Knoxville journal. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1874-1986, 1875-07-29

| Their evenings in the village towns were
! usually full OF interest In one little mar
| ket town the public room was filed with a
/ company of ladies and gentlemen passing
pleasant, social evening. There was piano,
and the American played John Browns
! Body, -" From Atlanta tc the Sea-" and
other stirring national melodies, to the
| great delight of the company who heard
/ them for the first time, and the landlord
was so pleased that he volunteered several
of the beautiful Toikslieder of Thurlngen.
In one village they passed the evening in a
6duerqokneipe, as they call the place where
the peasants spend their evenings. The vii
lage schoolmaster dropped in to smoke his
| pipe and drink his beer, and he fell into
an entertaining conversation with the
strangers. From Leipzig?n he said, as
they told him where they were from, and
then, bowling to the American, he said:
But YOU are certainly no Saxon; | can
tell that by your speech" (The Saxons
have a very peculiar accent speaking
with a singing infection very much re-
sembling that of London English.) The
latter told the master to guess where he
was from You speak like Hamburg
err, he said. "No, am not from Ham
burg From the Rhinef' "No."
Holsteins" "No.n 1.-THE Neither
lands y Mo- 81 give it up--whati
from America? Well, | never expected
to see an American here" And he had
many questions 10 ask about eur country,
and particularly about the Indians. "Of
course you can speak Indian please speak
a little; | would like to hear how it
| sounds" The American had to confess
| that he had never seen any real wild In
| dians in his life except deputation that
| once visited Boston. "But you must
know something of the language said
| the master, not satisfied. The former re.
membered the names of the Elizabeth Isl
ands-Naushon, Nashawena, Pasque
Penikese and Cutyhunk and so he re-
peated them rapidly, but did not venture
| on the lakes Of Maine. Fine hubsche
sprache,n said the schoolmaster, reflect
| lively.
! Ii is no wonder that Goethe loved the
| pretty little city of llmcnau, and spent
many of his happiest months there. 1t Is
| the ideal of the German provincial
| Stadtcher, and pleasant, easy life must
the people lead. Our friends saw many
evidences that the national characteristics
| of Germany, Gemuthltotkeit, love of COM
| fort. was well at home at llmenau. Be
| fore almost every house were tables and
| chairs, with an awning overhead,
and there the family would sit in the
pleasant afternoons, the ladies with their
| sewing and knitting and in full view of
all that passed; and ut evening the family
supper would be served there. The city
nestles at the foot of the mountains, from
which the crystal clear water was con-
| Quoted to the fountains, which streamcd
and gurgled into great basins at every
turn. In accordance with the pleasant
| Pfingsten custom these fountains were
decorated with flowers and with great
| boughs of fresh, green birch, and every
doorway was also EMPOWERED in birch
boughs. 1t was at llmenau that the
Young Bostoner saw hanging in the pub
| lie room of the GasthdUs zur Some a
steel engraving of the battle of Bunker
! Hill, and very naturally his centennial
zeal was aroused, and he had To- tell his
German friends about the great event
whose hundredth anniversary will have
been celebrated by the time this letter
reaches you
The idea of IA cow-bcll, either in music
or In poetry, seems somewhat ridiculous,
| but whoever has stood on mountain side
| i'm Thuringen and heard the music of the
herd.bells below will carry the memory of
|
late in the afternoon when our friends de-
scended the western slope OF Kickelhshn,
the mountain which rises In such noble
symmetry to the westward of Ilmenau.
| They had Just come out Of the tannens
| into an open space when the strange en-
| chanting melody of the herd bells struck
their ears. A never.ending, ever-chang.
| ing stream of melody, low and clear, each
| bell seeming different in tone, but all
sounds flowing together in silvery war
| BILE and tinkle, like that of a clear brook
| flowing over silver sleigh bells for pebbles.
| Had Edgar A. Poe ever heard the like he
would certainly have added another stan
IN 10 his Bells" Far below them, going
| slowly homeward on the smooth highway,
| they could see the herd and now and then
| the sound of the herd boys horn would
| rise clear and penetrating over the sweet
| bell.music. To both eye and ear
| the quiet scene around them was per
feet in its pastoral beauty; in the
valley two picturesque mountain villages,
| with quaint, rcd-tiled roofs, rich and glow
| ing in the late sunlight; the little river
| lin winding through meadows of the in
tensest emerald: IA gray little mill, Its
great wheel slowly turning with a fringe
| Of pearly.white; and beyond, the highest
| mountains In the ThuTingen, somberly
clothed with tannen 10 their SUBMITS; in
| the trcc.tops around the nigbtingales sing
ing their evening songs. Then the sun
went down, the valley WAS left In deep
| shadow, which rose higher and higher ON
the mountains. The music Of the bells
| died away, the birds became silent one by
| one, not leaf rustled, and nothing was
heard but the distant plashing OF the mill
| wheel and the voices of children In the
village street. 1t was the embodiment OF
that poem, exquisite in its simple beauty,
| which Goethe wrote in just such an hour
on the walls of the little cottage that stood
| few hundred feet above them on the
Kickelhahn, and in which he would often
spend weeks at a time. The poem could
be seen carefully protected under glass,
until the cottage was burned two or three
| years ago.