be in the situations and circumstance of their different inmates! Some prosperous, some unfortunate; the same roof covering alike the happy and the miserable!

This evening I looked out as a few were at their windows, while I stood at mine. At the right were two Frenchmen, d'un certain âge, in little scarlet scull-caps, leaning on their crossed arms, and discussing something with all their country's gesticulation. Music must have been the subject, for every now and then one would interrupt himself and sing slowly and gravely a fragment of an air or song, holding his companion by the button all the time, to fix his attention, and gazing up earnestly into his face. The dumb-show part of this little pantomime had a most ludicrous effect.

At a window on the story below, a pretty, pensive-looking girl was standing. Presently another came, and putting her arm round the waist of the first, they began to talk. I could not hear whether it was German or English, but it sounded very confidential; and I could not help fancying those low, sweet voices were murmuring something at that still hour, and in the growing dusk, they might not have com

VOL. I.

P

municated so unreservedly at another time or place.

Opposite, in one of the very top rooms, was a girl knitting. She was a meek, quiet-looking creature, and went patiently plodding on, never raising her eyes from her monotonous occupation. I remarked her there this morning, when I was dressing-she doubtless had never stirred since!

Just under her was a room occupied by two young men, as mercurial as she was sedentary. One would come to the window and throw himself on a couch with a book in his hand; and then the other, creeping slowly behind, would either suddenly dash away the book, or else throw a handkerchief over the reader's face. The latter starting up to avenge the insult, a general scramble and chase round the room ensued, and again they appeared breathless, and laughing, and flushed, at the window.

Sometimes they amused themselves pelting the ostlers below with crusts of bread, while they kept out of view, wrapped up in the curtain. When the missile rattled down upon the man's hat, he looked up to find out whence it had descended, and then straightway another crust

alit into his open mouth. This feat was successfully accomplished but once, and great was the glee it excited. There was no end of their fun and tricks.

An hour ago, all these windows were lit up, and dim shadowy figures were flitting about behind the blinds. Now all is dark except one solitary chamber to the left, where a mysterious light is still burning. Perhaps it stands beside some weary bed of pain, trimmed by an anxious, watchful friend or sister. Now it stirs. She may be moving it, to try and shade the eyes of the poor invalid from the glare. Or, perhaps, that candle is shedding its midnight beams on some studious youth, or idle scribbler like myself, speculating and dreaming away on paper instead of doing so in

bed.

That there is suffering of some sort or other in the next room to mine, is very certain. The heavy, hopeless sighs that have reached me through the thin partition since I commenced writing, are grievous to listen to. What can be the matter with my poor neighbour? He is evidently some one broken in spirit.-From what cause? Is he suffering from his own

fault, or from misfortune? A ruined gambler— or a bereaved mourner? No matter he is unhappy, and that is enough to awake sympathy for his sufferings. Last night it was the same way,--I heard him sighing his heart out all the time I was undressing. What a contrast to the person who has just passed along the corridor with a light, bounding, half galoppe step, singing a lively air as if his spirits were almost too buoyant to be kept in check.

But apropos to checking, it is high time I should arrest my garrulous pen, the only thing stirring now, I dare say, in the hotel de Russie. Even my poor broken-hearted neighbour is asleep; the measured breathing on the other side of the partition having for some minutes announced that his sorrows, whatever they may be, are at last suspended, by Nature's kind restorer.

O that he may have poured them out before Him who can bind up the wounded spirit, as well as feel for its griefs-ere he committed himself to rest.

CHAPTER XVI.

Frankfort to Fulda-German roads-Thuringian forest

-Eisenach-Luther.

August 17th. This morning we left Frankfort. As we drove through the town at six o'clock, I could not avoid contrasting its sleepy appearance, many of the shops with their eyes still fast closed up,-with that of Schwalbach at the same hour. That little, healthy, active place, seemed to be always running races with the sun in the morning, trying which should be first up, and I believe the village generally won the point. At Frankfort, persons and things looked only half awake at the advanced hour of six. The puffs of smoke rose drowsily and languidly from the never-failing tobacco-pipes-few and far between they were emitted, and slowly they