(Second Pilgrimage.) (continued 5)

14. Socialism.—Smoking is not so sociable an affair in Faderland as in some other countries. In this respect, indulgence in tobacco presents a great contrast to that in tea. If you visit a cigar divan in London, or an estaminet in Paris, you will find “the flow of soul,” if not the “feast of reason,” in conjunction with the fumes of the “cursed weed.” Not so beyond the Rhine. The German shrinks within the cloudy atmosphere of his pipe, like a snail within its shell, and there remains imperturbable, immoveable, and insensible to the external world. Meanwhile the soul retires to some remote nook or corner of the brain—probably the pineal gland—and there taking its metaphysical siesta, dreams of all imaginable and unimaginable things! This appears to be the real explanation of the idealism, mysticism, and transcendentalism of the German character.

15. Time.—By half the world or more—by all who have much to do, whether by the head, the hands, or the feet—time is regarded next to health, as the most valuable article: by the other half—or a large portion of it—time is looked upon as little better than a drug, and readily bartered away for the merest trifles!—Nay, it is often voted to be a great bore, and a thousand ways and means are invented to kill the bore. In Germany time is not over-rated, on the one hand, nor despised or hated, on the other. All Germans have something to do (for who is without his pipe), and few have very much work on hand. The German, therefore, takes everything leisurely and coolly—never permitting himself to be hurried or flurried—even by the sound of the dinner-bell, or the march to the table-d’hôte. It is seldom of any use to bribe the waiter or the postillion to increased velocity. The cook and the horses not being participators of the douceur, are not at all inclined to assist in the completion of the implied contract between the other parties. The German never attempts to “kill time,” well knowing that in such a conflict the enemy must be ultimately victorious. But he daily and hourly offers him a narcotic, by which his scythe may be blunted, and his ravages obscured.

Of all the mythological divinities, Time is most familiar to us, through the medium of his works:—for he himself is invisible, inaudible, intangible. Time is cloathed, on one side, with flesh and blood:—the other is a naked skeleton. In his right hand he holds a wand, by which he calls into existence, every instant, countless myriads of beings throughout the animal and vegetable world—leading them forward to maturity and age. His skeleton hand is clenched on a crooked falchion, with which he smites, destroys, and annihilates everything which he had previously created—thus realizing the fabled monster that eternally devours its own progeny![94] It is a melancholy spectacle—but it could not have been otherwise! It is possible that the Almighty could have created a single pair immortal—but the power of multiplying could not have been conferred without the penalty of death!

Tyrannical, inexorable, and pitiless, as he is, yet Time is not without some redeeming qualities. 1mo. He is strictly impartial. He slackens not his pace at the command of the monarch—he hurries not his steps at the prayer of the slave. 2do. Time mitigates every moral ill that is unattended with culpability or remorse: and although he too often aggravates physical maladies, yet he invariably diminishes our sensibility to pain, and thus tends to reconcile us to our lot of suffering. 3tio. He is sure to remove from the sphere of their operations all tyrants, oppressors, and evil-doers; thus giving the world a chance of better successors. 4to. Time is a great enemy to personal beauty, of feature or form—apparently deeming such qualities to be dangerous accompaniments to length of years. On the other hand, he is more favourable to virtue, honour, morality, and religion, of which time alone never deprives the individual till the curtain falls.

On time past, hallowed in memory and mellowed by distance, we look back as on an old and valued friend, whom we did not sufficiently appreciate while living, but who is now lost to us for ever.

Time present we too often contemplate through the haze of prejudice, passion, or impatience; underrating his value, overlooking his flight, and neglecting the advantages which he offers, till, all at once, we find that time present has changed into time past, and vanished from our grasp!

Time to come—is that fairy-land of promise—of air-built castles—of hopes that are seldom to be realized, of fears that are generally exaggerated—of phantoms, good and evil, conjured up by imagination on the dim horizon of our mental vision, which dissolve as we approach, or fly as we follow!! Yet these phantoms of futurity form the solace and the misery of half the world!

