Chapter XV (2)

FRANKFORT ON THE MAINE, SEPTEMBER 7.--The ride from Mayence to this city occupied three hours and a half. The approach to Frankfort is not remarkable, except for the beautiful grounds and gardens laid out on the site of the ancient walls and fortifications in the environs. Frankfort, you know, is one of the four free cities of Germany,[7] (Hanse-Towns,) and is entirely independent of any other state, being a co-equal member of the Germanic confederation, and important also as the seat of the Diet. Some parts of the city are very handsome, and the whole has an air of busy prosperity: it seems to be very like Paris, on a smaller scale. The hotels are renowned for their size and excellence; and as the great semi-annual Fair is in operation, they are at present abundantly well patronized. This _Fair_ is quite an important affair to the city: all the public squares, quays, etc., are filled with temporary stalls and 'magazines' of articles, manufactured in different parts of Germany, the merchant announcing himself 'from Berlin,' or Dresden, or Leipsic. They often bring samples, only, of their wares, and from them make extensive 'package sales.' I should think that one half, at least, of these were filled with pipes--a fair illustration of the smoking propensities of the Germans. These pipes are long and clumsy, but most of them are very prettily ornamented. The Germans are verily inveterate lovers of the weed. They smoke every where and on all occasions; the toll-keeper puffs away while he opens the gate, the conducteur, regulating the diligence, the shop-keeper, while he makes your bill. All classes and degrees are alike in this respect--the duke, the 'professor,' the peasant. The charms of the practice are especially exemplified in the interior of a crowded diligence on a hot day, when three fourths of the passengers are doing their best to suffocate one another with fumes of smoke from pipes, and brimstone from matches. Remonstrance from a novice in the science is vain, for though otherwise polite and obliging, they seem to think smoking so much a matter of course, to prize it above their meat and drink, even above their wine, that they do not imagine it _can_ be disagreeable.

The river Maine, which falls into the Rhine at Mayence, or Mainz, is an insignificant stream, only navigable by flat boats which go _down_ with the current, and are drawn up by horses, as in canals. Frankfort is built on both sides of the river, but the greater part is on the north. The quays are broad, and afford a handsome architectural display, the buildings being all of a light cream color, like those of the French capital. I observed no very splendid public buildings, but the principal street, containing several of the great hotels, is very spacious and stately. In the Hotel de Ville is preserved, among other archives, the original of the celebrated '_Golden Bull_.'

* * * * *

LEIPSIC, SEPTEMBER 10.--Here am I, in the very heart of Germany, in the centre of Europe, within ten hours' ride of Dresden, one day of Berlin, two of Prague, three of Munich, four of Warsaw, ten of St. Petersburgh, and a few more of Rome, Constantinople, and Jerusalem, all of which I would fain honor with a visit, did time and the 'needful' permit; at present, however, this will be my ultimatum, and to-morrow I shall commence what the Frenchman said Napoleon did, after the memorable battle of this same Leipsic, not a retreat, but a _mouvement retrograde_ toward home. My journeyings will now be toward the setting instead of the rising sun.

The ride to this city proved, as I expected, extremely tedious and disagreeable. We left Frankfort at half past nine, P. M., and were forty-one hours, including two nights, on the way; the distance being two hundred and twenty miles. I was again doomed to the _interieur_, amid five smokers, as usual, neither of whom could speak English or French; and the idea of the mistakes and vexations to which my solitary ignorance exposed me, was any thing but comfortable. I escaped, however, with nothing worse than the loss of a cloak in the Frankfort diligence; for on coming to the Prussian dominions, we were transferred to a respectable vehicle, on which was inscribed:

'Konig. Preuss,
Schnell Post.'

(Query, mail or snail? It does not merit the latter appellation so well as some of the French, to say the least.) The public conveyances on the continent are all driven by a postillion, in a kind of livery, with 'seven league boots,' a trumpet with tawdry tassels, and a leathern hat: he always rides the 'nigh' horse, and never goes more than one post, as each 'team' has its own postillion. Every diligence is superintended by a _conducteur_, who has the best seat in the coupé, but does nothing himself, except delivering the mails and small parcels on the way. The French and Swiss conducteurs are often surly and uncivil, but those in Prussia are very attentive, good-looking, and even well-educated. The most learned doctors of the university will converse with them on familiar terms, with deference and respect.

There is evidently much less exclusiveness in grades, and less show of haughty superiority in the wealthy, and even the noble, in these _despotic_ countries, than in _liberal_ and enlightened England. From the Grand Duke downward, it is usual to give a bow and a '_bon jour_,' or '_adieu_,' to the meanest servant in return for the same salutations: and these courtesies certainly do not seem to be misconstrued into that familiarity which breeds contempt, but rather to strengthen respect and attachment to the superior.

In coming to Leipsic from Switzerland, I passed through no less than eight independent states and principalities, viz.: the 'Grand Duchies' of Baden, Hesse-Darmstadt, Saxe-Weimar, Saxe-Gotha, Hesse-Cassel, the free city of Frankfort, and the kingdoms of Prussia and Saxony. The boundaries of these great-little duchies are marked by a plain stone on the way-side, inscribed, 'Weimar,' 'Gotha,' etc., as the case may be. I observed nothing else to indicate that the country was governed by so many different masters. There is nothing on the route deserving the name of scenery: even a gentle hill to relieve the dull, tame prospect of long and often barren plains, occurs but seldom. Of the towns I shall see more on my return.

