W^,.'''\'^WJ /\ ■•^^'' o^'^^^ -.p^' / '**,\ v^ • , ^" ^'^^^ ^ <^ ■V, ^" '<*». • % ^-^ ♦t^ *^ ^^'\ >:\ .<'°\''^ik>- ,/V:^'*'*. /.t^.^oo ^^^ -a:^ % ^V "^^^n^ T» A^ Curopnin fife, fcgcitb, anb Jaitbscitpe. '^'^^^fw ^, Jtk\A. f^}i^^^, I^Sf- J EUROPEAN LIFE, LEGEND, AND LANDSCAPE. B Y AN ARTIST. PHILADELPHIA: JAMES CHALLEN & SON. LINDSAY & BLAKISTON, No. 25 SOUTH SIXTH STREET. 1859. Entered, accordiug to act of Congress, in the year 1S59, by JAMES CIIALLEN & SON, iu the CI.?j-k's Office of the District Court of the UuiteJ States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. MEARS 4 DUSEN-BEP.r, STEREOTTPErs. LirPINCOTT 4 CO., PRINTERS. NOV 2 2 198^ 0. S. MURRAY, ESQ., ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. Philadelphia, October Ktli, 1868. CONTENTS. PACE Land-ho! II I^EWHAVEN lo Ax English Railway l-l First Impressions 17 Art in London 21 The London Parks 20 Metropolitan Amusements 29 London Churches - 34 Westminster Abbk* 37 PaRLEZ-VOUS ANGLAiai" 41 BiiuoES 43 The Glove of Charles V _ 47 Rubens 52 How A Woman Died 66 Brussels 63 The Meuse 68 Aix-la-Chapelle 74 Charlemagne 78 The Grand Reliques 81 The Ring of Fastrada 83 Koln 85 Dusseldorf 92 The Seven Mountains 96 The Sceptio Converted — A Legend of the Petersthal . . . . ]00 Rolandseck 101 The Dampfschiff 104 coblentz 108 Knapsack and Staff . . .112 Goldener Pfropfenzieher 1I6 Oberwessel 118 (ix) X Contents. PAGE Sunday Night in Prussia 120 Bacharacu 122 A Rencontre . . .124 The Odenwald 128 Thr Diligence KJl The Alps 135 Chillon 137 The Bernese Oberland — The Wengern-Alp 143 The Great Scheideck 147 L'Envoy 151 EUROPEAN LIFE, LECxEND, AND LANDSCAPE, I. LAND-HO ! Fear not, my friend, that I am about to exhaust your patience, and consume your time, with a repetition of the oft- told tale of those who go down to the sea in ships — of storms and calms and hairbreadth 'scapes ; of vast leviathan and sea- man's story ; yet I cannot bid farewell to Ocean without a tribute to his memory, though I parted from him without a sigh. The " multitudinous laughter of his waves" have wrought my soul to joyful sympathy, and the western winds that wafted me from home, have seemed like messengers from my native land ; and their voices, as they whispered music amid the cordage, though sad, have seemed like the voices of accompanying angels, and have left an echo of peace in my heart. It would be well for all, who leave home for far countries, the first time, that the sea should be their earliest highway. In its entire isolation there is ample space for thought, and in its infinity an exhibition of the Divine, which becomes a consola- tion. Here, there are few things to attract the attention, or compel it to the contemplation of current realities ; and thus the mind is involuntarily and necessarily led back to memories of perished pleasures ; and the ghosts of past hours, clothed not in the cerements of the tomb, but crowned with the flowers of youth and happiness, haunt every moonbeam, and dance on each sunlit wave. There are, too, indolent imaginings and aspiring hopes of the future, and those high-colored mental pictures, which, according to Tacitus, ever cling around our 12 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. conceptions of an unknown land. Thus while the voyage, though monotonous in accident and adventure, is still interest- ing, the soul, hj its self-communion, is prepared, through it, to enjoy the varied experiences of travel. Such has been my heart history on the waves, and that is why I now look back with pleasure on my voyage. Nevertheless, despite my happy dreams of past and future — despite the novelty and beauty of all things around me — the gorgeous sunset — the sublime tem- pest, and the intrinsic interest of the sea itself — every wave infinite and transcendental — I could not repress the emotion of intense gladness which filled my heart, and dimmed my eyes with tears, when the first faint misty line of blue appeared far ofi" on the horizon, and the busy mariner, high up on the bend- ing mast, shading his eyes with his hand, and looking away in the distance, hailed the deck — "Land ho !" This announcement, however familiar it is made by anticipa- tion, never fails to excite an universal interest ; and the deck is soon crowded with curious, happy faces. The most interest- ing groups are forward — there stand a party of emigrants returning home, their cheeks glowing, and their eyes sparkling at the sight of their native land ; — there, an old man and his still more aged wife, going home, perchance to die among their children, and to be buried in the little churchyard, where, when thei/ were children, they had played. It is easy to read their thoughts, as with hands clasped in each other's embrace, and streaming eyes, they. gaze, now, on the land of their birth; and then, up to that land above the clouds, beyond the deep blue sky, so soon to be their final abode. Near them are a party of French and Germans, each of whom has forgotten his English in a moment, and with wild gesticulation, is pouring forth his rejoicing in some barbarous ^afoi« of his native tongue. I have hardly time to note half of all this, when I feel myself carried back, down the steeps of history, to eras half forgotten, and epochs wholly fabulous. Some mental magic has affected my brain ; and on that faint blue background of Albion, in the distance, are pictured images of kings and queens and mighty men. Now, I behold the Roman eagles glittering in the sun, as Caesar or Agricola lead on their legions to victory ; now, the Newhaven. 13 scene is changed, and tlie grating keels of the Saxon sea-kings touch the strand, and with rude shouts, the wild northern war- riors plant their standards on the hills ; William the Norman advances in feudal grandeur ; and now, a scene full of purest joy — I see a proud king bowing before his barons, and grant- ing to Englishmen that charter — the embryo of Anglo-Saxon freedom. And now, like the ghosts of Banquo's children, crowned with glory and honor, the shades of Shakspeare, and Spenser, and Milton, and Bunyan, and many more, whose lives being great and good, the world has recognised as sublime, passed before me. Then came another series of the same dreams, and another, and still another — all like beautiful fairies, aroused from the enchanted palace of memory by the magic incantation — " Land ho !" NEWHAVEN. For three days head-winds prevailed in the channel — for two we were becalmed, and each day we had distinctly seen the land a few miles off. Sometimes we would leave it for a few hours, or the proverbial mist of England would veil it from our vision ; but if we went to bed unblessed with the sight of it, the next morning's sunshine was sure to exhibit it to us. Again, we would approach within a mile of it, so that we could distinctly see the hedges and farm-houses, and cows and sheep and pigs ; could almost scent the flowers, and hear the milk- maid's song ; but we could get into no port, and, in sight of green fields, it was almost unbearable. As we passed Plymouth, and AVeymouth, and Portsmouth, and Brighton, we made suc- cessive attempts to reach each of them, but the head-winds were imperious. Relenting finally, however, they permitted us to land at Newhaven, and- thus my first acquaintance with Old England was made through one of her newest ports — a pleasant town enough, and quaint, too, with its peaked gables and red-tiled roofs, and its little Gothic spire on the hill-side, just beyond the only grove of trees in the neighborhood. But the rarest sight for a voyager, who had been a month at sea, were the broad fields, which stretched away to the east, dotted 2 14 European L i r e, L e g e n d, a n d Landscape. with houses and windmills, and gemmed with daisies and butter- cups, until at Beachy-Head they ended in abrupt chalk-cliffs, perpendicular to the waves. I was disappointed with the hotel, which combined the inn, the custom-house, and the railway depot in one building, resembling in outward appearance one of our immense white watering-place hotels, and was just as unquiet within. On landing, I strolled for awhile over the fields, picking up the wild flowers, and thinking, sometimes, of the history of the soil I now trod for the first time : oftener of the land of my birth, and of the old folks and young folks at home ; ever and anon kneeling and rolling about on the ground, hardly, as yet, comprehending its perfect materiality. A short time, hoAVCver, served for my dreams to merge into realities, the more especially as I had eaten nothing during the morning, and I returned to the hotel. Here I found my friends enjoy- ing themselves over the table d'hote, feasting on fresh mackerel and fricasseed chicken, and I quickly joined them. I was much amused here with the first specimen I had seen of an English waiter. His clerical look of grave decorum, not lessened by his invariable white cravat ; his polite bow, added to the re- quest, "Remember the waiter, sir!" and above all, his cool impudence and self-possession under embarrassing circum- stances, were all admirable. Newhaven is now the most usual route for those who wish to go from London to Paris with expedition and economy, and writing as I am now, amid the bustle and confusion of London, where the noise of the ever progressive human tide reaches me, in the fifth story of a hotel, with my windows exposed to the full glare of a hot sun, I look back on its pleasant fields and cool sea-breeze, with something allied to regret. AN ENGLISH RAILWAY. Punctual to the hour, the train left for London. My two friends and myself were the only ones who indulged in the luxury of a first class car, and in consequence, we had the whole of one to ourselves. I soon regretted our exclusiveness, A N E N G L I S 11 R A I L W A Y. 15 for we were, after a four weeks' voyage together, somewhat th-ed of each other's faces, and bj taking a second class car, we would have been thrown into society new to us, where, doubtless, we would have found some one familiar with the lo- calities, to instruct us concerning them ; but, on the other hand, if we were deprived of this advantage, we were also freed from the impertinent importunities of chaperons, and had more time and better opportunities for reflection and free imaginative observation. The car itself, resembled an American stage- coach — somewhat more commodious, with comfortable seats for six persons. The speed of the train, though rapid, did not appear to be as great as that of American rail cars generally are ; I was pleased with this, as it gave me a better opportu- nity to see the country in passing. My observation of cha- racter on this trip was, of course, necessarily limited ; never- theless, I saw several curious things. In the office where we procured our tickets, I observed a rather singular charitable impertinence — a placard, requesting contributions for the benefit of the sufferers in a late accident on the road ! I threw a shilling into the box, less from charity than as an acknow- ledgment of the caution it silently enjoined. I noticed, also, that every Englishman we passed had red whiskers ; every matron was fat, every maiden was fair, all the small boys were ludicrous — the latter wore high-crowned beaver hats, stuck on the back of their heads, very wide collars, extremely short jackets, and appeared to be the objects of especial solicitude on the parts of their fat mothers and pretty sisters. The landscape, on leaving Newhaven, was, or would have been, very uninteresting, had we not been so long without see- ing any land at all ; but as we progressed into the interior, where the ground was more broken and loftier, and where trees became more frequent, it was indeed lovely, and fully realized my long-cherished dreams of English rural scenery. At one time we passed a wide extent of meadow land, cut up by hedges and houses, and smooth white roads, stretching far away into the blue distance ; at another, the old town of Lewes, with its ivy- wreathed and ruined castle on the hill, of which place I had a vague remembrance of its being the battle-field of contending 16 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. armies long ago ; though whether between the Romans and the Britons, or the Saxons and the Normans, I knew not. The dimness of my memory regarding it, and the mist which hung before the green hills, far on the left of the road, threw both objects alike into the distance — the one of time, and the other of space — and made both more beautiful. I had not long, how- ever, to dream of armed knights and glorious war, for we rapidly passed farm-houses, so embowered in the tall old elms, that their thatched roofs, and quaint weather-stained chimneys, were all that was visible. Rosy-faced children, peeping through the bars of old gates, or riding donkeys up the lane ; enor- mous barns with their populous yards ; the teamsters in the fields near the roadside, stopping their labor, and gazing with their horses at the flying train, all lured me to the contempla- tion of peaceful quiet and contented happiness. Again we would pass a gentleman's park and mansion, sometimes ruined by landscape gardening, but more frequently, I have no doubt, greatly improved by it. Never before have I seen art so perfectly Avedded to nature ; roads fringed with flowers winding up the vistas of oak and elm groves, crossing rivulets over picturesque little bridges ; hedges of hawthorn, and fences hidden amid vines of ivy and honeysuckle ; and where the brook dashed down the little cascade, and formed itself into a smooth clear basin, the tallest and thickest of the forest trees grew, looking down, Narcissus-like, on their beautiful reflec- tions in the water. Then there was almost a wildness in the deep dells and umbrageous density of the foliage in the pre- serves, filled with partridges, squirrels, and singing birds. Here the only thing disturbing the solitary beauty of the spot, would be the universal warning to poachers, with hints of bulldogs and insinuations of man-traps — necessary evils ! for surely, when a gentleman spends so much labor and money in preserv- ing such beautiful spots from barbarous intrusion, any means to obtain the object is pardonable. The misfortune is where the owner values it as his larder, not as his landscape ! Again the train would pass a country village, with its gothic steeple overtopping the houses, and the little white stones in the churchyard lying in full view in the morning light. At the fiR ST Impressions. 17 inn, neai'er the roadside, the idlers and travellers would come to the door ; female heads would protrude from the upper windows ; and the hostler, in leather knee-breeches, watering the horses at the pump, would turn around ; and all would look after us until we were out of sight. The whistle would now give a wild but not discordant scream, and we Avould slowly glide under the archway of some provincial station — Horsham, perhaps, associated with my memories of Shelley. And now we are off again, and again do we whirl past villages, and farm- houses, and parks. But the country becomes more thickly settled ; domains are not so wide, and villas are more frequent. The Crystal Palace at Sydenham bursts, like Aladdin's en- chanted dome, on the vision ; and now, full of some indefinable excitement, I forget the caution necessary on American rail- ways, and stretch my head out of the window. A cry of glad- ness and expectation bursts from my lips, and we roll on into London ; over the tops of the houses, on archways supported by stone pillars ; looking down on the red and the slated roofs ; down into garret windows, where poverty is at labor ; down into squalid yards, and streets, and lanes, filled with filth, and offal, and misery — for this is not the wealthy part of London — looking over to lofty steeples, embellished with curious rich carvings ; and over to better houses and manufactories — cleaner, though all dark and old ; for the very new houses here seem to be built of old brick and stone ; and ever as I roll along, and look down into the dark courts and into the garret win- dows, I see in them little flower pots and broken crockery ware, and tin pans, in which are growing sickly plants — a faint indication of the heart-longing for green fields and fresh air, in the more miserable — of a love for the beautiful in the better portion of the inhabitants. The hum of the immense city grows louder, and now we de- scend, and soon are set down, by an exorbitant cabman, at our hotel door in London. FIRST IMPRESSIONS. I entered London over London Bridge, and took my first 2* 18 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. meal at a chop-liouse near the site of the ancient Boar's Head Tavern; and although, an hour before, I had been full of glowing remembrances and excited anticipations, I ate my chop, and drank my half pint of sherry, just as the most common- place cockney in London might have done. True, I thought of Shakspeare, and Prince Hal, and Mistress Quickly, and " bully old Jack," but they passed through my mind like the dramatis personfe of a dream, mingled with all sorts of odd thoughts, incoherent and unnatural, but exciting no surprise and less interest, Li the afternoon, I walked around the city, jostled by porters, hailed by omnibus conductors, and solicited by petty merchants, who insisted on selling me matches, snuff-boxes, doll-babies, and old clothes. I was darting across the street to avoid a cab ; a ragged sweep begged a penny, and followed me into the road ; I missed the da.nger, but the wheel struck the little fellow, and the cabman hit him with the whip and cursed him. I felt for a copper, but had none. I chide myself even now (though I am used to beggars) for not having given him a shilling. As I left him, turning away my face, he thanked me " all the same !" I stopped to look at some prints in a Avindow — several other gen- tlemen were looking in also — soon after I missed my handker- chief. I met policemen in uniform ; soldiers in uniform ; foot- men in uniform, and little boys a foot-and-a-half high, in uniform. I passed Turks and Kaffirs in their native costumes ; Chinese, Hungarians, Portugese and Dutchmen in theirs ; and a policeman was leading a woman, drunken and swearing, to prison, who had almost no costume at all. I saw a happy family in a cage, and an unhappy one in an alley. I saw Punch-shows, and monkey-shows ; hurdy-gurdies, and ground and lofty tum- blers. I saw fortunes — in jewelry and plate, and rich silks and laces — in windows ; and I saw poverty looking at them. I saw beautiful ladies and ill-featured ones, in carriages and on foot ; and young men in dashing cabs, with a tidy boy (why they call such tigers, when they look so like monkeys, I am sure I don't know !) on the seat behind. Then I gazed at Guildhall, and pondered on St. Paul's, and wondered at every- thing. Then I found myself back at the hotel again, near First Impressions 19 London Bridge, which I walked over and wandered through the churchyard of St. Saviour's, and read the epitaphs of men forgotten a hundred years ago. I went into the church, where the light stole dreamily through the tall lancet windows, and only one little ray fell upon the old gothic carvings. Here were other tombs, but I neglected them, and returned over the bridge, looking at the workmen going home, with their dinner- baskets ; and the cabs going to the railway stations ; and at the little steamboats, flying up and down the river, crowded with passengers ; and all, wherever I gazed, was full of life and bustle and business. At night, when the shadows had fallen upon the city, and the calm surface of the river glirameringly reflected the lights along the shore, I walked again over the bridge. St. Paul's loomed duskily up in the distance, and the water rippled, and murmured against the stone piers underneath. The human tide, like the river, rolled on unceasingly — the gay mingled with the squalidly wretched — rich and poor hurried on, or lounged about alike. There was apparently no rest in the pul- sation of the mighty heart of the great city, and I marvelled as I gazed. The pedestrians, as in the day-time, well repaid study ; and it was a lesson, not soon to be forgotten, and not to be learned without sadness — that which was gathered from the various countenances around. Here an artist micrht find studies for every human passion — Love and Hatred ; Hope and Despair ; Joy and Sorrow. What a contrast ! thought I, between yon happy young mother, as she leans on her hus- band's arm, laughing with joy, when her baby on his other arm crows, and wonders with his bright blue eyes at each passing object — a pcliceman with an embroidered coat, or a red soldier with brass buttons and white epaulettes — and that other mother, as young, and once perhaps as happy, gazing over the parapet, down into the rippling waters — mocking her moans and her child's moans, and calling upon her to loose herself from her present misery, and her babe from its future misery, and seek rest and oblivion of sorrow down in its calm still depths! And I thought how soon the happier mother might come to hear that same still voice, and how many others, 20 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. "fashioned so slenderly, young and so fair," had heard it, and had accepted its low invitation. I shuddered and turned away, and sought for new attractions amid the crowd, but too potent a melancholy possessed me — the bridge appeared only a "Bridge of Sighs," and even long after I had ceased to repeat to myself Hood's immortal poem, the influence remained upon me. With the calm solemn river alone could I feel, or find sympathy — the dark shadows which lay upon its waters were like the sadness which brooded over my heart ; while the glimmering reflections of the light along shore — shining far down in the still depths, were like the memories of past joys, distant and bodiless, yet beautiful and consoling. Long was my vigil upon the bridge, and late the hour I quitted it ; yet neither was the crowd nor the confusion less ; and even when I had returned to my hotel, and got into bed, the distant murmur of the hurrying multitudes reached me like the sound that the surf makes when it breaks on the rocky shore ; and my heart was still sorrowful and solitary, for I felt that I was alone in a solitude deeper than that of the forest or the desert — I was alone in the " wide, wide world" of London ! II. AKT IN LONDON.* The first place that an artist will visit in London, the more especially if, like myself, he finds himself there for the first time, is the National Gallery. So, the day after my arrival, accompanied by my friends, I went there. The gallery of the old masters, much to our disappointment, we found closed, it being Saturday ; but its modern neighbor, the Royal Academy exhibition, was open ; and passing the red-coated soldiers, with monstrous fur-mountains on their heads — the ugly cerberi, who guard the entrances of all the public institutions here — we paid our shillings, procured our catalogues, and entered. It was not without a beating heart that I wandered through the rooms, rendered almost sacred by the immortal names of those, who, since Sir Joshua, eighty-five years ago, first formed the associa- tion, had exhibited their pictures and created their wide-spread reputations in them. The emotion I felt was wholly devoid of the veneration of antiquity, but I expected to be dazzled with a display of modern art, not to be equalled in the world ; and, as a natural consequence, I was disappointed. Not with Landseer, who has here some of his most beautiful and valuable pictures — one pair is especially fine — representing a dispute for the mastery of the glen between two noble stags. The first painting, called "Night," can be most fittingly and best described by the stanza of the poem it illustrates : — "The moon, clear witness of the fierce affray Iler wakeful lamp held o'er that lonely place, Fringing with light the wild lake's fitful spray, Whilst madly glanced the Borealis race." * The author would have hesitated to publish this letter, as presumptu- ous and faulty in its criticism, but that he wished the reader to benefit by his experiences, precisely as he acquired them — giving results only when processes were tedious and unimportant. 22 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. Its companion, "Morning," wliere, after the hard-fought contest, " Locked in the close embrace of death they lay, Those mighty heroes of the mountain side — Contending champions for the kingly sway, In strength and spirit matched, they fought and died," is equally beautiful. The glazed eye and torn sides of the heroic animals, lying with interwoven antlers ; the yet half- fearful wolf, creeping stealthily to his feast ; and, in the gray distance, the hovering bird of prey, might teach ambitious warriors a lesson which they cannot learn too soon, nor heed too well. Nor was I less than delighted with the pictures of Cooper, and Ward, and Pickersgill, and Phillips. Yet the exhibition, as a whole, fell far below my expectations. The landscape part especially was, in all save correct drawing and nicety of detail, much inferior to many American exhibitions ; and I did not see a picture which could compare with those of Cole and Cropsey and Durand. Nor alone in this gallery, but in all I have examined, have the landscapes disappointed me ; unless I make a just exception in favor of the water-color drawings, which are frequently magnificent. Of these there are innumer- able specimens in the Academy, and at the two exhibitions of the Societies of Water-Color Painters, in Pall Mall. In the Royal Academy, as well as in every other English collection, fine portraits abound ; and on the walls of the present year's exhibition are heads, which, if they cannot be compared to those of Vandyke and Titian, at least equal those of Sir Joshua Reynolds and Sir Thomas Lawrence. In all the modern galleries, the absence of sentiment and high intention is painfully apparent. Except the two Land- seers before mentioned, there is scarcely one great picture in the Academy of this year. One man has painted an immense oak, almost the size of life, with distressing elaboration of ferns and weeds in the foreground ; another has given us some wonderful gold-fish in a vase, one plate of strawberries, a glass of sherry, and six japonicas ; while a still more (or less) ambitious brother ArtinLondon. 23 has painted a whole vegetable garden, or green-grocerj ; fish, flesh, and fowl ; still life ; and bits of genre dispute with the portraits the monopoly of the walls ; while there are scarcely a dozen with any poetry or dignified purpose. One is almost led, in spite of the sombre walls of the Pantheon, to regret the days of West and Haydon, who, with all their sprawling, had a feeling earnest and solemn. Art is made popular, not by elevating the taste of the people to it, but by dragging it down to their comprehension, and by selecting subjects interesting from some present local associations : thus, there are portraits of Miss Murray as " Dorothy Budd," in " St. Cupid" — Douglas Jerrold's late successful play ; and no less than a dozen pictures of the " Old Duke," as he appeared at Waterloo, and Assaye, and Sorauren, when last on duty at the Horse-Guards, and, indeed, in almost every notable event of his life. Here, too, the ubiquitous "Uncle Tom" solicits a portion of the public favor ; who, by the way, has been so often stuck in people's faces, in print-shops, plays, music-stores, and pictures, that they are all beginning heartily to wish him to abscond. The pictures of " little Eva" are not so tiresome, for she is a pretty creation in the novel, and most of the representations I have seen of her are equally lovely : but it is a bore, while it is laughable, to see the innumerable prints in the shop windows (" price eighteen pence, with Mrs. Stowe thrown in for two shillin' ") of burly Africans, with faces and forms like the Apollo Belvidere, their eyes like poets' in fine frenzy rolling, looking up to heaven, and informing gentlemen with wide hats, bowie knives, and cart-whips, who stand behind them, that "you cannot take my soul, massa!" It is a highly edifying sight also, to see gentlemen and ladies, who pass by supplica- ting ivliite poverty, with rude carelessness, stopping and gazing ruefully sentimental and sympathetic at the black pictured misery ! I passed from the galleries of paintings into the sculpture- room ; and here alone did I feel the true dignity of British art, sustained by McDowell, and Bell, and Wcstmacott, and Foley. all of whom were worthily represented. A monumental group here, to Percy Bysshe Shelley, although of no very great 24 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. excellence as to art, interested me, as a fitting though tardy recognition of his genius and his untimely end. It bore the beautiful motto from his own "Adonais:" — " He has outsoared the shadow of our night ; Envy and calumny, and hate and pain ; And that unrest, which men miscall delight, Can touch him not, and torture not again." On the Monday following I gained admission to the National Gallery of the paintings of the old masters, and of deceased British painters, and to the British Institution for Promoting the Fine Arts — the only two public galleries for the exhibition of ancient pictures. More lately I have also been permitted to see several celebrated private collections, at Bridgewater House, the residence of the Earl of Ellesmere ; at Grosvenor House, the palace of the Marquis of Westminster, and some others of lesser attraction. Of the pictures I have thus had a fair opportunity of examining, I cannot write without hesita- tion, lest on the one hand, by telling the truth in regard to my impressions, I forfeit for ever all credence in my criticism ; or, on the other, by quoting guide books and enthusiastic tourists, I forfeit all claims to independence and originality ; and, what is of much greater consequence to me, insult my own veracity. Here I saw Raffaelle — the divine — the sweet prince of painting ! alas, it was but a hollow mockery, a hypocrisy I was soon ashamed of — the adoration I paid to his shrine. I will write no more of him now ; hereafter, when in his own Italy, surrounded by the same associations he was, when he painted there ; under the lofty roof of the Vatican, and before the " Transfiguration," then /may, too, become a sincere wor- shipper ; until then I will be silent. With the rest I was better pleased, for their fame was not as lofty, and with them I had less strong predilections to be broken ; so I gazed with plea- sure on Correggio ; with delight on Titian ; with admiration on Caracci ; Da Vinci ; and Nicolo Poussin ; and with rapture on Kubens. Glorious pictures are his <' Brazen Serpent," " Rape of the Sabines," and his allegory of " Peace and War ;" glorious but not divine, for theirs is the poetry of Ovid and ArtinLondon. 25 Catullus, warm and voluptuous, with full fair forms, flowing and beautiful color, and lovely, if somewhat sketchy details. Were I King Cupid, Rubens should have been the painter of my realms. I was pleased also with the striking peculiarities of Rembrandt, and the exquisite grace of Murillo. Guido in one or two pictures well combines the voluptuous beauty of Rubens with the classic purity of Correggio ; and Hogarth affected me like Horace or Pope, only far more than either. Yet I am not quite sure but what modern artists have given the world pictures as perfect, and designs as brilliant. Throw aside the extraneous influence of antiquity, the sanctity born of a world's worship; view these old pictures of the grand old masters with the calm unprejudiced criticism that you would those of a living aspirant for fame, and you will perhaps, as 1 have done, dare to think that there are as great artists noAv as have ever lived. The Vernon Gallery, lately bequeathed to the nation by Robert Vernon, Esq., at present exhibiting in Marlborough House, has occupied my study for several of the past sunny afternoons. The pictures are placed in a suite of rooms on the ground floor, looking out on the palace yard ; made cool by the shady old trees, and musical by the birds who live in them. They are placed in an excellent light, and I enjoyed them under the greatest advantages. Here, more great names were stripped of their meretricious reputation ; while others, as Hogarth, Copley, and Wilkie, were rendered still dearer. Here I saw some very fine pictures by Leslie, and Landseer, and Maclise : and some absurd caricatures of nature and art, in the pictures of Turner, and the landscape school generally. Creswick and Calcott I had especially admired in engravings of their works ; but the originals ruined the impression. To those who can see pictures in the fire, and can trace profiles in the cracks of ceil- ings, Turner's pictures will be interesting ; but to those unrea- sonable people, Avho insist on a horse looking more like a horse than a tree ; and a group of figures being more than a hap- hazard blotch of bad color, they will appear like nothing but daubs ; and one of these I humbly confess I am. Wilson is much more satisfactory than any other, with the exception of 3 26 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. Gainsborough, whom I conceive to be the greatest of English landscapists. This may strike some people, readers of Ruskin's " Modern Painters" especially, as being a very summary, perhaps imper- tinent, way of disposing of pictures, that the world (of guide books, &c.) has so long united in praising. If it is con- sidered so, I cannot help it, nor retract it. It would not be very great presumption to affirm it to be as easy to create as to criticise many of these works of art. Already I long for green hills and mountains — for some solitude where man has but rarely come ; and where I can gaze my fill at landscape devoid of affectation and empiricism — something impossible to find on the canvass of English landscape painters ; and hardly in those magnificent retreats whose beauties shall next employ my pen. THE LONDON PARKS. <'I don't know," said my friend, the old sea captain, as we lounged over the quarter-railing one evening with our cigars ; «' I don't know that a person can find anywhere a more pleasant place to pass the day, than in the London parks, wandering about the walks, smoking a cigar — though the tobacco is bad in London — and gazing at the numerous pedestrians!" Recollecting this expression, I was influenced soon after my arrival to visit the principal ones, which a three weeks' acquaint- ance has now associated with some of the happiest hours of my stay. In other parts of the city, in the purlieus of the East End, and in the innumerable dark and foul courts which abound even the heart of the metropolis, and which pour their human tides continually into the most public thoroughfares — one is ever jostled by poverty, and shocked by the most fre- quent and flagrant exhibitions of degradation and misery. But in these beautiful grounds, given by a liberality truly royal, to the people ; with their lovely walks ; cultivated lawns ; graceful and umbrageous trees ; their miniature lakes and rivers of crystalline water — the homes of hundreds of swans, and other aquatic fowl ; with skies almost blue, and an atmosphere free from the tainted breath of the smoky, steamii.g city; The London Parks. 27 here "we find nothing but joy and pleasure ; at least, nought else is apparent. Everybody is gayly dressed, and the duchess, in her carriage on Rotten-Row, and the poor weaver, crawling from the lanes of Spitafields into the Victoria, are equally, for the time being, the votaries of enjoyment. Thus, there is a double pleasure to the stranger visiting the parks ; for while the soft beauty of the scenery captivates him, he feels, also, the pleasant contagion of others' happiness. I have visited them at all hours, and on every day of the week, and have ever found them delightful, amusing, and instructive. Satur- day is the fashionable day ; and at five o'clock in the afternoon, should you be in London on a pleasant day, you might, if you so desired, see any number of those fashionable exponents of English birth and breeding — the nobility and gentry of the realm — by standing for a short time on the mound of the statue of Achilles, overlooking the principal gate of Hyde Park, and the world renowned bridle-road, Rotten-Row. It is a place for more than mere observation of equipage and fashion, for at a short distance on the left is Apsley House, the town resi- dence of the Duke of Wellington ; in front the towers of West- minster, and the House of Parliament, rise above the trees ; on the right, the waters of the Serpentine glisten through the foliage ; while in the distance, behind, is Cumberland Palace, which one visits on the way to Tyburn gallows, and the grave of Oliver Cromwell. Rotten-Row is one of the finest, cer- tainly the most fashionable, drives in the world ; and from your post, near Achilles, you will see ladies, the representatives of all the virtues and accomplishments of polite society, and in all external attractions, save beauty, excelling perhaps any other class of females in the world, rolling past in handsome carriages. Officers in splendid uniforms, and other gentlemen, dash by on noble horses, or in heavy but showy phaetons. Footmen in all colors, look indignant when an impertinent costermonger, with his donkey cart, obstructs for a moment the passage into the gates ; their masters exchange nods fami- liarly, bow gracefully to ladies and distinguished acquaintances, and kiss their hands condescendingly to the tailor, to whom they owe "a small bill." The sward is covered with pedestrians of 28 Ejropean Life, Legend, and Landscape. the middle class, or with strangers like yourself. Children there are, too, the younger with their maids, the older ones with their kites and hoops, or with bits of apple and cake enticing the swans to the shores of the lakes, and as you wit- ness their pleasure, you feel half inclined to procure a kite yourself, and be a child again ; indeed, several old gentlemen with spectacles, who look very like Mr. Pickwick, have evi- dently shared your desire, and have gleefully fraternized with the juveniles. On Sunday, besides the usual habitues, there are then workmen and clerks, who, having been chained to the bench or the desk for a week, now come here to enjoy with their wives and children the fresh air, and what sunshine nature is pleased to bestow. Sempstresses, too, and nurse-maids with their little charges; and, may be, like Wilson and Goldsmith, there are yet artists and poets of approaching fame, who wan- der, with their elbows out, amid the crowd. Young lovers take advantage of the retired walks to declare their mutual passion, and those of both sexes, who have no lover, exert here their most successful arts to procure them. A sudden shower sometimes interrupts the festivities, and when this is the case, the confusion and hurry of all to escape being wetted ; the care young gentlemen take of their hats and white waistcoats ; the equal anxiety of the young ladies to preserve their silks and muslins ; the very evident mental dis- comfiture of the white-stockinged lacqueys ; all this well repays the observer for his ducking, if he is young enough to have no fears of rheumatism. The immense size of the parks has the excellent result of solitude. No matter how great the crowd may be, there is always some retired spot to be found, with a beautiful vista, and a shaded sward ; where one can observe unmolested, read undisturbed, and dream uninterrupted. In such a sylvan sanc- tum, with the crowd at a distance, the Serpentine at my feet, and not far from Kensington Gardens, have I often lain and dreamed sweet dreams. Memories of the past, and visions of the future, ay! and thoughts somewhat less sweet of the present, would here find me a willing slave ; and sometimes, when the fragrant breeze of evening would bear to my ears Metropolitan Amusements. 