We were now within about twenty English miles of Ulm.  Nothing particular occurred, either by way of anecdote or of scenery, till within almost the immediate approach or descent to that city—­the last in the Suabian territories, and which is separated from Bavaria by the River Danube.  I caught the first glance of that celebrated river (here of comparatively trifling width) with no ordinary emotions of delight.  It recalled to my memory the battle of Blenheim, or of Hochstedt; for you know that it was across this very river, and scarcely a score of miles from Ulm, that the victorious Marlborough chased the flying French and Bavarians—­at the battle just mentioned.  At the same moment, almost, I could not fail to contrast this glorious issue with the miserable surrender of the town before me—­then filled by a large and well-disciplined army, and commanded by that nonpareil of generals, J.G.  Mack!—­into the power of Bonaparte almost without pulling a trigger on either side—­the place itself being considered, at the time, one of the strongest towns in Europe.  These things, I say, rushed upon my memory, when, on the immediate descent into Ulm, I caught the first view of the tower of the minster which quickly put Marlborough, and Mack, and Bonaparte out of my recollection.

I had never, since quitting the beach at Brighton, beheld such an English-like looking cathedral—­as a whole; and particularly the tower.  It is broad, bold, and lofty; but, like all edifices, seen from a neighboring and perhaps loftier height, it loses, at first view, very much of the loftiness of its character.  However, I looked with admiration, and longed to approach it.  This object was accomplished in twenty minutes.  We entered Ulm about two o’clock:  drove to an excellent inn (the White Stag—­which I strongly recommend to all travelers), and ordered our dinner to be got ready by five; which, as the house was within a stone’s cast of the cathedral, gave us every opportunity of visiting it beforehand.  The day continued most beautiful:  and we sallied forth in high spirits, to gaze at and to admire every object of antiquity which should present itself.

The Cathedral of Ulm is doubtless among the most respectable of those on the Continent.  It is large and wide, and of a massive and imposing style of architecture.  The buttresses are bold, and very much after the English fashion.  The tower is the chief exterior beauty.  Before we mounted it, we begged the guide, who attended us, to conduct us all over the interior.  This interior is very noble, and even superior, as a piece of architecture, to that of Strasburg.  I should think it even longer and wider—­for the truth is, that the tower of Strasburg Cathedral is as much too tall, as that of Ulm Cathedral is too short, for its nave and choir.  Not very long ago, they had covered the interior by a whitewash; and thus the mellow tint of probably about five centuries—­in a spot where there are few immediately surrounding houses—­and in a town of which the manufactories and population are comparatively small—­the latter about 14,000—­thus, I say, the mellow tint of these five centuries (for I suppose the cathedral to have been finished about the year 1320) has been cruelly changed for the staring and chilling effects of whiting.[B]