and behind to keep out of the way of the fiacres; the people here get so
accustomed to it, that they leave barely room for them to pass, and the
carriages go dashing by at a nearness which sometimes makes me shudder.

As I walked across the Main, and looked down at the swift stream on its
way from the distant Thuringian forest to join the Rhine, I thought of
the time when Schiller stood there in the days of his early struggles,
an exile from his native land, and looking over the bridge, said in the
loneliness of his heart, "That water flows not so deep as my
sufferings!" In the middle, on an iron ornament, stands the golden cock
at which Goethe used to marvel when a boy. Perhaps you have not heard
the legend connected with this. The bridge was built several hundred
years ago, with such strength and solidity that it will stand many
hundred yet. The architect had contracted to build it within a certain
time, but as it drew near, without any prospect of fulfilment, the devil
appeared to him and promised to finish it, on condition of having the
first soul that passed over it. This was agreed upon end the devil
performed his part of the bargain. The artist, however, on the day
appointed, drove a cook across before he suffered any one to pass over
it. His majesty stationed himself under the middle arch of the bridge,
awaiting his prey; but enraged at the cheat, he tore the unfortunate
fowl in pieces and broke two holes in the arch, saying they should never
be built up again. The golden cock was erected on the bridge as a token
of the event, but the devil has perhaps lost some of his power in these
latter days, for the holes were filled up about thirty years ago.

From the hills on the Darmstadt road, I had a view of the country
around--the fields were white and bare, and the dark Tannus, with the
broad patches of snow on his sides, looked grim and shadowy through the
dim atmosphere. It was like the landscape of a dream--dark, strange and