The hours slip by unnoted when one sits, on the ramparts dreaming and
gazing on the broad sweep of river, the distant islands, the undulating
lines of the mountain ranges. The sleepy looking cows wander lazily
about, cropping the grass on the embankments, and even clamber over the
ancient archway.

One peoples the place with imaginary martial figures, and is almost
startled when the stillness is broken by a rustle and approaching
footsteps, and turns, as if expecting to see glittering uniforms
appearing through the crumbling arch; but it is only old Moolly, who
deliberately walks into the inner enclosure, and, if "our special artist
on the spot" has left his sketch for a moment, probably puts her foot in
it, with the air of one who should say, "Who are you who dare invade my
realm?"

The quaint barrack building, with its huge chimneys and gambrel roof, is
now occupied by several families; and a whitewashed fence encloses a gay
garden. The small magazine, built of creamy sandstone sent from France
for the purpose, still remains, and its excessively sharp roof shows
above the ramparts; but the massive oaken door stands open wide and is
green with age; the roof is decidedly shaky; and the shingles hang
loosely, so that one would think that only a moderate gale would send
them flying like a pack of cards.

The block-house, built of massive logs and heavy planks of English oak,
stood within the past year by the bridge over the moat; but,
unfortunately, a person without reverence for antiquities has razed it,
thereby obtaining his winter fuel cheaply; and he now turns an honest
penny by selling canes, etc., of the wood.