29 the music of the Horse Guards' band, playing before the palace, I have felt a purity of pleasure seldom experienced in this whirling city. The historical associations of these parks would be interest- ing, had we time to dwell upon them. At present Hyde Park, with its beautiful walks and drives ; St. James's, a verdant jewel, set around with palaces ; Green Park, containing her Majesty's residence; Regent's Park, with its exhibitions, zoo- logical and botanical ; the Victoria, the blessing of its quarter ; these, whose associations and whose beauties would fill a volume ; whose extent would occupy a visiter a week in traversing ; the most magnificent of regal gifts, and the sole breathing-places of more than two millions of people — the lungs as it Avere of London, I leave with reminiscences as fragrant with love as their flowers are of perfume. METROPOLITAN AMUSEMENTS. The English are a fun-loving people, in spite of their cold gravity ; and although the good old times have gone by, when if there was less security there Avas more jollity — although, as with us, many of the national periodical amusements have fallen into oblivion — the anniversary dinners of the various Guilds and Corporations annually becoming more rare ; the boar's head at Christmas, which existed as late as Washington Irving's time, being voted a bore — and the May Queen become as fabulous a creature as Titania, being confined to obscure rural districts, and the ballads of poets like Tennyson — though princes mingle no longer with boon companions in the tap- rooms of taverns ; and the inn of good Mistress Quickly is now historical — in spite of all this, the English are still a fun-loving people. They seek pleasure systematically. They never go on a spree, like the Americans, and then keep sober for a month afterwards to make up for it ; nor do they indulge in the extra- vagant gayeties of their French neighbors ; but it is a rule with them to enjoy life all the time if possible. Thus, although they drink more intoxicating liquors than the Americans, there is, perhaps, even less intoxication among them. Like true 3* 30 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. Epicureans, they follow the dictum of their master, and while they " curse tlie pleasure that makes a man a fool," they do not yield to the doctrine of total abstinence. In their eating, too, this economy of pleasure is manifested. The hon vivant over his turtle and salad, and the poorer class who have only cold mutton, both enjoy their meal alike. Not a morsel is swallowed without having given its due proportion of pleasure and nourishment in mastication. For this reason they are fond of reading at meals, especially at breakfast, digesting their chop and the price of stocks, their despatched lobster and the last despatches from India at the same time. At dinner, com- pany and conversation take the place of the breakfast litera- ture, and consume the time between the courses. Tea is merely a nominal meal, partaken of by ladies almost exclusively; and supper, which is generally eaten after the theatre or the opera, is passed in discussing " devilled kidneys" and Robert le Blable, chicken salad and Giulietta Grisi. This animal voluptuousness in eating, and love of society, combine to form the clubs, of which there are many hundreds in the metropolis. I do not allude merely to the palaces in the West End, maintained by subscription, which serve as town residences for the young nobility and gentry who possess no other ; and for officers of the army and navy, whose means and station enable them to prefer the gorgeous salons in Pali-Mall to their less comfortable quarters elsewhere ; but there exist many such societies, whose sole object is " to eat, drink, and be merry," and of these there are all grades, from the Beef-Steak Club — so aristocratic and exclusive, that, though nearly all noblemen, their constitution limits their number to twenty-five members — down to the little tap in Bethnal-Green, where small weavers and sweeps go each Saturday night to spend their earnings and toast '<■ Her Ma- jesty" in gin and water. I had the honor to be present, one evening, at a club meeting of the officers of a West India regi- ment, where, really, I did not know Avhich to admire the most — the warm-hearted courtesy, the gentlemanly wit, or the capa- city* for punch of each individual member. The most fashionable public amusement is, of course, the opera; which presents every evening of "the season" a varied Metropolitan Amusements. 31 and delightful programme for the lovers of music, and the name of some distinguished diva invariably heads the bills. Crowded as this resort is, by all the most fashionable people, the etiquette of dress and other et ceteras is strictly insisted upon ; and apropos of this, a good story is told of an American gentleman who visited the parquette on Grisi's benefit. He had procured seats early for himself and lady, and in consequence, when a few moments before the curtain rose, he alighted at the en- trance, a policeman appeared, ready to escort him in, Avhen it was discovered to his dismay that, by some oversight in making his toilette, he had ensconced his shirt collar behind a colored cravat. In coat, gloves, vest, and lorgnette, he was comme il faut, but he had to procure a black cravat before entering ; the necessity was imperative, so he returned to his hotel, and rearranged his choker. Determined not to lose his anticipated entertainment, he again drove to the theatre, and very red and very hot, he took his seat just as Norma was coming on the stage to slay her children. But now a new difficulty awaited him : what to do with his hat — a fine beaver of Genin's manu- facture, which he had neglected to leave with the porter, in his haste to enter. He looked around and saw other gentlemen with opera hats, quietly pressing down the tops, and setting upon them. To return to the hall through the crowd was im- possible ; it was equally so to hold the hat in his lap, or to stick it under his chair. His confusion was attracting attention, Avhen he coolly slapped in the crown and sat down upon it. Of course the hat was ruined, and the incident occasioned a great deal of mirth in his immediate neighborhood. The theatres are all conducted here on what is deemed the most approved plan, and present constant attractions unrivalled in any other city in the world. Concerts, also, are on the lists of each evening's entertainment, and are much frequented, from those which the Queen gives weekly at Buckingham Palace, to the lowest cider-cellars, where hoarse minstrels howl comic songs to an orchestral accompaniment of a solitary fiddle, where the audience join in at the chorus, and the price of admission, including a glass of gin or beer, is three pence. Casinos also abound, differing from those on the continent in 32 EuRO/EAN Life, Legend, and Landscape. very matsrial respects. The best of them are patronized by the nobility and gentry, and frequented by the frailest of womankind; dancing is here the principal employment until twelve o'clock breaks up the assembly. But the most popular, and, at the same time, respectable places of nightly amusement are the public gardens — The Sur- rey, the Cremorne, and Vauxhall — where brilliant displays of fireworks, excellent orchestras, and refreshments are the order of the evening. The Surrey closes at nine o'clock ; at the others theatrical performances and dancing continue the amusements until after midnight. To an American, who has never seen anything of the kind, it is impossible to describe, in language strong enough, the magnificence of the pyrotechnic displays at these places. All that imagination can design, or art create, has b^en brought to aid the display. When I was present I lived in another world — all that, as a child, I had dreamed of fairy land, here became a reality. At the Surrey, especially, was this the case. After looking at the various animals, caged about the garden, I walked toward the platform where the orchestra was performing. Here a lake suddenly burst upon the view, with lofty mountains stretching many miles into the distance, and raising their heads up to the very heavens. At the base of the hills were the fortifications of an oriental town whose light spires arose behind them. As the sun went down, and it became dark, lights glanced to and fro in the town ; and presently, with a grand burst of music, the Chinese Feast of Lanterns was held out on the waves. Boats containing masks, and beautiful with colored lights, were rowed slowly across ; rockets fizzed and spluttered, and fountains of fire blazed up from under the water ; overhead, the heavens were filled with stars of green and red and blue, bursting and changing color every moment. At a given signal a British fleet is seen off the town, and a bombardment commences ; fire- ships, sent out on their destructive errands, set fire to their own fleets, and flaming and exploding junks are seen floating in the distance. The whole concludes with a grand explosion of diff'erent fireworks, and " God save the Queen," by the orchestra ; the audience are left to pick their way out, almost Metropolitan Amusements. 33 m the dark, of the garden so prodigal of light five minutes before. The deception of the scenery is perfect ; what appears to be miles away one can walk around in five minutes. The other gardens are similar, with some slight variations, and the additional amusements already noticed. Balls, panoramas, lectures, and exhibitions of every curiosity in the world, from Madame Tussaud's wax Napoleon, dressed in the original clothes, and sitting in the emperor's chair, down to a calf with two heads, or a child weighing four hundred pounds, are also the sources from which a British public draw daily instruction and amusement. The higher classes seek a more genial and refined pleasure in private parties, conversa- tion, and late suppers. At some of these, to which I was invited, I enjoyed myself highly. Never have I met with more cordial hospitality, though I have been surprised, at first, when I saw my fair companion sitting down at table after twelve o'clock eating heartily of pigeon-pie and lobster salad, and afterwards washing the whole down with two glasses of ale, and as many of sherry ! III. LONDON CHURCHES. I HAVE a quaint fondness for antiquity, especially developed in a love for the solitude of old ruins, and the dim religious atmosphere of old sanctuaries. It is not merely the grand in proportion, nor the magnificent in design, that attracts me, but wherever there exist mementoes or associations of byrgone greatness or departed piety ; for it has always seemed to me that there surely must exist a sanctity in those dusty old chapels, which have witnessed the worship and beheld the bap- tism and burial of so many good men, for so many long years. Here, too, at certain hours of the day, there is a solitude — a perfect retreat from the progressive busy world without, which must possess a charm for every meditative mind. Many are the calm quiet hours I have enjoyed in the shadowy cloisters of Westminister Abbey, and in the dim precincts of out-of-the- way cliapels ; and this must be my excuse for daring to invade a subject which the eloquence of Goldsmith, and Addison, and Irving have made their own. It would be unpardonable in writing of the London churches to omit giving precedence to the vast Cathedral of St. Paul's — the stone epic of Sir Christopher AVren. The history of this magnificent building, many times in flames, and thrice con- sumed to ashes, would doubtless be deeply interesting, could a fitting chronicler be found to relate it. As it is, the meagre data of guide-books, and some few prosy legends, comprise my whole knowledge of it. The present edifice is, perhaps, the most remarkable building in England, though far less interest- ing than many others. Like St. Peter's in Rome, it is the great landmark for the traveller approaching the city at a dis- tance, and among the earliest places he visits on his arrival. For the consideration of about a dollar and a half, there are guides who conduct strangers through all the principal apart- ments, from the crypt^ leneath, to the great bell four hundred feet London Churches. 35 above ; through the library, the trophy room, the geometrical staircase, the whispering gallery, and the clock — a most unpro- fitable labor in all save the view from the exterior galleries above the dome, from which place the prospect of the city and country around is very fine, and redolent of reflection. In the panels of the dome are some fine pictures by Sir James Thornhill, now in process of restoration by her majesty's painter. As I stood on the floor of the rotunda, and gazed upwards at the slight scaffolding, far above me, where the artist was at work, I was reminded of the story told of the original painter of the designs. One day while engaged with his work, a friend standing conversing by him, he gave one of the last touches to the head of an apostle, and, as is usual with artists, stepped hastily backward to view the eff'ect. He had actually retired to the last step of the platform, when his friend, observing his peril, snatched up a brush and quickly bedaubed the whole figure. " Bless my soul," exclaimed the painter, leaping forward, " what have you done ?" " Only saved your life," replied the gentleman, describing the danger. Sir James grumbled as he muttered his thanks. By far the most interesting places in the whole cathedral, are the crypts and the ground floor, containing the monuments and graves of many illustrious men. Most of the monuments are beautiful works of art by Chantrey, and Bacon, and Flaxman, and other of Britain's first artists. Those of Howard, the philanthropist ; of Samuel Johnson, " the gravest preceptor of virtue, and a singular example of the best of men;" of Sir Christopher Wren — a plain marble slab, with its inscription, " Lector, si monumentum requieris, circumspice !" of Sir Joshua Reynolds ; Bishop Heber, and some others, are in keeping with the sacredness of the place. But although beautiful, the many monuments to generals and admirals, with their sounding inscriptions of glory and splendid achievements, with laurels trimming the unsheathed sword, and angels hovering above to bear the fleeting soul to heaven — these, which form, by far, the largest part of the monuments, struck me painfully as being out of place in a temple devoted to Him whose life was an illus- tration of humanity, whose mission was peace and good-will to 36 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. all men, and T\ho, even in death, bestowed his blessing on his eneniies. Such things destroy the emotions of reverence and awe which should ever envelop a place of worship ; in proof of which, although I have entered many churches actuated by merely a cold curiosity, I never examined one so calmly and mechanically in my life as this almost sublime structure. The latest addition to the distinguished graves here, is that of the Duke of Wellington. The corpse is still lying in the vault ; when his monument is completed it will be interred in the nave immediately in front of the choir, between the tombs of Nelson and Cornwallis. One of the most beautiful churches in the city is St. Saviour's, in Southwark, which is among the finest specimens of early English architecture in London. It is interesting, also, as con- taining the tombs of the poets Gower, Fletcher, the literary associate of Beaumont, and Massinger, together with those of Sir Edward Dyer, and Edmund Shakspeare, player — the brother of the poet. The Temple Church, originally the chapel of the Knights Templars, is another remarkable edifice ; and here, too, are buried many distinguished characters — law- yers and statesmen generally, though in the burial ground east of the choir, lies the undistinguished grave of Oliver Gold- smith. "Poor Goldy !" your bust is in Westminster Abbey, but your body is as well here, in this quiet corner, which I shall remember long after I shall have forgotten St. Paul's and its sculptured warriors ! St. Mary-le-Bow, in Cheapside, is another fine church, " one of W^ren's masterpieces." The Bow bells have long been famous ; their ringing lives in the memories of our nursery ballads, and in our maturer recollections of Beaumont and Fletcher, and Alexander Pope. Its antiquity and associations form its chief attractions, however. Many other similar chapels have I visited, listening t-o the sweet chanting and the glo- rious swell of the organ during service ; and even more fre- quently wandering alone among the dusty tombs, looking at headless effigies of knights in armor, crumbling stone bishops, and epitaphed churchwardens. Sometimes a broken slab would chronicle the death of some young man or maid, who died in Westminster Abbey. 37 the springtime of life, and the date of their burial would be hundreds of years ago ; and over such graves have I especiallj loved to watch, thinking of the hopeful and loving hearts, and perhaps beautiful forms, which the years of centuries have claimed ; over whose graves tears were shed by eyes now long closed in their turn ; and if such thoughts have ever made me sad, they have not been without their lessons, and their conso- lations. But, my friend, let us shake all meaner dust from our feet, and let us enter together WESTMINSTER ABBEY. Through a narrow doorway in the corner dedicated to and sanctified by England's greatest poets, the visitor enters West- minster Abbey. I had contemplated the exterior on several occasions before I visited the interior. It was a quiet morning when I entered the first time, actuated neither by curiosity nor religion ; feeling neither the cold spirit of dilettantism, with which I had wandered through St. Paul's, nor the spirit of worship with which I have visited other such places. On entering, I felt myself filled with an awe that super- seded all curiosity, and a reverence allied to devotion. The view from the Poet's Corner expands into infinity ; space is lost in the endless mazes of the architecture ; the eye wanders confused over the profusion of barbaric magnificence — the dusky ceilings, dim windows, lofty colonnades, and fretted arches, and the imagination creates what is not to be seen ; while the contemplation of the tombs of the great men around impresses one with a melancholy intensity of feeling which I, at least, never before experienced. I bowed my uncovered head before the awful genius of the place, for I felt that I indeed was nothing. I read the inscription on the tomb of Spenser, author of the "Faerie Queen," and thought of the strange paradox of life — a duchess raising a monument over a man who was supposed to have died "for lack of bread." Milton, and Chaucer, and Dryden, and many others who have taught in song what they learned in suffering, all received my involun- tary homage. I stood also on the grave of Sheridan, and 4 38 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. gazed at the monument of Shakspearc ; and I read the irreve- rent epitaph of Gay, the author of the "Beggar's Opera," *' Life is a jest, and all things show it, I thought so once, but now I know it." Near by, also, I saw the monument to David Garrick, which Charles Lamb justly censures for its frivolous appearance and extravagant epitaph. Here, too, there is a small stone in- scribed, "0, rare Ben Jonson." The poet, I was told, is buried here, standing on his feet, and the inscription is said to have been done "at the charge of Jack Young," who, walking here when the grave was being covered, gave the fellow eighteen pence to cut it. The latest monument that has been erected is a marble bust of Southey. I looked in vain for memorials of many of his great contemporaries. I had walked here for a time, when "a man in black," like him who appeared to Gold- smith's " Citizen of the World," approached, and receiving the demanded tribute of a sixpence, led me through the gloomy and picturesque sacella — the sepulchral chapels, where are the tombs of England's mightiest kings and lords. I here contem- plated the effigies in brass and stone of noble knights and ladies, who conquered cities, and laid siege to hearts, centuries ago. The guide pointed to the tomb of King Edward's children, murdered by Richard III., and to the decayed wooden effigy of Henry V., concerning which old chronicles relate that, " about the latter end of Kinge Henry YIII., the head of the Kinge's image, being of massie silver, was broken off, and carried cleane awaie." It is still without a head, and stripped also of the silver plates which once covered it. Every chapel disclosed some new beauty, or called to light some hidden memory. To examine the minor curiosities — the mosaic pave- ments, the coronation, chairs, the quaint monuments of forgotten names — or to describe them, would be a labor interesting to the antiquary alone. After looking at an infinity of such, and listening to the dull explanations of the guide until my mind was weary of them, we entered the magnificent chapel of Henry VII. — "one of the stateliest and daintiest in Europe," Westminster Abbey. 39 as Lord Bacon said of the tomb it contains. Never, before I stood in this beautiful chamber, did I feel the full loveliness and grandeur of the gothic architecture — " a symbolical ex- pression of the infinite," as Coleridge well calls it. A prodigy of art is here ; the walls are wrought into universal ornament, and the lofty roof, " Equally poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, Where light and shade repose" — is wonderful. Stone is here made to assume the lightness and aeriality of a magic delusion. It reminded me of the fretted interior of some grand cavern, where the stalactites, infinite in variety, possess a perfect unity of efi'ect. The brazen tomb in the centre, is worthy of the chapel ; no king is entombed in a more gorgeous one. Passing hence into the east aisle of the north transept, I saw many fine works of art ; two of which, at least, deserve some notice. One is a monument to Mr. and Mrs. Nightingale, sculptured by Roubilliac ; the base of it is represented by a tomb, throwing open its marble doors, and a sheeted skeleton protruding out is seen launching his dart at the lady, who has sunk afi"righted into her husband's arms. The efi'ect is terrible, and the grim delineation of Death, and the sweet beauty of the lady, live in the memory like the recol- lection of an awful dream. Near this is a monument to Sir Francis Vere ; four knights kneeling support on their shoulders a table on which lie the several parts of a complete suit of armor ; beneath is the recumbent figure of Sir Francis himself. It is related that when Roubilliac was at work here, he was found one day by the abbey mason, standing with his arms folded, and his looks fixed on one of the knightly figures, which support this monument. As Gaypere approached, the enthusiastic Frenchman laid his hand on his shoulder, and whispered <' Hush, he will speak soon !" and it is not difficult to believe that he really expected it. The guide now left, and I was at liberty to wander alone in the other parts of the building, which contain the finest and the most modern of the monuments. Here is that of poor Major Andr^, remarkable for the mutilation it has thrice under- 40 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. gone — some enthusiastic patriots having thus often broken off and carried away the head of the jfigure of Washington in the has relief. Here are the statues of England's greatest states- men and warriors ; here Bacon has given " More than female beauty to a stone, And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips." Here, too, lie many " celebrated for nothing but being knocked on the head," and many celebrated for nothing at all ; but the magnificent tombs of insignificant persons, and the mighty names on humble stones, both lend a grandeur to the place. I next wandered through the Jerusalem Chamber, cele- brated by Shakspeare as the place where Harry the Fourth died ; and sat down on the stone pavement of the quiet cloisters. It was now in the afternoon, and the sun cast the shadow of the old arches half way across the yard. All was perfectly silent ; no one was present save myself and a lady amateur, who was sketching a ruined arch in a remote corner. I attempted to read my Shakspeare, but my mind was too much engrossed with its own dreams. Suddenly the deep peal of the organ within the abbey fell softly on my ear, and the swelling voices of the choir commenced chanting. So thick were the walls that the music was heard but indistinctly — it sounded afar off, and the intensity with which I had to listen to catch all the notes, added to the dream-like pleasure it excited. It seemed as if the old choristers of the abbey were performing once more their sublime and simple " Kyrie Eleison." In Words- worth's lines — "Every stone was kissed By sound or ghost of sound, in mazy strife, Ileart-thrilling strains, that cast before the eye Of the devout a veil of ecstasy V Many times have I returned to the same spot, and listened to the same melody, until I have ceased to wonder at the love of seclusion in those old monks who built this and similar retreats. In concluding this imperfect sketch of the "finest church in England," I feel I can do no better than to quote the description by Addison of the emotions such resorts produce : — Parlez-vous Anglais? 41 << Wlien I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envj dies in me ; ■when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out ; when I meet with the grief of parents on a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion ; when I see the tombs of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow ; when I see kings lying by those who deposed them — when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs — of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day, when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together." PARLEZ-VOUS ANGLAIS ? London enchanted me. It w'as four weeks before I could make up my mind to leave it. When I did, it was with regret. The wnlderness of houses that confused my head, and the soli- tude that weighed upon my heart at first, had lost their influ- ence upon me. The confusion that remained was a maze of revolving delights ; the solitude, an interregnum of self-sought quiet to muse over the past, and meditate on coming pleasure. Is it strange, then, that I pledge to-night, in a glass dipped from the Rhine, the city of the Thames ? I passed rapidly over a beautiful country, fragrant with happiness and the odors of flowers, on my route to Dover. I welcomed Shakspeare's cliff", and the sea that beat against its base, by spouting King Lear and Childe Harold, which I ceased doing, however, with but little regret, when the stealthy waiter at the inn placed my dinner before me. About twelve o'clock on the very dark night following, I groped my way after the porter to the steamboat that was to bear me to Ostend. I found it a small dirty aff"air, crowded with passengers, full of anticipations of sea-sickness, which the rather stormy night suggested. At one o'clock we left, and soon after, the anticipations of some of the passengers being in a fair state of realization, I left the cabin, and with a 4 * 42 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. young American, whom I found on board, and my cigar, I wrapped my cloak around me and sought the deck. The east was ah-eady tinged with the roses of morning, when I took my seat under the lee of the wheel-house to avoid the spray, which flew completely over the vessel. The waves and winds were both high, yet we skimmed along like a sea bird. The emotion they pro- duced in me was not entirely as sublime, as when on the im- mense ship in the middle of the Atlantic I had gazed on their grandeur, — though I felt the passionate truth of Byron's lines, as I repeated, " Once more upon tbe waters I yet once more And the waves bound beneath me as a steed That knows his rider," The upheaving in the cabin being much more disagreeable to me than that of the "bosom of the deep," I placed a coil of' rope beneath my head, and lay down upon the deck, where the waves soon rocked me to slumber. When I awoke, it was broad daylight. Worn passengers were wandering up and down, looking most desolately forlorn ; or rather, as if their only hope was in the land we were rapidly approaching. I am afraid I made a mortal enemy of a pallid Englishman by offer- ing him a cigar. When the boat touched the pier, a noisy con- fusion of tongues resulted immediately, in which a linguist might have distinguished a half-dozen different languages at least. Our passports and luggage were here taken from us, and conveyed to the custom-house to be examined and vised. As the cars were about starting, every one was in a hurry. My gallantry ladened me with a shawl and an old lady — one on each arm — so I was well nigh late. The last bell was ringing when I arrived at the custom-house, and the railway depot was some distance off. I hastily gave the shawl and the old lady to a commissionnaire, and hurried to see about my luggage and passport. A porter some distance ahead was carrying both to the depot. I ran after and caught him, and was about to re- ward him, when I found he had somebody else's passport ; I looked at it — it was the old lady's. Breathless I ran back. " This is not my passport !" I exclaimed to the officer. Bruges. 43 « Vas?" said he. " Donnez-moi mon passeport /"I cried out. " Fij'S ?" said the wondering official. " Grieben sie mir mein passeport !" I shrieked in an unknown dialect, intended for Dutch. " Vasf said the green coat with red worsted epaulets. ^'^ Parlez-vous Anglais f I yelled to some one near me. ^^ Parlez-vous Anglais?" to a man in uniform, entering the door. "Yaw!" said he; " Ish dish your passeport? I look for you everywhere. You better run quick ; the railway will start already." I saAv at once I had been wasting my time talking to the wrong official ; who, or what he was. Heaven knows. I ran off as fast as I could for the cars. They were just starting. I seized my smaller luggage, gave the porter a couple of francs too much, in my hurry, and took my seat, just as the cars rolled out of the depot. "Alas !" said I to myself, as I wiped the perspiration from my forehead, " Parlez-vous Anglais ! — I wish I could paries something else." BRUGES. My first day in Belgium was destined to be an unfortunate one. I had no sooner recovered my breath and my mental equilibriuUi, from the haste in which I had arrived, when I commenced an observation of my fellow-passengers in the car. It was gorgeously fitted up, and, half hidden in the green and gold velvet and silk of the cushions and drapery in the corner, sat a most beautiful Flemish girl, whose peach-like cheek and rich auburn tresses found a fitting background in the green hang- ings of the window. She looked like the model of one of Rubens's best figures, and I, who had worshipped the shadow, could not do otherwise than admire the reality. I overheard her speaking English to an excessively nice old gentleman who accompanied her, and I determined at once to find out, by making her acquaintance, how much she knew of that delight- ful tongue, I had a little basket of strawberries, buried in 44 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. roses, and rich and juicy in appearance as her own lips, that I had purchased as I ran to the cars ; these, thought I, shall in- troduce me. I had just studied out a romantic trifle, in the way of compliment, with which I was about to preface mj pre- sent, and which, I have no doubt, would have captivated her entirely, had I found an opportunity of uttering it. But unfor- tunately, just as I was about to do so, and then to follow my success up by taking the seat immediately beside her, it was monopolized by a filthy German Jew, with a long red beard, sprinkled with snuff. Venus eclipsed by the Great Bear ! said I to myself, hoping to find consolation by saying something severe. I ate my strawberries myself; for afterwards I only saw a small part of her nose, extending beyond the beard, but when he moved she vanished altogether. The scenery between Ostend and Bruges interested me more on account of its novelty than its beauty, though it did not lack the latter at all, cut up as it was by dykes and canals, and made picturesque by quaint cottages and curious windmills. More than one Ruysdael and Paul Potter picture were past. Another thing which made it beautiful was the cultivation of flowers everywhere. There was not a guide-post but was hidden in graceful festoons, while the vacant space on either side of the road Avas laid out into beds, where beautiful and fragrant plants were growing. For the first time in my life I regretted the railway was so short, when I left it at the ancient town of Bruges. I went immediately to the hotel Fleur de Bid, a plea- sant inn, with a large hall adorned with plaster casts of very Flemish-looking Cupids. I visited before dinner the " belfry old and brown," celebrated by Longfellow, and gazed for nearly half the morning from its top on the landscape which lay << like a shield embossed with silver" far around me. I took some refreshment in an estaminet, which stands on the site of the prison in which the Emperor Maximilian was once confined by his rebellious subjects ; and another in a house inhabited by Charles 11. during his exile from England. In the afternoon I visited the Hotel de Ville, the Palais de Justice— where I saw the famous carved oaken mantel-piece, including figures as large as life of Charles V., Mary of Burgundy, and some half-dozen Bruges. 