Heremembered，beforeheslept，thehourofhisyouthwhenhewasinMayencebefore，andwassocarefreethathehadheardwithimpersonaljoytwoyoungAmericanvoicesspeakingEnglishinthestreetunderhiswindow。Oneofthembrokefromthecommontalkwithagayburlesqueofpathosintheline：
“Ohheavens！shecried，myHeedingcountrysave！”
andthenwithalaughinggood-nighttheseunseen，unknownspiritsofyouthpartedanddeparted。Whowerethey，andinwhatdifferentplaces，withwhatcaresorills，hadtheirjoyousvoicesgrownold，orfallensilentforevermore？Itwasamoonlightnight，Marchremembered，andherememberedhowhewishedhewereoutinitwiththosemerryfellows。
Henursedthememoryandthewonderinhisdreamingthought，andhewokeearlytoothervoicesunderhiswindow。Butnowthevoices，thoughyoung，weremanyandwereGerman，andthemarchoffeetandthestampofhooveskepttimewiththeirsinging。Hedrewhiscurtainandsawthestreetfilledwithbrokensquadsofmen，someafootandsomeonhorseback，someinuniformandsomeincivildresswithstudents’caps，looselystragglingonandroaringforththatsongwhosewordshecouldnotmakeout。Atbreakfastheaskedthewaiterwhatitallmeant，andhesaidthatthesewereconscriptswhoseservicehadexpiredwiththelatemanoeuvres，andwhowerenowgoinghome。HepromisedMarchatranslationofthesong，buthenevergaveit；andperhapsthesenseoftheirjoyfulhome-goingremainedthemorepoeticwithhimbecauseitsutteranceremainedinarticulate。
MarchspenttherainySunday，onwhichtheyhadfallen，inwanderingaboutthelittlecityalone。Hiswifesaidshewastiredandwouldsitbythefire，andhearaboutMayencewhenhecamein。Hewenttothecathedral，whichhasitsrenownforbeautyandantiquity，andhethereaddedtohisstockofusefulinformationthefactthatthepeopleofMayenceseemedveryCatholicandverydevout。TheyproveditbypreferringtoanyofthedivineoldGothicshrinesinthecathedral，anuglybaroquealtar，whichwaseverywherehungaboutwithvotiveofferings。Afashionablydressedyoungmanandyounggirlsprinkledthemselveswithholywaterasreverentlyasiftheyhadbeenoldandragged。Sometouristsstrolledupanddowntheaisleswiththeirredguide-books，andstudiedtheobjectsofinterest。Aresplendentbeadleinacockedhat，andwithalongstaffofauthorityposedbeforehisownecclesiasticalconsciousnessinblueandsilver。Atthehighaltarapriestwassayingmass，andMarchwonderedwhetherhisconsciousnesswasaswhollyecclesiasticalasthebeadle’s，orwhethersomewhereinithefeltthehistoricalmajesty，thelonghumanconsecrationoftheplace。
HewanderedatrandominthetownthroughstreetsGermanandquaintandold，andstreetsFrenchandfineandnew，andgotbacktotheriver，whichhecrossedononeoftheseveralhandsomebridges。Theroughriverlookedchillunderaskyofwindyclouds，andhefeltoutofseason，bothastothesummertravel，andastothejourneyhewasmaking。Thesummeroflifeaswellasthesummerofthatyearwaspast。BetterreturntohisownradiatorinhisflatonStuyvesantSquare；tothegreatuglybrutaltownwhich，ifitwasnothometohim，wasasmuchhometohimastoanyone。AlongingforNewYorkwelleduphisheart，whichwasperhapsreallyawishtobeatworkagain。Hesaidhemustkeepthisfromhiswife，whoseemednotverywell，andwhomhemusttrytocheerupwhenhereturnedtothehotel。
Buttheyhadnotaveryjoyousafternoon，andtheeveningwasnogayer。
TheysaidthatiftheyhadnotorderedtheirletterssenttoDusseldorftheybelievedtheyshouldpushontoHollandwithoutstopping；andMarchwouldhavelikedtoask，WhynotpushontoAmerica？Butheforbore，andhewasafterwardsgladthathehaddoneso。
Inthemorningtheirspiritsrosewiththesun，thoughthesungotupbehindcloudsasusual；andtheywerefurtheranimatedbytheimpositionwhichthelandlordpractiseduponthem。Afteradistinctandrepeatedagreementastothepriceoftheirroomshechargedthemtwiceasmuch，andthenmadeameritofthrowingofftwomarksoutofthetwentyhehadplunderedthemof。
“NowIsee。”saidMrs。March，ontheirwaydowntotheboat，“howfortunateitwasthatwebakedhisclock。Youmaylaugh，butIbelieveweweretheinstrumentsofjustice。”
“Doyousupposethatclockwasneverbakedbefore？”askedherhusband。
“Thelandlordhashisownarrangementwithjustice。Whenheoverchargeshispartingguestshesaystohisconscience，Well，theybakedmyclock。”
Themorningwasraw，butitwassomethingnottohaveitrainy；andthecloudsthathunguponthehillsandhidtheirtopswereatleastasfineasthelongboardsignsadvertisingchocolateontheriverbanks。ThesmokerisingfromthechimneysofthemanufactoriesofMayencewasnotsobad，either，whenonegottheminthedistancealittle；andMarchlikedthewaytheriverswamtothestemsofthetreesonthelowgrassyshores。ItwasliketheMississippibetweenSt。LouisandCairointhat，anditwasyellowandthick，liketheMississippi，thoughhethoughtheremembereditblueandclear。AfriendlyGerman，ofthosewhobegantocomeaboardmoreandmoreatallthelandingsafterleavingMayence，assuredhimthatbewasright，andthattheRhinewasunusuallyturbidfromtheunusualrains。MarchhadhisownbeliefthatwhateverthecoloroftheRhinemightbetherainswerenotunusual，buthecouldnotgainsaythefriendlyGerman。
