noun. often employed for portraits of "the peo- | don particular," would be as injurious as to ple." With the keenest eye for the absurdi- make Sam Weller speak broad Scotch, or ties of his fellow-townsmen, Mr. Brennglas Mrs. Sarah Gamp respect the relative prounites a warm appreciation of their excellencies; and he even carries his love of his native city so far as to make some feeble attempts to deny the natural ugliness of its site. 66 'It is not so very bad," he says, (so schlimm ist es nicht)" and, besides, there are so many railroads now, and it is so easy to get out of it"-a kind of apology that reminds one of the American housewife's excuse when asked to lend her washing-tub, "I haven't got one, and besides, the hoops are off." He defends the society of Berlin from the charges of frivolity and affectation so often brought against it. The asthetic tea-parties, which have figured so conspicuously in the accounts of travellers, and which have made so much mirth at their expense, he declares to be confined to a few small circles. One of the points in which the Prussian differs from most of the capitals of Germany is, that the influence of the nobility of birth is there far inferior to that of the aristocracy of intellect, of art, science, and industry. In public or private circles, the claims of talent are universally admitted; and even among the lowest of the people, superior knowledge is sure to meet with respect. The love of literature is carried to an extent scarcely seen elsewhere. Reading is to a Berliner one of the first necessaries of life. He must read before he eats and drinks, and often eats and drinks for the sake of reading. The great confectioners' shops-which form so striking a feature of the city, some of which take from sixty to seventy journals and periodicals of various kinds, and where, as a matter of course, prohibited books and papers are always to be obtained-depend for their custom more on the love of these indulgences, than on the weakness in favor of "sweetstuff," that has been generally attributed to the good citizens. "Only the Lieutenants of the Guard," says our author, "eat cakes for the sake of eating." The most humorous and characteristic portions of these volumes would suffer so much by translation, that we are unwilling to present them to such a disadvantage. Local character loses so much of its individuality by being stripped of the dialect, which is not so much its dress as its skin, as to be scarcely recognizable. The attempt to render, for instance, the "humors" of Herr Rentier Buffey, the épicier of Berlin, either into ordinary English, or into "Lon Instead, therefore, of giving any extracts, we shall throw together a few particulars that may serve to afford to such of our readers as have not visited it, a glimpse of a city to which at present a more than ordinary interest attaches. Berlin is to Prussia, in a great measure, what Paris is to France; and in Prussia, according to the opinion-well or ill-founded-of many Germans as well as of many well-informed foreigners, may be studied the future history of Germany. A stranger, visiting Berlin, may obtain a view of the finest part of it, the Friedrichstadt, by looking through the iron-work of the Brandenberg and Potsdam gates; where also he may obtain, looking in the contrary direction, a view over the pleasant shades of the Thiergarten, in former days a thick dark forest, where Joachim II. hunted wild animals. But the ground has been cleared of the masses of fallen leaves shed upon it by a hundred autumns, and is clothed with bright grass; the marshy spots have been drained, and smooth paths lead beneath the venerable oaks and lofty luxuriant beech and lime trees, on the right hand to the river Spree, on the left between beautiful villas and gardens to Charlottenburg. running through the centre, between cafés, flower-gardens, and country-houses of the wealthy classes, is a grand promenade, where all on whom nature, birth, merit, or back-stairs influence has conferred distinction, come to inhale fresh air, and display rich dresses, orders, fine eyes, little feet, proud coats of arms, brilliant equipages, richly-laced liveries, false ringlets, false roses, or stupid faces which are real. The broad road By the river-side the less elegant promenaders drive away care with merry music and tobacco, and birds sing on all sides, and the blue sky smiles alike over all. On the opposite side of the river lies the village of Moabit, and gay-looking boats lie in readiness to convey us thither, but we must first take a flight round Berlin. Crossing the Thiergarten, then, we come to the animated village of Schöneberg, behind which was the Berlin and Potsdam railroad-and here we rest our wings a moment upon