Chapter IX (3)

Beyond the road, beneath shady trees, is the Trink Halle, or, as the English have dubbed the place, the pump-room, probably because there is no pump there, except the natural one of the springs, whose mineral waters are conducted into ornamental fountains, which the drinkers and bathers visit at seven A. M., to the inspiriting and lively music of an excellent band. This pump-room is a long, one-story building, two hundred and seventy feet long and thirty-six wide, the façade resting on sixteen Corinthian pillars. Beneath the façade, and upon large panels of the building behind the colonnade of pillars, are fourteen great frescoes, executed by an artist named Götzenbreger, and representing pictorially some of those wild legends and weird stories of magic and enchantment for which Germany is so noted.

Baden, be it remembered, lies at the entrance of the celebrated Black Forest, popularly inhabited by various powerful enchanters, gnomes, dwarfs, and sprites. These great pictures were all handsomely executed, but the weather, to which they are partially exposed, is rapidly fading away their rich tints. There was one, representing a beautiful, light-haired, blue-eyed German girl, with but a light drapery flowing around her shapely limbs as she walked down to a mountain stream with her arm on the neck of a snow-white stag: an entranced huntsman knelt upon the opposite bank, gazing at this lovely vision; and while he gazed, one busy gnome was twisting a tough bramble about his ankle, another huge-headed fellow was reaching out from beneath a rock, and severing his bow-string, while a third, a sturdy, belted and hooded dwarf, was robbing his quiver of its arrows: all around, the rocks looked out in curious, wild, and grotesque faces; they leered from the crags, grinned from pebbles in the water, or frowned awfully from the great crags above the hunter, who, dazzled by the enchantress, sees nothing of this frightful scene, which is like the figures of a troubled dream--thoroughly phantasmagoric and German. Another picture shows a brave knight just on the point of espousing a weird lady before an abbot, the satanic glare of whose eyes betrays his infernal origin; cock-crow has evidently prevented these nuptials, as at one side chanticleer is represented vigorously sounding his clarion, and in the foreground lies another figure of the same knight in a deep sleep. Other scenes represent encounters of shepherds with beautiful water-sprites or Undines of the mountain lakes and rivers, knights at enchanted castles, and sprites in ruined churches, each one being the pictorial representation of some well-known legend of the vicinity.

We arrived at Baden on Saturday, after dark, and I was roused Sunday morning to look out upon the scene I have described, by the music of a magnificent band, which commenced with the grand hymn of Old Hundred; then a piece from Handel; next came the grand Wedding March of Mendelssohn; and we looked from our windows to see throngs of people promenading up and down the piazza in front of the Trink Halle, to the inspiriting harmony, or coming in every direction from the different hotels and _pensions_, or boarding-houses, for their morning drink of spring-water. Gradually the music assumed a livelier character, till it wound up with sprightly quadrilles and a lively polka, played with a spirit that would almost have set an anchorite in a dancing fever.

A fit illustration was this of the regard for the Sabbath in this headquarters of the enemy of man, where, at noon, the great doors of the gambling-house swung open, and the _rouge-et-noir_ and roulette tables were at once thronged with players, without intermission, till midnight.

This great gaming-house, which has been so often described, is styled the Conversation-haus, and is beautifully fitted up with drawing-rooms, lofty and elegant ball-room, with each end opening out into magnificent gardens, that are rich in parterres of flowers, shady alleys, beautiful trees, fountains, and statues. During the afternoon and evening these gardens are thronged, the magnificent band plays the choicest of music, elegantly-dressed people saunter amid the trees and flowers, or sit at little tables and sip light wines, eat ices, and chat; you hear German, French, English, and Italian amid the clatter of voices in any momentary lull of the music; you may order your ice-cream in any of these languages, and a waiter is at hand to understand and serve you; you may spend the whole day in this beautiful spot, enjoy music that you gladly pay a concert price at home to hear, without a penny expense, or even the remotest hint for remuneration from any servant, except it be for the refreshments you order--for the proprietor of the gaming establishment gladly defrays all the expenses, for the privilege he enjoys exclusively, and he pays besides the sum of sixty thousand dollars per annum; so we enjoy it somewhat freely, although we cannot help reflecting, however, that those who really bear the expense are the victims insnared in the glittering and alluring net which they themselves help to weave.

