CHAPTER XLII.AN INLAND GERMAN CITY—MANNHEIM.

MR. TIBBITTS AND THE STUDENTS.

And so mugs were brought about twice the size of those they had been using. Tibbitts touched his opponent’s mug ingood-fellowship, after the custom, and putting his lips to it drank it off at one pull, and tapped on the table to have it re-filled, to the delight of the other colored caps, and the dismay of the reds. The President smiled in a sickly sort of way and drank. He finished the mug, and leering wildly around the room, made a feeble attempt to get his pipe to his mouth, reeled and fell prostrate. He was vanquished, and his friends bore him senseless from the floor.

“The idea of a mere German attempting to drink with a man who was weaned on Oshkosh whisky,” said Tibbitts, contemptuously. “I am now just in humor to tackle the Vice-President, Secretary and Treasurer of this Club, all at once.”

MR. TIBBITTS AND THE STUDENTS.

He did not, however, for they were all gone. But the honor of America was saved—according to the notion of Tibbitts.

A curious place is the famous restaurant on Haupstrasse, which for many years has been the resort of the University student. Here he sits and drinks his beer at a table that is literally covered with the names of students carved in the solid oak. Many of the names there engraved are now known the world over, though when they were cut there, many decades ago, the youthful carvers were great in literature, science or art, only in the dreams of their early manhood.

A RHINE STEAMER.

ITwas comfort to get out of the beaten routes of tourists, and find yourself in a city where you do not hear English, and where the sight-seer with the inevitable guide book and field-glass, does not display himself. It was a relief to get into a city that had not been half Anglicised and Americanized by the constant stream of tourists that pour over Europe every Summer, where you could see Germany and the Germans, pure and simple. Such a place is Mannheim, at the confluence of the Rhine and Neckar, twelve miles below Heidelberg.

MANNHEIM.

Mannheim is a delicious old city, once the seat of the grand Dukes of Baden, but now the seat of what is a great deal better than grand dukes, much merchandising and manufacturing. It is the only city in Europe that is laid out like Philadelphia, in regular squares.

The principal pride of the Mannheimers is their theater, and the Mannheimers have every reason to be proud of it, for, in addition to its being one of the best conducted in Europe, it iswhere Schiller and other great German poets won their first successes.

The Germans amuse themselves at public cost whenever possible. For instance, this beautiful theater, which contains costumes and stage sets for all the standard operas, is supported by the city government. There is a small fee for admission, (I believe the most expensive seat in the house is a trifle less than a dollar, and ranging down from that to ten cents), but the deficiency is put upon the tax duplicate and paid the same as other taxes.

Nowhere in Europe are better performances given, either operatic or dramatic. The principal characters are assigned to artists of the very highest order, the orchestra is made up of picked musicians, every one a soloist, and the chorus is not that mass of associated howlers that drive us mad in America; but the members are trained singers, as well as actors.

For the presentation of Wagner’s “Lohengrin” there was an orchestra of fifty-eight in number, a chorus of two hundred and fifty, and as many more supernumeraries. Nowhere is the detail of a presentation so carefully and conscientiously worked out, and nowhere an opera more satisfactorily given than in this little German city of less than fifty thousand.

The singers enter into a contract with the Direction for a term of years, and if they sing or act the full term they may go elsewhere, but they are pensioned by the city for life. Their salaries are very small, but the resultant pension is so comfortable a thing that they never break their engagements and never do slovenly work.

The Sunday night we reached Mannheim, Wagner’s “Lohengrin” was given, the performance commencing at half-past five in the afternoon and continuing till eleven at night. It was not as in American opera houses. There wasn’t a note omitted, a song, or line of text cut; the entire opera as it came from the composer was given with a degree of conscientious care that the American party had never heard before.

OPERA IN MANNHEIM.

Tibbitts was in a state of surprise all the time. First going to an opera, not a matinee, in daylight; and then another custom that was as novel and strange as the hour at which the performance began. After entering the vestibule wepassed through a long hallway lined with shelves; on these shelves the gentlemen placed their hats, overcoats, canes and umbrellas, and then passed into the auditorium without getting any check for the articles so left.

