The Fells, or Felsen, at Aderspach, is justly accounted one of the most extraordinary productions of nature's handiwork in all Bohemia. Masses of rock, some of them two or three hundred feet in height, have, by some strange convulsion, been so tossed about, that now they stand on end like detached towers, or rather like the turreted walls of some gigantic labyrinth, through which a narrow path twists and turns in the most extraordinary manner possible. Very many of these rocks bear a striking resemblance, some to beasts, some to men, some to musical instruments, and others to different articles which we constantly meet either in our walks through the populous city, or within the domestic circle. As might be expected, the people of the country have called each image after the name of the original which it represents. Not far from the back door of the inn is an enormous inverted Sugar-loaf; a little way removed from it is the Chimney, and it must be acknowledged that the resemblance which both of them bear to the objects from which their names are derived, is very striking. But this is the least of the wonders attaching to the place, in order to introduce which to the reader's acquaintance, it will be necessary that I should take him, as it were, by the hand, and join him to our little party as we make the tour of the labyrinth. Suppose us, then, snugly housed in the Trucktere-house, well-fed, well attended, supplied with clean, tidy beds, and greatly refreshed by a sound night's sleep, such as monarchs might envy. We rise next morning at seven, to find that here, even more keenly than at Troutenau, the influence of an elevated situation is felt, and that over the long inclined plane which stretches upwards from us in the direction of the Riesengebirgen, a sharp, cold wind blows cuttingly. This circumstance, however, interferes, in no respect, with our breakfast, which, as far as the means furnished will allow, is eaten with great relish. After which, about nine o'clock, we sally forth in quest of adventures, under the guidance of a ragged youth, who is to officiate as our cicerone. From the inn-door we look abroad upon a mountain of basalts, covered on its summit by a forest of pines, and beautifully feathered along its face with birch-trees. That mountain, well nigh semicircular in the front which is turned towards us, constitutes the Felsen; and along its base we walk, following a narrow foot-path, which is bordered by a little stream, and leads, serpent-fashion, towards the rocks. We pass, in this brief progress, the Sugar-loaf; and observing the ravages which time is making on its inverted cone, we anticipate the hour, probably not very distant, when it will topple over, and fall flat upon the earth. But this is nothing. Our ragged guide conducts us across a wooden bridge, up a road, hollowed out by nature, through the rocks, till suddenly we reach what resembles the mouth of a mine, across which a door is drawn.