We went to see the Catholic church afterwards. There was a monstrous old gallery all on one side of the church, and none on the other. Then there was an organ away up in a loft, and all sorts of old images and statues. I never saw such an old looking place. As we walked along the streets, or rather the pathways between the houses, we could see the rocks and mountains away up over our heads, almost hanging over the town. They are very pretty rocks, being all green, with grapevines and bushes. Close by the town too, up a long and very steep path, is a monstrous old ruin. The name of it is Rheinfels. I can see it from the balcony of my windows. Besides, uncle George and I went up to it this afternoon. It is nothing but old walls, and arches, and dark dungeons, all tumbling down. There was a little fence and a gate across the entrance, and the gate was locked. But there was a man who asked us something in German; but we could see it all just as well without going in; so we said _Nein_, which means no. They say that a great many years ago the French took this castle, and then, to prevent its doing the enemy any good forever afterwards, they put a great deal of gunpowder into the cellars, and blew it up. I did not care much about the old ruins, but I should have liked very well to have seen them blow it up. The waiter has just come to call us to go out and hear the echo, and so I must go. I will tell you about it afterwards. The man played on a trumpet down on the bank of the river, and we could hear the echo from the rocks and mountains on the other side. He also fired a gun two or three times. After the gun was fired, for a few minutes all was still; but then there came back a sharp crack from the other shore, and then a long, rumbling sound from up the river and down the river, like a peal of distant thunder. It is a gloomy place here after all, and I shall be glad when I get out of it; for the river is down in the bottom of such a deep gorge, that we cannot see out any where. There are some old castles about on the hills, and they look pretty enough at a distance; but when you get near them they are nothing but old walls all tumbling down. The vineyards are not pretty either. They are all on terraces kept up by long stone walls; and when you are down on the river, and look up to them, you cannot see any thing but the walls, with the edge of the vineyards, like a little green fringe, along on the top. But there is no great loss in this, for the vineyards are not pretty when you can see them. They look just like fields full of beans growing on short poles. I shall be glad when we get out of this place; but uncle George says he is going to stay here all day to-morrow, to write letters and to bring up his journal. But never mind; I can have a pretty good time sitting on the steps that go down to the water, and seeing the vessels, and steamboats, and rafts go by.