his apartment. He gave me lessons in the sailor's business and some good advice, by which I have since profited. For he saw too plainly, alas! that I was soon again to be an orphan. Why linger on the details of that sad voyage? My pen fails-my journal is blotted with tears. It was the thirty-ninth day from Hamburg, and we were close to Jamaica; land was in sight. What events were to occur before I set foot upon that land! . | foaming waters. The main-mast was in flames! The rain fell in torrents--but it could not quench that fearful blaze, and now sparks of fire flew in every direction, and a crackling was heard, more appalling than the roar of the storm. "Cut the main-mast!" thundered the captain's voice; and the men hastened to the perilous task; the blows fell thick and fast till the mast rocked and groaned and fell with a tremendous crash, still burn The horrible illumination made the whole scene visible, and the mate, who had been looking out some time, suddenly called out-" Breakers ahead!" "Put the ship about!" roared the captain. The weather had been gloomy and threatening foring, into the black waters. some days, and toward night the heavy masses of clouds began to be in motion. Before midnight the wind had risen to a storm, which in an hour's time raged fearfully. The men were all ordered on duty, but it seemed that no human power could govern the tossed vessel driven about at the mercy of winds and waves, racked and groaning in all her timbers, and evidently in no condition to withstand long the fury of the elements. The storm increased; the lightning rent the heavens with lurid flashes; the thunder pealed frightfully; it was a tempest such as is known only in the tropics. At the first alarm my father had risen and come on deck; I followed him, and we stood clinging to the main-mast. My senses were confused; my brain stupified in the fearful din, and every crash I heard seemed our death knell. A man passed us, undistinguishable in the darkness; my father spoke to him. "Heaven help us! it seems that this night is to be our last!" "Who dares say such words on board the Artemisia?" cried the hoarse voice of the captain. "Have courage, Master Hermann! And, for Heaven's sake, speak no more in so dismal a tone-you would paralyze the spirits of my men." And he hurried on to give some orders, while the storm raged more wildly than ever. "If we are destined, dear Heinrich, to follow your mother to-night," said my father, "we will show firmness in our last hour-and courage worthy of those she loved. Come nearer, my son, and pray with me." "Let me join your prayers!" cried a voice close to us, with a mocking laugh, which we knew to be that of old Wilner. "Well, sir thief, will you give me place beside you?" My father was silent, but moved a little as the old man approached. The two mortal enemies stood side by side amid the roar of conflicting elements! "Thunder and death!" cried the boatswain to us, as a flash of lightning showed him the group, "are you standing there to sing your death hymn? To work! to work! we have need of every hand! Quick, to the pumps! There is half a foot of water in the hold!" "We obeyed him in all haste, and the pumps were plied vigorously, without, however, much relief or lessening of the danger. The water seemed to gain on us. Then suddenly a lightning flash illuminated the whole heavens, almost blinding us with its fierce glare, followed by a peal of thunder that seemed to shake the very firmament. There was a cry of dismay from the crew, and then a pillar of wild light shot upward and spread far out on the hissing and It was done, but with difficulty. We stood crowded on deck in fearful suspense; our sails swung, streaming with water, from the remaining masts. Again the mate's voice was heard-"Breakers ahead!" and it chilled the blood in our veins. "Put the ship about!" again thundered the captain; but in vain; she would not obey the helm! We were at the mercy of the elements. "Land ahead!" once more sounded that ill-boding voice; and we all discerned a dark frowning massblacker than the black night, and fearfully near. At its feet the breakers were dashing themselves with tremendous fury, and their white foam, seen by the fitful lightning, seemed a field of snow piled in irregular drifts. At the same moment the vessel struck, and remained wedged between two masses of rock. The next mountain wave broke in her bows; the water rushed into her cabin; her planking gave way; she would hold together but a few minutes longer. When the captain saw that nothing could save her, he ordered the boats to be got ready with all possible despatch and care, and went himself into the cabin, at the risk of his life, to secure some important papers. Returning, he awaited the last moment before he would quit the ship. My father drew me to him and whispered-" If I do not live to reach the shore search for my body; I have nearly all my property about me in gold and jewels." I clung to my father, and besought his blessing-the last-for we were interrupted by the cry-" To the boats!"