CHAPTER XXVI. AM RHEIN. George Wainwright found that early winter had already descended upon Germany. When he arrived at Cologne the last tourist had long since passed through that pleasant old city. The large hotels were shut up; the _valets de place_ and cathedral touters had melted away, only to reappear with the advent of summer; all the vendors of the Eau had shut up their shops, and disappeared to more lively places, to spend the money which they had acquired during the season; and even in the second and third rate hotels the large _salons_ were closed, and but the smaller apartments were kept open for the reception of such commercial gentlemen as the exigences of business kept upon the road. This did not matter much to George Wainwright, who was as careless of luxuries as most men, and who, as an old traveller, had comfortable head-quarters on which he could depend in most leading cities in Europe. It was at the Brusseler Hof that George put up when he was in Cologne, and, no matter what the season, he was sure to find the cosy little second-rate inn full of business, and to experience a hearty welcome from stout old Schuhmacher the landlord. It was not so long since his last visit but that he was remembered; and on his arrival, was placed close up at his old host's right hand at the little _table d'hôte_, consisting then solely of the host's family and a few neighbouring burghers, who habitually dined there all the year round. There was a good deal of quiet solemn chaff at the idea of an Englishman daring to put in an appearance on the Rhine border between the months of October and May, and a certain amount of ponderous solicitude expressed in many polysyllabic words was exhibited as to the reason of his journey. But George took care to keep this to himself, passing it off in the best way he could, and merely informing his querists that he was going as far as Mainz. Then he heard that ice had fallen in the river, that the steam-boat traffic was quite suspended, and that he would have to travel in the _eilwagen_, which he learned to his cost on the morrow was a humorous name for a wretched conveyance something like a _diligence_, without an _intérieur_ or a _banquette_, which crawled along at the rate of between five and six miles an hour, and the company in which was anything but desirable. George slept at Coblenz that night, and the next day made his way to Mainz, where he at once proceeded to an old inn situate in one of the back streets of the town, and bearing the sign Zum Karpfen, which was the head-quarters of the artistic body who nightly held high jinks in the _kneipe_ there.