1857.] My Pilgrim's Pouch. 13 husband, with a feminine termination. Think what a task to our Republican tongues, unschooled in this art, titles like the following must be: Herr Friedensgericht-Schreibenf, Herr Oberhoffprediger, Frau Oberconsistorialrathin. My landlord calls me, Euer Ehrwurde, (Your Reverence,) or Herr Prediger; and one of my correspondents addresses me with Hochwohlgeborener. I believe it is generally considered the safest to err in the upward direction, which perhaps accounts for the illustrious aim of the latter. In familiar circles they are often dispensed with, and when used, seldom interfere with the flow of social intercourse. Their only inconvenience is to persons whose tongues can not patter them off with sufficient accuracy. We, benevolent republicans, who wish all might become as happy as we are, often squander a great deal of precious sympathy upon our suffering German brethren, the fancied slaves of oppression, which might be put to better use in some other direction. We should give even monarchies their due. To suppose that Germany is ruled by thirtyone tyrants, would be as unfair as for the Germans to regard the California Lynch law the efflorescence of Republican jurisprudence, and Congressional caning a legitimate function of a free Press and free Speech. That Russia has devoured the liberties of Poland, (which by the way are not German) or that Austria has oppressed Hungary, is no reason to suppose that Germany is pining away in chains. Austria and Hungary are not Germany. They are not so free as we are, they do not pretend to be, and we are very foolish to expect that they should be. The isolated wailings of unprincipled exiles and the vituperations of the lawless bands of German infidels, are a poor authority upon which to found our views of the political tyranny of Germany. They are the best proof of the prevalence of that lust for liberty which must be held in with bit and bridle. A liberty that aims at the subversion of the Christian religion, which tries to undermine the pillars of all sound morality, needs a king to rule over it. "License, they mean, when they cry Liberty, For who loves that must first be wise and good." Politically the surface of society looks so calm and harmless that one can scarcely conceive how the order-loving citizens of Berlin could have so far forgotten themselves eight years ago, as to have chased Prince William of Prussia, the King's brother, out of the city, and pelted him with stones like a Jewish malefactor. But the politics of the people has undergone no radical change since. Germany is as full of a latent French Democracy as the soil of Holland is full of water, brimfull, only not running over. To prevent an inundation, part of it is drained off to America, and artificial dykes are constructed by standing armies, to stem the rising tides. The abating of the Revolution of '48, was effected by opposing to it a powerful army. But this method does not purify the waters nor diminish their quantity. The opening of a few sluices will submerge the whole country with another flood. Rulers, Statesmen, and the Clergy, see very well that the only hope of safety for European society, and governments too, is the diffusion and cultivation of sound religious principles among the people, to work at the numberless little rivulets that fill up the stream. The popular festivals of Germany, are quite an original social feature to a foreigner. Every village has its annual fair-Kirmes-which originally was the anniversary for the dedication of the village church. In modern times the most of them have been changed to the fall of the year, a season in which people have more time and money to spend. In most parishes, its religious design is lost in the convivial, where the neighboring villages flock together in whole families, to have a grand hey-dey of eating, drinking, and dancing. It forms a little era from which the curious and gossiping-and often the serious too-count loves and betrothals. Here, for once, they throw Kings and police to the winds, and give full reins to unrestrained merry-making. The toil-worn laborer and the thrifty peasant, the modest milk-maid and the fleisige hausfrau, look towards it with sunny anticipations. And when it comes, chests, drawers and jewelry-cases are ransacked, to aid in getting up an apparel worthy of the occasion. From early morning already the streets are alive with a gay, chattering throng. Oxen and cows plod heavily along with their noisy loads. As the village gradually fills up, small groups quaff their flagons over mirth-inspiring, half-forgotten tales and legends, while others press through the streets to amuse and be amused. Finally they crowd around the hotels, a few quick tuning-wraps of the violin thrill new life into the scene. Old men and matrons spring to their feet, the peasant throws aside his long-skirted, home-spun