Opposite my window rises the Heiligenberg, on the other side of the Neckar.  The lower part of it is rich with vineyards, and many cottages stand embosomed in shrubbery among them.  Sometimes we see groups of maidens standing under the grape-arbors, and every morning the peasant-women go toiling up the steep paths with baskets on their heads, to labor among the vines.  On the Neckar, below us, the fishermen glide about in their boats, sink their square nets fastened to a long pole, and haul them up with the glittering fish, of which the stream is full.  I often lean out of the window late at night, when the mountains above are wrapt in dusky obscurity, and listen to the low, musical ripple of the river.  It tells to my excited fancy a knightly legend of the old German time.  Then comes the bell rung for closing the inns, breaking the spell with its deep clang, which vibrates far away on the night-air till it has roused all the echoes of the Odenwald.  I then shut the window, turn into the narrow box which the Germans call a bed, and in a few minutes am wandering in America.

Halfway up the Heidelberg runs a beautiful walk dividing the vineyards from the forest above.  This is called “The Philosopher’s Way,” because it was the favorite ramble of the old professors of the university.  It can be reached by a toilsome, winding path among the vines, called the Snake-way; and when one has ascended to it, he is well rewarded by the lovely view.  In the evening, when the sun has got behind the mountain, it is delightful to sit on the stone steps and watch the golden light creeping up the side of the Kaiserstuhl, till at last twilight begins to darken in the valley and a mantle of mist gathers above the Neckar.

We ascended the mountain a few days ago.  There is a path which leads up through the forest, but we took the shortest way, directly up the side, tho it was at an angle of nearly fifty degrees.  It was hard enough work scrambling through the thick broom and heather and over stumps and stones.  In one of the stone-heaps I dislodged a large orange-colored salamander seven or eight inches long.  They are sometimes found on these mountains, as well as a very large kind of lizard, called the “eidechse,” which the Germans say is perfectly harmless, and if one whistles or plays a pipe will come and play around him.

The view from the top reminded me of that from Catskill Mountain House, but is on a smaller scale.  The mountains stretch off sideways, confining the view to but half the horizon, and in the middle of the picture the Hudson is well represented by the lengthened windings of the “abounding Rhine.”  Nestled at the base below us was the little village of Handschuhheim, one of the oldest in this part of Germany.  The castle of its former lords has nearly all fallen down, but the massive solidity of the walls which yet stand proves its antiquity.  A few years ago a part of the outer walls which was remarked to have a hollow sound was taken down, when there fell from a deep niche built therein, a skeleton clad in a suit of the old German armor.