the Kreutzberg, or Hill of the Cross--the highest summit of which, the Berliners say, is full seventeen feet above the level of the sea, but which, being the loftiest point in the neighborhood, offers the best prospect of Berlin. Beyond the Kreutzberg and its houses of Williams' Place, bordered with ancient limetrees, where the stone heroes of the Seven Years' War stand dreaming of their heroic exploits, are worthy of mention. The " Long Bridge" across the Spree connects the new and the old, the elegant and fashionable, with the busy and toiling Berlin-what we may call the drawing-room and the workshop of the city; although it is true that of late the railroads have in some measure confounded this distinction, by giving an air of bustle and business to the aristocratic indolence of the Friedrichstadt. entertainment, separated from Berlin by a meadow and an arm of the Spree, lies a woody ground called the Hasen, or Hareheath, where soldiers and citizens practice shooting at a mark, and where are to be found bowling-greens, billiard-tables, chairs and tables under green trees, ham, sandwiches, and beer-glasses a foot and a half high; besides many a pretty little retired spot for confidential communications, where there are no other lookers-on than the little birds in the trees, or the butterflies on the grass. Proceeding along the Land-wehr, an arm of the Spree, with banks gay with blooming This bridge leads into the ancient city of flowers, and in summer animated by the pres- Berlin-founded by Albrecht the Bear, the ence of thousands of bathers, we come to noisiest and most bustling quarter of the the pretty village of Treptou, and perceive town. In the narrow winding pass of the on the other side of the river its equally Konigs Strasse (King's Street) with its high pretty opposite neighbor, Stralau, the trees houses, there is from morning till night no and the gay pleasure-gardens of both mir- moment of quiet or rest from the unceasing rored in the broad Spree, which is covered throng and rattle of wheels. From this with boats and heavy-laden barges. quarter comes all that supplies the material From here, continuing the circuit of Berlin, wants of the city, and here also are the we pass through corn and potato-fields, to courts of law, the police-offices, most of the the Frankfort gate, and thence, with little prisons, the distilleries, the great mass of the variation, again to the Brandenburg gate. shops for provisions, and the dwellings of Seldom here is the monotony of sand-hills, the working-classes. The other quarters of windmills, dusty roads, and flat corn-fields the town are not so strikingly distinguished interrupted by anything as pretty as a plea- from each other as these two; in them we sure-garden or as interesting as a cemetery find newly built palaces rising and looking adorned with monuments, fragrant with flow-down proudly on the huts where misery finds ers, and shaded by weeping willows, oaks, and limes; though the railroads have done something to enliven this desolate region, through which lies the way to many villages that form favorite objects for the ruralizing parties of the Berliners. Having now reached, again, the point from which we set out, we may enter the Brandenburg gate, by which, also, the Goddess of Victory, in a chariot and four, is making her triumphal entry, and pass along, between lines of palace-like edifices, which flank the celebrated promenade "beneath the Limes" (Unter den Linden), to the royal palace, which the author denominates the heart of Berlin-the central point of its whole circulation, as the quarter of the Friedrichstadt, containing the spiritual organs-the university-the academy-the theatres, &c., may represent the head. From the palace gardens a fine view is obtained of the magnificent buildings of the museum, the cathedral, the arsenal, the palace of the late king, of the Prince of Prussia, the opera-house, &c. The "Gens-d'armes Markt" is one of the finest open places to be seen in any city of Europe; and the verdant and flowery crescent of the Leipsiger Strasse, and the dark, solemn, a refuge. There are few cities according to Mr. Brennglas, where people work harder than in Berlin. The tradesmen and mechanics are generally busy till a late hour; the employées of the government are perpetually at their desks, though a great deal of what they write might as well be spoken. There are few professed idlers, and in scarcely any of the hotels and coffee-houses are people to be found, as in Paris or Vienna, playing at cards, billiards, or dominoes from morning till night; the coffee-houses are only busy in the middle of the day and in the evening; but on the other hand, the confectioners are very numerous and on a grand scale. Their