eiburg. The beautiful valley at the mouth of which the city lies runs
like an avenue for seven miles directly into the mountains, and presents
in its loveliness such a contrast to the horrid defile which follows
that it almost deserves the name which has been given to a little inn
at its head--the "Kingdom of Heaven." The mountains of the Black Forest
enclose it on each side like walls, covered to the summit with luxuriant
woods, and in some places with those forests of gloomy pine which give
this region its name. After traversing its whole length, just before
plunging into the mountain-depths the traveler rarely meets with a finer
picture than that which, on looking back, he seems framed between the
hills at the other end. Freiburg looks around the foot of one of the
heights, with the spire of her cathedral peeping above the top, while
the French Vosges grow dim in the far perspective.

The road now enters a wild, narrow valley which grows smaller as we
proceed. From Himmelreich, a large rude inn by the side of the green
meadows, we enter the Hoellenthal--that is, from the "Kingdom of Heaven"
to the "Valley of Hell." The latter place better deserves its
appellation than the former. The road winds between precipices of black
rock, above which the thick foliage shuts out the brightness of day and
gives a somber hue to the scene. A torrent foams down the chasm, and in
one place two mighty pillars interpose to prevent all passage. The
stream, however, has worn its way through, and the road is hewn in the
rock by its side. This cleft is the only entrance to a valley three or
four miles long which lies in the very heart of the mountains.

It is inhabited by a few woodmen and their families, and, but for the
road which passes through, would be as perfect a solitude as the Happy
Valley of Rasselas. At the farther end a winding road called "The
Ascent" leads up the steep mountain to an elevated region of country
thinly settled and covered with herds of cattle. The cherries--which in
the Rhine-plain below had long gone--were just ripe here. The people
spoke a most barbarous dialect; they were social and friendly, for
everybody greeted us, and sometimes, as we sat on a bank by the
roadside, those who passed by would say "Rest thee!" or "Thrice rest!"

Passing by the Titi Lake, a small body of water which was spread out
among the hills like a sheet of ink, so deep was its Stygian hue, we
commenced ascending a mountain. The highes