As the river contracts again, high up on the southern cliff, stands Aggstein, of all the eyries of the robber-knights the most picturesque, now an open-work ruin like the rest.

And a little lower down, on the left bank, fitting pendant to Aggstein, stands Dürrenstein, almost as picturesque-which is saying much -and far more interesting; because here Richard Coeur-de-Lion was kept chained in a dungeon by his mortal foe, Leopold of Austria, during the first period of his fifteen months' imprisonment. Beaders of "The Talisman" will remember what little love was lost between these two Crusaders; and of all the mad things ever perpetrated, the maddest was for the monarch of England and the better part of France to start riding through the territory of his very bitterest enemy, with only two followers, he disguised as a pilgrim !

Most certainly, were it not for his mother, his minstrel, and, above all, the Pope, he never would have been set free; for his own brother John, and even Philip Augustus of France, kept offering the heaviest bribes to the emperor, not for his liberation, but to keep him in bondage. But the Pope, responding to the prayer of "Eleanor, by the WRATH of God, Queen of England," and to the sentiment of Christian Europe, forced the crowned conspirators to let go their prey, and thus only "the devil was let loose," as Philip wrote to John.

Of course the destructive criticism of modern pedants has raised a doubt about this being the precise locality of Richard's first imprisonment; and as for the legend of his faithful minstrel, Blondel, it is almost beneath the loftiness of their contempt. And why? Was not Richard kidnapped? Was not Leopold of Austria the first into whose hands he fell? Did not Leopold hand him over to the keeping of Radmar of Tyrnstein (= Diirrenstein)? and what more natural than that his favourite minstrel should wander from stronghold to stronghold, chanting his favourite lays, till the refrain came down from the donjon-keep, which reverberated through the land, and led to his deliverance. All I can say is, that as you glide beneath these crumbling battlements, so weird, so fascinating, you feel that the whole legend and the whole place dovetail into one another, and that any sickly doubt on the subject is unmeaning and absurd.

Between Aggstein and Dürrenstein, on the Dürrenstein side, is a splendid specimen of what geologists call a "dyke :" it is just like a stone wall, running sheer down the steep incline of the mountain, straight and gray. They call it "the devil's wall," and the name is not a bad one, for it was thrown up by the great internal (or infernal) fires of the earth, when "the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters," before the first day of Genesis. Yes! for it is quite manifest that some grand convulsion rent the mountain-side; through the fissure the liquid lava protruded, and hardened to unyielding rock; and as the surroundings melted and crumbled, from age to age, this intrusive welt remained fast, and thus it rose.

Below Dürrenstein the river subdivides again into many channels; it is said that amid the more deserted of these channels the beaver is still to be found, in spite of civilisation, building his dam and lodge, and exerting his almost superhuman sagacity, as unconcernedly as if he were in the backwoods of America instead of almost within sound of the bells of a great capital.

Again the banks rise, and mountains, one on either side, rear themselves like sentinels to guard the approach to the old city. On the north it is the Bisamberg, on the south the Kahlenberg; both are historic. And thus we reach Vienna.

"But this is not the way we came," cried Snowdrop, when they had been walking for some time; "I do not remember this part at all.” "No; we did not come along here," said Dermot, jauntily. "This is a new road, Snow. I'm taking you back by a short cut."

"Oh, that is nice; then we shall get back in plenty of time," and quite reassured, the little girl began to gather the pretty wild flowers that grew along the way.

But suddenly Dermot stopped short, and looking wildly about, clutched his cousin by the arm. "I must have made a mistake, Snow: We shall have to go right back again."

this is not the road at all.

"Oh, Dermot !"

"Well, I can't help it. I thought I was bringing you a short cut that Uncle Tom told me about; but I must have got wrong some way."

Oh, dear! oh, dear!" cried Snowdrop, letting her flowers fall to the ground; "and I am so tired, I could never walk back."

"But you must, unless you want to sleep up here all night. No one is likely to come up to look for us: they would never imagine where we have gone to."

"I wish I had never come! I wish I had never come!" moaned the little girl, sinking down upon the grass. "Oh, Dermot, why did you take me away from nurse and the children ?"

"But you know very well you wanted to come yourself. You needn't put all the blame on me. I wouldn't have gone so far only those chaps laughing at me, made me long to get away from nurse. I was awfully silly to mind them, and now I can't think what to do ;" and feeling greatly puzzled, Dermot walked up and down, his hands stuck deep into his pockets.

The children had now reached a lonely, rugged road that cut along about half-way down the Head, and seemed to stretch away for miles before them. On one side stood the hill, high and steep, covered with heather, jutting rocks, and clumps of small trees; at the other was a grassy bank, and what lay beyond they could not guess.

