arriving at Riga, a letter was given him, stating that by command of the emperor, all his honours were taken from him, and he was prohibited from appearing at court.

Paul was a man upon whom no one could rely; his character was a compound of opposite extremes. Thus, without any reason being given, or without any fault that could be assigned as a cause, Suvarow, the hero of a hundred fights, suddenly found himself precipitated from the pinnacle of his human greatness, and degraded to the level of a guilty traitor.

This fatal news was a death-blow to the old hero; his heart, already ulcerated by the reverses he had experienced, which came upon him like the sudden storm after a sunny summer's day, could no longer bear up against the cruel injustice of a capricious master. He assembled together all the officers of his army on the Grand Square of Riga, took leave of them with streaming eyes as a father does his children, then having embraced the generals and colonels, and squeezed the hands of all who flocked around him, once more bade them adieu in faltering accents,-then threw himself into a sledge, and travelling night and day, arrived incognito in that capital into which a triumphal entry had but a few days previously been prepared for him. He sought the residence of one of his nieces, in a distant quarter of the city; and in fifteen days after, died broken-hearted. The annals of history scarcely furnish a more striking example of the mutability of human affairs, and the caprice of royal favour.

Fœdor, deeply affected by these events, hastily proceeded to St. Petersburg, without sending any previous information of his intention. As he had no relative or friend in the capital, his course was directed towards the Perspective of Newski, at one angle of which, on the banks of Catharine's Canal, stood the house of Count Tchermayloff. On arriving, without being announced, he rushed through the entrance-hall, and suite of apartments on the ground-floor, eagerly inquiring of the astounded servants where the general was? They conducted him to the dining-room, in which he was at breakfast with his daughter. Fodor entered with a palpitating heart.”

"What, Fodor!" exclaimed the general; "I am sincerely glad to see you;" and the count warmly shook him by both hands :-" Alexandrina, give your brother a sister's welcome; and you, Fodor, give her a brother's kiss." Fodor stood blushing like a guilty child. Alexandrina rose, and extended her hands ;--neither party made the first step towards a nearer meeting. "Come, Alexandrina,-no prudery, at this moment, if you please."

"Father, I only wait Captain Romayloff's leisure."

Fodor at length sprung forward, seized the young countess's extended hand, and slightly kissed her proffered cheek. This time it certainly was

no illusion of his senses. Alexandrina did return the gentle pressure of his hand.

"I will not annoy you, Fodor, with requiring just now a detailed account of your hair-breadth escapes in the late unfortunate Italian campaign. I truly rejoice that your valour has been properly distinguished by the honours now conferred upon you; and I grieve that my old friend, poor Suvarow, should have met the sad disgrace he is overwhelmed with. I raised my humble voice in his behalf, but it was too feeble to save him. A cabal, headed by the Austrian princes, poisoned the emperor's mind; and his downfall was decided in one of those hasty moods which are so much to be pitied in the emperor's character. Of course, Fodor, I say this in confidence to you."

The breakfast was long, and during it, Fodor modestly, though frankly, related many circumstances totally unknown to the general. The newspapers of Russia being published under the emperor's immediate censorship, never contained more of the truth than he pleased to have made known; consequently, the defeat of an immense army, headed by an able general, though known to the public, was merely treated as a slight check to future operations; and attributed to the great insubordination permitted in the army during its campaign in Italy.

Count Tchermayloff, delighted with Fodor's account of the scenes he had witnessed, and of the modest mention he made of his own prowess, determined to solicit some honourable post for him; and he had the happiness of seeing Fodor kiss hands on being appointed one of the emperor's aides-de camp; with the promise of the next vacant regiment of the guards. But the highest reward Fodor experienced was that of being assigned apartments in Count Tchermayloff's house, and meeting his lovely daughter repeatedly during each day.

On her part, Alexandrina, haughty as she was, experienced a deep interest in Fodor. The glory he had acquired made up for the disparity of fortune, and she daily experienced that her beating heart was not inaccessible to the tender passion of love. Pride, however obstinate, must bend to that mighty master of nature. Accustomed to command, Alexandrina would have thought it no derogation of her consequence to declare at once that she loved Fodor, and demanded a return; but she was better pleased to see the workings of his mind, and longed to give him an opportunity of speaking the ob vious sentiments of his heart, before she gave him any reason to hope his love reciprocated. Several months thus passed away, when, one day, being alone with Fodor, Alexandrina "observing the fruitless efforts he made to conceal the love he entertained for her, boldly took his hand." You love me, Fodor ?"

"Most devotedly, Alexandrina,-most purely do I love you; and the more so, because it is without hope."

"Why without hope? My father loves you already like a son,-you are of a noble family. You have no private inheritance, it is true; but you have a brilliant career in view, and my fortune is more than enough for both of us."

"Am I not then indifferent to you, dear Alexandrina ?"

"I am above affectation, Fodor ;—I do prefer you to all other men I yet have seen, and I authorise you to ask my father's consent to our union, under certain conditions. These are, that whatever may be his reply, he shall never know you came to him at my request,-that no soul breathing shall know you follow my instructions,-that all the world shall remain ignorant of the confession I have made to you,-and that happen what may, you will not ask me to second your views of obtaining my hand, beyond my wishes for your success.