“Imagine,” said Tibbitts, “an American theater with a free cloak room in the lobby! How many hats, coats and walking sticks would be left by the time the entertainment was over? Think of such a thing in New York, or even Oshkosh! Why, in Oshkosh the boys out of one such audience would supply themselves with overcoats, hats and umbrellas for a year. It is a temptation even to me, as well as I have been brought up.”

The opera of Lohengrin is extremely difficult to render, but in this little German town of only forty-seven thousand inhabitants, it was done in a manner that would surprise the grand opera goers of New York, or even Paris or London. The stage settings were magnificent, every detail being most carefully and faithfully attended to.

TIBBITTS IN THE CLOAK ROOM.

Wagner’s music, to be fully appreciated and enjoyed, must be heard under the most favorable circumstances—at the Mannheim Court Theater, for instance. There is an individuality about it, an expression of thought by sound, that has never been equalled by any other composer. And when performed by such a company as that at Mannheim it rises to the sublime. Every member of that great company from the star down to the most humble member of the orchestra, was a thorough artist, and having had the very best training they interpreted the divine work of the great master in the same spirit in which it was conceived. It was a rare performance.

“Tannhauser” was the next opera, and performed as carefully as “Lohengrin”. It was enjoyed by the entire party except Tibbitts. He is not musical or asthetic. And so when the Young Man who Knows Everything went into raptures over the wonderful orchestra, Tibbitts spoke of it contemptuously as “sound factory.” And he jeered at the procession of pilgrims who, in the opera, are returning, to delicious music, from Rome, where they had been for their sins. “Yes, that’s the way of it. They load up with iniquity and go to Rome, if they are Catholics, or somewhere else if they are of other beliefs. Then they come back as good as new and entirely ready to take another load.”

He criticised other points in the opera. Tannhauser was in despair at having committed the unpardonable sin of heathen worship. “You see how it is. Other sinners who had merely committed murders and sins like that, made a pilgrimage to Rome and were absolved, but Tannhauser knew better. Religious power forgives everything except joining the opposition shop.” And he was particularly severe upon Tannhauser for confessing his sin to his love. “For,” he continued, “had he kept it to himself it would have been just as well. But I suppose it had to be. Had Tannhauser kept his counsel and married the girl, the opera would have closed at the second act.”

Mannheim is a purely commercial and manufacturing town. It enjoys a most picturesque situation. Its streets are regular and handsome, and in the outskirts of the city are numerous pretty parks, which add greatly to the beauty of the place.

When, in 1821, the Elector, Charles Philip had ecclesiastical differences with the Protestant citizens of Heidelberg, where up to that time he had his court, he transferred the seat to Mannheim, which from that time became an important place. The town was founded in 1606, and destroyed by the French eighty-three years later.

During the residence there of Charles Philip, the spacious castle, which occupies the entire southwestern portion of the town, was built, and though it suffered partial destruction in 1795, it has been restored, and with the lovely grounds surrounding it, forms one of the most attractive spots in Mannheim.

THE DIFFERENCE IN PEOPLE.

In appearance Mannheim is quite modern, though some of its buildings bear the impress of the hand of time. But as arule, its wealthy citizens, with the enterprise and go-ahead activity that characterizes a mercantile people, have erected solid substantial buildings of the most approved modern style, which gives the city the look of wealth and business success it possesses.

The theater, next to the castle, is probably the oldest building in the town. It was constructed during the last century, and restored in 1854.

The people of Mannheim are industrious, hard-working Germans, full of enterprise and business tact. During business hours they are always on duty, but, with the purely German characteristic, as soon as business is over they devote themselves to innocent amusement with as much gusto as they do to their work during the day. And the German citizen is not selfish in his enjoyments. He wants his whole family to partake of them with him. So in the evening, in the parks where the bands play, you will see him surrounded by his whole family, wife, daughters and sons, sipping beer, chatting with friends, and enjoying the music. They are a social lot of people, these Germans, and know full well how to get all the pleasure there is in life.

