rmed by the alluvial deposits of this noble river. The
enthusiasm of the Germans towards this stream is well known. They call
it Father Rhine, and King Rhine; and well may they be proud of its
beauty and its historic fame. We took our passage in a fine steamer, on
a lovely morning, and it took us about eight hours to reach Coblentz.
Leaving Cologne, we passed an old tower on the edge of the river, and,
for some miles, the prospect was every day enough; and it was not till
we approached Bonn that we were much impressed with the banks. We passed
several villages, which appeared to have pleasant localities. I name
only Surdt, Urfel, Lulsdorf, and Alfter. Bonn is an old city, of Roman
date, and has figured largely in the wars of the Rhine. Its population
is about sixteen thousand. Bonn has a minster, which shows itself finely
to the voyager on the river, and is a Gothic structure of the twelfth
century. The University here is famous for its library, and the great
names formerly associated with this institution--Schlegel and Niebuhr.
Both filled chairs in the college. Prince Albert was educated at this
place. Beethoven was born here. If we could have spent a day at the
Seven Mountains, I should have been glad; but we were only able to look
at them. They vary in height from one thousand and fifty to fourteen
hundred and fifty-three feet. The most picturesque of the group is
Drachenfels; and the beautiful lines of Byron you will recollect, where
he speaks of "the castled crag of Drachenfels." From this place the
stone was taken for the Cathedral at Cologne. The summits of these seven
mountains are crested with ruined castles. Their sides are well wooded,
and around them are spread fruitful vineyards. You know how famous they
are in the legendary lore of the Rhine. The view from Drachenfels is
said to be one of the finest on the river. After leaving Bonn and the
ruins of Godesberg, we soon came to Rolandseck, a lofty eminence, where
are the remains of a baronial fortress and a celebrated ruin of an arch.
I should judge that the access to this place was by a charming road. The
ruins of Rolandseck are immortalized by the ballad of Schiller.
Tradition relates that the castle was destroyed by the Emperor Henry V.,
in the twelfth century. At the foot of the mountain is the sweet little
Island of Nonnenwoerth, of about one hundred acres, and the ruins of a
convent. The rock here is basaltic, and the production of volcanic
action. Never