wind. Had it rained, we should have
been wetted to the skin, besides being compelled to wade ankle-deep in
mud. We were next obliged to remain in the open air, awaiting the
arrival of the train from Stockerau, which unloaded its freight, and
received us in exchange.

At Stockerau I once more took leave of my companions, and was soon
securely packed in the post-carriage for transmission.

In travelling this short distance, I had thus entered four carriages; a
thing sufficiently disagreeable to an unencumbered person, but infinitely
more so to one who has luggage to watch over. The only advantage I could
discover in all this was, that we had saved half an hour in coming these
seventeen miles. For this, instead of 9 fl. 26 kr. from Vienna to
Prague, we paid 10 fl. 10 kr. from Stockerau to Prague, without reckoning
expense of omnibus and railway. It was certainly a dearly-bought
half-hour. {3}

The little town of Znaim, with its neighbouring convent, is situated on a
large plain, extending from Vienna to Budwitz, seventeen miles beyond
Znaim; the monotony of the view is only broken here and there by low
hills.

Near Schelletau the scenery begins to improve. On the left the view is
bounded by a range of high hills, with a ruined castle, suggestive of
tragical tales of centuries gone by. Fir and pine forests skirt the
road, and lie scattered in picturesque groups over hill and dale.

April 11th.

Yesterday the weather had already begun to be ungracious to us. At Znaim
we found the valleys still partly covered with snow, and the fog was at
times so thick, that we could not see a hundred paces in advance; but
to-day it was incomparably worse. The mist resolved itself into a mild
rain, which, however, lost so much of its mildness as we passed from
station to station, that every thing around us was soon under water. But
not only did we ride through water, we were obliged to sit in it also.
The roof of our carriage threatened to become a perfect sieve, and the
rain poured steadily in. Had there been room for such a proceeding, we
should all have unfurled our umbrellas.

On occasions like these, I always silently admire the patience of my
worthy countrymen, who take every thing so good-humouredly. Were I a
man, I should pursue a different plan, and should certainly not fail to
complain of such carelessness. But as a woman, I must hold my peace;
people would only rail at my sex, and call it ill-humoured. Besid