bamfylde 
 Moore Carew, Defoe s Captain Jack, Jonathan Wild, etc., the 
 highest popular type of which, in English, is Ainsworth s Jack 
 Sheppard ; La Vie de Cartouch, Memoires de Vidocq, Casanova 
 de Seingalt, with an immense library of others in French and 
 the so-called picaresque Spanish novels, such as Guzman d Alfa- 
 rache, Picara Justina, Lazarillo de Tonnes, El Escudero Marcas 
 de Obregon, and Quevedo s "Adventures of a Sharper;" of 
 which, in a literary point of view, the latter is by far the best. 
 
 It may be objected, that a vigorous continuation of illustra 
 tions might demand that I also include Gil Bias, Schiller s Rob 
 bers, and in poetry a few dashes from Don Juan or the Corsair. 
 To which I indignantly reply, that I allude to the roots which 
 stick in the mud, and not the umbrageous branches which 
 lift their shady summits, laden with golden fruit and similar 
 sauce, to the cerulean firmament above. True, they are not 
 by any means the neatest works in existence. But as Science 
 kindly permits her votaries vivisection, and the analysis of 
 kakodyle, so Literature may, at times, allow her children the 
 privilege of criticism, and even of discussing such productions as 
 these. 
 
 But if you think that I intend discussing them, you re mis 
 taken. Yet, as I was glancing over, this evening, one or two of 
 these melancholy, dirty, dreary, forlorn, cloudy, sorrowful pro 
 ductions, which, as a class, have a decided flavour of greasy 
 leaden spoons and warm dish-water, I could not help thinking 
 how far mistaken their authors were, to imagine that, because low 
 life presented certain incongruities and peculiarities not to be 
 found in the land of soap and towels, it must necessarily be in 
 tensely redolent of wit and humour. A sad mistake, and yet not 
 an uncommon one among would-be fast men. 
 
 If I can ever get to the idea I meant to have started with, I 
 would say that the reader who has ever examined the putrefac 
 tions of this nature, found in the Spanish strata, must have ob 
 served that, when other resources fail, the hero not unfrequently 
 takes to showing strangers around the town, running errands, con 
 ducting intrigues, carroteeing on commissions, and other similar 
 efforts of genius functions which, at the present day, are fulfilled 
 
MEISTER KARL DISCUSSES VALETS-DE-PLACE. 125 
 
 on the Continent by a class of outlaws known as valcts-dc-placej 
 or Lohndieners. 
 
 The only valet-de-place I ever met with who pretended to 
 have a religion, was an old fellow who, for aught I know, is even 
 yet hanging round the Grand Hotel of the "Drei Moliren" or 
 " Three Niggers," in Augsburg. And, to tell the truth, I only 
 heard of this one. The Wolf wanted a valet-de-place for some 
 thing or other, when the Frenchified head-waiter informed him 
 that he was heart-broken and agonized at being obliged to say 
 that the gentleman must wait half an hour before the proper 
 functionary could be found. " But is there not another valet-de- 
 place about?" asked Wolf. "Mais oui, yes, there was another 
 old fellow," replied the waiter, shrugging his shoulders, closing 
 his eyes, and shaking his head slowly, as if apologizing for some 
 incurable defect or vice: "but he would not suit monsieur: he 
 is, unfortunately, pious !" 
 
 After all, it might have been only a malicious lie on the part 
 of the head-waiter, to blacken and destroy the poor old man s 
 character. And I am the more inclined to this opinion, because 
 the waiter, observing the facility with which Wolf swallowed 
 this almost incredible choker, proceeded to " paint the lily" by 
 narrating a romantic little fiction about the old valet s being at 
 
 that very instant in church, and, very probably, praying 
 
 on his knees ! 
 
 Now I put it to the reader, was not this " cutting it entirely 
 too fat," although it did happen at the time to be Sunday? 
 
 Not but that a valet-de-place can "come" a religion in double- 
 quick time, if expedient. I have known one to be suddenly 
 converted to Judaism when reminded, after a long tramp, of the 
 curious coincidence of its being Friday and nearly sundown. 
 But if he suspects his employer of religious tendencies, his own 
 devotion becomes truly edifying. I shall not soon forget the in 
 cident which occurred to Mr. S., a worthy Hinglishman, doing 
 the Continent with family and servants. S. had been informed, 
 on credible authority, that any persons who should venture to 
 smoke while passing a sentinel, or omit to take off their hats be 
 fore a church, would be, if not immediately shot or arrested, at 
 least the subjects of great scandal to all loyal and pious citizens. 
 For which reason, Mr. S. kept a bright look-out for churches, 
 and bowed in passing with so much unction, that the pious Ca- 
 
126 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 tholic bystanders were loud in his praise, and unanimously 
 swore that, though an Englishman, he was evidently a Christian, 
 and not a Protestant. So that all went very well for a day or 
 two; when one morning, in a fit of absence of mind, passing by 
 the house of Lola Montez, then Countess of Landsfeldt, he 
 glanced hurriedly up, and, mistaking the building for a small 
 church, or at least a chapel, quickly removed his hat, in which 
 act of devotion he was at once seconded by all the gentlemen of 
 the party, including the valet-dc-pla.ee, who, in the excess of his 
 piety, almost bowed to the ground. 
 
 "But such devotion endureth never." Which observation, 
 as you were about very justly to remark, reader, is what the pious 
 Friar Gerundio de Zcrotes, in his sermons, would term a "Pero- 
 grullada" or Peter Grullo s truth; id est, a truism, or a well- 
 known truth, which is a truth known to everybody 
 
 "No hay puta ni ladron, 
 Que tenga su devocion." 
 
 " There ne er was a thief or wanton wife, 
 Whose piety endured for life." 
 
 To which a Koman valet-de-place, or commissario, might reply 
 from Machiavelli, u> Tis not absolutely necessary for a gentleman 
 to be religious, but highly expedient for him to appear so/ 
 Which wretched maxim, being thoroughly despised by all genuine, 
 jolly good-fellows, I turn over to the readers of Chesterfield or 
 Pope, the admirers of Bernini in sculpture, of Boucher and Yan- 
 der Werff in painting, and that most exquisite of idyllo-mythologic 
 styles in architecture, known as the Rococo, or Baroque, of the 
 golden age of Louis XV. 
 
 But to return to my valets-de-place. One evening, in this 
 same city of Munich, while returning from the Royal Library, 
 with a wearisome big folio under my arm, urged partly by fatigue 
 and partly by a nervous eagerness to dip into the contents of 
 said book, I entered an out-of-the-way, old-fashioned coffee-house, 
 and, while waiting for the Her which, in a genuine Bavarian 
 kucip, is always brought without order immediately to the guest, 
 busied myself with leafing over my new acquisition. At the next 
 table sat five of the same scamps I have been speaking of; and 
 having already employed two or three of them at different times 
 on little affairs, I was profoundly greeted by the whole party on 
 
MEISTER KARL DISCUSSES VALETS-DE PLACE. 127 
 
 my entrance. Knowing me, therefore, to be a stranger, and pre 
 suming on my ignorance of their abominable patois, they kept 
 on conversing in the same high, South-German pitch, without 
 reserve or caution. 
 
 "A what did you yesterday, Bua?" said the oldest and keen 
 est of the five, to a somewhat younger corn-rogue. 
 
 "I had a young English yellow-bill (green-horn) to trot about 
 town," was the reply; "and I must show him every thing, all 
 at once. And I went to have his passport visted, and found that 
 he was to leave town early this morning. So, when we came to 
 the Glyptotlielc, (gallery of statues) and the Pinacothek, (picture- 
 gallery,) I told him that they were closed on Monday, and that 
 no one could enter without a special order; but that if he would 
 give the porters each a florin, and promise to say nothing about 
 it, I could get him in ; which he did, and I afterward shared 
 with them. And he read all the while in his red-covered guide 
 book; and at last hit, I suppose, on the place which tells that the 
 valets-de-place are such great scamps, and in league with all the 
 shop-keepers." 
 
 Here the narrator was interrupted by a general roar of laugh 
 ter, and the party, draining their mass Is, clapped down simulta 
 neously the deckels or lids, as a summons for more. And while 
 puffing at his pipe, he continued 
 
 " So, looking very cunning, he asked me if I could tell him a 
 good place to buy some linen. So I drew up indignantly, and 
 told him that the business of a cicerone was to show strangers 
 curiosities and works of art, or to interpret French and English, 
 but not to hunt up shops, and that he must ask the landlord for 
 that. 
 
 "Then he appeared quite astonished, and, changing his tone, 
 said that he did not want any linen, but would like to buy a new 
 carpet-bag and some other little items, and would take it as a 
 great favour if I would, only for once, just recommend an honest 
 dealer. And I answered, that I had never done such a thing 
 before, but as he was to leave town to-morrow, (for which I was 
 thankful in my heart,) I would take him to a very honest man 
 in the Kaufinger Gasse; which I did, and we squeezed three 
 prices out of him, of which I got one. Then, as he had full re 
 liance on my honesty, and was too tired to go himself, he sent 
 me to ask of the banker what was the premium on English gold. 
 
128 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEIST ER KARL. 
 
 So I guessed what was coming, and when I had learned from 
 Herr von Hirsch s clerk that it was 3.18, I returned and re 
 ported 1.18. Then he sent me -vith a rouleau of guineas to sell 
 for him, so that, praise the LORD and our Lady of Altotting ! I 
 made a good day s work of it." 
 
 (i Bischt a ganza Kerl, du schlaua, sackrisclia, alxjedrelite 
 Bescliti! complete, finished fox that you are!" cried the elder 
 valet. " Heaven send such days daily, and eight times a week 
 in Lent ! HURRAH FOR STRANGERS V 
 
 These last three words he expressed distinctly in good Ger 
 man, for my gratification. I continued to pore over my book. 
 
 "And you, Casperl," was now asked of another, "blows the 
 wind straight or crooked?" 
 
 " Pretty fair. My bird yesterday was a Frenchman, and not 
 so much of a fool as one could wish. He trotted through the 
 picture-gallery with his cane run up the sleeve of his coat, and 
 the end hidden in his handkerchief, in order to save the three 
 kreutzers (two cents) which he ought to have given the porter 
 for taking care of it. But he looked hard, and talked loosely 
 about the Yenuses, and such like, so I soon found where the 
 shoe pinched. Then he gave me a glass of beer at Schnitzerl s, 
 and talked all the while, fast as lightning, about the nobility and 
 immorality of Munich. Then he asked me if I thought a gen 
 tleman could make any bonnes fortunes here, among the beautiful 
 ladies. So I would not answer him at once, but began by ex 
 plaining how deeply we valets-deface were implicated and con 
 cerned in all the secrets of the nobility and gentry, being their 
 confidential messengers I" 
 
 Here a general burst of laughter unanimously proclaimed the 
 richness of this last lie, on the strength of which the party ven 
 tured a drink all round, and again clapped the mug-covers. 
 
 "My Frenchman listened attentively, but was not green enough 
 to pin his faith to any thing. But when I hinted at a certain 
 charming countess, who, to my positive knowledge through her 
 femme-de-chambre, had been very susceptible and sentimental 
 since the death of her late husband, who had left her in very 
 moderate circumstances, I could see my Frenchman begin to 
 kindle. 
 
 " Eh d table! said he; but how must we arrange it, then, to 
 console the fair widow ? 
 
MEISTER KARL DISCUSSES VALETS-DE-PLACE. 129 
 
 " Oh, there are fifty ways; but, monsieur understands, the 
 thing must be done delicately, doucement: the family pride 
 honour, you know ! 
 
 "Here my Frenchman struck his heart, and shut his eyes and 
 mouth, smiling horribly. 
 
 "< Au rcste, monsieur knows that in our free-and-easy city we 
 have less fiddle-faddle and ceremony, and acquaintances are more 
 readily made, than in Paris. I will contrive that you knock at 
 her suite of rooms; the girl will admit you, (but I must pay her 
 something handsome, of course;) you will see madame, and in 
 quire if there are not apartments in the house to let. She adores 
 the French; and if, with the appearance and manners of mon 
 sieur 
 
 "Here my Frenchman gave a yell of delight, and jumped 
 with joy. I kept on : 
 
 " For if I were .not perfectly certain, from monsieur s aristo 
 cratic air and elegant style, of his success, I would never have 
 ventured to aid him in obtaining such a splendid " bonne fortune." 
 Of course, monsieur knows that the valets-de-place generally do 
 nothing of the kind for the ordinary run of strangers, who come 
 and go, and pay and share alike. 
 
 "Here my Frenchman broke in with Sois content, mon 
 garcon. Be content, my boy; if you can play Leporello well, 
 I am quite as capable of the role of Don Juan. And as he, of 
 course, with his head full of the countess, could look at nothing 
 and think of nothing else, I had an easy day s work of it. So, in 
 the evening " 
 
 "But who the devil was the countess?" simultaneously cried 
 the entire company. 
 
 "H m h rn ! that is my business. However, one Lohndiener 
 must not play against another, and spoil trade; so I ll tell you, 
 
 if you ll do as much for me another time. It was Frau Yon , 
 
 who keeps the fancy-store in the strasse." 
 
 "So!" cried one: "but she really has a title." 
 
 "Yes, and so has the Baron SULZBECK, and the swine who 
 runs errands at the Ober Poll-in ger. But the title is all wursf, 
 (of no importance;) and you know what poor, proud, wad pretty 
 comes to in Munich. Well, my Frenchman had sense enough 
 to know, that though a man may be close in other items, he 
 shouldn t be mean where women are concerned; so I got from 
 
130 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 him a gold Caroline for the waiting-maid, one for myself, and, if 
 the frail only plays her cards well, Heaven knows how much 
 for us "all." 
 
 "Nu*, dos war notiibel," (not so bad,) " Pompb s," (splendid,) 
 " Gratulir," (I congratulate you,) were the compliments elicited 
 by the recital of this masterpiece of honourable talent. But the 
 silence which ensued was presently broken by the oldest villain 
 himself, who remarked 
 
 "I didn t make much money myself, yesterday; but what I did 
 get was easily earned, for I was paid for doing nothing." 
 
 "So; wahrhafti !" "Really!" cried the confederacy. 
 
 "Yes; I served government; that is, the police, curse their 
 souls ! Four or five days since, the Herr Inspektor came to me, 
 and said To-morrow, a tall gentleman, a Badensor, now on his 
 way hither from Zurich, will arrive at your hotel. He is a poli 
 tical refugee, and will attempt, under the assumed name of Stark- 
 enberg, to revisit his wife and children in Carlsruhe. Give him 
 early in the morning this note, and, when he demands a valet-de- 
 place, see that the man whom I shall send here, and no other, 
 serves him/ So I waited, and when the gentleman arrived, 
 gave him the billet." 
 
 "But you read it first?" 
 
 " VcrsteJit sich of course. It was a forged jnvitation from 
 
 the Herr , whom the police watch so much, to attend a 
 
 private, liberal, or revolutionary meeting in the evening; place 
 not designated; to be told him by the valet, in whom, he was 
 informed, he might implicitly confide." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! poor devil!" burst forth again in chorus the 
 confratres. 
 
 "Yes; they twisted him like wire beautifully!" continued 
 the good old man. "And you ought to have seen the fellow they 
 sent for valet. You know him; the lange BarteT Herr Jes ! 
 the rogue, with that smooth tongue of his, could wheedle oil out 
 of flints. So he took my poor Badensor to the club, where he 
 
 was arrested immediately after, with the student S , and is 
 
 now, I suppose, enjoying pleasure and repose at the expense of 
 government." 
 
 This last humorous adventure was by no means lost on the 
 audience. Suddenly, one exclaimed 
 
 "I can tell you that not a man in Munich drives a prettier, 
 
MEISTER KARL DISCUSSES VALETS-DE-PLACE. 131 
 
 safer, or more constant business than myself, since I have gone 
 into the picture-line." 
 
 "But, all the devils! where did you ever learn any thing 
 about such stuff?" inquired the patriarch. 
 
 " Ja, that s all to come; for I know as much of pictures as a 
 swine, and not much more than yourself, though I have visited 
 every gallery in Munich daily for the last ten years. But there 
 are a lot of young artists here who paint old pictures, and give 
 me good commissions for getting them off. So, when a fat- 
 headed Englishman gets me to show him round, I let him gabble 
 as much as he likes, (for every valet knows that it is most profit 
 able to let strangers tell you every thing for which you are paid 
 to tell them,) and when I get a little into his confidence, say <I 
 wonder that you gentlemen can take such interest in pictures. 
 Why, I know an old woman here in town who has several fine 
 ones, nearly as good as those in the gallery/ Then my gentle 
 man, whether he suspects me to be a scamp or not, generally 
 asks where they are; but I try to dissuade him; tell him that 
 she lives in a dirty, out-of-the-way house; that the pictures are 
 very old, and so on; and generally end by taking him off to my 
 own den, where my wife, who plays the part of old woman, sells 
 him something, for the benefit of myself and the artists. Some 
 times, for the sake of variety, and to add to the romance of the 
 thing, I hide the pictures away in lofts, lumber-rooms, and gar 
 rets. Sometimes my eldest daughter, who is a nice girl and sly 
 as a mouse, takes the part of virtuous poverty, and, with tears in 
 her eyes, sells milord an old painting, her father s dying gift and 
 only souvenir, which milord sometimes gives back again, and 
 which miladi, after a hard bargain, always insists on doing. 
 Again, for the sake of variety, I occasionally move the establish 
 ment out of town, to some neighbouring village or farm; so that, 
 what with one thing and another, I do pretty well. Gentlemen, 
 I drink your healths." 
 
 Here a somewhat noisy pause ensued, which was broken by 
 one of the quintette inquiring, in a low tone 
 
 " Casperl, you have been employed by the gentleman yonder, 
 with the big book : what is he for a stranger ?" 
 
 "Jtij he doesn t live next door. He is an American under 
 stood?" 
 
 " AME-RI-CAN the devil ! But not a born American ?" 
 
 12 
 
132 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "So-o-oU" 
 
 The reader must know, that in Germany every man who has 
 even visited our country is termed American : consequently, on 
 announcing one s Hail-Columbianism, he is generally asked, " Aber 
 eingtboren f but were you born there ?" 
 
 " But/ remarked one of the company, " everybody knows that 
 the Americans are either black, green, or red, and the gentleman 
 there is quite white. Strangers who go there remain as they are; 
 but, even in the first generation, their children are almost boot 
 black. Some, indeed, really become so." 
 
 "Fact?" 
 
 "Yes; when I lived in Suabia, by Heilbronn, there was a 
 neighbour of my father s who was away many years in America, 
 and he returned very rich, with "his only daughter, who was, in 
 deed, not exactly black, but something the colour of a half-cooked 
 doughnut. And her father said that she would have become quite 
 so, as dark as iron, had she not been fed every day on peaches 
 and cream, which, in that country, preserves the complexion." 
 
 " Then the gentleman with the big book must have been re 
 markably fond of fruit," remarked Casperl. 
 
 " They say," resumed the Nestor of the gang, " that America 
 is a land of gold, butter, and pan-cakes, very glorious to behold. 
 And it must be a part of China, of course, because tea grows 
 there; and, as the world is round, it lies the other side of 
 England." 
 
 " But how do you know that tea grows there ?" asked Casperl. 
 
 " Because I have heard that the English once fought with the 
 Americans, who are a sort of English, you know, and speak the 
 same language, only better. And it was all because the Ameri 
 cans wouldn t grow tea for them at the price they offered." 
 
 " That is not improbable," rejoined Casperl ; " for the English 
 at our hotel drink fearful quantities of the nasty slop, and gene 
 rally dispute the bill. But are the Americans all like the 
 English ?" 
 
 " Gott bewahr ! They were once, but of late years so many Ger 
 mans have gone there, that, before long, every thing will be in that 
 country as it now is here in Bavaria, or rather in Switzerland." 
 
 " What is the reason that Englishmen travel so much," asked 
 Valet Number Four, becoming discursive. 
 
MEISTER KARL DISCUSSES VALETS-DE-PLACE. 133 
 
 "It is," answered the sage, "partly because comfort and hap 
 piness are unknown to them at home, so that they must travel to 
 find them, and partly because they are all slightly insane, and 
 consequently restless. I have often heard the waiters at our 
 hotel say that the English tumble, and toss, and wake up a dozen 
 times in the night : such people always travel/ 
 
 (N.B. If the reader ever tried a South German seidlitz-box 
 bed, with an eider-down cover, he may understand why the bold 
 Britons alluded to were so restless.) 
 
 " But is England really such a wretched country ?" inquired 
 Casperl. 
 
 "Versteht sich of course!" replied another. "Why, you 
 know that the only days on which we amuse ourselves here are 
 the feasts and Sundays. Now, in England they have no feasts, 
 and on Sundays they close the houses, go to church, and are very 
 miserable, so that it is the dullest day in the week. Even the 
 theatres and balls are closed ! !" 
 
 "Pah!" replied another; "that I would call treating the day 
 with great disrespect. But then Protestants and heretics would 
 as lieve break the Sabbath as not, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Of course," answered the patriarch. "Not that I care for 
 Sunday myself, or have any religious scruples ; but I do like 
 to see people amuse themselves on that day as Christians 
 ought." 
 
 " The English, I know, are all a little crazy," remarked Casperl, 
 " because they are so eager to see every thing that none of their 
 countrymen have seen ; and whenever I take one to look at any 
 out-of-the-way curiosity, I always tell him that he is the first 
 stranger that ever beheld it. Besides, you must have noticed that 
 their clothes are always cut very close, and narrow, and uncom 
 fortable, like straight-jackets : and this is done by order of their 
 physicians, that the madness may be restrained. Ah, you may 
 rest assured that, with all their money, they are very un 
 happy !" 
 
 " Talking of rich people," said Number Three, " what is the 
 reason that the Russians, though so very wealthy, are so con 
 foundedly keen ? I can make more any day out of a simple 
 English gentleman than a Russian duke." 
 
 "Ja, dos weis i wirldi* not: that I really don t know, unless 
 it be that they gamble so much, as do the Poles. They say 
 
134 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 that Russians learn the cards, with their prayers, before the 
 A, B, C." 
 
 " That/ said Casperl, " is because they believe the queen of 
 hearts to be the Virgin MARY. They are so suspicious and mis 
 trustful, that it is the only way their priests can find to make 
 them believe in any tiling." 
 
 " I don t know that we Bavarians are much more intelligent, 
 if you come to that !" said Number Three. " You must all of you 
 have often seen the Waffen, or coat-of-arms of our city ; there s 
 one painted on the University window, and another carved in 
 stone over the Carlsthor geltjja?" 
 
 " What ! the MUENCHNER MANNERL?" (the mannikin or dwarf 
 of Munich.) " Certainly/ replied the rest in chorus. 
 
 " Well, the mannikin is a monk. Now, the name of our city 
 of Ming a, which other people call Miincha, the English, Munich, 
 and some few out-of-the-world North Germans, MUENCHEN, comes 
 from the word JUonch, (monk.") 
 
 " WaJirliafti indeed !" cried the rest. " Where did you 
 learn that ?" 
 
 " From an English gentleman. Now, can any of you tell me 
 what it is he holds in his right hand ?" 
 
 li Why a beer-mug, of course/ chorused the party. 
 
 " Yes, and so I thought, with all the town, until lately. But 
 the truth is, that it is a book, though what sort of a book is more 
 than I know : and this I heard a very learned man say." 
 
 t( Oh, it s a Latin book, of course," remarked Casperl. ll But 
 are you sure it s not a beer-mug ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I looked and found it so, because it has no lid." 
 
 " Neither have the beer-glasses in Baden," replied Casperl, 
 who evidently mistrusted this new light. 
 
 " But they are of glass, I tell you transparent glass ; while 
 that which the Mannerl holds is deep brown." 
 
 "That s because it s full of beer brown-beer" replied Cas 
 perl, driven to the Voltairian system of defence. 
 
 " Fudge ! As if a monk ever kept a full mug in his fist ! 
 Why, he would empty it, like yourself, in a second." 
 
 And with this the brave and gentle party arose, and having 
 paid the zecli, went roaringly along, singing merrily the following 
 gasscnliaucr, or loafer-lyric a favourite song in Munich : 
 
MEISTER KARL DISCUSSES VALETS-DE-PLACE. 135 
 
 STREET SONG OF MUNICH. 
 (FIRST VOICE.) 
 
 "Bel der Nacht wenn s finster ist." 
 By the night when all is dark, 
 And no one in the street I mark, 
 
 Hallo you there, afar ! 
 
 Let me light my cigar. 
 Let me light when all is dark, 
 And no one in the street I mark. 
 (SECOND VOICE.) 
 
 Fishes we will catch, 
 
 Fishes we will snatch 
 By the night, when all is dark, 
 And no one else around we mark. 
 
 Fish in ditch or fish in dyke, 
 
 Fish in ponds, or where you like. 
 (FIRST VOICE.) 
 
 But at night we must catch, 
 
 Yes, at night we must snatch ! 
 
 (CHORUS.) 
 
 Yes, at night, when all is dark, 
 And no one else around we mark. 
 (FIRST VOICE.) 
 
 Ladies we will catch, 
 
 Ladies we will snatch. 
 By the night, when all is dark, 
 And no one else around we mark, 
 Ladies fair we ll catch with play, 
 When the husband s far away. 
 (CHORUS.) 
 
 But at night we must catch, 
 
 Yes, at night we must snatch. 
 Yes, at night, when all is dark, &c. 
 (FIRST VOICE.) 
 
 Maidens let us catch ! 
 
 Maidens let us snatch ! 
 Yes, at night, when all is dark, 
 And no one else around we mark. 
 
 (SECOND VOICE.) 
 
 Maidens young and maidens fair, 
 Nab them, grab them everywhere. 
 
 But at night we must catch, 
 
 Yes, at night we must snatch ! 
 Yes, at night, when all is dark, 
 And no one else around we mark. 
 
 Hallo you there, afar ! 
 
 Let me light my cigar. 
 Let me light since all is dark, 
 And no ono else around we mark ! 
 12* 
 
136 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL, 
 
 (Song proceeds extemporically and ad libitum-ically up the 
 street, with occasional interruptions from the police, or squalls 
 from unprotected females.) 
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 IN WHICH MEISTER KARL, PROMPTED BY THE SOUVENIR OP 
 THE NUMBER OF BEAUTIFUL FACES WHICH HE HAS EEN 
 FRAMED IN WINDOWS, DISCOURSES ON THE AFFINITIES EX 
 ISTING BETWEEN THE TWO. 
 
 " I SAT over against a -window, and had my eyes fixed thereon, when of a 
 sudden it opened, and a young lady appeared, whose beauty struck mo." 
 
 ARABIAN NIGHTS. 
 
 "LECTEUR MON AMY!" Reader, my friend ! didst thou ever 
 fall in love with a fair face which appeared from time to time at 
 an opposite window ! Didst thou never, gazing, wonder whether 
 this apposition or coincidence of residence was not a special 
 admonition, mystically heralding an ultimate union of souls? 
 Didst thou never feel that daily increased thrill, or smart, 
 
 " Which was felt about the heart," 
 
 as gazing ripened into acquaintanceship, and acquaintanceship 
 into love? The first bold "How-do-you-do, good-morning nod," 
 and its ultimate return the deaf and dumb alphabet (if you 
 knew it) and the intense queerity usually attendant upon your 
 first conversation, whether held in street or salon ? If not, thou 
 hast (crede experto Roberto) never experienced the most piquant 
 method of beginning or managing a love-chase a method, I may 
 venture to assert, which, in point of true romance, as far sur 
 passes all masked ball and carnival adventures, "as lovelie 
 May is morrowe doth mydnighte." 
 
 The beauty of "Window Love" has, of course, not escaped the 
 notice of the race of rhymers. Every bard of true feeling has 
 experienced it, from the New Orleans Minstrel, 
 
WINDOW LOVE. 137 
 
 Who saw her at the window, 
 
 With all her fixings on, 
 As lovely and as tender 
 
 As a lily bud in June 
 
 to the exquisite Uhland, who thus briefly chronicles his own ex 
 periences : 
 
 I quit my narrow room but rarely, 
 
 Yet even here is labour sore ; 
 My books are open late and early, 
 
 Still o er the self-same page I pore. 
 For, ah, that flute so softly pealing, 
 
 First leads my willing soul astray, 
 
 And now one glance I must be stealing 
 
 At my fair neighbour o er the way ! 
 
 It is needless to mention, that from the occult and mysterious 
 nature of Window Love, it has been most assiduously cultivated 
 and sung in Germany, though Italy be the true country of its 
 birth and most peculiar home on the same principle, we pre 
 sume, that Art and Music, though originally Italian, are gene 
 rally admitted to be better understood, or at least more energeti 
 cally expounded, in the Teutonic Fatherland. Riickert s sweet 
 est and most popular poem sings the praises of ii die schcene 
 Naclibarinn" or his own Window Love w.ith a fair neighbour, 
 while a well-known ballad declares that 
 
 The brightest gem on earth below, 
 The fairest maiden earth can show, 
 The beauty most admired by me 
 Dwells, from my window, vis-a-vis ! 
 
 Schiller, the lofty and ideal, has employed Window Love, as 
 being naturally the highest and purest form with which " love 
 Platonical" could be invested. Witness his " Hitter Toggen- 
 burg:-- , 
 
 Gazing on that window stay d ho : 
 
 Hours he there would hang, 
 Till the lattice of his ladye 
 
 Oped with welcome clang ; 
 Till her lovely looks entrancing 
 
 All his sense the while, 
 Calm adown the dale were glancing, 
 
 Sweet as angel s smile. 
 Till her lovely looks entrancing 
 
 All his sense the while, 
 Calm adown the vale were glancing, 
 
 Sweet as angel s smile. 
 
138 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 And so sat he there, one morning, 
 
 Lifeless without fail, 
 To that lattice loved still turning 
 
 His cold face so pale. 
 
 This, reader, it must be admitted as the French lady re 
 marked when she embroidered the fingers of her gloves, and 
 the tips of her slippers with darts and Cupids was " Love in 
 extremis !" 
 
 And this last illustration from Schiller, reader, suggests 
 yet another in the " Come-to-thy-lattice-love" school of poetry, 
 which is nothing more nor less than some rhymes of mine own, 
 written while under the influence of a heart-rending attack of 
 Window Love, and which I here subjoin, as in a degree express 
 ing its power : 
 
 Methought I lay, beside the dark blue Rhine, 
 
 In that old tower where once Sir lloland dwelt ; 
 Methought his gentle lady-love was mine; 
 
 And mine the cares and pain that once he felt. 
 Dim, cloudy centuries had roll d away 
 
 E en to that minstrel age, the olden time, 
 When Roland s lady bade him woo no more, 
 
 And he, aweary, sought the Eastern clime. 
 
 Methought that I, like him, had wandor d long 
 
 In those strange lands of which old legends tell; 
 Then home I turn d to my own glancing Rhine, 
 
 And found my lady in a convent cell; 
 And I, like him, had watch d long years away, 
 
 And dwelt, unseen, hard by her convent s bound, 
 In that old tower, which yet stands pitying 
 
 The cloister-isle, enclosed by water round. 
 
 I long had watch d for in the early morn, 
 
 To ope her lattice came that lady oft; 
 And earnestly I gazed yet naught I saw, 
 
 Save one small hand and arm white, fair, and soft. 
 And when, at eve, the long, dark shadows fell 
 
 O er rock and valley, vineyard, town, and tower, 
 Again she came again that small, white hand 
 
 Would close her lattice for the vesper hour. 
 
 I lingered still e en when the silent night 
 
 Had cast its sable mantle o er the shrine, 
 To see her lonely taper s soften d light 
 
 Gleam, far reflected, o er the quiet Rhine : 
 But most I loved to see her form, at times, 
 
 Obscure those beams for then her shade would fall, 
 And I beheld it evenly portray d, 
 
 A living profile, on that window small. 
 
WINDOW LOVE. 139 
 
 And thus I lived in love though not in hope, 
 
 And thus I watch d that maiden many a year, 
 When, lo ! I saw, one morn, a funeral train 
 
 Alas ! they bore my lady to her bier ! 
 And she was dead yet grieved I not therefor, 
 
 For now in heaven she knew the love I felt. 
 Death cannot kill affection nor destroy 
 
 The holy peace wherein I long had dwelt. 
 
 Oh, gentle lady ! this was but a dream ! 
 
 And in a dream I bore all this for thee. 
 If thus, in sleep, love s pangs assail my soul, 
 
 Think, lady, what my wakiny hours must be. 
 The golden age of chivalry hath fled ; 
 
 Its glory gone its splendour pass d away. 
 Well, be it so ! Romance expires with Youth ; 
 
 But Love true Spirit Love can ne er decay ! 
 
 Who has not read the beautiful legend of Musaeus on " Dumb 
 Love/ wherein a young gallant loses his heart after the most 
 approved fashion, to the lovely vis-a-vis of a neighbouring win 
 dow? Sooth to say, the matter is more readily arranged in 
 South Germany than with us; since, in that country, every cu 
 rious matron and fair maiden hath, attached to the outer edge of 
 her window-frame, a mirror, which, when adjusted at the proper 
 angle, shows all that is passing in the neighbourhood, without 
 exposing the observer ! 
 
 Tom Hood has been said to exhibit more true feeling and deeper 
 pathos in his poems than any bard of the present century an 
 assertion fully established by the fact that he appreciated the su 
 perior power of Window Love. Hear, ye advocates of regular 
 parlour and church-going courtships, how exquisitely the vis-a-vis 
 affection inspired him 
 
 Alas ! the flames of an tmhappy lover 
 About iny heart and on my vitals prey : 
 I ve caught a fever that I can t get over 
 Over the way ! 
 
 I ve gazed too often, till my heart s as lost 
 As any needle in a stack of hay : 
 
 Crosses belong to Love and mine is crossed 
 Over the way ! 
 
 I cannot read or write, or thoughts relax 
 
 Of what avail Lord Althorp or Earl Gray ? 
 
 They cannot ease me of my window-tax 
 
 Over the way I 
 
140 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Even on Sunday my devotions vary, 
 And from St. Bennet Fink they go astray 
 To dear St. Mary Overy the Mary 
 
 Over the way ! 
 
 But how to breathe to her my deep regards, 
 Or ask her for a whispered yea or nay 
 Or offer her my hand at thirty yards 
 Over the way ! 
 
 Cold as the pole she is to my adoring 
 Like Captain Lyon at Repulse s Bay, 
 I meet an icy end to my exploring 
 
 Over the way ! 
 
 There is no doubt but that love, caught from a window, is infi 
 nitely more overpowering than that inspired from any other 
 source. We see but the beautiful face perhaps the lovely bust 
 or entrancing three-quarter length. Imagination supplies the 
 rest I mean the general maintien, tournure, and air ; and imagi 
 nation, you all know, my readers, generally gives good measure. 
 Then the curtains waving in the wind, and all the dim, delicious 
 mysteries latent within cologne slippers ! Hold ne inducas 
 nos in temptationem ! 
 
 Studium impedit ante fenestram, 
 Visa Venus. 
 
 " You cannot study before a window from which a pretty wo 
 man is looking," says the old humourist in the Crepundia Poet- 
 ica. Of course not. I have heard of a youth who continued 
 to pore over his Conic Sections after a rope had been fitted 
 round his neck; but I verily believe, that if somebody had at 
 that instant pointed out to him, as to Claude Duval, some pretty 
 pitying face at a window, he would have forgotten both his mor 
 tal misery and his mathematics. 
 
 The terrible intensity of Window Love, and the facility with 
 which it turns aside even the powerful influence of avarice, is 
 beautifully illustrated in a nail-new (as the Germans say) and 
 perfectly authentic anecdote of Meyerbeer. 
 
 When this great composer resided in Paris, occupied with his 
 opera of " Count Ory," he was not unfrcquently shocked to hear, 
 in the room immediately over his own, what appeared to his 
 practised ears to be the most abominable jangling and piano- 
 thumping that ever disgraced the name of music. On inquiry, 
 he found that these insults to St. Cecilia which generally en- 
 
WINDOW LOVE. 141 
 
 dured all day, and occasionally the greater part of tlie night 
 were caused by a young medical student, who was au reste 
 poor as a crow. Wishing to insure peace and quietness for the 
 more advantageous prosecution of his own studies, the generous 
 musician offered his young tormentor two hundred francs per 
 month, on condition that he would abstain from all noise what 
 ever; which the latter at once readily accepted. 
 
 For three weeks, a deep if not a holy calm reigned triumphant 
 in the hotel. But on the afternoon of the Sunday succeeding 
 this blessed period, M. de Meyerbeer was startled from a deeply- 
 inspired fit by a brain-distracting sweep and a series of fearful 
 discords on the piano-forte above. 
 
 Half mad at the interruption, Meyerbeer rushed frantically 
 up stairs, and burst into the room of his musical enemy. But 
 he found the latter in a if possible still greater fit of excitement. 
 
 " Here ! take back your gold !" exclaimed he, holding out to 
 Meyerbeer a package of one hundred and fifty francs, in bank 
 notes. "Millions would not now tempt me to be silent !" 
 
 "What what is the matter, my friend ?" exclaimed Meyer 
 beer, awed by the enthusiasm of the student. 
 
 " In the opposite house, where you behold yon latticed win 
 dow/ replied the latter, " dwells a beautiful young lady. For 
 merly, when I touched the piano, she would appear, smile, and 
 listen. During the past three weeks she has not once been visi 
 ble, probably imagining, from my silence, that I was dead or 
 departed. This afternoon I again played, and broke our contract 
 but oh, happiness ! she came to the window, bearing a bouquet, 
 and threw it, in her joy, to me !" 
 
 The good Meyerbeer at once perceived that nothing could be 
 done in such a case, and contented himself with providing the 
 young student, at his own expense, with an excellent teacher of 
 music, that his own ears might in future be less jarred by the 
 discord of harsh sounds. 
 
 If we search into the antiquities of Window Love, we find 
 that the Ladye-Love of the Squyer of Lowe-Degre was seated in 
 her oryall, or bow-window, when she first became aware of the 
 state of her lover s heart. 
 
 Thys ladye hearde hys mournyng all 
 In her oryall where she was 
 Enclosed it was with royal glas. 
 
142 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 And it was from the window that she reciprocated his affec 
 tion. 
 
 Herr Heinrich von Moninge " The noble Moringer" a gen 
 tleman and a poet, appears to have caught his Window Love in 
 the year 1225, to judge from the following verse, then written 
 
 Sach icman die frouwen 
 Die man mac schouwen 
 In dem venster stan ? 
 
 In which he inquires if any one has seen his ladye " standing in 
 the window ?" 
 
 Window Love has given many a young lady a beau when other 
 expedients have failed though, in sooth, much depends upon 
 the beauty of the lady herself. Witness the old song of Number 
 One 
 
 Miss S., you know, has got a beau 
 
 Her fortune still is kind ! 
 By sitting in the window-bow, 
 
 Without a bit of blind ; 
 But / sit in the balcony, 
 
 Which she has never done ; 
 Yet arts that thrive at Number Five, 
 
 Don t take at Number One. 
 
 Very true ; but if that young lady had remained, like 
 
 My own dear Lucinda, 
 A-seated at the window, 
 
 she would, doubtless, ere long, have found some gentle swain 
 with taste sufficient to discover that 
 
 She looked so bright, and her eyes so light, 
 That he d give his soul to be in dar. 
 
 And apropos of this last illustration, reader, permit me to remark 
 that it gloriously confutes the absurd assertion, so prevalent of 
 late years in the newspapers, that there is no possible rhyme to 
 the word window. 
 
 What eight o docJcl Gentle reader, we must part 
 
 thou whither Fate calls thee, and I softly be it spoken to 
 visit one whom I well know will at this hour 
 Be gazing from the window 
 
A MUSICAL DUEL. 
 
 143 
 
 CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH. 
 
 A MUSICAL DUEL. 
 
 "I KNOW A STORY/ suddenly exclaimed Count d Egerlyn, 
 one evening, as we were taking supper at our parlour in the St. Ni 
 cholas; in New York. Now if the count had suddenly sung, " I 
 know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows/ he would not 
 have excited more astonishment. For though the count was 
 a gentleman of wit, a finished cosmopolite, and a thorough good 
 fellow, and had moreover a beautiful wife, he was never known 
 to tell tales of any description, either in school or out of it. 
 
 At the word upstarted Wolf Short and young C , the latter 
 
 declaring that he was, like Time, all ears, while the former, listen 
 ing as if dreaming, 
 
 hoard him half in awe ; 
 
 While Cabana s smoke came streaming 
 Through his open jaw. 
 
 In a calm, bland voice, our good count proceeded to narrate a 
 curious incident, which I long afterward reduced to writing. 
 As I remember it, the story would have been far better had it 
 been given in the exact words in which it was originally told. 
 But, alas ! it was hardly concluded ere we had to scramble off to 
 a party, and the next day we went all together to Boston; and 
 it probably would never had been written out at all, had I not 
 just been reminded of it by hearing "our nigger" Tom whistling, 
 through the hall, the air on which it is founded. 
 
 Vivace. 
 
 
 MENDELSOHN was a great musician. 
 
 Mendelsohn signifies "The son of an almond." Had he been a 
 twin, they would have christened him Philip-ina. 
 
 13 
 
144 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 But as lie was a Jew, they could not christen him. And as 
 he was not a twin, he consequently remained single. 
 
 Which did not, however, prevent him from being wedded to 
 Divine Lady Music, as amateurs call her. 
 
 Mendelsohn composed " Songs without words." Many modern 
 poets give us words without songs. 
 
 "They shouldn t do so." 
 
 The story which I am about to relate is that of a duel which 
 was fought as Mendelsohn s songs were sung without words. 
 The insult, the rejoinder, the rebutter, the sur-rebutter, and the 
 challenge were all whittled I 
 
 But as, according to Fadladeen in Lalla Rookh, it is impossible 
 even for an angel to carry a siyli in his hand, the reader will not 
 find it strange that such an imperfect sinner as myself should find 
 it difficult to whistle on paper or in print. 
 
 I will, therefore, take the liberty of representing by words the 
 few notes which were whistled upon this melancholy occasion. 
 The which notes are given at the beginning of this story. 
 
 And here the intelligent reader may remark that most authors 
 put their notes at the end of their works. Mine, however, come 
 before. 
 
 An Englishman was once seated in solitary silence in the 
 Cafe de France, solemnly sipping sherry and smoking a cigar. 
 His reverie was unbroken, and his only desire on earth was that 
 it should continue so. 
 
 Suddenly entered (as from the Grand Opera) a gay French 
 man, merrily whistling that odd little air from Robert le JDiable, 
 so well known to all admirers of Meyerbeer and contemuers of 
 worldly wealth or sublunary riches : 
 
 Oh, but gold is a chimera ! 
 Money all a fleeting dream !* 
 
 Now the interruption vexed our Englishman. At any time 
 he would have wished the Frenchman in Jerusalem. At pre 
 sent, the whistling so much disturbed him, that he wished him 
 
 * Folle e qnei die Voro aduna 
 E iwl sa come goder, 
 Non prov6 giammai fortuna, 
 Che sta luiiga dal jnacer. 
 
A MUSICAL DUEL. 145 
 
 in a far less holy place. Mind! I do not mean New York, 
 though it be, like Milton s scaly sorceress, close by the "Gate of 
 Hell/ 
 
 Therefore, in a firm and decided tone, (which said, as plainly 
 as if he had spoken it, "I wish, sir, you would hold your tongue,") 
 he whistled 
 
 Oh, but gold is a chimera ! 
 Money all a fleeting dream ! 
 
 But the Frenchman was in high feather, and not to be bluffed. 
 He had had a dinner, and a gloria of coffee and brandy, and 
 some eau sucree and a glass of bruleau, (which, like crambambuli, 
 consists of burnt brandy or rum, with sugar.) He had had a 
 cigarette, or a four-cent government cigar, (I forget which,) had 
 winked to a pretty girl in the opera, and finally had heard the 
 opera and Grisi. In fact, he had experienced a perfect bender. 
 Now a bender is a batter, and a batter is a spree, and a spree is 
 a jollification. And the tendency of a jollification is to exalt the 
 mind and elevate the feelings. Therefore the feelings of the 
 Frenchman were exalted, and in the coolest, indifferentest, im- 
 pudentest, provokingest manner in the world, he answered in 
 whistling 
 
 Oh, but gold is a chimera ! 
 Money all a fleeting dream ! 
 
 Which, being interpreted, signified, "I care not a fig for the 
 world in general, or you, sir, in particular ! Stuff that you are ! 
 Out upon you! Parbleu! BAH! 
 
 "Do you think that because you are silent, all the world must 
 be mum? Par- r- r- r- r-bleu ! Am I to sneeze because you 
 snuff? Par- r-r- r-bleu! Ought I to blush because you are 
 well read? Par- r-r-r- r- r- r-bleu! Tralira! Goto!" 
 
 All these words were distinctly intelligible in the chimes, in 
 tonations, and accentuations of the Frenchman s whistle. And 
 to make assurance doubly sure, he sat himself down at the same 
 tete-d-t$te table whereon the Englishman leaned, at the opposite 
 seat; and displacing, with an impudent little shove, his cigar- 
 case, continued to whistle, with all manner of imitating variations 
 and aggravating canary-bird trills, his little air 
 
 Oh, but gold is a chimera ! 
 Money all a fleeting dream ! 
 
146 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 "What I now wish you to believe is, that John Bull was in no 
 wise either flattered or gratified by these little marks of atten 
 tion. Drawing back in his chair, he riveted a stare of silent fury 
 on the Frenchman, which might have bluffed a buifalo, and then, 
 in deliberate, cast-iron accents, slowly whistled, as he rose from 
 the table and beckoned his foe to follow, the air which had so 
 greatly incensed him 
 
 Oh, but gold is a chimera ! 
 Money all a fleeting dreani ! 
 
 Now this last instrumento-vocal effort did not express much, 
 but the little it did express went, like the widow s oil or a Paix- 
 han shot, a great way. It simply signified 
 
 " Coffee and pistols for two without the coffee!" 
 To which the Frenchman, with a bow of the intensest polite 
 ness, replied, toujours en sifflant always in whistling 
 
 Oh, but gold is a chimera ! 
 Money all a fleeting dream ! 
 
 Which was not much more, and certainly no less, than 
 
 "Oh, if you come to that, two can play at that game. Poor 
 devil ! what a loss you will be to the worthy and estimable society 
 of muffs and slow coaches ! What will that excellent individual, 
 Milady Popkins, remark, when she hears that I have settled the 
 account of her son without a surplus? After you, sir, if you 
 please ! I will directly have the pleasure of following and kill 
 ing you." 
 
 Out of the cafe, and along the Boulevards, strode the English 
 man, followed by his new acquaintance, both "whistling as they 
 went" certainly not "from want of thought." Whether it was 
 "to keep their courage up," is not written in history. 
 
 They soon reached a hall, where the Englishman offered the 
 only weapons in his possession, excepting "maulies," or fists, 
 and these were a pair of rapiers. 
 
 And here it would appear, gracious reader, (if you are gra 
 cious,) that either I, or the Frenchman, or both of us, made a 
 great mistake, when we understood the Englishman, by the 
 sounds he uttered in his challenge, to signify the whistle of 
 pistol-bullets. It appears that it was the whiz of swords, to 
 which he had reference. But the Frenchman, who believed 
 himself good at all things in general, and the fleurette in par- 
 
A MUSICAL DUEL. 147 
 
 ticular, made no scruples, but drawing his sword with a long 
 whistle struck a salute, and held up a beautiful guard, accom 
 panying every movement with a note from the original air of 
 
 Oh, but gold is a chimera ! 
 Money all a fleeting dream ! 
 
 And now, reader, had I the pen of the blind old man of Scio s 
 rocky isle, I would describe thee a duel in the real comme ilfaut, 
 two-thirty style. Every note of the air was accompanied by a 
 thrust or a parry. When the Englishman made a thrust of low 
 carte seconde, the Frenchman guarded with a semicircle parade, 
 or an octave, (I forget which.) When the Frenchman made an 
 appel, a beat, or a glissade, the Englishman, in no wise put out, 
 either remained firm or put in a time thrust. Both marking 
 time with the endless refrain 
 
 Oh, but gold is a chimera ! 
 Money all a fleeting dream ! 
 
 At last, an untimely thrust from the Englishman s rapier 
 settled the business. The Frenchman fell dropped his sword 
 and whistled in slower, slower measure and broken accents, for 
 the last time, his little melody. 
 
 Reader, I have no doubt that you have heard, ere now, the 
 opera of Lucia di Lammermoor, and can well recall the dying 
 struggles and perishing notes of Edgardo 
 
 Se di vi si fumino in ter ra, 
 
 Ne congiun ga ne congiung a il Nume in ciel ! 
 
 Ne con giun ga, ah ! oh ! Num in ciel 
 
 I o ti i se guo ! oh ! Oh ! 
 
 And so it was with our poor Frenchman, who panted forth, 
 game to the last 
 
 " Oh, but g- g- gold is a chi mera ! 
 M- m- rnon ey but a fleeee ." 
 
 And here borne on the wings of a last expiring whistle his 
 soul took its flight. 
 
 Not a word had been spoken by either of the combatants ! 
 
 13* 
 
148 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. 
 
 THE LAKE OF AGNANO. 
 
 HARK ! the faint bells of the Sunken City 
 Peal once more their wonted evening chime ! 
 
 From the deep s abysses floats a ditty 
 
 Wild and wondrous of the olden time. RUCKERT. 
 
 On Lough Neagh s banks, as the fisherman strays, 
 
 When the setting sun s declining, 
 He sees the round-towers of other days 
 
 In the wave beneath him shining. 
 
 Thy waves have rolled 
 Above the cities of a world gone by. MOORE. 
 
 Tune Archidiaconus : Ut sciatis, quanta miranda Yirgilius in hac urbe fuerit 
 operatus, accedamus ad locum, et ostendam quod in ille porta memoriale reli- 
 querit Virgilius super terrain. GERVASIUS DE TILBURY DE OT. IMP. 
 
 Know st thou that seas are sweeping 
 
 Where cities once have been : 
 When the calm wave is sleeping, 
 
 Their towers may yet be seen ; 
 Far down below the glassy tide 
 Man s dwellings where his voice hath died. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 NOT far from Naples lies the Lake of Agnano, on whose shore 
 is situated the celebrated Grottone del Cane. "This lake," 
 says De Ferrari, " is remarkable, partly from the singular fact 
 that its waters, which are very deep, are fresh on the surface 
 and salt at bottom; partly from a strange bubbling or boil 
 ing motion which agitates them when full ; and partly because it 
 covers the old Norman city of Angulanum the remains of which 
 may even yet be discerned on a clear day. 7 
 
 It is said (and the report dates back for centuries) that the 
 faint chime of bells, as well as sweet music, is often heard at 
 sunset rising from the lake, and that, at a later hour, the gleam 
 of lights flashes upward from its waters. 
 
 It is not astonishing that there should be legends connected 
 with this lake, for Naples and its dominion is legendary land. 
 
THE LAKE OF AGNANO. 149 
 
 Witness that exquisitely quaint work, the Pentamerone of Giam- 
 battista Basile, or the " Italian Tailor and his Boy/ or Li sept 
 Marchands di Naples. And, in addition, we have an entire cycle 
 of strange tales, in which the great Virgil figures not as poet, 
 but as conjuror and magician. 
 
 Throughout the Middle Ages, Virgil was regarded, down to 
 the days of Faust, as the arch-enchanter. The Minnesinger BOPPO 
 of Austria, in the year 1285, sang 
 
 Wacre ich, als Aristotiles 
 
 Und klinde, als Virgilius, zouberie. 
 
 Were I like Aristotle, 
 
 And could I, like Virgilius, enchant. 
 
 And there is a delightful old English black-letter "boke" treat 
 ing entirely of ye conjering of ye Nigromauncer Vergilius, which 
 has been, of late years, reprinted for the lovers of quaint lore, 
 and also translated by Von der Hagen into German. 
 
 The shade of Virgil appears for this magical reputation to be 
 principally indebted to that glorious old gossip, Gervasius de 
 Tilbury, to the good monk Helinandus, Archdeacon Pinatellus, 
 and also to Alexander Neckham, a Benedictine of the thirteenth 
 century. Gower, in his Confessio Amantis, has a word or two 
 to say on the subject, and so, too, have Symphorian Champier, 
 Albertus de Elib, Tostatus d Avila, who figures in the Moyen de 
 Parvenir, and the speculator Vincent de Beauvais. Allusions 
 to, and legends on, this great subject may also be found in Mont- 
 faucon ; The Mirabilia Romae of the twelfth century ; Naudaeus 
 Apologie; De Loyer, de Spectris. lib. 1, c. 6; Paracelsus, Tract, 
 de Imaginibus, c. 2; Helmoldus, Hist. Slavor. lib. 4, c. 19; Jo 
 hannes Capucinus, Hist. Neapolit. (well worth reading;) The 
 Mirror of the World; Petrarch in Itinerario; Theodoric & Niem. 
 lib. 3, de Schism, c. 19; Pontanus; Vignerus de Cypern. c. 19, 
 p. 330, Alph. ; Trithemius, Antipal. 1. 4, c. 3 ; and, finally, in 
 "Les faits merveilleux de Virgile, fils dung Chevalier des Ar 
 dennes" 
 
 Such a mass of legend piled up in Meister Karl s memory, 
 during many days sojourn in the Royal Library of Naples, must 
 needs have some vent. The Gcsta Romanorum gave the hint, 
 and, accordingly, he one morning astonished all his travelling 
 party in Naples by reading to them the 
 
150 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 LEGEND OF BERXALDUS. 
 
 Many ages since, when the great King Arnaldus ruled in 
 Italie, there dwelt not far from Naples a knight named Bernal- 
 dus, who for his goodness, fortune, and bravery was suruamed 
 the Blest. 
 
 But at the period in which the legend begins, he was far from 
 meriting this title. For he had for a long time been beset by 
 strange visions and wondrous fantasies. Every night as he slept, 
 there appeared to him, in a dream, the form of a maiden of won 
 drous beauty, who sung of her love. But when he endeavoured 
 to embrace the fay, she ever seemed to vanish in a sparkling 
 rainbow-mist, amid rolling clouds, into some far-away land of 
 mystery and beauty. And so sweet and soft was the music of 
 her song, that he knew right well that the vision came from the 
 Hidden World. But the interpretation thereof he could in no 
 wise discover. 
 
 But as he sat one evening by the Lago de Agnano, and gazed 
 upon its waters, it chanced that the waves, as wont, became 
 strangely agitated. And as he gazed, a strain of music, soft and 
 sweet, stole over the waters, and, gradually increasing, filled the 
 whole air with melody. And, little by little, he began to distin 
 guish the sound of a voice, and, finally, words. And great, in 
 deed, was his wonder when he recognised in them the same lay 
 which he had already heard in dreams. But while he listened, 
 it gently died away. 
 
 "Oh! thou all beautiful music!" sighed the bewildered 
 knight, " why dost thou haunt me thus ? I seek, I know not 
 what, and long, day by day, for that which I cannot even under 
 stand. \V ould that the mystery were solved I" 
 
 And as he spoke, he saw, standing by him, an old man of vene 
 rable aspect. There was naught in his appearance to awake 
 fear ; and yet, as Bernaldus gazed, he trembled, for he recognised 
 in him the potent magician Virgilius. 
 
 "Bernaldus," said the sage, "I understand thy sorrow. I 
 know why thou. art troubled in spirit, and have come to relieve 
 thee. Know that it is I who have caused these mysterious 
 dreams, these longings for something unknown, which shall now 
 be realized." 
 
THE LAKE OF AGNANO. 151 
 
 "And is it for good or evil, sage Virgilius, that I have 
 been thus perplexed ?" replied the knight. 
 
 "For good. Never is the sunlight so pleasing as after a 
 dreary night, nor can this life afford any joy greater than the 
 fulfilment of a dream of Love and Beauty. Know that thou art 
 beloved by the fair Parthenope, beautiful among the Spirits of 
 the Water she who in olden times was worshipped as the 
 founder and guardian of Naples. It is her form which thou hast 
 seen in dreams, and her voice which has sounded in thine ears. 
 And happy in her love, thou wilt live to thank me." 
 
 " And why hast thou been thus kind to a stranger, wise 
 Virgilius?" 
 
 "Dost thou not remember," replied the sage, "how, in days 
 long past, thou didst rescue three fair maidens from shame and 
 death the one, by thy valour; the second, by craft; the youngest, 
 by courtesy ? The three maidens were my daughters, and not to 
 me, but to them, owest thou this reward." 
 
 And as Virgilius spoke, he waved his wand thrice over the 
 lake, and cried aloud 
 
 " Thou fair Siren Parthenope, appear ! Lo, a mortal lover, 
 yet one most worthy of thy love, awaits thee !" 
 
 And while he yet spoke a strain of solemn music rose from the 
 lake, and as the last notes sounded, a maiden of wondrous beauty 
 stood on the strand. 
 
 "And thou art here at last," she said, "my mortal lover? 
 Ages have come and gone, bright mornings shone on my dancing 
 waters, and dark centuries rolled over my Beautiful City, yet I 
 saw thee not. And now thou art mine mine for Time and 
 Eternity !" 
 
 And with these words she sunk into his arms, then rising, 
 said 
 
 " It is true thou art mine, and forever. But much remains to 
 be done ere thou canst enjoy the happiness in store. Bernaldus, 
 thou knowest well that there was a time when the name 
 of the Siren Parthenope was worshipped far and wide a 
 time when the great and wise thought themselves honoured by 
 honouring my name a time when priest and sage pointed to the 
 walls of the Beautiful City, raised by the magic of my music, and 
 bade their followers find in my worship the truest path to the 
 good and beautiful. And now how changed ! Thou knowest 
 
152 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 that King Arnaldus has destroyed every vestige of our old re 
 ligion, and forbidden his subjects to offer prayers at our shrines. 
 The faun, the nymph, the satyr no longer sport in the shady 
 groves of Arcady, and the dryad laments alone that enmity 
 which now exists between his race and the children of men. And 
 I /who raised the city of Naples from the rocks and sands,. and 
 have ever watched over it as the bright darling of my heart am 
 contemned and scorned, even in it. 
 
 " Bernaldus, I charge thee, even according to the usage of that 
 earthly chivalry which thou dost profess, that thou vindicate my 
 name, and proclaim my power before that king who has dared to 
 proscribe my worship. I am thy lady thy chosen one. Do thou 
 therefore, at the grand tournament which is to be held to-morrow, 
 proclaim my beauty against all comers. And fear not the king. 
 In all things the wise Virgilius will protect thee !" 
 
 And with these words she vanished. But a strain of sweet 
 melody still lingered in the air, and mingled with the sound of 
 the wavelets as they died away upon the beach. 
 
 Then Bernaldus arose, and with Virgilius sought the city. 
 That night he slept but little, for his heart burned within him 
 for love of the fair lady. 
 
 And on the next morning the tournament was opened with 
 great magnificence. But as one by one the knights rode in, each 
 proclaiming the name of his lady, the king exclaimed" Where 
 is the brave knight Bernaldus ; and why does he, who was wont 
 to be first in the ring, now delay ?" 
 
 As he spoke, Bernaldus rode in, fully arrayed in a suit of blue 
 and silver armour. And pausing in the centre, he cried aloud 
 " Know all, that I do here proclaim the beauty and power of my 
 lady, the fair Siren Parthenope, above that of all others. - And 
 in her name will I this day hold the lists against all coming/ 
 
 Then a chill of horror crept over those present, and they whis 
 pered " Who is this that hath for a lady-love the bright devil 
 of the waters ?" And the king was very wroth, but, restraining 
 his rage, he rose and said in a grave, solemn tone 
 
 " Thou hast this day cast great shame on all chivalry and on 
 thyself. Thou hast sworn, as a true knight, to honour all women 
 and the Holy Church. And lo ! thou hast now insulted the one 
 and mocked the other, by offering thyself as the champion of a 
 vile idol of heathenesse. And for this thou shalt die." 
 
THE LAKE OF AGNANO. 158 
 
 Then Virgilius spoke to the king, and said " Nay, but take 
 not his life ! For such a thing, that were indeed cruel. More 
 over, he hath not proclaimed the divinity, but only the beauty 
 and power of his lady, which no one denyeth." 
 
 " Wise Virgilius/ said the king, " thou dost greatly err in 
 pleading for him, thereby aiding and sharing his guilt. Yet he 
 shall not die, but live a prisoner. And now will I put this boasted 
 power of his lady, as well as thine own wisdom, to the proof. 
 When the rock of Posilippo shall be cleft through, when a 
 mountain shall cover the Lake of Lucrinus, and the strong- walled 
 city of Angulanum sink into the water by its side, then will I 
 believe in the power of his lady and grant him freedom !" 
 
 And the tournament was held. 
 
 But that night there was a mighty tempest, such as man had 
 never witnessed. And in fear, the king called together the sages 
 of his council, to know what it portended. But Virgilius stood 
 without, by the gate. And as the tempest raged, he waved his 
 wand, and cried aloud 
 
 "Let the/rs^be done!" 
 
 And soon there came a messenger to the king, who announced, 
 with fear and trembling, that the rock of Posilippo had been 
 cleft through, so that the light shone even from one side to the 
 other. 
 
 But Virgilius still stood by the gate, and waving his wand, 
 cried " This from rny first daughter. Let the second be done !" 
 
 Then again there came messengers to the king, announcing 
 that a mountain had arisen over that part of Lake Lucrinus which 
 was toward the city. But Virgilius still stood by the gate, and 
 cried aloud " This is from my second daughter. Let the third 
 be done !" 
 
 And soon there came yet others to the king, who told with 
 sorrow that the fair city of Angulanum had sunk into the Lake of 
 Agnano. 
 
 Then the king cried aloud, and bade them hasten to the prison 
 and release Bernaldus. But those sent returned, saying that the 
 prison was open and the knight gone. And from that time, no 
 more was heard of him on earth. 
 
 But the dwellers by the lake said that, during the storm, a 
 maiden of marvellous beauty, accompanied by a knight, had been 
 seen on the shore. And they spoke of more than mortal music, 
 
154 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 which had been heard around them, and how the pair had dis 
 appeared beneath the waves. 
 And now where is Bernaldus? 
 
 He woueth in the Land of Faery, 
 
 Yet is no fairy born, ne sib at all 
 
 To elves, but sprung of seed terrestrial. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. 
 
 IN WHICH THE MEISTER INDULQETH IN VARIOUS SPRING 
 FASHIONS AND FANCIES. 
 
 Spring. 
 
 BEM play lo douz toraps de Pascor, 
 
 Quo fai fuelhas e flors venire; 
 E play mi quant auz la vaudor, 
 Dels auzels quo fan retentire, 
 Lor cban per lo boscatje. 
 
 BERTRAND DE BORN. 
 
 The beautiful spring delights me well, 
 
 When flowers and leaves .ire growing ; 
 And it pleases my heart to hear the swell 
 
 Of the birds sweet chorus flowing 
 In the groves. TRANSLATION. 
 
 Hinculus, dinculus, trinculus, 
 
 Holy boly bum ; 
 
 The Latin for chain is vinculus : 
 Inspiratus sum. 
 
 REV. MR. IRVING S EXPOSITION OF HIS DOCTRINES. 
 
 MOST admirable auditors, most reasonable readers, and para- 
 gonically pansophical patrons ! 
 
 In the spring of the year when business is looking up ; when 
 hyacinths and other bulbs sprout in the gardens ; when the voice 
 of the pigeon is heard trolling on the stable-roof, and that of the 
 ice-cream darkey along the sunny street; when ladies, resuming 
 their long-abandoned sun-shades, slide serenely along the side 
 walks, in the imminent risk of being splashed by the gutteral 
 torrents which, shaking off the icy shackles of winter, bound 
 
SPUING FASHIONS AND FANCIES. 155 
 
 merrily along ; when woollen is at a discount, and panamas and 
 fine linen at a premium, and men lay aside the tristifications, 
 meditations, and melancholies which the fogs, frosts, and frigid 
 ities of winter have engendered, then, I say, it becomes the duty 
 of every free spirit to second and assist the progress of the natural 
 spring, by exciting in the minds of others a mental primavera 
 of merriment and jollity. Which may be effected by means of 
 paragrams, which are puns ; by gaudrioles, which are gayeties ; 
 by facetiae, which are funnise ; by jocosities, which are jokes ; 
 and finally, and most excellently, by stories, which, as you all 
 know, are yarns ; not to mention gossip, chat, fiddle-faddle, and 
 small talk generally.* I, therefore, in virtue of my office of 
 Fun-Finder and Flibbertigibbet-General, after having thrown my 
 spirit into a mirific ecstasy of quintessential inspiration by beat 
 ing all manner of bizarre burlesquerie on the drum of deviltry, and 
 fifing at least fifty high-faluling fantasies on the mirliton of imagi 
 nation, have finally, as you all know, excogitated, matagrabolized, 
 and perfected id est, translated or overset this series of chapters 
 with which you are now occupied, from the language of my own 
 brain, into this our English of the nineteenth century. 
 
 And I begun the morning, pen in hand, meaning to keep mer 
 rily on with the work ; but as I sit by my open window, revel 
 ling in the delicious atmosphere of one of the first and finest 
 days in spring, a different spirit inspires me, and an inexpressible 
 longing comes over me to fly far away into other climes and 
 times. Oh, this spring fever ! it is surpassed in its delicious 
 delirium only by that of love, to which, indeed, it is consan- 
 guined and allied. 
 
 If the old minstrels of the Middle Ages have no other claim, 
 they would deserve immortality for the feeling and constancy 
 with which they have sung of spring and summer-tide. They 
 seem to have rightly recognised the delicious and indefinable 
 dreaminess which the moist, balmy air and quickening sunshine 
 
 * " Moreover in this tyme of the yere, called the Sprynge-time, provoked by 
 the naturall beautie and ioyous aspecte of the flouryshynge habyte of this tem- 
 porall worlde, the nature of them in whom is any sparke of gentyll courage, 
 requireth to solace and bankette with mutuall resorte, communicating together 
 their fantasyes and sundry devyses, whych was not abhored of the most wise 
 and noble philosophers." " THE BANKETTE OF SAPIENCE," compyled by Syr 
 Thomas Eliot, A.D. 1534. Face aut tace. 
 
 14 
 
156 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 awakens, disposing us to poetry and love. Not only do the 
 polished verses of troubadours and minnesingers perpetually re 
 peat images of vanishing winter and of new-born flowers, but 
 even the rough-rhyming romancers, in their humble style, con 
 tinually seek to renew in their reader s mind such associations : 
 
 In May is miri time swithe, 
 Foules in wode hem maken blithe, 
 In every lond arist blithe song 
 Jhesus Christ be us among.* 
 
 Marche is hot, miri, and long, 
 
 Foules singen her song, 
 
 Burjons springeth, mede greeneth, 
 
 Of every thing the heart keeneth. 
 
 Miri it is in time of June, 
 When fenil hangeth abroad in towne. 
 Violet, and rose, and flower 
 "VVoneth then in maiden s* bower; 
 The sonne is hot, the day is long; 
 Fowlis maketh miri song. 
 
 In time of winter alang it is, 
 The fowles lesen her bliss ; 
 The leves fallen off the tree, 
 llain alangeth the cuntree, 
 Maiden loseth her hue, 
 And ever hi loveth that be true. 
 
