ioned shelf within tempts one to lean and look out by the hour together. But as I looked from the window of the Oesterreichischer Hof, (forgive the numerous syllables! I will never call it by its name again, but it was too good a hotel to be left nameless,) I observed, first, a somewhat cloudy sky, growing slowly clearer, and looking to the left, down the street, a range of hills much the same as we had yesterday seen all along the valley of the river. Also, I saw before me, a clean, wide street, and opposite, the solid, lofty houses usual in continental cities. This much having reconnoitred, coffee arrived, and I came back to the table without any novel impressions regarding the external world.

Breakfast over, I was looking over the guide-book, when John and Arthur, our fellow-travellers a few days before from Munich, came in. John, a tourist old in experience, though not in years, went straight to the window, and leaning out till he nearly lost his balance, remained in that attitude some minutes, gazing earnestly down the street. Then he drew in his head and inquired if we had seen the mountains. I said yes, in an indifferent tone. "I don't believe you have," he rejoined, "come and see them." I went. It was quite true. I had not seen them. Mountains! I should think they were! What I had seen half an hour before were still in view, over them clouds, and over the clouds, far, far up the sky, the great mountain masses towered like perpendicular walls. The people of Innsbruck like to say that "the wolves prowling upon the mountaintops can look down into the streets of the city," and it is scarcely exaggerated, if a wolf has as sharp eyes as his cousin, the lynx!

The highest of these mountains is nearly nine thousand feet above the sea, and seven thousand feet above the river at its feet, and so surround the wide, level valley in which Innsbruck lies that they make the background to almost every view.

ing in from the country, and lounging soldiers in the white Austrian uniform. Standing on the bridge, we look up and down the hurry. ing river, which is here about twenty-five rods wide, and fifteen feet in depth. The city shows well, but everything is dwarfed by the presence of the mountains. One cannot speak of them in every sentence, but after all, no description of any point in Innsbruck is complete unless you do. I remember in visiting the Museum, my attention was constantly distracted whenever we came near the windows. Naturally they showed to the best advantage from the bridge.

Returning through the town, we loitered slowly along and looked about us. We observed a great many queer old houses, some with staircases running up outside the house, to the second or third stories, and many of which the upper stories, supported on pillars, were built out over the sidewalk, making damp and shady arcades, wherein were all manner of small business enterprises, stalls for the sale of fruit, and the like. In the course of our wanderings, we chanced to observe a certain oriel window with a singular metallic roof over it, running up at a sharp angle against the side of a very dilap idated row of old houses. The dull, coppery lustre caught our notice, and we stood a moment looking at it, when somebody said, with an air of recollection, and at the same time of extreme disdain, "Oh! that is the famous Golden Roof!'" We had read with much interest that Count Frederick of Tyrol, surnamed "of the Empty Purse," had built a golden roof to prove that he was not so poor, after all. We had formed brilliant expectations of a gold-roofed palace, and behold, there was but a little peaked window-roof, which looked much more like copper than any nobler metal. That extravagant person of Tyrol conducted this fine affair in 1425, and the building to which it adheres, like a wasp's nest on a veranda, was the palace of those days. The gold used to overlay the copper, of which the roof is really made, is said to have cost thirty thous and ducats. A century or two later, a journeyman mason in Innsbruck, thinking it would be a good plan to steal a little, climbed by night to the roof, and broke off as large a bit as he dared, then fled, leaving his tools

on the spot. Fairly out of the country, he examined his plunder; imagine his disgust on finding that he had indeed a good piece | of copper, but so very little gold, that he did not realize by his "speculation" a sum equal to the value of the tools he had left behind him. Which story renders the thirty thousand ducats somewhat problematical, since the gilding was so uncommonly thin! And it is amusing to notice, that the very means which Duke Frederick took to rid himself of his obnoxious nickname, resulted in fixing it for all time. In early life unlucky, and driven repeatedly from his capitol, and reduced sometimes to serious distress even for food, for the last ten years of his life, he enjoyed almost unequalled prosperity. He was at peace with his neighbors, on good terms with his subjects, and financial matters had been satisfactorily arranged. So if he had taken things easily, he would probably have been remembered only at his best. "the Golden Roof" immortalized him "Fred of the Empty Purse," forever!

But

We found the shops of Innsbruck very attractive, and we were greatly amused by the new forms of salutation which met us on every side. "Mein Compliment!" with strong accent on the last syllable; "I kiss your hands!" which they actually often do, and even the dress. “Euer Gnade,” “your grace," and sometimes "Die Gnadige," "the gracious one," are the terms of courtesy with which they overwhelm you; and it requires all the wit and more than all the German you possess, to return the civilities properly. The little stalls under the arcades were very enticing; golden and crimson were the pears and peaches, and the great bunches of white grapes in their fresh leaves. But we were a few days too early for most of them; they were as superb as wax fruit, and nearly as unpalatable.

