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ters, and returning to her apartment, appeared for several days to be plunged in the most profound grief. During this time she published the following declaration. "By the grace of God, Catharine п, Empress etc., etc. The seventh day after our accession to the throne of all the Russias, we received information that the late Emperor, Peter ш, by means of a disorder to which he was subject, was attacked with a most violent griping cholic. But to our great regret and affliction, we were yesterday evening apprised that, by permission of the Almighty, the late Emperor departed this life, etc." His body was brought to St. Petersburgh, and afterwards interred in the monastery of Nevski. Soon after Catharine went to Moscow, for the purpose of celebrating her coronation in the ancient capital of the empire. The Empress and her court entered Moscow with great pomp, where she was crowned, in the chapel of the Czars on the 22d of September, in the presence of the soldiers and the court. But there was manifested no enthusiasm, and Catharine soon returned to St. Petersburgh.

The Empress published a manifesto, assuring foreigners that they should find welcome and support in her dominions. This proclamation was the cause of an extensive emigration, chiefly from the German States. Thousands of Germans hastened to accept the invitation of the Empress. As a consequence, there is a large German population at this day in Russia, and, curious enough, many of them are unable to speak the German language.

Catharine had a correct estimate of her own peculiar talents, and of the influence she was likely to exercise on the empire and on Europe. "You think, then, that Europe has, at present, its eyes fixed on me, and that I have some weight in the principal courts," said Catharine to a foreign minister, one day, in answer to a remark which he made. Gregory Orloff, who had been so instrumental in placing the Empress on the throne, was ambitious to share the throne with her, and twelve bishops signed a petition to that effect, but she said she would never take a step which was surrounded with so many difficulties. She had much difficulty in silencing the murmurs which her

rumored marriage with Orloff had occasioned. A bold attempt was even made to seize the person of the latter.

Among a number of favorites as they are termed in the annals of the times, was Poniatowski, a Polish noble, whom Catharine raised to be King of Poland. Some personage at St. Petersburgh said to the Empress, Poniatowski was not of high rank enough for that station. She replied, "I will have him to be king, and king he shall be." And she kept her word, and in the end the Empress took a large portion of Poland and added it to her own dominions.

In arranging with the King of Prussia the terms for the partition of Poland, Catharine invited Prince Henry to the Russian court. The Empress entertained her guest with truly imperial magnificence and hospitality. In her grand palace at Tzarsko-celo the Empress gave to the Prussian Prince one of those gorgeous entertainments with which she at times delighted and astonished her court. On the approach of evening, the Empress, the Grand-duke Paul, and Prince Henry entered an immense sledge drawn by sixteen horses and set out from St. Petersburgh, followed by some two thousand sledges, filled with courtiers in masquerade costumes. Along the road were triumphal arches, lit up in the most brilliant manner, illuminated temples, pyramids of lamps, displays of fireworks, vaulting and tumbling, and rustic dances by shepherds and shepherdesses. On approaching the palace, an artificial mountain was seen through an avenue in the wood, pouring out from its summit torrents of flames, in imitation of Vesuvius during an eruption. On arriving at the palace, the company danced for two hours in a suit of apartments lit up by an enormous number of wax candles. Then came a roar of cannon, the ball was suspended, the lights were all extinguished, and the company ran to the windows, from which they enjoyed a magnificent exhibition of fireworks. Another discharge of artillery took place, the wax candles were suddenly relit, as if by magic, and a splendid supper was already served up for the guests. All the entertainments of the Empress were conducted with a magnificence not surpassed by any court in Europe.

Among the numerous presents which Catharine bestowed upon the Prince was the star of the order of St. Andrew, full of very large brilliants, and containing a single diamond valued at 40,000 roubles. The secret object of all this display was the dismemberment of Poland, which was in due time accomplished. On one occasion the Empress paid a visit in great state to Moscow. She was preceded into that city by 600 soldiers from each regiment of the guards, and followed by a brilliant retinue. Two triumphal arches had been erected, at a cost of 40,000 roubles, for the procession to pass under, and every thing connected with the entrance of the Empress into the ancient city was grand and gorgeous. Catharine carried out her assumption of devotion at Moscow, by performing a pilgrimage on foot, attended by her whole court, to a convent situated at a distance of forty versts (thirty miles). These and other historic incidents illustrate the habits and character of the Empress.

