Inside the cathedral we saw Rubens's fine pictures of the Elevation and the Descent from the Cross, in which the figures are given with such wonderful and faithful accuracy as to make the spectator sigh with pity at the painful spectacle.

The interior of this splendid cathedral is grand and imposing; but I have already, in these pages, employed so many adjectives in admiration of these grand old buildings, that I fear repet.i.tion in the attempt to give anything more than the dimensions which indicate its vast extent, which are five hundred feet long and two hundred and fifty wide. In front of this cathedral is an iron canopy, or specimen of iron railing-work, as we should call it; but it is of _wrought_ iron, and by the hammer and skilful hand of Quentin Matsys.

In the Church of St. Jacques, with its splendid interior, rich in beautiful carved marble and bal.u.s.trades, we stood at the tomb of Rubens, who is buried here, and saw many more of his pictures among them his Holy Family. The house where he died is in a street named after him, and a statue of the artist graces the Place Verte.

Antwerp rejoices in good musical entertainments. The most prominent and aristocratic of the musical societies is that known as the "Royal Society of Harmony of Antwerp," who own a beautiful garden, or park, at which their out-of-door concerts are given during the summer season.

None but members of the society are admitted to these entertainments, except visiting friends from other cities, and then only by approval of the committee of managers.

The garden is quite extensive, and is beautifully laid out with walks beneath shady groves, rustic bridges over ponds and streams, gorgeous plats, and parterres of flowers. In the centre of the grounds rises an ornamental covered stand for the orchestra; and round about, beneath the shade trees, sit such of the visitors who are not strolling about, eating ices, drinking light wine or beer, and indulging in pipes and cigars. A handsome pavilion affords accommodation in case of bad weather, and the expenses are defrayed by a.s.sessments upon the members of the society.

After seeing the London Zoological Garden, others seem very much like it; and that in Antwerp is nearest the London one, in the excellence of its arrangement and management, of any I have since visited. The collection is quite large, and very interesting.

The cabs and hackney coaches in this old city are the most atrocious old wrecks we have ever seen, the horses apparently on their last legs, and the drivers a seedy-looking set of fellows, most of whom understand neither English, French, nor German, only Flemish; so that when a stranger calls a "vigilante," which is the t.i.tle of these turnouts, it is well to have the a.s.sistance of a native, else the attempted excursion may end in an inextricable snarl of signs, phrases, and gesticulations, "full of sound and fury, and signifying nothing" to either party.

I believe if an individual, who does not understand German or Flemish, can make the journey from Antwerp to Dusseldorf alone, he may be considered competent to travel all over Europe without a courier or interpreter. The conductors or guards of the train appeared to understand nothing but German and Flemish. The changes of cars were numerous and puzzling, and our "_Change-t-on de voiture ici?_" and "_Ou est le convoi pour Dusseldorf?_" were aired and exercised on a portion of the route to little purpose. Nevertheless, we did manage to blunder through safely and correctly, by dint of showing tickets, and being directed by signs and motions, and pushed by good-natured, stupid (?) officials from one train to another; for we changed cars at Aerschot, then at Ha.s.selt, then again at Maestricht, where we were compelled to leave the train, and have all small parcels examined by the custom-house officials; then at Aix la Chapelle, or Aachen, as the Dutchmen call it, we had to submit to an examination of trunks, all pa.s.sing in at one door of a large room and out at another, in an entirely opposite direction, and apparently directly away from the train we had just left, to continue our journey. I never shall forget the jargon of Dutch, French, and English, the confusion of wardrobes of different nationalities that were rudely exposed by the officers, the anathematizing of obstinate straps that would not come unbuckled, the turning out of pockets to search for missing keys, and the hasty cramming back of the contents of trunks,--for the train was a few minutes late,--that imprinted the custom-house station of Aix la Chapelle like a disagreeable nightmare on my memory.

At last we reached Ober Ca.s.sel, where we debarked, took seats in a drosky, as they call cabs here, the driver of which hailed us in French, which really sounded almost natural after the amount of guttural German we had experienced.

