often much amused to hear her endeavors to make us understand. As if to
convey her meaning plainer, she raises both thumbs and forefingers to
her mouth and pulls out the words like a long string; her tongue goes so
fast that it keeps my mind always on a painful stretch to comprehend an
idea here and there. Dr. S----, from whom we take lessons in German, has
kindly consented to our dining with his family for the sake of practice
in speaking. We have taken several long walks with them along the banks
of the Neckar, but I should be puzzled to repeat any of the
conversations that took place. The language, however, is fast growing
more familiar, since _women_ are the principal teachers.

Opposite my window rises the Heiligenberg, on the other side of the
Neckar. The lower part of it is rich with vineyards, and many cottages
stand embosomed in shrubbery among them. Sometimes we see groups of
maidens standing under the grape arbors, and every morning the peasant
women go toiling up the steep paths with baskets on their heads, to
labor among the vines. On the Neckar below us, the fishermen glide about
in their boats, sink their square nets fastened to a long pole, and haul
them up with the glittering fish, of which the stream is full. I often
lean out of the window late at night, when the mountains above are
wrapped in dusky obscurity, and listen to the low, musical ripple of the
river. It tells to my excited fancy a knightly legend of the old German
time. Then comes the bell, rung for closing the inns, breaking the spell
with its deep clang, which vibrates far away on the night air, till it
has roused all the echoes of the Odenwald. I then shut the window, turn
into the narrow box which the Germans call a bed, and in a few minutes
am wandering in America. Half way up the Heiligenberg runs a beautiful
walk, dividing the vineyards from the forest above. This is called the
Philosopher's Way, because it was the favorite ramble of the old
Professors of the University. It can be reached by a toilsome, winding