From the flutter of passing butterflies of fashion, the clatter of tongues, the moving throng, and rich strains of music, we pass through the noiselessly swinging doors that admit us to the almost hushed inner court of the votaries of chance. Here, as at Wiesbaden, the only voices above a subdued tone are those of the dealers, with their regular formula of expression, while ever and anon, following the rattle of the roulette wheel, comes the clink of the gold and silver which the presiding high priests of Mammon rake into the clutches of the bank. People of every grade, nation, and profession jostle each other at these tables. Here all meet on a common level, and rank is not recognized. The only rank here is the guinea-stamp, and that, if the possessor conduct himself in an orderly manner, insures prince and peasant an equal chance at the tables. The language used is French.

I have seen beautiful young ladies, scarce turned nineteen, seated here next their young husbands, with whom they were making their bridal tour, jostled by the elegant Parisian member of the demi-monde, whose noble "friend" hands her a thousand francs to enjoy herself with for a while; young students, trembling, eager old men; raw Americans, taking a "flyer;" and sometimes astonishing the group by the magnitude of their bets; old women, Russian counts, who commence by getting several notes changed into a big pile of gold, which steadily diminishes beneath the assaults they make on the bank, with as little effect as raw infantry charging against a fortified breastwork; nay, I even saw the sallow countenance of a Turk, looking on from beneath his fez cap, while its owner fumbled uneasily at his girdle till he had detached his purse, and gratified his curiosity by losing a few gold pieces; professional gamblers, sharpers, women of uncertain character; old, young, and middle-aged, all sacrificing at the same shrine.

"But some win?"

Yes, and the very ones whose success is least expected. Old habitués will study the combination of figures for weeks, and keep a record of the numbers, and the order in which they turn up, and then, having, by mathematical certainty, made sure of lucky numbers, stake--and lose. The croupiers go on regularly, mechanically, and, unmoved by success or loss, or whatever takes place about them, they rake in heavy stakes, and pay out huge losses, without moving a muscle of their countenances, or betraying the least emotion, raking in a huge stake while I was watching the game that made even the old habitués glare at the player, without even so much as a glance at him, and paying out a big loss with only the simple dialogue,--

"_Billets du banque?_"

"_Non._"

And a dozen rouleaux of twenty-franc pieces were pushed over to the winner.

I saw one of these unexpected winners, in the person of a young Heidelberg student, who commenced with a couple of Napoleons (forty francs). He won; doubled his stake, won again; doubled, and won again; then he took up the pile of gold, and placed two double Napoleons (eighty francs) on a single number; it came up, and the bank paid him the amount won, which was fifteen or twenty times the amount of his stake; he put this whole heap on _rouge_ (red), and the ball fell in rouge, and he won, and the amount was doubled; he moved the increased heap to _noir_ (black), and won again! He pulled the heap of loose gold, rouleaux, and notes towards him; players looked up, an obsequious servant brought a chair for him to sit down, and two or three friends gathered at his back; he crammed gold and notes--all but five twenty-franc pieces--promiscuously into his pantaloons pocket, bet those five on the red, won; moved the ten to the black, won again; the twenty to another figure, and won thrice his stake.

By this time other players began to follow him in their bets; he put forty francs on a single number, and half a dozen players crowded their bets on to the same.

It lost.

Nothing daunted, they followed him, and rained down their Napoleons upon the black; this time they were rewarded; black won.

The student pocketed his heap of gold again, all except five pieces, and then with that capital bet again; lost three of the five; tried a single number with one Napoleon, lost, of course; put the other on the black, won again; balanced the two pieces on his fingers for a moment, while half a dozen players were watching him, and then put one on the black again, which in an instant was almost obscured by the thick plating of metal that followed the lead of his stake from other players.

