Half an hour later I was sitting on a bench inspecting, with strong interest, a noble monolith which we were skimming by—­a monolith not shaped by man, but by Nature’s free great hand—­a massy pyramidal rock eighty feet high, devised by Nature ten million years ago against the day when a man worthy of it should need it for his monument.  The time came at last, and now this grand remembrancer bears Schiller’s name in huge letters upon its face.  Curiously enough, this rock was not degraded or defiled in any way.  It is said that two years ago a stranger let himself down from the top of it with ropes and pulleys, and painted all over it, in blue letters bigger than those in Schiller’s name, these words: 

“Try Sozodont;” “Buy Sun Stove Polish;” “Helmbold’s Buchu;” “Try Benzaline for the Blood.”

He was captured and it turned out that he was an American.  Upon his trial the judge said to him: 

“You are from a land where any insolent that wants to is privileged to profane and insult Nature, and, through her, Nature’s God, if by so doing he can put a sordid penny in his pocket.  But here the case is different.  Because you are a foreigner and ignorant, I will make your sentence light; if you were a native I would deal strenuously with you.  Hear and obey:  —­You will immediately remove every trace of your offensive work from the Schiller monument; you pay a fine of ten thousand francs; you will suffer two years’ imprisonment at hard labor; you will then be horsewhipped, tarred and feathered, deprived of your ears, ridden on a rail to the confines of the canton, and banished forever.  The severest penalties are omitted in your case—­not as a grace to you, but to that great republic which had the misfortune to give you birth.”

The steamer’s benches were ranged back to back across the deck.  My back hair was mingling innocently with the back hair of a couple of ladies.  Presently they were addressed by some one and I overheard this conversation: 

“You are Americans, I think?  So’m I.”

“Yes—­we are Americans.”

“I knew it—­I can always tell them.  What ship did you come over in?”

“City of Chester.”

“Oh, yes—­Inman line.  We came in the Batavia—­Cunard you know.  What kind of a passage did you have?”

“Pretty fair.”

“That was luck.  We had it awful rough.  Captain said he’d hardly seen it rougher.  Where are you from?”

“New Jersey.”

“So’m I. No—­I didn’t mean that; I’m from New England.  New Bloomfield’s my place.  These your children?—­belong to both of you?”

“Only to one of us; they are mine; my friend is not married.”

“Single, I reckon?  So’m I. Are you two ladies traveling alone?”

“No—­my husband is with us.”

“Our whole family’s along.  It’s awful slow, going around alone—­don’t you think so?”

“I suppose it must be.”