"Colonel, by the grace of her Majesty." "Mother likes Suwarrow. Suwarrow fears no cold, no Poles, Mother will be satisfied-killed a good many-Cossacks have had a good day of it. Bravo, Colonel, you are going back again, Mother wants you immediately. We shall not detain you.' Suwarrow shivered a little, for he had no uniform on. His countenance was blood-red, with black streaks, and his eyes blood-shot. He seemed rather embarrassed, and having waved his hand, turned me abruptly out of the room. He looked like a murderer. "His Excellency will not expect me to depart immediately," said I to the adjutant-general, Count Gy. "Indeed, Colonel Count D- -y, you must depart immediately. The despatches are ready and sealed." I hastened down through the hetmans and colonels, captains, cossacks, and dragoons, wishing them with their leader at the devil. "Stepanku turn round!”. We trotted towards the bridge, Ah! Og――y's palace! What a delightful ball there was here three years ago! And now? The provost-general and his myrmidons, with their hanging apparatus, are making their rounds. The great executioner stops before the house, looks and listens. He enters, and so must I, though his Excellency were at my heels. The provost applies his ear to the wall. The whole house is worse than waste. Every thing broken, torn, every where desolation, and filthiness-Russian filthiness. What is that? A spectre-like figure, gliding behind one of the columns of the entrance hall, into a side passage, seized by his long beard, as we are descending from the upper apartments. “Ouiai!” whistled the pale, death-like Hebrew, with a breath too feeble to blow out a candle. "Milosti officer, I am innocent! "We shall see-" One of the executioners dragged him along the marble pavement, and we descended. "Perhaps, provost, I may be of some use as a guide, for I know the house-I am Colonel Dy, courier to her Majesty," said I, to prevent unnecessary delay. The Russian dialect, slavish enough, as is well known, had not sufficient words to express the obsequiousness of the provost, and he followed with a curved back. We entered the servants' apartment. There they lay-three, six, eight-men and women, promiscuously-all dead, all mangled, the apartment flowing with blood-articles of dress, gold, silver, plate, were scattered here and there. "The blood is fresh," said the provost, "but where are the men ?” I opened a door which communicated with the upper apartments by a secret passage. Suddenly we heard a loud snoring, which proceeded * The very words used by Suwarrow. + Provost-general, an office now abolished. He combined in his own person the jurisdiction of the court-martial, and had the jus gladii in its utmost extent, so as to be allowed to order an immediate execution. from three Cossacks who were sitting squatted on their hams, stupified with drinking. "Dobra gorzalka," stammered one of them, an officer. A couple of lashes with the knout made him rise from his seat-that seat was a dead body. "Have you not heard the rallying signal?-Why have you not joined your pulk?” "Pulk? Pulk ?" stammered the men. "Take all the three," said the provost. The Cossacks, who had become sober at once, ran out into the kitchen, and opening the iron door of the stove, disclosed three Hebrews, intending them, no doubt, to serve as scapegoats for themselves. "Take them also!" said the provost. The passage led into the upper apartments. The secret cabinet on the right side—yes, I remember it. But what have we here? It is Ogy, pierced by numberless wounds, his eyes glazed, his hands cold, lying before the very door where he had fallen in the defence of his household gods. I opened the door. Heavenly powers! the Countess lying dead in the middle of the room-at her side a child-a new-born child-alive! Ten minutes were gone-I caught up the boy, threw him upon a pillow, and ran down the stairs as if I had been hunted by the Cossacks. When I stepped into my carriage, I beheld, on turning round, the three Cossacks, with twice as many Jews, dangling from the iron bars of the window. This was so far satisfactory. "But now drive on, Stepanku,-fast on-go on for life and death: 'tis fifty miles out of my way-a day's ride. It may cost my life-yet the last hope of one of the noblest houses of Poland deserves a sacrifice." Happily I remembered Abraham's wife, who had handed us the last tumbler of brandy. She was nursing her child. She must along with me-I again took a glass-my Stepanku threw her into the carriage, and on we went-the children crying and screaming at the sudden disappearance of their mother. After twelve hours' desperate riding, I had delivered my charge over to Count Z-y, hunted two of his best horses dead, and found myself again on the road to St. Petersburgh. My head was in danger-I knew it. Humanity is but a poor advocate with our gracious Katinka. Just as I expected. Our gracious Mother looked a little oddly when I stepped into her august presence. Behind her stood General R- -n, with so courtly a smile of satisfaction hovering upon his lips, that I knew at once how matters stood. "Our good Suwarrow is well?" said her Majesty. I bowed. "You left Warsaw on the ninth-we have an express of the tenth. You thought fit, it seems, to serve the family of a Polish rebel before serving your Empress! You are dismissed!" When I left the imperial apartment, Major G. had the kindness to tell me that I was under arrest. When I arrived before my house, a pritschka, with three horses, stood ready. I knew then my destination-Tobolsk-Irkutsk—perhaps Kamtschatka-but it was Tobolsk. I shot sables there for two years, was recalled, graciously received, and advised to take care for the future. Happily, however, Baron W--ch, the imperial body physician, was the friend of my family, and he being of opinion that I could not well stand the