worm secrets from the prisoners, and induce them to relate to him the particulars of the schemes in which they were supposed to have been engaged. At first Andrayne and his companions felt pleased with the attentions of this infamous parasite; but afterwards suspecting and becoming assured of his worthlessness, they treated him with the indifference and scorn that his character deserved. It was found to be a relief when Don Stephano left them for the winter to attend the court of the emperor, with whom he pretended to have considerable influence.

Meanwhile, Andrayne's sister did not desist from her efforts to procure his release. Hearing that the Emperor of Austria was about to visit Milan, she repaired thither. The nature of her exertions

may be best learned from the following entries in her diary:

Milan, May 10, 1825.-We are at length at the end of our journey, and it seems like a dream to me that I should be again in this town, the scene to me of so much suffering. I this morning paid a visit to Count_Partha, and was shewn into the little room so well known to me. I seated myself on the same sofa on which I was informed of the sentence passed on my poor brother. What harrowing emotions had I not suffered there!

'May 19.-Learning this morning from our ambassador that Prince Metternich would receive me if I called on him, I proceeded to his house, invoking Heaven to inspire me with words which should touch him. Encouraged by the kindness which beamed from the prince's countenance, I said, in a tone which came from my soul : "Will you interest yourself for a poor heart-broken woman who relies upon you?"

""I have promised the Archbishop of Paris, madam," said the prince, taking my hand, and leading me to a seat by his side, "to use all my interest for you; and be assured I will keep my word. The Duke d'Angoulême has also strongly spoken in behalf of your brother. But it is the maxim of our sovereign always to be master in his own realms, and not suffer any potentate in Europe to intrude on what passes within them."

Great as was this rebuff, the devoted sister did not give up all hope, until she learned from the Countess Confalonieri that there was at present no likelihood of mercy being extended to the captives. Prejudiced by the cruel misrepresentations of the priest Stephano, and full of the supposed necessity for making examples, the emperor would only concede that Andrayne, when sufficiently corrected, should be again restored to the world; and that in the meantime his family should have, every six months, a bulletin of his health.

When the wretch Stephano returned, it was to tantalise Andrayne by fresh assurances, that if he had furnished him with the revelations he tried to extort, his sister would have succeeded in obtaining his pardon; and henceforth the prisoner's contumacy, as it was called, was to be overcome by the withdrawal of every little comfort hitherto

derived from books, all of which-the most precious possession of the captive, one ill-selected volume of devotion by a Jesuit, furnished by the priest, excepted—were reluctantly, at his avowed suggestion, confiscated by the governor of Moravia.

The winter which ensued was felt severely by the prisoners, whose hands were swollen by the frost. Against the intenseness of the cold no provision was made by artificial heat, nor by clothing. The dress, which was the same as in the middle of summer, consisted only of a scanty jacket, and a thin and tattered pair of trousers. Hunger, too, added its pangs to other physical evils; and but for vague hopes, resting on the rude kindness of Schiller, who often brought, hidden under his greatcoat, a porringer of potatoes, the stoutest spirits would have sunk under the hardships of the severe winter of 1825-26.

The loss of Schiller, whom the suspicions of Don Stephano caused to be removed from his post, and whose soldier-spirit not long after sunk under the disgrace and vexation, was a cruel blow to the prisoners. But the malice of their disappointed tormentor had devised a more dreadful revenge, in the separation of Andrayne from his beloved Confalonieri, now more than ever in need of his attentions, and giving him for a companion Judge S——, an indulged informer, whose duty consisted in ferreting information from the prisoners with whom he was put. The plan of resorting to such mean devices, marks the baseness to which the ministers of a despotic government are driven in the execution of their functions. In the case of Andrayne, this spy system was of little avail. He was aware of the character who had been thrust upon him, and was guarded in all his movements and observations. The reserve of Andrayne convinced S- that he was suspected of treachery, and this roused in him the most vengeful sentiments. One day, when almost stifled with the air of the cell, Andrayne attempted to open the window; S— rushed at him with fury, and they nearly came to blows. At length S- was removed, to the great joy of his companion, who danced with exultation at the thought of being no longer under restraint. Some time after, he had the pleasure of being restored to the cell and company of Confalonieri.

Hopes of escape now intruded themselves; and these in time ceased to be absolutely chimerical, as, thanks to the countess, Confalonieri had been furnished with means for it; and he only postponed his flight from a lameness of Andrayne, which prevented his accompanying him. The idea, however, was finally given up, from the noble fear of compromising those involved in it. On one occasion, everything was arranged for the flight of one; and Andrayne pressed and besought Confalonieri to be the favoured party. But this noble-minded man refused. 'I will never profit,' said he, by any good-fortune that will injure my fellow-captives.' Neither, therefore, embraced the offer of making a clandestine escape.

Of the monotonous life which the prisoners spent during several melancholy years, it would be of little consequence to take any note. One particular source of misery need only be adverted to. The deprivation of books, and all means of literary employment, having induced the prisoners to petition for some occupation—even work on the fortifications with the convicts would have been embraced with transport-the cruel ingenuity of Stephano suggested, first, a daily and rigorously exacted task of lint-making from the filthy and disgusting rags of the prison hospital; and, after that had been long endured, the no less filthy knitting of coarse stockings from rank, oily wool, the odour of which kept them in a continual state of nausea and indisposition for food.

