of roast beef. He was shown up to the Deputy, whom he found seated by the fire, while his afflicted toes, having been divested of some dozen folds of flannel, had insinuated themselves into a slipper, not more than twice the size of his shoe. Matters were evidently upon an improved footing, for Mr. Doublepenny, with the assistance of his crutch, regained his legs, and, shaking his nephew by the hand, complimented him on his punctuality, and added, that he had a few words to say to him, which, as dinner was just coming to table, he would defer until they had discussed the beef. When the cloth was removed, the Deputy gravely asked which fare he preferred; the bread and cheese and small beer, with which he had been regaled on the day before, or the roast beef and plum-pudding which had just graced the board. Frank replied, that his choice certainly rather pointed to the roast beef. "And now," said the Deputy, "let us see the-epic I think you call it;" and as his nephew was unfolding it, he continued, "Nay, you need not trouble yourself to open it, the first page will do. Ah! a very fair running hand, I protest." "" While our hero was speculating upon what the city dignitary would observe next, the latter resumed the conversation by saying, "Your mother, in her letter, I see, places some reliance upon my good offices for you, and she has a right to do so, as, when I quitted home to seek my fortune, she doubled my capital by slipping half a crown into my hand, while her sisters would have sold me into slavery, if they could have gained a cast gown or a new ribbon by the bargain. Now, it happens that I have just lost my clerk, and, if you like to fill the vacancy, I think you will find the employment more profitable than writing epics." Frank expressed his gratitude for the offer, but modestly hinted a doubt of his qualifications for the office. "As to that," said Doublepenny, "I see you write a tolerably good hand, and your mother says you have some knowledge of figures, while, in any thing else you may require to know, I can probably instruct you." Observing Frank to glance at his somewhat rustic habiliments, the Deputy added, "I know what you would say your coat is a little out of fashion to be sure; but, if you determine on declining business as an author, I will purchase your stock in trade for fifty pounds, and I apprehend you will scarcely meet with a better bargain for your epic, either in the Row,' or at the West End;' so make up your mind, man, and choose between a crust in a garret and a hot joint with me in the parlour." Alas! I record the sequel with a blush: Plutus prevailed over Apollo; the ignoble bard basely consented to sacrifice his literary first-born, which was accordingly bought, and burnt by the Deputy, and thus, in the poet's eye "in a fine frenzy rolling," the temple of Fame was eclipsed by a sirloin of beef. The Deputy, I am informed, has since taken his nephew into partnership, and plumes himself on having made a trader and spoiled a poet. THE POLISH REGALIA.* fused into his languid veins; and, ever BY THE AUTHOR OF THE HISTORY OF and anon, the flashes of former ardour POLAND." In the outskirts of the forest of Bialowiez, one of those wild tracks of woodland which are scattered over Lithuania, stands a small cottage, apparently built for a hunting-box, or tem porary residence during the season of the bear-chase; but several circumstances show that it has not been of late years the mere resort of a migratory visitant. A narrow strip of ground has been cleared, though the soil submits but sullenly to the innovation of culture; and, here and there, a few fruittrees have dispossessed the lords of the forest of their ancient domain. The little hermitage, however, is now fast verging to decay; and the weeds and bushes are contending for possession of the patch of ground. The family circle which lately tenanted this cottage, was one in which death had made the most capricious, and, at the same time, most extended devastation, having reduced it to two members -a hoary-headed patriarch and a youth, who, together with two or three serfs, composed the whole household. The old man's features were of that character which speak of mind, and whose expression was too marked to be merely the secondary formation of habit or circumstance; while his white hair and bent figure proved that he had weathered many winters. Count Zaleski was the title by which his serfs addressed him; but neither they nor the youth knew any thing of his history. called the boy Victor, and would sometimes add the epithet "son;" but on these occasions a tear might always be seen stealing down his wrinkled cheek, and he would afterwards sit buried in thought for hours. He In the beginning of November, 1830, the arrival of a horseman at the cottage, and his hasty departure, after being closetted with the Count a short time, excited much speculation in this little society. Some weeks, however, passed on in the usual "leaden-footed" monotony: Zaleski made no communication to Victor on the subject; and, at length, even the domestics' curiosity was fairly tired out. Victor observed, or imagined he observed, a considerable change in the deportment of his venerable guardian: new vigour seemed to be in *The ground-work of this story may be seen in the Constitutionnel of the 18th of May, 1829. would light up his faded eye. But the boy was obliged to content himself with conjecture as to the reason of this apparent alteration, and the object of the stranger's visit. There were never any two persons between whom there existed more unrestrained intercourse than Victor and his aged relative; all the frost of Zaleski's manner melted away at a glimpse or a sound of the boy; but there were subjects which were forbidden to be touched on. Zaleski would, sometimes, ransack all the stores of his well-furnished mind, for the amusement or information of