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two eldest sisters, one about seven years old, || peacefully he sleeps on his mat of straw ! ambition, avarice, remorse, these cannot trouble his repose; his is the sleep of innocence." These reflections occupied him all night; he compared the cares, the anxieties attendant on grandeur, with the peace and quietness of poverty. The villager was awake by break of day, and his guest, as he took his leave, said, "I am going to return to Moscow; I am acquainted with a generous man of a feeling heart, I shall speak to him concerning you, I think he will stand godfather to your child: promise me, before I go, that you will wait till you see me, before you observe the ceremony of baptizing him; I will be back again in three hours, at farthest." The countryman promised to observe what he had asked, without, however, depending much

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the other six, were crying and praying, as
they knelt, to God, that he would grant their
mother a safe delivery; she, poor woman,
lay in the adjoining chamber, groaning with ||
excess of pain. "Stay here," said the pea-
sant to the Czar, " while I go and get your
supper." He soon returned, bringing in a
basket with some honey, black bread, and
eggs. "Here," said he, "this is all we
have; sit down and sup with my daughters;
as for me, I have no time to eat; I am going
to take care of my poor wife." "The charita-
ble welcome you have given me," said the
Czar, "will bring you good fortune; heaven ||
will reward you for your hospitality." "I
hope so: pray to God that my wife may have
a safe delivery, that's all I ask for." "You
are very happy, then!" "Happy! judge if || on the professions of his guest.
I ought not to be. I have five children in
good health; a wife that I love, a father and
a mother that are yet healthy and strong, and
the labour of my hands brings sufficient to
maintain us all." "Does your father and
your mother live with you?" "Certainly;
they are in, there, with my wife."
cottage is very little." It is big enough for
us; we are very well content with it." In
about an hour after the wife was happily de-
livered; the good countryman, transported
with joy, brought the child to his guest, cry-
ing out, "There's the sixth that she has
brought me! God preserve them all!" The
Czar took the child in his arms, and regard-
ing it with tenderness, he said, "I have stu-
died the human countenance; this child is a
happy one; I will lay a wager that he will
make a fortune in the world!" The little girl
then drew near to caress the new-born infant,
when the grandmother came in and carried it
away. The two girls followed her, and the
villager spread a mat of straw on the ground,
and invited his guest to sleep behind him. The
eyes of this happy father of a family were
soon closed in tranquil sleep.


A little lamp shed its feeble rays round the humble chamber. The Emperor raised himself up, and looked about him. He beheld, with much emotion, the father and his three children all asleep a profound silence reigned throughout the cottage. "Oh! soothing sleep! Happy tranquillity!" said the Czar to himself, " Simple and virtuous man! how

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The unknown, however, returned in three hours' time, and the peasant prepared to take the infant to church, when he heard the sound of horses and carriages; he looked out of the casement, and distinguished the guards and the train that usually accompanied the Emperor. He called his family to come and enjoy this fine sight. They immediately ran, and with tumultuous joy ranged themselves at the door; several carriages formed a line, followed by that of the Emperor, which stopped before the hut; the guards surrounded it, and drove off the crowd. The carriage door was opened, and the Czar stepped out, placing himself before his host, as he said to him, "I promised to find you a godfather, and I am come to fulfil my promise. Give me your child, and follow me to church." The peasant, struck motionless, almost in a state of stupefaction, listened without being able to understand what this could mean, and while he looked around him, he could hardly be said to see any thing distinctly. Beneath the gorgeous clothing of the Emperor, and amidst the pomp that surrounded him, he could not recognise the miserable looking wretch that had shared his supper and his bed. The Czar enjoyed in secret his surprise and dismay. At length, making himself known, he said to the peasant, "Yesterday you fulfilled towards me the duties of religion and humanity; to-day, I am come to perform those of a sovereign, and a duty most grateful to the soul is that of rewarding virtue. I left you in a state that

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you confer honour on, and of which I envy the innocence and peace; I will give you those things which you stand in need of, flocks, orchards, and a more roomy dwelling, in order that you may be the better enabled to exer

cise the rites of hospitality. As to your new-length his virtues excited notice and esteem:

born child, I shall take upon myself the charge of his future lot in life; for, don't you remember," added he, with a smile, " that I foretold how fortunate he would be?" The peasant, overcome with joy and gratitude, and with his eyes suffused in tears, ran and fetched the infant, and laid him at the feet of his sovereign, who, taking him in his arms, carried him to the church, and held him at the font, while he received the baptismal rite; then, not wishing to deprive him of his mother's lacteal store, he carried him back to the cot-like those of Aristides when he was banished

he remained for thirty years under the protec tion of the government of Berne, the vigilance of which destroyed all the plots that were formed against his life, some of the authors of which were severely punished. King William recalled him to England to command the troops sent against Ireland. Ludlow was so ill received by the English, that he renounced his country, and returned to his asylum; but so far from harbouring the least resentment, his last words, when he was dying, were,

from Athens, breathed in fervent wishes for the prosperity of his country.

tage, to remain there till he was weaned. The Emperor, then, faithful to his promise, had the child educated in his palace, and he and his virtuous family were ever after the objects of his beneficence.

