It seems to me that this
way of treating the dead might lessen the sense of separation. I
believe it is generally customary to attend some religious exercise
once on Sunday, and after that the rest of the day is devoted to this
sort of enjoyment.
[Illustration: _of the Wartburg._]
The morning we started for Eisenach was foggy and rainy. This was
unfortunate, as we were changing from a dead level country to one of
extreme beauty. The Thuringian Forest, with its high, wooded points
crowned here and there with many a castle and many a ruin, loomed up
finely through the mist, and several times I exclaimed, "There is the
Wartburg," or "That must be the Wartburg," long before we were near
it. It was raining hard when we reached Eisenach station, and engaged
a carriage to take us to the Wartburg. The mist, which wreathed
thickly around, showed us only glimpses as we wound slowly up the
castle hill--enough, however, to pique the imagination, and show how
beautiful it might be in fair weather.
The grounds are finely kept: winding paths invite to many a charming
stroll. When about half way up, as the rain had partially subsided, I
left the carriage, and toiled up the laborious steep on foot, that I
might observe better.
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