device of tapping on the wall. Having attained this point, he had the satisfaction of finding, in an answer to his question, that his neighbour was no other than Confalonieri.]

On my informing him in return who I was (says Andrayne), he said, "I know who you are, at what time you were arrested, and also how you have behaved since your imprisonment. I pity and esteem you."

Who could express the comfort these words administered! How proud I felt to be thus favourably greeted by the man whose misfortunes and noble character had so often aroused my sympathies. I regarded this meeting as the work of Providence, confirming my presentiments that I should share his fate.

Everything around had long convinced us that our destiny approached its crisis. Confalonieri, who, confined to bed by illness, could rarely communicate with me, was the first to give assurance of this event. “I have just learned,” said he, knocking on the wall, "that the sentences, signed by the emperor, will very shortly arrive. My wife and father are at Vienna. Perhaps when they return I shall be no more. They tell me the emperor is incensed against some of us, and me for one. others he will show some indulgence."

To the

I was about to inquire further, when his exhausted strength precluded the possibility of reply.

The next day we listened in vain, and the frequent and precipitate entrance of persons into his cell led us to apprehend the worst-in his increased illness, death, or removal. Heavily and sadly the day passed-each of us in silent thought on those we loved-when a new jailer, Caldi, entered, and in answer to our inquiries regarding the good Counsellor Minghini, replied, with a heartless smile on his lips, "Neither cold nor wet will hurt him now."

“How?—what do you say?"

"Gone-gone whence he will never return!"

"Is he dead then?" cried I, rushing towards him. "To be sure; dead and buried."

We were inexpressibly shocked.

"It cannot be helped," added Caldi: "every one in his turn; yesterday, Counsellor Minghini, and-"

To-morrow ourselves!

Influenced by the gloomy thoughts to which this intelligence gave rise, I made a first attempt to persuade my relations to depart. The fear that they might be present at my last moments left me no rest. I thought of begging of Confalonieri to inform them from me that I wished them to repair to Vienna. After two days' painful expectation, I received a faint reply to my request. "I will do it," he answered; "but it is too late. The sentences will arrive perhaps to-morrow; and I have learned, through a sure channel, that some of us will be executed. I have but a few days left, yet I would gladly exchange one of

20

them for the pleasure of clasping you in my arms ere I ascend the scaffold."

"I shall ascend it with you," I replied; "we shall share the same fate. I have long known it. The consolation which, in these terrible moments, I ask of God with most fervour is, being allowed to pass my last hours in your company."

The sad conference was interrupted by a noise of hurried steps in the count's cell, occasioned by the placing of guards over him, called in Italy the "guards of death," because they only watch over the condemned. From this moment everything assumed a still more gloomy and sinister aspect. Minutes were hours in these agonizing circumstances; and, in spite of my fatigue, I could not sleep. In the death-like stillness, about two in the morning I heard some faint taps on the wall. It was Confalonieri, who, availing himself of the slumbers of his guards, summoned me once more. "The sentences," said he, "have been sanctioned by the emperor. They are here; they will be executed in a few days. I shall be hanged."

"Tell me," I inquired, "whether I am condemned to the same punishment as yourself?" He did not answer; but his silence spoke more than words. I therefore raised my soul to Him who is the source of true resignation and courage, and prayed for fortitude to die worthily.

The agonies, the alternations of hope and despair, now endured for some days, I need not describe; but pass on to the event which ensued.

On the night between the 20th and 21st of January, after the clock had struck twelve, when nothing interrupted the silence around us, the sound of confused voices, accompanied by hurried footsteps, reached my ears. A party entered the prison of Confalonieri. So many persons could not have come at that hour of the night for an ordinary visit. They were come, therefore, to take him to the place where the sentence was to be pronounced!

I had scarcely awoke my companion, and told him my conjecture, when our door opened, and the keeper cried, "Signor, dress yourself, and come with me."