coat, and while every face beams with impatient joy, they pair off amid hurried confusion, to join in the merry whirl. The drudging dullness of labor is thrown aside and clumsy worn-out forms, trip over the floor as nimbly as in the days of yore. The old man and the companion of his longlife, again glide through the sports of their single days with laughing glee, in spite of the wrinkles which time and toil have written on their brow. Parents, children, and grand-children, seem to forget their difference of age and habits, and wind around the circle with vieing gracefulness. I have seen persons whose springless nerves were suddenly startled into buoyancy, by the sound of a familiar waltz, which would send them spinning over the floor, all radiant with joy. And the gay grandsire skilled in gestic lore, Germany owes much of its present interest to associations with historical events. And through its excellent system of schools, few can help but become acquainted with its history. The German possesses an intelligent attachment to his fatherland. Speak to an emigrant about the natural or historical interests of the Rhine, or those of his native province, and his face will at once kindle with patriotic enthusiasm. He will tell you of the heroes along the Rhine, of the battles around his home, how foraging parties had been a terror to the villages, and how rude soldiers were quartered upon unwilling hosts. Almost every town boasts of historical mementoes; a church in which a medæval bishop preached, a gray ruin of what once sheltered a king, prince, or knight. Many towns were founded by the old Romans, whose annals are connected with some of the proudest names in their history. Poets, philosophers and artists, have intervoven their fame with certain localities. The hundreds of German celebrities who have associated their names with 1857.] My Pilgrim's Pouch. 15 the places where they have lived and died, and the mounds that cover their dust, become shrines to which literary pilgrims from the remotest countries continually resort. Their places of birth, where they have studied and taught, are sacred and shielded against the march of improvement. Genius and godliness can shed a halo of lustre around the humblest spot. Humble country villages seem more interesting because they gave a meal to Luther, or a reposing night's rest to Melancthon. "Sweet Auburn," or "Stratford-on-Avon," have greater attractions for many, than "busy London" with all its wealth and gorgeous modern finish. The gray old streets of Nuremberg, "Quaint old town of toil and traffic Quaint old town of art and song." have a more soothing charm to the lover of the pure and good, than the dazzling follies of Paris, or the thrifty comforts of Berlin. What our American bard has sung over Nuremberg, applies with equal force to many an humbler town: Fairer seems the ancient city, And the sunshine seems more fair And Hans Sachs, the cobbler bard. Berlin is a remarkable city. I can scarcely conceive how it ever could grow to its present dimensions. It possesses no commercial advantages. It lies in a vast sandy plain, about as sterile by nature as could well be found. It is only with a great deal of labor and care, that the farmers extort a stunted crop. Where these 450,000 human beings get all their marketing from I have not yet been able to ascertain. On market days, the town swarms with vegetable hucksters; many seem to come from a great distance. It must have originated by some accident, for no sensible man, monarch or subject, would locate the future of such a great city in a region that has neither beauty of scenery, fertility, nor maritime advantage to commend it. Its first beginning consisted of two little fisher villages, whose inhabitants were attracted hither by the abundance of fish in the Spree. Little is known of it beyond the thirteenth century. Several Kings of Prussia have done much in its extension. The large number of the nobility which live in and around the city have greatly enhanced its attractions, and from its early history, it became the home of learning, the northern metropolis of German Science, which makes it one of the most interesting cities in Europe. The University of Berlin, numbers 160 Professors, and during the summer, had 2025 students. The many literary celebrities in Berlin, make it a favorite place of resort for educated men. The Broadway of Berlin is unter den Linden, with a double avenue of lime trees through the middle. Along the middle of the street, is a broad promenade; along each side of this, is a road for persons riding on horseback; and outside of these are carriage roads. The principal hotels, royal palaces, and the University are along this street. Several weeks ago the University celebrated the King's birth-day. Through the kind ness of a friend, I procured a ticket of admission. The ministers of state and many of the nobility