dentist。
  For　natural　sublimity　the　Rhine　scenery；　as　they　recognized　once　more；
  does　not　compare　with　the　Hudson　scenery；　and　they　recalled　one　point　on
  the　American　river　where　the　Central　Road　tunnels　a　jutting　cliff；　which
  might　very　well　pass　for　the　rock　of　the　Loreley；　where　she　dreams
  Sole　sitting　by　the　shores　of　old　romance。
  and　the　trains　run　in　and　out　under　her　knees　unheeded。　　〃Still；　still
  you　know；〃　March　argued；　〃this　is　the　Loreley　on　the　Rhine；　and　not　the
  Loreley　on　the　Hudson；　and　I　suppose　that　makes　all　the　difference。
  Besides；　the　Rhine　doesn't　set　up　to　be　sublime；　it　only　means　to　be
  storied　and　dreamy　and　romantic　and　it　does　it。　　And　then　we　have　really
  got　no　Mouse　Tower；　we　might　build　one；　to　be　sure。〃
  〃Well；　we　have　got　no　denkmal；　either；〃　said　his　wife；　meaning　the
  national　monument　to　the　German　reconquest　of　the　Rhine；　which　they　had
  just　passed；　〃and　that　is　something　in　our　favor。〃
  〃It　was　too　far　off　for　us　to　see　how　ugly　it　was；〃　he　returned。
  〃The　denkmal　at　Coblenz　was　so　near　that　the　bronze　Emperor　almost　rode
  aboard　the　boat。〃
  He　could　not　answer　such　a　piece　of　logic　as　that。　　He　yielded；　and　began
  to　praise　the　orcharded　levels　which　now　replaced　the　vine…purpled　slopes
  of　the　upper　river。　　He　said　they　put　him　in　mind　of　orchards　that　he　had
  known　in　his　boyhood；　and　they；　agreed　that　the　supreme　charm　of　travel；
  after　all；　was　not　in　seeing　something　new　and　strange；　but　in　finding
  something　familiar　and　dear　in　the　heart　of　the　strangeness。
  At　Cologne　they　found　this　in　the　tumult　of　getting　ashore　with　their
  baggage　and　driving　from　the　steamboat　landing　to　the　railroad　station；
  where　they　were　to　get　their　train　for　Dusseldorf　an　hour　later。　　The
  station　swarmed　with　travellers　eating　and　drinking　and　smoking；　but　they
  escaped　from　it　for　a　precious　half　of　their　golden　hour；　and　gave　the
  time　to　the　great　cathedral；　which　was　built；　a　thousand　years　ago；　just
  round　the　corner　from　the　station；　and　is　therefore　very　handy　to　it。
  Since　they　saw　the　cathedral　last　it　had　been　finished；　and　now　under　a
  cloudless　evening　sky；　it　soared　and　swept　upward　like　a　pale　flame。
  Within　it　was　a　bit　over…clean；　a　bit　bare；　but　without　it　was　one　of　the
  great　memories　of　the　race；　the　record　of　a　faith　which　wrought　miracles
  of　beauty；　at　least；　if　not　piety。
  The　train　gave　the　Marches　another；　and　last；　view　of　it　as　they　slowly
  drew　out　of　the　city；　and　began　to　run　through　a　level　country　walled
  with　far…off　hills；　past　fields　of　buckwheat　showing　their　stems　like
  coral　under　their　black　tops；　past　peasant　houses　changing　their　wonted
  shape　to　taller　and　narrower　forms；　past　sluggish　streams　from　which　the
  mist　rose　and　hung　over　the　meadows；　under　a　red　sunset；　glassy　clear
  till　the　manifold　factory　chimneys　of　Dusseldorf　stained　it　with　their
  dun　smoke。
  This　industrial　greeting　seemed　odd　from　the　town　where　Heinrich　Heine
  was　born；　but　when　they　had　eaten　their　supper　in　the　capital　little
  hotel　they　found　there；　and　went　out　for　a　stroll；　they　found　nothing　to
