pours a quantity of water into the barrel; by which his head, provided it be held close to the muzzle, is frightfully blown to atoms. One fact more and I have done, for it literally outHerods Herod. A doctor, whose name I forget, but it was given in the newspapers, not only determined to kill himself, but to bury himself into the bargain! With this view he dug a grave, in which he shot himself; the pistol, at the same time, firing a sort of mine filled with gunpowder, by the explosion of which, though the experiment only partially succeeded, he expected to be covered with earth and sand." “And, for my part," began my uncle, "if I had been the coroner for Germany "In Germany, my good sir, there is no coroner." Egad! I thought as much," cried my uncle; "and, as it seems to me, no schoolmaster or clergyman either, or the people would know that, as Shakespeare says, the Almighty has fixed a canon against self-slaughter."

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"Seriously," said Markham, "this propensity to suicide is a reproach which the Germans have to wipe away before they can justly claim the character of a moral, religious, or intellectual people. The more so, as it is not the vulgar and ignorant, but the educated and enlightened, scholars, doctors, literati, men that would be offended to be denied the title of Philosophers, women that would be shocked not to be called Christians, who are thus apt to quench the lamp of life in unholy waters, or to shatter with a profane bullet 'the dome of thought, the palace of the soul.”

-

And now, Gerard, as a sermon concludes the service, these grave strictures shall end my letter. My best love to Emily and yourself. Yours ever truly,

F. SOMERVILLE.

P.S.. We kept Markham to dine with us, after which he and I took a stroll to the other side of the Moselle Bridge, where the sight of a little chapel, brilliantly lighted up, led to a conversation on the religious characteristics of the natives. According to our friend, there is a good deal of bigotry extant in Coblentz, and a very active Propaganda, with a professional layman or two at its head, who aim at conversions wholesale and retail. "As an instance," said he, "there was an English family residing here, all Protestants. The head of it was occasionally absent on his travels, and one fine day

at his return home, — hey, presto! — he found his wife, her aunt, and all his children, Roman Catholics!" By a whimsical coincidence, the anecdote had scarcely left his lips, when, turning a corner into the high road, who should we come upon plump, trudging up the hill at her best pace, with a huge, unlighted wax-taper in her hand, but Martha, my aunt's maid! The surprise pulled us all up short; but before I could utter a word, she pitched her candle into the hedge, wheeled rightabout with the alacrity of a Prussian soldier, fairly took to her heels, like a mad cow, and, aided by the descent, was out of sight in "no time at all." Markham, who understood the matter, burst into a loud laugh, and then explained to me the whole mystery; for which, if you are curious on the subject, you may consult the enclosed verses.

OUR LADY'S CHAPEL.

A LEGEND OF COBLENTZ.

WHOE'ER has crossed the Mósel Bridge,
And mounted by the fort of Kaiser Franz,
Has seen, perchance,

Just on the summit of St. Peter's ridge,
A little open Chapel to the right,
Wherein the tapers aye are burning bright;
So popular, indeed, this holy shrine,
At least among the female population,
By night, or at high noon, you see it shine,
A very Missal for illumination!

Yet, when you please, at morn or eve, go by
All other Chapels, standing in the fields,
Whose mouldy, wifeless, husbandry but yields
Beans, pease, potatoes, mangel-wurzel, rye,
And lo! the Virgin, lonely, dark, and hush,
Without the glimmer of a farthing rush!

But on Saint Peter's Hill

The lights are burning, burning, burning still.
In fact, it is a pretty retail trade

To furnish forth the candles ready-made;
And close beside the Chapel and the way,
A chandler, at her stall, sits day by day,
And sells, both long and short, the waxen tapers,
Smartened with tinsel-foil and tinted papers.

To give of the mysterious truth an inkling,
Those who in this bright chapel breathe a prayer
To "Unser Frow," and burn a taper there,
Are said to get a husband in a twinkling:
Just as she-glowworms, if it be not scandal,
Catch partners with their matrimonial candle.