"_Rouge, dix-huit._"

Down came the croupier's rake, and away rattled the glittering heap towards the banker, while the student smilingly balanced his remaining Napoleon in a sort of uncertain manner on his forefinger, then turned and whispered a word to his friends, rose and tossed the twenty francs magnificently to the servant who had handed him a chair, and who was still behind him, and then, with bulging pockets, walked away.

Baden is beautifully situated, and its scenery and surroundings charming. A broad, well-kept, and shady avenue commences opposite our hotel, and affords a splendid drive of over two miles, and, like the drive at Newport, is frequented by gay equipages during the fashionable season. Then there are the old and new castles above the town, reached by winding and romantic roads, and from the summit of the former a fine view of the valley of the Rhine, and the beautiful valley of Baden, with its great hotels, elegant grounds, and pretty villas.

The bazaar, a sort of open-air fair of booths, in a pleasant grove, not far from the grounds of the Conversation-haus, is another novelty, and an attractive one to foreigners; for here is a collection of all those miscellaneous trinkets that tourists load themselves down with, such as carved wood of Switzerland, garnets from Prague, worsted work from Berlin, shaded photographs from Munich, all sorts and kinds of sleeve-buttons, breast-pins, shawl-pins, ivory carvings, ribbons, crystals from the Alps, leather work from Vienna, and a thousand and one curious and pretty articles to tempt the taste of purchasers.

We left the beautiful Hotel de l'Europe, with its pleasant rooms, elegant _table d'hote_, and prompt attention, with regret, for two reasons: one, that it was so agreeable a place of rest; and the other, that the price, at this most expensive of the hotels, with all its privileges, was less than two dollars per diem.

Up and away, for we must see the grand old Cathedral of Strasburg--a two hours' journey; and here we are, at the magnificent portal of this edifice, founded by old King Clovis, in 510. The carvings above the portal are magnificent. Here are equestrian statues of Clovis, Dagobert, and other old worthies, elegantly wrought, amid a wealth of rich tracery and carving; but as the spectator looks up, up, up, at the magnificent cathedral tower and spire, soaring away into the air till it seems to have a needle-like sharpness, he gets almost dizzy with gazing; and, upon being informed that the ascent of this highest spire in the world is not unattended with danger, of coarse all Americans are seized with an uncontrollable desire to ascend it; and so were we.

So we took a look at the splendid front, with the two great square towers, something after the style of those of York Minster or Westminster Abbey, with a huge rose window between them; the elegant Gothic architecture of arches, pillars, and points; the grand, arched portal, crowded, every inch of it, with carving and statues; and finally, up again at the light steeple, which, from one of the square towers, rose into the air with such grace and boldness.

We enter direct from the street, pay the custodian at the foot of a flight of stairs of easy ascent, and, ladies and all, begin the climb-up. We go till we have trodden over three hundred and thirty stairs, and find ourselves two hundred and thirty feet above the street, upon a place called the platform. Here are several rooms, and a custodian lives up here, who acts as a watchman for fires, has general charge of the place, keeps a visitors' register, and sells stereoscopic views. The panoramic view from here is superb, and this point, which is about two thirds of the way up, is as high as ladies generally ascend; for the remainder of the ascent, which is by circular staircases on four sides of the tower, requires some nerve and steadiness of head, the masonry being of open-work, with the apertures nearly large enough for the body to pass through, while the staircases, which are winding and narrow, are likely to provoke an attack of giddiness. I could compare the ascent to nothing but an ant climbing a corkscrew. Every turn brought us to these great wrought openings, which, from the ground, appeared like delicate lacework, and which seemed to give one the feeling, as he went round and round, as if he were swinging and swaying in the network between heaven and earth; and the wind, which pipes, whistles, rushes, roars, and sighs, in every variety of tone, and apparently from every point of the compass, owing to the innumerable and different-shaped openings, adds to this illusion.

Breathless, we reach a circular gallery running round outside, and at the top of the square part of the steeple, and pause, clinging to the stone-work of the balustrade to look at the fine view, which takes in Baden, the Black Forest, the Rhine, and the chain of the Jura, in the distance.