They differ materially from the French and the English. The French are full of life and vivacity that spur them up to an unusual state of activity all the time. They must have a constant excitement, and noise, and show, or they are miserable. He is the most generous man in speech and the closest man in action in the world. He is effusive. He will, on a steamer, embrace you at parting, and insist upon your making his house your home when you visit Paris. He will swear that he will devote his whole time to you, that he will take it as a mortal affront if you do not command him, and all that. But don’t take too much stock in it. He doubtless means it while he is saying it, but when he reaches Paris, and you find him there, it is quite another thing. You are not necessary to his happiness any more, and in the most adroit and suave way he gets rid of you, and forever.

Very like people the world over, however. The man who applauds a virtuous sentiment the most vehemently at a theater is the very fellow who will go home and kick his wife, and thewildest approver of patriotic sentiments is the very man who goes to Canada to avoid a draft, or jumps the bounty for a thousand dollars. The Frenchman makes the best outward show of any one in the world, but his goodness is very thin. It will not bear the solid weight of actual use.

The Englishman delights in what he is pleased to think dignity, but what is really overweening conceit. He is pompous, dull and heavy. If he does a good thing, he does it in such a way as to make it an offense.

The German is neither the one nor the other. He goes through life tranquilly, in perfect content with himself, always making the best of his opportunities, and in a perfectly rational way getting all the enjoyment he possibly can.

He does not profess to be your friend unless he is so in good faith, and when he invites you to his house he always means it. He is rather careful about his friendships, for as he never falsifies in this, he needs to be, but when once said it is done. A rare good man to meet is your German. He has his peculiarities, but he is good and solid all the way through.

In Mannheim, as in all German communities, the absurd American fashion of treating is most sternly discountenanced and tabooed. The true German will not have it at all, at any price. Your friend asks you to join him in a bottle of wine, and you accept, but that does not mean that he pays for your drink. Not at all. He desires you to join him because you are his friend, because he likes your society, and because he wants to talk to you and have you talk to him. And when the bottle, or three, as a German says, is consumed each pays for what he has had and they go their way.

Consequently the bar-room beat so common in America is an unknown institution in Germany, and the beery, bloated pimpled faces hanging around public places waiting for invitations are never seen.

A TREATISE ON TREATING.

Mr. Tibbitts most heartily approved of this custom. He remarked that the American system of treating came very nearly ruining him. In Oshkosh he had a very large circle of close friends, who loved him dearly. They were very fond of him, why, he would not say, because he was a modest man. It might have been that they admired his physical graces, orpossibly his intellectual endowments—men have tastes that cannot be accounted for. I met one gentleman on this trip who admired the Young Man who Knows Everything; that is, he said he rather liked him.

He was studying law in Oshkosh, and after wrestling all the forenoon with his studies he was, naturally, mentally as well as physically exhausted.

“I tell you,” said Mr. Tibbitts, “when a young and enthusiastic student at law has been poring all day over the pages of Walter Scott, or Dickens, or Thackeray, with only an occasional intermission at a beer-shop across the street, without feeling something like a squeezed lemon, he is a strong man indeed. I am physically fragile, and my active mental nature makes fearful drains upon my body.

“And so on my way to my boarding house for dinner I was accustomed to stop over a minute at the Spread Eagle Hotel, to take one solitary cock-tail, which I really needed as a bracer, as it were, to the system; something that would encourage nature to the point of taking in a full meal, a meal that would hold me up to the work of the afternoon.

“Now here is where the infernalism of the American system comes in. There would be at the bar every day at the same hour seven fellows, all good, jolly men, all particular friends of mine, who came there, as I did, for just one drink. Now, understand, I went in there for one drink, which I felt I needed, and one drink only. But seeing the other seven in classical poses about the bar, I could do no less than to ask them to join me, which, in the freshness of youth and the first blush of a strong manhood, they always did promptly. After a minute of joyous conversation, Snedeker would wink at the barkeeper, who would set before us another. More talk, a little more cheerful than before, and Wilson would insist upon all drinking with him. Still more talk, and Adams would consider it an offense if we did not take just one more with him.

“By this time any one of us would have taken something with anybody, for good sense, that faithful though easily overcome sentinel over our passions, had been driven out, and we were on the high road to inebriety. And there we wouldstand, and stand, taking ‘just another one,’ till we had forgotten all about dinner and everything pertaining to life, except of that article contained in the bottles before us.

