ng. The speaker was
a very large and singularly handsome man, who, though far advanced in
life, walked with a stature as erect, and an air as assured, as he could
have worn in youth. Large bushy eye-brows, black as jet, although his
hair was perfectly white, shaded eyes of undimmed brilliancy--he was
evidently "some one," the least observant could not pass him without
this conviction. I asked a stranger who he was, and received for answer,
"Marshal Marmont--he comes here almost every autumn."

CHAPTER II. THE TYROL

Every traveller in the Tyrol must have remarked, that, wherever the way
is difficult of access, or dangerous to traverse, some little shrine or
statue is always to be seen, reminding him that a higher Power than his
own watches over his safety, and suggesting the fitness of an appeal to
Him who is "A very present help in time of trouble."

Sometimes a rude painting upon a little board, nailed on a tree,
communicates the escape and gratitude of a traveller; sometimes a still
ruder fresco, on the very rock, tells where a wintry torrent had swept
away a whole family, and calling on all pious Christians who pass that
way to offer a prayer for the departed. There is an endless variety in
these little "Votive Tablets," which are never more touching than when
their very rude poverty attests the simplest faith of a simple people.
The Tyrolers are indeed such. Perhaps alone, of all the accessible parts
of Europe, the Tyrol has preserved its primitive habits and tastes for
centuries unchanged. Here and there, throughout the continent, to be
sure, you will find some little "Dorf," or village, whose old-world
customs stand out in contrast to its neighbours; and where in their
houses, dress, and bearing, the inhabitants seem unlike all else around
them. Look more closely, however, and you will see that, although the
grandmother is clothed in homespun, and wears her leathern pocket at her
girdle, all studded with copper nails, that her grandaughter affects a
printed cotton or a Swiss calico; and instead of the broad-brimmed and
looped felt of the old "Bauer," the new generation sport broad-cloth and
beaver.

Such hamlets are, therefore, only like the passengers left behind by
their own coach, and waiting for the next conveyance that passes to
carry them on their journey.

In the Tyrol, however, such evidences of progress--as it is the fashion
to call it--are rare. The peasantry seem content to live as their
fa