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One of these noble robbers, the Count Henry of Sayn, mortally fractured the skull of a young boy by what was only meant for a paternal pat of the head: it is easy to suppose, then, how heavily fell the gauntleted hand, when it was laid on in anger. What atrocious acts of perfidy, barbarity, and debauchery were openly or secretly perpetrated within those dilapidated castles! What fiendish contrivances for executing "wild justice!" The cruel Virgin-Effigy, whose embrace was certain and bloody death! The treacherous Oubliette, with its trap, whereon to tread was to step, like Amy Robsart, from Time into Eternity! But the freebooters are extinct, and their strongholds are now mere crumbling ruins; not the less beautiful for their decay to the painter or to the moralist. It must wholesomely stagger the prejudices of a laudator temporis acti to muse on those shattered monuments and their historical associations; nor would the spectacle be less salutary to a certain class of political theorists, as was hinted by my uncle. "I'll tell you what, Frank, I do wish our physical-force men would hire a steamer and take a trip up the river Rhine; if it was only that they might see and reflect on these tumble-down castles. To my mind every one of them is like a gravestone, set up at the death and burial of Brute Force."

Verily, these are but sorry Pleasures of Memory to be illustrated by such enchanting natural scenery as Rolandseck, the Nonnenwerth, and the Drachenfels! Apropos to which last, you will find enclosed a new version of "Der Kampf mit dem Drachen." It may have less romance than the indigenous legends, but, perchance, all the more reality.

Along with these souvenirs of the "good old times,” it was our fortune to have a sample of the good new ones. My uncle had been alluding to some rumored insubordination amongst the Landwehr, encamped in readiness for the Autumnal Grand Manoeuvres at Coblentz, when he was accosted by a stranger, who, apologizing for the liberty, begged to caution him against touching on such subjects. "It may bring you, sir," said he, "into serious trouble, and you might be required to produce the parties from whom you had the report." My uncle of course thanked his informant, but with a wry face, and soon fell into audible soliloquy: "Humph! I thought it was written, He that hath an ear,

let him hear; but I suppose even the Scriptures are forbidden in such despotical countries. Well, it's all one to a dying man, or for my part I would n't live under such a suspicious government for a week!" I afterwards took occasion to inquire of the stranger if there was really any ground for apprehension, or such a system of espionage as his warning would seem to imply? “Ask Von Raumer,” was his answer, or rather, his book. He will tell you that the Prussian Police has been too busy in what he calls fly-catching, and has even driven patient people, and who so patient as the Germans? to impatience. He will tell you that the folly of a day, the error of youth, is recorded in voluminous documents, as character indelibilis; and that the long list of sins is sent to Presidents and Ambassadors, that they may keep a sharp lookout after the guilty. Fly-catching may sound like a mild term, sir; but not when you remember that the greatest of all fly-catchers are Butchers." "And pray, sir," I asked, "did any instance come under “Yes, your own observation?" the very night of my first visit to Coblentz there was an arrest, and the Blue-bottle, the son of a President, was carried off in a cart, escorted by gens-d'armes, for Berlin. He has recently been pardoned, but under conditions, and after two long years of suspense, a tolerable punishment in itself, sir, for a little buzzing!"

Nothing further of interest (scenery excepted) occurred in our progress. Passing ancient Andernach, Hoche's obelisk,

and liberal thriving Neuwied, a standing refutation of all intolerant theories, we at last approached the end of our voyage. The sun was setting behind Ehrenbreitstein, and whilst the massy rock and its fortress slept in solid shade, the opposite city of Coblentz, encircled by its yellow and loopholed walls, shone out in radiant contrast,

"With glittering spires and pinnacles adorned.”

The view is magnificent; especially when you command that "Meeting of the Waters," whence the city derives its name. The junction, indeed, is rather like an ill-assorted marriage, for the two rivers, in spite of their nominal union, seem mutually inclined to keep themselves to themselves. But so it is in life. I could name more than one couple, where, like the Rhine and the Moselle, the lady is rather yellow and the gentleman looks blue.

In a very few minutes the steamer brought up at the little wooden pier just outside of the town-gates: and in as many more we were installed in the Grand Hotel de Belle Vue. You will smile to learn that our Hypochondriac has conceived such a love at first sight for Coblentz, that, forgetting his "warnings," he talks of spending a month here! Love to Emily from,

Dear Gerard, yours very truly,

FRANK SOMERVILLE.

P. S. I have found here a letter for me, poste restante, that has thrown the head of the family into an unusual tantrum. It seems that, by previous arrangement between the parties, in default of my uncle's writing from Rotterdam it was to be taken for granted that he was defunct, in which case his old crony and attorney at Canterbury had full instructions how to proceed. The lawyer, not hearing from Rotterdam, has chosen to consider his client as 66 very dead indeed," and thereupon writes to advise me that he has proved the will, &c., &c., in conformity with the last wishes of my late and respected uncle. Between ourselves, I suspect it is a plot got up between Bagster and Doctor Truby, by way of physic to a mind diseased; if so, the dose promises to work wholesomely, for our hypochondriac is most unreasonably indignant, and inconsistently amazed, at having his own dying injunctions so very punctually fulfilled!

THE KNIGHT AND THE DRAGON.

IN the famous old times,

(Famed for chivalrous crimes,)

As the legends of Rheinland deliver,

Once there flourished a Knight,

Who Sir Otto was hight,

On the banks of the rapid green river!

On the Drachenfels' crest

He had built a stone nest,

From the which he pounced down like a vulture,

And with talons of steel,

Out of every man's meal

Took a very extortionate multure.

Yet he lived in good fame,

With a nobleman's name,

As "Your High-and-Well-Born" addressed daily,Though Judge Park in his wig,

Would have deemed him a prig,

Or a cracksman, if tried at th' Old Bailey.

It is strange, very strange!

How opinions will change!

How Antiquity blazons and hallows

Both the man and the crime

That a less lapse of time

Would commend to the hulks or the gallows!

Thus enthralled by Romance,

In a mystified trance,

E'en a young, mild, and merciful Woman

Will recall with delight

The wild Keep, and its Knight,

Who was quite as much Tiger as Human!

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Looked on London, and cried, "What a plunder ! "

From that river so fast,

From that champaign so vast,

He collected rare tribute and presents!

Water-rates from ships' loads,

Highway-rates on the roads,

And hard Poor-rates from all the poor Peasants !

When behold! round the base

Of his strong dwelling-place,

Only gained by most toilsome progression,

He perceived a full score

Of the rustics, or more,

Winding up in a sort of procession!

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Keep them out!" the Knight cried,

To the Warders outside,

But the Hound at his feet gave a grumble!

And in scrambled the knaves,

Like Feudality's slaves,

With all forms that are servile and humble.

"Now for boorish complaints!

Grant me patience, ye Saints !”

Cried the Knight, turning red as a mullet;

When the baldest old man

Thus his story began,

With a guttural croak in his gullet!

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