45 other princes and queens — and the Cathedral of Notre Dame, with its statue of the Virgin and Christ, by Michael Angelo. In the Hospital of St. John I saw some very rare, and a few good pictures. Beggars — the lame, halt, and blind — dogged us everywhere, and consumed several supplies of sous and centimes. They were only troublesome on account of their exceeding ugliness, however, for the copper coin here seems to have been made especially for the use of beggars — a handful of it is worth but little. A monkish Latin proverb has declared Bruges celebrated for ^^formos/.spueUis," a reputation, I am sorry to say, that is far from being justified at present. Yet she is in other things, as Southey beautifully writes, " worthy of her ancient fame." " The season of her splendor has gone by, Yet everywhere its monuments remain." Her present desolation — the grass growing in the streets, and the quiet hanging over her palaces and cathedrals, are pro- ductive of a pleasing kind of reverie in the beholder, half sad, half meditative. I walked through the streets at mid-day, when the clouds only threw a shadoAV on the pavement, and in their whole length no living being could be seen, save two old women gossipping in a low tone in the middle of the way, and a solitary child, playing by herself under an arched court. In the very market place where people were buying and selling, silence seemed to reign for ever ; and when a cock broke the stillness by a prolonged crow, the effect was almost startling. I wandered on through the place before the Hotel de Ville, where quiet old men sat on the benches under the trees, seem- ingly no more alive than the old statue of John Van Eyck, in the centre of the square. I entered the grand place in front of " Das Ilalles ;" here ugly bare-legged old women, with appa- rently but one garment, rattled along in their wooden shoes, and prettier younger ones, with blue woollen stockings, all dressed alike, with white caps and dark hooded cloaks, passed to and fro over the square. Some poor old man would occasion- ally beg a sou ^^ pow botre," or would offer himself in broken English as a commissionnaire. Milk-maids of all ages, with their 4G European Life, Legend, and Landscape. pails hung to a yoke on their shoulders, jogged by every now and then. In the centre of the place, stood a few cabs, with poor sleepy-looking horses attached to them, and out of the open doors of each protruded a pair of legs, elevated at an angle of forty degrees, suggesting the possibility of the drivers somnolent. Ranged before the " Halles" were several sentry boxes, before each of which a small soldier, with an immense moustache, blue coat and red worsted epaulets, stood like an ugly statue, so intent on looking before him, that one might easily have robbed him of his knapsack, without his ever know- ing it. Other soldiers lounged idly about in the shade, saluti'jg respectfully, as they passed, those best fed and kept inhabitants of all continental cities — the clergy. Li the estaminets around the Place, the officers might be seen, smoking and drinking, and ever and anon, with cues in their hands, leaning excited over the billiard table. I went to the Academy of Design, and was guided through the apartments by a very little old woman, who sat down silently and continued her knitting in every place where I lingered. In the Palais de Justice, a younger and quite handsome woman conducted me to see the famous mantel-piece ; but in the Belfry, and every other place I visited, I saw similar beings to the guide at the Academy — all little, all old and ugly, and dried up. They looked like revired mummies, come into the world again to earn a half franc to get their souls out of purgatory. The artistic curiosities of the city are the works of the brothers Van Eyck, the invent- ors of oil painting, and of Hans Hemling. By the former there are some original portraits and religious pictures ; and by the latter a painting of the martyrdom of St. Ilippolytus, torn to pieces by horses, in the Cathedral of St. Sauveur ; and a Holy Family and the reliquary of Sta. Ursula, in St. John's Hospital. The reliquary is a wooden coffer, containing the arm of the saint, and painted with subjects from the legend of eleven thousand virgins, who were martyred at Cologne. There are also a few Vandykes, and some singular pictures by Teniers. For the superstitious are preserved the arm of the above- mentioned St. Ursula, and some drops of our Saviour's blood, The Glove of Chakles V. 47 deposited in a rich silver-gilt shrine, splendidly jewelled and enamelled. For those who love to dream of the past, and take lessons from its history, the monuments of Charles the Bold, and of Mary of Burgundy, the Croenburg, Das Halles, and the Cathedrals, all furnish abundance of the stuff which dreams are made of. I am fond of dreaming, and I have never found a more fitting city for it, full of interest and inactivity, sunshine and silence ; the very atmosphere is pregnant with grand memo- ries, while every moss-covered stone is redolent alike of the musty odor and the obscure history of centuries. I may never see it again ; I have no friends there ; even the beggar to whom I gave a shilling in mistake for a sou, has forgotten me by this time. Yet I could have wished to remain there longer ; and when in other parts of the world I may be borne down by dis- appointment or fatigued with success — when the nineteenth century w^hirls around me, and my weary soul longs for repose — then, fair Bruges, I shall then remember thee ! THE GLOVE OF CHARLES V. When the Duke of Alva advised the Emperor Charles V. to raze the city of Ghent to the ground, in retribution for the treachery and rebellion of its inhabitants, Charles took him to the summit of the belfry, and showing him the vast and beau- tiful city spread out before him, and the homes of its 175,000 souls, asked : " Combien il fallait de peaux d'Espagne pour faire un gant de cette grandeur f — " IIow many skins of Spanish leather Avould it take to make such a glove?" I was reminded of this just rebuke when I wandered through its beautiful streets, filled with grand old houses and cathedrals, even now, though the season of its magnificence is over. It is, however, at present increasing in commercial prosperity, and possesses, in consequence, but little of that dreamy quiet and Lethean indolence of appearance that characterizes its ancient enemy and ally — Bruges. The English call it the Belgic Manchester, and the frequent chimneys, mingling the utile cum dulce, so that elegant Corinthian pillars are seen 48 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. vomiting forth the black smoke of cotton mills, favor the truth of the simile. I was no little amused in my promenade here, with the cha- racteristics of the bourgeoisie in the streets, all of whom were dressed in excellent, if not very graceful style. JSTotAvithstand- ing the heat of the weather, all the women wore large cloaks of a very fine black cloth, and I saw many a fair face and sunny curl half hidden in the depths of the hood. I saw here one of the most amusing races ever run, both parties having an equal division of advantages and disadvantages. It was between a woman, Avho had stolen a tub, and the owner in pursuit ; it was petticoats versus pantaloons, slippers against wooden shoes, and ten pounds of tub against fifty of stomach. The pursuer was a small fat man, and his awkward run in his rattling shoes was most laughable. The woman at length threw the tub into a cellar and made her escape. A procession passed, and I inquired of a person, in French, Avhat it was, but he could not understand anything except the Flemish ^jatois. " One might as well be deaf and dumb at once," I muttered as I bowed him a disappointed farewell. "Not so," said an Englishman who overheard me; "yonder procession is formed entirely of deaf mutes." 1 thanked him for his courteous rebuke, and changed my opinion incontinently. Soon after a valet de place approached and insisted on my accepting his services. I had already engaged one, so I gave that as an excuse to get rid of him. " Oh !" said the fellow, "I know dat, but he can't come, he is engoge vis one milor ; he told me to come and get you." " Indeed !" I replied, seeing the object of the dialogue approach ; "as he is here, I will see about it." The imaginative guide just then recollected that he had to accompany an English family somewhere, and left me precipitately. A singular custom is prevalent here in regard to weddings, which are celebrated altogether in the evening, at one of the principal dancing-houses, which stands just out of the town under the trees on the coupure or canal. I went to one of these celebrtitions on the first evening after my arrival. I found the dancing-hall a large and quite handsome apartment, resembling the salle-d-7nanger of one of our watering-place hotels, with an The Glove of Charles V. 49 elevated platform on one side, where a very excellent band was performing waltzes and quadrilles. The price of admission, which included that of a large glass of beer, was a handful of unmentionable coin, worth altogether about one dime. When I entered, although the hall was well lighted, it was some time before my eyes could penetrate the thick atmosphere, redolent with the smoke of pipes and the fumes of beer. In the centre of the room a large number were Avaltzing, while ranged around on an elevation were placed numerous tables, at which the wall flowers generally, and those who were weary of dancing, were busily engaged consuming their liquor and tobacco. The com- pany was perhaps not very select, and far from aristocratic, yet St. James's might boast of far less enjoyment than I here Avitnessed. As the lager mounted into their heads, the fun grew fast and furious, and the original " Crcrman' was waltzed with a reckless rapidity of motion and confusion of whirl which would have turned the heads of half the fashionable devotees to this dance who in late seasons have frequented Newport and Niagara — many of whom I once thought had no brains to be affected. One of the most interesting places in Ghent is the MarchS au Vendredi, a square, now, as the name indicates, used as a market-place. Once it was the place of inauguration for the Counts of Flanders, and the theatre in which many a magnifi- cent drama and fearful tragedy has been performed. Here, many years ago, the weavers, headed by Jacques Van Artevelde, fought a faction of the fullers, the results of which contest were the bloody corpses of 1500 citizens left in the square. Here, too, Philip Van Artevelde, the son of Jacques, and the hero of Henry Taylor's drama, was saluted Ruwaert, or Pro- tector of Ghent ; and at a later period, when the infamous Alva introduced the inquisition here, many were burnt in this same square. It is surrounded with houses of the Spanish datCj and in one corner stands a tOM'er of a much earlier period, in the belfry of which was the bell that rung out the alarm, when the citizens had cause to think their liberties had been infringed. Vei-y few comedies have taken place in this square, though now, thank Heaven ! harmless old women sell cabbages 5 50 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. in it every Friday. Everything in this neighborhood is either grand or warlike in its character.. In a street near by stands Be dulle Griete, an enormous cannon, made of bars of ham- mered iron, bound together with rings. It is eighteen feet lono- and ten in circumference, and is more than five hundred years old, having been made in the days of Philip le Bon. It has been used but seldom, and most likely will never be again. The Hotel de Ville, in this neighborhood also, is a most beautiful building, around which are clustered many of the most interesting associations of Ghent. Its two faQades are of different periods. The newest has columns of three different orders ; the oldest is a mixture of the French flamboyant with the English Tudor-Gothic styles, and defaced as it is by time and weather, it is still extremely rich in appearance. The churches here disappointed me. The Cathedral, it is true, is very splendid, and contains some rare works of art by Francis Porbus and the brothers Van Eyck. The sculptures, too, are good, especially those of the pulpit, and those in wood generally. I was much more interested, however, with some of the less known and noticed of the curiosities. Near the belfry is the minor prison of the city, situated on the site of an old Roman Keep, illustrious for an instance of filial piety, which a marble sculpture still commemorates. Once on a time, an old man, says the legend, was here confined, condemned to die of starvation ; but his daughter, a fair young mother, gained daily access to him, and gave him through the bars her own breast to suckle. The old man not dying as was anticipated, the judges inquired into the matter ; and learning from the girl herself of her remarkable virtue and devotion, rewarded it with her father's pardon. My last reminiscence of this place is a singular one. I was strolling through the queer old streets one evening at dusk, looking at the workmen returning from their labors, and their wives and children awaiting their approach at every threshold ; when suddenly and softly the vesper bells of the Beguine Con- vent rang out their devotional peal on the still air, awakening a curiosity I had forgotten — to witness their worship. So call- ing a Yoiture, I was set down in a short time at the chapel door. The Glove of Charles V. 51 I gazed for a few moments around the court, "which was sur- rounded by rows of little houses all alike, bearing each a dedi- cation to some saint on the portals, and in which a number of the nuns resided ; and then entered. The service had just commenced ; and as the organ raised its deep bass to Heaven, the voices of the choir, now loud and apparently near, and then faint as if afar off, seemed as if sung by men and echoed by angels. The seven hundred aged vir- gins, all absorbed in their prayers, appeared much too old and ugly to be absorbed in anything else. Though I did not feel this then, when I saw them with their faces covered, engaged in their devotions ; and if I had, I could only have thought of their sincere earnest religion, of their unobtrusive charity, and of the many sick couches at the hospitals and elsewhere their presence has blessed with comfort and attention. Peace be with you, gentle dames ! I shall ever preserve with pleasant memories the little souvenirs with which you rewarded ray hum- ble tribute to funds, which so well employed can never be too extensive. IV. RUBENS. Not the least tiling that the artist-student learns, when he visits the continent for the first time, is a knowledge of the true dignity of art. Here he observes cities and towns, once wealthy and powerful, now deriving their chief support and only importance from the capital of painters, who once were, per- haps, permitted to starve in them. An example of this up to a very late period, when commerce and manufactures were, in a degree, resumed, was Antwerp — the city of Peter Paul Rubens, who even now with his name encircles half the attractions of the town ; and whom the publicans of the place, to say nothing of the commissionnaires, cab-drivers, print-sellers, and citizens gene- rally, should, and I believe partially do, consider as a guardian divinity. His statue in the Place Verte, near the Cathedral, was nearly the first object I saw in the city, and everything here is full of associations of him. Coming from Ghent and Bruges, Antwerp appeared far less desolate than it otherwise would, notwithstanding that it has, in the last few years, recovered a great part of its prosperity. It is still a fine dreamy old place ; and I can well conceive that, with agreeable friends, a person could enjoy himself there very well. I entered it early in the morning ; so early that the shops were still closed, and the rays of the morning sun fell aslant on the tall steeple of the Cathedral, — apropos of which steeple, so delicate and beautiful in its fine Gothic carvings, minute, yet grand from the perfect unity of the whole, it is said that Charles V. observed " it deserved to be kept in a case!" Napoleon also seems to have imitated the bathos of his illustrious predecessor, and compared it to 3IechUn lace ! Such platitudes would have much rather befitted the mouths of cockney shop-keepers, and seems especially surprising in Napo- leon. AVhen I emerged from the gateway of the Hotel St. Antoine, after having selected my room and arranged my Rubens. 53 toilette, I looked again at the spire, and notwithstanding my limbs still ached with the remembrance of similar exploits, I resolved to visit the top at once. I paid my franc ; and when stopping to take breath, three hundred steep steps up a dark tower, the guide encouraged me with the information that I was nearly half way to the top, I felt like condemning the folly that induced me to take this step of so many steps ; but I labored on, feeling myself to be a martyr to the Beautiful, My vexation left mo entirely at the top ; and as the cool morning breeze kissed my face, which was rather red from my exertions, I enjoyed a buoyancy of spirits, and a delightful freedom of thought, such as one feels but rarely, save on the top of high mountains, or at sea during a twelve-knot gale. If the spectacle from the summi« of the belfry of Bruges was beautiful, this was sublime. Far on the circle of the horizon, the towers of Ber- gen op Zoom, Flushing, Breda, Brussels, and Ghent appeared ; while the nearer distance, beautiful with waving woods, quaint farm-houses, green fields, -villages, and windmills, all together formed a scene of the most perfect loveliness. Looking down upon it, the landscape lost the monotonous aspect of its entire level ; and indeed this characteristic only heightened its beauty, for it rendered apparent every winding of the magnificent Schelde, as for many a mile it calmly flowed on toward the sea, covered with the white sails of a thousand boats. The increas- ing noise of commencing business in the city below me, and some imperative intimations of appetite, induced me to descend to breakfast ; which I did with philosophical calmness, resting on every hundredth step of the descent. The interior of the Cathedral, which, resisting the courteous oflfers of countless commissionnaires, I visited alone, is magnifi- cent. The lofty dome, and stained-glass windows ; the rich paintings and elaborately-carved Gothic stalls and confessionals ; the brilliant shrines and dim religious atmosphere pervading the whole, excite the mind to a pitch of awe and admiration which causes wonder to cease at the devotional bigotry of the most ignorant worshippers, to whom the glare and glory supply the place of that just knowdedge of God, himself, which leads the intelligent Christian to adore. It is art more than assist- 5* ■34 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. ing ; it is art commanding worship. Hung around the walls, and over the high altar, are several fine pictures bj Rubens and other distinguished artists. But the glory of the church and of the city are the "Elevation" and "Descent" of the cross — the master-pieces of the great Fleming — which, owing to some repairs at present taking place within the Cathedral, are on exhibition in a small room on the exterior. I but echo the admiration of every visitor to Antwerp, when I declare these pictures to be the grandest I have ever seen, even though ill restored and retouched in some parts. Until I saw them, I had given Rubens credit for only a part of his manifold excel- lencies — that of his rich coloring and surpassing voluptuous- ness — now I feel the poetry, the great big soul, that was in him. Both figures of Christ in these paintings are divine. The agony of the Saviour, swaying from the cross to which he is nailed, and the cold heaviness of the corpse, when taken down, are both perfect. In the first, it is not mere mortal anguish, but a sublime resignation triumphing over the most excruciating torment — the God overruling and subliming the man. In the Descent, the graceful falling of the body, the wounded hands and side, the head, torn with thorns, lying upon the shoulder, and the half-closed and cold eye — all are perfect as the repre- sentation of the man ; while the dignity even in death, the beauty of the figure and the attitude, and the sweet, mournful expression of Him who was never known to smile, bespeak the Divinity as eloquently as the living figure. The other persons in the tragedy are almost equally fine. The tearful sorrow of the three Maries ; the resignation of the Apostles ; the differ- ent attitudes and expressive features of those who are erecting and those who are lowering Jesus, are admirable. The slight- est accessories of drapery, of dogs and horses, and the child turning affrighted from its mother's breast, partake of the same perfection as the rest. I have exhausted my superlatives with- out doing the pictures half justice. In their composition, Ru- bens appears to have sought every difiiculty of attitude and expression ; and certainly no one has ever met them with more masterly power and assured success. Connected with one of these paintings is the well-known story of Vandyke, who was Rubens. 55 a pupil of Rubens when tliey were painted. It is said that during the master's absence the picture was thrown down and injured ; and the other students, in terror of the consequences, selected him, as being the most capable, to repair the injury. Rubens surprised the young artist while at work, but Avas so well pleased with the excellence of the restoration, that he not only forgave the accident, but declared his preference of the scholar's work to his own. In the museum, I continued my studies of Rubens's pictures ; where I saw no less than sixteen of them, and many fine spe- cimens of Vandyke, Jordaens, Quentin Matsys, Titian, and Teniers, as well as some beautiful modern works. I also passed several hours one morning, detained by a heavy shower, in Ru- bens's house, and in the pavillion in the garden where he used to paint, sitting at the very table where once he sat. (The chair he used is preserved in a glass case at the Museum.) There is nothing especially noteworthy about the house. The screen and arch- way of rich Italian architecture, opening into the garden, was designed by the artist himself. The pavillion is in the back of the garden, open on all sides, and contains, besides the stone table already mentioned, several bad plaster casts ; and the whole is surrounded by trees and flowers. I took a rosebud from the latter, and a small branch of an arbor vitce, planted by Rubens, away with me as a souvenir ; and, simple as they are, they are not less valuable to me than many costlier ones. The other curiosities of Antwerp have still a reference to art, though some of them are of a curious nature. One of these in the Church of St. Paul, deserves notice only from a singular illustration of a peculiar piety existing on the conti- nent. It is a representation of Calvary — an artificial eminence raised against the exterior walls of the church, formed appa- rently of earth, cinders, rocks, and broken bottles, surmounted b}^ a crucifix, and planted with Apostles in stone. The whole yard is full of these grotesque statues of saints, angels, pro- phets, and patriarchs. At the bottom of the mound is a grotto, said to be copied from the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. The body of Christ is seen through an opening, enveloped in a shroud of silk and tinselled muslin ; while around it are afiixed 56 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. to the wall rude painted boards, representing souls in purgatory by the heads of men and women enveloped in flames. On the whole, I thought it was a surprising work of art — surprising that such a caricature is allowed to exist in a city containing the finest Cathedral and most splendid paintings in Northern Europe. Near the Cathedral, there is an old well, deserving attention from the elegant Gothic canopy in iron that covers it — the work of Quentin Matsys, the celebrated blacksmith of Antwerp ; who, according to the story, which everybody has read, having fallen in love with the fair daughter of a painter, adopted her father's profession, and attained a bi'illiant reputation as an artist. Of course he won, as he deserved, his ladie-love. A plain slab, erected at the side of the west door of the Cathedral, comme- morates himself and his attachment with a Latin verse : — " Connuhialis amor de muliebre Jecii Apellem." " Connubial love made the smith Apelles." His body is interred at the foot of the spire. The last place I visited was the Church of St. Jacques, where the- body of Rubens is interred. Above the tomb is an altar-piece, painted by himself, containing the portraits of all his family. Calmly he rests there, between the graves of his two wives ; and soft may his rest continue, until that day when he shall be called to the heaven, he, while living, so beautifully dreamed of. Such a man needed not the coat-of-arms embla- zoned upon his tomb ; though he deserved them, and they are well there. Though many prouder ones have crumbled, and the names of their bearers been forgotten, since he was placed where he now lies, many others shall follow them, but his name shall be immortal. HOW A woman died. In the Museum of Antwerp, I was much interested in view- ing several pictures by Cornelius Schut, a pupil of Rubens and a friend of Vandyke. Having thus made his artistic acquaint- How A Woman Died. 57 ance, I was mucli Interested in a legend of him told in a very amusing Parisian book,* which I have never seen in English, though every tale would well bear translation. Hoping that a simple sketch, rather than literal rendering of the legend of the painter and his wife, may be interesting, I have jotted it down among my own experiences. Cornelius Schut was a painter and a poet. The poet is for- gotten ; but who does not remember the painter's beautiful cameos in the flower-wreaths of Seghers ? Cornelius Schut, up to the age of seven-and-twenty, had lived a little in good society, and a great deal amid very bad — fol- lowing, with the reckless ardor of passionate youth, all the wild gayeties that the city afforded ; and more than one of his wild freaks had struck with astonishment and admiration all the pretty girls of Antwerp. An interregnum of work, artistic and poetical, succeeded each of his excesses, and he was equally pleased with a good stroke of either pen or pencil. One evening, according to his custom, he was sitting, pipe in mouth, before some mugs of beer and a few friends, in an esta- minet of the port ; when suddenly he started up from the reverie in which he had been plunged, for it had struck him that he was frittering away his heart and his life ; and, with the impetuosity characteristic of him, he resolved to alter his career immediately. Placing his hat proudly upon his head, he stretched forth his hands to his friends, and bade them farewell. "Where are you going?" they asked. '< I do not know," he replied ; " but farewell !" " When will you come back ?" said Peter Snagers, laughing. " In two years," said Cornelius Schut. Cornelius Schut left the tavern, and proceeded directly to the home of a dark-eyed girl who loved him. He had not, it is true, ever devoted much of his time to loving her ; but he determined to make up for lost time. "Elizabeth," said he to her, "do you love me for long?" * Philosophes et Comediennes, par Arsene Houssaye ; Victor Lecou, Paris, 1853. 58 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. " For ever !" she replied. "Prepare to follow me, then; we set off to-morrow." "Where are you going?" asked the maiden. "What does it matter, if you love me?" said Cornelius. Cornelius kissed Elizabeth, and left the house. History tells us but little of Elizabeth von Thurenhoudt : she was a daughter of Eve, who lived to love and be loved. Cornelius Schut next proceeded to his uncle Matthew. "Uncle," he said, "it appears that I have a snug place m your will. Of all my future fortune, all I claim to-day is my friend Wael, your favorite dog. I have received commissions for two ' Assumptions,' from the holy fathers. I go to paint them in a pious solitude." The next day Cornelius Schut, Elizabeth von Thurenhondt, and the merry Wael, reached at sunset a little rustic cottage on the borders of a wood. The trees threw a beautiful shade over them, and the birds sang a sweet welcome to their forest home. This cottage was all that Cornelius possessed ; and he inquired of Elizabeth whether she would remain there with him two years. "I will," she replied, with a slight uneasiness. I need not relate the history of their two years' residence in this sweet solitude ; for each day was but the child and coun terpart of the past, and each a dream of love and joy. Cor- nelius painted, and composed beautiful verses, which they sang together, as they wandered through the woods and meadows of an evening. Elizabeth grew each day more beautiful, and Cor- nelius Schut was happy. His love, too, had made him a great painter ; for his love for art increased with his passion for her. That passion is indeed a noble one, that is crowned with the roses of the ideal. At length the two years were ended. " The Assumptions' were completed, and sent to Antwerp ; and with them Corne- lius felt he had parted with a part of his own soul. "0, heaven!" said Elizabeth ; "he loves me less since the pictures are gone." Meanwhile, Cornelius was thinking again of his pipe and his beer, and his friends in the public-house, who were doubtless HowaWomanDied. 59 there still, enjoying themselves ; and, he knew, with frequent wishes for his return. One day, while thinking thus, he took Elizabeth by the hand, and said to her : — " Do you know that we have lived two years in this manner, caring nothing for the world?" " I never gave it a thought," she replied. "You never thought of it!" said Cornelius Schut, tenderly, and kissing her hand ; " and yet to-day we return to Antwerp." <' To-day?" said she, turning pale; "Ah! you love me no longer!" * The artist, moved to tears, exclaimed, with passionate joy, "Dearest, would you then consent to remain here another two years?" "Two centuries, dear Cornelius!" she replied. Once more did Elizabeth's heart beat with pleasure ; and as Cornelius thought no more of his friends and his tavern, he also continued happy. Spring came with her thousand flowers, and their rambles were renewed in the woods, and by the side of the little crystal brook ; and summer came and went ; and the leaves were strewn afar on the autumn winds ; and winter wrapped his mantle of snow over the earth ; biit their hearts remained warm ; and though the birds Avere gone, yet, when Elizabeth sang, Cornelius did not miss them. Time passed, however, and the first months of the fourth year of the painter's solitude drew near. His friends at Antwerp imagined he was in Italy ; for who could believe that a merry fellow like Cornelius Schut could thus seclude himself from the world ? It was a bright day in the month of August, when Elizabeth, looking from the window, saw Daniel Seghers approaching. He had been making studies in the woods, and had accidentally perceived his old acquaintance, AVael ; and, rightly guessing that his master must be near, had followed him home. Elizabeth flew from the window, and said to Cornelius Schut, "Let us leave instantly;" for, thought she, if he stops, our solitude will be invaded. But Cornelius had also seen his old friend's approach, so he merely embraced her ; and while he Avas embracing her, Daniel Seghers entered. 60 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. Cornelius Schut welcomed his old friend ; they talked about Antwerp, and Cornelius sighed. " Truly !" said Daniel Seghers, "you must indeed be happy here, since you have never been to enjoy your glory. Every one admires your 'Assumptions,' and all your friends think you are in Rome ; did they know you were here, they would carry you off in triumph." " Elizabeth," said the painter, when his friend had departed, " must we remain here eight months longer, before we return to where life is waiting to welcome us with innumerable plea- sures " Go I" said Elizabeth, vainly endeavoring to restrain her tears. "Go — go without you — never!" said Cornelius, forgetting Antwerp, friends, and fame, and thinking but of her tender affection. Time passed on, but on leaden wings. They sang no more ; and though the birds sang as sweetly as ever, their songs fell unheeded on the lovers' ears. Even the faithful Wael became afflicted with this general melancholy, and gamboled no more as was his wont. The days of their retirement at length approached their ter- mination ; and so great was the joy of Cornelius, in the antici- pation of once more beholding his friends, and sharing their gayeties, that he did not perceive that his companion was each day groYving paler and wasting away — though, it is true, she wept only in secret, and had always the same sweet tender smile for him. The evening before their departure, they took a farewell walk through their old favorite woodland paths, where in their more contented and happier days they found so much ecstatic delight. She took his arm and walked on in silence. It was a beautiful day in mid-summer ; the ripened crops glis- tened in the fields, and the song of the blackbird from the trees replied to the sound of the scythe among the yellow corn. Elizabeth, touched with the scene, so fragrant with the perfume of happy memories, bent down her fair head and wept. But the heart of Cornelius was full of the present and the future, and he noticed not her silent grief. " What a lovely How A Woman Died. 61 day I" lie exclaimed, enthusiastically. " I Lave a presentiment that we shall yet pass many a delicious hour here. Here na- ture is full of poetry, and love like ours can never grow old. We will return here again ; for, like you, I feel that it is here only we' can really enjoy our youth." "Then why leave it at all?" asked Elizabeth. "You have accustomed me to live alone with you ; the bustle of the cold world will frighten away my happiness — once gone, I shall lose everything." "Foolish girl!" replied her lover; "life, you know, is not made up of love alone ; the world has laid down laws we must all follow — we must live some little for others." " I feel," said Elizabeth, " that I can live for you alone." She fell upon her knees on the grass, and with her eyes full of tears, and with an utterance confused and indistinct, " Dearest !" she said, " are you then resolved to go ?" "I must," he replied, embracing "her, and kissing her soft tresses. " It is well," she said, with a tremulous voice ; " but I shall never return." The painter did not understand her meaning ; and, chiding her for her fears, he made instant preparations for departure. The next day Elizabeth, seated at the window, heard Corne- lius, in an adjoining apartment, singing the burden of an old song which he used to sing when with his companions : — ** In the wino-shop, alone, can true pleasure be found. Fair hostess, my sweet ! bring us drink ; Let your little white hands bear the bumpers around, For the flowers of joy crown their brink." Thus Cornelius sang ; when the poor girl, carried away by emotions she could not master, suddenly appeared, with her hair dishevelled, and her breast heaving violently, on the thresh- hold of the door of the studio. "Elizabeth," he asked, running, in surprise and terror, to her, "what is the matter?" Bitterly smiling upon him, she replied; "What is the mat- ter? listen !" and commenced singing the folloAving song, which 6 62 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. he had composed for her in the happier days of their solitude : — I. " The daisies that jewel the sward, sweet maid, Will fade with the changing year, And the snow-wreaths displace the green leaves in the glade, When the desolate winter is here ; But winter will never aflect mj heart, While thou art beside me, dear girl ! as thou art. " In my bosom rests a perpetual spring, t When thy smile illumines my soul. When thy snowy white arms round my neck you fling, And o'er my cheek thy dark tresses roll ; When thy kisses fall like an April rain. Soothing and calming my weary brain. " No ! I fear not winter, the storm-king old, With his breath of the cold north wind ; It will pass without touching my heart with its cold, And will leave me Love's flowers behind ; All his frost and snows will be lost on me. While I kiss thy arm and remain with thee. ir. "But one winter affrights me, whose icy breath Chills my heart with the darkest cold ; 'Tis the winter of gloomy and loveless death — It will cover us up with the wormy mould ; And its scentless flowers will sadly wave Over our hearts, in the sunless grave. T. " This winter will freeze our souls, my love ! And will silence Love's minstrelsy ; Yet the daisies that bloomed on the earth above. Which thou madest a heaven to me. We will love still, and forget them never. Though we lie in our graves for ever and ever." When she had concluded the song, Elizabeth fell fainting into her lover's arms — she had thrown all her life into her voice. He carried her to the window, that she might breathe the Brussels. 63 fresh morning air. She opened her eyes, and said, " Farewell! jour heart beats no longer at that song — all is over. The most sensitive man does not place all his existence in love ; woman alone can live and die in the heart." Again she murmured the words of the song : — *' But one winter affrights me " Her voice ceased before the stanza was concluded, and Cor- nelius bore in his arms a corpse. They buried her in the forest, beneath a favorite old oak ; and in the same grave did Cornelius Schut bury all hopes of happiness on earth. He still lingered around the spot ; and though his uncle Matthew and his early friends besought him to return to Antwerp, he rejected all their entreaties until the flowers bloomed over her grave. Her remembrance haunted him ever — not as the blooming maiden, who had followed him from home years ago, and who had laughingly wandered, and lovingly lived with him in that fair woodland cottage — but as she had appeared, pale and in despair, when she died in his arms. Months thus passed by; when one morning he observed, with melancholy pleasure, two daisies springing from the grass over Elizabeth's grave. Sorrowfully he plucked and kissed them, and, placing them next his heart, departed. He never returned, until they bore him, at his dying request, to place him at her side. BRUSSELS. I lingered three days in Antwerp, as many hours in Malines, and fled on to Belgium's capital ; where I took rooms at the Belle Vue, and sat down to dinner, the next-door neighbor of a sovereign. In this beautiful city, I passed five calm delicious days, undisturbed by excitement, and little occupied with novelty ; for there is neither here. But there is beauty ; and that detained me. People say that Brussels is a little Paris. I have not seen Paris, and therefore I cannot judge of the comparison ; though the fair palaces, broad boulevards, umbra- geous parks, and French toilettes, which I saw here, reminded me of the Paris I have heard described. 64 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. It was Sunday morning, the day after my arrival ; and as I had been to see the HacJiel in Racine's Phedre, the night be- fore, the sun was already shining brightly in my window when I awoke. Before rising, I lay some time in a sweet state of semi-somnolence and reverie, listening to the band, which was performing a morning serenade under the King's window — so near my own, that I had nearly attributed the honor to myself! — and to the chimes, which were performing an agreeable accom- paniment in the spire of St. Gudule, as they summoned the pious to prayers. I thought of all I had so lately seen ; of the realization of so many of my past dreams ; and I could not help wishing that some of them had remained dreams ; others, however, I admitted had surpassed all my previously formed ideas. I thought of Waterloo, and Byron's description of it ; and then, by a ludicrous association, I remembered distinctly having declaimed the poem, regularly every Friday afternoon, for at least two years, while at school; with the rare exceptions of an occasional Macbeth-murder, or Hamlet-melancholy soli- loquy. And this reminded me that on that same day, one year ago, I had partaken of my farewell dinner with my fellow-class- mates, and that the next day would be the anniversai-y, not only of my country's emancipation, but of my ovm — from the dull tyranny of inhuman humanities, and superhuman labyrinths in morals and mathematics. But it would be the anniversary of the second deepest separation my heart had known ; that which divided me for ever from those who made the years of collegiate labor light, and painted the image of the dear old Virginia College on my heart's purest page. Blessings be upon it, and attend those who will leave it to-morrow, as I left it a year ago ! for although an ocean divides us, I know that I have friends there who still think of me, as I daily remember them. But I pray you, my friend, dear reader, pardon this digression ! I am sure you will, if you are blessed with similar memories. I went this morning, when my toilette and breakfast had dis- persed my dreams, to witness mass in the Cathedral, or Church of St. Gudule, a fine old building, well restored on the outside and well preserved in the interior. I found it quite full when I arrived ; and a fair young priest, who looked like a picture Brussels. 