as I have no doubt Agnes often did when the duke and
his retinue rode by in clanking armor.

But there is no lack of reminders of old times. The cathedral, which was
begun before the Christian era could express its age with four figures,
has two fine portals, with quaint carving, and bronze doors of very old
work, whereon the story of Eve and the serpent is literally given,--a
representation of great theological, if of small artistic value. And
there is the old clock and watch tower, which for eight hundred years
has enabled the Augsburgers to keep the time of day and to look out over
the plain for the approach of an enemy. The city is full of fine
bronze fountains some of them of very elaborate design, and adding a
convenience and a beauty to the town which American cities wholly want.
In one quarter of the town is the Fuggerei, a little city by itself,
surrounded by its own wall, the gates of which are shut at night, with
narrow streets and neat little houses. It was built by Hans Jacob
Fugger the Rich, as long ago as 1519, and is still inhabited by indigent
Roman-Catholic families, according to the intention of its founder. In
the windows were lovely flowers. I saw in the street several of those
mysterious, short, old women,--so old and yet so little, all body and
hardly any legs, who appear to have grown down into the ground with
advancing years.

It happened to be a rainy day, and cold, on the 30th of July, when
we left Augsburg; and the flat fields through which we passed were
uninviting under the gray light. Large flocks of geese were feeding on
the windy plains, tended by boys and women, who are the living fences
of this country. I no longer wonder at the number of feather-beds at
the inns, under which we are apparently expected to sleep even in the
warmest nights. Shepherds with the regulation crooks also were watching
herds of sheep. Here and there a cluster of red-roofed houses were
huddled together into a village, and in all directions rose tapering
spires. Especially we marked the steeple of Blenheim, where Jack
Churchill won the name for his magnificent country-seat, early in the
eighteenth century. All this plain where the silly geese feed has been
marched over and fought over by armies time and again. We effect the
passage of, the Danube without difficulty, and on to Harburg, a little
town of little red houses, inhabited principally by Jews, huddled
under a rocky ridge, upon the summit of which is a pi