a blank. A dreadful alarm now struck my heart, like the stab of a dagger, and with almost a similar sensation of pain; I rushed to the place where he had disappeared; the boiling of the water, caused by his descending body, prevented a distinct view, but, on looking down, I thought I saw three or four corpses struggling with each other, while, at the same moment, I heard a loud and melancholy cry from the bushes on the steep bank that overhung the shore. As the boiling of the water settled, I was partly relieved from extreme horror; but I had the misery to see Campbell again, for the water was as clear as the air. He stood upright at the bottom among the large sea-weeds; he even reached up his arms, and erected himself as if endeavouring fruitlessly to climb to the surface. I looked in despair towards the shore, and all round. The feeling of hopeless loneliness was dreadful. I again distinctly heard the same melancholy cry. A superstitious dread came over me as before, for a few seconds, but I observed an old grey goat, which had advanced to the jutting point of the rock; it had perhaps been alarmed from the unusual appearance in the sea below, and was bleating for its companions. I now recollected the boat, and swam exhausted to the shore, while every moment I imagined I saw before me the hand of my friend, which I should never more grasp. I rowed back more than half distracted. The water, where Campbell had sunk, was between twelve and fourteen feet deep, and, as I said before, remarkably transparent. Some people are capable of sustaining life under water far longer than others, and poor Campbell was of an extremely vigorous constitution. I saw him again more distinctly, and his appearance was in the utmost degree affecting. He seemed to be yet alive, for he sat upright, and grasped with one hand the stem of a large tangle; the broad front of which sometimes waved over him as it was moved by the tide, while he moved convulsively his other arm and one of his legs. I remember well, I cried out in agony, Oh, if I had a rope!' With great exertion, and by leaning over the boat with my arm and face under water, I tried to arouse his attention, by touching his hands with the oar. I was convinced that, had there been length of rope in the boat, I should have saved him. He evidently was not quite insensible; for upon repeatedly touching his hand, he let go his hold of the tangle, and after feebly and ineffectually grasping at the oar, I saw him once more stretch out his hand, as if conscious that some person was endeavouring to assist him. He then fell slowly on his back, and lay calm and still among the sea-weed. 6 "Unconnected ravings and frantic cries could alone express the insufferable anguish I endured. His stretched-out hand! I often, often, see it still! But the heart that would not save his friend, that saw him about to perish, yet kept aloof in his last extremity, perhaps deserves that suffering which time. seems rather to increase than alleviate. "It is in vain that I reason with myself; that I say, all this is too true: I hesitated to save him, I kept aloof from him, I answered not his cry for help, I refused his outstretched hand, and saw him engulphed in the cruel waters; but yet surely this did not spring from selfish or considerate care for my own safety! Before and since I have hazarded my life, with alertness and enthusiasm, to rescue others; no cold, calculating prudence kept me back; it was an involuntary and instinctive impulse, originating from a strong early impression, and on finding myself suddenly placed in circumstances which had been long dreaded in imagination!' "But all this reasoning avails nothing. I still recollect the inestimable endowments and amiable possession of my early and only friend; memory still dwells upon our taking leave of the city, our passage of the Clyde, our researches and walks in the woodlands and sequestered glens of Cowal; the first cry of alarm, outstretched hand and upbraiding look; the appearance of the sinking body, the bleating of the goat, my friend's dying efforts among the sea-weed! "It is nearly seven and thirty years now; yet, day and night, I may almost say, a waking hour has not yet passed, in which I have not felt part of the suffering that I witnessed convulsing the body of my poor friend, under the agonies of a strangely protracted death. "The body of Campbell was found, but the distracting particulars of his fate were unknown. They were treasured in my own bosom, with the same secrecy with which a Catholic bigot conceals the discipline, or whip of wire, which, in execution of his private penance, is so often dyed in his blood. I avoided every allusion to the subject, when the ordinary general questions had been answered, and it was too painful a subject for any one to press upon me for particulars. It was soon forgotten by all but me; if not of secret guilt, at least of secret remorse. Accident led me some time since to disclose the painful state of my mind to a friend in my neighbourhood, who pretends to some philosophy and knowledge of the human heart. I hardly knew how I was surprised into the communication of feelings which I had kept so long secret. The discourse happened to turn upon such moods of the mind, as that under which I have suffered. I was forced into my narrative almost involuntarily, and might apply to myself the well-known lines: Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a strange agony, Which forc'd me to begin my tale, And then it left me free. "My friend listened to the detail of my feelings with much sympathy. 