Over the pontoon bridge that spans the Rhine, we rode towards Dusseldorf, whose lighted windows were reflected upon the dark, flowing stream; and we were soon within the hospitable and comfortable hotel, denominated the Breidenbacher Hof, where the servants spoke French and English, and we forgot the perplexities of the day in an excellent and well-served supper.

Dusseldorf is one of those quiet, sleepy sort of towns where there is little or no excitement beyond music in the Hofgarten, or the Prussian soldiers who parade the streets; it is the quiet and pleasant home of many accomplished artists, whose paintings and whose school of art are familiar to many in America, and it is often visited by American tourists for the purpose of purchasing pictures from the easels of its artists; indeed, the guide-books dignify it with the t.i.tle of the "Cradle of Rhenish Art." Americans visiting Dusseldorf find an efficient and able cicerone in Henry Lewis, Esq., the American consul, who, from his long residence there, and being himself a Dusseldorf artist, and withal a member of their a.s.sociations, and having an intimate acquaintance with artists and artist life, is a gentleman eminently qualified to aid our countrymen in their purchases of pictures, which is done with a disinterestedness and courtesy that have won for him the warmest regards of Americans who have visited the place.

To be sure, some Americans, with very queer ideas of propriety in pictures, visit Dusseldorf, as they do other places in Europe, sometimes mortifying their countrymen by their absurd extravagances of conduct. At one of the artists' exhibitions a fine picture was pointed out to me, representing a cavalier who had just returned from the chase, and was seated in an old mediaeval hall. At one side, in the painting, was a representation of a fine, wide, high, old, ornamented chimneypiece. This picture attracted the attention of an American, well-known in his native country as a proprietor of patent medicines. He saw nothing in the rich costume and coloring of the cavalier's dress, the fine interior of the old mediaeval mansion; but he noticed that the mantel of the antique fireplace was empty. Lucky circ.u.mstance! He proposed to purchase the picture of the artist on condition of an alteration, or rather addition, being made, which was the painting in of a bottle of the purchaser's celebrated syrup, with its label distinctly visible, to be represented occupying one end of the mantel, and boxes of pills and ointment (labels visible) occupying the other end.

To his credit be it known, the artist absolutely refused to commit such an outrage, notwithstanding double price was offered him for "the job;"

and the glories of Blank's pills continue to be painted in printer's ink, and not the artist's colors.

Through the kind courtesy of Mr. Lewis, we were enabled to visit the studios of nearly all the leading artists of Dusseldorf. We saw the fine Swiss scenery of Lindler, the life-like, quaint old burghers and Dutch figures of Stammel, the heavy Dutch horses and the quiet, natural, rural, and roadside scenes of Hahn, and the sharp, bold style of figure-painting of Stever, rich in color and striking in expression--an artist whose pictures, in the exhibition, always have a group of spectators about them; and then we saw Lewis's own clever landscapes and Swiss mountain scenes, and finally went off to the Dusseldorf gallery, where we saw a host of original sketches and drawings by the most celebrated artists of all schools.

One thing newly-arrived Americans quickly learn here, as well as in Rome and Florence; and that is, that good pictures command good prices: they may be obtained at a lower figure than at home, yet they are by no means sacrificed for a song. The facilities of travel are now so great, and Americans and English with money to spend do so pervade the continent, that the opportunities of obtaining really meritorious works of art at a very low price in Europe are decreasing every day.

The Prussian soldiery are seen everywhere in Dusseldorf; they are a fine, intellectual-looking set of men, not very tall, but splendidly drilled. A regiment that I have seen pa.s.s, with its magnificent military band at its head, was so exact in the perpendicular of the muskets carried by the men, that I verily believe a plank might have been laid upon the points of the upright bayonets, and it would have been found a true level.

The band in the Hofgarten plays the Strauss waltzes deliciously. The shady walks, the flower-beds, the pretty vases and fountains, are enchantingly soothing and romantic on a summer's evening, under the influence of music, Rhine wine or lager. But we must bid adieu to old Dusseldorf, which we learn, with some surprise, as we turn our back upon it for the city of perfumes (Cologne), to be a town of fifty thousand inhabitants--a fact one would never dream of, from its lack of that bustling spirit that characterizes an American town or city of that population.

