ny other we had yet visited. Until now, our
destination was not settled, though I had almost decided to go to
Nuremberg, and thence, by Ratisbonne and the Danube, to Vienna; but we
all came to the opinion that the appearance of things towards the east
was too dreary for endurance. We had already journeyed through Bavaria,
from its southern to its northern end, and we wished to vary the scene.
A member of its royal family had once told me that Wurtemberg offered
but little for the traveller, at the same time saying a good word for
its capital. When one gets information from so high authority it is not
to be questioned, and towards Stuttgart it was determined to turn our
faces. At Heilbronn, therefore, we changed direction from east to south.
This Heilbronn was a quaint old German town, and it had a few of its
houses painted on the exterior, like those already described to you in
Switzerland. Weinsberg, so celebrated for its wives, who saved their
husbands at a capitulation, by carrying them out of the place on their
backs, is near this town. As there are no walled towns in America, and
the example could do no good, we did not make a pilgrimage to the spot.
That night we slept at a little town called Bessingheim, with the
Neckar, which we had again met at Heilbronn, murmuring beneath our
windows.

The next morning we were off betimes to avoid the heat, and reached
Ludwigsberg to breakfast. Here the scene began to change. Troops were at
drill in a meadow, as we approached the town, and the postilion pointed
out to us a portly officer at the Duke of Wurtemberg, a cadet of the
royal family, who was present with his staff. Drilling troops, from time
immemorial, has been a royal occupation in Germany. It is, like a
Manhattanese talking of dollars, a source of endless enjoyment.

Ludwigsberg is the Windsor, the St. Denis, of the Princes of Wurtemberg.
There an extensive palace, the place of sepulture, and a town of five or
six thousand inhabitants. We went through the former, which is large and
imposing, with fine courts and some pretty views, but it is low and
Teutonic--in plain English, squat--like some of the old statues in
armour that one sees in the squares of the German towns. There is a
gallery and a few good pictures, particularly a Rembrandt or two. One of
the latter is in the same style as the "Tribute-money" that I possess,
and greatly encourages me as to the authenticity of that picture. The
late Queen of Wurtember