and to be a unit in interest, sat and talked until the first small hour. Kate laid her plans before her cousin, who was only too happy to coincide with any arrangement by which she would be insured the companionship and influence of Kate's stronger nature.

"I shall be delighted, and will do everything in my power to second your efforts, dear old pet! But you know I am such a good-for-nothing, unpractical body, that I fear you will have to bear all the burden of the enterprise."

"Never fear!" replied Kate; 66 we shall probably find our appropriate spheres. You possess latent talents, which will yet be brought into useful activity, or I am mistaken."

About ten o'clock aunt Chloe, who had been indulging in some funereal strain over the kitcken stove, (a sure sign of present felicity with her,) put her ebony face in at the door, to ask, "where Miss Kate was going to sleep."

"Please let me share your bed to-night, Julia; and to-morrow, if you conclude to keep me, we can make some other arrangements."

"Certainly, Kate; and you, Chloe, can sleep in your own bed-room to-night," said Julia. Chloe turned back to say, "Miss Juley, 'spose you'll be mighty 'tickler 'bout kiverin' up the fire?" Receiving an affirmative answer, the faithful old soul marched off to her own quarters, her head full of thoughts of Miss Kate, and the new flowered calico

gown which that lady had told her would be hers, when the big trunk was opened on the morrow.

"While I have been quite alone," said Julia, "Chloe has occupied a pallet on the floor here, nights, so as to be near me; for since ma's departure I have used her room, with kitty for company. The creature fancies, of late, that she has a right to sleep on the foot of the bed during the day, as well as at night; and she was napping there when I called her this evening."

(To be continued.)

IF we attend carefully to our duty, and keep both beams and motes out of our own eye, those of others will not often seriously trouble us.

IT

THE MIDNIGHT CALL.

BY MARIA R. BAKER.

Midnight on the sleeping earth,

And midnight on the sea ;What angel walks the silent streets

And guards our destiny?

Unseen, from out his fateful hand,

The threads of life are spun, And when the fragile fibre breaks

Some weary task is done.

No sound disturbs the brooding air,

No sign his coming brings; One keener ear alone, has caught

The rustle of his wings.

One clearer eye alone, has seen

The beckoning of the hand That lifts the mystic veil aside

Which hides the shadowy land. One soul, through that mysterious way Which all we miss have trod, Led by the silent angel's hand,

Hastes upward to its God.

And while with aching hearts we seek
The hallowed aisles of prayer,
The spirit in fruition's light
Keeps its first Sabbath there.

OUR TYROLESE TOUR.

BY MISS M. M. RIPLEY.

́T was nine o'clock on a brilliant August morning when two American lad es, having neither gentleman escort, courier, nor valet-de-place, emerged from the doorway of the old-fashioned inn of a little Bavarian town, and set forth upon a voyage of discovery, whose end and aim was the railway station. An old woman who had handsome and purple grapes heaped in big baskets around her, and an umbrella over her head for even thus early the day was warm enticed them to a brief delay, but there was yet time to spare when they arrived at the little building, where last night the train had left them and gone its swift way towards Munich.

green

First, however, and foremost, comes the Custom House, which is to inexperienced travellers a name of dread import. But nothing can be milder than the Austrian. The double-headed eagle is no magpie, that he should curiously peer into trunks and travelling-bags. Such as it is, however, this is the way they do it. The passengers on the train, without exception, are marshalled into a room and the door locked behind them. The luggage is brought in by another door, and lies in heaps behind a sort of counter. We, outside, watch our chance, catch the eye of a railway porter, and hand him our checks, which are only strips of printed paper, much more convenient than the metal checks in use in America. He directly selects our trunks and lifts them upon the counter in front of us. Then comes the examining officer. We make a show of keys, symbolical of our entire readiness to show him the lining of the bottom of our trunks, if he has any desire to see it; he asks a question or two, very good-naturedly, but in a great hurry; we don't quite understand what he says, but thinking a negative reply will be safe, make prompt answer accordingly, with a slight jingle of keys, as who should say, "If you don't believe me, you can look!" But he is satisfied, and a little printed ticket on each piece of luggage stamps us all right, and makes us free of the Austrian dominions. The same porter shoulders our trunks to return them to the train, but first bows, cap in hand, expecting his kreuzers, which having paid, we by a different door, which is now for the first time unlocked, make our escape into the restaurant.

