narrative; “and doubtless, I saved myself much misery?"

"You did. One of the magistrates described to me the whole scene, at which I would not have been present for worlds. He told me, that when the morning arrived, in which the Russian was to make his public entrée, not a citizen would be seen, that was not brought out by compulsion. A dead silence reigned in the streets; the doors and windows of every house remained so closed, that a stranger might have supposed it to be a general mourning; and it was the bitterest, which could have fallen upon our souls! At this moment, when Warsaw, I may say, lay dying at the feet of her conqueror, the Russian troops marched into the city, and lined the roads, the only spectators of their own horrible tragedy. At length, with eyes which could no longer weep, the magistrates, reluctant, and full of indignation, proceeded to meet Suwarrow, on the bridge of Prague. When they

came

came near the procession, they presented the keys of Warsaw on their kness." "On their knees!" interrupted Thaddeus, starting up, and the blood flushing over his face.

66

Yes," answered Butzou, "on their knees."

"Father of heaven!" exclaimed the count, walking about the room with emotion, "why did not the earth open and swallow them? Why did not the blood, which saturated the spot on which they knelt, cry out to them? O Butzou, this humiliation of Poland is worse to me than all her miseries!"

"I felt as you feel, my lord;" continued the general," and I expressed myself with the same resentment; but the magistrate, who related to me the circumstance, urged, in excuse for himself and his brethren, that such a form was necessary; and had they refused, probably their lives would have been forfeited.

Well," inquired Thaddeus, resuming

his seat," but where was the king during this transaction ?"

"In the castle, where he soon underwent a similar scene; and received orders, to be present next day at a public thanksgiving; at which the inhabitants of Warsaw were also forced to attend, to perform a te Deum in gratitude for the destruction of their country. I thank Heaven that I was spared from witnessing this monstrous blasphemy; I was then at Sendomir. The day after I heard these horrid accounts, I saw the carriage, which contained the good Stanislaus, guarded, like a traitor's, out of the gates; and that very hour I left the city. I travelled towards Hamburgh, where I took my passage to Harwich. Owing to excessive fatigue, one of my old wounds broke out afresh; and, continuing ill a week, I expended all my money. Reduced to my last shilling, and eager to find you, I begged my way from that town to this. I had already spent two miserable days and nights in

the

the open air, with no other sustenance, than the casual charity of passengers, when heaven sent you to save me from perishing in the streets."

Butzou pressed the hand of his young friend, as he concluded. Displeasure still kept its station on the count's features.

The good general observed it with satisfaction, well pleased that indignation at the supposed pusillanimity of his countrymen, prevented those bursts of grief, which he had expected from his sensible nature, when he should be informed that the ruin of Poland was confirmed.

Towards evening, general Butzou fell asleep. Thaddeus, leaning back in his chair, fixed his eyes on the fire, and mused with amazement and sorrow, on what had passed. When it was almost dark, and he was yet lost in reflection, Mrs. Robson gently opened the door, and presenting a letter; "Here sir," said she, "is a letter, which a servant has just left; he told me it required no answer."

Thaddeus sprung from his seat at the sight of the paper, and, almost catching it from her, his former gloomy cogitations dispersed before the hopes and fond emotions of friendship, which now lit up in his bosom. Mrs. Robson withdrew. He looked at the superscription, it was the hand-writing of his friend. Tearing it asunder, two folded papers presented themselves; he opened them, and they were his own letters, returned without a word. His beating heart was suddenly checked. Letting the papers fall from his hand, he dropped on a seat, and closed his eyes, as if he would shut them from the world and its ingratitude.

Unable to recover from astonishment, his thoughts whirled about in a succession of accusations, surmises, and doubts, which seemed for a few minutes to drive him to distraction.

"Was it really the hand of Somerset ?" Again he examined the envelope. It was; and the enclosures were his own letters,