“I have known these incidents to cover a great space of time and much territory. I have gone into the Spread Eagle for just one cock-tail, and in consequence of the infernal American system of treating, have found myself a day or two later in St. Louis, paying a most recklessly incurred hotel bill from money obtained by pawning my watch and overcoat. And once I extended the excursion as far as New Orleans, and probably would have gone on through Mexico if delirium tremens had not kindly put in an estopper.

“If we did in America as they do in Germany I should have gone in and taken one cock-tail and gone to my dinner and returned to my studies, and gone home to my supper and have been a good and useful citizen.”

And Tibbitts having got fairly launched upon the wide ocean of drinking continued:

“Americans are fools in their way of drinking. All other peoples have a defined idea of what they want to accomplish with stimulants, but the American has not. Your Englishman wants to get stupid drunk; he wants forgetfulness, which I can’t blame him for. Were I living in England I should want forgetfulness in large doses. I don’t blame an Englishman, condemned to London climate and London customs, for drinking. The Frenchman and German drink just enough to produce the requisite hilarity, the general good feeling which light stimulants in moderation produces, and then they quit. An American does nothing of the sort. He drinks through all the stages, the slightly exhilerant, the mild hilarious, the boisterous idiotic, the brutally quarrelsome, the pitiful maudlin, and then slips off his chair harmless because helpless.

“Why, I have heard a nine-tenths drunken man rouse up his companion by shaking him, with the appeal: ‘Jimmy, rouse up! Can’t youstandanother one?’

WHY MR. TIBBITTS WAS NOT A TEMPERANCE LECTURER.

“Just think of it! In this fellow’s case there was no pleasure to be had from the drinking of ‘another one.’ His poor, outraged stomach rebelled against it, the very smell of it was death, and the taste worse than death, and yet he wasasked if he could not endure ‘another one!’ He was asked if his abused system could not be further outraged. And he did manage to stagger up to the bar and swallow another dose of poison, which was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. His indignant stomach deposited it on the floor with great promptness. A moment’s rest, and he did take ‘another one,’ and subsided into a miserable sleep.

“I have seen so much of the infernalism of the American treating system that I could deliver a wonderful lecture upon that and kindred temperance subjects.”

“Why don’t you lecture on temperance?” asked one of the party.

“Alas! I am not a reformed drunkard,” was Tibbitts reply.

Then up spoke the Young Man who Knows Everything.

“My dear sir, all you have to do is to reform.”

Tibbitts disdained to answer this, and walked moodily away.

MAYENCE.

ESCHENHEIM TOWER.RÖMER.LUTHER’S HOUSE.

ESCHENHEIM TOWER.

RÖMER.LUTHER’S HOUSE.

We had a great deal of trouble to get out of Mannheim. All German railroad officials are in uniform, and the regulations are about as strict in the railroad service as in the military. The train we were compelled to take left at six o’clock in the morning, and we were at the station promptly. That is, we had four of five minutes in which to get our tickets, see to our baggage and go on. We hurried to the little window in the ticket-office, but it was down. Through the window we could see the official in an ordinary coat, and we knocked on the glass. He did not open it, but sat there, nervously consulting his watch. The minutes were rushing on, tumbling over each other with frightful rapidity. But still he did not open the window, and we were ticketless, and the train was within a minute of departure.

RED-TAPE.

What was the matter? Why simply this: The ticket agenthad sent his uniform coat out to be brushed and the boy had not returned with it. He would no more think of selling a ticket except with that blue coat on, buttoned up to the chin, and with every button there, than he would have thought of cutting off his right hand. It mattered not that passengers were waiting, it mattered not that the engine was whistling its last warning notes, that coat was not brushed and on the official’s back, and no tickets could be sold till it was.

Fortunately the boy came with the coat, the official got it on somehow, the train waited two or three minutes, tickets were sold hurriedly and we did get away.

What would have happened if the boy had not come back with the coat at all, no one can answer.

Certainly no one would have got tickets till he got his coat, and we should all have missed our train.

Red-tape is a great institution, and nowhere do you see more of it than in Germany. But we got away finally to Frankfort.

