of local tradition; and farther off, the fields, the rows of trees along the roads, and brown cliffs. In one place the surface of the Elbe gleams on sunshiny days. Then there is the blue distance, against which is clearly drawn the bell of Řip with its white spire.
The pride of the town is its castle. The extensive and massive building with its tower, covered with colored tiles, rises majestically above the Elbe. The ages that have passed through it have here left their traces: a castle moat, strong ramparts, walls provided with battlements, old windows, coats of arms upon the wall, dark dungeons and corridors; and in the old, dilapidated park are mysterious pavilions, fountains, and large vases with moss-covered Cupids. One wing of the castle has purely modern windows, plush curtains, and a thermometer on a frame; and there, in the park, you suddenly pass from the ludicrous time of the rococo into beds of verdure. Thus does the silent conglomerate of the