 Among the Northern nations, the soft inspirations of Spring 
 were blended with the mystical shades of religion, and its attri 
 butes were spiritualized or raised to the level of intelligences. 
 The flowers and grass came forth, called by the voice of the 
 sun; the gentle breezes sailed from the mountain caves, and 
 wantoned idly here and there, seeking their loves; and even the 
 storks, returning from their long, weary wanderings, were be 
 lieved to bring blessings, and to be endowed with a mysterious 
 and intelligent nature. 
 
 And, as I gaze from my window, I wish, indeed, that I had 
 the wings of the stork, and could sail far, far away into you 
 azure sky, beyond those little cloudlets over rocks and rivers, 
 cities and seas ! The stork ! what a legendary bird ! In Ger 
 many, it is the stork who brings the little baby-brother or sister 
 
 * Merlin, Part 2. 
 
SPRING FASHIONS AND FANCIES. 157 
 
 from the Unknown Land the stork who perches on the Christ 
 mas-tree, and the stork who brings good luck to the house 
 whereon he builds. 
 
 Yet the stork is, in fact, a philosophic, take-it-easy, man-of- 
 the-world sort of bird, who has profited by his travels, and never 
 lets his reputation as accoucheur, or luck-bringer, or pietist in 
 terfere in the least with his feeding or love-making. He carries 
 his governor about when the old gentleman has grown too feeble 
 to go on a flyer, and finds him in grub, or grubs which is more 
 than some humans do. By dint of prowling about streets and 
 stables, and mixing much with mankind in different hemispheres, 
 he has become singularly imperturbable, and will .stand on one 
 leg for hours on a dung-heap or chimney, without ruffling a 
 feather, and giving no signs of life save an occasional knowing 
 wink at the world in general. But the gravest and most edifying 
 spectacle which any one can witness is to see half a dozen storks 
 standing around a puddle and fishing for frogs. No one who has 
 ever witnessed the lazzaroni patience which they manifest on 
 such occasions will doubt the report which ascribes to them the 
 ability to read, and that they have availed themselves of this art 
 to get by heart all that Izaak Walton has ever written. 
 
 In that most eccentric work, Les Euangiles des Connoilles, or 
 " The Gospels of the Distaffs, written in the Honour and Praise 
 of Ladies, and printed at Lyons in the year 1493," we find, in 
 conclusion, the following legend of the stork, narrated by Dame 
 Bertha de Corne : 
 
 " My friends, for the final conclusion of my Evangile, as well 
 as for the honour of the holy Sabbath which approacheth, I will 
 tell ye a marvellous secret which few men know. I tell ye for 
 certain that the storks, who in summer dwell in this land, and in 
 winter return to their country, which lieth round about Mount 
 Sinai, are in reality creatures like unto us. And it is plain that 
 they have reason, since they give and pay their tenths to God 
 when they have brought forth their young. 
 
 "At this conclusion, arose Dame A. Braye, who was aged to a 
 wonder, and said that it was, indeed, true what Dame Bertha de 
 Corne had said ; for she had often heard from her uncle Clays 
 that when he had been at St. Katherine s, near the Mount of 
 Sinai, and, in passing the deserts, had lost, by death, all his com 
 pany, he saw, afar off, a creature, to whom he went and begun to 
 
158 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, METSTER KARL. 
 
 demand his way in Flemish. The being at once answered him, 
 showing the right path, and going with him a great distance. 
 And he set forth all his estate, declaring that he was a stork, 
 and that he had a nest in Flanders on the house of my uncle s 
 neighbour. But Clays, not willing to believe this thing, begged 
 for some sign of its truth, that he might, if he ever returned 
 home, thank him for his courtesy. Then the stork pulled out a 
 gold ring which he had picked up about the house, and as soon 
 as Clay saw it, he remembered it, for it was the ring with which 
 he had married Mai Sanglee his wife. And the stork gave him 
 back his ring, on condition that he would in future prevent his 
 swine-herds and cow-herds from troubling him, (the stork,) as they 
 had been in the habit of doing. And after this promise, my 
 uncle bade him adieu, and returned to Bruges, where he lived so 
 happily and well that when he died he measured fourteen palms 
 about the waist. " 
 
 Talking of storks, reminds me that I have more than once 
 seen American friends puzzled in Germany by the sight of these 
 odd birds. For example, one summer afternoon I found myself 
 at Wiesbaden, in company with three young New Yorkers, Char 
 ley B., young C , and Harry. Charley was gazing from the 
 
 parlour window into a stable-yard, when he suddenly cried, in 
 amazement, "Boys! look here! what the devil is that great 
 bird?" 
 
 "A penguin, I guess," said C , who had a faint idea that 
 
 there was some such exotic fowl. 
 
 tt Xo it s a Dutch owl," responded Harry. 
 
 Charley didn t like to appear ignorant, and after making a 
 desperate dive into his earlier researches into picture-book orni 
 thology, gravely informed them that he remembered that it was 
 a dodo a bird very common in Germany, and very fine eating. 
 
 "Didn t you see that one on the dinner-table to-day?" he 
 added. " It was a big thing, roasted and done over with green 
 fixin s." 
 
 How much more Charley would have remembered I know 
 not, had not the wonder at that instant taken flight. As it sailed 
 away, Wolf entered the room, and, having his attention called, 
 pronounced it a stork . 
 
 And here comes another puff of balmy spring air through the 
 window, which blows my written leaves all over the carpet, and 
 
SPRING FASHIONS AND FANCIES. 159 
 
 arches the curtains, and wantons about the room, and then sinks 
 to silence, like a child weary of play. I gather up the pages, 
 and a thought suddenly strikes me that long ago in Heidelberg, 
 I once wrote down some " spring feelings," while thus seated at 
 a window, and that the MS. thereof is even yet extant some 
 where among my documents. Let us hunt for it, and see if it 
 bears any resemblance to what I have this morning chronicled. 
 Ah ! here we are I find it in the very first drawer I open. 
 
 "January \\tli!" 
 
 "What does this mean ? From what I remember of the scrawl, 
 I could have sworn that it was born at least in April ! Softly, 
 Meister Karl, softly ! In South Germany, even in midwinter, 
 comes many a long, bright, sunny day, " when breezes are soft 
 and skies are fair" 
 
 And Heaven puts on the blue of May. 
 
 These sunny days in winter are the golden clasps, few and far 
 between, with which the old storm-king adorns his snowy mantle. 
 But to the sketch. 
 
 "It is a bright, gentle day. The sunlight shines pleasantly 
 on the old ruined castle, a light haze spreads over the distant 
 landscape, and the hills, though wanting verdure, smile in the 
 glad rays. 
 
 " Crowds of peasants quaintly attired, from the Schwarzwald 
 and Neckar Thai, are thronging the streets. Students with 
 long hair and tasselled pipes are lounging here and there. Girls 
 are chattering about the fountain, and aiding each other to 
 balance their heavy water-jars on their heads; and all seem glad 
 and gay. 
 
 " But I am not at rest I cannot be quiet. A love of wan 
 dering and of travel is upon me. I would fly with the storks 
 away to distant lands. I have been dreaming of France and 
 Italy, and even of my own Far West. I linger, in imagination, 
 in solemn Rome. I am once again in Venice, gazing by sun 
 light and moonlight on its canals, and gondolas, and palaces. I 
 am basking on the Mole with the lazzaroni, and all is fair and 
 lovely. And from these bright scenes gentle forms seem to rise. 
 They motion to me their dark eyes gleam on me, and their mu 
 sical spirit-voices cry out, far, far away, f Return, return ! Come 
 again ere the roses of life have faded, and ere the golden Aurora 
 
 14* 
 
1GO SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 hath passed away ! Come again with Romance and Love them 
 wert dear to us whilst thou didst linger in our invisible company 
 beneath blue skies, and among columns and flowers. Come 
 again again ! 
 
 11 The violets still bloom by the broken arches and half-buried 
 mosaics of Hadrian s villa. Moonlight and starlight still gleam 
 over the Bay of Naples, and the breeze which wafts perfumes 
 from Capri and Sorrento bears on its wings the voices of the 
 children of the Night, who sing strange lays of the olden time 
 and of the foam-bound Parthenope. Wood and water spirits 
 still haunt, by moonlight, the Sybilline Grotto and the Lago d 
 Averno. All is sweet, and strange, and lovely ! Oh, come 
 again ! come again ! " 
 
 In these words did the spirits of the beautiful places of the 
 past call unto me. Peace, peace ! In after days, the wood and 
 water spirits of Germany will add their voices to that beauti 
 ful chorus, and thy soul will lend as willing an ear to their song, 
 "Come again again !" 
 
 Yes, spring is really at work this morning. For the last ten 
 minutes a demented little bird has been hopping and leaping and 
 throwing summersets in yonder tree, and keeping up a chicka 
 dee-dee accompaniment on the flageolet high trills, while he as 
 clearly sang at the same time a High-Dutch lyric in praise of 
 fine weather and dandelions. There he is off again ! let s 
 listen ! 
 
 Ahi, nu kumt uns diu zit, Hurra ! the summer time is nigh ! 
 
 Der kleinen vogclline sane, Thus ran the birdling s song: 
 
 Ez gruonet wol diu linde breifc, Now greeneth fair the linden high, 
 
 Zergangen ist der winter lane; Past is the winter long. 
 
 Nfi siht man bloumen wol getan. Now comely flowers are blooming round, 
 
 An der heiden iiebent si ir schin : On every field they shine : 
 
 Des wirt vil manic horze vro ; And every heart doth gayly bound 
 
 Des selben traestet sich daz min. As leaps this heart of mine ! 
 
 Ending with a chip, chip, chip, chip, clier roo, cher roo, 
 chcepi/, cheepy, cheepy, checpy, diooraloo, die iceet, die weet, die 
 weet, cher oodle, oodle, ooo, oo stave, translatable into no known 
 language. 
 
 The oldest poem in English describes the coming of 
 spring, and I will give it here, although I have seen it in 
 every newspaper and school-book of literature for the last ten 
 years. 
 
SPRING FASHIONS AND FANCIES. 161 
 
 Summer is i-cumen in 
 
 Lhude sing cuccu. 
 Groweth sed, and bloweth mod, 
 
 And springeth the wede nu. 
 Sing cuccu, cuecu. 
 
 Awe bleteth after lomb : 
 Lhouth after calue cu. 
 
 Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth, 
 Merrie sing cuccu, 
 
 Cuccu, cuccu. 
 Wei singes thu cuccu, 
 
 Ne swik thu nauer nu : 
 Sing cuccu nu, 
 
 Sing cuccu ! 
 
 " Spring is coming" wrote somebody once in prose poetry. 
 Spring is coming! hear the drumming of the pheasant all so 
 pleasant 7 mid the budding of the trees, and the singing of the bees 
 in the distant, quiet wildwood, where the wonted steps of childhood 
 seek in summer s sultry hours cooling shades beneath the bowers. 
 
 Yes this is fine weather for the juveniles ; and mightily do 
 they enjoy it. The more aristocratic are now elaborately equipt 
 in short-tailed frocks, with plaid gaiters on their little footsy-toot- 
 sies ; and with a yard of broad ribbon behind, and a mighty hat 
 with a trailing feather on their heads, are led forth, looking like 
 hand-organ monkeys, for a walk, to the amazement of more de 
 mocratic infants, who having no French bonnes or Irish biddies to 
 carry them about in cleanly captivity, revenge themselves on 
 Fortune by damming up puddles, erecting chip-forts, making 
 mud-pies, whooping, screaming, and chasing each other, and by 
 indulging in all that miscellaneous and health-inspiring mischief 
 domestically known as " running round in the dirt." 
 
 Sonle dried-up old sinner once asserted that there was so little 
 poetry in childhood, that he couldn t even find a rhyme to it. 
 No sooner had the statement been bruited abroad than divers 
 American editors went to work vigorously to disprove it, and 
 their refutations were both numerous and ingenious. One 
 of them is given in the prose poetry last cited some of the 
 others were are follows : 
 
 Ye wanton imps of childhood, 
 
 What are ye doing there ? 
 Come down from off that piled wood, 
 
 Or I ll be in your hair ! 
 
162 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 These groundnuts have been styled good, 
 
 Take some of them, my dears ! 
 And thank the giver s mild mood, 
 
 That he don t box your ears ! 
 
 The rogues first stood in wild inood, 
 
 Then hastened from the sticks, 
 To save, as every child would, 
 
 The peanuts and the licks. 
 
 I have heard a poet regret that it was impossible to employ 
 sounds in writing, and to inspire his readers with the melodies 
 which had suggested so many of his songs. For my part, I wish 
 that I could scatter sunshine over my pages, and cause the reader 
 to swim in the delicious air-bath of fine weather which pours in 
 through niy window. Could books be written in such a manner, 
 a library would be a Paradise of dainty delights, for even a half 
 penny ballad would obviate the necessity of winter clothing, and 
 a judicious quotation might save the expense of an umbrella. If, 
 in addition to this, the muse would only inspire lays which would 
 board and lodge people, it is not impossible that some of the old- 
 fogy Philistines might in time be induced by hard coaxing to lay 
 aside a little of the prejudice with which they regard divine 
 Poesy and its ministering bards, and even be induced to give 
 them a respectable rank in their world, Heaven save the mark ! 
 
 The world is his who enjoys it as the cloak is his whom it 
 covers, and all the ipse dixits of all the kings in the world of 
 all the leaders of fashion of all the old fogies of all foplings 
 and illiterate fast men of all cliques and coteries, cannot de 
 prive a man of, or elevate him to the rank of a true gentleman 
 cosmopolite good fellow scholarly bon Gualtier. For a good- 
 hearted fidd man of the world can look down on all of these 
 above-specified humbugs, but all of their rank and wealth will 
 never enable them to look down on him. 
 
 If asked what this burst of cosmopolite laudation has to do 
 with spring, I can only reply that there is something in the at 
 mosphere of a day like this which is eminently suggestive of 
 freedom from all the swaddling-bands of provincial humbug and 
 narrow conventionalism. The breeze which wafts me in ima<n- 
 
 G 
 
 nation over Capri and Sorrento, bears me not so much to the 
 Beautiful as away from all the littleness, and cant, and screeching 
 ghostliness which gather at times like rust around the best of us. 
 
SPRING FASHIONS AND FANCIES. 163 
 
 And so, bless the spring, I say, for it is the vernal time when 
 all good fellows flourish in high feather, and when all things 
 swim along as they list, the world being then permitted to go its 
 own way even more than usual. The muslin, it is true, musses 
 hearts a little more than it did in cold weather, for there are 
 other sentiments which come to a head in these times besides an 
 insatiate craving for early vegetables; but these be delicious 
 cares which rather promote cosmopolite philosophy than other 
 wise. And lo ! as I write, there goes a feminine case in point, 
 in such a love of a chapeau with emeraldine trimmings, that I 
 can fairly sympathize with the young lady who so doated on pale 
 green silk that she declared she could " really live on it." And 
 the spring has come, and the winter has gone, and the birds 
 they sing, and the buds they blow, and the pretty girls they 
 promenade, and the gentlemen they run after them, and (donner 
 and doria! where s my hat and cane?) and Meister Karl has 
 been singing all the morning on paper the same old song which, 
 with variations, was sung by the first poet ages before the flood, 
 and which will be sung and printed for ages to come, world with 
 out end. Adieu, reader : long before you have finished the fol 
 lowing ballad, Meister Karl will be half a mile down the street, 
 talking even greater nonsense than he has scribbled. "It s 
 nater, sir it s nater!" 
 
 Uprose the wild old winter king 
 And shook his beard of snow; 
 I hear the first young harebell ring, 
 Tis time for me to go ! 
 
 Northward o er the icy rocks, 
 
 Northward o er the sea, 
 My daughter comes with sunny locks : 
 This land s too warm for me. 
 
 And softly came the fair young queen, 
 
 O er mountain, dale, and dell ; 
 And where her golden light was seen 
 An emerald shadow fell. 
 
 The good wife oped the window wide, 
 The good man spanned the plough; 
 Tis time to run, tis time to ride ! 
 For Spring is with us now ! 
 
 And the city maiden smiled that day, 
 
 In all her loveliness; 
 I must pack my furs and things away, 
 
 And think of a new spring dress. 
 
164 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 A new chapeau a feather fine ! 
 
 Light gloves and ribbons gay 
 Oh winter wild ! oh maiden mine ! 
 
 Thus runs the world away ! 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. 
 
 OF ROME AND DIVERS THINGS THEREIN AND THEREOUT. 
 
 Salve, o Roma ! o di portent! 
 
 Veneranda sepoltura 
 
 La nequizia de viventi 
 
 Oscurato ha il tuo splendor: 
 
 Ma ti resta la sventura 
 
 Ma ti resta il tuo dolor. P. A. FIORENTINO. 
 
 WE entered Rome not as conquerors in the classic days, as 
 barbarians in the Dark Ages, or as pilgrims of the Mediaeval 
 time were wont to do, but simply as travellers of the nineteenth 
 century a character which to a certain degree combines all of 
 these. But we entered it under pleasant circumstances, and at 
 a pleasant time too, just at the quiet thought-hour, when the 
 silver moonlight, mingling with the crimson and purple of the 
 fast-fading "evening Aurora/ showed us dim in the distance 
 the high spires and roofs of the glorious city. Far away over 
 the desolate Campagna extended long lines of ancient aqueducts, 
 seeming, in the uncertain evening haze, like vast rows of palm- 
 trees with interlacing tops. And as we came nearer, a thousand 
 objects awakened a thousand associations. There was not a 
 building, not a rain, which did not recall our early studies, our 
 early hopes, and our early longings to visit this city of the past. 
 
 Ah, little thought I, when in school I sat 
 Glowing with Roman story, I should live 
 To tread the Appian. 
 
 That melancholy beauty, which after a short residence in the 
 Eternal City seems to attach itself to all objects therewith con 
 nected, is presaged for miles before approaching its gates, in the 
 broad and silent Campagna. Every one who has read or dreamed 
 of Rome, must have formed an idea and probably a correct one 
 
OF ROME. 165 
 
 of the general appearance of these vast plains, which present 
 so little to the eye and so much to the imagination. The scat 
 tered huts or inns, the occasional flocks and wild-looking shep 
 herds, or the young artists seeking for studies, have become of 
 late years familiar to every frequenter of national galleries or 
 turner over of portfolios and annuals. 
 
 "Yes," quoth the Wolf. "Every thing is, or will be, ro 
 mantic in time to somebody. Perhaps the very cabman of the 
 nineteenth century will loom out as terribly to the romance-writer 
 of the twenty-fifth as do Roland and Palmerin to us. And I 
 dare say that, could the novelist James of that future day get a 
 glimpse of this clumsy old diligence as it rolls onward in the 
 sunset light toward Rome, and see yon solitary horseman who 
 pursues that pig, the beginning of a fashionable romance would 
 leap spontaneously to his heart, rise and expand in copious chap 
 ters in his brain, and at the first convenient opportunity find 
 vent in volumes from his fluent pen." 
 
 But, alas ! on entering Rome all poetic and romantic reflection 
 is speedily converted from grave to gay if indeed that abomina 
 tion of bitterness, the search of our baggage by the douaniers, 
 can be in any manner enrolled under the head of gayety. Lively 
 enough is it for some, if not severe. 
 
 And now may all execrations invented and non-invented, fall 
 to the share of the trunk-rifling and pocket-picking rascal who 
 first invented this system of search this system which by bri 
 bery spares the guilty and grieves the innocent. May the ex 
 communication of Ernulphus light on him, and let him be Ana 
 thema, Maranathema, Baranathema, Maranatha ! ! May all the 
 hobgoblins of the black valley of Mistorak fly away with the 
 house "in which was married the father of the bishop, who con 
 secrated the priest, who married the mother of the man, who 
 manufactured the axe which cut the wood, from which was made 
 the handle of the spade with which they dug up the earth to 
 plant the genealogical tree of him and of all like him." In 
 secula sceculorum. Finis! 
 
 This for the benefit of those requiring it and their name is 
 Legion. For on the whole, an old stager on the Grande Route 
 has but little to fear from them. Parbleul They recognise 
 him free-masonically tip the wink raise the eyebrows screw 
 up the mouth shrug ! little do they ever extract from his 
 
166 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 doubly-thumped and trebly-batterfanged old sole-leather malle. 
 It may be redolent of the best Havanas, or have an invoice of 
 Geneva watches, Brussels laces, and Paris kids pasted on the out 
 side as a table of contents no matter. Contraband! fudge! 
 The blessing of the priest converts flesh into fish; the skill of the 
 restaurateur changes pet pussies into favourite dishes ; the learn 
 ing of the cosmetic-chemist metamorphoses age into youth; the 
 wisdom of Solomon Isaacs transmogrifies old garments into new; 
 the tact of the lawyer makes the worse appear the better cause ; 
 and the magic spell of the ready otherwise known as money, 
 cash, tin, stuff, rhino, root-of-all-evil, blunt, wherewithal, rowdy, 
 funds, stumpy, pecuniary, dibs, hard, browns, heavy, mopusses, 
 slugs, shiners, lucre, or "the filthy," dust, gelt, chips, lumps, 
 chinkers, mint-drops, pewter, brass, horsenails, rocks, brads, 
 spondulix, needful, dough, spoons, buttons, dimes, or the infal 
 lible will convert every article and item in that old sole-leather 
 into "duty free." 
 
 So that when the government applied to Wolf for his keys, he 
 drew them out in such haste that several coins were removed 
 with them, and the whole assortment transferred to the palm of 
 the douanier, who curious-coincidentally, in the confusion, took 
 no heed of the mistake, and the following friendly dialogue ensued : 
 
 Douanier. "Any thing contraband ?" 
 
 Wolf. " What an absurd notion !" 
 
 Douanier. "Quite ridiculous isn t it?" 
 
 Wolf. "Perfectly ridiculous." 
 
 Douanier. "Any tobacco?" 
 
 Wolf, (filling his pipe.) "Not a fraction." 
 
 Douanier , (opens trunks and discovers two boxes of Havanas 
 and some books.) "No cigars, I presume?" 
 
 Wolf. "Of course not. Ahem! you may take half a dozen 
 out of that open box they re good." 
 
 Douanier, (grins and pockets them.) "These books are all 
 guide-books ain t they?" 
 
 Wolf. "Every one of em." 
 
 Douanier, (doubtfully.) "All for Kome?" 
 
 Wolf. " All roads, my friend, lead to Rome." 
 
 Douanier, (grinning.) "No Bibles, I suppose? They re pro 
 hibited." 
 
 Wolf. "Haven t seen one these five years." 
 
OF ROME. 1G7 
 
 Then the douanicr relocked the trunk and restored the keys, 
 having first dexterously, and, as he thought, unseen by Wolf, 
 stolen a book and a hair-brush, which he at once hid under a 
 table. But the eyes of Short were upon him, and he gravely re 
 placed the missing articles in a manner which might have in 
 duced a bystander to suppose that this was a regular part of the 
 ceremony. 
 
 The Wolf had been in his time through many searches, and 
 when younger had " suffered some." He had heard pretty young 
 English ladies and New York belles call a searcher, "une grand 
 villain et wretch et rascal," for shaking out their linen to the 
 delighted gaze of a grinning multitude. He had seen a Russian, 
 with all the impudence of the devil, tell a douanier of his own 
 country that a number of transparent pills which rolled out of his 
 trunk over the floor were sugar-plums, and induced him to taste 
 one. And he had laughed at Meister Karl, when the searchers 
 of the Russian frontier took from the latter every fragment of 
 newspaper, from the size of a sixpence upward, which they could 
 find in his baggage, and all because two lead-pencils had been 
 inadvertently wrapped in a bit of that highly incendiary and 
 red-republican publication, Die Allgemeine Zcitung. He had, 
 when wandering in vacations from divers universities, even set 
 a French douanier to laughing, and ended the search by asking 
 him, "Where the devil he supposed a travelling student could 
 raise the capital to deal in contraband?" albeit the official had 
 already nosed out a meerschaum, and laying his finger on the tip, 
 impressively declared his conviction that where the tail of the 
 fox was, the rest couldn t be far off. 
 
 And he had " bluffed" a German searcher who asked if he had 
 any tobacco, by replying " No, but I hope you have ?" But I 
 doubt if he had ever found the place through which he had not 
 run a collection of divers little contraband conveniences, with the 
 assistance of palaver, politeness, and a little change. 
 
 The search concluded, then came that second care, to procure 
 lodgings. From hotel to hotel we wandered, until we chanced 
 upon a party of good fellows of different nations whom Wolf 
 knew, (he knew everybody,) who led us to the caravansary where 
 they dwelt. But we proposed to remain in Rome for a long time, 
 and accordingly sought for a suite of rooms in a more retired 
 situation. The landlord of the hotel, of course, assured us that 
 
 15 
 
168 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 this would be impossible, that the town was full offorcstieri of 
 strangers awaiting the Carnival, and that lodgings were worth, 
 if not their weight, at least their content in silver. But even in 
 Juvenal s time any thing could be obtained in Rome for money. 
 "Omui Romse, cum pretio." So we soon obtained right pleasant 
 rooms. If the reader cares to know, I can tell him that they were 
 in the Via Ripctta, overlooking in part the yellow Tiber, and 
 not far from the Porto Ripctta and the Palazzo Borghese. 
 
 Our new landlord was a shrewd, intelligent individual a man 
 of some note in the annals of the Roman police, and who dis 
 tinguished himself by kindness and attention toward us, his 
 boarders. GIUSEPPE ! I have seen thy name sadly berated in 
 liberal Italian prints, and have heard thee cursed even in New 
 York by the carbonari of Young Italy, but I found no just cause 
 for it in thy rooms or in the neat breakfasts which thy kind- 
 hearted lady served up to us. And I could tell one or two 
 good stories of thee, GIUSEPPE, if I so listed; but, as it occurs to 
 me, on second thought, that thou couldst probably tell one or 
 two in return, we ll even cry quits and draw the game ! 
 
 But I will give the reader, in place thereof, Wolf s bill at 
 the hotel which we quitted. The Wolf was a confirmed and 
 shameless o\A.rat } as French hotel-keepers call those who regard 
 a hotel simply as a place to breakfast and sleep in, (if indeed 
 they do that.) He liked to have a den to receive cards in, but 
 
 preferred living "about town in spots," as young C called 
 
 it. But the bill : 
 
 HOTEL D ALLEMAGNE. 
 
 A Rome. 
 Tenu par. 
 FRANZ ROESLER, RUE fiosDorrr, No. 88. 
 
 SIG. WOLFO SHORTO, D.D., Appartement No. . 
 
 Rome, le 5 Fevrier 18 . 
 
 Fev. 3. 
 
 Fcv. 4. 
 
 
 ScudL Baiocchi. 
 
 1 Flacon d Orvieto 
 
 20 
 
 1 The 6 beurre 
 
 30 
 
 1 Flacon d Orvieto 
 
 20 
 
 1 Panier du Bois 
 
 80 
 
 1 Flacon d Orvieto 
 
 20 
 
 1 Flacon d Orvieto 
 
 20 
 
 2 Dejeuners 
 
 60 
 
 2 Flacons d Orvieto 
 
 40 
 
 2 Diners 
 
 1 20 
 
 1 Flacon d Orvieto 
 
 , 20 
 
OF ROME. 169 
 
 Scudi. Baiocchi. 
 
 Fcv. 4. 2 Bougies 40 
 
 " 1 Flacon d Orvieto 20 
 
 Fev. 5. 2 Flacons d Orvieto 40 
 
 " 2 Dejeuners ] 00 
 
 " 1 Flacon d Orvieto 20 
 
 " Logeinent 2 jours 3 00 
 
 (Et flacon d Orvieto) 20 
 
 En comptant 4 60 
 
 1 Flacon d Orvieto 20 
 
 Service do la Maison 1 20 
 
 1 Flacon d Orvieto 20 
 
 1 Potage et poulet, et 50 
 
 1 Flacon d Orvieto ... 20 
 
 16 60 
 Paye, A. ALLOBELLI, SGO. 
 
 From which it simply appears that the Wolf not only paid his 
 bills, (a very commendable thing,) but had acquired a somewhat 
 remarkable relish for the Roman wine, Orvieto, which is a very 
 good tipple when not sugar-of-leaded j resembling greatly the old- 
 fashioned drink of perry, or pear-cider. 
 
 And now, reader, where shall I lead you, " mid deathless lairs 
 in solemn Rome ?" Often have I thought, during the previous 
 chapters yea even from the beginning of the fine times you 
 and I would have together if I could once persuade you so far. 
 For I was thinking of you all the while, though you never knew 
 it ! And now that we re here, I hardly know where to turn ! 
 Ruins ? alack, other tourists have ruined or ruinized Rome so 
 thoroughly, that he who can start up a new idea on that subject 
 is the master of Meister Karl. Patience, patience let us sit 
 down awhile and smoke ! 
 
 From this window we can see far in the distance the Tiber, 
 and beyond it the prison-castle of St. Angelo. There CAGLIOS- 
 TRO was once confined, and before and after him many a better 
 man than he. And hold ! now that I think of it, I believe that 
 I can recall an old legend about that same castle. Let me see ! 
 ah, yes, it is recorded in the Exempla Vitiorum et Virtutum of 
 that most credulous but excellent writer JANUS NICIUS ERY- 
 THRJEUS, and for the truth of which legend he vouches, it having 
 been narrated to him by his friend P. Jo. Franciscus Carettonius, 
 a most excellent and trustworthy Jesuit. Let me seek for the 
 book ; ah ! here it is, now listen ! 
 
170 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, METSTER KARL. 
 
 " In the year 1620, there dwelt in Rome a certain gentleman 
 fearfully given to all manner of hard-living and debauchery. 
 The one redeeming trait in his character was an extreme reve 
 rence for the dead, and the incredible zeal which he constantly 
 manifested for the welfare of their souls. Whence it came that 
 he made for himself many friends among the departed, as appears 
 in the following instance : 
 
 " This gentleman, though loved by the Dead, had yet many 
 bitter enemies among the living, who constantly strove, both by 
 night and by day, to take his life, so that he ran a great risk in 
 venturing forth. But being naturally a bold man, he put but 
 little restraint on himself. And one night, having crossed the 
 Tiber, he saw on the great oak which formerly stood not far from 
 the Castle of San Angelo, the limbs of a criminal who had that 
 day been drawn and quartered, swinging in the wind. And as 
 he gazed, he beheld, to his great horror, these limbs draw to 
 gether, unite again into a whole body, and, leaping to the ground, 
 approach him. Then the dead man, seizing his horse by the 
 bridle, bade him dismount and await his return, which he did : 
 and the corpse assuming a form like unto his own, rode onward. 
 Nor had he gone above sixty paces from where the gentleman 
 stood, ere four masked bravoes, rushing upon him, strove with 
 many blows and stabs to assassinate this their supposed enemy, 
 casting him from his horse and then taking to flight. After 
 which, the twice-slain, returning to the gentleman, said, i These 
 thine enemies would surely have killed thee, had not I, by the 
 command of God, taken thy place. The which was a reward for 
 the pious regard which thou hast ever manifested toward the 
 dead. Continue, therefore, in these good thoughts, and in future 
 lead a better and purer life ! Which having said, the dead 
 man again ascended the oak-tree, and, dividing into four parts, 
 hung as before. 
 
 " This remarkable adventure had upon the gentleman such an 
 effect, that he, in compliance with the exhortation of the dead 
 man, ever after in all things led a godly and righteous life. And 
 may the same ever be our lot and example ! Amen." 
 
 If we now look, reader, from our front window, we shall see a 
 fountain on the opposite side of the street, and which is visited 
 ever and anon by some girl with a pitcher, or by a thirsty raga 
 muffin. Fountains form objects of no ordinary attraction in Eu- 
 
\. OF ROME. 171 
 
 rope; and many, from their antiquity, beauty, or singularity, 
 have been themes of special comment with the artist or anti 
 quary. There is something to me attractive in the very nature 
 of a fountain it runs on so quietly and gently, and is withal so 
 useful. What a pleasant little inscription is that which Ramler 
 once wrote for one ! 
 
 Immer rinnet diese Quelle, 
 Niemals plaudert ihre Welle 
 Komm, Wandrer, hier zu ruhn ! 
 Koram, lern an dieser Quelle 
 Stillschweigend Gutes thun. 
 
 And which is thus translated by MRS. FOLLEN 
 
 Lo ! this fount is flowing ever ; 
 But the fountain prattles never ! 
 Traveller ! at this fountain stay : 
 Learn of it with pure endeavour 
 Good to do and nothing say. 
 
 The fountains of Rome have been famed for centuries, and 
 there is no city which contains so many. Some are humble and 
 droll, such as the one farther along the Via Ripetta, which re 
 presents a funny-looking fellow holding a barrel, from the bung 
 of which rushes a continual stream. You would suppose that it 
 was wine, instead of Adam s ale, which runs out so freely. And 
 there, too, in Rome is the splendid fountain of Trevi, which 
 rushes downward like a hurrying sea. In all ages popular super 
 stition has been prone to regard fountains as things of life; and 
 here in Erythrseus is a legend of this nature, which may refer, 
 for aught I know, to one of the very fountains we have seen this 
 morning. To me the story has an altogether strange air, which 
 smacks quite as much of Northern mysticism as of Classic 
 mythology : 
 
 "There is, even at the present day, a fountain in Rome, which 
 is celebrated for the freshness and beauty of its waters. And it 
 happened on a time when many young maidens were there as 
 sembled, busily engaged in washing, that one among them missed 
 a golden bracelet which she greatly prized. And suspecting that 
 one of her companions had stolen it, she insisted that all should 
 submit to be searched ; which they, conscious of their innocence, 
 cheerfully did. But the bracelet not being found, the young 
 girl, weeping bitterly, invoked a heavy curse upon the one who 
 
 15* 
 
172 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, METSTER KARL. 
 
 kept it. And no sooner had these words passed her lips, ere the 
 fountain, which had hitherto been so pure and sparkling, ran 
 thick and foul with black mud, so that no further use could be 
 made of its water. And, some days afterward, a search being 
 instituted to ascertain the cause of this unprecedented pollution, 
 her bracelet was found at its bottom and restored to the owner. 
 This being done, the fountain at once recovered its pristine pu 
 rity, which it still retains." (Conttnus pristinus fonti nitor ac- 
 cessit.) 
 
 And now, reader, put on your hat and let s go out. I shall 
 give you no descriptions of Home ; they are all chronicled in lay 
 and song, in picture and poem, in sketch-book and guide. Let 
 us rather smoke our cigars, sprawling out on ruins in the sun 
 shine, or linger in thought among broken walls and quiet nooks, 
 dreaming over the past. 
 
 Here we are in the Colisosum, and enjoying a beautiful day, 
 such as is seen and felt only in Italy. A poor religieuse kneels 
 near us, performing the circuit of the stations, and passengers, 
 as they go by, stop and kiss the holy cross in the centre. Every 
 kiss so reads its inscription frees a soul from one hundred 
 days of purgatory. How still and calm it is! with no sound 
 heard save the chirping of birds as they flutter about among the 
 moss-covered piles, or, it may be, the distant hum of the city. 
 The slanting sun-rays steal in, broad and wide, through mossy 
 crevices, and wind like golden serpents over the ruined arches. 
 And now the nameless enchantment of the place is strong upon 
 me. It seems as if at some time far back in the past it may 
 have been countless ages ago I had been here before ! Does 
 the soul, indeed, as the Platonist thought, sometimes recall the 
 prophetic feeling with which it once, far back in the dawn of 
 time, read its whole future? 
 
 Dream away the days where I will in the Borghese Gardens, 
 by the pyramid of Caius Cestus, or amid the ruins of Hadrian s 
 villa, there still comes over me a sweet, sad feeling, unlike that 
 inspired by any other city. In Rome I am no longer in the 
 present my whole life becomes a reflex of the dim and mighty 
 Past. 
 
 Such is Rome by day but it may be that we have the evening 
 before us. Let us wrap our cloaks about us and sally forth. 
 
 I have somewhere read of one who believed that he had two 
 
OF ROME. 173 
 
 lives, one of which passed in the world, and the other in the 
 Dream-Land of Sleep. And so it is with all beautiful night 
 landscapes, which, under the magic colouring of moonlight 
 and star-ray, wear quite another aspect from that which they 
 present in the reality of day. Truly, he who has seen Rome 
 only during the world s busy hours, has seen but half of its 
 beauty. 
 
 Let him who would fully behold the Glorious City, walk up 
 the Via Condotti and ascend the stairs. These stairs, by-the- 
 way, always reminded me of that flight which we see depicted 
 in the old edition of the Pilgrim s Progress as ascending to the 
 Blessed City. Like them, they spread invitingly upward, 
 giving a promise of new visions of romance and beauty a pro 
 mise which is well fulfilled. Look forth from their summit 
 upon the view which lies around half visible in the darkness, 
 half-hidden in the misty moonlight. The quaint Italian houses 
 with their broad-tiled roofs, the balconies, gardens, streets, and 
 distant churches, seem like the views in a panorama. It is 
 no longer the Rome of the Caesars which we behold, but the 
 Rome of the Middle Ages the Rome of Rienzi and of the 
 Borgia. 
 
 Or else stroll through the streets, lighted less by the lamps 
 which twinkle here tmd there before the images of the Virgin 
 than by the glowing moonlight. The business of the day is 
 over, but the street yet echoes with the ring of many voices, and 
 at every corner is heard the ring of the guitar and little serenades, 
 such as this : 
 
 Che piacere mai la notto, How sweet by night to stray, 
 
 Passegiare a ciel sereno When skies are blue and fair, 
 
 Come e grato, quanto ameno Beneath the moon s bright ray! 
 
 Delia Luna lo splendor. How soft the summer air ! 
 
 Donzellette, mia Carina Thou dearest maid arise ! 
 
 Deh ! venite ed ascoltate And listen while we rove ! 
 
 Ed il sonno discacciate Drive slumber from thine eyes, 
 
 Che parlar vi vuo d amor ! For I will sing of love ! 
 
 And now, reader, stop with me here by the pillars of this old 
 palace in the deep moon-shadow, and watch the passers-by. 
 Here is no sound save the rustling and splashing of yonder 
 diamond-dropping fountain, which, by day and night, ever run 
 neth merrily on with 
 
174 
 
 MEISTER KARL. 
 
 A noise like of a hidden brook, 
 
 In the leafy month of June ; 
 That to the sleepy woods all night 
 
 Singeth a quiet tune. 
 
 Who is the first passer-by ? An Englishman, probably on his 
 way to the Colisaeum, as his guide-book and the love of novelty 
 direct. There is no mistaking him; he is decidedly one of "the 
 ubiquitous/ 7 That earnest, manly step, indicative of "old Teu 
 tonic pluck," the tweed shooting-coat, rather scrimpily cut, the 
 earnest and not incurious glance which he at times bends on 
 some object, the squared-off pantaloons, the stove-pipe hat, the 
 shoulder-of-mutton whiskers, the broad shoulders, and the stand 
 ing collar, all indicate his nation. 
 
 Here conies a Roman of the lower order. Mark that face and 
 eye it is one which you will often see in Italy. Lazzaroni-like 
 and brigand-like together, it is not devoid of an expression 
 which reminds one of gentle blood. He wears an overcoat, not 
 on his back, however, but over his breast, with the sleeves hang 
 ing down behind ; for he dreads a cold on the lungs more than 
 a stab between the shoulders. In Rome, the consumption is 
 more feared than the pest, and is believed to be equally conta 
 gious. Let it be known that a lodger has the sad disease, and 
 they will first turn .him out to die in the -street, and then burn 
 the bed in which he has slept. 
 
 And now a Roman girl alone. But what of that? No 
 suspicion attaches itself to a woman here unless she be accom 
 panied. What a beautiful dress the Roman peasantry wear, and 
 what an indescribably romantic effect docs that square handker 
 chief coiffure present! And what a walk! What a majestic 
 gait ! There is no place in the world where women walk so 
 gracefully as in Rome. Many theories have been proposed to 
 account for this gracefulness of motion. One is, that it is owing 
 to their habit of carrying heavy weights, such as jars of water, 
 on the head an idea sufficiently disproved by the fact that the 
 highborn ladies of the land, who never carry any thing, are quite 
 as graceful. 
 
 But who, in the name of Bacchus and Raphael, are these two 
 romantic-looking gentlemen arrayed in velvet paletots or sleeved 
 cloaks, with an innumerable array of little buttons bivouacked in 
 two rows from the beard to the knees ? One sports the sombrero 
 
OF ROME. 175 
 
 of Reubens, another the barber s-basin hat of Raphael. Long 
 hair ! long moustaches ! A couple of artists, slightly inspired 
 with something a little stronger than Orvieto, on their way 
 homeward from the Cafe, dd Greco the one a German, the 
 other an Anglo-Saxon, to judge from the songs which they 
 troll, regardless of tune, time, the world, and of each other. 
 " Sweet sounds to fly about the streets of Home," those ! I sus 
 pect that Anglo-Saxon baritone, from his hook-handled, hickory 
 cane, and from the indomitable independence of his gait, to 
 be an American. Home with you, my young friends ! Pleasant 
 be your dreams of high art in general, and of pretty young 
 models in particular ! 
 
 Well, friend reader, shall we wend our way sleepward ? Here 
 we are now by the Porta Ripetta. Let us gaze an instant at the 
 tall houses, with their strange balconies and light-flashing win 
 dows reflected in the muddy Tiber. "Why did Horace express 
 astonishment that his friend Sybaris was afraid to bathe in its 
 foul waters ? 
 
 Cur timet flavum Tiberim tangere ? 
 
 Why docs he fear to touch the yellow Tiber ? 
 
 I can well imagine that any gentleman of cleanly habits would 
 think twice ere attempting such an exploit. 
 
 The city has sunk to rest. Far, far away, in the direction of 
 St. Peter s, I hear the crow of a cock. Tis the bird of warning 
 as well as dawning, and summons us now, not to rise, but to 
 repose. Reader good night ! 
 
176 SKETCH-LOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD. 
 
 THE CARNIVAL AT ROME. 
 (AS IT WAS ACTED IN THE YEAR 1847.) 
 
 LE Carnival qui approchait hii en fournait 1 occasion, car c est uno fpoque 
 qui inoritro le peuple de Rome tel qu il est. 
 
 VIE BE LA PRINCESSE BORGHKSE. 
 
 This feast is term d the Carnival ; which, being 
 
 Interpreted, implies "Farewell to flesh;" 
 
 When there is fiddling, singing, drinking, masking. 
 
 BYROX. 
 
 "Ho\V shall I ever describe thee, thou glorious Carnival? 
 How can I ever hope to convey even the shadow of an idea of 
 thy exquisite folly, thy delicious madness ? As well might the 
 opium-eater hope to paint his fairy-land visions, or a German 
 Gcister Schcr to describe the brilliant phantasma of the seventh 
 sphere." 
 
 " There is one month in the year," say the sober-minded 
 Turks, " during which Christians are insane." And, truly, he 
 who does not enter into the spirit of the Carnival, may well 
 deem himself in a world of lunatics. All the eccentricity, all 
 the grotesqueness, all the wit, folly, singularity, and oddity 
 which can be devised by a people who are eccentric and ro 
 mantic in their soberest moments, are then brought into play. 
 
 There is a broad and beautiful street in Rome called the 
 CORSO, any part of which presents views which might serve 
 for scenes in the theatres. From every window in this street, 
 curtains of crimson and gold, or of blue and silver, are hung ; 
 and the balconies which project from every house are similarly 
 adorned. These are occupied almost exclusively by beautiful 
 women, in every variety of costume which history can suggest, 
 caprice invent, or imagination devise. Joan of Arc, from one 
 window, makes war on you with sugar-plums ; Pulciuella pelts 
 
THE CARNIVAL AT ROME. 177 
 
 you with peas, while a chance Contadina half kills you with 
 kisses and comfits. Anon, a beautiful Odalisque tosses you a 
 flower, while, from an opposing balcony, a Louis Quatorze beauty 
 discharges an egg full on your devoted coat. With heartfelt 
 agony you watch it as it breaks, and lo ! it is filled with cologne 
 water ! With a smile on your lips and rage in your heart, you 
 dash on only to encounter new showers of comfits and new 
 storms of bouquets. 
 
 Such is the main business of the Carnival to ride through 
 the Corso in a carriage, or to stand in a balcony, exchanging 
 volleys of flowers and sugar-plums with the passers-by, and to 
 crowd at night into a masked ball or the opera. But the 
 thousand-and-one little incidents which serve to interest and 
 amuse, while you hardly perceive them the flirtations of a 
 minute the coquetries of a second all these, unimportant by 
 themselves, taken together, serve admirably to dispel the least 
 trace of ennui, and throw an air of romance over the whole 
 scene. 
 
 The missiles generally employed during the Carnival are of 
 three sorts, namely "The Indifferent/ "The Compliment 
 ary," " The Offensive." Among the indifferent, I class the 
 plaster sugar-plums. These are made either of small balls of 
 clay, or peas, coated over with a mixture of lime and water; 
 and, when thrown with energy against any dark object, such as 
 a coat or hat, leave a white mark. When the face and hands 
 are pelted, or the lime-powder gets into the eyes, the sensation 
 is rather painful than otherwise. The Papal government, mind 
 ful of this fact, issue the strictest commands against such mis 
 siles being made of a larger size than the samples which are 
 deposited in the Police Office. These commands are obeyed 
 with an accuracy only equalled by that of the New York and 
 Philadelphia boys in regard to the Fourth-of-July edicts against 
 fireworks. 
 
 The Complimentary, for the greater part, consist of small 
 bouquets, which are sold in vast numbers at an extremely low 
 price say a shilling the half-peck. To these may be added 
 fancy confectionery of every description, as well as artificial 
 flowers. The extravagance of the Roman ladies and gentlemen, 
 in these last two items, passes belief. I seriously believe that 
 many a man literally throws away daily, during the Carnival, 
 
178 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 more money than he spends weekly at other seasons. But who 
 thinks of prudence or economy at such a time? Carnival is 
 short and Lent is long; therefore, vive la bagatelle, and hang 
 to-morrow ! Such is the principle which actuates every one 
 during this soul-expanding-week. 
 
 The greater part of a man s happiness at this period depends 
 upon the skill and tact which he displays in discharging the 
 last-mentioned class of missiles. Should he merely fill his 
 carriage with flowers, and blindly throw away, right and left, 
 at every girl he meets, he may, indeed, stand a chance of 
 getting flowers in return ; but the kind looks, the sweet smiles, 
 (not to mention the little bags . and baskets full of sugar 
 plums,) all of these delicate and interesting attentions will be 
 lost to him. 
 
 What should he do? For the benefit of those gentlemen 
 who propose passing the next Carnival at Rome, I would say, 
 throw your bouquets at individuals, and not, as most do, 
 at windows and carriages. Always select an individual 
 catch her eye ; and, holding out your bouquet in such a 
 manner as to indicate that it is for her alone, toss it gently 
 to her. Having done this, you may, with modest- confidence, 
 hold out your hat to catch any thing which she may cast 
 in return. 
 
 The indifferent missiles vary in the manner in which they 
 are applied. Should they be gently tossed, with a sweet smile, 
 we may safely class them among the complimentary; but when 
 thrown with violence, they are most decidedly offensive. They 
 consist, in part, of oranges, lemons, large balls of sugar, heavy 
 bon-bons, and bouquets in which the stem is the principal part. 
 
 The third class of missiles includes potatoes, pebbles, cabbage- 
 stalks, c., all of which are contraband. 
 
 The Corso is undoubtedly the head-quarters of the Carnival; 
 but it does not by any means monopolize all the fun. In order 
 to prevent confusion, carriages are compelled to follow each other 
 in succession, keeping to the left, as the Roman law directs. To 
 return to their place, they are obliged to make a detour through 
 another street, generally the Ripetta; therefore the Ripetta be 
 comes itself the scene of a small carnival. Moreover, all those 
 pedestrian masks to whom acting is necessary in order to freely 
 exhibit the part which they have assumed, are obliged to seek a 
 
THE CARNIVAL AT ROME. 179 
 
 street not over crowded, such as the Ripetta, in order to obtain 
 an audience. The visitor, therefore, who wishes to freely enjoy 
 the Carnival, must not neglect this street. 
 
 These pedestrian maskers are, to many, the most interesting 
 part of the Carnival. Every one is sustaining a part; and not 
 unfrequently two or three unite for this purpose. You will see 
 banditti bending low, and stealing with stealthy steps around the 
 corner, threatening to rob the unwary passer-by of his last sugar 
 plum. An elderly lady, apparently from the country, with a 
 coal-scuttle bonnet and mask admirably adapted to express 
 terror and confusion, rushes madly through the crowd at right 
 angles, shrieking aloud for her lost child. A man bearing his 
 wife on his back, and six children hung round, passes by ; you 
 laugh, but are deceived by the sight; nor is it until a close ex 
 amination that you discover that, of all this interesting family, 
 the man only is real the wife and children being composed of 
 papicr-maclie. 
 
 I observed a party of maskers in a car festooned with ever 
 green, and drawn by a donkey neatly dressed for the occasion 
 in white pantaloons and brown coat, with his tail in a bag. The 
 unfortunate animal walked along with slow steps, apparently in a 
 dream. He was completely confused, bewildered. No longer an 
 inhabitant of this world, he was apparently in a transition state 
 to that future life where, according to the Pantagruelist, beasts 
 change conditions with their masters. 
 
 Every one at Rome, as I have already intimated, either gives 
 or receives flowers during this period. But how can this apply to 
 young ladies who are doomed, by cruel fate or a cross papa, 
 to sit in third, fourth, or even fifth-story windows, and watch 
 the passers-by? Roman genius has surmounted this difficulty by 
 an astonishing invention. This consists of a number of wooden 
 bars, joined together in such a manner that when opened their 
 united length is sufficient to reach the said window; but when 
 closed and lying together parallel, they may be carried without 
 difficulty under the arm. To open and shut these ingenious con 
 trivances requires skill. When a gentleman wishes to convey a 
 flower or bon-bon to a lady, he attaches it to the end of this 
 machine and shoots it up to her window. She, detaching it, affixes 
 another, which the machine, closing, with a noise like the report 
 of a pistol, bears to its master. 
 
 16 
 
180 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, JNIEISTER KARL. 
 
 The war with the plaster-plums rages to a terrible extent. 
 English gentlemen and ladies are, however, the principal actors 
 in this offensive warfare. They are the only persons who are so 
 carried away by mad excitement and over-heated enthusiasm, as 
 to literally pour the plaster by the peck upon passers-by, without 
 distinction of age or sex. To protect yourself from such foes, it 
 is necessary to wear a wire mask, a blouse, a broad-brimmed 
 white sombrero, and a smiling face, (for a Carnival mask doth 
 hardly conceal the features.) Thus armed and equipped according 
 to universal custom, you may bid defiance to a pelting world. 
 The Carnival of each day begins at two o clock, and closes just 
 before the Angclus, with a horse-race. The steeds according to 
 the universal custom which has given the street its name run 
 directly through the Corso, from the Obelisk to Torlonia s palace. 
 In this race, the horses are without riders; and being goaded to 
 the last pitch previous to the start, are urged on by the pricking 
 and clattering of the sharp iron plates with which they are 
 hung, as well as by the shouts of the spectators. So excited 
 do the latter become at this spectacle, that it requires the utmost 
 efforts, at the close of the race, for the soldiers to prevent them 
 from rushing in and stopping the horses. Several times, during 
 this present Carnival, men have been very seriously wounded by 
 the bayonets of the guard. 
 
 And so it goes on, madder and madder, and wilder and wilder, 
 like the witches festival of a Walpurgis night. On the last 
 day, the excitement is at its highest pitch. Flowers, bon-bons, 
 and plums are thrown, poured, and shot with an unsparing 
 hand. The number of carriages is doubled. Multitudes of 
 maskers, hitherto unseen, make their appearance; while many 
 of the old stagers vary their dresses in such a manner as to 
 give a new interest to the scene. But the climax of this deli 
 rium appears in the hour succeeding the race of the last day. 
 Then, indeed, the traveller will behold a spectacle wilder, 
 stranger, and more exciting than any thing which he has ever 
 before imagined. 
 
 I refer to the ceremony of " Extinguishing the Carnival," as 
 it is termed a ceremony in which every one bears a part. Let 
 us imagine the masking and pelting of the day well over, and 
 the revellers returning by thousands from the race. Suddenly 
 a noise is heard in the direction of the Corso ; and you, perceiv- 
 
THE CARNIVAL AT ROME. 181 
 
 ing that all the maskers are bending their way thither, join 
 them. 
 
 As you enter the Corso, a light like that of an immense con 
 flagration appears. You press on, and as you enter, a sight 
 meets your eyes, the like of which the world cannot furnish. 
 The whole street, more than a mile in length, is crowded to suf 
 focation with crowds of people, every individual bearing in his 
 hands a torch or taper. Lights are flashing from roof and bal 
 cony, and their glare is reflected from the crimson and gold 
 canopies which yet overhang the houses. The carriages still 
 continue their course, but their occupants are holding tapers ; 
 and, at intervals, in the crowd, you see long poles to which 
 lanterns are hung or torches tied. It would seem as if the 
 entire population of Rome were bent on illuminating the Corso 
 to the utmost extent. As you gaze, you perceive that these 
 lights are continually being extinguished and relighted. Every 
 individual appears bent on beating out his neighbour s light and 
 preserving his own; and against every luckless wight whose 
 tapers are thus extinguished, or who appears taperless on the 
 ground, the cry of "SENZA MOCCOLO" is raised by his more 
 fortunate neighbours. These two words, signifying literally, 
 " without a candle/ are the only ones which are heard. For 
 merly, the cry raised during the " Extinguishment" was, "Sia 
 ammazato chi non porta moccolo" <( Let him who is without a 
 taper be assassinated." But, in these days, assassination is 
 becoming unpopular even in Rome. And the roar of the voices 
 which is truly overpowering the red, flashing sheet, appear 
 ing in the distance like a gulf of fire, and the quaint devices 
 which everywhere meet the eye, are enough, in truth, to make 
 the spectator believe that all the wildest delusions, the maddest 
 magic fantasies of Domdaniel, or the "House of Wrath/ are 
 being realized in the city of Rome. 
 
 The lights which are used in the <( Senza Moccolo" consist of 
 slender wax tapers with large wicks. Several of these are 
 twisted together, and a large flame is thus produced, which it 
 would be next to impossible to blow out with the breath. To 
 effect the extinguishment of these, the Roman ties one end of a 
 handkerchief to a switch, and, thus armed, flaps away right and 
 left. It sometimes occurs that, while thus employed in " dous 
 ing the glim," the candle-holder catches hold of the handker- 
 
 
182 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 chief. In such a case, if the captor be a foreigner, it is at once 
 applied to the flame and burnt; but if a native, it is quietly 
 pocketed. 
 
 One of the most astonishing points in these scenes is the 
 perfect good humour which prevails throughout. An angry 
 word, or even look, is very rare. " Were this thing tried among 
 us," quoth Yon Schwartz, my companion, from under his som 
 brero, "there would be more than ten thousand fights, to the 
 death, in less than three minutes." 
 
 Vdn Schwartz lost his temper once during the "Extinguish 
 ment." A very pretty young lady in a carriage having dropped 
 her taper, Von Schwartz politely relighted it and returned it to 
 her. And what did the fair Italian ? She not only blew out his 
 light, but actually snatched it from him. 
 
 "Oh, ye Roman ladies!" groaned Von Schwartz, "would that 
 Juvenal were alive again, even for your sakes !" 
 
 And thus, in tumult and revel and wild uproar, ends the Car 
 nival. But nothing strikes the observer more than the sudden 
 transition to the gloom and silence of Lent. The sun which sets 
 on the wildest gayety and confusion, rises on prayer, repentance, 
 and fasting. The lord of misrule, who hath borne it bravely for 
 a season in minivere and gold, now yields his crown to the 
 friar and monk, who, in silent power, confess the sins of his 
 followers 
 
 Comedia lugetScena cst deserta. 
 
 And at night when I sat alone, I strove to recall many of the 
 events of the day; but it was in vain, for each memory vanished 
 in a vague, wild sensation of indefinable excitement. I thought 
 of the "senza moccolo" and could recall only a flickering sea of 
 fire. And the myriad roar and wild shrieks of the multitude 
 now came upon me as a confused hum, or buzz, by no means 
 exciting, but somewhat disposing me to sleepiness. And I 
 thought that if, at the present day, any one could be gifted with 
 the miraculous hearing of Fine-Ear, in the old fairy-tale, so that 
 all sounds in the world could be audible to him at once, even 
 unto the grass growing, and the trickling of the deepest waters 
 which lie darkling under the earth, it would soon result in one 
 vast single sound perhaps a very dull music indeed, if not a 
 very disagreeable one. And omniscience itself to a mortal would 
 
THE CARNIVAL AT ROME. 183 
 
 be at last wearisome or maddening. So rest thee content in thy 
 sphere, Karl, believing that one Carnival is enough in a year, as 
 one noise is enough at a time j and that he who desires to hear 
 more than his quantum, must have ears of the longest. 
 
 But the hum still rung in my ears and would not die. 
 Cyntliius aurem vdlet e.t admonuit. I understood the signal, 
 and my last drop of ink went out with the following rhymes : 
 
 THE WORLD S CONCERT. 
 
 I heard the steeples pouring forth 
 
 Their storm-bells roaring din ; 
 
 And the songs of merry companies, 
 
 As they sat so snug within ; 
 The measured tread of armies proud, 
 The dash of the restless sea ! 
 
 " And it s buzz . " quoth the world, 
 As on she whirl d, 
 And away with the world went we ! 
 
 I heard a martyr at the stake 
 
 Groan out, " in Domino !" 
 I heard five infants squall at night, 
 
 While cats yell d out below. 
 I heard a preacher pounding texts 
 To a godly companie ; 
 
 "And it s litzz!" quoth the world, 
 As on she whirl d, 
 And away with the world went we ! 
 
 I heard a dainty cavalier 
 Sing to his ladye-love ; 
 While fountains in the moon-ray plash d, 
 
 And the lady sigh d above. 
 And I heard the click of the cold white dice, 
 With curses pealing free; 
 
 "And it s buzz!" quoth the world, 
 As on she whirl d, 
 And away with the world went we ! 
 
 I heard a swan s sweet dying song, 
 
 I heard the tempest s breath : 
 I heard a lady thrash her lord, 
 
 And she thrash d him half to death. 
 And I heard a scholar turning leaves, 
 With the scream of an angry flea! 
 
 " And it s buzz !" quoth the world, 
 As on she whirl d, 
 And away with the world went we ! 
 16* 
 
184 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL 
 
 Yes ; music, thunder, growls, and groans, 
 
 With shouts and shots in store, 
 While powder-mills exploded fast 
 
 But I could stand no more! 
 I stopp d my ears, I howl d a prayer, 
 And swoon d in agony : 
 
 "And it s buzz!" quoth the world, 
 As on she whirl d, 
 And away with the world went we ! 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH. 
 
 LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 
 
 Connubilis Amor de Mulcilre fecit Apellem. 
 A lady made the Courier write on Art. 
 
 I WAS strolling one day with a party of gentlemen and ladies 
 through the Museum or Picture Gallery of the Hague, enjoying 
 that greatest intellectual pleasure the admiration of splendid 
 works of art in company with congenial spirits. Suddenly, 
 Mrs. C exclaimed 
 
 "What a pity, that to fully appreciate the worlc, it always 
 seems so necessary to know something of the artist! And then, 
 when travelling, we have no time to read ; and at home, the pic 
 tures or statues are nearly all forgotten." 
 
 "The lives of artists are almost invariably interesting," re 
 plied Count d Egerlyn; " and I believe that in every instance 
 the style of the picture is the reflection of the painter s peculiar 
 state of mind. No one ever painted well who did not mix his 
 soul with the colours." 
 
 "Now," said Mrs. C , "I propose that Meister Karl read 
 
 or relate to us this very evening some story or other of the old 
 painters. I would like to refresh and add to the little informa 
 tion I already possess." 
 
 The Meister bowed assent, and his afternoon was passed in 
 scribbling a sketch of Bamboche. To this, on subsequent days, 
 others were added, and it is not impossible that a book would 
 have grown out of Mrs. C s request, had time and travel 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 185 
 
 permitted. Three or four of the shorter legends, founded on 
 Houssaye s History of Flemish Painting, form the substance of 
 the following chapter : 
 
 BAMBOCIIE, THE VIOLIN PAINTER. 
 
 IL y a clans tous ses tableaux je ne sais quel joyeau air de violon qui vous 
 6gaye douceinent. On sait qu il avait 1 habitude, comme Brackemburg, de se 
 jouer un air avant de se inettre a 1 oeuvre. Son violonne le quittait pas. Pour 
 se reposer de peindre, il jouait du violon; pour se remettre en verve, il en 
 jouait encore. BAJIBOCHE. A Houssaye, Hist, de la Peinture Flamande. 
 
 THE good artist, Nicholas Poussin, had laboured long and 
 patiently over his exquisite painting of " Arcadia" at his house 
 in Rome, near Trinita del Monte. Line by line, shade by shade, 
 it approached perfection. But day by day these efforts became 
 rarer. It was only in the ever-varying intercourse with men 
 that he could sustain his inspiration; and, of late, the society of 
 the artists and scholars who were wont at stated hours to sur 
 round him, had become monotonous and wearisome. 
 
 "Pardieu!" he exclaimed one evening, weariedly leaning 
 back and throwing aside his brush. "This is becoming insup 
 portable. The sketch, the outline, the body is, indeed, mine ! 
 But the soul, the colour, the life whence shall I derive it ?" 
 
 His reveries were broken by the distant music of a violin, 
 which was quaintly, but wonderfully played. At times it 
 seemed approaching the house, and would sound forth with a 
 saucy familiarity, as if its invisible bearer was about to enter 
 with a triumphal march, and then would suddenly retreat with 
 a hurry-skurry, discordant vibration, as if the dogs had been set 
 loose on it. Far in the distance it indulged in a plaintive wail, 
 and ere long, would suddenly be heard almost under the window, 
 quivering and starting as if the musician were in his soul reeling 
 with laughter, and at times bolting forth the queerest scraps of 
 Flemish and Italian drinking-songs, which reminded one of 
 nothing so much as the intoxication of a Kermesse, and induced 
 a suspicion that the inspiration of this wild musician was derived 
 from a Bacchic source. 
 
 "It is strange!" thought Poussin; "this is the third evening 
 that this goblin fiddle has been heard around the house; and yet 
 no one, that I can learn, has seen the performer. Better music 
 heard I never; stranger music, no man. It must be that the 
 
186 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 odd fellow, since he answers none of the servants, desires speech 
 with me alone. Let us try !" 
 
 With these words he advanced to the open casement; and, 
 stepping forth upon the terrace, cried with a loud voice 
 
 "Devil APPEAR !" 
 
 Scarcely had he uttered these words ere there scrambled or 
 almost tumbled down upon the terrace, from an overhanging 
 tree, a form which half induced Poussin to believe that the 
 invocation uttered in jest had been responded to in earnest. An 
 odd, little humpbacked man, clad in Flemish hose and doublet, 
 stood before him, eyeing him with a fierce glance from over an 
 enormous pair of "matador" moustachios, and beneath a "fautre 
 a plumet," whose bellicose position added not a little to the ruf 
 fling, swaggering aspect of the owner. 
 
 "And who art thou, friend? asked, in his mildest tones, 
 Poussin. 
 
 "I am BAMBOCHE!" replied with queer gravity the little 
 man, twisting up his moustache. "Bamboche the Great! 
 Bamboche the Illustrious the Fiddling THE NOBLE THE 
 FIGHTING !" 
 
 And, drawing his bow in accompaniment over the violin, he 
 sang, in a loud, wild scream 
 
 " BAM BO OCHE !" 
 
 "And wilt thou play me again some of those sweet airs which 
 I heard yesterday evening?" inquired Poussin. 
 
 "It was for that I came!" cried Bamboche. "Thou hast 
 waited for me, and knew it not. But I knew it ha! ha! ha! 
 the work could not go on without little Bamboche little devil 
 Bamboche mad little Bamboche !" 
 
 And with these flattering expressions, the violinist entered 
 the atelier, and, crowing and cluttering like a chicken, began to 
 look around. At times, flapping his arms like wings, he would 
 stand on one leg, absorbed in admiration, before a painting. A 
 stuffed cat in a corner attracted him wonderfully; so much, 
 indeed, that he treated her to a short but remarkably well-im 
 provised serenade on the violin, accompanied with violent vocal 
 inewings and feline spittings, nodding and winking oddly betimes 
 to Poussin, in a manner imitating his perfect familiarity with 
 the nature and nocturnal habits of this animal. Then, seizing a 
 portfolio, he would shuffle out the engravings and sketches with 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 187 
 
 incredible quickness, moving his arms, meanwhile, like the fore 
 legs of a turnspit cur when running rapidly; yelping and barking 
 with delight as each met his eye. 
 
 "The crazy rogue is evidently fond of pictures," thought 
 Poussin. 
 
 "Hey, Signor Bamboccio! dost thou know aught of Art? 
 Canst thou paint?" 
 
 "Yea," replied Bamboche, drawing from his violin a long note, 
 which of itself sounded wonderfully like an affirmative. " Yea, 
 for the soul is mine, and, consequently, I can develop pictorially 
 and plastically that which is acoustically and musically conceived. 
 Music is the mamma of all pictures. The chant of the blessed 
 angels mingled with the sweet, voluptuous voice of a white- 
 throated beauty, and became incarnate in a picture of Raphael. 
 But little Bamboche saw it this morning, and knew every note 
 of the tune, and played it off at sight. But I missed two bars in 
 the Virgin s blue drapery, and found afterward that a hole had 
 been sewed up in the canvass, and some fool had painted it sadly 
 over. Bravo! bravo! Bamboche!" 
 
 Upon this he seized the palette and brushes of Poussin, and 
 placing a clean canvass on an easel, drew up, and said, proudly 
 
 "Now I will fiddle you a picture !" 
 
 And with this, seizing his violin, he ran confusedly over seve 
 ral symphonies, as if seeking a subject. At last he appeared to 
 have struck the key; for assuming an irresistibly droll attitude, 
 and winking and shrugging as if intoxicated, he half sung, half 
 played, a ribald old Flemish street-song : 
 
 A priest went strolling through the land; 
 
 Hey ! twas in the May ! 
 He caught a young nun by the hand. 
 
 Hey ! twas in the May, they say, 
 Hey ! twas in the May ! 
 
 At times, grasping the chalk, he would sketch the figure of a 
 jovial Capuchin, wickedly pressing the hand of a pretty nun. 
 In the background, but near the figures, appeared the outline of 
 an old monastery, while about were scattered fragments of ruins. 
 Whenever he paused, or appeared at a loss, he would seize the 
 violin, and with a few bars readily revive the design as it grew 
 dim in his mind. Soon he began, with light and hasty touches, 
 to colour the sketch. Now he played more frequently and deli- 
 
188 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 cately, introducing the quaintest variations on the original air as 
 he shaded the countenances. And more than once, his touches 
 corresponded so evidently and strikingly with the notes preced 
 ing them, that Poussin, who was gifted with a good ear, as well 
 as a quick appreciation of mathematical proportion, could not re 
 sist a rapidly-increasing impression that the painting was a literal 
 transcript of the music. As he gazed, the strange feeling grew 
 upon him, that by any one who had once mastered this language 
 of musical and optical harmony, the picture, with all its varia 
 tions, might be as readily played back again on the violin, as it 
 was now painted from its music. 
 
