there. He was a tall, benevolent-looking man, and apparently beloved by his subjects, who are noted all over Germany for their honesty and social qualities. Their course lay down the Elbe, in the vicinity of which the villages were unusually neat and clean, the meadows fresh and blooming, and the people kind and friendly, reminding our travelers of the words of the old German ballad

"The fairest kingdom on the earth,

It is the Saxon land!"

Early next morning, they discerned through the blue mists, the mountain. of Königstein, rising from the banks of the Elbe, over a thousand feet, and crowned by an impregnable fortress, of a mile and a half in circumference, within which are gardens, fields, forest-trees, and a little village. It was the only spot unconquered by the enemy during the Thirty Years' War, and in that with Napoleon; hence, in times of danger, the royal archives and treasures are deposited within it. They entered the fortress by a road cut through the rock, the only place by which admittance can be obtained. The guide, during their walk, pointed out a small square tower, just below which, was a narrow ledge, about two feet wide, on the edge of the precipice. He told them that a German baron, in the reign of Augustus the Strong, having passed the night in revelry, got up while asleep, stepped out of the window, and stretched himself at full length on the brink of the abyss. Luckily, he was seen by a guard, who informed the king, when the latter had him bound, and then awakened by the soft strains of music.

From this place our young travelers passed through the little town of Königstein to Schandau, the capital of the Saxon Highlands. Beyond this, on turning up a little narrow rock-bound valley, through which were interspersed rustic cottages, they saw the mountain-maidens, attired in bright scarlet dresses, and fancy-colored scarfs bound around their heads. Pleased with the spot, and full of good feeling, they sat down to rest in a quiet secluded nook, and made the little valley ring with cheers for their native land. As they advanced, the country grew more and more wild, and after a day or two of enjoyment among the mountains, they crossed the Elbe, for the sixth and last time, and soon after entered Neidergrund, in Bohemia, the first Austrian village. Their passports having been here examined, they walked on several miles in company with others. Soon as they had crossed the Austrian border, they saw a sudden change in their companions; they seemed anxious, and if our young Americans chanced to allude to the state of the country, they cautiously looked around, lest they should be overheard, and at once changed the topic, if nearing any of the laborers at work on the road.

Bohemia is comprised in a large valley, surrounded on every side by lofty mountains. The majority of its people are of Sclavonic origin, and among the most faithful subjects of Austria. Mr. Taylor found the scenery most lovely; on every side were high blue mountains, sweet pastoral valleys, and romantic old ruins, all of which were associated with the wild legends of the dark ages. He had left the civilized Saxon race, and saw around him the features and language of one of those rude Sclavonic tribes, whose ancestors once roamed amid the vast steppes of the Asiatic continent.

Passing by the battle-field of Kulm, they entered Teplitz, situated in a lovely valley, and famous for its baths, and on ascending a lofty mountain beyond, they were kindly saluted by the peasants whom they met, with "Christ greet you!" The next day they were in comfortable quarters, in the semi-barbaric, semi-Asiatic city of Prague, the capital of Bohemia, and a town of 130,000 inhabitants.

The young men felt as if they were in another world, while rambling through the winding streets of this strange, fantastic, yet beautiful old city, which, from the Byzantine architecture of many of its churches and towers, has an oriental aspect. From the heights on which stands the palace of the Bohemian kings, west of the city, they had a fine prospect of the spires and towers of Prague, and of the Moldau, inclosing green islands, and curving about in graceful forms, until lost to view amid encircling hills.

The old bridge across the Moldau is five or six centuries old, and was over a century in building. Among the groups of saints and martyrs, which clustered on every pier, is a statue of "Johannes of Nepomuck," a priest, who lived many centuries since, and is now the patron saint of Bohemia. He was a confessor to one of the queens, and because he refused to reveal to the king the secrets she had confessed, he had him cast from the bridge into the Moldau, where, according to the legend, the body floated a long time, with a cluster of stars encircling its head. In passing this statue, and the many other shrines and statues in the city, the passers-by always uncover their heads, and make the sign of the cross. Near the town is an eminence, on which a chapel has been erected, on the place where Protestantism was crushed in Bohemia by the sword. To this spot, the deluded Bohemian peasantry make pilgrimages, as though it were holy ground.

For the first two days after leaving Prague for Vienna, their route led over wide lofty plains, across which, cold, cutting winds swept from the distant snow-clad mountains. The people on these ridges were miserably poor, and during the severe winters of this elevated region, suffered much from cold, it being almost impossible to procure firewood, the few forests that exist, being monopolized by the noblemen. They occasionally saw the stately castles of these petty despots, usually on commanding situations, and contrasting strongly with the poor isolated villages of their peasantry. They were now in the heart of Bohemia, the people of which are devoted Catholics. As they journeyed on, they passed, every few rods, a shrine or statue and Mr. Taylor found the worship of images carried on to an extent of which he had no previous conception, and in speaking of these things, he says, "there is something pleasing, as well as poetical, in the idea of a shrine by the way-side, where the weary traveler can rest, and raise his heart in thankfulness to the power that protects him." These representations, however, were so miserably executed, so ghastly and shocking, as to excite in him emotions of horror, rather than reverence. The images of Christ, usually, had swords piercing them. An old man, with a bishop's mitre, represented the Almighty, while the Virgin appeared as a gayly dressed woman, bedecked with a profusion of ornaments. On passing these, the poor peasants always uncovered and crossed themselves. He mentions a beautiful and touching

custom of these people. When the church bell sounded the morning, noon, and evening chimes, every one within hearing uncovered, and offered up a prayer. Would," exclaims he, "that to this innate spirit of reverence were added the light of knowledge, which a tyrannical government denies them!"

