Charlemagne was born in this place in the year 742. The cathedral is his monument, and under the central dome is a slab in the floor with the simple inscription, “Carolo Magno.” The cathedral was adorned with the richest marbles the world could furnish, and the highest art of the age was lavished in its structure and ornament. The windows reach from the roof nearly to the ground, and with their rich decorations give a peculiar beauty to the interior. The city has again and again been ravaged by enemies; other buildings have been razed to their foundations, but this has steadily stood in the midst of war and fires and centuries of decay and change. Long has it been the shrine of Roman worship, for Pope Leo consecrated it in 804; and thus, a thousand years and more, it has been gathering treasures of wealth, of association, and interest. It is now the most sacred shrine in the north, and, indeed, it is not likely that any spot this side of Rome has half so much to excite the veneration of the faithful. Perhaps Rome herself has not more holy relics. This is a bold supposition. But the list of sacred things here collected is so long and so wonderful, and the estimate in which they are held is so high, that the city fairly lays claims to the first rank among the favored. Therefore pilgrimages are made to these shrines as to the Holy City itself. My pilgrimage hither was accidental, or, rather, providential. As I came into it at the close of a summer’s day, the streets were thronged with men and women, moving up and down, apparently without an object, swaying like the waves of the sea, and I asked if this was the usual crowd on the streets of an evening. It was at the height of the season for visitors to its famous fountains of water; for long before it was a shrine for pilgrims coming to pray, it was known for its mineral springs and their remarkable healing virtues. What more could be desired than a charm to cure diseases both of the bodies and the souls of strangers. The old pagan Romans knew the efficacy of these waters; and through all the centuries, since their rule, the city has been a fashionable watering-place. It was once the seat of empire, and the palace of Charlemagne, whose name invests it with more than romantic interest, has now passed away. Yet the city is frequented annually by thousands from distant parts, drawn here by the well-established reputation of the springs. It was, therefore, natural for me to ask if these crowds were the usual concourse of people on the streets of a summer evening. The answer to my inquiry indicated as much surprise as the disciples exhibited when they said, “Art thou only a stranger in Jerusalem, and hast not known the things which are come to pass there in these days?”