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glitter in Dourlinski's hand-I flung myself upon him-it was too late, I could only parry the second blow; my beloved had already fallen at the feet of Titsiken, pierced below the left bosom. Pulouski, maddened with rage, would have avenged his daughter. "No! no!" cried the Tartar, "you would give that villain too easy a death."

"Ha!" said the infamous assassin, as he viewed his victim with cruel exultation—“ Ha, Loozinski, you were so eager to be united to Lodoiska! why are you not so now? go, my happy rival, go join thy beloved in the grave; let them prepare my punishment, it will appear grateful to me-I leave you delivered to torments not less cruel, and more enduring than mine own." Dourlinski could say no more, the Tartars dragged him away and flung him into the mass of fiery embers.

What a night succeeded-what different anxieties and conflicting sentiments agitated me during its course; how many times successively I felt fear, hope, grief, and joy. After so many anxieties and dangers, Lodoiska had been entrusted to me by her parent. I was intoxicated with the pleasing prospect of possessing her, when a monster murders her before my eyesthat was the most cruel moment of my life; my happiness, however, was but eclipsed-amongst the soldiers of Titsiken was found one skilled in chirurgery, we called him in, he examined the wound and pronounced it to be very slight-Dourlinski being impeded by his chains, and blinded by his despair, had only dealt an unsteady blow. As soon as Titsiken knew that there was no reason to be apprehensive for Lodoiska's life he bade us adieu. "I leave you," said he, "the five domestics Pulouski brought with him, provisions for several days, six good horses, two covered chariots, and all Dourlinski's servants well chained-their villain master is dead; day is beginning to appear, and I depart-do not leave this place until to-morrow. To-morrow I will go visit other districts. Adieu, brave people; you will tell the Poles that Titsiken is not always a bad devil, and that he sometimes restores with one hand what he takes with the other. Adieu." With these words he gave the signal for departure; the Tartars passed the draw-bridge, and disappeared at full gallop.

They had not been gone two hours,

when several neighbouring gentlemen, supported by some quartuaries, came to invest Dourlinski's chateau; Pulouski himself went out to receive them-he related all that had passed, and some of them, gained by his discourse, determined to follow us into the palatinate of Lublin. They asked but two days to prepare some things necessary for their departure-in effect, the day after the morrow they rejoined us to the number of sixty, and Lodoiska, having assured us that she felt herself able to support the fatigues of the journey, was placed in a commodious carriage which we had had time to prepare; after having restored to liberty the servants of Dourlinski, we abandoned to them the two covered carriages, in which Titsiken, with singular generosity had left a portion of the booty, and which they distributed amongst themselves.

Lo

We arrived, without accident, in the palatinate of Lublin, at Polowisk, where Pulouski had appointed the general rendezvous. The news of his return being spread abroad, a crowd of malcontents came within a month to increase our little army, which amounted to about ten thousand men. doiska, entirely cured of her wound, and perfectly refreshed from her fatigue, had recovered her embonpoint, her fraicheur, and all the splendour of her charms. Pulouski summoned me to his tent and said-"Three thousand Russians have appeared upon the heights, about three quarters of a league from this; take four thousand choice men with you this evening, and drive the enemies from their advantageous position-consider, that upon the success of the first combat depends almost always the success of the campaign-remember, you must avenge your country, my friend, let to-morrow inform me of your victory, and to-morrow you espouse Lodoiska."

About ten o'clock I set forth; at midnight we surprised the enemy in their camp-never was a rout more complete, we killed seven hundred and took nine hundred prisoners, we captured all their cannon, military chest, and baggage. At break of day Pulouski joined me with the remainder of the army--he brought Lodoiska with him--we were married in Pulouski's tent; all the camp resounded with mirthful songs; valour and beauty were celebrated in joyous verse; it was the fête of love and Mars--you would have thought each soldier had

my feelings, and shared in my felicity.

I will not fatigue the reader with a recital of our operations during eight consecutive years of a sanguinary war; sometimes vanquished, more frequently victorious; as great in defeat, as formidable in success. Pulouski attracted the attention of Europe, and astonished it by his long resistance forced to abandon one province, he was ready for fresh conflicts in another; and thus, as he traversed all the Palatinates, he signalised in each of them, by some glorious exploit, the hatred he had sworn to the enemies of Poland. The wife of a soldier, and the daughter of a hero, accustomed to the tumult of camps, Lodoiska accompanied us every where. Of five lovely children which she presented to me, one only survived, an infant daughter of about eighteen months. One day, after an obstinate conflict, the victorious Russians, pillaging the camp, fell upon the tent which contained niy wife and daughter. Pulouski and I, aided by some gentlemen, rushed to their rescue; we saved Lodoiska, but my child, my dear Dorliska, had disappeared.