shops, however, afford, as we have said, other attractions besides the tarts and cakes. But let us take a glance at life in Berlin as it exhibits itself in the streets. "It is four o'clock in the morning. The old grey-bearded watchman, wrapped in furs, armed with a spear, and carrying a horn, wakes himself up for the last time to cry the hour, and then Presently the washerwoman, in large fluttering leaves the approaching day to take care of itself. cap and cotton apron, is seen lighting herself along to her daily toil with a little lantern; the * subalterns of the Berlin and English Gas Company hastily extinguish their lamps, and wonder that the sun will consent to shine for nothing; the bakers' apprentices open the shops of their opulent masters, and then go round with their carts to the various public houses of entertainment with their allowance of daily bread, as well as daily biscuits, rolls and rusks. Soon come in from the country the peasants' carts, some drawn by horses, and some by dogs, and filled by peasant women looking tired already. Here and there a door opens creaking, as if unwilling to begin its day's work; the houses seem to rub their eyes and shake themselves-bolts and bars fly backwindows open-man goeth forth to his work and his labor until the evening--and the world sets about to make another page of universal history." Let us look a little closer at some of the figures that make up the moving picture. Among the earliest abroad are the humble class of traders who make a living by bring ing sand from the environs to supply the kitchens of Berlin. "A lad of eighteen, and one about three years younger, are in possession of a machine made of four boards, nailed together, which has just as good a right to be reckoned among carts as some certain German contrivances have to be called constitutions. Before this vehicle there plods along slowly, with sunken head and projecting bones, a venerable horse, which has been bought in the market for the sum of two-and-twopence. The appearance of the owners harmonizes well with that of these their animate and inanimate possessions. "The sand-boy is lightly attired, that is to say, without coat or boots, but he has a colored waistcoat, a very colored one, for it was several colored waistcoats before it became one; its history, therefore, is the reverse of that of our German fatherland. The waistcoat is almost wholly unbuttoned, and leaves fully displayed a shirt, which perhaps has no very obvious claims to public notice, and the sand-boy also wears what we must call trowsers, possibly to prevent the aforesaid shirt from fluttering in the wind, for I have not been able to perceive any other purpose that they answer. If, however, any fair lady should see anything objectionable in them, I must remind her that it is by no means improbable that the sand-boy might, on similar grounds, remonstrate against her costume at the evening party last night. "In the early morning, then, the two young commercial gentlemen (the firm of Fritz and Co.) are seated in their equipage, and are taking their accustomed way through the Halle gate to the Kreutzberg; but as soon as they have the town behind them, they take out two very short pipes, fill them with tobacco, and begin to smoke. The odor emitted by the weed might be thought peculiar, but it cannot be otherwise than agreeable, for In most of the great cities of Germany, the privileges of bakers, butchers, &c., are sold at a high price, so they require considerable capital, and make a proportionate profit. it is the produce of their native soil. It burns brightly, however, and sends out into the summer air blue clouds, upon which the smokers are soon borne into the sphere of the ideal." The head partner in the firm falls into a mood of philosophical contemplation, and after he has intimated that he has a thought, and the younger has naturally expressed his surprise at the occurrence "It came into my head lately, while I was still going to the parson, to examination, that if man is made of dust, we must be carrying on the most important business in the world. We trade in men, so to speak, and are therefore as good as two Emperors.' "How then?' ""Don't you see, stupid? If a fellow's ever so rich and so proud, he dies and goes to dust-so, I hold now in my fist, you see, Peter, the stuff that You know, Peter, in the first book of the Bible it may have once made half-a-dozen blockheads. says how man was formed of the dust of the ground.' "Yes,' says the critical Peter,' but I've never been able to make it out. Dust won't hold together you see-it has no constitution, as one may say.'