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the destruction of the castle was resolved on before its evacuation by the garrison. With the intention of blowing up the whole upper rock, barrels of powder were placed in the cisterns, and covered with stones. The mine exploded before it was ready with prodigious noise and killing nine-and-twenty men, but with only partial damage to the castle. However the work of destruction was furthered in 1819 by a stroke of lightning, which shattered the roof of the tower, and placed the castle much in the condition in which it is now to be seen. It is never likely to be used again as a fortress in these days of long-range artillery, commanded as it is on every side by hills. After all its vicissitudes of fortune and changes of masters, Königstein is one of the grandest ruins in Germany, especially when viewed from the south-east, dark against the sunset.

From Königstein, as we look westward, we see a kind of gap in the hills, and a tower rising in the gap at the distance of some five English miles. The tower belongs to the castle of Eppstein. The way thither—at least one way—passes through the village of Schneidhain. This termination to names of places, “hain,” is common enough in Germany. It is supposed to denote the site of some ancient religious establishment. But “hain” means “grove,” and the connection is not very evident between a grove and an establishment of monks or nuns. Perhaps “hain” implied the sacred grove of the heathen Germans, on whose site Christianity planted a chapel with ministers to serve it, as if to do battle with the ancient god, who had become a demon, on his own ground. Lower down in the valley of Münster, or rather on a hill to the right of it, as we ascend, we find a quaint village climbing up a steep, with a church at the top called Alten Hain, and on a hill more to the east Neuen Hain. These names may possibly denote three removals of a religious house belonging to Münster in the valley below; Schneidhain being the oldest of all, and implying the grove given up to wood-cutting, as having been abandoned. A way through a wood leads to the village of Fischbach, and then the road winds through a pretty defile round the hill of Staufen, about 1500 feet high, and commanding a fine view, to the village of Eppstein. Near the brook we find an inn, the Oelmühle, or “Oil-mill,” much visited in summer. Additional attraction is given to it by the erection of posts, bars, and gibbets for gymnastic exercises, which has lately become a national mania. There is every convenience, as usual, for taking refreshment in the garden. The Garten-wirthschaft is one of the pleasantest institutions of Germany. In the summer it is only necessary to go into the house to sleep. All the meals may be taken out of doors. A question may be raised, whether it would not be possible, in spite of our much-abused climate, which cannot differ so very widely from that in the same latitudes on the Continent—at least, at a reasonable distance from the Gulf-stream—to do the same in England. There is one time at which the dew falls heavily in Germany—just after sunset; but the trees form an umbrella, and after that the nights are mild. At Eppstein there are trout to be had fresh from the brook, and a host of domestic animals as company—dogs, ducks, turkeys, and a peahen. The dogs consume the bones, the ducks, turkeys, and peahen pick up the crumbs, and so there is no waste. In fact, after a party has left a table, it is at once invaded by all the poultry, who are most effectual gleaners. But the gnats, which come from the marshy grounds about the brook, are a little troublesome. To avoid them, it may be as well to mount that hill on the other side of the brook, and enjoy the view of the three castles of Eppstein, Königstein, and Falkenstein, one behind the other, and the highest tops of the Taunus to the left. This view is unique in the Taunus; but on this subject we shall have more to say in a future number.