nce as these Tyrolean mountaineers--descendants of
those peasants, remember, who, led by Andreas Hofer, successfully defied
the dictates of Napoleon. Though I think that she is going about the
business of assimilating these unwilling subjects with tact and common
sense, I do not envy Italy her task. Generally speaking, the sympathy of
the world is always with a weak people as opposed to a strong one, as
England discovered when she attempted to impose her rule upon the Boers.
Once let the Italian administration of the Upper Adige permit itself to
be provoked into undue harshness (and there will be ample provocation;
be certain of that); once let an impatient and over-zealous
governor-general attempt to bend these stubborn mountaineers too
abruptly to his will; let the local Italian officials provide the
slightest excuse for charges of injustice or oppression, and Italy will
have on her hands in Tyrol far graver troubles than those brought on by
her adventure in Tripolitania.

Though the Government has announced that Italian must become the
official language of the newly acquired region, and that used in its
schools, no attempt will be made to root out the German tongue or to
tamper with the local usages and customs. The upper valleys, where
German is spoken, will not, however, enjoy any form of local autonomy
which would tend to set their inhabitants apart from those of the lower
valleys, for it is realized that such differential treatment would only
serve to retard the process of unification. All of the new districts,
German and Italian-speaking alike, will be included in the new province
of Trent. It is entirely probable that Italy's German-speaking subjects
of the present generation will prove, if not actually irreconcilable, at
least mistrustful and resentful, but, by adhering to a policy of
patience, sympathy, generosity and tact, I can see no reason why the
next generation of these mountaineers should not prove as loyal Italians
as though their fathers had been born under the cross of the House of
Savoy instead of under the double-eagle of the Hapsburgs.

We crossed the Line of the Armistice into Austria an hour or so beyond
Meran, the road being barred at this point by a swinging beam, made
from the trunk of a tree, which could be swung aside to permit the
passage of vehicles, like the bar of an old-fashioned country toll-gate.
Close by was a rude shelter, built of logs, which provided sleeping
quarters for the h