On the 18th of January, 1787, Catharine started on a magnificent progress to Kherson and the Crimea. So great preparations were made for this journey, that it was reported that the Cleopatra of the North intended to be crowned Queen of Taurida, and to be declared protectress of all the nations of the Tartars. Catharine proposed, after taking the sceptre of the Crimea, and awing the surrounding nations into submission, to conduct her grandson, Constantine, to the gates of that Oriental empire over which she had designed him to rule. The Empress started on her journey in the depth of winter, attended by a brilliant suite, and a cavalcade of fourteen carriages, and a hundred and eighty-four sledges. The cold rose to seventeen degrees, the road was excellent and the carriages mounted on a sort of lofty skates, were drawn along with such rapidity that they seemed to fly through the air. Wrapped in abundance of the warmest and richest furs, they did not feel the cold. The days were short, and dark night soon intervened, but at short distances from each other, on both sides of the road, enormous piles of fir, cypress, birch and pine had been raised, which were set on fire, so that they posted through a range of fires more brilliant than the rays of

daylight. It was thus that the proud Empress of the North, in the midst of the deepest night, willed and commanded that there should be light.

Away went the cortege, with an almost incredible celerity, over vast plains covered with snow, across frozen marshes, and through forests of fir, whose dark branches hung with innumerable icicles, irradiated with gleams of light, giving them the lustre of the crystal and the diamond. After six days' traveling, the Empress became fatigued, and rested for three days at Smolensko, and gave a grand ball to three hundred ladies splendidly attired. A further journey of ten days brought the Imperial party to Kief, the ancient capital of the first princes of Russia, where the Empress remained till the first of May. Before renewing her journey in the spring, the Empress distributed decorations, diamonds and pearls to various personages. "The Cleopatra of the North," wittily remarked the Prince de Ligne, "does not swallow pearls, but she gives many away." The galley in which the Empress embarked down the river, was attended by a fleet of more than eighty vessels manned by three thousand men. The vessels containing the Empress and her companions had splendid apartments, glittering with gold and silk, constructed on the deck. Every galley carried a band of music; the warlike strains of which, added to the shouts of the spectators and the roar of cannon, produced a most imposing spectacle. The return of spring had covered the earth with verdure, and a brilliant sun enlivened every object.

At Krementchuk the Empress was lodged in a magnificent mansion, and entertained by a mock battle, carried on by 12,000 men in new uniforms. This was arranged by Prince Potemkin, who showed an extraordinary ingenuity and a boundless extravagance in providing for the amusement of his imperial mistress. Large flocks had been collected for the occasion to impart animation to the meadows, groups of peasants enlivened the banks, and boats full of youths and maidens, singing the rustic airs of the country, surrounded the galley of the Empress. On the return of Catharine she visited the famous battle ground of Pultawa. There a Russian army of

50,000 men was divided into two bodies, and gave a mimic representation of the conflict between Charles and Peter the Great. Catharine returned by way of Moscow to St. Petersburgh, having traversed nearly the whole length of her empire. This journey and its attendant scenes illustrate the energy and talents of Catharine.

When Prince Potemkin returned to St. Petersburgh, after the capture of Ismail by the Russian army, the Empress received him with transports of joy, and bestowed upon him another palace which had been fitted up for his reception at a cost of 600,000 roubles, and also a coat laced with diamonds which cost 200,000 roubles. This extravagant minister and favorite expended in a few months at this period 1,200,000 roubles. He gave the Empress a grand entertainment at his palace, under a presentiment that it would be the last blaze of his grandeur. A month was spent in preparation. The Empress, the imperial family, the court, the foreign ministers, the nobility, were invited. When Catharine entered her carriage, immense piles of garments, lofty pyramids of eatables, and an enormous supply of liquors were distributed to the populace. When the Empress entered the palace, she was greeted by the music of an orchestra of six hundred performers. When she and the brilliant company had taken their seats, four and twenty couples of the most beautiful persons of both sexes, and of noble birth, including the Grand-dukes Alexander and Constantine, opened the dance with a quadrille. The value of their dresses was estimated at 10,000,000 roubles. The rooms of the palace were illuminated with a magnificence which struck the spectators with amazement. The walls and columns seemed to glow with various colored fires, while large mirrors made to form pyramids and grottoes, multiplied the effect. Six hundred persons then sat down at one table, where all the dishes were gold or silver. On the Empress' entering the vestibule after supper, the choir of voices melodiously chanted a hymn to her praise. Surprised and affected, she turned around to the Prince, who, overpowered with emotion, fell on his knees and, seizing her hand, bedewed it with tears. A gloomy foreboding seem

Potemp

ed to shake his whole frame. kin, the powerful, the magnificent Potempkin, the founder of so many palaces and cities, the conqueror of a kingdom, expired on the roadside. Taken suddenly ill on a journey, his cloak was spread upon the ground, on which he died. Catharine fainted three times when she heard of his death, and she was thought to be dying.

