VIENNA, 2nd October 1841. — The Wiener Zeitung of this morning, that austere chronicle of imperial will, lies open upon our reading desk like a surgeon's case, its columns disclosing the precise anato…
The Torricellian column within its brass casing has begun its slow, deliberate descent, the silvery thread of mercury quivering at 29.73 inches—a fall that speaks of low-pressure malice and imminent t…
The second day of October, in the Year of Our Lord eighteen hundred and forty-one, dawned chill and overcast over the Imperial capital. Yet within the coffee-houses of the Graben and the counting-room…
A pale, wounded sun peers through a lacework of cloud—barely one-fifth of the firmament—casting a sickly, amber light upon the eastern ridges, where a thin, ghostly mist clings to the pines like the b…
The Torricellian column within its brass housing has descended to nine-and-twenty inches and seventy-seven hundredths, its slow fall a silent herald of atmospheric unrest. Beside it, the hair-hygromet…
A pale, luminous mist creeps along the high crags like a specter's breath, softening the jagged spine of the Carpathians. At the sixteenth hour, the sky hangs partly sunny, yet a veil of cloud—some fi…