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A TRADITION OF JOSEPHINE.

It was precisely what might have been expected from the adventurous soldier, who mingled his superstitious idolatry of the past with his ambitious defiance of the future. Josephine, however, less scrupulous or more inquisitive, is said to have repaired to the solemn old Dom Kirch in the gloom of twilight, entered its gigantic darkness alone, ascended the stately Hoch-Münster, and sat down upon that throne which had been the Chariot of Victory and Empire to the venerable Carlovingian Family.

No long time elapsed, however, before those who waited without (for she had adventured this daring deed alone) heard a piercing shriek ring round the cloistered arcades of the Cathedral: and rushing in, they found the Imperial Creole extended in a deep swoon upon the steps of the Marble Chair. On her recovery, Josephine declared that she had scarcely usurped the royal seat when a Gigantic Figure in gorgeous panoply, whom the Imperial Diadem and Mantle, no less than its preternatural stature, proclaimed to be the Mightiest of his Mighty House, appeared amidst a misty spectral light, and divulged such fearful circumstances of the Futurity which awaited her ominous elevation, that, after vain attempts to listen with fortitude, she fainted. What the triumphant Horror shewed, which even her strong mind and tender heart found insupportable, she never revealed.

GERMAN DEMEANOUR.

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Doubtless it was-not the Abdication of Fontainbleau, not the Defeat of Waterloo, not the Exile of Saint Helena,-but that deadly conference with Fouché, followed as it was with that bitter mockery of magnificence,-the Widowhood of Malmaison, which overpowered even Josephine's princely courage, by piercing it through her woman's heart.

I love the Germans, they are a Race worthy of their own chivalrous, sublime, romantic, Fatherland. What though people do say that a German consists of three things, the Pipe, the Cloak, and the Man? so much the better. The Pipe is a genial comforter, the Cloak a faithful guardian, and the Man a hearty, kindly, goodly creature, deserving the best offices of both. Yes I do love the German, he is so genuine. Courteous without fawning, homely but highminded, frank yet perfectly wellbred; the politeness of the German is less the politeness of the lip than of the heart. Equally remote from the punctilious accolade of the Italian, the complimentary paroxysms of the Parisian, and that savage shyness which distinguishes a portion of my beloved Compatriots, the address of a German to a stranger makes you feel

at once that he would do something for you if he could, instead of implying, what he could do for you if he would. Indeed, to meet a trueborn Briton abroad and remark his moody Reserve, his barbaric recoil from casual intercourse, you might either imagine him a newly caught Aboriginal from the Druid forests of Mona, or some spellbound individual, who, although like The Ancient Mariner, he may

certainly

"Pass like Night from land to land ;”

"has not strange Power of Speech!"

For my own part, I deem it no breach of charity to affirm, of shy and silent men in general, that they are the vainest creatures under the sun. In nine cases out of ten, your Shy Man has set up a Graven Image in his own heart, and trembles to open the shrine, lest it should not receive the same homage from others which he so obsequiously offers himself. He resembles the Schoolboy with his single piece of money, of whose value he is so sensitive, that he hesitates to lay it out, lest its return should not be commensurate with its imaginary worth. He occupies his place in society much in the same way as the Dark veiled Skeleton of the Egyptian Banquet, with this difference, however, that he appropriates his full share of those viands and wines, which of course

THE MINSTER OF MECHLIN.

325

the Ghostly Lady left untasted; and while her presence conveyed a sublime and impressive moral, his generally inflicts an unnecessary nuisance. Meantime he looks on superciliously, while others, less penurious of language than himself, are contributing as they may to the Treasury of Conversation; his only merit, that, although as little as possible resembling an Echo, yet, like an echo, he never contradicts you. Nevertheless, were I to choose, I would rather hear the sociable cackling of the Goose by his Farmyard Pond, than see the silent goggle of the Owl upon his lonely Barngable. But

"Oh, my Anthonio, I do know of those That therefore only are reputed wise

For saying nothing; who, I'm very sure,

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools." MERCHANT OF VENICE.

The Cathedral at Malines is adorned with a great tower, which, in my opinion, has not its peer for stateliness of height, beauty of proportion, and the exquisite chiselling of its numerous buttresses, which, tall and slender, ascend to the very parapet of its unfinished roof. I say unfin

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THE GRAND PLACE.

ished, because, like Ulm, it was originally destined to a loftier height, an elevation which I for one think it was fortunate to have escaped, since what it gained in altitude it would inevitably have lost in symmetry. The whole appearance of this noble city is at once very fantastic and very

superb. The Grand Place in size surpasses, and in its distinguished mansions, at least rivals the Romer Platz at Frankfort. There is one spot from whence at a single view the spectator beholds that romantic Burgundian edifice now the Academie de Dessin on the one hand, while the august steeple of Saint Rombald soars like the Genius of the place upon the other. Fronting him, from the opposite side of this vast area, boldly plain and defying the rules of art, (the very Sublime of ugliness,) frowns that huge and ancient fortalice, originally the Hotel de Ville, but now appropriated to a purpose more congenial to its grim and moody aspect. It is the Town-Prison. From each side of this vast and dreary pile two noble Streets of ample breadth, stately heighth, and romantic architecture, branch off till they lose their lordly vistas in the distance. They are just what you could fancy the Scenes of a Roman or Athenian Theatre to have been, and indeed reminded me strangely of that most beautiful model of Palladio, with its fine perspective of palatial streets, the Olympic Theatre at Vicenza. Diverging from different quarters of the Place, like