How kind of blessed saints in heaven,Where none in marriage, we are told, are given,To interfere below in making matches, And help old maidens to connubial catches! The truth is, that instead of looking smugly (At least, so whisper wags satirical) The votaries are all so old and ugly,

No man could fall in love but by a miracle!

However, that such waxen gifts and vows
Are sometimes for the purpose efficacious,
In helping to a spouse,

Is vouched for by a story most veracious.

A certain Woman, though in name a wife,
Yet doomed to lonely life,

Her truant husband having been away

Nine years, two months, a week, and half a day,—
Without remembrances by words or deeds, -
Began to think she had sufficient handle

To talk of widowhood and burn her weeds, -
Of course with a wax-candle.

Sick, single-handed with the world to grapple,
Weary of solitude, and spleen, and vapors,

Away she hurried to Our Lady's Chapel,
Full-handed with two tapers,

And prayed, as she had never prayed before,
To be a bona fide wife once more.

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"O Holy Virgin! listen to my prayer!
And for sweet mercy, and thy sex's sake,
Accept the vows and offerings I make:
Others set up one light, but here's a pair!”

Her prayer, it seemed, was heard;
For in three little weeks, exactly reckoned,
As blithe as any bird,

She stood before the Priest with Hans the Second ;-
A fact that made her gratitude so hearty,

To "Unser Frow," and her propitious shrine,

She sent two waxen candles superfine,
Long enough for a Lapland evening party!

Rich was the Wedding Feast and rare;
What sausages were there!

-

Of sweets and sours there was a perfect glut:
With plenteous liquors to wash down good cheer;
Brantwein, and Rhum, Kirsch-wasser, and Krug Bier,
And wine so sharp that every one was cut.

Rare was the feast,

but rarer was the quality Of mirth, of smoky-joke, and song, and toast, — When just in all the middle of their jollity, With bumpers filled to Hostess and to Host, And all the unborn branches of their house, Unwelcome and unasked, like Banquo's Ghost, In walked the long-lost Spouse !

What pen could ever paint

The hubbub when the Hubs were thus confronted!

The bridesmaids fitfully began to faint ;

The bridesmen stared: some whistled, and some grunted:

Fierce Hans the First looked like a boar that's hunted; Poor Hans the Second like a suckling calf:

Meanwhile, confounded by the double miracle,

The twofold bride sobbed out, with tears hysterical,

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"O Holy Virgin! you're too good — by half!"

MORAL.

Ye Coblentz maids, take warning by the rhyme,
And as our Christian laws forbid polygamy,
For fear of bigamy,

Only light up one taper at a time.

At long and at last here we be at Coblinse. It's a bewtiful Citty and well sekured all round with fortifide stone walls with eyelet holes to shoot thro, besides being under the purtection of a grate Castel on the other side of the river, as can batter the town all to bits in a minit. I thoght as well to rite and let you no we have took loggings here for a munth, but by wats to do it will be ni a fortnite afore we are domestically setteld. Missus has hired a Gurmin Maid to assist - her name is Catshins witch stands for Kitty and she can talk bad inglish perfickly. As a feller servent she is companionble and good humerd enuff, but dredful slow and dull headed. Wat do you think she did this blessid morning? Why kivered a panful of skalding hot milk with the plate as held the fresh lump, witch in coarse soon run into meltid butter ! But in sich dilemmys she ony hunches up her sholders to her ears and says vise nit," and theres an end. Howsumever she 's very obleeging and yuseful to me in my new religun, such as teachin me to cross meself the rite way and wat I'm to do when I'm in a high Mess. I have practist fasting a littel by leaving off lunchis but Lord nose wat I'm to do on the Fish Days for theres nothink but stockfish and cabbel yaw. But won comfort is if it don't come too hi for my pockit the Bishup will sell me a dispensary.

"hish

Between you and me I am going this evening to Virgen Mary's Chapel for if so be you present a wax candle at her, and pray with all yure hart and sole, they do say yure as shure of a Bo, as if you had him in yure hone pantry. Any hows its wurth the trial; Besides the hole town is chuck full