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Here we appear to be driving up the avenues of an English park; yonder, where the mountain sinks sheer into the river, the road must find its way along an open gallery, with a roof weighing millions of tons, projecting from the mountain above. After sunset we arrived at Dreucova, and next morning went on board the steamer, which conveyed me up the Danube to Semlin.
After a night passed in the quarantine, I removed to the inn, and punctually as the clock struck half past twelve, the very party my imagination conjured up, assembled to discuss the mehlspeise in the stencilled parlour of the Hirsch. Favoured by the most beautiful weather, I started in a sort of caleche for Dreucova.
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