LETTER VII.

FREYSING.  LANDSHUT.  ALTOeTING.  SALZBURG.  THE MONASTERY OF ST. PETER.

Salzburg; Golden Ship, Aug. 23, 1818.

MY DEAR FRIEND;

If ever I wished for those who are dear to me in England, to be my companions during any part of this “antiquarian and picturesque tour,” (for there are comparatively few, I fear, who would like to have been sharers of the “bibliographical” department of it) it has been on the route from Munich to this place:  first, darting up to the north; and secondly, descending gradually to the south; and feasting my eyes, during the descent, upon mountains of all forms and heights, winding through a country at once cultivated and fertile, and varied and picturesque.  Yes, my friend, I have had a glimpse, and even more than a glimpse, of what may be called ALPINE SCENERY:  and have really forgotten Fust, Schoeffher, and Mentelin, while contemplating the snow-capt heights of the Gredig, Walseberg, and Untersberg:—­to say nothing of the Gross Klokner, which raises its huge head and shoulders to the enormous height of 12,000 feet above the level of the sea.

These be glorious objects!—­but I have only gazed; and, gazed at a distance of some twenty or thirty miles.  Surrounded as I am, at this moment,—­in one of the most marvellous and romantic spots in Europe—­in the vicinity of lakes, mountain-torrents, trout-streams, and salt-mines,—­how can you expect to hear any thing about MSS. and PRINTED BOOKS?  They shall not, however, be wholly forgotten; for as I always endeavour to make my narrative methodical, I must of necessity make mention of the celebrated library of INGOLDSTADT, (of which Seemiller has discoursed so learnedly in a goodly quarto volume,) now, with the University of the same place, transferred to LANDSHUT—­where I slept on the first night of my departure from Munich.

A secret, but strong magnetic power, is pulling me yet more southerly, towards Inspruck and Italy.  No saint in the golden legend was ever more tortured by temptation, than I have been for the last twenty-four hours ... with the desire of visiting those celebrated places.  Thrice has some invisible being—­some silver-tongued sylph—­not mentioned, I apprehend, in the nomenclature of the Rosicrusian philosophy, whispered the word ...  “ROME ...” in mine ear—­and thrice have I replied in the response...  “VIENNA!” I am therefore firmly fixed:  immoveably resolved ... and every southerly attraction shall be deserted for the capital of Austria:  having determined to mingle among the Benedictin and Augustin monks of Chremsminster, St. Florian, and Moelk—­and, in the bookish treasures of their magnificent establishments, to seek and obtain something which may repay the toil and expense of my journey.