without bounds, of every age and figure; some, feathered to the ground with flourishing branches; others, decayed into shapes like Lapland idols. Even at noonday I thought we should never have found our way out.

"At last, having descended a long avenue, endless perspectives opening on either side, we emerged into a valley bounded by hills, divided into irregular inclosures where many herds were grazing. A rivulet flows along the pastures beneath, and after winding through the village of Walgau loses itself in a narrow pass amongst the cliffs and precipices which rise above the cultivated slopes and frame in this happy pastoral region. All the plain was in sunshine, the sky blue, the heights illuminated, except one rugged peak with spires of rock, shaped not unlike the views I have seen of Sinai, and wrapped like that sacred mount in clouds and darkness. At the base of this tremendous mass lies the village of Mittenwald, surrounded by thickets and banks of verdure, and watered by frequent springs whose sight and murmurs were so reviving in the midst of a sultry day, that we could not think of leaving their vicinity, but remained at Mittenwald the whole evening.

"Our inn had long airy galleries, with pleasant balconies fronting the mountain; in one of which we dined upon trout fresh from the rills, and cherries just culled from the orchards that cover the slopes above. The clouds were dispersing and the topmost peak half visible, before we ended our repast, every moment discovering some inaccessible cliff or summit, shining through the mists and tinged by the sun with pale golden colours. These appearances filled me with such delight and with such a train of romantic associations, that I left the table and ran to an open field beyond the tents and gardens to gaze in solitude and catch the vision before it dissolved away.

"When all was faded and lost in the blue ether, I had time to look around me and notice the mead in which I was standing. Here, clover covered its surface; there, crops of grain; further on, beds of herbs and the sweetest flowers. An amphitheatre of hills and rocks, broken into a variety of glens and precipices, open a course for several clear rivulets, which, after gurgling amidst loose stones and fragments, fall down the steeps, and are concealed and quieted in the herbage of the vale.

"A cottage or two peep out of the woods that hang over the waterfalls; and on the brow of the hills above appears a series of eleven little chapels, uniformly built. I followed the narrow path that leads to them, on the edge of the eminences, and met a troop of beautiful peasants, all of the name of Anna, (for it was St. Anna's day) going to pay their devotions, severally, at these neat white fanes. There were faces that Guercino would not have disdained copying, with braids of hair the softest and most luxuriant I ever beheld. Some had wreathed it simply with flowers, others with rolls of thin linen (manufactured in the neighbourhood) and disposed it with a degree of elegance one should not have expected on the cliffs of the Tyrol.

"When got beyond the chapel I began to hear the roar of a cascade in a thick wood of beech and chesnut that clothes the steeps of a wide fissure in the rock. My ear soon guided me to its entrance, which was marked by a shed encompassed with mossy fragments, and almost concealed by bushes of rhododendron in full red bloom. Amongst these I struggled, till reaching a goat-track, it conducted me on the brink of the foaming waters, to the very depths of the cliff whence issues a stream, which dashing impetuously down strikes against a ledge of rocks and sprinkles the impending thicket with dew. Big drops hung on every spray, and glittered on the leaves partially gilt by the rays of the declining sun, whose mellow hues softened the rugged summits and diffused a repose, a divine calm, over this deep retirement, which inclined me to imagine it the extremity of the earth-the portal of some other region of existence, some happy world beyond the dark groves of pine, the caves and awful mountains, where the river takes its source! Impressed with this romantic idea, I hung eagerly over the gulf and fancied I could distinguish a voice bubbling up with the waters; then looked into the abyss and strained my eyes to penetrate its gloom-but all was dark and unfathomable. Awakening from my reverie, felt the damps of the water chill my forehead; and ran shivering out of the vale to avoid them. A warmer atmosphere that reigned in the meads I had wandered across before, tempted me to remain a good while longer collecting dianthi freaked with beautifully varied colours, and a species of white thyme scented like myrrh. Whilst I was

I

thus employed, a conrused murmur struck my ear, and on turning towards a cliff backed by the woods from whence the sound seemed to proceed, forth issued a herd of goats, hundreds after hundreds, skipping down the steeps: then followed two shepherd boys gambolling together as they drove their creatures along; soon after the dog made his appearance, hunting a stray heifer which brought up the rear. I followed them with my eyes till lost in the windings of the valley, and heard the tinkling of their bells die gradually away. Now the last blush of crimson left the summit of Sinai, inferior mountains being long since cast in deep blue shade. The village was already hushed when I regained it, and in a few moments I followed its example." Mr. Inglis also, in the summer of 1830, entered Tyrol by way of the great plain of Bavaria, which he describes as being very populous; villages and farm-houses being scattered thickly along the line of road, and he every where observed the evidences of industry and proofs of its reward in the cheerful countenances and respectable appearance of the peasantry.

