Morning journal and courier., 1889-10-26


 preoipice, or an apparently inaccessible crag, is gray old ruin or lofty fortress, from which ever float the colors of some member of the German nobility. The poet, the artist, the dreamer, need go no further in the Rhine country than Bonn and the Seven Mountains. <
 Soon-after scores of villages; of lofty orags, surmounted by ruined castles; of quaint churches; of pleasant groups gather ing the late crops, or ploughing anew the fields; of every fashion of life in lowly garb and mein, doing all things still in the olden, burdensome way-you. reach Coblenz, where the legend haunted Mosel flows into the Rhine. Coblenz is entitled to veneration. It was founded, so the story goes, eight years before Christ. Quite long time this to de- velop its thirty-fve thousand inhabitants. ish provinces, it is very stately and formal; and, I am told, one has soldier instantly at his side here in Coblenz should he dare con- verse above a whisper. But as one looks out through the blue sky to the heights of Eh- Tenbreitstein and it's splendid castle, built nearly a century ago at g cost of eight mil lion thalers, the artists instincts are certain Iy touched. Near by is Fort Sayn. destroyed by the French in the thirty years' war, the abbey Seyn, and the splendid castle of Sayn; while at the foot of the mountain is sort of European 'happy family" at Neuweid, where there are ten thousand inhabitants, compris- ing Protestants, Catholics, Herrenhuter, Mennonites, Quakers and Jews.
 GAS peaceful as at Neuweid ," is common saying throughout all Germany.
 It is one story, over and over, up the Rhine; but to me, "Sweet Bingen on the Rhine" seemed to possess the deepest inter. est. It is a pretty place of itself, nestled, as it is, between the mountains, where the inn petuons Nahe rushes down, with great noise and pretension for so small a stream, into the Rhine. Quaint, sleepy, of forgot ten age, 1t rests there as sweet picture of poetic past. Bingen is at the foot of the Rochus mountain, upon which are the ruins of the ancient fortified Castle Klopp, in which Henry the Fourth was imprisoned. Upon the summit of the mountain is the Ro- man chapel of Roehus. Opposite Bingen, across the Rhine, rises grand mountain, upon the top of which, and circling away many miles to the right is the Neiderwald Qow forest) From the temple hero, it is said, can be had the finest view of the whole Rheingan. At the further edge of the mountain, commanding noble view, stands the colossal statue of Germania, commemo- ratiye of the late Franco-Prussian war; while the side of the mountain which de- seends toward the Rhine, and forever smiles upon Bingen with joyous plenty, is one of the most famous vineyards in all Germany, its purple glory making the little village be- low, Rudesheim, famous the world over for it's wine.
 On arrival at the fortified city of May ence, in due order visited the famous pon- toon bridge across the Rhine; the splendid railway bridge, with its mighty fortified cas- ties for defense at either approach; the great castle of the city; the Bishops palace; the Gnttenberg- Platz and the noted monument to dear old Guttenberg; the Aayence theater looking for all the world, from the interior, like g moas grown gas reservoir; the Bierbich castle and the splendid statue to GermaDy's immortal poet, Schiller. Then came an in- spection of the great Notifications of May encs. These cost fftesn million marks. Ten million came from the Imperial treasury and five million was levied upon the city. They are of gigantic proportions and com pletely surround the city. though in my judgment they are too near the vital spot in- tended to be protected. An enemy's shot or shell which could reach any portion of the stupendous works could pass over them and thus work great and even absolute ruin to this, the most important base of military supplies in all Europe. Returning to my ho- tel, I was reminded that had not seen the one great object of interest in Mayence, the mighty Dom. On my way thither, though 1t Is not a quarter of @ mile from the station, was SO interested in the quaint, narrow
 
 eight feet in width, but with handsome shops and cafes within the dark streets, lighted all day long with gas or eandles-that the gloam- ing of the evening had come down upon tho town before had reached the Dom, or oathe- dral. The business part of the city Ia built all about the great pile, up against, into it, under its roofs. Cropping in and about weird gate, in which was little iron wicket, half open. Entering this, stumbled about for time, finally coming upon a plump maid who was working away at @ gigantic pump. An, no, the Dom was closed, she said. After six o'clock no sacrilegious traveller could en- tor. I reckoned differently. Away over there it seemed a mile distant-was thread of light streaming through the mold, the ruins and the ivy. Barking my shins and pumping my head much brought me to it. Peeping through the lattice saw an ancient verger doing some sort of religious service all to himself. I knocked at the door. The old man seemed mortified at the sacrilege. Finally he bade me enter. spoke eloquent ly with my hand. It was full of small coin, among which, I remember. there was some white money.
 What magic this thing money has, in deedl
 In few moments the changing of the gates, the breaking of the hinges and the flare of the verger's lighted cresset awoke the sleeping pigeons within the gables, and soon down, down.. down, and up, up, up, and then down and up, and, winding about, we came to the heart of the sacred place. It was all told me in whispers, most rever- ently. It was all showed to me in stealth and gloom. The great font with its olden brasses fiared back at us reproaehfully. The wondrous crucifx seemed to move and change restlessly. The tombs in stone and iron and brass had, somehow, a horrible movement among them. The great paint ings with their oaken frames shifted about l uneasily. The massive pillars and columns loomed through the shadows nightly. And away up there, height upon height, the groined arches lessened and grew, and re- treated and disclosed until one got dizzy with looking. One point of light only, this from the very apex of the dome, told of the dying day without. Westminster Abbey St. Paul's, the Cologne cathedral, one and all, have no measure of the solemn grandeur of the majestic interior of this great pile begun so long ago that the time Of it's begin ming is lost in tradition, and built in sucf proportions and strength that it will remair when . thousand other great edifoes of eul time are crumbled and forgotten.
 EDGAR l.. WAKEMAN.