 "I have heard," thought he, "that if sand be laid lightly and 
 sparely on a thin sheet of glass, the vibration of a lute or violin 
 will cause it to fly hither and thither, yet ever arranging itself at 
 every perfect note into a symmetrical and beautiful form. How 
 strange it seems! What if that which to us unthinking mor 
 tals appears so wild, fantastic, and evanescent the music of 
 the wind-harp, or the soft, sad wail of the evening breeze should 
 be capable of impressing its form and corresponding image on 
 the material? Truly there be men, yea, and poets too, on whose 
 souls, as on the unconscious glass, Nature by her music doth 
 quaintly and sweetly shape from a few sands of learning, the 
 most delicate and dainty devices. Of such a texture must be 
 the soul of this wild one, who thus sports with the deep mysteries 
 of Art. And thus I feel that all things mirror each other, and 
 that all are reflected and made permanent in One. 
 
 For over the green world, far and wide, 
 By the foaming sea on the mountain side ; 
 Where in soul or in form a thought hath been, 
 A spirit immortal in God is seen. 
 
 "And thus, Signer Poussin," exclaimed Bamboche, "I have 
 set forth to you the musical signatura rerum of which I, the 
 moustachioed, am a pictorial apostle. Nor in pictures alone do 
 I thus translate, having written off and played the entire Cathe 
 dral of Milan in E minor I And faces ! oh, faces I I have set 
 the face of the gray horseman, the lying gray horseman, the 
 foolish gray horseman, "Wouvermanns, to music; and, as I 
 expected, it was a most scurvy ballad, a filthy tune, not fit for 
 the sweeps!" 
 
 "But," he continued, after a pause, "it was not for that I 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 189 
 
 came. No ! it was to play a soft and genial air, a sweet air of 
 ancient Arcady. For thy picture must be finished, and will be 
 finished, and go forth to the world the fairest, gentlest portrayal 
 of the old sylvan time that man hath ever beheld. <ET IN AR 
 CADIA EGO Bamboche is a great fiddler; his notes are pence, 
 and he gives them away in charity/ 
 
 With this, the little man, motioning his host to a seat, began 
 on his instrument a series of gentle, half-melancholy airs, which 
 awoke in the mind of Poussiu an ecstasy of inspiration. Softer 
 and softer they died away, and awoke again in merry, dancing 
 measures, which still bore the impress of sadness, as if Memory 
 were recalling the pleasant hours of youth. A wild transition, 
 and his soul was with the good and kind, long passed away. 
 From distant mountain and shady shore came, borne on the 
 wings of the night wind, the sad burden "We return no more. 
 We have lived and loved, and our life was beautiful. We, too, 
 were once dwellers on sunny Arcadie." And as the sounds grew 
 ever sadder and sweeter, Poussin, the great artist, buried his 
 face in his hands, and gave way to a flood of tears. Still sadder 
 and softer grew the strains, softer, softer, and died away. 
 
 When Poussin raised his head, the strange, wild visitor had 
 disappeared. But the spirit of music and artistic inspiration 
 seemed even yet to linger, like a dying perfume, in the apart 
 ment. 
 
 "And now," exclaimed Poussin, "thanks to thee, wild mu 
 sician ! I can finish my Arcady in the spirit in which it was first 
 conceived." 
 
 NOTES TO THE FOREGOING. 
 
 " THE Flemish and Dutch artists," says DARGENVILLE, " who resided in Rome 
 at the end of the sixteenth century, had formed a society, admitting no mem 
 bers of any other nation. The meetings of this strange Academy of Art were 
 held not in a temple but in a tavern. Nothing could be imagined more sin 
 gular than the ceremonies which accompanied their receptions, which in many 
 respects recalled the Bacchic rites and orgies. Disguised as druids or satyrs, 
 but with bed-coverings for cloaks, they /ndulged in the wildest and most extrava 
 gant buffoonery, at the conclusion of which a soubriquet was bestowed upon the 
 newly-initiated, which he was obliged to add to his proper name." 
 
 It was in this wild fraternity that PETER VAN LAAR had received the nom de 
 guerre of BAMBOCCIO or Bamboche ; "on account," says KUGLER, "of his singular 
 deformed figure ;" and under which, according to ARSENE HOUSSAYE, "his own 
 
190 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 name has almost entirely disappeared." Nature, which had denied comeliness 
 to his body, could not detract from his joyous, cheerful disposition, or withhold 
 from him the genius which enabled him to give his name to, and found a new 
 school and style of painting. For it was from him that the Italians and French 
 derived the name of fiambochade, which serves even at the present day to indi 
 cate those small Flemish pictures representing views of familiar life. Nor was 
 he less gifted in portraying hunting and robber scenes, fairs, sea-pieces, and 
 cavalcades, in which latter he far surpassed his rival, WOUVERMANNS, "since 
 his style was larger and more becoming a true artist." 
 
 Grieved at the death of his two younger brothers, who were murdered in 
 Italy, and discouraged at finding the works of his rival, Wouvermanns, pre 
 ferred to his own, this wild artist is said to have put an end to his eccentric 
 life by leaping into a pit. 
 
 Since writing the Legend of Bamboche, I have met with a remarkably ex 
 cellent and characteristic "History of the Flemish and Dutch Schools of Paint 
 ing, by the REV. T. JAMES, London, 1822," in which the following passages 
 occur, relative to the artist GERARD LAIRESSE, who has been regarded as the 
 Poussin of the Flemish school: 
 
 "VAN PEE, GHEBBER, and other artists of Amsterdam, had been invited to 
 the house of Uylenburg, in order to see the prodigy LAIRESSE; and a pallet 
 being put into his hand, he was requested, without much further preamble, to 
 give them a sample of his talent. They were, as it seems, a little surprised at 
 his not instantly setting to work; but even an improvisatore must wait the ap 
 proach of the ortjasme and so Lairesse. He stood mute for several minutes, 
 apparently rapt in meditation ; then, on a sudden, he took out a violin from 
 beneath his clothes, and played a few airs; and instantly afterward, seizing 
 upon the crayon and painting-brushes, he sketched out, with vast rapidity, a, 
 design for a picture of the birth of our Saviour. He now left his seat, and re 
 sumed his violin; and after playing as before for some little time, sat down 
 afresh, and worked for upward of two hours, in which period he had finished 
 the heads of the infant Christ, the Virgin Mary, and Joseph, and that of an ox 
 hanging over the manger. These were all, as they say, painted up at once in 
 a very masterly and finished style, and conceived in a manner that called forth 
 expressions of the highest admiration from all present. 
 
 " There is nothing in all this that should seem extraordinary ; a similar in 
 stance has been mentioned before, and which admits of a similar explanation : 
 the ancient mythology made all the nine Muses sisters ; and even in our modern 
 phraseology we keep up the same degree of relationship between music and 
 painting. Ideas, or pictures of things, and emotions of the soul, are called up 
 in the mind by words : words are sounds to which these associations have been 
 by habit attached, there being evidently no natural connection between them. 
 Certain musical sounds also suggest certain emotions and ideas, not indeed, 
 always by habitual association, but (which is stronger) by some secret natural 
 connection that exists between them ; that is, in all who have any relish for the 
 harmony of music. The nature of the inspiration in the story just related is, 
 therefore, simple and natural ; ideas, or pictures of things, were called up by 
 the suggestion of musical sounds : nor can it be held extraordinary that when 
 the natural connection between the two came to be further strengthened by 
 habit, the suggestions which arose should be embodied into shape, and even 
 receive a certain degree of precision, in a mind attentive to the objects with 
 which a painter is necessarily conversant. The mind of Lairesse must natu- 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 191 
 
 rally have been employed in such associations every time that he amused him 
 self with his instrument; and by the length of practice necessary to acquire 
 such skill in music as it appears he displayed, they had grown so strong as to 
 furnish him, not merely with the tone of feeling necessary for his work, but 
 with the actual perception of colour and form ; in short, with all the very ima 
 gery which he might require for the purpose of composition in painting." 
 
 HANS HEMLING, THE PAINTER OF BRUGES: 
 
 AN ART LEGEND OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTUKY. 
 
 Ic.li that am Serge stehen, 
 
 Ich schaute in dem Thai ; 
 Dort hab ich Sie gesehen, 
 
 Zum allerletzten mal. 
 
 I stood upon a lofty place, 
 
 And looked out on the plain ; 
 And there I saw a lovely face, 
 
 I never saw again. HAUFF. 
 
 IT was on the 16th of September, A.D. 1478, that the porter 
 of the Hospital of St. John, in Bruges, admitted, to the cares of 
 its attendant nuns, a poor soldier bleeding from severe wounds, 
 and exhausted with fatigue and exposure. But, despite his bare 
 feet and tattered garments, there was somewhat in his appearance 
 which betokened gentle birth, so that even the rude assistants 
 who bore him to a couch did so with a tenderness seldom shown 
 to patients of such low degree. 
 
 "A shrewd cut, this on thy head, my worthy fellow!" re 
 marked Brother Jerome, the head friar-physician, while occu 
 pied in examining the soldier s wounds. " That gash, I trow, 
 was never made with a riding switch. And now I must pain 
 thee a little longer with my needle. Canst thou endure it?" 
 
 "ALS IKH KAN," replied the soldier, half vacantly. And 
 staring upward, he again repeated the Flemish words " ALS IKH 
 KAN als ikh dff/"* 
 
 " Als ikh kan !" chimed in Frater Jerome, addressing himself 
 this time to Sister Bertha, the youngest and loveliest of the nun- 
 nurses; "ah! that is a sentence which I never hear without a 
 sigh. It is the noble motto of the great and glorious artist 
 JOHANNES VAN EYCK, who hath of late years brought into these 
 our Low Countries the art of painting curiously in oil. And I 
 
 * "I ll do my best." Comme je puts. 
 17 
 
192 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 sigh, my daughter, to think that, despite our most earnest effort, 
 the Hospital of Saint John as yet contains none of his pictures. 
 Did not the worthy Heer Ward-Master, himself, offer to sell 
 his gold chain and seal to secure even the unfinished triptych 
 of our Lady, now in the Church of St. Martinus van Ypern ? 
 And even the Chapel of the White Lady of Antwerp hath its 
 picture by Van Eyck, while we of the first hospital can show 
 naught, save a barbarous Greek Christ and two beggarly saints 
 by Meijster Hugo van der Goes! Well! well! fortune, like 
 marrying, cometh by tarrying/! 
 
 Sister Bertha paid, however, but little attention to the regrets 
 of the worthy f rater. Pier attention was too deeply absorbed by 
 the features of the apparently half-insensible soldier. That faco 
 reader you may see its likeness to this day in the same room 
 where the poor patient then lay was one of that rare description 
 which indicated great firmness of character combined with 
 gentleness of heart. The embrowned cheeks and sternly com 
 pressed lips spoke of weary wanderings in warmer climes of 
 strife and toil. But the deep, quiet intellect of the brow, with 
 the soft and almost child-like gleam of the eye, denoted a soul 
 which no sorrow or suffering could change. 
 
 Insensible as the soldier seemed, he had well marked the words 
 of the f rater, and the great beauty of Sister Bertha. But 
 the recollection of both was soon lost in the delirium which 
 succeeded, during which he was gently and softly tended by her. 
 Soon he raved at times in Flemish, at times in other tongues, 
 of strange adventures in many lands; of the broad, white- 
 foaming sea with its ships, which swept by like spirits at night 
 fall over the haunted plain ; of the storming and sacking of lordly 
 cities in Italy; of the screams of maidens, the burning of 
 churches, and of the red gold which rolled over the checkered 
 pavement, and slipped away from his grasp into pools of blood ; 
 of silent study in cloisters far away; of drinking and revelry 
 and dice ; of the tinkling of mandolines, and the warm kisses 
 of beautiful black-eyed women; of glorious paintings with gilded 
 grounds; of malachite vases, ivory crucifixes, and marble palaces, 
 on whose every flight of broad stairs stood the cold, white 
 immortals ; of orange-groves and white towers reflected in the 
 blue sea from cliffs whose base was red with coral; and at 
 he would burst into sinful songs and wild peals of laughter. 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 193 
 
 Yet, all unmoved, the sweet nun sat by him, moistening his 
 brow with water, and giving utterance to deep and earnest 
 prayers for the health of body and soul. When his speech 
 became wild and wicked, she would lay her small white palm 
 against his mouth and say, "Peace, poor child, peace!" Then 
 his voice would sink to a low murmur, like the distant hum 
 heard afar in the forest when the storm-wind has passed by, 
 and, with tears, he would half-unconsciously join in her prayer 
 to God. 
 
 With the following morning the effects of the fever had 
 wellnigh passed away. And every succeeding day, to use a 
 Flemish expression, " added fresh grapes to the vintage of his 
 health." He was the favourite of all who knew him, though he 
 very seldom spoke he was so quiet, gentle, and uncomplaining. 
 But, for hours together, he would fix an earnest gaze upon the 
 beautiful eyes of Sister Bertha, whose favourite spot for needle 
 work or prayer, when not otherwise engaged, was near his couch. 
 To her quick woman s eye it was evident that a great change 
 was coming over the spirit of her patient. Her silent beauty 
 had, indeed, touched his soul ; and deep regrets for his stormy, 
 sinful life were daily mingled with the aspirations of a love 
 deeper and holier than any which he had before experienced. 
 
 But with his gradually-restored health, it appeared that a 
 time was not far distant when he would be compelled to quit 
 this haven of rest. More than one broad hint had been dropped 
 by the Ward-Master and unwillingly repeated even by Friar 
 Jerome, that there were other sick in the world, and that his 
 couch was wanted. More than once had an assistant inquired 
 as to his future road, and begged to know if the " wander- 
 penny," or gratuity usually bestowed on those leaving the hos 
 pital, should be taken out for him. Until at last, one morning 
 summoning the Ward-Master, he said, gravely and earnestly 
 
 " Heer Ward-Meijster, it little beseems me, who have here 
 experienced at your hands kinder and gentler treatment than I 
 have ever in my life before known, to crave longer lodgment 
 than is my due. It were a sin if the good Hospital of St. John 
 De Bruges, which is famed for kindness and charity not only 
 throughout the Low Countries and Germany, but even unto 
 Italy and the Indies, should suffer by malapert indolence. You 
 wish me forth but I will not go until you are richly rewarded 
 
194 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 for your kindness. If this my couch be needed, give me, I pray, 
 another room, where I may be alone and unheeded save with 
 some slight attendance; and if, in one month s time, every soul 
 in this hospital, with yourself at the head, do not beseech me to 
 remain, I give ye leave to drive me forth like a thieving knave, 
 with hounds and whips. 
 
 To this modest proposition the Heer Ward-Master willingly 
 assented; and, that very day, the convalescent was removed to a 
 distant chamber, where he dwelt in strict privacy. Only the 
 beautiful Bertha, his kind nurse, approached him, or seemed 
 acquainted with the nature of the pursuit in which he was 
 so mysteriously engaged. By her he was silently supplied 
 with all that he required. And the days and the weeks 
 
 "I wonder," said the Ward-Master one evening to Brother 
 Jerome, " on what work the stranger hath been engaged. 
 Doubtless he hath but rested with us that he might obtain 
 longer herbcrg, (lodgings.) But let him go in peace." 
 
 " He is, perchance, an artist," replied Brother Jerome. " It 
 remembereth me that his first word in the hospital was the 
 motto of the excellent Johannes van Eyck. But nay what 
 artist ever dragged himself like a vagabond soldier to these 
 gates ?" 
 
 "Heaven grant," replied the worthy Ward-Master, "that he 
 be an artist, even as thou sayest! Ah, Brother Jerome, the 
 name of Van Eyck is a sore, sore theme to me !" 
 
 The Master was here interrupted by the beautiful Bertha, who 
 bore a message from the soldier. 
 
 "He desires," said she, "that on the morrow, you, Heer 
 Ward-Meijster, assemble the chief dignitaries of Bruges, and 
 repair to the room where he now dwells." 
 
 " A pretty business, indeed !" replied the Master. "What! 
 assemble his Highness the Lord-Governor, with my worshipful 
 goto!" 
 
 "Nay, but, father," replied the maiden, "it must be even as 
 he saith. For / have seen that which he proposeth to set before 
 you, and it were not fit that lesser eyes should be the first to gaze 
 thereon!" 
 
 "Then it shall be so," replied the Master; "for thou art a 
 wise and discreet maiden, and spcakest well. Therefore, Bro- 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 195 
 
 ther Jerome, bid the messenger Lodewyk summon them, even as 
 Sister Bertha directs." 
 
 "Gentle sirs/ said the Ward-Master on the following morn 
 ing when the chief noblemen and burghers of Bruges had 
 assembled "if that which ye are to behold should prove a vain 
 thing, I pray ye blame me not. On the word of a sister albeit 
 a maiden of discretion have I called ye hither. Let us now 
 judge of her wisdom. 7 
 
 With these words he opened the door of the chamber wherein 
 the soldier lodged. As they entered, a simultaneous cry of 
 admiration burst from the lips of all present. Upon a high easel 
 was placed a painting the like of which no man there present 
 had ever seen before, though there were those among them who 
 had studied Art in distant lands. It was an altar-piece in three 
 divisions, the principal representing the marriage of St. Kathe- 
 rine with our Lord. In the centre was a virgin of wondrous 
 beauty, seated beneath a flowing curtain, while over her floated 
 two lovely angels bearing a crown. To the right knelt St. Ka- 
 therine before the infant Saviour, who placed upon her finger 
 the betrothal ring, and behind her an angel, more beautiful than 
 the light, playing upon an organ, and near him, John the Bap 
 tist leading a lamb. Both the wings were filled in with scriptu 
 ral figures "the whole forming a work deeply inspired with 
 sweet, mysterious, soul-refining poesy, and finished, as to every 
 mechanical detail, in the highest style of Art which the world 
 had then beheld."* 
 
 "But where," inquired the Burgrave Vander Schilde, "where 
 is the artist who has thus combined in one work all the excel 
 lence of the Italian, the German, and Flemish schools of this 
 age ? Where is he, who, by a single effort, surpasses all that 
 Johannes van Eyck, our Lord of Art, hath ever done ?" 
 
 "Behold him!" said Brother Jerome, leading forth the sol 
 dier, who, advancing to the Ward-Meijster, exclaimed 
 
 "Art thou now satisfied, good sir, for the soldier s lodo;- 
 mcnt?" 
 
 "Oh, my friend my heart s friend!" replied the Master, his 
 eyes dimmed with tears of joy, "be only our guest forever. No 
 noble shall be so cared for as thou. But oh ! who art thou?" 
 
 KUGLRII. GeschicJite der Malerei, vol. ii. p. 66. 
 17* 
 
196 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 At this question the artist pointed to the edge of the frame, 
 on which was seen the following inscription : 
 
 OPVS .IOHANNIS.HEMLING 
 
 DIT WERCK DEDE MAKEN IAN HEMELING VAN DE 
 
 HOSPITALE VAN SINT IANS IN BRVGGHE 
 
 ANNO MCCCCLXXIX 
 
 (The work of John Hemling. This work did make John 
 Hemling, of the Hospital of St. John, in Bruges, in the year 
 1479.) 
 
 "John Hemling! Hans Hemling!" exclaimed the Burgrave, 
 with astonishment. "Why, art thou not he who, three years 
 since, under the name of Giovanni il Flamingo, didst dis 
 pute so learnedly at the Universities of Padua, Cracow, and 
 Heidelberg?" 
 
 "Nay," replied the Count Adolijn, "art thou not, rather, he 
 who, as Jean le Flamand, didst so gallantly discomfit at Calais, 
 in fair duel, the roystering English blade, Harry Goreham, 
 and then escape albeit from the very midst of King Edward s 
 army?" 
 
 "I have seen thee in Venice," added a gray-bearded Council 
 man, "and in those days thou wert the featliest gallant that 
 ever wore Genoa velvet, or trod corantos with the blonde Sioras 
 of the Lagunas !" 
 
 "Noble sirs," replied Hemling, "it matters little what I have 
 been, since I now, thanks to St. John ! am that no longer. Art 
 and Religion shall henceforward alone claim me. Of you, 
 worthy Ward-Master, I crave only permission to tarry here 
 awhile longer, that I may honour yet more, with my poor skill, 
 the kind Hospital of St. John, where I have so greatly benefited 
 both my body and soul !" 
 
 And the artist remained remained to paint those religious 
 pictures which have inspired with the gentlest, yet the most 
 genial, emotions even the coldest French critics of this century. 
 Pictures which drew from Arsdne Houssaye the confession that 
 "Corregio, though elevated above Hemling in grace of form, 
 was infinitely beneath him in expression; and that, compared 
 with him as a master of religious Art, Raphael was a mere 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 197 
 
 heathen, who beheld only a Fornarina beyond the grave " and 
 even the stern and accurate Fortoul declares that, if ever painter 
 merited the honour of being considered as a privileged interpreter 
 of Christianity, this was the man ; and, inspired with the sub 
 ject, exclaims " Pious master! by exciting in the depths of 
 my heart that secret sadness which comes to us from God, and 
 recalls us to him, thou wert the first to make me feel and com 
 prehend Art ! Melancholy star of my youth ! thou didst guide 
 me in my travels and studies ! For it is first necessary to expe 
 rience grief and suffering, and then resign ourselves to repose, to 
 be able to conform ourselves to that ideal which thou hast real 
 ized in thy calm and gentle saints, succouring friend, whom I 
 have made mine for time and for eternity !" 
 
 But though the artist painted on for many months in silence 
 and prayer, his mind still hovered about this world. In all of 
 his paintings there is one face of almost unearthly beauty, yet 
 calm and gentle as the evening breeze. That face is Bertha s 
 his consoler his angel his love! And, in nearly every paint 
 ing, he was wont to repeat his own portrait, attired, not in the 
 dark gown which he now wore, but in the long gaberdine and 
 crimson velvet bonnet of the Florentines, which indicated clearly 
 to the good Ward-Master that his heart yearned again for the 
 bright skies and happy scenes of Tuscany. 
 
 Not long after this it became known throughout the hospital 
 and town that Sister Bertha had, by especial permission, been 
 secularized, and returned to the world. And but a little time 
 elapsed ere Hemling also quietly disappeared, leaving, as a last 
 gift, his greatest and most glorious work a work for which 
 kings have since offered their gold in vain the Shrine of 
 St. Ursula. 
 
 And whither did he flee, and who was the companion of his 
 journey? Never again on earth did man hear of Hemling, the 
 soldier-artist of Bruges, or of Bertha the nun, save that in after 
 years there appeared in Spain, in company with a wife of won 
 drous beauty, a great artist, known as JUAN FLAMENCO, or 
 John the Fleming, whose paintings were inspired with that 
 strange, unearthly loveliness, and were limned in the same sad, 
 gentle spirit which we find in the works of Hemling. Nor have 
 those been wanting, in the present century, who, inspired by 
 the saint-like veneration in which his name is even yet held 
 
198 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 at the hospital, have more than intimated that an unearthly 
 mystery hung over the artist. Of late years the initiated, in the 
 school of Overbeck at Rome, speak admiringly of a stranger who 
 sojourned but a few days among them, and astonished all by his 
 miraculous familiarity with the Art and artists of the olden 
 time.* And it also appears from more than one ancient chroni 
 cle, that sixty years before his appearance in Bruges, a skilful 
 painter bearing the same name and lineaments, had been em 
 ployed as architect by the Cathedral of Bremen. But these 
 questions I leave to the seekers into the marvels of antiquity. 
 For the true enthusiast in Art, the true poet, or the true Chris 
 tian, who, unheeding of name or sect, breathes forth a heartfelt 
 prayer each night to God that his spirit of gentleness, of love, 
 of beauty, and grace may be poured forth over all men and in 
 every clime, no other indication of the supernatural need be 
 given save that which beams from his every work, and inspires 
 with a life of purity and holiness their every feature. 
 
 THE FIRST LOVE OF TENIERS. 
 
 Zyn schildcrkonst bestont in snakory en boetzen, 
 Die by zoo geestig \vist met zyn penceel te toetzen 
 Dat niemand zyns gelyk, in deze tyd en is 
 Die t werk komt over een met zyn gesteltenis. 
 Hier staat een lompe boer van dronkenschap te spouwen, 
 En t wyf met eenen stok gereod zyn Imid te touwen, 
 Daar ziet m een bootsgezel met t pintje-in zyne vuist, 
 En bier een feyenrot die met do kaarten tuist. 
 
 CORXILLE DE BlE. 
 
 DAVID TENIERS the younger and the greater was born, we 
 are told, in an atelier, and drew with his first breath the inspira 
 tion of Art. It was in this atelier that his father found him one 
 
 * This mysterious stranger of 1844 was supposed to be an Englishman or 
 Swede. There is, indeed, a second curious mystery relative to Hemling, 
 remaining to bo solved. Consult the "German Chronicles" of MEXCKEJUUS, 
 torn. iii. p. 806. " Quo tempore, (A. D. 1420,) D. Johannes Hemelingus archi- 
 tectus capituli Bremensis, in medio choro ecclesise cathedralis tumbain, in qua 
 sex reverendissimorum arcluopiscopum o.sa et cinercs conditi orant, levavit et 
 innovnvit." 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 199 
 
 day, while but an infant of four years, sketching with comic 
 gravity a tavern scene ; and it was here that an event occurred 
 which, in after days, led the way to that train of circumstance 
 which formed his true life. 
 
 The father lay sick on a couch, and near him his two boys, 
 David and Abraham, were busy with their task, each seated at 
 an easel. Weary with pain and watching, the old man at length 
 composed himself to sleep, but first exclaimed 
 
 "It is well, my children; very well! But a good beginning 
 is not always a lucky ending; therefore, work on while you are 
 in the vein. And if a visitor enter, notice him not; for the true 
 artist knows no one while painting. Therefore, work !" 
 
 The old man slept, and no sound was heard in the quaint old 
 room save his heavy breathing, the occasional quiet purr of a cat, 
 and the ticking of an old clock, on whose dial was inscribed in 
 Gothic letters that inscription which, in after days, was applied 
 by more than one writer to his son : 
 
 "IN TENUI LABOR, ET TENUIS NON GLORIA." 
 
 Suddenly the curtain which hung before the door was raised, 
 and a cavalier, magnificent in all the bravery of gold chains, 
 taffetas, ermine, and jewelled rapier, entered, and, taking off a 
 broad Spanish hat with drooping plume, exclaimed 
 
 "I would fain see mine old friend, Teniers, who they tell me 
 is sick : I am Rubens !" 
 
 But the old man awoke not, and the ticking of the clock and 
 the purr of the cat were the only sounds heard for a full minute. 
 For the boys, mindful of their father s injunction, made no re 
 ply; and Abraham, with true Flemish gravity, neither turned 
 his head nor moved a feature. But David, at the sound of that 
 great name, felt his heart throb with emotion; his eyes filled 
 with tears, and, dropping his brush, he gazed with wonder and 
 reverence on one whom he now, for the first time, beheld, and 
 who had ever seemed to him living only in the world of Art as 
 the king and ruler of that world. 
 
 " Children, are ye dumb ?" exclaimed Rubens. And approach 
 ing David, he gazed, for a time, upon his half-finished sketch, and 
 while the boy bashfully drew aside, remarked, with a smile, 
 "Well may the child be dumb who can speak in such language 
 as this ! Boy, boy, keep on as thou hast begun, and I promise 
 
200 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 thee that the man is not born who can surpass thee in thy 
 school the school of Flemish life!" 
 
 And taking with his own hand the pencil from the floor, he 
 begun to retouch and colour the sketch of the boy, giving him, 
 at the time, instructions. Not a single touch was without mean 
 ing, for the boy was ripe beyond his years, and not a maxim or 
 precept was ever, in after years, forgotten; so that at a later day 
 he said with justice to himself, "I derived my genius from. 
 Nature, my taste from my father, and the perfection of both 
 from Rubens."* 
 
 Years passed by, and the boy grew up a true artist bold, ad 
 venturous, and reckless. Nor was his life solely of the atelier. 
 "At fifteen years," says the naive DESCAMPS, "he was of great 
 assistance to his father, for he went, with a donkey, to sell his 
 pictures at Brussels or Amsterdam." As he grew older, these 
 journeys were for himself; they were prolonged, home was for 
 gotten, and in wild adventure and travel he saw and suffered 
 much. But it was not poverty which vexed him, though he 
 often rose without bread; but his inability to determine on that 
 style most suitable to his abilities. Weary of indecisions, he re 
 solved on a visit to Rubens. And this, wotfore told, was in his 
 twentieth year. 
 
 "Ah, my boy-painter, art thou there again!" exclaimed Ru 
 bens kindly, as the name of Teniers was announced. "And 
 even yet a boy, but what a change ! Poor soul ! thy features and 
 dress speak of sad changes and stormy days, both within and 
 without. And where will all this close? Men say that thou 
 flittest in one day from heaven to the tavern and kcrmcsse, and 
 that the morning s sketch of a holy family is retouched, ere 
 eventide, into a rustic bocrsvrow w r ith her child. Nay," he con 
 tinued, observing the deep sigh which Teniers sent forth, "show 
 me thy sketches." 
 
 And with these words, he took from the young artist his port 
 folio, and with the eye of a master glanced over its contents. 
 
 "ITcm! That is well drawn that priest; only it seemeth me 
 that he more resembles a jolly, tipsy hedge-Capuchin, than a grave 
 Benedictine, albeit he bears all the traits of the latter." 
 
 * He is, however, justly blamed by Houssaye for omitting from this list the 
 name of the humble BRAWEII. 
 
XEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 201 
 
 And here Rubens, who was proud of his learning, and loved 
 to quote Latin, repeated, in a ringing voice, the popular descrip 
 tion of a Benedictine, as subsequently incorporated into that rare 
 and wicked little book, the MONACHOLOGIA of JOHANNES PHY- 
 SIOPHILUS : " Monachus Bcncdictinus ; imberbis; capite tonso y 
 setoso, corolla lineari sulcato : pedibus calceatis; ano caligato; 
 veste nigra, lanea, corpus totum et pcdes circumambiente ; cucidlo 
 lavo, subrotundo, lato ; scapular i pendido, latitudine abdominis; 
 collari rigido, albo } cmarginato; cingulo lato, laneo, aut holo- 
 serico; pallio nigro descendente usque ad talos." 
 
 "Thou seost, Teniers," continued he, laughing, "that I know 
 Latin and a priest, as, in good faith, should every artist; and 
 chiefly when he wanders, like thee, in search of bread and Truth. 
 And now tell me, my child, why wilt thou thus fight against 
 nature, and seek a style and a name in this valley and on that 
 mountain, when thy path lies broad and straight before thee? 
 Why not make of thy Benedictine a tipsy hedge-priest, if thou 
 wilt? And why hast thou feared to follow the old manner of 
 thy father? Ah, boy, remember the old Flemish rhyme, and 
 keep to TENIERS : 
 
 Die vadcr sprac tot sinen soon met liste : 
 
 Die vader totten sane sprac : 
 Wi icillcn ons f/helt vertercn, 
 
 Ende houden ons gliemac. 
 
 And the father he wisely spoke to the son, 
 
 And thus to the son spoke he : 
 We will feast with our gold, as we ever have done, 
 
 And merry our life shall be !" 
 
 "But, fair sir," replied Teniers, "I have deemed at times 
 that I might, perchance, at some day, become not only a good 
 painter, but also a great one great like thyself and MIJN HEEII 
 VAN DYCK; and the road to such greatness lies not through 
 village fairs and groups of gabbling friars or tipsy peasants/ 
 
 " Oh, my boy, my boy !" replied the kind artist. " How far 
 hast thou wandered, and how little hast thou advanced ! Know- 
 est thou not that it is not only in the depicting of virgins and 
 angels, gods and mighty kaisers, that greatness lies for us poor 
 mortals? The loftiest subject, the noblest theme cannot create 
 genius; but a genius like thine can bring greatness in full mea 
 sure from the low, the humble, wherever life lies ; be it the life 
 
202 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 of man, or that of the great omnipresent soul of God and 
 Nature."* 
 
 It was by such counsels that Rubens gradually led young 
 Teniers back to that which Schiller gives as advice to every one : 
 "Keep true to the dream of thy youth/ A new life of peace 
 and serenity, of inspiration and happiness, seemed, from this day, 
 to dawn upon him, and he began in the atelier of Hubens to 
 paint as he had never before done. 
 
 And it happened, on a day, that the Archduke Leopold paid 
 one of his accustomed visits to Rubens. Suddenly, on hearing 
 the great painter address his pupil by name, the archduke 
 turned, and said, with a smile 
 
 "Art thou, then, David Teniers, the merry artist of Antwerp? 
 Soo dat gaet wel it is well ! It was but the last week that I 
 heard the SIEUR GRAEF PE EGLENTIER vow that if he ever 
 found thee, he would give thee a welcome bekcr of wine, and a 
 picture to paint at thine own price. The whole in memory and 
 honour of an ancient jest, long since departed. 
 
 " And may I know, your highness, the cause of this great 
 honour?" inquired Teniers. 
 
 "Tut, man ! no such mighty honour, either, for one so much at 
 home among painting and wine-pots as thou art," replied the 
 duke. "A good drinker deserves a good bottle, saith our Fle 
 mish proverb. Aen eencn goeden drinckcbroer behoort gocde flcs. 
 Thou knowest the valiant drunkard, ADRIEN BRAWER, whom I 
 did lately harbour for certain days in my palace, to the imminent 
 peril of my chambermaids and wine-flagons? Well! Brawer 
 set forth one day to the Graef de Eglentier, how he, when a great 
 ragged boy of eighteen, did once meet in the country a little lad 
 younger than himself, leading to Brussels an ass laden with pic 
 tures. "Whither goes the donkey?" inquired Brawer. "He 
 travels thy road the one which all you jackasses take/ replied the 
 lad. And so charmed was ragged Adrien at the spiritual grace 
 of this answer, that he at once joined company with the little 
 lad, and even nobly permitted him to pay his lodgment and food 
 for several days. Teniers thou wert the boy !" 
 
 * " Ou bien, en crdant ce pompeur poeme de la chair, du mouvoment et du 
 bruit, oil la nature s elcve si haut qu elle parvient jusqu a voiler leciel, Rubens 
 obeissait-il a sa nature toute pantheiste?" ARSKNE HOUSSAYE. 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMI8H ART. 203 
 
 "Yea," replied Teniers, laughing, "and well do I remember 
 how valiantly Adrien plied the beer-can, until never a penny 
 danced in ray pocket ! But I learned many a good lesson from 
 the knave, and cheaply enough I won them/ 
 
 "Thou art a brave youth, David Teniers/ replied the duke, 
 kindly, "and wert born to be a gentleman. I would have fain 
 retained thine old comrade, Brawer, about my court; but the 
 first night he lay drunk in a churchyard; the second, in a wine 
 shop; and the third, did make such furious riot in his own rooms, 
 that I was obliged on the fourth to give him congt. But thou 
 art of gentler nature and better nurture. What sayest thou, 
 Rubens ? shall I take this youngling, on thy word, as first gen 
 tleman of my chamber ?" 
 
 "On my word and faith, you may, your highness," replied 
 Rubens. "No better youth could be found in the wide world 
 than David for the service you give him." 
 
 It was thus, reader, (for all his early biographers tell the same 
 tale,) that David Teniers first rose in this wicked world. Nor 
 was the Graef de Eglentier forgteful of his promise ; for, on the 
 following day, he summoned Teniers, and said 
 
 "I have promised to pay thee thine own price for a picture, 
 and will. But the subject is no easy one. In a few weeks I 
 shall be married, and will have a picture of Hymen. Many a 
 portraiture of this fair god of Marriage have I seen, but none fair 
 enough none which did justice to the infinite and exquisite 
 beauty of wedded life with her whom we love." 
 
 "Ey!" thought Teniers, "this is all well for one who hath 
 never tried the rosy chains : but what saith the Italian proverb 
 which my father taught me ? 
 
 Chi non Jia moc/lie ben la veste ; 
 
 Chi non ha figlnoli ben li pasce. 
 
 Well doth the man unmarried clothe his wife, 
 
 And well the childless forms his children s life. 
 
 "Herr Graef," replied he, "your orders shall be obeyed, and 
 I will employ all the poor skill which God and my small learning 
 have given me to paint the fairest form which ever came from 
 my pencil." 
 
 On the marriage eve, Teniers placed before the Graef de 
 Eglentier a painting in which bloomed all the beauty of his fancy 
 and genius. "He had imitated," says the chronicler, "the 
 
 13 
 
204 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 graces of Correggio and the colour of Titian. He had made 
 Hymen fair as the antique Adonis ; for never were such sweet 
 outlines illumined by a more fascinating smile. Nor had he 
 forgotten the torch ; and no flambeau of Love had ever rayed 
 forth a lovelier light." 
 
 But the count gazed upon it with a discontented air, and ex 
 claimed 
 
 " This may perhaps be thy idea, and that of the dull world s, 
 who know nothing of the true charms of marriage. Poor crea 
 tures ! But, frankly, it seemes me that the ineffable charm, the 
 thrilling fascination, which I attach to the charms of Hymen, is 
 entirely wanting in thy picture." 
 
 Already had Teniers become a courtier, and tact he had from 
 Nature. With a quiet smile, he replied 
 
 "My lord, you are right; for, when I reflect on the miraculous 
 beauty of your young bride, and the rich promise of the lasting 
 bliss which your marriage holds forth, I shame me of this dull 
 attempt. However, I will try to retouch my picture, and it may 
 be that in remembering your lady s beauty I may receive the 
 inspiration needed." 
 
 The count consented, and. went forth. His lady-love, we are 
 told, "was Flemish by birth, but of Spanish origin, and endowed 
 with a rare beauty, worthy of the pencils of Murillo and Rubens." 
 But, despite her beauty, even on the third day after the nuptials 
 she was a little less fascinating; and when, at the conclusion of 
 five months, Teniers brought back, untouched, the portrait of 
 Hymen, it was with a quiet smile which indicated more than a 
 mere knowledge of Art. 
 
 "By Our Lady!" exclaimed the Graef de Eglentier, " thou 
 hast indeed marvellously embellished the picture, and gone far 
 .beyond my beau ideal of Hymen. He is a thousand times more 
 smiling, livelier, and more graceful than before. But, still, 
 Teniers, you have not exactly comprehended Hymen as /under 
 stand him. You have made him rather a Love, than the sober 
 god of Marriage. There should be a quieter perhaps a little 
 sadder expression in his air : in short, this picture no more 
 pleases me than did the first." 
 
 "Sir count," replied Teniers, "know that it is not my picture 
 which has changed, but your own soul. That which was too little 
 for the ardent lover is, I perceive, too much for the fickle husband " 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 205 
 
 "Nay, by Heaven!" exclaimed the graef, "for the honour of 
 iny lady, this is too much ! Take the gold, and leave thy picture, 
 Teniers. I cancriticise thy pictures, but am no match for thee 
 in bandying words." 
 
 "With your leave, sir count, replied Teniers, "I will not leave 
 the picture. Grant me but a few days still, and if you do not 
 profess yourself satisfied with what I then produce, call me the 
 veriest charlatan in Art living." 
 
 With these words, Teniers again sought his atelier, and soon 
 produced a curiosity in Art which, according to the praises lavish 
 ed thereon by contemporary writers, must have been unrivalled. 
 Seen from a distance, it appeared charming; but on approaching 
 it, the features became sombre, sedate, cold, and even harsh, when 
 viewed very closely. The history of this " philosophic picture" 
 having been reported to the archduke, he purchased it for his 
 gallery, and, to use the words of DUFRESNEY, "placed it at the 
 end of a gallery, in a sort of alcove. To ascend to this alcove, 
 it was necessary to mount a very slippery stair, before attaining 
 which the picture appeared charming, but once crossed, lost all 
 its charms." 
 
 CORNILLE SCHUT, the Artist-Poet, is the first who narrates this 
 story. 
 
 From this he gives us a second narration, explaining the sin 
 gular influence which this very picture subsequently had upon 
 the life and fortunes of Teniers. 
 
 One of the most beautiful and accomplished maidens who 
 graced, at this time, with her presence the court of the Arch 
 duke Leopold, was ANNE BREUGHEL, daughter of the celebrated 
 painter, VELVET BREUGHEL, who, at his decease, had left her, 
 with a large fortune, to the joint guardianship of Cornille Schut, 
 Rubens, and Van Balen.* Under the conduct of Cornille Schut, 
 with whom she resided, Anne frequently made little excur 
 sions in the country or walks in the city. One day, her guardian 
 led her through the ducal gallery to view the new picture of 
 Hymen, near which, as they approached, Van Balen beheld 
 Teniers himself, and presented him in due form to Anne. At 
 
 * The reader versed in Art will remember VAN BALEK as a painter whose 
 style exhibits, to a remarkable degree, the study and influence of the Venetian 
 school. 
 
206 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 this instant, according to Schut, who was present, the young 
 couple stood "on this side of the slippery and perilous step." 
 After a few words on the weather, on sunshine, music, and paint 
 ing, Anne glanced at the Hymen, and Teniers exclaimed 
 
 "Lady, would it please you to pass with my aid this step?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly," replied Anne, (her chronicler adds, in good- 
 humoured roguery, "She said this, perhaps, without reflecting.") 
 
 "I take you at your word," replied Teniers, and gallantly 
 extended his hand. But the young maiden blushed, though 
 hardly in anger, and refused the proffered aid. Cornille 
 Schut smiled, and speaking rather as a friend than a guardian, 
 exclaimed 
 
 " But Anne, my child, why wilt thou not pass the step?" 
 
 "Nay," she answered, "and why should I, since, on the other 
 side, the lovely picture loses all its charms?" 
 
 Teniers felt his heart throb and pulse beat at these words, and, 
 half unconscious of his boldness, exclaimed 
 
 "It may, indeed, change to others; but for you and me, lady, 
 never!" 
 
 And overcome by the confession, he saluted Anne gracefully, 
 and went hastily forth. And Anne looked on the ground and 
 blushed, and spoke of other matters. 
 
 But old Cornille Schut smiled meaningly. 
 
 The next morning Teniers entered, with a faltering step, the 
 large antique study where, amid all the apparatus of an artist, 
 sat the old poet, painting a cameo-picture in a wreath of flowers, 
 by Seghers. 
 
 " Master Cornille," exclaimed Teniers, " I pray you tell me 
 how a lady s love may be most readily won?" 
 
 "By verses, my son; sweet verses of love. Tell her that thou 
 diest in despair, and that thou wilt leave home and life for her 
 sake 
 
 Wei over der heiden, icel over den sant, 
 
 Met droeviger Jiert ende sinnen ; 
 Wei mack ick yhcwinnen het vaderlant, 
 
 Maer trouwe liefde noit ghewinne>t. 
 
 Well over the heather, well over the sand, 
 
 With sorrowful heart I rove ; 
 Oh ! well may I win me a fatherland, 
 
 But never the maid I love. 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 207 
 
 Then the maiden will pity thee, (mine ever did;) and after a 
 little blushing and a little hesitation, she will sing thee merrily 
 back / 
 
 And go if thou wilt over heather and dale, 
 
 And wander through valley and plain; 
 But ever shalt know from the nightingale, 
 
 That thy lily-bell loves thee again ! / 
 
 "Ah, Master Cornille!" replied Teniers, " could I make verses 
 like yours, I might well, indeed, be sure of winning every 
 maiden s heart. But though I am in love, as the archduke says, 
 like a madman/ I can never hope to win the love of the wealthy 
 Anne Breughel/ 
 
 "Whew w!" whistled Master Cornille; " are you there, my 
 bird ? Well, I am not the sole tutor of Anne ; she hath yet 
 twain. If they say naught, then am I not against you ; but I 
 warn you, my young springal, that our wills united will never 
 bend Anne. Ah, she would have her own way an it rained 
 thorns !" 
 
 From the atelier of Schut, Teniers went to that of Rubens. 
 " My best friend and master," he exclaimed, " tell me, I pray, 
 how one may win a maiden s love?" 
 
 "By painting a portrait which sets forth her charms and for 
 gets her defects ; a portrait which proclaims to the world her 
 beauty and your own genius," replied the enthusiast in Art; 
 " for thus, in one work, both are elevated. And not merely in 
 canvass or marble can this be done," continued the all-accom 
 plished and ready-witted painter: "let every word which you 
 speak in her praise to others be a reflected portrait of her perfect- 
 ness, and bear the impress of your own wit and talents, as if in 
 spired solely by her." 
 
 "Ah, that I had your skill in painting, either by words or on 
 canvass!" sighed Teniers. "But what skill could ever add to the 
 charms of Anne Breughel?" 
 
 "Ey Scheppcr!" laughed Rubens, on hearing the last word. 
 "Blows the wind in that quarter? Well, well! Een vrome 
 vrouwe is een groat god, A good wife is the best of goods, 
 saith our Flemish byword ; and of all good wives, I believe that 
 the world has none better than Anne Breughel. But go and 
 ask her grave old guardian, VAN BALEN he whom they call 
 the philosopher. Perhaps he can cite thee from Plato, or 
 
 18* 
 
208 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Domenic of Flanders, some right reverend old texts on the sub 
 ject. For myself, Heaven help me to aid thee !" 
 
 Teniers found Van Balen in his study, copying on copper his 
 great picture of St. John preaching in the wilderness. " Meijster 
 Van Balen," he said, "I pray you, of your wisdom, give me this 
 advice : Ho w may man best win the love of woman V 
 
 The old painter glanced up kindly from his work to the hand 
 some features and downcast eyes of Teniers as he held in his 
 hands the looped hat with its long white plume, and replied 
 
 "Credo cxpcrto Roberto, trust to experience, my son, and be 
 lieve that I speak the truth when I tell thee that the best way to 
 win a maiden s love is to love her again with all thy heart and 
 soul; and deem not, as many foolish men have said, that he who 
 loves truly, loves at a disadvantage. Such counsels aye come 
 from the meddling and hard-hearted, who would faiu know as 
 much of others hearts as of their own. Plus in alieno qudm in 
 suo ncgotio vident homines." 
 
 "Then I should be loved by Anne Breughel," replied Teniers, 
 for I love her to death ; and yet much I fear me that my hasty 
 rudeness even at the first interview did banish all kindness for 
 me from her heart." 
 
 "Amantium irse amor is redintegratio cst l The anger of lovers 
 is but a renewal of love, replied the good old philosopher, smiling. 
 "Well, I will see Anne, and think it over, my young friend." 
 
 Many and weighty were the deliberations which took place be 
 tween the three guardians, while Teniers and Anne wisely spent 
 the time in wooing. Nor was it until a certain evening, at a 
 splendid supper in the house of Rubens, that the young couple 
 learned the decision of the elders. Teniers was to receive the 
 hand of Anne ; but as she was an heiress, the marriage contract 
 was drawn entirely in her favour, reserving for herself and future 
 children not only all her own property, but securing, in the event 
 of her death, all their joint property to the offspring. 
 
 The marriage took place, and for several years the pair con 
 tinued to inhabit the ducal palace. But then Teniers, who 
 longed to* rival the great artist-lords of that day, bought an ancient 
 Gothic castle, situated near Antwerp an edifice which was, we 
 are told, worthy of an artist. 
 
 This castle has been preserved for us of the present day, in all 
 its purity, in many of the paintings of its master. Tt is the 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 209 
 
 centre of a beautiful sunny scene, inspired with rural poetry and 
 romance. "It became/ adds a biographer of Teniers, "one of 
 the most splendid rendezvous for hunting. The Archduke Leo 
 pold, the Prince of Orange, the Duke of Marlborough, the Bishop 
 of Ghent, Don John of Austria, and many other illustrious in 
 dividuals, were frequently honoured by becoming the guests of 
 their still more illustrious artist. Don John became his scholar 
 and intimate friend ; for Teniers was celebrated not only in France 
 and Holland. The Queen Charlotte of Sweden wrote to him, 
 and sent him her portrait en meda-ille, adorned with precious 
 stones. " 
 
 Twice was Teniers nearly ruined by his lordly life, and each time 
 did he again win his way to wealth. The first calamity he made up 
 by work hard, unflinching industry. He did not sell a single 
 horse, nor dismiss even a footboy; and his royal guests found 
 nothing in his menage which could lead them to suspect for an 
 instant that they were not in the palace of a millionaire. It was 
 at night, when all deemed him asleep, that he worked, and thus 
 produced, we are assured, in one year, three hundred and fifty 
 pictures. 
 
 Thus, for a time, was peace and comfort re-established. Anne 
 was ever the same kind and loving wife, his children smiled 
 around him, and all seemed happy. But his extensive industry 
 had overstocked the market ; every dealer had in his hands the 
 pictures of Teniers; every gallery was filled with them. It is 
 said that Teniers remedied this difficulty by one of those ruses 
 which, in his day, were highly applauded. He feigned death ; 
 a tomb was erected in his garden, and Anne appeared clad in 
 mourning. So well was the comedy played, that the expected 
 denouement at length arrived. His pictures were quadrupled in 
 value, and Teniers at length rose from the dead to ease and opu 
 lence. But Houssaye indignantly refutes the story, as unworthy 
 of Teniers and impossible of Anne. We prefer, ourselves, to 
 believe that the tale originated simply from the withdrawing 
 from sale, or ceasing for a given time to supply the dealers with 
 his pictures. 
 
 Many of the scenes of the lordly life which Teniers led in this 
 Castle of the Three Towers are chronicled in his paintings. In 
 one, we see him on a splendid terrace with his family. "His 
 dress is a mixture of the Flemish and Spanish, and he plays the 
 
210 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 violoncello with grace, while Anne Breughel opens before him a 
 music-book." Abraham, his brother, wrapped in his cloak, a 
 broad hat proudly slouched across his head, observes them; while 
 around play his children, beautiful as the day. On the wall 
 climbs a monkey, appearing to listen to the music as if fasci 
 nated. In this picture, Anne is very simply clothed ; her hair 
 falls in graceful wavelets, a rose is at her waist, and on her fea 
 tures play a soft and tender smile the smile of a mother. 
 
 They lived long together, but never went beyond the slippery 
 stair. For them, Hymen was always beautiful 
 
 And, reader mine, whate er betide, 
 I wish the same to thee. 
 
 THE LAST LOVE OF TENTERS. 
 
 Quien quiere amor descifrar 
 Engana su fantasia; 
 Descifrar, amor, seria 
 Medir las aguas del mar ; 
 Mas si so quiere expresar 
 De esta pasion el ardor, 
 Que nadie tenga valor 
 Para haoerlo, no me espanto 
 Si yo sabiendo amar tanto 
 No se descifrar amor. 
 
 DON JUAN RODRIGUEZ CALDERON. 
 
 THE love of early youth is like the bright, glowing morning- 
 aurora we gaze gladly on it, not only for its beauty, but because 
 it makes us happy in the hope of a brilliant day. But the love 
 of riper years is dear to our soul, for in it, as in the heavenly 
 evening-red, we recall the gleam and glory of a time now past 
 and gone. 
 
 Half of all that we admire or love in this world, after attain 
 ing the age of reflection, owes its charm to association associa 
 tion often dim, uadefinable, and even forgotten. How many a 
 bright eye, or soul-stirring gleam of expression, puzzles us at the 
 first glance even more than it charms, because we cannot, at the 
 instant, recall whence or where, in the same or another form, it 
 first attracted us. 
 
 And it is precisely this inability to recall the first original form 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 211 
 
 the far-flown beautiful spectre which confers an attraction or 
 lends an indefinable grace and mystery to that which we now ad 
 mire. How many a bar of music, sadly, spiritually sweet, has 
 thus floated to the inner penetralia of our heart, borne on wings 
 not its own ! How many a smile has cast the light of heaven 
 into the darkest chamber of thy soul, whose first forgotten radi 
 ance was enkindled, it may be, by some young, beauty of other 
 lauds and times, now dead or passed away forever ! How many 
 a poem would vanish unheeded, did not its rhythm and melody 
 unconsciously recall the once-loved songs which still linger in our 
 memory, not dead indeed, but sleeping ! 
 
 It were useless to push the question farther ; but we may well 
 inquire of those somewhat advanced in life, and more particularly 
 of those who measure time, not by years, but by experiences, if 
 they are not governed in the choice of new loves, new friends, 
 new likings, and new sympathies far more by unconscious, or 
 even conscious, renewals of the Past, than they themselves are 
 generally aware ? The most strenuous efforts of Youth to recall 
 only bygone feelings are invariably and unavoidably mingled 
 with hopes or fears for the Future. Every emotion is thus a 
 magnet, from which no exertion can banish the negative pole of 
 anticipation in youth, or the positive antithesis of memory in 
 age. 
 
 In the year of Teniers s life, his last love was thus the Indian 
 summer of his first a golden reflection, less warm, but not less 
 beautiful ; and loved the more in that it seemed destined to pass 
 so soon away. As the alchymist of the olden time raised up in 
 his heart-glass, from the ashes of the dead and withered rose, the 
 lovely phantom the beautiful reflection of the fairer flower, now 
 faded forever so did the artist raise from his own heart those 
 dim and shadowy beauties which were of memory and the dead, 
 to lend a grace and a glory, a lustre and a love, to the living. 
 And those who would rightly comprehend the secret of the at 
 traction which he found in the beauty and amiability of Isabella 
 de Fresne, must seek for them in the ineffable loveliness and 
 gentleness of Anne Breughel. 
 
 We are assured, from a thousand little incidents, recorded not 
 only by contemporary writers, but scattered here and there in the 
 works of Teniers themselves, that the period of his first married 
 life was one of most exquisite and unalloyed happiness. It was 
 
212 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 during the days of his first love-marriage with Anne Breughel, 
 that he witnessed his earliest triumphs in Art and experienced 
 all the glow and glory of dawning greatness. It was in this 
 happy time that he brought to full perfection, and made his own, 
 that peculiar style first struck out by the elder Breughel, Anne s 
 grandfather, and with which he had become familiar in the 
 paintings of his own father and Brawer. It was during this 
 period that his soul first comprehended, in all their ineffable and 
 silent greatness, the sublimity of the beautiful, of nature, and of 
 God ; whether developed in the fresh green prairie with its 
 brooks, or in the strange, ever-bubbling sea of human life with 
 its lights and shades, its merry gambols and grotesque monsters. 
 It was during these days that he lived as a lord in The Castle of 
 the Three Towers, en bon compagnon with Don John of Austria, 
 the Archduke Leopold, the Prince of Orange, and many others 
 who were his frjends and guests. It was during those days that 
 all which could render life happy, inspire the soul, elevate the 
 imagination, and charm the feelings, combined to lend to his first 
 love and wife, Anne Breughel, that ineffable fascination which 
 spoke in after life, from the tomb, in a new form. 
 
 By the death of Anne, he was destined not only to mourn the 
 loss of all those happy associations which her love had drawn 
 around him, but to sink deep into the abyss of mere worldly 
 suffering and comparative poverty. Anne, at the period of their 
 marriage, was a wealthy heiress. Teniers had naught save his 
 skill to depend upon, and consequently all their joint property 
 had prospectively been settled upon the children. Teniers might 
 have evaded this agreement, and in spite of its requisitions almost 
 conscientiously have retained wherewithal to live happily. But 
 this he refused to do. His children, themselves, were in tears 
 at this stern resolution to do them no injustice, and all his friends 
 and relatives, including those of Anne, remonstrated. But he 
 had for all a uniform reply 
 
 "I will not live on the property of orphans!" 
 
 In a very few months, his entire property his plate and arms, 
 his richly-embroidered hangings, and costly w r orks of art, includ 
 ing, of course, his favourite Castle of the Three Towers was sold, 
 the price to be paid, with interest, to his children, when they 
 should attain their majority. Of all he had once called his own, 
 Teniers retained only a horse, for he felt that he could never 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 213 
 
 relinquish his favourite custom of riding forth of a morning to 
 observe life and nature, and gather material for the picture 
 which he intended painting after dinner. 
 
 And, having mentioned this habit, the reader will excuse me 
 if I pause for an instant to record, from one of the artist s most 
 enthusiastic biographers, an anecdote relative to it. Such was 
 the incredible facility of his execution, that a vast number of his 
 pictures are termed "after-dinner pieces," because they were 
 begun and finished in the same evening. One day he had strolled 
 with Don John of Austria, to a gay kermesse or village festival. 
 The prince, we are told, returned, charmed with all he had wit 
 nessed, and talking incessantly, not only of the jovial merriment, 
 but more particularly of a very pretty tavern girl, whose attrac 
 tions had fascinated his eye. After supper Don John retired, as 
 did Teniers the former to his couch, the latter to his easel. But 
 what was the surprise of Don John when he saw, the next morn 
 ing, on waking, directly before his bed, the entire scene of the 
 kermesse, painted with striking fidelity. Nor had the pretty girl 
 of the cabaret been forgotten "she smiled upon her admirer 
 with pearly teeth and rosy lips, worthy of smiling elsewhere than 
 in a Flemish tavern. " 
 
 But now, farewell to all these bygone and beautiful days ! He 
 now no longer studied dances and taverns from the window of his 
 carriage, as it was once said of him, in contrast with Brawer, who 
 lived and drank with his models. He could not even occasion 
 ally deign to pour out, "with a white and disdainful hand," to 
 some Flemish boor ; for what had been a noble condescension in 
 the great lord, would, in the reduced artist, become mere boon- 
 companionship. He fled to Brussels, and long lived only for 
 memory of his dead Anne, for Religion, and Art. Reduced to 
 poverty, his pictures also fell in value, we are told, to half-price. 
 "With the grand seigneur, men had not dared to drive a bar 
 gain; but with the poor artist, they only feared lest they should 
 offer too much/ 
 
 Yet the shadows of The Three Towers ever fell darkly and 
 solemnly, yet pleasantly, upon his soul. Not even the shades 
 of the grave were so cold and refreshing, though he was alone in 
 the world ; for he looked not forward to the tomb as the spot 
 where he should again wed, in death, the loved one passed away. A 
 strange presentiment ever haunted him that he should once more 
 
214 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 hear the music of that voice, again gaze with undying love into 
 those infinite eyes, which were blue seas of soul and beauty, again 
 feel the clasp of that hand which now pressed his heart only in 
 troubled, tearful dreams; and this not only in the endless Land 
 of Light which lies beyond Death, but here, in the busy world of 
 cities and men. 
 
 Reader, I have known one who had but little fear of midnight 
 spectres and graveyard phantasms, but who nourished at heart an 
 inexpressible horror at the thought lest he should some day meet, 
 in the full glare of sunlight and amid the bustle of daily, active 
 life, those whom he had once known, but who were now departed. 
 But it was with no sentiment of horror or supernatural awe that 
 this feeling (for it was not as yet matured to a thought or belief) 
 swam dreamily through the soul of Teniers. It was such a sen 
 sation as that which steals over us when we insensibly anticipate 
 the approach of spring, with its warm breezes, the voluptuous 
 odour of violets, and the thousand-fold half-audible overtures of 
 dream-operas, whose music is lost in sleep. 
 
 His daily rides were often in the direction of Perck ; and he 
 seldom returned thence without visiting the grounds of the Castle 
 of The Three Towers. One evening, having approached nearer 
 than usual to its gate, he gave himself up unreservedly to all the 
 sad yet beautiful recollections of the Past. Never had he loved 
 his Anne so well as now ; and never before had the strange pre 
 sentiment of which we have spoken pressed so strongly or as 
 sumed so vivid a form. 
 
 " Anne ! my own love !" he sighed. "Oh ! if thy spirit again 
 visits earth, come to me, and be mine !" 
 
 The rustling of the gravel, as if stirred by a light footstep, 
 the sound of the rose-bush brushed by a silken dress, met his 
 ear ; and, turning, he beheld in the moonlight a form with features 
 which even in broad day he would have deemed those of Anne. 
 Yet Anne it was not ; for, on beholding the stranger, she blushed 
 deeply, trembled, and, without a word, turned abruptly away. 
 
 The suddenness of the apparition, and its evident reality, com 
 bined with the previous feelings of the artist, had, however, well- 
 nigh overpowered him. Long he fixed his eyes in the direction 
 in which she had vanished, as if gazing into another world, 
 and then, with a long, sad sigh, turned away. 
 
 "Oh, Anne, my wife-love!" he mused, "I had wellnigh 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 215 
 
 deemed thee mine own again. But patience ! the dream is not 
 yet out." 
 
 As he mused, he heard from afar a sweet, merry voice, trilling 
 this verse of an old Flemish song : 
 
 Ick, heb van jou niet te singen t 
 
 Van jou vrouken en weet ick niet: 
 Een also leyden mare 
 
 la te nacht in mijn droome geschiet. 
 
 Oh, naught can I tell of your fair young wife, 
 
 And naught can I sing of thee : 
 I only know that she caine o my life ! 
 
 By night in a dream to me. 
 
 "Ha! Hesperus!" quoth Teniers, abruptly reining up his 
 horse ; " singest thou ?" And, with a clear voice, which rung 
 afar on the evening breeze, over rose-hedges and garden-walls, he 
 replied to the Unseen who had answered his thought 
 
 Is also leyden mare 
 
 Te nacht in jou droome geschiet? 
 So gaet en drinkt, koel ister wtjn, 
 
 En mclter dan niemant niet ! 
 
 And was it an idle tale you told ? 
 
 And was it in dreaming done ? 
 Then turn to the cup, while the wine is cold, 
 
 And sing that song to none !* 
 
 The Castle of The Three Towers had been purchased and was 
 inhabited by the Seigneur Jean de Fresne, Counsellor of the 
 Parliament of Brabant. His daughter Isabella, who shared with 
 him its splendid solitude, was a beautiful, spiritual creature, 
 fresh and fair as one of the rose-buds in her father s park, and 
 remarkable, to those who in after days formed the comparison, 
 for her singular and mysterious likeness to the departed Anne 
 Breughel. The favourable impression which she had, from the 
 report of numerous friends, formed at an earlier period for 
 Teniers, was exalted, after her removal to his once home, into the 
 most enthusiastic and glowing admiration. From the favourite 
 handmaid of Anne, who had passed into her service, she learned 
 a thousand traits of the noble and gentle character of the " lordly 
 artist" traits which were confirmed by the memory of every 
 
 * " Harlcma Oudt Liedt-Boeck"" The Old Song-Book of Harlaem," p. 69. 
 
 19 
 
216 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTEll KARL. 
 
 neighbour, and attested more forcibly, we fear, to Isabella by the 
 remarkable personal attractions which his portrait, still hanging 
 in the castle, presented. 
 
 Were there, perhaps, deeper and more inexplicable sympathies 
 at work, which were capable of bringing her soul more nearly in 
 unison with the departed and the living ? We know not. But 
 there was a strange theory current in those days, a theory 
 earnestly insisted on by the great Campanella, and which the 
 reader may find discussed in many works relative to occult 
 " signatures," affinities, and antipathies, that between those 
 who strongly resembled each other there existed a mysterious 
 harmony of thought and feeling. And it was not strange that 
 the youthful and imaginative Isabella dwelling in the Castle of 
 The Three Towers, and reminded at every step by the portraits 
 of its former mistress, by her mirror, and by the words and 
 actions of her maid, who seemed scarcely aware that she served 
 a stranger, of her wonderful resemblance to Anne should, in 
 some strange wise, have lived under the feeling that another life 
 and another soul breathed by night and day into her its inspi 
 ration. 
 
 But, by every portrait of Anne, and in the memory of all who 
 had known her, there was another form, the form of a noble 
 cavalier, with curling locks and stately bearing, and where was 
 he now? "He would still l^ave been lord of this castle," said 
 her father, " had he not been by far too noble, too honourable, 
 too just. In fearing to wrong his children, he has greatly 
 wronged himself." 
 
 We need hardly say that the first sunny morning found 
 Teniers again loitering among the gardens of the castle. At 
 the base of a fountain he was surprised by the old Counsellor de 
 Fresne, who, with great earnestness and kindness, besought him 
 to enter and consider himself as once more at home. " Why 
 should you deprive yourself," said he, "of all the inspiration 
 which your genius requires, and which you have a right to de 
 mand ? Come, be at least my guest." 
 
 With these words he led Teniers into his former home, and 
 ushered him into that which had once been the favourite room 
 of Anne. No change had been made in its furniture or decora 
 tions; the same silver chandelier hung from the gilded and fres 
 coed ceiling; the same silken curtains trembled in the morning 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 217 
 
 breeze; and the same lute Anne s lute rested in a corner. 
 But at the extremity of the room he beheld an attraction which, 
 more powerfully than the decorations or the lute, drew back his 
 soul to the Past, or, rather, blended the Past and Present in one. 
 Whether a golden ray of hope from the Future gleamed forth at 
 the sight we know not. 
 
 At an easel, painting, sat Anne s counterpart the maiden 
 whom he had so recently met by moonlight in the garden. Yet 
 the resemblance was not that accurate and identical similarity 
 which would induce a careful observer to mistake one for the 
 other. Isabella was younger, lighter, and less grave than Anne 
 in her bearing. But in her features, in the blonde hair " falling 
 in long waves," and in her tender and naif glances, she was all- 
 identical with the one passed away. 
 
 No look could have been more modest, no salutation more 
 seemly, than that with which she greeted Teniers; but the 
 expression of the one and the tone of the other both conveyed 
 that singular and indefinable feeling with which we first meet 
 one who has long been familiar to our deepest thought. And 
 in the chime of the voice that mysterious tone or timbre which, 
 perhaps, indicates to the careful observer, more accurately than 
 any other personal peculiarity, the true character of an indi 
 vidual Teniers recognised a likeness, indicating a more than 
 physical resemblance. 
 
 " My daughter would also fain be enrolled among the artist- 
 guild/ said the old counsellor, smiling. " In faith, she lacks 
 not talent, though I fear she needs a master sadly. Therefore, 
 I pray you, Mijn Heer Teniers, to give her the advantage of 
 your artist s advice, that the poor child may boast with me of 
 having had the best teachers in all things/ 
 
 "And that I can well say, father," replied Isabella; "for it is 
 to your counsel and instruction that I owe all which I possess 
 worth knowing." 
 
 "Niet te veel, niet te veel, not so much, either," answered 
 the good counsellor, laughing. " Sure I never taught thee 
 flattery. "Well, I leave you to your scholar, Heer Teniers. I 
 must depart. Tot wederseiris: I shall meet you anon." 
 
 Waving his broad, Spanish beaver, the stately counsellor 
 lifted the embroidered hangings from a door and disappeared, 
 leaving the artist alone with one who had long cherished for him 
 
218 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 in her soul a deep love, heightened by all the inspiration of inde 
 finable mystery and reverence. 
 
