Before the setting of the same sun, which then shone on that fair landscape, he was far on his way towards Munich.  He had left far behind him the mountains of the Tyrol; and beheld themfor the last time in the soft evening twilight, their bases green with forest trees, and here and there, a sharp rocky spire, and a rounded summit capped with snow.  There they lay, their backs, like the backs of camels; a mighty caravan, reposing at evening in its march across the desert.

From Munich he passed through Augsburg and Ulm, on his way to Stuttgard.  At the entrances of towns and villages, he saw large crucifixes; and on the fronts of many houses, coarse paintings and images of saints.  In Gunzburg three priests in black were slowly passing down the street, and women fell on their knees to receive their blessing.  There were many beggars, too, in the streets; and an old man who was making hay in a field by the road-side, when he saw the carriage approaching, threw down his rake, and came tumbling over the ditch, with his hat held out in both hands, uttering the most dismal wail.  The next day, the bright yellow jackets of the postilions, and the two great tassels of their bugle-horns, dangling down their backs, like two cauliflowers, told him he was in Wurtemberg; and, late in the evening, he stopped at a hotel in Stuttgard; and from his chamber-window, saw, in the bright moonlight, the old Gothic cathedral, with its narrow, lancet windows and jutting buttresses, right in front of him.  Ere long he had forgotten all his cares and sorrows in sleep, and with them his hopes, and wishes, and good resolves.

He was still sitting at breakfast in his chamber, the next morning, when the great bell of the cathedral opposite began to ring, and reminded him that it was Sunday.  Ere long the organ answered from within, and from its golden lips breathed forth a psalm.  The congregation began to assemble, and Flemming went up with them to the house of the Lord.  In the body of the church he found the pews all filled or locked; they seemed to belong to families.  He went up into the gallery, and looked over the psalm-book of a peasant, while the congregation sang the sublime old hymn of Martin Luther,

“Our God, he is a tower of strength,

A trusty shield and weapon.”

During the singing, a fat clergyman, clad in black, with a white surplice thrown loosely about him, came pacing along one of the aisles, from beneath the organ-loft and ascended the pulpit.  After the hymn, he read a portion of Scripture, and then said;

“Let us unite in silent prayer.”