I was sorry to find that the noted book-publisher, Mr. TAUCHNITZ, Senior, died of apoplexy, very suddenly, a few months since. His son, who continues the business, is a very courteous and intelligent man, and speaks English fluently. He received me very kindly, and invited me to dine with him at twelve o'clock, M.! In England, I was several times invited to dine at seven, P. M. The usual dinner hour at hotels in Germany is one.

Before dinner, Mr. T. escorted me to the lions. In the principal Lutheran church, I was a little surprised to see paintings, altars and images!--things opposed, as I thought, to the very spirit of Lutheranism.

The 'booksellers' have just completed a handsome 'Exchange,' where the brethren of the 'trade' from all parts of Germany assemble semi-annually, at the Easter and Michaelmas fairs, to settle accounts, and make sales of new books, etc., by sample. The book-trade is carried on here very extensively, and with a great deal of system. Leipsic is the head-quarters for the business in all the German states, and all publishers in other places have their agents here. You will be surprised, perhaps, at the fact, that the number of new books published annually in Germany, is greater than all issued during the same time in Great Britain and France put together.[8] What a nation of book-makers! What a mass of intellect in active exercise! In a country not much exceeding in extent the single state of New-York, there are six thousand _new works_, comprising _nine millions of volumes_, printed every year, beside reprints of old works, and all pamphlets and periodicals! One would think the Germans _ought_ to be a learned people!

Mr. Tauchnitz's establishment is one of the most extensive in the trade. He showed me the stereotype plates of his well-known editions of the Greek and Latin classics, of which he publishes a complete series, in an economical, _pure text_ form, one set filling a box twenty inches square. So you may easily ascertain the exact _bulk_ of all the intellect of antiquity!

The Leipsic University, which is one of the oldest in Germany, is also about to occupy a neat and extensive edifice just completed. The ancient fortifications of Leipsic, like those of Frankfort, have been removed, and the space they occupied is laid out in gardens and public promenades; a change decidedly for the better, as every peaceable man will say.[9] As to beauty of architecture, this city has little remarkable; the buildings are mostly antique and uncouth, and the streets narrow, and without side-walks.

At dinner to-day, at Mr. ----, the second dish consisted of thin slices of two sorts of fish, literally _raw_. It seemed to be regarded as a rare delicacy, but I could not stretch my politeness enough to do justice to it. The dinner, otherwise, was excellent. You know the old man who made the 'Bubbles from the Brunens,' feelingly describes his consternation at the never-ending courses of a German public table; but he does not mention two-thirds of the dishes I have tasted at a single sitting. The feast commences, all the world over, with soup; then comes the dry _soup-meat_, 'which a Grosvenor-Square cat would not touch with his whiskers!' but which is nevertheless rendered quite palatable by a highly-seasoned gravy; then, cutlets, omelets, and _messes_ of various sorts; followed by poultry, wild fowls, beef, etc.; fifthly, pudding, which with _us_ is a sign that the meat is disposed of; but lo! 'sixthly and lastly' comes a huge quarter of veal, roast chickens, _young_ lobsters, salad, etc.; seventhly, tarts and confectionary; 'and, to conclude, a dessert of prunes, grapes, peaches, cakes, etc., the whole capped by sundry nibbles at a fair, round cheese, or peradventure, as to-day, with coffee, in Lilliputian cups, which I took for baby's play-things. Verily, one has a chance of finding _something_ to his taste in this variety.

After dinner, Mr. Tauchnitz ordered his barouche, with two beautiful bays, and a footman in livery, (Mr. T. is a book-seller,) and we rode out to the field of the memorable battle of 1813, about a mile from the town. The whole vicinity of Leipsic, for several miles, is one vast plain, which has always been, and probably will continue to be, the theatre of battles, when the nations of Europe see fit to fight at all. We walked to a slight elevation, where Napoleon had his head-quarters during the battle. The French had garrisoned the town for six years previous; consequently they had their choice of position. Napoleon had made a _mouvement retrograde_ from Dresden, after giving up his second expedition to Russia; he was followed by the allied army, and here they met. Three days' hard fighting, and the slaughter of twenty thousand men, was the consequence. The French were routed; but their possession of the town enabled them to proceed in their retrograde toward Frankfort, (the same route I had come,) and on the fourth day the allies entered Leipsic. Mr. T. was on the field during the fight, and he gave me a graphic description of it. '_Here_ stood Blucher, with his Prussians; _there_, Prince Swartzenberg and the Austrians.' What a scene of horror must that field have been, when twenty thousand human beings lay there, bloody corpses, and half as many more had fallen, wounded and mangled, sighing for death as a relief from their misery!

Otho, the young king of Greece, is now in Leipsic on a visit. He is shortly to be married to a German princess, whose name I have forgotten.

* * * * *

MAYENCE, SEPT. 13.--At six, P. M., on the tenth, I was again in the diligence. There were but three passengers; one of them asked me in German to sit with him in the interior, but having persuaded him in English into a _coupé_ seat, he complacently remarked that he was pretty sure, from the first, that I was English. I declined the honor, with equal good nature. 'Scotch?' No. 'Irish?' No. He looked puzzled. 'You must have spoken English from childhood?' 'Yes. I never spoke any other language.' 'Perhaps you have resided some time in England?' Never was there but three months.' Curious whether he would discover me, I kept mum.

'From the East Indies?' No. 'But you are a British subject?' Oh, no. I acknowledge no king whatever.

