PASSAGES OF LIFE IN EUROPE. BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR. I. HEIDELBERG IN SEPTEMBER. THE sun was just setting on the last day of August, | cool, cloudless autumn mornings, the air was full of when the ponderous eilwagen, in which I had jour-church-chimes and merry voices, which came echoed neyed from Frankfort, rounded the foot of the Holy back from the hills, so that our first waking sensation Mountain into the Valley of the Neckar, and Heidel- was one of pleasure, and every day brought us some berg-the brave, romantic, beautiful old electoral new form of enjoyment. city was stretched out before me on the opposite side of the river. Far above it rose the wooded Kaiserstuhl, midway down whose side hung the granite bastions, terraces and roofless halls of the famed Castle. Heavy masses of ivy hung from its arches, and overran the quaint sculpture of its walls, while the foliage of its gardens was visible behind, deep in the shadow of the mountain. A faint yellow glow trembled over the pines and birches on the top of the Kaiserstuhl, and kept the clear blue on the distant hills up the Neckar. Down the steep paths of the Holy Mountain, on my left, came the peasantgirls, with baskets on their heads, laden with the purple clusters of the Muscatel, and talking to each other gayly over garden-walls, and under arbors, which made a "green twilight" even at noon. Careless students, pipe in hand, sauntered along the river bank, listening to the sweet evening chimes, rung first in the towers of the Hauptkirche, and taken up like an echo, from village to village, among the hills. Looking forward to Heidelberg as a place for rest and quiet study, there was something peculiarly grateful and tranquilizing in the scene. To my eyes the scenery presented a mingling of the wild with the cultivated-of the pastoral with the grand-a combination so inspiring that I found it difficult to keep my enthusiasm within reasonable bounds. From the river bank, above the bridge, cannon began firing a closing salute for the Grand Duke's birth-day, and my heart never kept more bounding time to the minute-guns on a Fourth of July at home. The German passengers in the eilwagen were highly gratified by my delight, for all Germans are proud of Heidelberg. By a piece of good fortune the friends who had left me at Mayence and arrived the day before, happened to be passing up the main street when the vehicle stopped, and I was spared the risk of searching for them, which, to one ignorant of the language, was no slight task. The valley of the Neckar is narrow, and only the little slopes which here and there lie between the feet of its wooded mountains are capable of cultivation. Higher up, there are glens and meadows of luxuriant grass, to which the peasants drive their cattle, further still, it is barren and rocky, and upon the summits dwells a solitude as complete as upon the unsettled prairies of the far West. An hour's walk takes one from the busy streets of the little city to this beautiful and lonely region, and the stranger may explore the paths he finds leading far away among the hills, for weeks together, without exhausting their store of new scenes and influences. The calm impressiveness of these mountain landscapes disposes the mind to quiet thought, and one who has felt them till their spirit grew familiar, is at no loss to comprehend the inspiration from which Schiller, Uhland and Hauff have sung. It is a favorite habit with the Heidelbergers, and one into which the traveler willingly falls, to spend the last hour or two of daylight in a walk by the Neckar, in the gardens of the castle, or off in the forests. At spots of especial beauty rustic inns have been erected, where, at tables in the shade, the visiter is furnished with beer, cool from its underground vaults, and thick curds, to which a relish is given by sugar and powdered cinnamon. The most noted of these places is the Wolfsbrunnen, about a mile and a half from the city, in a lonely glen, high up on the mountain. A large stone basin, two centuries old, stands there, pouring out a stream of the coldest and purest water, dammed up below to form a small pool, in which hundreds of trout breed and grow fat from the benevolence of visiters. A wooden inn, two stories high, with balconies on all sides, is nestled among the trees, and farther down the stream a little mill does its steady work from year to year. A party was once formed by our German friends, and we spent a whole Saturday afternoon in this delicious retreat. Frau Dr. S-, who was always ready for any piece of social merriment, had the In a day or two, by the help of a