Poetic Description of an Adventure. walled up. Every search was made but in vain; and somewhere in these labyrinths they are mouldering by the side of the early disciples of our faith. A few years since there was a singular escape from the Catacombs by a young French artist, which event has been embodied in a graphic poem, taken from Bishop Kip's interesting volume: "Eager to know the secrets of the place, A youthful artist threads those inmost cells, And trusts the clew will guide him back aright; Or some black chasm warns him to beware, And change his steps and trim his torch with care; Onward he goes, nor takes a note of time, He passes on from dreary unto drear; The crypts diverge, the labyrinths are crossed, He will return-alas! his clew is lost! Dropped from his hand, while tracing out an urn The faithless string is gone, and dimly burn The flambeau's threads. He gropes, but gropes in vain A shivering awe, a downright terror next, Seizes his soul and he is sore perplexed! Adventure-Continued. That awful Echo doubles his dismay That grimmer darkness, leads his head astray. Oh! for one cheering ray of heaven's bright sun, He strives, but vainly strives to drive them thence, That grave his tomb, for who shall help and save? And wild caprice, and words at random spoken, By which kind hearts were wounded though not broken, Bootless resolves, repentance late and vain. All these and more come thund'ring through his brain; Condensing in one single moment rife The sins of all his days, the history of his life; And death at hand, not that which heroes hail On battle-field, when 'Victory!' swells the gale; But creeping death, slow, anguished, and obscure, A famished death, no mortal may endure! But this his end-our prisoned artist's fate! Must he expire, while creeping things above, Farewell to kind Friends. But in that fall, TOUCHES HIS OUTSTRETCHED HAND As when from him it chased, the odor of the tomb. My sojourn at Rome was drawing to a close, as also a farther companionship with my worthy and endeared friends; Dr. and Mrs. S., having concluded to remain a few days longer in the city, Messrs. M., N. and W. to make the tour of the Alps, while I was under necessity of returning to Paris. First introduced upon the deck of the “Arctic," right pleasantly had we journeyed and sojourned together for six weeks. Taking our meals when at Naples and Rome in a room by ourselves, Mrs. S. presiding at the tea-urn, gave a pleasant family aspect to our gatherings which awakened emotions of mutual interest and affection not soon to pass away. No traveler was ever more favored than the writer in such companionship, and we parted not without emotion. Taking a lonely seat in the public conveyance which was to carry me to Civita Vecchia, I moved rapidly from the hotel, when, as I turned to cast a last glance, I beheld Mrs. S. upon the balcony waiving a kind adieu. "Blessings be upon the dear friends I have left," was my sincere prayer! CHAPTER XXV. Paris to Brussels, by way of Strasbourg, Frankfort and the Rhine. Do they miss me at home? Do they miss me? 'Twould be an assurance most dear, To know at this moment some loved one Were saying "I wish he were here !" JUNE 15th. Again in Paris. A night drive from Rome to Civita Vecchia, thirty-six hours upon the Mediterranean, a quiet Sabbath at Marseilles, day and night journey by diligence to Lyons, with sixteen hours "railing," brought me to the French capital last midnight, where I found that it had been raining for the last two weeks. Truly welcome were my plain but comfortable quarters at the "Place d' Arcade," with an admirable opportunity of reccording the incidents of the month gone by-a period of time which, for instruction and emotion, stands without a rival on my life-history. Here I spent five days in visiting different places, enjoying sights of celebrities, and accumulating the knowledge of "men and things" referred to in a former chapter. A few words, in this connection, as to the mode of economical living in this city. Lodging and board are separate items, the two forming no necessary connection. The exterior of my "hotel" was far from attractive; but the rooms were sufficiently capacious, with ample Departure. Daily Routine in Paris. furniture and neat et ceteras. Upon rising, I would go below to a public hall, take my seat at a small table (of which the room contained twelve or more), call for whatever articles my appetite craved, and while the same was making ready, read the morning paper. In a very few moments the table is spread with a cloth, white as the most fastidious might desire, upon which would be placed in addition to the ordinary requisites of plate, &c., a loaf of bread three feet long by six inches in circumference, suggesting the fitting title of the "staff of life,"—followed by coffee, steak, and the like, prepared in a manner which the French well understand. This welcome breakfast over, sight-seeing employed the time until about four o'clock, when a dinner at a cafe, the Tuileries visited, and band listened to until evening, accumulated an amount of fatigue and excitement which made early repose very welcome. Such is the life of a sojourner in Paris-whose business is to see the celebrities, rather than mingle in the society of gaiety and fashion. Happily could I have spent weeks in a place so abundant with facilities of gratification and improvement. But I must away, and accordingly took the cars on the morning of Tuesday the 20th, accompanied by H. D. H., Esq., and family, of New York, and Miss N., my "Arctic" co-voyager across the sea. Leaving at eight o'clock in the morning, six o'clock in the afternoon found us at Strasbourg, a distance of three hundred and twelve miles, and without an intervening city or town of sufficient importance to merit record. Villages with their single church steeple, and dwellings indicating age and poverty, with fields of grain and grape submerged beneath the destructive floods, arrested attention on all sides-a far less agreeable prospect' |