aking their vacations
by tramping through this wonderful district; the sloping hills over and
around which the road winds; the blues and greens and shadows of the
more distant mountains, all combine to make this road from Salzburg to
the salt mines one of the most interesting to be found in all Germany.

Never did small cheese sandwiches and little German sausages taste so
delicious as at our first stop on our way to the salt mines. Jimmie said
never was anything to drink so long in coming. Near us sat eight members
of a _Mannerchor_, whose first act was to unsling a long curved horn
capable of holding a gallon. This was filled with beer, and formed a
loving-cup. Afterward, at the request of the landlord, and evidently to
their great gratification, these men regaled us with songs, all sung
with exceeding great earnestness, little regard to tune, and great
carelessness as to pitch; but, if one may judge from their smiling and
streaming countenances, the music had proved perfectly satisfactory to
the singers themselves. Another drive, and soon we were at the mouth of
the salt mine. We had learned previously that the better way would be to
go as a private party and pay a small fee, as otherwise we would find
ourselves in as great a crowd as on a free day at a museum. If I
remember rightly, four o'clock marks the free hour. It had commenced to
rain a little,--a fine, thin mountain shower,--but the carriage was
closed up, the horses led away to be rested, and we three women pushed
our way through the crowd of summer tourists waiting for the free hour
to strike in the courtyard, and found ourselves in a room in which women
were being arrayed in the salt mine costume. This costume is so absurd
that it requires a specific description.

Two or three motherly-looking German attendants gave us instructions.
Our costumes consisted of white duck trousers, clean, but still damp
from recent washing, a thick leather apron, a short duck blouse,
something like those worn by bakers, and a cap. The trousers, being all
the same size and same length, came to Bee's ankles, were knickerbockers
for me and tights for Mrs. Jimmie.

European travel hardens one to many of the hitherto essential delicacies
of refinement, which, however, the American instantly resumes upon
landing upon the New York pier; it being, I think, simply the instinct
of "when in Rome do as the Romans do," which compels us to pretend that
we do not object to things which, n