Crossing the river again for the sixth and last time, we followed the right bank to Neidergrund, the first Austrian village.  Here our passports were vised for Prague, and we were allowed to proceed without any examination of baggage.  I noticed a manifest change in our fellow travelers the moment we crossed the border.  They appeared anxious and careful; if we happened to speak of the state of the country, they always looked around to see if anybody was near, and if we even passed a workman on the road, quickly changed to some other subject.  They spoke much of the jealous strictness of the government, and from what I heard from Austrians themselves, there may have been ground for their cautiousness.

We walked seven or eight miles along the bank of the Elbe, to Tetschen, there left our companions and took the road to Teplitz.  The scenery was very picturesque; it must be delightful to float down the swift current in a boat, as we saw several merry companies do.  The river is just small enough and the banks near enough together, to render such a mode of travelling delightful, and the strength of the current would carry one to Dresden in a day.

I was pleasantly disappointed on entering Bohemia.  Instead of a dull, uninteresting country, as I expected, it is a land full of the most lovely scenery.  There is every thing which can gratify the eye—­high blue mountains, valleys of the sweetest pastoral look and romantic old ruins.  The very name of Bohemia is associated with wild and wonderful legends, of the rude barbaric ages.  Even the chivalric tales of the feudal times of Germany grow tame beside these earlier and darker histories.  The fallen fortresses of the Rhine, or the robber-castles of the Odenwald had not for me so exciting an interest as the shapeless ruins cumbering these lonely mountains.  The civilized Saxon race was left behind; I saw around me the features and heard the language of one of those rude Sclavonic tribes, whose original home was on the vast steppes of Central Asia.  I have rarely enjoyed traveling more than our first two days’ journey towards Prague.  The range of the Erzgebirge ran along on our right; the snow still lay in patches upon it, but the valleys between, with their little clusters of white cottages, were green and beautiful.  About six miles before reaching Teplitz, we passed Kulm, the great battle-field, which in a measure decided the fate of Napoleon.  He sent Vandamme with 40,000 men to attack the allies before they could unite their forces, and thus effect their complete destruction.  Only the almost despairing bravery of the Russian guards under Ostermann, who held him in check till the allied troops united, prevented Napoleon’s design.  At the junction of the roads, where the fighting was hottest, the Austrians have erected a monument to one of their generals.  Not far from it is that of Prussia, simple and tasteful.  A woody hill near, with the little village of Kulm at its foot, was the