-" To the boats!" The men crowded to secure places; none waited for another, and in the haste and confusion I was separated from my father. I saw also in that dreadful moment that Wilner was in the same boat with him. Hermann called for me; I answered with a despairing cry. "A thousand dollars," he cried aloud, "to him who brings my son safe to shore!" "I will do it, Hermann," answered the boatswain, and clasped me firmly in his arms. The boats were forced asunder-I heard my father's voice for the last time! Before we got far from the ship, a fearful uproar and crash announced that her end was come; we saw her hull go down. The men were silent as they plied the oars. Suddenly a giant billow swept over us, the boat was overturned, and we were precipitated into the deep. I felt myself still clasped by strong arms; I was conscious of a strangling sensation, and remember no more. When my senses returned I felt the warm sunshine on my face. I sprung up; what a scene was around | I dragged myself, and saw at last a fine-looking old me! I was in a grove of luxuriant trees such as are house. I was approaching it when I met a negro, peculiar to the tropics; the dusky tamarind, the fra- who accosted me kindly, and having picked up some grant orange tree, with many other varieties, offered words of German from the sailors he often saw, was refreshing shade on either hand. On the left rose a soon made acquainted with my calamity. He took mass of rock, tall, dark and threatening, that over- me into his hut, gave me food and drink, and offered looked the sea. Along the shore were many negroes, me his bed to sleep upon. I slept long, for I was securing fragments of the wreck. I wondered as I overpowered with fatigue. looked at them, whence they could have come; when I was recalled to complete recollection of what had passed by the voice of the boatswain, who had saved me from drowning. "So, you have come to yourself at last!" cried he, "now let us search for the other boat. It was driven to leeward; but we shall find it. But, tell me, how will your father have saved the dollars to pay me for bringing you ashore?" We toiled till noon, assisted by several of the blacks, in search of the boat, which at last we found driven under the sand by the violence of the waves. Not a living soul was near her; alas! they had all perished who were in her. I found first Wilner's body; my father lay near him; in neither was there a trace of life. Both were stripped of their clothing; so that the boatswain found himself cheated of his reward. He vented his rage in curses and departed, leaving me the care of the dead, alone with my wretchedness. I was poor and helpless, in a strange country-without an acquaintance beside the corpse of my only friend. I sunk on the ground; I wept aloud; I watered the burning sands with my tears. As the sun declined, I bethought myself of rendering | burial to the beloved corpse. I drew it upon the beach, so far that the sea could not reach it, and with some pieces of wood and sharp stones dug a grave; then I tore off part of my own garments and wrapped up the body of my father. I laid him, with many tears, in that humble grave, and sat down to rest before I covered him with earth. My eyes then fell on the corpse of Wilner, that lay still on the sand. Should I leave it there unburied a prey to carion birds? I looked in my father's face; and seemed to read in the pale features a command to obey the first impulse of my heart. I returned to the water's edge; I took the corpse of the man who had been my father's deadliest enemy, who had caused the misfortunes of my mother, and bore it to the spot hallowed by grief and affection. I laid it also in the grave. Those whom hate had separated in life, in death slumbered peacefully together! What a comment on human passions! Was not Fate stronger than Hate? I knelt down and prayed-prayed forgivingly-that the injured and the injurer might alike find rest in Heaven! Then I filled up the grave, and, overcome with fatigue, slept all night beside it. Early the next morning I awoke. Hunger and thirst tormented me. I dare not eat of the berries around me, lest they should be poisonous. I wished to preserve life, though deprived of all that could render life pleasant. Such is man! I took leave of my father's grave and walked further inland over fields of sugar-cane. Mile after mile In the afternoon I was awakened by my host, who informed me that he expected in the evening the customary visit from the overseer to the plantation, who would be angry to find me there. Thanking him for the hospitality he had extended to me, I prepared to depart. I learned that I was in Jamaica, and not far from the plantation of Mr. Baxter, which lay about fifty English miles from Kingston. To him my friendly host recommended me to go. Baxter-that was the name of my mother's cruel parent! And should I go to him? Never-though my very life depended on it-never! I would starve on the high road first. I had walked some distance and it was already sunset, when I saw coming toward me a man wearing a blue linen frock-coat and loose trowsers, with a straw hat, the ordinary planter's dress. His face was bronzed much, and the expression repulsive in the highest degree. "Who are you? What do you here?" he called out to me. "Who are you, who ask?" was my reply. "I," he exclaimed, "I am the owner of this soil. Do you take this for the public highway?" "Are you a Christian?" said I, "that you refuse a shipwrecked wretch permission to walk across your fields?" "They Shipwrecked!" he repeated with a sneer. are all a pack of beggars and rogues. John Baxter harbors none of such vagabonds!" "John Baxter!" I echoed, and my knees trembled under me; I felt the blood recede from my cheeks. I stood gazing on the man who had caused such unspeakable wo to my hapless parents. "Well," continued he, as I strove in vain to control my emotion; "would you come further? 