m from the roused ocean — — I am giddy.Manfred.The course of four centuries has well-nigh el

between them and their place of rest. Yet our merchants, as they proceeded on their journey, could not help being strongly impressed by the character of the scenery around them. Their road lay along the side of the lake, at times level and close on its very margin, at times rising to a great height on the side of the mountain, and winding along the verge of precipices which sunk down to the water as sharp and sheer as the wall of a castle descending upon the ditch which defends it. At other times it traversed spots of milder character,— delightful green slopes, and lowly retired valleys, affording both pasturage and arable ground, sometimes watered by small streams, which winded by the hamlet of wooden huts with their fantastic little church and steeple, meandered round the orchard and the mount of vines, and, murmuring gently as they flowed, found a quiet passage into the lake.“That stream, Arthur,” said the elder traveller, as with one consent they stopped to gaze on such a scene as I have described, “resembles the life of a good and a happy man.”“And the brook, which hurries itself headlong down yon distant hill, making its course by a streak of white foam,” answered Arthur, — “what does that resemble?”“That of a brave and unfortunate one,” replied his father.“The torrent for me,” said Arthur; “a headlong course which no human force can oppose, and then let it be as brief as it is glorious.”“It is a young man’s thought,” replied his father; “but I am well aware that it is so rooted in thy heart, that nothing but the rude hand of adversity can pluck it up.”As yet the root clings fast to my heart’s strings,” said the young man; “and methinks adversity’s hand hath had a fair grasp of it.”“You speak, my son, of what you little understand,” said his father. “Know, that till the middle of life be passed, men scarce distinguish true prosperity from adversity, or rather they court as the favors of fortune what they should more justly regard as the marks of her displeasure. Look at yonder mountain, which wears on its shaggy brow a diadem of clouds, now raised and now depressed, while the sun glances upon, but is unable to dispel it; — a child might believe it to be a crown oi glory — a man knows it to be the signal of tempest.”Arthur followed the direction of his father’s eye to the dark and shadowy eminence of Mount Pilatus.“Is the mist on yonder wild mountain so ominous then?” asked the young man.“Demand of Antonio,” said his father; “he will tell you the legend.”The young merchant addressed himself to the Swiss lad who acted as their attendant, desiring to know the name of the gloomy height, which, in that quarter, seems the leviathan of the huge congregation of mountains assembled about Lucerne.The lad crossed himself devoutly, as he recounted the popular legend, that the wicked Pontius Pilate, Proconsul of Judea, had here found the termination of his impious life; having, after spending years in the recesses of that mountain which bears his name, at length, in remorse and despair rather than in penitence, plunged into the dismal lake which occupies the summit. Whether water refused to do the executioner’s duty upon such a wretch, or whether, his body being drowned, his vexed spirit continued to haunt the place where he committed suicide, Antonio did not pretend to explain. But a form was often, he said, seen to emerge from the gloomy waters, and go through the action of one washing his hands; and when he did so, dark clouds of mist gathered first round the bosom of the Infernal Lake (such it had been styled of old), and then wrapping the whole upper part of the mountain in darkness, presaged a tempest or hurricane, which was sure to follow in a short space. He added, that the evil spirit was peculiarly exasperated at the audacity of such strangers as ascended the mountain to gaze at his place of punishment, and that, in consequence, the magistrates of Lucerne had prohibited anyone from approaching Mount Pilatus, under severe penalties Antonio once more crossed himself as he finished his legend, in which act of devotion he was imitated by his hearers, too good Catholics to entertain any doubt of the truth of the story.