One of the most romantic things we did was to take the little railway leading to the top of the Gaisberg, where we spent the night at the little Hotel Gaisbergspilze, and saw Salzburg lying beneath us, twinkling with lights, and making a sight to be remembered for ever.  Tucked in among the Salzburg Alps you can see seven little lakes, and the colouring, the dark shadows, and fleecy belts of clouds make it a ravishing view, and full of a tender, poetic melancholy.  Mr. and Mrs. Jimmie sat very close together, and renewed the days of their courting, but poor Bee and I held each other’s hands and felt lonely.

The romance of the situation drove me to poetry, and reduced Bee to the submission of listening to it—­for a short time.  Trust me!  I know how far to trespass on my sister’s patience!  But when I said, mournfully: 

    “Never the time and place
    And the loved one all together,”

Bee nodded a plaintive acquiescence.

In the morning, we almost saw the sun rise, but not quite.  Aigen, the chateau of Prince Schwarzenberg, was more cheerful; so was Mozart’s statue and his Geburthaus. I didn’t know that Mozart was born in Salzburg, but he was.  There is something actually furtive about the way certain facts have a habit of existing and I not learning of them until everybody else has forgotten them.

We decided to make the excursion to the salt mine on Monday, and on the Sunday Jimmie arranged for us to visit the Imperial chateau of Helbrun, built in the seventeenth century, and promising us several new features of amusement and interest not generally to be met with.  Our hotel being a very smart one, filled with Americans, we naturally had on rather good frocks, for it was Sunday, and we were to drive instead of taking the train.  We had all been to the church in the morning, and felt at liberty to escape from the gossip of the piazzas, and to amuse ourselves in this decorous way.

Now, Jimmie is thoroughly ashamed of himself, and would give anything if I would not tell this, but I have recently suffered an attack of pansymphonicon, and this is my revenge.

I noticed something suspicious in Jimmie’s childlike innocence and elaborate amiability during our drive.  If Jimmie is business-like and somewhat indifferent, he is behaving himself.  If he is officiously attentive to our comfort, and his countenance is frank and open, look out for him.  I hate practical jokes, and on that Sunday I almost hated Jimmie.

We drove first into a great yard surrounded by high trees.  The horses were immediately taken from our carriage, as if our stay was to be a long one.  Then we made our way through the gates into what appeared to be a lovely garden or park with gravelled walks, flowering shrubs, and large shade trees.  There were any number of pleasure seekers there besides ourselves.  Father, mother, and six or seven children in one party, with the air of cheerfulness and light-heartedness—­an