LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ***

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LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE

OF

_POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE_.

Vol XII, No. 31.

OCTOBER, 1873.

TABLE OF CONTENTS FROM PARIS TO MARLY BY WAY OF THE RHINE [Illustrated] By EDWARD STRAHAN. IV.--A Day In Strasburg. FROM THE POTOMAC TO THE OHIO. [Illustrated] AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF A STRONG-MINDED WOMAN By MARSHALL NEIL. THE KING OF BAVARIA. by E.E. ON THE CHURCH STEPS By SARAH C. HALLOWELL. Chapter X. Chaper XI. Chapter XII. A STRANGE LAND AND A PECULIAR PEOPLE By WILL WALLACE HARNEY. SIMILITUDE By EMMA LAZAROS. OUR HOME IN THE TYROL [Illustrated] By MARGARET HOWITT. Chapter XI. Chapter XII. UNSAID By CHARLOTTE F. BATES. LAURENTINUM By A.A.B. A PRINCESS OF THULE By WILLIAM BLACK. Chapter XVI.--Exchanges. Chapter XVII.--Guesses. Chapter XVIII.--Sheila's Strategem. THE LAST OF THE IDYLLS By F.F. ELMS. OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP. An Evening In Calcutta By W.H.S. No Danbury For Me By SARSFIELD YOUNG. Another Ghost By S.C. CLARKE. NOTES. LITERATURE OF THE DAY. Books Received.

ILLUSTRATIONS TEARING UP THE PONTOON BRIDGE. STRASBURG CATHEDRAL IN FLAMES. THE HIGHEST SPIRE IN EUROPE. THE GREAT CLOCK. CHURCH OF SAINT THOMAS. BEAUTY'S QUINTESSENCE. VOICI LE SABRE! STREET OF THE GREAT ARCADES. BEER-GARDEN OF THE DAUPHIN. SUCKLED IN A CREED OUTWORN. THE BLESSING OF THE BÂB. THE BOTANIST. VIEW NEAR ANTIETAM, MARYLAND. POTOMAC TUNNEL, NEAR HARPER'S FERRY. BATTLE-GROUNDS OF THE POTOMAC VALLEY. SCENE AMONG THE MARYLAND ALLEGHANIES. SCENE AT CUMBERLAND NARROWS. CLIFF VIEW, CUMBERLAND NARROWS. VALLEY FALLS, WEST VIRGINIA. FISH CREEK VALLEY, WEST VIRGINIA. CHEAT RIVER VALLEY AND MOUNTAINS. CHEAT RIVERS NARROWS. SCHLOSS SCHWALBEN.

THE NEW HYPERION.

FROM PARIS TO MARLY BY WAY OF THE RHINE.

IV.--A DAY IN STRASBURG.

[Illustration: TEARING UP THE PONTOON BRIDGE.]

Behold me, then, with five hours around my neck, like so many millstones, in Strasburg, on the abjured Rhine! Had I not vowed never to visit that bewitched current again? Was it not by Rhine-bank that I learned to quote the minnesingers and to unctuate my hair? From her owl-tower did not old Frau Himmelauen use to observe me, my cane, and my curls, and my gloves? Did not her gossips compare me to Wilhelm Meister? And so, when he thought he was ripe, the innocent Paul Flemming must needs proceed to pour his curls, his songs and his love into the lap of Mary Ashburton; and the discreet siren responded, "You had better go back to Heidelberg and grow: you are not the Magician."

Yet before that little disaster of my calf period I sighed for the Rhine: I used its wines more freely than was perhaps good for me, and when the smoke-colored goblet was empty would declare that if I were a German I should be proud of the grape-wreathed river too. At Bingen I once sat up to behold the bold outline of the banks crested with ruins, which in the morning proved to be a slated roof and chimneys. And when at Heidelberg I saw the Neckar open upon the broad Rhine plain like the mouth of a trumpet, I felt inspired, and built every evening on my table a perfect cathedral of slim, spire-shaped bottles--sunny pinnacles of Johannisberger.

And now, decoyed to the Rhine by a puerile conspiracy, how could I best get the small change for my five hours?

[Illustration: STRASBURG CATHEDRAL IN FLAMES.]

Should I sulk like a bear in the parlor of the Maison Rouge until the departure of the Paris train, or should I explore the city? Some wave from my fond, foolish past flowed over me and filled me with desire. I felt that I loved the Rhine and the Rhine cities once more. And where could I better retie myself to those old pilgrim habits than in this citadel of heroism, a place sanctied by recent woes, a city proved by its endurance through a siege which even that of Paris hardly surpassed? One draught, then, from the epic Rhine! To-morrow, at Marly, I could laugh over it all with Hohenfels.

The Münster was before me--the highest tower in Europe, if we except the hideous cast-iron abortion at Rouen. I recollected that in my younger days I had been defrauded of my fair share of tower-climbing. Hohenfels had a saying that most travelers are a sort of children, who need to touch all they see, and who will climb to every broken tooth of a castle they find on their way, getting a tiresome ascent and hot sunshine for their pains. "I trust we are wiser," he would observe, so unanswerably that I passed with