All of this, however, by the way. Let it not be supposed we were unmindful of Innsbruck's chiefest glory, the tomb of Kaiser Max in the Franciscan church. But the church not being easy to find, we had quite a little exploring tour to make, and on our way we happened upon the shops and the Golden Roof.

Found at last, it proves to be not an imposing building. It was built at an unlucky

time for architecture, and it has been called by some a very model of bad taste. Strange old church that it is,-it exists and was built solely for the sake of an empty tomb! This same famous Emperor, Maximilian I., for love of Tyrol, had desired to be buried in Innsbruck. But he died in Austria, and was buried in his native city, not far from Vienna. His eldest grandson and immediate successor, Charles V., seems to have been far too busy with his own affairs to attend to wishes which could no longer be enforced, and it was left for his second grandson, Ferdinand, after he became Emperor, to commence the erection of the church and the monument. It was completed in 1583, but, in the meantime, Ferdinand also had died, and so the remains of Kaiser Max never were brought home to the stately tomb that was built to receive them.

The monument stands quite in the centre of the church. It is a great oblong sarcophagus of red Tyrolese marble, raised high upon a massive base, and surrounded by an irou railing. Upon the sides, twenty-four large marble tablets set forth in wonderfully executed bas-reliefs the adventures of Maximilian, - a series, so to speak, of historical pictures, from his marriage with Mary of Burgundy, in 1477, down to the siege of Oerona, in 1519, the year preceding his death. This work in marble is as delicate as the finest ivory carving, and was regarded by Thorwaldsen as the finest work of its kind in existence. The likeness of the Emperor, minute as the figures are, is carefully preserved through all, and the costume of the hundreds of different persons represented, are historically accurate. The perspective is wonderful, and, I think, if there were but a single tablet, we should devote an hour to its careful examination. But when there are four and twenty, and the sacristan, going within the railing, removes the screens that cover them and makes the circuit of the whole in less than an hour and shuts them from sight again, it must be confessed, the view has not been very satisfactory.

Upon this sarcophagus, as upon a massive pedestal, kneels Maximilian, attired in armor, a bronze figure of heroic size. With hands clasped, as in prayer, he looks towards the high altar of the church, and around him are

a band of waiting companions, standing motionless till the prayer is done. These also are colossal bronze figures, who are arranged by twos and threes among the pillars that support the roof. At first sight they seem to be individual monuments, but after a little while, the eye learns to group them with the central monument, and appreciates the grandeur of the whole. The persons represented are mostly ancestors and kindred of Maximilian, among them four or five women of his immediate family. They are represented as nearly as possible in the style of dress which they wore in life, the men mostly in armor, the women in brocades nearly as stiff. Many are likenesses, that of Charles the Bold for instance, the fatherin-law of Maximilian, corresponds accurately with the portraits we have of him. There is something very remarkable in the effect of this monument, with its attendant train of figures. There exists nothing like it in Europe; this side the Pyramids, it is the most splendid and the most costly tomb that was ever erected. And it is doubly strange to find it here in the heart of the mountains, in this little, modest city of Innsbruck.

But a second name, dear to Tyrol, is enshrined in the Franciscan church. Less than half a century ago, a man of the people, who bore for a few days the supreme power in his native land, at a time when her hereditary rulers had deserted her, was brought back from his foreign grave to be laid in this spot, consecrated to the memory of the favor ite Kaiser. The tomb of Hofer stands close against the wall at the left, near the entrance. It is of white Tyrolese marble and bears the words "Andreas Hofer, MDCCCIX." It is surmounted by the figure of the hero in national costume, holding with the right hand a banner, and with the left grasping his rifle. He is bareheaded, and his broad-rimmed hat lies upon the ground beside him. The face and figure are evidently those of a peasant. Take it altogether, no greater contrast could be imagined than between the two statues, which represent the two favorite heroes of Tyrol.

Sunny, far-looking Castle Ambras, how attractive it looks up on the hillside, just one hours' drive from Innsbruck. The memory

of a sweet and gracious lady-one of Browning's "dear dead women"-gives it the greater charm of romantic association.

We saw in Nuremberg among the familiar faces of saints and Madonnas in a picture shop, a photograph quite new to us. It existed in different sizes, and I saw the same portrait done in oils, and on porcelain. It is a long, oval face with soft, large eyes, the forehead somewhat high and square, the hair drawn smoothly away behind the ears and covered by a close cap of pearl netting. In the darkness of the picture one can just distinguish the full, heavy sleeves gathered at the shoulder, and a very rich necklace, from which hangs a great Maltese cross. Around the throat seems to be a high, stiff, velvet band, and above that, rises to the ears the plaited muslin ruff. I felt as if I ought to recognize the lady; there was a suggestion of Mary Queen of Scots about the dress, yet it was not she, nor, indeed, was an old city of Bavaria at all the place where one would be likely to find multiplied copies of that fair Scottish face. This one was lovely, yet without a gleam of coquettish mischief; innocent, wifely, and gentle, the story of which she was the heroine must surely be one of peaceful home-life. At last I inquired. "Philippina Welser," the shopman said, with evident surprise that we did not know, and I confess I did not like to grieve him by asking again,—“ But who is Philippina Welser?"

