over-tiring ourselves, hired a drosky or open carriage, in which we had a delightful drive.

Cologne, you must know, is by no means a clean town. The streets are irregular, the drainage bad, and the gutters make a great deal too free with the pavements. But the old Roman wall and gate-houses are very interesting and picturesque, and the churches splendid beyond imagination. The people are for the most part Roman Catholics, and there is hardly a street without a crucifix or picture of the Virgin Mary.

To-morrow we shall fairly be on the Rhine.

MIDSIE, otherwise MADELEINE.

CHAPTER IV.

WE FALL IN WITH A PUMPERNICKEL AT BONN.

B

LESS me, Harry must be mad, I'm sure! Here he has stuck half a ream of paper under my nose and a pen in my hand, telling me without the least suspicion of a smile, that I am to write an account of our journey from Cologne to Coblentz for Edith. Moreover, he says that all our papers will be published. Dear, dear, how the hot drops run down my forehead at the bare thought of it! I become an author indeed-I put myself in the way of being cut up into sausage-meat by the critics-I see my name in print who never had it printed before, except in the Nottingham News fifteen years ago-" Mr. John Newman to Miss Susan Lightfoot, at the parish church of St. Mary's"-I write for

the public, who never wrote anything but invoices of lace, and a letter once to a newspaper, for which I got so soundly laughed at by the editor that I said, "Never more, John, boy, never, never more!”

Well, if Harry will have it, he must. Please, kind people, lay all the blame of my bad editorship to him. Remember, I don't force myself in your way, but am made to do so-am a passive verb, in fact, as the grammar says. On my word, a Rhine steamer is the pleasantest thing possible. You can get fruit and hock whenever you wish for them by paying what they like to charge, and the dinner on deck at twelve o'clock is a very fair one, though I don't approve of green peas and French beans stewed in sugar and vinegar, beef boiled to the state of shoe-leather, then eaten with red herrings, trimmed with onion and sweet cherries. But when we come to Germany we must, as my old servant said, do as the Germanies do, and need not fare badly either. I'm sure they enjoy cigars and beer quite as much as ourselves, which proves at once that they know what is good.

I do think them stupid, however; for bawl and screech as I may, word for word out of Murray's Traveller's Conversation, I can't get a soul to understand me, which spoils a good deal of my enjoyment. To-day there were some ruddy country girls on the steamer making lace collars, and even when I pointed towards their work and then to myself to signify that I sold lace, they giggled and shook their heads, evidently thinking I wanted to purchase theirs.

"Dear me, uncle," said little Jessie, "how glad I am to eat nice plum-cake. I don't like the raw ham and smoky sausages at all.”

"My darling," her papa replied, gravely, "do you not know why the ham in Germany is always raw and the sausage always smoky?"

"No, papa," added Jessie, with her eyes wide open.

"Well, Jessie, all the pigs in Germany entered into a league a thousand years ago never to be boiled under any consideration. Baking they don't object to, smoking is their second nature, frying is their heart's delight; boiling is an infringement of dignity which no proper German pig will undergo."

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'Papa, do tell me a story about the pigs who first objected to boilers."

My dear, there are so many pork-pies on the steamer that I am afraid the ghosts of a thousand grunters will rise up against me for blabbing about their secret societies in the Dark Ages."

"Pork-pies, dear?"

"Haven't you one on your head, Jess?" And this is the way Harry ran on to the child all day.

If brother Harry expects to get all the work out of me and do the play himself of this diary, he's much mistakenthat is all. The very idea of an author looking for historical knowledge and fine writing from me, who have spent all the days of my life in a lace manufactory! I can write down in my mother tongue what I see, and to nothing else will I make any pretences.

Till we came to Bonn there was really nothing to see. This pretty little town had an especial interest for me on account of our good and beloved Prince Albert having studied at its University. We manufacturers, though plain-spoken men, can appreciate quite as well as editors and flowery writers the unspeakable benefits conferred upon the kingdom, more

particularly on the middle classes of the kingdom—namely, artists, scientific men, artisans, &c., by the measures and suggestions of that true gentleman and that good man. Never ought his memory to go from our hearts.

Harry has thrown in a few notes for me to make use of -otherwise, dear Edith, and kind readers, I should really be obliged to leave you in the dark regarding any history that Bonn may have.

Let me see what writing his is to read, to be sure! Well, if I quite spoil the sense in transcribing it, I at least shall go off scotfree-the critics will set upon Harry, and serve him rightly too.

Bonn is so ancient as to be mentioned by Pliny and Florus under the name of Bonna or Bonnensia Castra. That tough old warrior, Drusus Germanicus, who has left his name like the trail of a snail along the whole course of the Rhine, among his fifty castles on its banks built one here. Fifty castles, indeed! What business had he with more castles than two or three kings put together? The halfnaked aborigines of the place were converted to Christianity by Matericus, and it was Helen, the mother of Constantine the Great, who founded the Minster.

In the war

Bonn has had an uneasy time of it hitherto. caused by the marriage of Archbishop Gerhard with the beautiful Agnes of Mansfeld, it was burnt to the ground; in 1673, it surrendered to the united forces of Holland, Spain, and Austria; in 1689 it fell into the hands of that peppery and extraordinary man, Frederick, Duke of Brandenburg, afterwards King of Prussia; in 1703 it was taken first by the Dutch, and a second time by Marlborough. From 1795 to 1814 the French were its masters; in 1814 the allied army entered it; in 1818 it was joined to Prussia. It is to

be hoped that after all this unpleasant taking and re-taking, Bonn may have some quiet days in store for it.

We lodged in the market-place, and had plenty of amusement from the window. Early in the morning, the peasant women came from the neighbouring villages, bearing eggs and fruit on their heads, which they arranged under green, red, and blue umbrellas by way of tents. The men looked on lazily and offered no help. By seven o'clock everything was in apple-pie order; tin cans of coffee were brought out and heated over little charcoal boxes, loaves of black bread two feet long followed, and the whole assembly made a hearty breakfast.

The houses around the market-place are curiously built with pepper-box roofs and tiny pigeon-hole windows, but with regard to architecture let the Germans have their own way. The only thing I find fault with is, the very great liberty that they give to water-pipes. Water-pipes tyrannize over both man and beast in Germany, and woe betide the unlucky pedestrian who pauses during a shower under some doorway. Before he is aware, down comes a shower bath, drenching him from head to foot, and whether he goes on or stays still, it is all the same. Water-pipes, like children, must be trained to keep in their proper places, and this training they never receive here.

I must not forget to say that whilst in Bonn we saw a-Pumpernickel. Can you guess what this is? A musical instrument? No. A kind of Rhine wine? Wrong again. Anything to wear? Wrong again. Anything to eat? Yes.

I will now tell you how we fell in with this Pumpernickel. Yesterday afternoon we made an excursion on foot into the country, soon losing ourselves, of course, which is brother