268 An Ariette for Music-Remarkable Cases of Circumstantial Evidence. AN ARIETTE FOR MUSIC. TO A LADY SINGING TO HER ACCOMPANIMENT ON THE GUITAR. As the moon's soft splendor So thy voice most tender To the strings without soul has given The stars will awaken, No leaf will be shaken, Whilst the dews of thy melody scatter Though the sound overpowers, A tone Of some world far from ours, REMARKABLE CASES OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL BRADFORD THE INNKEEPER. and that, but a few minutes preceding, they had heard the groans of the deceased. Bradford's defence on his trial was the same as before; he had heard a noise; he suspected that some villany was transacting; he struck a light, snatched up the knife, the only weapon at hand to defend himself, and entered the room of the deceased. He averred that the terrors he betrayed were merely the feelings natural to innocence, as well as guilt, on beholding so horrid a scene. The defence, however, could not but be considered as weak, contrasted with the several powerful circumstances against him. Never was circumstantial evidence so strong, so far as it went. There was little need for comment from the judge in summing up the evidence; no room appeared for extenuation, and the prisoner was declared guilty by the jury without their even leaving the box. Bradford was executed shortly after, still declaring that he was not the murderer, nor privy to the murder of Mr. Hayes; but he died disbelieved by all. Yet were these assertions not untrue! The murder was actually committed by the footman of Mr. Hayes; and the assassin, immediately on stabbing his master, rifled his pockets of his money, gold watch and snuff box, and then escaped back to his own room. This could scarcely have been effected, as after circumstances showed, more than two seconds before Bradford's entering the unfortunate gentleman's chamber. The world owes this information to a remorse of conscience on the part of the footman (eighteen months after the execu tion of Bradford) when laid on a bed of sickness. It was a death-bed repentance, and by that death the law lost its vic tim. It were to be wished that this account could close here, but there is more to be told. Bradford, though innocent of the murder, and not even privy to it, was nevertheless a murderer in design. He had heard, as well as the footman, what Mr. Hayes had declared at supper, as to the having a sum of mo ney about him; and he went to the chamber of the deceased with the same dreadful intentions as the servant. He was struck with amazement on beholding himself anticipated in the crime. He could not believe his senses; and in turning back the bed-clothes to assure himself of the fact, he, in his agitation, dropped his knife on the bleeding body, by which means both his hands and the weapon became bloody. These circumstances Bradford acknowledged to the clergyman who attended him after sentence, but who, it is extremely probable, would not believe them at the time. The temptation, we have seen, proved too strong for two per sons out of the few who heard his ill-timed disclosure. Jonathan Bradford kept an inn in Oxfordshire, on the London road to Oxford. He bore a respectable character. Mr. Hayes, a gentleman of fortune, being on his way to Oxford on a visit to a relation, put up at Bradfords's. He there joined company with two gentlemen, with whom he supped, and in conversation unguardedly mentioned that he had then about him a considerable sum of money. In due time they retired to their respective chambers; the gentlemen to a two-bedded room, leaving, as is customary with many, a candle burning in the chimney corner. Some hours after they were in bed, one of the gentlemen, being awake, thought he heard a deep groan in an adjoining chamber; and this being repeated, he softly Besides the graver lesson to be drawn from this extraordi awoke his friend. They listened together, and the groans in- nary case, in which we behold the simple intention of crime creasing as of one dying and in pain, they both instantly arose, so signally and wonderfully punished, these events furnish a and proceeded silently to the door of the next chamber, from striking warning against the careless, and, it may be, vain diswhich the groans had seemed to come. The door being ajar, play of money or other property in strange places. To beedthey saw a light in the room. They entered, but it is impos-lessness on this score, the unfortunate Mr. Hayes fell a victim. sible to paint their consternation on perceiving a person weltering in his blood in the bed, and a man standing over him with a dark lantern in one hand, and a knife in the other!The man seemed as much petrified as themselves, but his ter ror curried with it all the appearance of guilt. The gentlemen soon discovered that the murdered person was the stranger with whom they had that night supped, and that the man who was standing over him was their host. They seized Bradford directly, disarmed him of his knife, and charged him with being the murderer. He assumed by this time the air of innocence, positively denied the crime, and asserted that he came there with the same humane intentions as themselves; for