feeble echoes. A faint indication of piano-music from the far interior of some of the large pleasant houses falls on the ear, competing with the footfalls, far between, of the very good-looking females with which Mannheim is adorned.
Mannheim is a place of immense commerce,—so one of its inhabitants informed us, in a quaint, stagnant voice. It is very likely to be true, as the city occupies the axil of two important navigable rivers; but even trade walks about there in padded shoes, and makes no ostentatious noises or display. This Baden town, with its oleanders in the doorways, and vine-gardens in the suburbs, is by no means an unpleasing residence, especially to those who prefer a flat tone in life’s landscape. It is a place of education, moreover; it possesses well-conducted schools, and an University,—the very deadest portion of the whole city. And the late Grand-Duchess Stephanie used to show kind hospitality to the English and other foreigners.
Whenever we revisit Mannheim, we do so with feelings of respect akin to those of affection; but we must not now linger there, fit though it be, from the above-mentioned qualifications, to be “a home for man.” Nor may we stop at glorious Heidelberg, which we reach by the Ducal Railway in an hour, except to glance from the deck of the small steamboat on which we have already embarked, at the prematurely ruined castle; and through the fine bridge; and up to the wooded heights on the opposite side of the stream, trying to find the little building where the famous duels are fought; the Studenten when they fight, taking care to pad themselves well all over, leaving only the nose and cheeks exposed, and to use swords, which, like chisels, are sharp at the end alone. One more glance we give,—and that is up the river, and at some banks of gravel high and dry, which seem to occupy almost all its bed.
We wonder what our bold little steamer means to do; whether she be an amphibious locomotive and have the means of crawling over such difficulties, dry-shod; or whether the crew and passengers disembark at certain portages, and carry the boat over, like a canoe in the northern waters of America. However, the bell rings, the landing-stage is withdrawn, and we are off; that is, we should be off if it depended on the efforts of the engine and the exertions of the crew, pushing with their long poles; but, being aground, we are not off in the fullest sense of the word. To prevent others being deterred from navigating the Neckar from fears of stranding and wreck, I would add that we grounded only about four times, and that within the first half-hour; and that afterwards, though our course was not always exactly plain-sailing, the depth of water was sufficient for the small vessels which ascend and descend the river. The slow progress at starting cannot be reckoned lost time. The eye feasts on the hanging oak woods and the pleasant outskirts of Heidelberg, the peeping distance, still holding up the castle and bridge, as a mother holds up her babe to her husband who has left the cottage-door and turns back to take one last fond look at his little one. The Königsstuhl, a modern tower crowning the highest elevation above the city, waves a stern farewell; and by the time we are under the Wolffsbrunnen—a favourite resort of the Heidelbergers—we have lost sight of the town.
When the railway, now in construction which profanes the right bank of the river, is completed, it is very probable that the steamboats to and from Heilbronn will cease to run. This will be a great loss; and the only way then of seeing the Neckar from the water, will be to hire rowing-boats and descend the stream. This will require more leisure, and be a more expensive method. The time occupied in going to Heilbronn, the capital of the Black Forest, is thirteen hours: the longest days and fine weather are therefore necessary to make it an enjoyable excursion. We were particularly favoured in this way, and hope others may visit the Schwartzwald under the same auspicious influences.
Past lawns and woods and coloured rocks, past villages, and here and there a castle—though the latter are met with more sparingly than on the Rhine and Moselle—the little steamer threads its way, at times sounding the depths of the restricted channel when sufficient water is found for its very small necessities. The boats and craft which descend the stream do not indicate a rich country through which we are passing: they principally contain stone—no doubt very good in its way—and other earthy commodities of small value. The rafts of timber are greatly diminished in width; they are long and narrow, navigated by a fine class of men, the foresters of Würtemberg. The river seems a sort of family concern, or to possess a species of freemasonry. A conversation takes place between the steamer and every craft and raft we meet. We slack our paddles or stop them altogether, as the downward navigation approaches us, otherwise in these small waters, our swell would send the water over the gunwales of the boats and over the surface of the rafts. The great nautical event of the day is the passing of the steamboat from Heilbronn. With regard to eating and drinking on board these boats, it should be mentioned that there is no great provision made; but coffee and a cutlet, and a glass of the local wine, may always be had.
In about three hours we reach Hirschhorn, a fine stronghold and walled town, in a picturesque situation. An hour afterwards Eberbach is passed. Two German miles distant, among the hills, and consequently not visible from the river, is the Castle of Erbach, giving its name to a Countdom. Many stories are related of a Count of Erbach, who lived in the last century. He had acquired a passion for collecting; and whilst serving with the Austrian army against the Turks, he had opportunities of procuring a museum of rarities. With him the love of securing curiosities amounted to kleptomania. What he could not buy he would beg; what could not be obtained by gift he would steal. A beautiful inlaid helmet in the Vatican attracted his desire. Going through the galleries with a train of his servants, he managed to carry it away. The curator discovered his loss of the casque the same day, gave notice immediately, and the gates of Rome were closed to all