varied here and there by a brown village, a church, or little chapel, and the old watch-towers near the town, marking the limits of its territory which does not exceed ten English square miles. I had supposed this was a free city, and 1 was surprised to meet at the gate we entered, soldiers in the Austrian uniform. We should think it an odd sort of freedom that was protected by the forces of a foreign prince.[1] The annual fair is just beginning, and the town is crowded, though these fairs are no longer what they were before the general diffusion of commerce and manufactures; the introduction of railroads will soon put an end to them.
We drove to six hotels before we could find a place to lay our heads in: this is certainly a very "triste plaisir" that we travellers have now and then.
Having secured a roof to shelter us, we sallied forth for a walk. We went up the principal street, the Zed, where the buildings are magnificent, looked in at the shop windows, examined the bronze images at the fountain, and then, as if by instinct, turning at the right places and proceeding just as far as was necessary, we reached the Main, which is not much wider than the Housatonic in our meadows. Returning, we went into the public gardens, which occupy the place of the old ramparts. This green and flowery belt girdling the town is a pretty illus-
- ↑ I was afterward informed that there was an alarming effervescence among the students in 1833, which induced the Frankforters to call in the aid of Austria and Prussia, who have kindly since watched over the "tranquillity" of the city—a kind of vigilance in which they excel.
