such an enormous big spoon that the cross slit between nose and chin, commonly known as mouth, or 'tater-trap, grew most enormously broad, and was a fearful sight when he laughed. There was enough of it for three boys. I have here purposely tried to show how external circumstances may have an evil influence on a boy, and hope I have done a real service to many a young mother now carrying her first-born in her lap. She will now know what to avoid, not to have such a Tommy as my hero; and good advice is highly useful to young and inexperienced women, that is, if they like to take it. That is their business, I have done mine.

'Tommy's parents, on seeing him grow so outrageonsly deformed, thought, by a common rule in Germany, that he would do admirably for a tailor. He was, therefore, apprenticed, but did not appear to like it, for he ran away at the end of a week and preferred to stay at home idling. When his parents died, they left him enough to support himself decently; but Tommy, by this time, had made good acquaintances; he had learned to drink, gamble, and so on, and in a few years he had spent everything. When he climbed a tree, he had nothing to look for on earth. But hunger is an impertinent friend, and will return, so Tommy tried for the village appointments, and kept them, as they did him. His favourite department, however, was the day duty, for he would then employ all his flattery to procure a cup of coffee or a glass of good wine. At the time our story opens, he had designs on the farmer we lately saw yawning at the window, and set to work at once. It was a certain Windmüller, a rich and stupid man, fair game for Tommy, who fooled him to the top of his bent, and ended by persuading him to stand for the office of Bürgermeister, which would shortly be vacant. But Windmüller must be described in our author's own words:

Peter Windmüller was the only son of Andrew, who was a "thoroughly baked" peasant. He could turn a kreuzer into a gulden, and did it too. His first rule was "Spend nothing, and that is the right road to riches." But, many will remark, how did he set about that? Strictly speaking, it is not possible, so I had better correct it into "Spend as little as possible, and, before all, nothing uselessly." That Andrew managed capitally. He still held to the old style of dress his marriage coat of the year '84 was still his Sunday garb, and there was an end of it. He wore week-a-days his leather breeches, his long green Manchester waistcoat, and his jacket, and a knitted nightcap, like all the peasants. His clothing cost him hardly anything. Food he had in abundance. He understood farming perfectly, and sold his grain when the price suited him; fed cattle, never sold a healthy calf, and had but a small family: so he got on famously. His son Peter was strictly managed by him. He was accustomed to industry and simplicity. But he was forced to be a soldier for three years, and those years made great changes. In the first place, he learned to be lazy and lounge about, which pleased him better than hard work at home; and then he could go to the public-house, and drink and play, which he did not dare at home. Then, too, as his father sent him plenty of money, he learned to feed delicately and that pleased him better than potatoes every day. It was very strange that, although old Andrew was so close, he said, when his son became a soldier, "Here's money for you; if you want more, write!" And Peter did so, you may be sure, and acted the rich man in garrison, and the corporals bled his purse, for they understand the trick of plucking such young yellow beaks admirably. When he returned home, his father felt a pride in the smart young fellow; but things fell back into the old track, which did not suit Peter at all, especially in the matter of eating and drinking. But he did not dare say any thing on the subject, for his father understood no joking about parental authority. Once, when he hinted about money, his father held up his forefinger,

saying, "St! now you're a peasant again, and if a peasant invites his mouth to be his guest, he soon becomes a vagabond, like so-and-so;" and he had so many instances at his tongue's end, that his son was only too glad to be quiet.

By this conduct, when the old man died, Peter found himself a rich man, and thought about marrying and playing the gentleman. Henceforth, Peter put away the old-fashioned garb of his forefathers, and walked about in a hat and with a silver-mounted malacca cane. He left off working himself, and only carried on an inspection. On the death of his wife in childbirth, his brother-in-law, Fellinger, took charge of the infant, and brought it up as his own, with his little daughter. Needless to add, that the young couple fell in love with each other, and all appeared to be going merry as a marriage-bell, until that rascal Tommy put inflated notions into the head of the father. Windmüller determined on setting up for Bürgermeister, but the other peasants were too wise to choose a man who wished to be above his business, and put up his brother-in-law in opposition. When the election took place, Windmüller only had two votes Tommy's and his own-and his vanity suffered a fearful blow. His first act of vengeance was to forbid his son Emmerich visiting at his brother-in-law's, and the marriage must be broken off. The boy, of course, obeyed with a lacerated heart, but, as he could not endure the scene of his past happiness, he determined on going at once as a soldier, although his time did not arrive for several months. This rendered the father still more furious, and he listened more and more to Tommy's insinuations, who liked the good wine too much to omit flattering the old man. About this time, too, a widow, an old flame of Peter's, returned to the village, and the father made up his mind to marry again.

