There is an immense fortification now in progress of erection behind Ulm.  It leans on the side of the hill which rises from the Danube, and must be nearly a mile in length.  Hundreds of laborers are at work, and from the appearance of the foundations, many years will be required to finish it.  The lofty mountain-plain which we afterwards passed over, for eight or ten miles, divides the waters of the Danube from the Rhine.  From the heights above Ulm, we bade adieu to the far, misty Alps, till we shall see them again in Switzerland.  Late in the afternoon, we came to a lovely green valley, sunk as it were in the earth.  Around us, on all sides, stretched the bare, lofty plains; but the valley lay below, its steep sides covered with the richest forest.  At the bottom flowed the Fils.  Our road led directly down the side; the glen spread out broader as we advanced, and smiling villages stood beside the stream.  A short distance before reaching Esslingen, we came upon the banks of the Neckar, whom we hailed as an old acquaintance, although much smaller here in his mountain home than when he sweeps the walls of Heidelberg.

Delightful Wurtemberg!  Shall I ever forget thy lovely green vales, watered by the classic current of the Neckar, or thy lofty hills covered with vineyards and waving forests, and crowned with heavy ruins, that tell many a tale of Barbarossa and Duke Ulric and Goetz with the Iron Hand!  No—­were even the Suabian hills less beautiful—­were the Suabian people less faithful and kind and true, still I would love the land for the great spirits it has produced; still would the birth-place of Frederick Schiller, of Uhland and Hauff, be sacred.  I do not wonder Wurtemberg can boast such glorious poets.  Its lovely landscapes seem to have been made expressly for the cradle of genius; amid no other scenes could his infant mind catch a more benign inspiration.  Even the common people are deeply imbued with a poetic feeling.  We saw it in their friendly greetings and open, expressive countenances; it is shown in their love for their beautiful homes and the rapture and reverence with which they speak of their country’s bards.  No river in the world, equal to the Neckar in size, flows for its whole course through more delightful scenery, or among kinder and happier people.

After leaving Esslingen, we followed its banks for some time, at the foot of an amphitheatre of hills, covered to the very summit, as far as the eye could reach, with vineyards.  The morning was cloudy, and white mist-wreaths hung along the sides.  We took a road that led over the top of a range, and on arriving at the summit, saw all at once the city of Stuttgard, lying beneath our feet.  It lay in a basin encircled by mountains, with a narrow valley opening to the south-east, and running off between the hills to the Neckar.  The situation of the city is one of wonderful beauty, and even after seeing Salzburg, I could not but be charmed with it.