But when we came to Innsbruck, and the same sweet face greeted us again from all the windows of Franz Unterborger's shop, I took heart of grace, and diligently inquired about the lady. Then I learned that she was a merchant's daughter of Augsburg, and became the wife of one of the Hapsburgs, and that for twenty years they ruled over Tyrol, living up there in Castle Ambras.

So the day after we had seen Emperor Max's monument in the Franciscan church, we drove out from the city in the early morn ing, among the unfenced grain fields and along the flowery, winding road, up to where, nestled upon a shelf of the mountain side, Philippina's favorite castle looks over the valley. There was an old Roman fort here, later, a castle which in 1136 was burned; lastly, in 1558, this castle was erected, which

remains quite unaltered. There is a look about the old place as if its inmates were gone but yesterday; let us sit down on the grassy terrace in the shade, while I tell you the story of the lady who lived and died here.

In Augsburg lived the Welsers, a family of burghers, who were rich and famous like the Fuggers. When the Imperial Diets were held, it made a great holiday through the town, in which the more wealthy families took great share. In 1550, Charles V. summoned that grand Diet before which he laid his views and wishes regarding the succession. It was his ardent desire to secure the Imperial crown to his son Philip, and in order to accomplish this, he bent all his endeavors to secure for Philip the preliminary title of King of Rome. Knowing well that this occasion was momentous for their interests, the brother of the Emperor, with his sons, all possible candidates themselves for the Imperial dignity, were present, and Charles had summoned his son Philip from Spain, also to attend this Diet. So it happened that this assembly was of unusual splendor and the grand procession which made its entrance into the town, the day before the Diet was to open, was the most splendid show ever seen in Augsburg. As they passed under her father's windows, Philippina, seventeen years of age, was looking out, and it chanced that Ferdinand, one of the Emperor's nephews, looked up. The story goes that the young man reined in his horse and fell behind the cavalcade, and lingered still with his eyes furtively raised to the sweet face at the window, till at last the homage became apparent, and, blushing and confused, the girl turned away.

The old Emperor had weighty matters on his hands at that time, and so had all the other members of the Imperial family, but young Ferdinand shared in none of their interests.

Whether his cousin Philip, or his own father, brother, or even himself should get the crown, was of no consequence. His affair was to woo and win Philippina. It was easy to learn her name, and to make her acquaintance, but to marry her was a difficult thing for this young archduke of the proudest house in Europe. Commercial intercourse, and even personal friendship, are

entirely in order between Emperors and merchants. But an alliance by marriage is quite another thing. The difficulties that beset Romeo and Juliet were nothing in comparison. But these lovers were wiser than the Veronese; they waited, had patience through a long year's separation, then braved the Emperor's fury, and made a runaway match.

For eight years they lived very quietly, disowned by the Archduke's family, biding their time; but when Charles V. had abdicated, and Ferdinand's own father, Ferdinand, filled the Imperial throne, then brave Philippina took her two boys, and in all secrecy sought the presence of the Emperor at Prague. She presented herself before him, in disguise, and told her story. One wonders how much he suspected. Perhaps, nothing; at all events, he decided in her favor, and promised that he would make peace for her husband with his offended father. Then she laid aside her concealment and told him her name. Beautiful as ever, and with her boys to plead for her, she carried the father's heart by storm, and he not only forgave, but loaded them both with favors. Upon Ferdinand, he bestowed the sovereignty of Tyrol, and then it was that the archduke built Castle Ambras, and they came there to live.

It is pleasant, in the midst of those rough days, to find a figure like Ferdinand. Before the time of his first meeting with Philippina, he had already distinguished himself. In wars with the Turks, he had won laurels under the eye of the Emperor himself. Tall and blonde, with blue eyes and curling brown hair, his face, they say, expressed the goodness of his disposition. That he had a mind of his own, we know well, and for physical strength, he had hardly his match in Europe. Withal, his modesty was not less than his courage, and he was ever ready to give the precedence to others. No greater contrast could well be drawn than between this sunny, brilliant young fellow, and his melancholy cousin whose cruelty fills history with horror,-Tyrolese Ferdinand and Philip of Spain, and yet they were of the same blood, descendants both of the good and gallant Max!

Such was the master of the house, and