Whilst, driven by fate, conflicting numbers fly, Haste to the sea!-that yet is calm,—and there By yon wild flash, which sweeps along the skies, So swells the echoing din of distant war. Nor living thing-nor sign of life was there. How many a wretch, on that disastrous day, + The description of the circumstances attending the eruption of Vesuvius, is taken, almost literally, from Pliny's Letters to Tacitus. And she-whose hand should close his dying eye, Ah! no-he brooks not to believe her fled, Sprung from the Gods, must perish with his clay, Myriads in ruin sunk-but how they fell, Oh! when shall morn that welcome ray restore The sad survivors think to greet no more? When shall the storm of desolation cease, And heaven compose the warring world to peace ? Stern horror reigned with deep unvaried hue, Nor day from night, nor night from day they knew. Whate'er in time's account that term might be, Oh! who shall fix its bound to misery? Suspense and suffering, danger and dismay, May crowd the grief of ages in a day; And sleepless memory, in one hour of pain, Wake countless woes, and live past years again. Feebly at length the sun's emerging ray Shone through the mist, slow brightening into day: His powerless beams a feeble lustre shed, Like the wan smile that lingers on the dead. Yet to the pale survivors of that strife Those beams were light, and ecstacy, and life: Their weakened sight had never borne to gaze On the full glory of his wonted blaze. Impelled by generous pity, prompt to feel, To guard the helpless-soothe the orphan's sighs, Blasted by virtue's pure and piercing ray, How art thou fall'n, O region of the brave! But here I must not pause ;-I would not dwell Dark mausoleum of the mighty dead! A spell of mute enchantment dwells on thee; Awe-struck I mark those relics of decay, Lo! on this spot, yon mingled ashes tell, Some hapless mother with her offspring fell. Here, in the hour of fate, she wildly prest Her sweet unconscious infant to her breast; While her young daughters to her garments clung, Grasped her cold hand, or on her bosom hung. Though life perchance were her's, had she resigned Her helpless charge, and left her babe behind, High in her arms her infant still she bore, Prest onward still-till life availed no more :Then sunk submissive to her destiny, Oh! noble ardor of maternal love,- It watches-weeps-endures-and comforts still. Hail! in thy sudden ruin more sublime, Of kings, nay more, of Romans.-Years have flowed Roam as thou wilt, where chance and fancy lead, Say, would'st thou know where yon low arch doth Its dark'ning gloom with trembling caution tread, 'Twas here they perished-in that hour of dread, pressing an infant to her bosom, appears to have fallen a victim during this scene of desolation. They seem to have crowded together; and their bones are so intermixed, that, in all probability, the mother and Clasped each loved child,—and laid her down to die.* her children died in each other's embraces. Their re *A mother, dragging after her two daughters, and mains were found near the wall of the portico in the street of tombs. *The temple of Isis. Alas! one doom involved them :-side by side, And drawn thee blooming, lovely, and beloved; Explore yon arched recess, and wond'ring scan The following is the inscription: TYCHES IVLIAE + In the recess, at the entrance of the gate of Her culaneum, was found a human skeleton; the hand of which still grasped a spear; probably that of a centinel, who would not quit his post. Thy name we know not, but in thee we trace Dreams of the past steal o'er me :-I recall The statues of his fathers-Romans all; For Rome's proud grandeur there canst thou descry,The very marble breathes of majesty. From crystal vases, crowned with flowery wreaths, Her choicest odors subject India breathes; And on the walls the living canvass glows, Proud works of art, which conquered Greece bestows. With varied streaks, with glowing hues distain'd; These fairy visions vanish into air, This bright and false illusion flies-Ah! where?- C. Adieu! to ye, mother, the waves of the sea, One blessing, brave father, the waves may ride high, H. FAREWELL. WATERMAN. My light, thro' the lonely night's watch upon deck, My guardians of safety, 'mid peril and wreck. Nay, cheer up, young brother, faint hearted and weak, 'Tis a shame to thy manhood, that tear on thy cheek. Brush back the pale drop, it were childish to weep For one, who was born on the bright swelling deep. Adieu! ye belov'd ones, the ocean's proud wave Was my babyhood's cradle-it may be my grave; But my heart, like a child's, to its early love true, Those eyes, like the magnet, shall draw me to home, Still sighs for the boundless, the beautiful blue. Adieu! bright-eyed sister, wherever I roam, AN ESCAPE FROM THE LEAD CHAMBERS AT VENICE. ABRIDGED FROM THE GERMAN OF "THE URANIA.” two of which were barred, he came to a large dirty attic, that he thought was to be his prison—but in this he was mistaken. There was a fourth door beyond, studded with iron, opening into a room so low that he could not stand upright in it, and lighted by a small loop-hole about two feet in circumference, that was guarded by strong bars crossing each other in little squares; this was still farther darkened by a near rafter, so that when the door was closed, there was not light enough to distinguish the form of the room, which was a square, with an alcove at one end, intended for a bed, though the place had neither bed, JOHN JAMES DE SEINGALT CASANOVA, the head of the eccentric and talented family of that