May 8th, 1873. Light cloud in the morning.

After departing from Munich, there was nothing to see until we passed Innsbruck in Austria, for we were travelling at night.

After Innsbruck we were startled when the carriage windows suddenly became dark and then light again; when we raised our heads we perceived that the train had run through a tunnel. On both sides the mountains rose sheer, with their rocky ribs exposed; streams ran down between them and pine-trees were growing wherever they could. These are the mountains of the Tyrol, an eastern branch of the Alps. Wherever the mountains close in, tunnels have been dug; the longer ones take five or six minutes, the shorter ones only a minute before the train emerges. The track follows many rises and descents, and the speed of the train is consequently reduced.

At five o'clock in the morning, when we reached Brenner Station, the mountains were becoming even more impressive and the way more perilous. The massed peaks folded into each other and there were still patches of snow amongst the pines. As the snow melted, it trickled down in tiny streams, collecting in pools beneath the rocks with a sound like that of falling pearls. The water forms waterfalls in the valleys, the highest cascading a thousand feet, and even the smallest falling around thirty feet; they look like bolts of white silk tumbling down.