On entering the Tyrol the scenery became finer and bolder; snow peaks began to appear, and the indications of a high elevation were numerous. At a small mountain village where the traveller halted to breakfast the scenery was still more striking, and an extraordinary number and variety of wild flowers covered the slopes and rocks by the wayside. "I gathered abundance of that beautiful and sweet-smelling flower, the fringed pink; the wild polyanthus; and the rose d'amour; the box shrub in flower formed in many places a thick underwood; large and beautiful heart's-ease entirely covered some fields; and on every knoll and slope, and rocky nook, little companies of summer flowers-unknown to me by sight or name, were nestling,enjoying sweet fellowship,-nodding to each other,-all silent, but all smiling. I gathered no fewer than thirty-two different species, thirteen of which are cultivated in the English garden.'

At Seefeld the road reaches the highest point of the Tyrolean Alps which it traverses; the road now begins to descend abruptly and steeply; at every few hundred yards the traveller becomes sensible of a change, in temperature as well as in the aspect of vegetation; the fir tree is superseded by some other forest trees; and the minute flowers that mark the more elevated regions disappear. At length the magnificent valley of the Inn, traversed by its ne river, is seen stretched below, and soon after the pedestrian enters Zirl, the first town of the Tyrol.

The dress of the peasantry first excites the attention of the traveller; he sees stockings without feet; hats tapering to the crown, something like Robinson Crusoe's; generally with green silk bands, and green tassels hanging from the crown at one side; the women with enormous white worsted caps, shaped also like sugar-loaves, and with dresses, underneath which there seems to be a hoop; but this appearance is occasioned by no fewer than ten petticoats, without which number, an elderly woman is scarcely considered to be respectably attired.

The chief object in the vicinity of Zirl to attract the attention of the traveller is the Martinswand, a gigantic buttress of the Solstein mountain, descending in an abrupt precipice, many hundred feet high, to the margin of the Inn, so as barely to leave space for the high road between it and the river. It owes its chief celebrity to an adventure of the Emperor Maximilian. That enthusiastic sportsman, led away on one occasion in pursuit of a chamois among the rocks above, unfortunately missed his footing, and rolling headlong to the verge of the precipice, was just able to arrest himself, when on the brink of destruction, by clinging with his head downwards to a ledge of rock in a spot where he could neither move up nor down, and where, to all appearance, no one could approach him. He was perceived from below in this perilous position, and as his death was deemed inevitable, prayers were offered up foot of the rock by the Abbot of Wilhan as though for a person in articulo mortis. The Emperor, finding his strength failing him, had given himself up for lost, and recommended his soul to Heaven, when a loud halloo near at hand arrested his attention. A bold and intrepid hunter named Zips, who had fled to the mountains to avoid imprisonment for poaching, had, without knowing what had happened, also been drawn to the spot in clambering after a chamois. Surprised to find a human being thus suspended between earth and sky, he uttered the cry which attracted Maximilian's at tention. Noticing the perilous nature of the case he was in a few minutes at the Emperor's side, and binding on his feet

the

his own crampons, and extending to him his sinewy arm, he succeeded with difficulty in guiding him up the face of the precipice along ledges where apparently even the chamois could not have found footing, and thus rescued him from a situation of such hopeless peril that the common people even now attribute his escape to the miraculous interposition of an angel. The spot where this occurred, now hollowed out into a cave in the face of the rock, is marked by a crucifix, which though eighteen feet in height, is so far above the high road that it is scarcely visible from thence. It is now rendered accessible by a steep and rather difficult path, and may be reached in about half an hour's walk from Zirl. The cave is seven hundred and fifty feet above the river, and the precipice is so vertical that a plumb line might be dropped from it into the high road below. It is traditionally stated that Maximilian rewarded the huntsman with the title of Count Hollooer von Hohenfelsen, in token of his gratitude, and in reference to the exclamation uttered by him which had sounded so welcome to the Emperor's ears as announcing that relief was at hand. By the Emperor's pension list, still in existence, it appears that a sum of sixteen florins was annually paid to one Zips of Zirl.