 And the days passed by like a dream at the Castle of The 
 Three Towers. But who can analyze the secrets of the human 
 heart? Teniers, fascinated, bewildered by the charms of Isa 
 bella, we are told, still feared to abandon his heart fully to Love. 
 Whether it was that, with the noble shame characteristic of such 
 a nature, he would not offer his poverty against her wealth, or 
 that he hesitated to take advantage of a love which was only too 
 ready to respond to his own, we know not. But the fascination 
 was terrible; it weighed upon his soul. The earner iste, or wait 
 ing-maid, of Isabella ever bore herself toward him as if no change 
 of mistresses had taken place, and increased the illusion by 
 inducing Isabella to array herself as Anne had done in the 
 same plumes, with the same coiffure, and in the same colours. 
 With the same unmoved air as of old, she announced to him 
 that " My lady awaits you, sir;" and the same honours were ever 
 rendered him as if he were still lord of the castle. Wishing to 
 break the spell, and fearing to involve his feelings too deeply in 
 a love which might possibly be opposed by the counsellor, he 
 bade a sad farewell, tore himself abruptly from this scene of 
 mysterious fascination, and departed for France. 
 
 He had intended to travel in Italy, but at Lyons he retraced 
 his footsteps. Love burning, overpowering love love for the 
 dear one passed away, yet who seemed to live and breathe for 
 him alone in a new form, led him back to his own land. "All 
 is lost now," thought he, " if I win thee not, my own darling 
 my undying bride. It is she ! it is Anne ! it is Isabella who 
 calls ! I come, dearest I come !" 
 
 On his return, a letter from the old counsellor awaited him. 
 It was brief, but seemed to give a ray of comfort. " Come, sir!" 
 it said, " come again to us ! Even our peasants are anxious to 
 see once more their true lord, and my daughter Isabella finds 
 that a single lesson in painting is not enough to bestow perfec 
 tion, even from such a master as yourself." 
 
 It was again a fair summer s night when Teniers re-entered 
 the grounds of the Castle of The Three Towers. The odour of 
 the roses was still fresh and inspiring, and a full moon cast its 
 light, as before, on the scenery and the soul. As he lingered 
 for an instant by the borders of the little lake, he saw a boat, 
 
LEGENDS OF FLEMISH ART. 219 
 
 containing two female figures, approaching the shore. The one 
 was the maid, the other Isabella. But never had the illusion 
 seemed more perfect never had Teniers realized before so per 
 fectly the presence of her whom he had lost. The boat touched 
 the border, the maid vanished with a light step and a smile, and 
 Teniers, forgetting all in the illusion, sunk to his knee, and 
 grasping her small white hand, pressed it to his lips : 
 
 "Anne ! oh, my own Anne ! Isabella ! pardon me \" 
 
 "Anne, if you will," replied Isabel, with a sweet smile; 
 "Anne Breughel, since you deem me worthy of the name."* 
 
 Teniers pressed again her hand, and arm in arm the lovers 
 sought the castle. 
 
 " In three weeks," says his biographer, " they were wedded. 
 The old counsellor vainly opposed a few scruples, but soon 
 yielded. Teniers again took up his abode in the castle, and 
 lived as he had done of old. Isabella de Fresne, dazzled by his 
 original genius and his noble manner, was devoted to him to the 
 last. She knew that she ever recalled to him his first wife, and 
 that she was loved for the sake of another; far from regretting 
 it, she even sought to resemble more and more, in all her habits, 
 the departed Anne, so that in one, her husband loved both." 
 
 It may be objected that, in chronicling the legends of Teniers 
 as a lover, we have forgotten his characteristics as an artist. 
 Those who regard him as a mere, though excellent, painter of 
 village scenes, of popular life, or of grotesque monsters and 
 diablerie, have not looked beneath the surface or into the depths 
 of his genius. It is an excellent axiom of the present day, that 
 literal imitation is not the great problem of Art. But Teniers 
 was not a literal imitator, as were Mieris, Dow, and Terburg. 
 With him all was life infinitely varied, active life with its 
 sunshine and storms, and infinite omnipresent spirit. To the 
 true critic, even the works of Leonardo da Vinci are not more 
 infinitely animated, or, in a word, more Pantheistic, than those 
 of Teniers. 
 
 In the heart of the meanest boor, as in the angel, there glows 
 a spark of endless life. Each is manifested in its sphere, and 
 the greatest artist is he who, in portraying man, makes him so 
 
 * Arscne Houssaye. 
 19* 
 
220 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 fruly human that we never forget a single attribute of his nature. 
 <l To reproduce man as God has made him/ says a writer, li is a 
 mission full of dignity/ 
 
 For those wild grotesques, so frequently met with, of Teniers, 
 generally representing the temptation of St. Anthony, and which 
 appear to be a less delirious form of the feverish and diabolical 
 insanities of his connection, HELL BREUGHEL, we have an ad 
 mirable defence by the poet JULES LE FEVRE: "All is 
 serious," says he, "for the man who scrutinizes and sounds; and 
 even in the extravagances of Teniers I find as great a profundity 
 of abstraction as in the transcendental allegories of Plato. This 
 panorama of fearful caricatures called into being, and around 
 the saint, by his feverish abstinence from all pleasure, may be 
 regarded as a series of emblems. Did not the breaking away 
 from the flesh, and declaring a war to the death against all 
 earthly feelings, bring into existence those inexhaustible mon 
 strosities which the satiric Fleming has revived ? This Rabelais 
 of painting thus shows us distinctly of what impure elements 
 those idols are formed which we are so often tempted to adore. 
 These carcasses of reptiles are only the true forms of those 
 passions which twine themselves around us, reduce us to crawl 
 in the marshes of vice and there wallow until we die. There is 
 not one among the hideous marionettes of this burlesque drama 
 which cannot teach the thinker as stern a lesson as the most 
 solemn parable. And the moral which we should draw is this : 
 that if we are not to yield to our passions, neither should we seek 
 to destroy them. Let us be their king, but not their executioner." 
 
THE OLD DILIGENCE. 221 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH. 
 
 IN WHICH THE OLD DILIGENCE THUNDERS AND RATTLES ON 
 WARD UNTIL IT REACHES THE TOWN OF ARLES ; CONTAIN 
 ING DIVERS TRAVELLERS TALES AND TWO BALLADS. 
 
 Keinem hat es noch gereut, 
 Der das Ross bestiegen, 
 Um in frischer Jugendzeit 
 Durch die Wett zu fliegen. 
 
 Die Schoene Magelone. TlECK. 
 
 And never yet did man regret, 
 
 When he was old and gray, 
 
 That he while young had wandered long 
 
 In countries far away. 
 
 The Fair Magelone, ly TIECK. 
 
 TRA LIRA, tra lira, lira, lira, lira! On we go, over hill 
 and dale, by hamlet, tower, and town. The postilion cracks his 
 long whip cheerily, and the bugle rings out a merry chorus. 
 Once more, reader, we are off in our old diligence off by land 
 or sea, or where you will, high or low in search of adven 
 tures. I long for a rattling ride for speed and motion. Let 
 us start ! 
 
 No ; let us stop ! for there by the roadside trudges a 
 
 pretty peasant lass, with long, black eyes, rosy cheeks, and such 
 a neat foot and ankle. The poor thing is tired, and has far to 
 go ; let us give her a lift. See, as she smiles, what pretty lips 
 and pretty teeth ! Too full, do you say ? not a seat left ? Oh, 
 reader, pray take her in your lap ! you are a good fellow, and 
 obliging I said so from the beginning. There, now do you 
 find her too heavy ? Of course not. 
 
 And on we go! "It is good travelling/ say the Germans, 
 "with your own whip and with a friend s horse;" therefore, 
 postilion, lay on the leather, and scud like the storm-cloud ; or 
 if you prefer it, go like Faust s demon, "as quick as the transit 
 from good to evil." 
 
222 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 "I have travelled much in diligences," said Wolf Short, "and 
 have met more than once with odd adventures therein. One of 
 them was in giving away a bride." 
 
 "What ! a wedding in a wagon 1" 
 
 "Fact. I was travelling with two friends (one of them a 
 clergyman) in an American stage-coach in the far West, when, 
 as we stopped at the door of a small country tavern, a young 
 lady and gentleman got in, who were evidently lovers, and quite 
 as evidently very much agitated. Now, a stage-coach, I know, 
 is not a diligence, but only its first cousin " 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 "There was something in the appearance of both which deeply 
 interested me, and I soon contrived to win confidence. As I had 
 anticipated, they were eloping. We had not gone more than a 
 mile, ere the Lord-Ullin father of the bride appeared in hot pur 
 suit. As I had made up my mind that the lovers were a con 
 genial couple, (for lie wore canary kids, and her bonnet had a 
 buff trimming,) I determined to aid them." 
 
 "That was very noble in you !" cried CORALIE. 
 
 " Unfortunately our driver was a friend of the old gentleman 
 pursuing, and on learning the state of the case, he obstinately 
 refused to go a step farther. It was unfortunate, for as my 
 friends suddenly remembered that they were in great haste to 
 proceed, one of them was under the stern necessity of knocking 
 the driver from his seat and of taking the ribbons himself." 
 
 "Bravo !" cried young C . 
 
 " It has always been a matter of regret to me that the unfor 
 tunate man, in falling, broke a leg. But we had no time to stop 
 for surgery, and our new driver was a first-rate whip. We went 
 like a hurricane, until the company within were shaken like 
 marbles in a mill. Suddenly a bright thought entered my head. 
 This gentleman/ said I to the lovers, and nodding toward the 
 clergyman, will marry you. 
 
 " Of course, I will/ said the clergyman. There was no use 
 in his refusing, nor did he feel inclined to, for the bride s 
 father owed him a bad debt of one hundred dollars, and his 
 blood was up. 
 
 " So he began, and went on very well, excepting three or four 
 jolts and tumbles, which rather detracted from the dignity of 
 the ceremony. Joining hands was a difficult matter, for we re- 
 
THE OLD DILIGENCE. 223 
 
 quired all our hands to hold on with. But our friend the driver, 
 who had contrived not only to steer his cattle, but also to witness 
 the ceremony by occasional glimpses through a hole, pulled up 
 for a second, and so that matter was disposed of. When the old 
 gentleman at last came down on us, he was astonished to find a 
 son-in-law in the coach. " 
 
 " And how did he bear it ?" 
 
 "Like a trump, and paid the parson his debt for a marriage 
 fee ; after which, we all returned to the old gentleman s house 
 and made merry on the fat of the land. He had excellent 
 Madeira, and some very fine old Bourbon." 
 
 " HEINE," said Yon Schwartz, "has written a very witty song 
 on love in a diligence, in which he says that after riding with a 
 lady, they ended by finding Love, the blind passenger/ seated 
 between them. You all know that in Germany a chance pas 
 senger is termed blind. " 
 
 "And I have heard," said Adrien, "that there is at the pre 
 sent day a wealthy gentleman travelling about France in a dili 
 gence, which forms his only earthly home. It contains a kitchen, 
 library, wine cellar, and sleeping apartment." 
 
 "I have heard of him," said C . "He originally had a 
 
 beautiful garden on the roof, with a vase at each corner, and a 
 fountain playing in the centre j but he was obliged to relinquish 
 this, for the rude boys, as he passed along, threw stones at his 
 flowerpots, and smashed the crockery." 
 
 "Cousin," said Mrs. C , "do pray be choicer in your 
 
 language." 
 
 ii Mille pardons" exclaimed the rapid young gentleman, with 
 a glance at the Wolf. 
 
 It is certainly a great advantage for any gentleman to travel 
 with friends in general and relations in particular ; albeit he 
 is wont to miss many of those eccentric bamboches and odd 
 events which seem to be the peculiar property of the solitary 
 prowler. 
 
 And apropos of little incidents, reader, I will tell you of a 
 small chemical "sell" which once occurred to me, and which the 
 sight of the "properties" therein referred to has just recalled. 
 
 It happened a few years since to MEISTER KARL to be wend 
 ing his way one summer evening through the streets of London. 
 He had engaged to meet that evening a party of friends at the 
 
224 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 given by that illustrious nobleman, BAROX NICHOLSON, 
 Lord Chief Justice of the Judge and Jury Club. At a corner 
 of the Strand he was accosted by an individual clad in the garb 
 of decent poverty, who earnestly entreated him to buy a little 
 glass bottle containing several very minute copper coins. 
 
 "But I bought some of you yesterday," replied the Meister. 
 
 "Can t have too much of a good thing, sir," replied the 
 hawker. " Only a penny, sir beautiful bottle, never seed the 
 likes, I des-say containing two worry little browns, each of the 
 walue of the sixteenth arid fourteenth diwision of a farden sepa- 
 ratively. Vot you doesn t require yourself, your friends may 
 want/ 
 
 "But I tell you that you ve sold rne some already," replied 
 Karl, trying to push on. 
 
 "Sell you again, sir, p raps" was the reply. "Now, do buy 
 vim only a penny. Besides/ he continued hastily, as if fear 
 ful of being overheard, " if you ll only buy run, I ll tell you how 
 to get them coins out vithout breakin or bcndin the little 
 bottle. It s a great dodge, sir, and you may grow rich a bet- 
 tin on it." 
 
 The last idea was irresistibly ludicrous. Karl forked over the 
 lucre; the hawker pressed into his hand a small slip of paper, 
 and vanished. 
 
 It was not until late in the evening that the Meister bethought 
 him of his bottle and the secret. Displaying the former to his 
 friends, he inquired if any of them could inform him how the 
 coins could be extracted without bending or breaking the 
 glass. The entire party declared themselves ignorant, and one 
 daring individual offered to bet a supper that it could not be v 
 done. 
 
 " I can do it," replied Karl. 
 
 " But how ?" chorused all. 
 
 " I don t know," was the reply, " but wait a minute : the 
 secret is written on this folded paper." 
 
 In breathless silence the mystic scroll was opened. On it 
 appeared, in coarse, irregular characters " NITRIC ACID WILL 
 
 DISSOLVE THE COPPER!" 
 
 The young traveller who pursues alone the tenor of his way 
 will by no means invariably find it even. He cannot at times 
 
THE OLD DILIGENCE. 25 
 
 help a feeling of sadness when he recalls home and friends; and 
 if he have not the faculty of readily forming new ties, his case 
 is often sad indeed. I remember a little ballad by Count 
 Albrecht von Schlippenbach, in which these longings are well 
 described : 
 
 Ix DER FERNE. FAR FROM HOME. 
 
 Nun leb wohl du kleine Gasse, Fare thee well ! thou lane so humble, 
 Nun ade du stiiles Dach ! Quiet home, farewell to thee! 
 
 Vater, Mutter, sahn wir traurig, Sadly gazed I on my parents, 
 Und die Liobste sah mir nach. And my Mary gazed on me. 
 
 Hier in weiter, weiter Feme, Hero so far, so far I wander, 
 
 Wie s mich nach der Heimath zieht ! Still for home and love I long; 
 
 Lustig singen die Gesellen, Merry sing my wild companions, 
 
 Doch es ist ein falsches Lied. But it seems a hollow song. 
 
 Andre Stadtchen kommen freilich Other cities oft receive me, 
 Andre Madchen zu Gesicht, Other maidens oft I see; 
 
 Ach ! wohl siud es andre Madchen, Other maidens are they truly, 
 Doch die Erne ist es nichL Not the maiden luved by me. 
 
 "Andre Stadtchen, andre Madchen," "Other cities, other maidens !" 
 
 Ich da mitten drin so stumm ! Here so lost and sad I stand! 
 
 "Andre Madchen, andre Stadtchen !" " Other maidens, other cities," 
 
 wie gerne kehrt ich um ! Give me back my Fatherland ! 
 
 Other cities, other maidens ! courage, young one ! the time 
 will come when, by the snug fire-side, or in the cosy parlour 
 at home, all these lonely hours will return gilded with many 
 a pleasant thought, for they will bear with them memories of 
 travel and of beauty. Those who sing "home, sweet home" 
 so dolefully when far away, are generally the very ones who 
 exclaim with most zest when returned, "Ah, Jim, those were 
 great times that we used to have there up in the old Rue de la 
 Pair hey?" 
 
 But, as I remember, we had started with this chapter in our 
 old diligence, and were madly careering onward, Heaven knows 
 whither. For want of a better place for the nonce, let us sup 
 pose that we are travelling among the old cities in the South 
 of France, for I know of few pleasanter, or better worthy 
 examination. 
 
 ARLES Marseilles Nismes Montpellier ! Those names fall 
 gently and softly on the recollection, like spiritual bank-notes on 
 
22G SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 the Sabbath of the soul into the charity-box of memory. Take 
 one land with another, there are few which present such an 
 agreeable combination of natural beauty with romantic associa 
 tions of the past, as the South of France. 
 
 ARLES the Arelas Civitas of the ancients rivals even 
 Avignon in the number and interest of its attractions and 
 legends. Originally selected by Julius Caesar as the capital of 
 that domain which he had wrested from Marseilles, it speedily 
 rose to great importance, and received from him the name of 
 JULIA, which name Constantino afterward changed for his own. 
 It was for many years the favourite residence of the latter 
 emperor, who adorned it with magnificent buildings, and be 
 stowed upon it many marks of a predilection subsequently 
 increased by its becoming the birthplace of his daughter, Fausta 
 the Fair. It was during his journey from Aries to Rome, when 
 about to join battle with Mezentius, that the celebrated appari 
 tion of the cross in the heavens, with the inscription, IN HOC 
 SIGNO VINCES, was witnessed by him; in commemoration where 
 of he had struck, on his return to Aries, a medal, bearing on 
 one side a radiant cross, and on the other the words ARELAS 
 CIVITAS. 
 
 Under Charles the Bald, Aries was elevated into a kingdom, 
 BOZON being its first monarch. In the thirteenth century it 
 attained its culminating point. Possessing a vast commerce, and 
 celebrated for its manufactures of weapons and jewelry, it 
 speedily became the metropolis of the South of France. Arch 
 bishop Turpin, the friend of Charlemagne, died there, and was 
 buried in its cemetery the most celebrated place of interment 
 during the Middle Ages in Europe. No wonder that its repu 
 tation should be so widely extended, since it was generally 
 believed that the corpses deposited within its limits were pro 
 tected by divine interposition against desecration by witch 
 craft or the hand of violence. It was even thought that this 
 miraculous protection began to operate as soon as any person 
 had determined that his remains should be laid in this campo 
 santo ! 
 
 Gervais de Tilbury, who wrote in the thirteenth century, 
 gives, in his book "De MiraLilibm Mundi" a curious legend 
 relating to this belief. And be it borne in mind that he vouches 
 for its truth, having himself witnessed the occurrence : 
 
THE OLD DILIGENCE. 227 
 
 " It was the custom for those dwelling near the Rhone, above 
 Aries, to consign the coffins containing the bodies of their de 
 funct friends to its stream, placing first a sum of money beneath 
 the head of the corpse, well assured that a divine guidance would 
 keep them clear of all rocks or sand-banks, and arrest them in 
 their course directly opposite the last house in Aries, where men 
 were always in waiting to receive them. When any of the boat 
 men on the river met with one of these mysterious death-barks, 
 they saluted it with the sign of the cross, and suffered it to float 
 onward unmolested; nor would they for worlds have meddled 
 with the funeral gold which it contained, for it was believed that 
 the guardian angel of the deceased sat upon the coffin as steers 
 man, spreading his wings for sails. 
 
 " Now, certain graceless knaves dwelling at Beaucaire, fearing 
 neither God nor man, beholding one day a stately coffin coming 
 down the Rhone, resolved to plunder it of the burial-money; 
 which heathenish and most vile act they incontinently effected, 
 having gone forth in a boat and robbed it in the middle of the 
 river. 
 
 tl What was their astonishment to see the coffin, though float 
 ing at the time far from any bank or impediment, at once stop in 
 its course and remain spinning round and round on the spot 
 where the heinous deed had been committed. And there it re 
 mained for many days; nor could any force send it down the 
 river one jot, until the strangeness of the deed having excited 
 inquiry the thieves were detected and the money restored, after 
 which it quietly swam on its course." 
 
 This Arlesian burying-field must have been very beautiful in 
 its day, if we judge from the sarcophagi now in Paris and Mar 
 seilles. The proverb, Ditior Arelas sepulta quam viva (t the 
 buried Aries is richer than the living" though applied at pre 
 sent exclusively to the supposed inhumed riches of the city, origin 
 ated in the great splendour of its campo santo. The vast num 
 ber of its tombs is thus alluded to in the Orlando Furioso : 
 
 Delia gran moltitudine clie uccisa, 
 Fu d ogni parti in questa ultima guerra, 
 Se ne vede ancor regno in quella terra 
 Che presso ad ARLI, ove il Rodano atagna 
 Plena di sepolture e la campagna. 
 
 Of all the wealth and beauty of this Arlesian city of the dead 
 
 20 
 
228 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 of all its fair sarcophagi, temples, churches, arches, tablets, and 
 tombs how little remains ! Laid waste by the vandal liberality 
 of its different consuls and prefects, who could conceive of no 
 more economical and agreeable gift to Louis XIV., and to many 
 notables of a subsequent era, than the free right of plunder in 
 their churchyard, the traveller now seeks in vain among a score 
 of tombstones and a mass of fragments for some trace of its 
 ancient glory. " The dead ride fast/ says Buerger. Is it not 
 sad to see their monuments those last faint struggles for an 
 earthly immortality perishing so rapidly after them ? 
 
 But a glorious souvenir of the past still exists in the Roman 
 amphitheatre of Aries ; said to be the best preserved and most 
 perfect erection of the kind in existence. The reader who cares 
 to be informed as to its past and present appearance, or to become 
 learned in the vomitoria, velaria, and liospitalia of this lordly 
 slaughter-house, and to learn on what occasions it was signalized 
 by the presence or patronage of Constantino, Honorius, and 
 Childebert, may consult Les Bords du Rhone, or Frossard s 
 learned work on the Antiquities of Aries. I only recollect sit 
 ting there alone one silent, sunny morning, listening to the birds 
 chirping and fluttering over the old gray ruin, and trying to recall 
 snatches of troubadour poesy, and scenes from Le Dernier Roi 
 d" Aries. The higher the mountain the smaller the chalet, and 
 not unfrequently the greatness of the place is in inverse ratio to 
 the thoughts which it awakens. 
 
 But the glory of Aries is its cloister of Saint Trophime. Let 
 the scholar whose soul is imbued with the mysterious beauty of 
 the Middle Ages linger long amid the shadows of its Norman 
 arches and Gothic ogives, for in all Europe he will not find 
 another place more likely to inspire in him the sentiment of 
 romance, and memories 
 
 " Of the dim, distant days of king and knight." 
 
 I have lingered there at even-tide, when the shadows of its quaint 
 columns fell across the darkening aisles, when the bat flitted 
 through the quadrangle, and the echoing footsteps of a chance 
 passenger sounded like the tread of an armed knight. Of all the 
 religious edifices which the hand of the Middle Ages has placed 
 in the South of France, the most remarkable is this cloister of 
 Saint Trophime. 
 
THE OLD DILIGENCE. 229 
 
 "Christian Art has here displayed all the richness of its ori 
 ginal genius, all the immensity of its conception, all the re 
 sources of its ardent and fantastic imagination. All the prodi 
 gies of the Middle Ages are here accumulated, grouped, pressed 
 into lines, and exposed, like the paintings of old masters in the 
 Louvre, to public view." 
 
 This church and cloister, founded originally by the Archbishop 
 Virgilius, A. D. 301, dedicated by him to Saint Trophiine, the 
 first propagator of Christianity in Gaul, pillaged by the Saracens, 
 and destroyed by the Northmen, was finally rebuilt with great 
 splendour in the eleventh century. The cloister is a complete 
 summary of the history of the Middle Ages. Four galleries, 
 each erected at a different period, furnish perfect illustrations of 
 the four great epochs of Christian Art. In the Northern Gallery, 
 we have a grand specimen of the stern and simple Romanesque, 
 representing admirably the majestic purity of the early church. 
 "In the Eastern Gallery," says Alphonse B., "a sentiment of 
 Oriental luxury has glided in among the traditions of antiquity. 
 A greater originality of style and boldness on the part of the 
 artist here indicates that change in the manner of the age and 
 the new developments in religion which mark the transition era. 
 But in the Western Gallery we see the Gothic the sentiment of 
 the beautiful, mysterious Middle Age in all its glory ; while in 
 the Southern, the determination of style fully illustrates the con 
 dition of the church during the fifteenth century, when con 
 vulsed by dissensions and new forms of belief." Yet, despite 
 these architectural differences, a certain picturesque unity per 
 vading the whole, prevents us from feeling that want of harmony 
 usually resulting from a mixture of styles. The rich profusion 
 of ornament in which the cloister abounds favors this unity; and, 
 when the shades of twilight swim around, suppressing lesser de 
 tails, that the imagination may more than reproduce them, we 
 gaze about us and wonder that man could ever have created 
 aught so dream-like and lovely. The walls and columns wrought 
 into elaborate statuary and tracery are no longer mere places for 
 ornament, but have become ornaments themselves. 
 
 In this cloister the lover of Romantic Art may revel in the con 
 templation of all the beauty and mystery of that singular era. 
 All the personages of sacred history stand before him in mute 
 procession, living in death and animate in stone. Here ogives, 
 
230 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 trefoils, chevrons, rosaces, niches, mascarons, lobes, and all the 
 quaint traceries of Gothic Art are scattered with no unsparing 
 hand; while the student who sees in such ornament, not tho 
 work of Art, but the mysterious hieroglyph, will find innumerable 
 symbols pregnant with occult meaning. Here arc the knight 
 and the dragon of Mithraic origin, the two battling warriors, and 
 other emblems found in every perfect Gothic church, and which 
 the Middle Ages inherited from Arabian and Persian sources 
 emblems typifying the eternal contest of good and evil, combined 
 with other mysterious symbols, whose meaning has, perhaps, long 
 been hidden in the grave of some old monk or long-bearded Free 
 mason of the olden time. 
 
 In the Southern Gallery, the Legend of St. Martha slaying the 
 Tarascou is quaintly represented on the impost of a pillar. This 
 sculpture was pointed out to me and explained by Monsieur 
 Frossard, the antiquary, who kindly acted as my cicerone in ex 
 ploring the beauties of Saint Trophime. And as the reader may 
 not have heard the legend to which I refer, I will take the liberty 
 of narrating it : 
 
 "Centuries ago, one of the most terrible monsters in hell 
 availed himself of the negligence of Satan s porter, who had in 
 cautiously left the gate open for an instant, and escaped. 
 
 "This monster was a dragon, bearing on his back a carapace 
 or tortoise-shell shield bristling with fearful spines; his paws 
 were armed with enormous claws ; his head was a horrible medley 
 of those of man, the lion, and the tiger, while his jaws displayed 
 many rows of teeth long, sharp, and glittering as sabres. 
 
 "After long journeying in the air, and over earth and seas, the 
 monster settled in a cavern near Tarascon, a town on the Ilhone, 
 not far from Aries. 
 
 " He soon laid waste the country, devouring, however, only 
 women and children. And on the day of his arrival at Tarascon, 
 so great was his thirst that he nearly dried up the river. 
 
 "So great was his audacity that at length he often prowled 
 about the walls of the city, and one Sunday, as the inhabitants were 
 quietly returning from church, he dashed in among them and bore 
 away MADELEINE, then famed throughout France for her beauty. 
 
 "At this time, two women and two men who had been cast 
 away at sea in a crazy boat, without oars, sails, or rudder, were 
 carried to the shores of Provence. 
 
THE OLD DILIGENCE. 231 
 
 "To conduct them safely, Saint Michael placed his golden 
 lance in the middle of their bark for a mast, and the Virgin had 
 cast thereon her veil as a sail. 
 
 " These wrecked and saved were Saint Lazarus the Revived, 
 Saint Maximin, Saint Martha, and Mary Magdalen the Converted. 
 
 " The first went his way to Marseilles to preach the gospel, 
 and afterward became the firsi bishop and patron of that city, as 
 did the second at Aix. 
 
 "Mary Magdalen went her way to Sainte Baume, while Saint 
 Martha bore her sacred torch to many different cities. 
 
 "Moved by her miracles, the inhabitants of Tarascon prayed 
 her to deliver them from the monster. And followed by them, 
 she sought his den by a path wet with blood and strewed with 
 human bones. 
 
 "Armed only with a little cross of wood, Saint Martha entered 
 the cavern. The monster, roaring with rage and terror, retreated 
 before her to the inner bound of his cave. Flames and smoke 
 rolled in terrible clouds from his throat, and he suddenly darted 
 upon her, uttering a yell which shivered the rocks around. 
 
 But oh, wonder of wonders ! he fell back at her feet, no 
 
 longer a dragon, but transformed to the lamb of Saint John ! 
 
 " Iu the name of Christ follow me! said the saint, and 
 binding him with her girdle, she led him forth and delivered 
 him to the people. In consequence of this miracle, the Taras- 
 conians were that day converted to Christianity. In memory of 
 which, King Ilene instituted a festival and games on the 14th of 
 April, 1474, which are still observed." 
 
 In this procession is drawn a terrible effigy of the monster. 
 Within it are four men, who move the figure in so strange a 
 manner that the games are not always without danger. 
 
 In the sculpture to which I have referred, the scaly monster 
 (with the legs of the unfortunate Madeleine hanging out of his 
 mouth) turns up his eyes in amiable expectancy at the fair 
 saint, who with uplifted girdle (some naive old chronicles say 
 that it was her garter ) is about to smite, subdue, and lead in 
 lamb-like captivity the monster. 
 
 Around the galleries are arranged scores of old tomb-tablets, 
 many of them commemorating the abbots and monks who many 
 centuries ago passed as lords or vassals among these galleries, and, 
 it may be, wore with their feet the very pavement on which we 
 
 20* 
 
232 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL 
 
 now stand. Several of these inscriptions I copied ; one was as 
 follows : 
 
 The meaning of which I humbly conjecture to be "Here rests 
 Durant, a priest, sinner, and canon of the royal cloister of St. 
 Trophime, u ho died in tlie Year of our Lord one thousand 
 two hundred and eighteen." 
 
 It was at the grand altar of this church of Saint Tropbime, and 
 on the third of September, A.D. 1455, that King Rene* was 
 wedded to Jeanne de Laval, daughter of County Guy XIII. and 
 of Isabel de Bretagne. The festivals and merry-makings which 
 succeeded this royal marriage are still celebrated in lay and 
 legend among the Arlesians. 
 
 It was in the Abbey of Montmajor, near Aries, that the Donat- 
 ists were condemned, A.D. 314, and Constantino made this cele 
 brated reply to those who solicited, on the part of the heretics, a 
 revisal of his opinion : 
 
 Judiciiim mcuin ponttJant, qui ijisc jndicium CJiristi expecto! 
 
 "They demand a reconsideration of me, who myself await the 
 judgment of Christ." 
 
 Since writing the above on Saint Trophime, I have raked up 
 another old legend of the Aliscamps, as the Arlesian burying- 
 ground was anciently termed. The authentic text of this legend 
 is said to exist in the archives of the Vatican, whence it was 
 copied in 1770 by the historian PAPON. 
 
THE OLD DILIGENCE. 233 
 
 " When St. Trpphime liad assembled all the bishops of Gaul 
 to consecrate the Aliscamps as a Christian burial-ground, no one 
 would fulfil the office, on the plea of humility. Then Jesus 
 Christ himself appeared among them, and blessed the cemetery. 
 During the consecration, heavenly music resounded over the 
 plain music so sweet, that many vestal virgins there buried 
 lifted up the lids of their tombs to listen more distinctly." 
 
 I need only add, in confirmation of the above, that the Arch 
 bishop Michael de Morieres, who, in the year 1203, addressed a 
 letter to all Christendom, recalling the tradition, assures us that 
 in his time heavenly music was frequently heard floating over 
 this city of the dead. 
 
 But enough of monkish legends: let me not close this chapter 
 without paying homage to a far more attractive subject, for which 
 Aries has for centuries been celebrated I mean the wonderful 
 yea, the marvellous yea, the transcendant beauty of its women. 
 In the blindness of forgetfulness, I spoke of the church of St. 
 Trophime as the crowning glory of Aries 
 
 But what are temples of stone and mortar compared to 
 
 fair young temples of flesh and blood those chosen sanctuaries 
 of love and beauty ? 
 
 What, my hearers, is a Gothic oriel window, though termed 
 by Gervasius the " eye" of the church, when compared with the 
 black eye of a brunette, or its winding tracery to her flowing 
 tresses ? And what are its beautiful mouldings to the delicate 
 moulding of well-formed features and of lithe and limber limbs ? 
 
 Or what the portal of a church, though it be like that of 
 Florence, fit to be the gate of heaven, compared with that fairer 
 portal a pretty mouth ? What is a rose-window to a rosy cheek, 
 and what are consoles, though sustaining the effigies of saints, 
 compared to the consolations of love which sustain our souls ? 
 
 Osculari virgines dulcius est donum " Sweet is the privilege 
 of kissing girls;" and may the Meister s malediction fall on 
 him who would refuse them heartfelt, chivalric devotion and ad 
 miration ! Against their weakness, what strength avails ? 
 
 Adam, Scimsonem, Lotli, Davidem et Salomonem. 
 F&mitta deccpitj quis modo tut us crit? 
 
 The English of this Latin, fair lady reader, is, that as Adam, 
 Samson, Lot, David, Solomon, in the plentitude of their wisdom, 
 
234 
 
 MEISTER KARL. 
 
 yielded to the charms of your sex, it is therefore incumbent on 
 all moderns less wise to do the same. Love to the lovely ! 
 
 And who knows what gentle thoughts and melting associations 
 may have swum through the soul of my fair lady reader as she 
 passed with me through some of the darkened .alcoves of this 
 Sketch-Book ? Who knows ? / don t I wish I did ! 
 
 Oh what sweet forms fair ladies souls do shroud, 
 Were they made seen, and forced through their blood!* 
 
 And perhaps but no ! The Master dare claim no reward for 
 faithfully worshipping the sex, for it was his duty. Should any 
 feel inclined to reward him, he respectfully refers them to his 
 " other self/ Wolf Short, who was born in the city of Philadel 
 phia. "The Christian children born in that place" (saith 
 Gabriel Thomas, in his "Account," London, 1698) "are gene 
 rally well favoured and beautiful to behold. I never knew any 
 with the least blemish." Of late years this freedom from defect 
 has extended to the mental faculties (so Wolf declares) and to 
 the moral. And the Wolf is rather a " Christian child" than 
 otherwise. 
 
 Ladies dear ladies pray grant me one more "last word." 
 I presume that you don t understand Latin for 
 
 L enfant qui est nourri do vin, 
 Soleil qui luiserne au matin, 
 La fcmmc qui parlo Latin, 
 No vicnnent pas a bonne Gn. 
 
 The infant fed on wine and beer, 
 The sun which shines at daybreak clear 
 Or lady speaking Latin tongue, 
 Are never well, but end in wrong. 
 
 Therefore I must suppose that you do not quite understand what 
 Flavins Constant inus meant when he declared, "Mulieri impe- 
 rare res desperata." I will tell you. He meant that as it is 
 impossible to govern a woman, we had all better settle quietly 
 down under your gentle rule, and make the best of it ! 
 
 And therefore the Mcistcr modestly moves along the even 
 tenor (or baritone) of his way, much hoping, greatly fearing, 
 and little daring. For he dreads, if he were venturesome as was 
 
 * Mariner. Ihro and Lcander. 
 
THE OLD DILIGENCE. 
 
 235 
 
 HEINZ VON STEIN, that the fate of that bold robber might be 
 his. And as this is no bad ballad, he will even end with it this 
 chapter and his " confidences :" 
 
 HEINZ VON STEIN. 
 
 Es zog von dannen der wilde, 
 Gefiirchtete Heinz von Stein : 
 
 Er zog von dannen und kehrte, 
 In einem Wirthshaus ein. 
 
 Er setze sich stolz zu Tische, 
 
 Und herrschte "Bringt mir Weiu! 
 
 Husch lief mit Glas und Elasche 
 Des Wirthes Tochterlein. 
 
 Da ward ihm ach ! so wehe 
 Er seufzt: "0 Holde mein! 
 
 Wie war s gabst du ein Kiisschen 
 Dem tapfern Heinz von Stein?" 
 
 Sie sagte : " Wollt ihr ein KUsschen 
 
 Von einem Madel fein, 
 go musst Ihr vor alien Dingen 
 
 Ein hiibsche Junge sein." 
 
 Das wurmte den Ritter sehre 
 
 In seinem Herzeu drein; 
 Er grollte: "Was bin ich schuldig 
 
 Fur deinen sauern Wein?" 
 
 Drauf ritt er trotzig beime : 
 
 Und kebrte nimmer ein : 
 Das ist die schaurige Mahre 
 
 Vom wilden HEINZ VON STEIN. 
 
 Out rode from his wild dark castle, 
 The terrible Heinz von Stein; 
 
 lie rode by the door of a tavern, 
 And gazed at the swinging sign. 
 
 He sat himself down at a table, 
 And called for a bottle of wine; 
 
 Up came, with the flask and a corkscrew, 
 A maiden of beauty divine. 
 
 Then he sighed with a deep love-longing, 
 And said " Oh damosell mine! 
 
 Suppose you just give a few kisses 
 To the val-i-ant Ritter Von Stein!" 
 
 But she answered " The kissing business 
 
 Is entirely out of my line, 
 And I certainly will not begin it 
 
 On a countenance ugly as thine." 
 
 Oh then the bold knight was angry, 
 And cursed both coarse and fine, 
 
 And asked her how much was the swindle 
 For her sour and nasty wine. 
 
 And fiercely he rode to his castle, 
 And sat himself down to dine; 
 
 And this is the dreadful legend 
 Of the terrible HEINZ VON STEIN. 
 
236 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH. 
 
 IN WHICH THE COURIER, DEPARTING FROM HIS PRESCRIBED 
 IRREGULARITY, DELIVERS A REGULAR COURSE OF TWO LEC 
 TURES. 
 
 Jl Jamilwr f tften 10 mu f ato grates. 
 
 SUBJECT : A MARRIAGE. 
 
 In world there is no bale or bliss, 
 Or whatsoever that it is, 
 But at the last will overgang, 
 Suppose that many think it lang. 
 
 Siu EGER, SIR GRJEHE, AND SIR GRAYE STELE. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIENDS ! November hath begun the yellow leaves 
 rustle around, and the foot of Beauty, in her daily walks, treads 
 on a movable and changeable carpet of that which, whilom, was 
 summer s greenery. Clouds flit more frequently at this season 
 over the sky above, as well as over the heaven of your souls, and 
 the ever-contented man can now frequently sing 
 
 It raineth 
 God saineth. 
 
 And the mysterious yellowish-purple piukishness which lingers 
 at dewy or frosty eve over the western sky, foreshadows gently 
 the Indian Summer, or, as the French term it, "L Ete de Saint 
 Martin/ (the summer of Saint Martin.) 
 
 It is heralded by clear frosty nights, lit by the far-streaming, 
 brightly-beaming, meteor-gleaming; by the moon which shines 
 nowhere so happily as o er our own fair city; by the scattering 
 evening calls and morning visits, in which friendships and ac 
 quaintances, dissolved during the warm summer-tide, are once 
 more united and confirmed; by the more frequent advent of 
 operas, operettas, concerts, musical soirees, dramatic nights, tra 
 gedies, comedies, comediettas, burlettas, and vaudevilles, farces, 
 pantomimes, ballets, and other theatrical amusements too nume 
 rous to mention including the exquisitely entertaining volunta- 
 
A REGULAR COURSE OP LECTURES. 237 
 
 ries and improvisations, forming no part of the regular perform 
 ance, and set down in no bills, but which are not the less, on 
 that account, universally admired. 
 
 Of all days the pleasantest should be the cold, bracing, sunny 
 days of Autumn. Look into your hearts, and you will find that 
 more golden souvenirs are linked to the chain of its associations 
 than charms to the chatelains of the most highly-jewelled of my 
 auditresses. 
 
 For my own part, ladies, I do most solemnly affirm that I 
 wouldn t exchange the dreariest half of November for the sun 
 niest smiles of May, nor one of its cloudy Sundays for the merriest 
 matinee of a dozen winters. 
 
 And, having thus argued you into a good humour with the 
 season which is too late for peaches and too early for camellias, I 
 take my leave of Autumna and proceed to analyze (not the Ann 
 Elise to whom the chemist devoted himself) but to dissect, in 
 vestigate, set forth, expatiate upon, and explaterate, or, in plain 
 lantern language, matagralolize for your benefit, an exquisite 
 little bit of authenticity, which occurred in Paris just three years, 
 three days, and thirty-seven minutes (not to mention the four odd 
 seconds) since. Dating back, of course, from the second at which 
 this paragraph meets your eye. 
 
 It is of a marriage, (you all like to hear about marriages,) and 
 I believe that I am neither unguarded or rash in my assertion, 
 when I state that it was of a gentleman to a lady. It was not 
 the marriage of your beloved courier, nor even one of his flock. 
 Had it been the latter, I should have, ex cathedra, published the 
 banns, and thus spread myself forth as a banner. It was not the 
 wedding of a German, for the lover had never once told the lady 
 that he considered her "as unattainable as the stars;" nor of a 
 Gipsy for the wedding-party did not dance in a hall paved with 
 eggs and sugar, as do the Zincali. If you are really curious to 
 know what the couple were, I may be permitted to inform you 
 that they were French! 
 
 Yes, French. And the young gentleman was a poet, and the 
 bride a widow. But she was 
 
 Amiable as an Angel, 
 Handsome as an Houri, 
 Fair as a Fairy, 
 Sweet as a Sylph, 
 
238 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Graceful as a Goddess, 
 Peerless as a Peri, 
 Nice as a Nymph, 
 Dainty as a Divinity, 
 Enticing as an Enchantress, 
 Soft as a Syren. 
 
 Nothing on earth could, in fact, be compared to her, with the 
 exception of my lady readers. Moreover, she had the reputation 
 of having the tin otherwise known as argong, gelt, spicunia, 
 brass, spoons, ready, needful, or pewter. Some people term it, 
 Moss, Buttons, or Dativus, but they are Germans, who begin all 
 things capitally, and end plurally, yet are honest hearts withal, 
 who can drink with Pedro Grullo, "in folio." 
 
 Therefore, you will agree with me when I say that the poet, 
 like the words or the Germans above quoted, begun capitally with 
 such an excellent, model widow. And when he had ended plu 
 rally (iYZ est, had become "me and niy wife") the Beauty took 
 him aside, and, with great modesty, many tears, and intense re 
 luctance, informed him that 
 
 And here let us pause. Young ladies ! whenever you have 
 any such revelations to make, let me suggest that they invariably 
 come with greater propriety, through the medium of a third person, 
 before marriage. There are some husbands so lost to all sense 
 of " what s what," as to bitterly regret the absence of much 
 which, in the eyes of true love, doesn t appear to be of the 
 slightest consequence. 
 
 For the "vidder" informed the husband that she had deceived 
 him on declaring that her fortune amounted to sixty thousand 
 crowns, (of five francs each.) 
 
 "Well, darling!" he replied, sealing the expression with a 
 kiss (they were alone, ladies) "well, darling! it isn t of the 
 slightest consequence. I am not rich, it s true , but we can live. 
 What if you are poor ? Fiddle-de-diddle ! Parbleu ! Troun de 
 T air 1 1 Who cares ? I don t ! not a bit ! Haven t you got all 
 the treasures of your beauty left you ? These silken tresses ? 
 This nose ? These limbs ? These teeth ? And this com 
 plex " 
 
 "Ah!" interrupted the bride, "my colour, my hair, and my 
 teeth are fabrications." 
 
 "How curious!" cried her husband-lover (ladies, may you 
 all get such a one!) "why, my own dear love, how unfortunate 
 
A REGULAR COURSE OF LECTURES. 239 
 
 you ve been ! How I pity you ! Ton my soul, I love you a million 
 times better. Poor little sing, did it loose its tooscysf I don t 
 care, dear, for that. Don t trouble your head about such a trifle. 
 Isn t your mind left, with its rich stores of intellect its high 
 soaring genius its its its knowledge of cookery and un 
 ruffled placidity of temper ?" 
 
 "Ah," replied the bride, who seemed bent on making a clean 
 sweep, or a clean breast of it, (it s all one to me, which,) "Ah ! 
 but I m subject to Jits!" 
 
 "Oh, you poor dear!" replied her compassionate husband, 
 " how lucky, then, that I married you 7 who know so well 
 how to take care of such attacks ! Some men can t. Kiss me, 
 puss!" 
 
 Now when it came to this, the widow could stand it no longer. 
 With several tears, divers embraces, sundry sobs, and quantities 
 of kisses, she informed her husband (who thought that one of her 
 fits was just coming on as a sample) that he had misunderstood 
 her! 
 
 "As how ?" inquired that remarkably excellent and immova 
 ble young man. 
 
 "Why, love," replied she, "I said that you were deceived as 
 to my fortune, and so you are. It isn t sixty thousand crowns 
 (of five francs, or one hundred sous, or five hundred centimes 
 each) but eighty thousand per annum." 
 
 "Good!" replied the husband. "So, then, dear, don t be 
 angry j but I was only about to remark that, with such an in 
 come, you can keep up a first-rate supply of paint, teeth, hair, 
 fingers, and so forth." 
 
 "There you re wrong again," she answered. "I said that my 
 teeth, hair, and complexion were fabricated and so they are 
 but the Lord fabricated them I" 
 
 "Bravo!" replied the husband. "Not that I care, on my ac 
 count, for money. I trust that my love goes beyond that, or 
 beauty either. But with a sound frame and a fortune, you will 
 have so much less to suffer from those painful fits." 
 
 "Why, child," replied his pretty young wife, "I was talking 
 of fits of love and convulsions of happiness. You wouldn t have 
 me cured of them would you, dear ?" 
 
 This, ladies, is the finale of the wedding. The finale of our 
 lecture is given in the following verses 
 
 21 
 
240 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MFISTER KARL. 
 
 "LAUD THE FAIR." 
 
 Oh, that I had his heart and hand, 
 Who, in the German Fatherland, 
 
 Long centuries ago, 
 Won for himself a glorious name, 
 By giving all to Woman s fame 
 
 That poet could bestow ! 
 
 What better theme could minstrel ask, 
 Where seek a nobler, gentler task, 
 
 More flattering to his pride, 
 Than to extol those Spirit Flowers, 
 The Dames who ve blessed this world of ours, 
 
 Since that old Master died? 
 
 Oh, praised be Woman maid or wife 
 The Aurora of our future life, 
 
 The Spirit of our Soul ; 
 A light of God to darkness given, 
 A lovely bud, which fell from heaven, 
 
 To grow neath Heaven s control ! 
 
 Full many a stormy age hath fled 
 
 Since that old minstrel joined the dead 
 
 A blessing on his name ! 
 The rainbow world oft changed its hue, 
 But still his words for her are true, 
 
 And Woman rests the same. 
 
 An angel in Earth s fetters bound, 
 The sunlight of its dreary ground, 
 
 The starlight of its Night; 
 A golden flower, a dainty shoot, 
 Upspringing from Life s grosser root, 
 
 As if for heavenly flight : 
 
 Woman ! to me thy lovely eyes 
 Are but a reflex of those skies 
 
 Where all thy sisters dwell. 
 Oh, Love, in Life unchangeable, 
 Oh, Love, what Life thy power can tell ! 
 
 My song is sung Farewell ! 
 
A REGULAR COURSE OF LECTURES. 241 
 
 n%r future to % plus. 
 
 SUBJECT : " SPIRITUAL KNOCKINGS." 
 
 IT S a no use your knocldn at the door any more ! 
 It s a no use your knockin at the door ! 
 
 WHO DAT KNOCKING? 
 
 Au clair de la lune, 
 L aimable Lubin; 
 
 Frappait chez la brune, 
 Qui repond soudain, 
 
 Qui frappe de la sorte ? 
 
 Au CLAIR DE LA LUXE. 
 
 BONJOUR, MESDEMOISELLES ! My compliments to you, fair au 
 ditors, and, through you, to your mammas. Put no faith in a man 
 who neglects your maternities; for of such a nature is the hypocrite 
 and fool. Hypocrite, I say; for how can he pretend to be able 
 to sincerely appreciate the excellence of one woman, or the sex 
 in general, who limits his deference and devotion exclusively to 
 the young and lovely ? A great philosopher has declared that he 
 who has studied only the rudiments of a science is ignorant even 
 of its rudiments ; and no man hath any claim to true regard from 
 a sex which he knows only from its younger or rudimentary ele 
 ments. A fool is he, moreover, since he is thus disqualified from 
 following an admirable maxim, teaching us that 
 
 He who would the daughter win 
 Must with the mother first begin ! 
 
 BELOVED! the subject of our present lecture is that of Spi 
 ritual Knockings known to those singular geniuses and gallant 
 gentlemen, the Rosicrucians, as TRARAMES, and defined in a 
 tight, little, parchment-bound quarto, printed at Leipzig, in 1678, 
 treating of Magic, Diablerie, and similar trash, as " Trarames 
 umbra-rum sunt et spectorum invisibles auditse tamen actiones ;" 
 which signifieth, " Trarames are the invisible yet audible actions 
 of ghosts and spectres/ But, if you, my gentle auditors, ima 
 gine that I intend wearying you with Trarames, or Rochester 
 knockings, or spectral scratchings, or theurgical thumpiugs, and 
 similar hobgoblinism and spookishness, you are trimly mistaken. 
 In a word, I simply propose examining into the nature of those 
 
242 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 spirits which cause such frequent and violent knockings at our 
 hearts ! 
 
 Remember, then, if you please, that your lecturer assumes, as 
 far as all personal experiences of this nature are concerned, to be 
 a spotless lamb, who has had neither glove of victory nor mitten 
 of defeat. The Childe s destiny is his, and he can gently sigh 
 with Sir Galahad 
 
 How sweet are looks that ladies bend 
 On whom their favours fall ! 
 
 For them I d battle to the end, 
 To save from shame and thrall : 
 
 But all my heart is drawn above, 
 My knees are bowed in church and shrine 
 
 I never felt the kiss of love, 
 Nor maiden s hand in mine ! 
 
 These are the words, dear ladies, of Tennyson s Sir Galahad a 
 gentleman most inappropriately named, since it is amply evident, 
 from his own confession, that vulgarly speaking he never had 
 a gal. But, to proceed : 
 
 Love true love my hearers, is the passion, sentiment, or 
 emotion, which causes these knockings of the heart, and is, in a 
 more or less diluted form, experienced by all the widely-spread 
 families of the human race, except Frenchmen, Turks, and Chi 
 nese. Known only in a strange, rough state to the ancients, it 
 subsequently assumed an entirely new form and spirit. It was 
 only of later ages, my friends, that it received, formed, and be 
 came identical with gentleness, courtesy, and all that is high- 
 toned, gallant, and chivalric. As the flower is ripened into the 
 still more beautiful and glorious fruit, so Love, which had pre 
 viously been but a splendid passion or brilliant blossom under 
 the genial sun of modern civilization, was rapidly matured into a 
 thousand developments, of which the world had previously not 
 the slightest knowledge. With the march of mind, or progres 
 sion of intellect, and hand in hand with Art, Science, Piety, 
 and Political Economy, it rushed onward into many lands, until, 
 finally, taking its way, with the star of empire, westward, 
 assumed, in your snowy bosoms, the highest, clearest, and most 
 refined form which it has as yet known. 
 
 But we have not as yet defined Love the primitive cause of 
 all these heart-knockings ; and in faith tis no easy task. There 
 be many roads to Rome as well as a certain better place we wot 
 
A REGULAR COURSE OF LECTURES. 243 
 
 of, and, perhaps, every young lady now listening to me has an 
 altogether peculiar and singular definition of the same. As 
 your lecturer, I beg leave to give my own ideas as to the manner 
 in which I imagine the trial d amour attacks its victims. And 
 this I do in the words of Sir Gruelan, in the Trouveur Lai: 
 
 Love sovereign Love mysterious and refined, 
 
 Is the pure confluence of immortal mind; 
 
 Chaste union of two hearts, by virtue wrought, 
 
 Where each seems either, in word, deed, and thought; 
 
 Each singly to itself no more remains, 
 
 But one will guides one common soul sustains. 
 
 That quotation embodies my own sentiments, and a remark 
 able specimen of fine writing it is. But the feminine world at 
 large, were they to narrate their own impressions and experience, 
 would, I fear me, individually confess a very different conception 
 of the subject. It would appear that the spiritual knockings of 
 King Cupid had sounded as many tones and semitones on their 
 hearts as the hammer of an eccentric German musician on one 
 of those curious wooden instruments, termed, I believe, a xylo- 
 tone. Madame Anatolie, if asked for her definition of Love, 
 would probably laugh, and refer me to the Dictionnaire d Amour. 
 Miss ONE would call it a cause, the effect of which is an esta 
 blishment and carriage. Miss Two, do. Miss THREE regards 
 it as a valuable auxiliary in schottisches and German cotil 
 lons. Miss FOUR, borrowing unconsciously from the ancient 
 philosopher who discovered that the soul was a tone, would say 
 that it was the musical sympathy of two harmonious souls; which 
 would be, in fact, the artistic form of my own ultra-refined Pla- 
 tonisni. Miss FIVE, I am very, very sorry to say, regards it as 
 
 nothing but 
 
 A delicate, sly flirtation, 
 
 By the light of a chandelier ; 
 With music to play in the pauses, 
 And nobody very near. 
 
 Shocking ! Miss Six, as the boon companionship of two good- 
 humoured, careless souls, alternately petting or pelting each other 
 incessantly with puns and bon-mots. Misses 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11 
 believe it to be the unbroken and absorbing admiration of their 
 personal attractions. Miss TWELVE, like the ancient belle in 
 the old ballad, imagines that the soul of Love consists in letting 
 
244 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 a lady have her own way and a very good way it is, when 
 Reason takes the helm. 
 
 Miss THIRTEEN is inclined to think that pure, disinterested 
 affection is best manifested by zealous attention at the supper- 
 table, and its crowning test displayed in capturing for her the most 
 beautiful bouquet the largest and finest bon-bons and in bring 
 ing, exactly at the right time and place, the first glass of iced 
 champagne. (And a very sensible young lady she is, too.) 
 
 Miss FOURTEEN would find it difficult to define her position, 
 or explain her views. Dim visions of fast-looking angels met 
 in droves in fashionable streets of a Sunday afternoon faint 
 souvenirs of long rows of handsome young gentlemen, seated 
 smoking in dreary continuity before the first hotels flutter 
 ing phantasmge of immaculate coats, and still more immaculate 
 "ewavats," surmounted by heads of hair intensely soignee 
 the sum total standing in church, exquisitely upright, behind 
 a prayer-book in every direction around her. Such are some of 
 the imperfect ideas which swim in shoals across the Mediterranean 
 of her imagination. She has never as yet analyzed humanity, or 
 discovered any difference between one gent and another. Her 
 ideas of this business are all en gros none en detail. 
 
 Miss FIFTEEN experienced her last twinge of the tender pas 
 sion in an omnibus. Such a nice young gentleman as he was! 
 pulled the check-strap for her with such vigour as to almost 
 draw driver and horses through the hole received her six 
 pence with an electric thrill of joy paid the driver, and, oh, 
 the chime of his voice, as he melodiously, musically, and melli- 
 fiuously inquired, "Ticket, miss?" They bave since been intro 
 duced, and now meet daily and delightfully in the same manner. 
 "For since that hour they ride in cabs no more," as Dante re 
 marks. I need not tell you, my friends, that her ideas of love 
 are all conveyed by the medium of a " bus." These vehicles she 
 regards as perambulating Paradises, and the words " Cinderella," 
 "Gen. Taylor," u Kipp and Brown, Broadway and Twentieth 
 Street," as intensely delightful and spiritually comforting inscrip 
 tions, mysteriously typifying, like Hesiod s cosmogony, the birth 
 of young Love. Vive I Omnibus I 
 
 Miss SIXTEEN believes Love to be a plant of intellectual and 
 literary growth, which requires frequent showers of blue ink, and 
 refreshing breezes of sonneteering sighs, or to transplant the 
 
A REGULAR COURSE OF LECTURES. 245 
 
 simile from the garden of poetry to the drawing-room of romance 
 she treats it as a flower whose true destiny is not to nourish 
 sweetly out in the fresh, bright world, in the brilliant sunlight of 
 life, but to be immortalized duly begummed and poetized 
 between the hot-pressed leaves of a millefleur-scented album ! 
 Peste and malapeste ! ! Oh, my beautiful friends, beware of 
 chaining love with lyrics putting him to sleep like an invalid 
 between the sheets of a book, or binding him with ballads 
 
 For if bound he should only be bound in your arms ! 
 
 Miss SEVENTEEN has been engaged seventeen times, and conse 
 quently no longer attaches any extra attributes to love or lovers. 
 If pressed for a reply, she would languidly, sleepily, sweetly, and 
 prettily answer, from La Rochefoucauld " Dans les premieres 
 passions les feinmes aiment I amant, dans les autres elles aiment 
 r amour." Bless her dear heart ! Yes, ladies, bless her, for the 
 flames of many flirtations have purified her soul, (this being a 
 fire which the burnt child never dreads,) and she now loves for 
 true love, per se. 
 
 Miss EIGHTEEN has always and only flirted at watering-places 
 in strange cities or while travelling. The marriage contract is 
 to her dimly connected by mysterious ties of spiritual affinity 
 with hotel bills and cartes de diner; and words of love, if not 
 breathed during a moonlight walk of the creamiest description 
 possible, must of course be whispered in a parlour half full of 
 strangers, on the deck of a steamer, or in a railroad car while 
 bolting through a dark, subterranean tunnel. Cupid nestles, 
 according to her ideas, in a trunk, and Hymen sleeps with a car- 
 pet-jpag for a pillow. When married, she will start with her 
 husband to summerize in Heidelberg and Baden Baden, with a 
 slight detour in returning, via the Nile and St. Petersburg. She 
 also is a very nice young lady, indeed, but labours under an error 
 in supposing that no promising young cavaliers are to be found 
 about town during the winter. 
 
 Miss NINETEEN will probably marry a "fast man." She will 
 
 tell you that was "tight" four nights since, and that 
 
 had to carry him home; that had a great trine 
 
 with the watchman, and will narrate all the particulars of the 
 row, (where under the sun she learns them I cannot imagine,) 
 and wonders how any gentleman can frequent Pat Hern s. She 
 
246 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 is afraid that ptay 8 too high, and knows all the particulars 
 
 of the accident which happened to in the run out on 
 
 street. She is better "posted up" than you would ever suppose 
 on the last divorce-case, and is deeply initiated in the mysteries 
 of elopements. Like all true female amateurs of fast beaux, she 
 is strikingly correct in her own deportment, as such demoiselles 
 invariably are-, strange as it may seem; and I can assure the 
 gentleman who marries her, that despite her merry laugh at his 
 autobiographical recital of wild deeds, when the noose is once 
 tied, he will have to reform, and no mistake! No more late 
 breakfasts and mint-juleps, billiards and Congress-water, for 
 him! When he wanders, with his little cara sposa cosily 
 hooked to his leeward arm, he may drearily glance at the sin 
 gle-named signs, recalling suppers that were, and mournfully 
 murmur, u Et in Arcadia ego!" Serves him right, for she will 
 make him infinitely happier, if he chooses so to be, than he ever 
 was before. 
 
 Miss TWENTY, who loves in social life alternate storms and sun 
 shine, presumes and hopes that her lover and husband will be the 
 bearer of intolerable misery and ineffable happiness. Like the 
 Russian wife, she will almost quarrel with her partner for not 
 treating her cruelly, and would, from her impressions of human 
 nature, be bitterly disappointed in a man who is not occasionally 
 a brute. Like the French lady, she would dearly love, once in 
 a while, a bonne querelle for the sake of the subsequent reconcilia 
 tion. Excitement is her life and a strange life it is. My 
 friends, there are many such in this world. I blame no one, for 
 Nature gives us our temperaments ; but, to use the words of a 
 great moralist, diable rrCemporte if I see any sense in it: 
 
 Better on silent seas secure to sail, 
 
 Than tempt the horrors of the adverse gale. 
 
 Miss TWENTY-ONE will inevitably be smitten at a card-party 
 by some gentleman as well versed as herself in the History of 
 the Four Kings. The struggle will be severe, for when Greek 
 meets Greek the diable a, quatre generally ensues; but, finally 
 vanquished, she will surrender her heart, exclaiming, in the 
 affecting words of the "OPERANO ITALIANO" 
 
 Iddio ! La gameo is blocked up-o ! 
 lo sono beat o ! 
 
HUMMING AND WHISTLING. 247 
 
 As for Mesdemoiselles TWENTY-TWO, TWENTY-THREE, TWEN 
 TY-FOUR, and TWENTY-FIVE, they have no views of their own, 
 but will experience the spiritual knockings of Love precisely 
 in the manner which may prove most agreeable to their pa s, 
 ma s, aunts, friends, and cousins, agreeing to a degree with 
 Miss TWENTY-SIX, who only goes a step beyond dares not call 
 her soul, much less her heart, her own and will accept the 
 lover, and none other, whom Mrs. Grundy, or Mrs. Grundy s 
 grandpapa, may see fit to appoint. Such, briefly, my friends, 
 are a very few specimens of the ways in which the Grand 
 Auctioneer, Cupid, raps with his hammer on young hearts, 
 previous to disposing of them. Let me sincerely trust that all 
 agitations of this nature which you are to experience may be 
 of the most agreeable nature, conducing only to the most fortu 
 nate results, and that never never may any of you find your 
 selves heart-broken ! 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH. 
 
 HUMMING AND WHISTLING. 
 
 W r HiSTLiNG aloud to keep his courage up. 
 He whistled as he went for want of thought. 
 
 Wie sick einer stellt, 
 
 Also seine Pfeife gellt. GERM. PROVERB. 
 
 IT has been well-remarked by an observant philosopher that 
 when the external world fails to supply noise, Nature hath kindly 
 remedied the deficiency by providing a mysterious ringing in the 
 ears a ringing for which an Irish gentleman was wont to apolo 
 gize to his friends, "trusting that the noise didn t disturb them;" 
 and so our minds, when wearied by a constant succession of ob 
 jects, or the painful consciousness of one subject, or, indeed, the 
 entire want of either, clutch nervously at the first trashy trifle, 
 turn it over, and, by constant repetition, strive "to think it out," 
 or exhaust it, and thus attain the semi-oblivious state similar to 
 that caused by yielding to "a singing in the ears." Half the 
 oaths and imprecations uttered when alone spring from a desire 
 
248 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 to benumb, in an abrupt counter-irritant, our consciousness of 
 some sudden disagreeable thought or pain. 
 
 I have met with one, who, at the early age of six years, had 
 acquired a singular habit (suggested, we believe, by a biblical 
 text) of thinking "I AM, I AM: well I who am I? but then J 
 am," and so on, in weary succession, until the idea of existence, 
 and of the significance of all external objects, was lost in a mo 
 mentary waking stupor. Edgar A. Poe, in one of his wild tales, 
 speaks of one who would read over a sentence repeatedly until 
 every vestige of meaning had totally disappeared. Of the two 
 instances, we, however, prefer the former, as casting more light 
 on the incomprehensible ecstasis of Plotinus and the later mystics. 
 I need hardly add that the boy in his riper years read FICHTE ; 
 it was his mission. 
 
 But there is a lighter and more amusing class of these opiates, 
 which are current in the world at large, and may be met at every 
 crossing. There is the little Frenchman, with his continual 
 shrug and grimace. Rain or shine, joy or sorrow, it is always 
 the same shrug the same grimace. It is the make-weight, the 
 fly-wheel, the adjuster, of all his mental and physical excesses. 
 
 There is a young lady and a very pretty, light-hearted young 
 lady, too who repeats on all imaginable occasions 
 
 This world s a bubble, 
 And full of trouble, 
 And they are best 
 Who are at rest. 
 
 There is the marquis, who invariably hums 
 
 Malbrouck s en vaten guerre, 
 Mironton miron ton, ton taine ! 
 
 There is the gentleman, immortalized by Dickens, who found 
 consolation in all affliction in 
 
 Rumpty, tiddity tol de rido ! 
 
 There is Thackeray s Marquis of Crabs, who, according to 
 Chawls Yellow-plush, " always wissled. I believe if he d been 
 told that he was a-going to be hung in five minutes, he d a only 
 wissled. 7 
 
 We knew a gentleman, who, on every variety of occasion, in 
 variably sung one verse of some mysterious lyric. The verse in 
 
HUMMING AND WHISTLING. 249 
 
 itself was well enough, but by dint of singing it to a careless, 
 lilting tune on all manner of wild occasions, he had utterly 
 perverted its original meaning. One morning he sang it to a 
 friend : 
 
 And he who once hath raised his eyes, 
 
 Oh, soul of love, to thee, 
 From that day forth beneath the skies, 
 
 No other sight can see ! 
 
 "What do you think of that for poetry?" he once inquired. 
 "Think!" replied the friend, in whose mind it was associated 
 with all manner of reckless fun and worldly indifference, "think! 
 why, that it s the drunkenest, God-forsakenest piece of verse 
 ever written I" 
 
 I knew a gentleman who was, during a voyage to the West 
 Indies, exposed for three days, in a storm, to the danger of in 
 stant death. To divert his mind from fear, he strove at times 
 to pray at times to think on subjects and scenes far removed 
 from the scene of peril. But do what he would, by night or 
 day, there was one wild fragment of verse which continually 
 buzzed and hummed about him like a musquito, driving afar all 
 other thought all prayer. And it was the Sauf-licd, or drink 
 ing-song, of Dirk Hatteraick, in Guy Mannering : 
 
 And three merry men, and three merry men, 
 And three merry men were we : 
 I on the land, thou on the sand, 
 And Jack on the gallows-tree ! 
 
 "When I began," he said, "I could not for my life remember 
 more than the first line ; but by the third night, I had recalled 
 it all !" 
 
 I have met with one who occasionally took a stoical glance 
 at the world, and seemed to conclude that all was sad. He said 
 naught on such occasions, but sighed forth, "Ah, well!" Such 
 a doleful "Ah, well!" heard man never. The spirit of La Trappe 
 breathed through every letter, and its concluding long breath was 
 like a despairing sigh from the realms of darkness : 
 
 Hope for a moment bade the world farewell. 
 
 With many men, cigars and snuff supply the intellectual 
 vacuum which others ingeniously fill up with verses, sighs, 
 shrugs, whistling, and table-drumming. 
 
250 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MFJSTER KARL. 
 
 I have heard of another who understood not a word of 
 Latin, but had succeeded by some odd chance in picking up the 
 first line of Virgil. Henceforth, on every occasion it became his 
 spiritual consolation. Was a pig stolen, or did he make a ten- 
 strike at ten-pins, his emotions invariably vented themselves in. 
 the same hexameter. News being brought him of his wife s 
 death, he sadly sighed; and, pursing up his lips, all uncon 
 sciously repeated 
 
 Tityre tu patulze recubans sub tegmine fagi. 
 
 Such, reader, are a few of the methods by which the o ertaxed 
 spirit relieves itself. Myriads of additional instances might, 
 doubtlessly, be added for this is a matter in which almost 
 every man goes his own path; and I imagine that few exist 
 who do not, in one form or another, at times give unconscious 
 indications of mental excess. Wherewith I take leave, hum 
 ming my own favourite refrain : 
 
 And if the wine, the wine be sour, 
 
 Oh, then, drink Malvasie! 
 And if my lips, my lips are sweet, 
 
 Then come again to me. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH. 
 
