foliage of chestnut and acacia, whilst every orchard has its walnut and
mulberry trees, not to speak of pear and plum. One of the chief
manufactures of these parts is that of paints and colours: there are also
ribbon and cotton factories. Rich as is the country naturally, its chief
wealth arises from these industries. In every village you hear the hum of
machinery.

You may lessen the distance from Barr to St. Odile by one-half if you
make the journey on foot, winding upwards amid the vine-clad hills, at
every turn coming upon one of those grand old ruins, as plentiful here as
in Rhineland, and quite as romantic and beautiful. The drive is a slow
and toilsome ascent of three hours and a half. As soon as we quit the
villages and climb the mountain road cut amid the pines, we are in a
superb and solitary scene. No sound of millwheels or steam-hammers is
heard here, only the summer breeze stirring the lofty pine branches, the
hum of insects, and the trickling of mountain streams. The dark-leaved
henbane is in brilliant yellow flower, and the purple foxglove in
striking contrast; but the wealth of summer flowers is over.

Who would choose to live on Ararat? Yet it is something to reach a
pinnacle from whence you may survey more than one kingdom. The prospect
from St. Odile is one to gaze on for a day, and to make us dizzy in
dreams ever after. From the umbrageous terrace in front of the convent--
cool and breezy on this, one of the hottest days of a hot season--we see,
as from a balloon, a wonderful bit of the world spread out like a map at
our feet. The vast plain of Alsace, the valley of the Rhine, the Swiss
mountains, the Black Forest, Bale, and Strasburg--all these we dominate
from our airy pinnacle close, at it seems, under the blue vault of
heaven. But though they were there, we did not see them: for the day, as
so often happens on such occasions, was misty. We had none the less a