the top of a cone-like rock, looking silently down on the little village of Branbach, at the base, burst on my sight. This old castle stands just as it did in the middle ages, with all its secret, narrow passages, winding staircases, dungeons, and instruments of torture, preserved through the slow lapse of centuries. The castle of Lahneck comes next, and last of all, before reaching Coblentz, the fine old castle of Stalzenfels. It stands on a rock in the most picturesque position imaginable. It had lain in ruins since the French destroyed it, nearly two hundred years ago; but the town of Coblentz having presented it to the Crown Prince of Prussia, he is slowly repairing it after the ancient model. He devotes an annual sum to the repairs, and it already shows what a beautiful structure it must have been originally. The gift on the part of Coblentz was no great affair, as they had already offered it for fifty-three dollars, and could find nobody to buy it at that price. The old castles on the Rhine follow the laws of trade -the price always corresponds to the demand. But here the castle-market is glutted, and hence the sales are light.

One cannot easily imagine the effect of these turreted ruins, suddenly bursting on one at every turn of the river. The whole distance from Mayence to Coblentz is less than sixty miles, and yet one passes all these old castles in sailing over it. But these castles are not all that charm the beholder. There are ruined convents and churches-smiling villages, sweet vineyards—bare precipices and garden-like shores, all coming and going like the objects in a moving diorama, keeping up a succession of surprises that prevents one effectually from calling up the associations of any one particular scene.

BONAPARTE AND THE RUSSIANS.

121

XXIII.

THE RHINE FROM COBLENTZ TO COLOGNE.

COBLENTZ is one of the most picturesque towns I have ever seen. Its position on the Rhine seems chosen on purpose for effect. One of the most interesting objects in it is the rock and fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, which commands a glorious view of the junction of the Rhine and Mosel, and which, from its impregnable position, is called the Gibraltar of the Rhine. It will hold a garrison of 14,000 men, while the magazines will contain provisions sufficient to maintain eight thousand men for ten years. The escarped rocks on three sides would repel almost any assault, and the fortress can easily sustain the glorious name it gained in the seventeenth century, when assailed in vain by the French armies. The name signifies "honour's broadstone." There is a convent

of Jesuits in the town, with such ample wine cellars that a stage coach could drive around in them, and which have held nearly, a half a million of bottles of wine. In the public square is a fountain, erected as a monument, by the French, in 1812, on which was chiselled an inscription, to commemorate their invasion of Russia. A few months after, the fragments of the Grand Army were driven over the Rhine. Over the fallen host the Russians had marched in triumph, and pressing fast on the flying traces of Bonaparte, entered this town on their march for Paris. The Russian commander, seeing this monument, instead of having it destroyed, caused to be cut under the French inscription, " Vu et approuvè par nous, commandant Russe, de la ville Coblence, Janvier 1er, 1814. This is rather a hard hit on the French, and shows that St. Priest had more contempt than hate in his composition. Here, too, sleeps the 'brave and noble Marceau, who fell

in the hotly fought battle of Altenkirchen. Byron expressed the feelings of both friends and foes when he sung

er.

"Brief, brave and glorious was his young career-
His mourners were two hosts, his friends and foes;
And fitly may the stranger lingering here
Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose,
For he was Freedom's champion, one of those,
The few in number, who had not o'erstept
The charter to chastise which she bestows

Or. such as wield her weapons; he had kept

The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept."

We had scarcely shoved away from the wharf at Coblentz before castles, which seemed to have dropped down the river during our stop, began to rise along the shores. The Crane, built nearly three hundred years ago, and just below it the Watch Tower of older date, round below and eight-sided above, present a most picturesque appearance. Farther down rises the castle of Rheineck, with the castellated building beside it looking like the residence of some old feudal chief, in the heyday of his powFarther down still, after the Ahr has poured its silver stream into the Rhine, appear the black precipices of Erpeler Lei, seven hundred feet high. At first view this immense basaltic rock seems perfectly inaccessible, but the vintager has converted it into a vineyard. In the crevices, all along the face of the preci pice, are placed baskets filled with earth, in which are planted vines, that creep up and cling to the rock, covering it with verdure and fruit. Opposite the village of Unkel is another basaltic rock, rising in columns from the water. The Rhine raves past it as if conscious that the long, dull sweep of the Lowlands was below, and it must foam and rave while it could,

