"You have been better in Venice," said Sir Henry, as they entered the gondola, that was to bear them from the city. "God grant that you may long remain so!" George shook his head doubtingly. "My illness, Henry, is not of the frame alone, although that is fragile and shattered. "The body lingers on without suffering; but the mind--a very bright sword in a worthless sheath--is forcing its way through. Some feelings must remain to the last--gratitude to you--love to dear Emily! Acmé, wife of my bosom! when may I join you?" Chapter IX. Inspruck. "Oh there is sweetness in the mountain air, And life, that bloated ease can never hope to share." Inspruck! a thousand recollections flash across us, as we pronounce the word! We were there at a memorable period; when the body of the hero of the Tyrol--the brave, the simple-minded Anderl Hofer--was removed from Mantua, where he so nobly met a patriot's death, to the capital of the country, which he had so gallantly defended. The event was one, that could not fail to be impressive; and to us it was doubly so, for that very period formed an epoch in our lives. We had lost! we had suffered! we had mourned! Our mind's strength was shook. Ordinary remedies were worse than futile. We threw ourselves into the heart of the Tyrol, and became resigned if not happy. Romantic country! did not duty whisper otherwise, how would we fly to thy rugged mountains, and find in the kindly virtues of thine inhabitants, wherewithal to banish misanthropy, and it may be purchase oblivion. Noble land! where the chief in his hall--the peasant in his hut--alike open their arms with sheltering hospitality, to welcome the stranger--where kindness springs from the heart, and dreams not of sordid gain--where courtesy attends superior rank, without question, but without debasement--where the men are valiant, the women virtuous--where it needed but a few home-spun heroes--an innkeeper and a friar--to rouse up to arms an entire population, and in a brief space to drive back the Gallic foeman! Oh! how do we revert with choking sense of gratitude, to the years we have spent in thy bosom! Oh! would that we were again treading the mountain's summit--the rifle our comrade--and a rude countryman, our guide and our companion. In vain! in vain! the net of circumstance is over us! We may struggle! but cannot escape from its close meshes. We have said that we were at Inspruck at this period. It was our purpose, on the following morning, to take our departure. With renewed health, and nerves rebraced, we hoped to combat successfully, a world that had already stung us. There was a group near the golden-roofed palace, that attracted our attention. It consisted of a father and his five sons. They were dressed in the costume of the country; wearing a tapering hat, with black ribbons and feather--a short green jerkin--a red vest surmounted by broad green braces--and short boots tightly laced to the ancle.