stitutional symptoms of going after him. As for my nephew, he is well and hearty, and enjoys his foreign travelling so much, I am quite grieved for his sake, poor fellow! to reflect how soon and suddenly it may be brought to a close. But, after all, our life below is only a tour, that ends by returning to the earth from whence we came. As such, I have reached my own last resting-place; and whenever you hear of the city of Cologne, I feel sure, dear Doctor, you will remember your old and very faithful friend,

RICHARD ORCHARD.

P. S.-The medicine-chest you took such a spite at was left behind in a hurry at Rotterdam, and never missed till last night, when I wanted a teaspoonful of magnesia. I hope and trust I shall be able to get medicine in Germany; but Frank says, if their physics are like their metaphysics, a horse ought n't to take them without good advice.

TO GERARD BROOKE, ESQ.

My dear Gerard,

To borrow the appropriate style of a bulletin of health, "our hypochondriac has passed a bad night, but is free from fever, and hopes are entertained of his speedy convalescence.”

The truth is, this morning we were rather alarmed by the prolonged absence of the head of the family. The breakfast appeared, the tea was made, and stood till it was cold, — but no uncle. As he is naturally an early riser, this circumstance excited, first surprise, then anxiety, and then apprehension. My aunt looked astonished, serious, and at last terrified, lest her brother, fulfilling his own prophecy, should have really departed in earnest. In the end, I became nervous myself, and took the liberty of entering the bedchamber of the absentee, when a sight presented itself which I cannot now recall without laughing.

Imagine my worthy uncle lying broad awake, on his back, in a true German bedstead, a sort of wooden box or trough, so much too short for him, that his legs extended half a yard

beyond it on either side of the footboard. chest and stomach, from his chin to his

Above him, on his

knees, lay a huge

squab or cushion, covered with a gay-patterned chintz, and ornamented at each corner with a fine tassel, — looking equally handsome, glossy, cold, and uncomfortable. For fear of deranging this article, he could only turn his eyes towards me as I entered, and when he spoke, it was with a voice that seemed weak and broken from exhaustion. "Frank, I've passed — a miserable night." Not a doubt of it, thought I, with a glance at his accommodations. "I have n't slept a wink.' Of course not (mentally). “Did you ever see such a thing as that?" with a slight nod and roll of his eyes towards the cushion. I shook my head. "If I moved, it fell off; and if I didn't, I got the cramp." Here a sort of suppressed groan. "Frank, I've only turned once — all night long." I ventured to suggest that he would have done well to kick off the encumbrance on purpose; and the words had hardly left my lips when off flew the variegated cushion to the floor.

The action seemed to relieve him, as if it. had actually removed a weight from his bosom: he drew a long breath, and raised himself up on his elbow. “You're right, Frank; I've been a fool, sure enough, - but that comes of foreign customs one never met with before; I suppose poor Kate was scared by my not coming down?" I nodded assent. "Yes, - I shall go that way, some day, no doubt. Why, these beds are enough to kill one. It's impossible to sleep in 'em ; but it's my suspicion the Germans sit up smoking all night. Any how, I'll stake my head there's not such a thing as a slug-abed in the whole country."

As he now showed an inclination to rise, I left him for the breakfast-table, where he soon joined us; and when he was seated, and had buttered his roll, he returned to the subject. "Frank, I've been thinking over the sleeping business, and my mind's made up. Take my word for it, the German beds are at the bottom of the German stories. They're all full of hobgoblin work and devilry, as if a man had written them after bad dreams. Since last night, I think I could make up a German romancical story myself, like 'the Devil and Dr. Faustus.' I'm convinced I should have had the horrors, and no need to eat a raw-pork supper neither, like Mr. What'shis-name, the painter;- that's to say, provided I could only have gone to sleep. There's that outlandish cushion on your stomach, to my mind, it's a pillion, it's nothing but a pillion for the nightmare to sit upon.” "And then," chimed in my aunt," the foreign bedsteads are so very short, — to stretch yourself is out of the question. Besides, mine was quite a new one, with a disagreeable smell I could never account for till this morning.' "As how, Kate?" asked my uncle. "Why, it's an unpleasant thing to mention," said my aunt, "but when I awoke, I found myself sticking with both my soles to the footboard, by the varnish."