that, hearing a noise, which was succeeded by a groaning, he got out of bed, struck a light, armed himself with a knife for his defence, and had but that minute entered the room before them. These assertions were of little avail; he was kept in close ustody till the morning, and then taken before a neighboring justice of the peace. Bradford still denied the murder, but with such apparent indications of guilt, that the justice hesitated not to make use of this extraordinary expression on writing his mittimus, "Mr. Bradford, either you or myself committed this murder." This remarkable affair became a topic of conversation to the whole country. Bradford was condemned by the general voice of every company. In the midst of all this predetermination, came on the assizes at Oxford. Bradford was brought to trial; he pleaded not guilty. Nothing could be stronger than the evidence of the two gentlemen. They testified to the finding Mr. Hayes murdered in his bed, Bradford at the side of the body with a light and a knife, and that knife, and the hand which held it, bloody. They stated, that, on their entering the room, he betrayed all the signs of a guilty man; BRUNELL'S CASE. In the year 1742, another case, of a very remarkable nature, occurred near Hull. A gentleman travelling to that place was stopped late in the evening, about seven miles from the town, by a single highwayman, with a mask on his face, who robbed the traveller of a purse containing twenty guineas. The highwayman rode off by a different path, full speed, and the gentleman, frightened, but not injured except in purse, pursued his journey. It was growing late, however, and being naturally much agitated by what had passed, he rode only two miles farther, and stopt at the Bell Inn, kept by Mr. James Brunell. He went into the kitchen to give directions for his supper, where he related, to several persons present, the fact of his having been robbed; to which he added this peculiar circumstance, that when he travelled he always gave his gold a peculiar mark, and that every guinea in the purse taken from him was thus marked. Hence he hoped the robber would be detected. Supper being ready, he retired. He had not long finished his supper, when Mr. Brunell came into the parlour where he was, and after the usual inquiries of landlords as to the guest's satisfaction with his meal, observed, "Sir, I understand you have been robbed, not far hence, this evening." "I have, sir," was the reply." And your money was marked?" continued the landlord. "It was," said the traveller. "A circumstance has arisen," resursed Mr. Brunell, "which leads me to think that I can point out the robber. Pray, at what time in the evening were you stopped?" "It was just setting in to be dark," replied the traveller. "The time confirms my suspicions," said the Remarkable Cases of Circumstantial Evidence-The Eighteen Girls of Nidwalden. landlord; and he then informed the gentleman that he had a waiter, one John Jennings, who had of late been so very full of money, and so very extravagant, that he (the landlord) had been surprised at it, and had determined to part with him, his conduct being every way suspicious; that long before dark that day, he had sent out Jennings to change a guinea for him; that the man had only come back since the arrival of the traveller, saying he could not get change; and that seeing Jennings to be in liquor, he had sent him to bed, determined to discharge him in the morning. Mr. Brunell continued to say, that when the guinea was brought back to him, if it was not the same which he had sent out for change, there ☐ being on the returned one a mark, which he was very sure I was not upon the other; but that he should probably have thought no more of the matter, Jennings having frequently had a gold in his pocket of late, had not the people in the kitchen told him what the traveller had related respecting the robbery, and the circumstance of the guineas being marked. He (Mr. Brunell) had not been present when this relation was made, and unluckily before he heard of it from the people in the kitchen, he had payed away the guinea to a man who lived at some distance, and who had now gone home. "The circumstance, however," said the landlord in conclusion, "struck me so strongly, that I could not refrain, as an honest man, from coming and giving you information of it." It Mr. Brunell was duly thanked for his candid disclosure. There appeared from it the strongest reason for suspecting Jennings; and if, on searching him any others of the marked guineas should be found, and the gentleman could identify them, there would then remain no doubt in the matter. was now agreed to go up to his room; Jennings was fast asleep; his pockets were searched, and from one of them was drawn forth a purse, containing exactly nineteen guineas. Suspicion now became certainty; for the gentleman declared the purse and guineas to be identically those of which he had been robbed. Assistance was called; Jennings was awakened, dragged out of bed, and charged with the robbery. He denied it firmly, but circumstances were too strong to gain him belief. He was secured that night, and next day taken before a justice