At the period of the Restoration, he went first to France, and from thence to Geneva, where he heard that several of the judges of Charles the First had been arrested in Holland, carried to England, and there executed in the year 1662. Alarmed, as well as his two friends, Lile and Canley, he feared that the small republic of Geneva, intimidated by the court of France, might be forced to follow the example of the Dutch. Ludlow presented a request to the Senate at Berne, to obtain permission to reside in that State: the answer was favourable; and he retired to Lausanne, with seven other Englishmen. Three among them, having passed into Berne, were very well received. They were soon after advised to quit Lausanne, and to retire to Vevay. Ludlow, and five of his countrymen, followed this advice, and received the most flattering. welcome; they gave them a public dinner, during which one of the magistrates rose up, and made an oration after the fashion of his country, and offering to their acceptance a present of that wine which is only offered to persons of distinguished rank. In the mean time Ludlow and his friends were forewarned that a man named Ricardo, led on by five villains, had formed a plot against their lives: this Ricardo, who pretended to belong to the Duchess of Orleans, had arrived at Vevay in a boat, in which arms were concealed; these assassins were discovered, and made their escape.




THIS general was one of the judges of Charles I., and was obliged to quit his country in 1660, on the restoration of Charles II. He lived at Vevay, in Switzerland, till he had attained the age of seventy-three, and was buried in 1693, in a church in that town. This enthusiastic republican was hated both by Cromwell and the house of Stuart; he panted for the freedom of his country, and Cromwell wished to enslave it. While Ludlow was in Switzerland, he wrote the History of the Events of his Time, up to 1672; in which work is the sentence of death against Charles I. with the signatures and seals of the fifty-nine judges, among which is found his own name, that of Cromwell, of Bradshaw, and of Ireton. It may be seen in his memoirs, that he was never actuated by personal interest, but that he was a sworn enemy to all arbitrary power, and that he disapproved of Cromwell's usurpation. He was descended of a very good family; his father, Henry Ludlow, was one of the most strenuous defenders of the people against the prerogative of the Crown: the example of his father, and his own sentiments, furnished him with arms against this growing prerogative. His talent was that of war, and he arrived at the title by his great merit, of


General-in-Chief. At the restoration of Charles II., Ludlow was stripped of all his wealth, condemned as a traitor, ahd obliged to fly his country. In his asylum in Switzerland he lived a long time in obscurity; at

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But Ludlow did not feel easy: he was in-fused to abide by their counsel; and his comformed that traitors were employed to watch rade Lile, having retreated to Lausanne, was his movements; and that Ricardo had ob- assassinated by a pistol being fired at him, by tained an interview with King Charles, in an unknown hand; the assassin immediately London, and with the Duchess of Orleans, at put spurs to his horse, crying out" Long live Paris, the latter of whom had persuaded him the King," and galloped off towards Morges. to assassinate Ludlow: but this can never France and Holland, on declaring war against be credited of a princess so amiable, and who England, offered to employ Ludlow: he had was also too much occupied with the plea- the wisdom to refuse; and said that this dissures of the court: but the magistrates of pute between France and England would not Berne advised Ludlow to quit Vevay, where last long: it was soon proved he was in the he was too much exposed to danger; he re- right.


THE cheerfulness of old men confers honourfided her to the care of Madame de Bermond,

on their youth: it shews that their past life has been irreproachable, and that they look forward to futurity without terror. When an old man preserves the cheerfulness of youth, we naturally say he is a worthy man, he has trod the path of life evenly, and the remembrance of his errors, for who is without? renders him indulgent to those of others.

