A little below Piesport the course of our river is obstructed by a huge mass of nearly perpendicular rock, descending so abruptly into the water, that no [134]path can be made round its base. From the top of this tremendous rock the best view on the whole river is obtained. From there the eye can follow the windings of the stream as it serpentines through the hills, for many miles.

Unable to force her way through, the river bends off to the right, and wins by concession what she cannot gain by force, affording a lesson to her sex; teaching them to encircle by affection, instead of battling against the rock. By the latter course she may at length succeed in her desires, but not without fretting and chafing the hard rock, causing many a line upon its once smooth brow; and, finally, when the way is worn, the passage forced, will not the sullen rock for ever hang, darkening with its shadow the stream conqueror, and threatening to fall and overwhelm the persevering brawler? while, by the course here taken, the glad wave circles with her bright arms the lordly rock, and the sunlight on his face is reflected in her bosom; while the light from her gay, happy breast, is thrown back upon his manly front.

At this corner, too, the tree-groups teach us the same lesson; repeated and beautified by the tender water hues, they, in lending beauty to the stream, enhance their own, and give another of the innumerable instances in which by nature we are shown how all things are adapted and suited to their several stations; and, by aiding and assisting one another, increase their own beauty or usefulness: thus should it be in life. [135]
REFLECTIONS.

The dark shades quiver

Where the tree-tops bend

Over the river,

To whose depths they lend

Their leafy beauty, which reflected lies

Within the wave, like love that never dies;

But ever from the loved one back is thrown,

Encircling him whose love is all her own.

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On the promontory which we are now leaving behind us on the right are several little villages, of which Emmel is the principal. It is celebrated for a schism which took place there.

In 1790, the Directory at Paris wished the Curé of Emmel to take the same oath they had compelled the French clergy to pronounce; and on receiving the Curé’s refusal, he was proscribed. All his flock accompanied the Curé on his being driven forth, until he thus addressed them: “I quit you, but my spirit will always remain with you. At Bornhofen, whither I now go, I shall say the mass every morning at nine, and you can in spirit join in the service.”

They all promised so to do; and every day at nine the people collected in the church, and said their prayers without a Curé.

After some years the Curé died, and a new one was appointed, but the people of Emmel persisted in saying their prayers by themselves without any assistance; and, in spite of all remonstrances, many families remained [136]schismatics until a few years back. It is doubtful whether they have all returned to their former allegiance, even at the present time.

Round the pebbly bed in which our river sings along her course where her banks widen, then again beneath impending cliffs, we hurry on, past Minnheim, Rondel, Winterich, and other little nests of vitality, from which the labourers come forth to cultivate the fertile soil.

Two pretty legends are told of this district; the first is called “The Cell of Eberhard;” the second, “The Blooming Roses;” and there is an evident connexion between the two.
[Contents]
THE CELL OF EBERHARD.

A mother, being provoked, said to her unoffending child, “Go off to the devil!” The poor girl, frightened, wandered into the woods, then covered with snow.

Soon the mother, growing calm, became anxious about her child, and sought her everywhere, but she could not be found: lamenting, she wept all night.

At daybreak she arose, and induced her neighbours to join her in her search; but no tracks were found in the freshly-fallen snow.

The mother then sought Eberhard’s Cell, and wept and prayed till four days and nights had passed. She now requested the priest to say a mass for her lost child. No sooner had the priest raised the Host on [137]high, than a tender voice sounding from the forest said, “Your little girl yet lives.”

Out sprang the mother, and there, beneath the trees, she found her little daughter, a nosegay of summer flowers in one hand and a green twig in the other. With tears of joy the mother clasped her, and asked her how she had been preserved.

“Dear mother,” replied the child, “has always been with me. Dear mother carried a light, and with her ran a little dog, white as the snow, and so faithful and kind.”

Then the mother perceived that the Virgin had guarded her child; and she led the little girl into Eberhard’s Cell, where they offered the wreath at the Virgin’s shrine.

Still blossoms the wreath, embalmed by love and thankful prayer.
[Contents]
THE BLOOMING ROSES.

Within the forest stood a little chapel, in which was a statue of the Virgin. Hither came a young girl, and day by day adorned it with fresh flowers. From the Madonna’s arms the infant Jesus smiled upon the child. Thus passed the spring and summer. The girl, devoted to her occupation, and her heart filled with love for Jesus, thought less and less upon the things of this world. One thought alone troubled her as the autumn advanced; this was, that in winter she would not be able to find flowers to adorn the chapel. [138]

This sad thought weighed heavily on her till one day, when sitting weaving a rose-wreath for the child Jesus, a voice said in her ear, “Be not faint-hearted: are not the summer’s blessings still present with thee? let the present be sufficient for thee:” and so the girl wove on with lightened heart.

When winter came and the roses faded, the young girl was lying on her death-bed; her only sorrow was leaving the Virgin and child Jesus so lonely in the forest.

Lo! at her death the hedges once more bloomed; and, in spite of snow and frost, fresh roses blossomed in the forest. With these was the pall decked, and on the gentle wings of their fragrance the spirit of the young girl was wafted to the sky.

*   *   *

A funny story is told of an old lady at Winterich (which we are now passing). The old lady had been the superior of a convent which was suppressed by the Fre............