of the peace. The gentleman and Mr. Brunell deposed to the facts upon oath, and Jennings, having no proofs, nothing but mere assertions of innocence which could not be credited, was committed to take his trial at the next assizes. So strong seemed the case against him, that most of the man's friends advised him to plead guilty, and throw himselt on the mercy of the court. This advice he rejected, and, when arraigned, plead not guilty. The prosecutor swore to the fact of the robbery; though, as the thing took place in the dusk, and the highwayman was in a mask, he could not swear to the person of the prisoner, but thought him of the same stature nearly as the man who robbed him. To the purse and guineas, when they were produced in court, he sworeas to the purse, positively, and as to the marked guineas, to the best of his belief; and he testified to their having been taken from the pocket of the prisoner. The prisoner's master, Mr. Brunell, deposed as to the sending of Jennings for the change of a guinea, and to the waiter's having brought back to him a marked one, in the room of one he had given him unmarked. He also gave evidence as to the discovery of the purse and guineas on the prisoner. To consummate the proof, the man to whom Mr. Brunell had paid the guinea, as mentioned, came forward and produced the coin, testifying at the same time that he had re ceived it on the evening of the robbery from the prisoner's master, in payment of a debt; and the traveller, or prosecutor, on comparing it with the other nineteen, swore to its being, to the best of his belief, one of the twenty marked guineas taken from him by the highwayman, and of which the other nineteen were found on Jennings. The judge summed up the evidence, pointing out all the concurring circumstances against the prisoner; and the jury, convinced by this strong accumulation of circumstantial evidence, without going out of court, brought in a verdict of guilty. Jennings was executed some little time afterwards at Hull, repeatedly declaring his innocence up till the very moment of his execution. Within a twelvemonth afterwards, Brunell, the master of Jennings, was himself taken up for a robbery committed on a guest in his house, and the fact being proved on trial, he was convicted, and ordered for execution. The approach of death brought on repentance, and repentance confession. Brunell not only acknowledged himself to have been guilty of many 269€ highway robberies, but owned himself to have committed the very one for which poor Jennings suffered. The account which Brunell gave was, that after robbing the traveller, he got home before him by swifter riding and by a nearer way. That he found a man at home waiting for him, to whom he owed a little bill, and to whom, not having enough of other money in his pocket, he gave away one of the twenty guineas which he had obtained by the robbery. Presently came in the robbed gentleman, who, whilst Brunell, not knowing of his arrival, was in the stable, told his tale, as before related, in the kitchen. The gentleman had scarcely left the kitchen before Brunell entered it, and there, to his con sternation, heard of the facts, and of the guineas being marked. He became dreadfully alarmed. The guinea which he had paid away he dared not ask back again; and as the affair of the robbery, as well as the circumstance of the marked guineas, would soon become publicly known, he saw nothing before him but detection, disgrace, and death. In this dilemma, the thought of accusing and sacrificing poor Jennings occurred to him. The state of intoxication in which Jennings was, gave him an opportunity of concealing the money in the waiter's pocket. The rest of the story the reader knows. THE EIGHTEEN GIRLS OF NIDWALDEN. A LEGEND OF 1798. BY ELIZABETH YOUATT. 'Yet is the tale, brief though it be as strange, To minstrel's harps at midnight's witching hour!'-Rogers. The MS. from which the following narrative is subjoined was originally in the possession of a pupil of the philanthropic Pestalozzi, and supposed to have been written by the boy's mother, who was herself an eye witness of the dreadful scenes described in it; scenes which shall render back to France and to her Generals an immortality of hatred whenever a free spirit or a gentle heart pauses to contemplate them. "It was evening," so commences the Legend of the Eighteen Girls of Nidwalden. "An evening such as we only find in Switzerland during its brief summer. Around us waved the golden corn fields and green pastures, while far above, the white dazzling peaks of the distant glaciers smiled down upon us in their cold and solemn beauty like presiding spirits. It was customary at that time for the girls of Nidwalden to meet together at intervals, when the glad recollections of our early days when we used to sport with each other upon the mountains or gather flowers in the lower valleys, were renewed with an almost childish eagerness and delight. On the evening in question there were eighteen of us reckoning myself-eighteen happy and joyous girls just budding into womanhood, with all those vague hopes, and delightful dreams so peculiar to that period of life fresh in our hearts. Some