The town is odd and pretty, and I have a fancy that it resembles the German towns in America and other colonies. Enclosures for cattle between the houses like early settlers, and an air of frugality and neatness throughout the whole. The houses in the neighbourhood are very Swiss-like, being chiefly constructed of wood, with shingle roofs, on which large stones are laid to prevent their being carried off by high winds. So much wood grows in the country that the inhabitants employ it in building their cottages and fencing their enclosures. The Bishop is a Prince of the Empire, and assists at the Diet of Ratisbon. Flax grows in the neighbourhood, and linen is manufactured. Much of what the soil produces must be consumed by the inhabitants, as they have no navigable rivers to transport their productions to a distance. Perhaps they are happier without the facility of intercourse; for commerce introduces luxuries, and they again create new wants, which to supply commerce must be extended, and the love of gain soon destroys the love of ease. This goes to the destruction of morality and that charming simplicity of manners. Passing Füssen, they entered the Tyrol, and reached Innspruck on the 28th. I have been very negligent in my journal; the intense cold benumbed my faculties in the Tyrol. I was much shocked at Roveredo by hearing rather suddenly of the death of the Duchesse de Polignac. She fell a victim to her attachment to the Queen. Even her rivals--for enemies she had none--admitted that her affection was most disinterested; that she loved the person, not the dignity, of her unhappy friend. The death of the King threw her into violent convulsions that brought her into such a state of debility that three attempts to quit Vienna were ineffectual. The murder of the Queen filled up the measure of her grief: she sank under it, and only languished in horrible sorrow a short time. She expired in the arms of Vaudreuil. At Vienna when I saw her she gave me the idea of a person labouring under the weight of woe, which she struggled to conceal that she might spare her friends the anguish of seeing she suffered. She was lovely, features and countenance perfect, figure short and not light; her manner simple and serious, character rather grave. The brilliant situation her intimacy with the Queen put her into was always repugnant to her inclinations, and she oftentimes, and with sincerity, regretted that the difference of rank prevented her the enjoyment of retired, unsuspected, and unenvied friendship. Upon the road we heard rumours of the capture of Toulon, but I could not and would not credit them. However, at Trent it was confirmed with many particulars. At Verona we found Ld. and Ly. Henry Fitzgerald;[117] she was suddenly brought to bed there.