waken cherished
memories of a river without peer or parallel in its wealth of story, its
boundless mystery, and the hold which it has exercised upon all who
have lingered by the hero-trodden paths that wind among its mysterious
promontories and song-haunted strands.

--L.S.

CHAPTER I--TOPOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL

There are many rivers whose celebrity is of much greater antiquity than
that of the Rhine. The Nile and the Ganges are intimately associated
with the early history of civilization and the mysterious beginnings
of wisdom; the Tiber is eloquent of that vanished Empire which was
the first to carry the torch of advancement into the dark places of
barbarian Europe; the name of the Jordan is sacred to thousands as that
first heard in infancy and linked with lives and memories divine. But,
universal as is the fame of these rivers, none of them has awakened in
the breasts of the dwellers on their banks such a fervent devotion,
such intense enthusiasm, or such a powerful patriotic appeal as has the
Rhine, at once the river, the frontier, and the palladium of the German
folk.

The Magic of the Rhine

But the appeal is wider, for the Rhine is peculiarly the home of a
legendary mysticism almost unique. Those whose lives are spent in their
creation and interpretation know that song and legend have a particular
affinity for water. Hogg, the friend of Shelley, was wont to tell how
the bright eyes of his comrade would dilate at the sight of even a
puddle by the roadside. Has water a hypnotic attraction for certain
minds? Be that as it may, there has crystallized round the great
waterways of the world a traditionary lore which preserves the thought
and feeling of the past, and retains many a circumstance of wonder and
marvel from olden epochs which the modern world could ill have spared.

Varied and valuable as are the traditional tales of other streams, none
possess that colour of intensity and mystery, that spell of ancient
profundity which belong to the legends of the Rhine. In perusing these
we feel our very souls plunged in darkness as that of the carven gloom
of some Gothic cathedral or the Cimmerian depths of some ancient forest
unpierced by sun-shafts. It is the Teutonic mystery which has us in
its grip, a thing as readily recognizable as the Celtic glamour or the
Egyptian gloom--a thing of the shadows of eld, stern, ancient, of a
ponderous fantasy, instinct with the spirit of nature, of dwarfs,
elves,