little river Salzach for me,
the Residenz-Schloss, where the Grand Duke of Tuscany lives part of his
time, for Mrs. Jimmie and Bee, and the glorious views from every
direction for all of us. Here, also, Bee found her restaurants, with
bands, situated more delightfully than any we had found before.

Hills bound the town on two sides--thickly wooded, with ravishing shades
of green, to the side of which a schloss, or convent, or perhaps only a
terraced restaurant, clings like a swallow's nest. All the bridle-paths,
walks, and drives around Salzburg lead somewhere. You may be quite
certain that no matter what road you follow you will find your diligence
rewarded.

There is one curious restaurant where we went for our first dinner,
because two rival singing societies were to furnish the programme. It is
reached by an enormous elevator which takes you up some two hundred
feet, where there spreads before you a series of terraces, each with
tables and diners, and above all the band-stand. Here were the singers
singing quite abominably out of key, but with great vigour and
earnestness, and always applauded to the echo, but getting quite a
little overcome by their exhilaration later in the evening. Then there
is the fortress protecting the town, the Nonnberg, the cloisters in
whose church are the oldest in Germany, and they won't let you in to see
them at any price. This of itself is an attraction, for as a rule there
is no spot so sacred, so old, or so queer in all Europe that you can't
buy admission to it. But when I found the cloisters of the Convent
Church closed to the gaping public, I thanked God and took courage. We
found another spot in Salzburg where they allow only men to enter, but
as we found plenty of those in Turkey, we paid no particular attention
to the Franciscan Monastery for barring women, except that we had some
curiosity to hear the performance which is given daily on the
pansymphonicon, a queer instrument invented by one of the monks. Jimmie,
of course, came out fairly bursting with unnecessary pride, and to this
day pretends that you have lived only half your life if you haven't
heard the pansymphonicon. We gave him little satisfaction by asking no
questions and yawning or asking what time it was every time he tried to
whet our curiosity by vague references and half descriptions of it.
Jimmie is a frightful liar, and would sacrifice his hope of heaven to
torture us successfully for half a day. I don't beli