Carnuntum of Marcus Aurelius), and so under the frowning heights of
Theben on a spur of the Carpathians, where the March steals in quietly
from the left and the frontier is crossed between Austria and Hungary.

Racing along at twelve kilometers an hour soon took us well into
Hungary, and the muddy waters--sure sign of flood--sent us aground on
many a shingle-bed, and twisted us like a cork in many a sudden belching
whirlpool before the towers of Pressburg (Hungarian, Poszóny) showed
against the sky; and then the canoe, leaping like a spirited horse, flew
at top speed under the gray walls, negotiated safely the sunken chain of
the Fliegende Brücke ferry, turned the corner sharply to the left, and
plunged on yellow foam into the wilderness of islands, sand-banks, and
swamp-land beyond--the land of the willows.

The change came suddenly, as when a series of bioscope pictures snaps
down on the streets of a town and shifts without warning into the
scenery of lake and forest. We entered the land of desolation on wings,
and in less than half an hour there was neither boat nor fishing-hut nor
red roof, nor any single sign of human habitation and civilization
within sight. The sense of remoteness from the world of human kind, the
utter isolation, the fascination of this singular world of willows,
winds, and waters, instantly laid its spell upon us both, so that we
allowed laughingly to one another that we ought by rights to have held
some special kind of passport to admit us, and that we had, somewhat
audaciously, come without asking leave into a separate little kingdom of
wonder and magic--a kingdom that was reserved for the use of others who
had a right to it, with everywhere unwritten warnings to trespassers for
those who had the imagination to discover them.

Though still early in the afternoon, the ceaseless buffetings of a most