'South America?'(!) No.

And, strange to say, I was the first, after all, to hint that there was a republic usually called the United States of America. It did not occur to him, at the moment, that the English language was known to _some_ extent in 'our country;' but singularly enough, when the happy land was mentioned, I found him far from being ignorant of it. He had read of our 'manners' from his own Duke of Saxe-Weimar down to Captain Hall and the Trollope; and he was now writing a critical essay on American poetry. In short, he was Dr. O. L. B. WOLFF, professor of belles-lettres in the University of Jena; the author, you will recollect, of the History of German Literature in the London Athenæum, and of other essays which have made his name well known with us. He seemed a good deal interested in our literature, and we beguiled the hours far into the night, in learned talk, parting near the battle-field of Jena, with mutual promises of future correspondence.

The road lies over several memorable fields. Near Lutzen, they pointed to a stone, '_Voila la, Gustave tombeau!_' It was the spot where the 'Great Gustavus' Adolphus fell, in the thirty years' war. We passed the house where Charles XII. of Sweden signed his treaty with the Elector of Saxony. At Erfurt is the cell where Martin Luther lived when he was an Augustine friar. At Gotha, Weimar, Eisenbach, and Fulda, the capitals of their respective duchies, are the 'chateaux de residence.'

The approaches to most of the continental towns are through long avenues, shaded by elms or poplars, extending sometimes a couple of miles. One naturally looks for something handsome, after passing such an imposing portal; but it does not always follow. One of the finest of these triumphal arches leads to a filthy hamlet, which would disgrace our backwoods.

They have a peculiar costume, at one of these towns; but in general, there is no costume in Germany. Both at Frankfort and Leipsic, I noticed two remarkable items, the Jews and the pretty girls. The Jews wear long black gowns and girdles, with beards of nearly equal length. They seem to be here a distinct and 'peculiar people.' As to the German ladies, there is certainly more beauty among them than I have seen elsewhere in Europe.

My second entrance into Frankfort was from a better point of view, crossing the stone bridge over the Main. I had been riding four nights, _sans_ sleep, and in the vulgar phrase, was 'quite done up.' It was of course delightful to find that the 'fair' had so thoroughly filled the domicils of every publican in the place, that not a nook or a corner in all those immense hotels was to be had for love or money. I wandered here and there, houseless and alone, till dusk, with a fair prospect of a loafer-like lodging in the street! This was actually the only alternative to going off at ten, P. M., to Mayence. There were probably at least ten thousand strangers in the place at that moment.

The entrance into Mayence, at one o'clock at night, was quite _impressive_. On the opposite side of the river, in Cassel, is an extensive military establishment, through the gates and court of which we had to pass. The postillion sounded a martial air on his trumpet, and the sentinel, opening the ponderous gates, admitted us to the bridge of boats on which we crossed the Rhine to the city. Every thing was still and quiet, but our rumbling diligence; the stars and the lights of the town were looking at their portraits in the river. At the city portals, another blast of the trumpet[10] procured us admission, but no living thing was to be seen, except the military 'guardians of the night.'

To-day it rains torrents. So I will merely tell you, in guide-book style, that Mayence, as well as Cologne, owes its origin to the Romans, and was occasionally the residence of some of the emperors. The city has also been an electorate of the German empire, but at present it belongs to Prussia; and it is remarkable, that with a population of thirty-two thousand, it has a garrison of twelve thousand soldiers. It claims the honor of being the birth-place of Guttenberg, one, at least, of the inventors of printing, of whom there is a statue in one of the squares. I have been to see the cathedral, noted only for antiquity, and for the numerous monuments and statues of church dignitaries in the interior.

* * * * *

COBLENTZ, (ON THE RHINE,) SEPTEMBER.--The steam-boat left the quay at Mayence this morning at six, with about one hundred passengers, mostly English, on their homeward retreat. For two or three miles, the banks of the river continued to be low and tame. We passed the palace of the Grand Duke of Nassau, a fine edifice, near the river The classical Brunnens of Langen-Schwalbach are a few miles in the interior.

We were this day to see the only interesting part of the 'glorious Rhine,' that between Mayence and Cologne. Along here, there are a plenty of little islands, and the banks of the river abound with picturesque rocky crags, capped by ruins of castles, and relieved here and there by a green meadow, a vineyard, or a neat village. Johannisberg, a chateau belonging to Prince Metternich, is one of the first from Mayence. This estate has fifty-five acres of vine-grounds, from whence comes the most celebrated of the Rhenish wines. Speaking of Metternich, I need not remind you of his portraiture as 'Beckendorf,' in that unique production, 'Vivian Grey.' Then we passed the ruins of Klopp and Ehrenfels,[11] Vantsberg castle, at present occupied, from which we were saluted with a gun; the ruins of Falkenberg, Guttenfels, Schöenberg, and the rocks of 'the Seven Sisters' in the river;[12] Sternberg and Liebenstein, 'the Brothers,' etc., all famed by many a pathetic legend. There are also the pretty villages of Rudesheim, Geisenheim, Bingen, Oberwesel, Saint Goar, and others, too tedious to mention; and the rock of Lureley, with an echo which repeats seven times.

I am now before the castle of Ehrenbreitstein, the strongest fortress in Europe, built on a rocky elevation, commanding the river for several miles. The city of Coblentz, nearly opposite, and connected with it by a floating bridge, is strongly fortified, and garrisoned by five thousand Prussian soldiers. It was founded by Drusus, the Roman general, thirteen years before Christ.