Here is a forlorn-looking room, in which I find consolation for the present mainly in the society of three friendly dogs, but shortly

tention, and I have an opportunity to return the civilities of my four-footed friends in a manner which they highly appreciate. Let me not forget to praise the wondrous tablelinen,—the cloths so white and heavy, — the napkins of such generous length and breadth, that one finds all through the German land, from the hotels of the great cities down to the humblest Gast-haus among the mountains, or the meanest railway restaurant. As to our dinner, it was not very good, but we were very hungry, and it was so much better than many a meal we had later in Tyrol, one could even praise it.

Dinner being over, the poetic sense awoke. We said to each other, "We are in Tyrol ;" and to one of us, at least, there was a charm in the name. I give the results of our two remaining hours before the Munich express came along.

It is a little, old town, lying on both sides of the river, the rapid, sparkling Inn, which is here perhaps thirty rods wide. The railway comes up the valley on the west bank, and going from the railway station, we cross a bridge to the principal streets, which are on the east side. The old gray fortress stands high upon a great rock, which rises abruptly in the very heart of the town. No road at all ascends to this rocky nest, only a rough foot-path, in some places actually steps hewn in the rock, while provisions and stores are carried up a sort of tramway by means of pulleys. It is now used as an Austrian State prison. Some persons were there, though we could not learn their names,

- some unpractical dreamers, perhaps, who had ventured to question the divine right of His Apostolic Majesty. The thought haunted me that bright day, with its vivid contrast to ourselves. Some prisoner might at that moment be looking out from the high grated windows, looking off at the far, free hill-tops opposite, listening to the wild scream of the locomotive, just as we were doing, but with what a difference! He, immured for life within those gray walls, which were to us bat one point more of beauty in the landscape, -he, who had lost all things for the sake of liberty, and now had doubly lost that, to whom it is so free and perfect that we scarcely know that we enjoy it!

we,

Crossing the bridge, we went up the steep main street of the town, and afterwards through the narrowest and muddiest of lanes, walked quite around the big rock which bears the castle aloft upon its crest, hoping we should find a road by the river bank leading back again to the bridge. But no road was to be found, only a wide gravelly shore, with piles of lumber and straggling weeds growing among them. We sat down and watched the blue sparkle of the river, and looked up to the gray fortress, now just above our heads, then reluctantly retraced our steps, and coming down through the town, explored the shops a little, bought one or two photographic views, and a painted pipe our first Tyrolese purchases.

The fortress of Kufstein looks old and gray enough to have stood a thousand years, and it has, perhaps, but I find nowhere the exact date of its erection. It had in the old time, walls fourteen feet in thickness, and being exactly on the frontier, has seen many a storm siege, concerning which are lingering legends. But its most interesting story, and this is strictly historical, is of the October days of 1504. The town and castle were at that time Bavarian property, and its possession was disputed by two rival Dukes. The Emperor Maximilian, famous in Tyrolese story, held the disputed fortress as arbiter between them, and placed a certain Hans Pinzenauer as his Lieutenant in charge of it. But a bribe of thirty thousand gulden brought over the Pinzenauer to the side of Duke Rupert. Then the indignant Duke Albert betook himself with his complaints to the Kaiser, and the two, meeting at Rosenheim, came up the valley together, and besieged town and fort. The burghers were quite prompt in yielding, but the castle held out, and Apostolic Majesty was battered by storms of shot from the contumacious Captain. Worse, however, by far, in Maximilian's eyes, than the iron hail, was a certain bit of bragging on the part of the besieged. Provisioned for a year and relying on his fourteen feet of stone wall, the commandant kept a soldier or two, armed with a broom, and when a ball from the besieging camp struck his ramparts, ordered them to be carefully swept, signifying to the indignant Em

VOL. XLIV.-4

peror that a broom repaired all the harm his balls could do.

The contuma

Kaiser Max, kind of heart and sweet of temper though he was, was never good at taking an insult, and with heavy threats he ordered down from Innsbruck two big guns, the largest in all the land. These shortly altered the aspect of affairs. cious Captain, no longer defiant, sued for terms. But the imperial ire was roused. "Your Captain then is tired of his brooms? Go and tell him we make no terms with such a mocking-bird; he would have the fair castle destroyed; let him defend its ruins if he can!"

