out of sylvan beauty. Another day we drove to Freudenberg, which is just over the Bavarian border in the Grand Duchy of Baden. It stands on the left bank of the Main, which here makes one of its many curves. The result is that from a distance the town can be seen with the river in front of it and the forest and hill rising up behind it. Freudenberg consists of a long and not too straight street, with occasional side streets leading to the river and to the hill. The houses are quaint and picturesque; there is scarcely one to be seen that in one way or other would not yield an interesting sketch to a skilful hand. Flowers and babies abound in Freudenberg. Each house seems. to have a window garden, and children swarm everywhere. They cover the doorsteps; they decorate the pedestals of the wayside crosses; a battalion plays skipping rope; a brigade has mounted guard over a pile of firewood. They are making friends with the oxen drawing the long waggons; they are, alas! laughing at the village idiot, who is strutting about in happy unconsciousness of any defect. Their laughter and shouts are heard on every side, and often from unsuspected coigns of vantage where they have perched themselves. Here comes a nun with another troop of small children who have just been released from school, and proceed to join "the blue-eyed banditti" already in possession of the town. Freudenberg would certainly be a good place in which to study the population question. Above the town in the wood are the ruins of an ancient castle dating from the twelfth century, and destroyed in the Thirty Years' War. There is, needless to say, a tradition of buried treasure in Schloss Freudenberg, and once in every seven years a phantom priest is seen under its ruined gateway. But no man has yet learned the secret of the hiding-place. We were not more successful than others. From the castle grounds there are some pleasant views. The eye rests first on the red roofs of Freudenberg, and then wanders over stream and field until it reaches the blue mountains that meet the sky on the other side of the Mainthal. Descending, we pass by houses, picturesque if not comfortable, to the main street. Over the door of the Rathaus is the date 1499* The peasant women are a patient and hard-working race. Here, at one door, is an old woman busily engaged in sawing wood; here is another who has been cutting hay, and carries a load of it on her poor bent back in a long and curiously shaped basket. A horse is being shoed on the main street. The Imperial mail stops in front of the Postoffice. One or two officials in all the glory of uniform and a few stray tourists complete our view of Freudenberg. Another day our objective was Klingenberg, which stands on the right bank of the Main, and has all the appearance of a prosperous and contented community. Whilst the other little towns are contented with ferries, Klingenberg has spanned the stream with an elegant bridge, and is lighted by electricity. Moreover, it is said. that, by a sort of modern miracle, the burgesses of Klingenberg pay no local rates, but, on the contrary, receive a stipend from the town funds. The first thought of many grumbling English ratepayers will be to send a deputation of the City Fathers to inquire into the causes of this un * Arabic numerals appear to have been used much earlier for mural inscriptions in Bavaria than in England, where authentic specimens before the middle of the sixteenth century are not easy to find. In addition to the date of 1499 on the Rathaus at Freudenberg, I noticed in the Stift Kirche at Aschaffenburg one arch dated 1483, and another 148-, the last figure being illegible. On the town wall of Miltenberg is the date 1442. At Amorbach there is a date 1493. In all these inscriptions, the ancient and now discarded form of 4 is used. That at Miltenberg is particularly rude and indicates that the form was novel to the carver. wonted phenomenon. Whatever may be the case elsewhere, the Klingenberg plan would not work in Manchester. A folk-rhyme tells us Zu Würzburg am Stein, Zu Bacharach am Rhein, Da wachst die beste Wein. The Klingenberg vineyards are the property of the town, as also is the wood which surmounts it. The produce of the municipal estate is sufficient, we were told, to pay all the local expenses, and to leave something over for distribution among the lucky burghers. Bathed in the summer sunshine stands the vine-clad hill, nestling on its side is the bright village, its foot is washed by the Main, and its height is crowned by trees, amidst which are the gray ruins of its ancient castle. The Gasthaus in Germany is as important as the publichouse in England, even more so, for the Gasthaus claims as patrons classes whom the public-house has long ceased to attract. The tiniest village seems to consider one or two indispensable. They are the common meeting ground, where the harvest and the election are discussed, where the policy of the Dreibund is reviewed, and where the latest message from Franzl, who is in a barrack at Berlin, or from Gretha, who is in service at Frankfort, is retailed. These wayside inns are notable for a somewhat obtrusive piety in the shape of crucifixes and religious pictures, which hang on the wall side by side with gaudy advertisements. There are also some curious greetings and reminders to the guests. One of these runs Das Trinken lernt der Mensch zuerst, Viel später dann das essen ; Dann soll er über dem Essen auch Des Trinkens nie vergessen. Another reads: Ein böses Weib, Ein saurs Bier, Bewahr der Himmel, Uns dafür.1 Near this, with a crucifix between, was a picture of the Madonna, with the verse Beschütze Maria gnädig, Dieses Haus, Und die da gehen, Ein und aus.2 A favourite "Gast Gruss" is this: Wein trinken macht fröhlich, Gott lieben macht selig; D'rum liebe Gott. Und trinke Wein, Dann kannst Du fröhlich Und selig sein. As Beer and Bible has served for an election cry in England; we need not be surprised that Germany should have men equally zealous for the Kirche and the Wirthshaus.3 We paid a visit to the Engelberg, one of the pilgrim places of Bavaria, a country in which local cultus is highly developed. Turning from the principal street toward the river Main, we can see the workmen busily engaged in the construction of the new bridge for which Miltenberg has 1A scolding woman and beer that's flat, Save us, Good Heaven, from this and from that. 20 Mary, whom we honour all, On those who from its shelter go. 3 It is, perhaps, worth noting that the Germans drink less beer than the English. It may also be said that a traveller who is both a teetotaler and a vegetarian need not encounter many difficulties, though they can be found by searching. |