and his grand dinner
cooling futile, in what tragic humor we can imagine. [Ib. p. 411.] Why
has no Prussian Painter done that scene? Let another Chodowiecki, when
another comes, try whether he cannot.

Friedrich Wilhelm regretted the dinner, regretted to hurt the good man's
feelings; but could stand it no longer. He rushes off for Meuselwitz,
where Seckendorf, with at least silence, and some cold collation instead
of dinner, is awaiting him. Twenty miles off is Meuselwitz; up the
flat valley of the Pleisse River towards Altenburg; through a region
memorable, were we not so hungry. Famed fights have had their arena
here; Lutzen, the top of its church-steeple visible on your right, it is
there where the great Gustavus fell two hundred years ago: on that wide
champaign, a kind of Bull-ring of the Nations, how many fights have
been, and will be! Altenburg one does not see to-night: happy were we
but at Meuselwitz, a few miles nearer; and had seen what dinner the old
Feldzeugmeister has.

Dinner enough, we need not doubt. The old Feldzeugmeister has a big line
Schloss at Meuselwitz; his by unexpected inheritance; with uncommonly
fine gardens; with a good old Wife, moreover, blithe though
childless;--and he is capable of "lighting more than one candle" when
a King comes to visit him. Doubtless the man hurls his thrift into
abeyance; and blazes out with conspicuous splendor, on this occasion. A
beautiful Castle indeed, this Meuselwitz of his; the towers of Altenburg
visible in the distance; Altenburg, where Kunz von Kauffungen stole the
two little Princes; centuries ago;--where we do not mean to pause
at this time. On the morrow morning,--unless they chose to stay over
Sunday; which I cannot affirm or deny,--Seckendorf also has made his
packages; and joins himself to Friedrich. Wilhelm's august travelling
party. Doing here a portion of the long space (length of the Terrestrial
Equator in all) which he is fated to accomplish in the way of riding
with that Monarch.

From Meuselwitz, through Altenburg, Gera, Saalfeld, to Coburg, is our
next day's journey. Up one fork of the Leipzig Pleisse, then across the
Leipzig Elster, these streams now dwindling to brooks; leading us up
to the water-shed or central Hill-countries between the Mayn and Saale
Rivers; where the same shower will run partly, on this hand, northward
by the Elster, Pleisse or other labyrinthic course, into the Saale, into
the Elbe; and partly, on the other hand,