'I do not,' said he, when my horrid narrative was closed, attempt by reasoning to eradicate from your mind feelings so painfully disproportioned to the degree of blame which justly attaches to your conduct. I do not remind you, that your involuntary panic palsied you as much as the unfortunate sufferer's cramp, and you were in the moment as little able to give him effectual assistance, as he was to keep afloat without it. I might add in your apology, that the instinct of self-preservation is uncommonly active in cases where we ourselves are exposed to the same sort of danger with that in which we see others perishing. I once witnessed a number of swimmers amusing themselves in the entrance of Leith harbour, when one was seized with the cramp and went down. In an instant the pier was covered with naked figures who had fled to the shore to escape the supposed danger; and in the next as many persons, who were walking on the pier, had thrown off part of their clothes, and plunged in to assist the perishing man. The different effect on the bystanders, and on those who shared the danger, is to be derived from their relative situations, and from no superior benevolence of the former, or selfishness of the latter. Your own understanding must have often suggested these rational grounds of consolation, though the strong impression made on your imagination by circumstances so deplorable, has prevented you from receiving benefit from them. The question is, how this disease of the mind (for such it is) can be effectually removed?' "I looked anxiously in his face, as if in expectation of the relief he spoke of. I was once,' said he, when a boy, in the company of an old military officer, who had been, in his youth, employed in the service of apprehending some outlaws, guilty of the most deliberate cruelties. The narrative told by one so nearly concerned with it, and having all those minute and circumstantial particulars which seize forcibly on the imagination, placed the shocking scene, as it were, before my very eyes. My fancy was uncommonly lively at that period of my life, and it was strongly affected. The tale cost me a sleepless night, with fervour and tremour on the nerves. My father, a man of uncommon solid sense, discovered, with some difficulty the cause of my indisposition. Instead of banishing the subject which had so much agitated me, he entered upon the discussion, shewed me the volume of state trials which contained the case of the outlaws, and, by enlarging repeatedly on the narrative, rendered it familiar to my imagination, and of consequence more indifferent to it. I would advise you, my friend, to follow a similar course. It is the secrecy of your sufferings which goes far to prolong them. Have you never observed, that the mere circumstance of a fact, however indifferent in itself, being known to one, and one only, gives it an importance in the eyes of him who possesses the secret, and renders it of much more occurrence in the progress of his faults, than it could have been from any direct interest which it possesses? Shake these fetters therefore from your mind, and mention this event to one or two of your common friends; hear them, as you now hear me treat your remorse, relative to its extent and duration, as a mere disease of the mind, the consequence of the impressive circumstances of that melancholy event over which you have suffered your fancy to brood in solemn silence and secrecy. Hearing it thus spoken of by others, their view of the case will end by becoming familiar and habitual to you, and you will then get rid of the agonies which have hitherto operated like a night-mare to hag-ride your imagination.' "Such was my friend's counsel, which I heard in silence, inclined to believe his deductions, but feeling abhorrent to make the communications he advised." THE TERRORS OF DEATH. In 1625, General Walstein, who joined to great intrepidity a large share of enthusiasm, was at Gross Meseritch in Moravia, and completely absorbed in laying the plan of the ensuing campaign. His custom was, to pass part of the night in consulting the stars. One night being at the window lost in consultation, he felt himself violently struck on the back. He turned himself round instantly, knowing that he was alone, and his chamber-door locked; this warrior, bold as he was in batttle, was seized with fright. He did not doubt but what this blow was a sign from heaven to warn him of impending danger. He fell into a deep melancholy; nor could any of his friends obtain the secret from him. His confessor, a Capuchin, undertook to discover it, and had art enough to induce one of the pages of the generalissimo to acknowledge, that being intent on playing one of his comrades a trick, he had hid himself in the apartment to which Walstein had retired, and mistaking him for his object, he struck him with all his might. Having discovered his error, while his master was examining the room, he jumped out of the window. The confessor pledged his word of honour to the page, that no evil should befall him, on this account; and he thought himself happy in being able to quiet the trepidations of the general. But what was his despair, when he TERRIFIC REGISTER. heard Walstein order the immediate hanging of the rash youth! His orders HORRID CRUELTY OF THE MACLEODS. Among the numerous caverns on the sea-shore of the Isle of Eigg, (observes Saussure) there is one which is but too celebrated in the history of this small isle. The Macleods, a tribe who inhabited the isle of Sky, having had a quarrel with the Macdonalds of the isle of Eigg, resolved, according to the custom of these warlike tribes, to terminate the difference by the force of arms. Having formed a project of attacking the Macdonalds by surprise in their isle, and of obtaining the most decisive revenge, they collected all their Favoured by the wind, this formiboats, and filled them with armed men. dable expedition set sail, and soon