Still higher! Here we are at the base of a pyramid of light, ornamental turrets, which gradually converge towards a point, and support the "lantern" above us. The winding staircases in these turrets were also narrow, and through open stone-work, as before, till you reach the lantern, an enclosed observatory. Higher up is the "crown" which, as the steps leading to it are outside, and with no other protection than the wall to which they were fastened, we did not care to attempt. The total height of this lofty spire is four hundred and sixty-eight feet.

The descent through the open-work spire to the platform where the ladies were left was far more trying to the nerves than the ascent. In ascending, one is continually looking up, and the open spaces in the stone-work have the appearance of passages through which you are to pass, but continually avoid by the winding of the staircase; but in descending, the gaze being directed downward, you have the vast height continually before the view; the huge apertures, which appear at your very feet at every turn, seem like yawning crevasses, through which to shoot your body into the blue distance, or on to the Gothic points and pinnacles that are far, far below. I clung to the rope and iron hand-rails convulsively, and am not ashamed to mention that, more than once, as I came to the more elaborate open-work of this stone filigree, which seemed to dangle between heaven and earth, I closed my eyes, and followed the rail, feeling the way downwards. The descent was made almost in silence, and there was a sigh of relief when the platform was reached, and we joined the ladies again.

The open-work that one encounters in the turrets during the ascent of the spire, although scarcely large enough to admit the passage of a man's body, is so frequent, and so directly on the staircases, which are winding and narrow, as to give the semblance of great danger and insecurity, though comparatively very little exists. The only thing to be feared is giddiness, which might render it difficult for the adventurer to go up or down, after reaching a certain point; and it is, therefore, not advisable for those liable to be affected in that manner to attempt the ascent above the gallery, which really adds very little to the view.

Viewed architecturally, Strasburg Cathedral seems to bring together all the styles or orders of architecture of the middle ages, from the simplicity of the Byzantine to the Gothic, with its arches and excess of superfluous ornament. The façade of the church, and especially the portal, is so elaborately ornamented with carved work as to convey the impression of chasing, instead of sculpture. The figures in bass-relief and carving represent scenes in the life of the Saviour, the saints, and the apostles, besides statues of kings and warriors.

A view of the interior is grand and impressive. Fourteen great cluster pillars uphold the lofty Gothic arched roof, over a hundred feet above the pavement. Midway, and above arches that unite the pillars, is a beautiful Gothic gallery on both sides, and many of the great stained-glass windows, representing scriptural subjects, are of wondrous beauty.

In the nave is a beautiful pulpit, built in 1486, and covered with little statues, delicately carved, and not far from it the organ, up midway between the floor and arched ceiling. The perspective view in these old cathedrals is grand, and figures hardly give one an idea of their vastness. This cathedral is five hundred and twenty-five feet long, one hundred and ninety-five feet in width, and is one of the finest of those wonderful monuments of religious art that rose during the middle ages.

The great astronomical clock here is a curious and wonderful piece of mechanism. Fancy a structure twenty-five or thirty feet in height, and twelve or fifteen broad at the base, having on either side two others nearly of equal height, one being the masonic flight of winding stairs, surmounted by five small emblematical Corinthian pillars, and the other a Gothic pillar, its panellings enriched with figures.

Placed directly in front of the base of the clock is a celestial globe, which, by means of the clock-work, shows the precession of the equinoxes, solar and lunar equations for calculating geocentric ascension and declination of the sun and moon at true times and places. Then in the base itself is an orrery after the Copernican system, by which the mean tropical revolution of each of the planets, visible to the naked eye, is shown. Then comes an ecclesiastical calender, a sort of perpetual almanac, indicating holy, feast, and fast days; above, and about ten feet from the floor, and just beneath the clock-dial, is an opening with a platform in front, upon which come forth figures representing each day of the week, as Apollo on Tuesday, Diana on Monday, &c. Thus a figure in a chariot representing the day appeared at the entrance in the morning, it had reached the centre in full view by noon, and drove gradually out of sight at the close of day. On either side of the clock-dial sat two Cupids, the size of a three-years-old child, one holding a bell and hammer, with which it strikes the hours and quarters, and the other an hour-glass, which it reverses each hour. Above is another dial, with the signs of the zodiac; above that a figure of the moon, showing its different phases, also put in motion by the clock-work; and, still above this, two sets of automaton figures, which appear only at twelve o'clock, at which time there is always a crowd gathered to witness their performance.