To the ordinary sufferings of the prisoners generally, there was added, in the case of Maroncelli, a disease in one of his legs-the result of the severities endured in this horrid receptacle. After weeks of solicitation, the gangrened limb was amputated; and this event cast a new gloom over the minds of the captives. Some time later (September 16, 1830), Maroncelli and Pellico were released from confinement, and allowed to return to their respective homes ; Andrayne, Confalonieri, and the other Italians being still retained, without any prospect of immediate liberation. In the winter of 1830-31, Andrayne heard of the death of his father; and Confalonieri was agonised to learn that his wife, who had never ceased to intercede for his liberation, was now no more. She had died of a broken heart. The grief of Confalonieri was overwhelming. He wept like a child. All day and night Andrayne heard from him the exclamation of 'Theresa, my beloved Theresa!' mingled with sighs and sobs. The only consolation of the captives was, that they were permitted to share the same cell.

In the end of 1831 the cholera, in its progress through Europe, visited Spielberg, and imparted new horrors to the scene. With Andrayne and his companion life had ceased to be cared for; but the thought of dying unattended, like dogs, of this mysterious scourge, drove the prisoners almost to desperation. To their imaginations the disease had already fastened on their attenuated bodies. Swimmings of the head and intestinal pains seemed the prelude of dissolution. In Confalonieri other alarming symptoms soon appeared. Andrayne knocked at the door, and called loudly for medical assistance. The warders of the prison at first refused to reply; and when at length they came, it was to give the consoling report, that the commandant had the keys, and that no one could enter the cells till morning. Happily, Confalonieri recovered from the attack; and both had the good-fortune to escape falling victims to the epidemic.

The night, says the proverb, is never darker than when it verges towards the dawn; and the subsidence of the cholera, in March 1832, proved the prelude to an unexpected release. It may serve as

a proof of the futility of omens, that, for some days previous, the incessant croaking of a raven had prepared Andrayne for a very different catastrophe; and his conversation, when broken in upon by the agent of his deliverance, was turning on a few more years of torture and a felon's grave. We resume his own language.]

MY RELEASE.

One evening, while engaged in conversation, Confalonieri suddenly said: 'Some one opens the iron gate of the corridor. It is the director of police: he can only be coming at this hour to set some of us free. May it please Heaven that he comes for you!" added he, pressing my hand fervently. I know not what ray of hope shot through my mind; my heart beat violently; and on hearing the words just then uttered by the jailer: 'The director of police is waiting for you,' I threw myself into the arms of Confalonieri, without having the power of speech; and he, the alldevoted, embraced me, exclaiming: 'I am happy !—I am happy!' Holding his hand in mine, I was at length able to mutter: May God reward you for all the good you have done me!' How distressing to leave this venerable man still a captive in an Austrian dungeon!

Too much stunned and bewildered to enter into the idea of freedom, even the striking off of my fetters by the same smith who, nine years before, had riveted them on, or the exchange of my convict garb for civilised apparel, caused me no sensation of pleasure; nay, I did not rejoice on passing the very outer gates. How much must I have been crushed by suffering, to have passed them now without any feeling of happiness!

But the springs of feeling, though frozen, were not yet dried up. On being informed that it was to the unceasing efforts of my sister, then at Vienna, who was to meet me on the road, that I was indebted at length for my pardon, I exclaimed: 'She? O, my God! I thank thee!' and I wept. The emotion and joy I had not felt till now, unfroze my heart. Tears flowed, sweet and salutary, as in the days of happiness; and I blessed my sister from my heart.

This reunion, brought about by the benevolent interposition in her behalf of the good Queen of France and the Empress of Austria, was not one of unmingled joy and exultation. The change in my appearance, which, on my first view for ten years of a mirror, appalled even myself, may be best told in my sister's touching words, written on the day which brought us together.

Wednesday, March 20.-Day of happiness! he is restored to us! My God I thank thee for having made me the instrument of restoring life to a being so good and unfortunate! At daybreak I Iwas on the balcony. About two o'clock a postchaise appeared in sight. I called to my cousin, scarce able to speak: "Look! a tall

man is getting out of the carriage! It is he, I am certain. Alexander, answer me!"

'A face, pale and emaciated, turned and raised its eyes on hearing my voice. I could not contain a cry of sorrow : "Great God! it is he. But how could I have recognised him?" and I fell on a seat, deprived of strength and speech.

My cousin flew out, and returned leading and supporting my unfortunate brother, who threw himself into my arms, repeating only, with sobs: "Old! old!-dead yonder without you!"

'I had to retire for a short time and relieve myself by a flood of tears. Nothing had prepared me to see him thus-dying, and presenting the appearance of an aged man by his bent figure and cadaverous complexion. When I returned, I thought I saw a faint spark of joy animating his countenance on looking at me sufficiently near to distinguish my features.

"My poor sister!" he exclaimed; "the wind of adversity has passed over your hair and turned it white; but you are not so much altered as I expected, when I consider all the tears I have cost you!"'

Thus, after a confinement from January 1823 to March 1832, a period of nine years and two months, the unfortunate Andrayne was set at liberty: his sufferings, as he says, having made him prematurely old, while the loss of so much valuable time had ruined his prospects in life. And all this, as we have seen, alone arose from the well-meaning but imprudent act of carrying a few papers from some acquaintances in Switzerland into Italy. While execrating the detestable tyranny which could impose so frightful a punishment for so insignificant an offence, we must also feel that Andrayne was guilty of culpable rashness, in allowing himself to be used as an engine for stirring up sedition in a country with whose government he had no proper concern; and was on this account less excusable than Confalonieri and the other Italian patriots. Well may we remind our young readers, in reference to this, as also many other misfortunes, of the wise advice conveyed in the Eastern proverb:

BIM nothing of which

thou hast not well

considered the end. KNY