IT was comfort to get out of the beaten routes of tourists, and find yourself in a city where you do not hear English, and where the sight-seer with the inevitable guide book and field-glass, does not display himself. It was a relief to get into a city that had not been half Anglicised and Americanized by the constant stream of tourists that pour over Europe every Summer, where you could see Germany and the Germans, pure and simple. Such a place is Mannheim, at the confluence of the Rhine and Neckar, twelve miles below Heidelberg.
MANNHEIM.
Mannheim is a delicious old city, once the seat of the grand Dukes of Baden, but now the seat of what is a great deal better than grand dukes, much merchandising and manufacturing. It is the only city in Europe that is laid out like Philadelphia, in regular squares.
The principal pride of the Mannheimers is their theater, and the Mannheimers have every reason to be proud of it, for, in addition to its being one of the best conducted in Europe, it is where Schiller and other great German poets won their first successes.
The Germans amuse themselves at public cost whenever possible. For instance, this beautiful theater, which contains costumes and stage sets for all the standard operas, is supported by the city government. There is a small fee for admission, (I believe the most expensive seat in the house is a trifle less than a dollar, and ranging down from that to ten cents), but the deficiency is put upon the tax duplicate and paid the same as other taxes.