Penchaud asked the good woman, in his broken German, whether she could tell us any thing about Wilhelm Tell? It required a little while before she understood the question, and then her whole countenance brightened at once, and she began to declaim a rude poem in rhyme, in which Tell's actions were related in very strong and peculiar language. And as she went on, the old woman became quite animated, and strengthened the words by her gesture. Tell's unbending obstinacy before the Austrian hat; his shooting at the apple, as the mark; his kicking over of the boat which was to have conveyed him to prison; and finally his taking aim and shooting the arrow at Gessler, all were represented in highly-dramatic action by the old woman, as she recited the poem, and that too, in the middle of the road, where, in her zeal, she never troubled herself that the passers-by cast upon us wondering and inquiring glances. At the end both we and the old woman laughed heartily, shook hands and departed.
Early the following morning we set off from Andermatt, along the splendidly constructed St. Gothard's road, on which every turn is so measured, that, however steep it may appear to the eye, yet its descent never exceeds that which is safe for horses and vehicles. We drove in an open carriage, through a region, the magnificent scenery of which, ever more and more assumed a delicious and beautiful character. As we rolled along in our descent, the air became ever warmer. Beautiful walnut trees, lovely groves, twittering birds, surrounded us. Luxuriant, green pasturages, with trees, bushes, and cattle, gleamed out