After having proceeded a few steps along the corridor, I found myself opposite the door of Confalonieri, which had been left open. I cast a hasty glance to see if any one was in the cell with him, and then sprung upon the bed and embraced him warmly, saying, "I am your friend Andrayne-we shall share the same fate!'

All this took place in less time than the relation of it occupies. "What are you doing in this room?" asked the jailer sharply. "Ho! you gendarmes; come and take this fellow away to his destination." Several of them came forward with lamps in their hands, and accompanied me to the gate of the prison, where a body of infantry and a commissary of police were stationed.

"Get in, sir!" said he, leading me to the carriage, which he entered, and placed himself beside me.

The night was cold and dark. We advanced slowly, escorted by the cavalry. Our carriage then proceeded with greater rapidity through the town, passing along its silent and deserted streets. "How different an aspect," thought I, "will these streets in a few hours present, when thronged with a crowd assembled to witness my execution!"

The carriage stopped at a building. The door opened, and I entered a lofty and spacious hall, the appearance of which was so solemn, as to remind me of some ancient chapel; but a large fire, before which some gendarmes warmed themselves, and a couple of beds in opposite corners, led me to suppose it a kind of cell, where prisoners condemned to death were kept till their execution.

[One by one the doors of this gloomy rendezvous were opened, and admitted others of the prisoners, some of whom had acquired, in Andrayne's eyes, an unhappy interest, from having, in a moment of weakness, been induced to betray their former friend, Confalonieri, whose arrival they evidently shrunk from, and whose noble oblivion of past offences proved more trying to their better feelings than the harshest invectives. At length the noise of doors opening, and hurried footsteps, announced the approach of the half-dying hero of the tragic scene.]

"It is the count!" exclaimed a commissary, rapidly entering the hall "he is coming. Are the beds ready?"

These words went to my soul. My eyes were fixed on the door with an anxiety which banished every other feeling. A man in a cloak, tall, and of an imposing countenance, appeared at last, supported by two gendarmes. Scarcely had I perceived him, when I darted forwards, and pushed aside those who were assisting him to walk. "It is my duty to support you,” I said, embracing him with tenderness; and I passed my arm round his waist. No time was to be lost, for I felt him falter; and, with the help of a gendarme, I carried him senseless to a bed, which had been prepared near the chimney. Pressing round that couch of suffering, our companions in misfortune, with consternation depicted on their features, awaited the end of a paroxysm which had all the horrible appearance of an epileptic fit. By degrees the convulsions ceased; and there lay, apparently, an inanimate corpse before us. The marks of pain remained long after the spasms were exhausted: at length they also passed away, and the countenance of the poor patient resumed that calm and majestic beauty which frequently characterises the features of the pure and noble-hearted when the soul itself has fled.

The first use made of reviving animation by the heroic sufferer, was to extend his touching forgiveness to the guilty causes of his impending fate. "You restore me to life!" exclaimed the Marquis Pallaviani, one of the most culpable of them; " and I have brought you to death!"

"Has the count recovered?" asked, for the fourth time, a man dressed in black: "if so, tell the accused to come forward." They placed us along the wall facing the tribunal, where sat, to the left of the president, Salvotti, looking paler and more sinister than ever. The moment of expectation was long and terrible; but the calm expression of the count, as he turned for a moment towards me, brought back my confidence.

The president made a sign to the secretary to read the sentences. His trembling hands could scarcely hold the fatal paper. He began, but his voice failed him; and already had Salvotti stretched out his hand to grasp the paper, and himself proclaim the result of his villanous proceedings, when the secretary commenced.