16. Titles, Decorations, &c.—From the savage, with the ring in his nose—the serjeant, with the tassel on his shoulder—the prince, with the star on his breast—up to the monarch, with the diadem on his brow—all and every of the human race, are nearly insatiable in the pursuit of honours, titles, distinctions, or decorations. I do not presume to determine what nation or people most desire these pomps and vanities; but I think it will be allowed that the Germans are not behind their neighbours in the display of them. The French may dispute the palm on this point; but I doubt whether they will gain the victory. John Bull appears to be the least ostentatious of the European family, often pocketing his stars and garters, when travelling, by which he saves in money what he loses in eclat.

After all, this weakness of the German and Frenchman is very pardonable. Those who have fairly earned honours are under no obligation to conceal them; and those who have not done so, are not called upon to proclaim the secret—especially as so many of their friends and neighbours are always ready to kindly perform that office gratuitously.

17. Aerophobia.—From one end of Germany to the other, among all ages, ranks, and professions, an AEROPHOBIA, or dread of fresh air, universally prevails! If you take a seat in the diligence or eilwagen, your German neighbour in the corner closes the windows immediately, lest a breath of pure air should enter the vehicle. On arriving at the hotel, half poisoned by the disoxygenated atmosphere of the coach, and enter your chamber, you find all the windows securely fastened, and the air of the apartment a mass of heavy mephitic vapour, like that which issues from a long unopened tomb. If you descend to the spies-saal, where the air is still farther vitiated by the fumes of tobacco, and throw open a window, you are stared at by the ober-kellner, the under-kellner, and every “gast” in the “haus,” as a person deranged. I had long puzzled my brains to account for this aerophobic phenomenon, and, at last, traced its cause to the German stove—that black brewery of mephitism, which, bearing a mortal antipathy to the fresh air of Heaven, imbues every one who sits near it with the same prejudice. In fine, the German exhibits as great a horror of oxygen, as he does a mania for azote!

And what is the consequence of this?—Why, that the Germans are ten times more susceptible of colds, rheumatism, face-aches, and tooth-aches, than the English, who live in a far more variable, wet, and ungenial climate. This aerophobia is one of the causes too, of that sallow, unhealthy aspect which all Germans, who are not forced to be much in the open air, exhibit. It is no wonder that they swarm like locusts round their numberless spas, in the Summer, to wash away some of those peccant humours engendered by their diet, and fermented by their stoves.

18. Female Peasantry.—Among a barbarous people, we always find that the weaker sex have the harder work. It is not very flattering nor yet creditable to the pride of civilization, that in many parts of Europe, and even in Germany, the female peasant is little more than a beast of burthen, with worse food and more care than the ox or the horse. Wherever we see three persons employed in agricultural labour, two of them are sure to be women. They cut the corn, and thrash out the grain—dig the potatoes, and carry them home—whilst the large baskets on their backs are filled with everything that requires transportation from the fields to the house, or from the house to the fields. One of the most revolting instances of this female slavery which I have seen, was in Belgium, where, on the line of the railway, we observed women sitting with large panniers on their backs, into which the men were shovelling the earth, gravel, and stones, to be carried away by the females—many of them young women! Every time that the earth or gravel was thrown into the pannier, the shock caused a violent vibration of the whole female frame, from head to foot! The sight was really disgusting.

In travelling through many parts of Germany we are often surprised at the paucity of men, and cannot help wondering where they are, or what they are doing! Women are the universal drudges here!

19. Status quo.—Among all ranks and classes of Society in Germany, from the prince to the peasant, there is, or there appears to be, a complete amalgamation, approximation—in fine, an equalization in one thing—politeness. But the approximation goes no farther than the hat, the cap, and the bow. It would be almost as easy for a Pariar in India, or a Ladrone in China to break the boundaries of his cast, and rise through the ranks above him, as for a German of low grade to mount into the circles of the nobility. Each ascending series is all but hermetically sealed against the inferior one! What is impossible to be done, is not therefore attempted—perhaps it is scarcely desired. All this is reversed in England. Here we have but very little reciprocity of external and formal civility among the different ranks; but the barriers between them are to easily—or at least so frequently overleaped, that almost every individual has an ardent wish, and is engaged in a constant struggle to rise above the grade in which Nature or accident placed him at birth. It is evident that this contrasted state of things, quite independent of politics, must produce tranquillity, if not content, in the one country—commotion and even strife in the other. At the same time it generates industry, energy, and enterprize in England.