65 of Gabi. Sue's romance, was preaching in eloquent French when I entered. As I understood him but indifterentlj well, I soon turned my attention from the preacher to the pulpit in which he stood, and which struck me as being a very masterpiece of wooden carving, as it really is the chef d'oeuvre of the artist Verbruggen. It represents a globe, supported on the tree of knowledge of good and evil ; at the base of the tree Adam and Eve are being driven out of Pai'adise by an angel, who wields the sword of flame ; while Death, aS a sheeted skeleton, glides around with his dart from the other side. The tree is teeminor o with delicious-looking fruit, and perched on the branches are many birds and animals. At the side of Adam are the ostrich and the eagle ; while, in rather satirical vicinity to Eve, appear the ape, the peacock, and the parrot. Above the canopy stands the Virgin, bearing the infant Saviour in her arms, and assist- ing to thrust the extremity of the cross into the serpent's head. A more eloquent sermon than this pulpit could not be preached from it, though it is a sad one. It was presented to the church by Maria Theresa. The other beauties of the Cathedral are the carved wooden altar, and the splendid painted-glass windows. There are also a few interesting monuments to men who were sovereigns, and ruled once, before they became dust ; and to Count Merode, a martyr of the revolution of 1830, sculptured by Geefs, in the attitude and attire in which he died. As I left the church, I purchased an authorized version of the story of the miraculous wafers, contained in the chapel, called St. Sacrement des Miracles. This veracious legend says, as near as I can translate it, that about the end of the fourteenth century, on Good Friday, these wafers were stolen, at the insti- gation of a sacrilegious Jew, from the altar, and subjected to insults by himself and brethren, in their synagogue. In their blind fury and blasphemy, they proceeded so far as to stick their knives into the sanctified wafers ; when gouts of blood gushed forth from the Avounds, and by a second miracle the scoffers were struck senseless. A pretended spectator, a convert to Christianity, then denounced them ; and, being seized, they were put to death with fitting torments, their flesh being first justly torn off with red-hot pincers, and then, mercifully, they 6 * (jQ Europe A :n Life, Legend, and Landscape. ■were burnt at the stake. The wafers are still, as I have saul, preserved here; and annually, on the 15th of July, they are exhibited, and a solemn procession of the clergy commemorates this triumph of the faith. There can be no doubt of this mira- cle ; for it is known that there were many very wealthy Jews put to death about this period, and their money enriched the church for a long time : besides, the wafers still exhibit the stains of blood ! In the afternoon I visite'd the Church of Notre Dame, more to pay a pilgrimage to the tomb of the painter Brenghel, than for any other object. I found it a small plain tablet ; but it was, to me at least, far more imposing than the lofty monument of the Spinola family, by its side. Here, also, there is a curiously-carved pulpit, some bad old pictures, and some very "•ood modern frescoes. o The rest of the day I passed in a voiture, rolling up and down the principal streets, behind a pair of most wretched-look- ing horses, and a driver who could not speak English nor French — a fortunate circumstance, as he could not bore me with advice and explanations. I drove down the Rue Ducale, by the residences of the foreign ambassadors ; through the Place Royale, where in the centre a spirited horse in bronze seems always threatening to leap from his pedestal with his rider, Godfrey of Bouillon ; around the delightful park, filled with hills and vales, forest trees and flowers, statues and happy human faces ; and, finally, past the Place des Martyrs, where stands a large monument of Liberty, erected over the grave of three hundred "brave Beiges," who fell in the last Revolution. The other days of my sojourn were spent in wandering through the lower town, which abounds in fine quaint old buildings, once the residences of the Brabant noblesse, though now only occupied by the trades-people ; and in examining the magnificent Hotel de Ville, and the various galleries of paintings. The Hotel de Ville, in the market-place, is one of the most beautiful gothic buildings I have ever seen ; its plan is somewhat irregular, though possess- ing entire unity of effect, and so large that the copper statue of St. Michael on the top, seventeen feet high, seems, as it turns with the varying winds, no larger than an ordinary weathercock. Brussels. 67 In the market-place, in front of it, are picturesque old houses ; and from that old gothic house, looking down into it, Alva, it is said, looked down on the execution of the Counts Egrnont and Horn. There are many other objects -worth remembering, and, were I attempting a lofty book of travels, instead of these simple remi- niscences, worth relating in Brussels. There is the house in the Rue Royale, where the Duchess of Richmond gave the grand ball on the eve of Waterloo, which Byron has rendered almost as memorable as the battle itself. Then there are the Galleries de Roi and de la Reine — streets covered with glass and lined with bril- liant shops, until they resemble the Crystal Palace ; and the beautiful little theatres ; and the Prison des Petits Carmes, celebrated as the spot where the Protestant confederates, in the time of Philip II., drew up their famous petition to the Vice Queen Margaret, called "The Request," one of the leading events of that Revolution which freed the Low Countries from the dominion of Spain. These, too, are only the most remark- able of many objects of interest. The pictures of Brussels, though more numerous, are not as fine as those in some of the other Belgian towns. Those in the King's palace, with the exception of a few modern ones, are the worst; and the small gallery of the D'Aremberg palace contains the finest, chiefly by Rembrandt, Jan Steen, and Paul Potter. The Museum contains the celebrated Burgundian Library, filled with rare books and MSS. ; a collection of natural history; a room devoted to scientific and mechanical inventions ; and a large gallery of paintings. Here are several works attributed to Rubens, but much inferior to those of his at Antwerp ; some good pictures of the Dutch and Flemish Schools, and some poor ones of the Italian. This gallery is open on three days of the week to the public ; but a slight fee gained me admittance when- ever I wished. On the public days, they were filled with respect- able-looking, well-behaved people of all classes ; on the others, with young students, not examining, but studying. As I viewed these at their work, I forgot for the present all my interest in travel and adventure, and looked forward only to the time when, in Florence, the home of my future dreams, the critic should rise into the creator, the pen be thrown aside for the pencil, and I too be a student. V. THE MEUSE. I LEFT Brussels, one fine morning at daybreak ; and, passing through Nivelles and Charleroi, found myself at dinner-time in Namur, an old town, mentioned by Caesar as the capital of the Atnatici. It is now the capital of the province of Namur, situated at the embouchure of the Sambre into the Meuse, in the heart of the "cockpit" of Europe; and is celebrated for its cutlers, its citadel, its crawfish, and its numerous sieges, in one of which, the reader will recollect, "my uncle Toby" was eno-acred. The most distinct impressions that I have carried away with me from this place are that the Hotel de Hollande is a good one, and the vin ordinaire very ordinary indeed. In the town itself, there was little to be seen save the fortifications, a great many little soldiers with big mustaches, and a like number of very dirty little boys, who, probably from the military influences around them, were always "playing soldier," and teaching their infant minds how to shoot, by practising the manual with infinite broomsticks. In the river in front of the city were to be seen an occasional raft or small boat, tugged wearily up the stream by transparent horses ; and a long perspective of washerwomen, each with her petticoats tied around her body, standing over the knees in water, and rubbing away with appal- ling energy at endless piles of soiled garments. This, with a fair which was held in the principal square, comprises all I saw of Namur, in the day I spent there. The evening I passed in one of the booths at the fair, occupied by a company of Gyp- sies, Avho gave, for a few nights only, the refined entertainments of the stage to the citizens and gentry of the town. I had been attracted there by the sound of music, performed by a Gypsey band, in check shirts and straw hats ; and, as the price of a premier seat was announced to be but one franc, I satis- fied my curiosity by entering. It was a rudely fitted up box, The Me USE. 69* filled chiefly with the bourgeoisie of the place, though with a sprinkling of the paysans fi*om the country round, and one or two persons of a higher class. Among them all, however, a perfect equality and good feeling seemed to exist; whoever wished to enjoy the luxury of our American weed did so with- out interruption, so that when the curtain rose, the actors were half obscured by the dense cloud of suifocating smoke which hung around. The orchestra possessed the same independent feeling, and played most vehemently with their hats on their heads. The performance consisted of experiments in the noble art of legerdemain ; interspersed with simple phenomena in galvanism and electricity, in which Monsieur Goujon of the audience good-naturedly let himself be tortured for our amuse- ment ; the whole concluding with a panorama of something, and a series of magic-lantern illusions. All passed oif very well, except that whenever the performer had anything to say, his voice was sure to be lost in the roar of the base drum of a rival showman ; and whenever the gas was let down to exhibit the chemical lights, they went out entirely, and it took the first fiddle full fifteen minutes to light them again. The next day I went on board the little steamer at the pier, which was soon struggling with the current on her way to Dinant. The scenery above Namur is very beautiful. The river is hemmed in by magnificent cliffs of limestone, and large trees, and graceful hop-vines, interspersed with many a golden harvest-field and quiet village. Pretty villas and chateaus were also passed ; and as we approached Dinant, the ruined walls of ^<-La Terreur des Dinantois" frowned in gray grandeur from the green hill-side. Farther on, the Castle of Bouvignes looked down upon us — a sacred spot in history; for from the top of yonder tower three fair young women flung themselves, and were dashed to pieces, after they had seen their husbands fall, and when they were threatened with brutish violence by their French captors. Passing these, the fortified clifls above Dinant became visible ; and soon after I stepped ashore in a town whose history contains as much of romance as any in Belgium. It contains very little, however, beyond its associations, to interest the traveller; and so, when I wandered out in the 70 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. purple evening, I gave myself entirely up to reverie. In times gone by, the Dinantians and the inhabitants of Bouvigne were rivals in the manufacture of copper-kettles, and many were the bloody affrays resulting, in the animosity thus occasioned ; and as I listened to the ring of hammer and anvil in the workshop near me, where the descendants of the bold fighting copper- smiths still carry on the occupation, I reflected on this casus belli, which, though ludicrous enough, was perhaps as consistent a one as that of half the wars ever fought in Christendom. The citizens of this town appear to have been especially fero- cious. Once their city was burnt, because they hung the am- bassadors from the camp of Louis the Good, who came to sum^ mon them to surrender ; and again, having politely replied to a similar request of the Due de Nevers, that should the Duke and the King of France ever fall into their hands, they would make a fricassee of their livers and hearts for breakfast, the Duke was uncivil enough to demolish their city entirely. But it was the Grotto of Hans sur Lesse that had lured me up the Mouse, so I took a voiture early one morning to visit it. The sun was just rising when we entered the Forest of Arden- nes, which, as over the troops at Waterloo, waved her green leaves, " dewy Avith nature's tear-drops," above our heads. The scenery presented a charming air of wildness and seclusion ; and even the wretched inns along the road appeared comfort- able and inviting, since here the Avorld of travelling cockneys was not visible. From the branches of the large old oaks along our path, the birds were singing their jubilant songs ; and seve- ral times, where the road wound along the banks of some cool rivulet, I caught sight of the scared eye and dusky forms of the antlered deer, or the bristling boar. We stopped to break- fast at a little village cabaret, where a beautiful dark-eyed little maiden served us with excellent trout, venison-steaks, and im- mense plates of strawberries buried in cream ; which, with fresh milk, honey richer than the Hymettian that the old Romans mingled with their Falernian wine, and the plenty of air and exercise, made it a feast of no common luxuriance. After doing the amplest justice to it all, and having our hands kissed by the little maiden in gratitude for our gratuity, we set out; TheMeuse. 71 and wandering for some distance along the banks of the Lesse, we reached the Cavern of Tron de Han, the object of our excursion. The valley of the Lesse is here barricaded by a wall of rock stretching across it, but the river precipitates itself into the cave at the bottom, and forces a passage through it. As I wished to enter, I procured a guide and a boat, and rowed up into the cavern at the spot where the river issues from it. The first chamber of the many into which the grotto is divided was illumined by the reflection of the water, and had a most beau- tiful eifect. When we entered the others, the guide lighted his torches ; and then commenced the magic beauty of the scene. It reminded me of Coleridge's sacred river Alp, which ran — " Through caverns measureless to man, Down to a sunless sea." The stalactites gleaming in the light like pillars, the fretted roofs of diamond and sapphire and ruby, and the red reflections of the torches shimmering down deep in the inky waters, were gorgeous representations of the " stately pleasure dome," in Xanidu ; and rendered me half doubtful whether I was not the sport of a delightful dream. The illusion was destroyed, how- ever, when I left the boat, and scrambled after the guide over the mud and stones deeper within the cave. After being within for nearly two hours, I emerged, like the river, very muddy and dirty ; and having cleaned and refreshed myself at the cabaret near the entrance, drove slowly back to Dinant, by a shorter but less picturesque route. In the afternoon I embarked again for Namur, where I took another boat for Liege. The banks of the Mouse below Namm are celebrated as being the most beautiful in Northern Europe, and contain every variety of landscape. Cliffs like the turrets of old castles, woodland and meadow, hop-fields, vineyards, old ruins, and pleasing villages, were passed every minute. I read Wordsworth here, amid the scenes which had inspired his muse ; and was charmed at the same time both with his eloquent verse, and what an artistic friend of mine calls the " crude poetry" which dwelt in the sky and the mountains around me ; which 72 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. murmured in melody in the stream and in the wind, and breathed its perfumed soul from the fields and flowers of either bank. At Huy, a strongly fortified town, with splendid battlements bristling with cannon, we stopped to take on board a party of soldiers, who were drafted into some other station. Their fare- wells to their comrades and sweethearts were very touching. They all shook hands also with their commandant, who, though he appeared half ashamed of the weakness, suffered a tear to trickle down his gray moustache, as he listened to their simple adieus. I was much amused with an incident that occurred here. A young Englishman, with an inquisitive look and weak brandy- and-water-colored whiskers, was particularly anxious to ascer- tain the name of the town, which is pronounced as if spelled ive. Approaching a fierce-looking individual with a superfluity of hair, he inquired, in bad French : — " Kel nong dissy vil ? Jay voo pree." "Huy!" said the fierce-looking individual, pronouncing it we. <' No ! — kel nong de vil — the city — issy — there," said brandy- and-water-whiskers, endeavoring to make himself better under- stood ; for he imagined the gentleman had replied to his ques- tion with the French afiirmative, oui. " Huy !" replied the other gentleman, with a half-contempt- uous emphasis. "Oh, Heavens!" said the Englishman, turning to where I stood, nearly convulsed ; " why don't these passengers speak English or French? They do not understand a word we say." "I do fushtand ! I say Huy! Huy! Huy! It is you comprez ne pas, you no fushtay — Huy;" and the irritable gentleman went ofi'into sundry mutterings in divers languages; and as he spoke them all badly, I have been to this day in doubt as to his nativity. As to the Englishman, he looked the personification of surprise and indignation ; but he restrained his wrath, which was wise, and buried his vexation in his note- book, where doubtless he made a memorandum of the incivili- ties of all foreigners, and those to be met with on the Mouse especially. The Me USE. 73 Passing Huj, the river became less picturesque, and the banks on either side less precipitous, and were covered with the indications of manufactures and busy life. Dusky factories, with their smoking chimneys, arose on every side; while in front of each, the river swarmed with naked men and boys, dashing water at each other, and swimming out to the very boat. As we proceeded, the ring of hammers and forges becair.c more frequent; and soon the begrimed sides of the ancient Epis- copal Palace of Liege, now an enormous factory, reured its forest of tall towers before us — a lasting monument to the enterprise of Mr. John Cockerill, an Englishman, v/ho turned the quiet old city into a Belgic Birmingham or Pittsburg. We now entered the suburbs of the city of Liege, which lies on both sides of the river ; and having taken a hasty notice of the fine old buildings, and an immense floating swimming-school, we landed and drove to the Hotel de I'Europe, which I take pleasure in recommending to all future voyagers. I walked out into the city immediately on arriving, endeavor- ing to locate my reminiscences of Quentin Durward, the scene of whose adventures is partly laid here ; and although my research was crowned with but little success, it added greatly to the interest and pleasure I took in my promenade. Reflect- ing on this when I returned to my hotel, and remembering how often such associations had thrown a veil of beauty over other- wise uninteresting places, I took delight in the thought that even by these hasty sketches of mine, I might add to the plea- sure with which, perchance, some friend might in a future day regard these same scenes ; and whether they may or not, I have enjoyed the anticipation. I wandered through the old streets near the Mouse until late at night, listening to the sounds of labor, and to the cheerful songs of the workmen, as they wrought the stubborn iron into firearms and machinery ; industrious noises, not unpleasing to hear, and which resounded in my ears even after I had sought my bed. The lions of Liege were soon seen. The Cathedral, with its splendid cedar-wood pulpit, carved by Geefs ; the Church of St. Jacques, and its wide windows, " flamboyant with a thou- 7 74 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. sand gorgeous colors;" the house of Gretry, the composer; and the fine view from Wakois's celebrated Jardin des Plantes, near the city. But I could not enjoy them on account of the burning heat of the sun, which seemed to scorch the very atmosphere that conducted its rays to the earth ; and if the reader feels any disappointment at the brevity and carelessness apparent in this description of them, I can only plead the excuse that a day similar to it, which has dried up every faculty of thought and expression within my brain, at present burns around me. aix-la-chapelle. Never, in all my travelling experience, have I felt the influ- ence of- a more burning sun than that which dropped its molten flames upon the old town of Charlemagne, as I panted on after the little gamin Avho carried my luggage from the Douane to the Hotel Nuellens. The atmosphere was actually rendered visible by the heat, and glistened tremulously, like the air im- mediately above a red-hot stove. This accounted for the dreamy solitude of the broad beautiful streets, lined with shade trees almost the whole way to the hotel, where I met with the first visible specimens of humanity, save cabmen and porters, in the town. I took apartments ; and having cast one look out of my Avindow to where the huge dome of the Munster and the quaint towers of the Rathhaus appeared above the houses, and one down into the square below me, where one solitary carriage was standing in the sun, with a pair of boots extended out of the window, giving satisfactory assurance of the driver's slumbers ; I stretched myself upon a canape beneath the window, where two large blue-bottles soon sang me to sleep — unpleasant sleep, in which the mirage mocked me, and unsubstantial rivulets fled before me for ever. Awakening at five o'clock, I went down to dinner ; apropos of which, I do not know that I have as yet described a specimen of these daily continental repasts ; and as this parr ticular one, with its iced champagne and cool salads, still occu- pies a place amid my most delightful reminiscences, I feel it my duty to give it, en passant, a brief and grateful notice. I must confess, however, on the threshold of the subject, that the Aix-la-Chapelle. 75 technical names of many a delightful dish have long faded froa my memory, as their flavors have from my palate ; so the Epi- curean reader will have to assist me by his own imagination. On the Continent there is always a prandial table d'hote, which, for many reasons, is frequented by everybody alike ; even the reserved Briton, Avho at home prefers always a private room and a lonely dinner, here forgets his pride of privacy, and sits down with the rest. At a Avatering-place, too, as at Aix, the table d'hote, like misery, brings together strange companions Royal princes, generals, nobles, and gamblers ; Hebrews, Rus- sians, English, and French mingle with the indigenous Ger- mans, until one feels almost confused in his own nationality, and replies to Smith over the way in Italian ; and when Brown, who came over in the Baltic with you, asks you in French to take wine, you involuntarily respond in gibberish, like the Polish officer next to you. Frequently, also, you see a man of whose exact birthplace you may be in some doubt — generally tall, dashing, and somewhat reserved ; who wears a moustache, and addresses the waiters in almost pure Parisian, while he is also overheard to speak remarkably good English. If, in spite of all these characteristics, you are still in doubt of him, see if he evinces a decided preference for champagne, and if his companion — wife or sister — is very beautiful, and then you may decide positively on his being an American. Do not think that I wish to insinuate that this portrait is so general that Dom Boquet himself may be considered an exponent of it — unfortunately he is far from it ; his French was always tremu- lous, and, in spite of his republican education, he was almost terrified, when, on the occasion alluded to, he found himself seated at the table between a German prince with a very remarkable nose, and a Belgian general with an infinity of hair — resembling somewhat in his situation the arms of England between a lion and a unicorn. The conduct of dinner on the Continent varies a great deal from that at our American tables d'hote. Instead of a bill of fare, from which after the soup you are at liberty to select your own dishes, one is here compelled to undergo the ordeal of at least a dozen different courses, each consisting of but one 76 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. or two dishes. This, while it is inconvenient in taking up too much time in dining, has also several other disadvantages, the greatest of which is the almost impossibility of refusing judi- ciously; for if one would indulge in everything offered him, he would soon get in the condition of the man who, in a Western hotel, attempted to eat through the bill of fare ; and would be exposed to the mortification of seeing cates he liked exceed- ingly pass him after he had sated himself on unsavory ones. Thus one must learn when to refuse and when to accept ; and a plan to effect this by the uninitiated I would beg leave to suggest, as having been of service to myself. It is to watch some friand of apparent good taste (N. B. Gouty gentlemen generally safest), and imitate him as much as possible. Even this plan, however, has its drawbacks, as I once found at the Bellevue, at Deutz. Having for some days thus imitated the appetite of an old English gentleman who sat near me, and having been much pleased with his selections, one day, pur- suing the same course, and he being, unknown to me, quite ill, refused everything, I, Avho expected something very rare, did not discover my mistake until the dessert, when I commenced dining on ice-cream and sweet pates. But I fear my symposion is partaking too much of the cha- racter of its prototype ; and so, reader, if it please you, as it did me, to leave the table for a promenade in the cool evening around Aix-la-Chapelle, we shall now do so. Aliens ! It was with emotions of what De Quincey would call " deep pathos," that I wandered through the streets of Aix, when the sun had set beyond the distant hills, and the residents — water- drinkers and citizens — had come out, with the stars in the heavens, to enjoy the fresh life of the young night. It seems singular to me that, amid all the novelty and excitements of society and art that I have undergone during my tour, a few calm still evenings, spent in solitary musings amid scenes of historic grandeur, have left far more lasting and impressive memories in my mind ; and now, in writing of the past, I turn to such moments with a purer joy than to any other experiences whatever. Thus, in my first ramble through the city of the Aix-la-Chapelle. 77 great emperor of Germany, I received deeper impressions than were left by every other hour of my stay. I strolled around by the Cathedral, and the Hotel de Ville, with its Roman tower and its associations — the shroud and the cradle of Charlemagne. A pretty little genre picture was presented to me in the square — a blind beggar drinking from a fountain surmounted by a statue of the Emperor. The streets were full of people, and the salons of caf^s and bath-houses glittered with gas-lights and echoed the sounds of pleasure. At the Redoubte, music mingled with the clink of glasses and dice, and the feet of a hundred dancers kept time with all ; yet all these things, so inharmo- nious with the associations of the place, did not at all jar any chord of feeling in my heart. So vivid were the memories in my mind, that the Past became to me the real, and the Present but as an excited dream. The grandeur of the old Carlovin- gian era was more potent to me than the noisy bustle of fashion and pleasure ; and where there were so many things recalling the departed greatness of the place, I could not feel either sympathy or disgust at what was going on around me. I strolled outside the gates, and reached before dark the old ruin of Louisberg, on a neighboring hill, from which place I had an excellent view of the city and its environs. An amphitheatre of green hills stretched around me for many a mile, the hither landscape dotted with many a place of interest. One faint tower in the distance was Frank enburg, a hunting chateau of Charlemagne. Below, the Boulevard swarmed with vehicles, and beyond, in dusky grandeur, loomed the domes of the city ; and my eyes wandered instinctively to this fine view of the Domkirche and the Rathhause, made at present far more impos- ing than ever by the crepuscular influence of the twilight and the crowding memories that had accompanied me. Long I gazed on these two objects, eloquently called by Victor Hugo, " the august cradle of Charlemagne, and the sepulchre of his eter- nal greatness ;" and not until the moon shed her spiritualizing influence over all, from the highest heavens, did I leave my position by the old castle, to descend to dreams of 1 * 78 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. CHARLEMAGNE. I Stood on the tomb of Carolus Magnus, as the inscription on the marble slab beneath my feet testified ; the massive can- delabrum of Barbarossa above my head, and the grand old walls of the Chapelle, mutely eloquent of the past, looking down upon me. Never before did I feel so mortifying a sense of my own littleness as then. There was the end of life — the end to which all are journeying. The haughty, successful, deified Emperor, and the tattered beggar-woman in the corner, doubtless pleading for his intercession, in a few years will be contemporaries, and in the sight of Heaven, perchance, equals. All are peers in the republic of the grave. In Aix-la-Chapelle was Carolus born, and here he died ; the Cathedral standing on the site of the chapel which he designed himself as his burial-place. The original edifice, which gave the soubriquet to the city itself, was built in the form of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, and at its consecration there were present, besides the Pope, three hundred and sixty-five arch- bishops and bishops, two of whom were the ghosts, according to the legend, of two pious prelates, who revisited earth that the sacred number might be complete. The present Cathedral was rebuilt from the ruins of the first structure, and is one of the oldest in Germany. Under the centre of the dome, in the most antique portion, Charlemagne was buried ; not reclining in a coSin, nor bound in the usual cerements of the grave, but seated on his throne as if alive, clothed in his imperial robes, with his sceptre in his hands, and on his knees a copy of the Scriptures. His fleshless brow was still pressed by the crown, and plebeian worms ate his heart out, without disturbing the purple mantle on his shoulders. All these regal relics, with his sword Joyeuse and his pilgrim's pouch, have been removed to Vienna. Frederick Barbarossa first disturbed the tomb ; and it is most likely that his valuable presents to the Church, afterwards, were made to appease his own conscience, as well as to satisfy the priests for the sacrilege. After standing reverently for some time, lost in the recollec- Charlemagne. 79 tions that tlie place aroused, I followed the sacristan into the gallery, where he exposed to my sight the marble throne on which the great Emperor was seated in the tomb. It was but a simple chair of stone, deprived of the plates of gold which adorned it in former times, during the coronations of the thirty- six German Emperors who have sat upon it. Yet so impressive are the emotions it excites, that it is said Napoleon himself contemplated it uncovered. The priest who accompanied me invited me to sit upon it ; but I could not invade the sanctity of its associations. Near it stands an antique sarcophagus, ornamented with a fine bas-relief of the Rape of Proserpine ; and this shell, that once may have contained the ashes of a Roman Emperor, became the footstool of their successor in his grave. Everything in this gallery is suggestive of the grand past. The arches are adorned with pillars of porphyry and granite, brought by Charlemagne from the Exarch's Palace at Ravenna, and from the far Orient ; and beneath an old por- trait of the Emperor, part of the original mosaic pavement is preserved. The choir is a more modern addition, and is of lofty aerial appearance. It contains a splendid, richly ornamented silver- gilt pulpit — the gift of the Emperor Otho III. ; and with the image of the Holy Virgin, over the altar, a more sacred relic is associated, for on the insipid brow of the statue burns a crown of pure gold, a present from the unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots. One dollar procured me admission into the sacristy, where the principal treasures and relics of the church are preserved. We passed into a small mean room on the right of the choir, surrounded by cases like book-shelves, which when thrown open disclosed prodigality of art and wealth that dazzled me as I gazed. There were gems and precious woods from the East — gifts of the half-mythical magnificent Haroun al Raschid ; and relics authenticated with the seal of Constantine the Great ; others of saints and martyrs, intrinsically worthless, set in shrines of jewels and gold of incalculable price and wonderful brilliancy ; and, what interested me more than all, some un- doubted relics of Charlemagne, which my companion held 80 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. between his thumb and forefinger for my edification. Among these, a bone long adduced as an evidence of the Emperor's gigantic size, under the supposition that it was an arm-bone, until late anatomists proved it to be a tibia. In gazing at these things I became involuntarily a participant in the superstition that has sanctified them ; for all worship is sacred, and these bits of wood and linen, and bottles of blood, and splinters of bones, from the fact that for centuries they have received the adoration of pilgrims, could only alfect me solemnly, while I pitied the credulity of the worshippers, and felt shocked at the pretended associations of the objects them- selves, which, even if their authenticity were undoubted, at best only suggest the materiality of Christianity, which God, who has hidden the tombs of the Prophets and Apostles, evi- dently has designed to be kept in the background. But this is a subject on which it is hardly proper to dilate in a book of this character, and being, apart from their authenticity, which it were useless to assert or deny, merely a matter of feeling, a subject useless to discuss. I began this chapter with the name of Charlemagne, not that it was to contain more of him than the past or the next division ; but, as I wished to attempt a description of those things with which he was most intimately associated, I desired to have my readers afi'ected on the threshold of the narrative with the idea of him that filled my mind when I wandered amid the scenes that his life and death were both so intimately asso- ciated with ; hoping that thus my feeble descriptions might be strengthened by their imagination and assisted by their memory. VI. THE GRAND RELIQUES. I WAS awakened on Sunday morning by the sound of music in the street, beneath my window ; and, on rising and looking out, I found the city already awake and stirring. A strange medley of priests, soldiers, and beggars were marching by in procession, and gayly-dressed people were looking on from every window and doorway. Flags were flaunting from the MUnster dome, and from the towers of the town-hall ; and I rubbed my eyes, in doubt as to my being perfectly awake. Merrily rang out the bells, and bright the summer sun shone down into the square, glittering on the bayonets of the soldiers, and giving a richer splendor to the gorgeous apparel of the priests ; and it was only when I reflected that on this day I was to witness the exhibition of the Grand Reliques of Aix — a sight only per- mitted to pilgrims once in seven years — that I was persuaded that I still lived in the nineteenth century, and that during the night the world had not gone back a thousand years, and the old Carlovingian reign returned. Dressing myself, I took a hasty breakfast, and sallied forth. Although oppressively warm, the streets were already filled with people, and especially in the neighborhood of the Cathedral, Avhere every window teemed with human life, and even the roofs were as crowded as the balconies. The Church itself was gayly decorated with flags, which flapped with petty satire against the gray old stones. Bands of music were performing, and the bells rang out a wild welcome to the day. I took a station in the crowd immediately in front of the Church, and keeping as far in the shade as pos- sible, I endeavored to find interest in observing the pilgrims around me, until the exhibition should commence. They were a motley set ; tourists from all parts of Europe ; peasants from the banks of the Mouse and the vineyards of the Rhine ; and others, whose costumes indicated a remoter nationality; artists, "who beneath their slouched hats were evidently studying the 82 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. groups around them ; English of all classes — from the rubicund man-of-family, with five fat daughters, down to the weeest kind of petty darks from lawyers' offices and linen-draper shops in the city. Effeminate heroes, on leave from the Horse Guards, stroking their moustaches and affirming of the spectacle, that it was " odd, very odd !" Soldiers and priests were everywhere; and occasionally an arrogant dragoon, according to the approved custom in all such cases, would gallop off nowhere about no- thing, frightening from their devotions the old women and nut- brown maidens, who, with one eye on their beads and the other on the crowd, were kneeling in the square. As the sun's rays drove the shadow closer to the wall, the heat became intense, and the odors exhaled from the miscella- neous lungs around were far from being agreeable ; but, acci- dent having favored me Avith so exclusive a show as one only exhibited ten times in the longest lifetime, I stood it out bravely. Soon the organ pealed forth in grand tones within the Cathedral ; the military and other bands outside commenced playing also ; the soldiers were drawn up in regular files ; some priests appeared on the apsis of the Cathedral roof; and, as the people fell again upon their knees, the ceremony com- menced. Eirst there flaunted from the roof a long robe, Avhich, after an interval employed in praying by the pious, gave place to another piece of drapery with similar musical and devotional accompaniments ; and so on da capo, until four pieces of cloth, more or less soiled, had been shown, Eceling considerably disappointed with the objects shown, intrinsically so much less interesting than the smaller reliques, I purchased a pamphlet at a stall near by, from which I translate this description of the articles — " 1. The white robe of the Holy Virgin, five and a half feet long, which she wore during the birth of our Lord. <■<■ 2. The swaddling-clothes in which our Saviour Jesus Christ was swathed; of which St. Luke, the Evangelist, speaks in chapter ii. 12 : ' You will find the babe Avrapped in swaddling- clothes, lying in a manger.' They are of a brown yellow color, The Ring of i^astrada. 