hole he could see droves of rats -to his imagination as large as rabbits-running about the garret, and even coming up close to the grating. The sight made him shudder, for rats were his aversion, and he hastily shut the wicket. Hour after hour passed away, and no one came near him. He began to feel the misery of solitude, and though he had no desire for food, he was pained by the neglect which left him without it. As the day advanced, his passions rose almost to madness; he howled, stamped, cursed, and screamed for more than an hour. No notice whatever was taken of him; and at length, it being pitch dark, he tied a handkerchief round his head, and stretched himself on the floor. There he lay for some time, his mind distracted with contending thoughts and emotions, till sleep brought him a welcome relief. He had slept for three hours, when he was aroused by the midnight bell. Stretching out his hand for a handkerchief, it met another, which was of icy stiffness and coldness. His hair stood on end, all his faculties were palsied by fear, and for some minutes he was unable to move. Recovering himself a little, he thought that his imagination might have deceived him. He extended his hand once more, and still the frozen hand was there. The idea now occurred to him, that a corpse had been placed by his side while he slept! A third time he stretched out his hand to ascertain whether his conjecture was right, and in doing this he moved his left arm, and discovered that he had been terrified by his own hand, which was rendered cold and rigid by his having lain on it for some hours. In itself the discovery was laughable enough; but instead of enlivening him, it rather suggested the gloomiest reflections. He saw himself in a place where, if what was false seemed true, truth itself became a dream, where reason lost half her powers, and where the fancy fell a prey to delusive hopes or fearful despondencies. He began to be distrustful of the reality of everything which presented itself to his senses or his mind. With the return of day hope revived in the breast of Casanova. He anticipated his immediate liberation; and with a spirit which proved that he was scarcely worthy of freedom, lay meditating terrible schemes of revenge. His cogitations were interrupted by the coming of the jailor, who sneeringly asked him whether he had had time enough to decide upon what he should eat. This time, seemingly out of bravado, he ordered an ample supply of different articles of food. In a short time the jailor came again, and expressed his wonder that his prisoner had not asked for a bed and some furniture; 'for,' said he, if you imagine that you will be here only one night, you are much mistaken!' He then handed a pencil and paper to Casanova, who gave him a list of what he should want. The jailor, on its being read to him, declared that books, ink, paper, looking-glass, and razors must be omitted, as they were forbidden things. He required money for the provisions, and Casanova gave him one of three sequins, which was all his present wealth. At noon the furniture and the food were brought, and he was desired to mention what he would have for the morrow, as the keeper could visit him only once a day. He was informed, likewise, that the secretary would send him books more fitting than those in the list, as the latter belonged to the prohibited class. On Casanova desiring that his thanks might be conveyed to the secretary for having given him a room to himself, instead of placing him with such rascals as he supposed to be the inmates of these dungeons, the surprised jailor, who at first thought the speech was in jest, assured him that none but people of condition were put there, and that far from being a favour, his insulated condition was intended as an aggravation of punishment. "The fellow was right,' says Casanova, 'as I learned some days afterwards but too well. I then learned that a man who is alone in his confinement, without the power of employing himself, in a cell nearly dark, and where he only sees once a day the person who brings him food, and in which he cannot even walk about upright, becomes the most miserable of living creatures; he may at last even long for the company of a murderer, a madman, or even a bear. Solitude in these prisons brings despair; but none know that who have not had the experience.' At Drawing his table towards the grating, for the sake of the gleam of light that entered there, Casanova sat down to his repast; an ivory spoon was his only substitute for a knife and fork. He had, however, little occasion for carving implements. Long fasting and anxiety had taken away his appetite, and he could not swallow more than a spoonful of soup. Seated in his armchair, he passed the whole of the day in feverish expectation of the promised books. night, sleep was banished from his couch by a combination of circumstances; rats in the adjacent garret were persevering and noisy in their gambols; the clock of St. Mark's tower, nigh at hand, was as audible as though it had been in the cell; and he was overrun and tormented by myriads of fleas, which, he says, almost sent him into convulsions. At daybreak Lorenzo, the jailor, appeared, ordered the cell to be swept out, placed the victuals on the table, and produced two large books, which were sent by the secretary. Casanova wished to go into the garret, when Lorenzo asked to whom he should apply for more, he was told to no one. This was unpleasant news to the jailor, who was fond of pelf, and doubtless took care to remunerate himself liberally, for acting as purveyor to those whom he held in custody. On the following morning he announced to the prisoner, that the tribunal would allow about fifteen shil but this favour was refused. When he had eaten his soup, he examined the books by the help of the light which passed through the grating. They were not of a nature to captivate a man like him, or indeed any one but a cracked - brained fanatic. One bore the title of 'The Mystic City of God: by Maria of Jesus, called Agreda;' the other was a work written by a Jesuit, to inculcate a par-lings weekly for his subsistence; ticular veneration for the heart of the Saviour. The Mystic City was a wild rhapsody, the production of a nun whose intellect was evidently disordered by ascetic practices and visionary contemplation. Having nothing else to beguile the tedious hours with, Casanova persisted for a whole week in reading it, and there was some danger of his becoming as mad as the writer. 