stay, we should be deprived of the enjoyment of the splendid picture-gallery, as during the winter it is closed. All things considered, I am very glad we are going to Paris.

At the table-d'hôte to-day there was a beautiful girl, a good likeness of Malibran. There was an air of originality in her dress and manner, which rivetted my gaze during the whole dinner. She was at too great a distance for the sound of her voice to be heard; but there was a look of quiet intelligence in her eye, and of persuasive power in her lip, which made me feel sure that her thoughts and words did not fall short of the promise of wit which was stamped on her smooth high brow. The dark auburn hair, divided into four plaits, descended low on her delicate cheeks, and then falling on her slender throat, the ends were looped behind her ear; a bow of crimson velvet was placed at the back of her head. Her dress was black; and, unlike that of the German girls, it was made low and with short sleeves; but a large transparent veil of the same sombre hue was thrown over her shoulders, the folds of which were gathered up,

arms.

and rested gracefully on her round and snowy No ornament of any kind interfered with the lovely simplicity of her appearance: the idea that probably I shall never see that radiant creature again, makes me quite melancholy.

The waiter has just come in to take away the coffee, and we have asked him the beautiful girl's name. The poor man, who does not look as if he had much taste for beauty, shrugged his shoulders, and said he had "keine zeit für schöne Mädchen." But I must not forget the mother, who was a most interesting-looking person, and from her air of past beauty, put me in mind, during the two hours I was there, of three people in London who have the reputation of having been the greatest beauties of their day.

The resemblance was neither in form or feature; it was merely occasioned by that air of graceful contentment, which a face that has been universally admired always acquires.

This is far removed from conceit. I do not know exactly what to call it. Perhaps "The repose of Beauty," expresses something of what I mean.

The look and sensation must spring from the satisfaction of feeling they are so near perfection.

The difficulty we sometimes find to express our ideas when anything affects or excites us deeply, arises from this-that we seldom think in words; or perhaps the impression affects our feelings more than our minds. My idea is, that the more deeply we are affected, the less able we are to express our feelings.

There is much truth in what Göethe says, though perhaps he goes too far, as most people do who are not fully impressed with the truth, and actuated by the spirit of religion.

"Gefüll ist Alles;

Name ist Schall und Rauch,

Umnebelnd Himmelsgluth."

In the passage which precedes this, and some others, a feeling of religion breaks forth; but like Byron's, it is so vapoury, indistinct and uncertain, as to be scarcely of any use either to the author or his readers.

CHAPTER V.

Pictures at Dresden-Raphael versus Correggio.

Monday. The Picture Gallery.—THE idea of heaven, of a place where our sole employment will be to praise, our only sentiment love, can afford no delight when our thoughts are far from God. Yet all, even the very worst of us, wish to dwell with that God, to arrive at that place, towards which we so seldom direct our thoughts. This can only be from want of belief, of faith; for if we expected to pass the last years of our earthly life in some particular place, how anxious we should be to know all the particulars of it, and if possible to become acquainted with, and ingratiate ourselves with

those people who were destined to form our only society.

Yet we all know how uncertain are the years, even the days, of our sojourn here. We are convinced of the possibility, if not probability, of our never living to see another spring, but this conviction would never withhold us from arranging and ordering all our concerns in the manner most conducive to our comfort and happiness when that spring shall arrive. We can act, and toil, and labour, for an uncertainty in this world; but how sad and humiliating is the thought that we can neither firmly believe or resolutely act upon an expectation of what an instant's reflection would prove to be a certainty; for that we must all die, is a truth which no mortal can deny.

Most of us profess to believe in a God: let us then think of him; let us try not only to please him, but to cultivate a taste for the society of that being with whom we hope and expect to dwell. How strange!-I was going to record my impressions of the Picture Gallery, when the above thoughts came so suddenly and forcibly