To a reflective mind, the surface of this river seems like a magic mirror, which, touched with but a breath of imagination, will reveal the shadowy hosts, whose bones have long since whitened in its dark blue depths. Inspired by such thoughts we almost hear the windings of this stream again reecho to the bugles of the Roman cohorts, led by a Trajan or an Antonine; and see once more reflected in its waves the hosts of Attila; the hordes of southward-moving Goths; the long array of Christian pilgrims on their way to Palestine, the steel-clad warriors of the Cross; the invading armies of the Moslems, making these banks resound to the inspiring cry of " Allah i/Allahi"; and, finally, the victorious legions of Napoleon, - all of whom have, in turn, appeared to take possession of the Danube, yet who have, ultimately, passed away like shadows on its surface, while the grand river still rolls on, as little altered by these would-be conquerors, as by the swallows that last summer flew from shore to shore. For Mother Earth heeds not those who claim that they possess her. How many has she heard boast that they owned her! But it is she who owns them all at last.

The Iron Gates On The Danube.

It is, however, when these lurid phantoms fade away, and in their place we see its waves reflect fair, cultivated fields and happy homes, that we behold the Danube at its best; for the same sun which once flashed here upon the spears of Roman legions, the crescent of the Moslems, the eagles of Napoleon, and, even recently, shone on the swords of warring Muscovites and Turks, now sheds its light on peaceful villages, reminding us anew of the great truth which Victor Hugo grandly uttered when he wrote:

Historic Shores.

" O toilers of the world, true glory lies Not in great empires built o'er dead men's bones, But in those deeds of charity and love Which light our earth as Heaven is lit by stars."

Consulting Baedecker.