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nature equal in lustre and in the depth and richness of their colouring to the jewels and precious stones of the earth.
But not to jewels alone might the glories produced by such a sunset as this be compared. The clouds shifted so continually, that there was no end to the fanciful effects they produced in combination with the deepening colours and the glittering rays of the last beams of the sun. Sometimes the vapour was so light, that it served only to produce that optic illusion of magnifying objects without wholly obscuring them when seen through such a medium, the rocks of the Black Forest every here and there reared a phantom-like form, so that I could well conceive whence arose those wild legends and the blood-curdling horrors of the demon huntsman, and his train of spirits and evil things.
Whilst looking at the mountains, the plain became every moment more and more deep and rich in its tone; and we saw rising before us a beautiful and richly worked Gothic spire
was that of the cathedral of Friburg. In a short time we passed up the principal street of that ancient and most interesting town. We drove to the Zähringer Hof; there we determined to pass the night. But Friburg demands a letter to itself; and so I must here conclude for the present, with the assurance I am ever your most affectionate sister,
A. E. BRAY.
TO A. J. KEMPE, ESQ. F. S. A.
Friburg. Arrival at the Zähringer Hof. - A Surprise. The Poet of Friburg. Sketch of his Character and Accomplishments. - Extracts from his Poem of "The Storm." —The Host and Household of the Zähringer Hof.- Queen Victoria and her Majesty's German Admirers.
My dear Brother,
SCARCELY had we got housed at the Zähringer Hof-scarcely seated at table, where my nephew was engaged in a new attempt at making tea, explaining to the garçon the absolute necessity that the water should be made to boil for that purpose, and by what signs and indications water might be known to have attained the boiling degree in a teakettle, when we were very suddenly visited, and very nearly overwhelmed with the appearance and eloquence of an individual, who was of a character so new and strange to us, that I will venture to say, in eccentricity and
originality, it would be impossible to meet with his parallel throughout all the inns of Germany, or possibly of the whole Continent to boot. I fear I shall give you a very faint idea of such a curiosity.
The personage I am about to introduce to you, is no other than a German waiter or commissionnaire of the hotel at which we put up. He was a little man, about thirty years old, well dressed, had shrewd features, a dark complexion, a small sharp voice, and a halt in his gait. The latter was no disparagement to him; and as we soon found he was a votary of Apollo, he might, possibly, be indebted for the lameness of his leg to that of his verses. He might, on some occasion or other, have so provoked the wrath of his patron, as to have met with no better fate than did Vulcan, in his dealings with Jupiter; who, if my memory serves me truly in respect to heathen mythology, owed his lameness to a kick which he received from the father of the gods, that sent him tumbling headlong from Heaven.
Be this as it may, to drop all figure of speech,
judge of our astonishment, I had almost said dismay, when the little man with the dark face and small voice addressed us with a volubility of tongue that I could compare to nothing but the flow of steam as I had seen it pour itself forth, with such uncontrollable fury, from the engine on board the boat to Ostend,—making his introduction of himself known to us in the English, which, strange as that English might be, was nevertheless delivered with an inconceivable fluency.
He announced himself as German by birth, but the most ardent admirer of the English and their tongue, to the acquirement of which he had devoted some years of his life; having at length become, by his own choice and free will, the guide to all the English who might chance to visit Friburg. To sum up all, as the very climax of his nature, he was a man of sentiment, of poetry, a lover of the liberal arts; in short, he had, like Fabricius in "Gil Blas," become an author, having thrown his whole soul into matters of the bel-esprit ; and could compose both in prose and verse in the English language with