Landing at Kelheim we toiled up the steep hill in the hot sun, and then cooled ourselves in the twilight of the interior, skating in felt slippers over the mirror-like pavement, and listening to the remarkable echoes which magnified the slightest sound into thunder. We were waylaid on our descent from the hill by a garrulous ex-citizen of Brooklyn, whose fulsome praise of Americans and everything American finally drove us out of the cool shelter of a river-side beer-garden and into the blistering cockpits of the canoes. We set forth with the vague intention of passing the night somewhere above and near Ratisbon. Even before we came in sight of the town we looked everywhere for a camp ground, but a high-road on either side left not an acre of ground at the water’s edge where we could land without becoming the focus of observation from a dozen farm-houses. We therefore pushed on until sunset, and just as the beautiful twin towers of Ratisbon cathedral loomed up across a wide open valley to the east, we landed on a quiet meadow, carpeted with sweet grass, and there we slept until the peasants trudging to market along the bank in the early morning awoke us with their voices. CHAPTER V The busiest part of Ratisbon is the twelfth-century stone bridge which, from daybreak until dark, resounds to the tramp of heavy-footed peasants, and to the clatter of farm wagons and other vehicles. A narrow street plunges from the end of the bridge under the archway of an old city gate into a maze of narrow thoroughfares with towering mediæval houses and a jumble of small shops of all kinds. One of the houses near the bridge has a startling decoration covering the whole of its front--a colossal figure of Goliath painted on the stucco--and there are preserved in some of the other streets the only specimens extant of the fortified dwelling-houses of the Middle Ages. The Cathedral of St. Peter, with its exquisite Gothic details, is one of the chief architectural glories of all Germany, and in its solemn interior are forgot for the time the Danube, its hurrying current, and the impatient canoes. The fact that we were not in the ordinary costume of travellers gave us immunity from the annoyances of guides, and this freedom added wonderfully to our enjoyment of Ratisbon. We sat on the clean pavement of the great market-place, in the shadow of church walls, and nearly made ourselves ill with quantities of wild strawberries from the baskets of the friendly market-girls close by, paying a ridiculously small sum for a quart of the luscious fruit. We wandered in and out of the churches, stood and gazed at our ease on the architectural beauties of the town, and never were we once spoken to, or even, to our knowledge, once stared at with curiosity. Even our presence in the crowded tavern, where the crowds of market-people took their mid-day meal, did not excite any comment, and during the few hours we passed in Ratisbon we