valet de place, who management of the excursion, and directed us with spoke half a dozen words of English, we obtained the skill of a general. Fräulein Marie, her niece, a rooms in a large house overhanging the Neckar. blooming maiden of eighteen, and Madame Louise From one side we looked upon the Heiligenberg, so -, a sprightly little widow from Manheim, with near that we could hear the girls singing among the Dr. S, one or two students, and we Americans, vines every morning, and all day long the rapid river were her subjects. Every thing was arranged with below us was noisy with raftsmen, guiding the pines precision before we started. The books, the cards, they had felled among the Suabian hills down to the the music (including a most patient guitar) were disRhine. On the other side the Kaiserstuhl stood be-tributed among those best able to carry them, and tween us and the eastern sky, and we always saw we finally started, without any particular order of the sunrise first on the opposite mountains. In the march. German etiquette forbids a lady to take the arm of a male friend, unless she is betrothed to him; towers could afford us no protection, so there was talking is allowed, fortunately. nothing left but to turn about and descend with all speed. The rain had just crossed the Rhine, and would probably be half an hour in reaching us, and as we could trace its misty advance on the sheet of land As we climbed to the terraces of the castle, we could see the thread of the Rhine, in the distance, sparkling through the haze. The light air which came down the Neckar was fragrant with pine and the first falling leaves of summer trees. The vine-scape below us, we hoped to time our rate of walkyards below us were beginning to look crisp and brown, but hanging from stake to stake the vines were bent down by blue clusters, with the bloom still upon them. Troops of light-hearted students, children, blue-eyed and blond-haired, and contented citizens, were taking the same path, and like them, we forgot every thing but the sense of present happiness. We had a table spread upon the upper balcony of the inn, after our scattered forces returned from many a long ramble up the glen and out on the meadows. Frau Dr. S――― ordered a repast, and the "landlady's daughter"-not the sweet maid of Uhland's song, but a stout-armed and stout-waisted damsel-brought us a jar of curds, dripping with the cool water in which it had stood. A loaf of brown bread next made its appearance, followed by a stone jug of foaming beer, and two or three dishes of those prune-tarts peculiar to Germany, completed the fare. On the porch below us, two or three musicians played waltzes, and the tables around the fountain were filled with students, laughing, clinking their beerglasses, or trolling some burschen chorus. Our own table did not lack the heartiest spirit of mirth; this could not be otherwise so long as Frau Dr. S sat at the head of it. The students were gay and full of life, and even Dr. S―, the most earnest and studious of the party, was so far influenced by the spirit of the time, that he sang the "King of Thule" with more warmth than I had thought possible. The afternoon sped away like a thought, and Heidelberg was forgotten until the faint sound of its evening chimes came up the valley. We returned in time to see a glowing sky fade over the mountains of Alsatia, and then first, as the twilight gathered, came the remembrance of home-a remembrance which did not chide the happiness of the day. ing so as to reach some shelter before it struck the mountain. Vain hope!-before we reached the Angels' Meadow the wind fairly howled among the trees, and swept over us, laden with dust and showers of leaves. The rain followed, and as our path led over the exposed ridge of the mountain, the arrows of the storm smote pitilessly in our faces. The ladies shrieked, the men groaned, and, like Norval's barbarians, we “rushed like a torrent,”—and with a torrent-" upon the vale." When we arrived at the village of Neuenheim the shower was nearly over, but it might have continued all day, without more effect upon us. The village of Ziegelhausen, up the Neckar, with its grim old convent, gardens and cascades, and the delightful arbors of vine, reaching down to the very brink of the river, is another favorite place of resort. The pastor of its church, who was familiar with our German friends, would frequently join us in an afternoon walk, followed by a cup of tea in the garden of the inn, and frequently by a share in the games of the village children. The pastor was a most jovial, genial character; he sang very finely-indeed, he was brother