We left Trèves soon after noon; our boat was rude enough, but tolerably large. A queer-looking old man steered her, and the oars were held by two young fellows, one with an aspect of intelligence and good humour, the son of the old man; the other, belonging to a grade beneath him in the human scale. Our luggage was piled aft, and we had an awning. Thus, on a fine, but not hot, June day, we pushed off from Trèves; and, full of curiosity and expectation of pleasure, dropped down the swift stream between verdant banks that rose into hills—not striking in their outline, but agreeable to the eye, while frequent villages, each with its church and pointed spire, either nestled in the foldings of the hills, or graced some promontory that formed a bend in this much-winding river. Peace seemed to brood over and lull us—a deeper peace, as at evening the green shadows of the mountains gathered on the quiet river; and now and then a ruined castle crowned a height, and with that peculiar impression of stately tranquillity which a time-honoured ruin imparts, added the touch of romantic dignity, which otherwise had been wanting, to the scene.
We arrived at Piesport at seven, and our boatmen counselled us to remain here for the night. One of the gentlemen, who had joined us, had studied
