savagely at me over his forest of moustache. I would
nevertheless have felt grateful for the attention we received as
Americans, were it not for our uncourteous reception as suspected
Austrians.

We have just been exercising the risible muscles again, though from a
very different cause, and one which, according to common custom, ought
to draw forth symptoms of a lachrymose nature. This morning B----
suggested an examination of our funds, for we had neglected keeping a
strict account, and what with being cheated in Bohemia and tempted by
the amusements of Vienna, there was an apparent dwindling away. So we
emptied our pockets and purses, counted up the contents, and found we
had just ten florins, or four dollars apiece. The thought of our
situation, away in the heart of Austria, five hundred miles from our
Frankfort home, seems irresistibly laughable. By allowing twenty days
for the journey, we shall have half a florin a day, to travel on. This
is a homoeopathic allowance, indeed, but we have concluded to try it. So
now adieu, Vienna! In two hours we shall be among the hills again.

CHAPTER XXIII.

UP THE DANUBE.

We passed out of Vienna in the face of one of the strongest winds it was
ever my lot to encounter. It swept across the plain with such force that
it was almost impossible to advance till we got under the lee of a range
of hills. About two miles from the barrier we passed Schoenbrunn, the
Austrian Versailles. It was built by the Empress Maria Theresa, and was
the residence of Napoleon in 1809, when Vienna was in the hands of the
French. Later, in 1832, the Duke of Reichstadt died in the same room
which his father once occupied. Behind the palace is a magnificent
garden, at the foot of a hill covered with rich forests and crowned with
an open pillared hall, 300 feet long, called the _Gloriette_. The
colossal eagle which surmounts it, can be seen a great distance.

The lovely valley in which Schoenbrunn lies, follows the course of the
little river Vienna into the heart of that mountain region lying between
the Styrian Alps and the Danube, and called the Vienna Forest. Into this
our road led, between hills covered with wood, with here and there a
lovely green meadow, where herds of cattle were grazing. The third day
we came to the Danube again at Melk, a little city built under the edge
of a steep hill, on whose summit stands the palace-like abbey of the
Benedictine Monks. The old friars must have had