Contrasting strangely with Mannheim’s straight streets and quiet unpretentious business blocks, is the very peculiar city of Frankfort, where within a stone’s throw of each other are streets so entirely different, that in one you may imagine yourself on Broadway, while in the other you may with equal propriety consider yourself set back five or six hundred years.

New Frankfort is the newest city I know of. It is more fresh and recent than Broadway. It is very like Broadway, except that its buildings are less garish, and more solidly built.

The line between the old and the new is only a street, and the old is the oldest in Europe, as the new is the newest. The contrast is wonderful. It is the fourteenth century and the nineteenth shaking hands across the chasm of time. It is the mediæval knight and the London exquisite side by side. The same may be seen in all European cities, but nowhere so striking as in Frankfort.

Approaching the city you see the old watch towers high on the hills that surround the environs of Frankfort, those remaining monuments of the reign of force, when the people, ruled mercilessly by the nobles, erected these towers from which the usurpers watched each other. Germany is not yet free fromthis kind of rule; it has merely taken a different form. Gunpowder changed the form of force, but not its spirit. These once impregnable fortresses would not stand a minute before the artillery of the present, and so they are abandoned. But in their stead are the regiments we saw in Mannheim and everywhere else, each one a fortress of flesh and blood. Germany will get rid of the whole of it one of these days, and the million of men employed to support that one unmitigated curse of the world, royalty, will be added to the productive power of the country instead of living upon it.

STREET ON THE RÖMERBERG.

SOLID BUILDINGS.

As we leave the fine station and enter the wide “Anlagen,” or public grounds, that completely encircle the city and are lined with handsome buildings, it is hard to realize that the city of Frankfort dates from the time of Charlemagne, and that it has for centuriesplayed an important part in the history of Germany. From the year 1152 the German emperors were chosen in Frankfort.

The Kaiser-strasse leads directly to the center of the city, and is lined with magnificent business blocks and dwellings. The street is wide and well kept, the buildings are all of the modern style of architecture, built of cut stone, and they present a fresh and attractive appearance.

Speaking of buildings in European cities, it would be fortunate for us of America if we could imitate them ever so slightly. In London I visited a steam fire engine house, and was amused at the clumsiness of the apparatus, and the slowness in general of the entire concern. The horses, for instance, were stabled around a corner! In New York the horses are in the same room with the engine, fastened so they may be unhitched by electricity, the men sleep in their clothes above, and everything is arranged so that in one second the engine is on the street, and on its way to the fire on a run.

“How long does it take you to get out upon the street?” I asked.

“From seven to ten minutes.”

“Why, in America we get out in two and one-half seconds.”

“Y-a-a-s, and so would we,if we built tinder boxes.”

There he had me and had me badly. There is no necessity for rapid and extensive fire departments in Europe, for the houses are not mere lumber yards, as with us. When a man wants to build in a European city he has to get a license. His plans are submitted to the authorities, and, if approved, a proper authority stands over the work and sees that it is properly built. You are not permitted to run up a fire trap in the midst of valuable property; you are not permitted to build a showy sham that may be burned to the ground in ten minutes. Nothing of the sort. Your walls must be solid, your staircases of stone, and open, not of pine with the space under them for coal-oil depositories, there must be so many escapes from the building, the roof must be metal or slate, and the walls must be so built that a fire cannot get beyond the room in which it originates, and the only damage that can possibly result is the destruction of the contents of the room, and such damage as smoke and water may inflict. When a fire occursin one room in a house, the people in the other rooms keep on as usual. It does not annoy them, for the fire cannot spread.

FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAINE—THE JEWS’ STREET.

THE JEWS’ STREET.

No one dreads to occupy a room on the fourth floor of a European hotel, for the idea of fire never occurs to one. Theyseldom have fires, and when one occurs it is counted a misdemeanor on the part of the owner of the premises.

This all comes of solid and substantial buildings, to begin with. As a matter of course, a house costs something at the start, but when you get through you have a house for all time. The modern buildings in Frankfort will be standing and in good repair centuries hence. I wish I could live to verify this assertion, but I suppose I shall not.

Going on through the Kossmarkt, where there is a fine monument to Gutenberg, we came to the Zeil, a very beautiful street, and then, turning to the right, found ourselves in the celebrated Judengasse, or Jews’ street, one of the most dingy, wretched, forlorn quarters that can well be imagined.

