HOME THROUGH THE VALLEY OF HELL.

BY DUDLEY COSTELLO, ESQ.

THE homeward-bound English traveller from Munich has three routes open to him.

The first and most direct, taking Augsburg as the starting-point (which is reached by railway in two hours), is by way of Ulm and Stuttgart, and, if pressed for time, from thence in a straight line to the Bruchsal station on the Baden railway; or, if there be no necessity for so much rapidity of motion as can be elicited from German post horses-(five English miles to the hour)-the traveller may diverge from Stuttgart to Heilbronn, and, taking the steamer, descend to Heidelberg by the beautiful valley of the Neckar. In the latter case, he should time his departure from Augsburg so as to sleep the first night at Ulm, and as the Eilwagen leaves four times a day-one of the hours being a little before noon-this may be easily managed. He will then be able, on leaving Ulm, to take daylight with him through the magnificent gorge of the Suabian mountains, which leads so abruptly down to Geisslingen, and enjoy the picturesque scenery of the Fils till it falls into the Upper Neckar; unless, indeed, his thoughts be wholly engrossed by the recollection of the captivating maidens-(their beauty quite sets one's teeth on edge)--who have extracted all his superfluous coin by their clamorous entreaties to purchase the toys for which Geisslingen is celebrated. If such be his fate, then the castles of Helfenstein and Hohenstauffen will be passed by unregarded, and the rich vineyards which cover the slopes from Plochingen to Stuttgart will display their charms in vain.

But, if his love for the picturesque be still a living sensation, he may hasten from the capital of Wurtemburg to Heilbronn, and from the waters of the Neckar gaze upon the lovely shores between which he glides, enchanted with all that meets his glance.

That his faculties of taste and smell be not offended, I would recommend the adventurous voyager, when in Stuttgart, neither to put up at the Hotel de Russie, nor walk in the Palace Gardens. The proprietor of the hotel, M. Albisser, is a very civil, good-humoured fellow, and speaks very good English, but the fare that awaits one is as indifferent-not to say bad-as can anywhere be met with. The merry host either is-or seems to be wholly unconscious of the wretched state of his cuisine, and when last I was there carried his impenetrability so far as to inquire, when he accidentally encountered me on the staircase, if I had not had "a very good breakfast!" It cost me no effort to return a most decided negative, on which M. Albisser suddenly wheeled about and rushed into the kitchen, as if for the purpose of uttering an indignant remonstrance,-but--I saw him no more! As this was not the first time that I had found the cookery of the Hotel de Russie at a discount, I think I may presume that there is a radical defect in the purveyor's department of that establishment. Murray recommends-and, in nine times out of ten, it is best to follow his recommendation-Marcquardt's hotel, in the Königs Strasse, which, though dear, is a good one. The Palace Gardens are very prettily laid out; the foliage is luxuriant, the walks shady, the orange-trees bloom in

spite of the three centuries which have gnarled their trunks, and the sandstone nymphs of Dannecker stand in the most bewitching attitudes; but there is one thing there that neutralises all these attractions-the intolerable smell from the narrow, dark, dirty sewer, called by courtesy a stream, which courses through the gardens, and in one place actually performs a disgusting summerset, as if it were a fall of living, sparkling water, instead of the base, nameless current, which taints the surrounding

air.

So much for the first route: the second continues the railway from Augsburg to Donauwerth-where, by-the-by, you may make yourself uncomfortable at the Post, one of the filthiest inns in Christendom, unless you prefer, as I did, to stand in the street for the hour or two I stayed there. Here the Eilwagen is taken for Nuremberg, and the road lies through a finely-wooded country, in the midst of which stands Weissenburg, a town that, seen as I once saw it by moonlight, has a very picturesque appearance.

It is not an advisable thing to do, though it often happens in Germany, to arrive in a strange city in the dead of the night, and choose your quarters far from the post. German porters are not the most brilliant fellows in the world, but they seem to give strangers credit for unbounded sagacity, a compliment which is rather awkwardly paid.

"To what hotel?" they exclaim, as one or more of them possess themselves of your baggage. The answer is given, and away they bear it, at the best pace they can muster beneath its weight; and it must be noted, as a general rule, that your true German always moves quickest under a heavy load-ten times faster, in fact, than when his shoulders are quite unburthened. You follow as you may, trusting to Fortune to guide your footsteps safely over the rough pavement of the unknown city. It is enough for the porter that he knows his way; you must find yours; and in the darkness that reigns around, the sense of hearing is far more serviceable than that of sight. It is but slight consolation to the benighted traveller, to remember the proverbial honesty of the men who have carried off his goods and chattels. Of what use to him is their integrity, when he does not know which way to turn to assure himself of the fact? It is vain to cry out "langsam,” when once they have fairly started; there is but one safe course, and that is to make yourself fast to some part of your baggage, and submit to be taken in tow, the headlong porter enacting the part of a vigorous steam-tug. By this means, "breathless and faint, leaning upon-" your stick or umbrella, as the case may be, you stand a chance of not being left to wander in the streets till daylight.