. "Oh, I'll tell you, Peter! Of course God Almighty must have taken a little water to mix with it; man must have some kind of moisture; he can't do without that." This Peter is willing to admit, and the elder partner pursues his meditations, and moralizes on the fact of having the remains of officers, privy-counsellors, ministers, watchmen, poets, and many more, all mingled indiscriminately together to be sold for a few groschen the bushel. "Well! I didn't think now men had been so cheap. We ought to put it in the paper.' 666 Yes, and there's something else I've been thinking of. The gentlefolks have this sand strewed upon their floors, and that's the way, you see, they learn to trample men under their feet." Amidst these ethical and metaphysical reflections, the sand-dealers have filled their cart, for which, be it observed, they had purchased a permission from government, and are soon once more in the streets of the city, uttering their accustomed cry of "sand! sand! Fine white sand!" They are not long before a red-cheeked servant-girl signi fies her wish to enter into a business transaction with them; and here we are tempted to give a specimen of dialogue in the original, that our readers may see what kind of tongue passes for German in Berlin. "Ju'n Morjen Jungfer.' "Ich bin deine Jungfer nich.' 66 6 Nu worum den nich? Ick habe jhnen doch noch nischt jedhan!' Fritz goes and examines the sand. er, he will be seen again in full bloom in the fashionable world. It is now the middle of the day-carriages are rolling along to the favorite drives-droshkies are tearing through the streets from the railways; in the hotels all hands are full, and all legs in motion. Here students are studying the last communistic and atheistic pamphlets; there gens d'armes are going to levy a distress, and "Ne! Da find keene Steener mang den Sand, take away the beds from a poor family; dais sand mang de Steener!'" After a long and keen encounter of wit, and a passionate declaration of love on the part of the merchant, he sells two-pennyworth of sand and goes on his way rejoicing to his next customer. many shops fill with customers, many eyes fill with tears; loungers stand sauntering before the windows of print-shops, or look into booksellers to find out at least the titles of the new books, (often, the best part of them ;) people drive or ride to the Thiergarten, or "the Limes," or pay visits, and gossip, and cheat, and flirt, as usual. On the benches, under the trees, young men sit talking of the progress of the species and the "absolute idea." All over the town postmen with their yellow collars and cuffs are running up and down stairs, with their bundles of hopes and fears, and disappointments, and plans and wishes; and there on the bridge stands an unfortunate father of a family, gazing into the dark waters of the Spree, which, perhaps, before this time to-morrow, will be flowing over his lifeless body. Berlin is now broad awake. The droshkies are beginning to move in long rows towards the various railroads; military bands march through the streets playing lively airs; officers in showy costume come prancing along on full-blood horses; perhaps a hearse followed by six mourning coaches (Berlin takes great pride in its mourning coaches) and ten or twelve carriages, trails slowly towards the gate on its way to the cemetery; the hawkers of fruit, vegetables, and fish are in full cry; the handmaids of Clio-videlicet, the young women in the employ of the newsvenders-run about from house to house with their baskets full of intelligence; and the numerous shoe-blacks hasten from one furnished lodging to another, to perform their daily service for single gentlemen, and polish and purify-alas! only the outward man. There is one going into that lodging-house who has nine mastersone literary gentleman, two lawyers, two Hofräthe, one student, two barons, and one tradesman--for whom he performs more or less of the services of a valet. When he merely brushes clothes and clean shoes, he receives a consideration of rather more than two shillings per month; and when he runs on errands, perhaps two or three times that sum; and, besides this, Heaven sends him odd jobs and presents here and there, so that, as his claims on life are not exorbitant, he is cheerful and content, and seldom in want of money, as the young Baron to whom he is now going always is. The dandy is still in bed with parched lips, a fevered pulse, and dark shadows round his eyes; he looks but poorly now, but when he has made his toil* The polite practice of pulling off the hat to acette, and given audience to his hair-dresser, quaintances in the street, was not long ago carried to such excess in Berlin, as to lead to the establishhis boot-maker, his tailor-or perhaps a lement of a society with the above title, with a view gal functionary who has come on this occato save the enormous