* * * * *

COLOGNE, 14TH.--I am now in the ancient and honorable city of 'Les Trois Rois,' and of the eleven thousand virgins.

On leaving Coblentz, the shores are again 'flat and stale,' (though perhaps not 'unprofitable' to the vinters,) until thou comest unto Remagen, when there are a few miles of the picturesque, and then the _scenery_ of the Rhine is finished. On the score of natural beauty, it would take a good many Rhines to make a Hudson; but, as Willis says, _here_ we are constantly reminded of the _past_; history, tradition, and song, have given every thing a charm, and even these rough old ruins are tinted with a _couleur de rose_; but amidst the hills, and streams, and forests, of the so-called _new_ world, our thoughts stretch forward to the future. We have already the rich material, and perhaps the time will come when Europe may not claim superiority, even in works of art, or in historical associations and reminiscences; albeit we have no princely palaces or baronical strongholds, and, thanks to our democratic rulers! we are in no immediate danger of them.

But the Rhine is interesting--intensely so; and I can only regret, my dear ----, that you are not here to share with me this long-wished for pleasure.

'The castled crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine,
And hills all rich with blossom'd trees,
And fields which promise corn and wine,
And scatter'd cities crowning these,
Whose far white walls along them shine,
Have strew'd a scene which I should see
With double joy, wert _thou_ with me.

'And peasant girls with deep blue eyes,
And hands which offer early flowers,
Walk smiling o'er this paradise;
Above, the frequent feudal towers
Through green leaves lift their walls of gray,
And many a rock which steeply lowers,
And noble arch in proud decay,
Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers;
But one thing want these banks of Rhine--
Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine.

'The river nobly foams and flows,
The charm of this enchanted ground,
And all its thousand turns disclose
Some fresher beauty varying round;
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound
Through life to dwell delighted here;
Nor could on earth a spot be found
To nature and to me more dear,
Could thy dear eyes, in following mine,
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine.'

If misery loves company, as the proverb says, why should not happiness be also sociably disposed? There is to me a special loneliness in being in these regions of song, with a crowd of strangers, but with no 'congenial spirit' who in after days would recall to us the fond recollection of happy hours passed together in the distant land; who with a single word might bring vividly before us a glowing panorama of scenes remembered as a dream. And is there not as much or more enjoyment in these remembrances, than in the 'first impression?'

Beside the Drachenfels, there are a score of ruins this side of Coblentz, such as Rolandzeck, Godesberg, and other hard names; and we also passed the pretty town of Bonn, the seat of an ancient and well-endowed university. From one of the castles, near the river, we were saluted with three cheers by the garrison.

To-morrow I shall write from Aix-la-Chapelle, for here I must say, albeit not in the Byronic vein,

'Adieu to thee, fair Rhine! How long delighted
The stranger fain would linger on his way;
Thine is a scene alike where souls united,
Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray;
And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey
On self-condemning bosoms, it were here,
Where nature, not too sombre nor too gay,
Wild, but not rude, awful, but not austere,
Is to the mellow earth as autumn to the year.'

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Flowing in and from the lake.

[2] See also 'Anne of Gierstein.'

[3] A heap of bones of the vanquished remain to this day on the field.

[4] The costume is worn only by the peasantry.

[5] The Rhigi is not remarkable for its height, being but five thousand seven hundred feet above the plain; but being isolated from the great range, it affords much the widest view.

[6] See his calculation in figures, in 'Sketches of Switzerland.'

[7] The others are Hamburgh, Bremen, and Lubeck.

[8] The average number of new works per annum, issued for the first time in Great Britain in the last three years, is about 1200; in France, 4,000; in Germany, 6,000.

[9] A happy combination of safety, beauty, and convenience, is shown in the ramparts of the city of Geneva.

[10] The 'Old Man' of the Bubbles denounces these trumpets, but verily they are preferable to the long tin horns of the English 'guards,' which are indeed enough to

----'break his bands of sleep asunder
And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder!
Hark, hark! the horrid sound;
He raises his head as if waked from the dead,
And amazed he stares around!'

[11] Among the Rhenish legends, versified by Planche, is one of the 'Mouse-Tower,' near Ehrenfels, commencing:

'The Bishop of Mentz was a wealthy prince.
Wealthy and proud was he;
He had all that was worth a wish on earth,
But he had not charitie!

He would stretch out his _empty_ hands to _bless_,
Or lift them both to _pray_;
But, alack! to lighten man's distress,
They moved no other way.'

A famine came; the poor begged in vain for aid, 'till he 'opened his granaries free,' and then locked them in, and 'burned them every one.' 'The merry mice! how shrill they squeak!' said the prelate:

'But mark what an awful judgment soon
On the cruel bishop fell!
With so many mice his palace swarm'd,
That in it he could not dwell.
They gnaw'd the arras above and beneath,
They eat each savory dish up,
And shortly their sacrilegious teeth
Begun to nibble the bishop!

'He flew to the castle of Ehrenfels,
By the side of the Rhine so fair,
But they found the road to his new abode,
And came in legions there!
He built him in haste a tower tall
In the tide, for his better assurance,
But they swam the river, and scal'd the wall,
And worried him past endurance!