The above incident has been made the subject of a short poem, by Collin, one of Germany's most graceful poets.

Having visited the Martinswand there is nothing in Zirl itself to delay the progress of the traveller; he therefore passes on by the side of the river along the road to Innsbrück. On approaching this town the prospect is superb. "The valley of the Inn, from one to about three miles wide, is seen stretching far to the eastward covered with varied and luxuriant vegetation, thickly studded with houses, and traversed by the broad, rapid, and brimful river: high mountains, mostly clothed with wood, inclose the valley on both sides, and nearly in the centre of it, stands Inspruck, like the monarch of a small but beautiful dominion. The peasants were in the fields, busy with their Indian corn, which is the staple produce of the valley, and all who have seen this beautiful plant growing in luxuriance, and covering a wide expanse, will admit that a more captivating prospect is not easy to be imagined." On crossing the bridge from which the town derives its name, the traveller finds himself in the capital of the Tyrol, which has already been described in the pages of this work*.

SECTION 4.

FROM INNSBRÜCK TO KUFSTEIN.

From Innsbrück, Mr. Inglis proceeded to Hall, passing through fine meadows, fields of Indian corn, and villages charmingly situated in little amphitheatres at the foot of the mountains. Hall is described as being smoky and black, bearing upon its front the appearance of great antiquity. Gloomy old houses flank narrow winding streets; scarcely one modern building is to be seen: the ancient wall, dark towers, and little gates, yet remain, as well as the deep ditch, and recall to mind the wars of early times, of which Hall was so often the scene. One of the gates bears an inscription in which the year 1351 is distinctly visible.

A large government salt-manufactory is situated at this place, and has been in operation ever since the commencement of the fourteenth century. The native salt, at four leagues distance, after being dissolved in water at the mines, is conveyed to Hall, in little rivulets which flow in troughs laid for the purpose, there to be reconverted into crystals. Nine cauldrons are employed, the five largest of them about thirty-six feet in diameter. They are made of iron, and have an opening at one side, by a joint, in order that they may be cleaned out when necessary. The salt water, being previously heated, is admitted into the cauldrons to the depth of eight inches; and is kept boiling during three hours, at the end of which time the solution has sunk about two and a half inches in depth; and a great quantity of salt has been deposited. Each cauldron thus produces from twenty to twenty-four quintals, (from 2000 to 2400 lbs.) so that one cauldron will produce, by the ordinary number of boilings, one hundred and seventy quintals of crystallized salt. The whole manufactory is capable of producing 120,200 lbs of salt per day. The value of the salt thus

See Saturday Magazine, Vol. VIII., pp. 137 to 140, where the reader will also find a sketch of the glorious struggle between the Tyrol

ese and their French invaders in the year 1809. In the first volume of the Saturday Magazine, p. 39, Mr. Latrobe's Summer Ramble in the Tyrol is noticed, and in Vol. XIV., p. 28, a curious method of fishing in the Tyrol is detailed.

produced is about 100,000%. sterling, and the clear revenue to the government is nearly 80,000%.

A visit to the salt mines conducts the traveller through some striking mountain scenery. After leaving Hall, Mr. Inglis says, "In less than half an hour I found myself at the foot of the chain of mountains that bound the valley to the north, and at the mouth of a narrow ravine, traversed by a furious torrent. A path leads up to the ravine towards the mines, which lie about eight miles further, in the heart of the mountain. I have seldom ascended a steeper path than this; or one more interesting from the sublimity of the scenery that lay around. The grandeur of the views and the ruggedness of the objects in traversing a gorge that penetrates so many miles into the recesses of the mountain may be imagined; and perhaps it is better to leave all to the imagination than to attempt a description. Enormous masses of overhanging rock seemed to be suspended above almost by a miracle; old pine forests hung upon the rugged cliffs; the torrent that rushed by was here and there spanned by bridges of snow, while huge unmelted avalanches lay in its bed; cascades tumbled from a hundred heights, some close by the path, some heard at a great elevation above, while peaks, some dark, some snowy, many thousand feet high, almost closed over head, and seemed to jut into the sky. At length, in the midst of this wild scene, a cluster of houses was seen above, where the gorge loses itself among precipices; and where the torrent has separated into a hundred tiny feeders, oozing from the beds of snow. At this wild spot, stands the miners' inn."