20. Locomotion.—It is passing strange that the mercurial brains of our French neighbours should never have infused any quicksilver into the heels of their horses! No. There they go at the old jog-trot of five miles an hour, over the “long rough road,” which seems as if it had been stretched out over hill and dale, by some invisible and gigantic apparatus, into a straight and narrow line, which is as tiresome to the eye of the traveller as it is to the limbs of the horses. In plodding Germany, however, we do not expect velocity in man or beast—or that the schnell-post should go at any other rate than the snail’s pace. In that country time and space seem to be confounded or amalgamated;—a league signifying an hour, and an hour a league, the word “stunde” (derived no doubt from “stand”) being applicable to either or both.

There are several reasons, indeed, for the tardiprogression of a German vehicle, independently of the breed and the build of those animals that draw it along. First. The German never does anything in a hurry. He has more time on his hands than any other man. His days are longer—his nights are longer (though his beds are shorter) than those of an Englishman. Why then should he hurry over the pleasant journey, or curtail the salutary range of travelling exercise?—Secondly. A German’s luggage is twice the size and weight of an Englishman’s, besides the huge crate in which it is stowed above or behind the carriage. Thirdly. There is an outlay of time, labour, and expense in frequently cleaning the harness of the horses—the body, the wheels, or the leather of a carriage. This outlay is prudently avoided by the German, who trusts to the winds and rains for disencumbering his harness and eilwagen of some layers of those weighty and numerous incrustations that have slowly formed on their surface. Fourthly. There are no Collinge’s patent axletrees in Germany, which will hold oil for a month; and although the post-master charges some kreutzers for “grease” at every station, small is the portion of that lubricating article which reaches the hot and creaking gudgeons of the ponderous locomotive!

But the primary and fundamental cause of tardiprogression in Germany may be traced to the roads themselves, which, though much improved in many places, are still villainously bad, and require the hardest and heaviest wood and iron to withstand the tremendous succussions which the vehicle is destined to experience at every step. Besides, as the German chaussée marches straight forward over hill and dale, without deigning to wind round the one, in order to evade the other, so the schnell-post must necessarily go at a snail’s pace to the end of the chapter—or, at all events, to the end of the journey.

21. The Burschen.—Perhaps no country, except Germany, could generate, or would tolerate a large class of the rising generation—students by profession, but demi-ruffians by habit—who are organized in clubs, and banded in clans, for no other purpose but the violation of all law, order, decency, and morality! The supreme felicity of the Burschen is to swill beer, smoke tobacco, and fight duels. If they submit one hour in the twenty-four to the rule of the professor, they rule him, and tyrannize over others during the remainder of the day. Most of the hours that can be spared from duelling, fencing, and dancing, are dedicated to what they term “renowning”—that is, of working all kinds of mischief—enacting all sorts of absurdities—attracting everybody’s attention—and earning every one’s contempt and detestation. The evening and much of the night are spent in the ale-house, where the summit of the Burschen’s ambition is, who can drink most beer, smoke most tobacco—and vociferate with the loudest voice—

While bellowing about liberty, justice, honour, and truth, the Burschen will tyrannize over others with the most despotic sway—break the sword of justice over the victim’s head—trample on the laws of honour—and violate the sacred truth!

“Full of lofty unintelligible notions of his own importance—misled by ludicrously erroneous ideas of honour—the true Bursche swaggers and renowns, choleric raw and overbearing. He measures his own honour by the number of scandals (duels) he has fought; but never wastes a thought on what they have been fought for. He does not fight to resent insolence; but he insults, or takes offence, that he may have a pretext for fighting. The lecture-rooms are but secondary to the fencing-school. That is his temple—the rapier is his god—and the “comment” (the Burschen laws) is the Gospel by which he swears.”[95]

