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at the end of the street; that is a lonely place.' I travel from Milan to Pavia to see the celebrated Scarpa. I fix the time of my departure at five o'clock; it is two hours before sunrise; my driver very coolly refuses to put his horses to the carriage. At first I could not comprehend this absurdity, but, at last I understand he is afraid of being plundered by the way. I arrive at Lucca; a crowd of people stopping the way, I ask the cause. A man, coming from vespers, had just been murdered, being stabbed with a dagger in three places; when the murderer struck his victim, he exclaimed, at length the gensd'armes are gone, who have stood in my way these three years!' and he went off with the bloody knife in his hand. I came to Genoa. It is strange,' said the chief magistrate to me, two and thirty French gens-d'armes maintained the public security; now we have two hundred and fifty of our own people, and murders are every where committed.' I go to the opera: as I return home, I see that every body is on his guard. young men carry thick sticks, all walk in the middle of the street, and bound in a half circle round the corners. In the pit, people affect to say aloud, that they never carry money about them. While I was in garrison at Novarra, I observed two things; that treasures were often found in the country, which had been concealed by robbers, who had been overtaken by death, before they could discover them to their comrades: and that people, when attacked in the city by robbers, took care not to call out thieves!' in which case nobody would come to their help, but 'fire!' on which every person hastens to the spot. Prudent people are deeply impressed with these dangers. Travellers always form a caravan, or take an escort. For these three centuries, assassination has descended as a profession from father to son, in the mountains of Fondi, and on the frontiers of Naples; Piedmont is full of peasants who have notoriously enriched themselves by assassination. The postmaster at B has a similar reputation; and if you lived in the country, you would also have some respect for a scoundrel who has your life in his power half a dozen times in a year. I wished to see certain meadows in the neighbourhood of Bologna, which are stated to be mowed eighteen times a year. I was referred to a farmer in the district; as we were walking about, I showed him four men lying under the shade of a tree, near the road. • Those are robbers,' said he. Perceiving my astonishment, he told me that he was regularly attacked in his farm every year. The last time, the attack had lasted three quarters of an hour, during which there was an incessant fire of musquetry. Despairing of success, the robbers attempted to set fire to the stables, but in this attempt a musket ball struck the leader in the forehead, and the band retired, promising, however to come again.

HORRORS OF THE BASTILE.

No where else on earth, perhaps, has human misery, by human means, been rendered so lasting, so complete, or so remediless, as within the dire walls of that mansion of cruelty, the Bastile of France, which was at once the means and the cloak of the accursed tyranny of the Capet race. A person who had been guilty of the enormous crime of uttering some unguarded expressions of disrespect against Louis XV. or against his mistress, was immured in this prison by order of that weak monarch. Upon the accession of his late unfortunate successor, the ministers then in office, moved by humanity, began their administration with an act of clemency and justice: they inspected

the registers of the Bastile, and set many of the prisoners at liberty. Among the number was an old man, who had groaned in confinement for a period of forty-seven years between four thick and cold stone walls. Hardened by adversity, which strengthens both the mind and constitution, when men are not overpowered by it, he had resisted the horrors of his long imprisonment with an invincible and manly spirit. His locks, white, thin, and scattered, had almost acquired the rigidity of iron; whilst his body, environed for so long a time by a coffin of stone, had borrowed from it a firm and compact habit. The narrow door of his tomb turned upon its grating hinges, opened not as usual, by halves; and an unknown voice announced his liberty, and bade him depart. Believing this to be a dream, he hesitated: but at length rose up and walked forth with trembling steps, amazed at the immense expanse, almost without bounds. He stopped from time to time and gazed around like a bewildered traveller; his vision was with difficulty reconciled to the clear light of day he contemplated the heavens as a new object: his eyes remained fixed, and he could not even weep.

Stupified with the newly acquired power of changing his position, his limbs, like his tongue, in spite of his efforts, refused to perform their office; at length he got through the formidable gate which had so long before closed upon him. When he felt the motion of the carriage designed to convey him to his former habitation, he screamed out, and uttered some inarticulate sounds; and as he could not bear this new movement, he was obliged to descend. Supported by a benevolent arm, he sought out the street where he had formerly resided; he found it, but no trace of his house remained; one of the public edifices occupied the spot where it stood.

He now saw nothing that brought to his recollection either that particular quarter, the city itself, or the objects with which he had formerly been acquainted. The houses of his nearest neighbours, which were fresh in his memory, had assumed a new appearance. In vain were his looks directed to all the objects around him; he could discover nothing of which he had the slightest remembrance. Terrified, he stopped and fetched a deepsigh.

To him, what did it import that the city was peopled with living creatures? none of them were alive to him; he was unknown to the world, and he knew nobody and whilst he wept, he regretted his dungeon.

