"What's wanted! Any body dead?" I stayed not to answer, or parley, but hurried forward. My joints trembled, and cold drops stood on my forehead. I was ashamed of my own infirmity; and by vigorous efforts of my reason, regained some degree of composure.

The evening had now advanced, and it behoved me to procure accommodations at some of the inns. These were easily distinguished by their signs, but many were without inhabitants. At length, I lighted upon one, the hall of which was open, and the windows lifted. After knocking for some time, a young girl appeared, with many marks of distress. In answer to my question, she answered, that both her parents were sick, and that they could receive no one. I inquired in vain, for any other tavern, at which strangers might be accommodated. She knew of none such; and left me, on some one's calling to her from above, in the midst of my embarrassment. After a moment's pause, I returned, discomforted and perplexed, to the street.

I immediately directed my steps towards the habitation of Thetford. Carriages, bearing the dead, were frequently discovered. A few passengers likewise occurred, whose hasty and perturbed steps, denoted their participation in the common distress.

The house, of which I was in quest, quickly appeared. Light, from an upper window, indicated that it was still inhabited.

I paused a moment, to reflect in what manner it became me to proceed.

I knocked dubiously and lightly. No one came-I knocked again, and more loudly; I likewise drew the bell. I distinctly heard its distant peals. If any were within, my signal could not fail to be noticed. I paused, and listened, but neither voice nor steps could be heard. The light, though obscured by window curtains, which seemed to be drawn close, was still perceptible.

I ruminated on the causes, that might hinder my summons from being obeyed. I figured to myself nothing but the helplessness of disease, or the insensibility of death. These images only urged me to persist in endeavouring to obtain admission. Without weighing the consequences of my act, I involuntarily lifted the latch. The door yielded to my hand, and I put my foot within the passage.

Once more I paused. The passage was of considerable extent, and at the end of it I perceived a light, as from a lamp

or candle. This impelled me to go forward, till I reached the foot of a stair case; a candle stood upon the lowest step! This was a new proof that the house was not deserted. I struck my heel against the floor with some violence; but this, like my former signals, was unnoticed. Having proceeded thus far, it would have been absurd to retire with my purpose uneffected. Taking the candle in my hand, I opened a door that was near. It led me into a spacious parlour, furnished with profusion and splendour. I walked to and fro, gazing at the objects which presented themselves; and involved in perplexity. I knocked with my heel, louder than ever; but no less ineffectually. Notwithstanding the lights, which I had seen, it was possible that the house was uninhabited. This I was resolved to ascertain by proceeding to the chamber, which I had observed from without to be illuminated.

I mounted the stairs. As I approached the door, of which I was in search, a vapour infectious and deadly, assailed my senses. The effluvia became more sensible, as I approached the door of the chamber. The door was ajar; and the light within was perceived. My belief, that those within were dead, was presently confuted by a sound, which, I first supposed to be that of steps moving quickly and timorously across the floor. This ceased, and was succeeded by sounds of different, but inexplicable import.

Having entered the apartment, I saw a candle on the hearth. A table covered with vials, and other apparatus of a sick chamber. A bed stood on one side, the curtain of which was dropped at foot, so as to conceal any one within. I fixed my eyes upon this object. There were sufficient tokens that some one lay upon the bed. Breath drawn at long intervals; mutterings scarcely audible; and a tremulous motion in the bedstead, were fearful and intelligible indications. I advanced, and drew aside the curtains.

I beheld one, to whom, I could recollect none that bore resemblance. Though ghastly and livid, the traces of intelligence and beauty were undefaced. His extremities were already cold. A vapour, noisome and contagious, hovered The fluttering of his pulse had ceased-his existence was about to close amidst convulsions and pangs.

over him.

I withdrew my gaze from this object, and walked to a table. I was nearly unconscious of my movements. My thoughts were occupied with contemplations of the train of horrours and disasters, that pursue the race of man. My musings were quickly interrupted by the sight of a small cabinet,

worst.

the hinges of which were broken, and the lid half raised. In the present state of my thoughts, I was prone to suspect the Here were traces of pillage. Some casual or mercenary attendant, had not only contributed to hasten the death of the patient, but had rifled his property, and fled.

This suspicion would, perhaps, have yielded to mature reflections, if I had been suffered to reflect. A moment scarcely elapsed, when some appearance in the mirrour, which hung over the table, called my attention. It was a human figure, nothing could be briefer than the glance, that I fixed upon this apparition, yet there was room enough for the vague conception to suggest itself, that the dying man had started from his bed, and was approaching me. This belief was, at the same instant, confuted, by the survey of his form and garb. One eye, a scar upon his cheek, a tawny skin, a form grotesquely misproportioned, brawny as Hercules, and habited in livery, composed, as is it were, the parts of one view.

