hour with the family. The man and his wife spoke of the
delightful scenery around them, and expressed themselves with
correctness and even elegance. They were much pleased that I admired
their village so greatly, and related every thing which they supposed
could interest me. As I rose to go, my head nearly touched the ceiling,
which was very low. The man exclaimed: "Ach Gott! how tall!" I told him
the people were all tall in our country; he then asked where I came
from, and I had no sooner said America, than he threw up his hands and
uttered an ejaculation of the greatest surprise. His wife observed that
"it was wonderful how far man was permitted to travel." They wished me a
prosperous journey and a safe return home.

St. Gilgen was also interesting to me from that beautiful chapter in
"Hyperion"--"Footsteps of Angels,"--and on passing the church on my way
back to the inn, I entered the graveyard mentioned in it. The green turf
grows thickly over the rows of mounds, with here and there a rose
planted by the hand of affection, and the white crosses were hung with
wreaths, some of which had been freshly laid on. Behind the church,
under the shade of a tree, stood a small chapel,--I opened the
unfastened door, and entered. The afternoon sun shone through the side
window, and all was still around. A little shrine, adorned with flowers,
stood at the other end, and there were two tablets on the wall, to
persons who slumbered beneath, I approached these and read on one of
them with feelings not easily described: "Look not mournfully into the
past--it comes not again; wisely improve the present--it is thine; and
go forward to meet the shadowy future, without fear, and with a manly
heart!" This then was the spot where Paul Flemming came in loneliness
and sorrow to muse over what he had lost, and these were the words whose
truth and eloquence strengthened and consoled him, "as if the unknown
tenant of the grave had opened his lips of dust and spoken those words
of consolation his soul needed." I sat down and mused a long time, for
there was something in the silent holiness of the spot, that impressed
me more than I could well describe.

We reached a little village on the Fuschel See, the same evening, and
set off the next morning for Salzburg. The day was hot and we walked
slowly, so that it was not till two o'clock that we saw the castellated
rocks on the side of the Gaissberg, guarding the entrance to the valley
of Salzburg.