The way to it [lake Pie de Lugo] from the [water]fall, is by a path winding along the foot of the mountain, and leading to a cottage, where you may take a boat, and cross to a bold promontory opposite. There, seated in the shade, you may enjoy the view of the waters, the bordering mountains, of the towns perched on their sides, the village Pie de Lugo, and rising behind it the old castle of Labro, whose dismantled towers crown a regular hill, while its shattered walls run in long lines down the declivity. We were here entertained with an echo the most articulate, the most retentive, and the most musical I ever heard, repeating even a whole verse of a song, in a softer and more plaintive tone indeed, but with surprising precision and distinctness. We sat for some time on the point of the promontory, partly to enjoy the view, and partly to listen to the strains of this invisible songstress.