To perceive, to fear, and to confront this apparition were blended into one sentiment. I turned towards him with the swiftness of lightning, but my speed was useless to my safety. A blow upon my temple was succeeded by an utter oblivion of thought and of feeling. I sunk upon the floor, prostrate and senseless.

LESSON LXXI.

Sketches of the German Character and Customs.-U. S. LITERARY GAZETTE.

ONE of the most striking features in the German charac ter, is a quiet and equable disposition. This is also accompanied by a mechanical self-accommodation, to the various and conflicting circumstances of daily occurrence. Every man, woman, and child, seems to have fallen "just in the niche they were ordained to fill ;" and all the operations of society, proceed with an evenness, and noiselessness, which would be inconceivable to the bustlers of New York, or Boston.

In obedience to a law, as uniform and silent, as that which governs the motions of the planets, a fixed hour brings the German artizan, or trader, to his shop, the professor to his study, and the student, pipe in mouth, to the window-sill, to gaze upon vacancy. With the return of a Sabbath, or a fes

tival, a certain change takes place in the dress and place of resort. Political, commercial, and literary vicissitudes produce no sensible fluctuations on the surface of character; and, where these are powerless, we cannot expect that such ordinary events as marriages, and deaths, should very strongly affect the feelings.

Still, the parade of sensibility, as might be anticipated, supplies after some sort, the absence of the reality. It is not uncommon, to conclude a pathetick newspaper account of the decease of husband or father (which is here generally inserted as an advertisement, signed by the nearest surviving relatives) by a notice that business is continued as usual, and a request for further favours from customers.

A man died in Göttingen, a few weeks since, in the vigour of life. The day after the funeral, I saw the widow, with two or three of her female friends, in the garden where I live, hiding her anguish under a calm, and even very cheerful countenance. Indeed, they all seem fully to realize, that "all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players;" accordingly, they sing, when at church, and cry bitterly at a funeral, or at parting with a friend; because, these are the proper scenes for singing and weeping. But, the next hour, finds them in another act of the play, and they are buying, or selling, or smoking with their usual serenity.

Even the soldiers, a name synonymous in other countries, with ardour and impetuosity, are here the mere machines which modern warriours admire as the beau idéal of military discipline. Their firmness is renowned, but I have never heard them commended for quickness and alacrity. Madame de Staël has most justly ridiculed their pedantick system of tacticks, which makes them contentedly acquiesce in a defeat, if it is only effected according to rule.

I have heard a circumstance related, which may be mentioned in this connexion. A vessel, in its passage down the Elbe, ran afoul of one of the floating mills, that are numerous on that river. The shock was so violent, that the floating mill instantly parted from its moorings, and drifted rapidly towards the bank. It seemed impossible to prevent its striking, and that must have been attended by the total ruin of the machinery. Had the people on board, been Americans, or English, it can be imagined what confusion, and bellowing, and bustle would have followed. None of this, from these noiseless Germans. Not a word was spoken. Each

one knew the only means, that could save their boat. These were taken in silence, and the machinery was saved.

To this quiet disposition, the students at the universities, form the sole exception. These young men, roar and brawł in the streets, and over their jugs of beer; they seek quarrels, and fight them out; and never does the first sun of a new year arise (the season when the poor police-guard must run the gauntlet of academick persecution) without shining on broken windows, and other evidences of the uproar of the night. But, when they return to their own homes, they drop quietly into the various situations, for which they are fitted, and the din and riot of the university, is only remembered as a feverish dream.

I know not whether it be attributable to this easy disposition, or to the peculiarity of their climate, but this people is assuredly, the least cleanly I ever saw. This is particularly true of the lowest order, but is not inapplicable to the highest. Nextness principally regards our persons, our habitations, and our food. In the first, the Germans fall, even behind the Italians, in the second, behind the French, and, in all three, behind the English. Even, in the best houses in Dresden and Frankfort, the knife and fork are never wiped during dinner, however numerous the dishes, and you must put your fingers into the sugar-bowl; while, in France and Italy, there is here and there a place, where English travellers have introduced better customs.

The inns, in Europe, more than in this country, furnish a pretty just criterion of a neighbourhood; and, in the villages, and small towns, in Germany, such abodes of filth, and flies, and darkness! It were purgatory enough, for an epicure to be obliged to sojourn, only for a short time, among their "golden lions," and "red horses." In matter of food, he is safest who calls only for bread and beer; often, he could not get any thing else if he would. He is fortunate, if his sour brown bread have not a fair proportion of sand; and the beer, for ingredients, colour, and taste, is different from any liquor known in New England.

If the luckless traveller is constrained to lodge in a place without city walls and conveniences, he must fain content him with Hottentot accommodation. Fortunately, the cities are frequent, and in them there is less that is revolting. But even in Jena, Heidelberg, Worms, and elsewhere, we are glad to seize on historical and literary recollections, to escape from the less agreeable circumstances, that press on our imdiate observation.