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 listened to the bubbling springs below the rocks. Oh, if she only could be there to cool her feverish brow!

In the frame below the picture was engraved:

Old Hlohov Castle, proud and gloomy, stood on a high, steep cliff. Hills covered with dense forests surrounded it, and on the north side peaks of lofty mountains, covered even in summer with snow, rose above them like hoary giants.

Like a never-ceasing storm roared the hungry mountain torrent around the rocky cliff. Every storm aroused it to new fury. Its water, transparent and cold as ice, then overflowed its rocky bed and thence poured down over the woody slopes, here madly destroying and undermining; there raising with deposits taken from other places. A one-arch stone bridge, ancient and covered with lichen—for it was under the water oftener than above it—connected the two lower parts of the cliff on which the castle was built. Be-