re looking on: then at last he could restrain
himself no more, but, pulling off his cap, with a low bow, began to
discourse upon arts, and architecture in particular.

"It is curious," says he, "that you have taken the same view of which a
print has been engraved."

"That IS extraordinary," says I (though it wasn't, for I had traced my
drawing at a window off the very print in question). I added that I was,
like all the world, immensely struck with the beauty of the edifice;
heard of it at Rome, where it was considered to be superior to any of
the celebrated fountains of that capital of the fine arts; finally,
that unless perhaps the celebrated fountain of Aldgate in London
might compare with it, Kalbsbraten building, EXCEPT in that case, was
incomparable.

This speech I addressed in French, of which the worthy Hofarchitect
understood somewhat, and continuing to reply in German, our conversation
grew pretty close. It is singular that I can talk to a man and pay him
compliments with the utmost gravity, whereas, to a woman, I at once lose
all self-possession, and have never said a pretty thing in my life.

My operations on old Speck were so conducted, that in a quarter of an
hour I had elicited from him an invitation to go over the town with
him, and see its architectural beauties. So we walked through the huge
half-furnished chambers of the palace, we panted up the copper pinnacle
of the church-tower, we went to see the Museum and Gymnasium, and coming
back into the market-place again, what could the Hofarchitect do but
offer me a glass of wine and a seat in his house? He introduced me
to his Gattinn, his Leocadia (the fat woman in blue), "as a young
world-observer, and worthy art-friend, a young scion of British Adel,
who had come to refresh himself at the Urquellen of his race, and see
his brethren of the great family of Hermann."

I saw instantly that the old fellow was of a romantic turn, from this
rodomontade to his lady; nor was she a whit less so; nor was Dorothea
less sentimental than her mamma. She knew everything regarding the
literature of Albion, as she was pleased to call it; and asked me news
of all the famous writers there. I told her that Miss Edgeworth was one
of the loveliest young beauties at our court; I described to her Lady
Morgan, herself as beautiful as the wild Irish girl she drew; I promised
to give her a signature of Mrs. Hemans (which I wrote for her that very
evening); and described a fo