stood knitting in picturesque groups, their busy fingers moving almost as nimbly as their tongues. While others sat upon the ground weaving garlands of the blue gentiana which they twined with untutored grace amid their flowing tresses, or hung carlessly upon the bough of the trees above their heads, while a few of the younger ones danced merrily on the green turf to minstrelsy of their own sweet voices. Amid the darkness of after years how vividly does the memory of that hour flash back upon my mind—how fondly 1 seek to linger over the one bright spot in my night of gloom! Sweet friends and companions of my happy childhood! I see you once more as you were then, ere the withering blight of care had fallen upon your hearts. I listen to the loud glad music of your mingled laughter-and my spirit bounds within me at the recollection! Among that merry band there were five sisters, all beautiful and somewhat proud of the admiration which their appearance together never failed to excite, but with such perfect love existing between them that each one scarcely ever thought of herself separate from the rest. Aileen, the youngest, was the favorite, not only of her sisters but the whole Canton. She had all those qualities which we find to be the usual characteristics of the beings most loved in this world-gentleness, affection, and a light and joyous spirit. It seemed impossible that Aileen should ever give offence to any one, so caressing were her manners, and so winning even in their very waywardness. There was another too whom we all loved, an orphan, one of those passionate and imaginative beings for whose future happiness we involuntarily tremble, dreading the moment when the slumbering energies of their souls shall be unchained from their deep repose to bless or destroy, according to the object around which they cling. But why particularize any more? after all the early history of most girls is pretty much alike, and the same thoughts and feelings, however carefully concealed, will generally be found to actuate their conduct. As the evening closed in, those who had wandered farther away among the mountains, and the merry dancers upon the plain, wearied with their exertions, and infected with that sobered train of feeling which apt to steal over us in the hour of a summer twilight, joined their graver companions, and we twined our arms around each other's waists with holier feelings of affections, and began to fancy, as girls are apt to do, the many circumstances that might happen to divide us before another summer. There are three things which the young have to dread at such times as these-marriage, with its hosts of new ties and sympathies, which generally succeed in weaning us so effectually from all the old companions and associations of our girlhood. Death, and change, but of the last we knew, and thought nothing. Many a fair cheek glowed at the possibility of the second, and when we spoke of the first, I observed that one fair girl, whose sisters had all died of consumption, stole away and wept, praying for forgiveness as she did so she was very young to die! Poor Louise! you were not destined to perish thus. Those who had no lovers veiled their girlish envy by laughing at their more fortunate companions; and those who had felt too happy to heed the playful mirth that was directed against them. One young girl, with a saucy toss of her beautiful head, amid the dark tresses of which the fading blossoms of the gentiana peeped dimly out like stars in a dark night, laughingly assured us that Nidwalden contained not one whom she could ever love. And yet, six months afterward, we followed her to the village church, and saw her the happy bride of a young farmer, whose cottage joined her father's; showing how little faith is to be placed in the proud boastings of an unengaged heart. Aileen sat upon the ground at the feet of her second sister, with her arch and mischievous eyes uplifted with provoking mirth, as she sang the old Swiss ballad, of a 'Youth who came from fair Piedmont to win an Alpine maiden.' And the low sweet tones of her voice, the beautiful picture which she presented, her joyous face seen in contrast with the downcast eyes and blushing consciousness of her sister had rivetted all our attention, when it was suddenly diverted by the appearance of one of those wild Bohemian women, whose periodical visits to our Cantons are looked forward to with such trembling eagerness by the younger portion of the inhabitants. She wore a crimson petticoat reaching a little above the ancle, and over that a still shorter garment of pale blue cloth, surmounted by a velvet jacket, which was profusely covered with small gilt buttons. A crimson handkerchief twisted about her head, and but ill concealing a profusion of grey matted hair, gave a picturesque wildness to her whole attire, and contrasted finely with the dark, weather-stained hue of her complexion. Her eyes were singularly bright and keen, and we shrank back with a momentary feeling of awe as they glanced rapidly over us. Aileen ceased her song and was the first to come forward and approach the wanderer, entreating that she would make trial of her skill, and tell her how long