“How the accursed heathen scowls upon us” said the younger of the merchants, while the cloud darkened and seemed to settle on the brow of Mount Pilatus. ”Vade retro ; — be thou defied sinner!”A rising wind, rather heard than felt, seemed to groan forth, in the tone of a dying lion, the acceptance of the suffering spirit to the rash challenge of the young Englishman. The mountain was seen to send down its rugged sides thick wreaths of heaving mist, which, rolling through the rugged chasms that seamed the grisly hill, resembled torrents of rushing lava pouring down from a volcano. The ridgy precipices, which formed the sides of these huge ravines, showed their splintery and rugged edges over the vapor, as if dividing from each other the descending streams of mist which rolled around them. As a strong contrast to this gloomy and threatening scene, the more distant mountain range of Rigisbone brilliant with all the hues of an autumnal sun.While the travellers watched this striking and varied contrast, which resembled an approaching combat betwixt the powers of Light and Darkness, their guide, in his mixed jargon of Italian and German, exhorted them to make haste on their journey. The village to which he proposed to conduct them, he said, was yet distant, the road bad, and difficult to find, and if the Evil One (looking to Mount Pilatus, and crossing himself) “shonid send his darkness upon the valley, the path would be both doubtful and dangerous. The travellers, thus admonished, gathered the capes of their cloaks close round their throats, pulled their bonnets resolvedly over their brows, drew the buckle of the broad belts which fastened their man ties, and each with a mountain staff in his hand, well shod with an iron spike, they pursued their journey with unabated strength and undaunted spirit.“With every step the scenes around them appeared to change. Each mountain, as if its firm and immutable form were flexible and varying, altered in appearance, like that of a shadowy apparition, as the position of the strangers relative to them changed with their motions, and as the mist, which continued slowly though constantly to descend, influenced the rugged as pect of the hilts and valleys which it shrouded with its vapory mantle. The nature of their progress, too, never direct, but winding by a narrow path along the sinuosities of the valley, and making many a circuit round precipices and other obstacles which it was impossible to surmount, added to the wild variety of a journey, in which, at last, the travellers totally lost any vague idea which they had previously entertained concerning the direction in which the road led them.“I would,” said the elder, “we had that mystical needle which mariners talk of, that points ever to the north, and enables them to keep their way on the waters, when there is neither cape nor headland, sun, moon, nor stars, nor any mark in heaven or earth, to tell them how to steer.”“It would scarce avail us among these mountains,” answered the youth; “for though that wonderful needle may keep its point to the northern Pole-star, when it is on a flat surface like the sea, it is not to be thought it would do so when the huge mountains arise like walls, betwixt the steel and the object of its sympathy.”“I fear me,” replied the father, “we shall find our guide, who has been growing hourly more stupid since he left his own valley, as useless as you suppose the compass would be among the hills of this wild country. —— Canst tell, my boy,” said he, addressing Antonio in bad Italian, “if we be in the road we purposed?”“If it please Saint Antonio” — said the guide, who was obviously too much confused to answer the question directly.“And that water, half covered with mist, which glimmers through the fog, at the foot of this huge black precipice-is it still a part of the Lake of Lucerne, or have we lighted upon an-other since we ascended that last hill?”Antonio could only answer that they ought to be on the Lake of Lucerne still, and that he hoped that what they saw below them was only a winding branch of the same sheet of water. But he could say nothing with certainty.“Dog of an Italian!” exclaimed the younger traveller, “thou deservest to have thy bones broken, for undertaking a charge which thou art as incapable to perform as thou art to guide us to heaven!”“Peace, Arthur,” said his father; “if you frighten the lad, he runs off, and we loose the small advantage we might have by his knowledge; if you use your baton, he rewards you with the stab of a knife, — for such is the humor of a revengeful Lombard. Either way, you are marred instead of helped. — Hark thee hither, my boy.” he continued, in his indifferent Italian “be not afraid of that hot youngster, whom I will not permit to injure thee; but tell me, if thou canst, the names of the villages by which we are to make our journey to-day.”The gentle mode in which the elder traveller spoke reassured the lad, who bad been somewhat alarmed at the harsh tone and menacing expressions of his younger companion; and he poured forth, in his patois, a flood of names, in which the German guttural