Such a character, though a female, was Madame de Bermond. Happily married to the man of her choice; endowed with a good fortune, and a pretty face, she knew how to charm without coquetry, had many friends of the other sex, without once forgetting her duty, and she enjoyed without vanity, the approbation she excited by her easy and native wit, united with true amiability of manRather frivolous in her taste, but constant in her affections, she knew how to vary her pleasures, without affecting her happiness: so that she grew old without either herself or others perceiving it.

who had brought her up with all the care of a tender parent. Madame de Bermond loved Amelia as her daughter, and had already given her that appellation; for she had formed the project of marrying her to her grandson. The young people brought up together with this pleasing prospect, gave themselves up, without constraint, to those sentiments which promised them real happiness: Forlanges was twenty years of age, and Amelia sixteen. Nothing, as yet, had troubled the tranquillity of their mutual tenderness, but love, which has no cause of disquiet, becomes a kind of friendship only; and Forsanges was lively, ardent, and excessively romantic. He wished for some almost insurmountable obstacle against his union with Amelia, to prove to her how much he loved her.




It was in this manner that Madame de Bermond had attained her fourscore years. She had concentrated in the interior of her family, and in a small circle of real friends, that lively gaiety which so long had constituted the charm of her numerous and brilliant society. A widow for many years, she had bestowed all her affection on the young Forlanges, her grandson, and on Amelia de Villarcé, who both lived with her.

Amelia was a portionless orphan. Madame de Villarcé, when she died, had con

He absented himself frequently, and did not come home till a late hour, and then appeared melancholy. Amelia wept in secret, "Forlanges no longer loves me," she would say to herself. Madame de Bermond was in continual agitation, "What's he about? Where is he going?" asked the old lady. But one morning when he was preparing to go out, she called him to her, "I want my dear friend," said she, "to have a little conversation with you." "Ah! Madame," said Forsanges, impatiently, "I have business of importance." Importance!" repeated Madame de Bermond laughing, "it cannot be of more importance than what I have to say to you. Do you not think about marrying?"


"Ah! Madame, do not speak of that; I am not yet turned of twenty." "So much the better; would you be fifty before you marry? However, Amelia is so gentle, so interesting!|| "You are right, Madame, I willingly subscribe to all her excellent qualities, but" "She is not expensive, her head is not turned with dissipation like most of our young girls. She is modest, and that is a most excellent quality; she will even attend to her household concerns, she will bring her children up well, and what is better she will love her husband." "I am quite of your opinion, Madame, Amelia unites every virtue likely to ensure the happiness of a husband; but—" "I'll have no buts, you must marry her. I am above fourscore years of age, I want to see my great grand-children before I die, gamboling round me, breaking my spectacles, and causing me to laugh and scold all in a breath. You shall marry Amelia." "How impatient you are!" "Oh! patience is not the virtue of old folks; they have no time to wait." This last reason seemed to affect Forsanges. I would willingly," said he, "this day fulfil your wishes; but since I must tell you, I am deeply in love with another." "Another?" "A charming creature!" "What is her name ?" "I do not know." "Where does she live?" "I am ignorant." "What family is she of? What fortune has she?" "I cannot tell." "Where did you see her?” “No where." "You have heard speak of her, I suppose." "Never." "My dear grand-son, I shall not press you any more to marry. You do not want a wife, but an apartment among the madmen at Clarenton. Farewell, I quit you, because I find myself in a passion."

Forlanges could not but acknowledge that she had cause to be angry. Alas! thought he, it is true enough, I am a madman. On the point of marriage with a young person of beauty and virtue, I sacrifice her to a woman I know nothing of, and whose existence even may be a chimera, yes, but if such a one does exist, what charms does she not possess? what a countenance, added he, looking attentively at a portrait, that he prest fondly to his lips; what sprightliness, what sensibility there is in those looks! what a beautiful contour of visage! what enjouement in that smile! Oh! I would give all my fortune, the half of my

existence, to find the original of this picture." This interesting soliloquy was interrupted by the arrival of Oliver, the valet de chambre of Forlanges. Oliver was a very intelligent fellow, that Madame de Bermond had placed in the service of her grand-son. He was faithful and zealous, and had liberty to say what he pleased in the house; he therefore sometimes gave advice, which though always well meant, was not always well taken. Oliver perceived that his master was uneasy; and he had also seen, with real concern, his coolness towards Amelia, and thought on the grief it would give Madame de Bermond, if this marriage should not take place. He wished to make himself master of a secret on which depended the happiness of the whole family; but how was such a confidence to be obtained? yet at twenty years of age the secret of our passions is ever on our lips, and Forlanges was in great want of a confidant. He had formed the plan some days before of bringing Oliver over to his interests; and after some trifling hesitation, he told him that as he was walking one day in the Champs Elysees with Madame de Bermond and Amelia, he saw something shining on the grass, as the sun darted on it: "this object," continued he, "excited my curiosity, and I found this miniature; it is impossible for me to express to you, Oliver, the effect that this angelic countenance has produced on my heart. I hid the treasure I had found, and as I contemplate it in secret, I forget the whole universe. The more I look at it, the more charms I discover. I walk every day to the place where I found it; I frequent all the theatres, and all the public walks, in hopes of meeting the adorable female who is here represented; my wishes have been frustrated, and 1 am the most wretched of men."