The traveller being clothed in a suitable dress, with a staff in his hand, and preceded by lighted torches, follows the conductor into the mine. "The visit commences with a descent of three hundred steps, when one may fairly believe himself in the bowels of the mountain. 'Tis a strange empire one finds in these dismal abodes: life is a different thing when sunlight is withdrawn; and there is an icy feeling falls upon the heart as well as on the senses when we look around these dismal galleries, and dark walls, dimly lighted by a few ineffectual flambeaux that convey truly the idea of darkness visible;' and scan the dark subterranean lakes, whose extent and profundity the eye cannot guess but by the plunge of a fragment of the roof, and the dim glimmer of the lights; and hear the distant stroke of the miner's axe, far in the interior of the caverns; and still more do we feel the difference between the world above and regions such as these, when we reach the solitary miner, in some vast cavern, with his single candle, striking his axe ever and ever into the dull wall: but along with these feelings, astonishment and admiration are engendered at the power of man, whose perseverance has hollowed out the mountain, and with his seemingly feeble instruments, his human arms and little axe,-has waged war with the colossal works of nature."

The results of the miner's toil appear almost incredible. No fewer than forty-eight caverns had been formed, each from one to two acres in size; one of the galleries is three leagues in length, and to traverse all the galleries would occupy six days. When these subterraneous caverns are formed, the miners detach fragments of the native salt from the roof and walls;-and when the cavern is sufficiently filled with these, pure water is let in, which dissolves the salt, and the solution is conveyed by conduits to Hall as already noticed. "Occasionally a distant sound is heard, approaching nearer and nearer, which one might easily mistake for the rushing of water: this is occasioned by the little chariots, which carry away rubbish to the mouth of the ravine; the path is a railroad, and these little chariots fly along it with frightful rapidity. When the sound is heard approaching, it is necessary to retire into one of the niches that are formed in the wall,-and the young miners, seated in front of the chariots, seem, as they rush by, like gnomes directing their infernal cars.'

The number of miners is about three hundred: the amount of wages is miserably small: they are paid according to seniority, the oldest get thirty kreutzers, and the youngest about half that sum. They work and rest four hours alternately. Sunday is a holiday, and the great feasts of the Catholic church are also observed. "Interesting and curious as a spectacle of this kind is, it is impossible to be restored to the common sun and air,' without a feeling of satisfaction; we are almost surprised to find how genial the sunshine is, and how beautiful the sky,-and we drop with cheerfulness a mite into the poor miner's box."

Once more emerging from the dense cloud of smoke that

POUSSIN AND HIS WORKS.

III.

We left Poussin at Paris, enjoying the well-merited honours which the French court bestowed upon him. The Other distinctions were yet in store for him. king, wishing to mark in a particular manner his esteem for the artist, appointed him his chief painter, the superintendent of all his galleries, and the director of the restorations of the royal palaces. In addition to his other works, he was required to furnish eight large cartoons, which were to be executed in tapestry for the royal apartments. To facilitate the prompt execution of this work, Poussin was permitted to repeat on a larger scale some of his compositions already known, such as “The Manna in the Desert," and "The Striking of the Rock." He was also commissioned to adorn the great gallery of the Louvre, and to decorate that vast building according to his own taste.

Although the greater part of these projects could not be executed by one man, however great his industry and skilful his assistants, yet the presence of Poussin at Paris was highly beneficial to French art. He furnished a large number of plans for restorations and decorations; he introduced casts of some of the most beautiful works of antiquity, which seemed to him to be alone worthy of serving as models for sculpture and architecture; he proposed to cast in bronze the colossal statues of Monte Cavallo, and to place them at the gate of the Louvre. In short, all that the liberal genius of Francis the First had conceived, Poussin was willing to execute. An artist of repute was sent to Rome to carry out the suggestions of Poussin, and in a short time moulds, taken from some of the finest works of sculpture and architecture in Rome, were sent to Paris, and careful copies of some of the most celebrated pictures in Italy were executed.

