In fact, the seaman swept from the deck of a wrecked
vessel, drenched in the waves, and battered against the rocks on
the shore, does not differ more from the same mariner, when, at the
commencement of the gale, he stood upon the deck of his favourite
ship, proud of her strength and his own dexterity, than Arthur, when
commencing his journey, from the same Arthur, while clinging to the
decayed trunk of an old tree, from which, suspended between heaven and
earth, he saw the fall of the crag which he had so nearly accompanied.
The effects of his terror, indeed, were physical as well as moral, for
a thousand colours played before his eyes; he was attacked by a sick
dizziness, and deprived at once of the obedience of those limbs which
had hitherto served him so admirably; his arms and hands, as if no
longer at his own command, now clung to the branches of the tree, with a
cramp-like tenacity, over which he seemed to possess no power, and now
trembled in a state of such complete nervous relaxation, as led him to
fear that they were becoming unable to support him longer in his
position.
[We must leave the reader here, although in dire suspense--and we regret
to do so, because a beautiful incident follows--to give the following
exquisite sketch of the heroine--a Swiss maiden. We will endeavour to
connect these passages with our abridgment of the narrative.]
An upper vest, neither so close as to display the person--a habit
forbidden by the sumptuary laws of the canton--nor so loose as to be an
encumbrance in walking or climbing, covered a close tunic of a different
colour, and came down beneath the middle of the leg, but suffered the
ancle, in all its fine proportions, to be completely visible.
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