The Argosy — page 67: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

From London to Salzburg. 57 sional plash upon the water from some midnight oar ; to feel that between this and England there was the difference not of space merely, but of a world ; that it was Wonderland ; Rhineland ; the-land of poetry and beauty and romance; of much that is great and noble; glorious in nature, eminent in man, strong in genius. Once I went out ‘on to the balcony. The stars were flashing like diamonds, the moon was still visible, bright and silvery in the dark blue. Everything was wrapped in night. The fortress was sunk in gloom, save for the light and shade thrown out hy the moon- light. The heights and the sky seemed to have melted into one; not a soul was abroad. Opn all lay the stillness of sleep and repose ; the death of nature. But, wafted across the stream in wave after wave of melody, floating, throbbing, soft and beautiful as the song of an Eastern dream, came the notes sweet, clear, and unceasing of the nightingales. We had intended to go from Coblenz to Munich, but changed our plans to visit that wonderful old place, Nuremberg. Who has not heard of Nuremberg, so famous for centuries ? Famous, too, from many different causes—like a universal genius, able to shine m,everything. At various periods of its history the most important manufacturing town in Germany; the birthplace of inventions ; the cradle of the fine arts, the home of German freedom. With Nuremberg’s name will ever be linked that of Albert Durer ; each gaining dignity from the other. Nuremberg was just the place to give light to a great painter, though in those days some three or four hundred years younger than it is now. Yet its narrow, straggling, uneven streets ; its quaint, gabled houses, could never have had a childhood or youth. Certainly they look old enough now to satisfy the most exacting lover of antiquity. The hotel was a large, rambling building, with staircases and passages and corndors in the most unexpected, out-of-the-way places. After the luxury of Coblenz it seemed rude and comfortless ; yet who would have had it different? From the windows of a room, large but otherwise guiltless of comfort, we looked down upon a scene before which, in spite of fatigue and hunger, I remained long niveted. No longer the beauty of scenery; of winding nivers and green trees ; of fruit blossoms, and cloud-capped mountains. These had given place to the work of man, but of a generation long since gone to their rest. How hard to realise that human ingenuity had produced the surrounding buildings ! It was the record, the silent monument, of a past age; testifying to the things and people that had been; showing them up in all the dignity of their mind, the simplicity of their nature. How easy to imagine Albert Diirer threading these streets more than three centuries ago, their still dignity so in accordance with that of his own temperament. The place once seen, it seems possible to trace a subtle link of connection between it and his pictures.’ His old house appears just as he left it, and is now inhabited bya bard. cf erists.rho-