Such is the Burschen, or collegiate youth of Germany. The fraternity itself is called the “Landsmannschaften”—a confederation of various clans for the double purpose of fighting among themselves, and defending the corps against the Philistines, as the rest of the world is called! Fortunately for society, this odious freemasonry which is forced on the student at first, is dropped with the cap, long hair, uncouth coat, and Jack-boots, the moment he bids adieu to Alma Mater—and he settles down among his brethren the Philistines, discharged from the Landsmannschaften, like an old soldier from the army, with nothing but honorable(?) scars to remind him of the days of “renowning” and “scandalizing,” in Gottingen, Jena, Leipzig, or Heidelburg. It is said, but I doubt the assertion, that this three years’ training in habits the most objectionable, seldom, if ever, exerts any influence on the citizen in after-life—and that he becomes as peaceable, civil, and obedient to the laws, as those who had never set foot within the walls of a university.

Be this as it may, it becomes a serious question whether initiation into the Eleusinian mysteries and eccentric, not to say barbarous, habits of the Burschen, be conducive to the welfare of British youth? The effects of English universities are not always thrown off with the cap and gown! Let parents ponder on the Landsmannschaften.

22. German Cookery.—I am not going into a disquisition on continental cookery in general, nor on German in particular. Man has been characterized as a “cooking animal,” and if refinement in this noble art and science be a proof of civilization, our Gallic and Saxon neighbours must stand unrivalled. The New Zealander, who roasts his hog, his dog, and his prisoner in the same oven, sinks very low on the gastronomic scale—not on account of his canine or cannibal predilections, but because he cannot so mystify and transform the original materials of his laboratory—the genera and species of his animal and vegetable stock—as to defy Orfila himself to ascertain whether they had been inhabitants of the air, the earth, or the “waters under the earth.” As I think I have made a small discovery that may prove of some importance in the cuisine of my native land, I shall here communicate it, pro bono publico.

In almost all the cities, towns, and even villages of Germany, we find on the bill of fare certain dishes that are great favourites with John Bull—namely, beef-steaks—mutton-chops—veal cutlets—pork-chops—lamb-chops, &c. To be sure the titles are not very easily pronounced; but the kind host is always ready to furnish you with rind-fleisch, schwein-fleisch, lamms-fleisch, kalbfleisch, or hammelfleisch, without doubt or delay. When these come on the table, they are so nicely browned, and crusted over with bread-crumbs, flower, butter and other mysterious compounds, that, except by the external figure, and the protuberant rib, no discrimination between the different dishes could possibly be made. Nor will the taste detect schweins-fleisch from any of the other fleshes. All agree, however, in the tenderness, flavour, and delicacy of the steaks, chops, and cutlets. Then, again, they remark, how well the fat is taken off, leaving nothing but the meat; while the bone comes out as easy and as clean as if it had been boiled and scraped in a separate vessel! These eulogies attracted my attention, and I began to examine the chops and steaks accurately. A very slight dissection demonstrated, beyond a doubt, that all was a composition. A few further intrusions into the cuisines explained the whole matter, without difficulty. The cold meat, of every description, is pounded in a mortar, with pepper, salt, and spices. When wanted, it is pressed into moulds (like butter) according to the shape required—an old rib or bone is thrust into one end of the chop—the whole is well covered with crumbs of bread, flour, or other habiliments—made smoking hot in the oven—and brought to table as most delicious mutton-chops, veal cutlets, pork-chops, beef-steaks—or—anything you please to demand.

Do I blame or criticise this ingenious manufacture? Far from it. The pounded and compounded chops and steaks are better than original ones—are easy of digestion—require little or no mastication—are savoury to the taste, and warm to the stomach—and, what is of some consequence, they are economical, and always ready for dressing at any hour of the day or night. The only part of the compound to which I object, is the bony-part. These bones remain in the kitchen, like heir-looms, serving from generation to generation, as far as I know, and if the cook takes the trouble to wash them daily, with the spoons’ and forks, my objection vanishes at once. The above discovery explained an enigma which often puzzled me when travelling on the Continent—namely, the impossibility of getting cold meat at a hotel—even a few hours after the most splendid table-d’hôte.

I can have no reason—or at all events no right, to question the taste of our continental neighbours in the preparation of their food. To German cookery, German spas, German baths, and German waggons, I owe the loss of fifteen pounds in weight, and that in a late tour of two months. But then the lost flesh was London fed—and I gained in strength far more in proportion than I lost in weight. This may prove a valuable hint to the race of aldermen, and many others besides.

