And yet I feel myself well repaid for all my fatigue. To say nothing of the prospect opening out wider and grander as I ascended, I had from the summit a magnificent mountain panorama which it was well worth the labor to see; the summits of more than one peak white and brilliant with perpetual snow and ice. The most stupendous of all is the Thorstein or Dachstein, which closes the view to the south, with its immense glaciers of the most dazzling whiteness, from which numerous steep pinnacles rise like spires, towering high above all surrounding objects, illuminated by the rays of the setting sun long after all other objects are left in the shade. The dark lake of Hallstadt was distinctly seen, appearing to reach up to its very base. I could not distinguish the village which is hidden under the cliffs at that end of the lake, where from November to February the inhabitants do not see the sun, they are so shut in by high mountains. Four other lakes were in full view, two of them lying almost beneath my feet. And then imagine my pleasure at collecting alpine plants for the first time, some of them in full blossom under the very edge of a snowbank. I filled my portfolio with Soldanella, Rhododendron, Primula Auricula, Ranunculus Thora, and another with white flowers, etc., etc. I am sorry to say that in my eagerness I have left my knife, last relic of the Expedition, and so long my trusty companion, somewhere on the top of the mountain. Sunday was at least a day of bodily rest, for I did not rise until past ten o’clock, and hobbled out but once beyond the limits of my hotel. I was obliged to leave, however, late in the evening, about half past ten, when the eilwagen, which comes but twice a week, arrived from Gratz on its way to Salzburg; and here I found myself at six o’clock this morning; a rainy day, and a very dull town, with nothing but its fortress and its exceedingly beautiful and romantic situation to make it interesting. There are many objects of great interest in the neighborhood, but this rainy day prevents any distant excursion; my place is taken for Munich for to-morrow morning, and not even the inducements of “the most beautiful region in all Germany,” as it is called, not even the sublimities of the Berchtesgaden and the Königsee, which are but fifteen miles off, shall detain me longer. I begin to look with expectation toward the end of my journey, and have already in my plans shortened it a little. I have looked about the old churches and buildings of this town, and am waiting now for it to clear up that I may climb the Mönchsberg, and enjoy the prospect that is said to be so fine. At midday I had hopes of a pleasant afternoon, but it is now raining harder than ever.