him by the solidity of its masonry. On
one side, joining the garden, the statue of the Archduke Louis in his
breastplate and flowing beard looks out from among the ivy.

There is little to be seen about the castle except the walls themselves.
The guide conducted us through passages, in which were heaped many of
the enormous cannon-balls which it had received in sieges, to some
chambers in the foundation. This was the oldest part of the castle,
built in the thirteenth century. We also visited the chapel, which is in
a tolerable state of preservation. A kind of narrow bridge crosses it,
over which we walked, looking down on the empty pulpit and deserted
shrines. We then went into the cellar to see the celebrated tun. In a
large vault are kept several enormous hogsheads, one of which is three
hundred years old, but they are nothing in comparison with the tun,
which itself fills a whole vault. It is as high as a common two-story
house; on the top is a platform upon which the people used to dance
after it was filled, to which one ascends by two flights of steps. I
forget exactly how many casks it holds, but I believe eight hundred. It
has been empty for fifty years....

Opposite my window rises the Heiligenberg, on the other side of the
Neckar. The lower part of it is rich with vineyards, and many cottages
stand embosomed in shrubbery among them. Sometimes we see groups of
maidens standing under the grape-arbors, and every morning the
peasant-women go toiling up the steep paths with baskets on their heads,
to labor among the vines. On the Neckar, below us, the fishermen glide
about in their boats, sink their square nets fastened to a long pole,
and haul them up with the glittering fish, of which the stream is full.
I often lean out of the window late at night, when the mountains above
are wrapt in dusky obscurity, and listen to the low, musical ripple of
the river. It tells to my excited fancy a knightly legend of the old
German time. Then comes the bell rung for closing the inns, breaking the
spell with its deep clang, which vibrates far away on the night-air till
it has roused all the echoes of the Odenwald. I then shut the window,
turn into the narrow box which the Germans call a bed, and in a few
minutes am wandering in America.

Halfway up the Heidelberg runs a beautiful walk dividing the vineyards
from the forest above. This is called "The Philosopher's Way," because
it was the favorite ramble of the old professors