it would be before she found some one that she could love better than her sisters? The Bohemian did not reply, but a shade of sorrow passed over her face. I given you this, I have still another left, the last gift of my sainted mother. But if you will not be bribed to tell my for tune," she added with that winning smile, which so few could withstand, "do it for love!" "Maiden, if I refuse thee, it is in pity," said the Bohemian. Aileen looked disappointed, for she was not used to have her wishes disputed, but it was evident that the angry feeling was not of long continuance, for I watched her a few moments afterward steal round to the bank on which the wanderer had flung her empty wallet, and place in it the bread and fruit which had been prepared for her own supper, together with the only coin she possessed, which small as it was would be sufficient in a hospitable country, such as Switzerland then was for the most part, to last out for many days. To all who addressed her, the old woman was equally reserved, refusing to make trial of her skill though richly tempted by the lavish offerings of the impatient group whose eagerness to pierce into the unknown future was increased by the opposition which they had so unexpectedly met with. At length the keen eyes of the Bohemian rested on the spot where I stood, and she beckoned me toward her, withdrawing a little apart as she did so, and I followed her trembling with curiosity and impatience. She took my hand in her withered ones and appeared carefully to examine it, while from time to time she looked up in my fave with a dark and troubled expression. "You love and are beloved!" said the Gipsy at length. I remained silent, too timid to confess, and too conscious to deny the truth of the assertion, and she continued. "It is well, the object is worthy of you, and you will attain In the short space of two years you will be a wife, a mother and a widow !" it. There was a long pause, during which my better reason struggled with the superstitious fears that overwhelmed me. "But why," said I at length, “have I alone been singled out to listen to your dark revealings? No fate which you might prophecy for my companions could be worse than that marked out for me." "Hear me," said the Bohemian with impressive solemnity, "two years hence, not one of those seventeen beautiful and happy girls shall be left alive upon the earth! The doom is upon every one of them, and you are destined to see it worked out!" I started and uttered an irrepressible scream of horror, but she bade me be calm, and hide carefully within my own breast the desolating secret which I had wrung from her's. A little way off stood the merry group, curiously regarding us, and fearing they might read in the pale horror-stricken expression of my face their own fearful destiny, I turned away from the gipsy with a wild laugh and rejoined them immediately. Well," said Aileen, passing her arm gently around me and looking archly into my eyes. "Any news of Priest John?" and then seeing that I looked unhappy, she kindly added. "After all, my dear friend, this is but nonsense, and the God of the future only knows what is in store for us." "Poor Aileen! for thy sake I prayed that it might not be so." With delicate consideration no other questions were put to me, my gentle companions judging from my sadness, that I had nothing pleasant to relate. All through the remainder of that memorable evening I felt as a mortal may he supposed to do, moving amid a band of happy spirits-henceforth I was alone-they must all die, but I should survive! Another summer came, and we met again. Many that had had lovers were now wives, and a change had passed over all. Of the five fair girls two were married, but the youngest and most beautiful of them all, still loved no one better than her sisters. The orphan too had fulfilled her doom-the doom of a too sensitive spirit, a blighted and broken heart! But the pride of her woman's nature struggled powerfully with its weakness, and no laugh was louder in the joyous circle than that of the pale and heart-stricken Clemence. Louise had passed the fatal age, on the attainment of which, her fair sis ters had dropped one by one into their untimely graves, and catching the wild hopes of her parents and friends, that she was not destined to fall a victim to that fearful disease which had swept away so many, she gave herself up to those fairy hopes and anticipations with which the young love to look for ward into the future. For myself, I could only rejoice as I gazed upon them that the prophesy was as yet unfulfilled; only one year remained of the time mentioned by the Bohe mian, and it seemed to me impossible that they should all die in that short space-but nothing is impossible to God! One part of the prediction which related to myself, had however come to pass, and I was the happy wife of one of the best of men. My son, for whose eyes this narrative is written, has only to consult the various histories of the times, in order to form some idea of the vigorous manner in which the French republic worked out their avowed purpose of subjugating Switzerland. A free people, as they styled themselves, fighting against