:

At the name of the Bastile, which he often pronounced, and even claimed as an asylum, and the sight of his clothes that marked a former age, the crowd gathered round him; curiosity, blended with pity, excited their attention. The mob asked him many questions, but had no remembrance of the circumstances he recapitulated.

At length accident brought in his way an ancient domestic, now a superannuated porter, who, confined to his lodge for fifteen years, had barely sufficient strength to open the gate: he did not even know the master he had served; but informed that grief and misfortune had brought his wife to the grave thirty years before, and his children were gone abroad to distant climes, and that of all his relations and friends none now remained. This recital was made with the indifference which people discover for events long passed, and almost forgotten. The miserable man groaned, and groaned alone. The crowd around offering only unknown features to his view, made him feel the excess of his calamities even more than he would have done in the dreadful solitude that he had lately quitted.

Overcome with sorrow, he presented himself to the minister, to whose humanity he owed the liberty that was now a burden to him. Bowing down,

he said, "Restore me again to that prison from which you have taken me; I cannot survive the loss of my nearest relations, of my friends, and, in a word, of a whole generation. Is it possible in the same moment to be informed of this universal destruction, and not to wish for death? This general mortality, which to the rest of mankind comes slowly and by degrees, has to me been instantaneous, the work of a moment. Whilst secluded from society, I lived with myself only; but here I can neither live with myself nor with this new race, to whom my anguish and despair appear only as a dream. The minister was melted; he caused the old domestic to attend this unfortunate person, as he could talk to him of his family. This discourse was the single consolation he received; for he shunned all intercourse with a race, born since he had been exiled from the world; and he passed his time in the midst of Paris in the same solitude as he had done whilst confined in a dungeon for almost half a century. But the mortification of seeing no person who could say to him, "We were formerly known to one another," soon put an end to his existence.

DESPERATE SUICIDE.

A young man, a resident of Lyons, handsome, well-made, of an amiable disposition, and very accomplished, fell in love with a young woman whose parents refused their consent to his proposals of marriage.

The lover, in an agonizing fit, broke a blood-vessel; the surgeon declared there was no remedy to stop the bleeding. His mistress found the means of getting an interview with her lover, and presented him with a brace of pistols and two poignards, that in case the former should fail, the latter might certainly dispatch them. They embraced each other tenderly, for the last time. The triggers of both the pistols were fastened to rose-coloured ribbands. The lover took hold of the ribband of that pistol which was designed to dispatch his mistress, she held that designed for her lover; at a signal agreed upon, they both fired at the same time, and both instantly fell down dead.

EXTRAORDINARY PRESENCE OF MIND OF A RUSSIAN OFFICER. Count Tottleben, so celebrated in the history of Germany for his numerous adventures, and the strange vicissitudes of his fortune, was once, while a general in the Russian service, on a journey from Warsaw to Petersburg. Travelling in an open chaise, accompanied by a single servant, he was one day overtaken by a violent storm, in the province of Eivonia, twelve or fifteen miles from the town where he had intended to pass the night. The season was cold, the evening advanced, and he himself was wet to the skin; the rain contributed to render it still darker. A decent public-house, that stood detached by the road-side, very opportunely presented itself to our traveller. He alighted and entered, resolving to set out so much earlier the next morning. The people of the house seemed very attentive and obliging. He was shewn into a room up stairs that was clean and neat, and was promised a good supper; in short, Tottleben had every reason to be satisfied with his accommodations. Accustomed from his youth to a wandering life, he used when in houses of public entertainment to pass very little time in his own apartment, but to associate with the other guests in the public room. There he entered into conversation with every one, whether a foreigner or a native, was affable,

and even humourous; knew how to give and take a joke; told stories, and listened to those of others; and to this sociable disposition he joined prepossessing manners, and a fig ure distinguished for manly beauty. He seldom met with a man who was not pleased with his company; and still more rarely with a female who was not, at least secretly interested in his favour. If she betrayed her sentiments for him, he was ready to take the slightest hint, and to avail himself of every advantage.

On the present occasion he adhered to his usual custom, and passed an hour or more below in the tap-room. He conversed with the host, who had formerly been in the military service, and still more with the hostess, a young and extremely pretty woman, but now pregnant, and near her time. He offered to stand godfather to her first-born; jocosely enquired how her husband behaved; asked how she liked the married state, and predicted that she should have a son, or perhaps two at a birth. In a word, he indulged in that kind of chit-chat which young females of that condition, and under such circumstances, are fond of hearing, though they pretend that, from modesty, they cannot raise their eyes from the floor. During this conversation a young servant-maid was frequently backward and forward in the same room. The count might possibly not have observed her, but she had so much the more notice of him. His handsome figure, the vivacity of his conversation, and even the foreign uniform which he wore, delighted her. She could have listened to him for a day together, but would have been still better pleased to converse with him herself. She was besides acquainted with a subject that very nearly concerned him, of which it was necessary that he should soon be informed, otherwise it would be too late. His ignorance, his security afflicted her; at the same time her interference was likely to cost her dear. Nevertheless, as often as she looked at him, she thought within herself"No; he is too amiable !" At length she could refrain no longer, and as she passed him, she pulled him by the coat.

