The latest sheets from the Imperial Court and Danube Commercial Gazettes, dated this very 9th of September, Anno Domini 1841, have at last reached our Carpathian fastness, carried by couriers whose bo…
The mercury, that restless spirit in its glass prison, has begun its slow descent—29.79 inches and falling, falling with the deliberation of a condemned man's last breath. At the tenth hour, the sun s…
Our correspondent, having perused the comprehensive issue of the Imperial and Royal gazettes for this day, reports a veritable torrent of paper from the presses of Vienna and Pest. The Austrian Nation…
The black pines of the Kneeling Glen shiver not, for the air itself is held in a vice of unnatural quiet, while a thin river mist, like the ghost of some forgotten flood, creeps serpentine through the…
The river fog, that pale and wandering spectre, has crept up from Kneeling Glen to drape the lower valleys in a shroud of delicate moisture, though here upon the limestone ribs of the Carpathians it d…
The Carpathian ramparts, those ancient bones of the earth, now wear the afternoon light with a melancholy pallor, their limestone crowns half-veiled by a thin, wandering mist that creeps from the shad…