(i.e., Broad stone of honour), a town of Rhenish Prussia, government of Coblenz, on the right bank of the Rhine, immediately opposite Coblenz, with which it is connected by a bridge of boats. Pop. (1849) of town 2198; military, 1783. The town stands at the foot of a rocky precipitous height rising 772 feet above the river, and occupied by the celebrated fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, one of the strongest places in Europe. The fortress was originally a Roman castrum; and during the middle ages it was the stronghold of the electors of Treves, who in later times occupied the palace at the foot of the rock, now used as a granary. The French under Marshal Boufflers, aided by the celebrated Vauban, in vain besieged it in 1688. In 1799, however, it fell into their hands, after a siege of fourteen months, in which the garrison was reduced to such a state of famine, that a pound of horse flesh sold for 30 kreutzers, or somewhat more than 1s. The French blew up the defences when they evacuated it on the peace of Lunéville. Since 1814, Prussia has expended large sums in the reconstruction of this fortress. It is defended by about 400 pieces of cannon, and on three sides the escarpment rocks and steep slopes would bid defiance to almost any attack. Its weak point is on the N.W., where three successive lines of defences have been constructed. The platform on the top of the rock (serving for a parade-ground) covers vast arched cisterns capable of containing a three years' supply of water for the garrison, furnished from springs without the walls. There is also a well sunk 400 feet deep in the rock, and communicating with the Rhine. The castle of Ehrenbreitstein has been celebrated by Lord Byron, in the following magnificent stanza:

Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shattered wall Black with the miner's blast upon her height, Yet shows of what she was when shell and ball Reounding idly on her strength did light: A tower of victory! from whose flight Of blasted forms the wind's along the plain; But Peace destroy'd what War could never blight, And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's rain, On which the iron shower for years had pour'd in vain.

Childe Harold.