83 and of a kind of felt stuff, although woven. It is seen that a piece has fallen off, which is preserved in a black veil. "3. The linen in which the body of St. John the Baptist, when decapitated, was enveloped ; vide the Evangelists St. Matthew xiv. 12, St. Mark vi. 20. The said linen is of a thread exceedingly fine, in which may be seen still the stains of blood. It is folded and bound around with a cord of white silk. " 4. The linen by which our Saviour was covered, hanging on the holy cross ; in which the marks of his precious blood are visible. The threads of this cloth are very coarse, and it is folded many times and tied with a little cord." This was the exhibition that I stood several hours. tinder a hot sun to see ! and I could not help wondering at the morbid curiosity or superstition that still brings hundreds of pilgrims every seventh year to Aix. In former time they reckoned the visiters by thousands, and frequently the number equalled 150,000 ; and in 1846, the exhibition preceding the present one, the number exceeded 180,000 ! As I followed the crowd back to the place in which the hotel was situated, I overheard a criticism on the affair, which fell from the lips of one of the afore-mentioned Horse-Guard heroes, which I quote because it met with my heartiest con- currence : — "A devilish boaw !" THE RING OF FASTRADA. The morning before I left Aix, I drove out, over pleasant fields and beneath umbrous archways of green trees, to the Castle of Frankenburg, the ancient hunting-seat of Charle- magne. The road was beautiful, and the air full of violet odors, of that soft elasticity encouraging thought not less than reverie ; for both of which moods the Prussian landscape and the sacred associations of the city afforded ample food. I have before me the sketch I made of the antique chateau, though it is not necessary, to recall the massive ivy-mantled old tower, with the modern residence attached ; the tall green trees, and 84 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. the silent moat, over which in these peaceful days the draw- bridge rests undisturbed. Leaving the carriage, I walked through the arched portal into a court, where the domestic accompaniments of barnyards were alone visible. A large dog stood like a threatening sentinel at the gate, until a friendly servant approached ; under whose conduct I paced through the castle garden, and ascended the gray old tower, from which we had a glorious view of the country around. In coming down, he pointed out to me the window from which, according to the legend, the ring of Fastrada was thrown, and gave me a vilely-printed French pamphlet, containing somewhat of the history of the Castle ; from which, having selected a quiet spot under a cypress near the moat, I translated into my sketch- book the following brief chronicle : — * * * * " The bells that had rung out the knell of Fastrada had long been hushed, and their brazen throats no longer complained in sadness ; yet the heart of Charlemagne knew not consolation, and to his ears every wandering air became a dirge. He refused all nourishment, and, neglecting the affairs of his empire, abandoned himself wholly to grief. He had caused the corpse of the dead Queen to be laid in a crystal coffin ; and by day and night he never ceased the con- templation of her features, nor his lamentations for her death. His court was thrown into dismay at his despair, but he refused all the petitions of his subjects and counsellors. He allowed no one to come near him, save one page, who had been a favor- ite of the lady, and he did not dare to attempt consolation ; he would bring food, but he would take it away again untouched, ■when he returned. This young page was questioned by the aged Turpin, the wisest of all the King's counsellors ; and was commanded to examine, if possible, and see if there was not some concealed charm oh the person of the Queen, that exer- cised thus an unholy influence over the Emperor's mind. The page watched as directed, when he visited his sovereign's chamber that day, and went and told Turpin, " There is a ring on the third finger of the Queen's hand — a serpent with a ruby crest, holding its tail in its mouth, and the ruby burns as if it were of flame." Then Turpin gave the boy wine, that he was KoLN. 85 to press the Emperor to drink ; and when he would sleep, he was to open the coffin, and take the ring from her hand. The page obeyed, and the same night took the ring ; and Turpin threw it into the moat. Thereupon a great storm arose ; and, when the Emperor awoke, he found the flesh had withered from the lady's face, and the worms had commenced their horrid rof ast ; so he permitted them to bear her to the tomb. Thus was his mind released from the spell." * * * I smiled when I had finished the little story ; and, returning the book with a number of silver groschen, I bade adieu to my conductor ; and two hours later was dreaming of Fastrada and her ring, as I flew along in the cars on my way to KOLN. It was with sensations that must ever aff"ect even the least imaginative travellers, that I entered the old city of Cologne. I was now to see the Rhine, for the first time. The Rhine ! hitherto a magic name, calling up the ghosts of past magnifi- cence, of feudal grandeur, of wierd legend, of chivalrous love ! and I could not help trembling with the force of the emotions aroused within me. So I passed through the ancient Thurmches Thor, down a quaint old street, and even by the grand " incom- plete Iliad" of a Cathedral, with scarcely a glance at any of them. I had taken a friend's advice with reference to a hotel, and ordered the driver to carry me to the "Bellevue," in Deutz, across the river ; and therefore in a few moments I was rolling over the bridge of boats that connects the two cities, with the river stretching out to the seven mountains on the right, and losing itself in the meadows below the town on the left hand. Both my observations and my reveries were brought to an untimely end by a demand for the toll ; and before I had time to resume either, I was being interrogated in regard to my dinner by my polite host at the hotel. As the table d'hote was just ready, and the rapid ride from Aix had stimulated my appetite, I consented without much reluctance to defer until the morrow all active sentiment ; and soon, therefore, was tak- 86 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. ing the first of the agreeable prandial lessons from the venera- ble Briton, I have alluded to in a previous chapter. Afterwards, I followed the greater part of the guests into the garden, between the hotel and the river, where one of the best bands in Europe was performing a variety of beautiful airs. The garden itself was not much superior to, nor unlike, those exotic retreats, devoted to lager beer, which are being established in our American cities ; consisting chiefly of a grove of pine tables, planted under scanty bowers of thirsty vines, and breathing odors more strongly impregnated with tobacco than with roses ; but the music, and the stars, and the hush of waters ; and beyond, the town, with its innumerable steeples rising into the quiet night, made it a scene of more than ordinary pleasure. Nor were the groups of tourists, that occupied its tables, and promenaded its walks, unworthy of attention, gathered as they were from a dozen different coun- tries, and speaking as many diverse languages. Whether it was a feeling of sympathy with the obvious enjoyment of all around me, or the self-complacency of one who has dined well, or the benevolence that is born of a cigar under ordinary cir- cumstances, or all of these and the influence of the night and the scene together, I do not know ; but I felt much less alone in the crowd than usual on similar occasions of isolation. The music stopped, and the guests gradually left, until I was quite alone ; when a waiter, who thought I must be asleep, touched my shoulder and aroused me from my reverie ; when I climbed to my room in the fourth story, where I listened to the wash of the Rhine against the bridge of boats, until it hushed me to sleep. The week I passed at Cologne afforded but scanty time to view even a tithe of the many objects of interest it contains. Its historical associations, dating back to the Roman Agrippa, are of sufficient variety to make it worthy of an especial pil- grimage. Its geographical position, between the mercantile plains of Holland and tlie legendary hills of the Upper Rhine, well typifies its character — renowned in war, in commerce, in arts, and in literature — the scene of both real and traditional romance. KoLN. 87 The earliest place I visited was, of course, the DomkircJie, the vast half-articulated idea of gothic architecture, which stands a type at once of man's glory and insignificance. I stood with dumb awe before it. No ruin that I had ever wit- nessed was half so grand or so eloquent. Amid the sculpture of its arches, swallows had built their nests ; vines and briers, feeding on its decay, flaunted out of crevices in the wall, and draped with verdure its gray buttresses, making a sad music, which seemed half of triumph, as the wind rustled them. Jut- ting out above the vast towers, a large crane seemed weakly prophesying some indefinite fulfilment of the grand design. Masons and sculptors were at work around ; but their utmost labor seemed vain to arrest even the decay that has been going on for centuries, hopeless to ever finish the structure. On entering, I felt in a degree disappointed. The interior, fine as it is, being more complete, scarcely sustains the promise of the unfinished exterior ; though the view of its vast pillars and arches is very imposing. Many of the details, though much mutilated, are very fine ; and I was particularly struck with the painted windows, through which the light fell gorgeously upon the tesselated pavement. Some of these are quite modern ; others are of the time of Maximilian, and flame with all the extravagance of the German Renaissance. One of them Avas very curious, representing heraldicly the genealogy of the Virgin. Adam, in an imperial costume, appears lying on his back ; and from him springs a large tree, amid whose branches are seen the royal ancestry of Mary — David with his harp ; Solomon in stately pensiveness ; and, at the top, the unfolding calyx of a flower discloses the Virgin and the infant Saviour. The choir is the most imposing part of the Dom, luminous with painted windows of the fourteenth century, and intricate with arches, pillars, chapels, and statues of Apostles, in colored and golden robes. It contains, also, fine tapestries after designs by Rubens, and frescoes whose origin is unknown ; effigies of knights and bishops ; and, among others, that of old Conrad of Hochsteden, the august founder of the Church. Behind the high altar is a small chapel, containing the most 88 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. venerable structure in the Cathedral — the famous shrine of the " Three Kings of Cologne," the Wise Men — ah oriente vene- runt — heralded by the Star of Bethlehem to the manger where the Saviour lay. The shrine is of silver gilt, radiant with pre- cious stones ; and, through an opening in it, the three skulls, inscribed with the Kings' names — Gaspar, Melchior, Bal- thazar — written in rubies, are seen, crowned with golden crowns, in ghastly mockery of death. A bas-relief represents the adoration of the Magi, and beneath we read : — " Corpora sanctorum recubant hie terna magorum, Ex his sublatum nihil est alibire locatum." Thus asserting an entire possession of these poetic remains, against all rival reliquaries. As I turned to depart, the guide arrested my footsteps, and gave me another souvenir of the church — I had been standing on the spot where the heart of Mary de Medicis was buried. The place next in interest, whether romantic or religious, as one may feel it, is the Church of Sta. Ursula, and of the Eleven Thousand Virgins. I looked with more than mere curiosity upon the shrine of the Three Kings ; there was so much poetry in the tradition, sounding like a page from the Thousand and One Nights, and illustrated as it is with Oriental splendor. I rather encouraged, therefore, a feeling of rever- ence as I looked on the crowned skulls ; but I could not help wondering how the most orthodox Romanist could swallow the enormous story of the British Princess and her immaculate companions. The Church itself has externally nothing remarkable about it ; but within, it presents certainly the most singular sight in Christendom. The whole structure seems builded of human bones. The double wall of the choir is packed with them ; whole skeletons are enclosed in cases, and skulls grin down upon one from every possible position. In addition to all these, there are many relics preserved in more sacred estimation. A few specimens of these I have transcribed literally from » printed catalogue, which I bought in the Church. KoLN. 89 " There are in the Goklen Chamber : — " 1st, 120 busts, each of which contains, enclosed in its head, the skull of a martyr in a small velvet case, embroidered with gold, and the name of the martyr on it ; 33 of them are over- laid with silver, some adorned with precious stones and gems, and the head of St. Ursula is surrounded by a crown of great value. Amongst the great many heads, enclosed in cases of silver, may be mentioned here : " 2. The head of St. Etherius, bridegroom of St. Ursula, with the teeth well preserved." Here follows a list of a great number of bishops, dukes, and priests, and then : — <'48. 612 heads adorned with golden embroidery, in gilded glass chests. " 54. The arrow which pierced St. Ursula. " 60. A water-cruet, used at the wedding-meal at Cana, brought to Cologne by St. Bruno. An eye-witness, who has been in Cana, assures us that there are only five of these water- pots, and that the sixth he has seen in our golden chamber, is perfectly like the five other pots. "4. In gilt glass shrines: 1028 skulls, embroidered with gold," &c. There are innumerable others of these ghastly relics, which pious pilgrims come hither every year to worship — an idolatry far more horrible and disgusting than any of the old mytho- logies. The legend upon which this stupendous superstition ori- ginated is given in the little book I have already quoted, as follows : — " St. Ursula was born in Great Britain about the year 220, of Christian parents, King Dionetus Maurus and his wife Daria. Being of remarkable beauty, the neighboring King Agrippinus asked for her in marriage for his son Conanus. The betrothal was celebrated contrary to her w^ill ; for St. Ursula had already vowed everlasting virginity, and it was much more against her conscience to be united with the still pagan Cona- nus ; wherefore she bethought herself of a means to elude the intended marriage. They agreed to delay. Trusting in God, 8* 90 EuROPEiN Life, Legend, and Landscape. assisted by two kings, and attracted by rising Christianity, she undertook a journey for the continent. Accompanied by a great number of virgins, she embarked with them in eleven ships ; and having safely arrived at Thiol, in Holland, con- tinued her journey thence the Rhine upwards, through Cologne to Basle, being on all sides hospitably received. On the advice of Antistes Pantalus in Basle, the virgins left their ships ; and under his guidance crossed the Alps, and wandered to Rome. There, visiting the tombs of the martyrs, and touched by their heroic devotion, the unbaptized among them desired to be instructed and baptized. Strengthened in their faith, the pious company departed from Rome ; and, on their return, Cyriacus, with many others, joined them. From Basle they descended the Rhine to Mayence. Here Conanus, the bride- groom of St. Ursula, met her ; and, encouraged by the example of the virgins, he allowed himself to be baptized by St. Pan- talus, under the name of (Etherius. Landing in Cologne, the holy band was attacked by barbarians hostile to Christianity, and all slain ; of whom St. Ursula first fell, refusing the pro- positions of marriage from the prince of the Huns, pierced by an arrow." The account given of the same massacre, by Godfrey of Monmouth, who lived in the twelfth century, differs in many respects from the foregoing legend, and gives additional parti- culars. '< One of the sainted virgins," he relates, '< Cordula by name, seized with the fear of death, hid herself in the lower parts of a ship ; but the next day, penetrated with contrition, and encouraged by the example of the rest of the virgins, she embraced death with redoubled zeal." Some, who have endeavored to reconcile this story with truth, have supposed that the number, 11,000, of the Saint's virgin train, arose from confounding the name of one of them, Unde- cimilla, with the number, undecim millia ; but, as a legend, I prefer it as it stands, as it is much more romantic so, and also less likely to be believed. The author of the little book from which the above details have been translated is evidently a firm believer, and clinches his argument in favor of the authenticity of his story with KOLN. 91 amusing naivete. " Is not the number of thousands," he observes, " in harmony with the enormous quantity of human remains which are deposited in the church?" However this sacred exhibition may affect the devout pil- grims who visit it, I cannot tell. In me it excited feelings rather of disgust than awe ; and the irreverent sacristan, who fingered the relics, had a quizzical look about him, which savored not a little of his own incredulity. An English party, who were being conducted through the church at the same time, indulged in a merriment as unseemly as it was melancholy. "I say, George, my boy!" exclaimed Pater Familias, in my hearing; "Eureka! I have found the summum bonum !" "What is it?" responded the innocent youth addressed. " Look there !" indicating a fragment of a skeleton in the ceiling ; at which miserable joke they all laughed, to the great indignation of their guide, who thought they were ridiculing his story. The Church of St. Gereon is another ossuary, lined with the bones of 6000 more saints and martyrs, and possesses, in addi- tion, intrinsic attractions for the artist and archaeologist. The Museum contains some interesting pictures of the early German painters, among which The Last Judgment, by Stephen of Cologne, with bright blue angels, is the most remarkable. It possesses also some fine pictures of the modern school, the most impressive of which is the " Convent Court in a Snow Storm," by the prince of modern landscapists — Lessing. The best-knoAvn picture in the city is the celebrated Cruci- fixion of St. Peter, by Rubens, in the church dedicated to that Saint, in which the painter himself was baptized. It has been the subject of much good and bad criticism. I was delighted and awed by it, though I could not admire it as much as the Crucifixions of the same artist in Antwerp Cathedral. The peculiarity of the picture is, that the martyred Apostle is represented on the cross with his head downward. I do not know how consistent this may be with the legend it illustrates ; but it has a bizarre effect, which, however it may be deprecated by high art, is very powerful. The composition and grouping of the picture is equal to the best I have seen. 92 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. While I remained in the city, I went to see the Tomb of Duns Scotus, of course ; and the Sarcophagus of St. Cunibert ; and the noble Rathhaus ; and I bought eau de Cologne of Jean Maria Farina, himself, as all the world does who come here ; and I smelled the stench that Coleridge has immortalized, of which the said Jean Maria affords the only antidote ; but all these things have been already more than sufficiently described. My last souvenir of the town is the house " Jabach," where Rubens was born, and where Mary de Medicis died — the unfor- tunate Queen, whose epitaph is the terrible sentence of the President Henault : — " EUe ne fut pas assez surprise de la mort de Henri IV." DUSSELDORF. Mine host of the Prinz von Preussen, near the station at Dusseldorf, gave me an excellent breakfast after my ride from Deutz ; and loaned me afterwards the services of a little boy, to guide me to the residence of my old friend Whitridge. Our walk lay past the statue of the Elector John William, and the palace he built, which is now the headquarters of that army of great painters who have given a world-wide celebrity to the name of their town. I did not find my friend at his lodgings ; but a pretty servant-girl directed us to his studio, whither we went. It was situated in the suburbs of the town, and we crossed in going to it the pleasant part, which in these quiet times since the peace of Luneville, has usurped the place of the old ramparts. It was still early in the morning, and the bright July sun, shining through the trees, and throwing long shadows upon the green sward, moved my soul to a thrill of Memnon melodies. The very birds, with their sweet music, seemed prophesying the welcome I was to receive from country- men and friends. At the gate of the house to which we had been directed, I dismissed my guide ; and, seeing in the garden a comfortable- looking man, with a German cast of countenance which indi- cated both a high intelligence and a frank courtesy, I half- DUSSELDORF. 93 instinctively addressed him in English. Removing his meer- schaum from his lips, and looking up from the fair children he had been playing with, he replied in pure Anglo-Saxon ; and, inviting me to enter, we strolled down the path to the studio. Here the vast cartoons on the walls, the bits of antique armor and drapery, old matchlock guns and pistols, and the other et cetera of the historical painter's attelier, together with an exquisite unfinished picture on his easel, gave me some suspi- cions of who my new acquaintance was ; which were confirmed in a few moments by the arrival of two other Americans, who addressed him as Mr. Leutze ; on which I proffered him the homage that a young artist must feel for his country's greatest Master. His works, which share with those of Powers and Crawford the highest consideration at home, are too well known to require description. The cartoon of " Washington at Mon- mouth," which had just been completed, possessed all the grandeur of conception and breadth, and fire of treatment, for which his "Crossing the Delaware" was remarkable. While I was admiring this and other works, Whitridge came in ; and there were questions of home to be answered, and fond remi- niscences of distant friends to be recalled to both of us. Learning that my stay would be necessarily very brief, he kindly proposed our setting out immediately to visit the town and the galleries of art. We went first to the modern exhibi- tion, where for a few hours I enjoyed the delight of studying the recent pictures of those masters, whose works point to a loftier immortality than that of Claude or Salvator ; — Lessing, Achenbach, Loy, and others, whose inspiration is of Nature herself, spiritualized with the highest poetry, and rhythmical with our purest sympathies. Now let me pause to suggest a benefit, that the artists here enjoy, that might be profitably adopted in our own country. The Prussian government, with that wide liberality which has so much assisted in producing the most inestimable results in art and literature and science, has not only devoted palaces to serve as academies in every town, and offered other rewards for excellence ; but every year the various galleries, formed of the recent works in each city, are carried at the state's expense 94 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. through them all ; exhibiting now at Dusseldorf, then at Elber- field and Berlin, and so on, until they have visited in this way every city in the country ; thus making the artist universally known, giving scope to criticism and to the cultivation of taste, besides the pecuniary advantages thus offered to the artist of disposing of his pictures. If this same institution were intro- duced, and properly conducted, with us in the United States ; and Boston, and Cincinnati, and San Francisco were thus bound together by a chain of beauty ; not only would an advance in art and liberal taste soon be apparent, but it would also be a potent influence for general social refinement ; and even the discords of our varied geographical localities and interests would be greatly smoothed by the harmony of the intellectual union. Leaving the gallery, we rambled about the town ; through the Alstadt, with its narrow quaint streets, not of the cleanest ; and the Neustadt and Karlstadt, with finer and more modern structures ; to the Hof kirche, of St. Andrew, where there are some fine pictures of the living school ; to the palace, where the picture of the Ascension of the Virgin, by Rubens, was the most important attraction, and where we looked over a part of the famous collection of drawings by the old masters, of which there are over fourteen thousand preserved here ; and a curious collection of water-color copies of the most celebrated Italian pictures of all schools, from the fourth century. The prandial hour approaching, we concluded our walk in the nicely-scrubbed and sanded dining-room of the little Dutch- like inn ; where, by Mr. Whitridge's kind invitation, I had the pleasure of meeting Achenbach, Leutze, and Mr. Washington, a pupil of the latter, at dinner. About this symposium, with its wit, and the pudding in the midst of it, I must be silent. It is one of those memories which, if described, would either be an exaggeration to alien ears, or too cold for my own heart. Afterwards, we all went to the Hofgarten ; where, under the shade of the trees, and a view of the Rhine before us, we talked of home and of art, and watched Messrs. Leutze and Washington play at dominoes, until nearly sunset. It was now DUSSELDORF. 95 time for the cars to leave ; and I took my farewells of these pleasant companions, unlikely to meet Avith them again, possi- bly, in the world, but never to forget them while my heart cherishes a single human sympathy. I have said nothing of Whitridge's pictures. It would be superfluous to do so, for they are well known and appreciated at home, as in his foreign residence. Everybody knows the fine artist, but I feel it a pleasure to be able to give this tribute *o the kind and courteous gentleman. VII. THE SEVEN MOUNTAINS. For variety, I went fourth class on the railway between Cologne and Bonn, croAvded in a rude, open car, together with blue blouses and short jupons ; but the day was fine, and the odor of my meerschaum rather agreeable to the good-looking peasant beside me, and I could keep my eyes upon the Seven Mountains and the other scenery along the road ; so 1 enjoyed myself hugely, and would not have exchanged places with my gouty acquaintance, who wa3 going the same direction, and who, nursing his infirmities, quietly slept on velvet cushions the whole way. Bonn is a bonnie place in more ways than one, and the Star Hotel worthy of its name. I did not visit either the Uni- versity^ nor the Museum of Antiquities, nor the Chateau de Poppelsdorf, remarkable for its minerals and fossils, and espe- cially, I was told, among the latter, for a set of fossil frogs, from the mature and perfect croaker down to the most adoles- cent tadpole ; but I walked up and down the chestnut avenue, where a gay promenade was kept up, of tourists and students, visited the Minster and the house of Beethoven, and sketched the Bhine from the terrace-garden behind the hotel. After dinner, with my invalid friend, I drove to Kreuzberg, where a church, formerly a convent, exists. From here the view of the hills, baptized in a golden sunset, was most beauti- ful. I left it reluctantly, to follow our guide, who showed us the sacred stairs, built by the Elector Clement Augustus, in imitation of the Seala Santa at Rome. Curiously enough, although these are professedly not the real stairs that led to Pilate's Judgment Hall, yet we were shown the stains of blood which fell from the Saviour's thorn-insulted head as he de- scended the marble steps. It is unlawful for any one to ascend them except on his knees, an obligation Avhich, I believe, my friend Avould have willingly complied with, as a twinge in one The Seven Mountains. 97 of his toes made ordinary walking rather painful to him at the moment. From this we were led to a vault under the church, remark- able for having preserved, in an undecayed state, the bodies of twenty-five holy monks. There they lay, in gown and cassock^ grinning at one, out of their cofiins, — natural mummies, some well preserved, but others shrivelled into melancholy ghastli- ness. Is it the odor of sanctity which pervades the vault ? Let us make place for these poor pilgrims who believe in the miracle. From Bonn I took the steamboat early in the morning, and in an hour arrived at Konigswinter, where my note-book ad- vises me I stopped at the "meanest and dearest hotel on the Continent," the Hotel Berlin. I was mistaken in this, but it required my future experience to convince me of it. As I landed it commenced raining, and I awaited its termination and my breakfast rather impatiently in a chill, damp kind of summer dining-room, or porch, open on two or three sides. While thus indifferently occupied, I was approached by an indignant Eng- lishman, whom I had observed striding up and down in great wrath ; and he now, apparently, sought me, for the purpose of unbosoming himself, and thus preventing a dangerous explo- sion. He began by declaiming violently against the exorbitant charges of all continental inns, and the one whose hospitality we were enjoying in particular. The immediate cause of his choler related to the bougies, or wax-candles, he had been forced to use the night before. He abruptly promised to teach me a lesson, and invited me to follow him. I did so ; when, taking me mysteriously up to his room, and locking every door, he cautiously opened a large hair trunk, and, emphatically pointing down into its depths, said "There !" "Well?" I demanded, as I saw the trunk was half full of partly burned bougies, and I not unreasonably took him to be a peripatetic tallow-chandler, exhibiting specimens of his man- ufactures. " Well !" I repeated. "Well," said he, "you see I do not let them impose upon 9 98 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. me. Whenever at the inns they charge the hougie in the bill, I carry it away with me." Afterwards, when at Geneva, I told this story to some com- panions at dinner. I learned that a gentleman, similar to the one I had described, had been detained at Dover by the cus- tom-house officers, and would have had his baggage confiscated, for smuggling candle-ends, but that their having all been lighted proved that they were private property. My informant had a story of his own, perhaps less apocry- phal than his very good epilogue to mine. He was travelling with an economical German friend, who was particularly saving in the bougies, which, I may state, are perquisites of the ser- vants in all European hotels ; and who, in consequence, if not prevented, will light two for you when you are conducted to your bedroom, for which the most moderate charge will be a franc in the bill the next day. "Ludwig," said he, "would bag the bougie when it was charged, and carry it in his port- manteau to the next stopping-place. When in the evening we would move towards our room, the waiter would snatch up a light and pursue us. Then would Ludwig run, and it would be neck and neck with the servant until he had succeeded in lighting his own bit of candle. On one occasion the enemy was too quick for him, and had a candle just ready to light when Ludwig entered. There was no time to be lost ; so he sprang forward, and be- fore the amazed garden was aware, had blown out the light, leaving us in the dark. The servant, frightened and aston- ished, retired to get a fresh light ; but before he returned, Ludwig had drawn a match from his pocket, and was coolly pulling off his boots by the light of his own bougie." The rain showing no signs of discontinuing, I assumed my " Mackintosh" paletot and walked to the foot of the Drachen- fels, where I found stables of horses and donkeys, with bright red saddles, for the convenience of those who wished to ascend. Selecting one of the former, and a conductor with him, I assumed the saddle and started off, my guide admonishing the poor Rosinante with shouts and kicks to bestir himself, while he assisted himself up the ascent by hanging like an animated kettle to the miserable creature's tail. I do not know which The Seven Mountains. 99 of the two seemed the most pitiable, but this seemed too bad ; and being, from the deficiencies of my German education, unable to expostulate, I tickled mj steed in the flank with my heel, to induce him to kick off the encumbrance, but the poor devil had not the spirit ; so I dismounted, and set my guide a moral example by walking unassisted. On our way up I had pointed out to me the old quarries from which the stones were taken to build the Cathedral of Cologne, called hence the "Dombruch," and also the cave of the dragon killed in the good old times by the horned Siegfried, the hero of the Nie- belungen Lay, from which circumstance the hill derived its name of "Dragon's Rock." On the stony cliffs on the sides of the path were written the names of hundreds of previous tourists ; and being importuned by an artist who carried on this business near the top, to allow him to add my illustrious name to the others, I indiscreetly consented, and gave him my card and a half-franc piece. I either paid him too much or too little, for, on returning, I recognised, to my horror, high up on an impregnable wall, my name immortalized in bright red let- ters two feet long ! It cleared up by the time I reached the top, and I had an opportunity of sketching the "castled crag" and the other objects mentioned in Byron's fine description, which is indeed so perfect that it forestalls all I would write about this mag- nificent ruin and the hills that it dominates. I have only one objection to the noble bard's verses — the line which alludes to the peasant girls with deep-blue eyes. It excites expectations in the tourist, whereof the fulfilment is but a disappointment. The girls are there, and the blue eyes, and the " hands that off"er early flowers," and all that; but, eheu dietu! the blue eyes look strabismically upon one, and the hands are large and not clean. Before leaving this beautiful spot, I paid a visit to the Inn garden on the top, where, in a pleasant little bower, with the Rhine and the noble scenery beneath me, a bottle of Brunen- berger on the table, and a cigar in my lips, I read, while I rested, the little tale I translate for my readers here. The scene of the story lies among the valleys of the Seven Hills, 100 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. and seems to be the foundation of many German stories, and not remotely may have even suggested to our own Irving his exquisite "Legend of Sleepy Hollow." It is entitled THE SCEPTIC CONVERTED. A LEGEND OF THE PETERSTHAL. Among the priests of Heistcrbach there was one W'ho was distinguished for his piety and his knowledge. He was known as Brother Alwais ; and as he made the assiduous study of the Scriptures a daily practice, every one, and even the Abbot himself, when it was necessary to explain some difficult and obscure passage of the holy fathers or the sacred writings, was accustomed to come to learn at that source of wisdom, for no other knew like him to explain their meaning and to take away the least traces of a doubt. A single point, how- ever, he was unable to understand, and this was the constant subject of his meditations. It was the saying of the Apostle Peter, "A thousand years are but as a day before the Lord ;" which tormented, without easing, his mind. Sometimes he spent entire days in his cell, thinking on the mystery of these words ; but the more he tried to comprehend them, the more his doubts multiplied and his incredulity increased, until at length his ideas became confounded in such an imbroglio that the other brothers feared he w"Ould become insane. One bright summer afternoon, lost in these reflections, and fatigued with the heat, he laid himself down under a tree in the neighboring forest, and fell asleep. After a while he was awakened by the vesper-bell, and being reminded that it was more than time to return to the convent, he aroused himself and proceeded thither, with his head bowed down, in his usual meditations. Arriving at the door, he was as- tonished that, instead of the lay brother whom he knew, another should come and open it for him ; but Alwais attached no im- portance to this change, and before he had time to consider the matter he heard the chant of the brothers in the church, and hurried to take his usual place. It was also occupied by a stranger, who regarded him with astonishment equal to his ROLANDSECK. 