the hills, they struck up in chorus some of the finest national airs, particularly the Hymn to the Rhine—so that it seemed an illusion that we were in this wild, mining district, inhabited only by the poorest Indians; and we were transported thousands of miles off, across the broad Atlantic, even to the land where
"The castled crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o'er the broad and winding Rhine."
We also amused ourselves by examining Madame B's Album; and if those milk-and-water volumes, belonging to young ladies, where young gentlemen write prettinesses, be called Albums, some other name should he found for a book where some of the most distinguished artists in Germany, have left proofs of their talent, and where there is not one page which does not contain something striking and original. Nothing pleased me so much as the fanciful illustration of the beautiful legend of Lorelei, which Madame B read to us with great feeling. We became too comfortable here for hardy equestrian travellers, and had we staid much longer should have begun to complain of tough fowls, beds in barns, and other inconveniences, which we had hitherto laughed at; but we tore ourselves away from our Capua, and on the morning of the sixteenth, set off for el Pilar.
Don Carlos Heimbürger, M. and Madame B &c., accompanied us for seven leagues, all through the woods. We had a delightful ride. The day was cool and cloudy, and we were besides constantly
