persons of fashion, and could only procure a room
between us, "at the German House, where you find English comfort," says
the advertisement, "with German prices."

But oh, the English comfort of those beds! How did Lankin manage in
his, with his great long legs? How did I toss and tumble in mine; which,
small as it was, I was not destined to enjoy alone, but to pass the
night in company with anthropophagous wretched reptiles, who took their
horrid meal off an English Christian! I thought the morning would never
come; and when the tardy dawn at length arrived, and as I was in my
first sleep, dreaming of Miss Fanny, behold I was wakened up by the
Serjeant, already dressed and shaven, and who said, "Rise, Titmarsh,
the steamer will be here in three-quarters of an hour." And the modest
gentleman retired, and left me to dress.

The next morning we had passed by the rocks and towers, the old familiar
landscapes, the gleaming towns by the riverside, and the green vineyards
combed along the hills, and when I woke up, it was at a great hotel at
Cologne, and it was not sunrise yet.

Deutz lay opposite, and over Deutz the dusky sky was reddened. The hills
were veiled in the mist and the gray. The gray river flowed underneath
us; the steamers were roosting along the quays, a light keeping watch in
the cabins here and there, and its reflections quivering in the water.
As I look, the sky-line towards the east grows redder and redder. A long
troop of gray horsemen winds down the river road, and passes over the
bridge of boats. You might take them for ghosts, those gray horsemen,
so shadowy do they look; but you hear the trample of their hoofs as
they pass over the planks. Every minute the dawn twinkles up into the
twilight; and over Deutz the heaven blushes brighter. The quays begin
to fill with men: the carts begin to creak and rattle, and wake the
sleeping echoes. Ding, ding, ding, the steamers' bells begin to ring:
the people on board to stir and wake: the lights may be extinguished,
and take their turn of sleep: the active boats shake themselves, and
push out into the river: the great bridge opens, and gives them passage:
the church bells of the city begin to clink: the cavalry trumpets blow
from the opposite bank: the sailor is at the wheel, the porter at his
burden, the soldier at his musket, and the priest at his prayers. . . .

And lo! in a flash of crimson splendor, with blazing scarlet clouds
running before his chariot,