city of Cologne; but his thoughts were
troubled, and his heart was heavy, for, though his churches were rich
beyond compare in relics, yet other towns not half so large or powerful
as his had cathedrals whose fame extended over Europe, and whose
beauty brought pilgrims to their shrines, profit to the ecclesiastics,
and business to the townspeople. After many sleepless nights, therefore,
he determined to add to his city the only thing wanting to complete it,
and, sending for the most famous architect of the time, he commissioned
him to draw the plans for a cathedral of Cologne.

[Illustration: GENERAL VIEW _of COLOGNE_]

Now the architect was a clever man, but he was more vain than clever. He
had a vague idea of the magnificence which he desired to achieve without
a clear conception of how he was to do it, or without the will to make
the necessary sacrifices of labour, care, and perseverance. He received
the commission with great gladness, and gloated for some days upon the
fame which would be his as the builder of the structure which the
archbishop desired; but when, after this vision of glory, he took his
crayons to sketch out the design, he was thrown into the deepest
despondency. He drew and drew, and added, and erased, and corrected, and
began again, but still did not succeed. Not a plan could he complete.
Some were too mean, others too extravagant, and others, when done and
examined, were found to be good, but not original. Efforts of memory
instead of imagination, their points of excellence were but copies of
other cathedrals,--a tower from one, a spire from another, an aisle from
a third, and an altar from a fourth; and one after another they were
cast aside as imperfect and useless, until the draughtsman, more than
half-crazed, felt inclined to end his troubles and perplexities by a
plunge into the Rhine.

In this mood of more than half-despair, he wandered down to the river's
edge, and, seating himself upon a stone, began to draw in the sand with
a measuring rod, which served as a walking-stick, the outlines of
various parts of a church. Ground-plans, towers, finials, brackets,
windows, columns, appeared one after another, traced by the point of his
wand; but all, one after another, were erased as unequal and
insufficient for the purpose, and unworthy to form a part of the design
for a cathedral of Cologne. Turning around, the architect was aware that
another person was beside him, and, with surprise, the di