name, has left behind him four volumes of memoirs of his remarkable life. They were first published in German at the Leipsig fairs, between the years 1820 and 28; but a French edition of the original version has since appeared. The work is particularly curious, and depicts the various adventures of a true man of the world, among all classes of society, in the principal cities of Europe. Casanova, had he lived in an earlier age, would have ranked but little inferior to the admirable Crichton. He was well versed in the Latin, French, and Italian languages, and at the age of six-chair, nor table. At another side was a strange iron teen, wrote learned dissertations on religion and the law. His first sermon created a strong sensation at Venice, and his wonderful conversational powers introduced him to the highest circles. Several love adventures attest his popularity with the ladies, and in the course of his restless career, he visited the principal dignitaries of the time, and was generally well received. During his sojourn at Venice, he incurred displeasure, and was imprisoned in the Lead-Chambers (Piombi)—a series of dungeons formed beneath the roofs of the Doge's Palazza, and appropriated to persons suspected of political offences-the building, of which the famous Bridge of Sighs is a prominent portion, is at present the seat of the Austrian government. The heat of the sun shining upon the leaden roofs, converted these dungeons into "holes of infernal heat," and placed the unfortunate prisoners in perpetual torture that frequently resulted in frenzy. Casanova's escape was managed with considerable ingenuity; and he deserved the good fortune that he afterwards experienced. He was born at Venice in 1725, escaped in 1755, and died at Vienna in 1803, aged seventy-eight. In the original, the account of the escape occupies more than one hundred pages of closely printed matter; but it is believed that the following statement contains all that is material.-Ed. G. M. Casanova had long been an object of offence to the Venetian police, but the protection of the Senator Bragadin for a time defeated its purpose-it being a law in Venice that the officers of justice should not enter any patrician house, except at the express command of the tribunal; and this is seldom, or never, given. His passion, however, for a young girl, allur ed him from his safe retreat, to lodgings in the suburbs, where he was seized by the sbirri, and carried off to the Lead-Chambers-prisons so called, from their being at the top of the building, immediately under the roof of lead. After passing through three long passages, machine, fastened against the walls, in shape like a horse shoe, which excited something more than cu riosity in the prisoner; and the jailor observing it, said, with a malicious laugh, "Ha! ha! You are cudgelling your brains now to find out the use of this pretty piece of furniture, and I can tell it you in a minute. When their Excellencies order a prisoner to be strangled, he is placed on a stool, his back against the iron which goes half round his neck; the other half is bound with a silk cord, the ends of which pass through the hole here, and are then fastened to a little windlass; this is turned till the poor sinner has given up his soul to heaven, for the confessor does not leave him till he is dead." "An admirable invention!" exclaimed Casanova; " and you, I suppose, have the honor to turn this same windlass." But the jailor said nothing till he had closed the door on him, when he asked him through the grating," what he would have to eat?" and Casanova replying that he had not yet thought about it, he walked off without farther question, leaving his prisoner to the benefit of his meditations. These were any thing but pleasant: the heat was intolerable, and though for the first few hours the circumstance of his being neglected scarcely troubled him, yet when, according to Italian computation, the clock struck twenty-one, he began to be anxious at this protracted absence of every human being. Still he could hope, and did hope till the twenty-fourth hour. when his wrath broke forth: he raged, he cursed, he howled, he stamped with his feet; but after an hour had elapsed in impotent fury, and still no one came, he abandoned himself to sleep. At midnight he was again awakened by the sound of the clock, and scarcely could he believe that he had been so long utterly free from pain, He stretched out his right hand for his handkerchief, when it was met by another hand cold and stark as ice: horror thrilled through every vein. For several minutes he remained not only without motion, but almost without consciousness; and, when recollection had in some measure returned, he tried to persuade himself that he had been the dupe of his imagination. Again he stretched out his hand, and again it was met by the same cold flesh, which, in the agony of his heart, he first convulsively pressed, and then flung from him with a cry of horror. As the first thrill of feeling died away, he tried to reason with his fears;-what could this be? Had a corse been placed beside him as he slept?