vacant glare upon the ground, with a hard quick breathing, and a hurried walk, he strode backwards and forwards in silent musing for several hours. What mind shall conceive, what tongue utter, or what pen describe, the dark and terrible character of his thoughts? Like the fate that moulded them, they had no similitude in the wide range of this world's agony for man. Suddenly he stopped, and his eyes were riveted upon that part of the wall which was over his bed of straw. Words are inscribed there! A human language, traced by a human hand! He rushes towards them; but his blood freezes as he reads: "I, Ludovico Sforza, tempted by the gold of the Prince of Tolfi, spent three years in contriving and executing this accursed triumph of my art. When it was completed, the perfidious Tolfi, more devil than man, who conducted me hither one morning, to be witness, as he said, of its perfection, doomed me to be the first victim of my own pernicious skill; lest, as he declared, I should divulge the secret, or repeat the effort of my ingenuity. May God pardon him, as I hope he will me, that ministered to his unhallowed purpose! Miserable wretch, whoe'er thou art, that readest these lines, fall on thy knees, and invoke, as I have done, His sustaining mercy, who alone can nerve thee to meet the vengeance of Tolfi, armed with his tremendous engine, which, in a few hours, must crush you, as it will the needy wretch who made it." A deep groan burst from Vivenzio. He stood, like one transfixed, with dilated eyes, expanded nostrils, and quivering lips, gazing at this fatal inscription. It was as if a voice from the sepulchre had sounded in his ears," Prepare!" Hope forsook him. There was his sentence, recorded in those dismal words. The future stood unveiled before him, ghastly and appalling. His brain already feels the descending horror, his bones seemed to 2 ATHENEUM, VOL. 5, 3d series. crack and crumble in the mighty grasp of the iron walls! Unknowing what it is he does, he fumbles in his garment for some weapon of self-destruction. He clenches his throat in his convulsive gripe, as though he would strangle himself at once. He stares upon the walls, and his warring spirit demands, "Will they not anticipate their office, if I dash my head against them?" An hysterical laugh chokes him as he exclaims, "Why should I? He was but a man who died first in their fierce embrace; and I should be less than man not to do as much!" The evening sun was descending, and Vivenzio beheld its golden beams streaming through one of the windows. What a thrill of joy shot through his soul at the sight! It was a precious link, that united him, for the moment, with the world beyond. There was ecstasy in the thought. As he gazed, long and earnestly, it seemed as if the windows had lowered sufficiently for him to reach them. With one bound he was beneath them--with one wild spring he clung to the bars. Whether it was so contrived, purposely to madden with delight the wretch who looked, he knew not; but, at the extremity of a long vista, cut through the solid rocks, the ocean, the sky, the setting sun, olive groves, shady walks, and, in the farthest distance, delicious glimpses of magnificent Sicily, burst upon his sight. How exquisite was the cool breeze as it swept across his cheek, loaded with fragrance! He inhaled it as though it were the breath of continued life. And there was a freshness in the landscape, and in the rippling of the calm green sea, that fell upon his withering heart like dew upon the parched earth. How he gazed, and panted, and still clung to his hold! sometimes hanging by one hand, sometimes by the other, and then grasping the bars with both, as loath to quit the smiling paradise outstretched before him; till exhausted, and his hands swollen and benumbed, he dropped helpless down, and lay stunned for a considerable time by the fall. When he recovered, the glorious vision had vanished. He was in darkness. He doubted whether it was not a dream that had passed before his sleeping fancy; but gradually his scattered thoughts returned, and with them came remembrance. Yes! he had looked once again upon the gorgeous splendor of nature! Once again his eyes had trembled beneath their veiled lids, at the sun's radiance, and sought repose in the soft verdure of the olive-tree, or the gentle swell of undulating waves. Oh, that he were a mariner, exposed upon those waves to the worst fury of storm and tempest; or a very wretch, loathsome with disease, plaguestricken, and his body one leprous contagion from crown to sole, hunted forth to gasp out the remnant of infectious life beneath those verdant trees, so he might shun the destiny upon whose edge he tottered! Vain thoughts like these would steal over his mind from time to time, in spite of himself; but they scarcely moved it from that stupor into which it had sunk, and which kept him, during the whole night, like one who had been drugged with opium. He was equally insensible to the calls of hunger and of thirst, though the third day was now commencing since even a drop of water had passed his lips. He remained on the ground, sometimes sitting, sometimes lying; at intervals, sleeping heavily; and when not sleeping, silently brooding over what was to come, or talking aloud, in disordered speech, of his wrongs, of his friends, of his home, and of those he loved, with a confused mingling of all. In this pitiable condition, the sixth and last morning dawned upon Vivenzio, if dawn it might be called the dim, obscure light, which faintly struggled through the ONE SOLITARY window of his dungeon. He could hardly be said to notice the melan choly token. And yet he did notice it; for, as he raised his eyes and saw the portentous sign, there was a slight convulsive distortion of his countenance. But what did attract his notice, and at the sight of which his agitation was excessive, was the change his iron bed had undergone. It was a bed no longer. It stood before him, the visible semblance of a funeral couch or bier! When he beheld this, he started from the ground; and, in raising himself, suddenly