Like Elizabeth of England, Mary of Scotland, Christina of Sweden, and all the empresses of Russia, Catharine had her favorites. There were twelve in all; but none of them lost their lives by the headsman's axe, as in England. None of them incurred her hatred or her vengeance. No one was ever seen to be punished-no one to be persecuted. Those whom she discarded went into foreign countries. The personal vices of Catharine, which were very many, have not been able to obscure her glory as a ruler, though they sullied her greatness. On all public occasions the Empress dressed with great magnificence, and wore a profusion of jewelry, especially diamonds, of which she had a prodigious number. Towards the close of her life, Catharine had so increased in size, that going up and down stairs in the palace, and the business of dressing, had become a wearisome task. Just previous to her death, an incident occurred that excited a deep interest. On the evening of her visit with the King of Sweden to the house of Samàïlof, a bright star shot from the sky over her head and fell into the Neva near the citadel in St. Petersburgh, in which all the tombs of the sovereigns are situated, in the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul. It was whispered that it was the harbinger of the approaching dissolution of the Empress.

On the 4th of November, 1796, Catharine had a little party in the Hermitage, and displayed an uncommon share of spirits. She retired earlier than usual. The next morning she arose at her accustomed hour, and gave a short audience with her secretaries on business; but dismissed the last that came, bidding him wait in the ante-chamber, and she would presently call for him to finish what he was about. The valet waited for a while, but, uneasy at not being called, and hearing no noise in the apartment, opened

the door and saw, to his surprise and terror, the Empress prostrate upon the floor. She was without sense or motion. Physicians were sent for, and consternation prevailed. All the means possible were resorted to, but without effect. She was still alive; her heart was found still to beat. Paul, her son and successor, arrived in the evening. His mother still breathed. About ten the next evening, the Empress appeared suddenly to revive, and began to rattle in the throat. The imperial family hastened to her. At

FRIAR IVES AT ACRE.

last she gave a lamentable shriek, and died, after having continued for thirtyseven hours in a state of insensibility.

The body of the Emperor Peter I was brought from the convent and crowned, and the two coffins lay in state till they were removed to the Citadel Church of tombs for the sovereigns of Russia, where they now lie with the sovereigns of Russia, on the floor of the church, in sight of all who go there as spectators or as worshippers at that memorable historic spot.

POETRY.

[See Joinville's "Memoirs of St. Louis," Part II., for, this anecdote, which is quoted by Bishop Taylor in his "Great Exemplar," Part III., discourse 14th.]

THE weary day is ended now,

And cool night winds fan cheek and brow;
The restless crowd, no longer pent
In heated chambers, wanders out,
The air is filled with merriment,

With lute, and harp, and song, and shout.
A noisy time, a festive night!
A thousand lamps are glitt'ring bright,
While in the blue vault overhead

The lamps of Heaven their radiance shed.
Soldiers and seamen here are seen,
Steel helmets bright, and turbans green,
The Saracen's dark supple grace,
The Frank's blue eyes and fair-skinn'd face.
Amid the tide of human lives,

Pass'd, shadow-like, from street to street,
With rope-girt gown, and sandall'd feet,
The Breton friar, Father Ives.
He goes, a message from the King
Unto the Sultan's lords* to bring.
Soon as the morrow's dawn shall break,
Back to Damascus they must take
Their way, and he with them depart,
That wand'ring friar of steadfast heart.
Bright is his eye, and glad his mood;
What if fierce bands of Bedouins rude
Beset his path, his life-blood shed?—
Shall not the Martyr's crown await
His brow, at Heav'n's own golden gate!
His weary feet, shall they not tread
Above the stars that shine o'erhead?-
What though they tear him limb from limb?—
He hears e'en now the angels' hymn,
And fragrant breezes, soft as balm,
Waft o'er his soul celestial calm.

Onward, engross'd with thoughts like these,
Through Acre's marble palaces
And lighted halls, astir with song
And noisy revelry, along

He quickly pass'd, until his feet

*The Sultan of Damascus had sent to King Louis, offering his alliance. Friar Ives le Breton was to return with the ambassadors, and declare the King's mind to the Sultan he was chosen for the task on account of his knowl edge of Saracenic.

Tread in a narrow, silent street.

Here, in the hush, he starts to meet
A woman; tall, nor old, nor young,

For though Time's hand its snows had flung
Her locks of sable hair among,

The fire of youth gleam'd in her eye;
Erect her form, her bearing high,

Though scant and mean the robe she wore.
One hand a vase of water bore,

And in the left beheld the Friar

A vessel fill'd with coals of fire.

