nony, and the obsequies of the Empress and the husband whom she had caused to be murdered thirty years before, are thus graphically described by Niemcewicz: cessively worn out countenance. This creature, who crawled rather than walked, was nobody now; such is, however, the force of habit, that the crowd of courtiers still bowed before Zubow as at the time of his grandeur. He bent his steps to the large hall, where the. body of the deceased was lying. Curiosity drew me thither, but, as I did not like the ceremony, and was not inclined to throw myself on my knees and kiss the hand of a corpse, I flight of twelve steps, lay the inanimate restopt at the door. Upon a state bed above a mains of her who, a few days ago, was the absolute sovereign of one-third of the world. She was dressed in a Russian velvet robe, trimmed with sables, and richly embroidered around with gold. Crown, sceptre, globe, and Next Sunday was appointed for our presentation to the Emperor and the Empress. Ac cording to etiquette, we were all dressed in deep mourning, which consisted of a coat with three buttons in front, and cuffs varying in breadth, according to the rank of the person, black buckles, sword and hat covered with crape; no powder on the hair. In this attire we were pretty nearly like chimney-sweeps. Lately treated as a criminal, behold me now, all at once, at court before two sovereigns; the one dead, lying in state, and still surrounded with all the imperial pomp; the other in the quantity of orders and ribbons were displayfull exercise of supreme power. This court deceased Empress had still her court as in her ed upon the steps of the catafalque. The seemed to me more strange than imposing; it lifetime. Chamberlains, ladies and gentlemen exhibited a curious assemblage of the different in waiting, body-guards, respectfully surroundrepresentatives, and various costumes of nu-ed her, and stood day and night, being only merous nations subject to the Russian sceptre. relieved every third hour. This was a very Here might be seen gentlemen in waiting; hard time for the courtiers, who, besides their who, though in mourning, looked elegant and graceful, and had all the appearance of Mo- service at the court of a living monarch, had to guard a dead Empress and the body of an lière's Marquisses; there, a Metropolitan (a Bishop,) with his long, gray beard, his high Emperor who had been strangled thirty years cap, his stole and cross. Who is that dark man with black moustache and beard, caftan, wide trowsers, and yellow morocco slippers? He is a Tartar from the Crimea. And those two young men with shaved heads, and with rich girdles round their loins? The one is a Georgian and the other a Circassian. And yonder, that knot of deformed monsters, with two small holes in lieu of eyes? These are Kalmouk officers. I also met there my ci-devant countrymen forming part of this motley multitude. In short, it would be impossible to see any where such a medley, such a variegat ed mosaic. ago. throne, unable to avenge the death of his father Paul I., on the day of his accession to the Peter III., resolved at least to make amends for the injuries done to his memory. It was known that this Emperor, after a tragical end, was privately buried in the church of St. Alexander-Newski. Paul went thither immediately, his aides-de-camp. There was but one monk accompanied by Bezborodko and only one of who knew the place where the body had been deposited. Paul descended with him into the vault, caused the coffin to be opened, and saw nothing but ashes and some remains of uniThe corps of chevaliers-gardes who perform form, buttons and boots. Moved to tears he the service within the palace, is splendid; it is gave orders for a state-bed like that of his composed of nearly one hundred gentlemen, mother, to be immediately erected in the same selected from the youngest and handsomest church, and appointed officers of his court to officers. It was the stud of Catherine II. do duty there as in the palace; then, he went twice a-day, in the morning and evening, to Nothing can equal the richness and magnificence of the uniform in which these gentlemen worship the dead, as they call it, bowing reare attired. They wear white justaucorps. spectfully three times before them, and kissing having white velvet collars and facings, with his mother's hand. The Empress, princes lace upon every seam; this lace is surmounted and princesses, courtiers, and after them all by broad embroideries; a kind of light silver persons decently dressed, were admitted to breastplate; massive silver chains falling from this honor. The same ceremony was performthe shoulders upon the breast; Roman helmets ed at Catherine's coffin as at that of Peter III., of gilded silver, with large ostrich feathers; with this difference, that as there was nothing and, as if that was not enough, thick massive to be kissed at the Emperor's, a genuflection silver plates adorning both sides of their boots, emotion with which Zubow prostrated himself all the length of the leg. The crowd of cour- before the body of his late mistress was really tiers already filled the apartments, when I saw was made instead. The air of weakness and all at once this crowd moving, separating left a curious sight. It was, doubtless, the first and right, and opening before a man wearing time that he had kissed that hand gratuitously; five ribbons and a miniature of the Empress in formerly, it was always the more open to him his button-hole, set with large diamonds. This the more he pressed it. was Zubow, the widowed lover of Catherine II., rather a pretty than a handsome man, with large black eyes, but an exhausted and ex But thou can'st hear! and love May richly on a human tone be pour'd, And the least cadence of a whisper'd word A daughter's love may proveAnd while I speak, thou knowest if I smile, Albeit thou canst not see my face the while! Yes thou can'st hear! and He And 'tis a lesson in our hearts to know- THE LIGHT OF THE LOVING EYE. From the Metropolitan. By the light of a loving eye, Oh! 