 A STORY WHICH ENDS AS IT OUGHT. 
 
 BALMY zephyrs lightly flitting, 
 
 Shade ine with your azure wing. 
 On Parnassus summit sitting, 
 
 Aid me, Clio, while I sing. 
 
 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 
 
 Ruft urn Hilf die Poesei, 
 Gegen Zopf and Philistrei ! 
 
 BURSCHEN HERAUS. 
 
 YES, my friends a story ending as it ought, and which the 
 Meister trusts may prove more acceptable to his fellow-travellers 
 than it ever did to himself ! 
 
A STORY WHICH ENDS AS IT OUGHT. 251 
 
 But it hath one great crowning recommendation "La tante 
 en permettra la lecture a sa niece!" (The aunt may conscien 
 tiously permit her niece to read it.) 
 
 But I have yet another motive for perpetrating the following 
 tale. In the Ragionamenti Fantastici of FRANCESCO ANDRE- 
 INI DA PISTOIA, termed the Comico Geloso, alias II Capitano 
 Spavento, and imprinted at Venice in the year 1612, we find 
 that, in constructing a house, not only lordly halls, rich libraries, 
 splendid sleeping-chambers, gorgeous alcoves, admirable armour 
 ies, and beautiful boudoirs are to find place, but also apartments 
 of a far humbler description such as wood-houses, pantries, 
 kitchens, and other institutions demanded by our daily needs 
 and requirements. And I quote the work with more confidence 
 since in it, and in its similar contemporaries, I do most clearly 
 discover the original of that so-called Euphemism which, under 
 the auspices of John Lyly, became as fashionable at the Court of 
 Queen Elizabeth as did the Transcendental lingo at a later day 
 under the care of Emerson, Alcott and Co., in Boston. GriAM- 
 BATTISTA BASILE, of the Neapolitan Pentamerone, and Andreini 
 da Pistoia, have in fact the same relation (or a much nearer) to 
 Euphues Lyly, as the German models and Carlyle have to their 
 American imitators. I say nothing of Pietro Aretino, La Ye- 
 niero, and others; for, though they afford material for illustra 
 tion, I find nothing to parallel them in modern times. 
 
 Therefore, I, after doing my best to build up chapters in 
 every style of masonry and architecture, find myself obliged 
 fearfully nolens volens to do something in the Rococo, frip 
 pery, filagree, renaissance- run-to-seed style of romancing. It 
 was no pleasant task, Miss Readeress, I can assure you; nor 
 could I ever have accomplished it, had I not first taken that 
 apparently needless seventeenth-century bite at 11 Capitano 
 Spavento! 
 
 There is a certain Euphemism now wellnigh a century old 
 the language of souls without heart, of hearts without feeling, of 
 feeling without taste, of taste without refinement, of refinement 
 without delicacy which holds its own in our magazines and 
 second-class novels with a tenacity and vitality which seems to 
 give vile promise of a hateful immortality. Its only merit is, 
 that it never breathes aught irreligious or impure; and its 
 deepest defect, that in reality it is atheistic and infamous. 
 
 22 
 
252 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Under one form or another, the same accursed De-Genlis- 
 Marmontel- Jane -Porter -toast -water is ladled out to us by 
 bucketfuls on all occasions and for every sort of requisition. 
 And a dreadful majority of those who are ever beseeching for 
 something new, still continue, like Warren s lunatic, to carouse 
 on the slop, and fancy it Burgundy. When Faustus desired to 
 turn back to piety and purity, Mephistophiles, we are told, pre 
 vented it by ordering a fiend to present himself every day, 
 under the guise of a beautiful woman, to his embraces. And 
 every day the demon, unknown to Faust, assumed a new female 
 form. And so it is with you, soulless amateurs of twaddle ! 
 who receive with renewed joy your Lauras, and Miss Mortons, 
 and Anabel Fitz-Snivelles. So with you who revel in your Percy 
 Mortimers, De Grevilles, and dashing dandies. It is always the 
 old devil under a new guise. 
 
 "Ring the bell, sound the gong, draw the curtain." Here 
 goes for a race after humbug with the best of you, and the devil 
 grab the hindmost ! 
 
 Cecilia de Romigny, a scion of one of the noblest families in 
 England, was left at an early age heiress of a vast estate, and 
 endowed with every personal or intellectual charm which could 
 bestow grace or attract admiration. Having been strictly edu 
 cated in a French convent, and rarely seen even by her uncle, 
 to whose decease she was now indebted for her vast wealth, it is 
 needless to state that she was totally ignorant of the world, and 
 had been so fortunate as never to have engaged in any of those 
 " affairs of the heart" which, however they may tend to promote 
 the happiness of those concerned when submitted to the strict 
 guidance and consent of parents or guardians, can never prove 
 other than detrimental when conducted by inexperienced young 
 persons without the approval of their legal protectors. 
 
 Not that Cecilia de Romigny was hard-hearted, or naturally 
 insensible to the power of the tender passion. Aware of the 
 importance of her wealth and station in society, and sensible 
 that these might be materially improved by a prudent alliance, 
 she would willingly have bestowed her heart and hand upon 
 any one thus capable of insuring her ultimate and permanent 
 welfare. 
 
A STORY WHICH ENDS AS IT OUGHT. 253 
 
 From this she was withheld by the consideration of a singular 
 item in the will of her late uncle. 
 
 This was a bequest of ten thousand pounds to a young gentle 
 man whom the testator had known in his travels under the 
 assumed name of Henry Wilton. This person had rescued her 
 uncle, at the risk of his life, when attacked by robbers in 
 Calabria, and watched over him during a long illness in Flo 
 rence. Touched to the heart by his numerous good qualities, 
 among which discretion, prudence, and piety shone pre-eminent, 
 he determined to effect, if possible, a match between Wilton and 
 his niece ; and, a few days before his death, actually addressed 
 a letter to her intimating his wishes on this subject. 
 
 Cecilia had never seen Henry Wilton, but, of course, cheer 
 fully acquiesced in the will of her uncle. But an unforeseen 
 impediment threw itself in the way. Wilton had not been 
 heard of for several years ; and, despite of the strictest search, 
 not a trace of him was to be found. In this unfortunate state 
 of affairs, she prudently resolved to dismiss for the present all 
 thoughts of marriage, trusting that at some future day the un 
 known favourite might make his appearance. 
 
 There was also a clause in her uncle s will relative to a debt 
 of ten thousand pounds due to him from a young gentleman 
 named George Maury. This debt, which was originally much 
 greater, had been contracted on behalf of a relative who had 
 subsequently cruelly deceived him. By industry and economy, 
 he had succeeded in reducing the debt. With Maury the uncle 
 was personally unacquainted, owing to the constant residence of 
 the former abroad ; nor was he, indeed, desirous of a meeting 
 with him, not wishing to press his debtor or drive matters to 
 extremes. In the will the debt was forgiven in consequence 
 of the upright intentions manifested by young Maury. 
 
 Two gentlemen were seated, engaged in earnest conversation, 
 in an apartment situated in the Faubourg St. Germain. The room 
 was neatly ornamented in that most exquisite of styles known as 
 the Rococo, or Baroque. The doors and wainscot were covered 
 with idyllo-mythologic carvings, inspired in their execution by 
 the refined taste which prevailed during the reign of Louis the 
 Fifteenth. The walls were covered with carefully-executed 
 sketches from the sculptures of Bernini, or the paintings of 
 
254 
 
 MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Watteau, Boucher, and Van der WerfF, which, in connection with 
 furniture of the same era, produced an impression which might 
 have induced the spectator to imagine (were such extravagant 
 flights of fancy permissible) that he had been transported back to 
 that golden age of Literature and Art. At the extremity of the 
 room stood a well-filled and elegantly-gilt bookcase, whose top 
 was further ornamented with a collection of Dresden porcelain 
 curiosities and the busts of Pope and Boileau. Not the slightest 
 trace of the barbarous Gothic taste, or of the romantic and extra 
 vagant Germanism, so ridiculously popular at the present day, 
 was to be discerned in this elegant sejour of taste and refinement. 
 
 "I understand, my friend/ said the younger of the gentlemen 
 to his companion a remarkably handsome man, whose every 
 movement was characterized by that imposing formality and cere 
 monious hauteur which seems unfortunately destined, at the 
 present day, to be soon swept away among the neglected relics of 
 things that were "I understand that you are about to undertake 
 a voyage to England the land of our birth !" 
 
 "Such is, indeed, my intention," replied the elder; "and 
 having been informed, by my London correspondent, of the death 
 of my creditor, Mr. Romigny, I propose, when there, entering 
 into some final arrangement with the heirs regarding the debt." 
 
 "Are you as yet acquainted with the final disposition of his 
 property?" 
 
 "I am not. At one time, travelling under my assumed name 
 of Henry Wilton, I became acquainted with a Mr. Romigny, 
 who might possibly have been my creditor himself. But the 
 affair of the debt compelled me to be silent ; and I forbore to as 
 certain. There are many of the same name; and this, I am in 
 clined to think, was another." 
 
 We imagine that it would, after this, hardly be necessary to 
 inform our readers that Mr. Wilton and Mr. Maury were one and 
 the same person. 
 
 Cecilia de Romigny sat in her boudoir, touching with skilful 
 hand her lute, whose awakened chords added yet another charm 
 to the delicately modulated intonations of her dulcet voice. Her 
 gong was a plaintive, simple lay : 
 
 The evening winds are sighing, 
 And Mary sits alone ; 
 
A STORY WHICH ENDS AS IT OUGHT. 255 
 
 She sighed the evening breezes 
 Sighed in the selfsame tone. 
 
 And, as the breeze was sighing, 
 
 There sat the fair Marie : 
 She heard its gentle whisper 
 
 It sighed aud so did she ! 
 
 And as the evening breezes 
 
 Sighed in the selfsame tone, 
 There sat the gentle Mary 
 
 And Mary sat alone. 
 
 A knock was heard, and her favourite page entered. "Permit 
 me, madam, to announce a gentleman, and to apologize for my 
 faithless memory, which has failed to retain his name/ 
 
 The gentleman entered. At the first glance, a blush rose to the 
 cheek of Cecilia; for she could not fail to detect in the noble 
 form before her the traits of Henry Wilton, as described by her 
 uncle. Ere he could recover from the astonishment into which 
 her transcendant beauty had thrown him, she spoke 
 
 " I am glad to see you, sir ; we have long sought for you ; and 
 are now ready to give you your deserts." 
 
 But the gentleman, to her astonishment, appeared any thing 
 but gratified at this intelligence. 
 
 "I am aware, madam," he said, "that, in coming to England, 
 I have risked my personal liberty but, I am here with the in 
 tention of sacrificing all I own, to the last farthing, in the liquida 
 tion of my debts." 
 
 "Gracious heaven !" exclaimed Cecilia, fairly bewildered, "are 
 you then Mr. Wilton, or Mr. Mauiy?" 
 
 " Miss de Romigny I am both Mr. Wilton and Mr. Maury." 
 
 Both burst into tears ! 
 
 The village bells were ringing a merry marriage peal. Throngs 
 of happy peasants, in holiday-attire, were seen wending their 
 way to the hall. Hogsheads were set running, and beeves were 
 roasted whole ; for Cecilia de Romigny had wedded Mr. Henry 
 Wilton alias MR. MAURY! 
 
25G SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH. 
 
 REFRAINS. 
 
 Summer Pgljt in tin %* 
 
 REFRAIN NO. 1. 
 
 THE city is not without its charms even in summer the hot, 
 stifling summer, when floods of scorching light roll back in fierce 
 reflection from whitened walls and cedar roofs. For over the 
 city, as over all this broad world of towns and towers, mountain, 
 forest, and sea, falls the slowly darkening eventide, and over it, 
 as over the bark of the far-sailing mariner, shine the stars. 
 Pleasant is the silent summer night in the city for it recalls 
 the vanished memories of hours long passed away ! 
 
 The noise and tumult of the busy day is hushed, and voices in 
 the street are few and far between, like the hum heard in the 
 forest after the roar of the storm-wind has swept by. Here and 
 there, from half-screened windows, flashes forth a bright light, 
 and the ringing laugh, or the sweet notes of the piano, delay the 
 footsteps of the promenader. Pleasant is the silent summer 
 night in the city for it recalls the vanished memories of hours 
 long passed away ! 
 
 In the city, as in the fair country, the evening wind bears on 
 its wings sweet perfume of flowers. The rose and the linden, 
 the honeysuckle and the grape, hang in myriads of little gardens. 
 Close thine eyes thou art again in the Castle Garden of Heidel 
 berg, thou loitcrest "unter den Linden" in merry Berlin, or art by 
 the Villa lleale of Naples ! Pleasant is the silent summer night in 
 the city for it recalls the memories of hours long passed away ! 
 
 I am in the crowded concert the voice of the sweet singer 
 rises above the waves of the orchestra, like Aphrodite, the Beau 
 tiful, above the roaring sea. From the concert I go forth to the 
 silent, moonlit street, and wander homeward, like the deep-souled 
 poet, " alone with the niglit." Pleasant is the silent summer 
 night in the city for it recalls the memories of hours long 
 passed away ! 
 
REFRAINS. 257 
 
 Late, late in the night, we pass by the silent homes where 
 those we love dwell. Do their ears catch the sound of our foot 
 steps, or are we floating dimly sweetly in their dreams? 
 Does the last flash of the light in an upper window send a thrill 
 to thy soul ? Pleasant is the silent summer night in the city for 
 it recalls the vanished memories of hours long passed away ! 
 
 Can this be the spot where I stood a few hours since, in all 
 the glare and light of noontide ? And in after years, when from 
 the twilight of life a slowly darkening eternity closes over me, 
 will its approach be as cool and pleasant to my soul, when I re 
 member the noonday of my youth? Pleasant is the silent sum 
 mer night in the city for it recalls the vanished memories of 
 hours long passed away! 
 
 of 
 
 REFRAIN NO. 2. 
 
 IT is dark when the honest and honourable man sees the re 
 sults of long years swept cruelly away by the grasp of knavish, 
 heartless adversity. It is dark when he feels the clouds of sor 
 row gather around, and knows that the hopes and happiness of 
 others are fading with his own. But in that hour the memory 
 of past integrity will be a true consolation, and assure him, even 
 here on earth, gleams of the light in heaven ! 
 
 It is dark, when the dear voice of that sweet child, once so 
 fondly loved, is no more heard around in murmurs. Dark, when 
 the little pattering feet no more resound without the threshold, 
 or ascend step by step the stairs. Dark, when some well- 
 known melody recalls the strain once oft attuned by the childish 
 voice, now hushed in death ! Darkness, indeed but only the 
 gloom which heralds the dayspring of immortality and the infinite 
 light of heaven ! 
 
 It is dark, when, in later life, we tread the scenes of long- 
 vanished pleasures pleasures pure and innocent, whose memory 
 has often thrilled our soul whose voices, like those of some 
 phantom-band, are ever sweet and sad; but never sadder than 
 when chiming with the after echo "We return no more!" 
 Ring as ye will, sweet voices, there are loftier joys awaiting in 
 
258 SKETCH-BOOK OF MK, MKJSTKR KARL. 
 
 the golden Eden-Land, which lies beyond the sunset of life, and is 
 gladdened by the light above, in he.ivcn ! 
 
 It is dark very dark when the grim hand of sickness has 
 passed fearfully over us with its deathly magnetic stroke, and 
 left behind the life-enduring sorrows of blindness, decrepitude, 
 or debility. It is dark sadly dark when we are neglected for 
 the fair and comely who abound in this gay and heartless world. 
 Cheer up, thou poor sufferer, for there be those among the 
 angels who love thee, and thou wilt yet shine fair as they, when 
 touched by the light above, in heaven ! 
 
 It is dark in the heart of man all over this fair, green world. 
 It is dark beneath the noonday sky dark in the sunray, the 
 moonbeam, the starlight. But, for the true heart and trusting 
 soul, who lives in the life of love and gentleness, there beameth 
 ever a light of joy from Heaven ! 
 
 e Mise in lime. 
 
 REFRAIN NO. 3. 
 
 ARE her eyes black and sparkling her hands small and soft 
 her voice musical and bewitching? Does the sidelong glance of 
 those long eyes bewilder thy soul ? Does the accidental touch 
 of that hand bring a strange pleasure? Dost thou scan the 
 undulations of that lithe form with unwonted care? Wouldst 
 thou fain bury thy cheeks in those perfumed tresses ! This may 
 indeed capture Love, but never retain him. Beware her charms 
 be wise in time ! 
 
 Is her wit brilliant and apt? Has she a ready jest for every 
 chatterer, a keen reply to all saving only delicate and grateful 
 compliments for thee? Does she bear herself confidently where 
 weaker minds would sink ? Can she flatter thy weaknesses, and 
 attract thy deepest admiration ? Is she learned in every music, 
 even to that of sighs ? Can she speak every language, even to 
 the language of Love ? Can she paint a loving heart a beauti 
 ful future. Beware the charmer be wise in time? 
 
 Has wealth showered over her its golden blessings? Would 
 the gift of her hand bring with it affluence and comfort the 
 assurance of a life of indolence and pleasure the envy of many, 
 
YANKEE STORIES. 259 
 
 the hollow friendship of all ? Ah ! beware lest the sweet wine 
 be tinctured with a venom, which, like the old poison of Milan, 
 can infuse a life-enduring torture in thy veins ! Beware, lest the 
 key of the treasury, like that of Di Carrara, shoot the needles 
 of remorse to thy soul ! Beware the gilded bait, when the gilding 
 is its only charm, and be wise in time ! 
 
 Dost thou love because she has known thee from early 
 childhood because it is the will of others who love ye both 
 because ye have met and seen much together in wild or 
 adventurous travel in distant lands? Pleasant indeed are such 
 ties; they speak to the soul like the voice of a guardian angel, 
 who wills that such love shall be. Yet even this will not insure 
 thee certain or lasting happiness, and, ere thou yieldest, reflect 
 and be wise in time ! 
 
 There is a love which cometh not of any of these a love 
 which is fairer than beauty, deeper than wit though it were of 
 the soul, brighter and more precious than gold, and tenderer than 
 any earthly tie. There is a love, sanctioned by true sympathy of 
 soul, and guided in its course and made immortal by unwearied 
 watching, by reason, and by true wisdom. And when thou hast, 
 after long search or by strange fortune, met with this love, be 
 thankful that thou wert patient, and that thou hast been wise in 
 time. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH. 
 
 YANKEE STORIES. 
 
 IT has more than once happened to Meister Karl, during his 
 tourifications, trapesings, tramps, trudges, and travels through 
 this wavy and windy world, to be blown and thrown into many a 
 canny country corner of good old New England. He has seen a 
 Thanksgiving family-festival in all its glory, and taken part in a 
 Fast-Day which was a fast day and no mistake, "one of the 
 days we read of," when there is more steaks and stews than star 
 vation, more preying than preaching where folks were thank 
 ful and merry withal, albeit there are many Fast-Days to the 
 Eastward which are kept solemnly enough. And there are cer- 
 
260 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 tain families which compound on this day between fasting and 
 feasting by eating a sort of tea-dinner, rather late for the one 
 meal and rather early for the other, yet combining all the special 
 excellencies of both. And it was one Fast evening, after such a 
 meal, that I heard the following stories, which I have since com 
 mitted to paper, and now place in this my Skctch-Book, that 
 New England may not be forgotten amid my records of the merry 
 memories of the past. 
 
 The first of these stories, which I give in nearly the same 
 words in which I first heard it narrated, is one of a bear-hunt a 
 by-no-means unfrequent occurrence in the wilder districts of 
 Yankee-Land : 
 
 ptMafe j Star-Kant. 
 
 " DID yeu ever hearn tell of my bear-hunt up to Madawasky ? 
 No! Sin and sugar! where were you brung up?" 
 
 Such was Jedediah Claflin s expression, as he leisurely 
 stretched out his legs in the bar-room of the " Cockroach on 
 Cratches," and stared at his auditors, as if not to know him, and 
 all thereunto pertaining, were to be themselves unknown to the 
 last fraction of a degree. 
 
 "Neaou, Jedediah, jest yeu tell us all about it!" said Sympa 
 thy Bullard, the bright daughter of the landlady. "It s sartin 
 fust-rate, ef yeu tell it." 
 
 The compliment was not lost on Jedediah, and with a long, 
 loving leer, and the eccentric exclamation of "Yeu tarnal 
 critter!" he "propelled" on the following story: 
 
 "Yeu see, Uncle Si, he had a haouse and a pesky big piece of 
 woods up to Madawasky, a reasonable ways from the frontier. 
 Naow there was me and Cuzzin Ephe, and Royal Parkins, used 
 to go up and get in wood for the old feller, and great times we 
 used to have mind, I tell yeu for he hadn t nobody but a Pe- 
 nobscot senep that s a he-Injun, yeu know and the senep 
 was a cute boy, but he wasn t everybody, and couldn t reckon for 
 mor n one, as times went !" 
 
 A long puff of cigar-smoke ended the sentence which com 
 memorated the senep s abilities, and the auditors whiffed like 
 wise; and the wind which was whistling about, and without the 
 windows, gave an extra sigh in sympathy. 
 
YANKEE STORIES. 261 
 
 "Wai one morn n we were up among the trees, makin the 
 chips fly like hornets arter a skule-gal, when I noted the senep 
 prick up his ears like a filly in fly-time, and grunt like an old 
 sow when she heers swill runnin . I didn t say nauthin but 
 mind, I tell ye I never heerd that senep grunt but what some- 
 thin come of it, and sometimes twice as much. So I went on 
 choppin just as regular as a horse chawin , when the fust thing 
 
 I knew, the senep up head and grunted again. I couldn t 
 
 hold in no longer 
 
 " Beans and brimstone ! sez I, what s in the wind naow/ And 
 the senep didn t say nothing but leaned on his axe and looked 
 up to the clouds, as ef he was called fur and couldn t cum. 
 Bimeby he comes down from prospectin arter his mansion in the 
 skies, and sez 
 
 " Uh ! me spec bear/ 
 
 " With that he went on choppin and mind, I tell yeu, that 
 axe of his n run jest as fast as cider when it s bust the bung- 
 hole. 
 
 " l Where is the bear, you infernal heathen? sez Royal Parkins, 
 sez he. 
 
 "The senep was agoin to answer, and say that he wasn t a 
 heathen, (they d made a Catholic on him up to Canady,) but he 
 hadn t got no further than Uh, when we heerd jest such an 
 other grunt coniin out of the tree I was choppin on; and I 
 thought, at fust, I d broke into some Injun s winter-quarters, 
 and that he was answerin senep in his own tongue. Fust thing 
 I know d, there was an everlastin big graowl, and ker-slop cum 
 a bear right daown among us. Ef yeu ever did see a craowd 
 fetched up into etarnal scatteration, yeu d a seen it then, and no 
 mistake mind, I tell yeu ! 
 
 "Senep was the fust man to gather up, and he made at the 
 bear with his axe, as if there warn t grace enough agoin to save 
 him. Cuzzin Ephe, he put arter Senep and Royal, and I arter 
 Ephe. When the bear found that every man s hand was agin 
 him, he scuttled off and went up an oak-tree, jest as easy as gin 
 and sugar. He brung up in the crotch, and sot there turnin up 
 his nose and growlin , jest as ef he d got among common people. 
 
 Wall, we chopped away, till I thought the tree was agoin to 
 break off short as a goat s tail. The bear he begun to teter, and 
 we cleared the track to be daown on him, when the fust thing. 
 
262 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 daown he come chewallop on us. Royal tit him an almighty lick 
 with the back of the axe, but he didn t mind it no more n nothin , 
 and broke off for tree number three. Twant no tree nuther, for 
 all there was left of it was a big chunk of an old hollow stump. 
 Daown the beast slipped into the log, like a ramrod into a shot 
 gun. 
 
 "Ephe and Royal begun cuttin away, and Senep couldn t do 
 nawthin else, so he kept a-pitchin stuns and chips ento the 
 stump, till I railly thought he d wedge the critter in alive, be 
 yond redemption. But he hadn t no patience, and fore we knew 
 what we were bout, out the devil come, tarin arter us madder n 
 a bull among bumble-bees. I never did see such a ragin dragon, 
 nor the rest on em nuther; so we all agreed, without consulting 
 to flee from the wrath to come, behind a wood-pile hard by. 
 Senep was the fust man to right about face with his axe. 
 
 11 Cuzzin Ephe, sez I, daown among the logs. 
 
 " i I m a-hearin , Jedediah, sez he. 
 
 " ( Feller-countrymen, sez I, let s up and at em. A little more 
 grape, Cap n Bragg! 
 
 "With that we recovered, and turned on the inimy. The 
 bear felt as fine as a fiddler, and as full of fight as Tom Walker s 
 wife did when she wrastled with the devil. Ef you ever did see 
 a fight, it was in them days. The bear hit Senep one lick, and 
 barked his leg worse n scalin off the kiver of a pot-pie, but the 
 Injun wouldn t do any thing but give one grunt, and that was 
 more fur grief at tarin his old tow pants than fur his hide. 
 Ephe laid into him with his axe as regular as a mill-wheel, but 
 didn t help much nuther, till the Senep run and brung a likely- 
 sized pole that was half-way log. Slump he let it come daown 
 onto the bear s neck, and the fust thing I knowed, Royal was 
 settin onto one eend, and Ephe on t other, jest as easy as grease, 
 with the old bear a-squealin like seven singin skules. 
 
 "I cort hold of the critter s hind-legs, and ef I ever had 
 trouble a-holdin on, et was then. But Senep cum up with his 
 axe. When the bear seen him, he grunted agin, and Senep be 
 gun a cussin of him in Injun. When the bear heerd that, he 
 gin reight up, and Senep knocked him in the head straight-wise. 
 
 11 Ugh/ said Senep, my grandfather killee he grandfather, my 
 father killee he father, and now me telle him that me killee him 
 he make sick right off. " 
 
YANKEE STORIES. 263 
 
 The general astonishment of the audience, and the "dew tell" 
 of Miss Sympathy, gratified Jcdediah not a little. And as the 
 conversation once more went on, and the wind roared again and 
 sighed without, he turned to his neighbour the squire, and said 
 
 "Fact I always heerd that a bear could talk with an Injun ; 
 but I never believed it afore." 
 
 0f Salem. 
 
 FOR a long time Meister Karl believed the following to be an 
 original and ancient Yankee story a belief which was, however, 
 greatly shaken by the discovery of a German proverb, older than 
 New England itself, or, at least, older than the Pilgrim settle 
 ment. The proverb alluded to being, Ich strafe mein Weib mit 
 guten Worten sagte jencr Bauer, da warf er ihr die Bibel an den 
 Hals "I punish my wife only with good words, said the peasant, 
 and threw the Bible at her neck." But what is written is 
 written, and, though forgotten, may not be lost : 
 
 Put up your whittling put away your knives, 
 And hear my story, you with scolding wives ! 
 
 Far in the land where wooden nutmegs grow, 
 And codfish dealers loud their trumpets blow ; 
 Where liquor laws and pumpkins never fail em, 
 A deacon lived hard by the town of Salem : 
 A man well known for his extreme sobriety, 
 Also for his sharp dealings and his piety. 
 
 This deacon had a wife a comely creature, 
 Well shaped in form and mighty nice in feature; 
 A. No. 1, in every thing reported, 
 And so the deacon found her while he courted ; 
 But after marriage, madam proved a tartar, 
 And used her pious husband like a martyr. 
 
 The best of specs oft turn out half a swindle ; 
 
 The deacon s hopes and love began to dwindle ; 
 
 The prettiest pups too often wo find fleas on ; 
 
 The deacon wished to bring his wife to reason ; 
 
 But, though she slapped his face, he never whipped her, 
 
 "For that," said he, " was dead against the Scrfpter." 
 
 But to the minister he went his way, 
 To state the case, and hear what he could say; 
 23 
 
264 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 To show the wounds received from his Elizn, 
 And find some Christian method to chastise her. 
 He wish d to whip the Old One round the stump, 
 But didn t see quite how the cat would jump. 
 
 The parson gave that counsel which all spouses 
 Inclined to scold should pin up in their houses: 
 " Seek only with good ivord* your wife to better, 
 And if she scolds away, why, then, just let her. 
 Anger with anger well wo know must jibe ill; 
 Chastise her with good words they re in the Bible." 
 
 A sudden light broke in upon the deacon ; 
 
 He learn d off-hand what some would think a week on; 
 
 As one small match can light great lumiuation, 
 
 So one small wrinkle makes great rumination; 
 
 In all his nerves it thrilled like an elixir : 
 
 " Chastise with word* ! Jemima ! how I ll fix her!" 
 
 As ho his much-loved home at last was nearing, 
 The following phrases burst upon his hearing; 
 " You all-fired lazy, nast} , dirty sinner ! 
 Is this the way you make your wife wait dinner?" 
 And, entering, his head received a stroker 
 From that light implement, the kitchen poker. 
 
 At other times her spouse had sought the distance, 
 But now his wrath was up he vowed resistance; 
 " Chastise her with good words ! just wait a minute ! 
 Where s the big Bible with the good words in it?" 
 Full at his wife the brass-bound tonio he sped, 
 And knock d her o er the table, bout half dead. 
 
 Reader, my stick is whittled story s over, 
 And you may go to grass, and feed in clover ; 
 But just note this, ere all the tale is ended, 
 The deacon s wife recovered and amended. 
 Now you may lay this volume on the shelf, 
 And, if you choose, go and reform yourself. 
 
 & f tpni rf 
 
 THE following legend is one of that peculiar description which 
 admits of no alias, and consequently compels the calling an indi 
 vidual by his right name, in print, a highly illegal and dangerous 
 proceeding. I believe that there arc few Marblcheaders who 
 are not familiar with the tale : 
 
YANKEE STORIES. 265 
 
 Tis known that in the town of Marblehead 
 The girls are pretty, but the hoys ill-bred ; 
 Besieging wand ring wayfarers for money : 
 "Give us a cent, gaul darn it, or I ll stone ye !" 
 Thus matters stood some forty years or so ; 
 Nor were they greatly changed a week ago. 
 
 Now, in this town 
 Of base renown, 
 
 There dwelt an individual named MANN, who 
 Being wealthy, always dressed in garments bran new. 
 And as his friends and near relations 
 All occupied distinguished stations, 
 His brother having held the sheriffalty, 
 He kept his head great ways bove commonalty. 
 Familiar treatment he would ne er permit, 
 Yet was a man withal endowed with wit. 
 
 It happened once, when tired of daily trading, 
 That in the country MANN went promenading, 
 To gaze upon the fields of wheat and barley, 
 And this he did all in the morning early. 
 To watch the blooming bean and new potater, 
 And recreate his soul with smiling natur. 
 
 While walking thus, (attend to me, I bid you all,) 
 On the high-road he met an individual, 
 
 Peeping and creeping, 
 
 A raving lunatic, just scaped from keeping ; 
 Rattling his chain, and shouting like demented, 
 Pleased that his keeper ho had circumvented. 
 
 At such a sight, MANX, you may s pose, was frighten d; 
 His heart seem d bursting, and his neckcloth tighten d; 
 The very air around him seem d to thicken, 
 For well he knew he d shortly get a lickin . 
 
 The lunatic perceived the fear he stood in, 
 
 " Come on," quoth he, " I ll mash you liko a puddin , 
 
 Cut you to chowder, 
 
 Grind you to powder, 
 Give you a touch of all life s earthly ills, 
 From being throttled, down to paying bills." 
 
 " Hero is a scrape." 
 Thought MANN, " and no escape ! 
 But words, sometimes, they say, will parsnips butter," 
 And thus, with trembling voice, he gan to stutter. 
 
 " Now, say, what s the use 
 
 Of all this abuse, 
 
 Of cutting up, and thus behaving rioty, 
 And acting with such awful impropriety? 
 
2G6 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Indulging so in thoughts of death and slaughter, 
 Of course, my friend, you know you hadn t orter. 
 And as for hidin me, 
 It needn t be tried on me, 
 You know you wouldn t, 
 Besides you couldn t. 
 
 I am a MAN my name is MANN and you, 
 Of course, would stand no chance against us two." 
 
 "Yes," quoth his foe, " but I m the Lord s anointed, 
 And from my cradle upward was appointed 
 To roam the roads until it could be said 
 That I had thrash d two men of Marblehead j 
 
 This is my mission, 
 
 Reveal d in a vision : 
 You are a double man, a double you ; 
 But I m beside myself we re two to two." 
 
 Exclaiming this, at Mr. Mann he darted, 
 
 And maul d him half to death before they parted. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST. 
 
 IN WHICH THE COURIER TRAVELLETII INTO GHOST-LAND. 
 
 FAIRY MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 All over doth this outer earth 
 
 An inner earth enfold ; 
 And sounds may roach us of its mirth 
 
 Over its pales of gold. 
 There spirits dwell unweddcd all 
 
 From the shapes and shades they wore; 
 Though oft their printless footsteps fall 
 
 By the hearths they loved before. 
 We mark them not, nor hear the sound 
 They make in circling all around; 
 Their bidding sweet and voiceless prayer 
 Float without echo on the air; 
 Yet often in unworldly places, 
 Soft Sorrow s twilight vales, 
 We meet them with uncover d faces, 
 
 Outside their golden pales ; 
 Yet dim, as they must ever be, 
 Like ships far off and out at sea, 
 With the sun upon their sails. 
 
 ONE evening, in Heidelberg, the Courier had been discussing 
 with his friends the numerous spirit-legends of that haunted 
 
GHOST-LAND. 267 
 
 town. The well of the sorceress, the witch-gate, and the spectre- 
 horse of the Neunheim ferry, had all been marvelled at, when 
 Meister Karl suddenly bethought him of a spiritual communica 
 tion written lang syne, and which he hastened to find. Ices 
 were brought, the Wolf ordered a fresh bottle of Burgundy, and 
 KARL, smiling at the associations awakened by the faded ink of 
 his manuscript, began in a solemn voice 
 
 " My friends, are ye tired of earth ? Then let me lead you 
 away among the dim shapes and silent mysteries of Wonder- 
 Land :" 
 
 I speak of the early time, when the world was utterly lonely 
 and silent. As yet, the forests of Northland were unbroken, 
 save by the power of the tempest; for the axe of the woodman 
 had not then sounded, nor the oar of the Vikingir been heard on 
 the Northern Sea. 
 
 The giant NOR lay in a vast cavern by the shore of the Baltic. 
 And he felt the breath of the evening wind as it moved sadly 
 and wearily among the mighty oaks ; for it had come from the 
 forest, and bore upon its wings the mournful voices of the dark- 
 green trees. And the voices spoke to the giant father, and said, 
 "Why are we thus neglected? Among our branches no spirits 
 dwell ; our beauty is unsung ; unheeded and unloved, we bloom 
 and wither; and our lives are very short, for no Hamadryads 
 protect us who dwell here in the far Northland." 
 
 And the voices died away ; but the giant Nor was troubled in 
 spirit at the wail of his loved ones. 
 
 From the depths of the far distant blue, even from the outer 
 courts of Asgard, the dwelling of the deities, came the voice of 
 the gentle Braga, the spirit of poesy, whose soft, flowing words 
 are as mead to Odin, the father of the gods. And he said to 
 Nor, "Thou art alone, but we will give thee a son who shall be 
 as a father to the spirits which were born from the dark-haired 
 Asa. From the hills and forests, from the valleys and plains of 
 the south, shall they come ; and when they dwell in these lands 
 of thine, they will be yet more beautiful than before ; and the 
 men who come after will call this race the ELFIN, and their 
 father the TEUTON." 
 
 And it happened even as the gentle Braga had said. North 
 land was no longer desolate, but filled with the spirits of 
 Faerie. Hill and dale, mountain and river, tree and fountain, 
 
 23* 
 
268 
 
 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 had each its guardian spirit. Deep in the earth dwelt the 
 Gnome and Kobold; far, far from the light of day they built 
 themselves gold and silver halls, lit up with ever-gleaming 
 carbuncles. 
 
 In the hard rock dwelt the Duergar and Dienez, who were 
 thought in those days to be harder and sterner than the rocks 
 themselves; while the rivers, lakes, and fountains were the 
 homes of Undines, Naiads, Nymphs, Melusinse, and Wasserelfen. 
 But even in this soft and gentle element were found those fierce 
 and gloomy sprites, the Kelpies, who delighted in troubling man 
 kind. So said the men of .an early time. Heaven forbid that I 
 should speak aught against any of the dwellers in FAERIE ! No 
 word against the Gnomes of the Mountains ! I sat among the 
 rocks in moonlight in Nibelungen Land, and heard their voices 
 humming in the caverns. And in mystery, in beauty, and dim 
 ness they led me down : 
 
 For seven days 
 
 Heard I in the hill 
 
 The iron hammers ; 
 
 For seven days 
 
 I listened there 
 
 To the songs of the Gnomes. 
 
 For seven days 
 
 Heard I gold and steel, 
 
 And the fire which sounded 
 
 Like the cries of many men. 
 
 Deep in the earth 
 
 Lies the land of the Gnomes; 
 
 In that country 
 
 Are neither trees nor meadows; 
 
 Moonlight and starlight 
 
 Shine not upon them. 
 
 Birds do not sing there; 
 
 Barley does not grow there ; 
 
 Bees and flies 
 
 Saw I never there. 
 
 They see no clouds, 
 
 Yet sometimes rain 
 
 Falleth upon them, 
 
 Down through the rocks. 
 
 But it is very light 
 
 In the Land of the Gnomes, 
 
 For they have bright stones, 
 
 Which flash in the dark 
 
 Like the eyes 
 
 Of an angry wolf: 
 
 So the house is lighted. 
 
 Their land is very broad, 
 
 For under all the earth, 
 
 And the great sea also, 
 
 Dwell the Gnomes. 
 
 When it is cold on earth, 
 
 It is warm in that country. 
 
 When the summer is hot 
 
 The Gnomes bear heavy garments. 
 
 In that land 
 
 Is much iron and gold : 
 
 Therewith they make 
 
 Fine swords and helmets. 
 
 There in that land 
 
 Saw I many men and women, 
 
 Many fair maidens, 
 
 Brave knights and good harpers, 
 
 Who had left the green world, 
 
 And dwelt merrily 
 
 In the houses of the Gnomes. 
 
 There we feasted 
 
 With mead, wine, and beer. 
 
 Naught had we to pay, 
 
 For the Gnomes love men. 
 
GHOST-LAND. 269 
 
 The Undines, too, like all elementary spirits, are of a kind and 
 gentle nature, living, loving, and delighting in all good. Such 
 was that mild maiden so sweetly drawn by the gifted fairy-an 
 nalist, La Motte Fouque; such, though man had belied them, 
 the Wild Ladies who sang to Von Troneg Hagen ; such the fair 
 Nymph of Lurlei; such the gentle siren of Naples; and such 
 the water-damoscll of the great magician Gothe : 
 
 ttnb tote er jlfct unb tote er laufdjt, 
 f)etlt ftcfy ber $lut() empor; 
 5lu3 bent kttegtcn SBaffcr raufcfyt 
 (Sin feitdjteS 2Betf> $eror. 
 
 In the element of fire dwelt the pure Salamanders and Saldini, 
 who are, say the Ilosicrucians, more beautiful and reserved than 
 their relations of Air, Earth, and Water ; and nearly allied to 
 them the familiar spirits termed Penates, born, according to 
 Paracelsus, of Fire and Air. 
 
 How shall I describe ye, beautiful Sylphs ! Bright dwellers 
 in the aerial element, how can I tell the unutterable longing, the 
 deep yearning with which my heart inclines to your celestial 
 company ! Whether ye revel in the rose-perfumed cloud which, 
 at glowing dawn, hangs over the golden gardens of Istamboul, or 
 with sister Peris wing your way far, far above the sun-painted 
 rainbow and crimson-gleaming flame of the western sky, still my 
 heart follows and is ever with you. Yea, for AGLA, the fairest, 
 is in your band : Agla, whom I have twice seen in dreams. 
 
 It may be that some will look upon the old Northland legend 
 of the birth of the Elfin, and of the four elementary tribes, as 
 trifling and obscure. And truly the followers of the gifted Plato, 
 who are said to have learned many notable things relative to the 
 dwellers in the Unseen, have given us another and more satisfac 
 tory account, which I albeit my skill therein be but small 
 will set forth to the lovers of fairy lore. 
 
 This outer world, which is but the object of the invisible, is 
 formed from matter which, in the beginning, was harmonized 
 into shape by the occult virtue of spiritual numbers. In the be 
 ginning the Triad was born from the Monad, as it is declared by 
 Proclus in his scholia: "Toto enim in Mundo lucet Trinitas, 
 cujus Umtas initium est." Hence it follows, that in the gene 
 ration of all phenomena, a perfect and peculiar number was 
 allotted to every element and every principle. Fire, Air, and 
 
270 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Water are derived from the scalene triangle. A cube is the 
 figure peculiar to earth, and the icosahedron to water. At every 
 intermixture of these elements, and consequently at every new 
 creation therefrom, a new number is generated, representative of a 
 new IDEA, developed in the Monad. 
 
 The objective form of the numeral is changeable, and subject to 
 annihilation. But the corresponding IDEA, as partaking of the 
 nature of the primary Monad or Demiurgos, is, in its essence, 
 intelligent and also eternal. But when its duties are performed, 
 it retains no longer a distinct personality, but is reabsorbed into 
 the original element, and thus, though eternal, is to all intents 
 annihilated. 
 
 Thus, the four glorious companies of elementary spirits are for 
 ever shut out from a share in those eternal joys allowed to man. 
 And so it often happens that the remembrance of this inspires 
 them with wayward and wilful fits of that which, in mortals, were 
 despair. And a misapprehension of the cause of this hath often 
 caused men to confound them with the dwellers in the dark 
 abyss. 
 
 Yet this is wrong, since they do GOD S will cheerfully. If this 
 remembrance of their final annihilation be awakened, they are 
 not unfrequently hostile to man. Thus it hath ever been ac 
 counted dangerous to meet them on a Friday : 
 
 This is the day when the fairy kind 
 
 Sit -weeping alone for their hopeless lot, 
 And the wood-maiden sighs to the moaning wind, 
 
 And the mcrmaiden weeps in her crystal grot ; 
 For this is a day when a deed was done 
 
 In which they had neither part nor share : 
 For the children of clay was salvation wrought, 
 
 But not for the forms of Earth and Air. 
 And ever the mortal is most forlorn 
 Who meeteth their race on Friday morn. 
 
 But there is one way remaining by which the Elfin tribes may 
 obtain this boon. If one of these spirits should wed a human 
 being, then, by virtue of that passage in Holy Writ which de 
 clares a married pair to be one, they may, by becoming mortal, 
 attain to immortality. Thus declares the spirit-read Count 
 Gabalis. 
 
 Beautiful elves, who dwell in the golden glories of the far land 
 of light, must ye then stoop to the level of degraded mortality to 
 
GHOST-LAND. 271 
 
 attain, with the children of earth, those joys which spread broad 
 and wide beyond the grave ? And is it true (as the old Arabian 
 declared) that ye do dwell in this earth disguised as mortals ? 
 For he saith that here and there in this world, but few and far 
 between, dwell the houris of Elf-land. 
 
 thou who readest these dream-reveries! if ever among 
 those gentle demoiselles, whose friendship or love has given 
 many a golden hour to the weariness of life, thou hast seen ONE 
 whose every look, glance, and smile seemed to tell of a higher 
 and brighter land ; whose thoughts and wishes, ever aspiring to 
 the spiritual and unseen, seemed to fix more and more indelibly 
 upon her love the character of the unattainable, then know that 
 thou hast seen a true spirit-maiden, even a veritable Elf ! 
 
 friend ! knowest thou not that there are myriads around 
 thee in this world, in whose mysterious eyes and outward-glancing 
 souls may be traced the gleam of the infinite and the impression 
 of a previous life ? Some who live and act in the feeling of the 
 good, beautiful, and true, though darkened by the shadows of 
 life and sense ? Of such are the Sylph and Naiad, or Sala*nian- 
 der ; rising from the downward-born elements of GOD ! Others, 
 who live and move only in the strange, the grotesque, and ever- 
 changing, who grasp at no idea as others grasp it, the serious 
 reality of whose souls rests on the feeling of the incongruous and 
 laughable. And these were merry Goblins, wild Gnomes, fan 
 tastic Elves, roving Will-o -the-Wisps, Red-caps, and Koboldi. 
 Strangely, and wildly, and wonderfully, they circle through the 
 world, with their quips and cranks, their gambols and gaudrioles, 
 their fantasie, bizarrerie, and burlesquerie. friends of "my 
 soul light of my life ! doth the air of life press too coldly and 
 thickly upon you ? And of such were Richter, and Rabelais, 
 and Hoffman, and Pater Rush, and Tyll Eulenspiegel, and 
 Sterne, and Swift, and Robin Goodfellow, and Abraham a Santa 
 Clara, and Jerome Bosch, and Hollenbreughel, and Callot, and 
 Tabourot, and the Seigneur des Accords, and of all who arrive 
 at a comprehension of the mysterious life-problem by reading it 
 up the middle, down the sides, and finally reversing it ! Ye 
 quaint, fantastic souls ! how little does the world, when it splits 
 its sides with roaring at your oddities, comprehend either your 
 nature or that at which it laughs ! But it is only the outer form, 
 the last tincture of your cabala, which provokes laughter. Only 
 
272 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 the scum on the surface ; for beneath that lies a deep, unfathom 
 able gulf of high-pressure mystery, and fourth-proof wonder and 
 adoration. 
 
 There are many, too, who have never written or painted ; nay, 
 who have never attracted particular attention from their nearest 
 friends by act or word, yet whose whole life is to themselves a 
 mystery, a whimsy, an incomprehensible, serio-comic problem. 
 I know that strange gleam of the eye, that twitch of the lip. 
 Yes, it was brave in Elf-land ! 
 
 Burning daughter of love, thou wert once a succubus, and 
 wafted on the wings of night ; and hot longing, didst steal from 
 sleep, hearts and new lives. Man of dulness, known in society 
 as a bore, thou wert an incubus; there were nine of ye then. 
 Miser, whose soul is with thy gold, thou wert once a Leprau- 
 chaun, and didst heap even as now. False and deceitful heart, 
 dealer in scandal and bitterness, thou wert among the Paraedri, 
 the evil ones. Thou, my pretty child, whose life passes among 
 pinks and hyacinths, jessamine flower-seeds and the hot-house, 
 thouwert a Peucedanum, a spirit of woods and gardens. 
 
 But there is one, the Gloriana, the queen of Fantasie and 
 Faerie, whose glances are not for all, whom every one may not 
 safely meet. That one is 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN FAY. 
 
 Ye gentles all, who love your life, 
 Beware, beware, the water wife ! 
 
 She singeth soft, she singeth low ; 
 
 Her lute is the mountain streamlet s flow : 
 
 Her harp, the pine-wood s mournful moan ; 
 She sits by the fountain and sings alone : 
 
 And her songs like musical rivers roll ; 
 Beware, beware, lest they drown thy soul ! 
 
 Ride where you may, ride where you will, 
 The Fountain Fay can meet you still. 
 
 He rode alono in the silent night; 
 
 She swam like a star to his left and right. 
 
GHOST-LAND. 278 
 
 He rode by the linden blooming fair ; 
 
 Dauie Nightingale sang, " youth, beware !" 
 
 He came to the fountain within the wood; 
 The Fay in her beauty before him stood. 
 
 In the starlight, silver-sparkling glance, 
 Her sisters swain in the Elfin dance. 
 
 Alight, thou minstrel brave and gay ! 
 And sing us thy sweetest, choicest lay. 
 
 He sang so sweet, he sang so long, 
 
 The flower-buds open d to hear his song; 
 
 He sang so gently of maidens and love, 
 He ripen d the fruit on the boughs above. 
 
 I ask no more for lute and lay 
 
 Than a kiss from the lips of the Fountain Fay. 
 
 She kiss d him once to the minstrel s sight 
 The world seem d melting in golden light. 
 
 Once more and his soul to the land of the Fay 
 In beauty and music seem d floating away. 
 
 As she kiss d him again, the spirit had fled; 
 He lay in the moon-rays cold and dead. 
 
 From above a musical whisper fell : 
 
 Green Earth, with thy valleys and lakes Farewell ! 
 
 Ye who shun the regions of poesy, 
 Of beauty, romance, and fantasie ! 
 
 And who think there can be no world like this 
 Beware of the Fairy beware her kiss ! 
 
274 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, METSTER KARL. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND. 
 
 IX WHICH MEISTER KARL, FORGETTING BOTH FRIENDS AND 
 FOES, SITS HIM DOWN AND ELABORATES SEVERAL EXPERI 
 ENCES, BOTH REAL AND FEIGNED, CONCLUDING IT WITH 
 THE LAST WHIFF OF HIS PIPE, AND IN MUCH THE SAME 
 MANNER. 
 
 $ast an* $ctscnl. 
 
 CENTURIES have roll d away 
 Since I saw ray natal day ; 
 And have now, in different forms, 
 Lived in sunshine lived in storms. 
 
 CONFESSIO AMANTIS. JV. Y. Albion. 
 
 IT has been the object of the author to impart to the reader in 
 this book his literary and personal experiences. And he has 
 sought to be guided solely by absolute truth. 
 
 And wherein doth such truth consist? _ There are certain 
 towns which I have never visited, yet which I know right well 
 by reading and by report, by romance, rumour, and relation. 
 And there are others which I have visited, and of which I know 
 nothing not even enough to write a guide-book for them. 
 
 And there are divers men and women whom I have never 
 seen, yet whom I know right well by their labours and letters, 
 by their daguerreotypes and similar "documents." Meanwhile, 
 there are others, whom I meet "day in and day out," who are all 
 Coptic to me. 
 
 And it seems very strange, and, I may add, slightly unreason 
 able, by which I mean "deucedly foolish and impertinent," for 
 the world to insist upon it that I "know" Fitz Noodle, Esq., 
 or Blondina Tulle, or any other of the fluttering flock of 
 fools, and that I stand in no relation whatever, express or im 
 plied, to those great, glorious, jolly, genial souls, in thinking on 
 whom I have lived, whose nearest, dearest thoughts have been 
 my thoughts, whose tastes have been my tastes, and who have 
 
PAST AND PRESENT. 275 
 
 merely been separated from me by the trifling obstacles of space 
 and time. 
 
 Separated ! are we separated ? In the hot, noisy, garish 
 day, in the bustle of Wall Street, in the Rue Richelieu, in the 
 crowded Strand, they are not away from me. I catch here and 
 there, in the hurrying throng, glimpses of the long-departed. In 
 their own or in others faces, they peep at me for an instant and 
 vanish in the living tide as a flickering moonlight gleam is lost 
 in the dancing stream. Seek to find them, and they are not 
 there for it is their pleasure to glance at you but for an instant, 
 to know how it goes with you on earth or during business-hours, 
 and to glide away. 
 
 reader ! I have friends among the departed whom I some 
 times tremble at the thought of meeting again on earth not in 
 the dark night or alone, but in a busy crowd at noonday. They 
 are ever about us, queer fellows that they are, and incessantly 
 giving us the dodge. They fear to be caught, and yet continu 
 ally risk it. Only last week I, Meister Karl, did very nearly 
 catch one, too. I saw him the living, breathing form of a jolly 
 good fellow, who took it into his head, some years ago, to leave 
 life, ladies, and Lafitte claret, and retire to a very elegant rose 
 wood cofiin. He was passing, on his last appearance in Broad 
 way, beneath a building on which men were at work. Suddenly, 
 a thousand of brick fell from above, one of which penetrated his 
 beaver and his brain, and so he died. Died as had been pro 
 phesied in the early almanac of Creation "with a brick in his 
 hat." 
 
 And he last week glanced in the likeness of a living man at 
 me as I was rushing past the Astor House. "And now," thought 
 I, "for once, I will catch a ghost." He ran briskly through the 
 crowd, but I kept my eye on him until he had turned his head, 
 when I caught him by the shoulders and held him fast. Yet lo ! 
 as he looked around, it was lie no longer, but a very irascible 
 Frenchman, "travelling on a shape" which I had greatly dis 
 turbed. So I bowed and let him go. 
 
 And there was Pat a bright, "smart," lively Irish waiter, 
 impudent as the devil, but somewhat better looking, who 
 " waited" on me at the Club, and died ere I departed. And 
 not only died, but it was even debated one afternoon in the 
 smoking-room whether he were not damned also Charley Flynn 
 
 21 
 
276 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 betting a dozen of champagne on the affirmative with Old Chisel, 
 the Rev. Dr. Smiler to hold stakes and decide. And yet, very 
 recently, while dining in a restaurant, who should come up, of all 
 birds in the air, but PAT. 
 
 "Pat, you rascal!" said I, reprovingly, "ain t you ashamed 
 to be out of your grave in this indecent manner at five o clock in 
 the afternoon ?" 
 
 " Sure, an I hav nt been did at all !" he replied ; " an if I 
 was, I d rise to wait on yer honour I" 
 
 I knew he was lying, but I gave him two shillings. Of 
 course, he never appeared again, and nobody about the house 
 knew any thing of such a waiter. Moreover, I heard lately 
 from the best authority that Pat did really die, and was buried 
 long ago. None but an Irish ghost would have ever had such 
 impudence. 
 
 And there are others who live again in other shapes, yet 
 whose souls blush forth at times in the olden form, even as the 
 Aurora is the same though seen in different lands. Such was 
 that beautiful, gentle, merry little Lady Blanche, who, with her 
 mother, so kindly nursed Wolf Short when he was sick in Milan. 
 Wolf used to call her " Launch," from a droll, abrupt fashion 
 she had of dashing out with any thought which chanced into 
 her little noddle. Poor Blanche ! she died herself at Genoa, 
 and the Wolf had a very beautiful monument placed over her 
 grave. 
 
 Now, in England we subsequently became acquaiated with a 
 lady who often and strangely reminded me of Blanche. One 
 day, while speaking of ships, she said 
 
 "Did you ever see a launch?" 
 
 I stared at her, bewildered with strange recollections and by 
 the odd, half-significant tone of her voice. She burst into a loud 
 peal of laughter. 
 
 Now, / should like to know what she was laughing at. 
 
 On another occasion she remarked to Wolf 
 
 "I suppose that in Paris you were a constant visitor at Pere 
 la Chaise?" 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " Oh ! nothing only that you have such an exquisite taste 
 in tombstones." 
 
 "Yes," thought I, with an uneasy thrill, "he has an exquisite 
 
PAST AND PRESENT. 277 
 
 taste in tombstones, as some folks have a very good right to 
 know." And with this I looked at Wolf, indulging a percussion- 
 cap glance and a trip-hammer nod, nor will I swear that the 
 ghost of a wink did not travel athwart my left eye. She came 
 near going to the grave a second time with laughter not that it 
 would have made much difference to her, either. 
 
 But there are very few of the departed who are bold enough 
 to "face the music" of their former life in this vis-d-vis manner. 
 Some early make themselves felt in eccentric coincidences, in 
 suddenly-awakened memories, in books : 
 
 Oftentimes a look or smile, 
 Forgotten in a kiss s while, 
 Years after from the dark will start, 
 And flash across the trembling heart. 
 
 Reader, what think you of the following story, noted down from 
 the experiences of a congenial Danish friend ? 
 
 " Years ago there was a dry old fellow whom I used to meet 
 day after day in a certain library. Now, we spoke but little 
 together, and yet were intimate friends withal ; for we were both 
 in the same line of reading. And by dry, I mean droll j for he 
 was by no means dull, and could make punch like one of the 
 Faithful. 
 
 " The last time I met him, he handed me (I know not why) a 
 slip of paper on which was written that motto of Koerner s 
 Vergiss die treuen Todten niclit. ( Forget n*ot the faithful 
 dead. And within a few days he was among the departed, 
 having, as I was credibly informed, died while in the act of 
 reading. 
 
 "Now, it happened not long after that, in another library and 
 in another land, I wished very much to consult a work which I 
 could not find in the catalogue. Vexed at not getting it, I 
 earnestly wished my learned old friend alive, since he could 
 surely tell me where it could be found. And this done, I sent 
 the librarian for something else, when he to my astonishment 
 returned with the first book which I had desired, though he 
 knew not himself that he had done so. And when I opened 
 the work, the first thing which I beheld on the title-page, 
 written in a trembling hand, was Koerner s motto { Forget not 
 the faithful dead ! ;; " 
 
278 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, METSTER KARL. 
 
 How often, in passing through picture-galleries, do the eyes 
 of the departed gaze solemnly, yet gently, on me from their 
 frames, as if looking down from golden windows in the myste 
 rious castle of D outre Mort ! They speak not their eyes move 
 not, and yet their gleam is not stolid, but rather filled with the 
 awful intelligence, the eternal intensity of soul which inspires 
 the Egyptian sphynx. 
 
 Not but that they sometimes depart from this rule, and 
 that with a vengeance. Did I not myself, one evening, as the 
 shades of twilight fell around me in the Gallery of Munich, see 
 the portrait of Pietro Aretino (il Divine^ indulge in a diabolical, 
 prolonged, wicked wink at me as a loving young couple walked 
 past us, squeezed arm in arm, and looking into each other s eyes 
 as only German lovers can look ? 
 
 But of all interviews with the departed, commend me to those 
 furnished by memory. Those in the gift of imagination (and 
 with which, reader, you have been very bountifully "bedoozled") 
 are, I admit, admirable; but they lack that truthfulness so 
 essential to a perfect aesthetic conception. With many, it is 
 true, the visitations of memory are apt to induce melancholy, 
 and it may be, at times, a fine madness, as was the case with 
 that unfortunate knight, Henry von Hoheneck so beautifully 
 sung ages ago by the Minnesinger Hartmann von der Aue, and 
 in modern times by Henri de Longfellow : 
 
 They come, the shapes of joy and wo, 
 The airy crowds of long ago, 
 The dreams and fancies known of yoro, 
 That have been, and shall be no more. 
 They change the cloisters of the night 
 Into a garden of delight. 
 They make the dark and dreary hours 
 Open and blossom into flowers. 
 I would not sleep ! I love to be 
 Again in their fair company. 
 But ere my lips can bid them stay, 
 They pass and vanish quite away ! 
 
 And there are those beautiful phantoms, born of Sir Imagina 
 tion and Dame Memory, which are the most exquisite of all, 
 and, it may be, the most reliable, as indicating in their shadowy 
 refinement some prophetic sense of our own life to come. With 
 such as these is Meister Karl and friends of his ilk peculiarly 
 
PAST AND PRESENT. 279 
 
 beset, having been on more than one occasion so be-haunted and 
 be-devilled by them with waking fancies, that the " antique 
 buster" was fain to take refuge in song. And, as ensample 
 thereof, you have here a ballad, and in mine own original Dutch, 
 at that; to which there is, however, mercifully appended a trans 
 lation for the benefit of those whom a due regard for their 
 teeth has deterred from learning the Teutonic tongue : 
 
 > t e 3ft>ei ^reunbe, 
 
 3$ fyabe nur jttet ^reunbe cutf biefer Srbe btcr, 
 ttnb immcr in ber 2ftttternad)t ba fommen fie jur ntir, 
 
 )cr crfie Itegt bcgraben im fcrncn Span fcben Sanb, 
 2)er jftette tvar ertnmfcn bet 9Hifante $ <tranb. 
 
 3&r Common ift ntir 2Bonne 3f)r cfjctben bttt re )eht, 
 SBenn betbc ttuebcr weidjen im golb nen SWorjjenfdjctn. 
 
 )er Grfte bet $obotben macfyt ftdjeren eitmtn, 
 2)er Bweite ift crmaf;let mtt enter SDtcergdttift. 
 
 SB3 fummert ntic^ bag terben n)enn ic^ nur ftreunbe W 
 3m SBaf^er in ber (rbe im feitd)t unb trocfenen rab? 
 
 Unb fterb t^ roie ein -^etlt^er ber gel)t tn ^ ^i 
 
 Unb fd)tx>ing tc^ an bent algcn mir ift e3 alle^ gleiclj. 
 
 THE THREE FRIENDS. 
 
 Translated from the German of Meister Karl by Meister Karl, or, as MattJiews 
 
 says, " From Himself by Himself." 
 ffyut* t">t<_ ^ "*- 
 
 I have two friend^, fcp glorious friendr^-two braver could not be, 
 And every night when mtttmgitt teHs ty meet*to laugh with me. 
 
 The first was shot by Carlist thieves two years ago in Spain, 
 The second drowned near Alicante, while I alive remain. 
 
 I love to see their dim white forms come floating through the night, 
 And grieve to see them fade away in early morning light. 
 
 The first with gnomes in the TJnderland is leading a lordly life, 
 And the second has married a mermaideu a beautiful water-wife. 
 
 And since I have friends in the earth and sea with a few, I trust, on high 
 Tis a matter of small account to me, the way that I must die. 
 
 For whether I sink in the foaming flood, or swing in the triple tree, 
 Or die in my grave as a Christian should, is much the same to me. 
 
 Next to seeing ghosts is the glorious faculty of having lived 
 in all time or u anywhere." Truly, reader, he who can com 
 mune at will with the spirits of ladies and gentlemen of olden 
 
 24* 
 
280 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 time, must commune also with the ghosts of their garments, 
 weapons, and other arrangements which go to make up their 
 individuality, not to mention houses, lands, and the regular suc 
 cession of events. Only make the first step, and there you are, 
 all right ! 
 
 And it was thus that it came to pass that Meister Karl, the 
 courier, saw in days of old much which in modern times was vouch 
 safed only to the Count St. Germain and Co. Bear with him awhile, 
 while he communicates one or two of these antique experiences, 
 the first being an old Legend of Meister Karl s youth, forming 
 a remarkable narration in the modern French feuilleton style of 
 originality. 
 
 There stood in the olden time a lordly castle, whose golden 
 summit gleamed far o er land and sea. A lovely garden breath 
 ing perfumes lay around it like a fair wreath, and therein sprang 
 fresh fountains in the rainbow light. 
 
 It was on a lovely May morning in the latter part of the 
 twelfth century, that a solitary horseman, who was no other than 
 the Courier himself, might have been seen gallantly mounted on 
 a fiery Andalusian barb, wending his way from the northern 
 gate of the above-mentioned edifice. He bore a sword by his 
 side, a lute at his back, vengeance in his heart, and sacrt Dieu! 
 on his lips ! In that castle dwelt a proud king, rich in lands and 
 conquests, who sat upon his throne, dark and ghastly pale. For 
 his thoughts were Terror his glances, Rage his words, Lashes 
 his writing, Blood. 
 
 This amiable individual had just turned the Courier-minstrel 
 out of doors for presuming to euchant the queen, nobility, and 
 gentry of his establishment with a few of his choicest lays and 
 ditties. A very ungentlemanly proceeding, to say the least of it, 
 on the part of the aforesaid monarch, and indicative of great 
 want of taste, if we are to believe the testimony of an old black- 
 letter chronicle, which distinctly asserts that his performances 
 were " tres doulx et fort plaisant a oir," or, in plain English, " real 
 stunnin ." Oh, wonderfully had the minstrel swept the strings; 
 ever richer, sweeter, and more musically rose their clang. The 
 voice of the assistant tenor streamed forth with heavenly clear 
 ness; the baritone of the Courier came in like a mysterious chorus 
 of spirits. The courtiers in listening forgot their mocking jests, 
 stern warriors bent in reverence, and the fair queen, melting 
 
PAST AND PRESENT. 281 
 
 in melancholy pleasure, threw the Courier a rose from her 
 bosom. 
 
 Which was the signal for a grand tableau ! For up jumped 
 the monarch, fired with rage and jealousy, and whipping out a 
 five-pound Bowie, plunged it into not the Courier for it was 
 not so written in the book but into the breast of his unfortu 
 nate assistant. Out poured, instead of golden songs, the red 
 blood. 
 
 The Courier departed. A palfrey with gold and minever trap 
 pings bore the corpse. But he had not ridden far ere he 
 turned, and smashing his lute on a marble column, cried, in a 
 loud voice, which echoed terribly through castle and garden 
 
 " Wo to ye, proud halls ! The sweet song, of the. minstrel, 
 the music of the lute, shall never peal in ye again. Sighs and 
 groans, and the timid step of the slave, shall echo in ye, until the 
 avenger overwhelm ye in ruin and desolation ! 
 
 "Wo unto you, beautiful gardens in the fair May light! 
 Behold the rigid features of this murdered youth! Wither 
 away, let your fountains dry up, and be forever waste and 
 deserted ! 
 
 "Wo unto thee, reprobate rapscallion of a murderer, thou 
 curse of merrie minstrelsie ! In vain shall be thy strivings for 
 the garland of a bloody reputation. Thy name shall be forgotten 
 and sunken in eternal night yea, melt away into empty air like 
 a death rattle I" 
 
 These were the expressions used by the Courier; and it would 
 seem that Heaven lent a willing ear, for when he travelled, three 
 winters ago, from Marseilles to Montpellier, he stopped for a day 
 on his route near the place where the unfortunate affair happened, 
 and to see how the curse had worked. 
 
 The walls had fallen, the halls were destroyed. Only one tall 
 column remained as evidence of vanished splendour j and as a few 
 enterprising men in that vicinity propose running a railroad over 
 this very spot, it is highly probable that even this last vestige 
 will soon have departed. 
 
 Around, instead of garden, lies dreary heather-land, 
 
 No tree spreads forth its shadow, no spring bursts through the sand. 
 
 The grounds have gone to thunder, the monarch gone to worse ! 
 
 Departed and forgotten this was the Courier s Curse ! 
 
 Then the Courier wandered onward over valley and mountain, 
 
282 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 plain and river, sometimes through the merry greenwood by 
 dingle and dale, or by quaint old cities. Many and wonderful 
 were his adventures. He slew giants, rescued forlorn damsels, 
 killed a dragon, and had several fights with the police. Some 
 times he was a minstrel, and his songs were welcome in castle, 
 convent, and cot. He sung on the Wartburg with Klingsohr and 
 Heinrich von Ofterdingen, and in the chateau of Tarascon with 
 King Rene and his Troubadours. He was hand in glove with 
 that mad fellow Vidal, knew Raymond de Maraviglia and 
 Bertrand de Born, and has seen King Richard. Ah, my friends ! 
 that Minnesinger Troubadour era was a brave time, and bravely 
 did Meister Karl enjoy it. Well speaks Carlyle of that tuneful 
 chivalry, that high, cheerful devotion to the godlike in heaven 
 and to women, its emblems, on earth. " For those crusades and 
 vernal love-songs were the heroic doings of the world s youth, to 
 which also a corresponding manhood succeeded." 
 
 Mit Degen und mit Speere With long swords and with lances 
 
 Waren sie stcts bereit. They led a lordly life ; 
 
 Den Fraucn gaben sie Ehre, They sang of beauty s glances, 
 
 Und sangen Widerstreit. In many a minstrel strife. 
 
 Sie sangen von Gottesminne, They sang of armour ringing, 
 
 Von kiihncr Heldenmuth, Of heavenly grace above, 
 
 Von lindem Liebesinne, Of May-flowers fresh up-springing, 
 
 Von slisser Maienbluth.-* And gentle ladie s love. 
 
