entrance is by a road cut through the rock, which is strongly guarded.  A well seven hundred feet deep supplies the fortress with water, and there are storehouses sufficient to hold supplies for many years.  The view from the ramparts is glorious—­it takes in the whole of the Saxon Highlands, as far as the lofty Schneeberg in Bohemia.  On the other side the eye follows the windings of the Elbe, as far as the spires of Dresden.  Lilienstein, a mountain of exactly similar formation, but somewhat higher, stands directly opposite.  On walking around, the guide pointed out a little square tower standing on the brink of a precipice, with a ledge, about two feet wide, running around it, just below the windows.  He said during the reign of Augustus the Strong, a baron attached to his court, rose in his sleep after a night of revelry, and stepping out the window, stretched himself at full length along the ledge.  A guard fortunately observed his situation and informed Augustus of it, who had him bound and secured with cords, and then awakened by music.  It was a good lesson, and one which no doubt sobered him for the future.

Passing through the little city of Konigstein, we walked on to Schandau, the capital of the Saxon Switzerland, situated on the left bank.  It had sustained great damage from the flood, the whole place having been literally under water.  Here we turned up a narrow valley which led to the Kuhstall, some eight miles distant.  The sides, as usual, were of steep gray rock, but wide enough apart to give room to some lovely meadows, with here and there a rustic cottage.  The mountain maidens, in their bright red dresses, with a fanciful scarf bound around the head, made a romantic addition to the scene.  There were some quiet secluded nooks, where the light of day stole in dimly through the thick foliage above and the wild stream rushed less boisterously over the rocks.  We sat down to rest in one of these cool retreats, and made the glen ring with a cheer for America.  The echoes repeated the name as if they had heard it for the first time, and I gave them a strict injunction to give it back to the next countryman who should pass by.

As we advanced further into the hills the way became darker and wilder.  We heard the sound of falling water in a little dell on one side, and going nearer, saw a picturesque fall of about fifteen feet.  Great masses of black rock were piled together, over which the mountain-stream fell in a snowy sheet.  The pines above and around grew so thick and close, that not a sunbeam could enter, and a kind of mysterious twilight pervaded the spot.  In Greece it would have been chosen for an oracle.  I have seen, somewhere, a picture of the Spirit of Poetry, sitting beside just such a cataract, and truly the nymph could choose no more appropriate dwelling.  But alas for sentiment! while we were admiring its picturesque beauty, we did not notice a man who came from a hut near by and went up behind the rocks.  All at once there was a roar of water, and a real torrent came pouring down.  I looked up, and lo! there he stood, with a gate in his hand which had held the water imprisoned, looking down at us to observe the effect, I motioned him to shut it up again, and he ran down to us, lest he should lose his fee for the “sight!”