'Tis in vain: I have no room in my house, or at my table, for such as you." "Your face assures me of that," I cried at length, "without the need of words. And were there room for the unfortunate, be assured, sir, no Hermann would ever set foot in the dwelling of a Baxter !" He started back in utter astonishment, and looked at me from head to foot. "So, you are a Hermann !" he said slowly, "the son of that misguided woman— my daughter! I see it!" He trembled as he spoke, with visible agitation, though his voice showed no feeling. I could not but feel pity for this unnatural parent. I told him of his daughter's death, and informed him where, on the seashore, he might find the grave that contained the remains of her husband. "And so, young viper!" he cried, hoarse with rage, "and so you have come to me to complain, and be fed with my substance! But I will have none of you! Begone from here! James! Pedro! Hal! Drive | story, says the pilot Burkhardt, and was found some away this vagabond-beat him off—” I waited not for the end, but pushing him aside, passed him and walked on till I gained the public road. In a few days I reached Kingston, almost exhausted with the heat, fatigue and privation; having lived all the way on fruits and berries. I arrived at the place where I hoped to find a home and fortune-a poor and houseless wanderer. But there are kind hearts in the world! A Spanish sea captain, to whom I told my sad story, pitied me and took me into his service. years since in the chest of a seaman, who died at Havana of the yellow fever. Nothing more is known of his life, nor how long he lived after the loss of his parents and his entrance into the Spaniard's service. His story, above related, reminds me of the last time I ever went on board the Artemisia, just before she sailed from Hamburg, on some business with the second mate. I then noticed a young lad, of an open and amiable countenance, with fresh blooming cheeks, who was doubtless Heinrich Hermann. This was a long while ago, and I should probably have forgotten the circumstance, but for reading his tale, which has The foregoing portion of a journal contains a sad given me pity for the evil passions of men. EARL ALBERT'S BIRD. A SCOTCH SONG. BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD. A GOWDEN cage Earl Albert had, A bird o' beauty rare and glad, But 'twas na robin, finch or linnet. Earl Albert hung his cage wi' flowers, Wi' gems and silken gauds he decked it, And siller locks upon the doors "T would fly," said he, "I maun protect it!" Earl Albert thought his bird was tame, And it was robed wi' jeweled splendor. The bonnie bird! its radiant eyes, It tones o' luve sae wildly pleading, The passer by were more than wise Gin he could pass unharmed-unheeding. And unco weel he luved his pet, And mickle care he had to guard it, For oh! its glancing eyes o' jet Still watched the door altho' he 'd barred it. "Ah! gin you luve me, let me go Just then a bairn cam tripping nigh Wi' Iris wing and gowden quiver, He waited till the earl went by, Then cried "I'll settle that forever!" Like lightning sped the sun-tipped shaft, The white breast heaved-the saft wings fluttered, While saucy Luve delighted laughed― "She'll soon break prison now," he muttered. Earl Albert cam when morning shone, New dainties for his darling bringing; "Oh! gin ye 'd ruled by luve alane, But tyrants' bars I break or die, sir?" THE HOMELESS. BY MISS ALICE HERVEY. WE'RE severed by mountains, by valleys are parted, Is to gather once more, with the few who are dearest, How often we see, in our fancy's gay dreaming, The home where our childhood was joyous and free, How white shine its walls through the foliage gleaming We ask not a home where the bright light is streaming REMINISCENCES OF GERMANY. NO. III.-FAMILY PRIDE. BY FRANCIS J. GRUND. Pray, what was your father dealing in?" asked, not long ago, one of the old dowager ladies of the court of Berlin of the young Fraeulein von M-n. "In mind," replied the daughter of the wealthy banker, who had also been a clever writer. "And I perceive," interrupted the king, "that his daughter continues the business." The present king of Bavaria, by way of diverting the ladies of his court, and atoning, in a certain manner, for the appointment of commoners to high ministerial stations, used to amuse himself by exhibiting the domestic qualities of their wives and daughters, to the no small annoyance of the ancient nobles. Thus he once addressed Madam S-k, the wife of the minister of justice, a plain, good woman, who attends to her own household, in these terms: "I know, my dear madam, that you are the model of all good housewives of Munich, now tell me what you gave your husband to-day for dinner?" "The soup he likes best," answered the unsuspecting woman, "and after that dampfnudeln," (a peculiar Bavarian dish.) A titter pervaded the room. "Well," rejoined the king, "the next