and ate as
they strolled through the town over the pavings of these crooked ways.
The bread of dependence is said to be exceedingly bitter; but the
gingerbread of Freyburg is uncommonly sweet, in memory.

When the suspension bridge has been crossed and commented upon, every
one strikes a bee-line to the Cathedral, which rises conspicuously above
its surroundings. It would be very amusing to watch the professional
sight-seers at all these places, if one did not belong to the
fraternity, which makes of it quite another affair. There is no air of
pleasuring about them; no placid expression of content and
sweet-to-do-nothing. They seldom are found meandering along the tortuous
streets, the milk of human kindness moistening every feature, beams of
satisfaction irradiating every countenance. They never spend long hours
wandering among the cloisters of old cathedrals, or dream away days by
storied shrines, as friends at home, who read of these places, fondly
imagine. By no means. The sight-seer is a man of business. He has
undertaken a certain amount of work, to be done in a given time. He will
do or die. And since it is a serious matter, involving doubt, he wears
an appropriately solemn and preoccupied expression of countenance. He
darts from point to point. He climbs stairs as though impatient Fame
waited for him at the top. His emotions of wonder, admiration, or
delight, must bestir themselves. He drives to the first point of
interest, strikes a bee-line to the second, cuts every corner between
that and the third, and then, consulting his watch, desires to know if
there is anything more, and experiences his only moment of satisfaction
when the reply is in the negative. And the most remarkable part of all
is, that he goes abroad to enjoy himself.

But even if one is less ambitious, if you are so fortunate as to be
naturally indolent, and to delight to dwell in the shadow of dreams, you
will shake off dull sloth here. You live and move in a bustling crowd.
Every storied spot is thronged with visitors. Far from musing by
yourself, you can at best but follow in the wake of the crowd, with the
drone of an endless story from the lips of a stupid guide in your ears,
bringing only confusion and weariness.

A notice upon the door of the Cathedral informed us that the organ would
not be played until evening. We held a council of war, and decided to go
on. Just over our heads, as we stood before the entrance, was a
representation