In no other town of the Alps is the vegetation so luxurious and shade-giving trees so plentiful. The surrounding mountains attain no great altitude. Gently sloping, rounded summits and long, monotonous ridges bound the horizon of the Styrian capital, while towards the east the Pannonian plain begins, as did the sea which in remote ages spent the fury of its waves against the granite and slate islands and peninsulas bordering the Alps.

In Schlossberg, or castle mount, is a poem written in verdure by Nature and completed by the hand of man, and speaking the more to the heart the oftener one peruses it; its park, with the

green turf, pretty groups of trees, gay flower-beds, and shady avenues, form a magnificent landscape.

In the second half of the fifteenth century the town was incessantly threatened by the incursions of the Turks, Styria being overrun by the Ottomans no less than ten times within the space of four-and-twenty years. Twice the town was in serious danger, and its immediate environs were terribly devastated, but the inhabitants were, nevertheless, successful in keeping the foe at bay. In the great invasion of the Turks from which Austria suffered in 1529, the capital of Styria was again threatened, and was pressed harder than ever. Three miles to the south of Graz, the Turkish corps, retiring from the fruitless siege, was overthrown and completely annihilated by the Christians.

The antique edifice shown in our cut on this page is the Landhaus, a building of historical interest and great artistic

merit. As long as five hundred years ago this site was occupied by a house dedicated to official purposes.

The southern portion of the Landhaus includes the arsenal,not a collection of weapons on a grand scale, but a real arsenal, out of which in earlier centuries those regiments were armed which the land was bound to equip-generally for service against the Turks. The arsenal possesses arms for thirty thousand men,

mostly weapons as were in use during the seventeenth century, and a peculiar interest therefore attaches to this collection.

The Landhaus further contains the ancient Styrian cup known as the Landschaden bund-Becher. It is a priceless heirloom of the land, a magnificent and much-admired production of the goldsmith's art from the days of the first Renaissance. Connoisseurs refer it, some to a Nuremberg, others to an Augsburg artist. It is considered an unexcelled work in its kind. A wealthy virtuoso offered 300,000 guldens, or £30,000, for this cup, but he was informed that the masterpiece was not for sale.

The Schlossberg, or castle mount, of Graz is a magnificent piece of natural scenery in the midst of the sea of houses. Broad and convenient roads, and narrow, shady paths lead in gentle windings to the heights. At frequent intervals benches have been placed in well-chosen spots, some of which command very beautiful outlooks, so that the ascent is rendered easy and unfatiguing.

Up to the year 1809 the Schlossberg was surmounted by fortifications, which enclosed a spacious state prison. In this year it was successfully defended against the French, but one of the conditions of the treaty of peace which followed stipulated that the hoary ramparts should be razed to the ground, and to-day none but the most scanty traces remain of the once massive structure.

Bordering on Hungary, Groatia and Carinthia is the Duchy of Styria. It is traversed by three chains belonging to the Noric

branch of the Alpine system, which are on the north-west and south-west frontiers, rising to an elevation of 8,000 feet and upwards. The surface belongs to the basin of the Danube. There are numerous small lakes and hot and mineral springs. The forests cover about half the surface. The inhabitants are mostly German, but the Wends or Slovens are numerous, constituting about 36 per cent of the population; nearly all are Roman Catholics. Iron is extensively manufactured, and linen, cotton, woollen and silk goods to some extent; but the most important branch of industry is timber. Millions of jewsharps are annually exported.