Now for the "castle-crowned Rhine." We leave Dusseldorf behind, and as the steamboat journey from here is a somewhat dull and uninteresting one, there being no features of natural beauty on the river between the two points, we rattle down by Cologne and Minden Railway in about an hour and a half, and quarter at the fine Hotel du Nord, at Cologne, near the railway bridge, which is all of a bustle on account of the arrival of the King of Sweden and suite; and some of the blue-eyed, golden-haired blondes of that "suite" we had the pleasure of meeting occasionally, as we pa.s.sed in or out, would have been "all the rage"

in America, could they have been transplanted to that country.

Cologne, the oldest town on the Rhine, is built with long, winding, semicircular, narrow streets, along the river. It is now the capital of Rhenish Prussia, and appears to be a strongly fortified place, being surrounded by strong, high walls. A bridge of boats and a stone bridge span the Rhine from Cologne to a little town called Deutz, opposite, and the city seems to have considerable business activity. Before one ever sees the city, his impressions are, that its chief article of commerce and manufacture is cologne water; and that impression is strengthened on arrival, for about every other store, especially those in the square about the cathedral, claims to be "_the_ original Jean Antoine Marie Farina." The compet.i.tion in this matter is ridiculous, and even laughable; and the Farinas are so numerous, and opinion is so divided respecting the original, that it is said if you purchase of either one you will wish you had bought of another.

The cathedral at Cologne, grand and majestic in its proportions, rich in ornament, and considered among lovers of architecture a masterpiece among existing Gothic buildings, was commenced in 1248, and, though more than six centuries have pa.s.sed, is still unfinished, and the name of the architect who planned the original designs of the structure unknown to the world.

The sight of this great cathedral, that has been in process of construction for so many centuries, sometimes nearly abandoned to ruin, and then again carried forward by builders with new zeal, till at last the original designs were forgotten, and men proceeded to work on at an apparently endless task,--the style of work here and there marking the age in which it was wrought,--was strikingly suggestive of the vanity of human aspirations. It also brought to mind that almost forgotten old German legend respecting a compact between the original architect of this cathedral, I think, and his Satanic Majesty, in which the former some way outwitted the latter, who, in revenge, caused him to be killed by a fall from the tower bearing the well-known derrick so familiar in all the pictures on the cologne-bottle labels. His Sulphuric Highness, in the story, also vowed that the edifice should never be completed, and that the architect's name should be forgotten by men.

The fiendish promise appears to have been faithfully kept, although, on the other hand, it is averred by some American travellers that the building is kept unfinished to extract contributions from the faithful to complete it, and thereby furnish builders, workmen, and contractors with work; indeed, a New York man was struck with the bright idea that it would be to get the Prussian government to undertake it, and let the job out to contractors, and he knew that the builders of the new City Hall in New York would undertake it, and spend time and money enough over it, and in a manner that would astonish the old church builders of Europe.

The cathedral stands on a slight elevation, some fifty or sixty feet above the Rhine, upon a portion of the old Roman camp-ground, where the soldiers of Agrippina, the mother of Nero, rested after war's alarms, and watched the flow of the winding river at their feet. Countless sums of money have been lavished upon the building, and centuries of labor.

Guilty monarchs, and men whose hearts have reeked with sin, have bestowed wealth upon it, in the hope to buy absolution for their crimes with the same dross that had purchased so many of the world's coveted pleasures. In 1816, forty-eight thousand pounds were expended on it, and between 1842 and 1864 over three hundred thousand pounds were laid out.

The great southern portal, which is two hundred and twenty feet high, cost alone one hundred and five thousand pounds. Some idea of the vastness of the cathedral may be had from the figures representing its dimensions. The interior is four hundred and thirty feet long and one hundred and forty broad; the transept two hundred and thirty-four feet long, and the choir one hundred and forty feet in height. The part which is appropriated for divine service occupies an area of seventy thousand square feet.

