We are to travel from hence through a country of mountains and lakes, to the Monastery of Chremsminster, in the route to Lintz—­on the high road to Vienna.  I have obtained a letter to the Vice-President of Moelk monastery, from a gentleman here, who has a son under his care; so that, ere I reach the capital of Austria, I shall have seen a pretty good sprinkling of Benedictins—­as each of these monasteries is of the order of St. Benedict.

The evening of the second day of our visit here, enabled me to ascertain something of the general character of the scenery contiguous to the town.  This scenery is indeed grand and interesting.  The summit of the lowest hill in the neighbourhood is said to be 4000 feet above the level of the sea.  I own I have strong doubts about this.  It is with the heights of mountains, as with the numbers of books in a great library,—­we are apt to over-rate each.  However, those mountains, which seem to be covered with perennial snow, must be doubtless 8000 feet above the same level.[89] To obtain a complete view of them, you must ascend some of the nether hills.  This we intended to do—­but the rain of yesterday has disappointed all our hopes.  The river Salz rolls rapidly along; being fed by mountain torrents.  There are some pretty little villas in the neighbourhood, which are frequently tenanted by the English; and one of them, recently inhabited by Lord Stanhope, (as the owner informed me,) has a delightful view of the citadel, and the chain of snow-capt mountains to the left.  The numerous rapid rivulets, flowing into the Salz, afford excellent trout-fishing; and I understood that Sir Humphry Davy, either this summer, or the last, exercised his well-known skill in this diversion here.  The hills abound with divers sorts of four-footed and winged game; and, in short, (provided I could be furnished with a key of free admission into the library of St. Peter’s Monastery) I hardly know where I could pass the summer and autumn months more completely to my satisfaction than at SALZBURG.  What might not the pencils of Turner and Calcott here accomplish, during the mellow lights and golden tints of autumn?

Of course, in a town so full of curiosities of every description, I am not able, during so short a stay in it, to transmit you any intelligence about those sights which are vulgarly called the Lions.  But I must not close this rambling, desultory letter, without apprising you that I have walked from one end of the Moenschberg to the other.  This is an excavation through a hard and high rocky hill, forming the new gate, or entrance into the town.  The success of this bold undertaking was as complete, as its utility is generally acknowledged:  nor shall it tarnish the lustre of the mitre to say, that it was a BISHOP of Salzburg who conceived, and superintended the execution of, the plan.  A very emphatic inscription eternises his memory:  “TE SAXA LOQUUNTUR.”  The view, from