bleating around their table, and how they passed a final judgment on all
the productions of German literature. But when they at last fell upon
_Ratcliff_ and _Almansor_, utterly denying to the author aught like
piety or Christianity, the hair of the youth rose on end, terror seized
him--I spurred my steed and rode onwards!

In fact, when we ascend the upper half of the Brocken, no one can well
help thinking of the amusing legends of the Blocksberg, and especially
of the great mystical German national tragedy of Doctor Faust. It ever
seemed to me that I could hear the cloven foot scrambling along behind,
and some one breathing humorously. And I verily believe that "Mephisto"
himself must breathe with difficulty when he climbs his favorite
mountain, for it is a road which is to the last degree exhausting, and I
was glad enough when I at last beheld the long-desired Brocken house.

[Illustration: "THE WITCHES DANCING GROUND"]

This house, as every one knows from numerous pictures, is situated on
the summit of the mountain, consists of a single story, and was erected
in the year 1800 by Count Stolberg-Wernigerode, in behalf of whom it is
managed as a tavern. On account of the wind and cold in winter its walls
are incredibly thick. The roof is low. From its midst rises a towerlike
observatory, and near the house lie two little out-buildings, one of
which in earlier times served as shelter to the Brocken visitors.

On entering the Brocken house, I experienced a somewhat unusual and
unreal sensation. After a long solitary journey amid rocks and pines,
the traveler suddenly finds himself in a house amid the clouds. Far
below lie cities, hills, and forests, while above he encounters a
curiously blended circle of strangers, by whom he is received, as is