1857. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



663 



Pot the New England Farmer. 



THE RHINE. 



LETTER FROM MR. FRENCH. 



HEIDElnEBQ ON THE RHINE, ) 

 August 2, 1857. i 



My Dear Brown : — My last letter left us at 

 Coblentz by the famous monument of Russian good 

 numor. We left Coblentz on the last day of July, 

 and came up the Rhine through the most beautiful 

 portion of the most beautiful river. The hills, as we 

 leave Coblentz, shut in upon the river before and 

 behind us, and, as we stand on the deck and look 

 forward or backward, it seems as if we were on 

 some small lake like those of New Hampshire, 

 bounded on all sides by precipitous banks. The 

 river is winding enough to make you wonder how 

 the boat is to get on, in its course. 



The old castles, perched on the rockiest crags, 

 are increasing in number. The grape terraces go 

 up one above another to nearly a thousand feet 

 in height, giving a landscape rich and quite peculiar 

 to this land of vineyards. Two scenes in my own 

 far-off father-land kept continually coming back to 

 my mind. Though distant and far different from 

 each other, I was reminded of both at every point. 

 One is in ray native New Hampshire, as you 

 go from Conway towards the notch of the White 

 Mountains, where the road, not far froai the Willey 

 House, winds among the steep dark shadowy hills 

 that seem to shut you in on all sides, and bar your 

 progress in all directions. The Rhine seemed that 

 highway ; and the wild hills on her banks seemed 

 the mountains of the Granite State. Again the 

 scene would change ; and as we sat under the awn- 

 ing in the warm, quiet day, I seemed to be on the 

 Hudson, up by the Palisades, with a party of pleas- 

 ant friends, on our way to Albany. And so the 

 Rhine, on a smaller scale, but in a more compre- 

 hensible form, because it brought its details of 

 scenery nearer, combined, to my fancy, the beauties 

 of the two most beautiful scenes which my eyes 

 have ever beheld in my own country, and to them 

 added the peculiar features of a wine country. To 

 all this the "Father of Waters" adds the charm of 

 association with the poetry and romance of such as 

 Southey and Byron and Longfellow and Mrs. Nor- 

 ton. 



"More mighty spots may rise— more glaring shine. 



But none unite In one attaching maze 



The brilliant, fair, and soft— the glories of old days. 



The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom 



Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen, 



The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom. 



The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between, 



The wild rucks shaped as they had turrets been, 



In mockery of man's art." 



Even with Byron's aid, I feel how vain is the at- 

 tempt to convey any adequate impression of the 

 peculiar beauty of this part of the Rhine ; but we 

 will hasten on to Bingen, where we arrived at four 



P. M., and where under the shade of the lindens I 

 wrote you a letter, vainly hoping when I com- 

 menced it to describe my journey up the Rhine to 

 Bingen in a single epistle. 



The beautiful lines of Mrs. Norton have hallowed 

 the name of Bingen to my mind. I will send them 

 some day to the Farmer for publication in the lit- 

 erary department. They commence — 



"A soldier of the Legion lay dying at Algiers, 

 There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of wo- 

 man's tears ; 

 The dying soldier faltered as he took his comrade's hand. 

 And he said 'I never more shall see my own, my native land,' 

 Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine, 

 For I was born at Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine." 



At this place the river makes a considerable 

 bend, and the hills come down into it so abruptly 

 as to narrow its course and increase its current al- 

 most into rapids. Here are some of the mills for 

 grinding wheat, which are observed all along the 

 Rhine. They are constructed on large boats an- 

 chored in the midst of the stream. Large wheels 

 projecting from the sides are slowly turned by the 

 natural current of the river, carrying shafts to which 

 is geared the machinery which turns the stones. At 

 one or two places we observed a dozen or more of 

 these corn-mills anchored side by side, in a line 

 across the Rhine. The motion of the wheels, slow 

 and lazy, corresponds well with the habits of the 

 people, and with the leisure and dignity of us wan- 

 derers who frequent these pleasant waters, where, 

 whatever be our go-ahead propensities, we can 

 move no faster than German steamers and diligen- 

 ces choose to carry us. 



Taking a small row-boat, we crossed the Rhine, 

 and made the ascent of a mountain on the other 

 side called the Neiderwald, of which I will give a 

 brief account, as it may throw light upon the 

 character and productions of the soil, as well as 

 upon the habits of the people. The moment we 

 landed, we were met by a dozen men, boys an^* 

 girls, who proffered us all manner of aid as guides, 

 with horses and donkeys enough for a regiment. 

 Our party consisted of nine persons, five of whom 

 concluded to take each an animal, while the rest of 

 us proposed to walk. 



Two Englishmen and one lady and one Canadian 

 took horses, while another gentleman preferred a 

 donkey. Here, as everywhere else in this coun- 

 try, it is usual for each animal to be attended by a 

 man or boy. You can always have a man and 

 mule or horse at the same price as the beast with- 

 out the man. In these countries where labor is 

 cheap and people plentiful, it is considered a privi- 

 lege by those persons who have charge of the ani- 

 mals, to keep along with the traveller, trusting to 

 their wits to get enough out of him to support them 

 at least for the time. The man who rode the don- 

 key was a picture rare to see, and we all regretted 