Lizzy, during her year of mourning, had been confirmed in the opinion that widowhood was not the pleasantest of conditions, and determined on not obstinately adhering to it, if any opportunity offered to give it up in a respectable manner. She scon found that her mother had spoken truly when she wrote to say that she would find her old lover still acceptable, and that it would be worth while to try once again whether he was so fond of being a widower as to make any sacrifice to keep that condition. She had had plenty of suitors, but not one of them could offer her the comforts she desired. She confessed to herself there was much truth in the old saying, "Old love never rusts." She evinced such confidence and affection for Peter, that he fancied something still survived from former days, and that had a powerful effect upon him. When he went away, and she lighted him out, her "Good night, my dear Peter," sounded so pleasantly, that he fancied he heard the echo of it in his ears long after he had been lying on one of them, as well as he felt the warm pressure of her plump little hand. Lizzy would not have been Lizzy if she did not notice that Peter's feelings grew warmer for her with each moment, as one recollection after another was aroused. She had formed her plan, and there was no doubt it was ripening. She was ready to shout for joy when she thought of the happiness she might promise herself with Windmüller's money. But then something occurred to her-Emmerich! She rapidly reflected, however, that the fortune was principally on Windmüller's side, and she would take care that he should settle enough on her to secure her from Emmerich. You see that Lizzy was a clever woman, and had arranged everything on their first meeting as cleverly as the best lawyer could have done.

As may be supposed, Lizzy soon brought matters into the condition she desired, and the old fellow was willing to make any settlements so

that his happiness should not longer be deferred. Great was the indignation aroused in the village when the banns were put up, for Emmerich was a general favourite, and the old man was heartily abused for his illtreatment of his son; but his former brother-in-law stood up stoutly in his defence. He considered that Peter had a perfect right to do what he liked with his own, and Emmerich had his mother's portion to start him in life. At any rate, no talking could prevail, and before long Peter and Lizzy were made one at the village church. For a time Windmüller fancied himself in Paradise: his wife attended to household affairs diligently, and increased his store, so that he was enabled to set up his chaise and become the great man he always desired to be. But there is a curse attached to money: it renders people greedy and avaricious. It would have hardly been fancied that the pretty young widow was a perfect money-spinner, but such was the case. She gradually cut off one expense after the other, and in the course of a few years the once happy home became miserable. She had gained a perfect mastery over her husband, and would not allow him a farthing of money. She was too proud to associate with the villagers, and too mean to have guests from the country town, so she and her husband sat opposite each other for hours, yawning and gaping. But Windmüller had not yet drunk the cup of misery to the dregs. Lizzy gradually became so corpulent that she could not move from the sofa, and could only give her orders to her husband, who had to run about backwards and forwards till he was as tired as a dog. But even at night he had no rest; for, as Lizzy could not sleep, she occupied her waking hours in quarrelling with her husband. Poor fellow! his marriage had turned out an awful mistake! he had grown ten years older in the last two years, and saw no hope of release. His only consolation was in thinking on his boy and counting the days before he would be released from the service. He had already been reconciled with him by the assistance of the clergyman, and, although it was never known what that gentleman had said to him, it was noticed that Peter's eyes were very red when he left the manse, and he became henceforward a regular attendant at church, which he had neglected in the days of his temporal prosperity.

At length Emmerich returned home, and Lizzy was not sorry for it, as she hoped to make him her slave. In this, however, she was disappointed, for Emmerich could not endure the misery at home, and determined on marrying his Annie and settling down. This led to a violent dispute with Lizzy, who attributed it to unworthy motives, and she insisted on all intercourse being broken off with the brother-in-law. But to this Windmüller would not consent. His only happiness consisted in watching that of his son, and the dispute eventually terminated by Lizzy taking to her bed from an attack of dropsy, and never leaving it again before her death, which took place, fortunately for all parties, about six months afterwards. The last days of Windmüller's life were passed happily: he gave over all his property to his son, and formed one household with them, finding in their happiness sufficient compensation for all the miseries he had endured through his own foolish conduct.

Among the stories which we like most in these almanacks are those relating to old traditions connected with the reigning families of Germany, affording as they do a pleasing contrast to what happens at the present

day. One story has much pleased us, relating as it does to Philippine Welfer, the bourgeoise wife of the Archduke of Tyrol, who still lives enshrined in the hearts of the people round Schloss Ambras. We regret that its length precludes our quotation, but, in lieu, we will give our readers a story relating to the Emperor Joseph II. :

