I have indeed been an active, as well as fortunate traveller, since I last addressed you; and I sit down to compose rather a long despatch, which, upon the whole, will be probably interesting; and which, moreover, is penned in one of the noblest hotels in Europe.  The more I see of Germany, the more I like it.  Behold me, then in Bavaria; within one of its most beautiful cities, and looking, from my window, upon a street called Maximilian Street—­which, for picturesque beauty, is exceeded only by the High-street at Oxford.  A noble fountain of bronze figures in the centre of it, is sending forth its clear and agitated waters into the air—­only to fall, in pellucid drops, into a basin of capacious dimensions:  again to be carried upwards, and again to descend.  ’Tis a magnificent fountain; and I wish such an one were in the centre of the street above mentioned, or in that of Waterloo Place.  But to proceed with my Journal from Stuttgart.

I left that capital of the kingdom of Wuertemberg about five in the afternoon, accompanied by my excellent friend M. Le Bret, who took a seat in the carriage as far as the boundaries of the city.[23] His dry drollery, and frankness of communication, made me regret that he could not accompany us—­at least as far as the first stage Plochingen;—­especially as the weather was beautiful, and the road excellent.  However, the novelty of each surrounding object—­(but shall ...  I whisper a secret in your ear?—­the probably successful result of the negotiation about the two ancient editions of Virgil—­yet more than each surrounding object) put me in perfect good humour, as we continued to roll pleasantly on towards our resting-place for the night—­either Goeppingen, or Geislingen,—­as time and inclination might serve.  The sky was in a fine crimson glow with the approaching sun-set, which was reflected by a river of clear water, skirted in parts by poplar and birch, as we changed horses at Plochingen.  It was, I think, that town, rather than Goeppingen, (the next stage) which struck us, en passant, to be singularly curious and picturesque on the score of antiquity and street scenery.  It was with reluctance that I passed through it in so rapid a manner:  but necessity alone was the excuse.

We slept, and slept comfortably, at Goeppingen.  From thence to Geislingen are sweet views:  in part luxuriant and cultivated, and in part bold and romantic.  Here, were the humble and neatly-trimmed huts of cottagers; there, the lofty and castle-crowned domains of the Baron.  It was all pleasing and heart-cheering; while the sky continued in one soft and silvery tint from the unusual transparency of the day.  On entering Geislingen, our attention was quickly directed to other, and somewhat extraordinary, objects.  In this town, there is a great manufactory of articles in ivory; and we had hardly stopped to change horses—­in other words, the postilion