haus, is little known beyond Tyrol. Left
an orphan at five years old, he lost his sight in the small-pox, and
was taken into the house of a carpenter who compassionated his sad
condition. Here he endeavoured to learn something of his protector's
trade; but soon relinquishing the effort, he set to work, forming little
images in wood, at first from models, and then self-designed, till,
at the age of thirteen, he completed a crucifix of singular beauty and
elegance.

Following up the inspiration, he now laboured assiduously at his new
craft, and made figures of various saints and holy personages, for his
mind was entirely imbued with a feeling of religious fervour; and to
such an extent that, in order to speak his devotion by another sense, he
actually learned to play the organ, and with such a proficiency, that he
performed the duties of organist for nearly a year in the village church
of Kaltenbrunnen. As sculptor, his repute is widely spread and great in
Tyrol. A St. Francis by his hand is at present in the Ambras collection
at Vienna; many of his statues adorn the episcopal palaces of Chur and
Brixen, and the various churches throughout the province.

Leaving the sculptor and his birthplace, which already a mountain mist
is shrouding, I hasten on, for my passport is at last discovered to be
in order, and I am free to pursue my road to Meran.

Of all spots in the Tyrol, none can compare with Merah, the wildest
character of mountain uniting with a profusion of all that vegetation
can bring. The snow peak, the glacier, the oak forest, the waving fields
of yellow corn, the valley, one vast vineyard--where have such elements
of grandeur and simple beauty in scenery been so gloriously commingled?
And then the little town itself--what a strange reminiscence of
long-buried years! The street--there is properly but one--with its deep
arched passages, within which the quaint old shops, without windows,
display their wares; and the courtyards, galleried around, story above
story, and covered at top by a great awning to keep off the sun; for
already Italy is near, and the odour of the magnolia and oleander is
felt from afar.

I wandered into one of these courts last night; the twilight was
closing, and there was a strange, mysterious effect in the dim distances
upwards, where figures came and went along the high-perched galleries.
Beyond the court lay a garden, covered over with a vine-roofed trellis,
under whose shade various