s there.

The Countess sat with her back to us, but rose immediately on hearing
my name. I bowed deeply as she stood up; and recovering myself from
my obeisance, looked up. Oh, merciful Heaven, with what horror I
looked!--It was no other than La Mercia! With one loud cry of "Tis she!
'tis she!" I fell fainting to the floor.

Weeks of wild raving and delirium followed. I left Paris!--I returned
to Dresden. There, all reminded me of the past. I fled from my home; and
now, after years of wandering in solitary and distant lands, I feel deep
in my heart the heavy curse that has followed upon my broken oath, and
which has made me an outcast and a broken-hearted wanderer in the world
for ever.

THE PASS OF THE ARLBERG.

Before leaving the Vorarlberg, and while now on its very frontier,
I would wish to keep some record of two very different but yet very
characteristic actions, of which this place was the scene. As you begin
the ascent of the Arlberg from the westward the road makes two very
abrupt zigzags, being carried along the edge of a deep precipice. On
looking down over the low battlements that guard the side of the way,
you discover, immediately under you, the spire and roofs of a small
village several hundred feet below. The churchyard, the little gardens,
the narrow streets, and the open "Platz," where stands a fountain, are
all mapped out distinctly. This is the village of Steuben. A strange
spot you would deem it for any to have chosen as a dwelling-place,
hemmed in between lofty mountains, on whose bleak sides the snow is
seen in the very midsummer; surrounded by wild crags and yawning clefts,
without even pasturage for any thing save a goat: but your surprise will
increase on learning that twice within the last century has this village
been swept away by falling avalanches. The first time, the snow meeting
in its descent from the mountains on either side actually formed a
bridge over a portion of the village; and the houses thus saved were
long regarded as under the special favour of the Virgin, with whose
image they were most bounteously decorated. The next calamity, however,
destroyed the prestige, for they were mingled in the common destruction.

It would be difficult for "Gentlemen of England, who live at home
in ease," to fancy any reason for this unaccountable selection of a
residence which adds the highest amount of peril to all the woes of
poverty. But every traveller has seen many such instances