air and climate of St. Petersburgh, I received permission to travel-of which I have now been availing myself these twenty years. "I plucked a rose, unheeding, and The angry thorns did wound my hand." Once more, with pallid cheek, she came "O why so lily pale thy cheek? Speak, darling of my bosom, speak!" "O, mother, get my winding-sheet, And on that cross these dark words trace: "With ruddy hand she once returned THE INCENDIARY. A Tale of the German Peasant-Wars. FREELY MODERNIZED FROM THE OLD CHRONICLES OF ERANDENBURGH. MICHAEL KOHLHAAS was a horse-dealer-or, to avoid evil associations, a horse-merchant, and he lived on the banks of the river Havel, in Brandenburg. He flourished in the sixteenth century, one of the most extraordinary epochs in the moral history of the world: but there seemed to be nothing extraordinary about Michael. He was a plain, honest, even-tempered man, about thirty years of age, in good circumstances, and blest with a fruitful wife, a noble stud, and a thriving progeny of children and horses. His honesty, indeed, was so strict and straight-forward, that it had become proverbial throughout the country, and when people wished to describe a high-principled, stout-hearted, unbending character, they would say "he is a very Michael." This fine quality, however, may go too far. Honesty in one's self is apt to beget an inordinate abhorrence of dishonesty in others. This excess, working on single-hearted and uninstructed minds, sometimes produces disastrous consequences, and it certainly made our worthy horsedealer one of the most terrible men of his time. "Honest Michael," as he was familiarly called, was one day journeying along the road with a string of horses behind him, which he intended to sell at Leipsic. Immersed in the speculations of profit and loss which haunt the mind of the trader, he looked neither to the right nor to the left, neither before nor behind him; and it was with some surprise that he saw himself suddenly stopped, in the well accustomed route, by a barrier thrown across which he had never encountered before. The detention occurred at an ill-timed moment; for it had begun to rain, and the contents of the black clouds which covered the sky came down as if from buckets. With a sturdy "hollo!" he soon roused the attention of the toll-keeper, and that officer, after presenting a grim and surly visage at the window, came leisurely out to open the barrier. "This is something new ?" exclaimed Michael. "Baronial privilege of the Knight Wenzel of Tronka," grumbled the fellow. "What!—the old knight, then, is dead!" and Michael turned a troubled eye upon the castle, which stood by the road side, within the jurisdiction of Saxony. "Of apoplexy," said the toll-keeper, raising the barrier. "So much the worse!" sighed Michael, "he was a worthy man, and a true friend to the honest trader. Alas! it was he who made the new road to the village, because one of my mares had broken her leg on the rascally stones. Well-well! it will not recall him to stand dripping here-What is to pay?" When the toll-keeper had mentioned the sum "There, old lad," continued Michael,-" a word in your ear: it would have been better both for you and me if the tree which made this barrier had remained in the forest!" and drawing about him his wet cloak, he jogged on as before. He had not proceeded far when he heard a rough voice shouting to him from the castle tower; wondering what more could be wanted with him, he stood still. The castellain, a huge and portly personage, presently made his appearance, and demanded his passport. "My passport !" exclaimed Michael, "I have no passport." "Then you must turn back; you cannot pass the frontiers without one." "Look you, Sir," said Michael, "I am not a stranger here any more than you. I have passed this place seventeen times before to-day, and never till now was asked for my passport. What is it Michael Kohlhaas the horse-dealer, whom you take to be ignorant of the barrier laws? Go to the day is passing, and I have far to journey before night." "You journey no further this way," said the castellain, “without producing your passport." Michael's equanimity began to be disturbed; but after a moment's reflection he dismounted, and requested to see the Knight of Tronka himself. Followed by the castellain, who scarcely smothered his contemptuous murmurs at the horse-dealer's pertinacity, he entered the court of the castle. As Michael went up to the portal, he heard shouts of merriment from the banqueting hall, where the Knight was at table drinking with his companions; but on the appearance of a stranger, the noise ceased for a moment, and a gaze of disdainful curiosity was turned upon his dripping figure. No sooner, however, had the trader taken advantage of the silence to commence his remonstrance against the castellain's injustice, than, at the magical word "horses," the company rose tumultuously from the table, and ran to the windows. By this time the horses were in the court, attended by Michael's servant, and surrounded by the steward and the domestics of the castle. The rain had ceased, and the smooth coats of the beautiful animals glistened as they stood pawing the ground and tossing their proud heads. The eyes of the young noblemen glistened too at the sight, and with the permission of their host, they sallied out in a body to gaze nearer at the show. Michael forgot the cause of his detention in the pride of a horsedealer. His heart warmed at the commendations that were lavished on all sides: and he began to think that he might be able to sell his horses without going so far as Leipsic. A magnificent bay courser in particular attracted the attention of the Knight of Tronka himself, while the steward was equally anxious to have a pair of fine black horses for the use of the farm. The price, however, was thought too |