d give to the countenance of man. The hand of
some peasant had chalked the name "Frauenlob" above it, and I instantly
remembered the Tasso of Mayence, so calumniated during his life, so
venerated after his death. When Henry Frauenlob died, which was in the
year 1318, the females who had insulted him in life carried his coffin
to the tomb, which procession is chiseled on the tombstone beneath. I
again looked at that noble head. The sculptor had left the eyes open;
and thus, in that church of sepulchers--in that cloister of the
dead--the poet alone sees; he only is represented standing, and
observing all.

The market-place, which is by the side of the cathedral, has rather an
amusing and pleasing aspect. In the middle is a pretty triangular
fountain of the German Renaissance, which, besides having scepters,
nymphs, angels, dolphins, and mermaids, serves as a pedestal to the
Virgin Mary. This fountain was erected by Albert de Brandenburg, who
reigned in 1540, in commemoration of the capture of Francis the First by
Charles the Fifth.

Mayence, white tho it be, retains its ancient aspect of a beautiful
city. The river here is not less crowded with sails, the town not less
incumbered with bales, nor more free from bustle, than formerly. People
walk, squeak, push, sell, buy, sing, and cry; in fact in all the
quarters of the town, in every house, life seems to predominate. At
night the buzz and noise cease, and nothing is heard at Mayence but the
murmurings of the Rhine, and the everlasting noise of seventeen water
mills, which are fixt to the piles of the bridge of Charlemagne.

[Footnote A: From "The Rhine." Translated by D.M. Aird.]

FRANKFORT-AM-MAIN[A]

BY BAYARD TAYLOR

Frankfort is a genuine old German city. Founded by Charlemagne,
afterward a rallying-point of the Crusaders, and for a long time the
capital of the German Empire, it has no lack of interesting historical
recollections, and, notwithstanding it is fast becoming modernized, one
is everywhere reminded of the past. The cathedral, old as the days of
Peter the Hermit, the grotesque street of the Jews, the many quaint,
antiquated dwellings and the moldering watch-towers on the hills around,
give it a more interesting character than any German city I have yet
seen. The house we dwell in, on the Markt Platz, is more than two
hundred years old; directly opposite is a great castellated building
gloomy with the weight of six centuries, and a few steps