MostofthepassengersatstartingwereEnglishandAmerican；buttheyshowednoprescienceoftheinternationalaffinitionwhichhassincerealizeditself，intheirbehaviortowardoneanother。Theyheldsilentlyapart，andmingledonlyintheeffectofoneyoungmanwhokepttheMarchesinperpetualquestionwhetherhewasaBostonianoranEnglishman。HislookwasBostonian，buthisaccentwasEnglish；andwasheaBostonianwhohadbeeninEnglandlongenoughtogettheaccent，orwasheanEnglishmanwhohadbeeninBostonlongenoughtogetthelook？
Heworeabelatedstrawhat，andathinsack-coat；andintherushoftheboatthroughtherawairtheyfanciedhimverycold，andlongedtoofferhimoneoftheirsuperabundantwraps。AttimesMarchactuallyliftedashawlfromhisknees，feelingsurethatthestrangerwasEnglishandthathemightmakesoboldwithhim；thenatsomeglacialglintintheyoungman’seye，oratsomepetrificexpressionofhisdelicateface，hefeltthathewasaBostonian，andlostcourageandlettheshawlsinkagain。
MarchtriedtoforgethiminthewonderofseeingtheGermansbegintoeatanddrink，assoonastheycameonboardseitherfromthebasketstheyhadbroughtwiththem，orfromtheboat’sprovision。Butheprevailed，withhissmilethatwaslikeasneer，throughalltheeventsofthevoyage；andtookMarch’smindoffthescenerywithasuddenwrenchwhenhecameunexpectedlyintoviewafteramomentarydisappearance。Atthetabled’hote，whichwasservedwhenthelandscapebegantobelessinteresting，theguestswereexpectedtohandtheirplatesacrossthetabletothestewardsbuttokeeptheirknivesandforksthroughoutthedifferentcourses，andateachofthesepartialchangesMarchfelttheyoungman’schillyeyesuponhim，inculpatinghimforthesemi-
civilizationofthemanagement。AtsuchtimesheknewthathewasaBostonian。
Theweathercleared，astheydescendedtheriver，andunderaskyatlastcloudless，theMarcheshadmomentsofswiftreversiontotheirformerRhinejourney，whentheywereyoungandthepurplelightoflovemantledthevineyardedhillsalongtheshore，andflushedthecastledsteeps。
Thescenehadlostnothingofthebeautytheydimlyremembered；therewerecertainfeaturesofitwhichseemedevenfairerandgranderthantheyremembered。ThetownofBingen，whereeverybodywhoknowsthepoemwasmoreorlessborn，wasbeautifulinspiteofitsfactorychimneys，thoughtherewerenocompensatingcastlesnearit；andthecastlesseemedasgoodasthoseofthetheatre。Hereandtheresomeofthemhadbeenrestoredandwereoccupied，probablybyrobberbaronswhohadgoneintotrade。Otherswerestillruinous，andtherewasnowandthensuchameregraysnagthatMarch，atsightofit，involuntarilyputhistonguetothebrokentoothwhichhewaskeepingfortheskillofthefirstAmericandentist。
FornaturalsublimitytheRhinescenery，astheyrecognizedoncemore，doesnotcomparewiththeHudsonscenery；andtheyrecalledonepointontheAmericanriverwheretheCentralRoadtunnelsajuttingcliff，whichmightverywellpassfortherockoftheLoreley，whereshedreamsSolesittingbytheshoresofoldromance。
andthetrainsruninandoutunderherkneesunheeded。“Still，stillyouknow。”Marchargued，“thisistheLoreleyontheRhine，andnottheLoreleyontheHudson；andIsupposethatmakesallthedifference。
Besides，theRhinedoesn’tsetuptobesublime；itonlymeanstobestoriedanddreamyandromanticanditdoesit。AndthenwehavereallygotnoMouseTower；wemightbuildone，tobesure。”
“Well，wehavegotnodenkmal，either。”saidhiswife，meaningthenationalmonumenttotheGermanreconquestoftheRhine，whichtheyhadjustpassed，“andthatissomethinginourfavor。”
“Itwastoofaroffforustoseehowuglyitwas。”hereturned。
“ThedenkmalatCoblenzwassonearthatthebronzeEmperoralmostrodeaboardtheboat。”
Hecouldnotanswersuchapieceoflogicasthat。Heyielded，andbegantopraisetheorchardedlevelswhichnowreplacedthevine-purpledslopesoftheupperriver。Hesaidtheyputhiminmindoforchardsthathehadknowninhisboyhood；andthey，agreedthatthesupremecharmoftravel，afterall，wasnotinseeingsomethingnewandstrange，butinfindingsomethingfamiliaranddearintheheartofthestrangeness。
AtColognetheyfoundthisinthetumultofgettingashorewiththeirbaggageanddrivingfromthesteamboatlandingtotherailroadstation，wheretheyweretogettheirtrainforDusseldorfanhourlater。Thestationswarmedwithtravellerseatinganddrinkingandsmoking；buttheyescapedfromitforaprecioushalfoftheirgoldenhour，andgavethetimetothegreatcathedral，whichwasbuilt，athousandyearsago，justroundthecornerfromthestation，andisthereforeveryhandytoit。
Sincetheysawthecathedrallastithadbeenfinished，andnowunderacloudlesseveningsky，itsoaredandsweptupwardlikeapaleflame。