'One morning his skeleton there was seen,
By a load of flesh the lighter!
They had pick'd his bones uncommonly clean,
And eaten his very mitre!
Such was the end of the Bishop of Mentz;
And oft at midnight hour,
He comes in the shape of a fog so dense,
And sits on his old 'Mouse-Tower.'

[12] Perhaps you may be amused by this legend. It runs as follows:

'THE Castle of Schöenberg was lofty and fair,
And seven countesses ruléd there:
Lovely, and noble, and wealthy I trow--
Every sister had suitors enow.
Crowned duke and belted knight
Sigh'd at the feet of those ladies bright:
And they whispered hope to every one,
While they vow'd in their hearts they would have none!

Gentles, list to the tale I tell;
'Tis many a year since this befel:
Women are altered now, I ween,
And never say what they do not mean!

'At the Castle of Schöenberg 'twas merriment all--
There was dancing in bower, and feasting in hall;
They ran at the ring in the tilt-yard gay,
And the moments flew faster than thought away!
But not only moments--the days fled too--
And they were but as when they first came to woo;
And spake they of marriage or bliss deferr'd,
They were silenced by laughter and scornful word!

Gentles, list to the tale I tell;
'Tis many a year since this befel:
And ladies now so mildly reign,
They never sport with a lover's pain!

'Knight look'd upon knight with an evil eye--
Each fancied a favored rival nigh;
And darker every day they frowned,
And sharper still the taunt went round;
Till swords were drawn, and lances in rest,
And the blood ran down from each noble breast;
While the sisters sat in their chairs of gold,
And smiled at the fall of their champions bold!

Gentles, lift to the tale I tell;
'Tis many a year since this befel;
Times have changed, and we must allow,
Countesses are not so cruel now.

'Morning dawn'd upon Schöenberg's towers,
But the sisters were not in their wonted bowers;
Their damsels sought them the castle o'er--
But upon earth they were seen no more;
Seven rocks are in the tide,
Ober-wesel's walls beside,
Baring their cold brows to heaven:
They are called, 'The Sisters Seven.'

Gentles, list to the tale I tell;
'Tis many a year since this befel:
And ladies now may love deride,
And their suitors alone be petrified!'

THE SONGS OF OUR FATHERS.

'THEIR voice shall be heard in other ages,
When the kings of Temora have failed.'

OSSIAN.

YE say, we sing no household songs,
To those beside our hearths at play;
No minstrelsy to us belongs,
No legends of our by-gone day:
No old traditions of the hills,
Our giant land no memory fills--
We have no proud heroic lay!
Ye ask the time-worn storied page--
Ye ask the things of other age,
From us--a race of yesterday!

Of yore, in Britain's feudal halls,
Where many a warlike trophy hung,
With shield and banner on the walls,
The bard's high harp was sternly strung
To praise of war--its fierce delights--
To 'heroes of an hundred fights,'
Ever the 'sounding shell' outrung!
Gone is the ancient Bardic race--
Their song hath found perpetual place
Their country's proud archives among!

The warlike Norsemen of the isles,
Erst o'er the wave held sovereignty--
A sound is swelling where, erewhile,
Their ringing spears made melody:
Rude hunters of the seal and whale
Are chaunting out the Saga's tale,
To the wild winds sweeping by--
How their heroes heard the Valkyriur call
To the feast and song in Odin's hall--
To the white mead foaming high!

The stirring Scottish border tale,
Pealed from the chords in chieftain's hall--
The wild traditions of the Gäel,
The wandering harper's lays recall:
All have their legends, and their songs--
Records of glory, feud, and wrongs.
What nerved the fair chivalric Gaul,
When woke the bold 'Parisienne?'
The 'Marsellois?' _what_ foeman then
Roused him to conquer or to fall?

What thought the Switzer's bosom thrills,
When sounds the 'Ranz de Vache' on high;
A race as ancient as their hills,
Still echoes their wild mountain cry:
He springs along the rocky height--
He marks the lammergeyer's flight--
The chamois bounding by:
He snuffs the mountain breeze of morn--
He winds again the mountain horn,
And the loud Alps reply!

Our fathers bore from Albion's isle,
No stories of her sounding lyres--
They left the old baronial pile--
They left the harp of ringing wires!
Ours are the legends old and dim,
The household song--the evening hymn,
Sung by your bright hearth-fires!
Each tree that in your soft wind stirs,
Waves o'er our ancient sepulchres--
The ashes of our sires!

Yea, forth they went, nerved to forsake
Home, and the chains they might not bear--
And woman's heart was strong, to break
The links of love which bound her there.
Here, free to worship and believe,
From many a log-built hut, at eve,
Went up the suppliant voice of prayer.
Is it not writ on history's page,
How the strong arm claimed _our heritage_?--
Of the lion claimed his lair!

Our people sang no loud war-songs,
They shouted no loud battle-cry--
A burning memory of their wrongs
Lit up their path to victory!
With prayer to God to aid the right,
The yeoman girded him for fight,
To free the land he tilled, or die!
They bore no proud escutcheon'd shield--
No blazoned banners to the field--
Nought but their motto--'LIBERTY!'

Their sons--when after years shall fling
O'er these romance--when time hath cast
The mighty shadow of his wing
Between them and the stoned past--
Will tell of foul oppression's heel,
Of hands which bore the avenging steel,
And battled sternly to the last--
By their hearth-fires--on the hill-side free,
Till the swell is caught by the echöing sea,
And hymned by the wandering blast!

IONE.

