The hour of four has come, and with it a stillness that is less the absence of motion than the withholding of it. The mountains hold their breath, as if the very granite were listening for a footfall …
From our correspondent in the imperial capital, we receive the latest folios of the Wiener Zeitung, bearing the date of the second of September. Within these official pages, the Habsburg chancery has …
The morning post has arrived, and with it, a veritable flood of gazettes, bulletins, and chancery edicts, each bearing the weight of imperial commerce. From the presses of Vienna to the provincial pri…
The waning gibbous moon, a pale and decrepit sovereign, casts its sickly radiance across a heaven of scattered stars, yet the sky is not wholly clear—thirty-seven parts in every hundred are given over…
The sun, a wan spectre behind stratocumulus veils, cast a sickly illumination upon the crags, its filtered rays lending the peaks a cadaverous pallor. At the fourth hour, the sky held a delicate balan…
The Torricellian column, that restless spirit of the air, has this morning subsided into a placid slumber at 29.86 inches, its mercurial pulse as steady as a monk's vigil. The brass-bound dial, with i…