it that an imperceptible fluffiness, and albine
tendency of hat, a shinyness of cap-peaks, an
eccentricity of boot-tips, a braidiness of coats,
a prevalence of embroidered travelling-
pouches, a greenness of veils, a twinkling of
spectacles, a blondness of beards, a gaudiness
of umbrellas, and a gutturalness of accent,
together with the bold and sudden repudiation
of the doctrine that tobacco-smoking on
railways is prohibited, and must only be
furtively indulged in (the major part of the
smoke finding its way up the coat-sleeve)
with the reluctantly extorted consent of the
young ladies who have nerves, and the
pettish old gentlemen, and, above all, a
wavering, mysterious, but potent smell, a
drowsy compound of the odours of pomatum,
sauerkraut, gas-meters, and stale tobacco-
smoke, told me that I had crossed another
frontier, and that I was in Germany?

The train being once more in motion in its
way (south this time) towards Cologne, I
perused my passport by the light of the
carriage lamp, and saw where its virgin blueness
had been sullied by the first patch of
printing ink, scrawled writing and sand forming
a visa. The Black Eagle of Prussia had
been good enough to flap his wings for the
first time on George William Frederick's
talisman. He was good for a flight to Köln or
Cologne; but he was dated from Aachen, which
Aachen I have just left, and which,—bless
me! where were my eyes and memory, must
have been Aix-la-Chapelle?

I consider it to be an exceedingly lucky
circumstance for the reader of this paper that
I, the Digressor, did not arrive at the City of
Cologne on the Rhine till half-past eleven
o'clock at night; that it was pitch dark, and
raining heavily; that entering a cab I caused
myself to be driven "right away" over the
bridge of boats to the Hotel Doopeepel, in
the suburbs of Deutz; that, being dog-tired, I
went immediately to bed, and that I left
Cologne for Berlin by the first train at six
a.m. the next morning. I consider this lucky
for the reader, because if I had had any time
to wander about the streets of Cologne, I
should infallibly have launched into dissertations
on the cathedral, the market-women,
the aforesaid bridge of boats, the horrifying
smells, the quaint houses, Jean Marie Farina,
and—who knows!—the three kings and the
eleven thousand virgins.

Under existing circumstances, all I at
present have to say of the place is, that
the landlord of the Grand Hotel Doopeepel
at Deutz, deserves a civic crown, or a
large gold medal, or a sword of honour—
at all events he ought to have his deserts;
and I should like to have the task of giving
him what he deserves, for the skill and
ingenuity displayed in making my bill for a
night's lodging, and some trifling refreshment,
amount to five Prussian dollars or
fifteen shillings sterling. The best or the
worst of it was, that I could not dispute any
of the items. I had certainly had them all.
Bed, wax-lights, attendance, coffee, thimble-
full of brandy, cigar, loaf of bread like a
hardened muffin, couple of boiled eggs; but
Oh, in such infinitesimal quantities! As for
the eggs, they might have been laid by a
humming-bird. The demand of the bill was
prodigious, the supply marvellously small,
but I paid it admiringly, as one would
pay to see a child with two heads, or a
bearded lady.

There is a difference of opinion among
travelling sages, as to whether a man ought
under any circumstances to travel first-class
by rail in Germany. The first-class carriages
are luxurious—nay, even splendid vehicles,
softly padded, lined with crimson velvet, and
extensively decorated with silken fringes and
curtains. On the other hand, the second-class
carriages are also lined and padded, and are
at least seventy-five per cent. more comfortable
than our best English first-class
carriages. Moreover, in the second-class, there are
but two compartments to a seat for four
persons, so that, if the carriage be not full, you
may recline at full length on the cushions,
which, in night-travelling, is very comfortable,
and rejoices you much; but then the reverse
to that medal is, that German second-class
carriages are nearly invariably full to the window
sill. The Germans themselves repudiate
the first-class stoutly, and it has passed into a
Viator's proverb, that none but "princes,
Englishmen, and fools, travel by the first-class."
I have no particular affection for Englishmen
abroad, but I like the company of princes
and you may often have worse travelling
companions than fools; so I travel, when I
can afford it, first-class. There are other
temptations thereto. The carriage is seldom
more than half-full, if that, and you may
change your place when you list, which, in a
dragging journey of three hundred and fifty
miles or so, is a privilege of no small
moment; and you have plenty of side-room for
your rugs, and your books, and your carpet-
bags. Then, again, there are but six passengers
to a carriage instead of eight; and again,
besides the possible proximity of his effulgency
the reigning Grand Duke of Gumpetpelskirchen-
Herrenbonen, the Englishman and
the fool, you may have as a travelling
companion a lady, young, pretty, tastefully
dressed, and adorably affable, as the triumphant
majority of German ladies (bless them!)
are; and this lady will smile at your
mistakes in German, but without wounding
your amour propre, and will teach you more
of that hard-mouthed language—vivâ voce—
in ten minutes than you would learn in a
month from a grammar and vocabulary, or
from university-professor Doctor Schinkelstrumpf's
two-dollar lessons. And this lady
(whom you long immediately to call "du,"
and fall on your knees in the carriage before)
will ask you questions about the barbarous
country you inhabit, and explain to you the