which, in consequence, I must trouble those who chance to read it. My father said that it had occurred to him that I should do well, as I was within tolerable distance, if I should pay a visit to Dusseldorf, for the sake of seeing its gallery. He enlarged upon the visit paid to it by Sir Joshua Reynolds, A.D. 1781, and reminded me of his commentary upon some of the more important works in the collection; his criticism on the famous assortment of Vanderwerf's, and on the still more famous works of Rubens. There was one picture, he said, which alone might reward me for my trouble-that of the angels falling from heaven-of which Sir Joshua had pronounced deliberately, that it was one of the greatest efforts of genius which the art had produced.

I really chiefly intended to please my father by following his advice; but I had also an honest desire to obtain a well-grounded knowledge of the different schools of painting; and so, after a sojourn of two days at Aix-la-Chapelle (for which, by the way, I was well repaid), I directed my wanderings towards Dusseldorf, and availed myself of the vehicles which in those days took the misnomers of schnellposts. A more miserable and stupid mode of travelling could not be conceived. I became more and more out of humour with myself and the rest of my species; and one wet evening I found myself lumbering through the streets of the very useful capital of the Duchy of Berg, for which, however, I then conceived, and have since continued to entertain, a most irrational dislike.

But I said to myself, at all events there are the pictures. And after a long night's rest, and a heavy German breakfast, I hastened to the gallery to feast my eyes at leisure on its contents, and armed with an excellent note-book, to which I

might refer in days to come for my first impressions.

I had no difficulty in finding the building itself, nor in obtaining access to its spacious corridors. But let the reader imagine my vexation and despair when I found that the pictures from which I was to learn so much, and to obtain a sight of which I had gone through so much discomfort, were simply not there.

How my father could have made so great a blunder I could not imagine at the time, though now I know well enough how easy it is to pass over the events of the last twenty years, and to find more reality in the life which preceded them. But so it was, as all the German world knew, and the town of Dusseldorf only too well, twenty years before, all the gems of the once famous collection had been purchased for Munich by Maximilian, King of Bavaria, though they were not arranged in their present really royal abode, the Pinakothek of King Lewis, until (I believe) the year 1836.

And the student of art will remember that I had not the consolations which now await the traveller (if there are still travellers to Dusseldorf), and recompense him in part for the loss of the works of the old masters. Cornelius had not yet founded his new school of German painting, which has no small merit of its own, though England has not yet produced another Sir Joshua Reynolds, to whose admirably expressed criticism she might as confidently intrust the taste of her educated classes.

Had I myself known as much about painting as my subsequent studies have enabled me to pick up, I might have solaced myself by getting access to the collection of drawings by the old masters which were not carried off by the Bavarian king. But in the haste of my annoyance, I quitted the gallery

with a sort of indignation, and resolved to lose no time in leaving a city where I seemed to have been exposed to all the ignominy of a cruel hoax.

But everything seemed that day out of gear. I took, I suppose, a wrong turning, for I found myself in the narrow streets of the Altstadt, or older portion of the town, and was arrested in my progress by a shop of curiosities, which seldom fails to produce the same effect upon me, wherever I may be. As I finished a survey which ended in a wish to inquire the price of a Louis XVI. clock, of a quaint and particular character, I turned suddenly round, and simultaneously found myself encountered by a man who came out of the shop very hastily with a parcel under his arm. He was a man of essentially German characteristics. He had a restless blue eye, a face much overgrown with hair, was somewhat tall, and very meagre in body. This man, instantly snatching back his covered treasure, as sumed all the appearance of a person who had been wantonly assailed, and began to pour forth a torrent of invective in a patois which I could not understand, or very imperfectly.

Whether, at the same moment, the unexpected shock aggravated my ill humour of the morning, or whether there was some natural antipathy in our two characters, which the circumstances of meeting so unpleasantly drew out at once, I cannot tell. But as our gaze became fixed on each other, I very foolishly gave way to the impulse of the moment. My countenance betrayed my anger, and if this had not, my attitude would have been sufficient witness to it.