consumption of beaver, and sion in his stead--and to a Jew money-lend-weariness of muscle consequent on this courtesy. The sun is setting. People come pouring out of the shops of the Swiss confectioners; the " Correspondents from Berlin" looking pleased, for they have picked up intelligence enough to furnish matter for the next post for their respective papers; Republicans, Democrats, Socialists, repair to private rooms to finish their discussions; a solitary adherent of absolute monarchy goes home by himself, and takes with him some bonbons for his wife. Where are these various groups bound for? For the concerts-the winter garden-the Italian opera-the French theatre--the mercantile and scientific lecturers--the anti-champagne club-the "Keep-on-your-hat Society"-to the saloons, to the Colosseum, to musical meetings--to Polytechnic, Statistical, Geographical, Philological, Antiquarian, Religious, Temperance, Social, or Benevolent Associations. Faint lights are twinkling from garret-windows, where poor mechanics are still hard at work, and will be for hours to come -theatres are brilliantly illuminated-car- | riages drive through the streets to balls and parties-political toasts are received with three times three-and the night watchman comes out again, calls "past ten o'clock," and sees that on his beat all the street-doors are shut. Gens d'armes order merry gentlemen to take their cigars out of their mouths-a doctor's carriage drives rapidly past"there is some one determined not to die without medical assistance"-here, in this ground-floor dwelling, you can hear a dispute going on about the German Catholics from others come songs in favor of liberty. Gradually the streets become more and more silent, dark, and lonely, carriages return from parties-eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock strikes-the last hackney-coaches go nodding wearily home to their stables-the last cigar-shops put up their shutters-in the hotels and wine-houses there is still noise, and from afar is heard faintly the music of a serenade; but all else is hushed-everybody goes to bed, and whoever is not kept awake by care and sorrow, goes to sleep, while stars twinkle, and God wakes and watches over all. From the English Review. FEMALE IMMORALITY-ITS CAUSES AND REMEDIES. Report of the Association for the Aid and Benefit of Dress-makers and Milliners. London. 1848. WE cannot content ourselves with show-selves on the infusion of fresh life and acing only the brighter and purer side of the female portion of the community, while we are oppressed with the dreadful consciousness, that there is another portion in the midst of us which is given up to the advancement of the mystery of iniquity, which is undoing the work of God's Spirit, and is itself undone, which is hurrying in sin and woe to the fiery indignation of God. It makes the heart ache to think how many tread, and we may add, with unwilling feet, the way of certain death; how many, from the humbler classes, once daughters of the Church, are among the living instruments of the Evil One, and are entirely in his power; how many who have been baptized, are now serving devils and doing the work of hellruined themselves, and now spreading ruin. We might wish to cast such a subject in the shade; we might like to pass by on the other side, and turn away our thoughts from a question so full of pain, so beset by difficulties, so shunned, so feared by the overrefined and over-sensitive spirit of the age. But while we hear on all sides of the improved condition and altered temper of the Church; while we are congratulating our tivity into a once-dormant body; while, with much complacency, we are fastening our eyes on the tokens of good that shine around us, we cannot but feel ourselves urged to point to one vast and hideous mass of living iniquity, which may well check our overhasty congratulations and humble us to the very dust. There are, doubtless, signs of renewed and awakened life; there are gleams of hope in the Church's sky; there are the stirrings of heart inspiring us with great thoughts; and we are far from wishing to depress or damp warm and ardent minds that turn from heavy times to the brightening horizon of the Church. But still let us face our true condition, and not throw a veil over the darker parts of our present state. The blots will not disappear, because we refuse to look; neither are we riding on a safe tide when we shut our eyes to the rocks. And hence, if there are in the midst of us guilty multitudes of fallen women, who are contending daily against the Church, who are undermining those whom the Church is training up, who are sapping out the spiritual life of thousands of the opposite sex, and are themselves a sort of living sui |