There is no lack of churches; we see their tapering steeples and deep gable roofs rising above the general level in many places, and there is a Little Bethel down by the water’s side on the Vorsetzen, for the sailors. There are two or three Little Pandemoniums in its immediate vicinity, or at least by that classical title are they designated by the Bethlemites over the way; but salt-water Jack and fresh-river Jack give them much simpler names, and like them a great deal better, more’s the pity. We have heard the little jangling bells in the church pews, and they will not ring in tune, although they tell the deeds of charity; we have marched staidly home, and joined in Herr Sorgenpfennig’s blessing over the midday meal;—Herr Sorgenpfennig delivers it with the presence and intonation of an Eastern patriarch, standing among his tribe;—and the delicacies of German cookery having fulfilled their purpose and disappeared, with a whispered grace and a bow of humbleness, we sidle out of the room, and leave the “Herr Meister” to his meditations and his punch. And so ends the service of the day.
The blond-headed Bavarian begins to hum the last _Tafelliêd_, and our quiet Dane smiles reservedly. “Whither, friends, shall we bend our steps?” No! by the eternal spirit of modesty, we will not visit the dance-houses to-day! Those vile shambles by the water-side, growing out of the slime and filth of the river, and creeping like a noxious, unwholesome weed, up the shaded hill, and by narrow ruts and gullies into the open country. No! Those half-draped, yet gaping doors, have no attractions for us; those whining notes of soulless music find no echo in our ears or hearts. There, in their hideous blandishments, the shameless sit, miserable in their tawdriness, their painted cheeks peeling in the hot sun, which they cannot shut out if they would. Throughout the long day the wearied minstrels pant over their greasy tubes of brass, or scrape their grimy instruments with horny fingers, praying for the deep night; and there, through the long day, does the echoing floor rebound with the beating of vigorous feet; for salt-water Jack is there, and fresh-river Jack is there, and while there is a copper _pfennig_ in their pockets, or a flicker of morality in their hearts, doomed are they equally; for what can escape spoliation or wreck among such a crowd?