All the world knows Nuremberg by its reputation, and the fame long since given to it by the unequalled drawings of Prout. It would be useless, therefore, to dwell on the marvellous works of Adam Kraft and Peter Visscher, on the pictures of Albert Dürer, on the quaint architecture of the city, or on the beauty of the gorgeous cup of Wentzel Jamitzer, now in the possession of the banker Merkel, so carefully barricaded from or designed intrusion, and yet so readily and courteously shown. These objects of art and the multitude not enumerated— may well detain a stranger several days. Würtzburg, also, contains many things to interest; the Palace being highly attractive; and the journey to Frankfort, either by the Maine or the high road, which tra

accidental

verses many beautiful forests, till it reaches Aschaffenburg, is, at least in summer, a pleasant day's work.

But, having tried both the others, commend me, after all, to the route which embraces the Lake of Constance, the Upper Rhine, and the Black Forest, which, for beauty of scenery, of its particular kind, is unsurpassed, as far as I have yet seen, in Europe.

Wearied to death of Glyptotheks and Pinacotheks, of out-of-door frescoes that won't stand the wear and tear of a climate north of the Alps, and within-doors contrast only too forcibly with the hues of nature; sick of Germanized-Italian edifices, grafting a gaudy suburb on a dull town; and disgusted with the apathy of a people tacitly submitting to the caprices of a king, who would have made an excellent painter and glazier had he been properly apprenticed to the trade, and to the insolence of a dancing Pompadour, whom even the mauvais sujets of Paris despise; glad to exchange these second-hand conventionalities for that which no conventionality, even in Bavaria, can spoil, we left Munich on the great day of the Octobers-Feste-all the world drinking beer in the Theresiens-Wiese, and staring at what they believe to be horse-racingand, after performing the prescribed two hours on forty miles of railroad to Augsburg, transferred ourselves to one of the carriages on the line in the direction of Lindau, which is open as far as Kaufbeuren, also forty miles distant from Augsburg, and passes the station of Mindelheim, which gives its name to the principality erected in favour of the great Duke of Marlborough.

The prescribed time for our arrival was eight o'clock in the evening, but railroad punctuality in Bavaria allowed this to be half-an-hour later, and after crossing the covered bridge over the Wertach in an omnibus, we reached the turn of Kaufbeuren shortly before nine, with an hour to spare before the Eilwagen set out for Lindau, distant about sixty miles, or, to speak more to the purpose, some fourteen hours.

To beguile that hour was not the simplest thing imaginable. It might have been got over had we been addicted to skittles, as the game is played on a kind of wooden railway, in the angle of a court-yard of the inn to which we were recommended; or its weariness might not have been felt, could we have mustered courage to face the ten thousand atmospheres commingled in the Stube of the "Sonne," and have closed our ears to the deafening clamour of the multitudinous voices which rent the smoke that settled over the heads of the guests therein assembled ;— but as these attractions were not all-sufficient, we armed ourselves with the patience which is of hourly growth in Germany, and returned quietly to the little waiting-room attached to the office of the Eilwagen.

This apartment offered an example of the comfort afforded to a German official, for it contained a table and a bed,—the types, as all the world knows, of German existence :

"Du lit à la table,-de la table au lit."

The clock struck ten,—and the precaution having been taken of securing places "zusammen" (together), we answered our numbers, and entered the "neat post-waggon," which was to convey us to our destination.

The determination not to go to sleep, which is the first resolution made in a public conveyance by night, gradually gave way before the motion of the carriage, and when we woke up at Kempten, between two and three o'clock in the morning, it was with great unwillingness that we

exchanged our vehicle, by that time grown comfortable, for another that seemed to be by no means so. Experienced travellers in Germany are, of course, well acquainted with the system of the " Bei-Post." It has one advantage, certainly; that of always insuring to the traveller a place in the direction in which he wishes to go; but the discomfort is not slight of having to shift one's berth in the dead of the night, just as sound sleep has taken possession of one's faculties, in order that the tale may be completed to occupy as many carriages as remain to be filled after the discharge of passengers at every post-town. This grievance in a short time forgotten, we lost our count of time, and daylight surprised us in a perfect Swiss valley; the effect being the more striking from the fact that the scenery on which our waking eyes had last lingered was the broad, monotonous level of the plain of Munich.