time you have dampfnudeln you must let me know, and I will come and dine with you." The hilarity of the company was instantly changed to seriousness. BULWER reproaches the Germans with their almost | tending factions, and I might tell an infinite number ludicrous attachment to titles and noble families, and of bons mots, proving the skill of the German princes he might have added, by way of rendering this national in handling such difficult matters. foible still more ridiculous in England, "to families, in many instances, wholly destitute of wealth and political influence." "Even a poet on the Rhine," he observes somewhere, "is not thought of in society, unless he has the syllable von attached to his name. There is some truth in the remark; though a person not intimately acquainted with the German mode of reasoning might be led by it to a very erroneous conclusion. Title, office, and wealth are in Germany employed as offsets against the influence of noble families, while the little precaution the latter have taken to prevent the too rapid increase of their number has destroyed even the social prerogatives which formerly attached to their cast. In Germany, it is the ruling prince in each of the thirty states who determines the rank and position of the gentlemen of his court, and among these there has been, ever since the organization of the universities, a very considerable number of commoners. Every German student, no matter how low his birth, may measure swords with a young nobleman, and even with a prince of the blood, if the latter have offended him. What I regret, for the sake of the Germans, is that the nobility have not a greater real influence on society than they seem to exercise, and that their whole privilege consists in forming a few exclusive coteries, at courts, the names of which puzzle in no small degree the geographical acquirements of an English school-boy. During the old ministry of Montgelat, when the French influence prevailed in Bavaria, the king insisted on knighting one of the champions of the opposition party, then a subaltern officer in the royal chancery, by the name of " Koch," which in German means cook. That name being rather plebeian, it was changed into Gise, and the fact announced to the king by the old minister in the following terms: Sire, vôtre CUISINIER est de Guisé, (déguisé.*) The same gentleman is now minister of foreign affairs. The king of Wurtemberg, who, on all occasions, takes side with the people against the wealthy nobility of his kingdom, has a cabinet which, with a single exception, in the case of Count Beroldingen, These insignificant retainers of powerless princes ought to be rather an object of pity than of envy; for they have no national existence, like the English nobility, nor the smallest influence on the political administration of their country. The prince selects his advisers promiscuously from the nobles or the commoners, and no sooner have the latter arrived at power, than they lord it over the old families with an unsparing hand. The women are then the only avengers of the insults borne by their husbands and relatives; and their most spiteful revenge consists in taking unceremonious precedence at the prince's draw-(minister of foreign affairs) has no social position ing-room, of the wives and daughters of any of these parvenus. At a German drawing-room the women are always grouped in reference to family, and the masters of ceremony at the different courts have more trouble with the proper selection of places, than the ministers of foreign affairs with their diplomatic correspondence. It requires sometimes the whole social talent and the bigger part of the sovereign's diplomacy to mantain the balance of power between these con whatever; though they virtually govern the state, with all the nobles included. One of them, the minister of finance, I believe, still adheres to his youthful habit of bathing daily in the Neckar, at Canstadt, four miles from the royal residence. Hundreds of citizens bathe with him, and it is extremely ludi ing pronounced like the French guise,) certainly one of the "Sire, your cook is disguised," (the German Gise bebest calembourgs ever made at a German court. of the past was sufficient to maintian the present, and that property was merely an accessory. Their notion of chivalry precluded the nobility from cultivating the arts of peace, or from taking a share in the commerce of the country, until by degrees, as the wealth of the people increased, the nobility found itself poor and dependent on the good will of the sovereign. crous to hear the naked swimmers address him-who, | poetical, and, let me add, just, thought that the memory on that occasion, is certainly stripped of all his external decorations-by the title of Excellency. "Your Excellency will find the water rather shallow in that place." 