On the fourth morning, they passed through the old Moravian city of Iglau, and in this vicinity, and indeed throughout Bohemia, saw some singular teams. Instead of oxen or horses, dogs were frequently used to draw the peasants' carts. Sometimes they saw a donkey and a cow in harness together, at others, a dog and a donkey, on which latter occasions, the time of the driver was apt to be alternately occupied with beating the dog, to prevent him from biting the donkey, and in whipping the donkey away from the grass, by the roadside. Once, they saw a man comfortably seated smoking his pipe in a wagon which was drawn by a dog, and pushed behind by his wife. But the climax of all, was a woman and a dog harnessed together, on the way to market, with a load of produce. The condition of woman here, is very degraded; hundreds of them were passed on the road, breaking stone.

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In the latter part of the day they were overtaken by a traveling handwerker or mechanic, who was going to Vienna. They had walked on conversing together for several miles without his suspecting they were not his fellowcountrymen. At length he casually spoke of the exquisite beauty of some American vessels he had seen at Trieste. Yes," replied Mr. Taylor, "our vessels are admired all over the world." Upon this he stared at Mr. Taylor without understanding. "Your vessels ?" "our country's," rejoined the other; we are Americans." "You Americans ?" cried he with an expression of amazement and incredulous astonishment, "it is impossible !" To his great joy they convinced him, for everywhere in Germany there is a kindly feeling toward Americans and a great curiosity to see them. "I shall write down in my book," said he, "so that I never shall forget it, that I once traveled with two Americans." From this grew out a lengthened conversation, in which he told them of the oppressive laws of Austria; and while narrating the horrors of the system of conscription, and the degrading vassalage of the peasants, he stopped for a moment as if buried in deep reflection and then with a suppressed sigh looked at Mr. Taylor and inquired: "Is it true that America is free?" Upon this the other described our country and her institutions, and informed him that we enjoyed far more liberty than any other country in the world. "Ah!" rejoined the poor fellow, "it is hard to leave one's fatherland, oppressed as it is, but I wish I could go to America.” The three young men stopped for the night at an inn in a beggarly little village, and found difficulty in procuring supper and lodging, as a regiment of Polish lancers in the Austrian service were quartered there.

In the course of the next day they crossed the ridge which separates the waters of the Elbe from the Danube, and put up for the night at Znaim, the Moravian capital. Next morning the sun rose clear and glorious, and as they neared the Danube the country opened beautifully before them, interspersed with vine-clad hills, and rich valleys; here and there, glimpses were caught of little white villages enveloped in fruit trees in blossom. At length

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far to the south-west a long range of faint, silvery summits, glistening with snow burst upon their vision, when the hearts of the young Americans bounded with rapture at this their first view of the Alps. Gradually descending the elevated country upon which they were traveling, they lost sight of this sublime vision, and entered upon the rich plain of the Danube, covered with grain and in all the glory of summer. They soon crossed the last bridge over "the dark rolling Danube," and entered upon a sort of island shaded with pleasant groves of silver ash. The place was filled with gay promenades; booths of refreshments were scattered about, and strains of music filled the air. From this vicinity a wide street bounded by elegant residences reached into the center of a city, and through this, crowded with multitudes, some in carriages and some on foot going to these delightful groves, they entered the capital of the Austrian Empire.

Vienna has been the scene of many historical events. In 1271 it was taken by the Emperor Frederick, and again by Rudolph I, in 1297. It was vainly besieged by the Hungarians in 1477, but was obliged to surrender eight years after to Matthias king of Hungary and Bohemia. In 1783 it was again besieged and closely invested by the Turks, under Kara Mustapha, and relieved at last only by the arrival of a Polish army under John Sobieski, who defeated the Turks with great slaughter under the very walls of the city. The head of Mustapha is still exhibited to visitors at the arsenal. In 1805 and again in 1809 it surrendered to Napoleon. Six miles east of the city is the island of Lobau, in the Danube, where the French were encamped for six weeks; and opposite to it, near the north bank of the river, are the villages of Aspern, Essling, and Wagram, where were fought the desperate battles which at that time decided the fate of the Austrian Empire.

The city proper is small compared with the suburbs. The strong fortifications which formerly surrounded it, have been razed and converted into lofty gardens which afford delightful promenades. Beside these are the Imperial Gardens with their cool shades, flowers and fountains, the Augarten, and last the Prater, the largest and most beautiful of all; this is the island previously alluded to, in the Danube. It is covered with splendid forest trees, and verdant lawns, through which wind broad carriage roads, arched over and completely shaded by horse-chestnuts. In any fine summer afternoon the beauty and nobility of the city may be seen whirling through the cool shades in splendid equipages, and numberless pedestrians thronging the walks. Countless booths and cafés are scattered about, which on these occasions are crowded with many pleasure seekers. The common people on Sundays and holidays come here in throngs. Deer, perfectly tame, bound in herds through the woods, and it is a pleasant sight, when they recline upon the green lawn to see the little children playing beside them. On a fine summer's night it is alive with the gay crowds who have forsaken the dusty city for a few hours' relaxation. "It is this free, social life," says our traveler, 'which renders Vienna so attractive to foreigners and draws yearly thousands of visitors from all parts of Europe." It is called the Paris of Germany.

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Vienna, with its suburbs, contains nearly half a million of souls. The Altstadt, the city proper, possesses the most prominent object of interest or