made our mouths water, and terminated in no very complimentary allusion to German cookery, and the fare that seemed to follow us every where in our present tour, such as metwurst (German sausage), saner-brod (sour bread), kalbfleisch (veal), and potatosalad rendered execrable by rancid oil.

At such times too, sentences, like the winding up of a peal of bells, became broken, and words dropt almost singly from us; or we were ready to welcome any trifling incident that was capable of kindling momentary emotion. Now and then, Chester, whose honest goodnature made him a favourite with us all, would come opportunely to our aid, and amuse us with the result of his passing thoughts and observations. We had a very friendly contest with him, upon one of these occasions, about some sticks which we had seen, here and there, stuck up in the fields with straw on the tops of them. He asked us if we could tell why they were put there; and when none of us could hit upon the right solution, he informed us that they were set up for the owls to light upon. He said he knew it to be so, not only on the authority of the Amptman at Ratzeburg, but from having himself seen the dropping of the owls around the sticks.

We always took care to keep close to our "nationality," never forgetting for a whole day together the land we came from. If by good fortune we fell in with a better supper and a more generous glass than

usual, the vocalists of the party were sure to be in requisition.*

"God save the King" and "Rule Britannia" were standing favourites; and if Blumenbach, the only German of our party, may not have been quite at home in the latter, he was sufficiently prepared by his knowledge of the English language, and fully entitled as an Hanoverian subject, to do homage to the King of Great Britain by joining heartily in the chorus of the former. But besides these approved national anthems, every familiar from song Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer," down to "Sally of our Alley," and sometimes the well-known medley of all together were taken into our service. We certainly carried the maxim " Desipere in loco" to its full extent upon more occasions than one. Coleridge, I need not say,

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*If Coleridge joined in these songs, said a friend to me, one should like to know what manner of performer he was.

His performance, like my own, was merely confined to the choral parts, in which he failed not to join with all his heart and voice. I believe he may have taken a part occasionally in what is commonly called a Dutch-concert, in which, as is well known, each performer sings his own song to his own tune, or to no tune at all, as must have happened on the occasions here alluded to; for the fact is, that, with the exception of the two Parry's, not one of our party had much knowledge of a tune, or the slightest pretensions to vocal powers.

It was, therefore, not without considerable astonishment, that in the first of his letters from Germany, published in the New Monthly Magazine, I found Coleridge had set us all down not only as "thorough Englishmen," which I hope we were, but as "singing very sweetly." "All of my companions sing very sweetly, and are thorough Englishmen." To some of us, and to our friends, this was news indeed!

was always a very noticeable personage among us, and having moreover no objection to be noticed, whoever the noticers might happen to be, he conceived the ludicrous idea of making a plenary sacrifice of common sense to the experiment of filling the natives, at fitting times and places, with the utmost possible astonishment. Accordingly, after conning over the respective merits of several nonsensical stories which he had in some corner of his brain-such as the tragical ballad of " Titty mouse brim," "where the youngest (sister) pushed the eldest in ;" the story of Dr. Daniel Dodds,* and his horse Knobs-who drank the wine-dregs at the Dapple Dog, in Doncaster, &c. &c. He concluded by giving the preference to a narrative connected with the traditions of his own native parish.

By mutual arrangement, therefore, and after some preparatory rehearsals, when sitting at the end of a table in the long and perhaps only room of a village hotel-a room appropriated to all purposes, and common to all travellers, and not without a proper halo of tobacco-smoke to increase the effect-huddled together apparently in earnest conversation, so that the eyes of the assembled rustics were fixed upon us, there ensued a momentary pause. Taking advantage of this, and assuming a phiz of more than usual

* Dr. Daniel Dodds, of Doncaster.

Dr. Daniel Dove! A discovery! The authorship of "The Doctor," is no longer a mystery.-Dr. H.

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To

importance, whilst we all were looking at him with
mute attention, Coleridge would begin to relate how
that "Once upon a time there lived an old maiden
lady of the name of Mary Row-Mrs. Mary Row.
The place of her residence was Ottery St. Mary,
which is situated in the county of Devon, about
twelve miles from Exeter and four from Tiverton.
get at it you must leave the great road from Bath to
Exeter at an inn near the late seat of Sir G. Y. Sir
George got into Parliament, ruined his fortune, and
sold his beautiful estate to an East Indian Nabob; in
short there are many anecdotes that might be related
of Sir G. Y. But to return to Mrs. Mary Row.
This Mrs. Mary Row had the reputation of being a
witch. She had always near her an old black cat.
This old black cat was thought to be her familiar—
and, on the death of Mrs. Mary Row, the opinion of
her having been a witch was confirmed in the following
extraordinary manner. The old black cat got on the
top of the house of its late old maiden mistress, and
audibly thrice exclaimed, as numbers were ready to
testify,

Moll Ro-o-ow-Moll Ro-o-ow
Moll Ro-o-ow is dead!"

Here we all joined in chorus-imitating the cat-call like a well-trained band of tom-cats-to the amazement of all present.

That we fully succeeded in making tom-fools of ourselves no one can doubt; yet I can never recall the scene to my recollection without a smile, for nothing could surpass the ludicrous effect of this farce upon the faces of our auditory; which was not a little increased by the serious contour into which our own instantly subsided, leaving ample room for conjecture as to the meaning of the singular performance enacted by us.

There is, in truth, something so perfectly absurd and ridiculous in the above relation, that, if it were not inscribed in letters of ink in my journal, I should almost have suspected that my memory, after the lapse of thirty years and more, was tricking me; but there are likewise, I am happy to say, at least three of my fellow performers alive at the present day, who can attest that I have only related what is perfectly true. Let, therefore, whoever will laugh at our expense, I deny the right of any one to say, "Credat Judæus."

I have now but a few words more to add, before I conclude my account of our little tour to the Harz, if indeed that can properly be said to be the "account of a tour" which is merely an imperfect record of a few interesting days passed in the morning of life (under circumstances, and in the midst of scenes, calculated to make a deep impression), with a few of my countrymen, for whom I have continued to