thousand voices, accompanied by tears of ecstacy. Some day I should like much to establish myself for a summer on the banks of this river, and explore its recesses. As we glide by, we obtain but a cursory and unsatisfactory survey. One longs to make a familiar friend of such sublime scenery, and refer, in after years, to one’s intimate acquaintance with it, as one of the most valued among the treasures of recollection which time may have bestowed.
We were a large party in ourselves, and enjoyed our voyage greatly; but, as evening came on, we left the more picturesque part of the river, and grew weary as still we did not arrive. When it became dark, we saw, looming up the river, a shadowy bark, with bright lanterns at its mast-head. What boat was that? The steamer that had left Coblentz at two—four hours later than ourselves. It neared—it passed us. “Oui, ça marche plus vite que nous,” replied the phlegmatic German captain, to our accents of surprise and discontent. To go a-head, never entered his mind as desirable. One boat went quick, the other slow—that was all the difference—their day’s work was the same. To us, however, the difference involved, besides great unnecessary weariness, our comfort for the night.
We did not arrive at Mayence till near midnight; and we were preceded by our rival, which, together