'I felt,' says he, 'the influence of the disorder which the nun of Agreda had engrafted on a mind depressed by melancholy and bad food. I smile now when I recall my fantastic dreams. If I had possessed pen and paper, a work might have been produced in the prisons of the Camerotti, more extraordinary than that which Signor Cavalli had sent me. Such a work can overset a man's reason, if, like me, he were a captive in the Camerotti, and deprived of every employment and mental occupation.' In nine days Casanova's stock of money was exhausted; and and he proposed to lay out the sum for him, keep an account, and return any overplus at the month's end. This arrangement was acceded to by the captive. In the present condition of Casanova, the allowance was more than sufficient; for his health had now begun to give way, and he had little inclination to eat. The burning sun of the dog-days, beating on the leaden roof, converted his cell into a kind of vapour bath. He was obliged to remain wholly unclothed, and as he sat in his arm-chair the perspiration ran down on both sides of him. Fever next came on, and he took to his bed; but he suffered in silence. In the course of two or three days, Lorenzo, who does not appear to have been at bottom an inhuman man, and who, besides, had an interest in keeping him alive, discovered the illness of his prisoner, and applied for medical assistance. It was granted. "You will be astonished,' said he, 'to hear of the bounty of the tribunal, for you shall have a Casanova prudently rewarded the jailor for what he had already done, and thus tempted him to do more. When Lorenzo on the same day came to settle his accounts, 'there remained,' says Casanova, 'a balance of about five-and-twenty shillings in my favour, but I gave it to him, telling him that he might have masses said for it; he thanked me as if he were the priest who was to say them. At the end of each month I repeated this gift, but I never saw any receipt from a priest.' doctor, surgeon, and medicines, cise. From day to day Casanova continued to flatter himself that the morrow would set him free. When repeated failures had weakened his confidence of immediate liberation, he took up the hope that some term of imprisonment had originally been fixed; and it struck him that the term would probably expire on the 1st of October, that being the day on which the state inquisitors were changed. On the night preceding that day, his feelings would not suffer him to sleep. The morning for which he had so ardently longed brought him nothing but disA slight favour was now appointment. Nearly the whole granted to Casanova by the of the following week was passed pity or the policy of his jailor. in paroxysms of rage and deHe was permitted to enter the spair. When he subsided into a garret while his cell was being calmer mood, and was capable set in order. During the eight of reflecting, he began to think or ten minutes which were thus it probable he was to be conoccupied, he walked rapidly up fined for life. This idea did and down, as much for the pur- not, however, bring back his pose of scaring away his enemies fits of fury or despondency. the rats, as for the sake of exer-The fearful thought,' says he, hung tottering, under which I was several hundred times obliged to creep. Meantime I was nearly betrayed by a most singular circumstance. I had two years before so tamed a mouse that it would play round me and eat from my mouth. In this small animal I discovered proofs of intelligence too great to easily gain belief; were I to write them, priests would rail, monks grumble, and such philosophers as suppose man alone endowed with the power of thought, allowing nothing but what they call instinct to animals, would proclaim me a fabulous writer, and my opinions heterodox to what they suppose sound philosophy. This intelligent mouse had nearly been my ruin. I had diverted myself with it during the night; it had been nibbling at my door, and capering on a trencher. The sentinels happened to hear our amusement, and called the officers; they heard also, and added all was not right in my dungeon. At day-break my doors resounded; the townmajor, a smith, and mason entered; strict search was begun; flooring, walls, chains, and my own person were all scrutinized, but in vain. They asked what was the noise they had heard. I mentioned the mouse, whistled, and it came and jumped upon my shoulder. Orders were given that I should be deprived of its society; I earnestly entreated they would at least spare its life. The officer on guard gave me his word of honour he would present it to a lady, who would treat it with the utmost tenderness. The lady put the poor little thing in a cage; but it pined, refused all sustenance, and died.' The peace of Hubertsburg put an end to the war between Austria and Prussia. In one respect it was prejudicial to Trenck; the militia were relieved from duty at Magdeburg, and the keeping of the fortress was committed to the regular troops. He was thus deprived of many who had become his warm friends, and they were not easily to be replaced. By these new-comers he was more strictly watched, and he ceased to obtain the comforts which he had recently enjoyed; ammunition-bread was again his sole fare. To make his condition more painful, he learned that, instead of his release being insisted on, his name had scarcely been mentioned during the negotiation for peace. At this moment fortune seemed inclined to give him yet another chance of getting free. There was in the garrison a lieutenant of the regular forces, who had run so deeply into debt that he was preparing to desert. This man having manifested pity for Trenck, and a desire to be serviceable, the captive made him a present of a hundred ducats. This led to the forming of a plan for the liberation of the captive. It was arranged that the lieutenant should procure |