We strolled round this stupendous old building, and after shaking off the guides and _valets de place_, who proffered their services, the agents of cologne-water houses in the vicinity, and the venders of books, stereoscopic views and pictures of it, and even a monkish old fellow who came out of one of the side doors, and rattled a money-box for subscriptions for the workmen, proceeded to have a look at it in our own way. There stood out the old derrick, or crane, an iron arm fifty feet long, that has projected from one of the towers, which is one hundred and ninety feet high, for four hundred years, probably in waiting to a.s.sist in completing the remaining two hundred and eighty-six feet, the projected height being four hundred and seventy-six. The Gothic arches, canopies, b.u.t.tresses, and tracery, with statues of the apostles and saints, are bewildering in detail and number. In one ornamental arch is a relief containing no less than seventy different figures, and another has fifty-eight small canopies wrought in it. In fact, the building seems to be a monument of stone-cutters' skill, as well as an exemplification of the detail of Gothic architecture; and you may mark that which is crumbling to decay beneath the unsparing tooth of time, and on the same edifice that which, sharp and fresh, but yesterday left the sculptor's chisel; and so the work goes on. The central tower and iron framework of the roof of the body of the church and transept were only completed in 1861, and the interior of the church since 1863, that is, if the interior can be said ever to be completed, with workmen continually _finishing_ it.

To get inside we find that a series of tickets must be purchased of the custodian who guards the entrance at the transept. These paid for, we proceeded, under the pilotage of a good-natured, though not over-clean churchman, to the various points of interest in the vast interior. We had the same beautiful view of Gothic arches and cl.u.s.ter pillars that form so grand a perspective in these cathedrals. We counted fifty-six pillars in all. Those of the nave were one hundred and six feet in height, and of the side aisles forty-five. The seven chapels are rich in pictures, decorated altars, and relics. The most celebrated is that known as the Chapel of the Three Magi, in which was a gorgeous crystal casket, protected by a cover richly ornamented and set with precious stones. When this was reverently removed, we beheld the tops of three human skulls, circled with golden crowns, which our conductor gravely informed us were the skulls of Caspar, Melchoir, and Balthazar, the Three Magi, or Wise Men of the East, who figured at the adoration of our Saviour.

One can hardly repress a smile at such a.s.sertions, made in the nineteenth century, by a man who has had the advantages of education, as our priestly guide evidently had; but the serious manner in which he imparted his information, and to our doubting comments pointed to the names set in rubies, and a.s.sured us that the relics were presented in the twelfth century by the Emperor Frederic Barbarossa, and that he had not time now to question historical facts, disposed of the subject in our case. So, at the Church of St. Ursula here, where the bones of _eleven thousand virgins_ (!), who were murdered in Cologne on their return from a pilgrimage to Rome, are shown. The unbelieving Thomases of the Protestant faith try the patience of the pious custodian sadly by their irreverent questions and disrespectful remarks.

In the great sacristy and treasury of the cathedral we saw a rich collection of magnificent vestments for priests, bishops, and other church officials, costly gold and silver chalices, cruets, fonts, goblets, church vessels, &c. Among these were several splendid "monstrances" or a sort of framework, in which the consecrated wafer, or host, is held up to view before the congregation in Roman Catholic churches. One of these was of silver, weighing eight pounds and a half, adorned with rubies and diamonds, with a superb diamond cross hanging from it, and around it a collar of turquoises, amethysts, and sapphires; there was another of solid silver, much heavier, the gift of Pope Pius IX., and still a third, which far outshone all the rest in magnificence.

This last was a foot and a half in height, was of solid gold, and weighed ten pounds and two ounces; it was studded with large jewels, and the gold beautifully enamelled. The cylindrical s.p.a.ce for enclosing the host measured four and a half inches in diameter, and is cut out of a piece of mountain crystal. The value of this monstrance is immense, and it is only used on great holidays, and carried in procession but once a year--Corpus Christi, the next Thursday after Trinity Sunday.