We viewed this wondrous piece of mechanism for an hour, and witnessed the following movements: At quarter past eleven the Cupid near the dial struck one; then from one of the upper compartments ran forth the figure of a little child with a wand, and as he passed he struck one on a bell, and ran away (Childhood, the first quarter). Round whirl the wheels of time, and the second quarter chimes; but this time it is Youth that passes, and taps the bell with his shepherd's staff twined with flowers. Again, we reach the third quarter, and Manhood strides forth, the mailed warrior, and smites the sonorous bell, ere he leaves the scene, three sounding blows with his trenchant weapon--the third quarter. Once more, the hands tremble on the point of noon; the fourth quarter is here, and Old Age, a feeble, bent figure, hobbles out, pauses wearily at the bell, raises a crutch, and taps four strokes, and totters away out of sight--"last scene of all," when, as a finale, the skeleton figure of Death, before whom all the four have passed, slowly raises his baton, which the spectator now discovers to be a human bone, and solemnly strikes the hour of twelve upon the bell. While he is engaged in this act, a set of figures above him, representing the twelve apostles, pass in procession before the Saviour, who blesses each as they pause before him in turn, and chanticleer, the size of life, perched upon the pinnacle of one of the side structures, lifts up his voice in three rousing crows, with outstretched neck and flapping wings, while the Cupid on one side of the dial reverses the hour-glass for the sand to flow back, and the other also strikes the hour with his bell and hammer.

Not far from this clock, in a sort of niched window, there is a sculptured figure, said to be that of the architect of this cathedral, represented as looking towards the entrance of the transept, and in such position as to attract attention and provoke inquiry--a cunning device for perpetuating one's memory as long as the figure shall last.

Before leaving this fine cathedral we are reminded of the ancient order of Masons by an enclosure opening out of one of the chapels, which is the area of the workhouse of the stone-cutters of the edifice. These Master Masons down to this day form a particular and exclusive society, which originated in the days of the great master mason and architect of this cathedral, Erwin of Steinbach, who rebuilt the nave in 1275, commenced the façade of the church, designed its towers, and superintended the work and the carrying out of the grand designs in its construction through various vicissitudes till his death in 1318.

The masons of this cathedral were distinct from other operative masons, did not admit all who presented themselves, and had secret signs, known only to each other. From the lodge of this cathedral emanated several others in Germany, and a general meeting of the masters was held at Ratisbon in 1459, at which they were united under one government or jurisdiction, and the Grand Masters chosen on that occasion were the architects of the cathedral at Strasburg, in which city the Grand Lodge was then established.

The Emperor Maximilian I. confirmed the establishment of this body October 3, 1498, and it remained here till the early part of the eighteenth century, when it was removed to Mayence. With this bit of masonic history we will bid adieu to Strasburg Cathedral.

The Church of St. Thomas looks inferior after it, though its magnificent monument to Marshal Saxe is one of the sights of the city. As we ride through the streets we see long-legged storks soaring far overhead, and perched on a tall old chimney-stack, behold the brushwood nest of one of these long-billed residents.

We view the bronze statue of Guttenberg, who made his first experiments in the newly-discovered art preservative of arts in this city in 1436, and four hundred years afterwards he is remembered in this bronze memorial.

I don't know what it was in particular that made me wish to see Basle, except it was, that when a youngster, I read of a curious old clock which the inhabitants on one side of the river put up to mock those on the other, which, the story said, it did by sticking out its tongue and rolling its eyes at every motion of the pendulum; so, when domiciled at the hotel of the Three Kings in that ancient town, I looked out on the swift-flowing Rhine, and as I gazed at the splendid bridge, nearly a thousand feet long, wondered if that was the one over which the wondrous head had ogled and mocked. Fancy my disappointment at being shown at the collection of antiquities a wooden face scarcely twice the size of life, which is said to be the veritable Lollenkonig, or lolling king, that used to go through this performance in the clock tower on the bank of the river till 1839. Here, in this collection, which is in a hall or vestry attached to the cathedral, we saw many curiosities; among them the arm-chair of Erasmus; for it was here in Basle that Erasmus, it will be recollected, waged bitter war with the Church of Rome; here also was preserved all that remains of the celebrated frescoes, the Dance of Death, painted in the fifteenth century, and ascribed to Holbein. The cathedral, a solid old Gothic structure, has some finely ornamented ancient arched portals, and its two towers are each two hundred feet in height.

