Eisenerz, in Eastern Tyrol, is a picturesquely situated little town. It is at the bottom of a great valley, with mountains all around it. Two of these are bare, gaunt limestone peaks, which are decidedly dolomitic in form and color. The sharpest of these is to the north. It is called the Pfaffenstein and is the beginning of the range culminating in the Frauenmauer. On a mountain to the east of the town, one sees the iron mines and works, whence the town takes its name "Ironore," and whence quantities of iron are taken out every year. The mines are said to have been in operation for over a thousand years, since about A. D. 800. After the ore is taken from the mine and roughly prepared, it is run down in small cars through a covered way to the railroad station to be shipped; and at certain times there is a seemingly endless procession of these cars, each bearing, besides its load of ore, a miner, with clothes and person entirely begrimed to the yellow-brown color of the iron. As I walked out of the Eisenerz railroad station, an old man in Tyrolese costume asked me if I wanted a _träger_ and a guide, so, while he was carrying my valise to the hotel, we came to terms. He was one of the patented guides of the district and wore the large badge of the Austrian guides. If the size of the badge made the guide, one should be safe with Tyrolese, but for difficult excursions, it will not do to trust to a guide simply because he happens to be "patented"; that is, not if one values the safety of one's neck. Next morning, July the 9th, 1896, the old guide arrived betimes at the hotel and roused me by tapping on the wall below my window with his stick. We left at half past five o'clock. My companion, who should have known better, had not breakfasted, so by the time we reached the Gsoll Alp at a quarter-past seven, he was almost tired out. He wore the regulation black chamois knee breeches and a _gamsbart_ in his hat. He picked many flowers en route, ostensibly because they were pretty; but in reality, I think, because it gave him the opportunity to recover his wind. He told me he was sixty-three years old, and he certainly went up hill with some difficulty, and for the first time in my life, I fairly succeeded in showing a clean pair of heels to a _patentirter führer_ on a mountain side. At one place he found a large snail in the road. This he wrapped up in leaves and placed on a rock, and on our return he picked the leaves and snail up, and rammed the whole bundle into his pocket, informing me that it was excellent _Arznei_, although he did not mention for what complaint. [Illustration: THE FRAUENMAUER AND THE GSOLL ALP.]