TOMBSTONES AND BURIAL-PLACES OF THE GERMANS.

THE Germans carry their simplicity, and often their eccentricity, with them to their graves.

In a little artificial island in the beautiful park of Gotha, the traveller is shown the graves of the three last reigning Dukes of Saxon GothaAltenburg, mouldering side by side; not" in marble monuments 'neath the pompous cupolas," but simply beneath the sward and shade of the weeping willow. The centre grave contains the ashes of Frederick III., called by his people "the justest of princes, and the most conscientious of men." Impressed with some whimsical notions of futurity, this prince requested to be buried in the following manner :

Believing that coffins and vaults impeded the march or flight of souls to their celestial abodes, he ordered that a hole simply dug in the earth might be his only sepulchre; and, fancying that a prince could not better appear before his Maker and Judge than as he did before his people, he requested that his daily garments might be his only shroud, and his breastplate his funeral tablet. In this manner he is literally buried.

On his right lie the ashes of his son and successor, Augustus, whose grave is distinguished from that of his father by a profusion of flowers that bloom over it in the summer months, intended to be symbolical of his taste for pomp and parade. On the left of the centre grave reposes the last of the line of the house of Saxon Gotha, Frederick IV., and the inscription over his remains is simply the Apostate's Cross, having abandoned the religion of his fathers to embrace that of the Pope.

The inscription over the entrance of the cemetery of Dessau, the capital of the principality of Anhalt Dessau, is encouraging enough to those who visit these scenes and dwellings of the departed, impressed, as they generally are, with sentiments of awe and horror :

Der Todt ist kein Todt

Es ist nur eine Veränderung der Natur.*

In this Pére-la-Chaise of the people of Dessau, in this Saint Denis of the princes of the house of Anhalt, and in this republic of the dead, where princes and people, rich and poor, side by side, are mouldering into dust, lie the remains of the late eccentric Duke Leopold Frauz, the founder of Worlitz, the Versailles of his principality, and perhaps of all Germany, in the very centre of the cemetery, and underneath an humble bed of shrubs; who, after having reigned rather among than over his subjects during the space of sixty years, would not be parted from them even in death!

Nor is the great Frederick, the idol of the Prussian people, the philosopher of Sans-Souci, the purloiner of Silesia and Poland, the statesman who increased his subjects from 2,000,000 to 6,000,000, the financier who, after having ruined himself and his country by his victories, made Potsdam rise the rival of Versailles, more pompously entombed. In a dusky recess, enclosed in a mahogany coffin, in the garrison church of Potsdam, are the remains of this great mountebank. His horse and dogs are almost as Christianly buried in the grounds of Sans-Souci, for they are honoured with sepulchres, and their marbles with inscriptions.

* Death is not death,

'Tis but a change of nature.

THE CONFEDERATES; OR, THE DAYS OF MARGARET OF

PARMA.

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

CHAPTER IV.

It is not our intention to delay the reader by detailing the events of the few following days, by narrating how fête followed fête, and how each noble did his devoir, like a true knight, in the many tournaments which succeeded each other; one of which, given in honour of the marriage of the Countess de Brederode with the Lord of Chantonnay, brother of Granvella, was attended with circumstances of extraordinary splendour. Nor shall we pause to describe the solemnity of high mass in the beautiful church of our Lady, which had been attended each morning by the members of the imperial family, as well as by all those whose degree permitted them to follow in their train; but we will hurry them at once to the fifth and last day of the sojourn of the court at Antwerp.

The holy duty of the morning had been concluded about two hours, when a lady attired in a rich morning-dress, having a veil of black lace thrown carelessly over her head, took her way through several of the superbly decorated chambers allotted to the use of the imperial party at the abbey. She did not deign to cast a look around her as she passed along; but, with a firm step, advanced towards the arras, and raised it from before a small door, the lock of which she turned with an unhesitating hand, and immediately stood in the presence of another, whose mild pale features were those of the Queen of Hungary.

"You here, my dear lady?" exclaimed the intruder, with some surprise. "I have in vain been seeking you in your own apartments;" and, throwing back the veil which concealed her masculine, ill-favoured countenance, Margaret of Parma took the hand of her aunt, and pressed it to her lips.