'tis sweet through this world to go! It dispels the dark shadows that lie In our path, with its magical glow: 'Tis the first light in life that we see, To the light of a loving eye, Ah! what are the riches of earth? Not a gem in the diadem'd sky, By the light of a loving eye I have gone through this world of woe, And oh may the Spirit on high Still grant me its magical glow! Till the wings of my soul are set free, Till my heart has forgotten to sigh, May that light, that sweet light shine for me, The light of a loving eye! TO A SLEEPING CHILD. From the Metropolitan. "There is among the Irish an old, but, to me, very beautiful superstition, namely, that when an infant smiles in its sleep, angels are conversing with it "-Travels in Ireland. SLEEP on, my beautiful! Shroud the blue heaven of that laughing eye; Thou'rt 'mid the spirit land! Again thou smilest, sweet, See the small fingers close in eager grasp, What is't, my golden hair'd? What seest thou, fairest? Come they in floods of golden light, my boy, That thy clear arching brow expands as though The slumber-shrouded eye looked forth in joy? Be still, be still! What tell their whispers low? Or speak they not, mine own? Perchance they smile, beloved! Rest in thine innocence ! A. C. SONG. THE BOATMAN OF DEAL.* From the Literary Gazette. Air-"THE CASTLES OF ENGLAND." WHEN dark-scowling clouds, charged with tempest and rain, Cause the gale of destruction to sweep o'er the main, Then, warn'd of distress by the cannon's boarse peal, To sink or to save, launch the Boatmen of Deal. * A few weeks ago a Dutch barque ran upon the fatal Goodwin Sands, and fired signal guns of distress, which were forthwith re-echoed from the English guardship stationed in-shore; and two Deal and two Walmer boats immediately pushed off in the darkness to succor the stranger, who was got clear, and by the light of morning riding at anchor safely in the downs. Such a circumstance was well calculated to make us relish more freshly this local song, so spirited in itself, and so sure to inspire with the best feelings the daring and adventurous class of men to whom it is addressed, and among whom it is sung with prodigious effect. It reminds us of the days of Dibdin and the heroic exploits of the British navy-days and exploits to return again whenever the need may arise which we trust is far distant. It is written by a worthy shopkeeper and bookbinder of Deal.-Ed. Lit. Gaz. To the green rushy margin of murmuring streams, To fresh breezy mountains, to glens of wild flowers, To the home and the kindred of childhood's blest hours. The worldling, long busy in Mammon's wide mart, Renews, in these visions, his freshness of heart; And welcomes soft memories, fervent and deep, Drawn forth from their cell by the Spirit of Sleep." "O Mother! this treacherous Spirit, I fear, Not always is friendly, not always is dear. How well I remember the bright summer day When our neighbors' fair boy fell asleep in his play; He sank on the earth with one faint heavy sigh, Then mute were his lips, dim and glazed was his "Not so, love; he bears to a blissful abode The humble believers who trust in their God. He smites them, but soon the shar› struggle is o'er, Then leads them where trouble can harm them no more. They gaze from the skies on the sad earth beneath, And owe their bright home to the Spirit of Death. "The Spirit of Sleep a brief solace bestows, Then gives thee again to the world and its woes. But foes may not injure, nor trial molest, The children of God in the realms of the blest. FROM AN ANCIENT HEBREW DIRGE. From the Metropolitan. "Mourn for the mourner, not for the dead, "We are in tears," alas! to roam With the lone heart's fruitless yearning, "He is at rest!" no more shall pain "We are in tears!" the light is flown, Sad on every spirit lie ANGELS watch o'er thee, young daughter of strangers! Thy beautiful face seems to ask for a friend, And where is the man, that from insult or dangers, His life would not peril that form to defend? Thou art come from thy mountairs, all guileless and simple, And woe to the spoiler that dreams of thy fall! Oh long may that lip wear its joy-wreathing dimple, Young Rose of the mountain, sweet Maid of Fingal! Angels watch o'er thee, young daughter of Cain! Thou hast wander'd away from thy wild cabinhome, Too bright in thy vision of beauty appearing, In this land of false glitter unfriended to roam. Oh! beware, lest the tongue of the tempter betray thee, A spot on the lily shows darker than all; A queen might be proud of the chains that array thee, Young Rose of the mountains, sweet Maid of Fingal !t "The fair girls of Fingal" are mentioned by an old writer. The Fingalians were originally an English colony. † Written to Hook's beautiful melody," The Garland of Love," in the drama of Tekeli. MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA. From the Literary Gazette. LIKE a broad chain of glistening stars, the ray sea. As the bright and silvery ripples play Upon that burnish'd line, it seems to be What is it that we see Fades from their view, and yearning heart-tones speaking Of homes away.-Oh, traveller o'er the deep, As moonlight on the sea may God before thee keep! |