had not yet dismounted—­ere we were assailed by some half dozen ill-clad females, who crawled up the carriage, in all directions, with baskets of ivory toys in their hands, saluting us with loud screams and tones—­which, of course, we understood to mean that their baskets might be lightened of their contents.  Our valet here became the principal medium of explanation.  Charles Rohfritsch raised himself up from his seat; extended, his hands, elevated his voice, stamped, seized upon one, and caught hold of another, assailant at the same time—­threatening them with the vengeance of the police if they did not instantly desist from their rude assaults.  It was indeed high time to be absolute; for Mr. Lewis was surrounded by two, and I was myself honoured by a visit of three, of this gipsy tribe of ivory-venders:  who had crawled over the dicky, and up the hinder wheels, into the body of the carriage.

There seemed to be no alternative but to purchase something.  We took two or three boxes, containing crucifixes, toothpicks, and apple-scoops; and set the best face we could upon this strange adventure.  Meanwhile, fresh horses were put to; and the valet joked with the ivory venders—­having desired the postilion, (as he afterwards informed me) as soon as he was mounted, to make some bold flourishes with his whip, to stick his spurs into the sides of his horses, and disentangle himself from the surrounding female throng as speedily as he could.  The postilion did as he was commanded:  and we darted off at almost a full gallop.  A steep hill was before us, but the horses continued to keep their first pace, till a touch of humanity made our charioteer relax from his efforts.  We had now left the town of Geislingen behind us, but yet saw the ivory venders pointing towards the route we had taken.  “This has been a strange piece of business indeed, Sir,” (observed the valet).  “These women are a set of mad-caps; but they are nevertheless women of character.  They always act thus:  especially when they see that the visitors are English—­for they are vastly fond of your countrymen!”

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