The Tower of Roland comes next, and after it the ruins of seven castles, on seven different mountains, the remains of the seats of the Archbishops of Cologne. A little farther on, and lo, the Rhine goes in one broad sweep of twenty miles to Cologne, sparkling under the summer sky, and rejoicing in the wealth of villages and vineyards, and cultivated fields along its shores. The view here is glorious, and I was tempted to echo the shout of the Prussian army, "The Rhine! The Rhine!" Up the river

G

the rocks shut in the prospect, as if endeavouring to restrain the stream, and look savage and gloomy upon the liberated waters that leap away without farther restraint, for the open country below. Unlike the Hudson, which goes in one broad steady sweep from Albany to New York, the Rhine is tortuous and unsteady; now spreading out into a lake filled with islands, now smoothly laving the richly cultivated banks, and now dashing on the rocks that push into its channel, till its vexed waters boil in frenzy and now gliding arrow-like past some old castle, that seems watching its movements. The natural scenery along its course is greatly inferior to that of the Hudson, but the accessories of vineyards, and villages, and convents, and churches, and castles, and towers; and the associations around them all; make the passage up or down it one of the most interesting in the world, in the beauty and variety it presents.

66

The seven hills, 66 Siebengebirge," I mentioned above, are the lower terminations of the grand scenery on the Rhine. These seven hills" (there are more than seven), crowned with their ruined castles, form a scene that can scarcely be surpassed. They have all been thrown up by some volcano, that lived, and worked, and died here, before man had a written history; and rise in magnificent proportions along the banks of the rushing river. The Lowenberg, 1414 feet high; the Wolkenberg, 1067; the Drachenfels (dragon's rock), 1056; the Oelberg, 1473; the Niederstromberg, 1066; and the Stromberg, 1053 feet in height, surmounted by ruined battlements, towers, &c., are a glorious brotherhood, and worthy of the Rhine, on which they look. I will not give the traditions connected with many of these, nor add the particular descriptions and aspect of each. The impression they make on one he carries with him through life. Especially does an American, whose eye has roamed over primeval forests, broad rivers, and lofty mountains; left just as the hand of nature formed them, gaze with curious feelings on this blending of precipices, and castles, and mountains, and ruins, together. Nature looks old in such connection-a sort of bondslave to man, bereft of her pride and freedom, and robbed of her freshness and life.

Drachenfels rises almost perpendicularly to the view from the

river shore, with a cap of ruins on its lofty head. Byron has immortalized this rock in language so sweet that I risk the complaint of quoting too much, and give the three following beautiful verses.

The castled crag of Drachenfels

Frown o'er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine,
And hills all rich with blossom'd trees,
And fields which promise corn and wine,
And scattered cities crowning these,
Whose far white walls along them shine,
Have strewed a scene which I could see
With double joy wert thou with me.

And peasant girls with deep blue eyes,
And hands which offer early flowers,
Walk smiling o'er this paradise ;
Above, the frequent feudal towers

Through green leaves lift their walls of grey,
And many a rock which steeply towers,
And noble arch in proud decay,

Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers;

But one thing want these banks of Rhine,—
Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine!

The river nobly foams and flows,
The charm of this enchanted ground,
And all its thousand turns disclose
Some fresher beauty varying round,
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound
Through life to dwell delighted here;

Nor could on earth a spot be found

To nature and to me so dear,

Could thy dear eyes in following mine

Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine."

Passing Bonn, with its University, Cathedral, &c., rapidly as steam and the downward current together could bear us, we were soon under the white walls of Cologne. Here I lost sight of two fellow travellers that had added much to my pleasure down the Rhine. It had so happened that we wished to stop at the same places, and had thus kept company from Frankfort to