So much for our sleeping accommodations at Cologne. Perhaps, Gerard, as you are of a speculative turn, you will think my uncle's theory of diablerie worth working out. To my own fancy, sundry passages of the "Faust," read aloud in the original language, sound suspiciously like a certain noise produced by uneasy lying: indeed, I think it very possible to trace all the horrible phantasmagoria of the Walpurgis Night to the inspiration of a German bed, and its "nightmare's pillion."

66

The rest of the day was spent in seeing the Lions, — and, first, the Cathedral, the mere sight of which did me good, both morally and physically. Gerard, 't is a miracle of art, a splendid illustration of transcendentalism; never, perhaps, was there a better attempt, for it is but a fragment, to imitate a temple made without hands. I speak especially of the interior. Your first impression on entering the building is of its exquisite lightness; to speak after the style of the Apostle Paul, it seems not "of the earth earthy," but of heaven and heavenly, as if it could take to itself wings and soar upwards. And surely if angelic porters ever undertake to carry cathedrals instead of chapels (as we have seen a promise below of messuages carefully delivered"), the Dom Kirche of Cologne will be their first burden to Loretto. The name of its original architect is unknown in the civic archives, but assuredly it is enrolled in letters of gold in some masonic record of Christian faith. If from impression ariseth expression, its glorious builder must have had a true sense of the holy nature of his task. The very materials seem to have lost their materialism in his hands, in conformity with the design of a great genius spiritualized by its fervent homage to the Divine Spirit. In looking upward along the tall slender columns, which seem to have sprung spontaneously from the earth like so many reeds, and afterwards to have been petrified, for only Nature herself seemed capable of combining so much lightness with durability, I almost felt, as the architect must have done, that I had cast off the burden of the flesh, and had a tendency to mount skywards. In this particular, it presented a remarkable contrast to the feelings excited by any other Gothic edifice with which I am acquainted. In Westminster Abbey, for instance, whose more solid architecture is chiefly visible by a "dim religious light," I was always overcome with an awe amounting to gloom; whereas, at Cologne, the state of my mind rose somewhat above serenity. Lofty, aspiring, cheerful, the light of heaven more abundantly admitted than excluded, and streaming through painted panes, with all the varied colors of the first promise, the distant roof seemed to re-echo with any other strains than those of that awful hymn, the "Dies Ira." In opposition to the Temple of Religious Fear, I should call it the Temple of Pious Hope. And now, Gerard, having described to you my own feelings,

I will not give you the mere description of objects to be found in the guide-books. From my hints, you will be, perhaps, able to pick out a suggestion that might prove valuable in the erection of our new churches. Under the Pagan mythology, a temple had its specific purpose; it was devoted to some particular worship, or dedicated to some peculiar attribute of the Deity. As such, each had its proper character, and long since the votaries and the worship have passed away, travellers have been able to discriminate, even from the ruins, the destination of the original edifice. Do you think, Gerard, that such would be the case were a future explorer to light on the relics of our Langham Place or Regent Street temples? Would an antiquarian of 2838 be able to decide, think you, whether one of our modern temples was a Christian church, or a parochial school, or a factory? Had men formerly more belief in wrong than they have now in right? Was there more sincerity in ancient fanaticism than in modern faith? But I will not moralize; only, as I took a last look at the Cathedral of Cologne, I could not help asking myself, "Will such an edifice ever be completed, shall we ever again build up even such a beginning?" The cardinal virtues must answer the question. Faith and charity have been glorious masons in times past. Does "Hope's Architecture" hold out equal promise for the future?

The fees demanded by the guardians of the Dom Kirche have been complained of by sundry travellers besides Grundy. For my own part, I should not object to their being higher, provided they were devoted to the repairs of the building, or even towards a more appropriate altar. The present one is in such a style of pettiness and prettiness, that it looks like a stall at a religious fancy fair. But then, as a set-off, there is a picture the Adoration of the Virgin and Child - which is a lay miracle! It is very old; but only proves the more, that as Celestial Wisdom may come from the mouths of babes and sucklings, even so was Heavenly Beauty produced by Art in its very infancy.

Our next visit was to the Church of St. Peter, passing, by the way, the house of Rubens, with his well-known effigy painted over the door. The altar-piece, representing the crucifixion of his patron-saint, is a wonderful picture, though it possibly derives a portion of its interest from the extraordinary