the track would dash them in a thousand pieces.  This generally takes place in the winter when the sides are covered with snow and ice.  It must be a dangerous business, for there are many crosses by the way-side where the pictures represent persons accidentally killed by the trees; an additional painting represents them as burning in the flames of purgatory, and the pious traveler is requested to pray an Ave or a Paternoster for the repose of their souls.

On we went, up the valley of the Traun, between mountains five and six thousand feet high, through scenes constantly changing and constantly grand, for three or four hours.  Finally the hills opened, disclosing a little triangular valley, whose base was formed by a mighty mountain covered with clouds.  Through the two side angles came the Traun and his tributary the Ischl, while the little town of Ischl lay in the centre.  Within a few years this has become a very fashionable bathing place, and the influx of rich visitors, which in the summer sometimes amounts to two thousand, has entirely destroyed the primitive simplicity the inhabitants originally possessed.  From Ischl we took a road through the forests to St. Wolfgang, on the lake of the same name.  The last part of the way led along the banks of the lake, disclosing some delicious views.  These Alpine lakes surpass any scenery I have yet seen.  The water is of the most beautiful green, like a sheet of molten beryl, and the cloud-piercing mountains that encompass them shut out the sun for nearly half the day.  St. Wolfgang is a lovely village in a cool and quiet nook at the foot of the Schafberg.  The houses tire built in the picturesque Swiss style, with flat, projecting roofs and ornamented balconies, and the people are the very picture of neatness and cheerfulness.

We started next morning to ascend the Schafberg, which is called the Righi of the Austrian Switzerland.  It is somewhat higher than its Swiss namesake, and commands a prospect scarcely less extensive or grand.  We followed a footpath through the thick forest by the side of a roaring torrent.  The morning mist still covered the lake, but the white summits of the Salzburg and Noric Alps opposite us, rose above it and stood pure and bright in the upper air.  We passed a little mill and one or two cottages, and then wound round one of the lesser heights into a deep ravine, down in whose dark shadow we sometimes heard the axe and saw of the mountain woodmen.  Finally the path disappeared altogether under a mass of logs and rocks, which appeared to have been whirled together by a sudden flood.  We deliberated what to do; the summit rose several thousand feet above us, almost precipitously steep, but we did not like to turn back, and there was still a hope of meeting with the path again.  Clambering over the ruins and rubbish we pulled ourselves by the limbs of trees up a steep ascent and descended again to the stream.  We here saw the ravine was closed by a wall of rock and our