Twelve years after the birth of Goethe’s mother, in 1743, a Jew was born in Frankfort, whose name and power in the world are quite as great as that of the poet. It is a question for the debating societies, whether money or mind rules in this age; but there is little doubt that the Rothschilds have been more of a power in Europe during the present century than Goethe and all the poets put together. This man was named Anselm. He had five daughters and five sons: all of the sons becoming bankers like the father, and establishing themselves in various cities, London, Paris, Vienna, and Frankfort, came to control the finances of Europe, and to wield an influence before which the conquerors of kingdoms were often compelled to bow. They furnish one good lesson that is rarely mentioned or thought of: the father and five sons, and their children, have continued in one firm,—the five brothers were at one time the firm,—and, thus standing by one another, have been strong and prosperous; in this particular, Jews as they are, they set an example for Christians to follow. So great is their wealth and credit, that when the revolutions of 1848 in Europe instantly robbed them of forty millions of dollars, it did not disturb them, nor the confidence of the world in their stability. Kings and emperors are their guests as well as their customers; and this summer, one of them on the banks of Lake Leman, and another at his palace in Paris, has entertained royalty in right regal style. To us sovereigns in our own right, this is nothing very remarkable; but here, in the land of kings and princes, it is a matter always of wonderment, and it is also just a little detriment to dignity, when a crowned head condescends to eat off the plate of anybody but a brother of blue blood. This old city of Frankfort has had its ancestral pride sadly humbled in being swallowed by all-devouring Prussia. A lady said to me, “I hate the Prussians; I know it is not very Christian, but I do hate them; and I believe the royal family will be poisoned yet!” This venerable city was once the capital of the German empire, the seat of its Congress; here the German emperors were elected, for successive generations. The glory that invests a spot so sacred has now departed; and the firm policy of Bismark, and the unification of Germany, have reduced the proud old town to one of the many second-rate cities of Europe. A city, now-a-days, cannot live on the past. Trade and travel will not obey traditions. Frankfort still holds a financial importance that is fast passing away; and more people will linger here for a day to see the marble ARIADNE, by Danneker, than to visit the “Hall of the Cæsars,” where the portraits of the emperors are hung.