101 own. Presently he saw, with wonder greater than ever, that all the other monks were unknown to him, nor were they less surprised to see him. However, the chant ceased, and the brothers demanded of him who he was, and what he wanted. He named himself, and as he insisted that he belonged to the convent, they withdrew from him, with many pious ejaculations, thinking he was some insane person. Finally a certain old friar among them remembered that he had read in the annals of the fraternity how that, several centuries before this period, there had lived in the abbey one Alwais, distinguished for his profound erudition, and that he had disappeared mysteriously one day, without leaving any traces behind him, farther than that he had gone to walk in the woods. Alwais named then the abbot by whom he had been received into the convent, and related all the circumstances attending his stay. After search- ing through the musty archives, it was made clearly manifest that Alwais had been resuscitated ; and that during the time of his sleep, which had appeared to the sceptic but a few hours, three centuries had passed. Thus had Heaven, by a miracle, made known to men that they must not attempt to fathom the words of the Holy Scriptures, nor to make them an object of doubt, but rather to believe in them with a child's confidence. The lesson was not lost upon the good Alwais, who lived for many years afterwards to testify to the truth of the holy writ- ings, nor could any one who heard his story ever remain in doubt thereafter. ROLANDSECK. Every wave of the Rhine beats upon some legendary shore. From Constance to Rotterdam, and traditionally from the time of Germanicus to the present day, its associations have multi- plied and become continually more beautiful. Rising in the A'ps, and flowing into the ocean, it is at once worthy of its birth and its destiny. Always grand in history, in romance it surpasses all streams in the world. Every hill upon it has its legend, and every valley its tradition. The ruined castles, which stand like silent sentinels upon its heights, were all the strongholds of feudal lords, intimate with scenes of heroic 9* 102 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. daring and lawless rapine, the theatres of superstition and murder and riot, and not unfrequently also of gentle love and noble chivalry. What wonder is it that when the season of their splendor and power had passed away, and the ivy and the brier usurped the forsaken hearthstones, that the popular su- perstition should have added to the wild tales of such places ? Even in more prosaic times and countries an innocent private dwelling, that remains too long untenanted, soon acquires an evil reputation ; and what more natural corollaries to scenes of blood are there than the ghosts of the murdered, or that demons and warlocks should haunt the deserted homes of the evil-doer? Thus, succeeding the old Earons, though in many cases contemporary with them, came the legends of black hunters, and spirits of the rocks ; of Woden, the god with ten hands ; the maid of the black fen ; the devil who erected his altar at Teufelstein ; the demon Urian, who crossed the Rhine, with the banks upon his back, that he had taken from the sea- shore, with wdiich he intended to destroy Aix-la-Chapelle, Avhen, fatigued with his load, and deceived by an old woman, he stupidly dropped it, where to this day it is called Loosberg. Mystic lights burned in enchanted castles ; invisible songstresses lured travellers to destruction ; water-sprites and witches were seen ; and all the ten thousand other impossible adventures and phenomena, with which German literature abounds, oc- curred. Li these different times it is impossible to appreciate many of these tales as probably our ancestors would have received them. Others there are, however, which, beautiful in themselves, the enchantment of the poet has made doubly dear ; and of none is this more true than the story of Roland and the fair Hildegunde. I went to Rolandseck, the evening after my visit to the Drachenfels, a quiet pretty village on the opposite side of tie river. Viewed from the deck of the steamboat, the desolate arch and ruin of the castle of Roland is less imposing than its rival of the Dragon; but when approached it was still more beautiful. Here, according to the legend, the famous nephew of Charlemagne lived, a hermit for many years, gazing with sad eyes upon the convent, in the river, where his betrothed ROLANDSECK. 103 bride had retired, taking the veil upon hearing a false report, that he had fallen at Roncesvalles. Schiller, in his " Knight of Toggenburg," has thrown the graces of his poetry around the story, and made it too familiar for me to elaborate here. The next day I visited the island of Nonenwerth, and ex- amined the convent. There were a party of ladies and gen- tlemen, the suite of some German prince, viewing it at the same time, and their well dressed figures strolling about under the trees, destroyed all illusions I had hoped to have expe- rienced, and which the sight of a nun's stole might have aroused. As it was, one beautiful girl, with a descent as far back as Roland ; with her flaxen hair and blue eyes kept me thinking of Ilildegrunde, in spite of all anachronisms of her costume. It was impossible to imagine anything of Roland in the prince, however, who was a small fat man, and wore a silk hat. The Hotel Roland is a most excellent one, and appeared, from the guests I met there, to be a favorite place of resort, for quiet orderly people ; students from the English univer- sities, on their " reading tour," and professional men from the city, to whom its still retirement brought an agreeable con- trast. I do not know of a pleasanter, more romantic summer- home anywhere. I thought I had dismissed legends when I went to bed, but a singular print on the wall of my room, representing a Bishop baptizing an immense multitude of children, attracted my attention. Referring to my book of Rhine stories, for an explanation, I found the following story, of which the print was probably an illustration. " One morning a poor woman with two little children pre- sented herself before the Countess of Henebcrg, and implored charity. This the proud Countess not only refused, but, an- gered at the intrusion into her fine apartments, she harshly called the poor woman an impertinent, and bade her take hei'- self away ; and as she did not comply with as much alacrity -xs her ladyship desired, she continued her rude language, cry- ing out, without pity, < Begone this instant, it would bo a sin to have compassion on you. You are a woman leading a bad 104 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. life; these two children cannot be of the same father!" and other similar expressions. At these outrageous words, the unhappy woman quitted her humble posture. Her suppli- cating looks became menacing, and a dark fire came out of her eyes. " Heaven's malediction on thee, heart of rock !" she exclaimed, " mayest thou, as a punishment, give life to as many children as there are days in the year !" With these words she left the apartment. The Countess only laughed on hearing this menace, which seemed to her ridiculous, but some- time afterward, she felt as if she were to become a mother, and very soon, in anguish and torment, she gave birth to three hundred and sixty-five children. As they were born they died, and the mother, having become insane through fear, died a short time after. There is shown even to-day, not far from the Hague, the tomb of the Countess and the children, and there may be seen at the same time the font, in which were baptized the three hundred and sixty-five infants. THE DAMPFSCHIFF. The Rhine steamboat is a peculiar institution. Anything more inconsistent with the genius loci could not well be im- agined. Steam seems to be the most obvious antitheton of romance. The Nymph of the Lurlei becomes a vulgar echo, when she coughs back the noise of the escape pipe ; and the grand old castles on the hills, full of dreams of Pepin and Napoleon, are the stupid memorials of very old fogy times ; or thus, at least, does the Dampfschiif impertinently puff its opinion in their faces. Yet in these modern times, a tour on the Rhine would not be half so pleasant, apart from the incon- venience, without them. There is both pleasure and food for reflection in the contrast they afford : to come down from some old legendary shrine, from reveries, perhaps, of Charlemagne, and plunge at once into the nineteenth century, with its rush- ing wheels, its toilettes, and its Murray's Handbooks. Again, steamboats, all the world over, are more democratic than any other method of travel; the diligence has its divisions of coupe, The Dampfschiff. 105 and banquette, and interior ; the railcars have four chisses ; but all mankind can meet on the deck of a steamer, without more than very trivial distinctions. Thus I have seen and learned more, not merely of German, but of Tourist character, in one day's steamboating on the Rhine, than I have by a week's travel otherwise. These boats, compared to the most diminutive upon our Western rivers, are very small, and the accommodations for sleeping very poor, but as one rarely ever passes a night on one of them, the inconvenience is not felt. In the day time, the deck, protected with awnings, and scattered with numerous benches and chairs, is at all times during the summer a plea- sant place. It was a bright morning, made all the more beautiful by the rain that had fallen the day before, when I left Rolandseck for Coblentz, on one of these little packets. The vineyards and forests seemed greener, and the bold cliffs clearer, than they had appeared for several days. For some hours I lounged about the deck, gazing solely at the scenery we were quite rapidly passing ; — the basalt cliff of Unkelstein ; Apollinaris- berg, crowned with a little gothic chapel, peering out from among the trees ; the Erpeler Lei, with its rocky sides draped in vines ; the ruin of Ockenfels ; the town of Lintz ; the castle of Rhineck ; Andernach, and farther on the Weisthurm, the Turris Alba of the Romans, marking the spot where Caesar, two thousand years ago, first crossed the Rhine ; where Na- poleon also crossed, in spite of the Austrian opposition ; and where now stands the tomb of General Hoche. At first, I had scarcely noticed my fellow passengers at all, when suddenly in the midst of my meditations, an Anglo- Saxon voice, calling to the steward, inquisitive of lunch ; the fragrant steam of soup, and the faint explosion of pale-ale corks below ; recalled me to the present. The vessel was crowded with passengers ; old Englishmen, bluff' and hearty, and full of strange oaths ; younger ditto, supping brandy and water, with incipient moustaches that seemed to have borrowed their hue from the feeble liquor ; pretty plump English maid- ens, and fat English mothers, admiring every ruin that Murray 106 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. approves, and not noticing the others at all : such persons, with a sprinkling of the more indigenous inhabitants, occupied princi- pally the after part of the boat. Forward of the funnel, were groups of poorer or more independent travellers ; — peasants ; market men and women ; artists, in wide-aAvake hats, and bearded like the pard ; students in outlandish garbs ; and travelling '■'•liandwer'ker' — a company far more picturesque, and decidedly more jolly, than their more aristocratic fellow voyagers abaft. While I was making these observations, the steward passed me with a tray of most tempting covers, and bottles that sparkled like Hebe's eyes. It was late in the afternoon ; a fine ruin was near at hand ; — should I wait until we had passed it ? a finer appeared beyond it, and — "pop!" went a beer bottle down below, and guided by the generous gurgle I descended. When I reappeared, a strange scene presented itself. We had received a considerable augmentation to our number of passengers during my absence from the deck. They were, for the most part, students from one of the universities, whom some holiday or anniversary had apparently sent oif on a strange tour. Jolly, rollicking dogs they were, dressed with extravagant phantasy, in immense boots, with jingling spurs; long basket- hilted sabres ; bright scarfs and feathered head dresses. One fair-haired, wasp-waisted fellow, in a green doublet, looking like young Ot,ho himself, was their seeming leader, though the boisterous equality of all made it difiicult to decide. One un- acquainted with the student character, would have imagined them to be all "tight," for no extravagance appeared too great for them ; but with all their hilarious abandon, they never ex- ceeded the bounds of a certain dignity ; and I was not long in discovering that their intoxication was rather the exuberance of manly vigorous youth, than the result of the wine they had drank. Two important characters were the standard and cup bearers of the party. The first was a heavy grave looking personage, whose gray eyes twinkled with infinite humor, which his tongue continually translated, if the shouts of laughter which greeted his sallies were to be trusted ; the other was a splendidly formed youth, with flowers in his hat, who looked like a young Bacchus. He bore a large cow's-horn, richly The Dampfschiff. 107 chased, and mounted with a coat of arms in silver, as long as if it were intended for a cornucopia, which he constantly filled from a keg of beer on the deck, and with a kind of laughing imperative courtesy, handed around to all the passengers. Nor could any one refuse to pledge them in the draught. The young English ladies, to mamma's horror, simperingly took a horn ; mamma was made to follow suit ; and even the male Britons were not able to refuse. As for me, when Bacchus offered the quaint cup, I drank so deeply, that I quite won his heart, and we doubtless should have soon become intimate friends, but for the Avant of an intelligible means of communi- cation. There was no respite in the fun, which grew faster and more furious every moment. Now their band would per- form some inspiriting national air ; and then gathering around their leader, who beat the time with his sword, they would chant out some Avild student chorus, gesticulating and em- bracing, and leaping with their enthusiasm, until the coldest of the other passengers could not help sharing in their excite- ment. At length, about sunset, we reached a small town, where they were formed arm in arm, in pairs, and marched off, with colors flying and music playing, up the bank, where they were saluted with cannon, and the cheers of the assembled citizens. As the steamer moved off, I caught sight of their line filing off through an upper street, singing, as they went, one of their old refrains. Night now came down upon the scene — night serene in heaven and on earth. Gradually the vineyards disappeared, and only the dark outlines of the hills remained, standing out broadly against the stars. The noisy riot that had reigned on board gave way to a half melancholy stillness. Ladies were shawled and cloaked. Parties grouped themselves quietly about the deck, conversing in low tones, or watching mutely, like myself, the myriad twinkling lights, in heaven, and shim- mering down in the still waters, from an occasional illuminated window. The excitement that had passed predisposed all for reverie ; and I, reclining on a bench, by the vessel's side, gave myself up to the full enjoyment of the time and the scene. Listening to the splash of the waters, and the cry of the night 108 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. birds, as if they told intelligible talcs of the past ; until that past, so mighty and so glorious, became my present. The ruined castles on the hills gloomed with unwonted majesty in the obscurity, while my fancy once more peopled them with their old inhabitants. Again their banners waved from the Avails ; knights and ladies thronged their apartments ; and I almost seemed to hear the fall of the drawbridge, and the challenge of the sentinel at the gates. At other times, I seemed to see Cnesar's victorious legions, sweeping down the steeps ; and, anon, a band of Crusaders, with helm and steel, seeking the Saracen and the Holy Sepulchre. Then some old tale of a White Lady, or an Erl King, possessed my imagina- tion ; or a fragment of forgotten poetry rose to my lips. Then, when I was thinking about Napoleon, and his career, the sud- den moon arose, and I saw the massive walls of Ehrenbreit- STEIN — the Broad Stone of Honor — before me ; could even see the gleam on the muskets of the guard ; and my reverie came to an end in COBLENTZ. Americans abroad have occasion frequently to defend the institutions of their country, opposed to those of the monarchies they visit. There are, I believe, loyalists, not less intelli- gent than sincere, in every kingdom on earth ; good and wise men, who honestly believe "the king can do no wrong," and who doubtless would have believed in Nero, had their lots been cast under his reign. I have even found myself opposed in this way to Avell informed Russians, and not unfrequently with the citizens of western Europe. The objection always raised against a republican form of government, is its perishable na- ture, and elaborate comparisons with fallen democracies are triumphantly proclaimed to prove our inevitable and speedy ruin. I was never formed for a controversialist. I had rather build the airiest of castles, than defend the most solid one. There- fore I doubt whether I ever made a democrat of any one of these monarchists ; but my own belief in our destiny and dura- tion has been confirmed to implicit faith, by the comparisons 1 COBLENTZ. 109 have had the opportunities of making with other states abroad. Every vise affixed to my passport has been a new argument in our favor ; and the immense fortifications, bristling with can- non ; the burdensome armies ; and the constant watchfulness which seem necessary to preserve monarchies, not only from strangers, but from their own subjects, speak most eloquently to me of insecurity, and prophesy unmistakeably of destruction. Government, like virtue, that has to be guarded, exists only in idea. It is not real, and therefore cannot live long. These were part of the reflections with which I regarded the stupendous fortifications which surround Coblentz; consisting of a numerous chain of forts, on both sides of the river. I only visited, however, Ehrenbreitstein, the bulwark of Prussia, and, from the time of the Romans to the present, a military strong- hold. It seems invincible ; like Gibraltar, it is hewn in great part out of the natural rock, whose steep slopes are inaccessible to scaling ladders, and impregnable to ball. Its resources, in the way of magazines and the accommodation of troops, are also of the most perfect character. These letters, however, have properly nothing to do with aught but the picturesque of travel, and in truth, I know but little of the uses of buttresses and ramparts, except as they add interest to a sketch, for which purpose I prefer them in ruins. Omitting, therefore, all the jargon of military enginery, let us look on the fortress as the commanding feature of the landscape, and a mute recorder of grand historical events. There are many points to which people go, to see it ; the bridge of boats ; the PfafFendorfer Ilohe, and finer than all, the hill of the Chartreuse, from which the tourist is enabled to take in, at one coup d'oeil, the towering battlements of the castle ; the hills and vineyards of the Rhine and the Moselle, and the many spires and domes of the city itself. I can never forget the walk I took on the side of the river, just above the castle. The summit of the hill formed a level table-land, used by the troops for a parade ground, covered here and there with trees, while its slopes were brilliant with verdure and the bloom of vines. Even where the precipitous sides seemed to defy all peaceful art, the ingenuity and industry of man, which bids the desert to blos- 10 110 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. som, had overcome tlie barrenness. The vines, in some places, were even planted in baskets of mould, placed in the crevices of the rocks ; and the earth, thus protected from the washing of the rains, yields an excellent wine. May no redder blood ever stain the ground under these guns ! Seated on the brink of this height, while finishing my sketch, I repeated to myself Byron's spirited description of the shat- tered walls of the castle, and thought of the repulses the French had had before them, when even the grand Louis Qua- torze was disappointed of his wished-for sight of its surrender ; and how after more than a century, it at length fell into their hands, after the starved garrison had paid a florin and a half for a meagre cat, and horseflesh had sold at thirty kreutzers the pound ! As a contrast to this famine, let us observe that the restoration of Ehrenbreitsten to its present strength, has cost the Prussian government more than five millions of dollars. No tourist at Coblentz, ever neglects to visit the monument of the young and chivalrous General Marceau, the modern Bayard : — " O'er -whose early tomb Tears, big tears gushed from the rough soldier's lid, Lamenting and yet envying such a doom. * s- * * * * * For he was freedom's champion, one of those, The few in number who had not o'crstept The charter to chastise, which she bestows On such as yield her weapons ; he had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept." It stands near the road, a little below the town, and is one of the bright incidents in warlike history, that one may love to contemplate. In the city itself there is little to record ; the same palaces, churches, and squares, that one soon gets so accustomed to see, that they hardly seem worth describing. The church of St. Castor I visited because it is over a thousand years old, and contains a beautiful tomb of Cuno von Ealkenstein. As I was leaving it, I was accosted by a beggar woman, who asked me for a "little something," in Erench. I rather rudely replied, "I will give you nothing," when with a readiness and pathos i COBLEXTZ. 111. that ■would have done honor to a daughter of the green isle, <' Merci, monsieur ! that is very little," she said meekly, where- upon I gave her something more. There is a fountain in the square before this church, com- memorating by an inscription, the invasion of Russia by the French. Soon after it was cut, the Russians pursuing the re- treating army of Napoleon, passed through Coblentz on their way to Paris ; and their general added the sarcastic addition to the previous memorial, " Vu et approuv^ par nous. Com- mandant Russe de la ville de Coblcnce, Janvier l®'", 1814" — a silly bravado, however, and false in its intended meaning. It was the winter, and not the Russ, that defeated the Corsican. The great square before the palace is the most agreeable promenade within the town. Here I used to come every day, and listen to the brilliant music of the king's band, and watch the other tourists, and the peasant girls, with their embroidered caps, and silver gilt arrows and stilettoes, stuck coquettishly through their back hair. VIII. KNAPSACK AND STAFF. Not the least picturesque and delightful town on the Rhine is that of St. Goar. From its very origin, it boasts a connexion with the marvellous ; for here it was that the good old Saint, whose name it bears, proved his sanctity, by hanging his thi'ead- bare cloak upon a sunbeam. Near it, are the remains of the once formidable Castle of Rhinefels, the most extensive ruin on the river ; which, like Ehrenbreitstein, baffled the power of Louis the Fourteenth, and only fell before Napoleon. Opposite are the ruins of the Mouse, the Cat, the Reichenberg, the Swiss Valley, and the fabulous Rock of the Lurlei, the Syren of the Rhine. I spent several delightful days amid these poetical scenes ; roving over the hills ; climbing over rocks, and up old towers ; gazing away into lovely distances ; and gathering wild strawberries, and blue-bells from the crevices of old ruins. The most interesting excursion is to the Castle of the Mouse. Its lord, Kuno von Falkenstein, whose tomb is in St. Castor, at Coblentz, was an extraordinary villain, even for the middle ages ; an arrant swashbuckler, as ever tortured a Jew, or robbed a village ; who cared for neither God nor Kaiser, and whom the devil himself could not frighten. His last exploit was to steal the silver bell from the steeple of Velmich — a bell which had rung out the knell of his father, and rejoiced at his own birth. The worthy Prior, under the protection of the cross and his holy robes, ventured near him to recover it. "What!" cried the infuriate Baron; " he wants his bell, does he?" and he swore a big oath that he should have it. So he ordered his servants to tie it around the poor monk's neck, and thus threw them both down the oubliette of the castle, which he caused to be filled up with great stones. Soon after, the lord was taken ill ; and that night the attendants, who were watching, heard with terror the deep tones of the silver bell rising from the earth. The next morninir Falkenstein died : and since that Knapsack and Staff. 113 time, on every anniversary of his death, the peasants hear its muffled knell ringing out to the night. The rival Castle of the Cat, above Goarhausen, affords a beautiful view, but is less interesting in story. They are both among the best preserved ruins on the Rhine. The Swiss Valley offers many attractions for an afternoon walk or ride. In its remote recesses, the peasants have preserved more of their primitive characteristics than the tourist who confines himself only to the towns on the river, will be likely ever to see elsewhere. I was myself struck with the suddenness of the change in the people, which even a brief excursion exhibited. I met shepherds and vine-dressers, in a careless, half-naked picturesqucness ; and wild-looking, sun-burnt girls — the very figures that the landscape demanded — before I had scarcely penetrated beyond the sound of the steamboat. The vale has but little that is Alpine about it, but its little rustic farm-houses and innumerable mills ; and "the clear, riotous brook, which dashes down a hundred cascades ; all shut in between bold hills, crowned Avith ruined castles, made it a scene of unwonted loveliness. All these attractions I was obliged to leave, much too soon for their complete enjoyment. On a fair Sunday morning I attended the Protestant church in St. Gear, and listened to a service of which I did not understand a word ; then, buckling on my knapsack, for the first time in real earnest, I took the road for Obcrwessel. I had by this time tried nearly every possible way of locomotion ; and let me assure the reader, that I had never, in any oilier mode, found the same pleasure that, for the next few days of my peripatetic travel, I enjoyed. The sense of perfect freedom and exhilaration, contrasted with the cramped fatigue of the diligence, or even the comparative com- fort of a packet, was indescribable. When I got tired, there was always a green sward and shady bower inviting repose, and a fine view imploring a place in my portfolio. If hungry, I had only to unbuckle my knapsack, and dine without any bother of servants, or the fear of an exorbitant bill to inter- rupt digestion. The wayside spring afforded a draught superior to Rudesheim, when I was athirst. 10* 114 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. The sun was still high when I started, but a fresh breeze made the air delightful. I trudged on, through the quaint old streets, and down the quiet grass-fringed road, until I came where the river rushed through narrow banks, and, opposite, the bare black volcanic cliff of the Lurlei gloomed over the waters. Here at the mouth of a small grotto, I was accosted by a retailer of echoes, an old man, the sole worshipper now that the Lurlei has left ; who, for a few groschen, awoke the mysterious reverberations of the rocks, with a gun and with a trumpet. The report of the gun was flung abruptly back in our faces, like a peal of thunder, or as if the angered deity of the cliff, in rising, had thrown down half a mountain Avith the effort ; but when the horn was blown, the simple notes returned with innumerable repetitions, fading gradually among the hills, like the bugles of a retreating army. I did not wonder at the superstition that has clung to such a haunted spot; and I thought how startled the hunter must have been, who first heard returned to his ears the softened notes of his horn, or when his dogs aroused a kennel of angry echoes with their baying. Almost immediately below the cliff whirls the drunken Gewir ; and above it are the dangerous rapids of the Bank, where the river, deriving an impetus from a sudden bend in the shore, dashes wildly over the sunken rocks. The passage of this spot has ever been perilous, and especially to the immense rafts which formerly navigated the stream ; frequently, indeed, have entire crews been lost here. This circumstance, added to the myste- rious echo of the place, and its wierd wild beauty of scenery, doubtless was the origin of the superstition, that the Lurlei was haunted by a beautiful n^rniph — a beguiling Undine — whose sweet voice, heard in the still evening, accompanying the black- bird's whistle, or mocking the boatman's song, has often lured the passing voyager to seek her, and has led him to a nuptial couch of death, deep under the waves. Thinking of these old tales, until I would scarcely have been startled at the appearance of the syren herself, I strolled onward. Every moment some new and lovely view presented itself; now a fair hill, entirely covered with vineyards; then a grove of acacias, or old and gnarled oaks ; and anon, immense Knapsack and Staff. 115 dark rocks, "huge as despair," hanging over my head, seemed threatening to fall. Then there was the beautiful river hallo"w- ing it all, with distant villages upon its banks, and distant cas- tles upon its hill-tops ; while along the road, wild flowers of every freak and form, bind-weed, mallow, yellow gentian, blue bells, and scarlet berries, some in bud and others in blossom, grew with the luxuriance of a parterre. Birds, too, sang above and around me ; and the evening breeze, rustling the leaves and dispersing the odors, sometimes freighted with the sound of the vesper bell of a far-off village, or the vesper hymn from an unseen chapel, folded its wings about me, and bore me angelic company. Peasant girls, coarse and rudely formed at other times, seemed pretty with their bright Sunday faces, walking, or riding on donkeys with crimson saddles ; and their guttural i'' gut tag!'' as they replied to my passing salute, seemed full of melody and kindness. I now passed the rocks of the " Seven Sisters," the eternal monuments of the cruelty and coquetry of seven fair girls, the daughters of the Lord of Schomberg ; who, according to the legend, being as beautiful as the day, turned the heads and the hearts of all the young knights, far and near. But their hearts were of icy stone ; and whoever wooed them, won only despair. This was con- tinued for years ; but at length they met with a merited fate, and were appropriately turned to seven pillars of stone, which may be seen, rearing their heads above the water, whenever the Rhine is at a low stage. I gazed for some time on this stony metamorphosis ; for, of all the traditions I have yet heard, this one sounds to me the least questionable. Believe it, oh, fair maidens of my country ! Believe it, lovely daughters of the West I Believe it, and tremble, lest, in some day of retribution ye wot not of, ye may be turned into sawyers to wreck disgusting flatboats ! On turning an abrupt corner of rock, the lofty towers of Ochsenthurm, the white walls of Liebfrauenkirche, and the many-turretcd walls and gothic buildings of Oberwessel, came in sight; and the prospect of an approaching dinner, and a bottle of the wine for Avhich this village is famous, drove all the romance out of my head. 116 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. GOLDENER PFROPFENZIEHER. I strolled into Obei-wessel, delighted with my walk, more than I was wearied by it ; and, sauntering up the main street, made my first effort in German, by speaking bad English to a fat, scow-built man, who, with his taffrail toward me, was seem- ingly moored to a kind of parapet, and zealously emulating the steamboat on the river, with his pipe. Not without diffi- culty, I finally made myself understood, the result of which was my new acquaintance Aveighing anchor, and very cour- teously showing me down a dozen stone steps, up an alley, through a gateway, and into another street ; where, opposite, the Goldener Pfropfenzieher Hof stared me full in the face. The fagade of the inn strangely resembled a face, with little square eyes, and gaping mouth; surmounted by a cocked hat; while from a lofty pole, on the apsis of the cocked hat, floated black and white streamers, like a grandee's plumes. I was met on the steps by a number of persons, who gazed curiously at me. Among them was the landlord, a jolly young man, who did not speak a word of English ; and, as that com- prised nearly the extent of my acquaintance with Dutch, we were compelled to meet on the neutral ground of French. Whether the fault was in my pronunciation, or in his powers of comprehension, I do not know, but wo both succeeded but little bettor in this; but, as he .shrugged his shoulders, and exclaimed, with peculiar emphasis, " Oui, M'slcur, c'est la tres bong!" to everything I said, I concluded it was all right, and intimated my desire to dine. Soon, in one corner of a great, red-curtained apartment, with pictures of the saints on the walls, a cosy little table — with the whitest cloth in the world — smoked with a very good dinner ; if such singular rencontres as roast duck and apple pie, and partridge and pudding, were not objectionable. The wine was very good, and as cheap almost as water. While it was being prepared, I was shown to my room in an upper story, which possessed a fine view, out of one of the square eyes, of the river and the hills opposite. It was pretty well furnished, with the exception that the bedstead Golden ER Pfropfenzieher. lit had the usual German brevity ; and, if fossilified, and dug up by future savans, would afford analogical evidence that the present race, who sleep in them, were only four feet high. As if to make up for this longitudinal delinquency, there were two beds — one to sleep on, and the other to cover one. Apropos of which eternal feather coverbeds, are told many good stories, the latest and best of which is by a recent traveller, who describes an honest Irishman, who, seeing the short allowance of bedstead, and the downy bed which the servant heaped on top of him, begged that domestic " to send up the gentleman who was to sleep atop of him, as soon as possible ; as he wanted to go to sleep ;" imagining that the guests were, in this way, piled up in layers to the ceiling. After dining, I went into the coffee-room, to indulge in a demi-tasse and a cigar, and if possible to procure some informa- tion from my host. "While waiting for him and the coffee, I was surprised to see, hanging on the wall, a magnificent cari- cature of the name of the inn (The Golden Corkscrew). It was a splendid sketch ; and I was not at all surprised, when the landlord appeared, to learn that it was by Schrodter, a Diisseldorf artist of distinction. It was intended for the sign of the house, but its proprietor appreciated it too well to sus- pend it upon his outer walls. It had been painted one of these past summers, in a few hours — a souvenir of the artist's sojourn, when sketching in the neighborhood. I copied it into my sketch-book before Ijaving. In reply to my inquiries, I found that there was not a man in the town who spoke English ; he could not, although he kept the best hotel. I did not wonder at this, when I came to write my name in the register ; the last arrival preceding mine was that of a Frenchman, who had stopped here to dine three months before. I at once gave way to a feeling of joy ; for I seemed to have found at least one place where tourists had not been. This one town possessed virgin attractions still. I, whose greatest annoyance had been guides and valets-de-place, hitherto, was now at liberty to look and linger, when and where I pleased. I felt perfectly free and joyous. "Come!" said I, "we will explore this terra incognita;" and seizing my hat, and intimating my desire to the 118 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. host, a small boy was furnished me to conduct me to the Castle ; and I sallied forth to see the lions of oberwessel. Five groschen bound Hans Katzel to me, heart and soul. I learned his name, by hearing a compatriot apply it to him ; for, to every interrogatory of mine, his invariable and only reply ■was " ja !" He led me first to a cottage near the church ; from ■which a little weasen-faced old woman, with a bunch of rusty keys, soon issued, and conducted me to see the chapel — five hun- dred years old, she said. We entered it through a little church- yard, almost full of graves ; all of them with some sad tribute of grief and afiFection remaining. Some of these were plain crosses, others crucifixes, and many were but wreaths or beds of flowers, with tall white candles planted in the midst of them. Before a shrine in the corner, some peasants were at prayers. They turned their heads to look at me as I approached, though their lips moved and their hands continued to run over their beads as they gazed. Entering through an elaborately-sculptured porch, I found the church itself bare and uninteresting. It was of imposing size, but had fallen a victim to whitewash, and had been ruined. The altar-piece, of richly gilt carved wood, was of exquisite workmanship, representing a number of niches, filled with prophets and saints. The evening light, streaming through the painted glass windows, also had a fine eifect. I wandered around it, looking at some bad half-faded frescoes, and examined the effigies of various knio-hts and nobles of Schomberg, in the niches around. All would have been ludi- crous in any other place. One knight, with rays sticking out of his head, like feathers from an Indian's skull, was intensely knock-kneed, in order to get his legs into the niche ; his neigh- bor — a little fat lord — was as much bowed in his extremities, for no other reason apparent under heaven, than to make room for his helmet between them. Then, there were ladies in ruffs and stomachers ; and swaddled babies, like dried papooses or unfledged chrysalises. Rewarding the old woman for her trou- ble, we left the church, and proceeded up the mountain, behind Oberwessel. 