ts, for such they were.
Much as I love the Hudson, yet I cannot help saying that the Rhine is
_the_ river of the world, so far as I have seen the watery highways.
Frankfort is one of the free towns of Germany, and lies on the Maine. It
has about sixty-five thousand inhabitants, of whom seven thousand are
Jews. I like the city much, and think a residence here would be very
agreeable. Some of the modern streets are very handsome, and the
dwellings are fine. The old part of the town is old enough. At our hotel
we found a sentinel on guard, in honor of an Austrian general staying at
the house. The house is a capital one, like all the other great hotels
we have yet seen on the continent. We all went to see the Roemer, or Town
Hall, which was built about 1425, and which is quite famous for its
historical associations. Here the German emperors were formerly elected
and inaugurated. We saw the great hall where they were entertained and
had crowned heads for waiters. Here, on its walls, are all the portraits
of the series of emperors from Conrad I. to Francis II., and each
emperor has his motto underneath. Some of these are quaint enough.
Directly in front of this building is the Roemerberg, or Market-place, in
which the carousing incident to coronation used to occur; and it is
large enough to accommodate a vast assembly. We rode along the banks of
the river, to see a pretty little palace belonging to Duke Somebody, and
especially to see the grounds and hothouses. They were exquisitely
beautiful. As we were here upon a holiday of the church, the Museum was
closed, and we lost the sight of some good pictures. We were much
pleased with a visit to the garden of Mr. Bethman, a banker, where we
saw a pretty little collection of statuary, the gem of which is
Dannecker's statue of Ariadne. The building in which these are placed is
neat. We, of course, went to see No. 74 in the Hersch-Graben, where
Goethe was born, in 1749. In the corner house of the Dom Platz, Luther
once dwelt We rode through the Jews' quarters; and, of all the
wretched-looking streets, I think the worst and filthiest is that in
which Baron Rothschild was born. As we passed a Sabbath here, we
attended the English Episcopal Church, a neat building. The service was
well read by the chaplain, and an excellent sermon was preached by a
stranger. After service I spoke to the chaplain, who was quite anxious
to hear about the prospects of Popery in America. He seemed to have ve