We must now take leave of Ems. It is a very hot place in warm weather, and I must say that the exterior and interior of the houses are not in the most perfect accordance. The fogs are frequent in the mornings, and the heat oppressive in the middle of the day. Few people can sleep without some of the windows being kept open, and the danger of catching colds is not inconsiderable. The reputation of the waters is very extended. The Empress of Russia and her daughter were swallowing them freely while we were there (1840), and seemed to require them or some other restoratives, as they exhibited any thing but hyperborean complexions. Several physicians have recommended a residence at this spa during the Winter; and I am inclined to think that it would not be a bad sejour for people with tracheal affections, or irritable conditions of the mucous membrane of the lungs. FRANKFORT. This celebrated city has changed its nature, but not its name—the _latter_ being now more appropriate than ever. It is a FREE-FORT, that is, it is free from fort or citadel—rampart or fosse—glacis or sallyport—cannon or mortar—shot or shells! All these have been converted into much better things—gardens, shrubberies, and promenades. Frankfort, I apprehend, has more of nominal freedom than real liberty. The protection of the German potentates is stronger, no doubt, than her ancient walls; but she is as much under the surveillance and control of these “HIGH MIGHTINESSES,” as ever she was under that of her military commandants, when a first rate fortress. Be that as it may, Frankfort is now a great emporium or re-union of commerce and carriages—of Jews and of Gentiles—of bankers and of brokers—of lenders and of venders—of consuls and of caléches—of voitures and of retours—of envoyés and employés—in fine, it is a large “normal school” for studying the first lines of diplomacy, trickery, traffic, and stock-jobbery. The old and the new portions of the city present a curious contrast—youth and beauty united to age and ugliness! One of the great lions of Frankfort is the cemetery, a few miles out of town. It is a huge “painted sepulchre,” marble without, and mummy within. This “city of the dead,” is not much smaller than its neighbour of the living. True, the mansions are on a smaller scale, and the chambers are low, dark, and unventilated; yet their inhabitants— “Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,”