eve one word of all
he has said or hinted or drawn or sung about that thing, and yet, I
would give everything I possess, and all Bee's good clothes, and all
Mrs. Jimmie's jewels, if I could hear and see the pansymphonicon _just
once_!

One of the most romantic things we did was to take the little railway
leading to the top of the Gaisberg, where we spent the night at the
little Hotel Gaisbergspilze, and saw Salzburg lying beneath us,
twinkling with lights, and making a sight to be remembered for ever.
Tucked in among the Salzburg Alps you can see seven little lakes, and
the colouring, the dark shadows, and fleecy belts of clouds make it a
ravishing view, and full of a tender, poetic melancholy. Mr. and Mrs.
Jimmie sat very close together, and renewed the days of their courting,
but poor Bee and I held each other's hands and felt lonely.

The romance of the situation drove me to poetry, and reduced Bee to the
submission of listening to it--for a short time. Trust me! I know how
far to trespass on my sister's patience! But when I said, mournfully:

"Never the time and place
And the loved one all together,"

Bee nodded a plaintive acquiescence.

In the morning, we _almost_ saw the sun rise, but not quite. Aigen, the
chateau of Prince Schwarzenberg, was more cheerful; so was Mozart's
statue and his _Geburthaus_. _I_ didn't know that Mozart was born in
Salzburg, but he was. There is something actually furtive about the way
certain facts have a habit of existing and I not learning of them until
everybody else has forgotten them.

We decided to make the excursion to the salt mine on Monday, and on the
Sunday Jimmie arranged for us to visit the Imperial chateau of Helbrun,
built in the seventeenth century, and promising us several new features
of amusement and interest not generally to be met with. Our hotel being
a very smart one, filled with Americans, we naturally had on rather good
frocks, for it was Sunday, and we were to drive instead of taking the
train. We had all been to the church in the morning, and felt at liberty
to escape from the gossip of the piazzas, and to amuse ourselves in this
decorous way.

Now, Jimmie is thoroughly ashamed of himself, and would give anything if
I would not tell this, but I have recently suffered an attack of
pansymphonicon, and this is my revenge.

I noticed something suspicious in Jimmie's childlike innocence and
elaborate amiability during our drive. If Jimmie is busin