The cabinets in this treasury were rich indeed with material wealth of the cathedral; and our priestly guide took a pride in displaying it, furnishing me many facts for my note-book not down in the guide-books, and anxious that we should have a correct idea of the wealth of the Church. Two splendid silver censers, weighing nine pounds each, were shown us; next came a great crucifix of polished ebony and silver, a gold and enamelled flower set with precious stones, an enamelled painting of the Crucifixion surrounded by diamonds, rubies, and pearls, a cross and ring worn by the archbishop at every pontifical service, magnificent ornaments set with diamonds and pearls, and valued at twenty-five hundred pounds sterling; then there were splendid reliquaries, richly set with jewels, some said to contain portions of the true cross; splendid crosiers, one of ivory and crystal, of ancient workmanship; crosses, silver busts, carved ivory figures, and the splendid silver shrine of St. Engelbert, weighing one hundred and forty-nine pounds, and adorned with ba.s.s-reliefs and numerous small statuettes--a most valuable piece of plate, and curious work of art, made in the year 1635.

From this rich storehouse of gold, silver, and jewels we pa.s.sed out once more into the body of the cathedral, where ragged women or poverty-stricken men, with hunger in their cheeks, knelt on the pavement to tell a string of beads, or mutter a prayer or two, and then rise and follow us into the street to beg a few groschen, or, as we pa.s.sed, to be solicited by an individual, who had charge of a rattling money-box, for a contribution towards the completion of the church.

Nearly two hundred workmen are at work upon the Cologne Cathedral, renewing that which has crumbled from decay and time, and completing that which is still unfinished. A good idea of its magnitude can be obtained by a tour of the galleries. Access is had to these by a flight of steps in one of the great pillars. One hundred and one steps--I counted them as we went up--carry the visitor to a gallery which extends across the transept. Up thirty-six steps more, and you reach another gallery running around the whole building, in a tour of which you may study the details of the architecture, and also have a fine view of the town, and a beautiful one of the Rhine, and the lovely surrounding landscape.

There is a gallery corresponding to this on the interior of the building, which affords the visitor an equally good opportunity to observe the interior decorations and architectural features. You mount ninety-eight steps more, and reach a third gallery, which runs around the entire roof of the cathedral, a distance of sixteen hundred feet.

Here the panorama is more extended and beautiful. You see the river winding on its course far in the distance. Below are the semicircular streets, the bridges of stone and of boats, the numerous little water craft dotting the stream, and on every side the lovely landscape, fresh and verdant in the summer sunlight. Above us, on the roof, or ridge-pole, runs an ornamental gilt crest, looking like spikes from below, but really a string of gilt spires, nearly five feet in height, while the great cross above is twenty-seven feet high, and weighs thirteen hundred and eighty-eight pounds. From this gallery we pa.s.sed in through a little door under the roofing, and above the vaulted arches of the interior, to an opening which was surrounded by a railing. Through this opening the spectator has an opportunity of looking to the interior beneath him, and has a view directly downwards to the pavement, one hundred and fifty feet below.

The middle steeple is yet to be ascended. This is strongly built of iron, and ninety-four steps more carry us up to the highest point of ascent--three hundred and twenty-nine steps in all. The star which surmounts the steeple above us is three hundred and fifty feet from the pavement. A glance below at the cathedral shows the form of its ground plan, and the landscape view extends as far as the eye can reach.

Cologne is not an over-clean city, and we were not sorry to embark on the _dampschift_, as they call the little Rhine steamboat, for our trip to Mayence. These little steamers, with their awning-shaded decks, upon which you may sit and dine, or enjoy the pure light wines of the country,--which never taste so well anywhere else,--and view the romantic and beautiful scenery upon the banks of this historic river as you glide along, afford a most delightful mode of transit, and one which we most thoroughly enjoyed, the weather being charming, and the boat we were upon an excellent one, and not crowded with pa.s.sengers.

