162 BecoUections of Scenes and Cilics. [^August, 



a wild but monotonous mountain air ; a cow, and five goats, were feed- 

 ing around her — and there she sat, with her httle flock — a beautiful 

 and perfect image of placidity ; how strangely contrasted with the 

 angry, impetuous, and roaring torrent that rushed by. I wish Words- 

 worth had seen this picture — he could have made it immortal. 



]\Iost people have heard of IMount Brenner. It was a few weeks 

 earlier when I walked into the very small village that bears its name, 

 and which is situated at the summit of the pass. "Spring comes slowly 

 up that way" — for although in the low grounds the woods were leafy, 

 and summer had spread around her garb of beauty, its only indication 

 at Brenner was the bright green of tlie fir-tree's tender shoots. No- 

 where in Europe is simplicity of manners so untainted as in the Tyrol. 

 At six o'clock in the evening, a small treble chime from the village 

 church called the villagers to prayer, and they all obeyed the sum- 

 mons; the two or three little shops wei*e shut up, the cottages were 

 locked, even the inn-doors were closed, and some seventy or eighty 

 people, old and young, the whole inhabitants of the village, re- 

 paired to church. I did not remain alone in the inn, but went with the 

 flock. There was little of the pomp and majesty of the Catholic church 

 to be seen there ; it was as lowly a house, and as unadorned as any of 

 our protestant temples ; but for the single image of the Redeemer, it 

 might have been a meeting house. I saw much apparent, and I have 

 no doubt, genuine devotion, among these simple-minded villagers. 



Of all the towns in the Tyrol, T like Botzen the best; I like it for its si- 

 tuation, I like its cleanliness, I like its excellent inn, and civil landlord; 

 and as for its inhabitants, their manners are nearly as primitive as they are 

 at Brenner. I have seen ladies returning from mass at five in the morn- 

 ing ; dinner is generally served by half-past eleven, and at eight o'clock, 

 the streets of Botzen are almost as quiet as they are in other towns at 

 midnight. It chanced to be the annual fair, when I was there, and 

 I shall not easily forget the picturesque dresses of the peasantry. A 

 noble peasantry are the Tyroleans ; and well are their tall, slight, but 

 firmly knit figures set-off by their dress ; the tight breeches and white 

 stockings, shew well the lower part of the figure, and there is a peculiar 

 smartness in the high hat tapering to the crown, w'ith its green silk 

 tassels. But what shall we say of the women, who conceal the 

 form within as many folds as might serve for the wrappings of a 

 mummy ? At first, one supposes they are decorated with hoops, but 

 tlie rotinidity is occasioned by ten petticoats, without which number 

 no woman can be considered respectably or modestly attired. 



Riva, beautiful Riva ! let me add thee to my recollections of the 

 Tyrol. It is a charming journey from Roveredo to Riva ; mul- 

 berry trees line the road, and vines are trained from tree to tree — and 

 at every door, maidens are seen sitting, winding silk. It was a lonely 

 evening when I descended the steep mountain of Riva, and saw below 

 me the Lago di Garda, stretching down almost to Verona ; the win- 

 dows of the inn look down upon the lake, and one or two pomegranates — - 

 then with their bright crimson blossoms — and a crooked fig-tree, hung 

 over the water. 



But I have yet one other portrait to offer ; it is the house of Hoffer, 

 in the retired valley of the Passauer. 1 walked thither from Meran, 

 and passed the night in it — for it is now indeed " liberty hall," having 

 been converted into a little inn. The brawling Passauer runs past the 



