Our travellers soon sallied forth from their hotel, impatient to drink the strength-giving watersof the fountains. They continued their walk far up the valley under the poplars. The new grain was waving in the fields; the birds singing in the trees and in the air; and every thing seemed glad, save a poor old man, who came tottering² out of the woods, with a heavy bundle of sticks on his shoulders.

 

Returning upon their steps, they passed down the valley and through the long street to the tumble-down old Lutheran church. A flight of stone steps leads from the street to the green terrace or platform on which the church stands, and which, in ancient times, was the churchyard, or as the Germans more devoutly³ say, God's-acre; where generations are scattered⁴ like seeds, and that which is sown in corruption⁵ shall be raised hereafter in incorruption. On the steps stood an old man,--a very old man,--holding a little girl by the hand. He took off his greasy⁶ cap as they passed, and wished them good day. His teeth were gone; he could hardly articulate a syllable⁷. The Baron⁸ asked him how old the church was. Hegave no answer; but when the question was repeated, came close up to them, and taking off his cap again, turned his ear

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