hill and down dale, the Tower of Babel, which
first brought the curse of languages upon the world! And what did I ever
have to do with that Tower? Had I lived in those days, I would never
have laid hand to the work in merry, sunny, lazy Babylon, nor contributed
a brick to it. By the way, it was a juvenile conjecture of mine that the
Tower of Babel was destroyed for being a shot-tower, in which ammunition
was prepared to be used by the heathen. Which theory might very well
have been inspired by a verse from the old Puritanical rendering of the
Psalms:--

"Ye race itt is not alwayes gott
By him who swiftest runns,
Nor ye Battell by ye Peo-pel
Who shoot with longest gunnes."

Even before I had gone to Princeton I had read and learned a great deal
relative to Justinus Kerner, the great German supernaturalist, mystic,
and poet, firstly from a series of articles in the _Dublin University
Magazine_, and later from a translation of "The Seeress of Prevorst," and
several of the good man's own romances and lyrics. I suppose that, of
all men on the face of the earth, I should have at that time preferred to
meet him. Wherefore, as a matter of course, it occurred that one fine
morning a pleasant gentlemanly German friend of mine, who spoke English
perfectly, and whose name was Rucker, walked into my room, and proposed
that we should take a two or three days' walk up the Neckar with our
knapsacks, and visit the famous old ruined castle of the Weibertreue. My
mother had read me the ballad-legend of it in my boyhood, and I had
learned it by heart. Indeed, I can still recall it after sixty years:--

"Who can tell me where Weinsberg lies?
As brave a town as any;
It must have sheltered in its time
Brave wives and maidens many:
If e'er I wooing have to do,
Good faith, in Weinsberg I will woo!"

"And then, when we are there," said Rucker, "we will call on an old
friend of my father's, named Justinus Kerner. Did you ever hear of him?"

Did a Jew ever hear of Moses, or an American of General Washington? In
five minutes I convinced my friend that I knew more about Kerner than he
himself did. Whereupon it was decided that we should set forth on the
following morning.

Blessed, beautiful, happy summer mornings in Suabia--green mounts and
grey rocks with old castles--peasants harvesting hay--a _Kirchweih_, or
peasant's merry-making, with dancing and festivity--till we came to
Weinsbe