Charlemagne died, January 28, 814, in his seventy-second year, and was buried at Aix-la-Chapelle, in a church which he had built there after his Italian conquests, in the Lombard style. Eginhard, his secretary and friend, who wrote his life, tells us that he was considerably above six feet in height, and well proportioned in all respects, excepting that his neck was somewhat too short and thick. His imperial crown, which is still preserved at Vienna, would fit only the head of a giant. His air was dignified, but at the same time his manners were social. Charlemagne had no fewer than five wives; of his four sons, only one survived him, Louis, the youngest and most incapable, who succeeded him on the imperial throne.[H] [To be continued.] [A] Lewis. [B] Lewis. [C] Taylor. [D] Lewis. [E] Menzies. [F] Menzies. [G] Lewis. [H] Menzies. EXTRACTS FROM GERMAN LITERATURE. WALTHER VON DER VOGELWEIDE. As an introduction to a brief extract upon Walther von der Vogelweide, we give Longfellow’s beautiful little poem: WALTHER VON DER VOGELWEIDE. Vogelweide the Minnesinger, When he left this world of ours, Laid his body in the cloister, Under Würtzburg’s minster towers. And he gave the monks his treasures, Gave them all with this behest: They should feed the birds at noontide Daily on his place of rest; Saying, “From these wandering minstrels I have learned the art of song; Let me now repay the lessons They have taught so well and long.” Thus the bard of love departed; And, fulfilling his desire, On his tomb the birds were feasted By the children of the choir. Day by day, o’er tower and turret, In foul weather and in fair, Day by day, in vaster numbers, Flocked the poets of the air. On the tree whose heavy branches Overshadowed all the place, On the pavement, on the tombstone, On the poet’s sculptured face, On the cross-bars of each window, On the lintel of each door, They renewed the War of Wartburg, Which the bard had fought before. There they sang their merry carols, Sang their lauds on every side; And the name their voices uttered Was the name of Vogelweide. Till at length the portly abbot Murmured, “Why this waste of food? Be it changed to loaves henceforward For our fasting brotherhood.” Then in vain o’er tower and turret, From the walls and woodland nests, When the minster bells rang noontide, Gathered the unwelcome guests. Then in vain, with cries discordant, Clamorous round the Gothic spire, Screamed the feathered Minnesingers For the children of the choir. Time has long effaced the inscriptions On the cloister’s funeral stones, And tradition only tells us Where repose the poet’s bones.