Between these ladies no after circumstances had in the least impaired the intimacy of past years. Queen Mary had ever remained, through every trial, the best, truest, and most loving friend to Margaret. She had given up none of the privileges of the instructress, nor had Margaret resigned those of the child, which she had acquired in earlier days, when, by the death of her first protectress, Margaret, daughter of the Emperor Maximilian and of Mary of Burgundy, she found herself removed to the care of her father's sister; Charles being as jealous in the selection of a guardian and instructress to this child of an early passionate love, as if she had been heir to his many crowns. Queen Mary had not accepted the charge merely to obey the wishes of her imperial and imperious brother; she had taught herself to love a child whom nature had endowed with most of the qualities inherent in her house. Margaret was now seven-and-twenty, and although even youth could not throw a softening charm over her features, which, like those of her brother, Prince Philip, were naturally forbidding, still her form was erect and majestic, her eye flashed with intelligence, and a firmness amounting to harshness was visible in every line of her haughty countenance.

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"I have been waiting for some time in this closet, my child, said the

queen, "for, having heard that you had been called to his majesty's presence, I was anxious to hear the result."

"I am afraid you must have been very weary, my sweet lady and aunt, for my audience lasted long."

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Nay, I was not without my companion," replied Queen Mary, pointing to her missal, which, bound in black velvet, and ornamented with knobs and clasps of silver, lay on the table before her; "but tell me, pray, was the prince present?"

"He was," answered Margaret; and, pausing, she placed one hand on the table, covered with richly-wrought carpet-work, whilst she suffered the other for an instant to cross her brow, as if to concentrate some thought.

The queen, leaning back in her chair, looked anxiously up into her niece's countenance, upon which the light from the solitary window in the small apartment fell full, and displayed the hesitation stamped upon it. Margaret permitted not her eyes to encounter those of Queen Mary, but allowed them to scan in turn the holy subjects represented by the hangings on the wall, whilst a deeper shade crimsoned her cheek. The embarrassment was, however, but momentary; and having, perhaps, extracted some additional wisdom from the somewhat protracted examination of King Solomon's countenance, she added,

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'My dearest aunt, I ought not to tell you what passed." "Has it been required of you not to do so?" "No; no prohibition whatever was made, but the subject naturally

"Was not meant to reach my ear? But, my dearest child, if it concern these lands, with whose government I have so long been thought worthy to be entrusted, methinks none ought to be more interested-none have a greater right to be informed. Speak, Margaret, I entreat you."

It referred not, my dear lady, to anything that could possibly interfere with your rights, believe me. His majesty spoke to the prince and myself of times which, I trust and hope, are far, far distant; and I confess, so extraordinary and so painful did his words sound in my ears, that I feel yet quite bewildered."

"Then I guess all that has been told you," said the queen, with a smile that showed how much her mind was relieved. "The emperor has spoken of the time when he designs to give up these lands to Philip, whether it pleases God to call him hence or not, as being very near at hand; is it not so?"

Margaret looked her astonishment.

"You imagined this communication had never been breathed before to mortal ear?"

"I confess it is difficult to conceive how that which never could have entered my thoughts even in their wildest flight, which even now that it has been forced upon my belief seems more like a dream than a reality, could have been guessed by any one."

"Perhaps it was not a mere guess, Margaret," continued the queen. "There are yet two things I wish to impress upon your mind, my dear child. One is, that you ought very seldom, if ever, to believe yourself the first, or the only repository of the secret of a sovereign, be it of whatever nature it may. A longer experience will teach you what mine

has taught me, that the thoughts and words of princes, like birds of the air, have wings; the other, that you should not believe accomplished everything that is spoken."

"However much of truth the first axiom may contain, my dear madam, the second sounds far more consoling in my ears."

"I will continue to touch upon all the subjects mentioned to you this morning," said the queen. "Your imperial father has advised his son, when the day shall arrive on which the elder generation of his family must pass away, to follow an example already crowned with success in two instances; again to entrust to a female hand the government of these states. Do not blush,-do not speak, Margaret," continued she, smiling affectionately on her niece, and taking within hers the hand that had until then rested on the table. "Were these lands mine to bequeath, in your hands, my dear child, would I gladly deposit them. It has been with hopes of this kind warming at my heart, that I have, so often, lifted for you the veil of my actions and words, with which rulers should so carefully enshroud them, and have shown you my motives, my ultimate objects, even when they appeared most at variance with the means I employed. It has been a great source of gratification to me, Margaret, to reflect, that, when my spirit shall be exalted to higher regions, yours may be as full of tender mercy for these poor states, as mine was whilst yet lingering on my earthly pilgrimage."