This accident deeply distressed me ; other events, however, did not permit me to dwell upon my own misfortunes. Our little army, though frequently recruited, was sensibly diminishing, and even successful engagements served but to weaken our forces. At length, after a series of disasters, the Russians succeeded in surprising us by night, and utterly defeated us. Those who were not cut to pieces, saved them selves by a precipitate flight. Maddened with despair, I would have sought death amidst the thickest of the enemy. Pulouski withheld me.

66

What would you do?" said he; "Poland has still need of our armsthink of your country, think of Lodoiska."

Recalled to a sense of duty, I flew to my wife's pavillion, and hurriedly informed her that all was lost; she heard the intelligence undismayed, and calmly collecting her most valuable jewels, urged me to a speedy retreat. Accompanied by Pulouski, and sheltered by the darkness, we escaped the pursuit of the enemy, and next morning reached the chateau of Moniski, a friend of Lodoiska's father.

Here deliberating on Our future plans, Pulouski proposed that, as it was hopeless to attempt defending Poland by her own resources, he and VOL. XIII.

I should proceed to Turkey, to obtain the Sultan's aid, leaving Lodoiska under the protection of Moniski. this arrangement, however, Lodoiska refused to assent.

Το

"Whithersoever," said she, "my father and my husband go, thither will I attend them. I fear neither danger nor fatigue in their company; and should any accident befall me, it will console my last moments, that my dying eyes will be closed by the hands of those I love."

Seeing her thus resolved, we did not attempt to dissuade her; and accordingly she set out with us on the following morning. Pulouski determined to penetrate through Russia into Turkey, as being the route which his enemies would be the least likely to suspect him to have taken; and Lodoiska, disguised as a Russian peasant, was of great assistance in procuring us provisions.

At Novogorod we halted a few days, in order to give Lodoiska rest, and dispose of some of her jewels; the delay had well nigh proved fatal. Pulouski was recognised by a soldier, and we only saved ourselves by an instantaneous flight. Our distress was now extreme-forced to betake ourselves to the woods in the depths of winter, we could only travel by night, and along the banks of the rivers, avoiding all the great towns, and only venturing to purchase provisions at the most retired villages. At length the difficulties of proceeding became so great, that we deemed it better to penetrate into the depths of a vast forest, on the skirts of which we then were, and there remain concealed, than proceed any further at that time. Accordingly, having hazarded the purchase of a waggon and horses, and having loaded it with provisions and other necessaries, we struck into the woods, and having found an eligible spot, constructed a rude hut of the materials of the waggon, which we took to pieces; the horses we were obliged to kill, having no provender to support them, and upon their flesh, together with the provisions I had purchased, and some assistance from the produce of the chase, we contrived to support a miserable existence for several weeks.

At length, however, Lodoiska, whose health had been gradually declining from the effects of cold and wretched fare, became so ill, that I resolved to hazard every thing, in order to procure her some delicate

food. Accordingly, having bade her
a tender adieu, I proceeded to the
nearest habitation; but a violent
snow storm having arisen, I lost my
way, and, although I eventually suc-
ceeded in regaining the track, it was
only on the second day I reached the
neighbourhood of our retreat; here
the snow had been so exceedingly
deep, that every vestige of the hut had
disappeared. Bewildered and distres-
sed I wandered about in search of it;
I shouted, but no one answered; I
fired several pistol-shots, but all in
vain-well nigh distracted with alarm
and anxiety, I was about to turn the
pistol against myself, when I thought
I perceived a figure at a distance; I
hastened towards it-it was Pulouski
gathering branches: he was wasted to
a skeleton. I hurriedly inquired for
Lodoiska; he pressed my hand in si-
lence and led me to the hut-there I
found her stretched upon her misera-
ble pallet, apparently lifeless; I flung
myself upon my knees beside her, and `
kissed her cold and clammy brow.
She opened her eyes, and recognised
me, her lips moved, I stooped to catch
the import of her words, but the
sounds died away, and her spirit was
gone for ever.

Thus died Lodoiska in the depths of a Russian forest.

We buried her in a rude grave, with difficulty formed in the hard floor of our hut, and having remained a few days to enable Pulouski to recruit his strength, we set out, indifferent as to what fate had still in store for us. After much fatigue and hardship we reached the banks of the Dnieper, and having purchased a boat, floated down the river, regardless of our danger; at Kuglow we were compelled to ferry over some Russian soldiers, but none of them could recognise the dreaded hero, Pulouski, in the squalid and wasted boatman now before them.

At length peace was proclaimed between Russia and Turkey, and all restraints being thus removed, we arrived safely at Constantinople. The Sultan graciously received us, and allowed us a handsome maintenance. Here Pulouski remained two years, in vain endeavouring to excite the Turks to renew the war with Russia; here too he heard of his estates having been confiscated and himself banished, and with still more grief and indignation, of the shameful partition of Poland.

