The Argosy — page 162: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SS ere ON ee 148 From Salzburg to Gastein. never in hearing of any continuous sound save of the restless ocean, which is altogether a thing apart. The one will soothe you to slum- ber ; the other may lash you into—a fine frenzy, certainly—that of madness. My ponderings came speedily to the following conclusion, divided— like an old-fashioned parson’s sermon—into three heads and an appli- . cation: Unmanly to sit down and shed tears: wicked to swear: impossible to go straight back at once, blow up friends and doctors, and send them all to the to Hanover. There remained only to endure. Yet was it not a thought worthy of despondency to have come so far for so little purpose? Snow? yes, certainly, on the tops of the mountains ; in the hollow the heat of the tropics twice told. The next day, Sunday, I sallied forth to reconnoitre what I now looked upon in the light of nothing less than a fiend disguised as a friend. Down the vale in search of air, where none was. Alone, in a kind of rabid despair, I gave vent to pent-up feelings, and like a maniac shouted for air. A dozen echoes from the surrounding mountains seemed to bring back the mocking answer, Where? At least to an overwrought imagination it sounded very much like it. Up higher into the mountains, and so nearer the sun, but the exertion gained no other reward. On to the Bridge of Terror, where you might look up and down at the overpowering rush of water. A glorious sight ; to be admitted with all one’s powers; but in that existing frame of mind yielding neither pleasure nor consolation. Then back to the hotel in time for the one o’clock table d’héte ; and, all things considered, with some appetite for the banquet. } Monday rose red-hot and bright as the preceding day. The torrent, with its unceasing roar, was still there. Instead of feeling better for the rest from travel, I seemed to have gone back many degrees since Saturday; and was beginning to debate most seriously upon the expe- diency of packing up and returning home, when a thought flashed like an inspiration upon the dulled senses, that it might be as well first to call upon some doctor and ask him in what lay the wonderful virtue of the place. About ten o’clock I strolled out, and turning to the left soon came upon a small stone building consisting of two rooms. On the door, in large black letters, was written DAMPFBAD; on the lintel the name of a doctor, and Wachiglicke. The door stood invitingly open: an omen to the superstitiously inclined. I rang boldly. ECoOMmicloooks (C(O)