 Then the Courier became a knight, a restless military adven 
 turer. He was a lanzknecht in Germany, a condottiero in Italy, 
 a franc compagnon in France, and a reistre during the days of 
 the League. And this roving, independent life has ever had such 
 charms for him, that even at the present day he prefers careering 
 freely and recklessly a black rider through the domain of lite 
 rature to quietly tilling its grounds or settling down peacefully 
 among its bourgeoisie. Nay, he would even prefer, as in the pre 
 sent chapter, sweeping in as a sort of literary freebooter and 
 dashing down a page or two of ill-gotten German plunder before 
 his readers, to plodding on with a load of duly-inspected, marked, 
 and r approved translation or original matter! Bear with him, 
 gentle readers, and condemn him not for the faults of his youth ! 
 Remember that he was the friend of DANTE, and twice lent him 
 money which the great poet accepted with thanks, saying, "You 
 
 * UlJLAND, das JlfaJ/rcJini. 
 
PAST AND PRESENT. 283 
 
 know, my boy, that I shan t repay you; for I admit without blush 
 ing, &c. &c. ; that any tin which once goes into my pocket, never 
 conies out again." A remark which he subsequently embodied 
 in the following touching words in the xxvii. c. of his Inferno: 
 
 Ma percio che giamai di qucsto fondo 
 
 Non ritorno alcun, si odo il vero, 
 Sonza tema d infainia ti rispondo. 
 
 " For since, if I hear truly, nothing ever returned from this 
 abyss, I, fearless of disgrace, thus answer thee." 
 
 Goethe wrote the same idea (or stole it) in other words : 
 
 SfJix fomm |ercw3 ber fto$Hnpe nix serftaty. 
 
 Nothing corne out and nothing understand. 
 
 Ergo libamus! therefore let us be cheery? But I will 
 
 bet a little bottle of lait de Colombo, or even of Bouquet de Caro 
 line, ( tis all one to me,) to a wanton glance of Platonic aifection 
 from my first fair lady reader, that she does not know how the 
 expression, "Hurrah for h 1! who s afraid of fire?" first 
 originated. Listen! It was the triumphant "Eureka" of Dante, 
 when the idea of writing an Inferno first flashed upon his mind. 
 And never shall I forget the memorable evening when he first 
 announced to me his intention of "bringing something out" 
 before long. "We were both seated on the identical stone oppo 
 site the cathedral, and which is to this day pointed out to the 
 stranger as the "chair of Dante." The great poet held between 
 his teeth, cigar-fashion, a bunch of violets. Twitching away the 
 bouquet, and slapping his hand violently on his thigh, he ex 
 claimed, after uttering the above-cited expression, "Yes, Mcsser 
 il Corriero, mark my words ! I ll yet write a book which shall 
 make such a fuss in the world, that you d think that h 1 was 
 laying eggs."* Saying this, he arose, flung the corner of his 
 cloak over his left shoulder, and vanished, leaving me seated on 
 the stone, and with my legs stretched out over the pavement, 
 
 * The reader will doubtless agree with me that DANTE must have derived 
 this quaint figure of speech from the legend of King Ortnit in the German Ilel- 
 denbuch, or from one of the Siegfried Dragon stories. It might have been 
 communicated to him by one of the German workmen employed (according to 
 Vasari and the Chronicle of Ghiberti) in the erection of the cathedral around 
 which my friend Dante was so fond of strolling. Hell itself was always repre 
 sented in mediaeval Art as a monster, (vide Mrs. Jamison s "Legendary Art,") 
 the conceit being founded on the scriptural allusion to the "jaws of hell." 
 
284 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 like a pair of notes of admiration at his stupendous genius ! ! 
 Three young ladies had tripped up in succession over them, ere 
 I thought of arising and of " sloping" likewise. 
 
 But I remained quiet for the same reason that the English 
 bard, who sang in praise of early rising, laid in bed until noon. 
 I had no motive for getting up, and so I chanted 
 
 Si qua sede sedes, et sit tibi commodae sedes 
 Ilia scdo sede, nee ab ilia sede recede ! 
 
 If where you sit should prove a pleasant seat, 
 Then still sit still, nor from the spot retreat. 
 
 And finishing the seedy couplet with a whistle, I resigned 
 myself to contemplate the groups of citizens who strolled by; the 
 solitary young ladies who had come out for a snifter of fresh air, 
 and the ghosts who, imperceptibly to mortal eye, stole invisible 
 and unseen around, gliding, sliding, and shooting here and there, 
 in and out, up and down, or unconsciously, as it were, this way 
 round the corner nevertheless, by-and-by, yet, notwithstanding. 
 All of these classes interested me ; particularly the penultimate, 
 or last but one ! 
 
 But after bandying compliments with the various Ghitas, 
 Biancas, Vincentias, and Mariolinas who passed, I thought of 
 the many spectres of the past, present, and future " big bugs" of 
 this world, who were flitting about in such ungrammatical con 
 fusion. And, firstly, I observed a group composed of phantoms, 
 though not of substantives, in on. There was Aaron, Solomon, 
 Agamemnon, Solon, Bion, Phocion, Bacon, Newton, Johnson, 
 Addison, Crichton, Person, Buffon, Montfaucon, Crebillon, Tillot- 
 son, Fenelon, Massillon, Warburton, Warton, Leighton, Walton, 
 Anacreon, Ben Jonson, Milton, Byron, Thomson, Chatterton, 
 Xenophon, Clarendon, Haydon, Gibbon, Robertson, Allison, Nel 
 son, Allston, Vernon, Washington, Napoleon, Wellington, D Argen- 
 son, D Augon, Denon, Belon, Mine. Blessington, Sampson, Scar- 
 ron, Maintenon, Biron, Bourbon, Petion, Loison, Casrubon, 
 Charron, Del Rincon, Johann Raphon, Prudhon, De Crillon, 
 Banton, D Erlon, Melancthon, Mondyon, Perignon, Bourguignon, 
 Montholon, Rapon, Fulton, Cymon, Pyrrhon, Perion, Panta- 
 leon, Orion, Meliton, Jefferson, Du Jon, Bignon, Ve ron, Anti- 
 phon, Wilkinson, Phillipon, Audubon, Wilson, Muggleton, 
 Hutchcson, Simson, Littleton, Paxton, Ferguson, Macpherson, 
 
PAST AND PRESENT. 285 
 
 Mason, Jonah Barrington, Person, Watson, Amphion, Bellero- 
 phon, Mammon, Actaeon, Autoleon, Bergeon, Ammon, Abbaddon, 
 Kit Carson, and Phaon. 
 
 To these succeeded a miscellaneous multitude of secondary 
 abstractions ; among which or whom I observed Capon, Suction, 
 Paragon, Phlogiston, Hyperion, Try-it-on, on dit, Carrion, Cor- 
 net-a-Piston, Demon, Poison, On, Stanley, on ! with an horrific 
 lot of other ons, which would induce aberrati-on and confusi-on, 
 if I should go on. I only remember, as a parting fact, that the 
 last to whom I gave my benison was the celebrated Polisson, who 
 bore on his arm the pale and peerless beauty, Mile. Bon-ton; but 
 both were unfortunately a little " sprung," having lingered long 
 at the spring of Helicon ! 
 
 " J Tis well," said I, as the wild fluttering train swept on in 
 visibly through houses, posts, and passengers, (I saw Crebillon 
 myself fly straight through a black-eyed beauty, who did not 
 seem in the least aware of being made a thorough-fair,) " tis 
 well ! ye have flitted your brief hour on earth, or ye will do it 
 at least some future day, (for it makes very little difference ivhcn 
 a man lives, seeing that he can only live once; } and now ye 
 swim on circumambient waves of ethereal nothingness around 
 the reality of dreams ! Some day I shall be with ye, and then 
 live only in the lazy fantasies of some after-coming friend, or 
 haply as a damaged tombstone, which, when flat, may serve at 
 noon as a table for rustic bread and cheese, or by moonlight as 
 the rendezvous or trysting-sofa for enamoured young couples. 
 
 Let em went! 
 
 The night is mother of the day, 
 
 The winter of the spring; 
 And ever upon old decay, 
 
 The greenest mosses cling. 
 
 Let her went, let er rip, letter B, let er cirkelate ! Sessa let 
 the world slide ! I understand it not : the dim mysteries of 
 being have not been opened to me nor to my friends, nor have I 
 an idea beyond the Beautiful as coessential with Goodness and 
 Truth all other inventions, whether patented or otherwise, being 
 Shams, Flams, and Crams, and most fully described by the 
 Turkish word Bosh, ^j <^ or empty a word which, to the ever 
 lasting disgrace of the Russians, is in their language applied to 
 things divine. * 
 
286 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 And as I sat thus musing, behold there came, "moseying" 
 along, yet another ghost. As he approached rue, he paused, 
 and, gazing up into his face, I recognised the spirit of the an 
 cient astrologer STROZZO STROZZI, who died in the year 1048. 
 I greeted him, and rising, led the way to the ancient Baptistery, 
 or Church of St. John, which was then, as now, one of the most 
 interesting buildings in Europe. We entered, and pausing, I 
 pointed to that quaint relic in the pavement, which has in all 
 ages puzzled travellers and antiquarians : I refer to the figure of 
 the sun, surrounded in a circle by a verse which may be read 
 either way, "and does not make much sense any way," 
 
 EN GIRO TORTE SOL CICLOS ET ROTOR IGNE. 
 
 "You," said I, addressing the ghost, "are said to be the 
 author of the inscription. Now tell me, if you please, in plain 
 words, avoiding all manner of Van Buren non-committalism, 
 what the mischief it means ; that is, if it means any thing, and 
 if not, what the deuce did you put it here for ?" 
 
 Something like a wink trembled in the left eye of the ancient, 
 as he replied 
 
 "The books of Livy were lost; but the Poemander of Hermes 
 remained. Had I placed there, Maestro Carlo, a plain, sen 
 sible, one-way hexameter, embodying a scientific fact or moral 
 maxim, it would have been swept away long ago. I placed it 
 there, signore, that it might NOT be understood, and ages 
 shall come and go, and nations pass, and the ashes of empires 
 be swept away by the housemaid Time into the dust-heap of 
 oblivion, ere it be comprehended or /be forgotten. The German 
 and the Norseman, the Scythian and Yankee, will see it and re 
 member it, because they could make nothing of it. English 
 tourists, who have forgotten their note-books, will tear off their 
 starched collars and copy it thereon rather than lose it ; guide 
 books will explain it, and some folks who think themselves ever 
 lastingly cute (and ain t) will put it into books of travel, and 
 feel considerably mean at reflecting on the many things current 
 of which they can make nothing." 
 
 And with these words the Shadowy Form faded away in the 
 broad moonlight. I gazed after him, and as he evaporated, a 
 feeling stole over me distantly akin to that of one who has 
 been sold. 
 
PAST AND PRESENT. 287 
 
 "Venerable man I" said I, "thou too art one of em one of 
 the mighty brotherhood who have engraved their names on the 
 brass of centuries, for thou readest the human heart i like a book/ 
 and canst cut into humbug like a knife. Omne ignotum, &c. 
 not what we see, but what we don t see, is what we most admire; 
 and that which is most attractive to man loses its charm unless 
 enveloped in some suggestive mystery. What were beer without 
 froth nuts without shells learning without labour Madeira 
 without mould maidens without muslin ? Our very selfishness 
 is centred not upon our soul and heart of hearts, but upon the 
 ornaments, graces, beauties, and gim-crackeries which gather 
 around and hide our manly inner being, and attract our every 
 thought, even as the devotion of the worshippers in this Bap 
 tistery of St. John is drawn by the symbols -and marbles of the 
 newer Roman faith which they behold around, but give no heed 
 meanwhile to the stern old heathen temple of Mars which lurks 
 enclosed in it a wall within a wall." 
 
 Let it slide, reader let it slide : this chapter, at least, I trust, 
 has broken no brains ; for, most assuredly, they who have con 
 descended to be puzzled therewith have got none. He who 
 wrote it was fiddle both in French and German, rejoicing greatly 
 when he heard the dinner-bell, and was glad in summer when 
 the wind blew north-west. And he loved to see brothers join 
 together in unity "liabitare fratres in unum," (as the monks 
 did when they combined at a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull 
 altogether, to pitch the father abbot out of the .window;) so that 
 he made many friends even among the non-existent, and all for 
 thy sake, reader and friend ! 
 
 " Et parcatis miki" and pardon him that he writes as others 
 think, and is so careless "scribendo ad dominationem vestram" 
 in writing to your magnificence, for it is his custom " quod 
 sum social is cum amicis meis" to be merry with his friends. 
 Valete ! 
 
 Ita vixit ille rector, 
 
 Er wollt s nicht ahders han ; 
 Vale semper bone lector, 
 
 Lug du und stoss dich dran ! 
 
 Gut Gesell 1st Rinckman ! 
 
 So lived that jolly preacher 
 
 Who would not stop to pick ; 
 Farewell to thee, good creature; 
 
288 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Take care and then fall sick ! 
 Oh Rinckman is a brick ! ! 
 
 And as the epitaph said of the man who died on his birth-day- 
 "Go thou and do likewise." 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD. 
 SHORT S PHILOSOPHY, IN WHICH CHAPTER THE READER is 
 
 REQUESTED TO EXERCISE GREAT PATIENCE FOR SEVERAL 
 PAGES. 
 
 IT is not in the power of every one to taste humour, however ho may wish it : 
 it is the gift of God, and a true feeder always brings half the entertainment 
 along with him. STERNE. 
 
 MORE than once have I, Friend Reader, during the course of 
 these chapters, given thee glimpses of my friend Wolf Short 
 of his doings and drivings, failings and thrivings. It may be 
 that thou wouldst have been more grateful had I brought him 
 out less frequently, or had I let him relapse more into that active 
 obscurity from which he delights to see without being seen. But 
 the Wolf is one who, once meddled with, is not readily dismissed. 
 " Facile vocaveris Cacodsemon," saith the learned and neglected 
 GOLTZIUS, u sed vocatum non facile repuleris," meaning that 
 it is easy to raise the devil, and hard to lay him. 
 
 My young friends ye who are just budding into verdancy 
 beware of wolves of the terrible "loups ravlssans" and par 
 ticularly of Wolves Shorts. They will lead you astray when 
 older grown, afar from green pastures and daisied fields, over wild 
 mountains and into fair, forbidden gardens; that is, if they 
 choose to bother themselves with you, which is not, on the whole, 
 very likely. 
 
 Experience ! Experience ! Experience ! ! She is the mother 
 of Wisdom the aunt of Happiness the mistress of all that 
 is bad the nurse of all that is good. Through what blind alleys 
 of folly, over what ruins of recklessness must we grope, and 
 what paths must we travel in, ere we attain the elixir of life 
 the veritable Moyen de Parvenir ! And how many there are who 
 break down on the road ! 
 
SHORT S PHILOSOPHY. 289 
 
 A priest who hath lived a year in jail, 
 And a year hath roamed with a pirate sail, 
 And a year hath gambled for daily bread, 
 And a year by the practice of law been fed, 
 And a year hath bullied for ladies loose, 
 And a year as hangman hath tied the noose, 
 And a year in taverns hath served his time, 
 And a year on the highway grown hard in crime, 
 And a year been beggar from high and low, 
 Will make a good Father Confessor, I trow. 
 
 There is very bad matter in these rhymes, (albeit there are in 
 the original Low German far worse rhymes to the matter.) They 
 indicate a very miry series of experiences ; and he who believes 
 that the only pathway to the purer regions, where sublime Wis 
 dom sits enthroned, lies through them, is an ass. 
 
 And yet we must learn to distrust much more s the pity! 
 not only in individuals, but even in entire races, (meaning, of 
 course, horse-races;) for there is much in many which slays 
 the soul, and is worth noting. Four hundred years ago, mo 
 ralists held that the following articles were worth about as much 
 as a cat s feather or a hog s horn : 
 
 Bohemian monk or Swabian nun, 
 
 Carthusian shrift, though trebly done, 
 
 A Polish bridge and faith of Wends, 
 
 With Gipsey grief for stealing hens, 
 
 Italian piety and prayer, 
 
 A Spaniards s oath, though deep he swear, 
 
 Fasts which the German keeps alone, 
 
 Or virgin bred in fair Cologne, 
 
 A lovely daughter sunken low, 
 
 A deep red beard an alder bow, 
 
 For all thirteen, I well believe, 
 
 No man of sense a rush would give. 
 
 With the exception of the " Carthusian shrift," Wolf had had 
 some experience of all the items in this baker s dozen, and had 
 arrived at the same conclusion with old Meister Peter Wetzel, 
 author of the above-cited Priameln, as such rhymes were 
 anciently termed. 
 
 The Wolf was, in fact, deeply addicted to quaint proverbial 
 literature, which was re-echoed in his thoughts and life; and I 
 have more than once surmised, from his singular choice of books, 
 that he believed that authors who were but little known were 
 best worth reading. "For," said he, "the gold invariably sinks 
 
290 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 to the bottom of the pan ; and it is with literature as with love 
 the best part thereof is ever hidden from view/ So that he 
 often read himself to sleep with Frischlinus or Bebelius, and 
 would then lie half an hour in bed the next morning, perusing 
 Sebastian Brandt s "Ship of Fools," by way of sermons and soda- 
 water. For he held that there was a time and a place for all 
 things, alleging in proof thereof, not Solomon, as you, or I, or any 
 ordinary sensible Christian would have done, but a certain an 
 tique and mirific gloss on the text, extracted, in I know not what 
 year, from some jolly old black-letter, vellum volume, hidden 
 with as much mystery as masonry, in some curious corner of the 
 Heidelberg Library 
 
 Welcher lay sein vasten und andacht 
 
 Spart bis an die vassnacht, 
 
 Und bis an ain dantz diemuthigkait, 
 
 Zu schonen frawen rew und laid, 
 
 Und bis in ain weinhaus sein gebet, 
 
 So er spilt in dem bret, 
 
 Und sein zucht spart, bis er wurt vol, 
 
 Fur weiss man in nit halten sol. 
 
 "Which may be thus Englished : 
 
 He who lays vows and fasting all 
 
 Aside until the Carnival, 
 
 Or keeps for a dance his humble prnyer, 
 
 And his grief or sorrow for ladies fair, 
 
 And his pious thoughts till he drink or piny, 
 
 And his prudence till all be gambled away, 
 
 And his modest looks or chastity 
 
 Till warmed with love or kisses free, 
 
 Whate er he questions or replies, 
 
 But few, I trow, will hold him wise. 
 
 But wo is me! I see most plainly in illustrating Wolf, I have 
 gone beyond my subject. What was the conclusion arrived at 
 by Peter Wetzel in the recently-cited Priam eln ? What deep 
 wisdom is latent in the assertion that a Swabian nun, a Bohemian 
 monk, a Polish bridge, &c. are worthless ? 
 
 It is, that a vast amount of the things, persons, customs, and 
 doctrines reverenced by the vulgar world are undoubtedly con 
 ventional trash; but that the true philosopher, instead of break 
 ing his heart and happiness over it, finds in it all deep cause for 
 dry, humorous reflection, or, better still, for indulging in that 
 
SHORT S PHILOSOPHY. 291 
 
 verse which embodies in itself the very ultra-essence of all ima 
 ginable wisdom 
 
 Thus runs the world away. 
 
 Sic vita telle est la vie so we go ! On it roars, the mighty tide 
 of being. To-day, reader, I am happy to-morrow, thou ; and 
 it may be that on the third morning we are both in a red-pepper 
 rage at the good fortune of some dear friend ; for every dog is 
 grieved when he sees another slip into the kitchen. But the tide 
 still roars on, and the foolish straws and dust which float on the 
 surface swim as much at their ease as if no abyss lay before 
 them. 
 
 And what if there do ? reader mine, if the great majority 
 of the men and women whom we daily meet really believe or 
 disbelieve in immortality, what idiots must they be, to judge from 
 their lives ! On the tide roars, however, sweeping with it sticks 
 and dirt, ladies and loafers, Madeira and manuscripts, philoso 
 phers and philosophized. Well as the American Sunday papers 
 joyously say "Let her went!" 
 
 Yes, "let her went/ or "let her slide," ( tis all the same to 
 me.) "When Hamlet has for the first time fully and fairly real 
 ized the truth of the ghost s terrible revelation when the 
 damning guilt of mother and uncle are proved at a flash, and 
 with it his own fearful wrongs, what conclusion does he, the 
 great, noble, practical philosopher, arrive at ? Why at "let her 
 went !" of course. 
 
 Why let the stricken deer go weep, 
 
 The hart ungalled play ; 
 For some must watch while some must sleep : 
 
 Thus runs the icorld aioay! 
 
 And then the great earnest tragedy of Life begins. He does not 
 as other mortals would do, for he remembers that for the present 
 he lives in the world, and for want of better occupation conforms 
 to its customs. He can be splenetic enraged fantastic : physi 
 cal humours will perchance have it so, and even a Titan may 
 have the neuralgia, but, at the first recalment of bis great 
 philosophy, and of the wondrous law of life, they all fade like 
 vapours before the sun, and all that remains is a flock of gnat- 
 like fancies, sporting wildly in the light. So it goes Let her 
 
 went I 
 
 25* 
 
292 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 There are many people and among them more females than 
 men who unconsciously live and breathe in the spirit of " Let 
 her went !" I have sometimes thought that such gifted ones, 
 when of a thoroughly heartless nature, (such is not Hamlet,) 
 must be impenetrable to every shaft of other than physical 
 annoyance. Even now I am thinking of one who never lacked 
 in conversation or in life either energy or earnestness. But turn 
 upon her suddenly when making any assertion whatever, even of 
 the most trivial kind, fix your eye upon hers, and the veil would 
 fall. She spoke to make you speak, or she built a barricade of 
 fair words, from behind which she watched unseen your move 
 ments. You little suspected it, but, in conversation, she was 
 always looking from the window, and you were always in the 
 street. Her soul laughed to her spirit, and both laughed at you. 
 By-the-way, she had a strange laugh, folks said. " Yes very 
 strange !" quoth the Wolf, musingly. His laughs were generally 
 made manifest by an extra puff of tobacco-smoke, or by con 
 tracting his nether lip. Detect that lady full in the act of 
 letting the world slide, and she would burst into a sudden, star 
 tled laugh by way of covering her retreat. People thought her 
 "a little odd." So did not the Wolf. 
 
 That philosopher has yet to be born who can satisfactorily 
 explain how it is that the world, with a full consciousness of its 
 own experience and a tolerably accurate conception of that of 
 several thousand antecedent years, can still go on casting itself 
 headlong, heart and soul, into the extremely dangerous game of 
 life; or how it is that the great majority of those playing con 
 trive to believe that the game is worth the candle. Wine and 
 woman, wealth and health, books and cooks, will not make 
 existence even tolerable, unless their possessor has got as far as 
 whistling. He who has learned a little whistling, may indeed 
 contrive to keep comfortable and bide his time until a better 
 state of things turns up. Otherwise he is but badly off. 
 
 " Oh, heavens ! it is mysterious, it is awful to consider !" as 
 Tom Carlyle says, not that we are ghosts, but that amid the 
 immensity of moral and mental instruction with which this 
 world is filled, there should be no academies for whistling. Nay 
 not so much as a mere handbook or hornbook for that all- 
 important purpose; albeit very great libraries are extant which 
 profess to teach its equivalents. Do they so ? 
 
SHORT S PHILOSOPHY. 293 
 
 Now "VVolf Short was an adept in whistling. He seldom spun 
 it out to a tune sometimes it went not beyond a bar but it 
 expressed more than an opera. To my mind, it came nearer 
 sphere-music than any other, for it indicated a mind singularly 
 and strangely raised above most earthly misfortune, and open to 
 naught save humour. And one day, as I listened to that mar 
 vellous chirp of his, which announced that some mighty disaster 
 or wonderful good fortune had just occurred, (either the death 
 of a pet or the sudden extinction of a lucifer match, an unex 
 pected heritage or the discovery of a lost bundle of regalias,) 
 it seemed that it breathed forth something like a poem ; and if 
 it be not too vain of me, I would say something like the follow 
 ing poem, which was then written extemporal at an interval 
 of an hour between each verse, and a month between the two 
 halves. 
 
 MANES. 
 
 There s a time to be jolly, 
 
 A time to repent, 
 A season for folly, 
 
 A season for Lent ; 
 The first as the worst 
 
 We too often regard ; 
 The rest as the best, 
 
 But our judgment is hard : 
 Why grin we, or snivel 
 
 At that which a day 
 Sees blown to the devil, 
 
 And vanish d away. 
 
 There is snow in December, 
 
 And roses in June; 
 There s darkness at midnight, 
 
 And sunshine at noon : 
 But were there no sorrow, 
 
 No storm-cloud, or rain, 
 Who d care for the morrow, 
 
 With beauty again ? t 
 
 All soon finds its level, 
 
 The grave or the gay ; 
 Then blows to the devil, 
 
 And passes away. 
 
 The world is a picture 
 
 Both gloomy and bright, 
 And pain is the shadow, 
 
 And pleasure the light; 
 
294 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME ; MEISTER KARL 
 
 And neither should smother 
 
 The general tone; 
 For where were the other 
 
 If either were gone ? 
 The good and the evil 
 
 Must each have their day, 
 Then blow to the devil, 
 
 And vanish away. 
 
 The valley is lovely, 
 
 The mountain is drear, 
 Its summit is hidden 
 
 In mist half the year : 
 But gaze from the heavens 
 
 High over all weather, 
 And mountain and valley 
 
 Are lovely together ; 
 Yet brief as a revel, 
 
 This lovely array 
 Must blow to the devil, 
 
 And vanish away. 
 
 I have learned to love Lucy, 
 
 Though faded she be : 
 If my next love be lovely, 
 
 The better for me ; 
 By the end of next summer, 
 
 I ll swear on my oath, 
 It was best after all 
 
 To have flirted with both. 
 But kind or uncivil 
 
 Ill-natured or gay, 
 They ll blow to the devil, 
 
 And vanish away. 
 
 " Oh look on the bright side !" 
 
 A wooden head cries; 
 " Be taught by reverses !" 
 
 A sap-head replies. 
 Give the gold its alloy, 
 
 And unless you are stupid, 
 Think well of grim Pluto 
 
 While worshipping Cupid. 
 Fine bread hath its weevil, 
 
 Sweet sugar its clay, 
 Until to the devil 
 
 They moulder away. 
 
 In London or Munich, 
 
 Vienna or Rome, 
 The sago is contented 
 
 And finds him a home : 
 
SHORT S PHILOSOPHY. 295 
 
 He learns all that is bad, 
 
 And does all that is good; 
 And will bite at the apple 
 
 By field or by flood; 
 Till Paris and Seville, 
 
 And all their array, 
 With the world to the devil 
 
 Have vanish d away. 
 
 Yea, until Ormuzd and Ahrimanes have pitched into each 
 other like Kilkenny cats, leaving no vestige behind, or until 
 Ormuzd is fairly victorious I forget which is to be the inevit 
 able result; until Harlequin, Pantaloon, Columbine, and other 
 extreme relics of that which was once in the olden days a vast 
 and wondrous faith, have passed away like a dream. 
 
 Reader, did it ever occur to you while gazing in some second- 
 rate theatre at some third-rate Christmas melodrama or panto 
 mime, that you were unconsciously assisting at the last rites of 
 that which was originally a religion ? Through the mysteries of 
 the Middle Ages, and hand in hand with that popular and 
 literal Christianity from which it so radically differed, the pan- 
 tomine myth came with free masonry from the far East, where, 
 in cavernous temples and amid philosophic priests, it had been 
 nursed for ages. And so much of the original form still remains, 
 that we can readily detect in it an ancient Baphometic origin. 
 There are the higher and lower grades of evil, set forth by the 
 master and servant, or, as I last saw it, by the wicked count 
 and his rascally flour-white valet, Nbucum. Then there is the 
 fair Columbine and her lover Harlequin, who, under the protec 
 tion of a certain good principle or " brick" of a fairy, undergo 
 much persecution from the Count and Co., yet ever escape, turn 
 ing the tricks of the evil ones against themselves. At last, the 
 good principle, wearied by the untiring obstinacy of the one 
 couple, and softened by the resolute piety, love, and constancy of 
 the other, resolves on a complete regeneration, which accordingly 
 takes place, and Columbine comes out like a butterfly from the 
 chrysalis, as do indeed all the others. But their natures in this 
 new form, though intensified, are unchanged, and their mutual 
 improvement and "ruination" proceeds in inverse ratio, until 
 the final crises of apotheosis and utter destruction ensue. 
 
 The truly interesting character in this world-old story is to me 
 the unfortunate White Face or Pierrot- Yalet. Endowed with 
 
296 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 miraculous powers, he cannot keep out of the simplest scrapes, 
 and alternates the stupidest blunders with masterpieces of 
 shrewd, humorous rascality, through which, however, dimly 
 flashes a faint diabolical gleam, indicating a soul which in its 
 kernel is any thing but funny. What an epitome is this of the 
 career of most poor knaves, to whom talent appears to have been 
 given simply to darken their disgraces ! The curious stoicism of 
 the Heinrich-Heine White Face, and the eternal wink or knowing 
 nod with which he rises phoenix-like from all his flattenings-out, 
 grindings to powder, hangings, and dismemberments, typifies not 
 inaptly the vast fund of practical worldly philosophy which is 
 needed to carry even an ordinary knave through a rascally career. 
 With what a knowing air and " Here-we-are-again-how-are-you ?" 
 look does he rise from the caldron in which he has been boiled, and 
 wink to the audience world as if martyrdom were an excellent joke ! 
 Reader ! that caldron is older than Medea s, and the legend of the 
 Colchian sorceress is a mere filagree, rococo imitation of yesterday, 
 compared with the hoar antiquity of the pantomime kettle. 
 
 Modern civilization has, however, given birth to a better va 
 riety of White Face, or rather White Face has, with the march 
 of mind, greatly amended his manners. In the ancient time, 
 poor Pierrot (whose misfortunes, by-the-way, always seemed to 
 me to spring less from real wickedness than from following too 
 faithfully a bad master) was unanimously regarded as a scape 
 grace knave, and as one given over incurably to the devil. Now, 
 however, we are beginning to admit that it is rather too bad to 
 burn Leporello in the same hot-bed with Don Juan ; and a few 
 have found, that with a different teacher and a different 
 "broughten up," his invincible humour might be advantageously 
 employed on the side of goodness and truth. We are in the 
 world, and of it, and must make the best we can of it. The old 
 pantomime myth was born of the absorbing Oriental asceticism 
 which regarded the world and life, with all its joys and sorrows, 
 as idle and wicked, and which saw a sin in every smile, and a 
 bagatelle in the extreme of earthly suffering. In modern times, 
 men are beginning to find that it is possible to be both merry 
 and wise, and that Satan has hitherto been allowed to retain in 
 his armoury many peculiar weapons to which he has neither right 
 nor title. In later times, the drama, that truest reflex of the 
 popular mind, has occasionally given a good turn to poor Pierrot, 
 
SHORT S PHILOSOPHY. 297 
 
 for Shakspeare s Gobbo is a recognition of his better qualities ; 
 and not long since, I witnessed a comedy, " Calaynos," by 
 BOKER, in which the scapegrace, as Pulti, fairly redeems him 
 self, although, by long force of habit, he finds it impossible to 
 shake off his innumerable diabolical and infernal associations, 
 and perpetually sings verses about a certain devil, who was very 
 probably himself ere the curtain rose on his reformation. 
 
 " Thus runs the world away !" Alas ! that so much gloomy 
 sin should rise to its surface, and so much merry wisdom be sunk 
 in its dancing waters ! For the true philosopher, as for him of 
 Abdera, the world and life is full of dry wit and gleaming with 
 humour. He estimates the sorrows and pains of life at their 
 real value, (and he who can do this suffers but little;) while, on 
 the other side, the quaint, marvellous, fantastic inspirations of 
 life are a never-ending joy. For him the world is radiant with 
 side-splitting laughter alas ! that so few like him are privileged 
 to detect it. The sunlight and rainbow are excellent jokes to 
 the one who understands them, and bees, and birds, and scenery 
 would call forth frequent " roars from the boxes," if the boxes 
 could only "take." 
 
 reader ! had you in your mind 
 
 Such stores as silent thought can bring; 
 
 gentle reader ! you would find 
 Some fun in every thing. 
 
 "Ah !" exclaimed Wolf one morning, shaking his head mis- 
 givingly at his pipe ; " you re a sad dog a ve-ry sad dog !" 
 Some mysterious sympathy appeared to interest Wolf greatly in 
 the moral welfare of several inanimate pets in his room. Chief 
 among them was an ancient timepiece, which was an object of 
 peculiar solicitude. Often have I heard him in the silent 
 watches of the night addressing to it words of consolation or of 
 reproof, until I could almost fancy that in its monotonous ticking 
 I distinguished monosyllabic answers. When out of time, Clock 
 always came in for a scolding, ending with the threat 
 
 "And mind, now! go wrong again, and, as sure as 1 live, I ll 
 cut your pendulum off I" 
 
 Humour or philosophy is a neutral weapon belonging to him 
 that finds it, and by no means meriting abuse because men have 
 used it with fearful effect against both -truth and falsehood, sacri 
 ficing all things to inordinate pride and misanthropy. Such a 
 
298 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 man is Heinrich Heine, the German Jew, who is in many re 
 spects one of the most remarkable writers of the age, not only as 
 regards his own productions, but on account of the activity and 
 agitation which his writings have at different times excited 
 among contemporaries. 
 
 I once had the pleasure to meet at Montpellier, ST. RfiNft 
 TAILLANDIER, who has been pronounced by the first literary 
 journal of Germany to be more familiar with the literature of 
 that country than any other Frenchman living. In illustration 
 of what I have said in this chapter on Humour, I will quote an 
 extract from a recent review of Heine by Taillandier an article 
 which does full justice to the abilities of both writers. Before 
 proceeding further, it may be necessary to state that Heine has, 
 for many years, been subject to incredible physical sufferings, 
 lingering a death in life, between two worlds : 
 
 " In vain has Time kept on his course; in vain has suffering 
 a frightful, pitiless suffering laid its leaden hands on the wings 
 of his fantasy ; for fantasy has triumphed and flown afar ! Be 
 hold him on his bed of suffering, as artists have represented him ; 
 observe his finely-formed and pensive head, where physical pain 
 seems more keenly to accuse the originality of his inner life ; and 
 remark that which rays forth from the delicacy of his complexion 
 the smile of his lips the half-closed glance which catches 
 only a faint gleam of light ! Whence comes this immovable 
 serenity ? It is the victory of humour over the cruelest suffer 
 ings which can chain the flight of the soul. How great are the 
 contradictions which occur between books and conduct ! His 
 tory can tell us of more than one spiritual writer whose life was 
 a contradiction of his theory. But if, on the contrary, we re 
 proach the poet for having too warmly preached the religion of 
 sense and beauty, with what an incredible facility does he show 
 himself superior to his doctrines ! At the very instant in which 
 all that he loves escapes him when form vanishes, colour escapes 
 when the worship of Hellenism, with which he seems intoxi 
 cated, abandons him to the depth of the abyss, it is then we see 
 him always smiling and calm, recalling his swarms of dreams 
 with a grace which no suffering can change. But, in fact, these 
 school-terms of sensualism and spiritualism are here out of place. 
 I can now understand why these two inspirations continually 
 mingle in the train of his imbroglios. I understand that the 
 
SHORT S PHILOSOPHY. 299 
 
 depth of his poesy is, properly, neither an ideal enthusiasm nor 
 the intoxication of material beauty, but humour that sort of 
 literary mysticism peculiar to the minds of the North ; a capri 
 cious form of intelligence which hides grief under joy, and ten 
 derness under mockery a profound and graceful irony, which 
 ascends, at times, to the highest summits of human thought, em 
 braces the universe, and plays equally with heaven and earth, 
 with the real and the ideal. Those who have been visited by 
 this muse have been borne by her away to regions where trouble 
 and care are unknown ; for to them all things on this earth be 
 low appear transformed by the bold gayety of the dreamer. Such 
 was Plenry Heine, as we saw him twenty-five years ago, when, 
 young and daring, he wrote the satanic passages of the Reise- 
 lilder; or Images of Travel; and such do we find him to-day, 
 triumphing by poetry over grief, and dictating the glittering, 
 sparkling strophes of his latest work. Charming and powerful 
 unity of life, in the midst of so many light works and singular 
 contrasts." 
 
 2G 
 
300 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH. 
 
 AFTER-DINNER STORIES. 
 
 "READ us something from your portfolio/ said Von Schwartz 
 to the Courier. And he was seconded in the request by ADRIEN. 
 
 " And let it be something spicy," added young C . 
 
 The ladies had retired, and the gentlemen had settled down to 
 their usual coffee and cigars. The Meister made no remark ; 
 but, laying aside his meerschaum, took up and read the fol 
 lowing : 
 
 tfmrtts to tortesses ; 0r, Salts 0f totrtessts* 
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF LOLA MONTEZ. 
 
 Frauen und Jungfrauen soil man Lobcn, 
 Es sei wahr oder erlogen. 
 
 BE it a falsehood, or be it all true, 
 Speak well of a woman, whatever you do. 
 
 FRAUEN GUNST, WAR NIE UMSUNST " The good opinion of 
 a lady was never valueless." This saying, reader, is worth 
 remembering ! It would have been well for the HERR VON 
 BOOTZ had he not forgotten it. 
 
 The Herr von Bootz ! It may be, reader, that thou knowest 
 not his name ! For many there be, of high and low degree, 
 whom I have met walking to and fro over this green and beau 
 tiful earth, who knew not the Herr von Bootz ; yea, and went 
 down to their graves as only the good go, under rosewood coun 
 terpanes, with the date on silver coffin-plates, who had passed 
 their allotted spans in gentle, childlike ignorance of such an 
 individual. But among the number I cannot include many of 
 the residents in the city of Munich, in the year eighteen hundred 
 and forty seven ; for they were all, as things went, pretty gene 
 rally acquainted with him, and knew that he corresponded for 
 
AFTER-DINNER STORIES. 301 
 
 the Ilundsgemeine Zeitung, chronicling in that great German 
 journal much of the social small-beer, literary large turnips, 
 and political small-potatoes of the day. 
 
 He was short in stature, peaceable of disposition, extremely 
 fat, and greatly beloved. And I rejoice amazingly when I re 
 flect that he actually ate, drank, wrote, waddled about, lived, 
 moved, and had his being in Munich. For had I proceeded to 
 accurately describe him, you would have called me a plagiarist 
 from Cervantes, and accused me of resurrectionizing Sancho 
 Panza. 
 
 Now it came to pass, that in those days Lola Montez arose, 
 and was sent unto Munich, not of her own will, but to work out 
 that of destiny. And when Yon Bootz had heard this, he 
 mended his pen though not his manners and exclaiming 
 
 Every day cometh something new; 
 But seldom any thing good or true 
 
 wrote down the following item of news for the paper, which was 
 duly published and eventually paid for. [And his pen trembled 
 with delight ; his soul thrilled with rapture ; his eyes expanded 
 with joy; and his pulse went pit-a-pat with pleasure at being the 
 first to communicate the intelligence :] 
 
 " To-day, THE NOTORIOUS LOLA MONTEZ has arrived in 
 Munich!" 
 
 Unfortunate Yon Bootz ! Better for thee had it been hadst 
 thou never learned to write ! Better, far better, hadst thou never 
 become a correspondent ! But best, far best, hadst thou remem 
 bered the Italian rhyme : 
 
 Parla poco, ascolto assai, e nonfallirai ! 
 
 He that hears much, nor reports it at all, 
 
 Shall be welcomed in parlour, in kitchen, and hall. 
 
 Morn rose and fell upon the city of Munich. Buds ripened 
 into flowers, and flowers to fruit. Minutes expanded into hours, 
 while hours elongated into days, and all swam forth on the 
 checkered tide of Time into the miscellaneous chaos of Eternity. 
 "With the flood swam Lola, and a very good swim she made of it, 
 too, in the good graces of King Ludwig. She put no faith in 
 that wicked verse of Ovid s; that verse which, like so many 
 
302 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 others, only tends to give a bad opinion of human nature, and 
 harden hearts naturally gentle and confiding 
 
 Turpe senex miles, turpe senilia amor. 
 
 Which means that an "old soger" is a hard case, and that the 
 friendly regards of an old gentleman arn t worth having. 
 "Nay," said she, (or might have said,) speaking in one of her 
 numerous native languages 
 
 Mas vale viejo que me Tionre 
 Que galan que me assombre. 
 
 It is better to be the privy-counsellor of a good old king, than be 
 loved by some young fool who would abuse me ! 
 
 Now, among Herr von Bootz s peculiarities, the most peculiar 
 was that of being ein guter Geselhchaftcr, which means good 
 company, and a first-rate diner-out. For his good nature was 
 incredible, his appetite invincible, his thirst unquenchable, and his 
 budget of odds and ends inexhaustible. Nor was he without 
 talent, having written "Dcr Vcrscliwundene Prinz" or *The 
 Vanished Prince," one of the most amusing and popular modern 
 German romantic comedies. Everybody knew Bootz he dined 
 everywhere; Count Seinsheim patronized him, all the world in 
 vited him. Had he lived one hundred years ago, he would have 
 made a flourishing French abbe. 
 
 thou unfortunate Bootz ! how gladly would I turn aside the 
 fearful decree of Fate which I even now perceive hanging like a 
 thunderbolt over thy devoted head ! How gladly would I annul 
 the past, and thus prevent the future catastrophe, whither my pen 
 even now tends ! But it may not be ! Solemnly, darkly, deeply, 
 sternly, irrevocably, like the awful Destiny of the ancient Greek 
 drama, it comes rolling on, overwhelming in its majesty, tremen 
 dous in its power, THE VENGEANCE or LOLA MONTEZ ! ! ! 
 
 QUICKLY and briskly Louis the Poet-king rushed through the 
 streets of his German Athens. His coat, restrained only by the 
 upper button, streamed horizontally behind him ; and so rapid 
 was his pace, that had a volume of his own poems been placed on 
 those skirts, it would not have fallen off. Bob, bob, bob went 
 his head, right and left, to the passing salutations of his subjects; 
 
AFTER-DINNER STORIES. 303 
 
 while his great eyes glared like those of Melmoth the Wanderer 
 on all countervening objects. Among these objects was the Herr 
 von Bootz. Twisting around his head, and with that impetuous 
 rapidity which distinguished his regal style of address from that 
 of other mortals, the monarch exclaimed 
 
 "Good day, Herr von Bootz; call on Lola; take dinner; 
 Countess of Landsfeldt ; adieu !" 
 
 And with the last word, he was already a hundred furlongs 
 distant. 
 
 Was it a dream ? Could it be true ? Was it some subjective 
 imagining, developed from the transcendental depths of his Ger 
 man " moral consciousness? 7 Was he verliext, or bewitched? 
 Was he Der Verwunschene Bootz, and, like his own princely hero, 
 enchanted? Lola! soup! wine! roast and boiled! the king! 
 And yet it must be true! Here was the Ludwig s-strasse, there 
 was the Opera-house. Over the way was Kaiser s book-store, and 
 in the doorway he could even perceive Meister Karl looking on. 
 And far, far in the distance, vanishing as he went, was the figure 
 of His Majesty. 
 
 Infatuated Bootz ! what demon was it that then whispered in 
 thine ear " Go ! Ein (jutes Malil ist henTcenswerth, a good din 
 ner is worth a halter." And with Lola, too! What dishes 
 save, indeed, chafing-dishes couldst thou expect of her ? Hadst 
 thou never heard the couplet 
 
 Grossen Herren und schoenen Frauen 
 Soil man wold dienen, dock wcnig trauen. 
 
 Mighty lords and ladies fair 
 Should be obey d, but trusted ne er. 
 
 Or didst thou hope, with that smooth tongue of thine, to come it 
 over Lola, cause her to forget the "notorious," and blind her 
 completely ? Ah, Bootz ! Bootz ! 
 
 Quien el dia,llo 7m de engafiar 
 De maftana se ha de levantar. 
 
 He who the devil would fain deceive, 
 Must rise right early, I well believe. 
 
 Yes, Bootz went and dined. And many days rolled over this 
 great dumpling which men call the world, and each said in sil- 
 
 26* 
 
304 SKETCH-BOOK or ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 ver tones to its successor "I have seen Bootz calling on the 
 countess!" Every day I 
 
 Wcr etwas will gcltcn 
 Der komme selten. 
 
 "He who would pass for something, should call seldom." Believe 
 me when I say that hospitality should never be too severely 
 taxed, for tis ill work to over-drive a willing horse; and "never 
 be a guest for more than nine, or less than three days." Alas ! 
 the only philosophical reflection which occurred to Bootz was, 
 that while the pot boils friendship blooms. 
 
 And now a dark, wild change steals o er the fair landscape of 
 the Herr von Bootzian vision. The sun of .Lola s favour still gilds 
 with flashing refulgence the plate and china, but there is in its 
 radiance a touch of fire infernal. How transient is earthly hap 
 piness, and with what remarkable dexterity does the pea of pros 
 perity vanish beneath the thimble of destiny ! 
 
 Gleuck und Glas ! 
 Wie bald bricht das! 
 
 Fortune and glass 
 Soon break and pass. 
 
 "For there s no trustin these here princes," as the London tailor 
 said when he sent the bill with the pants to Louis Napoleon. 
 Their love and their good-will, and their "inwites" out to dine, 
 are all variableness and the shadow of turnino- : 
 
 o 
 
 Princes favour, April weather, 
 Ladies love, a floating feather, 
 Luck at cards, or game with dice, 
 Ever alter in a trice.* 
 
 Yet once again, and Bootz was invited to sup with Marie Lola 
 Montez, Countess of Landsfeldt. Never had he been in better 
 appetite ; never had the dishes been so good, the wines so deli 
 cate, the weather so agreeable, or the lady so fascinating. And 
 Bootz ate. Ate like a ploughman, ate like a dragon, ate like the 
 devil. And still Lola, with fine-drawn fascination, led him on, 
 provoking and titillating at every instant his ready appetite with 
 new dainties. At last 
 
 Changing her mien into the vindictive passion of a veritable 
 
 * DAS LALLENBUCH, chapter iv. 
 
AFTER-DINNER STORIES. 305 
 
 fiend incarnate, and smiling as only a fiend or a woman can 
 smile when an old enemy has been well taken in, Lola glided up 
 to Herr von Bootz, and spreading before his astonished eyes an old 
 newspaper, said 
 
 "Read that!" 
 
 Bootz, read read the paragraph which our readers have also 
 perused, announcing the arrival in Bavaria of "the notorious 
 Lola Montez." Need we describe his feelings ? Need we de 
 scribe the hurried and fluent apologies which, with the tact of an 
 old diner-out, he so readily poured forth ? With three words Lola 
 stopped them all, exclaiming 
 
 " You are poisoned !" 
 
 "What!" gasped Her von Bootz; "p-p-poisoned!" 
 
 "Yes," replied Lola, ferociously, "poisoned with every thing. 
 Arsenic ; hydrocyanic, crotonic, and oxalic acids ; belladonna and 
 stramonium ; laudanum, sour-krout, and lager-bier, with all other 
 deadly articles known to modern chemistry, are at present strag 
 gling for mastery in your wretched frame. And now ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! ho ! ho ! ho ! I am revenged ! Die, wretch ! die!" 
 
 Without a word, the hapless Bootz sank back upon the sofa. 
 Up-girgled from his throat one fearful sound 
 
 " Gu, gu, goo, oo, oo, guggle, uggle, OOH !" Bootz thought 
 that it was his own death-rattle 
 
 But it wasn t ! 
 
 Let me draw a charitable veil over the fearful sight which fol 
 lowed. A dreadful thunder-storm, which arose at this instant, 
 lent a dire horror to the scene. Need I describe the wrath and 
 imprecations of Lola, the awful roar of the thunder, the pattering 
 of the rain, and the dying groans of the poor Von Bootz ? For 
 the groans did indeed die, one by one as groans usually do. 
 But Bootz lived, after enduring an immortal agony for about two 
 hours. For at the expiration of that time, Lola, moved with 
 compassion, graciously granted him a little milk and some warm 
 water. 
 
 reader ! if it was necessary to draw a veil over the two hours 
 agony of Bootz, what sort of double-quilted drapery should we 
 now cast over the emctical scene which followed ? Suffice it to 
 say, that Bootz lived ; lived to rid his system of that enormous 
 quantity of poisons with which he had not been dosed; lived to 
 write new letters and eat new dinners ; lived, I trust, to learn 
 
306 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, METSTER KARL. 
 
 that, right or wrong, women should only be well spoken of; 
 lived, in fine, to suggest by his story the following moral, written 
 lang syne by great Saint Augustine : 
 
 " Crede mihi, si totum ccehtm cssct papyrus, ct tolum mare 
 atramentum, et omnes stellce pennce, et omnes any el i scribentcs, 
 non possent describere astutiam mulierum." "Believe me, that 
 if all the heaven was paper, and all the sea ink, all the stars pens, 
 and all the angels scribes, they could not describe the craftiness 
 of women. " 
 
 And as it is usual, reader, to conclude tragic entertainments 
 with a farce, let us wind up this narration with a merry pasquin 
 ade, which was found one morning attached to the door of the 
 palace of the King of Bavaria : 
 
 Un jour LOLA, 
 
 Bel oiseau, s envola 
 
 Vers un pays cheri de LOYOLA. 
 
 Elle trouva la 
 
 Un roi poete, et puis le cajola, 
 Et de caresses 1 accabla. 
 
 Du roi la tete so troubla: 
 
 II affubla LOLA 
 Dans un beau falbala 
 Des titres, dcs bijoux en veux tu? les voila! 
 
 Le ministere s assembla, 
 
 Et voulut chasser LOLA, 
 Mais c est lui qu on exila. 
 La cour bela : 
 
 Le bourgeois beugla; 
 On siffla LOLA; 
 
 On persiffla le roi, hola ! Malgre cela, 
 LOLA est toujours la, 
 
 Et puis, voila ! 
 Vive le roi, LOLA, et LOYOLA ! 
 
 So much, reader! for my story so much for the song. 
 
 In Munich first I heard the tale, 
 And afterward from LOLA MOXTEZ ; 
 
 I tell you this, that you may know 
 I got it from the remmfontcs. 
 
AFTER-DINNER STORIES. 307 
 
 PFAFPENTRua und Weiberlist 
 Geht iiber alles, wie Ihr wisst. 
 
 Priestly cheat and woman s wit, 
 
 Naught on earth may equal it. GERMAN PROVERB. 
 
 Who serues hys ladye faithfullie 
 Ne loueth two, ne loueth three ; 
 Ne leman coueteth ywis, 
 Save she who s troth s yplyghted hys. 
 
 JEHAN MONIOT, FOURTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 " BETTER," said tlie poet to himself, "better a donkey whicJi 
 will carry me, than an Arabian which throws me!" Now this 
 was a proverb which he had learned in Spain. Saying this, he 
 left the boudoir of the Countess Clementine, and went to take 
 supper with a black-eyed maiden who was ndt of noble birth. 
 
 For the countess was that evening in her "tantrums." Every 
 pretty woman has a right to be in them occasionally. 
 
 She has the right by usage and custom, by will and way, de 
 jure divino et jure gentium, by authority, prescription, and pre 
 cedential confirmativeness. And the countess was pretty, very 
 pretty. 
 
 But alas, my ducks ! of what use is loveliness when it ceases to 
 excite love ? or of comeliness, when \ lover is determined to go ? 
 None, none, none. Fair maiden, hie thee hence; the bells are 
 ringing Nun ! 
 
 The green-wood echo, the rainbow gay, 
 And woman s beauty, soon pass away. 
 
 Perhaps, after all, who knows? feminine beauty is only a 
 nickering deception a gilded, gleaming zero the aureole of 
 Folly! 
 
 When maidens stand in dancing row, 
 
 The fairest leads the floor ; 
 When goslings to the mill-pond go, 
 
 The first one walks before. 
 
 And perhaps * 
 
 Now may I become the prey (gloves and all) of the biggest 
 bug-a-boo that ever prowled in Moloch s nursery, if I work any 
 longer on this infamous sentence this cursed train of nonsense. ! 
 
308 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 And the author was as good as his word. Or somebody else 
 was as good for him. For every other leaf of the manuscript has 
 been torn out for the purpose of forming, from the delicately and 
 daintily-bound volume, an album or scrap-book, on whose alter 
 nate pages have been pasted scraps of poetry, with other frag 
 ments, fractionments, and figments of light literature. And the 
 next page reads as follows, albeit somewhat carelessly written : 
 
 OVERTURE-REVERIE. 
 
 (Sounds from Home.) 
 
 Music sweet, 
 Passing fleet 
 Bid Memory waken 
 
 Her loveliest dream, 
 Brave shouts on the mountain 
 
 Sweet songs by the stream; 
 Yet no vision of beauty 
 
 In memory can live, 
 Unless woman in spirit 
 
 The impress doth give. 
 
 (Swiss Air. Jodeln.) 
 
 My love is young, my love is fair, 
 Her footstep light as summer air ; 
 Such beauty well my soul might move, 
 And yet tis not for this I love. 
 
 La, la, la li va ! 
 
 My love is young, but passing wise ; 
 She re#ds my first thoughts in mine eyes : 
 When I in hers will reader be, 
 Oh, naught but love I there can see. 
 
 La, la, la li o la ! 
 
 And this I mark and this I know, 
 She learns my deeds where er I go ; 
 And this I too can well descry, 
 That she is sharper far than I! 
 
 La, la, la li u va ! 
 
 Oh, happy should the lover be 
 Whose sweetheart has more sense than he ; 
 The soul of love he ne er has known 
 Who loves for beauty s sake alone. 
 
 La, la, la la, U u va ! 
 
 And on the next page the original narrative again appears. 
 What part or portion thereof is covered up by the preceding 
 
AFTER-DINNER STORIES. 309 
 
 poetry, I know not. Paste, like Brummel s starch, plays the 
 devil occasionally. And thus the tale runs on : 
 
 " JEANNE!" said the countess to her maid, after she had 
 fretted, hummed, laughed, cried, and admired her ring, with the 
 remarkably small white fingers which adorned it "Jeanne, in 
 which direction did the gentleman depart?" 
 
 "Up the street, madaine; up for I saw him!" 
 
 " And he saw thee, too, I dare say?" To this question Jeanne 
 replied with the French expression of "JParbleu!" Correctly 
 speaking, she should have said, " Edepol!" or, " By Apollo!" or, 
 perhaps, "By Pollux!" since that is the classic origin of the 
 gentle oath. But Jeanne was not invariably correct in all her 
 wor ds or actions. She had run or been sent on too many of her 
 mistress s love-errands to be over particular (Raro vaga virgo 
 pudica esf) and had, unfortunately, never paid very marked at 
 tention to that passage of the holy father and saint, Ambrose, 
 addressed to virgins, in which he assures them that silence is a 
 synonym for modesty and decency : " Claude vas tuum ne un- 
 guentum cffluat, claude virginitatem verecundid loquendi et ab- 
 stinentia" 
 
 "He saw her," reflected the countess, "and as soon as she 
 was kissed and out of sight, he of course turned and went down 
 in the other direction. For such is human nature, and thus do 
 men deceive !" 
 
 These were her thoughts, and she really believed that they 
 formed a whole, entire, deliberate conclusion. But from the 
 deep, mysterious, wonderful abyss of her woman-soul rose, 
 well-nigh inaudibly, the faint, feathery ghost of a conscience- 
 whisper : 
 ., For / should have done so myself. 
 
 "And it was for this" said the Countess Clementine, glancing 
 around at the room, and catching a glimpse of her own beauty in 
 the mirror; "it was for this that I had this small apartment of 
 mine so daintily scrubbed and comfortably warmed. It was for 
 this," continued she, seating herself at the supper-table, while 
 she inclined her beautiful head and swan-like neck, sipping, 
 meanwhile, like a bird, a few drops of red wine from a silver 
 goblet, "that I ordered my best Burgundy. For this" 
 
310 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 And lolling back luxuriously, she 
 id 
 "Jeanne! put a stick on the fire!" 
 
 And lolling back luxuriously, she turned to her maid, and 
 said 
 
 On the next page, sequentially, I find 
 LOVE FOREVER! 
 
 Per Deos, valde iucundum cst amare mulieres, secundem illud carmen 
 SAMUELIS poetse : 
 
 Disce, bone clerice, virgines amare 
 Quare sciunt dulcia oscula pnestare 
 Juventutem floridam tuum conservare. 
 
 Quia amor est charitas, et DEUS est charitas : orgo, amor non mala res. 
 Soluatis mibi illud argumentum. EPISTOL. OBSCURORUM VIRORUM.* 
 
 Sing, if ye will, of the banquet-hall, 
 
 Troll the praises of cards and wine ; 
 I have measured the depths of such pleasures all, 
 And still found them wearisome, silly, and small, 
 
 Unless some young beauty touch d glass with mine. 
 
 Drink, drink, drink, till ye roll on the floor ! 
 
 Play, play, play, till ye ve swept the field ! 
 But five minutes love, though quickly o er, 
 Is worth, ye will gra~nt, five thousand times more 
 
 Than all that BACCHUS or chance can yield. 
 
 Long live the glass, with its morning-beam ! 
 
 Long live good fellows, wherever they re found ! 
 But what were the sea, if no sunlight gleam 
 E er flash d on .its darkness, e er waken d its dream, 
 
 Or guided the gay barks which circle it round ! 
 
 But here and there doth the wine-berry grow; 
 
 Beauty all over the earth I find ; 
 Languishing eyes, rnong the high and low 
 More of them, too, as older I grow ; 
 
 For love never leaves a good fellow behind. 
 
 * "By the gods ! but it is a pleasant thing to love woman, according to that 
 song of the poet Samuel : 
 
 "Learn, jolly student-friend, to love the ladies dearly ! 
 For then the darling little souls will kiss you so sincerely, 
 And Youth will ever glide along right merrily and cheerly. 
 
 "For love is charity, and GOD is charity; therefore is love no evil thing. 
 Settle me that argument." ULRICH VON HUTTEN. 
 
AFTER-DINNER STORIES. 311 
 
 The best of hearts and the best of lives, 
 
 The best of songs were all born of love ; 
 And the best of good fellows are maids and wives; 
 And the merriest laugh is where CUPID thrives, 
 
 In the kitchen below or the hall above. 
 
 AND found that he had indeed gained a loss by jumping 
 
 from the patrician frying-pan into a plebeian fire ; or from aristo 
 cratic fume into a vulgar flame, as the Komans termed it. For 
 actresses are but ashes, danseuses but dust, grisettes but gim- 
 cracks, all maidens but mortals; and a love of low degree can 
 demi-devil it like a duchess particularly with a gentleman to 
 whom the dew-impearled eye of beauty is ever-moving, be it in 
 May Marian, or an empress. 
 
 Upon which point of the womanly-weakness of these poor girls, 
 a reflection strikes me. It hath been usual to compare all such 
 and similar to butterflies, which flutter with wings of crimson- 
 golden sheen through the sunshine and over the flowers of life. 
 But if so, they are inverted butterflies. For that beautiful bird, 
 from a worm or bug, (as American children term all creeping 
 insects,) becomes the tenant of a cocoon, and eventually a flutter 
 ing beauty. But the ornamental pets of whom I have spoken 
 generally retrograde degradingly from a state of quivering love 
 liness and youthful winginess to the condition of the cocoon, and 
 eventually that of the bug I mean, of course, to a dull, unpro 
 fitable middle age, and a weary, thoughtless decrepitude. 
 
 He received but a dull greeting, found that a string of 
 
 the love-lute was broken, a seal of the soul-flask opened, and 
 drank a draught of wine which made him recall, with bitter re 
 gret, the Burgundy and bright eyes of the countess. 
 
 THE next page being pasted over, and adorned with the ballad of 
 
 THE COUNT AND THE GRISETTE. 
 
 IT may not be it may not be ; 
 Life is too short to waste with thee ; 
 I claim no hand which wears no glove 
 So fare thee well, thou vulgar love. 
 
 I own that thou art very fair, 
 But bad thy taste and worse thine air ; 
 While every varied glance and smile 
 Hints at an education vile. 
 27 
 
312 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME ; MEISTER KARL. 
 
 In vain I seek, from day to day, 
 A trace of something diatinyuee: 
 Such trace in thee no soul could find, 
 In form or feature, style or mind. 
 
 Why wilt thou e er my soul distress 
 
 By thy con-found-ed taste in dress ? 
 
 A garnet robe an orange shoe, 
 
 And facing yreen good heavens ! with blue ! 
 
 Thy lips are like an opening rose, 
 But, Dieu ! when once the floweret blows, 
 Oh, then thy voice, in dreadful shout, 
 Flies like some vulgar insect out. 
 
 I deem d that love had power to change, 
 And lift above her low-born range 
 One who no taste in perfumes had, 
 Save for patchouli strong and bad ! 
 
 And now, thou lost one, fare thee well! 
 At nobler shrines my love 111 tell ; 
 Lost, lost forever must it be ? 
 Lost to good style, good taste, and me ! 
 
 " THEREFORE, Jeanne, let one of our servants run to tlie apart 
 ments of the Sieur d Adclstein, and tell his valet that his master s 
 patron, the bishop, is dangerously ill, and desires to see him imme 
 diately. If he be in the town, that valet will find him ; if he find 
 him, he will first return to his own house ] if he return to his own 
 house, he must needs pass our door ; and if he pass our door, do 
 thou tell him any fib thou pleasest which will make him mount 
 the stairs !" 
 
 And the countess, having given out her orders with the pre 
 cision of a general, fell back, lounging voluptuously on her 
 throne-like sofa, drawing up the ermine around her splendid 
 snow-white shoulders, and wondering (as did Jeanne for three 
 seconds ere she left the room) where on earth he could find a 
 more magnificent bust whereon to pillow his good-for-nothing 
 head. Yet I never regarded her as a vain woman, nor was she 
 practically half as vain as her lover. 
 
 NATURE had gifted her with great amiability, wonderful 
 beauty, ready wit, and a certain modicum of energy. THE WORLD 
 had increased these gifts, and to the increase thereof had added 
 experience. THE FLESH had granted her charity, and THE 
 DEVIL a spice of coquetry, rather too much philosophy, and a 
 
AFTER-DINNER STORIES. 313 
 
 penchant for light literature Adelstein, the poet, being her last 
 essay in the latter article. 
 
 " For there is many a good thing in the literary way/ said 
 she, "which never went to press. Great are the sins of omission : 
 let us patronize Genius I" 
 
 AFTER which expression comes a poem, entitled 
 WOMAN S WILL. 
 
 Cox la muger y el dinero 
 No te buries, companero ! 
 Companion mine, ridicule not money or woman ! SPANISH PROVERB. 
 
 MANY a charm is round thee, 
 
 Many a spell hath bound thee ! 
 Though awhile I give thee leave to range, 
 
 Soon, thy wild flight o er, 
 
 Soon, no more a rover, 
 Back thou lt fly, and never dare to change. 
 
 If tbou wilt, go flutter, 
 
 Here and there, to utter 
 Burning vows to all with wanton will 
 
 But thou canst not leave me ; 
 
 No nor once deceive me ; 
 And in chains I hold thee captive still ! 
 
 To some love enchanting 
 
 Every favour granting, 
 Go and sigh I bid thee tis in vain ! 
 
 For no woman clever 
 
 Lost a lover ever, 
 When she icilled to hold him in her chain. 
 
 She who s sure of winning 
 
 When the game s beginning, 
 Throws away, of course, a stake or two ; 
 
 But when higher aiming, 
 
 Bent on bolder gaming, 
 Back they come, and then she holds them true. / 
 
 The which verses may be either said or sung ; but if the Jatter, 
 it is respectfully suggested by Meister Karl that it bejione to the 
 air of La derniere Pensee de Von Weber, vulgarly known as Von 
 Weber s Last Waltz. 
 
 PANTING, penitent, puzzled, and appearing somewhat pygmean, 
 (or looking "small/ ) the poet Franciscus de Adelstein stood in 
 the presence of her whom he had so weakly endeavoured to cruelly 
 deceive. He had been summoned most opportunely from the 
 
314 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 dwelling of liis black-eyed pet just at the instant when he was 
 thoroughly ennuyee, and weary of her airs and consequently, 
 when he had relapsed into a heartfelt fit of penitent devotion to 
 the splendid countess. 
 
 This she knew, as any woman would have known it, from his 
 air. And certainly, since the countess had been a woman, (it 
 happened on her eighteenth birthday, as she said,) she had never 
 appeared so meltingly beautiful as at this moment; and this she 
 knew also, though I cannot tell you myself how she learned it, 
 for I do not know. But it is well for me that such was indeed 
 the case, since it enables me to put my poet before you in the 
 most penitent, beggarly, love-struck attitude possible. It was 
 not even necessary to comment upon his reappearance. The lady 
 felt this, and fixing upon him a long, deep, mysterious glance, 
 exclaimed 
 
 " Jeanne, you may leave the room !" 
 
 To do this, it was, however, requisite to look from Adelstein to 
 the pretty soubrette. She found it hardest to glance gravely at 
 the latter. 
 
 "Sit down," she exclaimed "here, by me! Naughty boy! 
 where has he been? Out in all the rain, too!" 
 
 [It is with a feeling of peculiar pleasure that I announce to 
 the reader that the poem which was pasted on this page came off, 
 leaving the prose in a tolerably legible condition.] 
 
 "Adelstein," said his lady, "in one word, where have you 
 been?" 
 
 "I have been," replied he looking up at the ceiling, into the 
 fire, at the countess s feet, and all around the room, in search of 
 a lie "I have been at the cafe"." 
 
 "If you have," she replied, "you did not remain there long. 
 Adelstein !" she repeated, placing her hand as it were inadvert 
 ently among some articles of the toilette which lay near on a table, 
 and then affectionately putting it on his bosom "Adelstein, you 
 have been making love a great deal of love to somebody else." 
 
 And waxing confident in her assertions, she added 
 
 "To some woman !" 
 
 Horror-struck at the accusation, he started back with an air of 
 holy innocence. 
 
AFTER-DINNER STORIES. 315 
 
 "To a woman/ she continued, "with black hair. See there !" 
 
 Saying this, she pointed to a black hair-pin which stuck in the 
 lappel of his coat, and which had evidently been transferred acci 
 dentally, in a warm embrace, from some feminine head. 
 
 "That!" he exclaimed, "oh! that must have come from your 
 own tresses, of course I" 
 
 "My hair," she answered, "is light and my hair-pins are all 
 composed of silver, gold, or similar costly ingredients." 
 
 Adelstein here began to feel as if the last plank were giving 
 way beneath him, and already experienced in imagination a rush 
 as of many cool spiritual waters over his devoted head. Almost 
 dead with disappointment and shame, he cast himself back on a 
 sofa, exclaiming 
 
 " All is lost lost !" 
 
 "Oh, not all/ exclaimed Clementine; "you must call once in 
 a while on me say once a month. You poets are such distinguee 
 visitors, that it would never do to lose you entirely." 
 
 "Had she been angry," thought he, "I would have trusted to 
 regain her love. But this badinage is death." 
 
 And turning somewhat pale and heart-sick, he exclaimed 
 
 "Farewell, Clementine. GOD knows that I have deserved all 
 this and more. But oh ! I have ever loved you; indeed I have !" 
 