a nation that had, from time immemorial, preferred liberty to life itself. I shall confine myself, therefore, to what - passed in my own immediate neighborhood. In the month of July 1798, General Schauenburg and the French commissioners, sent orders for all the people to assemble in every Canton, and take an oath at once repugnant to their feelings, and dangerous to their long cherished independence. But they at once refused to comply with the demand, entreating to be left to the peaceable enjoyment of that liberty, which they had so dearly purchased; and offering to make a solemn promise, never to take up arms against France, or join the ranks of its enemies. But this was not deemed sufficient, and Schauenburg repaired to Luzerne with fifteen thousand men, ready to invade the forest Cantons. Had they remained firm and united, all might yet have been well, but Schwitz first, and then Uri, began to waver in their resolution, until the small Canton of Unterwalden was left alone in the struggle. The Obwalden was surprised by the entrance of a French column, and forced to make a passive resistance; and the beautiful Nidwalden only remained to resist the combined forces of France. And if it fell at last, the victim of a power a thousand times exceeding its own, the glory is still with those brave men, and undying shame upon the conqueror ! The little valley of Martyrs, as it has since been called, felt that determination of purpose which is produced by a feeling of right and justice; and a hope that even though they perished, the memory of their struggle, and the desire to avenge their deaths, might have a beneficial effect in awakening the mind of their countrymen from the slavish lethargy which was fast stealing over them, and that a flame might be kindled from the ashes of the brave, by the help of which, not Nidwalden only, but the whole of Switzerland should be purified and freed. Sustained as I was by the unshrinken constancy of my noble husband, I shuddered at the fearful prospect before me, and instead of rejoicing over the birth of my fair and beautiful boy, wept to think that another of the Bohemian's prophesies had been accomplished. Early on the morning of the memorable 9th of September, my husband entered my chamber where I sat, pale and sorrowful, and commanded me to pack up as quickly as possible, such little valuables as I might desire to preserve, and join a party of my countrywomen, who terrified at the increasing horrors of the times, which spared neither sex or age, were about to take refuge at Sarnen. "And you John," said I, clinging fondly to him, and look ing into his pale, beautiful face with streaming eyes. "What will become of you?" "I am going now to perform mass, and the God whom I serve will protect me," was his reply, as he bent down and kissed my forehead for the last time, and kneeling at his feet, I submissively received his blessing and departed to join my child, who was already in safety at Sarnen. A strange sort of resolution sustained me in that fearful hour, and I felt that it was in vain to struggle against fate. The pale group without only waited my coming, and with trembling steps and by a circuitous path, we passed hastily out of the devoted city. There were above thirty of us, including old women and children; but of those capable of doing any thing in their own defence, but eighteen-the same eighteen who two years ago on that very day, had met together thoughtless and happy girls, in the peaceful valleys of Nidwalden-and every one of them doomed! About half way between Stanz and the place of our destination, stands the chapel of St. Jacob, the white walls of which were already in sight, when a troop of French soldiers, maddened with conquest and thirsting for blood, suddenly emerged from the cover of a neighboring wood. In that dreadful moment, the pale and broken-hearted Clemence was the first to think on what was best to be done, and hurrying the feebler portion of our little band into the chapel, we placed ourselves resolutely with our backs against the wall, resolved to die in their defence. We were all armed with scythes, which we had found left by the frightened inhabitants, and I noticed that the foremost soldiers involuntarily shrank back at the first sight of our formidable weapons. We knew that it was in vain to appeal to their mercy, but nevertheless Aileen made the effort. Poor girl! she had been taught to believe that no one could refuse her any thing, but they drove her back with threats and curses, like a frightened bird. Clemence, who from being the least happy, became the more courageous, and fearless of death, spoke a few brief words of hope and encouragement, reminding us that the lives of our aged parents and helpless children depended upon our beating back our enemies, and concluded with the last sentence of the memorable declaration of Bern, which was then on every one's lips, "We may cease to exist, but our honor must be preserved to the last." You may wonder, my son, how I could remember all this, but I will venture to say, that not one word uttered by that pale and fragile girl, as she stood proudly in the midst of us, with her eyes flashing and her cheeks