That portion of our river which lies between Trèves and Coblence is the most beautiful, and the part usually visited by the few who allow themselves the enjoyment of seeing scenery yet unspoiled by Art. The Moselle at this present time is much what the Rhine was half a century ago. No great roads line the banks, cutting off the quaint houses of the old towns and villages from the river-side; and the towns and villages themselves are, with some few exceptions, far more picturesque than those on the Rhine. Their old water-towers and walls still lave their bases in the stream, as those of St. Goarshausen-on-Rhine did until a few years back, when the new road drove them inland.

In places where the rocks approach closely to the [100]river, the usual arrangement of the houses is in one long street, with behind it ruined towers perched at intervals upon the ascending walls, which straggle through the vineyards, till the rise becomes too sudden for them to climb or intruders to pass over. Where the space is larger, the houses are clustered among walnut-trees, which grow to an immense size. Perhaps the greatest charm of all in descending our river is the absence of those swarms of mere sight-seers who infest the Rhine,—the trifling discomforts of a more unfrequented route being sufficient to deter these garrulous butterflies from “doing” the Moselle; and as yet Murray has not given in detail the number of turrets to each castle on this river, for eager watchers to “tell off” as the steamer breasts the stream. Still it is remarkable how few of all those that pass the mouth of the Moselle at Coblence ascend its waters.

We now invite those who cannot in person see “the blue Moselle” to embark their minds in our skiff, and as we glide along we will tell them tales of the old time, when the ruined towers above our heads clanged with the tramp of armed men, and echoed to songs of love and wine.

Trèves and its bridge are shut out by the trees, and the river nymphs surround us with garlands and with song.

Now our boat adown the stream

Floats, as in a happy dream,—

Thoughts to fancy’s kingdom go,

There, like waters, tranquil flow;
[101]

Airy palaces they build

Where our kindred spirits dwell,

Who with woven sunbeams gild

Regions that we love so well.

Rippling now the gentle waves

(Gay sunshine our pathway paves),

Sing to us as on we glide

Down the swiftly-glancing tide:

“Happiness and harmless mirth

Innocently we enjoy,

So the denizens of earth

May, like us, their time employ,—

Working we sing,

In leisure hours we play;

O’er toil we fling

A garland ever gay.”

O’er our heads the dark rocks rise,

Stern their mass the stream defies,—

Round their base the dark wave flows,

Battling, silently, she goes:

Thus in life, too frequent, rocks

Stand before us in our way;

And their bulk our passage blocks,

Bidding us our course to stay.

Shall we at their bidding turn,

Fearful of their aspect stern?

No: for patiently we may

Round, or through them, win our way.

The little incidents seen on the banks of the river as we move along are eminently picturesque, and give life and reality to what we should otherwise almost [102]imagine to be a dream of beauty, rather than real actual scenes, where toil and labour are at work. Such foregrounds, too, for artists! Here is a woman mowing: further down, one impels a heavy boat along by means of a pole: there red cows stand, half in the water, half on a grassy slope, with the reflected green of which their red contrasts. Again, as we approach a village, some of the maidens are seen drawing water; while others, in groups and attitudes that present endless studies, wash their gay clothing, or bleach long strips of brownish linen.

Boat-building is carried on at nearly every village, and the smoke from the accompanying fire wreathes among the walnut-trees. In reality, the people work hard; but it is difficult to divest our minds of the idea that they are merely sauntering about, and forming groups for their own amusement and the delight of others. All is so complete in loveliness, that it seems unreal. [103]

The ribs of the great flat-bottomed boats look like skeletons of some curious animal, which the apparent loungers are examining at their ease; and the nearly completed barge seems to be a sort of summer-house, in which the idler can sit, or under which he may smoke his pipe in the shade,—for, of course, all smoke. Usually the long stem with the earthenware or china bowl is the medium by which the fragrant weed is inhaled, but sometimes a few inches of coarse stick (in appearance) is the substitute.
Boat-building.

Boat-building.

These boats, when finished, are used for all sorts of purposes. The want of good roads, and the fact of the stream being less rapid than that of the Rhine, as well as the absence of steam-tugs, makes the Moselle more lively with barges and small boats, especially the latter; though, of course, there being only three or four steamers on the whole distance (about 150 miles) between Trèves and Coblence, the absence of those [104]puffing drawbacks to tranquil enjoyment renders the Moselle more quiet on the whole.

The larger barges carry iron, earthenware, charcoal, bark, wine, and general cargoes; while the smaller ones are filled with market produce of all sorts going to be sold in the larger towns, and numbers of these small boats are kept at each village for the residents to cross to their farms or vineyards on the opposite bank. There ar............