"I am afraid," said Margaret, after a pause, "that great and highminded as Philip must be," -a meaning look interchanged between the ladies expressed some doubt on this head,-"yet, should he ever exalt me to the place I would that I could live never to see vacated, one circumstance would render it more difficult, more thorny, than it can ever have proved to you, my dear aunt. The estates of my husband would, unavoidably, lay at his mercy; his interests and those of my children would be in his hands. A delegated authority brings with it all the responsibility, but none of the conveniences of power."

"It may, however, be turned to advantage when prevarication is necessary," said Queen Mary; "and much good may be effected, much evil prevented, in such a sphere of action, although to you, Margaret, it appears so limited.”

"Your own noble deeds prove it," answered Margaret, warmly. "But the genius of the emperor makes all dealings with him more easy than, perhaps, they may prove with his successor. He, like us, was born in these lands, and loves his country-people, although he has ever found them a most fractious race; but my brother entertain may different feelings towards them when he comes, as has always been the fate of the princes of his house, to any struggle with them."

very

"God avert this, my child! It would be indeed most sad if the event you thus allude to as inevitable were ever to take place."

"When has it been otherwise?" answered the princess; "the Duke Charles, the Emperor Maximilian, and my noble father himself, have in vain tried to curb them."

"Respect their liberties," said the queen, "and you may lead them with a silken rein."

"One might be led by them. I fear that must be my version of your meaning, my dear aunt."

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Nay, you have too much of your father's spirit in you, my child. With a wise mingling of conciliation and a well-timed severity, much may be effected with the Flemings; even their wide-spreading privileges may be curtailed unperceived by their jealous eye. But if one attempt to destroy these altogether, mark my words, Margaret, whosoever shall attempt this will fail. Let us, however, speak on other, and to me less painful, subjects. Let me give you a word of warning, which may prove one day essential to your happiness."

"I listen with humble gratitude to any hints you may deign to give, my beloved lady, although I trust so great a charge as that which you now possess may never fall to my lot."

"I know not if your words be spoken in sincerity," said the queen; "perhaps at this moment they may. But should you ever have to fulfil this arduous duty, trust not, nor make enemies of, any trained in so great a school of state policy as those whom the emperor has distinguished with his confidence, and initiated in the secrets of his councils. They will be too wise to be tools; and of all adversaries the most dangerous."

"I understand," said Margaret. "The Prince of Orange, for instance-Granvella; but one seems too young for”

The queen hastened to interrupt her.

"The prince is already three-and-twenty; and the mind ripens fast that has been nurtured in the hot-bed of state policy. Since his earliest years he has ever been your father's especial favourite, and may yet live to become his right hand. He lacks not talent; and I read but poorly the human countenance if he prove deficient in the craft of applying it to his own purposes. Upon the whole, Margaret, the nobility of these states are the most difficult members to deal with: too much favour might, indeed, make them overbearing, but, depend upon it, too little will make them something worse.'

What more might have been said by the queen and princess, upon a subject which interested them so deeply, was interrupted by a summons from his majesty, to prepare to attend him, immediately, to the tournament. On the square before the Stadthuys had been erected, as we have already mentioned, a long open gallery, terminating at either end in an elegant pavilion, and supported by a treble row of pillars.

Early on the morning of the fifth and last day of the fêtes the front of this gallery was decorated, throughout its length, with hangings of differently-coloured velvets, trimmed with deep gold or silver fringes, and embroidered with the armorial bearings of the illustrious persons who were to sit within it. Opposite to this was raised a kind of tribune, which also exhibited on its front the heraldic ensigns of those who were to occupy it. Barriers had been placed to prevent the crowd, which had been collected around the lists since daybreak, from pressing forward in a manner that might interfere with the full career of the cavaliers. A tent, gay with the colours of the adverse parties and streaming banners, rose at either end; and, at half-past one exactly, the whole scene began to assume a more lively and splendid appearance.

The gallery now began to receive its noble guests,-the Queens Mary of Hungary and Eleanor of France, with their suite of lovely ladies, the Duchess of Parma and the Princesses of Brunswick, with their trains;