1831.3 Reflections on a Ramble in Germany. 383 



as romantic as the scenery we were admiring. The French revolution 

 dragged him from his peaceful home. He had fought beneath the 

 Pyramids — had retreated from before Torres Vedras — had mingled in 

 the hon-id butchery of the Borodino — had lighted his pipe at the 

 embers of the burning palaces of IMoscow — and, finally, had beheld the 

 setting of the sun of Napoleon on the field of Waterloo. The benumbing 

 influence which this event shed over the military world, extended itself 

 to the narrow orbit in which he moved ; he was disbanded, and now 

 earned a miserable subsistence as a guide to the Rhine. This old veteran 

 appeared to live on the memory of the past ; and he spoke of his former 

 chief in terms of melancholy enthusiasm. 



The table d'hote, at the Hotel de Treves, was crowded. The upper 

 part of the table was occupied by the officers of the garrison ; the truces 

 ct cerulei oculi, ridila; comce, et magna corpora, distinguished them as 

 strongly as they did their ancestors in the days of Tacitus. Near me 

 sat two disbanded French officers of the old imperial army ; their brows 

 wore an air of gloomy disappointment ; they inveighed bitterly against 

 the Prussians, and said that, in the event of a war, in fifteen days the 

 Rhine would again become the boundary of France. As I looked 

 through the windows, the formidable works of Ehrenbreitstein appeared 

 to frown a fierce defiance to this Gallic vaunt. The Prussians are 

 entrenched up to their necks in the land ; and it is not one, or even two, 

 successful campaigns that would drive them beyond the Rhine. The 

 Prussian army is, in every respect, the most effective in Europe, and 

 will, in the event of an appeal to arms, cut out hard work for the 

 French. 



Tliere were two young English officers of cavalry at table, on their 

 way to the camp of instruction at Sane Louis ; they were fine specimens 

 of our military school, and I looked on them with feelings of pride. 

 At the bottom of the table were seated an English lady and gentleman, 

 who forcibly arrested my attention. The lady was beautiful, and has 

 often since haunted my dreams ; she had soft hazel eyes, a profusion 

 of raven locks, and a classical paleness of complexion that we rarely 

 meet with but in the sunny climes of the south. Her companion appeared 

 to be in the last stage of a consumption, and was on his way to the 

 genial climate of Italy, in the vain pursuit of health. The hand of death 

 Avas already on his pallid brow ; and, long ere he reached the frontiers of 

 that sunny land, the beautiful creature by his side, who was turning her 

 eyes on him with a look of thrilling anxiety and tender solicitude, was a 

 widow, in the desolate loneliness of a foreign land. 