struck his head against the roof, which was now so low that he could no longer stand upright. "God's will be done!" was all he said, as he crouched his body, and placed his hand upon the bier; for such it was. The iron bedstead had been so contrived, by the mechanical art of Ludovico Sforza, that as the advancing walls came in contact with its head and feet, a pressure was produced upon concealed springs, which, when made to play, set in motion a very simple though ingeniously contrived machinery, that effected the transformation. The object was, of course, to heighten, in the "closing scene of this horrible drama, all the feelings of despair and anguish which the preceding ones aroused. For the same reason, the last window was so made as to admit only a shadowy kind of gloom rather than light, that the wretched captive might be surrounded, as it were, with every seeming preparation for approaching death. had Vivenzio seated himself on his bier. Then he knelt and prayed fervently; and sometimes tears would gush from him. The air seemed thick, and he breathed with difficulty; or it might be that he fancied it was so, from the hot and narrow limits of his dungeon, which were now so diminished that he could neither stand up nor lie down at his full length. But his wasted spirits and oppressed mind no longer struggled within him. He was past hope, and fear shook him no more. Happy if thus revenge had struck its final blow; for he would have fallen beneath it almost unconscious of a pang. But such a lethargy of the soul, after such an excitement of its fiercest passions, had entered into the diabolical calculations of Tolfi; and the fell artificer of his designs had imagined a counteracting device. The tolling of an enormous bell struck upon the ears of Vivenzio! He started. It beat but once. The sound was so close and stunning, that it seemed to shatter his very brain, while it echoed through the rocky passages like reverberating peals of thunder. This was followed by a sudden crash of the roof and walls, as if they were about to fall upon and close around him at once. Vivenzio screamed, and instinctively spread forth his arms, as though he had a giant's strength to hold them back. They had moved nearer to him, and were now motionless. Vivenzio looked up, and saw the roof almost touching his head, even as he sat cowering beneath it; and he felt that a farther contraction of but a few inches only must commence the frightful operation. Roused as he had been, he now gasped for breath. His body shook violently-he was bent nearly double. His hands rested upon either wall, and his feet were drawn under him to avoid the pressure in front. Thus he remained for more than an hour, when that deafening bell beat again, and again there came the crash of horrid death. But the concussion was now so great that it struck Vivenzio down. As he lay gathered up in lessened bulk, the bell beat loud and frequent-crash succeeded crash-and on, and on, and on, came the mysterious engine of death, till Vivenzio's smothered groans were heard no more! He was horribly crushed by the ponderous roof and collapsing sides-and the flattened bier was his Iron Shroud. ALPINE SCENERY. Ir has always struck me that the ocean is the fittest emblem, and conveys the deepest impression of God's immensity and eternity; the Alps, of his unapproachable power, and everlasting unvariableness. In the sea, wave succeeds wave forever and forever; billow swells upon billow, and you see no end thereof. But magnificent a spectacle as ocean ever is, at all times, and under all aspects, it still cannot be enjoyed without some alloy. It must be seen either from a ship, in which man enters too much; or from the land, which again breaks the unity of the idea. The effect of the scenes among which the chamois-hunter lives, is weakened by no such intrusion as this. Man's works enter not there. From the moment he quits the chalet in which he has taken his short rest, until his return, he sees no trace of man; but dwells amid scenery stamped only with its Cre ator's omnipotence and immutability. Nature is always interesting. Elsewhere she is lovely, beautiful: here she is awful, sublime. Elsewhere she shrouds all things in a temporary repose, again to clothe them with surpassing beauty and verdure. But here there is no change: such as the first winter beheld them, after they sprang from the hands of their Great Architect, such they still are-like himself, unchangeable and unapproachable. Nor summer's heat, nor winter's cold, have any effect on their everlasting hues; nor can the track or works of man stain the purity of their unsullied snows! His voice may not even reach that upper air to disturb "the sacred calm that breathes around "-that stilly silence which holds forever, save when the lauwine wakes it with the voice of thunder! In such situations, it is impossible not to feel as far elevated in mind as in body, feet. All was calm and silent. Nothing near us spoke of animated life, except perchance a butterfly, borne by the storm far from its native flowers. We seemed alone in the world; but how different is this loneliness from that felt by those "who, shut in chambers, think it loneliness!" It was a solitude that exalted, not debased, the mental faculties; that soothed, that purified, that invigorated the soul; that taught one to forget this world indeed, but that raised the thoughts to another and a better world. above the petty cares, the frivolous perhaps a dead chamois at my pursuits, 'the low ambition," of this nether world. If any one desire really to feel that all is vanity here below; if he wish to catch a glimpse of the yet undeveloped capabilities of his nature, of those mysterious longings, after which the heart of man so vainly yet so earnestly aspires; let him wander amongst the higher Alps, and alone. Scenes like these must be seen and felt; they cannot be described. Languages were formed in the plain; and they have no words adequately to represent the sensations which all must have experienced among mountain scenery. A man may pass all his