  remind　them　of　the　factories；　and　much　to　make　them　think　of　the　poet。
  The　moon；　beautiful　and　perfect　as　a　stage　moon；　came　up　over　the
  shoulder　of　a　church　as　they　passed　down　a　long　street　which　they　had　all
  to　themselves。　　Everybody　seemed　to　have　gone　to　bed；　but　at　a　certain
  corner　a　girl　opened　a　window　above　them；　and　looked　out　at　the　moon。
  When　they　returned　to　their　hotel　they　found　a　highwalled　garden　facing
  it；　full　of　black　depths　of　foliage。　　In　the　night　March　woke　and　saw　the
  moon　standing　over　the　garden；　and　silvering　its　leafy　tops。　　This　was
  really　as　it　should　be　in　the　town　where　the　idolized　poet　of　his　youth
  was　born；　the　poet　whom　of　all　others　he　had　adored；　and　who　had　once
  seemed　like　a　living　friend；　who　had　been　witness　of　his　first　love；　and
  had　helped　him　to　speak　it。　　His　wife　used　to　laugh　at　him　for　his　Heine…
  worship　in　those　days；　but　she　had　since　come　to　share　it；　and　she；
  even　more　than　he；　had　insisted　upon　this　pilgrimage。　　He　thought　long
  thoughts　of　the　past；　as　he　looked　into　the　garden　across　the　way；　with
  an　ache　for　his　perished　self　and　the　dead　companionship　of　his　youth；
  all　ghosts　together　in　the　silvered　shadow。　　The　trees　shuddered　in　the
  night　breeze；　and　its　chill　penetrated　to　him　where　he　stood。
  His　wife　called　to　him　from　her　room；　〃What　are　you　doing？〃
  〃Oh；　sentimentalizing；〃　he　answered　boldly。
  〃Well；　you　will　be　sick；〃　she　said；　and　he　crept　back　into　bed　again。
  They　had　sat　up　late；　talking　in　a　glad　excitement。　　But　he　woke　early；
  as　an　elderly　man　is　apt　to　do　after　broken　slumbers；　and　left　his　wife
  still　sleeping。　　He　was　not　so　eager　for　the　poetic　interests　of　the　town
  as　he　had　been　the　night　before；　he　even　deferred　his　curiosity　for
  Heine's　birth…house　to　the　instructive　conference　which　he　had　with　his
  waiter　at　breakfast。　　After　all；　was　not　it　more　important　to　know
  something　of　the　actual　life　of　a　simple　common　class　of　men　than　to
  indulge　a　faded　fancy　for　the　memory　of　a　genius；　which　no　amount　of
  associations　could　feed　again　to　its　former　bloom？　　The　waiter　said　he
  was　a　Nuremberger；　and　had　learned　English　in　London　where　he　had　served
  a　year　for　nothing。　　Afterwards；　when　he　could　speak　three　languages　he
  got　a　pound　a　week；　which　seemed　low　for　so　many；　though　not　so　low　as
  the　one　mark　a　day　which　he　now　received　in　Dusseldorf；　in　Berlin　he　paid
  the　hotel　two　marks　a　day。　　March　confided　to　him　his　secret　trouble　as
  to　tips；　and　they　tried　vainly　to　enlighten　each　other　as　to　what　a　just
  tip　was。
  He　went　to　his　banker's；　and　when　he　came　back　he　found　his　wife　with　her
  breakfast　eaten；　and　so　eager　for　the　exploration　of　Heine's　birthplace
  that　she　heard　with　indifference　of　his　failure　to　get　any　letters。　　It
  was　too　soon　to　expect　them；　she　said；　and　then　she　showed　him　her　plan；
  which　she　had　been　working　out　ever　since　she　woke。　　It　contained　every
  place　which　Heine　had　mentioned；　and　she　was　determined　not　one　should
  escape　them。　　She　examined　him　sharply　upon　his　condition；　accusing　him