The street is narrow, dirty, and squalid. The houses are high structures in the last stages of decay, many of them having great props to keep them from falling. The inmates of these apologies for houses are as dirty and squalid as the street itself. There are little pawn shops, dirty shops where old clothes are sold, an occasional tenement house, and very many liquor stores. It is the very acme of squalor and is in great contrast with the elegance of the Zeil, only a block or two away.

A dirty, squalid, beggarly-looking street is Judengasse, but who knows what wealth is hidden behind all this apparent poverty? The Jew of to-day is no less acute than the Jew of the fourteenth century. He has all the wisdom of his ancestors in money getting, with the added experience of time. He can no longer be hauled up by a mailed knight, and compelled to disgorge; but in the stead of the robber, by the strong hand, there is the tax-gatherer; and, in his passion for the accumulation of wealth and disinclination to part with it, the Frankfort Israelite hates the one as heartily as his ancestor did the other. The American Israelite lives as bravely and ostentatiously as any man, and even more so, but the habit in the old European cities is to conceal wealth, to live meanly, and to find enjoyment, not in the using of money but its accumulation.

This street has always been set apart for Jews, and down to the year 1806 it was closed every evening, and on Sundays and holidays, throughout the entire day, and no one of itsinhabitants were allowed in any other part of the city, under heavy penalty. Until the time of the Prince Primate, in 1806, no Jew was ever allowed to enter the Römerberg, or market place in front of the town hall. It is said that while the persecutions of the Jews from the twelfth to the seventeenth century throughout the continent was merciless, it continued longer in Germany than any other country, coming down, in Frankfort, even to the present century.

Notwithstanding the abridgement of their rights, a great many of the Jews attained wealth and distinction. The house is still pointed out in Judengasse where the Rothschilds, the founders of the present great banking house, lived during those troublous times.

It is the same old story. The Jews, despised, persecuted and outraged in every way, bore everything patiently, waiting for the time for their revenge. And their revenge has come in every country. In the olden days, in all the countries of Europe, the Jew had no rights which any other nationality or blood was bound to respect. He was outside of the law. He was taxed at the caprice of every prince and power. He had no chance in any court where a Christian was opposed to him, and when they differed among themselves, it was made a pretext to rob him. The most absurd laws were made against them, and it really seemed as though the native rulers and their subjects laid awake nights to invent ways to oppress them.

All this has changed. With a power of endurance simply wonderful, they bowed their heads to their oppressors, and, as all oppressed people do, substituted cunning for brute strength, and trained minds for lusty thews and sinews. They won in the end.

The despised family of Rothschild, once compelled by the haughty citizens to confine themselves to one quarter of the city, is now its boast. The Frankforter takes more pride to-day in the fact that the city was the home of the Rothschilds, than it does in the fact that it was for centuries the seat of government of the German Empire. The Jew in Europe, while yet under something of a ban, is not the despised creature he was. The world has learned to respect him.

SOMETHING ABOUT JEWS.

There is not a calling in Europe that a Jew is not at thevery head and front of. He has composed all the great operas, the sons and daughters of Judea are the great actors and singers of the world; in law and divinity, and learning of all kinds, they stand at the head, and in finance they are the world’s creditors. A convention of Jew bankers could be called together who could shake every throne in Europe.

Kings and nobles don’t pull the teeth of Jews any more to extract loans. On the contrary, they come into the presence of these great financiers with hat in hand and humble step. The Jew holds the forceps now, and it is the noble’s teeth that are pulled. How, in the absence of all law, hated, despised and contemned, and persecuted, they could amass wealth, is a mystery, but they did it.

When persecution in one State got too warm for them they always had enough wealth to get away to another, and they always found a prince who needed money badly enough to give them protection, for a time, at least, and these same princes were wont to become silent partners with the Jews in the work of eating up their own subjects with usury, which held until the Jews got the upper hand, when the prince always made a raid upon them, paying his debts to them in this way, and they flitted.