Oliver knew his master too well to contradict him, and therefore affected to pity him; after admiring the mysterious portrait, he promised Forlanges to employ all his vigilance to discover the original.

His first step was to go and relate every thing to Madame de Bermond, which he did not think was betraying his master, but serving him. Vexatious as was this discovery, the first movement of this sprightly woman, was, to break out into a hearty laugh. "What!" exclaimed she, "is my grand-son

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in love with a picture? Oh! have not we I sometimes forget my own name." "Well, old folks sufficient cause of laughter against you must learn by heart, what I am about to the young? But, pray Oliver, does this pic-dictate to you." "Oh! that's impossible." ture represent a pretty woman?" Pretty! "Come, try, a high forehead, polished and Madam, alas! too much so. I never in my white as ivory; black eye-brows finely life saw so beautiful a countenance. Made- || arched; black eyes expressive of wit and moiselle Amelia is almost as pretty, yet tenderness ; a pretty little nose, rather inclined to turn up; lips like coral; a dimple in each cheek; a lovely round chin with a dimple in the middle. Now repeat your lesson."

As he was about to finish this last sentence, he perceived Amelia, who had entered the apartment unseen, and who having heard all that past, could not restrain her tears. Ma-"Yes, sir," said Oliver, "I have a better dame de Bermond then ceased to laugh, and sought only how to console the amiable orphan; and next cast in her mind to combat seriously against the extravagant passion which had half turned the head of her grandson; to effect this she endeavoured to get a sight of the fatal picture. She therefore gave charge to Oliver to get it out of the hands of Forlanges, for only a few minutes. The undertaking was attended with some difficulty; but the zeal of Oliver suggested to him the


The next morning he entered his master's chamber, with an appearance of having something important to communicate, and said, "Ah! sir, what good news I have for you!" "What," said Forlanges, "have you discovered the fair original ?" "Yes, sir, I know the original. Get up, quick." Forlanges leaped out of bed. "Speak my dear Oliver, I shall die with impatience." 'Stop a moment. I am quite out of breath. I have had such a race." "You will be the death of me." “She was in a superb carriage with four horses. I followed the carriage till it entered the court-yard of a splendid mansion. Ah! sir, what a beautiful woman she is! What a shape! What a face! She is a brunette; her eyes are the finest in the world." "How happy you make me!" said Forlanges in a transport of joy, "What is her name?', "She is called Mademoiselle, de-de-Romanville, yes, I am almost certain." "What! you are not quite sure, then?" No, sir; and that is your fault." "How, mine?" "If you had but trusted the picture to me, I could have compared it with the original." "Me! I trust you with such a treasure?" "Oh! no, no, sir, if you fear its being lost." "There, examine it carefully, and then you will remember." "Me, remember! Ah! sir, I never could remember any thing in my life.

memory than I thought I had. Let me see.” Oliver then began, but whether though mischief or inadvertency, he made nothing but confusion: the eyes he described as blue, the hair chesnut, the forehead as high as ivory, and as white as ice; the chin turned up with a little dimple, expressive of wit and tenderness, &c. Forlanges was in a rage, but Oliver begged him to reflect that no one could give himself a good memory. "I know," added he, "if I don't get hold of the picture I shall make some blunder.” Forlanges then consented, though with great reluctance to put the picture in his hands.

Oliver, faithful to his promise, announced to his master that there was no doubt but what he had compared with certainty the picture with the original; and that by means of a waiting woman he was once acquainted with, he was introduced into the presence of Mademoiselle Romanville; who he found as miserable as she was beautiful; she depended on a rigid guardian, named Durocher, a cruel and jealous man, who was desirous of marrying his charming ward, and in order to accomplish his purpose, he kept her in the most dreary solitude. During this recital, Forlanges absolutely wept, rejoiced, and became furious, by turns. Oliver continued to relate how, by the address of the young waiting maid, he was introduced to this terrible Durocher, and how he found the means of gaining the confidence of this pitiless being, by flattering his ruling passion, jealousy. "I made him understand that the quarter of Paris he lodged in was much too noisy, that there were always people passing to and fro, and that it would be prudent for him to take a house in our street, which was so quiet it might be styled a desart. The jealous fellow fell into the snare, and absolutely went out to take that house, the windows of which look precisely

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