r thoughts above every little adverse
incident, and giving to her struggle that character of a task, a holy
and a righteous task, which made at once her life's purpose and reward.

Scarcely a village at which they halted that did not strike her as like
what her mind had often pictured for "their own," and many a quaint old
house, with its carved galleries and latticed porch, she stood to gaze
on, fancying it their home and peopling every spot with the forms of
those she loved. Oh! why had they not chosen this humble road?--why had
their "Paths in Life" separated?--were the bitter reflections which now
filled her eyes with tears and made her bosom heave almost to bursting.
She did not foolishly suppose that the peasant can claim exemption from
the trials and crosses of life, and that sorrow finds no entrance into
remote and unfrequented tracts, but she knew that such burdens would
not be too heavy for their strength, and that, while living a life of
unpretending poverty, they should be free from the slavery of an assumed
position, and able to combat the world fairly and honestly.

Of all lands the Tyrol is best suited to foster such feelings as
these. There is a harmony and a keeping about it that is rarely found
elsewhere. The dwellings of the people, so according with the character
of the scenery; the costumes, the greetings, the songs of the
peasantry; their simple and touching piety; their manners, so happily
blending independence with courtesy, are felt at once as a charm, and
give a color to the enjoyment of every one who sojourns amongst
them. These were the sights and sounds which, better than all the
blandishments of wealth, could soothe poor Nelly's sorrow, and make her
thankful in the midst of her afflictions even to have witnessed them. As
for Hanserl, his excitement grew daily higher as he passed the Arlberg
and drew near the spots he had seen in childhood. Now preparing some
little surprise for Nelly, as they turned the angle of a cliff and gazed
down upon a terrible gorge beneath; now apprising her of some little
shrine where pious wayfarers were wont to halt and pray; now speculating
if the old host of the village inn would be alive, or still remember
him, he went along merrily, occasionally singing some "Alp Lied," or
calling to mind some ancient legend of the scene through which they
journeyed. Above all, however, was his delight at the thought of seeing
his old mother again. No sense of disappointment