wide and rugged view from a little tower on a
precipitous rock near the summit, erected to commemorate the escape of
Prince Augustus of Saxony, who, being pursued by a mad stag, rescued
himself on the very brink, by a lucky blow. Among the many wild valleys
that lay between the hills, we saw scarcely one without the peculiar
rocky formation which gives to Saxon scenery its most interesting
character. They resemble the remains of some mighty work of art, rather
than one of the thousand varied forms in which Nature delights to clothe
herself.

The Great Winterberg, which is reached by another hour's walk along an
elevated ridge, is the highest of the mountains, celebrated for the
grand view from its summit. We found the handsome Swiss hotel recently
built there, full of tourists who had come to enjoy the scone, but the
morning clouds hid every thing. We ascended the tower, and looking
between them as they rolled by, caught glimpses of the broad landscape
below. The Giant's Mountains in Silesia were hidden by the mist, but
sometimes when the wind freshened, we could see beyond the Elbe into
Bohemian Switzerland, where the long Schneeberg rose conspicuous above
the smaller mountains. Leaving the other travellers to wait at their
leisure for clearer weather, we set off for the Prebisehthor, in company
with two or three students from the Polytechnic School in Dresden. An
hour's walk over high hills, whose forest clothing had been swept off by
fire a few years before, brought us to it.

The Prebisehthor is a natural arch, ninety feet high, in a wall of rock
which projects at right angles from the precipitous side of the
mountain. A narrow path leads over the top of the arch to the end of the
rock, where, protected by a railing, the traveller seems to hang in the
air. The valley is far below him--mountains rise up on either side--and
only the narrow bridge connects him with the earth. We descended by a
wooden staircase to the bottom of the arch, near which a rustic inn is
built against the rock, and thence into the valley below, which we
followed through rude lonely scenery, to Hirnischkretschen (!) on the
Elbe.

Crossing the river again for the sixth and last time, we followed the
right bank to Neidergrund, the first Austrian village. Here our
passports were vised for Prague, and we were allowed to proceed without
any examination of baggage. I noticed a manifest change in our fellow
travelers the moment we crossed the bord