Crossing a hill or two, I came down into the valley of the Lahn, which flows through meadows of the brightest green, with redroofed cottages nestled among gardens and orchards upon its banks.  The women here wear a remarkable costume, consisting of a red boddice with white sleeves, and a dozen skirts, one above another, reaching only to the knees.  I slept again at a little village among the hills, and started early for Marburg.  The meadows were of the purest emerald, through which the stream wound its way, with even borders, covered to the water’s edge with grass so smooth and velvety, that a fairy might have danced along on it for miles without stumbling over an uneven tuft.  This valley is one of the finest districts in Germany.  I thought, as I saw the peaceful inhabitants at work in their fields, I had most probably, on the battle-field of Brandywine, walked over the bones of some of their ancestors, whom a despotic prince had torn from their happy homes, to die in a distant land, fighting against the cause of freedom.

I now entered directly into the heart of Hesse Cassel.  The country resembled a collection of hills thrown together in confusion—­sometimes a wide plain left between them, sometimes a clustre of wooded peaks, and here and there a single pointed summit rising above the rest.  The vallies were green as ever, the hill-sides freshly ploughed and the forests beginning to be colored by the tender foliage of the larch and birch.  I walked two or three hours at a “stretch,” and then, when I could find a dry, shady bank, I would rest for half an hour and finish some hastily sketched landscape, or lay at full length, with my head on my knapsack, and peruse the countenances of those passing by.  The observation which every traveller excites, soon ceases to be embarrassing.  It was at first extremely unpleasant; but I am now so hardened, that the strange, magnetic influence of the human eye, which we cannot avoid feeling, passes by me as harmlessly as if turned aside by invisible mail.

During the day several showers came by, but as none of them penetrated further than my blouse, I kept on, and reached about sunset a little village in the valley.  I chose a small inn, which had an air of neatness about it, and on going in, the tidy landlady’s “be you welcome,” as she brought a pair of slippers for my swollen feet, made me feel quite at home.  After being furnished with eggs, milk, butter and bread, for supper, which I ate while listening to an animated discussion between the village schoolmaster and some farmers, I was ushered into a clean, sanded bedroom, and soon forgot all fatigue.  For this, with breakfast in the morning, the bill was six and a half groschen—­about sixteen cents!  Tin air was freshened by the rain and I journeyed over the hills at a rapid rate.  Stopping for dinner at the large village of Wabern, a boy at the inn asked me if I was going to America?  I said no, I came from there.  He then asked me many silly questions, after which he ran out and told the people of the village.  When I set out again, the children pointed at me and cried:  “see there! he is from America!” and the men took off their hats and bowed!