terrified look, and her eyes wide open, staring at me. I fell into fits; and they carried me into the house of my brother's friend, and laid me on a bed. When I recovered my senses, the calèche and all were gone. When I reached Berlin, all this appeared to me so miraculous-so like a dream-I could not trust to my own recollection, and I wrote to the officer of customs, to beg he would attest that it was really true, and what I had said when I was out of my senses, and what she had said; and at Leipsic I received his letter, which I will show you." And at Mayence she showed me this letter, and a number of other documents; her brother's pardon, with the emperor's signature; a letter of the Countess Elise ; a most touching letter from her unfortunate brother (over this she wept much); and a variety of other papers, all proving the truth of her story, even to the minutest particulars. The next morning we were to part. I was going down the Rhine, and she was to proceed to Deuxponts, which she expected to reach in two days. As she had travelled from Berlin almost without rest, except the night we had spent at Frankfort, she appeared to me ready to sink with fatigue; but she would not bid me farewell that night, although I told her I should be obliged to set off at six the next morning; but kissing my hand, with many expressions of gratitude, she said she would be awake, and visit me in my room to bid me a last adieu. As there was only a very narrow passage between the two rooms, she left her door a little open that she might hear me rise. However, on the following morning she did not appear. When dressed, I went on tip-toe into her room, and found her lying in a deep calm sleep, her arm over her head. I looked at her for some minutes, and thought I had never seen a finer creature. I then turned, with a whispered blessing and adieu, and went on my way.

This is all I can tell you. If at the time I had not been travelling against time, and with a mind most fully and painfully occupied, I believe I should have been tempted to accompany my heroine to Deuxponts-at least I should have retained her narrative more accurately. Not having made any memoranda till many days afterward, all the names have escaped my recollection; but if you have any doubts of the general truth of this story, I will, at least, give you the means of verifying it. Here is her name, in her own handwriting, on one of the leaves of my pocket-book-you can read the German character:

Bety Ambes von Zweibruken.

SKETCHES OF ART, LITERATURE,

AND CHARACTER.

PART II.

MEMORANDA AT MUNICH, NUREMBERG, AND DRESDEN.

VOL. I.-K

SKETCHES OF ART, LITERATURE,

AND CHARACTER.

SEPT. 28th.

I. :

MEMORANDA AT MUNICH.

A week at Munich! and nothing done! nothing seen! My first excursions I made to-day--from my bed to the sofa from the sofa to the window. Every one told me to be prepared against the caprices of the climate, but I did not imagine that it would take a week or a fortnight to be acclimatée.

What could induce the princes of Bavaria to plant their capital in the midst of these wide, marshy, bleak, barren plains, and upon this rough, unmanageable torrent," the Isar rolling rapidly,"--when they might have seated themselves by the majestic Danube? The Tyrolean Alps, stretching south and west, either form a barrier against the most genial airs of heaven, or if a stray zephyr find his way from Italy, his poor little wings are frozen to his back among the mountain snows, and he drops shivering among us, wrapt in a misty cloud. I never saw such fogs: they are as dense and as white as a fleece, and look, and feel too, like rarefied snow;-but as no one else complains, I think it must be indisposition which makes me so peevish and so chilly. Sitting at the window being my best amusement, I do not like to find the only objects which are to give me a foretaste of the splendour of Munich quite veiled from sight, and shrouded in mist, even for a few morning hours. I am lodged in the Max-Joseph's-Platz, opposite to the theatre: a situation at once airy, quiet, and cheerful.

The theatre is in itself a beautiful object; the portico, of the Corinthian order, is supported by eight pillars; the ascent is by a noble flight of steps, with four gigantic bronze candelabras at the corners; and nothing, at least to my unlearned eyes, could be more elegant-more purely classical and Greek, than the

whole, were it not for the hideous roof upon the roof,-one Some pediment, as it were, riding on the back of the other. internal arrangement of the theatre may render this deformity necessary, but it is a deformity, and one that annoys me whenever I look at it.

On the right I have the new palace, which forms one side of the square: a long range of plain, almost rustic, architecture; altogether a striking, but rather a pleasing, contrast to the luxuriant grace of the theatre. Just now, when I looked out, what a beautiful scene! The full moon, rising over the theatre, lights up half the white columns, and half are lost in shade. The performances are just over (half-past nine !); crowds of people, emerging from the portico into the brilliant moonshine (many of them military, in glittering accoutrements), descend the steps, and spread themselves through the square, single, or in various groups; carriages are drawing up and drawing off,--and all this gay confusion is without the least noise or tumult. Except the occasional low roll of the carriage-wheels over the well-gravelled road, I hear no sound, though within a few yards of the spot. It looks like some lovely optical or scenic illusion; a moving picture, magnified.

Oct. 4th. To my great consternation-summoned in form before the police, and condemned to pay a fine of ten florins for having omitted to fill up specifically a certain paper which had been placed in my hands on my arrival. In the first place, I did not understand it; secondly, I never thought about it; and thirdly, I had been too ill to attend to it. I made a show of resistance, but it was all in vain, of course ;-my permission to reside here is limited to six weeks, but may be renewed.

Last night I was induced, but only upon great persuasion, to venture over to the theatre. I had been tantalized so long by looking at the exterior! Then it was a pleasant evening broad daylight; and the whole theatre being heated by stoves to an even regulated warmth according to the season, I was assured that once within the doors there would be no danger of fresh indisposition from draughts or cold.

CE

Entering the box, my first glance was of course at the stage. The drop-scene, or curtain, a well painted copy of Guido's Aurora, pleased me infinitely more than the beautiful dropcurtain at Manheim: that was very elegant, but this is more than elegant. It harmonized with the place, and in my own mind it touched certain chords of association which had long been silent, It was as if the orchestre had suddenly welcomed me with some delicious, often heard, and well-remem