surface. "_Nous sommes plus Francais que les Francais_." This is the
universal expression of feeling that greeted our ears throughout our
wanderings. Such, at least, was formerly the case. The men, women and
children, rich and poor, learned and simple, gave utterance to the same
expression of feeling. Barr is a town of between six and seven thousand
souls, about twenty of whom are Prussians. A pleasant position, truly,
for the twenty officials! And what we see at Barr is the case throughout
the newly acquired German dominion. Alike the highest as well as the
humblest functionary of the imperial government is completely shut off
from intercourse with his French neighbours.

Barr lies near so much romantic scenery that the tourist in these parts
had better try the little hotel amid the mines. For, in spite of the
picturesque stork's nest close by, an excellent ordinary and the most
delightful host and hostess in the world, I cannot recommend a sojourn in
the heart of the town. The best plan of all were to halt here simply for
the sake of the excursion to St. Odile--St. Odile leads nowhither--then
hire a carriage, and make leisurely way across country by the Hohwald,
and the Champ de Feu to Rothau, Oberlin's country, thence to Strasburg.
In our own case, the fascinations of our hosts overcame our repugnance to
Barr itself, so we stayed on, every day making long drives into the
fresh, quiet, beautiful country. One of the sweet spots we discovered for
the benefit of any English folks who may chance to stray in that region
is the Hohwald, a _ville giatura_ long in vogue with the inhabitants
of Strasburg and neighbouring towns, but not mentioned in any English
guide-book at the time of my visit.

We are reminded all the way of Rhineland. The same terraced vineyards,
the same limestone crags, each with its feudal tower, the same fertility
and richness everywhere. Our road winds for miles amid avenues of