119 the town, where the ruined Castle of Schomberg — the Beautiful Hill — clung like an eagle to its loftj eyrie. The way was difficult, and would have been dangerous to one subject to giddi- ness, or when the rocks were made slippery with the rain ; but, when there, the view more than repaid the weariness and peril of the undertaking. Far beyond the village, and the hills, amid which the Rhine meandered, loomed up a line of mountains, clothed in misty purjjle ; and beyond them the sun was taking a gradual leave of the world, through bars of fire and gold. On another side, the prospect lay up an immense valley, down which a silvery stream rushed, amid rocks and willows. The hill-sides smiled, like Bacchus, under wreaths of vines and corn. The sound of the village bells arose like incense in the evening air ; and from out of some nest in the ruins, came the song of a blackbird. Below, were almost perpendicular crags ; and above, the lofty and blackened towers of the ruin were brightened by the sunset, as by the poetry of their evening. Byron has celebrated the lone crag of the Drachenfels, and Schiller has sanctified Rolandseck ; yet neither of these beau- tiful ruins can compare, in either picturesqueness of form or grandeur of proportion, with this one, that still awaits its poet. I clambered up within its walls, startling an owl from its perch in doing so. Here were vast apartments, with their ruined fireplaces yet remaining — the saddest things that can be con- templated in ruin ; lofty and numerous towers ; arches ; flights of steps; the still remaining evidences of ancient "buttresses and coigns of vantage;" — all eloquent of tradition and adven- ture. I thought — as I wandered over the weed-o'ergrown floors, and climbed decayed staircases, and peered down dark oubli- ettes — of the household gods that once warmed the cold hearths ; of the revelry and riot and wrong that had once reigned within these walls. I imagined myself now in the bower of the seven adamantine virgins of the Rhine, and tried to conjure up the ghost of even one of the discarded suitors. All was silent ; the tall grass rustled in the crevices, and looking up, I saw a little patch of melancholy stars, shining down through the roofless walls. I had not gazed my fill, but my guide began to look 120 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. anxiously at the deepening twilight ; and I reluctantly signi- fied my readiness to return. We descended by a shorter, but even more perilous, path than the one by which we went up, winding frequently around the extreme brink of precipices. Slowly and cautiously I followed towards where, one by one, the lights commenced twinkling in many a cottage window. Near the bottom of the descent was a chapel, erected to the memory of St. Werner, a boy, who is said to have been cruci- fied here some centuries ago by the Jews ;— just before an extensive and well-merited persecution of these wealthy but unfortunate criminals occurred. SUNDAY NIGHT IN PRUSSIA. When I returned to my inn, I found the Golden Corkscrew the scene of a confusion and dissipation most strange to my Protestant eyes. The whole of the second floor was occupied by numbers of men and girls ; drinking wine, smoking, and dancing. For the latter purpose, a large room Avas set apart, ornamented with red curtains ; with a bronzed plaster cast of King Frederick at one end, balanced with the effigy of some mythological divinity, without pantaloons, at the other. In order to observe the proceedings, I ordered a bottle and a cigar, and seated myself near one of the tables, surrounded by a group of bacchanals of both sexes. The young men were exceedingly gallant and liberal in their attentions, and the frauleins appeared most amiable. Whether from a scarcity of goblets, or whether the gentlemen chose this way to annul the acidity of their wine ; or whether it was mere gallantry, I know not ; but every swain first pressed his cup to the lips of his blooming partner, before imbibing himself. Now a tremulous warning from the fiddle, or an anticipative grunt from the bass viol, would pro- ceed from the ball-room ; when, incontinently, the wine would be drained, twenty strong arms would encircle as many round waists, and away they would gallop to the waltz. All classes were here mixed promiscuously ; mustachioed officers ; worthy tradesmen of the village ; and rustics from the hills and vine- yards ; — all joined in one democratic, insane, furious whirl. Sunday Night in Prussia. 121 Rarely have I seen a set of finer-looking girls — never healthier ones ; though no painter would ever select one of their robust, bouncing forms as a model for a Grace. Their chiefest and only object, heart and soul, appeared to be concentred in the dance ; and when some young couple, just out, would timidly revolve — as yet, with weak heads and unpractised legs — their more powerful and comme il faut companions would dash up to them, until they would be sent spinning out of the circle, or be obliged to seek safety in an untimely flight. One tall man, with epaulettes, who seemed to possess the belle of the evening — a really beautiful girl in a pink muslin dress, which she lifted up high enough, as she danced, to display a very pretty ankle — led the assembly. My brain actually turned as I watched their evolutions, around and around ; the girl's red dress flying out, and his red face flaring over her shoulder, reminded me of nothing less than Mars waltzins: with a comet. Wherever they came, the other dancers flew from before them ; the men stopping to admire, the Avomen to envy. Would they never stop ? I was beginning to identify myself with their wild movement, and experienced a sensation like that of one who contemplates for some time the rapid leap of a waterfall — as Faust might have felt when Avatching the witches dance on the Walpurgis Night. The musicians pufi'ed and blew and per- spired ; I felt m^^self spinning around ; when a fiddle-string snapped, and the dance concluded. Then came more bottles of wine, and more pipes, until again the fiddles squeaked, and away they all ran to another waltz : and so on, da capo, until I left for bed. In another room were the old men, and husbands, or batche- lors without female acquaintances, playing dominoes, and gravely taciturn, with the sobriety of Silenuses, drinking and smoking. For these gentlemen, life was evidently too earnest to be lightly danced away. In an outside saloon, Avere men playing at ninepins ; and on the walls of an apartment which I did not enter, I saw occasionally the shadow of a tall lean man, with a billiard cue in his hand. It was midnight when I went to bed, but the festivities were kept up until a much later hour. W^hen I descended to break- 11 122 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. fast the next morning, the fumes of the tobacco still floating around the walls, and the little puddles of wine upon the tables, made a strange contrast with the bright sunshine and pure air without doors. Such scenes as these are probably confined almost entirely to Germany; but there have been attempts made already to transfer similar customs to our own cities. It is to be hoped, however, that all such designs, incipiently indicated by Sunday Evening Sacred (?) Concerts, &c., in our American lager-beer establishments, may be never suflfered to exist. On the Rhine, demoralizing as such amusements must be every- where, the people have the excuse that both their law and their religion sanctions them. Their political oppression is easier kept up by these means, than by a dozen armies. Taci- tus relates that the Romans completed the subjection of Britain, by teaching the fierce islanders to dance ; and so it is with bears, and European states, to-day. BACHARACn. I devoted a whole summer's day to my walk from Oberwessel to Bacharach; filling my sketch-book with little bits of scenery, wherever an opening in the hawthorn and willow bushes, showed the river through them, or a rock or ruin commanded my attention. I crossed the river in a peasant's skiff, at Caub, to visit the Castle of Guttenfels, full of recollections of Gustavus Adolphus. The spot is memorable as the place where Bhicher's army crossed on New Year's Night, 1814, and where his brave army, hailing with superstitious enthusiasm their noble river — as Egyptians might salute the Nile, or Hindoos the Ganges — knelt doAvn upon the strand, and shouted, amid tears of joy, "The Rhine! the Rhine!" In returning, I visited also the ancient Pfalz Castle, where Louis le Debonnaire died. It stands in the middle of the river ; and besides its ruder memories of the middle ages, has also many of a more peaceful character. It was often a princel}^ abode, offering security to the Countesses Palatine, who were accustomed to come hither previous to their accouchements. The town of Bacharach — a corruption of Bacchi Ara — is Bacharach. 123 one of the quaintest, queerest old towns that exists anywhere, famous for its wine, and its legendary lore. It presented to me even a more primitive appearance than Oberwessel ; and even the inhabitants who eyed me with curiosity that Avas half apathy, as I hunted out my inn, through their old-fashioned streets, had something inexpressibly antiquated and feudal about them. The very ruin on the hill above, looked scarcely older than the faces of the children playing in the gutters. The inn was such a one as we read of in old stories, with a courtyard in which the grass was growing out from between the pavement ; with bird-cages around the windows ; low ceil- ings, crossed with heavy oaken rafters ; snow-white tables ; and brown buxom servant girls, in short jupons and wooden shoes. From the old Palatine Castle, on the hill behind it, whither I went almost immediately on arriving, I had another magni- ficent prospect, commanding, in the embrasures of the moun- tains, a view of five other ruins. Upon the left bank of the river arose Furstembcrg ; and close on the shore, above the Nieder Ileimbach village, was Ileimberg, and higher up, the picturesque turrets of the old robber's-nest of Sonneck ; to the west, on the other side of the river, Guttenfels ; and towards the east, on the rocky height of Tcufelsleiter, above the legend- ary Valley of Wisperthal, the Castle of the inhospitable Sibo de Lorch, who, the stories tell, refused to open his doors to the gnomes, on stormy nights. Between the castle and the town, stand the ruins of an exqui- site chapel, dedicated to that St. Werner who was crucified by the Jews at ObcrAvessel. His body, thrown into the river at that point, contrary to the usual laws of hydraulics, miracu- lously floated up the current, and was buried with proper reverence, by the citizens of Bacharach, on the spot where this ruin now stands. Its beauty makes it a favorite subject of the German landscape-painters ; and I had already become familiar with its fairy proportions in several galleries. I think it is the most beautiful ruin of its dimensions I have ever seen. Its architecture is of that kind of florid gothic known as the "lancet" style; simple, yet elaborately enriched with sculptured buttresses, and exquisite traceries in the pointed windows. Weeds 121 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. and vines clustered around the floor and Avails ; and innumera- ble wild flowers, with their fairy attendants, the butterflies and bees, made beautiful the broken and rude path that leads to it. Below it, was another curious and crumbling church ; but I had lingered so long that I had to omit examining it. In the evening, I amused myself by conversing without lan- guage with my bustling little hostess, but could not advance far under such disadvantageous circumstances. Tired at last of this, I indited an invisible letter with the ghost of a pen, gesticulating with proper emphasis ; she smiled intelligently, and brought me writing materials, with which I occupied myself until it was time to sandwich myself between the two feather-beds. a rencontre. Some months before, on the cars between Brussels and Namur, I made a chance acquaintance with a young Belgian gentleman, which circumstances soon ripened into friendship. When we parted, after travelling a few days together, it was with an appointment that we should meet on a certain future day, at the Hotel Weidenbusch, at Frankfort-on-the-Main. I had so loitered along on the way, that this day arrived almost unawares ; and on awaking, the morning after my arrival at Bacharach, I rubbed my eyes, consulted my almanac diary for the date of the month, and found I had but twenty-four hours left to fulfil my promise. So I hurried my breakfast ; and hailing the first boat that came up, I pushed off" from the shore in a skiff", as the custom is at all the Rhine towns, where there are no quays. As usual, curiosity grouped most of the passengers around the gangway, as I stepped on board ; and suddenly, as the wheels commenced revolving again, I felt myself seized, and saluted with an unexpected embrace. Struggling loose from the aff'ectionate caress, I recognised with pleasure my friend, who was himself hastening to the rendez- vous — a round-faced, jolly gentleman, in yellow kids, which I grasped with sunburnt hands on the present occasion. Being familiar with the Rhine, and a poet, at least in appreciation of the beauty of the scenery, and the sentiment of the legendary A Rencontke. 125 lore of his favorite river, the value of my new friend was inestimable to me ; and if I have transgressed the privacy of friendship in dragging him into my book, it is only to expresd the fond remembrance I still retain of his companionship, both amid the gay saloons of watering-places, and the sublime lone- liness of Alpine passes. Our trip that day to Mayence, and our farther journey, by rail, to Frankfort, was unmarked by much of personal adven- ture. Leaving Bacharach, we rapidly passed Lorch, a pleasant town, situated at the mouth of the mythical Valley of Wisper- thal, below the overhanging walls of the Devil's Ladder, up which, according to the legends, the sturdy Gilgen clomb in search of his betrothed, whom the gnomes had hidden in the recesses of the mountain. Commanding the village are the ruins of Furstemburg, and of Nollingen, teeming with stories of old Sibo, and the fairy Ave. Farther on, to the right, is the Castle of lleichestein or Falkenburg, on the summit of a rocky hill, abounding in traditions, the finest of which, that of Gautram and Liba, is familiar in the story books. Beyond this, we passed the restored Castle of Rheinstein, now the sum- mer residence of Prince Frederick of Prussia, which is fitted up in accordance with the domestic economy of the middle ages ; the walls hung with tapestry, and decorated Avith armor and branching antlers ; the windows filled with stained glass ; and the furniture, collected from old convents and castles, of the heavy elaborate fashions of long ago. Just below Bingen, arises, in the middle of the river, the Mausenthurm, or Rat Tower of Bishop Hatto, whose story forms the subject of a beautiful ballad of Southey. Beyond Bingen, a toAvn I looked towards with longing eyes, appeared the heights of Niederwald, famous for the wines of Asmanhausen and Rudcsheira, which villages lie in its neighborhood. It possesses also the attraction of having many fine local traditions, one of which is full of the peculiar and sad pathos of the story of Jephtha's Vow. During the wars of Palestine, a noble knight, Bromser of Rudesheim, after destroying a dragon, and performing a thou- sand feats of unheard-of valor, was at last taken prisoner by the Saracens. In the depths of his despair, while languishing 11* 126 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. in captivity, he swore an oath, that if the Virgin permitted him ever to return to his Castle, he would devote his only daughter, Gisela, to the Church. Meanwhile, the maiden, unconscious of her father's durance, had grown up to fair maturity, and had responded with her whole woman's heart to the loving protestations of a young knight in the neighborhood. One can imagine the consternation of the young people, when one day there arrived at the Castle an old pilgrim, who turned out to be the lady's father, and who made immediate prepara- tions for the fulfilment of his vow. Tears and lamentations were of no avail, and he threatened her with his curse should she disobey ; adding to this severity the precaution of confining her in a lofty tower overlooking the Rhine ; from which the unhappy girl plunged herself, one stormy night, into the river. Her body was found, a few days after, in the eddy of the Bingerloch, at the base of the Mauscnthurm, where her spirit is still sometimes seen, with that of Bishop Ilatto, around the haunted tower.' Above this, the river became less picturesque and romantic ; the abrupt and castellated cliffs, amid which we had hitherto voyaged, resolved themselves into gentle rustic slopes, smiling with cultivation, and dotted, here and there, with little rural villages. Conspicuous on one of these undulations is the Cha- teau de Johannisberg, the manor of Prince Metternich, standing white amid the vineyards which produce the famous wines called after the estate, the costliest and most luscious in the world. The extent of the vineyard is about seventy acres, and even in good years produces only about forty butts ; so that, like champagne, we have the miracle of seeing a hundred times as much of the wine sold in a year as the vines produce. Even in the moderate quantity made, there is also a great difference in the quality of the wine. The finest is the " bhu-cacJiet," which is worth, for a single bottle, at the Chateau, over five dollars. It resembles rather a liqueur than a wine, and is SAveet and exceedingly fruity. The second in quality is the " cachet-rouge,'' a fine wine, differing materially from the first, and costing a little more than half the price. The third and last kind, which my uncultivated taste preferred to either of A Rencontre. 127 the others, is still dearer than any of the other Rhine wines, and is less difficult to procure, in remote towns, than the finer qualities. The whole vintage is bought, however, principally, by the sovereigns and weathiest nobles of the continent ; and it is impossible for the tourist ever to be certain of the wine, unless he purchases it in the cellars of the Chateau itself. It is a problem to chemists to account for the difference that a few feet of distance in the vineyard makes in the wine, with the same soil and the same vines. The best grows immediately under the walls, and the excellence of the grapes diminishes in the ratio of their removal from it. Towards sunset, we passed Biberich, where the sandstone Chateau of the Duke of Nassau, the handsomest palace on the Rhine, was the most remarkable object ; and soon after, the red towers of Mainz appeared. We disembarked at Cassel, opposite the city, which, as the cars were on the point of start- ing, we did not visit ; but, immediately securing our places in the second class, soon bade adieu to the Rhine. We were borne by starlight to Frankfurt, for a short distance along the banks of the Main, passing Hochheim, where the vineyards which produce the Hock wines are situated — a name, by the way, improperly applied, frequently to the Rhenish wines. When we turned off from the river, there was nothing more to be seen out of the windows ; so I turned to my com- panion, in the hope that he might beguile the tedium of the ride by some legend of the neighborhood. 1 was answered with a snore. Fatigued myself with the excitements of the day, I was preparing to follow his example, when suddenly lights blazed in at the windows, and the train stopping, the guard threw open the car door, and announced our arrival in Frankfurt. IX. THE ODENWALD. My friend and myself passed several pleasant days in the ancient imperial city of Frankfurt, varied by excursions to the famous Brunnens of this part of Germany, Weisbaden ; and Homburg, where one of the most admirable bands in Europe performs every day of the season. At both of these fashion- able Baths, we met with the usual amount of Serene Transpa- rencies, and noble and ignoble tourists from all parts of the AYorld ; and witnessed the same excitement and dissipation, and gambling and flirting, and ennui, that have all been described a hundred times, until they have been made as familiar as the same amusements at NeAvport or Saratoga are to American readers. In fact, I spent so much time in this agreeable idleness^ that I found the season past its culmination, when at last I proposed to go off to Switzerland. So I left my friend to pack up our luggage; and, guide-book in hand, I hastened in a voiture from one lion of Frankfurt to another. I went first to the Museum, and nearly forgot myself over its fine modern pictures, by Lessing and Achcnbach and Overbeck, and its interesting antiques of the Flemish school ; thence to the garden, near the Friedburg sate, where Ariadne breathes in Dannecker's marble. Then I went to the Homer, full of reminiscences of the old imperial times ; and to the ancient Dom, which dates back to the thirteenth century. I had time, also, to pay a hasty visit to the house occupied by Lutheii ; and to that in the Hirschgraben, where the three lyres, in an escutcheon over the door, indicate the birthplace of Goethe. My friend then joined me ; and, after dinner, we walked until late at night over the city ; beside the palaces of the New Town, and through the narrow quaint streets, overhung by gables in the quarter around the Riimersburg, and the Judengasse — the latter a street in which the Jewish inhabitants were compelled by law to The d e n w a l d. 129 reside, until a very recent date. I have never been in a town •which contained so many statues about the streets as Frankfurt does. One cannot enter a single street nor square, but what an image of some kind is sure to stare him in the face ; statues of Luther and Goethe and Guttenberg ; of saints and satyrs ; nymphs, dragons, devils, dwarfs, and giants ; of all epochs and all sexes — a dumb community of stone inhabitants every- where. The next morning we took the early. train for Basle, with a fresh enthusiasm for the Alps, that would brook of no delay on the route. The scenery was uninteresting at first, until, after passing Darmstadt, we entered upon the romantic and picturesque region of the Odenwald, where the track runs all the way to Heidelberg along the old Bergstrasse, or Mountain Road, justly celebrated for its lovely scenery. The hillsides were highly cultivated ; and their summits, in nearly every case, were crowned with some ruined castle of historic or tra- ditional interest. On the other side, a vast sandy plain stretched out, through which the Rhine wandered ; beyond which, in the blue distance, arose the heights of Mont Ton- nerre, and the hills of the Vosges — my first glimpse of the beautiful France. The wild mountains on the left, the haunts of old robber-knights — and the scenes still, if popular belief may be trusted, of their unquiet apparitions — were deeply interesting. One ruin, surmounting a wooded hill, my friend told me was the Castle of Rodenstein, the hunting-seat of the wild Jiiger, whose ghost rides forth, amid storm and lightning, at the head of a spectral cavalcade, whenever war or any other evil threatens Germany. Our morning's ride among these scenes terminated at length in Heidelberg ; where, having scarcely an hour in which to see the Castle, I left my friend at the station to take the refreshment the cars waited for, and, jumping into a vehicle, I hurried off to obtain the view I desired. I hardly glanced at the buildings in the streets through which I passed, occupied as I was with thoughts of the old Counts Palatine, of Eliza- beth Stuart, and of Paul Flemming and the fair Emma of Hmcnau ; but I was recalled to myself by the driver's intima- 130 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. tion that I had better walk the rest of the way, by a nearer path than the carriage-road. In a few moments I stood upon the terrace, drinking in with delight the magnificent view before me. It was high noon, but fortunately clouded over; and the whole landscape was checkered over with alternate lights and shadows, like the history of the Palatinate itself. Below me rolled the lovely Neckar, issuing from vine-clad val- leys, and winding through luxuriant fields to join the Rhine, which gleamed here and there in distant flashes of silver light. Towers and spires arose in every direction, indicating the existence of numerous cities and villages ; and beyond the whole loomed up in the drowsy distance the blue chain of the Alsatian Hills. I was obliged to tear myself away from the view, to pay a hurried visit to the Garden of Elizabetli, called after the unfortunate English Princess ; the Hitter Saal, of elaborate Italian architecture, decorated with fine sculptures ; and, lastly, the " Great Tun," in the cellar of the Castle. This has now but little claims to interest, being at present always empty ; but a century ago, when filled with the produce of the vintage, and hung around with garlands, the villagers danced a Moenad dance on the platform atop of it, it would have been worth seeing. It is not unlike an immense brewer's vat, big enough to drown a regiment of Clarences. I returned to the station barely in time to save ray distance, for in five minutes after, we were rushing on again Alpwards. During the afternoon, we passed through Carlsruhe, the capital of the Duchy of Baden ; through wide districts of fertile cultivation, Avhere fields of maizO and tobacco recalled my own country to me ; through vineyards and walnut groves, and hemp and hop fields, where, as we whirled past, the peasants in their ridicu- lous cocked hats would stop their labors to look up at us. Farther on, we approached the range of the Black Forest, and the immense ruin of Hochsburg, and came to the ancient city of Freyburg, at the mouth of the Hollenthal, or Valley of Hell ; a region which, in spite of its unattractive name, I passed with deep regret, sublime as it is in scenery, and full of the most poetical of German legends. Towards evening we approached the Rhine again, passing The Diligence. 13X through several tunnels in the hills, and reached the terminus of the railway, four miles from Basle. Here we took omni- buses, after a brief delay, on one of which my friend and myself secured deck passage ; and we drove gallantly on to the town, where we took rooms at the " Drei Kcinige," with our windows overlooking the broad rapid stream of the Rhine. Across the river, the bank was lined with quaint steep-gabled houses, on the apsis of nearly every one of which was a stork's nest, around which the long legs of these singular birds were always hovering. Beyond arose the fabulous hills of the Black Forest, and, opposed to them, the precipitous walls of the Jura, which seemed to me, as I looked out upon them, in the clear evening, like prophecies of the Alps I had so long dreamed of and that I should soon see. The night breeze, in its coolness, seemed whispering of the snowy summits from amid which it came. The river murmured of " the glacier's cold and restless mass;" and the silent stars looked down calmly over all, mys- terious and transcendental — looked down as they had erewhile gazed on Hannibal and Napoleon ; on Gesler and the patriot Tell; and the solemn mountains, in their secrecy of shade, seemed full of the same dreams. THE DILIGENCE. Basle is the usual portal to Switzerland for travellers coming from Germany, and is entitled for many reasons to a few words of description. The advancing season forbade my lingering long away from* the Alps ; but I could not do otherwise than devote one day to viewing the curiosities of this old Swabian town, the birthplace of Burckhardt, and the residence of Hol- bein and Erasmus. In the house Zum Luft, of the latter, Froben produced one of the first Bibles ever printed ; and all the associations of the town are more or less intimately con- nected with the history of the Reformation and of Freedom. Early in the morning I went to the terrace called Die Pfalz, where I had, fi'om amid the chestnut trees with which it is planted, a fine view of the town, the Rhine, and the neighbor- ing hills. Near it is the Cathedral, which is almost a thousand 132 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. years old, dominating, with its twin towers of red sandstone, the citj and the river. It contained but little to interest one, after the grander Munsters of Germany ; but the Portal of St. Gallus, leading to the North Transept, ornamented with statues of Christ and St. Peter, and illustrating the parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins, was somewhat remarkable. Some of the tombs also were worthy of note. One, of red marble, near the altar, contains the ashes of Erasmus ; and another hand- some one is that of the Empress Anne, wife of Rudolph of Hapsburg, and mother of the line of infamous Austrian princes of that name. In one corner of the square before the Cathe- dral, is the house "Zur Miicke," containing the public library, in which are said to exist many curious books and MSS., with a copy of Erasmus's " Laus Stultitiaa," illustrated on the mar- gin with autograph sketches of Holbein. The Gallery of Paintings contains but little to attract the critic or connoisseur, but a great deal to interest the student and historian of art. This is, principally, the collection of paint- ings and drawings of Holbein, the friend of Erasmus, and one of the most eminent painters of his era. Here are also to be seen the curious fresco fragments, attributed to him, of the Dance of Death. It is related of Holbein, that he was fre- quently, as painters are even in this liberal age, in embarrassed circumstances — hie frigent artes, as Erasmus complains for him — so that he was even compelled to work as a common house-painter through the city. It need not excite wonder, that, under such melancholy circumstances, the artist might wish sometimes for even the consolation the wine-shop afforded ; but, being employed on one occasion to decorate the exterior of a pharmacy, which the proprietor was desirous of having soon completed, the youth had difficulty in making his escape for his usual dram, until at last a happy thought occurred to him. He painted, on the under side of the scajffold, a pair of legs exactly like his own, and so well foreshortened, that the apothecary seated below was entirely deceived by them, and imagined the painter to be constantly employed at his work, during many an hour when he was forgetting it, and the rest of his troubles, by getting gloriously drunk at the pot-house. The Diligence. 133 Basle was never a fast town, in spite of the singular custom existing there, until a short time ago, of setting all the clocks an hour in advance of the rest of Christian horologes; a cus- tom which originated, according to tradition, in the fact thai the citj was once preserved from the treason of certain con- spirators, who were pledged to deliver it up to the enemj at midnight, by the clock striking one instead of twelve. In morals, the town has always preserved that puritanical rigor which seems inseparable from religious reformations. The pious turn of the citizens, Murray tells us, found a ludicrous expression, up to a recent date, in the signs and mottoes placed over their doors. Two singular ones are recorded in the "Handbook:"— " On God I build my hopes of grace — The Ancient Pig's my dwelling-place." " "Wake, and repent your sins with grief— I'm called the Golden Shin of Beef." And, from another source : — " Praise God, from whom all goodness flows- Rags bought and sold, here, and old clothes." The only other item I have recorded in my note-book, of this interesting old town, reminds me that a young girl employed in the Museum was the most beautiful woman I had seen in Europe— an additional inducement, not down in the guide- books, for future tourists to visit it. The day was just breaking, and the dark outlines of the Black Forest were drawn sharp across the bars of red light which preluded the morn, when, for the first time in Europe, I assumed a place on a regular diligence, to go from Basle to Berne. My friend and myself were fortunate in securing an outside place, on the banquette, protected by a caleche from the heat, and elevated far enough above the wheels to be free from dust. The little vivacious conducteur bustled about, completing his arrangements; the postilion was first lifted into 12 134 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. his enormous boots, and then assisted into his saddle ; the fat Englishman, who had secured the coupd for his individual bene- fit, puffed up to us with his Alpine luggage ; Adolphe and myself, snugging ourselves into comfortable corners, lighted our cigars ; when at last the word was given, and, amid a cracking of whips which sounded like a discharge of musketry, we dashed off down the old streets, between the silent houses, and out into the open country, where the horses broke into a steady jogging trot. At first we skirted the bank of the river for a short distance, and then turned off into the romantic region between Basle and Berne. It was this ride which gave me my first impressions of real Swiss scenery. In the early part of the day, the ascent of the Ober-Hauenstein, itself a formidable hill, suggested an idea of what was before me. Every zigzag of the road exposed some new and lovely scene. The chain of the Jura, stretching ffpoj). When my guide had finished telling me this little tale, she showed me the names of Byron, Rousseau, Victor Hugo, Dumas, Sue, Cooper, and other illustrious holographs, carved on the pillar to which Bonivard was chained. On the wall near it, was also scratched, in big awkward letters, a name which made them graceful — Percy Bysshe Shelley. Leaving the cells, we passed through the principal gateway, over which was still inscribed, in German characters, an inscription meaning, "Blessed be the entering, and the coming out !" My guide, as she pointed it out to me, said, with great naivetd, that they Trer? indeed blessed who came out, but those who once entered it must have thought otherwise of the going in. She then led 142 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. me to the Hall of Justice, ''or, rather," she observed, "of jTwjustice;" and from thence into the room of torture, where the wretched prisoners were suspended by pullies on a post, and their feet burned with red-hot irons, until they confessed what their accusers demanded. The wood of the post still bears the marks of the irons. I was then conducted into the Duke's bed-room, where some of the old furniture is preserved, includ- ing a table and three beautifully carved bed-posts. From a window in the Duchess's apartment, there is a fine view of the lake, taking in the small island with "the three tall trees," celebrated by Byron. In the Duke's chamber, there is a door communicating with a secret passage, by which he might make his escape in any danger. There is a closet, too, where he con- cealed his treasures ; and, in the kitchen, the remnants of the old culinary utensils. The ceilings are all of larch wood, beau- tifully carved, and perfectly preserved. The lower rooms now serve as armories for the Federal Swiss Government, and con- tain, among others, two admirably cast cannon, more than a hundred years old. Thus I wandered for some time over the old Chateau, while my guide entertained me with many a tale of horror and romance, familiar to the old walls, and all done in the good old times. "I think," said she, as we once more emerged into the open air, " that it is much better to live in the bad new times !" I thought so, too. When I left, she gave me a beautiful bouquet of flowers; and, by way of stirrup-cup, told me a legend of Diablerie, apropos of a hill in the neighborhood, which, when the glaciers break, throws immense stones over into the valley, thus originating a superstition that the devil has a forge under the hill. I returned, well pleased, to Vevay ; where I found my friend bargaining for some of the beautiful Avood-work for which the Swiss are celebrated ; of which I purchased myself more than I could carry, for the sake of the Beautiful, and a pair of chamois horn boot-pullers, for that of the Useful. Dinner, with Rhone wine and Rhone trout, was concluded with a cigar and a moonlight excursion over the lake to St. Gingo. X. THE BERNESE OBERLAND. THE WEXGERN-ALP. After a few dajs of this luxurious indolence at Vevay we arose early one bright morning, and my matinal exercise' of putting on my boots was varied by my essaying to use my chamois-horn assistants; the result of which experiment was, that the delicate points gave way, and I executed a brilliant pas m ground and lofty tumbling, not particularly graceful but decidedly amusing, judging from the merriment it occasioned in my friend. We took the diligence again, and soon com- menced winding up the hill behind the town, from the summit of which we had our last view of Lake Leman— a scene of unspeakable beauty; the greens of the foreground shining with dewy brightness; the lake a sheet of sparkling silver; and the crisp sharp outlines of the mountains, beyond, bathed in a warm morning radiance ; while the soft mists rising out of the ravines were caught by the brisk morning breeze, and twisted into delicate wreathed phantasies of cloud. We dined at Freyburg, ; where we afterwards had time to hear the cele- brated organ in the Cathedral, and to examine the remark- able suspension-bridges, spanning the wild ravines around the city. We arrived at Berne in the evening, having passed over many a scene of loveliness worthy the pen and pencil of any poet or artist, and where we should have been delighted to have remained, but that we were impatient to commence our foot- rambling through the Oberland. The next morning, we took a private voiture to go to Thun. The drive was a charming one, affording, nearly all the way, fine views of the Jungfrau, and the neighboring Alps. The road was bounded on all sides by highly cultivated fields, and dense pine woods, with fine variety of hill and dale, and occa- sional glimpses of the river Aar. The peasants in their pic- turesque costumes ; the lumbering diligence, and swift carriages 144 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. that passed along the road ; the quaint picturesque cottages and farm-houses, with their wide galleries and curiously thatched and tiled roofs ; the villages with their queer spires, and ram- bling old inns, with yards full of pigs, ducks, chickens, and children ; the women washing at the fountains, and the posti- lions watering their horses, and wining themselves at the doors ; the servant-maids, in laced bodices and short petticoats, with bottles and glasses, at the windows of the thirsty diligence ; — all were attractive features in the landscape, as we hurried by all of them. After drinking a bottle of wine in the beautiful garden of the hotel at Thun, where a band of concealed musi- cians was playing amid the trees, we embarked on the steam- boat, and had a pleasant sail up the lake to Interlaken, passing under the shadows of the Stockhorn and the Niesen, the avant- couriers of the Alps, who arose in snowy magnificence from the borders of the lake. At Interlaken, we remained only one day, as, although its scenery was fine and its company good, its attractions were insufiicient to cause a delay in our pedes- trian excursion. We left therefore the next morning, driving through the rain to Lauterbrunncn, accompanied by the Ober- land guide we had secured. We passed at first over green meadows, looking drenched and aguish in the sullen morning; then, coming to a more broken country, the square tower of the Castle of Unspunnen looked blankly down on us through the mist — a feudal stronghold, the reputed residence of Manfred, and possessing many associations of more genuine romance. Two little villages came next out of the fog, where we were besieged for alms by the most disgusting set of beggars in the world — gibbcrino; cretins, and horrid creatures with their necks swollen with goitre, disputed with the rain at the carriage win- dow, until we were fain to be charitable to be released from them. The road now became every moment wilder, plunging into a dark and savage gorge, overhung by rocks and black, oozy trees, the whole scene being rendered gloomier by the tempest of rain through which we were driving. In the midst of this, where the cliffs were most threatening, and the wind sobbed through the darkest pines, we came suddenly upon the "Brothers' Stone," marking the scene of a fratricide, fit spot The Bernese Oberland. 