In Frankfort everybody wears clean clothes, and I think we noticed that this strange thing was the case in Hamburg, too, and in the villages along the road.  Even in the narrowest and poorest and most ancient quarters of Frankfort neat and clean clothes were the rule.  The little children of both sexes were nearly always nice enough to take into a body’s lap.  And as for the uniforms of the soldiers, they were newness and brightness carried to perfection.  One could never detect a smirch or a grain of dust upon them.  The street-car conductors and drivers wore pretty uniforms which seemed to be just out of the bandbox, and their manners were as fine as their clothes.

In one of the shops I had the luck to stumble upon a book which has charmed me nearly to death.  It is entitled the legends of the Rhine from basle to Rotterdam, by F. J. Kiefer; translated by L. W. Garnham, B.A.

All tourists Mention the Rhine legends—­in that sort of way which quietly pretends that the mentioner has been familiar with them all his life, and that the reader cannot possibly be ignorant of them—­but no tourist ever tells them.  So this little book fed me in a very hungry place; and I, in my turn, intend to feed my reader, with one or two little lunches from the same larder.  I shall not mar Garnharn’s translation by meddling with its English; for the most toothsome thing about it is its quaint fashion of building English sentences on the German plan —­and punctuating them accordingly to no plan at all.

In the chapter devoted to “Legends of Frankfort,” I find the following: 

“The knave of Bergen”

“In Frankfort at the Romer was a great mask-ball, at the coronation festival, and in the illuminated saloon, the clanging music invited to dance, and splendidly appeared the rich toilets and charms of the ladies, and the festively costumed Princes and Knights.  All seemed pleasure, joy, and roguish gaiety, only one of the numerous guests had a gloomy exterior; but exactly the black armor in which he walked about excited general attention, and his tall figure, as well as the noble propriety of his movements, attracted especially the regards of the ladies.  Who the Knight was?  Nobody could guess, for his Vizier was well closed, and nothing made him recognizable.  Proud and yet modest he advanced to the Empress; bowed on one knee before her seat, and begged for the favor of a waltz with the Queen of the festival.  And she allowed his request.  With light and graceful steps he danced through the long saloon, with the sovereign who thought never to have found a more dexterous and excellent dancer.  But also by the grace of his manner, and fine conversation he knew to win the Queen, and she graciously accorded him a second dance for which he begged, a third, and a fourth, as well as others were not refused him.  How all regarded the happy dancer, how many envied him the high favor; how increased curiosity, who the masked knight could be.