Finally they got some measure of rights, when they made themselves felt. The hatred of Jews continues in Germany and Russia, for the reason that their superior energy and acuteness has made them the masters of the trade of those countries. There is no business that they do not control. A great people are the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. They live where all others die, they wax rich where others starve. It is so in Europe, it is so in America, it is so everywhere. There is no village so small that it has not its Jew, precisely as in America. The Jew with his goods is the first man in a new town—he progresses a little faster than progress. He was in the front or in the rear of the armies going southward; he was at the western end of every rail laid on the Pacific Road; he is essentially the pioneer in money and trade. They are a wonderful people.

The Jew of the fifteenth century and the Jew of to-day are practically the same. They use different methods, but theunderlying principle that moves them remains unchanged. We had two of them in the cars coming to Frankfort, an elderly Israelite with the regular nose, and his nephew, who was the exact picture of his uncle. The old man was giving the boy sage counsel:

“Vot is necessary for a peesnis man, Abram, is berseverance more ash anyting else. Berseverance is vot vins, every dime. Ven I livet in Shalesfille, shust back mit Vicksberg, (I vas in clodink), der vash Cohen and Lilienthal both in groceries. Cohen vas doin der besht peesness and it made Lilienthal mat. Lilienthal mate a special ding oof mackarel and Cohen unterselt him. Den Lilienthal put down sugar but Cohen unterselt him. Lilienthal put rice down mit almosht nottin, unt Cohen almosht gif it avay. Cohen het de peesnis, and no matter how much Lilienthal sanded hees sugar and vatered hees vishkey Cohen alvays beet him. Dot Cohen vas a goot peesnis man.

“But Lilienthal vash de most berseverin’ man ash ever vash, and he vash pound to beat Cohen anyhow, and so vun day he notist dot Cohen het a fery fine delivery mule. So Lilienthal he sait to Cohen:

“ ‘Shake, dit you efer dink dot oof dot mule oof yours hed dot wart off his hint leg he wood pring you more ash dwice vot he vood now?’

“ ‘Dot wart? It don’t look vell. But how ish dot wart to be got off? Der hint leg oof a helty mule isn’t der pesht blace to go foolin rount.’

“Lilienthal vas a most berseverin’ man. He sait:

“ ‘It’s der easiest ting vot efer vos. You come up behint dot mule mit a red hot iron and burn off der wart. De mule is vort a huntret tollars more ash he vas.’

“Cohen triet it der next tay, unt hish funeral vash der piggest vot dey efer hat in Shalesfille. Lilienthal attented it hisself in two carriages, an’ he vent right along and did all de peesness, and at a goot brofit, vor he hedn’t no gompetishun. Lilienthal vosh a berseverin’ man, Abram. Der ain’t notting in peesness like berseverance. Remember dot.”

THE RÖMER.

In a historic point of view, very interesting is the Römer, or Council Hall, erected about the year 1406. It faces the Römerberg, and its three pointed gables give it a picturesqueappearance. In the principal hall on the second floor are “Portraits of the Emperors,” beginning with Charlemagne (768-814),

“DER HINT LEG OOF A HELTY MULE ISN’T DER PESHT BLACE TO GO FOOLIN’ ROUNT.”

and Conrad I. (911-918), and coming down to Ferdinand III. (1637-1658). It was in this room the new emperor dined with the electors and then showed himself to the people assembled in the market place in front. Adjoining this room is a smaller one, in which the electors used to meet to consulton the choice of an emperor. It is still preserved in the style of the olden days.

Of course Frankfort has fine churches and a cathedral, but there is no especial merit in them.

Near the monument erected on the Friedberger Thor by Frederick William II. to the memory of the Hessians who fell in 1792, during the attack on Frankfort, is a small circular building which contains one of the most beautiful as well as most celebrated works of art in Germany, if not in Europe.

A wealthy banker, named Bethman, purchased from the artist, Dannecker, of Stuttgart, his masterpiece, the exquisite “Ariadne on the Panther,” and erected this building for its exhibition. In one part of the room is a recess, separated from the room by a crimson curtain. The ceiling is of glass, across which is stretched some heavy crimson cloth stuff. This filters the light, soft and subdued upon the group, producing a most beautiful effect. The figure of Ariadne, nearly life-size, is half sitting, half reclining on the back of the panther, one elbow resting on the animal’s head. The position is one of grace itself, and the modeling is perfect. As the soft light is shed upon the pure white marble, one can almost believe that it is the figure of a living, breathing woman before him. The effect is greatly heightened by the arrangement of the pedestal which allows the statue to be slowly revolved, thus giving the peculiar light and shade effect to every part. It is truly a most marvelous piece of statuary, and is worthy the admiration and praise bestowed upon it by the most eminent critics.

