splendent in silver lace
and yellow livery, leading three gaunt but sturdy horses. In ten minutes
my father was seated on the box and we ladies inside, receiving the good
wishes of Klaus, of the landlord, the men and the maids, now all smiles
and curtsies, and with the postilion blowing triumphantly his horn we
dashed out of the quaint, dreamy little cathedral town of Brixen.

The road speedily began to ascend, and we looked down from a
considerable height on the vast Augustine monastery of Neustift, with
its large church, its picturesque cluster of wings, refectories and
separate residences of every stage of architecture, lying snugly amongst
vineyards, Spanish chestnuts and fig trees. Ever upward, by but above
the waters of the rapid Brienz, until at the fortress of Muehlbach we
entered the Pusterthal proper.

This old fort commands the valley and spans the road. Our driver, who,
according to Austrian regulation, went on foot wherever the ascent was
particularly steep, could not enter into our admiration of its romantic
position. Hans--for such was his name--could not perceive any grace or
beauty in a scene which had often disturbed his imagination and awakened
his fear. "Ah," said he, "it is a God-forsaken spot. It is here that
many slaughtered Bavarians wander about at night with candles, seeking
for their bodies or their souls--I know not which. Look you! My
grandmother came from Schliers in Bavaria, and the two countries speak
the same language. However, in my father's day, in 1809, Emperor Franz
drove the Bavarians and French out of this part of the Tyrol. It was in
April, when the Austrian Schatleh came marching through the Pusterthal
with his soldiers, and drove the Bavarians before him. Though these were
only a handful, they would not make truce, but broke down all the
bridges in their retreat. They wanted to burn the bridge at Lorenzen,
only the country-folks with blunderbusses, cudgels and pitchforks
protected it, and made them run; so they marched on, pursued by the
Landsturm, to this fortress, where they fought like devils until many
were killed, and the others, at their wits' end, managed to push on to
Innsbruck. Yes, glorious days, and long may the Tyrolese cry God,
Emperor and Fatherland! But those wandering spirits make my flesh
creep. Ugh!"

The road now allowed of the horses being put to a lively trot,
interrupting further conversation. We drove steadily on, stopping at
comfortable inns in large w