with surprising delicacy, expression, and force.  But evidences of the perfect state of art in ancient times, at Nuremberg, may be gathered from almost every street in which the curious visitor walks.  On the first afternoon of my arrival here, I was driven, by a shower of rain, into a small shop—­upon a board, on the exterior of which were placed culinary dishes.  The mistress of the house had been cleaning them for the purpose of shewing them off to advantage on the Sunday.  One of these dishes—­which was brass, with ornaments in high relief—­happened to be rather deep, but circular, and of small diameter.  I observed a subject in relief, at the bottom, which looked very like art as old as the end of the fifteenth century—­although a good deal worn away, from the regularity pf periodical rubbing.  The subject represented the eating of the forbidden fruit.  Adam, Eve, the Serpent, the trees, and the fruit—­with labels, on which the old gothic German letter was sufficiently obvious—­all told a tale which was irresistible to antiquarian feelings.  Accordingly I proposed terms of purchase (one ducat) to the good owner of the dish:—­who was at first exceedingly surprised at the offer ... wondering what could be seen so particularly desirable in such a homely piece of kitchen furniture ... but, in the end, she consented to the proposal with extraordinary cheerfulness.  In another shop, on a succeeding day, I purchased two large brass dishes, of beautiful circular forms, with ornaments in bold relief—­and brought the whole culinary cargo home with me.  While upon the subject of old art—­of which there are scarcely a hundred yards in the city of Nuremberg that do not display some memorial, however perishing—­I must be allowed to make especial mention of the treasures of BARON DERSCHAU—­a respectable old Prussian nobleman, who has recently removed into a capacious residence, of which the chambers in front contain divers old pictures; and one chamber in particular, backward, is filled with curiosities of a singular variety of description.[172] I had indeed heard frequent mention of this gentleman, both in Austria and Bavaria.  His reception of me was most courteous, and his conversation communicative and instructive.  He did, and did not, dispose of things.  He was, and was not, a sort of gentleman-merchant.  One drawer was filled with ivory handled dirks, hunting knives, and pipe-bowls; upon which the carver had exercised all his cunning skill.  Another drawer contained implements of destruction in the shape of daggers, swords, pistols, and cutlasses:  all curiously wrought.  A set of Missals occupied a third drawer:  portfolios of drawings and prints, a fourth; and sundry volumes, of various and not uninteresting character, filled the shelves of a small, contiguous book-case.  Every thing around me bore the aspect of temptation; when, calling upon my tutelary genius to defend me in such a crisis, I accepted the Baron’s offer, and sat down by the side of him upon a sofa—­which, from the singularity of its form and materiel, might formerly possibly have supported the limbs of Albert Durer himself.