The remains of this great wall where it started from the Danube, known in German as the Pfahl-Graben, and sometimes as the Devil’s Wall, are to be seen little more than a mile below Hienheim. From here we have for some miles a lovely bit of the Danube, with grand forest-covered hills in the immediate neighbourhood, and the river following a winding course through them--part of the way between precipitous rocks rising ruggedly three or four hundred feet above the water. A short distance down on the right bank and close to the shore is the extensive Benedictine Monastery of Weltenburg dating from the eighth century, but turned in the middle of the nineteenth into a brewery. Dr. Beattie describes how, after some one had expatiated on the past glory of the place, a bystander said “It is written that Weltenburg shall rise again like a phœnix from its ashes; that the pilgrim shall again bow at its altar; that the abbot shall preside at its chapter; and----” He was interrupted by a Bavarian sitting by with “Never! your abbots were mere men--sinners like others, and if they possessed any fervour, it was but the natural warmth of the grape. I have listened with much patience to what you have heard about the crusades, and so forth; but I also know a little of the history of the place; for, as ‘successor to the abbots,’ several documents have fallen into my hands, which assure me that they will never resume their old quarters; and one of the strongest reasons is, that the old cellars are empty; the old vineyard uprooted, and that our Bavarian beer is too cold for their stomachs.... Depend upon it, sir, if the abbots of old had restricted themselves to such virtuous potations, and been a little more chary of politics, I had not this day been the ‘brewing abbot of Weltenburg.’ These abbots, sir, were jovial fellows; most of them had worn casques in early life, and, although afterwards taking shelter under the cowl, ended with the _cask_ at last. In my early days, one of their drinking songs was a special favourite at the Wirthshaus, and seems almost prophetic of the brewery that was to come. It is still a favourite. “‘Brothers, life is frail as grass! Dry clay is apt to moulder, But moistened with a cheerful glass Good wine’s the best of solder; Then, brothers, drink and shout the while, Waesheil! Waesheil! Brothers! if the journey’s rough, And needs some small concession, To-morrow will be time enough For penance and confession. Meantime, we’ll drink and shout the while, Waesheil! Waesheil! Brothers, prayer is vastly good, So (after meals) is fasting ’Tis well to watch beside the rood; But, while there’s liquor lasting We’ll chant thro’ sacristy and aisle, Waesheil! Waesheil!’”