life in towns, and the haunts of men, without knowing he possesses within him such feelings as a single day's chamois-hunting will awaken. A lighter and a purer air is breathed there; and the body, being invigorated by exercise and temperance, renders the mind more capable of enjoyment. Though earthly sounds there are none, I have often remarked, amid this solemn silence, an undefinable hum, which yet is not sound, but seems, as it were, the still small voice of Nature communing with the heart, through other senses than we are at present conscious of possessing. But not to analyze the cause of its charm, there is doubtless a fascination in the lonely sublimities of Alpine scenery, which nothing else earthly, to my mind, can approach. And if the Arab feels such ungovernable rapture when launching his courser into the bosom of the desart, is it to be wondered that the same transport should swell the Alp-hunter's breast, who enjoys the same sensation of freedom, the same absence of man, with the addition of scenery of unparalleled magnificence ? Seldom or never have I experienced such thrilling, yet tranquil delight, as when reposing beneath some over-arching rock, in full view of Mont Blanc, or Monte Rosa, with my chasseurs at my side, and If ever my earthly spirit has been roused to a more worthy contemplation of the Almighty Author of Creation, it has been at such moments as these; when I have looked around on a vast amphitheatre of rocks, torn by ten thousand storms, and of Alps clothed with the spotless mantle of everlasting snow. Above me, was the clear blue vault of heaven, which at such elevations seems so perceptibly nearer and more azure: far below me, the vast glacier, from whose chill bosom issues the future river, which is there commencing its long course to the ocean high over head, those icy pinnacles on which countless winters have spread their dazzling honors who is there that could see himself surrounded by objects such as these, and not feel his soul elevated from Nature to Nature's God? Yes, land of the mountain and the torrent ! land of the glacier and the avalanche ! who could wander amidst thy solitudes of unrivaled magnificence without catching a portion, at least, of the inspiration they are so calculated to excite? I wonder not that thy sons, cradled among thy ever matchless scenery, should cling with such filial affection to the mountain-breast that nursed them, and yearn for their native cot amid the luxuries of foreign cities; when even a stranger, born in softer lands, and passing but a few months' pilgrimage within thy borders, yet felt himself at once attached to thee as to a second home; nor yet can hear without emotion the sounds that remind him of thy hills of freedom! How has my heart beaten as, slinging my rifle at my back, and with walking-staff in hand, I have turned me from the evil cares and worse passions of cities, to meet the breeze, fresh from Heaven, upon thy mountain's side, and listen to the Kuhreihen of thy pastoral sons! “Heu ! qaunto minus est cum reli quis versari, quam tui meminisse!" I would not exchange the recollection of the hours I have passed among thy more hidden sublimities, for the actual and visible enjoyment of the tamer beauties of other countries! The future none can command; but deeply grieved indeed should I be if I thought I were never more to view thy pyramids of eternal snow hung in mid-heaven above me, nor tread again, though perchance with less elastic step, thy wide-spread fields of ice! THE GREAT MORAY FLOODS.* MANY of our readers, we dare say, read accounts in the newspapers of Great Floods during August last year in the Province of Moray. But newspaper accounts of calamities are generally considered apocryphal, except they record the bite of a mad dog-each strange tale of hydrophobia being held devoutly true by the Reading Public. Sir Thomas Lauder Dick has spared no pains in collecting all the most interesting circumstances of that unexampled Flood, many of them bordering so closely upon the marvellous, that he acknowledges he might have felt some difficulty in reporting them, had they not, in every instance, been well vouched. The extent of ground carried off or destroyed in particular places, the various items of miscellaneous damage, and the sums of money at which the various losses are estimated, are stated from returns made after the survey by able and responsible men, whose valuations were exclusive of all such injuries as might affect mere taste, or anything not usually measured by money. Though nothing approaching to any just estimate of the grand total can possibly be formed, it must indeed have been enormous. The deluge of rain that produced the flood of the 3d and 4th of August, 1829, fell chiefly on the Monadhleadh mountains, rising between the south-eastern parts of Lochness, and Kingussie in Badenoch, and on that part of the Grampian range forming the somewhat independent group of the Cairngorums. The heat in the province of Moray, during the months of May, June, and July, had been unusually great; and in the earlier part of that period, the drought so excessive as to kill many of the recently planted shrubs and trees. As the season advanced, the fluctuations of the barometer became very remarkable; but they were not followed by the usual alternations of weather. It often followed that the results were precisely the reverse of its prognostications, and observers of the instrument began to lose all confidence in it. These apparent derangements arose, Sir Thomas D. remarks, from electrical changes in the atmosphere. The Aurora Borealis appeared with uncommon brilliancy about the beginning of July, and was frequently seen afterwards, being generally accompanied by windy and unsteady weather, the continued drought having been sometimes interrupted during the previous months by sudden falls of rain partaking of the character of waterspouts. One of these occur * An Account of the Great Floods of August, 1829, in the Province of Moray, and adjoining Districts. By Sir Thomas Lauder Dick. Edinburgh and London, 1830. |