nn of the "Star," mentioned in
"Hyperion;" there was a maiden sitting on the steps who might have been
Paul Flemming's fair boat-woman. The clouds which had here gathered
among the hills now came over the river, and the rain cleared the deck
of its crowd of admiring tourists. As we were approaching Lorelei Berg,
I did not go below, and so enjoyed some of the finest scenery on the
Rhine alone. The mountains approach each other at this point, and the
Lorelei rock rises up for four hundred and forty feet from the water.
This is the haunt of the water nymph Lorelei, whose song charmed the ear
of the boatman while his bark was dashed to pieces on the rocks below.
It is also celebrated for its remarkable echo. As we passed between the
rocks, a guard, who has a little house on the roadside, blew a flourish
on his bugle, which was instantly answered by a blast from the rocky
battlements of Lorelei.

The sun came out of the clouds as we passed Oberwesel, with its tall
round tower, and the light shining through the ruined arches of
Schonberg castle made broad bars of light and shade in the still misty
air. A rainbow sprang up out of the Rhine and lay brightly on the
mountain-side, coloring vineyard and crag in the most singular beauty,
while its second reflection faintly arched like a glory above the high
summits in the bed of the river were the seven countesses of Schonberg
turned into seven rocks for their cruelty and hard-heartedness toward
the knights whom their beauty had made captive. In front, at a little
distance, was the castle of Pfalz, in the middle of the river, and from
the heights above Caub frowned the crumbling citadel of Gutenfels.
Imagine all this, and tell me if it is not a picture whose memory should
last a lifetime.

We came at last to Bingen, the southern gate of the highlands. Here, on
an island in the middle of the stream, is the old mouse-tower where
Bishop Hatto of Mayence was eaten up by the rats for his wicked deeds.
Passing Ruedesheim and Geisenheim--celebrated for their wines--at sunset,
we watched the varied shore in the growing darkness, till like a line of
stars across the water we saw before us the bridge of Mayence.

[Footnote A: From "Views Afoot." Published by G.P. Putnam's Sons.]

COLOGNE[A]

BY VICTOR HUGO.

The sun had set when we reached Cologne. I gave my luggage to a porter,
with orders to carry it to a hotel at Duez, a little town on the
opposite side of the Rhine; and di