"I must see what's over there," cried Dermot, presently; and

catching on by the long grass, he clambered up, hand-over-hand, till he reached the top, where he perched himself comfortably and began to sing.

"It's very unkind of you to be so merry when we have lost ourselves," cried Snowdrop, indignantly. "Perhaps-perhaps we may never get home again."

"My dear Snowdrop, come up here," he answered, gaily; "and when you have seen what I see, you will not think that likely." "I couldn't get up there. I can't climb like a boy." "No, I know that; but if you will give me your hand I will help you up."

"But what is the good? Going up there won't take us home." "Yes, but it will, though. At the other side of this bank is a big large field; at the foot of that field is the wide road that leads to Bray and Ballybrack."

"Well?" said Snowdrop.

"Well, don't you see that if we were on that road we might see the others going home, and get picked up? So come along, Snow, and I'll help you to climb a bit. It's as easy as anything."

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"Very well; I'll try to climb up to you. But, oh, Dermot, I hope know the way this time?"

"Of course I do, old girl. Why, I know all the roads about here like one o'clock."

"Like what?"

"Oh, that's only Dick O'Brien's way of saying he knows a thing jolly well. But heave ahoy, little cousin; give me your paw."

"It isn't a paw; it's a hand, Dermot. I wish you wouldn't be so silly. I'm not a dog!"

"But don't get cross.

"Of course you're not," he said, laughing. Give me your hand and I'll pull you up in a jiffy."

So at last Snowdrop resigned herself to her fate, stuck her toes firmly into the side of the bank, and stretching out her hand to Dermot, struggled bravely up over the slippery grass.

And after many minutes of hard work, puffing and panting, slipping and catching, she was at length safely landed on the top of the bank. Below waved a field of young corn, and through this Dermot declared they must walk in order to reach the road.

"But we shall spoil it if we do that," said Snowdrop. "We should have to tramp right through it, and that would be a pity."

"Oh, we can creep round by the edge, and that won't do much harm," said Dermot. "Now for a good slide over the grass. One, two, three, and away!" and off they went down the side of the bank into the corn-field.

"That was easily done," cried Snowdrop, laughing. "I wish we could slide home all the way to Kilteen like that."

"I wish we could, indeed. But come, we must be quick, dear. It's getting late, and we may miss the children and nurse."

Oh, dear, that would be dreadful. Let us run, Dermot, as fast as we can."

But it was hard work running, for the ground was rough and uneven, and the little girl slipped and fell several times in her efforts to keep up with her cousin.

“Oh, dear, I have hurt my foot; I can't go another step," cried Snowdrop, and sitting down on the grass, she began to cry.

"Well, you are a silly," said Dermot, running back. your hand and I'll help you along."

"Give me

"I must rest, Dermy, I'm so tired. Oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall we do ?"

"Go down to the end of this field as fast as we can, climb the gate there, and sit on the roadside till nurse and the children drive past; then call to them to stop, jump into my little trap, and then gee up Neddy to Kilteen Castle, where we'll eat a tea that will astonish them all."

"I cannot think how you can be so gay," the little girl said, plaintively. "I feel miserable; I feel as if I should never see Kilteen, or auntie or uncle or anybody again."

"Oh, I say, don't be so unhappy, Snow, dear," said Dermot, kissing her affectionately. "Of course we shall see them again, and jolly soon, too. Holloa! here comes a big man. I wonder if he could help us ?"

As Dermot spoke, a rough-looking countryman, with a pipe in his mouth, came sauntering up round the field. He was strong and broadly made, but had a good-humoured, smiling face, and so the children did not feel frightened at his approach.

"Arrah, thin, my little gintleman, and what do you mean by trespassin' on Mr. Hanlon's corn-field? Sure my orders is to foine I find walkin' down this way."

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"Oh, please," said Dermot, "I didn't know; but if you go up to Kilteen Castle, my father will pay the fine. My cousin and I lost our way on the Head, and had to come through the field to get to the road."

"And we never walked on a bit of the corn," cried Snowdrop; "so please don't be angry with us."

"Angry, is it, missy? Sure there's no one, much less Pat Mulligan, could be angry wid such a darlin' as you," and the man put his pipe in his pocket and touched his hat to the little lady. "It's some way on to the gate, an' maybe you'd let me carry ye a bit of the road, for ye look fairly done out and tired from your walk. I'll be afther lettin' ye off wid the foine this time, Masther Dermot."

"How did you know his name was Dermot ?" asked Snowdrop, in surprise.