Tottleben perceived it. He looked at the girl, and observed her wink to him, but for what reason he knew not. From the usual vanity of his sex, he was not long, however, before he ascribed her conduct to a motive which seemed as though it might have admitted a little longer delay. However, the girl was young, and, in his opinion, not a bad figure; there could be no harm in looking at her, and hearing what she had to say. Accordingly when she had gone away again, he withdrew, under pretext of taking a little fresh air. She was already waiting for him at the door of the kitchen; she beckoned him to go into the yard, followed him in haste and agitation, and thus addressed him: "For God's sake, Sir, take care of yourself! You are not among such honest people as you imagine. They know that you have money with you. They intend to-night to rob you, not only of that, but also of your life, and for this purpose they have already sent for assistance. Be upon your guard; but, for God's sake, do not betray me! If they perceive that I have given you warning, it will cost me my life, that I am sure of; but yet I could not for my soul suffer such a brave officer, and so fine a gentleman to be cut off in his sins."

This address, as may easily be conceived, made a deep impression upon Tottleben. A man of ordinary understanding would immediately have sought the means of escape by flight. He, though he had but a moment for reflection, was instantly convinced that every attempt to fly in the night, and in a country to which he was an utter stranger, would be attended with an equal, if not greater danger than he would incur by quietly remaining where he was.

A presence of mind, almost incredible, inspired him with a very different idea. The maid was about to retire, when he quickly drew her back by the arm. "One word more, my girl," said he. "Does your master live on good terms with his wife?" "Yes, on the best," was the reply. "Does he really and truly love her ?" "Almost as much as his own life." "Very well! very well! Now you may go. If I escape, your fortune shall be made. If I die, your warning shall die with me; I will never betray you. But mention not a single word, even to my servant."

The girl flew to the kitchen, and the count returned to the public room. Not a look betrayed him; his tone and temper were just the same as before, or at least so they appeared. He even ordered supper to be laid below, and would not sit down to it, except on condition that his kind host and hostess should partake of it with him. He concealed his suspicions beneath the disguise of affability. After supper he ordered his servant to bring a box that was still in his carriage. "There is not much in it," said he to his host. "It contains perhaps two hundred rubles, that are to carry me to Petersburgh. I should wish good care to be taken of them, and where can they be safer than in your hands? In eight weeks, when I return, I hope it will be heavier with gold than it now is with silver. Then I shall certainly call here again, and if, as I hope, my little godson has found his way into the world, I will bring a present of at least fifty rubles for him." This declaration called forth a thousand thanks, and the landlord promised to keep the box all night under his pillow. He immediately prepared to retire to bed, and the landlord to light him to his chamber. "Do you know, Madam," said Tottleben, laughing, "that this lighting is a job which I had much rather you would perform? But joking aside, I am so superstitious as to fancy that I always sleep as well again when a handsome woman shews me to bed as when a man attends me." At this proposal the woman looked rather strange, and shewed no great inclination to perform the office. The count, still continuing in his jocular strain, put the candle into her hand, and took hold of her arm, observing, that she ought not to refuse the future godfather of her child such a trifling gratification; that motion after supper, especially in her situation, was wholesome for her; and that she might take the conjugal protector of her honour along with her. By these and other similar representations he at length prevailed upon her to accompany him, followed by her husband.

They now entered the chamber. Here Tottleben himself, as soon as he alighted from his carriage, had hung upon a nail a double-barrelled carbine, full-charged with ball, and which he always carried with him when he travelled. He took care not to cast a single look at it before the proper time. But while the woman was setting the candle on the table by the window, when she was just going to wish him good night, he quickly took down the weapon, and stepped still more hastily between the landlord and his wife. In a voice which suddenly passed from jest and laughter to the sternest tone of command, he cried, No, my good woman, we are not going to part with each other so abruptly. On this chair, at this table you must sit down, and pass the night in my company. Your chastity, I swear to you shall run no risk in that time from me. But on the slightest noise at the door of my chamber, or the slightest opposition on your part, or any other, or on the least attack upon myself, the three balls with which each of these barrels is charged, shall dispatch you and your infant at once. This I swear by my hope of salvation."

The landlord and his wife would sooner have expected the dissolution of nature than such an address. Both were silent for a minute, and then both