his young companion-would often tell him the glorious tales of Poland's ancient annals, the deeds of war and chivalry achieved by the Casimirs and Sobieskis; but, if questioned on the events which had occurred in his own time, the old man would convulsively draw his hand across. his brow, and relapse into his customary taciturnity. Nearly a month had crept away since the mysterious visit, and the little family had been one evening wiling away the time with their usual avocations, Zaleski musing, Victor reading; the Count was even more absorbed in thought than in general, when, after gazing intently at the youth some minutes, as if fathoming his very soul, he started from his seat; and, seizing an old sabre, which hung over the fireplace, he drew it from the scabbard, and waved to the servants to leave the apartment. "Victor!" said the old man, in a loud impassioned voice, “throw away your books; a more glorious page than those will yet be added to Poland's history, and we may have a share in it. This night, I say, is the last of Russian despotism; perhaps the blow is already struck, and Poland is free!" Zaleski then explained to the astonished youth, that the stranger, whose visit had excited so much curiosity, was a messenger from one of his friends at Warsaw, who were acquainted with his hermitage, bringing tidings of the conspiracy that was in active preparation to shake off the Russian yoke. This night, the glorious 29th of November, was the time concerted for striking the blow; and by this hour," said Zaleski, "the standard of independence is waving on the walls of Warsaw." The old man now, for the first time, informed Victor of his personal history; the narrative, occasion ally broken by sighs and a few tears, was to the following effect. sword," said Zaleski, as he presented "I swear!" said Victor. Count Zaleski was one of those patriotic Polish nobles who fought so long and valiantly against foreign oppression; he was a Lithuanian by birth, of considerable wealth, though his estates had now passed into the possession of the Russians. 66 He had engaged heart and soul in the unfortunate confederacy of Bar, and had stood by the side of the gallant Kosciusko, in the fatal field of Macieiowice; after which he had shared the fate of his other brothers in arms, being severed from his wife and child, a boy of ten or twelve years old, and dragged to the wilds of Siberia. On the death of Catherine, in 1796, Paul, who then ascended the Russian throne, proclaimed a general amnesty; Zaleski was restored to the arms of his wife and child, and retired into an obscure nook of Lithuania, with the wrecks of his fortune, to pine over the sad fate of his unfortunate country, and to bring up his bov to be an avenger of its wrongs. Time rolled on, and Zaleski saw himself the grandfather of the little Victor. Shortly after his birth, the gigantic army of Napoleon marched towards Moscow, to lay low the archenemy of Napoleon; and the Count and his son were marshalled in its ranks. That awful and ill-starred expedition bereaved Zaleski of his child, and Victor of his father; grief leagued with war to thin this unfortunate family; and the old man and the infant were all that remained of the name of Zaleski. "Think not," said the Count, with energy, "that the crown which has bound the temples of a Boleslas, a Casimir, and a Sobieski, has ever adorned the head of a Nicholas. No, the glittering bauble which, in the disgraceful pageant of last year,* was prostituted to the gratification of a despot's pride, was as new as his hated dynasty. The diadem of Poland shall only grace the head of a Piast! See!" exclaimed Zaleski, as he drew forth a small key which was suspended round his neck, and throwing open a closet, raised the floor, which was constructed so as to form the lid of a large chest. The astonished youth beheld five crowns, four sceptres, three golden apples, two chains of gold, and a curiously wrought sword. "Swear upon the cross of this holy The coronation of Nicholas took splace at Warsaw. "Count Bielski," continued the old man, was one of my oldest and best friends: he fought with me under Kosciusko; but the close of that unfortunate campaign severed us; I was dragged to Siberia, and heard nothing of his fate till some years afterwards. In our dreadful retreat from Moscow we were continually harassed by the Cossacks, who invariably seized and butchered any straggler from the main corps, whether in the van or rear. One of their victims was one day lying in our road; and the soldiers, who had lost all commiseration in the absorbing feeling of self-preservation, were heedlessly riding over the body, when I chanced to pass by, and, imagining that I saw the blood still oozing from the wounds, ordered the men to remove and examine it. It proved to be a Polish officer; he had received some severe cuts in the head; but, by dint of what few restoratives we could furnish, animation returned. You may imagine my surprise and horror, when on looking at his pale but handsome features, I recognised my dear friend. At the sound of iny exclamation, he opened his eyes, and faintly uttered my name, and, at the same time, made a motion for me to bring my ear nearer to his mouth. I could only distinguish the word "secret;" and in a few moments his eyes were again closed, and his voice suspended; he was exhausted with loss of blood; and as proud a heart as ever beat in mortal bosom then ceased to throb for ever. I hung for some time lingering over the corpse, straining my ears to catch if it were but the slightest murmur from those pale lips; but they had closed for the last time, and the beautiful mind which had peopled that brain with exalted ideas, had flown to heaven, and carried its secret with it! "The anxiety and bustle of the retreat, for a while, banished the circumstance from my thoughts. I should have followed the waning fortunes of