I found myself raising my cane to strike him, speaking French, which came more naturally to my lips than German, and which

seemed to chafe my opponent even more than my outward behaviour. In a few moments I found myself the object of an unpleasant interest to a gathering crowd from the dregs of the population of Dusseldorf; and when I became conscious of this fact, I became aware also at the same time of another, namely, that my antagonist, who was hissing with rage, was ill and strangely dressed, and not at all like the rest of the people who clustered round him. The quarrel was ridiculous, and my position absurd. To add, moreover, to the awkwardness of it, two of the town police were appearing at the edge of the crowd. So I made an effort, and contrived to make my way into the shop which had contained the inanimate and the living curiosity, and the owner of the shop shut the door as I entered it. I immediately hastened to enlist the shopkeeper's sympathies, by making inquiries about the clock in his window, which I thought it prudent to purchase for a trifling sum, and which really proved to be what is called a bargain. I was promised that it should be sent, viâ Rotterdam, to an agent in London, whence it was to be transferred to my mother; and I beg to say that the promise was faithfully kept.

The salesman indeed was a goodnatured as well as an honest fellow. He had been half amused and half vexed at the scene outside his house. He said, the man who had been so angry was a clever man in his way, and a character. acter. He did not belong at all to that country. He lived far away somewhere up the Rhine, many days' journey from Dusseldorf. But he came at intervals of two or three years, bringing with him ingenious specimens of clock - work, which he disposed of at the various towns on the Rhine, and generally travelling on one of the large

timber rafts which were floated down the stream in the summer time. When he had got rid of his goods, which were made by himself and his friends, he contrived to journey back to his own country chiefly on foot. But as he sometimes sold a considerable amount of property, he caused remittances to be made by the bankers to Freiburg in the Breisgau, for he came from somewhere up that way. In consequence of these transactions, he was well known to persons in the trade. And his goods in general were cheap enough, though at Geneva, Paris, and London, they were sometimes retailed at far higher prices. His angry temper to-day was probably owing to the circumstance that I had perhaps narrowly escaped doing an injury to a very complicated piece of mechanism, a singing bird, which he, the shopkeeper, could not afford to buy, but which was really worth a great deal of money.

however, insisted on walking with me, as he said it would be unfair to allow a stranger to walk through that part of the town alone, for my appearance would cause me easily to be remembered, and might provoke some insult. Accordingly he did not leave me till I reached my destination. I thanked him much for his courtesy. He had given me some interesting information as to the manners and customs of the lower orders of the people with whom my lot would be often cast during the next few months; and as we shook hands (at that time an unwonted cordiality on my part with an inferior), he advised me to avoid the Black Forest Man, as he called him, in case he again crossed my path, for, he added significantly, that he was not one who easily forgot an offence, and that he had many friends.

Then we parted; and as quickly as possible I ordered post-horses and a carriage, and by the promise of an extra trinkgelt, arrived at Cologne with very reasonable ra

left a lasting record of his disgust in two powerful stanzas. I could not have written the verses, but I could have borne record not only to their power, but to their truth, as far as the description of these evils

is concerned. But I will not subscribe to that portion of them which says, that in this town of Cologne

Mr. Mum's Rudesheimer,
And the church of St. Geryon,
Are the two things alone
That deserve to be known.

I remember how, for the first time, I learnt to appreciate the rush of the mighty stream itself, not then insulted by the present hideous railway bridge; and how, by frequent gazing, I learnt better to wonder at the vast proportions of the cathedral, the completion of which seemed at that time to have been abandoned in despair.

The conception of the old architect, six centuries before, seemed all too grand for the puny aim and feeble execution of a new and conceited age. Imperfectly as it could then be judged, it was evidently intended to be the noblest building of the kind in the whole world.

And yet, as long as that picturesque crane on the top of the halffinished tower was, though unused, suffered to remain, one seemed allowed to cherish a vague expectation that so great a work of man would not always bear witness to the stinginess of modern religious systems, and the incapacity of what was called a civilized era, for any high conception of what was beautiful.

But St. Geryon and the cathedral were not the only objects of interest for me, as I threaded the maze of "crooked streets," over

"Pavements fang'd with murderous stones."