were present, arrayed in gorgeous robes. The Professor of Rhetoric read an essay on the history of the University, especially in the development of principles by different men. He read so low that I could not hear the half of it, and his manner was exceedingly unrhetorical and limber, but he is said to be a very eminent man in his department. Berlin has decent streets compared with other cities. To be sure its pavements are only from two to three feet wide, and if you pass any one you will most likely have to step off upon the sharp-toothed stones. But its streets are wide and not so enigmatical. Some are in the form of arcs, while many run in straight lines through the town. There is that fellow again with his hand-organ. Here he comes, almost every day, under my window, and grinds the same old tune through his sorry musical mill. Sometimes when I am floating pleasantly along on a quiet current of pleasant ideas, he suddenly puts his little animal to barking through all its pipes, which puts all calm study to flight. I have been thinking whether the man would not stay away for an extra fee. This organ music is quite a marketable commodity in Berlin. A large class get a living by it, who are tolerated more out of charity than love for their music. Every day during the week, at 11 o'clock, a. m., one of the military bands plays before the guard-house, where large numbers can hear a more elevating kind of music. Last week was Jahr Mark, the annual fair. Double lines of booths extended along whole streets, which formed temporary stores, where every variety of cloth, clothing, jewelries, and the hundred and one domestic necessities which would be hard to name, were offered for sale. I noticed a street within a street, made up of an avenue of shoe stores One large market place was covered with basket stores and another with tub shanties. Country dames brought in large boxes of cloths and linens which they had made during the year. Leipsic is said to have the largest fairs of this kind, which are attended by persons from a great distance. Berlin is like the German, whom Lærtus calls unlike anybody but himself. It bears not the slightest resemblance to Philadelphia, New York, or London. The absence of all commercial activity gives it a quiet appearance. A few streets look busy during certain hours of the day, but the rest are exceedingly inactive. A stranger wonders where the people keep themselves. The hacks add much to the noise and confusion of a few streets, and during the afternoon the splendid equipages of the nobility and wealthy citizens, enliven the roads to the countryseats around Berlin. But no street can afford a jam of omnibuses like Cheapside, London, or five running abreast, like Broadway, New York. On Sunday afternoons the streets literally swarm when the city pours its little world through its gates into the park and gardens. On Monday morning, all go on again, in the quiet even tenor of their way. Berlin has an excellent Police and Fire organization. With all the profusion of intoxicating drink, it is very seldom that drunken persons are seen on the street. The fire department consists of over five hundred men, quartered in different parts of the city, under the direction of their proper officers, with stringent military regulations. The several depot 1857.] To-Day and To-Morrow. 17 are connected with the telegraphs. In four minutes after the first alarm a sufficient number of men and engines can reach any spot in the city. They have long wagons to which their engines are attached, with four horses hitched to them, these dash through the street at full speed, with twenty firemen and their necessary tools. The winter has given repeated signs of its near approach, awaking in me the desire to do like birds of passage, flee to a warmer clime. In a few days and I shall bid adieu, perhaps forever, to Germany. Lovely country! "with all thy faults I love thee still." How refreshing have been thy genial frankness, how soothing thy country scenes of undisturbed simplicity; thy little fields where busy youth and maidens sing their cheerful melodies over their contented toil. What an elevation of spirit have I felt among thy ruins and thy Rhine! Heaven give thee a prosperous future and safely guide thy bark over dangerous seas. Many pleasant memories link my thoughts to thy hardy, honest children, and pleasant landscapes; and when soon my reluctant eyes shall turn towards other climes, it will be “With the thankful glance of parting praise.” TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. BY J. E. CARPENTER. DON'T tell of to-morrow! Give me the man who'll say, Don't tell me of to-morrow! Who the future can foretell? Don't tell me of to-morrow! Let us look upon the past: How much there is we've left undone, To-day-it is the only time For all on this frail earth: It takes an age to form a life A moment gives it birth! |