We spent the night in Coblentz and on the following morning set out to see Ehrenbreitstein. The view from this place is very fine. At our feet lay the town with its zigzag fortifications clasped by the silver fork of the two streams that were spanned by four bridges. The great outworks of the fortress reach far beyond, while to the right rise the dark, frowning mass Of volcanic rocks known as the "Eifel." Far away our eyes rested upon vineyards not yet clothed in verdure. But the most delightful part of our journey was that from Coblentz to Cologne. Here we passed through the lovely region of the Seven Mountains where the old castles "still look down from their heights as if musing on the spirit of the past." Even after viewing these medieval castles the scenery along the Hudson loses none of its charm. But what a contrast! In place of low vineyard-clad hills, as you see along the Rhine, the majestic Hudson winds in leisurely fashion among its primeval forests, the bases of its mountains laved by its current, while their summits are often shrouded in clouds. You see a grandeur in the majestic sweep of this beautiful river that you will miss in the Rhine. The latter is beautiful, we will admit, but it seems to be swallowed up in detail which detracts rather than adds to the beauty of it. Whoever has seen both rivers will see, if he looks with an impartial eye, the points of excellence found in each. But, standing above the Hudson and gazing out over the wonderful scene from West Point, you forget your Rhenish raptures and exclaim with the traveler "Few spots in the world are as beautiful as this." As we passed through Tarrytown we thought of Stephen Henry Thayer's many "sweet transcripts" redolent with the siren voices of woods and waters of Sleepy Hollow. Like some faint, far-off lullaby we seemed to hear floating across the opposite shores of the Tappan-Zee the tranquil evening reverie of his "Nyack Bells": "The lurking shadows, dim and mute, Fall vaguely on the dusky river; Vexed breezes play a phantom lute, Athwart the waves that curl and quiver And hedged against an amber light, The lone hills cling, in vain endeavor To touch the curtained clouds of night, That, weird-like, form and fade forever. Then break upon the blessed calm,-- Deep dying melodies of even,-- Those Nyack Bells; like some sweet psalm, They float along the fields of heaven. Now laden with a nameless balm, Now musical with song thou art, I tune thee by an inward charm And make thee minstrel of my heart. O bells of Nyack, faintly toll Across the starry lighted sea. Thy murmurs thrill a thirsty soul, And wing a heavenly hymn to me."