She wanted to go back home, Mignon did, she wanted to like a dog.
But Martin sed he didn’t know as anybody had ever made a specialty of visitin’ the birthplace of Goethe.
“And as for citron apples,” sez he, “your friend evidently made a mistake in writing about them; citrons grow on a vine; but,” sez he, “perhaps Goethe was in the grocer line and was recommending some new fruit.”
And I let it go so. Truly the author of “Wilhelm Meister” would have advised me to let it pass and go by.
But when Martin learned that Rothschild wuz born there, he sed that if he had had time he would have loved to visit that hallowed spot.
Martin thought he would stop and take a kind of a rest at Heidelberg, and my two legs and my pardner wuz glad enough of the rest—yes, indeed!
Martin sed that any traveller of note made a pint of visitin’ that spot, so it wuz on that account, I spoze, that we stopped. He sed he had seen a number of engravin’s of the place, and I told him I had too.
We stayed all night to a comfortable tarvern, and had a good supper and breakfust. Josiah admitted we had, though he sed—
“Samantha, it don’t taste like your breakfusts; oh, shall I ever partake of ’em agin in that blessed, blessed home?”
He suffers dretfully, that man duz. But I told him that we should soon be to home agin now, and to bear up.