23. Gallic and German Patriotism compared.—The temperature of a Frenchman’s patriotism seldom reaches the boiling, or even the fever point, unless he is, in act or imagination, the aggressor or agitator. It requires the fuel of pride, ambition, glory, revolution, or conquest, present or prospective, to keep up the steam of national enthusiasm among our Gallic neighbours. Not so beyond the Rhine. A German’s patriotism rises in proportion as “Faderland” is borne down by misfortunes, or trode upon by the foot of the haughty foreigner. The flame of devotion to country never burns with greater intensity in a German’s breast, than when it is apparently extinguished by the pressure of the victorious enemy. Both these propositions are proved by history. Every one knows the sacrifices which the people of France made in the late war, while Napoleon was trampling on the liberties of Europe. Yet, when the tide of his glory ebbed, and the energies of Germany and other countries carried forward the contest into the heart of France—the French nation sunk into apathy, stupor, or indifference. So, on a recent occasion, when the thunder of British cannon demolished the ramparts of a Syrian despot—a vice-regal slave-driver—and reverberated from the pyramids to Montmartre, the flame of patriotism glowed in every Frenchman’s breast, from the Mediterranean to the Moselle—and already the Marsellaise hymn depicted the Eagles, as pluming their wings and wafting their flight over the Alps and the Rhine—over the Tyber and the Thames! For, although the word “patriotism” means, in all other languages, the love of natal soil, yet in the French vocabulary, it signifies the love of revolution at home, or of conquest and spoliation beyond the limits of France.[96] The wanton and threatening insult, though only prospective and intentional, which she lately held out to Europe, called forth a “German Marsellaise,” tuned to true patriotic principles, and containing no menace—no allusion to former invasions of France, and capture of her capital. The whole burthen of the song, and conclusion of each verse, breathed only the firm resolution to resist aggression, and preserve their “Faderland” independent.

German patriotism, in the long run, will prove superior to Gallic ambition. The love of country is a nobler and safer passion than the love of conquest.[97]

The French tell us that the English are detested on the Continent—but to adduce any reason for this, would be quite unlike a Frenchman—whose assertion needs not the vulgar auxiliary of proof. The only plausible cause which he might urge for this anti-Britannic hatred, is the fact that the English assisted the continental nations to drive the French back over the Rhine, and up to the Boulevards—hence the detestation of Germany, Russia, Spain, &c. against England! This is quite the Gallic style of ratiocination.

24. Prisons.—There would seem to be two, if not more, kinds of liberty—political and personal; or national and individual. They do not always run parallel. When our Gallic neighbours placed the Cap of Liberty on the head of a Courtezan, and worshipped her as a Goddess, the prisons were overflowing, and most of the inmates lost their caps—in which their heads happened to be at the time! No one will contend that Germany is overburthened with political liberty—but I believe that the proportion of out-door to in-door prisoners there, is as great as in this country. To say the truth there are not many temptations to take up free quarters within the walls of a German prison—for although Howard, that great practical reformer of “proved,” that is to say, approved abuses, was there; yet the hard labour, low fare, bastinado for men, and whip for women, afford little encouragement to transgression of the laws. To the honour of Austria be it said, that the functionaries are strictly enjoined to apply the whip and bastinado, with all due regard to the moral feelings of the prisoners, and with the most scrupulous attention to the forms and ceremonies prescribed for those occasions!

In respect to food, the following is the Austrian dietary. “The prisoner has one pound and a half of bread per diem—a farinaceous dish with milk thrice a week—and on Sundays a soup, with a quarter of a pound of meat, and the farinaceous dish again.” Hawkins. This, it must be confessed, is meagre fare; but half of what the prisoner can earn, beyond his daily task, is given to him for the purchase of additional comforts.

