"
"The mother who ever fondled me WILL think so, it may be! But, ah!
she had better pray that the light be clearer, and that I may not
fall utterly short of the star!"
Travellers in Wurtemburg may perhaps turn aside from glorious old
Ulm, and the memories of the battlefields around it, to the romantic
country round the Swabian mountains, through which descend the
tributaries of the Danube. Here they may think themselves fortunate
if they come upon a green valley, with a bright mountain torrent
dashing through it, fresh from the lofty mountain, with terraced
sides that rise sheer above. An old bridge, a mill, and a neat
German village lie clustered in the valley; a seignorial mansion
peeps out of the forest glades; and a lovely church, of rather late
Gothic, but beautifully designed, attracts the eye so soon as it can
be persuaded to quit the romantic outline of the ruined baronial
castle high up on one of the mountain ledges. Report declares that
there are tombs in the church well worth inspection. You seek out an
old venerable blue-coated peasant who has charge of the church.
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