"Come," said he to me, after the first burst of anger and scorn, "since we have no longer a country, let us assist those who are contending for liberty— America is struggling to be free."

We passed into Spain, and having passage to the Haprocured a

vanna, we thence sailed to Philadelphia. General Washington received Pulouski to a high command in the us with distinction, and appointed American armies.

In the numerous engagements during the war, Pulouski exposed himself to every danger, and fortune granted his last wish to die on the field of battle. As he was leading his men to an assault, he was shot through the body. I hastened to his assistance.

"'Tis vain," said he, "all is overwhat cruel mockery of fortune-Pulouski dies a martyr to American liberty, and Poland is enslaved."

Since that fatal day I have been, as it were, alone in the universe; for several years, 'tis true, I vainly hoped to recover my daughter, but all my inquiries have hitherto been unavailing. Deprived thus of country and of kindred, my only pleasure is to think of Lodoiska-my only prayerthat I may meet her in another and a better world.

F.

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Onward he flew upon his merry path,
Unheedful he
Of destiny,

Of the clear sparkling drops that fell And those dark cankering griefs, which around,

sorrow hath

Garner'd for man Through his brief span;

Richly o'erspreading the soft emerald Away, away! the rosy, laughing boy

In the sun's ray,

Like diamonds thrown,

Or pearlets strown,

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Danced o'er the flowers
Time's precious hours

Sped priceless by-his life knew no alloy,

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AWFUL AND MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE!!!

AN AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE OF A DIALOGUE BETWEEN SIR ROBERT PEEL AND THE GHOST OF HIS FATHER, WHICH APPEARED TO HIM AT DRAYTON MANOR, ON

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SIR-You have, no doubt, heard of the strange occurrence, which has lately made the hair stand on end upon so many heads in our little village. It was, indeed, most extraordinary; but the longer they live, and the deeper they think, the more the most incredulous sceptics will find "that there are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamed of in their philosophy."

You understand, of course, that I allude to the supernatural appearance by which the great Conservative leader was visited. His venerable father, attired with his accustomed plainness, and wearing that appearance of independence, good sense, and easy and unaffected hilarity, which used to stamp him, when on earth, as the very beau ideal of British tradesmen, presented himself, as Sir Robert was taking an evening walk, in one of the most sequestered parts of his own ground, and invited and sustained the colloquy, of which I was fortunate enough to obtain what, I believe, I may call the only authentic account. will hear, I fairly warn you, many rumours of what then occurred; but, with the exception of the dialogue which I send, nothing that may be relied on.

You

I have every reason to believe, that Sir Robert conducted himself, during the trying interview, with his accustomed courage and coolness. Indeed, during the greater part of it, he seemed as much at his ease as if he were sitting by his own fire-side. What follows will prove that he was by no means so awe-struck as not to have the perfect use of his faculties, in discussing the important subjects which were brought under their review; nor am I quite clear that, in some instances, he has not the best of the argument. But of that, the reader must judge for himself. You know the source from which I have derived my knowledge of the transaction, so that to you it must be unnecessary to enlarge upon its authenticity.

I remain, Sir, yours, &c. &c.

SIR R. PEEL.-Do my eyes deceive me, or do I, indeed, behold my revered parent? Hail, venerable shade!

GHOST.-My Son !

SIR R.-Fondest and best of fathers, how may I most fittingly adjure thee! My being, my fortune, my station, I owe to thee. In what manner may I most worthily prove my heart-rooted love, or how may I most convincingly express my deep sense of all the obligations which I owe thee?

GHOST.-Robert, I believe you loved me; and that I was enabled to leave you in affluence upon earth, was, in itself, its own reward. But your own genius and your own conduct have secured for you a far higher station than I could have bequeathed; and if I had a dying wish as regarded thee on earth, it was, that you might fill that station reputably, and prove both an ornament and a protection to your country.

SIR R. My father will forgive the trembling anxiety which prompts me to demand of him, whether any doubts respecting his son's integrity have been

Q. E. D.

the cause why I am thus again permitted to behold him?

GHOST.-Doubts of your integrity, Robert, I have had none; but your conduct has been such, on many occasions, as to cause sad misgivings in the hearts of many, whose good opinion is not to be contemned. You will believe that the motives must have been strong which could thus draw me from the realms of the dead, and that my confidence in your filial reverence must have been great, when I have persuaded myself that you will not only listen to parental admonition, but bear with parental expostulation.

SIR R.-I now can breathe more freely. I now feel as if I were again in your presence, as when you were upon this earth, and can hold converse with you with the same freedom as when we took sweet counsel together in the days of my early years. vered parent! speak, and your son will listen to you, I hope I need not say, with that devotional attention and respect which is due to the best of fathers. But may I not, conjecturally,

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