 And he turned to depart. But at the door he heard the rustle 
 of a silken skirt behind him saw a small white hand steal over his 
 shoulder felt the brush of perfumed curls against his cheek 
 
 Adelstein was a gentleman, and consequently did not at this 
 instant affect, as most gentlemen would have done, an anger or 
 indifference he did not feel. He knew that he was horribly 
 guilty, and had been nobly forgiven. In consequence of which 
 he fell on his knees and kissed her hand, as she exclaimed 
 
 " Will he be good, and not go any more to visit naughty little 
 girls with black hair ?" 
 
 ON the next (and last) page, reader, I find this ballad: 
 
 AFAR, afar 
 
 Shine moon and star: 
 
 How dim they are ! 
 
 Rise, love, and leave me the dear night is o er : 
 Haste through the garden remember the door ! 
 Cool blows the morning-wind, flower-life to me: 
 Adieu to the starlight, to love-light, and thee ! 
 27* 
 
316 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Away, away, 
 
 Ere break of day 
 
 Thou canst not stay ! 
 
 In velvet-black darkness, in silence and night, 
 I still saw thee gleaming, ray snow-love my white. 
 If in midnight, deep midnight, I still saw thee near, 
 Oh, how couldst thou hide if the daylight were here? 
 
 Far gleams the dawn, 
 
 Its first robe drawn 
 
 Thou must be gone ! 
 
 For neath yon pale star a rose-beam I see ; 
 Light should ne er shine upon kisses from thee. 
 Cold is the moon, but a moon-love is warm j 
 Weaker a sun -love, and broken its charm. 
 
 And now thou rt flown ! 
 
 I count alone 
 
 The joys we ve known. 
 Love is our true life, and life cannot die ; 
 Love gives a new life, ere life passes by : 
 Ere thou didst love me, but one life was mine : 
 Now I have two lives, for that life is thine. 
 
 For a description of their marriage vide the fashionable morn 
 ing papers of that day, or the a-Za-mode-upholstery novels of 
 this. 
 
 As for the black-eyed girl being disappointed of the poet- 
 gentleman " who had lots of money and wore such lovely clothes," 
 she married a penny-postman with whom she has since led a life 
 of checkered dalliance, dealing him out "sumtimes kisses and 
 sumtimes kix." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Birds of a feather should flock together. 
 
A WREATH OP BALLADS. 317 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH. 
 
 A WREATH OP BALLADS. 
 
 SSBjjat % |0ttttjj Dtott sgto in 
 
 I STOOD on the steps of the Astor, 
 
 And gazed at the living tide 
 Of vehicles down the middle, 
 
 And people up either side. 
 
 And I saw a maid who was " pumpkins" 
 In a shawl of real Cashmere, 
 
 Jump down from the step of a carriage, 
 While her robe got caught in the rear. 
 
 Oh ! the robe was of moir antique^ 
 
 (A very expensive "rag;") 
 But a skirt peep d out below it, 
 
 And that was a coffee-bag. 
 
 I knew it had once held coffee, 
 Though now twas another thing ; 
 
 For on it was "Fine old Java, 
 Y-mark d in store black-ing. 
 
 And I thought, as she gain d the sidewalk, 
 And the "muslin" again was furl d, 
 
 How much those out-skirts and -m-skirts 
 Were like man s heart in the world; 
 
 How many a Pharisee humbug 
 Plays a lifelong game of brag; 
 
 His words all silk and velvet, 
 And his heart but a coffee-bag ! 
 
 And I turn d me in to the Astor, 
 For my heart was beginning to sink, 
 
 And I told the tale to my brother, 
 And it rung him in for a drink. 
 
318 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 It rung him in for cocktails, 
 
 And then to myself I confess d, 
 
 When I thought how I came by the "ardent," 
 That I was as bad as the rest. 
 
 St0rfungs. 
 
 A CLOTHES line in yonder garden 
 
 Groes wandering among the trees, 
 And on it two very long stockings 
 
 Are kicking the evening breeze ; 
 And a lot of fancy dry goods, 
 
 Whose nature I cannot define, 
 Are wildly and merrily flopping 
 
 About on that same old line. 
 
 II. 
 
 And a very sly young lady 
 
 At the parlour window sews; 
 And I rather conclude, if you tried it, 
 
 You d find she d fit into "them" hose; 
 She s only a half-length picture, 
 
 Foreshorten d below the breast, 
 But the dry goods which dance on the tight rope 
 
 Out yonder, just make up the rest. 
 
 in. 
 
 So dreamlike, she seems so gentle, 
 
 You d think her too good for earth; 
 And I feel that a holier spirit 
 
 Is banishing vulgar mirth 
 To its worldly home by Jingo ! 
 
 What a flourish that muslin throws ! 
 And how uncommonly taper 
 
 Those stockings go off at the toes ! 
 
A WREATH OF BALLADS. 319 
 
 IV. 
 
 eyes ! like the sky when it s bluest ! 
 
 hair ! like the night without star ! 
 muslin and hose ! I can t help it ! 
 
 Ye still draw my thoughts over " thar 1" 
 The lady alone is substantial, 
 
 The clothes but a fancy ideal, 
 Yet somehow or other confound it ! 
 
 I ve mix d up the sham and the real. 
 
 v. 
 
 Love ! you re the same old sixpence 
 
 With the poet, the muff, or the brick 
 You go up with a rush like a rocket, 
 
 But come down at last like a stick. 
 And let love thoughts be lofty or lowly, 
 
 Platonic, or "flash," I opine 
 That they all, like yon dry goods and stockings, 
 
 Belong to the very same line! 
 
 I/ENVOY. 
 
 Be sure that no letter A garden 
 
 Was ever yet wanting in hose ; 
 And Meister Karl thinks that a ballad 
 
 Looks well when it ends with the CLOSE ! 
 
 grab. 
 
 A LITTLE glove stirs up my heart as tides stir up the ocean, 
 And snow-white muslin, when it fits, wakes many a curious 
 
 notion ; 
 
 All sorts of lady fixings thrill my spirit as they d orter, 
 But little female gaiter boots are death, and nothin shorter ! 
 
 And just to put you on your guard, 
 
 I ll give you, short and brief, 
 A small hotel experience, 
 
 Which fill d my heart with grief. 
 
320 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 Last summer at the Clarendon, 
 
 I stopp d a week or more, 
 And mark d two " booties," every morn, 
 
 Before my neighbour s door; 
 Two boots with patent-leather tips 
 
 Two boots which seem d to say 
 "An angel trots around in us" 
 
 They stole my heart away. 
 I saw the servant take em off, 
 
 With those of common brutes; 
 His soul was all on sixpences, 
 
 But mine was in the boots. 
 And often in my mighty dreams 
 
 They swept before my face, 
 A lady growing out of them, 
 
 As flowers grow from a vase. 
 But ah ! one morn I saw a sight 
 
 "Which struck me like a stone, 
 Some other name was on the book : 
 
 Those boots were not alone! 
 A great tall pair of other boots 
 
 Were standing by their side, 
 And off they walk d that afternoon, 
 
 And with them walk d a bride ! 
 Enough, enough my song is sung, 
 
 Love s tree bears bitter fruits : 
 Beware of beauty, friend of mine ! 
 
 But oh ! beware of boots ! 
 
 in % ft 
 
 What is a Kisse ? praye tellt to mee ? 
 
 A daring daintie Fantasie : 
 
 A brace of Birdes whych chirpe, " wee woulde/ 
 
 And pypyng answer, " iff wee coulde !" 
 
 Whatt is a Kisse ? whan Evenynge falles 
 In russett Foldes o er Heauen s Walls, 
 Itt is a blessed Prophesye 
 That Love wyll live, tho Daye doth dye. 
 
A WREATH OF BALLADS. 321 
 
 Whatt is a Kisse ? whan Mornyng s leme 
 Castes Verjuice redd in Heauen s whyte creame, 
 Itt is a pretie rynging Knell, 
 Whych cries to Love " Swete, fare yee wel !" 
 
 What is a Kisse ? Alas ! at worste 
 A single Dropp to quenche a Thirste. 
 Tho ofte itt prooves in happie Houre, 
 The first swete Dropp of one longe Showre. 
 
 SLEEP ST thou or wak st thou, jolly shepherd, 
 
 Thy sheep are in the corn, 
 And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, 
 
 Thy flock -will take no harm. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 CERULEAN youth, arise ! 
 
 And wind your bugle-horn, 
 Till like a spirit through the skies 
 
 I hear its echoes borne; 
 For flocks are in the dewy mead, 
 
 And sheep in the golden corn. 
 
 Ah ! faineant ! is it thus 
 Your fleecy flock you keep ? 
 
 Embraced by Morpheus; 
 Lost in the realm of sleep, 
 
 By the fragrant hay-cock high, 
 Where nut-brown maidens reap ! 
 
322 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 ng fcrif of larl Jtlta Safe. 
 
 Drekum Bior ad bragde 
 Ur piukvidium hausa. 
 
 We shall drink beer in heaven 
 From the skulls of our enemies. 
 
 KEGNER LODBROG. 
 
 THE lightning grew pale, 
 
 And the thunder was dumb 
 As if the old devil 
 
 In person had come, 
 When in vengeance and fury 
 
 The death-raven black, 
 The Vikingir ALVAR, 
 
 Came sweeping the track. 
 " Great ODIN, thou storm-god ! 
 
 Crack on with our ship ! 
 We are off on a batter, 
 
 Hurrah ! let her rip !" 
 So the wild pirate shouted 
 
 In madness and scorn, 
 While down went the liquor, 
 
 And round went the horn. 
 So all hands, as you see, kept 
 a good head of steam on ! 
 
 By the sea, by the mountain, 
 
 On Noroway s strand, 
 BREN HILDA, the peerless, 
 
 Sat high on the sand j 
 When, smack ! o er the water 
 
 In time double quick, 
 Great ALVAR came down, 
 
 Like a thousand of brick. 
 Splash ! into the ocean 
 
 The Vikingir sprung, 
 And pick-back the princess 
 
 O er shoulders he flung : 
 
A WREATH OP BALLADS. 323 
 
 Like an arrow he darted 
 
 The wild billows through, 
 And into the "Dragon" 
 BRENHILDA he threw. 
 While all hands gave a 
 
 yell, and took drinks on the strength of it. 
 
 " By the gods of VALHALLA I 
 
 I m done for !" she cried j 
 "By THOR and by thunder! 
 
 You are!" he replied. 
 No more spake the maiden, 
 
 No more spake her lord, 
 But he stamp d on the short deck 
 
 And brandish d his sword. 
 "There s a sail to the leeward ! 
 
 A sail in our path ! 
 Do you hear ! blood and brimstone ! 
 
 Lok ! blazes ! and wrath ! 
 The bier-sucker madness 
 
 Is boiling me through !" 
 Then he took a "long drink," 
 
 And right into it flew, 
 While the Ravens all 
 
 round took a horn, and went at it. 
 
 Oh ! then on the helmets 
 
 The death-biters rang, 
 While ALVAR, the Raven, 
 
 Swore, murder d, and sang : 
 " The deck is blood-painted 
 
 A wound all the bay 
 While round rage the sea-wolves 
 
 And fight for their prey. 
 BRENHILDA ! land-maiden ! 
 
 Look up, and you ll find 
 How the Raven can l go it/ 
 
 When once he s inclined; 
 See these skulls I how I split em ! 
 
 These throats how I slice ; 
 28 
 
324 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 And all for thy sake, love ! 
 Thou pearl beyond price I" 
 So the fight being over, 
 they all went and liquor d. 
 
 " The VALKYRIES scream 
 
 For the souls of the dead, 
 While BALDER, the sun-god, 
 
 Shines down on our head I" 
 So like good, pious fellows, 
 
 They knelt on the deck, 
 And thanked the great gods 
 
 That their foe was a wreck. 
 For on points of religion 
 
 Great ALVAR was " strict," 
 And always "held prayers" 
 
 When a ship had been lick d. 
 On a prisoner they found, 
 
 By unanimous vote, 
 They first carved the eagle, 
 
 And then cut his throat ; 
 Then, church being over, 
 adjourned for refreshment. 
 
 And over the ocean, 
 
 And over the foam, 
 Like a shot from a shovel 
 
 The VIKINGIRS come. 
 Loud roar d the wild tempest, 
 
 Loud roar d the wild sea, 
 But louder great ALVAR 
 
 Sang forth in his glee 
 " Grim spectres sweep o er us 
 
 In lightning or gloom ; 
 I see their eyes gleaming 
 
 Like fire round a tomb : 
 The Runes of the valiant, 
 
 Dead heroes obey ; 
 Let s pitch into Naples 
 
 And plunder and prey \" 
 
A WREATH OP BALLADS. 325 
 
 So they gave him three cheers, 
 and then emptied a barrel. 
 
 " Set fire to the churches ! 
 
 Set fire to the town ! 
 Grab, murder, and plunder, 
 
 Drag out and knock down ! 
 Go it strong, ye brave Northmen, 
 
 Crash, tumble, and slash I" 
 Roar d the JARL as with each hand 
 
 He held a mustache, 
 And glared on the town, 
 
 Like a wild devil grim : 
 An AESIR in fury, 
 
 A JOTTJN in limb. 
 Now the blue shields are crimson, 
 
 The spires are in flame ; 
 But on pitch the Ravens, 
 
 All grit and all game : 
 
 Only stopping to bolt % 
 
 down the wine on the altar. 
 
 Like fiends wing d for murder 
 
 The arrows flew forth, 
 While red swords were ringing 
 
 The knell from the North, 
 And maces deep mashing, 
 
 Laid saints in the mud ; 
 "While the black crow and eagle 
 
 Went wading in blood. 
 But where flames were loud roaring, 
 
 With death by his side, 
 Rose the giant JARL ALVAR 
 
 In glory and pride. 
 " We have thrash d them to flinders 
 
 And knock d em from time ! 
 BRENHILDA, thou white one, 
 
 Say isn t it prime ?" 
 While the Northmen 
 
 all round took a drink from their helmets. 
 
326 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 " The men are all murdered, 
 
 The town all aflame : 
 And we ve bagged all the pewter; 
 
 Let s slope whence we came ! 
 And under a full head 
 
 Of glory we go : 
 No scald now, thank BRAGA ! 
 
 Can chalk us as slow/ 
 To our Death Dragon hasten : 
 
 How stately and light 
 She rides the bright Belt 
 
 Of the Daughter of Night ! 
 And be glad ! for our voyage 
 
 Full plainly hath shown 
 That the gods, when we re pious, 
 
 Look after their own." 
 So they took one good 
 
 horn, and went off in the Dragon. 
 
 fpn 10 
 
 THE GIFTED ATJTUOR OF FIRMILIAN, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING POEM IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
 
 33s ffbtisttt itarl. 
 
 MOLOCH, all roasting, 
 Terrible-toasting, 
 Red-hot, tremendous, 
 Roarer stupendous ! 
 
 List to our prayer. 
 Scorcher of babyhood ! 
 Father of fire and blood ! 
 God of the barbacued, 
 Scollop d, fried, broil d and stew d! 
 
 Look from thy lair! 
 
A WREATH OF BALLADS. 327 
 
 Glance from thy flames eternal, 
 With glowing eye infernal, 
 While we thy rites prepare ! 
 
 Now neath the mighty idol, fires are gleaming, 
 While all around the victim-girls are screaming; 
 And hotter still the awful flames are flaring, 
 With drums loud rattling, Syrian trumpets blaring. 
 List to the rip and the roar of the song ! 
 For thy priests are awake and go screaming along : 
 "Moloch Baal Molochim ! 
 Moloch el Carnaim ! 
 One god and many gods ! 
 All god and any gods ! 
 Greatest of all, by odds, 
 MOLOCH, the horned ! 
 TITAN, blood-revelling, 
 Terror-bedevilling, 
 All-to-hell-levelling, 
 Scorners and scorned, 
 Sober and corned !" 
 
 Now, with the holy poker, 
 Forth comes the SACRED STOKER. 
 His is the solemn task to stir the coals, 
 And pitch the screaming infants in the holes : 
 The seven holes within thy brazen side, 
 Where they, in anguish dire, are tortured, grilled, and fried. 
 Lo ! he advances, mid clattering lances, 
 And rough-ringing rattle, like devils in battle, 
 While bucklers are crashing and scimetars flashing, 
 And blood-drunken priests at each other go slashing 
 Pounding and banging with censer and axe, 
 Hitting each other such horrible whacks : 
 While the marble floor 
 Is gushing with gore. 
 List to the rout and horrible shout ! 
 Moloch ! Bed Moloch ! our blood runs out ! 
 And the fire 
 Burns higher, 
 28* 
 
328 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 While through smoke, and o er scream, and crackling flame, 
 A terrible voice is heard to proclaim : 
 "The fight is free ! there is naught to pay; 
 Go in if ye will, and win if ye may : 
 
 For the honour of MOLOCH, 
 
 The child of the DRAGON ! 
 
 The bull-headed MOLOCH, 
 
 The sire of the DRAGON ! 
 
 The horrible MOLOCH, 
 
 The brother of DAGON ! 
 Strike in and win, ye children of sin, 
 Though ye come out with never a rag on \" 
 
 List to the furious prayer 
 Of maddened votaries, who scream for gore, 
 Or hoarsely pant, " More blood ! great MOLOCH, blood ! 
 
 More death! HELL-FATHER ! MORE ! ! 
 We thirst, we pant for torture ! give us pains 
 And horrid agonies ! Oh ! crush our veins ! 
 Melt down all life in one tormenting flood ! 
 
 Oh ! MOLOCH ! all-destroying ! 
 
 Of anguish never cloying ! 
 Grant us ineffable, tremendous pain, 
 That we may rise in holier life again !" 
 
 O er the infernal storm 
 Rises the demon form 
 Of the great brazen idol, roaring hot ; 
 Dazzling, intensely white, 
 The extremest pitch of light ; 
 In which the innocent babes must go to pot ! 
 Lo ! all is ready ! O er the silver bridge, 
 Which spans a thousand cubits high in air, 
 4 Slow march the monstrous priests, 
 
 Like giants along a mountain ridge ; 
 Great, bloody, stern, and bare. 
 Dreadful they seem 
 As devils in a dream ; 
 And all the raving mob with joy is wild, 
 For every clergyman doth hold a child ! 
 
A WREATH OF BALLADS. 329 
 
 They stand o er the burning god ; 
 
 No farther can they go. 
 Now hold your breath, 
 For you ll witness death ! 
 There ! there ! by BAALPHEGOR ! I told you so ! 
 
 For the first, with steady aim, 
 Looks straight into the idol s scorching womb ; 
 Then, grasping by the leg an infant boy, 
 He whirls him thrice around his head with joy, 
 And slings him smack into the burning tomb ! 
 
 A heart-felt grunt of joy ineffable 
 Huns through the multitude; they re faint with bliss; 
 And pious rapture thrills in every heart, 
 As loud they cry, "Great BAAL ! was ever sight like this?" 
 But now they re thrown by scores : 
 The air is full of flying innocence ! 
 Again ! 
 Again ! ! 
 Again ! ! ! 
 
 Until the last priest sings, 
 As round and round a babe he swings : 
 "We ve burnt up all this lot ! fetch out the men!" 
 
 And loud the chorus rings : 
 
 " Great Father ! mighty MOLOCH ! hear our prayer. 
 Accept the victims which we offer thee ! 
 For we have brought, ready for sacrifice, 
 Men of tremendous crimes, of tastes depraved, 
 With every sense unnatural. We have found, 
 After great search in many a distant clime, 
 Men who ne er gazed with joy on spouting blood, 
 Nor loved to look on torture ; men who shunned 
 The maddening ecstasies of drunkenness ! 
 Yea, who have led an impious sober life, 
 And never shared the wild and thrilling rites 
 Of ASHTAROTH or BENOTH. Take them all ; 
 Remove their vile and sinful influence, 
 And purify them in thy cleansing fire ; 
 So that at last they may return to earth 
 With holy natural tastes and sound desires, 
 
330 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 And a refined love for blood and wine, 
 And every other consecrated joy !" 
 
 Loud roars the infuriate crowd in wild disgust, 
 As these vile victims feed the sacred flame. 
 " Yes, burn em up. Behold ! the gods are just ! 
 Vengeance is certain, though her feet be lame !" 
 They fall in the dreadful fire ; 
 
 One singe, and they re puffed away, 
 As gauze-winged flies expire 
 
 When into furnaces they find their way; 
 And as each soul whirls off, whirls off in blinding smoke, 
 There rises from great MOLOCH S brazen head, 
 "Which glares above the clouds in smouldering red, 
 A wild, infernal, grating, beastly bray; 
 A cry to night-mare Nature in her sleep : 
 A horrid sound ten thousand octaves deep ; 
 A growl which makes the mighty temple nod ; 
 The awful joy-cry of a drunken god ! 
 
 The fire hath ceased. We wait 
 
 Before the golden gate, 
 
 Reading the prayer of death from earthen scroll, 
 In arrow-headed words which pierce the soul. 
 
 List to the rising hum ! 
 
 The PRIESTESSES have come ! 
 
 Through curling smoke we see their black eyes swim, 
 While blood is plashing o er each ivory limb. 
 Beauty on beauty crowds in quivering throng, 
 While from their lips bursts forth the eternal song : 
 
 "BAAL, MOLOCH, ASIITAROTH! 
 
 Father and mother both ! 
 
 Serpent-child and serpent-sire! 
 
 Spirit of the endless fire ! 
 
 Soul of the mighty sun 
 
 Male-female two and one ! 
 Star of the morning ! 
 All-heavcn-adorning ! 
 
 Queen of the realm of night ! 
 
 Lord of the land of nijrht ! 
 
A WREATH OF BALLADS. 331 
 
 High in thy moon-ark thou sailest above 
 ASTART-MYLITTA in beauty and love ; 
 Deep in the earth is thy hell-flaming bed, 
 BAAL-MOLOCH ! parent of darkness and dread ! 
 Nus-AROCH, NISROCH the living and dead !" 
 
 Here the priests gave a yell 
 
 At the mention of hell, 
 
 And the voice of the maidens, in wavering swell, 
 Rings out like the chime of a musical bell ; 
 But it dies away in a thrill of love, 
 Like the last faint coo of AST ARTY S dove; 
 
 For it seems by the scent, 
 
 Which just up- went, 
 
 Or went up from the altars in blue clouds whirling, 
 Above and below in the light draught curling, 
 All heads and all hearts and all senses turning, 
 That something excessively nice is burning 
 
 As if the soft perfume 
 
 Of every flower in bloom, 
 
 From Nineveh to Babylon, 
 
 Were centered in the room. 
 While, faint and soft at first, from note to note, 
 
 Delicious music winds its wanton way : 
 Melting voluptuous, it seems to float 
 Upon the perfumed clouds, and 
 
 Shun the light of day : 
 
 While o er the doors which light the marble hall 
 Transparent crimson curtains softly fall ; 
 How wondrously lovely the priestesses seem ! 
 
 How their long eyes glance, 
 
 As they float in the dance, 
 And their voices roll to the core of the soul, 
 As their white forms swim in a wine-colour d gleam. 
 
 "We are chosen for beauty ; 
 
 Love is our duty; 
 
 Death is revival, and life is a dream. 
 Come ! oh, come ! for we wait too long : 
 AsTARTfi hath sent us with eyes and with song, 
 
 To float in her endless stream ! 
 
332 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 In the living river, 
 Whose waters quiver 
 Around the serpent forever and ever ! 
 ASTART-MOLOCH-BAA"L ! great mother-sire ! 
 Thou too hast passed through darkness and the flood 
 Male in the female ark, Strength and Desire ! 
 Even thou wert conquered by the Typhon brood ; 
 The giant hell of evil, pain and blood ; 
 The death-night of the waters ! but within 
 Thy scattered limbs still glowed eternal life. 
 And long they tossed upon the waves of sin, 
 Till placed together in thine ark and wife, 
 Thine other self, within whose closed horns 
 Thou swam st for forty days, and in that time 
 Gav st birth to the Triad, who in double forms 
 Made with their mother-sire the Ogdoad sublime, 
 The great Cabiri of earth s dawning prime." 
 Such was the awful song of life and death ! 
 
 How THAMMUZ-ORPHEUS-ADON passed away, 
 And came again to freshened love and breath j 
 
 And how revival followeth dark decay. 
 But to tell the truth and the facts to admit 
 This perversification 
 
 Of revelation 
 
 Didn t prove, on the whole, to be much of a hit ; 
 For, except by the priests and some others exempt, 
 It was treated with very oblivious contempt : 
 For the multitude all, 
 The great and the small, 
 Were yelling in one rip-roarious throng, 
 And going it very excessively strong. 
 Tis true that the priestesses stopped the slaughter, 
 But twas done in a way, 
 I m compelled to say, 
 Like soothing a burn with scalding water ; 
 For they served spiced wine out, hot from the vat, 
 In lona goblets, and plenty at that ; 
 And with burning words and glances tender, 
 Exciting to drink, 
 
A WREATH OF BALLADS. 333 
 
 With many a wink, 
 
 As you well may think, 
 
 Soon steamed them all up to a high-pressure bender ; 
 For the curtains fell, and a horrible yell, 
 
 And a dreadful rout, 
 
 As the lights went out, 
 
 Went up from the mass in a roof-splitting swell. 
 "Typhon hath got us ! tis dark ! tis dark ! 
 The flood rages round ! we re at sea in the ark ! 
 SUCCOTH-AL-BENOTH ! I m fixed at last ! 
 BAAL-BERITH-ASMA ! we re perishing fast ! 
 The waves the waters rise over our head ! 
 MOL BA BEL MOLOCH ! we re dying ! we re dead !" 
 
 Throw wide the ocean-gate, 
 Where DAGON sits in state ! 
 Cast off the curtains : let the young day in ! 
 The first red flush of morn, 
 The cool breeze newly born ! 
 Lo ! in the east dim sinks the queenly star ! 
 Lo ! o er the horizon pales the crescent moon ! 
 To all, as once to BAAL, be new life given ; 
 Enjoy your life, for death must follow soon ! 
 But first let each one take, 
 Ere ye these walls forsake, 
 The mystic honey-cake ; 
 The type of birth the all-reviving food ; 
 For honey is the life of flowers ; 
 The soul of Nature s loveliest powers, 
 MEL-DEA, MELITTA, MELICARTA ! 
 Mel! holy syllable and beauty s blood ! 
 
 MEL, MEL ! reviving MEL ! 
 Sweetest of tastes ! born of the sweetest smell ! 
 Farewell ! the dying swell 
 Peals like a distant bell ! 
 MEL-DEA, MELA-MEL! 
 Farewell ! tis well ! 
 Gro forth ! In peace ! 
 FAREWELL ! 
 
334 SKETCH-BOOK OP ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SIXTH. 
 
 IN WHICH MEISTER KARL THE COURIER BIDS HIS FRIENDS A 
 HEARTFELT AND AFFECTIONATE FAREWELL. 
 
 Jfrarit 
 
 \ 
 
 READER, you good soul ! I greatly fear that the time has 
 come, or is quickly coming, " when you and I must part !" 
 Every thing in this world has an end. Greatly does it grieve 
 me to part with you, for a respectable, moral, decent, well- 
 behaved reader is a treasure not to be picked up in every tea- 
 party, and yet I am not sorry to find myself so near the end of 
 my volume. 
 
 Have we become friends ? have I pleased you ? It is too late 
 now to back out, or to hedge criticism. Already the weight of 
 the pages has shifted from the right hand to the left, and the 
 increasing twilight of their numbers indicates that the empty 
 night of the fly-leaves is close at hand. 
 
 The day is done, and darkness 
 
 From the wing of night is loosed, 
 As a feather is wafted downward 
 
 From a chicken going to roost.* 
 
 Jacta est alea, " all is over now." But how does our account 
 stand ? On which side is the swindle ? An vixit is unquam 
 qui placuit omnibus " But did that man e er live who suited 
 all?" 
 
 gtekr, fag, to if! ber Sftann 
 S)er Sebermann gefallen fan ? 
 9itemanbt tfl cr genant, 
 Sfufquam ifi fcin 2}aterlanb. 
 
 Anglice : 
 
 Where bides upon this earthy ball 
 A person who can please us all? 
 Nemo s his name, ye understand, 
 And Nusquam is his Fatherland. 
 
 * Phoebe Carey. 
 

 FINALE. 335 
 
 Now, as Meister Karl s name is not Nemo or Nobody, and as he 
 does not live in Nusquam or Nowhere, it follows that he has not 
 pleased many. For Carmagnoles have long been out of fashion, 
 and it is doubtful whether the Bigarrures of the Seigneur des 
 Accords have at the present day as many readers as chapters. 
 But these reflections will trouble him but little if he can only, 
 " in the language of the last century, be permitted to hope " 
 that he has now and then struck a chord which has been echoed 
 in the soul of some genial true-hearted franc compagnon, or 
 illumined with a smile the windows of some fair lady s face. 
 
 Alas ! it is the weakness of all knights of the quill (condottieri 
 like Meister Karl included) to take it for granted that their 
 scribblings and scissorings will make as much noise in the world 
 as a New York saltpetre explosion, even before they have settled 
 to a certainty the question whether saltpetre will explode or not ! 
 And when we reflect that even Plato, despite the excellent trans 
 lations of Messrs. Cousin, Schleiermacher, and Taylor, never has 
 more than ten readers at a time in the world, (according to 
 Emerson,) we might well despair, were it not for the consoling 
 reflection that froth will sometimes rise to the surface. Hen 
 coops are saved when argosies go down. 
 
 My ! but this is a hard world to get along in ! 
 
 Multis annis jam peractis 
 Nulla fides est in pactis, 
 Mel in ore, verba lactis, 
 Fel in corde, fraus in factis. 
 
 For many years, my friend, the fact is 
 That honesty is out of practice, 
 And honey d words and fawning smile 
 Are ever mixed with fraud and guile. 
 
 Nay, we must all meet with hard knocks, and be treated some 
 times right knavishly; but cheer up, my honest friend. Your 
 case must be a hard one indeed if you can find no flattering 
 unction in the reflection that 
 
 It all will be nothing a hundred years hence. 
 
 And in those days when we have washed the garments of 
 earthly grievances in the waters of Lethe, let us trust that all, 
 both reviewers and reviewed, may meet in amity, pledging each 
 
 29 
 
336 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 other in goblets of pure nectar, and resting as fraternally side by 
 side as their polemics rest in some old library. 
 
 Fare thee well, reader, fare thee well. We at least are friends, 
 let the world wag as it may. Even now my trunk is packed, 
 and the landlord is studying up his last " extra." Fa-a-a-r-e- 
 we-e-e-11 ! The pretty chambermaid is weeping bitterly on the 
 staircase, and Boots lingers in avaricious expectancy at the front 
 door. Robin, rew on me, but now farewell ! 
 
 I ve shot my bolt, and said my say, 
 
 I ve packed my trunk, and paid the bill, 
 But one more word, and then away, 
 Here comes the wagon down the hill. 
 Farewell, farewell, companion mine, 
 
 And ladies kind and true; 
 Maria, Kate, and Adeline, 
 Blue-eyed and black-haired Caroline, 
 A long farewell to you ! 
 
 I (jame a stranger to your gate, 
 
 A stranger to my landlord s door ; 
 No loving friend on me to wait, 
 And now I leave perhaps a score. 
 
 God bless the day that I came here; 
 
 God bless your eyes black, brown, or blue : 
 Maria, Kate, and Adeline, 
 Bella bellissima Caroline, 
 A long farewell to you ! 
 
 If all the world were like your town, 
 
 And every man had friends like mine ; 
 Twould be a heaven turned upside down 
 With music, laughter, love, and wine. 
 All that I ve made I ve spent again, 
 As I, good faith, again would do : 
 Maria, Kate, and Adeline, 
 Bella bellissima Caroline, 
 A long farewell to you! 
 
 And if I pass this way again, 
 
 I ll stop a month, should matters thrive; 
 If not, I ll give my horse the rein, 
 And one hurrah ! as past I drive. 
 
 Perhaps some friend may cntch the voice, 
 
 Perhaps some girl may know the cry : 
 Maria, Kate, and Adeline, 
 Bella bellissima Caroline, 
 Ye morning calls, and friends, and wine; 
 To one and all good-bye ! 
 

 FINALE. ^ 337 
 
 "A doo, a do!" as the ghost of Lord Byron cried to the 
 Rochester rapper. But a few minutes more, and Meister Karl, 
 your true old hearty Courier, will have faded far away in the 
 distant azure horizon. 
 
 As fades the coffee dark and brown 
 
 In milk of chalky blue, 
 So he ll go fading out of town, 
 
 While shouting oft, " Adieu !" 
 
 And yet a few last words. Reader, have I performed the pro 
 mises so profusely proffered in my introduction ? Alas ! I have 
 left undone much that I ought to have done, though, en revanche, 
 I have done still more that I never intended to do. So rest con 
 tent. Perfect writers are as rare as perfect readers ; and if Na 
 ture ever made a specimen of either, depend upon it that she 
 made but one impression, and then broke the mould ! 
 
 And here, methinks, you cry, " A plagiarism a most manifest 
 and shallow plagiarism!" True; and yet I stole it not from 
 Byron or from Ariosto,* but from the story of the She Bear in 
 the Pentamerone of Giambattista Basile, where a bereaved hus 
 band cries " Where shall I find a woman equal in beauty to my 
 wife? Nature made Nardella, and then broke the mould I" 
 
 Yes, there is much that I could have done. I could have told 
 you how Wolf Short fraternized with the Hospodar of Moldavia, 
 and took tea with Key-ing in Canton ; how he smuggled Bibles 
 into Bohemia, and "made a pile" at playing poker and monte in 
 California ; how Yon Schwartz fought in Hungary and Cir- 
 cassia, and with the Turks and Tartars, and how he at length 
 became a perfect amateur Dugald Dalgetty; how the Chevalier 
 married Coralie, and what Louis Napoleon said of the match; 
 
 how young C sowed all his wild-oats, and, returning to New 
 
 York, built unto himself a big broker business in Wall street and 
 a mansion in Fifth avenue; and how Uncle Bill continues to 
 visit him every Sunday evening, and how the latter seems to be 
 
 in a fair way to marry Mrs. C . And there are many mirific 
 
 tales yet unwritten of Aclrien the Artist, and the Count and 
 Countess, all of which may yet see light, should Meister Karl 
 ever chance this way again. And there is much more, in no 
 
 * Natura lofece e poi ruppa la atampa. 
 
338 SKETCH-BOOK OF ME, MEISTER KARL. 
 
 wise referring to each or any of these, which may yet be said or 
 sung, should my indulgent audience greet me with an encore. 
 
 And blame not the Meister that he is over-quaint and extra 
 peculiar in his style, shooting (to use his favorite simile) at times 
 transcendentally upward like a rocket, and then falling descend- 
 entally downward, like its stick, into that rhetoric which the 
 learned call rigmarole. Extraordinary subjects are to be illus 
 trated in an extraordinary manner : as the Professor remarked 
 when he drew the angles and curves of the soul upon a green 
 board with yellow chalk. It may be, reader, that you and I, 
 or perhaps both of us, may, like the singed cat of antique fable, 
 be better than we look. "A tattered cloak/ saith Baxter in his 
 " Saint s Rest," " may cover a good drinker." And it will be, I 
 doubt not, a consolation and a comfort to you to reflect that, 
 though the previous chapters may not in every particular have 
 exactly squared with your views, tastes, or interests, they have not 
 been, per contra, one whit better adapted to the tastes of your 
 enemies or rivals, as the case may be. 
 
 Fare thee well, Regnault my reader fare thee well. If I 
 have in aught offended thee, I am sorry; and if thou hast ever 
 thought hardly of me, I trust that we may both receive for 
 punishment a beautiful girl and a game-bag full of guineas. 
 
 "Detur pro poena, scriptori pulchra puolla." 
 
 This is my valediction, friend of mine ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 BOOK (THE) AND ITS STORY. 
 
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 STATESMEN OF THE TIMES OF GEORGE III. 
 
 To which are added Remarks on the French Revolution. By HENRY LORD 
 BROUGHAM. The three Series complete in 2 vols., 12mo. , . $2.50 
 
 " This is a new edition of a work which has all the characteristics of its noble author s 
 vigorous and original style." <( The statesmen described nourished at the era of the Ame 
 rican Revolution, and their lives are of peculiar interest to American readers." N. Y. 
 Com. Adv. 
 
 "His paper on Washington, whom he calls the greatest man of our own or any nge, 
 cannot be read by an American without a thrill of pride. The publishers could not have 
 issued a more useful and agreeable book." Evening Bulletin. 
 
 " Lord Brougham ig no feeble portrait painter. Ilis subject once chosen, his pencil soon 
 traces upon the canvas the unmistakable features of the living representative. In this group 
 he has placed some of the most remarkable men the world has ever known. Lord Chat 
 ham, Thurlow, Sheridan, Burke, Fox, Pitt, Wilberforce, Robespierre, Fouche, Nelson, Na 
 poleon, Washington, Jefferson. What a galaxy! These volumes will find a place in the 
 library of every man who regards biography as an eye of history. " Sunday Mercury. 
 
 " A work which will long hold a high rank for its abundant historical information, and 
 its rich and vigorous style." N. Y. Tribune. 
 
 " Lord Brougham possesses every necessary qualification for a biographer or historian. 
 The great popularity of these sketches, and the elegant form in which they now appear, is 
 proof conclusive that they are able, discriminating and impartial." City Item. 
 
 " These sketches are from the pen of a master, known us an accomplished scholar and 
 writer, and also as one of the most eminent statesmen of the age." Cliristian Observer. 
 
 " Wo reckon these masterly sketches among the finest productions of their illustrious 
 author." Puritan Recorder. 
 
 "The sterling value of this work is known to all well-educated readers. It is a true and 
 manly work by one of England s greatest statesmen." N. Y. Mirror. 
 
 " These sketches embrace nearly ull of that b^nd of illustrious statesmen who flourished 
 during the period referred to in the title ; and beside their intrinsic value as faithful his 
 torical portraits, they possess particular attractions for American readers, because of the 
 light they shed on our revolutionary history." North American. 
 
 " A work of extraordinary ability. It should have a place in every well selected public 
 and private library." Inquirer and Courier. 
 
 "The ability of the author to execute the task he has undertaken is amply shown in these 
 volumes." Public Ledger. 
 
 BUSH S MEMOIRS OF THE QUEENS OF FRANCE. 
 
 Memoirs of the Queens of France. By MRS. FORBES BUSH. From the 
 last London edition. In two volumes, 12mo. Cloth, . . $2.00 
 " Full of sentiment and romance, rendered all the more touching from the graceful dra 
 pery in which they are adorned." Saturday Courier. 
 
 i 
 
PARRY & MCMILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 BURNET ON PAINTING. 
 
 Practical Hints on Composition in Painting. Illustrated by examples from 
 the Great Masters of the Italian, Flemish, and Dutch schools. By 
 JOHN BURNET. One volume, quarto, half morocco, . . $ 3.00 
 
 " It is a -work that should bo in the possession of every artist. I can most safely recom 
 mend the American cojy as being a faithful transcript of the English edition." If. Inman. 
 
 CAREY S POLITICAL ECONOMY. 
 
 Principles of Political Economy. Part I. On the Laws of the Production 
 and Distribution of Wealth. Part II. On the Causes which retard 
 the Increase in the Production of Wealth and Improvement in the 
 Physical and Moral Condition of Man. Part III. On the Causes which 
 retard the Increase in the Numbers of Man. Part IV. On the Causes 
 which retard Improvement in the Political Condition of Man. By II. 
 C. CAE.EY, author of " An Essay on the Rate of Wages." Three vols. 
 8vo. Cloth, . $6.50 
 
 CAREY S PAST AND PRESENT. 
 
 The Past, the Present, and the Future. By H. C. CARET, author of 
 "Political Economy," &c. One volume, .... $2.00 
 
 "This valuable and learned work will gain him a higher reputation than he has yet had. 
 It is the most clearly written and ablest argued work on political economy that has yet 
 been published, either in this country or England." Holderi s Magazine. 
 
 "Mr. Carey is a laborious investigator, an independent thinker, and a reasoner of strong 
 common sense logic." Harbinger. 
 
 CAREY ON THE SLAVE TRADE. 
 
 Slave-Trade, Domestic and Foreign ; Why it Exists, and How it may be 
 Extinguished. By H. C. CAREY, author of " Principles of Political 
 Economy," " Past, Present, and Future," &G. One volume, 12mo. 
 Cloth $1.25 
 
 " It is hardly possible to exaggerate the value of Mr. Carey s book. * * * The mere 
 compilation of facts in relation to the social condition of the several communities of Chris 
 tendom is of vast utility." Daily Times. 
 
 "The arrangement of the book is excellent, and the calm, logical manner in which the 
 various topics are discussed is truly admirable." Com. Adv. 
 
 " Mr. Carey is a political economist ; all his views spring from that science cause and 
 effect with them he deals. He does not depend on rhetoric. He never appeals to the 
 imagination or the passions. He does not invoke generosity. He does not demand en 
 thusiasm. He lays down laws. Euclid in form, or Spinoza in spirit, is not more calm. He 
 addresses himself to thinkers. * * * It should be in the hands of every statesman, of 
 every philanthropist, of every well wisher to his fellow man in bondage. It is an invaluable 
 addition to the literature of this country and of the world." JV. Y. Tribune. 
 
 " There is vigorous thought and mature rellcction in this book." Literary World. 
 
 CAREY S (H. C.) ESSAY ON THE CREDIT SYSTEM OF 
 FRANCE, ENGLAND, AND THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 Paper, , $1.00 
 
PARRY A M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 BRASS AND IRON FOUNDER. 
 
 Practical Brass and Iron Founder s Guide. A Concise Treatise on the 
 Art of Brass Founding, Moulding, &c. With numerous Practical 
 Rules, Tables, and Receipts for Gold, Silver, Tin and Copper Found 
 ing ; Plumbers, Bronze and Bell Founders ; Jewellers, &c. By JAMES 
 LAEKIN. One volume, $1.00 
 
 We are pleased to notice the publication of this little work, which is exceedingly well 
 got up, and reflects, in that respect, credit upon the publishers. It is a compendium of 
 various information valuable to the class of men for whose benefit it is published, and being 
 written by a practical man, who has himself felt the want of a similar work, and who con 
 tributes from his own experience, will no doubt be received with favour. 
 
 " The properties and capabilities of various metals, and of their compounds, the propor 
 tions of each required for different kinds of work, receipts for making plaster or wax casts, 
 lacquering work, &c., and various tables, of use not ouly to the brass founder, but to all 
 metal workers, are among the numerous items named in the table of contents." Journa* 
 of Franklin Institute. 
 
 DAGUERREOTYPING, (HINTS ON). 
 
 Practical Hints on the Daguerreotype, with plain Directions for obtaining 
 Photographic Pictures upon Albumcnized Paper or Glass; including a 
 Practical Treatise on Photography, with a Supplement containing tho 
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 Colouring and Engraving the Pictures, with a Description of the Ap 
 paratus. By GUSTAYB DE GRAY, of Paris. With many illustra 
 tions, $1.00 
 
 "This work tells the whole story, and is so full and thorough in its details, that the book, 
 with a few practical lessons, will abundantly qualify any man of chemical taste and quick 
 perceptions for becoming a distinguished master of the art. American Courier. 
 
 " One of the best of Parry & M Millan s excellent series of publications on the useful arts. 
 The text is abundantly illustrated by diagrams of the apparatus to be used in taking Da 
 guerreotypes, and in obtaining photographic pictures by the calotype, energratype, &c. 
 * * * Every Daguerreotypist will find this manual an essential guide in the practice of 
 his art." .ZV. Y. Com. Adv. 
 
 " All who wish to become familiar with the Daguerreotype process should purchase this 
 work." Sunday Mercury. 
 
 " This work claimo the notice of every operator in the Union. The experiments are 
 numerous and very engaging, and the illustrations are good." City Htm.. 
 
 "The present book will be found a capital manual of this very interesting subject, as it 
 refers not only to all that is known in England and in this country, but contains alno an 
 account of the latest improvements which have been adopted in France." Arthur s Homt 
 Journal. 
 
 DUFIEF S NATURE DISPLAYED. 
 
 Nature Displayed in the mode of Teaching Languages to Man ; being a 
 new and infallible method of acquiring Languages with rapidity, 
 deduced from the Analysis of the Human Mind, and consequently 
 suited to every capacity. Adapted to the French. To which is pre 
 fixed a developement of the plan of tuition, so powerful in its opera 
 tion, and so economical, that a liberal education can be afforded to 
 the poorest of mankind. By N. G. DUFIEF. Twenty-first edition. 
 In two volumes, $5.00 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 DESTROYED (THE) CITIES OF THE PLAIN. 
 
 Narrative of a Journey Round the Dead Sea and in the Bible Lands, in 1850 
 and 1851, including an account of the Discovery of the Sites of Sodom 
 and Gomorrah. By F. DE SAULCY, Member of the French Institute. 
 Edited by Count EDWARD DE WARREN. In two volumes. With a 
 Map, $2.50 
 
 "The principal feature in the work of M. de Saulcy, is his voyage hy land around the 
 shores of the Dead Sea, and his discovery and inspection of the ruins of Sodom and Gomor 
 rah, the results of which are given to his readers in most graphic terms. Nearly every foot 
 of ground traversed by the author, from the commencement of his narrative, which begins 
 at Jerusalem, is a theme of biblical text, and as a result of his explorations, many passages 
 in the Holy Scriptures, hitherto, by many readers considered irreconcilable, are made per 
 fectly plain. The scenes and sites treated of by Josephus from traditionary legend, are 
 made the subject of personal visitation by De Saulcy. and the theories of that celebrated 
 author are compared with the realities before the eyes of the writer." Daily News. 
 
 "The author is a learned and observant traveller, indefatigable in researches, and not to 
 be daunted by difficulties apparently insurmountable. There is a vast fuhd of information 
 in the two volumes." Sunday Mercury. 
 
 " M. de Saulcy brought home with him geographical and archaeological documents of in 
 estimable value, he defines positively the sites of Sodom and Gomorrah, and furnishes 
 other data of a most impressive and gratifying character. Altogether the work is one of the 
 highest importance to literature." City Item. 
 
 " A discovery the most striking within the range of biblical antiquity. The disinterruent 
 of Nineveh, as a matter of feeling, is a small matter." London Guardian. 
 
 Will achieve a popularity equal to Layard s Nineveh." London Morning Post. 
 
 " We venture to say, that they who open these volumes, will not quit their hold on them 
 till they have read them through, and admired them." Bizarre. 
 
 " We are not surprised to see a new edition of this work. It is so deeply interesting to 
 every reader who takes delight in the verification of biblical history that many editions will 
 probably be called for. M. de Saulcy, who is a learned member of the French Institute, 
 travelled through Greece, Syria and Asia Minor, in the years 1850 and 1851, with tho 
 honorary title of Charge d une Mission Scientifique en Orient, which secured him many 
 privileges not accorded to ordinary travellers." Com. Advertiser. 
 
 " This well known work has commended itself alike to the favourable regards of the learned 
 and unlearned. To the former it presents the close and accurate investigations of a scholar 
 and a philosopher, applying the tests of learning and science to matters of long disputed 
 discussion ; to the latter it presents a narrative of personal explorations and adventures, 
 among scenes which, however remote, are intimately associated with the earliest recollec 
 tions of childhood, and which have been the theatre of events belonging to all tune, and to 
 the whole human family." North American. 
 
 " This French traveller is also a scholar. He has investigated questions of ancient 
 geography in a most thorough and patient manner. His chapters on the Dead Sea and the 
 eites of Sodom and Gomorrah are worth the attention of every intelligent man." J!V. Y. 
 Mirror. 
 
 " There is a great mass of learning in this book which will be found very instructive to 
 biblical scholars." N. 0. Delta. 
 
 " The work is admirably written, and abounds in interesting research and ingenious 
 speculation. M. de Saulcy is one of the most erudite archaeologists and closest observers 
 of the age." N. O. Bee. 
 
 " He was a very rapid traveller, yet no one who preceded him has observed more closely 
 or described more intelligibly the localities of this deeply interesting region." Cincinnati 
 Gazette. 
 
 EOLINE; OR, MAGNOLIA VALE. 
 
 A Tale, by Mrs. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. Cloth, gilt, . . . $0.75 
 Paper, 0.50 
 
 " We do not think that amongst American authors, there is one more pleasing or more 
 instructive than Mrs. Hentz. This novel is equal to any which she has written." Cincinnati 
 
 J " A charming and delightful story, and will add to the well-merited reputation of its fuir 
 
 and gifted author. SoiU/iern Lit. Gazette. 
 
TARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 EVENINGS WITH THE PROPHETS: 
 
 A Series of Memoirs and Meditations. By Rev. A. MORTON BROWN, 
 LL. D., Cheltenham. 1 vol. crown 8vo., .... $1.00 
 
 " This is a volume of high merit both as an elucidation and a defence of the Scriptures. 
 It is not addressed to the select and lettered few ; but to the great multitude, who are 
 capable of appreciating the results of learning, and are anxious to obtain clear and con 
 nected views of the lives, characters, and writings of holy men of God, who spake as they 
 were moved by the Holy Ghost. It is emphatically a book for the people, and as such it 
 cannot fail to be attended with results happy, permanent, and extensive. No mind but 
 one replete with knowledge, and familiar with the entire range of sacred literature, could 
 have produced it; and yet the whole is pervaded by a freshness and a lucid simplicity that 
 must invest it with high interest to all readers. There is nothing to be seen of the dry ela 
 boration of criticism, or of the formality and stiffness of mere comment. Each chapter and 
 section flow on clear, comprehensive, full, presenting the results rather than the process of 
 criticism and learned investigation. And hence, while the volume will be warmly approved 
 by scholars and divines, who are already acquainted with the questions discussed, it will be 
 especially welcomed by the great body of the thoughtful and inquiring, who, without minute 
 acquaintance with the literature of Biblical investigation and prophetic studies, are anxious 
 to arrive at satisfactory views of the Bible as a whole. To the young, who are entering on 
 an earnest examination of the Scriptures, in order to the attainment of clear conceptions of 
 the harmony of divine truth; and to those of riper years, who are desirous of having their 
 knowledge amplified or confirmed, it will prove an invaluable boon. 
 
 *#*** f} lt . f u n light of patient inquiry and ample knowledge shines on every topic 
 of importance connected with the life, and labors, and times of the long train of prophets 
 that pass in review, so that the reader finds himself, not merely looking on a vivid and life 
 like picture of gifted and inspired men, but surrounded with the circumstances and scenes 
 through which they passed. The chapters resemble great historic paintings; each prophet 
 stands as the centre, and around him gather the pomp and circumstance, and grandeur 
 and desolation of ancient monarchies, the shadows of Israel s doom, aud the rising splen 
 dors of Messiah s kingdom. 
 
 *;-** AS far as extensive knowledge and earnestness of purpose, combined with 
 great ease and felicity in delineating characters and events, serve to throw interest around 
 the grandest themes that can occupy the human mind, Dr. Brown s labors have, we think, 
 been eminently successful. Readers, who have already accurate and comprehensive views 
 of the various subjects discussed, will be gratified with the clearness and force with which 
 they are handled ; and many, whose notions of the sacred volume have been disjointed and 
 fragmentary, will rise from the perusal of this book with conceptions of its unity which will 
 excite their grateful and admiring wonder, and although not formally an argument for the 
 divine authority of the Scriptures, it cannot be read without furnishing to all thinking 
 minds attestations of the divinity of the Bible. 
 
 u * * * * xhe style in which the volume is written is easy, fresh, and varied, not un- 
 frequently rising into great force and beauty. There are many examples of happy anti 
 theses, and not a few gem-like passages of aphoristic wisdom. Sometimes there is an 
 element of the dramatic running through Dr. Brown s sketches, and occasionally there are 
 eloquent outbursts of indignant invective against tyranny and oppression. Throughout, 
 indeed, the variety, spirit, and naturalness of the style are snch that the reader glides 
 along the pages with an ease that prevents all disturbance of thought, and secures an im 
 mediate apprehension of the subject. 
 
 "We warmly commend the book to all classes of our readers, assured that its perusal 
 cannot fail to yield them both pleasure and profit." London Evnagelicul Magazine, 
 
 HOWARD GREY: A STORY FOR BOYS. 
 
 By a young Lady of Philadelphia. ISmo., fine paper, pp. 231, cloth, $0.50 
 
 "A well-expressed book, pure in sentiment, wise in analysis and apprehension of charac 
 ter; and, in a genuine sense, moral and religious in influence." Bizarre. 
 
 " An interesting little work." N. O. Delta. 
 
 " Calculated to stimulate boys to earnest exertion." Watchman and Observer. 
 
 "We seldom meet with a little story so carefully and powerfully written as this is. 
 Howard Grey will be likely to make a deep impression for good upon the minds of tho 
 young readers to whom it is given. It will encourage them to perseverance in the path of 
 duty, and patience under suffering and wrong." N. Y. Com. Advertiser. 
 
 " We hope that the success of the author of Howard Grey may be such as to encourage 
 her to often repeat her endeavours to amuse and instruct her young friends, both at home 
 and abroad, by the publication of many more just such stories for boys." lioston Atlas. 
 
 8 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HELEN AND ARTHUR; OR ; Miss THUSA S SPINNING 
 WHEEL. 
 
 By Mrs. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth, gilt, . . $0.75 
 Paper, 0.50 
 
 " A story of domestic life, written in Mrs. Hentz s best vein. The details of the plot are 
 skilfully elaborated, and many passages are deeply pathetic." Com. Adv. 
 
 "The present is a spirited tale, aiid Miss Thusa, with her spinning wheel, is quite a cha 
 racter." 2forLh American. 
 
 HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF THE STATESMEN OF THE TIMES 
 OF GEORGE III. 
 
 To which are added Remarks on the French Revolution. By HENRY LORD 
 BROUGHAM. The three Series complete in 2 vols., 12mo. , . $2.50 
 
 HOWITT S VISITS TO REMARKABLE PLACES. 
 
 Visits to Remarkable Places : Old Halls, Battle Fields, and Scenes illustra 
 tive of striking passages in English History and Poetry. By WILLIAM 
 HOWITT, author of " Rural Life of England," " Rural Life of Ger 
 many," " Book of the Seasons," &c. First Series. Third American 
 edition. Two volumes. Cloth, $2.00 
 
 " The most unaffected writer since Goldsmith." 
 
 " Wherever genius has burned, or valor died, the footsteps of Ilowitt turn, and gathering 
 inspiration from the scenes which he describes, fixes upon the memory their outlines as in- 
 effaceably as though the pencil of Claude transferred them to glowing canvass. It is im 
 possible to read these sketches of earth s hallowed ground without an intense desire to be 
 personally present, and drink in the eloquence of the scenes." Daily Register. 
 
 " A delightful and instructive book." Sunday Dispatch. 
 
 " The most delightful book William Howitt ever wrote." Evening Bulletin. 
 
 " A delightful gossiping book about people and places familiar to us. as if we had known 
 them all our lives, * * reproduced with rare freshness and spirit." North American. 
 
 " It is a work to pick up anywhere and at any time, and always with the certainty of being 
 deeply interested." Home Gazette. 
 
 Our author has a remarkable talent at exhuming the past, and bringing it into the 
 most impressive light; insomuch that many of his descriptions make us almost forget that 
 we are not mingling with the men, and witnessing the events of other ages." Puritan 
 2iecorder. 
 
 " William Howitt is a clear-headed, vigorous writer, and always has something of interest 
 to communicate on any subject he touches, or perhaps we should say that he has the good 
 
 i udgment never to touch any subject upon which he has not something to write worth 
 no wing." Com. Adv. 
 
 " A charming book." N. Y. Mirror. 
 
 " Welcome and delightful always are such graphic, genial, and graceful books as these."- 
 Raleiqh Post. 
 
 " We cordially commend this delightful work." Penn. Telegraph. 
 
 " Howitt s Visits, illustrating as they do, so many places of high interest to the lovers of 
 medicEval English history, is a welcome addition to our book shelves, and we rise from the 
 perusal of the author s notes of the Field of Culloden, Stratford-on-Avon, Flodden Field, 
 Bolton Priory, Hampton Court, Staffa and lona, Edge-Hill, Jesuit College at Stony Hurst, 
 Winchester, Kilmorac, and their accessories, with an increased admiration for the writer? 
 pure style and able powers of description. These qualities of Mr. Ilowitt invest with a pe 
 culiar charm all his works, and render them in the highest degree popular." Asmonean. 
 
 "In this wide and rich field, thick sown with noble memories of former glories, Mr. 
 Howitt loves to expatiate at large, and to indulge in sentimental outgushiugs. National 
 IntdUgencer. 
 
 9 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HOWTTT S RURAL LIFE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 The Rural Life of England. By WILLIAM HOWITT, author of "Visits to 
 Remarkable Places," &c. c. From the third London edition, cor 
 rected and revised. Two volumes, 12mo. Cloth, . . . $2.00 
 
 " It must, as it deserves to do, become very popular." London Literary Ga.ze.tte, 
 
 " One of the most beautiful, vigorous, fresh and spirited of Mr. llowitt s productions. It 
 is writteu with good sense and good feeling/ Court Journal. 
 
 " Not merely a charming, but an ennobling work." London Atlas. 
 
 " Every lover of nature who sincerely appreciates the sweet compensation which flows 
 from its worship, will acquire in the perusal of these delightful volumes a new relish for its 
 ennobling and satisfying gratifications, and a keener enjoyment of its manifold pleasures." 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 " Few combine pleasure with information in such admirable proportions." Com. Adv. 
 
 " There is no more pleasant modern English book than this." Sunday Dispatch. 
 
 "Since Washington Irving wrote of England, we have had no pleasanter writer on the 
 same theme than William llowitt and these plumes are among the best from his pen." 
 Evening Bulletin. 
 
 " There is no false coloring an<J no overstrain, but all is truthful and impartial, and he 
 who desires a correct picture of rural life in England, may find it in these volumes." Home 
 Gazette. 
 
 " Few books combine pleasure with information in such admirable proportions." Com. 
 Advertiser. 
 
 " It is full of graphic, glowing description, is pervaded by a most genial spirit, and is well 
 adapted to make people who live in the country, whether in England or America, contented 
 with their lot." Puritan liecorder. 
 
 " This is one of the books of which, the healthy-minded reader never wearies." North 
 American. 
 
 " No book could be more grateful after the surfeit of thrilling adventures that the press 
 ias given us. Its quiet tone gives one the same feeling that comes of staying a week in an 
 old farm house." JV. Y. Times. 
 
 LARKIN S (THE) BRASS AND IRON FOUNDER S GUIDE. 
 
 1 vol. 16mo. Scarlet cloth, $1.00 
 
 LESLIE S (Miss) HOUSE BOOK. 
 
 Miss Leslie s Lady s House Book. Manual of Domestic Economy, con 
 taining improved Directions for Washing, Dress-making, Millinery, 
 Dyeing, Cleaning, Quilting, Table Linen, Window-washing, Wood 
 Fires, Straw Bonnets, Silk Stockings, Rag Carpets, Plated Ware, 
 Porcelain, House-cleaning, Laundry, Wood and Coal Grate Fires, 
 Evening Parties, &c. &c. Nineteenth edition, enlarged. With nu 
 merous additional Receipts for removing Stains from Silks, Woollens, 
 Cottons, &c. Being a Companion to " Miss Leslie s Lady s New Re 
 ceipt Book," and " Complete Cookery." One volume, . . $1.06 
 
 "The work which Miss Leslie has here given them might be studied half a year, with 
 great benefit, even though the lady never had occasion to exercise her knowledge. * * * 
 Miss Leslie takes the student by the hand and leads her over her home that is to be, ex 
 plaining the use and benefit of each apartment, the proper mode of caring for it, gives direc 
 tions for furniture, with curtains to match. 8uuth?rn Lit. Gaz. 
 
 "This work is decidedly the best work of the kind that has ever been published, and all 
 of the receipts contained in it have boon tested by continued experience, and found to be 
 practical and useful in the every day experience of housekeepers." 
 
 "A competent knowledge of household ;i(Taii is by no means difficult to acquire, and ia 
 within the reach of every woman of tolcraoie capacity, who has a proper conviction of its 
 utility." Preface. 
 
 10 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 duces on the stage the prominent actors, whose influence or example may have had an in 
 fluence over her. Her description of tho Court of Henry II. cannot fail to interest the 
 reader, for she descends at times to details, which possess all the attractions of romance, but 
 which are strictly historical. An objection may be urged to her copious notes, many of 
 which might have been incorporated in the text, without injury, but her desire probably tc 
 authenticate every fact of any importance, has been the cause of this, and by the critical 
 reader will be deemed as essential. No lengthy review of this work is necessary to insure it 
 a perusal from our readers, for no reader of history can fail to take a deep interest in the 
 unfortunate Mary ; and our friends, who are preparing volumes for winter evening perusal, 
 will find these every way worthy their attention." Button Evening Gazette. 
 
 "In these days of shabby reprints, it is a 1reat to get hold of a publication in the best stylo 
 of type and paper, for which Messrs. Parry & M-Millan are famous. \Ve have not, for a long 
 time, seen two such beautifully printed volumes. 
 
 " Miss Benger, who has undertaken this new memoir of the hapless Queen of Scots, is 
 known as the capable writer of Memoirs of Anne Boleyn, and other works. Of course 
 there cannot be a great deal that is strictly new said of the life of one who has been so much 
 written and talked of as Mary Stuart; but Miss Benger, while she has obtained many new 
 particulars, has made the best use of the old materials, and thus given us a most graceful 
 and interesting version of one of the most touching histories on record. Three original let 
 ters of Mary to the Duke of Argyle are published, and an autograph copy of a portion of a 
 letter is engraved far the second volume. To the first volume a well-executed engraved 
 likeness is prefixed." Evening Bulletin. 
 
 " This is a handsome reprint from the second London edition. The author is favourably 
 known from her Memoirs of Anne Boleyn. " Arthur s Home Gazette. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE QUEENS OF FRANCE. 
 
 Memoirs of the Queens of France. By Mrs. FORBES BUSH. From the 
 last London edition. With Portraits. 2 vols., 12mo. Cloth, . $2.00 
 
 " Mrs. Forbes Bush is a graceful writer, and in the work before us has selected the pro 
 minent features in the livos of the Queens with a great deal of judgment and discrimina 
 tion. These memoirs will be found not only peculiarly interesting, but also instructive, 
 as throwing considerable light upon the manners and customs of past ages." Western 
 Continent. 
 
 " We have looked over the lives of some of the Queens, presented in these volumes, with 
 great, interest. While none are devoid of some degree of attraction, the most of them have a 
 charm about their person or character exceeding anything we find in the most popular 
 romances. They are full of sentiment and romance, rendered all the more touching from 
 the graceful drapery in which they are adorned, and by the truthfulness of which the reader 
 is strongly impressed. It is of course doubly attractive, in reading the strongly marked 
 characters of history, to feel a conviction of the truth with which even the wildest and most 
 thrilling incidents are invested. The lives of these fair ladies are full of instruction, a merit 
 that mere romance seldom possesses. The author, Mrs. Forbes Bush, commences with 
 Queen Basine, in the reign of Childeric I., or about four hundred years after the commence 
 ment of the Christian era. The volumes close with the late Queen of the French, Mario 
 Amelie." Saturday Courier. 
 
 MARCUS WARLAND ; OR, THE LONG Moss SPRING. 
 
 A Tale of the South. Sixth edition. In one volume, 287 pages. Paper 
 
 covers, $0.50 
 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 " Should follow in the wake of Uncle Tom s Cabin. "Penmylvunian. 
 
 " Every succeeding chapter of this new and beautiful nouvellette of Mrs. Hentz increases 
 In interest and pathos. We defy anyone to read aloud the chapters to a listening auditory, 
 without deep emotion, or producing many a pearly tribute to its truthfulness, pathos, and 
 power." American Courier. 
 
 " It is pleasant to meet now and then with a tale like this, which seems rather like a nar 
 rative of real events than a creature of the imagination." ^V. Y. Com. Advertiser. 
 
 "The story is absorbingly interesting, every character being well drawn, and the incidents 
 exciting. It must command a very large sale, as indeed do all the works of this accom 
 plished author." City Item. 
 
 "The volume before us is a delightful story, full of incidents, often times bold and start 
 ling, and describes the warm feelings of the Southerner in glowing colors." Baltimore 
 American. 
 
 13 
 
PARRY & MCMILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 NOVELS AND TALES, by CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. 
 
 New editions, iu tea volumes, 12mo. Paper covers, . . . $5.00 
 Cloth, gilt, ..". T!OO 
 
 LINDA ; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 
 
 A Tale of Southern Life. Eighth edition. One vol. ,276 pages. Taper, $0.50 
 Cloth, gilt, o.75 
 
 KENA; OR, THE SNOW BIRD. 
 
 A Tale of Real Life. Fifth edition. One vol., 273 pages. Paper, . $0 50 
 Cloth, gilt, o.75 
 
 MARCUS WARLAND; OR, THE LONG Moss SPRING. 
 
 A Tale of the South. Sixth edition. One vol., 287 pages. Paper, . $0.50 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 EOLINE; OR, MAGNOLIA VALE. 
 
 A Novel. One vol., 257 pages. Fifth edition. Paper, . . $0.50 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 WILD JACK; OR, THE STOLEN CHILD. 
 
 A Sketch from Life. Together with Bell and Rose, &c. Third edition. 
 
 One vol., 277 pages. Paper, $0.50 
 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 HELEN AND ARTHUR; OR, Miss THUSA S SPINNING 
 WHEEL, 
 
 A Novel. One vol., 280 pages. Third edition. Paper, . . $0.50 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 THE VICTIM OF EXCITEMENT, THE PARLOUR SERPENT, 
 
 And other Nouvellettes. Second edition. One vol., 272 pages. Paper, $0.50 
 Cloth, gilt 0.75 
 
 THE PLANTER S NORTHERN BRIDE. 
 
 A Novel. Two vols. Seventh edition. 500 pages. Paper, . . $1.00 
 Cloth, gilt, 1.50 
 
 ROBERT GRAHAM: A NOVEL. A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 
 
 1 vol. 12mo., 25G pages, paper, $0.50 
 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 "Mrs. Hentz has no superior in her line of composition. Her descriptions of American 
 character and scenery, and her success in narrative, are universally recognized as first 
 rate." ScoWs Weekly. 
 
 ONDERDONK S SERMONS AND CHARGES. 
 
 Two vols. 8vo. Cloth, gilt, $5.00 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 POETS AND POETRY OF AMERICA. 
 
 The Poets and Poetry of America; embracing Selections from the Poetical 
 Literature of the United States, from the time of the Revolution. 
 With a Preliminary Essay on the Progress and Condition of Poetry in 
 this country and Biographical and Critical Notices of the most emi 
 nent Poets. By Rurus W. GRIS\VOLD. New edition ; copiously illus 
 trated with Portraits, from original designs, on steel ; revised, enlarged, 
 and brought down to the present time. 1 vol. 8vo. Cloth, . 3 00 
 
 Cloth extra, gilt edges, 3.50 
 
 Morocco backs, top edge gilt, 4.00 
 
 Turkey morocco, extra, 5.00 
 
 " A -work entirely without a rival in its department, and for which there has for years 
 existed a marked and increased necessity." National. Intelligencer. 
 