But by degrees, the enthusiasm which the presence and plans of Poussin had excited grew cold; as it was natural it should do, when his patrons had no higher feeling than vanity to gratify. The favours which he had already received excited the envy of his rivals in art, and they constantly opposed his designs and thwarted his plans. His time was wasted in defending himself to his patrons, who could scarcely appreciate the merits of the questions at issue; and who did not hesitate to waste his time in employments which were beneath him. He was ordered to design frontispieces for the books printed at the royal printing-office. The first that he furnished was that to the Bible, printed early in 1642, commonly known by the name of The Bible of Sixtus the Fifth; and he afterwards designed those for the Horace and Virgil, printed about the same time. The following extract from one of his letters to Del Pozzo, dated the 20th of September, 1641, will best show the nature of his employments. He says:

I am labouring without intermission, sometimes at one thing, and sometimes at another. I should do this wil lingly, but that they hurry me in things that require time and thought. I assure you, that if I stay long in this country, I must turn dauber like the rest here. As to study and observation, either of the antique or of anything else, they are unknown, and whoever wishes to study or to excel must go far from hence. The stuccoes and painting of the great gallery are begun after my designs, but very little to my satisfaction, because I can get no one to second me, although I make drawings both on a large and a small scale for them. I have put "The Last Supper" in its place, that is, in the chapel of St. Germains, and it succeeds very well. I am now at work upon the picture for the noviciate of the Jesuits; it is very large, containing fourteen figures larger than nature, and this they want me to finish in two months.

This picture was finished at the prescribed time, and the admiration it met with was the first signal for all who envied Poussin's good fortune and reputation, to commence those persecutions against him which ren

dered his abode in Paris disagreeable, and at length drove him from it. Vouet and his party found themselves neglected, and they brought all kinds of accusations against Poussin respecting his style of painting and his method of directing the public works entrusted to him; and although the king, the queen, and Cardinal Richelieu, continued to be friendly, yet Poussin was evi dently disgusted with the constant turmoil in which his opponents contrived to keep him, as well as the employ ment which his patrons gave him. In another of his letters he says:" The employment given me is not so important, but that they take me from it to superintend new designs for tapestry. I wish they would give me something to do where lofty and noble designs could be employed; but, to say the truth, there is nothing here that deserves staying long for." Again, in another letter, he writes:-"They employ me for ever in trifles, such as frontispieces for books; designs for ornamental cabinets; chimney-pieces, bindings of books, and other nonsense."

In the midst of all this dissatisfaction, Poussin's thoughts turned fondly towards Rome, and he became at length so impatient to return to his family, that he ap plied for leave of absence, which he obtained on condi tion that he returned as soon as he had put his affairs in order. Before quitting Paris, he executed his picture in which Time liberates Truth from the attacks of Envy, Hatred, and Malevolence, a memorial of the vexatious contests in which he had been engaged, and of his sense of the verdict of posterity in his favour.

After an absence of two years, Poussin again entered Rome, towards the end of 1642. His return was welcomed as a sort of triumph. The favours which he had received from the French court seemed in the estimation of many to exalt his talents; every one wished to see him, to congratulate him on his brilliant success; he alone was the only one not dazzled by the favours of fortune; that same philosophy which formed the basis of his character, saved him from indulging in pride or vanity, which perhaps every one but himself would have ex cused. He found in his humble home an affectionate wife; he enjoyed the esteem of a few sincere friends, and this state of happiness, contrasted with the disagreeable cabals of the court, rendered him averse to return to Paris.

a series of

His first employment after his return was to fulfil the engagements he had contracted in France. He finished the "Sacraments" for M. de Chantelou, pictures which, for a long time, formed one of the prin cipal attractions of the Orleans collection; they were purchased by the late Duke of Bridgewater, for the sum of four thousand nine hundred guineas, and are now in the collection of Lord Francis Egerton. Poussin also painted at this time his beautiful picture of "Rebecca at the Well," which is full of truth, grace, and beauty.

It was not long after Poussin's return to Rome that Louis the Thirteenth and the Cardinal de Richelieu died; and M. Desnoyers, his chief patron, having re tired from court, the public works in which Poussin had been engaged were superseded by political troubles; and feeling himself thus released from all his engagements, Poussin no longer thought of returning to Paris.

Being free from all anxiety, he resumed his simple frugal mode of life, and devoted all his time to the exercise of his art. He had just quitted the frontiers of ambition and of fortune, but such a man could not sink in his modest dwelling at Rome, than under the gilded into obscurity: his reputation shone with greater lustre roofs of the Louvre. There, during the long period of three-and-twenty years, he continued to produce his admirable works, finishing them with the greatest care, and never allowing them to leave his hands until he was fully satisfied with them.

In appreciating the value of his own pictures he dis played singular disinterestedness. He always fixed the price, and marked it at the back of his picture, and if