"Across to Fort Lee along the sheer wall of the Palisades or
down past the busy shipping, where Bartholdi's statue lifts her
unwearied arm, the outlook presents a display of exquisite
charm." The changing hues, evanescent shadows and glimpses of
the rising hills - who can ever forget them?
Many people who have looked on the wonderful scenery of the
Hudson still long for the time when they shall behold the
Rhineland. They will find that legends and traditions, more than
the wonderful scenery, give to the Rhine country an added charm.
Every hilltop there is surmounted by a storied castle, which is
falling into decay along with so many Old World institutions
that have been kept green by the ivy of custom and tradition,
which can scarcely keep them from tumbling.
It is not our object to belittle any natural scenery, but to
make Americans pause to consider the incomparable beauty of
their own land, before rushing to other countries.
We shall never forget our trip up the Moselle and Rhine. That
the scenery is very beautiful we shall not deny. It was in the
lovely month of May in the spring of 1919 that we were favored
with a free ride from Uncle Sam through the most beautiful
scenery to be found anywhere in Germany. We cast a farewell look
at the beautiful meadows of the Meuse and the old Roman towers
of Verdun and a nameless longing, a vague inexpressible sadness
seemed to take possession of us as our eyes rested for the last
time on the gray weather-stained buildings of Glorieux hospital.
In the clear sky a crystal shower of lark notes rippled above
us; from the fragrant box hedges nightingales sang their love
songs; the air was filled with the riotous notes of the linnet
and the loud, sweet phrases of the blackbirds, but we heard them
not. For our thoughts wandered back to that spot where many of
the buddies whom we had learned to love lay sleeping their long
sleep. Near the hospital where thousands of French soldiers had
at last found a glad relief from their pain and suffering,
straight rows of white crosses met our sight and we knew the
grim reaper Death had garnered his choicest sheaves. How quiet,
how peaceful was the morning! No thundering cannons or whistling
shells, no sputtering of machine guns or hum of hostile planes
was heard. Peace had again come to the valley. The poor peasants
were returning to their ruined homes, some carrying all their
earthly possessions in bundles. Yet as we looked at that vast
field of crosses and thought how the best blood of both France
and the United States had been spilled to bring about peace, we
shuddered at the awful price paid for it.
