heart than it is this moment, when I am about to give you my lucubrations, not from a green valley, or a mountain's side, but from a Tyrolese bed (which as well as other things I must describe to you) in the large, rude, solitary Inn, where it was my lot to spend more time than I had calculated upon. We proceeded through the charming scenery of the Unter-Innthal, or lower valley of the Inn, to the village of Strass, which indeed appears chiefly to consist of one great stone house bearing the aspect both of a farm-house and inn. We had travelled in a vehicle of the roughest and most uncouth description; our progress was necessarily slow; as we approached this beautifully situated house, the shades of evening began to appear more rapidly than we had anticipated; and in descending from our awkward conveyance-either from the fact of having had too much help, from our host and his co-adjutors, -or that the jolting we had gone through had caused a predisposition to such an accident: but in simply putting my foot to the ground I managed to dislocate my ankle. Here then, behold the Gnädig Frau, overwhelmed with attentions and honours, but laid upon a bed in sight of the valley she is not permitted to enter.

*

I must occupy myself in making sketches of what is within my reach, and you must take this letter for better for worse, remembering the pain of a sprained ankle. My Tyrolese bed is certainly the most proximate object for a sketch at present: (you will conclude that no such thing as a couch or sofa is to be had) this bed in form, resembles the simple model of a wide coffin. It is, of course, without drapery of any kind, but its fine white sheets, and immense pillows, are

* A title of respect signifying noble lady.

trimmed with a broad handsome fringe, made of thread, and of a lace pattern; the window-curtains are made of coloured muslin, tastefully arranged; the floor is not quite clean, and the furniture is about as good as would be seen in an English labourer's cottage. There is no appearance of any possible means of making the toilet, but I have the satisfaction of knowing, that when I ask for washing materials, a thing something like a small Pie-dish, will be brought, with an economical quantity of water in a jug, equally small, and a towel still smaller, all of which will disappear as soon as they have been used. Then for the looking-glass -how is it that the Tyrolese do make themselves so very smart, if all their glasses are arranged like that in my room-you will laugh, but I assure you I stood on the table, (when my ankle was well) to get a peep at myself in the mirror, which hung on the wall, so that the upper end touched the ceiling. If it had been on the ceiling, so as to reflect the objects below, I should have thought it had been designed to answer some purpose. Then there is our host, who stands beside me with so many expressions of concern. Such a fine specimen of the Tyrolese, with his strict, firm-built figure, his independent carriage, and free movements; his national dress consisting of a dark round jacket, black velveteens, bright blue stockings, a curiously embroidered leather girdle, (generally bearing some religious sentence worked in white letters) and the pointed hat, which seems a component part of the male and female Tyrolese, adorned with an eagle's feather, or a bright bouquet of pink artificial flowers, the latter still more worn by the men than by the women.

Also, there is my Kellnerin, or female waiter, carrying always her round hat on her head, her dark boddice

without sleeves, and the white linen sleeves of the under-garment reaching nearly to the elbow, flounced with the same lace trimming as that which trims the sheets. These are the home sketches, but from these I must turn ; for lo! the moon rises up, and the shadows that darkened the view before me, are gone. I am laid on a bed, directly opposite a window, which presents me with such a scene!

Nature! how often hath a weary and world-worn heart owned and blessed thy power-and in blessing it, hath blessed thy Creator. The only joy that re mains the same in a changeful world: almost the only friend who never left a thorn in my path.-Nature !—to be alone with thee in thy greatness or loveliness, still teaches me that life hath pleasures; still teaches me the soul which suffers was formed to enjoy ;-still kindles those fleeting aspirations which tell me I am not wholly of the earth, earthy; still prompt those longings to know the invisible things of Him,' whose Eternal Power and Godhead are understood by the things that are made. High up, straight before me, rose a beautiful pano-snow-capped mountains; the lately fallen snow gemming their sides, though the weather was very warm; the full bright moon, in her serene and quiet majesty, shedding a light as clear, but softer, more poetic, than that of day-the clear blue sky without cloud or star, seemed all to own her empire.

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Along the foot of the rocky mountain, wound the road we had traversed, and the valley spread beyond. High up on the steep eminence, white statues gleamed curiously in that gentle light, and on the sunny mountain side. They marked the way to the Chapel and hermitage of Brettfall, built on the summit. This is what is called in Germany, a Calvarienberg, or Mount

Calvary; in French, it bears the more touching title of Le chemin de la Croix-the way of the Cross-which Christ trod to the Mount of Calvary. Oh! how miserably poor the attempt to depict that way.

Generally on approaching these places, there is something too low, too mean, or perhaps burlesque, in their execution, to excite, even in the minds that are not offended by such visible and tangible means of prompting devotion, the sentiments they are intended to produce; but seen thus at a distance, in the moonlight, and on the snowy mountain these white statues tracing out the path, to the hermitage where two monks reside, and the Chapel had a mystical and picturesque effect, which certainly added much to the beauty of my view, At the other side, the prospect was still fairer, but less striking and curious-one that the eye lingered on with more affection, if with less admiration.

The Zillerthal, or valley of the Ziller,* opened out nearly before the house where the great rocky mountains give place to an extended plain, Further on, a ruined Castle, standing on a fine eminence near the road leading to Salzburg, was the most prominent objectits name is a rather mysterious one-The Chateau of the Goitre.

I think I have sketched everything I can see, as I look out from my Tyrolese bed; and wile away the pain of a sprained ankle with gazing on mountains and vallies, and moonlight scenery. So now I will tell you something of what I think about the Tyrolese people, and this must fill up my letter. I know your sentiments and mine do not agree, and you cannot estimate as I do, the character and sacrifice of the Protestant

* Thal, signifies valley. The Ziller, or quivering, is the name of the river

Zillerthalers, because in many respects, I think, you misjudge them nationally. For instance, I have heard you object to the reputed patriotism of the Tyrolese, on account of their loyalty to the despotic house of Austria. I have heard you contend, that their wonderful defence of their mountain-land, against the claims of Bavaria, and the will of that great self-constituted disposer of thrones and kingdoms, Napoleon Buonaparte, ought not to be considered a proof of patriotism, since they only resisted one authority to submit to another.

Tyrol, however, (I speak in my letters only of the German, not the Italian Tyrol) belongs to the house of Austria, not by right of conquest, but by that of descent. In the charming vale of the Adige-where we travelled in the Diligence along the public road, as if in our English vinery, or hot-house, with the vines trelliced entirely over it, and the rich clusters of delicious grapes forming a boundary at each side, and a nearly impervious roof overhead, we saw also the fine old castle of Teriolis, which gave the title of Tyrol to the country, and was the residence of its native Princes down to the middle of the fourteenth century, when the marriage of its last hereditary Princess, Margaret Maultasch-or as she is singularly named-Pocketmouthed Meg, with an Austrian Prince, was the means of annexing 'the Little Land,' as her ancient dominions are still called, upon her death, to the House of Austria.

The Tyrolese therefore look upon the Emperor of Austria as their legitimate Sovereign, and do not regard him as one who held them in subjection by a usurped power. Their loyalty is almost as great as their patriotism; indeed, I think on Phrenological