Eisenach, the capital of Saxe-Weimar, a town of 10,000 inhabitants, will always remain associated with Martin Luther. It is the principal town in the Thuringian forest. The old “Wartburg,” one and a half miles south of the town, is famous for its architecture and history. Martin Luther, the Elector of Saxony, who rescued him, and earlier the saintly Elizabeth and her cruel husband, are only a few names which are associated with it. Of course the story of the Elector of Saxony rescuing Luther, after the Diet of Worms, is well known. Yet who can resist dwelling upon this bold character at this period. After the Pope’s excommunication Luther defies all threats and starts out on his return journey, with the emperor’s promise of a safe-conduct; the decree for arrest follows closely every step. What a picture! to have these armed knights attack him and carry him prisoner to the old Wartburg. Then to discover afterward that a friend’s hand, and not an enemy’s, had done this thing. There he remained ten months, and there still remain the traces on the wall of the ink he threw at the devil. Perhaps the chapel, where he preached on Sundays, is a more becoming and decorous place to associate him with than this little room, always pointed out first. The Wartburg has been so beautifully renovated of late at the expense of the government, it is really worth a second visit to those who may have seen it years ago. The banquet hall is certainly superb, and the St. Elizabethangeng, with its beautiful frescoes and long narrow proportions, almost enables one to see the good woman walking up and down with her prayer-book, in deep meditation, before starting out through the forest with her attendants, and her apron full of provisions for the poor. It is told that once, when her liege-lord met her, and inquired what she had in her apron (he had strictly forbidden her taking things to the poor), she, with legendary faith, opened her apron and forthwith the bread became roses. Taking your faithful donkey which has brought you up the hill, and your Wartburg album collection of photographs, you find yourself soon wandering through the lovely and fantastic _Annenthal_, and finally resting near the depot at Eisenach. There the untiring finger of your old guide points to Fritz Reuter’s house, and at last to his own little bill, which he has carefully prepared and which he expects you as carefully to pay. Never goes money from your pocket more liberally! The Harz Mountains, their legends and songs, have been so often written of there is danger of stupid repetition if one goes over the ground.