The name of the village at which we stopped to breakfast was Nellenbrück,-the first of a series of many resembling it,-the characteristics of all being essentially Swiss,-the whole farm being comprised beneath one high, broad roof,--the dwelling-house at one extremity, the stable next, and the barn at the other end of the façade, and the whole front garnished for the most part with timber sawn into lengths and strings of ripe golden maize. There are many districts in Germany,-Franconia and Saxony for instance, which are each called "little Switzerland." And certainly this part of Bavaria equally merits the name. heights above are not the Alps, but every other feature of the landscape is that of a country at their base; the same rushing streams, the same climbing roads, the same dark forests, villages at long intervals, and population scanty, and thus it continues all the way to Lindau.

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The

Not that we arrived there quite so soon as the word of promise assured us. The usual post-waggon license was partly the cause of this, but a more positive one was the breaking of a spring, which we discovered at the village of Niederstauffen. The conducteur was, however, a man of art as he had need to be in these up-and-down regions-and was presently busy with hammer, vice, and screw, and it was really not more than half-an-hour that we were detained on our journey. We occupied the interval in exploring the immense ark, which bore on its front the emblem of a stag, -the "Goldenen Hirsch,"-an animal greatly in favour amongst innkeepers in Bavaria; a better found, or more capacious kitchen it would be difficult to meet with, and the batterie de cuisine seemed perfect. The very air of the place was redolent of kalbs-braten and stewed plums, those delicacies of the land beyond the Rhine. But a more interesting speculation to us was the state of the weather. The morning had promised a glorious day-the sun had risen clear and bright, and the mists in the valleys had lingered on the slopes, instead of rapidly ascending, so that, believing in the usual prognostics, we thought ourselves secure of a fine view of the Alps of the Vorarlberg, when we should reach the lake of Constance. Every weather-wise peasant whom we interrogated, either flattered our expectations or knew nothing about the matter, for the answer was invariably the same: "Sie werden ganz schönes Wetter haben;" a mistake, to designate it by the mildest appellation. It was not long before we were able to decide for ourselves, without the aid of any weather-wise interpreter; but that decision was fatal to our hopes, for when we had reached the height from whence the lake of Constance first becomes visible, the broad expanse of water was

covered with a shroud of mist, lifted from the surface only just high enough to let us see that there were mountains on the opposite shore, but without revealing their outline.

Except the long bridges which connect the islands on which Lindau stands with the main land, and some fragments of ancient walls and towers of feudal date, there is nothing to induce the traveller to linger here longer than his absolute necessities require. After a night in an Eilwagen, a bath and a hairdresser are two desirable luxuries. The first was only to be had in the lake, which the cold mist made any thing but tempting, but the latter was procurable in the town. He was, however, a man of only a single métier, his art being limited to the range of combs and curling-irons; of tonsorial skill he was wholly innocent, and a second individual appeared at the same moment to operate in the latter capacity. They could not, of course, set to work simultaneously at their respective callings, but a very pleasant and instructive conversation they had on the subject of the approaching war between the radical Cantons and the Sonderbund; the barber-a root and branch exterminator espousing the cause of the former, and the perruquier-of a Jesuitical cast of countenance-maintaining that of the latter. So earnest were the disputants that I almost wished the quarrel had been confided to them to settle on the spot, especially as I was the sufferer during their prolonged argument. However, every thing comes to an end-even a politician's harangue-and I profited at last by their several talents.

This accomplished, there remained only just time enough to transfer ourselves and baggage to the steamer, which was to set out at two o'clock, for Constance.

This vessel, the Ludwig, which represented the navy of Bavaria, and whose best recommendations were a pretty cabin and a very good cuisine, was more than adequately commanded by a highly hirsute and magnificent-looking personage, who rejoiced in some such title as the "ÖberKöniglichen-Boden-Sees-Dampf-Schiffarts-Director," and whose principal occupation seemed to be that of curling his whiskers with a pocket comb, as he sat in a small office on deck, abaft one of the paddle-boxes. He apparently derived so much satisfaction from this employment, that he left the navigation of the Ludwig entirely to the helmsman, a bearded youth, who calmly smoked while he steered. It was not of much consequence, for all the art required was, to go straight across the lake; and lest our speed should prove dangerous, we took a large grain-laden vessel in tow.

In this guise we arrived, in about two hours, at Rorschach, the chief port of Switzerland, where we were politely invited to go ashore till the post came in from St. Gallen, but as there was evidently nothing to see, we were content to remain on board till the expected despatches arrived. When they did so, we coasted the Swiss side of the lake to Romanshorn, passing beneath a richly-cultivated slope, where grows the best wine of the district, which is just good enough not to be disliked. At Romanshorn, we exchanged the colours of Bavaria for those of Baden, or to speak plainer, left our old craft and its distinguished high-admiral, to shape a new course to Friedrichshafen on the Würtemberg shore, while we pursued our route direct. Towards seven o'clock, we descried the Pharos of Constance gleaming through the mist like the red eye of a fresh-water