A few days later, the fortress was stormed and all the garrison were captured; among the treasure was found the thirty thousand gulden, all in copper, and it was shared among the victorious soldiery.

64

Then the Emperor," says the old German chronicle, "forgetting his ordinary and nat ural kind-heartedness, ordered that every man should be put to the sword, and if any one dared to intercede for them, he should be sent away with a slap on the cheek."

Thereupon the commandant, tall and handsome and young-pity the gulden had deluded him to his ruin-was led to his fate, and took it right bravely, and ten others, following him in rank, were put to death also.

One can easily believe that by this time the Emperor had begun to be tired of his revenge. Doubtless he showed some sign of relenting, for then and there came Duke Eric of Brunswick, and besought that the lives of the rest might be spared. The old chronicle goes on quaintly:" Then the Emperor, not to break his oath, gave the good Duke a very soft little blow on the cheek with his own hand and said, 'Let them run, then!"" So, poor fellows, their lives were saved, yet to fight a little longer in this troublous world, but every one of them has now been dead and buried three hundred years or more.

In the meantime, the train for which we were waiting, has arrived. The new-comers have their little Custom House experience to undergo, and also their dinners, and it is quite three in the afternoon when we start

once more for Innsbruck. All the way up the valley, the scenery is most charming; there is something exceedingly odd and almost grotesque in the shape of the mountains; and every old castle and ruin that we pass adds to the novelty and interest of the If the day is particularly clear and you know where to look, you may see, they tell us, far to the south-west, the glaciers of the Oetz and the Brenner. But it had grown showery, and my first view of a glacier was destined to come later.

scene.

But aside from the mountain landscape, if there was nothing in that beautiful Inn valley but the wide, soft green fields and the strange and lovely wild flowers, I should find enough to content my eye. The flora in Tyrol is very remarkable; it is said that all the wild flowers of Europe, from Spain to Spitzbergen, may be found there. June is the month for flowers, but in August, late as it was, we were attracted every minute by some new beauty close on the roadside, and one can imagine what it must have been far back in the fields and woods. We were pleased to see among many strangers, the familiar pink and white candytuft of our gardens, and blue-bells in the greatest profusion.

The railway between Kufstein and Innsbruck makes some seven stations. They are quaint little old towns, not very attractive in themselves, but interesting for the sake of the deep valleys that lie behind them, which one would gladly follow up, till the road loses itself in a footpath over the mountains. At Brixlegg, the road from the Zillerthal comes in; at Woergl, from the Pinzgau and from Salzburg; and from Jenbach, a lovely road goes over the hills and far away, by Achen See and Tegern See, to the Bavarian capital. But to us who must go by rail to Innsbruck, these syren voices were in vain. Brixlegg is a curious old specimen of the middle ages. The old miracle-plays are still performed there; just a week before a most famous one had been represented before an audience of upwards of three thousand spectators.

The next station, Schwatz, gave us an interesting study of costumes, during the ten minutes' delay of the train. The capricious rain was at this moment falling, literally, in

sheets, but twenty or thirty peasant people were collected and stood about quite regard less of the weather, waiting to be put on board. It was such a warm rain that nobody could suffer much from it, and the woolen clothing of the women as well as of the men seemed impervious. So I did not allow my sympathy to interfere with my powers of observation, while from the window of the railway-carriage, I noted down carefully the first real Tyrolese costumes I had seen,that is to say, off the stage, for Tyrolese minstrels had long since made me familiar with one type of the national dress. I will describe in particular one old woman, whose attire was something a little remarkable. Fancy a figure in woolen skirts standing off from the waist quite in the panier style, save that, in Tyrol, the panier goes all round. Woolen they are, even in midsummer, and exceedingly weighty, and, as I afterwards learned, not less than six or eight in number. As the tree gets a new ring of wood every year, the well-to-do Tyrolese peasant woman adds a new petticoat; naturally she puts the newest one on outside, and keeps on wearing the others underneath it, and that she does not have on twenty or thirty, is only due to the fact that the best of woolen goods will wear cut in time. The waist of her dress was very short, and a wide, light-colored kerchief folded across it. But consider the stockings. Evidently it is the correct thing in Tyrol to have large ancles,-these are not stockings, they are substantial woolen tubes, without feet at all, and when four feet of length is disposed of between the knee and the ancle, naturally it must be laid over in plaits and folds, numerous and wonderful to see. She had low, thick shoes, but lest the rain should hurt them, they were taken off and carried carefully in her hand. Her head, however, was the triumph of the whole costume. She wore a cap, in shape like a sugar-loaf, of dark blue woolen. It was stuffed out like a pin-cushion, and shaped to come well down upon the neck behind and close around the face in front.

