1831.J Reflections 0)1 a Ramble in Germany. 381 



The rich productions of the Rhine and Moselle — the rosy asmanhausen, 

 the amber rhudesheimerj the delicious schatzberg — were eagerly called 

 for in every A'ariety of tone and accent. 



In the evening I followed the sti-eam of fashion to the universal point 

 of attraction — the Spiel-haus. A glittering crowd of both sexes was 

 seated round the rouge-et-noir table. What a singular contrast the 

 marble visages of the bankers and crupiers — visages which appear to 

 have been long ago the grave of expression — form with the look of 

 feverish and intense anxiety marked on the countenances of the players ! 

 I was particularly struck with three figures : one, a Polish countess of 

 considerable personal attractions ; she was playing high, and as the 

 glittering pile of napoleons before her rapidly disappeared, her lip 

 quivered, and a look of angry passion shed its desolation upon her 

 beauty. The next was a young German lady, whose sweet placidity of 

 countenance, as she watched the varying chances of the game, under- 

 went not the slightest change : the demon of play had not yet entered 

 deeply into tliis fair creature's soul. Immediately behind her, stood a 

 Prussian officer ; his countenance assumed an air of fierceness, and I 

 thought he would have torn out his mustachios by the root, as he beheld 

 his last frederick-d'or swept away by the insatiable rake of the banker. 

 I quitted the scene with disgust, and wandered forth to contemplate 

 the fair face of nature. It was a beautiful night ; the full moon silver- 

 ing the glassy surface of the Lahn, and bathing in a flood of light the 

 woody heights of the opposite bank. On this very spot, twenty centu- 

 ries ago, did the long-haired Germans offer up, on the eve of battle, 

 their bloody sacrifices to their warrior-god. At such an hour, here, on 

 the banks of the tranquil Lahn, which was flowing past me like a 

 dream of happiness, might the first glimmering of ambition have burst 

 upon the mind of the future Caesar, as with folded arms and upraised 

 eye he sought to read the star of his destiny. Again, in later times, on 

 such a night as this, here, by the same soft light, has the young crusader 

 told his tale of love, or recounted to his blue-eyed mistress the wonders 

 of the Holy Land — the martial glory of the Christian host — who rode 

 the victor of the lists at Ascalon — what arms Saladin wore, and the 

 fierce onslaught of England's Cceur de Lion ; while she would cling to 

 his arm, or piously vow a votive offering to her favourite saint for her 

 lover's safe return. Empires are mouldering in the dust ; religions, that 

 formerly won man's reverence, are now his mockery ; new worlds have 

 been discovered ; the whole structure of society has undergone, and is 

 undergoing, a change. Yet Nature is still the same. — But this is rhap- 

 sody : and yet such thoughts as these will flash across the mind when, 

 at the soft hour of evening, we wander in solitary loneliness among 

 scenes to which belong 



" The stirring memory of a thousand years." 



Our mornings were passed in courses on the mountains — the evenings 

 in concerts or balls. A splendid ball was given, a few nights after my 

 arrival, at the pavillion in the garden on the banks of the river. The 

 glare of the numerous lustres, the glittering of stars and epaulettes on 

 the splendid uniforms of the military, the beauty of the women and 

 their recherchcc toilette, formed a very brilliant conp-d'ccil. 



The l)all opened with a stately Polonaise. The column of dancers first 

 made the tour of the ball-room, passed into the garden, which was illu- 