He gazed upon her, and would fain

Have asked, "Wherefore these vessels twain ?"

To his unspoken thought replies

She, fixing on him her dark eyes;

"Wherefore this water?'-mark me well!

With it I'll quench the flames of hell!

"Wherefore this fire?'-list thou and learn!—

The joys of Paradise to burn!

That henceforth men may serve my Lord
Neither for hope of a reward,

Nor fear of punishment abhorr'd:

But freely yield their hearts-the whole-
As He requires of every soul.

Is He not worthy? Brighter far

The Day-spring, than yon brightest star?
Our Maker, Saviour, Helper, He,
The mystic undivided Three,
From lifeless clay his creatures made,
And when we sold ourselves, He paid
Our ransom, died, and to the grave
Went down, our guilty souls to save.
Now wash'd from sin with heavenly dew,
Each day we fall, each day anew
We soil ourselves, and yet He deigns
In us to dwell, and cleanse our stains.
We love our friends, ay, well, and long,
Enduring many a bitter wrong,
Fickle or selfish they, yet still,
Spite all neglect, love them we will:
Love, why? Because we hope their hands
May shower rich gifts upon us?-no!
Not human love insult we so!
Love, for the sake of what we find
Within them lovely, true, and kind.
He, the Desired among all lands,
Has He no beauty? He, our King,
Glorious in red appareling,

Chief 'mong ten thousand? fairer than
The fairest of the sons of man?

Seek we a hero? Who hath stood,
Like Him, alone, in conflict sore?
Our Isaac, up the hill, the wood
For his own sacrifice He bore;
Our Joseph, by his brethren sold,
For paltry silver, weigh'd and told,
Pass'd from death's dungeon to a throne,
The vile will He as brethren own!
Our Moses, He redeemed us free
From bondage and from misery,
And, faithfully and gently, leads
His people through the desert sand,

With bread from heav'n the hungry feeds,
Until they reach the Promised Land;
Our Joshua, truly Saviour! He
Still cheers us on to victory!

Our Samson, glorious, strong! betray'd!
Through his great love a captive made!
Purple his raiment, for He trod
Alone the wine-press of our God,
Alone the wrath Divine He bare;
Say now, what hero may compare
With Him? Or is it Love ye seek?
His tenderness what tongue can speak?
Our King of Peace! Behold Him crown'd
With thorns upon that solemn day
When on the Cross the Victim bound
For very love sigh'd life away,
That day when-second Eve-his bride
Was born from out his riven side,

Whence streams of blood and water ran
To cleanse and heal the sons of man,
Oh, see the ruby drops run down,
Slow trickling from that cruel crown!
See his pierced hands outstretch'd to call
To his embrace all humankind!
His wounded heart open to all!
And when we, faithless and unkind,
Turn backward, choosing paths of ill,
Those bleeding feet pursue us still.
Go on thy way; I follow mine;
Thy dreams of Paradise resign;
I tell thee, with this fire I'll burn
Thine Eden with its fragrant flowers,
Its golden streets and shady bowers
Into a wilderness I'll turn,

Sooner than, blind one! thou shouldst miss

'Mid toys like these, supremest bliss,
Sooner than Him thus slighted see,

The Lord who lived and died for me.
Oh, King of Beauty, when shall I
Thy face behold?-for love I die!
Without thee, Paradise were Hell,

With thee, 'twere Heaven in Hell to dwell!"

The Breton friar pass'd on, alone,
The woman from his side has gone.
I know not, yet methinks that friar
Must henceforth holiest thoughts inspire.
With single mind I see him pass
'Mid heathens, Christians, oft, alas!
Like heathens, aliens to the love
That daily woos our hearts above.
I see him striving all to bring
Unto the love of Love's own King,
And were that woman child of earth,
Or gave his guardian-angel birth
To vision-form, his soul to bear
Into a purer, higher air,

Oh, would that we, in our cold days,
Thus our low-drooping hearts could raise,

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PAINED is my head with weary care,

Sick is my heart with anxious thought; Oppressed with ills I needs must bear;

With weakened frame, by suffering wrought,
I'm laid, like lumber on the shelf,
A relic of my former self.

When evening clouds obscure the sun,
I weary for the morning's light;
And when the day has but begun,

I wish that it again were night;
And thus each dreary night and day
Make room for others such as they.

What once, with profit and delight,
My mind did zealously pursue,
Howe'er the labor may invite,

I am forbidden to renew;
Books, that so eloquent could be,
Are but dead letters
66

now to me.

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