I had not time at Ebensee to look at the works where the brine is evaporated, which seem to be on a large scale. The brine is brought here in aqueducts, some fifteen or twenty-four miles, since fuel is more plenty here, and it is found more economical to bring the brine to the fuel than the fuel to the brine. The stellwagen was ready, and I took my seat. A ride of ten or eleven miles up the valley of the Traun, a narrow defile bordered by lofty mountains, brought us before noon to Ischl. It is a pretty village, lying in a green valley formed by the junction of the little river Ischl with the Traun; it contains extensive salt-works and is a favorite bathing-place, people of all degrees coming here in the summer to pickle themselves in the salt water. Three immense ridges of mountains come down almost into the village, leaving a triangular space for the village, with just three ways of getting in or out, viz., by ascending the river as we came, or by either the Ischl or the Traun as they enter the valley. I took a hasty dinner, and left the hotel at one o’clock, determined to enjoy the satisfaction of climbing a real mountain. The Zeimitz, the highest in the neighborhood, is said to command the finest prospect, and it looked as if I could ascend it in an hour or two with the greatest ease, although the guide-book says that ten to twelve hours are necessary for going and returning. I have accomplished the task; I climbed the mountain, 5000 feet high, traveled over the snow from one to the other of its four peaks at considerable distance from each other; enjoyed the most magnificent prospect; filled my portfolio with alpine plants, descended the steepest side, picking my difficult way down the rocks and sliding down immense snowbanks, until I was past the alpine portion; then making a turn to a subalpine pasture, where cows and goats are driven to pass the summer, I struck an old path, and ran with all speed to the gorge at the base, where the stream that I had traced from its source as it trickled from a snowbank, and down a succession of little cataracts, was now a foaming and rushing torrent. It was then just twilight, and a quiet walk of an hour brought me back to the hotel at nine o’clock, quite proud of my feat and delighted with the fine view I had obtained. But I have paid well for it. In the morning I could scarcely stir for the aches and pains in my bones, and even now the extensor muscles of my legs are sore to the touch and bear woeful testimony to the hard service they have been obliged to perform. “I shall think about it,” as Mr. Davis says, before I ascend another mountain.