Going through some of the quaint, old-fashioned streets of Basle, we were struck with the quiet, antique, theatrical-canvas-look which they had. Here was an old circular stone fountain, at which horses could drink and the people fill their jars; the pavement was irregular, and the houses were of odd architecture, which we in America, who have not been abroad, are more than half inclined to think exist only in the imagination of artists, or are the fancy of scene-painters. I came upon one of these very scenes which I have before referred to, in this old city, and stood alone a quarter of an hour looking at the curious street that lay silent in the sunshine, with scarce a feature of it changed since the days of the Reformation, when Basle held so important a position in the history of Switzerland, and "Erasmus laid the egg that Luther hatched;" and had a group of cavaliers in doublet and hose, or a soldier with iron cap and partisan, sauntered through the street, they would all have been so much in keeping with the scene as to have scarcely excited a second glance at them.

In the evening we attended one of those cheap musical entertainments which are so enjoyable here in the summer season of the year. It was given in a large building, one side of which opened on the river bank; and while thirty pieces of music played grand compositions, sprightly waltzes, or inspiriting marches, we sat at the little tables, with hundreds of other listeners, who sipped light wines or beer, enjoyed the evening air, and looked out upon the dark cathedral towers, the lights of the town reflected in the swift stream of the Rhine, watched the small boats continually passing and re-passing, marked "the light drip of the suspended oar," coming pleasantly to the ear, as they paused to listen to the melody, while now and then the tall, dark form of some great Dutch lugger-looking craft of a Rhine boat moved past, like a huge spectre out of the darkness--a dreamy sort of scene, the realization of old Dutch paintings, half darkened with age, that I have often gazed at when a boy. And all this fine music and pleasant lounge for half a franc (eleven cents).

"Wines extra?"

Yes. We called for a half flask, prime quality; price, a franc and a half more; total, forty-four cents. But then we were luxurious; for beer that was "_magnifique_" could be had in a "_gros pot_" for three cents.

We rode from Basle to Zurich in a luxurious, easy, comfortable drawing-room car, which a party of us--six American tourists--had all to ourselves, and whirled through long tunnels, and amid lovely scenery, in striking contrast to our hot, uncomfortable railroad ride from Strasburg to Basle. The Swiss railway carriages are on the American plan, and the line of the road itself kept in exquisite order. The houses of the switchmen were pretty little rustic buildings, covered with running flowering vines, plats of flowers before them, and not a bit of rubbish or a speck of dirt to be seen about them. The little country stations are neatly kept, and have flower gardens around them; and, as we passed one crossing where two roads met, a diamond-shaped plat, about twenty feet space, enclosed by the crossing of three tracks, was brilliant with its array of red, blue, and yellow flowers. At the stations and stopping-places there seemed to be special pains taken to keep the rude, unsightly objects, that are seen at stations in America lying about uncared for, out of sight. Here, and in Germany, we notice the red poppy scattered in and growing among the wheat, which one would suppose must injure the grain; but the people say not, though it imparts, I think, a slightly perceptible bitter taste to the bread.

We seem now to have got thoroughly into a land where they know how to treat travellers, that is, properly appreciate the value of tourist patronage, and treat them accordingly; and well they may, for a large portion of the Swiss people make their living for the year off summer tourists.

