Leaving Cassel any day at one o’clock, one can reach Coblenz at half-past seven in the evening, and the Bellevue Hotel will shelter one delightfully for the night, provided a room on the _hof_, or court, is not given. Four hundred feet above the river at Coblenz stands the old fortress of “Ehrenbreitstein.” How fine its old gray stone and its commanding situation is! No wonder Auerbach, the novelist, in his “Villa on the Rhine,” devoted so many pages to Ehrenbreitstein, the Gibraltar of the Rhine. It cost the government five million dollars. With its four hundred cannon, and capacity to store provision for ten years for eight thousand men in its magazine, well may it scorn attacks “as a tempest scorns a chain.” Instead of driving up to see this monstrous fortress, one may prefer to wander into St. Castor’s Church in the early morning, and, like a devout Catholic, kneel and pray. It may be more restful to thus “commune with one’s own heart and be still,” than to keep up a perpetual sight-seeing. Charlemagne divided his empire among his grandchildren in this very church. It dates to the eighth century, and is one of the best specimens of Lombard architecture in all the Rhine provinces. Coming out in the morning about ten o’clock, the sun will light up the severe outlines of the great old Ehrenbreitstein across the river, and the thought comes to one, did Luther compose his celebrated hymn, “_Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott_” (A mighty fortress is our God), while in such a moment of inspiration as this scene produces upon the mind? We left Coblenz at ten o’clock on the steamer “Lorlei” for Mainz. This romantic name for our boat, the waters we were plying, St. Castor’s Church on the left, and Ehrenbreitstein on the right, brought a strange combination of war, romance and religion to the mind. The only prosaic moment which seized me was in passing the Lorlei Felsen on the Rhine—when instead of remembering Lorlei, I exclaimed, so my companions told me: “O! here is where they catch the fine salmon!” Rheinstein was to my mind the most beautiful and picturesque castle of all, and being owned by the Crown Prince is kept in becoming repair. The little “_panorama des Rheins_” is a troublesome little companion, for it leaves one not a moment for calm enjoyment and forgetfulness, constantly pointing out the places of interest and crowding their history and romance upon one. The Dom at Mainz is a curious study for an architect—combining as it does so many styles and containing such curious old tombs. Frankfort, the birthplace of Goethe, and the native place of the Rothschilds family, has too much history to detail in an article like this. When it was a free city it had, and still retains, I believe, the reputation of being the commercial capital of that part of Germany. Goethe preferred little Weimar for the development of his poetical life. His father’s stately house in Frankfort, still to be seen, was not equal to his own in Weimar.