the Corsican with my brave countrymen; but there was another little voice calling to me for protection. I laid by my sword for the third time, and, taking you, Victor, in my arms, set out to seek for a seclusion where the Russian blood-hounds might not hunt me out, and where I might not be insulted with searched the house with care, but nothing was to be found; I questioned the serfs closely, but they could not give me any information: at length I despaired of success, and tried to drive away the thought by turning over a few books and papers which Bielski had left here. I "One day, when putting some writings, with which I had been amusing myself, into the escritoire, I saw that the damp had warped the wood; and, on closer inspection, I found that the bottom was loose and artfully constructed to conceal a. small partition. eagerly tore it up, and, to my gratification, met with a sealed paper addressed to Count Zaleski.' The envelope told me that the enclosed papers would reveal to me a secret of some importance, in case of Bielski's death, and that I was the only person to whom it was to be confided until old age rendered me an unsafe guardian of it. writing consisted of the following narrative :— 6 The "During the glorious struggle for independence, in 1794, it will be remembered that the traitorous governor of Cracow, Winiawski, surrendered that city to the Prussians without a blow; and among other things, the castle, which contained the royal treasury, fell into the hands of the enemy. The news reached Kosciusko's camp, which was before Warsaw, in which Bielski served as a volunteer; and every mouth was full of imprecations against the treacherous governor. One night, shortly after this event, Bielski was roused from sleep by a foot gently stealing into his tent: his midnight visitant was enveloped in a cowl, but presently made himself known as his brother. Thaddeus Bielski was from infancy a superstitious enthusiast, and had entered the ecclesiastic profession from principle, with a mind whose very perceptions of the most natural events or phenomena were so morbidly exaggerated, that circumstances which appeared trivial to others, exercised over him the most unbounded influence.Brother,' said he, in a solemn voice, the royal treasury is in the possession of the enemy; the impious Lutherans have, perhaps, ere this, laid their unhallowed hands on the sacred diadem of Mieczylas and the holy sword of Boleslas, and the sceptre has passed away from Poland! Vow to aid me in the recovery of these sacred relics before it be too late!' "I will not deny that this dream made a deeper impression on my mind than my philosophy can account for; but, at the same time, nothing could be more natural than, after thinking so much of my friend, that my ideas should revert to the scenes where we spent so many happy days together; and in no place was I so likely to arrive at a discovery of the secret as in this cottage, which he always made his residence during many months of the year, being passionately fond of the chase, and which it was most probable he had made his hiding-place after the unfortunate campaign under Kosciusko.This was the reasoning with which I excused myself for obeying the command of my spectral visitant; and, being at no great distance from this spot, I hastened on with the determination of making it my abode. I found the cottage much gone to decay, but tenanted by two or three serfs, who had served Bielski, and who instantly recognised me as his friend, and volunteered their services. I was soon established in this little domicile; but still the secret haunted me night and day. I (To be concluded in our next.) In the course of about a fortnight, we shall devote another extra sheet to the remainder of the Annuals, enriched with an ILLUSTRATION, which, we trust, for choice of subject, for cleverness of drawing, and for beauty of engraving, has never been excelled by any publication of a similar nature to our own. ་ Illustrated Article. THE BRIGAND OF EBOLI.* BY CHARLES MACFARLANE, ESQ. It was on a fine afternoon early in summer, the day of the annual festival of Santa Maria degli Angioli, that a troop of peasants, coming in the direction of Salerno, took the steep mountain path leading to the far-famed sanctuary of the Madonna, which stands on the loftiest peak of the grand chain of Apennine that extends between Avellino and the Salernitan gulf. They passed on with hurried steps, though they were far too late to witness the miracle performed every year by the uncouth wooden statue of the Virgin, or to have any part in the devotions of the day and sport, which were always finished long before noon. Perhaps they were only anxious to lose as little as possible of the feasting and dancing, that always closely follow the offices of religion in the gay south, on days From the Lit. Souvenir. See page 292 like these; but the way-farers did not. look so gay and careless as men usually do when repairing on such pleasant business. Their dark rough brows were knit, their large coal-black eyes were darting and restless, as though habitually so, from fear or vigilance; and though they failed not most devoutly to cross themselves at every one of the innumerable crucifixes, and little white chapels, that formed from the mountain's root an avenue to its summit, the words on their tongues were unholy and ungentle. ; One among them, indeed, seemed more light-hearted and unconcerned he went on caroling some simple ditty, but the theme of the song was a robber's exploit, and the boldness depicted on his bronzed countenance, partook of ferocity, and was bordered by an expression of wiliness or cunning. To judge from his figure, which was much exposed, as he wore only a loose shirt open at the neck, and drawers that descended no lower than the knee, he must have been a young man; but the lines of his face had the depth and ri 215 |