During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Frankfort derived the most of her importance from the great fairs that were held there annually. Merchants came from all parts of the country, with their stuffs, and made the old city, for the time being, a great commercial center, a position its excellent location especially adapted it for. But later, these fairs lost their prestige, and finally died away altogether, though occasionally they have an industrial exposition. But they are nothing compared to the fairs of the olden time.

THE LOVELY GARDENS.

While we were in Frankfort an Industrial Exposition was in progress which, of course, we visited, and spent at least two hours very pleasantly, wandering around the different buildingsand the beautiful grounds. The display was about equal to an ordinary State Fair in Western America. The most enjoyable portion of it all was the ride back to the depot, through the floral gardens, with their magnificent flowers and plants and shrubs, and along the broad Anlagen, with their handsome residences and well kept lawns.

COLOGNE CATHEDRAL.

WHATa flood of anticipations came trooping through the mind at the mere thought of a sail “Down the Rhine.” Down that famous old river, every mile the scene of a legend; the river in whose praise poets have sung for ages; whose every turn reveals a castle or fortress that has figured for centuries in story and song! What visions of wooded banks, vine-clad hills, and ivy-covered ruins! What pure, unalloyed pleasure a trip “Down the Rhine” must be!

And it is. Poets may have written what seemed to be over-wrought praises of its marvelous beauty; writers may have gone into ecstacies over its beauty, its grandeur and its sublimity, but they have none of them exaggerated. It is all that has been said of it, and more.

We were whirled into the fortified city of Mayence, a place that has long been an important strategical point, early in the afternoon of a lovely day in August. The sun was shining brightly, the river was clear and limpid, and everything was propitious. Favorable, indeed, began our trip down the Rhine.

Sailing down the river, past the grim fortifications on both sides, we pass between two islands, and soon reach the pretty little town of Biebrich, where, in A.D. 840, Louis the Pious, son and successor of Charlemagne, died.

The river at this point begins to assume a bolder and more picturesque appearance than it did near Mayence, and as we approach Eltville we get the first glimpse of a ruined castle, built in 1330, by Baldwin, Archbishop of Treves, who was then Governor of Mayence. It stands high up the bank, and is almost hidden from view by the trees that surround it. Just beyond, back of a low-lying island, is the town of Erbach, near which are some old abbey’s ruins.

“BINGEN ON THE RHINE.”

From here the river is dotted with little islands whose irregular shape and diversified surface adds a new charm to the scene; while over on the right bank, in a commanding position, surrounded by fruitful vineyards, is the celebrated Schloss Johannisberg, built in 1716 on the site of an old Benedictine monastery founded in 1106. Around this old castle, which is in good repair, are the vineyards from which come the famous Johannisberger wines, the favorite of all Rhine wines. From this point all along the river to the “Siebengeberger” or “Seven Mountains,” the vineyards that clothe the banks of the river are famous for their exquisite wines.

A few minutes further on and on the same bank Rüdesheim comes into sight, flanked by the massive Brömserburg, a massive castle, with ivy-grown walls, that towers high above the little town below it. This is another famous wine-producing district, its fame having been handed down from as far back as the twelfth century. The castle, a three-storied rectangular building, was erected in the twelfth century, and has but recently been restored.

With a graceful sweep that reveals new beauties every minute, we came in sight of Bingen, “fair Bingen on the Rhine,” just where the River Nahe empties into the noble stream. High above it, on a thickly wooded eminence, on the site of an ancient Roman fortress, is the Castle Klopp, with its frowning battlements and forbidding towers.

No one can see what there is about Bingen to make it famous. It never would have been famous but for the Hon. Mrs. Norton, an English poetess, who found the name to be properly accented, and of the right number of syllables for use in a poem, which she wrote. It will be known so long as the platform is infested with readers and there are school exhibitions.

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