s of trees for export. "The supply has never failed yet," say
the Tyrolese: "why should we replant forests to have to cut them down
again, when the ground, too, is good for grass or corn?" So the axe
lies ruthlessly at the root of every tree, for a heavy reckoning
hereafter to the Tyroler.

With a weighing and balancing over every step which we took worthy
of a diplomatist, we finally stood upon the drawbridge of the castle.
Here the savage customs of the rude days in which it was built
immediately impress the beholder. Traces remain of the ponderous iron
portcullis, heavy wooden bars, arrow-holes, and slits in the masonry
for the pouring of boiling water or oil upon adverse knight or lordly
freebooter. A steep path leads through two great entrance-gates into
the large inner court, which is erected upon the virgin rock. A roof
of old wooden shingles shelters the well, and ancient rotting timber
mingles everywhere with the impervious stone in the massive buildings
of the castle, conveying a sense of weakness and decay in the midst of
the strongest durability.

Not only was the old castle dismantled, but apparently entirely
abandoned this summer evening. We were preparing to return without
seeing the interior when a little maiden arrived from the village, who
with flushed face and timid mien drew the castle key from under a
big stone, stood on tiptoe and turned the heavy lock, and the door
creaking on its hinges we were left to wander at our will through
old wainscoted rooms in the dreamy twilight. No spirit of modern
restoration had ever reached them: they were allowed to remain just
as inconvenient, but also just as quaint, as on the day of their
erection. There were gloomy recesses enough, but there were likewise
graceful carvings, mottoes, rare tracery and wood-work; while, strange
to say, in several chambers grotesque wooden birds were suspended from
the ceiling like malformed ducks, conveying at first no idea of the
Holy Dove which the old lords had desired to symbolize, yet probably
in those unquiet days their best conception of this emblem of peace.

The barons not only fought, squabbled and feasted, but prayed too
in their fashion; so we came upon the chapel, disfigured by barbaric
effigies, tawdry ornamentation and flimsy modern artificial flowers.
It is still used for the weekly mass which, as at Neuhaus, is read
here for the peace of the turbulent lords of Tuvers. Still, within
the memory of man a hermit oc