 "The best collection of American poetry that has been made. N. Y. Evening Post. 
 
 "The editor, the Rev. R. W. Griswold, has culled from the wide field of American poetic 
 literature, many of its rarest intellectual gems. The volume extends to 4C8 pages, is beau 
 tifully embellished, and cannot but prove an acceptable addition to every public and private 
 library." Post. 
 
 " It embodies in its pages much that is chaste, and fraught with the fire of true genius; 
 is, emphatically, an. American work, and is not a little creditable to our literature." 
 Inquirer. 
 
 " Mr. G. has done a service to our literature, which eminently entitles him to the regard 
 and favour of a discerning and impartial public." National Intelligencer. 
 
 The whole volume is got up in a manner to do credit to the American, poets, and to show 
 that they are held in estimation." U. S. Gazette. 
 
 "No belter selection from the poetry of our native bards has ever been made, and no 
 person could do better with the materials than Mr. Griswold has done." Boston Traveller. 
 
 PROSE WRITERS OF AMERICA. 
 
 The Prose Writers of America. With a Survey of the Intellectual History, 
 Condition, and Prospects of the Country. By Rurus WILMOT GRIS 
 WOLD. Illustrated Avith Portraits from original artists. New edition. 
 
 Complete in one volume, 8vo. Cloth, $3.00 
 
 Cloth, extra, gilt edges, 3.50 
 
 Morocco backs, top edge gilt, 4.00 
 
 Turkey morocco, extra, 5.00 
 
 "We deem this book by all odds the best of its kind that has ever been issued." N. Y. 
 Courier & Inquirer. 
 
 " The extracts with which it is illustrated, compose a mass of the finest passages in 
 American literature, and are of a character which will secure for the volume a place on the 
 book table of every man or woman of literary taste. The portraits, of which there are nine, 
 are engraved in a very beautiful manner. It is not only an admirable survey of our 
 literature, but a very interesting and important addition to it. " Christian Observer. 
 
 "It is a work of great research, and the task must have required an immensity of toil to 
 draw from the mass of publication that -which is most likely to interest the public, and to 
 afford a perfect view of the peculiar powers of the writer/ NeaVs Gazette. 
 
 " Mr. Griswold s book has been executed honestly, ably, and well, and is a valuable con 
 tribution to the literature of the country. Knickerbocker. 
 
 "It is a faithful view of our best prose writers and their productions." Boston Atlas. 
 
 "The book is valuable and very interesting; the biographies are well written, and tho 
 criticisms are in the main impartial. It is just the kind of book which the general reader 
 will like to possess, and will afford pleasant reading for many a leisure half hour." N. Y. 
 Com. Advertiser. 
 
 "Dr. Griswold has performed his task as well as any man in the country would have done 
 it. He has done American literature and American readers a service for which we thank 
 him heartily. The book deserves, and we think will command general attention and ap 
 proval."^. Y. Tribune. 
 
 " We commend The Prose Writers of America to a wide national acceptance; with the 
 especial advice to tho reader, not to overlook the excellent introductory Essay on the In 
 tellectual History, Condition and Prospects of the Country, which contains many note 
 worthy suggestions aud much valuable information. Knickerbocker. 
 
PARRY & MCMILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 NOVELS AND TALES, by CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. 
 
 New editions, in tea volumes, 12mo. Paper covers, . . . .$5.00 
 
 cioth, gilt, 7 ; 00 
 
 LINDA ; OR, THE YOUNG PI^OT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 
 
 A Tale of Southern Life. Eighth edition. One vol. ,276 pages. Taper, $0.50 
 Cloth, gilt, o 75 
 
 RENA; OR, THE SNOW BIRD. 
 
 A Tale of Real Life. Fifth edition. One vol., 273 pages. Paper, . $0.50 
 Cloth, gilt, o!75 
 
 MARCUS WARLAND; OR, THE LONG Moss SPRING. 
 
 A Tale of the South. Sixth edition. Oue vol., 287 pages. Paper, . $0.50 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 EOLINE; OR, MAGNOLIA VALE. 
 
 A Novel. One vol., 257 pages. Fifth edition. Paper, . . $0.50 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 WILD JACK; OR, THE STOLEN CHILD. 
 
 A Sketch from Life. Together with Bell and Rose, &c. Third edition. 
 
 One vol., 277 pages. Paper, $0.50 
 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 HELEN AND ARTHUR; OR, Miss THUSA S SPINNING 
 WHEEL. 
 
 A Novel. One vol., 280 pages. Third edition. Paper, . . $0.50 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 THE VICTIM OF EXCITEMENT, THE PARLOUR SERPENT, 
 
 And other Nouvellettes. Second edition. One vol., 272 pages. Paper, $0.50 
 Cloth, gilt 0.75 
 
 THE PLANTER S NORTHERN BRIDE. 
 
 A Novel. Two vols. Seventh edition. 500 pages. Paper, . . $1.00 
 Cloth, gilt, 1.50 
 
 ROBERT GRAHAM: A NOVEL. A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 
 
 1 vol. 12mo., 256 pages, paper, $0.50 
 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 "Mrs. Hentz has no superior in her line of composition. Her descriptions of American 
 character and scenery, and her success in narrative, are universally recognized as first 
 rate." Scott s Weekly. 
 
 ONDERDONK S SERMONS AND CHARGES. 
 
 Two vols. 8vo. Cloth, gilt, $5.00 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 POETS AND POETRY OF AMERICA. 
 
 The Poets and Poetry of America; embracing Selections from the Poetical 
 Literature of the United States, from the time of the Revolution. 
 With a Preliminary Essay on the Progress and Condition of Poetry in 
 this country and Biographical and Critical Notices of the most emi 
 nent Poets. By RUFUS W. GRISWOLD. New edition ; copiously illus 
 trated with Portraits, from original designs, on steel ; revised, enlarged, 
 and brought down to the present time. 1 vol. 8vo. Cloth, . $3 00 
 
 Cloth extra, gilt edges, 3.50 
 
 Morocco backs, top edge gilt, 4.00 
 
 Turkey morocco, extra, . .5.00 
 
 "A work entirely -without a rival in its department, and for -which there has for years 
 existed a marked and increased necessity." National Intelligencer. 
 
 "The best collection of American poetry that has been made. N. T. Evening Post. 
 "The editor, the Rev. R. W. Griswold. has culled from the wide field of American poetic 
 literature, many of its rarest intellectual gems. The volume extends to 4G8 pages, is beau 
 tifully embellished, and cannot but prove an acceptable addition to every public and private 
 library. - Post. 
 
 " It embodies in its pages much that is chaste, and fraught -with the fire of true genius; 
 is, emphatically, an American work, and is not a little creditable to our literature." 
 Inquirer. 
 
 " Mr. G. has done a service to our literature, which eminently entitles him to the regard 
 and favour of a discerning and impartial public." National Intelligencer. 
 
 The whole volume is got up in a manner to do credit to the American poets, and to show- 
 that they are held in estimation." U. S. Gazette. 
 
 "No belter selection from the poetry of our native bards has ever been made, and no 
 person could do better with the materials than Mr. Griswold has done." Boston Traveller. 
 
 PROSE WRITERS OF AMERICA. 
 
 The Prose Writers of America. With a Survey of the Intellectual History, 
 Condition, and Prospects of the Country. By RUFUS WILMOT GRIS 
 WOLD. Illustrated with Portraits from original artists. New edition. 
 
 Complete in one volume, 8vo. Cloth, $3.00 
 
 Cloth, extra, gilt edges, 3.50 
 
 Morocco backs, top edge gilt, 4.00 
 
 Turkey morocco, extra, 5.00 
 
 "We deem this book by all odds the best of its kind that has ever been issued." N. Y. 
 Courier da Inquirer. 
 
 " The extracts with which it is illustrated, compose a mass of the finest passages in 
 American literature, and are of a character which will secure for the volume a place on the 
 book table of every man or woman of literary taste. The portraits, of which there are nine, 
 are engraved in a very beautiful manner. It is not only an admirable survey of our 
 literature but a very interesting and important addition to it. "Christian Observer 
 
 "It is a work of great research, and the task must have required an immensity ot toil to 
 draw from the mass of publication that -which is most likely to interest the public, and to 
 afford a perfect view of the peculiar powers of the writer." Neal s Gazette. 
 
 " Mr. Griswold s book has been executed honestly, ably, and well, and is a valuable con 
 tribution to the literature of the country." Knickerbocker. 
 
 " It is a faithful view of our best prose writers and their productions. Boston Atlas. 
 
 "The book is valuable and very interesting; the biographies are well written, and tl 
 criticisms are in the main impartial. It is just the kind of book whteK the nal reader 
 will like to possess, and will afford pleasant reading for many a leisure half hour. N. r. 
 
 ^Dr 1 Swold has performed his task as well as any man in the country would have done 
 it He h:i done American literature and American readers a service tor which we thank 
 him heartily. The book deserves, and we think will command general attention and ap- 
 
 PI> V We command The ie prose Writers of America to a wide national acceptance; with the 
 especial advice to the reader, not to overlook the excellent introductory Essay on the In- 
 textual History, Condition and Prospects of the Country, which contains many note 
 worthy suggestions aud much valuable information. Knickerbocker. 
 
PAKJIY & M-MILLAV3 PUBLICATIONS, 
 
 THE FEMALE POETS OF AMERICA. 
 
 By RUFUS WILMOT GUIS WOLD. Illustrated with Portraits from original 
 artists. New edition; revised, enlarged, and brought down to the 
 present time. 1 vol. 8vo. Cloth, ...... $3 00 
 
 Cloth extra, gilt edge, ....... g ^ 
 
 Calf backs and corners, ...... 4 QQ 
 
 Morocco extra, ....... 5 QQ 
 
 QUESNEL ON THE GOSPELS. 
 
 The Gospels, with Moral Reflections on each Verse. By PASQUIER QFES- 
 NEL. With an Introductory Essay, by the Rev. DANIEL WILSON, A.M., 
 Vicar of Islington, (now Bishop of Calcutta). 2 vols. 8vo. In pre 
 paration. 
 
 This celebrated Commentary of a great French Divine, is a repository of original and 
 Striking practical reflections on the four Gospels. Bishop Wilson says of it - We have no 
 work of the same kind ; we have nothing in practical divinity so sweet, so spiritual so in 
 terior as to the real life of grace so rich, so copious, so original. We have nothiii" tint 
 extols the grace of God, and abases and lowers man so entirely. We lessen not the value of 
 
 have each their particular 
 
 supply that thorough iusi-ht 
 
 
 
 our various admirable comments on the New Testament; they have each their particular 
 excellencies. But none of them supersedes QUESXKL ; none can supply that thorough iusi-ht 
 into the world, the evil of sin, the life of faith and prayer, which he possesses. 
 
 The publishers hope to render an acceptable service by placing this admirable Commen 
 tary withm the reach of American Christians. The work will be issued under the editorial 
 supervision of th Key. Dr. BOAJRDMAN, of 1 hiladelphia, by whom it has been carefully 
 
 THE MINERAL AND THERMAL SPRINGS OF THE UNITED 
 STATES AND CANADA. 
 
 By JOHN BELL, M. P., author of "Baths and Mineral Waters," "Baths 
 and the Watery Regimen," &c., &c. 1 vol. 18mo. Cloth, . $0.75 
 
 This work meets the wants both of physician and invalid, by its containing clear and suc 
 cinct descriptions of the mineral and thermal Springs of the United States, with authentic 
 analyses of their waters, and a specification of the diseases and stages of diseases to wnich 
 they are severally adapted. Not only are the Springs of New York, Pennsylvania, Virginia, 
 and along the Atlantic seaboard, described with requisite fullness; but also those of the 
 Mississippi Valley, and those hitherto scarcely known beyond the Bocky Mountains and the 
 Pacific. The reader of this volume will find, for the first time, a connected account of this 
 series of newly discovered mineral springs, with their situation and relative distances, in 
 cluding a notice of the tepid, warm, and hot, and the saline and sulphur Springs around the 
 Great Salt Lake, and the almost boiling hot Spring of Pyramid Lake, in Utah; the Beer 
 Springs and the Steamboat Spring, in Oregon; the Volcanic Springs in California. Ac., &c. 
 
 Suitable advice is given by the author to invalids, as to their mode of living at the Springs, 
 and their drinking of the waters, and the use of the baths. 
 
 Nearly two hundred Springs, of which one- third, are Thermal, find a place in this volume. 
 
 WILLS S TABLES FOR QUALITATIVE CHEMICAL ANALYSIS. 
 
 By WILLIAM L. FABER. Thin royal 8vo. Cloth backs, . . $0.75 
 
 WATSON S ANNALS OF PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 Last edition, with Engravings. 2 vols. 8vo. Cloth, gilt, . . $4.50 
 Sheep, 4.75 
 
 Morocco backs, . . . . . . . .6.60 
 
 16 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 INQUIRY INTO THE SCRIPTURAL VIEW OF SLAVERY. 
 
 By Rev. ALBERT BARNES. 1 vol. 12mo., $1.00 
 
 WAY OF SALVATION. A SERIES OF SERMONS. 
 
 By Rev. ALBERT BARNES. 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth, .... $1.00 
 
 SALOMON S SERMONS. 
 
 Twelve Sermons delivered in the New Temple of the Israelites at Ham 
 burg. By GOTTHOLD SALOMON. Translated from the German by 
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 OBLIGATION OF THE SABBATH. 
 
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 ITALIAN DIALOGUES. 
 
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 LOWIG S PRINCIPLES OF ORGANIC AND PHYSIOLOGICAL 
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 Translated by DANIEL BREED, M. D. 1 vol. 8vo. Cloth, . .$3.50 
 
 LECTURES ON THE KESULTS OF THE GREAT EXHIBITION 
 IN LONDON, ON THE PROGRESS OF ART AND SCIENCE. 
 
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 LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE OF ANDREW COMBE, M. D. 
 
 By GEORGE COMBE. 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00 
 
 MANUAL OF COINS. 
 
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 WHISPERS TO A NEWLY MARRIED PAIR. 
 
 A new edition. 18mo. Paper $0.13 
 
 17 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 PATENT LAWS AND THE PATENT OFFICE. 
 
 Being a Brief History of the Progress of Inventive Genius, including an 
 Abstract of the Laws of Foreign Countries on the subject of Patents; 
 to which is added, a Digest of the Patent Laws of the United States; 
 Decisions of the United States and State Courts in cases of Appeal 
 and otherwise; Opinions in cases of Appeal from Decisions of the 
 Commissioner of Patents, &c., &c. ; together with General Directions 
 to Applicants for Obtaining Patents, with the forms to be observed in 
 Applications; Form of Caveat; Proceedings to be Instituted as pre 
 liminary to final Appeal, &c., &c. With an Appendix. By J. G. 
 MOORE, formerly of the New York Courier and Inquirer. 1 vol. 
 12mo., cloth, $1.25 
 
 "A much needed work, particularly valuable to inventors and all interested in patent 
 rights as a matter of traffic. It is got up in good style, and arranged so that any subject can 
 bo readily referred to. Such a work has long been a desideratum, and we commend it to 
 all interested." Rural New Yorker. 
 
 " Such a work as this lias long been a desideratum to those having business with the Pa 
 tent Office. It seems to embrace everything of importance connected with patents, and to 
 explain in the simplest manner every question that can arise as to the rights of inventors " 
 National Intelligencer. 
 
 " This is a very complete, systematic, and thorough guide book, designed to aid and in 
 struct all patentees in what manner to proceed in obtaining a patent for a design, invention, 
 etc. It points out the safeguards that are throw.n around the inventor, and how far others 
 may trench upon his domain, and supplies much convenient, necessary, and valuable know 
 ledge, illustrative of patent laws in this and other countries." Boston Atlas. 
 
 " A work of this description has long been needed. It is useful not only for professional 
 men, but for all who arc at all interested in the subject of which it treats. The author, we 
 should judge, has bestowed much time and attention upon his labor, and has produced a 
 reliable and valuable book. The arrangement of the subject matter is such as to secure 
 convenience." Detroit Daily Advertiser. 
 
 " This much needed work constitutes an invaluable guide for inventors, and will undoubt 
 edly save them from many expensive councils, or hasty steps in the various stages of appli- 
 cation for patents. The work is well arranged, and sufficiently compendious without diffuse- 
 ness." Inventor s Journal. 
 
 " The book is one of great utility to all who have anything to do with the matter of 
 patents, whether personally or professionally." Watchman and Observer. 
 
 " As a book of reference this work is invaluable, and should have a place in all our public 
 and private school libraries, whore it may be accessible to the mechanic as well as the 
 scholar." Providence Daily Journal. 
 
 " The compiler of this volume was formerly employed in the Department of the Interior 
 at "Washington, and the form and plan of his work were suggested by the lion. Edmund 
 Kurke. formerly Commissioner of Patents. These facts are evidence that the best advan 
 tages were enjoyed in collecting and arranging the materials, and give the work a degree 
 of authority which it might not have possessed if prepared under other circumstances." 
 N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 " The compiler deserves much credit for compressing so large an amount of information 
 within such narrow bounds information, too, which will interest the general reader as well 
 as the inventor." Daily News. 
 
 PRACTICAL SERMONS. 
 
 By Rev. ALBERT BARNES. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, . . . $1.00 
 
 PETER SCHLEMIIIL IN AMERICA. 
 
 12mo., cloth, gilt, . $1.50 
 
 PENCIL SKETCHES; OR. OUTLINES OF CHARACTER AND 
 MANNERS. 
 
 By Miss LESLIE. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, . $1.00 
 
 18 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 ROBERT GRAHAM: A NOVEL. A SEQUEL TO LINDA. 
 
 By CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. 1 vol. 12mo. 25G pages. Paper, . . $0.50 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 " Robert Graham is a charming tale." JV. O. See,. 
 
 The moral teachings of this work are calculated to leave a lasting and desirable impres 
 sion." Uncle Samuel. 
 
 " The Tale is full of incident and romantic adventure, and is well written." Boston 
 Atlas. 
 
 "The thousands who road Linda, or the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole, will make 
 haste to procure a copy of this book, which is a sequel to that history. Like all of this 
 writer s works, it is natural and graphic, and very entertaining." City Item. 
 
 "A charming novel; and in point of plot, style, and all the other characteristics of a 
 readable romance, it will compare favorably with almost any of the many publications of 
 the season. Literary Gazette. 
 
 " We canot admire too much, nor thank Mrs. Hentz too sincerely for the high and en 
 nobling morality and Christian grace, which not only pervade her entire writings, but which 
 shine forth with undimmed beauty in the new novel, Robert Graham. * * * It sustains 
 the character which is very difficult to well delineate in a work of fiction a religious mis 
 sionary. All who read the work will bear testimony to the entire success of Mrs. Ilentz." 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 KENA; OR, THE SNOW BIRD. 
 
 A Tale of Real Life. By Mrs. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. Fifth edition. 1 
 
 vol., 273 pages. Taper, $0.50 
 
 Cloth, gilt, 0.75 
 
 "An unusually clever tale, that by its sprightliness, its clear delineations of character, 
 and its vigorous and sparkling style, will afford entertainment to every class of readers." 
 Book T)-ade. 
 
 " The Snow Bird elicits a thrill of deep and exquisite pleasure, even exceeding that which 
 accompanied Linda, which was generally admitted to be the best story ever written for a 
 newspaper. That was certainly high praise, but Rena takes precedence even of its pre 
 decessor, and, in both, Mrs. Lee Hentz has achieved a triumph of no ordinary kind. It is 
 not that old associations bias our judgment, for though from the appearance, years since, of 
 the famous Mob Cap, in this paper, we formed an exalted opinion of the womanly and 
 literary excellence of the writer, our feelings have, in the interim, had quite sufficient lei 
 sure to cool: yet, after the lapse of years, we have continued to maintain the same literary 
 devotion to this best of our female writers. The two last productions of Mrs. Lee Hentz 
 now fully confirm our previously formed opinion, and we unhesitatingly commend Rcna, 
 now published in book form by Parry & M Millan. Chestnut and Fourth Streets, as a story 
 which, in its varied, deep, and thrilling interest, has no superior." American Courier. 
 
 " It will be found to be the best story which Mrs. Hentz has ever given to the public." 
 Saturday Courier. 
 
 AGUILAR, GRACE. ESSAYS AND MISCELLANIES. 
 
 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth, $0.75 
 
 ALFRED BUNN IN AMERICA. 
 
 1 vol. 12rao. Cloth, $0.75 
 
 Paper, 0.50 
 
 AYLMERE; OR, THE BONDMAN OF KENT, AND OTHER 
 POEMS. 
 
 By ROBERT T. CONRAD. 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth, .... 1.00 
 
 BINNS (JOHN). MEMOIRS AND RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth, 1.25 
 
 19 
 
TARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HEED S LECTURES ON ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 Lectures on English Literature, delivered in the Chapel Hall of the Uni 
 versity of Pennsylvania, by Professor HENIIY REED. With a Portrait. 
 Edited by his brother, WILLIAM B. REED. 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth $1.25 
 
 "The sound and discriminating criticism with which this work abounds, will render it an 
 acknowledged classic, both in Europe and America. It is the most important add i: ion to 
 critical literature which this country has produced. * * * We regard it as of inestimable 
 Talue as aid in the higher walks of education. Our college students, and the young ladies 
 in what are called finishing schools, have had, hitherto, no reliable guide in the choice of 
 their reading; no good text-book of English belles-lettres. This deficiency is now supplied, 
 and we especially commend the Lectures ou English Literature to th notice of college 
 professors, and the teachers of all the higher kinds of .schools. * * * So important an 
 acquisition should by no means be neglected. JVort/i American. 
 
 " The book is in every way a most creditable contribution to the Library of Critical Liter 
 ature." London Leader. 
 
 "These lectures bear the marks of ripe scholarship, and an accomplished mind." Presby 
 terian. 
 
 "We have examined (his volume with that interest with which one would open a box of 
 jewels, and examine, one by one, the specimens rich and rare. And when you add to this, 
 the sad thought that the one who gathered such a collection of the folid. beautiful and 
 costly in literature, went down with the three hundred who disappeared with the Arctic 
 beneath the waves of the Atlantic, the interest increases to a tearful intensity, and you 
 drink in the words of wisdom of the ocean-buried, as though they were baptized in a new 
 inspiration." American Spectator. 
 
 "The Lectures are of the highest order, both in scholarship, pound sense, and graceful 
 ness of style, and show a thorough mastery of his subject that only a familiar acquaintance 
 with the "original sources could have given. Ihere is also a moral purity and a Christian 
 spirit running through them that is peculiarly pleasing." Watchman and Observer. 
 
 "One of the greatest merits of these Lectures is their entire freedom from au affectedly 
 profound philosophy ; from an appearance of that German transcendentalism which soars so 
 high as to reach beyond all real comprehension, and which penetrates to depths that are 
 unfathomable, that analyses until nought remains, and that vanishes from all intelligence 
 in an entangled forest of woodland. A genial spirit of healthy criticism pervades the work, 
 which displays the purity and elvated tone of the lamented author." Presbyterian Banner. 
 
 K* * * * If anything could bring consolation to the friends of Professor Keed for his 
 untimely loss, it is that he left his MSS. in such a complete and scholar-like preparation 
 that the public will receive them as a national benefit. * * * * The third lecture of the 
 volume on the English language, is in itself a monument of the varied and extensive 
 learning and acquirements of the lamented author, which would hand down his name to 
 posterity as one of the gifted of the 19th century." National Intelligencer. 
 
 "A posthumous work, and a noble monument to the memory of the distinguished Pro 
 fessor, whose loss in the Arctic created such an intense sorrow in the city of his birth, 
 education, and active life, and such an overwhelming sense of calamity wherever his just 
 fame had spread." Home Journal. 
 
 These lectures, or rather essays, are of surpassing beauty and excellence. We know not 
 where to look for a volume so admirably adapted to the wants of a largo class of young 
 readers, who desire to direct their reading intelligently and profitably." Boston Traveller. 
 
 "This is one of the most thoughtful and earnest course of lectures we have ever met 
 with." Boston Transcript. 
 
 " They evince profound knowledge of the springs of English literature, and are imbued 
 with genial sentiment, fine discrimination, and critical acumen." N. Orleans Bee. 
 
 " This is a volume written with strength, edited with feeling, and published with taste. 
 * * * The mild and thoughtful countenance of the author, neatly engraven on steel, 
 will be found a valuable memento to his many surviving friends." Newark Daily Ad 
 vertiser. 
 
 " A more creditable book, of the same bulk, has never issued from the American press. 
 And if it does not receive a prompt and hearty welcome in every section of our country, 
 then, we confess, we shall be greatly disappointed. If Talfourd, or fc outhey, or some olher 
 Englishman of celebrity, had produced a work of such genial criticism as this, it would, 
 very justly, have added to his fame. It wouid speedily he caught up and reprinted here, 
 and thousands of copies would, in a few weeks, be distributed from Maine to Louisiana. 
 And shall the prophet be less regarded by his own countrymen? We trust not. We cannot 
 believe that a book which we feel sure, Irving, and Tieknor, and Dana, and Prcscott will 
 consider as worthy to stand on the same shelf with their own best productions, will be 
 coldly neglected by any who profess to venerate those authors. U. Slates Gazette. 
 
 "These Lectures are instructive, eloquent, and even brilliant; they are the productions 
 of a powerful and refined mind, that is keenly appreciative both of the severest logic and 
 of the most subtle beauties of thought. Every reader must admire them, and acknowledge 
 that he has been profited and entertained by their perusal/ N. York Observer 
 
 20 
 
PARRY & MCMILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 KEED. (PROF. HENRY.) LECTURES ON ENGLISH HIS 
 TORY, ILLUSTRATED BY SlIAKSPEARE s HISTORICAL 
 
 DRAMA. 
 
 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth, $1.25 
 
 RUSSELL S (LADY RACHEL) LETTERS. 
 
 The Letters of Rachel, Lady Russell. New edition. Containing many 
 Letters never before published. Complete in one handsome volume, 
 12mo., $1.25 
 
 " Her letters, eloquent in the potency of grief, have but one resource, one groat engrossing 
 topic, the judicial murder of her husband, a resource, as has been beautifully observed, 
 which proved the strength of a soul sustained by all the fortitude of a heroine, and chastened 
 by all the piety of a saint. To these melancholy memorials are now added the letters of 
 a time of wedded joy, showing how deep was the happiness which the tyranny of a voluptu 
 ous king broke into and destroyed." Saturday Courier. 
 
 " Although a century and a half has elapsed since most of these letters were written, 
 they are still models of a noble, pure-minded and devoted wife s epistolary style. Her de 
 votion, indeed, survived her husband s death, and the numerous letters given, of a date 
 subsequent to that catastrophe, are full of reference to her loss and of vindications of hig 
 character. Written, as they manifestly were, from the heart, they are easy and unaffected, 
 and the numerous bits of gossip and references to celebrated persons of the period make 
 them peculiarly interesting." Evening Bulletin. 
 
 " That sweet saint, that sate by 
 Russell s side under the judgment seat." 
 
 "The volume now before us is one of the handsomest standard volumes of the season. It 
 contains not only Hie letters that appeared in the first edition, but many others, written 
 during the period of her happy wedded life, and that famous letter to her children, written 
 on the anniversary of her husband s decease. It also embraces the copious notes by Miss 
 Berry, and Mr. Martin, the librarian of Woburn Abbey." Boston Morning Pout. 
 
 "Lady Rachel Russell was the wix e of the noble and unfortunate Lord William Russell, 
 ihe compatriot of Algernon Sidney, and other illustrious asserters of English liberty in the 
 seventeenth century. Her letters have passed through numerous editions in.England, and 
 have been long considered models of epistolary style. They are full of tender sentiment, 
 and relate to matters of the most touching interest." Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 " The Letters of Lady Russell contain but one topic arid one resource that topic the ju 
 dicial murder of her husband that resource the strength of a soul sustained by all the 
 fortitude of a heroine, and chastened by all the piety of a saint." Buffalo Daily Courier. 
 
 "The one great theme which these letters illustrate, was the judicial murder of Lord 
 William Russell by Charles II. They reveal, the soul of a heroine, and the piety of one 
 taught in the school of Christ, and chastened by affliction to bear with pious resignation the 
 severest trials, in obedience to the Divine will. These letters will be read with deep in 
 terest in connection with the history of England during the reign of Charles II." Christian 
 Observer. 
 
 " Lady Russell was a woman of pure spirit, unaffected piety, warm heart, tried virtues, 
 and excellent understanding. Her letters have been often reprinted, and their merits have 
 so long been familiar to the public that wo need only call attention to some of the points in 
 which this new and beautiful edition, by Messrs. Parry & M Millan, surpasses any hitherto 
 presented to the world. 1 Banner of the Grosa. 
 
 "The appearance of a volume like the present, is among the rarest of benefactions con- 
 ferred upon the public. For it offers to our view one of those noble and sublime specimens 
 of our common humanity, whoso thoughts and deeds enrich the blood of the world. As a 
 source of inspiration, of solace, and sustaining energy, it were impossible to estimate the 
 influence exerted by a character like Lady Russell s, on all coming within its sphere. 
 * * * The tragic history of her husband is, probably, as familiar to most, as her own. 
 That most blameless of statesmen. Lord Somers, declared Lord Russell to have been mur 
 dered by the infamous pair, Charles II. and his brother James. How devotedly attached 
 were the wife and husband, and how happy in this attachment, will abundantly appear 
 from this volume ; as will also the admirable conduct of Lady Russell during the trial and 
 last days of her lord, and the forty years of widowhood that followed." Bizarre. 
 
 " This is a very beautiful edition of the celebrated Letters of Lady Russell, and its value 
 Is enhanced by the copious foot notes which explain every allusion of a personal, historical, 
 political or private nature in the letters, which might be unintelligible to common readers. 
 The libertine, Charles II., and the Popish bigot James II., in their efforts to establish arbi 
 trary power, had to trample out the lights of their day, that shone out and pointed the way 
 to liberty. Amid these luminaries, Sydney and Russell shone as stars of the first magni 
 tude, and both were murdered. Still their light continued to shine. The Revolution 
 came, and Popery was defeated." Presbyterian Banner. 
 
PARRY & MCMILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE NEW PASTORAL. 
 
 A Poem. By THOS. BUCHANAN READ. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth, , $1.00 
 
 <> Poetically imagined and beautifully expressed." Baltimore American. 
 A luxurious specimen of typography." Puritan Recorder. 
 
 "The New Pastoral supplies the vacant place in the literature of America which Thomson 
 and Cowper have filled in that of England ; and we feel proud of our you, ! com a" 
 when we say, equally well. His poem is purely national American in its scope in it< snirit 
 in its ideas, and in the exquisite pictures of rural life and manners which constitute its 
 chief charm." Reading Democrat. 
 
 It will be welcomed as the first truly American poem. We predict for it an immense 
 circulation. It must become one of the indispensable* for the centre table in America, both 
 in the palace and the cottage." Farm Journal. 
 
 "Mr. Read has given us a pastoral poem of great smoothness of versification, naturalness 
 
 f thought and expression, and abounding in passages of great beauty; while over the whole 
 
 is breathed a spirit of domestic and rustic quietude such as commends it to the rentier svm- 
 
 ratlue^o^the soul. It deserves to take its place among the best of our fireside poetry." 
 
 " American literature gets, in The New Pastoral, a valuable acquisition." Boston Trans 
 t * * U i ?f n 8 by - hiS W rk> achieved for himself a high position among American 
 * It will continue a standard in the literature of his country. * * * A chas 
 tened imagination has decked homely scenes with all the charms which it is the hi-h power 
 of poesy only to do, and painted American rural changes with a life-like fidelity which stamps 
 them for ever upon the page." Morning JTews. 
 
 " In this poem Mr. Read has surpassed his former efforts, and produced a work of some 
 length, but of unflagging interest. Buchanan Kead is a true poet a poet whoe cental 
 scorns the trammelling of set rules, and his versification invariably appears natural and 
 easy." Boston Evening Gazette. 
 
 " The lovers of sound moral sentiment most sweetly expressed, and of the bright portrai 
 ture of nature in her peaceful scenes and moods, will find in this volume a great dial to 
 elevate, to interest and to refine." Natchez Courier. 
 
 "We have the New Pastoral, from the pen of Thomas Buchanan Read, a poet whoro 
 name and tame bid fair to become household words in America. In simple and Hute-like 
 
 by new experience* 
 
 rmer productions the best 
 
 . 
 
 prolongations of melody it breathes the soul of a new people, stirred 
 dwelling in a fresh, young world." Commercial Register. 
 
 TbeNortA British Review pronounced one of Mr. Read s former proucons te best 
 poem that had appeared from an American author. We think the poet s well-merited repu 
 tation will not Suffer from the present work. It is rich in the elements of a permanent po 
 pularity. The just appreciation of nature; the beauty of description; the truthful i.it-tur.-H 
 of simple, rural life; the delicacy of sentiment; the overflowing of a gentle, lovinc heart 
 and the sweetly flowing numbers, cannot fail to win admirers, and gain new laurels for the 
 bard. Ihe fact that it is also, in all respects, a home production, thoroughly American in 
 all its incidents and scenery, gives it additional charms." Presbyterian. 
 
 " It is written with sincerity and feeling : there are descriptions which have great truth of 
 detail, and the poem has the great merit of a subdued and natural tone." Putnam s Monthly. 
 
 READ S ILLUSTRATED POEMS. 
 
 Poems, by T. BUCHANAN READ. A new and enlarged edition. Beautifully 
 illustrated with designs by eminent artists, and finely engraved on 
 steel. Cloth, extra, gilt edge, ...... $3.50 
 
 Turkey morocco, ......... 6.00 
 
 Cloth, without illustrations, ....... 1.00 
 
 "A poet, whose fame, both at home and abroad, heightens with each successive produc. 
 tion, and widens as the knowledge of his work extends." Wilii* & Morris Ifotne. Journal. 
 
 "The volume we have now the pleasure of introducing to our readers abounds with de 
 licately pictured images, a rich luxuriant fancy, and high-toned sentiments, marked by a 
 touching and polished simplicity. * * * All is mirrored in the poet s soul like the 
 beautifully brilliant foliage which his genius pictures on the bosom of the quiet stream or 
 sequestered lake." American Courier. 
 
 " Mr. Read is a young poet, but he has already made his mark in the literary world. The 
 volume before us is a good specimen of his style and poetic power." Public Ledger. 
 
 " Strongly imbued with the poetic genius. Eliza Cooled Journal. 
 
 " Characterized by deep feeling, fanciful imagery, musical expression, and faultless versi 
 fication." London Weekly Paper. 
 
 " He must be road and loved as long as American literature shall endure." London 
 Mercury 
 
 22 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE Six DAYS. OF CREATION. 
 
 By W. G. RIIIND. A Series of affectionate Letters from a Father to his 
 Children, developing the progressive advances of Creation during the 
 Six Days; in which the Natural History of Animals, Plants, Minerals, 
 Celestial Objects, etc., and their uses and relations to man, are 
 treated with particular reference to the illustration of Scriptural 
 truth. A highly interesting juvenile work. From the last London 
 edition. With numerous illustrations. 1 vol. crown 8vo., $1.00 
 
 Advertisement to the American Edition. 
 
 " The first American edition of this valuable book is presented, with confidence, to the 
 attention of all who are interested in the entertainment and Christian instruction of youth. 
 Its tone is higher than that which characterizes the large majority of works prepared for 
 the young. 
 
 " The author has evidently written with a head and heart full of one great thought 
 Salvation through Christ whom he sees in all His works, leading his readers to proper 
 views of the Mediator in all the relations which they sustain to him. 
 
 " In order to adapt the work to American readers, certain modifications and emendations, 
 together with a few additions, were deemed necessary. The great body of the work, how 
 ever, remains entire. 
 
 " To increase the value and interest of the book, a large number of wood-cuts, illus 
 trating the subjects treated of, have been introduced. The steel engravings, representing 
 the six days of creation, have been copied from the London edition with great fidelity. 
 
 " Hoping the work may afford instruction and pleasure to the class of readers for which 
 it is designed, the editor submits it to the Christian public." 
 
 MORNINGS WITH JESUS. 
 
 A series of Devotional Readings for the Closet and the Family for every 
 day in the year, carefully prepared from notes of sermons preached 
 by the late Rev. Win. Jay, of Bath. 1 vol. crown 8vo. Cloth, gilt, $1.25 
 
 " The Rev. Win. Jay was the clergyman whom John Foster, the celebrated essayist, en 
 titled the prince of preachers. Judging from this volume, the very skeleton of his dis 
 course has more energy than the entire body of some men s pulpit oratory." Com. Adv. 
 
 " These Readings breathe a spirit of genuine piety, and their tone is catholic and 
 healthful." Evening Argus. 
 
 " Charmingly adapted to private and family reading. The Sunday School teacher will 
 find it an invaluable assistant." City Item. 
 
 " This well printed volume contains numerous expositions of the sacred scriptures, 
 marked by the originality and naturalness of manner, the perspicuity and impressiveness 
 of style, the evangelical and experimental savour, the fullness and felicity of illustration, 
 which were characteristic of the discourses of their pious and eloquent author. Clearness 
 of thought, vigor of expression, boldness in the utterance of truth, and earnestness both 
 of persuasion and denunciation, are traits in which they eminently excel." N. Am. 
 
 " The brief meditations composing the volume are pervaded with some of the best 
 characteristics of Mr. Jay s style, and will not disappoint the devout reader." Presbyterian. 
 
 " These meditations are. like everything from the pen, or the lips, of William Jay, prac 
 tical, evangelical, apt, and often strikingly beautiful. * * * * Full of pious and excellent 
 thought, and well fitted to be read in connection with the devotions of either the family or 
 the closet." Puritan Recorder. 
 
 "There is a peculiar freshness about these pages which gives them a charm superior 
 to almost any other of the productions of Mr. Jay." N. Y. Observer. 
 
 "Christians, who know the worth of evangelical truth, will value it as a volume worthy 
 of beiii" employed to aid their private and family devotions; and, whether beginning the 
 Christian life, or more advanced in the experience of it, will read it with profit and plea 
 sure." Church Witness. 
 
 " One great charm that pervades these pages is, that they range through every department 
 of human experience, and show that the Spirit has his appropriate teachings for every 
 condition. They are also eminently fitted to cherish a devotional spirit. " -Dr. Sprague. 
 
 " We recommend it as one of the best of closet companions." Colonial Presbyterian. 
 
 "This a rich gathering together of all the gems of beauty to be found in the writings of 
 the J .er. William Jay, centering around the Cross. In it will be found a delightful exer 
 cise for each morning in the year, and together forming a complete exposition, or 1UDJ 
 truth." American Spectator. 
 
PARRY & M-MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 COMMERCIAL DICTIONARY. 
 
 A Dictionary (Practical, Theoretical, and Historical) of Commerce and 
 Commercial Navigation. B.y J. A. M CuLLOCH, Esq. Edited by HENRY 
 VETHAKE, LL. D., Professor in the University of Pennsylvania, &c., 
 &c. With an Appendix, containing the New Tariff of 1846, together 
 with the Tariff of 1842, reduced to ad valorem rates as far as practica 
 ble, &c., &c. In two volumes, 8vo. Cloth, .... $7.50 
 
 Sheep, 8.00 
 
 Law sheep, . . 8.50 
 
 MORFIT ON SOAP AND CANDLES. 
 
 Chemistry applied to the Manufacture of Soap and Candles. A thorough 
 Exposition of the Principles and Practice of the Trade. By CAMPBELL 
 MORFIT, Practical and Analytical Chemist. Illustrated with 170 En 
 gravings on Wood. One volume, 8vo., $5.00 
 
 Tins work is based upon the most recent discoveries in Science and improvements in Art, 
 and presents a thorough exposition of the principles and practice of the trade in all their 
 minutiae. The experience and ability of the author have enabled him to produce a more 
 complete and comprehensive book upon the subject than any extant. The whole arraiigo- 
 ment is designed with a view to the scientific enlightenment, as well as the instruction of 
 the manufacturer, and its contents are such as to render it not only a standard guide 
 book to tho operative, but also an authoritative work of reference lor the Chemist and the 
 Student. 
 
 RAILROAD ACCIDENTS. 
 
 Bailroad Accidents, and the Means by which they may be Prevented by 
 the Use of the Electro-Magnetic Safety Apparatus. With some useful 
 Hints to Railway Travellers. By LAURENCE TURNBULL, M.D., and 
 WILLIAM C. M llEA. One volume, . . . . . . $0.25 
 
 "We recommend all to read this little book. Sunday Mercury. 
 
 " We commend this work to all engaged in the superintendence of railways." Buffalo 
 Courier. 
 
 RANDOLPH (JOHN), OF ROANOKE. 
 
 John Randolph, of Roanoke, and other Sketches of Character, including 
 William Wirt, together with Tales of Real Life. By F. W. THOMAS, 
 author of " Clinton Bradshaw," &c. In one handsome volume, $1.25 
 
 "A spirited sketch of the eccentric Randolph, with various amusing anecdotes illustrative 
 of his mental peculiarities. The other sketches of character are well and amusingly told." 
 --Public Ledger. 
 
 "A very readable series of papers." Boston Evening Gazette. 
 
 " Mr. Thomas has here collected a few daguerreotypes of eminent men, and addod to them 
 lively sketches of pleasant scenes, the whole forming a most agreeable volume." Sunday 
 Mercury. 
 
 "Interesting and agreeable." Sunday Dispatch. 
 
 " Mr. Thomas has always been a close observer of men and manners, and in those pagos 
 are recorded, in a pleasant, engaging style, many interesting reminiscences connected with 
 the somewhat chequered life of the author. Arttiur s Home. Journal. 
 
 24 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 SCHWARZ S GEOGRAPHY OF PALESTINE. 
 
 A Descriptive Geography and Brief Historical Sketch of Palestine. By 
 KABBI JOSEPH SCHWAKZ, for sixteen years a resident of the Holy 
 Land. Translated by ISAAC LEESER. Illustrated with numerous 
 maps and engravings. 1 vol. 8vo. Cloth, . .* . : . $2.50 
 
 "The volume is full of interest and information, is printed in the most beautiful style, 
 and is illustrated with numerous maps and engravings. A more detailed and comprehen 
 sive publication on the Holy Land, as relates to its more remote antiquities, has never been 
 issued from the American pre,s." Inquirer & Courier. 
 
 "It is the result of wide and diligent research, and that it possesses an unusually largo 
 amount of information concerning the physical history of that land, so full of interest and 
 so linked with the most sacred associations and memories, as to be fitly called the Holy 
 Land. The work is beautifully printed on fine paper, and it is illustrated by maps and en 
 gravings on stone." Southern Literary Gazette. 
 
 "This is a very learned and valuable work, deserving the consideration which it will be 
 sure to obtain from savans and others interested in the study of the Holy Land; and the 
 thanks of such are due to the erudite translator for the labour and care with which he has 
 prepared it for American readers." North American. 
 
 "To the theological student it must especially prove of incalculable value, and wili 
 doubtless find its way into every library and institution of learning. American Courier. 
 
 " This is a work of vast erudition and research, and we commend it to the biblical stu 
 dent, and to the man of letters, and the scholar, as perhaps the most elaborate, and cer 
 tainly the most accurate and authentic account of the Holy Land ever published. Mr. 
 Leeser, the translator, has executed his task very creditably, and has taken great pains-to 
 make an easy and intelligible version from the original Hebrew copy, and has occasionally 
 enriched the text with useful explanatory notes." New Orleans Bee. 
 
 SCOTT S (Sm WALTER) COMPLETE WORKS. 
 
 The Works of Sir Walter Scott including the Waverley Novels all his 
 Prose Works and all his Poetical AVorks -with his Life, by J. G. 
 LOCKHART, Esq. Containing the ^vhole of the contents of the Edin 
 burgh edition in ninety-eight volumes. Complete in 10 volumes, 8vo. 
 
 Cloth, $10.00 
 
 Sheep, 12.50 
 
 Calf backs, . . 15.00 
 
 SCOTT S PROSE WORKS, 
 
 Complete in 5 vols. 8vo., to match the edition of "Waverley Novels," 5 vols. 
 Cloth, gilt, .... .., - r .... $5.00 
 
 SCOTT S POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott s Poetical Works, complete ; including the Minstrelsy of 
 the Scottish Border. 1 vol. Cloth, $1.00 
 
 SCOTT S LIFE OF NAPOLEON. 
 
 The Life of Napoleon Bonaparte. By Sir WALTER SCOTT. Complete in 1 
 vol. 8vo Cloth, $1.00 
 
 SCOTT, LIFE OF. 
 
 The Life of Sir Walter Scott. By his nephew, JOHN G. LOCKHART, Esq. 
 
 Complete in 1 vol. 8vo. Cloth, $1.00 
 
 3 25 
 
PARRY A M-MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 SIGOURNEY S (MRS.) POEMS. 
 
 Illustrated Poems. By Mrs. L. H. SIGOURNEY. With designs by F. 0. C. 
 Darley, engraved by distinguished artists. With beautiful Portrait 
 of the Author, by Cheney, after Freeman. Handsomely bound in 
 
 cloth, super extra, 55.00 
 
 urkey morocco, extra gilt, 7.00 
 
 LIST OP ILLUSTRATIONS. The Divided Burden A Landscape Oriska The Ancient Family 
 Clock Eve The Scottish Weaver The Indian Summer Erin s Daughter The Western 
 Emigrant The Aged Pastor The Tomb The Drooping Team The Beautiful Maid. 
 
 " The volume is a most luxurious and gorgeous one, reflecting the highest credit on its 
 getters up; and we know of nothing from the American press which would form a more 
 acceptable gift-book, or a richer ornament for the centre-table. Of the Poems themselves it 
 is needless to speak/ Y. Blade. 
 
 In the arts of typography the volume is unsurpassed ; the illustrations are numerous 
 and beautiful, and the binder s skill has done its best. Of its contents we will not speak 
 flippantly, nor is it needful that we should say anything. The name of Mrs. Sigoumey is 
 familiar in every cottage in America. She has, we think, been mor<> generally read than 
 any poetess in the country, and her pure fame is reverently cherished by all." N. O. 
 Picayune. 
 
 " It is illustrated in the most brilliant manner, and is throughout a gem-volume." Pa. 
 Inquirer. 
 
 " This work, so beautifully embellished, and elegantly printed, containing the select writ- 
 fhgs of one of the most celebrated female poets of America, cannot foil to be received with 
 approbation." Newburyport Paper. 
 
 " The illustrations are truly beautiful, and are exquisitely engraved. They are from de 
 signs by Darley, who has risen to high eminence in his department of art. The entire exe 
 cution of the volume is a proud evidence of growing superiority in book-making on the part 
 of American publishers. And this liberality has not been displayed upon a work unworthy 
 ofit."-JV. Y. Com. Ad-j. 
 
 " A more appropriate gift-book could not be selected, for, apart from the beauty of the 
 typography and engravings, which elevate this work above the costliest annuals, the volume 
 affords the most complete collection of Mrs. Sigourney s poems yet made. When we reflect 
 on the thousands of hearts, all over this wide land, on which the poetry of Mrs. Sigourney 
 has shed its holy influence, we feel assured that the demand for this book will far transcend 
 that of any former numbers of the scries. The volume reflects great credit on the publishers. 
 The engravings are by American artists after American drawings, illustrating American 
 poems." Peterson s Magazine. 
 
 "The typography, paper, binding, and general execution of the book are in the most re 
 fined style of art, and fully equal to the other issues which we have mentioned. This elegant 
 edition comprises selections from previous volumes, poems that have appeared only in a 
 fugitive form, and others that have never before been indebted to the ministry of the press. 
 The fourteen illustrations are exquisite in conception and delineation. We are at a loss for 
 words adequately to express our high estimate of the beauty and style of the work alto 
 gether, which is unsurpassed by anything in English literature. The portrait of the far 
 Tourite authoress, by Cheney, is earnest and life-like." City Item. 
 
 SIGOURNEY S NEW VOLUME OF POEMS. 
 
 The Western Home, and other Poems. By Mrs. L. II. SIGOURNEY. In 
 
 one handsome volume, 12mo. Cloth, $1.25 
 
 Cloth, extra, 1.50 
 
 "This volume is an entirely new contribution, which its highly esteemed author makes 
 to the national literature, of which she has so long been a distinguished ornament. The 
 Western Home, which constitutes the leading poem of the volume, among other touching 
 incidents, pictures in glowing verse some of the events in the career of Burr, and his un 
 fortunate victim, Blennerhasset. whose history and unhappy fate live among the brightest 
 as well as darkest memories of the mighty West. American Courier. 
 
 " Mrs. Sigourney is, perhaps, the most popular of our female poets. The longest poem in 
 this volume is a truthful and beautiful panorama of the early seltlement of Ohio, and should 
 be read in every Buckeye family. We commend it to all lovers of good poetry." Cincin 
 nati Christian Herald. 
 
 " The Western Home is a melodious and pleasant tale. The other poems are marked by 
 that smoothness of versification, and occiisioiially mournful tone, which so often charac 
 terize *lr. Sigouruoy s poetry. The collection will be gladly welcomed by the authors ad- 
 
 20 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 mirers ; for there arc few of our female poets who have a larger circle of readers than Mrs. 
 Sigourney." Am. Traveller. 
 
 " There are passages of true poesy in the Western Home, which for melody, rhyme, force of 
 expression, and regularity of metrical arrangement, are nowhere to be surpassed." Boston 
 Gazette. 
 
 "More brilliant poetry, doubtless, can be found in all the popular periodicals of the day ; 
 but the genuine household flavor of Mrs. Sigourney s produetioDS, and their natural de 
 lineation of universal feelings, will long recommend them to popular favour." 2V Y. 
 Tribune. 
 
 SIGOURNEY S SELECT POEMS. 
 
 Select Poems, by Mrs. L. H. SIGOURNEY. With illustrations. New edi 
 tion. In one handsome volume, 12mo. Cloth, . . . $1.25 
 Cloth, extra gilt, .1.50 
 
 "Mrs. Sigourney has written more than any other female author of this country, and for 
 teaching others of her sex holy and profitable truths, she is unsurpassed. " Cincinnati 
 Chronicle. 
 
 THE VICTIM or EXCITEMENT, THE PARLOUR SERPENT, &c. 
 
 By Mrs. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. 1 vol. Cloth, .... $0.75 
 Paper cover, 0.50 
 
 THE PLANTER S NORTHERN BRIDE. 
 
 A Novel. By Mrs. HENTZ. 2 vols. 12mo. 500 pages. Cloth, gilt, . $1.50 
 Paper cover, 1.00 
 
 "Unquestionably the most powerful and important, if not the most charming work that 
 has yet flowed from her eloquent pen. * * The genius and skill of the fair author have 
 devoloped new views of golden argument, and flung around the whole such a halo of pathos, 
 interest and beauty, as to render it every way worthy of Linda, Rena, Marcus War- 
 land, and the other literary gems from the same author." American Courier. 
 
 " One of the most delightful and remarkable books of the day." Bmton Traveller. 
 
 "The characters are finely drawn, and well sustained, from the beginning to the end of 
 the work." Boston Morning Post. 
 
 " We commend it to our readers in the strongest words of praise that our vocabulary af 
 fords."^. Y. Mirror. 
 
 "Written with remarkable vigour, and contains many passages of real eloquence. We 
 heartily commend it to general perusal." Newark Daily Eagle. 
 
 " As a high-toned novel it possesses throughout a most touching and thrilling interest 
 * * * far above the level of the novels of the day. All are delighted who read it." 
 Courier. 
 
 THE ROSE OF THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 The Rose of the Parsonage, an Idyl of our own times, translated from the 
 German of ROBERT GISEKE, author of the romance " Modern Tit- 
 
 anen." Complete in 1 vol. Paper, $0.50 
 
 Cloth, 0.75 
 
 " The author is the Bulwer of his country, and this is one of his most admired efforts." 
 American Courier. 
 
 " This is a charming and instructive story one of those beautiful efforts that enchant 
 the mind, refreshing and strengthening it. The translator has performed his task skill 
 fully and tastefully." City Item. 
 
 "The work before us is a charming tale. It is simple without childishness, animated 
 without extravagance. The translator has accomplished his task with much ability." 
 osto-n Evening Journal. 
 
 " Alike simple and true to nature." Saturday Evening Post. 
 
 "The story evidences a vigorous knowledge of the passions and the most felicitous 
 method of portraying them." Sunday Dispatch. 
 
PARKY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE PODESTA S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The Podesta s Daughter, and other Miscellaneous Poems. By GEORGE IT. 
 BOKER, author of " Calaynos," "Anne Boleyn," &c. Cloth, . $0.62 
 
 " It always gives us pleasure to welcome a new volume of poems, by this author, to our 
 table. He is oue of the few Americans who write with care. He is, moreover, a townsman. 
 And, withal, he possesses the poetic faculty in a very high degree, and is destined to go 
 down to future times crowned with immortal bays. Indeed, in many respects, Mr. Loiter 
 has no living rival. 
 
 "The principal poem in the volume before us is The Podesta s Daughter, a dramatic 
 sketch of rare merit. In compositions of this character, Mr. Boker excels ; but he never 
 published anything superior, or. in some particulars, even equal to this. The story is that 
 of two lovers, who, from being children together, become finally passionately attached. But 
 while the youth is heir to a haughty lineage, the maiden is the humble daughter of the po 
 desta, a disparity of rank that affords the aathor material out of which to weave his touch 
 ing tragedy. The delicate skill with which the two principal characters are contrasted, is 
 worthy of all praise. 
 
 " We take leave of this volume with regret. Its elevated tone, its delicacy of thought, its 
 chastened style, the fire of some passages, the sweetness of others, and last, but not least, 
 the lofty ideal of womanhood which prevails throughout, whether in the dramatic or lyric 
 parts, have sweetened, for a brief space, the exacting toil and dry details of a journalist s life. 
 
 : The volume is very neatly issued, and does credit to the publishers. Evening Bulletin. 
 
 The Podesta s Daughter is a most charming production, full of beauty and pathos, one 
 of those exquisitely sweet creations which while they reveal the highest powers of the artist 
 in their construction, at :;he same time, by their naturalness, strike and gratify every reader. 
 Other poems in this collection the Ivory Carver, for example exhibit the presence of the 
 poetic faculty in a very eminent degree, aud all show a cultivatiou highly creditable to the 
 author." North American. 
 
 "The style is manly and vigorous, and the incidents arc related with feeling." N. Y. 
 Eve. Post. 
 
 ; As a dramatic poet, wo believe Mr. Boker has, iu this country, no equal." Knicker- 
 bocker. 
 
 TURNBULL ON THE TELEGRAPH. 
 
 The Electro-Magnetic Telegraph. With an Historical Account of its Rise, 
 Progress, and Present Condition. Also, Practical Suggestions in re 
 gard to Insulation and Protection from the Effects of Lightning. To 
 gether with an Appendix containing several important Telegraphic 
 Decisions and Laws. By LAURENCE TURNBULL, M. D., Lecturer on 
 Technical Chemistry in the Franklin Institute of Pennsylvania. Second 
 edition, revised and improved. Illustrated by numerous engravings. 
 1 vol. $2.00 
 
 " We have a great number of works on the Telegraph and Electrical Apparatus, but this 
 is the best and ablest of them all. Those who wish to be posted up on telegraphs must con 
 sult this book." Scientific American. 
 
 " The work is the fullest and most complete on the subject yet published in this country." 
 American Telegraph Mtflazine. 
 
 "The whole history of the greatest wonder of recent times is presented in this handsome 
 volume in a most complete and admirable manner. No Telegraphic operator, or person in 
 terested in the Telegraph business, should bo without this work." Cummin gs" Eef.. Bulletin. 
 
 The value of a book of this kind consists necessarily in the care and industry used in 
 collating the various descripMons and the scientific judgment exhibited in the opinions ex 
 pressed as to their relative merits. There is, we believe, no work in the English language 
 which has any just claims to be compared with the present one, either in its scope or iu the 
 care and impartiality shown in its preparation." Journal of the Franklin Institute. 
 
 "This if confessed, by eminent scientific men, to be the" most complete and satisfactory 
 work on Electric Telegraphs published in this country. It is written in a plain perspicuous 
 style, and poss -ss>s much i nil-rent, not only to the Telegraphic operator, but to the general 
 reader." JV. Y. Christum Review. 
 
PARRY & MCMILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 WANDERINGS IN CORSICA. 
 
 Corsica: Picturesque, Historical and Social: -with a Sketch of the early 
 life of Napoleon, and an account of the Bonaparte, Paoli, Pozzo di 
 Borgo, and other principal families. Suggested by a Tour in the 
 Island in 1852. Translated from the German of Ferdinand Grego- 
 rovius, by EDWARD JOY MORRIS. 1 vol. crown 8vo., with Portrait of 
 Paoli on steel. Cloth, $1.50 
 
 " Here is a book which, if any one can he found to translate it without allowing the bloom 
 to escape in the process, cannot fail to be as popular among English readers as the best 
 writings of Washington Irving. The four essentials of a beautiful style delicacy of 
 perception, soundness of understanding, a just sensibility, and that peculiar power which 
 gives expression to these in the choice and arrangement of words are all here, in an 
 equally tempered manner, while we are nowhere offended by an indelicate thought, a 
 coarse expression, or an ill-defined, or an ill-balanced emotion." Westminster Review. 
 
 " Mr. Gregorovius is a diligent and enthusiastic collector of the traditions of a heroic race, 
 a man of strong feeling for the great and beautiful, and an able historian. His prelimi 
 nary sketch of the history of Corsica, we consider a production of the highest order." 
 London Quarterly. 
 
 " If we were to say the book fully realized the expectations excited by its title, and that 
 it is as interesting as a novel, we should convey but a feeble idea of its intrinsic merits. 
 To compare it with the most exciting, and popular, and successful novel of this novel 
 producing age, would be faint praise perhaps. It would certainly be derogatory to its 
 literary claims. Without assuming the staid dignity of history, it is full of internal evi 
 dence of simple, impartial, and instructive truth. It brings to mind the graphic and 
 beautiful sketches of Irving, and charms by its easy, unassuming, and chaste style. It is 
 made up of valuable and not wholly disconnected contributions to the political, geogra 
 phical, and social history of one of the most romantic and remarkable, and at the same 
 time one of the least known countries of Europe." Boston Traveller. 
 
 " Rarely have we been so much interested in a book of fact as contradistinguished from 
 romance. There is an infinite mass of information in the volume, and Mr. Morris, for 
 giving us an excellent and faithful translation of it, deserves the thanks of the reading 
 world."- Bulletin. 
 
 "As far as we can perceive, this work has been well translated by Mr. Morris. It is 
 adorned by a fine portrait of Paoli, and in fact it is one of the handsomest issues of the 
 season, in every particular of book-making. Corsica, picturesque, historical, and social, 
 is indeed, interestingly discussed, and we can refer our friends to no single work which will 
 compare with this under notice, as a complete picture of the past and present of one of the 
 most peculiar and fascinating portions of the globe." Boston Post. 
 
 " This admirable work has excited much attention in Germany and England, from the 
 new light it throws on the political history, national features, and social condition of one of 
 the least known and most interesting countries of Europe. From exuberant materials the 
 author has furnished a most thrilling work, every page of which rivets the mind as with a 
 wizard s spell. The translation is easy and flowing, and will add to the already high char 
 acter of Mr. Morris as a student and scholar." National Argus. 
 
 "The book cannot fail to attract general attention, both from its intrinsic merits, and the 
 reputation of its author. It is beautifully got up, and embellished with a fine portrait." 
 Daily Reporter. 
 
 " This is a valuable contribution to literature. A work upon the social customs of 
 Corsica, the island where Napoleon passed his boyhood, has long been needed. There are 
 few sources from which information can be obtained in regard to it." Sunday Mercury. 
 
 " The historical sketch of Corsica, in its thrilling recitations of the actions of Sampiero 
 and other of the Corsican heroes, and of the indomitable prowesn displayed in the war of 
 independence with Genoa, seems more like a romance of Paladin exploits, than a record of 
 actual events. The wild, demi-savage customs of the Corsicans the terrible practice of 
 revenge, and the curious life of the mountain bandits the funeral ceremonies of the Ho 
 meric ages yet existing in their primitive vigor, with the attendant death wails, and the 
 life of the shepherds, as well as the bold and picturesque scenery of this wonderful island, 
 are described with great vigor and effect. Charming traditional stories are also profusely 
 scattered through the volume. One of the most interesting features of the book, is the 
 new and curious revelations given of the J?ouaparte family, and particularly of the boyhood 
 and early traits of Napoleon himself. Full justice is also done the Faolis and other great 
 men Corsica has produced. Altogether, this is one of the most delightful, original, and 
 entertaining books we have ever read. It is handsomely got up, and is illustrated by a 
 well-executed portrait of the Corsican legislator Pasquale Paoli, whose benign and dig 
 nified features bear a resemblance to the noble countenance of Washington." Inquirer 
 and Courier. 
 
 29 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 WAYEBLEY NOVELS. 
 
 A new and revised edition, the whole complete in 5 volumes, royal 8vo. 
 
 Embossed cloth, $5.00 
 
 Scarlet cloth, richly gilt, 6.00 
 
 Library sheep, 6.00 
 
 Morocco backs, 7.00 
 
 Cloth backs, 3.50 
 
 Paper covers, 2.50 
 
 Large paper, fine edition, green cloth, richly gilt, . . .7.50 
 
 WILD JACK; OR, THE STOLEN CHILD, &c. 
 
 By Mrs. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. 1 vol. Cloth, . . . . $0.75 
 Paper covers, .0.50 
 
 Wild Jade is a stirring story, but we do not tliink it equal to several others in the 
 volume. Percy: or, the Banished Son, seems to us the chef d osuvre of the collection. It 
 appeals to all the nobler sentiments of humanity, is full of action and healthy excitement, 
 and sett) forth the best of morals." Charleston Weekly News. 
 
 WASHINGTON S ADMINISTRATION. 
 
 Memoirs of the Administrations of Washington and John Adams. Edited 
 from the papers of OLIVER WOLCOTT, Secretary of the Treasury. By 
 GEORGE GIBBS. In 2 vols. 8vo. Illustrated by a Portrait. . $5.00 
 
 "To him who would learn the true history of our Federal Government, the work re 
 cently published is of infinite value. The materials of these volumes consist chiefly of let 
 ters writteu in the ordinary course of business or friendship, by the men who were most 
 active in forming our present constitution, and organizing the government." 
 
 The object of the publication is to shed light upon a period of our internal history which 
 has hitherto been involved in considerable darkness; and that the object of the work has 
 been attained, every reader of the work will be satisfied." 
 
 " Books of this character best illustrate the history of the country. The men who have 
 acted important parts are made to speak for themselves, and appear without any aid from 
 the partiality of friends, or any injury from the detraction of enemies." Providence Jour. 
 
 "The materials of which these volumes are composed are of great value. They consist of 
 correspondence, now first given to the world, of Washington, the elder Adams, Ames, John 
 Marshall, Kufus King, Timothy Pickering, Wolcott, &c. There are thirty-seven original 
 letters from Alexander Hamilton, many of them of the highest interest ; one in which tho 
 writer with keen sagacity and all the splendour of his eloquence, gives a character of Mr. 
 Burr upon which his own fate was destined to put the seal of truth, is read now with 
 singular emotions. Mr. Gibbshas performed his task extremely well. His preface is mo 
 dest and dignified. The passages of narrative by which the letters are connected are ac 
 curate, judicious and agreeable ; they illustrate, and do not overlay the principal material 
 of the work." North Americun. 
 
 "Here we meet, illustrated in something like forty important letters, the blazing intel 
 ligence, the practical sagacity, the heroic generosity, the various genius, which have made 
 Hamilton the name of statesmanship and greatness, rather than the name of a man. Hero 
 we have the piercing judgment of John Marshall, unsusceptible of error, whose capacity to 
 sec the truth was equalled only by his power of compelling others to receive it; in the light 
 of whose logic opinions appeared to assume the nature of facts, and truth acquires the pal- 
 pableness of a material reality; the bluntness, force and probity of Pickering; the sterling 
 excellencies of Wolcott himself, who had no artifices and no concealments, because his 
 strength was too great to require them, and his purposes too pure to admit them; and 
 sounding as an understrain through the whole, the prophet tones of Ames." U. & Gazette. 
 
 " An important and valuable addition to the historical lore of the country." N. Y. Eve, 
 Oazette. 
 
 " We look upon these memoirs as an exceedingly valuable contribution to our national 
 records." N. Y. Com. Advertiser. 
 
 30 
 
PARRY & M MILLAN S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 NAPOLEON AT ELBA. 
 
 The Island Empire; or the Scenes of the First Exile of Napoleon I. To 
 gether with a Narrative of his residence on the Island of Elba, taken 
 from local information, the papers of the British Resident, and 
 other authentic sources. By the author of "Blondelle." 1 vol. 12mo. 
 Cloth, $1.00 
 
 " A monograph which we have read with deep interest. * * * Many of his (Napoleon s) 
 remarks read like prophecies, and have an interest as pressing in our time as when they 
 were uttered." London Athenceum. 
 
 A fresh subject, treated freshly without being overdone. It has interest in reference to 
 present affairs." London Spectator. 
 
 There is in this book that smartness and originality, in tone and style, which never fail 
 to please. The same warmth of feeling that actuates our author in treating his main sub 
 ject, accompanies him also in his rambles over the Island ; every building, field, hill, rock, 
 or nook, in any way connected with the name or fortunes of Napoleon, he investigates with 
 a gusto and graphic force which inspire us with as lively an interest in Elba, for its moral 
 associations as for its natural beauties, and the character and customs of its inhabitants. 
 As regards these several features, we have a series of sketches equally picturesque and in 
 structive." New Quarterly Review. 
 
 HEROIC WOMEN OF THE WEST, WITH ACCOUNTS OF 
 
 THEIR MANY WONDERFUL ADVENTURES AND ESCAPES. 
 One vol. 12mo., Illustrated. Cloth, gilt, * . . . . . . . $1.25 
 
 INDECISION. A TALE OF THE FAR WEST,, AND OTHER 
 POEMS. 
 
 By J. K. MITCHELL, M. D. 1 vol. 18mo. Cloth, . . . $1.00 
 
 MINISTRY OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 By H. J. SLACK. 18mo. Cloth, $0.50 
 
 Extra, gilt edges, 0.75 
 
 TAM S FORTNIGHT RAMBLE, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 By THOMAS MACKELLAR. 1 vol. 12mo., $0.75 
 
 OLD ENGLAND AND NEW ENGLAND, IN A SERIES OF 
 VIEWS TAKEN ON THE SPOT. 
 
 By ALFRED BUNN. 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth, . . . . . $0.75 
 Paper, 0.50 
 
 THE HONEY BEE : ITS NATURAL HISTORY, PHYSIOLOGY 
 AND MANAGEMENT. 
 
 By EDWARD BEVAN. With 35 Engravings on Wood. 1 vol. Paper, $0.31 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 By LOUISA S. McCoRD. 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth, . . . $0.75 
 
 31 
 
Any Book in this Catalogue will be sent by mail (prepaid) on 
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