Instruction, both religious and lay, is provided by the state—consisting of reading and sometimes of arithmetic—but not writing, as that might lead to correspondence not entirely composed of love-letters or letters of love! It is clear, indeed, that the Emperor of Austria (though himself a Papist) has no great faith in the dogma of a Pope—

At all events, Prince Metternich has not recommended his master to follow the example of Heaven in teaching his subjects to write letters; nor is it likely that the veteran and wily minister will introduce a penny postage, to enable the subjects of the whip and bastinado to—

Nevertheless there are many good points about German prison-discipline. The classification of the prisoners—the separation of the juvenile from the hardened offenders—the law of rendering labour the only means of procuring anything like comfortable diet—the regularity of religious instruction and duties—the laudable exertion of Government to reinstate the liberated and punished prisoner in the social position previously occupied—not forgetting the humane injunction never to hurt the feelings of the flogged—are all worthy of praise and imitation.

25. Beds and Bed-rooms.—A German sleeping-room presents a real paradox—beds that are at once plural and singular—plural in number, but singular in office. One would suppose that all the men in that country were monks, and all the women nuns. You look in vain for the large and comfortable bed, on which John Bull and his spouse are accustomed to repose when at home. Nothing of the kind will you see here! From the moment that a married couple set foot on the Continent, the wife is divorced, if not “a mensa” at least “a thoro.” I have said that the German beds are singular. They are so in every sense of the word! In other countries, they are designed to promote rest and sleep. In this they act like strong coffee or green tea taken at ten o’clock. In a German bed, the two extremities of the victim are “perched up aloft,” while the body is “under hatches.” The only personage who can attain anything like horizontality in these cribs, is the corporation gourmand after a good eight o’clock table-d’hôte. If he turn in, or rather turn over on his face, with his feet on the taffrail, and his stomach stowed in midships, he will be able to bring his head, his spine, and his heels into something approaching a right line. In this position he will have the great advantage of sleeping on his supper, and thus evading the pressure of the night-mare. When the woolsack is laid over the traveller’s body, the whole resembles the old moon in the lap of the new.

It is very fortunate for John and Jane Bull that before they sojourn long in Germany their travelling constitutions will have begun, like new clothes, to suit them—and, which is of greater consequence, they will have got rid of the most inconvenient article, by far, of their luggage—(and that is saying a good deal, when a lady’s baggage is in transit)—namely the—idea of comfort—an article which even the douanier never searches for, as being not only out of his beat, but out of his mother tongue!

Many circumstances had, long ago, impressed me with a high sense of the value of a travelling constitution, as a kind of Mackintosh against “skiey influences;” but none more so than an occasional glimpse at the mysteries of the laundry. If a traveller happens to forget some valuable article at his hotel, and hastens back to his chamber about mid-day, he will be rather surprized to find the bed-linen on the floor, nicely sprinkled with water, preparatory to a squeeze under a high-pressure engine, which renders it of a glossy smoothness, and diffuses the watery element so equally, that it feels delightfully cool to the next—and even to the tenth tenant of the caravansera! I fear that this is often the case nearer home, and where there is no “travelling constitution” to resist the vapour-bath of exhalent sheets in our foggy and cold atmosphere! The contracts between masters and chamber-maids for the supply of damp linen to hotels, are too often contracts for the supply of coughs, consumptions, and rheumatisms to travellers—greatly to the advantage of doctors, druggists, and undertakers afterwards!

Tourists who can afford space for leather sheets among their luggage, should take these useful articles with them, as there are more maladies than colds and rheumatisms contracted in caravanseras, and for which there is no provision made in the contract between host and passenger.

It must be acknowledged, however, that, of late years considerable improvements have taken place in the bedding line. In several parts of Germany, in the Autumn of 1840, we found very comfortable mattresses, blankets, coverlets, and sheets, to our no small joy and surprize.

