tain to mountain this sound flies, as though it were the yell of some imprisoned monster chained in some vast rocky dungeon near us. Five times it is repeated, ever growing fainter and more bitterly wailing, until it dies away among the distant Reeks into an impressive silence. Again our guide lifts up his voice, but this time there comes from him a soft, clear note, tender, loving, melancholy, that floats from hill to hill, making sweet music to the listening ears. Ever softer and softer it becomes, until it too fades away into space. We are all enchanted, and are expressing our delight, when another sound checks us. Mocking laughter seems now to come to us from behind the stern mountains that close us in on every side. It is everywhere: near us, far off, over our heads. We scarce know where to turn for it. "Ha—ha—ha! Ha—ha—ha!" Weird and wild it rings through the air, until at length we begin to feel just a little uncanny. Our guide is openly enchanted with the effect he has produced upon us, and throws in a final shout before taking us farther on our way.
But we are not to go yet. A man, who has apparently sprung out of the earth at our approach, proceeds to fire off for our delectation a tiny cannon placed on a projecting piece of ground about eight feet square. For the use of this little plot of ground, he tells us, he pays his landlord six pounds a year: so it is to be hoped the tourists who stay to hear his cannon fired pay him liberally. The effect of the little explosion he gives us is really wonderful, and suggests the idea that a short-lived battle has just taken place somewhere behind these massive mountains. Having bidden our cannoneer a kindly adieu, and added somewhat to the "sixpence a shot" charge he has brought against us, we go on up the stony road, and soon arrive at the entrance to the Gap.
The Author of "Phillis," "Molly
Bawn," etc.
[to be continued.]
A LESSON IN HOCHDEUTSCH.
WE were four American ladies on our way to Heidelberg. We had left Cologne in the morning, and had been all day gazing at the wonders of the Rhine. Eyes and memory had been sorely taxed; we were tired, and when we arrived at Mannheim the question naturally arose. Shall we stay here overnight, or push on to the place of our destination? The most resolute among us decided for the continuation of the journey. We inquired about the trains, and, finding there was one at ten o'clock that night, concluded to take it.
Mannheim is not the most interesting of places to wait three hours in. The monotonous uniformity of its streets and houses has a depressing effect; we had seen too much already to give it any attention, and, after we had satisfied our appetites at one of the restaurants, we concluded to make ourselves comfortable in the ladies' room of the station and there quietly await the hour of departure.
As already stated, we were four,—Miss Carrie Strong, a maiden lady, the acknowledged head of the party, her niece Louise, a pretty, golden-haired girl of seventeen, a gentle young Quaker widow who had been a school-mate of Miss Strong, and myself. It will be seen that we were a well-knit party, united by ties of both family and friendship. The fact is that we had unlimited confidence in our leader, Miss Strong, who, though her delicate build seemed to belie her name, was in every respect
