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500 THE PHOTOGRAPHIC NEWS. [August 10, 1883. and a Custom House, and at the latter we beg for shelter, for the purpose of repairing our photographic apparatus. We are carrying one of the Warnerke roller slides, con taining an endless band of sensitized tissue, aud this having been torn, requires to be cemented together. The good- humoured Custom officers willingly aid us, and after a brief visit to a cellar-like out-house, we proceed on our way rejoicing. Scharnitz, though once a fortress, is no longer any stronghold. The last occasion of the fortress being stormed was in 1805, when Marshal Ney came hither with an army of Frenchmen and Bavarians, whilst Bernadotte was attacking the Tyrol from another point. One of Ney’s generals, Laiss by name, with 13,000 men, advanced against the village here, held by a few hundred Tyrolese sharpshooters. The fortress was considered impregnable with such a garrison, and it withstood two assaults against it. But the French ultimately discovered a mountain path that led over a shoulder of the Wetterstein into the Leutasch Valley, and in this way they were enabled to pass round and get to the rear of the little Scharnitz garri son. The Tyrolese were thus compelled to retire, and when the French marched up a third time to storm the place, they found it deserted. The works were then razed to the ground, as we now see them, and the villagers still point out a mountain pathway to the tourist which goes by the name of the f Frenchman’s Ladder.” We say good-bye to Scharnitz, the valley of rocks and wild desolation, with the "Isar, rolling rapidly," in its midst, and reaching the valley of the Inn, get a lift by “ extra-post ” along the hot, high road, some twenty-five miles, to Hainingen, at the entrance of the Oetz valley. At the village of Oetz, there is a capital inn, and we recommend a stay here, since it is the last well-appointed hostelry the traveller meets with this side of the glacier. There is a fine waterfall at Oetz—a cascade of foaming water—which we photograph. It makes a good picture ; but, as we have before remarked in, these columns, much better spend your plates upon characteristics of the people and country you travel in, rather than in mountains and waterfalls. These latter are never quite satisfactory, when you bring them home; they are so much like other waterfalls and mountains. A good day’s march brings you to Solden. The taper spire of the village church, its dark outline standing out sharply and clearly from the background of snow mountains, is a most tempting subject, and if we had only taken the precaution to pull the shutter right out, we should have secured a very good picture. As it is, how ever, the result makes a passable “ upright,” and we are [hankful it is no worse. At Solden, we reach the last inn n the valley, and henceforth have to put up with the hospitality of the village priest. But this is an advantage, not a drawback, let us state. The priest expects you, his housekeeper is quite willing to mention the sum of your indebtedness, and, in a word, the only notable difference is, that you exchange, generally speaking, a boorish land lord for an educated and amiable one. At first we were rather shy about trespassing into the priestly domain. It was at a village called Holy Cross, some distance above Solden, that we first made the acquaint- ance of a clerical landlord ; but once you learn to know them, their hospitality is preferable to that of the ordinary inn. In the Dolomite district, at Stern, our clerical land lord, we remember, was a photographer, and we made together a morning’s excursion, that still lingers pleasantly in our memory ; he was, indeed, not only spiritual adviser, but medical man and general authority of the district, and hence he proved a most excellent companion. The kitchen is usually a good one at the priest's, and the red wine he gives