to the primo tenore in the Opera at Brunswick-and his wit was inexhaustible. His religion was as genuine as his cheerfulness; it was no gloomy ascetism, which looked on mirth as sin, but a joyous, affectionate and abounding spirit, bright as God's sunshine and as unconscious of its blessing. How happily passed those September afternoons, warmed by such true social feeling, and refreshed by all the kindly influences of nature! If a return like this to the simple joys of the child's heart be but obtained by the mature age of a nation, I could almost wish this country might grow old speedily. The restless energy of Youth is still upon us. The nation overflows with active impulses, which fear nothing, and yield to nothing. We have not yet felt the need of Rest. One of these excursions was accompanied by a different and less agreeable finale. A small party had been arranged to visit the ruins of St. Michael's I have said nothing of my struggles with the perChapel, on the summit of the Holy Mountain. I had verse German language-my daily sieges, advanc ascended it previously, after an hour's climbing, di- ing from trench to trench, till the strong fortress was rectly up the side, but as ladies were to accompany stormed and all its priceless stores in my possession. us, it was necessary to take a winding road, two or I have not spoken of my blunders arising from ignothree miles in length, to reach the chapel. We rance and inexperience, nor the novelty of customs mounted, by flights of steps through the terraced and life so different from ours. These would be vineyards, to the Philosopher's Walk, followed it to tedious, nor are they necessary to give some impres a retired glen called the Angels' Meadow, and then sion of Heidelberg in its most delightful season. The entered a forest-road. The wind roared loudly most romantic and picturesque of all German cities, among the trees, and the sky grew darker as we and therefore most thronged by romance-hunting ascended, but we took little heed of these signs. tourists, its good old social character is still happily Finally, however, on reaching a rocky point whence preserved. The last Revolution has fortunately we could look down on the Rhine-plain, we were spared it, and in spite of railroads beside its mounsomewhat alarmed to see a heavy rain-cloud ap-tains, and steamboats on the Neckar, it will be for proaching from the west. The chapel was still half many years to come one of the pleasantest spots in a mile distant, and its open walls and dismantled Europe. THE GRASS OF THE FIELD. BY CAROLINE MAY. THE grass of the field shall be now my theme, It springs up so quick, when showers call aloud And when the sun bursts from his rainbow-cloud, It shines in his glory, and laughs in his light, Happy children love in the grass to play, Thick and soft for their dancing feet; The lark makes his nest in the twining grass, From the lowly content of that innocent breast, There are few who notice the delicate flower Yet the proudest plant in the greenhouse or bower And to those who observe-it is clearly revealed That God clothes with beauty the grass of the field. The mower comes out so busy and blythe, At the dawn of a summer's day, And the tall waving grass at the stroke of his scythe Is cut down and withers away: But the fragrance it sends over valley and hill Makes the grass of the field loved and lovely still. And while on the perishing grass we look, A soft voice in the summer wind Will whisper the words of the Holy Book To the humble and thoughtful mind. "All flesh is as grass," it will seem to say"Like the flower of the grass ye shall pass away." But oh! we will hope with a faith secure- On the words of the Lord, which forever endure, Thus lessons of truth all our pleasures will yield, TASTE. BY MISS AUGUSTA C. TWIGGS. THIS seems a little word, while we repeat it less | than one second of time is consumed, yet in its signification it is a great word-a word of vast and unmeasured import: By it we understand a just appreciation of the good, the beautiful, the pleasant, the worthy and the useful: Still it is not alike to all: Tastes differ with characters, and characters with men. By an all wise Creator was this so ordained, and in every thing we see the wisdom and the beauty of His system. Suppose, for instance, we pass in fancy around this vast globe, as we progress onward, countries, climates, men and characters undergo every conceivable grade of change. Gradually we pass from regions inhabited by enlightened men-men of learn- | ing and deep research, men to whom Science seems to have lent her very self, until we come to a race of beings between whom