I was arrested by the Romanesque work in several of the churches, which are really rich in specimens of architecture, such as the Church

of the Holy Apostles, and that of Santa Maria in Capitolio-and perhaps I found even a still greater pleasure in tracing the fragments of old Roman work, which are found scattered here and there over the ancient colony of Agrippina.

And so I spent two or three days not unprofitably in this kind of sight-seeing, and in studying the habits and customs of the inhabitants themselves,-taking many small sketches, and now and then crossing the comparatively new bridge of boats,* and watching the effect of tower and pinnacle, quaint buildings and busy wharves, from the other side of the river.

But it was time for me to be thinking more of Southern Germany; and gathering information from the more intelligent people with whom I came in contact, I resolved to take the public conveyance to Bonn, only a few hours' drive, and from thence to to continue my journey on horseback as far as Mayence, sending on my luggage by the same coach which was to deposit me at Bonn. This accordingly was arranged, and I was content to be again stifled for a few hours in a German eilwagen, in consideration of the prospect of a few days in the saddle, in fine weather, amidst new, picturesque, and indeed historic scenery. I was in high spirits then as I ensconced myself once more in the eilwagen, but confess to an unpleasant sensation-a mixture of irritation and uncomfortable foreboding -when I saw my Dusseldorf enemy deliberately climb to the top of the huge fabric, with a dirty pipe in his mouth, and a green bag in his right hand: and I almost think he must have seen me, for his countenance wore anything but a benign expression during the few instants

I

when I caught a glimpse of it. was provoked with myself for caring, one way or another, about so common a churl. What does it matter? I said to myself; and at all events I shall be free from him in a few hours, and we are not likely ever to meet again.

Now the reader must not be surprised at the accuracy of my memory. I kept a very minute journal whenever I was by myself. And even now, in my advanced years, that old journal-book (to which I have already alluded), in which I dotted down so many of passing thoughts, so devoid of interest to any stranger, is full of interest to myself. Sometimes when I glance over the pages as I do now, I feel a sweet sadness, and sometimes a feeling of quick shame, at the memories stirred by the imperfect records. But there is always an interest in them for the writer. I became again the friend of my former self; and even at the time when I was a lonely traveller, I anticipated the pleasure I myself might derive from such manuscripts, about which it is more than doubtful whether anybody else will care

as much.

With a grateful feeling of a sudden cessation from unrest, I left the cumbersome vehicle, and did not even pause to observe whether the man with bag and pipe descended from the roof likewise.

SO

I hastened to a really very tolerable hotel; and before many hours were over I had succeeded in securing two serviceable-looking horses for myself and a guide. The guide was not wanted much for the purpose of guidance as for the charge of the beasts and of the small leather bag which was strapped on the one which he rode; and also partly, I suppose, from the desire of company, and of some one with whom I could "air" my German, and of whom I could ask

questions about the numerous places of interest which I expected to be continually passing on the road. I am bound to say that in all respects Johann answered my purpose; and when next day, at a very early hour, he brought the horses round to the hotel, I felt for the first time that feeling of adventure which is necessary to make a good traveller. After all, to me at that moment everything was delightfully fresh and strange. Every turn of the road or of the river brought with it the unexpected.

I was in excellent health. I was a good horseman, and I was full, only too full, of confidence in myself. I lived altogether too much for myself: but at the same time I think I may plead here the disadvantages of my peculiar position as an only son, whose future was all provided for, and whose affections were centred in a father and mother whose will I had never questioned, and whose wishes I was even then most exactly fulfilling.

So forth I rode, like knight of old, with Johann by my side; and as I look back I cannot but congratulate myself that I took this journey in that particular year, and did not defer it to some few years, perhaps the very next year afterwards. I sometimes fancy that I was one of the last real travellers by the Rhine. Little can the modern tourist understand of the peculiar interest of the noble river as I saw it then, as I now look back upon it with delight.

Those crowded steamers, with their hideous funnels of black smoke, how they jar upon every feature of the castles and the stream! Those harsh grating lines of iron binding in on either side the rushing waters, and over which the hissing shrieking engine speeds with such ruthless haste! Have not they, and similar parallels,