145 for suet a deed. Soon after, Tve caught sight of the numerous ■waterfalls, leaping from the cliffs above Lauterbrunnen ; and among them I immediately recognised the " heaven-born" Stau- bach, waving to and fro in the winds, "— — like the pale courser's tail, The giant steed to be bestrode by Death, As told in the Apocalypse." Our prospects were rather gloomy, when we entered the inn dining-room, which was filled with discontented tourists, flat- tening their noses on the window-panes, in vain longings for the rain to cease. Our breakfast restored our spirits in some degree, however; and, just as we were reflecting what to do next, the sun broke gloriously out over the valley, the mists rolled away up the ravines, and our guide intimated his opinion that we might start with safety. We seized hold of our alpen- stocks, decorated with chamois horns and freshly branded at the inn, and dashed down the path to the foot of the Wengern- Alp. After crossing the valley of Lauterbrunnen, we turned off up a bridle-road, leading in abrupt steep zigzags up the precipitous side of the mountain. After an hour or more spent in rather toilsome but exciting ascent, we came to a little ham- let, where we stopped to refresh ourselves, and look back upon our previous path. The town we had so lately left, from this height appeared like a toy village ; the Staubach, a mere thread of silver light ; and the opposite cliffs, under whose precipices we had walked with awe, seemed but a mere hillock, on whose top we looked down contemptuously. While we were thus occupied, we were overtaken by a party of Gcnevese stu- dents, with whom we joined company thenceforth. Resuming our walk, we crossed around the hill, over a less precipitous road, towards the Jungfrau, which arose immediately in front of us, in all its magnificence of snow and glacier, from which the sun was dazzlingly reflected. About noon, we arrived at the little inn on the summit ; where, after changing our clothes, which, being saturated with perspiration, were uncomfortable in the cold air of the height, we had our dinner served up in the open air, in sight of the grand peak across the valley, 13 146 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. which seemed, through its colossal proportions, scarcely a stone's-throw from us, but which was in reality nearly a mile distant. The dinner, though humble, was luxurious to our appetites, sharpened by our morning's walk and the pure air we inhaled. For music, we had the thunder of falling ava- lanches, and the continuous murmur of mountain streams. It was long before we caught sight of one of the former, as they fell more frequently from the farther sides of the mountain ; but a sudden exclamation from my friend drew my eyes to a glacier, where I was able to detect a slight motion. All at once, a part of it arose into the air, and lazily turned over like the curve of a breaker ; then in another moment came a mighty roar, echoing among the hills, and frightening away the silence that reigns for ever amid the unsullied rest of the sleeping peaks. Meanwhile we traced the headlong avalanche, like a stream that had suddenly broken forth out of the earth, glanc- ing here and there amid the rocks and ravines, until a white vapory cloud arose like its ghost from its grave in the valley beneath. After our meal was over, we resumed our alpen-stocks, and commenced the descent towards Grindelwald, by a steep and difficult path strewed with immense fallen rocks, amorphous, like relics of the primeval chaos. We descended very leisurely, stopping every now and then to gaze at a snow-peak or an avalanche, and leaving the path to pluck the beautiful Alpine roses, blooming like love in a rude man's heart, amid glaciers and eternal barrenness. We stopped at a chalet to rest, and partake of a rich feast of strawberries and cream, a luxury which is enjoyed later in Switzerland than in any other part of the world. The red juicy coolness of the berries, gleaming up through the clotted obscurity of the cream, would have been attractive at any time, but, to our thirsty fatigued, appreciation, they brought a refreshment that was almost divine. We might have rested there until this time, like the Lotus-eaters, unmind- ful of all else, had not the store of delicacies proved as evanescent as the other pleasures of life. As we approached the base of the mountain, we passed the Bcattered wrecks of forests destroyed by past avalanches, the The Bernese Oberland. 14T "withered desolate trunks, that reminded Bjron of himself and his family. As we traversed this dangerous locality, and I looked upwards to the cloudy peaks, where the snow still lin- gered, I breathed quicker, and involuntarily hastened my steps. Besides the Virgin, the Monk, with his cloudy capote around his shoulders, the Giant, the Peak of Terror, the Wetterhorn, and the Faulhorn, with the opposite height of the Great Schei- deck, arose around us. Below, the valley of Grindelwald, where the icy parent of the Rhone melts into the rivulet, that erewhile becomes a glorious river, winding far away amid vine- clad banks in sunny France — all was spread out before us in the golden evening, which slowly, and as if by magic, clothed in alternate pearl and purple, gold and azure, the stainless sum- mits and the deep valleys. As we stopped to gaze, a moun- taineer, a little way off, blew the long Alpine horn with which they are accustomed to awake the echoes for travellers. A multitude of melodious reverberations ensued, dying away amid the twilight of the ravines ; and I bowed before the influ- ence of the Beautiful and the Infinite. THE GREAT SCHEIDECK. At Grindelwald we found good accommodations at the Adlcr Hotel, and a good dinner sufficiently restored us after the fatigues of our walk. I sat up later than I should have done, that night, gazing out of my windows on the glaciers and snow- peaks, gleaming white and spectral in the light of the moon ; and listening to the peasant girls singing Ranz de Vaches in the shadows beneath. These songs, with the choristers unseen, heard in the silent night, amid the Alps, have a strange, sweet effect ; and the way they are rewarded is also picturesque, bits of coin being wrapped in paper, which is then lighted and thrown blazing out of the window to the recipients, who find the money by the fire. The next morning, stiff and weary from the fatigues of the day before, we commenced our walk before breakfast. On our way, we visited the lower glacier, one of the largest and most beautiful amid the Alps, Its lower part, fringed with fir forests, 148 European Life, Legend, an: Landscape. and extending down to the green pastures at the foot of the mountains, is made more beautiful bj the contrast of the ice with the verdure. The view upon it was not less strange than magnificent; immense icebergs, "like fragments of a crystal world," Avere heaped up into most fantastic images, shapeless, or, assisted bj the imagination, assuming the greatest variety of forms, — stalagmites, pinnacles, statues, domes, and cities. The cultivated valley was entirely shut out, and nothing was visible save the cold blue sky, and the cold solemn peaks of the Eigher, Schreckhorn, and their royal neighbors. The excur- sion on the ice is somewhat dangerous — several persons have been lost in its gaps ; and our guide told us that his own father once fell many feet down a crevice, but was miraculously pre- served, and crawled out, half-starved and with a broken limb, on the second day afterwards. We halted at a convenient chalet to breakfast, where, how- ever, the peasants had nothing but bread and cheese to offer us, with milk which was drawn warm from the goats as we drank it ; — a pastoral meal, that would perhaps have been dis- gusting at any other time, but it seemed then the best I ever partook of, and we struggled, as each goat was driven up, for precedence in holding our gourds to the generous udders. The rest of the way to the top was unmarked by any unusual inci- dent. The mountains were as grand as ever, and we admired and sketched and gathered flowers and trudged on, as we had the day before. A storm of rain overtook us before we reached the hotel on the summit, so we hastened onwards without visit- ing the upper glacier. By the time we succeeded in reaching shelter, the mist had enveloped the hills, and we thus lost, also, the several fine views which are to be had at this point. At the inn, we found a number of drenched and disconsolate tourists, like ourselves, and among them we made the acquaint- ance of tAvo charming American ladies, who were travelling through Switzerland by themselves. As the accommodations for passing the night where we were, were very unpromising, and the rain, which had gradually cleared off, had made the roads slippery and dangerous, we persuaded the ladies to send The Bernese Oberland. 149 their horses back to Grindelwald, and descend to Meyringen under our protection. This part of the journey, in spite of the inconvenience of the rain, was exceedingly interesting. The mountains looming superbly through the obscurity, with an occasional peak lifting its head grandly above the tumultuous vapory sea, shining like truth ; the mists rolling in dewy wreaths up the ravines ; the clearer verdure of the grass, and the waterfalls swollen by the rain, dashing more wildly than ever, all increased rather than diminished the grandeur of the scene. One bold mountain, Miss P., who had travelled in the Orient, compared with Mount Sinai ; and, as she spoke, a cloud above it emitted a vivid flash of lightning ; the hills seemed to reel and bow before it, as the immediate thunder lenped from peak, and roared away up among the hills. A fresh shower succeeding, compelled us to seek shelter again in the inn near the Falls of the Reichenbach, from whose windows we gazed out at the magnificent cataract. From thence we were soon permitted to renew our descent ; were ferried over the Aar in an open boat ; and trudged, rather wet than weary, before sundown, into " Merry Meyringen." We had a jolly dinner at the Hotel Sauvage ; and, by a singular coincidence, meeting two other American ladies at the inn, we made a pleasant party in the evening, in a private parlor, recalling reminiscences of home, with music, and futile efforts at table-moving, which convinced us that there were no ghosts amid the Alps. The following day we took a carriage to Brientz, passing through the beautiful valley of the Aar. Immediately on arriving, we took a small boat to convey us over to the Giess- bach Falls, a succession of beautiful cascades, which we found to exceed description. The waters reel and tumble along in sparkling gayety, leaping from ledge to ledge, over mossy rocks, between grassy knolls and forests of fir ; now falling over in a clear unbroken sheet of azure, streaked with foam, and again, dashing itself to profuse spray, iris-tinted and silver, in the sun. The inn at this place has been, for many years, occupied by a family of choristers, who have inherited, from generation 13* 150 EuBOPEAN Life, Legend, and Landscape. to generation, sweet voices and a real endemic genius for their mountain airs. The patriarch among them was then over seventy years old, and he still leads the piping sopranos of his grandchildren, in their birdlike concerts. They gather around the road as the travellers descend, blow their long Alpine horns, and chant their wild strains, in a manner that would unbutton the pockets of the most churlish individual. The steamboat passing along for Interlacken, received our fair com- panions, with whose amiable society accident had so favored us ; while we returned to Brientz, and thence to Meyringen, where we struck off to the left, and walked over the Brunig Pass to Lungern. Another day's walking took us to Alpnach, on the lake of Lucerne, a town romantically associated with the Swiss strug- gles for independence, and famous, also, in the same connexion, for the loves of Jageli and Anneli. At Alpnach, we took a small bateau, which an old man and his two daughters rowed, to convey us to Lucerne. The lake was perfectly calm, and the Righi and the surrounding mountains arose superbly into the clear evening air. Mont Pilate, alone, was enveloped in clouds, a sign of fair weather, according to the boatmen's creeds. The shores of this lovely lake are the most beautiful in the world, and its historical associations with Tell, and the early patriots, make it especially interesting. So lost was I in the dreams that these scenes and thoughts suggested, that our boat touched the sand at Lucerne before I was aware. Here, one of our fair boatwomen, the youngest and the prettiest, who had performed wonders at her oar, completed my amazement, by leaping out knee-deep into the water, and extending her hand to assist my friend and myself ashore, an obligation we politely acknowledged. Before I left Switzerland, I became more accustomed to such services from women ; indeed, in nearly every part of Europe, they perform all the labors of men. I have seen women driving the plow ; attending to horses, as ostlers; riding them, as postilions ; and carrying vast trunks, as porters in the hotels ; and, for the encouragement of the defenders of woman's rights, I must confess they performed their duties quite as satisfactorily as men could have done. L'Envoy. 151 Our lady acquaintances arrived at Lucerne a few days after us, and with them we made some delightful excursions in the neighborhood. But the story of ascending the Righi to see the sun rise, and only succeeding in catching a cold in the damp misty sunless mornings, and of all the other lions of Lucerne — from the literal one of Thorwaldsen, to the painted bridges, and General Pfyffer's model of the Alps — has been told quite often enough. Our last excursion, in company, was down the lake to Fluelen, past the most magnificent scenery ; vast peaks rising, from green fields and dark forests, to fan- tastic pinnacles of eternal snow ; the translucent lake sleeping amid the solitary mountains, unbroken by islands and undis- turbed by man, rippled only by some stray wind, that seemed to have lost its way, and was never certain which way to blow. Here was Grlitli, the traditionary rendezvous of the three founders of Swiss liberty — Werner of Steinen, Erni of Melch- thal, and Walter FUrst of Uri — where they swore " to be faithful to each other, but to do no wrong to the Count of Ilapsburg, and not to maltreat his governors." Farther on, the Chapel of William Tell was passed, nestled in a little nook in the precipitous shore of the lake ; the place where the "Mountain Brutus" slew the tyrant Gesler. By all these scenes of historic and natural sublimity we were swiftly car- ried, arriving at last at Fliielen. Here the steamer remained a few hours, and my friends accompanied mc, therefore, on foot, half the way to Altorf. There we halted, exchanging our kind remembrances of the past and good wishes for each other's future. My warm-hearted Adolphe embraced me, and with repeated adieux we separated — they to return to Lucerne, and I to pursue my path to Italy. I stood still in the road, watch- ing them until they were out of sight, and then the old lonely feeling oppressed my heart. I was alone with the silent moun- tains — the cold, melancholy, solemn hills ! l'envoy. I arrived at Altorf the same evening, sad and solitary ; but no one could long resist the influence of its beautiful scenery 152 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. and its historical suggestions. Before my window at the hotel stood a tall tower, illustrating in rude frescos the story of Tell; in the square, a little below, a pair of fountains marked the sites of the cruel ordeal he was forced to undergo ; the one, indicating the spot from which he took his aim, surmounted by statues of the noble archer and his child ; the other, two hun- dred feet distant from the first, where the lime-tree originally stood, on which the cap of Gesler was placed to receive the obeisance of the citizens, and to which the child was bound, a mark for his father's bolt. The town itself was dreary and desolate, exhibiting few signs of life, and less of any employ- ment. I remained there all night ; and the next morning, at seven o'clock, took my place in the coupd of the diligence, to cross the Alps another time. It was a fine bright morning, just warm enough to take the cold chill of night from the clear Alpine air, and give it that quality of mingled softness and elasticity so grateful both in mental action and repose. As we wound up the ascent of the mountain, I frequently got out to walk ; and, notwithstanding the separation I had undergone from my friends, the day before, so bright was the morning and so beautiful the scenery, that I Avas conscious of no other sensation than that of intense exhilarative enjoyment. The Pass of the St. Gothard is a noble one, combining the sublimest of scenery with the most perfect safety. After leaving Altorf, for some time the road lay through pleasing rural scenery, amid meadows and groves of walnut and chestnut trees, through which the river Reuss meanders. We crossed a bridge, in the stream beneath which it is said that William Tell lost his life, endeavoring to rescue a child from its swollen waters, during an inundation ; and beyond it we passed the ruins of the famous Zwing Uri, the erection of which, by the Austrian Gesler, precipitated the revolution it was designed to prevent. Con- tinuing on, beset with beggars, and petty merchants with pears, cherries, crystals, et cetera, we drove into Amsteg ; emerging from which, we commenced the ascent, properly speaking, of the St. Gothard. The road now became steeper, and the views from it wilder and more picturesque, soon crossing the Reuss by a bridge L'Envot. 153 beneath which the river leaped from rock to rock, in a furious cataract. Another bridge, called Pfaffensprung, spans a chasm, over which, according to tradition, a monk once leapt with a maiden in his arms, from which circumstance it derives its name. The way, toiling upwards to Goschenen, through nar- row gloomy gorges, shut in between granite cliffs, became every moment more savage and grand ; until about noon we skirted the fabulous rock of Teufelstein, and entered upon the terrace leading on the Devil's Bridge, stretched across the torrent of the Reuss, which falls in boiling cascades beneath. I had walked ahead of the diligence, and I leaned over the parapet and looked down upon the din and the trouble of the waters, until I was almost giddy. A somewhat rare phenomenon was here visible ; the noonday sun, shining doAvn vertically on the mist of the fall, produced circular rainbows, one inside of the other, " like a wheel within wheel." The rocks shutting in the torrent were vast and precipitous, and the whole view one of the gloomiest that could be imagined ; yet even this place has memories of fiercer conflicts than those of the winter tempests, and of hearts as cold and as stern as the granite itself. During a single campaign, this has been twice contested within a month ; and the old bridge, whose fragments still exist below the present one, was blown up while covered with furious com- batants, and a bloody battle between the French and the Aus- trians raged along the narrow defile. Beyond this, the road passed through a tunnel hewn out of the solid mountain, and out again, on a fair table land, where the Reuss became once more a tranquil stream, and the meadows green and inviting. We dined at Andermatt, a village situated immediately beneath a glacier, but defended from its fall by a pyramidical forest of pines, which are religiously protected by the inhabitants. Our dinner, of the fine red trout of the Oberlap See, and the deli- cious cheese and honey which the neighborhood affords, pre- sented an agreeable contrast to that of the famished hordes of Suwarrow, who were fain to swallow a store of soap, and some untanned skins, which they found hung out to dry, in the same inn. Afterwards we renewed the ascent, passing, among other things, the ancient potence, or gallows of the canton. 154 European Life, Legend, and Landscape. We next came to Hospenthal, and soon after changed horses at the Hospice on the summit of the pass, where my glad eyes strayed afar in search of Italy. Then, they beheld nothing but snow-peaks, surrounding a rocky basin, sterile and desolate ; but before night, as we were almost hurled down the steep zig- zags on the southern side of the pass, they were blest. The harsh Swiss names were changed to the softer liquids and vowels of the South ; then came the chestnut-trees and green meadows and yellow harvest-fields, and the flat square Italian architecture ; and the dream of my life stood upon the thresh- old of its realization ! THE END. By the Same Author. DOLCE FAR NIENTE. A Volume of Poems. By JOHN K. TAIT. 1 Vol. 12mo., cloth, 50 cts. EXTRACTS FROM REVIEWS. " A small but very attractive collection of twenty-four poems, none of them of great length. As regards finish, purity of conception, and direct trans- mission of sentiment from external to metrical forms, these lyrics all indicate most enviable susceptibility to the Beautiful, as well as artistic culture. * * * We cordially recommend this work to all our readers." — Philadelphia Bulletin. •' A small and neat volume of sweet poems, chaste in conception, delicate in imager}', and artistic in construction. The poet seems to have drawn his inspiration chiefly from the classic land of song (Italy), where he has resided a number of years, pursuing his profession as an artist. Mr. Tail is young, and we believe this is his first appearance before the public as an author. The grace, ease, and beauty exhibited in the poems of this volume give us a promise that his mission in the land of song is not yet fulfilled." — Pemuylva- nia Inquirer. "Radiant with sparkling gems, and will be read with interest by the many friends of the poet-artist, Mr. Tait." — Challen^s Illustrated 3Ionthly. " He has a poetic soul and a musical ear, this John R. Tait." — Home Journal. "It is steeped in the dreamy fancies which are begotten by Italian skies and nurtured in Italian airs." — Congref/ationali^t. " In this little volume there are many fine poetical stanzas, which indicate that the Author is a poet of more than ordinary merit, and that he is destined in the future to obtain celebrity in the world of letters." — Cincinnati Inquirer. " We need not bid our readers admire the vivid power of this word-painting, nor the imaginative significance which permeates it." — Philadelphia Saturday Post. " Far above average merit. The Author, who has travelled, has also ob- served, and his mind has overflowed into poetic expression." — The Press. "Mr. Tait belongs to the popular school of American Troubadourism, at whose head stands Longfellow; * * * but in two or three instances he has a decided ring of his own, which indicates first-class metal and strength." — Graham's Magazine. "The Author has the rare gift of putting the best words in their best order." — Christian Review. "Poetry of an order vastly above much that passes current and is applauded as verse in this reading world. None of the pieces are of great length, but they show that the Author has the genuine spirit in him." — Presbyterian Ban- ner and Advocate. PARRY & M'MILLAN, Publishers, Philadelphia. JAMES CHALLEN & SON, Publishers, Philadelphia, No. 25 South Sixth Street. Just Issued. Two Charming Books! I. f urcpfau lift, i^piiti aiiti fan^srapf. BY AN ARTIST. The character of this work can be determined by the following TABLE OF CONTENTS I. Land-ho! XVII. Aix-la-Chapelle. XXIX Goldener Prop- II. New riaven (Eng- XVIII. Charlemagne. fenzier. land). XIX. The Grand Reli- XXX. Oberwessel. III. An English Railway. ques. XXXI. Sunday Night iu IV. First Impressions. XX. The Ring of Fas- Prussia. V. Art in London. trada. XXXII. Bacliarach. VI. Tiie London Parks. XXI. Koln. XXXIII. A Rencontre. VII. Metropolitan Amuse- XXII. Dusseldorf. XXXIV. The Odenwald. ments. XXIII. The Seven Moun- XXXV. The Diligence, VIII. London Churches. tains. XXXVI. The Alps. IX. Westminster Abbey. XXIV. The Sceptic Con- XXXVII. Chillon. X. Parlez vous Anglais. verted — a Le- XXXVIII. The Bernese 0- XI. Bruges. gend of Peters- berland — The XII. The Glove of Charles thai. Wengern Alp. V. XXV. Rolandseck. XXXIX. The Bernese 0- XIII. Rubens, XXVI. The Dampschiff. berland — The XIV. How a AVoman Died. XXVII. Coblentz. Great Schei- XV. Brussels. XXVIII. Knapsack and deck. XVI. The Meuse. Staff. XL. L'Envoy, PEICE-Clot] a, 75 cents; Blue an i Gold , $1.00. II. IN AND AROUND STAMBOUL. By Mrs. E. Hornby. This is one of the most interesting and fascinating works on Oriental life ever issued. The Sketches of the places visited, including Marseilles, the Alps, Corsica, Malta, Syra, Smyrna, Gallipolis, the Dardanelles, the Bosphorus, Constantinople, and the thriling incidents connected with the War then raging between England, France, and Turkey, combined against Russia, together with a vivid description of the Capture of Sebastopol, impart a stirring interest to every page of the book. Mrs. Hornby resided with her husband, then Commissioner to the Sublime Porte, for several years in and near Constantinople; and has here presented a graphic account of the Mosks, and Mode of Worship, the Harems, the Sultan, the Valley of Sweet Waters, the Scenery of the Bosphorus, the Gardens, the Feasts and Fasts, the Schools, and the Customs of the East ; also, of the Crimea, the Black Sea, and Sebastopol (immediately after its capture), and many other items of information that can be found in no other work extant. The work is elegantly issued, and contains 500 pages. PEICE— Cloth, $1.25 per copy, postpaid. JAMES CHALLEN & SON, Publishers, PMladelpMa, No. 25 South Sixth Street. The Most Superb Work of the year— Now Ready! BY REV. HENRY S. OSBORN, A.M., Professor of Natural Science, Roanoke College, Member of The American Scientific Association, and Honorary Member of the Malta {Mediterranean) Scientific Institute. This valuable work has been unavoidably delayed in its publication on account of the increased number of the Engravings, and to enable the artista to do full justice to them. The Author has also revised his entire MSS., and gathered many new fticts and authorities at great labor and expense. In presenting the work to the public, the Publishers are confident that it ■will meet with a cordial reception, both on account of the intrinsic value of the letter-press as well as the magnificent style of its publication. It is undoubted/;/ the most superb work on the Holy Land ever issued in this country. The work is Illustrated by Engravings from New and Original Designs, executed in the highest style of art. They consist of a Panoramic Series of Original Views, taken by the Author from the most favorable positions; giving to the reader a perfect conception of the Cities, "Villages, Architecture of the Country, and Landscape Scenery of the East. Also, Engravings of birds, flowers, ancient coins, tlie geological strata—comprising' its fossils, minerals, &c. ; with the costumes, positions, and peculiarities of the people! The Illustrations comprise splendid Steel Engravings, also Chromographs (printed in ten rich oil colors), and the finest AYood Engravings. The Views are truthful and accurate, and are not transfers from other works, nor libellous caricatures of the Sacred Localities, as at present abound in nearly every work on the subject. This cannot fail to be appreciated by every person of intelligence, and will greatly add to its intrinsic merit and value. A New Map of Palestine, by the Author, from actual surveys, and differ- ing essentially from any that has yet appeared, accompanies the work. The Literary Department embraces scientific and critical examinations of facts as associated with the scenes presented, with a view to the elucidation of disputed points of Scripture. Also, personal observations made during a sojourn in the East ; giving social, religious, and political incidents, just as they occur among all classes. An invaluable amount of information is thus concentrated into the most perfectly illustrated work on the subject extant. Dr. Robinson, in a letter to the Author, says: — " I do not know of any work fliat takes just the ground proposed by you. There is so much of permanent and absorbing interest connected with Pales- tine, that every book upon that country is sure to be well received." It is printed on the finest super-calendered paper, and contains over 500 large royal octavo pages, with a copious Index and Table of Contents, and a Geographical .Appendix. Prices:— Cloth, $3.50. Philadelphia Library, $4.00. Half-morocco Antique, $4.50. Turkey, full gilt, $5.00. Super Turkey or Antique, $5.50. By mail, postpaid. Heavy discount to Agents and the Trade. JAMES CHALLEN & SON, Publishers, PhHadelphia, No. 25 South Sixth Street. OR, JERUSALEM AS IT WAS, AS IT IS, AND AS IT IS TO BE. By Dr. J. T. BARCLAY, Missionary to Palestine. 627 Royal %vo. pages, and Seventy splendid Engravings. This is undoubtedly the most complete and valuable Tvork on the Holy City ever issued. Seven large editions have been sold during the last ten months, and its sale is constantly increasing. The work has been thoroughly reviewed by all the standard Reviews and critics in this country and in Europe, and declared to be " the most accurate and reliable account of Modern Jerusalem yet given in the English language." — Bibliotheca Sacra. Extracts from Notices in Reviews of the Ilighcst Autliority. " Its profuse Engravings on wood, stone, and steel, leave nothing to be desired in the matter of Pictorial Embellishment. The mechanical execution of the work corresponds to the importance of the theme, and to the scientific thoroughness with which the Author has fulfilled his task." — North American Review. "The volume is a magnificent one." — Southern Baptist Review. " It would be difficult to name any point interesting to the Biblical scholar or general reader which is not fully treated." — Boston Quarterly Journal. " No expense has been spared to make the work a standard work — not merely a book of pleasant reading, but for permanent value." — Christian Examiner. "A work of no ordinary interest." — The Churchman. " It is emphatically the work of the season. With the exception of the 'Explorations of Dr. Kane,' and the 'Travels of Dr. Livingstone,' no recent issue from the press has commanded equal sale." — Presbyterian Quarterly Review. "A most important addition to the knowledge of the present day." — Prea~ byterian Mayazine. "Not only is it rich in matter, but rich in its 'getting up.' " — Ladies' Repo- sitory. " ' The City of the Great King' is richly adorned with Pictorial Illustrations, many of which have been prepared at great pains and expense, and impart assurance tliat our publishers are gaining rapidly a position alongside of their eminent fellow-craftsmen in England." — Boston Watchman i^ Reflector. "The most important contribution ever furnished in this particular depart- ment of sacred learning." — Colonization Herald. Price, cloth, $3.50. Philadelphia Library, $4.00. Half calf, $4.50. Mo- rocco, full gilt, $5.00. Super Turkey or Antique, $5.50. By mail postpaid. *ij;.« No more elegant work can be selected as a gift book, than " The City of the Great King," and "Palestine, Past and Present." {See Advertisement.) *'^.* Clergymen, Teachers, Libraries, and Superintendents of Sunday Schools, pui-chasing the work direct from the Publishers, will receive it at the who e- eale prices. JAMES CHALLEN & SON, PubUshers, PMladelphia, No. 25 South Sixth Street. HAVE IN PRESS A NEW HISTORY OF THE CONQUEST OF MEXICO, BY ROBERT ANDERSON WILSON, Counsellor-at-Law, Author of ''Mexico audits Religion,'' "The California Law Reports," ^-c, ^-c. This is an actual history of that remarkable event — the Cortez Conquest of Mexico. The monkish fables which constitute the staple of all previous histories of that wonderful war, have, one after another, been exploded under the searching processes of modern investigation. The late Albert Gallatin, a pioneer in Ethnology, and a distinguished Cabinet Minister, in a most learned and able criticism, pointed out the imposture of the pretended Aztec picture writinys, and also of their alleged annals, as proved by internal evidence. In the last branch of his inquiry, he is sustained by an elaborate article from the pen of Hon. Lewis Cass, in the North American Review of Oct. 1840. The criticism of these Cabinet Ministers has lately been veriGed by the publication of the American army maps and topographi- cal surveys, proving the physical impossibilities of all the addi- tions to the personal narrative of Cortez, in which is included the elegant histori/ Mr. Prescott has culled from the writings of the Monks, and that counterfeit narrative entitled Bernal Diaz. The statement furnished by Cortez, when stripped of Moorish erabellishtnonts, necessary perhaps to fit it for the Spanish market of his day, and presented in the light of American Archaeology, is one of the most remarkable events in the history of this Continent, far surpassing in interest the fables which have heretofore been palmed oflF as the history of that war. The Author's relation to the Indians, his personal acquaintance with the people of Mexico of both races, and his careful examination of the topography of that country, have afforded him every opportunity to write a correct and reliable history of its conijuest by Cortez. The work will be printed from new type on fine calendered paper, royal 8vo., embellished with Maps, Diagrams, and fine Wood Engrav- ings, necessary to illustrate the text. Price, Cloth, $2.50. Sheep, $3.00. Half-morocco, $3.50. R. A. WILSON'S WORKS. MEXICO AND ITS IIELKUON (Illustrated) .... $1.25 CALIFORNIA LAW REPORTS 7.00 We will send the above, postpaid, at the i^r ices stated. JAMES CHAILEN & SON, Publishers, PhUadelphia, No. 25 South Sixth Steeet. ajria. BY MRS. SARAH BARCLAY JOHNSON. 300 ^j3., and Thirteen splendid Engravings on tinted paper. This beautiful book is winning golden opinions from the press and the peo- ple. All are delighted with it. The Presbyterian Board of Publication have ordered 500 copies for their Sunday Schools. The fourth edition is now ready. Notices of Hadji in Syria. "The work is wi'itten with talent, taste, and vivacity." — Presbyterian. •' Its Illustrations are araong the most beautiful published for a long time, and the whole woi'k, handsomely bound, is sold for only 75 cents." — Graham's Magazine. ♦' The work is full of interest to the Bible student." — Christian Luminary. "A vivacious and graphic record." — Saturday Evening Post. " Her judgment and taste in the selection of topics, her life-like descriptions, and the vigorous pulse that pervades the book, will secure for her an extensive reading." — Puritan Recorder. "It will occupy a useful place among works descriptive of the land of the patriarchs and prophets." — Christian Advocate. "The book will be read with interest and profit." — Lutheran Observer. " This is a fresh and charming book." — Boston Christian Freeman. "Written with all a woman's enthusiasm and directness." — Western Watchman. "She makes a very agreeable chatty history of some of the incidents in a long residence at the Holy City." — Harpers' Weekly. "Every Sabbath School should be provided with one or more copies of it." — Christian Secretary. Cloth, 75 cts. Blue and gold, $1.00. PRIZE ESSAYS. I. "THE PEARL OF DAYS; or, the Advantages of the Lord's Day to the Working Classes." By a Laborer's Daughter. Five fine Engravings, 133 pp. Cloth, 30 cts. n. "HEAVEN'S ANTIDOTE TO THE CURSE OF LABOR; or, the Tem- poral Advantages of the Lord's Day." By John Allan Quinton. With a Pre- fatory Notice, by Rev. Stephen H. Tyng, D. D. Four fine Engravings, 155 pp. Cloth, 30 cts. The above are undoubtedly the best works from 1045 Essays presented in competition. They liave produced a great sensation in England, and have been instrumental in doing much good. Having purchased the stereotype plates and copyright, we have published them in elegant style, at the above low prices. <^^ • • • A'-' •i^. . 6^*"" " • ■ * ■ « . * A * » » • • • a" ,»^ ^*.,*^ r.^' .*' ^^ ( ■■ .p*;.