Cologne. They were two ladies that had attracted my attention when they got on board at Mayence. One was an elderly lady, and the other young and beautiful.

Sitting near them soon after we started, the elderly lady addressed some inquiry to me respecting the boat, which I answered in the fewest words possible, for I perceived they were French, and I was nervous about speaking to them in their own language.

As the day advanced I was struck with the familiarity exhibited by the passengers. A gentleman would address a lady beside him, a perfect stranger, with some remark about the scenery, which she answered with the utmost cheerfulness, and there was a general freedom from restraint, and a confidence in each other's polite behaviour, the reverse of which makes our steamboat travelling like an assemblage of pickpockets, unacquainted with each other, and suspicious of each other's designs.

Seeing, not long after, a copy of one of Dickens's works in the younger lady's hand, I presumed to address her in English, which, to my delight, she spoke almost like an English woman. There was an ease and grace in her manner, and her remarks were characterized by an intelligence and a knowledge of the world, that rendered her one of the most attractive persons I ever met. She was glad, she said, to converse in English, and I was glad to have her. I was a stranger and alone, and hence felt more deeply her kindness in thus conversing with me hour after hour. An American lady might think this vastly improper and forward, but I shall remember her with grateful feelings as long as I remember the Rhine.

She, with the elderly lady her companion, were to ascend the river in their carriage, which they took aboard at Cologne; so as to get all the beauties of the scenery.

XXIV.

RHINE WINES, COLOGNE CATHEDRAL, LOUVAIN, BRUSSELS.

I HAD designed to give a chapter on Rhine wines, and the vineyards of the Rhine, but will pass them over, referring only to Prince Metternich's celebrated vineyard, just above Geissenheim, between Mayence and Coblentz. The monks formerly possessed this extensive vineyard, covering fifty-five acres. The Prince of Orange owned it next, and held it till it fell into Bonaparte's hand, who gave it to Marshal Kellerman, in reward for his services. At the close of Napoleon's career, it reverted to the Emperor of Austria, who made a present of it to Metternich, the present owner. He has repaired it, and the Chateau of Johannesberg is now a very conspicuous object on the banks of the Rhine. The vineyard yields about forty butts of wine per annum, and it is called the best of the Rhenish wines.

Cologne, independent of its sights, is an object of interest, from he part it played in Roman history. A camp pitched here by Marcus Agrippa, was the first commencement of the city. Vitellius and Sylvanus were proclaimed emperors of Rome here, and here also Agrippina, the mother of Nero, was born. It retains, to this day, many of the peculiar customs of Italy, and is the only city in the north of Europe where the Carnival is celebrated. I will not speak of the paintings it contains, or of the architecture of the churches. The Cathedral, however, I will mention in passing. This magnificent building was begun six hundred years ago, and still remains not half completed. It is of Gothic architecture, and had it been completed, would have been one of the finest edifices in the world. It was to have two towers, each five hundred feet, but

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they remain unfinished, and probably will to the end of time. The two things that interested me most were, the "Shrine of the three Kings of Cologne," and the Choir. The former is in a small chapel just behind the main altar, and is said to contain the bones of the three Magi who came from the East to lay their offerings at the feet of the infant Saviour. The names of these three wise men, the chronicle states, were Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthaser; and, to prevent the possibility of a doubt, their names are written in rubies on their own skulls. This shrine, with its gold and silver and precious stones, is said to be worth over a million of dollars, although bereft of some of its choicest gems during the French Revolution.

The choir is the only part of the church completely finished, and shows by its magnificence and splendour the extravagant designs of the first builders. I have never seen any thing more grand in its general plan and construction, and yet so exquisitely beautiful in its details, than this choir. I cannot give a better description of it than in the language of an English traveller. "The choir is the only part finished; one hundred and eighty feet high, and internally, from its size, height, and disposition of pillars, arches, chapels, and beautifully coloured windows, resembling a splendid vision. Externally, its double range of stupendous flying buttresses, and intervening piers, bristling with a forest of purfiled pinnacles, strike the beholder with awe and astonishment." Long before reaching Cologne, the highest tower of the church is visible, with a huge crane swinging from its unfinished top, where it has hung for centuries. Some time since it was taken down by the city authorities, but a terrible thunder-storm which swept over the place soon after, was believed by the frightened inhabitants to be in consequence of their wickedness in removing this crane. It was saying to the world, "we never intend to finish this church;" a declaration which set the elements in sucn commotion, that soon after an awful black thunder-cloud began to show itself over the trembling city. The lightning crossed its fiery lances over head, and the redoubled thunder shook the very foundations on which the city stood. As soon, therefore, as it was over, and to prevent another similar, more awful visitation, the inhabitants began to hoist this enormous crane to its place on the top of the tower. I

