It was cold and cloudy at starting; but on leaving the main road, and turning to the left, the horizon cleared up—­and it was evident that a fine day was in store for us.  Our expectations were raised in proportion to the increasing beauty of the day.  The road, though a cross one, was good; winding through a pleasant country, and affording an early glimpse of the monastery in question—­at the distance of at least ten miles—­and situated upon a lofty eminence.  The first view of it was grand and imposing, and stimulated us to urge our horses to a speedier course.  The country continued to improve.  Some vineyards were beginning to shew the early blush of harvest; and woods of fir, and little meandring streams running between picturesque inequalities of ground, gave an additional interest to every additional mile of the route.  At length we caught a glimpse of a crowd of people, halting, in all directions.  Some appeared to be sitting, others standing, more lying; and a good number were engaged in devotion before a statue.  As we approached them, we observed the statue to be that of St. Francis; around which this numerous group of pilgrims appeared to have marshalled themselves—­making a HALT in their pilgrimage (as we afterwards learnt) to the monastery of Goettwic.

The day continued to become more and more brilliant, and the scenery to keep pace with the weather.  It was evident that we were nearing the monastery very rapidly.  On catching the first distinct view of it, my companion could not restrain his admiration.  At this moment, from the steepness of the ascent, I thought it prudent to descend, and to walk to the monastery.  The view from thence was at once commanding and enchanting.  The Danube was the grand feature in the landscape; while, near its very borders, at the distance perhaps of three English miles, stood the post town of Chrems.  The opposite heights of the Danube were well covered with wood.  The sun now shone in his meridian splendour, and every feature of the country seemed to be in a glow with his beams.  I next turned my thoughts to gain entrance within the monastery, and by the aid of my valet it was not long before that wished for object was accomplished.  The interior is large and handsome, but of less architectural splendor than Moelk or even St. Florian.  The librarian, Odilo Klama, was from home.  Not a creature was to be found; and I was pacing the cloisters with a dejected air, when my servant announced to me that the Vice Principal would receive me, and conduct me to the Head or President.

This was comforting intelligence.  I revived in an instant; and following, along one corridor, and up divers stair-cases, I seemed to be gaining the summit of the building, when a yet more spacious corridor brought me to the door of the President’s apartments:  catching views, on my way thither, of increasing extent and magnificence.  But all consideration of exterior objects was quickly lost on my reception at head quarters.