glowing, will ever pass away from those who heard it. And when reason shall have resumed her sway in the hearts of her murderers, when peace shall restore them to their homes and children in fair France, I can wish them no deeper curse than that the recollection of this scene, and the tones of Clemence's clear, silvery voice may be undying! At the first sweep of our glittering weapons the French drew back in disorder, and then turning with rage and shame, renewed the attack with an impetuosity that left us no hope but death. Clemence was the first to fall, and gradually of the four sisters, who kept so careful a watch around the beautiful Aileen, but one was left, and she, pale and wounded, could only ward off the blows of the fierce soldiers with her feeble arm. When I looked again they had both disappeared, and of the eighteen but seven remained! For myself, I had no fears, but I knew that they must all die! Gradually, however, my strength failed me-I grew sick with the sight of blood; and the screams of the frightened children within the chapel-the groans of my dying companions—and the wild shouts and curses of the soldiers grew less and less distinct, as I sank fainting on the ground. The day was far advanced before I again unclosed my eyes, to find that of the eighteen I alone was left alive! The soldiers thinking us all destroyed, and somewhat ashamed perhaps of the victory they had achieved, departed without farther outrage; and finding all quiet, the little band of childless mothers, and weeping orphans had gone to carry the fearful tidings of their bereavement into Sarnen. With a sudden hope that all might not be quite dead, I moved over the slippery ground and began to examine the altered faces of my companions, and to place my hand upon hearts that had a short time since bounded so joyously, but which were now cold and pulseless. The five sisters laid together where they had fallen with their arms flung over each other; and a smile seemed to hover on the parted lip of the youngest, as if she felt it happiness to be with them even in death. Louise, fearfully mangled, laid at a little distance off. Poor Louise! the fate of thy many sisters perishing one by one upon their peaceful beds, surrounded by kind friends and loving voices, was to be envied-not feared. One young girl stood up rigidly against the white walls of St. Jacob's Chapel, which were sprinkled with her blood, but she was quite dead, and on my touching her, fell heavily to the ground; and sick with horror, I went a little way apart, and finding myself upon my knees, prayed that God would have mercy both on them and me-the dead and the living! It was thus that the little band of brave spirits, who had come to ascertain the truth of the horrible tragedy related to them, found me and conveyed me to Sarnen, where my worst fears were confirmed and the last shock given to my breaking heart-thy blessed father died as he had lived, at God's altar!" Thus somewhat abruptly ends the legend of the eighteen girls of Nidwalden. And on referring to the different histories of the times, we find that on the day to which the closing scene alludes, fifteen hundred are supposed to have fallen victims to the brutal ferocity of the soldiers. And that a Priest while in the act of saying mass, was struck dead by a shot, the mark of which in the altar by which he stood, is still shown to the traveller. In the churchyard of Stanz, a chapel has been built consecrated to the memory of four hundred and fourteen inhabitants of the town, including women and children, and once a year mass is said in the old chapel of St. Jacob, for the repose of the souls of the seventeen girls of Nidwalden! 272 Verses to her who will understand them-Huntsmen's Chorus in 'Der Freischutz.' was young, handsome, and, like you, had talent. I composed operas, as you do. Brute that I am, I then dreamed of fame, VERSES TO HER WHO WILL UNDERSTAND THEM. glory, and wealth, whilst doomed, in the pursuit of art, to fall BY JOHN NEAL. Woman! I've held thy hand in mine, No bleaching of thy crimson lip; Immoveable as death: And yet, when first I touched thy hand, I saw thee tremble, and their hue Change like the changing skies: I felt the heave-I saw the swell I see but now, I feel but now Thy very breathing strange- Oh woman! what a change! The stars are dropping out! Had any claim on me : And thou-dear woman!-didst thou feel Think what a flush of shame would flit Thou tremblest-ah!-a tear!