-perhaps that of a friend, tortured to death and laid there as a mocking image of his own intended fate. The thought was madness! and a third time, with desperate resolution, he stretched out his arm to clutch the hand, and drag the dead body to him, that he might, at once, fairly grapple with his fear in all its loathsomeness; but no sooner had he raised himself up on his left arm, than he found the cold hand was his own, which had been placed under his body, and by the numbing pressure, had lost all sensation. The discovery was ridiculous enough, but, instead of raising, only served to depress his spirits. In a few days, however, he had learned to measure his situation more accurately, and began to look to his present comfort: the state allowed him fifty sous a day; his own bed was brought and placed in the alcove, and whatever furniture else he wanted, was fetched from his lodgings, books and articles of steel alone excepted. The money was left in the hands of Lorenz the jailor, to provide for him, and once a month he rendered an account of his disbursements; but Casanova had prudence enough to make him a present of the overplus, to conciliate his kindness. Hope too, had not yet deserted him: every night he went to rest with the full conviction that the next morning would be the last of his imprisonment; and when the next morning came without bringing any change, he again went through the same round of hopes and doubts, to be again disappointed. After a few weeks he was compelled to give up the idea; but then he turned to another hope, and believed that his confinement was to last for a certain time-till the first of October, when the new Inquisitors superseded those in office. But this period came without any alteration in his condition, and he then determined, if possible, to escape, though in so doing he staked his life on the hazard. He stood with his eyes fixed on the loophole in the roof, weighing the means and difficulties of his purpose, when on a sudden the huge beam that crossed the window, tottered and bent to the right side, and again sprang back to its position; the floor, too, trembled beneath his feet, and threw him from his balance. It was the effect of the terrific earthquake which, at the very same moment, was hurling all Lisbon to the earth in one general mass of ruins. A second shock came, and he exclaimed, " Un altra, un altre, gran Dio ma piu forte!" and the jailors shuddered, and fled from what they believed to be the blasphemies of a maniac. This event by no means delayed his plans for escape. With admirable patience he contrived to sharpen an old bolt on a piece of marble, till he had formed it into a three-edged dagger-a labor of fourteen days, which worked his left hand into one blis ter, and almost tore the right arm from its socket. With this, he purposed to cut a hole through the floor under his bed, and to make his way to the room below, where he intended to hide himself under the table of the tribunal, and thence escape easily in the morning, when the door was first opened. In this way he hoped to reach a place of security before he was missed; for even if any guard were left in the chamber, he determined to strike him dead with his poniard. But there were other difficulties, not so easily got over; the floor might be double, it might be triple, and the work would then occupy him for months. How was he to hide its progress from Lorenz, for he had hitherto insisted on having the chamber regularly cleaned and swept, and now to forbid it would excite suspicion? Yet there was no alternative, and he adopted the measure at once, alleging as a reason, that the dampness occasioned a spitting of blood, which, however, did not satisfy Lorenz: he examined the room all over with a light, but as he found nothing to justify his suspicion, he fell into the snare, and allowed Casanova to have his own way, and the latter now set about the work of his deliverance in good earnest. His first object was to make a lamp-for which he wanted oil, a vessel to hold it, a fire-stone, wick, matches, and tinder; and all these he contrived to procure by his own unassisted ingenuity. The lamp he made out of a small saucepan that was used to prepare butter with eggs, and which he managed to conceal; the oil he saved from his salad; the steel he formed from a buckle; and the fire stone he got from Lorenz, under the pretence of dissolving it in vinegar as a cure for the tooth ache. Matches and tinder alone were wanting; but even here his ingenuity was finally triumphant-the matches he got from Lorenz, under the pretence of needing the brimstone for medical purposes, and the tinder he made out of sponge with which his coat had been stuffed under the arms. About this time, a new prisoner, Count Fanarola, divided his cell with him; but secrecy was the interest of both parties, and Casanova continued his operations, cutting through the floors till his progress was stopped by a large joist. To work through this was impossible; the only remedy, and this cost time, was to enlarge the hole on the side, which, at last, with infinite labor, he accomplished. The light, glim mering through a crevice in the ceiling below, assured him he had succeeded. This he stopped up with bread, that it might not betray him before the time of his flight, which he fixed for the night preceding the festival of St. Augustin. On that day there was an assembly of the Great Council, and therefore the Bussola that lay close to the chamber through which he had to pass, would be empty. He was not, however, so near the goal as he imagined. It was on the twenty-fifth of August, at noon, that an event took place, which, even in the recollections of his age, was terrible. The bolts rattled, a deadly terror seized him, the throbbings of his heart shook his whole body, and he dropped powerless into his chair. Lorenz, while yet in the passage, cried out to him through the grating in a tone of joy, "I wish |