GERMAN CHIMNEY SWEEP.

THE scene before us is a true representation of the interior of a German kitchen, and doubtless the living agents here represented have often acted the part here assigned them. For although the poet eloquently tells us that "love rules the camp, the court the grove," yet we presume that he did not mean to limit its influence to these persons and localities. To be sure love in the kitchen does not seem to prosper just at present, the fair one seems to fear black and white as much as the most suspicious attorney. We must suppose her to be sincere and free from coquetry, for she by no means suspects that we are looking upon her. And yet if the old adage, as we doubt not, still hold good "None but the brave deserve the fair," the bold sweep despite his ungainly dress and suspicious colours deserves her favour more than the dapper soldier with whom she is in the habit of waltzing (horribile dictu) every second Sunday.

Few persons will have resided long in any of the smaller towns of Germany, without having a sympathetic feeling of the sleepless night which they passed amid the indescribable noises and hubbub occasioned by the alarm of fire. This element seems to have a particular antipathy to the primitive simplicity of the dwellings of our Teutonic brethren, and it must be owned that the wooden roofs afford materials sufficiently combustible for an attack. One can hardly take up a local paper without reading a dismal account of the miseries inflicted upon the unhappy inhabitants by their insidious foe. The fire there does its work by wholesale, and the number of houses destroyed generally varies from ten to a hundred, seldom below the former number, and not unfrequently exceeding the latter. By the recent laws the new houses must be built in a more solid fashion, so that in time we may expect that fire will have been as effective in removing the architectural, as the great French revolution has been in destroying the political abominations that had lingered from the middle ages. Meanwhile, as changes must be gradual, the Feuer Ordnung, or Regulations to be observed by the inhabitants in case of fire, still savour of the olden time, and may have been of advantage, or even necessary, in villages and smaller cities, where the houses are built of wood, and liable to combustion from the myriads of flying sparks, but they are extremely harrassing in larger towns. On the church tower live the fire warders, whose duty it is to give instant alarm by hanging out a lantern in the direction of the fire and striking the bells. If the bell be struck once the drowsy citizen lies down again to rest, for the danger is distant, in some of the villages, but without the limits of the town. Two strokes denote the nearer outbreak within the suburbs, but if the fatal number three strike upon the alarmed ear, adieu to sleep. The

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watchmen with their dismal horns, the shrill trumpet, and the noisy drum, pervade the street, and summon the national guard and the fire companies into action. The unceasing din of the bell continues until the fire is no longer visible. Thousands are thus called into action at once, and as the magistrates must assemble at the townhouse, and the clerks at their different counting-houses, in a few hours all must be exhausted, and unless the first efforts are successful the fate of Hamburg may be anticipated

But where is our sweep all this time? He too is at his post and will soon render good service. The master sweeps have the privilege of superintending the houses, which for this purpose are distributed among them by the magistrates. It is astonishing what active service the diminutive engines are made to perform by the benevolent exertions of all, gentle and simple. But soon the fire, driven out of one place, insidiously creeps into another, for there is no want of queer courts and out of the way places, worthy even of St. Giles's. The uncautious neighbours look on, forgetful of the old proverb. A wild cry warns them of their danger, they try to escape. Soon a daring form is seen to stride over lofty roof and parapet, where one false step would dash him to pieces. On he stalks in his bold rescue, his manly figure stands out in fine relief against the bright light which rises up to heaven. Regardless of danger, he strikes lustily about him with his broad axe, he enters the room, and the trembling victims are scarcely saved before the place where they stood despairing is one furious flame. It is our bold sweep who has done this, for the race are famed for deeds of desperate valour, and our readers will perhaps think with us that they are as deserving of renown as the lauded heroes who slay undaunted in a doubtful cause. But these wear a red, green, or blue uniform, our sweep a black one, and that makes all the difference. Oh! how the kind heart of Charles Lamb would have rejoiced to sing his praises.

And how fares our sooty friend after his brave deeds? Verily, little better than at the hands of the flaunting fair one in the kitchen. We lately read in a newspaper, that N. N. a journeyman sweep, for good services rendered during a fire, by which he had saved the lives of several persons at the risk of his own, was presented by the government with a silver medal, but then he was forbidden to wear it.

THIS gem of art requires no graphic illustration; a mere inspection of it, is the best explanation of the story. The fiancee, or bride-elect, discovers from her modest, yet decisive expression of countenance, that her mind is quite made up, at all hazards, to leap into the arms of her admiring and admired swain. The expectant bride does, indeed, ask advice, but not as to the wedding;-that, like the laws of the Medes and Persians, is unalterably fixed: advice is simply asked for the solution of a doubt, as to which wreath will most become her when the happy day shall, at length, arrive. The countenance of her friend, the intended bridesmaid, has in it a mixture of hesitation and pensiveness. She doubts whether the bride may not, on the arrival of the coming event, with the addition of a well chosen wreath, again throw her own charms into the shade;-and of sadness, because the more retired mysteries of an hymenial evening cannot be shared with her more fortunate sister. The quietly sus tained visage of the vendor of these matrimonial appendages is well expressed by the artist; showing that if his wares be but sold, it is no matter whether for a wedding or a funeral.

We will only remark farther, that in Germany now, as in England formerly, the betrothing was a distinct ceremony from the solemnization of marriage, and preceded it by a term of forty days. A great writer distinctly describes this

During the sixteenth century, a singular proof of delicacy and attention to the fair sex was shown in reference to betrothing. "By the civil law," observes the writer of a manuscript, in the Harleian library, quoted by Mr. Strutt, "whatever is given 'ex sponsabiliæ largitate' betwixt them that are promised in marriage, hath a condition, for the most part silent, that it may be had again, if marriage ensue not: but if the man should have had a kiss for his money," (and when did a betrothing ever take place without one salute preceding), he should lose one-half of what he gave. Yet, with the woman it is otherwise; for kissing, or not kissing, whatever she gave, she may have it again."