THE DEAD HUSBAND.[13]

BY ALPHONSO WETMORE, ESQ., AUTHOR OF THE 'GAZETTEER OF MISSOURI.'

MORE than one half of the inhabitants of the globe have an imperfect idea of the sufferings that are endured by their kindred, even in the vicinity of their own dwellings. The same laudable sentiment that induces display of the elegancies of life, causes concealment of our miseries, or humiliating misfortunes. The social feeling which induces us to lend aid to a neighbor in peril, or in the full tide of prosperous action, tends to the exhibition of our good fortune; it is sympathy in both instances. It is the sufferer who seeks concealment, having no flattering prospects to offer for the congratulations of the sympathetic. It is the jealous distrust of our natures that induces the pedestrian, who is toiling onward with a humid brow, to cast a nervous and discontented glance at the tenants of the post-coach, as it darts onward; and he welcomes the cloud of dust that insures concealment of his woes, created only by contrast. It is only when crime brings suffering on the innocent kindred of the criminal, that there exists serious cause of discontent.

JOSEPH JOPLIN was one of half a dozen sons of a tavern-keeper in the county of Buncombe, North Carolina; and consequently he became initiated in early life into the ways of the world; by which general expression, it may be in this case understood, an acquaintance with whiskey and tar-kilns, long rifles, and quarter-races. When this younger son of the publican of the 'Piny Woods' had nearly attained the stature of the family standard, six feet three inches, and a few months before he had reached his twentieth year, he led up before the township justice of the peace a hope-inspired damsel. She vowed herself his partner, in weal and wo, in life and death. His circumstances at the time were only middling. He owned 'a likely young nag, a dollar bill, and a good rifle-gun.'

A few months after the festivities of the nuptials had left the sober realities of life in bold relief, the young couple began to look beyond the precincts of the paternal double cabins, in order to fix the trace leading to the most inviting region. Their departure was accelerated by 'a small scrimmage,' in which Mr. Joplin was unfortunately a principal actor, at a shooting-match. His antagonist had darkened the manly disc of our hero a little; but then the young bridegroom boasted that he had taken an 'under bit out of his left ear, and stove two of his front teeth down his throat.'

The young couple departed with the buoyancy of hope, (that flattering endorser of accommodation paper,) for the western district; the husband on foot, leading in the devious pathway of his bride, who was mounted on the nag. This animal was well laden with household stuffs, consisting principally of quilts and 'kiverlids.'

The adventurers reached the point of destination, six miles from the last cabin, on the borders of the Indian country, in season to make a crop. When the corn was gathered in, the fall hunt half finished, the venison drying, and the 'bear bacon' cured, the Indian Summer, with its mild haze, shed a soft and cheering influence upon the new-beginners.

On one of the quiet evenings, made more interesting by the tranquillity of the day of rest, the settlers were entertaining a neighboring family with a happy display of the best the house could afford, with 'a streak of fat and a streak of lean.' While the children of their guests were playing antic gambols about the door, a scream of infantile alarm arrested the attention and deep interest of the settlers. As the three males of the party snatched their arms, the anticipated war-cry rang responsive in the precincts of the cabin. The foremost of the assailants fell, and another shot wounded and arrested the advance of the leading warrior, while the affrighted mothers drew in their fugitive infants. As the cabin-door was closed against the foe, a distracted mother saw her youngest child snatched up by a retreating brave, while his comrades dragged off their dead leader. A gun had been hastily charged, and the fearless Joplin, having thrown open the door, drew it to his face; but the wary savage held up, to shield his person, the little captive. 'Fire!' screamed the distracted mother; 'better dead than a prisoner!' At the critical instant when the little sufferer parted asunder its legs, the sharp report of the rifle of the white man was heard, and the crimson current, of a deeper hue than the painted skin of the savage, rippled down his naked trunk. He reeled, and hesitated, and ere the smoke of the rifle had blown away, the frantic mother, with knife in hand, was seen flying to the rescue. The savage, cool and collected, even in the agonies of death, interposed the infant between the thrust of the Amazon and his person, and the unhappy mother plunged her weapon into the bosom of her own child!

The warrior's knife closed the scene as he fell, and was bathed in the heart's blood of the fearless woman, the wife of Joplin's nearest neighbor. The Indians fled without a single scalp.

After the funeral obsequies of the mother and child had been hastily performed, and they were consigned to the same unostentatious grave, the neighboring settlers assembled, and rendezvoused at Joplin's cabin. They elected him their captain. Here they continued during the autumn and winter, with various fortune in sharp skirmishes with their unrelenting and always vigilant enemy.

Early in the spring, they broke up their little settlement, and retired back to the more populous part of the country. Captain Joplin returned to the paternal mansion in the Piny Woods, to exhibit the beginning of the third generation, in the person of young Buckeye Joplin. After lingering awhile in his old haunts, and recounting the perils he had cheerfully met and overcome, he looked out again upon the land of promise, the western expanse, for another channel of enterprise.