and the brute creation there is scarcely a demarcation: Yet each and every one of these thousands upon thousands of countless beings has his own peculiar sphere of action, and his own especial tastes, adapted to his position and cir cumstances. Taste may, however, be improved or debased, elevated to the highest appreciations, the noblest conceptions, or lowered to the most sordid views, the most groveling level, and this is left to man himself -to rise or fall, to sink or soar, is left to his own choice, and is within his own power. Of course this remark is not unqualified, it is not intended that the natives of Central Africa, or of the inhabited regions around the Poles, can improve their moral condition, and rise to the same high standard as may the enlightened nations of Europe or of our own loved country. To assert such a thing would be preposterous, to expect it ridiculous. Our resources are not their resources, our advantages not theirs, but there is implanted in the breast of every man a frame-work and basis, with which, and upon which, he may build something that shall make him better than he now is. And the greater his advantages, the vaster the amount of material furnished him where with to work, the more will be expected of him, and higher and higher will the eyes of men rise, seeking for the pinnacles of that temple of the mind which they of a right expect him to rear. True taste will teach us to select the choice blocks, the finely grained and unflawed marble, she will bid us to reject the huge, coarse, glittering rocks with which some will strive to dazzle our eyes and mislead our judgment, and cause us to turn aside from those brittle and perishing kinds which will scarce bear handling. Having chosen our materials, now let us build. Up go the blocks one after another, and high the temple grows. Day by day it increases in height, but why is it men stand and gaze with mortified and disappointed looks upon the structure? Why do no sounds of encouragement, no acclamations and shouts of admiration reach the ear? Hear the reason-we sought Taste-we courted her, we bid her aid us seek our materials, and teach us how to judge of them. She did so-that done we scorned her aid, we forgot her, and trusting in ourselves we reared a vast work of folly. But "nil desperandum," there is yet time. Tear down the monument of heedlessness and call Taste to teach us once again. Faithful she returns at our bidding. Now hark to the sound of the mallet and chisel as they ring against the stone, chip by chip of superfluous material is worked away, piece by piece which is unneeded is broken off and thrown aside until some other work shall call them into use. Now seems to become exhumed, as from a grave of stone and rubbish, the massive pedestal, the firm base, the graceful column, the sculptured capital and the rich cornice. Day by day, and hour by hour, these multiply in true and classic beauty, and higher and higher skyward soars the now elegant structure, until, amid the shouts and admiration of the world, the voice of Reason proclaims that Taste has fashioned it. This, then, is an edifice, a work worthy of the mind, formed from materials the choicest within man's reach, wrought out and builded by the hand of Taste; it is worthy to be gazed upon, to be admired and copied by all. To ensure without fail the meeting of their views, (perchance to surpass them,) it is not sufficient to seize indiscriminately and pile block upon block, and stone upon stone. It is not sufficient to heap up a vast mountain of brick and mortar, jumbled together without taste or elegance, and then write upon it-This is Parian marble-these are classic propor- Age after age will go by, but still it will stand firm, tions. This will not do, the cheat will be found out, I and beautiful, and admired as when the artist gave the last stroke, and proclaimed it to the world as was able to make in his own country, from the Pilfinished. Are proofs required, among the names of the ancients may be found those time-honored and long worshiped ones of Lysippus, Polycletus, Praxiteles, Timanthes, Appelles, Zeuxis, Parrhasius, Plato, Aristotle, Pliny, Ovid, Pollio, Catullus, Demosthenes, Thucydides, Xenophon, Aristophanes, Orpheus, Archilocus and Timotheus, together with many, many of their cotemporaries, for whose names I have no space, but whose memories are still, and still are to be, revered. Following in the path which these have hewn through the thickets of prejudice and ignorance comes a long bright train. Amidst the stars of this latter day firmament gleam conspicuous the names of