could not but laugh, as I saw its black outline against the sky, at the folly that had replaced it there. It was the most deliberate humbug practised on a large scale I had ever seen. It was like the Irishman vowing a hundred candles to the Virgin Mary, if she would save him from shipwreck, when the vessel was breaking to pieces under him. Said his companion to him, "Why do you lie, for you know you can't get them?" "Never mind," he replied, "keep still, the Virgin don't know it." The Cologne people have acted like the Irishman in this respect-they have no idea of finishing the church, though a hundred thunder-storms should sweep over the city; but they seem to think that if the crane is up ready for hoisting stone, the Deity will not know it. If they only look grave, say nothing, and keep the crane swinging, they imagine the blessed Virgin will believe they design to commence building

soon.

Cologne is not so dirty as Coleridge makes it out to be, though it is a very disagreeable town to get around in. I will mention but one thing more in it-the Church of St. Ursula. It stands just without the walls, and is remarkable only for containing the bones and skulls of eleven thousand virgins, all slain in one great massacre. This is a large allowance even for a Roman Catholic tradition, which does not generally stick at improbabilities. It seems this St. Ursula, of blessed memory, in carrying her unusual quantity of virgins from Britain to Armorica, was driven by tempests up the Rhine to Cologne, where the Huns, in their barbarian fury, slew them all, because they would not yield to their lusts. To say nothing of this singularly large fleet of virgins, it is very curious they should be driven, by a week or more of tempests, through the Lowlands, up the Rhine to Cologne, without having once got aground or sent high and dry ashore. I will not, however, dispute the legend, especially as I saw several terraces of the bones themselves, or at least of veritable bones, ranged round the church between the walls. The skull of St. Ursula, with a few select ones, probably belonging to her body-guard, have a separate apartment, called the Golden Chamber, and are encased in silver. But, seriously, I cannot divine what first induced this grand collection of skeletons, and their peculiar arrangement for public exhibition. It looks as if some battle-field

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had been robbed of its slain in order to furnish this cabinet of hide ous relics.

I went by rail-road from Cologne to Aix la Chapelle (fortythree miles), and stopping there only long enough to get breakfast, found no time to see the town. The rail-road is not yet finished from it to Liege, and travellers are compelled to go by diligence. The distance is about twenty-six miles; and having an unconquerable dislike to diligence travelling, I determined to hire a carriage. An English gentleman, standing at the door as I was inquiring about the terms, &c., said he should like to take a carriage with me. I gladly accepted his proposal, and we started off in company. I mention this incident to illustrate an Englishman's ignorance of the United States. I had heard some of our most distinguished writers, male and female, speak of it in their encounters with the English in their own country, but had never met any marked case of it myself. But this man, who spent every summer on the Continent, knew no more of the American Republic than an idiot. Among other things exhibiting his ignorance; in reply to my statement that I was from New York, he said, "New York-let me see— -does that belong to the Canadas yet?" I told him I believed not; that it was my impression it had been separated from it for some time. "Ah!" said he, and that ended his inquiries on that point. It was equal to the remark of an English literary lady once to one of my own distinguished country women. In speaking of the favourable features of the United States, she remarked very naively, that she should think the climate would be very cool in summer, from the wind blowing over the Cordilleras mountains!

The view of Liege, from the heights, as we began to descend into the valley, was quite a novel one for the Continent. The long chimneys of the numerous manufactories reminded me of the activity and enterprise of my own land. I did not go over the town, but took the rail-road for Louvain, on my way to Brussels. I just gave one thought to Quintin Durward and the "Wild Boar of Ardennes," and we were away with the speed of the wind. I stopped at Louvain solely to visit the beautiful Gothic building of the Hotel de Ville. It is said to be the most beautiful Gothic edifice in the world. The whole exterior, in almost every foot of