MATREI-AM-BRENNER But the sounds of the new day kept me at the window —the creak of a door, the striking of a match, snort of a horse, crackling of dry branches in a stove, a cock crow, gasp of a man pulling on difficult boots, sneeze of a child in the fresh air after a night of carbonic acid gas, the yawn of the village watchman, the bubbling of water into a tin pail, the light tread of a woman going from the inn, the snoring All right, dear man, no new Sherlock Holmes is here to enrich the
thoughts of these simple souls starting the day in sincere conviction that a miracle has taken place—- that the Son of God has been sacrificed afresh before their eyes. And then ! the horrid spectacle of the Ronnell girl's Squirreligion—to coin a word—rose like a cold skeleton before me, but the warm sheets were too much for it and I did not even dream. Now for breakfast. Gries-am-Brenner. After Lunch. This girl is after breaking some of her idols to see what deadly sin feels like, I suspect. I found