Notwithstanding this, and notwithstanding the English grumblers who scold at these better hotels, better railway accommodations, and better attention than they can get anywhere else,--notwithstanding the shoddy Americans, whose absurd parade, lavish expenditure of money, ignorance, and boorish manners make them a source of mortification to educated men, and have served, in France and Italy during the past few years, almost to double certain travelling expenses,--notwithstanding this, the traveller will be more honorably dealt with, and less liable to be cheated, in Switzerland than elsewhere in Europe. Efforts are made to induce travellers to come often, and stay long. Roads, passes, and noted points are made as accessible as possible, and kept in good order during the season. No impositions are allowed by guides, post-drivers, &c., and the hotel-keepers strive in every way to make their houses as attractive as possible in every respect to the guest, who enjoys the real luxury of an elegant hotel, in an attractive or celebrated resort, at a reasonable price, and does not suffer to that extent the same irritation that he experiences in England or America at such places--of knowing he is being deliberately swindled in every possible manner.

Here we are in Zurich,--"by the margin of Zurich's fair waters,"--at the Hotel Baur au Lac, fronting Lake Zurich--a large and beautiful hotel, with an extensive garden, with flowers, shrubs, and pretty walks in front of it. Our windows command a full view of the beautiful lake, with its sides enlivened with chalets, villages, vineyards, and a highly-cultivated country, while in the background rise the snow peaks of the Alps, glittering in the morning sunlight, or rosy in its parting rays. There was the great Reiseltstock, looming up over eighty-six hundred feet, the Kammtistock, very nearly ten thousand feet, between which and the Scheerhorn is imbedded a great glacier, the Bristenstock, and other "stocks" and "horns" that I have not noted down, and therefore forgotten, save that even in the distance they looked magnificently grand, and like great altars with their snowy coverings lifted up to heaven.

The scenery of mountain, lake, and valley, seen from the promenades in Zurich, like grand pictures framed in the rim of the horizon, and presenting charming aspects, varied by the setting sun, give the tourist a foretaste of the picturesque beauty of the country he is now just entering. Lake Zurich, or the Zuricher See, as they call it, looked so pretty and romantic that we determined to embark on one of the little steamboats, and sail up and down it, to know and enjoy it better. So, after enjoying the creature comforts of the fine hotel, and fortified with a good night's rest, we embarked in the morning.

This lake is twenty-five miles long, and, at its broadest part, two and a half miles wide. As we sailed along, we noted the beautiful slopes of the hills, which are finely cultivated at the base, close down to the little villages on the shore. Above are vineyards and orchards, and still farther up, the dark-green forests clothe the hills, which lift their frontlets twenty-five hundred feet above the clear mirror that reflects them on its surface. We passed numerous picturesque little villages, making landings on alternate shores as we proceeded. Here was Thalwyl, charmingly situated, Horgen, with its hotel and charming garden upon the lake front, the picturesque little wooded peninsula of Au, and a pretty little village of Mannedorf, behind which rises a romantic height, called some sort of a "stiel" or "horn." And so we glided along, sometimes stopping at little villages that seemed, as we approached them, children's toys upon a green carpet, this effect heightened by the huge mountains, which rose grand and sublime in the distance; but they had all that novelty so charming to the tourist--their odd-shaped little churches, and curious and quaint houses nestling in romantic nooks, and the occasional odd dress worn by peasants who had come down from the interior, and the customs which to us seemed so old-fashioned.

We found our steamer was a mail-boat, and at one station, instead of the usual official in waiting, the sole occupant of the little pier was a huge Newfoundland dog, who seized the little mail-pouch, holding perhaps a couple of quarts, that was tossed ashore, and galloped off with it at full speed for the village, half a mile distant, to the infinite amusement of the spectators. He was the regular mail-carrier, performing the service twice a day of bringing down the mail-pouch, which he deposited on the pier on the arrival of the boat, and carrying back the one which was left by it.

We went on shore at a town bearing the delightfully-euphonious name of Rapperschwyl--a picturesque old place, with an old castle and church, and wooded heights, which command fine views. At this point a fine bridge, forty-five hundred feet long, and supported by one hundred and eighty oaken pillars, crosses the lake. So we strolled over it, and through the town, which contains about two thousand inhabitants, looked at the old church and castle, and then reëmbarked on the return steamer, once more to admire the beauty of the scenery of the lake shores in this romantic region, and birthplace of Switzerland's freedom.