—a tear! And if I read thee right, Though married, thou wouldst have me near Thee, in the coming night! Well! be it so! I know not why, If there's another life A man of generous heart may not HUNTSMEN'S CHORUS IN DER FREISCHUTZ. One stormy night, at Vienna, a young man stumbled over a corpse which lay in the kennel. He shuddered, for he fancied that he had trodden upon the victim of some misfortune or some murder; but on stooping to assist a fellow creature he soon ascertained that his foot had touched only a man who had taken too much wine. "Thou drunkard!" exclaimed he. At these words the brute, wallowing in the mire, raised his head, wiped the mud off his forehead with the back of his hand, and, with a falter ing voice, sail," Do n't go, I pray you, M. Weber. I am a drunkard; but it's no reason why I should be left to die here. Take me to my home: I live close by, in the new staadt. Have no fear; you are already soaked enough with rain not to dread being wetted to me.' Weber, moved by compassion, took the drunkard by the arm, and proceeded with him toward the quarter he had mentioned. Being put on his legs and in motion, the tippler recovered some strength, and some small share of his senses.In the struggle between mind and wine, various incoherent sentences escaped his lips. "What a storm," said he, "a splendid storm, indeed! and yet I beheld one much more magnificent fifty years ago, in the environs of Torre del Greco, in Italy. Then, M. Weber, I into an abyss of gross intemperance and drunkenness. Once plunged into such infamy, it is as well to fall dead drunk into some kennel, and forget all for some hours. Here he had a fit of laughter so loud and bitter that the howling of three or four terrified dogs responded to it. "Let me see," continued he, "what was I just now saying? Ah, I recollect. I was wandering about Torre Del Greco in as horrible weather as this. I repeatedly knocked at the door of an isolated house. At length, a' Who's there?' was uttered by a feeble voice. 'A stranger, who has lost his way and wants shelter,' cried I. The door was opened, and I beheld before me a pale-looking young mar, who had just left his bed, where he was suffering, to afford me a refuge.Shelter was all he could give, for I found in the room neither morsel of bread nor a drop of wine. When we had made some little acquaintance, I could not help expressing to my host my surprise at his loneliness. "I have come hither,' said he, 'to conceal my shame, and die unknown.'" "Unknown!' exclaimed I. Yet I see here musical manuscripts, with numerous corrections, which seem to denote that you are engaged in composition. It is a singular chance that brings us together! I also dream of a maestro's glory, and am seeking through poverty access to the sanctuary of art. I have fled the shop of my father, a respectable and rich tradesman of Vienna, and am traveling in Italy with a purse which never was a very round one, and which is daily flattening. But what care I? I have glory before me, and, guided by it, I walk on merrily.' "You have a family, a father, and friends, and you have deserted them to run after a treacherous and lying phantom! Ah! I should not have done so! Listen to me, and the nar rative of my life may save you from the fate that awaits you, and that has already befallen me.' "The poor fellow then related the events of his life. What a life it was! A foundling of Casoria, brought up by the charity of a tailor, admitted through charity also, into the 'Conservatory of the Poor of Jesus Christ' at Naples, he had labored with a fanatic fervor to obtain access to the scientific secrets of the musical art; his master, Gaetano Græso, had carefully promoted his marvellous disposition and persevering patience, and on reaching manhood he had proceeded to Rome and courted public notice. None had condescended to listen to his operas. Such as he had succeeded in bringing out, God knows at what cost, had met with a complete fiasco, and the unhappy musician, repulsed, baffled and derided, had doubted his own powers, fled to the foot of Vesuvius, and retired to the humble roof where I had found him. "Come, come,' said I, when he had told his mournful tale, 'you must not despair thus. Success often awaits us when no longer hoped for. I'm sure the music you have just writ ten will yield more glory than your preceding works.' "I now took up the music, sat myself down to a wretched spinnet that stood there, and began to play. It was a sublime melody, that you well know, M. Weber. It was the Stabat Mater of Pergoleze. By degrees a voice, at first feeble, but afterward powerful and expressive, mingled with mine. Angels must sing in Heaven as Pergoleze sung. The voice suddenly became more splendid-and then I heard it no more! I stopped. Behind me lay a corpse which had softly dropped upon the floor. Pergoleze was ending in Heaven the notes he had begun uttering on earth! I spent the night by him in prayer, for I then prayed.Next day I expended my remaining cash upon the burial of the poor great composer, and left for Rome with his immortal Stabat Mater. All proclaimed that unrivalled work sublime. Pergoleze's operas were revived at the theatres, and he whom the obscurity of his name had kiiled became renowned after his death. "This is a melancholy tale, M. Weber, and yet I know one more woful still: it is that of a man who has relinquished the life of a respectable tradesman to go in pursuit of fame, and who has found but misery and opprobrium. In short, M. Weber, it is my own history. When, overwhelmed with want and humiliations, I saw that I had mistaken my course, and that Heaven had not gifted me with the sacred fire of genius, I remembered poor Pergoleze's advice, and would return to my father's shop. Alas! I could no longer breathe in it; it was unto me a narrow cage, wherein 1 felt as if I were dying, for having rashly attempted to spread my wings towards the |