For the rest there were the usual highcrowned hats and short waistcoats and em. broidered belts, and among the women the black silk head-dress, which fits tightly over the forehead and spreads in two wings behind

the ears.

dead.

At Schwatz was, in the sixteenth century, the headquarters of sundry silver-mining operations, in which the Emperor Max and the Fuggers of Augsburg were partners. Jacob von Fugger died here in 1503, and the Emperor followed his old friend to the grave with sincere grief. It is a quaint and interesting trait of the old time, this friendship between the Emperors and this Augsburg family. The Fuggers were only weavers originally, who by a century of industry and enterprise handed down and augmented, from father to son, sich a colossal fortune that all through the sixteenth century they were able to command not only the respectful consideration but even the gratitude of the German Emperors. "The Rothschilds of the Middle Ages," their coffers replenished repeatedly the empty purses of Kings and Emperors, and they were liberal creditors and took their pay sometimes in other ways than in money.

--

I have seen in Vienna a picture by Karl Becker of Berlin, representing the famous occasion when the Fugger of that day, receiving a visit in his own house in Augsburg from the Emperor Charles V., with more than princely generosity threw the Emperor's bond for a million gulden, loaned by him, into the fire, saying grandly, "The honor of this visit cancels all the debt." The picture is highly dramatic. The Emperor, in blue velvet doublet and hat, sits in a carved ivory chair near a table, and watches with a keen glance the movements of his host.

The

white-haired old man is, at the moment, casting the paper in the fire which blazes cheerfully upon the hearth. Two or three elderly women are seated also at the table, which is spread for a simple meal, and the tall and sweet-faced daughter of the house, in short crimson velvet gown and kirtle and close fitting crimson cap over the wavy blonde hair, is about to place a dish before the Emperor. Later, I saw the very room in the old mansion in Augsburg where this transaction took place, and the memory of the pic ture added a wonderful charm to the room so long empty and deserted, and seemed to light it up again with all the warmth and

The story is about this magnificent act of Fugger's that the old banker had long and earnestly pleaded with the Emperor in behalf of the ancient rights and privileges of the free city of Augsburg, which were at this time greatly in danger. The Spanish grandees, who came in the Emperor's train, were objects of dread and aversion to the liberty-loving Germans, and through the counsels of the Spaniards much harm had already been done, and much more was threatened. The argument had lasted long between the two, when the Emperor suddenly turned upon Fugger, charging him with making unfair use of the advantage of his position to win certain concessions, which a monarch, so deeply in his debt and so unable to pay, might not feel himself free to refuse.

Then followed this grand stroke of policy and of liberality. The bond once destroyed, the Emperor had no choice. The debt of honor must be paid, and in the way the creditor tacitly insisted upon. An imperial charter at once confirmed all the privileges of the city, and made them for the time secure. One wonders if the Augsburg burghers ever knew at what price their noblest citizen had saved them!

A half an hour later we reached Innsbruck, and the summer shower, which had coquetted with us all the way up the valley, flung its farewell salute at us as we drove through the streets of the capitol of Tyrol.

If I should endeavor to fix the exact moment when I was most impressed with Tyrolese scenery, my choice would undoubtedly rest upon a certain point of time not far from nine o'clock on the morning after our arrival.

After a very late dinner at the table d'hote, we had retired to our rooms without any sight-seeing at all. On the morning, therefore, of the nineteenth of August, we came down to breakfast, vaguely impressed with the presence of the mountains, but entirely ignorant how and where we should see them first.

A sort of instinct drew me to the window. By the way, Tyrolese ndows are attractive in the nature of things. They are never shut, it seems to me, and a wide cush