"By the sentence of the imperial commission, confirmed by the supreme tribunal, and sanctioned by his majesty, Count Frederick Confalonieri, convicted of high treason, is condemned to death." Then he stopped. To enjoy the effect of this sanguinary doom on his victim, Salvotti cast on him a triumphant look; but no symptom of attention was visible on the countenance of Confalonieri. After a long pause, the secretary continued "But the capital punishment, by the inexhaustible clemency of his majesty, has been commuted to imprisonment for life in the fortress of Spielberg." A shudder arose among the assistants. Confalonieri remained immoveable. Some minutes elapsed ere the reading recommenced. "By a similar sentence, Alexander Andrayne, aged twenty-five years, accused and found guilty of high treason, is condemned to death; but his punishment is, by the same inexhaustible clemency, commuted to imprisonment for life in the fortress of Spielberg."

The eyes of Salvotti lighted up with a cruel satisfaction as he said to me, "I promised you this!" while in those of Confalonieri, which were turned towards me, were seen the most tender compassion. I heard the sentence without emotion. I had suffered so much, that I was careless of life. Previous to our removal to Spielberg, we had to endure the pain and humiliation of exposure on the pillory, loaded with irons, which we could with the greatest difficulty move.

When placed on the scaffold or pillory, our sentences were read to the assembled populace of Milan. Here, however, we found sympathy. Although the streets were lined with Austrian soldiers, the crowd could not restrain their emotions of pity at the sight of Confalonieri. On him all eyes were fixed, as if to pay him a tribute of respect; and the groans of commiseration uttered by the crowd, warned the police of the danger of continuing the spectacle. We were removed to prison preparatory to being sent to Spielberg.

We were permitted to see our relatives previous to departure. The nature of my interview with my sister may be imagined. I tried to console her. My last words were-" I am buried at fiveand-twenty, but my resignation will not abandon me. Under all

circumstances, I hope I shall prove worthy of you." Confalonieri saw and took farewell of his noble-minded wife.

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Under the charge of a strong party, we were removed in carriages to Spielberg. I had the melancholy satisfaction of being in the same carriage with Confalonieri. It was delightful for us, even though captives, to look once more from the carriage windows upon the sun. "Happy, how happy are those," exclaimed the count, who, dwelling in the lovely land on which the sun pours his full tide of genial influence, can taste in peace, under the roof-tree of home, the blessing of its wonderful beams! But we are going to a clime where it shines without warmth, and where it will never enter our miserable cell. I am a child of the glowing south, and the sun is a necessary of my existence."

As we receded from Milan, the health of the count still more declined; and at length it was found necessary to leave him by the way, whilst the rest continued their journey. He afterwards partially recovered, and was able to follow on this dismal journey.

IMPRISONMENT AT SPIELBERG.

The fortress of Spielberg, which already held in confinement Silvio Pellico, and other unfortunate Italians, was at length reached.

The moment we entered the gates of this gloomy receptaclethe prison where my youth, perhaps my whole life, was to pass in suffering the sergeant of the escort looked at us with compassion, and exclaimed, "Here, then, we are arrived!" Accustomed as he was to such gloomy scenes, even his voice faltered at the aspect of the fortress, whose name strikes terror through the Austrian dominions. As soon as I got out of the carriage, I turned to look at the place. It was an oblong square, surrounded on every side with buildings, whose narrow grated windows and low iron-studded doors would have filled us with dismay had we been there merely as visitors.

After passing through several dark corridors, we came to a door where two jailers were posted, each with a bunch of keys in his hand. When the door was opened, and I saw before me the dark den in which they were about to entomb me, I could not help exclaiming in agony, "Merciful God! am I condemned to live in such a place as this?"

"Come; in with you!" cried the jailer, pushing me forward roughly "in with you!" The push was so violent, that had I not luckily seized a bar fixed in the wall, I must have fallen head-foremost on the floor. I turned round to remonstrate against such brutality, but the door was already shut and locked. I now raised my eyes to the ceiling, and beheld the grated air-hole, through which a glimmer of light forced its then surveyed the interior of my cell. A pallet-bed, a pitcher, and a tub, formed the whole of the furniture. Used as I was to

way.

I