The view from the top-heavy looking clock-tower shown in our cut is described as one of great extent and beauty, a magnificent prospect of the river Mur and the mountains on the west and south. This, however, I did not see, as I undertook to make a short cut across a rugged country to Salzburg, which required a number

of railway changes on short local lines. I made all of these successfully but one. My unaccustomed ear did not distinguish the difference between the words "umsteigen" and "aufsteigen" as expressed in German gutturals, but which express all the difference between "getting on" and "getting off" the train. So I found myself on the wrong road. The conductor explained in voluble German that as the roads were all under government control, I would not lose the value of my ticket, but by paying an extra gulden (fifty cents) I would be conveyed to Salzburg, via Linz. And a very lucky mistake it was, for it gave me a ride through the wild and even exciting country of the river Ems, where snow-clad mountains rise on either side and tremendous cliffs seem to obstruct the passage of the road. At one station we came across an excursion of hilarious school boys in uniform, with their band of music, returning from a holiday picnic with of flowers fastened to their Alpenstocks, all singing and cheering merrily.

I arrived in Linz late at night in a heavy down-pour of rain. I observed that Baedeker describes the "Goldenes Kreuz," or "Golden Cross Inn" as "unpretending," which I thought would just suit an unpretentious tourist. I, therefore, took a street-car and crossed a public square to a large stone house whose wooden shutters were tightly closed, but through the chinks burst ruddy gleams of light. It had been market day, and the great guestchamber was full of men and women drinking lager beer. Every room was occupied except the large dining-room, where fifty solid oaken chairs were placed about a great solid oaken diningtable. On the walls were a lot of old portraits and historic pictures, and in one corner an old-fashioned German bed, in which I slept the sleep of the weary. My bill for this entertainment amounted to the very modest sum of seventeen cents.

If one has only a little smattering of the language and is willing to go to the inns of the people, which are generally quite as comfortable, and much more piquant and picturesque than the fashionable hotels with their tiresome table d'hôte, he can travel very economically in Europe. At Salzburg, for instance, the next day a full days' board at a very clean, comfortable inn, with excellent entertainment, cost only sixty-five cents. After I had paid my bill and left the house I thought the landlord had made some mistake; and as I did not want to have on my conscience for the rest of my life the thought of cheating the man, I went back and asked him if he had included my room as well as entertainment a thing I venture to say will not often occur in paying one's bills at a fashionable hotel. I was informed that everything was included, and so fared forth rejoicing on my journey.

MRS. GLADSTONE AND HER GOOD WORKS*

BY MARY G. BURNETT.

THE mistress of Hawarden Castle is something more than the devoted wife of the great statesman who so long swayed the destinies of Great Britian. She has a notable personality of her own, worthy in its energy and sagacity of him with whom her life is linked. While the husband's career has always been interwoven with the highest affairs of state, the wife has shown her genius for administration by the charitable enterprises in which she has taken so active a part. Most things come about naturally as the effect of growth; and it is interesting to go back to the childhood of Mrs. Gladstone to trace the influences which directed her mind to deeds of beneficence. Things have changed since Mrs. Gladstone was a little girl, living with her sister and brothers at Hawarden Castle, nearly eighty years ago.

MISS GLYNNE (MRS.
GLADSTONE).

Mrs. Gladstone's father, Sir Stephen Glynne, died young, when his eldest daughter Catherine (Mrs. Gladstone) was scarcely five years old. Lady Glynne, a daughter of Lord Brabrooke, was left with the sole charge of the property and the children.

This was about the year 1813. At that date Hawarden, in common with a village in Cheshire, had the deserved reputation of being the most wicked place in all the country round. Mr. Neville, her brother, rector of the parish, with Lady Glynne's consent, closed the worst of the public-houses, and inaugurated a system of education for the parish, setting up schools in Hawarden village and in the districts round. It was a serious problem at the outset to obtain either teachers or scholars. It was necessary to employ bribery to get the mothers to send their children to school, and the aid of Lady Glynne and her young girls was brought to bear, in the first place, to talk the mothers over; and, secondly to prepare a store of frocks, coats, cloaks, and other useful garments. These were given away as Christmas prizes, to recompense the mothers for remitting the services of their little girls, and the pence which the boys could pick up at scaring crows and such like juvenile occupations.

* Abridged from McClure's Magazine.