plains.

With the passengers in the omnibus I could hold little conversation.
One, who knew about as much French as I did, asked me where I came from,
and I shall not soon forget his expression of incredulity, as I
mentioned America. "Why," said he, "you are white--the Americans are all
black!"

We passed the ruined castles of Auerback and Starkenburg, and Burg
Windeck, on the summit of a mountain near Weinheim, formerly one of the
royal residences of Charlemagne, and finally came to the Heiligenberg or
Holy Mountain, guarding the entrance into the Odenwald by the valley of
the Neckar. As we wound around its base to the river, the Kaiserstuhl
rose before us, with the mighty castle hanging upon its side and
Heidelberg at its feet. It was a most strikingly beautiful scene, and
for a moment I felt inclined to assent to the remark of my bad-French
acquaintance--"America is not beautiful--Heidelberg is beautiful!" The
sun had just set as we turned the corner of the Holy Mountain and drove
up the bank of the Neckar; all the chimes of Heidelberg began suddenly
to ring and a cannon by the riverside was fired off every minute--the
sound echoing five times distinctly from mountain back to mountain, and
finally crashing far off, along the distant hills of the Odenwald. It
was the birthday of the Grand Duke of Baden, and these rejoicings were
for the closing _fête_.




CHAPTER IX.