We e may imagine Fodor's delight, 'more easily than it can be described. He promised strict obedience to her wishes, and the same day requested an interview with the count. At this meeting, the general candidly confessed that he would have willingly given his consent to his daughter's union with Fodor, but that he was pledged by word to the emperor, to give her hand to a noble he had named, and that the only delay he could obtain was the few months that would elapse prior to her becoming of age. Fodor could not contain his anguish, but burst into a torrent of tears. He well knew the wish of the emperor was a command it would be death or banishment to oppose. The general questioned him respecting Alexandrina's being privy to the demand he had just made; but Fodor, true to his promise, denied her having any knowledge of it.

Fodor passed a day of inconceivable mental agony, from which no hope presented any prospect of relief. Towards night, Annouschka, the fostersister and confidant of Alexandrina, announced the countess's wish to see him immediately. He met her, but his downcast, wretched looks, did not alter a muscle of her habitual appearance. "Well, Fodor, I need scarcely · ask you what reception my father has given you. I read it in your eyes that it is unfortunate to our wishes. Let me, however, hear what has transpired. I can bear to learn it better now than hereafter." She listened to the details given by Fodor, with apparent composure. "What do you propose doing?” was her reply.

"What, indeed? dearest Alexandrina! Without repaying your father's paternal affection to me by a base act of ingratitude, I have but one course left me to pursue; that is, to fly from St. Petersburgh, and seek death at the Pannen's mouth, wherever war yet offers that honourable grave ”

"You are childish to speak thus, Romayloff," answered the countess, with a smile in which triumph and disdain were strangely blended. "You must remain where you are a child only would be defeated by this first rebuff; but a man, if he merits that epithet, will struggle against greater difficulties before he dies. If you have nerve to meet the one, you must have sufficient to bear the other. It is not against my father I ask you to struggle, but against fate. Some months must yet elapse ere I attain my majority; during that time, great changes may take place. The emperor may die—the husband he has destined for me may die, or be disgraced; for Paul's favour hangs upon a hair; or it may be, which God forbid! that my father may be no more. You must abide these chances, and others I cannot now enumerate. Disguise your love for me. In my father's presence, appear resigned and cheerful; put up even with my disdain in public, and leave all the rest to Heaven, and my guidance. Should every hope fail, a last resource cannot be taken from me: the Neva flows a few paces from this spot-her waters are deep and silent."

It was some days after this private conversation, that the punishment of the barber Gregory took place, in consequence of a complaint lodged against him by the countess, of some disrespectful words he had uttered in a drunken fit against her.

(To be concluded in our next.)

THE PHILOSOPHER AND HIS PUPIL.

A TALE.

(Continued.)

CHAPTER XIII.

Ar the instant that the good mute snatched the child, Louise reached the spot; she tried in vain to revive her unfortunate friend; her efforts were useless; believing that life was fled, she uttered piercing cries. De Villars heard them, and springing over the palisades, flew to the spot. His endeavours were not more successful, she was carried senseless to the chateau, and a physician who was immediately sent for, declared that there was no hope

of her life.

It was impossible to keep from the unfortunate abbé the cause of her situation: To paint his grief would be impossible; he had lost in Frederic the support and stay of his old age, and the only being who could in any way Nov. 1845. DD :

console him for that loss, was about to follow him to the tomb. He wept nothe complained not,--he met the blow as a christian should do, with humility and resignation; but his heart was broken by it; in two days he yielded up his pure spirit to Him that gave it.

During fifteen days, the dissolution of Adrienne was every instant expected. The physicians declared from the first moment that her recovery was next to impossible; the only chance she had, was by shedding tears, and every effort to make her shed them had been tried in vain.

The chateau was thronged with inquirers; rich and poor sorrowed for its lovely heiress; but particularly the latter, for she had been a bountiful patroness to all that needed her assistance. Marie, whom her benevolence had raised from despair to happiness, passed the greater part of the time both by day and night in the chateau. She was then suckling an infant, who suffered so much with its teeth, that she dared not leave it behind her, and she was forced to keep it with her during those hours she passed in Adrienne's antechamber.

On the fifteenth day, as she was about to return home, she entered softly the chamber of her benefactress, where she knew that at that moment Louise was alone with her. As she approached the bed beside which Mademoiselle de Clugny was seated, the child uttered a cry. Suddenly Adrienne, who till then appeared insensible to all that passed around her, sat up in the bed, and stretched her arms to the child. Marie, on a sign from Lousie, placed the infant in them. She looked at it fixedly for a moment, and then saying mournfully," It is not her," burst into a violent flood of tears. To these tears she owed her reason and her life; they flowed long and bitterly; those of Louise mingled with them. Adrienne spoke not, but she pressed the hands of her friend, and from that moment it was evident that her reason was restored.

The first words she uttered were, "Who has taken care of Celine, and how is she?"

"She is well, perfectly well,” cried Louise, delighted to hear her speak rationally; "the baroness has seen her every day."

For several hours afterwards she did not speak, but she remained perfectly calm, and submitted to take the medicines which they offered to her. The fever abated, and her recovery was pronounced possible.

She inquired the opinion of the physicians; when it was announced to her, she sighed. "I may then," said she, “be condemned to live; for now that reason has resumed its empire, I abandon for ever the rash thought of with drawing my infant and myself from a world where we are alike exposed to suffer obloquy and sorrow. But the former I will not suffer, not even for my