I had occasion in May last to traverse a considerable portion of the Tyrol; not on foot, however, as such a journey ought to be performed, but in the diligence. Among the finest specimens of the picturesque I saw in the whole country, was the Castle of Salurn.-Some idea may be formed of the extravagant situation of this ruin, from a vignette in the Number of Mr. Brockedon's work on the Alps, which relates to the Pass of the Brenner, but only a very faint one. The very preciseness of painting, in fact, which usually gives it the advantage over poetry in description, renders it in this case less faithful to the object. It materializes as it were, what seems nothing more than an odd and fantastic idea, even when subjected to the scrutiny of the senses. At Salurn, all is dim, and shadowy, and visionary. The scenery is supernatural. It associates itself, in spite of our waking faculties, with dreams and nightly terrors, and the recollections of our haunted youth.

B

Conceive a vast range of mountains overhanging the valley of the Adige, which seems to have been formed originally of a single rock, broken many ages ago, in some convulsion of nature into fragments. Several of these vast masses appear to pierce the clouds with their jagged pinnacles; others, more hideous, bend over the valley as if laughing at the law of gravitation; while many, subdivided into portions, individually huge but comparatively minute, encumber the mountain side with their unwieldy ruins. One enormous cliff, however, in front of the picture, attracts more particularly the observation of the traveller. It is wholly unconnected with the mountain, with which it seems to vie in height, and is of a form singularly terrific to the imagination. Everywhere, it presents sides that appear to be inaccessible from their steepness, even to the chamois; and next the mountain especially, the gulf between, darkened by eternal shadow, looks like the entrance of hell itself. The top is broken into pinnacles, hung with ivy and lichen; and perched on these pinnacles are the ruins of the Castle of Salurn.

I could learn very little of the history of this remarkable object. Salurn, it seems, was a ritterbourg, or knightly castle, of some importance in the middle ages; but the immediate causes of its falling into decay are unknown. Neumaier von Ramszla, an old German traveller, says boldly, that it was impregnable till stormed by spirits; when the family immediately

"Wanderbuchlein,"

took to flight. A later visiter, Professor Schubert of Erlingen, assures us in his that he himself saw something. For my part, I saw nothing but old walls, most romantically situated; and I should have been very well satisfied to have attributed their dilapidation to the change that has taken place in the system of warfare and the habits of the people, had it not been for one of my fellow travellers.

This person was a Bavarian, apparently of the military order, and bore the marks of having been handsome in his youth. He was, however, much disfigured by hard service; and over and above a most ghastly complexion, had a pair of eyes that no one could meet unmoved. What was their particular form or colour, I know not; but perhaps Mr. Coleridge can tell-for I am sure they resembled those of the Ancient Mariner. When I inquired the name and history of the Ritterbourg, he gave me a look which I shall never forget. Nay, he seemed to be on the point of speaking; but glancing suddenly at our companions, he leaned back in his dark corner of the vehicle, where nothing could be seen but the glare of his singular eyes in the gloom.

Several times in the course of the journey to Botzen, where we were to rest for the night, my thoughts recurred involuntarily to Salurn. As we left the magical influence of the place itself, however, I was able to smile at the hold which had been taken of my imagination by the stranger, in connexion with the ruined

castle. It is true, thought I, he is an elderly man, but he cannot be six or seven hundred years old; in spite of his remarkable eyes, he is not the Wandering Jew! He is old enough, however, to know something which may be forgotten by other people, and that may be interesting to a dreamer like myself. I will ask him to supper.

The invitation was given and accepted.

We arrived

at Botzen on a cold, dark, uncomfortable night. When entering the room appropriated to me, an object I encountered at the door, still more unhinged my feelings. It was the representation, admirably well executed, of a corpse standing erect-naked, ghastly, wounded, and dabbled with blood. From the cross and other peculiarities, I perceived that it was one of those statues of our Saviour which are met with at every turn, both in and out of doors, in this part of the Tyrol. It was the first I had seen, and made my blood run cold with horror. The room was large, carpetless, floored with tile, and without fire. The rain beat against the casements, which rattled in reply. As the wind rushed groaning down the chimney, the flames of the candles wavered, forming winding-sheets innumerable on the white tallow. I wished that I had not asked the stranger to supper.

He came. He was a silent, but not an unsociable man. He ate his supper without much speaking; and when the substantials had given place to walnuts and a

bottle of Burgundy, he hemmed several times, and fastening his eyes upon me, awaited the signal which he knew was to be forthcoming.

"Touching this castle of Salurn," said I, "and its history, and antiquities.”

he.

66

"I know nothing of its history and antiquities,” said

"You surprise me, sir!"

"Why so? I am indeed a sort of antique myself— but I am not the Wandering Jew."

"That is just what I was thinking." The stranger smiled. "I mean," continued I, "that I should not take you to be so very elderly a personage. But the truth is, I imagined from a certain intelligence in your expression as we passed Salurn, that you could tell something about the castle if you would."

"You were right. My story, however, is a modern one; and one that, connected as it is with my family history and reviving recollections, some of pain, and all of interest, I do not choose to recite in a public company. My visit to Salurn was attended, most unexpectedly to me, with circumstances of public moment: and as you appear to be actuated by nothing more than literary curiosity, you are welcome to listen to a page of Tyrolese history." I apologized to the old man for my folly, (discovering at the moment, as the warm hue of life was spread over his complexion by the effects of the wine, that his eyes were not so very remark