From Enns a morning’s walk brought us to Linz.  The peasant girls in their broad straw hats were weeding the young wheat, looking as cheerful and contented as the larks that sung above them.  A mile or two from Linz we passed one or two of the round towers belonging to the new fortifications of the city.  As walls have grown out of fashion, Duke Maximilian substituted an invention of his own.  The city is surrounded by thirty two towers, one to three miles distant from it, and so placed that they form a complete line of communication and defence.  They are sunk in the earth, surrounded with a ditch and embankments, and each is capable of containing ten cannon and three hundred men.  The pointed roofs of these towers are seen on all the hills around.  We were obliged to give up our passports at the barrier, the officer telling us to call for them in three hours at the City Police Office; we spent the intervening time very agreeably in rambling through this gay, cheerful-looking town.  With its gilded spires and ornamented houses, with their green lattice blinds, it reminds one strongly of Italy, or at least, of what Italy is said to be.  It has now quite an active and business-like aspect, occasioned by the steamboat and railroad lines which connect it with Vienna, Prague, Ratisbon and Salzburg.  Although we had not exceeded our daily allowance by more than a few kreutzers, we found that twenty days would be hardly sufficient to accomplish the journey, and our funds must therefore be replenished.  Accordingly I wrote from Linz to Frankfort, directing a small sum to be forwarded to Munich, which city we hoped to reach in eight days.

We took the horse cars at Linz for Lambach, seventeen miles on the way towards Gmunden.  The mountains were covered with clouds as we approached them, and the storms they had been brewing for two or three days began to march down on the plain.  They had nearly reached us, when we crossed the Traun and arrived at Lambach, a small city built upon a hill.  We left the next day at noon, and on ascending the hill after crossing the Traun, had an opportunity of seeing the portrait on the Traunstein, of which the old landlord told us.  I saw it at the first glance—­certainly it is a most remarkable freak of nature.  The rough back of the mountain forms the exact profile of the human countenance, as if regularly hewn out of the rock.  What is still more singular, it is said to be a correct portrait of the unfortunate Louis XVI.  The landlord said it was immediately recognized by all Frenchmen.  The road followed the course of the Traun, whose green waters roared at the bottom of the glen below us; we walked for several miles through a fine forest, through whose openings we caught glimpses of the mountains we longed to reach.