In Austria everybody knows, when the name of the Emperor Joseph II. is mentioned, that he was a man after God's heart, and the true father of his people. How gladly he did good, and how he did it, the following anecdote will serve to show. Once when the emperor was driving through a faubourg of Vienna, simple and unpretending as ever, a young, pretty, but very poorly dressed boy came up to the carriage, lifted up his hands, and said, through his tears, "A florin! a single florin! Have mercy upon me!" The emperor had never yet known anybody beg for a specific sum. He looked into the boy's mournful face, and conjectured that there must be some extraordinary circumstances attaching to the case. The emperor stopped and asked, "What will you do with the money, my lad?" "Ah!" the lad replied, as the tear-drops coursed down his cheeks, "I know it is a deal of money, but I must have a florin, for my poor mother is sick unto death. She sent me out to fetch a doctor, because she can't endure it any longer. I have been to two already, but no one will come unless I give him a florin beforehand, and yet my poor mother is so ill, and we have not a farthing. Oh! your honour, have mercy upon us! I'm sure you have a florin. Give it me, that my poor mother may not die. I have no one left me in the world but she! I never begged before, and will never do so again!" The lad's words pierced the emperor's heart. There was such evident truth on the boy's honest countenance, which proved to him that he had not to do here with one of the ordinary street scamps. "What's your good mother's name, and where does she live ?" asked the emperor, with emotion, for his heart was now touched by that holy power which guides the hearts of kings like watercourses. The boy gave the name and the street, and the emperor handed him the florin. On receiving it, he kissed the emperor's hand fervently, stammered his incoherent thanks, and bounded away with all the signs of delight in his face. The emperor, whose heart was touched by the necessities of the meanest of his subjects, was so penetrated by the story he had just heard, that he determined to go and see for himself whether the lad had spoken the truth. The emperor was obliged to drive through many narrow streets he had never seen before until he reached a poor, shabby house, under which a poor cobbler lived. He had wrapped himself up closely in his cloak so that no one might recognise him. When the carriage stopped, the cobbler came out with a polite bow.

"Ah! you are surely the doctor, sir, whom little Augustus called in? Yes, you are wanted up there. Sickness is bad enough, but when poverty, grief, and want are added, then it is terribly hard to bear! We do all we can, but we are poor ourselves, and when a man has seven mouths to fill by his handicraft, there's not much left to give away." "I can believe it," said the emperor, sorrowfully, and walked with the man into the house. He pointed out the stairs to him, which were narrow enough; but everything was remarkably clean and tidy, and the cobbler's children, who crowded curiously to the door, saluted the emperor very politely, which produced a good impression upon him. At last he entered the sick-room. Traces might be noticed of better days, but also the unmistakable evidences of terrific poverty and need. The cobbler's wife was sitting by the bedside of a young but fearfully sickly woman, who attempted in vain to rise and salute the doctor, who came up to her so kindly and attentively. The emperor requested the cobbler and his wife to retire, and he then walked up to the bed and asked about the patient's situation. She told him in a weak voice that she was the widow of an officer in the Austrian service, who had died at an early age. As she had no private means, her small pension only just sufficed to save them from starvation. She had tried to earn something for herself and her dear child by sewing and embroidering, so as to be able to pay her worthy

landlord the rent. But she had probably over-exerted herself, and want, together with her anxiety for her boy's prospects, as well as grief at the loss of her husband, all this had thrown her on a bed of sickness, and, as her earnings had ceased, her position was truly terrible. The emperor soon saw that this was an illness emanating from the mind, and consoled the poor woman in the most affectionate manner. He then asked for writing materials. "Alas!" said the sufferer, "we have none; but stay-on that shelf you will find Augustus's copy-book and pen. I am sorry I must ask you to take them down yourself." The emperor took down the book and found a blank page in it. On this he wrote, as the sick woman fancied, a prescription, then promised to return, and left the room. On the ground-floor, he walked into the cobbler's room and talked kindly to the man, thanking him for the attention he had shown, and begging him to accompany him. He sent the carriage away and walked with the good man. He then made further inquiries, and was much pleased at hearing only good about the sick woman and the lad. At last he dismissed the happy cobbler with a handsome present.

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While this was taking place Augustus returned with a doctor. The patient said, in surprise, that a physician had already visited her, and left a prescription on the table. The doctor hurried up to have a look at it, and perhaps find something to criticise, but he started back, exclaiming, "A physician? Yes, my good woman, I certainly am not one of that sort. He writes extraordinary prescriptions." "How so?" asked the woman, in amazement. "I will tell you," the doctor continued; "the emperor has been here in his own illustrious person. Here it is written, and the prescription refers to fifty ducats, which you will receive from the imperial treasury.' The poor woman was overpowered with joy and terror, but the doctor consoled her, wrote her a prescription, and went away. He saw beforehand that joy would produce more effect than his prescription, and such was the case. The woman was quite restored in a few days. And the emperor did really return in a few days, was pleased with her recovery and her gratitude, and told her that he had settled a pension on her, which would keep her from want, and that he would undertake the education of her son. This produced abundant joy and tears of gratitude, and the name f the noble emperor was blessed. Scarce had he left the room when the cobbler rushed in, with a joyful countenance, to state that the emperor had offered to take charge of two of his children, and had given him money to lay in a stock of leather. And the two grateful people blessed the good emperor once again with grateful hearts.

The purely instructive almanacks do not come within the scope of our article. All we can say of them is, that they are as educational and dull as the sincerest friends of popular enlightenment can desire. They teach a vast quantity of matters, which cannot be of the slightest possible use to the reader, except to render him dissatisfied with his position. But, then, that appears to us to be the design of the "Friends of Education," and all we can say is that, in Germany, these are perfectly successful. In conclusion, we are bound to add that all the almanacks are charmingly illustrated, and, considering their price only averages one shilling, our bibliopoles might take an excellent lesson from their cousins. German.