Innsbruck is generally the first objective of the man who visits the Tyrol, and only when he has arrived there does he begin to think how he is going to jump off. Innsbruck is in itself a fascinating town, with picturesque streets ending in mountain heights crowned with glittering snow and appearing near enough to be reached with a well-directed stone. The town stands in a cross-stream of continental traffic, for it is on the Berlin-Rome and the Paris-Vienna-Constantinople lines, and most people who have penetrated Europe at all have come across it on one or the other. Though the capital of such a mountainous land, and itself surrounded with mountains, it stands on a plain, with the river Inn winding along through it close to its junction with the Sill. Like so many other places, Innsbruck is the daughter of one of its own suburbs, a little place called Wilten, which is far older as a burgh, but has now sunk to comparative insignificance in the growth of its mighty offspring. Innsbruck is now well supplied with trams and funiculars, and hotels on the heights as well as in the streets; and when one wanders up the mountain-sides one comes on the little kiosks and beer-houses so dear to the Germans, but in spite of all this Innsbruck remains unspoilt. Italian influence is very noticeable in the architecture, especially in the old quarter, where many houses have arcades, and are covered with frescoes. The name of the town means “Bridge of Inn,” but the old wooden bridge, which saw desperate fighting between the Tyrolese and Bavarians, has been swept away, and there is now only an iron “structure,” identical with many a hundred others. A curious item pointed out to visitors is the bow-window of a palace, covered with copperplates, heavily gilt, and known as the “Golden Roof.” The monarch called “Frederick of the Empty Purse” built this freak in order to demonstrate the injustice of his popular nick-name!