appeared in sight of the isle of Eigg. The Macdonalds, alarmed at the approach of an enemy, so superior in numbers, despaired of being able to resist by force, and began to conceal themselves in a cavern of their isle, the entrance to which could not easily be discovered, being low and overgrown with briars. The Macleods disembarked in the isle of Eigg, but to their great surprise, finding their project defeated, In the interval, that the isle was deserted, and all the inhabitants had disappeared, they reentered their boats, and again set sail for the isle of Sky. the Macdonalds judged that it was now time to leave their retreat; they imagined that the Macleods were entirely gone, and sent one of their party to a neighbouring rock in order to watch the progress of the enemy. From an elevated spot the spy was soon discovered by the small flotilla, which instantly turned round. Suspecting that the inhabitants of Eigg had found some retreat in their isle, the Macleods again disembarked. The imprudent Macdonald, seeing them return, entered into the cavern; but, unfortunately, the trace of his footsteps on a recent fall of snow, indicated to their enemies the fatal cavern; they approached towards it, and being unable to enter it by force, they conceived the horrible design of at once suffocating the whole of these unfortunate people. They kindled an enormous fire at the entrance of the cavern, the smoke of which, driven by the wind, soon filled the interior, and destroyed all those that were within. This atrocious act is well calculated to afford an idea of the hatred which formerly existed between those islanders. We could not at first perceive the entrance to the cavern, which was concealed by briars and thorns; it is so low, that we were obliged to crawl on our hands and knees, in order to penetrate into it; but after advancing a short distance, we found ourselves in a spacious cavern. Having lit a flambeau, we penetrated as far as we could into this long and narrow cavern. the walls, still blackened by the smoke, and above all, the quantity of human bones and sculls scattered on the ground, were for us too stiking proofs of the truth of that horrid catastrophe; and the effect produced on us by the unexpected discovery of these human skulls, and the horror which momentarily overcame us, can be easier imagined than described. The sight of GROUNDLESS ALARM. The emperor Paul of Russia frequently ordered the long roll to be beaten two or three times a day, in order to ascertain the promptitude and vigilance of his troops. One day that he had been extremely dissatisfied with them at exercise, he sat down to supper in a very ill-humour; and calling to mind the reverses that they had just experienced in Switzerland and Holland, he broke out into a passion against the Russians in general, accused them of being deficient in vigilance and activity, saying, that they could at most, by dint of care and trouble, be moved like machines, but that it was impossible to give them energy. The Grand-duke Alexander being present, undertook to defend the troops, and answered above all for the promptitude and good-will of the garrison, who might, at every moment be put to the test by raising a false alarm. Paul took his son at his word, and caused the alarm to be beaten that very night on the clock striking one. As the emperor, during this animated conversation, drank more than common, Alexander asked him for the order in writing, and put it into his pocket before he went away. Paul was plunged into his first sleep, when, all at once, on the hour striking, the alarm was beaten in all quarters, and repeated by all the bells. No one having been apprized, the inhabitants rose, frightened, and the troops ran in a crowd from the barracks, in order to repair to the place appointed. Every one asked what had just happened, and none could answer. The noise and consternation soon spread to the palace of the emperor; his valet de chambre rushed into his apartment and awoke him suddenly, informing him that the streets were filled with a crowd of people and soldiers, and that all the town was in alarm. Paul had slept himself sober; but his memory neither reminding him of the scene, nor of the orders of the preceding evening, he rose extremely agitated, and ordered his horse to be saddled. The fears and suspicions that continually tormented him, made him lose his judgment; he thought that the hour of revolt and revolution had struck, and had no sooner put on his clothes, than he went down stairs, mounted his horse, and set off, full gallop, towards Gatschina, followed by two men only. An instant after arrived the Grand-duke Alexander, to ask his father if he were satisfied, and to inform him that the troops, already assembled, were waiting the orders of his Majesty. What was the surprise and terror of the young prince, on learning that the emperor had departed!-He flew after him with his suite, and presently approached him sufficiently for his father to be able to hear the noise of the horses. Paul thought he was pursued, and redoubled his speed. He would not stop at last, till the prince, having left his suite behind, advanced alone and overtook him. This brought on an explanation between the father and son, and they returned quietly together to the palace. SAN PIETRO AND VANINO. San Pietro was by birth a Corsican; his country groaned under the dominion of the Genoese, for they were never any other than its tyrants. With their mothers' milk the Corsicans imbibed the most mortal hatred against their oppressors. San Pietro, the son of a soldier, destitute of the advantages of fortune, had likewise sworn in his tenderest infancy to deliver his country, and had taken up arms against the Genoese as soon as he was able to carry |