The second expedition of our hero was undertaken by water. Having packed his family across to the Tennessee river, and exchanged his 'nag' for a canoe, or 'dug-out,' he embarked in his long and devious voyage to the Mississippi. Joplin occupied the stern as steersman, but his spouse was provided with a paddle, which she plied alternately with her knitting, as they glided onward to an unknown land. The voyage was barren of incident, and only varied by fishing and hunting for the subsistence of the family. They entered the Mississippi, and descended this river to the mouth of White river; and as this was backed up by the spring freshets, the voyagers turned their course up the stream, and crossed the connecting cut, or bayou, to the Arkansas river. They continued their voyage, until they found a landing-place of an inviting aspect, near Little Rock. Here the emigrants landed and pitched their half-face camp. After a year or two of hardship and privation, incident to the settlement of a new country, the Joplin family, somewhat increased in numbers, began to enjoy the fruits of industry. The improved condition of the captain's pecuniary affairs afforded him the means of indulging in his ardent propensity for attendance on all the gatherings, which he had never dismissed from his mind while his necessities restrained him. In the absence of her husband, the pains-taking woman kept the shuttle flying, or sung an accompaniment to the instrumental music of the spinning-wheel. From these gatherings Joplin sometimes returned with marks of personal rencounters; and time, and the soothing care of the even-tempered woman, were requisite to soften the exasperated backwoodsman, and to obliterate the signs of the feud on the distorted visage of her husband. On these occasions, the ferocity of his disposition predominated on the first day after the gathering; on the second, he was moody and thoughtful; and the third brought on repentance, and promises of reformation.

The great races at length came on; and Captain Joplin's colt, sired by Chain-Lightning, out of the celebrated full-blooded dam Earthquake, had been entered for the jockey purse, and the owner was 'obliged to be present.' This he promised should be his last race, and his last fight on any race-course. The good woman ventured, as she handed him his holy-day jeans, to urge his return home at an earlier hour than usual. Very fair promises were made; but, about the hour of midnight, the 'whole team of bear-dogs' opened a boisterous greeting as the roistering captain approached his cabin. The cold bacon, and cabbage, and buttermilk, were set out by the flickering light of a _Corinthian_ tallow peach-wicked candle, and the meal was despatched in silence. When the gentleman from Buncombe had picked his teeth with his pocket-knife, he whispered an appalling secret in the ear of his wife. She drew a long sigh of resignation, wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron, and began packing his saddle-bags, while Joseph Joplin cleaned his 'rifle-gun,' which he called 'Patsy,' after his wife. He had finished trimming the bullets he had cast, when, all things being ready, he rose to depart.

'Joseph Joplin,' said his wife, 'I always allowed it would come to this; but the Lord's will be done!'

In reply, the captain briefly remarked:

'If he don't die of the stab I give him, Mike Target will pass me word, when the boys go out into the bee-woods. I leave you every thing but the colt and my bear-dog, _Gall-buster_; and, so as I never comes back, tell the boys 'tis my wish that they never gives the lie, nor takes it.'

The period of Joplin's absence was more than three years; during which space of time his patient spouse kept up the monotonous music of her wheel, and the regular vibrations of the shuttle. Her hearth was kept warm and clean, and her children were amply clad in cleanly attire, and well fed. Every Sunday was set apart for extra washing of faces, combing of tow-heads, reading a chapter or two, and chanting a hymn. She had rented her field, so as to secure her bread-stuffs; and her little stock of cattle had increased, while they supplied milk and butter for the subsistence of her children. Each tedious year had she spun, wove, and made up for her absent husband a new suit of jeans, which she hung in the cabin beside her own holiday apparel, that she carefully abstained from wearing, until she could attire herself and husband in their best, on some joyous day of meeting. His Sunday hat hung on the hook where the breech of his rifle had rested. Every day of rest she made it a point to brush the dust from the smooth beaver, and drop a tear into the crown. From the day of his departure, no account had ever been received of him. The sheriff, with a rude posse, had searched the premises on the day after the affray, and the neighboring country had been scoured in vain. The racer had outstripped all pursuers, and the fugitive was secure in the unexplored regions at the foot of the Ozark mountains.

The wounded sportsman who had defrauded our hero, contrary to the most flattering hope, had been effectually cured of the wound that Joplin, in his intoxicated rage, had inflicted. The wife, rejoicing in this piece of good fortune, had resorted to every device within the compass of female ingenuity to convey intelligence to the unknown region, the abode of her husband; but she had almost despaired of ever seeing him again, when an old bee-hunter disembarked from his pirogue opposite her cabin, on the Arkansas river, to dry his blankets after a hard storm. Of this old adventurer Mrs. Joplin learned that he had met a trapper on the head waters of White river, who called himself Griffin, and the description of his person induced the fond wife to think it might be Captain Joplin himself. On his way out to the bee-woods the following season, the old hunter carried with him a letter to the following effect:

'DEER CAPTING JOE JOPLING; arter my best respects, hoping these
lines may find you: he arn't dead no more nor you and mee; you
mout come home, I reckon; the childrin all right smartly groin;
you would never know the baby.

'PATSY JOPLING, at the Piny Bend.'

Long and anxiously did the poor affectionate wife wait the return of the father of her little brood, and often in the train of her flattering imagination start as some stranger entered her cabin, with the exclamation, 'I thought it was Capting Jopling!' In her leisure moments, too, she was in the habit of fixing her ardent and steady gaze on the point of rocks behind which she had seen him depart. In all the torture of delay, not a reproachful exclamation was ever uttered by the sufferer. A sigh hastily drawn, and a rudely-constructed prayer, evinced the emotion she deeply felt. The fond woman could perceive, as her children increased in growth, strong resemblances of their father developed in every lineament. But the likeness in 'the baby' was absolutely wonderful. 'If,' said she, 'little Joe was grown, and daddy war here present, they would never know themselves apart.'