The great Cathedral of Cologne, a conspicuous landmark, and the high arches of the railroad bridge, gradually disappear as we steam away up the river, looking on either side at the pleasant views, till the steeple and residences of Bonn greet us, after a two hours' sail. Here we make a landing, near the Grand Hotel Royal, a beautiful hotel, and charmingly situated. Facing the river, its two wings extend from the main body of the house, enclosing a s.p.a.cious garden, which stretches down to the river banks, and is tastefully laid out with winding walks, rustic arbors, and flower-beds. From its garden and windows you may gaze upon the charming panorama of the river, with the peaks of the Seven Mountains rising in the distance, and the Castle of G.o.desburg on its lofty peak, near the river.

But our little steamer fumes and fusses at its landing-place, eager to depart; so we step on board, and it steams once more out against the curling current between the hills of Rhineland. The scenery now becomes more varied and interesting; pleasant little roads wind off in the distance amid the hills; a chapel is perched here and there, and ever and anon we meet some big, flat-bottomed boat floating idly down the stream, loaded with produce, with a heavy, loose-jacketed, broad-leaf-hatted German lounging in the stern, smoking a painted or ornamented pipe, and you think of the pictures you have so often stared at in the windows of the print shops.

We begin to note the vineyards on the sloping banks, the vines on sticks four or five feet high, and sometimes in what appears to be unpromising looking ground.

We pa.s.s various little towns with unp.r.o.nounceable names, such as Niederdollendorf, for instance. We make occasional landings, and take on board women with queer head-dresses, and coa.r.s.e, black, short dresses, stout shoes, and worsted stockings, and men with many-b.u.t.toned jackets, holiday velvet vests, painted porcelain pipes, and heavy, hob-nailed shoes; children in short, blue, coa.r.s.e jean, and wooden shoes, all of whom occupy a position on the lower forward deck, among the light freight--chiefly provisions and household movables--that the steamer carries. The sh.o.r.es begin to show a background of hills; the Seven Mountains are in view, and Drachenfels (Dragon's Rock), with its castle perched eight hundred and fifty-five feet above the river, on its vine-clad height, realizes one's ideas of those ancient castles where the old robber chieftains of the middle ages established themselves, and from these strongholds issued on their freebooting expeditions, or watched the river for pa.s.sing crafts, from which to exact tribute. The scenery about here is lovely; the little villages on the banks, the vine-clad hills, little Gothic churches, the winding river, and the highlands swelling blue in the distance, all fill out a charming picture.

Still we glide along, and the arched ruin of Rolandseck, on its hill three hundred and forty feet above the river, appears in view. A single arch of the castle alone remains darkly printed against the sky, and, like all Rhine castles, it has its romantic story, which you read from your guide-book as you glide along the river, or hear told by some dreamy tourist, who has the romance in him, which the sight of these crumbling old relics of the past excites. And he tells you how Roland, a brave crusader of Charlemagne's army, left his lady love near this place, when he answered the summons of the monarch to the Holy Land; how the lady, after his prolonged absence, heard that he was dead, and betook herself to a convent on the picturesque little island of Nonnenworth; how the bold crusader, who had not been killed, hastened back on the wings of love, eager to claim his bride after his long absence, and found her in the relentless clutch of a convent; how, in despair, he built this castle, which commanded a view of the cloisters, where he could hear the sound of the convent bell, and occasionally catch a glimpse of a fair form that he knew full well, pa.s.sing to her devotions; how, at last, she came no more, but the tolling bell and nuns' procession told him that she whom he loved was dead; and how, from that moment, the knight spoke no more, but died heart-broken, his last gaze turned towards the convent where his love had died; and all that remains of the knightly lover's castle is the solitary wall that lifts its ruined arch distinct against the dark-blue sky.

We pa.s.s the little island of Nonnenworth; and the nunnery is still upon it, founded far back in the eleventh century, but rebuilt in the fifteenth, and suppressed by Napoleon in 1802, and now a sort of school under the management of Franciscan nuns. The view about here, looking down the river, is romantic and beautiful. On one side, on the more level country, lie several small villages; then, down along the banks of the river, rise the rugged cliffs, the ruined castles of Rolandseck and Drachenfels crowning two jutting points of the hills, and in the distance, mellowed by the haze, the peaks of the hills known as the Seven Mountains, and Lowenberg peak, crowned with a crumbling ruin, rise to view, which, with the little island and its convent for a foreground, form a charming picture.

