Our road now left the valley and ascended through a forest to the Kuhstall, which we came upon at once.  It is a remarkable natural arch, through a rocky wall or rampart, one hundred and fifty feet thick.  Going through, we came at the other end to the edge of a very deep precipice, while the rock towered precipitously far above.  Below lay a deep circular valley, two miles in diameter, and surrounded on every side by ranges of crags, such as we saw on the Bastei.  It was entirely covered with a pine forest, and there only appeared to be two or three narrow defiles which gave it a communication with the world.  The top of the Kuhstall can be reached by a path which runs up through a split in the rock, directly to the summit.  It is just wide enough for one person to squeeze himself through; pieces of wood have been fastened in as steps, and the rocks in many places close completely above.  The place derives its name from having been used by the mountaineers as a hiding-place for their cattle in time of war.

Next morning we descended by another crevice in the rock to the lonely valley, which we crossed, and climbed the Little Winterberg on the opposite side.  There is a wide and rugged view from a little tower on a precipitous rock near the summit, erected to commemorate the escape of Prince Augustus of Saxony, who, being pursued by a mad stag, rescued himself on the very brink, by a lucky blow.  Among the many wild valleys that lay between the hills, we saw scarcely one without the peculiar rocky formation which gives to Saxon scenery its most interesting character.  They resemble the remains of some mighty work of art, rather than one of the thousand varied forms in which Nature delights to clothe herself.

The Great Winterberg, which is reached by another hour’s walk along an elevated ridge, is the highest of the mountains, celebrated for the grand view from its summit.  We found the handsome Swiss hotel recently built there, full of tourists who had come to enjoy the scone, but the morning clouds hid every thing.  We ascended the tower, and looking between them as they rolled by, caught glimpses of the broad landscape below.  The Giant’s Mountains in Silesia were hidden by the mist, but sometimes when the wind freshened, we could see beyond the Elbe into Bohemian Switzerland, where the long Schneeberg rose conspicuous above the smaller mountains.  Leaving the other travellers to wait at their leisure for clearer weather, we set off for the Prebisehthor, in company with two or three students from the Polytechnic School in Dresden.  An hour’s walk over high hills, whose forest clothing had been swept off by fire a few years before, brought us to it.

The Prebisehthor is a natural arch, ninety feet high, in a wall of rock which projects at right angles from the precipitous side of the mountain.  A narrow path leads over the top of the arch to the end of the rock, where, protected by a railing, the traveller seems to hang in the air.  The valley is far below him—­mountains rise up on either side—­and only the narrow bridge connects him with the earth.  We descended by a wooden staircase to the bottom of the arch, near which a rustic inn is built against the rock, and thence into the valley below, which we followed through rude lonely scenery, to Hirnischkretschen (!) on the Elbe.