their silver spoons, and threw them in to make up the deficiency; and I
often stood for hours before the statue wondering how many spoons were
concealed in it, and how many apple-tarts the silver would buy.
Apple-tarts were then my passion--now it is love, truth, liberty, and
crab-soup--and not far from the statue of the Prince Elector, at the
theatre corner, generally stood a curiously constructed bow-legged
fellow with a white apron, and a basket girt around him full of
delightfully steaming apple-tarts, whose praises he well knew how to
call out in an irresistible high treble voice, "Here you are! hot
apple-tarts! just from the oven--smelling deliciously!" Truly, whenever
in my later years the Evil One sought to get the better of me, he always
spoke in just such an enticing high treble voice, and I should certainly
have never remained twelve full hours with the Signora Giulietta, if she
had not thrilled me with her sweet perfumed apple-tart tones. And, in
fact, the apple-tarts would never have so sorely tempted me if the
crooked Hermann had not covered them up so mysteriously with his white
apron; and it is aprons, you know, which--but I wander from the subject.
I was speaking of the equestrian statue which has so many silver spoons
in it, and no soup, and which represents the Prince Elector, Jan
Wilhelm.

He was a brave gentleman, 'tis reported, a lover of art and handy
therein himself. He founded the picture-gallery in Düsseldorf; and in
the observatory there, they still show us an extremely artistic piece of
work, consisting of one wooden cup within another which he himself had
carved in his leisure hours, of which latter he had every day
four-and-twenty.

[Illustration: JOHANN WILHELM MONUMENT, DÜSSELDORF]