graceful and often exceedingly lovely, French piquancy and symmetrical
proportions combined with Teutonic fairness of complexion, blonde hair,
and blue eyes.

I will now continue my journey from Barr to Strasburg by way of the Ban
de la Roche, Oberlin's country. A railway connects Barr with Rothau, a
very pleasant halting-place in the midst of sweet pastoral scenery. It is
another of those resorts in Alsace whither holiday folks flock from
Strasburg and other towns during the long vacation, in quest of health,
recreation and society.

Rothau is a very prosperous little town, with large factories, handsome
chateaux of mill-owners, and trim little cottages, having flowers in all
the windows and a trellised vine in every garden. Pomegranates and
oleanders are in full bloom here and there, and the general aspect is
bright and cheerful. At Rothau are several _blanchisseries_ or
laundries, on a large scale, employing many hands, besides dye-works and
saw-mills. Through the town runs the little river Bruche, and the whole
district, known as the Ban de la Roche, a hundred years ago one of the
dreariest regions in France, is now all smiling fertility. The principal
building is its handsome Protestant church--for here we are among
Protestants, although of a less zealous temper than their fore-fathers,
the fervid Anabaptists. I attended morning service, and although an
eloquent preacher from Paris officiated, the audience was small, and the
general impression that of coldness and want of animation.

From the sweet, fragrant valley of Rothau a road winds amid green hills
and by the tumbling river to the little old-world village of Foudai,
where Oberlin lies buried. The tiny church and shady churchyard lie above
the village, and a more out-of-the-way spot than Foudai itself can hardly