We sail along, and make another landing for pa.s.sengers at Remagen.

Opposite Remagen we see a huge cliff, which rises nearly six hundred and fifty feet above the river, and is profitable, as well as picturesque, for it is a stone quarry, the product of which can be placed directly into the river craft at its base. The Rhine now describes a long curve, as we approach Nieder-Breisig. A little village called Duttenberg is wedged in between the hills, on a little river that empties into the Rhine, and, as we pa.s.s it, the tall, round, stone towers of Arenfels come in view. Then we reach Nieder-Breisig, and opposite is Rheineck, with its modern-built tower crowning the height. Then we come to the two Hammersteins, with their vineyards and castle, and then the picturesque old town of Andernach heaves in sight, with its tall watch-tower overlooking the river. Then come Kaltenengens and others, which I at last became tired of noting down, and enjoyed the afternoon sunset that was softening the vine-clad slopes, and lighting up the arches and windows of each ruined castle, chapel, or watch-tower that was sure to crown every conspicuous eminence, until, at last, our little steamer rounded in at the pier at Coblentz, with its fine hotels strung along near the river bank, and the Gibraltar of the Rhine, the grim old Castle of Ehrenbreitstein, looking down on us from its rocky eminence on the opposite sh.o.r.e.

Coblentz, the guide-books tell us, is a famous stopping-place for tourists on the Rhine, between Cologne and Mayence, being equi-distant from both. It is certainly a capital half-way resting-place, and, however pleasing the steamboat trip may have been, the traveller can but enjoy the change to one of the clean, well-kept hotels at this beautiful situation.

The hotel agents were at the pier,--spoke English and French fluently,--and we were soon installed into the pleasantest of rooms, commanding a view of the river, whose swiftly-flowing current rolls not fifty paces distant. A bridge of boats spans it, and high above the river bank rises the old castle, upon the battlements of which I can see the glitter of the sentinels' bayonets in the summer sunset.

The bridge of boats, and the pa.s.sengers who cross it, are a never-ceasing source of entertainment to us; soldiers and elegantly-dressed officers from the castle; country girls, with curious head-dresses; and now and then a holiday-rigged peasant; costermongers'

carts and dog-teams--one, consisting of three big dogs abreast, came over at full gallop, the driver, a boy, cracking his whip, and the whole team barking furiously. We saw a whole regiment of Prussian infantry, armed with the Prussian needle-gun, march over from the castle--a fine body of men, and headed by a band of forty pieces, playing in a style that would make the military enthusiasm, if the listener possessed any, tingle to the very soles of his feet. When steamboats or other craft desire to pa.s.s this floating bridge, a section is detached,--a sort of floating "draw,"--and suffered to swing out with the stream; the steamer pa.s.ses the gap; after which the detached section is pulled back to position again.

Right at this charming bend of the river, on one side of the town, flows the Moselle, as we call it, but Mozle, as you learn to p.r.o.nounce it in Europe--the blue Moselle. "On the banks of the blue Moselle," ran the old song; and as picturesque and poetical a river as can be imagined is the Moselle, with its arched bridge spanning it, and its sparkling stream winding through a lovely landscape; but the portion of Coblentz that borders on its bank is poor and dirty, and in striking contrast with the elegant buildings and bright appearance of the Rhine front of the town: the "blue" of the Moselle refuses to mix with the more turbid glacier-tinted Rhine, and for a long distance down the stream this blue makes itself visible and distinct from the Rhine water, till gradually absorbed by it.

We are now beginning to come to those charming hotels on the great lines of continental travel routes, which in Germany and Switzerland are not the least attractive features of the tour. Here at Coblentz I enjoy excellent accommodations, room fresh and fragrant, with clean linen, spotless curtains, and not a speck of dust visible, my windows commanding the charming Rhine panorama, waiters speaking French, German, and English, a well-served _table d'hote_, and all for less than half the price charged in America.