The road now enters a wild, narrow valley, which grows smaller as we proceed.  From Himmelreich, a large rude inn by the side of the green meadows, we enter the Hollenthal—­that is, from the “Kingdom of Heaven” to the “Valley of Hell!” The latter place better deserves its appellation than the former.  The road winds between precipices of black rock, above which the thick foliage shuts out the brightness of day and gives a sombre hue to the scene.  A torrent foams down the chasm, and in one place two mighty pillars interpose to prevent all passage.  The stream, however, has worn its way through, and the road is hewn in the rock by its side.  This cleft is the only entrance to a valley three or four miles long, which lies in the very heart of the mountains.  It is inhabited by a few woodmen and their families, and but for the road which passes through, would be as perfect a solitude as the Happy Valley of Rasselas.  At the farther end, a winding road called “The Ascent,” leads up the steep mountain to an elevated region of country, thinly settled and covered with herds of cattle.  The cherries which, in the Rhine-plain below, had long gone, were just ripe here.  The people spoke a most barbarous dialect; they were social and friendly, for everybody greeted us, and sometimes, as we sat on a bank by the roadside, those who passed by would say “Rest thee!” or “Thrice rest!”

Passing by the Titi Lake, a small body of water which was spread out among the hills like a sheet of ink, so deep was its Stygian hue, we commenced ascending a mountain.  The highest peak of the Schwarzwald, the Feldberg, rose not far off, and on arriving at the top of this mountain, we saw that a half hour’s walk would bring us to its summit.  This was too great a temptation for my love of climbing heights; so with a look at the descending sun to calculate how much time we could spare, we set out.  There was no path, but we pressed directly up the steep side, through bushes and long grass, and in a short time reached the top, breathless from such exertion in the thin atmosphere.  The pine woods shut out the view to the north and east, which is said to be magnificent, as the mountain is about five thousand feet high.  The wild, black peaks of the Black Forest were spread below us, and the sun sank through golden mist towards the Alsatian hills.  Afar to the south, through cloud and storm, we could just trace the white outline of the Swiss Alps.  The wind swept through the pines around, and bent the long yellow grass among which we sat, with a strange, mournful sound, well suiting the gloomy and mysterious region.  It soon grew cold, the golden clouds settled down towards us, and we made haste to descend to the village of Lenzkirch before dark.