a nightingale, and talked like a nun.  There never was such simplicity.  There was n’t a sounding-line on board that would have gone to the bottom of her soulful eyes.  But she managed the captain and all the officers, and controlled the ship as if she had been the helm.  All the passengers were waiting on her, fetching this and that for her comfort, inquiring of her health, talking about her genuineness, and exhibiting as much anxiety to get her ashore in safety, as if she had been about to knight them all and give them a castle apiece when they came to land.

The mistress.  What harm?  It shows what I have always said, that the service of a noble woman is the most ennobling influence for men.

Mandeville.  If she is noble, and not a mere manager.  I watched this woman to see if she would ever do anything for any one else.  She never did.

The fire-tender.  Did you ever see her again?  I presume Mandeville has introduced her here for some purpose.

Mandeville.  No purpose.  But we did see her on the Rhine; she was the most disgusted traveler, and seemed to be in very ill humor with her maid.  I judged that her happiness depended upon establishing controlling relations with all about her.  On this Rhine boat, to be sure, there was reason for disgust.  And that reminds me of a remark that was made.

The young lady.  Oh!

Mandeville.  When we got aboard at Mayence we were conscious of a dreadful odor somewhere; as it was a foggy morning, we could see no cause of it, but concluded it was from something on the wharf.  The fog lifted, and we got under way, but the odor traveled with us, and increased.  We went to every part of the vessel to avoid it, but in vain.  It occasionally reached us in great waves of disagreeableness.  We had heard of the odors of the towns on the Rhine, but we had no idea that the entire stream was infected.  It was intolerable.

The day was lovely, and the passengers stood about on deck holding their noses and admiring the scenery.  You might see a row of them leaning over the side, gazing up at some old ruin or ivied crag, entranced with the romance of the situation, and all holding their noses with thumb and finger.  The sweet Rhine!  By and by somebody discovered that the odor came from a pile of cheese on the forward deck, covered with a canvas; it seemed that the Rhinelanders are so fond of it that they take it with them when they travel.  If there should ever be war between us and Germany, the borders of the Rhine would need no other defense from American soldiers than a barricade of this cheese.  I went to the stern of the steamboat to tell a stout American traveler what was the origin of the odor he had been trying to dodge all the morning.  He looked more disgusted than before, when he heard that it was cheese; but his only reply was:  “It must be a merciful God who can forgive a smell like that!”