It was on one of those mild and sunny days of rest, in the Indian Summer of autumn, that the wanderer returned. The careful mother was surrounded with her children, and was, at the moment he entered the cabin, giving the last touches to the flaxen locks of the youngest child.

'You had as well give my hair a little combing, Patsy,' was the calm salutation of our hero.

'Capting Joseph Jopling!' exclaimed the half-frantic wife, 'ar it you at last!' She smoothed down the folds of her garments as she arose, and, with a smile of welcome, as she gave her hand, said, 'Howdy, Joseph?'

On a close and more deliberate scrutiny of his person, Patsy seemed to think, with her husband, that his hair needed the comb. His locks were matted together like the wool on the forehead of a buffalo; not a comb or an intrusive pair of scissors had interrupted the wild luxuriance of its growth, in a period of more than three years. When his hat had given way to the irritation of cane-brakes and green briars, and the peltings of the storms of summer and winter, he had cultivated the covering with which nature had bountifully provided his cranium. By occasional cropping of his locks with his butcher-knife, as they grew out so as to obstruct his vision, he left his upper-works with a singular aspect; and when the growth of three years' beard is considered, with the bears' oil glistening on its uncombed surface, it is not strange that his charitable wife should give him some ironical compliments, such as these:

'Jopling, you're a beauty! Sally, bring the soap. Joseph, you are a picture! The poor baby don't know its daddy; did he think daddy was a painter? Get your daddy's razor out of mammy's box; put on the tea-kettle, Sally, and heat some water, while I make up a pone of bread. Josey, did you cook for yourself all this time?' and as she bustled about, she began to sing a long-neglected air, to which she had trod a measure in the joyous days of early youth, in the Piny Woods of Buncombe.

The first six months after his return home, Captain Joplin was diligently occupied in repairing his farm, which had fallen into a slovenly condition. He was content with the society of his domestic circle, and remained quietly at home. But, when the great annual races came on, he was tempted to spend a day, only as a spectator, on the track, and accordingly appeared there early on the first morning. He had many acquaintances there, all of whom were thirsty beings; and before the sun went down he felt rich, and generous, and glorious. The ferocious stage of the disease came on after dark.

The return of the husband to his cabin that night was at an earlier hour than usual. He was pale and nervous, and blood was on his hand, and his garments were discolored. He notified his wife of the necessity of his immediate departure. She insisted on leave to accompany him, which was readily granted. Such of their effects as could be speedily packed, were hastily put in portable form. In an hour, the family were mounted on their riding animals, and in the road leading down the river. Few words were exchanged among the fugitives; and the place of destination was never mentioned. On reaching the first ferry, at about the hour of midnight, they turned shortly to the left, and crossed to the opposite bank of the river, without requiring the aid of ferrymen. On landing, Joplin scuttled and sunk the ferry-flat, to cut off pursuit. They continued their route until about ten o'clock, with little regard to road or trace; and having found a deep ravine, apparently untrodden by human footsteps, they halted for refreshment. After a brief repast of dried venison, the party continued their route, and at sunset were fifty miles from their habitation. It should have been observed, that the fugitives left their cabin in a blaze, with a hope that in the neighborhood a belief would prevail that the whole family had been consumed. To strengthen this belief, the cunning woodsman had deposited the carcasses of two deer he had killed the day before, and several joints of bacon, in the corner where the family usually slept, that these might be mistaken for their bones. The impression which it was policy to make, on examination of the ashes, obtained currency to a great extent, and it delayed pursuit. When the doubts that were entertained by some of the destination of the fugitives finally induced search, it was too late to discover any trace of the Joplin family. It was believed by many, who supposed they had fled, that they departed down the river in the ferry-boat that had disappeared.

In the mean time the flight was continued, until Joplin reached his old haunts, in a cane-bottom on Flat Creek, a small tributary of White River. Here security was made doubly sure by the bear-rough that sheltered them, and by the distance they had removed from the settlement in Arkansas. They had, moreover, taken the precaution to locate within the boundaries of Missouri. The fugitive from justice was likewise in the vicinity of a cave, known only to himself and the red hunters who had formerly resided in this quarter of the country. In this subterranean chamber, the dry bones from a neighboring battle-field had been deposited by the tribe who had been the greatest sufferers in a sanguinary conflict. As cheerless as this place might appear, Joplin had reposed in it alone many nights on his former visit to this region of country; and in this place he had _cached_ his furs and peltries, which now constituted his surplus for his new beginning in the world. The erection of a cabin was a task not easily completed, without the aid of neighbors for the raising; but, when the roof had been placed over their heads, and fastened there with weight-poles, and the puncheons composing the floor laid down, the mother of this little colony began to sing, and spin, and bustle about over the irregular surface with cautious footsteps, and stealthily, in her daily task. She had not forgotten the essential portions of her wheel and loom in her departure from the ruin of her old habitation, and the mechanical ingenuity of the woodsman, with his axe, augur, hand-saw, and butcher-knife, supplied the deficiency. The good woman continued still to indulge on Sunday in a clean apron, a chapter, and a comb. These were luxuries she could not readily dispense with. In his former visit to this wild region, Joplin esteemed it no hardship to refrain from the use of bread-stuffs; but he was constrained to make some apology to his wife and children for the privation he would be obliged to impose, until he could raise a crop. He however assured them, that with a mixture of bear-meat and venison, and a 'sprinkle' of turkey-breast, they would do very well without bread, provided they could get time to cut bee-trees.