One of the mountaineers acting as guide led the way up the narrow trail and down to the waiting train on the other side—perhaps two miles.
Instead of a cross, fussy crowd of tired travelers grumbling at the climb, the guide found us a happy lot of overgrown children, stopping to listen to the wonderful singing of the birds or to pluck the wild flowers, whom he had often to remind with his shrill "Avance!" that time was passing.
Among the first to descend, I looked back up the trail and wondered if the old mountain would ever again witness such a picture. Travelers from every nation, with their different costumes, mingling with the gaily attired peasants, who carried on their heads the much-labeled luggage, all laughing, shouting or singing, made a happy medley both of color and of sound.
Budapest is the most beautiful city of the world, except, perhaps, Barcelona. You need not look in your "Noted Places" book to verify this statement, for you will not find it there. Au contraire, this opinion is my own.
Go to Budapest, select a room with windows giving on the Danube, and see if you do not agree with me. Throw the guide-books aside and wander down the superb Franz Joseph Quai. Note the battlements, the colossal statues of bronze, the Moorish architecture united with that of the Romanesque. You will not find all the sumptuousness of Budapest on this street, however, for it is scattered everywhere.
The beauty of the architecture can be seen by daylight, but the glory of Budapest can only be felt as you sail away,
"Some night in June,
Upon the Danube River."