26. German Stove versus English Chimney.—That a room heated by invisible caloric—with an atmosphere stagnant as the dead sea, humid as a Scotch mist, and odoriferous as a slaughter-house—should prove more congenial to the lungs of persons in the first or last stage of consumption, than an apartment with a blazing fire at one end, a large column of hot air rushing up the chimney, and a thousand tiny streams of cold air stealing in through the chinks and crevices of doors and windows, I do not, for a moment, deny. But, that the general balance of salubrity is on the side of the German stove, and against the English fire-place, I very much doubt. I admit that the air of an English room, heated by fire, is frequently changing the degree of its temperature, not only as a whole, but in different parts of the same chamber. This is the alpha and omega of Continental objections to the English plan—and it would not be difficult to show that this variability of heat, so much complained of, is a powerful preservative against atmospheric disorders in general. Nothing is more certain than that the most effectual way of counteracting the effects of sudden changes in the temperature of the air around us, is to habituate ourselves to these vicissitudes. It is in this way, that daily sponging of the face, throat, and other exposed parts of the body, first with hot, and then immediately with cold water, generally prevents face-aches, ear-aches, tooth-aches, and catarrhs, by habituating those parts to changes of temperature. And it is on this principle, that a person who has been for some time in an English room, where variations prevail, goes out into the open air afterwards, with far less risk than he who has been for an equal time in an actual sudatorium, at a high and unvarying range of temperature. But let us look a little more closely into the affair. In the room heated by a German stove and consequently where there cannot be a free ventilation, every individual is breathing the identical air that has circulated through the lungs of every other individual in the same place—through the air-cells of the scrofulous, the scorbutic, the asthmatic, the consumptive, &c.—air that is not only deprived of its oxygen, but loaded with animal effluvia of a very questionable character! Add to these the malodorous essence of tobacco, much of which must drip down the throat, as well as into the receptacle below the bowl of the pipe, during the day, to be exhaled in poisonous gases through the rooms at night! All must have experienced the debilitating effects of disoxygenated air in crowded rooms, even where there were various facilities of ingress and egress for the breath of Heaven. But where these facilities are wanting, the depression of the vital energies is indescribable. In short, I am of opinion that nothing can compensate for the ventilation produced by the English chimney. Those who stand or sit near a partially opened door, or a broken pane of glass, may catch cold, or face-ache, or rheumatism, it is true; but if I am to die or to suffer from atmospheric influence, let me do so in pure, rather than in mephitic air!

I have grounded these reasonings on salubrity alone—leaving comfort out of the question—as indeed it must be round the German stove! Why, the very sight of a cheerful fire in a Winter evening, is worth a German stove with the table-d’hôte thrown into the bargain! In a good fire we have company, conversation, and even meditation. I do not wonder that the Persees adore fire, as an emanation from the sun itself. I much doubt whether the Egyptians would have worshipped a German stove, even when they were so over-godly as to deify cats and crocodiles! But, to give the devil his due, the German stove is not without some good qualities. It is cheap—it does not set fire to ladies’ dresses—nor cause chilblains by scorching the fingers and toes in frosty weather. But as a drawback upon these negative good qualities, it renders the Germans a race of hot-house plants, who shiver in the blast whenever they issue from their vapour-baths, and are infinitely more liable to take cold than if they had come from an English room.

The introduction into this country of the Anglo-Germanic stove—that unsightly and unsocial laboratory of sulphur and suffocation—will not, I think, succeed. It is bad enough in Germany, where the Dutch tiles with which it is covered, emit no bad smell, and have a comparatively light and cheerful appearance; but here the hybrid iron mass—that dark lantern, “cui lumen ademptum”—is positively a nuisance. It may be borne, and even prove useful, in large halls, where there are constant currents of cool air. In a sitting-room or other chamber, it is very offensive—at least to my senses, from its metallic and sulphurous emanations. I had rather pitch my tent in the crater of Vesuvius, the valley of Solfatera, or the hut of a charbonnier in the Maremma, than in the vicinity of that sable distillery of “Northumberland diamonds,” from which every ray of light has been previously extracted by the gasometer.

27. Verlobung, or betrothing.—The German system of affiance appears to me to be a long courtship, and “something more.” It is a kind of “little-go,” or ante-marriage contract, attended with form, ceremony, and sequences. The affianced pair send out their cards bound together in the silken bonds of Hymen, in perspective—are waited on and congratulated by their friends,—are always invited together to parties, where they sit next each other at table, engross each other’s conversation, and appear like—or rather unlike, man and wife. At page 24 of this volume, I ventured some observations on the danger and the miseries that often attend on affiances, or long-promised marriages. Notwithstanding the approval of Mrs. Jameson, I still hold my opinion. That lady indeed, is not blind to some of the consequences of the verlobung. One of them will be sufficient. “As the bridegroom is expected to devote every leisure moment to the society of his betrothed—as he attends her to all public places—as they are invariably seated next each other,—they have time to become tolerably tired of each others’ society before marriage, and have nothing left to say.” This is a charming prospect for matrimony! The soft looks, the fine speeches, the glowing sentiments, nay even the pretty riens, are all expended during the protracted affiance, and when, at last, the knot is tied indissolubly, the gallant gay lothario is, as Rosalind says—“gravelled for lack of matter.”

