the brow of the Great Hill, whence the magnificent scenery of the Bastey breaks upon the astonished traveller. Quitting our carriage, we walked immediately to the railed terrace, and thence explored, for the space of two hours, every insulated summit and gigantic pinnacle of those ruins of a former world. The weather favoured us much; and the season, though greatly advanced, took nothing from the beauty of a panorama, unequalled, I believe, on the surface of the European continent, as it receives its character from the strange grey masses of rocks shooting upwards from the banks of the Elbe to a perpendicular elevation of 800 feet, and is enlivened by the ever-green colour of the forest fir. Mr. Russell has performed the task of describing this remarkable district so correctly, and in so much better language than I could command on so picturesque a subject, that, for the information of my readers, I shall, with that gentleman's permission, quote his spirited account of the Saxon Switzerland. The description which I prepared on the spot, being too strictly geological, would ill assort with the rest of the subjects mentioned in this chapter: "About four miles farther up, and beyond Pillnitz, the valley closes; the mountains become more lofty and bare; the majestic river, quitting at length the rugged and mountainous course which has hemmed him in from his birth in the Mountains of the Giant, and destined to visit, throughout the rest of his career, only scenes of industry and fertility, comes forth rejoicing from the gorges which you are about to enter. From this point, up to the frontiers of Bohemia, the rocks in the neighbourhood of the river, principally on the right bank, consisting of a coarsegrained sandstone, are cut in all directions into frightful gorges, as if the chisel had been used to hew passages through them. They should rather be called lanes, so narrow are they, so deeply sunk, and so smoothly perpendicular do the gigantic walls of rock rise on both sides. The walls themselves are cut vertically into separate masses, by narrow openings reaching from the summit to the very bottom, as if a cement, which once united them, had been washed away. These perpendicular masses, again, are divided and grooved horizontally into layers, or apparent layers, like blocks regularly laid upon each other, to form the wall. The extremities are seldom sharp or angular, but almost always rounded, betraying the continued action of water. They generally terminate in some singular form. Some have a huge rounded mass reclining on their summit, which appears scarcely broad enough to poise it; others have a more regular mass laid upon them, like the astragal of a Doric pillar; others assume the form of inverted pyramids, increasing in breadth as they shoot higher into the air. Occasionally they present a still more singular appearance; for, after tapering in a conical form, to a certain elevation, they begin to dilate again as they rise higher, as if an inverted, truncated cone were placed on a right truncated cone, resembling exactly, but on an infinitely greater scale, what often occurs in caverns, where the descending stalactite rests on an ascending stalagmite. "The abyss, which lies deep sunk behind the summit called the Bastey, though not so regular as some others, is the most wonderful of all, in the horrid boldness and fantastic forms of its rocks. The Ottawalder Grund is so narrow, and its walls are so lofty, that many parts of it can never have felt sunshine. I trod, through the greater part of it, on snow and ice, when all above was warm and cheery, and butterflies were sporting over its frozen bosom. Some small cascades were literally hanging frozen in their fall.' In one place the walls are not more than four feet asunder. Some huge blocks, in their course from the summit, have been jammed in between them, and form a natural roof, beneath which you must creep along, above the brook, on planks, if the brook be small, or wading in water, if it be swollen; for the rivulet occupies the whole space between the walls in this narrow passage, which goes under the name of Hell.' When, in one of these lanes, you find an alley striking off on one side, and, having squeezed your body through it, another similar lane, which you soon find crossed by another of the same sort, you might believe yourself traversing the rude model of some gigantic city, or visiting the ruined abodes of the true terræ filii.* When, again, from some elevated point, you overlook the whole mass, and see these stiff bare rocks rising from the earth, manifesting, though now disjoined, that they once formed one body, you might think yourself gazing on the skeleton of a perished world, all the softer parts of which have mouldered away, and left only the naked, indestructible frame work. "The Bastey, or Bastion, is the name given to one of the largest masses which rise close by the river on the right bank. One narrow block, on the very summit, projects into the air. Perched on this, not on, but beyond the brink of the precipice, you command a prospect which, in its kind, is unique in Europe. You hover, on the pin * And once they had inhabitants. Among the loftiest and most inaccessible of the cliffs which overlook the Elbe, remains of the works of human hands are still visible. A band of robbers, by laying blocks across the chasms, had formed bridges, frail in structure, and easily removed when security required it; and, in the upper floors, as it were, of this natural city, they long set regular power at defiance. nacle, at an elevation of more than 800 feet above the Elbe, which sweeps round the bottom of the precipice. Behind, and up along the river, on the same bank, rise similar precipitous cliffs, cut and intersected like those already described. From the farther bank, the plain gradually elevates itself into an irregular amphitheatre, terminated by a lofty, but rounded range of mountains. The striking feature is, that in the bosom of this amphitheatre, a plain of the most varied beauty, huge columnar hills start up at once from the ground, at great distances from each other, overlooking, in lonely and solemn grandeur, each its own portion of the domain. They are monuments which the Elbe has left standing to commemorate his triumph over their less hardy kindred. The most remarkable among them are the Lilienstein, and Königstein, which tower, nearly in the centre of the picture, to a height of about 1200 feet above the level of the Elbe. They rise perpendicularly from a sloping base, formed of debris, and now covered with natural wood. The access to the summit is so difficult, that an Elector of Saxony and King of Poland thought the exploit which he performed in scrambling to the top of the Lilienstein deserving of being commemorated by an inscription. The access to the Königstein is artificial, for it has long been a fortress, and, from the strength of its situation, is still a virgin one. Besides these, the giants of the territory, the plain is studded with many other columnar eminences, of the same general character, though on a smaller scale, and they all bear, from time immemorial, their particular legends-for the mountains of Saxony and Bohemia are the native country of tale-telling tradition, the cradle of Gnomes and Kobolds. In the deep rents and gloomy recesses of the Lilienstein, hosts of spirits still watch over concealed treasures. holy nun, miraculously transported from the irregularities A |