he gentleman was waiting for me below, and at the same
moment his servant entered to carry down my plaid and bag, so I had to
hurry away. He had dismounted when I came down, and the pleasure of
seeing him again, after so long a time, looking tolerably well and
cheerful, the mild clear day, the view, and the prospect of a pleasant
ride helped me to overcome my childish embarrassment. Society had at
last got accustomed to see us talk together whilst walking, why should
we not also do so on mules. So we rode gaily through the Laubengasse,
and over the bridge, where to be sure the whole company of strangers
rushed to the railings of the wintergarden, and followed us with their
kind looks and remarks. On the other side of the bridge, the road turns
to the left and ascends the hilly streets of the cheerful village of
Obermais. We soon found ourselves among the leafless vineyards, and in
trotting past the houses, saw the grapes pressed in large tubs, and
barrels filled with their juice, and under the bare trellises,
preparations for next year's harvest. One can hardly imagine anything
more picturesque looking than one of those tall fine looking young
peasants ploughing underneath these bowers with their strong grey oxen,
or as in that beautiful picture of Robert's, resting his cattle while
he leans on the pole between them. The whole surrounded by a frame of
trellis work, which here supports the vine in the form of a vaulted
arcade. They all left their work when we passed--I rode in front on a
very quiet animal, led by the guide; Morrik just behind me, so that we
could exchange the expressions of our delight at all these beauties of
nature, and his servant brought up the rear.

When we had mounted somewhat higher, I involuntarily stopped; the view
was so wonderfully beautiful. The entire valley of the Adige lay far
beneath us, the river glittered between meadows and sands, and the more
distant mountains encircled the whole with their clear and beautiful
outline. But how can words describe a scene which the brush of the most
able painter could not do justice to. Neither of us spoke, we remained
in silent awe, and could only marvel. Had not the mules become
impatient, who can say whether we should not be on the same spot still.
My docile bay who was more sagacious than he looked, pondered, and
shook his head with the conspicuous ears, over the folly of mankind in
stopping where no fodder was to be seen: so he moved on slowly to