'If your Excellency will come this way, your Excellency will avoid being seen by the ladies in that carriage yonder," &c. He and his colleagues in office have repeatedly been offered patents of nobility, but they declined, preferring the social independence of commoners. The German nobility, like that of the whole continent of Europe, has lost its power by isolating itself completely from the classes below, and by making the titles, and in many instances the lands also, descendable to all the members of the family. The younger sons of the British nobles are but gentlemen commoners, and form the connecting link between the people and the nobles; while in Austria, for instance, there are not less than sixty counts, Sichy or Esterhazy, from the wealthy head of the house down to him who has not the money to hire a hack to cross the street. All these nobles are obliged to marry daughters of nobles, if they would not lose cast, and to enter the public service, that is the service of their respective sovereigns, if they would not starve. And these sovereigns are themselves but the descendants of the felons that warred against their rightful sovereign, the emperor, and enjoying now the fruits of the digraceful work of treason, which, by the peace of Westphalia, dismembered the German empire. The dukes of Baden, of Hesse, of Mecklembourg; the kings of Saxony, of Bavaria, &c., would otherwise be earls of Richmond, dukes of Devonshire, of Northumberland, &c., and nothing more. They would have no separate interest from the empire, and Germany would have a national instead of a provincial history. Even now it would be better for the nobles of Germany to take a more enlarged view of their social position, and to strengthen themselves by a more liberal intercourse with the classes immediately below them. It is not the nobility of England which maintains its power, but the industrious classes who are benefited by them, the thousands of writers, politicians, editors of papers, &c., in their interest. The German nobility stands alone, rotting at the root, while the branches of the old feudal oak are still spreading their foliage, and the people, fond of romance, still willing to repose quietly in its shade. I am certainly not the panegyrist of feudal institutions; still the past has its enchantments, and the decline of human greatness, in whatever shape, something which makes us feel for those who are its victims. Of all the pride, based on adventitious circumstances, that of family is, perhaps, the most excusable. To be descended from the signers of the Declaration of Independence is an American pedigree, and to bear an historical name, celebrated for deeds less sensible and magnanimous, though scarcely less honorable in those rude times, is the pride of an European. The English, always shrewd and practical, have added to this pride a certain amount of worldly possession, and privileges well secured by the law; but the Germans, always theoretical, always abstract, The poverty of the German nobility is unquestionably the reason of the comparatively less refinement one meets in German society, and the abundance of the higher intellectual resources of the country. Being unable to dazzle with their splendor, they have retreated within themselves, or entertain at best with music, science and literature. Declamation or the reading of a tragedy is the usual accompaniment of a Berlin tea party, and such is the taste for literature in that learned capital that these refreshments are in most cases the only ones with which the invited guests are regaled by the gentle hostess. The pride of the German nobles is a sort of legend of former times, which contrasts sadly with their present position; yet who would not feel for a poor gentleman, and what German, that consults merely his heart, would not commiserate a broken down nobleman? "If a man be permitted," argued a German lawyer, "to accumulate wealth and leave it to his posterity, without injustice to the community, why should he not be able to do the same with rank and title? If the knowledge of benefiting his children is a stimulus to a man's labor, why should not the hope of bequeathing to them fame and a name that shall be pronounced with reverence, be used as a means of fortifying his character, and of steeling him against the trials and viscissitudes of the world? And if he, rather than accumulate property, leave his children the memory of noble deeds, and of virtues which had elevated him above the mass of mankind, why should his offspring take a position behind the heirs of the miser, the successful speculator, or the more shrewd business man?" Modern civilization has done away with this injustice, by baronizing all the rich Jews of Germany. Yet this Jewish nobility, after all, lacks position, so that Baron Rothschild for many years, and, though he had been made a knight of the Portuguese order, de Santo Christo, was black-balled for admission into the Gentlemen's Cassino of Frankfort on the Maine. When he at last succeeded in winning over all his enemies, he had a new set of visiting cards struck off, bearing no other inscription than "Rothschild, member of the Gentlemen's Cassino." Title in Germany always takes precedence of mere nobility; and "His Excellency," a title profusely bestowed on German ministers, ambassadors, and all high officers of state, always takes his seat before the mere baron, count, or even prince. Prince Puckler Muskau was perfectly astonished, when being invited to England, to mess with the officers of a particular regiment, he found the greatest attention, irrespective of rank, bestowed on the officer of the highest family. He felt, on that occasion, the whole reproach of being a German prince, and addressed, |