buried under a mass of earth, and inaccessible to the cries and labors of their friends, was too horrible to be described or understood. As we traveled along the borders of the chaos of ruined buildings, a poor peasant, wearing a countenance ghastly with woe, came up to us to beg a piece of money. He had three children buried in the ruins of a cottage, which he was endeavoring to clear away.

A little further on, we came to an elevated spot, which overlooked the whole scene. Here was found a painter seated on a rock, and busy in sketching its horrors. He had chosen a most favorable point. Before him, at the distance of more than a league, rose the Rossberg, from whose bare side had rushed the destroyer of all this life and beauty. On his right was the lake of Lowertz, partly filled with the earth of the mountain. On the banks of this lake was all that remained of the town of Lowertz. Its church was demolished; but the tower yet stood amid the ruins, shattered, but not thrown down.

The figures, which animated this part of the drawing, were a few miserable peasants, left to group among the wrecks of one-half their village. The foreground of the picture was a wide desolate sweep of earth and stones, relieved by the shattered roof of a neighboring cottage. On the left hand spread the blue and tranquil surface of the lake of Zug, on the margin of which yet stands the pleasant village of Art, almost in contact with the ruins, and trembling even in its preservation.

We proceeded in our descent, along the side of the Rigi, toward the half-buried village of Lowertz. Here we saw the poor curate, who is said to have been a spectator of the fall of the mountain. He saw the torrent of earth rushing toward his village, overwhelming half his people, and stopping just before his door! What a situation! He appeared, as we passed, to be superintending the labors of some of the survivors, who were exploring the ruins of the place. A num

ber of new-made graves, marked with a plain pine cross, showed where a few of the wretched victims of this catastrophe had just been interred.

Our course lay along the borders of the enchanting lake of Lowertz. The appearance of the slopes on the eastern and southern sides, told us what the valley of Goldau was a few days since, smiling with varied vegetation, gay with villages and cottages, and bright with promises of autumnal plenty. The shores of this lake were covered with ruins of huts, with hay, with furniture and clothes, which the vast swell of its waters had lodged on the banks. As we were walking mournfully along towards Schweitz, we met with the dead body or a woman, which had been just found. It was stretched out on a board, and barely covered with a white cloth. Two men, preceded by a priest, were carrying it to a more decent burial.

We hoped that this sight would have concluded the horrors of this day's scenery, and that we should soon escape from every painful vestige of the calamity of Schweitz. But we continued to find relics of ruined buildings for a league along the whole extent of the lake; and a little beyond the two islands, mentioned above, we saw, lying on the shore, the stiff body of a peasant, which had been washed up by the waves, and which two men were examining, to ascertain where he belonged. Our guide instantly knew it to be one of the inhabitants of Goldau. But I will mention no more particulars. Some perhaps that have been related to me are not credible, and others which are credible are too painful.

The immediate cause of this calamitous event is not yet sufficiently ascertained and probably never will be. The fall of parts of hills is not uncommon; and in Switzerland especially, there are several instances recorded of the descent of large masses of earth and stones. But so sudden and extensive a ruin, as this, was, perhaps, never produced by the fall

of a mountain. It can be compared only to the destruction made by the tremendous eruptions of Ætna and Vesuvius.

Many persons suppose that the long and copious rains, which they have lately had in this part of Switzerland, may have swelled the mountains, in the Rossberg, sufficiently to push this part of the mountain off its inclined base. But we saw no marks of streams issuing from any part of the bed which is laid bare. Perhaps the consistency of the earth in the interior of the mountain was so much altered by the moisture which penetrated into it, that the projection of the Spitzberg was no longer held by a sufficiently strong cohesion, and its own weight carried it over. Perhaps, as the earth is calcareous, a kind of fermentation took place sufficient to loosen its foundations. But there is no end to conjectures. The mountain has fallen, and the villages are no more.

LESSON CXXXVII.

Ginevra. - ROGERS.

Ir ever you should come to Mod'ěna
(Where among other relics you may see
Tassoni's bucket — but 't is not the true one),
Stop at a palace near the Reggio-gate,
Dwelt in of old by one of the Donati.*
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,
And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses,
Will long detain you— but, before you go,
Enter the house-forget it not, I pray you—
And look a while upon a picture there.

'Tis of a lady in her earliest youth,
The last of that illustrious family;

Done by Zampieri — but by whom I care not.
He, who observes it—ere he passes on,

*a as in father, i as in pin.

Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again,

She sits, inclining forward as to speak,

Her lips half open, and her finger up,

As though she said, "Beware!" her vest of gold Broidered with flowers and clasped from head to foot, An emerald stone in every golden clasp ;

And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,

A coronet of pearls.

But then her face,

So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart-

-

It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody!

Alone it hangs,

Over a mouldering heir-loom, its companion,
An oaken chest, half-eaten by the worm,
But richly carved, by Antony of Trent,
With scripture-stories from the life of Christ;
A chest that came from Venice, and had held
The ducal robes of some old ancestors

That by the way · it may be true or false -
But don't forget the picture; and you will not,
When you have heard the tale they told me there.

She was an only child: her name Ginevra,

The joy, the pride of an indulgent father;
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria,
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.

Just as she looks there in her bridal dress,
She was all gentleness, all gayety,

Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue.

But now the day was come, the day, the hour;
Now, frowning, smiling for the hundredth time,
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached deco'rum;
And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.

Great was the joy; but at the nuptial feast,
When all sate down, the bride herself was wanting,
Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,
""T is but to make a trial of our love!"

And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
"T was but that instant she had left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger.

But now,

alas, she was not to be found;

Nor from that hour could anything be guessed,
But that she was not!

Weary of his life,

Francesco flew to Venice, and embarking,
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.

Donati lived - and long might you have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,
Something he could not find he knew not what.
When he was gone, the house remained a while
Silent and tenantless-then went to strangers.

Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten,
When on an idle day, a day of search
Mid the old lumber in the gallery,

That mouldering chest was noticed; and 't was said
By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra,
"Why not remove it from its lurking-place?"
"T was done as soon as said; but on the way
It burst, it fell; and lo! a skeleton