It may be said that the very turn of mind which induced the speculations of the foregoing chapter, and the very adjournment of my visit to Vienna, till I had seen most of the other German capitals, render me an unfair witness. Yet, laying aside questions of high Art, and not dwelling on other determining causes of personal interest, I may truly say that I never set forth towards any place with greater expectations of pleasure, than those which accompanied me in the long vacation of 1844, when, leaving the noise of that great inn Frankfort behind, we turned up the Main, making a four days' journey by steamer to Würzburg; thence to Nuremburg –and, after two days' halt there, to the Danube at Ratisbon.

A more delicious route is not to be traced. The Main, more placid in its scenery than the Lahn or the Moselle, or that curious volcanic mountain-brook, the Ahr, is still rich in variety, –with many a delicious town and valley nook, in which one could dream whole summer weeks away; and a staple of rich, flowery, pastoral meadow-scenery on its banks, distinguishing it among the tributaries of the Rhine.–The people of the district, in 1844, seemed cheerful and simple, having names that reminded one of the “Pilgrim's Progress”–Hailsieve, Bubblewine and others of the kind.