  of　having　taken　cold　when　he　got　up　in　the　night；　and　acquitting　him　with
  difficulty。　　She　herself　was　perfectly　well；　but　a　little　fagged；　and
  they　must　have　a　carriage。
  They　set　out　in　a　lordly　two…spanner；　which　took　up　half　the　little
  Bolkerstrasse　where　Heine　was　born；　when　they　stopped　across　the　way　from
  his　birthhouse；　so　that　she　might　first　take　it　all　in　from　the　outside
  before　they　entered　it。　　It　is　a　simple　street；　and　not　the　cleanest　of
  the　streets　in　a　town　where　most　of　them　are　rather　dirty。　　Below　the
  houses　are　shops；　and　the　first　story　of　Heine's　house　is　a　butcher　shop；
  with　sides　of　pork　and　mutton　hanging　in　the　windows；　above；　where　the
  Heine　family　must　once　have　lived；　a　gold…beater　and　a　frame…maker
  displayed　their　signs。
  But　did　the　Heine　family　really　once　live　there？　　The　house　looked　so
  fresh　and　new　that　in　spite　of　the　tablet　in　its　front　affirming　it　the
  poet's　birthplace；　they　doubted；　and　they　were　not　reassured　by　the
  people　who　half　halted　as　they　passed；　and　stared　at　the　strangers；　so
  anomalously　interested　in　the　place。　　They　dismounted；　and　crossed　to　the
  butcher　shop　where　the　provision　man　corroborated　the　tablet；　but　could
  not　understand　their　wish　to　go　up　stairs。　　He　did　not　try　to　prevent
  them；　however；　and　they　climbed　to　the　first　floor　above；　where　a　placard
  on　the　door　declared　it　private　and　implored　them　not　to　knock。　　Was　this
  the　outcome　of　the　inmate's　despair　from　the　intrusion　of　other　pilgrims
  who　had　wised　to　see　the　Heine　dwelling…rooms？　　They　durst　not　knock　and
  ask　so　much；　and　they　sadly　descended　to　the　ground…floor；　where　they
  found　a　butcher　boy　of　much　greater　apparent　intelligence　than　the
  butcher　himself；　who　told　them　that　the　building　in　front　was　as　new　as
  it　looked；　and　the　house　where　Heine　was　really　born　was　the　old　house　in
  the　rear。　　He　showed　them　this　house；　across　a　little　court　patched　with
  mangy　grass　and　lilac…bushes；　and　when　they　wished　to　visit　it　he　led　the
  way。　　The　place　was　strewn　both　underfoot　and　overhead　with　feathers；　it
  had　once　been　all　a　garden　out　to　the　street；　the　boy　said；　but　from
  these　feathers；　as　well　as　the　odor　which　prevailed；　and　the　anxious
  behavior　of　a　few　hens　left　in　the　high　coop　at　one　side；　it　was　plain
  that　what　remained　of　the　garden　was　now　a　chicken　slaughteryard。　　There
  was　one　well…grown　tree；　and　the　boy　said　it　was　of　the　poet's　time；　but
  when　he　let　them　into　the　house；　he　became　vague　as　to　the　room　where
  Heine　was　born；　it　was　certain　only　that　it　was　somewhere　upstairs　and
  that　it　could　not　be　seen。　　The　room　where　they　stood　was　the　frame…
  maker's　shop；　and　they　bought　of　him　a　small　frame　for　a　memorial。　　They
  bought　of　the　butcher's　boy；　not　so　commercially；　a　branch　of　lilac；　and
  they　came　away；　thinking　how　much　amused　Heine　himself　would　have　been
  with　their　visit；　how　sadly；　how　merrily　he　would　have　mocked　at　their
  effort　to　revere　his　birthplace。
  They　were　too　old　if　not　too　wise　to　be　daunted　by　their　defeat；　and　they
  drove　next　to　the　old　cour