Banks, Young, Cole, West, White, Vandyck, Tasso, Titian, Rittenhouse, Mozart, Milton, Crabbe, Gallileo and Godfry, and ever and anon new and brilliant planets flash forth and shed their glad effulgence around. Could this be without Taste? It could not. Glorious and rich and varied as are the works of those whose efforts and the productions of whose minds have tended to elevate and improve our condition, they never could have been without Taste to suggest-Taste to aid, and Taste to accomplish the mighty, the stupendous, the gigantic works they have wrought. What was it, let us inquire, that induced the ancient Egyptians to build the city of Thebes in such glorious magnificence that even its ruins produced effects upon historians to cause them to be immortalized? Homer tells of her hundred gates, from each of which two hundred chariots and ten thousand warriors could issue at a time. To her palaces painting and sculpture had lent all their art, combining to render this city one of the glories of the world. Was not this Taste? What, too, induced them to erect those monuments of the strength of man and tyranny of kings-the Obelisks and Pyramids, to erect them in such huge size and vast strength that still they stand, as through long ages they have stood, firm and immovable as the "everlasting hills?" Taste. Need we ask Astronomy, that grand and elevating science, the contemplation of which forces upon us our own insignificance, and raises us from "Nature up to Nature's GoD"-that science which teaches us to admire and wonder, to gaze and fear, to glorify and adore the Great Being who formed "Arcturus, Orion and the Pleiades." Need we ask to what considerations upon the part of man we are indebted for the important and immense researches which all lie open to us, which teach us to trace out the constellations, and "call the stars by their names"which drew Phytheas from his home and caused him to wander unsatisfied with the observations he lars of Hercules to the mouth of the Tanais-which made Egypt, Rome, Spain, France, Germany and Denmark the cradles of the then infant science? Is it necessary to reply it is Taste? Turn we then to Philosophy, and in the deep researches of Thales, the moral reasoning of Socrates, the eloquence of Plato, and the disinterestedness of Zenocrates read of Taste. Chemistry, with all its brilliant discoveries, and Rhetoric, in its elegance, speak of it. Music, Oratory, History, Geography, Grammar and Physic are each and all of them proofs of Taste in its truth and purity; and Poetry shouts forth with glad and eager pride Eureka! we have found it. The beauty, delicacy and usefulness of Botany, the rich and varied hue of the flowers, those "gems of earth," whisper softly to us of Taste; and the importance of Anatomy proves it. Metaphysics and Geometry demonstrate its truth; while the wild bird's carol hymns forth its notes of praise and gladness to the Creator of it and of that element of man's happiness, Taste. It is here, it is there, it is everywhere, one grand, pervading principle, one first element, one chief ingredient of all things. It was implanted in the mind by Him who formed us, and it is as much the duty of man to cultivate and improve his taste, as it is his duty to improve and cultivate any other talent lent him to keep; and he will be considered no more excusable for wrapping this precious deposit in a napkin and hiding it away than was the servant of old, who buried the talent until the coming of his lord. Let us then cultivate Taste, each according to the kind and portion given us. It has been said that "every man is born to excel in something, and the only reason so many fail is they mistake their calling." Be this as it may, it sounds marvelously like sense, and it would be well for every one to examine strictly, that he may discover wherein it is intended he shall excel, and what the peculiar Taste or Tastes may be which, to himself, to society at large, and to a higher power than either, it is his duty to cultivate. Yet although Taste has been given us, and we are required to improve and use it to the best advantage, it is not intended there are no other gifts bestowed on man which can equal it. That would be to assume for it more than could well be proven. It is intended that Taste shall act as a means of enjoyment and happiness, as a means whereby we can investigate causes, and admire and apply effects-a means whereby we can dive into the very depths of seience and open the sealed treasure-house of knowledge-a means of searching out the beauties and glories of creation, and comprehending, as far as the mind of man is capable of comprehending, the wonderful omnipotence of the Deity. |