But Mrs. Jameson says that this long state of probation enables the parties to study well their respective characters, and detect failings and faults which a short courtship would be apt to over-look. Now the affiance is either binding or not binding. If the latter, of what use is it? If the former, it is small consolation to the bride or bridegroom to ascertain the causes of future misery before even Hymen lights his torch! But who is unaware that courtship is a kind of warfare, in which the belligerents take good care to mask their weak points and magnify their strong positions. The Germans themselves, indeed, have an adage that runs in little accordance with the tedious verlobung.

28. March of Population.—Nothing exhibits a greater contrast between England and the Continent than the progress of population. I believe it goes on at least three times as fast in the British Isles as in France and Germany. Many causes may be assigned for this disproportion. The immense outlet for redundant population in our colonies—the prodigious extent of our commerce and manufactures—the early period of marriage, especially in Ireland—these are among the chief causes of the rail-road speed at which the multiplication of mankind goes on in this country. On the Continent, it is just the reverse. The pace of population there is quite “a la schnell-post.” But lest this degree of velocity should endanger the state waggon, government (in many parts of Germany) has affixed a drag to the wheels, in the shape of a law prohibiting matrimony, unless the high contracting parties can produce proof of their possessing ways and means for supporting themselves and families. If this regulation obtained in Great Britain, it would stop one half of the marriages in Scotland, two-thirds of those in England, and nine-tenths of those in Ireland. Here is a hint for the Poor Law Commissioners, that may induce them to bring a Bill into Parliament for the prevention of imprudent marriages, which would be more effectual in checking pauperism than the terrors of the workhouse.

But, when we consider that colonization and commerce carry off an immense redundancy of British population, how are we to account for the permanent or domiciliated population of these islands increasing so much more rapidly than that of the Continent, where the safety-valves are of such narrow dimensions? There are some causes of these different rates of progression, which are little known in this country; but the chief cause must be the greater degree of prudence exercised by the people of France and Germany than by the people of Great Britain.

29. Poetry.—The transition from population to poetry is not so abrupt as might at first appear; for although we may have population without poetry, we shall rarely have poetry without population. Looking at the words of the German language, a stranger to that language would be apt to conclude that it must be as difficult to mould them into music or poetry, as to convert hob-nails into ivory teeth—the bristles of a boar into the ermine of a judge—or the rocks of Iona into columns of crystal. Yet nothing would be a more erroneous prejudice than this conclusion. The German, like the English language, is so rich in synonimes, as to afford every facility for the intonations of the musician, and variety of expression of the poet. The poverty of the French language in this respect, presents a remarkable contrast to the German and English. French poetry must have the jingle of rhyme to make it bearable by the ear. A French poem in blank verse, would be like a monkey striding along on huge stilts, exciting roars of laughter from the spectators. But this poverty in synonims, renders the French language more precise, and the individual words less equivocal than in any other. Hence its universal advantages in diplomatic communications, where the synonims of other tongues would give rise to perpetual ambiguity and quibble.

A curious, not to say ludicrous, attempt has lately been made by an American author to transplant the poetry of Goethe and Schiller into English by literal translation, the said author maintaining that poetry will be poetry still; and that the more close and servile the traduction, the better will the spirit of the original poetry be preserved! The following rather favourable specimen of this attempt to clothe German ideas in English words, is quite a “curiosity of literature,” and worth preserving.

“TO A NATURALIST.

Now if any Transatlantic Philistine can crack the shell of this German nut, and extract an eatable kernel, he must possess a manducator pretty considerably stronger than that with which Sampson cracked the skulls of the ancient Philistines in the Holy Land—the jaw-bone of an ass.